At sixty-four, Nigeria stands like an ageless Baobab, gnarled by the elements, but rooted in resilience. Beneath its broad canopy, government, the people, and social institutions tangle in a snarl of afflictions.
The country hums with a paradoxical mix of pride and despair, buckling under hardship and the crushing weight of untapped promise. Amid the melee of pain and survival, the Nigerian family, once a bulwark of hope and resilience, currently reels from the storms of disintegration, inflation, and the bittersweet draft of ‘Renewed Hope.’
Inflation’s feral wind, untamed by the removal of the fuel subsidy and the floatation of the naira, has eroded the stability that once defined the middle class. What was once the hallmark of the Nigerian Dream—education, hard work, homeownership—has become a fading ideal in a nation where even the middle class is vanishing like mist before the sun.
As austerity become the new normal, and ingenuity, the currency of survival, fathers double their hustle, taking on blue collar and menial jobs from dusk through dawn, transforming themselves into jugglers of uncertainty. Mothers—silent matriarchs—become alchemists, conjuring meals out of thin air, making a feast from famine. And the children, bright-eyed and once hopeful, now watch with muted anxiety as the Nigerian Dream slowly erodes into a feverish scramble to “Japa”—flee—abroad, to lands where they believe fortunes wait like ripe fruit ready to be plucked.
The Nigerian Dream, once a collective vision of prosperity, unity, and achievement, has splintered. What remains is a contest of survival, a zero-sum game where victory means finding a way out, and failure means staying behind to suffer.
Amid the chaos, millions of disgruntled youths find themselves pitted against a political class grossly insensitive to their plight. It hardly matters if a great number among them personify the same ills depicted by the ruling class they despise – all that matters is their entitlement to grief and rage.
As President Bola Tinubu embarks on a radical re-engineering of the economy and social institutions via his gospel of renewed hope, it becomes increasingly difficult to counsel patriotism or faith in his vision. How can he preach patience and love for a country that has thus far reduced millions of youths to mere statistics of deprivation?
To these youths, the admonition to “be patient” resonates as a cruel joke. Patriotism, once a shared language of citizenship, has fractured into two vastly different dialects: one spoken by the privileged few who navigate the corridors of power with ease, and another by the masses who endure the daily indignities of poverty, joblessness, and insecurity.
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Patriotism is indeed a hard sell to those confined to the fringes of a society, where the ruling class and their children flaunt their wealth and privileges on social media. It’s no surprise that the masses, feeling abandoned, would prefer to see Nigeria break and burn, rather than watch it evolve into a paradise that excludes them.
To the latter, Tinubu’s gospel of “Renewed Hope” feels hollow when their daily reality is characterised by soaring food prices and hardships that outstrip their means. The government’s plea for patience and understanding falls on ears tuned to the dirge of unfulfilled promises.
And yet, in the corridors of power, there is a dissonance, a belief that the suffering masses can be appeased with empty words. How can they be? The man who cannot afford to eat today will not be consoled by promises of a feast tomorrow.
The perception that Nigeria is only for the elite—those with connections to cabals, and powerful friends—has become entrenched. So, when President Tinubu’s apologists proclaim that he is doing so much that goes unappreciated, the millions who bear the brunt of economic hardships have no patience for such an excuse. They will not listen to appeals for understanding and stoic acceptance of hardships while the ruling class enjoys obscene privileges and spoils from the commonwealth.
The removal of the fuel subsidy was expected to stabilise the economy, to provide the funds needed to rebuild a crumbling nation. Since the subsidy was lifted, the states have seen a significant increase in their monthly revenue from the Federation Account Allocations Committee (FAAC). Bauchi’s, for instance, rose by 51.5%, and Nasarawa’s by 185.3%, yet nothing has changed. In Enugu, Anambra, Bauchi, Delta, among others, the masses have yet to enjoy any corresponding benefits even as they see efforts to ameliorate their pains get sabotaged by state governors, civil servants, and their cronies.
Many governors have refused to pay salaries, backlogs of arrears and pensions to retirees. Where are the new roads, the improved hospitals, the schools that could lift a generation out of ignorance? Instead, the governors divert their increased allocations to purchase mansions abroad and secure their children’s future in foreign lands far from the misery they preside over.
This widening chasm between the FAAC’s soaring allocations and the stagnation of progress at the state level is a bitter pill to swallow. If the ruling class persists down this path, the seeds of discontent they sow will eventually bear bitter fruit. If the masses resort to anarchy, there will be no country left to loot.
But while the ruling class has much to answer for, the citizenry, especially the more literate and insightful among us, must display greater tact and caution. Journalists and activists, in particular, must desist from inciting the populace and inflaming the polity with partisan views and fabrications. They must understand that the dubious demagogues pulling their strings—those who lost at the 2023 elections—have second and third addresses abroad. If Nigeria implodes, they will flee, leaving us to bear the brunt of the chaos they helped incite.
Nigeria must avoid the fate of nations afflicted by the Arab Spring, where the promise of revolution gave way to brutal dictatorships. The ruling class must take more proactive steps to humanely engage with the people. He must counsel his political class to make grand gestures of sacrifice in identification with the people’s plight while enforcing accountability at all levels of governance.
Nigeria will be salvaged only if we recognise the truth of our collective complicity. We must unmask and shun the pseudo-events that clutter our consciousness and replace them with genuine narratives of progress and renewal. We must redefine success, not as the accumulation of wealth or status but as the collective advancement of the Nigerian people.
It’s about time we espoused a new vision—a centrally articulated and nationally acceptable model of the Nigerian Dream that transcends the narrow bounds of self-interest. This dream must be anchored in patriotism, resilience, and the pursuit of the common good. We must reclaim our educational system, rebuild our institutions, and ensure that the opportunities for success are not the exclusive preserve of the few but the rightful inheritance of all.
President Tinubu’s Gospel of Renewed Hope, while imperfect, is a necessary awakening. It forces us to confront the harsh realities we have long denied. Tinubu’s policies—though painful in the short term—are designed to lay the groundwork for a more sustainable future. The removal of the fuel subsidy and the floatation of the naira may have worsened inflation in the immediate term, but they are essential steps toward stabilising the economy and creating a more equitable distribution of resources. But the government cannot do it alone. The Nigerian family must rise to the challenge. We must restore the values that once defined us—hard work, integrity, and community—and reject the toxic individualism that has come to dominate our culture.
By Olatunji Ololade @The Nation
