by Mohammed Bello Doka
The idea sounds electric.
A South-East reformist icon joins forces with a North-West political general. Social media explodes. Commentators predict tectonic shifts. Anti-incumbency sentiment hums beneath the surface. Suddenly, the words “Obi–Kwankwaso ticket” begin to feel like destiny.
But Nigerian presidential elections are not Twitter Spaces. They are not town hall applause meters. They are not vibes.
They are wars.
And wars cost money.
Let’s start with the hard arithmetic. Nigeria has over 176,000 polling units spread across 36 states and the FCT. Every serious presidential campaign must deploy trained agents to nearly all of them. That means stipends, transport, accommodation, feeding, communication devices, legal coordination, state-level supervisors, zonal directors, collation center representatives, and rapid-response lawyers.
Hope does not pay polling agents.
Now place this against the political history of Bola Ahmed Tinubu — a man widely regarded, even by critics, as one of the most formidable political financiers in Nigeria’s Fourth Republic.
The 2022 APC Primaries: The Cost of Power
On June 7–8, 2022, at Eagle Square in Abuja, the presidential primary of the All Progressives Congress was held. It was one of the most expensive intra-party contests in Nigerian political history.
In the weeks leading to the primary, multiple newspapers reported intense delegate lobbying. On June 6, 2022, Daily Trust reported allegations by rival aspirants that dollars were being deployed to sway delegates. Premium Times (June 8, 2022) described the contest as financially heavy, noting accusations flying among camps about inducements. The Guardian (June 9, 2022) reported complaints from aspirants who alleged that “money politics” dominated the exercise.
None of these allegations were judicially proven in court. But the perception of a financially charged battlefield was unmistakable.
Tinubu emerged victorious with 1,271 delegate votes in a crowded field of powerful aspirants.
Politics may be about ideas. Primaries, however, are about persuasion — and persuasion in Nigeria has often been lubricated.
The Defection Economy
Since assuming office on May 29, 2023, President Tinubu has presided over a steady stream of political realignments. Governors and lawmakers have crossed party lines to align with the ruling party.
Opposition figures have publicly alleged that inducements may have played a role in some defections. For instance, in interviews throughout 2023 and 2024, PDP and Labour Party spokespersons suggested financial incentives could be influencing elite movements. These claims have not been proven in court.
But in Nigerian political culture, defections rarely occur in a vacuum. Negotiations are assumed. Incentives are suspected. The public shrugs. Politics moves on.
Whether proven or not, one thing is clear: incumbency attracts money.
Business elites hedge toward power. Contractors prefer continuity. Governors align where resources flow.
Enter Peter Obi: The “No Shishi” Candidate
Now consider Peter Obi.
Throughout the 2023 campaign cycle, Obi repeatedly declared that he would not “give shishi” for votes. The phrase became a moral banner. In interviews aired in 2022 and 2023 — including widely circulated campaign speeches — he emphasized prudence, transparency, and a break from transactional politics.
His movement drew energy from small donors, youth mobilization, and diaspora enthusiasm. It was disruptive. It was refreshing.
But 2027 is not a moral debate. It is an operational contest.
If Obi maintains the “no shishi” doctrine, he must answer a brutal question:
Who funds 176,000 polling units?
Kwankwaso’s Structured Loyalty
Then there is Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso.
Kwankwaso commands fierce loyalty in Kano through the Kwankwasiyya movement. His style is disciplined, structured, ideological within its base. He is not traditionally associated with flamboyant cash inducement politics. His strength lies in organized followership.
But Kano is one state.
A presidential election spans rivers, forests, deserts, megacities, and remote villages.
Structure in Kano does not automatically translate into infrastructure in Bayelsa, Ekiti, or Taraba.
The Historical Reality of Money Politics
Nigeria’s electoral history is soaked in reports of vote buying.
The 2015 general elections saw documented incidents of cash inducement reported by observer groups. In 2019, election observers including Yiaga Africa reported vote-buying patterns in several states. In 2023, multiple civil society organizations again documented cash-for-vote practices in parts of the country.
These reports are public record.
Vote buying may be illegal. But it is not imaginary.
Money influences turnout. Money influences loyalty. Money influences silence. Money influences litigation stamina after disputed results.
No serious political strategist ignores this variable.
The Incumbency War Chest
As a sitting president, Tinubu commands structural advantages:
Established donor networks cultivated over decades.
Relationships across geopolitical zones.
Governors aligned with the ruling party.
Federal presence across institutions.
Even without unlawful conduct, incumbency magnetizes funding.
In Nigeria’s political marketplace, proximity to power reduces donor anxiety.
Business elites ask one question: Who is likely to win?
Money follows the answer.
The Coalition Dilemma
If an Obi–Kwankwaso ticket materializes, funding becomes its central paradox.
Northern financiers may hesitate if Obi leads. Southern financiers may hesitate if Kwankwaso leads. Movement purists distrust political godfathers. Political financiers distrust ideological unpredictability.
And then comes the most dangerous phrase in Nigerian politics:
“Let’s crowdsource it.”
Crowdfunding wins online arguments. It does not win rural collation centers at 2:30 a.m.
Election-day liquidity is not theoretical. It is immediate.
Agents must be present. Supervisors must be alert. Lawyers must be on standby. Data must be transmitted. Disputes must be escalated.
All of it costs money.
The Humor and the Horror
Imagine a coalition strategy meeting.
“Gentlemen, how do we secure 176,000 polling units?”
Silence.
“We will inspire them.”
Inspiration does not buy fuel for vehicles in Zamfara.
“We will mobilize volunteers.”
Volunteers still need transport stipends in Cross River.
“We will rely on moral authority.”
Moral authority does not pay senior advocates during tribunal season.
This is not cynicism. It is realism.
The Core Question
If Obi refuses to give “shishi,” and Kwankwaso maintains disciplined frugality, who finances the national war chest required to challenge an incumbent widely perceived as politically resourceful?
Will governors fund it? Which governors? Across how many zones?
Will business elites risk alienating an incumbent?
Will small donors raise tens of billions of naira?
The Brutal Closing Truth
In Nigeria:
Popularity fills stadiums.
Money secures polling units.
Structure wins presidencies.
An Obi–Kwankwaso coalition may ignite excitement. It may galvanize reformists. It may dominate social media trends.
But unless it solves the funding equation — transparently, strategically, and at scale — it risks becoming what Nigerian politics has seen too many times:
A beautiful slogan without a war chest.
And in a terrain where elections have historically been influenced by financial muscle, refusing to talk about money is not purity.
It is peril.
Because in the end, Nigerian politics does not reward the loudest cheer.
It rewards the deepest pocket.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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