In the swirling cauldron of Nigerian politics, where ambition meets mysticism, few figures have stirred as much controversy—and outright ridicule—as Primate Elijah Ayodele, the self-proclaimed prophet of the INRI Evangelical Spiritual Church.
Known for his annual barrage of prophecies that read like a tabloid fever dream, Ayodele has built a cottage industry around doomsaying.
But let’s cut through the incense: many of these “revelations” are less divine downloads and more political fanfiction, often laced with ethnic bias.
His latest salvo? A venomous tirade against the Igbo tribe’s legitimate quest for political inclusiveness, claiming they’re “the problem of Nigeria,” “desperate for power,” and under a “curse” that bars them from the presidency unless reversed.
This isn’t prophecy; it’s a recycled hoax, weaponized to stoke tribal fires ahead of the 2027 elections.
And with a track record of epic misses, it’s high time Ayodele trades the altar for an antimalarial regimen—his “visions” smell suspiciously like untreated hallucinations.
A Litany of Political Flops: When “God Said” Meets Reality’s Brick Wall
Ayodele’s prophecies aren’t just wrong; they’re spectacularly, entertainingly off-base, especially when politics enters the frame.
Former presidential spokesperson Femi Adesina once cataloged eight glaring whiffs, painting a portrait of a man who invokes the divine to peddle partisan wishes.
Take the 2015 elections: Ayodele boldly declared Goodluck Jonathan the winner, only for Muhammadu Buhari to sweep in with a mandate that echoed across the nation.
He doubled down, prophesying a “narrow” PDP victory in Kaduna—spoiler: the APC crushed it, leaving Ayodele’s crystal ball in shards.
Fast-forward to 2023, and the pattern persists like a bad rerun. Ayodele foresaw a tribunal loss for Atiku Abubakar but insisted Peter Obi “cannot be President,” conveniently ignoring the Labour Party’s surge.
He predicted a political coup against Bola Tinubu—crickets.
Even sports aren’t safe: He warned the Super Eagles wouldn’t clinch the AFCON but couldn’t name a winner, turning what could have been a half-right guess into a full farce.
And globally? He bet on Kamala Harris toppling Donald Trump in 2024—Trump’s back in the White House, while Ayodele’s “spirit” is nursing a bruised ego.
Social media echoes this skepticism. X users roast him relentlessly: “Primate Ayodele with his litany of fake and failed prophecies should not be taken seriously,” one pastor lamented, tying it to his anti-Igbo bigotry.
Another quipped, “Every of his prophecy is fake!! How dare him insult Igbos his superior?”
Even Nairaland threads dissect his 2025 “jokes” as prophecies, from Tinubu’s alleged poisoning to economic Armageddon—none of which have materialized as the year drags on.
These aren’t isolated slips; they’re a systemic failure. Ayodele churns out hundreds annually, cherry-picking vague hits (like Israel-Palestine tensions) while burying the misses under a mountain of noise.
Critics like Adesina argue it’s not incompetence but deception: “Primate Ayodele is a false prophet,” with a “long list of failed prophecies” that undermines his credibility.
In a nation weary of clerical grifters, this isn’t harmless entertainment—it’s a distraction from real governance.
The Igbo “Curse”: Recycling Hoaxes to Sabotage Inclusiveness
Now, enter Ayodele’s freshest outrage: a November 15, 2025, video where he brands Igbos as Nigeria’s “problem,” cursed doomsayers hell-bent on seizing power “at all cost.”
He warns they “cannot control Nigeria” without breaking this ethereal hex, conveniently timed as Igbo leaders push for equitable rotation of the presidency—a fair ask after decades of marginalization post-Biafra.
This isn’t revelation; it’s regurgitation. Ayodele’s playbook is clear: Amplify ethnic fears to curry favor with power brokers.
Remember his 2023 claim that Orji Uzor Kalu must snag Senate President or “Igbo will be in trouble”? Kalu lost, yet here we are—no cosmic backlash, just business as usual.
Or his 2024 referendum prophecy splitting Nigeria—pure fearmongering, echoing his debunked 2035-2040 disintegration rant.
The Igbo quest isn’t “desperation”—it’s justice. Since 1966, no Igbo has held the presidency, fueling calls for zoning to heal old wounds.
Ayodele’s “curse” narrative? It’s the same hoax he deploys against rivals: Vague, unverifiable, and ethnically tinted. X lit up with backlash, one user calling it “plain bigotry” and “hate speech, not divine truth.”
Another: “It is very unfortunate that a supposed ‘Christian cleric’ will use the altar of his god for bigotry.”
In a diverse federation like Nigeria, such rhetoric isn’t prophetic—it’s poisonous. It distracts from inclusiveness, propping up the status quo where power clings to familiar hands.
Hallucinations on the Horizon: Malaria Meds or Media Mogul Makeover?
At this point, one can’t help but wonder: Is Ayodele channeling the Almighty, or is it the ague talking? Nigeria’s malaria belt breeds vivid fevers, and his escalating “visions”—from poisoned presidents to cursed tribes—feel like delirium dialed up for clicks.
His church thrives on these spectacles, raking in tithes from the gullible while politicians nod along for the optics.
Enough. Primate Ayodele, shelve the prophecies and stock up on artemether-lumefantrine.
Your hallucinations are hitting too hard, too often—especially when they target the Igbo’s rightful push for a seat at the table.
Nigeria deserves discourse, not division dressed as divinity. If “God” keeps whispering the same failed scripts, maybe it’s time to change the channel. Or, better yet, the prescription.
Pamela O. writes from Lagos.
