Eleyes (witches) should not win in a fight against Abija
By Bashir Banjoko
In most Hollywood blockbusters, there’s an unwritten rule: good triumphs over evil, heroes prevail, and villains face justice. The audience leaves satisfied, believing in moral order. But what happens when you’re watching a movie where that comforting formula is turned on its head? What if the narrative we’re living through in Nigeria seems to be one where the antagonists have not only escaped punishment but appear to be writing the script?
For decades, Nigeria’s story has unfolded like a political thriller that consistently defies audience expectations. The “bad guys” – corrupt politicians, embezzlers of public funds, architects of poverty, and enforcers of inequality – seem not only to avoid consequences but frequently emerge as celebrated figures in our national discourse.
I watched with disgust how people were trying to outdo each other to celebrate IBB – the man known to have not only implemented the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP) – one major policy responsible for causing irreparable damage to the Nigerian economy and institutionalizing corruption in the country but also annulled the only freest and fairest election in the history of the country. A military dictator that should have been punished for being part of coups has now raised billions for a ghost presidential library. I don’t know who elected him for him to deserve a presidential library!
The current scenario unfolding in the senate is another sad example. A serving senator has made an allegation of sexual harassment against the senate president and what did she get in return – suspension from the senate that is against the law of the land, a failed recall attempt and efforts to stifle her from visiting her constituency. This was a woman that the then governor, Yahya Bello (who is now doing cat and mouse with the EFCC, by the way) cut a major road that leads to her community to prevent her and INEC from taking part in the last election. That effort failed and she even had to reclaim her mandate in the courts! No one has been punished for the wanton destruction of public road by the former governor and his accomplices.
Consider our broader political landscape. Those who loot billions walk freely, sometimes receiving chieftaincy titles and front-row seats at national events. Officials caught in brazen corruption scandals mysteriously see their cases stall in courts or dissolve entirely. Meanwhile, petty thieves stealing out of hunger languish in overcrowded prisons without trial.
The Nigerian script seems particularly perverse: those who speak truth to power become villains, while those who impoverish millions through policy failures and direct theft are rewarded with higher offices and greater influence. Our anti-corruption agencies make dramatic arrests that generate headlines but rarely produce convictions of the politically connected.
Educational institutions crumble while children of the elite study abroad. Hospitals deteriorate as officials seek medical treatment in foreign countries. Infrastructure decays while funds allocated for development disappear into private accounts. The “bad guys” in this narrative aren’t failing – they’re flourishing.
What makes this reality particularly jarring is that it unfolds in plain sight. Unlike a carefully plotted thriller with hidden motivations, Nigeria’s story plays out transparently: the embezzlement, the nepotism, the abuse of power – all documented, reported, discussed, yet seemingly impossible to address. The audience (Nigerian citizens) watches helplessly as the antagonists rewrite the rules of engagement.
Is there hope for a plot twist? Perhaps. Every compelling story needs conflict, struggle, and the possibility of redemption. Nigeria’s youth movements, civil society organizations, independent journalists, and ethical public servants represent counter-forces in this narrative. They push against the prevailing script, demanding accountability and justice.
The question isn’t whether the “bad guys” have won – it’s whether their victory is permanent or merely the midpoint of a longer, more complex story. History shows that no corrupt system sustains itself indefinitely. Either reform emerges from within, or pressure builds until transformation becomes inevitable.
What role do ordinary Nigerians play in this unfolding drama? Are we merely spectators, or can we influence the direction of the plot? The power of collective action – through voting, civic engagement, and holding leaders accountable – might yet introduce unexpected developments to this seemingly predictable story.
Nigeria’s movie isn’t over. The credits haven’t rolled. While the antagonists may be enjoying their moment of dominance, the final scenes remain unwritten. The question is whether enough Nigerians are willing to become protagonists in their national story rather than passive viewers of a tragedy.
Perhaps the most important insight is recognizing that this isn’t actually a movie at all – it’s real life with real consequences. And unlike cinema, we don’t have the luxury of walking out of the theater when the narrative disappoints us. We must either accept the current script or work tirelessly to rewrite it.
Bashir Banjoko writes from Ikorodu
