Opinion
Whither Abakaliki Rice?
Abakaliki, the capital city of Ebonyi State is well known for its rice production potential since the inception of Nigeria as a country. Although the crude approach to its rice production from the onset, posed a serious challenge as local consumers showed preference for imported rice like Uncle Ben’s and the likes after the Nigeria/Biafra civil war.
The relegation of the Abakaliki-produced rice to the exclusive of the second class citizens due to its poorly refined nature, affected its revenue generation capacity, but that never deterred its continuous production even though it could not boost the state’s foreign reserve.
Today, the doggedness of Abakaliki rice producers in spite of all odds, has made the city renowned for rice production among other local farm produce. This, of course, was not without the efforts of the Ebonyi State Government which established a rice mill as the first industry after the creation of the State in 1996.
With the evolvement of modern technologies in the production of this rice, it is now reckoned to be very nutritious coupled with the fact that it is salted naturally with good taste.
Abakaliki rice has thus become a must-serve meal in many Nigerian homes, a reason for which the government of Ebonyi State has considered a triplication of the rice milling industry in the state, to meet the local market demand as well as for exportation.
Although reasonably priced, Abakaliki rice gained high patronage by the indigenous citizens of Nigeria when rice importation was banned by the Federal Government. The fact that there was no better alternative made people from various places in Nigeria to visit Ebonyi State just to buy rice. Till date, the industry remains the major revenue earner to Ebonyi State Government.
With all that has been said and known about Abakaliki rice, ranging from its rich nutritive value that has earned it the consumers’ favourite, to its price affordability, one is worried by the scarcity of this same product in many states of the federation, Rivers State to be precise. With all the emphasis on locally made rice, it has not been easy getting Abakaliki rice in Port Harcourt.
I recall that the Nigerian Customs Service (NCS) recently announced a seizure of two hundred and five thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five (205,825) bags of rice with a duty paid value of over N1 billion from rice smugglers between March 2016 and March 2017. This excludes another one hundred and thirty-six thousand, five hundred and six (136,506) 50kg bags of rice seized between January and March (2016).
The Public Relations Officer of the service, Mr Joseph Attah, said the reinstatement of the ban on rice importation through the land borders, few months after it had been lifted in 2016, was to stem the tide of rice smuggling, protect Nigerians and shift taste to locally produced rice.
If therefore, the whole idea of banning the importation of rice amidst other essential goods, and ensuring its implementation to the letter, is to protect Nigerians and shift taste to locally made goods, what then is the guarantee that these intentions would be met when the locally produced goods are not made available?
Could it have been that the Abakaliki rice is not produced in such commercial quantity, sufficient enough to serve the local consumers? Or is the distributive channel faulty? I should suppose that production is only said to be complete when the produced good arrives its purported destination.
From the foregoing, I’m afraid that the plea by the Nigerian Custom’s image maker, Mr Attah, that “all Nigerians should see smuggling as a crime so as to be willing to give credible information” about the smugglers may suffer some form of frustration if this story of lack of locally produced rice persists.
It is, therefore, my thought that if the fight against dependence on foreign rice must be won, Nigeria must consider it imperative to improve the domestic industry so as to not only feed the local market, but also serve as foreign reserve earner for the country.
Sylvia ThankGod-Amadi
The events that unfolded in Abuja on Tuesday November 11, 2025 between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Chief Nyesom Wike and a detachment of soldiers guarding a disputed property, led by Adams Yerima, a commissioned Naval Officer, may go down as one of the defining images of Nigeria’s democratic contradictions. It was not merely a quarrel over land. It was a confrontation between civil authority and the military legacy that still hovers over our national life.
Nyesom Wike, fiery and fearless as always, was seen on video exchanging words with a uniformed officer who refused to grant him passage to inspect a parcel of land alleged to have been illegally acquired. The minister’s voice rose, his temper flared, and the soldier, too, stood his ground, insisting on his own authority. Around them, aides, security men, and bystanders watched, stunned, as two embodiments of the Nigerian state clashed in the open.
The images spread fast, igniting debates across drawing rooms, beer parlours, and social media platforms. Some hailed Wike for standing up to military arrogance; others scolded him for perceived disrespect to the armed forces. Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question about what sort of society we are building and whether power in Nigeria truly understands the limits of its own reach.
It is tragic that, more than two decades into civil rule, the relationship between the civilian arm of government and the military remains fragile and poorly understood. The presence of soldiers in a land dispute between private individuals and the city administration is, by all civic standards, an aberration. It recalls a dark era when might was right, and uniforms conferred immunity against accountability.
