by Mohammed Bello Doka
30 March, 2026
In the solemn hush of the National Cemetery in Abuja on Sunday, March 29, 2026, a moment unfolded that was meant to heal but instead exposed the raw underbelly of Nigerian politics. As mourners gathered for the Janazah and burial of Hajiya Umma El-Rufai, the beloved mother of former Kaduna State Governor Nasir El-Rufai, respected Islamic scholar Sheikh Isa Ali Pantami stepped forward. With evident sincerity, he placed himself between El-Rufai and his successor, Governor Uba Sani, clasped their hands, and urged forgiveness. “Your Excellency, forgive one another,” Pantami implored, before announcing to the crowd that “they have forgiven each other.” The video, captured amid the graveside rites at Gudu Cemetery, went viral within hours, sparking a national conversation laced with both praise and profound discomfort.
Sheikh Pantami, a towering figure in Islamic scholarship whose contributions to faith and public discourse command widespread respect, acted in a tradition deeply rooted in our religion. *Sulhu*—reconciliation—is not merely encouraged but exalted in Islam. The Holy Quran declares: “There is no good in much of their private conversation, except for one who enjoins charity or that which is right or conciliation between people. And whoever does that seeking the pleasure of Allah—then We are going to give him a great reward” (Quran 4:114). The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught that reconciling disputing parties surpasses voluntary fasting, prayer, or charity in reward, even permitting a white lie if it restores peace. In a nation fractured by ethnic, religious, and political divides, such peacemaking gestures carry moral weight. Pantami’s intention, no doubt, stemmed from this noble imperative—to seize a moment of mortality’s reminder and foster unity among Muslims and leaders alike.
Yet, context is everything. What transpired was not a private act of spiritual mediation but a public spectacle staged at the graveside of a grieving son who had just buried his mother. El-Rufai, released from detention only after her death in Cairo following two weeks in intensive care, stood there raw with loss. Uba Sani, who had led a Kaduna State delegation to the funeral, appeared composed beside him. The optics—captured on cameras, amplified across social media, and announced triumphantly—felt less like divine *sulhu* and more like a carefully choreographed political tableau. It was too little, too early, too political, and, to many observers, deeply nauseating.
To understand the nausea, one must revisit the documented history of political patronage that binds these men. Nasir El-Rufai did not merely mentor Uba Sani; he engineered his ascent. From Uba Sani’s early advisory roles in the Federal Capital Territory Administration under El-Rufai’s ministerial tenure (2003–2007), to his appointment as Senior Special Assistant on Political and Intergovernmental Affairs immediately after El-Rufai’s 2015 gubernatorial victory, the relationship was one of deliberate elevation. In 2019, El-Rufai’s influence secured Uba Sani the All Progressives Congress (APC) ticket and victory as Senator for Kaduna Central. By May 2022, El-Rufai publicly anointed him as preferred successor, directing party aspirants to step aside and granting Uba Sani exclusive access to state cabinet briefings. Uba Sani won the 2023 governorship with 730,002 votes, widely viewed as the “anointed” continuity candidate. He himself once hailed El-Rufai as “boss, mentor, friend and dependable political ally” in a 2022 tribute. This was not organic alliance; it was patronage writ large—El-Rufai lifting a loyalist from advisory obscurity to the pinnacle of state power.
The betrayal that followed has been as public as the patronage. El-Rufai has openly accused Uba Sani, alongside National Security Adviser Nuhu Ribadu and the ICPC, of conspiring in his “abduction” and prolonged detention since mid-February 2026. The probes—alleged mismanagement of over ₦432 billion and DSS charges over purported phone-tapping—have been framed by El-Rufai’s camp as political persecution. Critically, while Hajiya Umma El-Rufai lay critically ill, her son remained in custody. Compassionate release came only after her passing on March 27, 2026—just in time for the funeral rites. Uba Sani, the very man El-Rufai elevated, stood accused of involvement in the machinery that denied a son his dying mother’s bedside. As one commentator, Mubarak Umar Dogondaji, poignantly noted on social media: “Pantami should have asked Uba Sani to seek Malam’s forgiveness because even El-Rufai’s worst enemy knew who was at fault in this whole saga… After a world-class betrayal and keeping someone behind doors and denying him the opportunity to… his mother who was reportedly in ICU for two weeks.”
