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  • On Sunday, November 9, 2025, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) announced that the incumbent governor of Anambra, Chukwuma Soludo, had won the governorship elections held the day before.

    According to INEC, Soludo received 422,664 votes, while his closest rival, Prince Nicholas Ukachukwu of the All Progressives Congress (APC), got 99,445. On paper, it looked like a landslide. But truthfully, it had less to do with popularity and more to do with who had the deepest pockets.

    How much does a vote cost these days?

    Election observers said the process was surprisingly smooth. INEC officials actually showed up on time, and the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) worked without the usual drama. And there were hardly any reports of violence.

    Basically, it was as good as elections get in Nigeria, except for one thing: vote buying.

    Civic participation non-profit, Yiaga Africa, confirmed that the final results reflected the actual votes cast. So no rigging in that sense. But they and other observers couldn’t ignore the shameless vote buying that went down.

    Reports say parties handed out anything from ₦1,000 to ₦30,000 to voters.

    Reacting to the news, former Anambra governor and presidential hopeful Peter Obi said, “Someone who is not employed will collect ₦30,000 for his vote. That means you’ve sold your school, your hospital, your job opportunities, and your future. And that’s what’s very worrying about our democracy.”

    Vote buying is nothing new in Nigeria. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. Campaigns often feature sharing items ranging from spaghetti, loaves of bread, bags of rice and cold, hard cash. Sadly, it’s part of the political culture.

    But this new level of shamelessness, where party reps hang around polling units and openly buy votes in front of INEC officials and police, is a growing trend. And it’s very disturbing.

    The 2023 general election is mostly remembered for violence and alleged rigging. But there were also reports of people handing out cash or making transfers at polling units to voters who backed their party. 

    The National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reported that there was a significant jump in the amount of vote-buying in 2023 compared to previous years. Agents of the Economic and Financial Crime Commission (EFCC) were even attacked at a polling unit in Bwari, Abuja, while trying to arrest a vote buyer.

    In September 2024, during the Edo governorship election, Yiaga Africa reported that voters were paid between ₦5,000 and ₦10,000. And all the major parties were involved in the act.

    Kimpact Development Initiative (KDI), another civil society group, estimated that over ₦2 billion was spent on vote buying during the Edo and Ondo governorship elections in 2024.

    With the 2027 general elections around the corner, we won’t be surprised if vote buying gets even bolder.

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    Na who don chop dey vote

    At the heart of this sad vote buying culture is poverty.

    Nigeria is poor. Like, really poor. The NBS says 63 per cent of the population (over 130 million people) are multidimensionally poor. So it’s not shocking that people are trading their votes for literal daily bread.

    The choices we make at the ballot box affect our lives for at least four years, most likely longer. Like Peter Obi said, selling your vote is selling your future.

    But how do you convince someone to vote for a better tomorrow when they’re hungry today?

    It’s clear that Nigeria’s political class has mastered the art of weaponising poverty to grab and hold onto power. As long as Nigerians stay poor, their votes will stay cheap.

    But in Nigeria, vote buying isn’t just about poverty.

    Why are you here? I thought you were financially stable

    During the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) presidential primaries in 2023, candidates reportedly paid delegates between $10,000 and $20,000 for their votes.

    One delegate, Tanko Sabo from Kaduna, spent ₦12 million of his earnings from the primaries on his community. Amongst other donations to the less privileged, he paid WAEC and NECO fees for students who couldn’t afford them.

    He said he’d promised his people he’d use the money for them if they made him a delegate. After giving the money away, he said, “I’ve satisfied my conscience and all my people are happy.”

    In August 2025, Ibrahim Auyo, a House of Representatives member from Jigawa, claimed that lawmakers pay between ₦1 million and ₦3 million to present bills in the National Assembly.

    At the risk of understating things, we can safely say that Nigerian lawmakers are well-fed. They get all sorts of allowances and perks, paid for by taxpayers. They’re not starving like the everyday Nigerians selling votes just to eat for one day.

    Still, whether it’s ₦20,000 on the streets of Anambra, $20,000 at a party convention in Abuja, or ₦3 million in the National Assembly, votes in Nigeria are always for sale. The only thing that changes is the price tag.

    Nigeria’s political class doesn’t know any other way to do politics.

    Nigerian voter, how market?

    One big reason vote buying works so well for Nigerian politicians is simple: it’s cheap. And it’s cheap because Nigerians don’t vote.

    INEC registered almost 2.8 million voters ahead of the Anambra election. But only about 598,000 showed up on election day. That’s a 21.4 per cent voter turnout.

    Here’s the thing: when people show up en masse to vote, it makes all kinds of electoral malpractice (violence, vote buying, ballot snatching, rigging, etc) less effective.

    Vote buying especially becomes too expensive to be practical. In Anambra, if every registered voter had shown up, buying votes would’ve cost politicians five times more.

    Also, Nigerians who are above the poverty line, who can afford not to sell their votes, need to actually show up and vote.

    Fixing this country requires collective action, and voting is a key part of doing your bit.

    Having money problems

    Like we said earlier, Nigeria has a poverty problem. And that poverty creates the perfect environment for vote buying.

    We need a serious approach to poverty reduction. And while that’s in progress (hopefully), safety nets must be put in place to protect the most vulnerable members of society.

    The International Monetary Fund (IMF) and Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, director-general of the World Trade Organization (WTO), have repeatedly urged President Tinubu to provide safety nets. But so far, we’ve seen little to no action from his administration.