Wike’s anger, even if fiery, was rooted in a legitimate concern: that no individual, however connected or retired, should deploy the military to protect personal interests. That sentiment echoes the fundamental democratic creed that the law is supreme, not personalities. If his passion overshot decorum, it was perhaps a reflection of a nation weary of impunity.
On the other hand, the soldier in question is a symbol of another truth: that discipline, respect for order, and duty to hierarchy are ingrained in our armed forces. He may have been caught between conflicting instructions one from his superiors, another from a civilian minister exercising his lawful authority. The confusion points not to personal failure but to institutional dysfunction.
It is, therefore, simplistic to turn the incident into a morality play of good versus evil.
*********”**** What happened was an institutional embarrassment. Both men represented facets of the same failing system a polity still learning how to reconcile authority with civility, law with loyalty, and service with restraint.
In fairness, Wike has shown himself as a man of uncommon courage. Whether in Rivers State or at the FCTA, he does not shy away from confrontation. Yet courage without composure often feeds misunderstanding. A public officer must always be the cooler head, even when provoked, because the power of example outweighs the satisfaction of winning an argument.
Conversely, soldiers, too, must be reminded that their uniforms do not place them above civilian oversight. The military exists to defend the nation, not to enforce property claims or intimidate lawful authorities. Their participation in purely civil matters corrodes the image of the institution and erodes public trust.
One cannot overlook the irony: in a country where kidnappers roam highways and bandits sack villages, armed men are posted to guard contested land in the capital. It reflects misplaced priorities and distorted values. The Nigerian soldier, trained to defend sovereignty, should not be drawn into private or bureaucratic tussles.
Sycophancy remains the greatest ailment of our political culture. Many of those who now cheer one side or the other do so not out of conviction but out of convenience. Tomorrow they will switch allegiance. True patriotism lies not in defending personalities but in defending principles. A people enslaved by flattery cannot nurture a culture of justice.
The Nigerian elite must learn to submit to the same laws that govern the poor. When big men fence off public land and use connections to shield their interests, they mock the very constitution they swore to uphold. The FCT, as the mirror of national order, must not become a jungle where only the powerful can build.
The lesson for Wike himself is also clear: power is best exercised with calmness. The weight of his office demands more than bravery; it demands statesmanship. To lead is not merely to command, but to persuade — even those who resist your authority.
Equally, the lesson for the armed forces is that professionalism shines brightest in restraint. Obedience to illegal orders is not loyalty; it is complicity. The soldier who stands on the side of justice protects both his honour and the dignity of his uniform.
The Presidency, too, must see this episode as a wake-up call to clarify institutional boundaries. If soldiers can be drawn into civil enforcement without authorization, then our democracy remains at risk of subtle militarization. The constitution must speak louder than confusion.
The Nigerian public deserves better than spectacles of ego. We crave leaders who rise above emotion and officers who respect civilian supremacy. Our children must not inherit a nation where authority means shouting matches and intimidation in public glare.
Every democracy matures through such tests. What matters is whether we learn the right lessons. The British once had generals who defied parliament; the Americans once fought over states’ rights; Nigeria, too, must pass through her own growing pains but with humility, not hubris.
If the confrontation has stirred discomfort, then perhaps it has done the nation some good. It forces a conversation long overdue: Who truly owns the state — the citizen or the powerful? Can we build a Nigeria where institutions, not individuals, define our destiny?
As the dust settles, both the FCTA and the military hierarchy must conduct impartial investigations. The truth must be established — not to shame anyone, but to restore order. Where laws were broken, consequences must follow. Where misunderstandings occurred, apologies must be offered.
Let the rule of law triumph over the rule of impulse. Let civility triumph over confrontation. Let governance return to the path of dialogue and procedure.
Nigeria cannot continue to oscillate between civilian bravado and military arrogance. Both impulses spring from the same insecurity — the fear of losing control. True leadership lies in the ability to trust institutions to do their work without coercion.
Those who witnessed the clash saw a drama of two gladiators. One in starched khaki, one in well-cut suit. Both proud, both unyielding. But a nation cannot be built on stubbornness; it must be built on understanding. Power, when it meets power, should produce order, not chaos.
We must resist the temptation to glorify temper. Governance is not warfare; it is stewardship. The citizen watches, the world observes, and history records. How we handle moments like this will define our collective maturity.
The confrontation may have ended without violence, but it left deep questions in the national conscience. When men of authority quarrel in the open, institutions tremble. The people, once again, become spectators in a theatre of misplaced pride.
It is time for all who hold office — civilian or military — to remember that they serve under the same flag. That flag is neither khaki nor political colour; it is green-white-green, and it demands humility.
No victor, no vanquish only a lesson for a nation still learning to govern itself with dignity.
By; King Onunwor
