Feature/OPED
In Nigeria… One Day Monkey Go Go Market
By Prince Charles Dickson PhD
In Nigeria, the road has become a stage where power performs its most absurd theatre. The siren—once a tool of emergency—now plays the soundtrack of ego. The convoys, longer than a bride’s procession, louder than a market quarrel, move through our streets like small invading armies. And every time that blaring, violent sound slices through the air, a simple truth echoes behind it: one day monkey go go market… and e no go return.
Because power, especially Nigerian power, has a short memory. And even shorter patience.
These leaders who move as though the sun itself must pause when they pass were once ordinary Nigerians. They once queued at bus stops, once waited under the rain for taxis, once navigated potholed streets with the same caution as every other citizen trying not to die by negligence. But somewhere between election and inauguration, ambition and arrogance, something snapped. Their feet left the ground. Their humanity blurred. And their ears, now accustomed to sirens; forgot how silence feels.
The bizarre culture of convoys in Nigeria has metastasized into something theatrical, violent, and deeply offensive. What began as protocol has become performance. Sirens scream not just to clear the road, but to announce hierarchy. Vehicles speed not just to meet schedules but to demonstrate superiority. And the citizens, the people in whose name this power is supposedly held, scatter like startled chickens. Or worse, end up dead under tires that never brake.
The irony is painful. The same leaders who demand absolute obedience from citizens once walked among those same citizens unnoticed. Once upon a time they lived without outriders, without black-tinted SUVs, without pickup vans carrying heavily armed security men who point guns at commuters as though Lagos traffic is a battlefield. They were once people. Now they behave like a species apart.
But the road remembers. The people remember. And power always forgets that it is a tenant, never a landlord.
Escorts in Nigeria don’t just move with urgency; they move with intimidation. They shove, push, threaten, and roar through roads where ordinary Nigerians are merely trying to survive the day. The siren becomes a weapon, the convoy a declaration of dominance. The message is clear: “Your life must move aside. My importance is passing.”
In what country should this be normal?
Even emergency vehicles; ambulances carrying dying patients, fire trucks racing to burning buildings, sometimes cannot pass because a government official’s convoy has occupied the road with the entitlement of royalty.
This isn’t governance; it’s theater of the absurd.
And the casualties are not metaphorical. Nigerians have died—pregnant women hit by convoys, okada riders knocked off the road, children flung away like debris. Drivers in these convoys behave like warhorses let loose, sworn not to slow down regardless of what or who is ahead.
But who will hold them accountable? Who dares question power that sees questions as disrespect and disrespect as rebellion?
The institutions meant to regulate these excesses are the same institutions that created them. Protocol offices treat speed like divinity. Security details mistake aggression for duty. Schedules are treated as holy commandments. Every meeting becomes urgent. Every movement becomes life-or-death. Every road must clear.
But the truth sits quietly behind all this noise: no meeting is that important, no leader is that indispensable, and no road should require blood to make way.
Somewhere, a child grows up believing public office means public intimidation. A young man sees the behavior of convoys and dreams not of service but of dominance. A young woman imagines that leadership means never waiting in traffic like the rest of society. And so, the cycle of arrogance reproduces itself. A country becomes a laboratory where entitlement multiplies.
In Nigeria, the convoy culture reveals a deeper sickness: a leadership class that has disconnected from the lived realities of the people they claim to govern.
When did proximity to power become justification for violence?
When did schedules become more sacred than lives?
When did we normalize leaders who move like emperors, not elected representatives?
But more importantly: how do these leaders forget so quickly where they came from?
Many of them grew up in the same chaos their convoys now worsen. They once asked why leaders were insensitive. Now they have inherited the same insensitivity and advanced it.
The convoy is more than metal and noise. It is a metaphor. It illustrates how Nigerian governance often operates: pushing the people aside, demanding unquestioned obedience, prioritizing position over responsibility.
And yet, the proverb whispers:
One day monkey go go market… e no go return.
Not because we wish harm on anyone, but because history has its own logic. Power that forgets compassion eventually forgets itself. Leadership that drives recklessly, morally, politically, and literally—will one day crash against the boundaries of public patience.
This metaphor is a quiet mirror for every leader who believes their current status is divine permanence. One day, the sirens will go silent. The tinted windows will roll down. The outriders will be reassigned. The road will no longer clear itself. Reality will return like harmattan dust.
And then the question will confront them plainly:
When your power fades, what remains of your humanity?
