Opinion
How To End The Deadly War On Nigerian Women And Children
A country rich in oil and gas. Rich in resources. But bankrupt in everything else, especially leadership.
Childbirth is a death sentence in our country. It shouldn’t be. But it is. Our country loses a woman every seven minutes. That’s not a statistic. That is not just a scream in the dark, it is a cry searing the blinding daylight of a country that has grown numb to both the living and the dying. A country where indifference is policy, and silence is the only answer to suffering. A final breath. A mother dying while giving life. The BBC reports that our country is the world’s worst place to beget life. One woman dies every seven minutes. That’s 75,000 maternal deaths in one year. That’s 29% of all maternal deaths worldwide. Almost one in every three. That’s not a crisis. That’s a collapse. That number should shame our country and us as citizens. It doesn’t.
This tells a story. A tragic, brutal, relentless story. Of women bleeding to death in clinics. On beds without bedsheets. With midwives who have no gloves. Of babies born into silence. Of widowers cradling newborns. Poor fathers. Of children growing up without mothers. Of families shattered by the simple biological act of childbirth.
But childbirth here isn’t straightforward. It’s war. It’s women walking kilometres to underfunded hospitals. It’s labour rooms without light. Clinics without water. It’s rusted scissors. Torn gloves. Nurses working with torchlights. And stillbirths that go uncounted. Here? Emergency care is a complete farce. Blood banks? Dry. Anaesthesia? Non-existent. Bandages to hold cannulas in place? Paper stickers. Ambulances?
Pregnant women in labour hop on a keke ride and on a prayer.
This is our country – the land of our birth.
A country rich in oil and gas. Rich in resources. But bankrupt in everything else, especially leadership.
The women who die are poor. They are urban and rural. They are the forgotten ones. They are invisible. Their deaths don’t make much of the daily news. Their stories don’t make policy. They die in silence. Buried without outrage.
But, it doesn’t end with mothers.
Our children die too. Quietly. Slowly. Around and about. Development Reporting, a specialist media outfit, said it clearly. Our children are failed by the system. Unvaccinated. Malnourished. Out of school. Sick. Abandoned. They are growing up in hunger. In pain. They live without food. Without teachers. Without nurses. Without any chance. They have been left behind. To die. One in ten of our children never reaches their fifth birthday. Most deaths are preventable. Malaria. Pneumonia. Diarrhoea. Hunger. Simple diseases that kill fast because our country’s healthcare system habitually kills.
One in three children is stunted. That means their brains and bodies won’t grow as they should. That means their futures are already stolen. Malnourished children can’t learn. They can’t compete. They can’t lead. Our country has failed them. Repeatedly. Brutally. Little wonder the late, iconic South African-born reggae legend, Lucky Dube, lamented the moral decay of Africa’s governing class. “They won’t build no schools anymore,” he sang, “all they’ll build will be prison, prison.” His words echo like prophecy across our country’s broken landscape. If he had trained his mind on our country’s governing elite, he might well have added: they don’t build hospitals anymore; all they construct are flyovers to nowhere. Perhaps, to Samarkand, where fantasy lives and the sick are not their burden.
And, yet, our country pretends that all is well and good. While 18 million children are out of school, it pretends. While millions live in slums, drink dirty water, and battle diseases, it pretends. While clinics run out of vaccines, it pretends. While mothers weep over graves, it turns its eyes in the direction of Afghanistan. The governing elite are the worst culprits. Does the holy book not say, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted”? But these ones will not mourn. They do not weep for the dead. They do not grieve with the bereaved. Their hearts are sealed. Their eyes are dry. They soar, detached, above the suffering of ordinary citizens like Achebe’s Eneke the bird, who learned to fly without perching because men had learned to shoot without missing. Our rulers now fly too, sky-high, far above the dust and death they leave behind.
