Nigeria’s "Special Assistants": How Nigerian Politicians Turn Loyalty into Government Jobs and Taxpayers into Cash Cows

 

Nigeria is being looted by job titles: While millions starve, Nigerian politicians manufacture thousands of special assistant positions, turning taxpayers into unwilling sponsors of political loyalty.

I have always wondered why Nigerian politicians need so many special assistants, senior special assistants, special advisers, personal assistants, media assistants, and whatever other assistants they can invent. What exactly are these people assisting? Who is advising whom? And how many advisers does a governor need before somebody advises him to fix a broken road?

In Nigeria, politics has always been a strange business. Win an election, move into Government House, and suddenly everybody who helped you campaign needs a government appointment. The fellow who printed your campaign posters wants to become Special Assistant on Public Enlightenment. The man who organized political rallies wants to become Senior Special Assistant on Grassroots Mobilization. The woman who defended you on Facebook wants to become Special Adviser on Digital Communication. Even the fellow who carried your umbrella during campaign rallies might begin dreaming of becoming Special Assistant on Weather Affairs.

I’m not exaggerating those job titles; they are a reality in Nigeria. And  that is precisely what makes the situation ridiculous. Nigerian politics has become a dirty game where greed, stupidity, and shamelessness compete for first place.

I can almost imagine the conversation inside Government House.

"Your Excellency, we have appointed 500 special assistants."

"Only 500? What happened to the people who supported us during the election?"

"Sir, there are another 2,000 waiting."

"Then appoint them. We must bring government closer to the people."

And just like that, another political employment program is born. Not necessarily for unemployed graduates, struggling nurses, qualified engineers, or experienced teachers. It is for people who know the right politician, attended the right campaign meetings, and shouted the right slogans.

The official explanation is always beautiful. Grassroots development. Community engagement. Inclusive governance. Political participation. But I want to know something much simpler.

What exactly are Nigerians getting for their money?

I have no problem with a governor hiring qualified advisers. Running a state requires serious economic, legal, security, and administrative knowledge. A competent adviser can prevent an expensive mistake. A good policy expert can help improve public services. But when appointments begin to resemble a political wedding reception where every guest must receive a souvenir, I become suspicious.

A government is not supposed to be a reward ceremony for campaign workers.

Yet that is what political patronage threatens to turn it into.

Consider what happened in Edo State in August 2026. Governor Monday Okpebholo approved 4,800 special assistant positions, allocating 25 to each of the state's 192 wards. According to reports by Channels Television and The Punch, the governor presented the initiative as a way to strengthen grassroots governance and recognize the contributions of All Progressives Congress members to the party's electoral victory.

I read that figure again. 4,800.

Not 48. Not 480. A staggering 4,800 special assistant positions.

I would love to attend the first meeting where all 4,800 assistants introduce themselves.

"Good morning, Your Excellency. I am Special Assistant Number 2,341."

"Excellent. What is your responsibility?"

"Sir, I am still waiting for my assignment."

"Wonderful. Please consult Special Assistant Number 1,762."

I can laugh at this imaginary exchange, but the underlying question is serious. What measurable public services will these appointments deliver? How much will they cost? Who will supervise them? And what happens when political loyalty becomes more important than professional competence?

The Edo announcement is particularly revealing because the governor openly connected the appointments to the APC's electoral victory. That does not prove every appointee is unqualified. But it raises a legitimate question about whether government positions are being distributed according to public needs or party obligations.

This is not simply an Edo problem. It is a Nigerian political tradition.

In September 2023, Kano State Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf swore in 45 special advisers. He said the appointments reflected merit, dedication, loyalty, and commitment. Later that month, The Punch, a Nigerian newspaper, reported another 94 senior special assistant appointments. By June 2026, Kano's government was still announcing appointments, promotions, and reorganizations of advisory positions.

I find the word "loyalty" particularly interesting.

Loyalty to whom?

The constitution? The public? The governor? Or the political machinery that brought him into office?

There is a difference, and it matters.

A civil servant should serve the institution. A political campaign worker serves the candidate. When the government begins treating those responsibilities as interchangeable, public administration risks becoming an extension of the ruling party.

Then comes the financial question.

Nigeria's National Bureau of Statistics reported in 2022 that 133 million Nigerians, representing 63% of the population, were multidimensionally poor. That meant widespread deprivation involving basic needs such as education, healthcare, housing, sanitation, and living standards.

National Bureau of Statistics

Imagine that.

Millions struggling with basic necessities while political leaders debate how many additional assistants they should appoint. I picture a mother sitting in a public hospital, waiting for medical attention. The equipment is inadequate. The nurses are overwhelmed. Her child needs treatment. Meanwhile, somewhere in Government House, officials are discussing another round of political appointments.

