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Nigeria’s political arena is a minefield surrounded by dragon’s teeth where shadows dance to the hypnotic rhythm of power. The resurrected beast of Northern hegemony, sleek, serpentine, and disturbingly resilient, is gnashing its teeth once again, roaring into the spotlight with an appetite emboldened by decades of political gluttony. This time, however, the beast has donned a new disguise: a Trojan Horse carved from Kogi Central timber, pushed through the gates of the Red Chambers by Northern hands wearing their trademark sneering grin. At the heart of this carefully staged theater is Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan, the moral equivalent of a political high school head girl who suddenly finds herself at an adult party, woefully out of her depth yet convinced she’s the belle of the ball.
Her mission is clear, her instructions definite: destabilize Senate President Godswill Akpabio, sow chaos in the legislative house, and deliver the spoils to the waiting hands of the Northern political establishment. Those familiar with the North’s well-worn playbook recognize Natasha as the latest pawn in this high-stakes game of political chess. She is a tempest brewed in the cauldron of Northern kitchens, designed to suffocate Tinubu’s political fortress.
For Northern politicians, power has always been more than a means; it is an eternal banquet, a dish best served and devoured perpetually. Since 1999, the Senate Presidency has been their private feast, a lavish spread where Southerners scavenge crumbs. Figures like Evan Enwerem, Chuba Okadigbo, Adolphus Wabara, and Ken Nnamani were handed fleeting moments of glory before being swiftly shown the door. Meanwhile, David Mark reigned for eight years, Bukola Saraki for four, and Ahmed Lawan for another four. When it comes to power, the North does not govern; it devours.
But 2023 delivered a bitter pill. Tinubu’s ascent to the presidency stripped the North of its golden platter. Like a glutton denied his feast, Northern politicians redirected their ravenous gaze toward the Senate, a potent tool for reasserting dominance. Suddenly, Natasha emerged, a Trojan Horse polished by Northern hands and rolled into the chambers as a weapon of disruption.
Natasha’s rise is political alchemy. The North, ever the cunning puppeteers, sculpted her from clay into a self-styled crusader. They painted her as a “Helen of Troy,” whose beauty and moral outrage were meant to ignite war. Yet while Helen’s face launched a thousand ships, Natasha’s theatrics barely launched a thousand tweets. Her armour, burnished in Northern kitchens, cracks under scrutiny. Her allegations, a reheated stew of stale grievances, crumble like overbaked akara or stale Agege bread.
At the Inter-Parliamentary Union in Geneva, she stuttered through a cornucopia of lies and twisted facts, repackaging her crumbling narrative. She even suffered a Freudian slip, suggesting the Senate President should recuse himself to ensure impartiality in investigating her sexual harassment petition with veiled sheme to depose. She conveniently omitted her suspension for breaching Senate decorum by refusing to relocate to her assigned seat. When summoned by the Ethics Committee to defend her actions, she sought a court injunction to halt proceedings. Has her head been struck by a donkey? Is there water in her brain?
In the Senate, Natasha storms podiums with the misplaced confidence of a Nollywood starlet auditioning for a role beyond her depth. Her finger-wagging, melodramatic gestures, and half-baked narratives are symptoms of desperation, a discordant symphony that leaves even supporters stifling yawns.
Let us not be deceived: Natasha’s crusade was never meant to succeed. She was designed to combust, a spark to ignite the Senate, reducing Akpabio’s reputation to ashes. Yet even the most meticulous puppets fray when strings strain. Her “Mother of All Bombs” fizzled into a damp squib, and her “heroic” stand against harassment unraveled as slapstick humour.
Enter Bukola Saraki, a man whose career epitomizes double standards. With a straight face, Saraki demanded that Akpabio steps down over Natasha’s allegations. The irony? This is the same Saraki who lounged in the dock of the Code of Conduct Tribunal, unflinching, and whose name was muddied after the Offa bank robbery that claimed 23 lives. Did Saraki step down then? Of course not. In his world, rules bind others alone. As the Igbo proverb warns: “A man with palm oil on his elbow shouldn’t carry another’s soup pot.”
Saraki’s hypocrisy lays bare the North’s desperation to reclaim the Senate by weaponizing a scandal riddled with more holes than a basket.
History repeats. In 2015, it rolled over Goodluck Jonathan, crushed under Boko Haram’s terror and a media siege painting him as weak. Today, Natasha fronts a manufactured crisis stitched in Northern backrooms. Her role is to fracture the Senate, sow chaos, and clear the stage for the North’s return.
Yet this rerun lacks substance. Where Boko Haram cloaked itself in ideology, Natasha shrouds herself in victimhood. Where 2015’s coup against Jonathan was orchestrated chaos, her antics are a cheap jingle that is catchy, entertaining but hollow. The North underestimated Nigerians; we crave substance, not spectacle.
Natasha’s suspension isn’t just deserved; it should be cast in granite, a monument to the perils of weaponized outrage. Her theatrics have no place in a Senate tasked with nation-building. As the Igbo say: “He who brings home ant-infested firewood invites lizards.” Natasha’s firewood has unleashed a legion; now she must face them.
The Senate stands at a crossroads. Will it feed the resurrected beast of Northern scheming or rise above the fray? Natasha will fade like all shooting stars. But the beast remains, forever hungry, forever scheming.
Nigeria’s redemption lies not in feeding the beast but in breaking its chains. Let this generation choose light over shadow, truth over trope. The Trojan Horse from Kogi Central is within. Will we marvel at its craft or reduce it to ash? The answer will define our democracy’s soul.
