Fascism is here, Be very alarmed.

On how fascism starts, Bertrand Russell warned thus: “First, they fascinate the fools. Then they muzzle the intelligent.”

That is the path of fascism, and we are watching the first steps unfold again. Across the Atlantic, Donald Trump rose by turning fear into fuel, waving flags not as symbols of unity but as weapons of division. In the UK today, the echoes are unmistakable. Flags suddenly fill our streets. Politicians compete to see who can sound harsher on immigration. Hate is dressed up as patriotism. This is not harmless theatre; it is the rehearsal of authoritarian power.

Minorities in Britain cannot afford to stand back and hope it will pass. We know too well how these stories end, and silence is never protection. The question is not whether Britain can produce a Trump of its own. The question is: will we let one walk into Number 10?

The answer must be no. And that no must be loud, organised, and relentless. We cannot fight alone, but neither should we underestimate the power we hold. When minority groups link arms with allies; students, trade unions, faith communities, progressives, and even moderates disillusioned with extremism, we form a coalition that no demagogue can easily ignore. This fight is not immigrant against native, Black against White. It is democracy against tyranny.

We must seize back the narrative. The far right survives by peddling lies that minorities are drains on the system, that migrants steal jobs, that diversity is a threat. These lies collapse when confronted with truth. It was minority doctors, nurses, and carers who held up the NHS during the pandemic. It is immigrant entrepreneurs who are building businesses, creating jobs, paying taxes. It is our artists, athletes, and thinkers who enrich Britain’s global reputation. We are not outsiders to Britain’s story—we are authors of it. To stay silent is to let the liars write history. To speak out is to claim what is ours.

We must also organise politically with the same energy extremists use to spread hate. Register to vote. Mobilise your community. Turn out on election day. In many constituencies, minority turnout could decide the result. Do not let apathy hand victory to those who despise us. And more than voting; run for office. Sit in councils. Stand for Parliament. Step into the places where decisions are made. Every seat we occupy is one less the far right can use to push us out.

Education is another battlefield. Fascism feeds on ignorance. It captures the easily deceived and turns them into weapons. We must defend schools, demand truth in classrooms, and build community programs that sharpen critical thinking. A society that can question lies is a society that cannot be easily controlled.

And when hate marches on our streets, we cannot look away. When flags are flown to exclude us, when slogans are chanted to erase us, we must be there. Peaceful, visible, and unyielding. Vigils, marches, festivals, campaigns, whatever it takes to break the illusion that Britain is united behind division. Presence matters. Resistance matters. Silence is consent, and we will not consent.

This is bigger than minority survival. If Britain falls to authoritarian populism, it will not stop at us. Once in power, fascism devours freedoms for everyone. That is why this fight is not only ours, it belongs to all who care about democracy and liberty. But minorities and their allies know what is at stake, and we can lead. By uniting across our differences, by speaking truth against lies, by organising our votes, by standing visibly and fearlessly, we can slam the door on fascism before it reaches Number 10.
Russell’s warning does not have to be our future. But it will be, unless we act now.

Dr. EK Gwuru writes from Nkolo Ikembe.

Genetically Modified Organisms (GMO) and the Betrayal of Africa’s Fertile Heartlands

The Congo Basin and Nile Valley are not just stretches of green on a map, they are among the most fertile soils ever bequeathed to humanity. History shows that much of the conflict and expansion in the Nile region, whether by Arab or Western powers, has been driven by the desire to control agricultural resources, particularly grain. The Nile Valley has long been one of the most fertile and agriculturally productive areas in the world. Its annual flooding provides rich silt that sustains vast amounts of crops, including grains like wheat, barley, and sorghum.

It needs be noted that all the wars and conquests of the Middle East (Egypt) was all about grains from the Nile region.

For the Arab powers, their early expansion was to control key trade routes and agricultural land, especially as they expanded through Egypt and into Sudan, where the Nile passes.

Western colonial powers, ancient Rome and British also had their share of conquest in the Nile Valley, particularly in Egypt, due to its geopolitical importance and agricultural productivity. The British in the 19th century were focused on securing access to the region's grain supply, which was vital not just for local needs but also for export, especially to feed their growing empires. This also tied into the strategic importance of the Suez Canal, which allowed for a quicker maritime route to their colonies in Asia, making control over Egypt doubly important.

