In the 65-year history of Nigeria’s independence, no First Lady had ever done it. Not in the heady days of independence, not during the turbulent military transitions, and not in the 25 years since the return to civilian rule. But 10 days ago and on a Friday evening, as lawmakers would typically be rushing to their constituencies, the entire National Assembly—from the Senate President to, as Godswill Akpabio would mischievously put it, “the youngest” member—gathered at the State House for dinner with Senator Remi Tinubu.
The unprecedented nature of the occasion wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. “A toad does not cross the road in the daytime for nothing,” Akpabio declared, invoking the ancient proverb with characteristic flair. “Something must be pursuing it.”
What was pursuing Nigeria’s lawmakers on this particular evening was history itself—and the possibility of becoming the generation that finally secured constitutional seats for women in the National Assembly.
For Senator Tinubu, the evening carried the warm nostalgia of homecoming. “This room is filled with familiar faces, colleagues and friends with whom I have debated, lobbied, disagreed at times, but ultimately, worked side by side to advance legislation that touches lives in all facets of our nation,” she told the assembled lawmakers, her voice carrying the authority of one who had sat where they now sit.
The First Lady’s invitation had created what Akpabio described as “excitement”—so much so that he had to announce daily that they would be meeting with her. “If your mother specially calls you to come, it simply means she has goodies for you,” he explained, triggering laughter across the room. His prediction of a “sumptuous meal” had even sparked social media commentary, which he addressed with good humour: “Even from the menu, you can see the food will be sumptuous to us. So I predicted it before coming here.”
But beneath the jokes and the anticipation of good food lay a more serious purpose. Nigeria was reeling from a week of devastating security challenges—kidnappings, killings, and the trauma of communities under siege. The juxtaposition of discussing legislative reform amid national crisis could have seemed tone-deaf. Instead, the speakers made it clear that the two issues were inextricably linked.
Senator Tinubu set the tone by addressing both challenges head-on. She spoke of the “assault” on the education of the girl child and the exploitation of boys through the Almajiri system—deprivations that left children vulnerable to extremist recruitment. “This is why we must prioritise reforms and restore dignity, provide safe learning environments and ensure every child has a fair chance to thrive,” she insisted.
The connection was clear: a nation that failed to secure half its population a seat at the decision-making table was also failing to protect its children.
Akpabio, despite his jovial opening, quickly pivoted to the gravity of the security situation. He recounted a 2012 visit to New York’s Bronx, where a single 24-hour period without a shooting was cause for celebration—a celebration cut short by gunfire just two minutes after midnight. “Whoever was planning the shooting missed it by two minutes because the person did not want them to have that record,” he noted, drawing a parallel to Nigeria’s current struggles.
But his message was ultimately one of defiance. “The devil you see today in Nigeria, you shall see them no more,” he declared, to resounding approval. The Senate, he announced, would designate kidnapping as terrorism, carrying a mandatory death sentence with no judicial discretion, no option of fine. “We must call a spade a spade.”
talking about the character of Nigeria, the makeup of Nigeria, and the fundamental aspect of that makeup is gender.”
It was a brilliant piece of legal reasoning that transformed what critics might dismiss as identity politics into constitutional imperative.
Speaker Tajudeen reinforced the argument with global evidence: “When women take part in security policymaking, countries adopt more effective strategies for prevention, community engagement, victim protection and long-term peace building.”
National Chairman of the APC, Professor Nentawe Goshwe Yilwatda opened with self-deprecating humor that drew chuckles across the room. “I’m the odd one out among the dignitaries,” he confessed, gesturing at the sea of current and former lawmakers surrounding him. “I have never been a lawmaker.”
But the party chairman quickly pivoted from jest to a pointed economic argument for women’s representation—one grounded not in constitutional theory or international best practices, but in household reality. “When a man gets money, some will head to a joint to spend it,” he observed, the knowing laughter suggesting his audience recognised the truth in the caricature. “But a woman will use that money to take care of the house.”
As the evening drew to a close and attention turned to what Gbajabiamila called “the less important part of the business”—the actual meal—a curious tension lingered. This was a gathering suffused with optimism, with speakers declaring the bill all but passed. Yet everyone present knew that constitutional amendments require two-thirds majorities in both chambers and approval from two-thirds of state houses of assembly.
Gbajabiamila himself had tried to pass a similar bill in the Ninth Assembly. “We came so close,” he recalled, “but close doesn’t cut it. They say nearly does not kill a bird.”
The First Lady had posed the question earlier: “Is this bill indeed possible to scale through? Yes, if not today, someday and absolutely so.” Then she added the challenge that hung over the entire evening: “But if we do this now, the 10th Assembly will go down in the history of our legislature as the set that stood for women when it counted the most.”
As legislators finally turned to their sumptuous meal—the promise of which had, after all, helped fill the room—they carried with them the weight of that possibility. History, having come to dinner, was now waiting to see if they would invite it to stay.
Whether Friday’s gathering becomes remembered as the night gender parity came to Nigeria’s democracy or merely as an excellent dinner with eloquent speeches will depend on what happens when the bill reaches the floor. But one thing is certain: Senator Remi Tinubu has rewritten the playbook on how First Ladies engage with the legislature.
And in a nation hungry for both reform and good news, that itself is no small achievement.
Tinubu’s Food Diplomacy: Night First Lady Treated Lawmakers To Sumptuous Dinner
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