The Generation that Ate the Future

By Somadina Eugene Okorie

There is a generation of Nigerians alive today that must pause, look in the mirror, and ask itself a difficult question: What did we do with the inheritance we received?

This generation of Nigerians inherited abundance, consumed it fully, and quietly walked away without rebuilding it.

The generation this article refers to is known globally as Generation X, that is, Nigerians born between 1965 and 1980. They grew up in a country that worked. A country where institutions functioned. A country where opportunity was not a lottery ticket, but a predictable outcome of effort and discipline.

In those days, Nigeria did not merely encourage education; it incentivized it. Young Nigerians went to school on scholarships. They lived in government-subsidized hostels. They were fed. They were clothed. They received stipends popularly called ‘pocket money’ to remain in school. And when they graduated, they did not graduate into fear. They graduated into certainty.

Jobs were waiting. Hence, employment was not a desperate search; it was an expectation.

Companies came to campuses to recruit undergraduates. Government institutions also absorbed graduates. Multinational corporations offered structured career paths. Even those with modest educational qualifications, like holders of Standard Six certificates, could secure stable employment, get married, raise families, and live with dignity.

Ambition was rewarded, while merit mattered. Little wonder the son of a roadside trader could become an executive, and the daughter of a civil servant could rise to global prominence. Nigeria was a country where connection was not the currency, as it has become today; rather, competence was.

Although Nigeria was not perfect, it was functional. It was alive with possibility.

Nigeria, at that time, was a ladder, and a generation of its people climbed it. But here lies the tragedy: after climbing that ladder, many in that generation quietly pulled it up behind them.

Generation X failed to build the system that raised them, which they inherited from their predecessors.

They inherited functional universities, structured industries, strong public institutions, and thriving vocational ecosystems, among other things.

They were trained by institutions funded by the sacrifices of earlier generations.

But when it became their turn to lead, most of them abandoned the responsibility of continuity.

Safe to say, they consumed the system and did not sustain it. They benefited from institutions but did not rebuild them. They inherited opportunity but did not reproduce it.

They ate. But they did not plant. And today, the consequences surround us like the ruins of a once-great civilization.

Sad to say, but today, Nigerian youths face a reality that would have been unthinkable in the 1970s and 1980s.

Young Nigerians, Generation Z and those after them, now live in a completely different country. A country where education no longer guarantees employment. A country where degrees hang on walls like decorative paper. A country where the cost of living rises faster than hope itself.

Multinational companies that once recruited thousands have slowed to a trickle or disappeared entirely. Conventional career paths have collapsed. Job security is now nothing but a myth.

In this vacuum, desperation has become an economic force.

Some young Nigerians, unable to find legitimate opportunities, have turned to fraud and illicit activities, not necessarily out of moral failure, but out of systemic abandonment and collapse. Others have found refuge in social media, carving livelihoods from content creation, digital commerce, and online influence. While these platforms have saved many from despair, they cannot absorb an entire generation.

And beneath the surface, a quieter tragedy is unfolding — the death of craftsmanship.

Once upon a time, Nigeria was a nation of skilled hands. Mechanics built workshops that became industrial hubs. Tailors grew into garment manufacturers. Plumbers, technicians, carpenters, and artisans formed the backbone of a productive economy.

Consider the story of Chief Vincent Obianodo, founder of Young Shall Grow Motors, which today is one of the largest transport companies in Nigeria.

The Nneni, Anambra State-born Chief Obianodo did not begin as a billionaire. He began as a vulcanizer, a man who repaired tyres, before becoming a bus conductor. From there, he founded Young Shall Grow Motors in 1972, with services expanding significantly between 1973 and 1978.

No doubt, through skill, discipline, and opportunity, he grew gradually, reinvested consistently, and built an empire that now employs hundreds of Nigerians and operates close to one thousand luxury buses in his company’s fleet.

His company, Young Shall Grow Motors, has taken people off the streets; he has also created dignity through enterprise.

His story represents what was once possible in Nigeria, when skill could become industry, and industry could become legacy.

We also have men like fashion entrepreneur Seyi Vodi, who built a garment factory from scratch as a local tailor after he failed a bank employment test. Today, Seyi Adekunle (Vodi), the founder and chairman of Vodi Group, employs hundreds of young Nigerians in his garment factory, thereby demonstrating what reinvestment into the system looks like. The examples of the men mentioned above prove that it is possible to convert personal success into collective progress.

But today, those pathways are fast disappearing.