The wars, incursions, and manipulations of the Nile region and the Congo basin were largely about food security, access to key resources, and the leverage it provided in broader imperial and economic agendas. So, in essence, the grain harvests from the region became a central point of contention for all powers involved.

This historical perspective on agriculture, particularly grain, sheds light on the strategic motivations behind many of these conflicts and their long-lasting impact on the region.

For centuries, these regions have produced cassava, yam, sorghum, maize, rice, plantain, beans, fruits and vegetables in such abundance that humanity marvel at how little effort is needed for harvests to flourish. These are lands where the earth itself is generous, where crops spring up with minimal fertilizer, where the cycle of rain and sun sustains agriculture in ways that much of the developed world can only envy.

Yet, in boardrooms thousands of miles away, multinational corporations are packaging hunger as a subscription service and calling it "innovation." They arrive with their patented seeds, sterile by design, and whisper to African governments about “modernization” and “food security.” The bitter irony is this: the very regions least in need of genetically modified foods are being primed as the most lucrative markets for them.

By listening to these corporate hawks, promoting their agenda and seeking to adopt this can only be called by its true name: betrayal.

Betrayal by governments who, instead of investing in irrigation systems, rural roads, local seed banks, and agricultural research rooted in African ecologies, sell their sovereignty to corporations with lab-grown promises. Betrayal by leaders who ignore the organic wealth beneath their feet to chase the empty prestige of aligning with the biotech giants. Betrayal by ministries of agriculture that parrot the language of “climate resilience” without admitting that what they are really buying into is corporate dependency.

The Congo Basin and Nile Valley could feed Africa; indeed, they could feed much of the world, without a single GMO seed. What we need is not gene tinkering in sterile laboratories but honest stewardship: investment in sustainable organic farming, protection of indigenous crop varieties, and respect for the farming knowledge passed down through generations. What we need is infrastructure that connects farms to markets, policies that shield farmers from predatory pricing, and research that enhances, not replaces, the natural fertility of the soil.

Instead, we are being railroaded to accept the lies in “food from the lab.” This is not salvation; it is subjugation. It is a grotesque inversion of logic that fertile lands should be made dependent on foreign patents. GMOs in Africa’s breadbasket regions are not about solving hunger, they are about monopolizing food systems. This is Food as a Service (FaaS), hunger as a subscription, life itself metered and billed.

The promoters of GMO speak of progress, but what they offer is a future in which the African farmer is a tenant on his own land, locked into annual contracts with distant corporations. Governments that embrace this path are not ushering in food security; they are auctioning off their people’s right to self-sufficiency.
History will judge them harshly. For in a world wracked by ecological collapse and food insecurity, the Congo Basin and Nile Valley stand as rare sanctuaries of natural abundance. To squander them on corporate experiments is not just foolish, it is criminal.

Africa does not need food from a lab. Africa needs leaders with enough spine to resist the corporate seduction of GMO dependency and enough vision to see that the continent’s true wealth lies in the soil, the seed, and the sun.

We can create a path to Agricultural Independence
i. Prioritize Sustainable Agriculture: Our priority in African must be the protection and enhancement of organic farming systems. We need policies that encourage sustainable agriculture, supporting crop rotation, agroforestry, and soil restoration. This can be achieved through grants, training, and technical assistance to farmers who choose to use traditional and sustainable methods.
ii. Strengthen Local Seed Banks and Indigenous Knowledge: Protecting the biodiversity of Africa’s crops should be paramount. We must support the creation of local seed banks that preserve indigenous seed varieties, many of which are drought-resistant and naturally suited to the specific climates of the Congo Basin and Nile Valley. This is essential not only for food security but for the protection of cultural heritage.
iii. Invest in Infrastructure and Rural Development: A key challenge for African agriculture is access to markets. Governments must invest in rural infrastructure, particularly roads, storage facilities, and processing plants. This would reduce post-harvest losses, ensure a fairer distribution of agricultural profits, and help rural farmers access international markets without needing to rely on corporate monopolies.
iv. Expand Research on Climate Resilience, Without GMOs: Governments should fund and support research into developing resilient crops, focusing on those suited to the unique climates of Africa. This research should be done with a focus on biodiversity and sustainability, not profit margins. Public-private partnerships can drive this research, but the intellectual property rights must remain in the public domain.
v. Establish Fair Trade Policies: Governments must ensure that the most vulnerable farmers are not exploited by global supply chains. This means establishing and enforcing fair trade policies that support smallholder farmers and ensure they receive fair compensation for their produce. It also involves putting pressure on multinational agribusinesses to treat African farmers with dignity and fairness.
vi. Reject Corporate Control of Food Systems: To combat the growing influence of multinational biotech corporations, governments should pass legislation that protects the sovereignty of their agricultural systems. This includes restricting the importation and sale of GMO seeds that could undermine local farming methods and making it illegal to patent local seed varieties.
vii. Strengthen Regional Cooperation: African nations should work together to create regional agricultural policies that protect local ecosystems and the rights of smallholder farmers. By coordinating efforts, countries in the Congo Basin and Nile Valley can strengthen their collective voice on the global stage and reject corporate agricultural hegemony.
viii. Engage with Civil Society: A top-down approach is not enough. Governments must actively engage with civil society, local farmers, and community organizations to ensure that agricultural policies are rooted in the needs of the people. This means listening to the farmers who live and work on the land and crafting policies that reflect their experiences and wisdom.

