By M.O. Idam, Esq.

The Certified True Copy (CTC) of the judgment/ruling of the Federal High Court, Lokoja Judicial Division, now in circulation has generated varying interpretations across legal and political circles.

Having carefully reviewed the decision, I offer the following considered legal opinion, devoid of emotion and political sentiment.

My considered view is as follows.

As a general rule, once a court delivers a final judgment on the merits of a matter, the dispute becomes res judicata and the court becomes functus officio—that is, it has discharged its judicial duty in respect of that case.

The law presupposes that there must be an end to litigation. Consequently, a court that has finally determined a matter lacks jurisdiction to revisit it, either by rehearing the case or by sitting on appeal over its own decision. Any party dissatisfied with such judgment is expected to pursue the appellate process.

This principle explains the hierarchical structure of the Nigerian judicial system—from the Magistrate Courts, High Courts (including the Federal High Court), Tribunals and the National Industrial Court, to the Court of Appeal and ultimately the Supreme Court, which serves as the final court of the land.

Exceptions to the Rule

Notwithstanding the foregoing, the law recognizes limited circumstances in which a court may vacate, set aside, or vary its own judgment. These include where:

1. The judgment is a nullity because the court lacked jurisdiction to entertain the matter.
2. The judgment was procured by fraud or deceit.
3. There was a fundamental denial of fair hearing, rendering the proceedings a nullity.
4. The judgment was entered in default of appearance, and the applicable rules permit the court to set it aside.
5. There exists a clerical mistake or accidental slip capable of correction under the Slip Rule. This power is limited to correcting accidental errors and does not permit the court to alter the substance of its decision.
6. A statute or the applicable Rules of Court expressly confer a power of review in the particular circumstances.

Outside these recognized exceptions, a court cannot ordinarily:

• rehear a matter merely because it believes it reached the wrong conclusion;
• reverse or substitute its final decision after becoming functus officio; or
• sit on appeal over its own judgment unless expressly empowered by statute.

These principles have been affirmed in several decisions of the appellate courts, including Adegoke Motors Ltd. v. Adesanya (1989) 3 NWLR (Pt. 109) 250, Asiyanbi v. Adeniji (1967) NMLR 106, and Obimonure v. Erinosho (1966) 1 All NLR 250 (SC).

Perhaps the most celebrated pronouncement on the subject was made by Oputa, JSC in Adegoke Motors Ltd. v. Adesanya, where His Lordship stated:

“We are final not because we are infallible; rather, we are infallible because we are final. Justices of this Court are human beings, capable of erring. It will certainly be short-sighted arrogance not to accept this obvious truth. It is also true that this Court can do inestimable good through its wise decisions. Similarly, the Court can do incalculable harm through its mistakes. When therefore it appears to learned counsel that any decision of this Court has been given per incuriam, such counsel should have the boldness and courage to ask that such a decision be overruled. This Court has the power to overrule itself (and has done so in the past), for it gladly accepts that it is far better to admit an error than to persevere in error.”

This celebrated dictum, however, should be understood in its proper context. It recognizes the Supreme Court’s power to depart from its previous decisions in appropriate subsequent cases where justice so demands.

It should not be interpreted as conferring an unrestricted power to reopen or rehear a concluded appeal. Indeed, the Supreme Court has consistently maintained that it becomes functus officio once it delivers a final judgment, save in the narrow exceptions recognised by law.

In recent years, the Supreme Court has demonstrated considerable reluctance to entertain applications seeking a review or reversal of its final judgments. This judicial attitude was particularly evident in the Bayelsa Governorship Election Review Applications.

In Biobarakuma Degi-Eremienyo & Anor. v. Duoye Diri & Ors. and All Progressives Congress v. Duoye Diri & Ors., decided on 26 February 2020, the applicants invited the Supreme Court to review and reverse its earlier judgment nullifying the election of the APC governorship ticket in Bayelsa State.

The Court held that it had become functus officio and that Order 8 Rule 16 of the Supreme Court Rules did not permit a review of its judgment on the merits. The applications were consequently described as frivolous, vexatious and constituting an abuse of the process of the Court. The Court further imposed substantial personal costs against senior counsel who prosecuted the applications, explaining its determination to discourage frivolous attempts to reopen concluded litigation.

