Corruption and the Rest of Us
BY UMUKORO KELLY OVIE
Corruption is Nigeria’s oldest and most stubborn enemy. It has evolved with every administration, survived every reform, and found its way into nearly every institution. It is the invisible virus infecting governance, politics, and even our daily lives. Everyone talks about fighting it — from politicians on campaign podiums to activists in town halls — yet very little changes. The uncomfortable truth is that corruption is not just about those in power; it’s about how the rest of us have learned to live, work, and survive within a broken system.
Across Nigeria, corruption manifests in ways both grand and petty. It is the inflated road contract that never gets completed, the “settlement” handed over to police at a checkpoint, and the padded procurement file in a government ministry. It is the civil servant who demands a bribe to release a file, the student who pays to pass a course, and the hospital staff who insists on a “token” before attending to an emergency. It is also the voter who exchanges a ballot for a bag of rice and the parent who buys a falsified birth certificate for a child. Over time, these seemingly harmless compromises have become habits, and those habits have become a culture — one that drains Nigeria’s potential and sustains mediocrity at every level.
Corruption is not an abstract problem; its effects are felt daily in the lives of ordinary Nigerians. The potholes that destroy vehicles on our highways are symbols of embezzled funds. Each unlit classroom or broken hospital ward reflects diverted allocations. According to the World Bank, Nigeria loses about $18 billion every year to corruption and illicit financial flows — an amount that could fund education, healthcare, and social protection programs for millions of citizens. In 2024, Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index ranked Nigeria 145th out of 180 countries, scoring 25 out of 100, a position that signals deep-rooted governance failures.
In the education sector, corruption has eroded excellence. Admissions are often influenced by connections, not merit, and contracts for classroom blocks are inflated or abandoned. This leaves Nigeria with the world’s largest number of out-of-school children — over 10.5 million, according to UNESCO. Many graduates emerge with certificates but without competence, reflecting an education system where corruption has devalued learning itself.
In healthcare, the consequences are literally deadly. Budgetary allocations for basic health facilities often vanish on paper, leaving hospitals without drugs, equipment, or power supply. Patients are forced to pay bribes for attention or travel abroad for treatment. A 2022 report by BudgIT showed that more than 60 percent of Nigeria’s primary health centres lack essential infrastructure despite repeated government investments. The tragedy is not just in the loss of funds, but in the loss of lives — children dying from preventable diseases because the money meant for vaccines never reached them.
The story is no different in infrastructure and public safety. Billions of naira have been allocated yearly to road construction and maintenance, yet most roads remain death traps. The Federal Road Safety Corps recorded over 14,000 crashes in 2023, many linked to poor road conditions and failed public works. Insecurity has also worsened due to corruption within the defense and security sectors. When funds meant for equipment and personnel welfare are siphoned off, soldiers and police are left underpaid, ill-equipped, and demoralized — conditions that embolden criminals and terrorists.
But perhaps the greatest tragedy is how corruption has robbed young Nigerians of hope. Merit has been replaced by patronage, competence by connection. For millions of job seekers, getting ahead depends not on hard work, but on who they know or what they can offer. This pervasive hopelessness fuels migration — the “Japa” wave — as thousands flee in search of fairness and opportunity abroad.
It’s convenient to point fingers at politicians, but corruption in Nigeria survives because too many citizens participate in it in small, quiet ways. We pay bribes to speed up applications, offer gifts to avoid fines, and celebrate those who “make it” through dishonest means. As Chinua Achebe observed decades ago, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” Yet today, that failure is not just at the top — it has seeped into society’s roots. Leaders rise from the same public that normalizes the very vices it condemns.
Reversing this pattern requires more than arrests or slogans; it demands a deep moral and institutional reset. Anti-corruption agencies such as the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) and the Independent Corrupt Practices Commission (ICPC) need genuine independence, professional leadership, and sustainable funding. Their work must be guided by law, not politics. Technology can also play a transformative role — e-procurement systems, digital tracking of public expenditure, and open data portals can make it harder to hide theft and easier for citizens to trace where money goes.
Civil society and the media must continue to shine a light where shadows persist. Whistleblowers deserve protection and respect, not persecution. Civic education should start early, teaching integrity not as a moral slogan but as a daily practice. And at a societal level, we must begin to reward honesty with the same enthusiasm we currently reserve for wealth and influence.
Nigeria’s recent delisting from the FATF Grey List in October 2025 proves that reform is possible when institutions, government, and citizens work together with focus and accountability. The same political will that drove this achievement can and should be applied to domestic governance, procurement, and service delivery. Corruption may be entrenched, but it is not inevitable.
In the end, the fight against corruption is not about “them” — it is about all of us. It is about whether we will continue to excuse small dishonesties until they destroy us, or confront them one choice at a time. Real change begins when citizens refuse to cooperate with corruption, when public officials know that impunity will not protect them, and when integrity becomes an expectation, not an exception.
If Nigeria is ever to reclaim its promise, that fight must start not just in the corridors of power, but in our own hearts, homes, and habits.
- Umukoro Kelly Ovie is a Procurement Officer with the Africa Network for Environment and Economic Justice (ANEEJ). He writes about governance, integrity, and public accountability in Nigeria.