History does not catalogue everything that shapes public life. It records wars and reforms but ignores the softer arts the gestures, the silences, the well-timed strokes that calm power and redirect outrage.
Yet in politics, especially Nigerian politics, these subtleties often matter as much as policy. Few recent episodes illustrate this better than the curious week of Senator Adams Oshiomhole.
In the space of days, the former labour leader occupied two contrasting but strangely connected stages.
First came the viral private-jet footage: Oshiomhole, unbothered and unhurried, massaging a woman’s foot mid-air.
Then came his appearance at the Presidential Villa, where he lavished praise on President Bola Tinubu and the First Lady, celebrating the acknowledgement they received from US President Donald Trump.
To many Nigerians, the juxtaposition was jarring. To seasoned observers of power, it was familiar.
Politics, like massage, is about pressure, timing and knowing where to place the hand.
Oshiomhole’s words at the Villa were carefully chosen. Trump’s public compliment of Nigeria’s First Lady was framed as a moment of national validation proof that Nigeria had been noticed and applauded by a blunt, powerful outsider.
In that telling, pride flowed not from internal achievement but from external recognition.
The applause abroad became a mirror in which the nation was asked to admire itself.
The private-jet episode, meanwhile, triggered the predictable cycle: denial, defence and distraction. Aides blamed artificial intelligence; social media blamed indulgence.
The woman in the video did not argue. She simply stated the obvious and exited the conversation. Silence, in this case, spoke louder than rebuttal.
Yet what stood out was not the scandal itself but Oshiomhole’s response to it. He did not flinch.
He did not retreat. Like a man changing rhythm without breaking stride, he shifted from private controversy to public ceremony, from touch to speech, from sensation to symbolism.
There is a metaphor here, and it stretches back in time. Ancient Rome had public baths where attendants massaged senators and emperors alike.
Those baths were not merely about cleanliness; they were centres of social bonding, political gossip and quiet negotiation.
Power relaxed there. Hierarchies softened. Influence flowed through oil and hands as much as through decrees.
Modern politics has its own baths private jets, closed-door meetings, carefully staged appearances. What differs is not the instinct but the optics.
The same hand that soothes can also signal allegiance; the same gesture that comforts can confer loyalty.
Oshiomhole’s career has long thrived on such duality. Once the firebrand of labour protests, he now speaks the language of state power with ease.
The comrade who confronted authority now congratulates it. The transformation did not happen overnight; it has been massaged into place over time.
Figures of speech help where plain language fails.
This episode is a mirror and a metaphor: a mirror reflecting how easily outrage can be redirected, and a metaphor for a political culture that prizes access over accountability.
It is also a reminder that in Nigeria, power rarely moves by force alone. It is nudged, stroked, reassured.
History may never erect a monument for such skills.
There will be no marble statue for timing well judged, no plaque for knowing when to praise and when to ignore the noise.
But politics remembers what history forgets. It rewards those who understand that influence is often applied not with a clenched fist, but with a gentle touch.
In that understanding, Senator Adams Oshiomhole remains a fluent practitioner comfortable in controversy, at home in power, and adept at turning even the most awkward moment into just another transition in the long choreography of Nigerian public life.