The message from these authorities is unmistakable: while the jurisdiction to revisit a judgment exists in narrowly defined exceptional circumstances, it is one that the courts exercise with great caution so as to preserve the finality and certainty of judicial decisions.

Conclusion

While applications seeking the reversal or setting aside of a court’s own judgment are not unknown to Nigerian jurisprudence, they remain exceptional remedies and are entertained only within the narrow confines recognised by law. The doctrine of functus officio remains a fundamental principle designed to ensure finality in litigation and to prevent abuse of judicial process.

Accordingly, although the order reversing the judgment in the NDC matter has understandably generated public debate—particularly having regard to the surrounding circumstances—it cannot be said that such an order is, in principle, alien to Nigerian law. The more pertinent legal question is whether the facts of the case bring it within any of the recognised exceptions that permit a court to revisit its own judgment. That question can only be answered through a careful examination of the record and the legal basis upon which the order was made.

— M. O. Idam

Follow our WhatsApp Channel

The public reaction to the First Lady’s remarks has been shaped less by what she said than by who said it and the broader political climate in which the comments were made.

Most Nigerians do not consider frying akara, making kuli-kuli or roasting corn—occupations through which many of our mothers and countless women have raised families—to be degrading or insignificant. On the contrary, these are honest means of livelihood that deserve respect.

The criticism, therefore, is not directed at these occupations themselves. It stems from what many perceive as the disconnect between official rhetoric and the daily realities confronting small business owners. Political leaders frequently celebrate petty entrepreneurship while appearing reluctant to confront the structural challenges that make such businesses difficult to establish, sustain and grow.

As First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu inevitably embodies the political establishment of which she is a prominent member. Fairly or unfairly, her public statements are viewed through that prism. Over the years, Nigerians have watched countless political gatherings marked by elaborate ceremonies, speeches, presentations, entertainment and photo opportunities, yet yielding few tangible improvements in the lives of ordinary citizens. Against that backdrop, even well-intentioned advice is often received with scepticism.

The occasion presented an opportunity to move beyond words of encouragement. Rather than merely urging women to engage in small-scale businesses, the First Lady could also have outlined practical steps being taken to improve the environment in which those enterprises operate.

For instance, she could have highlighted efforts to engage state and local authorities on reducing the harassment of street traders, tackling multiple taxation, discouraging arbitrary enforcement actions and creating designated trading spaces for petty entrepreneurs. She might also have spoken about expanding access to affordable credit, strengthening cooperative societies, improving product packaging, providing skills acquisition programmes and opening new market opportunities for women-owned businesses.

Such commitments would have shifted the conversation from symbolic encouragement to practical advocacy. Women would not simply have been told to fry akara or make kuli-kuli; they would have heard that someone with access to the highest levels of government was actively working to remove the barriers that prevent those businesses from succeeding.

Ultimately, genuine empowerment extends beyond grants, public speeches or appeals to entrepreneurship. It is about creating an enabling environment where honest labour is rewarded, small businesses can flourish and enterprise is not undermined by poor infrastructure, excessive regulation or economic uncertainty.

When political leaders combine words of encouragement with visible efforts to address these systemic challenges, their interventions resonate more deeply. Their compassion appears more credible, their advocacy more meaningful and the public is far less likely to dismiss such remarks as political symbolism or another public relations exercise.

That, perhaps, is the enduring lesson from the debate sparked by the First Lady’s comments. Nigerians are not rejecting the dignity of small businesses. They are asking for leadership that does more than celebrate resilience—they are asking for leadership that makes resilience less necessary.

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

Follow our WhatsApp Channel

LAW & SOCIETY MAGAZINE SPECIAL REPORT

From Fallen Generals to Failed Ambushes, Nigeria’s Security Forces Are Grappling With a Disturbing Question: How Often Is the Enemy Already Waiting?

The boast was extraordinary. Not because it came from a feared bandit commander. Criminal leaders have long relied on propaganda to project strength and intimidate opponents. What made this one different was its specificity.

