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It’s opening night at Scotland’s newest community pub, Oakbank Inn, which sits on the Holy Loch in the village of Sandbank, Argyll. It’s a clear, cold night, and the inn couldn’t look more welcoming: a cosy glow from within the historic building, the Cowal hills beyond. The Christmas lights are twinkling, the glasses are charged and there’s a palpable sense of goodwill, cheer, and plenty of pride in the air. By 6pm, it’s buzzing. Locals are already propping up the bar as a stylish woman sweeps in and bags the last table. She is Debbie Rycroft, a local haberdasher. “A pint in my own local,” she smiles happily, relishing a toast with her husband and equally dapper 19-year-old son.

First-night hiccups are limited to a wonky nozzle and a brief worry about a small radiator leak. “How many people to fix a heater?” quips someone as a line of concerned faces survey the scene. Almost immediately, a punter walks in with a radiator key. All sorted. Someone orders a Guinness; the bartender pulls it off. A two-part pour, pitchblack perfection with a balanced, creamy top. Good things come to those who wait? Well, this one’s been three years in the making.

The Oakbank, a landmark building at the heart of Sandbank for the last 160 years, closed at the end of 2022, like so many businesses that struggled in the wake of the Covid pandemic. Next came the closure of the nearby Holy Loch inn. The village was left without a pub – a huge loss for a rural community.

A group of locals got together in early 2023, formed a committee, chaired by Sue McKillop, and began the long slog to buy the Oakbank. “It’s been an uphill struggle,” says Ian MacNaughton, another founding committee member. “I just didn’t think the hill would be so steep!” Now retired, MacNaughton remembers sneaking into the Oakbank for a pint, aged 16. These days he’s learning about compliance laws. “We must do everything right.”

After an initial rejection, their persistence finally paid off last December with the award of a Scottish Land grant just shy of £150,000, covering most of the purchase price. In January, McKillop advertised shares, raising more than £23,000 and an “inspiring amount of enthusiasm” from locals. By April this year, they had the keys. It’s been nonstop ever since up until opening night last Saturday, she says.

While the shares didn’t reach the £90,000 target, people have contributed “thousands of volunteer hours” to get the place ready, Dawn Petherick tells me. They shifted and updated the bar, now an airy sky blue, while the old wood burner’s still there but “needing work”. Another one for the list. And Petherick’s list is long. She is Oakbank’s development officer, a fixed-term post funded by the initial grant, and, like everyone else involved, she’s been busy all year.

The Oakbank has been running pop-ups, workshops and charity mornings during the refurbishment. More events are being added all the time. “Whatever the community wants – knitting groups, book clubs, exhibitions, ‘sober nights’ – it should be a hub more than a pub,” says Petherick. “Somewhere to alleviate social isolation.”

And that is needed more than ever. Yet another local pub, the Strone Inn across the bay, is set to close at the end of the year. Like many local business owners, Stephen Mitchell is supportive of the Oakbank project. “Fair play to them,” he says. “It’s taken them three years, so it’s a real result.” But, he warns, “the hard work starts now as things are really tough”.

McKillop agrees. “It’s exciting but a wee bit scary,” she says. “We are under no illusions as to the challenges that lie ahead. Like any pub venue, we will need to keep innovating in order to survive.” But she can take comfort from recent figures; community pubs are doing well. According to the charity Plunkett UK, community-owned businesses are “highly resilient”, with a five-year survival rate of 98%.

“We’re delighted that the Oakbank Community Inn is opening under community ownership,” says James Alcock, Plunkett UK’s chief executive. “We see time and again how saving local assets like village pubs protects vital services and social spaces, helping to reduce isolation and strengthen communities.”

Future plans include refurbishing accommodation upstairs, a studio/gallery space in the adjoining cottage and renovating the commercial kitchen. In a nice piece of alchemy, the pub sits opposite Sandbank’s community-owned garden, so its polytunnels and raised beds will be nurturing hyper-local vegetables destined for that kitchen.

