When Politicians Look Like Kids Waving At The Traveler Bye-Bye, And Chorusing “Buy Bread ooooo!” -By Isaac Asabor

If you are still wondering why Nigeria sometimes feels like a badly written comedy skit, look no further than the recent airport photograph of our dear politicians. There they were, grown men in agbadas and imported suits, lined up on the tarmac to wave goodbye to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu as he departed for Europe on his annual leave.

No, it was not a movie set. It was not even a wedding send-off. It was your senators, governors, and ministers playing the role of village children escorting Uncle to the park. Only this time, instead of shouting out loud, their body language screamed: “Oga, please do not forget to buy us bread ooooo!”

Those of us who grew up in the village know this ritual. Uncle visits from Lagos. He is stylish, smelling of the city, pockets jingling with possibilities. The day he leaves, the entire children’s department of the village escorts him to the motor park. Our constitution is simple: wave hard enough, shout loud enough, and remind him, again and again, to bring bread when he returns.

Bread was not just food; it was the UN General Assembly of our stomachs. Whoever returned from the city without bread faced impeachment proceedings in the children’s parliament.

Now imagine my shock, decades later, seeing my childhood play recreated at the airport by men old enough to be grandfathers. Except this time, the “bread” is not Agege wrapped in nylon. The bread is political favors, contracts, appointments, and allocations kneaded in the ovens of Abuja.

Take Governor Hope Uzodinma for example. Imo State is bleeding, unpaid salaries, insecurity, bad roads, collapsing infrastructure. But instead of staying back to bake solutions, the governor was in Abuja, smiling like a choirboy at the altar. His people call him “Absentee Governor,” and that airport picture proved the nickname wasn’t a lie.

He is not alone. Other senators and ministers joined in, forming what can only be described as the “National Association of Presidential Bread Beggars”. Their motto? “Show faces, collect bread, forget constituents.”

Nigeria runs on bread politics. Abuja is the bakery. The president is the baker-in-chief. And every politician worth his agbada is a hungry apprentice waiting at the counter.

In real democracies, governors act like presidents of their states. They make decisions, build infrastructure, and provide leadership. In Nigeria, many act like local government councilors, running to Abuja for every spoon of sugar. Instead of baking bread in their states, they prefer to queue at the presidential bakery for crumbs.

Here is the painful irony. While politicians are busy waving for contracts, real Nigerians cannot afford a simple loaf. Inflation has turned bread into a luxury item. Once upon a time, bread and tea was a humble but decent breakfast. Now, families are pricing bread like gold and settling for pap or dry garri instead.

So, while our “leaders” are at the airport begging for political baguettes, the ordinary Nigerian is begging the bakery cashier for a discount.

And let us not pretend this is an isolated circus. Nigerian politicians have made sycophancy a competitive sport. We have seen them kneel before presidents. We have seen them prostrate on live TV. We have seen them carry bags, hold microphones, and even push aside security men just to touch oga’s agbada.

In other countries, when a president goes on holiday, the news is brief: “President So-and-so is on leave.” That is all. Nobody follows him to the airport with brass band energy. But in Nigeria, the president’s leave is treated like a coronation. Governors abandon their states. Ministers abandon their offices. All for a cameo appearance in a group photo that screams, “We are still loyal ooooo! Don’t forget us when sharing bread!”

That photograph was more than comedy; it was a tragic symbol. To the average Nigerian, it was a meme factory. To political analysts, it was proof of weakness. And to the international community, it was an embarrassment. What does it say about a country when its leaders spend more time waving at the airport than working in their offices?

Instead of being state-builders, they are bread beggars. Instead of representing their people, they are representing their stomachs. Instead of building legacies, they are building photo albums of airport waves.

The next time you see your governor smiling at the airport like a best man, ask him: “Are you baking bread in our state, or are you queuing at Abuja’s bakery?”

The truth is simple: leadership is not about waving hands at the tarmac. It is about baking solutions where people live. A governor who stays back to fix insecurity, build schools, and pay salaries is worth more than ten who line up to wave at a traveling president.

That airport photograph may have been a funny distraction on social media, but its symbolism is heavy. It exposed the infantilization of our politics. Grown men, elected by millions, reducing themselves to children chanting “Buy bread ooooo!” at the foot of a single man.

But Nigeria does not need imported bread from Europe. Nigeria needs bread baked at home, bread of security, bread of good roads, bread of functioning hospitals, and bread of jobs. And this bread must be baked daily with the flour of integrity, the yeast of responsibility, and the oven of vision.

Until our leaders drop the bread-begging culture and start baking for their people, all we will get are crumbs, and more embarrassing airport photographs to laugh at, even as we cry about the hunger in the land.