There was a time when life in many parts of Nigeria carried a certain ease, a rhythm that allowed people to focus on living rather than surviving. The greatest worry for the ordinary household was not whether one would return home safely, but whether a bicycle, a radio, or a small bag of belongings might go missing. It was in that quieter era that a familiar voice often travelled through the airwaves of radio sets across Oyo State, carrying a simple but powerful warning:
“E tójú dúkìá o, kí a má bàa fa ara wa lé olè lówó.” Meaning: Take care of your property so that you do not hand over yourselves to thieves or so that thieves do not dispossess you.
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Anyone who lived in Oyo State in the 80s would definitely know that song, and whoever drafted it deserves commendation as the song was an unbeatable alarm system. It was a chorus playing in the mind of everyone and prompting one to action.
It was a message for a society where security was largely about possessions. Lock your doors. Watch your belongings. Look out for your neighbours. Protect what you have worked for. But time has rewritten that message in a way no one would have wished. Today, the concern is no longer just dúkìá. Today, it is ẹ̀mí. Life itself.
The transformation is quiet but devastating. It is not announced with ceremony. It is felt in the tightening of hearts when loved ones leave home. It is felt in the pause before boarding a vehicle. It is felt in the silence that follows unfamiliar footsteps outside a compound gate. It is felt in the prayers whispered not only for prosperity, but for safe return. The apprehension is felt several miles away.
The slogan of yesterday has given way to the reality of today: From “E Tójú Dúkìá” to “E Tójú Ẹ̀mí.” What once meant “protect your property” now means “protect your life.” And that shift tells a deeper story about a nation wrestling with insecurity that has become unpredictable, widespread, and deeply personal.
Across highways, rural roads, and urban corridors, fear has found new expression. Travellers no longer assume safety by default. Farmers hesitate before going to distant fields. Traders calculate risk before late movements. Families now track each other’s journeys with anxious anticipation. What was once routine has become a negotiation with uncertainty.
In many places, the state apparatus appears stretched thin. Security agencies continue their work under immense pressure, yet the scale of the challenge often exceeds immediate capacity. Vast terrain, poor road networks, and evolving criminal tactics combine to create gaps that are difficult to close. It is not a question of blame, but a stark reflection of reality: no system, however committed, can be physically present everywhere at once.
And so, an uncomfortable truth emerges. Survival now demands participation. This is where the meaning of E Tójú Ẹ̀mí becomes painfully clear. It is no longer enough to secure doors and windows. It is no longer enough to trust that distance equals safety. The era of “Olorun a ma so wa” meaning God Almighty will protect us has given way to the era of everyone being conscious of their security and taking meaningful responsibility for their safety. The naked truth is that there are things that God will not descend from heaven to do for us, and the earlier we appreciate that, the better for us. We must be concerned, involved and intentional to navigate this era.
The days when people simply folded their arms and waited for miracles are gone. Security today requires participation. It requires preparation. It requires cooperation between citizens and security agencies. This does not mean living in fear. Fear paralyses. Fear clouds judgment. Fear destroys communities. Nigerians must reject fear. What is required, however, is awareness.
Communities must strengthen neighbourhood watch initiatives. Residents must know their neighbours. Suspicious activities must be reported promptly. Security information must be verified before it is shared. Rumours must not be allowed to create panic. Streets must be properly illuminated. Homes must be properly secured. Vehicles should be equipped with trackers where possible. Cameras should be installed in strategic locations. Community leaders, religious institutions, youth groups, and local associations must all become active stakeholders in security.
The era of passive citizenship is over. The era of waiting for others to solve every problem is over. The era of saying, “Olórun á kúkú máa dá àbò rè bò wá,” while neglecting practical measures is over. God protects, but He also expects responsibility.
The old radio jingle understood this truth decades ago. Its message still echoes across time, perhaps even more loudly now than when it first filled the airwaves of Oyo State.
“E tójú dúkìá o, kí a má bàa fa ara wa lé olè lówó.”
Protect what has been entrusted to you.
Protect your family.
Protect your community.
Protect your future.
And as the elders wisely said:
“Kí eku ilé gbó, kí ó sọ fún ti òko.”