In conclusion, the future of African agriculture is not in the hands of multinational corporations offering quick fixes through genetically modified seeds. The true future lies in the empowerment of local farmers, the protection of biodiversity, and the sustainable use of Africa's rich natural resources. Governments must choose the path of organic development, one that builds food security, preserves ecosystems, and respects the wisdom of African farmers. The lands of the Congo Basin and Nile Valley are more than capable of feeding the world without the toxic dependency of GMOs.

The challenge is: will Africa’s leaders have the courage to reclaim their agricultural sovereignty, or will they sell their people’s future for a handful of silver?

Dr. EK Gwuru writes from Nkolo Ikembe.

A peep through the Windows to Anarchy: From Prague to the Present, How Religion Casts Humanity into the Abyss.

On a May morning in 1618, a group of angry Protestant nobles seized two Catholic governors and their secretary in Prague Castle and hurled them out of a window, some seventy feet above the cobbled courtyard. They survived the fall with Catholics claiming that angels cushioned their descent, while Protestants sneered that a dung heap had done the job. But symbolism mattered more than survival. This act: the Second Defenestration of Prague, did not merely assault three men; it tore Europe apart. Within months, the Bohemian Revolt had escalated into the Thirty Years’ War, a cataclysm that depopulated swathes of Central Europe and left entire generations scarred.

It was not the first such act in Prague. In 1419, radical Hussites had stormed the New Town Hall, dragged councillors to the windows, and pitched them onto the spears of the mob below. That earlier defenestration ignited the Hussite Wars, long before Martin Luther had nailed his theses to the church door. Twice in two centuries, Czechs declared their dissent by throwing authority out the window. Twice, religious faith transformed anger into anarchy.

These episodes are not quaint relics of medieval turbulence; they are mirrors. They reveal a truth as urgent in the 21st century as it was in the 15th, that when religious belief fuses with political power, societies fracture, violence escalates, and the claim to divine truth becomes a licence for bloodshed.

The Anatomy of Religious Wars find its foundation in faith and fire. The Hussite Wars were not about theology alone. They were about power, authority, and the right to define identity. The same is true of the Thirty Years’ War, often simplistically remembered as Catholic versus Protestant. In reality, it was a scramble for supremacy in which princes, mercenaries, and monarchs cloaked ambition in the language of faith.

But faith gave the conflict its ferocity. To kill a heretic was not merely to silence an enemy but to serve God. The religious imagination, once politicised, transformed neighbours into devils. And when the killing was over, when treaties had been signed, Europe was left haunted by reduced populations, wasted fields, and a creeping recognition that perhaps God had been less present in the smoke of battle than men had supposed.

The temptation is to dismiss Prague’s defenestrations as a peculiarity of Central Europe. But the pattern repeats itself wherever religion asserts its monopoly over truth.
• In the Middle East, millennia-old rivalries still masquerade as sacred duty. Sunni and Shia Muslims remain locked in cycles of suspicion and slaughter, their schism rooted in a seventh-century dispute over succession yet fuelled by modern geopolitics. The Israeli–Palestinian conflict is drenched in the blood of competing religious claims to land and prophecy.
• In South Asia, the Partition of India in 1947; a simple act, ostensibly about self-determination, became a theatre for Hindu and Muslim violence. Up to a million were slaughtered, entire communities uprooted. Here again, religious identity fused with statehood turned a political problem into a humanitarian abyss.
• In Africa, Sudan’s long wars, and Nigeria’s current struggles with Boko Haram, show how religion still provides not just consolation but justification for chaos. Each sermon declaring God’s will becomes a spark in dry tinder.


