From the rolling hills of Obudu to the historic walls of Kano and the white sands of Tarkwa Bay, Nigeria boasts rich tourist attractions capable of placing it among Africa’s top travel destinations.
But today, many of these once-thriving spots wear a cloak of silence—echoes of footsteps long gone and laughter replaced by the crackle of fear. The growing wave of insecurity sweeping through Nigeria has cast a long shadow over the country’s tourism and employment landscape, with experts warning of dire economic consequences.
A recent study by the Nigeria Economic Summit Group estimates that insecurity could cost the nation as much as $8.2 billion in lost tourism revenue, alongside the potential loss of 2.6 million jobs in a sector that once held promise for inclusive economic growth.
“Tourism is a low-hanging fruit for economic development and youth employment,” says Dr. Hadiza Bello, a development economist and tourism policy advisor. “But no one wants to vacation in a war zone.”
From Potential to Peril
Nigeria’s tourism sector, despite infrastructural challenges, had begun to gain traction in the years leading up to 2015. Domestic tourism grew with the rise of festivals, heritage sites, and music tourism.
The World Travel & Tourism Council once forecast that Nigeria’s travel sector could contribute up to 4.8% to the national GDP by 2025. But ongoing issues—ranging from Boko Haram insurgency in the Northeast, banditry in the Northwest, to kidnappings and cult violence in the South—have reversed much of that optimism.
In places like Jos, where tourists once flocked for the temperate weather and colonial-era architecture, hotels now report occupancy rates below 10%. “We barely make enough to keep the lights on,” laments Grace Dauda, who manages a boutique hotel on the Plateau. “The moment news breaks of attacks, bookings vanish.”
Ripple Effect on Employment
Tourism is not just about travel—it’s about people. Tour guides, transport operators, artisans, hoteliers, and food vendors are all intricately linked to the ecosystem. The informal nature of these jobs means that the loss is not always documented, but it is deeply felt.
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Ibrahim Adamu, a 27-year-old tour guide in Abuja, shares his frustration. “I used to lead hiking tours to Aso Rock and the Gurara Falls,” he says. “Now, my WhatsApp group for bookings has been silent for months. Most people are afraid to come.”
His story is echoed across Nigeria. From the art sellers at Nike Art Gallery in Lagos to the boat operators in Calabar, income sources have dried up. Youth unemployment, already a challenge in Nigeria, is worsened as tourism-based livelihoods disappear.
A Blow to Nation Branding
Beyond the direct economic implications, the insecurity crisis hampers Nigeria’s ability to rebrand itself on the global stage. Tourism is often a window into a country’s culture, vibrancy, and openness. When that window is fogged by reports of violence, kidnappings, and travel advisories, it reinforces negative stereotypes and deters foreign investment.
“Nigeria is not just losing money—it’s losing narrative control,” says Chidi Nwafor, a Lagos-based international relations analyst. “The world sees the danger, but not the beauty we still have.”
The Way Forward
Despite the grim outlook, some experts believe there is a path to recovery—if decisive action is taken.
Security reform, community policing, and intelligence-led counterterrorism efforts must be prioritized. There are also calls for government support to help revive struggling tourist sites and incentivize safe domestic travel. Digital campaigns, such as “Tour Nigeria,” have helped in pockets, but experts argue that real recovery hinges on ensuring safety first.
“Tourism can’t thrive on hashtags,” Dr. Bello notes. “It thrives on trust, safety, and consistency.”
Conclusion
As Nigeria navigates this critical juncture, the connection between security and economic development has never been clearer. Tourism, once a beacon of hope for inclusive growth and national pride, now teeters on the brink.
Without urgent intervention, the dreams of millions who depend on this sector may vanish like footprints in the sands of a deserted beach—leaving behind stories of what could have been.