The Hunters and the Defectors -By Oluwafemi Popoola

Some proverbs mind their business. Others refuse to. One of them comes from the timeless book, “Things Fall Apart”. It has appointed itself the gateway into this article. Chinua Achebe puts it like this: “Eneke the bird says that since men have learned to shoot without missing, he has learned to fly without perching”. I have always found that quote both poetic and quietly mischievous. This is no idle tale of hunters and a bird. It is a line that feels light at first glance but carries the weight of a warning.

Achebe was not telling a story about a clever bird and determined hunters. He was sketching a philosophy of survival. When the rules of the game change, you either adapt or become a casualty of someone else’s improved aim. Eneke, the bird, wisely chose evolution over sentiment. It did not argue with reality. It simply adjusted. No time to perch and admire the scenery when the hunters have upgraded their accuracy.

Achebe himself, writing in the shadow of colonial disruption and cultural upheaval, understood adaptation as both necessity and tragedy. His work often lives in that uneasy space between holding on and moving on. The bird’s decision to fly without perching is admirable but it is also a confession that the world has grown harsher. Something has been surrendered in the process. Stability, perhaps. Or innocence. And if we are being honest, there is a touch of humor in it too. Eneke did not convene a committee or release a press statement, it simply changed tactics.

It is at this point in our political life that the proverb stops feeling distant and begins to feel more relevant. If the APC hunters have sharpened their skills, then those in the opposition have sharpened their instincts. They move, they adjust, they reposition and rarely staying too long in one place. Party allegiance becomes fluid, ideology becomes elastic, and survival becomes the overriding principle. Achebe’s bird, it seems, has found many imitators in Nigeria’s political landscape. Each one flying, rarely perching, and always watching the direction of the next shot

A few days ago, seventeen members of the House of Representatives did what has now become a Nigerian political ritual. They defected. ADC yesterday, NDC today. I won’t even lie, I admire the efficiency. The speed of these defections could rival my own indecision on a lazy Saturday afternoon when I can’t settle on what to eat. Swift, decisive, and with very little emotional attachment.

But it got me thinking. What exactly is driving all this movement? Conviction? Or calculation with a sprinkle of convenience? Especially now, as the political atmosphere thickens ahead of 2027 and familiar names once again shift camps with the ease of travelers changing buses at Ojota.

Also, over the weekend, two heavyweights in the ADC took centre stage. Like Moses and Aaron who led the Isrealiites out of Egypt, Peter Obi and Rabiu Kwankwaso are the latest bride and groom. In trying to describe their emergence, one might be tempted to label them avant-garde, leading a people toward a promised political destination. But perhaps that comparison gives too much clarity and certainty to a situation that is, in truth, far more fluid and ambiguous.

Their political journeys already resemble long-distance marathons, found a new home in the Nigeria Democratic Congress (NDC). The party itself, relatively young but suddenly prominent, now carries the weight of fresh expectations. Its motto, “Service to the People,” sounds noble enough, almost reassuring. But one cannot help asking: is it the ideals that drew them in, or the timing?

Peter Obi has moved through APGA, PDP, Labour, ADC, and now NDC. Kwankwaso’s path is just as winding—SDP, APC, PDP, NNPP, ADC, and now this latest stop. At some point, one must ask whether these movements reflect ideological growth or political calculation. Perhaps there is a bit of both. But if I am being candid, ambition appears to be doing most of the heavy lifting.

Political theory gives us a useful lens here. Scholars like Giovanni Sartori have long argued that political parties derive their meaning from ideology, that they exist to represent distinct visions of society. In more ideologically stable democracies, party identity is far from being just a label, it is a commitment. You can anticipate what a party stands for, what it opposes, and how it intends to govern. In Nigeria, however, that clarity often dissolves on closer inspection. Our parties tend to function less as ideological homes and more as electoral platforms. They are vehicles for contesting power rather than expressions of consistent belief. And so, defections rarely feel like conversions. They feel strategic. Tactical. Almost like switching SIM cards when the network gets shaky.