    Nigerians need to be able to afford the dignity of not selling their votes.

    But here’s the tragic loop: we’re asking vote buyers to fix the very poverty that allows them to buy votes. Personally, I’m not holding my breath.

    The political class has weaponised poverty to gain and keep power. As long as things stay the same, they have zero incentive to fix a system that rewards them for doing the barest minimum.

    And as we’ve already pointed out, even the political elite, regardless of how rich they are, still sell their votes for the right price. So this isn’t just about poverty or lack of choice. It’s a culture.

    We need to redefine how Nigerians see politics and governance. Right now, we’re too selfish, too cynical, too pessimistic, and way too short-sighted. If we can’t see past our noses, we won’t walk far. If we can’t look beyond the credit alert we’ll get today, we’ll never get more than that.

    Not in my job description

    If you’ve been reading and wondering where INEC is in all this mess, you’re not alone. We’ve been wondering too.

    Turns out, they’ve been right there, watching it all happen. And according to them, there’s not much they can do.

    In 2024, after getting criticised for the vote buying seen during the Edo governorship election, INEC said it shouldn’t be blamed.

    Rotimi Oyekanmi, Chief Press Secretary to the INEC Chairman, said INEC couldn’t be held responsible for what political parties do. He added that “other stakeholders should also play their part and stop undermining the electoral process.”

    Basically, every time politicians act out of line, INEC says its hands are tied. For example, ahead of the 2027 elections, candidates have already started campaigning way before the legal 150-day window. But INEC says it can’t do anything because it can’t prove it.

    Victoria Etta-Messi, the INEC Director of Voter Education and Publicity, said that since the politicians are using proxies to put up their campaign posters, there’s nothing INEC can do to punish them.

    Similarly, in Anambra, the Resident Electoral Commissioner (REC) for Anambra State, Queen Agwu, said they had no proof of vote buying, so they would not be taking any action against the parties or candidates.

    Technically, there really isn’t a lot INEC can do about vote buying except reporting it to law enforcement agencies. It is the job of the police, EFCC, and the Independent Corrupt Practices Commission (ICPC) to prosecute vote buyers. 

    In fact, INEC has asked for assistance to prevent vote buying, including calling on the National Assembly in February 2025 to pass laws prohibiting the possession of large sums of cash near polling booths.

    INEC’s Director of Litigation and Prosecution, Tanimu Muhammed, also said it is important for an Electoral Offenses Commission to be established because INEC lacks the ability to prosecute offenders.

    According to Muhammed, INEC is doing its best currently, but a dedicated institution with the legal authority and resources to investigate and prosecute electoral crimes is needed urgently.

    Who is responsible?

    After the Anambra election, the Socio-Economic Rights and Accountability Project (SERAP) has urged INEC to report vote-buyers to these organisations responsible for actual enforcement.

    But the Anambra INEC Resident Electoral Commissioner, claiming INEC did not witness any vote buying, is honestly quite disappointing. Especially when so many election observers noted the prevalence of vote buying during the election.

    It feels very much like selective blindness on the part of INEC. Even if it can’t prosecute them, INEC officials on the ground are the first witnesses of electoral malpractices and should be ready to report offenders to the organisations that can prosecute. Currently, they aren’t even doing that much.

    There are also reports of police officers at polling booths watching vote buying happen and doing absolutely nothing. And while the EFCC does make a few arrests, it’s clearly not enough. The EFCC said it arrested three people for trying to buy votes in Anambra, but observers still say the election was heavily influenced by vote buying.

    INEC, EFCC, the police—all the institutions meant to protect the integrity of our elections—need to step up and do their jobs. Politicians can’t keep breaking laws so publicly, so shamelessly, without consequences.

    But institutions are made up of individuals. And as individuals, Nigerians need to realise: we can’t keep selling our votes (futures).

    What can you do?

    • We need more electoral reforms, including possibly establishing a dedicated body for prosecuting electoral offenders. Call your representative in the National Assembly (NASS) to demand this. You can find their contact details here.
    • Get your PVC and vote. Vote buying is possible thanks to low voter turnout. Do your part and show up on election day.
    • We think this one is obvious, but we’ll still spell it out: Don’t sell your vote!
    • Educate those around you on the importance of political participation. You can do that by sharing articles like this.
    • Help enlighten others on the true cost of vote selling.

    Before you go, help us understand how you and other young people feel about the 2027 general elections by taking this 10-minute survey.

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  • This article is part of Had I Known, Zikoko’s theme for September 2025, where we explore Nigerian stories of regret and the lessons learnt. Read more Had I Known stories here.

    Michael Adesanya (37) was the Labour Party candidate for the Remo Constituency House of Representatives seat in the August 2025 bye-elections. But after months of sacrifice and campaigning, his name was left off the ballot. He shares how his idealism collided with the harsh realities of Nigerian politics.

    As told to Franklyn

    Politics excites me. For as long as I can remember, it always has.

    Growing up, when elders prayed for us, they would say, “You will be Governor one day,” or “You’ll grow up to be President.” So, for me, political office holders were always the symbols of success. 

    I think I’m a natural politician. It really excites me, and I woke up feeling very excited that morning. I was staying at my mother’s home in Shagamu in Ogun state for the campaign, and I’d begun to love the refreshing feeling of the Shagamu air in the morning.

    But when my PA rushed into my room, I thought someone had died. His shoulders were slumped under the invisible weight of sadness and panic. He locked eyes with me and asked, “Oga, sotigbo?” Have you heard?

