KANO, Nigeria – The air around Abdullahi Ganduje, the embattled National Chairman of the All Progressives Congress (APC), grows thinner by the day. Once a political titan who ruled Kano State with an iron grip, Ganduje now clings to his party throne like a shipwrecked sailor to driftwood. At 1.8 years into his tenure—nearing the ominous two-year average lifespan of APC chairmen—he faces a storm of rumors, betrayals, and a fresh federal appointment that smells suspiciously like a golden parachute. Has Ganduje overstayed his welcome? The whispers in Abuja’s political corridors scream yes, painting a picture of a man cornered, with nowhere left to run.
The APC chairmanship has never been a cozy seat. It’s a revolving door of power plays and knife-in-the-back politics, with an average tenure of just two years. Bisi Akande barely survived a year knitting the party’s fractious blocs together in 2013. John Oyegun endured four years of squabbles before being shoved out in 2018. Adams Oshiomhole’s two-year reign ended in a 2020 coup fueled by legal battles and Edo State’s rebellion. Mai Mala Buni’s caretaker stint stretched two years amid accusations of overreach, and Abdullahi Adamu was unceremoniously dumped after 1.5 years in 2023. Now, Ganduje, appointed in August 2023, teeters on the edge of this cursed timeline, his every move scrutinized as the party’s vultures circle.
The latest blow came in January 2025, when President Bola Tinubu named Ganduje Chairman of the Federal Airports Authority of Nigeria (FAAN). To the untrained eye, it’s a plum job—a reward for loyalty. But in Nigeria’s cutthroat political arena, it’s a neon sign flashing “Exit Stage Left.” The North Central APC Forum pounced, declaring it a “clear signal” the party is preparing to reclaim the chairmanship for their zone, as promised when Adamu was ousted. “Ganduje’s time is up,” a forum insider told *The Punch* anonymously, their words dripping with glee. “FAAN is his consolation prize—Tinubu’s way of saying, ‘Thanks, but we’re done.’” Posts on X echoed this sentiment, with users like @NaijaTruth247 calling it “a soft landing for a sinking ship.”
If the FAAN appointment wasn’t enough, rumors of Tanko Al-Makura, the former Nasarawa governor, being groomed as Ganduje’s successor have reached fever pitch. Sources close to APC powerbrokers claim heavyweights like Abdulaziz Yari are rallying behind Al-Makura to appease the Congress for Progressive Change (CPC) bloc and restore North Central’s “stolen” slot. “Al-Makura is a unifier,” a party chieftain whispered to *Vanguard*, refusing to be named for fear of reprisal. “Ganduje’s baggage is too heavy—Kano’s wounds, Kwankwaso’s shadow. We can’t carry that into 2027.” The mention of Rabiu Kwankwaso, Ganduje’s arch-nemesis, stings deepest. Speculation that the New Nigeria Peoples Party (NNPP) leader might defect to the APC has set tongues wagging, with insiders suggesting Kwankwaso’s return would be the final nail in Ganduje’s coffin. Their decades-long feud—marked by public insults and Kano’s 2019 electoral slugfest—makes coexistence under one party roof unthinkable.
Ganduje’s desperation is palpable. He’s crisscrossing Nigeria like a man possessed, kneeling before former presidents and emirs, begging for relevance. His visit to Muhammadu Buhari in Daura last month was billed as “consultative,” but X users smelled blood: “Ganduje’s running scared,” posted @KanoChronicle. “Buhari won’t save him.” His gushing praise for Tinubu—calling the president’s economic reforms “a masterstroke” at a recent APC rally in Abuja—feels less like loyalty and more like a drowning man clutching at straws. “He’s shouting Tinubu’s name to remind everyone he’s still useful,” sneered a political analyst on *Channels TV*. “But loyalty doesn’t trump strategy.”
The ghosts of Ganduje’s past haunt him too. The 2018 bribery scandal, where videos allegedly showed him pocketing dollar bribes, still lingers in the public’s mind, a stain no amount of chairmanship swagger can erase. Legal salvos keep coming—most recently, Muhammad Etsu’s lawsuit challenging his leadership legitimacy. The North Central’s grievances, voiced loudly at a 2024 APC stakeholders’ meeting in Jos, add fuel: they accuse Ganduje of sidelining their region while favoring his Northwest base. “The party promised us the chairmanship,” barked a Plateau APC elder to *Daily Trust*. “Ganduje’s sitting on borrowed time.”
History offers no comfort. The APC’s chairmanship is a guillotine, slicing through egos with ruthless precision. Oyegun was pushed out when Tinubu’s camp flexed muscle. Oshiomhole fell when governors turned traitor. Adamu vanished when the party’s chessboard shifted. Ganduje, once Kano’s untouchable kingmaker, now looks like a pawn in a game he no longer controls. Even his allies seem to waver—Bala Ibrahim’s defense of Ganduje’s FAAN role sounded more like damage control than conviction, insisting to *The Guardian* that “the chairman remains our leader.” But the silence from Tinubu’s inner circle speaks louder.
The Kwankwaso factor looms largest, a shadow Ganduje can’t escape. If Kwankwaso defects, as rumored since late 2024, the APC would face a dilemma: accommodate a political juggernaut or keep a chairman whose feud with him could fracture the party. “Kwankwaso’s too big to play second fiddle,” an NNPP defector told *ThisDay*. “Ganduje’s chair is the price for Kano’s loyalty.” X posts amplify the drama, with @NorthernPulse declaring, “Ganduje’s done if Kwankwaso crosses over. Tinubu won’t risk 2027 for one man’s ego.”
Hopelessness cloaks Ganduje like a shroud. His frenetic outreach, his forced smiles at party events, his clinging to Tinubu’s coattails—they betray a man who knows the end is near. The FAAN appointment, meant to gild his exit, only underscores his fall. Al-Makura’s name grows louder, Kwankwaso’s shadow darker, and the North Central’s drums beat relentlessly. The APC’s history of chewing up chairmen spares no one, and Ganduje, at two years in, is ripe for the chopping block. He fights on, but the vultures are patient. Has he overstayed his welcome? The question isn’t if, but when, the guillotine drops. For Abdullahi Ganduje, the clock ticks louder than ever, and hope is a luxury he can no longer afford.
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