Category: Arts

A Review of Citizen Experience: Reset for Superior Civil Service Delivery, By Michael Harry Yamson
A Review of Citizen Experience: Reset for Superior Civil Service Delivery

By Michael Harry Yamson,
Administrator, District Assemblies Common Fund, Ghana

Dr. Julius Debrah

I have spent a considerable portion of my professional life working within the architecture of Ghana’s public financial management system — specifically at the intersection of central government policy and local government delivery. From that vantage point, I have had occasion to observe, with both pride and discomfort, the distance that so often exists between what the state intends for its citizens and what citizens actually receive. It is from this perspective — not as a detached academic observer, but as a practitioner who has sat on both sides of the accountability equation — that I commend to the reading public this timely, necessary, and admirably courageous work by Professor Robert E. Hinson and the Honourable Julius Debrah.

Citizen Experience: Reset for Superior Civil Service Delivery is not a comfortable book. It is not designed to be. It is designed to disturb the settled assumptions of those of us who have made careers within the public service and to invite us, with intellectual rigour and moral seriousness, to ask the harder questions we have too long deferred.

The Question We Forgot to Ask

The book opens with a distinction so simple it is almost embarrassing — embarrassing, that is, because it exposes a blind spot that runs through virtually every tier of Ghana’s public administration, including, I confess, my own.

Governments ask whether their systems are functioning. Citizens ask what it feels like to deal with those systems. These are not the same question. They have never been the same question. And for too long, we in the public service have congratulated ourselves for answering the first while barely registering the existence of the second.

As Administrator of the District Assemblies Common Fund, I am acutely aware of this divergence. The DACF exists constitutionally to channel resources to the 261 district assemblies across Ghana — to finance local development and bring government closer to the people. On paper, disbursements are made, accounts are rendered, and the system functions. But the citizen in Bongo, in Nkoranza, in Ellembelle, in Kpone-Katamanso — what does that citizen experience when they interact with the district assembly that those resources are meant to strengthen? That is the question that Hinson and Debrah insist we must answer. And they are absolutely right to insist.

Citizen Experience Is Governance — Not a Service Department Problem

The authors make a distinction that I believe is foundational and that public administrators at every level must internalise: citizen experience is governance, not a customer service issue. This framing matters enormously because it determines where responsibility sits.

If citizen experience is a customer service problem, it belongs to the receptionist, the front-desk officer, the call centre. Management is absolved. Leadership is untouched. Strategy is undisturbed. But if citizen experience is governance — if it is the substance and measure of what government actually does — then responsibility travels all the way to the top. To the minister. To the board. To the administrator. To me.

That is an uncomfortable but necessary accountability. And it is one that the systems of the Ghanaian state, including the local government financing architecture within which I work, have not always been designed to enforce.

The book argues, correctly, that leadership drives institutional performance. The systems of state — strategy, structure, technology, culture, people, and skills — must be designed around citizens’ priorities, not deployed to shape those priorities to the convenience of the institution. I have seen too many strategic plans in the public sector that are written by institutions, for institutions, to justify the continued existence of institutions. The citizen appears in such documents as a beneficiary — passive, undifferentiated, grateful. What Hinson and Debrah demand, and what the evidence of our governance history demands, is a complete inversion of that orientation.

The God Complex in Local Government

The passage in this book that I found most arresting — and most personally challenging — is the authors’ treatment of what I would call the monopoly mentality in public service. There is, they note, only one Ghana Police Service. Only one Ghana Health Service. Only one local government office that a citizen in any given locality can deal with. The citizen has no alternative. There is no competitor. There is no exit.

I want to sit with this observation for a moment, because in my work with district assemblies, I encounter its consequences regularly. The district assembly is, for the majority of Ghanaians, the face of government closest to their daily lives. It is where building permits are sought, where sanitation complaints are lodged, where market tolls are collected, where social intervention programmes are administered. And because it is the only such face — because there is no rival district assembly the citizen can patronise if they are dissatisfied — the incentive structure for service excellence is, structurally, weak.

The authors frame this with an image that is equal parts humorous and tragic: the citizen dealing with the state may as well be dealing with God, and God is never wrong. From this absolute asymmetry of power flows the most dangerous of public service pathologies — the loss of humility. And from that loss of humility flows the institutionalised indifference, the casual contempt for citizen time, the administrative arrogance that has made so many Ghanaians regard their government offices with dread rather than confidence.

This is not a peripheral observation. In the local government space, where I have particular insight, it is the central driver of poor citizen outcomes. District assemblies that know their citizens have nowhere else to go rarely feel the urgency to improve. And without that urgency, accountability becomes ceremonial.

Bribery Dressed as Appreciation

I have worked long enough in public financial management to know that corruption is rarely spoken of by its own name within the institutions that practise it. The authors identify this phenomenon with clinical precision. The culture of bribery does not announce itself as such. It reinvents itself, socially and linguistically, as appreciation — a gesture of gratitude from citizen to servant that happens, entirely coincidentally, to secure the service that was owed as a matter of right. The vocabulary changes. The corruption does not. The essential element — the coercion of a citizen who has no recourse — remains perfectly preserved beneath the new social grammar.

From a public financial management perspective, this matters deeply. The District Assemblies Common Fund is public money — constitutionally mandated, taxpayer-funded, intended for the development of communities. When the administrators of those funds, at district level and beyond, participate in cultures that extract informal payments from citizens for services that should be freely and efficiently rendered, they are not merely committing individual acts of dishonesty. They are systematically undermining the integrity of the entire local governance financing architecture. Every act of “appreciation” is a tax levied on the citizen twice — once through the formal system, and once at the point of service. It is governance failure in its most intimate form.

The Framework: Seven Dimensions, Five Principles

The conceptual framework that Hinson and Debrah offer is one of the book’s most practically valuable contributions, and one I intend to carry into my own institutional thinking.

The seven dimensions of citizen experience — accessibility, clarity, speed, dignity, fairness, consistency, and outcomes — define what must be delivered. The five distinguishing principles — universality, dignity, equity, accountability, and public value — define how those dimensions must be delivered. The citizen, the authors rightly observe, evaluates both simultaneously and holistically.

This framework has direct application to the work of district assemblies. Consider accessibility: how many district assembly offices are physically inaccessible to persons with disabilities, to elderly citizens, to those without private transport? Consider clarity: how many citizens leave a district office without a clear understanding of what was decided about their request, or what the next step is, or why their application was declined? Consider dignity: in how many district offices does the citizen wait for hours without acknowledgement, without information, without the basic courtesy of being told what is happening?

These are not rhetorical questions. They are the audit that Hinson and Debrah demand we conduct — honestly, publicly, and with consequences attached to the findings.

