Central to the policies and strategies unveiled is the idea of a technology-driven government that delivers services digitally from the start, where data drives decisions, and citizens can interact with public institutions as easily as they use their phones. The Digital Government Policy Framework (DGPF), an ambitious blueprint launched in 2020 for a smarter, more responsive state, outlines this vision across six pillars, with initiatives like Digital by Design and Proactive Governance. However, ambition alone doesn���t build systems; it requires execution.

In theory, Digital by Design operates on the philosophy that government services should be created with technology at their core. In practice, progress has been slowed by fragmented regulations and uneven capacity across states. While some parts of the country are moving forward, others are playing catch-up, leading to a fragmented system instead of the unified digital experience that these innovations are meant to achieve. 

A similar pattern is evident in the push for a data-driven public sector. There are indeed signs that the Nigerian government is beginning to take data governance more seriously. For example, in trying to achieve a geo-political system of equity and inclusion, all 36 states were reached through the Build-A-thon programme, with learning communities set up that focused on youths and female groups. But what���s missing is consistent, disaggregated data that reflects differences across factors like gender, geography, and income levels. Without this level of detail, policies run the risk of missing the people who need them most, and data can not be effectively used to create inclusive solutions. 

The same pattern appears in Government as a Platform���s vision, which envisions an interconnected, efficient, and accessible public service. While infrastructure investments like the installation of 145,000km of fibre optic cable, which was laid, suggest that the foundation is being built, only 27% of rural LGAs are connected against a target of 60%, making the experience of navigating them still feel disjointed. The promise of seamless digital governance has yet to materialise.

Perhaps more telling is the lingering gap between openness and transparency. While the government has made efforts to engage citizens through consultations, signalling a willingness to be more transparent, limited visibility into program performance makes it difficult to assess how policies are actually working. This disconnect becomes even clearer in user-driven governance. In principle, citizens should help shape the services they use; in practice, feedback channels are often weak or inaccessible, particularly for rural areas or underserved communities. 

On the brighter side, Nigeria appears to have made real progress in building its digital backbone with broadband infrastructure expansion and continued growth in the telecommunications ecosystem. However, only about 27 percent of local governments have reliable connectivity compared to their urban counterparts. This means that for millions of Nigerians, the digital economy still feels out of reach, a divide with real consequences.

Beyond infrastructure, a deeper structural challenge is coordination. Nigeria has a deep-seated challenge of aligning efforts across different agencies working toward similar goals. Policies are developed and launched in isolation, creating a system that moves while being pulled in different directions. The startup ecosystem, for example, boasts over 12,000 registered startups and billions in investment, but still lacks stronger institutional support, which means this growth may be difficult to sustain.

Yiaga Africa���s assessment report on President Tinubu���s Renewed Hope Agenda, legal and regulatory framework is described as transitional, with important tools like the National AI Strategy and the Digital Economy Bill still in development and facing delays in enforcement. The Federal Ministry of Communications, Innovation, and Digital Economy (FMoCIDE) has demonstrated leadership, but execution is uneven as a result of poor interagency cooperation and limited connections in local governments. According to the policy assessment brief facilitated by Yiaga Africa, more than 12,000 registered firms and ���21 billion in investments raised in 2025, the Startup Ecosystem is referred to as emerging but is not institutionalised and threatened by issues including poor budgetary integration and sluggish tax incentive disbursement.

Similarly, the national Build-A-Thon STEM effort emphasises the importance of human capital development; nonetheless, inclusion mechanisms remain inadequate, particularly for rural areas, gender-specific data, and disability inclusion. Only 7.7% of young people with training are employed in northern states due to a lack of investments in digital infrastructure. 

The path forward is one where rural connectivity must be improved through reforms like reducing right-of-way costs and investing in alternative power solutions. Policies like the Digital Economy Bill must move from draft to implementation, and coordination across different local governments must become more deliberate and unified. Ultimately, progress must be measured not just by policies announced, but by outcomes experienced by everyday Nigerians.

Read more on the #Fulfillit campaign by Yiaga Africa here

One of the strongest areas of performance is Nigeria���s startup and innovation ecosystem, which recorded the highest rating of 3.75 in the policy brief by Yiaga Africa using the GovTech index key across 9 key performance areas on a numerical performance scale of 1-5. The government significantly exceeded its target under the Startup Act, registering nearly 12,948 startups compared to the initial goal of 500. In addition, about 925 government-backed innovation hubs have been established across the country. 

While these figures reflect an active entrepreneurial landscape and growing interest in technology-driven solutions, the assessment notes that access to finance remains a major obstacle, largely because grant disbursement processes are slow and tax relief mechanisms lack transparency. 

Another area of progress is talent development, which scored 3.0. Flagship initiatives such as the 3 Million Technical Talent (3MTT) program have trained approximately 600,000 individuals as of 2025. Programs like the Build-A-Thon initiative have also exceeded expectations in reaching students and introducing them to digital skills. Despite this momentum, a key challenge lies in translating training into employment. 

According to the assessment, only 7.7 percent of trainees secured employment within six months of completing their programs, highlighting a disconnect between skills training and labour market demand. Without stronger partnerships between training programs and employers, Nigeria risks producing a large pool of skilled individuals who struggle to find opportunities to apply their knowledge.

In digital infrastructure, progress remains modest. The sector recorded a rating of 2.5, with approximately 145,000 kilometres of fibre optic cable deployed nationwide, representing about a ten percent increase compared to pre-2023 levels. While this expansion is significant, rural connectivity remains a major challenge, with only 27 percent of rural local government areas currently connected, far below the government���s target of 60 percent. 

The most concerning performance appears in e-government and digital services, which scored 1.75. Despite growing calls for government modernisation, fewer than 20 percent of federal services are fully digitised. This limits the efficiency and accessibility of public services that digital tools are supposed to enhance. Furthermore, national identification coverage remains incomplete. The National Identification Number (NIN) currently covers roughly 51 percent of the population, significantly below the 95 percent target set for 2025. 

These uneven outcomes are driven by several structural challenges. One major issue is policy fragmentation. Key institutions such as the National Information Technology Development Agency (NITDA), the Nigeria Data Protection Commission (NDPC), and the Federal Ministry of Communications, Innovation and Digital Economy frequently operate in silos. Overlapping mandates in areas like data protection and cybersecurity can result in duplicated efforts and regulatory confusion. 

Infrastructure constraints further compound these challenges. High Right-of-Way (RoW) fees imposed by state governments continue to slow broadband expansion, particularly in underserved regions. In addition, unreliable power supply and expensive spectrum costs further complicate efforts to scale digital connectivity nationwide. These barriers make it difficult to extend digital services to communities that need them most. 

Another obstacle is the slow pace of legislative reform. The Digital Economy Bill, which could provide a comprehensive regulatory framework for the sector, remains pending in the National Assembly. This delay contributes to uncertainty for investors and innovators alike, potentially slowing the pace of growth in the sector. Inclusion challenges also persist with many digital programs concentrated in urban centres, limiting participation from women, persons with disabilities, and rural populations, particularly in northern states. 

