Modupe Olalere
In August 2017, Nigeria was swept up in an unusual story unrelated to its conventional political circus about an invasion of rats into the Presidential Villa. The principal architect of the story was Garba Shehu, President Muhammadu Buhari’s senior special assistant on media and publicity.
What stands out about this story is that it was not just a random event or a spur-of-the-moment report. Instead, this was a planned story designed to accomplish a specific goal, which was to divert public interest away from growing concerns about President Buhari’s health and ability to govern.
Buhari had been receiving medical care in the UK for almost three months, leading to an outburst of speculation over his health and the country’s governance. Nigerians were anxious for confirmation, and gossip seemed to spread wildly. The administration was facing a critical communication crisis.
In his 2025 book, “According to the President: Lessons from a Presidential Spokesperson’s Experience”, Shehu disclosed how the “rat invasion” story was deliberately created to change attention away from the president’s absences and health concerns.
Garba Shehu admitted that this sensational story was “cooked up to distract Nigerians” from what was thought to be a destabilising conversation over Buhari’s health. He maintained that such a narrative was designed to capture public attention and redirect media and social attention to the “invasion” of rats in the presidential quarters instead of the uncertainty surrounding rumours about Buhari’s health or governance stability. This revealed the pressure on political spokespersons to manage public sentiment and the media in a time of vulnerability for politicians.
What the government intended as an astute distraction quickly became an internet phenomenon and a large-scale spoofing exercise. The “rat story” rapidly became a flashpoint of culture as Nigerians took to many social media platforms to respond to the strange assertion with satire and humour. Memes of rats in the Presidential Villa began to explode with creatively rendered images, depicting the rats running the government from behind the scenes, or intentionally bringing official business into disrepute.
The phenomenon of these memes was astounding. Twitter and Facebook were inundated with jokes, GIFs, and cartoons that turned this “rat invasion” into another symbol of government distraction and manipulation. One of the more popular memes showed a band of rats in business suits holding microphones, and having a press conference — an apparent reference to the spin and deceit we expect from official sources.
Various notable social media users and comedians joined in with phrases that took shots at the absurdity of the situation. The #Ratgate hashtag trended for several days, as if it had become a shorthand reference for officials’ political distraction tactics. News satire websites capitalised on the opportunity to create parodies about a “Rodent Republic” that was running many of the decisions made in the heart of Nigeria’s seat of government.
This wave of mockery revealed a crucial truth: in our digital world, it’s getting harder to control or hide official narratives. The ongoing back-and-forth between political messages and how citizens react on social media creates narratives that can twist and turn unexpectedly. The rat story was intended to steer the news cycle, but instead, it gave the internet the means to poke fun at and undermine the way the presidency communicates.
Moreover, the spectacle illustrated yet again how Nigerians tend to use a sense of humour to cope with the opacity of government, leadership crises, and instability of politics. In making an awkward official story into a shared joke, the public expressed disbelief and disinterest toward the official versions of the story, which they perceived as false and manipulative. The moment also illustrated how internet culture empowered the average citizen to engage with humorous and creative mess-making processes, while using viral dissemination to reposition the powerful truths produced by traditional media and government talking points.
Garba Shehu’s candid admission that the rat story was fabricated in public communication unfolds badly in serious contemplation over the behaviour of the president’s office in public communication. There is no problem admitting that communication practitioners at the political level are challenged in a time of increased public discourse and competing sensitive issues. However, misleading or distracting the public is serious in its own right.
The rat story may have worked as a temporary distraction, but it also diminished trust in official information at the same time. Once the truth about the rat came out, it confirmed people’s suspicions that the government was more concerned with appearing competent than providing citizens with proper and open intel. This indicates that it could only exacerbate people’s cynicism for political communications and heighten calls for answers and accountability.
Professionals in political communication argue that those strategies can work against you—people are getting better at seeing spin, and social media amplifies any inconsistencies or lies. Maintaining credibility, consistency, and transparency is essential. Methods that traffic in fiction or misdirection can provide temporary relief from scrutiny, but they can damage trust in institutions in the long term.
The depth of Shehu’s insight into his writer’s block reveals the complications of understanding presidential communications and public relations. He provides examples of difficulties balancing the obligation to protect the president’s image with general obligations to be candid with the public. The situational examples reflect how quickly this might become hazy in politically sensitive times, when the leader manages unresolved health crises that aren’t candidly communicated.
The rat story sparked conversations about the political culture of leadership in Nigeria, especially the secrecy surrounding a leader’s health status. The lack of clarity about Buhari’s health condition allowed a gap to be filled with conjectures or unverifiable rumours. When public pressure for information increased on the subject, one reply was available—fabricated stories, which reinforced a complete indifference to being truthful with citizens on matters of importance.
This event has developed into a practice in presidential communication with the public, positively elevating direct, credible contact with the public over distractions and contrasting narratives. As the political climate in Nigeria becomes complex and public interactions become readily available, the administrations will eventually have to navigate more transparently to build trust for the next generation of Nigerian citizens.
The “rat invasion” story highlights the evolution of the presidential narrative in the fast-paced world of social media and the dissemination of political information. Ultimately, it serves as a warning about the dangers of political spin and an acknowledgement of the volatility of citizen commentary, the role of satire, and the dynamics of social media. More than a source of entertainment, the narrative raises legitimate questions about the role of governance, communication, and the tenuous bond between leaders and followers.