Almost everywhere you look these days, there is a long-running joke that Nigeria’s national resolution for 2024 is, "No gree for anybody."
The police have described this slogan as an act of rebellion, stating that their intelligence has reliably informed them that "the slogan is coming from a revolutionary sector that may likely cause problems across the country." The army, meanwhile, has co-opted it, with the military spokesperson urging Nigerians to "No gree for terrorists, and no gree for perpetrators of insecurity."
Debates have sprung up, and back-and-forths have been had about the significance of this slogan. Meanwhile, the true litmus test of our collective adherence to its core values happened, and everyone seemed to totally ignore it.
On Tuesday evening, as I sat in Abuja, listening to a Zoom discussion on Nigeria's political system — my phone lit up. Going to X, the social media platform formerly known as Twitter, I began to see social media posts about the sound of an explosion being heard across Ibadan.
At first, it was just a few handles that posted; then the posts appeared in their hundreds — and immediately, my mind started to assume the worst. Had Oyo State experienced a terrorist attack? Had a blow been struck in the heart of a state that carried such a cultural significance? If the answer was yes, my next question was, "Why?"
Thankfully, my original thoughts were wrong; the explosion was not intentional. It was not a terrorist attack. However, it was something much worse: an accident caused by unintentional negligence. Illegal miners had stockpiled explosives in a residential area.
Official reports say three lives were lost, 77 people injured, and thousands of properties affected. Unofficial reports claim that the casualties are much higher. From the aerial pictures published from the site of the blast, a crater can be seen sitting in the middle of the photo — with multiple houses around the blast radius levelled. This was an accident that could have been avoided. This was an accident that was not avoided —so, what are we going to do about it to ensure that it does not happen anywhere else in Nigeria?
This brings me to the entire point of this piece — Nigerians and our unintentional knack for normalising nonsense.
Days removed from the incident, we have all accepted that the Ibadan explosion was not a terrorist attack — but at the back of our minds, we all know that its consequences have been equally devastating. Lives were lost, property has been destroyed, and fear has been instilled in the hearts of residents.
Yet, beyond the initial shock, beyond the initial condolence posts on social media, beyond the promises for thorough investigations — the incident has largely faded into the background noise of our daily lives. To me, my friends, this is the true danger — our ability to absorb even the most egregious acts of negligence as "mere inconveniences."
Imagine something like this happened elsewhere. Let’s take the usual example: the United States of America. There would be a media firestorm. CNN would already be analysing the background of the person that stockpiled the explosives. Fox News would be interviewing borderline conspiracy theorists about the significance of the blast radius. NBC would be speaking to security analysts about the type of explosives that were likely involved, while the New York Times would have published an editorial about the dangers of illegal mining.
However, billions of naira worth of property has been damaged due to negligence, and there is no media firestorm. There are no in-depth analyses. There are no investigative reports. There are no public demands for accountability. Very few members of the National Assembly have even spoken about this tragedy; and the civil society is virtually silent.
Ladies and gentlemen, we tend to lay all blame at the feet of our governments at the state and federal levels. But what happens at a time when the office of the citizen is called upon to act? What happens at a time when our response as Nigerians should go beyond fleeting tweets and push into informed outrage that is channelled by informed discourse and civil pressure on those in power?
Each time we shrug off tragedy, each time we accept negligence as the cost of doing business in Nigeria, we chip away at the very fabric of our society. We erode the trust between citizens and the state, normalise recklessness, and pave the way for even greater disasters. Our desensitisation as citizens is a luxury we cannot afford. The lives lost, the families shattered, the communities scarred – these are the true costs of our "business as usual" approach.
This is why, in 2024, "No gree for anybody" cannot be just a slogan; it must be a collective call to action. Yes, the buck must stop somewhere, but everyone has a role to play. On the part of the media, it must prioritise investigative reporting on incidents like the Ibadan explosion—focusing on its root causes and calling for those responsible to be held accountable.
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On the part of the government, it must implement and enforce stricter safety regulations in problematic sectors like mining, investing in proactive risk mitigation measures, and establish transparent channels for communication and accountability. As someone on Twitter suggested, a New York subway style campaign of "If you see something, say something" should be adopted to crowdsource security reports.
Additionally, the marking, tagging, and digital tracking of licensed explosives should be prioritised. Mining companies should also utilise compulsory blast reports to log the location, time, and amount of explosives used, enabling cross-checking with permits and licences.
Most importantly, the federal and state governments must make an example of whoever was responsible for this explosion — as a deterrence measure.
On the part of the citizen, we must foster a culture of awareness by reporting the perceived abnormalities in our communities. All communities across the nation must also be educated on their individual responsibilities regarding their own safety and security — so that everyone plays a role in keeping our communities safe. This point is crucial because the dust had barely settled in Ibadan before reports pinned the devastation on illegal explosives stored within a seemingly ordinary house. This chilling revelation lays bare the cost of silence. Had someone spoken up and raised an alarm, the tragedy might have been averted. As everyday citizens, we cannot be bystanders in our own safety.
At the end of the day, the Ibadan explosion can be just another incident. Or, it can be a wake-up call — a reminder that apathy has consequences, and that collective and conscientious vigilance is the only weapon we have against the normalisation of nonsense and negligence.
I rest my case.