Anthony Obi Ogbo
Peter Obi: Between the Politics of a Delegate and the Downing Street Photoshoot
“Obi’s latest political move contradicts his own gospel of being indispensable, and it hurts his credibility moving forward.”
Just a few days before his People’s Democratic Party (PDP) was due for its national convention, Nigerian presidential hopeful Peter Obi shocked his camp with an announcement. Mr. Obi announced his resignation from the party and also his withdrawal from the presidential race on his party’s slate. There were, however, rumors that he would join the Labour Party (LP) to continue his presidential ambition.
So, what are Mr. Obi’s excuses? Here is an excerpt from his resignation letter addressed to the party’s National Chairman Iyorchia Ayu:
“It has been a great honor to contribute to the nation-building efforts through our party. Unfortunately, recent developments within our party make it practically impossible to continue participating and making constructive contributions…Our national challenges are deep-seated and require each of us to make profound sacrifices toward rescuing our country. My commitment to rescuing Nigeria remains firm, even if the route differs.”
The next question would be: Why would front running presidential candidate resign just a few days before the national convention, where his party would choose a presidential candidate to run in the election less than 10 months away?
It might suggest that this candidate is not ready for primetime; that he has no clue about his politics and cannot coordinate the complex reins that suffuse Nigeria’s political terrain. It contradicts his “holier than thou” electioneering gospel, leaving himself as the main enemy of his own philosophy. To make matters worse, his argument that disparities within the party would not deter his mission to rescue Nigeria further opens up his ideological anguish. He is simply professing that he could run in an election under any party, including the incumbent All Progressive Congress (APC)—a party he has spent months lampooning as a failed entity.
Days prior to his resignation, Obi arrived at the British Prime Minister’s residence at 10 Downing Street. He claimed that he was there to meet with officials but did not share the outcome of the meeting. Rather, he circulated photos of his visit on social media as campaign material.
He was recently busy in London doing a photoshoot with Prime Minister’s staff.
In my last article regarding this subject, I cited one of Obi’s flaws: he runs a weak campaign that lacks in strategies but feeds the audience with messages incompatible with situational reality. Where other contenders are focused on the politics of winning delegates, Obi is busy, trotting through states and cities promoting his self-proclaimed sainthood. He was recently busy in London doing a photoshoot with Prime Minister’s staff.
The delegate politics in any party primary election is crucial. In Nigeria, it’s hardball. According to Dr. Doyin Okupe, a senior special assistant for public affairs to former President Goodluck Jonathan, “Delegate elections are devoid of conscience, rational thinking, patriotism, or the principles of right or wrong.” (Guardian, May 23). Dr. Okupe also noted that 70–80% of delegates vote according to the dictates of their leaders. Most often, it has nothing to do with their personal convictions.
Indeed, Obi’s camp might still be waiting on him to open up in sincerity, that he resigned because he was convinced that he had lost the battle for winning delegates. He did not only lose the delegate battle but was completely subdued by the collaboration of Governor Nyesom Wike of Rivers and Chief Chris Uba. This development was rightly echoed in a publication of ThisDay: “Uba is working for Wike. They want to influence the election of ad-hoc delegates, as this will help Uba himself, who is a senatorial aspirant…and [he will] also be able to influence the process enough to get delegates who will be loyal to his candidate, Wike, against Peter Obi.”
Delegate politics is simply an amoral process involving raw cash, influence, and egotism.
Obi is not new to Nigerian politics, nor about delegates and political parties. Definitely, it does not matter how many trips a candidate makes to 10 Downing Street. Delegate politics is simply an amoral process involving raw cash, influence, and egotism. Noted Dr. Okupe, “In the last PDP convention in Port Harcourt in 2019, most delegates went home with between $8,000 and $10,000. This year, the figures are bound to be higher. The big spenders are prepared to go as far as $10,000 per delegate.”
An average Nigerian politician is a dishonest soul with one mission—to defraud the system.
Please do not get me wrong. There is nothing right about an election process structured in bribery and corruption. Unfortunately, this has been the culture espoused by the Nigerian political sector. Also, there are no innocent politicians in Nigeria. An average Nigerian politician is a dishonest soul with one mission—to defraud the system. Consequently, an aspiring politician is a part of a potential scam risk waiting for an opportunity to do the same damage. Obi is not a saint. He is a Nigerian politician.