To address these challenges and meet the objectives of the government���s Renewed Hope agenda by 2027, the assessment outlines several recommendations. First, stronger inter-agency coordination is essential. Establishing a dedicated Digital Economy Delivery Taskforce could help harmonise the work of institutions such as NITDA, the Nigerian Communications Commission (NCC), and Galaxy Backbone. 

The government must also accelerate reforms by prioritising the passage of the Digital Economy Bill and fully implementing the Startup Act. Furthermore, collaboration with subnational governments is crucial, as state-level ICT agencies must play a greater role in addressing last-mile connectivity challenges and reducing Right-of-Way fees that hinder broadband expansion. 

The report also emphasises the role of public���private partnerships, particularly with major telecommunications companies such as MTN and Airtel, in scaling infrastructure and expanding digital training hubs. Finally, policymakers must take deliberate steps to promote local content, including enforcing procurement standards that prioritise indigenous digital solutions.

Overall, the assessment finds that Nigeria���s digital economy is clearly moving forward, but progress remains uneven. The country has demonstrated strong potential in innovation and talent development, yet critical weaknesses persist in governance, infrastructure, and inclusion. 

Read more on the #FulfillIt campaign by Yiaga Africa here

When Opemipo got laid off five months after moving to Sweden for work, Finland wasn’t part of the plan. In this story, she shares how her friend referred her for a life-changing role, how the company handled her full relocation to Sweden without her spending a kobo, and the one piece of advice she���s giving anyone in this job market.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I left Nigeria in February 2022 for Sweden, but I now live in Finland

Take us back to your life in Nigeria. What was life like for you in Nigeria before the move?

Before the move, I was actually doing really well in Nigeria. I had built a life and a career that I was proud of. I was growing, learning, and beginning to feel like I was finding my place in my career.

Then life took a beautiful turn. I got married in 2019, and in 2020, I had my daughter – right at the start of the COVID lockdown. Becoming a mother changed a lot for me. Suddenly, I was thinking not just about my career, but also about the kind of life and opportunities I wanted for myself and my growing family.

Around that time, I started looking into remote opportunities. I remember interviewing with Opera Mini/Opay, and at one point, I received an offer. But because I was pregnant, the offer was eventually rescinded. Honestly, that was difficult. It felt like I was being penalised for something that was such a beautiful and important part of my life.

But that experience didn’t stop me. I kept looking, and sometimes, the opportunities you don’t get make room for the ones you were actually meant to have.

A friend of mine, Kevwe, eventually referred me for a remote Project Coordinator role. I got the opportunity and joined in 2021. At the time, I didn’t realise just how significant that moment would be. That role became the beginning of a completely new chapter for me – one that would eventually take my career and my family in a direction I never could have imagined.

So, What Happened Next?           

About six months into the job, something completely unexpected happened: the company was acquired by Klarna, the Swedish buy-now-pay-later company.

At the time, there were only about a few of us working remotely from Nigeria. We were settled into our roles and getting on with our lives, so the acquisition was already a big change in itself. But then came another surprise.

Because of GDPR requirements, Klarna couldn���t continue having us work remotely from Nigeria. Instead of simply ending our contracts, they decided to relocate us.

I remember how surreal that felt. I had only recently found my footing in this new remote career when I was suddenly told I might have the opportunity to move to Europe.

I hadn���t planned for it. Moving abroad wasn���t something I had been actively pursuing at that point. But sometimes, life opens a door you weren���t even looking for, and you have to decide whether you���re brave enough to walk through it.

That’s wild. So this wasn’t really a planned japa?

Not at all, honestly. Moving abroad wasn���t really part of some big, carefully planned ���japa��� strategy.

My husband is a British citizen, and around that time, with the economy the way it was, we had quietly started exploring our options. We talked about possibly moving to Scotland or somewhere else in the UK. Nothing was certain – we were just having conversations, looking at possibilities, and praying about what the right next step would be for our family.

And then, completely out of nowhere, the company was acquired.

Suddenly, an opportunity arose to relocate to Sweden. Sweden wasn���t even on our radar. We had been thinking about the UK, and here we were being offered a completely different path to Europe.

Looking back, it was one of those moments where you just have to pause and say, ���Okay, God, I see what you’re doing.���

We had been praying for a way forward, but we were imagining one thing, and God opened a completely different door. We didn’t plan for Sweden. We didn’t even see it coming. It just happened.

So, for me, it really did feel like one of those ���God did this��� moments. What we thought would require years of planning and figuring everything out somehow came together through an unexpected opportunity.

What did the company handle, and what did you have to do yourselves?

Honestly? Almost nothing on our end. Looking back, I realise just how incredibly favoured and blessed we were.

Klarna partnered with a consultant to handle almost the entire relocation process for us. They took care of the documentation, visas, and all the complicated paperwork that comes with moving to another country.

The consultant verified our marriage certificate, checked our academic records, and made sure all our documentation was legitimate and in order. We didn’t even have to provide proof of funds. In fact, there was very little we had to figure out ourselves.

We had just one appointment in Abuja, and after that, everything moved incredibly quickly. It was honestly surreal because I kept thinking, ���Is this really happening?���

When we arrived in Sweden, Klarna also covered our relocation costs and paid for our first month’s rent. They even arranged for a relocation specialist to help us find permanent accommodation.

So, in many ways, we didn’t have to navigate the relocation process alone. The company took care of the things that would normally be some of the most stressful parts of moving abroad, and we were able to focus on preparing ourselves and our daughter for this completely new chapter.

It was a very different experience from what I had imagined relocating to another country would be. There was still a lot of uncertainty and emotion around leaving Nigeria, but having that level of support made the transition so much easier.

That sounds almost too smooth. 

Yeah, I know, right? But there���s a catch. 

Oh no.

So when I got to Sweden, I moved from project coordinator to scrum master in my original team, but I didnt think the role was challenging enough, so I pushed to move into a role within an existing Klarna team. The thing is, there’s usually a 2-year waiting period before contractors are fully integrated into Klarna’s workforce, but I skipped that since I was already working at a company that Klarna owned. When I moved over, I was treated like a brand-new employee.

Five months later, I got laid off. “Last in, first out,” was what they told me. It was devastating. I’d just uprooted my whole family, my daughter was barely two, and now this.

How did you even survive that financially and emotionally?

Honestly, what came next was probably the most depressing period of my life. 

The excitement of relocating to Sweden had faded, and suddenly I found myself dealing with a completely different reality. I had moved my life and my family to a new country, and now I was facing uncertainty about my career and what would happen next.

Thankfully, Swedish labour law gave me a bit of a safety net. Because I still had my original employment contract from before the Klarna acquisition, I was entitled to six months’ salary upon my termination.

And that turned out to be incredibly important.

In Sweden, your residence permit can be tied to your employment, so losing your job also meant I had to think carefully about how much time I had to find another one. That six months of salary effectively gave me around nine months of breathing room, rather than the three months I would otherwise have had to find new employment.

