Political Pilgrims and Empty Scorecards
By Ameh Abraham
As the political sun climbs to its scorching peak, a familiar ritual begins to stir in the corridors of power across Nigeria. It is a season as predictable as the rains, the season of the resignation letters. From the Aso Rock Villa to the glass-walled state government houses, a new wave of political appointees is being “urged” to vacate their seats. They are not fleeing failure; they are chasing higher office.
President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has set the tone, ordering all appointees with electoral ambitions to resign by March 31. In Edo State, Governor Monday Okpebholo’s administration has been hit by a mass resignation of commissioners and special advisers eager to pursue federal legislative seats. Down in Delta, Governor Sheriff Oborevwori has echoed the directive. The machinery of state, it seems, must be cleansed of those who have been using its levers as a launchpad for personal ambition.
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It is a grand, well-choreographed dance of the political class. But as we watch these men and women prepare to swap their official briefcases for campaign posters, one is compelled to ask a question that hangs in the air like the fumes from a generator, a generator that, ironically, many of them have been unable to help us replace.
How far have they delivered in the offices they are so eager to abandon?
This is not a matter of idle gossip. It is a fundamental question of statecraft, morality, and the very essence of the social contract. If the path to a higher office is paved with unfulfilled promises from a lower one, what exactly are we building? Are we constructing a system of proven competence, or are we simply watching a game of musical chairs where the music is the sound of public funds being frittered away?
A Pattern, Not a Coincidence
Take a walk, dear reader, to the Ministry of Power. Presiding over this delicate sector is Chief Adebayo Adelabu, a man who has reportedly set his sights on the Oyo State Government House. Now, Mr. Adelabu’s ambition is not new. But this time, he comes with a shiny new appendage to his CV: “Minister of Power.” The question is, what does that entry actually represent?
Under his tenure, Nigeria’s available generation capacity has struggled to reach even half of its installed capacity. The national grid has continued its pattern of periodic collapses. The sector remains burdened with over N6 trillion in accumulated debts, while gas supply to power plants has dropped to critical levels. Yet, with this as his portfolio, Mr. Adelabu has been caught on video declaring that it is now “Adelabu’s turn” to be governor. He says he has “paid his dues.” Paid his dues to whom? The people of Oyo State who are also grappling with the same erratic power supply as the rest of the nation?
But Mr. Adelabu is far from alone in this curious arithmetic of ambition.
Consider the case of Hussaini Magaji, the Registrar-General of the Corporate Affairs Commission (CAC). In late February 2026, the Senate Committee on Finance took the extraordinary step of recommending his immediate removal. Their grievance? A consistent refusal to honour invitations to account for the agency’s revenue and performance since assuming office. Senator Orji Kalu, moving the motion, fumed that while ministers could appear before the committee, the CAC boss considered himself “above the Senate”.
Here is a public official whose primary duty is to ensure corporate accountability, yet he reportedly could not be bothered to render account of his own stewardship. And while the Senate’s recommendation for his removal is now in the President’s hands, one cannot help but wonder: if Mr. Magaji had his sights set on a senatorial or gubernatorial seat in 2027, would he too be among those preparing to resign not because he is being asked to account for his performance, but because he needs to clear the deck for his next political move?
Then there is the curious case unfolding in Edo State. Among those who have resigned from Governor Okpebholo’s cabinet to pursue federal legislative seats are Dr. Washington Osifo, Commissioner for Water Resources and Sanitation, and Dr. Lucky Eseigbe, Commissioner for Physical Planning and Urban Development. They have dutifully complied with the directive to resign before pursuing their ambitions.
But one is left to wonder: what is the scorecard for water and sanitation under Dr. Osifo’s watch? What physical planning achievements can Dr. Eseigbe point to as he seeks to climb the political ladder? The public may never know, because in our system, there is no requirement to show one’s homework before asking for a promotion.
The Structural Defence
Now, to be fair, not every failure sits solely at the feet of individual appointees. The President of the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC), Joe Ajaero, offered a sobering caveat when he recently addressed the state of the power sector. According to him, Nigeria’s electricity crisis is structural, not merely ministerial. He argued that the system itself is “designed not to work,” and that no minister regardless of competence, can significantly improve supply under the current framework.
Ajaero pointed to deeper issues: the flawed 2013 privatisation that enriched investors without improving service; the institutional conflict between the ministries of petroleum and power; the absence of a coherent national master plan for the sector.
This is an important point. If the system is fundamentally broken, then blaming any single minister for its failure is simplistic. But here is the moral wrinkle that the resignation season exposes: if the system is indeed broken, why are the men who presided over it so eager to be promoted to manage even larger systems?
If a minister cannot fix the power sector because of structural constraints, why should the same minister be trusted to govern an entire state with all its complex challenges where the constraints are arguably even more formidable?
The Meritocracy Mirage
The deeper issue, the one that festers beneath the procedural cleanliness of the resignation directive, is the absence of a performance-based filter. Should progression to bigger offices not be based on delivery in previous roles? Should there not be a national conversation, a scorecard, a public assessment that links the two?
In Anambra State, an APGA chieftain recently made headlines by urging Governor Chukwuma Soludo to sack over 80 per cent of his cabinet for non-performance, arguing that retaining failing officials “entrenches mediocrity”. The chieftain’s solution was to replace them with “fresh hands with new ideas”.
It was a remarkable intervention, not least because it acknowledged openly what many Nigerians suspect privately: that a significant portion of political appointees are not delivering, yet they remain in office, accumulating titles and connections that they will later leverage for higher positions.
If a commissioner has left the education sector in his state comatose, why should he be fast-tracked to the Senate? If a special adviser has no tangible achievement to his name, why should he be cleared to contest for a House of Representatives seat? Yet this is precisely the logic or lack thereof that underpins our political progression system.
The Waiting Game
As the March 31 deadline approaches, the atmosphere within government circles has reportedly shifted from confidence to uncertainty. Sources describe a “quiet but tense waiting game,” with many appointees weighing the risks of resigning without guaranteed political support. President Tinubu has deliberately refused to grant private audiences to appointees seeking endorsement for governorship and legislative positions, reportedly telling a group that he is not a “kingmaker of appointees” but a President for all .
His message is instructive: if you think you are popular enough to lead your state, go home, resign, and prove it to the delegates.
This is a welcome stance. But it addresses the procedural issue using public office for campaigning without touching the substantive one: whether the people seeking higher office have actually performed in their current roles.
A Question for the Electorate
As we watch the parade of resignations, let us not mistake the gesture for substance. The removal of appointees from their desks is not the same as holding them accountable for what they did—or failed to do—while seated there.
We treat political offices as if they were the levels of a video game. You serve as a commissioner to unlock the “House of Reps” level. Complete a term in the National Assembly, and you gain access to the “Governor” or “Minister” boss. The actual output—the roads built, the schools renovated, the lights kept on—is often irrelevant to the progression algorithm.
Until we tie ambition to accountability, until we make progression a consequence of performance rather than a reward for presence, the annual pilgrimage of resignation will remain just that: a pilgrimage. A journey of men and women from one failed assignment to another, leaving behind a trail of unfinished business and a nation of citizens left to find their own light.
The question for the Nigerian electorate, the one we must ponder in the coming months, is this: will we allow ourselves to be dazzled by titles and “progression” alone? Or will we demand to see the scorecard?