#WikeExposed #RiversState #WhoDoYouThinkYouAre #NigerianPolitics #AccountabilityNow #IJawAncestors #RiversNotForSale #TheKioSolution
I do not know you. I do not want to know you. Everything about you I find deeply, profoundly sad.
You were the kind of boy at boarding school who carried other boys’ books, cleaned their shoes, and waited gratefully for the tip — happy to be useful, biding your time, desperate not to return home to a dysfunctional household, yearning to be counted among boys born into a world that was never yours by birthright. That hunger — that gap between who you were and who you desperately wanted to be — created a serious inferiority complex that lives in your very bones to this day. It has never left you. It never will.
Everything about you is bravado. Exaggeration. Volume. Insecurity dressed up as authority. You think you are formidable. You are not. You are deeply, transparently vulnerable — and the tragedy is that you do not know it. You expose every defence, every weakness, every wound to people like me: sharks who smell blood in the water, who circle and circle and circle, and then strike, devour, and move on without a second thought.
The Rolls-Royce. The properties in Florida. The fabrications about your family background. The compulsive need to be seen, to be feared, to keep your face permanently in the public eye — these are not the hallmarks of power. They are the hallmarks of a man who has never been at peace with himself. I have been involved in Nigerian public life since 1982, when I served my National Youth Service in the National Assembly and the Presidency, and in all my years I have never encountered a figure quite like you. The only politician who came remotely close was the late Joseph Wayas — but once you got past Uncle Joe’s showmanship, you found a man of genuine intelligence and warmth. He liked to enjoy life, to be one of the boys, to attract laughter and women. A grand difference. You want to manufacture a legend that does not exist.
Your doctrine, as best I can discern it, is elementary: pour the Kai Kai, open the Star, dash the dollars, dominate the peasants. You look down upon your own people. You believe you know better than they know. You believe you are better than they are. But what does a man who walked out of university directly into the arms of political patronage and cult membership know of real life? You learned viciousness. You learned bullying. You learned scare tactics and mimicry. You never developed an original personality. You had no family foundation to speak of — those stories about your father the millionaire, the ones that supposedly explain the Rolls-Royce, made everyone who truly knows Nigeria laugh. Not politely. Genuinely. As in: *how much did he drink or smoke today before he said that with a straight face?*
You look older than me, and I am your senior. I look like your son. That tells me everything about excess — too much noise, too much alcohol, too many hands dipping into the treasury, too many grandiose dreams of being the eternal King of Rivers State.
Let me tell you something about Rivers State. I saw King Spiff — the first governor — working from an office in my father’s law chambers in Lagos when he was first appointed. My late father, Chief Godfrey Kio Jaja Amachree QC, was instrumental in the very creation of Rivers State. I was there as a child when the elders gathered — in the house on Bourdillon Road, on Graham Avenue — to discuss and negotiate the formation of the state you are presently attempting to claim as a personal fiefdom and family heirloom. I can assure you that in every one of those historic conversations, not a single elder stood up and said: *We are creating Rivers State so that one day it may be handed over to Nyesom Wike.*
My ancestors have asked me to put that question to you directly: Who Do You Think You Are?
They are puzzled, Mr. Wike. They are watching from the other realm — alert, present, deeply disturbed by your antics, your blasphemy, your violence, your ego, and your drunkenness. They want a plain answer: by what right? By what bloodline? By what spiritual authority do you insult royal fathers? By what logic do you steal from a people who are already hungry, already marginalised, already begging for the dignity they richly deserve as the very engine of Nigeria’s national wealth?
My father was the first Nigerian to be awarded an oil bloc — in 1969. By now, Rivers State should be Dubai. It should be the UAE. It should be a state within a state, a beacon of Black excellence and Ijaw achievement. Instead, it is a besieged territory occupied by armed strangers, treated like refuse, governed by a President who can barely string two coherent sentences together and who rules through fear, cash, and the calculated suppression of an entire civilisation.
How many graves lie across Rivers State, Mr. Wike, courtesy of your political career?
I should also mention — you carry a darkness around your aura. I have seen this before. A darkness that deepens every passing day, a spiritual weight that grows heavier with each act of impunity. One day it will swallow you whole. Let me remind you: there is only one God. There is only one Christ. And in Rivers State, in the Ijaw nation, the ancestors are not abstract. They live in each of us. They are not sleeping. They are not forgiving. And there will come a day when they say simply: *It is time to collect his soul.*
History is instructive on this matter. Men who mistake their moment of power for permanent dominion tend to meet instructive ends. Adolf Hitler, who believed a thousand-year Reich was his destiny, died in a bunker with a bullet in his skull. Napoleon, who once commanded an empire, rotted away on a rock in the South Atlantic, weeping for what he had lost. Stalin, the most feared man on earth, crawled across the floor of his own office begging for help — and not one of his terrified guards dared open the door to assist him. Mussolini, who fancied himself the modern Caesar, was shot, beaten, and strung upside down on a meat hook in a public square by the very Italian people he had spent decades humiliating.
You have too many sycophants around you, Mr. Wike. Too many professional liars. Too many parasites dancing for your money, whispering what you want to hear, keeping your vanity well fed. I am here — publicly, on the record — to tell you that the day of reckoning is approaching faster than you know, and when it arrives, you will stand before the ancestors of Rivers State and answer, in plain language, why you believed yourself to be a god in a land that already has one.
Pray, Mr. Wike. Pray hard. And then perhaps, finally, be quiet.
Kio Amachree is President of Worldview International and a commentator on Nigerian governance and the Niger Delta. He writes from Stockholm.
Culled from Kio Amachree’s Facebook Page
