From Dancing While Nigeria Drowns
In Nigeria, salvation comes in sachets—and not just the pure water type. Here, you can receive divine breakthrough in a branded nylon bag containing two cups of rice, one sachet of tomato paste, half a bar of soap, and a strategically printed face of your local government chairman smiling like he’s Jesus in Aba-made Ankara.
Welcome, brethren, to the holy gospel of Stomach Infrastructure.
Gone are the days when politics was about ideology, or governance about competence. In the current dispensation, it’s not what you believe—it’s what you chop. Politics has become a feeding program, and the electorate? Hungry disciples at the feet of budgetary loaves and fishes.
If Jesus fed five thousand with two fishes, our politicians feed five million with one lie.
You see, the average Nigerian voter is now both believer and beggar. He doesn’t ask for roads or schools—he just wants “something to hold.” Call it suya, call it recharge card, call it small contract. We no longer vote for leaders, we audition for sugar daddies in agbada.
And like every good church, this gospel has its pulpit; the political rally.
Ah, the Nigerian rally—where promises rain like confetti and sense evaporates like kerosene in harmattan. A pastor-politician mounts the stage, adjusts his designer kaftan, holds the mic like a crusade prophet, and shouts: “Are you ready for change?” And the crowd—tired, dusty, underpaid—roars: “Yes o!”
Meanwhile, one man is distributing bread. Another is sharing envelopes. A third is speaking in tongues—sponsored tongues. Because when politicians campaign, it’s not for votes, it’s for ovation. The more you scream, the more your stomach might smile.
Read also: The Tribe Before The Truth—Part 5
And let’s not forget the real prophets of this gospel: the pastors.
In the holy alliance of pulpits and politics, Nigeria has produced a special breed of cleric. They wear cassocks by day and camouflage at night. They lay hands on governors, anoint ballot boxes, and call campaign funds “seed offering.”
One prominent man of God recently declared that voting for a certain candidate would open “heaven’s gates” for the nation. Which gate, exactly? The one to CBN vaults?
Church altars have become PR centers. The same prophet who sees your future husband can’t seem to see the looting happening behind his prayer partner’s office. They speak in riddles, sow in dollars, and always have a revelation the week before elections.
“If you touch my anointed,” they warn, “Nigeria will scatter.”
Newsflash, Daddy GO: Nigeria already don scatter.
On the flip side, politicians now quote scripture better than theologians. They enter churches mid-service, drop ₦50 million “thanksgiving” in brown envelopes, and read Psalms like manifestos. Suddenly, the man who hasn’t entered a church since his naming ceremony is now leading praise and worship with tears in his eyes and fraud in his pocket.
It’s not governance—it’s gospel concert.
In mosques, imams pray for leaders who’ve stolen the hajj fund. On crusade grounds, bishops endorse senators whose only achievement is building a toilet with ₦200 million. We’re no longer separating church and state—we’re remixing both into one unholy mixtape.
And the people? They play along. Because hunger has no denomination. A Muslim will vote for a Christian if there’s enough rice. A Pentecostal will forget doctrine if the honorarium is fat. In the land of suffering, every man is ecumenical.
This is how elections are won—not with ideas, but with Indomie. Not with vision, but with provision. Not with manifesto, but Maggi cube.
Stomach Infrastructure is now a national doctrine. The electorate has become Pavlov’s dog—salivating at every political jingle, wagging tails at the sound of sirens, hoping that this time, this man, this brand of lies will come with small steady contract and maybe—just maybe—constant light.
But it never comes. Because once they enter office, the only infrastructure they invest in is their belly. They upgrade from sachet water to Perrier. From suya to steak. From roadside moin-moin to Michelin-star menus in Dubai.
The people are left behind—with crumbs and campaign posters doubling as window shades.
So next time they come with rice and revival, remember this sermon: They are not feeding you because they love you. They are feeding you because they need your hunger to win.
Professor MarkAnthony Ujunwa Nze is a distinguished Nigerian-born investigative journalist, public intellectual, and global governance analyst, whose work spans critical intersections of media, law, and policy. His expertise extends across strategic management, leadership, and international business law, where he brings a nuanced understanding of institutional dynamics, cross-border legal frameworks, and executive decision-making in complex global environments.
Currently based in New York, Professor Nze serves as a full tenured professor at the New York Centre for Advanced Research. There, he spearheads interdisciplinary research at the forefront of governance innovation, corporate strategy, and geopolitical risk. Widely respected for his intellectual rigor and principled advocacy, he remains a vital voice in shaping ethical leadership and sustainable governance across emerging and established democracies.