Feature/OPED
A Generation Under Siege as Nigeria’s Drug Crisis Deepens
By Blaise Udunze
This piece speaks directly to the current consciousness of many Nigerians as some crises erupt with noise, explosions of violence, economic shocks, political upheavals and then some unfold quietly, steadily, almost invisibly, until their consequences become impossible to ignore.
Nigeria today is living through the latter. Today, this hardly or rarely dominates the front pages of newspapers with the same sustained urgency. Still, the truth is that it depends on whether it is reshaping communities, distorting futures, and hollowing out the very foundation of the nation’s promise.
With the rate at which drug abuse has festered among young Nigerians, it is no longer a social concern. It is a national emergency, silent, systemic, and dangerously underestimated.
The big picture of a bright future led by the youth of today and leaders of tomorrow is gradually fading away, thanks to the menace of drugs. Unfortunately, it is a national problem linked to all other criminal activities, but the system does not consider it critical. A generation of people is gradually being wiped out. The implications of these are too dire even to contemplate.
It is now alarming, as the numbers alone are staggering. Looking closely at the report by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime reveals that 14.4 per cent of Nigerians between the ages of 15 and 64, roughly 14.3 million people, use psychoactive substances, nearly three times the global average. Even more troubling, which calls for public concern, is that one in five of these users suffers from drug-related disorders requiring urgent treatment. The implication is clear since this is not casual use; it is a deepening public health crisis.
To many Nigerians, these statistics, as revealed, appear alarming, but the underlying fact is that they are only a scratch on the surface of a much darker reality, which the eyes cannot see.
Across Lagos, Kano, Onitsha, and countless towns in between, drug abuse is no longer hidden. It is visible in motor parks where tramadol is sold as casually as bottled water, in university hostels where “home mixes” circulate as social currency, and in street corners where teenagers inhale toxic concoctions in search of escape. Substances that were once tightly regulated, codeine, opioids, and benzodiazepines, are now frighteningly accessible. Others, far more dangerous, are improvised through mixtures of gutter water, chemicals, and pharmaceuticals designed not for healing, but for oblivion.
What is emerging is not just a culture of drug use, but an ecosystem of addiction.
Let us consider the disturbing normalisation of concoctions like “Omi Gutter” (gutter water) or “Jiko”, lethal blends of tramadol, codeine, cannabis, and other substances, just to mention a few. The fear in all of this is that these are not isolated experiments; they are part of a growing subculture among young people seeking relief from pressures they can neither articulate nor escape. Let us see the irony from the point that the deaths incurred from overdoses, seizures, and organ failure are increasingly reported, yet rarely provoke sustained national outrage.
This silence is part of the problem, and what society has failed to recognise is that they are yet to understand the scale of the crisis; one must go beyond the streets and into the systems that have failed to contain it.
What must be known today is that Nigeria’s drug epidemic is deeply intertwined with a mental health crisis that remains largely unaddressed, which appears difficult to deal with because the system’s attention is divided by other trivialities. According to the World Health Organisation, one in four Nigerians, an estimated 50 million people, suffer from some form of mental illness. This is such a fearful trend, whilst among adolescents, the situation is even more fragile. Today, the trend in Nigeria, globally, is also on record that 14 per cent of young people experience mental health challenges, with suicide ranking among the leading causes of death for those aged 15 to 29.
In Nigeria, however, these issues are compounded by stigma, neglect, and systemic absence.
A study conducted in a Borstal Institution in North-Central Nigeria found that 82.5 per cent of adolescent boys had psychiatric disorders. The breakdown actually revealed that disruptive behaviour disorders accounted for 40.8 per cent, substance use disorders 15.8 per cent, anxiety disorders 14.2 per cent, psychosis 6.7 per cent, and mood disorders five per cent. These are not marginal figures; they point to a generation grappling with profound psychological distress.
