By Anjorin Fehintola Stella

Education has been regarded as the golden ticket to a better life in Nigeria for decades. Parents worked tirelessly, often sacrificing their personal comfort and long-term financial stability, to ensure their children acquired formal education. Mothers sold produce in markets at dawn. Fathers took on multiple jobs. Entire extended families pooled resources together to pay school fees, buy textbooks, and keep a child in school. The promise that sustained all of this sacrifice was simple and seemingly unbreakable, work hard in school, obtain a degree, secure a good job, and achieve upward social mobility. For many families, education was not merely an academic pursuit. It was the single most important investment they could make in the future.

Today, that promise appears increasingly uncertain.

Across the country, hundreds of thousands of young Nigerians graduate annually from universities, polytechnics, and colleges of education, only to encounter a labour market that is structurally unable to absorb them. According to the National Bureau of Statistics, Nigeria’s youth unemployment and underemployment rate has hovered at alarming levels for years, with a significant proportion of young people between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five either jobless or working in conditions far below their qualification and potential. The result is a growing population of educated but unemployed and underemployed youths navigating a future marked by uncertainty, frustration, and diminishing hope. They have done everything society asked of them, and it has not been enough.

While unemployment is frequently discussed as an economic challenge best addressed through fiscal policy and job creation schemes, its implications extend far beyond income and employment statistics. It is fundamentally a social issue with profound and far-reaching consequences for individuals, families, communities, and national development. To understand the youth unemployment crisis only through the lens of economics is to miss much of what makes it so damaging and so difficult to resolve.

The relationship between education and opportunity has historically been one of the cornerstones of social stability in modern societies. Education serves not only as a means of acquiring knowledge and technical skills but also as a primary pathway to social mobility. It enables individuals to improve their socioeconomic standing, participate meaningfully in civic life, and contribute to the development of their communities. In societies where this relationship functions well, education acts as a great equalizer, offering individuals from modest backgrounds a realistic chance at advancement. When it functions poorly, the consequences ripple through every dimension of social life.

However, when educational attainment consistently fails to translate into employment opportunities, the social contract between institutions and citizens begins to weaken. People start to question the value of the systems they were taught to trust. They begin to wonder whether the sacrifices made in the name of education were worthwhile. And when enough people arrive at that conclusion simultaneously, it produces a shift with serious implications for social cohesion, institutional legitimacy, and collective purpose.

Many young Nigerians today find themselves trapped in what can only be described as a painful paradox. They have fulfilled society’s expectations by obtaining academic qualifications, sitting through years of lectures, passing examinations, and earning certificates. Yet the rewards traditionally associated with those qualifications remain stubbornly elusive. Consequently, many graduates are compelled to accept jobs entirely unrelated to their fields of study, engage in low-paying informal work to survive, or remain economically dependent on parents and relatives long after completing their education. The degree hangs on the wall. The opportunities it was supposed to unlock remain firmly closed.

This reality has given rise to what many social observers describe as a crisis of expectations. Young people who once envisioned stable careers, financial independence, and steady social advancement now struggle to achieve milestones that previous generations considered not only attainable but expected. The gap between what was promised and what is delivered has become one of the defining social tensions of contemporary Nigerian life. And that gap is widening.

One of the most visible consequences of this situation is the widespread delay in major life transitions. Marriage, home ownership, family formation, and financial independence are being postponed not by choice but by economic necessity. In many Nigerian communities, adulthood has traditionally been defined by the achievement of certain milestones: securing employment, establishing a household, and taking on family responsibilities. Today, many young adults in their late twenties and thirties are unable to meet these social expectations, not because they lack ambition or discipline, but because the economic infrastructure that would enable such transitions no longer exists in a reliable form. The social weight of this inability is significant. It generates feelings of shame, inadequacy, and frustration that many young people carry privately and silently.

The psychological effects of prolonged unemployment are equally significant and deserve greater public attention. Extended periods of joblessness are strongly associated in research literature with increased rates of anxiety, depression, and diminished self-worth. In a society where success is frequently measured by economic achievement and visible material progress, unemployment can quickly become a source of social exclusion and deep emotional distress. Young people who cannot find work often withdraw from social engagements, avoid family gatherings, and distance themselves from peers who appear to be progressing. The isolation compounds the suffering. What begins as an economic problem gradually becomes a mental health crisis, and Nigeria’s mental health infrastructure is poorly equipped to respond to the scale of what is emerging.

