The ownership crisis: How the CBEX scandal reveals Nigeria’s cultural paradox

DAMILARE EBENIZA

Damilare Ebeniza studied Political Science and International Relations in Nigeria, Benin Republic, and France, with a research focus on Nigerian history, economy, and foreign politics. He has experience as a conference interpreter and external relations management across Chad, Niger, Mali, and Guinea Conakry, for governmental, regional and international organisations in West Africa. He is an analyst for West African Democracy Radio in Dakar, Senegal and actively contributes to critical dialogues shaping the region’s socio-political landscape. Proficient in French, English, and four additional non-Nigerian African languages, he embodies a commitment to cross-cultural understanding and effective communication. He can be reached via comment@businessamlive.com 

The pattern of predictable tragedy

Perhaps the saddest part of the CBEX Ponzi scheme — which defrauded Nigerians of an estimated ₦1.3 trillion — is that we all know it will happen again, and then again. Since 2010, Nigeria has witnessed the rise and collapse of over 15 major financial schemes: from MMM and Twinkas to Racksterli and now CBEX. The cryptocurrency space alone has seen Nigerian investors lose over ₦4 trillion in the past five years, according to cybersecurity experts. The most interesting question is not whether the EFCC can prevent future occurrences. The real question we must ask is: why do these schemes continue to flourish in Nigerian soil?

Beyond simple moral condemnation

In our effort to answer this question, we must not hide behind moral projections and simply question the character of those involved. Morality is a currency many would gladly spend when facing perceived opportunities. This is particularly true in a society where almost 40 percent of the population lives below the poverty line, according to the World Bank’s 2023 figures, and where the naira has lost over 70 percent of its value in just the past year.

There are far more morally reprehensible actions that have become normalised in our society. Many individuals whose morality would stain a pig are among the most revered in our communities — from politicians who embezzle billions to religious leaders who exploit the vulnerable. This is the society we’ve created, where we celebrate wealth without questioning its source.

Moreover, beyond being interesting, merely condemning participants provides no new understanding that could help us address this as a society. We should quit confusing insults with serious intellectual discussion. The problem runs deeper than individual moral failings.

The root cause: Our misunderstanding of ownership

So why would many Nigerians gather almost 1 billion dollars and give it to some Chinese operators? It is not a lack of education — Nigeria produces over 500,000 university graduates annually. The root cause is our fundamental misunderstanding of property and ownership.

We do not truly comprehend what it means to own something, and therefore do not understand what respecting property rights means. For example, a man who would sacrifice someone else’s son for a ritual would sacrifice his own son for the same purpose. When human beings are seen as disposable, the emotional attachment to any person cannot fill the hole in that individual’s humanity.

In Nigeria, we not only lack respect for other people’s property; we do not grasp what ownership truly means. The 2023 Property Rights Index ranked Nigeria 115th out of 129 countries, with particularly low scores in judicial independence and rule of law — the very foundations of secure ownership. When a land dispute can last decades in court and judgments can be purchased, what does “ownership” really mean?

Our concept of ownership is transactional rather than foundational. We see property as something to exploit rather than something to steward. The Yoruba concept of “ilé” goes beyond mere property — it encompasses heritage, responsibility, and continuity. Yet we have reduced ownership to mere possession, stripped of its deeper cultural meaning.

The paradox of external investment

Recently, a Nigerian diplomat stated on national television that everyone who is “anybody” in Nigeria owns property abroad. This reflects a startling statistic: Nigerians own over $15 billion in real estate in London, Dubai, and North America combined, according to NBS data from 2022.

When we tire of sending our money overseas, we channel our able young men and women there too — either across oceans or by air. After all, the one resource we truly have in abundance right now is our youth, with over 60 percent of our population under 25 years old.

Consider this historical perspective: Generations of Americans fought to build their nation. They invested labour, money, and lifetimes to maintain around the globe an army capable of protecting the secured enjoyment of property rights on American soil. That security is worth more than what money alone can buy.

Those who cannot build a secure nation on the land of their ancestors cannot understand what property means to Americans, even if they legally “own” a piece of their land. They are not, in the American or Western sense of the word, truly owning anything. True ownership requires a societal commitment to the protection of property rights that transcends individual possession.

