2027 this. 2027 that. That’s the chant now, isn’t it? Like a ritual hum of sleepwalkers convincing themselves salvation is a scheduled train. So you’ve all made the ‘indecision’ to wait? You’ve pre-justified your own impotence with ballots and prayer chains? You’ve convinced yourselves that four years of state-sanctioned rot is just a downpayment on deliverance?

Let’s be honest for once—by 2027, this country will be a smoking husk. And no, that’s not metaphor. That’s a forecast. By 2027, GDP might scrape $100 billion if we’re lucky. If we’re not, $40 billion. Divide that by 230 million people and you’re staring down a per capita GDP of what—$170? $80? Maybe $40 if the criminals in agbada continue their gullet-deep extraction unchecked. And they will. Why wouldn’t they? They’re not punished. They’re not resisted. They’re re-elected. Reinvited. Reinforced by the docility of a generation numbed by vibes and sport betting apps.

You talk of reforms. What reforms? The same financial elite that looted COVID relief funds are now managing your digital ID infrastructure, partnered with global surveillance peddlers and domestic thugs. You think your vote matters in a system where INEC is just another cartel office? You think your NIN or BVN is for ‘efficiency’? It’s a net. A panopticon. And you walked into it grinning.

In Zimbabwe, per capita GDP is more than triple Nigeria’s. Zimbabwe. The economic punchline of the 2000s. They’ve clawed their way to $2,700 per head. We’re freefalling. And yet you still sit, still chant, still hope—still wait for 2027 as if it’s an altar call.

There is no election coming that will save you. Not under this structure. Not with this elite. Not with this inertia baked into every institution. What’s coming is entropy. Decay. A total collapse dressed in the stale robes of democracy.

But don’t worry—come 2027, you can queue under the sun, wave plastic flags, take selfies with your oppressors, and call it freedom.

You’ll get the leadership you deserve. Again.