In the heat of the afternoon bustle in Ogba, Ikeja, a single voice pierced through the simmering air of frustration, rice steam, and boiling politics. Amid the clatter of plates and the sizzle of stew, a well-known restauranteur interrupted a political argument unfolding at his buka and thundered, “If na your papa dey there nko? You go dey sleep for house?”

The question, raw and honest, stopped everyone cold was not just a rhetorical jab. It was a reality check. And more than that, it was a social mirror, one held up to a nation that loves to criticize from the sidelines but would, if given the same opportunity, do exactly what it condemns.

The subject of the now-viral question? Sheyi Tinubu, son of Nigeria’s sitting president, Bola Ahmed Tinubu, a young man who has, over the past year, become a lightning rod for outrage, envy, and everything in between.

At this juncture, it is expedient to ask, “Who is Sheyi Tinubu and why Is everyone talking?” The foregoing question cannot be farfetched as Sheyi Tinubu is not a stranger to power. As the son of a political colossus who has now ascended to the highest office in Nigeria, Sheyi has always lived in a world of privilege. But since his father became president, Sheyi’s public profile has grown in ways many Nigerians find unsettling.

From attending official functions, with some Nigerians even accusing him of meddling in governance, his visibility has stirred resentment. People are asking, “Who elected Sheyi?”, “Why is he being given so much access?”, and “Why is he everywhere?”

And while these questions are not without merit, especially in a democracy that demands accountability, they are not always born from civic duty. Sometimes, they are born from envy, tribal bias, or deep-seated frustration at a country where opportunities seem sealed off for the masses.

That is what makes the restauranteur’s voice so profound. His question drips with realism, not idealism: If it were your own father, would not you do the same thing? Let us not pretend we would not.

Let us remove the mask. Most Nigerians, if they were to wake up tomorrow as the child of the president, would likely do what Sheyi Tinubu is doing or even worse. We know it. We have seen it.

We have seen people in government place their children in plum positions. We have seen nepotism take root in churches, companies, and family businesses. You get a job in the civil service and your first thought is how to fix your cousin. Your uncle becomes a local government chairman and suddenly your younger brother is the “Personal Assistant on Environment.” So why is Sheyi’s case different?

Because he is visible. Because the nation is angry. Because hunger is everywhere. Because salaries cannot buy a bag of rice. Because the masses are disillusioned. And when you are broke, hungry, and jobless, privilege feels like an insult.

But again, “If na your papa dey there nko?” The real problem is not Sheyi. It is the System. Let us get one thing straight: Sheyi Tinubu is not Nigeria’s problem. At least not the main one.

The problem is that our institutions are so weak that family members of politicians often step into unofficial roles of power without consequence. The problem is that proximity to the president in Nigeria grants unchecked access, influence, and control, no matter your official designation.

This should not be about Sheyi. It should be about the absence of boundaries between personal and state affairs.

In working democracies, presidents’ children are rarely seen at official events, and certainly not running government affairs behind the scenes. But Nigeria is not a fully matured democracy. It is a hybrid, somewhere between oligarchy and organized chaos, where institutions bent for personalities and power is passed down like family inheritance.

Aptly put, the hypocrisy in our anger is obvious enough. It is high time we admitted that a lot of our outrage is selective. We did not raise as much dust in the past political dispensations when children of politicians in various offices enjoyed perks of office. Many of us stayed silent when children of governors drove exotic cars in university campuses and flaunted wealth they clearly did not earn.

But we only find our voice when it is someone we do not support politically. That is not justice. That is partisanship. And it is hollow.

Besides, let us also be honest about our class warfare. Much of the anger towards Sheyi is not rooted in policy or fact, but emotion. Why him and not me? It is the pain of exclusion wrapped in fake moral outrage.

Against the backdrop of the foregoing view, it is germane we request for systems that work, not scapegoats. This is as dragging Sheyi Tinubu online daily might give some Nigerians a momentary sense of justice, but it would not change anything. The only way to stop the influence of unappointed individuals is to strengthen our institutions.

There should be clear rules about who can attend cabinet meetings. There should be transparency about appointments and decisions. If Sheyi is playing a role in government, let us demand to know what it is officially, and scrutinize it like we would any other political appointee. If he is not, then public appearances should not be confused with political interference.

In fact, when the structure is fixed, the individuals would not matter. Therefore, let us talk about the bigger picture At its core, this debate goes beyond Sheyi Tinubu. It touches the wound Nigerians do not want to talk about: the pain of exclusion.

The truth is, everyone wants to be “connected.” Everyone wants access. The same people dragging Sheyi online are praying for a phone call from a senator, a federal board appointment, or a political godfather.

That is the real tragedy of Nigeria, not Sheyi. The tragedy is a country where who you know matters more than what you know. Until that changes, there will always be another Sheyi, and another round of outrage.

At this conclusive juncture, it is not out of place to opine that the restaranteur was right. He may not have gone to Harvard. He may not write op-eds. But his one-liner carried more weight than most think-pieces ever could.

“If na your papa dey there nko?” It is not an endorsement of abuse of power. It is a challenge to all of us to stop pretending we are better than those we criticize. Let us demand better. Let us fix the system. Let us build a country where even the president’s child must follow due process.

Until then, before you cast the next stone, ask yourself: “If na my papa dey there nko?”