1. Nigeria’s South-East knocks NYT report
As more citizens and groups read it, anger is growing in the South-East over a New York Times report that attributes the Donald Trump/US strike on Sokoto to “spotty research by an Onitsha-based screwdriver salesman.”
The anger in Southeastern Nigeria arises from how The New York Times framed the story, which has been seen as a narrative that minimises Nigeria’s complex security issues and disrespects the region. The story focuses on how unverified data from a single activist in Onitsha allegedly influenced high-level U.S. decisions.
Groups such as the Ohanaeze Ndigbo and Emeka Umeagbalasi mentioned in the story have debunked it. A strong rebuttal by an indigene of Yelwata challenging the story is trending on various platforms.
The many reasons for the anger include:
1. Characterisation of the Source. The “screwdriver salesman” framing comes across as patronising and dismissive, trivialising a serious issue by implying that only one individual is to blame. The Times investigation reveals that Emeka Umeagbalasi, who heads a civil society organisation, admits his data on Christian deaths is based on unverified secondary sources and Google searches. Umeagbalasi has countered this narrative, affirming that he never made such an admission.
2. Perceived Oversimplification of Conflict. The story implies U.S. policy was swayed by a simplistic religious narrative, ignoring the complex, multi-faceted nature of Nigeria’s security crisis affecting all citizens. Researchers and a Catholic bishop note the data focuses narrowly on religion, obscuring the state’s broader failure to protect all citizens from diverse threats like Boko Haram, banditry, and communal violence.
3. Plays into Nigeria’s ethnic politics. Portraying an Igbo man from the Southeast as the source of a strike in the distant Muslim-majority North (Sokoto) stirs regional and ethnic sensitivities. The opinion on Igbo platforms is that the report was sponsored by the FG “to pit the North against the Igbos to gain political advantage”. An opinion leader said it was “A Lagos-Ibadan hatchet job planted in the New York Times and paid for by Nigerian taxpayers.”
4. Sense of Exploitation. There is a perception that foreign powers and media manipulate local narratives for their own political aims, with little regard for local consequences. The report shows U.S. lawmakers cited this data to promote a “Christian genocide” narrative, which was then used to justify military action.
5. Perception of Media Bias. Some see the NYT story as an attempt to embarrass or “belittle” both Nigerian and U.S. government capabilities. Critics claim the Times focused on a sensational “trader” angle rather than the more plausible explanation of formal inter-governmental intelligence sharing. The NYT and Donald Trump are in conflict.
The Deeper Issues at Stake
The anger extends beyond a single news article and relates to longstanding grievances.
• Accuracy in Conflict Reporting: It emphasises the great challenge and the crucial importance of precise, verified data in conflict zones, where misinformation can have real-world consequences.
• Local Agency versus Foreign Narratives: It highlights a deep frustration with how complex local realities are often filtered, simplified, and repackaged by foreign actors to suit their own political agendas.
2. Survivors refute NYT on Nigeria air strikes.
A Refutation from the Ashes: Survivors Respond to The New York Times
The New York Times article, “The Screwdriver Salesman Behind Trump’s Airstrikes in Nigeria,” is more than an error; it is a profound insult. It seeks to recast survivors as suspects, truth-tellers as propagandists, and a decade of bloodshed into a mere “narrative” for consultants to manage. This will not stand.
The True Origin of the “Country of Particular Concern” Designation
The article peddles a convenient fiction: that this designation resulted from separatist lobbying or Washington politics. This is a lie. The CPC designation was not drafted in offices in Abuja or DC. It was forged in the ashes of burned churches and homes, and in the dust of mass graves. It is the collective plea of priests who have buried hundreds, of survivors from Yelewata, Agatu, Plateau, and Southern Kaduna who fled with bullets at their backs, and of witnesses like Bishop Wilfred Anagbe and myself, Franc Utoo, who have carried our people’s cries directly to the United States Congress. This is not a political toy; it is a desperate scream for the world to acknowledge the truth.
The Violence They Try to Rename
The article hides behind sanitised terms like “conflict” and “clashes.” There is no “clash” when heavily armed Fulani Islamist militias descend upon sleeping, unarmed families. This is a campaign of targeted violence: shooting, burning, hacking, and desecrating. These are not anonymous incidents. They have names, dates, and faces—the old woman at her church, the mother holding her slain children, the catechist ringing the alarm bell. This reality, documented in parish registers and whispered testimonies, is carved into our land, not invented in a think tank.
