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Analysis

Our Schoolgirls Again? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

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Our Schoolgirls Again? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

 

They have taken our daughters again. Another school, another night raid, another round of shock and condemnation delivered from our politicians both in Abuja and Birnin Kebbi. The latest tragedy in Maga, Kebbi State, where armed men stormed the Government Girls Comprehensive Secondary School in the dead of night, killed a vice-principal and abducted about twenty-five schoolgirls returns Nigeria to a familiar, unbearable question: why does this keep happening?

 

The attack, like so many before it, was swift, brutal, and predictable. Two of the girls escaped hours later, but the others were marched away into the dark bush, swallowed by the expanding geography of kidnapping that now defines northern Nigeria’s insecurity.

 

Since Chibok in 2014, Nigeria has lived in cycles of outrage, promises, search-and-rescue operations, whispered negotiations and quiet retreats. Governments change, uniforms change, spokespersons change, but the pattern remains what it has always been: repeating national grief wrapped in official denial.

 

In my column this week, I attempt what the Nigerian state has struggled to do by cataloguing this grim history, examine the policies proclaimed to address it and identify the failures that persist, including logistics and political evasions that have enabled this tragedy to endure.

 

The starting point is Chibok. In April 2014, 276 girls were taken from their hostels in Borno State in an operation that exposed the fragility of Nigeria’s security architecture. Boko Haram swept into the school with ease, herded the girls away, and vanished into Sambisa Forest. Dozens escaped or were released through negotiations, but many remain unaccounted for. Those images of grieving parents, empty metal bunks and students forced into trucks at gunpoint became an international symbol of Nigerian state failure.

 

Four years later, Dapchi happened. In February 2018, 110 girls were taken by another faction of Boko Haram. Weeks later, most of them returned in a convoy of insurgents who reportedly apologised to locals. Five girls died in captivity and one girl, Leah Sharibu, was held back allegedly for refusing to renounce her faith. The government denied ransom payments, but independent reports and community testimonies suggested that a financial or negotiated settlement was part of the release. As with Chibok, the truth remains tucked beneath layers of state secrecy.

 

By 2021, the epicenter of school abductions had shifted from the northeast to the northwest, where criminal gangs labelled “bandits” for bureaucratic convenience discovered that abducting schoolchildren offered a profitable business model. In February of that year, around 279 girls were taken from Jangebe in Zamfara State. The girls were released days later in circumstances that raised more questions than answers, especially regarding whether the government had adhered to its public stance of never paying ransom. The official line was that the girls were freed through “peaceful negotiations,” a phrase that Nigerians have learned to interpret with skepticism.

 

Then came the Kuriga raid in Kaduna State in March 2024. Gunmen seized scores of pupils and staff, prompting a frantic response from soldiers and vigilantes. The kidnappers demanded one billion naira, a figure that reflects the industrialisation of kidnapping in Nigeria. The government later announced rescues and recoveries, but the opacity surrounding negotiations and whether payments were made reinforced public distrust. Kuriga demonstrated how deeply entrenched the kidnapping economy had become, and how state responses often came too late or too tentatively to deter future attacks.

 

Now Kebbi joins this ledger of heartbreak. The Maga abduction, which took place on 17–18 November 2025, is a reminder that no policy documents, no televised condemnations, no promises of “never again” have fundamentally changed the ground realities for children in rural Nigerian schools. The attackers struck with confidence, knowing full well that response times would be slow, the terrain favoured them, and the state’s first instinct would be to issue a condemnation rather than a deterrent.

 

To understand the persistence of this crisis, we must examine the architecture of government responses. Each administration, from Goodluck Jonathan to Muhammadu Buhari to Bola Tinubu, has followed a familiar script. First comes loud condemnation, then high-level visits by ministers and security chiefs, then a declaration of intensified operations. Afterward, either the abductees reappear through rescue or release or they fade from media attention until the next tragedy.

