14 November 2025 / friday Blues 1-020
WHEN WE HAVE
ALL DIED: CITIZEN NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF PEOPLE OUTSIDE GOVERNMENT CIRCLES IN
TODAY'S NIGERIA
by Noble
Dr. Uzodinma Adirieje (KSJI)
+234 80 34 72 59 05 / druzoadirieje2015@gmail.com
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Nigeria’s headlines are thick with statistics, speeches, and
promises. Yet beyond the conference halls and official communiqués there is
another country — the country of ordinary people who wake before dawn to chase
uncertain incomes, who sleep anxiously because tonight’s small gains may
evaporate with a single roadblock, a single power outage, or a single violent
incursion. This is not an abstract tragedy: it is the lived reality of millions
whose lives fall outside the protective orbit of government circles.
To confess the obvious is to risk being accused of sabotage,
aligning with the opposition, or you are charged with any crime and kept away.
But hope without truth is idle. When markets fail to deliver stable food
prices, when farmers abandon fields for fear of attack, and when parents cannot
afford a clinic visit for a sick child, the social fabric frays. Hunger is not
merely the absence of food; it is also the erosion of dignity. Insecurity is
not merely the threat of violence; it is the normalization of fear. Together
they create a compound wound: even where resources exist, they cannot be
accessed without safety, social capital, or political connection.
The geography of suffering is uneven but omnipresent. In urban
slums, informal traders watch customers vanish as disposable incomes shrink. In
peri-urban communities, artisans and transport workers face extortion and
hijacked livelihoods. In rural hinterlands, smallholder farmers — the backbone
of our food system — abandon their farms because roads are unsafe and markets
unreachable. These are not statistics to be filed away; they are mothers,
fathers, youths, and elders whose daily calculus of survival consumes talents
that should have built our nation.
The causes are many and intertwined. Poor governance — evidenced by
pipeline theft, mismanaged resources, and porous public institutions — creates
openings for criminality and corruption. A grossly weak social safety net
leaves families exposed when shocks occur. Inadequate investment in agriculture
and rural infrastructure makes food production fragile and supply chains
brittle. And when the rule of law is inconsistently applied, powerful actors and
shadow networks thrive while ordinary citizens are left to bear and get
crippled under the weight of the consequences.
The human cost is visible in schools with dwindling attendance,
clinics with unpaid staff and intermittent supplies, and in towns where markets
contract and prices spike. It is visible in the migration of able-bodied youth
toward uncertain urban frontiers or dangerous migration routes abroad. It is
visible in communities where traditional supports — religious networks,
communal labour systems, local dispute resolution mechanisms — struggle under
the strain of prolonged deprivation.
But beyond cataloguing failures, a candid citizen assessment must
ask: who is accountable, and what can be done? Accountability begins with
recognition — by leaders, by elites, and by citizens themselves — that good
governance is not merely a technical project but a moral imperative. Policies
must be oriented toward risk reduction and resilience: investments in
decentralized food systems, rural roads, and secure storage; robust community
policing tied to professional oversight; and scaled social protection schemes
that cushion households against shocks.
Civil society and faith communities remain vital intermediaries.
They know the ground, the people, the networks. Empowering local organizations
with transparent resources and real decision-making space will amplify
community resilience. Similarly, a regeneration of civic education — teaching
citizens their rights and responsibilities — rebuilds the social contract that
hunger and insecurity erode. Private sector actors have a role too. Ethical
investment in agribusiness, respectful public–private partnerships for
logistics and energy, and microfinance models that are tailored to low-income
realities can expand livelihoods without deepening dependency. But the private
sector must be bound to clear social obligations; profit cannot be the sole
metric when entire communities are at stake.
Technology offers tools — early warning systems for food insecurity,
mobile cash transfers, and platforms that connect farmers to markets — but
technology is only as good as the structures that support it. It cannot replace
boots on the ground, effective local governance, or the political will to
dismantle rent-seeking systems.
If we are to avert the grim imagery of a nation hollowed by hunger
and fear, we must centre the voices of those most affected in every stage of
design and response. We must build systems that protect the poorest from
shocks, that restore the dignity of work, and that guarantee the basic security
required for communities to thrive. Only then will the statistical aggregates
on paper begin to reflect the lived realities of a people whose daily struggle
is too often invisible to those in power. In the end, Nigeria will be measured
not by the eloquence of its leaders in announcements, but by the fullness of
life experienced by its weakest citizens. Let us be judged, in good measure, by
whether we acted when the people outside government circles called for bread,
safety, and justice — and whether, in answering that call, we chose life over
despair.
Finally, the story of hunger and insecurity is also a story of moral
witness. When citizens say “we have all died of hunger and insecurity,” they
are speaking from the present, but also issuing a challenge to our conscience.
National renewal will not come solely from grand infrastructure projects or
headline reforms; it will come when the Presidency, Governors, National
Assembly members, Ministers, LGA Chairmen, policy-makers, traditional
authorities, faith leaders, and citizens choose solidarity over indifference,
long-term stewardship over short-term gain, and truth over comfortable
narratives.
Noble Dr. Uzodinma Adirieje is a distinguished and multidimensional
communicator whose work as a writer, columnist, blogger, reviewer, editor, and
author bridges the intersections of global health, sustainable development,
human rights, climate justice, and governance. He is the Chief of Protocols of
the Abuja Grand Commandery of the Ancient and Noble Order of the Knights of St.
John International, and has attained the Noble (highest) degree of the Order. A
former Vice Chairman of the PPC and two-terms President of the CMO of St.
Martin Parish, Lugbe Abuja, Sir Uzodinma Adirieje has been honoured as ‘Ezinna’
CMO of St. John of the Cross Parish, Amaruru, Orlu Diocese, Imo State; and
‘Ezinna’ CWO of St. Martin Parish, Lugbe Abuja. He holds the ‘Ozo’ title as
‘Nze Akuzuobodo’, and a number of chieftaincy titles including ‘High Chief
Ugwumba I of Amaruru clan’, and ‘Ahaejiejemba Ndigbo Lagos State’.
