VIP Convoys and the Tragedy of Everyday Nigerians
By Kabir Abdulsalam,
In Nigeria today, the sight of endless convoys of SUVs weaving through city streets with heavily armed escorts has become a symbol of power. For the political elite, business moguls, and Very Important Persons (VIPs), security operatives are not merely a necessity — they are status symbols.
While the privileged few enjoy the protection of mobile policemen and anti-terror squads, millions of ordinary Nigerians remain exposed to kidnappers, terrorists, and armed robbers.
Last week in Abuja, the Federal Government signaled a bold attempt to change that imbalance. At the Ministry of Interior’s performance retreat, Special Adviser to the President on Policy and Coordination, Hadiza Bala-Usman, announced plans to curb what she described as the “misuse” of security operatives by VIPs.
“We cannot continue to deploy police trained for anti-terrorism to guard VIPs in Ikoyi. That is completely wrong,” she declared. “If anyone feels the need for protection, let them pay a licensed security company to provide it.”
Her comments touched a nerve in a long-running national debate: the diversion of scarce security resources to serve the comfort of the wealthy and powerful at the expense of ordinary citizens.
Nigeria’s police force is critically understaffed. Official figures put personnel strength at about 370,000, but experts argue the effective number on the ground is much smaller, with thousands tied up in administrative work, training, and VIP protection.
The United Nations recommends one police officer per 400 citizens. To meet that standard, Nigeria would need nearly 500,000 officers for its estimated 200 million people. Instead, it struggles with a ratio closer to 1:600 — before even accounting for the large number of officers diverted to VIP escorts.
Analysts estimate that tens of thousands of policemen, including Mobile Police Force (MOPOL) and counter-terrorism operatives, are attached to politicians, business elites, and other VIPs. The result: rural communities in Zamfara, Katsina, Benue, and Niger often face skeletal police presence even as they battle banditry and insurgency.
“Imagine having anti-terror units babysitting a businessman in Lagos while villagers in the North West are under siege from terrorists,” said a retired senior officer who requested anonymity. “This diversion is not just wasteful, it is deadly.”
Bala-Usman insisted that VIP protection should not be treated as a public entitlement funded by taxpayers.
“VIP protection is not a public entitlement. It is a service that should be paid for. Our policemen must be freed to protect Nigerians at large, not just a privileged few,” she said.
The proposed reform centers on amending the Private Guard Companies (PGCs) Act. Under the plan, certified private security companies, staffed by trained professionals, would take over VIP protection, while police officers are redeployed to core national security duties.
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This model mirrors practices in countries like the United States and South Africa, where official security is reserved for top officeholders while private contractors serve politicians and business executives outside government.
The misuse of police escorts has clear consequences. Across Nigeria, citizens complain of delayed police response, poorly equipped stations, and overwhelmed officers. Kidnapping for ransom has spread nationwide, yet specialized counter-terror squads are frequently spotted guarding VIP homes and convoys.
“If someone feels too important to move around without submachine guns, let them hire a licensed private guard company,” Bala-Usman said pointedly.
One of the more innovative aspects of the plan is to integrate retired senior police officers into structured private security firms. Bala-Usman argued this would professionalize the private security industry while offering post-retirement employment to experienced personnel.
Nigeria has thousands of retired police and military officers with valuable expertise, many of whom remain underutilized while the active force struggles with overstretch. Channeling their skills into private guard companies could help bridge the gap.
“This reform is not just about freeing the police,” Bala-Usman noted. “It is also about creating jobs and professionalizing private security.”
The political challenge may prove greater than the technical one. Many of the VIPs who benefit from free police escorts sit in the legislature, and the proposed amendment to the PGC Act requires National Assembly approval.
“How many senators or governors are willing to give up their police escorts?” asked security analyst Kabiru Akintayo. “That is where the battle will be fought. It’s not about whether the reform makes sense, but whether the political elite will allow it.”
Already, whispers of opposition are emerging. Some VIPs argue that they face genuine threats and that only police escorts can guarantee their safety. Others warn that stripping escorts could expose them to targeted attacks.
But reform advocates counter that properly licensed and supervised private firms can provide equal — if not better — protection, while freeing scarce police resources for public security.
Other countries have faced similar challenges. In South Africa, private firms handle the bulk of VIP protection outside government. In the United States, Secret Service protection is strictly limited to the President, Vice President, and a handful of top officials, while senators, governors, and business leaders rely on private contractors.
Nigeria, by contrast, allows even mid-level politicians and business executives to move with siren-blaring, police-escorted convoys, intimidating motorists and fueling public resentment.
This fuels perceptions that Nigeria’s security system serves the elite rather than the people.
Bala-Usman described the reform as one of the “high-impact deliverables” her office is tracking and urged lawmakers to fast-track the legislative process before the third quarter of 2025.
Whether that deadline is realistic remains uncertain. The proposal is bold, but its success will test the government’s political will and its readiness to confront entrenched privilege.
For now, convoys will keep growing, villages will keep crying out for protection, and the struggle to reclaim Nigeria’s overstretched police force for the people remains unfinished business.
