1 April, 2026
In the shadow of a freshly dug grave at Gudu Cemetery in Abuja on March 29, 2026, Sheikh Isa Ali Pantami stepped forward with the solemn grace of a true man of God. Flanked by mourners still wiping tears for the late Hajiya Umma El-Rufai, the respected Islamic scholar placed himself between former Kaduna Governor Nasir El-Rufai and his successor, Governor Uba Sani. He clasped their hands, invoked the sacred duty of *sulhu*, and declared to the world that “they have forgiven each other.” The video exploded across social media within hours—heartwarming to some, nauseating to many. Sheikh Pantami’s gesture, rooted in the noble Islamic imperative of reconciliation, deserves our deepest respect. As the Quran teaches in Surah An-Nisa (4:114), there is no good in most private conversations except for those who enjoin charity, right conduct, or conciliation among people—and whoever does so seeking Allah’s pleasure shall receive a great reward. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) elevated reconciliation above voluntary fasting, prayer, or charity, even permitting a white lie if it restores peace between brothers. In a fractured nation like ours, such peacemaking carries moral weight. Pantami acted with evident sincerity, seizing a moment of mortality to urge unity among Muslim leaders.
Yet, barely 72 hours later, the illusion shattered. On April 1, 2026, as El-Rufai stood in the Federal High Court in Kaduna fighting for bail in the ICPC’s 10-count corruption case—charges of abuse of office, fraud, money laundering, and conversion of public funds—the court heard arguments but reserved its ruling for April 14. No sooner had proceedings ended than DSS operatives swooped in, bundling the former governor into a waiting vehicle and speeding him toward Abuja on their separate cybercrime charges stemming from alleged phone-tapping of the National Security Adviser. The man who had just buried his mother, the man Sheikh Pantami had publicly reconciled with his political “son,” was back in custody. The graveside handshake, once hailed as a triumph of faith over feud, now stands exposed as too little, too early, too political, and—yes—deeply nauseating. Is Sheikh Pantami aware that his noble effort has been rendered theatrical by the cold machinery of state power? Does he see how quickly the olive branch wilted under the weight of unresolved betrayal?
To grasp the cynicism, one must revisit the blood oath of patronage that once bound these men. Nasir El-Rufai did not merely mentor Uba Sani; he forged him from political obscurity. From Uba Sani’s early advisory roles in the Federal Capital Territory under El-Rufai’s ministerial watch (2003–2007), to his appointment as Senior Special Assistant on Political and Intergovernmental Affairs in 2015, the relationship was deliberate elevation. In 2019, El-Rufai’s clout secured Uba Sani the APC ticket and Senate seat for Kaduna Central. By 2022, El-Rufai publicly anointed him successor, ordering rival aspirants to step aside and granting him exclusive cabinet briefings. Uba Sani cruised to victory in 2023 with 730,002 votes, the “anointed” heir. He once called El-Rufai “boss, mentor, friend and dependable political ally.” This was not alliance born of equals; it was classic godfatherism—El-Rufai lifting a loyalist to the throne.
The betrayal that followed has been as public as the patronage was private. El-Rufai has openly accused Uba Sani, alongside NSA Nuhu Ribadu and the ICPC, of orchestrating his “abduction” and two-month detention since mid-February 2026. Probes into alleged mismanagement of over ₦432 billion in state loans, contracts, and procurements—including the light-rail project and CCTV deals—have been framed by El-Rufai’s camp as political vendetta. Critically, while Hajiya Umma El-Rufai lay dying in a Cairo ICU for two weeks, her son languished in custody. Compassionate release arrived only after her death on March 27—just in time for the funeral. Uba Sani, the very man El-Rufai built, stood accused of enabling the machinery that denied a son his mother’s bedside. As social media commentator Mubarak Umar Dogondaji thundered: “Pantami should have asked Uba Sani to seek Malam’s forgiveness… even El-Rufai’s worst enemy knew who was at fault.” Kayode Ogundamisi added: “A funeral is no place for political gestures.” The handshake, captured on cameras and announced triumphantly, cast Uba Sani as the magnanimous unifier while painting El-Rufai as the reluctant grudge-holder. It was image rehabilitation through grief—manufactured consent at its most exploitative.
Now, with El-Rufai back in DSS custody and the ICPC bail ruling postponed, the political nature of that reconciliation stands fully unmasked. This was no private atonement; it was a public spectacle designed to launder reputations amid fresh wounds. True *sulhu* demands humility in the shadows—an admission of grievances, a sincere apology for the perceived backstabbing, mutual consent away from flashing cameras. Uba Sani could have initiated quiet dialogue weeks earlier through trusted intermediaries, acknowledging the debt of his entire political career. Instead, he chose the graveside for optics, exploiting a son’s raw loss to project statesmanship. The public sees him clearly: the ungrateful protégé who turned on his benefactor the moment power shifted. Within the ambit of the law, this is no crime—but it is a profound moral betrayal that erodes trust in leadership. Kaduna’s streets buzz with the same verdict: Uba Sani bit the hand that fed him, and no viral handshake can erase the scar.
