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Analysis

Examining Nigeria’s Health System and Preventable Deaths, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

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Examining Nigeria’s Health System and Preventable Deaths, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

 

My last week’s column, ‘The Agony of a Columnist,’ was written from a place I never expected to occupy. It was not an attempt at catharsis, nor was it designed to elicit sympathy. It was simply an account of what happened when a citizen encountered the Nigerian healthcare system at its most critical moment and found it wanting. The death of my eight-month-old daughter occurred within a public hospital that, on paper, appeared functional. What followed exposed a gap between appearance and capacity that deserves closer scrutiny rather than sentiment.

 

This week’s column is broader. It is about structure, policy, and outcomes. It is about what the data says and what lived experience confirms about the state of healthcare delivery in Nigeria, a system that reflects not only underperformance but failure at its most consequential moments.

 

Considering another recent case that captured national attention, that of Ifunanya Lucy Nwangene, a 25-year-old Abuja-based singer who was bitten by a cobra in her home. She sought emergency care immediately, moving from one health facility to another, and struggled to obtain antivenom and appropriate treatment before it was too late.

 

Accounts vary on the specifics, but the tragedy is indisputable. Her death, amid circumstances that could have been preventable, echoes the avoidable loss of my own child and reflects the same systemic weaknesses that place ordinary citizens at risk every day. Reports indicate that approximately half of Nigerian hospitals lack the capacity to manage snakebite cases effectively and that nearly all facilities experience difficulties in administering antivenom, the only treatment recognized by the World Health Organization for venomous bites. Such deficits in treatment capacity, emergency response, essential medicines, and clinical training are not anomalies; they are the predictable outcome of chronic systemic weakness.

 

Nigeria’s healthcare system is structured across primary, secondary, and tertiary levels. According to the latest facility registry data, there are roughly thirty-eight thousand six hundred forty-five operational health facilities nationwide, a figure that includes both public and private establishments, translating to approximately eleven facilities per one hundred thousand people in a population exceeding two hundred and twenty million. Primary care facilities account for nearly eighty-eight per cent of all facilities, secondary care roughly twelve per cent, and tertiary facilities less than one per cent.

 

On paper, the distribution seems extensive, but quantity does not equal quality or functionality. The majority of primary healthcare centers, which form the first line of defence, are unable to deliver essential services consistently due to shortages of trained personnel, drugs, water, power, and equipment. Only about twenty per cent of primary facilities are considered fully functional, leaving millions of Nigerians dependent on emergency care that is often delayed or unavailable.

 

Health outcomes are determined by human resources as much as infrastructure, yet Nigeria’s health workforce is severely strained. The doctor-to-population ratio remains well below the World Health Organization’s recommended threshold of one doctor per six hundred people, with practical estimates ranging from one doctor per four thousand to one per five thousand citizens, and some areas experiencing ratios as low as one per nine thousand eight hundred.

 

Nurses and midwives are similarly scarce and unevenly distributed, favoring urban centers over rural and peri-urban areas. Absenteeism and burnout are systemic risks exacerbated by poor remuneration, unsafe working conditions, and limited career progression. The migration of trained health professionals abroad not only represents a loss of public investment but reduces the system’s capacity to respond to emergencies, increasing the likelihood that predictable crises result in preventable deaths.

 

Funding is a primary driver of these gaps. Nigeria is a signatory to the 2001 Abuja Declaration, committing to allocate at least fifteen per cent of annual budgets to health, yet the highest allocation recorded in any year remains below six per cent. By comparison, global benchmarks suggest public health spending should constitute at least five per cent of GDP to achieve basic universal health coverage, while Nigeria currently allocates approximately half a per cent. Per capita health expenditure ranges between ten and fifteen US dollars annually, which is insufficient to ensure functional hospitals, reliable emergency response, or the availability of essential drugs and equipment.

 

The inadequacy of public funding shifts the burden to households. Out-of-pocket payments account for nearly seventy to seventy-five per cent of total health spending, meaning that patients and families finance care at the point of illness rather than through pooled systems. Less than ten per cent of Nigerians are covered by any functional health insurance, and coverage is largely limited to formal sector employment. As a result, families often delay care, ration treatment, or avoid facilities altogether until conditions deteriorate beyond recovery.