Prof. Robert Ebo Hinson

The Structural Problem and the Post-Colonial Reckoning

As someone who has navigated the legislative and institutional architecture of Ghana’s local government system for many years, I recognise with particular sharpness the authors’ observation about foundational structural failures. Public institutions, they argue, are designed with their mandates, boundaries, and accountability relationships oriented toward institutional self-definition rather than citizen outcomes. None of the original design embeds best practice or accountability into the organisational DNA. The institution knows what it is. It does not always know what the citizen needs it to be.

The District Assemblies Common Fund, for instance, has a clear constitutional mandate: at least five percent of government revenue, disbursed to district assemblies. That mandate is administratively well-defined. But the citizen’s experience of what happens to those resources once they reach the district — whether roads are actually built, whether markets are actually improved, whether social grants are actually disbursed with dignity and accuracy — is a different and more complex story. The structural accountability that connects the national financing architecture to the last-mile citizen experience is, at best, imperfect.

On the question of colonialism, I am in full agreement with the authors, even as I acknowledge the provocation of their position. We have had seventy years. The inherited architecture of colonial administration was not designed for citizen service — it was designed for control, extraction, and hierarchy. But we chose to preserve large portions of that architecture, and we have had generation after generation of leadership with the power to redesign it. To continue to narrate our present failures primarily as colonial inheritance is, at this point, to practice a sophisticated form of self-deception. What remains is our own accountability — in our own time, to our own people.

On the Human Capital of the Public Service

As an administrator who depends daily on the competence and commitment of public servants — at the DACF, at the district assemblies, across the agencies and departments whose work intersects with local governance — I read the book’s treatment of people and culture with particular personal investment.

The authors do not scapegoat the public servant. They understand that transformation is not simply a matter of willingness. It requires framework, rules, rewards, and sanctions — consistently and courageously applied. Outrageous performance must be outrageously rewarded. Innovation in public service delivery must be celebrated, not merely tolerated. And training must no longer be treated as a privilege or a reward. It must be the minimum requirement for remaining fit to serve.

This resonates with me deeply. In my experience, morale is the most fragile and most consequential resource in any public institution. When public servants feel unseen by leadership, when excellence goes unacknowledged, when the path of least resistance is also the path of least accountability — morale collapses. And when morale collapses, the citizen pays the price.

The dignity of the citizen and the dignity of the public servant are not competing values. They are mutually reinforcing ones. We cannot demand that public servants treat citizens with respect and humanity while those same servants are poorly paid, inadequately trained, inconsistently supervised, and routinely exposed to political interference that makes a mockery of merit. The book is right to hold both accountabilities simultaneously. Public servants must be paid well, trained rigorously, and held to the highest ethical standards — including zero tolerance for corruption in all its linguistic disguises.

Measurement, Transparency, and the Blackstar Standard

The book’s call for rigorous, transparent, publicly accessible measurement of citizen experience is one that I believe must become a non-negotiable feature of Ghana’s governance reform agenda. You get what you measure. If we do not systematically measure the quality of the citizen’s experience at every point of government interaction, we will never know with precision what we need to fix — and we will never be able to demonstrate to citizens, credibly and verifiably, that things are improving.

As Ghana’s government sets out a manifesto aspiration for superlative performance — what the authors describe as a Blackstar experience across every dimension of public service — measurement becomes the infrastructure of credibility. It is not enough to declare a standard. The standard must be qualified, made visible, and placed in the hands of citizens to rate. Every public servant must understand that the system measures and that measurement has real consequences for recognition, compensation, promotion, and career advancement.

From a local government financing perspective, this means that the quality of citizen experience at the district level must become a dimension of how we evaluate the performance of district assemblies — not merely whether funds were received and accounts rendered, but what those funds produced in terms of the lived experience of the citizens they were meant to serve.

A Word on Technology and the Shrinking Margin

The final urgency that the book names is one that administrators of my generation must take with maximum seriousness. Artificial intelligence, social media, and the broader digital transformation of civic life are changing not only how services can be delivered but how quickly citizens form, share, and act on their expectations and grievances. Best practice and worst practice travel at the same speed. A citizen who experiences seamless, dignified, efficient service — whether from a private institution or a government in another country — carries that expectation into every subsequent interaction with their own government.

The margin for mediocrity is shrinking. The digital citizen of today is not comparing the District Assembly of today to the District Assembly of 1990. They are comparing it to every excellent experience they have encountered anywhere. That is a high standard. It is also the right one.

Conclusion: A Book That Demands Action, Not Admiration

I want to close this review with a caution — one directed as much at myself as at any reader. There is a temptation, when encountering a book as thoughtfully constructed as this one, to admire it, to reference it in speeches, to circulate it among colleagues, and then to return to the daily business of institutional life largely unchanged. That temptation must be resisted.

Citizen Experience: Reset for Superior Civil Service Delivery is not written to be admired. It is written to be acted upon. Its arguments are precise. Its prescriptions are practical. Its moral urgency is real and justified. For those of us who administer the resources and institutions of the Ghanaian state, it carries the weight of an obligation — to the citizens who fund us, to the constitutional vision of a government that serves, and to the possibility of a public service we can genuinely be proud of.

Something has got to change. The citizen and their experience of satisfaction must sit at the heart of governance. Every government must ultimately be measured by the perception that citizens have of the dignity with which they are treated when they interact with its services. That is not an aspirational footnote. It is the purpose of the state.

I commend this work without reservation to every public administrator, political leader, civil society actor, and engaged citizen in Ghana — and indeed across the African continent. Read it. Argue with it. Be disturbed by it. And then do something about it.
- Michael Harry Yamson is the Administrator of the District Assemblies Common Fund of Ghana. The views expressed in this review are his own.
June 10, 2026
Obasanjo’s ‘Not My Will’: A Review With a Rejoinder, By Professor Ladipo Adamolekun

Professor Ladipo Adamolekun

Fair comment on any piece of writing would require that the author’s objective should be the reviewer’s major reference point. The objective of Not My Will (Ibadan, 1990) is stated in the Introduction as follows: “I have endeavoured to put this book out before the third republic and early in the last decade of the twentieth century as part of my contribution to making the decade a period of soul-searching, deep sober reflection, stability, progress, development, peace and cooperation through the lessons of history for all of us, individually and collectively.”

What contributions does this book make towards enabling Nigerians to rise to the challenges of the 1990s and beyond? I would venture to say that it makes three main contributions. First, it provides an insider’s account of the complexities and intricacies of running a federal system in the Nigerian milieu. General Obasanjo is the first leader at the federal level to have given an account of his stewardship in writing. Not My Will is, therefore, a welcome addition to our knowledge of the running of regional governments by the first three premiers: Alhaji Ahmadu Bello, Chief Obafemi Awolowo and Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe. Those who aspire to rule Nigeria under the third republic and in the foreseeable future would benefit from reading all the four books.

