OPINION
The Rumble in the Jungle that Keeps Rumbling
By Phillip van Niekerk
On 4 December, 2025, Rwanda’s lean, spare president Paul Kagame and his Congolese counterpart Félix Tshisekedi — known at home as “Fatshi” — sat in the Oval Office on either side of Donald Trump, who was presiding like a referee at a championship boxing match.
But this was no reprise of Muhammad Ali’s famous “Rumble in the Jungle,” where he knocked out George Foreman in the eighth round at a stadium in Kinshasa.
The two leaders could barely look at each other. Yet, they signed a peace deal meant to end one of Africa’s most intractable conflicts: the war in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo.
The optics were powerful. The reality was something else entirely.Before the ink was dry, Rwandan-backed M23 rebels clashed with a massed force of Congolese troops, Burundian units, mercenary boss Erik Prince’s “contractors” and local “Wazalendo” militias on the northern fringe of Lake Tanganyika. Hundreds of civilians — men, women, children — were slaughtered. Hundreds of thousands fled. The city of Uvira, on the border or Burundi, fell briefly to M23 before the rebels withdrew, only to retake it later.
Back in Washington, Trump was receiving a “peace prize” from FIFA, citing the Rwanda–DRC accord as one of eight achievements he believed warranted his winning the Nobel Peace Prize. (Much to his chagrin the real prize had just been awarded to the Venezuelan politician, Maria Corina Machado). Had anyone outside the region been paying attention, the juxtaposition might have seemed grotesque.
This week, Rwandan and Congolese delegations were summoned once again to Washington to revive the accord, after which they issued a joint statement with the Trump administration. Rwanda pledged a partial withdrawal from the DRC (to Goma), the DRC agreed to go after the FDLR militia that Rwanda views as a security threat linked to the 1994 genocide. Both sides pledged once again to protect civilians in the war zone.
Even as diplomacy falters, the war is evolving.
The Congolese army has begun deploying long-range drones — Chinese CH-4 systems and Turkish Anka platforms — operated with the help of Serbian technicians. M23 has responded by bombing Kisangani airport with kamikaze drones.
Meanwhile, Erik Prince’s mercenary army of mainly Colombians, contracted to secure strategic infrastructure and mining revenues, are believed to have been driven from Uvira by Rwanda and M23.
One veteran Rwanda watcher noted: “Erik Prince still thought this was 1960 where a white man shows up with a gun and everybody runs away. He learnt the hard way.”
The Resurrection of Félix Tshisekedi
A year ago, Tshisekedi looked finished. His army, the FARDC, had been routed in Goma and Bukavu — the twin gateways to eastern Congo — and had fled, looting and in numerous instances raping in their wake.
The regional cavalry that had rescued Laurent Kabila decades earlier never came. Angola was distracted. South African forces had been defeated around Goma and were effectively hostages of M23. Romanian mercenaries hired to defend Goma fled across the border and surrendered to Rwanda.
In Kinshasa, the political class rejected Tshisekedi’s call for a coalition government. Former president Joseph Kabila, operating from Namibia, was quietly preparing a return.
There was nothing standing between M23 and the mineral-rich provinces of Katanga — and beyond that, the road to Kinshasa itself. But the rebels chose not to advance, choosing instead to consolidate control. They set up administrations, opened schools, and began constructing something resembling a Rwandan vassal state across North and South Kivu.
Tshisekedi had been written off before. This time, he did something different: he called Donald Trump. The pitch to Washington was blunt: minerals for security.
The Democratic Republic of Congo sits atop one of the richest concentrations of strategic minerals on earth — cobalt, copper, coltan, lithium, tin, tungsten, diamonds, uranium and gold. Many of these are the building blocks of the modern world: electric vehicles, missile systems, satellites, smartphones, and the batteries of the next industrial revolution.
While the DRC’s southernmost provinces in Katanga hold the largest deposits, eastern Congo is rich in coltan and gold — much of which has for years been smuggled across the border to Rwanda and Uganda, entering global supply chains scrubbed clean of its Congolese origin. Despite Kigali’s denials, the pattern is well documented.
Tshisekedi’s dilemma was stark. His army could not stop M23. Regional diplomacy had failed. The UN peacekeeping mission — one of the largest and most expensive in history — had become militarily irrelevant. So, he reframed the war in the transactional language that the Trump administration understands — supply chains and strategic competition with China.
