By: Abdullahi Inuwa
In death, perhaps more than in life, truths have a way of revealing themselves—quietly, powerfully, and without argument. That was the scene at the burial of Hajiya Umma El-Rufai, mother of former Kaduna State Governor, Nasir El-Rufai, where Nigeria’s political class gathered not as rivals, but as humans bound by a shared moment of grief.
From the early hours, dignitaries streamed in. The host himself, El-Rufai, stood receiving guests with composure, embodying both grief and gratitude. Among those who came to pay their respects was National Security Adviser, Nuhu Ribadu, whose presence underscored the significance of the moment.
Also present was the sitting Governor of Kaduna State, Uba Sani—a figure often viewed through the lens of political transition and shifting alliances. Yet, at that moment, labels faded. What remained was shared humanity.
Then came a scene that, in another context, might have seemed improbable.
President Bola Ahmed Tinubu was seen in the same space as opposition heavyweights like Atiku Abubakar and Peter Obi. Not as adversaries locked in contest, but as individuals exchanging pleasantries, offering condolences, and engaging in calm, respectful conversations.
There were no raised voices.
No partisan slogans.
No visible tension.
No trace of the fierce political battles that dominate headlines and social media timelines.
Instead, there was laughter—soft, measured, human. There were handshakes, nods, and quiet conversations that spoke volumes without saying much at all.
For a brief moment, Nigeria’s often polarised political landscape seemed to dissolve into something simpler, something almost forgotten: civility.
And that is where the deeper lesson lies.
Because outside that gathering, beyond the walls of the mosque and the solemnity of the graveside, a different Nigeria exists—one where supporters of these same leaders engage in relentless online battles.
On platforms like X, Facebook, and WhatsApp, names like Tinubu, Atiku, and Obi ignite fierce loyalty and even fiercer hostility. Friendships fracture. Families argue. Strangers trade insults with a level of passion that often exceeds that of the politicians they defend.
Yet, at this burial, those same “opponents” stood side by side.
It forces a pause.
A moment to reflect.
Because what played out at that funeral was not just a cultural or religious obligation—it was a subtle unveiling of how politics truly works at the highest level.
For those in the arena, politics is strategy. It is alignment, negotiation, and timing. It is rarely personal, even when it appears so in public.
Today, they may disagree on policy, platform, or ambition.
Tomorrow, they may find common ground.
The day after, they may attend each other’s family events, weddings, or, as seen here, funerals.
Life, for them, continues beyond politics.
This is not hypocrisy—it is understanding.
Understanding that governance and power are fluid, that alliances shift, and that relationships must often outlive disagreements.
But for many ordinary Nigerians, politics is not approached with that same detachment.
It is emotional.
It is personal.
It is, at times, consuming.
Somewhere in Ajah, two young men who have never met Bola Ahmed Tinubu or Atiku Abubakar are locked in a heated argument online, trading insults over policies they did not draft and decisions they did not influence.
In Aba, perhaps, friendships are strained because of differing political loyalties.
Elsewhere, relationships crumble under the weight of political disagreements that, in the grand scheme, may not be as permanent as they seem.
And yet, the leaders at the centre of these debates continue to interact with a level of mutual respect that contradicts the hostility of their supporters.
So, who is really fighting whom?
Because it is clearly not them.
They know that politics is interest-driven, not emotion-driven. There are no permanent enemies, just shifting alignments. No permanent friends, just evolving partnerships.
The burial of Hajiya Umma El-Rufai did not just bring together Nigeria’s political elite—it inadvertently held up a mirror to the nation.
A mirror reflecting two realities.
One, a class of leaders who, despite differences, maintain relationships and civility.
The other, a population that often internalises political divisions to the point of personal conflict.
It is a contrast that raises uncomfortable but necessary questions.
What do ordinary Nigerians gain from these battles?
What is won when friendships are lost over political arguments?
What is achieved when anger replaces understanding?
Perhaps the most powerful takeaway from that gathering is not about who attended, but how they behaved.
Calm.
Respectful.
Measured.
Human.
It suggests that beyond the noise of campaigns and the heat of elections, there is a quieter, more pragmatic understanding among those at the top.
An understanding that life is bigger than politics.
That today’s opponent may be tomorrow’s ally.
And that, in the end, everyone answers to something greater than power.
Maybe, just maybe, it is time for that understanding to trickle down.
To remind Nigerians that supporting a candidate or party should not come at the cost of peace of mind, personal relationships, or basic respect for others.
Support who you believe in.
Stand by your convictions.
Because as the burial of Hajiya Umma El-Rufai so quietly demonstrated, the real divide in Nigerian politics is not between All Progressives Congress and emerging coalitions or opposition blocs.
It is between those who understand the nature of politics—and those who are consumed by it.
And until that gap is bridged, the loudest battles will continue to be fought not by politicians, but by the people watching them.
