As usual, there’s little introspection on why Nigerians are always singled out for cruel treatment by the usual suspects reacting to this thread—denied a passport privilege extended even to countries like Djibouti, Mali, Guinea, Chad, Gabon, Niger, and Algeria. What we get here instead is the usual mob reaction. As this thread has shown, even countries with weaker economies than ours are not subjected to the same level of scrutiny. That leaves an obvious explanation: nationality profiling. Some Nigerians who have transited or settled in these countries have left behind troubling reputations, and that’s a bitter pill to chew.
In the autumn of 2017, I travelled through Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans with colleagues from about 20 different nationalities. Only two of us were singled out for thorough searches—myself and a friend from Venezuela. Our Ugandan and South African companions were not stopped. After the search, the Venezuelan lady and I exchanged looks and just laughed. There was little else to do in the face of such indignity. We joked that we were victims of the actions of some of our countrymen—and also agreed that it wasn’t fair.
Let’s consider the recent ban on Nigerians entering the UAE, which is currently being addressed through diplomatic channels. When the visa ban was first announced in 2022, some of us saw it coming. The reason cited was an increase in criminal activity by Nigerians in the country. There were documented incidents, including videos of cult-related violence by Nigerians there shared on social media, and there were also reports from the UAE alleging terrorist financing linked to Nigerians.
It would be misleading to claim that the Nigerian government has made no effort to intervene in such matters. The Nigerians in Diaspora Commission has provided regular updates on diplomatic engagements regarding maltreated citizens abroad. While it’s true that we are a nation with a history of poor governance, this doesn’t negate the fact that a number of crimes have been associated with individuals travelling on Nigerian passports.
Even Nigerians abroad have grown cautious of unfamiliar compatriots. This has often hindered the building of close-knit Nigerian communities in foreign countries. I recall missing a cab to the airport in Havana. While searching for an alternative—since services like Uber or Bolt weren’t available—a stranger approached us, offering to help. “I’m a Nigerian like you,” he said, offering that as his sole identification. That, we replied bluntly, was all the more reason to be cautious. We waited instead for a Cuban cab driver with verifiable credentials to take us to the airport.
My point is, while we have endured generations of underperforming governments, that alone does not explain why Nigerians are more frequently searched at foreign airports or why we face horrifying restrictions abroad.
Many Nigerians have been exemplary citizens abroad and have made significant contributions in their host countries. Yet, this has not shielded them from nationality profiling. This is largely due to the recurring appearance of Nigerian identities in the criminal records of security agencies abroad. A search of the FBI’s database offers confirmation.
So the question becomes: is it fair for all Nigerians to bear the consequences of the actions of a few? Certainly not. It’s valid to criticise the government for failing to meet expectations. It’s another matter entirely to engage in criminal activity and blame the consequences on the government’s shortcomings.