Gen. Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida

By Prof. Abdussamad Umar Jibia

“Fellow countrymen and women. I, Brigadier Sani Abacha of the Nigerian Army, address you this morning on behalf of the Nigerian armed forces. You are all living witnesses to the grave economic predicament….”

That was on the 31st of December 1983. I was a Form Five student at the Government Secondary Technical School,Mashi. But the school was on its first-term vacation. So, I was at home. I was sitting with my father that early morning when someone came in to announce that the Army had overthrown President Shehu Shagari and that “rediyo baya Magana”, meaning the radio was silent. It was after my father sent for his transistor radio that I understood what the man meant. Normal radio programmes were not running. The radio station we listened to those days was mainly Radio Kaduna. Occasionally, we listened to Rima Radio, Sokoto, a Nigerien radio channel and Radio Kano. There was no Katsina State, so no Radio Katsina. No FM. No social media.

The only voice Radio Kaduna was airing was that of Brigadier Sani Abacha with the historical coup speech at regular intervals, filled with military music. Since my father did not go to Makarantar Boko, he asked me to translate, and I did that with the confidence of a final year student ready to take the WAEC examination in five months. Yeah, only WAEC. No NECO. No NABTEB. Nothing else except WAEC. 

But that was not the point. Everyone was anxious to know Shagari’s replacement. It didn’t come immediately. Later in the afternoon, a Yoruba voice (later identified as Tunde Idiagbon) spoke to announce the acceptance of the “voluntary retirement” of service chiefs. While they were still waiting, another General (Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida) spoke; he asked Nigerians to remain calm as they awaited the speech of the new Head of State and Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces. 

The speech did not come until midnight, when many of us were already asleep. The following morning, my father didn’t need me for translation as Radio Kaduna was airing the translated speech of the new Head of State, Major General Muhammadu Buhari. I saw happiness on the faces of the adults. I understood that they were happy because the new Head of State was not another Kaduna Nzegwu or an Aguiyi-Ironsi. 

That was the beginning of the Buhari story. For those of us in secondary schools, nothing changed. Our holiday ended and we went back to our boarding school. In the whole of what is now Katsina state, I knew of only one day secondary school. That was the one in Katsina town, and it was owned by the Government. All the other schools I knew were boarding schools and public schools.

We sat for the WAEC GCE O-level exam and passed with the necessary credits and distinctions. My BUK pre-degree admission came quickly, and it was after I reported and registered that I understood that Buhari had removed the feeding subsidy in tertiary institutions. So, we were on our own.

Buhari was overthrown in August 1985, and that was the beginning of his popularity. Four months after he was overthrown, Nigerian students went on a rampage to protest the IMF loan. It was followed by the unpopular SAP. The more General Babangida introduced new policies, the more popular Major General Buhari became, even though he was in prison. People were tearing Babangida’s pictures and pasting the pictures of Buhari, his prisoner, on their vehicles and business premises.

The interview Buhari gave The News magazine after his release from detention made him even more popular among the elites and demonised Babangida. In the interview, Buhari spoke about the “fifth columnist” in his administration,which was understood to be a veiled reference to Babangida.

Fast forward to 2015, as a democrat, Buhari became the President after three failed attempts. The experiences of Nigerians were bitter, depending on who was involved. To the victims of banditry like us, he was a failure. To university lecturers like me, he destroyed tertiary education. To the Shiites, he was a murderer. To the masses, he is synonymous with hardship.

However, regardless of how you see Buhari, you must admit that he was sincere. He was incorruptible and meant well for Nigeria. Buhari would have been the best president Nigeria had if only he had ensured accountability in his Government.

May Allah have mercy on the soul of Muhammadu Buhari and admit him into the highest level of Firdaus. Amin.

Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia wrote via aujibia@gmail.com.

By Salisu Uba Kofarwambai

The annulment of the June 12, 1993, presidential election by General Ibrahim Babangida stands as one of the most consequential events in Nigeria’s political history. What began as a tragedy for democracy soon became a powerful weapon of political repositioning for the Yoruba elite, who skillfully leveraged national sympathy to strengthen their grip on Nigeria’s democratic evolution.

This singular incident opened the doors for the Yoruba to produce three heads of state—an achievement that might never have occurred under normal political circumstances. Ironically, this is the same political milestone that the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo, the revered father of Yoruba nationalism, spent his entire life trying to attain but could not.

