Few questions in Belgium touch history, identity and democracy as deeply as language. That is precisely why they deserve more light than heat.
The recent proposal by the Flemish Government to further restrict access to Dutch-language education in Brussels, by reserving a greater proportion of school places exclusively for Dutch-speaking families, stems from a legitimate concern. Many Flemish parents living in Brussels increasingly struggle to secure places for their children in Dutch-language schools. They have every reason to expect that schools established and funded by the Flemish Community should continue to serve the community they were created to support.
Those concerns deserve to be heard respectfully, not dismissed. The Dutch language did not attain its rightful place in Belgium by accident. It was the product of decades of political struggle, cultural perseverance and democratic reform. Any serious observer of Belgian history understands why many Flemings instinctively resist anything that appears to weaken the Dutch-speaking character of their educational institutions.
Acknowledging that reality, however, should not prevent us from asking a more important question. Is restricting access the wisest way to strengthen Dutch-language education in Brussels? I believe the answer is no. In fact, the very popularity of Dutch-language schools should be seen as one of the Flemish Community’s greatest public policy successes.
Parents who speak French at home increasingly choose Dutch-language education. So do many international families; diplomats, European civil servants, employees of multinational companies and countless other expatriates. This is not an abstract observation. They are not compelled to do so. They choose it because they recognise the quality of the education, its discipline, and the opportunities that multilingual learning creates for their children.
Permit me a personal reflection.
Over the years, I have viewed this question from several vantage points: first as a Nigerian-qualified teacher, later as a Belgian municipal policymaker entrusted for a time with responsibility for education, then as a parent whose children passed through the Flemish education system, and now as a grandfather watching a new generation intentionally grow up bilingually in Dutch and English. Those experiences have convinced me that multilingual education is one of Belgium’s quiet success stories.
Around two decades ago, some naturalised Belgian friends of mine decided to relocate to the United Kingdom, convinced that an English-language education would better prepare their children for the future. Others of us stayed, and our children continued through the Flemish education system. Looking back, the difference has been striking.
Those educated in Dutch did not lose English. For many, it remained the language of the home. Instead, they gained Dutch to native or near-native proficiency, acquired functional French because it is a compulsory part of the curriculum, and, in many cases, developed a working knowledge of German as well. They entered adulthood equipped not with one linguistic identity, but with several.
Some families who moved abroad have since reflected that, while their children received an excellent education, they missed the distinctive multilingual advantage that Belgium offers. In today’s international labour market, that additional linguistic competence has become a genuine competitive asset.
Today, as I watch my own grandson being intentionally raised in both Dutch(his mum) and English (his dad), I see that same multilingual inheritance continuing into another generation. It reminds me that integration is not merely about learning a language. It is about gradually belonging to a society without losing the richness of one’s origins.
Languages do not become weaker because more people choose to learn them. They become stronger because more people choose to live through them. That experience has only reinforced my conviction that every family who voluntarily chooses Dutch-language education should be seen not as diminishing the Dutch language, but as strengthening its future. The growing demand for Dutch-language schools is not evidence of failure; it is evidence of success.
Brussels occupies a unique place in Belgium. It is the capital of Flanders and of Belgium. It is also the administrative capital of Europe and one of the world’s most multilingual cities. No other Belgian city carries quite the same responsibility of bringing different linguistic and cultural communities together.
That uniqueness requires policies that do more than protect identities. They must also build shared futures. Schools remain one of the few public institutions where children from different backgrounds can grow together before society teaches them to separate into political or linguistic camps. Every French-speaking child who learns Dutch fluently strengthens the place of Dutch in Brussels. Every international family that chooses Dutch-language education demonstrates confidence in Flemish institutions. Every multilingual graduate represents an investment in Belgium’s social cohesion and economic competitiveness.
Restricting access risks reducing precisely the constituency that has chosen to embrace the Dutch language. The real challenge, therefore, is not excessive demand. It is insufficient capacity. Whenever public demand exceeds available supply, governments face a choice. They can ration opportunity. Or they can create more opportunity. History generally judges the second option more kindly. If Dutch-language schools have become victims of their own success, then the appropriate response is to invest in more classrooms, more teachers, more school infrastructure and stronger early-childhood language support, not to narrow the circle of those who may benefit.
There is also an economic dimension that deserves greater attention. Brussels’ labour market increasingly rewards multilingualism. Employers across public administration, European institutions, healthcare, education and business consistently seek professionals who are comfortable working in Dutch, French and English.
Dutch-language education has quietly become one of Brussels’ most successful engines of multilingual competence. Why would Belgium intentionally reduce access to one of its greatest competitive advantages? Protecting Dutch and promoting multilingualism are not competing objectives. They reinforce one another. A balanced policy could therefore pursue both goals simultaneously.
Guarantee meaningful access for Dutch-speaking families. Expand Dutch-language educational capacity. Strengthen Dutch immersion from early childhood. Improve Dutch teaching within French-language schools. Encourage multilingual excellence as one of Brussels’ defining strengths rather than treating linguistic diversity as a zero-sum competition.
Such an approach protects the legitimate interests of Flemish families without sending the unintended message that Dutch is a language to be guarded from others rather than shared with them.
As someone who has spent much of his public life believing that good policy enlarges opportunity rather than redistributes scarcity, I find myself returning to one simple conviction. Belgium’s linguistic diversity should not become a permanent contest over who belongs. It should become a shared project of ensuring that more citizens belong fully to one another. The objective of language policy should never simply be deciding who gets into our schools. It should be ensuring that everyone who leaves them leaves better equipped to understand their neighbours, contribute to their communities and strengthen the country they share.
Success should invite expansion, not restriction, because schools do more than teach languages. They cultivate citizens, build communities, and shape belonging across generations.
Keynote Address by Collins Nweke to The Global African Diaspora Conference Anchored by INSIDE54 Theme: Redefining the Diaspora Identity, Ideas & Innovation Saturday, 22 August 2026
Protocols
Thank you for the privilege of joining you at this Global African Diaspora Conference.
The theme before us “Redefining the Diaspora Identity, Ideas & Innovation” could hardly be more timely. But I want to approach it through a particular lens today.
I want to speak about the young African diaspora. This is because when we speak about redefining diaspora identity, we are ultimately speaking about inheritance. We are asking what one generation will hand to another and, perhaps more importantly, what the next generation will choose to do differently with what it inherits.
I belong to a generation for whom diaspora was largely a story of movement. We left somewhere. In my case, Nigeria. We arrived somewhere else. For me that was Europe, specifically Belgium. We learned new languages, negotiated new cultures, got some more education, built careers, raised families, encountered discrimination and opportunity, and struggled in different ways to establish belonging. Yet throughout that journey, Africa remained somewhere inside us, inevitably hanging up on the continent at one point or the other notwithstanding.
For many of us, the question was: How do I remain connected to the place I came from?
But for the generation coming after us, the question is different. Many were born outside Africa. Some have two or three nationalities woven into their identities. Some speak an African language fluently. Others do not. Some visit Africa every year. Others may only have visited once. Some may never yet have set foot on the continent. And yet they are part of the African story.
That is why my first proposition today is simple: You do not have to have left Africa to belong to its diaspora. And you do not have to live in Africa to participate in building its future.
The Diaspora Identity Must Evolve
The African Union itself offers us an important starting point. Its understanding of the African diaspora encompasses people of African origin living outside the continent, irrespective of citizenship and nationality, who are willing to contribute to Africa’s development and the building of the African Union.
Notice what is powerful about that definition. It does not make Africanness a passport test. It does not make language proficiency the qualification. It ask not whether you were born in Lagos, London, Lusaka or Los Angeles. It places emphasis on connection and contribution. That is particularly important for young people.
