Feature/OPED
Nigeria’s Olodo Uprising: An Assault on Critical Thinking
By Prince Charles Dickson, PhD
A sheep was passing and saw a lion crying inside a cage, trapped and helpless. The lion begged the sheep to rescue him, promising not to kill or eat it. The sheep refused at first, knowing fully well that a lion does not become a vegetarian because of captivity. But after much persuasion, emotional blackmail, and the sheep’s own gullibility, it opened the cage.
Now the lion was very hungry, having stayed in the cage for days without food. It quickly pounced on the sheep and was about to kill and eat it, but the sheep reminded him of his promise.
They were still arguing when other animals came passing. They sought to know what had happened. Both the lion and the sheep narrated their sides of the story, but because of fear, convenience, and a desperate need to gain favour in the lion’s eyes, all the animals took sides with the lion, except the tortoise, who claimed not to understand the whole scenario.
The tortoise asked the lion to show them where exactly he was before the sheep rescued him. The lion pointed at the cage.
The tortoise asked again, “Were you inside or outside when the sheep arrived?”
The lion replied, “I was inside.”
The tortoise then said, “Okay, enter and let us see how difficult it could be inside, because I am not getting the whole scenario.”
The lion entered, and immediately, the tortoise locked the cage. The lion was trapped again.
That story is not just folklore. It is a national diagnosis.
Nigeria today is full of trapped lions, gullible sheep, frightened animals, and very few tortoises. We have many people with opinions, but few with discernment. Many with certificates, but few with comprehension. Many with titles, but few with thought. Many who can quote policy, scripture, law, and ideology, but cannot ask the simple question that prevents disaster: “Wait first, how did we get here?”
That question is the beginning of critical thinking. Sadly, it is becoming an endangered species.
The easiest and most attractive national pastime remains buck-passing, especially with the bunch of leaders we have, some of whom can hardly peel a banana or wash an already white handkerchief. Not many of us want to take responsibility for anything, from personal life to family life, from community life to national life. The blame is always on the system, as if the system descended from the sky and imposed itself on innocent citizens.
We do not need to create demons out of our leaders because, in too many instances, they have behaved like ready-made specimens of public demons. So, we hang our sins on them, sometimes appropriately, sometimes lazily. Unfortunately, their behaviour has made it easy for the critics to descend on them. They shout loudly, lie casually, perform empathy only when cameras are present, and govern as though the people are background noise in their private banquet.
But there is a deeper tragedy. The lion is not our only problem. The sheep, too, must be examined. The other animals must be questioned. Even the silence of the forest must stand trial.
This is where the Olodo Syndrome enters.
In Nigerian street language, “Olodo” is often used to describe a dull person, someone slow to understand, someone who fails where basic reasoning should have saved them. But in this essay, Olodo is not merely the person who did not go to school. No. Nigeria has produced a more sophisticated creature: the educated olodo. The certificated illiterate. The graduate who cannot reason beyond slogans. The public officer who mistakes grammar for intelligence. The citizen who forwards nonsense with confidence. The analyst who mistakes noise for insight. The leader who confuses movement with progress. The voter who sells tomorrow for rice today, then spends four years complaining that the pot is empty.
Olodo, therefore, is not the absence of schooling. It is the failure of judgment.
It is what happens when a nation rewards mediocrity and punishes thought. It is what happens when people who ask serious questions are labelled troublesome, while those who clap for madness are called loyal. It is what happens when dumb, crazy things move the needle, while wisdom is treated like an old man coughing in the corner. It is what happens when unintelligent people do not merely exist, but are celebrated, promoted, defended, and installed as gatekeepers over those who still dare to think.
This is Nigeria’s Olodo Uprising.
It is an uprising not of the poor against the rich, nor of the uneducated against the educated. It is an uprising of shallow thinking against depth. An assault on memory, logic, accountability, and consequence. It is the national habit of refusing to connect action to outcome. We open the cage, release the lion, and then begin a prayer meeting when the lion remembers its appetite.
We talk, write, and discuss the Nigerian myth with a sense of fatalism. “This is Nigeria,” we say, as if that phrase is both an explanation and an excuse. If everyone thought as much about justice and fairness, life would be better. I am a critic, yes, but I am also a critic’s critic. I remain an unrepentant believer that one of the ways to keep the government on its toes is to keep harping on its flaws so that it can improve. But criticism without self-examination becomes entertainment. It becomes pepper soup politics, the kind we enjoy at drinking joints, suya spots, WhatsApp groups, and television studios where every table has a parliament and every loud voice is mistaken for a constitution.
