By Thomas Danjuma Abu
This morning, while scrolling through the blue app—yes, Facebook—I stumbled upon a disturbing video posted by Sahara Reporters. It featured a retired Police Superintendent, reportedly rejecting a ₦2 million retirement benefit after 35 years of service. His face carried no joy, just an air of disbelief and disappointment.
But what hit harder than his rejection was the comment section. Nigerians, in their usual blend of wit, sarcasm, and brutal honesty, lit it up:
> “Use the bribe you collected during service to add to it.”
“Karma is that you??”
“Collect am and add to checkpoint collections, bail no dey free.”
“2 million after 35 years? Meanwhile, politicians pocket 2 billion a month.” Some laughed. Some mocked. A few pitied. But I chose to reflect—beyond the sarcasm, beyond the rage.
So I pulled out my calculator:
₦2,000,000 ÷ 35 years = ₦57,142.86 per year.
That’s ₦4,761.90 per month.
Think about that. A man who stood under the sun and rain, dodged bullets, managed violent protests, and guarded the lives of both VIPs and citizens walks away with a package that can’t even buy four bags of cement per month.
Let that sink in.
Now let’s ask the hard question: Could this be a root of corruption in public service?
It’s easy to ridicule officers as greedy and corrupt. But before you judge them, interrogate the system that made them. The same country that sends men to risk their lives forgets them the moment they hang up their uniforms.
We act surprised when officers take bribes—but how do we expect integrity from someone whose future is structured around lack, not gratitude? Nigeria has normalized a dangerous culture where policemen, teachers, civil servants, and junior military men are overworked and underappreciated. Yet we demand moral excellence from them. That’s like expecting someone to cook with an empty pot.
Now, this is not to excuse wrongdoing. Many officers abused their power. But not all corruption stems from greed—some of it is just a desperate pension plan in disguise. If an officer knows retirement will mean ridicule and poverty, he is more likely to secure himself illegally during service. That is immoral, yes—but it’s also predictable.
We need to fix the exit plan. A functional system must reward public service. Not everyone will loot the treasury, but most will act out of survival when cornered. If we don’t want corruption at the gates, we must secure the lives of those who guard them.
Some of the punchlines in the comments were more than witty—they were mirrors of societal decay:
> “When the system retires you broke, your conscience starts negotiating terms.”
“If retirement looks like poverty, corruption starts to look like a savings plan.”
“Fix the exit plan before condemning the man who took a shortcut.”
“Blame the thief if you must—but first, check if his future was ever secured.”
“When retirement is a cliff, corruption becomes a parachute.”
Public accountability is crucial. But let’s not confuse systemic failure with individual wickedness. If we’re serious about fighting corruption, we must start where it begins—not just in hearts, but in hopeless retirement tables.
So next time you see a viral video like that, pause before typing “karma.” Instead, ask yourself: Would you serve Nigeria for 35 years for ₦2 million at the end?
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