The Advocates They Try to Smear
To smear organisations like Truth Nigeria and Equipping the Persecuted is indecent. We are not air-conditioned theorists. We are on the red earth, at funerals and in displacement camps, listening, recording, and helping. Truth Nigeria amplifies voices the media ignores. Equipping the Persecuted delivers aid, rebuilds ruins, and collects evidence in dangerous zones. Judd Saul and his team walk into killing fields most journalists never see, then take that evidence to Washington. Call this “propaganda” only if you can look a starving widow in the eye and tell her the only help she received was a “narrative.”
The £9 Million “Eraser” and the Manufacture of Doubt
Behind the article lies the rustle of government contracts. Nigeria has spent millions not on justice or rebuilding, but on hiring Washington firms to “correct the record.” Their strategy is clear: take the documented atrocities, the survivor testimony, the pattern of impunity, and process it through a machine of consultants and poll-tested language until it emerges as “complex intercommunal tensions.” Their product is not peace, but doubt—allowing the powerful to shrug and do nothing.
The Unbuyable Truth
But there is one thing the government and its collaborators cannot purchase:
Our memories.
The scars on our bodies.
The names on tombstones across Benue and Plateau.
The truth seen by a mother who held her slaughtered children.
The future of this story belongs not to distant spin doctors, but to those of us who have walked the killing fields, counted the bodies, and lifted the rubble.
Our Final, Unshakeable Reply:
We, the survivors, begged America to name this crisis.
We, the clergy who have buried our flocks, pleaded for the CPC designation.
We, the advocates from Makurdi, Jos, Kafanchan, and countless communities, carry our dead into the public conscience—not for politics, but to prevent their memory from being buried twice.
The government can keep buying words. We carry the truth. It is raw, stubborn, and unnegotiable. And as long as it is spoken—before Congress, in churches, in the media—no contract, campaign, or article will ever erase it.
Franc Utoo Esq. KofC,
Native of Yelewata.
Media Relations Associate, Equipping the Persecuted USA.
3. Battle of pre-eminence among Oyo State royalty
A trending issue on social media is the struggle for dominance among Oyo State royalty between the Alaafin of Oyo and the Olubadan of Ibadan. Gov Makinde appointed the Olubadan as the chairman of the Oyo State Council of Obas, which heightened the uproar.
Groups have formed around the issue.
Oyo Scholars Congress (OSC) and the Oyo Global Forum (OGF) strongly oppose the Oyo State Government’s recently established Council of Obas, particularly its provision for a rotational chairmanship that treats the Alaafin of Oyo as equal to other traditional rulers. They argue that this arrangement undermines Oyo’s historical and civilisational order, where the Alaafin holds a distinct, pre-eminent role as the symbol of Yoruba kingship.
A former senator, governor, and elder statesman, Rashidi Adewolu Ladoja, is the Olubadan of Ibadan. He is 81 years old.
Abimbola Owoade I (born 17 July 1975) is the 46th Alaafin, or traditional ruler, of the Yoruba town of Oyo and the rightful heir to the throne of its historic empire.
Oyo Scholars Congress (OSC) and the Oyo Global Forum (OGF) strongly oppose the Oyo State Government’s recent creation of the Council of Obas, especially its provision for rotational chairmanship that regards the Alaafin of Oyo as equal to other traditional rulers. They argue that this arrangement undermines Oyo’s historical and civilisational order, where the Alaafin holds a unique, pre-eminent role as the symbol of Yoruba kingship. The groups describe the policy as a misinterpretation of Yoruba political tradition and as a form of cultural and historical erasure. They express concern over the Alaafin’s absence from the council’s inauguration, seeing it as a symbolic breach of the moral and historical foundations of Yoruba kingship. OSC and OGF commend the Alaafin for publicly dissociating himself from claims that he endorsed the arrangement, praising his dignity and custodianship of tradition.
The “battle of pre-eminence” in Oyo State involves contemporary disputes over traditional hierarchy, mainly between the historic Alaafin of Oyo and other powerful monarchs, such as the Olubadan of Ibadan and the Soun of Ogbomoso. This conflict is rooted in a long history but is now shaped by modern politics and administrative decisions.
The key issue is a recent change to the Oyo State Council of Obas. The state government introduced a rotational chairmanship system among the Alaafin, Olubadan, and Soun, a policy strongly criticised by civil society groups as an attempt to diminish the Alaafin’s traditionally pre-eminent status. This controversy was highlighted in early 2025 when the Olubadan refused to reciprocate a handshake from the seated Alaafin at a public event, a gesture seen as a symbolic rejection of the Alaafin’s claimed superiority.
