By Funke Egbemode

At the funeral, a woman clutched a photograph of two smiling pupils—perhaps her own daughters, now dead. The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights demanded a “prompt, impartial and thorough investigation” into what it called a “horrific” attack. Iran is in mourning. One hundred and sixty-five schoolgirls and staff were killed in a strike during the US–Israel war, their small coffins draped in the national flag and borne on trucks through grieving streets. I read all these on Al Jazeera!

What kind of people spend their days and nights designing, manufacturing and storing weapons that mass-kill innocent school kids and which can ‘take out a city’ in minutes? Are those ones even human? And what kind of men think nothing of shedding human blood to prove, just to prove they have superior powers and report to no one? Those ones too, are they humans?

I am scared. The world is going up in flames. Nukes and warheads are making high rises dissolve like alum in water. If you are not scared, it is because you think the war this time is happening somewhere far far away, a war that may never get here. I feel you. I see you. In your cocoon. You think Iran is a million miles away and the stench of trapped bodies under hot rubbles will never get here. Well, let me break your bubble, that stench will get everywhere, including your kitchen. That is why it is called war. It is an intractable phenomenon.

Our fathers had a saying long before flying missiles, ibeere ogun l’aa mo, enikan o mo ibi ti yo pari si. Everyone knows how a war starts but not where or how it will end. Even the United States of America that has ‘budgeted’ four to five weeks for this hot smoking war has hinted that it could take longer. Meaning, many things unplanned can show up as this fire burns, as more leaders of Iran are taken out and refineries are attacked. I know the economists are already tallying up the numbers and projecting how much global financials will record in losses. Oil, crude and cooked, will flow in the wrong directions, forced to flow in drops instead of barrels and all of us, including the woman selling okro and crayfish will pay a price. But my real fear is in reprisal attacks and how that could play out badly, really badly.

Have you thought of that angle? If this war is drawn out for too long (it is already too long, according to me), both the antagonists and protagonists would end up with their own sympathisers and supporters. Already, there are talks about who has the right to invade a sovereign nation and who doesn’t have the right to build and assemble weapons that can wipe the world out in minutes. I can see a future of plenty of arguments about existential threats and mismanaged information and unclear images.

Call my fear funny, foolish or even wise, timid or sharp. Right now, all I can smell is smoke and artillery, gasoline like we are at the petrol station. The kind of fear that hits a pregnant woman when she’s told her baby is in a breach position at 39 weeks. Yes, that kind of fear you cannot do much or anything about. Knives, sorry, scalpels, blood and her open tummy would be most likely the images that would fill her mind. But the Iranian fear is widely different because it is not likely to give birth to a good child. War is not like pounded yam and vegetable soup with seven lives, it is about gore, blood and sudden termination of lives, dreams and ambition. One minute, a man is at his desk and the next, he’s just another figure on the casualty tally. Widows, orphans, childless aged parents everywhere.

My fear is Iran fighting back, Iran finding friends to supply her support that will prolong this war. Imagine if one day the lifeblood of modern life as we know it—oil and gas—simply became unreachable.

The Strait of Hormuz, a narrow waterway hugging Iran’s shores, is a funnel through which a huge chunk of the world’s oil and gas passes. About 20% of global petroleum traverses it every day. If this chokepoint is blocked—even if for one week—prices will spike, factories across the globe will start gasping for breath and ordinary people will pay more for fuel, food, transport, and electricity. As if we are not tried and tired already as it is. This isn’t theory. It has happened before — and economic analysts warn it could happen again.

Modern wars are rarely clean. They are monstrous. They feed on human flesh and future, and everything in sight. A strike in one city can spark retaliation in another, proxy forces might enter the fray. Some Nigerians are already doing notice-me-dance so Mr Trump can add more to our sins.

Further strikes — whether by Iran, Israel, the United States, or others — will most likely drag other nations into the cauldron of chaos. Blocked straits, displaced people, missiles flying across borders, and shifting loyalties are all part of the terror and horror ahead.

