The subtlest assassin of modern Nigerian familyhood is not poverty, infidelity, nor the superstitions our ancestors once feared—it is overindulgence, a deceptive virtue cloaked in affection. It creeps into homes not with daggers but with gifts, not with anger but with softness, smothering the moral backbone of a generation beneath layers of unchecked privilege.
Across Nigerian households, the culture of measured restraint—once the cornerstone of child formation—has been replaced by an age of sentimental excess. Parents, intoxicated by the desire to right the wrongs of their own deprived upbringings, now lavish their offspring with unmerited luxury and unearned liberties. “My son must not taste hardship,” a wealthy trader in Abuja confessed, “but in shielding him from struggle, I created a prince who despises labour and reverence.” Such confessions echo from Lagos to Lokoja and diaspora—proof that unguarded benevolence has bred entitlement, rebellion, and decay.
LoSociologists at the University of Lagos now describe overindulgence as the new moral pandemic. Dr. Funke Adebanjo, a family behaviorist, warns that “a child reared without friction grows up untempered for the fires of life.” What once passed as love has metastasized into parental idolatry—a dangerous inversion where the child becomes the sun and the parents revolve helplessly around his whims. The Igal proverb captures it succinctly: “The child denied discipline will sleep even in a heap of ants.”
In the north, the story resounds with quiet tragedy. From Zaria to Sokoto, aging parents lament how affluence turned their children into emotional orphans. “We fed them silver,” said Alhaji Musa, a retired civil servant, “but they spat gold at us.” He recounts sons who no longer consult, daughters who no longer care—heirs estranged from heritage. The erosion of discipline, once the lifeblood of African familyhood, has now become a badge of modernity.
Religious leaders have raised the alarm with prophetic intensity. Pastor Archile Emmanuel recently declared, “Overindulgence is the witchcraft of the twenty-first century—sweet on the tongue, venom in the soul.” His admonition resonates with the timeless counsel of Bishop Oyedepo: that true love is not permissive but preservative. A parent who spares correction in the name of affection is not raising a child, but embalming a conscience.
Indeed, indulgence is the slow poison of greatness. It breeds young men who demand reverence without righteousness, and young women who crave comfort without contribution. The result is a generation emotionally fragile, spiritually hollow, yet materially saturated. They seek validation in applause, not accomplishment; they mistake inheritance for identity. The Igbo proverb warns, “The child who grows without a father’s rebuke will sell the mother’s wrapper to buy ovation.”
Nigeria’s crisis, therefore, is not merely political but parental. A nation is only as disciplined as its households, and where the home is ruled by indulgence, the country becomes a playground for immaturity. The family is the first government; when it abdicates authority, the larger society sinks into moral anarchy. The antidote is not austerity, but balance—love with boundaries, generosity with guidance, compassion with correction.
In the final analysis, the true villain is not the spoiled child, but the sentimental parent who mistook pampering for parenting. Overindulgence is affection weaponized against the future. To reclaim our families—and by extension, our nation—Nigeria must rediscover the wisdom of firmness: to say no in love, to guide with grace, and to discipline with dignity. For the hands that refuse to prune a flower will one day weep over its withering.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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