Somewhere in present-day Osun State, about a hundred years ago, an oba ordered a manhunt for a troublesome strongman in his domain. The man, Kátákatà, was captured one night, killed and beheaded. His severed head was placed in a pot and brought to the oba. The palace erupted in celebration. At last, the nuisance was gone forever.

But at the height of the rejoicing, another celebration broke out outside the palace. It was Kátákatà himself, arriving with his drummers.

A stunned oba confronted him.

“But they brought your head to me this morning. It is in that room.”

“Kabiyesi,” Kátákatà replied, “that was not my head. It was your heir’s head they brought.”

How? The oba wondered as his visitor danced away.

Before noon that same day, Àrèmo (the heir to the throne) was brought home dead.

We heard the story many years ago from our fathers who insisted it was true. They pointed to a living old man who was Kátákatà’s ‘apprentice.’

There is another story, far more contemporary, that carries much the same moral.

Journalists often stumble on stories richer than the one they set out to find. The latest controversy in town is that the man we called maximum ruler, General Sani Abacha, died on top of a lady who was his girlfriend’s sister.

I read that Abacha report and felt like I heard or worked on something like that 28 years ago.

So, I went to the library of the Nigerian Tribune in search of the story.

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A newspaper archive is a strange place. It lies in ambush and catches you, no matter how alert you are. You go looking for one story, and another (often the better one), walks out to meet you. I was looking for General Abacha’s prized paramours when I found something else: an editor’s prison report more compelling than the tale of a dictator dying in the arms of his girlfriend’s sister.

Mr Femi Adeoti was the editor of the Sunday Tribune during the years of General Sani Abacha’s war against his enemies – the media and the political class. The editor published a story in May 1998 against Abacha and was arrested and detained at Agodi Prisons, Ibadan. There, he lived among, and interacted with, some of the most hardened inmates. He remained in custody until Abacha expired in June 1998.

Because every good editor is first a reporter, Adeoti spent his days in prison harvesting stories. When he regained his freedom, he told story after story about the inmates and the circumstances that brought them to jail.

The man published the first of his prison reports in the Sunday Tribune sometime in July 1998. I stumbled upon it last Friday while digging through the archives for our old reports on what killed Abacha. Then I felt an irresistible urge to reproduce it here because I see it as a metaphor for what I feel about Nigeria and the leaders it is blessed with.

My teacher taught me long ago never to abandon one story for another. I had planned to continue my celebration of Abuja and its budget of bandits but as the Yoruba say, bí ọmọde bá rí oyin, á sọ àkàrà nù—when a child finds honey, he throws away his bean cake. I am resisting that temptation. Every story deserves to be told. Tell both, or at your creative best, use one as a metaphor for the other. Metaphor. Yes. I do that here.

The prison story:

“In Agodi Prisons, Ibadan, I interacted with different characters. The moment they knew me as a journalist, I gained instant recognition and popularity. I kept receiving notes from the inmates—convicts and Awaiting Trial Males (ATMs). The characters were queer. Their stories were pathetic and interesting. The first person whose confession we will take today is a corpse robber.”

The voice above is the editor’s. What follows is the prisoner himself telling his story, raw:

“My name is…, but the inmates call me Orieku. I was born in 1972. I abandoned school in Primary Two. I just felt like leaving, so I left. I also left home in 1981. Since then, I have slept outside, mostly at Bode and under the Molete Bridge (Ibadan).

“One night under the bridge at Molete, an elderly man walked up to me and woke me. He was surprised to find me under the bridge at that odd hour, sleeping alone.

“He asked me to follow him to his house. He lived at Bode near Molete. It was at his house that I discovered he was a Babalawo (herbalist). I wanted to run away, but he calmed me down.

“I told him how I ran away from home and that my father died in 1973. My mother abandoned me and married another man. I did not want to follow her to her new matrimonial home. The Babalawo said he had a good job for me if I would do it.

“He told me he (Babalawo) specialized in using human parts for rituals and that he would like to recruit me to look for these human parts. He said I would look for where a dead had just been buried and go there in the night to exhume the body. That’s how I came into the business and became a corpse robber.

