There is a chilling stillness in the way Nigeria drifts just like a slumbering giant perched on the edge of a cliff. The danger is clear, the stakes could not be higher, yet our national response remains tepid, fragmented, and dangerously complacent. As chaos steadily expands within and beyond our borders, our political leadership seems either indifferent, overwhelmed, or complicit. Governance has not just weakened in key areas, it has disappeared. Nowhere is this collapse more evident than in the realm of national security. Nigeria is under siege, and the threat is not confined to so-called “bandits” or “local insurgents.” We are in the grip of a much broader, more sinister, and transnational project that seeks to unravel the very sovereignty of Nigeria and the Sahel region generally.
To say that Nigeria faces an existential threat is not alarmist rhetoric. It is a sober diagnosis. From Borno to Zamfara, from Niger to Plateau, vast portions of Nigerian territory are no longer under effective state control. What we witness daily, especially kidnappings, gruesome massacres, displaced populations, entire villages turned into ghost towns and more, are not isolated acts of violence. They are symptoms of a deeper systemic failure. The Nigerian state is eroding. And unless there is a radical change in direction, we may well be on a slow, devastating march toward the fate that befell Somalia.
Across the Sahel, we are witnessing similar project unfolding. This belt of instability stretches across West and Central Africa like a malignant scar, and Nigeria sits right on its southern edge. Yet our political class behaves as if we are insulated from this contagion. We are not. The resurgence of terrorism within Nigeria must be understood as part of this broader Sahelian inferno fueled by the volatile mix of ungoverned spaces, foreign-supplied weaponry, radical ideology, and covert geopolitical interests.
One must ask: how do these terror groups continue to thrive despite more than a decade of military offensives, billions invested in procuring weapons, and multiple regional coalitions? Who supplies their arms? Who trains their fighters? Who benefits from these crises?
The answer is as disturbing as it is real. We are witnessing the dawn of a new form of colonialism, and its tools are no longer cannons and flags, but chaos and proxies. In the 18th and 19th centuries, European powers colonized Africa through cozy commercial treaties and direct conquest using the Maxim guns. Today, they do not need to fire a single shot. All they must do is fan the flames of insurgency, encourage disorder, and enter through the back door wearing the garb of “peacekeepers,” “counterterrorism trainers,” or “humanitarian aid workers.”
There is growing evidence that some global powers both European and others have a vested interest in ensuring that Africa remains weak, fractured, and dependent. In the 21st century, the objective is no longer territorial conquest but resource access and influence. And when a state like Nigeria starts to wobble, these interests exploit the vacuum economically, militarily, and politically.
Let us not deceive ourselves! Nigeria is not just another African country. It is a strategic prize in global geopolitics. With over 200 million people, we are Africa’s largest democracy, largest economy, and a vast resource reservoir. Our country holds the potential to rise as a great power, provided we harness our resources effectively. From vast deposits of gold in states like Zamfara and Osun, to a rich spread of gemstones including sapphires, tourmalines, and topaz across the central and northern regions as well as oil and natural gas reserves that extend well beyond the Niger Delta into the untapped inland basins, Nigeria is a literal and figurative goldmine for this project. Beneath our arid northern zones also lie underground freshwater aquifers which is a critically valuable resource in an age where water scarcity is of global concern. Yet, we behave as though we are unaware of the value we possess and the dangers staring at us in the face.
Nigeria’s current state of insecurity is no longer merely the result of incompetence. It is drifting dangerously close to complicity. As citizens are killed or kidnapped in the thousands, our leaders issue vague statements, attend photo-op summits, and establish toothless committees. The National Assembly is largely mute, governors are either overwhelmed or indifferent, and federal ministries operate as though we are not in a crisis.
Meanwhile, our military which is valiant in spirit but undermined in capacity has been stretched thin and infiltrated as suggested by revelations like those from Major General Danjuma Ali-Keffi. Our borders remain open gates. Our intelligence agencies are more reactive rather than proactive. And our rural communities are increasingly ruled not by the state, but by fear. This is not sustainable. It is not acceptable. And if left unchallenged, it will be terminal.
We must ask ourselves a painful but necessary question: if Nigeria disintegrates, what rises in its place? What becomes of the 30 plus million internally displaced persons it could create? What happens when the Nigerian project, already wobbling under ethnic, religious, and class tensions finally fractures? Who will occupy the lands we lose, and under what banners will they operate?
The precedent is clear. In Somalia, Al-Shabaab now functions as a government in many parts, levying taxes, enforcing courts, and controlling borders. We must not wait until these non-state actors become the new state actors.
This is not merely a call on government to decisively deal with this problem, it is a call to rethink and readjust our strategies. Nigeria still has a chance to turn back from the brink. But this will not happen through rhetoric, denial, or blind hope. It will require courageous leadership, organized civil society, and an awakened citizenry.
Nigeria urgently needs a national security strategy grounded in real-time intelligence rather than political theater. This must be supported by targeted investments in community policing, advanced surveillance technologies, and strengthened border protection. Equally critical is a comprehensive audit of all foreign military operations, economic concessions, and intelligence-sharing arrangements that bear on Nigerian sovereignty. In parallel, the exploitation of the country’s vast mineral wealth must be transparent, locally driven, and sustainably regulated and to be managed by institutions that are accountable to Nigerians, not to external interests.
The new colonizers are not on ships. They are embedded in our weak institutions, disguised as allies, and wearing suits instead of uniforms. They fund some of our NGOs. They advise our Commander-In-Chief. They also advise security chiefs. They influence our economic policies. If we do not take decisive ownership of our nation, they will and already are.
We still have a country. But for how long? The future of Nigeria will not be determined by chance. It will be decided by the choices we make or fail to make today. We must hold our government accountable through every legal and constitutional means available to preserve our nation, before we are forced to mourn the loss of what we once took for granted.
Let it not be said of us, as it is of Somalia, that we watched our country crumble and did nothing. Let history not remember us as the generation that lost Nigeria, not to warlords and weapons only, but to indifference, corruption, and silence.
