I stumbled on a Whistler headline from 5 September 2026 that felt like a small spark with big smoke: “Mrs Akpabio’s Visit to Senate Chamber Stirs Controversy.” On a quiet Saturday, with staff away and the Senate on recess, the wife of the Senate President, Mrs Ekaette Akpabio, walked into the National Assembly complex. What followed was instant suspicion, memes, and the familiar Nigerian chorus of “unusual.”
In defence, an aide to the Senate President, Dr Jibril Tafida, said the visit was purely administrative, an inspection of malfunctioning equipment and the quality of contract jobs undertaken at the instance of her husband. He laughed off whispers of spiritualists and marabouts. Yet the likely inference was more politically delicious: that a spouse could be the one checking facilities, signing off on maintenance, and moving through the corridors of power when formal business was asleep. That single image captures something Nigerians already know in their bones but rarely name: proximity to power is itself a kind of power.
That same week, on social media, another spark. Someone asked, “Where is the First Lady, Mrs Oluremi Tinubu, getting all these billions she is donating?” I replied, half-teasing, half-serious: “What if she didn’t donate? Would we even know she had it? We should commend her for giving, and often more lavishly than we remember from previous First Ladies. But that very generosity forces a question.” When she donates, the public sees the money. When she doesn’t, we see nothing. And because she is under no constitutional obligation to give, we are left guessing whether ₦500 million for Plateau or ₦2 billion for Akwete weaving is personal, philanthropic, or political.
On 10 December 2025, Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka made a related point at the Wole Soyinka Centre Awards in Lagos, lamenting the heavy security around the President’s son, Seyi Tinubu, while millions of citizens live in ungoverned spaces. His concern was not about charity, but about priorities. Together, these moments point to a deeper truth: in Nigeria, the family around the leader often becomes the lens through which power, resources, and access are seen and felt.
History keeps repeating the script. During the Buhari years, Sabiu Yusuf, popularly called “Tunde,” nephew to former President Muhammadu Buhari and once his personal secretary, was widely reported to have suggested the 2022 naira redesign to CBN Governor Godwin Emefiele. The CBN Special Investigator’s report even noted that the CBN Board learned of it about 70 days after Emefiele had written to Buhari. Street journals described Tunde as a man ministers feared, not because of any office, but because of his closeness. He sat, alongside figures like Mamman Daura, in what political scientists would call the “kitchen cabinet,” that informal circle Max Weber might have recognized as exercising charismatic authority outside bureaucratic structures.
This is very different from Chiefs of Staff like Abba Kyari and Femi Gbajabiamila, who wielded power with formal titles and memos. Proximity, as political scientist Joel Migdal reminds us in his theory of the state in society, often trumps formal institutions when informal networks capture decision-making channels.
Under President Bola Tinubu, that informal capture has taken on a cultural and commercial architecture. His daughter, Chief Mrs Mujidat Folashade Tinubu-Ojo, did not merely collect titles. In 2013 she succeeded her grandmother, Alhaja Abibatu Mogaji, as Iyaloja-General of Nigeria, inheriting a lineage that runs from the legendary Alimotu Pelewura through her grandmother to herself. That is three generations at the head of Lagos market power. Beyond that, she now holds chieftaincy honours from Daura to Bida, from Awori to Ogudu.
The Emir of Daura’s conferment of Jakadiyar Kasar Hausa on president Tinubu’s daughter, Chief Mrs Mujidat on 27 August 2026 was presented as recognition for women’s empowerment and cultural heritage.This pattern is a deliberate presence across Nigeria’s traditional institutions, sitting alongside the President’s own titles as Asiwaju and Jagaba. Add the philanthropy attributed to the First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, from ₦1 billion to Plateau victims in 2025 to the ₦2 billion Akwete initiative in 2026, and you see what sociologist Pierre Bourdieu would call the conversion of political capital into social and symbolic capital. It is not just about giving. It is about being seen to give, and thereby extending influence.