Second, General Obasanjo provides insights on some issues that will continue to feature prominently in the governance of the country: national census, religion, national integration, economic management, and international relations. I find his views on national census and religion eminently sensible. Without prejudging the work of Alhaji Shehu Musa and his team, faithful implementation of the strategy spelt out in the book (pp. 53-55) appears to be a more promising road to the achievement of a reliable and acceptable census in the country. In addition to the useful insights, he has provided on “Sharia politics”, General Obasanjo has also demonstrated his own personal; religious tolerance by worshipping both in a Baptist church and a mosque after his “triumphant” return to Abeokuta in October 1979. Those involved in the Organisation of Islamic Council (OIC) fiasco have committed the serious crime of bringing religion to the centre stage of Nigerian politics. This dangerous trend has to be reversed and religion must be kept serenely as a private affair of individual Nigerians.

On national integration, this reviewer is convinced that General Obasanjo is a genuine believer in one Nigeria. Anyone who has read My Command, Nzeogwu, Constitution for National Integration and Development, together with Not My Will is likely to agree with this verdict. It does appear that he genuinely and consistently sought to rely on a “national caucus of advisers” (p.170). However, it would also be correct, in my opinion, to assert that certain actions that he took in the name of promoting national integration were based on wrong assumptions and were, therefore, counterproductive. My two favourite examples are the location of some industries and the posting of university vice chancellors like police commissioners or military commanders without regard for the peculiarities of university culture. As an insider of the Nigerian university system at the time, I make bold to declare that this action hastened the decline of the universities by bastardising the appointment of their chief executives. Unfortunately, General Obasanjo continues to believe that the end of national integration justifies whatever means he adopted.

On economic management, the lesson to learn from the account in this book is that only limited concrete results can be achieved in the absence of a clearly thought-out and coherent economic policy framework. Unlike the political programme with a definite end-product and a well-articulated sequencing, the Murtala-Obasanjo administration had no economic programme. The regime weas guided by a mixture of pragmatism, economic nationalism (the “commanding heights” of the economy idea), and a belief in efficient management. Overall, the regime’s record in the field of economic development was patchy. There were some concrete achievements in agriculture and transportation but the problem of telecommunication persisted in spite of huge investments. And it is difficult to rate the regime highly in financial management, especially the controversial jumbo loan decision in a period of relative affluence.

Chapter 7 on “International Relations” is a succinct account of how our foreign policy came of age. It is arguable that we could have achieved more but the Murtala-Obasanjo administration richly deserves credit for launching the country on the path of an assertive foreign policy. General Obasanjo certainly contributed significantly to this achievement. However, reading between the lines in the chapter, there are clear warnings that our persistent inability to keep our domestic problems under control will continue to constitute a drag on our foreign policy.

The third contribution of this book relates to General Obasanjo’s leadership style. I must confess that I find it difficult to separate elements of the General’s leadership style that derive from his military profession from those that derive from the combination of his religion, cultural and educational backgrounds. It is very likely that all of these elements combined in an inextricable manner to produce what emerges in the book as the General’s leadership style. There is evidence of courage, a touch of abrasiveness, dedication, hard work and integrity. His commitment to a consensual approach to politics almost amounts to an article of faith. The consistent use of task forces and study panels, and the periodic “Saturday meetings” in Doddan Barracks (essentially brainstorming sessions), were all in the pursuit of consensus politics. Of course, this did not evolve into a system of governance (the time was obviously too short) but some practical illustrations of its merits are provided in the book.

I would like to put on record two reservations about this book. The first relates to the ad hominem references made in different parts of the book. Those whose advice General Obasanjo sought in writing this book are not named, deliberately I would imagine. Similarly, in a few instances where uncomplimentary comments are made about individuals, no names are provided: the eye specialist who metamorphosed into a crude lobbyist and the corrupt “two star” General. In practically all cases of praise, the names are provided. I would consider all this desirable. In contrast, I think that the majority of the cases where persons are named for negative comments could have been avoided without detracting from the usefulness of the book for the achievement of the author’s stated objective. Notable examples are the references to Alhaji Sule Katagun, Justice Elias, and General Oluleye. On late Chief Obafemi Awolowo and his party, the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN), General Obasanjo has clearly sought to settle a score. This could have been avoided. He could have simply limited himself to a few paragraphs on both the Chief and his party as he did for the other political leaders of the second republic. Given the General’s new “large constituency… as large as the world itself” (p.65), a significant proportion of Chapter 9 is inappropriate (especially pp.182, 188, 196-202). Would the General consider expunging these pages from a reprinted edition of the book? I was very sad to read of the attempt to assassinate the General in Ibadan (p.224).

My second reservation is that writing ten years after the events, General Obasanjo did not stand back sufficiently to enrich his contributions with some of the useful lessons he must have learnt from having the world as his new “constituency”. The closest he comes to doing this is the strong case he makes for democratic politics (pp.1-2). There are no real indications about how he would like to see the institutions he criticizes so trenchantly strengthened to enable them play their respective roles in the 1990s and beyond: the civil service, labour unions, the press, universities, and the judiciary. One can only hope that he would address these important issues within the framework of his excellent African Leadership Forum initiative.

Although General Obasanjo lavishes praise on his publishers, careful and detailed editing should be carried out before the book is reprinted. The book also deserves a better index; the existing one appears hurriedly done and is most inadequate.
July 25, 1990.

A REJOINDER
Let me take three issues in your review that I disagree with.
Our economic policy was self-sufficiency through self-reliance and that take with it those factors which you acknowledge – economic pragmatism, economic nationalism, and efficient management among others. That economic policy framework was not without success in self-sufficiency in rice and poultry production, consciousness and awareness raising in agriculture and food production and encouragement of light industries in furniture, domestic and household goods and grounding of the economy in base industries of iron and steel, petrochemical and infrastructures of roads, fuel depots, and pipelines although the incoming administration short-circuited and frustrated some of the achievements and successes in this regard.

As for my comments on political leaders and their organisations, I go by the parable of the talents which in summary says to whom much is given, much is to be expected. You got it right when you said that national integration is of primary concern to me. Unless we have uniformity of purpose, we are not going to make progress. We are not going to have integration unless we work consciously, assiduously and arduously for it. If posting university Vice Chancellors as Customs officers is one of the ways of working for it so be it. Our universities have not evolved the way those we try to copy evolved. Not to see all aspects of our national life as essential ingredients of national integration is to make a grievous mistake. And for any group to think and behave as if they are a special breed outside the integrative mesh is to make themselves irrelevant in the circumstance and in the process.

