Some Nigerians Don’t Want Good Governance—They Want Their Turn to Benefit

Everybody is against connections until somebody in the family finally has one.

Then the conversation changes. Yesterday, it was “Nigeria can never work if everything is man-know-man.” Today, it’s “Send your CV. Let me see what Uncle can do.” The CV has not changed. Uncle’s office has.

And honestly, that is where this conversation gets uncomfortable. Some of us want a fair system, but we also want a small exception for ourselves. Nothing too serious. Just help our sister get the job. Move our file forward. Put our name on the list. After that, they can continue with the fairness.

Before somebody says we should abandon our families, nobody is saying that. If your friend tells you about a vacancy or helps you prepare for an interview, that is normal support. The problem starts when the interview is just decoration because the successful candidate was already chosen at Sunday lunch. Other people are spending transport money to come and audition for a job that has an owner.

We know how painful that feels when we are outside. But when we are inside, suddenly there is an explanation for everything.

“He still has to help his people.”

“You expect her to get there and forget us?”

“If it were you, would you reject it?”

That last question deserves an honest answer. Because it is easy to demand principles when nobody has offered you anything. The real test is when doing things properly means your own person might not get picked.

Imagine your uncle gets a government appointment. The family group is celebrating. Somebody has already changed his contact name to Honourable. Then he announces that he will not interfere with recruitment, bend procurement rules or use public money to settle relatives. Everybody must follow the proper process.

Would the family be proud? Or would someone quietly say, “This one has entered office and forgotten where he came from”?

That expectation matters. We cannot complain that public offices are treated like family property, then feel personally cheated when our relative refuses to treat one like ours.

Still, it would be too easy to turn this into “ordinary Nigerians are the problem” and let people in power off the hook. They make decisions, control resources and should answer for what they do. A person looking for work is not in the same position as an official selling access to jobs.

And when you have applied everywhere, your rent is due and nothing is moving, “just follow the process” can sound like advice from somebody whose fridge is full. People reach for connections because they need help, because they are tired, or because they no longer trust the official route. That deserves some understanding.

But needing help does not make every kind of help fair. If your connection gets you ahead by quietly pushing somebody else out, that person also has rent to pay. They just don’t know your uncle.

Maybe the question is not whether we want Nigeria to work. It is whether we still want it to work when the rules stop us from collecting something we would otherwise have enjoyed.

Can we accept losing a contract to a better bid? Can we accept our cousin not getting the job? Can we defend a fair process when the result does not favour our family?

Because “everybody should get a fair chance” and “our own must enter” will eventually meet at the same door. We will have to choose which one we mean.

If someone close to you got into office and refused to give you special treatment, would you respect them—or feel betrayed?