I was at a friend’s house in Lagos last weekend when the conversation turned, as it often does these days, to the two announcements that have been dominating our national discourse. One of my friends, a retired civil servant from the North, shook his head. “The government wants our children to wear Adire to serve the nation, but they don’t want them to afford the examinations that qualify them to serve in the first place,” he said.
That is the mood of the nation these past few weeks.
Two critical issues made the headlines. The first: there was this news that the Federal Government is considering replacing the iconic NYSC khaki uniform with Adire fabric. The second: the Ministry of Education approved a uniform registration fee of N50,000 for WAEC and NECO examinations, effective 2027.
The reactions have been swift and brutal. Nigerians across the political divide, including opposition figures, have condemned both announcements, describing them as anti-people. And they are right to use that word. The uniform proposal excludes vast sections of the country by elevating one culture above others in a national institution. The fee hike excludes millions of poor families who simply cannot afford to pay N50,000 for an examination. Both policies were conceived in a vacuum, without any meaningful thought about the ordinary citizens who would bear the consequences.
The Adire proposal was meant to celebrate our culture, but it quickly became a debate about whose culture matters more. The Muslim Rights Concern demanded that the design accommodate the hijab, while the Igbo Heroes and Icons Foundation insisted that the uniform reflect all three major ethnic groups — Adire, Isiagu, and Hausa traditional attire — to avoid elevating one culture above others. This is embarrassing, to put it politely.
The Minister of Youth Development, Ayodele Olawande, later clarified that his comments had been misconstrued. He said he mentioned Adire and Ankara merely as examples of proposals under consideration. “For the avoidance of doubt, yes, I mentioned Adire during the discussion. I also mentioned Ankara. My intention was simply to cite examples of some of the proposals that have been put forward in the course of our consultations,” he said. He stressed that no final decision has been taken.
Barely had the dust settled on the uniform controversy when another announcement landed: the Ministry of Education had approved a uniform registration fee of N50,000 for WAEC and NECO examinations, effective 2027. For parents already struggling to keep their children in school, this was not merely an adjustment; it was an impossible choice. Former vice president Atiku Abubakar did not mince words; he called it cruel. Teachers across the country described it as punishment. And they were not wrong.
Following widespread condemnation, the Federal Ministry of Education suspended the proposed fee hike. The Minister of Education, Dr. Maruf Tunji Alausa, directed that the proposal be placed on hold pending a comprehensive review and broader consultations.
Two announcements, two backtracks, and two embarrassments for the President. But this is not really about the policies themselves. It is about the people behind them. Who are the men and women around Mr. President who looked at these ideas and thought they were good enough to take to the public? Do they pause to think before they speak? And more importantly, who advises them?
That reminds me of a recent interview on Arise TV Prime where I watched Bayo Onanuga, the President’s Special Adviser on Information and Strategy, dismiss the complaints about hunger in the country as being overly amplified. He declared, “I don’t see the level of hunger people are talking about.” He even suggested that the narrative of widespread hunger was shaped by a viral video with a voice-over saying “Ebi n pawa o” — “we are hungry.”
Mr. Onanuga may not see the hunger because he is not looking. The people who work for him, who drive him to his meetings and serve him his meals, are unlikely to tell their boss the full extent of their struggles. They have their own survival to think about. But the hunger is real as already documented by National Bureau of Statistics. The President himself has acknowledged it. Millions of Nigerians feel it every day.
The issue is not that Onanuga lacks compassion for the poor. The issue is that his perception of reality is flawed. He genuinely does not see the hunger because he moves in circles where hunger is invisible. And because he advises the President, his flawed perception becomes dangerous — it shapes the advice the President receives. If the President is told that things are not as bad as they seem, he may make decisions based on that comfort. And when policy is shaped by a perception that does not match reality, ordinary Nigerians suffer.
Take for instance, a Minister of Youth Development who walked into a national minefield without a map and announced a uniform change without pausing to reflect that Nigeria is a complex tapestry of over 250 ethnic groups, each with its own sense of identity and pride. Even if he has now offered an explanation, he should never have mentioned it in the first place. In a country as deeply divided along ethnic and religious lines as ours, a responsible minister ought to know that such a comment would ignite a firestorm. He should have known better. But he did not think. That is one thing he would be remembered for.
The Minister of Education did the same thing. He approved a fee hike that would have kept millions of children out of school. He did not think about Nigerians still struggling after the fuel subsidy removal, neither did he consider parents who can barely afford three square meals. He simply approved it. When the backlash came, he backtracked. But the damage was already done.
These are the men around the President. They are embarrassing him.
Then there is the matter of the President’s Chief of Staff, Femi Gbajabiamila, that has been in the news space for weeks now. Adeniyi Adeyemi Matthew, the man who presented himself as director general of a phantom agency called the Presidential Foreign Intervention Promotion Council, has alleged that Gbajabiamila demanded 48 percent of the agency’s take-off grant, amounting to N27.4 billion, and received N400 million by proxy to secure his appointment.
While the President has ordered an investigation into the scandal, the damage has already been done. The opposition has found fresh ammunition, and the public has lost a little more faith.
Few days ago, a report by Peoples Gazette alleged that Gbajabiamila illegally cornered N54 billion in oil royalties from the Nigeria Upstream Petroleum Regulatory Commission by citing a fake law to secure presidential approval. According to the report, a July 2023 memo directed that 1.5 percent of NUPRC’s cost of collection—roughly N54 billion—be set aside for upgrading crude oil metering systems.
Critics argue the spending bypasses the National Assembly’s appropriation powers, citing Section 24(1) of the Petroleum Industry Act. Former Vice President Atiku Abubakar has demanded an independent investigation and called for Gbajabiamila’s suspension.
The opposition could not have asked for more. Every week, they get fresh ammunition. Every misstep hands them another reason to question the competence of this administration. And Nigerians are watching. Their patience is running out.
Now, it doesn’t matter how well-intentioned a policy is. There must always be a process—a moment to reflect, to interrogate the details, to ask if it is practical or even affordable. This government cannot keep announcing policies, watching the public react, and then rushing to withdraw them. It cannot keep embarrassing itself. And more importantly, it cannot keep embarrassing President Tinubu, a man I genuinely believe means well for this country.
This, in my view, is the tragedy of our policymaking — we chase the optics while ignoring the obstacles, we celebrate the symbol while building barriers that prevent millions from participating in the national project at all. Mr. President, I say this with every sense of responsibility and with no intention to offend: look around you. The men and women you have placed in positions of trust are costing you dearly. They are costing you your credibility, they are costing you the goodwill of the people, and once that goodwill is gone, it is difficult, if not impossible, to recover.
As I have written before, the impulse which drives wielding power to settle personal scores is the same that fuels the might-is-right belief with which many of our public officials see nothing wrong in appropriating government funds at their disposal. The same applies here. The impulse that allows policymakers to impose a N50,000 fee without considering the impact on poor families is the same impulse that allows them to debate cultural symbolism while ignoring economic survival. Both stem from a failure to see the Nigerian people as they truly are — struggling, diverse, and desperate for leadership that understands their daily challenges.
Joel ARINZE
Discussion about this post