Professor Ladipo Adamolekun, wrote from Iju, Akure North local government, Ondo State

February 16, 2026
The silent press and the silent siege, By Segun Adediran

Segun Adediran

Within the next several years, the invisible architecture of Nigeria’s democracy faces a quiet but existential threat. For decades, the local press served as the bedrock of our national identity, but today, that foundation is being hollowed out by unregulated global digital gatekeepers.

Led by Lady Maiden Alex-Ibru, the President of the Newspaper Proprietors’ Association of Nigeria, the Press is opening up. On the platform of the Nigerian Press Organisation, NPO, which represents the collective weight of the NPAN, the Nigeria Guild of Editors, Broadcasting Organisations of Nigeria, Nigerian Union of Journalists and the Guild of Corporate Online Publishers, it broke the “ungolden” silence.

Last Tuesday, it issued a stark warning on a major threat: Nigeria’s social cohesion, national security, and democratic governance are being surreptitiously surrendered to algorithms controlled from outside our borders. It gladdens my heart.

Silently, the Big Tech firms, under the guise of technological innovation, have been killing the global media one bit at a time. But it appears the Nigerian press can no longer bear the pains of where their “shoe pinches” like their peers elsewhere. They have rightly identified the specific point where troubles, difficulties and stresses for their survival originate: Big Tech’s thieving technology.

They have also highlighted a more insidious vulnerability. In an era where foreign-coded narratives can dictate public discourse and relegate professional journalism to the margins, the “information sovereignty” of the republic is no longer a theoretical concern. It is an active crisis.

And the message is crystal clear: A new commitment to establishing terms of engagement with these global platforms will be needed to ensure that Nigeria’s national conversation is not quietly outsourced to opaque commercial interests beyond our control.

The Nigerian government should be worried. As the world pivots toward a digital-first existence, the structural pillars of the Nigerian Fourth Estate are being dismantled by global forces that owe no allegiance to our national borders, our social cohesion, or our democratic survival.

Yet, amid this mounting disruption, our policy response remains dangerously dormant. While the Presidency and the National Assembly grapple with immediate crises of security and currency, a more insidious vulnerability is being coded into our daily lives: the surrender of Nigeria’s public square to unregulated, transnational digital gatekeepers.

There is no precedent for the complexity of the current digital era. The era of the “town crier” or the monopolistic state broadcaster has given way to a fragmented reality where foreign-owned algorithms determine what a citizen in Kano, Lagos, or Enugu sees, believes, or ignores. They, “the big boys”, smile at the banks while our news organisations gnash their teeth.

Today, Nigeria’s total advertising spend is estimated to be nearing $1 billion, yet a staggering $340 million of that is being swallowed by digital platforms—primarily Search and Social Media. By 2025, Social Media alone is projected to command $131 million in Nigerian ad spend, while online video and banner ads—territories dominated by Google and Meta—will siphon off another $269 million. Recent reporting from BusinessDay (February 2026) highlights that the digital ad sector is projected to grow to $148 million in social media alone by the end of this year. Meta’s total 2024 revenue was approximately $134 billion, and Alphabet (Google) exceeded $307 billion.

This is not merely a market disruption; it is a strategic decapitation of the local press. While these global behemoths reported 2024 revenues as high as $164.5 billion globally, their Nigerian operations operate in a financial “black box,” extracting local capital while returning almost zero reinvestment into the newsrooms that provide the very content their users discuss.

When professional journalism collapses, the vacuum is not filled by silence; it is filled by chaos.

The other answer lies in the global history of democratic resilience. When nations in the 20th century realised that certain industries—telecommunications, banking, energy—were vital to national security, they created robust frameworks to ensure they remained indigenous and accountable. Journalism is no different. It is strategic civic infrastructure, as essential to the health of the republic as the judiciary. Yet, we are currently treating it as a disposable commodity in a lopsided global auction where foreign entities pay billions in taxes to the Federal Government—N3.85 trillion in the first nine months of 2024 alone—yet provide no direct compensation to the industry whose intellectual property they monetise.

The Nigerian press does not come to the government seeking a handout. We come with a warning: a democracy of Nigeria’s scale cannot afford to outsource its information sovereignty. And this is not just Nigeria’s trouble; it’s a global movement. Leading democracies have already concluded that non-intervention is a recipe for the institutional collapse of their trusted news industries. The European Union has moved to curb gatekeeper dominance; Australia has implemented a bargaining framework that forces tech giants to remunerate local newsrooms; and Canada has enacted legislation to secure long-term funding for domestic journalism.

These nations recognised a fundamental truth: press freedom requires economic viability. A journalist who cannot afford to eat cannot afford to be brave. A newsroom that cannot fund a legal team cannot challenge corruption.

Today, the Nigerian safety net for truth is frayed. The good news is that it can be restitched. As a first step, the Federal Government should empower the Federal Competition and Consumer Protection Commission (FCCPC) and the Nigerian Copyright Commission (NCC) to establish a mandatory bargaining code. This would ensure that when global platforms monetise Nigerian news content, a fair portion of that value is reinvested back into the newsrooms that produced it.

Finally, we must insist on transparency in algorithmic distribution, ensuring that local, credible news is not buried under a mountain of sensationalist, offshore-driven “engagement.”

Democracy rarely prevents the emergence of new technologies, but it must serve as a check on their excesses. Citizens need to exert their influence now, demanding that their representatives protect the integrity of the news they consume. We should not allow the next generation of Nigerians to inherit a world where they cannot distinguish between a verified fact and a manufactured lie, or where their national discourse is merely a data point for a foreign corporation’s profit margin.

The decisions made in the hallowed chambers of the National Assembly and the offices of the Presidency over the next two years will define the digital sovereignty of this nation. We can either act to secure a professional, independent, and viable press, or we can watch as the “last major treaty” between the truth and the public is allowed to expire.

This is the time when silence is not golden.

Adediran, NPAN CEO, writes via [email protected]

February 7, 2026
Saraki’s persona in Bolaji’s book, By Lasisi Olagunju

Dr. Lasisi Olagunju

I begin with a telling scene. In 2001, former Sports Minister, Bolaji Abdullahi, then a young journalist, visited the strongman of Kwara politics, Dr. Olusola Saraki, at his Lagos home. From his vast library, the elder Saraki presented his guest with a book: ‘Life in the Jungle’ by Michael Heseltine. “Politics is truly a jungle,” the old politician told the young journalist.

That moment stayed with me as I read Bolaji’s latest book, ‘The Loyalist: A Memoir of Service and Sacrifice’, slated for presentation in Abuja on January 27. I was to review it at the event but for my phobia for Abuja and its toxins. The author, nevertheless, sent me an advance copy. I got it on Friday. This is my preview of the book.