From Jerusalem to Jos, Ayodhya to Abuja, the lesson of Prague is tragically alive: when divine truth enters politics, windows to anarchy are flung wide.

What makes religion uniquely dangerous in the public sphere is its absolutism. Unlike ideology, which can be debated, or policy, which can be revised, religious truth claims often brook no compromise. If God has spoken, what space remains for negotiation? To dissent is not merely to disagree, it is deemed to blaspheme.

The only thing absolutism does is turn rulers into zealots and dissenters into heretics. The Catholic Habsburgs of the 17th century could not imagine granting lasting freedom to Protestant nobles without betraying their role as guardians of the true faith. Likewise, the Hussite radicals of 1419 could not tolerate councillors they saw as enemies of God. From this perspective, defenestration was not violence but purification.

Today, the same logic fuels those who bomb, burn, or ban in God’s name. It is not reason but revelation that drives them, not negotiation but salvation that justifies them.

If there is a lesson in the shattered glass and broken bodies below Prague’s windows, it is not simply that religion causes violence. It is that certainty, when claimed as divine, destroys the possibility of peaceful coexistence.

Europe eventually learned this lesson. Out of the ashes of the Thirty Years’ War came the Peace of Westphalia (1648), which for the first time enshrined the principle that different faiths could coexist within the same political order. Out of centuries of religious slaughter arose the slow, hard-won idea of secularism: that the state should govern by reason, not revelation; that belief belongs to the private conscience, not the public sword.

What humanity needs now is not another sacred war but a secular ethic of doubt; the willingness to admit that our grasp of truth is partial, that our convictions may be flawed, that no faith has the right to dominate all others. Doubt is not weakness but wisdom. It is the guardrail against the intoxicating poison of certainty.

In conclusion, the Defenestrations of Prague are more than historical curiosities; they are warnings. They show us what happens when religion and power climb into the same room. The windows open, the bodies fall, and nations are plunged into decades of fire.

We live in an age where religious nationalism is again on the rise, Hindu majoritarianism in India, Islamist insurgencies in Africa, Christian fundamentalism shaping American politics, Jewish and Muslim absolutism feeding conflict in the Holy Land. Each believes itself righteous. Each risks opening a new window to anarchy.

To keep those windows shut, we must resist the siren song of certainty, and embrace the humility of doubt, the universality of reason, and the secular conviction that no single belief should dictate the fate of nations. Only then can we hope to live together without throwing one another, once again, into the abyss.

Dr. EK Gwuru writes form Nkolo Ikembe.

Abraham’s Bloody Legacy and the Tragedy of Palestine
The greatest disservice done to humanity is the reduction of the Israeli–Palestinian conflict to religion. For decades, the West, and much of its echo chamber in Africa and Latin America, has cast it as a crude civilisational feud: Christians against Muslims, Jews against Arabs, East against West. This framing has proved convenient for political leaders, theologians and media outlets alike. But it is also profoundly misleading. It masks the real dynamics of a modern settler-colonial project, it erases the lived history of Palestinians, and it makes the search for justice seem almost impossible.

To understand the depth of this tragedy we must look beyond 20th-century geopolitics and reach further back, to the foundational stories of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. At the centre of these traditions stands Abraham, revered as the father of faith. Yet if the myth is stripped of its pious aura, it reads less like a story of faith and more like the first recorded charter of dispossession. Abraham, in delusion, leaves Mesopotamia with a band of armed followers, and his descendants are, supposedly, commanded to wipe out the original inhabitants of Canaan; Jebusites, Hittites, Perizzites, Amorites. Cities are razed, genocide entrenched with populations slaughtered, and survivors enslaved.

Whether one treats these accounts as delusion, history, allegory or myth is almost beside the point. What matters is that they set a precedent. They created a template in which delusion and consequent conquest could be sanctified, displacement normalised, and the erasure of entire peoples (genocide) justified as the will of God. The Canaanites disappeared not only from their land but from the memory of history itself. In their place, a theology of election (being chosen) took root, destined to be retold in new guises across centuries.

