Former Nigeria minister under Buhari, Audu Ogbeh don die
Ogbeh die on Saturday 9 August 2025, according to report wey di Nigeria Television Authority (NTA) bin credit to di family.
NTA say di "Fmr Minister of Agriculture Audu Ogbeh, don die at 78".
For 2018, wen Ogbeh be Agriculture minister, di goment bin say dem ready to close border to stop pipo wey dey smuggle rice enta di kontri.
E serve as minister under di late Muhammadu Buhari.
Audu Ogbeh profile
Audu Innocent Ogbeh be Nigerian farmer and politician wey serve di minister of agriculture and rural development from 2015 to 2019.
E bin also serve as di chairman of di Peoples Democratic Party from 2001 till January 2005.
For di second republic of Nigeria, Ogbeh serve as di Minister of Communications from 1982 to 1983. before e later become Minister of Steel Development. Na wen military coup bring Major-General Muhammadu Buhari to power for 1983, na dat time im tenure end.
Dem born di late former minister for July 1947, for Benue State. E attend King's College for Lagos before e come go study for Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, including di University of Toulouse, France
E lecture for di Institute of Education, Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria before e head some oda departments for di institution.
For 2001, dem appoint am as di National Chairman of di People's Democratic Party (PDP), e replace Chief Barnabas Gemade. E dey di position until January 2005, wen e bin dey pressed to resign due to im criticism of di way di den President Olusegun Obasanjo handle one crisis for Anambra State
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Times
4 hours ago
- Times
Idi Amin — why ‘Big Daddy' is popular in modern Uganda
Uganda is in election campaign mode, so it came as no surprise on a recent trip to Kampala to see the face of the opposition leader Bobi Wine, complete with signature red beret, gazing out from walls and shopfronts. What I hadn't anticipated was the number of times I'd glimpse another, burlier face: that of Idi Amin. You see the stickers on taxi-buses and lampposts. 'Big Daddy' is enjoying something of a 'moment' in this east-central African nation, a reappraisal unthinkable in 1979, when an invasion by the Tanzanian army prompted his flight into exile, ending eight years of increasingly violent rule. One veteran Ugandan journalist, who has spent years researching the man once labelled 'Black Hitler' and the 'Butcher of Africa', disconcerted a group of visitors I was travelling with by arguing that the death toll attributed to Amin was massively exaggerated by racist British officials who had spotted the perfect bogeyman in the swaggering, loudmouth president. The group's response was incredulous, but his views were echoed by our tour guide who, while acknowledging far too much blood was shed, quietly insisted that Amin wasn't all bad, pointing to a portfolio of infrastructural investment — a hospital, barracks, embassy buildings at home and abroad. As the days passed I realised that this arguably romanticised 'take' on the past was rooted in worry about the future. There's mounting exasperation among Ugandans, who know exactly what to expect in the January 2026 presidential election. Another win for President Yoweri Museveni, who once preached the danger of 'overstaying', but will have been at the helm for four decades. So it's a good moment for a revisionist history of Amin, although this one may leave some readers slightly nonplussed. For Derek Peterson, a history professor at the University of Michigan, shows no interest in confirming or disproving the lurid, severed-heads-in-the-fridge stories that have clung to Amin. Nor does he attempt to deliver a standard cradle-to-grave account. His interest lies instead in the little people, the 'commoners', the marginal players who buzz around any Big Man in search of advancement or who merely try — as society crumbles around their ears — to keep their heads below the parapet and do their duties. The core argument of this intriguing, always readable work is that far from being imposed on Ugandans at the point of a gun, as is commonly suggested, Amin's regime, which lasted from 1971-79, was built on a firm base of genuinely popular appeal. Peterson sets out to explain 'why so many earnest, knowledgeable people placed themselves in the service of a military dictatorship whose violence was widely known'. The stage seems set for a Ugandan version of Daniel Goldhagen's controversial Hitler's Willing Executioners, which argued that the Holocaust, often portrayed as the work of a Nazi elite that kept its crimes hidden from ordinary citizens' eyes, was made possible by the profound antisemitism of the German population, which therefore bore collective guilt for the slaughter. But Peterson doesn't do that. He does, though, make the case that Amin was a leader whose soaring aspirations far outstripped his country's economic and geographical limitations. Despite being dismissed by Henry Kissinger as an 'ape without education', Amin was a man of restless vision, regarding Uganda as a frontline African state in a global war against racism and imperialism. It was fascinating to learn that Amin volunteered three million Ugandans to fight against the state of Israel and offered Uganda as a base for training up an all-African army to take on apartheid South Africa. Amin not only called for the UN's headquarters to be transferred to Kampala, he wrote to the Commonwealth offering to replace Queen Elizabeth II as its head. 