Power and the soft politics of spousal care

In the early years of Nigeria’s return to civil rule, when Bola Ahmed Tinubu was governor of Lagos State, his wife, Oluremi Tinubu, once offered a revealing aside during an interview. Responding to a question about her husband, she said with a mix of humour and resignation, “You journalists see my husband more than me.” It was an innocent remark at the time, reflecting the consuming nature of public office and the distance it often creates between leaders and their families.

About three decades later, that statement deserves to be revisited, and this time with urgency rather than nostalgia. Now that Tinubu is president and visibly weighed down by age, the logic should have changed. His wife should no longer be at the fringe of his public life, nor should his care and presentation be left almost entirely to appointed aides, whose interests are rarely aligned with dignity, restraint, or long-term national interests.

Tinubu’s recent state visit to Turkey brought this issue into sharp but uncomfortable focus.

On paper, the visit was meant to be routine and productive. President Tinubu was hosted in Ankara by President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, with discussions covering trade, defence cooperation, energy, education, media exchange, and security. Both governments announced memoranda of understanding, and Turkey expressed interest in expanding bilateral trade toward a projected $5 billion.

Yet, diplomacy is not merely transactional but performative, as it relies as much on persons, bearing, and symbolism as on signed documents. What dominated public discourse was not the agreement but President Tinubu himself (his step, posture, visible disorientation, and evident discomfort). Video footage showing him stumbling during ceremonial moments and needing assistance to steady himself unsettled even sympathetic observers.

Official explanations blamed uneven surfaces and minor missteps. But to many Nigerians, the deeper issue was unmistakable. The president looked frail, tentative, and overwhelmed by the demands of his office and appeared less like a confident head of state and more like an elderly man struggling through obligations that had become physically exacting.

There is nothing shameful about ageing. Old age is a privilege denied to many and not a moral failing, nor should it be mocked. Indeed, some elderly leaders retain remarkable composure, elegance, and authority well into advanced years. Age alone does not strip people of polish or presence.

This is what makes President Tinubu’s public awkwardness so pathetic. If you could remember, this same Tinubu, as governor, then campaigned with phrases meant to evoke cosmopolitan ease, urban sophistication, and familiarity with elite global spaces. But the visit to Ankara revealed none of that. Instead, he looked uncomfortable in his clothes, uncertain in his movements, and ill-prepared for the symbolic demands of the presidency.

The now-infamous oversized coat he wore was not merely a fashion mishap; it was like a man seemingly drowning inside a role that had outgrown his physical capacity, as bearing, posture, and self-awareness matter in leadership. They communicate authority, or its absence, before a word is spoken.

This is where the role of Oluremi Tinubu becomes unavoidable. In long marriages, especially those forged long before power arrived, spouses often play crucial, informal roles that no adviser can replicate. A wife sees what aides cannot or will not say. She notices decline early and cares about dignity in a way political staff rarely do.

Many of the people surrounding a president are invested in access, patronage, and proximity to power. They will not tell him his suit looks ridiculous or that his frailty is becoming alarming. A spouse, however, has a stake in the game, a personal stake in how her husband is seen, remembered, and judged.

Historically, this kind of spousal labour matters. Consider the contrast with the United States under Joe Biden. Biden’s age-related stumbles, verbal slips, and step issues were widely documented. Yet one constant was the visible attentiveness of Jill Biden, his wife. She hovered protectively, often guiding him physically, emotionally, and symbolically. While no one can say how much she curated his wardrobe or filtered his appearances, reporting consistently highlighted her vigilance as his vulnerabilities grew.

This is not a misnomer but a reality, as long marriages evolve into pragmatic partnerships where care responsibilities shift according to need. Expecting a spouse to help manage appearance or wellbeing is no more oppressive than expecting the other spouse to manage finances, schedules, or health routines when circumstances demand it.

Tinubu’s Turkey appearance was not an isolated embarrassment. His history with Western attire is riddled with similar missteps: oversized suits, poor coordination, and an air of neglect that is baffling for a man of immense resources and access. With Nigeria’s finest tailors and stylists at his disposal, why does he so often look unkempt?

The absence of his wife at moments when he appears most vulnerable only deepens the puzzle. Was she in Nigeria during the visit? If so, why? No one should be more invested in protecting Tinubu from public self-humiliation than the woman who has shared his life for decades.

Leadership requires stamina, alertness, and sustained engagement. Nigeria is facing economic pain, insecurity, and institutional strain. A president who looks physically diminished and mentally strained raises legitimate questions about governance.

These anxieties are compounded by Tinubu’s travel patterns. Reports that he did not immediately return to Nigeria after Turkey fed a public perception that he governs Nigeria occasionally from abroad. Nigerians joke about him being a French resident or ambassador. Exaggerated or not, such narratives thrive in the absence of transparency.

Unlike former President Muhammadu Buhari, who formally transferred power to his vice president during medical trips in his first term, Tinubu has not been known to do so. This system of administration fuels speculation. Who governs when he is away, and under what authority?

This argument is not a call for cruelty but a plea for honesty and responsibility. Nigerians deserve clarity about the physical and mental readiness of their president. They deserve leadership that reassures rather than unsettles.

Age may be inevitable, and decline may come uninvited, but how these realities are managed through care, transparency, and support is a choice. At this stage of Tinubu’s life and presidency, that responsibility cannot be outsourced entirely to aides and handlers. It must include the person who knows him best and who should care most deeply about how history remembers him.

As Ashake, a Nigerian musical artist, sang, “Lonely at the top”. We know power isolates, but marriage, at its best, humanises. If Tinubu is to finish his tenure with dignity, and if Nigeria is to be spared further embarrassment on the global stage, then the quiet, unglamorous politics of spousal care may matter more now than any memorandum of understanding signed abroad.

(This article is not intended to insult anyone, but we see what we have to do and do it rightly, and it is a follow-up to last week’s article.)