We must stop making young Africans of the diaspora constantly prove that they are African enough. A young woman born in Brussels to Congolese parents should not have to choose between being Belgian and being African. A Ghanaian-British technology entrepreneur should not be regarded as less African because Accra is not his permanent address. A Nigerian-American teenager should not have her Africanness measured by the quality of her Igbo, Yoruba, or Hausa. Identity in our century can be layered. It can be plural. It can be confident enough to carry several worlds simultaneously.
And I would go further. The hyphen in African-European, African-American or African-Caribbean identity should not be treated as a fracture. It can become a bridge. The ability to inhabit several cultural, economic and intellectual worlds can become an extraordinary African asset. What an earlier generation sometimes experienced as divided identity, the next generation can convert into comparative advantage.
From Identity to Ideas
But identity alone is not enough. There is a danger in romanticising diaspora. Diaspora cannot simply be about flags, food, festivals and nostalgia. These things matter. Culture matters. Memory matters. Heritage matters. But heritage must eventually produce agency. The question is no longer simply: Where are you from? The more consequential question is: What can you do with the worlds to which you belong?
For decades, much of Africa’s relationship with its diaspora has revolved around one word: Remittances. Let me be clear. Remittances matter enormously. They educate children, pay hospital bills, put food on tables, finance housing, and sustain communities. Millions of African families know their value not as an economic statistic but as lived reality. But we make a profound strategic mistake when we reduce the value of an African living abroad to how much money he or she sends home. The diaspora possesses something larger than its bank accounts. It possesses knowledge, skills, networks, institutional access, technology, professional standards, market intelligence, and relationships.
And perhaps most importantly, it possesses a unique vantage point between Africa and the world. That is why I have argued elsewhere for an understanding of diaspora engagement that goes beyond remittances and moves towards what I call economic diplomacy of the diaspora.
The old question was: What can you send home? The new question must become: What can we build together?
The Young Diaspora as Africa’s Innovation Bridge
This is where young people become indispensable. Today’s young diaspora is emerging in a world fundamentally different from the one my generation encountered. Technology has collapsed distance. A software developer in Leeds can build a platform serving businesses in Nairobi. A biomedical researcher in Brussels can collaborate with a hospital in Lagos without relocating permanently. A Ghanaian designer in Paris can sell African-inspired products globally without waiting for a conventional multinational distribution network. A young African filmmaker can sit in Toronto, tell an African story, distribute it globally and influence how millions of people understand the continent.
The old model of diaspora contribution often assumed physical return. We spoke about brain drain and then about brain gain. But perhaps the more useful concept for the twenty-first century is brain circulation. Talent does not always have to return permanently to contribute meaningfully. Knowledge can circulate. Capital can circulate. So too is mentorship, technology, opportunities, and networks. The question is therefore not simply how we bring Africans home. The question is: How do we connect African talent wherever it resides to African opportunity wherever it exists? That is a much bigger project.
Stop Asking Young People to “Give Back”
And here I want to challenge a phrase that we use frequently in diaspora circles. We tell successful young Africans abroad that they should “give back.” I understand the sentiment. But I increasingly find the phrase inadequate. Giving back suggests a debt. It suggests that Africa is a recipient and the diaspora is the benefactor. It subtly reproduces the very relationship we ought to be transforming. So my message to young Africans today is different:
I am not asking you to give back to Africa. I am asking you to build forward with Africa.
Build companies with Africa. Build technology with Africa. Build institutions with Africa. Build research networks with Africa. Build cultural industries with Africa. Build sustainable cities with Africa. Build better governance with Africa. Build new narratives with Africa. Do not approach Africa merely as a place requiring rescue.
Approach Africa as a partner possessing problems to solve, opportunities to develop, markets to build and human potential to unleash. And do not allow anyone to tell you that your contribution becomes legitimate only when you relocate permanently. Your value lies partly in the fact that you occupy spaces Africa needs to reach.
Africa Must Also Earn the Diaspora
But there is another side to this conversation, and we must be courageous enough to address it. We cannot endlessly lecture the diaspora about patriotism while refusing to improve the conditions under which meaningful engagement becomes possible. Africa must also become worthy of sustained diaspora engagement. We cannot tell young Africans:
“Come home and invest,”
while bureaucracies frustrate them. We cannot ask them to innovate while institutions punish experimentation. We cannot invite their capital while rules change without warning. We cannot request their expertise and then marginalise them when decisions are being made. And we cannot celebrate young people rhetorically while excluding them institutionally. Young people do not merely need a seat in the audience. They need a seat where decisions are made. This is not even foreign to Africa’s declared aspirations.
Agenda 2063 envisages an Africa whose development is people-driven and explicitly relies upon the potential of women and youth. It links Africa’s transformation to education, science, technology, innovation, entrepreneurship and empowered young citizens.
The challenge, therefore, is not a shortage of declarations. The challenge is implementation. African governments must create structured pathways through which diaspora talent can participate. Universities should build global African research networks. Cities and regional governments should create diaspora innovation partnerships. Businesses should establish diaspora talent pipelines. Investment agencies should create transparent diaspora desks that actually solve problems rather than merely organise conferences. Embassies should become platforms for economic and knowledge diplomacy, not simply consular outposts. And our continental institutions must make the next generation of diaspora Africans participants in African development architecture, not occasional guests at ceremonial events.
From Brain Drain to Brain Network
For too long, Africa has understandably worried about brain drain.Our doctors leave. So too our engineers, academics, and our brightest young professionals. The loss is real. But migration itself is unlikely to disappear. Therefore, Africa requires a more sophisticated response.
If a Nigerian artificial-intelligence researcher moves to Germany, Africa should not simply record one more professional lost. We should ask: Can she supervise researchers at an African university? Can she help establish a laboratory partnership, connect African start-ups to European technology ecosystems, and mentor young women entering STEM? Can she invest? Can she help transfer knowledge? Can she open doors? The strategic objective should therefore be to convert:
Brain Drain → Brain Circulation → Brain Network → African Capability. That is a diaspora policy fit for the twenty-first century.
To the Older Generation: We Must Also Let Go
There is a message here for my own generation too. If we genuinely want young people to redefine diaspora identity, then we must permit them to redefine it. We cannot invite innovation and then insist that everything must remain as we created it. We cannot establish diaspora organisations and occupy their leadership forever. We cannot tell young people that they are tomorrow’s leaders while refusing to relinquish authority today.
Our generation has accumulated something valuable. We have built associations, entered professions, gained political representation, established businesses, and developed institutional relationships. We have fought battles of belonging that our children may thankfully never need to fight in quite the same way. But those achievements were never meant to become monuments to us. They should become infrastructure for those coming after us. Our task is not to produce younger replicas of ourselves. Our task is to give the next generation a stronger starting point than the one we had. And then have the courage to watch them go further.
To the Young African Diaspora: Your Multiple Worlds Are Your Power
So let me speak directly now to the young African listening to me. Perhaps you were born in Africa and left as a child. Perhaps your parents migrated before you were born. Perhaps Africa is a place you know intimately or a place you are still discovering. Perhaps you sometimes feel too African for Europe and too European for Africa. Perhaps people repeatedly ask:
“But where are you really from?”
My answer to you is: Do not allow anyone to reduce the complexity of who you are. Your multiple identities are not necessarily a burden. They can become an extraordinary resource. Learn from the societies in which you live. Understand their institutions. Master their technologies. Build relationships. Acquire skills. Create businesses. Enter politics. Become researchers, artists, diplomats, investors, teachers, innovators, public servants. Become whatever your talent permits.
But carry Africa into those spaces not as a burden of guilt, but as a horizon of possibility. And when you engage Africa, do so critically. Love Africa enough to challenge it. Love Africa enough to reject corruption. Love Africa enough to demand functioning institutions. Love Africa enough to refuse the argument that mediocrity is somehow culturally authentic. Love Africa enough to insist that African children deserve the same standards of governance, healthcare, education, technology and opportunity that children elsewhere take for granted. Diaspora patriotism must never mean silence. Sometimes the most patriotic contribution the diaspora can make is to bring a different standard into the conversation.