But the best thing about the Oakbank is the bit you see last. At the back of the bar, big glass doors offer views across the Holy Loch. It’s inaccessible now, but outside the doors, a grassy verge leads to the Holy Loch marina below. It has its own regulars hauling out on the slipway – giant Atlantic grey seals. With neighbours like that, you can see why McKillop has ambitious plans. “We’re going to rebuild the rotten deck and make a bridge to connect to the marina,” she says.

That should please boat-owners Tony, Rob and Alan, enjoying a pint beside the bar. “Sailors don’t like going places where you can’t go to a pub,” says Rob. “And Sandbank’s had absolutely nothing to offer.”

“Hang on,” offers Tony. “It’s got a lot of history.”

But Rob’s having none of it. “You can’t drink a pint of history.”

Saturday, Dec. 13, 2025, was meant to be a pivotal civic exercise across Borno State, northeastern Nigeria, as residents were expected to elect chairpersons and councillors responsible for local development, basic services, and community representation. Instead, what unfolded across parts of the state bore little resemblance to a functioning democratic process.

Umar Ali, a resident of Gamboru in Maiduguri, stepped out that morning expecting to vote, but could not locate any polling unit nearby. “We thought it was just a delay, but there was no election activity at all,” he said. 

His experience was replicated across the city and other neighbouring council wards. HumAngle observed that many polling units listed by the Borno State Independent Electoral Commission (BOSIEC) were deserted, with neither officials nor voters in sight. In locations where officials were present, there was only a handful of voters, often confined to near-empty compounds.

An exception was Ajari II polling unit in Mafa Ward, where Borno State Governor Babagana Zulum cast his vote, which recorded a higher turnout than most other locations observed.

In several neighbourhoods, residents watched the day pass from outside their homes or went about their chores. Conversations revealed frustration, distrust, and a widespread perception that the outcome had already been predetermined.

“This is not an election. It is a selection,” said Musa Ali, who declined to approach the polling unit closest to his house. He accused the government of determining the results in advance. “They already know what they are doing,” he argued. 

For many residents, the only indication that an election was taking place was the restriction of movement imposed across the state. “If not for the ban, you would not even know voting is going on,” said 22-year-old Fatima Alai. 

On some of the empty streets, children and even young adults turned it into football fields. 

Borno State has over 2.5 million registered voters, with about 2.4 million Permanent Voter Cards collected, as of February 2023. Yet participation in local government elections remains low. It is unclear how many people voted in the Dec. 13 elections. However, this trend is not unique to Borno or even to the current election cycle.

Across Nigeria, turnout in local government elections is consistently lower than in national polls. Analysts and residents alike attribute this to weak service delivery at the council level, the routine imposition of candidates by political parties, and the limited credibility of state-run electoral commissions. For many citizens, local elections appear disconnected from accountability or tangible improvements in daily life.

Malpractice in plain sight

Beyond voter apathy, HumAngle observed troubling procedural violations at multiple polling units. At a polling unit in Bulama Kachallah II, in Maiduguri, HumAngle observed electoral officials stamping ballot papers and depositing them into the ballot box in the absence of voters. This continued between 9:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m., when we left the unit. 

A similar scene played out at another polling unit in nearby Bulama Kachallah I. BOSIEC officials wearing identification tags, alongside unidentified individuals, openly filled out ballot papers and inserted them into the boxes. 

When approached, a party agent who was present at the scene told HumAngle, “Ba ruwan ka,” meaning, “It is none of your business.”

Despite these irregularities, BOSIEC Chairperson Tahiru Shettima maintained that the process met democratic standards. “I think the commission has done its best and the election was free, fair, inclusive, and transparent,” he said. 

Two days after the exercise, BOSIEC announced that the ruling APC won all 27 chairpersonship seats in the state. The election was contested by six political parties, including the New Nigeria People’s Party, Social Democratic Party, Labour Party, and People’s Redemption Party.

