Unscheduled and Unfiltered: How Visiting Africa Restores the Soul

Living in England teaches you how to shrink neatly into the spaces allotted to you. Over months and years, life takes on a quiet, cloistered rhythm—shaped by brick walls, narrow terraced streets, double-glazed windows, and the polite, unspoken boundaries that keep everyone comfortably apart. Days are measured by grey skies, train delays, and calendars booked weeks in advance. It is a safe, orderly existence, yet there are moments when you realise you have been holding your breath without knowing it, moving through life behind glass, insulated from the elements and from one another.

That is why stepping off the plane in Africa never feels like a simple holiday to me; it feels like a physical release.

The relief begins the moment the cabin doors open. Warm, unfiltered air rushes in, carrying the smell of dust, woodsmoke, and sun-baked earth—a sharp contrast to the damp, recycled chill left behind. Even the sky seems to operate on a different scale, vast and uncontained, stretching out without the familiar patchwork of hedgerows, fences, and brick boundaries that divide the English countryside into tidy, manageable squares. Outdoors is not a place you brave between errands; it is where life actually happens.

Just as restorative is the sudden thaw in human connection. In England, so much energy goes into respecting invisible perimeters—apologising when brushing past someone on a pavement, keeping voices low on a commuter carriage, waiting for the right occasion to speak. In Africa, that guardedness dissolves almost immediately. People meet your eyes. Greetings are unhurried and genuine, treated not as an interruption to the day, but as the whole point of crossing paths. Being surrounded by that warmth reminds me that solitude is not the default human condition, and that I do not have to carry every moment of my day in quiet self-containment.

Even time feels lighter. In Britain, the clock is a constant taskmaster, slicing days into anxious increments of productivity. There, time expands. Conversations run their natural course; plans bend around weather, laughter, or an unexpected invitation. At first, my tightly wound habits always resist that looseness, until I remember that nothing urgent is actually being lost—only the illusion that everything must be controlled.

I know that life in England offers its own quiet comforts, and that nowhere is without its struggles. Yet every trip back to Africa strips away the subtle armour I accumulate living in a place so defined by walls, schedules, and reserve. Standing under an immense, open sky, surrounded by unscripted warmth and the hum of life spilling freely into the streets, I always feel the same quiet gratitude: the feeling of finally exhaling, and remembering what it is like to feel completely alive.

Human Capital or Macroeconomic Orthodoxy? Evaluating President Bola Tinubu’s Economic Reforms in Nigeria

Highlight: "Historically, nations that transitioned from economic stagnation to sustained prosperity—such as the East Asian economies in the late twentieth century—paired market-oriented reforms with heavy, targeted investments in human welfare, public education, healthcare, and domestic industrial production. They recognised that a healthy, educated, and financially secure population is the primary engine of economic expansion, not an afterthought to be addressed once fiscal targets are met."

The assertion that no country has ever achieved lasting economic success by deprioritising the wellbeing of its population speaks to a central tension in modern development economics: the balance between fiscal correction and human welfare. An economy is not merely an abstract set of balance sheets, foreign reserves, and gross domestic product (GDP) projections; it is a system built by and for people. 

When President Bola Tinubu assumed office in May 2023, Nigeria stood at a precarious fiscal crossroads. His administration immediately embarked on sweeping structural adjustments—most notably the removal of the decades-old petrol subsidy and the liberalisation of the foreign exchange market. While international financial institutions and investors have largely applauded these measures for averting a sovereign debt crisis and restoring macroeconomic stability, the immediate and severe erosion of Nigerian living standards raises a critical question: can structural reform succeed if the human foundation of the nation is pushed to the brink?

To understand the logic behind President Tinubu’s economic blueprint, one must acknowledge the unsustainable reality Nigeria faced in 2023. For years, the federal government spent trillions of naira subsidising fuel consumption while maintaining an artificial, multi-tiered exchange rate regime that drained foreign reserves, encouraged arbitrage, and starved states of funds for basic infrastructure. By dismantling these distortions, the administration sought to stop fiscal bleeding and unlock capital for long-term national development. By late 2026, proponents of these policies point to clear macroeconomic milestones: foreign reserves have climbed to roughly $55 billion, GDP growth has accelerated past 4 percent, headline inflation has moderated from its 2024 peak of 34 percent to around 14 percent, and federal allocations to state governments have surged. In the view of the administration and institutions like the World Bank’s Nigeria Development Update, these tough decisions were the painful but necessary medicine required to prevent total economic collapse and lay the groundwork for a $1 trillion economy.