I remember being very deliberate about how I wanted the money paid. I told them, ���No, please don’t pay it as a lump sum. Pay me monthly.���

I needed that structured income. I needed to know that every month, I could still pay our bills while I focused on finding another job.

Looking back, that period was incredibly difficult emotionally. I had gone from feeling like everything was falling perfectly into place, moving to Sweden through what felt like a God-ordained opportunity, to suddenly wondering what I was going to do next. But that six-month salary gave me something I desperately needed at the time: time. Time to breathe, time to figure things out, and time to look for my next opportunity without immediately having to panic about how we were going to survive.

That’s such a specific, useful detail. What did those months of job hunting actually look like?

I knew I couldn’t sit around feeling sorry for myself. I was on LinkedIn every single day. I took online courses, attended Swedish language classes, reached out to Nigerians working at companies I was interested in, and asked for referrals, interview tips, and advice. I was willing to learn, adapt, and do whatever I could to find my footing again.

But one of the biggest things that carried me through that period was the Nigerian community in Sweden. People I had never met were willing to help me simply because they understood what it meant to be starting over in a new country.

There was one particular moment I’ll never forget. A man I’d never even met saw that I was looking for a job and offered to write a post about me on LinkedIn, in Swedish, to help me reach a wider audience.

He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t know me. But he saw someone in need and decided to help. That one simple act of kindness opened a door I never expected. 

Suddenly, I wasn’t just sitting alone in a new country trying to figure everything out. I had people to talk to, people who understood, people who could share their experiences and point me in the right direction.

It reminded me of something I’d almost forgotten during that difficult period: I wasn’t alone.

Sometimes, when you’re going through a difficult season, you don’t need someone to solve everything for you. Sometimes, you just need someone to say, ���I see you. Let me help.���

And that was exactly what the Nigerian community did for me.

Six months of that must have taken a toll. How did you keep going?

My belief in God and my faith in Him kept me going.

Also, instead of applying narrowly based only on what I had done before, I started applying broadly. I stopped looking at job descriptions and thinking, ���I don’t have 100% of this.��� Instead, I started asking myself, ���Can I learn this? Can I figure this out? Can I bring something valuable to the role?���

That shift made a huge difference.

I still had moments of doubt, of course, but I stopped allowing the things I hadn’t done before to define what I believed I was capable of doing.

Looking back, I think that period taught me to be much more confident in my ability to learn and to just be audacious.

And did that pay off? 

It did. And somehow, right when my severance was about to run out in December, I finally got an offer.

But there was a catch: the job was in Finland, not Sweden.

And honestly, that broke my heart a little.

By that point, Sweden wasn’t just the country I had moved to for work anymore. It had become home. I had built a community there, made friends, found people who had supported me through one of the hardest periods of my life, and started to build a life for my family. So when the opportunity in Finland came, I was excited to finally have a job again, but I was also conflicted. I remember thinking, ���Really? Just when I’m finally finding my feet here, I have to leave again?���

It felt like another chapter was closing just as I had started to settle into it.

But once again, life was taking me somewhere I hadn’t planned to go.

Wow. What was moving to Finland like?

Thankfully, this relocation was also company-funded, which made a huge difference.

They arranged for all our belongings to be moved from Sweden to Finland by boat���a 16-hour journey. So, in a very literal sense, our entire life was packed up and sent across the Baltic Sea while we prepared to start yet another chapter.

The amazing thing was that we already had our housing sorted before we even arrived. So when we landed in Finland, we didn’t have to worry about temporary accommodation or figuring out where we were going to live. We could simply move straight in.

And, as if the timing couldn’t have been more interesting, my husband’s company also asked him to relocate to Estonia around the same time.

At first, it sounded like yet another major complication. But then we looked at the map and realised Estonia is only about two hours from Finland by boat. So, thankfully, it wasn’t a dealbreaker.

Looking back, I sometimes laugh at how much our family moved around in such a short period of time. We went from Nigeria to Sweden, built a life there, then moved to Finland, while my husband’s work was taking him towards Estonia.

Were there any blockers you faced when moving from Sweden to Finland?

There was actually one more hurdle before we could fully settle in Finland.

Initially, we were told that we would need to go back to Nigeria to have our marriage certificate re-certified. The Finnish authorities sought additional verification due to concerns about documentation issued by Nigeria’s Ministry of Interior.

At first, we thought, ���Wait, do we really have to go all the way back to Nigeria for this?���

We had already gone through the verification process for Sweden. Our marriage had been verified, our documents had been reviewed, and we had been approved to live there without issue.

So we decided to push back. We explained that we had already been thoroughly vetted for our relocation to Sweden and asked why Finland would need us to start the entire verification process from scratch.

Thankfully, they listened.

Smart. Okay, and then, please tell me Finland went smoothly.

For about a year, yes. Then I got laid off again. This time, from a startup that wanted to raise more money and needed to lay people off to satisfy investors.

No way. Again?

I had a full panic attack, honestly. I wasn’t going to lie about that.

I had just gone through so much change already, moving countries, rebuilding my life, finding my feet again and then suddenly I was faced with the possibility of losing my job all over again. It felt like everything was happening at once.

But somehow, things turned around much faster than I expected.

By March, the same month I lost my job, I had already been approached on LinkedIn by another company. I went through the process, and before I knew it, I had a new offer letter in my hands.

I remember looking at that offer and thinking about everything that had happened over the previous few months. The uncertainty, the fear, the job applications, the moments when I wondered if I was going to figure everything out���and then suddenly, there I was, starting another chapter.

I’ve now been with that company for over three years.

When I look back at that period, I’m reminded of how quickly things can change. One moment, you can feel like everything is falling apart, and the next, a door opens that you couldn’t have seen coming.

Let’s talk life abroad. What genuinely shocked you in your first week in Sweden?

Honestly, the weather was probably the biggest culture shock.

We arrived in February, and it was cold. And not just cold, it was dark for what felt like the entire day. Coming from Nigeria, where you’re used to sunshine and warmth, I remember thinking, ���What exactly have we gotten ourselves into?���

Then summer came, and Sweden completely flipped the script. Suddenly, it felt like the sun just refused to go to bed. It would stay bright for what seemed like forever, and I remember thinking, ���Wait, when does it actually get dark here?���

The underground train system was another thing that completely blew my mind. I remember getting lost a few times. Coming from Nigeria, I wasn’t used to having such an organised public transport system that you could just rely on to get around. It was one of those everyday things that made me realise, ���Okay, I’m really living in a different part of the world now.���

And then there were the little financial and lifestyle differences you don’t necessarily think about before moving. For example, paying rent monthly instead of annually took some getting used to. In Nigeria, you often think of rent as a huge annual expense, so having it structured completely differently felt strange at first.

What’s one thing you loved about living in Sweden specifically?

. It’s this very Swedish tradition of taking a break for coffee and a small pastry or bun. I really got into it.

And what didn’t you love about Sweden?

