On Becoming Abegistan: When Survival Becomes Entitlement.
“Abeg” used to be a soft appeal. Today, in Nigeria, especially Lagos, it has become a language of survival.
It slips into conversations, softened with humor or wrapped in politeness. “Abeg, help me.” “Show me love.” “Anything for the weekend?” “Send something.” What once carried hesitation now moves freely across social and economic spaces.
But begging is no longer occasional. It is a system structured into our daily lives.
At traffic stops. At ATMs and POS stands. Outside restaurants. Inside airports. Around motor parks. Even after church services. There is always someone waiting, watching, approaching. Sometimes alone. Sometimes in groups. Sometimes persistent. Sometimes aggressive.
This is not just begging. It is entitled begging.
For years, Nigerians complained about this growing culture, but many ignored it. Like many uncomfortable truths, it was easier to look away and hope it would disappear. Instead of fading, it expanded quietly until it became impossible to ignore. Then the world noticed.
When international streamer IShowSpeed visited Lagos, his livestream captured what many had normalized. Able-bodied adults repeatedly asking for money. “Show me love” echoed across different locations. The begging was ambient, excessive, and unfiltered.
The internet responded swiftly. Across parts of Africa, a nickname emerged and stuck.
Abegistan.
It is easy to dismiss this as an insult. But it is more accurate to see it as a diagnosis of a deep societal shift.
The instinctive reaction is to blame character, to say Nigerians have lost pride in hustle. But that explanation is incomplete.
What we are witnessing is a collision of three forces.
First, economic pressure. A large population, limited formal jobs, low wages, and rising living costs. When legitimate pathways shrink, informal survival expands.
Second, weak enforcement. Street harassment, extortion, and organized begging persist without consistent consequences. Groups like area boys, omotaku (street extortionists), and omo-onile (land grabbers) exploit this gap, pressuring citizens into giving them money.
Third, normalization. The more people encounter daily solicitation, the less unusual it feels. Over time, embarrassment fades. Asking becomes strategic, not a last resort.
Together, these forces have created an informal economy built on proximity, pressure, and persistence.
This culture erodes trust in public spaces.
A simple ATM/POS visit now requires alertness. A quiet meal at a buka (local eatery) invites interruption. Movement through the city comes with emotional guard.
It also reshapes relationships. Friends, relatives, old classmates, and even distant contacts begin to interact through requests. Every interaction risks becoming transactional.
Worse, it reshapes identity. A society once known for resilience and hustle begins to normalize hyper-dependence and entitlement. And globally, perception shifts with it.
So what can be done?
Government action must go beyond periodic crackdowns. Removing people from the streets without addressing root causes only resets the cycle. There must be consistent enforcement against harassment and extortion, alongside real investment in jobs, skills, and social support systems.
But citizens also have a role.
Boundaries must return. A polite but firm “no” needs to be normalized again. Because a culture without boundaries will always drift toward excess.
This does not mean losing empathy. Many people are genuinely struggling.
“Abegistan” stings because it reveals the uncomfortable truth. A society where asking becomes entitlement is at risk of losing its sense of dignity.
And that is far harder to rebuild than any economy we are trying to fix.
By Esther O.
