By Ismail Abdulazeez Mantu
Each time I find myself about to take a risky decision, I always reach out to my mother to seek her counsel. Most often, my mother advised by whispering a Yoruba adage, “Eewu bẹ lókò Longẹ, Longẹ fún ara rẹ eewu ni.” (There is danger at Longẹ’s farm. In fact, Longẹ himself is danger).
The message? If a place is known for trouble, and the landlord himself is the landlord of wahala, tread cautiously, my son.
Now, Mr. President, allow me to borrow a leaf from Mama’s book of parables and slide it gently across your desk in Aso Rock. Because, sir, the ongoing cold war between you and your vice, His Excellency Kashim Shettima, smells suspiciously like the footpath to Longẹ’s farm.
Let’s be blunt, every roadside tea seller in Sokoto and bread hawker in Badagry knows that the breeze ahead of 2027 is already blowing dusty hints that Shettima may not return as your running mate. That’s politics, we get it. But Mr. President, must the crack be so loud we can hear it from Akwa Ibom to Zamfara? Even the wall geckos in Aso Villa are whispering. If not carefully managed, this rift may become the Achilles heel of your re-election bid.
Vice President Shettima is no political toddler. He’s a seasoned chess player with a calm tongue and a sharp memory. His recent “veiled” remarks at the unveiling of Mohammed Adoke’s book weren’t just literary commentary; they were precision-guided political missiles, launched with the smoothness of a Borno breeze and the weight of constitutional integrity.
When Shettima stood before a crowd of political juggernauts and judicial veterans to recall how President Jonathan once tried to yank him off the Borno gubernatorial seat, he wasn’t just reliving history, he was cautioning your present.
“You don’t have the power to remove an elected councillor,” he quoted Aminu Tambuwal.
“You do not have the power to remove a sitting governor,” he remembered Adoke insisting.
These aren’t just lines from a dusty memory, they are the exact legal landmines critics are accusing you of stepping on with the Rivers State saga. Declaring a state of emergency, suspending Governor Sim Fubara, his deputy, and the entire House of Assembly, then installing a sole administrator? That’s not just bold, sir. That’s tequila-bold. And like my mother warns, Longẹ himself is danger.
Yes, your media handlers will say it was to restore peace. But Mr. President, peace achieved through unconstitutional means is like building a mansion on quicksand, it may look grand today, but the ground is not your friend.
What’s more worrying isn’t just the legal implication. It’s the political implication. If Shettima feels pushed to the edge, stripped of influence, loyalty questioned, legacy threatened, he might just do what every Nigerian politician knows how to do best (cross carpets with quiet vengeance).
We’ve seen it before. In 2015, one crack in the PDP Titanic turned into a mutiny that sank the entire ship. Don’t let history whisper in your ear while Shettima shuffles his political cards under the table.
Your Excellency, power is sweet, but even sweeter is the wisdom to wield it gently. Resolve the rift before it turns into a roaring river. Pick your battles, not with your deputy but with the real enemies: poverty, insecurity, unemployment, and the demons of inflation tormenting the common man’s pot of soup.
Let not 2027 be the farm of Longẹ where you walk blindly into danger, unaware that the danger is not the farm, but the man standing across the field, watching, calculating and waiting.
And remember, Sir:
Sometimes, the fire that burns down the barn starts from a little whisper of smoke.
Ismail Abdulazeez Mantu,
A Journalist, Writes from Abuja and can be reached via (ismailabdul3513@gmail.com)