Feature/OPED
Sacred Journeys, Earthly Burdens: The Cost of Nigeria’s Pilgrimage Economy
By Prince Charles Dickson PhD
The desert does not care for your prayers. It swallows them whole, along with your sweat, doubts, and wallet weight. Yet here we were—Nigerians in Jordan, then Israel, tracing paths carved by prophets and kings, stepping on stones smoothed by millennia of footsteps. From the Dead Sea’s buoyant bitterness to Bethlehem’s star-marked grottoes, the land thrums with sacred electricity. But as she walked, she couldn’t shake the question: What does this cost us? Not just in naira, but in soul.
You remember the chaos—Abuja’s airport buzzing with first-time pilgrims clutching rosaries and Qurans, tour guides shouting over the din, warnings about “japa temptations” mingling with sermons. For many, this was a once-in-a-lifetime escape: from potholed streets, blackouts, and the gnawing uncertainty of survival back home. Yet even here, in the shadow of Herod’s stones and Galilee’s shores, Nigeria followed us. The tour operators in Jordan haggled like Lagos market women; Israeli border guards scrutinized our green passports with weary suspicion. And beneath it all, the Gaza war hummed like a discordant hymn, a reminder that holiness and human conflict are ancient bedfellows.
Let’s talk numbers; if a single pilgrimage package costs roughly N3.5 to N5 million per person, multiply that by thousands of pilgrims annually, and Nigeria bleeds billions into foreign economies.
In Jordan, our guides grinned as they narrated Petra’s history, their pockets fattened by dollars. In Israel, the pilgrimage industry is a well-oiled machine: hotels near Nazareth charge premium rates, Dead Sea mud is packaged and sold as divine therapy, and even the Via Dolorosa has a gift shop. Meanwhile, back home, nurses strike over unpaid wages and students scratch equations into dust-choked chalkboards.
The Catholic Bishops’ recent call cuts like a knife: “Stop funding pilgrimages. Let faith pay its way.” Their logic is mercilessly practical: why should a nation drowning in debt—where 63% of citizens survive on less than $2 a day—subsidize spiritual tourism for a privileged few? The National Hajj Commission (NAHCON) and Christian Pilgrims’ Board, riddled with corruption scandals, stand as monuments to mismanagement.
Remember the 2017 scandal where officials embezzled ₦90 million meant for pilgrims’ visas? Or the 2022 Hajj airlift fiasco that stranded thousands? These boards, the bishops argue, “serve neither their adherents nor the nation.”
Yet, the allure persists. For many pilgrims, government sponsorship isn’t just a subsidy—it’s a lifeline. “I saved for ten years,” a retired teacher from Enugu told me, her eyes glistening at the Jordan River. “Without the board’s help, I’d never see Jerusalem.” Herein lies the paradox: pilgrimage is both a spiritual awakening and a symptom of systemic failure. When the state funds faith, it commodifies it—and when it withdraws, it risks severing the vulnerable from their solace.
Ah, the pilgrims themselves! Nigerians are nothing if not theatrical. There were the “Captains”—self-appointed prayer warriors who bossed others around like generals in God’s army. The Comedians, crack jokes at Caiaphas’ dungeon to ease the tension. The Holier-Than-Thous, who tsk-tsked at women’s uncovered hair while surreptitiously snapping selfies at Golgotha and the quiet ones, like the widow from Sokoto who touched the Western Wall and wept without sound.
But spirituality here is tangled with spectacle. At the Dead Sea, I watched a pastor bottle the salty water, declaring it “a weapon against household witches.” In Bethlehem, traders hawked olive-wood crosses next to “I Error! Filename not specified. Jesus” t-shirts. Is this awakening? Or is it the monetization of longing?
The bishops’ critique is not just fiscal—it’s theological. “True faith,” their statement insists, “is not measured in miles travelled but in mercy shown.” They urge a reckoning: if Nigeria redirected pilgrimage funds to healthcare, education, or infrastructure, could that itself be a sacred act? Imagine N30 billion—the approximate annual cost of state-sponsored pilgrimages—channeled into neonatal clinics or rural electrification. Would that not honor the “least of these” whom Christ called us to serve?
But the counterargument simmers: pilgrimages foster unity, they say. On that flight to Tel Aviv, I saw Muslims and Christians swap snacks and stories. A Hausa imam helped a Yoruba grandmother fasten her seatbelt. For a moment, Nigeria felt possible again. Yet this fragile camaraderie exists in a bubble—one paid for by a state that can’t fix its roads.
You asked me, “Can’t we have both—pilgrimages and progress?”* Perhaps. But not under this broken model. Here’s the radical alternative:
Decouple State and Sanctuary: Let religious groups self-organize pilgrimages, as the bishops propose. If a church or mosque can rally its flock to fund journeys, so be it—but without dipping into public coffers.