“This Babalawo was the only customer I knew. He would tell me what part(s) of the body he needed. And I would go for it.

“I had a very reliable informant. He knew almost every village around Ibadan. He would go into these villages to locate where they had just buried somebody. He would come back and give me a ‘perfect’ description of the place. Unfortunately, this informant is dead now. I would go to the location in the dead of the night to perform the ‘operation’. I would dig the grave, bring the corpse out and cut whatever part I needed. I would then re-bury it.

“I never cared to find out whatever happened after I might have exhumed the corpse. That was not my headache. Once I got what I wanted, my business with the corpse was over.

“I did not spare even my relations in my business. I went for their body parts and made good use of them.

“Christian corpses are very difficult to exhume. They are buried more deeply, unlike Muslim corpses.

“I was in business as a corpse robber between 1981 and 1986. Prices for these human parts were very cheap. Maybe that Babalawo was cheating me. He would pay N500 for head, N100 for fingers, N1000 for the two eyes and N500 for tongue.

“Throughout my career as a corpse robber, I sold only to that Babalawo. He would not allow me to sell to any other customer. He would always threaten me with charms.

“Then I left the business. Why I left was a long story.

“You see, my customer, that Babalawo, told me to look for the smallest toe on the left leg. And that it must be fresh. He said I must produce it within two days.

“It was a difficult task. I got in touch with my informant. He set at work. He told me a man was buried that morning in central Ibadan. I will not tell you the exact area, because people will easily remember the man.

“After giving the description, I prepared for my mission. I gathered my tools – digger (pick axe), cutlass and shovel. I set at work. I located the grave with ease because it is a popular area in Ibadan.

“They buried the man in an uncompleted building. So, nobody stayed near the building. I started work at about 1.30am, the grave was not deep, so the job was easy.

“Immediately I took the corpse out, I knew there would be trouble. The man was having beads on his neck, his two hands and legs. He was a Babalawo! I just summoned up courage and cut the toe. I put it back roughly and left the place hurriedly. I was afraid.

“I went straight to my customer and gave him the toe. The Babalawo was very happy and told me to come back later in the morning for my money.

“Because it was an emergency case, he said he would pay me N1000 for the toe. I was happy and went home to sleep.

“But when I woke up in the morning, the unusual happened. My wife suddenly woke me up and shouted: ‘What is wrong with your leg? Why the blood?’ I checked my leg and discovered that the smallest toe on my left leg was gone! The very toe that I cut from the dead Babalawo that night. I was terribly afraid and could not sleep again.

“I jumped up and went straight to my customer’s house. Immediately he sighted me, he began to rain abuses on me. He was angry and cursing me. ‘Why should you cut your own toe for me because of N1000?’ he shouted at me. ‘Why didn’t you tell me it is your own toe? I wanted the toe of a dead person, not a living human being.’ I tried to explain, but he would not listen. He just threw the toe at me and refused to pay me any money. He said the toe did not work because it was the toe of a living person. I took the toe, wrapped it in a paper and hid it from my wife. It became rotten and was carried away by a rat. The mark on my leg is this. You can see it (shows the editor his toeless leg).

“Why people call me Orieku (rat head)? Well, not much. They had wanted to call me Orioku (ghost head), but that would be too frightening. So they chose Ori Eku.”

Orieku said he left the business in 1986 and joined a popular theatre group in Ibadan as an apprentice. Then he diversified into petty stealing and burglary. It was that new vocation that took him to Agodi Prisons where he met the editor.

I read his story several times and saw the leadership of this country in Orieku. Nigeria’s political class is that corpse robber. The man thought he was cutting someone else’s toe. He discovered he had amputated his own.

It is common in Yorubaland to hear “Aṣeni ń ṣe ara rẹ̀.” The man who thinks he is cutting another person’s flesh may well be slicing into his own body. Those who think they are harming others often end up destroying themselves. The Kátákatà story, the corpse robber’s missing toe, and today’s politicians are all versions of the same tragedy: public wrongdoing is ultimately self-harm.