Yet the finger of blame points highest at President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the architect of these engineered fractures. Tinubu has perfected a divide-and-conquer playbook across the North, pitting godfathers against their anointed sons to consolidate federal control ahead of 2027. In Kano, he has actively pried Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf away from his political father, Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso. Once a fierce NNPP loyalist, Abba’s recent overtures toward the APC—facilitated by Tinubu’s meetings and defections—have shattered the Kwankwasiyya bloc, Nigeria’s largest northern political machine. Kwankwaso’s formal defection to the African Democratic Congress in late March 2026 only underscores the rupture. In Kebbi, the same script unfolds: former Attorney-General Abubakar Malami clashes bitterly with Governor Nasir Idris (Kauran Gwandu), with Malami facing petitions over alleged thuggery and arms while Tinubu’s allies rally behind the governor. National Assembly caucuses have even demanded Malami’s arrest. And now in Kaduna, the El-Rufai-Uba Sani rift completes the triad. This is no coincidence; it is systematic demolition of major Northern political blocs—Kwankwasiyya in Kano, the Malami-Idris power struggle in Kebbi, and El-Rufai’s once-dominant structure in Kaduna. Tinubu’s strategy is clear: weaken the North’s traditional powerhouses, install pliable successors, and rule unchallenged. Uba Sani allowed himself to be used as the latest pawn, trading loyalty for federal patronage.
History warns that such betrayals rarely end well for the betrayers. Consider the archetypal case of Marcus Junius Brutus and Julius Caesar in 44 BC. Brutus, Caesar’s trusted protégé and possible successor, joined the conspiracy that stabbed the dictator to death on the Ides of March. “Et tu, Brute?”—Caesar’s dying words captured the shock of ultimate backstabbing. Brutus framed it as noble defense of the Republic, yet the consequences were catastrophic. The assassination plunged Rome into civil war. Brutus and Cassius fled, only to be defeated at Philippi in 42 BC. Cassius fell on his sword; Brutus followed, dying by his own hand—the same fate as his Republican father-in-law. Far from restoring liberty, the betrayal handed absolute power to Octavian, who became Emperor Augustus and ended the Republic forever. Dante placed Brutus in the ninth circle of hell, chewed eternally by Satan alongside Judas. The lesson is timeless: political sons who stab their fathers for short-term gain often inherit chaos, not crowns. Uba Sani risks the same fate—public scorn today, political isolation tomorrow—if he continues down this path of orchestrated ingratitude.
Northern politicians must confront a harsher truth. While they trade blows in these elite power games, the people they claim to serve wallow in hunger, poverty, and insecurity. Vital questions demand answers: How do you sleep at night, honorable sirs, when your endless battles distract from the suffering on your doorsteps? Why allow yourselves to be dragged into Tinubu’s web of division when multidimensional poverty engulfs your region? According to the 2025 Global Multidimensional Poverty Index and National Bureau of Statistics reports, the North-East and North-West bear the brunt: 90 percent of children in these zones live in multidimensional poverty, deprived of education, healthcare, nutrition, and sanitation. The World Bank’s October 2025 Nigeria Poverty and Equity Brief projects 139 million Nigerians—nearly 60 percent of the population—living below the poverty line by year’s end, a sharp rise from 87 million in 2023, with the North hit hardest. Food insecurity statistics are equally damning: the World Food Programme’s 2026 Global Outlook reports a 20 percent global surge in acute hunger since 2020, with Northern Nigeria among the epicenters—4.4 million people facing acute food shortages in the North-East alone, over 1.5 million children at risk of malnutrition. Conflict, banditry, and insurgency have displaced millions, while climate shocks—erratic rains, desertification—devastate farmlands that once fed the nation. The 2025 lean season projections from FAO warn of 26.5 million Nigerians at risk of acute hunger nationwide, the majority in the North.
Yet governors and godfathers squabble over contracts, probes, and 2027 positioning. Kaduna, once a beacon of bold governance under El-Rufai, now reels from insecurity and economic strain. Banditry ravages rural communities; youth unemployment fuels crime; hospitals lack basic drugs while billions vanish in unaccounted loans. The same holds for Kano and Kebbi—vast agricultural potentials squandered amid political theatre. Northern leaders, you owe your people more than graveside photo-ops and federal strings. Sheikh Pantami’s *sulhu* was a noble spark; it must not die in cynicism. Genuine reconciliation demands Uba Sani lead with accountability: transparent closure on probes, private atonement for the betrayal, and public acknowledgment that mentorship built his path, not enmity. Only then can *sulhu* heal rather than wound.
As El-Rufai sits in DSS custody and April 14 looms, the North watches. Will Tinubu’s divide-and-rule triumph, or will leaders rise above the fray? The graveside moment was beautiful in intent; its failure is tragic in execution. Nigeria’s democracy—and the suffering masses of the North—deserve better than staged handshakes that dissolve before the ink dries. True leaders reconcile in truth, not for cameras. Until that day arrives, Sunday’s gesture remains a cautionary tale: the peril of mixing faith with the machinery of power. The people are watching. History is judging.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
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