As I write these words, the blood of 23 Nigerians is still drying on the ground at the Monday Market in Maiduguri . The wounded, 108 of them lie in hospital beds, their screams still echoing in the ears of nurses who ran out of bandages and blood bags . The explosives detonated at exactly 7:24 PM on March 16, 2026, at three locations: the Monday Market, the gate of the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital, and the Post Office flyover area. The terrorists chose these places deliberately. The market, where poor women sell vegetables to feed their children. The hospital gate, where sick and desperate people seek healing. The flyover, where commuters hurry home after long days.
These were not military targets. They were not government installations. They were people. Human beings. Nigerians.
And while their bodies were being loaded into mortuaries, while volunteers scrambled to evacuate the dead and dying, while Governor Zulum called the attack "barbaric" and rushed to assess the damage , where was President Bola Tinubu? Where was National Security Adviser Nuhu Ribadu? Where was the Minister of Defence, retired General Christopher Musa?
They were on a plane. At 10:00 AM on Tuesday morning, less than 15 hours after the bombs exploded, they departed Abuja for London, bound for Windsor Castle, where King Charles III was preparing to roll out the red carpet.
The Minister of Defence was not in Maiduguri. He was lining up for a ceremonial welcome.
The National Security Adviser was not coordinating a response. He was packing for a state banquet.
The Commander-in-Chief was not comforting the wounded. He was preparing to inspect a Guard of Honour mounted by the 1st Battalion Grenadier Guards .
Let us walk through the schedule, because it deserves to be memorialized as a monument to the shamelessness of this administration.
On Wednesday morning, the Prince and Princess of Wales, Prince William and Catherine will receive President Tinubu and the First Lady at the Fairmont Hotel Windsor. They will then travel together to Datchet Road, where the King and Queen will formally welcome them. A Royal Salute will be fired at the Home Park and at the Tower of London. The Nigerian National Anthem will be played. There will be an inside carriage procession to Windsor Castle. A Guard of Honour will present arms. The Band will play. The President will inspect the troops.
In the afternoon, President Tinubu and the First Lady will view a special exhibition of items from the Royal Collection related to Nigeria. Later, the King will receive the President for a private audience. They will visit Vicars Hall to meet organisations engaged in interfaith dialogue. Then the President will lay a wreath of flowers on the tomb of Queen Elizabeth II at St George's Chapel.
In the evening, a State Banquet. Speeches. Toasts. Fine dining. The Queen will be there. The Prince and Princess will be there. The Nigerian delegation will be there, dressed in their finest, sipping wine while the people of Maiduguri sip from the bitter cup of grief.
Meanwhile, the First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, a Christian pastor, will preach at Lambeth Palace. She will stand in the official residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury and deliver a sermon. Perhaps she will speak on compassion. Perhaps on the Good Samaritan. Perhaps on the duty of leaders to serve the suffering.
But she will not visit the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital, where the wounded are packed into wards. She will not preach to the families gathered at the Monday Market, searching for the bodies of their loved ones. She will preach to representatives of the Church of England and faith charities like Christian Aid and Mothers Union .
And the Minister of Defence will be there. And the National Security Adviser will be there. And the entire leadership of Nigeria's security architecture will be there, 4,000 miles away from the crisis, because the invitation to Windsor Castle was apparently more urgent than the bombs in Borno.
To be fair, President Tinubu did issue a statement. From wherever he was, perhaps still in the air, perhaps already on British soil, he took to X (formerly Twitter) on Tuesday morning to express his grief .
"The recent news from Maiduguri, Borno State, is profoundly upsetting," he wrote. "I mourn those who lost their lives, sympathise with the injured and stand in solidarity with the people of Borno during this challenging time".
He called the attacks "desperate acts of the evil-minded terrorist groups" and claimed they were signs of "increased pressure on terrorist groups by Nigerian security forces". He commended the courage of troops. He disclosed that he had approved additional equipment and operational support. He directed security chiefs to relocate to Maiduguri to take charge of the situation.
But here is the thing about directions from a President: they require the President to be present. They require follow-up. They require oversight. They require the Commander-in-Chief to sit in a war room and demand answers.
Instead, the Commander-in-Chief is sitting in a carriage procession.
And the security chiefs he directed to relocate to Maiduguri? They are in London with him. The Minister of Defence is in London. The National Security Adviser is in London. The Director-General of the National Intelligence Agency is in London . The entire brain trust of Nigeria's security apparatus is currently admiring the Crown Jewels.
