The Yoruba coinage, “Sweet is the remembrance of the righteous,” though often mistaken for a scriptural quote, finds its philosophical root in Proverbs 10:7, which states, “The memory of the righteous is blessed but the name of the wicked will rot.” This profound sentiment offers a lens through which to examine the contentious legacy of figures like former Nigerian President Muhammad Buhari, whose entry into partisan politics, as revealed by his long-time associate Buba Galadima, was driven by a largely ethnic and primarily Northern (Fulani) agenda. Galadima’s confession in a viral Arise TV interview underscored that Buhari was brought into the political arena to help contain the perceived “freedom” of the Yoruba ethnic militia, the Oodua Peoples Congress (OPC), especially under the presidency of Olusegun Obasanjo and the leadership of Bola Tinubu in Lagos. For someone so deeply ingrained in this specific narrative, it was perhaps inevitable that his politics, interests, focus, and policies could not be truly national in scope.

Those who expected Buhari to embody a pan-Nigerian spirit after ascending to national leadership, a position that granted him expansive constitutional and even dictatorial power, were perhaps living in a “dreamland.” His primary assignment was distinctly ethnic, and he was meticulously groomed and mobilized for it, with significant financial, human, and promotional resources provided by his mobilizers and backers. To these “agendarists,” Buhari might have been merely a prop, cloaked in the “mai gaskiya” (the truthful one) persona. This is akin to the Yoruba proverb of calling a madman the groom to facilitate the hailer’s passage. Even with his admitted moral discipline as a former soldier, his presidency often seemed to follow the adage of the piper dictating the tune, despite his public assertion of belonging to all and to no one.

This raises a critical question: Was the retired General inherently prejudiced against Nigerians who were not Fulani or Muslim, acting entirely out of self-interest? Like many individuals, Buhari might have been raised as a closet jingoist, and perhaps, by religious orientation, a bigot. Many people, including those who criticize the late President, unconsciously harbor religious and regional biases, often only revealed during moments of intense societal friction. The depth of one’s bias for a particular ethnic group or religious body can be startling when exposed. For some Muslims, the mere proximity of their remains to a church is considered sacrilege, evoking an almost literal resurrection from Hades. Similarly, some Christians view Sallah meat as an abomination or stepping into a mosque as an act that would bar them from heaven. Yet, neither God nor Jesus is a religionist; the term ‘Christian’ itself was coined by unbelievers in Antioch to distinguish followers of Christ. God, in essence, seeks individuals whose hearts are aligned with Him, not religionists who engage in wickedness.

Considering the pervasive Igbophobia among Yoruba communities in Lagos, one might wonder if the purveyors of such hate ever reflect on the divine creation of all humanity, transcending religious and regional specifications, and even the concept of their ‘defended land.’ Narratives of Igbo expansionism, rooted in a definite orientation, are often cited to justify the commercial marginalization of the Igbo in Lagos and the South West. However, the Igbo, particularly in their homeland, are not entirely blameless, often exhibiting unwelcoming traits characteristic of protectionists or nationalists. It is worth noting that the Yoruba race, historically, maintained a globalist outlook in its interactions until the politics of division fostered the ‘no-man’s land’ controversy. While acknowledging Igbo indifference to the Yoruba admonition that newcomers should understand their boundaries, is it not hypocritical for the Yoruba to tolerate the power-mongering Fulani as political partners, while deeming the Igbo undeserving, especially when the Fulani are equally expansionist in their mentality? Perhaps the difference lies in the Igbo’s more direct approach to their economic and commercial dominance, whereas the Fulani, both aristocrats and foot soldiers, have become less subtle in their quest for political and territorial power, aiming to subdue other ethnic groups.

Every form of expansionism inevitably leads to strained displacement, but political dominance stands as the epitome of expansionist ruthlessness, given its inherent superiority over other forms of power, including economic might. In contexts like Nigeria, where the power of the state is almost limitless, all other advantages become subsidiary; the one holding political power controls both the ‘yam and the knife.’ Even billionaires in America align with figures like Donald Trump not out of sudden affection, but due to the potential adverse impact of presidential power on their business empires, as seen with Mark Zuckerberg’s funding of Trump’s presidential library after being an adversary. A president in a second and final term, with a clear vendetta, represents a dangerous adversary, from Abuja to Washington.