Let information flow. Let communities communicate. Let neighbours look out for one another.
Because in today’s Nigeria, security is no longer the responsibility of government alone.
It is the responsibility of all.
Sadly, many Nigerians still approach security as though it is somebody else’s responsibility. Some leave the protection of their homes entirely to fate. Some do not contribute to the security levy. Some assume that because they have prayed, nothing can happen. Some believe that because they have fasted, danger will automatically pass them by. Others imagine that government alone bears the responsibility for their safety.
Faith is important. Prayer is important. Fasting is important. But God expects human beings to play their part.
The farmer who prays for a harvest must still cultivate the land.
The student who prays for success must still read his books.
The driver who prays for a safe journey must still maintain his vehicle.
Likewise, the citizen who prays for protection must also take practical measures to protect himself, his family, and his property.
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This is why the story of a motorcycle (okada) owner in Ekiti State offers a valuable lesson. His two motorcycles were reportedly stolen overnight from his compound. Many people in similar circumstances would have resigned themselves to fate, report at the police station and start raising prayer points over the unfortunate incident. Yet this man had taken a simple precaution long before the theft occurred. He had installed tracking devices. He anticipated.
When the motorcycles disappeared, he was not helpless. He possessed information. He possessed evidence. He possessed data. Armed with that information, he was able to assist security operatives in locating the stolen property. He led the police to Ondo State where the okadas were kept in a room. Would it have been possible for the police to know what was happening in that room? That is what foresight looks like. He helped the police to help him.
The significance of that lesson cannot be overstated. Across Nigeria, there are people who own vehicles worth tens of millions of naira. Some own properties worth hundreds of millions. Yet many refuse to spend a fraction of those amounts on trackers, surveillance cameras, security lighting, alarm systems, or other preventive measures because we were not wired to do that. I think that the present situation is calling us to action. The owner of the two modest okadas who thought ahead may have demonstrated greater practical intelligence than many highly educated individuals. Intelligence is not merely the accumulation of certificates. Intelligence is the ability to anticipate danger and prepare accordingly. Wisdom sees tomorrow before tomorrow arrives. Wisdom prepares for the storm while the sky is still clear. Wisdom understands that prevention is always cheaper than recovery.
Another recent incident illustrates the growing importance of evidence in modern security management. On June 3, 2026, gunmen abducted Mrs Olaide Busayo Adegoke John Paul, the younger sister of former Minister of Power, Adebayo Adelabu, along with her twin sons in the Challenge area of Ibadan.
As disturbing as the incident was, one aspect deserves particular attention. Video footage emerged from the scene. That footage instantly became an invaluable investigative resource.
Even if the identities of the perpetrators were not immediately known, investigators now had important leads. They could identify the type of vehicle involved. They could determine its colour. Without such evidence, investigators would have been searching blindly. With evidence, the search becomes more focused.
The availability of verifiable evidence narrows investigations and helps security agencies focus resources effectively; otherwise, investigators would have been searching for a needle in a haystack.
The shift from E Tójú Dúkìá to E Tójú Ẹ̀mí is therefore not just linguistic. It is existential.
It is the recognition that what is at stake has changed.
When property is lost, it can sometimes be replaced.
When life is lost, nothing replaces it.
This is why the new imperative is urgent. Not to create fear, but to inspire readiness. Not to spread anxiety, but to encourage responsibility. Not to abandon hope, but to align hope with action.
Government must continue to strengthen security structures, improve response systems, and expand coverage. But citizens must also rise to their part, because the first line of defence is often not a uniformed officer in the distance, but the alertness of those closest to the situation. And so the old radio message returns, transformed by time and circumstance.
What once warned a generation to protect their belongings now speaks to a nation learning to protect its very breath of life.
From E Tójú Dúkìá…
To E Tójú Ẹ̀mí…
A tragic evolution, yes.
But also a necessary awakening.
Because in the end, the highest duty is not only to preserve what we own.
It is to preserve that which makes ownership possible at all: life itself.
Kayode Ogunjobi FHEA, FFAN, is an environmental researcher and public affairs analyst whose interests span environmental sustainability, nature conservation, governance, and public policy. He is committed to promoting ideas that advance resilient communities and sustainable development.
