By James Adamu
There is an ancient Benin proverb that says “A crab does not give birth to a bird.” Yet for decades, Nigeria’s states, despite their abundant resources and vibrant populations, have behaved like flightless creatures content to crawl along the ocean floor of federal dependency. The time has come for these subnational entities to spread their wings and soar, for in truth, they were never meant to be crabs at all.
Imagine if Lagos, with its bustling ports and enterprising spirit, had operated with the vision of Singapore since 1999. Picture Kano’s ancient dye pits and leatherworks transformed into a Milan of Africa. Envision Calabar’s pristine waterways developed with the eco-tourism savvy of Costa Rica. This is not fantasy – it was always our birthright, stolen not by outsiders but by our own myopic leadership and learned helplessness.
Imagine, for a moment, if President Tinubu had hesitated, if he had bowed to the weight of political pressure and left the suffocating burden of fuel subsidy untouched. Where would Nigeria be today? The truth is stark: many states would have been gasping for financial breath, drowning in unpaid salaries, abandoned projects, and mounting debts. The federal allocation lifeline would have grown thinner, leaving governors scrambling just to keep the lights on in their statehouses while their people suffered in darkness.
But courage changed the story.
Today, because of that single bold decision, state allocations have swelled, some even tripled, freeing trapped economies and reviving hope. Governors who once presided over empty treasuries are now settling salary arrears, clearing domestic debts, and even addressing international obligations. It is as if a heavy chain has been lifted, allowing states to stand taller, breathe deeper.
What if, instead of waiting every month for Abuja’s disbursements, governors looked inward, harnessing the goldmine of resources beneath their soil, the ingenuity of their people, and the untapped potential of their land? Imagine a Nigeria where Lagos wasn’t just Nigeria’s economic heartbeat but Africa’s answer to Singapore; where Kano’s ancient industrial spirit roared back to life, its leather and textiles dominating global markets; where Rivers and Akwa Ibom refined their own oil, powered their own cities, and exported prosperity instead of crude.
The fuel subsidy removal was not just a fiscal decision, it was a wake-up call. It proved that Nigeria could endure short-term pain for long-term gain. But the real transformation will happen when states stop seeing themselves as mere recipients of federal charity and start acting like self sustaining economies.
Think about it: If states aggressively pursued internally generated revenue (IGR) through agriculture, solid minerals, tourism, technology, and manufacturing, how much more could they achieve? If they created business-friendly policies that attracted investors, if they optimized tax collection without stifling small enterprises, if they turned their comparative advantages into thriving industries, then federal allocations would become a bonus, not a lifeline.
The truth is, Nigeria’s states have no excuse for poverty. None. The land is fertile. The people are relentless. The markets are hungry. All that is missing is the will to break free from the mentality of dependency.
President Tinubu’s move was the first step. The next—and most crucial, step belongs to the governors. Will they seize this moment to build, or will they squander it and return to begging?
According to BudgIT’s 2023 report, 31 of Nigeria’s 36 states depend on federal allocations for over 60% of their budgets. For 14 states, this dependence exceeds 80%. This would be understandable for landlocked nations with no resources, but we are talking about:
Rivers State, floating on oceans of crude yet unable to refine its own petrol. Plateau State, with climate perfect for year-round agriculture yet importing tomatoes from Niger. Ondo State, where cocoa farmers watch their beans get shipped to Europe only to buy back chocolate at ten times the price. This is not economics, it is institutionalised madness.
The roots of this dysfunction run deep. Since the oil boom of the 1970s, successive military and civilian governments centralized wealth and power in Abuja, creating a system where states compete for handouts rather than develop competitive advantages. The results became a federation where component parts forgot how to federate, where governors became glorified beggars rather than visionary builders.
But let’s consider what is possible when this cycle is broken: Lagos provides the blueprint. Through deliberate policies spanning two decades, Nigeria’s commercial capital has reduced its federal allocation dependence from 80% in 1999 to under 30% today. How? By formalising the informal economy, digitizing tax collection, and creating an environment where businesses thrive. The lesson is clear: with political will and smart policies, transformation is possible.
