The results are out, and the pattern is hard to ignore.
The son of David Mark won the ADC House of Representatives primary.
The son of Atiku Abubakar clinched the ADC senatorial ticket.
The son of Muhammadu Buhari secured the APC House of Representatives ticket.
The son of Abdulsalami Abubakar also emerged with a House of Representatives ticket.
The son of a former Kaduna State governor also a House of Representatives.
One after another, the children of Nigeria’s most prominent political figures are stepping into the same corridors of power their fathers once occupied. What we are witnessing is not just a change of faces on the ballot. It is a quiet, systematic transfer of political inheritance.
Gradually, power in Nigeria is moving from the hands of the formal leaders who shaped the last 30 years, to their direct heirs. The names on the ballot are changing, but the family lineage remains the same.
This would not be a problem if the transfer came with a transfer of competence, accountability, and service. But for most Nigerians, it feels like the political space is being converted into a family business. While these dynasties consolidate their hold, millions of young Nigerians with no political surname watch from the sidelines.
The irony is painful. While the children of former presidents, governors, and military heads are securing tickets with ease, the children of the poor and the masses are still being mobilized to fight each other over religion, tribe, and party colors. They are the ones on the frontlines of online arguments, street protests, and election violence. They are the ones whose futures are most affected by bad governance, yet they are the least likely to occupy the rooms where decisions are made.
This is how a nation gets stuck. When political office becomes a birthright, merit takes a back seat. When access depends on who your father is, rather than what you can do, the system stops producing leaders and starts producing caretakers of inherited influence. The result is a cycle where policies serve the few, opportunities remain closed to the many, and public trust continues to erode.
Nigeria cannot afford to treat democracy like a monarchy. The country is grappling with unemployment, insecurity, failing education, and a health system that fails the average citizen daily. These are problems that require fresh thinking, courage, and leaders who understand the reality on the ground — not just the reality inside family compounds and political clans.
It is not a crime for the children of leaders to run for office. Many have the right to participate, and some may genuinely want to serve. But when the process consistently favors names over ideas, connections over competence, and lineage over leadership, then the system has failed its people.
The question for Nigerians now is simple: will we keep rewarding family names, or will we start demanding track records? Will we keep fighting over tribe and religion while the same families rotate power among themselves, or will we hold every candidate — regardless of surname — to the same standard of service?
Common sense is not common in Nigeria because we have allowed sentiment and familiarity to replace scrutiny and accountability. If that does not change, we will keep producing new faces with old problems.
Power is not meant to be inherited like land. It is meant to be earned through service. Until Nigerians insist on that principle, the cycle will continue, and the gap between the ruling families and the rest of the country will only grow wider.
The future is not written. But it will be decided by whether we keep voting for names, or start voting for Nigeria.
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