When Fear Becomes the New Normal: How Nigeria’s Insecurity Could Make Billionaires

 

Insecurity has become the “new normal” in Nigeria, but perhaps it’s not a curse—it’s capitalism’s next frontier, where private security could outshine oil as the country’s richest new industry.

I can still remember when Christmas in the village was a sacred ritual—when laughter, “nkwobi” (made with goat meat), pepper soup, rice and delicious stew, roasted yam, and palm wine flowed freely under the moonlight. Back then, the Nigerian village was a refuge, a sanctuary from the madness of city life. But today, that same village has become a hunting ground for kidnappers, bandits, and assassins. The songs of Christmas have been replaced by the whispers of fear. Nigeria, it seems, has turned insecurity into its new national anthem.

The sad truth is that what used to be an exception is now the rule. The country’s insecurity problem has become the new normal, stretching from the burning deserts of the North to the humid creeks of the South, from the bustling markets of the West to the dying villages of the East. Boko Haram bombs dreams in Borno, Niger Delta militants choke oil pipelines, “Unknown Gunmen” in Anambra, Imo, and Enugu states trade bullets for ransom, and bandits in the West rob both peace and pride. We used to complain only about corruption and poverty; now, we must add fear to the list of Nigeria’s permanent residents.

Once upon a time, the village was the great escape. People came home every December for the Christmas celebrations, traditional marriage ceremonies, weddings, and reunions. Every Nigerian, including the rich returned to reconnect with their roots. But now the road home has become a road of no return. In Anambra State, villages like Mbosi, Orsumoghu, Lilu, and Iseke have turned into ghost villages. The “Unknown Gunmen” roam like wolves in the night, preying on anyone with a hint of wealth—or anyone whose relative abroad sends money. Even poor villagers aren’t safe anymore; if your cousin lives in America, you’ve become a walking ransom note.

In my own village of Azia, people can’t hold weddings or burials without first paying “protection money.” It’s as if you now need a license to mourn or celebrate. In some communities, families have fled entirely, leaving behind homes swallowed by weeds and silence. What used to be paradise has become purgatory. But if there’s one thing I learned during my Ph.D. studies, it’s this: every problem hides an opportunity. The same insecurity tearing Nigeria apart could become the golden goose for those bold enough to tame it.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth—there’s money in fear. Between 2023 and 2024, Nigeria recorded over two million kidnapping incidents. Think about that number for a second. Over two million human beings stolen from their lives and sold back to their families for ransom. The total ransom payout reportedly hit more than two trillion naira ($1.4 billion). That’s not just a crime wave; that’s an industry—one built on tears, blood, and desperation. And where there’s an industry, there’s competition waiting to happen.

So, what if that competition came from private citizens who decided to fight back not just with anger, but with business sense? What if private security companies became Nigeria’s next oil boom? Forget crude oil—fear has become the new crude. Those who can refine it into safety will strike gold.

Nigeria already has hundreds of registered private security firms, but most are glorified gatekeepers with no real power. They guard shopping malls and escort politicians, but they don’t protect the ordinary farmer in Orsumoghu or the widow in Azia. Yet the demand for protection is enormous. Imagine a private company so effective that villagers can finally sleep without counting gunshots. Imagine a service where, at the press of a button, armed responders arrive faster than the police ever could. If that happens, the owners of such companies won’t just be rich—they’ll be billionaires made from bravery.

History supports this idea. When Colombia faced a kidnapping epidemic in the 1990s, private security firms flourished. In Iraq after Saddam, private contractors became a shadow army that rivaled the state. Even in the United States, Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency once filled the policing gap before the FBI existed. When the state fails, the private sector steps in—and profits handsomely. Nigeria is now at that same breaking point.

In the Niger Delta, oil companies already hire private contractors for protection. Why can’t villagers do the same? The local government can’t defend them, and the police are too underfunded, corrupt, or simply scared. The army shows up only after the blood has dried. If private firms can offer real security, people will pay—gladly. They’ll pay not because they’re rich, but because safety is now the most expensive luxury in Nigeria.

Of course, critics will call it “privatizing violence.” They’ll say private armies could turn rogue, becoming warlords in business suits. And yes, that’s a legitimate fear. But can we really pretend the current system isn’t already broken? The police are outnumbered and underpaid. The government’s monopoly on force has become a monopoly on failure. It’s time to rethink protection not as a government service but as a human necessity.

If the Nigerian elite—home and abroad—invest in modern, disciplined, and legally accountable private security firms, the outcome could be revolutionary. Imagine trained local officers, equipped with drones, body cameras, and encrypted radios, patrolling rural roads once ruled by bandits. Imagine a company that builds trust not through propaganda, but through performance. That’s not fantasy—it’s strategy.

The math speaks for itself. If kidnappers can make two trillion naira in a year, a fraction of that redirected into legitimate protection could sustain a billion-dollar industry. Rural safety subscriptions, drone patrol services, armored transport, and community alarm systems could each become profitable lines of business. Nigeria’s richest industry might no longer pump oil—it could sell peace.

But for that to happen, courage must replace complacency. Nigerians must see security not as a favor from the government but as a right they can buy, manage, and monitor. Investors must see beyond oil and banking to the one commodity Nigeria has in endless supply—fear. Whoever learns to turn that fear into safety will own the future.

Yes, it’s a controversial vision, and yes, it’s a moral gray zone. But when the night is this dark, even the smallest light becomes a revolution. The wolves are loose, and the shepherds have gone silent. If private security companies can become the new shepherds, then perhaps out of chaos, we can build an empire of order.

The truth is simple but brutal: Nigeria’s insecurity is both a tragedy and a trillion-naira opportunity. Those who dare to fight fire with finance—to turn fear into fortune—will not just reshape the nation’s economy. They’ll redefine what it means to be safe, powerful, and free in a country where peace has become the ultimate privilege.

After all, when the lions fail to protect the jungle, the hyenas learn to guard it for profit.