In 2022, we got the famous instruction: “Grab it, snatch it, and run with it.” If that season sounded brazen, the politics of 2026, as the country marches towards 2027, is even shriller. The scramble has become more desperate, the appetite less restrained. Little seems to matter anymore; not truth, not decency, not even who dies – so long as the grave robbers return with enough body parts to satisfy their dibias.

They are all stuck in the capital. Politicians who created bandit and terror groups in order to win elections; they can no longer go home to enjoy their loot. Those who dared return have found their own lives looted by the monsters they created. In destroying this republic and its democracy, they have turned their swords against the very sheath that once protected them. Every budget they poison with phantom projects and agencies, every institution they weaken with incompetent heads, every election they steal, every school abduction and terror act they condone with appeasement appears to injure someone else. But, one morning very soon they will wake up to discover that the missing toe is theirs.

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

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Africa will gain immensely from the recent acquittal of a former Sierra Leonean leader, writes MONDAY PHILIPS EKPE

Year 2023 did not end exactly the way former Sierra Leonean President, His Excellency, Dr Ernest Bai Koroma, had anticipated. Out of the blues, allegation of a coup plot to violently unseat the government of President Julius Maada Bio was weaved around his neck. The investigations that followed didn’t unravel any concrete evidence against him. Yet, in the manner of what obtains in countries without strong, unbiased justice systems, it was clear that the legal processes could go wrong rapidly. That apprehension went outside the borders of the idyllic but beleaguered West African country. However, a timely relief, a “deus ex machina”, came his way in the form of a bail to seek medical attention in Nigeria.

And last week, well over two years after that intervention, Dr Koroma received another good news. The Office of Sierra Leone’s Attorney General and Minister of Justice announced the termination of all the criminal charges raised against him. It derived its powers from the country’s Section 45 of the Criminal Procedure Act, 2024. The Information Minister of Sierra Leone, Chernor Bah, was reported to have told the BBC that the sudden u-turn occurred on health grounds.

Whatever the rationale, the significance of the moment mustn’t be confined to narrow motivations and interpretations. An action capable of redefining and realigning an entire nation is now in motion. Sierra Leone is due for general elections in two years’ time. So, bringing the symbolic head of the main opposition party, All People’s Congress (APC), back to the country would indeed be a smart move by the government in power if it’s keen on demonstrating a commitment to cohesion, equity and electoral decency.

Yes, many analysts and observers continue to view the initial accusations against Koroma as phoney. But then, mistreatments and injuries inflicted for whatever reasons do happen and they won’t stop now. The latest government’s gesture, at least on the surface, shows that President Bio is magnanimous. Posterity may even give him flowers. Who knows? Koroma himself, in a statement on the discontinuation of his trial, has expressed his gratitude first to God, then to President Bio, and thereafter to other critical actors like the leadership of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), President Bola Tinubu of Nigeria and Nigeria’s National Security Adviser, Mallam Nuhu Ribadu.

Koroma’s reaction reveals his acclaimed essence: a man at peace with himself, whose vision is propelled by an assurance of a brighter tomorrow. His words: “My faith has remained anchored in His (God) providence and in the enduring conviction that peace, justice and reconciliation must always triumph over adversity… Our country has overcome far greater trials because we have always found the wisdom to place nation above self, to build bridges of understanding, strengthen the bonds that unite us and work together in pursuit of a stable and prosperous Sierra Leone for present and future generations…. I remain committed to every sincere effort that advances peace, strengthens our democracy and promotes the welfare of our people.”

That characteristic, manicured response isn’t surprising to persons who have followed the public life of the man who presided over Sierra Leone from 2007 to 2018. His personality was a huge factor in nurturing the country back to normalcy after its internecine 11-year Civil War that was officially proclaimed ended in January 2002 by the late President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah. In March 2014, the then Secretary General of the United Nations, Ban Ki-Moon, described Sierra Leone as one of the world’s sterling examples of post-war recovery and peaceful coexistence. To prove that the accolade wasn’t a fluke, at the end of Koroma’s tenure, the Global Peace Index declared the country as West Africa’s most tranquil nation and Africa’s third. 