The Myth as Manual
What might have remained an unsettling ancient tale became, over time, a manual for conquest.

Judaism retained the promise of return to Zion. Christianity reimagined itself as the “new Israel,” and unleashed Crusades that drenched Jerusalem in blood. Islam invoked divine mandate during its early expansions. Each tradition drew, in some form, from the well of Abraham’s election (being chosen).

But perhaps the most devastating appropriation came with European colonialism. When Puritan settlers arrived in North America, they explicitly likened themselves to Israelites entering the promised land. Native Americans were the Canaanites of the New World: heathen, expendable, destined for removal. Sermons and laws were infused with this language, providing spiritual sanction for extermination and displacement.

In Africa, and anywhere else the black man was found, the pattern repeated itself. Missionaries and administrators cast colonisation as a civilising mission, a divine duty to subdue the “pagan.” The Berlin Conference of 1884, where European powers carved up the continent, may have been driven by economics, but it was cloaked in a moral language that echoed the Abrahamic delusional myth of chosen peoples and promised lands.

Everywhere, the story was the same: the original owners were wiped off, their cultures erased, their presence made inconvenient to destiny. The conquerors recited Abraham’s script, and the world paid the price.

Zionism and the Return of Joshua
In the late 19th century, Zionism emerged as a response to Europe’s violent antisemitism. But its legitimacy was framed in the language of delusion, couched as prophecy: a people returning to the land promised to Abraham. The slogan “a land without a people for a people without a land” was as false as it was revealing. Palestine was not empty; it was full of villages, orchards, markets and families. Yet, like the Canaanites before them, Palestinians were rendered invisible.

The British Empire sanctified this vision through the Balfour Declaration of 1917, turning imperial strategy into biblical fulfilment. Then came 1948 and the Nakba: the destruction of more than 400 villages, the expulsion of 700,000 Palestinians, the creation of a refugee population that endures to this day. The Book of Joshua had been replayed, not with swords and chariots but with rifles, bulldozers and UN resolutions.

The pattern persists. Settlement expansion continues, Gaza is bombarded, and Palestinians (Muslims and Christians) alike are treated as if they were never there. The myth of Abraham’s promise still hovers over policy, turning dispossession into destiny.


Why the West Needs the Myth
Why does the West cling so tightly to this framing? Because it serves its interests.

For American evangelicals, support for Israel is not merely foreign policy; it is theology. Israel’s survival is recast as a precondition for the Second Coming, and Palestinian Christians (among the oldest Christian communities in the world) are written out of the story entirely.

For Europe, guilt plays a decisive role. Centuries of antisemitism, culminating in the Holocaust, have left many governments reluctant to criticise Israel’s actions, even when they mirror the very exclusions and erasures that Europe itself inflicted on Jews. To support Israel, uncritically and at any cost, has become a form of penance.

And for Western media and political elites, the “religious war” narrative is simply easier. It transforms a struggle over land, sovereignty and human rights into a clash of identities. It relieves the world of the burden of acknowledging settler-colonialism in real time.

The Colonised Who Echo the Coloniser
If the West’s motives are cynical, the mimicry of the Global South is perhaps even more tragic. Africa and Latin America should be able to recognise Palestine instinctively. Their own histories are full of dispossession: slavery, conquest, cultural erasure. Their ancestors were the Canaanites of empire, swept aside by new Abrahams with muskets and crosses.

Yet today, many of these states uncritically parrot Western framings. Aid dependency buys silence. American evangelical churches export pro-Israel theology into African and Latin American congregations. Leaders seeking Western approval echo the coloniser’s script.

The result is bitter irony: those who once suffered dispossession endorse its repetition. History’s victims have been persuaded to cheer for the conqueror.

The Price of Believing the Myth
The costs of continuing to believe in this myth are immense.
It legitimises genocide, by cloaking violence in sacred duty. It erases indigenous peoples, making them vanish from maps and memory. It divides humanity, pitting Jews, Christians and Muslims against one another as if destined for perpetual conflict. And it distracts from the real motives of power; land, water, resources, strategic control.
This is not scripture as heritage; this is scripture as weapon. And its blade still cuts.

Breaking the Cycle
If there is to be a future beyond endless dispossession, humanity must break free from Abraham’s bloody legacy.
That means reframing the Israeli–Palestinian conflict for what it truly is: not a feud between religions but a confrontation between coloniser and colonised, between dispossession and dignity.