Analysts argue that his current position might earn him a position as a running mate for a major candidate. Others in his camp vow to support him irrespective of his decisions. Again, in Nigeria’s political arena, anything is possible. But Obi’s latest political move contradicts his own gospel of being indispensable, and it hurts his credibility moving forward.
♦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
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“Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo
Fame is a dangerous flame. It warms, it dazzles, and if you hold it too close, it burns straight through the layers of judgment that keep a person grounded. In its hottest glow, fame convinces artists that applause is permanent, talent is immunity, and fans are disposable. Arrogance doesn’t erupt overnight—it grows in the quiet corners of unchecked power, in entourages that never challenge, and in audiences that forgive too easily. But the world has a way of reminding every superstar of one brutal truth: no one is too famous to fall.
This season, Burna Boy is learning that lesson in real time. The Grammy-winning giant—hailed globally as the “African Giant”—is now facing one of the most dramatic reputational meltdowns of his career. Five U.S. arena dates on his NSOW Tour have reportedly been cancelled due to poor ticket sales and a fierce wave of fan backlash following his Denver debacle. What was supposed to be another triumphant American tour has spiraled into an expensive public relations disaster.
It all ignited on November 12, 2025, at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. The show started late. Energy was high. Then Burna Boy spotted a woman in the front row who had fallen asleep. Instead of performing through it, he halted the show, called her out publicly, ordered her partner to “take her home,” and refused to continue until they left. The humiliation would have been bad enough on its own. But later reports revealed she wasn’t drunk or uninterested—she was exhausted, mourning the recent death of her daughter’s father.
The internet demanded empathy. Burna responded with contempt. A sleeping fan, he said, “pisses me the f*** off.” And then the line that detonated the backlash: “I never asked anybody to be my fan.” Those ten words may become the most expensive sentence of his career.
This wasn’t an isolated flare-up. Burna Boy has long danced on the edge of arrogance, and the public has kept receipts. In 2019, he halted a performance in Atlanta to eject a fan who wasn’t dancing—handing the man money and telling him to leave. In Lagos in 2021, a fan who attempted an innocent stage hug was shoved off by security, sparking outrage over excessive force and coldness.
The following year was worse. In 2022, his security team was accused of firing shots in a nightclub after a woman allegedly rejected him, injuring multiple patrons and triggering legal headaches that trailed him for months. Fast-forward to January 2023: at his “Love, Damini” concert in Lagos, he arrived hours late, berated the crowd, and left fans feeling disrespected and insulted.
By 2025, the pattern was undeniable. He kicked a fan offstage during a New Year’s performance. Months later, he brought a Colorado concert to a standstill until an “unengaged” couple was escorted out. The incidents piled up, painting a portrait of an artist increasingly out of touch with the people who made him a global phenomenon.
This latest incident, however, has delivered the sharpest consequence yet: the U.S. market—a notoriously unforgiving arena—has pushed back.
Cancelled shows. Sparse crowds. Boycotts. Refund demands.
For perhaps the first time, an African artist of Burna Boy’s magnitude is experiencing a full-force American-style public accountability storm.
If African entertainers are paying attention, they should treat this moment as a case study in how fame can be mismanaged.
The first lesson: Fan value is sacred. Fans are not props. They are not subjects. They are not inconveniences in an artist’s emotional universe. They are customers, supporters, ambassadors, and—most importantly—the foundation on which every stage, every award, and every paycheck rests.
The second: Empathy is not optional. A superstar who cannot pause long enough to consider that a fan might be grieving, ill, exhausted, or battling something unseen is a superstar who has forgotten the humanity at the core of all art.
The third: Professionalism is currency. Arriving late, publicly shaming fans, halting shows, and weaponizing power in moments of irritation are choices that corrode trust. And once trust is broken, even a global superstar can watch ticket sales collapse in real-time.
Burna Boy is an extraordinary artist—brilliant, groundbreaking, and influential. His musical legacy is secure. But greatness in artistry is not the same as greatness in character. Fame tests the latter far more than it rewards it. And the spotlight, no matter how bright, does not protect anyone from the consequences of their own behavior.Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion. Burna Boy’s current storm is a brutal reminder that talent without restraint can become tyranny, and fame without introspection can become a curse. Artists rise because people believe in them, invest in them, and support them. When that respect is abused, loyalty evaporates. The lesson is stark: the higher the pedestal, the harder the fall—and the fall always comes. What matters is not the applause you command, but the humanity you maintain long after the music stops.
♦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
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“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
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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
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