How many people remember that Sierra Leone was the continent’s fastest-growing economy in 2014? That feat succumbed to the morbid weight of Ebola pandemic which arrived at its shores in May that year, unfortunately. By the time it was pronounced over by the government in March 2016, the mass death harbinger had done its worst. Not to also mention the unprecedented and devastating mudslides that hit the capital in August 2017. The responsibility of steering the ship of state at those excruciating periods statutorily rested on Koroma. That he shouldered it creditably and went on to conduct the elections which removed his own party from office shouldn’t ever be dismissed as inconsequential. That’s the signature of a true statesman.  

Watching him in the dock in Freetown in January 2024 was, therefore, painful for many. In my column first published in THISDAY on January 18, 2024 titled, “The Travails of Ernest Bai Koroma”, I voiced out the concerns of many others. It reads in part: “It’s quite ironic that Koroma may indeed have become a victim of his own magnanimity and sense of fairness. Much of Africa is still not a continent where standard democratic practices thrive, where the fidelity of the ballot is a given. Incumbent presidents do manipulate elections and their outcomes, many times brazenly, to their advantage…. Koroma’s current tribulation could appear to be a fight for his own image and future but the ramifications extend beyond that. He has earned a respectable spot as a national, regional and continental icon, a status his rivals may have to live with for a long time….

“Time is running out. So much noise has been made about the effort of ECOWAS to get Koroma relocated to Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city, away from the dangerous moves going on in the country fondly called ‘Salone’ by its citizens. Call it safe-landing. Call it rescue from sharks and leviathans. Or a sincere step towards avoiding a very present possibility of Sierra Leone’s descent into anarchy. The regional body shouldn’t add this case to the embarrassing illustrations of its waning stature. Bio must be helped to act responsibly and presidentially.”

Thankfully, happy ending is in sight. Bio has listened to the voice of reason – belatedly or otherwise – and acted accordingly. Happily, Koroma’s story is progressing nicely once again. He’ll continue with his role as African Union (AU) and ECOWAS’ distinguished representative to various nations for electoral and other purposes, a position obtained through his excellent democratic pedigree. Now, as Sierra Leone’s only living ex-president who has demonstrated unimpeachable devotion to his country’s lasting growth, Koroma should be positioned to contribute more even on the global stage. For this respected moral compass and a member of Africa’s limited club of genuine elite democrats, the best could still be ahead.

Ekpe, PhD, is a member of THISDAY Editorial Board

X: @monday_ekpe2

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

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By Max Amuchie | The Sunday Stew 

 This fourth instalment of the Sundiata Post Model asks the inevitable question: What must a knowledge-producing newsroom do to survive, adapt and remain relevant across generations? 

That question is the gateway to what we call the Realm of the Long Term.

Every institution eventually enters the Realm of the Long Term. It is the stage at which immediate success gives way to enduring relevance, and where the central question is no longer whether an organisation can perform today, but whether it can continue creating public value across generations. Entering this realm requires more than ambition. It demands governance, institutional memory, financial resilience, leadership succession, continuous learning and an unwavering commitment to trust. This is the realm in which institutions either become enduring or gradually disappear.

The Realm of the Long Term is the point at which management ceases to focus primarily on performance and begins to focus on long-term stewardship. Decisions are evaluated not only by their immediate outcomes but by their contribution to the institution’s capacity to create enduring public value across generations.

Within the Sundiata Post Model the Realm of the Long Term rests on seven interdependent pillars: Financial Sustainability, Human Capital and Leadership, Knowledge Stewardship, Governance, Innovation and Adaptation, Trust and Reputation, and Mission Continuity. Together, these pillars determine whether an institution merely survives the present or continues creating public value across generations.

Financial Sustainability

Financial Sustainability is the institution’s capacity to generate, diversify, steward and invest financial resources in ways that preserve its independence, strengthen its capabilities and enable it to pursue its mission across generations.

