By Chiwuike Owunwanne
This editorial hits close to home. For many Nigerians, especially those in the diaspora, the issues raised are not theoretical—they are lived realities. I recently spent two weeks in Nigeria—my first return in nine years—and what I encountered confirmed many of the frustrations described in the piece. But more than that, it revealed the deeper emotional and infrastructural decay we’ve grown numb to.
At first, I was amazed. Mobile transactions are lightning-fast. From roadside vendors to taxis, cashless payments have become the norm. But the delight wore off quickly. This so-called innovation is, in truth, a survival response to economic chaos. With $1 trading at ₦1,500, no one wants to carry stacks of near-worthless currency. The digital revolution is impressive—but it’s not organic growth. It’s reactive, not visionary.
I once studied the Aba Market for a graduate economics project at the University of Pennsylvania. It stood out as a case of indigenous ingenuity. So naturally, I was eager to finally see it in person. Sadly, it remains unfinished. A decade later. I’ve heard the current administration in the state is working hard, and that’s encouraging. But systemic development shouldn’t hinge on the efforts of one individual. It should be baked into governance itself.
Then there’s infrastructure. What used to be a 90-minute drive from my village to Port Harcourt now takes over three hours. The roads are barely navigable—potholes large enough to swallow entire tires, some turned into ponds during the rainy season. Travel has become treacherous.
The rot extends to digital infrastructure too. I tried applying for an eVisa from the U.S. The official Nigerian immigration site couldn’t process a simple $160 card payment. Strangely, I later found “consultants” offering to process it—for $395. Is this just happenstance? Or deliberate dysfunction designed to redirect traffic to these backdoor agents? It raises uncomfortable questions about governance, ethics, and exploitation.
Even worse is how government agencies equate redundancy with job creation. At Port Harcourt International Airport, I passed five document checkpoints—each staffed by several officers. Some asked for the same document more than once. When I raised a brow, one staffer casually said: “It’s part of the job creation effort.” I almost laughed—until I remembered how many investors, tourists, and professionals have had to endure the same bureaucratic fatigue.
That’s not job creation. That’s deterrence. Meanwhile, the airports in Frankfurt and Toronto run cleanly and efficiently—with actual jobs in landscaping, security, maintenance, and logistics. Real work. Real dignity. Real service.
Newspot’s editorial is right: Nigeria’s race to sign MoUs is less about results and more about optics. Many of these agreements go nowhere. Some firms lack a physical presence in Nigeria. Yet, these announcements flood the media as if they’ve altered reality. The illusion of partnership becomes a substitute for actual delivery.
We need to ask better questions: What was the value of that MOU? Who tracks implementation? Who benefits? What are the opportunity costs? How many schools were unfunded to sign that press conference agreement?
Investment—real investment—starts with three things: health, education, and infrastructure. When those pillars are strong, everything else will follow. We don’t need ribbon-cutting. We need roof-laying, road-building, and system-fixing.
Let’s stop mistaking bureaucracy for employment. Let’s stop pretending dysfunction is destiny. Let’s stop celebrating announcements and start demanding accountability.
Only then can we begin to reverse this dangerous illusion—and build a Nigeria that works not for a few photo-ops, but for all.
📌 Read the original Newspot Nigeria editorial here:👉 The Mirage of Job Creation: Rethinking Nigeria’s Subsidy‑Driven Development Model
