My Maiduguri Story

By: Abigail Olugbode

A teenage girl, Abigail Olugbode recounts a day she would never forget during a near fatal attack on her estate in Maiduguri as a young girl.

For a long time, bombing wasn’t something I only heard about from news or far places—it was part of life. I grew up in Maiduguri, Borno State, during a time when attacks were frequent and unpredictable. Some days we’d get to school and be sent back home because there were reports of terrorists nearby. Other days, we were already in class when teachers suddenly told us to go under the desks and stay completely quiet.

I was six years old at the time, so I didn’t fully understand everything happening around me, but I understood fear. It showed up in small ways—in how people talked, how quickly things could change, and especially in my mum’s face whenever my dad wasn’t home.

There’s one memory that has stayed with me more than the others. It doesn’t really have a lesson. It’s just… what happened.

It was December 20th, 2014. My mum had just given birth to my baby sister, and my grandmother had come from Lagos to help out.

That day started off normal. We were outside frying plantain. I still remember the smell, and how we were all just there waiting to eat. Nothing felt wrong at that time.

Then someone came with the news—Boko Haram had entered 1000 Housing Estate, the estate where we lived.

Everything just shifted immediately.

My grandmother started panicking and praying out loud, calling on God and saying she didn’t want to die yet. It sounded almost like a strange kind of comic relief at first, the way she was speaking so loudly, like she was trying to be heard over everything. But she was scared—you could hear it underneath.

My mum quickly gathered us inside and told us to keep quiet. My dad was calm, but very firm. He told us where to stay and that nobody should go outside. No discussion.

Then we heard gunshots.

Inside the house, staying quiet wasn’t easy. The baby started crying. The younger ones couldn’t sit still. People were whispering, shifting around, arguing in low voices. Everyone was trying, but no one was really calm.

Even the dog was barking like crazy. At some point, we were whispering at it to shut up, like it would actually understand.

My mum got really tense and said she would flog anyone who didn’t keep quiet. That was enough. Everyone froze after that.

My grandmother kept insisting we should run. She was begging my dad, switching between prayer and panic. She would get loud, then remember and lower her voice again.

But my dad didn’t move. He just stayed alert and kept listening to what was happening outside.

So we stayed.

We just sat there listening. The gunshots, the silence between them, even our breathing—it all felt too loud.

At some point, things got quieter inside. The baby stopped crying. The dog finally stopped barking. Even my grandmother went from talking to just whispering prayers.

And we waited.

By morning, everything was calm again.

Later we heard what actually happened. People who tried to run were shot. Houses were attacked.

That’s when it really hit me.

That could have been us.

We didn’t do anything special. We just stayed where we were—and somehow, that was enough.

My grandmother left for Lagos as soon as she could find transport. The whole thing really shook her. Even though she was grateful we survived, she didn’t want to stay anymore.

As for me and my siblings, something changed in us without us even noticing. We had heard gunshots so many times that it stopped feeling strange. It became something you just lived with.

Our relatives would always call when there were reports of attacks, asking why we were still in Maiduguri, telling us to leave.

But to us, it didn’t feel unusual.

It was just life

My Maiduguri Story

The Satellite That Refused to Stand Still: Why Nigeria’s Space Asset Is Finally Coming Into Its Own

By Danjuma Amodu

For more than a decade, Nigeria has occupied a unique but under-celebrated position in Africa’s digital story. Since 2011, the country has operated its own communications satellite—an achievement few nations on the continent can claim. It placed Nigeria in a select league of countries with sovereign space-based communications infrastructure, a strategic asset capable of shaping everything from national security to broadband access. Yet for years, that satellite seemed to orbit in quiet contradiction: full of promise, but only partially woven into the fabric of everyday Nigerian life.

That contradiction is now being challenged.

When Jane Nkechi Egerton-Idehen assumed leadership of Nigerian Communications Satellite Limited in 2023, she stepped into an institution that reflected a broader pattern in Nigeria’s public infrastructure—significant capital investment without corresponding utilisation. The satellite’s broadcasting capacity was underused, its broadband services had lost commercial traction, and the organisation leaned heavily on government patronage. In a country where millions remained unconnected, the gap between capability and impact was glaring.