Four Transitions for a New Diaspora Generation
If we are serious about redefining diaspora identity, ideas and innovation, I believe four transitions must now take place.
From remittances to investment and knowledge.
Continue supporting families, certainly. But build enterprises, transfer expertise, finance innovation and connect markets.
From nostalgia to networks.
Celebrate heritage, but convert cultural belonging into professional, intellectual and commercial relationships.
From brain drain to brain circulation.
Stop thinking that contribution requires permanent physical return. Build systems through which African talent can circulate across borders.
And from “giving back” to building forward.
Africa is not a charity project. Africa is a co-creation project. These transitions take us from:
Identity → Ideas → Innovation → Impact.
Identity tells us who we are. Ideas tell us what is possible. Innovation tells us how to create it. Impact tells us whether any of it mattered.
The Question Before Us
Ladies and gentlemen,
The future African diaspora will look different from the diaspora we know today. It will be younger. More digitally connected. More mobile. More professionally diverse. More culturally hybrid. And perhaps less sentimental about Africa than previous generations.
That last point should not frighten us. It should challenge us. Because Africa cannot rely indefinitely on inherited emotional attachment. Each generation must discover its own reason to remain engaged. Our responsibility is therefore to ensure that the relationship between Africa and its diaspora evolves from obligation to opportunity, from sentiment to strategy, and from remittance to shared prosperity.
If we achieve that, then the young African in Berlin will not engage Africa simply because her parents came from Kenya. She will engage because Africa is also where ideas are being created. The young Nigerian in London will not invest simply because his father tells him he owes something to his ancestral village. He will invest because African markets offer credible opportunity. The young African-American innovator will not engage the continent merely in search of ancestral belonging. He may engage because Africa is a frontier of creativity, technology, culture and human possibility.
That is the relationship we must build.
Conclusion: Do Not Choose Between Your Worlds, Connect Them
Let me conclude where I began. Diaspora was once primarily understood as a story of departure. Someone left home. Someone crossed a border. Someone built a life elsewhere. But perhaps the next chapter of the African diaspora will not principally be a story about leaving. Perhaps it will be a story about connecting.
Connecting Africa to capital. Connecting Africa to knowledge. Connecting Africa to technology. Connecting Africa to markets. Connecting Africa to institutions. Connecting generations to one another. Connecting an extraordinary global African people to an extraordinary continent of possibility.
And so, to the young African watching me from London, Lagos, Brussels, Johannesburg, Toronto, Accra, New York or somewhere in between:
You are not half of one thing and half of another.You are potentially the whole of several worlds.
Africa does not need you to choose between those worlds. Africa needs you to connect them. That is the diaspora identity we must now redefine. Those are the ideas we must liberate. That is the innovation we must unleash. And that is the generation that can transform diaspora from a story of movement into an instrument of African power.
Beyond remittances.Beyond roots.Beyond giving back. Let us build forward. Together.
Being Keynote Address by Collins Nweke for Ikenga Day 2026 of The AfrikaFora
Distinguished guests, brothers and sisters, Ndigbo, friends of The AfrikaFora,
There could hardly be a more fitting theme for Ikenga Day 2026 than Njikota or Nchikota: the idea that we are stronger when we come together; that individual strength acquires greater meaning when joined with the strength of others. Njikota is more than cooperation. It is a philosophy of collective agency. And perhaps there is no better moment to interrogate what that philosophy should mean for Ndigbo today.
There is, I sense, a quiet but discernible yearning across parts of the South-East for a restoration of the fraternal bond that once enabled a people confronted by existential danger to act almost as one. That memory inevitably takes us back to Biafra.
Whatever our different interpretations of that tragic period, we should understand why its memory remains powerful. Biafra was not merely a territorial proposition. For many, it became an expression of collective survival, shared injury, courage and belonging. Under extraordinary circumstances, people discovered the enormous power of standing together. But history does not only ask us to remember. History asks us what we will do with memory.
And that is where I want to offer a different reading of Njikota. What if the great challenge before this generation is not to recreate the Njikota that enabled separation, but to summon a new Njikota capable of transforming the Nigerian federation? What if the same instinct to act together can become an instinct to build together?
Nigeria is unquestionably troubled. The grievances of the South-East cannot simply be wished away. Questions of representation, federalism, equity, security, infrastructure and belonging remain legitimate. A durable Nigerian union cannot be built by demanding silence from those who feel excluded. But neither should legitimate grievance imprison us permanently within the politics of grievance.
There must come a point when memory becomes strategy. And perhaps history itself has already begun pointing us in that direction. There is a remarkable symbolism in contemporary Nigeria that we should not overlook. The man who once led Biafra in an attempt to leave Nigeria would, decades later, offer himself for election as President of Nigeria. And today, the widow of Chukwuemeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu serves as the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
Think about that journey for a moment. From leading a secessionist republic to seeking to lead the federation. And today, the widow of the man who led Biafra, Her Excellency Bianca Ojumegwu-Ojukwu, serves as Nigeria’s Foreign Minister.
If history teaches through symbolism, then surely there is a lesson here. It tells us that remembering Biafra need not mean remaining trapped inside Biafra. Perhaps a foundation has already been laid upon which this generation; and particularly the generation after us; can construct a different understanding of Njikota.
But there must be reciprocity. Nigeria cannot demand that Ndigbo continually enlarge their understanding of belonging while the Nigerian state refuses to interrogate those things that continue to make some Ndigbo question that belonging. The conversation must therefore be honest. There remain grievances, some demonstrably structural, others matters of perception. But perceptions in nation-building matter.
There is the longstanding imbalance in the number of states in the South-East and the representation and federal resources that flow from it. There are recurring concerns about equitable representation in federal institutions and the commanding heights of national security and governance. There are questions about infrastructure and federal presence. There remains the unresolved emotional inheritance of the Civil War and the feeling among many younger Ndigbo that they are still being asked to carry the burden of a conflict they did not fight.
A mature federation does not dismiss such sentiments simply because it disagrees with some of them. It listens. It investigates. Where injustice is real, it corrects it. Where the grievance rests upon misperception, it produces evidence and builds trust. And where old wounds remain open, it seeks reconciliation rather than demanding collective amnesia.
Belonging cannot be legislated into existence; it must also be experienced. This is why the new Njikota must impose obligations on both sides. Ndi Igbo must resist allowing the memory of exclusion to become a permanent philosophy of withdrawal. But Nigeria must resist creating the conditions that make withdrawal attractive.
That, for me, is the bargain.
We should move from Njikota as solidarity for separation towards Njikota as solidarity for transformation. And Nigeria itself must become an enabler of that transformation. For the ultimate answer to separatist sentiment is not repression. Neither is it rhetoric about national unity. The most powerful answer is to build a federation so just, so inclusive and so respectful of its constituent peoples that separation progressively loses its emotional appeal. Then Njikota acquires an even larger meaning.
Our history contains another powerful tradition that deserves equal attention: the ability to build beyond our immediate geography. The Igbo trader who establishes a business hundreds of kilometres from his ancestral home; the professional who builds institutions across Nigeria; the entrepreneur whose supply chains cross ethnic and religious boundaries; the families that have lived for generations in Lagos, Kano, Abuja, Port Harcourt and elsewhere. These too are genuinely organic expressions of Igbo identity. They tell us something important: Our genius has never been isolation. Our genius has been connection.