Many of these boys, according to the timely warning from Professor Olurotimi Coker of the Lagos State University Teaching Hospital, which he revealed, is that they suffer in silence. This, he discloses, is constrained by societal expectations that equate vulnerability with weakness. In a culture where young men are expected to “be strong,” emotional struggles are buried, not addressed. Drugs, in this context, become both refuge and rebellion, a way to cope, to escape, and sometimes, to belong.
The tragedy is that what begins as coping often ends in captivity. The clear fact, which the system must not ignore, is that the crisis does not exist in isolation, yes! because it feeds into and is fed by Nigeria’s broader challenges of insecurity and alongside economic instability. Research by scholars from Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu University highlights a dangerous nexus between substance abuse and national security. Drug trafficking networks do not merely distribute substances; they sustain criminal economies, fund violent groups, and perpetuate cycles of instability.
A review of some of the developments will drive us to the activities in the Lake Chad Basin, for instance, an open secret is that insurgent groups such as Boko Haram and Islamic State West Africa Province have been linked to drug trafficking operations. According to regional security analyses, these groups rely on narcotics, from tramadol to cocaine, to finance operations, recruit fighters, and embolden combatants. The use of drugs to suppress fear and heighten aggression among fighters underscores a chilling reality, which obviously shows that Nigeria’s drug crisis is not just a health issue; it is a security threat. To confirm this, only recently, during an interview with Arise TV, General Christopher Musa, the Minister of Defence, concurred that when many of these terrorists are arrested, they are often found to be under the influence of drugs.” He stated that they use different substances, including injectables, which affect their thinking and reduce their fear or sense of pain. In General Musa’s words: “You are dealing with somebody whose mind is made up that if he dies, he doesn’t care. Most times when we arrest them, they are on drugs, so they don’t care, they don’t even feel it, they have Injectables, you get them with all those drugs. So that is how they operate.”
This convergence of addiction and violence creates a vicious cycle. History has shown that drugs fuel crime; crime sustains drug networks, and for this reason, young people, caught in the middle, are both victims and instruments, recruited as couriers, enforcers, and, in some cases, political thugs. One recent example that occurred earlier this month is that of a teenager aged 15 named Tijjani. He was arrested by the Nigerian Army in connection with the Boko Haram deadly attack on military positions in Borno that claimed the life of Brigadier-General Oseni Braimah and other soldiers.
In the political space, history offers a warning because it brings to mind the scenario that played out during the 2011 post-election violence in Nigeria, which claimed over 800 lives in just three days, with the same pattern occurring in the 2023 elections. What Nigerians must know is that these trends expose how easily unemployed, disillusioned youths can be mobilised for violence. In most cases, this happens under the influence of substances, and of concern is that similar patterns are re-emerging currently, raising urgent questions about the future of Nigeria’s democracy.
At the same time, economic realities continue to deepen vulnerability. Youth unemployment and underemployment remain persistently high despite the official rate currently at 5 per cent, which appears to be low under the newer methodology, while the alternative estimate was around 22 per cent in 2025, leaving millions in limbo today. The fact is that, regrettably, for many, the promise of education has not translated into opportunity. As a matter of fact, in many homes, degrees hang on walls, but jobs remain elusive. And that is why, in this vacuum, drugs offer something the system does not in the case of temporary relief from frustration, anxiety, and stagnation.
Even more alarming is how early exposure begins.
A quick look at some reports in Nigeria reveals that hardly any month passed in 2021 without any significant cases of vast amounts of drugs seized at the import gateways in Nigeria or a Nigerian caught abroad with a large consignment of drugs being smuggled into another country. These seizures have shed light on how the work of trafficking networks is facilitated by a range of actors, including alleged businesspeople, politicians, celebrities, and students. Nigeria’s porous borders, weak institutions, corrupt practices, political patronage, poverty, and ethnic identities enable traffickers to avoid detection by the formal security apparatus. There are even times when the conventional security apparatus itself provides cover for traffickers, giving rise to legitimate concerns about the ability of criminal networks and illicit drug monies to infiltrate security and government agencies, transform or influence the motivations of its members, reorient objectives towards the spoils of drug trafficking activity, thus undermining the democratic processes. Still on the supply side is the new availability of cheap opioids in the open market under different brand names.