'Amin's diplomacy made Kampala into a centre of the global left,' Peterson writes. In a precursor of Trump's style of diplomacy, 'there were no secret overtures, no private dialogues, no circumspection or politesse or tact' — all this was done in public. And where today's demagogues use X and Instagram to bypass 'the legacy media' and speak direct to the public, radio allowed Amin to beam straight into Ugandans' homes and minds. Just coming into its prime in Africa, the new technology meant Amin no longer needed civil servants, MPs or journalists as go-betweens. 'Radio helped make [Amin] a dictator.' • The 21 best history books of the past year to read next So in many ways Amin was a thoroughly modern demagogue, with an anti-imperial message likely to appeal to post-independence Africans. But when it comes to demonstrating widespread support on the part of ordinary Ugandan citizens — solid and sustained enough to offset mounting public horror at the atrocities committed by Amin's army — Peterson is less convincing. The official archives that he and teams of Ugandan researchers valiantly saved from heat, rain, mould and wasps are a treasure trove of quirky insights and vignettes. But what comes across is not so much the equivalent of a nation of 'willing executioners' as a nation of wary civil servants and local officials — interlaced with the odd, genuine eccentric — dutifully going through the motions, either to retain their salaries or because there was no obvious alternative to Amin. Peterson and his Ugandan colleagues deserve praise for their dogged work of salvage and restoration. However, documentation can present both an opportunity and a trap. An archivist delighted by a file's mere survival can forget to ask himself the key 'so what?' question that every historian should retain at the back of their mind. Peterson disappears down a few too many rabbit holes. Towards the end he focuses on a community that did the opposite of working 'to make the Amin regime function'. There's something almost magnificent about the contempt in which the inhabitants of the Rwenzururu kingdom, on Uganda's mountainous western border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo (then called Zaire), held central government, and their defiant determination to remain independent. It's an intriguing, under-reported tale that highlights the complexity of Ugandan history. • Read more book reviews and interviews — and see what's top of the Sunday Times Bestsellers List By the time Amin fled, Uganda's economy was in a state of collapse. If the tales of cannibalism were almost certainly fabrications and the death toll massively inflated — more Ugandans died during Milton Obote's second presidency — thousands of citizens including prominent churchmen, politicians and government ministers had certainly been tortured, killed or disappeared. The country was regarded abroad as a blood-soaked basket-case, rather than an appropriate venue for the UN headquarters. As Uganda gears up for next year's polls, the citizens and leadership of this linchpin African nation, which rarely gets the international attention it deserves, will need to shed their rose-tinted glasses and reassess the past in all its multilayered richness. A Popular History of Idi Amin's Uganda by Derek R. Peterson (YUP £25). To order a copy go to Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members
Telegraph
19 hours ago
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Welsh Labour spends £4m planting trees in Uganda
The Labour-run Welsh Government has spent more than £4m on planting trees in Uganda. The Mbale Tree Planting Project, which aims to mitigate climate change and promote gender equality for female workers in the landlocked country, has been backed by the Welsh Government since 2013. Yet it is the latest in a series of taxpayer costs signed off by Welsh Labour politicians to come under scrutiny, as NHS patients in the country continue to face some of the longest waits for treatment in the UK. The Size of Wales programme, which sends the taxpayer cash to Uganda, has overseen the planting of trees for beekeeping in Africa as part of the Advancing Gender Equality for Climate Change Resilience and Adaptation project. As a result, a network of tree nurseries has been established which are capable of growing at least 3.2 million trees each year. Providing training and support to women-led nurseries had also 'empowered women to take on leadership roles and generate income,' an evaluation of the project reported. Celebrating the planting project's 25 millionth sapling earlier this year, Welsh Labour minister Jane Hutt said: 'The distribution