Opinion

Reviewing Nigerian Content Policy

Published

2 years ago

October 25, 2023

The local content policy came into effect in Nigeria with the signing into law, on April 22, 2010, of the Nigerian Oil and Gas Industry Content Development (NOGICD) Act to enable greater, indigenous contributions in the Nigerian oil and gas industry, and thus boost national benefits from that sector of the economy. Perceived foreign dominance and dependency in the sector prompted agitations by Nigerians who claimed that greater local participation in the petroleum industry business would trap financial benefits homeward, as well as create industrial capacity-building for wider developments. The argument was strong, with less than 5 per cent in-country service contribution to the petroleum industry businesses as at 1990, with claim that Nigeria was experiencing capital flights to the tune of over $380 billion, coupled with an estimated loss of over two million jobs to countries where services were out-sourced. In 1990, as if to kick-start a response to these agitations, the then Minister of Petroleum Resources, Prof. Jibril Aminu, enabled the first award of oil blocks to 11 Nigerian companies. Prof Aminu was obviously convinced that Nigerians having worked for decades under the tutelage of International oil companies (IOCs), had acquired enough requisite experience and skills to run indigenous outfits.
Though that decision created some portfolio companies, it gave birth to indigenous companies like Atlas Petroleum and Cavendish Petroleum, who nurtured their Oil Prospecting Leases to points where they now operate Oil Mining Leases. Later awards and acquisitions from 1999 saw new generations of indigenous oil companies like Famfa Oil Ltd, Seplat Petroleum, Oando Energy Resources, Monipulo Energy, Emerald Energy Resources, Belema Oil, Sahara Energy Exploration, and so many others, becoming players in the oil and gas fields. As at year ending 2012, a total number of 109 Oil Mining Licenses (OMLs) and 92 Oil Prospecting Licenses (OPLs) had been granted indigenous operators. While these oil blocks are marginal fields, the figures represented just 11 per cent of the total leases with about 88 per cent still operated by the IOCs. To also empower local capacity in the oil services sector which is dominated by multinationals like Schlumberger, Haliburton and Baker Hughes, the federal government in 2003 enacted the Coastal and Inland Shipping (Cabotage) Act. The act, in principle, restricted the use of foreign vessels in domestic, coastal services and was aimed at promoting the development of indigenous vessel services along and within the Nigerian coastal channels.
The climax so far in the litany of reforms came last year with the signing of the Petroleum Industry Act (PIA). But, of all the introduced acts the NOGICD, signed in 2010, promised to be more far reaching and for the grass-roots, in terms of skills development, jobs creation and business capacity building.13 years after signing the NOGICD Act in furtherance of previous initiatives to protect ‘national interests’, how has the industry fared? How do we compare the economy, skills acquisition, remunerations for the few jobs still available, working conditions, job security, environmental standards and safety, as well as the general security? The current poor oil production data compared with previous records, and the ominous invest decisions by IOCs that resulted in divestments from almost all onshore assets, are clear testimonies of an industry in retrogression. The federal government should be more circumspect in drafting policies in ways that do not draw bad sentiments and backlashes from international partners. One wonders why the current economic malaise and rapidly depreciating naira should mirrow those of the 1970s. Prior to 1972 when the federal government signed the Nigerian Enterprises Promotion Decree (NEPD) a.k.a Indigenisation Decree, the US Dollar paired 1:1 with the Naira.
In less than a decade after NEPD, the Naira crashed to between N99 – N105 per Dollar. A flip to the present times shows that, while in 2010 when the NOGICD act was signed with similar ‘indigenisation’ reforms that culminated in the PIA of 2022, the Naira was N122.26 per Dollar, but has crashed to more than N1,000 per Dollar. A look at Nigeria’s oil production landscape might help our reflections. Of the 2.48 million barrels per day (mbpd) produced in 2012 during the years of high oil production records, 900,800 barrels per day (bpd) came from offshore, deepwater productions, representing 36.32 per cent of total production, while 1.5 mbpd came from the onshore and shallower water terrains. Of that 1.5 mbpd, local companies contributed only 276,000 bpd. It is obvious that the bulk of Nigeria’s oil production comes from onshore platforms, yet these are where the IOCs have divested from, and wherein local operators are supposedly waxing strong. What changed in the operations climate and why have production records not been sustained? While the production capacities of indigenous operators looked hopeful as at 2012, the expected revolution has not materialised to at least sustain the 2.48 mbpd of 2012. Meanwhile offshore production remains progressive.
Despite total production records dropping progressively to as low as 800,000 bpd last year, the Nigerian Content Development and Monitoring Board (NCDMB), claims Nigeria has attained 42 per cent total Nigeria content in the oil and gas industry with a 70 per cent target by 2027. Oil production is currently at 1.2 million barrels per day, a far cry from the 2.48 mbpd records of 2012, and Nigerians have lost jobs beyond 2010 levels even with rising population of youths. Apart from NCDMB’s Nigerian Content Development Fund assistance to part-finance onshore Floating Production Storage Offloading (FPSO) vessel integration facility, at the Lagos Deep Offshore Logistics Base (LADOL) which contributed to the EGINA FPSO construction, and the magnificent headquarters it built for itself at Yenagoa, Bayelsa State, the NCDMB has not initiated much transformations within the Niger Delta apart from a couple of training workshops and seminars. The NCDMB should roll out ambitious skills development programmes to create capacities that empower indigenous industries to create innovations and jobs. It should also investigate why the expected revolutions in the oil and gas industry which was to overspill into other industries, has not yet materialised, and instead there is retrogression occasioned by low oil production and job losses. The Trans-Amadi Industrial Layout, a former bee-hive of oil and gas activities, has become a ghost layout.
While the initiatives to enable indigenous participation in the oil and gas industry is in the right direction, the environment should be made conducive for technologically advanced IOCs to operate as skills reference peers who create hard and soft skills transfer. The successes of Asian nations were attained by giving international technologies free hand to employ local labour and resources to make profits, while developing the nations in the process. The capacity to ensure security of personnel, production facilities and products, as well as the ethical skills strength to maintain transparent, accurate records, should be NCDMB’s focus as an aspect of content input to reverse the onshore losses, rather than eulogising itself in a time the entire economy is drowning due to unpresidented levels of corruption within its area of supervision. The wings of the NCDMB appears clipped however in the new PIA, which makes the minister of state for petroleum head of board, the latter being a direct errand boy to Nigerian presidents who have become penchant for doubling as petroleum ministers. For former President Muhammadu Buhari and his minister of state to have handled that portfolio amidst eight straight years of poor performance without a solution, is enough reason for introspection.

