Olu Allen
Today is Independence Day. As usual, the script will play out: the president appears in a starched agbada, the cameras zoom in, and he recites promises of “hope,” “renewed vision,” and a “brighter tomorrow.” Then he retreats into a bulletproof convoy, leaving citizens to navigate potholes deeper than our collective patience.
But at 65, who exactly deserves celebration? The Nigerian state, which staggers from one crisis to the next? Or Nigerians, the citizens who, against all odds, have carried this country on their backs? The truth is uncomfortable but undeniable: Nigeria’s structure may be floundering, but Nigerians, the people, remain the only reason we still stand.
If survival was an Olympic sport, we would be permanent gold medallists. Despite erratic governance, Nigerians have built global reputations in sports, literature, technology, and culture.
Take the economy. Officially, Nigeria’s GDP is around $477 billion, making it Africa’s largest economy. But beneath the numbers lies a striking reality: diaspora remittances, the money Nigerians abroad send home, reached $20.1 billion in 2023, according to the World Bank.
That figure alone nearly doubles the government’s oil revenue for the same year. In other words, it is not oil wealth or state efficiency keeping households alive; it is Nigerians helping Nigerians.
Or consider the global stage. Afrobeats is now a billion-dollar industry, streamed in more than 180 countries. Burna Boy, Wizkid, and Tems are headlining festivals from London to Los Angeles, placing Nigeria at the heart of global pop culture.
Our footballers, from Victor Osimhen to Asisat Oshoala, carry the green-white-green into Europe’s most competitive arenas. In technology, Nigerian start-ups raised over $1.2 billion in venture funding in 2022, outpacing many African peers despite unreliable power and weak infrastructure.
Meanwhile, Nigerian students continue to shock the world. In 2023, a 12-year-old Nigerian boy won medals in English, Mathematics, and Russian Language at an international Olympiad, competing against children from 18 countries.
These are feats the Nigerian state cannot claim credit for. They are triumphs of individual determination, family sacrifice, and communal support.
Yet, as citizens rise, the state often sinks. Governments announce “record revenue generation” even as they rush back to the IMF and World Bank for fresh loans. It is the fiscal equivalent of buying an iPhone while borrowing transport fare.
Ordinary Nigerians, not government institutions, continue to keep the wheels turning, vigilantes defending their villages in the absence of police, small traders cushioning inflation by extending credit, and tech innovators building tools the state never imagined.
The paradox is glaring: Nigerians thrive individually, but collectively we stagger. The structure is weak, but the people are stubborn. We are that flickering NEPA bulb, often dim, sometimes frustrating, but never fully extinguished.
So today, let’s be clear: we are not celebrating an abstract entity called Nigeria. We are celebrating Nigerians, the people who turn hardship into hustle, tragedy into solidarity, and despair into laughter.
We are the ones exporting excellence while importing dysfunction. If resilience were currency, we would have long bought global respect and built the refinery our leaders still promise.
Happy Independence. Not to the state that struggles, but to the people who endure.
Allen is a writer who lives in Kano. He writes on public affairs and promotes good governance.
