In what appears to be Nigeria’s most dramatic “return on investment” complaint yet, a man on Thursday stormed the All Progressives Congress (APC) national secretariat in Abuja with a message as blunt as it was unsettling: reward me or kill me. The protest, captured in a now-viral video, shows the visibly distressed man holding a placard and demanding recognition for what he described as his personal sacrifices during the party’s 2023 campaign. According to him, loyalty was not just emotional, it was financial, physical, and, ultimately, total. In a country where political support often comes with expectations, some spoken, many implied the man’s outcry reads like a tragic audit of misplaced trust. His claim that he sold his house to fund campaign efforts has not been independently verified, but the symbolism is hard to ignore: a citizen liquidating stability in exchange for promised political dividends. Observers at the scene watched as the protester oscillated between anger and ...
I recently sat with a self-declared philosopher, a man who’s never worn a collar, but wears clarity like a badge. He doesn't attend church anymore. Not out of rebellion, but out of exhaustion. “Modern altars,” he said, “feel more like political podiums. Spiritless spectacles. Gratification for the rich, degradation for the poor, the same poor who, ironically, built most of these churches brick by sacrificial brick.”
He looked at me the way prophets probably looked at priests in exile and asked:
“Do you think political leaders don’t have divine callings too? Are we so drunk on incense that we forget leadership isn’t limited to the pulpit?”
He went on half Socrates, half streetwise sage:
“Some pastors believe proximity to heaven makes them superior. But I’ve seen governors who fix roads, sponsor children to school, and build lives more faithfully than some preachers build churches.”
“Between the man with a microphone and the man with a mandate,” he said, “sometimes it’s the politician who answers destiny more honestly.”
I wanted to challenge him. But the pews are filled with boutique prophets in designer robes, and the offering baskets have grown heavier than their sermons.
He ended our conversation not with fire, but with calm:
“I'm not called to fight leaders. Jesus didn’t protest the Roman Empire, he carried his own cross in peace. So when Nigerians make it a full-time job to curse every leader, I check out. Some of them are more Christlike than the clergy.”
I left our meeting thinking: Maybe salvation isn’t always dressed in cassock. Maybe service wears a suit and tie too. And maybe the kingdom isn’t divided between saints and senators, it’s just waiting for integrity, wherever it shows up.

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