From beginning to end, what I see here is Bolaji’s own version of D.O. Fagunwa’s ‘Ogboju Ode’, a forest thick with demons, trials, and betrayals. Former Ekiti State governor, Dr. Kayode Fayemi, captures its essence in a cover blurb; he describes the book as an exploration of “the underbelly of human nature.” Aptly so.

The author started his political life as Governor Bukola Saraki’s Special Assistant, then commissioner for education. Later he became Goodluck Jonathan’s Sports Minister. Did he become minister because Saraki willed it? If the position did not come through Saraki, why did he lose it because of him? The book speaks on these.

‘The Loyalist’ is an unflattering, tell-all account of the author’s long association with Senator Bukola Saraki. It takes a brief detour into Nigeria’s ailments, then settles into a story of power, patronage, promise, and eventual separation after 22 years. It is a primer on godfather-godson politics and on what happens when loyalty is repeatedly tested.

Bolaji insists he set out to tell his own story, but he concedes that “in telling your own story, you tell other people’s as well.” He writes: “Nobody’s story has been as intricately connected with mine in the 20 years that this book covers as Senator Bukola Saraki’s… For most of the journey, I walked under his shadow… Therefore, readers will find that, to a large extent, this book is his story as well.”

I would argue it is even more Saraki’s story than the author admits.

Throughout the book, the boy sketches the boss as a man of effortless authority and magnetism—one who draws people in while holding them at arm’s length. Proximity here is never accidental; it is rationed, measured, controlled. Once, boss and boy shared a romance of duty, trust, and friendship. The early chapters bear witness to that bond. Later chapters show how politics devoured it.

What Bolaji is set to release is less a memoir of self than a study of a ruler—a cold, calculating king who “keeps himself in clouds,” to borrow from William Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’. Many orbit him; few approach; none fully enter.

The book runs to 13 chapters and 287 pages. Chapter Three, “Sowing the Mustard Seed,” is described by Olusegun Adeniyi, who wrote the foreword, as “easily the most important chapter.” Perhaps. I might have chosen the later chapters of raw politics, broken promises, and disappointment. Still, it is here that Bolaji takes a scalpel to power’s façade, slicing through the boss’ fine charm to reveal the architecture of control beneath.

He writes of Saraki: “He exuded an aura that appeared to attract and repel at the same time… It was as if he was surrounded by invisible fences… In the innermost chamber of his life, he resided alone, inscrutable, like a god.”

To write thus is to lay a living leader on a cadaver table. Power prefers action to autopsy. Bolaji’s disquisitive tendency could actually be the undoing of his politics. Who knows? In Shakespeare’s ‘Julius Caesar’, Caesar loathes Cassius because he “looks quite through the deeds of men”—a man too observant to be safely ignored.

The recurring theme of promise and disappointment runs through the book. Check this: In November 2016, Saraki urged Bolaji to accept the role of APC Publicity Secretary, warning: “I don’t want us to send someone who will see small money and turn against us.” Twenty months later, on July 27, 2018, Saraki hinted that Bolaji would soon be asked to quit that office. A consolation prize was dangled: the governorship of Kwara State. Three days later, Saraki asked him to resign and follow him back to the PDP. Bolaji complied. He pursued the governorship with total commitment. One day, boss asked a cleric to pray for Bolaji’s success; Bolaji knelt before cleric and received the supplication into his life. Bolaji’s campaign ran out of cash, boss supplied cash. Days before the primary, boss quietly instructed delegates to support another aspirant. The directive leaked to Bolaji. Bolaji asked boss, boss did not confirm or deny it. The D-Day knocked. Without announcing it, boss doubled down on giving the ticket to the other man. A shattered Bolaji withdrew from the race. End of story. Or, as Shakespeare would have it in Richard II – Act 5, scene 5: “I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.”

Disappointment recurs. Like photographs in a coffee-table book, the author lays them out for judgment. What emerges is a tactician who rationed intimacy, gave offices in the evening and withdrew them in the morning; a leader who made unreadability a method. You could orbit his star, but are never allowed to explore it.

Some would argue that what this persona reflects is not cruelty but strategy for survival in a field of mines and betrayal. Perhaps.

Segun Adeniyi says readers will enjoy “Bolaji’s disquisition on Saraki’s persona.” Disquisition. The word is precise: exposition, interrogation, laying bare. Readers may enjoy it. The subject himself is unlikely to. To dissect power is to threaten its crown. Someone said leaders prefer to be felt, not explained. Power feeds on mystery.

The book also offers insight into how power was organised. Bolaji wrote: “Collective decisions presupposed the existence of a team, but he never built a team… No one ever had the full picture… There was always a game at play, with the end goal known only to him.”

Yet ‘The Loyalist’ is not only about a ruler and his follower. It is also a portrait of a wicked Nigeria that sees nothing wrong betraying its poor. As commissioner for education, Bolaji encountered schools without learning. “We soon found ourselves clapping for pupils in Primary IV” because they “could spell their names,” he writes. He experienced the bad and the ugly. He saw teaching jobs sold and teachers’ salaries siphoned by officials employed to enforce moral and academic standards.

‘The Loyalist’ is a beautiful book well written. But the content is a warthog in ugly details. It has a space for the Nigerian voter cashing in before elections. Bolaji recalls a hospital calling him because a man had abandoned his pregnant wife, left Bolaji’s number, and named him as the one to pay for a caesarean section. All politicians from Bola Tinubu to the lowliest of the low will easily connect with this. The Nigerian hangers-on is an albatross on their necks.

In the early chapters, Bolaji’s relationship with Saraki is rendered almost as governor and unofficial deputy. It was that close. So what became of everything? The answer comes quickly. At Pastor Tunde Bakare’s church in 2017, Bolaji heard a counsel: “Do not treat as optional those who treat you as their priority.” He wished he could send that message to his boss without sounding rebellious. He has now written a whole book to do just that.

It is a notorious notion that every book must have a last line; the question is whether it closes the story or merely ends it. On page 280 comes Bolaji’s final verdict: “Some relationships can only be saved through an amicable divorce.” It is a sad, dramatic closure.

January 5, 2026
MRA Calls for Entries for Goodluck Jonathan FOI Awards 2026

Media Rights Agenda (MRA), Thursday, called for entries for the Dr. Goodluck Jonathan Freedom of Information Awards 2026, designed to recognize and celebrate journalistic excellence in promoting transparency and accountability through the effective use of the Freedom of Information (FOI) Act, 2011.

Named in honour of former President Goodluck Ebele Jonathan, GCFR, who signed the FOI Act into Law on May 28, 2011, the first category of the awards will celebrate a journalist who has made the highest number of information requests under the Act, while the second category will honour a journalist who has made the most outstanding contributions in promoting the Act since its enactment by raising awareness among citizens, government officials and the media about it, including its provisions, how to use it, its benefits, and the rights it grants as well as advocating for its effective implementation.