    I was already imagining the worst when I replied, “Heard what?”

    The news that Nigeria had happened to my political career took a moment to settle in, because first I was hit with the relief that nobody I cared about had passed on. But when the reality of the situation sank in, it hit me hard.

    The rest of my campaign team had arrived at the house, and we all just sat in silence for at least half an hour. Nobody had died, but it was still a room full of mourners. We were mourning the months of our lives, the blood, sweat and tears we’d poured into the campaign.

    It was August 2 and the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) had just announced that the Labour Party had been disqualified from the 2025 bye-elections taking place on August 16 due to the leadership tussle in the party. Just like that, all our efforts were flushed down the drain just days before the election. We wouldn’t even be allowed to compete.

    I felt almost numb at first, but looking at the deflated faces of my friends, my supporters, the people who had given me all their time and dedication over those months, really crystallised the emotions for me. Their feelings became mine.

    Months of nonstop work wasted for something we had no power to change. We had done everything right, but through no fault of ours, we were handed the worst kind of defeat.

    There was disbelief, disappointment, sadness, even anger. But for me, there was also something creeping at the back of my mind: regret.

    I found myself wondering how I’d ended up in this moment.

    It was March 2025, and I was standing on the beach, feeling the coolness of the water between my toes, soaking up the Maldives sun. My wife was behind me, lounging with her latest read. It was our tenth wedding anniversary. It was perfect. But I was restless.

    I kept asking myself, “What will I do next in my life?”

    I had my phone in my hands and couldn’t stop researching the same thing: what were my chances of winning the House of Representatives seat?

    I’d heard about the death of Honourable Adewunmi Adenuga back in January, which left our constituency’s seat open. I knew the bye-elections were coming. I had thought about it then, but talked myself out of it. I didn’t feel ready.

    But the holiday in the Maldives gave me time to reflect. It was like an epiphany. I knew this was what I needed to do. I envisioned a thirty-year plan for a political career and decided my first step would be the House of Representatives.

    I told my wife, and she supported me. We’ve been together since university, and she’d always known about my love for politics from back in our school days when I was involved in faculty politics.

    Her only conditions were that we set a hard limit on the campaign budget and that she and our kids would remain in California. I agreed, and she gave her blessing. I immediately called my brother and my friends to tell them my plans, and everyone was so supportive.

    Even before I arrived in Nigeria, they had started having conversations with political parties to find the right platform for me.

    After sitting in silence with the team for what felt like forever, I packed my bags and went back to my house in Lagos. I spent the next few days in my room trying to process everything. I barely left the room. My sister would bring me food, which I barely ate. I barely even showered. It was a retreat from the world, a sort of hibernation.

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    When I decided to run, the most important thing to me was to at least compete. I needed to be on the ballot to really know where I stood with the people of my constituency. That was the main reason I chose the Labour Party. The internal politics of other parties meant I wasn’t guaranteed a spot on their ballots.

    I was really inspired by Peter Obi’s candidacy in 2023. To me, it showed that you didn’t have to automatically choose either the APC or the PDP. It proved that if you’re truly convinced about the change you want to make, choosing a party like LP is a viable option. You just have to be ready to put in the work. And I was ready. I did put in the work.

    I wanted a party that would allow me to really compete without any internal pressure to step down and endorse someone else because “it’s their turn” and I should wait for mine. So I chose the Labour Party.

    But in the solitude of my room in the days that followed, I started second-guessing that choice.

    My father was a PDP man, so it felt almost natural that I should join the party, too. When I told my mother about my ambition, she also suggested either the PDP or the APC, but I convinced her my choice of the Labour Party was the right one.

    Looking back, I can’t believe I willingly walked into a party with two warring factions. Everything was much harder and more expensive than I thought it would be.

    There was barely any structure in the party at the grassroots level, and what little existed was split between the two factions.

    My constituency, Remo, consists of thirty-five wards across three local government areas. The party is supposed to have a ward secretariat in each ward and a local government secretariat in each local government. When I arrived, I saw there were no ward secretariats and only one local government secretariat.

    But I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. The same mentality I had in my career with start-ups took over. To get things moving, I opened ten ward secretariats. I also organised reconciliation meetings between the representatives of the two factions in my constituency.

    It was a very difficult situation to navigate. Obviously, the issues originated from the national level, and I was never going to make the factions see eye to eye. But I needed to make sure both supported my candidacy. And I did. It looked like I was actually going to pull it off—until it didn’t.

    When the African Democratic Congress (ADC) coalition was announced in July 2025, I was advised to make the switch, both by members of my inner circle and even some members of the party. But I didn’t want to come off as disloyal. Was it not too early in my political career to start cross-carpeting like the typical desperate, power-hungry politician?

    My choice was made. I had invested time and resources into the Labour Party. I was starting to build relationships, too. I couldn’t imagine having to start all over again with a different party.

    How naïve I was.

    There’s a way time starts to blend into itself the longer you stay in isolation. And in that moment of fluidity, it was like all my memories were merging, flowing into each other like mixing rivers.

    I remembered how, after graduating from Stanford University, I got a 9-to-5 job as a strategy operations officer. The monotony, the lack of satisfaction, the constant feeling of unfulfillment—a voice in the back of my mind saying, “This cannot be all.”

    I remembered when I had to step away from my first start-up. It all felt too familiar. I’d convinced people to invest based on their trust in me. And now, once again, I’d gotten so many people, my friends, my family, to invest their time, energy, even their money, and I’d failed again.

