In the Squalor for Too Long
The Book
Nigeria, Towards A New, Decent And Truly Great Nation
Chapter One
In the Squalor for Too Long
By Alaba J. Babalola
There is a tragedy in watching a golden child starve in the midst of abundance. Imagine a prince born in a palace of immeasurable wealth—gold, oil, fertile lands, sunshine, rivers, and an energetic youth—yet living as a pauper, clothed in rags, unkempt, and scorned by outsiders. That child is Nigeria: a nation brimming with the promise of greatness, yet weighed down by its own contradictions, indiscipline, and inertia. For too long, we have slumbered in the squalor of wasted opportunities, like a giant drunk on dreams but allergic to discipline and action.
Nigeria’s founding as an independent nation in 1960 came with high hopes and boundless optimism. The world looked on with interest as Africa’s most populous country gained freedom from colonial rule. We inherited a vast land blessed with natural wealth: crude oil in the Niger Delta, vast arable land in the Middle Belt, solid minerals like tin, gold, limestone, and coal scattered across the states, and bountiful aquatic resources. We possess a dynamic and entrepreneurial population, and a strategic location that situates us as a gateway between West Africa and the rest of the continent. By every metric of natural endowment, Nigeria should be a leader—not only in Africa, but among the emerging powers of the 21st century.
Yet, here we are.
We live with rolling blackouts in a country that exports gas. Millions walk for miles daily in search of clean water in a nation rich in rivers and rainfall. Our educational institutions struggle under the weight of neglect, while the children of our leaders are schooled abroad. We endure roads that crumble after the first rains, hospitals without medicine, and salaries unpaid for months. Corruption is no longer news—it is the norm. It seems we have perfected the art of self-sabotage.
Is this the destiny of Nigeria?
When one travels to countries like the United Arab Emirates, Malaysia, or even Rwanda—a country ravaged by genocide just three decades ago—one cannot help but feel a sharp pang of frustration. These nations have fewer natural resources, smaller populations, and in some cases, far more traumatic histories. Yet, their leaders and citizens have managed to construct systems that serve their people, educate their youth, and provide dignity in basic living. They are not perfect, but they are progressing. And the question hits like a thunderclap: Why not Nigeria?
It is not that we do not know what to do. Our problem has never been ideas. Nigeria has birthed countless national development plans, vision papers, reform blueprints, and technical committees. We have held conferences upon conferences. Our universities churn out brilliant graduates. Our diaspora contributes billions annually to the economy and excels in fields ranging from medicine to technology, even becoming lawmakers and professors in some of the world's most advanced countries. But somehow, within our borders, mediocrity thrives.
To understand our condition, we must be honest about the causes of our national ailment. At the heart of the problem lies a failure of leadership—leadership that sees public office as an opportunity for personal gain, rather than national service. The politics of patronage has robbed us of merit and choked innovation. Institutions are weakened because too many leaders prefer control to accountability.
Yet, the problem is not only with those at the top.
We must also reflect on the complicity of ordinary citizens who have normalized bribery, who sell votes for crumbs, who remain silent in the face of injustice, and who seek shortcuts at every turn. We have created a culture where corner-cutting is rewarded, where honesty is mocked, and where being “smart” often means being dishonest. Is this the national ethos we want?
Let us not deceive ourselves: the journey to national greatness will demand sacrifice—from both leaders and followers.
Still, amid the frustration, there is hope. In fact, the existence of this essay, and the fact that you are reading it, is itself a sign that not all is lost. There is a rising number of Nigerians who care, who want change, who yearn to live in a country where hard work pays, where integrity is honored, and where children can dream boldly without fearing that the system will crush them.
The desire to salvage Nigeria is no longer a luxury—it is an existential necessity.
Citizens have roles to play, both ordinary and extraordinary. The ordinary duty is to obey the law, vote responsibly, speak truthfully, and act with integrity in daily life. But extraordinary citizenship means more: it involves activism, innovation, and courage. It means being the teacher who still shows up to teach despite poor pay; the entrepreneur who creates jobs rather than complains; the journalist who speaks truth to power despite threats; the civil servant who refuses to inflate contracts.
It is also time for a new kind of leadership—one that listens, plans, and executes. Government must act with urgency and honesty. Leaders must stop treating governance like charity and begin treating it as duty. We must invest more in health, education, infrastructure, and social welfare, not just to win elections, but to build a legacy.
To be fair, we must acknowledge that the current administration, like others before it, has made some progress. Investments in transportation infrastructure, such as the Lagos-Ibadan railway line and expansion of certain federal highways, have improved mobility in parts of the country. The digital economy is growing, and fintech startups have begun to attract global attention. Efforts toward agricultural revival through initiatives like the Anchor Borrowers Programme have benefited some local farmers. However, these gains are inconsistent, and often overshadowed by governance failures in security, education, health, and public accountability.
If we want to build a Nigeria that is efficient, glorious, caring, and truly great, we must demand more—and do more.
What might that Nigeria look like?
Imagine a nation where children in rural Zamfara or Bayelsa receive the same quality of education as those in urban Lagos. Imagine hospitals equipped with modern technology where no patient has to bring their own syringes or diesel. Imagine a working-class Nigerian affording a decent home, running water, stable electricity, and access to affordable healthcare. Imagine a nation where young graduates do not dream of “japa” (emigrating) as their only hope.
We can build that Nigeria—but not by chance. It will require honesty in governance, patriotism among citizens, and the humility to learn from nations that have walked this road before us.
So, I ask: How long shall we remain in the squalor? How long shall we pretend that this is normal? When shall we rise to claim the greatness that is within our reach?
Let us not wait for a messiah. The collective energy of a determined people can move mountains. The time to awaken the golden child is now.
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