“They just tend not to be honest. Nigerians as a group, frankly, are marvelous scammers. I mean, it is in their national culture.” That damning comment appeared in the 25 September, 1995, edition of The New Yorker. That scathing assertion stirred a hornet’s nest, and its author — Colin Powell, the urbane American diplomat, Army General, and later the 65th Secretary of State (and the first Black American to serve in that role) — courted unpleasant rebukes for those remarks. Powell was like smelly rot on whom flies perched as he courted outrage with that unflattering categorisation.
A similar whitewash of Nigeria occurred years later. It was in May 2016 during Queen Elizabeth II’s 90th birthday celebration at Buckingham Palace. British Prime Minister David Cameron was overheard describing Nigeria and Afghanistan in derogatory terms while reporting to the Queen on an upcoming anti-corruption summit in London. He was quoted to have said: “We’ve got some leaders of some fantastically corrupt countries coming to Britain… Nigeria and Afghanistan, possibly the two most corrupt countries in the world.”
Nigerians were almost unanimous in rebuking these characterisations as unfair. Following Powell’s 1995 remark, human rights activist and legal luminary, Femi Falana, told Powell in The Washington Post that, “You should never make sweeping generalisations like that to describe a people. Those comments are very unbecoming of a man of his stature.”
Regarding Cameron’s outburst, BBC Diplomatic Correspondent, James Landale deployed litotes — a literary technique where a gravity-laden issue is deliberately downplayed using subtle, restrained expression to qualify it. “On the face of it,” Landale began in his critique of Cameron: “It is perhaps one of the most undiplomatic things a prime minister could say — to describe two countries as fantastically corrupt, just hours before their leaders visit Britain. The prime minister’s remarks were outspoken and unguarded, but they were not untrue. Both Afghanistan and Nigeria come high on lists of the world’s most corrupt nations.”
Indeed, at that time in 2016, Transparency International’s 2015 Corruption Perception Index handed Nigeria the medallion of 136th on the corruption ladder globally, with Afghanistan ranked 167th, sitting just ahead of Somalia and North Korea.
Our lot has since taken a turn for the worse. We have become the proverbial young man who, in a fit of rage, pelted the Agẹmọ with a stone. The Agẹmọ, in its physical form, is merely a chameleon. Yet, in Yoruba mythology, it is a sacred chameleon spirit — the servant of Ọlọrun, the Supreme Being — credited with assisting in the creation of the Yoruba pantheon of deities (Òrìsà) and serving as a divine messenger.
Yoruba mythology features a fable explaining why the chameleon is capable of mutating into distinct colours and why the Agẹmọ is held in such awe. Legend dictates that a child who pelts the Agẹmọ with a stone will not die immediately or rot from any external wound; instead, they will simply retard into nothingness. Their clothes will fade into the brownish, tattered plumage like the àparò (partridge), whose coat of feathers serves as a natural camouflage amidst grass and brush. Methinks Nigeria has stoned the Agẹmọ and the outcome is this national retardation and is the cause of a seeming curse to merry-go-round on a spot, while battling challenges of development.
If figures like late Powell and Cameron were presented with an opportunity to assess Nigeria today, they would deploy even harsher epithets. We are confronted by a rapacious and criminal political class, a morally deficit society, and a future hanging by a cliff. The distressing news that sieves out of Nigeria daily, like putrid water leaking from a broken cistern, points to a country that has completely slipped through our hands.
Whenever I feel distressed about Nigeria’s trajectory, as I was last week, I go out seeking corroboration — lest I become the only loony in the sanatorium. Recently, I visited the office of an elderly Senior Advocate of Nigeria. Famous for his piety in a judicial ecosystem where many practitioners have sold their souls to Mammon — whom Christian writers and medieval theologians personified as the demon prince of greed — the Learned Silk’s head was completely grizzled with age and law. My hunch told me I was in the right place.
While a systemic cancer in the judiciary (of which we were both victims) was our ostensible reason for meeting, my hidden motive was to gauge how advanced my own Nigeria-induced insanity had become. We asked each other how we felt about Nigeria. He knew my stance, but I was eager to learn about his, wanting to peer beyond the veneer of his public acclamation for judicial integrity. After our discussion, I regretted the encounter because my despair worsened. I left his office carrying a deteriorating malady. I was however comforted because, in gauging his own level of dissatisfaction with Nigeria — I was happy that I was not alone. I was reassured that, trapped inside Nigerians who wear comely faces in public is a burning, agonising distress about our country.
