There is something profoundly amusing about the Nigerian government’s approach to palliatives, a sort of macabre stand-up comedy with Nigerians as the audience, except that the joke’s punchline comes at their expense.
It reminds one of the late President Mugabe of Zimbabwe; the man had an indomitable knack for sardonically witty vibes, which come across as insensitive commentaries on the prevailing realities in his impoverished domain.
If only he had the same store of ‘wisdom’ for governance and a functional radar to read the times and seasons, but that is a story for another day.
When we look at the recent handling of ‘palliative packages’ by the government, we are reminded that leadership in Nigeria has regrettably often been a circus, with the people watching from the sidelines as their leaders perform tragic feats of incompetence and sheer mockery.
For instance, the now-infamous comment by the Senate President, Godswill Akpabio, whose ‘slip of tongue’ revealed more than Nigerians bargained for.
In his infinite wisdom, Akpabio advised Nigerians to ‘go to protest while we sit here and enjoy’ as if the act of protest in itself would provide sustenance, restore their dignity, or ease the hardship they face daily.
But the true satire lies in his next ‘gem of wisdom’: he advised Nigerians to ‘help themselves to food wherever they find it.’
There’s a rich irony here. A high-ranking official suggested that, in the face of poverty and starvation induced by the harsh economic ‘ reforms’ of a government largely perceived by the suffering masses as insensitive, citizens should resort to something akin to legalised looting or a scavenger hunt for survival.
Never mind that this advice came in the context of a government that has consistently failed to address the basic needs of its people.
Let’s unpack this: the Nigerian government or its trusted officials, in their characteristic largesse, would rather the citizens play hide-and-seek with food than establish structures to ensure sustainable access to it. Instead of the state acknowledging its duty to alleviate poverty and provide for its citizens, they are mockingly nudged towards vigilantism—because why not?
In Akpabio’s Nigeria and perhaps most others of his class, the line between governance and absurdity is as thin as his patience for the cries of the hungry.
Read also: Rice palliatives: Does it really help the poor?
Nyesom Wike, the minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), recent actions and utterances have turned the gritty discourse on economic and political reforms into a high-society cocktail party!
In a moment that would forever have been etched in the annals of ‘Did he really just say that?’ Had Nigerians not been ‘blessed’ with such regrettably short memories, Wike proudly declared that he enjoyed a daily dose of fine whisky—a vintage bottle of 1944 no less—at 9 am in the morning.
Picture this: the minister of the capital of a country where a majority of the population struggles to afford food items is sipping on a blend probably older than most of the people suffering under the policies of the government he serves at breakfast, and you would be forgiven for wondering how much empathy for the downtrodden could drip from such a mind fuzzed with alcoholic fumes so early in the day.
This is how Nigerian leaders prioritise their responsibilities. While citizens queue at petrol stations, agonise over soaring food prices without relief in sight, and scramble for palliative crumbs, Wike indulges in a whisky as old as WW2, and remorselessly mocks us with it.
To add ‘salt’ to injury, these are the same leaders who implore us (tongue-in-cheek) to be patient while they work out comedic ‘reforms’ supposedly to uplift the nation from its economic malaise.
Perhaps their definition of economic revival includes indulging in rare, aged whisky because, clearly, that is the only thing they have managed to elevate in recent times.
The tragicomedy here is that Wike’s whisky indulgence is not just about a man and his position-induced expensive taste; it is a metaphor for the entire government’s indifference towards the plight of its people.
For Wike and his peers, the idea of sacrifice and service to the people is as foreign as the overpriced liquor they consume for breakfast.
Add the flawed economics of presidential jets and armoured jeeps for a bunch of men and women who already possess multi-car garages with exotic ‘ species’, and you arrive at the height of the disconnect between the ruling class and poor Nigerians.
It is not just that they live in a different economic reality; they exist in a completely different moral universe.
Back to these so-called palliatives, the government’s band-aid for the bullet wound! Palliatives are meant to cushion the effects of economic hardship, but in Nigeria, the term has become a punchline, a symbol of governmental inefficiency and insensitivity.
Remember the post-COVID-19 lockdown when warehouses stocked full of palliatives were discovered across the country, long after they should have been distributed? You wonder, were these items hidden by our leaders, like Easter eggs, for hungry Nigerians to find?
Has our leadership mastered the art of distraction rather than addressing the root causes of inflation and its attendant effects? Akpabio’s advice for Nigerians to ‘help’ themselves is not just a cheap gaffe—it’s the entire policy summed up in one sentence: the government will not help you, so help yourselves!
The palliatives, when they do arrive, are contemptuously too inconsequential to make any real impact, but don’t worry, while you wait for the next batch of Derica cup of rice and/or ‘koko’ Ijebu garri, our leaders will have received their batch of foreign vintage whisky to wash down their highlife and be able to offer you wisdom on how best to survive their neglect.
The government’s approach to governance is reminiscent of a bad tongue-in-cheek reality show. The leaders are performing, but the performance is grotesque and tone-deaf.
Nmeribe writes from Lagos, [email protected]
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