In Lagos State alone, a 2024 study by the combined team of the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA) and the Federal Ministry of Education found an alarming fact that 13.6 per cent of secondary school students had experimented with drugs, while 6.9 per cent were active users. Unbeknownst to most Nigerians is the fact that these figures represent not just experimentation, but a pipeline into long-term dependency.
This is also confirmed by the Chairman/Chief Executive Officer of the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA), Buba Marwa, who said substance abuse had moved beyond the streets and was now a growing problem within lecture halls and campuses when he spoke on “High Today, Lost Tomorrow: The Real Cost of Drug Abuse on Campus.” Marwa, who further raised concerns over the increasing use of social media platforms for drug distribution, as well as the involvement of students in trafficking, stated that the drug scene had evolved from the use of traditional substances, like cannabis, to more dangerous synthetic opioids and designer drugs, such as Colorado, Loud, and Methamphetamine.
It is more fearful to know that beyond the university students, children as young as 12 are being introduced to substances not through sophisticated cartels, but through peers, neighbourhood influences, and easy market access. Drugs that require prescriptions are sold openly in markets and motor parks, often cheaper than a soft drink. A sachet of tramadol can cost as little as N100.
One surprising revelation is that some of the more dangerous substances, such as petrol fumes, glue, sewage mixtures, are used freely because they are costless. It is now understood that this is not merely a matter of accessibility, but a systemic failure.
Law enforcement efforts, while significant, remain insufficient relative to the scale of the problem, as large-scale numbers of drugs have found their way into society. They can still claim to have succeeded as the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency said to have recorded notable successes, though, with over 57,000 arrests, more than 10,000 convictions, and nearly 10 million kilograms of seized drugs in recent years. Even with these records, it is glaring that society has continued to witness thousands of addicts being rehabilitated, and millions of students have been reached through advocacy campaigns.
Yet, as described earlier, these achievements, though commendable, are dwarfed by the magnitude of the crisis, which gives no room for law enforcement to make any holistic claims of sanitising the system. Seeing the sheer volume of drug inflows, from heroin in Asia, cocaine from South America, cannabis from North Africa, and synthetic drugs from Europe, suggests a system under siege. Enforcement alone cannot outpace demand.
And demand, in Nigeria today, is expanding. Nowhere is the human cost more visible than among the homeless youth population. Along the Oshodi rail corridor in Lagos, thousands of young people live in precarious and questionable conditions, sleeping under bridges and railway platforms, exposed daily to drugs, violence, and exploitation, as they carelessly lose their lives, and some have spent years, even decades, in these environments. Sincerely, there must be this understanding that for many, addiction is both a cause and a consequence of their circumstances.
Some struggling segments of people in society can be linked to broader socio-economic and systemic failures that are associated with widening inequality, lack of social housing, inadequate education, and the absence of structured rehabilitation programs. Another aspect of this that can’t be left out and should be addressed expeditiously is that these vulnerable youths are reportedly recruited into political violence, reinforcing a dangerous cycle of neglect and exploitation, and it must be established that it has become a norm in society.
This is where the conversation must shift, from individual responsibility to systemic accountability.
Drug abuse in Nigeria is not simply about bad choices, as most people perceive it; it is about limited choices if properly looked into. Just as well said, the trend shows that it is about a young man who takes tramadol to endure the physical strain of daily labour, and continues using it long after the pain is gone because addiction has taken hold. Sometimes, it can also be about a teenager who experiments out of curiosity and eventually finds herself trapped in dependency. It is about a boy who cannot and is unable to express or confront his emotional pain, so he copes by suppressing or numbing it instead, while also looking at a society that has normalised survival at the expense of well-being.
The policy response, however, has yet to match the urgency of the crisis, and with this challenge, it will be said that Nigeria lacks a fully integrated national strategy that connects drug prevention, mental health care, education reform, and economic inclusion.
The consequence is a reactive system in a crisis that demands prevention. What would a meaningful response look like?
