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 often falls into a 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)

A Special Moment

We were having lunch somewhere in Kenya and these two lovely kids came to join us, brother and sister Abigail and Collins. It was a joy sharing our meal with them. Abigail came first, then Collins came to join her. A special moment.

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.

Where I Stand

There are moments in life that sound larger in the retelling than they feel when you are standing inside them.

When a senior political leader made romantic advances towards me, the surreal part was not the intensity of the moment, but how ordinary my own reaction turned out to be. People often assume that proximity to immense power carries a kind of gravity that makes everything else feel small. In reality, it had the opposite effect. The sharper the contrast became between that world and my own, the clearer my priorities felt.

I did not feel torn, and I did not feel tempted. My thoughts went straight to my partner, and to the life we have spent years building together.

When you have shared a long history with someone, your relationship is not an idea you have to talk yourself into defending. It is simply the ground you stand on. It is made up of countless unremarkable days, quiet understandings, and the ease of being known without needing to explain yourself. Next to something that steady, a passing moment of flattery or status carries very little weight.

Saying no did not require a speech or a dramatic gesture. It was just a clear, simple refusal, followed by stepping back into the life I actually wanted. There was no sense of having given anything up, because nothing on offer was worth trading for what I already had.

Looking back, I rarely think about the encounter itself. What stays with me is the quiet reassurance of knowing where I belong. Titles come and go, and loud moments eventually pass, leaving behind the things that were real all along.

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.