Perhaps, therefore, Njikota must now travel beyond the boundaries within which we have sometimes confined it. And here, I believe, we must begin close to home. The political map tells us that the South-East consists of five states. But peoples, cultures, kinships and histories do not always fit neatly within administrative boundaries. Igbo communities and cultural affinities extend beyond the constitutional boundaries of today’s South-East. Rivers do not erase kinship. State creation does not abolish ancestry. Administrative boundaries need not become psychological walls.
So perhaps the first task of a contemporary Njikota is reconnection among ourselves: rediscovering relationships weakened by state boundaries, political classifications and decades of competing narratives about who belongs where. But there is a second circle of Njikota. We must also remember that before Biafra, there was an Eastern Nigeria in which Igbo, Ijaw, Efik, Ibibio, Ogoni and other peoples shared political space, economic relationships, institutions and, inevitably, disagreements. The Civil War and the decades that followed altered many of those relationships. Some wounds remain. Some suspicions remain. Some historical interpretations remain contested.
Njikota should give us the courage to revisit that fraternity too. Not to romanticise the old Eastern Region. Not to pretend that differences did not exist. But to ask whether peoples who share geography, commerce, history and so many developmental interests can rediscover the habit of acting together. This is where Njikota begins to acquire strategic meaning.
Imagine an Igbo renaissance that begins by reconnecting Ndigbo across artificial administrative boundaries, then rebuilds bridges with our historic neighbours across the old Eastern Region, and from there deliberately reaches towards the rest of Nigeria. That gives us concentric circles of Njikota:
Njikota among Ndigbo. Njikota across our historic Eastern neighbourhood. Njikota with the rest of Nigeria.
Each circle strengthens rather than diminishes the next. For there is no contradiction between being deeply Igbo and profoundly Nigerian. There should equally be no contradiction between recovering Eastern fraternity and strengthening Nigerian nationhood. Indeed, perhaps Nigeria itself should learn something from this. Nigeria will not become stronger by flattening its identities. It will become stronger when those identities develop the confidence to cooperate across their boundaries. That would be Njikota as statecraft.
It would mean moving from “How do we leave Nigeria?” to the more difficult question: “How do we help remake Nigeria into a country in which nobody needs to contemplate leaving?” This is not surrender. It is not forgetting history. And it certainly does not mean accepting injustice. Indeed, reconciliation without justice is fragile. But there is a difference between remembering Biafra and remaining politically trapped inside Biafra. Our ancestors taught us that Igwebuike: there is strength in numbers. But they did not prescribe the boundaries within which those numbers must be assembled. The great opportunity before us is therefore not merely to recover the bond. It is to enlarge the circle.
For Ndigbo, I believe that moment is now. Because perhaps the next great Igbo political project should not be about leaving Nigeria. Perhaps it should be about helping Nigeria finally become the federation it has always promised to be.
The generation that fought the Civil War demonstrated extraordinary courage in circumstances we should pray never to experience again. Our generation requires another kind of courage: The courage to build bridges across old trenches.
Perhaps the greatest tribute we can pay those who suffered, fought and died is not to recreate the circumstances that produced that tragedy, but to help create a Nigeria in which such a tragedy can never happen again.
The Ikenga represents strength, achievement, enterprise and the power of human agency. Let Ikenga Day 2026 therefore mark a subtle but important intellectual shift.
Before I close, permit me to bring Njikota from the realm of ideas into this very room.
Because what The AfrikaFora has been doing, year after year, is itself an exercise in Njikota: convening people, perspectives and generations; creating a space where difficult questions can be asked without fear, where differences need not become divisions, and where our shared heritage can become a platform for imagining a better future.
For this, I particularly commend the Founder and CEO of The AfrikaFora, Madam Winnifred Uloaku Gaillard. As Founding Patron of The AfrikaFora, I know firsthand something of the personal sacrifice, persistence and quiet labour that go into making these conversations possible year after year. Convening is easy to admire from the audience. It is considerably harder from behind the curtain. Nnukwu-Ada Uloaku, your commitment to keeping this platform alive and relevant deserves our gratitude and applause.
I also salute our new Grand Patron, Professor (Chief) Ben Etiaba, for stepping up to the plate and accepting the responsibility of helping to guide this important institution into its next chapter. Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, may have recently appointed you a Visiting Associate Professor, an honour on which we warmly congratulate you. But here among us, permit me to insist that a Chief remains a Chief! Chief Ben Etiaba, congratulations once again. I wish you wisdom, strength and every success in your role as Grand Patron of The AfrikaFora.
And perhaps there is something beautifully appropriate about this transition itself: a Founder who continues to convene, a Founding Patron who makes way, a new Grand Patron who steps forward, and a community that continues the journey.
That, too, is Njikota.
No individual owns the mission. Each generation takes its turn, adds its strength, and passes the responsibility forward. So, at the end of Ikenga Day 2026, let us carry that spirit beyond this gathering. Let us recover the solidarity of our past without reproducing the divisions of our past. Let us transform memory into agency, grievance into reform, and regional solidarity into national coalition. Let us redefine Njikota for our time.
From Njikota for separation to Njikota for reconstruction. From togetherness against Nigeria to togetherness to remake Nigeria. Not the abandonment of Igbo identity, but the deployment of its finest values in the service of a more just federation.
Because perhaps the Nigerian idea will not ultimately be saved by asking its peoples to become less Yoruba, less Hausa, less Ijaw, less Tiv or less Igbo. Perhaps it will be saved when each brings the finest values of their civilisation to the common table.
For Ndigbo, one of those gifts is Njikota. And this may be our moment to offer it to Nigeria.
Dalụ nụ.
Chukwu gozie unu. Chukwu gozie Alaigbo. Chukwu gozie Nigeria.
Nigeria stands on the precipice of a major economic shift. While traditional focus often centers on physical goods, service export represents a vast, underutilized trade area that our nation must aggressively harness. Digital capabilities allow skilled professionals across Nigeria to deliver high-value, international-standard services globally; without the burden of physical relocation or massive capital investments.
A shining example of this model in action is Steve, the young founder and CEO of Steve-Rich Digital. Based in Enugu, Nigeria, Steve operates a dynamic web development and branding agency that serves a global clientele, including my own projects.
Over the past couple of years of mentoring Steve, I have witnessed firsthand his commitment to delivering fast, modern, mobile-responsive, and secure digital platforms. His work exemplifies how Nigerian ingenuity can seamlessly compete in the global marketplace.
When Steve recently approached me to ask if I would consider helping to promote his business, I did not hesitate for a second. I instantly recognized an obligation and a privilege, to offer this support gratis in the most impactful way possible. In my recent 61st birthday Note to Self, I declared that my focus moving forward is to expand the table so it can accommodate more people, giving our young talent the initial push they need to travel even farther. Supporting Steve is that philosophy in action: opening doors, validating local expertise, and elevating young leaders who are actively shaping Nigeria’s future in the global digital economy.
Why Patronise Young Nigerian Founders?
Unlocking National Service Export Capabilities: Directing business to domestic tech talent builds sustainable digital infrastructure and strengthens Nigeria’s position in global service trade.
Proven Quality & Global Reach: Young leaders like Steve provide world-class web design, corporate branding, and digital solutions tailored for e-commerce, real estate, corporate entities, NGOs, and educational institutions.
Direct Economic Impact: Supporting homegrown agencies empowers talented youth, creates local economic value, and demonstrates that world-class solutions can originate from anywhere in Nigeria.
If your organization, enterprise, or personal venture requires an upgraded digital presence, I warmly encourage you to patronise young founders like Steve.
A Connect with Steve-Rich Digital
Services: Web Development (E-commerce, Corporate, Real Estate, Educational, NGOs), Branding & Digital Solutions
About ten years ago, I began my relationship with the Chartered Institute of Public Management of Nigeria (CIPMN), a journey that culminated in my admission as a Professional Fellow of the Institute, designating me as Fellow Chartered Public Manager (FCPM) in July 2022. This is the highest professional attainment for public management practitioners.
