In every political season, there emerges a figure who begins to believe that the system revolves around him. This is especially so when “the drummer beating for his masquerade is standing at the riverbed.” Such a figure soon stretches his shadow across the land as though the sun itself rises at his command. Nigeria has seen such figures before – men who mistake visibility for virtue, followers for favour, noise for nation building, influence for immortality, strategy for supremacy, and political manoeuvring for divine mandate.

In today’s landscape, many point out that such an “almighty” figure often believes that parties are mere vehicles, allies disposable, and institutions pliable to his personal will – and that Nyesom Wike of Rivers State is approaching that dangerous threshold. He has repeatedly boasted – before anyone willing to listen – that he can straddle two parties at once, claiming membership in one while exercising influence in another. He interferes openly in the internal affairs of both: in the one where he insists, however deceitfully, that he still belongs, and in the other where he claims, however clandestinely, that he does not.

Paradoxically, Wike’s imprint on the PDP – his first political home – remains one of the most dramatic chapters in recent memory. Analysts still speak of the internal storms that shook the party during the 2023 election cycle: storms fuelled by open rebellion, fractured alliances, and a centrifugal force that tore the party away from cohesion. The echoes of that crisis still reverberate.

Meanwhile, observers – especially those within the APC – are already questioning Wike’s dominance and outspokenness in a party he is not even a member of, noting with concern that he appears to be deploying the same tactics that once helped sink his former party.

And now, as tensions rise within the APC in Rivers State, the spectre of déjà vu looms. Wike is seen as attempting to disrupt the long standing political convention that recognises the sitting governor as the leader of the party in the state, in order to prevent Fubara – who has just crossed to the APC – from being acknowledged as such. His assertive posture, despite not being a registered APC member, has raised concerns about overreach and renewed internal conflict. For the umpteenth time, his allies in the Rivers House of Assembly are sharpening their weapons to impeach Fubara. This is despite claims that Wike played a role in Fubara’s six month ouster through the imposition of emergency rule.

Wike has also shown a pattern of discarding his superiors after benefitting from them. Many point to his past relationships with Peter Odili, Rotimi Amaechi, Uche Secondus, Atiku Abubakar, and Seyi Makinde as examples of this tendency.

Across the last decade, Wike has been at the centre of some of the most dramatic political storms in the country, with his confrontation with Governor Siminalayi Fubara standing out as the most severe. In Rivers State, their clash has evolved into a saga of Shakespearean proportions – a contest of wills that tested institutions, strained governance, and left the state suspended between loyalty and upheaval. It is now one of the most contentious political dramas in recent memory.

The migration of Wike’s allies into the APC, while he maintains his ambiguous PDP identity, has created a political paradox that continues to perplex observers. And this is where Wike’s gilded superficiality is noticed. Many argue that if he truly sought influence within the APC, he should have led his allies – especially the House of Assembly members – fully into the party. Instead, the situation in which “he keeps his buttocks outside, yet directs his urine into the house” has dealt a significant blow to his political standing.

When Ajibola Basiru, the APC national secretary, expressed support for Fubara – who had just defected to the party – Wike astonishingly questioned his right to speak on APC matters in Rivers State, creating the paradox of a non member challenging the national secretary of a party for commenting on his own party anywhere in Nigeria.

But Senator Basiru, not one to be easily intimidated, responded forcefully. He accused Wike of launching a tirade against both his person and the office of the APC national secretary, issuing “uncouth responses” to an “innocuous statement,” sowing disarray in a party to which he does not belong, and using the leverage of his ministerial office to create confusion within party structures. He reminded Wike that he lacked “the locus to dabble into the affairs of our Party” and urged him to resign if he intended to continue in that manner.

And baffling to all who watch is the silence of his closest allies, none of whom can call him to order.
But history is full of warnings for moments like this. In ancient Rome, the gods of history were not mocked by Julius Caesar’s chicanery; his ascent triggered the very collapse he believed he could command. In medieval England, King Henry II’s stubborn attempt to bend both crown and church to his will ended with him on his knees in public penance. And in Scripture, the metaphor becomes unavoidable: Herod basked in the adoration of the crowd, accepting praise meant for God, and was struck down for failing to acknowledge a power greater than himself. The lesson is not merely about divine judgment; it is about the peril of unchecked hubris.

Whenever a leader begins to imagine himself as the alpha and the omega, history begins to sharpen its sword. Political giants who once bestrode the landscape like colossi eventually found themselves isolated, diminished, or undone by the very forces they unleashed. Power is a river: it carries those who respect its currents, but it drowns those who attempt to dam it with their bare hands.

Parties fracture, alliances shift, loyalties crumble, godfathers fade, strongholds collapse, thrones tremble, crowds disperse, kingmakers fall, public patience wears thin. And, indeed, power, when overplayed, eventually recoils. The fall of Herod, the fate of Caesar, the humiliation of Henry II – these are not ancient tales. They are mirrors held up to every age, every leader, every moment when ambition begins to eclipse wisdom.

And the message is always the same: When a man begins to play God, history begins to prepare his reckoning while God begins to plague him.

This is the warning many analysts now extend: that the same nuisance values that contributed to the PDP’s troubles must not be re-enacted in the APC. Political influence is not the same as political ownership. And no one – no matter how powerful – can play God.
Dr Babatunde lectures at London South Bank University, London, UK.