Bigger burial grounds will curb Nigeria’s air crashes

Àrò méta are the three huge stones that form a tripod in the mud kitchen located outside the village hut. The tripod never spills the pot of soup; àrò méta kìí da obè nù, says a proverb from western Nigeria.

For at least three reasons, the international farewell match of soccer god Lionel Andrés Messi Cuccittini should be a topic of interest for a newspaper columnist.

One huge stone in the tripod of the three reasons why the Messi match was a must-watch for me was the reported 3.1 billion views it gathered by the 10th minute, setting the record for the most-watched single sporting event in history.

The second stone in the tripod was that yours truly is a Messi fan.

The third and last stone is the strongest reason. It is also the most pivotal. It is the essence of Messi. Here, the Messi essence embodies profound humility, indescribable grace, infectious team spirit, unspeakable leadership, matchless sacrifice, indomitable courage, infinite skill, extraordinary talent, boundless selflessness and utter compassion.

With the match against Benin racking up an estimated 3.1 billion global views, the 1.5 billion audience that watched the 2022 World Cup final between Argentina and France, and the 1.12 billion audience that watched the 2018 World Cup final between France and Croatia, pale in comparison to Messi’s new unofficial record.

Surely, the hand of God is upon Andrès, the son of Jorge, who passed on August 8, 2026. God bless the womb of Cuccittini, the mother who birthed Messi to the world.

For the worldwide buzz his retirement from international soccer on October 6, 2026 generated, some readers would expect me to celebrate the Messi essence in this article, knowing full well I am his fan.

No, I will not. Because the tripod has crumbled, the pot of soup has spilt. Àrò méta ti da obè nù. The calabash is shattered. The coconut is smashed. The bow has snapped and become a walking stick. Sàngbà fó! Pánsá já! Àjá jìn!

The death of 25 Nigerian Air Force personnel in a military plane crash in the Igbokoda community of Ondo State, on Monday, October 5, 2026, has turned the honey of Messi’s retirement into bile in the mouths of many Nigerians. However, some other day soon, after the mourning is over, I hope to revisit the immaculacy of Messi’s retirement.

Right now, let the dead and the people of the dead bury the dead. Because death teaches us nothing. The cycle is unending.

I ask: Why has death turned Nigeria’s airspace into a killing field again? Why does death fly into Nigerian skies when hungry, and cram dozens of heads into its measureless mouth, washing his victims down with gallons of blood? Why has death turned our skies into a choice restaurant for his amala, gbègìrì and assorted meat?

Ha, clearly, I can see death! Can you see its fangs dripping blood? Ye eh! I can see a foot with a shoe, and a hand with a wristwatch, gradually tumbling into the monster’s mouth…oh gosh!

In Nigeria, our head is not correct, we know. Who will fix our incorrect head? Instead of wearing a crown of thorns on Nigeria’s empty head, however, I suggest we conduct an MRI scan on our brain. Maybe the MRI result will reveal why Nigeria keeps doing the same thing and expecting different results.

Before the MRI scan, let us go to Igbokodo, Ondo’s riverine community of mineral wealth and crushing poverty, to analyse the events preceding the latest air calamity which dumped 25 soldiers in a military aircraft into a swamp, killing all.

At Igbokoda, I can see the rescue team at work; digging, breaking, bending and retrieving: muddled shoes, crushed eyeglasses, broken phones, ownerless keys, smashed laptops, flesh, bones, all, except life. When a bird falls from the sky at 10,000 feet, death’s knell tolls on land.

The distance between 2006 and 2026 is a bridge of 20 years that links the crash in Oko, Benue State, with the latest crash in Igbokoda, Ondo State.

On September 17, 2006, a Nigerian Air Force Dornier 222-212 (NAF 033), while travelling from Abuja toward Obudu, Cross River, crashed in Oko, Vandeikya LGA of Benue State, killing 13 of the 18 passengers on board. A gallant soldier, Wing Commander E. O. Adekunle, died in the crash.

Lightning struck in the same place midair on October 5, 2026, when the husband of the daughter of the late Wing Commander Adekunle, Squadron Leader Ahamefule Aham Man-Ugwueje, lost his life in the Igbokoda crash.

Ahamefule was among the 25 soldiers who boarded the NAF 931 plane from the Benin Airport en route to the Murtala Mohammed Airport, Lagos. All was well with the metal bird until it reached the Igbokodo airspace, where it disappeared from the sky and nosedived into a swamp.

The widow of the late Squadron Leader Ahamefule, Flight Lieutenant Damilola Adekunle, married Ahamefule on September 19, 2026, two weeks before the tragedy. What a fate!

Uhmm! I ask: When did Nigeria begin to bequeath death by plane crash from generation to generation? Perhaps my proposed MRI scan will provide the answer.

To the theatre! To the theatre! Nigeria to the theatre!

