In most functioning democracies, government appointments follow a predictable sequence: identify a candidate, vet their credentials, confirm eligibility, and then, only then, announce their name to the public.
But what happens when the process is reversed? When a candidate is announced to the world, only for the government to say, “Oops, we’ll take that back”?
Should there not be compensation for such a scenario? Call it, perhaps, a Presidential Appointment Reversal Compensation Package, or, in Nigerian parlance, a Presidential Breakfast Package. In local slang, “breakfast” is the euphemism for heartbreak or being publicly dumped.
While major appointment reversals have occurred in Ireland, the UK, the US, and Canada, they have become a recurring feature under the Tinubu administration. In nearly three years, Nigerians have witnessed more than 10 such episodes, leaving near-appointees and their families to pick up the pieces after very public disappointments.
Perhaps it is even more humiliating than appointing a dead man, a phenomenon Nigerians saw under Buhari. At least the dead, when delisted from an appointment, cannot grieve.
The latest “beneficiary” of this innovative appointment model is Usman Dakingari, a former governor of Kebbi State, whose ambassadorial posting to Turkey lasted roughly two hours.
On Thursday evening, the Special Adviser to the President on Information and Strategy, Bayo Onanuga, announced Dakingari as one of four ambassadorial-designates, noting that the appointments were “out of the 68 confirmed by the Senate last December.”
That same night, however, Dakingari’s name was publicly withdrawn. Nigerians later learned the reason: he had never actually been confirmed by the Senate. His name was absent from the list of nominees screened and cleared by the upper chamber, a rather important detail one might expect to verify before issuing a press release bearing the Presidency’s stamp of approval.
Senate spokesperson Yemi Adaramodu, displaying the diplomatic restraint of someone familiar with this scenario, suggested the gaffe “could have resulted from an administrative or procedural lapse rather than a deliberate act.”
He added, perhaps unnecessarily, that “only those cleared will be posted by the Federal Government.” One would think that goes without saying. Apparently, not.
But Dakingari is not alone. He joins a growing fellowship of Nigerians who have tasted the bittersweet wine of presidential appointment, only for the glass to be snatched away before the first sip.
In August 2025, Muheeba Dankaka was reappointed chair of the Federal Character Commission, only to be replaced hours later by former lawmaker Ayo Omidiran. The intrigues behind the Dankaka saga are a story for another day.
In October 2023, 25-year-old Ibrahim Kashim Imam was named chairman of the Federal Roads Maintenance Agency board. Two days later, he was not. Asu Okang was announced to the Niger Delta Development Commission board in August 2023, only to be replaced by Orok Duke.
In March 2024, Dr Ruby Onwudiwe’s appointment to the Central Bank of Nigeria board was withdrawn over her Labour Party affiliation, a detail that should have been known before her announcement.
Idris Olorunnimbe’s appointment as chairman of the Universal Basic Education Commission board was cancelled in August 2025 and given to Tanko Al-Makura. In March 2025, two Independent National Electoral Commission Resident Electoral Commissioners had their nominations reversed just six days after being forwarded to the Senate.
The leadership of the Nigerian Television Authority also felt the sting: Rotimi Pedro was named Director-General; Stella Din-Jacob, Executive Director of News; and Karimah Bello, Executive Director of Marketing. All three saw their appointments reversed within two weeks.
Perhaps the earliest “beneficiary” of the Presidential Breakfast Initiative was Maryam Shetty, a Kano-born grassroots politician poised to rise in the administration.
She reportedly learned of her removal from the ministerial list only upon arriving at the Senate for screening. Some say she had been warned not to come, but she did, only to confirm her worst fears.
Last week, Dakingari joined the hallowed list of Tinubu’s “breakfast” recipients. Eleven reversals. Perhaps more, depending on how one counts.
Now, imagine this: you are at home one evening and receive news of your appointment, with assurances that the Presidency will soon issue a statement. The statement drops. Your phone buzzes with congratulatory messages.
You draft a post, humbly accepting the nomination and thanking Mr President for the honour. Your family gathers. Friends prepare a Thanksgiving service. Your tailor takes measurements for your swearing-in outfit. Rivals, real or perceived, swallow their pride to congratulate you.
And then, before the ink dries on the press release, you are unceremoniously discharged from a service you never began. The Chinese comedian Steven He would call it “Emotional Damage.”
It is the psychological equivalent of being proposed to at a stadium, only for your partner to check their phone mid-kneel and say, “Never mind. My ex just called!”
It is for this reason that a Presidential Appointment Reversal Compensation Package is warranted, a structured indemnity for victims of presidential breakfast.
The package could include: a formal letter of apology signed by the President (not a third party), a modest financial settlement for emotional distress, a six-month therapy subscription, and a government-issued press release clarifying that the individual did nothing wrong and remains eminently qualified for the position from which they were evicted.
The administration can serve as many “breakfasts” as it likes. However, it should compensate those caught in the crossfire.
The Senate has clarified that only ambassadorial nominees it has screened and cleared can be posted. This is constitutional. Meanwhile, other ambassadors-designate must wait with bated breath, hoping their appointments are not reversed at the last minute.
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