The months preceding elections are busy periods in Nigeria. Thousands of candidates, representing tens of parties, vie for the attention and votes of millions of voters. In Nigeria’s mosaic of ethnic and religious groups, the electoral season invigorates identity politics and fuels narratives and counternarratives. Amid this season’s cacophony, a simple phrase—emi lokan—has risen above the fray. In direct translation, it means ‘it’s my turn’ in Yoruba, a language spoken largely among the Yoruba people of South Western Nigeria. Emi lokan owes its immortal place in the modern political discourse to Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

In early June 2022, Tinubu, a key political figure and now the official presidential aspirant (Nigerian for candidate) of the All Progressives Congress (APC), one of Nigeria’s two big political parties, gave a speech (more like a rant) to a gathering of APC politicians in Ogun State, a Yoruba heartland. Delivered ahead of the APC’s presidential primaries held the same month, the speech was likely intended as Tinubu’s pitch for why he should be the bearer of his party’s ticket, and if elected in February 2023, lead Nigeria for the next four years. His unique selling point in the speech, which was deliberately delivered in his native language and on Yoruba land, comes down to a simple message: it’s my turn, bring the presidency to me. He pared it down to the most essential bit, which he emphasized throughout the speech: emi lokan (it’s my turn).

Nigerian airwaves vibrated with frenzy when Tinubu’s pitch spilled beyond his intended audience, provoking a range of reactions among a population exhausted by the malign combo of a plague, economic decline, and growing insecurity. These reactions range between awe, derision and perhaps a collective sigh. Together, the significance of these responses have prompted Tinubu to double down, justifying his choice of phrase, location and language, and playfully citing its resonance with, and appropriation by, many (particularly by expectant Christians praying for divine intervention; Nigeria is a very religious nation).

Viewed superficially, the claim of emi lokan is a facile discourse of an entitled politician that merits nothing more than a disdainful dismissal. Many people have justifiably responded in this manner. A closer look, however, of Tinubu’s manifesto of entitlement, as I call it, reveals interesting insights about the logics of the claim and how they are entwined with a particular form of ethnic politics. This ethnic reading, based on factional struggles and interests, negates certain achievements in order to pursue and legitimize others. Moreover, responses to emi lokan—largely through humor and ridicule—suggests an active civic use of levity in critiquing the state and powerful elite. The use of such tactics (and also engaged silence) was  common in Nigeria’s dark days of military rule. Although important, the resort to ridicule signals a persisting lack of substantive avenues through which Nigerians assert democratic citizenship and shape the issues that affect their lives.