Brothers and sisters, if you are or have ever been a local government councilor or chairman, a commissioner, a special assistant, a senior special assistant, a governor, a minister, an Honorable member of the House of Representatives, a Distinguished senator, a president and commander-in-chief of the Naija Armed Forces, then this epistle is for you. I bring you great tidings from my sumptuous lair in Oghara.

President Buhari’s silence translates as nonchalance towards his creditors, all Nigerians. Sadly, this indifference is the default, if feckless, attitude of those who occupy the space of leadership in Nigeria. These are the men and women who take the most from Nigeria but give back the least. Think about it: since assuming the presidency, has Mr. Buhari offered a serious policy statement about his country’s healthcare sector?

Nigerian institutions hardly ever function to keep the citizen at ease. Instead, they keep her in a constant state of unease, disquiet and anxiety.

What lofty and enduring dream could sprout in us when we have become accustomed to squalor, habituated to decrepitude, made our peace with detritus? What hope is there for us when we fetishise Dubai and flaunt our expensive Louis Vuitton handbags, and yet fail to realise that our country has become—is—an endless open toilet, overflowing with septic sludge? Okey Ndibe chronicles his recent visit to Nigeria, which he describes as a “nightmare”.

Think about it: when was the last time you heard a substantive policy statement from any of the ministers Mr. Buhari squandered six months to name?
On November 8, 2016 Americans elected Donald Trump as their 45th president. By the time you’re reading this, Mr. Trump would have named all his nominees for leadership of various government departments.

I have said this before: one of the hardest tasks is to predict how Nigerians would react in any given situation. We are a perplexing bunch, able to defy the most skilled pontificator. Imagine, then, my constant frustration. As one who has written for years on Nigerian affairs, I am often asked—both by audiences in Nigeria and abroad—to pronounce on the likely turn of events in my country of birth.

Junaid Mohammed may be the closest thing Nigerians have to a bipartisan gadfly, an equal opportunity traducer of the country’s rulers. A legislator in the Second Republic, Junaid was a frequent thorn on the side of former President Goodluck Jonathan. If he was right about Jonathan, could he be right about Buhari too?

Okey Ndibe: South Africa is in the midst—some would say the very incipient stage—of a major political and cultural revolt. One of the most remarkable things about this movement is that young people, mostly university students, are leading it. I call them Nelson Mandela’s grandchildren, but the nature and context of their ongoing struggle render that designation highly vexatious.

I’m deeply troubled by what appears to me to be Nigeria’s growing industry of making and exhibiting corpses, says Okey Ndibe.

A peculiarly Nigerian type of frenzy happened the week before last. The event was triggered by a report that a young woman named Amina Ali Nkeki, one of the more than 200 Chibok schoolgirls abducted the night of April 14, 2014, had been rescued.