Beyond the Brotherly Brawl, What the El-Rufai Family Feud Really Reveals

By Al-Amin Ciroma

There are family quarrels, there are political quarrels, and then there are those uniquely Nigerian quarrels in which nobody is quite sure where the family ends and politics begins.

The latest episode in the El-Rufai household belongs firmly in the third category.

What began as a public exchange between Bashir El-Rufai and his brother, Mohammed Bello El-Rufai, has provided Kaduna politics with something it rarely lacks, drama. Only this time, the protagonists are not the usual political heavyweights standing behind microphones at a rally. They are brothers, armed with smartphones, memories and very different interpretations of what political loyalty ought to mean.

Bashir's latest broadside against Bello, in which he accused his brother of working for Kaduna State Governor Uba Sani, would ordinarily qualify as a family matter.

But there is one small problem. This is the El-Rufai family. And in Kaduna politics, the El-Rufai name has never been an ordinary family name.

For almost a decade, Nasir El-Rufai was one of the dominant figures in Kaduna's political environment. His administration was defined by an unmistakable style, a formidable political network and an equally unmistakable confidence in its own convictions.

When he left office in 2023, however, the political story did not end. Mallam Uba Sani, his successor, inherited the office, but apparently not the political harmony.

The relationship between the former governor and his successor subsequently deteriorated into a public political dispute, with both camps offering their own versions of what went wrong.

Now, in what looks increasingly like the extended-family edition of that political dispute, the sons are providing a new chapter.

And there is something almost Shakespearean about the whole affair, except the fact we all know, that Shakespeare did not have X.

The extraordinary thing about the latest exchange is not really that two brothers disagreed. Brothers disagree every day. Some disagree over inherited property, some over who should pay the electricity bill and others over who ate the last piece of meat.

The El-Rufai version comes with political history attached.

Bello has a political history with Uba Sani. Before becoming a federal lawmaker, he worked within Sani's political structure. That relationship did not begin yesterday, nor was it created by the current disagreement between Sani and Nasir El-Rufai.

This is precisely where the argument becomes politically interesting.

Bashir appears to view that association through the prism of loyalty to the family and its political history. Bello, on the other hand, has his own political trajectory and has demonstrated that his political relationships cannot simply be erased because the political weather changed.

And therein lies the Nigerian political paradox.

We speak endlessly about loyalty in politics, but rarely agree on whom the politician is supposed to be loyal to.

The man who gave him a political opportunity? The family that raised him? The party? The electorate? The godfather? The governor...?

Or perhaps, as the more cynical observers might suggest, to whichever political arrangement still has electricity and fuel in the generator.

That is the uncomfortable joke buried inside this family drama.

Political loyalty in Nigeria can sometimes resemble a tenancy agreement. It is permanent until circumstances change.

For Bashir, Bello's association with Sani appears to carry one meaning.

For Bello, it may carry another.

For the public, however, the spectacle raises a larger question: is this really a disagreement between two brothers, or is it evidence of a deeper argument over the political inheritance of the El-Rufai era?

That question deserves more attention than the insults.

Political dynasties rarely collapse with a bang. Sometimes they fragment quietly. An ally moves away. A successor establishes his own network. Former loyalists find new political homes. Family members choose different sides. Eventually, what once looked like one formidable political machine becomes several smaller engines, each insisting that it still has the original key.

That may be what makes the current El-Rufai family exchange so revealing. The issue is not simply whether Bello is close to Uba Sani.

The issue is whether the political legacy of Nasir El-Rufai can remain a single inheritance when those around it no longer agree on who should carry it, defend it or define it.

And perhaps that explains the emotional temperature of the exchanges.

Politics is rarely about today alone. It is about yesterday's debts, tomorrow's ambitions and the fear that somebody else may rewrite the history in between.

There is also an irony in the fact that the political disagreement between the former governor and his successor has now produced a second-generation subplot.

The father and his former political heir fell out. Now the sons appear to be arguing over the consequences. One can almost imagine the political family meeting.

Agenda item one: Kaduna.

Agenda item two: loyalty.

Agenda item three: who is loyal to whom?

Agenda item four: why is everybody discussing the previous three items on social media?

Of course, real politics is never that simple.

Bello is not merely somebody's son. He is a politician with his own career and constituency. Bashir is not merely somebody's brother. He has developed his own public political voice and has repeatedly demonstrated his willingness to enter the arena.

That distinction matters.

The danger in treating the episode purely as a family quarrel is that it trivialises what could be a significant political development.

The El-Rufai political brand has already passed through one major transition, from the father who occupied Government House to the successor who now controls it.

The next transition may be even more complicated: the transition from a political family speaking largely through one dominant figure to individual family members developing distinct political identities.

That is where the story becomes bigger than Bashir versus Bello.

It becomes a question of political succession, identity and ownership of a legacy.

Who owns the El-Rufai political brand? The father? The sons? The former allies? The politicians who benefited from the administration? The people who still believe in its philosophy?

Or, as politics often eventually decides, whoever can persuade enough voters that he represents the future rather than the past?

Kaduna has seen enough political history to know that political friendships are rarely permanent and political enemies are rarely permanent either.

Today's adversary can become tomorrow's ally. Yesterday's ally can become today's target. And the person accused of betrayal today may eventually be introduced tomorrow as a “distinguished political associate.”

Nigerian politics has a very flexible dictionary.

That is why the El-Rufai brothers' exchange should not be consumed merely as social-media entertainment.

There is humour in it, certainly. There is also political significance.

Behind the banter is an argument about loyalty. Behind the loyalty argument is an argument about history. Behind the history is an argument about influence. And behind the influence is the inevitable question of what remains of a political structure when its founder is no longer in Government House.

That is the real drama. The brothers may be exchanging words today, but Kaduna's political class will be watching for something much more consequential: whether the El-Rufai political house can accommodate different loyalties without eventually producing different political houses.

For now, the family appears to have discovered a new way of holding a political meeting. No conference table. No minutes. No communiqué. Just X.

And, judging by the latest exchange, the minutes are already public. The irony is delicious.

A political family that spent years helping shape Kaduna's political conversation may now be discovering that its most revealing political conversations are taking place among its own sons.

Perhaps that is the final lesson from this curious family affair.

In Nigerian politics, blood may make people brothers. But politics has a peculiar way of asking the more dangerous question:

When loyalty is tested, which comes first, the family name or the political future?

Kaduna may yet provide the answer.