In a recently circulated audio recording, notorious Katsina-based bandit leader Kachalla Maha claimed he routinely receives advance warning of military operations. According to him, informants embedded within or around the security system alert him before troops move against his camps.

“I receive information about security strategies, including those involving the President,” he declared. “All the security forces sent to attack my camp are my boys.”

There is no independent evidence to substantiate those claims, and security agencies have not publicly responded to the recording. Armed groups frequently exaggerate their capabilities to demoralise troops, attract recruits and undermine public confidence in the state.

Yet the recording has resonated for one reason. It appears to echo a question soldiers have privately asked themselves after years of devastating battlefield losses. How do insurgents and bandits so often appear ready before troops arrive?

Read Also: Inside Nigeria’s Security Paradox: Army recruitment row reopens painful questions about trust, terrorism and a war that refuses to end

That question has become even more pressing as reports emerged that dozens of rehabilitated former Boko Haram members allegedly participated in screening for enlistment into the Nigerian Army. For many serving personnel, the issue is not simply whether former fighters deserve a second chance. It is whether Nigeria has developed a vetting system robust enough to distinguish genuine rehabilitation from enduring allegiance.

A Pattern Too Difficult to Ignore

Military setbacks are not unusual in any prolonged conflict. From Afghanistan to Iraq, even the world’s most technologically advanced armed forces have suffered surprise attacks, intelligence failures and operational reversals. Nigeria is no exception.

Over the past decade, insurgent groups in the North-East have repeatedly demonstrated an ability to strike military bases, ambush patrols and launch coordinated assaults against formations believed to be heavily defended.

Some attacks have resulted in the deaths of dozens of soldiers in a single operation. Others have seen military equipment captured or destroyed. What continues to trouble many officers, however, is not merely the frequency of those attacks but the precision with which some appear to have been executed.

In several instances, insurgents have intercepted convoys on routes that were expected to remain confidential. In others, they appeared to know the timing of troop deployments or the location of temporary operating bases.

Security experts caution against drawing simplistic conclusions. Information can leak in many ways.

Modern armed groups rely on networks of informants, sympathetic villagers, coerced civilians, mobile communications, surveillance of troop movements and careful observation over extended periods. A convoy of military vehicles travelling through remote terrain can be difficult to conceal, particularly in regions where insurgents maintain local support networks or intimidate communities into silence.

Still, the persistence of such incidents has fuelled concern within the ranks.

The Heavy Price Paid by Soldiers

Behind every operational failure lies a human story.

Thousands of Nigerian soldiers have spent years rotating through some of the country’s most dangerous theatres of operation, often under punishing conditions and far from their families. Many have survived repeated deployments only to lose comrades in ambushes that appeared meticulously planned.

The military has also suffered the loss of senior commanders whose deaths reverberated throughout the armed forces.

In 2021, Muhammed Ali, then Theatre Commander of Operation Lafiya Dole, was killed alongside other officers after his convoy came under attack in Borno State. His death underscored the risks senior commanders continue to face by leading operations close to the front lines.

More recently, retired Rabe Abubakar died in captivity after being abducted by armed bandits while travelling in the North-West. Although he had retired from active service, his death illustrated how insecurity has expanded beyond the traditional Boko Haram theatre into regions once regarded as relatively stable.

Those losses are measured not only in lives but in institutional experience.

Every fallen commander takes with him years of operational knowledge, strategic judgment and leadership that cannot easily be replaced.

When Propaganda Meets Reality

Bandit leaders understand psychology. Their objective extends beyond kidnapping or cattle rustling. They seek to cultivate an image of invincibility.

By claiming access to military secrets, Maha may be attempting to erode confidence within the armed forces while persuading local communities that resistance is futile. That strategy is hardly new.

Extremist organisations around the world routinely exaggerate their reach and capabilities. During the height of the insurgency, Boko Haram frequently issued videos portraying itself as stronger than independent assessments suggested. Such messaging is designed to magnify fear, fracture public trust and portray the state as powerless.

The danger arises when propaganda overlaps with genuine operational weaknesses. If troops already worry about intelligence leaks, even exaggerated claims can deepen suspicion and strain morale.