The tragedy of Nigeria’s convoy culture is that it makes leadership look like tyranny and renders citizens powerless in their own country. It fosters a climate where ordinary people live in perpetual startle. It deepens distrust. It fuels resentment. It reinforces the perception that leadership is designed to intimidate rather than serve.
And what does it say about us as a nation that we accept this?
We accept the absurdity because we assume it cannot be overturned. We accept arrogance because we assume it is the price of power. We step aside because we assume there is no alternative.
But nations are not built on assumptions. They are built on accountability.
The temporary nature of political power should humble leaders, not inflate them. Four or eight years or whatever time they spend clinging to office cannot compare to the lifetime they will spend as private citizens once the convoys disappear.
When the noise stops, will they walk among us head high or with their face hidden?
When the sirens lose their voice, will they find their own?
What if true leadership was measured not by how loudly you move through society but by how gently you walk among the people?
Imagine a Nigeria where power travels quietly. Where convoys move with the dignity of service, not the violence of entitlement. Where leaders move with humility, not hysteria. Where the streets do not tremble at the approach of authority. Where citizens do not shrink to the roadside, waiting to survive the thunder of tinted SUVs.
It is possible. It is necessary. It begins with leaders remembering that every journey through Nigeria’s roads is a reminder of their accountability, not their dominion.
Because one day, and it will come—monkey go go market.
The convoy will stop.
The siren will fade.
The power will dissolve into yesterday.
And the road will ask the only question that matters:
While you passed through, did you honor the people… or terrorize them?
History will remember the answer.
And so will we—May Nigeria win!
Feature/OPED
The Role of TV in Preserving African Stories and Identity
Scroll through social media today, and you will notice something interesting: everyone is either reacting to a series, quoting a movie line, or debating a character as though they personally know them. Beneath the memes and binge-watch culture, however, lies something deeper. Television remains one of the most powerful tools shaping how Africans see themselves, remember their history, and tell their own stories. In a continent as diverse and expressive as Africa, that matters more than ever.
TV as a Cultural Archive, Not Just Entertainment
Long before streaming algorithms began shaping our viewing habits, television was already preserving African identity. From Nollywood dramas that capture the rhythm of everyday Lagos life to documentaries exploring Maasai traditions and Ghanaian folklore, TV has served as a living archive of the continent’s stories.
It preserves more than entertainment; it preserves language, culture, humour, values, and shared experiences. Unlike fleeting social media content, television allows stories to unfold with depth, exploring the realities of family, tradition, ambition, and modern African life without reducing them to stereotypes. That is the power of TV: preserving not just stories, but perspective.
Why Representation on TV Still Matters
There is a subtle but important truth: if people do not see themselves on screen, they may begin to believe their stories are not worth telling. This is why African TV content is more than entertainment; it is affirmation.
Seeing a character who speaks like you, struggles like you, or celebrates like your community does something powerful. It validates identity and challenges outdated narratives that have historically defined Africa through external lenses.
This is where MultiChoice Group, through platforms such as DStv and GOtv, plays an important role. They do not simply broadcast content; they help distribute cultural memory at scale.
GOtv, DStv, and the Everyday African Viewer
Think about a typical evening in many African homes: the TV is on in the background, someone is laughing at a comedy show, another person is watching a local series, and someone else is catching up on the news. That shared viewing experience remains very real.
Through platforms such as DStv and GOtv, African households are exposed to a blend of local storytelling and global content. More importantly, they have helped amplify African-produced content by bringing Nollywood films, African reality shows, talk shows, and documentaries into mainstream rotation.
It is not just about access. It is about visibility.
A young filmmaker in Lagos today is more likely to believe their story matters because they have seen similar stories broadcast widely. A child in Accra grows up hearing familiar accents and seeing environments that look like their own on screen, not as exceptions, but as the norm.
TV Is Also Shaping Modern African Identity
African identity is not static; it is evolving. Television reflects that evolution in real time.
Today, audiences see:
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Young Africans balancing tradition and modern dating culture
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Stories tackling mental health in African households
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Fashion and music influences spreading through TV series
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Political satire shaping public conversation
Conversations that were once confined to homes are now being explored on screen, giving audiences the language to discuss issues that were previously unspoken.
In many ways, television is doing what oral tradition has always done: passing stories, values, humour, warnings, and history from one generation to the next. The difference is that today’s griots are writers, directors, and broadcasters.
The Future: From Watching to Owning Our Narratives
The next stage of African storytelling is not just about being seen; it is about ownership.
As more African creators produce content and platforms continue to invest in regional storytelling, television becomes more than a mirror. It becomes a tool for shaping how Africa is represented to itself and to the world.
