By Sonnie Ekwowusi
Before leaving Abuja for Lagos yesterday, I ordered an Uber to the airport. When the driver pulled up, nothing appeared unusual — until the conversation began.
What he told me during that short ride has remained with me, not just as a personal encounter but as a troubling mirror of the Nigerian condition.
The man behind the wheel introduced himself as an Abuja-based legal practitioner. His diction, confidence, and engagement quickly gave him away as someone educated and articulate.
But when he mentioned his name, something nudged me to look more closely at the car. There, on the windscreen, was an NBA sticker. Dangling from the front mirror was a lawyer’s bib. His story was not a gimmick — this was indeed a qualified lawyer moonlighting as a taxi driver.
He began his career in the chambers of a prominent Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN). But the remuneration at the SAN’s law firm, he said, was too meagre to sustain his family. He left to start his own practice, only to discover that the harsh economic climate had little mercy for young practitioners.
With school fees to pay, an aged mother recovering from a stroke, and daily survival hanging in the balance, he had no choice but to combine law practice with Uber driving. As he spoke, I felt a sting of sympathy — not only for him but for myself and for an entire generation of professionals battling to stay afloat in a country that seems determined to drown them.
I wanted to remind him that many purists in the profession would frown at a lawyer driving a taxi. But I held my peace. Who am I to preach ethics to a man simply trying to feed his family? Who among us is insulated from such a fate? The rest of the ride passed in heavy silence.
I found myself thinking: Is this lawyer doing something wrong? Or is Nigeria doing something wrong to him — and to all of us? A friend later shared a similar tale: a senior lawyer who, unable to pay the two juniors in his chambers, sent them to his farm to supervise workers, hoping the proceeds from farming would keep the chambers alive.
The legal profession is not alone in this crisis. Doctors, engineers, journalists, academics — the story is the same. Skilled professionals are slipping quietly into survival-mode occupations just to stay afloat. This is not about shame. It is about survival. Nigeria is eating its professionals alive.
And unless something changes — unless policymakers finally confront the economic rot hollowing out the working and middle class — you and I may wake up one day and find ourselves taking on any job, any hustle, simply to keep our families alive. God forbid that it becomes  something illegal.
The lawyer who drove me is now my friend. I have his contact. We will keep sharing life experiences — two Nigerians navigating a country that keeps testing the limits of human resilience.
May Nigeria not happen to you.
