Driving, in every society, is more than a mechanical act of steering a vehicle from one point to another. It is a mirror of a nation’s values, its discipline, its respect for law, and the quality of its social engineering. My experience behind the wheel abroad, contrasted sharply with my daily encounters on Nigerian roads, has forced a deeper reflection on how traffic culture is both a product and a producer of societal order. The difference is not merely about vehicles or drivers; it is about systems, planning, and the foundational choices nations make.
Abroad, driving is conducted in an atmosphere of near silence and remarkable patience. The road speaks through markings, signs, pedestrian walkways, traffic lights, and predictable driver behaviour. One rarely hears incessant honking. Drivers do not rely on horns to warn, threaten, or intimidate pedestrians and fellow road users. The panic button is not an extension of the driver’s reflexes. Instead, there is confidence that the system works: pedestrians have designated walkways, cyclists have lanes, vehicles have clear carriageways, and intersections are governed by rules that are largely obeyed. The driver trusts that others will act predictably, and that trust reduces anxiety, aggression, and disorder.
In Nigeria, the experience is tragically different. Honking is not an exception; it is the dominant language of the road. The horn is used to warn, to ward off, to assert dominance, and sometimes merely to announce existence. This reflex action is not born out of innate indiscipline alone; it is the consequence of structural failure. Poorly constructed roads without pedestrian walkways force everyone—cars, pedestrians, cyclists, traders, and even animals—into the same carriage space. The result is a daily theatre of chaos and brigandry, where survival often depends on aggression rather than courtesy.
This environment conditions drivers into impatience and defensive hostility. When a pedestrian has no sidewalk, when a trader occupies the road shoulder, when drainage channels are uncovered, and when road signs are either absent or ignored, every driver becomes a lone negotiator in an unregulated space. Abroad, drivers are spared this exhausting negotiation. They do not need to use the panic button throughout their driving experience because the road itself has been engineered to minimize conflict.
The compelling culprit behind Nigeria’s chaotic driving culture is therefore the foundational failure of urban development. Urban planning, where it exists, has been repeatedly compromised by poor execution, corruption, and a lack of enforcement. Roads are built without regard to future expansion, pedestrian safety, underground utilities, or proper zoning. Electric poles, telecom masts, and private buildings encroach on road reserves, shrinking carriageways and eliminating parking lots. This foundational defect ripples outward, infecting other aspects of our national culture with impatience and indiscipline.
Traffic malevolence in Nigeria is not a standalone problem; it is the mother of many social vices, including the routine bribery of police officers. When traffic rules are unclear, roads are poorly designed, and enforcement is inconsistent, discretion replaces law. That discretion, in turn, becomes a commodity. Drivers, eager to escape delays in an already unbearable traffic environment, offer bribes. Officers, operating within a broken system, accept them. Thus, chaos begets corruption, and corruption entrenches chaos.
It is a settled principle in social engineering that any country capable of perfecting its traffic education and enforcement has taken a decisive step toward predictable command and control in its policing behaviour. Traffic systems are often the first point of daily contact between citizens and the state. When traffic rules are clear, fair, and consistently enforced, citizens internalize obedience to law as a habit rather than a burden. Such societies are better equipped to nip crimes in the bud and, where crimes occur, to trace them through disciplined detective work and forensic processes. Order on the road often translates into order in the streets, markets, offices, and public institutions.
Another deeply worrying dimension of Nigeria’s motoring experience is the conduct of automobile insurance companies. For many Nigerian motorists, insurance is a compulsory payment with no tangible benefit. Claims are resisted, delayed, or outright denied. The average citizen scarcely understands what their insurance covers, and insurers appear content with collecting premiums without corresponding responsibilities. This practice amounts to an advanced fee fraud on steroids, operating under the cloak of legality. Government inaction in this sector is indefensible. In contrast, insurance abroad is a pillar of consumer protection. It cushions victims of accidents, incentivizes safe driving through premium adjustments, and actively participates in risk reduction. This ongoing theft must not fester a day longer in Nigeria.
Reforming this broken ecosystem requires coordinated action by major stakeholders. Car insurance companies, for instance, should not be passive collectors of premiums. They can drive safer roads by offering premium discounts for low-risk areas and funding independent road safety audits. Law enforcement agencies must enforce traffic laws impartially, monitor road conditions, and formally report infrastructural deficiencies. Contractors must be compelled to build to standard, use quality materials, and involve certified engineers at every stage. Emergency units can provide invaluable data on accident-prone locations and advocate for targeted interventions. Road transport unions have a duty to educate drivers, report hazardous road conditions, and promote safe driving cultures. Engineer regulators must set, audit, and enforce road standards, while civil society organizations should insist on transparency, citizen participation, and continuous monitoring of projects.
Equally critical is the reform of driver education and licensing. Digitalizing the process—online bookings, payments, and results—would drastically reduce human touchpoints and corruption. Partnerships with agencies such as the Federal Road Safety Corps, NITDA, and state governments can ensure oversight of examinations, infrastructure funding, and enforcement. Standardized exams conducted at accredited centres, combining theoretical knowledge with practical driving tests tailored to Nigerian road realities, would produce more competent drivers. Frequent testing windows, perhaps biweekly in major cities, would improve accessibility while generating revenue dedicated solely to road safety infrastructure such as markings, lighting, and patrols.
When traffic rules are enforced fairly, their influence extends beyond the road. Citizens begin to queue properly, respect public spaces, obey sanitation laws, and cooperate more readily with security agencies. Discipline, once normalized, becomes contagious. Governments also legitimately generate revenue from traffic fines, but this must never degenerate into cash-grabbing. The primary objective must remain safety and order, with revenue as a by-product rather than the driving force.
In conclusion, the contrast between driving abroad and driving in Nigeria is a contrast between order and neglect, planning and improvisation, silence and noise. Honking in Nigeria is not merely a cultural quirk; it is a symptom of systemic failure. Until we confront the foundational defects of our urban development, reform our traffic education, sanitize enforcement, and hold insurers accountable, the chaos will persist. Yet, the path forward is clear. A nation that can civilize its roads can civilize itself. The silence of order is achievable, but only if we choose to build it.
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