    It felt like I was reliving patterns. What do I tell them now? Will they ever trust me again?

    I was angry at everything. Angry at the whole political system, the party leaders, and at myself for being too idealistic in my approach to politics.

    But the anger turned into fuel. It ended my hibernation. I couldn’t keep feeling sorry for myself. The next day, I made my way back to Shagamu.

    My family and friends rallied around me. They had been worried by my silence. They understood just how passionate I was and feared the weight of the disappointment might drive me to do something crazy.

    I told them I wanted to fight this. My brother encouraged me, and everyone picked their chins up and held out hope that the issue could be resolved and we’d still be allowed to contest. So we resolved to keep the same energy we’d had all along and keep campaigning.

    I made calls to the party leadership to discuss our legal options to force INEC to recognise my candidacy. We fought until the last day. But the election went ahead with the name field for the Labour candidate left blank. An empty space where my name should have been. We fought, and we lost.

    “Welcome back,” my wife said, hugging me when I rejoined her and the kids in our house in California.

    Missing them for months while I campaigned in Nigeria was another sacrifice on a long list of sacrifices that now seemed to have been in vain. Another thing to regret.

    She had been there for all of it—every win, every loss, from when I ran for faculty president at the University of Lagos (UNILAG) to running for student association president at Stanford. She had seen me consider going into politics in 2019 and again in 2023. Maybe it was finally being with someone who truly got me, who understood how much this meant, that helped me remember myself.

    There’s something about regret that makes you a personal historian. You find yourself living in the past. Should I have chosen a different party? Should I have switched when I still had the chance? Should I not have run at all and waited until I was better prepared in 2027?

    As I picked apart the decisions that led me to that moment, my mind ventured even further back. After graduating from UNILAG, I got a job at Procter & Gamble. But even then, I was thinking about politics. That was why I applied for the Stanford scholarship and went to America. I wanted to better myself so I could come back, get involved in politics, and use political power to do real good that would improve people’s lives. I still want to do that.

    The wounds are still fresh. My regrets still haunt me in the quiet moments when the laughter of my children can’t distract me from my thoughts. But in those regrets, there are lessons. And I’ve learned.

    I don’t know exactly what it will look like when I do, but even now, I know myself and I know I’ll try again.

    Click here to see what people are saying about this on Instagram.

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  • On 8 August 2025, the Chairman of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), Professor Mahmood Yakubu, welcomed the Controller General of the Nigerian Correctional Service (NCoS), Sylvester Ndidi Nwakuche, to the Commission’s headquarters in Abuja. The topic of discussion? The voting rights of inmates in Nigeria’s correctional facilities, and specifically, how to ensure they can vote in the 2027 general elections.

    Yakubu announced that INEC is committed to pursuing the legal and operational steps needed to make inmate voting a reality. In the lead-up to the elections, he plans to engage the National Assembly to develop a clear legal framework for including prison inmates in the voting process and to work closely with the Correctional Service to sort out the logistics.

    Why are we even talking about this?

    The reason this is even on the table is because prisoners took INEC and NCoS to court in February 2014 over being denied the right to vote. In December of that year, the Federal High Court ruled that it was unconstitutional for INEC to deny inmates the right to vote.

    This is also not the first time INEC has announced plans to comply with that court ruling and allow prisoners to vote. In 2017, it claimed it was working towards inmates voting in the 2019 elections, but that never happened.

    In 2019, the Court of Appeal supported the High Court’s judgement that inmates had the right to vote but left the logistics — like how and where the prisoners will vote — entirely up to INEC. 

    The prisoners liked the court’s verdict, but they were not entirely happy with the decision to leave the logistics to INEC. In 2019, they took the matter to the Supreme Court, arguing that the logistics of moving to external polling units are impractical and could lead to their disenfranchisement. They wanted the court to force INEC to set up polling units on prison grounds.

    In May 2025, the Supreme Court backed the two previous judgements from the High and Appeal Courts about inmate voting rights, but still left the logistics to INEC.

    The Supreme Court made it clear that it had no further obligation to enforce the implementation. It said inmates could pursue contempt proceedings if their voting rights were obstructed.

    INEC may be trying to avoid a flood of potential contempt cases in 2027 if the over 80,000 prison inmates in Nigeria are once again denied the right to vote,  and follow the court’s advice.

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    The Courts said they can vote, so let them?

    Beyond the logistical challenges, there is one major legal wrinkle: the Electoral Act, 2022. Section 12(1)(e) states:

    “A person shall be qualified to be registered as a voter if such a person is not subject to any legal incapacity to vote under any law, rule or regulations in force in Nigeria.”

    The INEC chairman acknowledged that this wording creates complications. He said: “There are various interpretations as to whether this provision relates to inmates on death row, those serving life sentences, or those convicted for treason. Our immediate task is to engage with the National Assembly for a clear legal provision on inmate voting. Thereafter, we can address the specific issues that may arise in the course of implementation.”

    While the judiciary has affirmed that prisoners can vote, the next step for INEC is to  get lawmakers to clarify the law. Questions remain about which categories of prisoners are eligible, as well as where, when, and how voting should be conducted.

    ALSO READ: Nigeria Is Shifting Towards a One-Party System. Here’s Why It’s Happening

    But should prisoners be allowed to vote?

    Well, the courts have already said yes. INEC Chairman, Mahmood Yakubu, seems to agree, citing rulings that referenced Article 25 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966) and Section 25 of the Nigerian Constitution, which protects the voting rights of inmates awaiting trial.

