Ladies and gentlemen, start your jets. The race don start... and if the early rumblings are anything to go by, we are in for a show that would make Kannywood green with envy. The titans are sharpening their knives, the coalitions are forming in smoky backrooms, and the stage is set for a battle that will determine who gets to sit in Aso Rock when the music stops. Only this time, the audience--that would be us, the long-suffering Nigerian voter--seems to be either reaching for the remote control or sharpening their own implements for entirely different purposes.
Consider the cast of characters assembling in the opposition corner. From Nasir el-Rufai, freshly landed from Cairo and immediately tangled in an airport drama that felt straight out of a spy thriller, to Abubakar Malami and other heavyweights of the last dispensation, the band is getting back together. El-Rufai, never one for sotto voce, as my lawyer friend Bilkis puts it, has declared that the political battle to unseat this administration has "just begun." He claims those in power are uneasy about his return, watching his movements, preferring that he stays abroad and not return. And why? Because, in his words, "They know what I am capable of, and they know we can remove them". The man has even aligned with the coalition-backed African Democratic Congress, accusing President Tinubu of being determined to remain in power "at all costs". That is "nawa o" talk from a man who, let us not forget, contributed to bringing this very government into power. As he himself puts it, "Since I contributed to bringing them into power, I must also contribute to removing them". You have to admire the symmetry, if nothing else.
Over on the government side, the machinery is whirring with the intensity of a generator on a bad day. The APC governors have recommitted to grassroots mobilisation, launching something called the Renewed Hope Ambassadors Summit 2026. Vice President Shettima tells us we have shifted from "stabilisation to acceleration," with a record N58.18 trillion budget to anchor this new phase. Inflationary pressures are supposedly moderating, fuel prices are easing, the currency is strong and stable--at least according to the briefings. The party chairman laments that despite significant infrastructure projects, achievements remain invisible due to poor communication. Invisible! That is the diagnosis. Not that the achievements are absent, but that they are simply not being seen. It is like a tree falling in a forest with no one around. If a project is delivered and no one photographs it for the media, did it really happen?
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Yet for all this federal might, for all these governors swallowed whole and politicians bought at prices that would make a slave trader blush, there is a whiff of panic in the air. Why the jitters? Why does the ruling party, commanding the heights of power and possessing a war chest that could fund a small country's GDP, still seem unable to sleep soundly at night? Why the frantic coalition-building, the amending of electoral laws, the beefed-up security at airports for arriving opposition figures?
The answer, my friends, is blowing in the wind--and it smells distinctly of diesel fumes and darkness.
A tweet has been making the rounds, dredged up from the archives like a skeleton tumbling out of a cupboard. It features candidate "Tulumbu" bold as brass, telling Nigerians not to vote for him for a second term if his government fails to provide 24 hours of electricity after four years. Those were the words that inspired hope among Nigerians who longed for electricity in their homes and stability for their businesses. Thirty-two months later, Peter Obi reminded the nation of that promise, noting that instead of living by his powerful words, the administration now plans to disconnect the Presidential Villa from the national grid entirely, spending billions on solar power for Aso Rock while the rest of the country gropes in the dark. You cannot tell the people to fast while feasting yourself. You cannot secure yourself while leaving Nigerians unsecured. The national grid collapses with the regularity of a third rate Kannywood actress' tears--two collapses in January alone, generation dropping from over 4,500 megawatts to zero, all 23 power plants offline simultaneously... it is a feat of coordination, really, if you think about it. Just not the kind anyone voted for.
The electricity situation is now worse than it was at the twilight of the Buhari administration. Let that sink in. We did not think it possible. We thought we had hit rock bottom. But Nigeria, ever the overachiever, has found a way to dig deeper. And the man who promised to fix it is now building a solar fortress for himself while the grid gasps its last breaths. This is not governance; it is a magic trick. Watch the President disappear into his solar-powered bubble while the rest of us wonder which transformer blew this time.
Then there is the small matter of the Electoral Act. The National Assembly, in its wisdom, passed a version that provides for both electronic and manual transmission of results--the very loophole that cast a pall over the 2023 elections. Nigerians marched, protested, begged, and were tear-gassed for their trouble. The Senate President assures us that "every vote will now count". The President, signing it into law with unseeming haste, opines that computers cannot do everything and humans still have a significant role to play. Indeed. They played a significant role last time, and we saw how that turned out. The question writes itself: with 29 out of 36 governors now in the ruling party, with the majority of lawmakers on the government side, why the fear of compulsory electronic transmission? Why leave the door open for manual results in areas with "network problems"--especially when the Nigerian Communications Commission assures us we have over 93 per cent network coverage?
So the song and dance begins. El-Rufai and his new allies will crisscross the country, feeding on the discontent. The ruling party will deploy the full weight of incumbency, the power of the purse, the influence of office. They will tell us about stabilisation turning into acceleration, about reforms yielding results, about a strong and stable currency. And the people will look at their wallets, look at their dark houses, look at their unpaid salaries, and make a calculation.
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The danger for the government is not that the opposition is strong. The opposition is a coalition of former allies and aggrieved parties, held together by little more than shared enmity. The danger is that the voting public has never been more apathetic to the case of who becomes president--or more spoiling for blood, vowing to cast their votes not for any candidate but simply against the reigning government. When people vote against rather than for, incumbency becomes a liability, not an asset.
Nobody could have imagined that there would come a time when times would be even harder than they were during Buhari. But here we are. The maga don pay... and pay, and pay some more! And now they are expected to troop out and reward the party that collected the school fees. Good luck with that.
The music is starting. The dancers are taking their positions. The stage is set for the upcoming song and dance. But this time, the audience may just stay home... or worse, rush the stage!
And when that happens, all the choreography in the world will not save the performance.
Asha ruwa lafiya!
