Even if Tinubu is in France and Wike is in London receiving care, there is nothing dishonorable in falling ill—they are human, like all of us. What is truly unsettling is the persistent silence and lack of transparency that keeps Nigerians uninformed and excluded from the realities of those who lead them.

Nigerians were told that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu would be in France on a “working holiday.” Yet, circulating reports, long-standing suspicions, and commentary from figures like Omoyele Sowore strongly suggest that the trip may be medical in nature. Around the same period, Nyesom Wike, Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), was seen visibly limping within Nigeria, sparking concern about his health. Shortly after, he reportedly traveled to London, where he is believed to have hosted the 27 suspended Rivers State legislators. If Wike has gone abroad to seek neurological or related treatment, that is understandable and well within the human experience. After all, these men—whether they sit in Aso Rock or preside over federal appointments—are still human beings. They are not immune to the physical and mental pressures that come with life and public service. There is nothing wrong with needing rest, care, or treatment. Illness is not a scandal—it is a fact of existence.

What is troubling, however, is not the fact of illness itself, but the manner in which public officials in Nigeria—just as in many African nations—treat health-related information as a state secret. The deliberate silence, calculated deflections, and vague explanations only further alienate the public and promote distrust. This pattern of secrecy is a deeply ingrained tradition in African political culture, where leaders often choose silence over transparency and image over accountability. This silence does not project strength; instead, it suggests insecurity, elitism, and a complete disregard for the public’s right to know. Leaders forget that the people they govern are not foolish. They observe. They analyze. And when there is no information, they fill the gaps with speculation. The result is unnecessary anxiety, misinformation, and a growing distance between citizens and those in power.

The case of Tinubu mirrors a recurring pattern seen during the administrations of former President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua and President Muhammadu Buhari. Both men faced major health crises while in office, yet the public was kept in the dark until situations worsened or could no longer be hidden. Tinubu’s previous trips to France, often labeled “private visits,” have long been suspected to be medically motivated. This current visit, under the label of a “working holiday,” echoes the same lack of candor. Nigerians are right to be skeptical. When a president is absent or unwell, it is not merely a private matter—it affects national decision-making, leadership continuity, and governance stability.

Similarly, the public appearance of Wike, visibly limping before his travel to London, raised natural concern. As a senior government official, his health is of public interest—not for sensationalism, but for assurance. His reported engagements abroad with Rivers State legislators, despite his physical state, further fueled curiosity. And yet, his camp has remained silent, offering no general update or clarity to the public. Nigerians are left watching blurry video clips, comparing walking patterns, and speculating on what should be addressed simply and respectfully. This is a psychological burden no citizenry should have to bear. In democratic governance, silence from power breeds fear and suspicion, not confidence.

The truth is, this issue is not political—it is psychological. It speaks to how a government respects or disregards the mental and emotional reality of its people. Psychological transparency matters. Leaders must not only appear accountable—they must be accountable. When they vanish without explanation or appear visibly unwell without acknowledgment, it signals that they owe no answers. It reinforces the dangerous idea that public servants serve only themselves. This is a crisis of trust. And Nigeria has seen it far too often. From Yar’Adua’s disappearance to Saudi Arabia, to Buhari’s extended medical stays in the UK, to this very moment with Tinubu and Wike—the cycle continues. A culture of concealment remains intact, while the public remains in the dark.

This must change. Holding public office comes with public responsibility. Tinubu and Wike are not private businessmen; they are public figures, carrying the hopes and mandates of millions. When a public official’s health directly impacts their ability to lead, the people deserve a general update. Nigerians are not asking for hospital charts or personal diagnoses. They are not demanding intimate medical details. All they want is a simple, respectful, and honest acknowledgment—something like: “Yes, I am currently receiving care; I remain stable and able to fulfill my duties.” That statement alone would reduce tension and restore calm. It is not hard. It is basic leadership.

In many real democratic nations, periodic health updates from public officials—especially heads of state—are the norm. In the United States, presidents undergo regular medical checkups, and the results are shared publicly in summary. In France, Germany, Canada, and other functioning democracies, transparency around a leader’s health is not seen as an intrusion, but as a necessary part of public service. This openness does not weaken leadership; it reinforces it. It builds trust. It affirms that the people matter and that the government has nothing to hide. The same standard should apply in Nigeria. There is nothing African or noble about secrecy.

Speaking openly about one’s health is not a sign of weakness—it is a sign of responsibility. It humanizes the leader and connects them with the people they serve. When citizens know their leaders are not gods, but humans doing their best, it creates empathy, not mockery. The current trend of silence, evasion, and image-protection only widens the emotional gap between Nigeria’s rulers and its people. And over time, that silence becomes noise—noise filled with rumors, conspiracy theories, and public resentment.

Even if Tinubu is in France receiving treatment… even if Wike is limping through London for medical reasons… there is nothing shameful about that. What is shameful is the state-sponsored silence that turns human vulnerability into political taboo. Nigerians deserve more than staged appearances and cryptic statements. They deserve a government that treats them with dignity—by simply telling them the truth.

As the writer and a psychologist, I must be clear: I do not know if either Tinubu or Wike is receiving medical attention while in France or London. I do not know if that is even the case. But assuming they are taking time for medical follow-up or recovery, I see absolutely nothing wrong with that. What I do wish, however, is that Nigeria’s healthcare system was strong and reliable enough that no leader—or citizen—would feel the need to travel abroad for care.

Let us hope that both men return looking well. No more signs of visible fatigue on President Tinubu’s face. No more limping or struggling movements from Minister Wike. Whatever their conditions may be, I simply wish them well as humans.

But when power limps—whether physically or metaphorically—the people should not be left in the dark. They deserve to be told something—something honest, something respectful, and something true.

This writer does not know any of the individuals involved; the focus is solely on upholding democracy, truth, and justice.