Herein lies the nauseating political undertone. If Governor Uba Sani genuinely sought reconciliation with his former benefactor, there existed a far better path—one rooted in humility, not spectacle. True *sulhu* demands private dialogue first: an admission of grievances, a sincere apology for the perceived betrayal, and mutual consent away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. Uba Sani could have initiated quiet overtures weeks earlier, perhaps through trusted intermediaries, acknowledging the debt of his entire political career. Instead, the graveside handshake—engineered publicly, announced dramatically—paints a deliberate narrative. It casts Uba Sani as the magnanimous peacemaker, extending olive branches amid mourning, while positioning El-Rufai as the aggrieved party still nursing quarrels. This is not reconciliation; it is image rehabilitation through emotional leverage. As prominent commentator Kayode Ogundamisi observed in a widely shared post: “A funeral is no place for political gestures… Attempting reconciliation in that moment was misplaced. Pantami should have read the room, it only put pressure on El-Rufai and embarrassed Uba Sani.”
The move reeks of classic political and media manipulation. Authorities on the subject have long warned against such tactics. In his seminal work on deception in Nigerian electoral campaigns, researcher I. Hassan notes how “deceptive practices have been used most effectively… to manipulate the psychologies and thoughts of voters,” turning staged events into tools for narrative control. Similarly, political discourse analysts highlight what Plato termed *gennaion pseudos*—the “noble lie”—where leaders fabricate harmony to mask power struggles. Here, the viral video serves as manufactured consent: Uba Sani, fresh from warning journalists about “conflict merchants” masquerading as activists just weeks earlier (March 6, 2026), now appears the unifier. El-Rufai, still facing probes tied to his administration (which Uba Sani has aggressively investigated), emerges as the reluctant participant. Recent accusations fly both ways—El-Rufai has even claimed Uba Sani’s administration sponsored thugs to disrupt opposition meetings—yet the funeral moment conveniently glosses over these tensions.
This is not mere speculation. Social media erupted with accusations of “emotional manipulation” and “political theatre.” One viral reaction captured it starkly: “This isn’t reconciliation; it’s political theatre. El-Rufai built you, Uba Sani. You turned around and chased probes like a snake. No fake handshake will erase that.” The timing—mere days after El-Rufai’s release, at his mother’s burial—exploits grief’s vulnerability for optics. It distracts from deeper Kaduna fault lines: unresolved probes, allegations of kickbacks, and the erosion of public trust in APC godfatherism. For a state still reeling from insecurity and economic hardship, such drama risks deepening cynicism rather than fostering genuine peace.
Sheikh Pantami deserves respect for his peacemaking impulse; his scholarship and intentions stand above reproach. Yet even noble acts, when hijacked by political calculus, lose their sanctity. *Sulhu* thrives in sincerity, not spectacle. What unfolded was too little to mend years of patronage turned poison, too early amid fresh wounds of detention and loss, too political in its selective framing, and—yes—deeply nauseating in its exploitation of a mother’s funeral to launder images and rewrite narratives.
True reconciliation remains possible, even imperative, for Kaduna’s stability and Nigeria’s democracy. But it demands more than a graveside photo-op. It requires Uba Sani to lead with accountability: private atonement, transparent closure on probes, and a public acknowledgment that mentorship forged his path, not enmity. Only then can *sulhu* heal rather than wound. Until that day, Sunday’s moment stands as a cautionary tale—the peril of mixing faith with the machinery of power. Nigeria deserves better than staged handshakes at gravesides. It deserves leaders who reconcile in truth, not for the cameras.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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