The current situation with Fulani herdsmen, traditionally nomadic, laying siege to states—especially Christian-dominated ones—and conducting killings that appear to target total annihilation, suggests a clear aim: land takeover. Rumors persist, though unconfirmed, that Muslim Fulani political leadership is allegedly committed to eradicating Christian-dominated states in the North, particularly in the North Central and North East, perpetuating daily violence under the guise of herdsmen-farmer clashes. How can the Yoruba people remain complacent with such events while showing such abhorrence towards the Igbo? Is it merely because the besieged states are predominantly in the North? Do we recall the panic that gripped the South West when Fulani expansionists approached their own territory, necessitating figures like Sunday Igboho (despite his alleged excesses, a Yoruba hero in his own right) to create a barrier? Perhaps Oyo State was strategically positioned by divine will to be a Yoruba liberator; had Ibadan not repelled the Fulani invaders from Ilorin during the 1840 Osogbo war, nearly all Yoruba Obas might today be answering to Emir titles. Galadima’s interview specifically cited Ilorin as a point of contention, motivating Buhari’s conscription into politics—a move aimed at preserving the Muslim Fulani conquest and expanding their agenda. The Yoruba, in this context, became enablers, hoping to benefit, which has led to the current state of affairs.

Even the long-standing argument of fidelity to political promises, which once favored the Fulani hegemonists, no longer holds sway. But for the bravery of Iyiola Omisore, then-national secretary of the APC, the South West might have emerged empty-handed from their “alliance” with Buhari’s North, as Buhari reportedly sought another Muslim Fulani, Ahmad Lawan, to succeed him, despite his Vice President, Yemi Osinbajo, being relegated to a mere passenger. A lingering enigma is the true nature of Buhari’s heart. Was he merely programmed into the one-sidedness he unleashed, leading to countless casualties, by his sponsors who “dragged” him into politics and secured his presidency? Or did he simply lack the capacity to love others beyond his race and religion? The Yoruba proverb suggests that whoever is taught wickedness and embraces it already possesses wickedness within. Buhari’s initial preference for a Muslim/Muslim ticket as a military ruler could indicate an inherent Christianophobia. He even preferred a Muslim/Muslim ticket with Bola Tinubu for the 2015 poll, despite his entrenched public perception as an Islamic extremist, seeing “nothing wrong” with it in a Channels TV interview. His infamous trip to Oyo State, where he told then-Governor Lam Adesina, “your people are killing my people,” foreshadowed the tone of his future presidency, a message largely lost on most Nigerians, particularly in the North Central, who abandoned Goodluck Jonathan for him. Even the South West, which aligned with Tinubu in 2015, paid a heavy price, with Buhari’s Fulani kinsmen causing widespread unrest, seemingly aided by the state power wielded by the very man “drafted” to “protect” his own.

While Tinubu’s presidency might appear as a windfall for the Yoruba from their alliance with Buhari’s North, it came with a significant sense of diffidence for a race historically known for its legendary warriors. For eight brutal years of Buhari’s reign, the Yoruba political leadership, led by the current president, was perceived to have genuflected. Even when the daughter of the symbolic ethnic leader, Papa Reuben Fasoranti, was brutally murdered by Fulani terrorists, the most the Yoruba political leader could reportedly utter was, “where are the cows?” Some suggest this was a tactical move, “stooping to conquer,” but another revered leader, whose memory is likely to endure, famously vowed never to glorify a cow to eat its hide. And had it not been for individuals like Omisore, whom God used to resist personal gain and stand for the race, would the daily prostration (dobale) before the cow not have been in vain?

Some have pondered whether Buhari was a good man with bad intentions. However, the true content of a man’s heart is the clearest indicator of his authentic self. The Yoruba adage, “ohun to ba wa ninu eni ni oti npa eni mo” (what is within a person is what liquor intoxicates and reveals), suggests that intoxication merely amplifies one’s true intent. Like his lean physical frame, the late leader’s heart appeared too narrow to embrace love for individuals outside his race and religion. The week of his passing and burial became a contest between Nigerians and the political class, which strove to sanitize his historical image. Yet, everyday people often held a contrasting view, though one should never condone the extreme hate spewed on social media, especially considering he sought forgiveness from those he had wronged before his death. The former president had completed his earthly journey; the rest is between him and his Creator. For those still clinging to a god complex, his almost-shallow grave serves as a profound existential lesson. Amidst all the events surrounding his final exit, the jubilation in Kano by the very “talakawa” (poor people) he ostensibly served a lifetime was particularly striking. The “Buhari ya mutu” (Buhari is dead) viral videos were deeply painful to witness. May God forgive his shortcomings, amen.