Sixty-Four Years of Independence from Great Britain
What exactly is there to celebrate on October 1st? Independence from Britain was secured, but freedom for Nigerians was never actualized. We exchanged an external master for a far more brutal, internal one. The chains of colonialism were replaced by the shackles of kleptocracy.
The Giant of Africa is not merely a failed state; it is a state that has successfully failed its people. It is a geographic expression held together by the fading hope of its citizens and the grim determination of those who have no means of escape. The national flag no longer symbolizes unity and faith; for many, it is a banner of betrayal, a reminder of a social contract that was signed in ink but executed in blood and tears.
Sixty-four years on, the journey is clear: from the zero point of colonial subjugation, we have marched resolutely backwards into the nothingness of national ruin. The parade grounds on October 1st are not a showcase of strength; they are a procession in a funeral for a nation that never was, and unless a revolutionary reckoning occurs, may never be. The independence we celebrate is a hollow echo, the sound of nothing, for nothing, signifying nothing.
Every year, on the 1st of October, a hollow echo reverberates across Nigeria. It is the sound of a celebration without cause, a commemoration of a promise not just broken, but systematically dismantled. On this day in 1960, Nigeria finally shook off the shackles of British colonial rule, stepping onto the world stage with immense potential, heralded as the future “Giant of Africa.” Sixty-four years later, the giant is not sleeping; it is comatose, strangled by the very hands meant to nurture it. This is not an anniversary of progress; it is a sombre autopsy of a nation betrayed, a stark narrative of how a country has been meticulously engineered to travel from zero to nothing.
The fanfare of Independence Day is a masterclass in national self-deception. The green-white-green flags, the presidential address dripping with hollow platitudes, the military parades all serve as a fragile veneer over a festering wound. We do not celebrate achievement; we perform a ritual of forgotten potential, a painful reminder of the prosperous, dignified nation that could have been, but never was.
The British handed over the keys to the kingdom, and a successive line of Nigerian leaders in military khaki and civilian agbada alike, proceeded to loot the palace. The initial hope that followed independence was short-lived, shattered by coups, a devastating civil war, and the entrenchment of a political culture where governance is synonymous with accumulation.
Corruption is not merely a problem in Nigeria; it is the nation’s core operating system. It is a sophisticated, multi-tiered enterprise that functions with more efficiency than the government itself. From the top, where billions of dollars in oil revenue vanish into a labyrinth of opaque contracts and ghost projects, down to the constable on the road who must extort his daily bread from beleaguered citizens, the system is designed to cannibalize the state. The nation’s treasury is not a public trust; it is a private feeding trough for a parasitic political class and their sycophantic enablers.
This grand heist has a direct, brutal correlation with the two most pervasive realities for the average Nigerian: poverty and hunger. Nigeria is a tragic paradox: a nation sitting on immense oil and gas wealth, yet it has now earned the grim distinction of being the poverty capital of the world, with over 167 million citizens living in multidimensional poverty. It is an agricultural powerhouse with vast arable land, yet its children are stunted by malnutrition, and families are pushed to the brink of starvation. How is this possible? The answer lies in a leadership that views national resources as spoils of war, not tools for development.
A nation’s ambition is mirrored in its infrastructure. Nigeria’s landscape tells a story of absolute abandonment. The national grid is a cruel joke. In a country of over 269 million people, power generation hovers around a pathetic 4,000MW a fraction of what a single modern city requires. The hum of generators is the true national anthem, a constant, expensive reminder of systemic failure, fueling a multi-billion dollar private energy sector that drains the pockets of citizens and businesses.
You cannot be a giant without a backbone of steel and manufacturing. Nigeria has none. The once promising Ajaokuta Steel Complex, a project that could have catalyzed an industrial revolution, stands as a monument to graft and incompetence, a rusting carcass picked clean by vultures in suits. Without a steel industry, there is no automobile industry, no meaningful construction industry, no manufacturing base. The country is a glorified consumer nation, importing everything from toothpicks to refined petrol, despite being a crude oil producer. The refineries are as moribund as the leadership.
With no productive capacity, the government fuels its profligacy through reckless borrowing. Nigeria’s debt stock has ballooned to astronomical figures, mortgaging the future of generations yet unborn. These loans are not invested in capital projects that yield returns; they are siphoned into private accounts or used to pay the world’s most expensive political bureaucracy, creating a vicious cycle of borrowing to service existing debt.
Since 1999, Nigeria has masqueraded as a democracy. This is a lie. What exists is a “civilian regime” a rotating dictatorship of two dominant parties, the APC and PDP, who are indistinguishable in their contempt for the populace. Elections are not exercises in civic choice; they are violent, fraudulent auctions where the highest bidder, or the most violent thug, takes the prize. The will of the people is irrelevant, subverted by a compromised electoral body and a judiciary that often legalizes electoral heists.
This political vacuum has spawned a hydra of insecurity. Without a legitimate social contract, the state has lost its monopoly on violence. Boko Haram terrorists carve out territories in the North-East, bandits terrorize the North-West with impunity, and separatist agitations simmer in the South-East. The average Nigerian is caught in the crossfire unsafe in their homes, on the roads, and in their places of worship. The security forces, underfunded and under equipped due to corruption, are often outgunned and overwhelmed. Killings have become a mundane headline, life has become cheap, and the government’s response is often a detached, rhetorical condemnation that changes nothing.
Beyond the statistics of poverty and the headlines of violence lies the greatest casualty: the Nigerian psyche. A people known for their resilience, innovation, and “can-do” spirit are being broken. The “Japa” wave the mass exodus of skilled professionals is not a trend; it is a brain drain of existential proportions. Doctors, engineers, academics, and tech wizards are fleeing a nation that does not value them, seeking environments where their potential can be realized, not sabotaged. Those who remain are trapped in a daily struggle for survival, their ambitions curtailed by a system designed to fail them.
My question again, what are we celebrating, a president in a sleeping agbada tacklami dress, a self acclaimed experience accountant who studied at Chicago university yet don’t know the meaning of bad accounting. My pen is broken i can not write anymore. Nigerian governors are the worst thing, ever happened recycled in mind and very negative individuals. All the beneficiaries are celebrating the oppressive regime who don’t care about it’s citizens. I am no longer calling the name of God for our self inflicted problems because am sure we created this mess.
By:
Toby Tunji Adekunle
Abuja
Nigeria.
OBLONG MEDIA UNLIMITED 
Leave a comment