The president. His wife. The vice president. They spent N23 billion on foreign travel last year. That’s not a typo. N23 billion. For comfort. For luxury. For medical treatment. Paris for medical check-ups; but, masked as working holidays. Dubai for toothaches. Germany for routine tests. London for rest. While, back home, women are stitched without anaesthesia. Children die from coughs. While hospitals turn from Buhari’s mere consulting clinics to morgues. Here’s the truth: they flee the country they ruined. They simply cop out to countries that others built.
Where they don’t cop out, they hide inside the world of opulence they built for themselves from the stolen commonwealth. They don’t feel citizens’ pains. They don’t know what it means to hear a child convulse and die because there’s no oxygen. They don’t know what it feels like to hold a woman’s hand while she dies from a ruptured womb. They don’t bury children. They bury money. In Swiss accounts. Offshore firms. Dollar vaults. The Panama Papers reveal the truth. While our own currency can’t buy Panadol.
Our corrupt governing elite have eaten everything. Ours is now a country of locusts. Budgets are padded. Health budgets are looted. Drugs are stolen. Equipment is resold. Nurses and doctors, left unpaid and unappreciated, flee our country’s shores in despair, seeking dignity in foreign lands. In a moment that captured the callous indifference of our governing elite, former Minister of Labour, Chris Ngige, shamelessly declared that the exodus of doctors was of little consequence because, according to him, our country “has more than enough medical personnel… if you have surplus, you export”. It was a boast swaddled in ignorance, and beneath it lay the tragic arithmetic of a ruined country.
The World Health Organisation’s data pierces through Ngige’s fiction like light through the dark: as far back as 2013, our country had only 3.8 doctors for every 10,000 citizens; a ratio far below the WHO’s recommended ratio of one doctor to 600 patients. Twelve years on, the ratio hasn’t changed. This is not surplus; it is scarcity masquerading as strength. It is the cruel irony of a ruined country bleeding expertise while its governing elite speak in the hollow cadences of denial.
Our country has signed all manner of treaties.
The Sustainable Development Goals. The UN conventions. The AU declarations. Our country pledges. Our country makes promises. But nothing is fulfilled. Nothing reaches the dying woman in the cities and villages. Nothing saves the baby in the overcrowded wards of urban hospitals. Data is manipulated. Numbers are cooked. Reports are buried. Truth is hidden. But graves don’t lie.
Our mothers are dying. And no one is asking why they are dying. Even if someone is asking, no one is answering. Our governing elite are pursuing policies of indifference and neglect by design. Failure by choice. It is deliberate because they aren’t the victims of their own failure. They are protected from it. They are immune. They are medical tourists. Their wives won’t deliver in local clinics. Their babies won’t sleep on bare floors. Their lives are insured. Citizens’ lives are not. And so, our country stays broken. Because it works for them. Because there are no consequences for enthroning failure. So, they go on commissioning 30 kilometres highway and bus stops, and unveiling white elephant projects. Hosting summits. Garlanding foreign visitors.
Taking photos. Saying prayers. Meanwhile, more women keep dying. Children keep vanishing into the abyss. Citizens are told to be patient. To renew hope. But hope is not a hospital. Faith is not healthcare. Prayer doesn’t fix a torn placenta. Or stop post-partum bleeding. Or treat jaundice. Only investment. Only real governance. Only the political will of a responsible governing elite who know what to do: train midwives. Equip hospitals. Provide ambulances. Fund primary healthcare. Pay doctors and nurses. Build systems. Enforce accountability.
These are not puzzles wrapped in enigma; they are the fundamental functions of a competent state. Rwanda has done it, with clarity of purpose and political will. Ghana has made earnest strides. Even Sierra Leone, scarred by war and poverty, is learning to rise. But here in our republic, our rulers talk. They convene conferences. They inaugurate committees with fanfare. They rename hospitals as though renaming heals the sick. They switch uniforms as if new fabrics could staunch the bleeding. But they do not save lives. They perform the ritual of governance without its substance.
And the cost?