 

The human consequences of these systemic failures are evident in national health indicators. Nigeria continues to have one of the highest maternal mortality ratios in the world, exceeding eight hundred deaths per one hundred thousand live births, and accounts for approximately twenty per cent of global maternal deaths despite representing less than three per cent of the world population. Infant and under-five mortality remain high, with recent surveys showing roughly sixty-seven deaths per one thousand live births and one hundred and ten per one thousand respectively. Many of these deaths result not from rare or complex conditions but from the inability of the health system to provide timely, skilled intervention for preventable or manageable illnesses. Malaria, pneumonia, childbirth complications, and neonatal distress often escalate into fatalities that could have been avoided had emergency care been available, adequately staffed, and well-supplied.

 

Infrastructure alone does not solve the problem. Hospitals are renovated, equipment procured, and wards repainted, but functionality depends on staffing, reliable power, water, supply chains, and governance. Electricity supply is particularly critical, as hospitals depend on continuous power for monitoring, oxygen delivery, laboratory diagnostics, and refrigeration of vaccines and essential medicines. Yet many facilities rely on intermittent generators with uncertain fuel supply, leaving patients exposed to system failures that no renovation or new building can correct.

 

Primary healthcare centers, despite their numbers, are frequently unable to provide preventive and early intervention services, meaning that conditions that should be addressed at the community level escalate to secondary facilities that themselves are overstretched.

 

Accountability within the health system is diffuse. Budget allocations are announced, but utilization and outcomes are weakly monitored. Staffing requirements are often unmet, and enforcement is inconsistent. Failures rarely attract consequences proportional to their impact, leaving citizens, including vulnerable infants and young adults, to bear the cost. Hospitals are frequently evaluated on the wrong metrics, such as bed count or physical infrastructure, rather than whether care is actually delivered. Time-sensitive emergencies cannot wait for policy announcements or cosmetic compliance; delays and absenteeism in these circumstances are measured in lives lost.

 

Both my personal experience and the case of the young singer illustrate these realities. My daughter was taken to Suleja General Hospital where initial symptoms did not appear severe, yet she required urgent intervention. Medical review was delayed, oxygen was administered without a definitive diagnosis or treatment plan, and a requested transfer to another facility was not effected in time. In the singer’s case, urgent antivenom administration was critical to survival, yet the system’s gaps prevented timely care, and the result was fatal. These outcomes are not anomalies; they are predictable expressions of systemic failure.

 

Nigeria does not lack reform frameworks. Initiatives exist to revitalize primary healthcare, expand health insurance, and improve maternal and child health outcomes. Some interventions have produced measurable gains in targeted areas, but they remain uneven and insufficiently scaled, often undermined by governance failures and weak operational oversight. The result is a system that prioritizes form over function, presenting the appearance of readiness while leaving emergency response and routine care vulnerable to failure. The consequences are borne not by policy-makers or administrators, but by citizens whose lives hang in the balance.

 

The purpose of revisiting last week’s column is not to relive personal grief but to insist on institutional reflection. Every preventable death, whether of a child in a public hospital or a young adult succumbing to a snakebite or otherwise, represents a failure of policy, funding, and governance. Healthcare is not an area where delays, absenteeism, or cosmetic compliance can be absorbed without consequence. Systems either respond, or they fail. In Nigeria, the record shows repeated, predictable failures. Mortality data, budget analyses, facility assessments, and lived experience all converge to the same conclusion: when the health system is tested, it often cannot deliver.

 

The crisis is visible, documented, and persistent. Nigeria’s hospitals function intermittently, supply chains are fragile, essential medicines are inconsistently available, and health workers are overstretched. Until outcomes, rather than infrastructure announcements, become the primary measure of success, preventable deaths will continue.

 

Tragically, the cost is measured not only in statistics but in lives that could have been saved. My daughter’s loss was personal, and the death of Ifunanya Nwangene was public. Both expose the same reality: a healthcare system that cannot guarantee timely, competent response in emergencies is not merely underperforming; it is failing its most fundamental obligation.

 

The reality requires less rhetoric and more reform, less emphasis on appearances and more attention to function. Budget allocations must be credible and linked to measurable outcomes, staffing requirements must be enforced, essential medicines and equipment must be reliably supplied, and emergency systems must be consistently operational. Until these conditions are met, Nigeria will continue to produce tragic but predictable stories of lives lost to systemic weakness, and citizens will continue to confront a healthcare system that appears reassuring until it is tested at its most critical moments.

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Analysis

Let the Bishop’s Visit Heal Us — A Call for Peace Among Mbaise Sons and Daughters in the Diaspora

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Let the Bishop’s Visit Heal Us — A Call for Peace Among Mbaise Sons and Daughters in the Diaspora

 

By Boniface Ihiasota

Publisher/Correspondent, Foreign Press Center, Washington D.C.

