By OLUSOJI DAOMI
“He promised me.” It is one of the most common complaints one hears when relationships collapse, businesses fail and money changes hands without the expected result. A friend promises to repay a loan. A contractor promises to complete a building. A businessman promises to deliver goods. A husband promises to fulfil an obligation. A politician promises to transform a community. Then the promise is broken, and the injured person asks the inevitable question: “Can I take him to court?”
The answer is both simple and complicated. Yes, there are circumstances in which the law will compel a person to answer for a broken promise. But no, not every promise made by one human being to another automatically becomes a legal obligation enforceable by a court. This is one of the most important distinctions that every Nigerian should understand, because there is a world of difference between a promise that is morally binding, a promise that is politically significant and a promise that constitutes part of a legally enforceable contract.
Let us imagine a very ordinary Nigerian transaction. A man approaches his friend and says, “Give me ₦5 million and I will repay you on 30 November.” The friend transfers the money. November comes and the borrower does not pay. December comes and there is still no payment. The excuses begin: “My brother, please be patient. Things are difficult. I have not forgotten you. I am a man of my word.” The creditor may understandably be angry, but the court is not primarily concerned with the emotional disappointment. The court will want to know what the parties actually agreed, whether the money was a loan or something else, what the terms of repayment were, whether the parties intended to create legal relations and what evidence exists to establish the transaction.
That is the point at which the ordinary Nigerian must understand the difference between a promise and a contract. Nigerian contract law generally requires the existence of the essential ingredients of a binding agreement, including offer, acceptance, consideration, intention to create legal relations and capacity, together with sufficient certainty as to the terms of the bargain. The courts do not enforce an agreement simply because one party is disappointed; they enforce obligations which the law recognises as binding. That distinction has been repeatedly recognised in Nigerian appellate jurisprudence.
This is why the sentence “But he promised me!” is not, by itself, a complete legal argument. A lawyer must immediately ask: What exactly did he promise? To whom did he make the promise? Under what circumstances was it made? What did the other party give or agree to give in return? Was there an acceptance? Was there an intention that the arrangement should have legal consequences? What evidence exists? What exactly has been breached? Until those questions are answered, the word “promise” tells us very little about the legal remedy available.
There is another misconception that deserves attention. Some Nigerians believe that if an agreement was not prepared by a lawyer and signed in an elaborate ceremony, it cannot be enforced. That is not an accurate statement of the law. Depending on the nature of the transaction and the circumstances, an agreement may be oral or may be inferred from the conduct of the parties. But there is a very practical lesson here: if the transaction involves substantial money, property, business obligations or an important undertaking, put it in writing. Do not rely entirely on friendship, family relationship or personal reputation. When everything is going well, everybody remembers the agreement differently from the way they remember it after the relationship has broken down.
Imagine a contractor who agrees to construct your house for an agreed sum, with agreed specifications and an agreed completion date. You pay the mobilisation fee, he commences work and then suddenly abandons the project. This is no longer merely a question of whether someone made a casual promise to you. Depending on the evidence and the terms agreed by the parties, there may be a contractual relationship giving rise to enforceable rights and remedies. The innocent party may, where appropriate, seek damages for breach and, in suitable circumstances, may seek specific performance or another equitable remedy. But even then, the court will not simply say, “He promised, therefore force him.” The claimant must establish the agreement, the obligation, the breach and the legal basis for the remedy sought.
This is why evidence is so important. The WhatsApp conversation may matter. The bank transfer may matter. The receipt may matter. The invoice may matter. The email may matter. The signed agreement may matter. The witness may matter. Even the conduct of the parties may matter. A person who is contemplating litigation should therefore stop thinking like someone having an argument with a neighbour and start thinking like someone preparing to prove a case. Courts decide cases on evidence and law, not merely on who appears more offended by what happened.
Now let us move from the ordinary Nigerian citizen to the Nigerian politician, because this is where the subject becomes particularly interesting. During election campaigns, politicians make promises. They promise roads, hospitals, employment, electricity, security, education, industrialisation and transformation. They tell citizens that if they are given power, things will change. The crowd applauds. The campaign posters multiply. The manifesto is published. The candidate wins. Then the years pass, and the citizen looks around and asks a painful question: “Where is the promise?”
But can that citizen sue the politician for breach of contract?
Here, we must be careful. A political campaign promise does not automatically become a private contract between a politician and every individual who votes for him. A manifesto, campaign speech or political declaration is not, merely because it contains promises, equivalent to a conventional contractual bargain in which every voter enters into a legally enforceable agreement with the candidate. The contractual requirements of offer, acceptance, consideration, intention to create legal relations and other relevant elements cannot simply be assumed because an election took place.
Therefore, the disappointed voter ordinarily cannot approach the court and say, “My Lord, this man promised to build a hospital if elected, I voted for him, he has not built the hospital, so please order him to do so.” That may represent a serious political grievance. It may raise questions of governance, public accountability and political integrity. It may justify public criticism and scrutiny of the administration. But it does not automatically create a private contractual cause of action in favour of every voter.
And this distinction is extremely important because we must not ask the judiciary to solve every political problem through contract law. A political promise may be politically binding without being privately enforceable as a contract. Citizens can interrogate the promise through democratic institutions, public debate, investigative journalism, legislative oversight, civil society and the electoral process. They can examine what was promised, what was budgeted, what was implemented and what was abandoned. They can demand explanations. They can ask difficult questions. They can judge political performance at the appropriate constitutional and democratic forums.
