)
President Tinubu was unusually exuberant in his June 12 Democracy Day speech, openly revelling in his opponents' troubles. “For me, I would say try your best to put your house in order. I will not help you do so. It is, indeed, a pleasure to witness you in such disarray.”
Sure enough, just days after the president’s victory dance, the supposedly “peaceful home” began to show cracks — from within.
In Gombe, the APC found itself “collecting,” in classic street parlance, as violence erupted during a stakeholders' meeting. The cause? The announcement of Tinubu as the party’s sole candidate for 2027 — with no mention of Vice President Shettima.
What was meant to be a show of unity quickly turned chaotic, with Shettima’s absence interpreted by many in the North East as a snub — or worse, a warning.
Now, while the opposition battles over who should carry the flag, the ruling party faces a different dilemma: who should hold the ladder? As the old Fela tune goes — “double wahala for dead body.”
Let’s be honest: there was nothing sentimental about Tinubu’s choice of running mate. In Nigerian politics, selecting a VP is rarely about personal chemistry — it’s about electoral strategy. It’s ethnic, regional, and religious math.
That’s how Yemi Osinbajo, with little grassroots clout, became VP. The same cold calculus explains Shettima’s selection in 2023 — a bid to appease and galvanise the North East, particularly against a powerful opponent like Atiku.
Running a Muslim-Muslim ticket wasn’t a spiritual statement — it was a numbers game. A bold, controversial one, but calculated. So, if that political arrangement is now beginning to fray, why the surprise? There’s no love in the jungle — only interests. And interests rarely stay loyal forever.
In Nigeria, the vice presidency — like most deputy roles — is not a stepping stone. It’s a side step. If you think it's a direct path to the presidency, ask history. Since 1999, few deputies have made the leap. And those who did? It wasn’t ambition — it was accident.
Take Goodluck Jonathan.
His rise wasn’t scripted — it was a divine plot twist. His boss, Governor Alamieyeseigha, got entangled in a money laundering scandal. Impeached. And suddenly, Jonathan was holding the keys. From there, he stumbled into Aso Rock after Yar’Adua’s tragic death.
People still debate whether it was providence or passive luck — but either way, his name lived up to itself. Just not for those who put him there.
Then there’s Atiku Abubakar — the only former VP still politically active. But even he has spent over 20 years chasing the presidency like a man looking for his phone in the dark. Close, but never quite there.
The pattern is clear: deputy positions are scaffolding. Useful during construction — discarded once the building stands. They’re symbolic roles, not launchpads. If you expect promotion, read the fine print. It’s not a power seat — it’s more like a political internship.
Now, here’s why I got invested in this unfolding story: by most accounts, Shettima has been loyal, articulate, competent — and notably unproblematic. To check my bias, I rang up a well-placed friend with insight into the VP’s camp. I asked plainly, “Has Shettima earned his spot?”
The verdict: yes — but something is brewing behind the scenes.
Unlike Osinbajo or Atiku before him, Shettima hasn’t been allowed to front national economic policy or lead high-profile councils. Tinubu chaired the June 2024 National Economic Council himself, relegating Shettima to what looked more like a ceremonial role. Even when Tinubu travels, Shettima doesn’t exactly fill the vacuum — at least not publicly.
Meanwhile, the whispers grow louder. Tinubu, during his eight years as Lagos governor, changed deputies three times. He’s not shy about swapping out his number two if politics demands it. So far, neither the president nor his media team has clarified Shettima’s current role — a silence that’s screaming.
And then comes Zulum — the Borno governor often described as Shettima’s political stooge. Zulum recently rejected Tinubu’s controversial tax reform publicly, while Shettima remained quiet. Was Zulum speaking for both of them? Or is he subtly positioning himself as an alternative voice from the North East?
And just when you think you’ve figured out Nigerian politicians, one of them reminds you that everything is acting. Remember Wike? Yes, that Wike — strongman of Port Harcourt.
The same man who calls out his enemies with microphone venom was caught in a viral audio allegedly in a turbulent helicopter journey— crying, shaking, and speaking in tongues like a night vigil regular. The hard guy was weeping like a child.
If Wike can cry, then anyone can plot. Wike keeps giving, posturing as a strong musical maestro today to a feeble child crying for safety on another day.
Because in Nigerian politics, outward behaviour is rarely the full story. The smiling loyalist today could be tomorrow’s rebel-in-chief. And Shettima — who has so far worn the cloak of the obedient second fiddle — may well be playing the longest game of them all.
Is he the quiet pistol — cocked, loaded, but concealed? Or has Tinubu already started kicking the ladder away? The silence from Aso Rock, the rising voice of Zulum, and Tinubu’s historical habit of changing deputies — all suggest one thing: something is cooking. And it smells like 2027.
With the silence from Aso Rock, Zulum’s rising profile, and Tinubu’s history of reshuffling deputies — something is definitely cooking. And it smells like 2027.
However, while 2027 is the visible battlefield, many in the northern APC are already planning beyond — toward 2031. Because in Nigeria, politicians think two elections ahead, not two generations. The country may be burning, but the real heat is in the backrooms.
Some say Ribadu’s 2031 ambition edged out El-Rufai from APC’s inner circle. Denying him a ministerial role wasn’t oversight — it was strategy. Ribadu isn’t the only one with long-term plans. Veterans like Kwankwaso, Atiku, Tambuwal, and Saraki are still lurking. And then there’s the new guard: Bala Mohammed, Zulum, Shettima, Uba Sani, and Bago of Niger. All calculating. All waiting.
