WHEN WE HAVE ALL DIED: CITIZEN NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF PEOPLE OUTSIDE GOVERNMENT CIRCLES IN TODAY'S NIGERIA

 

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’.