How to become a campus politician in Nigeria: A satirical guide

By: Erinola E. Daranijo

Congratulations! You’ve made it to a Nigerian university. Whether you got in by passing the matriculation exam (on your third or fourth attempt), bribing an uncle in the admission office, or mistakenly getting transferred to a department you never applied for—Agricultural Extension and Rural Development when you originally wanted Law—you are here now.

But you must understand something: you cannot just be an ordinary student. Ordinary students go to class, write exams, and graduate. And then what? Join the teeming population of unemployed graduates roaming the streets with brown envelopes? No! You must blow while on campus. And I have just the perfect career for you—Campus Politics!

So, dear future leader (who might never actually lead anything), let me take you through the holy commandments of becoming a campus politician in Nigeria. Follow these rules, and I assure you, by your final year, you will be giving TEDx speeches on “The Future of Youth Leadership in Africa.”

Rule 1: Choose your destiny—senator or tyrant?

Every great campus politician must decide early what type of leader they want to be. Do you want to be the smooth talker who never actually does anything (a senator)? Or the tyrant who clings to power like a Nigerian landlord refusing to refund a tenant’s caution fee?

If you’re the smooth talker, your job is simple: form alliances, overuse words like “representation” and “inclusivity,” and write long WhatsApp broadcasts nobody will read. If you’re the tyrant, be prepared to threaten, manipulate, and intimidate—yes, even your own campaign team. Either way, nothing must actually change on campus under your administration. That’s the golden rule.

Rule 2: Pick a fancy slogan (that means absolutely nothing)

Your campaign needs a slogan—something deep, yet vague. You don’t want people actually understanding what you stand for. Here are some options:

• “New Dawn, New Hope, New Era.” (New what exactly? Nobody knows.)
• “Building Bridges, Not Walls.” (Are you an engineer?)
• “Leadership with a Difference.” (The difference being…?)
• “The Time Is Now.” (For what? Nobody will ask.)

As long as it sounds inspiring when chanted at night with a megaphone, you’re good to go.

Rule 3: Make big promises you can never keep

A good campus politician never promises small things. You must promise the impossible:

• 24-hour electricity on campus (even though PHCN doesn’t respect your VC).
• WiFi in all hostels (because your first decree as President will be to turn the school into Google Headquarters).
• Free shuttle buses (meanwhile, the school can’t even afford to maintain the one broken-down bus in front of the Student Union building).

But here’s the trick—when you win and fail to deliver, just blame “structural challenges” and “administrative bottlenecks.” Your job is not to solve problems but to master the art of English without action.

Rule 4: Gather a fearsome campaign team

A politician is nothing without a strong campaign squad. You need:

• The Gra-Gra Guy – His only job is to shout “MY HONOURABLE!” whenever you enter a room.
• The Twitter/WhatsApp Warrior – This one must drop at least 10 tweets per day dragging your opponents and spreading conspiracy theories.
• The BC Senders – Cherish these ones with your life (until you win sha). Their job is to use broadcast messages to share your fliers and to campaign on election day (lying that it was supposed to send the day before but didn’t because of network).
• The Hidden Sponsor – The rich 400-level guy funding your campaign in exchange for future political favours.

Remember, a good team is the difference between winning the election and watching your opponent throw a victory party while you cry in your hostel.

Rule 5: Master the art of debate without substance

Every campus politician must win debates without actually saying anything meaningful. Here’s how:

• Start all your speeches with “Fellow students, the time is now! We must rise and take our future into our hands!”
• Throw in big grammar: “My fellow comrades, we must repudiate all forms of ineffectual leadership and chart a trajectory of transformation!” (Nobody will understand, but they will clap.)

If stuck, just shout “ARE YOU READY FOR CHANGE??” and let the crowd respond. If your school has a Literary & Debating Society, join it, but do nothing. During interviews, claim they helped you build your public speaking skills.

Rule 6: Become a professional handshaker

A campus politician must shake hands and smile at every event. Whether it’s a lecture, a cultural night, or a burial ceremony—be there, hand out your flyers, and shake hands with a pained, rehearsed smile.

You must know every student by name (or at least pretend to). If you forget someone’s name, just say “Ah, my bro/sister, you’re looking good! Don’t worry, we’re winning this for the people!” When you are running for a post, your mother becomes a mother of plenty.

Rule 7: Spread fake rumours about your opponent

It’s not enough to campaign—you must also damage your opponent’s reputation. Spread believable but unprovable rumors, like:

• “He’s a cultist o!”
• “She once failed GES 101. How can she lead us?”
• “I heard he was paid by the school management to contest.”
• “Last semester, he borrowed 2k and hasn’t paid back. If he can’t manage 2k, how will he manage a whole student body?”

Fear not, nobody will bother to fact-check anything. However, do not spread fake rumours yourself. That is what your team is for. If you’re lucky and find a 2017 press article about a misdemeanour your opponent committed, you are in luck; resurface it.

Rule 8: After winning, become inaccessible

If you follow these steps, congratulations! You have won. But remember, once you win, disappear.

• Change your WhatsApp number. Your campaign team will start asking for payback.
• Dodge all your former friends. They will start asking, “Honourable, what about that free WiFi you promised?”
• Only show up for award ceremonies and press releases. Nobody must see you struggling with ordinary students again.

Bonus rule: Start preparing for national politics

Now that you have mastered the game, why stop at campus politics? Your next step is real-world Nigerian politics. The skills you’ve learned—lying, making fake promises, dodging responsibilities, and using big grammar to confuse people—are exactly what you need to contest for office in Nigeria.

After all, isn’t campus just a rehearsal for the main thing?

Erinola E. Daranijo (he/him) is a poet and journalist living in Ibadan. He tweets at @Layworks.