Odesola JF., PhD
When stealing becomes a culture, corruption becomes a national language
There is a story we need to tell ourselves about Nigeria.
It is not a comfortable story.
It is not a story about politicians alone. It is not a story about civil servants alone. It is not a story about the police, the military, lecturers, businessmen, traditional rulers or young people alone.
It is a story about us.
Because corruption becomes truly dangerous when it stops looking like a crime and starts looking like a normal way of life.
Think about the ordinary Nigerian who walks into a government office with a document that should take three days to process.
He comes on Monday.
“Come back tomorrow.”
He comes Tuesday.
“The officer is not around.”
Wednesday:
“The system is down.”
Thursday:
“Your file is missing.”
Then somebody quietly pulls him aside.
“Oga, if you want this thing to move, you know what to do.”
Suddenly, the missing file is found.
The system begins to work.
The officer becomes available.
The document is ready.
The citizen walks away angry, frustrated and poorer.
But the most dangerous part is what happens next.
He tells his friend:
“That is how Nigeria works.”
That sentence should frighten us.
Because once people stop asking whether something is right and begin accepting it as “the way things work,” corruption has moved beyond individual behaviour.
It has entered the culture.
THE NUMBERS SHOULD MAKE US THINK
Transparency International’s 2025 Corruption Perceptions Index, released in February 2026, gave Nigeria a score of 26 out of 100 and placed the country 142nd out of 182 countries on perceived public-sector corruption. The index measures perceptions of public-sector corruption; it does not mean that every Nigerian is corrupt or that the ranking is a count of individual thieves. But it is still a sobering indicator of the country’s continuing governance challenge.
And corruption is not simply about someone transferring government money into a private bank account.
It is about what happens when public responsibility becomes private opportunity.
It is about the school that never gets built.
The hospital that never receives the equipment.
The road that is paid for but poorly constructed.
The pension that arrives late.
The young graduate who cannot get a job without knowing somebody.
The citizen who cannot obtain justice without paying somebody.
Behind every corrupt transaction is usually a human being who bears the cost.
That is what we must never forget.
THE HOSPITAL THAT COULD HAVE SAVED A LIFE
Imagine a mother carrying her sick child into a government hospital.
She has travelled several kilometres.
She has borrowed money for transportation.
She has spent the night awake beside the child.
She gets to the hospital and discovers that the equipment that could help diagnose the child’s condition is not working.
“Try another hospital.”
She cannot afford another hospital.
She begins to cry.
Somewhere in the chain of public administration, perhaps a procurement process was compromised, perhaps funds were delayed, perhaps equipment was not maintained, or perhaps resources were simply insufficient.
Not every failure is corruption.
That distinction matters.
But where public resources are deliberately diverted, the consequences are no longer numbers on a government spreadsheet.
They have a face.
A mother.
A child.
A father.
A patient.
A family.
This is why corruption is more than stealing money.
It is stealing possibilities.
THE POLITICIAN WHO CAN ESCAPE THE SYSTEM
There is an irony that Nigerians have seen repeatedly.
The ordinary citizen may spend hours waiting at a public hospital.
The wealthy may fly abroad.
The ordinary citizen may endure a bad road.
The wealthy may travel in a convoy or fly.
The ordinary citizen may struggle with unreliable electricity.
The wealthy may have generators, inverters and solar installations.
There is nothing inherently wrong with anyone legitimately using private services.
The problem arises when public institutions are deliberately weakened or public resources are diverted, while those responsible for public administration can simply purchase private alternatives.
That creates two Nigerias.
One Nigeria waits.
The other Nigeria escapes.
One Nigeria manages the consequences.
The other Nigeria pays to avoid them.
That is why corruption is so destructive.
It allows the powerful to escape problems while leaving ordinary people trapped inside them.
THE SOLDIER AT THE CHECKPOINT
Let us move to the road.
A driver approaches a checkpoint.
He sees the uniform.
He sees the rifle.
He slows down.
He is not afraid because he has done something wrong.
He is afraid because he does not know what will happen next.
If an officer legitimately stops him for security reasons, that is part of the job.
But if an officer demands money simply because he has the authority to stop the vehicle, the checkpoint has been transformed.
It is no longer primarily a security point.
It has become a tollgate.
And the driver knows it.
The officer knows it.
Everybody knows it.
That is how corruption becomes normal.
Again, this is not an indictment of every person in uniform. Many members of Nigeria’s security services perform difficult and dangerous duties, sometimes under terrible conditions.
But whenever authority is abused for personal gain, the damage extends beyond the amount collected.
It damages trust.
And once citizens stop trusting the uniform, the institution itself begins to suffer.
THE PENSIONER WITH A FILE UNDER HIS ARM
Perhaps one of the saddest pictures of Nigeria is an elderly pensioner sitting outside a government office.
He has a walking stick.
He has a file under his arm.
Inside the file are certificates, appointment letters, retirement papers and other documents proving that he worked for the government for decades.
He should be enjoying his retirement.
Instead, he is chasing his pension.
He has returned three times.
Five times.
Perhaps ten times.
Someone tells him:
“Daddy, you need to see somebody.”
