Open for Trade, Closed at the Border: Nigeria’s Visa Contradiction

Earlier this month, CNN’s international correspondent Larry Madowo posted a video from Lagos’ Murtala Muhammed International Airport, where he had just paid a $80 non-refundable visa fee to enter Nigeria from Nairobi. In the clip, he questioned why Nigeria continues to charge visitors from African countries that, in some cases, have removed similar barriers for Nigerians. The video travelled quickly, not because the experience was unusual, but because it was so recognisable.

For many Africans, Nigeria is not just difficult to enter; it is unpredictably so. Applicants pay, wait, and are often denied without explanation or refund. That uncertainty sits awkwardly beside Nigeria’s stated ambitions on the continent.

Within hours of Madowo’s video circulating, Nigerian officials signed an agreement to host the Intra-African Trade Fair 2027 in Lagos, a major continental event expected to draw over 100,000 participants from countries including Kenya, South Africa, Egypt, Angola, Gabon, and Algeria. The symbolism is hard to ignore. While Nigeria positions itself as a hub for African commerce, it continues to maintain entry requirements that could discourage the very participation it seeks.

This contradiction persists throughout Nigeria’s own policy trajectory. In 2018, the federal government introduced a visa-on-arrival policy to ease entry for business travellers. By 2019, then-President Muhammadu Buhari announced an expansion of that policy to all African passport holders, framing it as part of a broader commitment to a borderless continent. It aligned with the African Union’s Free Movement Protocol and suggested that Nigeria was ready to lead on continental mobility.

But that commitment was short-lived, or at least inconsistently applied. In August 2019, Nigeria abruptly closed its land borders, citing security concerns. The decision came just months after endorsing freer movement under the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA), and it exposed a recurring tension in Nigeria’s foreign policy: the gap between its continental rhetoric and its domestic priorities.

Security is often presented as the justification for stricter border controls, and to some extent, that concern is valid. Nigeria’s borders have long been linked to issues ranging from illegal migration to the movement of arms and insurgent groups across West Africa. In a country grappling with terrorism and banditry, border management is not an abstract concern.

Still, the consistency of that argument is difficult to defend. Nigeria’s internal security challenges have been handled in ways that many would describe as reactive rather than strategic. Against that backdrop, a tightly controlled visa regime begins to look like something else entirely.

Part of that “something else” is revenue. Nigeria’s broader approach to aviation already leans heavily on fees and charges. Industry estimates suggest that close to 40 percent of the cost of a domestic flight ticket is paid in taxes imposed by agencies such as the Federal Airports Authority of Nigeria (FAAN) and the Nigerian Civil Aviation Authority (NCAA). Extending that logic to international travel through high visa fees begins to feel a lot like extraction.

That perception has consequences. When a country’s borders are experienced as transactional rather than welcoming, it shapes how that country is seen. Nigeria risks reducing itself, in practical terms, to a toll gate — one that collects from visitors without necessarily offering  commensurate access or ease.

The principle of reciprocity, which Nigeria cites as the basis for its visa fee structure, complicates things further. In theory, charging foreign nationals the same rate as their home countries charge Nigerians is a fair approach. In practice, it has been applied unevenly.

Kenya, for instance, now offers Nigerians visa-free entry. Yet Kenyans still face fees and administrative hurdles when travelling to Nigeria. The imbalance raises an obvious question: if reciprocity is the guiding principle, why does it not apply where it would most clearly strengthen bilateral relations?

The inconsistency extends beyond Africa. Countries such as the Maldives, Mauritius, Seychelles, Palau, and Saint Kitts and Nevis offer Nigerians visa-free access, yet their citizens are still required to pay for Nigerian visas. In diplomatic terms, this is difficult to justify. Reciprocity, when selectively applied, begins to look less like policy and more like convenience.

The broader regional picture makes Nigeria’s position even more striking. According to the 2025 Africa Visa Openness Index published by the African Development Bank and the African Union, Kenya ranks third on the continent for openness to African travellers. Nigeria, by contrast, has fallen to 32nd place, a sharp drop from sixth in 2024. Part of that decline is tied to the shift from visa-on-arrival policies to pre-travel e-visas, which, despite being digital, still function as barriers.

Other African countries have moved in a different direction. Ghana, for example, has signed visa-free agreements with countries including South Africa, Morocco, Kenya, and Zimbabwe. Rwanda has also built a reputation for ease of entry. These are not just symbolic gestures; they are economic strategies designed to attract tourism, investment, and regional movement.

Tourism and travel stakeholders in Nigeria have been paying attention. Ikechi Uko, a tourism and travel expert, has noted that Tanzania began charging Nigerians visa fees after Nigeria failed to reciprocate its earlier openness. Susan Akporaiye, former president of the National Association of Nigeria Travel Agencies, has raised concerns about policy decisions that signal a lack of readiness to develop the tourism sector. And Alex Nwuba, president of the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association of Nigeria/former Chief Executive Officer of Associated Airlines, has warned that restricting access will simply push opportunities elsewhere.

These concerns are not theoretical. As Nigeria prepares to host a major continental trade fair, restrictive entry policies risk undermining attendance, limiting participation, and, ultimately, reducing the event’s impact. Trade depends on movement. So does collaboration.

At the heart of this issue is a broader question about Nigeria’s foreign policy posture. There was a time, particularly during the presidency of Olusegun Obasanjo, when Nigeria’s diplomacy was defined by active engagement. Obasanjo’s “shuttle diplomacy” helped re-integrate Nigeria into the global community, rebuild relationships, and secure tangible gains such as debt relief. Even controversial decisions, like the ceding of the Bakassi Peninsula following an International Court of Justice ruling, reflected a willingness to prioritise long-term stability over short-term sentiment.

That kind of strategic clarity feels less visible today. Nigeria’s current visa regime suggests a country  simultaneously trying to lead and shield itself, to invite engagement while controlling it. The result is a policy environment that feels inconsistent, and at times, self-defeating.

This is not to argue for completely open borders without regard for security. Every country has the right to manage its entry points. But there is a difference between management and obstruction, between caution and isolation. When visa systems become opaque, expensive, and unpredictable, they stop serving their intended purpose.

They also send a message. And increasingly, that message is that Nigeria is difficult to access, difficult to navigate, and, in some cases, not particularly interested in making either easier.

At a time when regional blocs like the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) are actively working to reduce travel barriers, including plans to eliminate air ticket taxes and cut aviation charges, Nigeria’s approach stands out for the wrong reasons. These regional efforts are aimed at strengthening integration and boosting economic activity. They recognise that mobility is not a luxury; it is a prerequisite for growth.

Which brings the conversation back to where it started. A Kenyan journalist paying $80 at the airport is not, on its own, a policy failure. But the fact that the experience resonated so widely is a cause for serious concern.

Nigeria cannot position itself as the centre of African trade while maintaining policies that make entry into the country unnecessarily difficult. It cannot champion continental integration while actively resisting one of its most basic requirements: the free movement of people.

If the goal is to strengthen Nigeria’s role on the continent, then its visa policy cannot remain an afterthought or a revenue stream disguised as reciprocity. It has to be treated as what it is: a reflection of how the country sees itself, and how it wants to be seen by others.