Financial Sustainability is the institution’s capacity to generate diverse, mission-aligned sources of income that preserve its independence while strengthening both its Media Operations Engine and its Knowledge Operations Engine over the long term.

No institution, however compelling its vision or noble its mission, can endure without the economic capacity to sustain its work. Institutions do not survive on ideas alone. They survive because they deliberately create the financial resources that allow those ideas to mature into enduring public value.

Within the Sundiata Post Model, Financial Sustainability is understood differently from its conventional treatment in management literature. It is not simply about generating revenue, balancing budgets or maintaining profitability. Rather, it is the strategic financing of a knowledge-producing institution. Its purpose is to preserve institutional independence while providing the resources required to sustain both the Media Operations Engine and the Knowledge Operations Engine over the long term.

The Media Operations Engine generates value through journalism and public engagement. Its financial ecosystem includes advertising, brand partnerships, digital marketing, content syndication, commercial publishing, multimedia production, conferences, annual lectures, policy dialogues, executive forums and other public-facing institutional activities. These are not merely commercial ventures; they are mission-aligned enterprises that strengthen the institution’s capacity to produce independent journalism.

The Knowledge Operations Engine expands the institution’s financial horizon beyond the traditional economics of media. As the institution generates original knowledge, it creates opportunities for research grants, commissioned studies, partnerships with universities, think tanks and research institutions, collaborative projects with international organisations, consultancy, executive education, policy research, book publishing, biographies, proprietary datasets and the licensing of analytical frameworks, indices and methodologies. Knowledge itself becomes an institutional asset capable of creating both public value and sustainable income.

This represents a fundamental shift in how media organisations think about finance. The Sundiata Post Model recognises that journalism and knowledge production are complementary economic activities. The first generates public attention, civic engagement and commercial opportunities; the second generates intellectual capital, scholarly influence and knowledge-based revenue. Together, they produce a diversified and resilient institutional economy capable of supporting long-term growth without compromising editorial independence or research integrity.

Financial Sustainability therefore extends beyond accounting. It encompasses the institution’s capacity to build strategic partnerships, secure collaborative projects, attract research funding, develop intellectual property and transform original ideas into enduring institutional assets. 

In the Realm of the Long Term, Financial Sustainability is ultimately the stewardship of institutional resources in service of institutional purpose. It is the first pillar because every other pillar depends upon it. Without sustainable financing, governance becomes fragile, knowledge production becomes intermittent, innovation slows, leadership development suffers and institutional memory gradually erodes. 

2. Human Capital and Leadership

If Financial Sustainability provides the economic foundation of an enduring institution, Human Capital and Leadership provide its human foundation. Buildings, technology, financial resources and even brilliant institutional designs do not create enduring organisations by themselves. Institutions ultimately rise or decline because of the quality of the people who lead them and the culture they cultivate.

Within the Sundiata Post Model, Human Capital extends beyond recruitment. It encompasses the deliberate attraction, development, retention and continuous renewal of talented professionals who possess not only technical competence but also a commitment to the institution’s mission, values and standards. An institution enters the Realm of the Long Term only when it begins to think beyond filling positions to building generations of capable people.

Leadership occupies a special place within this pillar. The true measure of leadership is not merely what is accomplished during a leader’s tenure, but what remains after that tenure has ended. Institutions become enduring when leadership is viewed as stewardship rather than ownership. Every generation of leaders inherits an institution from those who came before and bears the responsibility of strengthening it for those who will come after.

This requires intentional investment in professional development, mentorship, succession planning and organisational culture. Expertise must be cultivated. Institutional values must be transmitted. Leadership pipelines must be continuously renewed. The departure of talented individuals should never threaten the continuity of the institution because knowledge, experience and responsibility lhave been systematically transferred to the next generation.

For a knowledge-producing institution, this responsibility becomes even greater. Journalists must continuously improve their craft. Researchers must deepen their methodological competence. Editors must strengthen both editorial judgment and institutional leadership. The objective is not merely to employ professionals but to cultivate an intellectual community capable of sustaining journalism, research and public service over the long term.

