The Yoruba have a profound way of reminding the powerful that their reign is fleeting. They say the annual masquerade festival will soon end, and the son of the chief masquerade will buy his bean cake and cornmeal from the market like everyone else. They compare political power to morning dew, which perches majestically on leaves by the farm path but vanishes before evening. This wisdom came to mind on May 29, when President Bola Tinubu addressed Nigerians to mark his third anniversary in office.
Tinubu began by calling us “fellow compatriots,” a tautology that language experts note is redundant—”compatriots” already implies fellowship. But such repetition is a hallmark of leadership in Africa and the Third World, where leaders often boast of threading needles in the dark while missing the right hole. If only Tinubu were as repetitive in delivering democratic dividends as he is in speech.
His address was drenched in deodorant, masking the stench of a punishing economy. He defended the fuel subsidy removal, claiming it halted the daily loss of N18.4 billion and funneled funds into healthcare, education, and infrastructure. But you need a powerful stethoscope to see these benefits in your neighborhood. He said Nigerians lost over N8 trillion to subsidy rent-seekers, yet his government recently mopped up N800 billion from the people’s blood into a personal re-election fund.
The speech seemed aimed at January and February 2027, when Nigeria’s next masquerade festival—the elections—will unfold. In traditional Egungun festivals, costumed dancers embody ancestral spirits, seeking blessings and social order. Politicians filing out to collect nomination forms mimic this sacred ritual, but their masks hide self-interest. Three years in, we have seen the innards of those we voted in, and the rat race to act right has begun.
Tinubu warned of fiscal breakdown and poverty without his interventions, yet Nigerians are living that nightmare. Market statistics show life was more bearable before May 29, 2023. His claim to “share the pain” rings hollow against the reality of bandits’ daggers, children in captivity, and families torn apart by hunger. When he joked about losing sleep and weight, it felt like mockery—a speechwriter’s fantasy.
The president paraded voodoo figures: rising All Share Index, company profits, 2,700 kilometers of highways, and housing schemes. These numbers are like Ali’s angel in the classic fable—only the pure-minded can see them. Nigerians know the facts. As my people say, two interlocutors cannot suffer from a lie; the recipient knows when they are being lied to.
Now, the APC has mastered the voodoo of numbers. It warehoused voter registers before other parties woke up, producing 10.9 million votes for Tinubu in a manipulated primary. Other parties followed suit. This is Haitian voodoo—numbers as energetic keys to unlock power. Nigerian politicians have discovered that political office is more profitable than armed robbery, and the rush is benumbing.
This reminds me of Maryse Conde’s novel “Segu,” where the four sons of Dousika Traore tear apart the Malian nation. Nigerian politicians, like Ogun the blood-bathing god, spill blood through action and inaction. Yet voters will still elect the same vermin in 2027, and the tragedy of our nationhood will begin anew.
Yesterday, May 30, was the 66th birthday of Dr. Chimaroke Ogbonnia Nnamani, my former boss and governor of Enugu State. I met him in 2002, during the Adoration tragedy crisis, where 14 worshipers were stampeded to death. He faced political persecution but protected me like a mother hen. His developmental legacies dot Enugu, yet he now sits in political Siberia, forgotten by the government he helped install. Here’s to his long life and health.
Festus Adedayo is an Ibadan-based journalist.
