He wins even when they curse his crown. They gather to pull him down, but their fingers only untie the rope of their own tents. In Nigeria’s political marketplace, where loyalty is cheaper than a sachet of garri and betrayal wears agbada, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu continues to dance through the storm, carried by the very winds his critics blow.
The drama no longer shocks the streets. A man defects, condemns Tinubu on Channels TV, and in a few weeks, his convoy is parked behind an APC rally tent, smiling like a chameleon that just changed into green. Nigerians see it. They mutter, “Na the same people,” but they still queue to vote, hoping for a Moses among magicians. Yet the Red Sea stays closed.
Defectors scream “hardship,” “failure,” and “tyranny,” but their footsteps carve a smooth path for Tinubu’s throne. They divide votes in the South, fracture opposition in the North, then return quietly to dine from the central pot. Their criticisms sound like gunfire, but they shoot blanks. Their departures from APC carry no real weight, like a lizard falling from an iroko tree and nodding, expecting applause.
This is not politics. It is political theatre, and Tinubu is the silent director. He needs no monologue—his actors perform betrayal so well, even Shakespeare would weep. When G5 governors bark, when former Senate kings hiss from new parties, the crowd thinks Tinubu is finished. But those noises become music to his ears, a lullaby that puts opposition voters to sleep.
Igala elders say, “A man who curses his town’s well will soon thirst in the desert.” These defectors spit in Tinubu’s direction, but end up washing in his river. They call him the problem but use his system as the solution. His silence is not weakness—it is calculation. He does not stop them; he watches them. For every exit from his camp, there is a secret handshake at midnight, a coded promise whispered over bottles of beer, women and pepper soup.
The 2023 elections proved this: Tinubu did not need love; he needed scattered enemies. And they scattered themselves well—into parties with no structure, dreams with no discipline. Some said they were fighting for the people, but their fight ended once the people’s eyes turned away. Tinubu, trained in the dark alleys of Lagos politics, knows how to win wars without lifting a machete.
Today, the line between opposition and endorsement has become a snake—slippery, winding, hard to trace. A man can criticize Tinubu’s subsidy removal in the morning and negotiate for a ministerial slot by evening. This is the new religion: self-interest without shame. No ideology, no conscience—just stomach and strategy.
Nigeria now sees a peculiar breed of politician: one who curses with his mouth but blesses with his ballot. One who campaigns like an enemy but calculates like a partner. And the saddest part? The voters have adjusted to it. They no longer ask for integrity. They only ask, “Who go help us chop small?”
In this confusion, Tinubu does not need to fight. He lets them dance. Every defection from PDP, LP, and NNPP that weakens an opposition base adds an invisible feather to his cap. Every criticism from a former ally reminds the masses of his relevance. He has become the sun around which even broken stars must rotate.
This is the tragedy. Not that Tinubu is strong—but that his critics are too busy talking to build anything stronger. They forget that in a wrestling match, jumping out of the ring does not win you the belt. They defect but leave their structures behind. They speak fire, but their words are rain. They divide, not multiply.
Nigeria’s democracy is caught between the devil we know and the demon we pretend to resist. Politicians change parties like school children change seats—without notice or conviction. The voter is left dizzy, unsure who is who, until it’s too late. And then the same old power returns, waving a new slogan.
Until we grow a spine as a nation—until we hold defectors accountable and demand consistency—we will keep electing the same circle of men, dressed in different wrappers. And the man they claim to oppose will keep winning, because even his enemies become his campaign team without knowing it.
The masquerade they chase out at noon returns at night to eat kola under the elders’ tree. That is Nigeria’s paradox. That is Tinubu’s power.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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