Now The Meaning Of ‘Emilokan’ Becomes Clearer: My Turn To Misgovern -By Isaac Asabor

In Nigeria’s political lexicon, few phrases have struck as deeply as “Emilokan”. Coined in Abeokuta, the Yoruba expression meaning “It is my turn” quickly became a rallying cry, a slogan, and eventually a symbol of entitlement. At first, many Nigerians debated its meaning. Was it a declaration of destiny, a claim to political inheritance, or simply a boastful assertion of readiness? Over time, however, the meaning has become painfully clear. In the context of Nigeria’s governance since 1999, “Emilokan” has come to signify not just the turn to lead, but the turn to misgovern.

Since the return to civilian rule in 1999, Nigeria has endured successive administrations, each promising reform, prosperity, and national rebirth. Yet the lived reality for ordinary Nigerians has been one of dashed hopes. From the optimism of the Obasanjo years, through the short-lived Yar’Adua era, the Jonathan administration, the stern promises of Buhari, and now the current dispensation, the pattern has been depressingly consistent: lofty rhetoric, shallow execution, and deepening disillusionment. Each leader has taken their “turn” at the helm, but instead of steering the nation toward progress, they have presided over cycles of corruption, insecurity, economic decline, and institutional decay. Thus, “Emilokan” resonates not as a call to service, but as a grim reminder of entitlement politics, where leadership is seen as a personal reward rather than a collective responsibility.

The Nigerian political class thrives on rotation and patronage. Leadership is rarely about competence or vision; it is about whose “turn” it is to occupy the seat of power. This entitlement mentality breeds complacency and arrogance. Leaders ascend to office not with the urgency of reformers but with the smugness of inheritors. Governance becomes less about solving problems and more about consolidating personal and party interests. “Emilokan” epitomizes this mindset. It is not a philosophy of service but a declaration of ownership. It suggests that leadership is a prize to be claimed, not a burden to be borne. And once claimed, it is wielded with impunity, often to the detriment of the very people whose votes supposedly conferred legitimacy.

To say Nigerian leaders have misgoverned is not mere rhetoric; it is borne out by the evidence of lived experience. Despite vast oil wealth, Nigeria remains plagued by poverty. Inflation bites harder each year, unemployment soars, and the naira weakens against global currencies. Each administration promises diversification, yet the economy remains tethered to oil revenues and vulnerable to global shocks. Insecurity has become a defining feature of national life, from Boko Haram insurgency to banditry, kidnapping, and communal clashes. Successive governments have failed to provide lasting solutions, often resorting to cosmetic measures that barely scratch the surface. Corruption remains endemic, with Transparency International consistently ranking Nigeria poorly. Anti-graft campaigns are launched with fanfare but quickly fizzle into selective prosecutions and political witch-hunts. Public institutions, from education to healthcare, are starved of funding and plagued by inefficiency. Strikes by university lecturers and doctors have become routine, leaving citizens stranded. Against this backdrop, the phrase “Emilokan” acquires a darker meaning: it is not just about taking a turn to lead, but taking a turn to perpetuate misrule.

For ordinary Nigerians, the cycle of misgovernance has bred cynicism. Elections are no longer seen as opportunities for change but as rituals of recycling the same political elite. Voter apathy grows, fueled by the belief that no matter who wins, the outcome remains the same: broken promises and worsening conditions. The slang “Emilokan” thus resonates with bitter irony. It is a reminder that leadership is not about merit or vision but about entitlement. And entitlement, in Nigeria’s political context, has consistently translated into misgovernance.

Language shapes perception, and the adoption of “Emilokan” as a political slogan was not accidental. It was a deliberate invocation of entitlement, signaling to supporters that leadership was a right, not a privilege. But in the broader Nigerian psyche, it has come to symbolize the futility of expecting good governance from a system built on entitlement rather than accountability. The phrase matters because it crystallizes the essence of Nigeria’s political tragedy: leadership as inheritance, governance as misrule, and democracy as ritual without substance.

If Nigeria is to break free from this cycle, “Emilokan” must be redefined. It must cease to mean “my turn to misgovern” and instead mean “my turn to serve.” Leadership must be reclaimed as a duty, not a prize. This requires strengthening institutions to check the excesses of leaders and ensure accountability, encouraging citizens to demand better governance and hold leaders accountable, shifting from entitlement politics to competence-based leadership selection, and ensuring that governance is open, honest, and responsive to the needs of the people. Only then can “Emilokan” shed its current connotation and become a rallying cry for genuine service.

Since 1999, Nigeria’s leaders have taken turns at governance, but each turn has been marked by misrule. The phrase “Emilokan”, once a campaign slogan, now stands as a metaphor for this tragic cycle. It has come to mean not just “my turn to lead,” but “my turn to misgovern.” For Nigerians grappling with its meaning, the reality is clear: until leadership is redefined as service rather than entitlement, “Emilokan” will remain a symbol of misgovernance. The challenge, therefore, is not merely to critique the past but to reclaim the future. Nigeria must insist that when it is someone’s turn, it is their turn to serve, to reform, and to uplift. Anything less is simply another turn in the endless cycle of misgovernance.