By Oluwafemi Popoola
It was sometime in April 2022 that Prof. Yemi Osinbajo announced his intention to run for President. It felt like someone had finally opened a window in a suffocating room.
You could hear the sighs of hope from young professionals, tech innovators, civil society leaders, and tired-but-still-hopeful academics across the country. For once, it seemed that someone who understood governance was stepping into the ring.
But Nigerian politics isn’t a TED Talk. It’s more like a Nollywood political thriller—godfathers lurking in the shadows, plot twists at every turn, and enough backroom deals to exhaust even the most idealistic reformer. In this theatre of chaos, Osinbajo’s clean politics and reformist spirit were never going to be enough.
His ideas could have powered a generation. But in a delegate system that rewards loyalty over legacy, cash over competence, he lacked what Nigerian pundits like to call “structure”—that elusive machinery of influence that devours reformers before they can even begin. And so, he lost. Painfully. And it stung
Many expected him to disappear into the post-office shadows—perhaps start a think tank bearing his name, deliver the occasional keynote, and sprinkle inspirational quotes on social media. Osinbajo chose a different path. He packed up his briefcase and flew straight into global relevance.
Barely two weeks after leaving office in May 2023, he surfaced not in a dusty political backroom, but in Oslo, Norway, at the prestigious Oslo Forum, engaging world leaders in candid conversations on peace and conflict resolution. While back home, old political battles raged on social media, Osinbajo was already shaping dialogues that could end wars. It became as if the man had simply swapped the Eagle Square for the global stage and the world couldn’t get enough of him.
At the forum, he wasn’t just a former Nigerian vice president. He was Professor Osinbajo, SAN—a moral compass in turbulent times. His voice carried the weight of experience and the clarity of vision. The world took note.
Soon after, the Commonwealth tapped him to lead its observer mission for Sierra Leone’s general elections. This was no ceremonial gesture. It was a recognition of intellect, credibility, and the kind of moral integrity that transcends borders. And Osinbajo delivered—again.
Even when the spotlight faded briefly from African politics, he was showing up in places many of our leaders can only enter with diplomatic passports—or expensive consultants. But his journey didn’t stop there.
Just last month, he addressed the Hague Institute for Innovation of Law (HiiL) at the iconic Peace Palace in The Hague. His talk—“De-risking the Hidden Costs of Lack of Access to Justice”—wasn’t abstract legalese. It was a call for law to become a tool of empowerment, not just an instrument of power. A justice system that serves the people, not silences them.
The man has been everywhere like network bars. Full signal, full presence. But he didn’t forget home either. Also this last month, Osinbajo was in Yenagoa, Bayelsa State. At the Bayelsa Tech Hub, he was engaging young innovators like Cliff Ockiya of Slydr Music where he connected tech to justice, to empowerment, to solutions.
Osinbajo has become what many politicians fail to become even in office—a reference point, a north star, a relevant mind in a noisy world.
At recent events in London—from the Museum of Modern and Contemporary African Art in Mayfair to the Africa Centre in Southwark—he blended governance with culture, helping to tell Africa’s story through art, diaspora voices, and digital narratives. It wasn’t about jollof rice debates or flag-waving nationalism. It was about reframing Africa’s global image through intelligent storytelling.
And this is the irony that burns: the man who could have led Nigeria into a knowledge-driven, digitally empowered, globally integrated future was rejected—not because he wasn’t ready, but because our political system wasn’t.
Osinbajo is what one might call a “Nigerian wonder”—celebrated abroad, shelved at home.
Imagine what Nigeria would look like today if Osinbajo had gotten the nod. Perhaps we’d have more investment in tech hubs and fewer ghost projects. Maybe our justice system would be less about who you know and more about what’s right. We’d probably have a real roadmap for clean energy, digital education, and inclusive growth.
Still, the man doesn’t hold a grudge. He keeps showing up—elegant, eloquent, and endlessly engaged. He has shown us what life after public office should look like: not retirement, but reinvention. Not retreat, but relevance. In many ways, Osinbajo is doing more now. This is rare. This is revolutionary.
Aigboje Aig-Imoukhuede said something profound at a book launch in his honour: “While Osinbajo would be remembered, many presidents would be forgotten.” And Mo Ibrahim, ever the pan-African voice of reason, practically begged him to embrace the role of a global statesman. “There is life after office,” he said.
And Osinbajo, ever the overachiever, seems to have replied: “Watch me.”
So, while Nigeria continues to struggle with its identity crisis, trying to build a nation with duct tape and drama, one of its finest minds is out there showing what leadership beyond the ballot can look like.
And if that’s not presidential, I don’t know what is.
Oluwafemi Popoola is a journalist and political analyst. He can be reached via bromeo2013@gmail.com