Today, that relationship enters an exciting new phase.
I am delighted to announce that GlobalVillage Consult and the Chartered Institute of Public Management of Nigeria have formally signed a Memorandum of Understanding to collaborate on the development and delivery of an innovative executive education programme in Economic Diplomacy. This is a byproduct of my seminal book 📕 Economic Diplomacy of the Diaspora.
The flagship initiative, the Masterclass in Economic Diplomacy for Public Managers, is built on a simple but increasingly important conviction:
In today’s world, every public manager must also think like an economic diplomat.
Whether at the federal, state or local government level, attracting investment, building strategic partnerships, engaging the diaspora, promoting exports and positioning communities for prosperity are no longer peripheral responsibilities. They are becoming central to effective public leadership.
I am grateful to the leadership of the Institute, particularly the Registrar / Chief Executive Officer, Mr. Gabriel Opene FCPM, for the confidence reposed in this initiative and for embracing the vision of building professional capacity in this emerging field.
For me personally, this partnership represents more than the launch of another training programme leading to the award of Certified Public Manager in Economic Diplomacy (CPMED). It is another step in a journey that has been shaped by scholarship, public service, international practice and the conviction that ideas can become institutions.
The work begins now.
I look forward to working with the Institute and our future academic, professional and international partners to help equip a new generation of public managers with the competencies needed to lead in an increasingly interconnected global economy.
The greatest tributes are often spoken too late. We wait until mentors have gone before finding the words we should have said while they could still hear them. Our highest accolades, our most eloquent speeches and our deepest expressions of gratitude are too often reserved for memorial services, delivered in quiet rooms where the subject can no longer receive them. We build monuments to the departed, yet frequently overlook the living architects who quietly carved out the contours of our minds.
Recently, I decided to break that pattern.
A Homecoming Built on Legacy
In more ways than one, this summer homecoming from Europe with my wife, Tonia, has become a moving study in gratitude. Beyond the professional obligations and familiar landscapes, our journey was anchored by a deeply personal devotion: spending precious time with Tonia’s 103-year-old mother.
We speak with her on the telephone every day, sometimes more than once. Yet there is something profoundly different about physical presence. Four weeks before travelling, we told her we would be spending part of our summer holidays with her. She paused, sighed gently and replied:
“That is wonderful. I hope I am still here when you arrive.”
It was not the first time she had spoken those words. Increasingly, her conversations drift towards the horizon. “The time is drawing near,” she tells us, often followed by her wishes for how she would like to be laid to rest. Each time, we gently reassure her that her life will not simply be mourned but celebrated. There will be no funeral, we tell her, but a festival in honour of a remarkable life.
Listening to her, I have come to realise that there is a rare, almost sacred privilege in living long enough, with one’s faculties still intact, to anticipate one’s own passing. To stand at the summit of a century of life and calmly prepare one’s final exit. It invites those around her to reflect on the beauty of a life well lived and the solemn responsibility of preserving what she has built. That reflection stayed with me.
The Unplanned Reunion in Igbuzo
Against that backdrop of family, memory and stewardship, Tonia and I found ourselves standing outside another modest bungalow, this one in Isieke, close to my ancestral home in Igbuzo. Inside was a man who had profoundly altered the trajectory of my life decades earlier: my former guest English Language teacher and Vice Principal at St. Thomas’s College, Mr. Louis Onwordi.
I had come bearing a gift: a freshly published hardcover copy of my book, Economic Diplomacy of the Diaspora. Yet it was not the book that mattered most. It was the handwritten inscription inside it:
“A short time at St. Thomas’s College; a lifelong imprint on a fifteen-year-old student. Thank you, my revered Teacher and Vice Principal, Mr. Louis Onwordi, for your innovative approach to learning and for shaping my enduring passion for the written and spoken word. Please accept this book as a tribute to your early and profound influence.”
As I read those words aloud, I watched decades of quiet service register in his eyes. He was visibly moved. For a brief moment, time dissolved. There was no retired educator and accomplished author. There was simply a teacher and his fifteen-year-old student, reunited by the enduring thread of gratitude.
Unseen Threads of Providence
Our conversation soon uncovered another remarkable layer of shared history. Years after my time at St. Thomas’s College, long before Tonia and I got married, she had been a young intern at a school where Mr. Onwordi’s late wife taught. She shared an apartment in Umuodafe Quarters with two fellow interns in the same building where Mrs. Onwordi lived with her children. With characteristic generosity, Mrs. Onwordi embraced the three young women, becoming both mentor at school and elder sister at home. Mr. Onwordi who was on transfer then in Kano had never known this story until that afternoon.
As these memories unfolded, it felt as though Providence itself had quietly woven our families together long before either of us recognised the pattern. The reunion became more than a courtesy visit; it became the rediscovery of a shared inheritance.
The Visionary in the Classroom
As we reminisced, my thoughts returned to my days at St. Thomas’s College. Mr. Onwordi’s stay at the school was relatively brief, yet his influence proved enduring. He was one of those rare educators who quietly introduced the future before the rest of society had recognised it. Great teachers do more than teach the curriculum. They shape how their students think about life itself.
At a time when boarding schools often prized rigid discipline above student wellbeing, he introduced reforms that were revolutionary in both their simplicity and humanity.
He extended our lunch break by a full hour and introduced a compulsory midday siesta, believing that rested minds learn better than exhausted ones.
He also created what he called the “Social Moment”, a designated period between dinner and evening prep-class when students could laugh, converse and simply enjoy one another’s company before returning to their books.
These were not merely adjustments to a timetable. They were educational innovations rooted in empathy, balance and foresight.
Long before neuroscience confirmed it, he instinctively understood that tired minds struggle to create, and uninspired hearts struggle to learn.
For a fifteen-year-old discovering the power of language, watching a teacher innovate with such quiet confidence left an indelible mark. He did not simply teach us English. He taught us curiosity. He taught us confidence. He taught us that leadership begins with understanding people.
The Invisible Architects
As I drove away from his home, it struck me that this visit was about far more than one retired teacher in Igbuzo. Every accomplished life rests upon invisible shoulders. Very few of us are self-made. Someone opened a door. Someone corrected an essay. Someone encouraged a hesitant voice. Someone recognised a gift before we recognised it ourselves.Yet we rarely return to say thank you.
We celebrate the published author, the successful entrepreneur, the respected public servant or policy expert, while forgetting the foundational hands that first moulded the clay. To honour those who built us while they are still living is more than good manners. It is a moral responsibility. For the mentor, it offers the quiet satisfaction of knowing that seeds planted decades earlier have borne fruit.
For the student, it is an act of humility. It reminds us that success is never an individual achievement alone. Perhaps the greatest leaders are not those who accumulate followers, but those who quietly produce leaders in others. That is what great teachers do every day.
The Kola-nuts We Owe
As Tonia and I returned to the car, she held my hand, smiled gently and whispered,
“That was compelling. I liked it. Well done.” Her words captured what I had been struggling to express.
Mr. Louis Onwordi may now enjoy the quiet dignity of retirement in Igbuzo as one of its respected Onowu title holders, a trusted confidant of my late father, Obi (Eze) Adigwe Nweke, but his influence continues to walk into rooms he will never enter. It echoes through my speeches, my television analyses and every page I write. Presenting him with my book was not merely the gift of a publication. It was the repayment of a debt.
Legacy is not simply what we leave behind when we die. It is the living imprint we leave in the lives of others while we are still here to witness it. Let us not wait for eulogies to speak our deepest truths. If there is a teacher, mentor or guide who changed your life, find them. Write the note. Make the journey. Say the words. Give them their flowers while they can still smell their fragrance.
