As a Nigerian, I am stunned, truly stunned how my fellow citizens view their leaders. Is it the scars of decades of oppression that have dulled their senses? Or is it a cruel kind of educated ignorance, where degrees fill heads but leave minds empty?
Nigerians are among the most brilliant people on earth, yet they allow themselves to be led like sheep by politicians with the intellectual depth of a puddle.
While the country burns, the people dance-obsessed with Big Brother, football, and celebrity gossip, as if these distractions will put food on their tables. Meanwhile, the government, entrusted with billions, feasts like vultures on a dying carcass, stealing not just from today but from the future of generations unborn.
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A Government Shrouded in Shadows
The Nigerian government operates like a mafia den, everything is secret, and every decision is made behind closed doors. Projects are inflated, funds vanish, and the people suffer in silence. Occasionally, a brave soul shouts, “Enough!”, but what happens? The very people they fight for turn against them, joining the oppressors to crush the few voices of reason.
Take the recent scandal in the Senate. Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan accused Senate President Godswill Akpabio of sexual harassment, abuse of power, and obstructing justice. She submitted an affidavit detailing how Akpabio told her:
“Natasha, I am the Chief Presiding Officer of the Senate. You can enjoy so much from me if you take care of me and make me happy.”
In any sane country, this would be political suicide. But in Nigeria? The Senate suspended her. The people she represented turned on her, signing a petition to recall her. Meanwhile, Akpabio walks free-untouched by the law, his party, or even the women who should be outraged.
A Culture of Impunity
Let’s talk about Edo State. In 2013, former Governor Adams Oshiomhole told a grieving widow: “You can go and die.” Today? He is a kingmaker, a godfather, worshipped by politicians who should know better. His foot soldiers will tear you apart if you dare challenge him.
This is Nigeria where thieves become saints, where forgers get promoted, where court orders are ignored, and where leaders destroy public property just to spite their rivals. Nigerians have become the walking dead, numb to injustice, blind to theft, and deaf to their own suffering.
The recent political crisis in Rivers State has laid bare the ugly truth about Nigeria’s democracy: it remains a playground for powerful godfathers where constitutional provisions are ignored when inconvenient, and elected leaders can be unseated through blatant illegality.
What we witnessed in Rivers State was nothing short of a civilian coup. Governor Sim Fubara, a democratically elected leader, faced an ouster by lawmakers who had already morally and politically vacated their seats the moment they defected from the political party that brought them to power. I intentionally said the lawmakers suspended Fubara because they were the pawns used by the All Progressives Congress (APC) to control Fubara and perhaps, secure Rivers State ahead of another election.
This brazen move, orchestrated by Federal Capital Territory Minister Nyesom Wike, represents everything wrong with Nigerian politics today.
The most galling aspect of this saga is the staggering hypocrisy. When Wike was governor, he fought tooth and nail to prevent defecting lawmakers from keeping their seats. Today, as a federal minister, he has become the chief sponsor of the very same violations he once opposed.
This exposes Nigerian politics for what it truly is – not a contest of ideas or governance philosophies, but a crude power game where principles are disposable and might make right. The speed at which these defecting lawmakers moved to oppose the governor suggests this was never about governance – it was always about control.
President Bola Tinubu’s intervention in the crisis, while framed as a peace deal, effectively rewarded the architects of this coup. By allowing defectors to retain their seats and suspending the governor, the message is clear: loyalty to powerful godfathers trumps order and internal political policy.
This sets a dangerous precedent. If a sitting governor can be so easily undermined by federal might, what stops this playbook from being deployed in other states? We are witnessing the federalization of political gangsterism, where Abuja-based godfathers can remote-control state politics through compliant lawmakers.
Most disturbing is the complete disregard for Rivers voters who elected Fubara. Their mandate is being trampled in broad daylight, yet there’s been little public outrage. This apathy reflects how Nigerians have been conditioned to accept political robberies as normal.
When citizens stop being shocked by such brazen subversion of democracy, when illegal power grabs fail to provoke mass resistance, we must ask: what exactly do we call this system if not democracy in name only?
The Silence That Kills
Over 90% of Nigerians have no idea how much their local governments receive or how the money is spent. No one asks why roads remain death traps, why schools crumble, why hospitals have no drugs. Contracts go to cronies, not qualified firms. Nepotism is not just accepted, it is rewarded.
Try reaching your representative? Good luck. Their contacts are state secrets. Journalists? Most are bought and paid for, and their loyalty is sold to the highest bidder. Even when the truth comes out, Nigerians shrug. Some media even give award to politicians and in Nigeria, what’s the criteria? The lesser thief award?
Communities go six months without electricity, yet bills arrive like clockwork. Who holds anyone accountable? No one.
Let’s talk about Nigeria’s dirtiest open secret – we’re all hustlers now. The land where every activist, NGO founder, and WhatsApp warrior is secretly angling for a seat at the oppressor’s table.
Our streets are flooded with civil society organizations – each one claiming to fight for the people while quietly collecting the phone numbers of the same politicians they pretend to oppose.
These aren’t revolutionaries; they’re “glorified networkers” playing the long game, hoping their performative outrage today will earn them a government contract tomorrow.
The Great NGO Scam
We’ve perfected the art of the activist hustle: Start a “pro-people” WhatsApp group, make loud noise about government failures, get noticed by the powers that be, and rade your principles for a seat at the table.
The saddest part? Most never even make it to step four. They remain forever stuck in the lobby of power, satisfied just to have a senator’s phone number saved in their contacts – their golden ticket to bragging rights at the next Owambe party.
The Hustler Hierarchy
At the bottom, you have the street protesters – cannon fodder for the revolution that never comes. In the middle, the NGO founders with their donor-funded SUVs and endless “capacity building” workshops. At the top? The smart ones who turned their activism into appointment letters – the ultimate Nigerian success story.
These aren’t freedom fighters – they’re future Special Advisers waiting for their big break. Their entire struggle exists in that sweet spot between being just rebellious enough to be noticed, but not so troublesome as to be blacklisted.
The WhatsApp Revolution That Never Was
Our phones buzz constantly with “change is coming” messages in 200-member groups where: 5 people are serious, 50 are waiting to see which way the wind blows, and 145 are screenshotting the chat to send to their oppressor friends.
We have created an entire economy of pretend activism where the currency is not change, but proximity to power. The real protest is not in the streets – it’s in the DMs sliding into politicians’ inboxes with a polite “Good evening, Your Excellency” after a long day of tweeting #EndBadGovernance.
The Nigerian Dream (Revised Edition)
Old version: Go to school, get a good job, retire comfortably
New version: Start an NGO, get noticed, collect a political appointment
We are not fighting the system anymore – we are all just trying to game it. And until we admit that our activism has become just another hustle.
The Cost of Complacency
Nigerians are their leaders. When you stop demanding answers, you hand them the whip to beat you with. Silence means suffering. Silence means crime. Silence means death.
Until Nigerians wake up; until they purge themselves of this disease of indifference, Nigeria will keep moving: three steps forward, ten steps back. Edo State, like the rest of the country, will remain trapped in this cycle of shame.
The question is: How long will we keep pretending not to see the fire burning our own house down? Nigeria will remain the world’s most elaborate con game – where even the revolutionaries are waiting for their cut.
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