Her arrival coincided with a policy shift under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, whose Renewed Hope Agenda placed digital infrastructure at the centre of economic transformation. That alignment of leadership and national policy created a narrow but critical window: the chance to reposition satellite technology not as a technical luxury, but as foundational infrastructure.

To understand the significance of what has followed, it is important to situate Nigeria’s satellite programme within a broader historical and economic context. Nigeria’s space ambitions date back to the early 2000s, driven by a recognition that terrestrial infrastructure alone could not solve the country’s connectivity challenges. Vast rural expanses, difficult terrain, and the high cost of fibre deployment meant that millions would remain excluded unless alternative technologies were deployed. Satellite offered that alternative—capable of reaching the unreached, connecting the disconnected, and doing so at scale.

But infrastructure, by itself, does not guarantee impact. It requires strategy, partnerships, and, crucially, a market.

What has changed in the past two years is not the satellite itself, but how it is being positioned. Under Egerton-Idehen’s leadership, NIGCOMSAT has shifted from a largely government-facing agency to a more commercially aware and partnership-driven enterprise. The expansion of television channels on its platform—from 45 to 150—and the growth of its audience from 2 million to 7 million Nigerians are not just statistics; they represent a deliberate effort to maximise existing capacity and prove relevance in a competitive media landscape.

Equally important is the organisation’s role in Nigeria’s Digital Switch Over, executed in partnership with the National Broadcasting Commission. For years, the transition from analogue to digital broadcasting has been slow and uneven. Satellite infrastructure, with its wide coverage and reliability, provides the backbone needed to accelerate that transition. In this sense, NIGCOMSAT is not merely a participant but an enabler of a long-delayed national reform.

Perhaps the most consequential shift, however, lies in connectivity. Nigeria’s digital divide is not just a technological issue; it is an economic and social fault line. Urban centres continue to attract investment in fibre and mobile networks, while rural communities remain underserved because the business case for traditional infrastructure is weak. By partnering with companies such as MTN Nigeria and IHS Towers, NIGCOMSAT is positioning satellite as a complementary layer—extending coverage to places where cables cannot easily go.

This has real-world implications. It means a rural clinic can access telemedicine services. It means a school in a remote community can connect to digital learning platforms. It means security agencies, including the Nigerian Navy, can maintain communication in environments where terrestrial networks fail. These are not abstract gains; they are practical interventions in some of Nigeria’s most persistent development challenges.

The introduction of the NIGCOMSAT Accelerator Programme in 2024 adds another dimension to this transformation. Historically, space infrastructure in many countries has been treated as a closed system—owned and operated by government, with limited avenues for private sector innovation. By opening access to startups, NIGCOMSAT is effectively democratising its infrastructure, allowing entrepreneurs to build solutions on top of it.

The significance of this cannot be overstated. More than 80 startups have already passed through the programme, developing applications that range from security-focused drone systems to healthcare connectivity platforms. The example of rural hospitals being linked through VSAT technology illustrates a broader point: when infrastructure becomes accessible, innovation follows. By training over 500 young Nigerians—many of them women—the programme is also investing in human capital, ensuring that the country is not just a consumer of technology, but a creator.

At the policy level, voices like Bosun Tijani have reinforced the strategic importance of satellite technology. His assertion that satellite systems sit at the centre of global digital transformation reflects a growing consensus: connectivity is no longer optional; it is foundational. In this context, Nigeria’s status as the only West African country with its own communications satellite is not just a point of pride—it is a strategic advantage that must be fully leveraged.

That advantage is set to deepen with the planned launch of NigComSat-2A and NigComSat-2B, approved by the federal government and scheduled for 2028 and 2029. These satellites will expand capacity, improve redundancy, and position Nigeria to meet growing demand for broadband and digital services. More importantly, they signal continuity—a recognition that space infrastructure is not a one-off investment, but a long-term commitment.

Yet, even as progress is evident, it would be premature to declare victory. Challenges remain. The sustainability of commercial gains, competition from global satellite providers, regulatory bottlenecks, and the broader economic environment will all shape the trajectory of NIGCOMSAT’s transformation. The real test will be whether these early gains can be consolidated into a durable, self-sustaining model that continues to deliver value beyond government support.