Gistmate Media reported four days ago, specifically on Thursday, September 10, 2026, that traditional rulers representing 179 communities in Anambra State conferred the title of Ugo Eze Anambra on First Lady Senator Oluremi Tinubu.The title, which means “the glory of the king” or “a Royal Eagle,” was conferred on Mrs Tinubu by the Chairman of the Anambra State Traditional Rulers Council, Igwe Chidubem Iweka, at Dr Alex Ekwueme Square, Awka.The Anambra honour came a day after Mrs Tinubu received another traditional title in Imo State. She was conferred with Oso Di Eme I of Imo State, which means “She who supports her husband.”
Since May 2023, that visibility has scaled dramatically. The Renewed Hope Initiative, launched in July 2023, has become less a charity and more a coordinating platform, aggregating corporate, private and sometimes public resources for programmes that now claim reach across all 36 states and the FCT. Early moves targeted disaster relief and widows. Later came structured interventions for women traders, farmers, the elderly, persons with disabilities and students.
By 2025 the numbers and the optics grew bolder, culminating in fundraising drives like Oluremi@65, which raised over ₦25.5 billion for the National Library.First Lady Senator Oluremi Tinubu’s ₦1 billion cash donation to victims of the Mokwa flood disaster in Niger State on 5 August 2025, along with other relief materials provided through her Renewed Hope Initiative, was separate from President Bola Tinubu’s earlier approval of ₦2 billion for the resettlement of the flood victims.Media estimates differ wildly because some count pledges and in-kind goods while others don’t. But the trend is clear: from ad-hoc gifts to institutionalized outreach.
Compare that with France, where Brigitte Macron has advisers and a budget line audited by the Court of Auditors but no independent spending power, or with Britain and Canada, where the prime minister’s spouse has no official role at all. In Nigeria, the First Lady’s office has no constitutional mandate, yet it mobilizes billions. Political scientist Adebayo Olukoshi’s work on patrimonialism helps explain it: when the state is weak, personal and familial networks fill the vacuum, and loyalty to “oga” becomes the currency of access.
I saw an early version of this back home. During the tenure of Engineer A.A. Kure as governor of Niger State from 1999 to 2007, his mother turned Lapai into a quiet pilgrimage site. Lobbyists and politicians travelled there, believing that a word from her could move the governor. Like Oluremi Tinubu, Zainab Kure also rode that privilege to become a senator and national figure. The logic is ancient and simple: to serve the king’s kin is to serve the king. An African proverb puts it bluntly, “when your kinsman becomes king, even cousins are called Your Highness.”
That explains why regional and ethno-religious appeals surge when power shifts. Supporters hope that closeness to the centre will translate into appointments, contracts, and protection. And it often does, because those around the leader provide information, shape choices, and filter who gets access. Research on elite networks by scholars like Eghosa Osaghae shows that in patron-client systems, informal gatekeepers often matter more than formal org charts.
Which brings me to the argument. Globally, we name five estates of influence: the clergy as the First Estate, the political and military elite as the Second, the commoners as the Third, the press as the Fourth, and social media as the Fifth. Nigeria needs to name a Sixth: the Family Power Network. It is the sphere of spouses, children, parents, siblings and close associates who exercise influence that can eclipse formal authority. It is visible when a First Lady’s foundation partners with ministries, when a governor’s mother receives delegations in her village, when a Senate President’s wife inspects contracts, or when a president’s nephew is said to shape monetary policy.
This is not an argument against generosity. Charity by First Ladies exists everywhere. The question, as French transparency charters and British disclosure rules recognize, is about mandate, money and accountability. Where do the resources come from? Who controls them? Who audits them? And what happens when proximity becomes an institution without a constitution?
The Sixth Estate is already here, thriving in plain sight. It is thrilling because it is human, it is fascinating because it is political, and it is dangerous because it is largely unregulated. Until we study it with the same seriousness we give to parliament, the press, and the public, we will keep mistaking family visits for mere courtesy, and philanthropy for simple kindness, while the real architecture of power is being built in the living room next door.
Bagudu Mohammed is the founder of Alternative Perspectives, a widely read commentary platform on social media, and writes a weekly newspaper column published every Monday on the back page of Peoples Daily.Web: https://alternativeperspective.onrender.com
Email: bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com | Phone: 0703 494 3575
