Job-For-The-Boys Politics: Why Nigerians Should Not Be Shocked By Hon. Ayebusiwa’s Eight Aides -By Isaac Asabor

When news broke that Hon. Oluwasegun Ayebusiwa, a councillor representing Ayede/Lomiro Ward 7 in Ogun Waterside Local Government, appointed no fewer than eight aides, including a Chief of Staff, Personal Assistant, Head of Security, and multiple Special Assistants, it understandably triggered a storm of reactions. Social media users mocked him, some calling the development a comedy skit, others branding it a misplacement of priorities. A handful even praised the move as “teamwork” and “job creation.”

But beyond the laughter and the outrage, Nigerians should not be surprised. What Ayebusiwa has done, though excessive at the grassroots level, is simply a reflection of the political culture that dominates governance in Nigeria. His move mirrors a pattern of bloated appointments at the federal and state levels, driven by the entrenched “job-for-the-boys” mentality that has turned public office into a tool for political patronage rather than public service.

In Nigeria, waste is not an accident, it is fashion. Successive leaders at all levels of government have normalized the idea that the size of one’s entourage or the number of aides is a measure of influence and political relevance.

Take the federal level, for example. Under President Muhammadu Buhari, the list of aides often seemed endless. At one point, he had over 100 appointees covering everything from media to political matters to “digital economy.” His successor, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, has not fared differently. In fact, Tinubu has expanded the presidential entourage to include a battalion of media aides, special advisers, and technical assistants, each supposedly performing vital task but in reality duplicating functions.

The irony is that, while the Presidency maintains this bloated structure, ordinary Nigerians are told to “tighten their belts,” endure subsidy removals, and live with inflation. What moral right does a government that preaches austerity have to sustain such needless extravagance?

If the federal government sets a bad example, governors at the state level take it further. Some governors boast cabinets with commissioners, special advisers, senior special assistants, and personal assistants running into the hundreds. In certain states, portfolios are created not because they address pressing developmental needs, but because there are political debts to pay.

For instance, it is not unusual to find a state with special advisers on “Political Matters,” “Grassroots Mobilization,” “Diaspora Affairs,” “New Media,” and even “Chieftaincy Matters.” Many of these positions could easily be merged or handled within existing ministries, but they are deliberately multiplied to “carry people along.”

When governors reward party loyalists with these redundant appointments, they are not only bloating the wage bill but also sending a dangerous signal: politics is not about service, it is about sharing spoils.

Lawmakers at both the Senate and House of Representatives levels are also guilty. Many senators and representatives parade aides in numbers that defy logic. Some have over 30 aides, many of whom are cronies or family members. These aides are often unqualified, and their appointments serve no real legislative purpose.

The practice trickles down to state houses of assembly, where lawmakers copy their senior counterparts in Abuja. Now, with Hon. Ayebusiwa, we see the same mimicry at the councillor level.

This is how systemic rot works: bad examples at the top become templates for the bottom.

At the heart of this problem is the patronage system that defines Nigerian politics. Elections are rarely won on the strength of ideas, policy blueprints, or competence. Instead, they are won through networks of loyalty and financial inducement. Once in office, politicians are under immense pressure to “settle” their foot soldiers.

This is why Ayebusiwa’s action, though absurd, makes sense within Nigeria’s political context. A councilor with limited financial resources still feels compelled to reward loyalists by creating positions for them, even if he lacks the means to pay. His “aides” may never receive salaries, but the gesture satisfies political expectations.

The tragedy here is that governance takes a back seat. Roads, schools, health centers, and water supply, the real needs of the people, become secondary to the politician’s obligation to distribute largesse.

It is easy for netizens to mock Ayebusiwa, but the bigger joke is on the system itself. What makes his appointment of eight aides fundamentally different from a governor with 100 aides or a president with a sprawling media team? Nothing, except scale.

If Nigerians laugh at Ayebusiwa but tolerate bloated appointments at higher levels, then we are missing the point. His case should serve as a mirror reflecting the larger culture of waste in our governance system.

The consequences of this job-for-the-boys mentality are dire. At a time when Nigeria’s economy is struggling, with inflation at record highs, unemployment worsening, and poverty deepening, scarce public resources are being diverted into paying redundant aides and servicing patronage networks.

Consider this: the cost of running these bloated offices often outweighs capital expenditure. That is why schools decay, hospitals lack drugs, and public infrastructure collapses. Government budgets are consumed by recurrent expenditure, much of which is linked to political appointments.

The waste does not only drain resources, it kills innovation. Why would a young graduate aspire to contribute to nation-building when he sees that the easiest route to survival is becoming an “aide” to a politician? Patronage crowds out merit.

Nigeria needs a complete reorientation of how governance is practiced and perceived.

In fact, there must be a cap on the number of aides political officeholders can appoint. This should be enforced by law, not left to the whims of politicians, and in a similar vein, civil society, the media, and citizens must consistently question and challenge wasteful practices. Mockery on social media is not enough; there must be sustained demand for transparency.

Also in a similar vein, the Presidency and governors must lead by cutting down their bloated teams. If leaders at the top show restraint, it will trickle down to councilors and local politicians.

Again, Nigerians must stop rewarding patronage politics. Until voters begin to value performance over handouts, politicians will always see governance as an avenue for job distribution rather than service delivery.

Remedying the situation through institutional strengthening, it is expected that local government councils should be made more functional, with strict financial oversight. This will discourage councilors and chairmen from experimenting with frivolous appointments.

Hon. Oluwasegun Ayebusiwa’s eight aides may look laughable, but the reality is sobering. His action is not an isolated act of excess, it is a faithful imitation of what has long been normalized in Nigeria’s political space.

Instead of merely mocking him, Nigerians must recognize that Ayebusiwa is a product of the larger political culture of waste, patronage, and misplaced priorities. The real battle is not against one councillor in Ogun State, but against the “job-for-the-boys” mentality that cripples governance across the country.

Until leaders at every level understand that public office is not a means to distribute political favors but a sacred responsibility to serve, Nigeria will remain stuck in this tragic cycle where comedy and governance blur into one.