Once upon a campaign trail, Kashim Shettima roared like a lion. He was bold, brash, and famously declared that “nice men should be selling ice cream,” not running Nigeria. The jab, aimed at then-Vice President Yemi Osinbajo, was meant to paint Shettima as the rugged alternative, a man of steel in a political jungle of soft-serve personalities.
Fast forward to 2025, and the lion seems to have traded his roar for ribbon-cutting scissors and banquet hall RSVPs.
Since assuming office, Shettima has become the official representative of the president at every event that involves:
- Commissioning buildings he didn’t design
- Attending weddings he wasn’t invited to
- Delivering keynote addresses with more “Your Excellencies” than actual content
He’s been spotted more often at gala dinners than policy briefings, leading many to wonder: is he Nigeria’s Vice President or the nation’s most overqualified usher?
In a twist of poetic justice, the man who once mocked Osinbajo for being “too nice” now finds himself in a role that demands… well, niceness. Diplomacy, decorum, and the ability to smile through endless photo ops. The same traits he once dismissed now seem to be his daily bread, and puff-puff.
Rumor has it, he’s even been offered ice cream at multiple state functions. Sources say he politely declined, but the symbolism wasn’t lost on anyone.
While President Tinubu continues to dominate headlines with reforms, international trips, and economic declarations, Shettima’s voice has become a whisper in the wind. His most viral moment this year? A speech at Davos where he said Nigeria is “open for business”, a line so generic it could’ve been copy-pasted from a tourism brochure.
Gone are the days of mismatched suits and fiery soundbites. Today’s Shettima is polished, presentable, and profoundly… quiet.
Will the Vice President reclaim his voice and remind Nigerians why he was once considered a political heavyweight? Or will he continue his transformation into the nation’s most eloquent party guest?
Only time will tell. But one thing’s for sure: in Nigerian politics, the ice cream always melts faster than the promises.