First, it would reframe drug abuse as a public health emergency. This means prioritising treatment, rehabilitation, and prevention alongside enforcement. Addiction must be treated as a medical condition, not merely a criminal offence.
Second, it would integrate mental health into primary healthcare. Access to counselling, therapy, and early intervention must be expanded, particularly for young people. Schools, communities, and digital platforms should become entry points for support, not just discipline.
Third, it would invest in education reform that goes beyond academics. When this is done, life skills, emotional intelligence, and drug awareness must be embedded in curricula. Students need tools to navigate pressure, not just pass exams.
Fourth, it would address economic exclusion. Job creation, vocational training, and entrepreneurship support must be scaled to match the size of Nigeria’s youth population. Opportunity is one of the most powerful antidotes to despair.
Fifth, it would strengthen community-based interventions. Families, religious institutions, and local leaders must be empowered to recognise early warning signs and provide support. Addiction is rarely an individual battle; it is a collective one.
Finally, it would demand accountability. Data must guide policy, and outcomes must be measured. Good intentions are no substitute for measurable impact.
Nigeria stands at a defining moment and must be aware that its youth population remains its greatest asset but also its greatest risk. The fear today that should be in the heart of many and must suffice as a warning is that a generation lost to addiction is not just a social tragedy; it is a national failure.
The warning signs are already here in the statistics, in the streets, in the stories that rarely make headlines. The question is whether the country is willing to listen. Because silence, in this case, is not neutrality. It is complicity.
And if this silent emergency continues unchecked, Nigeria may soon discover that what it is losing is not just its youth but its future.
Feature/OPED
When Leaders THRIVE: Yetunde B. Oni’s Candid Counsel to Lateef Jakande Leadership Academy
Union Bank’s Managing Director and Chief Executive Officer sat with 30 of Nigeria’s most promising young leaders for a frank conversation on character, relationships and the discipline of growth.
Out of 25,000 applicants, only 30 earned a place. That single figure tells you how rare the room was when Yetunde B. Oni, Managing Director and Chief Executive Officer of Union Bank of Nigeria, recently sat down with a cohort of the Lateef Jakande Leadership Academy.
The Academy, a Lagos State Government initiative established in honour of Alhaji Lateef Kayode Jakande, the state’s first civilian governor, exists to raise a generation of ethical and capable young leaders. Its fellows are drawn from across professions, sectors and ethnicities, and shaped through a fellowship facilitated by the Africa Leadership Initiative, West Africa (ALI WA), whose work on values and principled leadership has become a quiet engine behind some of the country’s most thoughtful emerging talent.
It was into this gathering that Mrs Oni brought not a corporate address, but a conversation. Honest, personal and at times disarming, she spoke about the philosophies that have carried her through a career spanning more than three decades, the setbacks she has had to surmount, and the values that opened doors she never expected to walk through.
She gave them a framework to hold on to. She called it THRIVE.
The six principles
T — Take ownership of your relationships. Leadership, she argued, begins with the deliberate stewardship of the people around you. Relationships are not incidental to a career. They are infrastructure.
H — Honour God. She spoke openly about faith as a steadying force, an anchor that keeps ambition tethered to something larger than the self.
R — Recharge and refresh. Mental and physical health, she insisted, are not luxuries to be deferred until the work is done. Leaders who neglect their well-being eventually have less to give.
I — Invest in your growth. Continuous and heavy investment in personal development is, in her telling, the price of staying relevant. The learning never ends.
V — Value your work. She pressed the fellows on identity and brand. What do you stand for? Do you create value? Who, in truth, are you? The questions were not rhetorical.
E — Embrace setbacks. Failure, she said, is not the opposite of progress but a part of it. The leaders who endure are the ones who learn to metabolise disappointment rather than be defeated by it.
The people behind the leader
If one theme threaded the entire conversation, it was relationships. Mrs Oni was candid that she did not arrive at the top of Nigerian banking alone. She credited the steady support of family, her parents and her husband, alongside the mentors, friends, coaches and sponsors who shaped her at different stages.