He understands what that means.
He may have to give money before receiving the money that belongs to him.
Think about the cruelty of that.
A man serves the country for thirty-five years.
At the end of his service, he must bribe someone to receive his own entitlement.
That is when corruption stops being a financial crime and becomes a moral wound.
“SETTLEMENT”
We have become remarkably creative with language.
We don’t always say “bribe.”
We say:
“Settlement.”
“Appreciation.”
“Something for the boys.”
“Egbon Edomisiwaju.”
“Take care of yourself.”
The vocabulary changes.
The principle does not.
If money is demanded or offered to improperly influence the performance of a public duty, giving it another name does not make it legitimate.
Sometimes the language is even humorous.
We laugh about it.
We make jokes about it.
We tell stories about it.
But somebody is paying the price.
And often, it is the person who can least afford it.
THE LECTURER AND THE STUDENT
Walk into a university classroom.
A young woman sits quietly with her notebook.
She has come from a poor family.
Her parents have sacrificed to pay her fees.
She wants to graduate.
She wants to become a doctor, lawyer, teacher, engineer or professional.
Then she discovers that academic success may depend not only on reading and hard work.
Perhaps she is asked for money.
Perhaps she is pressured to provide something else.
She feels trapped.
If she speaks, she fears retaliation.
If she remains silent, she carries the burden alone.
This is why abuse of academic authority is particularly painful.
A lecturer has been entrusted with knowledge and the development of young people.
The student should never have to trade dignity for marks.
Academic corruption does not only produce bad grades.
It can produce bad professionals.
And a bad professional can eventually put other people’s lives at risk.
THE WOMAN IN THE KITCHEN
But let us not pretend corruption lives only in government offices.
Sometimes it is much closer.
A domestic worker takes a piece of meat from the pot.
Tomorrow, another.
A little rice disappears.
A bottle of cooking oil goes home.
Maybe her children are hungry.
Maybe her mother is sick.
Maybe her salary is not enough.
We can understand the pressure.
But understanding is not the same as justification.
Stealing remains stealing.
At the same time, employers should ask themselves difficult questions too.
Do we pay our workers fairly?
Do we treat them with respect?
Do we remember that the person cleaning our house has a family too?
Integrity cannot be demanded from the poor while exploitation is tolerated by the powerful.
THE DRIVER AND THE FUEL
A company gives its driver money for fuel.
The driver discovers that the vehicle does not consume as much as the amount allocated.
He keeps the difference.
“It is only a little.”
The company may never notice.
Another worker takes office supplies home.
“They have plenty.”
A contractor adds an unofficial percentage to a contract.
“Everybody does it.”
A business person under-declares income.
“Government already takes too much.”
Each individual act may appear small.
But multiply millions of small acts across a country.
That is how a national culture develops.
The problem is not always the size of the theft.
It is the mentality behind it:
“If I can take it without consequences, why shouldn’t I?”
THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE LAPTOP/IPAD
Then came the digital age.
A young Nigerian sits in a room with a laptop or Ipad.
He may be brilliant.
He may be intelligent.
He may have the technical ability to build software that could change lives.
But instead, he chooses fraud.
He creates a false identity.
He pretends to be someone else.
He develops an online relationship with a lonely person thousands of kilometres away.
He builds trust.
Then comes the request for money.
The money arrives.
The young man buys a car.
He changes his wardrobe.
He posts pictures.
Friends gather around him.
The street celebrates.
“This guy has made it.”
But what has he actually made?
A victim.
A lie.
And perhaps a generation of young people watching him and learning the wrong lesson.
We must be careful here too.
Nigeria has millions of hardworking young people building legitimate businesses, technology companies, creative enterprises and professional careers.
We must never stereotype an entire generation.
But where fraud is celebrated as “hustle,” we have a serious moral problem.
THE NEW DEFINITION OF SUCCESS
Perhaps our deepest problem is not corruption itself.
Perhaps it is what we have come to admire.
We see the mansion.
We see the luxury car.
We see the jewellery.
We see the designer clothes.
We see the overseas holidays.
We see the expensive wedding.
We see the social-media photographs.
And we say:
“He has arrived.”
But we rarely ask:
“How did he arrive?”
That question should return to our national conversation.
Not because wealth is evil.
Not because successful people should be suspected.
And certainly not because every rich Nigerian is corrupt.
No.
The question is simply one of accountability:
What produced the wealth?
A society that admires wealth without asking about its source creates fertile ground for corruption.
WHEN LAND BECOMES A TRAP
Consider another familiar Nigerian story.
A man buys land.
He pays.
He receives documents.
He begins planning his house.
Then somebody appears.
“This land belongs to us.”
He produces another document.
Another family produces another.
Suddenly, one piece of land has three owners.
The buyer goes to the police.
He discovers that getting attention may require money.
He goes to court.
The case drags on.
Years pass.
His money is tied up.
His dream of building a home becomes a nightmare.
This is what corruption can do.
It can turn land into conflict.
It can turn neighbours into enemies.
It can turn justice into a commodity.
And when justice itself becomes something that people believe must be purchased, the citizen loses confidence in the very system created to protect him.