Audit the Sacred: Demand transparency from pilgrimage boards. Publish budgets, punish graft, and let pilgrims know exactly where their money goes.
Reinvest in the Here and Now: Redirect saved funds to tangible ministries—hospitals, schools, food banks—that embody “love thy neighbour” more vividly than any tour group.
On our last night in Jerusalem, I sat with a group under the stars. Nima from Plateau said quietly, “I came to feel closer to God. But I felt Him more when that waiter in Amman refilled my water…”. I urged her to tell the story—
It was the unlikeliest of sanctuaries—a crowded restaurant, humming with the chaos of clattering plates and overlapping voices. Amid the rush, a young waiter moved with a grace that transcended duty. His smile was not merely professional; it was an offering. In a world where transactions often eclipse connection, he chose to see me. I asked for three small things: hot water to refill my flask, a bowl of midnight-dark yogurt, and sugar to sweeten it—simple requests, yet specific, requiring attention in a sea of demands. He could have sighed, rolled his eyes, or deferred to the crowd. Instead, he leaned in.
His “of course” was a quiet rebellion against indifference.
The steaming flask returned, cradled like something sacred. The yogurt arrived, its darkness cradled in a bowl that gleamed like polished obsidian. The sugar, poured with care, became more than a condiment—it was a covenant.
At that moment, the noise faded. Here was a stranger who had every reason to rush, yet chose to pause. Here was proof that kindness is not a grand gesture reserved for saints, but a series of deliberate, ordinary acts: I will listen. I will try. You matter.
How much lighter the weight of our differences would be if we all carried this truth: that every interaction is a crossroads. We can choose to armour ourselves in a hurry, or we can meet one another as this young man did—with eyes that recognize a shared humanity. The systems we’ve built—borders, hierarchies, ideologies—are illusions compared to the raw, aching need we all harbor: to be treated gently, to be acknowledged.
As I stirred the sugar into the yogurt, dissolving bitterness into sweetness, I thought of all the ways we hunger. For warmth. For dignity. For the courage to ask for what we need, and the grace to honor those who ask. The world will not slow down. But in its frenzy, we can be oases for one another—pouring hot water into empty vessels, handing over sugar like a promise.
This is how we mend the fractures: not with grand declarations, but with the daily sacrament of paying attention. The waiter’s name is lost to me now, but his lesson lingers: in a universe that often feels cold and vast, we hold the power to make it intimate, one act of deliberate kindness at a time.
What if we all moved through life as he did—not merely serving, but seeing?
There it is—the heart of the matter. Spirituality isn’t stamped in a passport; it’s woven into daily acts of attention, kindness, and justice. Nigeria’s pilgrimage industry, for all its grandeur, risks reducing faith to a transactional spectacle. The bishops aren’t arguing against devotion—they’re pleading for a redefinition of what’s holy.
The desert still whispers. But maybe the miracle we need isn’t in Jordan’s rivers or Jerusalem’s tombs. Maybe it’s in the courage to stay home—to build a nation where the sacred isn’t a luxury, but a lived reality. May Nigeria win!
By Louis Strydom
Last year, I argued in my piece Lean Carbon, Just Power that a limited and temporary increase in African carbon emissions is justified to meet the continent’s urgent electrification needs.
That position was not a retreat from climate ambition. It laid out a credible lean-carbon pathway that reconciles power systems development realities with climate arithmetic.
The central question remains: not whether emissions must fall, but how much temporary headroom is tolerable to accelerate energy prosperity for a continent responsible for roughly 4% of global CO2.
The flexibility equation
The future of Africa’s electrification is neither “all renewables tomorrow” nor “gas indefinitely”. Intermittent renewables alone cannot power the continent’s fragile grids at scale. Solar and wind require highly dispatchable power capacity to ensure the reliability of the system.
The real choice is not between renewables and fossil fuels in the abstract; it is between flexible firm power that complements solar and wind, and the de facto alternative: the increasing reliance on high-emissions diesel backup and widespread grid instability.
I argue that a realistic transition strategy must embrace “a capped carbon overdraft”: a strictly bounded, time-limited deployment of flexible power plants running on gas that supports the deployment of renewables and declines according to a binding schedule. This strategy means accepting minimal, temporary emissions to allow for a faster, cleaner and more resilient clean transition.
The response to this argument drew serious scrutiny. Three objections deserve a direct answer.
First: Does the case for flexible thermal power hold on a full life cycle basis?
