Ah, Nigeria, the land where politics is not just politics—it’s an action-packed Nollywood thriller, a Yoruba demon love triangle, an Igbo trader’s shrewd business deal, and a Hausa-Fulani kingmaker’s silent but deadly strategy all rolled into one. And here we are in Rivers State, watching Wike vs. Fubara, the political remix of Aki and Pawpaw fight for supremacy, except this time, there are real power plays at stake.

Oh Wike, you thought it was over? That your Abuja judges, including those Supreme Court justices, did all the heavy lifting for you? That once the Supreme Court confirmed Martin Amaewhule as the rightful Speaker, Fubara would just gree? Ha! Oga, this is Nigeria! Nobody gree for anybody! Fubara has the state courts, and he just played his hand like a proper Lagos big boy dodging rent payments.

The Supreme Court ruling must have felt like the final whistle to Wike’s camp. They probably popped champagne, thinking the game was over. “We got him!” they must have cheered, the way an Abuja politician celebrates after winning party primaries by spraying crisp mint Naira notes. But wait—did anyone remind them that Rivers State still has its own judiciary? Because while Wike’s loyal Assembly was flexing their new Supreme Court-backed power, Fubara’s commissioners and the Rivers State Independent Electoral Commission (RISIEC) chairman, Justice Adolphus Enebeli (rtd), decided to show them that ‘Port Harcourt no be Lagos’. They walked straight into the state court and slapped them with a lawsuit like an Igbo trader demanding full payment. Their demand? A court order blocking the Assembly from interfering with their appointments and duties. And guess what? The state court gave it to them like a market woman selling fresh akara at dawn.

Now, Wike’s Assembly had been on a power trip, issuing a 48-hour ultimatum to Fubara to submit a fresh list of commissioners and the 2025 budget. They outright rejected the 19 commissioners he appointed, claiming they weren’t properly confirmed. But here’s the problem—Fubara never officially received their ultimatum, at least according to him. “Oh, you sent me a letter? Omo, no be me you send am. My bad, I must have missed it between all these court cases and political backstabbing.” Classic Lagos ‘soft work’ excuse. Meanwhile, Amaewhule and his lawmakers, feeling invincible, summoned the RISIEC chairman to explain why he dared to conduct an election that the Supreme Court nullified. Their plan was clear: strip Fubara of all authority and make him a governor in name only—like those ‘Instagram big men’ whose accounts are louder than their bank balance.

But Fubara, the real Port Harcourt first son, no dey carry last. His commissioners took their fight to the Rivers State High Court, arguing that the Assembly had no power to overturn their appointments. And oh, the irony—while Wike used the judiciary against Fubara in Abuja, Fubara just used the judiciary in Port Harcourt against Wike’s lawmakers. The court didn’t just grant the commissioners permission to serve the lawsuit—it ordered them to do it by pasting it on the gates of the Assembly Quarters. Imagine the lawmakers walking into work, only to see legal documents plastered like ‘house for rent’ signs in Ajegunle. How dare you, Amaewhule & Co.! You thought this would be a walk in the park? My brother, this is not Buga dance, this is survival!

Oh, and now that this is going on, that budget presentation just became an impossible mission. The Assembly had already warned Fubara to submit the 2025 budget, but how can he do that now? His Finance Commissioner, Emmanuel Frank-Fubara, can’t give him anything to present because the state court has frozen all actions related to the commissioners. The Assembly wanted to force Fubara’s hand, but now, they’re stuck too—no budget, no governance, just lawsuits flying like election campaign flyers. The Supreme Court may have put its stamp on Wike’s team, but the state court just locked down the treasury faster than EFCC chasing Yahoo boys.

This is where it gets even funnier. The Supreme Court had backed Wike’s Assembly, but now, Fubara has the local referees on his side. The game is now being played on two courts—the federal court and the state court. While Wike thought he had completely neutralized Fubara’s authority, he forgot that politics isn’t just about who controls Abuja. It’s about who controls the home front. Fubara, rather than fold, just turned Rivers State’s legal system into his own shield—like a proper Yoruba demon dodging relationship commitment.

So what happens next? Will Wike go running back to the Supreme Court for another ruling? Will he start searching for what is now known as the “Abuja Judge” to perform another legal miracle? Well, guess what? The law is clear—Abuja judges have no jurisdiction over state and local matters. Maybe the Supreme Court will find a way around that? Sorry, nop! Wike’s legal magic has hit a wall, and Fubara just dug in his trenches, like a proper Niger Delta militant waiting for government amnesty.

Will Fubara keep using the state judiciary as a roadblock to legislative interference? Will the lawmakers simply pretend they didn’t see the lawsuit pasted on their gate? And most importantly—who will dare to present the budget now? One thing’s for sure—this Rivers State saga is far from over. Wike thought the Supreme Court had sealed the deal, but Fubara just reminded him that governance isn’t won in a courtroom alone. The battle continues, and Naija people, we dey here for the drama! Grab your popcorn, your zobo, your suya—this one go long!

The Real Lesson: Nigeria’s Democracy is at a Crossroads

At the heart of all this political chess and courtroom battles is a deeper Nigerian problem—the rule of man over the rule of law. Every institution in this fight—whether it’s the Supreme Court, the Rivers State Judiciary, the House of Assembly, or the Governor’s office—has been dragged into a game of power and self-interest. Where is democracy in all of this?

Nigeria must learn that a politicized judiciary, a compromised legislature, and self-serving politicians do not grow democracy—they destroy it. When institutions serve personal ambitions rather than the people, democracy becomes an illusion, and governance becomes nothing more than a battlefield for the biggest political godfather. This is why states like Rivers continue to struggle with real governance, while their leaders play legal gymnastics.

The Senate, the judiciary, the executive, and the legislature must function as independent democratic bodies, not as extensions of one man’s political empire. Nigeria cannot grow if every election turns into a court case, if every political disagreement leads to power plays, and if every institution bends to the will of politicians rather than the constitution.

The lesson from Rivers State is clear—until we remove the rule of man and embrace the rule of law, until our judiciary stops being a political tool, until our lawmakers remember they serve the people, not their godfathers, Nigeria’s democracy will remain a fragile joke.

So while we all enjoy the drama, let’s not forget the real question: when will Nigeria stop being a political movie and start being a real democracy? Until then, grab your popcorn, your zobo, and your suya—this one go long.