The Swedish people themselves could feel a bit pretentious and fake, honestly, not all of them, but a good number of the ones I interacted with. The Nigerian community there, though, is incredibly warm.

How does the cost of living in Sweden compare to Finland?

Sweden’s actually cheaper, mostly because  Finland’s taxes are high. And they tax EVERYTHING.

What’s the biggest difference between the two countries for you?

Finland has way more nature, and Finnish life is more attuned to it. It���s much slower and calmer even in the capital area. Sweden felt more like an urban race track by comparison.

You���ve been able to get these international jobs multiple times. What’s your job-hunting secret?

LinkedIn. Every single time.

If you’re job hunting in the Nordics, I genuinely believe you need to take LinkedIn seriously. Don’t just create a profile and forget about it; be strategic. Optimise your profile, make sure your experience is clearly presented, and let people know what you actually bring to the table.

And don’t underestimate your CV. Keep it sharp, relevant, and tailored to the role you’re applying for. But beyond the CV, learn how to talk to people.

When a recruiter or hiring manager calls you, that conversation matters. Be warm, be confident, be genuinely interested, and let your personality come through. Technical skills can get you through an application, but the way you communicate and connect with people can take you much further than you might expect.

Salary negotiation is also important, so you don’t get cheated. What’s your best salary negotiation advice?

Ask. Always ask. Once you’re in the role, there’s rarely another chance to renegotiate unless you switch jobs entirely. Companies that extend an offer are not going to rescind it because you asked for more money. The worst, they say, is ���no, the salary range for this role doesn���t go that high.��� Then you ask for other non-salary benefits.

What do you love most about life in Finland?

Nature is what I love most about Finland.

Do you miss Nigeria?

Honestly, no. I haven’t stopped being Nigerian just because I live abroad.

I still eat all my Nigerian food���pepper soup, suya, goat meat, all of it. I’m still glued to Nigerian social media, I still follow what’s happening back home, and I still feel very connected to the culture.

But there’s another side of Nigeria that I don’t miss: the constant state of alertness.

When you’re living there, you’re often thinking about safety without even realising how much mental energy it takes. You’re thinking about where you’re going, what time you’ll get home, whether a particular road is safe, and what you’ve heard about kidnappings or other security issues. That constant awareness can really take a toll on you.

I think living abroad made me realise just how much of that stress I’d normalised.

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate life in Finland?

An eight. It’d be a ten if not for the weather; it’s brutally cold for months. Life in Finland is very chill and slow-paced; you get to breathe fresh air daily.

Any last words for anyone reading this?

Be audacious. Genuinely. Don’t box yourself into one role or one skill set because of what you’ve done in the past. There is so much you can learn on the job. If you have the ability to learn, adapt, and figure things out, don’t disqualify yourself before you’ve even given yourself a chance.

And fight your imposter syndrome, because nobody is going to fight it for you.

There were plenty of moments when I questioned whether I was qualified enough, experienced enough, or whether I really belonged in the room. But eventually, I realised that waiting until I felt completely confident would only hold me back.

Apply anyway. Have the conversation anyway. Put yourself forward anyway. And perhaps most importantly, don’t tie your entire identity to your job.

Your job is something you do; it isn’t the entirety of who you are. You are more than your title, your company, your salary, or the role you currently hold. Especially in today’s job market, things can change incredibly quickly. I learned that the hard way.

So build your career, work hard, keep learning, but remember to build a life and an identity outside of your career too. Because when the job changes, you are still you.

Want to share your japa story? Please reach out to me .

What killed them?

The NSCDC’s Niger State Commandant, Suberu Siyaka Aniviye, said the deaths were by a suspected disease outbreak, with the suspected disease being diphtheria.油The Minister of Interior, Olubunmi Tunji-Ojo, has since Commandant Aniviye pending the outcome of the investigation.油

Niger State Governor, Umar Bago, who the death toll at 37 during a Thursday press conference in Minna, however, said the cause of death hadn’t been officially established, and it was too early to draw conclusions. 

Bago disclosed that investigators were examining several possible causes, including exposure to hazardous chemicals. Meanwhile, an AFP intelligence report overcrowding and poor ventilation inside the detention facility may be the reason for the deaths.

A filmed during the Minister of Interior, Olubunmi Tunji-Ojo’s, visit to some of the survivors has added another layer to the dispute. In it, one survivor says: “They sprayed something in the cell after putting us inside, and people started falling down.”

The clip has circulated widely on social media, with other survivor accounts say that around 65 to 66 people were packed into a small cell.

VIDEO: They sprayed something in the cell after putting us inside, and people started falling down.'

– One of the survivors of the NSCDC horror cell in Niger states

— Rinu Oduala (@SavvyRinu)

Families of the deceased are not buying the disease explantion and are questioning how a sudden infection could kill dozens of healthy youths in a single night while leaving facility guards untouched. The bodies have been to the General Hospital, Minna, for autopsy.

Who���s telling the truth?

The NSCDC’s Commandant General, Professor Ahmed Abubakar Audi, has an internal panel, led by the Deputy Commandant General for Intelligence and Investigation, to examine the arrests, detention conditions, medical care provided, and the circumstances of the deaths. 

Separately, the Nigeria Police Force (NPF) has opened its own , with its spokesman Wasiu Abiodun confirming this on Thursday, September 17.

What are people saying?

The deaths have protests in Niger State, with families and residents gathering at Minna General Hospital and demanding answers. Some protesters are calling for criminal charges if negligence is confirmed.

The bigger picture

Niger State is in gold and attracts thousands of small-scale miners, many of whom are from poor communities. Security agencies have stepped up on illegal mining sites in recent years, arguing the informal trade is smuggling and armed criminal activity. 

A 2024 found much of the region’s gold moves through global supply chains largely untracked, which is part of why crackdowns like this one keep happening.

We need answers

As of the time of this report, we don’t know the actual cause of death, and that shouldn’t take long to establish. Both investigations need to conclude quickly, and whoever’s responsible needs to be held accountable for their actions or inactions.

Central to the policies and strategies unveiled is the idea of a technology-driven government that delivers services digitally from the start, where data drives decisions, and citizens can interact with public institutions as easily as they use their phones. The Digital Government Policy Framework (DGPF), an ambitious blueprint launched in 2020 for a smarter, more responsive state, outlines this vision across six pillars, with initiatives like Digital by Design and Proactive Governance. However, ambition alone doesn���t build systems; it requires execution.

In theory, Digital by Design operates on the philosophy that government services should be created with technology at their core. In practice, progress has been slowed by fragmented regulations and uneven capacity across states. While some parts of the country are moving forward, others are playing catch-up, leading to a fragmented system instead of the unified digital experience that these innovations are meant to achieve. 

A similar pattern is evident in the push for a data-driven public sector. There are indeed signs that the Nigerian government is beginning to take data governance more seriously. For example, in trying to achieve a geo-political system of equity and inclusion, all 36 states were reached through the Build-A-thon programme, with learning communities set up that focused on youths and female groups. But what���s missing is consistent, disaggregated data that reflects differences across factors like gender, geography, and income levels. Without this level of detail, policies run the risk of missing the people who need them most, and data can not be effectively used to create inclusive solutions. 