of 25 million trees in eastern Uganda is not only helping to combat climate change, it's transforming lives, particularly for women and young people across Uganda.' Meanwhile, the indigenous Wampis people in the northern Peruvian Amazon have enjoyed solar-powered boats and charging points, also funded by the Welsh Government. Yet more than 5,800 miles away in Wales, the ambulance service has also faced severe pressure and the social care sector is struggling to cope with increased demand. Council tax bills have also soared by 7.2 per cent on average across the country. Welsh Tory leader Darren Millar said: 'People in Wales will be amazed that there is money to plant trees in Uganda, yet public toilets, libraries and other services are closing in their communities. Every pound spent on planting trees in Africa is a pound that is not being spent on public services here. ' The Welsh government isn't even responsible for international relations so Labour ministers should stop the overreach and focus on the things that they are responsible for such as our poorly performing schools and hospitals and getting to grips with the unacceptable waiting times in the Welsh NHS.' It is not the first Welsh Labour policy has faced criticism in recent months. Earlier this year the Government came under attack for spending almost £250,000 on a project to count moths. Tory colleague Janet Finch-Saunders added: 'It is time the Welsh Labour Government stopped this virtue-signalling and instead concentrated their spending priorities on the things that matter most to our tax-paying residents.' A Welsh Government spokesman said: 'Climate change affects all of us, and we are stepping up to play our part in the world. These trees protect communities from floods and droughts, while connecting Welsh and Ugandan schoolchildren culturally and through practical environmental education opportunities. 'Earlier this year, we passed a £26bn budget, investing an extra £1.6bn in public services, strengthening our NHS, supporting schools and helping communities across Wales thrive.'
Telegraph
20 hours ago
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Somalia gripped by fears of militant Islamic uprising
As Fartun Hashi Warsame serves cardamom-spiced tea at her shop, she often overhears worried chatter about the al-Shabaab militants closing in on Mogadishu. If customers notice she is listening, they drop their voices. Speculating about whether al-Shabaab might reach Somalia's capital, or speaking about the government's failings, are dangerous topics, even if they are commonplace. In a city full of secret police, residents never know who might be listening. 'Everybody senses it: the war is raging outside Mogadishu and al-Shabaab keep getting closer,' Mrs Warsame says. 'If al-Shabaab keep taking territory, then it's obvious that the same fate will await Mogadishu. 'Surveillance is everywhere, but sometimes you can't hold back from the obvious. Everybody is aware of the situation and many are concerned.' Al-Shabaab has launched a sweeping offensive, capturing dozens of towns and villages in regions around the Somalian capital since February. The ambitious advance by one of al-Qaeda's most successful affiliates has overturned several years of recent gains made by an internationally recognised federal government, which increasingly finds itself isolated in Mogadishu. An African peace-keeping mission and a sharp escalation in US air strikes under Donald Trump have failed to stop the push. The militia, which is declared a terrorist organisation by the US and the UK, is meanwhile trying to shed its reputation for repression and murderous suicide bombings. Waging a patient 'hearts and minds' campaign in its quickly spreading territory, the group promises Islamic law, justice and order, rather than the corruption of the government. To many international observers, such echoes of of words and conditions in Afghanistan before the Taliban's 2021 victory are concerning. Donors, including the UK, who have poured billions into a faltering nation-building effort are disillusioned and weary. 'It's absolutely similar [to 2021 Afghanistan], and for good reason,' says Ashley Jackson of the Centre on Armed Groups, who has researched both the Taliban and al-Shabaab. 'Both governments are these creations of the global war on terrorism, and similar models of stabilisation were followed in both countries. And this created and sustained predatory, corrupt governments more consumed with self gain than legitimacy or service delivery.' The Taliban and al-Shabaab are 'very structurally, militarily and ideologically similar,' she says, though al-Shabaab allows girls to go to school. As al-Shabaab has this summer stormed across the Hiiraan, Lower Shabelle and Middle Shabelle regions, there has been heavy fighting only 25 miles or so from Mogadishu. Surprisingly, inside the increasingly isolated city, security is better than it has been for years. The indiscriminate al-Shabaab suicide bombings that used to kill hundreds at a time have largely stopped. Shrapnel marks and bullet holes have been plastered over. High-rise blocks, hotels and restaurants have sprung up. The government angrily rejects speculation that the city is threatened, worried it will scare off donors and international backers who live in fortified compounds near the airport. Ismail Osman, former deputy director of Somalia's national intelligence and security agency, said last week: 'Mogadishu is not falling. Mogadishu is standing. 