It is written in the silence of empty cradles and the wails of orphaned children. Seventy-five thousand women lost in a single year, not to the Boko Haram war; but to preventable complications. Buried without headlines. Yet, our governing elite have not declared it a war. There are no national mourning days. No flags lowered. No outrage. Just the quiet erasure of women, whose only crime was to give life in a country that does not value life. But it is war. On the poor. On the voiceless. On mothers. On children.
Every maternal death is a failure of leadership. Every child’s grave is a scandal. Every hospital without drugs is a crime scene. Citizens must speak louder. They must make their votes count. A country that abandons its women and children abandons its soul. This is not fate. This is not nature at work. These are premeditated murders. Matricide enabled. Infanticide engineered. Deaths orchestrated and sustained by our governing elite.
Silent though it is, our country is waging a war against women and children, and the generals of that war, the very men and women entrusted to protect the citizens, are the ones who pry open wounds, mother after mother, and children upon their first cries. Happily, history offers the lamp to courageous citizens who think of the Parisians who stormed the Bastille with unyielding revolutionary will and seek to enact their own history, not with bloodied pikes, but with their ballots, voices, and unyielding civic will.
That chapter in history will not be written by fate, but by paragraphs that citizens shall compose by choice.
Beware.
May our dead find peace.
Gazettengr.com
Opinion
“Let President Muhammadu Buhari Rest in Peace” – By Nasir El-Rufai
The recent launch of a book on the life and legacy of our late leader, President Muhammadu Buhari, has stirred deep emotions and renewed divisions among those who once formed his inner circle. Having followed the headlines and images from the event, I felt compelled to make a simple but urgent appeal: let us allow President Buhari to rest in peace.
A careful look at those who dominated the book launch revealed the same factional lines that existed during Buhari’s lifetime. One camp was prominently represented, while others—equally close to the late president—were excluded. This selective engagement compounded by the choice of location of the event were red flags, and raises concerns about whether Buhari’s legacy is now being shaped to serve narrow interests rather than historical truth.
More troubling was the presence of long-time critics of Buhari, some of whom now hold high office, delivering glowing, but clearly faked tributes. These are individuals who once blamed his administration for nearly every challenge facing Nigeria, but who now appear eager to revise history—perhaps to deflect responsibility for present failures.
It was also unsettling to see individuals celebrating Buhari in death who had neither his trust nor his respect in life. President Buhari was a principled man who did not easily forget personal or political disrespect, and he made his preferences clear to those around him.
I have not yet read the book, Soldier to Statesman: The Legacy of Muhammadu Buhari, and it is possible that some media reports lack context. However, many of the so-called revelations attributed to the late president appear one-sided and unfair, especially as he is no longer alive to respond. Explaining the thoughts and motivations of a complex leader through selective anecdotes risks distorting, rather than preserving, his legacy.
President Buhari was far from perfect. Many of us who supported him expected much more from his civilian presidency. However, as someone who worked closely with him in opposition political, and governance roles for over a decade, I believe much of his administration’s shortcomings stemmed from the actions and failures of a powerful inner circle—relatives, advisers, and officials who did not always share his commitment to integrity and public service.
Buhari himself remained, to the end, a man of deep faith, personal discipline, and unquestioned patriotism. Those now invoking his name for self-justification should reflect on whether they can claim the same standards.
My appeal here is simple: to all Nigerians: admirers and critics alike—let President Muhammadu Buhari rest in peace. Let history judge him fairly, without opportunism or revisionism. The truest way to honour him is not through selective storytelling, or attempting to exhibit new-found love, but by upholding the values he embodied: simplicity, integrity, humility, and service to Nigeria with all he had.
May Allah grant him eternal rest.
Nasir Ahmad El-Rufai
Cairo, Egypt
17th December, 2025
Opinion
Ogun 2027: Kings Have Spoken, Yayi Belongs, Let the Campaign Begin
Opinion
Has the South-East Traded Kanu and Obi for Political Access? By Mohammed Bello Doka
When Nnamdi Kanu was handed a life sentence, expectations were clear and historic. Across Nigeria, many anticipated a decisive political reaction from the South-East: emergency meetings, coordinated resistance, forceful statements from governors, and a re-assertion of the region’s long-held grievance narrative.
