The Republic

Why a Pardon Is Not Justice for Ken Saro-Wiwa #Onsite ⚡⁠ ⁠ On November 10, 1995, Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight other Ogoni activists were executed by Nigeria's military government after spending years warning about the adverse effects of oil extraction on their homeland in the Niger Delta.⁠ ⁠ Every week, The Republic produces carefully reported stories grounded in the belief that African lives are central to understanding the world. Support that journalism by subscribing for N50K/$49.99 annually: rpublc.com/subscribe⁠ ⁠ Thirty years later, Saro-Wiwa's daughter, Noo, speaks with The Republic's editor-in-chief, Wale Lawal, about what justice actually looks like and why the posthumous pardon granted by President Tinubu in 2025 is not the same thing as exoneration.⁠ ⁠ She says 'A pardon means that you have committed a crime and you are being forgiven for it. Exoneration means you never committed a crime in the first place. There is a very clear and obvious difference there.'⁠ ⁠ Read our conversation with Noo Saro-Wiwa at the link in bio.⁠ ________________⁠ 📝: Wale Lawal⁠ (@wallelawal )⁠ 🎨: Illustration by Charles Owen / THE REPUBLIC. ⁠ 🔍: Peace Onafuye (@yetundeandbooks ), Ijapa O (@ijapa_o ), Yusuf Omotayo (@yusufomotayo ), Wale Lawal (@wallelawal ); Editors ⁠

Lagos resumes at 4 a.m. It has no time to cook and has no patience for pretension. For over fifty years, Alhaja Fausat Adebayo (Iya Eba) has understood this perfectly, and kept the city fed, one wrap of eba at a time. In this story, Ayoola Oladipupo visits Iya Eba at 14 Berkeley Street, Lagos Island, to discuss her life and legacy. Read the full story and other stories about work, labour and livelihoods across Nigeria and Africa at the link in our bio. ___________ 📝: Ayoola Oladipupo 📷️: Jean-Fidèle Ananou 🔎: Yusuf Omotayo(@yusufomotayo ), Wale Lawal (@wallelawal ); Editors.

🚨The February–April 2026 issue of The Republic is here! Since 1977, Ladi Kwali’s face has appeared on the twenty-naira note passing through generations, even as the full weight of her story and genius remains largely untold. Her ubiquity and invisibility reflect a familiar Nigerian paradox: a country shaped by people, traditions, and events that fill everyday life yet often slip past historical record and current coverage. That paradox led us to stories that reveal Nigeria’s networks of labour and creativity in the face of despair. Across all six geopolitical zones, they trace a country held together by optimism, informal economies and everyday acts of resilience. This issue features The Republic’s Editor-in-Chief, Wale Lawal, in conversation with writer and activist Noo Saro-Wiwa(@noo.saro.wiwa ). It also includes writing from Chimezie Chika(@meziefrankie ), Ṣeun Sedẹ Williams(@wheelhelms ), Pelunmi Salako(@salakobaba ), Aisha Kabiru Mohammed(@eseosemohammed ), Ben Okri, Ebenezer Mowete(@king_neezar ), Amatallah Saulawa, Imrana Buba(@bubaimrana ), Emmanuel Azubuike (@emmanuelac_14 ), Bibi Bakare-Yusuf, Tomi Olugbemi(@bytomilade ), Ozoz Sokoh(@kitchenbutterfly ), Lotanna Ogbuefi (@35mmlle ), S.A. Anselm (@thesanusi_ng ), Terna Iwar (@pale.ethos ), Usman Bashir Abubakar(@usmanbashieerabubakar ) and Wardah Abbas(@heywardah ). It also contains original fiction edited by The Republic’s fiction editor, @chigozieobiomaauthor featuring stories by Boluwatife Sanwo(@paytife ) and Olufunke Ogundimu(@olufumike ). The cover is a commanding illustration of Ladi Kwali by Osaze Amadasun(@osaze_amadasun ). This issue also features illustrations and graphics from @elpros_l , Kingsley Chibueze, Charles Owen, @sazzyartist , @shalom_ojo , @dfutureart , @elo.igwilo and @Dami_Mojid . As well as Photography by Toyin Adedokun, @the__ukadaniel , Ahmadu Abdullahi, and @pale.ethos #100yearsofladikwali Subscribe at the link in bio ___ Junior editor: Ijapa O(@ijapa_o ) Senior digital producer: Peace Onafuye(@yetundeandbooks ) 
Senior editor: Yusuf Omotayo(@yusufomotayo ) Design lead: Michael Emono (@heyitsm_e ) Editor-in-chief: Wale Lawal (@wallelawal )

On an island where lemurs chatter in the trees and the air smells like sweet flowers, a little girl fell in love with the high pitched folk music of the highlands. ⁠ ⁠ So she picked up a guitar and started making her own. 🎶⁠ ⁠ Hanitra Ranaivo grew up curious about everything. The sounds of Madagascar. The sounds of the world beyond it. The stories of the women around her that nobody was putting into songs.⁠ ⁠ So she put them in herself. Lullabies. Quiet rebellions. Love in all its forms. The earth and how we are failing it. In 2016, she gathered it all into an album called Lasa, and suddenly her music wasn't just beautiful, it was necessary.⁠ ⁠ Give your child the gift of dreams and storytelling with Little Republic. Shop at the link in bio.