Often, I say I believe the things I write are important for our nation, as they are for other nations. But when it appears to me that Nigerians, especially those in authority, do not react to these issues as people in other lands do, I repeat them in new essays to remind old readers and recruit new ones to participate in the continuing dialogue.
Because repetition, sometimes, is not a lack of creativity. It is the burden of memory in a country addicted to forgetting.
Sadly, this is Nigeria, where nothing works, and no one cares. When it works, it is often because someone’s interest is about to be served or is already being served, not because the people’s interest has suddenly become sacred. We talk about our institutions despairingly. Our leaders do not watch network news except when their faces will appear at their sons’ or daughters’ weddings, birthdays, burials, thanksgiving services, or self-sponsored ceremonies of public praise. They do not need newspapers anymore because too many pages are already full of their lies, paid adverts, and noisy banters dressed as governance.
A country that destroys thinking will eventually be governed by instinct.
That is why the Olodo Syndrome is dangerous. It not only makes people ignorant. It makes them confidently ignorant. It gives stupidity a microphone and asks wisdom to apply for permission to speak. It converts public debate into shouting contests. It turns leadership recruitment into ethnic arithmetic, religious panic, stomach infrastructure, and emotional blackmail. It makes citizens defend their oppressors because the oppressor speaks their language, attends their church, worships in their mosque, comes from their zone, or once gave them transport money.
This is how the other animals sided with the lion.
Not because the lion was right. They knew he was wrong. But fear is a powerful editor of truth. Hunger is a wicked lawyer. Proximity to power is a dangerous intoxicant. In Nigeria, many people do not support injustice because they are confused. They support it because they are calculating. They are asking themselves, “What if the lion remembers me tomorrow? What if I need a favour? What if I condemn him now and he becomes minister, governor, chairman, commissioner, vice chancellor, senator, president?”
So, they betray the sheep.
Government bashing remains a national pastime, and every drinking joint and suya spot has a sitting parliament with an expert on every issue. But we forget that no matter the input, if the politicians and actors on our national scene have questionable lives both at personal and domestic levels, nothing will change. The best government policy cannot change the individual when the policies themselves are formulated on a bad foundation by people with warped thinking.
A corrupt mind cannot midwife a clean system.
When a witch proclaims her presence, and an invalid does not make away, he must have money for sacrifices at home. Nigeria has been warned too many times. We have seen the witch. We have heard the announcement. Yet we remain seated, arguing about who invited her, who offended her, which village she came from, and whether her witchcraft is constitutionally recognised.
This is not merely a leadership failure. It is civic laziness. It is moral cowardice. It is intellectual surrender.
The tortoise in the story represents the rare citizen who does not join the chorus. The one who pauses the noise. The one who asks for sequence, evidence, context, motive, and consequence. The tortoise is not the loudest animal. It is not the strongest. It does not roar. It does not bleat. It thinks.
That is what Nigeria needs now: more tortoises.
Not slow people, but thoughtful people. Not cowards hiding under shells, but citizens who understand that speed without thought is national self-harm. We need people who can ask leaders: Where were you before power? What did you promise? What have you done? Who benefits? Who pays? What happens tomorrow? We need teachers who teach children to question, not merely to cram. We need voters who examine character before currency. We need religious leaders who produce conscience, not crowds. We need journalists who investigate, not decorate. We need institutions that reward competence over loyalty, substance over noise, and courage over convenience.
Because the lion will always be hungry again.
That is the part Nigeria refuses to learn. Appeasing bad leadership does not end its appetite. Excusing mediocrity does not transform it into excellence. Rewarding foolishness does not make it wise. If we allow the lion to eat the sheep today because we are afraid, hungry, tribal, religiously sentimental, or politically invested, we have not solved the hunger problem. We have only postponed our own turn.
In amazement, the other animals asked the tortoise, “why” and the tortoise replied. “If we allow him to eat the sheep today, he will still go hungry tomorrow, and we don’t know what will be eaten tomorrow—May Nigeria win.