 

In 2021, Nigeria released a National Policy on Safety, Security and Violence-Free Schools. On paper, it is an impressive document: it outlines minimum standards, coordination structures, and the responsibilities of federal, state and local governments to secure educational spaces. It is complemented by Nigeria’s earlier endorsement of the Safe Schools Declaration in 2015, an international pledge to protect education during conflict. But policies are not the same as implementation. Despite these commitments, most rural schools in the north still lack perimeter fencing, adequate lighting, trained security personnel, reliable communication systems or rapid-response mechanisms. The majority operate like soft targets, predictable, poorly defended, and accessible.

 

The logistics failures are basic and persistent. Attackers favour schools that are isolated, under-lit, and often undefended at night. They use motorcycles and pickup trucks that can navigate forest paths better than the armoured vehicles of Nigerian troops. Communication gaps delay alerts, while coordination problems between police, military and community vigilantes often lead to confusion rather than rapid mobilisation. In some cases, parents reach the school before security forces do.

 

The deeper problem is that the economics of kidnapping favour the criminals. Ransom payments whether officially acknowledged or not have become a major source of revenue for both insurgent groups and bandit gangs. Investigative reporting has alleged that millions of euros were exchanged in the negotiations that secured the release of some Chibok girls in 2017. The government denied the claims, but cannot provide transparent evidence to the contrary. Between 2022 and 2023 alone, compiled estimates suggested that over 3,600 people were kidnapped nationwide and around five billion naira was paid in ransoms. In an environment where ransom remains profitable and risks for perpetrators remain minimal, the incentives favour repetition. Children thus become economic assets in the underworld of Nigerian insecurity.

 

The Kebbi abduction fits this pattern. While kidnappers had not publicly stated their demand at the time of writing, the trajectory of past incidents shows that negotiations and financial incentives inevitably become part of the conversation. Communities already fear that the girls may be ransomed or exchanged for safe passage, even as officials continue to insist that government “does not pay ransom.”

 

The question, then, is what should Nigeria do differently? The first step is transparency. If the government ever pays ransom, openly or through intermediaries, it must be recorded, audited and overseen by a parliamentary mechanism. Denial has become a policy crutch that hides failures and permits the kidnapping economy to thrive. Citizens are not asking for operational details but for honest accounting. Democracies cannot manage national security challenges with secrecy as default.

 

The second step is to build a national school-security system that actually works. This requires ring-fenced funding, independent audits, and yearly progress reports. School security cannot be left to states alone, many of which are broke or conflicted by local politics. Fencing, lighting, guard recruitment, communication devices and training must be budgeted as essential infrastructure, not as emergency responses after tragedies.

 

Third, Nigeria must rethink its over-militarised approach. The presence of soldiers in a state does not automatically translate into safer schools. What works is community-integrated policing, properly trained rural response units, early-warning systems, and consistent policing presence around high-risk schools. Military raids may free hostages but rarely prevent the next abduction.

 

Fourth, the government must confront the ransom market directly. Either Nigeria adopts a strict no-ransom policy that is enforced transparently and consistently, or it acknowledges that negotiations are sometimes unavoidable and establishes a regulated oversight process. The current situation, denials masking back-channel payments is the worst of both worlds.

 

Finally, the nation needs public, verifiable data. Nigerians should be able to know how many schools have met minimum safety standards, how much has been spent on safe-school measures since 2014, how many perpetrators have been prosecuted, and how often early-warning systems have actually worked. Without measurement, improvement is impossible.

 

At the heart of this crisis is a moral dilemma. If the state refuses to pay ransom, captives may remain in the bush indefinitely. If the state pays ransom secretly, it fuels the market and endangers future generations. The choice requires honesty, not political performance.

 

The Kebbi abduction is not merely a news event; it is a national reckoning. Each time children are taken, Nigeria replays the same tragedy with the same official lines and the same institutional weaknesses. The country does not need more condemnations. It needs functioning fences, radios that work at midnight, guard training that is monitored, and a government that tells the truth about what it spends and what it pays.