The same pattern appears in Government as a Platform���s vision, which envisions an interconnected, efficient, and accessible public service. While infrastructure investments like the installation of 145,000km of fibre optic cable, which was laid, suggest that the foundation is being built, only 27% of rural LGAs are connected against a target of 60%, making the experience of navigating them still feel disjointed. The promise of seamless digital governance has yet to materialise.

Perhaps more telling is the lingering gap between openness and transparency. While the government has made efforts to engage citizens through consultations, signalling a willingness to be more transparent, limited visibility into program performance makes it difficult to assess how policies are actually working. This disconnect becomes even clearer in user-driven governance. In principle, citizens should help shape the services they use; in practice, feedback channels are often weak or inaccessible, particularly for rural areas or underserved communities. 

On the brighter side, Nigeria appears to have made real progress in building its digital backbone with broadband infrastructure expansion and continued growth in the telecommunications ecosystem. However, only about 27 percent of local governments have reliable connectivity compared to their urban counterparts. This means that for millions of Nigerians, the digital economy still feels out of reach, a divide with real consequences.

Beyond infrastructure, a deeper structural challenge is coordination. Nigeria has a deep-seated challenge of aligning efforts across different agencies working toward similar goals. Policies are developed and launched in isolation, creating a system that moves while being pulled in different directions. The startup ecosystem, for example, boasts over 12,000 registered startups and billions in investment, but still lacks stronger institutional support, which means this growth may be difficult to sustain.

Yiaga Africa���s assessment report on President Tinubu���s Renewed Hope Agenda, legal and regulatory framework is described as transitional, with important tools like the National AI Strategy and the Digital Economy Bill still in development and facing delays in enforcement. The Federal Ministry of Communications, Innovation, and Digital Economy (FMoCIDE) has demonstrated leadership, but execution is uneven as a result of poor interagency cooperation and limited connections in local governments. According to the policy assessment brief facilitated by Yiaga Africa, more than 12,000 registered firms and ���21 billion in investments raised in 2025, the Startup Ecosystem is referred to as emerging but is not institutionalised and threatened by issues including poor budgetary integration and sluggish tax incentive disbursement.

Similarly, the national Build-A-Thon STEM effort emphasises the importance of human capital development; nonetheless, inclusion mechanisms remain inadequate, particularly for rural areas, gender-specific data, and disability inclusion. Only 7.7% of young people with training are employed in northern states due to a lack of investments in digital infrastructure. 

The path forward is one where rural connectivity must be improved through reforms like reducing right-of-way costs and investing in alternative power solutions. Policies like the Digital Economy Bill must move from draft to implementation, and coordination across different local governments must become more deliberate and unified. Ultimately, progress must be measured not just by policies announced, but by outcomes experienced by everyday Nigerians.

Read more on the #Fulfillit campaign by Yiaga Africa here

Who is Senator Buba?

For many who have never heard of this man, let���s have a bit of a history class. was born on October 2 1976, in Nabordo village, Toro LGA, Bauchi State. He began his career as a classroom teacher before as a Special Assistant and then a Senior Special Assistant under then-Governor Isah Yuguda’s administration. He built out a business portfolio, too, serving as of business development at Aquawave Oil and Gas.

In February 2023, Umar the Bauchi South Senatorial District seat with 175,505 votes, defeating the People Democratic Party���s (PDP) Garba Dahiru. By July that year, he had chairman of the Senate Committee on National Security and Intelligence, a position that put the first-term senator at the centre of legislative oversight of the agencies tasked with identifying illegal armed groups and preventing terrorist attacks. That���s why this story is almost unbelievable; somehow, the man overseeing Nigeria’s security intelligence is now the man accused of funding terrorists and bandits

Where did the rumours come from?

The allegations against Buba trace back to September 2024. Then-Bauchi Governor Bala Mohammed wrote to President Tinubu after Department of State Services (DSS) operatives flagged two people who were registered for the 2024 Hajj through the state pilgrims’ board.油

Governor Mohammed’s alleged that Buba had sponsored a bandit kingpin for the pilgrimage through an aide named Yahaya Ibrahim. One of the two travellers, Abubakar Idris, was detained by the DSS on suspicion of banditry and kidnapping in Zamfara State.

Around the same time, a civil society group, the Nigeria Democratic Front (NDF), Buba was affiliated with a notorious bandit linked to kidnappings across Zamfara. 

Since 2024, Buba’s defence has remained consistent: that he has only pilgrims whom local traditional rulers recommended to him, not people he personally vetted.

In November 2024, Buba was as chairman of the Committee on National Security and Intelligence and moved to chair the Committee on Livestock and Animal Husbandry instead.

Governor?

Afterwards, Buba left the All Progressive Congress (APC) for the Peoples Redemption Party (PRP) and its 2027 Bauchi State governorship candidate. That’s when the allegations resurfaced, and this time with more fire.油

In September 2026, a content creator known as “D English Alhaji” with a man named Hassan Husseini, who accused Buba of harbouring bandit kingpins at his residence and claimed people connected to bandit leader were taken to Abuja for training with help from the senator’s aide.

Buba called the videos fabricated and politically motivated, tied the timing directly to his defection and governorship run, and filed criminal defamation complaints against his accusers in in both Nigeria and Niamey, Niger Republic. That defamation case is now proceeding in a federal court.

���I have nothing to hide���

To prove his innocence, Buba the State Security Service (SSS), the Defence Intelligence Agency (DIA), and the Nigeria Police Force (NPF) to formally investigate the allegations against him. He also voluntarily submitted himself to the SSS for questioning and publicly challenged anyone with actual evidence to hand it to security agencies rather than social media.

Keep your eyes and ears open

This story is far from over, and here’s what to track: Watch the federal court defamation case; its outcome will shape whether these allegations are ever legally tested.

Follow up on whether the SSS, DIA, and police actually publish the findings from the investigation Buba himself requested, since that’s the clearest path to the facts. 

This is a test of whether Nigeria’s institutions can hold powerful people accountable when the accusations point at their own. That’s worth watching, no matter how the Buba case ends. 

Before September 30, 2011, my life was on track. I studied geography and regional planning at the university, but there were no jobs when I graduated, so I chose what I actually loved: movies.

By 2008, I was working with one of the biggest production companies in Nigerian entertainment, Wale Adenuga Productions (WAP), doing motion graphics and visual effects. I was the go-to person for opening title sequences on shows like Papa Ajasco and Company, , and This Life. I had opportunities to leave the country, but I turned them down because I believed I could contribute something to the industry here.

My plan was to spend five years at WAP, learn everything I could, and then start directing my own shows. I’d already started shooting music videos on the side. I was 32, and everything was pointing in the direction I wanted it to go.

Then came September 30, 2011.