Feature/OPED
Moving the Stablecoin Conversation From Hype to Utility in Africa’s Next Payments Evolution
By Rajat Mishra
For much of the past decade, discussions around stablecoins have been dominated by cryptocurrency speculation. Increasingly, however, stablecoins are emerging as practical financial infrastructure for moving money across borders, managing liquidity and improving payment efficiency.
The real opportunity lies not in choosing between traditional finance and digital assets, but in building an integrated financial ecosystem where both work together to improve efficiency, broaden financial access and deepen economic connectivity across the continent.
Despite significant advances in financial inclusion and digital payments, moving money across African borders remains far more difficult than it should be. Businesses continue to face challenges when making cross-border payments. Fragmented payment networks, multiple intermediaries, and lengthy settlement processes increase costs and create operational inefficiencies.
Remittance providers, the specialised financial services that millions rely on to send money home, face many of the same structural challenges. These providers play a critical role across the continent. In fact, 19 of Africa’s 54 countries receive remittance inflows equivalent to at least 4% of their GDP. Yet Africa remains the world’s most expensive region to send money to.
These challenges are not a reflection of remittance providers themselves, but of the fragmented banking and settlement infrastructure underpinning international money movement. Financial institutions must often manage liquidity across multiple disconnected currency markets while relying on complex correspondent banking networks and clearing systems. The result is higher costs, slower settlements, and capital that remains unnecessarily locked up.
One of the most immediate opportunities for stablecoins lies in improving cross-border settlement. Consider a Kenyan business importing goods from South Africa. Under traditional settlement models, payments often pass through multiple correspondent banking relationships, involve several foreign exchange conversions, and can take days before funds reach the intended recipient.
Stablecoin-enabled settlement rails have the potential to reduce much of this friction by enabling value to move more efficiently between financial institutions across markets. The result can be shorter settlement times, greater transparency and improved predictability for businesses operating across borders.
The benefits extend well beyond businesses. For millions of Africans working abroad, remittances remain a financial lifeline, helping families pay school fees, healthcare costs and daily living expenses. Yet sending money home often involves navigating a complex chain of money transfer operators, correspondent banks, and local payout partners, with each additional layer introducing costs and delays.
Stablecoins can help streamline the backend movement of funds between institutional participants, reducing settlement costs and improving efficiency across the value chain.
For end users, the advantage is simplicity. Recipients do not need to interact with, or even understand stablecoins directly. They continue to receive money through familiar, trusted channels, whether a local bank account or mobile money wallet, only faster and at a lower cost.
Beyond payments, stablecoins also address one of the less visible but most significant challenges in cross-border finance: liquidity management. Financial institutions operating across multiple markets must constantly ensure they have sufficient funds in the right currency, in the right jurisdiction and at the right time. Today, this often requires pre-funding accounts across multiple countries, a costly practice that traps large amounts of capital and limits financial flexibility.
Stablecoins introduce a new model for moving value across borders in near real time, enabling institutions to manage liquidity dynamically as demand arises. This can reduce the need for large pre-funded balances, improve treasury efficiency and free up capital that can be deployed more productively. Ultimately, these efficiencies can translate into faster settlements, lower costs, and better services for businesses and consumers alike.
However, the true value of stablecoins will not come from isolated blockchain networks operating independently of existing financial systems. Their long-term impact will depend on how effectively they integrate with banks, mobile money platforms, payment service providers and existing payment infrastructure. Interoperability will be critical to ensuring payment flows move seamlessly between systems, markets and currencies. The goal should be to strengthen and modernise today’s payment ecosystem, not replace it.
From experiment to infrastructure: what global moves are telling us
Some of the clearest signals that stablecoins are moving from experimentation to infrastructure are coming from card networks. Mastercard’s reported agreement to acquire BVNK, valued at up to $1.8 billion, points to a strategic investment in the settlement layer connecting stablecoin rails with traditional banking and reflects growing institutional confidence in stablecoin-enabled cross-border payments.
Visa’s expansion of stablecoin-backed cards through Stripe’s Bridge to more than 100 countries reflects a complementary strategy. Rather than acquiring infrastructure outright, Visa is leveraging its existing global network as the final distribution layer for stablecoin-funded payments.
