A security crisis marked by expanding violence, an economic crisis marked by rising costs and failing infrastructure, a governance crisis marked by everyday extraction and weak accountability, and at the centre of it all, a leadership crisis marked by misaligned priorities. There is also the growing reality that those in power are not fully present in the consequences of those failures. Until that changes, Nigerians are left with a contrast that speaks for itself. Explosions at home. A dinner abroad. Darkness in cities. Light in banquet halls.
No one in Nigeria was surprised that on a day we woke up to suicide bombings, suffocating heat, high fuel prices, and widespread darkness worsened by inflation, President Bola Tinubu chose to travel to the United Kingdom to attend a ‘royal fanfare.’ This is the deeper problem Nigeria faces: a leadership detached from lived reality, and a growing divide between those who govern and those who endure the consequences.
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Suicide bombings, once emblematic of the peak years of Boko Haram’s insurgency, are reappearing in the North-East through coordinated attacks on civilians, while terrorists take advantage of weak territorial control to attack military bases, disappear into forests, and return with greater force, creating a loop in which state losses directly strengthen non-state actors.
And just as the country tries to process that, everything else continues to collapse. Electricity, which should boost economic stability, remains unreliable despite ridiculous tariffs forcing households and businesses to be dependent on generators fuelled by volatile oil prices shaped, in part, by global tensions, including the United States-Israel-Iran conflict. The result is citizens paying more for less in a country that produces oil, leaving its people living as though it does not. In parallel, youth unemployment continues to define the Nigerian life, as young people move through expensive cities without work or are stuck in jobs that cannot sustain them, carrying degrees that no longer guarantee anything.
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There is evidence of governance failure in the average Nigerian life, and it is most visible in the interactions between citizens and the state. Rather than confront that reality, government figures continue to try to reframe it, most recently through an Al Jazeera “Head to Head” interview with Mehdi Hasan, in which an aide, pressed on rising insecurity and documented death tolls, replied that “context matters.”
Within this context, Tinubu decided to continue with his trip to the United Kingdom on the same day that suicide bombings shook parts of Nigeria – for a dinner. Strip away the diplomatic language and look at the moment plainly. People are dying, the country is under pressure from every direction, and the image that Nigerians are left with is their president boarding a plane.
That image matters because Nigerians have seen this pattern before. Buhari came in 2015 on a promise to fix insecurity, yet eight years later, terrorists were kidnapping citizens for ransom in once peaceful communities. Now Tinubu is here, carrying his own promise of “renewed hope,” three years in, suicide bombings have returned alongside the same cycles of abduction and fear.
If this trip had taken place during a moment of calm, it would pass as routine diplomacy, but this is a country under pressure, in which crises are converging at once; violence is rising, costs are increasing, and systems are failing. The question is not whether a president should travel; it is what does it mean to travel at this moment? Would a British prime minister leave the country on the day of coordinated attacks to attend a ceremonial dinner abroad?
Yes, diplomatic engagements are part of governance, and no serious country abandons them lightly; however, timing shapes protocol and determines how those choices are read at home. Some will argue that international diplomacy can unlock investment and advance long-term interests, while security operations will continue through military and intelligence institutions independently of presidential travel. Others may insist Nigeria’s challenges are structural, rooted across decades, and that no single administration can resolve them quickly. These arguments are not without merit, but they do not settle the question. Leadership is judged by national reality and judgment; the ability to read a moment and respond in proportion to its weight.
There is also a deeper discomfort that cannot be ignored. A Nigerian president attending a royal dinner in England, while citizens at home face violence and hardship, carries symbolism shaped by history. The colonial past is not distant enough for that image to feel neutral, and even if that was not the intention, perception gives it meaning.
Away from the London fanfare, back home, the Nigerian life does not pause. It continues in its current form, continually adjusting to danger. People are calculating routes to avoid kidnappers, and parents are thinking twice before sending children to school. Farmers are abandoning land because it is no longer safe, and traders are paying ransom to both armed groups and police checkpoints just to keep moving. Nigeria’s crisis is layered, and each layer feeds the next.
A security crisis marked by expanding violence, an economic crisis marked by rising costs and failing infrastructure, a governance crisis marked by everyday extraction and weak accountability, and at the centre of it all, a leadership crisis marked by misaligned priorities. There is also the growing reality that those in power are not fully present in the consequences of those failures. Until that changes, Nigerians are left with a contrast that speaks for itself. Explosions at home. A dinner abroad. Darkness in cities. Light in banquet halls.
Rinu Oduala is a youth activist and executive director, Marigold RO.
