Rivers of Ego, Power and Politricks

femi Akintunde-Johnson

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu declared the end of emergency rule in Rivers State, announcing that Governor Siminalayi Fubara, Deputy Governor Ngozi Nma Odu, Speaker Martins Amaewhule and the entire Assembly would resume office on Thursday, September 18. According to the President, the measure has “achieved its purpose” and a new spirit of understanding among stakeholders justifies returning the state to civilian governance. He spoke as though a divine wind of reconciliation had blown across the creeks, soothing bruised egos and reconciling gladiators. But Nigerians know better.

  How did we get here in the first place? The descent into federal trusteeship was not born of insurgency, nor of ethnic cleansing, nor of secessionist campaigns. It was simply politics Nigerian-style: a quarrel between a governor and his godfather. Fubara, the relatively mild-mannered protégé, dared to step out of the shadow of Nyesom Wike, the volcanic former governor turned Abuja landlord as FCT Minister. What began as hushed disagreements over appointments and loyalty mutated into public spectacles: the Rivers House of Assembly split into rival factions, the Assembly chamber was set ablaze, and police patrols hovered around Government House like vultures circling a wounded animal. Abuja watched with folded arms – until it no longer could.

  By March, with no functioning legislature, appropriations frozen, and rival claimants declaring themselves speaker, Tinubu reached for the big stick: emergency rule under Section 305 of the Constitution. He cited not only political paralysis but also the threat of economic sabotage – vandalised pipelines, restive communities, and the spectre of Rivers, Nigeria’s oil hub, spiralling into chaos. The state was handed to a Sole Administrator, retired naval chief Ibok-Ete Ibas, to keep the lights on.

Now, six months later, Tinubu has declared the experiment successful. Salaries were paid, schools remained open, security incidents were limited, and the once deafening quarrels faded into background hum. He spoke of intelligence reports indicating a “groundswell of understanding” among Rivers stakeholders. Yet, beneath the presidential optimism, scepticism lingers. Have the issues truly disappeared, or are they merely buried alive?

The truth is simple: the grievances remain. Fubara and Wike have not reconciled; they have only been muzzled. The Assembly, dominated by Wike’s loyalists, is unlikely to roll over quietly for a governor they tried to sideline. Abuja’s intervention bought peace, not resolution. Like embers hidden under ash, the quarrel waits for the next gust of political wind.

As Fubara resumes office, several scenarios beckon. The most optimistic is a fragile truce: both camps lick their wounds, trim their ambitions, and focus on governance – at least long enough to pacify Tinubu. But the more likely outcome is renewed contestation, now subtler, fought with court orders, selective police deployments, budget delays, and the dark arts of Nigerian politricks. With Wike’s network entrenched in the Assembly and the political party (PDP, or is it APC?) – and with Fubara returning emboldened by a presidential reprieve, the egos involved may not yield easily. Rivers could once again become Nollywood’s favourite theatre – a saga in endless sequels.

How did the interregnum fare? On paper, reasonably. Salaries flowed, civil servants worked, and the administrator maintained order. But governance is not just the absence of chaos. No bold initiatives were launched, capital projects were stalled, and Rivers was essentially mothballed for half a year. The administrator was a caretaker, not a leader. Development was sacrificed on the altar of stability – a familiar Nigerian trade-off.

 Yet, the interregnum offered lessons. For Fubara, that political survival depends on firmness, not eternal gratitude to godfathers. For Wike, that power is not a birthright; political dominance can melt away once Abuja loses patience. For Abuja itself, that emergency rule is a blunt instrument – it may restore quietude, but it cannot heal. Governance by military-lite decrees cannot substitute for institutions.

The legal questions also remain alive. Several constitutional suits filed against the emergency proclamation are still pending at the Supreme Court. Legal purists argue that even if the measure has expired, the Court must rule, to determine whether Tinubu’s action was lawful. If the Court ducks the question, a dangerous precedent is set: that presidents can suspend democracy in a state over political quarrels dressed up as security concerns.

  Meanwhile, Rivers people are caught in the middle. Many welcomed the lifting of emergency rule with relief; markets in Port Harcourt reportedly buzzed with cheer as the announcement filtered through. But relief is tempered by cynicism. Ordinary citizens know that their suffering was not caused by bandits or insurgents but by politicians’ egos. Their taxes were collected, their votes cast, but their state was reduced to a plaything of big men quarrelling over control. It is difficult to clap for a return to normalcy when normalcy itself remains fragile.

 The likely flashpoints in the coming weeks are obvious: budget passage, appointments, control of local governments, and the allocation of patronage. Each will test whether the so-called “groundswell of understanding” is real or a mirage. Already, whispers abound that Wike’s loyalists, now emboldened, expect to dictate terms, while Fubara, fortified by his reinstatement, is keen to assert independence. A clash of wills seems inevitable.

What then is the way forward? First, institutions must be strengthened. If a state assembly can be burnt down and split into rival camps without swift judicial resolution, democracy is weakened. If Abuja must always intervene when governors and predecessors quarrel, Nigeria becomes a federation in name only. Rivers should remind us that political disagreements are not grounds for federal receivership; they are tests for institutions – courts, assemblies, civil society – to prove their resilience.

Second, politicians must learn restraint. Fubara must realise that governing is not the same as winning a wrestling bout with his godfather. Wike must accept that he cannot remain governor by proxy from Abuja. Both must swallow pride, however bitter, and deliver to the people who elected them. Otherwise, history will judge them as men who turned Rivers into a circus.

Third, Nigerians must demand accountability. It is not enough to cheer the return of civilian governance; citizens must insist on delivery – on schools, hospitals, roads, security. Politicians thrive on distraction; the people must insist on performance.

In the final analysis, the lifting of emergency rule in Rivers is not the end of a story but merely an interlude. The unresolved issues remain, the egos remain, the temptations of power remain. If lessons are not learnt, Rivers will relapse, and another ‘breaking news’ will announce not peace restored but chaos renewed.

  For now, we watch, we hope, and we brace. Because in Nigeria, politics is rarely final – it is always the first part of the next sequel.