There are many Nigerians who have sold their souls to the Americans.
They are intelligence assets.
They gather information for U.S. interests and report to intelligence stations in Lagos and Abuja. This is not imagination or paranoia. This is how intelligence operations work in countries where institutions are weak, discipline is absent, and elites are desperate to feel important.
For years, it has been suspected and alleged that Bola Tinubu was one such asset. It has been widely stated that a former deputy governor of Lagos said Tinubu was at the American Embassy once a week, even while serving as governor. These allegations have never been properly investigated or transparently addressed. What is certain is that the Americans have extensive information on him. Relationships of that nature never exist without leverage.
Once you cross that line, you are compromised. Permanently.
I know this world personally.
My father was Chief Godfrey Kio JaJa Amachree, QC. He lived in McLean, Virginia. Langley, the headquarters of the CIA, was practically next door. He moved easily in American political and corporate circles, but he was never owned by them.
He was Chairman of Philip Morris. He was married to an American citizen. He served at the United Nations as an Under-Secretary-General. During the Nigerian Civil War, he was Special Envoy to General Gowon to the United States, tasked with keeping the United States firmly on the side of Nigeria and preventing international drift against the Federal Government. He owned an oil company that worked closely with Chevron. He was Chairman of Seagram. He sat on the board of Foster Wheeler. The Americans knew him well.
And yet, he despised intelligence games.
He did not like spies. He did not like manipulation. And he had absolute contempt for Nigerians who sold their country for dollars, visas, and invitations to embassy parties. It angered him deeply.
I saw this clearly one day in his law chambers.
There was a very popular lawyer there. A good man. Well liked. I admired him. Year after year, my father passed him over for partnership. Eventually, I asked him why. I asked why he kept overlooking this man and whether he disliked him.
My father told me it had nothing to do with dislike. He said the man talked too much. He liked attending parties at the American Embassy. He drank too much. And when he drank, he talked. He talked to American spies. He told them things they did not need to know.
“That is why I cannot make him a partner,” my father said.
Remember, this was a man who was firmly in the American camp. And even he would not tolerate Nigerians who casually handed over information for access and approval.
When I was at the University of Pennsylvania, they approached me as well. They offered perks, access, protection, and importance. They regarded me as an ideal recruit: Ivy League educated, African, and the son of a prominent Nigerian they already knew well from his United Nations and diplomatic work.
What they wanted was simple. Information. Cooperation. Loyalty.
I said no.
They thought I was crazy. They told me people do not say no to these offers. But I understood what they hoped I would not: selling your soul is irreversible. Once you compromise your loyalty, they own you. They have you by the balls for the rest of your life. Worse still, their enemies know exactly who you are. There are no secrets in that world. Only permanent files.
My father despised the CIA, and I was not about to get sucked into that trap. After what they did to the Shah of Iran and his wife—close friends of my godmother—I knew better. Intelligence agencies do not have friends. Ask the Shah. Ask Saddam Hussein. Ask Osama bin Laden. They use people and discard them when convenient.
I saw how ruthless this world could be during my national service, when I worked in the President’s office and around the Senate President.
One morning, my friend Anthony George Ikoli, who later became Attorney General of Bayelsa State and a prominent lawyer, was walking around the office visibly shaken. Ikoli was never unhappy. I asked him what was wrong. He told me his younger brother, who was studying at Harvard University, had been found dead in his apartment. He was sitting on the toilet. There were no signs of criminality. No struggle. Just a young, fit man, dead.
Ikoli told us that because his brother was studying nuclear science, his family believed American intelligence services were responsible. They believed the United States did not want a developing country like Nigeria producing nuclear scientists who could one day help build a nuclear weapon, the way Pakistan had done.
We all stood there in silence. No one laughed. No one dismissed the possibility. I remember thinking to myself: thank God I have nothing to do with those people.
This is how powerful and ruthless they are.
During my service, I also saw how dangerously exposed Nigeria really was. Top-secret documents circulated freely. Files meant only for the president were casually accessible. There was no real security. When I raised concerns, I was asked for money for food. “Oga, I don hungry” mattered more than national security.
At twenty-two, I learned a hard truth: in Nigeria, there are no secrets. Absolutely none.
This is why foreign intelligence agencies thrive here. They do not need coups. They do not need invasions. They buy access. They buy people. Nigerians will do anything to feel important, to be praised, to be close to power, to receive free money and attention. Many leaders sold their country a long time ago just to feel like one of the boys.
But they are never one of the boys.
They are lackeys.
Disposable.
Thrown away like used razor blades.
I heard the names. I heard them at dinner tables in London. I heard them from people in intelligence circles. Nigerians they own. Nigerians they made. Nigerians they can destroy at any time. Abiola was an asset. They did not save him when they could have. Once your own country believes you have sold out to a foreign power, you are finished.
I remember speaking to Shinkafi, the former head of the NSO, during my service. He told me it was a good thing I said no. He said if I had agreed, he would have found out and I would have been a liability. He said I was my father’s son.
Today, this influence has moved online. On social media, it is easy to spot American bots and proxies. Speak against American actions, including recent bombings, and they attack instantly. Coordinated. Aggressive. Designed to intimidate and silence.
Now Nigerians should watch their president carefully. Watch what he does for his masters in Washington. Because a compromised man does not act in the interest of his people. He acts to protect himself.
Selling your soul is the beginning of slavery.
And Nigeria is paying the price.
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