Sadly, many who ultimately benefited from the June 12 crisis were not even supporters of Chief M.K.O. Abiola during the election. Instead, they emerged later as political opportunists—vultures who hijacked the struggle, turned it into a sectional movement, and weaponized it for political dominance.

It is important to recall that the North overwhelmingly voted for Abiola over its own son, Alhaji Bashir Tofa. But following the annulment, the Yoruba intelligentsia cleverly shifted the blame from the military, a national institution, to the North, creating a narrative that painted the region as the villain of democracy. This deflection became a foundation for the Yoruba to assert political superiority, while the North unknowingly fell for the narrative.

In the aftermath, Chief Ernest Shonekan—a Yoruba technocrat—was installed as head of the Interim National Government. Later, in 1999, the North once again conceded power to the South-West, with Chief Olusegun Obasanjo returning as a civilian president. However, Obasanjo’s tenure is remembered by many in the North for economic policies that led to the decline of the region’s industrial capacity. Many northerners believe these policies were deliberate, politically motivated, and economically harmful to the North.

Today, with President Bola Ahmed Tinubu at the helm, the North’s frustration appears to be deepening. Recently, a ₦16 trillion infrastructure project was allocated to the South, while liberal economic policies continue to disproportionately impact northern states, compounding existing inequalities.

This growing sentiment of marginalization was reinforced by President Tinubu’s Democracy Day national address. During the broadcast, a list of recipients of national awards was unveiled to honour those who fought for democracy. Yet, the list revealed a clear bias. While individuals like Professor Wole Soyinka—who went into exile during the military era—were honoured, many who stood their ground and bore the brunt of military repression were ignored.

Where are the names of Abubakar Rimi, Abdulkarim Dayyabu, Sule Lamido, Gani Fawehinmi, and M.D. Yusuf—figures who paid a heavy price for resisting military rule? Most of them were imprisoned under General Abacha and only released after his death. Yet, these sacrifices appear forgotten, excluded from a national recognition that should be inclusive.

Even the institutionalization of June 12 as Nigeria’s Democracy Day under the Buhari administration has continued to project the day as a Yoruba affair—further entrenching the idea that the Yoruba were the sole victims of the annulled election. This skewed narrative continues to sideline other critical voices and regions, especially the North, which was deeply invested in the democratic struggle of the 1990s.

As we mark June 12, the North must soberly reflect on how much has been lost—from the annulment of 1993 to the current political dispensation. The region must also begin to ask tough questions about its place in the national project and how to reclaim a fair share in Nigeria’s democratic future.

June 12 was a national tragedy and should be a national symbol of resilience—not a sectional emblem of victimhood. Until this is fully acknowledged, the spirit of June 12 remains only partially honoured.

By Abubakar Idris Misau

Part (I)

In his natural quest and curiosity, it’s enticing that man wants to understand everything about all things – even though it’s an obviously unattainable goal. Observing, reading, speculating, conspiring, discussing, studying, manipulating, theorising…, in answering an “if” question of history, the man hardly provides a strictly wrong or right answer. This is simply because anything could be anything. Everything is just within the spectrum of possibility. What “if”, for example, Nigeria was colonised by the Spaniards?; Is a question that can be answered from multiple dimensions.

Reviewing the autobiography of the Former Head of State and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida (IBB), titled A Journey in Service, is an inexhaustible assignment.

On a lighter note, borrowing the easiest yet [at least in ruffling feathers] most effective text analysis, a style often used by the critics of Sheikh Fantami and or his works, let us by taking a glance at the title of the memoir furiously carry our pens and jump into action. After all, we’ve heard hearsays much enough to take a side. Phew…

Firstly, they say he confirmed the victory of the renowned 1993 Presidential election by the business mogul Chief Moshood Kashimawo Olawale (MKO) Abiola. And, in a gentlemanly manner, this evil genius made no attempt to contest the annulment that occurred under his watch, prioritising peace instead. He expressed regret and sought forgiveness.

Is that right?! 

Well, he can say that. He is such a nice guy [in Donald J. Trump’s voice]. I like him. He’s a successful guy, a really successful guy.

Meanwhile, based on what we know about the man if not for his health status, Badamasi, a maestro in rhetoric, would definitely make an excellent graduate assistant (GA) in my University’s Department of Political Science. Though a GA for a start, the author of ‘A Journey in Service’ would most certainly be awarded his MSc the day he resumes, his PhD in a week, and attaining readership is a possibility within a month. By the time he is to be crowned with the professorship title during the immediate convocation, naturally, our character would be too humble not to request to be re-nicknamed the political GOAT – for, many steps ahead of Maradona, he is clearly the combination of Ronaldo, Messi, and Mbappe.

