By Abayomi Aiyepola
In the old kingdom of the savannah, the elders told a story of a cunning hyena named Ikang, who believed that the throne was not a place of service but a grand feast. Ikang had once been a mere scavenger, feeding off the scraps of stronger beasts, but through guile and flattery, he found his way into the lion’s court.
The lion, aging and in need of loyal hands to maintain his rule, saw in Ikang a creature without principles, an animal who would do anything to keep his belly full. So, the lion made him chief over the council of beasts.
Yet, no matter how rich the meals laid before him, Ikang was always restless. He feared that one day, the same animals who bowed to him would demand justice for the bones he had stolen, the prey he had cheated, and the weak he had trampled.
And so, he ruled with greed, suspicion, and a deep fear of those who refused to bow.
The Anatomy of Fear: A Mind That Sees Enemies Everywhere
Godswill Akpabio, like Ikang, has built his political career on survival rather than statesmanship. His behavior, both in office and in opposition, reveals a man who sees threats where there are none and enemies where there is merely dissent.
The way he handles those who challenge him, especially women—is not just a display of chauvinism, but an exhibition of a deeper insecurity.
When Joy Nunieh, the former NDDC boss, accused him of harassment and misconduct, she described a man who was not merely power-hungry but one who sought to exert dominance over women. “He wanted me to bow, but I refused,” she said in a paraphrased retelling of her ordeal.
Akpabio’s response was neither measured nor dignified—it was the reflex of a man who had spent his career expecting submission and lashing out when it was denied.
His condescension toward Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan in the Senate follows the same pattern. Natasha, bold and fearless, embodies the kind of woman Akpabio struggles to control. When she spoke against him, he dismissed her, wielding Senate rules as a weapon to silence rather than to maintain order.
His attitude seemed to say, “Who gave this woman the audacity to challenge me?” Natasha, undeterred, refused to shrink. “I will not be bullied into silence,” she implied, her stance echoing across the chamber like the roar of a lioness protecting her cubs.
The Spine of the Hyena: Bent by Corruption, Strengthened by Servitude
Akpabio’s political journey is not one of ideological conviction but of calculated allegiance. As Governor of Akwa Ibom, he built a reputation for extravagance, with reports of financial mismanagement trailing him long after he left office.
When the EFCC began circling, he did not fight—he knelt. He aligned himself with Bola Tinubu, becoming one of his most devoted lackeys, a ‘Man Friday’ who would rather mortgage his dignity than face accountability.
As Minister of Niger Delta Affairs, he presided over one of the most scandal-ridden administrations of the NDDC, a body meant to serve the people but instead turned into a feeding trough for political elites.
Even within his party, Akpabio has never been seen as a leader but as an enforcer—a man willing to do the dirty work for his masters in exchange for protection.
A Senate Without Color, A Throne Without Honor
The position of Senate President is meant to be one of balance, of statesmanship, of vision. Yet, under Akpabio, the Nigerian Senate has become a dull, lifeless institution, reduced to an echo chamber of the presidency. There is no vibrancy, no debate of real substance—only a parade of obedient legislators nodding in agreement, afraid to offend the master who sits above their master.
When compared to other parliaments across the world, Nigeria’s Senate under Akpabio is nothing but a rubber stamp. In the United Kingdom, members of Parliament challenge their Prime Minister openly. In the United States, senators, regardless of party loyalty, question their President without fear of retribution. But in Nigeria, under Akpabio’s reign, the Senate has become a place where dissent is stifled, where loyalty is rewarded, and where courage is punished.
The Folktale’s Ending: The Feast Always Ends
Ikang the hyena, in his greed, believed that the feast would last forever. He ruled with arrogance, ignoring the whispers of discontent among the beasts. But one day, the same animals who had once bowed to him grew tired of his excesses. The vulture, who had kept a record of every stolen bone, cawed loudly for justice.
The lion, sensing that Ikang had become more of a liability than an asset, withdrew his protection. And when the leopard, the silent observer of the savannah, finally spoke, it was not to debate but to declare judgment.
Akpabio, like Ikang, believes that as long as he remains useful to Tinubu, he is safe. But power is fickle. The records of his corruption do not disappear. The women he has belittled do not forget. The voices he has silenced do not stay silent forever. The EFCC, though currently leashed, still holds the files that may one day become his undoing.
In the end, the feast always ends. The bones dry up, the vultures arrive, and the once-mighty hyena is left with nothing but the echoes of a past built on deception. Akpabio may laugh today, he may strut and sneer, but the savannah remembers.
And when the time comes, history will not ask how loudly he roared—it will ask, who will pick his bones when the feast is over?
Abayomi Aiyepola writes from Abeokuta, Nigeria.