While streaming continues to grow, television, particularly accessible platforms such as GOtv, remains one of the most effective ways to reach everyday audiences across different income levels and regions. After all, storytelling only matters if people can access it.
African stories are not new. They have always existed in families, on streets, in markets, in history books, and through oral traditions. What television has done, and continues to do, is give those stories a stage wide enough for millions to experience them at once.
The next time you watch a local series or documentary on DStv or GOtv, remember that you are not just being entertained. You are participating in the preservation of African identity itself.
Feature/OPED
The Future of AI in Nigerian SMEs: Overcoming Barriers to Implementation
By Kehinde Ogundare
Ask a tech entrepreneur in San Francisco what AI means for their business, and they are likely to talk about competitive advantage, product differentiation, and scale. Ask a small business owner in Kano or Onitsha the same question, and the conversation shifts entirely.
For many Nigerian SMEs, the priority is keeping the lights on, managing costs, and finding sustainable ways to grow in a challenging economic environment. This difference in perspective explains why the global AI conversation, often shaped by assumptions about stable infrastructure, deep capital, and abundant technical talent, frequently fails to address the realities facing Nigerian SMEs.
This matters because Nigerian SMEs are not a peripheral concern. In 2024 alone, MSMEs contributed 46.32% to Nigeria’s GDP, accounting for 96.9% of businesses and 87.9% of employment. These businesses are the backbone of the Nigerian economy, and if AI is going to mean anything for Nigeria’s development, it has to work for them in the daily conditions they actually operate in.
However, research drawing on empirical data from 144 Nigerian SMEs found that inadequate infrastructure, low digital literacy, skills shortages, and regulatory gaps are collectively preventing them from meaningfully engaging with AI. Awareness of AI is high and growing. What is missing is a clear and honest conversation about what adoption actually requires in this specific context. The barriers are real, but none of them are insurmountable. The question is whether the tools, pricing models, and support structures being offered to Nigerian SMEs are designed with those barriers in mind, or whether they have been built for another market entirely.
Subscription models making AI affordable for small businesses
When most small business owners hear “AI,” they imagine expensive software, specialist consultants, and a hefty upfront bill.
That assumption is not entirely wrong, but it describes a particular way of buying technology, not AI itself. The shift that makes AI genuinely accessible at the SME level is the move away from large, one-time capital purchases towards tools that charge a predictable monthly subscription. Businesses can pay for what they use, scale back when necessary, and avoid the debt that a major technology investment can create.
The deeper opportunity here is consolidation. Many SMEs are already spending money across multiple disconnected tools—one for invoicing, another for customer records, another for stock tracking—none of which talk to each other. An integrated platform that handles several of these functions together, with AI built in, can actually cost less than the sum of those separate subscriptions while giving business owners a clearer picture of their operations.
With margins already under pressure, any technology a business adopts needs to visibly show an increase in productivity or bottom line. Subscription-based, integrated platforms, priced transparently and honestly, are the model that best fits this reality.
Infrastructure challenges demand a mobile-first approach
No conversation about technology in Nigeria is complete without confronting the infrastructure problem, and AI is no exception. Nigeria continues to face major infrastructure barriers, including limited broadband access, unreliable power supply, and high data costs, all of which constrain deeper AI adoption. These are structural features of the operating environment that any sensible technology strategy must account for today.
The electricity situation alone is significant. The World Bank estimates that the lack of stable electricity costs Nigeria’s economy approximately $26.2 billion annually, equivalent to about 2% of GDP, forcing many businesses to run on expensive diesel generators. That cost ripples outward.
In practical terms, AI tools built for Nigeria cannot assume a stable broadband connection or a computer that is always powered on. The tools that will actually get used are the ones that work on a smartphone, consume minimal data, and can function offline when connectivity drops, syncing back up when it returns. The mobile phone is already how many Nigerian SME owners run their businesses. AI that meets them there, rather than demanding infrastructure they do not have, is AI that has a genuine future in this market.
The direction is clear: build capability from within, using tools that make that possible. Recent AI performance research reveals that 64% of African workers are already actively using AI at work, signalling massive grassroots readiness and driving forward-thinking organisations across Nigeria, Kenya, and South Africa to aggressively prioritise internal upskilling frameworks to bridge the talent gap.
As the policy groundwork is being laid, the commercial ecosystem is beginning to respond. What remains is a clear-eyed acceptance that AI tools built for this market need to look different from those built for markets with different realities. Low cost, low bandwidth, and usability for non-technical people are not modest ambitions; they are the actual requirements. Build for those realities, and AI has a real future in Nigeria’s SME economy.
