By Ewere Okonta
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Let’s be honest: Nigeria is not short of men in power. We see them every day — in the news, in convoys, in committee hearings, and on our social media feeds, giving long speeches and cutting short the hopes of the people they swore to serve. They speak of integrity and legacy, yet their private lives are war zones. Their homes are broken, their children are lost, and their hearts are empty. But the real question we’re not asking enough is this: Who raised these men?
This Sunday, we’re not preaching from Mount Morality. No. We’re sitting down at the family dining table — the one that’s been empty for years — to have a brutally honest conversation. Because before we talk about good governance, we need to talk about failed fatherhood. Before we scream “leadership failure,” let’s whisper the truth that many are afraid to admit: When fathers forfeit their role, society fails. Full stop.
A lot of the men occupying high places today were raised by televisions, housemaids, Instagram trends, and surviving mothers. Their fathers were either physically absent or emotionally unavailable — present in the house, yes, but permanently tuned out. These boys grew up in homes where silence was louder than guidance, where their questions were answered with “Go and ask your mother,” and their tears met with, “Are you not a man?”
They were taught to suppress, not process. So, they became grown men in suits with the emotional maturity of wounded teenagers. And now, we’ve handed these men the steering wheel of a nation.
Have you noticed something? The same man who can’t keep a home wants to keep a nation. The same man who has never apologized to his child wants to negotiate peace in the Senate. The same man who can’t mentor his son now wants to lead a youth empowerment initiative.
What kind of madness is this?
And let’s talk lifestyle — oh yes, let’s go there. You see these boys — and I say boys, not men — parading in clubs from Abuja to Lekki, wearing N700k designer shirts, driving SUVs their fathers bought, and thinking that manhood is measured in horsepower and champagne. Many of them can’t hold a conversation deeper than sports betting or waistlines, yet they call themselves “kings.”
But here’s the twist: it’s not their fault alone. Society raised them to think that money equals manhood. Their fathers modeled power, not presence. Their mothers, God bless them, did what they could — but you cannot give full fatherhood from half a heart still nursing wounds.
And the politicians? Oh, they’re just grown versions of these same boys — in agbadas, now making laws for us. They show up in churches with their retinue of praise-singers, dropping fat offerings while ignoring their own daughters who haven’t spoken to them in years. They want to govern Nigeria when they haven’t governed themselves.
Let’s get it straight: Leadership begins in the living room. If a man cannot manage his own household, what gives him the moral right to manage a constituency? If he cannot raise a respectful, emotionally sound child, what makes him qualified to shape policies for an entire generation?
And let’s not act like it’s only about politicians. This is about all of us — men, women, parents, and guardians. It’s about how we’re raising the next generation of Nigerians. Because here’s the brutal truth: a fatherless home creates a leaderless nation.
Dear fathers, this is your call to step up. Not just to pay bills and post birthday wishes. But to be truly present — in your children’s lives, their pain, their process, their becoming. Be the first man your daughter trusts. Be the role model your son imitates, not the one he’s praying never to become.
And mothers, continue to hold the fort, yes. But don’t do it alone. Let’s demand more from the men who help make these children. Let’s raise a generation that knows love, structure, guidance, and humility — not just luxury and loudness.
Because the revival we cry for in Nigeria will not come from the altar or the ballot box first. It must begin at home — in our marriages, in our parenting, and in the choices we make behind closed doors.
So, next time you ask, “What is wrong with Nigeria?” Maybe ask instead:
Who raised these men?
And even more urgently…
Who is raising the next ones?
This is my Sunday sermon from my holy pulpit!
This Sunday sermon is part of our ongoing series on navigating life’s toughest questions through the lens of faith, family, and modern realities. Share it. Live it. Let it stir something in you.
Ewere Okonta is the CEO of EOB Media. He is a family values advocate. He writes from the Department of Business Administration, University of Delta, Agbor
gts2007students@gmail.com