Our country has drifted from the malnourished promise of a kwashiorkor democracy into the firm grip of an oligarchy where courts no longer dispense justice but serve cabal whims.
True activists fight for the future. Transactional activists fight for contracts.
Governors aren’t elected to stoke tensions, but to calm them when they erupt.
It is a book about us: our passivity, our complicity, and our silence.
Reno Omokri’s warning assumes that the north is incapable of political rebirth. That is untrue.
 There are also broader implications.
Today, there is no true homeland for our citizens, only homesteads of grief.
As dusk falls over the valley, it is not nighttime prayers or the laughter of children that echo through the land, but the dirges of the grieving and shovels digging mass graves.
A country rich in oil and gas. Rich in resources. But bankrupt in everything else, especially leadership.
Our civil rule remains a demonstration of craze, a circus of politicians in agbada, pretending to serve, while they loot and lie.