Feature/OPED
When Leaders THRIVE: Yetunde B. Oni’s Candid Counsel to Lateef Jakande Leadership Academy
Union Bank’s Managing Director and Chief Executive Officer sat with 30 of Nigeria’s most promising young leaders for a frank conversation on character, relationships and the discipline of growth.
Out of 25,000 applicants, only 30 earned a place. That single figure tells you how rare the room was when Yetunde B. Oni, Managing Director and Chief Executive Officer of Union Bank of Nigeria, recently sat down with a cohort of the Lateef Jakande Leadership Academy.
The Academy, a Lagos State Government initiative established in honour of Alhaji Lateef Kayode Jakande, the state’s first civilian governor, exists to raise a generation of ethical and capable young leaders. Its fellows are drawn from across professions, sectors and ethnicities, and shaped through a fellowship facilitated by the Africa Leadership Initiative, West Africa (ALI WA), whose work on values and principled leadership has become a quiet engine behind some of the country’s most thoughtful emerging talent.
It was into this gathering that Mrs Oni brought not a corporate address, but a conversation. Honest, personal and at times disarming, she spoke about the philosophies that have carried her through a career spanning more than three decades, the setbacks she has had to surmount, and the values that opened doors she never expected to walk through.
She gave them a framework to hold on to. She called it THRIVE.
The six principles
T — Take ownership of your relationships. Leadership, she argued, begins with the deliberate stewardship of the people around you. Relationships are not incidental to a career. They are infrastructure.
H — Honour God. She spoke openly about faith as a steadying force, an anchor that keeps ambition tethered to something larger than the self.
R — Recharge and refresh. Mental and physical health, she insisted, are not luxuries to be deferred until the work is done. Leaders who neglect their well-being eventually have less to give.
I — Invest in your growth. Continuous and heavy investment in personal development is, in her telling, the price of staying relevant. The learning never ends.
V — Value your work. She pressed the fellows on identity and brand. What do you stand for? Do you create value? Who, in truth, are you? The questions were not rhetorical.
E — Embrace setbacks. Failure, she said, is not the opposite of progress but a part of it. The leaders who endure are the ones who learn to metabolise disappointment rather than be defeated by it.
The people behind the leader
If one theme threaded the entire conversation, it was relationships. Mrs Oni was candid that she did not arrive at the top of Nigerian banking alone. She credited the steady support of family, her parents and her husband, alongside the mentors, friends, coaches and sponsors who shaped her at different stages.
She drew a sharp and useful distinction between a mentor and a coach, two roles often conflated and rarely understood, and she traced much of her progress back to a foundation of Nigerian cultural values: hard work, honesty and integrity, courtesy and respect. These, she told the fellows, are not relics. They are the very qualities that have earned her trust and opened doors throughout her journey.
“You need people,” was the message, delivered without sentiment. Relationships, she explained, must be managed and nurtured with the same seriousness one brings to any other discipline. Time must be managed with equal care.
On believing, and risking
Perhaps the most resonant moment came when Mrs Oni spoke about self-belief. She admitted that becoming the MD/CEO of Standard Chartered Bank, Sierra Leone, did not cross her mind – not because she was unqualified, but because she didn’t think she would get it. Encouraged by her husband, she applied anyway, and she got it!
That appointment would later see her make history as the first woman to lead a Standard Chartered Bank operation in her market.
The Union Bank of Nigeria appointment told a similar story. She had not even known the position existed after the CBN’s intervention. It came to her through relationships; through the quiet networks of people who knew her work and recommended her name while she was unaware in faraway Sierra Leone.
The lesson she left with the fellows was unambiguous. Believe in yourself. Take the risk. Put in for the thing you are not yet certain you deserve, because the opportunity you are waiting for may be one you cannot see, reaching you through someone you have not yet met.
Why this matters
Engagements of this kind are easy to underestimate. They produce no headlines about balance sheets and no immediate line on a financial statement. Yet they speak to something Union Bank has long understood: that institutions endure when they invest in people, and that leadership is built one honest conversation at a time.
Credit is due to the Africa Leadership Initiative, West Africa, whose facilitation of the Lateef Jakande Leadership Academy continues to shape young Nigerians of real promise, and to the Academy itself for the rigour of a process that turned 25,000 hopefuls into 30 fellows ready to lead.
For Yetunde B. Oni, the afternoon was less about what she had achieved than about what she was willing to give: her time, her story and her counsel, offered freely to those coming after her. It is, in the end, what the best leaders do. They light the path for the next generation, and they THRIVE.
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