I was never an ardent admirer of President Muhammadu Buhari. In fact, in the build-up to the 2015 general elections, I rooted passionately for former President Goodluck Jonathan and the People’s Democratic Party (PDP). I believed, like many others, that Jonathan deserved another term to consolidate on the gains of his administration, added to the affinities that we share. But history had a different plan. Against the odds and after several failed attempts, Buhari rode to power on the back of a national clamour for change, a wave skilfully harnessed by the newly formed All Progressives Congress (APC).
With his victory, the former military Head of State achieved what had eluded him three times—becoming Nigeria’s democratically elected president. Once he emerged, it became imperative that he rose above partisanship, ethnic loyalties, and religious affiliations to serve as President for all Nigerians.
On my part, as a citizen, it was also necessary to put aside political differences and offer him the benefit of the doubt, support his leadership, and hope for a Nigeria that would work for everyone. President Buhari did his best during his eight years in office, serving from 2015 to 2023.
His administration was not without controversy, criticism, and shortcomings, particularly regarding issues of insecurity, economic hardship, and perceived sectionalism. But no one can deny that he had a vision and made efforts, however flawed or insufficient, to bring stability and reform to a fractured nation.
Then, on July 13, 2025, came the shocking news of his death in a London hospital. At first, I dismissed it as another rumour. Our media space is notorious for peddling fake news, especially concerning the health of public figures, and Buhari himself was a victim of this fake news. But when confirmations trickled in from credible sources, a chill ran through my spine. I froze, phone in hand, as disbelief gave way to acceptance.
Muhammadu Buhari, the man who had loomed large over Nigeria’s political space for decades, was no more. In that moment, my political grievances and past criticisms of his administration ceased to matter.
I felt a wave of emotion I hadn’t anticipated—a solemn reckoning with the finality of death. The man I once opposed, the figure whose leadership I had questioned, had returned to dust like every mortal inevitably must.
A certain moistness gathered around my eyes, and a heaviness settled in my heart. Yet, what struck me more than my own emotions was the torrent of reactions from across the country. Some were dignified and respectful, even from staunch critics. But others—especially from individuals outside the northern region—were dishearteningly vicious.
Some celebrated his death as if it marked the end of their struggles or the nation’s woes. Such displays revealed more about the deep divisions in our society than about the man himself. Let it be said: no one should gloat over the death of another human being.
Death, after all, is the great leveller. No matter our wealth, status, or beliefs, we all return to the same earth.
To rejoice over the passing of anyone—especially a leader who, despite his flaws, dedicated his life to public service—is not only indecent but dangerously inhumane. It exposes a bitterness that eats at the soul of our collective conscience. Let us not forget that Muhammadu Buhari lived a full life.
Born on December 17, 1942, in Daura, Katsina State, he joined the Nigerian military and rose through the ranks to become a Major General. He ruled Nigeria briefly as a military Head of State from 1983 to 1985, following a coup that toppled the civilian government of President Shehu Shagari.
Though his rule was short, it was marked by a fierce war against indiscipline and corruption—a legacy that followed him into democratic politics. In his later years, Buhari redefined his legacy by achieving his dream of returning as a civilian president, a rare feat that placed him in the annals of history alongside the likes of Olusegun Obasanjo.
He was a symbol of perseverance, a man whose austere lifestyle and military bearing made him, to millions of supporters, an exemplar of discipline and moral rectitude.
While his leadership style and policies were considered divisive, the truth remains that he achieved much of what he aspired to in life. He rose to the peak of his profession, led Africa’s most populous country twice, and maintained a devoted following.
He was no poor man. He lived a life of modest comfort, anchored in his principles. He was a husband, father, grandfather, soldier, and politician. Above all, he was a Nigerian who served his country the way he knew how.
Interestingly, many of Buhari’s fiercest political opponents, those who once sparred with him across the aisle, responded to his passing with grace and maturity. Atiku, Obi and many others offered condolences, honoured his memory, and refrained from fueling division.
That gesture, though subtle, spoke volumes—it reminded us that political differences should never rob us of our shared humanity.
This is not an attempt to rewrite history or whitewash the shortcomings of a man whose administration was widely critiqued. Rather, it is a call to pause, reflect, and rise above hate.
If Buhari failed, let us learn from his failings. If he succeeded in areas, let us build on those successes. But in death, let us afford him the dignity that every human being deserves.
In the end, we are all travellers on a journey with the same destination. Let us walk it with compassion, remembering that the measure of a society is not how it treats the powerful in life, but how it speaks of them in death. Rest in peace, President Muhammadu Buhari.