The inclusion of African markets is particularly significant. It signals growing confidence that stablecoin-backed payment instruments can operate alongside, and in some cases complement, the mobile money ecosystems that already dominate wallet-based payments across much of the continent.
Taken together, these developments point to a broader shift. Card payment networks are moving from observing the stablecoin conversation to investing directly in the infrastructure that underpins it. For Africa, the implication is not that stablecoins will replace existing payment rails, but that success will increasingly belong to institutions capable of orchestrating multiple settlement rails – cards, bank transfers, mobile money and stablecoins- within a unified, interoperable ecosystem. Local market expertise, regulatory relationships and last-mile distribution will remain decisive competitive advantages.
Building for scale through trust and regulation
But despite their potential, stablecoins cannot operate outside the boundaries of regulated financial systems. Their long-term viability across Africa depends on clear regulatory frameworks, robust compliance standards and trusted infrastructure that supports transparency, risk management and consumer protection.
We are already seeing this evolution. In markets such as South Africa, institutions facilitating cross-border settlements must navigate increasingly sophisticated regulatory requirements, including approvals for certain offshore crypto-related activities. Globally, initiatives such as the OECD’s Crypto-Asset Reporting Framework (CARF) and expanded Travel Rule obligations are raising expectations around reporting, tax transparency and compliance.
These developments reinforce a simple reality: stablecoin infrastructure does not reduce compliance obligations. It raises the bar for governance, transparency and institutional risk management. The objective is not to bypass regulation, but to build interoperable payment systems that can innovate confidently within it.
From the edges to the plumbing
The stablecoin conversation is steadily moving beyond speculation and towards practical implementation. What once sat at the edges of the payments debate is becoming part of the plumbing of cross-border finance rather than a parallel system to it.
The question is no longer whether stablecoins have a role to play in payments. The question is where they deliver the greatest value. In Africa, that value is increasingly clear: faster settlement, improved liquidity efficiency and more connected cross-border commerce. The winners will not be those that replace existing financial systems, but those that successfully connect stablecoin rails with the banks, mobile money networks and payment providers that already power the continent’s economy.
For pan-African payment networks such as Onafriq, the priority is ensuring that emerging technologies complement the financial infrastructure businesses and consumers already trust, rather than introducing new layers of complexity.
The opportunity lies in connecting stablecoin settlement with banks, mobile money networks and payment providers, ensuring the benefits of this new infrastructure deliver tangible outcomes for African businesses and consumers.
Rajat Mishra is the CPO for Network Product & Deputy Group CPIO at Onafriq
By Sani Abdulrazak, PhD
The irony in governance is that the projects that capture public imagination are often the least difficult to appreciate. A newly commissioned road, a modern school, a renovated hospital or a flyover bridge speaks for itself. Fiscal discipline does not. Yet, behind every lasting development lies an often-overlooked virtue: the prudent management of public resources. Governments are judged ultimately not by the abundance of their income but by the wisdom of their choices in spending that income. Though prosperity is desirable as we all know, we have to admit that stewardship is equally indispensable. When public finance is guided by discipline rather than expediency, governments create not only projects but also the confidence that today’s development will not become tomorrow’s burden.
It is against this backdrop that Kaduna State’s fiscal journey deserves careful reflection.
Governor Uba Sani assumed office in May 2023 at a time when the state, and by extension the country’s economic landscape, was anything but forgiving. The removal of fuel subsidy, exchange-rate volatility, persistent inflation, and rising debt-service obligations placed unprecedented pressure on governments at every level. States were confronted with a difficult reality: revenues were uncertain, the demands of citizens were increasing, and the cost of delivering public services was rising sharply. In such circumstances, leadership is tested less by ambition than by restraint. The challenge is not merely to spend, but to spend wisely.
One of the defining features of Kaduna’s public finance strategy has been its emphasis on fiscal prudence. The evolution of Kaduna’s budgets illustrates this approach. The approved 2023 budget stood at approximately ₦376 billion, with about 64 per cent allocated to capital expenditure. By 2026, the state’s budget had expanded to approximately ₦985.9 billion, with nearly 71 per cent earmarked for capital projects. While a larger budget does not automatically translate into better governance, the increasing share devoted to capital expenditure suggests an intention to invest more heavily in assets capable of generating long-term social and economic value.
