One Term. Five Years. Can Peter Obi Fix Nigeria in That Time?

By: Akinde S. Oluwaseun

It’s 2027. The air is thick with politics.

And Peter Obi? He’s still talking about one term.

No second run. No “I’ll stay if the people want me.” Just five years. Then out. Like a promise. A vow.

He said it in Bauchi, August 2025. Standing in a government house. Voice calm. Conviction sharp.

“We should stop having second terms,” he told Governor Bala Mohammed. “Let’s face the real job. Do it. And go.”

Simple. Bold. Almost… naive.

But some are listening. Others? They’re not buying it.

Kenneth Udeze, National Chairman of the Action Alliance, leans back and laughs. Not a laugh of mockery. More like pity.

“He’s trying to woo the North. The South. Everyone,” Udeze says. “He’s saying ‘I’ll serve only four years.’ But come on. In this country? People say things. Then they change their minds. Or someone whispers in their ear: ‘The people want you to stay.’ And suddenly, it’s not just about service anymore. It’s about power.”

Udeze doesn’t believe in the idea. Not really.

“Four years?” he asks. “Is that enough to fix insecurity? Corruption? The economy? The justice system? You can’t even predict what will happen in the first six months. One bomb here. Kidnapping there. A crisis every week. How do you plan?”

He pauses.

“And don’t forget—this country has been broken for decades. Not by one man. By many. From the grassroots up. So who’s going to fix it in four years? Who?”

Still, he admits: “If Obi wins, and keeps his word? Maybe it could work. But it’s not about the constitution. It’s about character. And we’ve seen too many promises.”

Then comes Chyma Anthony. Former APGA senatorial candidate. Imo East.

He’s not as skeptical.

“I don’t care where the president comes from,” he says. “I care about results. Nigeria isn’t working. Not in the North. Not in the South. Not anywhere.”

He talks about the child born today. In four years, that child is working. Making progress.

“So why can’t Nigeria?”

Anthony believes Obi can do it. Not because he’s from the Southeast. Not because he’s popular. But because he’s organized.

“He cost me an election,” Anthony says with a chuckle. “In 2023, I was running strong. Then Obi joined Labour. Suddenly, a PDP senator got the ticket. Won. Because of him.”

He shakes his head.

“But that’s not the point. The point is—he has followers. He moves people. And right now, Nigerians don’t care about tribe. They care about survival. About food. About safety.”

He points to the economy. To the currency.

“We have N1000 notes. N500. Why? Because people wanted to pack money. To launder it. But look at the US dollar. $100. Pound. £50. Euro. €50. No 100s. These currencies work. Ours? We’re drowning in paper.”

Then he gets serious.

“The North is tired. The South is frustrated. Tinubu? He won Lagos. But what’s happening now? Bandits. Fake drugs. GMO foods. Watermelons that aren’t real. Ginger so scarce… people dying from kidney failure.”

He stops. Breathes.

“People are dying every day. Not just from violence. From bad food. From bad medicine. From neglect.”

So yes. He thinks Obi can win.

Not just in 2027. But more importantly—can he deliver?

“If he goes head-to-head with Tinubu,” Anthony says, “he might just win. Not because of party. Not because of region. But because people are ready for change.”

And maybe, just maybe, a leader who says: “I’ll do my job. Then leave.”

That’s rare.

That’s dangerous.

That’s also… possible.