By Aare Amerijoye DOT.B
Every village has one. The man who arrives at every gathering before the food and leaves after the last plate, talking from the gate to the gate. Our ancestors had a name for him: Aláròọ́kà. But Ṣẹ́gun Ṣówùnmí has outgrown the village. He has gone global. He is now Aláròọ́kà Àgbáyé, the World Champion of Words Without Weight.
Let us begin with a simple exercise in memory, since memory is the one thing Ọ̀gbẹ́ni Ṣówùnmí hopes Nigerians have lost. Fortunately, newspapers do not suffer from his convenient amnesia.
In 2018, this same man stood up and told the PDP that Atiku Abubakar was the only aspirant who could win the presidency for the party. He went further. He called Bukola Saraki and Aminu Tambuwal “kindergartners” and asked how anyone could compare them with a Vice President of Atiku’s experience. In the 2023 cycle, standing before party faithful in Abẹ́òkúta, he swore: “I have checked front and back, and I know that Atiku means well.” He told them winning the election was the hard part, and that governing would be easy for Atiku. On Channels Television, he praised Atiku for showing up at debates and answering questions, while lashing Tinúbú for running away from them.
Now hear the same mouth today: Atiku is “the most unstable politician Nigeria has ever produced.”
Ọ̀gbẹ́ni, you checked front and back. Did you check with your eyes closed? Either you lied to Nigerians then, or you are lying to them now. There is no third door. Whichever one you choose, the sign above it reads the same: LIAR.
And watch the somersault. The man who mocked Saraki and Tambuwal as kindergartners has now enrolled in kindergarten himself, sitting at Bourdillon learning a fresh alphabet. In 2025 he discovered that Tinúbú is “smarter than his mates.” He marvelled that the President could answer questions without consulting notes, as though that were a miracle. He suddenly found that Tinúbú and Buhari were the most politically stable men in Nigeria. This is the same Tinúbú he once flogged on live television for dodging debates. Months before his conversion, he was already on social media begging Daniel Bwala to keep a space for him in the APC. A man who books his seat on the next bus before he gets off the current one cannot lecture anybody about stability.
Picture the scene. A tailor in Abẹ́òkúta, tape around his neck, sighs as Ṣówùnmí walks in. “Oga, which party colour this time?” Ṣówùnmí says, “Sew it reversible. Green outside, blue inside, and leave space for a new pocket. You never know.” The tailor has since stopped charging per outfit. He now charges per season.
Picture another. Ṣówùnmí wakes up, opens his window, wets his finger and holds it to the air. His wife asks, “What are you doing?” He says, “Checking my principles.” A weathervane giving lectures on standing still.
Then comes his grandest fallacy: that Ọbásanjọ́ “made Atiku a human that can even be considered.” In what sense, Ọ̀gbẹ́ni? Tell us in what sense.
Was it Ọbásanjọ́ who made Atiku a senior officer of the Nigeria Customs Service? Was it Ọbásanjọ́ who built the Peoples Democratic Movement, the most formidable political machine of the era, with men in every corner of this country? In 1993, while Ọbásanjọ́ was far from the political stage, it was Atiku who stepped down for MKO Abíọ́lá in the SDP primaries, a northerner clearing the road for a southerner. In January 1999, Atiku had already won the Adamawa governorship in his own right. He was a governor-elect with a national structure in his pocket. And Ọbásanjọ́? A man freshly released from Abacha’s prison, with a famous name, no machine, and a party he did not build.
Before settling on a running mate, Ọbásanjọ́ consulted many people. One of them was Tony Anenih, and here is the irony Ọ̀gbẹ́ni will not tell you: it was Atiku who brought Anenih into Ọbásanjọ́’s fold in the first place. Ọbásanjọ́ initially wanted nothing to do with him, dismissing him as an “Abacha man.” Even the counsellors around Ọbásanjọ́’s table were seated there by Atiku’s hand. Ọbásanjọ́ brought the uniform. Atiku brought the structure, the men, the money and the map. By my reckoning, seventy percent of what carried Ọbásanjọ́ into Aso Rock in 1999 came from Atiku and the PDM. So who made whom, Ọ̀gbẹ́ni?