It is important to note that Kaduna’s fiscal philosophy appears to rest on the belief that sustainable development cannot be separated from responsible financial management. Whether this approach ultimately delivers all the expected outcomes will be judged by history. But the effort to align expenditure with development priorities represents a significant dimension of governance, one that often receives less public attention than it deserves.
Like most Nigerian states, Kaduna relies on a combination of statutory allocations from the Federation Account and internally generated revenue (IGR). Available fiscal reports indicate that Kaduna has continued efforts to strengthen its internally generated revenue through reforms in tax administration and improved collection mechanisms. While revenue generation alone is not evidence of economic prosperity, it provides government with greater fiscal flexibility and resilience, particularly during periods of national economic uncertainty. Equally important is the principle that expanding the revenue base should not be confused with imposing heavier burdens on taxpayers. The more sustainable path lies in improving efficiency, reducing leakages, and encouraging economic activity that naturally broadens the tax net.
Another pertinently salient aspect of Kaduna’s fiscal approach that deserves attention is the administration’s stated commitment to avoiding new borrowing while continuing to service inherited debt obligations. In a federation where public borrowing has become a common instrument for financing development, such a position reflects a cautious philosophy of public finance. According to official statements, the government has prioritised meeting existing debt commitments while financing new projects through budgetary allocations, statutory revenues, and other available funding sources rather than contracting fresh loans. The most overlooked measure of fiscal discipline is not the size of a budget or even the amount of revenue collected. It is the willingness of a government to treat public funds as a trust rather than an entitlement. Financial prudence is rarely dramatic, but it is often decisive. It is the quiet habit of making difficult choices today so that tomorrow’s opportunities are not compromised by yesterday’s excesses.
There is, pertinently, external evidence to suggest that Kaduna’s emphasis on fiscal discipline is not merely a government narrative. In the 2025 Transparency and Integrity Index of the Centre for Fiscal Transparency and Public Integrity (CeFTPI), Kaduna ranked first among Nigeria’s 36 states for the second consecutive year, scoring 49.08 per cent and recording the country’s highest score; 80 per cent, in the Control of Corruption variable. The assessment covered fiscal transparency, open procurement, human resources, control of corruption and citizen engagement. This was not an isolated recognition. In the 2024 edition, Kaduna again ranked first among the states, ahead of Kano and Kogi, while in the 2023 Transparency and Integrity Index it placed second nationally with 59.7 per cent.
More recently, the 2025 Phillips Consulting State Performance Index placed Kaduna third among the 36 states and awarded it an Excellent Four-Star rating, with fiscal management among the areas assessed. These assessments do not, by themselves, prove that every naira has been optimally spent, nor do they erase the challenges confronting the state. They do, however, provide an important independent corroboration that Kaduna’s efforts in transparency, accountability and public-sector financial management have been noticed beyond the corridors of government. In public finance, therefore, such external assessments are worth considering.
Yet, no appraisal of public finance can be complete without acknowledging its limits. Fiscal discipline, however commendable, is not a panacea for every economic challenge. Kaduna, like every other state in Nigeria, operates within a national macroeconomic environment over which it has limited control. Inflation continues to erode purchasing power, businesses contend with high operating costs, exchange-rate volatility affects production and investment, and many households still struggle with the rising cost of living. These realities remind us that sound state finances cannot, by themselves, insulate citizens from broader economic shocks.
This distinction is important because it separates governance from circumstance. A prudent administration may not be able to determine the value of the naira or the global price of commodities, but it can determine how efficiently public resources are managed, how transparently budgets are implemented, and how wisely limited revenues are allocated. In that sense, fiscal discipline should not be judged by whether every economic hardship disappears, but by whether government responds to those hardships with responsibility and not recklessness.
Kaduna’s experience suggests an appreciation of this responsibility. The emphasis on capital investment, efforts to strengthen internally generated revenue, and the administration’s declared preference for avoiding new borrowing while servicing inherited obligations point to a philosophy that values sustainability over expediency. These choices contribute to a financial culture that seeks to preserve the state’s capacity to invest, grow, and respond to future challenges.
That is not to suggest that the work is complete. Public finance is never a finished project; it is a continuous exercise in adaptation. As Kaduna’s economy evolves, expectations will also rightly rise; citizens will demand greater efficiency in service delivery, stronger budget implementation, improved transparency, broader private-sector participation, and measurable improvements in living standards. Fiscal discipline must therefore remain dynamic, ensuring that every naira spent delivers the greatest possible public value.