In the court of analysis, however, the one crucial question we ask whenever we put history on trial is whether to judge our subjects by their ideals or the outcomes of their actions. Give it a look: While politicians insist that they stand for democracy and human rights (thus, better than soldiers), the argument of the uniform men is not any weaker; they are the nationalists whose role it is to restore order, fight corruption, and wage war against indiscipline – by sometimes risking their own lives (hence, the right patriots to lead). The whole debate sounds so sweet and convincing that one is tempted to suggest a system of government or constitutional arrangement that allows for a tenure for one and another for the other – continually.

Leaning towards social critics, however, it is hard to believe either side. For if for nothing, their actions contradict the gospels they preach. Even to compound that, most of the military-era soldiers are now politicians in their own rights. Recall, for instance, it’s a fact known to many that when G-34 (which, among other groups, was to become the People’s Democratic Party (PDP)), was established by some Nigerian politicians, one of their aims was to form a movement with a force capable of extinguishing military governance, for good, once and for all. 

With Alex Ekwueme (the first elected Vice President (1979-1983) and Professor Jerry Gana (who previously served as a Minister) as the first Chairman and Secretary of the PDP, respectively, it’s laughable that retired soldiers not only joined but ended up hijacking the party to make one of them the presidential candidate and later the first president in Nigeria’s fourth republic. So, who is who? Who are we to believe? Who are we to blame? Who is deceiving who? Who is the actual heroic champion of the power? Are the politicians ready? Can we even see any difference between the civilians and the soldiers?

Once pictured as a civilian vs military dichotomy, transmuted to a South vs North dichotomy, the ‘June 12’ incident, nobody ever sees it as a Muslim vs Christian dichotomy. However, it was a power heist involving friends – with MKO at the receiving end.

In my view, ours is a zero-ideology political arena. I especially expect Marxists (hoping we still have them) to agree with me here: the bunch of unforgiving capitalists who rule[d] Nigeria, death or alive, soldiers or politicians, whatsoever, have no regard for the ordinary citizens in their mind. Quote me.

Part II

Helen Keller, the blind, deaf American human rights activist, disability advocate, and excellent writer, said, “The country is governed for the richest, for the corporations, the bankers, the land speculators, and for the exploiters of labor.”

As a Nigerian (socially between the working and middle classes) with my vision and hearing still intact, Alhamdulillah, I can’t see or hear anything different. Thus, I am so fed up with hearing “democracy was r*ped” or “A and B were dictators.” What wasn’t r*ped, and who wasn’t a dictator fisabilLahi? Is it Fulgencio Batista or Fidel Castro? 

In case it isn’t clear as [and appearing for] what it is, we may well take another look. In the interest of democracy and development, take the most recent samples to the nearest laboratory. Tell me, for I genuinely want to understand: of what importance was it to the North when their son was the president, or to the South when their own was helming the boat (oh, yacht)?

All military Heads of State and democratically elected Presidents aside, the relationship between Babangida and Abiola was for a very long time so good that some historians and analysts were perplexed by what unfolded before them after the annulment: the bitterness, the chaos, the deaths, and then the silence. With not much to hold on to, conspiracy theorists took to the street with “the General knows the politician very well, so…” But since he was elected by his countrymen, in a process seen by many to be free and fair, that makes no sense whatsoever. 

Close to the above is another contention, shared by the legendary historian, Max Siollun, in his ‘Soldiers of Fortune’, that MKO wouldn’t have been as successful without the role played by his soldier President friend IBB. So, if it was, as explained by a friend recently, a case of two elephants fighting whence the grasses suffer, so be it. However, suffice is to say that it was never about the sold dichotomies. It can’t be about anything to do with talaka. It was all about their own interests. They are the very same people, birds of the same feather, two sides of a single coin.

Wonderful! I also forget other issues such as the assassination of Dele Giwa, the execution of Mamman Vatsa, and his refusal to appear before the Oputa Panel – the Nigerian 2001-commissioned Human Rights Violation Commission. Here, I think we must content ourselves with just one question, since our sources indicate that he expressed hope for the resolution of the Giwa mystery and seems to deliberately avoid the barysphere. My question, albeit odd, is not directed towards the author: Now that we have the other side of the story, are Nigerian human rights activists – including journalists and lawyers – on par with IBB? I only wish Chief Gani Fawehinmi (SAN) were alive. The book would have made an excellent exhibit… May his soul rest in peace.