In a statement announcing the opening of the call, MRA called on all eligible Nigerian journalists working across print, broadcast, online, and multimedia platforms to submit their entries for consideration in two distinct categories as follows:

Category 1: Most Active User of the FOI Act. This award will be given to a journalist who has made the highest verifiable number of information requests under the FOI Act between May 28, 2011, and December 31, 2025. This category aims to celebrate and encourage the active and consistent use of the Act as a tool for journalistic investigation as well as for promoting and ensuring transparency and good governance.

Category 2: Most Outstanding Promoter of the FOI Act. This award will recognize a journalist who has made the most outstanding contributions in promoting the FOI Act since its enactment in 2011. This includes raising public awareness about the Act, its provisions, how to use it, its benefits, and the rights it confers on individuals, as well as advocating for its effective implementation through news stories, feature articles, opinion pieces, or other media outputs.

Applicants must be journalists of Nigerian nationality, working in any print, broadcast, online, or multimedia outlet, and should not be under any legal constraint and must not have been adjudged by an appropriate regulatory or judicial body to be guilty of professional misconduct.

All interested journalists are required to complete an application form and attach relevant, verifiable documentation for their claims, which may include acknowledged copies of FOI requests or copies of published media outputs, depending on the category.

The deadline for all submissions is 23.59 (WAT) on January 31, 2026.

According to MRA, the winner in each category will receive a plaque, a certificate, and a prize. The Awards will be formally presented at a public ceremony to be held in Abuja on May 28, 2026, coinciding with an event to commemorate the 15th anniversary of the enactment of the Act.

For application forms and further inquiries, please contact Media Rights Agenda by email at: [email protected]

October 23, 2025
Senator Effiong Bob’s “The Burden of Legislators in Nigeria”

Book Review: Senator Effiong Bob’s “The Burden of Legislators in Nigeria”

Book Reviewer: Akpandem James

Akpandem James

Senator Effiong Bob’s recent book, “The Burden of Legislators in Nigeria” serves as an insightful follow-up to Chiedozie Alex Ogbonnia’s 2009 work “Banana Peel: The Burden of Legislature in Nigeria.” The two books beam piercing searchlights into the intricate issues that define Nigeria’s legislative endeavours. While Ogbonnia examined legislative power and constitutional law within Nigeria’s democracy, Bob delves deeper into the human, institutional and political complexities of legislative service in the Fourth Republic.
Spanning 508 pages of discursive narratives, Senator Bob’s work combines memoir, political history and institutional analysis to illuminate the realities of representation and governance from an insider’s perspective. Based on interviews with key Senate and House of Representatives figures of the Fourth Republic, with the notable exception of former Senate President Bukola Saraki, the book offers a candid view of the Nigerian legislative experience, covering nomination hurdles, party intrigues, the pervasive challenge of godfatherism and, most especially, constituent pressure. It traces the journey from party nomination battles to the personal toll of maintaining a mandate, highlighting democracy’s participatory strength over military rule while advocating comprehensive reforms to reposition the legislature within Nigeria’s governance structure.
At its core, the book offers a sober examination of what it truly means to be a legislator, beyond public myths and media narratives. Organised into ten thematic chapters, it begins by defining the legislature and its functions. It subsequently explores the personal, structural and systemic burdens lawmakers bear in serving their constituencies. Insights from Senate Presidents Anyim Pius Anyim, Ken Nnamani, David Mark, Ahmad Lawan and Godswill Akpabio enrich the narrative with firsthand perspectives on institutional dynamics within the Nigerian Senate and broader legislature.
The book contextualises the Nigerian legislature’s constitutional roles and responsibilities, framing it as a critical pillar of democratic governance. It carefully charts the functions of the legislature, from lawmaking and representation to oversight and budgetary control, underscoring the foundational significance of the institution within Nigeria’s political system. This section not only educates readers on the technical workings of the legislature but also sets the thematic trajectory for exploring deeper systemic and personal burdens borne by legislators.
A key strength of the book is its authenticity and broad scope. By including voices from both national chambers and state legislatures, Bob reveals how nomination battles, godfatherism and “pre-election walls” distort democratic processes even before lawmakers take office. The discussion of godfatherism particularly exposes how patronage politics undermines merit and compromises legislative independence in Nigeria’s evolving democracy. The book details how powerful individuals or political overlords manipulate candidate selection and exert undue influence over legislators once in office, subordinating representatives to their personal interests rather than those of their constituents or constitutional mandates.
Thematically, the book situates the burdens of leadership and service as moral and psychological weights carried by legislators in a society marked by a wide gap between expectations and demands. The recurring motif of “pressure from home and away” is among the book’s most compelling insights. Constituents, often impoverished or uninformed about legislative functions, impose enormous demands on their representatives, viewing them as personal providers rather than policymakers. Through reflections by Senator Bassey Ewa-Henshaw and the story of Senator Ikechukwu Godson Abana, Bob humanises the intense pressures that can demoralise or end political careers.
Bob’s prose is accessible yet intellectually grounded, combining personal reflection with empirical observations. On the surface, the book reads like a pathos-driven political narrative, but a deeper dive does not make it a defense of legislators per se, but aims to “invoke the past for the good of the present and the benefit of the future.” It argues that despite its flaws, democracy offers far greater opportunity for participatory governance than authoritarian alternatives.
Significantly, the author challenges the pervasive myth of legislative opulence by documenting legislators who left office financially depleted, worn down by political conspiracies and relentless demands from constituents. This refutation of the “obscene wealth” myth adds a layer of empathy to the narrative, portraying legislators as public servants living through challenging conditions rather than beneficiaries of systemic greed. This demystification gives impetus to his central argument: the true burden of legislators lies not in luxury, but in serving amid impossible expectations.
The narrative also highlights a tension between institutional and personal responsibility, emphasising that constituent pressures, often rooted in poverty and misplaced expectations, constitute the major legislative burden. The book suggests implementing targeted policy reforms aimed at effectively aligning governance with the genuine needs of citizens; and emphasises the importance of reducing dependency-based relationships that can distort legislative priorities.
The foreword by former Deputy Vice Chancellor of the University of Abuja, Professor Philip Afaha, situates the book within Nigeria’s ongoing struggle for institutional reform and democratic consolidation. Afaha, a professor of history and expert in parliamentary democracy, affirms the book’s value as a strategic blueprint for reform; and underscores Bob’s insistence on legislative experience as vital for continuity and institutional maturity. However, while supporting longer tenures to deepen legislative quality, Afaha noted that the electorate retains ultimate authority over the longevity of representatives, necessitating respect for voter choice even when it conflicts with calls for institutional stability.
The book’s cornflower-blue cover embossed with a gold gavel reflects its tone – scholarly and grounded in Nigerian democratic realities. Drawing from historical reflection and empirical insights, the book proposes comprehensive reform strategies targeted at reinvigorating the legislature. It advocates policy shifts to better align legislative responsibilities with realistic governance frameworks and constituent expectations, aiming to relieve legislators from debilitating pressures while enhancing democratic accountability.
The work particularly calls for tackling godfatherism through institutional checks, promoting meritocratic candidacy processes and encouraging political culture change to fortify democratic norms. Equally, it suggests voter education initiatives and social development policies to address the root causes of constituent entitlement and unrealistic demands.
“The Burden of Legislators in Nigeria,” therefore, makes a seminal contribution to Nigeria’s democratic literature. It blends historical recall, lived experience and practical recommendations to deepen understanding of legislative politics and offer pathways toward stronger democratic governance. By illuminating the entrenched challenges of godfatherism and relentless constituent pressures, the author calls for urgent reforms to restore the Nigerian legislature’s integrity and functionality. It ultimately serves as a vital guide for those aspiring to serve and for stakeholders committed to strengthening Nigeria’s democratic institutions, fostering a governance culture where legislative service is respected, empowered and effective.
This comprehensive work enriches Nigeria’s democratic literature, urging a collective reflection on the shared responsibilities between representatives and the represented in building a resilient and participatory democracy. The book, billed for public presentation in the latter part of November 2025, is in three versions – paperback, hardcover and electronic. It is published by Premium Times Books.
Senator Effiong Dickson Bob has a rich profile in law and parliamentary duties. He was the Deputy Speaker of the Akwa Ibom State House of Assembly, a Local Government Chairman, Attorney General and Commissioner for Justice in the state and a two-time senator representing Akwa Ibom North East Senatorial District. While at the Senate, he chaired standing committees, including the Finance Committee, Senate Services Committee and Culture and Tourism Committee, among others. He served twice as a member of the ECOWAS Parliament. Bob is also the author of “Independence of the Legislature in Nigeria: Matters Arising” (2010).

