𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄: 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐑.⁣

By Albert Afeso Akanbi Nigeria today is a classic example of how nations scarred by decades of poor leadership, economic hardship, betrayal by their leaders, and social decay develop an almost instinctive longing for a redeemer. In such a country, people tend to gravitate toward figures they consider charismatic—be it politicians, pastors, or celebrities—hoping one of them might be “the one” to lift them out of despair. Fueled by widespread apathy toward those in charge of a corrupt system, citizens often chase after anyone who appears to be fighting that system. This is the essence of the Messiah complex: a psychological pattern where individuals or societies believe salvation lies in a single person. History is littered with examples. In Venezuela, Hugo Chávez was hailed as a savior. Though his rise was rooted in genuine grievances, when he exited the stage, the people were left with ashes in their mouths. In Uganda, Idi Amin initially won the hearts of his people, who saw him as a liberator—before plunging the country into terror. In Nigeria, we witnessed the massive mob following of the colossal failure, the late Buhari—especially among youths in the North who couldn’t think for themselves. Ultimately, the man set Nigeria back 50 years before disappearing permanently. This is not to say there haven’t been real revolutionary leaders who moved their nations forward. The point is, we must be wise enough to differentiate between genuine heroes and impostors. The deeper the suffering of a people, the more seductive the idea of a miracle worker becomes—no matter how clownish the figure. This is especially true in Nigeria, where the thievery of the powerful has bred an innate hatred for the rich. As a result, anyone with a platform who appears to speak against them is instantly seen as a Messiah. But this obsession with personalities over principles is dangerous. It breeds passivity, where citizens outsource responsibility to leaders instead of building systems that work. It also blinds people to the flaws of those they idolize, allowing corruption and abuse to flourish unchecked. Enter the character called VDM—an opportunistic loudmouth, so inconsistent he mistakes brashness and stubbornness for activism. Sadly, Nigerians—emotional, lacking deep reflective thinking, religious yet spiritually shallow—are easily manipulated by him. Even adults who should know better see this character as a hero. One even told me, “VDM opened my eyes!” Really? VDM, who was still selling nudes when you started working, opened your eyes? This character gained fame about two years ago, after speaking on the death of Mohbad. Around the same time, he began calling out skincare manufacturers exploiting their clients. Yes, that’s commendable—but how does fighting for a few isolated cases in a country of over 200 million people make one a savior or the voice of the people? I was stunned when a friend compared VDM to Fela. Even Seun Kuti, Fela’s son, wouldn’t insult his father’s legacy like that. Yet we’ve seen people compare VDM to Martin Luther King Jr. Personally—and this is my opinion—I believe VDM rode on blackmail, insults, and betrayals of private conversations with people like Nedu and others. He exploited the gullibility of Nigerians to escape poverty. When he saw the uproar was favorable, he quickly declared himself a charity and claimed to have an NGO. Nigerians like Don Jazzy—whom Deeone insists has something to hide—donated 300 million naira to him. At one point, in a childish display of dramatics, VDM claimed the money was missing. Later, he said he was just playing on Nigerians’ intelligence. Then came his fight with GTBank. His fans threatened to withdraw their money, only to discover his mother was actually owing the bank. Now he’s gone from drinking pure water in a dingy room in Abuja to shopping in Paris—yet his gullible fans don’t see that he escaped poverty riding on their backs. Anyone who points out his clearly abnormal behavior is insulted and called names. His fans ask, “What have you done for the people?”—as if VDM is the only one helping others. Or they accuse you of being hateful or jealous. 😂 The Nigerian problem deepens when society begins to worship not just politicians, but anyone who appears powerful—pastors with private jets, businessmen with questionable wealth, influencers like VDM with no substance. In Nigeria, it’s not uncommon to see convicted fraudsters celebrated as “smart,” or religious leaders treated as infallible. This culture of misplaced reverence erodes moral standards and normalizes exploitation. Pastors who preach prosperity while ignoring poverty become distractions from real reform. Politicians who promise change but perpetuate cycles of greed and thievery are not saviors—they’re symptoms. Business moguls who thrive on looting public funds and an unlevel playing field are not role models—they’re robbers in suits. When society celebrates thieves and idolizes personalities, it loses sight of values. And without values, no nation can truly progress. Nigeria doesn’t need another messiah. It needs a real movement—not one led by an opportunistic content creator who is so morally bankrupt he sells nudes, insults everyone, and engages in petty online squabbles with both real and imagined enemies. Real change will come only when Nigerians, especially the youth, demand transparency and accountability from leaders in politics, business, and religion—not theatrics or drama. Our communities must prioritize integrity over charisma and individualism. We must build institutions that outlast individuals. This requires conscious, concerted effort—from market women to tech entrepreneurs, from students to elders. Everyone must play a role. The future of Nigeria isn’t in the hands of one person. It’s in the hearts of millions. *𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘈𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘰 𝘈𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘣𝘪 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘋𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘍𝘪𝘭𝘮𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘓𝘛𝘋.*