We’d just wrapped preparations for a children���s Independence Day event, Nnenna and friends, at the National Theatre. I was supposed to sleep at the office, but around 9:30 pm I decided to head home instead. I picked up a friend on the way, and by 10:15 pm, we reached the police checkpoint I pass almost every night.

The officer asked for my ID; I handed it over, and while I waited for him to hand it back, I heard shouting from further down the road, then two gunshots.

I didn’t even see what happened next. The third gunshot came through the boot of my car and hit my right arm, which was resting on the armrest. I felt my whole arm jerk forward, and blood was everywhere. It felt like something out of a horror movie.

My friend took cover from being shot while I got out shouting that I’d been shot. The officer who’d been questioning me looked back at the others, and they just scattered, like someone had given them a signal to run. My friend and I ran toward the nearby police station instead, and I remember tearing off my shirt to tie around my arm to slow the bleeding, 

I don’t remember much after that. I collapsed near my car and blacked out. When I regained consciousness, I woke up to a crowd surrounding me, people were shouting that the police had killed somebody, and a woman nearby was crying, convinced I was dead. It turned out the officers manning that checkpoint had been drinking since 6 pm, celebrating the eve of October 1st.

We eventually got a police report and identified the officer who shot me. His name is Ayuba Philip, tag number: 257745. I can never forget it. Afterwards, I was rushed to Lagos State Teaching Hospital (LASUTH), where I spent the next month.

The bullet had hit the major artery supplying blood to my arm. The first surgery, where doctors took a vein from my leg to try to restore blood flow, failed within 72 hours. I passed out again from blood loss and had a second near-death experience in that hospital. Doctors told my family they might have to amputate. We prayed instead, and tried physiotherapy, but by the time I was discharged, my doctor’s advice was that the only way to save the hand was to undergo reconstructive surgery in India.

WAP held my position and helped where they could, but the hospital bill was mine to pay. When the Divisional Police Officer (DPO) finally visited a few weeks later, they brought Milo and milk. I remember this so clearly because there was no sugar, and I kept asking for sugar. The DPO promised that the police would cover the bill, but that promise never materialised.

When I eventually found a hospital in India for the surgery, they saidand the entire procedure would cost  $10,000. In order to raise the money, I sold everything I owned that was worth selling, including the car I got shot in. I borrowed from my family and took out a loan from my office. 

In India, doctors told me the hand needed nine separate procedures across three stages: restoring blood supply, then flexibility, then transplanting new tendons, since mine had died from lack of blood flow. I could only afford the first stage. I came home, unable to raise money for the second time, and that’s what pushed me to get a lawyer.

I wrote to the DPO first and got no response. I hired a Barrister who wrote to the Commissioner of Police and received no response for eight months, until we took the case to court in 2012. It dragged on for four years. The police sent one lawyer to the proceedings, a very subpar lawyer, if I say so myself. 

In 2015, we got a judgment from the Federal High Court; the police were held responsible for my medical bills and trauma, close to $47,000 combined, part of it in naira for the trauma I’d suffered.

Getting the judgment turned out to be the easy part. When we tried to get the money from the police accounts, every bank we approached said the police no longer held individual accounts; everything had moved into the Treasury Single Account (TSA) set up under the Buhari administration, which meant we needed the Attorney General’s consent to touch federal funds at the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN). My lawyer wrote to every Inspector General who came and went after that, but still nobody replied.

Around 2020, my story got picked up by the BBC during the heat of the EndSARS movement. Punch and Vice News interviewed me, too. My case got admitted into the panel set up on Lagos Island to review police brutality cases, but the panel couldn’t override a federal court judgment; it could only compile findings and forward them to the federal government. That went nowhere as well.

In 2024, after the AGF finally acknowledged our petition and formally requested comments from the police, months passed with no response. So I did what I had learned works: I put the Inspector General on blast online, with a wanted poster and everything. That got a reaction, but only a promise to follow up again. When that AGF was replaced, we lost that thread entirely. I’ve since done the same to the current IGP, and my lawyer, who has some access through his current role, was invited to Force Headquarters. We submitted a fresh petition earlier this month. I’m still waiting.

I’ve told this part of the story before. What I haven’t talked about as much is what living with this injury actually did to me.

I went back to work at WAP, and they were generous; they even assigned someone to assist me, knowing I’d struggle to work at my former pace. But learning to do everything with my left hand, tying my shoes, buttoning a shirt, eating, was its own kind of hell. The moment that broke something in me was realising I could no longer shake someone’s hand. That’s when it hit me: I was disabled now, not just injured.

During a company reorganisation a while later, WAP eventually had to let some staff go, and it affected me. Finding new work afterwards was nearly impossible. I could still do the job; I’d adapted to using my left hand for everything, but employers would see my hand and say they’d get back to me and never did. I leaned on my wife and my family to survive, and i���m currently raising funds to complete the second and third stages of reconstructive surgery on his hand in India. 

The pain never left. It’s still there right now, as you���re reading this. I switched from painkillers to nicotine because the veins relax and it eases things, though it comes back whenever I need to use the toilet. My hand is permanently stiff. I can’t turn my palm to look at it. I had to invent my own ways of coping with the pain because there was no other option.

There were years when I thought about suicide, more than once, without knowing that’s what it was. I tried a couple of things that didn’t work. I’ve survived on remote gigs, ten dollars here, twenty there, and the belief that something will eventually change if I don’t give up.

In the years right after the shooting, I wasn’t looking for justice. I was looking for vengeance. What pulled me back was talking to actual police officers and realising most of them are victims of the same broken system; underpaid, undertrained, some of them drunk on duty because nobody’s holding them accountable either. The ones who pull triggers carelessly are the exception, not the rule, but the system protects them exactly the same way.

Justice for me now isn’t revenge. It’s the Nigerian police obeying a Federal High Court judgment that’s been sitting unenforced for over ten years. It’s an institution meant to enforce the law and actually respect it.

Amnesty International has documented close to 10,000 Nigerians killed by the police over two decades, and almost nobody outside those families is talking about it. Everyone’s debating police reform and state police right now, but nobody’s asking how any of that protects the next person who gets caught in a bullet meant for someone else.

I’m 47 now. I was a young man with a dream when this happened. If I could tell anyone one thing, it’s this: know your rights before you ever interact with the Nigerian police. Know what they can and cannot do to you. If you understand the law, you’ll instinctively resist unlawful treatment, and if you’re recording, they’ll usually back off once they realise you know what you’re doing. There are always bad actors within the force, no matter how clean the public image looks.

I’ve survived for a reason, and I still believe something will give. But surviving shouldn’t require this much.

Emmanuel Tomori is currently raising funds to complete the second and third stages of reconstructive surgery on his hand.

Busayo (19) always planned to leave Nigeria; the only question was where and how. After watching his friends get shut out of US student visas one by one, he pivoted his entire plan to the Netherlands, landed a scholarship at one of the country’s top universities, and rebuilt his life.

