Nigeria, it can be said, is under siege.
Across Nigeria, from bustling urban centres to quiet rural communities, there is a heavy sense of disillusionment. Hope, once the heartbeat of Africa’s largest democracy, has withered in the shadow of insecurity. The country is not just battling armed threats—it is losing the trust of its people.
In the cities, people sleep with one eye open. In the villages, silence after dark is less peace and more fear. From Lagos to Maiduguri, from Benin to Birnin Kebbi, fear has become the national pulse of Nigeria—a persistent, suffocating dread that shapes conversations, decisions, and dreams. Once buoyed by promise and potential, Africa’s most populous nation now trudges beneath the weight of anxiety, insecurity, and disillusionment.
A Nation Under Siege
Nigeria is in the grip of a pervasive security crisis. Once confined to the northeast, where Boko Haram launched its deadly insurgency, violence has now metastasised across the country. In the north-central and northwest, bandits terrorise communities, abducting schoolchildren and demanding ransoms. In the southeast, unknown gunmen enforce sit-at-home orders, targeting civilians and security personnel alike. The southwest is contending with ritual killings, cult violence, and armed robbery. Meanwhile, farmer-herder clashes rage across the Middle Belt.
Even the nation’s capital, Abuja, no longer feels immune. Insecurity is no longer regional—it is national.
Despite billions allocated to security, the Nigerian government has struggled to assert control. The country’s security architecture is overstretched, outdated, and often viewed with suspicion by the very citizens it is meant to protect. The police are under-resourced and frequently accused of human rights abuses, while the military is locked in endless battles with faceless enemies. In many communities, vigilantes and local hunters have stepped in to fill the void, a testament to a state that is failing in its primary duty: the protection of lives and property.
A Climate of Insecurity Unabated
Nigeria’s descent into fear did not happen overnight. As clearly stated, over the last decade, insecurity has metastasised into a nationwide crisis. What began as a northern insurgency with Boko Haram has now evolved into a mosaic of violence: banditry in Zamfara, mass kidnappings in Kaduna, secessionist agitations in the Southeast, and ritual killings in the Southwest. No region feels safe. The train to Abuja is no longer a symbol of modern infrastructure but of ambushed dreams and haunting memories.
Between 2020 and 2024, Nigeria recorded tens of thousands of civilian deaths from conflict-related causes. Armed robbery, abductions, and random killings have transformed travel, even during the day, into a gamble. Citizens now crowd passport offices, desperate for any path out of the chaos.
An Economy of Anxiety
Insecurity has a direct and devastating impact on the economy. Farmers are abandoning their fields due to fear of attack, leading to food shortages. Businesses are shutting down or relocating. Foreign investors are wary. For the average Nigerian, surviving each day is an act of courage.
Young Nigerians, once hopeful about building their futures at home, now see “japa” (emigration) as the only path to dignity and opportunity. The middle class is shrinking, the poor are growing, and the cost of everything—from food to fuel—has soared beyond the reach of many. When survival becomes the primary focus, civic engagement fades, and dreams are deferred.
Economic Desperation and the Struggle to Survive
For many Nigerians, the terror is not just in bullets but in bread—or the lack of it. With inflation reaching record highs and the naira plummeting against the dollar, the cost of living has become unbearable. The removal of fuel subsidies, while praised by international financial bodies, has crushed small businesses and daily wage earners.
The average Nigerian now faces a cruel paradox: working harder, yet growing poorer. Electricity remains epileptic, unemployment is rampant, and university graduates are queuing up for menial jobs or gambling on migration. Amid all this, there is a growing fear of the future—of whether hard work will ever yield dignity and stability.
The Disillusioned Citizen – Broken Trust in Leadership, Voter Apathy
Most distressing is the widespread erosion of trust in government. Many citizens believe the state has abdicated its responsibility to protect them. The political elite appear disconnected from the lived realities of ordinary Nigerians, cocooned in privilege and power.
