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The Nigerian Leadership Myth: A Satirical Safari…

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By Prince Charles Dickson PhD

The recent arraignment of minors for treason in Nigeria has sparked widespread outrage and condemnation from various quarters. Their arraignment has raised concerns about the handling of juvenile cases and the implications of such actions on the children’s future. The federal government’s position on the matter has been criticized, with many calling for the immediate release of the minors. Sadly, it’s going to come and go like all such matters, no one will be held liable or accountable.

The incident highlights the challenges of leadership in Nigeria, so, let me tell us the story of leadership—a satirical safari through power and promise.

Nigerian leadership: Say those words in any social setting, and watch the room split into chuckles, sighs, and, sometimes, heated monologues. Nigerian leadership is a tale that could rival any Hollywood blockbuster in plot twists, suspense, and emotional rollercoasters. However, it’s also a tale layered with the mystique of myths—idealized versions of what leadership is supposed to be versus what we often get.

We are a Comedy of Errors…Nigeria, a land of contrasts, a nation blessed with immense potential, yet plagued by a leadership conundrum that seems to defy logic. The recurring theme is a leadership that promises much and delivers little, a leadership that often seems more interested in personal enrichment than national development. This has led many to question the very concept of Nigerian leadership, to wonder if it’s not just a grand illusion, a mirage in the desert of hope.

The Nigerian leader, in popular imagination, is a peculiar creature. He (and it’s almost always a he) is often portrayed as a demi-god, a messiah who will miraculously transform the nation overnight. He is expected to solve all problems, from poverty and corruption to insecurity and infrastructure decay.

Yet, time and again, these leaders fail to live up to the hype. They are often more concerned with power retention than problem-solving, more interested in enriching themselves and their cronies than uplifting the masses.

The myth of Nigerian leadership has had a devastating impact on the country. It has led to a culture of cynicism and apathy, where people have lost faith in the ability of their leaders to make a difference. This has, in turn, led to a decline in civic engagement and a rise in social unrest.

Let us start with the allure of the “Messiah Complex”. There’s a strange ritual that occurs every four years. Nigerians from all walks of life gather, united in collective hope, as politicians-turned-Messiahs make promises that sound like poetry. We’ve been told of visions of transforming deserts into oases and turning debts into riches. We’ve heard of a future filled with functional electricity, pothole-free roads, and hospitals that will make a Swiss watchmaker green with envy. These messianic figures appear every election season with a well-rehearsed script and an arsenal of grandiose claims that even Aesop himself would have had trouble believing.

Every so often, however, Nigerians fall for the shiny charisma, the promises of change, and the proclamations of patriotism. The hope is intoxicating. “Maybe this time it’s different,” people think. However, the “Messiah” quickly devolves into the “Excuse Machine,” because just like clockwork, the mirage fades and the landscape of reality becomes all too clear.

The Myth of Transformation: A word often sprinkled into campaign speeches and government slogans, like salt in a pot of jollof rice. Politicians sell transformation as if it were a buy-one-get-one-free deal at a Lagos market. The truth, however, is more of a slow simmer than a fast boil. Promises are made with the certainty of a Shakespearean tragedy. Our leaders assure us of mega-cities, free education, and top-tier health care — not unlike New York, Tokyo, or Paris — only to end up delivering results closer to rural Ajegunle, where even basic amenities are hard to come by.

Every politician tells us they’ll be different. They swear to bridge the gap between rich and poor, elevate the standard of living, and make Nigeria great again (though no one quite remembers when Nigeria was “great” by their implied standards). They preach transformation, yet reality reminds us more of the song “Nothing New Under the Sun.” And while “transformation” sounds beautiful in theory, it often translates to moving from one ineffective policy to the next, with very little real change in sight.

