By
Nze David N Ugwu
They used to say power in Nigeria smelled of palm oil and perfume. Today it smells of cash. Last week Senator Ali Ndume told Arise TV what many Nigerians have long suspected but few in power would say aloud: that anyone seeking an audience with President Bola Tinubu is often first asked, “How much?” — a blunt summary of a system in which access is monetized by handlers and gatekeepers. That bombshell landed like a thunderclap because it confirmed, in the voice of an insider, what citizens see where they can: a government whose corridors are pay-to-play.
At almost the same time, a member of the House of Representatives, Hon. Ibrahim Usman Auyo (APC, Jigawa), went on camera and said something equally corrosive: lawmakers are required to pay between ₦1 million and ₦3 million to have motions, bills or petitions read on the floor of the National Assembly. The claim went viral — and civil society swiftly asked for investigations. If true, this is not petty corruption; it is the monetization of the lawmaking process itself.
These are not isolated gossip or the ravings of a disgruntled legislator. The allegations have been picked up by multiple national outlets and prompted calls from rights groups for inquiry and prosecution. SERAP, among others, has demanded urgent probes and protection for whistleblowers. The National Assembly has issued denials — as institutions do when their reputations are on the line — but denials are not explanations. We deserve more than “deny and move on.” We deserve an accounting.
From Gatekeepers to Toll Collectors
Let’s call this what it is: a tollbooth model of governance. In that model, access to the president, the chance to sponsor a bill, or even to have one’s petition heard are converted into transactions. Gatekeepers — political aides, caucus leaders, committee chairs — become toll collectors. Citizens are not asking for favors; they are asking for justice, services, representation. When representation requires a fee, democracy is being sold to the highest bidder.
This is more than theft of money. It is theft of polity. When the few can buy access or write legislation, policymaking no longer answers public needs — it answers accounts receivable. Laws reflect who paid, not what the public requires. The litany is long: selective appointments, opaque contract awards, patronage that rewards loyalty over competence. The Ndume and Auyo claims merely confirm a logic that has for years rotted public institutions from within.
Why This Feels Worse Than Ordinary Corruption
Corruption is a familiar refrain in Nigeria; many citizens have learned to live around it. What makes these allegations especially poisonous is that they are not about a single corrupt contract or a lone minister demanding a fat envelope. They are about the rules of engagement in democracy itself.
If the gatekeepers of the executive and legislative branches commodify access and legislative airtime, then representation becomes performative theatre — and the citizens become unpaid extras. The result is predictable: critical bills that serve public interest are starved of floor time; trivial or self-serving measures are fast-tracked for those who can pay; whistleblowers who speak the truth are threatened or ignored; and public trust, already fragile, gives way to cynicism and apathy.
The Human Cost
This is not an abstract concept. Families wait for laws that would improve healthcare funding, education policy, or agricultural support. Small businesses need a level regulatory playing field. Survivors of gender-based violence need stronger protections. When an invitation to the president or a slot on the legislative order paper is purchasable, these needs lose out to the priorities of those who pay.
Think of the new mother in a rural clinic whose plea for a dilapidated maternity ward requires a champion in Abuja. If that champion must cough up ₦1–3 million to be heard, who will take up her cause? The marketplace of ideas has been gated; the poor have been priced out. That cost is compounded every time a bill is delayed, neutered, or never tabled because it lacks a patron who can pay its way.
The Institutional Enablers
There are structural reasons why this corruption metastasizes. First, weak enforcement: anti-graft agencies often move slowly, select cases for political convenience, or lack investigator independence. Second, opaque processes: lack of public, centralized, verifiable records of how bills are scheduled, how meetings are arranged, or how appointments are made creates opportunities for improvised monetization. Third, a political culture that rewards loyalty and personal gains over public service normalizes such behavior. Fourth, fear: whistleblowers fear for their safety and careers, which helps preserve the silence that corruption requires. The SERAP demand for whistleblower protection is therefore not a luxury; it is essential.