But wait, why do leaders of nations think first with their brawn before deploying brains? From where I am sitting on my balcony, I don’t see how America, Iran, or Israel will just wake up one day and just stop firing missiles. The Gulf states caught in the middle are not going to sit on their hands. They are already dropping bad things. These leaders of the developed world will waste truckloads of money that could and should have gone into more profitable things. Every nation involved in this war will lose money and men. They will leave thousands or corpses behind. Then one day, they will walk through the blood and rubbles to ‘discuss ceasefire and the way forward’. Right now, they are drunk on muscle-flex cognac, prime cut ego and my-armory-is-bigger than-yours powdery stuff.

This war will kill, maim and destroy dreams. Yet, it will all stop one day, maybe later than sooner. The drones will stop dropping. The missiles will stop flying. Trillions would have caught fire. Then, boom, the demon of war intoxication will return to the pit of hell and there will be ceasefire, first a small one, then a full stop after the comma, and many in coma. These leaders will stop. But the dead will remain dead. The felled high-rise buildings will remain charred dust and bent iron. The orphans and widows will remain bewildered. The world, our world will not remain the same. But these angry leaders will eventually go to that place they call the round table. Not now. They have not shed enough blood!

Even if a war is “short” the consequences are not measured in weeks or months — but years and decades. Previous skirmishes between Iran and her neighbours damaged infrastructure, plunged economies, and left communities scarred. The echoes of those conflicts are still there in their markets, politics, and families. Once trust is lost and wounds are inflicted, healing is slow — not just for nations, but for the whole global community that depends on stability. Let us not forget that all of the tough talk and press conferences will produce refugees who will seek safety beyond borders. There will be social tensions in neighbouring states and humanitarian crises that will spread wider and beyond the battlefields.

Who is going to tell our world leaders that fear, in the right measure, is not weakness?

Who is going to tell them to talk instead of shooting?

Who is going to push for peace rather than escalation?

Who is going to remind world leaders that bullets may talk loudly — but their echoes are deafening?

Peace isn’t the absence of trouble. It’s the presence of resonance and leaders who reason—the kind that let us share stories, not sorrows.

Why would nations be interested in weapons of mass destruction, anyway? That part I still do not understand.

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

By Kachi Okezie, Esq.

As a lawyer and long-standing advocate for constitutional reform in Nigeria, I regard President Duma Boko’s proposal to establish a Constitutional Court in Botswana as a principled and forward-looking reform. How he goes about actualising that particular objective is a matter for him and the good people of Botswana, and certainly not the business of this note. What is noteworthy here is that far from being a mere institutional addition, the creation of a specialised constitutional tribunal represents a structural commitment to constitutional supremacy, the rule of law, and the entrenchment of democratic accountability. That is the case being canvassed for Nigeria.

The Austrian jurist Hans Kelsen, widely regarded as the intellectual architect of the modern constitutional court, once observed that “a constitution without a constitutional court is like a body without a soul.” Kelsen’s insight captures the essence of the present moment in Botswana. Constitutional supremacy is not self-executing; it requires an institutional guardian capable of giving life to the text, resolving interpretive conflicts, and ensuring that public power remains subordinate to higher law.

A Constitutional Court would provide an authoritative and specialised forum for the adjudication of constitutional questions, ensuring that legislation, executive conduct, and administrative action conform to the supreme law. Although Botswana’s existing judiciary has long enjoyed a reputation for independence and professionalism, institutional refinement is neither an admission of weakness nor a repudiation of past success. Rather, it reflects the evolutionary character of constitutional democracies. Comparative experience from jurisdictions such as South Africa, Benin, and Germany demonstrates that specialised constitutional review can fortify democratic institutions while enhancing coherence in constitutional interpretation.

The jurisprudence of the Constitutional Court of South Africa eminently illustrates how a dedicated constitutional body can transform abstract guarantees into lived realities. Through landmark decisions advancing equality, dignity, and socio-economic rights, the Court has entrenched a constitutional culture within public life. Similarly, the Federal Constitutional Court of Germany has served as a vigilant guardian of democratic order, ensuring that parliamentary enactments and executive policies remain faithful to constitutional norms. In West Africa, the Constitutional Court of Benin has played a stabilising role in electoral and governance disputes, reinforcing public confidence in constitutional processes.