Now, here’s a real mystery: Nigerian leaders often amass incredible wealth while they’re in service to the nation. It’s almost as if there’s an invisible ATM in every office. Take a simple councilor position, and it might magically pay enough to build a mansion, fly first-class, and send children to Ivy League schools abroad. It is the Paradox of Wealth and Service.

Surely, one must wonder: Is public office in Nigeria blessed with some hidden oil well that the rest of us common folk don’t know about? Or maybe, just maybe, the lines between “public servant” and “private business mogul” are so blurred that even Picasso would have difficulty painting it.

There is a cultural paradox here too. In Nigeria, if a person “makes it” in government, they become a hero in their village. While the rest of the country might bemoan corruption, friends and family back home celebrate their “son’s” success. This celebration of political “achievement” is ingrained, and while the culture venerates “serving the people,” the individuals themselves are often held up as “untouchable” figures, immune to scrutiny or criticism. It’s a complex paradox, and one that feeds the myth.

Another pillar of Nigerian leadership myth is the promise of security. Each administration vows to end the violence that has plagued parts of the country, whether it’s the Northeast, plagued by insurgency, or the Northwest, suffering under banditry. Every president is the Commander-in-Chief of the Nigerian Armed Forces, yet they seem more skilled in speeches than in strategies. One might think, given their promises, that each new administration would make Nigeria one of the safest nations on earth. Yet, security remains elusive, like trying to catch rain with a sieve.

The real irony is in the way leaders themselves are heavily guarded while citizens fend for themselves. It’s not uncommon to see a convoy with enough SUVs to form a motorcade protecting one individual while the ordinary citizen walks home through streets dimly lit and streets less patrolled. And yet, Nigerians are resilient. In the face of so much insecurity, they go about their lives, praying that one day, security will be more than a lofty campaign promise.

Leadership in Nigeria is much like a soap opera — long, dramatic, and filled with cliffhangers. And just like the characters in these dramas, Nigerian leaders are often concerned with their legacy. But what does legacy even mean in the context of Nigerian leadership? The legacies that some leaders leave are more about buildings, statues, and airports bearing their names than about sustainable development. And when the next leader comes in, one of the first steps is often to dismantle, rename, or outright ignore the predecessor’s “legacy.”

What this means for Nigeria is a series of disjointed projects, half-hearted initiatives, and policies abandoned halfway. In place of real progress, Nigeria has a collection of monuments to political egos, a scrapbook of half-completed buildings, and a string of reforms that never quite made it to completion.

But here’s the twist: for all the comedy and tragedy of Nigerian leadership, Nigerians themselves are the true leaders. They are the ones who hustle, adapt, and thrive despite the odds. While politicians grandstand, ordinary Nigerians build businesses from scratch, create art and culture that captivate the world, and maintain a resilient spirit that no amount of hardship seems to quench.

The myth of Nigerian leadership persists because, deep down, we all hold out hope that one day, the leaders we elect will reflect the best of us — not the worst. Nigerians deserve leaders who understand that leadership is a service, not a birthright, a responsibility, not a ticket to personal paradise.

In the end, perhaps the myth will give way to reality. Maybe the Messiah Complex will be replaced by the Public Servant. But until then, Nigerians will do what they have always done — lead themselves, rise above, and continue to believe that one day, true leadership will emerge, not as myth but as reality, and Nigeria may win—Only time will tell.

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Revived Argungu International Fishing Festival Shines as Access Bank Backs Culture, Tourism Growth

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Argungu International Fishing Festival

The successful hosting of the 2026 Argungu International Fishing Festival has spotlighted the growing impact of strategic public-private partnerships, with Access Bank and Kebbi State jointly reinforcing efforts to promote cultural heritage, tourism development, and local economic growth following the globally attended celebration in Argungu.

At the grand finale, Special Guest of Honour, Mr Bola Tinubu, praised the festival’s enduring national significance, describing it as a powerful expression of unity, resilience, and peaceful coexistence.

