There are at least eight people in your posse, each giving you a false sense of importance. Some struggle to carry your bag, others your phone, and some even attempt to carry you. They stand behind you, clear paths ahead of you, and remove any obstacles in your way. One of our greatest dreads should be attending an event where the security detail of a top official treats everyone in the pathway of their “Oga” or “Madam” as though they’re mere obstructions. A push, a shove, and if you don’t move quickly enough, you might find yourself in a ditch or flat on the floor. If it weren’t serious, and people weren’t getting hurt, it might even be amusing.
These aides often become terrors, elevating their bosses to the status of deities. My concern is that the bosses begin to buy into this image, actually believing themselves to be a higher breed. It’s a troubling state of affairs.
Holding a position of authority in Nigeria is undoubtedly prestigious. It signifies that political and state structures have acknowledged your talent or political influence. Whatever the case, it’s essential to remain discerning, humble, and respectful. The position you hold is a trust on behalf of the nation’s citizens. Nowhere does it say you should trample over the very people who either elected you or whom you are meant to serve? Those in these positions must exercise discernment and caution. Too often, power-hungry aides act inappropriately, pushing, shoving, and speaking out of turn. They fail to advise properly and often lead their bosses into convoluted situations that are hard to fix.
Years ago, I attended my usual 10 a.m. Sunday Mass. Strolling ahead of my family, I noticed a serving minister. Our eyes met, and I felt it would be rude not to greet him. So, in my usual manner, I approached him with a warm smile. I knew him, and he knew me, but even if we hadn’t known each other, I would still have said hello. As I walked forward, I suddenly felt a strong nudge from behind. Turning around, I saw a security officer standing resolutely behind me. Before I could react, two more security personnel appeared, blocking my path. Before things escalated, I gathered what dignity I had left and turned back. Even in church? It’s always amusing when we arrive at church, and despite church security waving us to park outside designated areas, my fellow Nigerians in the “Oga at the top” department insist on parking right at the church gate or even getting dropped off against the church security’s instructions.
My spouse would always laugh heartily as we walked past these individuals who must be dropped at the gate, no matter the instructions. “They have come to arrest God,” he’d say with a chuckle. These individuals often arrive with armed police escorts. Arrest God? It’s remarkable. Let’s return to the minister whose aides had tried to humiliate me. Head held high, I walked away. I heard him call my name, but I ignored him. The damage was done. I was under no obligation to greet him. The next day, to my surprise, he sent a heartfelt apology.
These days, former authority figures often appear in public with minimal, if any, security presence. Many have only one or two people accompanying them, if at all. Years ago, the American musician MC Hammer filed for bankruptcy, as some high-profile musicians do. He had fifteen bodyguards, a chef, a personal assistant, a makeup artist, two hairstylists, multiple drivers, domestic staff, and a cadre of lawyers. This extravagant lifestyle was unsustainable, and once he declared bankruptcy, all these people, who had been thriving off him, vanished.
This big man/big woman syndrome has seeped so deeply into our social fabric that it has become mainstream across all sectors. The best advice is to stay humble, remain yourself, and keep your entourage to a minimum. When it’s all over, you won’t be left dealing with anxiety or depression. Once retired, who needs four drivers and three cooks? When you’re no longer in office, you must cope with life as it is. Your best approach is to show kindness and avoid overindulgence.
As an event director for high-profile gatherings, I constantly deal with people demanding recognition, and it can turn ugly. We weren’t born with these positions. Yet, once protocol recognitions are over, some individuals still insist on personal acknowledgement, prolonging the event unnecessarily. Cards are handed to me: “The DG of so-and-so is represented by his PA. Please recognize him.” The Special Assistant to the Special Assistant is represented by his assistant. This can get absurd.
As a young Master of Ceremony in Makurdi, where my broadcast career began, a senior banker once arrived very late to an event, after the governor had already arrived. She insisted on being acknowledged. Since we had moved past introductions, I used my discretion to leave it alone. She didn’t speak to me for a year.
Why are we so obsessed with this big man/big woman syndrome? Some of our youth now believe that without wads of cash, an oversized house, and an unmanageable luxury car, one is a “nobody.” This mentality drives crime. As 50 Cent once put it, “Get rich or die trying.” It’s deeply troubling.
Hard work, contentment, and kindness should be enough. Our values, needs, and aspirations must be re-examined.
I rest my case.
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