3. Knowledge Stewardship

Knowledge Stewardship is the deliberate creation, preservation, governance and transmission of institutional knowledge so that learning accumulates rather than disappears.

Every institution produces knowledge through its daily operations. Yet much of that knowledge is often lost through staff turnover, poor documentation or organisational neglect. The Sundiata Post Model rejects this waste. It regards datasets, editorial experience, research outputs, methodologies, institutional records and accumulated expertise as strategic assets that must be governed, preserved and continuously enriched. Knowledge stewardship transforms experience into institutional capital.

4. Governance

Governance is the system of structures, principles and accountability through which an institution safeguards its mission, exercises authority responsibly and makes sound strategic decisions.

Strong institutions are not sustained by personalities alone but by systems that outlive individuals. Effective governance establishes clear responsibilities, ethical standards, transparency, accountability and strategic oversight. It protects institutional integrity during periods of growth, crisis and leadership transition. Within the Realm of the Long Term, governance provides stability without preventing innovation.

5. Innovation and Adaptation

Innovation and Adaptation are the institution’s capacity to respond intelligently to changing technological, economic and social environments while remaining faithful to its core mission.

Long-term institutions do not survive by resisting change. They survive by adapting continuously without abandoning the principles that define them. Innovation therefore extends beyond technology. It includes new products, new organisational practices, new revenue models, new research methods and new ways of engaging society. Adaptation ensures relevance; mission provides continuity.

6. Trust and Reputation

Trust and Reputation constitute an institution’s accumulated credibility, earned through consistent competence, integrity and public service over time.

Trust is not created by slogans or marketing campaigns. It is built gradually through countless decisions that demonstrate reliability, fairness and professionalism. Reputation becomes one of an institution’s most valuable strategic assets because it influences public confidence, partnerships, talent recruitment and long-term legitimacy. In the Sundiata Post Model, trust is not simply an ethical aspiration; it is an institutional resource that must be deliberately protected.

7. Mission Continuity

Mission Continuity is the institution’s ability to preserve its fundamental purpose while continually renewing its strategies, structures and methods.

Institutions that endure distinguish between mission and method. Their purpose remains constant even as the means of fulfilling that purpose evolve. Mission continuity prevents organisations from losing their identity in response to short-term pressures while enabling them to adapt confidently to changing circumstances. It provides the enduring direction that unites successive generations of leaders, professionals and stakeholders.

The seven pillars are mutually reinforcing. They are not independent compartments that can be strengthened or weakened in isolation. The erosion of one inevitably affects the others, because institutions endure as integrated systems rather than as collections of separate functions.

Without Financial Sustainability, you cannot recruit and retain the best people (Human Capital and Leadership).

Without capable people, Knowledge Stewardship deteriorates.

Without Knowledge Stewardship, Innovation and Adaptation becomes weak because there is little accumulated knowledge to build upon.

Weak Governance eventually damages Trust and Reputation.

Once trust declines, revenue suffers, weakening Financial Sustainability again.

Eventually, Mission Continuity is threatened.

The Global South 

While the region has produced many outstanding newspapers and broadcasters, relatively few have demonstrated the kind of uninterrupted institutional continuity that characterises some of the world’s oldest media organisations. Political instability, economic volatility, succession challenges, fragile governance structures and rapidly changing media economics have made institutional longevity the exception rather than the rule. 

The Realm of the Long Term is therefore not merely about preserving an existing institution; it is about addressing one of the enduring structural weaknesses of media development in Africa and much of the Global South. The ambition is to build media organisations that do not merely survive their founders, but continue to generate public value across generations.

However, there are few media institutions that have proved capable of surviving across generations. In Nigeria, the Nigerian Tribune, founded in 1949 by Obafemi Awolowo, has endured for more than seven decades, surviving colonial rule, independence, military governments, democratic transitions and the digital revolution. In South Asia, The Hindu in India, established in 1878, and Dawn in Pakistan, founded in 1941, have likewise sustained their institutional identities through profound political, economic and technological change. In the developed world, organisations such as Reuters (founded in 1851), The Economist (established in 1843),  The New York Times (founded in 1851) have demonstrated similar resilience over even longer periods.

