When Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso declared that he would take the vice-presidential slot on an NDC ticket to run with Peter Obi, I speculated in an opinion piece that it looked like the opening scene of a political film aimed at displacing Kashim Shettima for the same position in 2031. Shettima had not even declared interest in contesting, yet I assumed Kwankwaso was setting himself up for a direct fight.
In doing that, I realized I had fallen into the same trap that haunts most leader-subordinate relationships: suspicion. I judged that holding the vice presidency was enough evidence, enough motive, to assume a desire to take over by any means. That single assumption revealed how easily suspicion hardens into expectation, and how expectation drifts into superstition and conspiracy narratives that color how we see deputies, vice presidents, and second-in-commands.
This reflection was sharpened by Shettima’s recent public account, reported by Daily Trust under the headline “Shettima: People told Tinubu I planned to kill him.” Speaking at the launch of General Yakubu Gowon’s autobiography, My Life of Duty and Allegiance, the Vice President described how, barely three months into office, unnamed individuals from Borno State tried to pitch him against President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.
“Three months into our swearing-in, some people told Tinubu I was planning to kill him to take over power,” Shettima said. “The President called me and said, ‘Sit down! Your people came to me and said stop wearing those Shettima’s clothes.’ But the president said their story did not add up. He said when you gave me those clothes, I was an aspirant. I would not have been the candidate, neither were you going to be Vice Presidential candidate. Some people told him after the election that I was planning to use the clothes to kill him and take over. However, Tinubu wore the clothes after that because he is not fetish.”
Shettima’s testimony reminded me of a hard truth in organizational behavior: no subordinate can escape suspicion. Political science and management studies explain this through the principal-agent theory which holds that when authority is delegated, the principal always fears that the agent will pursue self-interest at the expense of loyalty. Trust theorists like Roger Mayer and James Davis describe trust as fragile in hierarchical relationships, easily eroded by ambiguity and third-party whispers. Once suspicion enters, every gesture becomes evidence.
My observation is that this is not unique to politics. Even in criminal investigations, criminologists note that motive is the first thread detectives pull. Those who stand to inherit position, property, or power after a leader’s fall become prime suspects in the public mind, whether or not facts support it. Recently, a young man in Kano was alleged to have killed his newly wedded wife to inherit wealth she received from her parents. I do not know the full details, but the framing fits the pattern. Society instinctively reaches for motive where proximity exists, and the court often becomes the only place where emotion gives way to evidence.
In politics, the pressure is worse. A deputy or vice president stands one step from the ultimate prize, and that proximity breeds both ambition and expectation. In many African contexts, the unspoken rule is that a deputy is only good to succeed the boss. To do anything less feels like a betrayal of natural justice. At the pinnacle of power, a vice president cannot step down to a lesser role later, and that finality intensifies the desperation and the superstition around the office.
Superstition thrives because people misread actions through the lens of suspicion. Legitimate meetings become “plotting sessions.” A gift of clothes becomes a fetish. Society itself fuels this by elevating deputies in private settings, addressing them as “CEO” or “HOD” instead of their real title, and whispering that they are the ones to watch. In doing so, we plant the seed of ambition we later condemn.
Cultural beliefs deepen the fracture. Across Nigeria and much of Africa, misfortune such as headache, sickness, political setback is often attributed to spiritual attack, and the closest people become the first suspects. Anthropologists like Peter Geschiere and Meyer Fortes have written extensively on how witchcraft accusations in Africa serve as a language for expressing envy, competition, and anxiety about power. Criminology reinforces this by insisting that crime requires motive, and who has more motive than the person closest to the throne?
Religious actors add another layer. Clerics who interpret events solely through the lens of spiritual warfare can turn ordinary political tension into proof of diabolical conspiracy. Leaders, in turn, surround themselves with traditional seers such as Alfas, Babalawos, native doctors, not only for counsel but for psychological protection. These seers, seeking relevance and vindication, often feed narratives that deepen mistrust between a leader and his deputy. In an environment where invisible forces are seen as real actors, paranoia becomes policy.
This is why Nigerian leaders rarely hand over power to their deputies when traveling or falling ill. It is why deputies walk carefully, avoiding statements or movements that can be framed as ambition or sabotage. The relationship is perpetually suspended between duty and distrust.
Shettima’s account has brought this tension to the surface again. It shows how delicate the boss-subordinate bond is, how easily it is poisoned by whispers, and how quickly it can slide into lasting bitterness and vendetta. In a society where suspicion meets superstition, loyalty is never assumed and constantly tested, defended, or doubted.
Bagudu can be reached via bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or 07034943575.