Notably absent was the Peoples’ Democratic Party (PDP), the state’s leading opposition force. In the days leading up to the election, the PDP formally boycotted the process, citing concerns about the legitimacy and fairness of the electoral process, the high costs associated with the expression-of-interest and nomination forms, and a lack of trust in BOSIEC’s capacity to conduct credible elections.

The African Democratic Congress (ADC), a national opposition coalition, was also missing from the ballot. A member of the party, who asked not to be named, claimed that “the state government had been a big challenge”. He said that when the party attempted to launch its Borno State chapter in November, security operatives disrupted the event, alleging that the government had not been notified. According to him, this interference contributed to the ADC’s absence from the December local council election.

The electoral commission rejected these criticisms. Shettima said BOSIEC had consulted with stakeholders, including political parties, on logistics and nomination fees, and insisted that participation was voluntary. “We cannot force any political party to take part in the election,” he told journalists.

Public reactions on social media, meanwhile, suggested a contrasting reality to official claims. Tanko Wabba, a Facebook user, wrote: “We didn’t see the election [ballot] box in our street,” reflecting frustration over missing polling units and highlighting a gap between official claims and citizens’ experiences.

Weakened local governance 

For more than a decade, local council elections were not held in Borno State due to the Boko Haram insurgency. During that period, councils were administered by caretaker committees appointed by the state government. Elections resumed in 2020, with another round held in January 2024. 

While those elections were described by the media as largely peaceful, turnout was characterised as average at best. Analysts cited voter fatigue, lingering security concerns, and persistent doubts about the relevance and autonomy of local councils.

Under Nigeria’s Constitution, local governments constitute the third tier of government, operating under the state’s supervision. Democratically elected councils are mandated to manage basic services such as roads, markets, sanitation, health clinics, business and vehicle licensing, local fees, education, and support for agriculture and health in coordination with the state.

Executive authority at the local level rests with the chairperson and vice chairperson, who implement council policies through supervisory councillors and the civil service. In practice, however, councils often have limited autonomy. State governments frequently override their authority by appointing caretaker committees—often ruling party loyalists—and retaining control of local government finances through joint state–local government accounts.

Autonomy debates and unresolved tensions

In July 2024, Nigeria’s Supreme Court ordered that allocations from the federation account meant for lo­cal governments must be disbursed to them directly, rather than the joint account created by the state government. The court restrained governors from collecting, withholding, or tampering with these funds, declaring such actions unconstitutional, null, and void.

The Minister of State for Defence, Bello Mohammed Matawalle, welcomed the ruling, saying it would allow local governments to manage their own finances, strengthen accountability to voters, and improve service delivery and development.

However, the Nigerian Governors’ Forum opposed the decision. The governors argued that full local government autonomy does not align with Nigeria’s federal structure and said the ruling failed to address longstanding issues of weak administration and executive excesses at the council level.

“The desire for decentralisation must be backed by a commitment to delegate resources, power, and tasks to local-level governance structures that are democratic and largely independent of central government,” said Victor Adetula, a Professor of Political Science at the University of Jos.

Against this backdrop of contested authority and fragile credibility, the conduct of Borno’s local government elections raises deeper questions—not just about electoral integrity, but about whether local democracy in the state can meaningfully deliver the governance and development it promises.

Last week’s announcement that Italian cuisine has been added to Unesco’s intangible cultural heritage list came as no surprise to anyone familiar with that country’s obsession with food. Unesco called Italy’s cooking a “communal activity” in which “people of all ages and genders participate, exchanging recipes, suggestions and stories”.

It might have added people of all walks of life, too, because in Italy being a foodie is not the “preserve” of the chattering classes. I’ve heard building workers in a low-cost trattoria gravely discussing what starter and wine best complement a certain lunch dish, and a shabbily dressed nonna at Turin’s Porto Palazzo market enthusing over a variety of carrot available only at her favourite stall.