Security analysts have repeatedly warned that confidence within frontline formations is as important as weapons and manpower. Soldiers who begin to believe every failed operation resulted from betrayal may become less willing to cooperate, share information or trust local partners.

The Invisible Battlefield

Counter-insurgency is fought on two fronts. One is visible: gun battles, air strikes and patrols. The other is invisible: intelligence. Winning that hidden contest often determines success or failure long before the first shot is fired.

Former insurgents who genuinely abandon violence can provide invaluable intelligence, helping security agencies understand command structures, supply routes and recruitment methods. That is one reason governments around the world invest in deradicalisation programmes.

Yet intelligence also carries risk. Every person granted access to sensitive information becomes a potential vulnerability if vetting, monitoring and oversight are inadequate.

That reality helps explain why some serving officers remain uneasy about proposals to integrate rehabilitated fighters into security-related roles. Their concerns are rooted not only in emotion but in the practical demands of operational security.

The challenge for policymakers is finding a balance between encouraging defections and protecting classified information.

Why Are They Still Free?

Perhaps the question Nigerians ask most often is also the simplest. If these commanders speak so openly, why are they not arrested? The answer is more complicated than it first appears.

Bandit and insurgent leaders operate across vast stretches of difficult terrain, including forests, mountains and sparsely governed border regions that complicate surveillance and pursuit. Many move frequently, avoid electronic communications and rely on trusted couriers or intermediaries.

Audio recordings rarely reveal a location. By the time a message reaches the public, the speaker may already be hundreds of kilometres away.

Security operations also require reliable intelligence, careful planning and the avoidance of civilian casualties. Acting on inaccurate or outdated information can lead to failed missions or unintended loss of innocent lives. That does not diminish public frustration.

Communities that endure repeated attacks understandably question why men who openly threaten governors, farmers and soldiers continue to issue messages with apparent confidence.

Each new recording reinforces a perception that the state is reacting rather than dictating the pace of the conflict.

The Confidence Gap

Ultimately, this is not only a military problem. It is a crisis of confidence. Citizens want to believe that security agencies retain the initiative. Soldiers want to know that operational plans remain confidential. Communities want assurance that those who renounce violence have genuinely done so. Government officials want rehabilitation programmes to be viewed as credible pathways to lasting peace.

Those objectives need not conflict. But achieving them requires transparency, rigorous screening and accountability capable of earning public trust rather than merely requesting it.

The controversy over the alleged recruitment of former insurgents and the claims made by Kachalla Maha converge on the same uncomfortable truth. Nigeria’s war against insurgency is no longer fought solely with rifles and armoured vehicles. It is also fought through information, trust and credibility.

Where those are weakened, even battlefield victories can prove fragile.

Coming in Part III: Can Nigeria Win This War?

The concluding instalment examines whether the country’s current counter-insurgency strategy is addressing the root causes of the conflict or merely managing its symptoms. It will assess the strengths and shortcomings of the Borno Model, compare Nigeria’s approach with deradicalisation programmes in countries such as Saudi Arabia and Colombia, explore what security experts believe must change, and ask the defining question: Can peace endure if victims still feel justice has not been served?

Follow our WhatsApp Channel

By Max Amuchie

As the 2025/26 Rotary year drew to a close on June 30, I find myself pausing to reflect — not just on the programmes and projects, but on the deeper meaning of what it means to serve through an institution that has, for over a century, quietly changed the world one community at a time.

My Rotary journey began towards the end of 2018, a deliberate and intentional decision that I count among the best I have ever made. Rotary International, founded in Chicago in 1905 by lawyer Paul Harris and three colleagues, is today one of the world’s largest humanitarian service organisations, with over 1.4 million members across more than 46,000 clubs in 200 countries. Its foundational ethic — service above self — is not merely a slogan. For those of us who have lived it, it is a discipline.

This year ending today, I served in two roles within Rotary International District 9127: as District Media Relations Chair and as deputy Editor-in-Chief of the District Governor’s Newsletter. District 9127 covers the Federal Capital Territory and parts of north-central Nigeria — a district with significant civic footprint and growing institutional presence in the Rotary family.

