President Tinubu recently traveled to Kaduna. It wasn’t to solve the problems of hunger or the high cost of living. No, his trip had a far more critical purpose: to attend the wedding of the son of his powerful friend, Senator Abdulazeez Yari.

In a stunning display of what they call “solidarity,” thousands of women were hired for the event. They were bused in from all over Kaduna and nearby states. The crowd had everyone: married women, widows, young girls, and grandmothers. They all stood by the roadside, chanting and dancing for the President.

It was a confusing sight. Here were women, many of whom likely struggle to feed their own families, paid to sing songs of praise for a leader whose policies make that struggle harder. You would think that for just one day, the chants would be about the price of bread or the lack of jobs. But no. The song they were paid to sing was “All is well.”

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Meanwhile, a different kind of preparation was happening at the local mosque. For over two weeks, the Imam and other mosque officials were placed under a strange kind of “special watch.” They were cautioned against giving any “misguided sermons.” In simple terms, they were told not to talk about poverty, suffering, or truth. They were practically held hostage in their own place of worship, all because the President was coming to pray.

What kind of country does this? The message was clear: “Pretend all is well, or don’t come to pray at all.” Ordinary people who just wanted to worship were given a choice: behave, pretend, or go find another mosque. Their own faith had become a stage for a political show.

It makes you wonder. The leaders are not hungry, so they don’t see the hunger. They are not miserable, so they don’t feel the misery. They live in a different Nigeria, where the only reality that matters is a well-choreographed dance and a song of false praise.

When will we, the people, say “enough is enough”? Or are we waiting for our leaders to finally get full from their feast and say, “You know what, we have had enough… let’s throw the people a few crumbs now.”

The real shame is not on the women who took the small change they were offered. The real, lasting shame is on the leaders who organized this circus, who thought that hiding the truth and renting a crowd of the suffering was a good way to celebrate a wedding.

The spectacle wasn’t just annoying; it was a perfect, painful picture of a country pretending to be happy while its stomach is empty.

Albab