And if your culture, like mine, teaches that the kola-nut is the highest symbol of honour and gratitude, then take them that kola-nut of appreciation while their hands can still break it. There are few greater privileges in life than thanking the architects of our lives before the final curtain falls.
Being A Keynote Address delivered By Collins Nweke at the Plateau State Association USA Annual Convention 2026
President, distinguished members of the Plateau State Association USA, fellow Nigerians, ladies and gentlemen,
Permit me to begin by expressing my sincere appreciation to Dr. Barth Shepkong, the National Executive Council, and the entire PSA-USA family for the honour of inviting me to deliver this keynote.
The theme you have chosen:
Reflecting on Our Impact, Strengthening Our Relevance, Shaping Our Future
is, in my view, one of the most important conversations any diaspora organisation can have.
I suspect this theme was not chosen by accident. It reflects the thinking of an organisation approaching a defining moment. Not the moment when it asks, “How many members do we have?” but when it begins to ask, “What difference do we make?” Not, “How active are we?”but “How useful are we?”
There is a profound difference.
The Diaspora Has Entered a New Era
For decades, we measured the success of the diaspora by remittances. Money sent home. Houses built. Scholarships funded. Hospital bills paid.These remain important. But today the global conversation has changed. The diaspora is increasingly valued not merely for what it sends home, but for what it knows; for the networks it possesses; for the credibility it commands; for the institutions it builds; for the ideas it generates; and for the bridges it creates.
That is precisely the argument I advance throughout my recent book, Economic Diplomacy of the Diaspora. The most valuable export of the diaspora may no longer be money. It may well be knowledge, institutions, relationships, and trust.
What My Belgian Experience Taught Me
Permit me one personal reflection.
For eighteen years, I served as a Green Councillor in the City of Ostend, Belgium. That experience fundamentally transformed how I understand development. Many African countries instinctively look upwards: to Abuja, Washington, Brussels, the World Bank.
Belgium taught me to look sideways. Towards cities. Towards municipalities. Towards communities. Towards local leadership.
Because sustainable national prosperity is built locally; one municipality, one community, one partnership at a time. That insight became the foundation of my recent trilogy on Subnational Economic Diplomacy, where I argued that governors must increasingly become their states’ chief economic diplomats and that local governments are not merely administrative units but strategic actors in investment promotion, innovation, and international engagement.
Encouragingly, these ideas are already beginning to find institutional expression. Following the publication of that trilogy, the Chartered Institute of Public Management of Nigeria approved a pioneering Masterclass in Economic Diplomacy for Public Managers, leading to the professional designation Certified Public Manager in Economic Diplomacy (CPMED), the first programme of its kind, to my knowledge, anywhere in the world.
The initiative reflects a growing recognition that public managers, including, in this context, executives of nonprofit organisations such as PSA-USA, must increasingly think beyond administration alone and embrace investment promotion, trade facilitation, partnership building, diaspora engagement, and global competitiveness as integral elements of modern governance. This is because governance and economic statecraft are no longer separate disciplines. The most successful states of the future will be those whose leaders understand how to connect local opportunity with global possibility. That mindset should equally become part of the DNA of PSA-USA.
Today, I wish to take that argument one step further. Diaspora organisations must also become actors in development.
Community Associations Must Reinvent Themselves
Every association eventually reaches a crossroads. It can remain an organisation that organises dinners, end-of-year parties, New Year receptions, summer picnics, elections, annual conventions and cultural celebrations. There is absolutely nothing wrong with those. Communities need fellowship. Culture matters. Belonging matters.
But if that becomes the entirety of our mission, we risk becoming socially active while remaining strategically irrelevant. The future belongs to organisations that solve problems. Imagine PSA-USA becoming known not merely as a Plateau association in America, but as one of Plateau State’s most trusted strategic development partners.
What might that look like in practice? Imagine PSA-USA partnering with the Chartered Institute of Public Management of Nigeria to endow or sponsor an inaugural Masterclass in Economic Diplomacy and Economic Statecraft for a joint cohort of twenty-five senior officials of the Plateau State Government alongside leaders of PSA-USA. In one classroom, government leaders would learn from diaspora practitioners. Diaspora leaders would gain a deeper understanding of the realities of public administration.
Relationships would be forged. Trust would deepen. A common language of development would emerge. That is how institutions are built. That is how diaspora engagement matures. And that is how a community association becomes a strategic development institution.
From Identity Organisations to Impact Organisations
Identity brings people together. Purpose keeps them together. The future of diaspora organisations lies in moving from identity to impact. What would success look like? Not merely larger attendance at meetings. Not bigger annual conventions. Not merely a reintegration of a breakaway faction. All of those are undoubtedly important. But measurable influence is the ultimate thing.
Imagine if every chapter of PSA-USA, from Ohio to Atlanta, Washington to California, adopted a Local Government Area in Plateau State. Imagine coordinated investment missions. Digital mentoring for young entrepreneurs. Medical partnerships. Agricultural innovation exchanges. University collaborations. Technology transfer. Policy advisory support. Climate resilience projects.
These are not dreams. They are entirely achievable.
Economic Diplomacy Is No Longer Government’s Monopoly
Traditionally, diplomacy belonged to ambassadors. That is no longer true. Businesses practise diplomacy. Universities practise diplomacy. Cities practise diplomacy. Sports practise diplomacy. Culture practises diplomacy. And the diaspora practises diplomacy every single day.
Every successful Nigerian professional abroad shapes perceptions of Nigeria. Every entrepreneur builds confidence. Every researcher creates partnerships. Every student becomes an informal ambassador. Diaspora associations therefore occupy a unique space. They can convene people governments cannot. They can build trust where institutions struggle. They can sustain relationships beyond electoral cycles. That is economic diplomacy in action.
Plateau State Possesses Extraordinary Assets
When many people think of Plateau State, they think first of tourism. Its cool climate. Its spectacular landscapes. Its hospitality. These are indeed remarkable assets. But Plateau possesses something even more valuable.
Its people.
Wherever I travel, I encounter Plateau professionals excelling in medicine, engineering, academia, technology, business and public service. The question is no longer whether Plateau has talent. The question is whether that talent is organised. Because talent without organisation rarely changes societies.
Leadership Is Stewardship
Leadership in community organisations deserves greater appreciation. These are volunteer positions. People give their time. Their experience. Their energy. Often with little or no reward. Yet leadership carries an obligation, not merely to preserve institutions, but to renew them. Every generation inherits an institution. Its duty is to leave it stronger than it found it. That is true of governments. It is true of companies. And it is equally true of diaspora organisations.
A Challenge to the Younger Generation
Permit me to speak directly to younger Nigerians in the diaspora. You are not merely the future. You are already part of the present. Your generation thinks differently. Works differently. Builds networks differently. Uses technology differently. Do not wait until you are fifty before leading. Bring your ideas. Challenge respectfully. Innovate boldly. Renew fearlessly. Strong institutions deliberately create room for generational succession.
Five Questions for PSA-USA
As you reflect during this convention, I invite you to wrestle with five questions.
First:
What measurable impact have we made in the lives of Plateau people?
Second:
If PSA-USA ceased to exist tomorrow, who outside our membership would notice?
Third:
What strategic partnerships should we intentionally build over the next five years?
Fourth:
How do we deliberately prepare the next generation of leaders?
Finally:
When future generations tell the story of PSA-USA, what chapter do we want this convention to become?
These questions matter more than constitutional amendments. They matter as much as healing internal divisions. They matter more than elections. Because they define purpose.
Closing Reflections
Allow me to conclude where I began. Your theme asks us to reflect. Reflection without honesty becomes nostalgia. Reflection with courage becomes transformation. Institutions are not remembered for the meetings they held. They are remembered for the futures they changed. The future of diaspora organisations will not be determined by how many members they recruit. It will be determined by how indispensable they become. The future belongs to organisations that create value. That build institutions. That connect continents. That invest in people. That inspire trust. That strengthen governance. And that practise economic diplomacy.