Another notable and deeply consequential outcome of this crisis is the growing appeal of emigration. The phenomenon popularly known as the Japa movement reflects the strong and increasingly urgent desire of educated Nigerians to seek better opportunities abroad. The word Japa, derived from Yoruba slang meaning to run or escape, has become a defining cultural phrase of an entire generation. It is spoken with a mixture of aspiration, resignation, and bitterness. While migration has always existed as a human response to constrained opportunities, the current scale and demographic profile of Nigerian emigration is alarming. It is no longer only the unemployed who are leaving. Doctors, nurses, engineers, academics, and experienced professionals are departing in significant numbers, drawn by better pay, functional systems, and the basic assurance that their qualifications will be recognized and rewarded.

Reports from the United Kingdom, Canada, and various European countries consistently show rising numbers of Nigerian-born professionals entering their labour markets. Nigeria’s healthcare sector in particular has been severely affected, with hospitals struggling to retain staff as medical professionals seek greener pastures overseas. While migration offers individuals better prospects, and while the remittances sent home by the diaspora contribute meaningfully to household incomes and the national economy, the long-term implications for national development are troubling. The departure of skilled and educated young people represents a significant loss of human capital, talent, and innovation capacity that Nigeria urgently needs to address its own development challenges.

It is worth acknowledging that some analysts argue the relationship between education and unemployment is more complex than it appears, and that informal economies represent legitimate and sometimes vibrant pathways to livelihood and even prosperity. There is truth in this. Nigeria’s informal sector is enormous, creative, and resilient. It employs millions of people and drives significant economic activity. However, the existence of informal pathways does not diminish the legitimate grievance of young people who invested years and resources into formal education specifically because they were told it would open doors. The issue is not whether informal work has value. The issue is whether society kept its promise.

At the same time, many young Nigerians have turned to entrepreneurship as an alternative response to unemployment. Entrepreneurship is widely celebrated in public discourse as both a solution to joblessness and a driver of innovation and economic growth. While this is true in certain contexts, it is essential to draw a careful distinction between entrepreneurship driven by genuine innovation and market opportunity, and entrepreneurship driven purely by necessity and survival. A significant and growing number of young Nigerians are not starting businesses because they have identified a compelling product idea or underserved market. They are doing so because formal employment is simply not available, and they have no other viable option.

This form of survival entrepreneurship is a testament to the extraordinary resilience and creativity of Nigerian youth. Young people are finding ways to generate income through e-commerce, digital services, creative arts, fashion, food vending, logistics, and countless other ventures. They are adapting, innovating, and persisting under difficult conditions. But it would be a mistake for policymakers and institutions to celebrate this resilience as a substitute for structural reform. Resilience in the face of systemic failure is admirable, but it is not a policy. Young Nigerians deserve systems that support their potential, not just conditions that test their endurance.

The social consequences of widespread youth unemployment extend well beyond individual experiences of hardship. Communities affected by persistent and concentrated unemployment often experience increased social tensions, weakening of communal bonds, declining trust in institutions, and heightened vulnerability to various forms of social instability. When young people have little to do and little to look forward to, the social fabric of communities becomes strained in ways that are difficult to quantify but impossible to ignore.

Research in sociology and criminology consistently demonstrates that when legitimate pathways to economic and social success become inaccessible over a sustained period, individuals may become more susceptible to alternative means of meeting their needs and asserting their worth. This does not mean that unemployment causes crime in any simple or deterministic sense. The vast majority of unemployed young people in Nigeria are not engaged in criminal activity. However, persistent economic exclusion creates conditions of social strain, frustration, and disillusionment that can increase vulnerability to recruitment by criminal networks, extremist groups, or political actors who offer financial incentives in exchange for participation in activities that destabilize communities and institutions.

Nigeria has already seen the consequences of this dynamic play out in various regions of the country. Insurgency in the northeast, banditry in the northwest, and rising crime in urban centers all have complex causes, but economic exclusion and the absence of legitimate opportunity for young people consistently appear as contributing factors in analyses of these crises. Addressing youth unemployment is therefore not only a matter of economic policy. It is a matter of national security and social stability.

Addressing this challenge requires more than short-term employment programmes and token interventions. It demands a comprehensive, long-term, and genuinely committed approach that begins with an honest reckoning about the state of Nigeria’s educational system and its relationship to the labour market. Nigerian universities currently produce graduates in large numbers, but the curriculum in many institutions remains outdated, theoretically heavy, and disconnected from the practical demands of contemporary employers. Graduates emerge with certificates but without the technical competencies, digital literacy, critical thinking skills, or entrepreneurial mindset that the modern economy increasingly demands.