In conclusion, the words of a “rebel” came to mind. I have yet to encounter a better description of Nigeria and its people than the one found in ‘Because I am Involved’ by the first president of the former Republic of Biafra, Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu. It was this Oxford-educated Nigerian military officer who remarked, “Our leaders are pseudo leaders; our intellectuals are pseudo-intellectuals; our professionals are pseudo professionals; while our occupations are pseudo occupations. Our middle class is pseudo middle class; our elite are pseudo elite; our socialists, Marxists, liberals, and even our conservatives are often very much pseudo.” 

Standing on the shoulders of William Shakespeare, our nation resembles a theatre, with players performing upon its stage while some manage the script and many observe with delight. From NSA-Canada to USAID-Boko H*ram, and now to the June 12 saga, we exemplify ‘one day, one drama’. Moreover, as can be readily deduced, Ojokwu was indeed a pseudo-rebel, just as this writer is a pseudo-writer.

…

To be continued!

Abubakar Idris Misau writes from Katsina, Nigeria. He studied Forestry and Wildlife at the University of Maiduguri and can be reached at abubakaridrismisau@gmail.com.

By Bashir Uba Ibrahim, PhD

Etymologically, the terms “autos”, “bios”, and “graphein” are Greek forms. While the former stands for “self”, the “bio” represents “life”, and the “graphein” which diachronically and morphologically changes over time to “graphy,” means “to write”. Thus, autobiography is a self-written narration of one’s own life. 

According to Celluni, “All men, whatever be their condition, who have done anything of merit, if so, be they men of truth and good repute, should write the tale of their life with their own hand”. Thus, the recent 420-page memoir launched by the former military Head of State, Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, on Thursday, 20^th February 2025, is a typical instance of a self-written account of one’s own life experiences.

Babangida’s A Journey of Service: An Autobiography is highly anticipated due to the author’s role as one of Nigeria’s most controversial, if not enigmatic, military leaders. His perceptive ingenuity and cunning leadership style earned him the nickname “Maradona” or “evil genius.” Thus, his reign was marked by numerous seemingly unforgettable controversies and troubles, ranging from the mysterious death of journalist Dele Giwa, the failed coup of Mamman Vatsa and his subsequent execution, Gideon Okar’s bloody failed coup, the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), the OIC palaver, and above all, the 1993 June 12 saga. 

As noted by Lejunre (1975), the supreme value of autobiography lies in its nature as a product of the writer’s self, the private realm of his reflective self that informs the bios and graphein, with which they interact to form a text as a discourse about his existence, particularly emphasising the development of his own life and personality. Therefore, as an autobiographical text, A Journey in Service represents a personal account of its author.

In addition, Babangida, in this book, makes a striking revelation, submissions and confessions that left some of its readers in a deep shudder and bewilderment. For instance, about the June 12 saga, an election that was annulled in broad daylight by him, he writes that on June 23^rd, 1993, he left Abuja for Katsina to commiserate with the Yar’adua family over the death of their patriarch, Musa Yar’adua, the father of Major General Shehu Yar’adua and the late Nigerian president Umar Musa Yar’adua when “a report filtered to me that the June 12 elections had been annulled” (pp-275). He thus shifts blame to former Head of State General Sani Abacha, who was then his Chief of Defence Staff, the accusation which some people view as not only baseless but rather a joke and a scapegoat as succinctly captured in the book “But annulment was only a component of series of other options. But to suddenly have an announcement made without my authority was, to put it mildly, alarming. I remember saying: ‘These nefarious inside’ forces opposed to the elections have outflanked me! I would later find out that the forces led by General Sani Abacha annulled the election. There and then, I knew I was caught between a devil and deep blue sea” (pp-275).  

Therefore, Abacha served as a whipping boy or a fall guy, thus taking the blame. This is where the need for thanatography- a death writing comes up. Had Abacha been alive, the people would like to hear his side of the story on this saga, or had it been possible to write from the grave, thanatographically, his submission will help in striking a balance. Therefore, it is probable to say that Babangida’s autobiography, A Journey of Service, is just a metaphor of self that conceptually and schematically treatises his life journey from his early years, school years in Wushishi and Bida, early military career as a young officer to Nigerian civil war and NDA teaching years, mounting the saddle of leadership as the military head of state and the challenges that follow. 

In short, this autobiography is timely as it emerges in an era where one of MKO Abiola’s disciples, who fought for the cause of June 12, which led to his exile, is ruling the country. Meanwhile, the public’s eagerness to hear Babangida’s perspective after 32 years since the incident, along with numerous intricate mysteries, controversies, and decisions that characterised his regime, makes the book’s readership thought-provoking. 