    He also pointed to other countries where prisoners can vote, including Ghana, Kenya and South Africa.

    Ghana allowed prisoners to vote for the first time in 2020, with polling units set up inside prison grounds. In 2024, a Nigerian-based civic hub, Yiaga Africa, used Ghana as an example while encouraging Nigeria to follow suit.

    In Kenya, prisoners can only vote in presidential elections and national referendums. In 2019, a petition was filed to expand the rights to cover all elections but it was dismissed by the High Court in Nairobi. The court deemed the proposal impractical, citing logistical challenges such as the need to transport inmates across long distances to vote in local constituencies.

    South Africa allows prisoners to vote in national and provincial elections, but not in local ones. Even there, logistics are a challenge. In 2019, only 15,000 out of nearly 160,000 inmates voted. The South African Independent Electoral Commission says it is working to raise that number to 100,000 in future elections. Even in the United States, prisoner voting faces serious logistical hurdles.

    The calls to allow voting in Nigerian prisons make sense when you consider that around 70 per cent of inmates are awaiting trial. Our slow judicial system means that actual convicted criminals are the minority.

    With a low conviction rate of only 33 per cent, it is likely most of the inmates in Nigeria’s prisons will be released should they ever get their day in court. So, it seems unfair that potentially innocent individuals are being denied their civic rights simply because the justice system moves at a snail’s pace.

    Should we be concerned about prisoners voting in Nigeria?

    Quite a few stakeholders think we should be.

    Chief Peter Ameh, former National Chairman of the Inter-Party Advisory Council (IPAC), believes it could turn prisons into “a new criminal hub for electoral malpractice.” According to him, the current state of our correctional facilities makes inmates vulnerable to manipulation by authorities and political actors.

    Ameh argues that the dehumanising conditions in Nigerian prisons, where inmates rely on those who control their meals and security, create an environment where free and fair elections are simply not possible. Instead, it opens the door to rigging.

    Some legal experts have praised INEC’s move, calling it a step towards inclusivity and the protection of every citizen’s right to vote. However, they agree that strong security measures must be put in place to prevent manipulation and fraud.

    Former Kaduna Central senator Shehu Sani supports the idea in principle but warns that the reality is far from ideal. He said: “Speaking from experience as an ex-prisoner, I know that the long-term serving inmates and the ‘Cell Governors’ and their Exco will control the votes.” In other words, the prison hierarchy will decide who gets elected.

    So what is the point of giving prisoners the right to vote if they cannot actually vote freely? Even the argument about civic rights feels shaky here. Prisons, by design, restrict rights, especially the right to freedom of movement, a fundamental human right.

    Since the law recognises the need for certain rights to be suspended for the protection of the public, must the right to vote be upheld, even when it endangers INEC staff, prison officers, inmates, and the public?

    A safety and logistical nightmare

    Ironically, Sylvester Nwakuche, the Controller-General of the NCoS, has recently publicly criticised his own staff for “lackadaisical attitudes” and “abdication of responsibilities” leading to frequent prison breaks. Between 2019 and 2025, over 6,700 inmates escaped from 13 correctional facilities.

    Just recently, on August 12, 2025, 16 inmates attacked and overpowered wardens at a Medium Security Custodial Centre in Keffi, Nasarawa State. Five officers were injured.

    If the Correctional Service is struggling to keep inmates inside, how can it guarantee a safe and secure voting process, whether inside prison walls or at external polling units?

    It is hard to see how this plan does not become a logistical nightmare. Elections in Nigeria are already tense and often violent. Adding prison voting to the mix feels like asking for trouble. You could say it’s a needless endangerment of INEC and NCoS staff and the public.

    If the government truly wants to protect civic rights, maybe it should start with judicial reform. Speed up trials so people are not stuck in prison for years without conviction. That way, fewer innocent citizens miss their chance to vote.

    It could also invest in the prison system. That would improve living conditions, reduce the risk of manipulation, and help NCoS staff maintain order, which would make inmate voting more realistic and less dangerous.

    But I am not holding my breath for any of that. Still, it is reassuring to know that if I ever find myself in one of Nigeria’s prisons, stuck for years awaiting trial, I will at least have the privilege of exercising my civic right to cast my vote for whichever candidate my “cell governor” chooses, of course. And who knows, maybe I shall get lucky and escape during the inevitable chaos when inmates decide to attack the INEC staff.

    ALSO READ: Wildcards & Outsiders: Potential Presidential Candidates for 2027 That Would Surprise Us

    Ever had a moment where Nigeria’s systems made life harder—or unexpectedly easier? We want to hear about your personal experiences that reflect how politics or public systems affect daily life in Nigeria. Share your story with us here—we’d love to hear from you!

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  • The 2023 general elections had many surprises, and for Adamawa state, more election drama is set to unfold in the coming weeks.

    Adamawa’s governorship elections caught the interest of many Nigerians because of its potential to produce Nigeria’s first female elected governor if Aishatu “Binani” Dahiru of the All Progressives Congress (APC) emerge victorious. However, her opponent is the state’s incumbent governor, Ahmadu Fintiri of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP).

    On the D-day of the March 18 governorship elections, Fintiri was in the lead with 421,524 votes, and Binani trailed behind with 390,275 votes. But, the election was declared inconclusive for two reasons:

    • The vote margin (i.e. 31,249 votes) between Fintiri and Binani exceeded the cancelled votes.
    • Due to electoral violence and overvoting, elections were cancelled in 69 polling units which affected about 37,016 potential voters.