“This festival represents a remarkable history and remains a powerful symbol of unity, resilience, and peaceful coexistence among Nigerians. It reflects the richness of our culture, the strength of our traditions, and the opportunities that lie in harnessing our natural resources for national development. The organisation, security arrangements, and outlook demonstrate what is possible when leadership is purposeful and inclusive.”

State authorities noted that renewed institutional backing has strengthened the festival’s global appeal and positioned it once again as a major tourism and cultural platform capable of attracting international visitors and investors.

“Argungu has always been an iconic international event that drew visitors from across the world. With renewed partnerships and stronger institutional support, we are confident it will return to that global stage and expand opportunities for our people through tourism, culture, and enterprise.”

Speaking on behalf of Access Bank, Executive Director, Commercial Banking Division, Hadiza Ambursa, emphasised the institution’s long-standing commitment to supporting initiatives that preserve heritage and create economic opportunities.

“We actively support cultural development through initiatives like this festival and collaborations such as our partnership with the National Theatre to promote Nigerian arts and heritage. Across states, especially within the public sector space where we do quite a lot, we work with governments on priorities that matter to them. Tourism holds enormous potential, and while we have supported several hotels with expansion financing, we remain open to working with partners interested in developing the sector further.”

Reports from the News Agency of Nigeria indicated that more than 50,000 fishermen entered the historic Matan Fada River during the competition. The overall winner, Abubakar Usman from Maiyama Local Government Area, secured victory with a 59-kilogram catch, earning vehicles donated by Sokoto State and a cash prize. Other top contestants from Argungu and Jega also received vehicles, motorcycles and monetary rewards, including sponsorship support from WACOT Rice Limited.

Recognised by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, the festival blends traditional fishing contests with boat regattas, durbar processions, performances, and international competitions, drawing visitors from across Nigeria and beyond.

With the 2026 edition concluded successfully, stakeholders say the strengthened collaboration between government and private-sector partners signals a renewed era for Argungu as a flagship cultural tourism destination capable of driving inclusive growth, preserving tradition, and projecting Nigeria’s heritage on the world stage.

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$214Bn Missing, Institutions Silent: Is Accountability Dead in Nigeria?

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Nigeria $214Bn Missing

By Blaise Udunze

Between 2010 and 2026, a staggering $214 billion, approximately N300 trillion in public funds, has been reported as missing, unaccounted for, diverted, unrecovered, irregularly spent, or trapped in non-transparent fiscal structures across Nigeria’s public institutions.

That figure is not speculative but a conservative estimate of unaccounted funds. It is drawn from audit reports, legislative probes, civil society litigation, executive directives, and investigative findings spanning more than a decade. If it is to go by the accurate figure, the true national loss is likely higher but difficult to quantify precisely due to data gaps, overlapping figures, and incomplete audits.

The challenge is that in many of the most prominent cases, prosecutions have stalled, hearings have dragged without resolution, investigations have gone cold, and no defining jail terms have etched accountability into Nigeria’s institutional memory. The irony is that the number is historic, the silence is louder. And the economic damage is cumulative.

The pattern stretches from the oil sector to social investment programmes, from the Nigeria Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) interventions to ministry-level expenditures. In 2014, between $10.8 billion and $20 billion in unremitted oil revenues linked to the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation triggered national outrage. Under the then CBN governor, Lamido Sanusi, who warned that persistent oil revenue leakages were making exchange rate stability “extremely difficult.” He cautioned that without full remittances, the alternative would be currency devaluation and financial instability. This concern spans the 2010 to 2013 oil revenue period. That warning proved prophetic.

This is because, years later, the lack of transparency in the oil industry did not disappear, but rather it festered like cancer. It further led to the elongated audit queries, which have continued to trail the Nigerian National Petroleum Company Limited, including unremitted revenues, questioned deductions, and management fee structures under the Petroleum Industry Act. With an extraordinary move aimed at blocking revenue leakages at source, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has recently issued an Executive Order suspending certain deductions and directing direct remittance of taxes, royalties, and profit oil into the Federation Account, which involves the reassessment of NNPC’s 30 per cent management fee and 30 per cent frontier exploration deduction under the Petroleum Industry Act.

