News Editor
By Baba Ali Kellu
The All Peoples Congress (APC) recently held its national convention—a colorful, well-orchestrated affair that showcased the pageantry of a ruling party preparing for the 2027 general elections. The banners were bright, the speeches were confident, and the mood was celebratory. Congratulations are due for a successful event.
But now that the music has faded and the delegates have returned to their constituencies, it is time to step out of the convention hall and onto the streets of Nigeria. For while the party celebrated, the nation groaned.
We write this not as adversaries, but as citizens who voted with hope and have since been left to grapple with despair. This is a reminder of promises made, and a gentle but urgent plea to confront a reality that, if left unchecked, threatens to push our beloved country toward a precipice from which it may be difficult to return.
When President Bola Ahmed Tinubu assumed office, he made a commitment that resonated with every Nigerian—from the smallest trader in Aba to the largest manufacturer in Lagos. He promised that within four years, Nigerians would enjoy uninterrupted electricity.
Today, the facts speak louder than the promise.
Since this administration began, electricity tariffs have increased by a staggering 240%. Yet, in that same period, the national grid has collapsed several times, unprecedentedly. Each collapse plunges millions of homes, hospitals, and small businesses into sudden darkness. The Band A–E classification system, designed to bring clarity, has instead become a symbol of failure. Over 90 million Nigerians remain without any connection to the grid, while those deemed “lucky” receive a meager four to six hours of power daily.
In our rural communities—home to over 50 million families—the promise of electricity remains a distant dream. They remain entirely off the grid, relying on flashlights and the kindness of neighbors with small generators.
After thirty-four months, there has been no transformative reform in the power sector. There is no visible roadmap, no palpable sense of urgency. Nigerians are still queuing at mobile charging kiosks, spending hundreds of thousands of naira monthly on fuel for generators, and wondering when a promise made with such fanfare will be kept
The second promise was security. The assurance was that no Nigerian would live in fear, and that the territorial integrity and safety of every citizen would be guaranteed.
Today, it is difficult to name a single geopolitical zone entirely free of security flashpoints. From the banditry in the North-West to the separatist tensions in the South-East, from the kidnapping crises along major highways to the lingering insurgency in the North-East, the state’s capacity to protect lives and property is being severely tested. Only a handful of our thirty-six states can claim relative safety.
This is not merely a security challenge; it is the clearest indicator of a state drifting toward fragility. When citizens begin to lose confidence in the state’s ability to protect them, they turn to self-help. And when they turn to self-help, the social contract begins to fray. This is precisely how nations slide toward disorder.
On the economy, the administration inherited challenges, but the response has only deepened the crisis. The standard of living has not improved—it has collapsed. Inflation has eroded purchasing power. Businesses are closing. Families that once ate three meals a day now count every grain of rice.
This is not the outcome of unavoidable reforms alone. It is the result of a governance style that has prioritized structural adjustments without the necessary safety nets. The people have been asked to sacrifice, but they have not seen what their sacrifice is buying.
Across the country, infrastructure remains in a state of decay. Roads that once connected major commercial hubs have become death traps. Public institutions are crumbling. The only exception appears to be Lagos—a city that continues to develop, but whose progress starkly highlights the stagnation everywhere else.
Compounding this is a troubling perception that has taken root among the populace: that appointments to critical positions are increasingly influenced by ethnic and regional considerations rather than merit. Whether this perception is accurate or not, its persistence deepens public distrust. In a nation as diverse as Nigeria, governance must be seen to reflect that diversity fairly. When it does not, the bonds of national unity weaken.
Perhaps most distressing is the nature of the inner circle that now surrounds the presidency. Nigerians have observed with growing concern the appointment of individuals known more for verbal aggression than for competence. There is a rising sense that this administration has become kakistocratic—a government run by those perceived as the least qualified, where cruelty, dishonesty, and corruption appear to be the unwritten qualifications for service.
We say this with regret, but we say it because silence would be complicity. Nigerians are watching. Nigerians are feeling the weight of these choices. And Nigerians are deeply disappointed.
Herein lies the gravest danger. When a government fails to deliver on its most basic promises—electricity, security, economic stability—it does not merely lose an election. It risks losing legitimacy. And when legitimacy erodes, the masses eventually rebel. Not always with violence, but certainly with withdrawal: withdrawal of trust, withdrawal of cooperation, and ultimately, withdrawal of consent.
We are not there yet. But if the indicators are ignored, the path ahead is clear. A state that cannot light a single home, cannot secure a single highway, and cannot feed its people is a state inviting its own fracture.
Mr. President, your party’s convention was colorful and successful. But a convention does not govern a country. Campaign promises do not power a single light bulb. Appointments do not deter a single kidnapper.
Nigerians are not asking for miracles. They are asking for the basics: light, safety, and a chance to live with dignity. They are asking for leadership that is humble enough to admit where it has fallen short and courageous enough to change course.
Your re-election will depend entirely on the wonders you can perform between now and the general election. But more importantly, the survival of our nation depends on it.
The glitter of the convention will soon fade. But the grit of daily Nigerian life remains. It is time to step out of the celebration and into the reality of a nation waiting—still waiting—for its government to work.
We remain hopeful. But hope, without action, is merely waiting for a disaster.