She drew a sharp and useful distinction between a mentor and a coach, two roles often conflated and rarely understood, and she traced much of her progress back to a foundation of Nigerian cultural values: hard work, honesty and integrity, courtesy and respect. These, she told the fellows, are not relics. They are the very qualities that have earned her trust and opened doors throughout her journey.
“You need people,” was the message, delivered without sentiment. Relationships, she explained, must be managed and nurtured with the same seriousness one brings to any other discipline. Time must be managed with equal care.
On believing, and risking
Perhaps the most resonant moment came when Mrs Oni spoke about self-belief. She admitted that becoming the MD/CEO of Standard Chartered Bank, Sierra Leone, did not cross her mind – not because she was unqualified, but because she didn’t think she would get it. Encouraged by her husband, she applied anyway, and she got it!
That appointment would later see her make history as the first woman to lead a Standard Chartered Bank operation in her market.
The Union Bank of Nigeria appointment told a similar story. She had not even known the position existed after the CBN’s intervention. It came to her through relationships; through the quiet networks of people who knew her work and recommended her name while she was unaware in faraway Sierra Leone.
The lesson she left with the fellows was unambiguous. Believe in yourself. Take the risk. Put in for the thing you are not yet certain you deserve, because the opportunity you are waiting for may be one you cannot see, reaching you through someone you have not yet met.
Why this matters
Engagements of this kind are easy to underestimate. They produce no headlines about balance sheets and no immediate line on a financial statement. Yet they speak to something Union Bank has long understood: that institutions endure when they invest in people, and that leadership is built one honest conversation at a time.
Credit is due to the Africa Leadership Initiative, West Africa, whose facilitation of the Lateef Jakande Leadership Academy continues to shape young Nigerians of real promise, and to the Academy itself for the rigour of a process that turned 25,000 hopefuls into 30 fellows ready to lead.
For Yetunde B. Oni, the afternoon was less about what she had achieved than about what she was willing to give: her time, her story and her counsel, offered freely to those coming after her. It is, in the end, what the best leaders do. They light the path for the next generation, and they THRIVE.
By Oludayo Oludee Olorunfemi
A couple of months ago, my principal, Mrs Oyinkansola Badejo-Okusanya (SAN), was scheduled to travel from Lagos to Akure for an interactive meeting as part of her consultation process before contesting for the office of President of the Nigerian Bar Association (NBA). Today, she stands cleared to contest the election; the ban on campaigning has been lifted, with elections scheduled for 20 July 2026. However, this is not the central story. What stays with me from that trip is an unexpected lesson in leadership, vision, and the power of deliberate planning. It is a lesson that has become even more relevant as Ekiti State prepares for its governorship election on 20 June 2026, exactly one month before the NBA election. Two elections. Two different constituencies. Two different ballots. Yet remarkably similar questions before the voters.
Who has the vision? Who has done the work? Who has demonstrated the capacity to build for the future rather than merely campaign for the present? The journey began with a logistical challenge. The available flight from Lagos to Akure was scheduled for later in the day and would not get the team to Ondo State in time for a series of engagements planned across Akure, Owo, and Ondo Town.
During discussions on the best alternative, I suggested that we fly into Ekiti through the newly commissioned Ekiti Agro-Allied International Airport. The plan was simple: arrive early in Ado-Ekiti, make strategic visits to leaders of the Bar within the State, and then proceed by road to Akure for the scheduled meetings. What none of us anticipated was that Ekiti itself would become the story. Our first stop was a courtesy visit to Aare Afe Babalola, SAN, founder of Afe Babalola University, Ado-Ekiti. The purpose was straightforward: seek Baba’s blessings for the journey ahead. As always, a visit to Aare Afe Babalola became a masterclass. Drawing from over ninety years of experience, he spoke about governance, leadership, the legal profession, and nation-building. Listening to him, one could not help but reflect on the legacy. Across the South-West, the Aare Afe Babalola Bar Centres stand as visible reminders that impactful leadership is measured not by promises made but by institutions built.
