It is a common yet flawed assumption that children belong to their parents. Many, particularly in African societies, operate under the illusion that biological connection equals ownership. But let us pause for a moment and reflect – who among us can claim ownership of another’s soul? Who among us chose their own entry into this world? The truth is as old as time itself: we do not own our children; they are God’s, lent to us for a time, to be raised and nurtured, not possessed and manipulated. The Divine Custodianship of Parenthood Children are not commodities to be controlled, coerced, or commanded at will. They are gifts from the Almighty, entrusted into our care for a fleeting season. Psalm 127:3 reminds us, “Lo, children are a heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.” The language is clear: they are a heritage, not an acquisition. Parents are custodians, not owners. In Genesis, when God blessed humanity with the ability to multiply, He did not ...
Power, when unchecked, breeds impunity; but sometimes, all it takes is a single thorn to pierce the flesh of a seemingly untouchable force. In the hallowed chambers of Nigeria’s Senate, where power is often bartered in whispers and handshakes, a tempest erupted—one that neither tradition nor intimidation could silence. (It may interest you to read: The Mightiest of Them all, which depicts the boundless power of man, or, should we say woman, to do and undo.)
Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan, a woman whose name now echoes across continents, hurled an accusation that cut through the political theatre like a sharpened blade. Her target? None other than Senate President Godswill Akpabio, a master of political survival, a man whose influence is woven into the very fabric of Nigerian governance.
What transpired behind the closed doors of Akpabio’s Uyo residence remains shrouded in allegations and counter-narratives, but Natasha’s claim of sexual harassment was more than a personal grievance; it was a challenge to a system fortified by patriarchal entitlement and procedural gate-keeping. This was not merely an accusation—it was a rebellion, a declaration that power, no matter how entrenched, would no longer be immune to reckoning.
Yet, the machinery of resistance spun swiftly into action. The Senate, rather than grappling with the weight of the accusation, found refuge in technicalities. Her petition was declared null, not for its substance, but for the signature that bore her name. The verdict was swift: six months of silence, a suspension wielded as both punishment and warning. But the architects of her silencing miscalculated—they had underestimated the force of a woman with nothing left to lose.This controversy echoes the larger battle over free speech in Nigeria. A similar struggle can be seen in BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA and THE PRICE OF FREE SPEECH IN THE TINUBU GOVERNMENT.
What was meant to be her downfall became her ascent. International media latched onto the unfolding saga, turning Natasha into a reluctant but undeniable symbol of defiance. The global stage at the UN Women in Parliament session amplified her cries, and her 100-billion-naira lawsuit against Akpabio redefined the battle—not as one of mere allegations, but of systemic defiance against deeply rooted oppression.
Akpabio, a man who had danced through the fires of political controversies before, now found himself ensnared in a storm unlike any other. His once-loyal allies whispered of damaged control, while the people he claimed to represent debated whether power had finally met its match. The Senate’s attempt at erasure had not only failed but had birthed a movement larger than Natasha herself—a movement that questioned the very nature of power, gender, and accountability in Nigeria.
Will the thorn embedded in Akpabio’s flesh fester into an incurable wound? Or will the machinery of Nigerian politics find a way to cauterize the damage and silence this rare, defiant voice? The tides of history often favour the bold, and in this battle between authority and audacity, the final chapter is yet to be written. One thing, however, is certain: Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan has proven that even a single thorn can bring the mightiest to their knees.
Okom, Emmanuel Njor (PhD)
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