There’s a popular argument that Nigeria is the way it is because Nigerians are terrible people.
And to be fair, I don’t entirely disagree with the assessment of our character.
We can be dishonest, selfish, inconsiderate, corrupt, and remarkably comfortable with behaviours that undermine the very society we complain about. We cut corners, celebrate people who have no business being celebrated, and regularly justify conduct we would ordinarily condemn.
Sometimes, I look at the things we do and wonder how we ever expect to have a functional society.
But where I disagree is with the conclusion.
Whenever someone says Nigeria is dysfunctional because Nigerians are dysfunctional, I wonder whether they’ve got the relationship backwards.
What if the people we’ve become are, to a considerable extent, products of the country we’ve had to live in?
I think we underestimate how much our environment shapes our behaviour.
Take something as ordinary as driving.
Put a Nigerian motorist on a road where traffic regulations are enforced, traffic lights work, and violations attract predictable consequences, and there’s a good chance he’ll behave himself.
Put that same person on a Nigerian road where traffic lights are decorative installations, enforcement is inconsistent, and breaking the law can sometimes be settled with a little cash, and you might see a different person.
Did his character suddenly deteriorate when he arrived in Nigeria?
Of course not.
What changed was the environment.
Now, this doesn’t excuse his conduct. He’s still responsible for breaking the law. But it raises a question about why certain behaviours flourish in one environment and are discouraged in another.
Consider a society where doing the right thing routinely puts you at a disadvantage.
You follow the proper procedure to obtain a document, only to spend weeks being passed from one office to another. Someone else pays a bribe and gets theirs within hours.
You apply for a job you’re qualified for, only to discover that someone with the right connections has already been selected.
What lessons does such an environment teach?
That integrity pays? That competence matters? That institutions exist to serve everyone equally?
Hardly.
It teaches people that rules are obstacles to navigate, that connections matter more than competence, and that doing the right thing can sometimes be the most inconvenient option.
When these lessons are repeated over generations, what begins as an adaptation to dysfunction can become an accepted way of life.
We’ve normalised knowing somebody before getting something done. We’ve normalised paying extra for services we’re already entitled to. We’ve normalised expecting public institutions to disappoint us.
And then we complain about how terrible Nigerians are.
Of course, not everyone who participates in a dysfunctional system does so out of necessity.
There’s a difference between someone who reluctantly pays a bribe because an official refuses to process a legitimate application and someone who willingly pays to obtain an unfair advantage.
Both transactions may sustain corruption, but the circumstances aren’t the same.
Some Nigerians exploit institutional weaknesses simply because they benefit from them. We shouldn’t pretend otherwise.
But a functional society shouldn’t depend on everyone being exceptionally virtuous. It should make misconduct difficult and accountability predictable.
I’ve often thought about countries like Finland.
I don’t believe the average Finnish person is inherently better than the average Nigerian. There’s nothing in their DNA that makes them more honest, considerate, or inclined to obey the law.
Nor are Nigerians naturally predisposed to dishonesty or disorderliness.
We’re human beings, subject to many of the same impulses, temptations, and weaknesses.
The difference lies, at least partly, in the societies in which we’ve been raised.
Imagine a Nigerian child born and raised in Finland, attending Finnish schools, interacting with dependable public institutions, and growing up where certain standards of conduct are consistently reinforced.
Would that child necessarily develop the same habits as someone raised in an environment where institutions are unreliable and rules are selectively enforced?
I doubt it.
Now reverse the circumstances.
Raise a Finnish child entirely in Nigeria, exposing them to the same institutional failures and social pressures.
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Would their Finnish ancestry somehow prevent them from adopting the behaviours prevalent here?
Again, I doubt it.
Of course, Finland isn’t some utopia populated exclusively by honest, law-abiding angels. No country is. And institutions aren’t the only things that shape people. Family, culture, education, economic circumstances, and personal choices all matter.
But that’s precisely my point.
People aren’t born with the behavioural characteristics of their countries. They acquire many of those characteristics through the societies in which they live.
To argue that Nigeria is bad simply because Nigerians are bad is to mistake a symptom for the underlying cause.
This is usually where someone responds, “But our leaders are Nigerians too. They didn’t fall from heaven.”
And they’re right.
Our leaders come from the same society. Some of the behaviours we condemn in public office are behaviours we tolerate, or even encourage, in everyday life.
I don’t dispute that.
What I dispute is the suggestion that this makes the responsibility of ordinary citizens and those entrusted with governing them equivalent.
A trader who cheats customers is dishonest. A motorist who drives against traffic is irresponsible. A public official who diverts funds meant for essential services is corrupt.
All deserve criticism and consequences.
But their actions don’t carry the same implications for society.
Governments have the power to establish laws, allocate resources, and determine whether wrongdoing attracts consequences. Their decisions can influence how millions of people behave.
Yet we’re repeatedly told that everyone must change before Nigeria can improve.
Fine.
But who creates the conditions that encourage that change?
The damage caused by dysfunctional institutions goes beyond their immediate failures. It’s also in what they teach us.
A child who watches adults repeatedly evade consequences learns something about accountability. A young person who sees connections triumph over merit learns something about the value of competence.
Over time, these lessons become habits, expectations, and eventually social norms.
And the people shaped by these environments become the next generation of workers, business owners, civil servants, and political leaders.
The cycle continues.
The institutions shape the people, and the people help sustain the institutions.
This is why electing a few good people into office isn’t enough. We need systems that work regardless of who happens to be in charge.
None of this absolves Nigerians of personal responsibility.
We’re not helpless creatures without agency. Plenty of Nigerians act with integrity despite the incentives to do otherwise.
But a society cannot depend on extraordinary individual virtue to function.
We shouldn’t have to hope that every official we encounter is a good person before receiving a service we’re entitled to. That’s what functioning institutions are for.
And no, I don’t imagine that fixing Nigeria’s institutions would suddenly transform Nigerians into paragons of virtue.
People who’ve spent decades learning to distrust rules won’t automatically embrace them because a new government announces reforms.
Some will resist. Others will continue exploiting loopholes. Behavioural change takes time, and cultural change can take generations.
But when rules are consistently enforced and institutions become reliable, people begin to adjust. And when children grow up with these standards, what their parents considered exceptional can become ordinary.
That’s how societies can change.
Not through endless lectures about morality or appeals to patriotism, but through the deliberate work of creating an environment that encourages better behaviour.
Of course, citizens have a role to play. We must demand better, support reforms, and accept accountability ourselves, even when it inconveniences us.
But the primary responsibility for initiating and sustaining that change still lies with those entrusted with governing us.
So when someone tells me Nigeria is the way it is because Nigerians are terrible people, I don’t necessarily disagree with their assessment of our character.
What I disagree with is their understanding of how we became this way.
I reject the suggestion that our character is some permanent national defect. We are not inherently worse than the people of countries we admire. We’ve been shaped by different circumstances, and those circumstances can change.
You cannot preside over a system that rewards dishonesty, punishes integrity, and routinely fails its citizens, then insist that the country’s greatest problem is the character of those citizens.
If the Nigeria we’ve inherited has helped shape the Nigerians we’ve become, then building a better Nigeria must be part of creating better Nigerians.
And that responsibility cannot simply be passed back to the people by those entrusted with the power to govern them.
