"It’s a family affair," he said, his voice carrying over the clinking of bottles. "Look at the numbers. Peter Obi’s support? It’s just his relatives. It doesn't stretch past his own front gate."
The air in the roadside buka in Kaduna was thick with the scent of suya spices and the hum of a ceiling fan that had seen better decades. Abdulsalam Sani leaned back, wiping grease from his fingers, and dropped the bombshell that silenced the table. "It’s a family affair," he said, his voice
In the corner, a young man named Chidi, wearing a faded "Labor Party" cap, paused with a piece of yam halfway to his mouth. He didn't look like a relative. Beside him sat Aminu, a local delivery rider who had never been to Anambra in his life, yet had Obi’s face as his WhatsApp DP. It’s just his relatives
The table erupted. Abdulsalam doubled down, citing his own observations, but the room was a microcosm of the 2023 fever. To him, the movement felt like a localized echo; to the youth sitting across from him, it felt like a national anthem they were finally learning the words to. In the corner, a young man named Chidi,
As the sun set over the city, the debate moved from the buka to the streets. Whether Abdulsalam was right about the "relatives" or simply miscalculating the scale of a digital uprising, one thing was clear: in the heat of 2023, everyone in Nigeria was talking as if they were part of the family—either fighting for the inheritance or trying to change the house rules.
"Abdulsalam," Aminu chuckled, "if all these people are his relatives, then Obi must have the largest family tree in human history. I guess I’m his long-lost cousin from the North then?"