Still, there is a clear shift underway. For years, Nigeria’s satellite story was one of quiet existence—present, functional, but largely peripheral to the national conversation. Today, it is becoming central to discussions about connectivity, innovation, and economic inclusion.

Egerton-Idehen captured this vision succinctly when she framed investment in space as an investment in education, healthcare, security, and commerce. That framing matters because it reframes the narrative: from space as a distant, technical domain to space as a practical tool for development.

In the end, the story of Nigeria’s satellite is not just about technology. It is about utilisation, leadership, and the ability to translate infrastructure into impact. After years of circling with untapped potential, the satellite that once seemed content to stand still is now moving—steadily, deliberately—into the centre of Nigeria’s development agenda.

Danjuma Amodu is a journalist and public analyst based in Abuja. He writes on governance, digital infrastructure, and public policy.

The Satellite That Refused to Stand Still: Why Nigeria’s Space Asset Is Finally Coming Into Its Own

Amupiutated – In Touch, The Nation newspaper

By Sam Omatseye

The man in the nightmare of Atiku, Mark, Aregbesola and company must be one Nafiu Gombe. He was a sore thumb on creation day. That is, when the rains started to beat the coalition. He did not resign. No one has asked what the fellows in the Ralph Nwosu-led executive took from the army of occupation that Gombe did not get. They did not drop out for nothing. ADC was not formed for charity. It was no virgin asking for a rapist. The coalition of the wounded gave something. We want to know why and what.

We should also know why Gombe has not flinched. Did he get the offer and look the other way? Was he not ready to succumb for the cheap. What was the scale and character of the settlement?

Many media folks and reporters love the ADC folks too much to expose them? Maybe the few reporters and editors who want the truth ought to dig and soil their shovels. In Warri, in my boyhood years, we delighted in the phrase, “cheap article dey run belle.” It simply means, if you prefer to buy infested piece of food because it is cheap, a running stomach awaits you. ADC is in the belly of storm.

The ADC folks did not want to do the work of forming a political party. They settled for the aje butter formula. They want what is easy instead of what is true. They did not want to sweat, wait, get bruised, stumble and follow the narrow path. When they tried, they formed ADA. It sounded like a sister’s name. Then they learned it was a copycat. They did not know how to even name a party. So, they wanted a soup already cooked. Now they are having running stomach and they are blaming someone else who spent all day in the kitchen deploying heat and ingredients. What ADC has done is what Eleyinmi in Village Headmaster will call “nonsense and ingredients.”

Let us have some language lesson with the word ante bellum. It is latin, and we know lawyers have afflicted themselves with that ancient language. So, we can start with ante, and it means ‘before,’ ‘in front of’ or ‘prior to.’ Bellum means war or warfare. INEC chair Prof. Joash Amupitan has cleared the fog in his interview with Arise TV anchor Reuben Abati.

The folks in the ADC and their television lawyers are alien to this fact. When the Court of Appeal says the factions should revert to the status quo ante bellum, it means before the war in the ADC. So, when did the war in the ADC begin? Was it not when David Mark and his disciples browbeat the party executive to stand down? They did not resign a bloc. There is no constitutional recognition of group abdication. They did as individuals. Their trouble is with Gomb, who says it is his emilokan moment to be the party chairman.

ADC says he resigned. He said he did not. ADC is circulating what looks like a letter. It reads like a form. Did the ADC produce a stock letter for resignation whereby a person fills his name like a form? Everyone resigns for different reasons. But the letter in circulation looks like one written as though everyone must sign with the same reason and the same language. Even the handwriting in the same so-called letter is not consistent with a conflict of cursive and straight penmanship. Again, the letter was sent to INEC about four months after his purported resignation. Mariama Ba wrote a work titled: So Long a Letter. For ADC, so long a letter travels. We want to know if the ADC has the audacity to tender a forged letter in court; if, that is, Gombe’s denial is right. It will be defending a crime with a crime. It is also called double jeopardy. Fela would call it deady body get accident… Deady body break bone..Na double wahala for deady body and the owner of deady body.

The subplot of this drama is a battle of memory. Are they trying to play with the remembrance of things past, apologies to Marcel Proust. It is not like Proust which happened a long time ago. This is just months. Or is it like when Shakespeare says that they are making “a sinner of memory to credit a lie.”?