    On March 27, 2023, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) announced that supplementary polls would be held on April 15, 2023.

    However, it’s unfortunate that the supplementary elections conducted in Adamawa can be described as a show of shame. We will break down some key things that happened during the elections.

    Journalists weren’t allowed to observe the collation process

    It’s customary for journalists to cover the collation process in every election, but armed security officers prevented journalists from entering the collation centre during the supplementary elections in Adamawa state. When asked why, the security officials said it was “an order from above”. 

    A winner was declared before the conclusion of the collation process

    The results of the elections started trickling in, and it showed Fintiri in the lead in 10 out of 20 local governments. But, the Returning Officer suspended the collation process at 1 a.m. and said the results announcement would resume by 11 a.m. the next day, April 16. 

    However, the state’s INEC Resident Electoral Commissioner (REC), Hudu Ari, shocked Nigeria when by 9 a.m., he announced Aishatu Binani as the winner of the governorship elections. 

    According to Sections 64 and 65 of the Electoral Act, the winner of an election can only be announced by a Returning Officer appointed by INEC, but it looks like Hudu decided to take matters into his own hands.

    Aishatu Binani gave an acceptance speech

    While many Nigerians were still trying to figure out the magic happening in Adamawa, Binani hurriedly gave an acceptance speech thanking the people for electing her. She also said her win would encourage other women to participate in politics. 

    INEC annuls the declaration

    As we already said, only a Returning Officer has the right to declare the winner of an election. INEC condemned the action of the REC and described it as a “usurpation of the power of the returning officer”. The declaration of Aishatu Binani as the Adamawa state election’s winner was rendered null and void, and the election process was suspended.

    Hudu Ari might be looking at jail time

    The seemingly rogue REC, Hudu Ari, has been summoned to the INEC headquarters in Abuja. According to Section 120(4) of the Electoral Act 2022, he might be sentenced to 36 months imprisonment for announcing a false result.

    On April 18, 2023, INEC announced that it hopes to close the controversial chapter on Adamawa’s governorship elections by Thursday, April 20, 2023. Nonetheless, the 2023 general elections have shown us so far that there are a lot of internal issues INEC needs to work on because it’s almost as clear as day that they’re too compromised to trust with conducting free and fair elections in Nigeria. 

  • Over 200,000 corps members were deployed as INEC ad-hoc staff during the 2023 general elections. They play a crucial role in the process, manning polling units, handling electoral materials and making sure every vote counts.
    This story is a first-person account of events from one of these corps members, who worked as a Presiding Officer in the February 25 presidential election in Osun state.

    I’m a big fan of accountability and good governance. I believe elections matter. I don’t have a Permanent Voter’s Card (PVC), but I figured it shouldn’t stop me from participating in the 2023 general elections. As a serving corps member, I could sign up as an INEC ad-hoc staff. This way, I could ensure votes cast mattered at my polling unit. So I registered, did the mandatory training, and like everyone else, I looked forward to the elections. 

    INEC promised ad-hoc staff three things — welfare, security and due process. They barely delivered on any. On the eve of the elections, I found my way to the Registration Area Centre (RAC) per instructions. All electoral officials would spend the night there, get the election materials the following morning and make for our polling units.

    The RAC was a secondary school. But I didn’t imagine all the rooms in the school would be mosquito-infested. The least INEC could’ve done was fumigate one or two rooms in the building they kept us in. And it didn’t help that the closest thing to sleeping materials the commission provided were a bunch of mats. They weren’t even enough for the corps members who signed up to work during the elections.

    We survived the night, but this was a sign of things to come. 

    On election day, I got my materials and set out to the polling unit. One of the first things I noticed was my polling unit was short of an electoral officer. During the training in the months leading up to the election, they told us each polling unit would be managed by a Presiding Officer (PO) and three Assistant Presiding Officers (APOs).

    However, we didn’t have an APO 3 – whose role is to control the queue of voters – in my polling unit. As I found out hours later, the same thing happened across other polling units in my ward. This was interesting because when I checked the ad-hoc staff directory, each polling unit had an APO 3 assigned to them. 

    Something had happened.

    It turned out the names I saw didn’t exist. The Supervising Presiding Officers (SPO) filled the APO 3 roles with ghost workers. Essentially, the government will pay for people who don’t exist and didn’t do any work.

    I wonder where the money will go.

    Back to my polling unit. 

    An APO 3’s job is to manage the conduct of voters and maintain orderliness in the polling unit. Without one, we were short-staffed. Thankfully, the party agents and young people in the unit helped us to control the queue. It could’ve been worse. 

    Remember that they promised us security, too. We got an elderly policeman who couldn’t do much, and we felt exposed the whole time.

    One of my friends at a different polling unit had a scarier experience. Some thugs came, fired a few shots in the air and asked her to think through returning for the forthcoming House of Assembly elections. 

    If anyone wished to attack us, they would’ve been successful. 

    At different times during the election, the party agents came in clusters to discuss with the voters. They asked the voters for their account numbers, promising to send them some money if they voted for a particular party or candidate. It looked a lot like vote buying. 

    INEC instructed us to look out for vote buying and stop it, but only if it happened close to the voting area. If it didn’t, they asked us not to interfere in the process, especially if it might put us at a security risk. 

    With this in mind, all we could do was stay on the sidelines and do our jobs — the only thing we could control. 

