By Lawrence Egede
Nigeria, Africa’s most populous nation and largest economy by GDP, stands today at a crossroads defined not by its vast resources or young population, but by its stagnation. The country is weighed down by a leadership culture that treats governance as spoils to be won, rather than service to be rendered.
Since independence in 1960, over a dozen administrations including military and civilian have come and gone, each promising change. Yet six decades later, Nigeria remains in the same quagmire: a fragile economy, suffocating insecurity, and a political class more concerned with titles and perks than transformation.
Why has Nigeria remained stagnant? The answer, painful as it is, lies in the very nature of leadership and the way it is pursued.
In Nigeria, politics has never been regarded as sacrifice. It is, instead, an enterprise—a do-or-die contest, as former President Olusegun Obasanjo once described it. If leadership were stripped of its perks—no salaries, no convoys, no foreign trips, no allowance, many of today’s politicians would vanish overnight.
“Leadership here is pursued for benefits, not responsibility,” says Dr. Ayo Teriba, a Lagos-based economist. “That is why reforms are cosmetic and why the system recycles itself in failure," he pointed out.
Contrast this with nations where leadership attracts true patriots because the office demands sacrifice, scrutiny, and accountability. In Nigeria, by contrast, offices are magnets for opportunists because they come with guaranteed benefits, influence, and immunity from consequences.
To understand Nigeria’s economy, one only needs to walk into a mechanic’s workshop. There you’ll find abandoned vehicles—rickety, rusty, beyond repair, and only good for scraps. Owners haggle over uncertain prices with buyers who are equally unsure of what the wrecks are worth.
This metaphor fits Nigeria’s economy: unpredictable, fragile, and running on guesswork.
The naira, once at ₦21 to the dollar in 1985, now trades above ₦1,600/$ on the parallel market (as of September 2025).
Inflation reached 34% in July 2025, with food inflation surging past 40%, according to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS).
The unemployment rate, officially at 33% in 2023, hides a deeper crisis of underemployment and youth idleness.
Public debt now exceeds ₦121 trillion, with debt servicing consuming over 90% of federal revenues.
Every trip to the market tells the same story. A mother who bought a pack of children’s antibiotics for ₦700 last month now pays ₦1,100 for the same product. A bag of rice that sold for ₦35,000 in early 2023 now sells for over ₦75,000. Prices shift weekly, sometimes daily. Nigerians live on probability, constantly adjusting, constantly second-guessing.
“Nothing is stable. Everything is guesswork, from the price of bread to transport fares,” says Abuja-based trader, Mrs. Modupe Akinola. “We wake up every morning not knowing what our money can buy," he added.
Economic stagnation has fueled insecurity, creating a vicious cycle. The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) estimates that Nigeria loses $10 billion annually to insecurity in agriculture alone. Farmers abandon their fields due to banditry and kidnapping, forcing the country to import more food at higher costs.
“The economy feeds insecurity, and insecurity feeds the economy’s collapse,” argues Professor Jideofor Adibe, political scientist at Nasarawa State University. “It is a cycle of despair," he maintained.
Kidnapping has become an industry. In 2024 alone, over 5,200 Nigerians were kidnapped, according to SBM Intelligence, with ransom payments often unreported. The climate of fear deepens poverty and drives migration.
Many Nigerians look to each new government with renewed hope. But history warns us: no administration, in four or even eight years, can repair the rot of over six decades.
Since independence, Nigeria has experimented with numerous economic models:
The oil boom (1970s) brought wealth but also waste, entrenching a rentier economy.
Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP, 1986) devalued the naira and liberalized markets but crushed local industries.
Debt relief (2005) provided fiscal breathing space, but the opportunity was squandered.
Current reforms (2023–2025), including fuel subsidy removal and naira floatation, aim at correction but have triggered inflationary pain.
“It’s like expecting an 80-year-old with chronic illness to become youthful again just because of one injection,” says Dr. Chika Mordi, an economist and CEO of Agusto Consulting. “Nigeria’s problems are layered and intergenerational," said Mordi.
Today’s political culture sees public office as a ticket to luxury. Lawmakers earn some of the highest allowances in the world. Governors retire into billion-naira pensions and convoys. Even local government chairmen operate with entourages.
“Nigeria runs the costliest democracy relative to its income,” notes BudgIT, a civic tech group. “Yet the people get the least returns in public services," it added.
Instead of humility, leaders exude arrogance. Instead of dialogue, governments often respond to criticism with hostility. And instead of welcoming ideas, they entrench division.
The result is a leadership detached from the masses, while ordinary Nigerians tighten their belts to survive.
The first step toward recovery is redefining leadership. Offices must stop being goldmines and return to being callings of sacrifice. This requires:
1. Cutting the cost of governance – Reducing salaries, allowances, and perks of political office holders to align with economic realities.
2. Strengthening accountability – Empowering institutions like EFCC, ICPC, and the Auditor-General’s office including media to act independently.
3. Inclusive dialogue – Leaders must engage opposition, civil society, and communities with humility, not hostility.
4. Rebuilding trust – Citizens must see government as friend, not foe. Peace comes not by force but by fairness.
Nigeria today is politically delicate, socially volatile, and economically frail. For over 60 years, regimes have tried and failed to fix the system with quick strategies. The truth is bitter: the nation has been destroyed in installments, and only long-term sacrifice, sustained policy consistency, and divine intervention can heal it.
We must be frank with ourselves: Nigeria is no longer a young bride awaiting transformation. She is an aged matron, worn by decades of abuse. No foreign loan can reverse the wrinkles. Only honest reflection, wise choices, and God’s mercy can bring renewal.
This is the moment for Nigeria to come home together to think beyond politics, beyond tenure, beyond perks. The wisdom of God, not the trickery of men, is what can birth a new Nigeria.
Until leadership is redefined as service, not struggle, Nigeria will remain stagnant, frail, and trapped in guesswork economics. But if we learn humility, embrace accountability, and pursue peace with sincerity, the dry bones can rise and live again.
To God alone be the glory.