Opinion

Wike VS Soldier’s Altercation: Matters Arising

Published

6 days ago

December 8, 2025

The Tide

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

Opinion

Ndifon’s Verdict and University Power Reform

Published

3 weeks ago

November 24, 2025

The Tide

Quote:”But beyond the courtroom victory lies a pressing question: What next? How do we ensure that Nigerian universities no longer serve as hunting grounds for predatory academics? How do we guarantee that students—especially young women—can pursue education without fear of victimization?”

The conviction of Professor Cyril Ndifon, suspended Dean of Law at the University of Calabar, to five years in prison by the Federal High Court Abuja, provided a rare moment of relief amid the week’s troubling national events. Beyond punishing one individual, the judgment signaled that accountability—especially regarding sexual harassment and abuse of power in Nigerian higher institutions—may finally be gaining traction. For years, many students, especially young women, have quietly endured intimidation, coercion, and the misuse of academic privilege. Reports and surveys have consistently shown the depth of this problem. A 2018 World Bank survey estimated that 70% of female graduates had faced some form of sexual harassment in school, while a Nigerian study recorded sexual violence as the most common form of gender-based violence on campuses.

Ndifon’s case has therefore become symbolic—challenging the belief that powerful academics can act with impunity. Justice James Omotosho’s ruling went beyond the conviction; it exposed the systemic rot that enables abuse. His description of Ndifon as a predator highlighted how institutions fail when they lack strong, independent structures for accountability. Although the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) proved its case beyond reasonable doubt, many similar cases never reach court because victims remain afraid, discouraged, or convinced that the system will not protect them. A major difference in this case was that a government agency fulfilled its responsibility rather than letting the matter fade, as often happens with campus scandals. Too often, allegations arise but internal committees stall, victims lose hope, and the accused quietly escape consequences.

