I was a Nigerian from birth. My roots stretch across the soils of the North, where my earliest memories were shaped, and where my father once fought to keep this country united. In his time, the dream of One Nigeria burned bright — imperfect but hopeful. He believed, like many of his generation, that the horrors of 1966 and the civil war were lessons never to be repeated.
But somewhere between history’s promises and Nigeria’s political betrayals, that fragile dream began to fade. When Muhammadu Buhari returned to power in 2015, I did not immediately see the storm coming. Yet, by the time he left office, I realised something profoundly unsettling: I was no longer a Nigerian, at least not in the sense that word once meant. Buhari’s presidency transformed national identity into a regional project — the rebirth of 1966’s northern nationalism clothed in democratic robes.
The Rise of the New Emirate
Under Buhari, Nigeria ceased to be a federation in practice. The armed forces, the security agencies, the judiciary, the civil service, and even key economic regulators became dominated by persons from one region — his region.
The central banks of power — the NNPC, the CBN, Customs, Immigration, DSS, and the Police — all spoke with northern accents. Merit became a casualty in the march of northern nationalism. Institutions that once belonged to all Nigerians were quietly converted into extensions of an Emirate system that placed loyalty to tribe above allegiance to nation.
While Buhari’s defenders claimed he was “rewarding competence,” the results betrayed them: Nigeria became poorer, more divided, and more suspicious of itself than at any time since the war. The balance of power was no longer national; it was feudal. The North was master, and the South its vassal.
The Betrayal of a Father’s Generation
My father fought for Nigeria’s unity. He believed that the green-white-green flag symbolised something sacred — a covenant that no part of the country would dominate the other. He, and thousands like him, risked their lives to preserve that fragile promise.
But Buhari and his circle have undone that legacy. They have made my father’s sacrifice meaningless. The same generation that fought to prevent secession has, under Buhari’s watch, witnessed the rebirth of ethnic domination. They fought for a united Nigeria; he delivered a divided one — not geographically, but morally and institutionally.
It is one thing to lose faith in government; it is another to feel alien in your own homeland. That is what Buhari’s Nigeria did to many of us who grew up believing that being Nigerian was enough. We discovered that it was not.
The Symbolism of the Village University
If corruption is the abuse of public office for private gain, Buhari’s legacy is its institutionalisation. Few symbols capture this better than the University of Transportation built in his remote village, Daura.
This act was not merely provincial indulgence; it was an insult to the idea of national development. While premier institutions like the University of Ibadan, Ahmadu Bello University, and the University of Nigeria Nsukka gasped for funds, a new monument rose in Daura — not to knowledge, but to patronage. It became the physical manifestation of Buhari’s governing philosophy: reward the North, neglect the rest.
What began as a government of “integrity” became an empire of nepotism. Anti-corruption turned into a slogan for silencing opponents, while friends of the regime flourished in impunity.
The Echoes of 1984
Buhari’s first tenure as a military ruler from 1983 to 1985 had already offered an early warning. Then, as now, he surrounded himself with northern officers, projecting the image of a nation being disciplined by one region. The economy shrank, civil liberties were crushed, and the seeds of northern exceptionalism were quietly planted.
When he returned as a civilian president, it was not as a democrat reborn but as an ideologue vindicated. His disdain for diversity was not ignorance — it was ideology. The unity of Nigeria, once a national dream, became a nuisance to his project of northern consolidation.
I Was Once a Nigerian
There was a time when the word Nigerian meant something more than a passport or a place of birth. It meant belonging — a shared ownership of a collective destiny. But Buhari’s Nigeria fractured that illusion.
I once sang the anthem with pride, believed in the potential of this vast and vibrant country, and hoped for a fairer future. But that faith has been stolen, replaced by resentment and fatigue.
Now, when I say “I was once a Nigerian,” it is not nostalgia; it is mourning. I mourn the country that could have been — the Nigeria my father fought for, the Nigeria that once promised equality, justice, and unity.
Buhari’s rule has left behind not a republic but a relic: a federation of disillusioned citizens, ethnic suspicion, and economic despair. And yet, perhaps, in acknowledging that loss lies the first step to reclaiming what was stolen — to rebuild a Nigeria where no one must question their belonging ever again.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 