By Samaila Suleiman, PhD
“No amount of deconstruction and reconstruction, to turn history on its head, can bury the truth” – Sule Lamido.
Writing a review of Being True to Myself, the autobiography of His Excellency, (Dr) Sule Lamido, is, for me, both an intellectual obligation and a profoundly personal reckoning. As a student of historiography and politics of knowledge production, book reviewing is an integral part of my professional calling. At the same time, as a member of the editorial team of the Sule Lamido Autobiography Project (SLAP), along with my colleagues Dr Nu’uman Habeeb and Mustafa Ibrahim Chinade, I lived with the idea of this book, from its conception to the first manuscript drafts, the final typeset, and its printing and public presentation.
Book reviewers are traditionally expected to be neutral critiques, assessing works with analytical distance and relying largely on their reading of the text. What I offer here, however, is a deeply personal reflection of a tripartite engagement with the author, the text, the context of its production and the reactions it elicited from readers. This is, therefore, not a conventional book review but an attempt, as one of the editorial consultants for the project, to recount the story of thinking (working) with Sule Lamido in the making of Being True to Myselfitself.
The Context
I first met Sule Lamido in 2019 when the late Professor Haruna Wakili introduced me, along with Dr. Nu’uman Habeeb and Mustafa Ibrahim Chinade, to serve as editorial consultants for his autobiography project. Our role was to facilitate the production of the text through interviews and other editorial interventions. Before this meeting, my knowledge of Lamido was limited. I knew him only as a former Minister and Governor. What I did not immediately realise was how profoundly the project would impact me as a historiographer, constantly negotiating the epistemological questions of truth, power, and narrative responsibility.
The first lesson I drew from the project was the discovery of Lamido as an intellectual—an aspect of his persona that is often overshadowed by his public image as a forthright politician. At our inception meeting, I was immediately struck by his brilliance and philosophical acuity—following a lengthy conversation about the focus of the autobiography. My initial perception of Lamido was quickly overturned. Beneath the image of a seasoned politician, I encountered a man of deep philosophical substance, whose politics is rooted in a profound knowledge of history and critical thought.
Although Lamido is not a career academic, his grasp of political and historical discourse is profound to the extent that some of his academic friends affectionately call him “Professor.” He is one of the few politicians around who embodies the tradition of first-generation politicians, whose politics are grounded in principles and knowledge.
Over the course of many interviews with the editorial team, Lamido narrated his life story with a precision and wit that often left me marvelling at his hyperthymesia, attention to detail, and critical reasoning. Each time we returned to a topic for clarification, he would recount events with striking consistency, as though he had already internalised the book long before the project began.
As the project advanced, Lamido took control of the content, style, and narrative flow of his autobiography, insisting on framing his experiences within a broader historical process. Even at the stage of typesetting and design, he remained involved, reviewing passages, fact-checking, and fine-tuning the manuscript. At one point, I jokingly said to him, while the book was already at press: “Your Excellency Sir, bakin alkalmi ya bushe”—implying that no further edits should be made, especially with the launch date approaching.
Some of our most intense editorial discussions went beyond factual accuracy to debates about historical methodology and explanation. When Lamido was advised to moderate some contentious revelations in the manuscript, he posed critical questions around secrecy and privacy in knowledge production, carefully dissecting the distinction between classified and declassified records. I found myself challenged, at times humbled, by his rigour and the depth with which he interrogated established academic assumptions about Nigerian history, politics, and writing. This level of discursive sophistication is rare among people without advanced degrees in historical studies.
There were moments when the manuscript resisted simplification, and we chose to retain its complexities rather than smooth them over, because they were intellectually honest. This demonstrates that a political memoir, at its best, is not merely a legacy-building exercise, as many autobiographies are, but a critical exercise in self-reflection within the context of history. Lamido gave himself that space and, in doing so, gave us the opportunity to reconsider some of our scholarly convictions about the nature of truth, memory, and life writing.
The Text
Lamido’s distinctive voice is evident throughout Being True to Myself. Those familiar with his discursive signature will immediately recognise his bluntness, candour, and unfiltered expression in the text.
Unlike many public figures whose autobiographies are primarily shaped by ghostwriters, Lamido maintained a hands-on approach. Each chapter bears his imprint, making the work not only intimate but also a demonstration of authorial agency.
Even the book’s title was not chosen lightly. It was the product of a year-long reflection on what Lamido’s life represents. Ultimately, Being True to Myself was favoured as the narrative’s central theme, mirroring the life of a man of unshakable principles and conscience. The title comes from a passage where he describes himself as “an independent-minded child, who always stood his ground…not because I felt important, but because I tried to be true to myself.”
What makes Being True to Myself particularly compelling is its historical nuance and emotional texture. Lamido alternates between humour, vulnerability, and defiance, recounting comical childhood stories, such as his naïve performance during Ramadan tashe, alongside harrowing experiences of persecution and betrayal. His willingness to revisit painful memories, without bitterness but with conviction, creates a text that is both deeply personal and politically insightful.
The book is divided into eight broad thematic parts, tracing Lamido’s journey from his early life in Bamaina to his career in the Nigerian Railways and Tobacco Company, his involvement with the PRP, his time as foreign minister, and his tenure as governor of Jigawa State. It offers rich commentary on important political events such as the annulment of June 12, his detention under General Sani Abacha, his role in the formation of the PDP, the Obasanjo Presidency, his tenure as Foreign Minister, the Yar’Adua Presidency and how he was succeeded by Goodluck Jonathan, and the intricacies of power, politics and democratic governance in Jigawa state.
In discussing Nigerian politics, Lamido dons the garb of a political scientist and historian, offering a critical examination of the military’s role in Nigerian politics. He critiques successive regimes, from Buhari’s military rule to IBB’s sophisticated but flawed transition programs, Abacha’s repression, and Abdulsalami’s genuine and successful transitional government, as well as the restoration of democracy. His reflections read as much like political history as autobiography, enriched by his insider perspective. One cannot help but wonder at the contents of his library, given his ability to weave theory and empirical detail with ease.
The Praise and the Pushback
Since its launch in May 2025, Being True to Myself has attracted a wide range of reactions, from praise by the media, scholars and statesmen to criticism from political associates, reflecting the complexity of both the author and the book.
At the high-profile launch in Abuja, political heavyweights celebrated the work. President Bola Tinubu, through his minister, commended Lamido as “a bold, consistent, and principled politician whose personal journey mirrors the story of Nigeria’s democratic evolution.” He described the book as a “significant contribution to Nigeria’s political literature,” encouraging other political veterans to document their experiences for posterity.
The book reviewer, Dr. Iyorchia Ayu, lauded Lamido’s courage, recalling episodes such as the author telling an IGP, “Who are you?” and a military head of state to his face, “You must resign”.
The book has not been without detractors. Some critics, including Malam Aminu Ibrahim Ringim, a former Chief of Staff to Lamido during his governorship, criticised the memoir as being rife with “self-glorification, misrepresentation and disrespect for the contributions of others.”
Taken together, these divergent reactions reveal the dual nature of Being True to Myself as both an intimate self-portrait and a contested historical document.
On the whole, the Sule Lamido Autobiographical Project is an elegant demonstration of how autobiographies can serve as a space for dialogue between politicians and scholars, working as collaborators in the pursuit of truth.
As former President Olusegun Obasanjo writes in the foreword: “No historian or public affairs officer should be without a copy of the book. I enjoyed reading it.”
Happy 77th Birthday and best wishes, Sir!
Samaila Suleiman, PhD, wrote from the Department of History, Bayero University, Kano. He can be reached via smlsuleiman@gmail.com.
