BY COLLINS OPUROZOR
“Fading away like the stars of the morning,
Losing their light in the glorious sun—
Thus would we pass from the earth and its toiling,
Only remembered by what we have done.”
On this day, May 5, we remember President Umaru Musa Yar’adua, who passed away in 2010. It has been fifteen years, yet his memory still stirs emotion and reflection across Nigeria. He was not a loud leader. He did not rule with bravado or theatrics. But he governed with a rare sense of honesty, humility, and purpose. In a country often disillusioned with its leaders, Yar’adua stood apart—quietly committed to the values of justice, rule of law, and service.
His presidency lasted barely three years, yet within that short time, he set out with clear intentions. He acknowledged, on inauguration day, that the election which brought him to power was flawed—a startling confession in a political environment where power was rarely questioned, let alone challenged. But that was Yar’adua: willing to look truth in the face, and to chart a path toward integrity even if it was politically inconvenient.
One of his most defining achievements was the Niger Delta Amnesty Programme. At a time when Nigeria’s oil-rich region was boiling over with violence, kidnappings, and oil theft, Yar’adua reached out with a plan—not just for peace, but for restoration. His offer of amnesty, reintegration, and skill acquisition to militants brought a measure of calm and allowed the economy to breathe again. It was not a perfect solution, but it was a courageous one.
He also championed electoral reform. Under his administration, the Justice Uwais Electoral Reform Committee was established—an unprecedented step toward cleansing Nigeria’s democratic process. His dream was to institutionalize a system that respected the people’s will, but he would not live to see those reforms fully implemented.
Yar’adua believed in the rule of law, and it showed. He respected judicial decisions, even when they went against his party’s interests. He did not weaponize anti-corruption institutions for political vendettas. His style was calm, principled, and deliberate. In an age of power struggles and political noise, his leadership felt like a whisper of what could have been—a vision of dignity in public office.
Yet, his time was short. Illness took him away while many of his plans were still in motion. His final months were clouded in uncertainty, secrecy, and political tension, but not by scandal or betrayal. When he died, the nation mourned not just a president, but a man whose heart was in the right place—a man whose footprints were beginning to show, before time erased the rest of the journey.
For a nation with an incredibly poor culture of celebrating stellar citizens, the memory of Yar’adua challenges us to rethink our priorities. And today, we ask ourselves: what remains of this icon we lost? Not monuments or grand speeches, but a lingering sense of possibility. A memory of a leader who tried to serve, who meant well, and who could have done so much more. He reminds us that leadership is not about the length of time, but the depth of impact. It is not about titles held, but lives touched.
As the hymn says, we shall be only remembered by what we have done. In remembering President Yar’adua, we are reminded of what is possible when power is held with conscience. May his memory continue to inspire leadership marked by humility, courage, and service.
