By Mohammed Bello Doka
If Nigeria was truly in charge, why did Nigerians find out about a military strike on their own soil from Donald Trump—and not from their own Commander-in-Chief, Bola Ahmed Tinubu?
Welcome to this week’s edition of Sarcastic Sunday with Mohammed Bello Doka, where we examine Nigeria’s political gymnastics with satire—because analysing it seriously, without humour, could choke a nation already gasping for truth.
Let us begin with the miracle of modern sovereignty: a country that insists it is fully in control, yet waits patiently for a foreign president’s festive announcement before discovering that bombs have fallen within its borders. This, apparently, is what leadership looks like in the age of outsourced explanations.
For years, Nigeria’s government has forcefully denied allegations of Christian genocide, objected to foreign military adventurism, and even sent emissaries to Washington to insist that Nigeria is sovereign, capable, and firmly in charge of its security affairs. Nigeria, we were told, does not accept unilateral actions on its territory. Nigeria leads. Nigeria decides.
Until Christmas Day.
On that day, the world did not hear from Abuja. It heard from Trump. Nigeria, it seems, was busy warming up its press release.
Hours later—after global headlines had already been written—the Nigerian government announced that the strike was carried out “in coordination with the United States.” Coordination, it turns out, is what happens after the explosion, not before it. A fascinating new doctrine, worthy of a PhD in post-event patriotism.
But coordination invites questions. Many questions.
If this was a joint operation, why did Nigeria not announce it?
If this was strategic, why were no specific terror leaders named?
If this was intelligence-driven, why were no known terror hubs degraded?
If this was Nigerian-led, why did Nigeria behave like a polite spectator?
Because here lies the geographical comedy that ruins the entire script.
Nigeria’s most notorious terror theatres are not a mystery. Zamfara State, Borno State, the Sambisa Forest, Niger State, and Katsina State have been bleeding for years. Terror leaders are known. Camps are known. Routes are known. Some leaders are so relaxed they maintain social media footprints, issuing threats, uploading propaganda, and bragging about atrocities as if auditioning for relevance.
Yet the Christmas strike avoided all of them.
Instead, it landed in Sokoto State—a choice so curious it deserves its own atlas. Was this a case of terrorists relocating for Christmas? Did Sambisa take a holiday? Did Zamfara close early for festivities? Or was the location selected not for military value but for symbolic convenience—a stage set carefully chosen to project a global narrative about “Islamic terrorism” while carefully avoiding the messy reality of Nigeria’s real war zones?
Because outcomes matter. And the outcomes here are stubbornly invisible.
No named high-value target.
No confirmed terror leader neutralised.
No dismantled network.
No disrupted logistics chain.
No Nigerian follow-up ground operation.
Just a strike, a statement, and silence.
In short, nobody important died, nothing important changed, but everyone was expected to clap politely.
So we are left with two explanations, both humiliating.
Either Nigeria was pressured or threatened—presented with a decision already taken, advised that resistance would be inconvenient, and encouraged to describe submission as “coordination.” Given global power dynamics, this explanation is not radical; it is realistic.
Or Nigeria chose face-saving diplomacy—endorsing a foreign action it neither initiated nor controlled, hoping that the word “joint” would disinfect the embarrassment. In this scenario, sovereignty survives as a press statement.
Pick your poison. Both taste the same.
In one version, Nigeria’s sovereignty is overruled.
In the other, Nigeria’s leadership is complicit in fiction.
And what of President Tinubu? His role in this drama appears less commander-in-chief and more chief narrative adjuster. No forceful national address. No assertive assertion of authority. No detailed explanation of targets, rules of engagement, or Nigerian command input. Just acceptance, explanation, and quiet alignment. Silence, we are told, is now strategic wisdom.
Yet Nigeria had options. It could have held its position. It could have rejected a symbolic strike that avoided real terror hubs. It could have demanded transparency, named targets, and measurable outcomes. It could have reminded the world that sovereignty is not a Christmas ornament—displayed seasonally and packed away afterward.
Instead, Nigeria validated a performance.
And performances have consequences. Today it is Sokoto. Tomorrow it could be anywhere. If foreign powers can strike first, announce later, and receive grateful “coordination” afterward, then sovereignty has quietly changed meaning. It no longer describes control. It describes damage control.
Which brings us back, gently and sarcastically, to the question Nigerians are not supposed to ask—but must:
Is Nigeria sovereign…
or is Tinubu just managing Trump’s headlines?
Abuja Network News
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