Behold, the once-glowing beacon of governance in Abuja—the Presidential Villa—was plunged into darkness. Not metaphorically this time (although there’s an argument to be made), but literally. The theft of 40 meters of power cables supplying electricity to the nerve center of Nigeria’s political power left its occupants fumbling for flashlights and wondering what it felt like to live like the average Nigerian. Spoiler alert: it’s not fun.

How poetic that the very symbol of power became powerless, brought low not by international intrigue or high-level espionage, but by the humble efforts of vandals armed with wire cutters and a keen eye for scrap metal profits. The Presidential Villa shared a fate long familiar to Nigerians: a sudden, inexplicable blackout and a half-hearted assurance that someone, somewhere, was working to fix it.

But let us hope that the bandits roaming the nation, who have already turned highways and villages into theaters of terror, don’t see this successful act of vandalism as a sign of weakness. What happens if they, emboldened by this small victory, decide to extend their reach into the very corridors of power? One shudders to imagine the day when the Presidential Villa’s occupants might find themselves negotiating not with world leaders, but with bandits demanding ransom.

Yet this moment should be a sobering experience for our rulers. For years, they have been insulated from the sufferings of the masses—epileptic power supply, insecurity, hunger, and roads more cratered than the moon. But now, as they sat in candlelit rooms, sweating in the heat and straining to hear the hum of a distant generator, perhaps they would understand that the dysfunction they created and which they so expertly ignore is no longer confined to the lives of ordinary Nigerians. It has reached their doorstep.

Alas, this is not the first instance of irony visiting Aso Rock. This is the same government that claims to be waging war on insecurity but cannot protect its own power cables. The same leaders who boast about the nation’s development while sending engineers scurrying to patch up basic infrastructure. If they cannot keep the lights on in the most fortified building in the country, what hope do the rest of us have?

So here we are: a country where the “giants of Africa” find themselves brought to their knees by petty thieves. The Presidential Villa may have regained its power, but the question remains: will its rulers regain their credibility? Or shall we continue to live in a nation where the greatest threat to power isn’t an opposition party, but a determined vandal with a toolbox and a dream?