Last week, Professor Femi Otubanjo further aggravated that feeling of madness. On a television show, the man I escaped being his postgraduate student at the University of Ibadan, at a time of his stint with General Oladipo Diya, worsened my mental state. He propounded the theory of a destroyed foundation. Deploying the biblical theory of a ruptured foundation that is the righteous’ nightmare, he called Karl Max to the rescue. Let me add Max Weber’s deterministic ideological infrastructure to the mix. Both of them authored the causal relationships between substructure and superstructure.
In his The German Ideology, Karl Marx says society’s social consciousness is the totality of that society’s legal, political system, as well as its infrastructure. In their theory of society, students of sociology make use of this causal relationship of substructure and superstructure a lot. It simply says that social realities are the products of social structures, which is the ideologies related to politics, laws, morality, art, philosophy of that society. It explains the nature of the relationships among social structures and their consequences for human realities.
Both thinkers – Max and Weber – explored the causal relationship between the substructure (material and economic infrastructure) and the superstructure (ideology, law, and politics). Put in chewable terms: if you erect a grand superstructure on a defective substructure, as Karl Maier observed in his damning biography of Nigeria, This House Has Fallen, the house will ultimately fall.
Otubanjo applied this directly to our Nigerian predicament. Bad leaders, endemic corruption, election riggers, an uncritical electorate, and a rapacious National Assembly notorious for budget padding (the proceeds of which foot soldiers collect to rig subsequent elections) all constitute Nigeria’s flawed substructure. Because Nigeria lacks a sound moral foundation, nothing worthy can stand upon it. Policies that look workable on paper and succeed in other nations inevitably fail here.
Nigeria was simply not founded to succeed. This is why political figures like Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, and Bola Tinubu recur in our electoral cycle every season. They are superstructures that cannot help but collapse under the weight of a broken substructure. The system is wired to fail, and the democracy that is relished in other lands falters here due to a wonky foundation. We live in a country hijacked by criminals who run the elections, yet expect us to participate in them. The upcoming 2027 election cannot solve our story; without addressing the foundation, it can only make it worse. Those were Otubanjo’s gripping but scary sermon. The professor even made a more damning prophecy: after the 2027 elections, regardless of who ‘wins’ that election, we would be back to our sorrow and lamentations. If you believe the Nigerian structure, as currently constituted, can ever make you happy as a Nigerian, you are the cruelest joke of the century.
Numerous theories exist to explain why Nigeria has failed to work: There is what I call the colonial blueprint theory. This is a theory that points to the mis-philosophy of Nigeria’s founding. The British, this school argues, never intended to build a functional nation. This reflects in the Northern Nigerian Premier, the Sardauna of Sokoto, Ahmadu Bello’s famous reflection where he said, “God did not create Nigeria; the British did.” There are so many other empirical affirmations that the British didn’t create Nigeria to succeed.
This school is further reinforced by the “Two Publics” theory of political sociologist, Prof Peter Ekeh. In 1975, Ekeh propounded the theory of this theory wherein he argued that post-colonial African societies feature two distinct realms with opposing moral rules: the civic public and the primordial public. Today, however, emerging realities have trumped Ekeh’s thesis; even in the primordial realm, moral allegiance has been submerged, as people compromise both the civic and the sacred with baffling abandon.
Then, there is the metaphysical and leadership schools. Thinkers like my teacher at the University of Lagos, Professor CS Momoh argued that the Nigerian problem was metaphysical. Others blame the conflict between natural nationhood and an artificial nation-state. To them, Nigeria is in this horrific state because it is not a nation but a nation-state. Chinua Achebe belongs to this leadership challenge school. Writing in The Trouble With Nigeria, (1983) Achebe said that “the trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” Conversely, others argue that the general electorate — from whom leaders emerge — is so colossally tainted that its DNA cannot withstand good governance.
