By Idegu Ojonugwa Shadrach
Everything about Nigerian politics feels like a never-ending funeral for common sense. Our political system is a maze of confusion, where the rules are written in invisible ink. From elections to the courts, from the lawmakers to the enforcers, nothing works as it should. Nigeria’s constitution is like a poorly cooked meal – a mix of garri, sugar, and salt. You can’t tell what’s good or bad; it’s just a mess.
In Nigeria, the politicians are like landlords, sitting comfortably in their mansions of power.
The voters? They’re the tenants, living in shacks, barely scraping by. And the youth? They’re strangers, wandering aimlessly, ignored and forgotten. Every four years, the landlords come knocking, promising better days, but it’s all a show. The youth, desperate for change, are used as pawns, while the older generation, the tenants, sit quietly, too tired or too afraid to fight back.
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I call the politicians landlords because they own everything – the states, the institutions, even the future. The older voters, the tenants, live in fear, too scared to question the chaos around them. The youth, the strangers, are silent, watching as their country is sold off piece by piece. And the political appointees? They’re the estate agents, smoothing things over, making sure the tenants don’t complain too loudly.
It’s a shameful scene, and I say this with a heavy heart. If I’ve reached a point where I feel the need to criticise my own country, then something is deeply wrong. But as the saying goes, if you hide a problem, you hide the solution too. So, I’ll speak out, even if it means stepping on toes. Forgive me, Nigeria, if I’ve broken any unwritten rules, but silence won’t fix this mess.
Our political system is a circus, and the clowns are running the show. Activists, journalists, and thinkers have tried to change things, but many have paid the ultimate price. Their voices were silenced, their lives cut short. And what do we have to show for it? A system where the rich get richer, and the poor are left to fight over scraps.
Nigeria’s political parties are nothing more than tools for the landlords. The tenants and strangers – the ordinary people – have no say. The constitution, written by the landlords, is a one-sided contract, and no one dares to challenge it. Corruption is the glue holding it all together, and the elite are laughing all the way to the bank.
Look at the current political players – Sen. Godswill Akpabio, Mudashiru Obasa, Gov. Sim Fubara. They’re like characters in a bad soap opera, each playing their part in this tragic family drama. When all three branches of government are controlled by one party, it’s not democracy – it’s dictatorship. Nigeria is a family, but it’s a broken one, ruled by greed and selfishness.
The recent scandals involving these leaders are just the tip of the iceberg. Obasa’s misconduct, Akpabio’s shady dealings, Fubara’s failures – they’re all symptoms of a deeper disease. The presidency turns a blind eye, and the rule of law is tossed aside like yesterday’s news. When will this family wake up? When will Nigeria break free from this curse?
The landlords don’t care about the tenants or the strangers. They’re too busy playing games, pitting us against each other. They dangle false promises like carrots, and the youth, desperate for a better life, fall for it every time. They’re offered pocket change and empty dreams, while the landlords grow fat on the fruits of their labour.
It’s a tragedy. Nigerian youth, once known for their energy and creativity, have been reduced to beggars in their own land. They’re used as thugs, as tools for violence, while the landlords sit back and watch. The youth have lost their voice, their power, their future. What kind of family treats its children this way?
Nigeria’s political parties are nothing more than membership clubs for the elite.
To get ahead, you need the right connections, the right last name. Merit? That’s a foreign concept. Loyalty and obedience are the only currencies that matter. It’s no wonder our country is stuck in the mud, while the rest of the world moves forward.
I look at Nigeria, and I see a family in crisis. The landlords are too busy lining their pockets to notice the house is on fire. The tenants are too tired to fight, and the strangers – the youth – are too lost to care. Unless something drastic happens, unless the youth rise up and demand change, this family will crumble.
It breaks my heart to see what Nigeria has become. A country so rich in resources, yet so poor in spirit. A nation that borrows to survive, while its leaders live like kings. Every time I walk the streets of my beloved Nigeria, I’m reminded of the recklessness of those in power.
They’ve failed us, and unless we take a stand, they’ll continue to do so.
Nigeria is a family, but it’s a family in need of an intervention. The question is – who will step up to save it?
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