This time, however, the judiciary refused to allow such evasion. The court’s decision to center the victims and dismiss attempts to discredit them set an important precedent at a time when survivors are often blamed or pressured into silence. Yet the bigger question remains: What next? How can Nigerian universities become safe spaces where students, particularly young women, can pursue education without fear? First, reporting systems must be overhauled. Traditional structures—where complaints pass through heads of departments or deans—are inadequate, especially when senior officers are the accused. Independent, gender-sensitive complaint bodies are essential. Some institutions, such as the University of Ibadan and Godfrey Okoye University, have already taken steps by establishing gender-mainstreaming units. Other universities must follow suit, ensuring confidentiality, protection from backlash, and transparent investigations.

Second, proven cases of harassment must attract real consequences—not quiet transfers or administrative warnings. Sexual exploitation is not a mere disciplinary issue; it is a crime and should be promptly escalated to law-enforcement agencies. Treating criminal behaviour as an internal matter only emboldens perpetrators. Third, students must feel safe to speak up. As a senior lecturer at the University of Abuja advised, silence fuels impunity. Students need to believe that justice is attainable and that they will be supported. This requires consistent sensitization efforts by student unions, civil society groups, gender advocacy organizations, and ministries of women affairs. New students, in particular, need early guidance to understand their rights and available support systems. The recent approval of the Sexual Harassment of Students (Prevention and Prohibition) Bill, 2025, prescribing up to 14 years imprisonment for educators convicted of harassment, is a step in the right direction.

Quick presidential assent and domestication by states will strengthen legal protection. As Nelson Mandela said, “A society that fails to protect its women cannot claim to be civilized.” This principle must guide Nigeria’s legislative and institutional reforms. The legal profession has its own soul-searching to do. Law faculties are expected to model ethics and justice. When a senior law academic betrays these values, the damage extends beyond the victims—it undermines confidence in both higher education and the justice system. The judiciary’s firm stance in this case therefore reinforces the idea that the law exists to protect the vulnerable, not shield the powerful. Yet, this moment should not end with celebration alone; it must ignite a broader institutional awakening. Universities must begin to review their staff appraisal systems to include behavioural ethics, not just academic output.

Governing councils should strengthen oversight mechanisms and ensure that disciplinary processes are free from internal politics. Alumni associations and parents’ forums can also play a monitoring role, demanding higher standards of conduct from staff and administrators. Importantly, the government must provide universities with the financial and technical support needed to establish functional gender desks, counselling units, and digital reporting platforms. Only when all stakeholders take ownership of the problem can lasting reform be achieved. Professor Ndifon’s sentencing represents justice for one victim, but it must inspire justice for many more. It should mark the beginning of a nationwide resolve to reclaim Nigerian universities from those who misuse authority. The future of education in this country must be shaped by knowledge, dignity, and integrity—not fear or manipulation. The judgment is a call to action: to build campuses where students are safe, where lecturers are held accountable, and where power is exercised with responsibility. Only then can Nigeria truly claim to be nurturing the leaders of tomorrow.

By: Calista Ezeaku

Opinion

As Nigeria’s Insecurity Rings Alarm

Published

3 weeks ago

November 24, 2025

The Tide

Quote:”President Donald Trump’s designation of Nigeria a Country of Special Concern and further threats to intervene in countries experiencing religious persecution reflect a growing international concern regarding Nigeria’s deteriorating security situation.”

In recent years, Nigeria has witnessed an alarming evolution of insecurity that threatens not only the stability of the nation but also the broader West African region. Bandit attacks on schools, farms, mosques, and Christian worship centers have become distressingly commonplace, painting a grim picture of a country under siege from multiple fronts. The rise of kidnappings for ransom, coupled with the persistent threat of terrorism from groups like Boko Haram and ISWAP, has ignited fears among communities and hampered economic activities. As neighboring Sahel countries grapple with coups and the spread of extremist ideologies, Nigeria finds itself at a precarious crossroads that demands urgent attention and action.

