Rats, Distraction, and the State of the Presidency: Garba Shehu Reveals the Inside Story Behind a Viral Tale
In a stunning admission that blends political strategy with public relations maneuvering, Garba Shehu, the former Special Assistant on Media and Publicity to ex-President Muhammadu Buhari, has revealed the truth behind one of Nigeria’s most bizarre political headlines—the infamous rat invasion of the Presidential Villa. According to Shehu, the story was not only exaggerated but was, in fact, a carefully crafted diversion designed to shift attention away from growing concerns over Buhari’s deteriorating health.
This revelation is detailed in his newly released book titled “According to the President: Lessons from a Presidential Spokesperson’s Experience,” which was formally launched in Abuja. In Chapter 10 of the memoir, aptly named “Rats, Spin and All That,” Shehu lifts the curtain on the intense pressure and public scrutiny surrounding Buhari’s health crisis during his prolonged medical absence in 2017.
A Nation on Edge: Buhari’s Health Crisis
In 2017, Nigeria found itself navigating a leadership vacuum. President Buhari had traveled to the United Kingdom for medical treatment and remained there for nearly three months. His extended absence sparked national anxiety and international concern. Speculations and conspiracy theories soon flourished in the void left by the government’s vague updates on his condition.
Among the most notable and persistent was a bizarre claim made by Nnamdi Kanu, leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB). Kanu alleged that President Buhari had died during his time abroad and had been secretly replaced by a body double named “Jibrin from Sudan.” Though fantastical, the theory gained traction, especially on social media, where videos, photos, and “evidence” were widely circulated and debated.
When Buhari finally returned to Nigeria on August 19, 2017, many Nigerians expected a full resumption of duties to calm the rising tide of uncertainty. Instead, what followed only fueled further speculation. Rather than returning immediately to his official workspace, the Presidency announced that Buhari would be working from home due to renovations needed in his office. The explanation, vague as it was, only deepened the public’s suspicion that all was not well with the President’s health.
Behind Closed Doors: Crafting a Distraction
It was against this backdrop of doubt and scrutiny that Garba Shehu found himself needing to manage a potentially damaging narrative. In his book, he details the events that led to the creation of the now infamous rat story.
Shortly after Buhari’s return, Shehu was present at a casual lunch meeting in the office of the Chief of Staff, alongside several senior aides and a permanent secretary. During the conversation, someone noted that a cable had been damaged in the President’s office—possibly by rats—due to its extended period of disuse. What started as a minor observation became, in Shehu’s hands, the basis for a national news story.
He explained:
“So in the few hours of the president’s return, I picked up a conversation in the office of the CoS, where the chief, a few principal officers and the permanent secretary sat over lunch, a damage to a cable was noticed and it needed fixing. Someone speculated that rats may have caused that damage, given that the office was unused for a long time.”
When pressure mounted from journalists demanding to know why the president would work from home after months of medical treatment, Shehu offered the rat explanation. It was, in his own words, a deliberate “spin” aimed at shifting the public’s focus away from Buhari’s health.
The Rat Story Goes Global
What followed exceeded even Shehu’s expectations. The tale of rodents invading Nigeria’s Presidential Villa—damaging furniture, chewing through air conditioning units and electrical cables—went viral almost instantly. Major news outlets picked it up, with the BBC World News ranking it among the top five headlines at the time.
As the story spread, the questions became more pointed—and more absurd.
Journalists called in droves, particularly from BBC Hausa, demanding details: What kind of rats were these? How could rodents have such access to the nation’s highest office? In a bid to pacify the growing media frenzy, Shehu resorted to a piece of historical trivia.
“To get them off my back,” he wrote, “I referred them to the strange rats that invaded the country in the 1980s during the rice armada that came here aboard ships from Southeast Asia. As was known of them, in their destructiveness, those rats ate just anything anyone could imagine.”
The outlandishness of the explanation only added fuel to the public’s curiosity and amusement. Some Nigerians laughed it off. Others took it as confirmation that something serious was being concealed. Critics of the administration viewed it as a clumsy attempt to cover up the president’s poor health, while conspiracy theorists saw it as further proof of the “Jibrin from Sudan” narrative.
Disagreements Within Government
Shehu’s spin, though bold, was not universally supported within the presidency. According to his account, the strategy of diverting attention with the rat story was challenged by top government officials, including then Minister of Information, Alhaji Lai Mohammed, and Vice President Yemi Osinbajo.
Both men questioned why Shehu chose to feed the press such a seemingly absurd tale. Shehu defended his decision, insisting that the aim was to deflect the public’s fixation on Buhari’s health. To him, any topic—however ridiculous—was better than letting the conversation continue to revolve around the president’s fitness for office.
“I wanted the discussion to shift, to move to any other issue besides the president’s health and his ability to continue in office,” Shehu explained. “In my view, that spin succeeded.”
However, Osinbajo and Mohammed disagreed, suggesting that the story might have done more harm than good by making the administration look unserious or deceptive.
A Window Into Power and Perception
Garba Shehu’s disclosure provides a rare and candid glimpse into the inner workings of presidential communication in Nigeria. It underscores how narratives are often shaped not just by facts but by political strategy and public sentiment. His admission offers insight into how governments sometimes employ distraction and humor to navigate difficult moments—especially when transparency might be politically damaging.
For many Nigerians, the rat story had long been a symbol of what they perceived as the government’s lack of accountability. It was widely mocked, turned into memes, and used as a punchline in political debates. Some believed it outright, while others saw it as a clever but ultimately shallow media stunt. Now, years later, Shehu’s admission confirms what many suspected: the rats never mattered. The real story was Buhari’s health, and the administration’s desperate need to control the narrative surrounding it.
Media Ethics and the Role of Spokespersons
The ethical implications of Shehu’s approach are significant. Political communication is a delicate balancing act between informing the public and protecting the image of those in power. But where should the line be drawn between spin and deception?
Shehu’s case raises questions about the responsibility of government spokespersons. Is it justifiable to invent stories to distract the public? Can such tactics ever truly work in an era of instant digital scrutiny and widespread public skepticism?
In the short term, the rat narrative may have succeeded in diverting attention. But in the long run, it arguably did little to restore public trust in the presidency. If anything, it may have compounded suspicions, suggesting that the government was more concerned with managing optics than delivering truth.
Lessons in Spin, Silence, and Power
Garba Shehu’s admission about the now-infamous rat invasion story is far more than a humorous tale about rodents in high places. It stands as a revealing case study in the art of political spin, media manipulation, and the delicate dance between government officials and public perception. It shows how, under pressure, those in power can strategically craft narratives to steer public attention, even at the cost of truth.
In Nigeria, where political discourse is often clouded by conspiracy theories, rumor mills, and partisan bias, the line between fact and fiction frequently blurs. Shehu’s confession is a reminder that not every viral news headline reflects the full truth. Many times, these stories are carefully packaged distractions—deliberately designed to pull focus away from deeper, uncomfortable issues.
By pulling back the curtain on the inner workings of the presidency, Shehu’s book, “According to the President,” offers readers an inside look at how narratives are shaped in the corridors of power. His story is a cautionary tale about how easily national conversations can be redirected, not necessarily to protect citizens—but to shield leaders from scrutiny.
It also serves as a stark reminder that political communication is rarely accidental. Every statement, every headline, and even every odd-sounding excuse can carry a deeper motive. In Shehu’s case, rats became more than rodents—they became tools of political distraction.
Ultimately, this story reinforces a timeless lesson: in politics, what is said publicly is often just the surface. Beneath the words lies a web of strategy, survival, and spin—all aimed at controlling what the people see and believe.