By Philemon Adjekuko
Sometime in 2014, I found myself in Rivers State, researching a book on former Governor Rotimi Amaechi. It was an interesting time to be there. Amaechi was in a bitter struggle with his former chief of staff, Nyesom Wike, and with President Goodluck Jonathan and his wife, Patience Jonathan.
The roots of that conflict went back to 2007, when the PDP unlawfully substituted Amaechi with Celestine Omehia as its governorship candidate. The Supreme Court eventually ruled in Amaechi’s favour and ordered that he be sworn in after Omehia had enjoyed a few months in office. But the underlying tensions never disappeared.
Years later, Amaechi replaced Wike as chief of staff with Tony Okocha and pushed him to Abuja as Minister of State for Education. Amaechi would later say that Jonathan initially rejected Wike’s nomination twice, but relented when Amaechi told him, “Wike is the only one available.”
Wike, however, had no intention of being exiled to irrelevance. He wanted to succeed Amaechi as governor. When he eventually admitted this ambition publicly, the quarrel with his political benefactor became irreversible.
At the time, many in Rivers believed the governorship should go to the riverine communities. Wike, an Ikwerre man like Amaechi, was seen as an unlikely beneficiary of that sentiment. But he was determined. He won over a majority in the State House of Assembly and turned them into his political infantry.
The confrontation grew so intense that Amaechi faced the real prospect of impeachment. To survive, he demolished the House of Assembly complex and moved the loyal lawmakers into Government House. Rivers politics had become a theatre of war.
As that battle raged, another one was brewing within Amaechi’s camp over who would succeed him. The leading contenders were Senator Magnus Ngei Abe and Dakuku Peterside. There were also Amaechi’s deputy, Tele Ikuru, and his Health Commissioner, Samson Parker.
As I spoke to Amaechi’s associates, most of them quietly admitted they preferred Abe. Yet nearly all were convinced Amaechi would choose Peterside. One close aide explained the difference with a line that has stayed with me ever since: “Abe is oga’s friend. Peterside is his boy.”
When Amaechi finally announced his choice at Government House, there was no visible joy on any face. The winner looked burdened. The losers looked wounded. It was the kind of gathering where everyone smiled with clenched teeth.
Within weeks, the cracks widened. Abe was deeply hurt. Others were unsettled. From a distance, Wike watched with the patience of a hunter. Napoleon Bonaparte’s famous advice seemed apt: never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.
Whenever I raised the possibility that Wike could upset Amaechi’s succession plan, the response from Amaechi’s loyalists was dismissive. “Wike is an empty barrel,” they said. “A noise maker.” They were wrong.
The moment Wike formally declared his ambition, the political temperature rose sharply. Abe’s relationship with Amaechi deteriorated, though he eventually summoned the discipline to campaign for Peterside.
Wike, however, had no interest in treating Peterside as the main opponent. His real contest was with Amaechi. Peterside was merely the name on the ballot.
The 2015 campaign was one of the bloodiest in Nigeria’s democratic history. More than 120 people were reportedly killed, and properties worth millions were destroyed.
When Muhammadu Buhari won the presidency but lost Rivers State, some believed federal power would tilt the governorship election in Peterside’s favour. That hope proved fanciful.
The rerun was even more violent. At the end, Wike and the PDP swept nearly every seat in the House of Assembly, and Wike became governor.
Election tribunals sitting in Abuja, away from the volatility of Port Harcourt, nullified the results and ordered fresh elections. The Court of Appeal agreed. But the Supreme Court restored Wike’s victory, holding that anyone challenging the result had to call witnesses from every disputed polling unit. In practical terms, that standard was nearly impossible to meet.
The judgment handed Wike not just a legal victory, but complete control of Rivers politics. Amaechi’s allies scattered.
Even the fresh Assembly elections ordered by the courts were delayed long enough to give Wike time to consolidate his hold. By the time they were eventually conducted, he was firmly entrenched.
One by one, Amaechi’s loyalists began to cross over. The first major defection was Tele Ikuru. After that, the trickle became a steady stream. By 2019, it had turned into a flood.
Amaechi replaced Peterside with businessman Tonye Cole as the APC governorship candidate. For Abe and his supporters, it was the final insult. They broke away and conducted a parallel primary.
The PDP challenged both primaries in court. The courts nullified them, and the APC was excluded entirely from the ballot. Wike won a second term with ease.
By then, the APC in Rivers was no longer merely bleeding. It was hemorrhaging. Politicians who had once sworn eternal loyalty to Amaechi began returning to the PDP, describing it as their “natural home.”
Having subdued his home front, Wike began looking beyond Rivers. He set his sights on the PDP presidential ticket in 2023. To pursue that ambition, he embarked on a frenetic schedule of project commissioning, inviting political heavyweights from across the country. Many thought it was simply an exhibition of performance. In truth, it was also a strategic investment.
Wike argued forcefully that the PDP should zone its presidential ticket to the South since Buhari, a northerner, was completing eight years in office. He contested and finished second to Atiku Abubakar.
When he was overlooked for the vice-presidential slot, he responded by leading a rebellion of five governors. That revolt fractured the PDP and may well have denied Atiku his best opportunity to become president.
Wike’s reward was immediate: President Bola Ahmed Tinubu appointed him Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, making him the first southerner to hold the office. Even that did not slow him down.
His conflict with his successor, Siminalayi Fubara, is recent and still unfolding, so there is little point rehearsing it here. But it will take a miracle for Fubara to return as Governor next year. The larger point is this: Wike keeps winning.
Amaechi has since left the APC he helped build. Wike remains formally in the PDP while functioning as one of the most influential figures in the APC orbit. In Rivers, party labels have become almost decorative. The lines between APC and PDP are so blurred that they are often meaningless. Yet the battles continue.
Tonye Cole, the man Amaechi once presented as the APC’s best hope, is now publicly challenging Wike while still seeking relevance in an APC structure widely seen as being under Wike’s influence.
Bala Mohammed has also spoken in combative terms, declaring that PDP governors are not cowards and will not be led to the slaughterhouse.
But bold words are common in Nigerian politics. Victories are rarer.
Wike has also tested the limits of his influence beyond partisan politics. When he said he would have “shot” a journalist over a comment made on air, there was public outrage. The remark was later explained by his aides as figurative hyperbole, and the matter faded. That, too, was revealing.
In Nigeria, power often determines how long a controversy lasts.
So the question is not whether Wike has made enemies. He has made more than most politicians could count.
The real question is how long his extraordinary run will continue Every winning streak eventually meets its moment of reckoning. Perhaps Wike’s will come after 2027. Perhaps it will come later.
But until that day arrives, one lesson from Rivers politics remains difficult to dispute: Never pick a fight with Nyesom Wike.