Draped in the green-white-green colours of the national flag, Nigeria is wheeled to the theatre with speed. I ran after the patient. But I was stopped at the door and told only the medical team could go into the theatre. I was told I could watch from a big screen outside the theatre.

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The brain of 66-year-old Nigeria shows up clearly on the MRI screen. The MRI beeps. The green light on the screen fades into yellow, goes orange and stops short of totally going red. Red kẹ̀? Red no bi danger? Then it shows 90%. What does that mean? 90% of what? Danger or safety? Life or death?

Then the MRI brings back the picture of the brain, focusing on two parts – the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex. And it begins to scribble on its screen:

“The amygdala and the prefrontal cortex are two vital parts of the human brain. Both are useful concepts for understanding behaviour, especially the tension between emotional reaction and deliberate self-control.

“The amygdala is a small, almond-shaped group of nuclei deep within the brain’s temporal lobes. It is heavily involved in generating rapid responses before conscious deliberation is complete. It also generates fear and defensive responses and assigns emotional significance to events, etc. For example, someone insults you unexpectedly. You may experience anger, increased heart rate and an urge to retaliate before you have consciously decided what to do. The amygdala is part of the circuitry involved in that rapid emotional response.

“But the prefrontal cortex is part of the brain’s frontal lobes. It contributes to planning, judgment, impulse control, weighing consequences, decision-making, adjusting behaviour according to social rules and long-term goals, etc.

“While the amygdala reacts emotionally, the prefrontal cortex weighs options.”

At the end of the medical analysis, the medical team summarises the MRI scan on Nigeria’s brain in these words: “Patient Nigeria has been using its amygdala and never uses its prefrontal cortex. This has to stop immediately. Failure to change will lead to irreparable damage and death.”

Sweat broke on my forehead. Nigeria must not die. The crippled giant of Africa must not quench. As I was ruminating on how best Nigeria could use its prefrontal cortex, I remembered an event that happened in a Tennessee prison.

On September 30, 2026, the State of Tennessee, USA, attempted to execute death row convict Christa Pike by lethal injection. Twice she was injected with doses of pentobarbital, but she did not die. Pike became unconscious and was taken to the hospital, where she was placed on a ventilator.

Pike’s fate was not an isolated administrative mishap. It was the second failed execution in Tennessee in 2026. In May, the execution of Tony Carruthers was halted when officials could not establish a backup IV line.

Tennessee Prison Chief Frank Strada resigned.

If the Tennessee scenario happened in Nigeria, the amygdala would have deployed a knee-jerk chain of reaction that would translate into the setting up of panels, investigation, and eventual trashing of the findings and recommendations of the panel. The prison chief would have continued in his position, with a junior official or two deployed from their positions to give a semblance of punishment. Then, the wheel will move on.

Strada did not resign because it has already been established that he personally caused the botched execution. Moreover, he says he believes his personnel followed the proper protocol. He nevertheless stepped aside because, as commissioner, he is the political and administrative head of the system, and he considered his departure to be in the public interest while an independent investigation proceeds. This is an impossible act in Nigeria.

In countries that use their prefrontal cortex, like America, responsibility travels upwards. Strada cannot say he was not the one who inserted the IV wrongly or gave the lethal injections wrongly. He represents the institution that selected the personnel, trained them, established procedures, supervised them and carried out the state’s most irreversible punishment. That is what makes his resignation symbolically important.

In Nigeria, where political consideration takes precedence over competence, round pegs are put in square holes, setting the stage for disaster.

Strada’s resignation was to allow for the investigation to continue without his presence so there would be no obstruction. Personally, he said his stepping aside was in the best interest of Tennesseans. In Nigeria, public officials on trial are saddled with even bigger tasks than the one for which they are being tried.

Former national football coach, Imama Amapakabo, was saddled with bigger assignments after he failed woefully to deliver in his former roles.

Making a caricature of institutional responsibility, Nigeria has turned panels of inquiry into a substitute for accountability. In many cases, nothing is heard about the outcome of inaugurated panels. If our panels of inquiry are worth their while, Nigeria’s cycle of disaster and corruption would have been broken.

When public officials know that failure is survivable, then fire has been put to a ticking bomb in public space. Weak consequences weaken institutional memory. And the wheel grinds on.

All hope is not lost for Nigeria, however. There are a few sparks in the tunnel, though they do not illuminate. Nigeria needs more sparks that can turn into light. The Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board is a public institution that is punching above its weight. There are a couple of such other institutions like JAMB.

When the goat eats the yam, the question should not be who opened the barn; it should be who was responsible for guarding the barn. A system that punishes only the hand that committed an error while sparing the head that supervised the hand has not established accountability; it has only scapegoated.

Before another bird drops off the sky, let us put our house in order, and not continue to dig bigger burial grounds each time a self-imposed calamity befalls. We should put our prefrontal lobes to work for once, before our amygdala breaks down totally. The light is about to turn totally red.

Bigger burial grounds will not curb Nigeria’s air crashes. Only a madman will think so.