Article

Comment

Development

Politics

25 February 2025

4 min read

Downsizing in DC undercuts the lives of millions in Nigeria

Nigeria’s Christian communities will bear the brunt of USAID’s demise.

Chris Wadibia

Chris Wadibia is an academic advising on faith-based challenges. His research includes political Pentecostalism, global Christianity, and development.

Patient wait in a street clinic beside a sign.

A health project clinic in Lagos, Nigeria.

Christendom, the global community of over 2.5 billion Christians living worldwide, has many geographical capitals. Nigeria, like the United States, is one of them. Upwards of 100 million people living in Nigeria identify as followers of the Christian religion. These Nigerians belong to Christian denominations like Roman Catholicism, Anglicanism, Baptist Christianity, and Pentecostalism. On 6 February the Trump Administration announced plans to downsize USAID, the US government agency that administers foreign aid. In 2023 it managed over $40 billion, and has played a significant role in delivering aid and development support in Nigeria for decades.

Nigeria has one of the world’s lowest levels when it comes to spending on social issues. Its government’s underspending has trapped tens of millions of Nigerians in horrific, inescapable mazes of poverty. The significant challenges Nigeria faces are well-documented -socioeconomic, geopolitical, and religious ones. The protracted and infamously bloodthirsty Boko Haram insurgency (headquartered in the northeastern corner of the country) has led to the deaths of tens of thousands of Nigerians and displaced over two million people, disproportionately affecting vulnerable women and children.

Abandoned by the government, many Nigerians look to their ethnic communities, religious groups, and even other state’s agencies and charities for the support and solutions they require to survive.

In 2021 USAID commemorated 60 years of providing development assistance to Nigeria. Its historical activity has prioritised agriculture and food security, democracy, human rights, and governance, public health, and energy production. In just 2021, USAID provided Nigeria with more than $787 million in development and humanitarian assistance.

Whilst USAID support for Nigeria has historically been blind to religion, the Trump-led downsizing of development and humanitarian assistance for millions of people living in Nigeria will especially impact tens of millions of Christians, They struggle to lead lives in a country rife with Christian suffering that is ignored by powerful global actors with the financial, political, and military resources to intervene in substantive and peace-generating ways.

Southern Nigeria is disproportionately developed compared to the North. Lagos, the economic capital responsible for a third of Nigeria's GDP, sits in the southwestern corner. The south contains a majority of the leading private universities, many of which are owned and funded by Christian churches, and is home to Nigeria's largest international airport. Literacy levels among Christians in Nigeria dwarf literacy levels among Muslims, especially when compared to Muslims living in the religiously archconservative northern states.

The southern region of Nigeria has an appetite for development and the political will needed to implement an inclusive development vision that simply does not exist up north. Downsizing USAID activity in Nigeria will disproportionately affect Christians in Nigeria who for historical and contemporary reasons have been able to benefit from USAID assistance in ways developing themselves to help Nigeria compete in the global economy.

In the current 21st century geopolitical climate US-Nigeria relations are far more likely to become more rather than less relevant.

Muslims in Nigeria, if unbridled by extreme religious dogma, could just as easily undergo the processes of self-development needed to excel in 21st century economic marketplaces. However, as Nigeria's religious landscape stands today, tens of millions of Muslims simply lack access to opportunities to gain the education, training, and work experience that could unleash the full potential of the legendary Nigerian human capital famous globally.

Millions of educationally and professionally ambitious Nigerian Christians view their work in vocational terms. Inspired by scripture and theological resources like Catholic Social Teaching and the Pentecostal Doctrine of Prosperity, these Christians intentionally seek out educational and professional opportunities because they believe their faith in Christ commands them to provide for their households and invest into their communities. They believe contributions to their homes and communities double as offerings to God himself. For over six decades, USAID has administered development and humanitarian assistance in Nigeria in ways hugely benefitting millions of Christians ignored by their government.

Administering USAID aid in Nigeria has never been perfect. Bad actors, many of them government officials exploiting the authority of their offices, have stolen development funds intended for marginalized Nigerians and used it to fund their kleptocratic networks and lavish lifestyles. However, in the current 21st century geopolitical climate US-Nigeria relations are far more likely to become more rather than less relevant. USAID support provides a valuable source of American soft power able to win over the hearts of vulnerable Nigerians whose children might one day seize the reins of state power. It also continues the postcolonial project of assisting in the sociopolitical and economic development of the Giant of Africa.

Downsizing USAID assistance to Nigeria undercuts investment in the lives of millions of Nigerian Christians disproportionately positioned to drive the country in the direction of evolving into just the kind of capable ally in Africa the US wants to work with long term.

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Article

Comment

Community

Middle East

Migration

2 July 2025

6 min read

Letter from Istanbul: how many neighbours is it possible to love?

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humanity in Turkey

Becky Ruth

Becky is a a writer living in Istanbul.

An Istanbul street.

Drew McKechnie on Unsplash.

Living in the megalopolis that is Istanbul in Türkiye, as the country is now calls itself*, is both wonderful and utterly overstimulating. As the sun dawns earlier in the summer months, I often ponder on what woke me up as I sip my morning coffee. Was it the Call to Prayer from our neighbourhood mosque; the caterwauling cats; fighting crows; howling dogs or squawking seagulls?

Istanbul (formerly known as Constantinople) is where East meets West, and home to up to 20 million people. It's the only city in the world to straddle both Asia and Europe, separated by the narrow Bosphorus sea, which you can cross by ferry in 20 minutes.