As we continued our visits across Ekiti, someone suggested we stop by the Ekiti State Bureau of Tourism, headed by the energetic lawyer and tourism advocate, Mr Wale Ojo-Lanre. That unplanned detour became the highlight of the trip. The welcome was unmistakably Ekiti, warm, thoughtful, and rich in culture. Before we entered, we observed the symbolic knocking on the traditional drum suspended at the entrance. Then came the recitation of Mrs Badejo-Okusanya’s oriki as an Egba woman, evidence that our hosts had taken time to learn about their distinguished guest before our arrival. It was a small gesture, but one that reflected a larger truth about Ekiti, a people deeply connected to their culture, history, and identity. What followed was even more enlightening.
Officials of the Bureau took us through the various tourism assets of the state and presented the Ekiti State Tourism Development Master Plan (2025–2035). As a proud daughter of Ekiti, I listened with a sense of pride and optimism. The vision was clear. Tourism was no longer being treated as an afterthought but as a strategic economic pillar. Through public-private partnerships, destination governance, infrastructure development, cultural and eco-tourism innovation, enhanced security, asset development, and community empowerment, the state is seeking to position itself as a destination of choice. What impressed me most was the coherence of the plan. Too often, governments commission projects without building ecosystems. What we saw in Ekiti was different. It was a deliberate attempt to connect infrastructure, policy, investment, culture, and people into a sustainable tourism economy. It was the kind of long-term thinking that separates administration from leadership.
The next day, after completing our engagements in Ondo State, on our way back to catch our return flight, we stopped at Ikogosi Warm Springs Resort. Some places are beautiful. Others are transformative. Ikogosi belongs firmly in the second category. Listening to Madam Ruth, our tour guide, narrate the history of the springs, watching warm and cold waters continuously flow side by side, placing one foot in each stream, and observing the famous intertwined trees thriving together despite their differences, one could not help but marvel at nature’s wisdom. Different streams. One destination. Different identities. Shared purpose. The carefully curated pathways, the serenity of the environment, the chorus of birdsong, and the pristine landscape created a profound sense of peace. By the time we left, the verdict from everyone on the team was unanimous: we will be back. GO SEE IKOGOSI.
Ekiti is sitting on immense tourism potential. Not potential that exists only in policy documents or political speeches, but real, tangible, marketable potential. From Ikogosi to Arinta Waterfalls, to Mount of Clouds, to Olosunta Hills; from cultural festivals to ecotourism sites, from its rich history to its emerging infrastructure, Ekiti possesses many of the ingredients required to become one of Nigeria’s premier tourism destinations. What remains essential is sustained leadership and the courage to pursue a vision beyond electoral cycles. Perhaps that is why the coincidence of the election dates feels significant. On 20 June, the people of Ekiti will evaluate the leadership before them and determine the future direction of their state. One month later, on 20 July, lawyers across Nigeria will make a similar decision about the future of their association. The parallels are difficult to ignore.
In Ekiti, Governor Biodun Oyebanji has built a reputation for quiet but purposeful governance. Rather than chasing headlines, his administration appears focused on laying foundations in infrastructure, agriculture, education, and tourism that will yield benefits long after the politics of the moment have passed. In the NBA, Oyinkansola Badejo-Okusanya (SAN) presents a similar proposition. Her aspiration has been defined by consultation, engagement, bridge-building, and a vision of a bar that is inclusive, progressive, and institution-focused. Both represent a leadership philosophy that values preparation over performance. Both understand that sustainable progress requires patience. Both appear committed to building structures and a legacy of service that will outlive them.
As we departed Ekiti that evening, we left with more than memories of a successful consultation trip. We left with a renewed appreciation for what thoughtful leadership can accomplish. We left with fresh ideas. We left inspired by the possibilities that exist when vision is matched with execution. Most importantly, we left convinced that Ekiti’s tourism story is only beginning to be told. Destination Ekiti is more than a slogan. In the month that separates 20 June from 20 July, voters in Ekiti and lawyers across Nigeria will be asked essentially the same question: Do we reward those who merely speak about the future, or those who are deliberately building it? For Ekiti, for the NBA, and for all who believe in the power of institutions, the answer should be a BOLD Yes!