Elections, once symbols of democratic aspiration, are increasingly seen as theatre—marred by low voter turnout, vote-buying, judicial controversies, and violence.
Disillusionment in Nigeria is not new, but it is deepening. The promise of democracy has not translated into meaningful change for most citizens. Elections are often marred by irregularities, voter suppression, and violence. Political leaders campaign with lofty rhetoric but govern with opacity and detachment. Corruption is rampant, and public institutions are perceived as tools of elite preservation rather than instruments of public service.
The average Nigerian no longer believes that government policies will improve their lives. There is a growing chasm between the state and the people—a silent withdrawal of faith in leadership. Cynicism has replaced optimism. Many no longer expect change—they only hope to endure.
The Youth and the #EndSARS Fallout
Nowhere is the disillusionment more palpable than among Nigeria’s youth. The 2020 #EndSARS movement was a moment of collective national awakening—a generation rising to demand justice, accountability, and reform. But it ended in bloodshed, notably at the Lekki Toll Gate, where peaceful protesters were met with bullets.
What followed was not just grief, but a chilling effect on civic activism. Young Nigerians now live with the painful lesson that speaking up might cost them their lives. The silence that has followed is not peace—it is trauma.
The #EndSARS protests were a cry for justice, yet ended in further trauma. Unfortunately, today, apathy runs deep, and hope feels like a dangerous luxury.
The Psychological Toll
Beyond statistics and policies, Nigeria’s crisis is deeply psychological. Fear has rewired social behaviours—schools now install panic buttons, churches organise security patrols, and citizens learn to be perpetually vigilant. Anxiety and depression are on the rise, but mental health remains a taboo, barely funded or acknowledged by the state.
Even joy is filtered through caution. Weddings are smaller, nightlife is subdued, and festivals are policed with suspicion. Every celebration risks becoming a target.
Media and Misinformation: A Double-Edged Sword
In the digital age, fear spreads faster. Social media platforms, while amplifying awareness, often fuel panic. Fake news, unverified videos, and alarmist broadcasts contribute to a national mood of paranoia. Yet, traditional media too faces threats—censorship, arrests, and declining public trust.
The result is a fragmented information space where facts compete with fear for dominance.
A Glimmer of Hope?
Despite the gloom, Nigerians remain remarkably resilient. Civil society continues to push for reform. The youth, creative and adaptive, have carved out new economies in tech, music, and fashion. Faith communities offer solace, and local initiatives in community policing and education show potential.
But resilience is not infinite. A nation cannot live indefinitely in fear and flourish.
Pathways to Renewal
The challenges are immense, but Nigeria is not without hope. To move forward, the country must:
• Rebuild security architecture with community-based models and modern technology.
• Restore trust in governance through transparent leadership, judicial reform, and accountable institutions.
• Invest in young people with education, entrepreneurship support, and meaningful political inclusion.
• Reaffirm national identity through inclusive narratives and policies that bind rather than divide.
• Nigeria’s leaders must demonstrate courage and seriousness for true change, be accountable, sincere, visionary and God-fearing.
Nigeria’s citizens deserve more than survival—they deserve security, dignity, and a future they can believe in.
Conclusion
Where Do We Go from Here?
Nigeria stands at a crossroads. The question is no longer just about who governs, but how the governed can feel safe, heard, and hopeful. The palpable fear that stalks Nigeria is not just about security—it is about survival, dignity, and the broken contract between the state and its people.
To heal, the country must confront its fears—through courageous leadership, inclusive governance, economic justice, and a reawakening of civic purpose. Nigeria’s story is not finished. But for its next chapter to be redemptive, it must first be honest about its pain.
Insecurity is more than just a physical threat—it is a psychological wound, a daily erosion of faith in the idea of Nigeria. Unless this insecurity is addressed, the disillusionment of the citizens will only deepen. Nigeria stands at a moral and political crossroads. If her leaders cannot restore safety and hope, the nation risks losing not only lives, but its soul.