The result was the US-DRC Strategic Partnership Agreement, signed that December day in the Oval Office. Under the deal, the DRC created a Strategic Asset Reserve of priority mining projects, where American companies would receive the right of first refusal. These included Rubaya in North Kivu and the vast Manono lithium project.
This was the catch: Kinshasa was offering access to mines it did not yet control— giving Washington a direct incentive to help the DRC recover them.
The Coltan War
For Tshisekedi, the primary obstacle was Rwanda.
Paul Kagame commands one of Africa’s most effective militaries. His forces have operated in Mozambique and the Central African Republic and are widely trusted by Western security planners. He has a defence pact with Israel covering cyber security, artificial intelligence and technology transfers.
But inside the DRC, Rwanda is widely disliked. M23 has a base of support among Banyumulenge communities, who have been historically discriminated against, but Kigali is deeply unpopular amongst much of the rest of the population. Populist radio shows and social media have further raised the anti-Rwandan temperature. The non-Banyumelenge wing of the rebellion, Corneille Nangaa’s Congo River Alliance, is dismissed as a Rwandan proxy.
The struggle now centres on Rubaya, one of the world’s richest coltan deposits, which accounts for up to 30 per cent of global supply of the ore used to produce tantalum — critical for semiconductors, aerospace systems, and smartphones.
Since capturing it in 2024, M23 has turned Rubaya into a major revenue stream, generating close to $1 million a month. Much of the output is smuggled into Rwanda before entering global markets.
The fighting for Rubaya has evolved into a “coltan war,” where M23’s control of the high ground, such as “Sita” hill, is equivalent to controlling global mineral flows. But the rebels are under pressure from the aerial attacks.
In February, a precision drone strike near Rubaya killed M23 spokesman Willy Ngoma along with several senior commanders, a big blow to the rebel movement.
Western investors want to transform Rubaya from a dangerous site manually mined by thousands of artisanal miners into a regulated industrial operation capable of supplying traceable tantalum to international markets. Heavy rains in recent weeks have caused landslides that have led to hundreds of deaths.
One of the companies associated with these discussions is TechMet Ltd., a Dublin-based company whose CEO is the South African Brian Menell, and whose shareholders include the US government’s development finance agency, the Swiss commodity trader, Mercuria Energy, and the sovereign wealth fund of Qatar.
For Kinshasa, Rubaya is both a military objective and a geopolitical bargaining chip.
Sanctions on Rwanda
While the US is very unlikely to put boots on the ground in the DRC, it has other weapons at its disposal. In March, the US imposed sanctions on the Rwanda Defence Force and several senior officers, accusing Kigali of backing M23 and exploiting Congo’s mineral wealth.
This had the immediate effect of forcing a basketball team owned by Rwanda’s Ministry of Defence to withdraw from the Basketball Africa League, which is run by the NBA — a blow for a country that takes pride in branding its image through sports teams.
However, Rwanda’s military procurement relies on suppliers such as China, Israel, and Turkey, so the sanctions will be unlikely to impact Rwanda’s war effort.
The sanctions have had one unintended effect. The European Union, which funds some of Rwanda’s deployment in northern Mozambique where they are holding the line against ISIS linked insurgents, is reconsidering its support because of the sanctions. Kigali has warned that if funding ends it may withdraw its forces, which also help guard the gigantic TotalEnergies Liquified Natural Gas project.
Rwanda might have another reason for wanting to get out — they haven’t been paid by the Mozambican government in ten months. But the danger is that Jihadists in Mozambique are already regaining momentum, fuelled by new recruitment and foreign fighters.
A War That Cannot Be Won
On the ground in Eastern Congo, little has fundamentally changed. M23 remains well-commanded and backed by Rwanda. But its supply lines are stretched thin. Whatever its military strength, it lacks the numbers to control and administer vast territories for long periods of time.
The Congolese army remains fragmented, corrupt, and weak. The war has become a hybrid conflict shaped as much by remote machines in the sky as by militias with AK-47s.
Nearly eight million people are displaced across eastern Congo. A decisive military victory for Kinshasa appears unlikely. At best, Tshisekedi can contain the rebels and negotiate from a slightly stronger position. As one analyst put it: Congo is “a colossus with feet of clay.”