The Day's Work⁠ ⁠ Under a wide, cerulean sky, two youths push their cart with purpose, their labor a vital pulse along the artery of a rural road. This is the uncelebrated commerce of 'Another Nigeria', a story of grit, camaraderie, and the relentless rhythm of work that sustains communities far from the city's glare. Their shared effort paints a vivid picture of youthful resilience and the dignity of a day's hard toil.⁠ ⁠ License this image and more on @atlasphotos.co .⁠ ⁠ 📸: Photography by Emmanuel Lucky / ATLAS Photos

Born in the mountains of Syria in 1912, Asmahan grew up surrounded by poetry and music. ⁠ ⁠ When her family moved to Cairo, she fell in love with the sounds of the city and began singing in their small apartment. Her extraordinary voice quickly captured attention, and by just 14, she had recorded her first album. Although his life was filled with personal struggles and public gossip, Asmahan never stopped singing. ⁠ ⁠ Give your child the gift of dreams and storytelling with Little Republic. Shop at the link in bio. ⁠

The Distance Between.⁠ ⁠ Looking through metal bars, a symbol of trust and stability seems far away and protected. "The Distance Between" reveals another side of Nigeria, where people's determination faces the unchanging walls of institutions. It captures the pause between effort and access, showing the struggle between those trying to move forward and the systems that keep things the same.⁠ ⁠ Start earning from your photography—license your work on @atlasphotos.co ⁠ ⁠ 📸: Photography by John Israel / ATLAS photos⁠

Eating With Helon Habila #Onsite ⚡⁠ ⁠ Ozoz Sokoh reads Helon Habila’s Measuring Time like a scientist, looking for what the evidence reveals beneath the surface. What she finds is that food in this novel is never just food. It is both memory and time. Rice with goat meat, beans and spinach cooked in palm oil, pepper soup, but especially àkàrà.⁠ ⁠ Every week, The Republic produces carefully reported stories grounded in the belief that African lives are central to understanding the world. Support that journalism by subscribing for N50K/$49.99 annually: /subscribe⁠ ⁠ Sokoh traces the history of àkàrà — one of Nigeria's oldest, most beloved foods — and explores how the novel uses it as a marker of time and change in the lives of the protagonists. ⁠ ⁠ Full essay and recipe at the link in bio.⁠ ____________________________⁠ ⁠ 📝: Ozoz Sokoh⁠ (@kitchenbutterfly ) 🎨: Illustration by Shalom Ojo (@shalom_ojo ) / THE REPUBLIC.⁠ 🔍: Peace Onafuye (@yetundeandbooks ), Ijapa O (@ijapa_o ), Yusuf Omotayo (@yusufomotayo ), Wale Lawal (@wallelawal ); Editors ⁠

They banned his song thinking it would silence him. It didn't. 🎶⁠ ⁠ Pedro Lima grew up on the tiny island of São Tomé and Príncipe, in a musical family, with a voice that could carry a whole culture inside it. He fused rhythms his people had always known and made them into something the whole nation wanted to hear.⁠ ⁠ But Pedro wasn't just singing. He was saying something. And the colonial rulers knew it. So, they banned his song, 'Ngandu.' They thought that would be the end of it. Instead, everyone wanted to know what Pedro Lima had to say. ⁠ ⁠ He went from being a voice in the crowd to being the voice everyone leaned in to hear. A cultural resistor. A man whose music meant something dangerous to the people in power, and something precious to everyone else.⁠ ⁠ Give your child the gift of dreams and storytelling with Little Republic. Shop at the link in bio. ⁠

Almost a Ritual.⁠ ⁠ A detail many would ignore, a sprout tucked into a sock, now part of the body. It captures a local intimacy, youth culture, and the quiet poetry hidden in play. The title speaks to how the things we repeat, like Sunday football, slowly become sacred without us realizing it. This was taken during Sunday football, fondly called Gattuso in the south, at Kolapo Ishola Estate in Ibadan. Every week, people from nearby areas gather to play, laugh, and reconnect. It reminded me of Ede, where Sunday football was never just a game but a reunion. We looked forward to it all week, knowing we’d see old friends home for the weekend from school or work. It’s funny how something so ordinary can hold so much memory, the laughter, the dust, the sunset, and the feeling of being exactly where you belong.⁠ ⁠ Start earning from your photography—license your work on @atlasphotos.co ⁠ ⁠ 📸: Photography by Adeniyi Taofeek/ ATLAS photos⁠

He didn't make music for awards. He made it because it was the only light he could find. Jean-Paul Samputu grew up singing in a church choir in Rwanda. Music was his world long before the world gave him anything back.⁠ ⁠ Then 1994 came. The genocide that lasted 100 days took people he loved. And Jean-Paul was left standing in the rubble of an unimaginable loss, holding the only thing that had never abandoned him.⁠ ⁠ He kept singing. Gospel, Afrobeat, traditional Rwandan rhythms, soukous. Music that didn't ask people to be okay, but sat right beside them in their pain.⁠ ⁠ In 2003, he won the Kora Award for most promising African male artist. He could barely believe it.⁠ ⁠ Give your child the gift of dreams and storytelling with Little Republic. Shop at the link in bio.

A vision of a new Nigeria.⁠ ⁠ Every child deserves to go to school not to be on the street⁠ ⁠ License this image and more on @atlasphotos.co .⁠ ⁠ 📸: Photography by ADEYEMI Victor Oluwalonimi / ATLAS Photos