The Waziri Who Wasn’t: A Tale of Titles, Tiffs, and Political Theatre
The Waziri Who Wasn’t: A Tale of Titles, Tiffs, and Political Theatre
Jerry Adesewo
In a move that shocked no one who has ever witnessed Nigerian politics, the Adamawa State Government has decided that former Vice President Atiku Abubakar is no longer worthy of his traditional title, Waziri Adamawa. Why? Because he comes from the wrong side of the emirate tracks.
Yes, dear readers, in a state where political grudges are nursed like fine wine and served chilled at the most inconvenient moments, Atiku has been ceremoniously stripped of his title—not because he failed in his duties, not because he disrespected tradition, but because some very important people suddenly remembered that Jada, his hometown, is not Yola, Mayo-Belwa, or any of the newly approved districts where one must be born to be considered a “real” Adamawa titleholder.
The “Indigeneship” Excuse: A Masterclass in Selective Memory
Let’s be clear—this isn’t about tradition. This is about politics wearing the flimsy disguise of administrative reform. The circular revoking Atiku’s title claims it’s all about ensuring that “kingmakers and council members must be indigenes of their chiefdoms”. Funny how this rule only became urgent after Atiku started cozying up to Governor Fintiri’s political rivals, including Aishatu Binani and Peter Obi, in what looks suspiciously like a 2027 opposition alliance.
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If we are being honest, Nigerian politicians have always treated traditional titles like political bargaining chips. Need to silence a rival? Revoke their chieftaincy. Want to reward a loyalist? Hand them a shiny new title. The only difference this time is that Governor Fintiri didn’t even bother with subtlety.
The Governor’s New Powers: A Dictator in the Making?
But wait—there’s more! While Atiku’s title was being “administratively adjusted,” the Adamawa State House of Assembly was busy considering a bill that would allow the governor to depose traditional rulers and handpick their successors.
Let that sink in.
In a country where democracy is already on life support, this is the political equivalent of handing a chainsaw to a toddler and telling them to “fix” a wooden sculpture. Critics, “who still have their heads there,” have argued that this bill would turn traditional institutions into puppets of the state government, eroding centuries of cultural autonomy in exchange for political control. But hey, who needs checks and balances when you can just ‘appoint’ your preferred royal?
Atiku’s “Crime”: Daring to Dream Beyond 2023
According to me, the real irony here is that Atiku’s greatest sin is not being from Jada. It is his refusal to fade quietly into political obscurity after losing the 2023 presidential election (again). ‘That man sef! Na by force?’ He could have taken up gardening or written a memoir titled ‘How to Lose an Election in Three Decades’. Instead, he has been spotted in closed-door meetings with Nasir El-Rufai, Peter Obi, and other opposition figures, plotting what looks like a grand coalition to challenge President Tinubu in 2027.
And that is what this title revocation is really about. It is not governance. It is not tradition. It is a warning shot. A reminder that in Nigerian politics, loyalty is a one-way street, and dissent is punishable by public humiliation.
The Bigger Danger: When Politics Eats Tradition Alive
The most tragic part of this circus is not Atiku’s bruised ego. It is the slow death of traditional institutions as independent pillars of society. When governors can rewrite chieftaincy laws on a whim, when royal titles become political leverage, what’s left of our cultural heritage?
Already, the Lamido of Adamawa, the highest traditional authority in the state, could theoretically be sidelined if the new bill passes, with the governor installing a more “agreeable” ruler. If that happens, we might as well replace the emir’s staff with a remote control, operated directly from the Government House.
A Farce Worth Laughing At Before It Gets Worse
So here we are. Atiku loses a title he held for years because of a conveniently timed policy shift. The governor gets to flex his political muscles. And the rest of us? We are left watching yet another episode of Nigerian Politics: The Reality Show Where Nobody Wins.
But let’s not despair. After all, if history has taught us anything, it is that Nigerian politicians have an uncanny ability to outdo themselves in absurdity. Maybe next week, we will hear that the governor has declared himself “Supreme Traditional Ruler of All Adamawa.” Or perhaps he would introduce a law requiring all titleholders to pass a loyalty test, administered by him, of course.
Until then, let’s raise a glass to the Waziri who wasn’t. May his political ambitions—and the governor’s fragile ego—continue to entertain us all.
The Waziri Who Wasn’t: A Tale of Titles, Tiffs, and Political Theatre