God left this place a long time ago.
Every once in a while, an individual looks around at their society and reflects on its state. If it appears to be thriving, they smile in appreciation, grateful for their blessings. But if it appears troubled, they feel disheartened, lamenting their misfortune to be part of such a place.
Nigeria wasn’t always like this. It was once a land of hope. My grandfather, my father, and I all believed in a promising future for Nigeria, but that dream has remained elusive. Many people have carried these hopes to their graves. The promise of democracy and independence initially inspired optimism, as did the hope for a better governance during the turbulent era of military dictatorship and now in this current age of what could be called an autocratic democracy.
Nigerians have always yearned for something better. Whether it’s major changes like development, stable electricity, low inflation, and higher disposable incomes, or smaller improvements like safety while traveling, reduced traffic, better education, or paved, motorable roads, we all hope for progress. Yet, it’s undeniable that Nigeria is a poor country, with a largely impoverished population. This poverty has given rise to a prevalence of “prosperity preachers” within both the Abrahamic religions and local traditions. In Nigeria, people pray to God for all sorts of success. Unfortunately, this often means that if one person succeeds, they don’t care if their “enemies” or others fail. This individualistic mindset has gradually corroded the social fabric of our society. Some argue that this attitude stems from our battle over scarce resources. Regardless of the cause of our individualism, one thing is for certain: it has resulted in the dehumanization of ourselves and our fellow citizens. This is particularly strange when we consider how readily we humanize others who don’t look like us racially.
There is a unique way in which we dehumanize one another in Nigeria, a coldness that seems unprecedented even when compared to war-torn regions. Death does not move us; hundreds could die somewhere, and most people wouldn’t blink an eye. We’ve become numb to the suffering of others. This dehumanization isn’t limited to ordinary citizens; it is often worst among law enforcement officers, politicians, and those with any degree of influence. Ours has become a nation of bullies. A few months ago, I felt overwhelmed by this state of affairs and went on a lengthy rant. At the end, I found myself concluding that God must have left this place long ago.
Despite all this, Nigerians are profoundly religious. We have some of the highest numbers of devout followers in both Christianity and Islam. Yet, this religiosity doesn’t seem to make a difference; rather, our cruelty flourishes. Someone might commit an act of extreme cruelty and then head to their place of worship immediately after. There’s almost a stereotype that the more religious a Nigerian, the greater their capacity for cruelty. Our politicians steal, cheat, and even kill, yet they visit religious institutions to give thanks, donating a portion of their spoils to the satisfaction of pastors, imams, and ordinary congregants. We pretend to love God, when in reality, it is wealth and blessings we crave. If you look at less religious societies, you’ll often find that kindness and love are foundational values, and it’s striking to see how differently they thrive. This contrast has led me to believe that God is present in those societies but absent in ours because of our cruelty. If in doubt, just glance at a random Nigerian newspaper and compare it to one from another country — the scale of crime and corruption here is staggering. Our leaders are corrupt because we, the people, are also corrupt. Even the seemingly harmless individual is often waiting for their own small shift in fortune, hoping to exploit anyone beneath them. Women, children, and other vulnerable groups are the biggest losers in this system.
One of the most troubling aspects of our cruelty is how it affects children. From an early age, Nigeria introduces its youth to harsh realities. Children here do not experience innocence or protection; instead, they are exploited, often facing unimaginable neglect and abuse.
The world dehumanizes us because we dehumanize ourselves. However, change is possible. We could transform Nigeria into a high-trust society, but this requires collective effort. As long as we remain focused solely on our personal success and “breakthroughs,” communal progress will remain out of reach. But God could return to this country if we are willing to reconnect with love, show kindness, and treat each other with respect — regardless of class, age, gender, or religion.
