The Psychology of Bribe: How Nigerians Paint the Scene and Play the Victim

 

By Abdfatah Muhammad

In Nigeria, bribery used to be seen as a secret crime, but now it is often treated like a normal, fast, and necessary way of getting things done. It is no longer seen as a sacrilegious sin as today; it wears the cloth of an unspoken contract we sign every day.

 

Those ‘fast tracking fees’ for passports, the 'settlement' we give to be exonerated from a violation, the 'appreciation' to bypass the queue. We are a society that has perfected the art of paying to be seen, served, and sometimes, simply ignored.

 

Everyone condemns it publicly, but privately, many Nigerians have a special handshake and darling hug with it. You hear phrases like, “Oga, abeg naa”, replied with “oya, do something make you dey go.” From airports to motor parks, government offices to clinics, bribery has crept into our routines so quietly that it almost feels like part of the national value. If Nigeria had a motto extension, it might read, “Peace, Unity, and Something for the Boys.”

 

But let me expose the irony. Bribery did not start with greedy officials demanding brown envelopes or a bunch that meets their palm. It began with the giver, the everyday Nigerian who, out of convenience, fear, or desperation, offered “small change” before it was asked for. That simple act made bribery look harmless, and over time, it became a cultural performance. Now, in the movie of corruption, the taker is casted as the villain, while the giver plays the innocent victim, caught red-handed but claiming, “I was only trying to survive.”

 

Over the years, this habit has dug deep into our national psyche that it now feels like a cave. Government offices, hospitals, police checkpoints, immigration desks, job recruitment centers, everywhere, bribery has become both the shortcut and the only passport to progress. It has become a system, a cycle, and for many, a psychological coping mechanism.

 

How it started, thrived and subsisted.

To say the facts, most Nigerians dislike stress. Of course, that is human nature. If there is a way to jump a queue, fast-track a document, or avoid embarrassment, someone will try it. Many bribes are born out of impatience, inconvenience, or fear of consequences. On countless occasions have I seen drivers slip ₦200 to a police officer at checkpoints just to avoid his papers being accessed. The police would not even say anything but the driver knows he will enter wahala and he rather paid for peace of mind. That is just how bribery starts, not as corruption, but as panic management.

 

It is only an insane person that will not repeat what works for him, and we Nigerians are nothing if not pragmatic. We go for the solution even before completely identifying the problem. Once a shortcut delivers results, it becomes a habit. The system grows with officers accustomed to “tips,” nurses to “recharge cards,” immigration staff to “fast-tracking fees,” policemen to “settlement.”

 

Later, bribery stops being an exception; it becomes Plan A. People already prepare for it. And before you know it, a “token of appreciation” is the first thought when anything needs to move faster.

 

Over time, the takers stop seeing bribes as favors. They start seeing them as entitlements, just like expecting a plate of rice with big meat at a funeral party. Officials begin to expect that “hand stretched through the back” for tasks they are already paid to perform. If you do not pay, you are rude, uncooperative, or dense. Entitlement becomes the mathematical co-efficient of bribery.

 

Do These Things Appear Like Bribe?

 

A question that some people would want to ask because they see bribery from the original dimension and not the transformational. Today, bribery has adopted different cloth in different systems to avoid being noticed quickly and to even survive unnoticed.

 

At the Immigration office, they call it fast-tracking. Ask any Nigerian about passport processing, and hear what they say. People pay “fast-tracking fees” to avoid endless queues, weeks and even months of waiting. I could recall my encounter with one of the officers at the Ikoyi passport office. After hours of not seeing any officer to talk to, he came and after knowing what we wanted, he asked whispering, “Do you want it today or the normal way?” meaning are you in a hurry, or just here to wait just like others.

 

At government offices where permits, certificates, licenses or approvals are handled, patience is tested like a final exam. Nigerians have turned tipping into an art. A tip, as it is called, and suddenly your pending file becomes urgent. Nobody complains because everyone “knows the game.”

 

Hospitals have their own language, “recharge card,” “for pure water,” or something for welfare. Drivers say “I have settled them” instead of saying I bribed them. A traffic offender offers bribes to avoid being penalized, and officers have grown to expect these “settlements” even when no offense occurred. It is polite corruption in action.

 

You might have heard someone say they “bought a slot” to get a job or an admission. I feel sad to tell you that they paid a bribe and no slot was bought. People pay to secure job slots in government agencies or to get admitted into some institutions like the NDA, School of Nursing and others. Jobs and admissions become commodities, fairness becomes subjective, and the cycle perpetuates itself.

 

And Someone Will Say the Takers are Justified. Well….

 

Many takers are overworked and underpaid. A survey conducted in 2021 revealed that junior civil servants earn salaries that barely sustain their family for two weeks. Imagine when your paycheck is ₦38,000 and expenses are ₦90,000, temptation will set in and bribery becomes a survival tactic.

 

Some takers justify bribery by empathizing with the giver. They see the panic, desperation, and confusion, and bend rules to “help” someone avoid trouble. This is emotional corruption in full effect.

 

Refusing bribes can make officers look harsh. “People will insult you if you insist on due process,” one officer said. In Nigeria, rule followers often get labeled as shakara or yanga. And when you refuse to cooperate, they take it seriously with you. “Shebi, you know the law abi?”

 

And the Voluntary Swimmer Cries out of Cold

 

Society loudly blames takers and whispers or says nothing about givers. A driver paying a bribe goes home declaring, “Police are corrupt.” A patient after paying a nurse mutters, “They won’t let you see the Doctor unless you give them something.” But if asked gently, “Did you offer or were you forced?” they become quiet, guilty of their own role.

 

Meanwhile, the taker becomes the public villain, and the giver plays the victim, even though the giver initiated the act. This blame-shifting keeps the cycle alive and allows everyone to feel innocent.

 

 

What Goes Around Comes Around.

 

When bribery is normal, merit is optional. Passports, hostel spaces, job applications — all progress through “tipping”, not effort. Talent dies quietly, and mediocrity flourishes.

 

Bribery is like an acid. It has a corrosive effect on trust. Citizens stop respecting institutions, seeing government offices as marketplaces, police stations as negotiation centers, and hospitals as mini-economies. As people lose faith in the system, it loses its credibility.

 

Bribery disproportionately benefits the rich. The poor, because they are unable to pay, get stuck in queues or face real struggles of life. Fast-tracking life becomes a luxury, and inequality deepens.

 

Bribery is a psychological habit, driven by convenience, fear, entitlement, empathy, and social pressure. But life doesn’t end if we refuse to participate.