When Alibaba Akpobome speaks, the room doesn’t just listen—it sits up and takes notes. Not because he’s funny (he is), or because he’s famous (he’s earned that), but because when this man talks about Nigeria, he does so with the kind of clarity, rage, and intelligence that’s hard to ignore. In his thunderous return to Outside The Box with Femi Obong-Daniels, Alibaba drops a chilling truth: Nigeria’s political system is not broken—it was built this way.
To many, Alibaba is the Grandfather of Nigerian comedy, the one who gave legitimacy to stand-up and turned the stage into a place for sharp, uncomfortable truths. But beneath the jokes lies a restless patriot—one who has watched too many dreams die under the weight of corruption and generational betrayal. In this latest interview, he’s not cracking jokes. He’s dissecting the carcass of a nation still pretending to be alive. In a voice equal parts exhausted and defiant, Alibaba raises a question that should haunt every Nigerian: "Will the youth ever truly become the leaders of tomorrow, or is that slogan just another empty chant used to pacify the angry and unemployed?" He doesn’t need to answer it directly. His recounting of systemic rot—the kind that ensures only those loyal to godfathers rise—says it all.
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His words are the kind that hit with bruising force, not because they’re shocking, but because they confirm what many Nigerians already feel but have grown numb to. The betrayal is generational. The game is rigged. Politics is a marketplace, and the currency isn’t vision—it’s silence, obedience, and complicity. But this isn’t just a critique of the government. It’s a lament for a culture that has normalized mediocrity. "Comedy taught me how to observe people," Alibaba says. "But Nigeria taught me how to mourn them while they’re still alive." He draws a painful parallel between the comedian and the citizen—both forced to navigate absurdity, both punished for telling the truth. As someone who pioneered comedy as a professional industry in Nigeria, Alibaba knows what it means to fight from the ground up. He understands the power of voice, of visibility, of knowing your worth in a place that wants you to forget it. His journey wasn’t handed to him—he carved it with blood and grit, just like the millions of young Nigerians today trying to rise despite a system designed to hold them down.
And this is where the tragedy deepens. Because in a country overflowing with young talent, energy, and innovation, the gatekeepers are still old men with tired dreams and bloated egos. They recycle themselves in different offices, different parties, and different lies. Every four years, they give the youth hashtags, T-shirts, and dancing campaigns. But never the keys to real power. The fire in Alibaba’s voice isn't just frustration. It’s grief. Grief for a country that keeps betraying its best people. Grief for brilliant youths turned scammers, creatives turned hustlers, tech minds drowned by poor power supply and lack of funding. Grief for a future perpetually postponed.
But there’s also a spark. A belief, however faint, that change could come—if only more people were willing to speak, act, and demand differently. He’s not selling hope; he’s issuing a warning. Change will not come from politicians. It will come from citizens who’ve had enough. In a world where entertainers are often afraid to ruffle feathers, Alibaba remains the rare voice who doesn't just entertain—he interrogates. He’s not here to be liked. He’s here to tell the truth. And in this second coming of Outside The Box, he doesn’t just unpack Nigerian politics—he eulogizes it, then dares the next generation to build something better from its ashes. And maybe, just maybe, if enough people listen—not laugh—we might finally start.
