What is Nigeria?

This essay was originally published by the author on Substack

During the course of a guest lecture I was delivering on “Intellectual Property: A Law and Political Economy Approach”, a student tinged with innocence asked: “what is Nigeria?” Admittedly, and I’d presume for many Nigerians, such question would ordinarily (and perhaps hastily) be dismissed as a betokened expression of the myriad ways in which Nigeria — as a social reality, political union, and an identity — has been continuously devalued by Westerners owing to, amongst other things, the entrenchment of unsavoury factoids in the Western infoverse (I mean who asks what is America? Or what is UK?)… Fortunately, what the student did in fact ask was, “what about Nigeria?” I was relieved. But also unsettled. As soon as I began to scrape out my quasi-ingrained biases, I realised that the question what is Nigeria has never been more salient and urgent. For what could be more pressing than a probing inquiry into the collective experience of our socio-economic and political reality?

Nowadays, “may Nigeria not happen to you” is a trendy way amongst Nigerians of wishing someone good luck (ohh yes, it is deeply worrying). In other words, Nigeria is what happens to you when the sword of Damocles is hanging on a thread above you — perhaps a literary way of putting it but you get the gist. After all, many Nigerians openly celebrate their exit from Nigeria on social media platforms with throw-back photos of “Then vs. Now”. Apparently, it seems as a Nigerian you are born twice: first in Nigeria and second when you exit! (hooray!) So, what is Nigeria? I must admit I neither have the answers nor the fortitude to engage in this daunting inquiry for as soon as one scratches the superficial contours of this question, you quickly learn that the issues are as polarising as they are eternally multi-layered and multi-dimensional. To put it mildly or rather frustratingly, Nigeria raises more questions than answers (I say this with great discomfort for my beloved country). Yet, we must confront this question, particularly in this critical phase of our co-existence (or non-existence?), if we are to map out a collective destiny. My own modest contribution here is to provide signposts to navigate this inquiry — at least I’m not giving up yet.

What is Nigeria? Well, for starters, one could provide a historiography that locates the origins as well as the never-receding tensions of this political union in the 1914 amalgamation of the Southern and Northern Nigerian protectorates with the Lagos Colony by the British. Or, without further ado, simply point out that Nigeria is a country somewhere in West Africa. But, of course, this is too reductive for Nigeria is fundamentally an experience i.e. it is impossible to unpack the nature of the question what is Nigeria without a discussion of its citizenry. And this necessarily requires an appraisal of the complicated web of experiences unique only to a Nigerian. In fact, to be Nigerian is an experiential thing. And even though our existence precedes our experience, it is our experience as Nigerians that conditions our existence. Put differently, the question what is Nigeria requires us to investigate the manifold ways in which the average Nigerian experiences his/her existence… Well, I’m not saying that this is entirely constitutive of the principal question (remember i’m only offering signposts ), but it is certainly a non-negotiable, and perhaps pre-eminent, component.

So what are these experiences? Starting from the 19th century, the prevalent view amongst Germans was that their history and development was special and separate, otherwise known as Sonderweg (“special path”). The Sonderweg theory was interpreted positively in that the supposed “special path” Germany was considered to have taken was neither of the West’s decadence nor of Russia’s authoritarianism — the path to democracy for Germany was carved out separately and specially from that of its European neighbours. What is interesting is that the term “special path” is inherently neutral i.e. it can be interpreted either positively or negatively (special path to progress or damnation?). And in fact, Sonderweg was understood negatively in the 20th century for in trying to make sense of German history Konrad Jarausch notes worryingly that “the incommensurability of simultaneous man-made life-worlds of utter privilege, wealth, and consumption and death-worlds of utter degradation, starvation, and brutal annihilation is the sign of twentieth-century German history.” The German theory of Sonderweg is a useful analogy because Nigeria is certainly on a negative special path although somewhat differently: first, the experiential component that constitutes our lifeworld is unique only to the Nigerian and replicates the ever-broadening divide between the “man-made life-worlds of utter privilege, wealth, and consumption and death-worlds of utter degradation, starvation, and brutal annihilation” (i.e. what the Nigerian man or woman experiences is rarely present elsewhere); Nigeria is not what it seems to be (the more you look the less you see); the lived and experienced reality of Nigerians diverge from the stated rules of the political union (rules do not matter). Now, let me explain for I have said too much.

