Before the name “Nigeria” ever existed, the territory that bears it today was a mosaic of sovereign peoples, kingdoms, and empires and each had its distinct language, political system, culture, and spiritual worldview. From the grasslands of Sokoto to the rainforests of Calabar, the land was alive with diverse civilizations that interacted through trade, diplomacy, and sometimes war. At that time, there was no central authority linking the Fulani emirates of the north with the Yoruba kingdoms of the west or the Igbo communities of the east. Each nation existed as a self-contained world, governing itself and answering to no outside power.
In the north, the Sokoto Caliphate reigned as one of the most sophisticated Islamic empires in Africa. Founded by Usman dan Fodio in 1804 after a series of religious reforms and jihads, it established an intricate network of emirates that were ruled by learned scholars and administrators. The Caliphate stretched across much of present-day northern Nigeria and beyond, influencing trade, law, and scholarship across the Sahel. Alongside it stood the ancient Kanem–Bornu Empire, whose roots reached back nearly a thousand years. It was a kingdom that advanced learning, diplomacy, and commerce, connecting West Africa to the wider Islamic world through Trans-Saharan trade.
In the Middle Belt and Niger regions flourished the Nupe Kingdom, with its capital at Bida and it was renowned for crafts and governance. The Tiv, Idoma, Jukun, and other peoples lived in well-structured societies where communal life and justice were regulated by elders and traditional institutions. To the southwest, the Yoruba world boasted of such powerful states as the Oyo Empire, the Egba and Ijebu Kingdoms, and the city-states of Ife and Ondo. It is on history that the cavalry of Oyo once rode far beyond its borders, keeping order and commanding tribute, while its elaborate council of chiefs balanced the powers of the Alaafin, ensuring that no ruler became tyrannical. The Yoruba were urbanized, literate, and commercially sophisticated long before British intrusion.
Further South stood the Benin Kingdom, whose artistic legacy in bronze and ivory still astonishes the world even today. Benin’s court rituals, diplomatic missions to Europe, and disciplined military made it one of Africa’s great civilizations. East of the Niger, the Igbo lived in democratic republican communities where every adult had a voice in the village assembly. Their networks of trade and the famed Aro Confederacy connected towns from the hinterland to the coast. The Kingdom of Nri, spiritual heart of the Igbo people, preached peace and purification rather than conquest. The Efik and Ibibio peoples of Calabar, the Itsekiri of Warri, and the Ijaw city-states of Bonny, Opobo, and Nembe maintained independent trading relations with Europeans for centuries before colonization.
By this time, all these diverse, dynamic, and self-governing nation-states had no collective identity as one country. The concept of “Nigeria” was unknown to them. The name came from a woman, Lady Flora Shaw, a British journalist who in 1897 suggested “Nigeria” as a convenient label for Britain’s possessions along the River Niger. She later married Lord Frederick Luggard, the colonial administrator that lumped all the nation-states that became British colonies into Northern and Southern Protectorates. In 1914, he forcibly joined them into one political unit called “The Colony and Protectorate of Nigeria.”
The peoples of the land were never consulted by Lord Luggard before he forced them into a union. Not one council of Emirs, Obas, or Igwes was summoned to deliberate on the planned union. No village assembly, no palace, no market square debated whether they wanted to become part of a new British invention. Their consent was neither sought nor granted. Therefore, the amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates in 1914 was not a union of willing partners. It was in totality an administrative convenience for the British Empire. The north was rich in land and population but lacked funds; the south had wealth from palm oil and taxes. And so, Britain joined the two for economic ease, not for the happiness of the people.
In truth, Nigeria was not born out of human love or even necessity, but out of imperial calculation. The British drew lines on maps and declared that people who had never seen themselves as one must now share one destiny. The Sokoto Caliphate was lumped with the Oyo Empire, the Benin Kingdom with the Igbo republics, the Efik traders with the Tiv farmers—all under one flag and one foreign ruler. From that moment, the seeds of future discontent were planted.
A century later, Nigeria remains haunted by the consequences of that forced marriage. The country has endured coups, civil war, ethnic strife, religious violence, and waves of separatist agitation. From the Biafran struggle in the East to the calls for Oduduwa and Arewa self-determination, every region has at one time or another questioned the legitimacy of a union that was imposed on them without their consent. The question that Flora Shaw never asked: “will these peoples actually be happy and want to live together as one?” still hangs in the air.
More than one hundred years after the amalgamation, the world has changed, but Nigeria’s fundamental problem has not. The absence of voluntary nationhood has not changed. And I think it is time to confront that question honestly. Should the Nigerian state not, in the spirit of justice and democracy, permit its citizens to decide whether they wish to continue together as one federation in compliance with British imposition, and possibly considering the advantages of such an agreement? Why is the Federal Government so afraid of calling for a referendum? Why does it resist the simplest instrument of democracy—the people’s voice?
A referendum is not rebellion. It is a peaceful expression of choice. Across the world, nations have used referenda to settle questions of identity and sovereignty. The United Kingdom permitted Scotland to vote on independence in 2014. Canada allowed Quebec to vote on separation twice. Even smaller nations like South Sudan gained their independence through a referendum rather than war. If others can trust their citizens to decide their future, why can’t Nigeria? Are Nigerians a conquered people who must forever live by decisions made for them by colonial powers long gone?