It means recovering solidarity across the Global South, recognising in Palestine the mirror of Africa’s partition, of Latin America’s conquest, of the Trail of Tears in North America.

And it means decolonising faith traditions themselves. Judaism, Christianity and Islam all contain strands of justice, compassion and coexistence. These must be elevated above the old myth of conquest. To continue to sanctify the delusion of being chosen at the expense of others is to trap humanity in Abraham’s script, endlessly replaying the annihilation of Canaan.

Beyond Abraham
The delusional story of Abraham ought to be read not as destiny but as warning. When any people believe themselves chosen to erase others, humanity suffers.

The Canaanites were wiped off. Native Americans were wiped off. Africans were stripped of land, freedom and memory. And today, Palestinians face the same fate.

The tragedy is not simply that Abraham once marched from Mesopotamia to Canaan. It is that, in the 21st century, with drones and tanks and surveillance satellites, the world still allows that delusion to dictate its politics.

Conclusion: Justice in Spite of Myth
The Israeli–Palestinian crisis is not an inevitable clash of faiths. It is not the fulfilment of prophecy. It is a modern colonial struggle, hiding behind an ancient story.

The task for our time is clear. We must strip away the myth. We must name land theft, occupation and erasure for what they are. And we must stand, not with conquerors, but with the dispossessed.

Justice for Palestine, and indeed for all peoples once erased by conquest, requires rejecting the myth of being chosen once and for all. Humanity’s future depends on it.

Dr. EK Gwuru writes from Nkolo Ikembe.

State-Sponsored Bigotry Is a Precursor to Catastrophe.

When an officer of state power amplifies hate speech, she does not merely join the mob; she licenses it. Abike Dabiri-Erewa, chairman of the Nigerians in Diaspora Commission (NIDCOM), has, for nearly a decade, held a position that ought to embody fairness, bridge-building, and dignity for every Nigerian abroad. Yet, by lending her voice to a vile post that referred to fellow Nigerian citizens as “monkeys” and “gorillas,” she crossed a red line that history warns us must never be normalized.

This is not a gaffe. It is not harmless banter. It is not politics as usual. Words carry weight, and when those words emanate from the seat of government, they carry lethal consequences. In Nazi Germany, Jews were first dehumanized as “rats” and “vermin” before they were herded into gas chambers. In Rwanda, the Tutsi were called “inyenzi” (cockroaches) before the machetes began their gruesome work. In Darfur, entire villages were destroyed after years of Arabs painting Black African groups as “slaves.” The trail from derogatory epithets to genocidal action is not theoretical. It is bloody fact.

That is why Mrs. Dabiri-Erewa’s action is not a minor lapse. It is an endorsement of bigotry with echoes of historical calamity. It is particularly grotesque because it comes from a public officer tasked with protecting Nigerians from prejudice in foreign lands, even as she normalizes prejudice against them at home. How can she champion the dignity of Nigerians abroad while trampling on the dignity of millions at home?

Let us be clear: there can be no hierarchy of citizenship in Nigeria. There are no second-class Nigerians; they are no “others” to be mocked or maligned. We are sons and daughters of this republic, bound by the same constitution, entitled to the same respect. When officials forget this, they do more than inflame old wounds, they imperil national unity itself.

To every official who harbors bigotry in their heart and lets it spill into public life, this must be your reminder: words can kill. The Nigerian civil war is still within living memory; millions perished not only because of bullets but because propaganda painted a section of this nation as less than human. If you have forgotten that lesson, you are unfit for the offices you hold.

Mrs. Dabiri-Erewa owes the nation an unreserved apology, not a mealy-mouthed justification, not a half-hearted clarification. An apology. More than that, the Nigerian government must take this as a chance to make clear, once and for all, that ethnic bigotry will not be tolerated from its officials. Silence is complicity, and complicity in hate speech is complicity in potential atrocity.

Nigeria cannot afford leaders who play with the matches of ethnic hatred in a country already drenched in the gasoline of division. History has taught us, in the starkest possible terms, where such recklessness leads. We ignore those lessons at our peril.

And while at that, is Mrs Dabiri-Erewa a lifetime DG of NIDCOM?

Dr. EK Gwuru wites form Nkolo Ikembe.