Apostle | Nation Builder
There are seasons in every man’s life when power speaks for him, and seasons when silence speaks louder than power ever did.
Few Nigerian politicians have travelled the corridors of power with the speed, influence and controversy of Malam Nasir Ahmad El-Rufai.
His story is, in many respects, a story about power itself: how it is acquired, exercised, celebrated, contested, lost and, eventually, examined in the quietness of adversity.
Before the present season of detention and legal battles, El-Rufai had occupied strategic positions from which his voice could hardly be ignored. He served as Director-General of the Bureau of Public Enterprises, became Minister of the Federal Capital Territory and later served two terms as Governor of Kaduna State. He was also deeply involved in the political architecture of the All Progressives Congress and became one of the prominent northern voices around Muhammadu Buhari.
There was a season when El-Rufai did not merely participate in the national political conversation; he helped shape it.
He became a toast among significant sections of the northern political establishment and was widely regarded as a strategic power broker. His proximity to Buhari, his role in the APC’s political machinery and his interventions in national political calculations gave him an influence far beyond the formal office he occupied. Contemporary accounts described him as one of the influential figures around Buhari in the period leading to the 2015 victory.
Then came Kaduna.
As governor, El-Rufai became one of the most visible faces of the reformist wing of Nigerian conservatism. His government was celebrated by supporters for its reform agenda and criticised by opponents for the hard edges of its policies and politics. Whatever one’s assessment, he was not a governor who occupied office quietly.
He was a political combatant.
He spoke with confidence. He made enemies without appearing overly concerned about the consequences. He challenged established interests. He built alliances. He confronted others. And, for a considerable period, he appeared to understand the grammar of power and to speak it fluently.
Then came 2023.
El-Rufai was among those whose names circulated during the search for a running mate to Bola Tinubu, although the eventual choice was Kashim Shettima. The APC proceeded with a Muslim-Muslim presidential ticket, a decision that generated substantial debate across Nigeria. El-Rufai later explained that his support for the ticket was political rather than religious, describing it as a strategy intended to win the election.
That was another lesson in power.
Political alliances are rarely permanent. The people who sit together at the table today may find themselves on opposite sides of the table tomorrow.
The man who once moved within the inner architecture of power now finds himself in a radically different circumstance.
And this is where El-Rufai’s recent statement becomes more than a political statement. It becomes almost a sermon.
In his September 23 statement, titled “My Relationships and the Aftermath,” El-Rufai reflected on the silence of colleagues, friends and family members during his present travails. He said that throughout his life he had supported people and causes because of his Islamic faith, Arewa upbringing, personal values and conscience, rather than because he expected gratitude or reciprocity.
That is a profound statement.
He essentially says: I did what I believed was right when I had the power to do it. I cannot now make another person’s response the measure of the righteousness of my earlier action.
There is wisdom in that.
For anyone who has occupied public office, this should be written somewhere close to the heart.
Never confuse the people who need you with the people who love you.
Power can create an illusion of friendship.
When you are useful, your telephone rings.
When you are powerful, invitations multiply.
When you can appoint, recommend, protect, promote or facilitate, people remember your address.
But adversity changes the mathematics.
Suddenly, the same people who could once reach you in seconds may need several reasons not to call you.
El-Rufai acknowledges this without openly condemning them.
He says some may speak, some may remain silent, and others may even deny relationships or rewrite history. Yet he says their reasons are theirs and that he does not wish to judge them merely because their response differs from what he expected.
That is perhaps the most powerful part of the statement.
Adversity has a way of illuminating relationships.
Not necessarily because adversity changes people, but because it removes the advantages that may have been hiding the true nature of relationships.
When the office disappears, who remains?
When the convoy disappears, who still calls?
When the access disappears, who still remembers your humanity?
When you can no longer help anybody, who still believes you are worth helping?
These are not merely questions for El-Rufai.
They are questions for every Nigerian who has ever occupied a position of influence.
But there is another lesson.
Power should never be mistaken for permanence.
The governor’s lodge is temporary.
The ministerial office is temporary.
The presidency is temporary.
Political influence is temporary.
Even reputation, unless anchored in character, is temporary.
What remains is the person after the office.
What remains is conscience.
What remains is the record.
What remains is how we treated people when we had something they needed.
And, ultimately, what remains before God is the life we lived.
El-Rufai says he seeks neither revenge nor retribution for injustice, ingratitude or injury, leaving ultimate accountability to Almighty Allah. He concludes that each person must live with the choices made, while posterity renders whatever verdict it sees fit.
There is a sermon in that.
But perhaps the most remarkable sermon has come not from El-Rufai himself, but from his son.
Bello and the Peter Obi Lesson
Mohammed Bello El-Rufai has now offered Nigerians a deeply human dimension to the family’s experience.
According to reports on September 29, Bello disclosed that several prominent politicians, including Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, Rotimi Amaechi and Rabiu Kwankwaso, had contacted him to ask about his father. He singled out Peter Obi for particular appreciation, saying Obi repeatedly called to ask about Nasir El-Rufai despite the fact that Bello himself had previously been critical of Obi.
Then came Bello’s admission:
Peter Obi’s conduct was a lesson in life for him.
That is the real headline.
A young politician has discovered something that many older politicians never learn: you can disagree with a man politically without becoming incapable of caring about him personally.
You can oppose somebody’s politics without wishing him suffering.
You can criticise a man’s ideas without celebrating his pain.
You can stand on the other side of the political divide and still pick up the telephone to ask, How is your father?
That is citizenship beyond politics.
And perhaps that is what adversity has taught the El-Rufai family.
The elder El-Rufai says adversity has illuminated his relationships.
The younger El-Rufai says Peter Obi has illuminated something about his own understanding of relationships.
What a remarkable circle.
The father, once a formidable player in the theatre of Nigerian power, is learning again about the people around him.
The son, looking at the same theatre from a different angle, is learning that political disagreement does not have to destroy human compassion.
And perhaps Nigeria needs this lesson more than another political slogan.
Power will come and power will go. Political alliances will be made and broken. Parties will change names. Candidates will become presidents, and presidents will become former presidents. Governors will become ex-governors. Ministers will become former ministers.
But character travels with the man.
In the end, perhaps the greatest test of political power is not what people do when you are powerful.
It is what you become when you are no longer powerful.
And perhaps the greatest evidence of character is not who stood with you when standing with you was profitable, but who remembered your humanity when standing with you was no longer politically profitable.
El-Rufai has entered a season in which he must confront those questions.
Bello, through Peter Obi, has discovered an answer to one of his own.
And Nigeria, watching, should learn.
The chair is temporary.
The convoy is temporary.
The applause is temporary.
The political kingdom is temporary.
But the character you build while occupying the throne may outlive the throne itself.
Citizen Bolaji O. Akinyemi
Apostle | Nation Builder
Author: 2027 And Beyond.