 

If Nigeria continues down this path where policies exist on paper but not on the ground, where the kidnapping economy thrives in the shadows, where the security of schoolchildren depends on luck rather than system, then the question “Our Schoolgirls again?” will soon become an annual lament. It does not have to be this way. But to break the cycle, Nigeria must embrace transparency, discipline, and the mundane, unglamorous work of prevention.

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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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Analysis

The Economics of Terrorism in Nigeria, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

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The Economics of Terrorism in Nigeria, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

 

The Nigerian state has spent well over a decade chasing terrorists through forests, mountains and isolated villages. Thousands of soldiers have been deployed, billions of naira have been committed to military hardware, while countless gallant officers have paid the supreme price in the battle against Boko Haram, the Islamic State West Africa Province, ISWAP and other violent groups. Yet, amid these sacrifices, one question has remained unanswered: how do these terrorists continue to fund their operations despite sustained military offensives?

 

It is a question that has become increasingly difficult to ignore. Terrorism is not sustained by ideology alone. It thrives on money. Every attack carried out in Borno, Yobe, Adamawa, Kaduna, Niger or Zamfara is financed somewhere. Every rifle procured, every motorcycle purchased, every informant recruited and every explosive manufactured has a financial trail. The insurgent carrying an AK-47 in the bush is merely the visible face of a sophisticated financial network stretching from local collaborators to international facilitators.

 

This reality explains why the Federal Government has, over the last three years, shifted considerable attention from merely confronting terrorists on the battlefield to dismantling the financial ecosystem that keeps them alive. It is perhaps the least celebrated but arguably the most strategic aspect of Nigeria’s counter-terrorism policy.

 

The legal foundation had already been strengthened with the signing of the Terrorism (Prevention and Prohibition) Act, 2022, by former President Muhammadu Buhari. The legislation consolidated previous anti-terrorism laws, expanded the definition of terrorism financing, strengthened the powers of investigators and prosecutors, and established clearer procedures for freezing assets linked to terrorism. It also empowered the Nigeria Sanctions Committee to designate individuals and entities involved in financing terrorist activities.

 

President Bola Tinubu inherited this framework in May 2023 and, rather than allowing it to gather dust, has encouraged greater institutional coordination among the Office of the National Security Adviser (ONSA), the Department of State Services (DSS), the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), the Nigerian Financial Intelligence Unit (NFIU) and the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN). The emphasis has become unmistakable: if terrorists cannot access money, their operational capacity will gradually diminish.

 

The results are becoming evident as security agencies have intensified investigations into suspicious financial transactions, illicit cash movements, informal money transfer networks and businesses suspected of serving as conduits for terrorist funds. Financial institutions have come under greater pressure to report unusual transactions, while designated non-financial institutions have equally been subjected to stricter compliance requirements. The Nigerian Financial Intelligence Unit (NFIU) has become more proactive in analysing suspicious transaction reports and sharing intelligence with both domestic and international security agencies.

 

One of the strongest indications that Nigeria’s campaign has acquired an international dimension came with increased cooperation between Nigeria and foreign governments on terrorism financing investigations. The arrest of separatist agitator Simon Ekpa by Finnish authorities in November 2024 over allegations connected to terrorist activities demonstrated that financial and operational support for violent groups can no longer be viewed as purely domestic matters. International law enforcement agencies are increasingly collaborating to monitor financial flows across borders.

 

Equally significant has been Nigeria’s determination to improve its standing under the Financial Action Task Force, the global body responsible for setting standards against money laundering and terrorist financing. Nigeria’s inclusion on the FATF grey list in 2023 served as a diplomatic embarrassment and an economic warning that weaknesses in financial regulation could undermine investor confidence. Since then, the country has implemented several reforms aimed at strengthening anti-money laundering and counter-terrorism financing mechanisms. Those efforts culminated in Nigeria’s removal from the grey list in October 2025 after the FATF acknowledged substantial progress in addressing identified deficiencies.

 

That achievement deserves more public attention than it has received. Countries placed on the FATF grey list often face increased scrutiny by international banks, higher compliance costs for businesses and reduced investor confidence. Exiting the list therefore represents more than a diplomatic success; it signals growing confidence in Nigeria’s capacity to detect, investigate and disrupt illicit financial flows.

