If your family name is important to you, or you cherish your peace of mind, don’t get involved in politics or accept public office in Nigeria.
The first people who will begin a psychological war against you are often your immediate family members. The head of the family, who may not have contributed anything to your rise, will suddenly become the one telling everyone how comfortable you are while accusing you of refusing to help other family members.
Your classmates from primary school will suddenly remember you and expect you to sponsor their children from primary school all the way to the university.
And that’s not all. There are people from other tribes who are unhappy simply because someone from your tribe occupies the Presidency. To them, you must be destroyed by every possible means.
Nigerians are a very special breed of people. Nobody cares how you made your money or what legitimate work you do for a living.
To many, the nation’s resources are a “national cake,” and those who are not at the table must pull down those who are.
Any educated illiterate can go on national television and accuse you of embezzling trillions of naira without presenting a shred of evidence. They don’t care about your family, your reputation, or the lasting impression such falsehoods may leave on your children and loved ones.
The moment you accept the call to serve your country, those who never had such an opportunity will do everything within their power to pull you down. They care little about your wellbeing. It is just like the Yoruba adage: “Eni a fẹ́ mọ́rí, ó bá kú.”
One bright afternoon a few months ago, I decided to make a quick stop at my favourite amala joint in Yemetu-Oje, Ibadan. As I approached the restaurant, I noticed some fiery-looking young boys rushing towards my car. I decided to ignore them.
But lo and behold, they began shouting in deep voices, calling me by political aliases I never knew belonged to me.
“Senator Baba!”
“Awo Seyi Makinde!”
“Ọ̀wọ́n ti Asiwaju Tinubu!”
“Abuja straight!”
I paused, convinced they were addressing someone else. After all, I had never pasted a campaign poster for any election, nor had I ever visited the Government House to see Governor Seyi Makinde. So where were all these praises coming from?
It then dawned on me that these young boys genuinely believed that anyone who drives a good car or dresses well must either be a politician or a close friend of politicians.
That, sadly, is the perception many Nigerians have about politics and politicians.
After I finished my amala and gbegiri, I called their leader aside and spent almost thirty-five minutes counselling him. It felt like one of those long conversations a husband receives after his wife wakes him up with, “Honey, we need to talk.”
My topic was a dissection of the frosty relationship between the Nigerian masses and their rulers. I spoke passionately, believing I was touching his heart, explaining that politicians are not printing money. They are not necessarily the richest people in the country, and many public office holders leave office financially broke.
Unknown to me, I had simply wasted thirty-five minutes.
The young man looked straight into my eyes after my sermon and calmly asked:
“Oga, do you have anything for the boys?”
That single question summed up the tragedy of our political culture.
Now, is the problem the burden of public office, the kind of political system we operate, or are we simply a people who enjoy turning our leaders into tragic heroes?
Being a political appointee with enormous powers, no one expects you to be loved by everyone. Yet many people are often surprised by the admirable qualities some public office holders possess because they never care to understand them.
Regarding the no-love-lost relationship between the government and citizens who distrust it, one cannot entirely blame the latter. After decades of looting the nation’s collective patrimony, institutionalising corruption in public service, and leaving millions of citizens in poverty and misery, the public has every reason to be suspicious of those in government.
However, with the rise of social media, fake news, innuendos, and outright lies now taking centre stage, anyone can be maliciously defamed without evidence or consequence.
That is the irony of life.
Mogaji Wole Arisekola writes from Ibadan.