For too long, we have measured the success of the diaspora by the money it sends home. The next chapter will measure us by the institutions we help build, the leaders we prepare, the partnerships we forge, and the opportunities we create. If PSA-USA embraces that calling, it will not simply have a future. It will help shape the future of Plateau State itself. I have every confidence that PSA-USA possesses the people, the experience and the commitment to become such an institution.
My prayer is that years from now, people will not remember this convention simply because speeches were delivered. They will remember it because this was the day PSA-USA decided to move beyond being a community association and embraced its calling as a strategic partner in the development of Plateau State and, by extension, Nigeria.
Thank you.
God bless PSA-USA.
God bless Plateau State.
God bless the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
And may God continue to bless the Nigerian diaspora wherever we may be.
Collins Nweke FCPM, FIMC, PhD (hc), DFRA
Delivered from Brussels, Belgium | Saturday 11 July 2026
Keynote address delivered by Collins Nweke, Global Affairs Analyst & Author, Economic Diplomacy of the Diaspora
Ladies and Gentlemen
Distinguished Guests Members of the Literary Community Friends of Nigeria Fellow Africans And lovers of ideas
Good evening.
It is both an honour and a profound responsibility to stand before you today to launch what I consider one of the most important Nigerian novels of recent years particularly out here in Belgium and Europe.
The City He Never Returned To is not simply a novel.
It is a mirror. It is a ledger. It is a conversation.
And perhaps most importantly, it is an invitation.
An invitation to revisit a chapter of our collective history that remains unfinished.
An invitation to imagine what healing might look like if we summoned sufficient courage to pursue it.
An invitation to move beyond remembrance toward repair.
Before I speak about this book, permit me a brief personal reflection.
I come to this conversation not merely as a reader, analyst, or keynote speaker. In more ways than one, I am a war child. When the Nigerian Civil War broke out, I was still a toddler. Like many children of that generation, my memories are not arranged as historical facts or political arguments. They survive instead as fragments: the anxiety in adult voices, the sudden silences when certain subjects arose, the cautious way people spoke about the future, and the lingering awareness that something profound had happened to our country and to the people around us.
As I grew older, I came to understand that while some people experienced the war on the battlefield, many of us experienced it in memory, in inheritance, and in its long shadows. We inherited stories. We inherited grief. We inherited caution. We inherited questions that were never fully answered.
That is why this novel resonates with me so deeply. I am not a distant observer looking back at history through the comfort of archives. I am part of a generation shaped by the afterlife of that history. A generation that grew up among survivors. A generation that learned that wars do not always end when the guns fall silent. Sometimes they continue quietly, in memory, in institutions, in relationships, and in the stories nations tell themselves about who belongs and who does not.
Perhaps that is why I find the central proposition of this book so compelling. It is not content merely to remember. It dares to ask what comes after memory. It dares to ask how a nation heals. It dares to ask how survival can become repair, and how repair can become renewal.
The author, Ibekwe Paul Chukwuemeka, tells us in his Author’s Note that this novel began not with a plot, but with a question:
“How does a nation live with a past that refuses to become past?”
That question sits at the heart of this remarkable work.
For many Nigerians, particularly those whose families carry memories of the civil war, the past has never truly become past.
It survives in silences. It survives in inherited fears. It survives in caution, in suspicion, in stories told under the mango trees, at the ogwa in the village square, around dining tables and family gatherings. It survives in memories that official history often struggles to accommodate.
What makes this novel extraordinary is that it refuses to become trapped in grievance. Instead, it dares to ask a more difficult question:
What comes after survival?
The Emeka Ibekwe’s answer is both bold and original.
He calls it “speculative repair.”
In his own words and I quote:
“What if we treated this national healing not as a mysterious affair of the heart, but as the most complex—and most worthy—engineering project of our lifetime?” Unquote
That single sentence may well become one of the defining intellectual contributions of this book.
Because throughout history, societies have often spoken about reconciliation as an emotional process.
But this novel challenges us to think differently. It suggests that healing is also institutional. That memory requires archives. That justice requires documentation. That reconciliation requires accountability. And that nation-building requires deliberate design.
As someone whose professional and intellectual life has increasingly focused on economic diplomacy, governance, and institutional development, I find this idea deeply compelling.
Nations do not become stronger because they forget. They become stronger because they learn how to remember responsibly. That is why one of the central symbols in this novel is not a weapon. Not a politician. Not even a battlefield.
It is a ledger.
The ledger carried by Okechukwu Nwankwo, whose character or persona is recognisable in the Okey be anyi of our different families.
A simple book of records. A record of assets. A record of losses. A record of names. A record of existence itself.
At one point in the novel, Okechukwu says:
“If we lose the record of what we have, we lose the proof of who we are.”
That statement speaks not only to one family. It speaks to nations. Because nations, too, require ledgers. Ledgers of truth. Ledgers of memory. Ledgers of accountability.
Without them, history becomes vulnerable to manipulation. And societies become vulnerable to repetition.
One of the most moving passages in the book appears in the dedication where the author writes:
“The opposite of war is not just peace, but the difficult, daily work of building something worthy of the survivors.”
Allow me to repeat that:
“The opposite of war is not just peace, but the difficult, daily work of building something worthy of the survivors.”
That is a profound political statement. And perhaps an even deeper moral one. Because too often we celebrate the end of conflict while neglecting the harder work that follows. The work of rebuilding trust. The work of rebuilding institutions. The work of rebuilding relationships. The work of rebuilding shared futures.
The Emeka (the author) reminds us that survival alone is not enough.
A nation owes its survivors something more. It owes them dignity. It owes them recognition. It owes them inclusion. And it owes future generations a better inheritance.
What particularly impressed me about this novel is that it refuses easy binaries.
It does not seek to inflame. It seeks to understand. It does not seek victory. It seeks healing.
It does not seek separation. It seeks a stronger basis for coexistence.
In the Introduction, the author writes:
“You cannot repair what you will not first acknowledge.”
This is true of families. It is true of institutions. And it is true of nations.
Across the world, societies that have successfully confronted difficult histories have not done so by pretending those histories never happened.
They have done so by acknowledging them honestly. Germany did not become stronger by forgetting. South Africa did not become stronger by denying. Rwanda did not become stronger by silence.
Every society that has healed has first found the courage to look directly at its wounds.
Nigeria is no exception.
Yet the beauty of this novel is that it does not stop at diagnosis. Many books tell us what is broken. Few attempt to imagine what repair might look like.
This one does.
And that is why I believe The City He Never Returned To belongs to an emerging tradition of literature that does more than remember history.
It seeks to shape the future.
As a first-generation Nigerian migrant who has spent decades living in Europe while remaining emotionally, intellectually, and professionally connected to Nigeria, I found another aspect of this book deeply resonant.
The author writes from Brussels. He writes from distance. Yet he writes with intimacy.
He demonstrates that distance need not diminish belonging. Indeed, sometimes distance sharpens perspective. Sometimes it allows us to see patterns that proximity obscures. Sometimes it allows us to imagine possibilities that entrenched positions dismiss.
The diaspora has often been described as a source of remittances. This novel reminds us that the diaspora is also a source of ideas. A source of memory. A source of imagination. And sometimes, a source of national self-reflection.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
At its core, this book is an act of hope. Not naïve hope. Not sentimental hope. But disciplined hope. The kind of hope that understands pain. The kind of hope that acknowledges loss. The kind of hope that recognises injustice. Yet still chooses to believe in the possibility of a shared future.
The author closes his introduction with these words:
“The discussion begins not in the halls of power, but in the imagination.”
How true. Every institution was once an idea. Every policy was once a conversation. Every reform was once an act of imagination. And every better future begins with someone daring to imagine it.