Fewer young people pursue technical skills, not because such skills lack value, but because the ecosystems that nurture them have collapsed. Training institutions are scarce. Apprenticeship systems are weak; hence, industrial pipelines are broken.

This is not merely a cultural shift. It is an institutional failure.

Consider a private survey I conducted among commercial transport operators recently. Many players I spoke to revealed a startling reality: there is a severe shortage of professionally trained drivers in Nigeria. Not because Nigerians cannot drive, but because Nigeria lacks sufficient professional driving institutes capable of producing certified, industry-ready drivers.

One major transport operator who confided in me said that Ghana currently offers more structured professional driver training schools than Nigeria. Imagine that. And this pattern is consistent across various sectors in Nigeria, including automobile repair, manufacturing, construction, and technical trades.

The result is devastating: Nigeria is now a nation of consumers without producers.

The same country where drivers once built transport empires, became industrialists in their own right, and employed hundreds — but today, that culture appears to have gone into extinction.

Things have become so bad that even if, by chance, Nigeria were to solve its electricity problems and other bottlenecks tomorrow, we would still face a frightening reality because we lack the skilled manpower required to power an industrial economy.

Contrast this with China, where more than 1.5 million engineers graduate annually. China understands a simple truth: ‘the greatest investment any society can make is in human capital.’

Nigeria once understood this too, but somewhere along the line, that understanding was abandoned. And here, we must return to Generation X.

This generation benefited from investments made by those before them. They studied in functional universities. They trained in structured institutions. They worked in thriving industries. They earned incomes that allowed stability and growth.

Yet many failed to replicate those structures for the generations after them.

They did not invest in technical education. They did not build skill academies. They did not strengthen professional institutions. They did not create enough ladders for others to climb.

Instead, many of them in that generation focused on personal accumulation rather than institutional multiplication.

This is not merely an economic failure. It is a moral one.

There is an old principle, even echoed in sacred teachings: a person who fails to provide for those who come after him has failed in his duty.

Imagine walking into a hall where food is freely available. You eat. You are nourished. And as you leave, you are gently reminded to contribute something so other generations after you may also eat — that’s the scenario in several American cafés and restaurants in different cities across the country. That culture encourages you to contribute to the next generation after you.

But in the case of Generation X, they ate, and many of them did not contribute back.

They benefited from a functioning Nigeria but did not ensure its continuity.

Today, many members of that generation still hold power. They are policymakers. Power brokers. Corporate leaders. Decision-makers.

And yet, the institutions remain weak, or worse still, are going into oblivion.

The question must be asked, not in anger, but in truth: Did this generation protect the future, or did it consume it completely?

Let me be clear — this isn’t a blanket indictment. There are honorable outliers. Builders of industries. Job creators. Visionaries who have poured resources into people and progress.

But outliers, no matter how admirable, do not cancel out structural cracks. A few bright lights cannot disguise a grid that still flickers.

Celebrating exceptions should never silence the conversation about the system itself.

Nigeria’s current crisis is not accidental. It is the cumulative result of decades of underinvestment in human capital, institutions, and industrial ecosystems.

We are now living inside that result.

But this story does not have to end in despair, because responsibility does not expire.

Very importantly, we should know that the same generation that inherited Nigeria’s strength can still help rebuild and fix it.

Corporate leaders must, as a matter of urgency, invest in skill development programs, while wealthy individuals must establish training institutes and technical schools as affordable alternatives for those who probably cannot afford formal education. Industry veterans must mentor and fund the next generation of craftsmen, technicians, engineers, and innovators.

Government alone cannot carry this burden. Nation-building is a collective responsibility.

Every executive who rose through a functioning system must ask: What system am I leaving behind?

Every professional who benefited from opportunity must ask: Who am I creating opportunity for?

Every citizen must ask: Am I contributing to Nigeria’s future or merely surviving its present?

They must build industries, not just accumulate wealth.

Private citizens must invest in human capital, not just real estate.

Corporations must build training pipelines, not just profit centers.

Nigeria must become a producing nation again.

Because population without skill is not strength, but vulnerability.

We must collectively bear in mind that nations do not collapse in a single moment; however, they collapse when generations consume more than they create.

Nigeria’s future will not be saved by blame but by decisive responsibility, and we must be determined that the ladder of growth must be rebuilt. History will remember, with unforgiving clarity, those who chose to rebuild it and those who did not.

-Somadina Eugene Okorie is a WIPO-certified advocate, Intellectual Property/Business Solicitor and researcher based in Lagos. His work explores how legal innovation can drive inclusive economic growth and cultural preservation in Africa.