However, economic history demonstrates that macroeconomic stability on paper does not automatically translate into human prosperity—and when reforms are sequenced without adequate social protection, they risk undermining the very growth they aim to create. The simultaneous removal of fuel subsidies and devaluation of the naira triggered an acute cost-of-living crisis that severely diminished the purchasing power of ordinary Nigerians. Transportation fares multiplied, electricity tariffs rose, and staple food prices surged. According to the International Monetary Fund's 2026 Article IV Consultation, approximately 63 percent of Nigerians fell below the national poverty line, with tens of millions experiencing acute food insecurity.

Critics argue that this intense hardship stems not necessarily from the decision to reform, but from a failure to prioritise citizen wellbeing during implementation. Rather than cushioning vulnerable households before unleashing inflationary shocks, social safety nets—such as cash transfers, public transport alternatives like Compressed Natural Gas (CNG) buses, and minimum wage adjustments—arrived slowly or proved insufficient against runaway prices. When citizens spend nearly all their income on survival, domestic consumption shrinks, small businesses fold under high energy and borrowing costs, and productivity suffers. Furthermore, widespread poverty and malnutrition directly erode human capital—weakening healthcare outcomes, forcing children out of school, and fuelling brain drain as skilled professionals emigrate in search of stability.

Historically, nations that transitioned from economic stagnation to sustained prosperity—such as the East Asian economies in the late twentieth century—paired market-oriented reforms with heavy, targeted investments in human welfare, public education, healthcare, and domestic industrial production. They recognised that a healthy, educated, and financially secure population is the primary engine of economic expansion, not an afterthought to be addressed once fiscal targets are met.

In Nigeria, the Tinubu administration has increasingly acknowledged this disconnect, introducing initiatives such as the Nigerian Education Loan Fund (NELFUND), multi-billion-dollar poverty-reduction interventions, and tax reforms designed to exempt low-income earners. President Tinubu himself has noted that macroeconomic figures alone cannot justify the sacrifices Nigerians have endured unless those gains are felt in ordinary households.

Ultimately, Nigeria’s economic trajectory under President Tinubu serves as a real-time test of whether macroeconomic orthodoxy can survive without immediate social dividends. Fiscal discipline and market efficiency are vital for any modern state, yet they remain means to an end rather than the end itself. If Nigeria is to achieve genuine, sustainable economic success, its policy framework must bridge the gap between state revenues and citizen reality—ensuring that the pursuit of a balanced budget never comes at the permanent expense of the people who sustain the nation.

There Are Many Angry Nigerians

There are a lot of angry Nigerians. 

However, threatening behaviour is a crime in the UK under public order and criminal law. These Nigerians are present in the UK and are therefore subject to UK law. The law is not interested in whether you were rightly angry or not. "Rig and you will die" is a clear threat. 

Legal definition of a threat in general criminal law:

Actus Reus (The Act): Making a statement or communication to another person threatening death or serious harm.

Mens Rea (The Intent): Intending that the recipient fears the threat will be carried out (or being reckless as to whether they fear it).

Conditional vs. Direct Threats: A statement like "if you rig, you will die" is conditional. In many legal systems, a conditional threat can still be a criminal offence if it places a specific individual in reasonable fear of unlawful violence.

In Nigeria the phrase has recently circulated prominently in political discourse—ahead of the upcoming presidential elections—referencing warnings against electoral malpractice (election rigging). 

The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) has condemned the slogan, stating through officials like Mohammed Kudu Haruna that it is dangerous, inflammatory, and capable of inciting "jungle justice" or vigilante violence against poll workers, ad-hoc staff, and political opponents. Under Nigerian constitutional law (such as Section 33 regarding the right to life), extrajudicial killing or summary execution for a crime like electoral malpractice is illegal; offenders must be handled through due process and the courts.

Some commentators and figures have argued that the statement is a warning about the natural or moral consequences of corruption, or a reminder that breaking the law carries grave risks, rather than a direct criminal threat issued by one individual to murder a specific person. Human rights lawyers have also debated whether it constitutes an explicit incitement to violence or a political slogan targeted at malpractice. 

My own opinion: When used broadly as political rhetoric or a generalised warning against a criminal/fraudulent act rather than a targeted interpersonal menace, it should fall into the grey area of inflammatory speech, public safety concern, or incitement rather than a direct prosecution for a personal threat to kill.

Video courtesy Sahara TV (Nigerians Confront INEC Chairman at Chatham House in London over Voters Register)

Why I Still Blog in an Age of Endless Scrolling

Spend ten minutes on any major social media app today, and you can feel your brain shifting gears. We aren’t really reading anymore; we’re scanning. Driven by algorithmic feeds, infinite scrolling, and fifteen-second videos, the modern internet is built for speed. It rewards whatever stops a thumb mid-scroll, which means immediate reaction has quietly replaced sustained reflection.