The longevity of these institutions suggests that enduring media organisations share certain characteristics. They invest in governance, preserve institutional memory, renew leadership, adapt to technological change, cultivate public trust and develop sustainable business models. Their endurance is rarely accidental; it is the product of deliberate institutional choices sustained over decades.

The Sundiata Post Model seeks to identify, organise and systematise institutional principles that appear repeatedly among such media organisations. In that sense, it is both descriptive and prescriptive. It draws lessons from enduring institutions while proposing a coherent framework for building the knowledge-producing newsroom of the twenty-first century.

Finally, history shows that ideas sometimes outgrow the domains in which they were first conceived. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was written as a treatise on military strategy, yet its principles have since informed thinking on business, leadership and organisational management. Likewise, while the Sundiata Post Model is proposed as a framework for twenty-first-century journalism, its underlying principles of knowledge production, institutional memory, governance and long-term stewardship may ultimately prove relevant to other knowledge-intensive organisations. Whether that broader applicability emerges is not for me, as its author, to determine, but for others—scholars, intellectuals, media executives, publishers, and management experts—to test, adapt, critique and refine through practice.

Trust is sacred. Stay seasoned 

•Dr. Max Amuchie is a Scholar-Journalist, Media CEO, Lead Researcher at the Sundiata Post Intelligence Unit (SPIU), and an Expert Member and Peer Reviewer at ScienceOpen. He is the architect of The Insecurity Triad framework for African security analysis as well as the Trinity of Sovereignty Decay (formerly Trinity of State Decay) theory, and the Decoupling Sovereignty Index (DSI)—original frameworks for understanding, categorising, and measuring conflict, state decay, and sovereignty in the Global South. 

X: @MaxAmuchie | Email: [email protected]

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

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By Chidi Anselm Odinkalu

José Eduardo Van-Dúnem dos Santos was 37 when the ruling Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola, (better known by its Portuguese acronym, MPLA) chose him to succeed its founding president, Augustinho Neto, in September 1979. By 2010, dos Santos had been in power for 31 years. But the shy and retreating dos Santos was neither an enthusiastic glad-hander nor a wildly popular figure.

For a long time, dos Santos laboured in search of a cure for both ailments. In 2010, he finally found one. Under Angola’s 1992 constitution, the president was the only leader with national standing. The citizens elected him directly on a national ticket. In December 2006, the country issued a three-year notice of presidential election to be conducted in 2009. When the time came, however, President dos Santos could not be bothered with one.

Instead, on 21 January 2010, the parliament controlled entirely by the MPLA approved a new constitution. On 5 February, dos Santos formally assented to the new constitution. It abolished the right of the people to elect their president and extended the unelected tenure of dos Santos as president until a new vote in 2012.

Under the terms of the new constitution, the president was to be elected no longer by the people. Instead, the leader of the majority party in the National Assembly would automatically assume power as the president. The parliament controlled by dos Santos and his MPLA had accomplished an extraordinary power-grab at the expense of the people and without even a pretense of giving them a say or look-in.

In neighbouring Democratic Republic of the Congo, President Joseph Kabila took notice. It took every tool in the DRC’s complex political economy to foil him. Elected to a second five-year term in 2011, “Kabila employed various strategies to prolong his stay in power” and “to manipulate the system to his advantage.” After running out of tenure tarmac in December 2016, Kabila contrived to grant himself an unelected two-year extension. In the end, the country forced him to yield up power in 2019 and bring an end to his 18-year rule.

In Togo, Faure Gnassingbe has presided over two republics over 21 years as successor to his father, General Gnassingbe Eyadema. As president, Faure has never faced a term limit that he could not lift. In May 2024, faced with a term limit that seemed insuperable, Faure, president of Togo since the death of his own father in 2005, abolished the executive presidency and the right of Togo’s citizens to elect their own president in order that he could continue in power.