Akpandem James, a member of the Governing Council of the Nigerian Institute of Journalism, is a fellow of the Nigerian Guild of Editors.

October 20, 2025
The Maryam Bukar Example, By Zayd Ibn Isah

Zayd Ibn Isah

We do not often see women breaking boundaries in our society, especially in a male-dominated Arewa environment where women are too often seen as belonging to the kitchen and the “oza room” (apologies to the late President Muhammadu Buhari, GCFR). So, when a woman dares to dream, breaks free and shatters the glass ceiling to actually live that dream, it is only right that we give her her flowers.

Maryam Bukar is one of such women. The 28-year-old spoken word artist, known on stage as Alhanislam, recently made history as the first United Nations Advocate for Peace. At the opening of the UN General Assembly, she was invited to deliver the opening speech, and she did not disappoint. She spoke with power, with grace, and with a voice that carried a strong call for peace. For those who know her journey, it was no surprise. It was the fruit of years of hard work, consistency, and courage.

As I listened to her that day, I could not be prouder as a Nigerian. The sound of her voice in that UN hall was another proud moment for our country. Nigeria may not yet have a permanent seat at the United Nations, but when the world recognises one of our own, that itself is a victory. It strengthens the case for why Nigeria deserves such a seat. Africa deserves to be heard, and no country is better placed to speak for the continent than its giant. Maryam’s voice, in that moment, carried not just her story but the hopes of a nation and a continent.

To grasp how big her achievement is, you must know where she comes from. Arewa, the Hausa word for “North,” is often seen as a place where tradition and culture are deeply rooted. For decades, a woman’s role was limited, first in her father’s house, then in her husband’s. Marriage and motherhood were seen as the only true goals. Education or public speaking were rarely encouraged, and women who tried to go beyond these limits were often mocked or discouraged. It is against this backdrop that Maryam’s story shines. She represents courage, strength, and determination to follow one’s passion.

Her choice of spoken word poetry makes her journey even more remarkable. In Nigeria, poetry is often seen as a hobby, not a serious career. Imagine telling your parents that you want to be a spoken word artist while your peers dream of becoming lawyers or doctors, they would first ask, what does that even mean? But Maryam took it seriously, and she is now a global citizen. I am sure her parents must have felt goosebumps watching their daughter stand proudly on such a global stage.

I became Maryam’s fan after listening to her performance where she praised former AfDB President, Akinwumi Adesina. The way she arranged her words was simply beautiful. Her voice rose and fell like waves, commanding, calming, unforgettable. At that moment in time, I recognised that she had the gift of the gab.

But Maryam’s gift is not just in her words, it is in her heart. At a time when wars and violence are spreading across the world, her voice is a reminder that peace is still possible. Today, with fears of a third world war looming due to prolonged conflict in Ukraine and Gaza, her appointment as a UN Global Peace Advocate could not have come at a better time. My hope is that her message did not just go in through the right ear and out through the left of those leaders in the hall. I hope that her message landed in a way that would spur urgent action and change. Because peace is what the world needs most right now.

Her recognition by the United Nations is also good for Nigeria’s image. Too often, our country makes unflattering headlines for corruption, insecurity, or politics. Maryam’s achievement tells a different story instead, certifying that Nigeria is still very much a land of talent, resilience, and creativity. This simply proves that certain portrayals of our culture and positive actions of our people can earn us respect worldwide.

For Arewa women, Maryam’s story is a powerful source of hope. Firstly, it challenges the old idea that a woman’s only role is in the home. It also shows that women can lead, speak, and make an impact without losing sense of who they really are. From Kano to Sokoto, from Katsina to Maiduguri, young girls like Hidayah Mahmud can now point to Maryam Bukar and say: If she can do it, then I can too. That kind of inspiration is priceless.

Her journey is also a reminder of the power of dreams. Many young Nigerians are taught to lower their ambitions to fit into society’s narrow expectations. Maryam refused to do that. She dared to dream, dared to persist, and today she shines on the global stage. Her story teaches us that no dream is too big if you chase it with discipline, courage, and faith.

To me, Maryam is more than an artist or peace advocate. Rather, she is a symbol of the Nigeria we hope for, a Nigeria where talent and passion are rewarded, where young people are supported, and where our voices are heard not only in Africa but across the world. Her example should push our leaders to invest more in the creative industry, to give platforms to young voices, and to understand that even one voice, no matter how small, can echo loudly.