Where do you live now, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in Rotterdam. Everyone thinks of Amsterdam when they hear “Netherlands,” but Rotterdam is honestly one of the best cities here. I left Nigeria on August 19, 2025.

What did life look like for you before you left?

I finished high school in 2024. The original plan was America. I applied to a bunch of universities while I was still in school, got into a few good ones, and even got scholarships ranging from 20% to 60%, but when my family sat down and did the maths on four years of tuition, it just didn’t make sense in the long term. My older sister, who’d already been living in the Netherlands for years, was the one who the bigger picture, the job market, the opportunities, in a way the rest of us couldn’t yet.

Wow, so what actually killed the American dream for you?

A few things stacked up. I didn’t want to retake the SATs, so I applied to two Ivy League schools with just my GPA, and that didn’t work out. Then there was the high rate of visa denials for international students and the tuition affordability in the long run. That’s when America was officially off the table for me.

So you pivoted to the Netherlands. How did that happen?

I actually applied to the Netherlands the same year I applied to US schools, before I even finished high school, and I got into Erasmus University Rotterdam. I just didn’t get the scholarship, so it would’ve still meant a huge amount of money. 

During my gap year, I reapplied. My sister kept telling me Erasmus is one of the best universities in the world, with a really strong media and communications program, so I put more effort into the scholarship application this time. I got in, and I got the scholarship. 

Nice! Walk me through the process, how you found the scholarship, and what the application involves

Honestly, a lot of it was self-directed research. I still have a YouTube playlist titled “university application” full of videos of people breaking down how they got in and guidance from my sister. For the university application, I submitted my West African Examination Council (WAEC) results and a motivation letter. 

For the scholarship, I had to write two essays, one on why I needed the money and one on why I deserved it academically and socially. I leaned on the fact that I’d been on scholarship in high school too, so I could show I wouldn’t waste the investment. The scholarship was ���5,000.

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Alright. What did the process cost?

My tuition was ���11,300. But once you add the living fee, a deposit you pay upfront to prove you can sustain yourself, which gets returned to you once you’re in the country, plus tuition and immigration costs, the total comes to ���25,500. With the ���5,000 scholarship, I was left paying ���20,500.

Okay, now the visa. What was that process like?

Because my university was my sponsor, I didn’t apply separately; the school handled much of the paperwork on my end, including obtaining my V-number from the immigration authority. What I signed was more of a declaration-of-acceptance form, along with the usual documents, like my Nigerian passport. Before you get your actual residence permit, you need a Machtiging tot Voorlopig Verblijf (MVV), which is a provisional entry visa sticker that lets you enter the country and is valid for 90 days.

Did you face any issues during this process?

Yes! I went to submit my documents in person, very organised, and found it shocking there was hardly anyone in line. The woman who attended to me told me the MVV would now take 40 to 60 days instead of the usual five to ten. I panicked because I already had pre-academic programs and orientation to attend before school started on September 1st.

I emailed my school immediately, and they emailed the embassy the same day. Within a day or two, I got a message telling me to come back; my visa was ready. That was the fastest process time I have ever experienced, Kudos to my Uni on that one. I literally collected it the day before my flight and started packing that same night.

That’s so stressful. What was your first week in the Netherlands actually like?

It was mostly documentation, honestly. My sister picked me up from the airport, and even the free luggage trolleys shocked me, coming from Nigeria. In my first week, I registered at the municipality to get my Burgerservicenummer or Citizen Service Number (BSN), which is your citizen number. 

You need it for literally everything: a SIM card, a bank account, and health insurance. I also signed up for my school’s pre-academic programme and got my OV chip card sorted for public transport, where you have to remember to tap in and tap out, or they’ll charge you the full fare regardless of where you actually got off. So it was a pretty decent first week.

What do you love most about living there?

The organisation, hands down. Everything is documented, accountable, and clean. 24/7 electricity still shocks me sometimes. I can leave the house and come back, and my lights will be on as long as I’ve paid my bill. I also love that the country is so central, a two-hour train gets you to Belgium, and an hour’s flight to Paris. My residence permit lets me travel anywhere in the EU.

And what’s been the hardest part?

The restrictions on international students, honestly. There aren’t nearly as many scholarship opportunities for us compared to students from other regions. I also had an internship offer from a global company that I had to turn down in my first year because of a binding agreement between the student, the university, and the employer that doesn’t apply to EU passport holders. That one really hurt.

So sorry about that. What���s the housing situation like in the Netherlands? 

It’s genuinely tough. Rent runs anywhere from ���650 to ���1,200 a month, and that’s often for a shared place; a studio to yourself can go for ���900 to ���1,300. It depends on where you find housing and how lucky you are. My honest advice: have a very solid financial plan before you get here. If you don’t have family or any other person here already, reach out to your university directly; they’re usually lenient with first-years and keep some emergency housing for international students. Facebook groups can help too, but watch out for scams, and don’t send money upfront. Some people end up commuting an hour or two from a neighbouring city because they couldn’t find anything closer.

What about jobs and the cost of living? Does the pay match the cost of living?

It depends on the job. As a non-EU international student, you’re capped at 16 hours a week during the school year or 40 hours in summer, but only one or the other, not both. Your employer must also apply for a work permit for you every 6 months, except for internships. I’ve worked a bar job and a cup-stacking job; the cup-stacking paid about ���12 an hour. Pay generally scales with age, too; an 18-year-old typically earns less than someone in their early twenties for the same retail-type job. Some corporate student jobs pay better. I earned ���19 an hour leading a team for my school’s pre-academic programme over the summer. Whatever you make, you get taxed, but you can file at the end of the year and often get money back if you were overtaxed.

Is the language a barrier, and how did you build community?

Not really, most people speak English here, which is part of why the Netherlands is such a popular study destination. Learning basic Dutch helps with day-to-day life, but you won’t die without it. For the community, I joined my university’s African Students Association, where I met people who are my friends now. I also go to Hillsong church here, and I’m part of a church connect group. It takes time, and I’d tell anyone not to be desperate about it; you’ll find your people.

Do you miss Nigeria?

I miss my friends and family back home. I miss the accessibility of proper Nigerian food. We mostly cook African food at home, but it would be a great addition to  just step out for a proper Nigerian meal. I don’t see myself moving back permanently anytime soon, though. Maybe short visits during summer, when it’s calmer.

Any mistakes you’d warn other japa hopefuls about?

Kill the mindset that you’ll land and start making serious money immediately, even as a student; the reality is very different from what you plan for. Don’t come in with an unrealistic, Netflix-fed idea of what university life abroad looks like either. Save money, even if it’s just ���5 a week. Don’t try to work a full course load and a full-time job at the same time; it’s not sustainable. And please, stop converting every price back to naira in your head, it’ll only stress you out.

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate life in the Netherlands?

A solid 7.9. It’s not an eight or a nine because the restrictions on international students are real, and funding cuts have been hitting scholarships and social programmes hard recently. But the organisation, the quality of life, and the fact that I can afford to travel around Europe on a few hundred euros have made this start to feel like home. The main thing that still reminds me I’m an international student are the restrictions and heavy documentation to do certain things- internships. 

