By Nworisa Michael
A recent personal reflection by Professor Kingsley Moghalu former Deputy Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria and one-time presidential aspirant has stirred thoughtful conversations around power, privacy, and everyday governance in Nigeria.
In the account shared via his Facebook page, Moghalu narrated how his daughter, who lives abroad, experienced an unusual encounter with immigration officials at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja, while travelling out of the country.
According to him, immigration officers, after examining her passport and noticing her surname, asked whether she was related to him. When she denied the claim, explaining that the surname was common in the South-East, the officials reportedly disagreed and went further to request that she produce a photograph of her father to prove otherwise a request she firmly declined.
Reacting to the incident, Moghalu said he and his daughter later laughed about the experience. However, beneath the humour lay a deeper issue. While acknowledging that the questioning may have been well-intentioned, he described the request for a personal photograph as an invasion of privacy and an improper action by public officials.
The former CBN deputy governor used the moment to reflect on a familiar Nigerian reality: how name recognition and perceived access to power often influence interactions with public institutions.
He noted that in many cases, Nigerians willingly announce their connections to influential figures to receive favours or faster service a practice widely seen but rarely interrogated. His daughter, however, chose a different path, insisting on due process and personal privacy rather than leveraging her father’s identity.
Moghalu described this stance as a reflection of her upbringing and commitment to propriety, noting that while name recognition often brings goodwill and privilege, it also tests personal values and institutional professionalism.
Beyond the personal story, the reflection has resonated with many Nigerians who see it as a mirror of broader governance challenges where public service sometimes blurs the line between courtesy and overreach, and where equality before the law remains aspirational rather than routine.
The incident raises important public questions:
Should name recognition influence how citizens are treated by state institutions?
Where should the line be drawn between security checks and personal privacy?
And how can public officials balance courtesy with professionalism?
While Moghalu did not call for sanctions or condemnation, his account has opened space for civic dialogue one that touches on citizenship, ethics, and the kind of institutional culture Nigerians hope to build.
For many readers, the story is less about a prominent name and more about a simple principle: that every Nigerian, known or unknown, deserves to be treated with dignity and respect under the law.