The abandonment of historical roots

Before the masquerades who parade themselves as our leaders in all aspects of our society (religion, culture, politics, economy) were called to the Nigerian stage, asking a man to leave his village was considered a capital punishment where I come from. Now, if you haven’t left, you haven’t “made it.”

One of the most precious things a people can truly own is its history. Many fathers have died in wars simply to preserve their history long enough for the next generation to take up the task of defending it. Yet in the wisdom of “eminent Nigerians,” the thought of banning our history germinated and was given full expression for years.

The removal of history from our school curriculum from 2007 until its reintroduction in 2019 represents one of the most damaging policy decisions in our educational system. We do not want to own our history. We are “wise” enough to discard the very rich experiences that made life possible here in the first place but not wise enough to build something of equal value in its place.

Yoruba wisdom crystallizes this tragedy: “Omo to so ile nu, o fi apo iya n’o” (A child who rejects his home carries poverty along). We cannot even own our problems. Some have convinced some of our people that all they need to do is decree and declare solutions.

Tale of two leaders: 

Ownership embodied vs. Ownership abandoned

Let me offer a concrete comparison between genuine culture-inspired ownership and its mere semblance:

Sam Adeyemi is a well-known Nigerian man of God who likes to tell anyone who cares to listen that he is a leadership expert. He claims to have written books on leadership. Around July 2024, when asked by Seun Okinbaloye on his podcast why he stayed so long outside Nigeria, he said he wanted to return but “the Holy Spirit told him not to.” I had to consult a Christian spiritual interpreter to understand what Pastor Sam meant by “the Holy Spirit.” He told me it meant the Spirit of God. When I asked if by “Spirit of God,” we could simply say “God,” he said yes. So, God told Pastor Sam not to come to Nigeria.

Now, let me introduce another man called Ho Chi Minh to you. Born Nguyen Sinh Cung in 1890 in central Vietnam under French colonial rule, he left his homeland in 1911 as a cook’s helper on a ship. After years of working menial jobs across Europe and America, he settled in Paris by 1919. There, while working as a photo retoucher and kitchen hand, he became politically active among Vietnamese expatriates.

When the Paris Peace Conference convened after World War I with promises of self-determination for colonized peoples, Ho Chi Minh, dressed in a borrowed suit, attempted to petition President Woodrow Wilson and other world leaders for Vietnamese independence. His petition was ignored completely. The Western powers had no interest in liberating Asian colonies.

Rather than remaining in the relative comfort of Paris where he had established a life, Ho Chi Minh chose to return to his troubled homeland. He spent the next three decades building a revolutionary movement, enduring imprisonment, living in caves, and ultimately leading a resistance that defeated both French colonisers and later the might of the American military. When asked why he abandoned the safety of Paris, he reportedly said, “I have only one passion, the passion for the liberation of my people.”

Vietnam, the country whose capital is now named after him, exported over $680 million worth of goods to Nigeria in 2023, while our exports to them were negligible. Ho Chi Minh may have lacked the rhetorical flair of Pastor Sam, but who would you prefer as your leader? One who claims divine instruction to avoid his country’s challenges, or one who returned to face them directly, saying: “Remember, the storm is a good opportunity for the pine and the cypress to show their strength and their stability”?

The imperative of owning our problems

In truth, we do not know how to own our problems. A problem not owned cannot be solved. Solutions require effort. That effort is fuelled by a strong sense of ownership of the problem. After all, if it is not yours, why bother solving it?

Anyone who has read any of my essays would know my position on the current administration. They would also know that I am a strong believer in Nigeria. I wondered aloud in one of my articles (which newspapers refused to publish) whether those in charge of appointments for Mr. President may have paid undue attention to Sunday Igboho’s rallies when naming the person to lead the Central Bank of Nigeria, Nigerian Customs Service and the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission.

I believe the safest place for a 21st century Yoruba identity to emerge is within a secure and strong Nigeria. But we must be alive on our land to bring that about.

A call to regional security ownership

I was shocked when Southwest governors resorted to self-praise a few days after it was announced that our forests are infiltrated by the worst kind of threats. The security situation in the Southwest has deteriorated significantly, with over 300 reported kidnapping cases in 2023 alone, according to police records. More alarming is what goes unreported — the farmers who can no longer access their land, the villages that pay regular “protection” fees to bandits, the silent exodus from rural communities. This is how it begins in the Sahel.