Sociologists also point to the “resource curse” that afflicts mineral-producing states like Nigeria. In this school, it is believed that a looting machine inevitably forms around raw wealth. Examples are the Democratic Republic of Congo, Angola etc. Nigeria is exceptionally bad because it has produced a vast number of criminals tied round her oil wealth who now constitute the ruling elite — men and women who were active participants in global and national illicit enterprises. In April 2005, retired policeman and Senator Nuhu Aliyu surveyed the National Assembly chambers and confessed that sitting alongside him as colleagues were senators he had previously arrested, questioned, and detained. Today, known rogues, fraudsters, perverts, and murderers are addressed as “Excellencies” in many of the 36 states and the presidency. The same people make rules. It reminds me of British roots reggae band, Steel Pulse, in its 1978 “Babylon makes the rules” track song where it sang: “Babylon makes the rules/Where my people suffer…”
We are ruled by a rogue political elite, a tainted business class, an uncritical public and a wayward press with all of us traveling a road that leads toward perdition. Tainted wealth is everywhere, while moral leadership is at zero point. Those who argue that corruption is a recent phenomenon are being ahistorical; the Nigerian corruption has deep roots in social networks and moral conventions pre-dating the 1914 amalgamation. Because the state is central to everyday life in Nigeria, there is an eternal, desperate rush for the jugular of power. Every four years, we repeat these rituals. It is difficult to disagree with theologian Ogbu Kalu who wrote that Nigeria’s political culture “is like a virus, feeding on the red blood corpuscles of the primal world.” From its inception, Nigeria has operated as a crime scene or Albert Camus’ theatre of the absurd. These absurdities tie directly back to our primal foundation.
All of this reinforces the argument that social realities are direct products of social structures. Impunity is a dime a dozen, reigning unchallenged to build empires in both high and low spheres of society. Too many go scot-free for grievous malfeasance.
Look no further than the legislature: Deputy Speaker Benjamin Kalu recently offered public explanations as to why his office allocated ₦780 million — and not ₦1 billion — for a church, while ₦30 billion sits in the budget for palaces and places of worship. This is in a country while millions struggle to feed. A former Deputy Senate President became stupendously wealthy through similar heists: his foot soldiers yearly ferried out nondescript government agencies, asked their directors what they wanted, inserted those projects into the budget, and sent contractors to collect the funds. Today, Karma has caught up with him.
Though Senate President Godswill Akpabio was a guest of the EFCC prior to his ascendancy, he does not shuttle between the Red Chamber and the anti-graft agency’s office any longer because Nigeria is simply not wired for accountability. To that maggots-encrusted system, it is an insult for the Imperial Majesty Senate President to be called to answer for his past — and present. Aso Rock itself houses occupants whose histories are clouded by allegations of fraud, and the 36 states serve as a paradise for maggots. Until we confront and rebuild the faulty substructure of our nation, every attempt at progress remains a farce built on shifting sand.
The most distressing part of the Agẹmọ curse is the allegation that the Nigerian presidency is in an adulterous relationship with the judiciary. And that, purchasing justice in Nigeria is as easy as getting the al’álùpàyídà (magicians) to summon a chattel through his famous trickery. This reminds me of those days when we gathered as kids to watch pidánpidán and his compatriots, the al’álùpàyídà, both magicians, perform their trickery. While the signs are writ large like mysterious hieroglyphics in the sky, it is too absurd to countenance. If true, this dalliance of executive and judiciary would have gone beyond incest. It would be a signal that indeed, this house has collapsed. In which case, it is time to close shop.
Did Abacha Actually Die On Top of a Woman?
The Yoruba establish a direct causal relationship between tragic news and emotional grief. They observe that if the ears are not fed with rotten news, the mind will not be consumed by grief. Whatever his motive for publishing his book, DSS @40: My Journey Behind the Shield, retired Assistant Director of the Department of State Services (DSS) Dennis Amachree has reawakened an unpleasant yet momentous chapter in our national history. In doing so, he proves right the ancient adage that a twenty-year-old pounded yam can still burn one’s fingers as though it were fresh off the mortar. Through his book, Amachree resurrects the narrative surrounding the sudden, gladsome news of the demise of Nigeria’s former Commander-in-Chief and military dictator, General Sani Abacha.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about how the libido of men in power is a critical factor we must reckon with when analyzing the mechanics and texture of political authority. Even previously, I undertook a broader analysis of what I called the sexual history of the Nigerian presidency. It was a salacious narrative of the perceived sexual exploits of occupants of Dodan Barracks and Aso Rock, the two residences of Nigeria’s power. Amachree’s DSS @40: My Journey Behind the Shield underscores why this dimension of power cannot be brushed aside or taken for granted. In it, the author posits that on 8 June, 1998, General Abacha did not die from a poisoned handshake from former Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat, but from cardiac arrest during an intimate encounter with a paramour at the Aso Rock Presidential Villa Guest House in Abuja.