However, my prediction is that the book will be subjected to various interpretations, re-readings, and misinterpretations depending on the perspective of its readers. Therefore, critics of this autobiography or memoir may approach it with the intention of deconstructing it, as the autobiographical activity (by Babangida) is also a form of deconstruction, evident through the narrative account and the self-writing upon the subject self.         

Dr Bashir Uba Ibrahim writes from the Department of English and Literary Studies, Sule Lamido University, Kafin Hausa. He can be reached via bashirubaibrahim@gmail.com.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri 

On February 20, 2025, Nigeria marked a pivotal moment in its historical and literary landscape by launching A Journey in Service, the autobiography of General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, the nation’s former Military Head of State. Held at the Transcorp Hilton Hotel’s Congress Hall in Abuja, the event drew an illustrious crowd: President Bola Tinubu, former Presidents Yakubu Gowon, Abdulsalami Abubakar, and Goodluck Jonathan, alongside business magnates Aliko Dangote and Abdulsamad Rabiu. 

Beyond the fanfare and the nearly N17.5 billion raised for the IBB Legacy Centre—mistakenly dubbed a presidential library in early reports—the memoir’s release reignites a profound discussion about autobiographies. Far from being vessels of absolute truth, such works are meticulously crafted narratives designed to logically articulate an author’s perspective while justifying their actions and thoughts—past, present, and future. Babangida’s A Journey in Serviceembodies this, offering a lens to explore the constructed essence of autobiographical storytelling.

Autobiographies are, by design, subjective endeavours, distinct from impartial chronicles. They weave personal accounts from memory, intent, and selective disclosure, often prioritising coherence over unvarnished fact. Babangida, who governed Nigeria from August 27, 1985, to August 26, 1993, remains a divisive figure. Known for deft political manoeuvres—earning monikers like “Maradona” for his agility and “evil genius” for his cunningness—he oversaw a tumultuous era marked by economic upheaval and democratic setbacks. His most infamous act, the annulment of the June 12, 1993, presidential election—widely deemed Nigeria’s freest at that time, won by Moshood Abiola—has haunted his legacy for 31 years. 

Nigerians anticipated A Journey in Service as a chance for clarity or confession, yet its launch reveals a narrative sculpted to reflect Babangida’s self-perception. He acknowledges Abiola’s victory, a move Tinubu hailed as “unusual courage,” but frames the annulment as an unauthorised act by General Sani Abacha and other officers while he was in Katsina, sidelined by circumstance. This selective disclosure suggests not a full unveiling but a justification, repositioning him as a constrained leader rather than complicit.

This subjectivity underscores a broader truth: books, especially memoirs, filter reality through hindsight, bias, and audience expectation. Babangida’s 420-page work, reviewed by former Vice President Yemi Osinbajo, promises insights into his eight-year tenure—economic reforms like the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), infrastructure feats, and banking deregulation—yet sidesteps a complete reckoning. 

Critics highlight glaring omissions: no confession regarding the October 19, 1986, assassination of journalist Dele Giwa by a parcel bomb widely linked to his regime; no accounting for the $12.4 billion Gulf War oil windfall, per the 1994 Pius Okigbo report; and no remorse for the executions of coup plotters like Mamman Vatsa in 1986 and Gideon Orkar in 1990. Babangida’s claim that he feared Abiola’s assassination if he took office—a speculative justification—casts him as a reluctant actor amidst a military cabal, absolving himself of agency. As much as the revelations, these silences illustrate how A Journey in Service constructs a narrative that defends, rather than fully discloses, a deliberate choice aligning with autobiographical norms.

The memoir’s role as a legacy-building tool further amplifies its constructed nature. Launched as Babangida, now 83 (born August 17, 1941), nears life’s twilight, and Nigeria approaches the 2027 elections, the event doubled as a fundraising spectacle for the IBB Legacy Centre. Billion-naira pledges from Dangote, Rabiu, and others—totalling N17.5 billion per ThisDay—underscored Babangida’s enduring clout 31 years after stepping down. 

The title A Journey in Service reframes his rule as a patriotic endeavour, softening the authoritarian edges of his “evil genius” persona. By admitting Abiola’s win while distancing himself from the annulment’s execution, he crafts a complex portrait: a transformative leader navigating chaos, appealing to admirers who credit him with modernisation while mitigating critics’ ire over economic hardship and political repression. This duality reflects a narrative engineered to reconcile his past with the statesman image he seeks today, extending its influence beyond the page into Nigeria’s political present.