Every time Nigerians call for dialogue or restructuring, the state responds with fear or force. Activists are arrested, protests are crushed, and discussions of self-determination are branded treason. Yet, suppressing questions does not erase them. The demand for fairness, for freedom, and for genuine unity will always rise again, because no nation built on forced unity can endure forever. True peace can only prevail from consent, not from force. So, the continued refusal of the Nigerian government to allow Nigerians express their will through a referendum only deepens the wounds of history. It signals that the government fears its own people. But what kind of nation survives by silencing its citizens? A country that kills its children to keep its borders is not defending unity, it is defending injustice. Unity cannot be preserved by blood. It can only be consolidated by the people’s mutual agreement to remain together.
Nigeria’s diversity is not its problem. The problem is that its union was never negotiated. The Igbo did not agree to merge with the Hausa-Fulani; the Yoruba did not consent to share governance with the Tiv, the Ijaw, or the Kanuri. All were simply declared subjects of a new entity. Even after independence in 1960, the British-created system remained intact, transferring authority from colonial masters to British-trained local elites without visiting the foundational question of consent. Successive constitutions, from 1963 to 1999, were written without popular approval. Nigerians have never been given the chance to say, in one voice, what kind of nation they want or whether they still want to be one nation at all.
The consequence is a fragile federation where ethnic mistrust runs deep and loyalty to the centre is lip service. Every major crisis since independence, the Biafran War, June 12, Boko Haram, banditry, #EndSARS, they all reflect the same underlying tension between imposed unity and the people’s desire for justice and freedom. Instead of confronting the root cause, leaders prefer to patch the cracks with slogans: “One Nigeria,” “Unity in Diversity,” “The Indivisible Nation.” But unity cannot be decreed. It must be earned through equity, inclusion, and voluntary participation.
A referendum would not destroy Nigeria. It could, in fact, save it. By allowing every ethnic nation to express its will, Nigeria would lay the foundation for a genuine federation—one built not on colonial boundaries but on mutual respect. Some regions might choose to stay together, renegotiating the terms of coexistence in a new constitution. Others might seek autonomy or even independence. Whatever the outcome, it would be achieved peacefully, through ballots rather than bullets.
The Nigerian government often argues that such a referendum could lead to chaos. But the truth is that chaos is already here, manifested in insurgency, secessionist movements and daily insecurity. The refusal to talk is what is likely to breed violence. People fight when they feel unheard. They pick up arms when they believe the ballot has failed. A government that truly loves its citizens will prefer dialogue to destruction. The call for a referendum is not an attack on Nigeria, it is a plea for justice, for peace, and for the right of citizens to choose their future and that of their children.
If the unity of Nigeria is truly strong as the political leaders claim, then a referendum should not frighten anyone. Only a weak house fears inspection. Let Nigerians speak. Let the people decide whether they wish to continue as one federation, and on what terms. A nation that is confident in its unity does not silence discussion, it welcomes it. If, after open consultation, the people choose to remain together, that union will be stronger than any forged by force. But if they choose otherwise, the world will respect them for settling the matter peacefully rather than through endless cold wars.
Flora Shaw could never have imagined the consequences of her naming. In 1897, she saw only an administrative convenience, a geographic expression that would make British colonial management simpler. She could not have foreseen that the name “Nigeria” would one day represent the struggles, hopes, and heartbreaks of more than 200 million people. But names are not enough to bind nations. Shared destiny is built on shared choice. The time has come for Nigeria to grow beyond its colonial birth. The amalgamation of 1914 achieved one thing: it placed hundreds of nations under one flag. But that was only the beginning, not the end. Real nationhood begins when people freely agree to live together and chart their common future. That is what a referendum represents, the opportunity to transform a colonial creation into a voluntary community of equals.
The Nigerian government must not continue to rule through fear of its own citizens. The courage to hold a referendum is the courage to trust the people. Every day of delay deepens disillusionment and prolongs the bloodshed that has soaked the land. Farmers are killed, soldiers fall in ambush, young people vanish in protests, all because the nation refuses to ask itself the question it should have asked in 1914: do we want to live together as one?
Until that question is answered openly, Nigeria will remain a house divided, standing only because its fragments have not yet scattered. But history shows that no people can be kept in forced union forever. The British Empire itself, which once joined these lands, has dissolved. Nations once held together by might have learned that freedom is the only glue that lasts. The choice before Nigeria today is simple: dialogue or destruction, ballots or bullets, consent or coercion. The government must listen, not because it is weak, but because it is wise. It must understand that the call for a referendum is not the cry of enemies but the plea of citizens who still believe that peace is possible. More than a century after Flora Shaw named this land, Nigerians must finally be allowed to name themselves. Only then can the shadows of 1914 fade and a true nation not born of conquest, but of choice rise from the long night of history.
Chief Sir Asinugo, PhD., M.A., KSC, writes from the UK