The world may be facing dark times, but voices like Maryam’s remind us that there is still hope. And that even in chaos, words can heal, art can unite, and peace can prevail. For Arewa, she is proof that old stereotypes do not define us. For Nigeria, she is proof that our greatness is not only in oil, population, or politics, but in the strength of our people. And for the world, she is a reminder that peace will always be possible, if we listen to those who call for it.

For the young girls of Arewa and beyond, Maryam Bukar is living proof that dreams are valid, limits can be broken, and voices, no matter where they rise from, can be heard across the world. And for Nigeria, her example is a call to support such voices, because in them lies the true strength of our nation.

Zayd Ibn Isah can be reached at [email protected]

September 25, 2025
TAMPAN Canada laments death of actor Kanran

The Theatre Arts and Motion Pictures Practitioners Association of Nigeria (TAMPAN) Canada Chapter has lamented the death of veteran Nollywood actor, Chief Olusegun Akinremi.

Akinremi, popularly known as Chief Kanran, died last week at the age of 70.

The President of the association, Temidayo Enitan, recalled that Akinremi, who was a household name in the Yoruba film industry, honoured the chapter at the 2019 inauguration of their body’s new executive.

Enitan, popularly called Star Boy, explained that at the event, the deceased displayed energy, warmth, humility and left lasting memories for the chapter to remember for a long time to come.

According to him, the chapter extended its deepest condolences on the passing of the renown actor who he said was more than an actor.

“On behalf of the executive and entire members of TAMPAN Canada Chapter, we extend our deepest condolences on the passing of our beloved veteran Nollywood actor, Chief Olusegun Akinremi (popularly known as Karan),” he stressed, adding: “He was a good, positive, and energetic man who always preached peace and gave life to traditional and wealthy characters on screen.”

Enitan further stated that Akinremi was a cultural icon who dedicated his career to showcasing Yoruba tradition and values, adding: “During his lifetime, he honored us with his presence at the inauguration of TAMPAN Canada executive in November 2019.”

Similarly, the Deputy President, Otunba Kemi Agbeke, remembered him as a jovial and passionate actor who portrayed Yoruba culture with his iconic royal roles.

Agbeke described the late actor as a man of the people who used his art to promote Yoruba heritage, just as the association’s Publicity Secretary, Otunba Ayo Komolafe also said of the deceased: “Chief Kanran’s love for and promotion of Yoruba culture is unmatched. His distinctive style and sharp humor will be sorely missed. Rest in peace.”

“We pray that Almighty God grants his family, colleagues, and the Nollywood industry the strength to bear this loss. May his soul rest in perfect peace,” the Acting Secretary/Financial Secretary, Adejoke Adesokan stated in the release.

Adesokan added: “Chief Olusegun Akinremi (Karan) will be greatly missed, but his legacy will continue to live on through the unforgettable roles he played and the culture he helped preserve.”

Members of the chapter who also expressed their loss over the demise included Chief Adeyemi Adeodu (Director of Theater and Arts), Hon. Brown (Director of Motion Picture), Kudirat Olawale (Social Secretary), Mr. Ayobami Anifowose (Provost Marshall I), Mrs. Florence Ogunbiyi (Provost Marshall II), and Niniola Fatai (Director of Planning & Research).

August 22, 2025
Evening with Glo’: Pristine Entertainment as Obey, KWAM 1, Others thrill with Timeless Music

Glo 2

It was a night of pristine entertainment on Friday as Ijebu Ode, Ogun State, was treated to unforgettable music, comedy, and fun by Globacom at its ‘An Evening with Glo’ event held to kick-start the 2025 Ojude Oba celebrations.

The event, which ushered in the 20th anniversary of Globacom’s sponsorship of the festival, featured legendary musicians Evangelist Ebenezer Obey Fabiyi and King Wasiu Ayinde Marshall (KWAM 1). The duo delivered mesmerizing performances that left the packed Conference Hall venue spellbound.

Comedians Gbenga Adeyinka, Bash, and Kiekie added to the excitement with their rib-cracking jokes. The evening was a testament to Globacom’s commitment to promoting Nigerian culture and heritage.

According to Globacom, the event was organized to express gratitude to the Ijebu community for their support over the years.

“We brought together great sons and daughters of Ijebuland to celebrate our shared heritage and indulge in the melodious rhythms that resonate deeply throughout Yorubaland,” the company stated.

Globacom praised the performances of Ebenezer Obey and KWAM 1, describing them as ageless icons who have contributed significantly to Nigerian music.

“The ageless icon and Juju music maestro, Chief Commander Ebenezer Obey, has contributed decades of good, sonorous and philosophical songs to our society. His songs are still as fresh and full of inspirational messages as they were yesterday,” the company said in a release.

On KWAM 1, the company disclosed that “For decades, King of Fuji, K1 De Ultimate, the Fuji master, has been a great part of the music firmament in Nigeria, with his unique brand of Fuji that has elicited huge interest.”

The event was attended by eminent sons and daughters of ijebuland, including the Olori of Oba Awujale, Chief Mrs. Olukemi Adetona, the Coordinator of Ojude Oba Festival Planning Committee, Professor Fassy Yusuff, and member of the committee, as well as the Iyalode of Ijebuland, Chief Mrs. Bisi Osibogun, among others.

June 8, 2025
Glo Amplifies Entertainment Industry Support with Radio Voice Premiere
The premiere of the highly anticipated movie “Radio Voice”, sponsored by Globacom took place at the prestigious Alliance Francaise, Mike Adenuga Centre in Ikoyi, Lagos on Sunday. The event drew in a star-studded crowd of Nollywood actors and top guests from across the country.

Parading an all-star cast, including Richard Mofe Damijo (RMD), Nse Ikpe Etim, Nancy Isime, Deyemi Okanlawon, Damilola Adegbite, and Timini Egbuson, “Radio Voice” backed by the Office of the Vice President, aims to complement the Federal Government’s investment in the Creative Arts and Digital Transformation. It tells an inspiring story of resilience, passion, and transformation.

Producer of the movie, RMD, described “Radio Voice” as “the triumph of the human spirit over adversity.” He highlighted the film’s focus on the lives of radio personalities, their challenges, and their successes despite adversity. Answering a question on why he is venturing into movie production at this time, RMD replied, “It’s time when it’s time, you know. I’ve produced before but this is the first time in the new era, so to speak”.

Radio Voice 3

Globacom has established itself as a major corporate supporter of Nigeria’s entertainment industry since the company commended services in 2003. The company has signed notable musicians, actors, and comedians as brand ambassadors and sponsored various entertainment reality shows, including: X Factor, Glo Naija Sings, Dance with Peter and Battle of the Year.

Part of the company’s broader efforts to promote creativity and innovation is its commitment to the entertainment industry where it has hosted music and comedy shows across Nigerian cities, providing platforms for emerging artists to showcase their talent
April 11, 2025

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