My Wife is a Pastor, I’m a Muslim: Tinubu’s Call for Religious Tolerance and the Challenge of Coexistence in Nigeria

On October 4, 2025, at the funeral service of Lydia Yilwatda, mother of All Progressives Congress (APC) national chairman Nentawe Yilwatda, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu stood before mourners and made a deeply personal appeal for religious tolerance. In a country often riven by faith-based divisions, his words resonated beyond the solemn ceremony.

“I inherited Islam from my family. I didn’t change. But my wife is a pastor. She prays for me. No conflict. And I never did, at any single time, try to convince her or convert her. I believe in the freedom of religion. We are praying to the same God. We are answerable to the same Almighty God,” he said.

For many Nigerians, Tinubu’s reflection was not merely political rhetoric but a rare glimpse into the interfaith dynamics within Nigeria’s First Family. His wife, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, First Lady of Nigeria, is an ordained pastor with the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG), while Tinubu himself is a devout Muslim. Their decades-long marriage across faith lines has stood as a living example of religious coexistence.

In this long-form feature, we explore the significance of Tinubu’s statement, its implications for Nigeria’s fragile religious harmony, and what it reveals about tolerance, identity, and the politics of faith in Africa’s most populous country.

Nigeria is Africa’s most populous nation, with an estimated 220 million people split almost evenly between Muslims and Christians. The north is predominantly Muslim, the south largely Christian, with pockets of indigenous religions still thriving. This demographic duality, while rich in cultural diversity, has also been the source of deep tension.

From the Maitatsine riots of the 1980s to Boko Haram’s insurgency in the northeast, religious conflict has often spilled into violence, claiming thousands of lives. At the grassroots level, interfaith marriages have frequently faced opposition, with some families disowning members who cross faith boundaries. Political elites have long navigated this delicate balance, with religion shaping electoral coalitions, appointments, and even constitutional debates.

Against this backdrop, Tinubu’s testimony is significant: he presents himself not just as a leader who preaches tolerance, but as one who lives it daily in his own household.

Tinubu’s marriage to Oluremi is more than personal—it is symbolic. Interfaith marriages are among the most visible sites of Nigeria’s religious complexities. For some, they represent hope: the possibility that love and mutual respect can transcend sectarian divides. For others, they spark suspicion, fear of religious dilution, or betrayal of family heritage.

The fact that Nigeria’s President can openly acknowledge his wife’s pastoral calling while affirming his own Islamic faith challenges narratives of exclusivity. It offers a model of coexistence: one prays in church, the other in mosque, but both share a family, a life, and a vision of service.

Sociologists argue that interfaith marriages, when successful, serve as grassroots peacebuilding mechanisms. They force dialogue, negotiation, and respect for difference. If embraced, they could serve as bridges in communities otherwise polarized by dogma.

Yet, Nigeria’s reality often contradicts this vision. Religion is frequently weaponized in politics. During campaigns, candidates are scrutinized for their faith backgrounds, with voters often aligning along sectarian lines. The controversy over Muslim-Muslim or Muslim-Christian presidential tickets remains a recurring theme in elections.

Tinubu himself faced criticism in 2023 for running alongside Kashim Shettima, another Muslim, as his vice-presidential candidate. His recent statement may thus serve as a soft counterbalance—an attempt to remind Nigerians that his personal life embodies interfaith tolerance, even if his political choices sparked debate.

The question remains: can a personal testimony be enough to influence national sentiment, or will entrenched suspicions continue to undermine unity?

Tinubu is not the first Nigerian leader to straddle faith lines in his personal or political life. Former President Goodluck Jonathan, a Christian, was married to Dame Patience Jonathan, also Christian, but often emphasized interreligious unity in governance. Olusegun Obasanjo, though a Christian, frequently sought counsel from Muslim leaders.

In northern Nigeria, several emirs and governors have also presided over diverse populations, necessitating dialogue between faiths. But what makes Tinubu’s reflection unique is its intimacy. It was not a policy speech, but a personal confession, given at a funeral, stripped of political theatrics.

Globally, many leaders have invoked interfaith harmony as a cornerstone of governance. India’s Mahatma Gandhi, though a devout Hindu, constantly engaged Muslims, Christians, and Sikhs, insisting on inclusivity. In the United States, Barack Obama often spoke about his Christian faith while acknowledging his father’s Muslim heritage.

Tinubu’s statement fits into this lineage: leaders using personal stories to model tolerance. Yet Nigeria’s challenge is deeper—its religious divides are not just ideological but violently entrenched. Unlike the U.S. or India, where pluralism is institutionalized, Nigeria still wrestles with the fundamentals of coexistence.

Religion in Nigeria is not just about spirituality; it is identity, community, and power. Churches and mosques are not merely places of worship but social safety nets, political mobilization centers, and sources of authority. In this context, religious tolerance goes beyond respecting personal beliefs—it touches on how communities share space, resources, and governance.

Tinubu’s call at the Yilwatda funeral was therefore both pastoral and political. It was a plea for Nigerians to move beyond dogma and embrace love as the foundation of coexistence. “H@te is not an option for us. Love is what we should preach,” he declared.

While inspiring, the road to genuine tolerance remains fraught. Consider these realities:

1. Education Disparities – Faith-based schools often reinforce sectarian divisions rather than interfaith understanding.
2. Legal Conflicts – The coexistence of Sharia law in northern states and secular law nationwide fuels disputes.
3. Violence and Terrorism – Groups like Boko Haram thrive on religious exclusivism, undermining tolerance efforts.
4. Marriage and Family Conflicts – Interfaith unions frequently face resistance from families and communities.

In each case, personal examples of tolerance like Tinubu’s are important, but structural reforms remain necessary.

Oluremi Tinubu’s role as both First Lady and pastor is crucial. As a spiritual leader in her own right, she embodies a unique bridge between Nigeria’s Muslim presidency and Christian communities. Her influence, especially among women and youth, can amplify her husband’s message of tolerance.

In Nigeria, women have historically been key mediators in intercommunal conflicts, often leading peace initiatives at grassroots levels. By openly embracing her faith alongside her husband’s, Oluremi demonstrates that difference need not mean division.

The larger question is whether Nigeria can transform personal testimonies into national ethos. Religious tolerance cannot be sustained on speeches alone—it requires institutional frameworks:

• Curriculum Reform – Embedding interfaith dialogue in education from primary to tertiary levels.
• Legal Safeguards – Stronger protection for freedom of religion and harsher penalties for hate speech.
• Civic Spaces – Encouraging interfaith councils, dialogues, and joint community projects.
• Leadership by Example – More political leaders openly embracing pluralism in their lives and governance.

If Nigeria can institutionalize tolerance, stories like Tinubu’s will no longer be exceptions but norms.

President Bola Tinubu’s statement at Lydia Yilwatda’s funeral may seem like a passing anecdote, but its resonance lies in its simplicity. At a time when Nigeria remains vulnerable to religious suspicion, violence, and manipulation, his words were a reminder that tolerance begins not in legislation but in homes, families, and personal relationships.

“My wife is a pastor, I’m a Muslim,” he said—not as a boast, but as testimony. A testimony that coexistence is possible, that faith need not divide, and that love can anchor even the most unlikely unions.

For Nigeria, the challenge is clear: to build a society where difference is not a threat, but a gift; where religion is not a weapon, but a bridge; and where, like the First Family, Nigerians of all faiths can coexist, pray for one another, and work toward a shared destiny.