Phillip van Niekerk is the managing partner of Calabar Consulting, a risk consulting company specialising in Africa. The views expressed are his own. He also publishes Africa Unscrambled on Substack.
OPINION
Osun Election: Will Nigeria’s Political Class Learn?
As Nigeria gradually enters the political season ahead of the 2027 general elections, there is a growing temptation among politicians to return to the familiar playbook: aggressive campaigns, endless promises, political propaganda, ethnic calculations, religious sentiments and the mobilisation of money and machinery.
But if the political class is paying attention, the recent Osun election should offer a sobering lesson.
Elections are no longer simply contests between political parties or exercises in political arithmetic. They are increasingly becoming referendums on performance, credibility, organisation and the relationship between politicians and the people.The Osun experience should therefore be more than another election victory or defeat to be celebrated by one camp and rationalised by another. It should be a warning to every politician preparing for 2027.
The first lesson is that the people are watching.
For too long, Nigerian politicians have behaved as though voters can be permanently manipulated with slogans, inducements and election-day theatrics. But voters are becoming more discerning. They may still respond to material incentives, but they also remember who governed well, who failed, who showed up and who disappeared after collecting their votes.
The second lesson is that political structures cannot replace public trust.
A party may possess powerful godfathers, influential leaders, vast resources and impressive campaign machinery, but these cannot indefinitely compensate for a credibility deficit. Political structures are important, but they work best when they are reinforced by genuine voter confidence.
The third lesson is that incumbency is not an automatic guarantee of victory.
Those who occupy political offices must understand that public office comes with a political bill that eventually falls due. Roads, schools, healthcare, jobs, security, salaries, infrastructure and the general welfare of citizens are not merely governance issues; they increasingly shape electoral decisions.
The politician who assumes that occupying government gives him an irreversible advantage may discover, rather painfully, that voters have the final word.
There is also a lesson for opposition parties. Winning elections requires more than criticising the government. Nigerians are increasingly interested in alternatives. Opposition parties must articulate credible programmes, build strong grassroots structures and demonstrate that they have the competence and discipline required to govern.
Perhaps the most important lesson is that 2027 cannot be approached as politics as usual.
Nigeria is facing an electorate that is younger, more digitally connected and increasingly vocal. Social media has changed political communication. Citizens can challenge official narratives in real time. Political mistakes can become national conversations within minutes. Candidates can no longer depend entirely on traditional campaign rallies and carefully managed media appearances.
The political class must also recognise that Nigerians are tired of being treated as statistics during elections and forgotten citizens afterwards.
The road to 2027 will undoubtedly produce the usual alliances, defections, endorsements and political realignments. There will be new coalitions and old rivalries. There will be attempts to weaponise identity, manipulate emotions and redefine political narratives.
But the real question is whether politicians will learn from Osun.
Will they understand that voters deserve respect? Will they realise that performance matters? Will political parties begin to prioritise competence over loyalty? Will candidates campaign on ideas rather than insults? Will politicians understand that democracy is not simply about winning elections but earning the legitimacy to govern?
These are the questions the Osun election should force the political class to confront.
The 2027 election is approaching. The campaign season may only be beginning, but the lessons have already arrived.
The politicians who choose to ignore them may do so at their own peril.
Nigeria’s voters are watching. And this time, they may be keeping a much longer memory.
Kokome, a communications strategist and public affairs analyst, writes from Lagos via kokomejohn@yahoo.com
OPINION
Two Hundred Days in Power: Some Lessons to Learn From General Murtala Mohammed
By John Chibuzo Emmanuel
The realm of Nigerian politics today is a chessboard where our bones and dripping blood are recklessly tossed from one end to another. This is why one of the most quoted phrases in the history of our nation is “politics is a dirty game.
” Well, from the days of Azikiwe right to the days of Asiwaju, from Balewa to Buhari, from Gowon to Goodluck, from Obafemi to Obasanjo, corruption scandals have never ceased to dominate our headlines.Achebe summed it all up when he lamented: “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.