The year belonged, in every meaningful sense, to the outgoing District Governor, Dame (Dr) Princess Joy Nki Okoro — a woman of remarkable grace, organisational clarity, and genuine commitment to service. Working with her was a privilege. My charge was straightforward in its ambition if demanding in its execution: ensure that every programme, project, and activity of the district received robust, dignified, and timely media coverage. In a media environment as competitive and often distracted as Nigeria’s, that requires both strategy and persistence.

The year opened with the formal handover ceremony on July 1, 2025, when Dame Joy Okoro received the mantle from Rotarian Mike Nwanoshiri — a moment that marked both continuity and new direction for the district. Her installation, held at Chida Hotel also in July 2025, set the tone: purposeful, well-attended, and media-visible in the way that institutional milestones should be.

A significant part of the year’s media work lived inside the pages of the District Governor’s Newsletter. Under the editorship of Rotarian Winifred Ogbebor — a disciplined and creative Editor-in-Chief whose editorial vision gave the publication both rigour and warmth — our team produced what I can only describe as a genuinely anticipated monthly read. In an era when institutional magazines often feel like obligatory dispatches, ours became something members actually looked forward to. Each edition arrived as a full magazine — richly designed, substantively reported, and reflective of the breadth of District 9127’s activities across its clubs and communities. The newsletter became, in effect, the district’s institutional memory for the year: a running record of service, fellowship, and achievement that no single event could capture on its own. Serving as deputy Editor-in-Chief under Rotarian Ogbebor’s leadership was a reminder that good journalism — even in a voluntary, service-driven context — demands the same standards of craft and intentionality that any serious publication requires.

The high point of the year, in terms of both scale and logistical complexity, was World Polio Day. Rotary’s commitment to polio eradication is one of its most historic undertakings — the organisation has been a founding partner of the Global Polio Eradication Initiative since 1988, and has contributed over $2.1 billion to the effort, helping reduce wild poliovirus cases by more than 99.9 percent worldwide. District 9127 marked the occasion not with a single event but with a full week of activities that brought together all six District Governors in Nigeria under one coordinated effort in Abuja. Each District Governor led a team to one of the six area councils of the FCT, taking the polio message directly to the grassroots. Coordinating media deployment across all six councils simultaneously — including television coverage — was among the most demanding and rewarding assignments of the year.

Beyond the calendar of events, the district also issued press statements on matters of national significance. When former President Muhammadu Buhari passed away, the District, like many civic institutions, felt the weight of the moment and responded with appropriate public voice.

On June 30, the wheel completes another turn. The 2025/26 year closes, and Rotarian Sikiru Owonikoko steps forward as the third District Governor of Rotary International District 9127 — inheriting a District that has spent this past year in the light, and a media infrastructure better positioned to keep it there.

Rotary rolls on. And I am grateful to have helped push the wheel.

•A Past President of the Rotary Club of Abuja CBD, Rotarian Max Amuchie served as District 9127 Media Relations Chair and Deputy Editor-in-Chief of the District Governor’s Newsletter in the 2025/2026 Rotary Year. He has been appointed Editor-in-Chief of the Governor’s Newsletter and Assistant Governor in the 2026/2027 Rotary Year

Follow our WhatsApp Channel

Pray, what exactly does it mean when they say ‘the President approved money, but the money has not been released’?

Can someone explain that sentence to ordinary Nigerians because it sounded satanic in my ears in 2003 when I first heard ‘no cash backing’ and it sounds even more demonic, satanic, mean today, 23 years later.

Approved by whom? Held back by who? Delayed by who? For what purpose?

If the President has said yes, who is powerful enough to say, “Not yet”?

I am angry.

Not mildly irritated. Not disappointed. Just annoyed.

There comes a time when silence becomes an accomplice and I am not willing to be an accomplice to any evil. There comes a time when one must stop dressing incompetence in fine grammar. Today is one of those days. We cannot continue to call it “bureaucratic delays” when human beings are paying the price of sluggish files or slugs moving files with their lives, dignity and sanity.

Okay, let me back up to the story behind my anger.