Excel Global Media Group Inc, USA

 

The first episcopal visit of His Lordship, Rt. Rev. Simeon Okezuo Nwobi, Catholic Bishop of Ahiara Diocese, to the DMV is more than a Mass. More than a reception. More than protocol.

 

It is a divine appointment.

 

On Sunday, July 12, 2026, at 3:00 PM, the people of Mbaise in DC, Maryland, Virginia, and neighboring states will gather at St. Matthias Catholic Church, Lanham, to welcome our Bishop. Friendship Hall will open its doors. But the real question is: Will we open our hearts?

 

At a time when our Mbaise diaspora community is blessed with numbers, talent, and resources, we are also burdened by something far less holy — division. The whispers have grown louder than our prayers. Gossip travels faster than goodwill. Clans compete where they should collaborate. Brothers ignore brothers. Sisters wound sisters with words. We are building houses side by side in Maryland, Virginia, and D.C., yet building walls between our hearts.

 

This cannot be our story in a foreign land.

 

I appeal to His Lordship: Let this visit be a moment of soul searching for all of us. Use your shepherd’s staff not only to bless an altar, but to gather a scattered flock. Preach to us again the Gospel we know but too often forget — _“Love one another as I have loved you.”_ John 13:34 did not come with exceptions for village meetings, title disputes, or WhatsApp arguments.

 

Mbaise people are known for faith, resilience, and intellect. We produced bishops, professors, doctors, builders. But what does it profit us to gain the whole DMV and lose our brotherhood? Our children are watching. They are learning how to be Igbo in America from us. Are we teaching them unity or enmity?

 

Let St. Matthias on July 12 be remembered not just as the place we welcomed our Bishop, but as the ground where healing began. Let every son and daughter of Mbaise who enters Friendship Hall that day become a witness to a new covenant: That from this day, we will eschew hate. We will kill gossip before it kills our community. We will disagree without destroying.

 

Division is easy. Anybody can pull down. Peace is the hard, holy work of builders. And we are _Ndi Mbaise_ — we are builders.

 

Bishop Nwobi, you carry the moral authority of Ahiara Diocese. We, your children abroad, carry the weight of survival in a foreign land. Neither is easy. But together, we can make this diaspora a cathedral of love, not a courtyard of conflict.

 

I call on every Mbaise union, every age grade, every family, every individual: Come to the drawing board. The Bishop is coming. The Church doors are open. The moment is now.

 

Let us leave Friendship Hall as brothers and sisters, not just by blood, but by bond. Let us pursue our good, and the good of the community at large. For in the end, _“Umunna bu ike”_ — but only when _Umunna_ is at peace.

 

May this visit not just welcome a Bishop. May it restore a people.

 

I come in peace.

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Analysis

Understanding Kwara’s New Security Landscape, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

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Understanding Kwara’s New Security Landscape, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

 

There are journeys that leave you with more questions than answers. There are also journeys that challenge the assumptions carefully built from social media commentaries, political arguments and sensational headlines. Kwara’s security story belongs in that category.

 

For months, the dominant narrative has oscillated between two extremes. On one side are those who insist that the state has become a model of coordinated security response under Governor AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq. On the other are critics who argue that nothing has changed because kidnappings still occur, farmers are occasionally attacked and some communities continue to live under the shadow of fear. The truth, as is often the case, lies somewhere in between.

 

Security is perhaps the most difficult sector to evaluate because its greatest achievements are rarely visible. A school can be commissioned. A road can be measured in kilometres. A hospital can be counted in beds. But how does one measure an attack that never happened because intelligence intercepted the perpetrators? How does one quantify the confidence of a farmer who returns to his farmland after months of uncertainty? How do you calculate the value of a market that gradually comes alive again because armed patrols now dominate routes that were once deserted?

 

These questions came to mind while reflecting on the evolving security landscape across Kwara North and parts of Kwara South during my tour in the days leading to this year’s Eid-el-Adha (Big Sallah) celebration.

 

What became obvious is that the conversation should no longer be about whether insecurity exists. It does. The more useful debate is whether Kwara today is better prepared to confront it than it was a few years ago. That distinction matters.

 

The events of February 3 and 4, 2026, remain one of the darkest moments in the state’s contemporary history. Terrorists descended on Woro and Nuku Communities in Kaiama Local Government Area, killing scores of residents, burning homes, destroying livelihoods and abducting others after months of reported threats to the communities. The attacks left entire families shattered and forced many survivors into displacement. Estimates of the death toll varied, but humanitarian agencies and international media reported that well over 160 people were killed, making it one of the deadliest attacks in Nigeria this year.

