If to say trust dey, teacher for no dey set examination after student don talk say “sir, I understand”.
Several years ago, a friend of mine went scuba diving in the Caribbean with friends and family. They did one of those crazy unsafe deals where you get an hour-long crash course on all things scuba, then swim out into the ocean. Before the dive, she was paired up with a middle-aged man. They were to be scuba buddies — able to function independently, both had their scuba masks and oxygen tanks, but paired up to enjoy the adventure together and to provide support should something go wrong.
As long as they both had their scuba tanks on, and air flowing, they were a real source of life for each other — enjoying the wonders of the ocean together. But then something went wrong with his gear. Oxygen ceased flowing. Panic set in. They knew the emergency protocol — a series of hand gestures, sharing of oxygen, then a slow, calm ascent to the boat above. But as soon as he realized he could not breathe, all of that went out the window. He quickly grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her and trying to yell. She tried to understand what he was doing but none of this looked like the emergency drill they had just learned! As she tried to calm him down, he suddenly yanked her aspirator out of her mouth. Desperation set in. Where there is scarcity, there’s desperation. And where there is desperation, there is exploitation. As he struggled for air, he began to push her head down, almost as though he was trying to climb her like a ladder to safety. Of course, what he was doing was drowning her. In return, she struggled violently with him to get the aspirator back and take a breath. Then, in a final act of desperation, he grabbed her and swam full speed toward the surface. In doing so, he forgot to pause and adjust the pressure, so when they arrived at the top they both got decompression sickness, also known as “the bends.” They survived but, needless to say, they are no longer swimming buddies, or any kind of buddies for that matter.
The same principle holds in all of life.
When you have a source of life, you are a source of life.
But where there is scarcity, desperation will set in. Desperation can easily become exploitation of others. If you are disconnected from a source of life, your “oxygen tank,” then you will attempt to suck life out of someone else. You will be tempted to use people to try to get your sense of self-validation. You will, in a moment, become a sucker of life rather than a giver of life. And this is how toxic relationships are born. And in all toxic relationships, often at the heart is a trust deficit.
The idea of the “Nigerian Dream” should ideally evoke a vision of prosperity, peace, and progress—a nation where hard work is rewarded, governance is transparent, and citizens can aspire to a better future. However, for many Nigerians, the dream appears elusive, overshadowed by decades of political instability, corruption, and an ever-widening trust deficit between the governed and those who govern. The reality for many is not a dream but a nightmare, fueled by broken promises, systemic failures, and a persistent cycle of distrust between the people and their leaders.
From the days of independence in 1960, Nigerians have been sold the idea of a great nation—a beacon of hope for Africa. The first-generation leaders, though not without their flaws, presented a semblance of vision and patriotism. However, successive governments—military and civilian—turned the dream into a mirage.
Each electoral cycle is marked by grand promises: eradication of poverty, job creation, infrastructural development, and national unity. Yet, as soon as the votes are counted and power is secured, the promises fade, replaced by self-serving governance, nepotism, and financial recklessness. This pattern has left Nigerians increasingly skeptical, with many resigning themselves to a fate where they expect little from their leaders and are rarely disappointed.
The relationship between Nigerian citizens and their leaders is characterized by deep-seated mistrust. The average Nigerian does not believe that politicians have their best interests at heart, and for good reason. Politicians frequently campaign on the rhetoric of service and transformation but, once in office, prioritize personal enrichment over national development.
Public trust is further eroded by the fact that Government spending, budget allocations, and policy decisions are often shrouded in secrecy. Public officials live in opulence while millions struggle to afford necessities.
From failed electricity reforms to unfulfilled employment schemes, leaders repeatedly make pledges that they never honor. Leaving Nigeria consistently ranking among the most corrupt nations globally, as inflated contracts to brazen looting of public funds, corruption attained institutionalized heights.
To sound like a broken record, roads are death traps, hospitals lack basic equipment, and universities are frequently shut due to strikes. The absence of functional public services makes citizens question the competence and sincerity of their leaders.
Elections remain transactional rather than reflecting the will of the people, and are often bought, rigged, manipulated, or marred by violence. When leaders are selected rather than elected, accountability becomes a casualty.
Interestingly, the trust deficit is not just between the people and the government—it has extended to interpersonal relationships among Nigerians themselves. Decades of ethnic and religious divisions, exacerbated by political manipulation, have turned citizens against one another. The fear of the “other” persists, fueled by stereotypes and prejudices that leaders exploit for their gain.
With a potpourri of ethno-religious and cultural age-long propaganda, the national identity that should unite Nigerians has been replaced by regional and religious loyalties. In such an environment, it becomes difficult to build a unified front against bad governance.
A country’s youth should be its greatest asset, but in Nigeria, they are often treated as an inconvenience. Young Nigerians grow up witnessing leaders who remain in power for decades, recycling themselves through different political positions while offering little innovation or reform. The result? A disillusioned generation that sees little incentive to engage in politics or public service.
The recent wave of Japa (mass emigration) reflects this reality. Skilled professionals, entrepreneurs, and students are leaving Nigeria in droves, searching for opportunities in countries that offer stability and meritocracy. Many who remain are caught in cycles of unemployment, underemployment, or political thuggery.
If the youth—the backbone of any nation’s future—no longer believe in the Nigerian Dream, can the dream still exist? Or has it already turned into a nightmare?
Despite the bleak picture, Nigerians remain resilient. The continuous birth of movements like #EndSARS, #Endbadgovernance (whether ill-managed or ill-timed) the push for electoral reforms, and the increasing call for accountability signal that all hope is not lost. Civil society organizations, journalists, and a few progressive leaders continue to challenge the status quo.
However, for the Nigerian Dream to be revived, fundamental changes must occur, and leaders must commit to openness, ensuring that government dealings are subject to public scrutiny. Nigerians must move beyond complaining and actively participate in governance, from voting to demanding accountability. The electoral process must be strengthened to ensure that votes count.
Nigerians need to be reoriented to prioritize national unity over ethnic and religious divisions. Young people must be encouraged and empowered to take up leadership roles rather than being used as political tools.
So, is the Nigerian Dream alive, or is it merely a cruel illusion? The answer depends on perspective. For many, the daily struggle to survive makes it seem like a nightmare. But for others—those who continue to fight for justice, advocate for change, and refuse to give up—there is still a flicker of hope.
Nigeria continues to stand at a crossroads. It can either continue its descent into deeper mistrust and dysfunction or choose the harder path of reform and renewal. The Nigerian Dream is not yet dead, but it is on life support. The question remains: Who will step up to revive it? Only time will tell.