What followed instead was something far more revealing — a loud, deliberate silence.
No collective pushback by South-East governors.
No political reprisal.
No price imposed on the centre.
And in that silence lies a deeper story — one that goes beyond Nnamdi Kanu alone.
For the first time in Nigeria’s political history, all five South-East governors are aligned — directly or indirectly — with President Bola Tinubu and his re-election project. This is not speculation. Public statements and political signaling from the zone confirm that the governors have closed ranks around Abuja. Some openly endorse Tinubu; others maintain strategic silence while cooperating fully with the centre. Either way, the outcome is the same: regional power has moved away from confrontation to accommodation.
This alignment explains much more than the silence after Kanu’s sentence. It also explains the quiet abandonment of Peter Obi’s presidential ambition by the same elite class that once benefited from his momentum.
For years, the South-East sustained a dual political narrative:
Nnamdi Kanu represented resistance — a symbolic struggle against marginalisation.
Peter Obi represented reform — a constitutional path back to relevance at the centre.
Today, both pillars have been set aside.
Unlike previous moments in history when South-East elites distanced themselves from regional causes out of weakness or isolation, this time is different. This retreat did not happen in defeat. It happened from a position of leverage:
The region had unprecedented national sympathy after 2023.
It commanded a powerful youth-driven political movement.
It had emotional capital across Nigeria and the diaspora.
Yet, despite this strength, the elite chose survival.
South-East governors — the true controllers of the political system — have clearly decided that confrontation carries higher costs than alignment. Federal access, security cooperation, budgetary relevance, and political protection now outweigh symbolic struggles. In plain terms, Kanu became a political risk, Obi an electoral uncertainty.
This raises unavoidable rhetorical questions.
If the South-East remains as marginalised as long argued, why was Kanu’s life sentence not treated as a regional emergency?
If injustice still defines the regional condition, why has no political consequence followed?
Or has political access softened the meaning of marginalisation itself?
Even more unsettling is what this silence suggests about the future.
Will there be consequences from the people?
Governors may control the machinery, but history shows that South-East grassroots sentiment does not always move in sync with elite calculations. Suppressed anger, when ignored, rarely disappears — it mutates.
Has the South-East finally been subdued?
Or is this only a strategic pause — a recalibration before another political rupture?
And perhaps the most dangerous question of all:
What becomes of the Biafra agitation in a post-elite world?
If the political class no longer carries the banner — and the state believes resistance has been neutralised — the struggle may not end. It may simply lose its intermediaries and become harder to predict, harder to control, and more radical in form.
For now, the facts are clear.
South-East elites have chosen power over protest.
Access over agitation.
Survival over symbolism.
Whether the people follow — or resist — that choice will define the region’s political future far more than any endorsement ever could.
And until then, the silence after Kanu’s sentence remains the loudest statement the South-East political class has ever made.
-
Business13 hours agoBREAKING: Petrol Depot Owners Crash Prices To Cheapest; Details Emerge
-
News2 days agoIs It True That Court Is Set To Revisit Kanu’s Case After Pressure From Israel, US? Facts Emerge
-
News2 days agoBuhari’s Ex-Minister Pantami Breaks Silence Over Alleged Wedding Plan With Aisha Buhari
-
Lifestyle1 day agoChimamanda: Heartbreaking Details About What Killed Author’s Late Son Emerge
-
News23 hours ago“Do Not Test Trump’s Resolve”: US Issues Fresh Threat To Nigeria
-
Sports2 days agoAFCON: Nigerian Billionaire Splashes Dollars On Super Eagles
-
Entertainment18 hours agoSO SAD: Actress and Content Creator Sunshine D!es After Surgery; Details of Last Moment Trends
-
Politics46 minutes agoFCT Minister Wike Reacts To Call For Tinubu To Sack Him