The historical context of Babangida’s tenure enriches this analysis. His regime followed a series of military coups, inheriting a nation battered by oil-dependent economics and factional strife. The SAP, intended to liberalise the economy, sparked inflation and unrest, while his annulment catalysed protests and deepened ethnic divides, paving the way for Abacha’s reign. A Journey in Service likely glosses over these ripple effects, emphasising achievements—like the Third Mainland Bridge or Abuja’s development—to counterbalance failures. This selective memory mirrors how autobiographies prioritise legacy over accountability, inviting readers to weigh Babangida’s narrative against Nigeria’s collective experience.

Reactions to the memoir underscore its status as perspective, not fact. Tinubu, a June 12 activist turned president, praised its candour as setting “records properly,” perhaps reflecting political pragmatism. Afenifere, a pan-Yoruba group, rejected it as too late to mend the annulment’s “ogbonge damage,” echoing Yoruba grievances. Activists accused Babangida of exploiting Nigeria’s accountability vacuum, a sentiment rooted in decades of unresolved justice. Literary scholar Pius Adesanmi, were he alive, might have called it a “textual performance,” blending truth and theatre. These responses reveal a fragmented reception: the book’s narrative is interpreted through readers’ biases, not universally embraced as truth, highlighting the elusive nature of autobiographical authority.

However, this constructed nature does not diminish the value of A Journey in Service; rather, it enhances its complexity. It provides a window into Babangida’s mind: his rationalisations, regrets, and aspirations amid a career of calculated risks. At the launch, Goodluck Jonathan urged the preservation of such narratives to enrich Nigeria’s political archive, calling for the institutionalisation of personal histories. 

Readers, however, must approach it sceptically, recognising it as one voice in a cacophony of perspectives—those of June 12 activists, SAP victims, and silenced journalists. Its significance lies not in claiming absolute truth but in sparking reflection and debate, compelling Nigerians to confront the ambiguities of their history. For youth, as commentators suggest, it offers leadership lessons—resilience and adaptability—albeit through a self-justifying lens that demands critical parsing.

Comparatively, A Journey in Service fits a global tradition of autobiographical narrative-building. Nelson Mandela’s Long Walk to Freedom blends triumph with curated humility, while Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father navigates identity with selective introspection. With its wit (per Osinbajo’s review) and strategic candour, Babangida’s work joins this lineage, tailoring Nigeria’s military past to a personal saga. Its launch timing—amid economic woes and democratic flux—amplifies its relevance, positioning Babangida as a commentator on leadership in crisis, a narrative thread justifying his past while influencing future discourse.

In conclusion, autobiographies like A Journey in Service are not absolute truths but woven narratives serving their authors’ ends. Launched on February 20, 2025, Babangida’s memoir—through selective revelations, strategic omissions, and legacy-driven intent—justifies actions like the annulment while shaping his present stature and future remembrance. 

As Nigerians grapple with its contents, it stands as a testament to storytelling’s power: not a final word, but a provocation to question, analyse, and seek broader truths it skirts. In a nation wrestling with its past—where military rule, economic policy, and democratic betrayal remain raw—such narratives are vital, not for certainty, but for the conversations they ignite, urging a deeper reckoning with history’s many voices.

Ibraheem A. Waziri wrote from Zaria.

By Amir Abdulazeez, PhD

In ancient times and through the Middle Ages, people used autobiographies to share hidden truths, make confessions and communicate genuine experiences. Nowadays, they are used by politicians and world leaders for self-justification and self-glorification. Whether in the West, across Africa, or within Nigeria, the pattern remains the same—political figures use autobiographies to rewrite history in their favour, often ignoring their failures or controversies.

Between 1948 and 1954, former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill published multiple volumes of memoirs portraying him as World War II’s hero. While Churchill was undeniably a key figure in the war, his narratives downplayed criticisms of his leadership, including his alleged role in the Bengal Famine of 1943, which resulted in the deaths of millions. His autobiographical works cemented his legacy as a wartime leader while sidestepping his more controversial decisions.

Modern political memoirs have increasingly become exercises in selective storytelling, where leaders carefully articulate their narratives to present themselves in the most favourable light possible. Former United States President Richard Nixon used his autobiography, The Memoirs of Richard Nixon, to repair his image after the Watergate scandal. After lying about the possession of weapons of mass destruction as a justification to invade, Tony Blair’s A Journey and George W. Bush’s Decision Points cruelly and shamelessly attempted to justify their baseless war in Iraq in 2003. 