 

The attack fundamentally altered Kwara’s security conversation. It was no longer about isolated kidnappings or criminal gangs seeking ransom. It exposed the growing danger of extremist elements exploiting the vast forests around Kaiama, Baruten and neighbouring parts of Niger State.

 

The immediate aftermath painted a heartbreaking picture. Reports showed that Woro, once a thriving agrarian community, became largely deserted as survivors fled in search of safety. Only a fraction of the population remained behind to bury the dead and protect what little was left. Shops were shut. Schools stopped functioning. Farming activities halted almost completely. A community that had once depended on agriculture suddenly found itself battling for survival.

 

It was against this backdrop that the Governor AbdulRazaq administration faced perhaps its greatest security test.

 

To be fair, no state government possesses constitutional control over the military, police or intelligence agencies. Governors are called chief security officers largely by convention rather than operational authority. Yet citizens naturally hold them accountable whenever insecurity escalates. Rather than retreat into constitutional excuses, the administration adopted a multi-layered response.

 

As was relayed by both Traditional Rulers of Woro and Babanla, Alhaji Saliu Bio Umar and Oba Aliyu Alabi Yusuf (Arojojoye II) during my tour to their respective domain said Governor AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq visited the affected communities shortly after the attacks, describing the killings as a deliberate massacre and assuring residents that the government would not abandon them.

 

He subsequently engaged President Bola Tinubu and federal security authorities, pushing for stronger military intervention in the affected axis. That engagement resulted in the approval and eventual launch of Operation Savannah Shield, a joint military operation involving the Nigerian Army, Navy and Air Force to secure Kwara and adjoining parts of Niger State.

 

Operation Savannah Shield did not emerge in isolation. It came after months of increasing concern over terrorist infiltration into the forests stretching across Kaiama, Baruten and Edu Local Government Areas. The operation introduced additional troops, armoured assets, aerial surveillance, intelligence-driven operations and coordinated patrols aimed at dismantling criminal enclaves around the Kainji axis.

 

The operation was also consistent with the Federal Government’s broader security strategy for the first half of 2026, during which Kwara featured prominently among the country’s operational flashpoints alongside Borno, Yobe, Taraba, Katsina, Zamfara, Sokoto, Plateau, Benue, Niger, Oyo and Kaduna.

 

According to the Joint Security Press Briefing by the Defence Headquarters and other national security agencies on Thursday, 2nd of July, 2026, troops conducted 14,221 coordinated security operations nationwide between January and June 2026. These operations resulted in the neutralisation of 1,597 terrorists and insurgents, the rescue of 1,516 kidnapped victims, the recovery of 451 firearms, 16,726 rounds of ammunition, and 161 explosives and Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs). Intelligence-driven raids, clearance missions and rescue operations specifically covered flashpoints that included Kwara, demonstrating the state’s strategic importance in the national counter-insurgency effort.

 

But military deployments alone do not tell the whole story. Secretary to the State Government, Professor Mamman Saba Jibril, during an interview with some Defence Editors in Ilorin in May said “Long before the Woro tragedy, the Kwara State Government had consistently invested in strengthening security logistics. Through Operation Harmony, the administration procured patrol vehicles, distributed motorcycles to all sixteen local government areas, supported communication equipment, provided operational logistics and sustained collaboration with the Nigeria Police Force, the Nigerian Army, the Department of State Services, the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps, the Nigeria Immigration Service and local vigilante groups. These interventions were designed to improve mobility, intelligence gathering and rapid response across vulnerable communities.”

 

Those investments complemented rather than replaced federal security operations. The administration’s sustained logistical support enabled security agencies to improve operational mobility across the difficult terrain stretching from Kaiama through Baruten to Edu. Equally important was the growing integration of local vigilantes, hunters and community intelligence networks with conventional security agencies, recognising that defeating armed groups operating inside forests requires both military capability and local knowledge.

 

Critics are quick to ask an understandable question: if all these interventions exist, why do kidnappings still occur? It is a fair question. Yet it also reflects the temptation to judge security by isolated incidents rather than broader trajectories.

 

No serious security analyst measures success by expecting absolute zero crime. Even countries with the world’s most sophisticated policing systems continue to confront organised criminality. The relevant question is whether institutions are becoming stronger, whether response times are improving, whether intelligence networks are expanding and whether communities are regaining confidence.

