Picture this: Nigeria’s a grand poker game. The stakes? Our future. The players? Men in agbadas, babarigas, and bespoke suits — dealing cards stacked with tribal loyalty instead of merit. The jokers? Us, the people, fooled into betting on “our own” while the house cleans out the chips.
It started back in 1960. The Union Jack drops, hope rises, and a fresh nation stands at the table. But beneath the glitz, a dark game begins — ethnic profiling, the quiet conman whispering, “Watch your back. They’re not from your tribe.” And we bite.
Fast forward to now: the same old song. Want a job? Better flash the right name. Want a contract? Better check your tribe’s ticket. This isn’t just nepotism — it’s the slow, elegant theft of Nigeria’s promise. While we squabble over who sits where, billions walk out the door, and dreams get dusted under the carpet.
Let’s be real. This game isn’t about loyalty. It’s about control. When we vote by tribe, we aren’t building our community — we’re helping the house stack the deck. And the house? It never plays fair. It’s never us.
Here’s the kicker: we know the score. Yet, we keep playing like starry-eyed rookies. Ethnic profiling isn’t just a bad habit — it’s the silent crime that bankrupts hope, stunts talent, and feeds corruption.
So, what if we flipped the script? What if Nigeria judged talent by talent — not tribe? What if loyalty meant to country, not clique? Suddenly, the stakes change. The game changes.
It’s time to stop betting on “us vs them.” Time to call out the con. Because if we don’t, the biggest loser won’t be the other tribe — it’ll be Nigeria.
And that’s a hand no one wants to fold on.