So, ante bellum means before that moment when the hostilities fomented, and it means before Mark was installed. Gombe never accepted Mark, and he believes he (Gombe)is the authentic chairman. That makes, in his lights, Mark a usurper.

Because the ADC folks are no respecters of the law, they have vowed to conduct their conventions and congresses, even though the court warned against any act on both sides. It means the folks are not serious. One Chidi Odinkalu said the professor – and Chidi is nowhere near a professor – who is INEC chair should not interpret the court verdict. A hollow man indeed he is. He wants Amupitan to go seek legal clarification in court. I know Chidi and his folks cannot write a manifesto yet, but who stops him and his ADC from going to court to seek same?

They cannot form a party. They cannot take over a party. They cannot settle everyone. They cannot interpret a court decision. They cannot write a manifesto as yet. They cannot obey court order. They are busy playing a club of political retirees without knowing it. They even have representatives abroad. Maybe they should ask for that task one of their stars, Rabiu Kwakwanso, who has been barred for terror reasons from the United States. He, too, should go to the Hague. Chidi should be his attorney for top dollar. ADC can pay.

They see themselves in ADC as a kaleidoscope of our politics. ADC glitters but no gold. Real gold takes a lot of digging. They should ask the president how he did his work. Some of the ADC men like Rauf know it.

Tinubu started his work years ago, and his political career in this republic began with the Alliance for Democracy. He did not found it but he ran from its grassroots to be governor. Just like his tour as president, he started with crisis. He did not cry. Rather he tackled the foes. One group was the elders of the Afenifere who wanted to lord it over him. They wanted to make him a marionette. They tried to impose Ganiyu Dawodu, who almost purloined his victory for Funsho Williams. He did not cry but worked within the party to get it back. They wanted to control Tinubu, his policies, his appointees. He defeated them. The trojan Babatunde Raji Fashola (SAN), who was Tinubu’s chief of staff tells for my upcoming book an incident when he banged the table in his office about not ceding an inch to them. The other battle was with Obasanjo, who planted spies and worms in the AD, wanted to weaken the party for the 2007 polls, a story told with Pathos by Olawale Oshun in his book The Kiss of Death. Tinubu did not cry like ADC about OBJ trying to kill his party. Neither did he compromise. He manoeuvred and blindsided and ambushed the general by forming the Action Congress. The stealth and imagination that led to the formation of AC reads like the story of witchcraft. But the details must not be unveiled here until my book tells it blow by blow. It was a political thriller. Even OBJ cannot tell it in public to save his ego. And some of those who took part in the scheme did not know who was pulling the strings and why. In an interview with one of them, he confessed, “But I was not aware.”

Yet, in the 2003 elections, when other states fell in the Southwest to the OBJ shenanigans, Lagos State was left unscathed. How did Tinubu ride the Tiger to his destination and the tiger was thankful and only growled away. Both beast and rider waved goodbye. He was going to beat the tiger later and reinforce the image of the last man standing.

Even if OBJ did sweep the Southwest states for his men, the same Tinubu did not weep. He went to work and the states, Edo, Oyo, Ogun, Osun, Ekiti, Ondo, all became progressives. In a famous Fashola line, they came back “one by one by God.”

After that, Tinubu pitched for the centre. No one can doubt that he was the architect and spirit behind the fall of PDP with Jonathan’s ouster. In one sweep, he redeemed Buhari and ended what was dreamed as a dynasty for 60 years.

Emilokan and Olule came as a war cry from Abeokuta. He beat his party leaders. Not strange to him. He did that in Lagos with Afenifere. He had said in Yoruba that they who wanted to scuttle his ambition with fuel and currency scarcity did not know the way home. The rest is history.

The ADC folks are crying because Amupitan obeyed the law. They were Amupiutated and they are crying. No legs to kick and hands to blow. The Supreme Court has not ruled, yet they are taking the laws into their hands. They plan to scare us by catastrophising the situation. They are imagining hell because they have no power to fight. They boasted over FCT polls that it would be bellwether of their popularity. How hard they fell.

As the cliché goes, you cannot make an omelette without breaking an egg. They want it served hot. It invokes Herman Melville’s classic novel Moby Dick where an ambitious amputee captain goes to sea to avenge of a white whale.

Amupiutated – In Touch, The Nation newspaper