"Your Excellency, the hospital needs equipment."

"Noted."

"The schools need teachers."

"Noted."

"The roads need repairs."

"Noted."

"Our campaign supporters need appointments."

"Approved!"

That conversation is fictional, but the contrast is real. Governments operate under limited budgets. Every naira committed to administration deserves scrutiny because it cannot simultaneously be spent on another public priority.

I am not claiming that eliminating special assistants would automatically repair every hospital or road in Nigeria. Public finance is more complicated than that. But I am arguing that political appointments should have clear responsibilities, transparent costs, and measurable results.

In July 2024, President Bola Tinubu signed legislation raising Nigeria's national minimum wage from ₦30,000 ($23.50) to ₦70,000 monthly. The increase followed intense negotiations amid rising living costs.

Now consider the irony. Ordinary workers must fight for wages that can barely keep pace with economic hardship, while political appointments can multiply through executive decisions.

I want to know how much these advisory offices cost when salaries, allowances, vehicles, travel, office space, and administrative support are included. I also want to know what the public receives in return.

Those figures should be published, not hidden behind ceremonial announcements and political speeches.

There is another problem: duplication.

Nigeria already has ministries, departments, agencies, permanent secretaries, commissioners, and professional civil servants. Yet governors can appoint additional advisers covering areas that existing institutions already handle.

Who is responsible when their duties overlap?

Suppose the Commissioner for Education recommends a policy, but the Special Adviser on Education disagrees. Then the Senior Special Assistant on Educational Development introduces another proposal. Before long, everybody has advice, nobody has responsibility, and the school still has no textbooks.

I can imagine a governor asking his advisers why a project has stalled.

"Your Excellency, we are awaiting the committee's recommendation."

"Which committee?"

"The committee established by the Special Adviser."

"And what happened to the ministry?"

"Sir, the ministry is awaiting advice from the committee."

This is how bureaucracy can become a traffic jam with official letterheads.

Of course, not every adviser is useless. Some provide expertise that government genuinely needs. The problem arises when appointments expand faster than clearly defined responsibilities and public accountability.

The Punch reported in August 2024 that governors across several Nigerian states had collectively appointed thousands of aides after taking office in 2023. The report also raised concerns about rising public debt and the cost of governance.

I see a troubling contradiction here. Politicians repeatedly tell Nigerians to endure economic hardship, accept difficult reforms, and make sacrifices for the country's future. Yet the same political system continues to create opportunities for large entourages.

Sacrifice, apparently, is a wonderful national policy until it reaches Government House.

The poor must tighten their belts. The political class must expand its wardrobe.

The unemployed graduate must be patient. The loyal campaign organizer must be accommodated.

The market woman must understand economic reality. The political establishment must understand political loyalty.

And when ordinary Nigerians complain, somebody will probably appoint a Special Assistant on Public Complaints.

What troubles me most is the message this sends to young people. Instead of teaching them that professional competence, entrepreneurship, education, and productive work create opportunities, political patronage can teach them that access to power is the fastest route to government employment.

Why spend years building expertise when political connections may offer a quicker appointment?

That is a dangerous lesson for any developing economy.

I believe Nigeria needs advisers who can solve problems, not titles that merely decorate political friendships. If a governor appoints 4,800 assistants, the public should be able to examine 4,800 clearly defined responsibilities, the total cost of those appointments, and evidence that the positions improve services. Otherwise, the exercise risks looking less like administrative reform and more like a political reward program financed through public office.

And that brings me to the question I cannot escape.

What is the purpose of government?

Is it to provide security, healthcare, education, infrastructure, and economic opportunity? Or is it to distribute appointments among people who helped politicians win elections?

I know which answer I expect from a politician standing before television cameras. I am more interested in what the budget reveals.

Because speeches are cheap. Political loyalty is expensive. And Nigerian taxpayers eventually receive the bill.

Nigeria does not need a government where everybody has an assistant, every assistant needs an adviser, and every adviser requires another assistant to explain what the first assistant was supposed to do.

It needs public institutions that work.

Until then, I suspect the political appointment business will remain attractive. Elections will come. Campaigns will end. Victories will be celebrated. Supporters will demand recognition.

And somewhere inside Government House, another official may whisper the most expensive question in Nigerian politics:

"Your Excellency, what shall we do with all these loyal supporters?"

I already know the familiar answer.

"Find them something special."

And the average Nigerian taxpayers, who was never invited to the celebration, will be expected to pay for the souvenirs.

 

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