Under a new constitution to usher in Togo’s 5^th Republic in 2024, Parliament doubled the number of presidents in Togo from one to two. The office of the state president became largely ceremonial. Beside him, the constitution created the new and all-powerful office of President of the Council of Ministers in which it reposed all executive powers. In one swoop, Faure Gnassingbe ended all speculations about term limits and presidential elections.

Under the new constitution, the President of the Council of Ministers can hold office indefinitely as long as his party is in power. Indeed, Faure “could…. remain in power for life as president of the council as long as his party remained in the majority.” In a close reprise of the script by Angola’s MPLA, the amendment in Togo was authored entirely by the ruling party and with no opportunity for the people to participate. The political opposition in Togo called it a “constitutional coup”. Elsewhere in Africa, others have called it  “a blueprint for dictators.”

One dictator who took close notice was Zimbabwe’s Emmerson Mnangagwa. When he overthrew the long-serving regime of President Robert Mugabe in November 2017, Mnangagwa – who goes by the nickname “the Crocodile” in homage to his political ruthlessness and cunning – was already 75. Many regarded him as no more than a stop-gap figure in what they hoped would be an assured transition to more open and democratic Zimbabwe. Instead, he began a methodical process of consolidating power in a scheme that appears clearly designed to guarantee him a life presidency (which he denied his predecessor).

When the tenure of the Chief Justice, Luke Malaba, fell due upon his turning 70 in May 2021, President Mnangagwa contrived to grant Malaba an unprecedented five-year extension and eventually got a compliant court system to fall in line. To manage suspected judicial un-ease ahead of presidential elections in August 2023, he awarded all judges a non-repayable housing loan of $400,000 US dollars.

In the period since Mnangagwa’s rise to power, over 25 leading military generals, including four of the six who propelled him to power, have died, most of them mysteriously.

Under Zimbabwe’s 2013 constitution, the president is elected to a five-year tenure, which can be renewed once. Elected to his first presidential term in 2018, Mnangagwa was liable to become term-limited in 2028. However, in October 2025, the ruling ZANU-PF Party decided to seek an extension of his tenure for the sake of continuity and national stability.

On 7 July, 2026, President Mnangagwa assented to a constitutional amendment “extending the presidential term from five to seven years and abolishing the popular election of the president in favour of selection by parliament, a change that will keep him in office two years beyond the limit previously set by the constitution.” Again, it was an entirely parliamentary affair.

So, in 2028 when he is due to turn 86 and become term-limited, President Mnangagwa will instead be presented to the people of Zimbabwe for the formality of continuing his rule until he is at least 93. If his tenure is renewed at the end of that, Mnangagwa will be eligible to rule until he is a centenarian, and the people of Zimbabwe will have no say in this.

Nearly three years ago, in November 2023, Nigeria’s former President, Olusegun Obasanjo, who himself tried – and failed – to grant himself an extended tour of duty in the presidency beyond the eight years permitted by the constitution under which he took office in May 1999, complained that Western-style democracy was forced on Africa and was not good for the continent. He was short of clarity on a model that could replace it.

Perhaps inspired by Obasanjo’s complaint, his disciples in power across different political traditions on the continent now offer experiments in how to attain his goal. The emerging elements are clear.

First, the people are inconvenient. Increasingly, the question of who sits at the top of the pecking order of power is to be decided by folks entirely beholden to the ruler and not by a perennially obstreperous citizenry.

Second, parliament and judges are dependable enablers of dictatorship. It is a lot cheaper to pay them off and much easier to eliminate or isolate hold-outs among them with no complaints.

Third, popular elections are an unaffordable luxury. It is more efficient to carve up the country into small, manageable constituencies in the service of pretend democracy.

Fourth, periodic renewal of mandate is an anachronism. It pays to keep things predictable and simple. A life presidency does it.

Around the continent, many wannabe life presidents are limbering up. Wherever you look, the future of government of the people, for the people, and by the people in Africa increasingly looks beleaguered, if not indeed bleak.

A lawyer and a teacher, Odinkalu can be reached at [email protected] 

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