THE POLITICIAN WHO STEALS THE FUTURE
Of all forms of corruption, the diversion of public resources may have the widest consequences because it affects people who may never know exactly what happened.
A child sits in a classroom without desks.
He does not know that money was budgeted for furniture.
A pregnant woman visits a health centre without adequate equipment.
She does not know what happened to the allocation.
A farmer drives on a terrible road.
He does not know how much was budgeted for its rehabilitation.
A graduate searches for work.
He does not know how many opportunities disappeared because resources that could have supported economic development were mismanaged or diverted.
This is why corruption is a generational crime.
The thief may enjoy the money today.
But the consequences can remain long after the money is gone.
BUT NIGERIA IS NOT ONLY A STORY OF CORRUPTION
We must say this loudly.
Nigeria is not populated only by thieves.
There are millions of honest people.
The teacher who refuses to sell marks.
The nurse who stays beyond her shift.
The police officer who refuses a bribe.
The soldier who stands guard through the night.
The civil servant who processes a file without demanding money.
The businessman who pays his workers properly.
The contractor who refuses to compromise quality.
The young Nigerian who chooses legitimate work when fraud appears easier.
The public servant who protects government property as though it were his own.
These people rarely make the headlines.
They do not usually go viral on social media.
But they are holding the country together.
Nigeria must celebrate them.
And we must strengthen the institutions that make integrity possible.
THERE IS A WAY OUT
The EFCC continues to investigate and prosecute alleged financial crimes. Allegations, however, must not be confused with convictions; accused persons remain entitled to due process and the courts determine guilt.
There have also been efforts to strengthen fiscal transparency.
The World Bank reported improvements under Nigeria’s State Fiscal Transparency, Accountability and Sustainability programme, including the linking of civil servants and pensioners to biometric and BVN information and the introduction of e-procurement systems in a number of states.
These reforms matter.
Technology can reduce opportunities for manipulation.
Transparent procurement can make it harder to hide inflated contracts.
Digital records can make transactions easier to trace.
Independent oversight can strengthen accountability.
But no system can replace character completely.
Ultimately, institutions are operated by human beings.
WE MUST LOOK IN THE MIRROR
Perhaps this is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable.
It is easy to condemn the politician.
It is easy to condemn the civil servant.
It is easy to condemn the police officer.
It is easy to condemn the internet fraudster.
But what about us?
Have we ever paid a bribe?
Have we ever offered one?
Have we ever taken something because we knew nobody would catch us?
Have we ever used someone else’s connection to obtain an unfair advantage?
Have we ever celebrated questionable wealth because the person was our friend?
Have we ever remained silent because speaking the truth would cost us something?
These questions are not designed to condemn anybody.
They are designed to make us think.
Because a country changes when its people change.
WHAT KIND OF REPUBLIC DO WE WANT?
The greatest danger is not that thieves exist.
They will always exist.
The greater danger is when society begins to admire the thief more than the honest person.
When the man who built his wealth through years of honest labour is called a fool.
When the person who refuses to steal is told that he does not know how Nigeria works.
When young people begin to believe that integrity is for those who cannot succeed.
When corruption becomes something to laugh about.
When stealing becomes a career.
When fraud becomes “hustle.”
When bribery becomes “settlement.”
When unexplained wealth becomes “grace.”
Then corruption has moved from the pocket into the culture.
And that is where the real battle begins.
We cannot build a great Nigeria by destroying Nigeria.
We cannot steal from the school and complain that our children are poorly educated.
We cannot divert hospital resources and then complain about medical tourism.
We cannot compromise security and then complain about insecurity.
We cannot steal road funds and then complain about bad roads.
We cannot destroy public institutions and then wonder why the rich are the only people who can access quality services.
And we cannot continue stealing the future while asking why our children want to leave.
The question is no longer simply:
“Who is stealing?”
The deeper question is:
“What are we teaching the next generation about success?”
Let us teach our children that wealth is good when it is honestly earned.
Let us make integrity respectable again.
Let us make honest labour something to be proud of.
Let us stop asking only, “How much does he have?”
Let us also ask:
“How did he get it?”
Let us demand accountability from those entrusted with public resources.
Let us also hold ourselves accountable for the small compromises we make every day.
Because Nigeria will not be transformed by speeches alone.
It will be transformed when the civil servant refuses the envelope.
When the policeman refuses the illegal payment.
When the contractor refuses to inflate the bill.
When the lecturer refuses to sell marks.
When the businessman refuses to falsify his books.
When the young person refuses to turn fraud into a lifestyle.
When the parent teaches a child that “everybody is doing it” is not an excuse for doing wrong.
And when the citizen finally understands that integrity is not merely a religious word, a political slogan or a classroom lesson.
Integrity is nation-building.
The Republic of Corruption and Thieves is therefore not a prophecy.
It is a warning.
We still have a choice about the country we want to leave behind.
We can continue building private comfort from public misery.
Or we can begin, one person at a time, to rebuild trust.
Because when all is said and done, the Nigeria we complain about tomorrow will be the Nigeria we either helped to build—or refused to build—today.
The question is not whether Nigeria can change.
The question is:
Will we change with it?
