There is so much hunger in the land today that Nigerians are increasingly eating their own words. Credibility has become scarce. The number of people who can resist the temptation of being bought over is painfully small. Even those who claim to have been brutally oppressed or intimidated can suddenly be persuaded, sometimes with surprising ease, to loudly and theatrically lick their wounds once a settlement appears.
The pattern has become almost predictable. Someone raises a serious allegation. They are arrested or harassed. They are taken to the police station. The police are “settled” with the usual refreshments, and the complainant is detained. Social media erupts. Outrage trends for days. Nigerians take sides and fight passionately on behalf of the alleged victim.
Then, quietly, the real negotiations begin, outside the courtroom, outside the police station. A settlement is reached. The complainant is “taken care of.” Suddenly the accusations evaporate. The same person who cried oppression now dances triumphantly, sometimes quite literally, rubbing the settlement in the faces of those who fought their battle. The curtain falls, and they disappear to enjoy the proceeds.
Take the recent case of Tracy Ohiri who accused the Minister of Works, David Umahi, of sexual harassment and of owing her for twelve years because she allegedly refused his advances. Activist Omoyele Sowore amplified her claims and led the charge. Nigerians rallied behind her and condemned the minister. The story dominated social media. At one point, the minister reportedly stormed the police station asking the classic Nigerian question: “Do you know who I am?” And then, suddenly, the story took a familiar turn.
The lady was settled, handsomely, it appears. Soon after, she was seen celebrating her “victory,” even posting videos from the gym, while the many Nigerians who had fought for her were left wondering whether the battle had been worth fighting in the first place. She took her fat body to the gym and danced azonto music to the consternation of many of her supporters.
When the backlash began, another tale emerged. Tears flowed. Apologies followed. Forgiveness was sought. Suddenly, she remembered the 2027 elections and urged Nigerians to come out en masse to fight corruption, as if our votes actually count in this country.
But she is hardly alone.
We have seen this script before. Many have accused powerful pastors or public figures of grave offences: rape, abuse, intimidation, only to vanish once a quiet settlement is reached. One even posted bank credit alerts online as evidence, only to later appear in the church of the very man he accused to apologise publicly.
Once the food arrives, the words are eaten.
My only sympathy is for the many Nigerians who fight these battles in good faith, make enemies, expend energy, and risk reputations defending people who later abandon the cause the moment a private settlement appears.
Watching the woman who accused Minister Umahi return online shedding tears and begging Nigerians for forgiveness is, frankly, tragicomic. It appears she suddenly realised she had goofed after celebrating too loudly once the settlement was secured.
My advice to people in such situations is simple: the internet does not forget. Social media records every word and every action.
So when hunger strikes and you must eat your words, eat them quietly and disappear. Do not insult the intelligence of the public twice.
Now that she has eaten her words, whether under duress or by choice, she should simply lick her wounds quietly and move on. Nigerians will forget her in two weeks, just as they have forgotten many before her.
But let it be said: when hunger strikes and you must eat your words after being given food, eat them quietly.
