“The sky is the limit” is an idiom that signifies boundless potential or unrestricted options, suggesting that a person can achieve anything they set their mind to. But for the average Nigerian, the sky is not the limit; it is tragically capped by the ceilings of Aso Rock Villa, where Nigeria’s leadership continues to lower our collective aspirations. It’s the basic things—like the lack of a suitable public library or a properly funded and maintained sports centre—that stifle ambition. Every four years, I watch the Olympics with a pang of jealousy. Why did my parents never think I could be an athlete? Perhaps I could have been an Olympic-level gymnast or tennis player, but like many Nigerians, I never had the infrastructure, coaching, or even the option to explore such potential.
In my third year of university, I was so moved by jealousy that I tried to audition for the university badminton team. The coach explained why I couldn’t pass the audition: most of the team had started training from when they were young enough to wield a bat—some even younger. She believed most people auditioning were likely in the same situation and so I most likely wouldn’t make the cut. I texted my mum immediately after to ask if they had ever even thought to consider whether I would be good at a sport. Now, we will never know if I was truly called to tennis or badminton, and I am forever doomed to watch the Olympics with a side of jealousy.
However, my parents did make efforts to keep me busy with extracurriculars growing up. I had a French tutor, a computer tutor, a science and maths tutor, and I attended a chess academy with my little brother. Chess ended up becoming my thing, and I went on to compete at the state level with my little brother. But even that came to an end just as we had qualified to travel to Spain to compete; the trip got cancelled—lack of government funding, I believe. This is what Nigeria does. I believe that Nigeria caps the extent of our dreams and ambitions; it also smothers the power of our dreams. I want to go further and assert that Nigeria limits our options. There are systemic barriers that stifle ambition.
The world is so big, and we are supposed to be presented with just as many options as others around the world. The options available to people globally are boundless—you can be anything; you can do anything.
There are many such stories of young Nigerians with similar experiences. Beyond personal stories, Nigeria’s broader structural issues also contribute to the limitations young Nigerians face. Economic hardship is not just a number—it is a reality that affects many dreams. With inflation standing at 32.15% as of August 2024, basic survival becomes the primary ambition for many. I gave a presentation on Nigeria’s inflation earlier this year and talked about how it is largely driven by food inflation, which is also driven by currency devaluation and several legacy issues—such as bad roads and insecurity. This level of inflation means that we have lower disposable incomes, less money to spend on other things. Nigeria also suffers from unemployment and underemployment, which worsens the situation. Education in Nigeria is a shadow of what it should be. With chronic underfunding, ASUU strikes, and crumbling infrastructure, the possibility of a well-rounded education is as distant as ever. Are other career options, besides the big three—law, medicine, and engineering/finance—being pushed to students? Do we even know how to dream in Nigeria? Are students encouraged not just by oral encouragement, but by financial and educational support? We dream of one thing and one thing only: survival. This is particularly frustrating.
One of the most frustrating facts about Nigeria is the constant fuel scarcity—as an oil-producing country? When I started driving, it cost 9,000 naira to fill up my tank; today, it costs 44,000 naira. This is approximately a 388.89% increase. I imagine if I had been able to put the rest of my salary into investments, savings, or towards a new skill. Everything I do daily is geared towards survival; it’s so draining.
Poor governance has contributed significantly to trading our dreams for survival. It is hard to be young and ambitious in Nigeria. For example, Nigeria has been put on the FATF grey list, and what this means for many Nigerian entrepreneurs operating on a global scale is horrid. On a global stage, Nigeria’s currency has significantly devalued. I know someone whose business is to assist you with shipping things you buy abroad to Nigeria; you just order them to her, and you pay her a shipping fee, which is how her business earns profit. The last time I engaged her services, I ended up paying 55,000 naira for shipping—three times the cost of the items I bought, and the highest I have ever paid to get something shipped from the UK. This is due to the increase in cargo fees. What will that do for her business? The gist of this is that dreaming has become more expensive.
Nigerian resilience is interesting, to say the least. Resilience is the only explanation for what I see every day on my way to work. When the current administration initially removed the fuel subsidy and PMS prices jumped to historically unseen levels, the roads were bare. Some even praised him for “solving Lagos traffic.” But that didn’t last long—Lagos traffic is resilient. Fuel prices increased by over 388.89%, yet the traffic is still as gallant and as irritating as ever. Nigerians are resilient. It’s like our dreams are like cacti—growing and thriving in the harshest, thorniest, and driest conditions. Nigerians continue to dream and break records in film, music, arts, and tech—everything. We continue to prove that it is possible to dream. But when I think about the fact that I can’t go to Landmark Beach anymore, I realize that Nigerians dreams are bulldozed to make way for a new coastal highway for the government.
Unashamed of my legal theory and jurisprudence background, I’ll quote Isaiah Berlin’s definition of freedom to end: “The positive sense of the word liberty derives from the wish on the part of the individual to be his own master. I wish my life and decisions to depend on myself, not on external forces of whatever kind. I wish to be the instrument of my own, not of other men’s act of will. I wish to be a subject, not an object; to be moved by reasons, by conscious purposes, which are my own, not by causes which affect me, as it were, from outside. I wish to be somebody, not nobody; a doer—deciding, not being decided for; self-directed and not acted upon by external nature or by other men, as if I were a thing, or an animal, or a slave incapable of playing a human role—that is, of conceiving goals and policies of my own and realizing them. This is at least part of what I mean when I say I am rational, and that it is my reason that distinguishes me as a human being from the rest of the world.” Following this definition, I infer that young Nigerians experience negative freedom. As we reflect on what it means to dream as a young Nigerian, it becomes clear that we cannot dream alone. It is time for the government and society to invest in the infrastructure—both physical and psychological—that allows dreams to thrive.