Examining the cycle of promises, illusions, and the resilient spirit of ordinary Nigerians in the face of leadership challenges.
The recent arraignment of minors on treason charges in Nigeria has sparked widespread outrage and condemnation. This incident raises serious concerns about how juvenile cases are handled and the lasting impact such charges could have on the futures of these young individuals. Many critics have demanded the immediate release of these minors, pointing to a perceived insensitivity on the part of the federal government. Yet, as with many such cases, it’s likely this will pass without anyone being held accountable.
This incident shines a light on Nigeria's broader leadership challenges. Let’s take a satirical look at the nature of Nigerian leadership—a journey through power and promises.
Mention "Nigerian leadership" in any room, and you’ll hear a range of responses: laughter, exasperated sighs, and, sometimes, impassioned rants. Nigerian leadership is a saga that could rival any Hollywood thriller with its unexpected twists, suspense, and emotional highs and lows. But it’s also a story woven with myths—idealistic visions of what leadership should be versus the often stark reality of what it is.
Nigeria is a land of contrasts, with tremendous potential yet an enduring leadership crisis that often defies logic. The recurring theme is one of leadership that promises much and delivers little, focusing more on personal gain than on national development. This has led many to question whether Nigerian leadership itself isn’t just a grand illusion—a mirage in the desert of hope.
The Nigerian leader is a peculiar figure in popular imagination. Almost always a man, he is often portrayed as a kind of demi-god, a messianic figure expected to miraculously solve the country’s many problems, from poverty to corruption and insecurity. But time and again, these leaders fail to live up to their promises, choosing instead to cling to power and enrich themselves and their allies while the needs of the public are sidelined.
The myth of Nigerian leadership has eroded trust in the political system. It has cultivated a culture of cynicism and apathy, leading many to lose faith in the ability of leaders to make a difference. This disillusionment has contributed to a decline in civic engagement and fueled social unrest.
Then there’s the allure of the “Messiah Complex.” Every four years, Nigerians from all walks of life rally around candidates who promise sweeping change. Politicians paint visions of turning deserts into oases, creating a future with stable electricity, smooth roads, and world-class hospitals. Yet, these messianic figures tend to disappear once elected, their grand promises fading as reality sets in.
The concept of “transformation” is another buzzword liberally sprinkled in campaign speeches, as though real change could be bought at a local market. Politicians assure us of world-class cities, quality education, and healthcare that rivals global standards. But all too often, their promises deliver little beyond the basic struggles many Nigerians endure daily, with outcomes that bear closer resemblance to Ajegunle than to Tokyo or Paris.
There is also the “Paradox of Wealth in Service.” Somehow, public office in Nigeria often becomes a fast track to immense personal wealth. A modest councilor position can apparently fund a mansion, first-class travel, and an Ivy League education for their children. One can’t help but wonder if these officials have access to a hidden ATM that ordinary Nigerians don’t know about or if, perhaps, the lines between “public servant” and “private business mogul” have become blurred.
Culturally, there’s a paradox too. If someone achieves financial success in government, their village hails them as a hero. Friends and family may celebrate what others call corruption, seeing their success as a point of pride. While public rhetoric praises “serving the people,” individuals who amass wealth through government positions are often immune from criticism, revered as untouchable figures.
Another central myth is the promise of security. Each administration vows to bring an end to the violence and insecurity that plague Nigeria, from insurgencies in the Northeast to banditry in the Northwest. Yet, while presidents tout their role as Commander-in-Chief, their response to insecurity often feels more like talk than action. Citizens go about their lives in an environment where personal safety remains a distant hope rather than a reality, all while political leaders travel with convoys protected by fleets of SUVs.
Leadership in Nigeria can feel like an endless soap opera—dramatic, long-winded, and filled with cliffhangers. Leaders often prioritize leaving behind a “legacy,” yet these legacies often amount to little more than buildings, statues, or projects named after them, rather than meaningful, sustainable progress. Successive administrations dismantle their predecessors’ projects, creating a legacy of half-completed ideas and a cycle of reforms that seldom reach fruition.
However, amid all this, Nigerians themselves have become the true leaders. They are the ones who persevere, create, and innovate despite the challenges. While politicians make lofty promises, ordinary Nigerians are the ones who build businesses, create art, and adapt to their surroundings with resilience.
The myth of Nigerian leadership persists because Nigerians still hold onto the hope that one day, their leaders will represent the best of them, not the worst. Nigerians deserve leaders who see leadership as a service and not a right, who understand it as a responsibility and not a ticket to personal gain.
Maybe one day the myth will give way to reality. Perhaps the “Messiah” will be replaced by the Public Servant. Until then, Nigerians will do what they have always done: lead themselves, persevere, and continue to hope for true leadership that serves the nation, not self-interests.
Courtesy: Prince Charles Dickson PhD
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