As the first morning of September rose today, I caught myself smiling—one of those involuntary smiles that could make a stranger pause and wonder, “Who’s he talking to? What’s so delightful?” The truth is, I was alone, but the feeling was real. Something about the beginning of a new month always carries with it an unexplainable wave of happiness, as if the calendar itself sprinkles a little hope into our hearts. Psychologists might call this the fresh-start effect—the way humans reframe time markers as opportunities to reset, begin again, and dream afresh.
Yet, my excitement for a new month led me down an unexpected path of reflection: why is it that leaders—especially Nigerian political leaders—are rarely celebrated while in power, only to be bathed in glowing praise once they leave the stage? The mystery of September’s optimism suddenly echoed the paradox of leadership: freshness excites us, familiarity fatigues us.
I have observed how leaders once condemned or forced out with sighs of relief later return to public imagination as heroes. The same officials whose names were once swept aside like debris of disappointment are suddenly repackaged as paragons of strength and vision. It is as if collective memory has a mischievous bias: it stores away the failures, glosses them over, and rewrites the story with highlights. As Nietzsche once remarked, “Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders.”
The Nigerian First Republic stands as an enduring example. Figures like Sir Ahmadu Bello, Tafawa Balewa, Nnamdi Azikiwe, and Obafemi Awolowo occupy uncontested positions in our national imagination. They are revered as visionaries, guardians of unity, and torchbearers of patriotism. Yet, history tells a different story. Alongside the grand narrative of strong institutions and ideological politics lay shadows of communal crises, coups, civil war, and crushing poverty. Scholars of collective memory warn us of “rosy retrospection”—the tendency to remember the past as better than it was, especially when the present feels heavy.
The Second Republic, led by Shehu Shagari, collapsed under the weight of corruption, only for the military to intervene under Muhammadu Buhari, promising salvation. At first, the coup was embraced by weary Nigerians, but disillusionment soon set in, and inflation and hardship became the new order. Then came Babangida, Abacha, Abdulsalami, Obasanjo, Yar’Adua, Jonathan, Buhari, and now Tinubu. The cycle repeats: hope rises, disappointment follows, fatigue sets in, and only later do we polish the memories of leaders whose exits seemed like liberation at the time.
Why does this happen? Because economic growth rarely equals economic development. Statistics may glow on paper, but unless people feel it in their kitchens, classrooms, and hospitals, discontentment persists. Amartya Sen, in Development as Freedom, insists that development is not about GDP alone but about the real freedoms people enjoy—the freedom to live healthy, educated, and dignified lives. This is why leaders struggle to be celebrated while in power: numbers cannot replace lived experiences.
And yet, there is an exception. Some leaders escape the curse of fatigue by leaving at the height of their ovation. Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, despite his short reign, is remembered fondly for humility and sincerity. Abdulsalami Abubakar is admired for handing power back to civilians with grace. Globally, Nelson Mandela remains the supreme example: after decades of sacrifice and imprisonment, he chose to serve only one term, refusing to turn power into an addiction. His moral authority grew because he departed before the crowd grew restless. Contrast this with those who cling endlessly, invoking sacrifice as entitlement, and one begins to see why legacy is kinder to restraint than to overstay.
Of course, every administration leaves behind projects—roads, institutions, hospitals, commissions—just as Tinubu has established tertiary institutions and Buhari before him did the same. But bricks and mortar are not enough. In my secondary school days, goods were cheaper, yet cries of poverty filled the air. Many could not afford WASSCE fees, and countless dreams ended prematurely. This reminds us that public perception is not anchored only on affordability or statistics but on the feeling of fairness, dignity, and well-being.
The truth, then, is sobering: Nigerian leaders are rarely celebrated while in office, not because they achieve nothing, but because the people live with fatigue—political fatigue, economic fatigue, leadership fatigue. Only when a successor disappoints more do we reframe the past as golden. I call this pseudo-heroism: the creation of false idols born not from real triumph but from comparative frustration.
And so, as this new month begins, I understand my smile better. It is not just joy for September; it is the eternal human craving for something fresh, something different, something to renew our tired spirits. Just as we long for new leaders when old ones weary us, so too do we embrace the first day of a new month as a chance to forget yesterday’s fatigue. The past becomes softer, the present heavier, the future hopeful—and in that rhythm, history keeps repeating itself.
Happy New Month of September
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
