By Israel Adebiyi

Sixty-five years. That is how long Nigeria has walked as an independent nation, free from the shackles of colonial rule. On October 1st, 1960, we hoisted our green-white-green flag in jubilant defiance of empire, believing freedom had come at last. We called it independence, and it was. But as we mark our 65th year, we must ask: have we truly been free? Or are we still trapped in cycles of dependence, disillusion, and deferred dreams?

True freedom is not merely the absence of foreign rulers; it is the presence of dignity, progress, justice, and opportunity for all citizens. By this measure, our long walk to freedom remains unfinished.

Nigeria began her independence journey shoulder-to-shoulder with countries like Malaysia, Singapore, and South Korea. But while they transformed into economic giants and innovation hubs, we stumbled, burdened by corruption, bad governance, and short-sighted leadership. In the 1970s, one U.S. dollar exchanged for less than one naira; today, it takes over ₦1,500 to buy that same dollar. Once, our groundnut pyramids, cocoa farms, and palm oil defined agricultural wealth; today, we import even the most basic food items.

Education was once our ladder to dignity. In the 1960s and 70s, Nigerian universities ranked among the best in Africa, drawing scholars from across the continent. Today, classrooms leak, teachers strike endlessly, and children sit under trees to learn. With over 20 million out-of-school children, Nigeria carries the shameful crown of the world’s highest. These are not mere numbers—they are stolen futures. From Yobe to Zamfara, from Benue to Lagos, the dream of literacy is drowned in poverty and neglect.

Songs like Eko Dara Pupo -“Education is very good” -once carried our hope. But what hope do children chant today, when graduates roam the streets jobless and when academic excellence is rewarded with crumbs? We claim education is the foundation of progress, yet treat it as an afterthought. This explains the erroneously conclusion that education is a scam.

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Independence ought to guarantee safety, yet Nigerians live under constant siege. Bandits terrorize the North-West, Boko Haram still prowls the North-East, farmers and herders clash in the Middle Belt, kidnappers prowl highways, and cultists haunt urban streets. Nowhere feels truly safe. Insecurity has displaced millions, destroyed farmlands, and fueled poverty.

What is freedom if children cannot sleep in peace, if farmers cannot till their soil, if investors cannot trust our stability? Freedom without security is bondage by another name.

At independence, Nigeria dreamed of industrial glory. Assembly plants in Kaduna, Enugu, and Lagos produced vehicles and machinery. Textile factories in Kano and Kaduna hummed with activity, clothing millions and providing jobs. Tire factories like Dunlop and Michelin once anchored our industrial drive. Today, those factories are ghosts. We import toothpicks, pencils, and even fuel, though we sit on oceans of crude oil.

While Asian tigers industrialized and built global brands, we clung to crude oil like a curse. Instead of diversifying, we fed corruption, squandered revenues, and left future generations to inherit dependence.

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A nation’s greatness rests on its roads, rails, and power. Yet Nigeria limps with broken infrastructure. Roads like Lagos–Benin, Abuja–Lokoja, and Enugu–Port Harcourt remain nightmares of potholes and death. Railway projects crawl at a snail’s pace, leaving us dependent on dangerous highways.

And then, electricity – the eternal shame. Despite spending over $20 billion since 1999, Nigerians still power their homes and businesses with generators, spending billions more yearly on fuel. What other evidence of dysfunction could be more glaring?

Our hospitals remain shadows of themselves. Leaders fly abroad for treatment, while ordinary Nigerians die in poorly equipped wards. Medical tourism drains over $1 billion annually. Our doctor-to-patient ratio stands at 1:4,000, far from the WHO’s recommended 1:600. Doctors strike, nurses leave for better pay abroad, and the poor are left at the mercy of fate. What freedom is this, when the nation cannot guarantee life itself?

At the heart of it all lies corruption. Transparency International consistently ranks Nigeria poorly, not out of bias but reality. Politicians live in obscene luxury while workers struggle on ₦70,000 minimum wage. Security votes vanish into private pockets. Institutions are weakened and laws bend to serve the powerful. Our democracy is too often a game of thrones, where the prize is not service but plunder.

Yet, Nigeria is not a hopeless land. We are a paradox of pain and promise. Our people shine everywhere they are given fair opportunity. Nigerian immigrants in the U.S. and U.K. rank among the most educated and accomplished. Nollywood is the world’s second-largest film industry, and Afrobeats has conquered global charts. Tech start-ups like Flutterwave, Paystack, and Andela are billion-dollar ventures. Even in adversity, Nigerians innovate, endure, and excel.

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We are a nation that refuses to die.

At 65, the question is not whether Nigeria can change, it is whether Nigerians will demand change. Leadership matters, yes, but good followership is equally critical. Citizens must rise to hold leaders accountable, to resist the lure of handouts, to demand policies that prioritize education, healthcare, industrialization, and security. We cannot continue to mortgage our future for bags of rice, wads of cash, or empty promises.

Freedom must become more than a flag or anthem. It must be felt in working schools, safe streets, thriving factories, reliable electricity, accessible healthcare, and strong institutions. Until then, independence is a shell, and freedom a mirage.

Nigeria at 65 is both triumph and tragedy. We have survived civil war, dictatorship, poverty, and terror. We have endured storms that could have broken weaker nations. But survival is not enough. To truly walk in freedom, we must move beyond endurance to excellence, beyond survival to significance.

The journey is long, but the choice is ours. Shall we continue to limp in circles, or will we march with intent into the destiny our forebears dreamed of in 1960?

Nigeria is too great to be ordinary. At 65, the time has come to prove that our independence was not in vain.