Prudent financial management remains the quiet strength of Kaduna’s fiscal discipline and public finance. It is a strength that is rarely seen or acknowledged by the majority; the strength to prioritise sustainability over excess and fiscal adventurism. It is important to note that the loudest achievements may command today’s headlines, but it is often the quiet virtues- prudence, discipline, accountability, and foresight- that shape tomorrow’s verdict. In public finance, as in life, the strongest foundations are rarely the most visible, yet they are almost always the most enduring.
Sani Abdulrazak, PhD, is a writer, researcher and public affairs analyst based in Zaria, Kaduna State.
By Prince Charles Dickson Ph.D
Nigeria is perhaps the only country where a politician may steal enough money to build three universities, donate twenty bags of rice to a prayer house, and immediately be introduced as “a great philanthropist and pillar of the faith.” The congregation applauds. The cleric smiles. Cameras flash. Heaven receives a bank alert it never requested.
“Sai Baba! Sai Malami!” the praise singers thunder, while the distinguished guest adjusts his cap, grips his prayer beads and looks humbly into the middle distance. By evening, another politician is occupying the front pew of a cathedral, lifting two hands in worship, although one suspects the third invisible hand is still inside the public treasury.
This is the Nigerian religious-political circus: spectacular costumes, sacred vocabulary, endless pilgrimages and remarkably little evidence of moral transformation.
We must begin with an important correction. It is neither fair nor provable to claim that 99.99 per cent of corrupt politicians are practising Muslims and Christians. What can be said is that Nigeria is overwhelmingly populated by people who identify as Muslim or Christian. Pew Research Centre estimates that Muslims and Christians together constitute virtually the entire population. Consequently, most politicians, honest or dishonest, will publicly identify with one of those religions.
The real scandal, therefore, is not that corrupt politicians belong to religions. It is that corruption appears perfectly comfortable living beside loud professions of faith. It eats breakfast with Christianity, attends afternoon prayers with Islam, and sleeps peacefully beneath framed quotations from scripture.
Nigeria has produced a curious creature: the devout kleptocrat.
He fasts, but the treasury must break the fast. He pays tithe, but not tax. He performs ablution, but refuses institutional cleansing. He kneels before God and places the country beneath his shoe.
He asks forgiveness every week without returning what he took.
He sponsors pilgrimages with money that could have equipped hospitals, then asks the pilgrims to pray for Nigeria’s development. This is like stealing somebody’s generator and requesting prayers for the darkness in his house.
Christianity does not teach this. Islam does not teach it. African traditional morality does not teach it. Even ordinary home training does not teach it.
Both Islam and Christianity treat public trust, justice, compassion, honesty and care for the vulnerable as serious moral obligations. Neither faith provides a theological washing machine into which stolen funds can be inserted and brought out smelling of incense. A pilgrimage is not a corruption amnesty. A church donation is not a plea bargain. Sponsoring religious programmes does not convert public theft into charity.
You cannot steal a community’s borehole and donate bottled water during Ramadan. You cannot divert teachers’ salaries and build a church auditorium. You cannot inflate a road contract, abandon the road, then organise a thanksgiving service after surviving an accident on that same road.
At some point, even hypocrisy deserves professional embarrassment.
The economic context makes the performance more offensive. Claims that “over 79 per cent” of Nigerians are poor depend on the definition and dataset being used, so that figure should not be repeated as a settled fact. However, the verified picture is already grim enough. The World Bank estimated that more than half of Nigerians were living in poverty in 2025, while its Nigeria country assessment says poverty remains widespread and that poorer households may spend up to 70 per cent of their income on food.
Meanwhile, nearly 35 million Nigerians were projected to face acute or severe food insecurity during the 2026 lean season, the highest level recorded for the country in the relevant analysis.
These are not decorative statistics. They represent children arriving at school too hungry to learn, parents dividing one meal into three diplomatic portions, pensioners choosing between medication and food, and graduates discovering that their certificates have become expensive bookmarks.
Against this background, unexplained political wealth is not merely vulgar. It is morally violent.