Deny, Deflect, Delay — The Classic Playbook
The initial official response to the Auyo allegation was terse denial and a request for evidence. That is expected: institutions will always ask for proof. But asking for evidence is not the same as opening an independent, transparent probe with forensic accountants, whistleblower guarantees, and public updates. The public needs a process that is credible — not a statement that the House “did not do it.” The presumption of innocence should not be a blanket immunity for institutions that are supposed to be accountable.
What Must Happen — A Short Action Plan
- Immediate, independent inquiry. The Executive and Legislative arms should not investigate themselves. A joint, independent commission — backed by credible civil society actors, independent jurists, and international anti-corruption experts — must be instituted to examine Ndume’s and Auyo’s claims, with subpoena power and a strict timeline. SERAP’s call for referrals to anti-graft agencies should be taken seriously.
- Whistleblower protection and incentives. Whistleblowers must be protected physically and legally; their allegations should trigger automatic, confidential reviews. Reward structures for truthful disclosures would reduce the cost of speaking out.
- Transparent access and scheduling systems. The presidency and the National Assembly should publish formal procedures and logs: who requested meetings, who arranged them, any fees charged (nil should be the acceptable answer), and how bills are scheduled for reading. Digital, timestamped logs make sleight-of-hand harder.
- Sanctions that bite. When public officers or gatekeepers are proved to have solicited or taken payments, they should face swift administrative suspension, criminal prosecution, public asset tracing, and bans from public office. “Resignation and silence” cannot be the currency of accountability.
- Citizen oversight. Create a platform where citizens can report experiences of gatekeeping, whether for access to public officials or services. Make this platform searchable and give civil society standing to litigate systemic complaints.
The Larger Moral Question
At stake is more than money; it is the moral contract between rulers and the ruled. The social compact of democracy requires rulers to serve, not sell. When the business of government becomes a tollbooth, the moral authority of the state collapses. Citizens stop believing that the state will act for the common good; they begin to believe the state exists to enrich a few. That is the real crisis.
This rot also has geopolitical consequences. Multinationals and investors ask not only about macroeconomic data but about governance quality. A legislature whose business can be bought and a presidency whose gatekeepers ask “How much?” erode confidence, scare away investment, and deepen the poverty that helps corruption flourish.
Cynicism Is Not an Answer — Action Is
Some will say: “This is Nigeria; corruption is everywhere.” That defeatist shrug is part of the problem. The antidote to cynicism is not comfort but action: insistence on public probes, legal accountability, civic vigilance, and the political courage to replace leaders who flinch from reform.
Political parties must also clean house. Parties that tolerate monetized access and legislative vending are complicit. Nigerians — voters, journalists, civil society, faith leaders — must demand transparency as a condition of legitimacy.
Conclusion: We Are Closer to the Brink Than We Realize
Senator Ndume’s televised claim and Rep. Auyo’s viral allegation are alarm bells — and they arrive at a dangerous moment. When institutions meant to protect public interest appear to privatize access, democracy becomes a spectacle where money buys lines on the order paper and audiences with the president are auctioned in corridors.
This is not hyperbole. The evidence is public, the calls for investigation have started, and the question is not whether these claims will be buried by denials, but whether Nigerians will allow the polity to be sold in instalments until no one remembers what public service meant.
If we value our democracy, we must treat these allegations not as gossip but as a test of our national character. Will we tolerate a government where access to power is a toll paid in cash and favors? Or will we demand a system where access is a right, not a commodity; where bills are judged on merit, not on who paid; and where the president’s time is a public trust, not a private revenue stream?
Ask your representatives. Demand an independent probe. Protect whistleblowers. And when they ask you “How much?” — refuse to treat your citizenship like a commodity. The cost of silence is far higher than the price of justice.
Nze David N. Ugwu is the Managing Consultant of Knowledge Research Consult. He could be reached at [email protected] or +2348037269333.
