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By Dr. Sunny Oby Maduka (DSM)

The charcoal is being lit. Across the 774 local government areas of Nigeria, the scent of burning corn will soon waft through the air, mingling with the dust of neglected roads. But this isn’t the aroma of a harvest celebration; it is the scent of a recurring crime scene.

In a few days, the “Abuja Saints”, those men and women who haven’t tasted the brackish water of their villages since they were sworn in in 2023 will undergo a miraculous transformation. The bulletproof glass of their N200 million SUVs will slide down. The stiff, starched “Agbadas” will be traded for “man of the people” short sleeves. You will see them. You will see the Senator who ignores your petitions sitting on a low wooden stool, pretending to enjoy a roasted cob alongside a widow whose children are in terrorists captivity.

It is the most predictable, most insulting theater production in West Africa. And the tragedy isn’t that they are acting; the tragedy is that we are the audience, cheering for our own destruction.

The most staggering irony lies in the movement of the Presidency. For years, the leadership has been a ghost, haunting the halls of Aso Rock, communicating through sterile press releases and detached spokesmen. We have been governed by PDFs and “thoughts and prayers” while the country bled.

But suddenly, the “Renewed Hope” will find its legs. The President will emerge from the fortress, not to offer a genuine apology for the inflation that has turned milk into a luxury or the insecurity that has turned our highways into slaughterhouses, but to solicit for another four more years of the same impunity.

The logistics are already in motion. Thousands of buses are being fueled to ferry the “supporters” of the day. Thugs are being rearmed. The “unknown” gunmen are suddenly very well-known to the political machinery, waiting to enforce a “tour of shame” under the guise of a democratic mandate. It is a parade of the predator through the cage of the prey.

Why do we, the citizens, line up under a sun that offers more warmth than our government, waving flags for the very people who stole the roof over our heads?

Our communities have been sacked. Our ancestral lands are now the playgrounds of bandits. Our farmers are paying “protection taxes” to terrorists just to harvest the food that we can no longer afford to buy. Yet, when the rally music starts, we dance. When the N5,000 not crinkled and dirty is pressed into a palm, we shout “Rankadede!”

We are acting like a people under a collective spell, suffering from a national case of Stockholm Syndrome. We have become comfortable with our chains because the jailer occasionally feeds us the crumbs that fell from his golden table.

We deny true patriots, men and women with character and vision, because they refuse to play the “money politics” game, choosing instead to celebrate the very “criminal leadership” that has orphaned our dreams.

The Abuja-based politician is about to remember that his village exists. He will suddenly remember the name of the local chief and the location of the parish. He isn’t returning because he loves the hinterland; he is returning because he needs your fingerprint to maintain his lifestyle in Dubai and London.

He will give you a “poverty starter pack”:
®N5,000: Which cannot buy a bag of cement.

®Three cups of rice: Which will be finished by Tuesday.

®A branded T-shirt: Which you will wear as a rag while you beg for alms.

He is buying your silence for the next four years for the price of a single meal. He is purchasing the right to ignore your cries when the kidnappers come, the right to fly over your broken roads, and the right to watch your children languish in unemployment.

Let’s look at “The Parable of the Vulture’s Invitation”, and have a great review of the difference between a hand shake and a hand pointing.

Imagine a village of chickens that is being decimated by a family of vultures. Every day, a chick is snatched. Every night, the coop lives in terror. One morning, the lead vulture descends. He does not come to kill today. Instead, he wears a colorful feather from a peacock and brings a few kernels of corn.

“Vote for me to remain your guardian,” the vulture croaks. “Look, I am eating corn just like you! I am one of you!”

The chickens look at the vulture’s beak, still stained with the blood of their siblings. They look at the corn. They look at each other. Some chickens begin to dance. “The vulture is kind!” they cluck. “He gave us corn! The peacock who offered to build us a fence has no corn to give today!”

So, the chickens vote for the vulture. And for the next four years, the vulture does what vultures do: He eats rotten flesh.

Nigeria, 2027 is the year we decide if we are citizens or if we are merely “protein” for the political elite. To accept the N5,000 and the cup of rice is to sign your own death warrant. To wave at the “tour of shame” is to spit on the graves of those killed by insecurity.

The tragedy is not that the criminals lead; the tragedy is that we have made ourselves comfortable in the vulture’s nest. It is time to break the spell. Reject the corn. Keep your dignity. Burn the script of the roaster’s gospel before the fire consumes us all even as I come in PEACE.

Dr. Sunny Oby Maduka (DSM), is an Author, Resource Personality, Management Consultant/ Trainer, Chartered/Certified – A u d i t o r / A c c o u n t a n t , Financial Compliance Expert, Economic/Political Analyst Strategist, Marine Expert and Motivationist)