Anthony Obi Ogbo
How I Pleaded With God to Kill President Muhammadu Buhari
“Three deadly plagues I have always despised: Donald Trump, COVID-19, and Muhammadu Buhari.” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
I am not a sadist, but all through my life, there have been three deadly plagues I have always despised: Donald Trump, COVID-19, and Muhammadu Buhari. So in 2017, I spent seven days fasting and praying, asking God directly to take away the life of Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari. I knew that was the right thing to do, and I will explain why along the line.
Buhari came in as president in early 2015, all mean and angry. Most surprisingly, his ignorance and total lack of competence to lead such a complex economy were exposed less than one year into his term in office. He started by using his executive powers to victimize regions he accused of not voting for him; he then went after the opposition with unfounded allegations of embezzlement. He created animosity among tribes and religions and totally ignored all the election promises he had made. He was so dumb to matters of governance that, under his watch, his economic team plagiarized a budget. The budget he presented turned out to be a carbon copy of the one made by his predecessor, Goodluck Jonathan.
Unemployment was growing and spreading like a California wildfire, and insecurity grew out of hand as Boko Haram terrorists outnumbered the national army. Buhari exonerated thousands of apprehended Boko Haram and ISIS terrorists and recruited them into the Nigeran Army—a move that has currently crippled the country’s security intelligence. Indeed, I knew the country was headed toward total anarchy if something was not quickly done to stop this man. Impeachment was off the table, especially with the Nigerian lawmakers who are stakeholders and partakers of a fraudulent administrative structure. So, as a concerned Nigerian citizen who was equally affected by Buhari’s stupidity, I had to do something.
Impeachment was off the table, especially with the Nigerian lawmakers who are stakeholders and partakers of a fraudulent administrative structure.
He was very sick at the time and was a sorry tenant in an obscure hospital in London. He was emaciated to the bone and looked like a cornfield scarecrow; it was obvious that his life was grinding closer to a final rest. Rumors of his death had clouded social media with unsubstantiated news and analysis, and his camp was not just communicating; rather, they babbled with watery explanations about his ailment, and at some point, they claimed he was just on vacation. This was when I had to do the right thing to save millions of lives put in harm’s way through Buhari’s reckless and tyrannical governance.
I gathered my all-time spiritual warfare, including Psalms 109:8–15. Fasting for seven days was a little challenging because I had to appease my addiction to Ethiopian Sidamo coffee. It’s a wet-processed Ethiopian espresso known for its complex flavor and rich acidity.
I resumed my prayer request invoking Psalms 109:8, that his days would be few and that another man (Vice President Professor Yemi Osinbajo, I guess) would take his place of leadership. I meant every word. I chanted verses 8–15 severally in a loud voice and ended by asking God squarely to kill this man by granting him everlasting rest from his sick bed. I did this every day with six-hour fasting. If I may confess, I fell short on the fasting part and often accidentally violated the process with my routine coffee and granola bar addictions. I asked God for forgiveness each time I mistakenly broke the fasting. I ended my prayer-and-fasting event with the same theme—kill this man and set Nigeria free.
I thought my prayers had worked for a moment, but then I could not figure out why God did not grant my request.
Exactly three days after my prayer revival, when I was already celebrating victory, the news of Buhari’s return from his medical trip radiated through the airwaves and on social media. I saw him on the video, and he looked healthier and stronger, walking without support, shaking hands, and talking. I felt like a yahoo-scam victim, then realized I did this all by myself. I thought my prayers had worked for a moment, but then I could not figure out why God did not grant my request. Could it be the coffee and granola bars that often interrupted the fasting moments? I have no clue.
Before you judge my actions, it may interest you to know that Buhari is not just an ordinary man. He is a rare creature who is never happy but whose sadness is dependent on making the lives of those he does not like miserable. In my book on how he bastardized his executive mandate, I described him as the most dangerous killer bee: one that would perch wheezing on the scrotum for a destructive sting. Punch it and smash the manhood; leave it, and he would sting one to death.
He was groomed in an uncultivated military confraternity where a constitutional system and civil liberties are taboo. All his life, as a privileged Fulani breed, he has lived through a system where mediocrity outruns excellence; this explains why, under this ugly culture, a man who has no proof of a high school certificate could rise beyond the law, his country, and the entire masses.