Tonight, Ibekwe Paul Chukwuemeka (simply Emeka to us his friends) has done precisely that.
He has given us more than a novel. He has given us a framework for conversation. A vocabulary for healing. A language of repair. And a challenge. The challenge is whether we are prepared to engage honestly with the questions he raises.
Whether we are prepared to move from memory to understanding. From understanding to empathy. From empathy to repair. And from repair to renewal.
I congratulate the author for this remarkable achievement.
I commend Akajiofo Press for bringing this important work into the public domain. And I encourage every reader not merely to read this book, but to study it, and to wrestle with it.
Discuss it. Debate it. Question it.
Because the future it imagines ultimately belongs not to the author alone, but to all of us.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
It is with great pleasure that I formally present and celebrate the launch of The City He Never Returned To.
May it travel widely. May it provoke thought. May it inspire dialogue.
And may it contribute, in its own important way, to building a Nigeria, and indeed an Africa, worthy of those who survived, and worthy of those yet to come.
Thank you.
God bless Nigeria. God bless Africa.
And God bless the power of literature to help us imagine a better future.
For decades, governance and economic diplomacy were treated as separate disciplines. Governments governed. Diplomats attracted investment. Development agencies pursued growth.
That distinction is rapidly disappearing.
In this three-part Proshare essay series, I explore why the future of economic development, particularly in Nigeria, will increasingly be shaped not only by national governments but by states and their leaders.
Part One: From Gateway to Factory Floor argues that investment competition has become fundamentally subnational. Increasingly, investors are asking not whether to invest in Nigeria, but where in Nigeria to invest.
Part Two: Why Sub-National Economic Diplomacy Will Define Nigeria’s Next Investment examines why states must become active participants in economic diplomacy, competing not merely with one another but with provinces and regions across Asia, Europe, and Latin America for capital, talent, technology, and partnerships.
Drawing on nearly three decades of experience in municipal governance and my work in international trade and investment promotion through the Nigeria Belgium Luxembourg Business Forum, the trilogy offers a practitioner’s perspective on a simple but increasingly important proposition.
Encouragingly, these ideas are already beginning to find institutional expression. Following the publication of the series, the Chartered Institute of Public Management of Nigeria has approved a pioneering Master Class in Economic Diplomacy for Public Managers, leading to the designation Certified Public Manager in Economic Diplomacy (CPMED). The initiative reflects a growing recognition that public managers must increasingly think beyond administration alone and embrace investment promotion, trade facilitation, partnership building, diaspora engagement, and global competitiveness as integral elements of modern governance.
Governance and economic statecraft are no longer separate disciplines. The most successful states of the future will be those whose leaders understand how to connect local opportunity with global possibility.
I am pleased to share the complete trilogy and look forward to the conversations and practical reforms it may inspire.
Nzuko Africa Festival 2026 – Paris, France 31 May 2026
Distinguished guests, esteemed partners of The AfrikaFora, fellow Africans and friends of Africa, ladies and gentlemen,
I stand before you tonight deeply humbled and profoundly grateful to receive the“Bridging the Gap through Diaspora Advocacy & Professional Excellence Award.”
To the leadership of The AfrikaFora, particularly the Founder / CEO, Madame Winifred Uloaku Gaillard, thank you for this honour. I accept it with a sense of gratitude, but also with a deep awareness that no meaningful journey is ever undertaken alone.
This recognition bears my name, but it belongs to many people.
It belongs to my family, especially my wife, Tonia, who has supported my often demanding public engagements here in Europe and increasingly across continents.
It belongs to colleagues, mentors, friends, and collaborators who have walked alongside me over the years.
It belongs to the countless members of the African Diaspora whose stories, struggles, sacrifices, and successes continue to inspire my work.
And it belongs to the young Africans, both on the continent and across the Diaspora, whose limitless potential convinces me every day that Africa’s best chapters are still ahead of us.
Tonight’s award carries a title that resonates deeply with me: “Bridging the Gap.”
In many ways, that phrase has defined much of my life’s work.
As a first-generation African migrant in Europe, I have spent decades navigating different worlds, Africa and Europe, public service and consultancy, local governance and international engagement, policy and practice.
Along the way, I discovered something important: the greatest barriers facing our world are often not geographical distances, but gaps in understanding, trust, opportunity, and representation.
The Diaspora occupies a unique position in this regard.
We understand the realities of our countries of origin while engaging daily with the systems and institutions of our countries of residence. We are uniquely positioned to build bridges where others see barriers and borders.
We bridge markets. We bridge cultures. We bridge ideas. We bridge innovation. We bridge generations. And increasingly, we bridge development.
For many years, the African Diaspora was viewed primarily through the lens of remittances. While remittances remain important, they represent only a fraction of our contribution.
The Diaspora is also a source of knowledge, networks, investment, innovation, policy influence, and soft power.
Indeed, this conviction became the foundation of my recently published book, Economic Diplomacy of the Diasporaand appropriately dedicated to my grandson with the following words: “For my grandson, Noah Nweke, That the world we shape today may take root in your hands and bloom in the tomorrows of your generation. With love and faith in the future”. Again, Noah may have been named here but to you, my young people of Africa, that aspirational message is for you all.
The central argument of that work is simple:
The Diaspora should not merely be seen as a community that sends money home. It should be recognized as a strategic partner in national development and international engagement.
If Africa is to achieve the transformation we seek, we must move beyond seeing our Diaspora as observers of development and embrace them as active participants in shaping it.
That is why this award is particularly meaningful to me.
It recognizes not only professional accomplishment but also advocacy, the belief that ideas matter, that institutions matter, and that people matter.
Throughout my career; whether serving in public office in Belgium, working in international trade and economic diplomacy, engaging with governments, speaking through the media, mentoring young people, or advocating for stronger Africa-Diaspora partnerships; I have remained guided by one conviction:
Africa’s future will be built not by governments alone, nor by business alone, nor by civil society alone, but through partnerships that bring all these forces together.
As Africans, we sometimes focus excessively on what divides us.
Nationality. Language. Religion. Ethnicity. Political persuasion.
Yet whenever I travel across Africa or engage with Africans around the world, I encounter something stronger than these differences.
I encounter a shared aspiration.
A shared determination.
A shared belief that Africa can and must occupy its rightful place in the world.
That belief is why gatherings such as Nzuko Africa matter.
The word Nzuko itself means coming together.
And perhaps there is no greater task before us today than coming together; across borders, generations, and sectors; to shape a common African future.
To the younger generation present here tonight, permit me to leave you with a brief message.
You are not merely the leaders of tomorrow.
You are already leaders today.
The Africa you desire will not arrive as a gift from history.
It must be built intentionally, through excellence, integrity, innovation, entrepreneurship, scholarship, and service.
Do not wait for perfect conditions.
Do not wait for permission.
Do not wait for others to define your possibilities.
Believe in your capacity to shape outcomes.
Africa’s rebirth will not be driven solely by natural resources beneath our soil.
It will be driven by the human resources within our people.
And among those people, none are more important than our youth.
As I accept this award tonight, I do so not as a destination reached, but as encouragement to continue the journey.
There remains much work to be done.
There are still gaps to bridge.
There are still partnerships to build.
There are still opportunities to unlock.
And there are still many African stories waiting to be written, waiting to be told.
I therefore accept this honour with renewed commitment to continue contributing, in whatever way I can, to a stronger Diaspora, a more prosperous Africa, and a more connected world.
Thank you once again to The AfrikaFora for this recognition.
Thank you to all who have supported my journey.
And thank you to every African, at home and abroad, who continues to believe in the promise of our continent.
Together, let us continue bridging the gap.
Together, let us continue building the future.
Together, let us continue advancing the African renaissance.
Thank you, and may God bless Africa and all her people.
