I began to reflect on the politicians I had supported. I remembered the ones I had fought for, cried for, and lost sleep over. None of them remembered me when they got to power. Not even a thank-you message. Not even a call to check on my wellbeing… They moved on. They upgraded their lives. But the supporters? They remained where they were — forgotten, used, and dumped… That was when I made a decision.
There was a time in my life when I was deeply in love with politics. I was so consumed by it that I practically lived and breathed political discussions. I followed politicians everywhere, attended rallies, and stood by them like a loyal disciple. I was that person you would always find in the company of a politician, smiling, cheering, and defending him with all my heart. I argued with friends, lost relationships, and even quarrelled with family members — just because they supported the opposition. My loyalty was fiery. I believed in the vision and mission of my preferred candidates, and I defended them like my life depended on it. I saw politics as a game of ideas and loyalty, where passion, dreams, and patriotism should lead.
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But then, something happened — something that changed my perspective forever.
I began to notice a pattern. A disturbing one.
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I realised that the politicians I so dearly supported had one thing in common — they never joked with their immediate families. Once the elections were won, the dynamics changed overnight. Their wives were no longer just wives; they instantly transformed into “Her Excellency,” surrounded by sirens and security personnel. Their children, who once played freely with others, suddenly became “big boys” and “big ladies,” cruising in luxury cars and living in mansions.
They formed a new circle — of power, privilege, and prestige. Accessing them became nearly impossible thereafter. You’d need to book appointments weeks in advance or become a sycophant, a bootlicker, always singing their praises, even when they failed the people.
Unless you are like our friend from Kogi State — who polished his boss’ shoes with his tongue, when his “oga,” the illustrious son of Ilorin, held sway. You wouldn’t even get a response to your text message.
I had to pause. I had to borrow myself some sense, as we say in Nigeria.
I asked myself: What is the true purpose of politics in Nigeria? Why do people truly join politics?
After observing, researching, and thinking deeply, I came up with four key reasons:
1. Money – Politics in Nigeria is one of the fastest routes to sudden wealth.
2. Power – To control others, influence systems, and dominate conversations.
3. Popularity – To become a household name, at least for the duration of your tenure.
4. Prestige – To feel and act like a “big man” for eight years or more.
That’s the bitter truth. And that’s why many people are obsessed with politics.
In reality, for most politicians, it’s never about the people. It’s never really about service or nation-building. It’s about self. It’s about “me, my wife, and my children.”
I began to reflect on the politicians I had supported. I remembered the ones I had fought for, cried for, and lost sleep over. None of them remembered me when they got to power. Not even a thank-you message. Not even a call to check on my wellbeing.
They moved on. They upgraded their lives. But the supporters? They remained where they were — forgotten, used, and dumped.
That was when I made a decision. I decided to stop attaching my emotions to politics. I chose to observe from a distance and vote wisely — not blindly. I started asking deeper questions, like: “What has this candidate done in their community?” “How have they treated people when they had a little power?”
Over time, I realised that most politicians in Africa share a common trait — selfishness. Extreme, unapologetic selfishness. Many see politics as a jackpot, a business venture, not a call to serve.
And who suffers the most? The followers. The loyalists. The street soldiers who carry placards and chant slogans. The people who fight on social media, risking their reputations for leaders who won’t remember their names once they win.
In Nigeria, politics is a family business. The earlier the followers realise this, the better for them. Until we understand this bitter truth, the cycle of disappointment will continue.
But we can choose differently. We can learn. We can evolve.
We must stop worshipping politicians. We must stop seeing them as gods. They are not divine; they are human — flawed, ambitious, and often self-serving.
Let us support policies, not personalities. Let us champion ideas, not individuals. Let us invest our loyalty in principles, not propaganda.
May God bless every Nigerian who still believes in a better nation. May He touch the hearts of our politicians to genuinely serve the people. And may Allah open the eyes, minds, and hearts of the followers to understand their worth — and stop allowing themselves to be used like disposable tools.
Our nation will only rise when the followers become wiser than the leaders.
Ire ooo.
Wole Arisekola writes from Ibadan.