Educational institutions must undergo meaningful and substantive reform, not cosmetic adjustments. This means redesigning curricula to integrate practical skills, industry-relevant training, and technology competencies at every level of education. It means creating genuine partnerships between universities and industries so that students graduate with real-world experience and established professional networks. It means investing in vocational and technical education, which has long been underfunded and culturally undervalued in Nigeria despite its enormous potential to equip young people with marketable and immediately deployable skills.

Beyond education, the private sector must be incentivized and enabled to expand and create jobs at the scale that Nigeria’s youth population demands. This requires a business environment characterized by stable macroeconomic policy, reliable power supply, accessible credit, functional infrastructure, and a regulatory framework that encourages investment rather than discouraging it. Nigeria cannot produce jobs in sufficient numbers within a hostile business environment. Economic reforms that make it genuinely easier to start, grow, and sustain businesses are therefore inseparable from any serious effort to address youth unemployment.

Government also has a direct and irreplaceable role to play, not only as a regulator and policymaker but as an employer and investor in public infrastructure. Large-scale investment in roads, railways, housing, hospitals, schools, and digital infrastructure creates employment directly while also improving the conditions under which private enterprise can flourish. Social protection programmes that provide basic income support to the most vulnerable unemployed young people can also serve as a buffer, preventing the most desperate consequences of joblessness while longer-term structural reforms take effect.

The youth unemployment crisis should not be viewed solely through economic indicators and statistics, as important as those are. It represents a deeper social challenge that touches on social mobility, family structures, gender dynamics, community development, mental health, and national cohesion. It is a crisis of meaning and belonging as much as it is a crisis of income. Young people who cannot find their place in the economic life of their country often struggle to find their place in its social and civic life as well. Disengagement from society is a predictable and understandable response to repeated exclusion. But disengagement at scale carries enormous risks for the quality of democracy, the strength of civic institutions, and the social trust upon which stable societies depend.

The voices and experiences of young Nigerians themselves must be central to any serious conversation about solutions. Too often, young people are discussed as a problem to be managed rather than as citizens with agency, insight, and legitimate demands. They understand the realities of the labour market, the gaps in their education, the barriers to entrepreneurship, and the frustrations of navigating a system that frequently fails them. Platforms that genuinely listen to and incorporate their perspectives are not only more democratic but are also more likely to produce policies and interventions that actually work.

The future of any nation depends significantly on the opportunities available to its young people. When a generation begins to lose confidence in the ability of education and hard work to improve life chances, society risks undermining one of its most important mechanisms for progress, cohesion, and stability. That loss of confidence, once entrenched, is extraordinarily difficult to reverse. For Nigeria, the challenge is not merely to create jobs, although jobs are urgently needed. It is to restore confidence in the fundamental social promise that effort, education, and talent can still lead to opportunity and dignity. The extent to which this challenge is honestly confronted and adequately addressed may well determine not only Nigeria’s economic trajectory but the kind of society it becomes in the decades ahead. The clock is running, and the young people waiting for answers deserve more than silence.

By Dr. Sani Sa’idu Baba

Having traveled extensively across Nigeria over the years, I have had the privilege of observing firsthand the realities of governance and development in different parts of our country. I first visited Osun State in 2021 and again in May 2022. During those visits, I traveled through several communities and observed the developmental realities on the ground. Recently, I returned to Osun, and I must confess that I could hardly recognize the state I once knew. The transformation I witnessed was remarkable and convincing enough for me to conclude that if the additional revenues accruing to states from fuel subsidy removal were utilized the way Governor Ademola Adeleke of Osun State, Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf of Kano State, and Governor Alex Otti of Abia State have utilized theirs, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu would not be facing the level of criticism he receives across the country today.

Since the removal of fuel subsidy in May 2023, Nigerians have endured enormous hardship. Transportation costs have skyrocketed, food prices have become unbearable, rents have increased dramatically, and many families struggle daily to survive. Yet while citizens bore the pains of the policy, state governments began receiving unprecedented revenues from the Federation Account. The real issue therefore is no longer whether subsidy was removed, but what governors are doing with the resources generated from that decision.

Based on my observations across the country, I have come to a simple conclusion: Osun State has become one of the clearest examples of how subsidy-related revenues can be translated into visible development when leadership is focused on the people.

Healthcare provides one of the strongest examples. Through the Imole Medical Outreach Programme, thousands of residents have received free medical treatment, including surgeries for cataracts and hernia, services many families could never have afforded under normal circumstances. Thousands of senior citizens and vulnerable residents have also been enrolled in the Osun Health Insurance Scheme free of charge, ensuring that healthcare is not reserved only for the wealthy.