Consider the case of Deborah Samuel Yakubu, a 22 year old female student of the Shehu Shagari College of Education in Sokoto, who was on May 12, 2022, stoned, beaten and burnt to death by her college peers for alleged blasphemy against Prophet Mohammed. How does one begin to unpack the vicious and monstrous murder of Deborah? One way is to inquire about the normative validity of blasphemy (i.e. what constitutes blasphemy) or whether blasphemy is constitutive of the Islamic and Christian ontology (i.e. whether the crime of blasphemy exists under the Christian/Islamic faith). I am not going to waste my time on this because it simply rubbishes the issues at stake. The issues thrown up by Deborah’s murder are deeply systemic and emblematic of the question what is Nigeria. Deborah is the latest victim of the divergence between experienced reality and the stated rules of the political union. Nigeria seems to be a constitutional democracy — with all the appurtenant guarantees of life, equality, free speech, religious freedom — until you shine your eyes well (remember, the more you look the less you see). In Deborah’s case, one must be forgiven to inquire whether Nigeria is a theocracy or a democracy guided by a constitutional grundnorm for even after the lynching, the government is yet (perhaps unwilling) to arrest and prosecute the religious fanatics-cum-terrorists.

The sad and experienced reality is that Nigeria is neither of theocracy nor of democracy but rather on a special path of non-existent governance and of where rules do not matter (otherwise, how does one make sense of a sitting CBN governor’s intention to run for president?) And it is this special path that feeds into the Nigerian lifeworld (i.e. how Nigerians, collectively and individually, experience their existence). Perhaps, one more example might cement this characterisation of what is Nigeria. Consider the ENDSARS protest (I have written about the early stages of the protest here). On October 20, 2020, after almost a month of peaceful nationwide protests against police brutality, the Nigerian Army wilfully and premeditatedly opened fire on peaceful and unarmed protesters, thereby killing many. I must quickly add that these protesters were waving the Nigerian flag. This reveals and accentuates an ever-present aporia in the Nigerian lifeworld for if the Nigerian flag which symbolises patriotism with the white colour denoting “peace and unity” could not prevent the murdering of Nigerians by the Nigerian army, then what is Nigeria? On another level, here, as in the case of Deborah Yakubu, we find that the stated and legitimised rules of the political union do not matter — the constitutional guarantees of the right to peaceful assembly and association. Put differently, the experienced realities of ENDSARS protesters and Deborah were structured and conditioned by Nigeria’s negative special path. This is troubling to say the least. Nigeria seems to be an apparition silhouetted against the lives of Nigerians (the more you look the less you see or is it even possible to see anything?). It constantly reproduces unresolvable contradictions at the expense of Nigerian lives. In this political union, the Nigerian lifeworld is a dilemma of epic proportions: obedience to stated rules of the political union does not guarantee life since rules do not matter but anarchic behaviour is almost certain to send one to his/her early grave.

Now, for the sake of clarity, I think it is important to pause and offer some clarifications by way of concluding remarks. What is Nigeria? Even though Nigeria raises more questions than answers, I have provided some framing and signposts as starting points to navigate the inquiry. First, what is Nigeria cannot be divorced from the experienced reality or lifeworld of Nigerians — to inquire about what is Nigeria is to ask what it means to be Nigerian; how does the everyday Nigerian experience his/her life? Second, the experienced reality is conditioned, structured, and enhanced by Nigeria’s descent towards a negative special path, particularly that of non-existent governance and where rules do not matter. It is important to quickly clarify that “non-existent governance” and “rules do not matter”, constitutive of the special path, are separate and distinct. But they operate in tandem or separately to condition the experienced reality. For example, the death of ENDSARS protesters is clearly a case where the collapse of rules-based order structured the experienced reality. Deborah, on the other hand, is a mix of both. There are many examples however of non-existent governance operating distinctly to condition the experienced reality. Consider the case of public goods such as electricity. Nigeria with a population of around 200 million people can only generate 4000 megawatts of electricity daily although it has the potential to generate up to 12,500 megawatts. South Africa with a population of around 59million people generates 58000 megawatts. Of course the myriad ways in which power failure conditions the experienced reality of Nigerians and by extension the economy is unimaginable (and there are many instances of the impacts of non-existent governance in Nigeria from education to healthcare). What is frighteningly obvious in this delineated topography of the Nigerian lifeworld is that Nigeria is not what it seems to be. Accordingly, we must precede any discussion on what is Nigeria with weeding ourselves off of all unexamined assumptions such as Nigeria is the giant of Africa, a democracy etc.

In the end, we may not be able to satisfactorily answer the question what is Nigeria for it is replete with and embedded in a web of man-made contradictions. Should my own modest contribution here prove ineffectual, then we should look at the question consequentially i.e. the question what is Nigeria is not asked for its own sake, not having any purpose. What is Nigeria is necessitated by the yearnings of Nigerians for a better Nigeria, whatever that may be. Perhaps, then, we might rephrase the question as what should Nigeria be? This is a more interesting and less divisive way of rephrasing the question as it provides a platform to chart a way forward instead of fixating on the status quo. Personally, I believe this is a leadership question and as Nigerians are preparing to head to the poll to elect a president soon, they should be very surgical with their votes by paying attention to the nuances of every candidate and seeking out those that have articulated a coherent and feasible vision that centralises the experienced realities of Nigerians as their lodestar.