For Botswana, the establishment of a Constitutional Court would evidently yield both normative and practical dividends. Normatively, it would reinforce the doctrine of constitutional supremacy by providing clarity, consistency, and doctrinal depth in constitutional adjudication. Practically, it would alleviate the burden on the general judiciary by vesting exclusive jurisdiction over constitutional matters in a specialised forum. The latter represents the more persuasive rationale in the case of Nigeria. This institutional differentiation can reduce case backlogs, expedite the resolution of fundamental rights claims, and promote greater access to justice, particularly for marginalised or vulnerable communities.

The Nigerian experience underscores the significance of such reform. In Nigeria, the absence of a dedicated constitutional tribunal has contributed to congestion at the apex court and protracted delays in resolving constitutional disputes, particularly in election-related matters. While the Supreme Court performs admirably within its structural constraints, the concentration of ordinary appellate and constitutional jurisdiction in a single body inevitably strains judicial capacity and denies justice through delays. Botswana’s reform initiative may therefore serve as a comparative stimulus for renewed constitutional dialogue in Nigeria, where similar institutional recalibration could enhance judicial efficiency and support democratic consolidation.

Critics of the proposal caution that a Constitutional Court may be redundant within Botswana’s existing judicial architecture or that jurisdictional tensions could arise between courts. Some also argue that noble, though it is, the proposal for the creation of a special Constitutional Court, is not a priority at the present time. These concerns merit serious engagement. However, comparative constitutional design demonstrates that such risks can be mitigated through precise jurisdictional delineation, procedural clarity, and well-defined appellate pathways. A carefully drafted constitutional amendment specifying exclusive competence in constitutional interpretation, coupled with harmonised procedural rules, can prevent institutional friction while strengthening systemic coherence.

Equally critical is the question of judicial appointments. The legitimacy of a Constitutional Court depends not merely on its formal powers but on the intellectual integrity, independence, and diversity of its bench. A transparent, merit-based appointment process, grounded in objective criteria and inclusive consultation, would enhance public confidence. Engagement with civil society, academia, and the broader legal profession during the design phase would further entrench democratic ownership of the institution.

Ultimately, the creation of a Constitutional Court, whether in Botswana or Nigeria, would represent more than administrative reform; it would signal a deepened commitment to constitutionalism as a living principle. By providing citizens with a direct and specialised avenue to challenge unconstitutional laws and policies, the Court would strengthen governance accountability, restrain executive overreach, and cultivate a jurisprudence attentive to evolving democratic norms.

Kelsen’s metaphor remains instructive. If the Constitution is the supreme expression of the people’s sovereign will, then it must be animated by a vigilant and independent guardian. President Boko’s initiative is therefore best understood not merely as institutional restructuring, but as constitutional maturation. If implemented with deliberation, transparency, and comparative insight, a Constitutional Court could become a cornerstone of Botswana’s democratic architecture, enhancing rights protection, promoting judicial efficiency, and reinforcing the supremacy of the Constitution. For Nigeria, Botswana’s example should prompt renewed reflection on the structural reforms necessary to secure a more responsive, efficient, and constitutionally anchored judiciary in the face of mounting governance and human rights challenges.

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

By Suyi Ayodele

Ìyàwó mi tí mo féràn – My wife who I love so much

Te ló ti m’órí mi s’ábé – But you said she has subdued me

Sé e mo ohun tí mo rí lára rè- Do you folks know what I saw in her

Tí mo fi yan l’ayò mi ni – Before I chose her as my favourite

Aya t’ó ún m’únu mi dùn – A wife that gives me joy

Tí kò tú àsírí mi f’áyé gbó – And does not expose my secrets to the world to hear

Tí mo na gbe gègè bí eyin – If I handle her delicately like an egg

Sé ó ye kó l’éjó – Should that bring controversy

The above lyrics are by an Islamic Gospel musician, Alhaji Abdul Kabir Bukola Alayande, who goes by the stage name, “Ere Asalatu.” The thematic preoccupation is to disabuse the notion that once a man loves his wife very dearly, the woman must have hypnotised him. In most African settings, such wives who are loved by their husbands, who, in most cases, fence off their spouses from the prying eyes of relations, are believed to have used love potions to bind their husbands.

The love potion motif, incidentally, is not restricted to Africa. Ancient Greek, Hebrew culture and modern-day science give credence to the existence of substances that can be administered, mostly through the gastronomy, to an individual, usually a man, to make him fall, and stay in love with the one who applies the substance.

