Footnotes

The laws of nature dictate that anything with a beginning will also have an ending. Whatever goes up, must come down. Indeed, whatever has a beginning will also have end. Ten years ago when the Buhari fever caught fire, who knew that its protagonist will live for only another 10 more years? Allahu Akbar! When […]

The laws of nature dictate that anything with a beginning will also have an ending. Whatever goes up, must come down. Indeed, whatever has a beginning will also have end. Ten years ago when the Buhari fever caught fire, who knew that its protagonist will live for only another 10 more years? Allahu Akbar!

When my local mosque held a special session to pray for the soul of the late Buhari after subh prayer on  July 14, I remember feeling a certain acquiescent calm. There are deaths everywhere around us, yet when this same death takes away people we have learned to look at as larger than life, it hits differently.

Late Muhammadu Buhari was just like everyone of us, a human being first, and everything else second. This seemed to have been the firm conviction of every worshipper in the mosque as everyone paid rapt attention and followed the whole session from beginning till end. It was a rite fit for a departed patron saint.

The Muhammadu Buhari who died on the  July 13, 2025, was a man shaped by discipline, integrity, and an unwavering love for Nigeria. Born in Daura, Katsina State, he answered the call of duty early in life, first as a soldier and later as a leader. His military career was distinguished by bravery and a deep sense of responsibility, qualities that would define his leadership in years to come.  

As Head of State in 1983, he sought to restore order and accountability in a nation grappling with corruption and economic instability. Though his tenure was brief, his no-nonsense approach left an indelible mark. Decades later, he would return to power as a democratically elected President in 2015, demonstrating his enduring belief in Nigeria’s potential.  

President Buhari was a man of few words but profound action. His fight against corruption, insecurity, and economic challenges was driven by a sincere desire to see Nigeria thrive. He faced immense challenges—terrorism, economic downturns, and political complexities—yet he stood firm, guided by his principles.  

To some, he was a strict disciplinarian; to others, a quiet but determined leader. Yet, all who knew him recognized his honesty, humility, and refusal to engage in the petty vanities of power. He led not for personal gain, but out of a deep sense of duty.  

Beyond the corridors of power, Buhari was a devoted family man, a loving husband, father, and grandfather. His simplicity, even in the highest office, spoke volumes about his character. He remained a son of Daura, never forgetting his roots, and always maintaining the humility of a servant-leader.  

As we bid farewell to this extraordinary man, we remember his famous words: “I belong to everybody, and I belong to nobody.” This was the essence of his leadership—a refusal to be swayed by selfish interests, a commitment to the greater good.

As we dispersed from the mosque that morning, with some of us huddling up in distinct groups talking before walking home, the atmosphere became spiked with something else. It was not an atmosphere of mourning alone, but a celebration of a life dedicated to serve us—a life marked by courage, resilience, and an unyielding commitment to the ideals of justice for us. Everyone, including myself, felt and believed that the passing of Muhammadu Buhari, former President of Nigeria, military leader, and statesman, leaves a void in our nation’s history, yet his legacy remains etched in the annals of time.  

Then his wife, Aisha Buhari made a public appeal to Nigerians, on his behalf and at his behest, asking Nigerians for forgiveness for all the wrong he might have been responsible for as the person on who’s desk the buck stops. And who could say no to her?

This was the Buhari that died last Sunday.

Then just the next day, I was confronted by a reality I frankly did not envision beforehand. Apparently, there are people out there celebrating this death. And no matter how much I tried, I could not bring myself to think ill of them. Their only crime, it seems, is that instead of the Buhari that died last Sunday, they want the world to instead focus on the Buhari who lived from May 29, 2015 to May 29, 2023. Even that Buhari may be a different person to different people because experiences varied, but to them, he was clearly something irredeemably tainted.

I am absolutely aware of just how callous it sounds to actually celebrate someone’s death but I am under no illusions either that I know what the experiences of those kids drumming and dancing in the streets celebrating this death, or the grownups protesting the way Buhari’s death was being made such a big deal because it really isn’t, are. What I know is that there are people alive in this world today whose deaths I will absolutely celebrate and I would not give a damn what anyone thinks. Therefore, in as much as I will not speak for the people celebrating his death, I will not speak against them either.

Everyone of us is going to die some day. And on the day we die, we are going to be as responsible for our deeds as on the day we committed them. Buhari was once a leader, just like the people leading us today. Whatever the verdict is on the people celebrating, there is nothing we can do on the fact that they exist. And that they matter. If not to us, then to the Almighty who created them in spite of us, and also gave them the right to hold their leaders to account. And maybe those people are just footnotes in the narrative of the Muhammadu Buhari who both lived from 2015 to 2023 and also died in 2025, but in the grand scheme of things, even footnotes matter.

And this should be a cautionary tale for the leaders who superintend over our affairs today. They should not be misled by the mass outpouring of emotions and sympathy for the deceased and the bereaved, both of whom are in my prayers. They should know that even footnotes matter.