Consider the NDC’s sudden rise. Originally conceived years ago but only recently brought to life through legal validation, it is now being described—quite tellingly—as a “rescue ship.” Rescue from what, exactly? Political isolation? Internal party fractures? Electoral uncertainty? Whatever the answer, the arrival of Obi and Kwankwaso has instantly transformed it into a formidable opposition platform. Their combined followings—the Obidient movement and the Kwankwasiyya base—bring with them not just numbers, but momentum, visibility, and emotional investment.

But, one cannot ignore the irony. If ideology were truly central, would this alliance not have materialized earlier? Would 2023 not have presented the perfect opportunity for such a convergence? Instead, what we witnessed then was disagreement, fragmentation, and ultimately, separate paths. Now, with the stakes rising again, alignment suddenly becomes possible. It is hard not to see ambition quietly rearranging the furniture.

There is nothing illegal about any of this. The Nigerian Constitution guarantees freedom of association. Politicians are not bound to parties in any permanent sense. They can move—freely, frequently, and without legal consequence. In principle, this is democratic. In practice, it creates a political culture where loyalty is provisional and ideology, when it appears at all, is often secondary.

The late political economist Claude Ake once observed that politics in many African contexts is more of access than policy or ideology. Acces to power, to resources, to influence. That observation continues to echo. Party manifestos exist, but they are not always the compass guiding political behavior. When politicians switch parties, they rarely articulate a shift in worldview. More often, they simply reposition.

And then there is the curious case of elected officials who change platforms midstream. Many governors today govern under party banners different from those on which they were elected. Their mandates were secured under one manifesto, yet they operate under another. It raises a troubling pattern. Does the mandate belong to the politician or the party? And if it belongs to the people, how do we hold anyone accountable when the political identity keeps changing?

I do not pretend to have a tidy answer. But I do know that this fluidity complicates accountability. It blurs the lines between promise and performance, between mandate and execution. It makes it harder for citizens to track who stands for what and whether those positions remain consistent over time.
Still, I cannot entirely dismiss the argument that these movements are adaptive. Nigeria’s democracy has its own peculiar rhythm—coalitions form, alliances dissolve, new parties emerge, old ones fade. In such a landscape, politicians may feel compelled to keep moving simply to remain viable. As we might casually say, na survival. Eneke would understand perfectly.

But even survival has its costs. The absence of strong ideological anchors weakens the depth of political discourse. Elections become contests of personality rather than platforms. Campaigns revolve around individuals, not ideas. And voters are left navigating a system where the goalposts seem to shift just as they begin to understand the field.

I sometimes imagine a different political culture, one where ideology is not an afterthought but a foundation. Where parties are defined by clear principles, and where crossing from one to another requires more than convenience. Perhaps defections would still occur, but they would carry weight. They would demand explanation. They would signal a genuine shift in belief, not just a change in strategy.

For now, however, we are still in Eneke’s world.
The NDC’s emergence as a new rallying point adds another layer to an already unfolding drama. Its upcoming convention, its swelling membership claims, and the possibility of an Obi-Kwankwaso ticket all point to a political season that will be anything but quiet. There is energy, certainly. There is also unpredictability.

And so I return, almost inevitably, to that lingering question—ideology or ambition? Perhaps it is not a clean choice between the two. Perhaps ambition drives the movement, while ideology follows at a polite distance, stepping forward when needed and retreating when inconvenient.

What is clear, however, is that Nigerian voters are watching more closely than before. Movements like the Obidients suggest a growing appetite for substance, for something deeper than party labels and political choreography. Whether that appetite will reshape the system or simply be absorbed into it remains uncertain.

As the hunters grow more efficient, those in the opposition have embraced constant motion. Swift, deliberate, and rarely stationary. In the wisdom of Achebe’s bird, to stand still in such times is not an act of courage, but an invitation to risk.

Oluwafemi Popoola is a Nigerian journalist, media strategist, and columnist. He can be reached via bromeo2013@gmail.com