Thomas R. Insel, an American psychiatrist and neuroscientist, in a 2001 paper, The Neurobiology of Love, published in “Nature Reviews Neuroscience”, tries to draw a parallel between ancient love potions and the role of hormones in human attraction. He says the “love hormone”, known in science as Oxytocin, “plays a critical role in bonding and social behaviors. Studies suggest that oxytocin release during physical touch or eye contact can strengthen emotional connections, mimicking the perceived effects of love potions in creating intimacy and desire.”

Smith, J.D., in an article, Food as Medicine: Chocolate and the Chemistry of Love, published in 2013, in the ‘Journal of Nutritional Science’, states that there are “Some ingredients historically believed to have magical properties, like chocolate and certain herbs, also have mild mood-altering effects due to their chemical composition. For example, phenylethylamine in chocolate is known to trigger the release of endorphins, contributing to feelings of happiness and euphoria.”

Angie Andriot, a research analyst for the Presbyterian Church, USA, in 2024, published an article, The Science of Attraction: And How to Make Love Potion, where she dwells extensively on the power of scents and the effect they could have on the opposite sex. She posits that “People often underestimate the power of their noses. But really, scent is a superhero among the senses. It’s directly wired to the brain’s emotional powerhouse, the limbic system. What this means is that, while sight and sound take a more scenic route through the brain, scents teleport straight to our emotional core. It’s like express delivery for feelings!” She gives a tabular formula of what she terms: “Love potion Perfume Recipe”, and concludes that “The realm of scents really is a playground for romance.” 

In the Holy Writ, it is recorded in Genesis 30:14-15, that Rachael, the favourite of Jacob, gave up her sleeping right to her elder sister, Leah, in order to have a part of the mandrakes, the Hebrew “Love Plant”, harvested by Reuben, Leah’s son, in the belief that its consumption would not only make her fertile, but would also attract the attention of their husband, Jacob.

The scientists of that age recorded that “The Mandrake plant is toxic, causing hallucinations. Its root system is bulbous and resembles a human figure. Although it has a pleasant smell, the only part of the mandrake that is not poisonous is its red fruit. It is called the “love apple” and is considered to be a powerful aphrodisiac (love potion) which could help women in conception.”

In my Yoruba background, the love potion is known as Òògùn ìfé.  It can be used diabolically to entangle a man in a relationship he does not want. Likewise, it can also be used as an Ìròjú (mesmerize), to make a woman fall in love with a man she does not like. But in most cases, the love potion motif in Yoruba setting focuses more on a woman who is believed to have used a diabolical means to manipulate her husband to give her undue attention, with the man acting strangely as if he is under the total control of the wife.

Relations of spouses, where the female partners are suspected to have manipulated the males through such a means, don’t usually take the matter lightly with the women so suspected. Ere Asalatu probably composed the above song to establish that it is not often a case of love potion, when a man and his wife appear to be inseparable and madly in love with each other.

The First Lady of the Federation, Mrs. Remi Tinubu, played up the above intendment of Ere Asalatu, when on Thursday last week, in her maternal home of Warri Kingdom, she alluded that for the past 40 years she has been married to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, she “signed, sealed and delivered” the relationship because she served the man with the “Itsekiri love potion.”

Mrs. Tinubu, I must admit, was at her cultural best on that occasion, where the Olu of Warri Kingdom, Ogiame Atuwatse III, conferred on her the traditional title of Utukpa-Oritse (The Light of God). The First Lady, in her traditional element, delivered her extempore speech in a rare mastery of the Itsekiri Language which she code-mixed and code-switched at both the intra and extra-sentential levels with the English Language.

While admitting that she is Yoruba, being the daughter of the late Samuel Olatunji Ikusebiala of Ijebu Ode, Ogun State, Mrs. Tinubu, a Senior Pastor with The Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG), traced her maternal ancestry to the Itsekiri of Warri Kingdom and paid glowing tribute to her mother, an Itsekiri woman, and the people of the Kingdom.

Thereafter, she openly confessed that though she is Yoruba and married to a Yoruba man, President Tinubu, she gave her husband “Itsekiri potion”, otherwise known as Egbele-ekokimiyo, and told him that she would not give any other love potion. She named the culprit Itsekiri delicacy to be “Usin (starch) and the plain owoh (an Itsekiri soup)”, which she added had kept the marriage “signed, sealed and delivered” for over 40 years, to the applause of the crowd.