So who, exactly, has been directed to Maiduguri? Who is left to take charge?
The answer is no one. The answer is that the President issued a directive that he knew could not be followed because the people who would follow it were standing behind him in the reception line.
This is not governance. This is gaslighting.
But the horror of this moment cannot be separated from the horror of what we discussed previously. Because these bombs did not materialize from thin air. These suicide bombers were not self-funded entrepreneurs of violence. They were operatives of an insurgency that the Tinubu administration has been actively financing.
Let us connect the dots that the government hopes we will ignore.
November 2025: Boko Haram abducts 230 students and staff from St. Mary's Catholic School in Papiri, Niger State.
December 2025: The government claims a "rescue operation" secured their release. International media later reveals the truth: 10 billion naira was paid. The money was flown by helicopter to a village in Cameroon. Two Boko Haram commanders were released from custody as part of the deal. The operation was masterminded by Sadiku, the same commander behind the 2022 Abuja-Kaduna train attack.
March 2026: Triple bombings in Maiduguri kill 23 and wound 108. The explosives were sophisticated. The coordination was precise. The funding came from somewhere.
Where did it come from? It came from the 10 billion naira the Nigerian government just handed to Boko Haram.
Think about this logically. Before December 2025, Boko Haram was under pressure. Military operations in Sambisa Forest were intensifying. The group was reportedly relocating and struggling for funds. They needed cash. They needed resources. They needed a way to replenish their ranks.
Then the Nigerian government delivered 10 billion naira to their doorstep. They flew it in a helicopter. They released two of their commanders. They essentially injected a massive stimulus package into the terrorist economy.
And now, three months later, bombs are exploding in Maiduguri.
This is not a coincidence. This is cause and effect. This is the direct, predictable, and entirely avoidable consequence of funding your enemies.
The Boko Haram commander who received that money used it to buy explosives. He used it to recruit suicide bombers. He used it to plan attacks. He used it to kill 23 Nigerians at a market, a hospital, and a flyover.
And the man who authorized that payment is currently attending a state banquet at Windsor Castle.
This is a reflective hopeless and annoying resolve on the situation in Nigeria, hope is no longer a rational response to what we are witnessing. Hope requires the possibility of change. Hope requires leaders who can be shamed into doing better. Hope requires a public that can hold power accountable.
But what happens when the leaders are shameless? What happens when the public is exhausted? What happens when every tragedy is met with platitudes, every atrocity is followed by a foreign trip, and every ransom payment is denied even as the blood money flows?
We have reached that point. We have crossed the threshold where incompetence becomes a sufficient explanation. This is not incompetence. This is something darker.
When your Minister of Defence flies out of the country hours after a terrorist attack, he is not incompetent. He is indifferent.
When your National Security Adviser attends a royal banquet while the wounded lie in hospital, he is not overwhelmed. He is absent.
When your President issues a condolence statement from a foreign capital while his security chiefs stand beside him in tuxedos, he is not governing. He is performing.
And when your government pays 10 billion naira to terrorists and then pretends it didn't happen, it is not negotiating. It is collaborating.
The word is harsh. I choose it deliberately. Because when you fund an insurgency, you become responsible for the deaths that insurgency causes. The bomber who detonated at the Monday Market may have been radicalized years ago. But the explosives he used were purchased with Nigerian naira. The commander who planned the attack was released from a Nigerian prison. The operation that killed 23 people was financed by a helicopter delivery approved by Nigerian officials.
This blood is on their hands. Not metaphorically. Actually. Really. Literally.
And what of the state visit itself? What message does it send to the world?
The British government, to its credit, has maintained strong defence cooperation with Nigeria. In January 2025, the Nigerian Ministry of Defence announced that the two countries intended to strengthen their defence ties following a massacre of more than 160 people in central Kwara . The United States recently deployed 200 troops to provide technical and training support .
These international partners believe they are helping a government fight terrorism. They are providing intelligence, training, and equipment to defeat Boko Haram and ISWAP.
But they are not fighting alongside a government. They are fighting alongside a government that is simultaneously funding the other side.
Imagine being a British military adviser, sitting in a meeting with Nigerian counterparts, discussing strategy to degrade terrorist capabilities. And imagine learning, as the world has now learned that the Nigerian government just paid 10 billion naira to those same terrorists.
Imagine being an American soldier deployed to provide training, only to discover that the trainees' Commander-in-Chief is currently receiving a Royal Salute in Windsor while bombs explode in the trainees' hometowns.