 

In Kwara, evidence suggests cautious but measurable progress. Beyond the increased visibility of troops and security patrols, law enforcement agencies have recorded concrete operational successes. During the first half of 2026, the Nigeria Police Force dismantled a 33-member criminal network involved in terrorism, cattle rustling and violent attacks in Kwara State. Intelligence-led policing also intensified across the forest corridors linking Oyo, Ogun, Ondo, Ekiti, Kwara and Kogi States—routes long exploited by kidnappers, terrorists and armed gangs. In another major breakthrough, police dismantled a railway vandalism syndicate operating across Nasarawa, Bauchi and Kwara States, recovering approximately 60 tonnes of vandalised railway materials valued at about ₦400 million, thereby disrupting another organised criminal network.

 

Several communities that experienced disruption earlier in the year are gradually witnessing the return of commercial transport, weekly markets and farming activities under increased security presence. Farmers who abandoned portions of their farmlands are slowly returning, though many still do so with understandable caution. Commercial vehicles that once avoided certain routes now operate under the reassurance of military patrols and security checkpoints. Confidence remains fragile, but it is no longer absent.

 

The emotional scars, however, remain visible. The people of Woro continue to appeal to government at every level not merely to rebuild houses but to rescue those still abducted during the attacks. Families remain hopeful that missing relatives will someday return. Their request is simple: security operations should continue until every criminal network responsible for the tragedy is dismantled and those still in captivity regain their freedom. That appeal reminds everyone that security is ultimately about people rather than statistics.

 

Another lesson emerging from Kwara’s experience is that security cannot be divorced from economic development. Kaiama, Baruten, Edu and parts of Patigi constitute important agricultural belts. Whenever insecurity keeps farmers away from their fields, the consequences extend far beyond those communities. Food production declines, rural incomes collapse and local markets weaken. It is therefore unsurprising that Governor AbdulRazaq has repeatedly linked security operations with food security, arguing that protecting farming communities is as much an economic imperative as it is a law enforcement responsibility.

 

There is also a quieter aspect of the administration’s intervention that rarely attracts headlines. Traditional rulers, community leaders, hunters and local vigilante formations have become increasingly integrated into intelligence gathering.

 

Security agencies understand that the first indication of suspicious movement often comes not from technology but from local residents who know their environment intimately. Nationally, this community-centred approach has become a key pillar of military operations. Between January and June 2026, the Armed Forces conducted 33 peacebuilding initiatives, 13 public sensitisation campaigns and 33 stakeholder engagement meetings involving traditional rulers, religious leaders and community stakeholders. Kwara has increasingly benefited from this collaborative security model.

 

None of this suggests that government has solved every problem. It has not.

 

Remote communities still require greater security presence. Forest surveillance must become even more sophisticated. Border management around the Benin Republic axis deserves continued strengthening. More permanent security formations may still be necessary in vulnerable areas. Victims of terrorism require sustained rehabilitation beyond emergency relief. Yet fairness also demands acknowledging what has changed.

 

Professor Mamman Saba Jibril further noted during the interview that Kwara of today is not confronting insecurity with the same institutional capacity it possessed a few years ago, affirming operational mobility has expanded through improved logistics and state support. “Federal and state collaboration has deepened considerably. Intelligence coordination among the Armed Forces, Nigeria Police Force, Department of State Services, Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps, Nigeria Immigration Service and local security volunteers has become more structured,” Jibril emphasized.

 

The dismantling of a 33-member criminal network in Kwara, intensified military operations within the Kainji axis and sustained intelligence-led operations across vulnerable communities underscore a more proactive security posture than previously existed. These developments do not erase tragedy, but they significantly improve the state’s capacity to prevent future attacks and respond more effectively when threats emerge.

 

Ultimately, security is measured not only by the absence of attacks but by the resilience of institutions. Kwara’s experience over the past year illustrates this reality. The February massacre in Woro and Nuku exposed dangerous vulnerabilities, but it also triggered one of the most coordinated security responses the state has witnessed in recent years. Military deployments increased, intelligence sharing improved, criminal networks were dismantled, and communities previously isolated by fear gradually began reclaiming normal life. While the threat has not disappeared, the institutional response is demonstrably stronger than before. Perhaps that is the real lesson.

 

Security is not a destination where governments eventually arrive and declare victory. It is a continuous process of adaptation against adversaries who constantly evolve. Every patrol vehicle deployed, every intelligence report acted upon, every community engagement held and every kilometre of forest reclaimed represents another step in that long journey.

