Understanding real weight of leading present-day Nigeria

By Idowu Ephraim Faleye

Sometimes, a country reaches a point where emotions run ahead of reasoning—where frustration begins to look like a compass, and anger starts sounding like wisdom.

Nigeria is at that point. People are hurting, people are tired, people are overwhelmed, and people want quick answers.

And in moments like this, the loudest voices often become the most influential—not necessarily the most truthful. That is why we hear some people shouting that Tinubu should resign, as if changing the driver automatically changes the condition of the road.

But before we let frustration push us into decisions that can burn the whole house down, we must pause, breathe, and ask ourselves a painful but necessary question: If Tinubu steps aside today, who exactly is adequately prepared and capable enough to carry the weight that is crushing this country from every direction?

Nigeria is not a nation with ordinary problems. It is a nation with many layers of wounds—old wounds that never healed, new wounds that keep opening, and invisible wounds that show their pain through economic hardship, insecurity, ethnic suspicion, and political bitterness.

We are dealing with insurgency in the North East, banditry in the North West, kidnapping in the North Central, separatist tensions in the South East, oil mafias in the Niger Delta, forex cartels in Lagos and Abuja, religious power blocs, Fulani oligarchy politics, a polarized military, public-service sabotage, entrenched corruption, foreign interference, pressure from neighboring countries, and global geopolitical forces that see Nigeria as a tool, not a partner.

This is not a country one governs with classroom formulas or sweet speeches. It is a country that requires depth, strategic courage, emotional stamina, political intelligence, and a network strong enough to bend the iron bars of the system.

That is why the call for resignation—although understandable from a place of suffering—must be viewed with caution. Resignation is not just about removing a leader; it is about opening the door of uncertainty. And uncertainty is something Nigeria cannot afford right now.

The Yoruba have a saying: “Gbogbo òyà ló máa n pè ara ẹ ní òdù Òyà.” Every grasscutter thinks it is mighty until it enters the real forest. In other words, everybody thinks they can perform better than the incumbent when they are outside the arena. Criticism is easy; leadership is war.

This is where the Parable of the Cracked Wall becomes painfully relevant.

In the ancient city of Niraya, a great wall protected everyone. One day, a crack appeared. Instead of joining hands to repair it, the people scattered into factions. Some rejoiced, glad that the crack would expose the leaders. Some refused to help because they believed anything done under the current leadership must fail.

Some misunderstood the engineers and accused them of causing hardship. Some agitators whispered chaos into the ears of frustrated citizens, urging them to pull the wall down with their own hands.

Some loyalists denied the crack entirely because their preferred group was in power. And some decorated the crack, calling it harmless. Meanwhile, the city’s enemies watched and waited—knowing the people would destroy themselves.

Eventually, the crack grew into a gap, the gap widened into a split, and the wall collapsed. Wolves entered. Fire consumed homes. The innocent suffered.

And suddenly everyone realized a truth too late: when a wall collapses, it does not choose sides.

Nigeria today is standing before its own cracked wall. Insecurity, economic hardship, external pressure, internal sabotage, and politicized tensions—these are the cracks. And if we behave like the people of Niraya, we will inherit the same end: a collapse that will not ask who supported Tinubu or who opposed him.

It is in moments like this that we must look back at the leaders who shaped Nigeria’s past and ask ourselves what made them stand out.

Think about Chief Obafemi Awolowo for a moment. He was a man who didn’t just see Nigeria as it was—he saw Nigeria as it could be. His intuition was sharp, his foresight almost prophetic. He looked far ahead into a future most people couldn’t imagine, and he planted seeds in education, agriculture, and industrialization. He built structures time has not been able to erase. But Awo is gone. His wisdom, his foresight, and his courage now live only in our memories and in the policies he left behind.

And then there was Moshood Abiola. If exposure had a human form, it was MKO. He was connected, influential, and grounded in the world, yet deeply rooted in the soil of the masses. He had the rare ability to speak the language of the poor while also sitting confidently at global tables of influence. But fate denied him the chance to govern. The painful truth is that he did not just win an election—he won democracy itself for the country, paying the price with his own life. His blood watered the fragile tree of freedom under which we stand today.

Olusegun Obasanjo came with raw, hard-earned, battlefield-tested experience. He understood power, the system, and global politics, and he used his network to stabilize a country that could easily have broken apart. He achieved much, and he left his mark. But his era has passed. His shadows are long, but they no longer fall on the steering wheel of the nation.

As for others who ruled, many were merely administrators carried by the tide. They managed the moment but did not transform it. They occupied the office but did not redefine it. They sailed the ship but did not chart new waters the way true leaders do.

Now, whether we like him or not, Tinubu is perhaps the only living political figure who carries pieces of all these past qualities—intuition, exposure, negotiation power, political depth, a wide network, courage, strategic thinking, and the resilience to withstand pressure from the many forces that want Nigeria to fail. This is not praise; it is reality.

Nigeria today is not a country for a gentle idealist or a fresh face with sweet grammar. It is a complex battlefield. And only someone who understands how to navigate the maze of power blocs, cartels, ethnic tensions, and global interests can keep the cracked wall standing long enough to repair it.

This is why supporting Tinubu right now is not about politics; it is about survival. You may dislike his style, you may feel disappointed, you may be angry—and all these feelings are valid. But the question to ask is simple: Who else can handle the fire Nigeria is burning in? Who else has the political stamina to confront powerful interests? Who else has the negotiation network to stabilize the storm? Who else has the historical experience to understand the currents pulling at this nation?

If we pull down the wall out of anger, it will bury all of us.
If we fuel destabilization because we are frustrated, the collapse will not choose who suffers first.
If we let emotion overthrow reasoning, we may wake up in a country worse than we ever imagined.

This is the time to fix the crack, not widen it.
This is the time to push for solutions, not destruction.
This is the time to build, not burn.

Because once the wall falls, there will be no country left to argue about.

Nigeria is hurting, but Nigeria is not dead. And sometimes, the most patriotic thing we can do is stand behind the only person willing to face the storm while others shout from the safety of the sidelines.

We either repair this wall together, or we fall together. The choice is ours.

Faleye | EphraimHill DataBlog – Freelance Writer, Independent Stories, Data-Driven Insights