Such presidential intervention underscores the scale of concern, which means that Nigeria cannot afford a structural lack of transparency in its most strategic revenue sector. But oil is only one chapter.

The Central Bank of Nigeria has faced some of the most far-reaching audit alarms in recent years. In suit number FHC/ABJ/CS/250/2026, the Socio-Economic Rights and Accountability Project (SERAP) is asking the Federal High Court to compel the CBN to account for N3 trillion in allegedly missing or diverted public funds. The Auditor-General’s 2025 report cited failures to remit over N1.44 trillion in operating surplus to the Consolidated Revenue Fund, over N629 billion paid to “unknown beneficiaries” under the Anchor Borrowers’ Programme, and more than N784 billion in overdue, unrecovered intervention loans.

There were also N125 billion in questioned intervention expenditures, irregular contract variations exceeding N9 billion, and procurement gaps running into hundreds of billions. The Auditor-General repeatedly recommended recovery and remittance. No date has been fixed for the hearing. Meanwhile, Nigeria continues to borrow.

Elsewhere, the House of Representatives has launched a probe into over N30 billion recovered during investigations into the National Social Investment Programme Agency (NSIPA). The funds, reportedly frozen during investigation, have not been remitted back into the Treasury Single Account, stalling poverty-alleviation schemes like TraderMoni and FarmerMoni. Millions of vulnerable Nigerians remain exposed while lawmakers search for money already “recovered.” The irony is staggering as funds are found, but programmes remain frozen.

A top discovery recently that put the nation on red alert was made by the Senate committee, which claimed to have found N210 trillion in financial irregularities in NNPC accounts between 2017 and 2023, including unaccounted receivables and accrued expenses. A critical concern is that, as of early 2026, this has sparked commentary but no clear prosecutions.

Only recently, in the power sector, SERAP has urged the President to probe alleged missing or unaccounted N128 billion at the Federal Ministry of Power and the Nigerian Bulk Electricity Trading Plc. Of concern is that despite the enormous funds channelled in this sector, Nigeria’s chronic electricity instability persists, even as billions meant to stabilise the grid face audit scrutiny.

Across MDAs, audit reports between 2017 and 2022 flagged trillions in unsupported expenditures, unremitted taxes, unauthorised payments, and statutory liabilities never recovered. These sums are dizzying and are also alarming; N300 billion here, N149 billion there, N3.403 trillion across agencies, N30 trillion-plus Treasury discrepancies raised at the Senate level.

Individually, they shock. Collectively, they define a structural pattern. And patterns shape economies.

Nigeria operates with structural fiscal deficits and also lives with them routinely and comfortably. Expenditure persistently exceeds revenue. When public funds disappear, fail to be remitted, or are trapped outside constitutional channels, the deficit widens. The government must borrow to fill gaps created not only by low revenue, but by revenue leakage.

Debt servicing now consumes a disproportionate share of federal revenue. Borrowing meant for capital projects increasingly finances recurrent obligations. The country shifts from borrowing to build to borrowing to survive. Every missing naira compounds tomorrow’s liability.

The Treasury Single Account (TSA) was designed to plug such leakages. It consolidated government revenues under Section 80 of the Constitution into a unified framework. International financial institutions commended it as a landmark reform. Yet even today, the Minister of Finance, Wale Edun, has admitted that substantial government funds remain outside the TSA and outside the CBN’s consolidated visibility. Until August 1, 2024, he revealed, the federal government could not fully see its own balance sheet at the apex bank. That admission should alarm any serious economy.

Fiscal lack of transparency constrains planning. It undermines monetary coordination. It weakens debt sustainability projections. It distorts policy responses. And when systems are in flux, money vanishes more easily.