Unless a miracle happened while I was sleeping, about 700 Nigerians in South Africa are reportedly stranded because funds approved for their evacuation or repatriation have not reached the airline that is saddled with the job of ferrying them back home. The deadline was June 30, yesterday. Many of these Nigerians in South Africa have already vacated their apartments because they were told they were coming home. Some have packed up their businesses and resigned from their jobs. They have sold whatever little they had left. They are living in uncertainty because somebody in one office has decided that a file should sleep on a table.

These desperate-to-return home cannot sleep but the file that will give them peace is sleeping. Every hour of delay has consequences. Every day of delay stretches hope thinner and while those files are moving from one desk to another, two more Nigerians were reportedly killed over the weekend. Those were somebody’s children, somebody’s parents. Their lives cut short because somebody or some groups of public officers think the lives of others can be kept in files.

This is where my anger boils over.

When public officials want to loot public funds, bureaucracy suddenly discovers how to sprint. Close your eyes and try to recollect, add up the zillions of naira that have been reported missing, stolen, misappropriated over the years.

Miraculously, the documents to facilitate their disappearance are signed overnight.

Approvals fly. Payments move with Olympic speed. Accounts are credited before cockcrow. Contracts that won’t be executed are packaged while you and I are sleeping.

It is an evil culture that did not start today. Those who have been part of it know what I mean.

It is only when it is the money meant to rescue ordinary Nigerians that bureaucracy suddenly develops arthritis.

Suddenly there are procedures and protocols. Processes and observations that are suspended for ‘paperwork to be done later’ show up with a lot of notes of ‘please clarify.’

Tell me, are those people delaying this money not indirectly playing with human lives? Has this negligence not become cruelty? At what point does official indifference become violence?

You may not have pulled a trigger, but if your deliberate delay leaves innocent people exposed to danger, what exactly should we call it?

Every public office exists for one reason: to serve Nigerians.

Not to frustrate Nigerians.

Not to punish Nigerians.

Not to remind us that government offices belong to a mysterious brotherhood where some people can cut short, delay, ruin other people’s lives and dreams.

This is why Nigerians have lost faith in our institutions. It is not because institutions cannot work. It is because too many people inside them have forgotten that behind every file is a human being.

Behind every memo is a family.

Behind every approval is somebody praying that government will finally remember that they exist.

Sadly, this same story leads us into another conversation that has dominated public discourse.

Nigeria’s First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, in a call to encourage entrepreneurship, skills acquisition and support for small businesses, ran into a storm recently. Not because those harassing her do not understand the message she was trying to pass across. They know because they are educated. They not only understand English, they have a good command of the language. Which is why it was easy for them to twist everything out of shape. They do not like the messenger, so the message cannot be good. They do not like Mrs Tinubu, so her messages cannot be liked.

I like locust beans, iru, and I buy them in bowls of one thousand naira (1,000) each. I buy either in Oja’ba in Ibadan or Igbona in Osogbo. I had never seen a stack of 50 (which will be N50,000 at selling price) in front of my customers. Imagine if I give her 50k to add to her capital. I also like ‘ponmo’ (that is the spelling, please note) and I buy that in bulk too. N50,000 is a substantial addition for those traders. I am a farmer and I assure you that N20,000 ewedu from the farm is a good start. Seven crates of eggs at N6,000 is N42,000. It looks small but a housewife already getting 20 crates supply per week with 50k grant can and will be able to increase her weekly esusu.

There are grants being pushed from different bodies that I know of. As Yoruba elders would counsel, ‘E ma fi ote ba ohun to dara je.’ Let us not use conspiracy theories to spoil a good thing. Let us not get so emotional that we throw out the baby with the bath water.

Is it not true that the only thing you can build from the top is a grave? What do we have against small beginnings? Do we prefer the option of loan sharks to grants? Is it not high time we encouraged SMEs since government jobs are almost all gone? Shouldn’t we take second looks at the choices we make as elders and encourage young ones to make? Yes, things are hard now. It is even harder to find a soft option for anything anywhere anymore. But caught between the Nigerian rock and other hard places of the world, shouldn’t we look at our options carefully, wisely?