In an environment designed for split-second attention, thoughtfulness becomes a liability. Nuance doesn't fit neatly into a twenty-second clip. Worse, the way these platforms are built ties everything we say directly to personal branding. Every thought is stamped with a profile picture, a follower count, and a public scoreboard of likes. When you post on social media, you aren't just sharing an idea—you are managing an image, chasing reach, or feeding an algorithm. It’s hard to be truly honest when you’re performing for an invisible crowd.

That is precisely why I still love blogging.

For those of us who aren't trying to build a personal brand, go viral, or monetise our lives, a personal blog remains the best corner of the internet. Unlike social media, where you are essentially renting space on a noisy, algorithm-controlled stage, a blog is a quiet room of your own. There is no character limit forcing you to chop an idea in half before it’s fully formed. Nobody is penalising you for taking three paragraphs just to set up a thought. Here, an idea is allowed to breathe, wander, and arrive at its own conclusion.

More than anything, blogging takes away the pressure of the crowd. Without the constant dopamine hit of real-time metrics—or the low-grade anxiety of a comment section pile-on—you are free to stop performing. When you strip away self-promotion and money, writing goes back to what it was always meant to be: a way to think out loud. Half the time, I don't sit down at the keyboard knowing exactly what I believe; I write to figure it out. A blank page gives you permission to be uncertain, vulnerable, and genuinely curious—things that rarely survive the harsh glare of a timeline.

To me, blogging is still the rawest, most honest way to put yourself out into the world. It isn't polished for a brand deal, packaged for a trend cycle, or rushed out to beat a twenty-four-hour news clock. A blog post doesn't need a flashy hook or trending audio to justify taking up space. Its only job is to say what you actually mean, as clearly as you can.

Social media is only going to get faster, louder, and more focused on metrics. And that's fine—it has its place. But as long as there are people who care more about depth than reach, and understanding than applause, the humble blog isn't going anywhere. There is still nothing quite like the quiet, deliberate act of sitting down and putting real words on a page.

The Quiet Sanctuary

Why blogging endures in an age of fleeting attention.

Over the last decade, the architecture of the modern internet has undergone a quiet, fundamental shift. Where the early web once encouraged lingering, reading, and wandering down rabbit holes of interconnected thought, today’s dominant social media platforms are engineered for velocity. Driven by algorithmic feeds, infinite scrolling, and the explosive rise of short-form video, social media has conditioned us to consume information in fractions of a second. In this environment, the currency is immediate reaction rather than sustained reflection, and thoughtfulness has been steadily pushed to the margins.

This shift has altered not only how we consume media, but how we express ourselves. When a platform rewards whatever stops a thumb mid-scroll, nuance becomes a liability. Complex ideas are compressed into punchy aphorisms, twenty-second video clips, or outrage-inducing hot takes. Furthermore, the mechanics of modern social media inherently tie expression to personal branding. Every post is accompanied by a profile picture, a follower count, and a public ledger of likes and shares. As a result, much of online communication is filtered through the lens of self-promotion, curated self-image, or the pursuit of monetisation. People perform their thoughts for an invisible audience, optimising their words for engagement rather than truth.

Yet, precisely because the mainstream digital square has become so loud and transactional, a quieter, older medium continues to thrive beneath the surface: the personal blog.

For those whose primary goal is neither fame, fortune, nor carefully managed optics, blogging remains the preferred refuge. Unlike social media, which demands that you rent space on an algorithmically controlled stage, a blog is a room of one's own. There is no character limit forcing an idea to be truncated before it is fully formed, and no algorithm penalising a writer for taking three paragraphs to set up a premise. On a blog, an idea is allowed to breathe, meander, and arrive at its conclusion at its own natural pace.

More importantly, blogging removes the immediate pressure of the crowd. Without the constant dopamine loop of real-time metrics or the anxiety of a viral pile-on, the writer is freed from performing. When self-promotion and monetisation are stripped away, writing returns to its most fundamental purpose: a tool for thinking. Often, a blogger does not sit down knowing exactly what they believe; they write to figure it out. The blank page offers space for vulnerability, uncertainty, and genuine curiosity—qualities that rarely survive the harsh glare of a social media feed.

In this sense, blogging remains the rawest and most honest way to express one's thoughts online. It is unpolished by design, unfiltered by trend cycles, and unhurried by the ticking clock of a twenty-four-hour news cycle. A blog post does not need a flashy hook or a trending audio track to justify its existence. Its value lies entirely in the clarity of the prose and the sincerity of the mind behind it.