 

Those who insist that nothing has changed ignore these institutional improvements. Those who claim everything is perfect ignore the grief of families still mourning loved ones, the fear of communities rebuilding from trauma and the reality that isolated attacks continue to occur. The wiser position lies between both extremes.

 

Kwara’s new security landscape is neither the paradise described by enthusiastic supporters nor the hopeless battlefield portrayed by relentless critics. It is a state confronting an evolving threat with increasing resolve, improved coordination and sustained investment, while recognising that the journey towards lasting peace is still unfinished. Beyond the gunfire and beyond the politics, perhaps that is the story that deserves to be told.

 

Alabidun is a Journalist and Editor and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

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Analysis

The Politics of Akara and Kuli-Kuli Empowerment, by Boniface Ihiasota 

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The Politics of Akara and Kuli-Kuli Empowerment, by Boniface Ihiasota 

 

In a country battling one of its worst economic crises in decades, every statement and public programme from those in positions of leadership carries enormous symbolic weight. Nigerians are not only listening to what their leaders say; they are also measuring whether government actions reflect the daily struggles of ordinary citizens. That is why the recent empowerment initiative championed by Nigeria’s First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, has generated widespread criticism across the country.

 

The initiative, which encouraged women to embrace small-scale ventures such as akara frying, corn roasting and similar petty businesses, may have been conceived as a grassroots poverty alleviation programme. Across Nigeria, countless women have built respectable livelihoods through food vending and other micro-enterprises. There is dignity in honest labour, and no profession should be ridiculed.

 

However, the criticism is not directed at these occupations themselves. Rather, it is about the apparent disconnect between the scale of Nigeria’s economic challenges and the kind of empowerment being promoted by the nation’s highest office dedicated to women.

 

Since President Bola Ahmed Tinubu assumed office on May 29, 2023, his administration has implemented sweeping economic reforms, including the removal of petrol subsidy and the liberalisation of the foreign exchange market. While these policies were presented as necessary for long-term economic recovery, they have also contributed to soaring inflation, rising transportation costs and an unprecedented increase in the prices of food and essential commodities. Millions of Nigerian households have seen their purchasing power eroded.

 

According to the National Bureau of Statistics, food inflation has consistently remained among the highest components of the country’s inflation figures over the past two years. For many families, survival has become a daily struggle rather than a long-term economic plan.

 

Against this backdrop, many Nigerians expected empowerment programmes that would focus on access to affordable credit, vocational training in technology and manufacturing, agricultural value chains, digital entrepreneurship and medium-scale business development. Such interventions would not only provide immediate relief but also create pathways for sustainable wealth creation.

 

Instead, the emphasis on traditional petty trading has been interpreted by many as lowering the aspirations of Nigerian women at a time when countries across Africa are investing heavily in innovation, digital skills and industrial development.

 

The First Lady’s office occupies a unique position in Nigeria’s governance structure. Although it is not a constitutional office, it has historically been used to champion major social causes. Previous First Ladies have led campaigns on maternal health, education, HIV/AIDS awareness, women’s rights and humanitarian interventions. Consequently, every initiative launched from the office inevitably attracts national scrutiny.

 

Critics have also pointed to previous public engagements involving the First Lady, including the distribution of vehicles to party women leaders at periods when the country was grappling with serious security concerns, including the abduction of schoolchildren in different parts of northern Nigeria. Whether fair or not, such images reinforce a perception that political elites remain insulated from the hardships confronting ordinary Nigerians.

 

Perception matters in governance. Leadership is not merely about implementing programmes; it is equally about understanding the emotional pulse of the people. At a time when many women are university graduates, professionals, innovators and entrepreneurs seeking access to finance, markets and modern business opportunities, public messaging should inspire ambition rather than reinforce subsistence.

 

Constructive criticism should not be mistaken for ethnic or partisan hostility. Democratic accountability requires citizens to question public officials irrespective of tribe, religion or political affiliation. Holding leaders accountable strengthens democracy rather than weakens it.

 

The challenge before Nigeria is not whether women should sell akara, roast corn or produce local snacks. Many successful businesses have humble beginnings. The real question is whether government should limit its vision of women’s economic empowerment to survival-level enterprises while millions seek opportunities to participate meaningfully in a modern economy.

 

Nigerian women deserve policies that match their talents, education and aspirations. Empowerment should not simply help citizens survive poverty; it should equip them to escape it permanently. That is the standard by which every government initiative should be measured.

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