Beyond healthcare, the Adeleke administration has implemented various social intervention programmes aimed at cushioning the effects of economic hardship. Through the Imole Business Empowerment Scheme, small business owners have received support in the form of POS terminals, start-up grants, and interest-free loans. These interventions have particularly benefited women, youths, and cooperative societies, creating opportunities for economic survival during difficult times.

Infrastructure development is equally visible across the state. During my recent visit, I personally observed significant improvements in parts of Osogbo, Ede, Iwo, and Gbogan. Roads that were once difficult to navigate have received attention, while rural electrification projects and portable borehole water schemes have extended development beyond the urban centers.

Before my recent visit to Osun State, I came across a video of former President Olusegun Obasanjo speaking during the commissioning of some of Governor Adeleke’s projects, including the VIP Lodge and major road networks. In his characteristic jovial manner, Chief Obasanjo remarked in Yoruba: “Mr Governor, they call you a dancer. But you are dancing to praise God. And I heard you are working hard for your people.” He urged Governor Adeleke to ignore distractions and the shortcomings of previous administrations and remain focused on delivering dividends of democracy to the people. At the time, I considered it a generous endorsement from a respected elder statesman. However, after my recent visit to Osun, I now better understand why Obasanjo made those remarks.

One experience stood out for me. Seeing light virtually everywhere across Osogbo helped me understand why Governor Adeleke is popularly called “Imole.” In Yoruba, Imole means “Light,” and the visible improvements in infrastructure, electrification, and public services across the state give practical meaning to that nickname. Development, after all, is the light that dispels the darkness of poverty and neglect.

Governor Adeleke’s commitment to long-term development is equally evident in its approach to the power sector. By signing the Osun Electricity Law, Governor Adeleke positioned the state to address chronic electricity challenges through off-grid and renewable energy solutions. This is the kind of forward-thinking policy many states should be emulating.

Education has not been neglected. Instructional materials have been distributed to schools, and the state’s performance in national examinations has reportedly improved significantly. Combined with the payment of salary and pension arrears inherited from previous administrations, these measures have helped restore confidence among workers, retirees, students, and families across the state.

In retrospect, my initial criticism of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s subsidy removal policy was understandable, given the uncertainty and hardship that followed. Today, however, I see the issue differently. The policy itself is not necessarily the problem. The bigger challenge lies with governors who fail to translate increased revenues into tangible benefits for their citizens.

Osun State, much like Kano and Abia States, has demonstrated that when leadership is people-oriented, even painful economic reforms can produce meaningful outcomes.

In fact, President Tinubu owes Governors Ademola Adeleke, Abba Kabir Yusuf, and Alex Otti a sincere thank you. These governors have shown Nigerians what subsidy-derived revenues can accomplish when managed responsibly. Their performances have given citizens practical examples of what they should be demanding from their respective state governments.

More importantly, they have exposed the scale of resources now available to states. Citizens can now ask legitimate questions: If these states can build roads, improve healthcare, support businesses, expand social welfare programmes, and invest in education, what is preventing others from doing the same?

The real debate surrounding subsidy removal is therefore no longer about the availability of resources but about the quality of leadership managing those resources. If Nigeria truly wants to understand what the benefits of subsidy removal should look like, it should stop listening to excuses and start studying examples such as Osun, Kano, and Abia States.

As an outsider with no political stake in Osun State, I believe the people of the state should carefully reflect on the transformation they have witnessed under Governor Ademola Adeleke. Elections are ultimately a report card on performance. They should be about results rather than rhetoric, delivery rather than promises, and tangible impact rather than partisan sentiments. When leaders demonstrate commitment to improving the lives of ordinary people, democracy demands that such performance be acknowledged and encouraged.

For me, the contrast between the Osun I saw in 2021 and the Osun I recently revisited is striking. The difference is visible, measurable, and difficult to ignore. If the current pace of development is sustained, Osun may well become one of the strongest examples in Nigeria of how responsible leadership can convert public resources into public good.

The lesson is simple: when leadership works, even difficult policies can produce positive results. And when leadership fails, even abundant resources become invisible to the people they are meant to serve.