Across Africa, many leaders have also engaged in the practice of using autobiographies to deny or justify their shortcomings. As good as they were, Ghana’s Kwame Nkrumah, Zambia’s Kenneth Kaunda, Tanzania’s Julius Nyerere, and Kenya’s Jomo Kenyatta have all been accused of using autobiographies to exaggerate their legacies, downplay their shortcomings, and ignore controversies around their stewardships.

In Nigeria, Olusegun Obasanjo’s 2014 book My Watch has been widely criticised for being self-serving. While Obasanjo portrays himself as a patriot and a visionary leader, he conveniently overlooked his authoritarian tendencies and allegations of corruption and electoral fraud during his tenure.  

Despite all the glaring circumstances that led to Dr. Goodluck Jonathan’s decisive defeat in the 2015 Presidential elections, in his 2018 book My Transition Hours, he tried hard to justify and downplay his actions while also constructing different conspiracy theories that gave the impression that he didn’t lose the elections freely and fairly. 

Just when we thought we had enough of all these politicised autobiographies, former Military President General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida has released his own memoirs. While often and correctly presented as one of Nigeria’s finest soldiers, strongest leaders, and elder statesmen, we cannot expect his memoirs to differ significantly from those of other Nigerian, African, and world leaders. IBB is unfortunate to be one of the most studied and documented Nigerian leaders, and there are numerous controversies, inconsistencies, and tactical deceptions associated with his tenure that no autobiography can reconcile. 

One major criticism of IBB’s memoir is its timing. The delayed release suggests a strategic waiting period for public emotions to cool and memories to fade. Apart from the main actors, many others in a position to validate or refute whatever he might say in his book are deceased. In fact, the majority of the current generation of Nigerians were not even born when he left power in 1993. In a nutshell, while Babangida’s autobiography may attempt to rationalise many of his decisions, the scars left by the events he oversaw, such as the Structural Adjustment Programme, state executions, public corruption, and the endless and wasteful transition programme, will remain fresh in the country’s memory.

In Nigeria, what have these autobiographies taught us? Many leaders and political figures have left behind terrible legacies that they cannot afford to entrust to impartial storytellers. While they ought to spend the remainder of their lives in regret and reflection, they prefer to add salt to the wound by publishing half-truths and falsehoods as autobiographies. When they do this, they invariably have other elitist co-conspirators, who benefited from their actions and inactions in power, gathering to celebrate them as heroes. 

As a former Nigerian leader, as long as you are alive and influential, you can always find a way to redeem your image despite your atrocities. I often ask people to imagine if General Sani Abacha were still alive; who would dare to recover any foreign loot associated with him? Who doesn’t have skeletons in their cupboards? Unfortunately for Abacha, apart from being dead, he had also stepped on most, if not all, of the toes that would have protected him, and again, one of the most affected became President just 11 months after his death.

Not everyone is the same. There are patriotic Nigerian leaders, statesmen, and freedom fighters who deserve to write autobiographies. Unfortunately, when they do, their works often get drowned in the ocean of the more negative ones who are wealthier and more popular. By tradition, Nigerians tend to promote and accept things that are popular and glamorous rather than those that are truthful and sincere. This is why you don’t hear trending biographies about Gani Fawehinmi, Abdulkadir Balarabe Musa, and others.

Ultimately, everyone has the right to their own opinion and narrative of events as they wish others to perceive them. While autobiographies offer valuable insights into the minds of world leaders, they should be read critically. Readers must recognise that these books are not always honest reflections of history but are often carefully crafted narratives aimed at preserving a leader’s legacy. 

The memoirs of political leaders frequently function more as instruments of image control than as genuine historical accounts. The ultimate judgement of political leaders should not lie within the pages of their autobiographies but rather in the lived experiences of their citizens and the tangible impacts of their policies. 

I read three autobiographies recently, and I found them to be outstanding and honest: Sir Ahmadu Bello’s My Life, Nelson Mandela’s Long Walk to Freedom and Mahatma Gandhi’s The Stories of My Experiments with Truths. Sardauna’s was simple, least self-glorifying and occasionally self-critical. Mandela’s was strictly a chronicle of collective struggles, only mentioning but leaving out details about subjective issues and cleverly terminating his story to the point he was inaugurated as President. He left the story of his presidency to be told by others. Gandhi’s was the best; when he was literally forced to write his memoirs in 1925, he named it ‘My Experiments’; the translators added the word ‘autobiography’. He never wanted to write because he believed that if your actions were right, there was nothing to boast about; for the wrong ones, there would always be many people to help you write them.