Currently, Buhari has about eight months left in his eight-year hellish regime. And please note that I have no regrets about my kill-Buhari prayer actions and would do it again against any leader that threatens my communal interest with ignorance of mandate, meanness, and idiocy.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
“Buhari’s legacy is not a national treasure—it is a cautionary tale of tyranny cloaked in uniform and democracy.” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
In many cultures, including mine, it’s considered immoral to speak ill of the dead. But tradition should never demand silence in the face of truth, especially when that truth is soaked in blood, broken promises, and the battered dignity of a nation. General Muhammadu Buhari, former military dictator and two-term civilian president of Nigeria, has finally departed this world. He died in London, a city he frequented not as a diplomat or global statesman, but as a medical tourist—fleeing the ruins of a healthcare system he helped wreck with decades of authoritarianism, tribalism, and economic blundering.
Muhammadu Buhari emerged from the rotten womb of Nigeria’s corrupt military order — a regime where brute force outweighed intellect, and the rattle of an AK-47 silenced the rule of law. In this twisted hierarchy, competent officers were buried in clerical backrooms while semi-literate loyalists were handed stars, stripes, and unchecked authority. It was a theater of mediocrity, where promotion favored obedience over merit and ignorance was rewarded with rank. Within this structure of absurdity, Buhari thrived — a man with no verifiable high school certificate, yet elevated above the constitution, above accountability, and tragically, above the very people he was meant to serve. He didn’t just symbolize the decay; he was its product and its champion.
Let’s not sugarcoat his legacy. Buhari was no hero. He was a man whose grip on power twice disfigured Nigeria’s soul — first with military boots from 1983 to 1985, then under the guise of democracy from 2015 to 2023. His government jailed journalists, brutalized citizens, crippled the economy, and widened tribal divisions with unapologetic bias. His infamous Decree No. 2 sanctioned indefinite detentions. His so-called “War Against Indiscipline” terrorized the innocent. His economic policies were textbook disasters.
Buhari governed with the cold logic of a tyrant who believed brute force was a substitute for vision — and silence a substitute for accountability. The Southeast, in particular, bore the brunt of his vengeance-laced leadership. His disdain for the Igbo people was barely concealed, a poisonous remnant of civil war bitterness he never let go. In his death, that venom remains unresolved, unrepentant.
Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.
Even more damning is the legacy of hypocrisy. After decades in power and access to untold national wealth, Buhari could not trust the hospitals he left for ordinary Nigerians. He died where he lived his truth — in exile from the very system he swore to fix. That is not irony. That is an indictment.
And now, as scripted eulogies pour in — from paid loyalists, political survivors, and the ever-hypocritical elite — let us not be fooled by the hollow rituals of state burials and national mourning. Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.
- We remember the students gunned down.
- The protesters beaten in the streets.
- The journalists silenced.
- The dreams buried beneath military decrees and broken campaign promises.
We remember that Buhari was not simply a failed leader — he was a deliberate one, whose failings were not accidents but strategies.
And so, here lie the cold remains of one of Nigeria’s most divisive and mean-spirited leaders — a man who brutalized the democratic process with the precision of a tyrant and the coldness of a man utterly void of remorse. As Muhammadu Buhari begins his final, silent descent into the earth, one can only imagine him entering eternity still questioning the justice of creation: Why did God make women? Why did He place oil in the Niger Delta and not in Daura? And why, of all things, did He dare to create tribes outside the Fulani?
It is not my job to mourn a dictator. My duty is to chronicle them — how they ruled with iron fists, trampled their people, choked the press, and finally died, not as legends, but as small men stripped of all illusions. Dictators are counterfeit gods, tormenting peaceful nations while their delusions last. But sickness humbles them. Death silences them. And in the end, all their grandstanding collapses like dust in a grave.
As a journalist, I will record Buhari’s death with precision, not reverence. I will report the pomp, the propaganda, and the hollow eulogies that will rain down like cheap perfume on a corpse. I will write the truth, because history must never confuse power with greatness — especially when evil wore both the uniform and the ballot.
Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.
I will not mourn a man who ruled through fear and died surrounded by foreign doctors while his people die waiting in overcrowded hospital corridors. I will not pretend this is a time for unity or healing. This is a time for reckoning. For too long, Nigeria has recycled tyrants and renamed oppression “leadership.” Buhari’s death should not be a moment of forced reverence but a pause for honest reflection. Let his final chapter be a lesson carved into our collective memory: that power without purpose, and rule without empathy, always ends in disgrace. History should not be kind to tyrants simply because they are no longer breathing. If we are ever to break the chains of corruption and cruelty, we must bury the lies with the bodies — and speak truth, even at the graveside. Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
Anthony Obi Ogbo
Dunamis Digital Dilemma: Why Shutting Down Virtual Worship May Alienate a New Generation of Believers
“Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
The demands of the digital and virtual age, especially in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, are both undeniable and irreversible. The pandemic didn’t merely disrupt norms—it reshaped them. From global commerce to education and religious observance, the shift to digital platforms is now a defining feature of contemporary life. The surge in e-commerce has revolutionized how consumers behave, compelling organizations to reinvent their digital presence through social media, targeted marketing, and immersive experiences like augmented and virtual reality.
