Former Big Brother Naija housemate Tochi has sparked debate with a message on Instagram arguing that Nigeria’s deepest fault line is not oil, corruption, or elections, but the tribal and religious divides people carry into everyday life. In his words, “Nigeria’s biggest problem has never been oil, never been corruption alone, never been elections, it has always been tribe and religion. Igbo, Yoruba, Hausa. Christian, Muslim. We divide ourselves before the government even tries to divide us.” He added that identity politics often eclipses basic humanity and leaves the country “stuck.”
“Humanity before tribe.”
Anonymous
What we Know
Tochi posted multiple Instagram story notes laying out his view that Nigeria is “too big, too scattered, and too mentally conditioned to be one” unless citizens confront tribal and religious sentiments head-on. He argued that no constitution, election, or president can fix the country if society keeps rewarding prejudice and suspicion over shared values. The posts do not reference a specific incident; they read as a general reflection on national life and an appeal for attitude change.
His comments land in a familiar public square. Nigeria is a diverse nation where ethnicity and faith often map onto language, region, and political loyalty. In that context, day-to-day choices, who we hire, befriend, trust, vote for, or believe online, can harden lines long before any official policy does. Tochi’s point is that the cycle of “us versus them” is reinforced at ground level: family chats, church and mosque circles, campus cliques, office gossip, neighborhood associations, and social feeds. By the time an election arrives, the damage is done.
What Happening
Supporters of his stance say the message is overdue. They argue that corruption thrives in the shade of tribal favoritism and that civic reforms rarely stick when people still judge one another first by tribe or creed. They note that local flashpoints, disputes over land, jobs, admissions, appointments, and contracts, often escalate not because the facts are unclear, but because labels take the wheel. Critics, however, may call his framing too sweeping, warning that unity talk can sound naïve if it ignores hard policy work on security, justice, education, and economic opportunity.
Both things can be true. Attitudes and institutions shape each other. Prejudice makes fair rules hard to write and harder to enforce; weak institutions make it easier for prejudice to call the shots. Tochi’s challenge, read generously, is not a dismissal of policy but a reminder that reforms struggle unless citizens choose a different default in small daily decisions: judging claims on evidence, building mixed friendships, resisting inflammatory memes, and rewarding leaders who campaign on problems and solutions rather than identities.
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Facts
If the aim is movement, there are practical steps any community can take: interfaith and inter-ethnic study groups that meet for months rather than photo-ops; joint service projects that pair schools, unions, and youth clubs across lines; local media segments that spotlight mixed teams fixing real problems; and civic education that teaches how to argue well in public without dehumanizing the other side. None of this replaces security, jobs, or working courts. It makes them possible.
Tochi’s posts will cycle through praise and pushback, as most celebrity interventions do. The test is what readers choose to do next: pass the quote around as content, or use it as a prompt to change how we treat neighbors, colleagues, and strangers. Nigeria’s size and complexity are not going away; the question is whether identity remains a wall or becomes a bridge.