Social media will likely continue to accelerate, shrinking our collective attention spans and turning ever more of human interaction into a marketplace of personal brands. Yet as long as there are people who value depth over reach, and understanding over applause, the humble blog will endure. It stands as a reminder that the most meaningful conversations on the internet do not happen in the shout of the crowd, but in the quiet, deliberate act of putting words on a page.

How Foreign Industrial Fishing is Sinking African Livelihoods

Along the coastlines of Africa, from the bustling beaches of Senegal to the estuaries of Kenya, the ocean has sustained generations of coastal communities. For millions of artisanal fishermen, small-scale fishing is far more than a job; it is a cultural heritage, a primary source of affordable protein, and the economic backbone of entire towns. However, this way of life is facing an existential crisis. The rapid expansion of foreign industrial commercial fishing fleets—primarily from East Asia and Europe—has triggered a severe ecological and economic collapse. Through overexploitation, illegal practices, and lopsided trade agreements, foreign industrial trawlers are systematically stripping African waters of their marine wealth, leaving local fishermen without a catch, an income, or a future. 

Ecological Destruction and Stock Depletion

The core driver of the crisis is the sheer scale and destructiveness of industrial fishing technology compared to traditional methods. While local fishermen venture out in wooden canoes using handlines and small nets, foreign distant-water fleets deploy massive bottom trawlers and purse seiners capable of scooping up in a single day what a local village catches in a year. Bottom trawling drags heavy, weighted nets across the ocean floor, indiscriminately scooping up marine life and destroying critical breeding habitats like coral reefs and seagrass beds. This relentless extraction has pushed vital fish stocks to the brink of collapse. In West Africa—the epicenter of global illegal, unreported, and unregulated (IUU) fishing—catches of small pelagic fish like sardinella have plummeted. In Ghana alone, total catches of these staple fish dropped by nearly 60% over a few decades. Because industrial vessels operate with high-tech sonar and massive storage capacities, local fishermen are forced to travel farther out to sea in fragile, unequipped canoes, risking their lives for increasingly empty nets. 

Direct Conflict and Economic Marginalisation

Beyond depleting the ocean, foreign industrial fleets actively encroach upon the economic space of local fishers. Most African coastal nations designate an inshore exclusion zone—typically extending three to six nautical miles from the shore—exclusively for artisanal canoes. Yet, weak maritime surveillance and corruption allow foreign trawlers to routinely breach these boundaries. Incursions into inshore zones frequently result in industrial ships slicing through the nets and smashing the wooden boats of local fishermen, destroying expensive gear that took families years to finance. 

Furthermore, the economic ecosystem surrounding local fishing is being dismantled on land. Across countries like The Gambia and Senegal, foreign-backed fishmeal and fish oil (FMFO) factories have sprung up along the coast. These plants buy up massive quantities of juvenile fish, grinding them into feed for aquaculture farms in Europe and Asia. This practice starves local markets of affordable fish and devastates the livelihoods of local women, who traditionally dominate the processing, smoking, and selling of the daily catch. The financial toll is staggering: West Africa loses billions of dollars annually to illegal fishing, while the average annual income of artisanal canoes in places like Ghana has fallen by up to 40%. 

Governance Failures and Social Fallout 

The persistence of this exploitation stems from a combination of asymmetrical international agreements and weak domestic enforcement. Cash-strapped governments often sign lopsided Fisheries Partnership Agreements, selling access to their waters for a fraction of the actual market value of the exported catch.

Additionally, many foreign operators exploit regulatory loopholes by registering their ships under local flags—a practice known as "flagging in"—or using local front companies to bypass bans on foreign ownership. The human cost of this economic displacement ripples far beyond the shoreline. As fish become scarce and prohibitively expensive, coastal populations suffer from widespread food insecurity and "hidden hunger" caused by a lack of essential micronutrients. Stripped of their livelihoods and seeing no viable economic alternatives, thousands of young African fishermen have been driven to desperation. In Senegal and The Gambia, the collapse of the fishing industry has directly fuelled irregular migration, pushing former fishermen to risk their lives crossing the perilous Atlantic route to Europe in the very same wooden canoes they once used to feed their communities. 

Conclusion

 

Foreign industrial commercial fishing in African waters represents a modern tragedy of the commons, where short-term global profit is prioritised over long-term local survival. By decimating marine ecosystems, destroying local equipment, and diverting vital food supplies to foreign markets, distant-water fleets are robbing African coastal communities of their primary livelihood. Reversing this tide requires decisive action: African governments must strengthen maritime patrols, enforce inshore exclusion zones, cancel predatory licensing deals, and prioritise sustainable, community-led fisheries management. Without urgent intervention, the centuries-old tradition of African artisanal fishing risks being swept away entirely.