Reporting News and opinions
In the grand theatre of Nigerian politics, where truth occasionally stumbles onto the stage like an uninvited guest who has had one too many, Alwan Hassan has just delivered a masterclass in accidental honesty.
Remember Enya Egbe? The young medical student who fled his anatomy lab in tears after recognising the cadaver on the table as his friend Divine, bullet holes and all, the one they used to hit the clubs with? That 2017-ish horror story (the original piece landed amid the long shadow of such practices) was never just about one traumatised student or one unlucky night out. It was a mirror held up to a system that treats Nigerian bodies, living or dead, as disposable raw material. Fast-forward to 2026, and the reflection has barely fogged over. The disrespect remains the operating system.
Urban Nigerians still speak a fantastic blend of languages, and the mixture has only grown richer, louder and more useful with time.
“Frank exchange of views” is the single most useful phrase in the diplomatic lexicon, precisely because everyone involved knows it is a lie and nobody involved will admit it. A former UK diplomat once put it plainly in a Language Log discussion: a frank exchange of views is just shouting. If the participants throw things at each other, it upgrades to a full and frank exchange of views. That is not satire. That is a professional’s working definition.
Adams Oshiomhole is that rare Nigerian political specimen who managed to climb from factory floor to labour presidency, state house, party chairmanship and the red chamber without the inconvenience of a published higher educational attainment. Self-taught, they say. One imagines him in some dimly lit corner of history, devouring political manuals by candlelight while the rest of his compatriots were busy collecting certificates that later proved about as useful as a raincoat in the Sahara.
