A Circus Called Nigeria: Guess Who the Clowns Are?

Welcome to the greatest show on Earth—or at least, in West Africa. Nigeria, a nation of over 200 million souls, is a grand circus tent where the absurd and the profound perform in a chaotic, unending spectacle. Under the bright lights of this sprawling arena, acrobats of ambition leap, jugglers of promises fumble, and clowns—oh, the clowns—steal the show with their antics. But who are these clowns, and why does the audience keep buying tickets to this bewildering performance?

Nigeria is a paradox wrapped in a riddle, performed on a tightrope. It boasts Africa’s largest economy, yet over 40% of its population languishes below the poverty line. It pumps millions of barrels of oil daily, but its refineries are relics, forcing the nation to import fuel. Its cultural exports—Afrobeats, Nollywood, literary giants—dazzle the globe, yet its schools churn out graduates with degrees but no skills. This is the circus: a dazzling display of potential undermined by systemic dysfunction, where every act promises grandeur but delivers farce.

Enter the Clowns

In this circus, the clowns are not mere entertainers; they are the architects of chaos. They wear many faces, but their roles are unmistakable:

The Ringmaster of Empty Promises: Decked in tailored suits or flowing agbadas, this clown wields charisma and a megaphone. They promise roads, jobs, and electricity, but their whip cracks only for applause. Decades pass, and the same pledges echo, while crumbling infrastructure and power outages remain the encore. Stakeholders, ask yourselves: how many manifestos have you applauded, only to see the same act recycled?

The Juggler of Public Funds: With nimble fingers, this clown tosses billions of naira into the air—budgets for schools, hospitals, security—but the balls never land where promised. They vanish into offshore accounts or bloated contracts, leaving citizens to dodge the fallout. The 2024 budget, pegged at ₦28.7 trillion, sparked debates over padded figures and misplaced priorities. Yet, the juggler grins, knowing the audience is too distracted to demand accountability.

The Acrobat of Division: This clown thrives on discord, flipping between ethnic, religious, and regional fault lines to keep the crowd fractured. They stoke tensions—Hausa versus Igbo, Muslim versus Christian, North versus South—ensuring the circus never unites for a better act. The 2023 elections, marred by allegations of rigging and tribalism, were their masterpiece. Divide and conquer, they whisper, as the tent trembles.

The Tightrope Walker of Apathy: Perhaps the most insidious clown, this one is not on stage but in the stands. They are the citizens who shrug at corruption, boycott polls, or sell votes for a bag of rice. Their indifference keeps the circus running, allowing the other clowns to perform without fear of a heckling crowd. In 2023, only 27% of registered voters turned out for the general elections. Apathy, it seems, is the tightrope that holds the show together.

Stakeholders—business leaders, policymakers, civil society—you sit in the front row of this circus. You fund the show with taxes, investments, and advocacy, yet the performance rarely changes. Are you complicit, clapping for clowns who dazzle but deliver little? Or are you captive, trapped in a system where the tent feels too vast to dismantle?

The circus thrives because its clowns are not outliers; they are products of a broken system. Corruption, estimated to cost Nigeria $18 billion annually, is not a solo act but a choreographed routine. Insecurity—Boko Haram, banditry, kidnappings—keeps the audience on edge, with over 3,600 abductions reported in 2024 alone. And governance, riddled with inefficiency, ensures the show stumbles on.

But the circus need not be a tragedy. Nigeria’s youth, tech innovators, and diaspora are rewriting the script. Fintech startups like Flutterwave and Paystack are global players, proving the nation can perform without pratfalls. Activists, from #EndSARS to climate advocates, are demanding a new act. And stakeholders like you have the power to shift the spotlight.

Invest in education to ground the acrobats of division. Demand transparency to trip up the jugglers of public funds. Support policies that empower entrepreneurs, not cronies. And, most crucially, step out of the audience and onto the stage. The clowns may steal the show, but the directors—you—can change the narrative.

So, who are the clowns? They are not just politicians, bureaucrats, or apathetic voters. They are anyone who profits from Nigeria’s chaos or shrugs at its dysfunction. Look around the tent. Look in the mirror. The circus called Nigeria is a collective performance, and the clowns are us—until we choose to rewrite the act.