Schools Do Not Just Teach Dutch, They Build Belgium

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.

NJIKOTA: From The Memory of Separation to The Courage of Nation-Building

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.

A Decade in the Making – A New Chapter Begins

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 journey continues.

Kola-nuts for the Architects of Our Lives

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.

BOOK LAUNCH OF THE CITY HE NEVER RETURNED TO By Ibekwe Paul Chukwuemeka

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.

Brussels, Saturday 20 June 2026

A Trilogy on Why Governance and Economic Statecraft Matter

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.

Part Three: The Governor as Chief Economic Diplomat: A New Leadership Model for Nigerian States proposes a new leadership paradigm, one in which governors are measured not only by infrastructure commissioned, but by investment attracted, jobs created, exports expanded, and global partnerships secured.

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.

Zero-Tariff China Access can be a Strategic Opening for Nigeria if Matched with Domestic Reform

In a Worker’s Day 2026 interview, incidentally the same day that Zero-Tariff China Access for Africa took effect, South African Broadcasting Service radio, had me on to discuss the implications of the new trade regime for Nigeria.

Zero-Tariff China Access essentially means that a wide range of African exports can now enter China duty-free. For Nigeria, this is both an opportunity and a test of readiness.

On the opportunity side, it potentially opens up the world’s second-largest consumer market to Nigerian products like agricultural goods, solid minerals, leather, textiles, and even some manufactured items. If properly leveraged, Nigeria could diversify away from oil and earn more non-oil export revenue, which is critical for economic stability.

However, and this is the critical point, zero tariffs do not automatically translate into increased exports. Nigeria’s challenge has never really been market access. It has been production capacity, quality standards, and export logistics. China is a highly competitive market with strict phytosanitary and industrial standards. Many Nigerian producers are not yet positioned to meet those consistently.

There is also a structural concern: without a deliberate export strategy, Nigeria risks deepening its role as a raw material supplier, rather than moving up the value chain. So instead of exporting processed cocoa, for example, we may continue exporting raw cocoa while importing finished goods at a higher value.

So, in summary, Zero-Tariff China Access is a strategic opening, but it will only benefit Nigeria if it is matched with domestic reforms: improving infrastructure, supporting exporters, ensuring standards compliance, and aligning trade policy with industrial policy.

If Nigeria gets that alignment right, this could be transformative. If not, it risks becoming another missed opportunity, I told Innocent Samosa, Business Reporter at SABS Radio here

https://omny.fm/shows/business-africa/china-grants-africa-zero-tariff-access-to-all-africa-countries

The New Mobility Consensus: A Challenge for the Greens in a Post-Bulldozer Brussels

The political landscape of Brussels is undergoing a transformation that few would have predicted a year ago. This is more so for those of us who have long championed sustainable mobility. With Boris Dilliès, the newly elected Minister-President, now framing cycling not as a competitor to the automobile but as a benefactor to it, we are witnessing a significant recalibration of urban discourse.

For the seasoned observer, this shift invites a dual reading. Is it a cynical political flip-flop, a calculated attempt to neutralise opposition? Or is it a genuine evolution toward political realism? That is the pragmatic recognition that in a dense, complex city like Brussels, the “car-versus-bike” culture war has become a net negative for governance.

Whatever the reading, Dilliès’ rhetorical pivot is astute. By thanking cyclists for “making space for drivers,” he has effectively dismantled the adversarial binary that paralysed the previous administration. For those of us who are keen cyclists and have spent years fighting for protected lanes, this is, in many ways, a victory of normalisation. Cycling is no longer a niche, ideological pursuit. It is now recognised as a systemic necessity.

However, this “Dilliès Consensus” leaves the traditional progressive and Green forces in a precarious, if not uncomfortable, position.

The Dilemma for the Greens

For parties that have made pro-cycling infrastructure their raison d’être, having an opponent adopt your language and arguably, your policy trajectory, is disarming. It creates a “success trap.” When your primary political antagonist starts implementing the very measures you campaigned on, the traditional mechanisms of opposition begin to rust. If you continue to attack, you risk appearing dogmatic or obstructionist. If you remain silent, you lose your distinctive brand.