There is nothing basically wrong with the Nigerian character. There is nothing wrong with the Nigerian land or climate or water or air or anything else. The Nigerian problem is the unwillingness or inability of its leaders to rise to the responsibility, to the challenge of personal example which are the hallmarks of true leadership” (Achebe 1).And in these trying times of ours, when the blood of our children flow in the thick green forest, when the cries of our raped mothers do nothing but chase away the watching birds that perch on the tall trees, when the screams of our brave soldiers that echo in the forests serve as their untimely and only goodbye; we must remember General Murtala Muhammad. In this era when inhumanity has replaced our sense of religion and empathy, we must not forget a man who truly loved, lived and died for Nigeria. We must not forget the bravest and most fearless leader to have walked the brown earth of this barren land endowed with the greatest mineral deposits. Do not laugh at this paralyzing but profound and truthful paradox.
It is indeed a national tragedy that the most distinguished and excellent individuals in our short history have either been relegated to the background of oblivion, persecuted by the majority, or slaughtered on the altar of envy. It is a national tragedy that our school children know nothing of their history or heroes. It is even a greater tragedy that they are being robbed of noticeable examples of distinguished leadership from our history. The painful consequence of this is that we have come to accept stupidity and ideological bankruptcy in politics as our national guiding principles.
Mothers in the marketplace, children in malpractice-ridden schools, students in dilapidated institutions, brave soldiers dying in the thick enclaves of Sambisa, intellectuals tired from years of doing battle with the federal and state governments, do not forget General Murtala Muhammad. Do not forget General Murtala for he is a reminder of all we can achieve if we eradicate the different manifestations of corruption unique to our lives.
General Murtala was born on November 8, 1938, and became one of the youngest generals throughout the history of Nigeria. At the age of thirty-six he took over the reins of government from General Yakubu Gowon on July 29, 1975, through a bloodless coup d’etat, and ruled the country for just two hundred days before he was assassinated by Lieutenant Colonel Bukar Suka Dimka on February 13, 1976.
However, in his two hundred days of power, he implemented some of the most impactful and iconoclastic social and economic reforms ever seen in the history of this country. In his two hundred days of power, he sacked more than ten thousand corrupt and incompetent civil servants. In his two hundred days of power, he conceived and began implementing a vision of a central capital city other than Lagos. This city is now known as the city of Abuja.
In his two hundred days in power, he championed African Liberation Movements throughout Africa as well as opposed apartheid and neo-colonialism virulently. In his two hundred days of power he did what even democratically elected leaders have always hesitated to attempt: decentralization of the national executive. He decentralized his executive powers into a military triumvirate consisting of himself, Olusegun Obasanjo and Theophilus Danjuma.
In his two hundred days in power, the University of Jos—my alma matter—became a degree awarding institution. In his two hundred days of power he set Nigeria on the path of democracy before his tragic and untimely end. In his two hundred days in power he taught Nigerians the definition of true leadership.
No wonder Achebe once popularly wrote: “On the morning after Murtala Muhammed seized power in July 1975, public servants in Lagos were found “on seat” at seven thirty in the morning. Even the “go-slow” traffic that had defeated every solution and defied every regime vanished overnight from the streets.” How can one man wield such a positive influence in our national culture?
General Murtala Muhammed never allowed his ideas to rot in the bureaucratic files of government “experts”. For this, his signature phrase “with immediate effect” has become one of the most used and sadly, abused phrases by Nigerian politicians.
Do you know that the expression “fellow Nigerians” which has been bastardized by Nigerian leaders today was a term he coined and used to address ordinary Nigerians on the street whom he truly cared for? Do you know that upon his ascension to power he cut down the heavy security and military convoys that have come to characterize modern Nigerian politics? Do you know that in his two hundred days of power corrupt military officers and even military governors faced the wrath of the law just like every other Nigerian citizen on the streets? Do you know that all this was achieved by a man of just thirty-seven years?
If we forget Murtala Muhammad, we forget the dream of the poor hawker on the street, the prayer of the sun bathed keke driver, the hope of the unemployed graduate on the verge of suicide, or the resilience of the Northern girl child in her quest for education. If we forget Murtala Muhammad, we forget the Nigerian dream. The dream of living a peaceful and happy life.
On this historic day, we must remember General Murtala Muhammed and all he stood for so that we can eternally realize and regret the depth of our profound ignorance if we make a mistake on the 2027 ballot box. We cannot afford to make a mistake in the ballot box unless we want to eternalize the pain and tragedy of our lives. Vote for the future; our future, next year. Thank you for listening.