 

Yet, despite these gains, the challenge remains enormous because terrorism financing in Nigeria has become increasingly decentralised.

 

Gone are the days when insurgent groups depended almost exclusively on foreign sponsors. Boko Haram and ISWAP have developed self-sustaining financial models that resemble organised criminal enterprises. They generate revenue through kidnapping for ransom, illegal taxation of farming communities, cattle rustling, extortion of traders, smuggling, illegal mining, fishery activities around the Lake Chad Basin and cross-border commercial transactions. Some communities living under insurgent control reportedly pay levies not because they support terrorism but because survival demands compliance.

 

This evolution has complicated the work of security agencies. Financial transactions supporting terrorism are no longer confined to formal banking channels. Cash dominates rural economies where banking infrastructure remains weak. Informal value transfer systems operate outside conventional financial regulations, while technological innovations have introduced new risks associated with digital assets and online financial platforms.

 

The uncomfortable truth is that terrorism survives not only because of hardened extremists but also because ordinary citizens sometimes become willing collaborators. Transport operators who knowingly move weapons, traders who supply logistics to insurgents, businessmen who facilitate illicit financial transfers and corrupt officials who compromise security operations all become silent partners in sustaining violence. Their motivations are often economic rather than ideological, yet the consequences remain equally devastating.

 

It is here that Nigeria’s counter-terrorism strategy must become even more courageous.

 

Arrests alone cannot substitute for successful prosecutions. Nigerians have witnessed numerous announcements of suspects apprehended for alleged terrorism financing, only for many cases to disappear into the slow wheels of the justice system. The deterrent value of arrest diminishes significantly when prosecution is uncertain or endlessly delayed. The judiciary must therefore recognise terrorism financing cases as matters requiring exceptional urgency.

 

Another area demanding greater attention is border security. Nigeria shares long and porous borders with Niger, Chad, Cameroon and Benin Republic. These frontiers have facilitated not only the movement of fighters but also the trafficking of cash, fuel, livestock, food supplies and weapons. Effective border management requires stronger intelligence sharing, modern surveillance technology and closer collaboration with neighbouring countries.

 

Political neutrality is equally indispensable. Counter-terror financing cannot become selective depending on the influence, ethnicity, religion or political affiliation of suspects. Once credible evidence exists, investigations should proceed without fear or favour. Nothing undermines public confidence more than the perception that powerful individuals enjoy immunity while less influential suspects face the full weight of the law.

 

There is also the question of financial literacy within vulnerable communities. Many Nigerians remain unaware that seemingly harmless commercial activities can inadvertently support terrorist operations. Accepting suspicious payments, facilitating anonymous cash transfers or ignoring reporting obligations may ultimately strengthen violent organisations. Public education must therefore become an integral component of national security policy.

 

Equally important is economic development. Terrorist organisations flourish where legitimate economic opportunities disappear. Unemployment, illiteracy, weak governance and chronic poverty create fertile recruiting grounds for extremist groups. Countering terrorism financing must therefore go beyond freezing bank accounts to expanding access to education, agriculture, infrastructure, healthcare and youth employment. A young man earning a decent livelihood is far less susceptible to recruitment by insurgent organisations promising quick financial rewards.

 

Perhaps the greatest lesson from Nigeria’s experience over the last three years is that modern terrorism is sustained less by ideology than by economics. Terrorists may preach religion, ethnicity or political grievances, but they cannot wage war without money. Every disrupted financial transaction, every frozen asset, every suspicious transfer intercepted and every financier successfully prosecuted weakens the operational capability of violent groups far more quietly than military offensives ever could.

 

The war against terrorism will not be won solely on the battlefield. It will also be won inside banks, courtrooms, intelligence centres, border posts, regulatory agencies and financial institutions. Soldiers may neutralise terrorists, but investigators who follow the money prevent the next generation of attacks.

