EMMANUELLA AHENJI’S ABORTED JOURNEY
On May 16, 2025, with her heart half in her mouth, Miss Emmanuella Ahenjir entered a vehicle from Gyado Villa area of Makurdi, the Benue State Capital, to Wukari in Taraba State. The 23-year-old student of the Federal University Wukari was headed back to school. But she never made it. At the Wurukum roundabout in Makurdi, she was shot dead by another one of many of Nigeria’s trigger-happy policemen, who opened fired on the vehicle when the driver refused to stop.
She may not have had the sort of piercing premonition that would have made her postpone her journey, but for many years now, there has remained something ominous about travelling on Nigerian roads. The dilapidated, potholes-ridden stretches of the road don’t even begin to evoke the kind of fear that bandits who seem to lurk in every bush waiting for passengers do.
With security personnel on the roads, especially the police considered nothing more than pesky producers of inconvenience, the real danger has always lain elsewhere given that for so long Nigerians lulled by a false sense of reformation believed that police patrols on their roads had shed their disastrous reputation for being trigger-happy.
Ms. Ahenjir’s death has predictably elicited a national outcry, with shock running through the country and reminding Nigerians of the fragility of life in the country and the clear and present danger ironically posed by those paid by the taxpayers to protect them.
For Ms. Ahenjir’s family who had no doubt gone through the routines of saying goodbye and wishing their daughter safe journey back to school earlier that day, it will take forever, if ever, for the shock and grief to wear off at the nonchalant manner a precious, promising life was so conclusively snuffed out.
For many Nigerians, the police are the worst nightmare, as frightening as the many bandits who pace Nigeria’s many jagged and ragged forests waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on unsuspecting passengers with deadly precision. The only difference is that while bandits prowl the bush, the police line up on the road, clad in uniform sewn with taxpayer’s money, and wielding guns bought with taxpayers money and are no less menacing.
Over the years, the police has acquired a fearsome reputation in Nigeria, with years of strained relations with Nigerians and allegations of corruption thrashing the PR-punt that “police is your friend.”
The fear and revulsion with which the police are approached and treated in Nigeria has become a generational thing, passed on from parents to their children.
Killings of Nigerians by security personnel on the road used to be rampant. Nigerians have lost their lives to police on the road over sums of money as negligible as fifty naira. While years of advocacy and reformation have led to a steep drop in such incidents, Ms. Ahenjir’s death is a stark reminder that the police are not out of the woods yet.
Are these avoidable incidents collateral damage in law enforcement, or do they betray deeper structural problems? Should those who wield guns bought by Nigerians for the sake of Nigerians not exercise more circumspection in their use, especially when there is no armed confrontation?
The questions are many, but as meaningless as it is to bolt the barn door after the horse has bolted. These killings, which remind Nigerians of how quickly life can be snuffed out in their country by those who are supposed to protect it, must be stopped. No country has grown or can grow when its citizens die indiscriminately at the hands of law enforcement.
For the police, it is yet more questions than answers in what is already a difficult relationship with Nigerians. Nigerians are ordinarily suspicious and skeptical of the police. The police has been working very hard to rebuild trust.
Yet, with each deadly incident like the one involving the hapless Ms. Ahenjir, decades of progress made to rebuild public trust in a key institution, crumble, going up in smoke at the hands of a few trigger-happy personnel.
Kene Obiezu,
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LEADERSHIP VS. POWER: WHY AFRICA KEEPS GETTING IT WRONG
LINUS OKORIE contends that Africa’s greatest tragedy is not lack of leaders but surplus of power-holders with no vision
Across much of Africa, the word leadership is overused and misunderstood. We use it to describe heads of state, ministers, governors, CEOs, and even school prefects. But what many of these individuals hold is not leadership; it is power. And the confusion between the two has cost the continent dearly.
Power is about authority, control, and dominance. It is often transactional: I give orders, you obey. Leadership, on the other hand, is about service, vision, and influence. True leaders don’t cling to titles or manipulate systems; they move people and ideas forward.
Too often, those in power mistake their position for purpose. They equate office with leadership, influence with intimidation, and progress with propaganda. This misalignment between power and authentic leadership is at the heart of Africa’s political, economic, and social dysfunctions.
Where did this confusion begin?
Part of the answer lies in colonial history. African nations were governed through systems that centralized power in the hands of a few and ruled by decree. Colonial administrators were not leaders but enforcers. They never earned our trust but commanded obedience.
