By Stephanie Shakaa  

In a nation where politics is fast becoming a theatre of absurdities, the recent defection of Senator Ifeanyi Okowa, once the proud running mate to Atiku Abubakar under the PDP ticket, to the APC alongside Governor Sheriff Oborevwori of Delta State   is not just another political switch. It is a betrayal. A betrayal not just of a party, but of ideals, mandates, and the millions who believed in a promise now trampled by ambition.

In Nigeria   loyalty is as fleeting as a campaign promise, the   defection from the PDP to the APC is not just another political move. It is a   betrayal of trust, of principle, and of millions who once clung to a ticket that asked them to believe in something better.

Okowa was not just a placeholder on the Atiku 2023 ticket. He was the man presented as a heartbeat away from the presidency.  

He wasn’t just a politician on the sidelines.  

He was on the frontline of a presidential ticket.  

He stood shoulder to shoulder with Atiku, asking Nigerians to trust the PDP with their hopes, with their votes, with their futures. He stood on podiums preaching about vision, restoration, and a better Nigeria.  

The man who looked into cameras and told Nigerians he stood for restoration and national rebirth.  

Today, he has walked away from that vision not because it was defeated by better ideals, but because Nigerian politics rewards survival, not loyalty.

It is tragic, really, how we have normalized ideological prostitution in our politics. How men who once shouted “rescue Nigeria” with fiery passion can, without blinking, join the very structure they claimed was the problem. How governors who promised continuity, transparency, and reform can defect to the same party they blamed for economic hardship and insecurity.  

This is not just about PDP or APC. It is about a pattern of perfidy that continues to strip politics of integrity and reduce governance to personal calculus. It is about how Nigerian politicians treat political parties like transport buses ,you board when it suits your destination and alight when it doesn’t, with zero regard for the passengers you promised a safe journey.

I remember one rally in Port Harcourt where he said, with measured conviction, “We must rebuild this country, brick by brick, with sincerity and unity.” Today, those bricks lie scattered. And unity? Traded off in silence, wrapped in the comfort of a new party scarf.

He didn’t just walk away from the PDP. He walked away from everything he said he stood for.

This is the tragedy of Nigerian politics. Men don’t cross party lines because they have evolved ideologically. They cross because the wind has changed direction. They defect not out of courage, but convenience. Loyalty here is seasonal, like mangoes. And worse, we have grown used to it. It no longer shocks us that someone can run as a vice-presidential candidate one year, and the next, join hands with the very system he once condemned. This is how seosonal we’ve become.

The entire Delta State structure followed in near-robotic fashion, led by Governor Oborevwori. No questions asked. No explanations given. Just silence , the kind of silence that mocks the intelligence of those who voted based on a certain promise of continuity and conscience. Because in Nigeria, political parties aren’t institutions. They’re campgrounds. You pitch your tent, eat, and when the food finishes, you move.

But this one cuts deeper. It is one thing for a state lawmaker to defect. It is another for a man who stood on the brink of national leadership to abandon ship without so much as a press conference. No apology. No accountability. No regrets.

This is not about the PDP or APC. This is about the moral bankruptcy of a system where political betrayal is repackaged as strategy. Where the electorate is expected to simply adjust their expectations, like poor tenants forced to relocate because the landlord changed his mind. What does this tell a young Nigerian who still believes in civic duty? What lesson does this teach a first-time voter who believed in 2023?

The optics are even more damning for Okowa.It says that even the most elevated positions in our democracy have no sacredness. That there are no ideological lines left to cross ,because we’ve blurred them all into one big, self-serving dance floor.

To have been entrusted with the second-highest ticket in the land a heartbeat away from the presidency   and to then jump ship to the very opponent’s camp is not just embarrassing. It is emblematic of what is broken in our democracy. There is no shame. No honour. No consequence.

In Nigeria, loyalty is to men, not institutions. The party doesn’t matter. The people don’t matter. Power does.

What does this say to the young Nigerian who still believes in ideology? What does this tell the world about our sense of political discipline and continuity? What hope is left for policy stability, for coherent governance, when political figures flit from one extreme to the other with the ease of changing agbadas?

If we keep clapping for political chameleons, if we normalize disloyalty and reward betrayal with appointments, we are not just spectators in this tragic play. We are enablers.

And yet, we pretend to be surprised when people lose faith in governance. When voter turnout drops. When citizens stop expecting anything more than survival. Because in a country where the running mate can run away without consequence, the message is clear.   Nobody is really running with you. They’re all just running for themselves.

The running mate ran away. But more tragically, he ran away with the very idea of integrity in politics. And unless we, the people, start demanding better, holding leaders accountable not just for what they do in office but also for the values they pretend to stand for ,the future will keep running away from us too. Nigeria cannot continue like this. Not if we want to be taken seriously by ourselves or the world. We must begin to demand more from those who seek our mandate. We must start asking not just ‘what’ they say, but ‘why’ they say it , and hold them to it long after the microphones are turned off.

Because if the people keep running away with their votes, and leaders keep running away with their promises, then the nation itself will keep running in circles. And one day, we’ll look around and realize something chilling.

There’s no one left to run with us.

Stephanie Shaakaa  

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