When I Become President.

A manifesto for the fed-up, and the not-so-faithful believers in Nigerian governance. This is what leadership would look like if empathy, equity, and common sense ran the country.

There’s something seductive about imagining power, especially when you’ve spent your life watching it abused, squandered, or turned into a circus act. So indulge me. Let’s play pretend. Let’s imagine that i, a woman with opinions, wit, and no tolerance for nonsense, became President of Nigeria.

When i become President, maternity leave will not be a corporate negotiation, it will be a given. As long as a woman wants to return, the job will wait for her, because building humans is more demanding than building spreadsheets.

Religious scholars, yes, the self-declared Imams, Pastors, and Prophets will take a national test. No more spiritual babble wrapped in misogyny. If you preach hate or ignorance, your mic will be revoked. Because not everyone who wears a robe deserves a pulpit.

Cows and cattle will no longer gallivant through city streets like they own the country. And i say this as someone from the Hausa-Fulani community, so I know exactly what I’m talking about. Our heritage is rich, and the Fulani pastoral tradition is part of that beauty. But tradition must evolve. Herds have no business weaving through traffic in Abuja or halting cars on the Third Mainland Bridge. They’ll walk on designated grazing paths outside city limits, where they belong. Our roads are bad enough without horns and hooves adding to the chaos.

And no more “Empowerment and Development” conferences. Enough. These glorified seminars have become soft-skill carnivals where everybody talks and nobody does. A sea of hashtags, matching t-shirts, and motivational quotes, while outside, real people are still selling groundnuts just to survive. How do we have more NGOs and ‘capacity-building’ workshops than functioning schools, yet poverty is worse than ever? It’s either money laundering in a nice folder or eye service disguised as nation-building.

Non-government individuals will no longer parade the streets with convoys that look like the Avengers assembling. If you’re not holding public office, why are you moving with ten Hilux trucks, four power bikes, two Escalades, and one confused-looking siren man? Even three security vehicles is madness. Who’s chasing you? Who do you think you are ?

When i become President, rapists will hang. Literally. No “allegedly.” No PR rehab. No family connections to silence the courts. And if you’re a rape apologist? You’ll be sent to prison where there is no WiFi, and no podcasts to tweet from.

Sanitary pads? Free. Because menstruation is not a luxury. No-one wakes up and chooses to bleed. It’s biology, not a bill. Yet every month, millions of girls and women are forced to pick between dignity and dinner. How does a nation claim to love its women but tax their pain? When i become president, bleeding won’t come with budgeting.

Tribalism will be treated as a punishable offense. Because a person’s surname should not decide whether they get a job, a house, or basic human decency. We are not a WhatsApp group of tribes. We are supposed to be a nation.

Women will have permanent seats in government. Not as tokens. Not as ceremonial placeholders. Not as someone’s wife, someone’s widow, or someone’s “first lady.” Actual seats. With real power. Because competence is not gendered, and governance should not be a boys’ club with the occasional female guest appearance. Stories like Natasha Akpoti’s, where a woman dares to lead and is met with smear campaigns, sabotage, and silence, will be studied in history books, not repeated in real time. In my Nigeria, being a woman in politics will no longer feel like a battlefield. It will be normal.

Women will be celebrated beyond International Women’s Day, where people remember to post Beyoncé lyrics and pink infographics before returning to their regularly scheduled patriarchy.

Prostitution will not be glorified. Fix the economy, and survival won’t have to come dressed in high heels and desperation.

Women will not think twice before leaving abusive marriages, whether they have one child or seven. They’ll have protection, not condemnation. The system will offer shelter, not shame.

The phrase “what do women bring to the table?” will be banned. We need fewer men behind microphones asking women to justify their existence. If you’re not bringing empathy, logic, or a decent haircut to the conversation, kindly log off.

And finally, teachers and doctors will earn more than politicians. Because they save lives and build futures. Politicians, on the other hand, mostly just save face and build fences.

So yes, when I become President, things will change. Not perfectly. But boldly, radically, and with far less foolishness.

Until then, I’ll keep writing. And dreaming. And politely declining all “empowerment” conference invitations, unless there’s free jollof and actual change on the menu.