But let us not make the opposite mistake either. The fact that a campaign promise is not automatically a contract does not mean that promises made by political leaders are meaningless. Quite the contrary. Leadership depends heavily upon public trust, and public trust is damaged when leaders repeatedly make commitments and repeatedly fail to deliver them. A country cannot build hospitals with speeches. A young graduate cannot pay rent with campaign slogans. A farmer cannot transport his produce to market with political declarations. A business cannot survive on promises. At some point, words must become action.
This is where the difference between contract and politics becomes a lesson in citizenship. The law asks whether an enforceable legal obligation exists. Democracy asks whether those entrusted with public power have used that power responsibly. These are different questions, but they are not unrelated. The citizen who understands both questions is far more difficult to deceive.
Now consider the ordinary Nigerian who enters into a private transaction. Someone promises to sell him a property. Money changes hands. The purchaser relies upon the agreement and begins making arrangements. The seller later changes his mind and says, “I no longer want to sell.” Can the seller simply walk away because he has changed his mind? Not necessarily. The answer will depend upon the terms of the agreement, the nature of the transaction, compliance with applicable legal formalities, the evidence and the rights that have arisen between the parties. This is precisely why people should seek legal advice before committing substantial resources to a transaction rather than waiting until the transaction has collapsed.
The same principle applies to business. Two people establish a venture. One promises to contribute capital. The other promises to provide expertise. They agree on profit-sharing. They begin operations. One party later refuses to honour his undertaking. The question is not merely whether somebody “promised.” The question is what agreement was reached, what obligations arose from that agreement and whether those obligations have been breached. The difference may determine whether the aggrieved party has an enforceable claim or merely a grievance.
This is why I often say that law is most valuable before the dispute begins. A properly drafted agreement can prevent arguments that might otherwise consume years. A clearly defined payment schedule can prevent disputes about when money became due. A well-drafted property agreement can reduce uncertainty. A properly prepared business agreement can establish the respective obligations of the parties. Good legal drafting is not merely about preparing documents for court; it is about preventing the court from becoming necessary in the first place.
There is also an important lesson about remedies. Where a legally enforceable contract has been breached, the law may provide damages, which generally seek to compensate the innocent party for legally recognised loss caused by the breach. In appropriate circumstances, the court may also grant specific performance, requiring a party to perform a contractual obligation rather than simply paying damages. But specific performance is an equitable remedy, not an automatic punishment for every broken promise. The nature of the contract, the circumstances of the case and the adequacy of damages are among the matters that may become relevant.
So when someone asks, “What can I do if this person breaks his promise?”, the responsible lawyer should not immediately shout, “Sue him!” The first task is diagnosis. What was promised? Was there an agreement? Was there consideration? Was there an intention to create legal relations? What evidence exists? Has there been a breach? What loss has been suffered? Is there an arbitration clause? Is there a limitation issue? Is the transaction one that the law requires to comply with particular formalities? What remedy is legally available? These questions are the foundation of competent legal advice.
There is, however, a deeper lesson beneath all of this. Nigerians must learn to distinguish between disappointment and a cause of action. Somebody may have behaved badly towards you without necessarily having committed a legally actionable wrong. Somebody may have broken a moral promise without having breached a contract. Somebody may have disappointed you politically without having incurred a private contractual liability. The fact that an act is unfair, regrettable or dishonest does not automatically determine its legal consequences. The law has its own language, its own requirements and its own remedies.
And that brings us back to the politician. When a candidate stands before citizens and says, “I will build the road,” the citizen should listen. When he says, “I will create jobs,” the citizen should listen. When he says, “I will reform education,” the citizen should listen. But the citizen should also remember the promise. Record it. Preserve the manifesto. Examine the policy. Watch the budget. Observe the implementation. Compare the words with the results. Democracy should not end on election day. Democracy must include the continuing scrutiny of those entrusted with public power.
The politician may not have entered into a private contract with every voter, but he has entered into a relationship of public trust with the people through the constitutional process by which public authority is conferred. The legal consequences of that relationship are not identical to the consequences of a private commercial contract, but the political consequences of failure can nevertheless be profound. Citizens have the right to ask: What did you promise? What did you deliver? What prevented delivery? What did you spend? What did you achieve? And what should we expect from you now?
The ordinary Nigerian should therefore stop using the word “promise” as though it were itself a legal remedy. A promise can be evidence of an agreement, but it does not automatically constitute one. A promise can become part of a contract, but not every promise is contractual. A promise can create political expectations, but political expectations are not necessarily private contractual rights. The circumstances matter. The substance matters. The evidence matters. The law matters.
So the next time somebody looks you in the eye and says, “I promise,” do not merely ask whether you believe him. Ask what exactly he has promised. Ask what you are giving in return. Ask whether the terms are clear. Ask whether the undertaking is intended to have legal consequences. Ask what evidence will exist if the relationship collapses tomorrow. And if the transaction is important, do not wait for the promise to be broken before consulting a lawyer.
Because there is a great difference between a promise that touches the heart and an obligation that can command the power of the court.
A politician may promise you a road. Your neighbour may promise to repay your money. Your contractor may promise to complete your building. Your business partner may promise to contribute capital. Your seller may promise to transfer your property. In each case, the most important question is not simply whether the words were spoken.
The real question is this: What did those words create? If they created only hope, you may have a disappointment. If they created a moral obligation, you may have a grievance. If they created a political commitment, you may have an accountability question. But if they created a legally enforceable obligation, then the matter has entered a different territory altogether.
And when that happens, the question is no longer merely, “Did he promise?” The question becomes: “What does the law require him to do?” That is where a promise ends and a legal obligation begins.
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