Beyond the comical, I think Mrs. Tinubu was passing a very serious message across on how every woman can consolidate her marriage and, more importantly, the need for unity among the diverse ethnic groups in the Federation through cultural renaissance. If, in the real sense, the Itsekiri’s Egbele-ekokimiyo is involved, it goes to confirm that indeed, the way to a man’s heart is his stomach!

It is therefore heartwarming to see Mrs. Tinubu delving into her formative years in the Itsekiri enclave and blending the cultural values of her maternal people with her Yoruba upbringing as an Ijebu woman. Her seamless oscillation between a flawless Queen’s English usage, and the undiluted, native-like Itsekiri Language competence, is an affirmation of her Yoruba ethos that Omo kìí ní apá baba kó má ní ti ìyá (a child cannot have her father’s side without her mother’s side).

That outing by the First Lady in Warri, also serves as a wake-up call to the Black Race to endeavour to teach the younger generation their Mother Tongues and cultural values. Mrs. Tinubu emphasised the Itsekiri culture and the need for the people to sustain it. She hinted that but for the exigency of her itinerary, she would have come, calling in the Itsekiri traditional attire, even though she looked elegant in the Itsekiri coral beads on her neck. That sense of cultural reawakening got me thinking. I strongly feel that it is something the government at all levels should take seriously. Our educational planners would do well to make indigenous languages compulsory at the formative stages of our educational system.

It is also more of interest to me that a Senior Pastor of a Bible-believing Ministry like the RCCG, Pastor Remi Tinubu, who got recognised in faraway USA by the belligerent President Donald Trump for her Christian standing, would openly recognise the existence of the Itsekiri’s Egbele-ekokimiyo! While that was simply a joke, going by the ancient axiom that it is through joke that we get the truth, it is noteworthy that our pretenses as spirit-filled, tongue-blasting Born Again Christians notwithstanding, once in a while, our culture crawls back to us.

As I watched the First Lady mention the “Itsekiri love potion”, I pictured in my mind how President Tinubu licks his fingers while savouring the “Usin and the plain Owoh” delicacy served her by her pastor-wife, not knowing that what he is actually eating is the potent Itsekiri’s Egbele-ekokimiyo! We owe Mrs. Tinubu loads of gratitude for ‘signing, sealing and delivering’ her union with Mr. President in the last 40 years with the help of her native intelligence. Only the ‘strong’ woman has the capacity to hold down a man as tough and ambulant as Mr. President. Show me a ‘strong’ man and I will indicate a man who has eaten countless pots of Egbele-ekokimiyo!

I struggled not to be mischievous here. But I keep wondering if there is a correlation between Nasir Ahmad el-Rufai’s open confessions of tapping the telephone of the National Security Adviser (NSA), Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, and Mrs. Tinubu’s confession of lacing her husband’s food with the Itsekiri’s Egbele-ekokimiyo. If, like the weird Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), Nyesom Wike, is wont to say, ‘an agreement is an agreement’, shouldn’t ‘a confession also be a confession’, and shouldn’t someone else also be with the laws?

This allusion by Mrs. Tinubu to Itsekiri’s Egbele-ekokimiyo potion brings us back to the futility of the concept of a strong man. The elders of my place submit that a man is as strong as the wife allows. How true are they! A man who goes to work in the morning and comes back at night to eat the food prepared by his wife while he was away should know that he lives only at the mercy of the wife. It is even more dangerous if such a man demands his benevolence when the night is cool!

It is for this reason that the wise old men of yore counselled that a man who desires a peaceful and long life should first learn how to take care of his wife and make her happy.

They said this long before the Western World introduced Ephesian 5:25-33, particularly verses 28 and 33, where men are called to love their wives as themselves.

While congratulating Mrs. Remi Tinubu on the conferment of the Utukpa-Oritse (The Light of God) of Warri Kingdom on her by the Ogiame Atuwatse III, I invoke, in the spirit of the Lent season, the divine provisions as contained in 1 Kings 17:14, and pray that her molds of Usin shall not waste and her pot of Egbele-ekokimiyo shall not fail. Ogiame Suoo!

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.