Changing or weakening the TSA in such an environment would be catastrophic. Transitions create windows of vulnerability. Old accounts close. New accounts open. Reconciliation’s lag. Ghost contractors reappear. Double payments slip through.

Albeit, the government must learn to tread with caution as Nigeria’s institutional bandwidth is already strained by simultaneous tax reforms, exchange-rate adjustments, subsidy removal, and fiscal restructuring. One truth that cannot be argued is that layering additional structural upheaval onto fragile systems risks revenue loss that the country cannot afford. Investors are watching.

Credit markets evaluate not just numbers but institutional consistency. A nation that abandons or weakens its most credible fiscal reform sends a destabilising signal. Stability lowers borrowing costs. Institutional drift raises them. But beyond markets lies the human cost.

N300 trillion represents roads not built, power plants not completed, irrigation systems not funded, schools not modernised, and hospitals not equipped. It represents jobs not created and industries not catalysed. It represents stalled productivity and deferred growth.

When intervention loans remain unrecovered, agricultural output suffers. When power sector funds are unaccounted for, electricity remains unstable. When social investment funds are frozen, poverty deepens.

Inflation then compounds the pain. Revenue gaps push borrowing. Borrowing pressures, interest rates and by extension, liquidity misalignment fuel price instability. Citizens pay through higher food costs, transport fares, and rent. The poor pay first. The middle class erodes quietly.

Perhaps most corrosive is the trust deficit. When audit queries fade without visible accountability, tax morale weakens. Compliance declines. Cynicism hardens. A nation cannot modernise where trust in fiscal integrity is fragile.

Section 15(5) of the Constitution requires the abolition of corrupt practices. Financial Regulations mandate a surcharge and referral to anti-corruption agencies where public officers fail to account for funds. The Fiscal Responsibility Act empowers citizens to enforce compliance to ensure that government officials follow fiscal rules. But enforcement defines seriousness.

Nigeria’s problem is not a lack of audit findings. It is the distance between findings and finality.

Nations do not collapse overnight due to a lack of funds. They drift. Infrastructure decays incrementally. Debt rises gradually. Growth slows subtly. Confidence erodes quietly. Then one day, stagnation feels permanent. $214 billion (N300 trillion), sixteen years of recurring audit alarms. Few conclusive accountability outcomes are proportionate to the scale. Truly, the consequences have been less strong. For the same reason, the country witnessed President Tinubu nominating ex-NIA boss Ayodele Oke as ambassador despite a $43 million loot in an Ikoyi apartment.

See the research breakdown of some of the audit figures that reveal staggering sums as enumerated above:

–       $10.8 billion and separately $20 billion in unaccounted oil revenues at the NNPC in 2014

–       $1.1 billion controversial Malabu Oil and Gas oil deal in 2015

–       $2.2 billion arms procurement irregularities in 2015

–       N3.4 billion from IMF COVID-19 financing flagged in a 2020 audit.

–       N149.36 billion, N37.2 billion, and multiple irregular MDA expenditures in 2020 alone.

–       N300 billion cited in public audit concerns in 2017.

–       N210 trillion in financial irregularities uncovered, N103 trillion in ‘accrued expenses’, and another N107 trillion in unaccounted ‘receivables’ (2017 -2023).

–       N57 billion Ministry of Humanitarian Affairs – (2021)

–       N3 trillion and N1.44 trillion flagged in 2022 audit issues involving the Central Bank of Nigeria.

–       Nearly N630 billion under the Anchor Borrowers Programme is reportedly unrecovered.

–       N784 billion in overdue intervention loans flagged.

–       Over N3.403 trillion unaccounted for across federal MDAs between 2019 and 2021.

–       Roughly 30 trillion+ in Treasury Single Account and Consolidated Revenue Fund discrepancies raised at the Senate level.

–       N500 billion in unremitted oil revenues between 2019 and 2024.

