BEFORE you bring us another manifesto, kindly bring the scorecard for the last one. Nigerians deserve that much.
THE campaign drums are beating again. Not loudly enough yet to completely drown out the generators, perhaps, but they are beating. Across Nigeria, politicians are gathering, consultations are intensifying and alliances are shifting. Old enemies are becoming friends, while old friends are suddenly discovering that they have principles. New parties are being discussed, old parties are being repaired and, somewhere in the middle of all this political movement, Nigerians are once again expected to prepare for another round of promises.
Promises. Promises of roads, jobs, security, electricity, food, youth empowerment, women empowerment, industrialisation and anything else that can be packaged as a promise. And if the campaign season gets competitive enough, perhaps somebody will even promise us heaven too.
But before we get carried away by another beautifully designed manifesto, before we dance to another campaign song and wear another political face on our T-shirts, perhaps we should ask a very simple question: What happened to the promises from the last election?
Because Nigerians have a strange relationship with elections. Every four years, we develop political amnesia. We forget what we were told and forget who promised what. We forget the deadlines, the grand declarations and the carefully worded commitments. And then, just when we are beginning to remember, another election comes along with fresh posters, fresh caps, fresh slogans and freshly printed promises.
The problems, unfortunately, are never as fresh.
A Nigerian who was struggling to afford food yesterday does not suddenly become comfortable because campaign season has begun. A mother who cannot feed her children is not interested in which politician has defected to which party. The family sleeping with one eye open because of insecurity is not comforted by political alliances. The graduate who has been job hunting for years cannot eat campaign promises. The trader battling inflation does not pay school fees with political speeches, while the ordinary worker whose salary disappears almost immediately after payday does not experience relief simply because another politician has mounted a podium to announce that better days are coming.
Yet, this is the season when politicians will begin speaking as though they have just arrived in Nigeria. They will tour markets and suddenly discover that food is expensive. They will visit hospitals and suddenly discover that our healthcare system is struggling. They will drive through bad roads they probably flew over for the last three years and suddenly discover that Nigerians need infrastructure. Then they will meet young people and discover that unemployment is a problem.
Imagine that, as if Nigerians have been hiding these problems from them.
The truth is that campaign season has a way of making politicians become temporary journalists. They suddenly go everywhere, see everything and ask all the right questions. They visit the people, attend funerals, shake hands and sit on plastic chairs. We see them eating roasted corn by the roadside. They speak Hausa, Igbo and Yoruba with renewed enthusiasm. Some may even suddenly remember the exact village where their great-grandmother was born. Anything for connection, anything for visibility, anything for votes.
But we, as Nigerians, must ask more difficult questions. Not, “What will you do?” We have heard that question before. The better question is: “What did you do with the opportunity you already had?”
If you promised jobs in 2023, where are they now in 2026? If you promised security, why are Nigerians still counting the dead and praying against becoming the next headline? If you promised to reduce suffering, why does survival itself now feel like a full-time job? If you promised to make life easier, why are ordinary Nigerians working harder merely to remain at the same economic level?
If you promised electricity, why are generators still among the most reliable members of Nigerian households and solar panels part of almost every roofing? If you promised to improve education, why are children still out of school while we continue to hold conferences about the future? If you promised healthcare, why do Nigerians still travel abroad or sell their properties to treat illnesses that should be manageable at home?
Hold the new manifesto. Where is the scorecard for the last one?
Nigerians have earned the right to see it.
This is not about pretending that governing Nigeria is easy. It is not. No serious person would make such an argument. Nigeria is complicated. The economy is under pressure, insecurity is not a problem that disappears because a politician makes a speech, and decades of bad decisions cannot be repaired overnight. Institutions are weak, public expectations are enormous and the country has problems that require patience, expertise, sacrifice and difficult decisions.
But that is precisely why promises should not be made cheaply.
You cannot tell people to endure hardship today and then expect them to forget the hardship tomorrow simply because campaign season has arrived. You cannot ask Nigerians for another mandate without accounting for the one you already received. And this should not apply only to those currently in power.
The opposition should also spare us the performance of suddenly becoming saints. Nigerians have not forgotten that many of the people criticising the country today were once part of the governments that helped bring us here. Some were ministers. Some were governors. Some were legislators. Some occupied influential positions and had access to power when many of the problems they now speak passionately about were already developing.
Changing parties does not automatically wash away political history. A new political uniform does not mean a new political character. A politician who crosses from one party to another does not cross away from his record.
This time, perhaps, we should become more difficult to impress.
A politician arrives with bags of rice? Thank you. But ask about policy.
He repairs a road a few months before an election? Good. But also ask why it took the election to remember us.
She empowers a few hundred women? That’s fine. But ask what happens after the cameras leave.
They distribute motorcycles, sewing machines and tricycles? Wonderful. But ask what their long-term plan is for millions of young Nigerians.
We must stop confusing campaign generosity with governance. A politician giving you something during an election season does not automatically mean he has governed well. Sometimes, it simply means the election is near.
And perhaps this is the most important lesson Nigerians must carry into 2027: we are citizens, not spectators.
An election is not a concert where we gather to cheer the best performer. It is not a football match where we support a team even when it keeps scoring against us. It is not a family inheritance where loyalty must be passed from one generation to another.
It is our right to ask questions. Uncomfortable questions. Difficult questions. Questions that may not receive applause at political rallies. Questions that may annoy the politician, his supporters, his party and even our friends and relatives.
Before we accept another promise of roads, let us ask about the roads already promised. Before we celebrate another promise of jobs, let us ask about the millions still looking. Before we clap for another promise of security, let us remember those who have been kidnapped, displaced and buried. And before any politician promises us heaven on earth, they should first explain why living in Nigeria has become so difficult for so many people.
Now that the 2027 campaign season is here, the posters will multiply, speeches will become sweeter and promises will become bigger. Our phones will be filled with political videos. Our streets will be decorated with faces. Old political arguments will return to our family WhatsApp groups. Friends will fight, families will disagree and social media will become a battlefield.
Some politicians will suddenly become the greatest defenders of the poor. Others will become overnight champions of accountability. Some will tell us they have always believed in good governance, while others will remind us of achievements Nigerians may have forgotten or never experienced.
But through all the noise, Nigerians must hold on to one question:
What happened to the promises from the last election?
Ask it at rallies. Ask it on television. Ask it on radio. Ask it on social media. Ask it in town-hall meetings. Ask it when politicians come to your communities. Ask it when they send representatives. Ask it when they distribute gifts. Ask it before you wear their caps and T-shirts. Ask it before you defend them blindly.
And when they answer, do not merely listen to what they say. Look at the evidence.
Until we begin demanding answers to that question, politicians will continue to sell us the same product every four years, only with new packaging.
And Nigerians, God help us, will continue to buy.
VOICE just cleared its throat!
- Kabara is a writer and public commentator. Her syndicated column, Voice, appears in News Point Nigeria newspaper on Monday. She can be reached at hafceekay01@gmail.com.