4 Nigerians On the Times the Country Has Disappointed Them

Living in Nigeria can mean expecting constant disappointment, yet it still manages to shock you. It could be a sudden policy change, an infrastructure project  left incomplete  for years, a hospital that fails you when you need it most because doctors are on strike, or the quiet shame of explaining, yet again, why your passport gets extra scrutiny abroad. Bad governance, a battered economy, terrible infrastructure and systems that seem designed to fail affect the quality of Nigerians’ lives everyday.

Anyone who has lived here long enough has at least one moment where the system failed them. In this edition of Nigerian Lives, Culture Custodian speaks with 4 Nigerians about that one moment:

Waheedah, 28, Physiotherapist

I applied for a job that would have paid three times what I was earning. It could have taken my yearly income to eight figures in Naira. I had all the skills and qualifications, but I didn’t get hired simply because I was a Nigerian.

Irabonose, 28, Filmmaker

I spent the night at a friend’s house helping him upload a large file for work. The next morning, after we finished, I went out to get food from a Chicken Republic nearby. I got the food and was heading back on a bike and texting on my phone, when the bike man warned me, “Oga, police de front o.” I was used to their usual theatrics, so I didn’t pay much attention, especially since we were in a residential area. Within two minutes, the police stopped us, not with a signal to halt, but with a gun pointed at my face.

They sent my bike man away and started questioning me in front of onlookers. I told them where I lived, where I was going, and showed my ID, but it didn’t matter. The police officer who pointed the gun, who was rude and semi-literate, refused to give my ID back unless I went with them to the station. His partner, who acted like he was being “reasonable,” snatched my phone out of my hand as soon as he got the chance. When I asked why, he said they’d explain at the station, and when I pushed further, the first officer pointed the gun at me again. A few minutes later, a Hilux full of armed men in uniform pulled up, including an older officer in the front seat. They squeezed me between four of them and drove for about fifteen minutes to their headquarters. I listened to them make crude jokes about shootings and nearly killing a “criminal” days before. Their driving was reckless, and the man beside me shoved and hit me before pushing me out of the vehicle like I was nothing.

At the headquarters, I walked past an assembly of officers who didn’t even look at me twice as I was dragged to a shed out back. Before I got there, I heard the sound of slaps, and inside I found a young man being forced to confess to drug possession, a shakedown in disguise. They moved him elsewhere and brought me in. An officer took my phone, and when I didn’t want to show him my private messages, he kept insisting until I gave in.  I love films and shows, so when he saw a TV character like Tony Soprano on my WhatsApp, or Doc Brown from Back to the Future as my Twitter profile picture, he claimed I was breaking Nigerian laws by impersonating others online.

They had already written a statement saying I was caught with drugs and told me I could only leave if I paid. We settled on 40,000 naira, money I really couldn’t afford, but I needed to get out of the police station since nobody knew where I was. They called a POS agent who showed up almost instantly, and after I paid, the officer told me to lie to his boss and say that I only sent 20,000 naira. They made me pose for a photo on an old phone before letting me go, something I regret, along with not memorising more of their names, since only the one who called the POS agent had a visible name tag. Through all of this, the older officer from the front acted like the “hero,” saying I didn’t look like a criminal, yet he didn’t object to anything and was the one who took my photo at the end.

Maryam, 47, Lawyer

I woke up in the middle of the night with abdominal pain so severe I could barely breathe, let alone stand. My daughter rushed me to the nearest hospital, but as soon as we explained my symptoms, they said they didn’t have the capacity to handle it and turned us away without even checking my vitals. We went to a second hospital, then a third, and each one had an excuse, some had no bed space, no doctor on call, or it was the wrong department, while I suffered in the back seat, certain something was seriously wrong with me. By the time a fourth hospital finally agreed to admit me, I was exhausted, terrified, and in more pain, after nearly two hours of driving from one hospital to another.

Even then, the relief of finally getting in didn’t last. I was left on a bed in a corridor while two nurses sat nearby, scrolling through their phones and giggling at whatever they were watching.   They only glanced at me occasionally, as if I was background noise to their entertainment. I called out more than once, and each time they’d say “we’re coming” without moving. When someone finally did attend to me, all they did was strap on a blood pressure cuff, write down a number, and then immediately ask how I planned to pay before any further examination or treatment would continue. No one explained what might be wrong with me, no one ordered urgent tests to be done, and I could see the doctor fast asleep in one of the beds reserved for emergency patients. It felt like my pain was an inconvenience to them. I remember lying there thinking that if I had needed urgent care, I would not have survived.

Adeola, 23, Accounting student 

In 2023, when I visited Nigeria for the summer, I went with my sisters to a graduation ceremony at the International Conference Center in Abuja. Security guards were stationed at the entrance, making sure that only invited guests got into the hall. As we made our way in, a group of soldiers started causing trouble out of nowhere. Despite us holding valid invitations, they insisted we wouldn’t be allowed inside, and things escalated so quickly that we decided that it was best to leave. I tried calling our driver, but couldn’t reach him, so we were stuck outside while the men kept pushing and  shoving us toward the gate, even though we had every right to be there for a graduation we had been invited to.

What happened next was humiliating and terrifying. They manhandled us, and it turned into full-on beating. A crowd stood by and watched the entire thing unfold, and not a single person intervened, except for one man who tried to step in and was punished for it. The soldiers even threatened us, saying that if it had been nighttime, they would have raped us. In the chaos, my phone and some other belongings were stolen. When I got home, I told my parents everything, and they got involved; the last I heard, the men responsible were demoted. It is absurd that these are supposed to be men protecting the country.