Introduction
In the complex tapestry of modern nationality, few situations illustrate the tension between legal status and personal identity more vividly than the cases of Olukemi Olufunto Adegoke Badenoch (Kemi Badenoch) and Kemi Adeosun. Both women were born in the United Kingdom to Nigerian parents, placing them at the intersection of two distinct citizenship traditions. Their stories—one about the politics of identity, the other about the obligations of status—provide living case studies of Nigeria’s jus sanguinis (right of blood) citizenship framework in action. This article explores how Nigeria’s constitutional provisions, rooted in a century of legal history, create realities that extend far beyond statute books into the realms of politics, identity, and public duty.
The Legal Foundations: A Brief Recap
As detailed in the previous article on Nigeria’s citizenship history, the nation’s approach has consistently emphasized descent over birthplace. From the 1960 Independence Constitution through the current 1999 Constitution (Section 25), Nigerian citizenship by birth has been granted primarily to those with Nigerian parentage or ancestral ties to indigenous communities. This jus sanguinis principle stands in contrast to the jus soli (right of soil) approach found in some other former British colonies, where birthplace alone determines citizenship.
For children born abroad to Nigerian parents, the Constitution is clear: they are Nigerian citizens from birth. This automatic constitutional status exists independently of passports, registration, or even awareness. It is this precise legal reality that frames the stories of both Badenoch and Adeosun.
Kemi Badenoch: The Identity Question
“I’m Nigerian through ancestry… but by identity I’m not really.” — Kemi Badenoch
Kemi Badenoch’s relationship with her Nigerian citizenship represents what we might call “constitutional versus lived nationality.” Born in Wimbledon in 1980, she acquired both British citizenship (under the UK’s pre-1983 birthright rules) and Nigerian citizenship (by descent) automatically at birth.
What makes Badenoch’s case particularly interesting is her public navigation of this dual heritage in her political career. As a rising star in British politics—currently serving as Leader of the Conservative Party—she has occasionally referenced her Nigerian background while firmly situating her identity as British. She has mentioned holding a Nigerian passport in her youth but allowing it to lapse decades ago as to imply that she is no longer a Nigerian citizen.
The Badenoch case raises profound questions about citizenship as a matter of law versus citizenship as a matter of identity:
· Can a nation claim someone who does not claim it back?
· Does constitutional citizenship carry moral weight if not actively embraced?
· How should public figures navigate multiple heritages in identity politics?
Interestingly, some Nigerian commentators have suggested Badenoch owes something to her “fatherland,” due in part to being born, illustrating how citizenship-by-descent can create transnational expectations that persist despite an individual’s chosen identification.
Kemi Adeosun: The Obligation Question
While Badenoch’s story centers on identity, Kemi Adeosun’s illustrates the responsibilities that can accompany constitutional status. Born in the UK to Nigerian parents, Adeosun moved to Nigeria as an adult and rose to become Finance Minister (2015-2018). Her citizenship story became national news when questions emerged about her National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) exception certificate and her current claim of not being allowed by law to be a Nigerian citizen until an unknown change of law.
The NYSC scheme requires Nigerian graduates under 30 to complete one year of national service. For Adeosun, who obtained her first Nigerian passport at age 34, this created a legal gray area: When does obligation begin for a citizen-by-descent who formalizes their status later in life? There was no legal obligation to serve while resident in the UK and by the time, she came to Nigeria was above the obligatory demand to serve, she was automatically except from service. However, for reasons best known to her chose to seek an exception certificate which was deemed forged by her critics.
The Adeosun controversy highlighted several important dimensions of Nigeria’s citizenship framework:
1. Automatic status with delayed formalization: Though constitutionally Nigerian from birth, many citizens-by-descent only claim passports as adults
2. Retroactive obligations: Whether civic duties like NYSC apply when citizenship is claimed later
3. Documentation challenges: The practical difficulties of fulfilling requirements designed for those raised in Nigeria
Unlike Badenoch’s philosophical identity question, Adeosun’s case was about practical compliance with systems designed for citizens raised elsewhere and those who are raised in Nigeria.
Comparative Analysis: Two Sides of the Same Coin
Aspect Kemi Badenoch Kemi Adeosun
Core Issue Identity and belonging Legal compliance and obligation
Public Role British politician Nigerian cabinet minister
Relationship to Nigeria Ancestral heritage, lapsed formal ties Active engagement, formal position
Key Question Can constitutional citizenship exist without identification? Do constitutional duties apply retroactively?
Public Discourse Philosophical debate about identity Practical debate about rule compliance
Both cases reveal how Nigeria’s jus sanguinis system creates complex, individualized relationships with constitutional citizenship. The same legal provision—Section 25’s grant of citizenship to those born abroad to Nigerian parents—produces dramatically different lived experiences.
The UK Context: A Changing Landscape
It’s crucial to understand the British dimension of both stories. Badenoch was born in 1980, when UK law still granted citizenship based on birthplace (jus soli). The British Nationality Act 1981 changed this, ending automatic birthright citizenship for children born to non-citizen parents.
Today, a child born in the UK to Nigerian parents would not automatically be British but would automatically be Nigerian. They could potentially become British if their parents were “settled” in the UK or if they registered after birth. This creates an even more complex matrix of possible statuses for the current generation.
Societal Implications and Ongoing Debates
The stories of Badenoch and Adeosun reflect broader tensions in Nigeria’s approach to citizenship:
1. The Diaspora Relationship: How should Nigeria engage with its massive diaspora, many of whom are citizens-by-descent?
2. Civic Duty Boundaries: Where do the obligations of citizens-by-descent begin and end?
3. Identity Fluidity: In an increasingly globalized world, can constitutional definitions capture complex personal identities?
4. Documentation Challenges: How can systems designed for domestic citizens accommodate those raised abroad?
These questions gain urgency as Nigeria’s diaspora grows. According to UN estimates, over 1.5 million Nigerian-born people live abroad, with potentially millions more citizens-by-descent in subsequent generations.
Conclusion: Living the Law
The constitutional provision at the heart of both stories—Section 25’s grant of citizenship by descent—remains unchanged since its formulation in the 1979 Constitution. Yet as the experiences of Badenoch and Adeosun demonstrate, static law meets dynamic human experience.
Nigeria’s jus sanguinis framework creates a broad, inclusive definition of belonging that stretches across generations and continents. But this very inclusiveness generates complex questions when constitutional status meets:
· Individual identity formation
· Transnational life patterns
· Differing national obligations
· Political and public roles
Ultimately, the “two Kemis” represent two sides of Nigeria’s citizenship-by-descent reality. Badenoch’s story asks how much identity is tied to legal status; Adeosun’s asks how much obligation accompanies that status. Together, they illustrate that citizenship is never merely a legal category—it’s a living relationship between individual and state, constantly negotiated in personal choices, public roles, and societal expectations.
As Nigeria continues to engage with its global diaspora, these cases suggest the need for ongoing dialogue about what constitutional citizenship means in practice—not just who has it, but what it means to have it, claim it, and live it across borders and generations.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 