Stephanie Shaakaa
There was a time when the word governor carried weight and governors carried themselves with dignity.
The men elected in 1999, for all their faults, would never abandon their states just to line up at an airport and wave at a departing president. The men of the First and Second Republics, who truly won elections without leaning on presidential whims or the “magic” of electoral bodies, would have considered it beneath them. They commanded real followership, drew their legitimacy from the ballot, and would have laughed at the thought of waving at a president’s jet like secondary school prefects.
They owed their loyalty to the people, not to one man’s ego. That pride is gone.
Today’s governors? They have reduced themselves to cheerleaders in agbada. Nigeria bleeds, hospitals lack equipment, bandits overrun communities, hunger walks the streets but our leaders find dignity in playing airport ushers. They line up to wave when the president leaves, line up again when he returns, and some even sneak into advance teams abroad just to clap twice. Men entrusted with entire states, reduced to extras in a bad Nollywood movie.
The constitution calls them heads of federating units, yet they act like palace attendants in a monarchy. Federalism cannot thrive when governors behave like tenants waiting for the landlord’s approval. Instead of standing tall for their people, they polish their agbadas, perfect their smiles, and compete for camera angles at the tarmac.
Ruben Abati was right, if they have no work to do, they should return to their states.
Could you imagine Awolowo abandoning the Western Region to wave at a departing president? Could you imagine Jakande, Mbakwe, or even the 1999 set of governors polishing their agbadas for a send-off at the tarmac? Impossible. They built schools, opened universities, revived industries. They measured loyalty by service to their people, not by how many times they clapped for a presidential jet.
Today’s governors lack that pride because their thrones were built on fragile mandates, some by electoral “magic” rather than genuine legitimacy. That is why they kneel so quickly. That is why they mistake sycophancy for survival. The tragedy is that while they clap in Abuja, their states collapse, schools without teachers, hospitals without drugs, farms abandoned to insecurity.
Nigeria cannot rise with leaders who desert their people for photo-ops. Leaders who mistake waving for working. Officials who smile at the runway while their citizens starve.
Over 20 million Nigerian children are out of school, according to UNICEF, yet governors find time to polish agbadas and rehearse applause at the tarmac.
This is sycophancy dressed in designer fabric.
We have entered an era where loyalty is measured not by service but by presence – who shows up to wave, who claps the loudest. Governors who should be the pillars of federalism have reduced themselves to presidential errand boys. Even in their own positions, they are bootlickers.
Standards have collapsed so completely that we treat this absurdity as normal. But remember Jakande. Remember Mbakwe. Remember Abubakar Rimi, Remember the early governors of 1999. They had their own mandate, their own legitimacy, their own pride. They knew leadership was measured in schools built, roads constructed, industries revived not in applause at the airport.
And so the haunting question remains. Can Nigeria rise with leaders like this? Leaders who desert their people to serve one man’s ego? Leaders who clap while the country burns?
Until Nigerians demand better, this nation will remain trapped in a tragic theatre of sycophancy where the people burn, and their governors grin at the smoke.
Vanguard
