There is a monster living right here among us in Nigeria. You won’t catch him haggling in the market or squeezing into a crowded bus, and you will never see him casually walking down the street. But make no mistake -- his shadow touches every corner of the land. He is different from the monsters in children’s stories. He has no claws to rip, no sharp teeth to bite, yet his weapon is far more dangerous: control, total control over who leads us and how we are governed.
This monster dresses like a king, in clothes bought with money that should have fixed our bad roads or stocked our hospitals with medicine. His smile is soft, almost comforting, but it hides greed sharp enough to cut through an entire budget. He dines daily from the pot of public funds as if it was cooked for him and his cronies alone. And the strangest part? He doesn’t even put his name on the ballot, yet he decides the winners of our elections. Before your thumb touches the paper in the voting booth, his invisible hand has already tilted the scale. That is why I say — he is the real government, the king behind the curtain, the puppeteer controlling the actors we see.
People call this Nigeria a democracy, using big words from civics textbooks, but in reality what we have is “Selectocracy.” In this odd arrangement, citizens don’t truly pick their leaders; instead, leaders are picked for citizens, like pre-packaged meals handed to you without asking what you’re hungry for. Elections have become grand plays staged for public consumption, with the ending decided long before the actors speak their lines. We still queue in the hot sun, vote with hope in our hearts, yet the results are already simmering in the monster’s kitchen, well-seasoned with the godfather’s blessing.
But how does this monster keep his belly full? He is fed by godfathers — political kingpins with pockets so deep that dipping your hand inside is like reaching into a bottomless pit. These godfathers are the real puppet-masters, whispering names into the monster’s ear until those names magically take charge of ministries and offices. A man who couldn’t tell the difference between a syringe and a spoon can become Minister of Health. Someone with zero background in education may suddenly become responsible for shaping the future of schools. In this Selectocracy, competence is thrown out with yesterday’s newspaper, while loyalty becomes the only ticket to the high table.
And who does the monster welcome into his inner circle? Not citizens who challenge him with uncomfortable truths, and certainly not dreamers with ideas to solve the nation’s woes. No. He surrounds himself with “yes-men” -- nodding statues that clap in tune to his will. When these protected leaders stroll through the corridors of power, they do so without fear of being held accountable. The cries of the people are faint echoes that never reach their ears. Roads are left with potholes big enough to swallow motorcycles whole, hospitals operate without basic drugs, and schools crumble like sandcastles in the rain. Yet, the funds meant to mend them flow silently into private pockets, disappearing faster than water down a cracked pot.
Even the development we see wears the monster’s crooked mask. Projects don’t follow the map of human need; they follow the godfather’s whims. A tarred road might spring up in a sleepy village with only a few residents, just because a godfather visited once or owns land there. Meanwhile, bustling cities choke under potholes deep enough to serve as fishing ponds. This upside-down logic turns governance into a personal to-do list for the powerful.
The monster’s favourite trick, however, is something he calls “stomach infrastructure” -- his way of keeping the people quiet through their hungry bellies. In this scheme, bags of rice, goats, sewing machines, and envelopes fat with cash change hands. But these tokens solve nothing. Instead, they offer a short breath to a drowning man, feeding our hunger today while leaving the same hunger waiting at the door tomorrow. And because we have eaten, we are expected to sing praises and forget our suffering. In the eyes of the monster, silence from the masses is worth far more than actual progress.
Our young people, the so-called future of this nation, are caged in this arrangement. They graduate with flying colours, clutching degrees like golden tickets, only to discover that the real ticket to opportunity is the godfather’s handshake. Those who can pack their bags flee to countries where merit speaks louder than loyalty. Those too rooted to leave either hide their voices or join the choir singing for the godfather’s glory. Talent rusts, dreams are shelved, and our future is auctioned off to the highest bidder in loyalty’s marketplace.
The monster’s puppetry goes far deeper than politics. It pulls the strings in our institutions -- from the courts to the police to the civil service itself. Judges who should wear justice like a crown end up wearing the colours of political allegiance. Police, meant to guard the weak, sometimes guard the godfather’s interests instead. Civil servants trade duty for servitude, working more for power brokers than for the nation. Important policies collect dust in locked drawers, files sleep on desks, and promises to the people vanish like morning mist before the sun.
Godfatherism in Nigeria is not just another bad seed in politics -- it is a poisonous tree planted in the very heart of democracy. Its roots suck dry the water meant for justice, peace, and development, leaving these fruits to shrivel and fall before they ripen. And with Selectocracy ruling the day, leaders are chosen not by the people but by their political masters. So what do they do? They serve those masters, not us, the citizens. That is why accountability is a stranger in our governance. That is why our development crawls, our economy limps, and our hopes keep stumbling.
But here is the truth my fellow Nigerians: even the fattest monster starves when its meal is taken away. The day we cut its strings, the day we burn its puppet stage to ashes, the day we insist that merit sits above manipulation -- that day will be the turning point when democracy no longer limps but stands tall. We must break the leash, we must pull the plug on the feeding pot, and we must ensure that our votes are the voice of truth, not chains that tie us down.
Nigeria does not belong to the shadows. It does not belong to the godfathers. And it certainly does not belong to the monster. It belongs to us -- the people. And if we stand, speak, and act together, the clock will run out on the monster’s reign, and the sun will rise on a nation we can truly call ours.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO – writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
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