Let’s move away from our gadgets and sit together as a region, as a people, with representatives from every community to discuss face-to-face and build a network to support the Amotekun initiative to a level of lethality strong enough to build deterrence. Our ancestors understood that security was too important to outsource — the “Eso” warriors of old Oyo Empire and the community vigilance systems of traditional Yoruba settlements created security frameworks that protected our people for centuries.

Here are three concrete steps we must take:

1. Community-based intelligence network: Establish a formal system where community leaders report suspicious activities directly to Amotekun commanders without bureaucratic delays. This would create a human intelligence network that technology alone cannot replace. History shows that successful security depends on local knowledge — people who know when something or someone doesn’t belong.
2. Regional security day: A regional security  day will host lectures, discussions, and serve as a unique opportunity to fund-raise for Amotekun.
3. Cross-border coordination protocols: Develop formal coordination mechanisms between Amotekun units across state lines to prevent criminals from exploiting jurisdictional boundaries. The criminals do not respect our state boundaries; neither should our response be constrained by them.

We cannot wait for the Nigerian Army to fix this. Anyone who expects the Nigerian Army to deal with it has not been paying attention to other parts of our nation. With just 223,000 active military personnel for a population of over 200 million (a ratio of approximately 1:900), the Army is already overstretched across multiple conflict zones. In the Northeast alone, they face a conflict that has displaced over two million people.

We cannot wait for the Senate or the House to decide on state police either. No self-respecting and self-aware group of human beings would entrust their security to a nation that would not allow those under attack to acquire the means to defend themselves.

The price of freedom

Our forefathers paid the price for the freedom we enjoy in this region. That freedom is the rock upon which the relative prosperity of this region is based. The Southwest contributes approximately 21 percent of Nigeria’s GDP despite having only about 16 percent of the population. Lagos alone accounts for 30 percent of Nigeria’s non-oil GDP.

This prosperity is now challenged. We must rise to defend it now. Our history deserves it, the future of our children demands it, and Nigeria needs it now. The Yoruba proverb says, “Bí ọmọdé bá ṣubú, á wo iwájú; bí àgbàlagbà bá ṣubú, á wo ẹ̀hìn” (When a child falls, he looks forward; when an elder falls, he looks backward). We must look backward to our traditions of self-reliance and communal defense, and forward to innovative solutions that address contemporary threats.

We need not wait until our air force begins dropping ordnance on our farmlands. “Ma fi igi gun mi l’oju, a ti okere lati ko” (Don’t poke me in the eye from afar; I can see you coming). The signs of danger are clear to those who care to look, and the time for action is now, not after tragedy has struck.

Our ownership crisis extends far beyond the CBEX scandal. It permeates our approach to nationhood, security, prosperity, and identity. The path forward begins with owning our challenges rather than outsourcing them to divine intervention, foreign havens, or abstract authorities. True ownership begins at home.

As another Yoruba proverb reminds us: “Ilé la ti ń kó ẹṣọ́ r’òde” (Charity begins at home). If we cannot own and protect what is ours — our land, our heritage, our future — then what do we truly possess? The CBEX scandal is merely a symptom of a deeper disease: our failure to understand that true ownership is not merely legal or financial, but cultural, historical, and spiritual. It is time we reclaimed ownership of our destiny.

In the words of Walter Lippmann, who spoke at a Harvard graduation ceremony in 1940:

“Upon the standard to which the wise and honest will now repair it is written: ‘You have lived the easy way; henceforth, you will live the hard way…. You came into a great heritage made by the insight and the sweat and the blood of inspired and devoted and courageous men; thoughtlessly and in utmost self-indulgence you have all but squandered this inheritance. Now only by the heroic virtues which made this inheritance can you restore it again…. You took the good things for granted. Now you must earn them again…. For every right that you cherish, you have a duty which you must fulfill. For every hope that you entertain, you have a task that you must perform. For every good that you wish to preserve, you will have to sacrifice your comfort and your ease. There is nothing for nothing any longer.”

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