And when Ọbásanjọ́ wanted to stay beyond his two terms, whose spine stood in the way of the third term agenda? Atiku’s. Baba may sulk today that picking Atiku was a mistake. History records that this “mistake” delivered him two terms and then stopped him from stealing a third. In 2018, the same Ọbásanjọ́ publicly endorsed Atiku for President. Ṣówùnmí was there, clapping loudest. Now he quotes Ọbásanjọ́’s grudge and buries Ọbásanjọ́’s blessing. That is not analysis. That is a man cutting a newspaper in half and reading only the part that pays.
So let us contrast the two men, since Ọ̀gbẹ́ni loves comparisons. Atiku: Customs chief, businessman, employer of thousands, founder of a university, leader of a national movement, governor-elect, two-term Vice President, defender of the constitution against tenure elongation. Ṣówùnmí: a spokesmanship given to him by Atiku, a microphone handed to him by Atiku, a national name borrowed from Atiku, and a chase for the Ògùn governorship ticket that ended in courtrooms and another man’s hands. Even his fame wears Atiku’s agbádá. Ọ̀gbẹ́ni boasts that “we clothed Atiku.” Brother, the thread, the cloth and the tailor’s fee were all Atiku’s. You were the mannequin.
And when that microphone stopped paying, he went shopping for a new one. He tells us Tinúbú personally invited him to Bourdillon during the Eid festivities. The town tells a different story. For a long time, Tinúbú himself kept him at arm’s length, the way a careful man keeps a stray dog that has bitten its last owner. It is said that only Ṣèyí Tinúbú’s intervention finally carried him into the father’s presence. A man admitted through the back door should not be giving lectures from the front pew.
And what did he carry into that room as his entrance fee? Not ideas. Not votes. Not structures. Only one empty boast: “I know a lot to attack Atiku with.” That was his CV. That was his manifesto. He sold himself not as a builder but as a demolition man for hire, a professional stone-thrower looking for a new kitchen to stone.
That is why he now tells us about who made whom, about battalions. He is not debating. He is auditioning. Every insult is a job application, every innuendo an invoice. But gibberish delivered with confidence is still gibberish. Trash wrapped in agbádá is still trash. You can perfume a refuse dump, but the flies will still find their way home.
So let his new paymasters take note, free of charge. This is a man whose loyalty lasts exactly as long as the soup. While the plate is full, he will sing your praise in every studio. The day the plate is empty, he will discover your “instability,” quote your enemies, and announce that he “made” you. He has done it before, he is doing it now, and he will do it again. Today it is Atiku’s turn to be insulted. Tomorrow, when the food stops, the same tongue will be sharpened for Bourdillon. A dog that eats the eggs of its master’s hen will never stop. It only changes compounds.
The Yorùbá say: ẹni tí ó bá ń sọ̀rọ̀ púpọ̀, irọ́ á pọ̀ níbẹ̀. Where words are many, lies are plenty. Aláròọ́kà Àgbáyé has spoken so much, on so many sides, that his own past statements now form an opposition party against him. If anybody wants to campaign for Atiku today, they need not write a single new line. They can simply replay Ṣówùnmí’s old interviews. He remains, against his will, Atiku’s most effective spokesman.
Finally, to his parting cry: “Atiku kọ́, we have died ni! Byeeee.” Ọ̀gbẹ́ni, nobody begged you to stay. The door you are slamming is one you have opened and closed so many times, the hinges have filed for retirement. Go well. But hear this clearly: I have made it my business. Every jab you throw, I will answer. Every innuendo you spew, I will return with receipts. Throw as many as you like. My pen does not get tired.
And when the wind changes again, as it surely will, please do not come knocking with “Ẹ̀gbọ́n, I was quoted out of context.” We have the tapes. We have the press releases. We have your face on the posters. History has a long memory, and Aláròọ́kà Àgbáyé has a very short tongue for truth.
Ire o. 🙏🏾
Ààrẹ Amerijoye DOT.B
Director General
The Narrative Force