Oludayo Oludee Olorunfemi, a lawyer, writes from Ward 10, Idemo Quarters of Oke Aiyedun Ekiti, Ajoni LCDA.
By Izekeo Adegoke
Somewhere in Nigeria right now, a diligent, financially responsible person is watching their savings grow, and losing money at the same time. They do not know it. Their bank balance is rising. Their statement looks healthy. But in real terms, their wealth is quietly and consistently shrinking.
This is not a fringe scenario. It describes the financial situation of millions of Nigerians who are doing everything they were taught.
The gap nobody talks about
Here is the arithmetic that changes the conversation.
The average Nigerian savings account yields between 2% and 4% per annum. Nigeria’s inflation rate, as of recent Central Bank data, sits at approximately 15.69%. That means if you have ₦1 million in a savings account today, it will nominally become ₦1,030,000 in a year, but the real purchasing power of that money will have fallen to the equivalent of roughly ₦790,000 in today’s terms. You saved diligently. You lost ₦210,000 in purchasing power.
This is what economists call negative real returns, and it is the financial reality for the majority of Nigerian savers right now. The distinction between keeping money safe and making money grow has never mattered more than it does in this macroeconomic environment.
Why the savings instinct made sense and no longer does
The preference for savings accounts is not irrational. It is inherited. A generation of Nigerians was raised during periods of significant economic volatility, bank failures, currency devaluations, and frozen accounts. Saving in a regulated institution felt like the responsible, conservative choice. The alternative, markets, stocks, and funds, felt speculative and risky.
That instinct made sense in its context. But the financial landscape has changed materially, and the definition of “safe” needs to catch up.
A savings account today is not a low-risk option. It is a guaranteed negative return dressed in conservative language. The risk is not that you will lose your capital in nominal terms. The risk is that your capital will progressively lose its ability to buy things, fund a retirement, educate children, or build the future you are working toward. That is a real loss, even if your statement does not show it.
The behaviour-change that changes everything
The shift from saving to investing is not about abandoning caution. It is about directing caution more effectively. A diversified investment portfolio spread across fixed income instruments, equities, dollar-denominated assets, and alternative holdings does not eliminate risk. It manages it intelligently, and in doing so, gives your money a fighting chance against inflation.
Consider a ₦1 million portfolio invested across a balanced mix of Nigerian equities and fixed income instruments targeting a 15–18% annual return. Over three years, compounding and market participation could bring that to approximately ₦1.5–1.6 million in nominal terms and, depending on portfolio construction, meaningfully above the inflation rate in real terms. The savings account brings you to ₦1.09 million, having lost ground every single year.
The numbers are not subtle. They are decisive.
Coronation Wealth’s answer to the problem
This is precisely the problem Coronation Wealth was built to solve. Our platforms give individuals access to professionally managed, diversified portfolios across multiple asset classes, including dollar-denominated instruments that provide a structural hedge against naira depreciation. These are not products previously available only to institutional clients or high-net-worth individuals. They are accessible, clearly structured, and designed for people who want their money working as hard as they do. Wealth creation, as we understand it, is not about spectacular bets. It is about making consistent, informed decisions over time with the right tools, the right structure, and a partner who understands the environment in which you operate.
The reframe you need
Safety is not a function of where your money sits. It is a function of what your money does.
A savings account feels safe because the number never goes down. But if that number cannot keep pace with the cost of living, the cost of education, the cost of the future, it is not protecting you. It gives you the illusion of security while inflation quietly does its work.
The most dangerous financial decision most Nigerians are making right now is not taking too much risk. It is the decision to play it safe, and that is precisely why it needs to change.
Izekeo Adegoke is the Chief Digital Officer at Coronation Wealth, the digital investment and wealth management subsidiary of the Coronation Group in Nigeria.
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