How Nigeria’s Dream of Greatness Slipped Away, One Misstep at a Time
You probably didn’t know this…
In 2005, Nigeria pulled off the impossible.
We cleared $30 billion in debt owed to the Paris Club of creditors — the largest debt cancellation Africa had ever seen.
For the first time in decades, we weren’t drowning in interest payments.
We had oil money. We had global goodwill. We had room to breathe.
Most people alive today don’t remember it. But this was our shot. A clean slate. A path forward.
Obasanjo saw the opening — and moved.
Fresh off the return to democracy in 1999, Nigeria was broke and broken.
So Obasanjo brought in technocrats — people like Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala — and began to reshape the system.
The strategy? Privatize government assets, open the economy, reduce corruption, and rebuild institutions.
Over 500 state-owned companies were sold:
NITEL. Refineries. Banks. Cement plants. Oil blocks.
It was bold. It was messy. It was risky.
But in sectors like telecoms, it worked.
In 1999, Nigeria had 500,000 landlines.
By 2010, we had over 88 million mobile subscribers.
Today, that number is closer to 200 million subscribers – the industry is worth over ₦5 trillion.
Imagine if refineries, railways, power, and steel had followed the same trajectory.
But not all privatizations were created equal.
Telecommunications might have been a major hit!
But there were whispers:
That some of the buyers were fronts.
That Obasanjo’s allies benefited disproportionately.
Maybe.
But the truth is more complicated.
And Nigeria — for once — was trying something different.
Then came the succession game.
By 2007, Obasanjo was running out of time. His second term was ending.
His relationship with his VP, Atiku Abubakar, had collapsed.
Atiku wanted power for himself. Obasanjo wouldn’t allow it.
And the rumored third term attempt? Blocked.
So Obasanjo needed a successor.
Someone loyal. Someone quiet.
Someone he could control.
He turned to Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, a little-known governor from Katsina.
His brother, Shehu Yar’Adua, had once served as Obasanjo’s deputy in his military Government.
The logic was simple: pick a northerner (to respect PDP’s zoning), but one that wouldn’t shake tables.
It seemed safe.
Obasanjo got his man on the ticket. And, as usual back then, PDP swept the polls.
But Yar’Adua had his own ideas.
Soft-spoken as he was, Yar’Adua was determined to prove he wasn’t Obasanjo’s puppet.
Almost immediately, he began reversing Obasanjo’s major reforms.
He questioned the refinery sales, reversed some deals, and called for audits.
He even openly criticized some privatizations.
And with that, Nigeria’s fragile momentum began to slow.
Power projects stalled.
Investors grew uncertain.
Many reforms entered policy limbo — neither alive nor dead.
The reform engine collapsed.
Yar’Adua’s intentions may have been noble.
But time wasn’t on his side.
He fell seriously ill just two years in.
A leadership vacuum opened.
And by 2010, he passed away.
In his place: Goodluck Jonathan, his VP, and Nigeria’s first president from the Niger Delta.
Jonathan was not Obasanjo.
He had no strong political base.
And under his leadership, Nigeria entered a different kind of decline.
From self-enrichment to sabotage
Under Obasanjo, there was corruption — no doubt.
But at least the train was moving.
Deals were being made. Reforms were being pushed.
Things were happening.
With Jonathan, things fell apart.
The Dasuki arms deal scandal showed just how deep it had gotten:
Billions of naira meant for weapons to fight Boko Haram were looted.
Our troops faced terrorists armed to the teeth—while they carried weapons from another century.
This wasn’t just mismanagement.
This was sabotage.
So, when did Nigeria really die?
Was it when Yar’Adua reversed the reforms?
Was it when Obasanjo tried to bend democracy to his will?
Or was it when corruption turned from a parasite to a predator?
The truth is:
We missed our moment.
A rare window when debt was gone, oil was booming, and the world believed in Nigeria.
And we shut that window ourselves.
What could’ve been.
If privatization had continued — smartly, not selfishly — we might have 24/7 electricity today.
Maybe more working refineries.
Maybe stronger industries.
Maybe real jobs.
Instead, we got blackouts, fuel scarcity, and a bloated government we still can’t afford.
What now?
Not after what we’ve seen.
And that’s why we can’t afford to sit this out.
Nigeria’s debt is back — over $97 billion.
Oil is losing power. Inflation bites harder.
Factories are shutting down. The naira is gasping.
We fumbled a golden chance once.
We can’t let the same people fumble it again.
If a new window opens, will we recognize it — and be ready to lead?
Bad leadership costs us more than you know.
They failed. We inherit the mess.
But this time, we don’t stand back.
Learn the past. Watch the present.
And make sure the next chapter is ours.
Be involved.
