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"I Was Making $1 Million Deals While Wike Was Still Finding His Political Feet” — Makinde Exposes Nigeria’s Politics of Convenience

Politics by Conviction, Not Convenience: How Seyi Makinde’s Straight-Talk Leadership Is Redefining Power, Loyalty, and the 2027 Equation

In an era where Nigerian politics is increasingly shaped by transactional alliances, shifting loyalties, and backroom negotiations, moments of ideological clarity have become rare. That is why Governor Seyi Makinde’s recent media engagement has triggered intense national conversation. It was not merely because of what he said, but because of how directly, historically, and unapologetically he said it.

At the heart of the discussion was a personal recollection that quickly evolved into a broader political statement—one that exposed fault lines within Nigeria’s elite power structure and drew a sharp contrast between leadership by conviction and politics by convenience.

Governor Makinde recalled that the very first contract executed by his engineering firm, Makon Engineering, was a $1 million contract awarded by Mobil in 1997, when he was just 29 years old. That single statement was not an exercise in self-praise; it was context. It established a timeline of self-made professional credibility long before his entry into partisan politics.

By implication, Makinde was situating himself outside the familiar Nigerian political narrative of sudden wealth, patronage pipelines, and godfather-sponsored ascension. His success, he suggested, was not manufactured by proximity to power but built through professional competence and enterprise.

It was against this backdrop that he made a pointed comparison involving the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike.

Makinde noted that at the time he was executing million-dollar private-sector contracts in the late 1990s, Wike’s political career had not yet taken shape. According to public records, Wike’s major political trajectory began around 1999, when he became a Local Government Chairman in Rivers State, following Nigeria’s return to democratic rule.

This was not a personal attack. It was a chronological clarification—one that subtly dismantled the myth-making often surrounding political strongmen by anchoring leadership narratives in verifiable timelines.

However, the most explosive revelation came next.

Governor Makinde disclosed that he once sat in a meeting involving President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, Nyesom Wike, and other senior political actors, where Wike reportedly volunteered to “hold the PDP” for President Tinubu ahead of the 2027 elections.

Makinde’s reaction, by his own account, was shock.

Not because political alignments are unusual in Nigeria, but because such a declaration laid bare the increasing normalization of ideological elasticity—where party platforms become bargaining chips rather than belief systems.

Makinde was emphatic:
Wike may support the President in 2027 if he chooses to, but he, Seyi Makinde, will not.

That single sentence reverberated across Nigeria’s political landscape.

It was not a declaration of rebellion against the President. Neither was it a call to insurrection within the ruling order. Instead, it was a rare affirmation of political identity in a system where party membership is often treated as a temporary convenience rather than a philosophical commitment.

During the media chat, Governor Makinde once again distinguished leadership anchored in conviction from politics driven by opportunism.

He made it unequivocally clear that his journey to power was not negotiated in private living rooms, elite backchannels, or political sanctuaries. He did not make pilgrimages to Bourdillon, the symbolic nerve center of Tinubu’s political empire. He did not seek validation from godfathers. And he did not mortgage the future of Oyo State in exchange for elite endorsements.

According to Makinde, his mandate came directly from the people of Oyo State—and that mandate remains his only allegiance.

This assertion resonates deeply in a country where political sponsorship often determines policy outcomes and where elected officials frequently owe more loyalty to their benefactors than to their constituents. Makinde’s framing re-centers democratic legitimacy where it belongs: with the electorate.

Perhaps more striking was his candor regarding party politics.

He revealed that he openly told President Tinubu that he could never help organize or strengthen the APC in Oyo State, not out of hostility, but out of principle. He is a card-carrying member of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), and he sees no honor in pretending otherwise.

No political doublespeak.
No covert alignments.
No strategic ambiguity.

In a political culture where leaders often hedge their loyalties to remain perpetually relevant, Makinde’s stance represents a form of ideological discipline that has become increasingly scarce.

Equally important was his refusal to project infallibility.

Unlike many Nigerian leaders who equate admission of error with weakness, Governor Makinde acknowledged his humanity. He conceded that mistakes are possible in governance. What, in his view, distinguishes responsible leadership is not the absence of error, but the willingness to admit mistakes, correct them, and recalibrate policy in the interest of the people.

This approach aligns with global best practices in democratic governance, where transparency and accountability are increasingly recognized as pillars of public trust.

Beyond rhetoric, Makinde drew attention to the philosophy guiding his administration in Oyo State.

He contrasted cosmetic governance—projects designed primarily for optics and media cycles—with institutional governance, which prioritizes systems, frameworks, and policies that outlive individual administrations.

According to him, while some leaders chase headlines through short-lived initiatives, his government is focused on building enduring institutions—structures that guarantee continuity, stability, and sustainable development long after current political actors have exited the stage.

This emphasis on institutions over personalities is particularly significant in Nigeria, where governance is often personalized and reforms frequently collapse with changes in leadership.

Makinde’s argument is simple but profound:
Strong institutions, not loud politics, are the true measure of leadership.

In this context, his comments about 2027 take on deeper meaning. They are not merely about electoral calculations or inter-party rivalry. They reflect a broader concern about the erosion of ideological clarity in Nigerian politics and the dangers of reducing governance to elite negotiations detached from public accountability.

For observers still struggling to differentiate between politics of noise and politics of substance, Makinde insists that the evidence is already on record. Governance outcomes, fiscal discipline, infrastructural planning, institutional reforms, and people-centered policies speak louder than propaganda or performative loyalty.

Ultimately, Governor Seyi Makinde’s media chat was less about Nyesom Wike, less about Bola Tinubu, and even less about 2027. It was about political character—who stands for something, who stands for anything, and who stands only for the next deal on the table.

In a system saturated with political convenience, Makinde has chosen the more difficult path: consistency.

And in Nigerian politics today, that choice alone is revolutionary.

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