Twitter: @AmirAbdulazeez 

By Abdullahi Mukhtar Algasgaini

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu congratulates Nigeria’s former Head of State, General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, GCFR, on his 83rd birthday today, August 17. 

General Babangida, popularly called IBB, was Nigeria’s military President from 1985 to 1993.

President Tinubu salutes IBB on this special occasion, noting his endeavours towards the nation’s development, especially in infrastructure and other areas, notably the completion of the Third Mainland Bridge, which at the time was the longest bridge in Africa.

The President acknowledges General Babangida’s role in shaping modern Nigeria and commends him for his services to the nation.

President Tinubu wishes the former head of state many more years in good health.

By Saifullahi Attahir

After I read many books and essays about the life of the Late General Sani Abacha, including the famous Soldiers of Fortune by the brilliant historian Max Siollun, I was able to draw out some key lessons I wanted to share with my readers, hoping it would serve as a guide toward their leadership, professional, and other life aspirations.

A famous Hausa saying goes, ‘In ka ji wane ba banza ba’, meaning (every popular, great, or successful person has a hidden story behind it).

Sani Abacha was born in Kano in 1943 to a Kanuri businessman. He attended Kano Provincial College (later called Rumfa College) before proceeding to Nigeria Army training in Kaduna. He was commissioned into the Army and could participate in various trainings and engagements within and outside the country.

Abacha was destined to be among the few soldiers to become Nigeria’s Head of State during his career. Little was known about this young man before the 1983 coup that brought General Muhammadu Buhari to power. It was stated that only three times during a span of over three decades did Abacha ever appear to make any official public statements. He was a master of silence and maintaining a low profile.

For an ambitious and very calculated person like Abacha to achieve his dream within the cycle of influence in the elite Nigerian army, it must call for some behaviours and attitudes that he possessed either inherently or learned that he was fortunate to use, and quite predictably, these were the strongest weapons he used during his time.

 I am not advocating military rule or any form of ruthless use of force to lead people. In contrast, my article is about what characters can learn from great individuals regardless of where they hail from or their human mistakes. I hope this will be a guide to our youth who aspire to lead a responsible and impactful life.

Below are the lessons I wanted us to learn: 

1) Concealing intention

Abacha may have read Robert Greene’s 48 Laws of Power or mastered the art even before the book was written. Whether Abacha had already harboured the intention to rule Nigeria was another subject of debate, but his ability to remain unpredictable to the extent that even his boss, General Ibrahim Bahamas Babangida (IBB) stated that he never for once thought Abacha had any intention to become Head of State. This concealment of intention shielded him from the attraction of his colleagues with similar ambitions. Also, he was able to escape the trap of Boss/protégé conflict. 

Had Abacha publicly started showing any intention of replacing his boss, their relationship might have gone sour. This key lesson of never outshining your master and never publicly sharing your dreams and goals with anyone except the needful ones is a very important strategy for achieving your goals in life. Keep your enemies busy and maintain an air of unpredictability.

2) Patience

The importance of this assertive attitude can never be overemphasised. The art of patience, deliberation, and taking things without a rush is one of the best attributes for lasting success and achieving life goals.

When you are patient, life-changing opportunities will eventually come your way. Both Abacha and Bukar S. Dimka were contemporary ambitious young soldiers, but Dimka rushed his ambition by conniving with others and making his intention known. He eagerly executed an ill-prepared coup against Murtala. The tragedy ended up destroying both Dimka and his collaborators.

On the other hand, Abacha was more patient and allowed his ambition to buy time until 20 years later when he became an indomitable force to reckon with. He eventually became the Head of State. 

3) Know when to decide

 It’s not advisable to remain patient and inactive all your life. You are supposed to know when to act when to strike and when to attack. Whenever the long-awaited opportunity presents itself, you must seize it and act decisively quickly. At that point, you are not likely to procrastinate even for a while. When the country plunged into crisis, and the Interim National Government (ING) under Shonekan could not control the situation, Abacha saw this as both necessary and an opportunity to exercise his power. The rest is history.

These art and qualities require training and mastery by every person from any walks of life.

May Allah forgive his shortcomings and let his gentle soul rest in peace, ameen.

Saifullahi Attahir, a Medical Student of Federal University Dutse, wrote via saifullahiattahir93@gmail.com.