A Nation of barbarians in identity crisis, by Basil Odilim

We have become a nation of barbarians, worshipping money like a god, mocking those who still believe in dignity. No one asks *how* you made it—only *how much*. Steal billions, and they call you “Boss.” Speak the truth, and they ask if you’re mentally okay.

This is Nigeria—a nation intoxicatedly operating in its own universe, where criminals are crowned, where con men trend, where pastors kneel before thieves, and scholars beg for scraps. A country now producing only one thing: celebrities. Not earned through service, but bought with blood, bribes, and brazen impunity.

Open your social media and scroll through sorrow. The cult of clowns in designer suits flaunt cars they can’t spell, wives draped in vanity, children trained to inherit shamelessness. And, when real heroes dare to speak, they’re mocked, silenced, or worse—disappeared.

Read *A Nation in Crisis,* the book by Larry Bates, and you’ll swear the authors missed the mark. It isn’t America in meltdown—it’s Nigeria.
Even the book “All the Devils Are Here” by Bethany McLean would feel more at home in this land, now overrun by devils in agbada, speaking English upside-down and calling themselves “Excellency.” They sit shamelessly in elevated public offices, in hallowed chambers, passing laws—not to protect the people—but to protect their loot and shield their co-conspirators.

Our fathers, now resting among their ancestors, would not merely cringe—they would curse. They died believing they were leaving behind a future. But what we built instead is a palace of thieves, where the crooked rule and the righteous run for dear life.

Oil money is vanishing, and there’s no plan B. No industry. No vision. No shame. Only noise, fake degrees, political theatre, and corporate scams — all in a childish hunger for relevance in a world powered by intelligence, invention, and integrity. As AI reshapes the world, we still believe we can dance our way out of ignorance.

Who will pay when the house finally collapses? The world will—one refugee boat at a time. One terrorist cell at a time. One famine at a time.

Nigeria is not just broken—it is bleeding. And no one is stopping the wound. We are too busy clapping for our executioners, wearing their faces on our shirts, chanting their names while they auction our future.

This is not a warning—it is a funeral hymn. Nigeria has set sail on a voyage with no return. All that remains are echoes. Of what could have been. Of what we chose to destroy.