Every family group has an administrator. This person holds a small but terrible power: they can add people, remove people, change the group name and, on rare dramatic occasions, delete a message that should never have been sent. For years, the Obi family group had been ruled by Uncle Francis, a calm man who rarely used his power. Then he went on a long trip, forgot his password and the group fell into chaos.
It was time for an election.
The Announcement
The news was delivered by Cousin Amara, who posted at 7:02 a.m.: “Good morning, family. As Uncle Francis is unavailable, we need a new admin. Nominations are open.” Within a minute there were fourteen replies. Within five minutes there were forty. Within ten, someone had created a poll, a second poll and, for reasons nobody understood, a third poll titled “Poll about the poll”.
Three candidates emerged. Aunty Chinwe, a warm and organised woman who believed in rules. Cousin Dozie, a young man with strong opinions and a flashy profile picture. And Papa Ikenna, who simply announced, “I have always been the leader in my heart,” and stayed there.
The Campaign Trail
Aunty Chinwe began with a long, formal message. “Dear family, if elected, I promise order, respect and no more forwarded messages about miracles. Every post must have a purpose. Birthdays will be announced at least one day in advance.”
The group replied with applause emojis, though a few cousins sent the face that means “that sounds like a lot of rules”.
Cousin Dozie launched a more modern campaign. He posted a video of himself in sunglasses saying, “Vote Dozie. Change is coming. Also, I can do voice effects.” He followed with a poster that read “DOZIE: THE FUTURE OF FAMILY.” It had a lot of fire emojis and a small picture of a lion.
Papa Ikenna campaigned the way he did everything: by sending messages. At 5:30 a.m., there was a good-morning message. At 5:45, a prayer. At 6:00, a long note about his candidacy. By 7:00, he had sent forty-eight messages, including three that said only “Thank you” and one that was a photo of his breakfast.
The Promises
Each candidate made bold promises. Aunty Chinwe promised a weekly summary of group news. Cousin Dozie promised a custom group logo and, if funds allowed, stickers. Papa Ikenna promised “peace, unity, and lunch”, though nobody understood who would be buying the lunch.
A debate followed. It was held in the group chat, which meant it took twenty-seven hours, because every reply caused three more. At one point, someone asked a serious question about the family’s long-term communication strategy. The reply was a picture of a cat in a hat.
By the second day, the group had split into three camps, a few quiet neutrals and one cousin who did not know there was an election and kept asking why everyone was angry about breakfast.
The Voting Begins
Cousin Amara opened the final poll at noon on Saturday. It had three options and a simple instruction: “Vote once.” This did not work. Within an hour, some people had voted twice. One person had voted three times, and one had voted for all three candidates “to be fair”.
Suspicion began to rise. Someone noticed that Papa Ikenna’s vote count had jumped suddenly. “How did you get twelve votes in one minute?” asked Cousin Dozie.
“I have many supporters,” said Papa Ikenna, with dignity.
“Most of them have the same profile picture.”
“They are a close family.”
It turned out that Papa Ikenna had, over the years, added several of his friends to the group, and they were extremely loyal. They had received a message that said “Vote for Ikenna, he is your friend,” and they had done as instructed, despite being unable to explain how they were related.
The Great Recount
Aunty Chinwe demanded a recount. Cousin Dozie demanded an audit. Papa Ikenna demanded to know what an audit was. Cousin Amara, who had hoped for a simple vote, now found herself managing a crisis.
She posted a message: “Dear family, the poll has been affected by irregularities. We will conduct a new vote.” Then she attempted to close the poll. The app refused. It showed a small message that said “Poll cannot be edited.” She tried again. It said the same. She restarted her phone, and the poll was still there, glowing quietly like a small digital monument.
“It is a permanent poll,” she announced. “We have created history.”
The Surprise Winner
As the arguments reached their peak, a new message appeared. It was from Uncle Francis, the old admin, who had just landed, recovered his password and logged back in. “Good morning, family,” he wrote. “I have returned. What did I miss?”
There was a long silence. It was the first quiet moment in three days. Then Aunty Chinwe typed, “Welcome back, Uncle.” Cousin Dozie typed, “Welcome back, Sir.” Papa Ikenna typed, “I have been campaigning on your behalf.”
Uncle Francis scrolled through the messages for a few minutes. Then he wrote: “I see. Thank you for your enthusiasm. I will remain admin, and I will appoint Aunty Chinwe as a deputy, Dozie as head of stickers and Ikenna as the person who greets everyone in the morning.”
The group erupted in celebration. Everyone was satisfied. Everyone was a little confused. And Cousin Amara, still holding the permanent poll in her hands, whispered to herself, “Next time, we will just ask Uncle Francis to stay home.”