Dr. Sani Sa’idu Baba writes from Kano, and can be reached via drssbaba@yahoo.com

By Dare Babarinsa

It is 33 years since we lined up to vote for Chief Moshood Abiola to become the President of Nigeria. It is now like ancient history. More than half of Nigeria’s population today was not even born then. June 12, 1993, was a pivotal day in our country’s march to constitutional democracy. On that date, Nigerians were given the option of picking one of two. Abiola’s opponent was the Kano businessman, Bashir Tofa, the candidate of the National Republican Convention, NRC. Abiola was of the Social Democratic Party, SDP. The truth was that both parties were sponsored by the military regime of General Ibrahim Babangida and it was difficult to know which one to pick. Then the majority picked Abiola.

When TELL magazine hit the newsstand in April 1991, we thought we were on the threshold of democracy. The self-appointed military President had promised that he would hand over power in 1991, then he shifted it to 1992, and then 1993. I met the Minister of Information, Chief Alex Akinyele, to seek an explanation for this constant changing of the goalposts. He said blandly that it was because “the transition programme is elastic!”

Dr Bala Usman, the radical Katsina prince and teacher at Ahmadu Bello University, warned that Babangida had a hidden agenda. Chief Gani Fawehinmi and Alhaji Balarabe Musa alerted us that if Nigerians want democracy, we must be ready to fight for it. A few days after we voted, our colleague, Nduka Irabor, the chief press secretary to Admiral Augustus Aikhomu, the Vice-President, distributed a press statement in Abuja, telling Nigerians that the military junta had annulled the election. By that time, though it had not been officially announced by Professor Humphrey Nwosu, the chairman of the National Electoral Commission, NEC, it was clear that Abiola had won the presidential election according to returns from the states.

Nigerians were up in arms against the military regime, calling for the full results of the election to be released. Babangida said no. Then he sent his goons to hunt down opposition elements. One Sunday afternoon, we were in the office when the TELL premises were surrounded. We had scheduled a meeting for that afternoon. Therefore, it was easy for them to pick up Nosa Igiebor, Editor-in-Chief, Onome Osifo-Whiskey, the Managing Editor, Kolawole Ilori, the Executive Editor and Ayodele Akinkuotu, the General Editor. The four big men were then taken to Shangisha, the Lagos headquarters of the notorious State Security Service, SSS. The following day, they were driven furiously to Abuja, where they were kept in a police cell until Babangida was forced out of power on August 27, 1993.

Babangida was succeeded by boardroom titan, Chief Ernest Shonekan, who became the Head of the Interim National Government, ING. After the overthrow of Chief Shonekan, I went to Chief Alfred Rewane in the company of my friend, Funminiyi Afuye. Baba Rewane believed that the new regime of General Sani Abacha would be our friend. He said Abacha was a nice man who had served as a General Officer Commanding in Ibadan and was well known to many of our friends. Besides, General Oladipo Diya, former Governor of Ogun State and now Abacha’s deputy, had met our leaders. He promised that “our stay will be brief.”

We misread Abacha seriously and paid dearly for it. One of the most active members in the struggle was my friend, Gbenga Adebusuyi, who played a prominent role in the Alpha Group under the leadership of Chief Bola Ige. When the goons came for Adebusuyi, he was not home and then they arrested his father and his wife. Eventually, Adebusuyi gave himself up. His father was released after many days in the cell. Baba died later. His wife spent three months in detention. Adebusuyi was in detention for many months.

Kazeem, who played a prominent role in setting up Radio Freedom (later Radio Kudirat) transmitter in a secret location in Ikeja, was killed in a mysterious bomb blast opposite the Air Force barracks. Omojola, who was our colleague in the Alpha Group, was captured with ‘subversive materials’ and detained for many months in Ibadan. He died shortly after his release. Of course, the martyrdom of Bagauda Kaltho, the reporter for TheNews magazine, was well reported.

There are too many heroes of the June 12 struggle. I remember Otunba Olabiyi Durojaiye with his bushy beard after many months in the gulag of the Directorate of Military Intelligence, DMI, where he shared detention in the distinguished company of Professor Akinjide Osuntokun, former Nigerian ambassador to Germany. It took a lot of effort for the SSS to capture Ayo Opadokun, who also grew a luxuriant beard. Olusegun Osoba fled home for many months while the SSS were on his trail, moving from one safe house to another. The publisher of Razor magazine, Moshood Fayemiwo, was captured and kept in an underground DMI cell for almost two years. Soji Omotunde, editor of the African Concord was captured on the road, beaten, and became a half-criple. Today, he is facing a serious health challenge. Osifo-Whiskey and Igiebor were to spend many months in prison.