This is the humiliation that Tinubu has brought upon Nigeria. He has made us a laughingstock. He has made us a cautionary tale. He has made us the country that pays ransom to terrorists and then flies to London for a banquet.
There is a question that haunts me as I write this. It is not a question of policy or strategy or security doctrine. It is a simpler question, a human question.
When President Tinubu sits down to dinner at Windsor Castle, when the King raises a toast to Nigeria, when the crystal glasses clink and the wine flows and the band plays softly in the background, will he think of Maiduguri?
Will he think of the woman who was buying tomatoes at the Monday Market when the bomb went off? Will he think of the child waiting at the hospital gate for treatment that will never come? Will he think of the families gathered at the mortuary, identifying bodies, weeping, wondering why the leaders who swore to protect them are 4,000 miles away?
Or will he simply smile for the cameras, accept the compliments, and enjoy the pomp?
I know the answer. You know the answer. The 23 dead and 108 wounded know the answer.
He will not think of them. He never has. He never will.
Because to think of them would be to acknowledge that he failed them. To think of them would be to recognize that the money he paid to terrorists funded the bombs that killed them. To think of them would be to feel guilt, and guilt requires a conscience.
This administration has no conscience. It has appetites. It has ambitions. It has a relentless hunger for power, prestige, and the approval of foreign royalty. But it has no conscience.
So where does this leave us? Where does it leave the Nigerian people, watching their leaders abandon them for banquets, watching their tax dollars fund terrorism, watching their country burn while the firemen pose for photographs in London?
It leaves us in a state of hopelessness. Not the hopelessness of despair, but the hopelessness of clarity. The hopelessness that comes when you finally stop waiting for rescue and accept that you are alone.
There will be no rescue. There will be no reform. There will be no sudden awakening, no moment of national contrition, no leaders falling to their knees and begging forgiveness.
There will be more bombs. More ransom payments. More foreign trips. More condolence statements issued from distant capitals. More blood in the markets and hospitals and streets of Nigeria.
And the men responsible will continue to eat well, sleep soundly, and accept honours from kings and queens.
This is not a prediction. This is a pattern. The Papiri ransom established the pattern. The Maiduguri bombs confirmed the pattern. The London state visit perfected the pattern.
The pattern is: Nigerians die. Leaders travel. The world watches. Nothing changes.
I have spent my career analysing Nigeria's problems, proposing solutions, calling for accountability. I have written articles, given lectures, participated in conferences. I have believed, perhaps naively, that if we could just explain the problem clearly enough, if we could just shame the leaders publicly enough, if we could just mobilise the people effectively enough, change would come.
I no longer believe this.
I no longer believe because the evidence has become overwhelming. We explained the problem of the Papiri ransom. We shamed the leaders for paying it. We mobilised public outrage. And the response was a state visit to London and bombs in Maiduguri.
The leaders are not listening. They never were. They are not interested in solutions. They are interested in survival. They are interested in enrichment. They are interested in the approval of foreign monarchs and the comfort of foreign hotels.
Nigeria is not their project. Nigeria is their resource. They extract from it - money, power, prestige, and when it bleeds, they fly away.
So my resolve is this: I will stop expecting. I will stop hoping. I will stop believing that the next tragedy will be the one that finally wakes them up.
The 23 dead in Maiduguri will not wake them up. The 108 wounded will not wake them up. The 10 billion naira paid to terrorists will not wake them up.
Nothing will wake them up because they are not asleep. They are awake. They are aware. They are choosing this.
And we, the Nigerian people, are left to bury our dead, tend our wounded, and watch our leaders wave from foreign balconies.
As I conclude this piece, I imagine the scene in London. The carriages are rolling. The guards are saluting. The King is smiling. The President is beaming. The First Lady is preparing her sermon. The Minister of Defence is adjusting his suit. The National Security Adviser is checking his watch, wondering when the banquet will begin.
And 4,000 miles away, in a hospital in Maiduguri, a nurse is running out of bandages. A doctor is working through the night. A family is identifying a body. A child is crying for a mother who will never answer.
This is Nigeria in 2026. This is the Tinubu administration. This is the legacy they are building, one bomb, one ransom, one banquet at a time.
May history record it accurately. May the blood on their hands never dry. And may the Nigerian people, abandoned by their leaders, find the strength to survive a country that has been stolen by those sworn to protect it.
There is no hope left. There is only endurance. And when endurance runs out, there will be only memory—the memory of a nation that could have been great, destroyed by the greed and indifference of those who ruled it.
Rest in peace, the 23 of Maiduguri. Your leaders are toasting your memory in Windsor.