Timeframe: November 2018 – December 2019
Location: London studios / Aso Rock / Warsaw press
pit
Key Actors: Nnamdi Kanu, President Muhammadu Buhari,
Lai Mohammed, global fact-checkers
Epigraph:
“It is real me, I assure you. I will soon celebrate my 76th birthday
and I will still go strong.”
— President Muhammadu Buhari responding to clone rumors in Kraków, 2
December 2018 [1].
The Camera Lens
On a winter night in London, Radio Biafra broadcast something closer to stand-up comedy than political theory. Kanu unfurled a laminated chart comparing President Buhari’s earlobes before and after his prolonged medical trip to the UK. He christened the “new” president Jubril Al-Sudani, an imaginary Sudanese body double allegedly imported by a cabal. The satire was outrageous—and oddly effective. Within days, the question “Is Buhari a clone?” moved from fringe WhatsApp groups to prime-time news tickers, forcing the commander-in-chief of Africa’s largest army to defend his biological authenticity on foreign soil.
The Disinterested Observer must note that Kanu never produced forensic evidence of an impostor. Instead, he relied on the theatre of doubt. He zoomed into photographs, pointed at altered veins, and compared gait patterns like a tabloid detective [2]. The performance weaponized Nigeria’s opaque governance: because presidential health records were state secrets, any gap could be filled with conspiracy. The satire also forced the State into a communication dilemma—ignore it and let the rumor fester, or respond and dignify it.
The Ministry of Information chose the latter. Lai Mohammed held a press briefing labeling the claim “idiotic,” inadvertently amplifying it. International fact-checkers from AFP, Africa Check, and the BBC churned out explainers debunking the theory, but by then the meme had achieved its objective: it made the Presidency seem insecure and reactive.
When Buhari traveled to Poland for the UN Climate Change Conference (COP24), the Nigerian delegation prepared for policy meetings, not genetics questions. Yet during a side session in Kraków, the President preempted journalists by saying, “It is real me.” Global outlets carried the clip, often with bemused headlines. Back home, social media erupted—not because people genuinely believed in a clone, but because the State appeared ridiculous. Kanu’s satire had collapsed the distance between diaspora radio drama and presidential protocol [3].
The opposition capitalized on the narrative during the 2019 election cycle. Campaign rallies flashed placards reading “We want the real Buhari.” The All Progressives Congress (APC) spent valuable airtime rebutting rumors instead of touting achievements. By the time the vote was over, the satire had already achieved what Kanu wanted: it had delegitimized the aura of invincibility surrounding the Presidency and proved that a microphone in exile could yank Aso Rock onto the defensive.
The “Jubril” saga revealed that legitimacy is not just about ballots—it’s about narrative dominance. Kanu’s satire exploited a vacuum: when governments operate behind medical secrecy and propaganda walls, satire becomes investigative journalism by other means. The Presidency won the fact-check but lost the vibe war. Every time Buhari or Lai Mohammed addressed the rumor, the diaspora broadcaster scored another point. In an age where memes can destabilize ministries, the body-double joke was less about cloning and more about cloning doubt.