Somewhere in a glass-and-steel conference centre in Geneva, a distinguished panel is convening to discuss Africa's poverty crisis. The room costs £18,000 a day to hire. The keynote speaker flew business class from Washington. The catered lunch is exceptional. The conference proceedings will produce, in due course, a forty-seven page report recommending as the 1994 report did, as the 2003 report did, as the 2011 report did, more aid. Africa, meanwhile, remains poor.
The Holy Trinity of Loyalty: How Uromi’s New Chairman Said the Quiet Part Out Loud by Lawson Akhigbe
There is a peculiar brand of honesty that only slips out when an official forgets to read the democratic script. Usually, freshly inaugurated politicians feel obliged to rehearse the standard civic pieties muttering something about service delivery, the rule of law, or the sovereign will of the people. But every once in a while, the system produces a moment of pure, unvarnished clarity.
Did You Tell Them to Rescue the Kidnapped? Nigeria’s Politicians, Generals and the Confusion Between Policy and Operations by Lawson Akhigbe
There are some moments in political history that survive long after the politicians involved have left office. Not because of a great speech. Not because of a great policy. But because somebody asked a very simple question and refused to let it escape through the nearest political fire exit.
Edo’s Chop-Chop Chief: Dan Orbih and the Politics of Convenient Grief by Lawson Akhigbe
Chief Daniel Osi Orbih is dead, and Edo State’s political class has responded the way it always does when one of its own departs: with a grief so generous it retroactively forgives everything the man ever did. Orbih passed away on Monday, 31 August 2026, at the age of 64, and within hours the condolences arrived in a queue, each one more magnanimous than the last, as though the deceased had spent his career building roads rather than blocking them.
When the Living Governor’s Pen Meets the Dead Monarch’s Signature: Nigeria’s Land Use Act Versus Britain’s 1925 Registration Revolution by Lawson Akhigbe
In 1925, while Britain was still recovering from one war and quietly preparing for the next, its legislators decided that land law had become an expensive medieval farce. The result was a cluster of statutes, most notably the Land Registration Act 1925, working in tandem with the Law of Property Act 1925, that performed a quiet but decisive act of administrative hygiene. They did not nationalise the soil. They did not turn every landowner into a tenant of the state. They simply made the register the master of the title, and the process of dealing with land a matter of bureaucracy rather than political favour or ancestral archaeology.