It does. Our power system studies in Nigeria, Mozambique, and Southern Africa consistently reach the same conclusion – the least-cost long-term system is renewables-led, with flexible engines balancing variability. That holds across capital, fuel, maintenance, carbon pricing, and decommissioning. South Africa’s Integrated Resource Plan 2025, approved in October, makes the point concretely: it projects 105 GW of new capacity by 2039 with renewables as backbone, yet includes 6 GW of gas-to-power by 2030 explicitly for grid stability. Even the continent’s most industrialised economy concludes it needs dispatchable thermal capacity to underpin a renewables-heavy system. The question is not whether firm power is needed, but how to make it as clean and flexible as possible.
Second: Does this argument talk over Africa’s ambition to leapfrog fossil fuels?
No. It is designed around that ambition. Wärtsilä launched the world’s first large-scale 100% hydrogen-ready engine power plant concept in 2024, certified by TÜV SÜD, with orders opening in 2025. Ammonia engine tests now demonstrate up to 90% greenhouse gas reductions versus diesel. These are not roadmaps. They are ready-to-use technologies. The honest difficulty is timing. Sub-Saharan grids averaged 56 hours of monthly outages in 2024. The African diesel generator market is growing at nearly 7% a year, projected to reach 1.3 billion dollars by 2030. Nigerian businesses spend up to 40% of operational costs on fuel for backup power. That is the real counterfactual – not a continent neatly powered by sun and wind, but a billion-dollar diesel habit deepening every year the grid stays unreliable. Even Germany is tendering 10 GW of hydrogen-ready gas plants with mandated conversion by 2035 to 2040. If Europe’s largest economy needs transitional thermal flexibility to backstop an 80% renewables target, insisting low-income African nations skip that step is not climate leadership. It is development deferred.
Third: Does the carbon comparison include full life cycle methane?
It must. Methane leakage materially worsens the climate profile of gas-to-power because methane is a far more potent greenhouse gas than CO₂. If leakage exceeds a few per cent of production, gas loses its advantage over coal on a 20-year timeframe.
But the IEA notes that 40% of fossil methane emissions could be eliminated at no net cost with existing technology. My claim that gas has a lower footprint than coal is conditional on aggressive methane management – eliminating flaring and venting, enforcing measurement under frameworks like the EU Methane Regulation and OGMP 2.0. Without those conditions, the arithmetic fails. But the real choice in most African markets is not between pristine gas and pristine renewables. It is between ageing coal, a growing fleet of unregulated diesel generators, and new fuel-flexible plants that start or transition to gas and convert to hydrogen or ammonia on a contractual schedule. Displacing diesel and coal with well-managed gas in future-fuel-ready engines cuts CO₂, local pollution, and water use now, while building the infrastructure for fuels that eliminate fossil dependence.
The critics are right to demand rigour, full life cycle accounting, methane transparency, and credible timelines. Those are exactly the conditions that make a lean-carbon pathway work. Africa does not seek permission to pollute. It seeks the tools to end energy poverty while peaking emissions early and declining fast. Build engine power plants that run on available fuel today. Mandate their conversion tomorrow. The carbon overdraft stays small. The payback stays fast. And the technology to switch to sustainable fuels is already here.
Louis Strydom is the Director of Growth and Development for Africa and Europe at Wärtsilä Energy
You’re back home after mudik (homecoming), the suitcases are unpacked, and the excitement of being with family for Eid already feels like a long time ago. But just because Eid is over doesn’t mean the special connection of being with family has to fade. Here are the best group chat features for beating the post-Raya blues.
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Keep The Vibe Going by Sharing Ramadan Highlights
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Keep the Memories Rolling with Status: Your Status feed doesn’t have to go quiet just because you’re back home. Post the most memorable throwback photos from the Eid reunion and add questions to spark responses like “What was your favourite Raya dish?” Add music and stickers to Status to keep the energy alive.
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Express Yourself with Text Stickers: Turn inside jokes, family slogans, or a favourite Eid quote into a Text Sticker. It’s a quick, personalised way to add some warmth and humour to the group chat.
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Skip the Stock Cards, Use Meta AI for a Personal Touch: Don’t just send a generic “Hi” or “Good morning” in the family chat. Use Meta AI to make your personalised greeting card or quickly transform a single photo into an animated image to send a heartfelt, animated check-in.
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Schedule The Next Reunion
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Plan Your Next Post-Raya Get-Together: The blues often hit when the fun ends. Keep spirits up by creating a new Event in the group chat right away. Add event reminders so everyone doesn’t miss the opportunity to connect.
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Schedule a Call, Don’t Just Say “Call Me”: Carry on the family tradition of staying connected, even when you’re miles apart. Tap + then Schedule a call in the Calls tab to lock in a regular “Post-Raya Check-in” video call. Send a reminder so everyone can join on time.