According to media tally, about 2,496 students have been abducted in 92 school attacks since the Chibok saga of 2014. And prompted by recent incidents in Kwara, Kebbi and Niger states, where hundreds of pupils were abducted, state governments across northern Nigeria are shutting down, or relocating schools. Even the federal government last week, via the Federal Ministry of Education hastily ordered principals of 41 unity schools across northern Nigeria, to shut-down.The increasing frequency and audacity of bandit attacks highlight a troubling trend in Nigeria’s security landscape. Schools, once seen as sanctuaries for learning, have become targets for kidnappers seeking to exploit vulnerable students. These attacks not only disrupt education but also instill fear in families, leading to mass withdrawals from schools. Should we raise a generation of children deprived of their right to education?

Similarly, farms and places of worship have not been spared. Communities that once thrived on agriculture and faith, now live in constant dread of violent incursions. The targeted killings of Christians and attacks on mosques further exacerbate religious tensions, threatening to disrupt the social fabric that holds Nigeria together.The situation is compounded by the unsettling developments in the Sahel region, where coups and the rise of jihadist groups have created a volatile environment. The spillover effects of this instability are palpable in Nigeria, as extremist ideologies proliferate and armed groups gain confidence. The porous borders of the region facilitate the movement of militants and weapons, making it increasingly difficult for Nigerian authorities to contain the threats. As Nigeria struggles to secure its territory, the consequences of failure become more pronounced, with the potential for a broader regional crisis looming on the horizon.

President Donald Trump’s designation of Nigeria a Country of Special Concern and further threats to intervene in countries experiencing religious persecution reflect a growing international concern regarding Nigeria’s deteriorating security situation.

While such attention can bring much-needed awareness to the plight of affected communities, it also underscores a significant truth: the responsibility for addressing these challenges ultimately lies with the Nigerian government. The inaction and apparent inability to protect citizens from violence and ensure justice for victims send a troubling message about the state’s commitment to safeguarding its populace. The economic ramifications of this evolving insecurity are dire. Foreign investment, a critical driver of economic growth, is deterred by the pervasive violence and instability.

Investors are wary of committing resources to a country where the risk of loss is heightened by kidnappings and attacks on businesses.Additionally, agricultural production suffers as farmers abandon their lands, fearing for their safety. The recent upsurge in insecurity coincides with a crucial harvest season, when farmers need to recoup investment to finance the next round. A decline in harvests this year would reverse recent gains of recovery in food production and exacerbate poverty, further straining the nation’s resources. Socially, the implications of failing to tackle insecurity are profound. Mistrust in government institutions grows as citizens witness a lack of effective response to violence and crime. This erosion of faith can lead to civil unrests, as frustrated populations demand accountability and action.

Moreover, the vulnerability of young people in conflict-affected areas increases the risk of radicalization, as they seek identity and purpose in extremist movements that exploit their disillusionment. The South-East crisis is peculiar in this regard. The evolving insecurity in Nigeria is not merely a national crisis; it poses a significant threat to regional stability and international interests. The convergence of banditry, terrorism, and political instability in the Sahel creates a complex security environment that requires a coordinated response. The Nigerian government, in partnership with regional allies and international partners, must adopt a comprehensive strategy that addresses the root causes of insecurity, strengthens law enforcement, and fosters community resilience.

It’s time Nigerians address all regional grievances with reconciliation and empathy, rather than with coercion. As citizens, civil society, and international stakeholders, it is crucial to advocate for effective policies that prioritize security, justice, development and inclusiveness. A collective effort is needed to ensure a safer, more stable future for Nigeria and the West African region. Ultimately, Nigeria stands at a critical juncture. The path forward demands decisive action to restore security, rebuild trust, and ensure that all citizens can live without fear. The time for complacency has passed; the stakes are too high, and the consequences of inaction are too grave. A collective effort is essential to navigate this challenging landscape and forge a safer, more stable future for Nigeria and the West African region.

By: Joseph Nwankwor