On a social media platform, a commentator questioned whether Amachree was acting as an interloper, whether he had breached official secrecy rules, and why he chose to release this account at this particular time. My response focused on the formal process of declassifying official information and documents — the administrative procedure for removing security markings from secret government records to make them accessible to the public. Typically, declassification occurs through three main mechanisms: automatic declassification over time, systematic review by government agencies, and mandatory requests by interested members of the public.
Declassified records do not always tell the absolute truth, as governments often hold back unverified or raw intelligence from public disclosure to prevent panic. This appears to be what occurred in the Abacha episode. Generally, when official records reach a certain age — frequently 25 years — they are unsealed, provided they do not fall under specific exceptions whose release could compromise national security or trigger widespread public unrest. Sensitive national security files often remain classified indefinitely to protect state interests.
Because Abacha died 28 years ago, the public has spent decades navigating competing theories. One popular claim alleged that he ate apples laced with a lethal potion prepared by foreign intelligence agencies. His ADC, from whom authentic fact could have come, Major Hamza Al-Mustapha, propounded another theory, claiming Palestinian President Yasser Arafat was used to assassinate him. He further noted that Abacha began exhibiting unusual physical traits immediately after a handshake.
However, Al-Mustapha cannot be held to be a witness of truth if indeed Abacha died this way which, in African context, was a taboo. Again, he is the abore (Yoruba traditional male priest who assists in performing rituals, making offerings, and serving as a spiritual intermediary) of the Abacha shrine from whose mouth evil narratives are never expected to ooze out. By waiting for the required passage of time, Amachree fulfilled the standard criteria for declassifying information, granting him the administrative leeway to disclose what he knew about Abacha’s final hours.
However, whistle-blowers and former intelligence officers are sometimes deployed to divert public focus from pressing national issues or distract from an unfolding, unpleasant political reality. That could also possibly be Amachree’s assignment.
Expectedly, pushback and denials followed Amachree’s revelations. They are however a healthy development for public discourse. In an engaging opinion piece in the Vanguard newspaper, Tony Eluemunor challenged Amachree’s narrative using medical and situational evidence. Eluemunor argued that while Abacha suffered from diabetes and cirrhosis, he was severely ill on the night of 8 June, despite the presence of two foreign paramours with him.
Of a truth, the whole country knew, prior to his expiration, that Abacha was ill. A few days before his passing, he appeared on national television looking gaunt, his lips unusually coloured and his goggles seemingly hiding critical information about his visage. The fact that he had two Filipinos with him on the night of his death, according to Eluemunor, presents a stark, troubling paradox: a ruler fiercely resisting Western influence and railing against America whom he called “global policemen of democracy,” while simultaneously permitting foreign liaisons unhindered access into the innermost sexual and territorial borders of Nigeria’s power base.
Since Abacha’s era, numerous Nigerian public officials — governors, ministers, legislative leaders, and political aides — have compromised the dignity of public office through personal indulgences. Former Governor Adams Oshiomhole recently courted controversy regarding a widely circulated video involving a South African lifestyle influencer (euphemism for prostitutes) Ms Leshaan Dagama, aboard a chartered aircraft. Such conduct appears to be a recurring pastime among powerful men.
Upon reading my previous piece, someone reminded me that all men, regardless of their situation in places of power, remain complicit in the borderless irritancy of the male member. Malawian feminist scholar and former government minister, Dr. Jessie Kabwila, noted this during a public address in June 2025. There, she stated candidly: “All men are weak before women.” Centuries prior, in his seminal History of Sexuality, philosopher Michel Foucault similarly challenged Western society’s understanding of sex, power, and discipline, demonstrating how carnal desires intersect with structures of institutional control.
What has largely kept the full truth of Abacha’s final moments shrouded from public scrutiny is religious sensitivity. Till date, no one knows what ailed and probably killed Umaru Yar’Adua and Muhammadu Buhari. I strongly advocate that Nigerian leaders ought to be exempt from religious boundaries from the moment of their ascension to office up until their death. Upon assumption of office, they should totally become the collective property of the Nigerian state. Consequently, the full, unvarnished facts surrounding their final days should belong strictly to the public record, free from religious taboos, hypocritical cover-ups, or selective official secrecy.
Festus Adedayo is an Ibadan-based journalist.
