2027: Atiku Should Get a Nobel Prize for Aspiring to be President — Aide

Few politicians in Africa have pursued the presidency with the same persistence, resilience, and almost mythical devotion as Atiku Abubakar. For over three decades, the former Vice President of Nigeria has been a recurring face in the nation’s electoral story — a constant reminder of both the promise and frustrations of Nigerian democracy.

When Paul Ibe, Atiku’s media adviser, recently declared on Trust TV that his principal deserves a Nobel Prize merely for aspiring to be president so many times, the remark was half jest, half truth. Yet behind the humor lies a profound reality: Atiku’s pursuit of the Nigerian presidency is not just about personal ambition — it is a narrative that mirrors the turbulence of Nigeria’s democratic experiment.

This essay interrogates that narrative. Is Atiku’s relentless ambition a symbol of democratic tenacity, or an indictment of a political class unwilling to yield space to younger leaders? What does it mean for 2027, and for Nigeria’s search for a leader who can unite a fractured nation?

Born in 1946 in Jada, Adamawa State, Atiku Abubakar rose from modest beginnings to become one of Nigeria’s most influential figures. His early years were marked by determination: gaining education in a region where Western schooling was scarce, and later joining the Nigeria Customs Service, where he built wealth and networks that would anchor his political future.

By the late 1980s, Atiku was already a prominent businessman with significant interests in oil logistics, property, and agriculture. His foray into politics was inspired by the post-military transitions that promised civilian rule. He joined the Social Democratic Party (SDP), becoming an ally of General Shehu Musa Yar’Adua, and participated in the primaries of 1992, where he came close to securing the presidential ticket before stepping down in favor of MKO Abiola.

That early sacrifice earned him credibility as a loyal soldier in the democratic struggle. But it also whetted his appetite for the presidency — a pursuit that has defined his life ever since.

Paul Ibe insists that Atiku has only “been on the ballot three times” — in 2007 under the Action Congress, and in 2019 and 2023 under the Peoples Democratic Party. Critics, however, count more: his attempts in 1993 (aborted by military annulment), 2011 (PDP primaries), and 2025 (intra-party maneuverings) suggest at least five serious attempts.

Regardless of the mathematics, Atiku’s name has become synonymous with presidential ambition. Each attempt has reflected not only his personal resilience but also Nigeria’s shifting political landscape.

2007: Running under the Action Congress after falling out with then-President Olusegun Obasanjo. He lost to Umaru Musa Yar’Adua of the PDP.
2011: Contested PDP primaries against Goodluck Jonathan but lost.
2015: Briefly aligned with the APC but was sidelined during the Buhari wave.
2019: PDP flagbearer against President Buhari; lost in a bitterly contested election that many still view as flawed.
2023: Once again PDP candidate, this time facing Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Despite strong campaigns, he came second in an election marred by logistical failures and controversies.

Atiku’s persistence fuels the debate: is he a statesman driven by duty, or a careerist who cannot let go of ambition?

Paul Ibe’s remark — that Atiku should be awarded a Nobel Prize for aspiring so often — struck Nigerians as both comic relief and biting irony. In a country where politicians rarely give up power voluntarily, Atiku’s repeated failures stand out.

But the Nobel analogy is not entirely absurd. In global politics, perseverance often shapes legacies.

Abraham Lincoln lost several elections before becoming U.S. president.
Charles de Gaulle endured exile before reclaiming leadership of France.
Winston Churchill spent years in the political wilderness before his finest hour in WWII.

Could Atiku, at nearly 80, be positioning himself for such a late-career redemption in 2027?

Atiku’s critics often highlight his immense wealth as proof of Nigeria’s corrupt elite culture. But Paul Ibe counters: Atiku was a billionaire before becoming Vice President. He founded INTELS, a logistics company that dominated oil and gas operations, and invested in education through the American University of Nigeria in Yola.

He also claims philanthropic credentials: providing scholarships, building schools, and creating jobs. His defenders point to his single-handed purchase of Wadata Plaza, PDP’s headquarters, as evidence of loyalty and sacrifice for his party.

Yet detractors ask: if Atiku has done so much privately, why has he failed to translate that vision into national governance? Why does his name, like many Nigerian politicians, remain entangled in corruption allegations — from customs-era scandals to U.S. congressional probes?

Atiku’s story is also Nigeria’s story. His repeated attempts symbolize the fragility of a democracy where opposition struggles against incumbency, where courts rather than ballots often decide leaders, and where electoral credibility is persistently in doubt.

By contesting again and again, Atiku inadvertently highlights the dysfunctions of the system.

The power of incumbency that makes elections unfair.
The lack of internal democracy within parties.
The absence of a younger pipeline of leadership.

His ambition becomes a mirror: Nigeria’s democracy is stuck in cycles of recycled candidates, contested mandates, and fragile legitimacy.

Atiku will be 81 in 2027. His age has become central to debates about his candidacy. Supporters argue that leadership is about ideas, not years. Detractors insist Nigeria cannot afford another aging leader after the Buhari and Tinubu experiences.

The Nobel Prize remark thus doubles as satire: are Nigerians expected to applaud endurance while the nation craves renewal? Should political ambition at such an advanced age be seen as dedication or desperation?

One of the defining shifts in Nigerian politics since 2019 has been the Obidient movement, driven by youths disenchanted with old-guard politicians. Atiku has tried to tap into this demographic by promising restructuring, jobs, and inclusivity.

Yet many youths view him as part of the establishment responsible for Nigeria’s failures. They ask: if Atiku could not fix the nation as Vice President between 1999 and 2007, why expect him to do so now?

This generational gap is the greatest obstacle to Atiku’s 2027 ambitions. He may still command loyalty among PDP stalwarts, northern power blocs, and older voters, but the streets chant differently.

Around the world, career politicians who ran multiple times before succeeding provide interesting parallels.

Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva contested three times before finally becoming president of Brazil, where he transformed the economy and reduced poverty.
Andrés Manuel López Obrador of Mexico ran three times before his landslide win.
Abraham Lincoln lost repeatedly before becoming America’s iconic president.

Could Atiku follow that pattern in Nigeria — or will history record him as a man who tried too many times without victory?

For some Nigerians, Atiku represents resilience, generosity, and vision. For others, he represents elite stubbornness and an inability to yield space. His candidacy in 2027 — if it happens — will test whether Nigerians prefer the familiar experience of the old guard or the uncertain promise of younger alternatives.

Atiku has not formally declared for 2027. But his aides, allies, and body language suggest he remains in play. Whether or not he emerges PDP flagbearer will depend on:

Internal PDP politics — will governors back him or push a younger candidate?
Coalition politics — can he ally with Peter Obi or other opposition forces?
Northern power calculus — will the North insist on reclaiming the presidency?

His Nobel-worthy persistence may again clash with Nigeria’s hunger for generational shift.

Paul Ibe’s quip is memorable because it captures both admiration and fatigue. Atiku Abubakar’s repeated bids are extraordinary in their consistency. But do Nigerians want consistency in ambition — or results in governance?

In 2027, Atiku’s name will either crown his lifelong pursuit or confirm him as the eternal aspirant, the man who wanted Nigeria’s presidency more than anyone else — but never attained it.

And perhaps that is why the Nobel imagery fits: in a nation where democracy often seems fragile, the mere act of aspiring — again and again — may indeed be prizeworthy.