    In my friend’s polling unit, someone came and distributed prepaid ATM cards — they work the same way gift cards and vouchers do — to the voters. Each card was loaded with a sum and whoever got one only needed to activate the card at an ATM machine to access the money. 

    By the end of the voting process, I knew one thing — the cash scarcity didn’t stop vote buying. 

    But this wasn’t the last of the irregularities I witnessed. 

    I’ve seen a couple of complaints online about manipulated results and people blaming us corps members for it. From my experience, Presiding Officers are pawns in whatever chess game INEC staff are playing. It’s not far-fetched to say that some Presiding Officers were forced to countersign fabricated results. 

    In my polling unit, we accredited 288 people, but 287 people voted, which meant someone left without voting. I didn’t think this was a problem. The rule states that the number of votes cast cannot exceed the number of accredited voters. So we were good. 

    However, the INEC official I reported to at the collation centre didn’t think so. They asked me to stamp an unused ballot and record it as an invalid vote. Subsequently, they adjusted the numbers so that we could have equal numbers of accredited voters and actual voters. 

    While this didn’t mess with the actual results, it rubbed me the wrong way because I was forced to sign off on the change they made. 

    I’m glad the federal part is over. I signed up to participate in the next set of elections, but now, I’m wondering if it’s a good idea. I hope INEC is more prepared this time around.

  • If INEC can do it, so can you. Take this quiz.

  • The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) has now made available a partial list of legislators-elect based on the February 25 National Assembly (NASS) election. 

    The NASS comprises two legislative houses. The upper house is the Senate, with 109 seats: three for each of the 36 states of the federation and one for the Federal Capital Territory (FCT). 

    The lower house is the House of Representatives (HOR). There are 360 available seats in the HOR, varied unevenly across constituencies. Lagos and Kano have the most seats, with 24, while the FCT has the least; two seats. 

    By May 29, when a new administration takes office, they too will reconvene to constitute Nigeria’s tenth national assembly. Here are a few things to look out for:

    Fewer ex-governors than usual

    [The Nigerian Senate / Arise]

    The Nigerian senate is perceived as a retirement home for term-limited governors. Since 1999, many past governors have found the senate a lucrative cash cow to fund their baby boy lifestyles. However, that trend is about to change.

    Several outgoing governors lost their bids to transfer to the senate, including Ben Ayade of Cross Rivers, Simon Lalong of Plateau, Okezie Ikpeazu of Abia and Samuel Ortom of Benue. Only two out of nine outgoing governors successfully transferred to the senate.

    Upsets in the national assembly

    There were a few shocks from the national assembly elections. The All Progressives Congress (APC) chair, Abdullahi Adamu, who vacated his seat (Nasarawa West) upon assuming the position of party chair, lost his senate district to Aliyu Wadada of the Social Democratic Party (SDP).

    [APC chair, Abdullahi Adamu / Vanguard]

    The senate spokesperson, Ajibola Basiru, a former attorney general of Osun representing Osun Central at the senate, lost to the People’s Democratic Party’s (PDP) Fadeyi Olubiyi.

    In the HOR, the deputy chief whip, APC’s Nkeiruka Onyejeocha from Abia, lost her re-election bid as she bowed out to Amobi Ogah of the Labour Party (LP).

    Fewer women seats

    While INEC is yet to release a full list of legislators who won seats in the national assembly, we can infer, based on the ones seen so far, that women’s representation in Nigerian politics still has a long way to go. Only three women made it to Nigeria’s senate.



    It’s disheartening as 378 women contested for office at the national assembly. We can only hope results from the March 11 elections boost better returns for women running for elective offices at the state level.

    Oshiomole and other familiar faces make their senatorial debut

    Former labour union chair, Edo governor and APC chair, Adams Oshiomole, has completed the quadruple as he clinched a seat at the senate. Oshiomole defeated the PDP incumbent, Francis Alimekhena, by some distance to earn a seat in the red chamber. 

    Oshiomole is not the only new entrant. Ned Nwoko of Delta North district, who has had his fair share of controversy, defeated the APC incumbent, Peter Nwaoboshi, who finished third. Jimoh Ibrahim, another controversial businessman representing the Ondo South district, is another new entrant to the senate running under the APC’s banner.

    Labour Party makes significant inroads into the national assembly

    [Labour Party Supporters / Bloomberg]

    Off the back of the Obidient movement, the LP can count itself as one of the big winners at the just concluded general elections. While the top position didn’t materialise, yet, the party can boast 40 out of 469 seats in the national assembly. These include six in the senate and 34 in the HOR. This is an impressive feat, given that the LP won zero seats in the 2019 elections. The tenth assembly is taking on a different structure now. Let’s see how it performs over the next four years.

  • Millions of Nigerians, us included, believed the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) when it said it would adhere strictly to the Electoral Act, deploy the use of the BVAS and upload results in real-time to the INEC Result Viewing Portal (IReV). 

    [INEC chair Mahmood Yakubu / Punch]

    What played out was the opposite. Across the country, results were not uploaded in real time as promised. Nine days after the general elections, results are still being uploaded to IReV, calling INEC’s competence and integrity to question as it has already declared a winner.

    INEC’s failings have led to an atmosphere of distrust and may have the effect of creating voter apathy. There’ve even been reports of people destroying their Permanent Voters’ Cards (PVC). 

    https://twitter.com/youngskidmusic/status/1630697781957476356

    Destroying your PVC is the wrong approach. In a few hundred words, we hope to convince you why you should still use your PVC to vote on March 11.