Known in the Bible as 'Asia Minor,' Türkiye boasts a wealth of Christian history and numerous religious sites, including the breathtakingly preserved ancient city of Ephesus.

Once the largest Christian cathedral in the world, the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul’s historic quarter Sultanahmet attracts millions of tourists to its grand Byzantine architecture every year, as both a mosque and a museum.

Istanbul's gastronomy is among the best in the world. The food, paired with the melting pot of history, faith, and culture, also makes for the warmest sense of hospitality in the world to visitors and newcomers that you could ever imagine. It is a stark contrast to what I was used to in the UK.

Turkish hospitality is about way more than tulip-shaped glasses of tea and aubergine köfte kebabs; in Turkish culture, a guest is honoured, making them feel as if they belong. From the drawn out etiquette of home visits to literal fights breaking out when it's time to pay the bill, in Türkiye, a guest is seen as a 'gift from God.'

Speaking of hospitality, Türkiye's official population is indeed an estimate due to the constant stream of refugees that pour into the country and settle in Istanbul, hoping to build new, better lives for themselves.

It is a hugely built-up city, with each skyscraper competing for height and a Bosphorus sea view; here and there, you can spy small little houses called gecekondus (which means 'put up at night'). These are the (illegal) homes of newcomers.

Türkiye is, on the whole, proud of its migration history (and its 2016 agreement with the UN). Of course, it's a country in a prime position to grant refuge to displaced people in neighbouring nations and as a transit country for people trying to emigrate west, and is home to the world's largest refugee population (3.2 million Syrians and up to 222,000 other nationalities). The latest refugees to seek sanctuary in the four thousand year old city are more Iranians. I enjoy friendships with Turkish, Persian, and Syrian friends in my faith community.

Of course, attitudes vary regarding the many 'neighbours' who make their home in Istanbul. There are complaints that 'enough is enough.' There is a 'Türkiye first' rhetoric that permeates the Caffe Nero I sometimes work in. (Eye-rolling and body language speak louder than words when the barista is short with a burka-wearing, stroller-pushing mum speaking Arabic.

And I do get it. 'Istanbul is overcrowded' is a massive understatement. You can't even begin to compare it to the UK immigration rhetoric.

Behind most discrimination is fear, and secular locals worry that so many refugees in Türkiye could lead to a different religious landscape one day.

I, too, am a guest here in Türkiye, and I am grateful I've been able to make it my home. I'm reminded that every person is worthy of love and respect no matter where they are from.

Of course world events significantly impact attitudes towards refugees in Istanbul. Sadly, it's a fact that events around the world can shape people's discourse regarding certain people groups. I find it hard to switch off from what's going on around the world, and since Israel bombed Iran last two weeks ago, I've been glued to the news.

My hairdresser is an Iranian girl who has a residence permit due to her husband's job in hospitality. I asked her how she was doing. She said she's scared for her mum and sister, who are in a city that's being bombed, and she wants to bring them to Türkiye. She said the scariest thing about it all is that all flights are grounded right now, and the internet is inconsistent; they feel utterly helpless. All I can do is hug her and tell her all life is precious to God, and that I am praying for peace.

A week later, I woke up to the news that the USA had struck Iran, with the intention of destroying three of its nuclear facilities. The world waits and watches with bated breath to see what will happen next.

I don’t have the answers for overcrowding or immigration policies, but when I reflect on 'who is my neighbour' I know it is whoever I find standing in front me.

Many in Istanbul do ask 'who is my neighbour? It is a question that has been asked for millenia, most famously by Jesus.

Jesus replied with a powerful story that would have pushed the buttons of all those gathered around on issues of race, religion, and hospitality, which became one of his most famous parables. In 'The Good Samaritan,' a traveller and a Jew are brutally attacked and robbed when he's walking from Jerusalem to Jericho. Beaten, bloody, and left for dead on the side of the road, a priest passes by, but instead of helping, he ignores the man and continues his journey.

Next, a Levite who also worked in the Jewish temple comes along the road, crosses to the other side, and walks away.

Finally, a man from Samaria (sworn enemies of the Jews) passes along the road, sees the injured man, and stops. He stops, tends to his wounds, puts the man on his donkey, and takes him to an inn to recover, covering all the expenses from his pocket.

You can imagine the sound of a pin dropping when Jesus asks which of these three was a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers: 'The expert in the law replied, 'The one who had mercy on him.' Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise.’

The message is simple- our 'neighbours' are all the people we come across. It's those different from us and even those with whom our ethnicity and national history demand we make enemies.

As a white woman with a British passport, I am privileged. I can return to the UK when I choose. People don’t wince if they hear me speak English in Caffe Nero. As a resident in Istanbul, I navigate the attitudes and ever-shifting narratives towards immigration in Türkiye by prayer.

I want to hold space for my Turkish friends who feel scared and frustrated.

I want to be a voice of peace to my friend who sends me a video of missiles heading for Iran over the border from Hatay, Türkiye.

Living in Türkiye as a woman of faith has changed me, and I can't help but think that if we all adopted the Turkish philosophy of hospitality, which views all guests as gifts from God, deserving to feel like they belong, the world could be a different place.

I don’t have the answers for overcrowding or immigration policies, but when I reflect on 'who is my neighbour' I know it is whoever I find standing in front me, no matter where they come from. I ask for the strength to 'love my neighbor as myself' no matter the country on their ID card (or despite their lack of one). And when I feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of precious human lives arriving in Türkiye every day, I remember that each of them is also a neighbour - and my job is to care for the one in front of me.

* Türkiye is the new spelling of the country’s name. Find out more