The Green movement in Brussels now faces a fundamental strategic inflection point. If the Minister-President is truly committed to this path, the “activist” phase of policy-making for the Greens has reached its end. The Greens must now transition from being the architects of resistance to the guardians of implementation.

A Strategy for the New Era: Three Pillars for the Greens

To remain relevant and influential in the new, “pragmatic” Brussels, the Green movement must evolve its positioning:

1. Move from “Why” to “How”: The ideological debate on the necessity of cycling is largely won. The new battleground is delivery. The Greens should shift their focus to rigorous oversight, holding the government accountable to the technical quality, safety standards, and timelines of new infrastructure. If Dilliès is serious about his pragmatism, he will welcome this oversight. If he is not, the Greens become the essential “quality control” for the city.

2. Redefine “Pragmatism” to include Equity: Dilliès’ pragmatism focuses on traffic flow and commuter efficiency. The Greens should expand the definition of pragmatism to include social and spatial justice. A truly pragmatic city is not just one that moves traffic efficiently. It is one that ensures that mobility is inclusive of those who cannot afford a car and those who live in the most congested, polluted neighbourhoods. This provides a distinct, “value-add” dimension to the discourse that the current government’s efficiency-based narrative may overlook.

3. Claim the “Systemic Architect” Role: Rather than fighting over individual lanes, the Greens should position themselves as the designers of the next systemic leap: intermodal hubs, regional connectivity, and the integration of micro-mobility with public transport. By focusing on the system rather than the symptom, you reclaim the role of visionaries.

Ultimately, the normalization of cycling in Brussels is an achievement the Greens should claim, regardless of which party carries the banner. True political maturity lies in recognising that our ideas are stronger when they transcend party lines.

For the Greens, this is not a moment for mourning the loss of a battle. It is an invitation to elevate the war. The goal was never to win a partisan victory. The goal was to build a livable city. If the current administration is willing to help lay the bricks, the task of the Greens is not to tear the wall down, but to ensure it is built to last. It is time for a new kind of opposition: one defined not by obstruction, but by a relentless commitment to the public good.

The UK-Nigeria Migration Pact: Strategic Diplomacy or a Missed Opportunity for Human Capital?

The recent “strengthening” of the Migration, Justice, and Home Affairs (MJHA) partnership between the United Kingdom and Nigeria marks a pivotal, yet contentious, moment in Afro-British relations. Billed as a “landmark” in security cooperation, the deal introduces the “UK Letter”, dressed up as a mechanism allowing the UK Home Office to bypass traditional passport bottlenecks for removals, alongside a “Fusion Cell” to combat visa fraud.

While the optics suggest a robust defense of sovereign borders, a deeper policy analysis reveals a framework that is increasingly out of sync with the global shift toward Economic Migration Management. For a partnership that claims to be “forward-looking,” it remains stubbornly anchored in the mechanics of removal rather than the dynamics of human capital.

The Asymmetry of the “Security-First” Model

On the surface, the MJHA is presented as a reciprocal arrangement. However, the benefits are fundamentally asymmetrical. The UK gains a fast-track solution to a domestic political pressure point; the visibility of “failed” migration; while Nigeria receives vague assurances regarding business visa streamlining.

As a migration advocate, one must ask: is Nigeria merely serving as an enforcement arm for the UK Home Office? By facilitating the removal of thousands without addressing the structural drivers of their movement, we are treating the symptoms of a global economic disparity while ignoring the disease.

Shifting the Paradigm: Lessons from the ‘Arraigo’ and ‘Chancenkarte’

To move toward a more statesmanlike discourse, we must look to European neighbours who are pioneering more sophisticated, “rooting-based” models.

· Spain’s Arraigo (Social Rooting): Spain has recognized that after two to three years of residency, an individual is no longer just a “migrant” but a community member. Their model allows for the regularisation of status through employment, turning a “legal liability” into a Social Security-contributing asset.

· Germany’s Chancenkarte (Opportunity Card): Germany is moving toward a points-based flexibility that allows migrants to “switch lanes” (Spurwechsel) from irregular status to work permits if they possess the skills the German economy lacks.