Yet Lagos’ success highlights the tragedy elsewhere. Why hasn’t Kano, with its 15 million population and historic manufacturing base – become the textile powerhouse of West Africa? Why hasn’t Rivers – with its natural deepwater ports – emerged as a maritime hub to rival Durban? The answers lie not in geography or resources, but in leadership and imagination.
The human cost of this failure is staggering. Nigeria’s unemployment rate stands at 33%, with youth unemployment nearing 50%. These are not just statistics – they are millions of bright, energetic young people denied opportunity because their state governments failed to create enabling environments for job creation. Every idle hand is a testament to leadership failure.
Consider the paradox: Nigeria has more mobile phone users than Germany, yet our states can’t build digital economies. We have more arable land than Thailand, yet import $5 billion worth of food annually. Our creative industries dominate Africa, yet most states lack basic film villages or music incubators. This disconnect between potential and performance is the defining tragedy of our federation.
First, states must conduct honest audits of their comparative advantages. Kaduna should leverage its military institutions to become a defense manufacturing hub. Enugu’s cool climate and educated population make it ideal for tech startups. Borno’s vast plains could host solar farms to power the entire North. These are not pipe dreams – they are logical extensions of existing strengths.
Second, we need constitutional reforms to empower states economically. The current system where Abuja controls mineral rights, power generation, and even intra-state rail lines is absurd. True federalism would unleash competitive energies across the federation.
Third, citizens must demand better. For too long, we have celebrated governors for simply paying salaries – the bare minimum of governance. We must start judging leaders by job creation figures, GDP growth, and human development indices. The era of accepting mediocrity must end.
The examples of what’s possible already exist within Nigeria. Dangote’s $19 billion refinery in Lagos proves industrial mega-projects are possible. Innoson’s vehicle assembly in Nnewi demonstrates local manufacturing can thrive. The emergence of “Yabacon Valley” shows our tech talent can compete globally. These successes happened despite government, not because of it – imagine what could be achieved with actual state support.
The international parallels are instructive. Malaysia’s Penang state transformed from backwater to electronics hub through targeted policies. India’s Karnataka became “Asia’s Silicon Valley” by investing in education and infrastructure. These weren’t accidents – they were the result of deliberate, focused state-level strategies.
Nigerian states sit on similar opportunities:
- Solid minerals worth trillions lie beneath nearly every state
- Our 200 million population represents Africa’s largest consumer market
- The diaspora sends home $20 billion annually – potential investment capital
- Our creative industries already dominate African entertainment
Yet most states lack even basic databases of their natural resources or skilled labour pools. This is economic malpractice.
The psychological shift required is profound. State governments must stop seeing themselves as administrative units and start behaving like competitive economies. Governors need to transition from being “chief beggars” in Abuja to “chief executives” of their states. Citizens must evolve from passive observers to demanding stakeholders.
Consider a situation where if each of Nigeria’s 36 states focused on dominating just one sector – textiles in Kano, fintech in Lagos, films in Asaba, cocoa processing in Akure – within a decade, Nigeria would have 36 thriving economic hubs. The cumulative effect would make us unstoppable.
The tools for this transformation exist:
- The SEZ Act provides tax incentives for investors
- The Nigeria Startup Bill offers tech sector support
- AFCFTA creates a continental market of 1.3 billion people
- Digital platforms enable remote work and global competition
What’s missing is execution at the state level.
The stakes couldn’t be higher. With population projected to hit 400 million by 2050, Nigeria either creates productive economies in every state or faces social catastrophe. The choice is between building Dubais or breeding slums – and that choice is being made daily in state houses across the country.
History shows that nations rise when their component parts thrive. America’s strength comes from competitive states like California and New York. China’s boom was driven by provincial powerhouses like Guangdong. Even tiny Switzerland thrives through cantonal competition. Nigeria’s states must embrace this competitive federalism or condemn us all to perpetual underdevelopment.
As the sun rises over the Lekki Free Zone and sets on abandoned factories in Kaduna, the question lingers: when will our states awaken? When will governors realize that true legacy isn’t in inflated contracts or bulletproof convoys, but in transformed economies that outlive their tenures?
The hour is late, but the opportunity remains. Nigerian states must choose – remain crabs crawling in dependency, or become the eagles they were always meant to be. The future, as always, is in our hands.
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