    You are in the majority

    There’s a common expression, “majority carries the vote.” It means that in a democracy, the people’s choice of a leader should reflect whoever gathers the most votes. While the president-elect, Bola Tinubu of the All Progressives Congress (APC), has been declared the winner, the victory is disputed in court following protests by the opposition parties over election irregularities.

    [President-elect, Bola Tinubu]

    Opposition votes combined outnumber the winner by nearly 6 million. The importance of this should be evident. It sends a message that despite irregularities, the people can still have their say with their ballots. Abstaining from elections because they don’t go as planned is the equivalent of cutting your nose to spite your face. Remember, the matter is still in court. Whether you turn up or not, elections will proceed. 

    Higher voter turnout reduces the chances of rigging

    You’ve heard this one before, and it’s true. The more people turn out, the less likely the possibility of rigging elections. The saying that there’s strength in numbers carries more weight than you realise.

    The 2019 elections had a 35% voter turnout. This meant 65% of eligible voters didn’t vote. When INEC planned the election, it did so with the assumption that everyone would come out to vote. Millions of unused ballot papers are susceptible to manipulation when the majority don’t come out to vote.

    [Ballot papers / Guardian Nigeria]

    If, on the other hand, voter turnout is in the high eighties or nineties, there’ll be fewer available ballots to swing the election in favour of any one candidate.

    Higher voter turnout is also a thug’s nightmare. A determined voter populace keeping watch at their polling unit will be tough to intimidate because how many people you fit beat? Besides, citizens are better informed and prepared based on how things played out in the February 25 election. So don’t be afraid. Go out and vote.

    State elections are more important than you realise

    All eyes were on the February 25 elections, and understandably too. It’s the top job, and you want whoever gets that seat to merit it because leading Nigeria today is not a job for the fainthearted. 

    However, it’s a mistake to think it all starts and ends with who gets to be president. Arguably, governorship elections are just as important. Your governor can wake up one morning and ban okadas rendering thousands of people jobless. Governors can increase tuition fees of state universities on a whim. They can decide that local government elections won’t hold.

    They are also, as we’ve seen now, very capable of using the powers of their office to sway elections in “interesting” ways. As citizens, it’s in your best interest to vote for candidates not based on ethnic considerations but also based on their character and competence. If a candidate has a history of owing salaries or pensions, for example, a vote on March 11 will make clear that such impunities will no longer be tolerated. Coming out to vote on March 11 will send a message that citizens won’t be dissuaded.

    We’re all learning lessons from the conduct of our elections, but the critical point is that regardless of everything, you should come out to vote on March 11. It’s hard, but it’s necessary. You won’t get this chance again for another four years.

  • The journey to Nigeria’s presidency has been long, starting with the presidential primaries in May 2022. 

    On March 1, 2023, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) declared Bola Tinubu (BAT) of the All Progressives Congress (APC) winner of a tumultuous electioneering process marred by pockets of violence across the country. 

    [Buhari and Tinubu shake hands / Twitter]

    The electioneering saw voter suppression, violence, allegations of vote buying, and lack of transparency, among other failings.

    While many young Nigerians are still absorbing the outcome of this news, it might be helpful to understand what the coming days will look like for Nigerians and the president-elect.

    The transition committee

    On February 14, the Secretary to the Government of the Federation (SGF), Boss Mustapha, unveiled the presidential transition committee. This followed an executive order signed on February 7 to facilitate and manage the presidential transition.

    This committee is responsible for facilitating the handover process. They also provide security briefings and set up personnel for the president-elect and his transition team.

    Lawsuits

    The opposition parties including the Labour Party (LP), the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and the New Nigeria People’s Party (NNPP) have called for cancellation of the elections fraught with irregularities. It takes no genius to see that the election tribunal has a busy schedule ahead of it.

    The certificate of return

    INEC will issue a certificate of return today, March 1, to the APC flag bearers BAT and his running mate, Kashim Shettima. INEC chair Mahmood Yakubu declared earlier that the duo “satisfied the requirements of the law and are returned elected.” 

    Swearing in on May 29

    May 29 used to be Nigeria’s Democracy (and swearing-in) Day because it was when Nigeria returned to democracy in 1999 after years of military rule. In 2018, President Buhari changed Democracy Day to June 12 in honour of MKO Abiola, who was widely regarded as the annulled June 12, 1993, presidential election winner.

    Still, on May 29, 2023, a new president will be sworn in after being administered the oath of office by the chief justice of the federation. 

    This is officially the beginning of the new president’s tenure.

    [Buhari taking the oath of office in 2015 / Nigerian Observer]

    Change of guard

    The president is heavily protected by a set of guards across military and intelligence services attached to him. However, as the outgoing president leaves, the incoming gets fresh protection. 

    In 2015, it took a month after Buhari’s swearing-in to have a new set of bodyguards. According to a report by Vanguard, 150 bodyguards were rendered redundant as they were all posted out of Aso Villa following Buhari’s emergence.

    Setting up of ministerial cabinet

    Buhari earned the title “Baba go slow” for his slowness in naming his cabinet. He was inaugurated into office on May 29, 2015, but only had his ministerial cabinet ready by September. We hope the new president doesn’t take a leaf from Buhari’s playbook and, instead, hits the ground running.

    Now you know what happens after a winner is declared. 

    Thank you for following the Zikoko Citizen live coverage of the presidential election. Tune in to our web page and WhatsApp for coverage of the gubernatorial elections on March 11, and tips on how to hold the new President’s agbada through his tenure in office.