THE UNSTABLE DANCE OF A MADMAN

By Olatunji Aliu Totoola

It begins with a tweet, loud, careless, and costly. A man in America fires off a few words about Nigeria, and suddenly the world starts watching. Some laugh, others shrug. But those who understand how global power games end are not laughing.

We have seen this movie before. The United States decides to “save” a nation, and the ending is always the same. Iraq was promised freedom and got endless war. Libya was promised democracy and got militias. Afghanistan was promised peace and got the Taliban back. Each intervention starts with talk of liberty and ends in rubble, hunger, and regret.

Now imagine that script replaying in Nigeria. Across the country, people are being killed daily in markets, on roads, and in their homes. Insecurity is horrifying, and government appears lost, reacting instead of acting. If Nigeria cannot protect its citizens and a foreign power decides to come “blazing,” as some now threaten, there may soon be no Nigeria left to save, only leftovers.

And in the chaos that follows, opportunists will rise. In the East, where memories of Biafra never died, armed groups could evolve into a de facto state, collecting taxes and enforcing their own laws, something already unfolding with IPOB. In the North, old terror networks would rebrand and expand. In the West, self-styled “freedom fighters” could become warlords. Across the Middle Belt, tribal militias would multiply. Everyone would fight for control of something, and no one would truly win.

We’ve seen it elsewhere. Somalia fell apart and warlords became landlords. Libya’s “liberation” produced five governments and fifty militias. Syria turned into a war market where everyone sells fear. When the centre collapses, every strongman becomes a government. The DRC still battles foreign-backed militias that control its mines.

Nigeria is not immune. Our leaders already dance to no rhythm, a government that looks more like a stage show than a state. Policies shift with the weather. Security chiefs act surprised by every new attack. Citizens live as if under curfew, fearing the next headline. Bread prices rise, hope falls, and politicians keep twirling.

When the state collapses, the first to suffer are the ordinary people: the farmer in Zamfara who can’t reach his field, the trader in Onitsha who closes her shop before dusk, and the student in Abuja reading by candlelight because power is gone again. These are not statistics, they are victims of both foreign arrogance and local failure.

And when life becomes impossible, people will run. Europe’s asylum offices will fill with Nigerians not students or tourists, but refugees. In a June 2025 report, the Canadian government ranked Nigeria fourth in asylum claims, with more than 2,500 cases behind only India. Nigerians account for one in every thirty asylum claims in Europe, with over 45,000 between 2015 and 2017. Those abroad will lose the dream of “going home.” The diaspora will become permanent exiles. Nigeria will become a passport without a place.

The truth is, while foreign powers may strike the matches, our leaders keep fueling the flames. If America sneezes, we panic. When it tweets, we tremble. But when it intervenes, we disappear.

This is the unstable dance of a madman where global showmen play saviour and local leaders play along. And as always, the poor pay the price.

Let no one be deceived: peace cannot be imported, and freedom cannot fall from the sky. If we keep dancing to foreign music while our own house burns, we will soon have nothing left to save.

Before the next foreign politician sends another reckless tweet, and before our leaders stage another performance of empty promises, we must ask: how much more of this dance can the nation survive?

Because in this dance, it is never the madman who falls, it is the people standing too close to the stage.