So, while Tinubu eyes 2027, others are scheming for 2031 — because, as they say, politicians plan for the next election. Leaders plan for the next generation.
Meanwhile, the opposition, once scattered, is slowly finding a common rhythm. Not quite harmony yet — but a whispering chorus. Let’s be honest: if Obi and Atiku teamed up, there’d be panic. That’s a potential 13 million votes — Tinubu won with just over 8 million.
It explains the presidency’s sudden energy: hurried endorsements, APC rallies, desperate shows of unity. No sitting president has sought public validation this early — not even Buhari in 2019. You only hustle this hard when you're unsure.
And who wouldn’t be? The economy is on life support. The naira has lost over 100% of its value since Tinubu assumed office. Inflation is peaking. Food prices have doubled. Insecurity still haunts the North.
Forget IMF praise. The ground reality is bleak. I heard recently of a family in Ibadan that died from hunger. And that’s not an isolated story. Only Nigerians earning in dollars — or getting foreign remittances — are surviving this economy.
When I was younger, petrol was ₦50 per litre. Today, I am only in my early 30s and its about ₦850 to ₦1,000. And when fuel rises, everything else follows: transport, food, healthcare. It’s a wicked spiral — worsened by erratic power and generator-dependence.
All the governor defections and chieftaincy titles won’t matter if people can’t eat. The only endorsement that counts is relief.
President Tinubu may be shifting focus northward, but it’s easy to see why he’s confident down south. With APC holding 10 of the 17 southern states, there’s a sense of political comfort.
Even the seven governors from other parties are showing signs of alignment: Oyo’s Seyi Makinde is rumoured to be loyal; Enugu recently honoured the First Lady with a chieftaincy title; and earlier this year, APGA’s Soludo did the same for the president himself.
The “dancing governor” of Osun keeps entertaining, and defections in Delta and Akwa Ibom only sweeten the optics.
But the president should not be deceived. Governors may influence structure — but not always the soul of the people. In 2023, Okowa was a sitting PDP governor and Atiku’s running mate. Guess who won Delta? Peter Obi, arms down.
Despite vote buying, alleged rigging, and all the irregularities our politics is known for, the people still showed their hand. PO – ‘’a man without structures’’ won over 50 percent of the Deltans. In the end, the power belongs not to those who dance with governors, but to those who walk with the people.
2027 may be the battle, but the real war is for trust — and no amount of party flags can substitute for results.
In 2023, Tinubu secured victory by winning three of Nigeria’s six geopolitical zones: the South West, North Central, and North West. Ironically, despite his vice president hailing from the North East, that zone gave him the cold shoulder.
Of the six North East states, Tinubu only won one — Borno, Shettima’s home base. The rest went to the opposition, particularly Atiku, who remains a formidable figure in that region.
Could this explain the coldness towards Shettima? Is the president now looking to the North Central — a region which, like the South East, has never produced a president or vice president — to balance the equation in 2027? Or perhaps, he’s eyeing a Northern Christian to neutralise religious concerns and broaden his base?
Whatever the case, Tinubu is not a sentimental politician. His decisions are driven by careful watchfulness and brutal strategy. As we’ve noted from the start — this is not friendship. It is political survival.
His pick in 2023 was not about affection; it was about arithmetic. And in 2027, he will do the math again. If “Ifa” points to Shettima, Jagaban will not blink before reaffirming him. But if new forces, new regions, or new alignments promise a better path, he’ll adjust swiftly.
His decision would also be determined by the posturing of the opposition forces- who are coming together under a proposed new party called – ADA – All Democratic Alliance. Most definitely, Tinubu would decide his running mate in consideration of who the opposition forces present – he would have a lot of tinkering to do though if they all come together as one. Either way, Tinubu is a realist, go getter and the opposition knows he is the master strategist.
This, perhaps, is why the presidency remains silent. No spokesperson has firmly denied the rumoured cracks. Instead, Tinubu continues to publicly acknowledge his vice, request his representation at some events, smiling through photo-ops and walking hand-in-hand, while privately keeping his cards close. In politics, silence is often where the real work happens.
If the opposition fields Atiku, Tinubu might double down on a North East figure. If it’s Obi, he may adjust again. Jagaban plays for keeps. And everyone knows he’s the ultimate strategist.
But while the elite hum “On your mandate we shall stand, Bola…” — a chorus that’s quickly becoming more powerful than the national anthem — ordinary Nigerians are singing a different tune. It sounds like: “Food no dey, my brother eh, water no dey.” And come 2027, that will be the song echoing through the polling booths — no matter how many governors defect or chieftaincy titles are shared.
‘’Nigeria jagajaga’’ — and that was in 2004, when we were still managing. One wonders what Eedris Abdulkareem would say now in 2025, with petrol close to ₦1,000, food out of reach, and hope shrinking by the day.
Whatever Tinubu decides, it is clear: this is not just about 2027. It’s about the legacy of a man who has always thought ten steps ahead. But this time, he’s not just playing against politicians. He’s playing against the hunger, anger, and weariness of a people who are watching, waiting — and singing.
By Dr Tolulope Ogunmuko.
_---_
#FeaturedPost