Are Nigerians Losing Goodwill Globally?

Nigeria, Africa’s most populous nation and cultural powerhouse, is used to standing at the center of global conversations. Afrobeats dominates global charts, Nollywood exports its stories to streaming platforms worldwide, and Nigerian writers continue to enrich world literature. The diaspora, too, is a vital force, filling critical roles in healthcare, law, technology, and academia across continents. Yet, despite these triumphs, Nigerians face an uncomfortable paradox: while the culture wins hearts, Nigerians themselves often encounter suspicion, stereotyping, and institutional barriers. The question is unavoidable; are Nigerians losing goodwill?

One of the most visible indicators of a shift in attitude lies in the digital sphere. Across X (formerly Twitter), dismissive remarks like “ignore him, he’s Nigerian” circulate with a casual cruelty that betrays deeper bias. The persistence of the “Nigerian prince” scam trope keeps this suspicion alive, casting Nigerians as inherently duplicitous despite the global prevalence of cybercrime. Sharon Lin, writing in WIRED, notes that discrimination has gone “beyond precaution,” with Nigerians often subjected to heightened scrutiny online and off. At one point, PayPal simply banned Nigerians altogether, punishing millions for the crimes of a few. Popular culture keeps the stereotype alive — from throwaway jokes in mainstream shows like The Office to the countless memes that flatten a diverse people into a punchline.

Fraud scandals reinforce this picture. The global coverage of Ramon “Hushpuppi” Abbas, a social media figure turned convicted fraudster, fed into the narrative that Nigerians glamorize “Yahoo boys” and cybercrime. Nigerian authorities themselves acknowledged the damage: presidential spokesperson Garba Shehu lamented the “scar on all of us” caused by such cases. These stories feed the media cycle, building a perception that fraud is not just a crime in Nigeria, but a cultural export.

The consequences are not confined to perception. They are written into immigration policies and stamped into passports. In July 2025, the U.S. downgraded Nigerian non-immigrant visas to single-entry, three-month limits, shrinking what was once multi-year access. The U.K. sparked outrage after refusing a short-visit visa to a prominent Nigerian security executive and his family, fueling claims of a “racist crackdown.” Travel challenges stretch further: Nigerians must secure pre-arranged visas for destinations like Qatar, unlike travellers from several other countries (such as US, UK, Canada, Australia, and all Schengen Area members) who are eligible for visa-free entry. Frequent reports also surface of excessive searches and humiliating delays at airports. Travel content creator Alma Asinobi captured this frustration when she remarked: “You can’t travel-history your way out of a Nigerian passport.”

The impact is measurable and the damage to the country’s reputation sometimes has tangible costs. Businessday NG estimates Nigeria loses around £2.1 billion annually due to stereotype-driven discrimination, manifesting in everything from limited mobility to reduced investment. 

Why, then, do these perceptions persist so powerfully? The answer may partly lie in Nigerians’ own digital footprint. Nigeria’s vibrant online spaces — often celebrated for humor and creativity — can also be cauldrons of bullying, tribalism, and harassment. From the recent smear campaign against Ayra Starr to the vitriol that forced footballer Alex Iwobi off Instagram, Nigerians have earned a reputation for online intensity that is not always flattering. Add to this the visible flaunting of wealth by “Yahoo boys” online, and perception bleeds into stereotypes.

Politics adds another layer, where the intersections of tribalism, ideology, and global alignments often cast Nigerians in an unflattering light. 

At home, the 2023 elections laid bare the ethnic fissures underpinning Nigerian politics: a now-deleted tweet by APC’s national youth leader, Dayo Israel, urging “Yoruba Ronu” (“Yoruba, Think”), became a rallying cry against an “Igbo candidate” in Lagos, stoking fears of exclusionary tribal nationalism. Abroad, the creation of the “Yoruba Party in the UK” — though unsuccessful electorally — signaled how these ethnic divisions risk being exported, mirroring the factional politics that dominate Nigeria itself and tainting the reputation of Nigerians abroad. 

Ideologically, the spectacle extends further: from Nigerian men loudly championing Donald Trump as a symbol of “free speech” to prominent clerics like William Kumuyi and Nathaniel Bassey aligning with U.S. evangelicals at his inauguration, Nigerians’ embrace of polarizing figures routinely fails to meet expectations of Global South solidarity. Such undesirable political positions serve to amplify perceptions of cultural insensitivity and arrogance. 

Even domestically, Nigeria has weaponized stereotypes; SARS notoriously invoke the “Yahoo boy” trope to justify profiling and brutality against youth, demonstrating how reputational burdens Nigerians face abroad are mirrored by injustices at home.

Prominent Nigerian voices in the diaspora such as the Conservative leader, Kemi Badenoch, add to the country’s negative perception by making exaggerated, inflammatory, though sometimes accurate comments pointing out the country’s many flaws. 

Still, to argue that goodwill has evaporated completely would be misleading. Negative press and viral scandals skew the narrative, but they do not erase the extraordinary contributions Nigerians continue to make globally. Diaspora doctors, lawyers, and academics shape systems and save lives. In the U.K. alone, more than 3,600 Nigerian-born doctors are registered, part of a wave of medical professionals whose expertise has become indispensable abroad. Remittances from this diaspora — over $20 billion in 2023 — remain a lifeline for the Nigerian economy.

Culturally, Nigeria’s influence is unrivaled. Afrobeats has become a dominant global genre, Nollywood commands streaming platforms, and Nigerian fashion and literature continue to chart new frontiers. In many ways, Nigerian soft power has never been stronger.

According to the advocacy group Africa No Filter, international media often leans heavily on storylines of conflict, corruption, poverty, disease, and weak leadership—particularly during election seasons when coverage intensifies. This framing exaggerates the risks of engaging with the continent and flattens its diversity into a single, negative narrative. In turn, Africa is unfairly disadvantaged by portrayals that highlight its problems while giving far less attention to strides made, such as Nigeria’s introduction of the Cybercrime Act in 2015 to address online fraud.

It’s also worth remembering that toxic online behavior is hardly unique to Nigerians. What exists is visibility, not singularity—Nigerians are prominent online, but the behaviors that draw criticism are mirrored by communities worldwide. Similarly, fraud is not an exclusively Nigerian export. Studies have repeatedly shown that countries like Russia, Ukraine, and even the U.S. rank higher in actual cybercriminal activity, but Nigeria remains overrepresented in global discourse.

There is nobody better equipped to rewrite the national narrative and correct these misrepresentations than the Nigerian government, which has continued to display blatant disinterest in taking tangible steps towards the betterment of the nation’s image. Instead, the government merely bemoans the negative perceptions. Poor diplomatic leverage by the Nigerian government, with few diplomats and feeble negotiating strength also lends to the country’s deteriorating image and implies that Nigeria has no desire to maintain relationships with the international community or to correct the country’s erroneous overrepresentation in matters relating to crime and delinquency. 

So, are Nigerians losing goodwill? The answer lies somewhere between yes and not quite. Policy shifts, media narratives, and the weight of stereotypes suggest a tangible erosion of trust that affects travel, business, and social mobility. Yet at the same time, Nigerians’ cultural and professional contributions command admiration and affection, complicating any blanket condemnation.

The challenge ahead is not to deny the cracks but to repair them. To lean into diplomacy, data, and cultural capital in order to reshape perceptions. Nigerians may not be universally trusted, but they are undeniably present, vibrant, and influential. Whether goodwill is lost, kept, or rebuilt depends not just on how the world sees Nigerians, but on how Nigerians choose to see and present themselves.