These are not “soft” policies. They are economically literate ones. They prioritise the fiscal contribution of the individual over the prohibitive cost of deportation flights and diplomatic friction.

A Blueprint for “Migration for Development”

Nigeria should not be a passive “returning partner.” A truly strategic partnership would advocate for a Global Skill Partnership (GSP).

In this model, the UK would invest in Nigerian vocational training, creating a “dual-track” system. One group of trainees remains to strengthen the Nigerian domestic market, while the other is granted a legal, streamlined pathway to the UK. This transforms the “brain drain” into a “brain gain,” ensuring that Nigeria’s human capital is developed, not just depleted. The initiative, SkillUp Nigeria can be a credible partner in this model.

Furthermore, we must discuss Regularisation for Remittance. With remittances to Nigeria exceeding $20 billion annually, the economic stability of millions of Nigerian households depends on the diaspora. Instead of mass removals, the UK should offer “probationary status” to non-criminal overstayers. This keeps the wheels of the Nigerian economy turning and saves the UK taxpayer the immense cost of enforcement.

In the final analysis, Nigeria and the UK must move from enforcement to engagement. The 2026 UK-Nigeria pact is a functional tool for border security, but it is not a vision for a shared future. If the UK and Nigeria are to be true strategic partners, they must move beyond the “UK Letter.”

We must demand a transition from Security-led Migration to Investment-led Migration. Security is a prerequisite for order, but human capital is the prerequisite for prosperity. A modern, statesmanlike approach would value the Nigerian migrant not by the speed of their departure, but by the potential of their contribution.

Collins Nweke is the author of Economic Diplomacy of the Diaspora (2026) and Senior International Trade Consultant. He writes from Brussels, Belgium.

The Brussels Mission of Nigeria Must Become a Command Centre for Economic Diplomacy

by Collins Nweke

Belgium’s logistics power, Luxembourg’s financial strength, and the regulatory influence of the European Union make Brussels one of Nigeria’s most strategically important diplomatic postings. The challenge for Nigeria’s new envoy is to convert presence into economic and geopolitical influence. Because diplomacy today is no longer conducted only across negotiating tables, but across networks of trade, finance, technology, and people.

Diplomacy in the twenty-first century is no longer only about representation. It is increasingly about economic positioning. Nowhere illustrates this reality more clearly than Nigeria’s diplomatic mission to Belgium, the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, and the European Union.

For many Nigerians, Brussels may appear as just another European capital where Nigeria maintains an embassy. In reality, it is one of the most strategically consequential diplomatic platforms Nigeria possesses anywhere in the world.

From trade logistics to financial capital and regulatory influence, the Brussels mission sits at the intersection of three powerful European systems that directly shape Nigeria’s economic future.

Brussels as Nigeria’s Triple Strategic Gateway

Nigeria’s envoy in Brussels operates within what may best be described as a triple gateway to Europe.

Belgium: Europe’s Logistics Platform

Belgium hosts one of the most important maritime trade hubs in the world. The Port of Antwerp-Bruges serves as a key entry point for goods moving into the European market.

For Nigeria, this port represents more than maritime infrastructure. It is a strategic corridor through which Nigerian exports, from agricultural products to petrochemicals, enter the broader European economy.

A proactive diplomatic strategy in Belgium can therefore directly influence Nigeria’s trade competitiveness in Europe.

Luxembourg: Global Capital Markets

Luxembourg, despite its small size, is one of the world’s most influential financial centres. It hosts one of the largest global investment fund industries and plays a leading role in sustainable finance.

As Nigeria seeks to diversify its economy and finance infrastructure development, Luxembourg offers access to sophisticated financial instruments including green bonds, blended finance structures, and climate investment platforms.

For Nigeria, the Luxembourg dimension of the Brussels mission represents an opportunity to connect diplomacy with global capital markets.

The European Union: Regulatory Powerhouse

The third pillar of the mission is the European Union itself.

