“Call Yourself Kimberly, Not Kemi” – Shehu Sani Fires Back at UK Minister’s Disowning of Nigerian Identity

Former Nigerian Senator and human rights activist, Shehu Sani, has stirred up a social media storm following his reaction to British politician Kemi Badenoch’s recent remarks distancing herself from her Nigerian identity. The senator’s sharp yet sarcastic comment has reignited a heated debate about identity, heritage, and national pride, especially among the Nigerian diaspora.

Kemi Badenoch, the UK Secretary of State for Business and Trade, who was born in the United Kingdom to Nigerian parents but spent part of her childhood in Nigeria, recently made headlines after declaring in a controversial interview that she does not identify as Nigerian. Her statement, which was clipped and circulated widely on social media, has triggered widespread backlash among Nigerians at home and abroad, many of whom felt slighted by what they perceive as a disavowal of roots and a repudiation of cultural heritage.

In what has now become one of the most talked-about reactions to Badenoch’s comments, Senator Shehu Sani took to his verified X (formerly Twitter) account to post a pointed response. "Your name is still Kemi, and you don't want to identify as Nigerian, that's ok. Just bring back our name. You can change to 'Kimberly' or Kim Kardashian," he wrote.

The tweet, brimming with irony, instantly went viral. It garnered thousands of likes, retweets, and comments, as Nigerians weighed in on the broader implications of Badenoch’s identity politics and Sani’s unapologetically candid clapback.

While some praised Shehu Sani for defending Nigerian identity and standing up against what they saw as an elitist dismissal of African heritage, others felt the former senator's tone was unnecessarily mocking. Nonetheless, his comment encapsulated the sentiments of many Nigerians who feel that public figures of Nigerian descent have a responsibility to uphold their origins, especially when they occupy prominent positions on the global stage.

Badenoch, a rising star in British Conservative politics, has been the subject of ongoing scrutiny for her complex relationship with her African roots. This latest controversy comes on the heels of past criticisms she’s faced for her views on race, colonialism, and identity politics. For many, her recent disavowal of Nigerian identity crossed a line.

"I went to a secondary school. It was called a Federal Government Girls school in a place called Sagamu, and that was like being in prison,” Badenoch said in the now-viral clip, referring to her time in Nigeria. Her description of her school experience was received by many as a thinly-veiled indictment of Nigerian institutions and society at large. Her follow-up statement that she does not identify as Nigerian only deepened the wound for those who interpreted her words as an insult to the country and its people.

Social media platforms, especially X and Instagram, have since exploded with commentary. Users flooded Badenoch’s pages with angry comments, while others penned threads defending her right to choose how she identifies, particularly given her British nationality and political alignment. But within the noise, Shehu Sani’s tweet stood out—not only for its wit, but for the layers of cultural introspection it evoked.

In Nigeria, names are more than just labels—they are carriers of meaning, lineage, history, and identity. The name "Kemi" is a Yoruba name meaning “pamper me” or “cherish me.” For many, Sani's suggestion that she "return" the name if she no longer identifies as Nigerian speaks to a deeper belief: that names are not disposable, nor is the culture they stem from.

“Why keep a name like Kemi if you’ve essentially renounced everything it stands for?” asked a user under Sani’s tweet. “You can’t eat your akara and still call it a croissant,” another joked. Memes and gifs flooded the comment section, turning Sani’s tweet into a full-blown internet moment.

Still, not everyone saw it as funny. Some commentators cautioned against attacking individuals for personal choices regarding identity, especially those who have lived transnational lives. “Shehu Sani’s tweet may be entertaining, but it misses the point,” one political analyst argued on a radio talk show in Lagos. “Badenoch is a British politician representing British interests. She may have Nigerian roots, but she is under no obligation to carry the Nigerian flag in everything she does.”

Others, however, countered that public figures of African descent who benefit from their heritage when it is convenient should not turn around and belittle the very roots that shaped them. “You can’t use Nigerian origin as a badge of honor when it’s trendy or politically useful, and then disown it when it doesn’t suit your narrative,” wrote another X user.

This incident also touches on the wider issue of the African diaspora’s struggle with dual identity. For many second-generation immigrants, navigating the space between heritage and nationality is a constant balancing act. Some choose to embrace both cultures; others lean toward one. But when a figure in the spotlight makes a declaration as firm as Badenoch’s, it inevitably sparks questions about loyalty, belonging, and representation.

In the middle of it all, Senator Shehu Sani’s tweet has inadvertently become a cultural lightning rod, crystallizing these complex emotions into one sharp, viral post. And it’s not the first time the outspoken senator has made waves online. Known for his poetic quips and unapologetic political commentary, Sani has carved out a space for himself as both a statesman and a social commentator, often blending humor with truth to make his point.

Whether Kemi Badenoch will respond to the backlash remains to be seen. So far, she has remained silent amid the social media firestorm. But with Shehu Sani’s tweet now firmly etched into Nigeria’s online consciousness, the conversation around identity, pride, and authenticity is unlikely to fade anytime soon.

For now, Nigerians continue to react, debate, and reflect on what it means to be Nigerian—and whether that identity is something one can simply walk away from. And in the midst of it all, one question rings louder than the rest: if you no longer claim the name, do

Lyou still deserve to wear it?