Then the arranged coups that corralled innocent people like Dr Beko Ransome-Kuti, Kunle Ajibade, Ben Charles Obi, Niran Malaolu, Chris Anyanwu, George Mba, General Olusegun Obasanjo, Major-General Shehu Musa Yar’Adua, Colonel Gabriel Ajayi, Colonel Olusegun Oloruntoba (now His Majesty, the Olugbede of Gbede Kingdom in Kogi State), and others who became victims of phantom coup plots. The list of heroes and victims is endless. We have professionals like Olisa Agbakoba, Fola Adeola, Tola Mobolurin, Bayo Adenekan, Femi Yerokun, Pascal Idowu, Bayo Onanuga, Babafemi Ojudu, Dapo Olorunyomi, Seye Kehinde, Dayo Adeyeye, Anwo Kayode, Adedokun Abolarin (now our father, the Orangun of Oke-Ila), Demola Oyinlola, Professor Rotimi Akinola, Professor Akin Onigbinde, Professor Omikorede, Deji Sasegbon, Alao Adedayo, Dele Momodu, Ademola Adeniji-Adele, Tokunbo Ajasin, Rotimi Obadofin, Kunle Famoriyo, Ayo Afolabi, Abiodun Aremu, Joe Igbokwe, Seye Kehinde, and many others. Moneybags like Chief Michael Ade-Ojo, Otunba Gbenga Daniel, and Chief Deinde Fernadez were in a special class.

In the forefront were our fathers: the indomitable Chief Michael Adekunle Ajasin, Senator Abraham Adesanya, Chief Bola Ige, Chief Reuben Fasoranti, Sir Olanihun Ajayi, Chief Ayo Adebanjo, Otunba Solanke Onasanya, Chief Olu Falae, Chief Alfred Rewane, Air Commodore Dan Suleiman, Commodore Ebitu Ukiwe, Admiral Ndubuisi Kanu, Chief Arthur Nwankwo, Mr Udenta O. Udenta, Dr Wahab Dosumu, and Dr Femi Okunronmu. Chief Gani Fawehinmi and his paladins were the special heroes of the struggle; Femi Falana, Baba Omojola, Shehu Sani, Uba Sani, Festus Keyamo and all those irrepressible boys and girls in Gani’s law firm, including my friend, now His Lordship, Honourable Justice Abiodun Akinyemi. The list is endless. That is why the President cannot honour everybody in one year. The list has to be updated regularly before history becomes myth. I can only remember a few during this peregrination.
The exile team was led by Chief Anthony Enahoro, and comprises leaders like Professor Wole Soyinka, Professor Bolaji Akinyemi, Senator Bola Ahmed Tinubu, and General Alani Akinrinade. On their team were the likes of Ropo Sekoni, Bolaji Aluko, Kayode Fayemi, Bolaji Aluko, Sola Adeyeye, Kole Omololu and Kayode Oladimeji
In 1996, it was agreed that Chief Anthony Enahoro, co-chairman of the opposition National Democratic Coalition, NADECO, had to go into exile after spending several months in the Lagos underground, moving from one safe house to another. He finally ended up in the Ikeja home of Dr Amos Akingba, the redoubtable risk-taker and hero of the struggle. Akingba was the greatest collaborator with General Alani Akinrinade during those testy times before the two of them fled into exile. Enahoro was an elderly man who was wise in the ways of our ancestors. He insisted that before he would go into exile, he must touch base at his home in Benin. One of our leaders arranged security escorts for him to go to Benin and back as he requested. One Sunday morning, I was in Akingba’s house, and I joined the convoy of cars that escorted Baba Enahoro to Mile 2 on his way to exile. The escort team was led by the redoubtable Dr Frederick Fasehun, the founder and leader of the Oodua Peoples Congress, OPC. Dr Akingba has now retired to his country home in Ode-Irele, Ondo State.

People from different parts of the country participated. Soldiers risked their lives and commission to be part of the struggle. I still run into some of these people now and then, and you will not believe that these ordinary-looking people are the heroes of our Republic who risked everything so that Nigeria can be free from tyranny. Such was the nobility of our people; such courage, such ingenuity and capacity to hope when the situation appeared hopeless.

This short reminiscence is just to remind us that some people paid dearly for the current democracy. The greatest tribute we can pay the heroes is not to endanger it or take it for granted. That is the assignment of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, one of the heroes of the struggle, and other current tenants of power. The survival of the Republic as a democracy is the President’s ultimate constituency project.

Dare Babarinsa, CON is the Chairman, Gaskia Media Ltd, and writes from Lagos