By Christopher Sunday
In the realm of human experience, the great philosophers have often asked: What is reality? Plato proposed shadows on the wall of a cave. Descartes doubted everything but his own thoughts. But in 21st-century Nigeria, reality has a new definition—it’s what escapes the scrutiny of every single security agency without so much as a raised eyebrow. Welcome to the theatre of the absurd, where the script is written by bandits, edited by bureaucrats, and directed by ghosts.
So the conspiracy theorists were wrong all along. They weren’t theorists—they were just journalists without press tags.
Let’s pause to applaud the performance. Ado Aleiro—yes, the bandit kingpin, whose name alone sends entire villages fleeing—somehow managed to get his mother and wife official international travel documents in the Federal Passport Office in Gusau. Biometric data was captured. The National Identification Number—yes, that sacred key to every citizen’s digital soul—was provided. Nobody flinched. Nobody sneezed. Apparently, the machines don’t recognize bandit DNA.
From there, this magnificent delegation of the underworld proceeded to the Bank. Not to rob it, mind you. That would be crude. Instead, they made official Hajj fare payments. Legitimately. On record. Maybe even with a receipt signed “Yours in Peace.”
Then came the pious turn—extra mural lectures on how to perform Hajj, generously provided by the Zamfara State Pilgrims Welfare Board. Perhaps the lessons included: How to perform Tawaf without triggering Interpol.
Next up: the airport. Ah yes, the Hajj Camps, full of FAAN officials, NAHCO handlers, DSS operatives, NDLEA sniffer dogs, NSCDC officers and more. A buffet of uniformed bodies paid to “secure the nation” watched them glide through the security net like spirits in white ihram. Not a single eyebrow was raised, not a single walkie-talkie crackled. It was almost as though the system recognized them.
And finally, the climax of this pilgrimage: arrested in Madina, not by our 18+ security agencies, but by foreign intelligence in a country that thought “Hajj” didn’t come with guest appearances by warlords.
Now the usual choir sings: “We didn’t know,” “Our system was bypassed,” “Investigation is ongoing.” Of course it is. So is gravity. That doesn’t stop birds from flying or bandits from boarding.
Perhaps we owe conspiracy theorists an apology. They only suspected what reality has now confirmed—that somewhere in the intricate web of Nigeria’s insecurity, someone important is either asleep, complicit, or both.
So here’s to the ghosts of Gusau. They came, they registered, they paid, they prayed. They only made one mistake—they got caught in a country that still takes security seriously.
Let us not ask who failed. Let us ask instead: Who succeeded?
After all, it’s not every day a phantom gets a passport, passes biometrics, and jets off to Mecca in peace.
Philosophers of old, take notes. Nigeria has redefined reality.
