Why Nigerian Lions Get National Honors and Chickens Get Arrested -By Oluwafemi Popoola

If you have ever wondered why some people in Nigeria can be caught red-handed in scandal yet still emerge with a national honor, while others who commit same crime goes straight to let’s say, Kirikiri prison, the answer lies in our unwritten law of the jungle. It is the Nigerian Animal Kingdom hierarchy.

In this peculiar ecosystem, “being big” is not just about financial might or political weight. It’s about where you stand in the survival food chain when trouble comes knocking.

Chinua Achebe once wrote in Anthills of the Savannah that “the story is our escort; without it, we are blind.” The Nigerian story here is that size and connection are the ultimate escorts when facing trouble. They guide you out of danger while the smaller animals get left behind for the hyenas.

At the top of the food chain are the Lions. They are ex-presidents, governors, oil barons, and those who have the kind of “godfathers” you don’t find in Nollywood. When trouble strikes, say, billions of naira vanish from the public treasury, they roar, and the entire jungle freezes. Committees are formed “to investigate,” usually chaired by people who owe them political favors.

By the time the dust settles, the lion is photographed cutting the ribbon for a new project, sometimes even wearing a fresh national honor medal. Think of the many corruption cases where the accused was back in power before the ink on the EFCC petition dried. If you’re a lion, the law doesn’t just bend for you, it rolls over and purrs.

One step below are the Hyenas. The agency heads, middleweight politicians, and contractors with powerful backers. They don’t have the lion’s invincibility, but they are clever scavengers.

When trouble comes, they throw a little meat to the mob. It could be a resignation letter, maybe a “regretful” press statement, just enough to appear accountable. Meanwhile, they’re already circling the next deal. Remember when one Mallam from Kano resigned “voluntarily” from his juicy office. This was years after he was caught stashing dollars in his Babariga, only to be appointed to fresh position weeks later? That’s textbook hyena behavior. Lose the scraps, keep the feast.

Then we have the Peacocks. They are celebrities, influencers, and corporate bosses whose survival is built on perception. When scandal hits, they don’t call a lawyer; they call a photographer. A cryptic Bible verse, a carefully staged “new beginnings” photo shoot, and a few months out of the spotlight later, they’re back with a new endorsement deal.

A popular musician accused of tax evasion suddenly launches a charity for orphaned kittens; a CEO implicated in fraud rebrands as a “leadership coach.” In the Nigerian jungle, public amnesia is a renewable resource.

Further down, we meet the Goats. They are junior aides, assistant directors, personal secretaries. These are the unlucky ones whose names suddenly appear in headlines to “prove the system works.”

A minister’s aide is caught signing suspicious contracts? Fire the aide, parade them before cameras, and assure the public the matter has been resolved. The bigger predator walks away untouched, while the goat’s career becomes the sacrificial meal. If goats ever formed a union in Nigeria, it would be the largest in Africa. I remember one 32 year old lady who was just starting her career as minister. She was a big goat who got slaughtered for the big boss to ride on.

At the very bottom, pecking nervously in the dust, are the Chickens. Who are they? You, me and every ordinary Nigerian with no political or financial armor. For them, even a small misstep invites immediate and merciless punishment.

Sell goods by the roadside without a permit? Arrest. Default on a small loan? Court summons. Misunderstanding with a police officer? You might not sleep at home that night. Chickens don’t get committees; they get charges. In the Nigerian jungle, their only survival strategy is to pray, hustle and stay out of the lion’s path

If there’s humor in this, it’s the nervous laughter of people who know they’re more chicken than lion. But maybe laughter is our own form of survival. It could be a reminder that one day, with enough civic courage and reform, the jungle could be tamed into a fairer place.

Until then, be careful which animal you choose to be. Because when trouble comes, the lion sleeps peacefully, the hyena scavenges, the peacock preens, the goat bleats in vain and the chicken ends up in the pot.