By Mohammed Bello Doka
Yes, we know this week’s Sarcastic Sunday is landing a bit late—please bear with us. After all, in Nigeria, every good thing arrives fashionably overdue: electricity, palliatives, justice, and even our democracy itself. So, in keeping with national tradition, we present this delayed edition as a patriotic gesture.
Now, let’s talk about June 12, that holy date now enshrined by the benevolent decree of retired General Muhammadu Buhari as Nigeria’s official Democracy Day. A day for sober reflection, deep introspection, and of course—government-sponsored amnesia. Because, let’s be honest, if democracy was a person in Nigeria, it would be that absentee father who shows up every four years with a bag of expired rice and a loudspeaker.
We are told June 12 celebrates the power of the people, the supremacy of the ballot, and the triumph of truth. But if that’s the case, why do most Nigerians feel like they’ve been voting on a cursed Monopoly board where the dice are rigged and the jail cell is always occupied by poor people?
On this Democracy Day, our leaders gave us the usual: long speeches, bold lies, and photo ops with polished agbadas. Oh wait—scratch that. This year, we didn’t even get a presidential address. Not a word. Not even a recycled paragraph from last year’s script. Perhaps the president is still writing it, or maybe we’re meant to expect the address in November, or better still, from an August visitor. After all, democracy is not a sprint—it’s a silent walk, led by ghosts and powered by vibes.
Meanwhile, the masses got... well, a free public holiday to reflect on how to survive without fuel, electricity, or sanity. If you're lucky, maybe your landlord also gave you a break on rent—just kidding, this is still Nigeria.
Our democracy, they say, is “maturing.” At this rate, it must be aging backward like Benjamin Button—because every election feels like a new low in a long-running tragicomedy. We have political parties that swap manifestos like second-hand jerseys and candidates who suddenly become saints the moment they decamp to a ruling party. Miracles never cease.
Let’s also not forget the freedom of expression we enjoy—yes, the sacred right to speak your mind until someone in dark sunglasses and a black Prado gently invites you to "come and explain yourself." You are free to speak, but not free from the consequences of being too loud, too bold, or too accurate. Nigeria: where your phone can autocorrect “government” to “danger.”
And about our right to protest? Of course, you can protest. Just be sure to wear jogging shoes—you might need to run. Bring water, not to stay hydrated, but to rinse off tear gas. And maybe leave a note for your family, in case you take an all-expense-paid trip to an undisclosed DSS spa.
This year, President Tinubu reminded us that the path to greatness is hard. He didn’t need to—we’re already feeling it in our bones, our pockets, and our stomachs. Greatness is indeed on the horizon—like a mirage in a desert: always visible, never reachable.
But let’s not be ungrateful. We’ve made progress. We now have ministers who can tweet in Queen’s English while their sectors crumble. We have senators who believe foreign trips are essential to learning how to fix Nigerian roads. We even have youths who can create trending hashtags faster than the government can spell “inflation.”
So, here’s to June 12. A day of dreams deferred, hopes recycled, and voices muted by the sweet rhythm of hunger and data subscription fees. May we continue to suffer in silence, smile on cue, and vote like it’s a family reunion.
Happy (Belated) Democracy Day, Nigeria.
May your freedom remain loud in theory and silent in reality.