Predictably, those who dismissed Mrs Tinubu’s grants’ message with cynical laughter may think 50k is not elegant. They may sing: “Who wants to stay in Nigeria? Everybody wants to leave this damned country.”

Really?

And how is that working out for us, with hundreds risking everything just to become undocumented migrants abroad, including on the African continent?

People selling ancestral lands, families contributing life savings, mothers emptying their esusu accounts only for one member of the family to arrive abroad and become a street sweeper, dishwasher, sleeping four to a room. For not having all the facts before boarding the Japa plane, an only son is now a construction labourer hiding from immigration officers or someone who cannot visit a hospital or report abuse. The first university graduate of the family is now living permanently in fear of deportation.

Is this the dream?

Please don’t misunderstand me.

There is dignity in labour.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with sweeping streets. The problem is not the broom.

The tragedy is destroying everything you own just to hold that broom under circumstances that strip you of dignity and freedom when you had the option of starting something small with a quarter of what you paid to become a cab driver in a foreign land.

Many of these migrants were not poor before they left. Some had decent businesses. Some owned shops.

Some drove cars.

Some were respected artisans.

Some had thriving farms.

Then they listened to beautiful stories from

London, Toronto, Johannesburg, New York and Paris.

They imagined streets paved with dollars.

They forgot that every country has poor people.

Every country has unemployed people.

Every country has people sleeping under bridges.

Every country has those struggling to survive.

So they borrowed money at impossible interest rates only to discover that reality has no respect for fantasy. Now they cannot come home because returning empty-handed is considered shameful.

So they remain trapped, working endlessly, living invisibly, sending carefully selected photographs home while hiding the tears and loneliness.

Meanwhile, back in Nigeria, the same amount spent on visa fees, agents, flight tickets and processing could have started something meaningful: a tailoring shop, a bakery, poultry, transport business, a salon, a phone repair centre, a fashion business and so on.

Does that mean every business succeeds?

No. Business carries risk all over the world.

But so does illegal migration. Illegal migrants always end up paying too dearly for leaping before looking.

However, those with genuine opportunities overseas should go, learn, work, invest, prosper and represent Nigeria proudly.

The world belongs to everyone but let us stop romanticising suffering simply because it happens on foreign soil.

Poverty in pounds is still poverty.

Homelessness in dollars is still homelessness.

Exploitation in euros is still exploitation.

Illegal status remains illegal whether it is in Europe, America or South Africa.

Our tragedy is not merely that Nigerians leave. It is that too many leave without preparation, without legal pathways and without realistic expectations.

Then government compounds the pain through incompetence.

Imagine escaping Nigeria only to become stranded because your own government cannot move approved funds.

Imagine surviving xenophobia only to discover that paperwork from Abuja is now your greatest enemy.

Imagine packing your bags because your government told you help was coming.

Then help develops wings but refuses to fly.

This country exhausts even the strongest optimist.

Yet we must not surrender to hopelessness.

Nigeria has hardworking people from brilliant young entrepreneurs to resilient farmers and creative artisans. We have

Innovative technology founders, women building businesses from nothing and young men creating wealth and jobs outside of their university degrees instead of waiting endlessly for white-collar jobs.

These are the Nigerians government should empower, support and protect.

If we create an environment where enterprise thrives, fewer people will gamble their futures on dangerous migration routes.

If government keeps its promises promptly, fewer Nigerians will feel abandoned.

And if public officers remember that delay can kill, perhaps we shall stop mourning people whose only offence was believing that their country would not forget them.

As I write this, somewhere in South Africa, a Nigerian family is watching the calendar nervously, praying that government will do what government already approved.

Nigeria does not always fail because of lack of money. Our system fails because of the people standing between approval and action, those invisible hands that slow everything down with files and red tape.

These emperors of delay may never appear on television, never campaign for office but every day they quietly determine whether Nigerians live with dignity or despair.

And that, perhaps, is one of the greatest scandals of our public service.

A nation cannot move faster than its bureaucracy and when bureaucracy refuses to move, it does not just delay progress; it buries hopes and dreams.

Sometimes, tragically, it buries people.

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

Follow our WhatsApp Channel