The statement that any present or former officeholder possessing ₦5 billion must automatically be a thief may satisfy public anger, but law and fairness require greater care. Some politicians had legitimate businesses, inheritances or investments before entering office. Wealth alone is not proof of theft.
However, unexplained wealth is a legitimate basis for scrutiny. Where a public officer’s assets are wildly inconsistent with lawful earnings, the burden of public explanation becomes unavoidable. Nigeria’s Code of Conduct system requires public officers to declare their assets and liabilities, while the Code of Conduct Bureau is responsible for receiving, examining and monitoring those declarations.
The correct democratic question is therefore not simply, “Are you rich?”
It is: What lawful activity produced this wealth, when was it earned, was it properly declared, were taxes paid, and can the explanation survive independent investigation?
A senator cannot tell citizens that wealth is a “mystery of God” when his declared salary is public knowledge. Divine favour is not an accounting category. “Grace” cannot explain twenty-seven properties, twelve companies and a warehouse full of dollars. Even manna came with distribution rules.
The deeper problem is that parts of Nigeria’s religious establishment have become involved in an unhealthy exchange with political power. Politicians provide money, access, vehicles, land and proximity to government. Religious leaders provide legitimacy, titles, photographs, prayers and a moral raincoat.
The politician arrives as “His Excellency, the divinely chosen servant-leader.” Nobody asks how the servant acquired a private jet while the people he serves cannot afford transport. Nobody wants to upset the offering basket. Prophecy suddenly develops selective eyesight.
To be balanced, many Nigerian clerics, Muslim and Christian, speak courageously against corruption, defend vulnerable communities and refuse political capture. Many politicians also practise their faith sincerely and serve without stealing. The disease is not universal.
But the silence of influential religious institutions is often too expensive to ignore.
A cleric who constantly condemns young people for indecent dressing but cannot condemn officials who undress the national treasury has misplaced his moral measuring tape. A preacher who sees spiritual danger in hairstyles but none in budget padding needs more than revelation. An imam who lectures poor traders about honesty while celebrating officials with inexplicable fortunes has reduced religion to ceremonial wallpaper.
Religious leaders must recover the courage to ask unpopular questions. Before accepting a massive donation from a public official, they should ask whether the donor’s known income can reasonably support it. Institutions should publish major political donations and establish ethical rules governing gifts from politically exposed persons. Stolen money does not become holy because it enters a religious account.
The state must also stop outsourcing accountability to divine judgement. Nigerians frequently say, “God will judge them,” which is true within religious belief, but God also gave the country auditors, investigators, courts, journalists, voters and laws. Waiting exclusively for celestial prosecution is institutional laziness wearing a prayer shawl.
Asset declarations should be effectively verified, and greater public access would strengthen accountability. The ICPC has itself previously advocated publication of public servants’ declared assets as an anti-corruption measure. Investigative institutions must follow money without consulting party membership, regional origin, denomination or prayer vocabulary. A thief speaking in tongues and a thief reciting Arabic remain thieves requiring evidence-based investigation and lawful prosecution.
Citizens also have work to do. We cannot condemn corruption in Abuja while celebrating it when “our son” returns home with unexplained wealth. Communities organise receptions. Traditional titles multiply. Clerics pronounce blessings. Relatives announce that God has finally remembered the family. Nobody asks what job produced the convoy.
Our outrage is often tribal, partisan and denominational. We investigate opponents and interpret allies. When their politician steals, it is corruption. When ours steals, it is strategic empowerment of the constituency.
Nigeria will not defeat corruption until stolen wealth becomes socially shameful rather than socially impressive.
The politician who cannot explain his fortune should not receive a chieftaincy title, front-row seat, honorary doctorate or harvest-launch chairmanship. He should receive questions. Many questions. Questions with documents attached.
Religion must become more than pilgrimage photographs, prayer caps, rosaries, flowing gowns and amplified declarations of righteousness. True faith must disturb injustice. It must make theft uncomfortable, generosity accountable and leadership answerable.
Otherwise, the mosque becomes a photo studio, the church becomes a reputation-repair workshop, and religion becomes perfume sprayed over the odour of public theft.
The final question is not whether Nigerian politicians pray. Many clearly do.
The question is whether their prayers have ever met their consciences. Because a nation cannot shout “Amen” loudly enough to convert corruption into governance. Either way—May Nigeria win.