Historical Context vs. Modern Politics
The friction arises from a gap between deep historical foundations and recent political realities.
• Historical Foundation: The Alaafin was the ruler of the Oyo Empire, a major West African power from the 17th to early 19th centuries. The empire’s government was a complex system in which the Alaafin’s power was balanced by a council of state, the Oyo Mesi, and a commander-in-chief. At its peak, the empire dominated much of Yorubaland, and the Alaafin’s authority was widely recognised.
• Political Erosion: The Alaafin’s status began to be challenged in the mid-20th century. In the 1950s, political leaders promoted the Ooni of Ife as a unifying symbol for the Yoruba people, which sidelined the Alaafin. Later, with the creation of modern Oyo State in 1976, powerful new cities like Ibadan and Ogbomosho gained political prominence. The rulers of Ibadan and Ogbomosho obtained the right to wear beaded crowns (a symbol of high kingship), which traditionalists in Oyo argue was done without the Alaafin’s historical consent.
Key Figures and Their Claims
1. Alaafin of Oyo. Historically settled pre-eminent authority; should be the permanent chairman of the Oyo State Council of Obas.
2. Olubadan of Ibadan. Demands equal footing; the state council chairmanship should be rotational to reflect modern realities and fairness. Ibadan was a formidable 19th-century military power that became the protector of the remnants of the Oyo Empire.
3. Soun of Ogbomoso. Allied with the Olubadan in opposing a permanent chairmanship for the Alaafin, supporting the rotational system. The Soun is a major traditional ruler within the old Oyo Empire.
4. Ooni of Ife. Holds spiritual and cultural primacy as the custodian of Yoruba origin traditions. The dispute is primarily with the monarchs within Oyo State; the Ooni’s preeminence is of a different, more cosmological nature.
Why the Dispute Persists
The core of the issue is a clash between historical prestige and contemporary administrative power:
• For Oyo traditionalists, the Alaafin’s status is a non-negotiable part of Yoruba history and civilisation. They view any administrative arrangement that equates his throne with others as “historical vandalism”.
• For modern administrators and rival monarchs, the old imperial hierarchy no longer reflects current political and demographic realities. Ibadan is now a vast metropolis and the state capital, and its ruler naturally expects commensurate status. They argue for a rotational system that is seen as more equitable in a modern, federated state.
4. Association claims Euracare Hospital deviated from best practice in handling of Chimamanda’s son.
The Association of Hospital and Administrative Pharmacists of Nigeria (AHAPN) has expressed renewed concern over the death of Nkanu, the young son of renowned author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. They describe the incident as “a grave patient-safety failure” that demands urgent national investigation. In a statement released on Friday, the AHAPN’s National Chairman, Pharm. Elechi Oyim|
said emerging details suggest “a serious deviation from internationally accepted standards of paediatric anaesthesia and medication safety.” He noted that reports indicating continuous administration of propofol as a sedative to a child under three contradict established global medical guidelines.
“This practice is in direct conflict with international anaesthesia and paediatric safety standards, which clearly warn against prolonged propofol infusion in young children due to the risk of Propofol Infusion Syndrome (PRIS), a complication associated with high morbidity and mortality,” Oyim stated. He explained that PRIS involves severe metabolic acidosis, muscle breakdown, cardiac failure, and sudden death, emphasising that international bodies such as the World Health Organization (WHO), the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA), and leading British anaesthesia institutions have repeatedly cautioned against such use in paediatric intensive care. “The FDA expressly states that propofol is not approved for long-term sedation in paediatric intensive care units because of multiple fatalities associated with PRIS,” Oyim added. Beyond medical concerns, AHAPN pointed out that the incident reveals deeper flaws in Nigeria’s healthcare governance. “From a clinical governance and patient safety perspective, this incident signifies a serious departure from accepted international standards of care. When safeguards are lacking, individual clinical judgement morphs into an institutional risk,” Oyim argued. He contended that no healthcare professional should serve simultaneously as prescriber, administrator, and sole monitor of high-risk medications without independent oversight. “This contravenes fundamental principles of good governance. Healthcare delivery, like justice, relies on checks and balances,” he stressed. Oyim also criticised what he termed the routine sidelining of pharmacists in critical care decisions, warning that such practices entail serious risks. “The exclusion of pharmacists from the medication-decision continuum, especially in anaesthesia and paediatric care, constitutes a systemic governance failure, not merely a clinical oversight,” he concluded.