EU policy decisions increasingly shape the rules governing global trade, digital markets, climate compliance, and supply-chain sustainability. Measures such as the EU Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism, for example, will have direct implications for African exporters.

Nigeria’s presence in Brussels must therefore go beyond ceremonial diplomacy. It must become an active platform for regulatory engagement and strategic dialogue with European institutions.

From Protocol Diplomacy to Economic Statecraft

If Nigeria is to maximise the strategic value of this mission, the embassy in Brussels must function less as a traditional diplomatic outpost and more as a hub of economic diplomacy.

Three areas deserve particular attention.

The Creative Economy Opportunity

Nigeria’s cultural industries, which include film, music, fashion, and digital media, have become global brands with strong commercial potential.

These sectors should be positioned within European markets not simply as cultural expressions but as high-growth investment ecosystems capable of attracting venture capital, distribution partnerships, and technology collaboration…

Economic diplomacy must learn to speak the language of culture as commerce.

Energy Transition and Climate Finance

Europe’s green transition is reshaping global energy markets. For Nigeria, the strategic challenge is to balance its role as a major natural gas supplier while also accelerating domestic renewable energy capacity.

Luxembourg’s financial ecosystem could provide a platform for structuring green financing instruments capable of supporting Nigeria’s long-term energy transition.

Handled strategically, diplomacy can help Nigeria convert climate pressure into investment opportunity.

Harnessing Diaspora Networks

Nigeria’s diaspora across Europe remains one of the country’s most underutilised strategic assets.

Highly skilled Nigerian professionals operate across European institutions, research centres, financial markets, and technology companies. Their networks represent a form of diplomatic capital that traditional embassies often fail to mobilise.

A forward-looking mission should treat the diaspora not merely as citizens abroad but as partners in economic diplomacy.

Five Strategic Priorities for Nigeria’s Brussels Mission

1. Trade Corridors

Deepen commercial engagement through the Port of Antwerp-Bruges as a gateway for Nigerian exports into European markets.

2. Financial Diplomacy

Leverage Luxembourg’s leadership in investment funds and green finance to support Nigeria’s infrastructure and renewable energy ambitions.

3. Regulatory Engagement

Strengthen Nigeria’s presence within EU policy conversations on trade, digital regulation, climate policy, and supply chains.

4. Creative Economy Promotion

Position Nigeria’s cultural industries—film, music, fashion, and digital media—as investment opportunities rather than cultural showcases.

5. Diaspora Economic Power

Treat the Nigerian diaspora in Europe as strategic partners capable of opening doors in business, academia, and policy networks.

The Narrative Challenge

Despite Nigeria’s economic scale and cultural influence, perceptions within Europe are often shaped by narratives centred on migration, governance challenges, and regional insecurity.

If Nigeria’s diplomatic engagement remains reactive, these narratives risk defining the entire relationship.

The more strategic approach is to reposition Nigeria as what it increasingly is: Africa’s largest economy, a major cultural exporter, and a critical geopolitical actor in West Africa.

This shift requires deliberate storytelling, sustained engagement with European policymakers, and strong partnerships with think tanks, business communities, and civil society networks.

A theme I explore in my recent book, Economic Diplomacy of the Diaspora, is that diplomacy in the twenty-first century must expand beyond state institutions to include networks of entrepreneurs, professionals, and communities operating across borders. Brussels provides precisely such an environment, where formal diplomacy intersects with business, finance, and diaspora influence. For Nigeria, leveraging these networks may prove just as important as the traditional tools of statecraft.

A Strategic Opportunity

Nigeria’s mission in Brussels stands at the crossroads of trade, finance, regulation, and diplomacy.

In many ways, it is less a conventional embassy and more a strategic command centre for Nigeria’s engagement with Europe.

The challenge now is to ensure that Nigeria’s presence in Brussels reflects the scale of its ambitions. When Europe debates Africa’s economic future, Nigeria should not merely be represented in the room. Nigeria should help shape the conversation.

Because in the diplomacy of the twenty-first century, influence is not measured only by embassies and protocol, but by the ability to turn networks into opportunity.

And few places offer Nigeria more opportunity to do so than Brussels.