John Chibuzo is a Nigerian writer, literary critic, educator and multi-instrumentalist based in Jos city. His poetry and essays have been published in The National Scholar, Lolwe, Beyond the Pages, Nestle on the Rock and the anthology: Letters to the Union We Hope to Become. He co-founded The Excellent Magazine in 2024 and served as it’s first editor-in-chief. He studied English and Literature at the University of Jos.
OPINION
Urgent Need to Tackle Public Infrastructure Theft in Nigeria
By Tochukwu Jimo Obi
The rate at which public infrastructure is being vandalised and stolen across Nigeria, particularly in the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja, has reached an alarming level that can no longer be ignored.
What was once regarded as isolated acts of petty criminality has gradually become a serious threat to public safety, government investment and the effective functioning of cities. Across Abuja, the brazen removal of public infrastructure has become so widespread that urgent and coordinated action is now required.One of the most disturbing examples is the widespread theft of manhole covers.
In several parts of Abuja, open manholes have become a common sight following the removal of their metal covers by vandals. This poses a serious danger to pedestrians, motorists and other road users, particularly at night. Beyond the immediate safety risks, the theft of these covers demonstrates the extent to which public property is being systematically stripped for the purpose of making quick money.The problem, however, goes far beyond manhole covers. Bridge rails, railway tracks, underground cables, solar street lights, electrical installations and other public facilities have also become targets. Infrastructure installed with taxpayers’ money is being dismantled and carted away, often with little or no resistance. The consequence is that facilities designed to improve public safety, transportation, security and the quality of life of citizens are being destroyed by individuals motivated by short term financial gains.
A major destination for these stolen materials is the network of makeshift scrap markets popularly referred to as “pantaker markets” in Abuja and its environs. These markets provide an avenue through which stolen public infrastructure can allegedly be disposed of with relative ease. The existence and continued operation of such markets should therefore be treated not merely as a commercial issue, but as a security and public infrastructure concern requiring the attention of relevant authorities.
Even more troubling is the role of those who purchase these materials. It is difficult to accept that buyers of manhole covers, cables, bridge components, railway materials and other government infrastructure would always be unaware of their origins. Where such materials are offered for sale under suspicious circumstances, buyers should be expected to exercise due diligence. Anyone who knowingly purchases stolen public property is not merely engaging in commerce; such a person is helping to sustain the criminal network responsible for the theft.
It is therefore worrying that successive administrations in Abuja have not appeared to give this problem the level of attention it deserves. Government agencies responsible for infrastructure, environmental enforcement and public safety must work closely with the police, civil defence authorities and other relevant security agencies to identify and raid locations where stolen public infrastructure is being traded. Such operations should not be limited to the arrest of street level vandals. Dealers, middlemen and buyers who knowingly participate in the illegal trade must also face investigation and prosecution.
The economic cost of this criminality is enormous. Every manhole cover, street light, cable, bridge rail or railway component stolen from public infrastructure must eventually be replaced. Money that could have been used to construct new roads, improve healthcare, provide schools, expand public transportation or address other pressing social needs is instead spent repeatedly replacing facilities that have already been provided. This creates a vicious cycle in which the government invests in infrastructure, criminals destroy it, and taxpayers are forced to finance its replacement.
There is also a broader question of public responsibility. Citizens should not remain passive when they witness the destruction or suspicious sale of public property. Communities have an important role to play in reporting vandals and suspicious dealers to the appropriate authorities. Government, on its part, must create effective reporting mechanisms and ensure that information supplied by citizens is acted upon. Enforcement will be difficult if citizens look the other way while stolen public property is openly traded in their communities.
The Federal Government, states and the FCT Administration and security agencies must therefore treat public infrastructure theft as a serious national security and economic issue. There should be a sustained crackdown on vandalism, proper regulation of scrap markets, effective monitoring of critical infrastructure and swift prosecution of those found culpable. Most importantly, enforcement must be consistent rather than occasional, because criminal networks quickly return whenever they discover that government attention has waned. Nigeria cannot afford to continue losing scarce public resources to vandals while millions of citizens struggle with inadequate infrastructure. The time to act decisively is now.
Tochukwu Jimo Obi, a concerned Nigerian writes from Obosi Anambra state.