And in this land where the salami will change from one valley to the next, many people take an endearing pride in foods from their region, village, even family. So, in no particular order, here is a selection of local delights from the Alps to Sicily.

Star baker, Verona

Panettone is now a British fixture alongside mince pies, but in fair Verona, the Christmas confection is pandoro, a soft, leavened cake made in a star-shaped tin, without the dried fruit that many dislike. It usually has a dusting of icing sugar to resemble the nearby alpine peaks. Pandoro, however, is a factory version of the older, round offella – made with sourdough matured for days, it has a denser crumb and comes topped with almonds. Try it at Antica Offelleria Verona, which uses a “mother” that is more than a century old.

Prosperity pulses, Umbria

Christmas foods vary around Italy, but on New Year’s Eve lentils are a must. With their round, flat shape, they’re supposed to resemble coins and mean a wealthy year. The best lentils in Italy (some say the world) are the small, tender and quick-cooking ones from the high Castelluccio plain in southern Umbria, near Italy’s pork capital, Norcia. Castelluccio village and Norcia are still struggling after the 2016 earthquake, and make tourists very welcome. Conjure prosperity with a sausage and lentil dinner at Granaro del Monte, close to Norcia’s basilica, which finally reopened just over a month ago.

Dairy delight, Puglia

For years it has been rare to open a menu anywhere and not find a starter involving burrata. But while this soft cheese feels luxurious, it originated in hard, thrifty lives near the ancient city of Andria in Puglia. Snowed in and unable to get their milk to market in the early 1900s, the Bianchino brothers were apparently casting around for a way to use it up. They mixed cream with scraps left from making mozzarella and stuffed them in a casing made of the same stretched-curd cheese – never imagining the wobbly pouches would later grace tables from Stockholm to Sydney. Today, Andria is known for the freshest burrata and cow’s milk mozzarella, and many Puglians, such as my friend Savio, won’t eat these cheeses anywhere else in Italy, as they’re best enjoyed within 24 hours. Buy at Caseificio Olanda, with its “milk museum”, on the outskirts of Andria.

Bread of heaven, Sardinia

Looking like an oversized poppadum, pane carasau is a crispy flatbread also called carta musica (manuscript paper). Double cooked so that it keeps, it was carried by shepherds spending months in high summer pastures and is one of Europe’s oldest breads: traces were found in 3,000-year-old nuraghe (stone tower) excavations. It is also delicious. Shards of pane carasau sprinkled with olive oil and sea salt are as moreish with drinks as any kettle chip – and much better for you. In Fonni, the highest town in Sardinia, the Sunalle bakery has made pane carasau for as long as anyone can remember. Panefratteria in Cagliari tops the flatbreads with tomato sauce, pecorino cheese and a poached egg.

Onions that won’t make you cry, Calabria

Also dating back millennia, sweet red onions grown around the seaside town of Tropea were probably brought to Italy by the Phoenicians. But Calabria has made the cipolla rossa its own, claiming you can eat them raw like an apple. Their sweetness comes not from a high sugar content but a natural lack of pungent pyruvic acid. Fresh onions are available from May through summer at the Saturday market in Tropea. When you tire of them in salads and sandwiches, stew them with olive oil, salt and a few chilli flakes to make cipollata calabrese – for cucina povera (poverty cooking) that feels anything but.

Fish in a barrel, Lombardy

From cheese and charcuterie to pickles, many delicacies arise from humans’ need to preserve food. So it was with missoltini, a freshwater answer to anchovies produced on the shores of Lake Como. Agoni, a kind of shad, are cleaned, salted, hung to dry for 10 days then packed in a barrel with bay leaves. They are traditionally eaten grilled with polenta, which modern palates may find rather strong and salty. I love them as an umami nugget in pasta or risotto recipes, or topping crisp crostini with honey and vinegar. Fishmonger and restaurant Da Ceko in Lecco does an excellent pumpkin salad with raisins and missoltini.