Yet, while many institutions have adapted to these realities, some remain entrenched in pre-pandemic mindsets. One recent example is the Dunamis International Gospel Centre in Abuja, Nigeria, under the leadership of Pastor Paul Enenche. The church announced the suspension of its live-streamed services, citing the biblical imperative for believers to gather physically, as referenced in Hebrews 10:25.
While the theological rationale was emphasized, the practical implications—particularly financial—were conspicuously understated. Churches around the world have successfully embraced virtual platforms not just to foster spiritual connection but also to maintain financial stability through online giving systems. In contrast, Dunamis’s move appears to prioritize physical attendance at the expense of accessibility and inclusivity.
In today’s digitally integrated society, suspending virtual worship risks alienating many who have come to rely on these platforms. Individuals with health challenges, mobility issues, or who live far from church facilities depend on livestreams to remain spiritually connected. More importantly, younger generations increasingly seek faith experiences that mirror their digital-first realities—flexible, inclusive, and globally accessible. By disregarding these expectations, churches may unintentionally push away the very audiences they aim to engage.
Pastor Enenche’s decision, while perhaps grounded in spiritual intent, may prove counterproductive in practice. The younger demographic—tech-savvy, mobile, and globally aware—now expects more from institutions of faith. They are turning toward worship centers that treat digital engagement not as an afterthought but as a vital dimension of spiritual life. The hybrid church model—integrating both in-person and online elements—has emerged as a powerful strategy for expanding reach while honoring traditional values. It allows churches to be both rooted and relevant.
The decision to suspend livestreaming church services reflects a deeper tension between tradition and innovation, between preserving ritual and adapting to contemporary realities. Faith institutions today are not just places of worship; they are also cultural anchors navigating an increasingly digital society. Ignoring this evolution risks rendering the church irrelevant to a generation that lives, works, and worships online. Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries—it’s present in podcast sermons, Zoom prayer meetings, WhatsApp devotionals, and YouTube gospel concerts.
Virtual engagement is not a dilution of faith; it is an extension of it. It makes the message of hope and redemption accessible across boundaries of geography, ability, and circumstance. The pandemic revealed this, but the future will demand it. Churches that fail to embrace digital tools risk becoming spiritual silos—isolated, inflexible, and out of touch with modern believers.
Leadership in ministry, like leadership in any other sphere, must evolve with the people it seeks to serve. Pastor Enenche and others in similar positions should not view digital transformation as a threat but as an opportunity—an opportunity to reach farther, touch deeper, and uplift more lives. The gospel, after all, is meant for all—and now, more than ever, everywhere.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
“Employers aren’t just filling vacancies—they’re investing in solutions” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
Long before graduation, I understood that success in the job market required more than just a degree. Throughout college, I committed to internships, apprenticeships, and vacation jobs—some unpaid—solely to build the kind of professional experience that would ease my transition into the workforce. By the time I completed my NYSC at The Nigerian Guardian, I wasn’t just another fresh graduate—I was a candidate with proof of performance. I was retained on merit and even offered two cartoon columns at Guardian Express in a separate contract. That preparation made all the difference.
Today, however, many college graduates enter the job market unequipped for its demands. They speak of rejection, frustration, and a lack of experience—all valid concerns in an economy where employers no longer train novice hires from scratch. In a hyper-competitive, fast-paced, and increasingly skills-based market, the burden of preparation rests squarely on the students themselves.
There was a time when being a “novice” came with room to grow. Employers saw potential and invested in it. Now, entry-level roles often come with mid-level expectations: practical skills, strategic thinking, and an ability to contribute from day one. Employers aren’t just filling vacancies—they’re investing in solutions.
This is why it’s crucial for students to begin preparing early. That means building portfolios, seeking field-relevant internships, volunteering in areas that sharpen communication and leadership, and using every academic project as a springboard for real-world insight. These experiences add depth to a résumé and provide talking points in interviews that distinguish candidates from the crowd.
Equally important is networking. The relationships students build—with mentors, professionals, or peers—often become the very bridges that connect them to employment opportunities.
Ultimately, preparing for employment as a college student isn’t optional—it’s essential. And the sooner students begin, the better their chances of entering the workforce with confidence, clarity, and competence.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us