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Keep the Raya Spirit Alive by Getting Everyone Involved
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Assign yourself a fun “tag” in the family group: Are you the one who always ends up cooking? Or the one who plans the itinerary for family trips? Or the master of GIFs who keeps everyone amused? Use the Member Tag feature in the group to give yourself a witty, funny, or practical role—”Next Event Planner” or “Tech Support Guru,” maybe?. Member tags can be customised for each group you’re in.
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Share a Spontaneous ‘I Miss You’ Video: Did you just see something that reminded you of the reunion? Press and hold the camera icon to record a spontaneous Video Notes message. It’s faster than typing and instantly brings warmth and real-time emotion back into the group.
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Digital Hugs: Making the Long-Distance Moment Count
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Share a Moving Memory: Don’t just send a still photo. Share a Live or Motion Photo to capture the ambient sound and movement of a recent Eid moment. It makes your memories feel more vivid, personal, and real—a perfect antidote to feeling disconnected.
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Your Group Chat Background: Create a vibe with Meta AI: Don’t settle for a plain background for your family group chat. Use Meta AI to generate unique, custom chat wallpapers that reflect something uniquely memorable to your family: be it food, travel or a sport that unites everyone. Every time you open the chat, you’ll feel the warmth, not the distance.
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Make Sure No One Misses Out
No More FOMO: Send the Conversation History: Just added a family member who couldn’t make it to mudik? When adding a new member, you can now send up to 100 recent messages with the Group Message History feature. No need to recap; let them catch up instantly and feel included from the first tap.
By Olumide Balogun
Nigerians are natural explorers. Whether finding the best supplier in Balogun market, hunting down a recipe for party jollof, or looking for the most affordable flight out of Lagos, we are always searching.
Today, human curiosity is expanding, and the way Nigerians express it is evolving. We are speaking to our phones, snapping photos of things we like, and asking incredibly complex questions. For the Nigerian business owner, understanding this shift is a massive opportunity to get discovered by eager customers.
Here are four ways AI is rewriting how Nigerians search, along with simple steps to ensure your business is exactly what they find.
1. Visual Discovery is the New Normal
People are increasingly using their cameras to discover the world around them. Picture someone spotting a brilliant pair of sneakers in traffic and wanting to know exactly where to buy them. Today, shoppers simply take out their phones and search visually.
Tools like Google Lens now process over 25 billion visual searches every single month, and many of these searches are from people looking to make a purchase.
How to adapt: Your product’s visual appeal is paramount. Make sure you upload clear, high-quality images of your products to your website and social media. When a customer snaps a picture of a bag that looks like the one you sell, having great photos ensures your business pops up in their visual search results.
2. Conversations Replace Simple Keywords
Shoppers are asking highly nuanced, conversational questions. They are typing queries like, “Where can I find affordable leather shoes in Ikeja that are open on Sundays and do home delivery?”
To handle these detailed questions, new features like AI Overviews act like a superfast librarian that has read everything on the web. It provides users with a perfectly organised summary and links to dig deeper.
How to adapt: Answer your customers’ questions before they even ask. Create detailed, helpful content on your website and fully update your Google Business Profile. List your opening hours, delivery areas, and unique services clearly. This ensures the technology easily finds your details and recommends your business when a customer asks a highly specific question.
3. Intent Matters More Than Exact Words
Predicting every single word a customer might use to find your product is a huge task for any business owner. Thankfully, modern search technology focuses on the underlying need behind a search.
If someone searches for “how to bring small dogs on flights,” AI understands that the person likely needs to buy an airline-approved pet carrier. The technology looks at the true intent of the shopper.
How to adapt: You no longer need to obsess over guessing exact keywords. By using AI-powered campaigns, you allow the technology to understand your products and match them to the customer’s true needs. Your business will show up for highly relevant searches, bringing you customers who are actively looking for solutions you provide.
4. Smart Assistants Handle the Heavy Lifting
Running a business in Nigeria requires incredible hustle. Managing digital marketing on top of daily operations takes significant time and energy. The next frontier in digital advertising introduces agentic capabilities, which hold a simple promise of delivering better results for your business with much less effort.
The technology now acts as your personalised assistant.
How to adapt: You can simplify your marketing by using the Power Pack of AI-driven campaigns, including Performance Max. You simply provide your business goals, your budget, and your creative assets like photos and videos. The AI automatically finds new, high-value customers across Google Search, YouTube, and the web. It adapts your ads in real time to match exactly what the shopper is looking for, allowing you to focus on running your business.
The language of curiosity is constantly expanding. Nigerians are discovering brands in entirely new ways using cameras, voice notes, and highly specific questions. By understanding these behaviours and embracing helpful AI tools, you can let the technology connect eager customers directly to your digital doorstep.
Olumide Balogun is a Director at Google West Africa
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