By Aminu Adamu
As the sun begins to fade over Kano’s congested streets, 47-year-old Amina Yusuf gathers her three children and prepares for another night with little more than soaked garri and tap water for dinner. Once a primary school teacher, Amina now hawks vegetables by the roadside. Her monthly earnings barely reach ₦30,000 — barely enough for food, transport, and rent.
“We don’t live anymore,” she tells The North Journals. “We just survive.”
Amina’s story is not an exception, it is the reality for millions across Nigeria. A country once touted as Africa’s giant is now entrenched in a slow-moving but deeply rooted humanitarian and socio-economic crisis, exacerbated by an increasingly disconnected political class and a government whose responses often seem cosmetic at best.
A Nation in Reverse
In June 2023, the Nigerian government removed a decades-old petrol subsidy as part of a broader economic reform agenda. The move was described by officials as “painful but necessary.” The impact, however, was immediate and brutal: transport costs surged overnight, food prices tripled in some regions, and small businesses, already battered by poor electricity supply and multiple taxations, began to collapse.
Despite these challenges, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu maintained that the subsidy removal was a path to long-term fiscal discipline. But for citizens like Amina, the term “long-term” offers little comfort.
“We are dying now. Not in the future,” she says.
Nigeria By the Numbers
According to the World Bank, over 87 million Nigerians currently live below the poverty line, roughly 40% of the population. That figure is expected to rise, especially with inflation peaking at 29.9% in early 2024, the highest in nearly two decades.
Worse still, unemployment, especially among young Nigerians, remains alarming. The National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reported that over 53% of youths aged 15-24 were either jobless or underemployed by late 2023.
“The current economic policies do not reflect the pain on the streets,” says development economist Dr. Yusuf Lawal. “What we are witnessing is the erosion of the Nigerian middle class and the normalization of hardship.”
A Landscape of Violence and Silence
In addition to economic woes, Nigerians continue to face threats to their personal safety. Armed banditry in the North-West, farmer-herder clashes in the Middle Belt, secessionist violence in the South-East, and Boko Haram insurgency in the North-East have left thousands dead or displaced.
In one of the most recent attacks in Plateau State, over 40 people were killed in a series of coordinated raids on farming communities. Survivors say security forces arrived hours after the violence.
“I watched my neighbors burn alive,” said Stephen Dachung, a 33-year-old farmer now living in a makeshift IDP camp in Jos. “There was no warning. No help. Nothing.”
Official responses have ranged from routine condemnations to hurried visits by federal ministers. yet the root causes, including lack of rural security infrastructure and chronic poverty, remain largely unaddressed.
Crumbling Public Services
Beyond the flashpoints of violence and economic hardship lies another crisis: the decay of public services. Government hospitals are frequently under-equipped, with recurring strikes by unpaid doctors and nurses. Public schools, particularly in northern Nigeria, are in ruins — many lacking chairs, toilets, or qualified teachers.
Meanwhile, elite government officials continue to enjoy some of the highest salaries and benefits of any political class in the world.
“You cannot have a political elite flying private jets while ordinary citizens cannot afford to take their children to the clinic,” says human rights lawyer Hauwa Sadiq. “It’s not just tone-deaf; it’s cruel.”
Voices Silenced, Questions Ignored
Public frustration with the government is growing, and so too are attempts to suppress dissent.
In late 2024, a popular protest song critical of President Tinubu was banned by Nigeria’s National Broadcasting Commission (NBC), citing “violation of public decency.” The move sparked outrage among civil society groups and raised concerns about the erosion of free speech.
“They silence music but not hunger,” tweeted activist Rinu Oduala. “We will continue to speak truth to power.”
A Crisis of Leadership
What many critics point to is not just the crisis itself, but the glaring absence of responsive leadership.
“When you have ministers who don’t live among the people, who are detached from local realities, the policies they craft will always miss the mark,” says Professor Jibrin Ibrahim, a governance analyst based in Abuja.
Even when solutions are presented, such as agricultural grants, youth empowerment programs, or palliative distributions, they are often marred by corruption, poor coordination, and lack of sustainability.
Still, A People Endure
Amid the chaos, the resilience of Nigerians remains a defining thread. From market women organizing communal savings to neighborhood youth setting up food banks, citizens are finding ways to care for each other where the state has failed.
But that resilience, some warn, is being stretched too far.
“We should not have to be resilient to survive our own country,” says Amina. “We deserve better. We deserve leaders who care.”
The Road Ahead
The question remains: how long can this fragile social fabric hold?
Analysts believe the 2027 general elections may be a critical turning point. But for lasting change to occur, political will must align with grassroots realities.
As Nigeria faces the weight of its many challenges, insecurity, poverty, inflation, broken infrastructure, and a leadership deficit — one thing is clear: change cannot wait.
“We cannot claim to love Nigeria while ignoring the suffering of Nigerians,” said activist and Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka. “That hypocrisy must end.”