–       N80 billion tied to alleged fictitious contracts in the Accountant-General’s office.

–       N69.9 billion in uncollected statutory tax liabilities.

–       Billions more in unauthorised or undocumented expenditures across ministries.

The institutions differ. The years differ. The audit language differs. The pattern does not.

Nigeria’s economic future will not be determined solely by how much oil it produces, how many reforms it announces, or how many executive orders it signs. It will be determined by whether every naira earned enters the Federation Account transparently, whether every intervention loan is tracked and recovered, whether every surplus is remitted constitutionally, and whether every diversion carries consequences. Revenue generation matters. Revenue protection is destiny. Because when government funds go missing, nations do not stand still. They move backwards.

Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com

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The Hidden Workforce of the 2026 Access Bank Lagos City Marathon

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Lagos City Marathon Hidden Workforce

When the final runner crossed the finish line at the 11th edition of the Access Bank Lagos City Marathon (ABLCM), the applause began to fade. But for hundreds of workers across Lagos, the real work was just beginning.

Major highways had been closed to facilitate the event. Tens of thousands of runners moved through the city in a coordinated surge of athletic endurance. Thousands of bottles of water and energy drinks were distributed, alongside sachets containing essential medical supplies and medication. The race route itself was meticulously prepared, lined with banners, barricades, medical tents and precision timing systems that ensured safety, organisation and accurate performance tracking from start to finish.

What followed was the part that a few cameras lingered on, yet it remains one of the clearest indicators of institutional progress.

Within minutes of the race conclusion, coordinated sanitation teams fanned out across the marathon corridor. Their work went beyond sweeping. Waste was systematically sorted. Plastic bottles were separated from general refuse. Sachets were gathered in bulk. Collection trucks moved along predefined routes, ensuring rapid evacuation of waste. Temporary race infrastructure was dismantled with quiet precision.

In a megacity like Lagos, speed is a necessity. Urban momentum cannot pause for long. The ability to restore order quickly after an event of this magnitude reflects operational discipline across interconnected systems, municipal authorities, environmental agencies, private waste management partners and event coordinators.

Globally, large-scale sporting events are no longer evaluated solely by participation numbers or prize purses. Sustainability has emerged as a defining metric. Environmental responsiveness is now a core measure of credibility. Cities seeking tourism growth, foreign investment and international partnerships must demonstrate that scale does not compromise responsibility. The 2026 marathon provided a compelling case study in this evolution.

The clean-up operation itself generated meaningful economic activity. Temporary employment opportunities emerged for sanitation workers and logistics personnel. Recycling partners engaged in material recovery, reinforcing circular economy value chains. What was once viewed as routine waste disposal has evolved into a structured ecosystem of environmental services, a sector of increasing importance in modern urban economies.

This level of sustainability was the result of deliberate planning. Effective post-event recovery requires route mapping, waste volume projections, coordination between sponsors such as Access Bank Plc and municipal bodies, contingency planning for congestion points and clear communication protocols.

Each edition of the marathon has built on lessons from the last. International participation has expanded. Accreditation standards have strengthened. Media visibility has grown. Most importantly, environmental management has become embedded in the marathon’s operational framework rather than treated as an afterthought.

Progress rarely arrives in dramatic leaps, it advances through incremental improvements, refined systems and institutional learning. Just as elite runners close performance gaps through disciplined training, cities strengthen their global standing through consistent operational excellence.

The 2026 marathon, therefore, tells a story that extends far beyond athletic achievement. It is a story of coordination, sustainability as strategy rather than slogan, and the often unseen workforce, sanitation workers, planners, volunteers, security officials and environmental partners, whose discipline sustains the spectacle.

Because in the end, global cities are judged by how well they host and how responsibly they restore. On the marathon day in Lagos, it was the runners who demonstrated endurance and the systems, and the people behind them, who ensured that when the cheering stopped, the city kept moving.

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