Any final words for someone thinking about doing the same thing?

Do your research obsessively, Think and prepare finances in the long run before you come, and don’t be afraid to put yourself out there, even when it’s scary. It’s worth it. And at times when you feel less in comparison to your classmates AKA Imposter syndrome remember you earned your spot here just like everyone else you deserve every bit of it. 

Want to share your japa story? Please reach out to me

On Thursday, August 27, 2026, President Bola Tinubu that transport fares nationwide will be reduced starting October 1, 2026, as a result of the adoption of Compressed Natural Gas (CNG) and electric vehicles.

He made the announcement after a meeting with the Nigeria Governors’ Forum (NGF), with the changes expected to take effect from October 1.油

The plan will require the Federal and state governments to work together to pass the savings from CNG and electric vehicles on to commuters. It’s a big promise. The question is whether it’s a new plan or an old one with just a new deadline.

• President Bola Ahmed Tinubu

What did he say?

Tinubu’s math is simple: CNG vehicles can 60 to 80 per cent less on fuel than petrol-powered ones, so operators’ running costs should fall and so should transport fares.

He has ordered 500 more CNG refuelling stations, on top of the 500 already approved this year, bringing the national target to 1,000 stations. The Federal Government is currently financing over 100 gas projects nationwide, including 15 CNG “mother stations” and 86 “daughter stations,” and more than have already been converted to CNG. This sounds like a brilliant plan, but this isn’t Nigeria’s first CNG rodeo.

Remember me?

The Presidential CNG Initiative initially in 2023  to reduce the hardship Nigerians were facing from the fuel subsidy removal. Petrol prices were around ���950 per litre at the time. Back then, the promise was  150,000 vehicle conversions within a year. 

Three years later, the country has only just 120,000 total conversions. The government’s own long-term plan 2,322 CNG stations, 3,000 conversion centres, and one million converted vehicles by 2027, meaning Tinubu’s “new” 1,000-station push is still less than half the original target, arriving with 15 months left on the original timetable.

The Big Daily is your weekday shortcut to the biggest news shaping Nigeria. We cut through the noise, connect the dots, and explain why the news actually matters, all in one quick read.

Have you seen the prices?

If you���re not already raising an eyebrow, you should. This fare-cutting announcement is happening after years of CNG rollout. 

Data from the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) the average intra-city bus fare hit ���1,431.25 in May 2026, representing a 38.63 per cent increase from ���1,032.46 in May 2025. Transport fares were rising like crazy during the same period that the CNG initiative was supposed to bring costs down. 

Experts have noted that despite CNG’s cost advantages, the policy hasn’t led to lower fares for commuters, and analysts warn that inadequate infrastructure, high conversion costs, and the usual government delays could continue to slow adoption. Nigeria’s CNG push was also never matched by aggressive investment in refuelling stations, leaving stations severely inadequate to meet the demand they created, which is why long queues at CNG stations have become their own story.

What does this mean for you?

If you commute in Lagos, Abuja, Kano, or any major city, this is your money and your time. Your transport fare has already climbed by nearly 40% over the past year under a program that was supposed to bring it down. 

If October 1 comes and goes without a visible drop in your bus prices, you’re not imagining things. The pattern of the last three years says the infrastructure to back this promise still isn’t fully built, and if fares do drop, it’d be worth asking why it took three years and a new press release to get there.

So..what can you do?

Check whether your state government has published its own CNG fare-reduction plan. Tinubu clearly put intra-state transport in governors’ hands, so your state’s silence or action matters now more than ever. 

Use the MyCNG app to see if refuelling stations are actually near your route. If it’s still the same old story after October 1, ask your state transport ministry directly what happened to the plan and keep the receipts. Take note of your fares now, so nobody can rewrite what “before” looked like.

What happened next depends on who’s telling the story, but the ending is the same: Anthony is dead, and the streets of Port Harcourt have been hot for three days as citizens demand answers nobody in the police force seems able to give.

Dem say, dem say

According to eyewitness accounts, officers chased Anthony for over 30 minutes through the Federal Housing Estate before he drove toward a busier junction. 

Multiple shots were fired in Anthony���s direction, with one of the bullets hitting him while he was in his car, ultimately leading to his death, and his car crashing into three people. 

But the police there was simply an “altercation” before the shooting, and that Anthony failed to stop when flagged down. The officer named is, attached to Agip Police Division. 

One Corporal, zero Surprises

Several human rights groups estimate roughly3,000 Nigerians have been in fishy circumstances between 2020 and 2026, with hundreds of cases every single year. 

During the #EndBadGovernance protests in August 2024 alone, Amnesty International at least 24 people killed by police in just 10 days. 

Officer of which law?

The exists precisely for moments like this; it mandates that officers protect fundamental rights and directly links misconduct to punishable offences. 

A fresh set of was released early this year, specifically to tighten accountability. On paper, Nigeria has never had more rules about how a checkpoint stop is supposed to go, but in practice, a corporal allegedly fired at a moving car, and bystanders paid for it with their bodies.

Where is the justice?

When accountability does happen, it’s rare enough to make headlines on its own. ASP Drambi Vandi was for killing pregnant lawyer Bolanle Raheem in Lagos in 2022 ��� a case that has been cited as an exception in the Nigerian justice system, because most cases collapse under weak investigations, missing witnesses, or quiet internal interference. 

Five years after the Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS) was disbanded following the EndSARS protests,: the Lekki Toll Gate panel’s recommendations remain largely unimplemented and still delay more often than they deliver.

Also, in 2023, a went viral showing police officers assaulting a motorist. The video sparked reactions online, leading to the arrest of the policemen, with one of the officers being demoted after an administrative trial.

This is why the arrest of Corporal Louis isn’t a win yet; it’s just the first, most reversible step in a process that has failed many families before.

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Three days, zero answers

Protests have run since Friday, spreading from the Ada-George/Agip axis to Anthony’s hometown of Agba-Ndele in Emohua LGA, with youths in anger.

Rivers State Commissioner of Police Olugbenga Adepoju met the family, called the shooting condemnable, and assured protesters that the arrested personnel would face strict internal disciplinary actions and court prosecution. 

Protesters, however, are demanding that the police publicly parade the accused officer, Corporal  Louis, to prove he is not being shielded from justice. 

Meanwhile, Anthony’s father, Princewill Obodo, alleges the officers had abandoned a security post at the Nigerian Bar Association (NBA) conference before ending up at the checkpoint that killed his son, a claim that, if true, means officers already away from their assigned duty were the ones who pulled the trigger.

What now?

Nigerians should demand an independent probe. An investigation run by the same command whose officer is the suspect is not a sign of accountability. 

Anthony was waiting for a call-up letter that was supposed to send him into a year of service to his country. Instead, an alleged interaction at a checkpoint sent him into a coffin. Nigeria doesn’t need another hashtag. It needs one conviction that actually sticks.