I rarely write about Nigeria, yet here I am again, reluctantly putting pen to paper, compelled by a familiar ache. Each encounter with the country, whether near or far, dredges something deep within me: a profound disappointment that transcends politics.

Contrary to popular belief, Nigeria’s greatest problem is not its leaders. It is the people, the sycophants, the gatekeepers, the “yes men,” and the self-appointed courtiers who have confused servitude for citizenship and deference for patriotism.

I had just returned from Bangkok, Thailand, after chairing a United Nations High-Level Expert Panel at the United Nations Responsible Business and Human Rights Forum for the Asia-Pacific. The organisation I lead as President, the Global Human Centre, also served as a UN collaborating partner. It was one of those rare “pinch-me” moments in my career, not because of vanity, but because, for a young Black woman, such milestones are seldom given, always earned.

From Bangkok, I headed to Geneva for another roundtable at the United Nations, then to the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organisation World Food Forum, where I represented the Centre for Sustainable Development, Energy Transitions, and Climate Change, and the Global Human Centre, our UK-based organisation providing human rights due diligence in agrifood systems.

Our work is simple yet vital – helping governments, investors, and businesses assess and mitigate the human impacts of climate vulnerabilities. In the first 48 hours, I had met more ministers and CEOs than I could count. My stack of business cards looked like the deck of a Las Vegas dealer.

But as always, Nigeria managed to interrupt my peace.

On the second day of the FAO World Food Forum, a well-meaning Nigerian gentleman approached me, visibly proud of my work. He urged me to meet Nigeria’s Minister of Agriculture also attending, insisting that he was a visionary and would appreciate my expertise. I was reluctant; I have long learned that engaging Nigerian officials is a journey that rarely yields productive reward. But out of courtesy, I agreed.

While waiting for the minister, a man – Nigerian FAO Emergency Operations Specialist approached and, without provocation, remarked that it was “amazing young people like you came to this forum instead of spending the money on partying or travel,” before extending his hand for a high five. I froze, not out of shock, but resignation. The banality of such condescension is exhausting.

Why would a supposedly Nigerian professional assume that young Nigerians, particularly women, attend global forums for leisure? Why is intellectual seriousness still alien to our national psyche when it emanates from the young or the female?

Before long, chaos ensued: “The Minister will see you now!” Suddenly, people dashed about as if the second coming of Christ had been announced.

And there it was – that uniquely Nigerian theatre of sycophancy, the rehearsed hysteria, the performative reverence for power, the choreography of insecurity that precedes every “Excellency.”

In the over 16 years I have lived outside Nigeria, I had forgotten this pathology- the gate-keeping, the low self-esteem disguised as loyalty, the self-degradation packaged as protocol. I have met governors, ministers across Asia and Europe, Crown Princes, leaders of consequence without frenzy, without the suffocating aura of manufactured importance. Yet, in Nigeria, the simplest audience with a public servant is elevated into a pilgrimage.

When I finally met the Minister, he was impressive, articulate, intelligent, visionary. He understood the depth of my work and the relevance of our human rights due diligence, working with rural communities in climate vulnerable agrifoods systems and the framework to Nigeria’s agrifood sector.

But the vultures hovered. The same FAO emergency operations specialist who earlier diminished me now glared, his hostility palpable. As we exited, another aide remarked smugly, “Make sure you thank the man who introduced you to the Minister very well – without him, you wouldn’t have been able to meet the Minister. Protocol!”

Protocol. That word, in the Nigerian lexicon, is both shield and sword-protecting mediocrity and wounding merit. In that moment, I understood our collective tragedy. A nation where ordinary men are deified and excellence is treated as intrusion will never evolve.

When did we become a people so small-minded that meeting a public official – a public servant of the people is considered a privilege rather than a right?

I was raised by a man who understood service. My father, the late Chief Judge of Enugu State, was one of Nigeria’s finest jurists – the longest serving in that office. His door was open to all, his vision unclouded by ego. He believed, radically, that leadership was a burden of responsibility, not a badge of rank.

He, too, was discovered as a young lawyer and appointed as a Senior Special Advisor by Sir Clement Akpamgbo, then Attorney General and Minister of Justice, who believed that talent not tribe, age, or gender should define opportunity.

That philosophy shaped me. It is why I refuse to crawl for access, to beg for inclusion, or to thank anyone for doing what public service already demands.

Nigeria’s redemption will not come from elections, manifestos, or reforms. It will begin with a psychological revolution- a collective unlearning.

We must dismantle the culture of servility that keeps citizens on their knees. We must confront the inferiority complex that makes public office seem divine. And, above all, Nigerian men, especially those guarding the corridors of power, must evolve beyond the patriarchal insecurity that seeks to diminish competent women. Until then, our brightest minds will continue to serve the world, while the gatekeepers at home suffocate the nation’s potential.

I no longer carry a Nigerian passport, but I carry its burden. I still want to love the country that offers me nothing yet keeps breaking the hearts of those betrothed to it because in the end, nations do not collapse from the failures of their leaders but from the cowardice of those who worship them.

• Dr Cynthia C. Umezulike is an international human rights lawyer, associate professor of Law and Director of the Centre for Sustainable Development and Climate Change at the University of Bedfordshire UK. She is President, Global Human Rights Centre and Vice Chair of UK Humans Rights Lawyers Association.