El-Rufai Wants Answers From Ribadu: What’s This About a “Silent Killer” From Poland?

By: Abudu Olalekan

Nasir El-Rufai doesn’t do subtle. Never has, never will. So when he started hearing whispers—those specific kind of Abuja whispers that come with documents and dates—about a mysterious package coming into Nigeria, he didn’t just gossip about it at some political salon. No. He put pen to paper. Actually, fingers to keyboard probably. And he wrote to the one man who should have all the answers: Nuhu Ribadu, the National Security Adviser.

The letter? Dated January 30, 2026. It didn’t reach Ribadu’s office until February 11. Eleven days. Slow even by Nigerian bureaucratic standards. But then again, maybe they were busy. Busy with what, though?

Here’s where it gets dark. The package in question isn’t some routine security equipment or fancy spy gear. It’s Thallium Sulphate. And if you’re wondering what that is, well, Science Direct has a cheerful description: “highly toxic, tasteless, odourless, and colourless.” A crystalline powder that looks like table sugar but works like a ghost. Historically used for rat poison. And historically used for other things too. Things that don’t make it into official histories.

The fatal dose is tiny. Eight to twelve milligrams per kilogram of body weight. It sneaks into your system, mimics potassium, then destroys your nervous system from inside. Hair falls out. Organs fail. You die. Quietly. Without a trace. Perfect for a regime that wants problems to disappear.

El-Rufai’s letter, which Reportersroom obtained through channels we’d rather not discuss, is titled formally enough: “Request for Clarification on the Procurement of Thallium Sulphate.” But the content? It’s a political grenade wrapped in civic duty paper. The kind of letter that gets people killed or gets them elected. Sometimes both.

“I am writing as a concerned citizen,” he starts. Sure. And I’m writing as the Pope’s personal secretary.

He then lists six demands. Not questions—demands. What is the intended purpose? Who exactly is the supplier? What permits exist for this? How much was actually procured, and in what concentration? Where is it being stored? And what about oversight from NAFDAC, NCDC, and other agencies that should probably know if nerve poison is floating around Abuja?

“I want to stress that this inquiry is made in good faith,” he writes. He wants “due processes, safety standards, and transparency.” Says it strengthens “public confidence in our institutions.” The opposition leadership has this information too, he mentions. Almost as an afterthought. But it’s not an afterthought, is it? It’s the whole point.

For good measure, El-Rufai copied everyone who matters. NAFDAC’s DG. NCDC’s DG. The national chairmen of ADC and PDP. He’s building a paper trail wide enough for a presidential convoy. Nobody can say they weren’t warned.

Now the timing. This isn’t happening in vacuum. Just weeks ago, El-Rufai and Ribadu had that ugly scene at Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport. You remember. The one where El-Rufai claims Ribadu personally ordered his arrest. Claims someone tapped the NSA’s phone and got audio confirmation. Heavy, heavy stuff. The kind of claim that makes enemies for life.

So now this poison letter drops. Coincidence? In Nigerian politics? Please. I’ve seen coincidences here. They usually wear agbada and have security details.

Ribadu’s office hasn’t responded yet. Reportersroom reached out, got the usual “we’ll get back to you.” We’re still waiting. The silence is… well, it’s louder than a response would be. Silence means they’re thinking. Or they’re scrambling.

El-Rufai’s move is clever, you have to admit it. He can’t just accuse the NSA of plotting political murder on letterhead. That’s libel. That’s treason. That’s a good way to get poisoned yourself. But he can ask why the NSA is importing enough silent poison to kill a small village. He can ask about permits and safety protocols. He can frame it as concern for democracy. It’s beautiful, really.

The substance is restricted in most civilized countries for a reason. Poland, apparently, is the source. How does one even begin to procure such a thing? What diplomatic channels exist? What possible national security justification could there be? Unless the rats in Aso Rock have gotten very sophisticated.

El-Rufai wants a point of contact in Ribadu’s office. For “further engagement.” To “reassure those of us that are Nigerian citizens in opposition.” That last phrase is the key. He’s not asking as a citizen. He’s asking as the opposition. The “us” is doing a lot of work there.

The letter is a chess move in a game we can’t see the whole board of. Ribadu can ignore it, and look guilty as sin. He can answer it, and open a can of worms that might eat him alive. He can deny the procurement, but then how did El-Rufai—who’s not in government anymore—get such specific intel?

Someone’s lying. Maybe everyone is lying a little bit. That’s how this works.

For now, the ex-governor waits. The NSA waits. And ten kilograms of something deadly—maybe real, maybe not, maybe already here—hangs over Nigerian politics like a toxic cloud that nobody wants to acknowledge.

Reportersroom will keep digging. Because stories like this don’t end with a single letter. They end with either a major scandal, a series of unfortunate accidents, or a body count. Sometimes all three. And in Nigeria, we don’t have a great track record with these things ending well.

We reached out to former intelligence officials for context. One told us, off record of course, “If this is true, it’s either for rats or for men. And we don’t import rat poison from Poland.” He laughed after. It wasn’t a funny laugh.