by Mohammed Bello Doka
16 March, 2026
By the time history writes the story of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s relationship with Northern Nigeria, it may not be written in the language of policy or reform. It may instead be written in nylon bags of rice, cartons of noodles, and the optics of charity that appear grand on camera but hollow in substance.
Last Ramadan, the president’s son, Seyi Tinubu, travelled across parts of the North distributing cooked rice packed in nylon bags to crowds of young people and the poor. The images were dramatic: long queues, eager faces, and the unmistakable choreography of political benevolence.
This year, however, something appears to have changed. The “menu,” so to speak, has reportedly been upgraded. Instead of nylon bags of cooked rice alone, beneficiaries allegedly received noodles, pasta and small cups of rice. A promotion of sorts.
But what was presented as charity has again exposed a deeper and uncomfortable question: Is this what governance has been reduced to in Northern Nigeria?
Because beyond the optics of Ramadan handouts lies a region battling a convergence of crises—hunger, unemployment and insecurity on a scale that demands structural solutions, not ceremonial gestures.
According to the National Bureau of Statistics, Nigeria’s multidimensional poverty report indicates that about 133 million Nigerians live in multidimensional poverty, with the largest concentration in Northern states. Several states in the North record poverty rates exceeding 60 to 80 percent.
Food insecurity is no less alarming. Data from the World Food Programme and the Food and Agriculture Organization warn that millions of Nigerians—particularly in the North-East and North-West—face acute food insecurity, worsened by conflict, inflation and declining agricultural productivity.
Unemployment among young people in the region remains a ticking social bomb. Nigeria’s labour data from the National Bureau of Statistics has repeatedly highlighted the disproportionate economic vulnerability of Northern youth, many of whom face limited access to jobs, education and opportunities.
And then there is insecurity.
From the forests of Zamfara to the villages of Kaduna, banditry and kidnapping have turned entire communities into survival zones. Armed groups continue to operate with terrifying regularity, attacking villages, abducting students and farmers, and forcing thousands off their lands.
In a region where agriculture should be the backbone of prosperity, many farmers simply cannot return to their fields.
Against this backdrop, the symbolism of charity caravans begins to look less like compassion and more like theatre.
One cannot help but wonder why a region that desperately needs massive agricultural investment, rural security, irrigation infrastructure and employment programmes continues to receive seasonal spectacles of noodles and pasta.
Even more troubling are the unintended consequences of such events.
Recent reports from Kano indicate that a stampede during one of these distribution exercises allegedly led to injuries and even fatalities, raising painful questions about the ethics and planning behind such crowd-pulling gestures.
Yet amid all this, Northern political leadership appears curiously untroubled.
Across the region, many governors elected under the ruling party continue to praise President Tinubu in glowing terms, describing his policies as visionary and transformative. Public declarations of loyalty flow easily, even as villages empty, farms collapse and markets struggle under crushing inflation.
One might ask: what exactly are they seeing that ordinary citizens are not?
Perhaps the timing offers a clue.
Nigeria is slowly approaching the political horizon of the 2027 general election. In Nigerian politics, proximity to elections often produces sudden bursts of generosity, strategic alliances and carefully curated outreach.
Some critics have therefore suggested that the apparent “upgrade” from rice to noodles and pasta may simply be part of a broader effort to reconnect with Northern voters ahead of the coming electoral season.
There are also whispers—still unproven but widely discussed in political circles—about alleged financial outreach to influential figures in the region.
A cleric in Kaduna recently accused unnamed actors within the political establishment of allegedly distributing as much as $500 billion to religious and traditional leaders across parts of the North. The claim remains unverified and should be treated cautiously, but it has nonetheless stirred intense debate.
At the same time, reports have circulated about large-scale donations of prayer mats to mosques across the Muslim North—gestures interpreted by some as acts of piety and by others as political symbolism.
Supporters see generosity. Critics see strategy.
And then there is the familiar rhythm of Nigerian insecurity during election cycles.
Some analysts suspect that as campaigns approach, the region may suddenly experience a temporary lull in bandit attacks, creating an atmosphere conducive to rallies, travel and political mobilization. The fear, often expressed quietly, is that the calm may only be temporary—until the ballots are counted and attention shifts elsewhere.
These suspicions remain speculative. But they reflect the deep mistrust that has grown between the region’s citizens and the political class that claims to represent them.
For many Northern Nigerians today, the central question is painfully simple: Are noodles and pasta supposed to replace policy?
The North does not lack resilience. Its farmers once fed much of the country. Its markets powered regional commerce. Its young population represents one of Nigeria’s greatest demographic advantages.
But resilience cannot survive forever on symbolism.
It requires roads to move produce.
Security to protect farms.
Credit to support farmers.
Education to empower youth.
And leadership willing to treat the region as a strategic partner in national development rather than an audience for seasonal charity.
Until those fundamentals are addressed, every Ramadan convoy—no matter how well packaged—will continue to raise the same uncomfortable question:
What changed?
Last year it was rice.
This year it is noodles and pasta.
But for millions across Northern Nigeria, the real hunger is not for charity.
It is for governance.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
ANN Politics
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Opinion