When independence came, many new governments retained this top-down structure. But now, instead of foreign rulers, we had local ones repeating the same playbook. Military coups became common, and with them came the normalization of authoritarian leadership. Uniforms replaced suits but the system didn’t change.
The militarization of leadership shaped how power was exercised and perceived. Titles became symbols of status, not service. State resources became personal reward systems. And because these systems worked to preserve power, there was little incentive to disrupt them even when they failed the people.
To understand the crisis, let’s see it from the “Big Man” syndrome. This is a term used to describe the dominant leadership style in post-colonial Africa. It is characterized by centralization of power, personal glorification, and a near-feudal relationship with citizens.
The Big Man does not build institutions but weakens them to protect his authority. He surrounds himself with loyalists, not truth-tellers. Criticism is met with suspicion or punishment. And worst of all, he confuses the longevity of his reign with legitimacy.
This model is not limited to politics. You will find it in business, religion, academia, and even NGOs. It is the manager who never delegates. The CEO whose name is bigger than the brand. The student leader who has no accountability. In reality, it suffocates innovation, dismantles trust, and breeds cycles of dependency.
Robert Mugabe was hailed as a liberation hero. By the time he left office, Zimbabwe’s economy had collapsed under hyperinflation, institutions were gutted, and millions had fled the country. His initial vision was lost in a decades-long obsession with retaining power at all costs.
Compare that to Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, Africa’s first female head of state, who took over a war-torn Liberia. She focused on rebuilding governance, securing debt relief, and restoring basic services. Her leadership was not perfect, but it was intentional, people-centered, and forward-looking.
What Africa needs is not just a new generation of leaders but a new definition of leadership altogether. Transformational leadership inspires, empowers, and mobilizes. It asks: What can I build that outlasts me? It values dialogue over dominance.
In contrast, transactional or authoritarian leadership, dominates African politics. It asks: What can I get while I’m here? It focuses on control, patronage, and short-term wins.
We’ve seen glimpses of what transformational leadership looks like across the continent: Paul Kagame has been praised (and critiqued) for his developmental strides in Rwanda, particularly in public health and infrastructure. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, in her tenure as Nigeria’s Finance Minister and now at the WTO, represents a leadership style rooted in discipline, data, and global cooperation.
In South Africa, Nelson Mandela modeled restraint by stepping down after a single term, reminding the world that real leaders know when to leave. These individuals did not lead perfectly but they led with purpose. And their impact endured beyond their office.
Fixing the leadership crisis in Africa is not just a matter of electing better people. It requires a fundamental mindset shift. We must begin to teach and internalize the idea that leadership is a trust, given by people, and for the people. It is not about being served but about serving. The goal of leadership should be to leave systems better than we found them. Leaders must be builders, not gatekeepers.
Real leaders engage with dissenting views, invite dialogue, and make inclusive decisions. Leadership is not just at the top. Communities, local governments, and civil society must be empowered to shape their own futures. The obsession with holding on to power has paralyzed progress in many countries. Leaders should groom successors, not some blind loyalists or rivals.
Africa’s future won’t be shaped by charisma or credentials but by character. We need to invest in values-based leadership development from the ground up. That means:
· Embedding ethics, empathy, and emotional intelligence in school curricula.
· Creating mentorship pipelines where emerging leaders are paired with seasoned role models.
· Supporting leadership academies, fellowships, and think tanks focused on public service.
· Encouraging storytelling that celebrates builders, not just rulers.
Most importantly, we need to reward the right kind of leadership. Citizens must raise their expectations, hold leaders accountable, and stop applauding empty gestures. Leadership and power are not interchangeable. One liberates; the other often imprisons. One builds; the other consumes. Africa’s greatest tragedy is not a lack of leaders but a surplus of power-holders with no vision.
But change is possible. We see it every time a young innovator starts a civic tech platform. Every time a woman contests an election. Every time a community organizes for clean water, better schools, or safer streets.
The future of African leadership will be determined in the hearts and minds of those who choose to lead differently. Let’s choose to be leaders, not just power brokers. Let’s teach leadership not as domination but as a daily act of service and courage. That’s how we’ll get it right. And that’s how we’ll build an Africa that lasts.
Okorie MFR is a leadership development expert spanning 30 years in the research, teaching and coaching of leadership in Africa and across the world. He is the CEO of the GOTNI Leadership Centre. www.gotni.africa