 

Nigeria has made commendable progress in recognising this reality. The challenge now is consistency. Financial investigations must become more sophisticated, prosecutions more decisive, institutions more coordinated and political commitment more unwavering. Terrorism is ultimately an expensive business. The day Nigeria permanently cuts off the flow of money into the hands of violent extremists is the day the guns will begin to fall silent.

 

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

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Analysis

Donald Trump at 80: Assessing His Impact on Africa and Africans, by Boniface Ihiasota 

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Donald Trump at 80: Assessing His Impact on Africa and Africans, by Boniface Ihiasota 

 

On June 14, 2026, President Donald J. Trump marked his 80th birthday, becoming one of the most consequential and controversial figures in modern American political history. Born on June 14, 1946, in Queens, New York, Trump has served as both the 45th and 47th President of the United States, returning to office on January 20, 2025, after winning the 2024 presidential election.

 

As Africans and members of the global African diaspora reflect on Trump’s legacy at 80, opinions remain sharply divided. Yet beyond the political debates, there are measurable developments in his administrations that have had direct implications for Africa and Africans.

 

Perhaps the most significant Africa-related achievement associated with Trump’s current presidency is the United States-brokered peace agreement between the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda. Signed in Washington, D.C., on June 27, 2025, the accord sought to end decades of instability and violence in eastern Congo, a conflict that has claimed millions of lives and displaced countless families across Central Africa.

 

The agreement involved key African leaders, including Congolese President Félix Tshisekedi and Rwandan President Paul Kagame, with mediation support from U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio and presidential envoy Massad Boulos.

 

For many Africans, the significance of this diplomatic intervention cannot be understated. For over three decades, eastern Congo has remained one of the world’s deadliest conflict zones. While the long-term success of the peace accord will ultimately depend on implementation by the parties involved, the willingness of the Trump administration to invest diplomatic capital in resolving an African conflict represented a notable moment in U.S.-Africa relations.

 

Economic engagement has also featured prominently in Trump’s approach to Africa. Throughout both his first and second administrations, he emphasized private-sector investment over traditional aid models. His admirers argue that this philosophy encouraged a shift toward trade, entrepreneurship, infrastructure development and business partnerships rather than perpetual dependency on foreign assistance.

 

Several African governments welcomed greater American interest in strategic minerals, energy resources and manufacturing opportunities as competition intensified between the United States and China for influence on the continent.

 

Trump’s supporters further point to his administration’s emphasis on national sovereignty and bilateral partnerships. Many African leaders, particularly those advocating stronger national control over economic resources and immigration policies, found aspects of Trump’s political philosophy relatable. His “America First” doctrine, though designed for U.S. interests, sparked conversations across Africa about self-reliance, economic nationalism and the importance of prioritizing domestic development agendas.

 

For African entrepreneurs in the diaspora, Trump’s broader economic policies, including tax reforms during his first administration and deregulation efforts, were seen by some as creating a business environment that rewarded investment and wealth creation. African-owned businesses in the United States benefited from periods of economic expansion and lower corporate taxation, though economists continue to debate the overall impact of those policies.

 

Nevertheless, an honest assessment requires acknowledging that Trump’s relationship with Africa has not been without controversy. His immigration policies, visa restrictions and remarks about certain countries generated criticism across the continent and among African diaspora communities.

 

Critics argue that some policies negatively affected African students, professionals and families seeking opportunities in the United States. Others have questioned reductions in certain aid programmes and humanitarian initiatives.

 

Yet history often judges leaders not solely by rhetoric but by outcomes. At 80, Trump remains a central figure in global affairs. His role in facilitating the Congo-Rwanda peace process, his administration’s focus on trade and investment, and his influence on debates surrounding sovereignty and economic development have all left an imprint on Africa’s contemporary story.

 

As Africa continues its rise in the twenty-first century, the continent’s relationship with the United States will remain important regardless of who occupies the White House. Donald Trump’s eightieth birthday provides an opportunity not for partisan celebration or criticism alone, but for thoughtful reflection on a leader whose policies, decisions and diplomacy have shaped conversations far beyond America’s borders.

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