FROM GROUNDNUT PYRAMIDS, COAL ENERGY TO A FRACTURED REPUBLIC

 MAJORITY OJI writes how Nigeria’s dual

histories of abandonment led to a country in danger

The North was once a region of immense agricultural wealth, famed across West Africa for its towering groundnut pyramids, vibrant trans-Saharan trade, and a deeply rooted culture of commerce. From Kano, Katsina, and Zaria, the region thrived on agriculture and long-distance trading networks that predated colonial rule. These foundations helped shape some of Nigeria’s

earliest post-independence leaders, including Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa and Sir Ahmadu Bello, who envisioned a North built on discipline, education, and agricultural strength.

But after independence, the region’s leadership drifted away from the principles of its founding fathers. Although the North produced several of Nigeria’s leaders, military and civilian, many of

them presided over policies that stalled development at home. Instead of transforming the region’s agricultural potential or industrializing its vast land mass, successive leaders from the North

became absorbed in a political culture that benefited a tiny elite while leaving the majority behind.

Over time, a rigid social hierarchy emerged: the Talakawas – the poor masses on one side, and the wealthy Alhajis, politicians, and other aristocrats on the other. Embedded in this system is a culture

where loyalty flows upward and resources flow downward in trickles. For many ordinary

Northerners, working for the rich, receiving stipends, or surviving on seasonal handouts became

the norm. This dynamic ensured political control, but it also entrenched poverty, illiteracy, and dependency.

The turning point came with the discovery of oil in the Niger Delta. The centralization of petroleum revenues under military rule gave Northern political leaders unrivalled access to national wealth. With Abuja controlling the national purse, many Northern elites became disconnected from their region’s traditional economic engines. Groundnut pyramids disappeared. The cotton industry

collapsed. Irrigation schemes were abandoned. Rather than closing the widening gap between the rich and the poor, oil wealth became a tool of political patronage. A strong and intoxicating elixir that deepened inequality and weakened the Northern region’s long-term prospects.

Instead of investing oil revenue in well-meaning programmes to educate the masses, revive agriculture, or modernize infrastructure, many Northern leaders channelled resources into personal networks and private pockets. The Talakawas, long accustomed to serving the wealthy, continued to provide political legitimacy in exchange for survival. But this model was unsustainable.

As poverty deepened, millions of abandoned children – almajirai – roamed the streets, vulnerable to radicalization and recruitment into criminal networks. The collapse of agriculture led to fewer job opportunities. The erosion of traditional authority weakened social control. And with a large

youth population left without education, opportunity, or hope, the region became fertile ground for insurgency and banditry.

Today’s security crisis in Northern Nigeria cannot be separated from this long historical arc – the shift from agricultural prosperity to oil dependency; the rise of a political elite disconnected from the masses; and the entrenchment of a patronage system that exploited loyalty but ignored

development. The same region that once fed West Africa is now battling poverty, extremism, and chronic insecurity.

The North’s tragic descent into chaos is no mystery. It is the logical outcome of decades of poor governance, systemic corruption, and the cynical manipulation of an impoverished populace.

Jihadist ideologies gained ground because the State lost credibility. Political leaders danced on oil money while their region sank. Armed groups flourished because institutions collapsed. It is therefore not surprising that terrorists now overrun villages, sack military brigades, and kill soldiers with impunity. The shadow over the North grows longer still, symbolized recently by the

uncertain fate of General Musa Uba, the fourth Nigerian general claimed by this murky war.

But Nigeria’s insecurity is not a Northern tragedy alone. The South-East, once a beacon of commerce, intellect, and coal-driven industrial promise, nurses its own wounds. Before the Civil

War, Enugu’s coal mines supplied energy, while Igbo ingenuity supplied the nation with

administrators, traders, and technocrats. The region produced towering national figures such as

Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, Nigeria’s first President, and it overflowed with economic optimism.

Then came the fratricidal war of 1967–1970, a conflict born out of ethnic tension, mistrust, and political miscalculations. The aftermath left the South-East economically battered and

psychologically fractured. The federal government promised ‘Reconstruction, Reconciliation, and Rehabilitation,’ which unfolded unevenly, leaving many in the region convinced they had

been sidelined. Coal was quickly abandoned in favour of oil; federal appointments shrank;

military inclusion dwindled. For numerous individuals, the hope of reintegration was a hollow promise.

By the beginning of the 2000s, these historical grievances were reignited as MASSOB was

founded by Ralph Uwazuruike, who led a non-violent, symbolic, but resolute effort to rekindle the

spirit of Biafra. The government’s oppressive response, combined with the internal discontent among younger activists, created an opportunity for the emergence of new factions. In 2012, IPOB under Nnamdi Kanu emerged with fiery rhetoric, digital mobilization, and mass rallies. The group

incessantly clashed with security agencies as the government attempted arrests and proscription.

Government actions hardened sentiments, drawing an even wider youth following.

From this charged atmosphere emerged the Eastern Security Network (ESN), IPOB’s armed wing, fashioned in imitation of the African National Congress’ uMkhonto we Sizwe. Though introduced

as a protective force, the ESN increasingly became associated with violence, allegations its leaders deny. Splinter groups continue to multiply, many operating outside central command, and turning villages into battlefields.

Today, the South-East grapples with a crisis of armed separatist enforcers who claim the mantle of freedom fighters but often behave like warlords. Attacks on police stations, assassinations of local leaders, arson against public buildings, and the ruthless enforcement of illegal sit-at-home orders have crippled social and economic life. Roadblocks, extortion, and intimidation have

displaced the region’s proud tradition of discipline, commerce, education, and innovation.

Thus, two regions, North and South-East, stand as mirror images of Nigeria’s unfinished tragedies: one undone by internal decay and elite betrayal; the other wounded by history, mismanaged grievances, and spiraling militancy.

To reclaim its future, Nigeria must confront these twin failures with honesty and courage. The North must rebuild its economic foundations, revive agriculture, educate its youth, and dismantle the patronage networks that have mortgaged its destiny. The South-East must have its political

grievances addressed, its security restored, and its youth offered alternatives beyond the rhetoric of secession.

Only through sincere reform, equitable governance, and a national commitment to justice can Nigeria escape the vortex of insecurity threatening to swallow it. A nation that once held great

promises must not be allowed to decay into a federation of armed camps and forgotten dreams.

Only truth, courage, and responsible leadership can steer Nigeria back from the brink.

Professor Oji writes from the Department of Mass Communication, Delta State University, Abraka