'In fact, it is standing taller every year, supported by a population that is tired of war, energised by opportunity, and determined to never again allow terror or foreign indifference to define its future.' Yet the prospect is widely discussed, including by the businessmen who have poured money into the capital. 'I'm thinking about leaving,' says one businessman who declines to give his name. He returned from Canada to his homeland, but is now worried everything he has invested in shops and cafés will be lost if fighting reaches the city. 'I returned here a decade ago, but even though then the city was plagued by rampant bombings and assassinations, I didn't have as much fear as I do today. 'No one knows what will happen next, that's why everyone is fearful,' he says. 'Most people in Mogadishu know that many towns and districts have fallen and there is fighting taking place near Afgoye [20 miles from Mogadishu]. 'One of my friends told me to spend the summer with him in Nairobi to see how things go, but I have put too much into this city. I won't leave now, but I'll make my decision soon.' Al-Shabaab, meaning The Youth in Arabic, emerged as the radical wing of Somalia's now-defunct Union of Islamic Courts, which controlled Mogadishu in 2006, before being forced out by Ethiopian forces. The group vows to implement Islamic law and condemns democracy as a Western transplant. In 2012 the leadership swore allegiance to al-Qaeda. The group became notorious for attacks inside Somalia and in neighbouring Kenya, where in 2013, its gunmen stormed the Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi, killing at least 67 people. Several foreign jihadists are thought to have joined, including Samantha Lewthwaite, the British woman married to one of the 7/7 suicide bombers, and now known as the White Widow. Al-Shabaab's resurgence would have seemed unlikely only two years ago. From mid-2022 a clan-based militia called the Macawisley pushed the group out of much of central Somalia with the backing of the army. Yet those gains have been swept away after government successes later soured. Promises of development in the liberated areas went unfulfilled and the clan militia quickly started to prey on the population. Al-Shabaab appeared to have been biding its time and has been able to retake much of the territory easily, often facing little local resistance. Sympathisers with the group are not difficult to find, even with its blood-soaked record. 'Al-Shabaab are feared but the government is hated. It's tough,' explains Abdirahman Nur Hassan, a rickshaw driver in the capital. Army morale is low The group has tried to project a softer face and relaxed some of the strictures in its territory, allowing people to use the internet and scaling back judicial executions and amputations. Prisoners of war are now being freed, rather than killed. Last month the offensive took the strategic towns of Moqokori and Maxaas. Overall, the Somali army has struggled to mount a cohesive counter-offensive, though this week it said it had retaken Bariire, a town south-west of the capital The new 10-000 strong African Union peacekeeping mission (AUSSOM) of Ugandans, Ethiopians and Kenyans is distracted as it undergoes a transition and reportedly cannot pay its troops. One army deserter said: 'Our morale was gone and with each town that fell one after another, we knew it was a matter of time before we were overrun and killed.' The former soldier, who declined to be named, said: 'The army will seize a town, then Shabaab will seize it and then the army would be back, but then Shabaab takes over once again. It's been going on for years. 'Young soldiers are dying in large numbers and many don't want to keep dying for a lost cause because that's how many feel about the war with al-Shabaab.' Meanwhile, the federal government under Hassan Sheikh Mohamud is consumed by political infighting and appears to be calculating it will not be deserted by the international community. The president has particularly courted Turkey as a protector, granting Turkish Petroleum Corporation (TPAO) exclusive rights to explore and produce offshore oil and gas. Next year's elections may be a more dangerous point for Mogadishu, says Ms Jackson, rather than an imminent al-Shabaab military offensive. The group is more likely to be patiently positioning itself to take advantage of any electoral violence, or disputes between the federal states, that would seriously weaken the central government. She said: 'I don't think Mogadishu is immediately in danger in military terms. 'The fact that the people are even worried about it shows how little faith they have in the Somali government.'