5. Chimamanda: I Will Not Cry for You
The author argues that the tragedy involving Chimamanda should not be seen as an isolated injustice but as a symptom of Nigeria’s failing healthcare system—one that citizens, elites, and influencers have long ignored until they are personally affected. Drawing on conversations with healthcare insiders and legal practitioners, the piece presents a bleak picture of a largely unregulated sector marked by poor infrastructure, inadequate staffing, weak oversight, and widespread medical negligence. The author maintains that tens of thousands die each month in Nigerian hospitals, cutting across social classes, and that no amount of wealth or medical enclaves can shield elites from the systemic decay. The essay rejects selective outrage and performative sympathy, insisting that only collective, sustained national action—not episodic grief—can resolve the crisis. Until such action is taken, the author refuses to “cry” for individual victims, viewing their suffering as part of a shared national failure.
Chimamanda: I Will Not Cry for You
Over the last 48 hours, I have held extensive conversations with key actors across Nigeria’s healthcare ecosystem: Chimamanda’s media consultant, Eurocare’s media consultant, the chairman of one of Nigeria’s largest private hospital chains, and one of the country’s most accomplished medical practitioners—someone who has consulted for the top five private hospitals in Nigeria and was recently headhunted from the UK to return home. I also listened carefully to Olisa Agbakoba, who says he has handled over 50 medical negligence claims in recent years.
What I learned was chilling. The statistics are not merely alarming; they are terrifying. And this is why I say, unapologetically, that I will not cry for Chimamanda.
Her case is the classic tragedy of selective awareness—the fate of those who remain silent until disaster arrives at their own doorstep. But this is not about Chimamanda alone. It is about all 200 million of us.
Nigeria reportedly has about 43,000 hospitals, with fewer than 10,000 beds and an appalling doctor-to-patient ratio. There is effectively no functional regulatory framework governing the health sector at any level, and the last substantive law addressing it dates back to 1963. In Lagos, the last medical official formally charged with sector-wide regulation was Sir Manuwa in 1976. Today, only Lagos and Yobe states maintain hospital registration boards; everywhere else, it’s a free-for-all.
The consequences are catastrophic. An estimated 50,000 Nigerians die every month in hospitals—an internal killing field deadlier, by sheer density, than the insurgency in the North-East. For all practical purposes, if you fall sick in Nigeria and are admitted into a hospital, your chances of walking out alive may be less than 40 per cent.
The harsh irony is that this epidemic knows no class boundaries. The elite, in their typical manner, have tried to set up medical enclosures for themselves within the country, yet they also become victims, as Chimamanda’s case shows. When they travel abroad, some come back empty-handed, reminding us—like Muhammadu Buhari’s experience—that there is nowhere to hide.
One in every 100 Nigerian families has lost someone to medical negligence. I lost Mena Joseph Edgar. Just last week, my elder brother lost his wife after her arteries were slashed in the course of administering intravenous drugs.
This article is neither a summary of cases, a technical review of the sector, nor another empty “wake-up call.” It is, quite honestly, a reflection of our collective hypocrisy. We call ourselves the “Giant of Africa,” yet act like a nation of selfish, short-sighted individuals who only scream when the fire is at their own roof. We mourn loudly for a week, then move on—until the next preventable death.
Until it happened to Chimamanda, this was not her fight. Until it happened to me, it was not mine either. We never expect it to be us. We console ourselves with the empty phrase “it is well,” uttered in ritualistic self-deception, until it is our turn to bury the dead.
So no, I will not cry for Chimamanda. Not yet. I will not cry for anyone forced to endure the harrowing loss of a loved one in the putrid, decaying bowels of our healthcare system—until we, as a nation, rise with the same resolve Nigeria once showed when planes were falling from the skies and said, collectively, Enough.
One final word: the health community must stop invoking “traumatic working conditions” as a blanket excuse for killing patients. Systemic failure explains outcomes; it does not absolve responsibility.
When we are ready to confront this crisis honestly and collectively, I will cry for Chimamanda. Until then, she may cry her tears, as I cry mine, and as the families of the next 50,000 who will die next month will cry theirs.
This is our shared tragedy. And until we face it together, we will keep counting bodies.
— Duke of Shomolu
