By Johnson Momodu
Considering that the retinue of a typical Nigerian “big man” politician is often a raucous spectacle, Peter Obi is a baffling oddity.
No convoy. No godfather. No appetite for grandeur. The former Anambra governor flies economy, chats with traders in Onitsha Main Market, and hosts marathon XSpace sessions with every Chukwudi, Aisha, and Ade.
They call him “Okwute,” the Rock, but sometimes he comes across more like a village priest who insists on greeting everyone after Mass and refuses to sit in the front pew.
To put it in plain language, Nigeria is a country where power is performed with dark designer glasses, bespoke agbadas, and the clanging of sirens. So why must this Peter Obi always behave like a saint with no sense of theatre?
Can a man so eager to answer every bark in the alley really be trusted to steer a nation that, for better or worse, still equates authority with aloofness?
A catalogue of legitimate grievances
Let’s begin where even his admirers scratch their heads.
Obi’s first tactical blunder is that he is too available. Nigerian leaders typically speak through four layers of senior assistants who sometimes have their own assistants.
Obi, on the other hand, stops for roadside interviews, spars with trolls on X, and directly addresses issues such as the recent demolition of his brother’s property in Lagos. In comparison, it is hard to imagine Paul Kagame explaining anything to anybody on social media.
Then there’s the humility problem. Yes, humility is a virtue. But Nigerians are also sentimental about swag. We want our leaders humble on camera, but not so humble that they live like regular people.
And then along comes Obi. He lives in one house in Onitsha. The man reportedly has a wardrobe that could fit in a carry-on bag. He insists on being the every man. At some point, people, quite understandably, must ask, “Is this man even trying to be president?”
Next, we come to his approach to managing public funds. As Anambra Governor, Obi left over $150 million and ₦35 billion in the state’s accounts. But critics pounce on him at every opportunity and say those funds were needed then, not later. Potholes persisted. What’s the point of saving money when you have not finished solving the problems faced by your people?
Well-known latter-day Obi critics like Reno Omokri and Charles Soludo argue that poverty actually increased during Obi’s tenure. Others say his brewery investment was indicative of poor judgement. In Nigerian pidgin parlance, they ask, “All this money you’re saving, who e help?”
Even Obi’s 2023 campaign, brilliant as it was, showed undeniable cracks. He won Twitter. He won hearts. He won Abuja. He won Lagos. But he did not win enough polling units in the villages where votes grow on trees fertilised by rice, wrappers, and rolled-up naira notes squeezed into eager palms.
To put it mildly, the Obidient movement thundered online. But where it mattered most, at the ward level where elections were a contact sport, they were out-manned and outspent and reduced to whispers. Without political agents or patronage networks, idealism alone was not enough.
Perhaps worst of all, in some elite quarters, Obi is viewed as that stubborn boy in class who refuses to cheat during exams. And to make matters worse, this “over-sabi” boy wants everyone else to stop cheating, too. Haba, Mallam Obi. Haba!
Wanting everyone to stop cheating is admirable, yes. But in a country where the game is the game, Obi’s refusal to compromise makes him look not just naïve, but potentially dangerous.
Let us re-examine this “problem”
But what if this so-called problem with Peter Obi is not really his problem?
What if the discomfort he causes is not because he is failing but because he refuses to fit into Nigeria’s political blueprint where corruption is coded in and reformers are seen as intruders?
What if Obi’s refusal to “belong” is the clearest sign that he is exactly what Nigeria needs?
The man who refuses to “play ball”
Take Obi’s so-called over-availability. In a nation where politicians go AWOL the moment they win office, Peter Obi insists on being seen and heard. He does not delegate engagement to media assistants who issue press statements peppered with secondary school level errors. He shows up. Whether in a market, on a plane, or in a Twitter space that drags on for hours, he is there, answering for himself. You may call it exhausting, but you cannot call it dishonest.
Moreover, Obi’s minimalist lifestyle is not performative. It is proof that leadership can be disciplined without being miserable. In an environment where public office is seen as a licence for luxury, Obi’s preference for moderation is a radical statement. He manages scarce resources like a man who once sold tomatoes and still remembers what it feels like to lose a whole basket to rot.
You see that controversial brewery investment? It still earns the state revenue. Even the flip-flopping Governor Soludo admits the brewery provides employment for people in Anambra.
The money Obi left behind helped Anambra stay afloat while other states were lining up at the federal bailout window.
More so, let’s not forget that Obi paid salaries, a feat that shouldn’t be remarkable if not for at least one state where suicide rates went up because the governor there refused to pay state workers what was due to them.
Meanwhile, Obi cleared pension arrears. He did not owe contractors. He returned schools to the missions and improved infrastructure that was actually used by people, not just admired from helicopters.
And while we are here, let’s talk pensions
Peter Obi is the only known former Nigerian governor who does not draw a pension from his state.
In a country where some ex-governors and their deputies are entitled to mansions in Abuja and their home state, fleets of cars, foreign travel allowances, overseas medical check-up, and an annual birthday advert from the Ministry of Information, Obi said no.
Not with press conferences. He just never collected. That alone deserves a standing ovation.
And what about 2023? Call it whatever you wish, but we all know what it truly was: a major disruption. For the first time since 1999, a credible third force emerged, fuelled by youth, integrity, and a deep hunger for change.
Obi shifted something fundamental in Nigerian politics. At first, they ridiculed him, said he couldn’t get one hundred thousand votes, and later adjusted that to one million votes. But not only did he get over six million votes, he showed that a campaign could thrive without thugs or bullion vans. He forced the political elite to change their playbooks and sharpen their excuses.
He was on the ground during floods in Benue and Niger while others were “unavoidably absent.” He proposed actual relief plans and visited displacement camps. In the North, boreholes he personally funded have earned him the nickname “Sarki Maskan” from locals. As one woman reportedly said, “That man get our time. He no just dey talk for TV.”
The problem is not Peter Obi
The real problem with Peter Obi is that he does not know how to steal. He does not know how to disappear. He does not know how to pretend.
He manages public money like it belongs to the people. He campaigns like he is applying for a job, not inheriting a throne. His record in Anambra, no unpaid salaries, cleared pensions, and security stability for five years, shows an honest manager of scarce resources who does not need to shout to lead.
Obi’s so-called flaws are a mirror. They reflect a country still adjusting to the idea that leadership does not have to come wrapped in arrogance and unaccountability. His is not a politics of perfection. It is a politics of discipline, clarity, and presence.
The real problem with Peter Obi, which the political class knows too well, is that he is different. He is not like them. They dislike him because, as they openly say, “Obi will not steal. And he will not let others steal.”
Ordinary Nigerians therefore have to ask themselves, is that really a problem? Or, is that not exactly what Nigeria needs?
Johnson Momodu contributed this piece from Benin City.
