Usman Isyaku and insights on merit and opportunity in Nigeria, By Mohammed Dahiru Aminu

If the Nigerian society could embrace and foster a system where hard work, expertise and skill are rewarded without reliance on luck, it would not only uplift people but also foster a more prosperous, inclusive society. My hope is that one day, Nigerians can pursue professional growth and personal stability without feeling that their fate rests on a lucky break or a privileged connection. Until then, the paradox of success in Nigeria will likely persist, pushing many to look beyond its borders for a chance at a more attainable and fulfilling life.

In Nigeria, professional success and economic stability can feel elusive, even for the most skilled and educated. While meritocratic societies largely rely on hard work and skills as pathways to upward social mobility, Nigerians often face systemic obstacles that make progress dependent not only on qualifications but also on an extraordinary dose of luck. This paradox stands in stark contrast to my experiences living and studying in the United Kingdom, where I observed a society that more consistently rewards expertise and dedication. Reflecting on these differences, along with my friend Dr Usman Isyaku’s frequent insights shared on social media, provides valuable perspective on why success in Nigeria is so often equated with “luck.” These discussions have sparked considerable debate and they offer a personal lens through which to examine this entrenched mindset.

This week, I plan to focus on Isyaku’s insights regarding merit and opportunity in Nigeria from a broader perspective. Next week, I intend to delve more specifically into the issues of patriotism and location, prompted by recent criticisms of Dr Isyaku. Some have alleged that he took a Nigerian scholarship but failed to return to fulfill his bond, using this as a measure of his patriotism. I want to explore beyond these claims, why some scholars, after completing their training, are unable to return to Nigeria. What, ultimately, constitutes a bond, beyond simply returning to fulfil an obligation? Does returning, in and of itself, reflect patriotism, and in the context of Nigeria’s current realities, does it truly justify the advanced training received abroad?

It is important to say that meritocracy in Nigeria is often overshadowed by social connections, political affiliations and family background, making the system feel designed to hold even the brightest back from realising their full potential. In more developed societies, skill and dedication typically clear a direct path to achievement, a contrast that Dr Isyaku frequently highlights to inspire young Nigerians to transcend a system that prioritises patronage over talent. He contrasts this with developed countries, where middle class workers enjoy comforts independent of elite status or exceptional luck. In the United Kingdom, for instance, owning a car, taking annual vacations, or buying a home are accessible to a broad range of middle-income earners, woven into daily life, rather than reserved for those in high-paying sectors.

In Nigeria, however, such comforts are reserved for an elite few. Roles in the upper echelons of government, positions within international oil corporations or connections with influential political figures are often viewed as the only reliable routes to financial security. While we can argue that hard work and perseverance can still lead to success, the reality for most is far more complex. Structural challenges make it nearly impossible for many to succeed without external, often arbitrary, support, fueling the widespread belief that “luck” is essential.

The disparity becomes evident when we consider Nigeria’s middle class. For many Nigerians, securing a position in select areas of the civil service, the oil industry, or a multinational company is often one of the few reliable pathways to financial stability. Vacations abroad, new cars or even homeownership are often out of the reach of professionals in sectors such as education, healthcare, or agriculture, regardless of their hard work or years of service. In contrast, these are attainable goals for their Western counterparts.

In my time in the United Kingdom, I was able to observe a society in which the middle class enjoys a certain level of financial security that is stable and predictable. The lifestyle attainable by middle-income families in the United Kingdom, such as annual holidays, comfortable housing and reliable healthcare, stands in stark contrast to Nigeria’s socio-economic reality. In Western societies, a secure middle class existence is far less contingent on one’s connections, sector of employment, or sheer luck. School teachers, nurses, everyday government employees, and university staff members in these countries often have access to benefits and opportunities that enable them to live comfortably and with dignity.

The disparity becomes evident when we consider Nigeria’s middle class. For many Nigerians, securing a position in select areas of the civil service, the oil industry, or a multinational company is often one of the few reliable pathways to financial stability. Vacations abroad, new cars or even homeownership are often out of the reach of professionals in sectors such as education, healthcare, or agriculture, regardless of their hard work or years of service. In contrast, these are attainable goals for their Western counterparts. The visible mass exodus from Western airports during summer holidays or the bustling family activities at European campsites showcase the ease with which Western middle class families partake in these activities. This cultural norm is foreign to most Nigerian families, who might view such as luxuries attainable only by the wealthy.

Dr Isyaku often highlights how these disparities fuel frustration among Nigerians, who see that their hard work rarely translates into a comfortable lifestyle. The unequal distribution of resources, combined with unreliable infrastructure, makes achieving financial security challenging for most. Even those with advanced degrees and extensive professional experience often find themselves economically strained due to these systemic barriers. I understand this struggle personally, having observed the stark contrast between opportunities available in Nigeria and those in developed countries.

In two recent essays published on Premium Times, I challenged the notion that “luck” and “privilege” are essential for success, arguing instead that hard work and resilience are critical. Yet, I must acknowledge the structural difficulties that often make luck appear necessary in Nigeria. A well-educated Nigerian professional may still face financial struggles if s/he lacks the connections or opportunities that are crucial to success. While rising above one’s circumstances is sometimes possible, the need for some form of luck or privilege cannot be entirely discounted in a system that is frequently fraught with bureaucratic hurdles and socioeconomic obstacles designed to hinder even the most hardworking professionals.

Dr Isyaku’s argument for relocating to more meritocratic societies rests on the idea that the middle class lifestyle, which is a standard in developed countries, remains aspirational in Nigeria. By contrast, in the West, professionals in fields ranging from education to healthcare can afford lifestyles that are typically associated with the topmost elite in Nigeria.

The situation in Nigeria raises questions about how we define success and the ways that society can provide pathways for more people to succeed. In a largely meritocratic system like the United Kingdom, career advancement and financial stability can be achieved by most people who demonstrate capability and dedication. But in Nigeria, where basic amenities and infrastructure remain unreliable and where corruption often plays a significant role, the notion of success can feel exclusive to those who have managed to circumvent these barriers.

Dr Isyaku’s argument for relocating to more meritocratic societies rests on the idea that the middle class lifestyle, which is a standard in developed countries, remains aspirational in Nigeria. By contrast, in the West, professionals in fields ranging from education to healthcare can afford lifestyles that are typically associated with the topmost elite in Nigeria. This disparity emphasises the challenges that everyday Nigerians face and stresses the systemic changes needed to allow a larger percentage of the population to experience the financial security that is common elsewhere.

Ultimately, the Nigerian system demands a multifaceted approach to fostering genuine, merit-based opportunities. But while personal effort remains invaluable, it is clear that more needs to be done at an institutional level to reduce the socio-economic disparities that leave many Nigerians disillusioned. For Nigeria to provide its people with a reliable, predictable route to success, it must adopt reforms that limit corruption, strengthen infrastructure and provide equal opportunities for advancement across all sectors. The experiences I have had in the United Kingdom offer a vision of what could be possible for Nigerians if the socio-economic environment were more conducive to success.

If the Nigerian society could embrace and foster a system where hard work, expertise and skill are rewarded without reliance on luck, it would not only uplift people but also foster a more prosperous, inclusive society. My hope is that one day, Nigerians can pursue professional growth and personal stability without feeling that their fate rests on a lucky break or a privileged connection. Until then, the paradox of success in Nigeria will likely persist, pushing many to look beyond its borders for a chance at a more attainable and fulfilling life.

Mohammed Dahiru Aminu (mohd.aminu@gmail.com) wrote from Abuja, Nigeria.