In the intricate nature of our human endeavours, few words carry as much weight in determining outcomes as “use” and “abuse.” These two opposing action-words really look so simple, and yet they remain like the thin line that separates success from failure, commendation from condemnation, and impact from irrelevance. Whether it is in the position of political, traditional or religious power, in professional assignments, in social relationships, in rare or everyday life opportunities, how we handle what we are given or what comes our way, tells about our values and ultimately, determines our legacy.
In virtually every country in the world today, particularly in the developing countries of Africa, the consequences of ‘use’ and ‘abuse’ are obvious and visible in both their towering achievements and their tragic downfalls. The question we must ask ourselves is: when life entrusts us with something, be it authority, opportunity, or trust, how do we dispense with it? Do we use it wisely, or abuse it with reckless abandon?
Nowhere is the difference between use and abuse more visible than along the corridors of political and religious power. For example, public office is widely acknowledged as a platform for service to community, but in many parts of the world today, it has too often become a tool for self-enrichment by the political, religious and military elites. The late General Sani Abacha, Nigeria’s former military head of state, offers an incontrovertible example. Entrusted with leading the country, he practically turned his office into a conduit for looting public funds. During his administration, billions of dollars were siphoned from the national treasury and tucked away for him in foreign bank accounts by his agents. That abuse of power did not just tarnish his image and name: it compromised infrastructure, eroded public trust in government, and deepened national poverty. When we compare Abacha’s reign with that of leaders like Nelson Mandela of South Africa, the difference is clear. On ascending to the presidency of post-apartheid South Africa, Mandela could have chosen revenge against the white minority that misruled the country for so long. But instead, he used his position to foster reconciliation, laying the foundation for democratic governance in his native South Africa. His use of authority became a global example of strong and moral leadership.
In every office, market, school or mosque wherever they are situated, individuals are given responsibilities. For some, their roles become opportunities to build others and uplift communities. For others, they become a means of mass control and mass exploitation. For example, there was the story of Mrs. Yetunde Ojo, a headmistress at a primary school in Lagos. Given a modest role, she used it to inspire innovation. She introduced weekend reading clubs, partnered with NGOs for free school supplies, and mentored her teachers. Her school’s literacy scores shot up in effect, and children once seen as “unteachable” began to excel. Yet, elsewhere, there were local government officials who abused their positions of authority by awarding fake contracts or collecting “returns” from petty traders. There were community chairmen who pocketed funds meant for road rehabilitation or youth empowerment. In each case, the difference between community progress and its stagnation was determined by whether they used or abused their mandate.
Religious institutions and their leaders are often entrusted with significant moral and spiritual influence. This trust is rooted in the belief that religious leaders are guided by principles of truth, compassion, and accountability. However, history and contemporary society have witnessed numerous instances where this sacred trust has been violated. Abuse of their positions occurs when religious leaders exploit their spiritual authorities for personal, material gain, often at the expense of their followers’ trust.
One of the most prevalent forms of such abuse is financial exploitation. In several parts of Africa and indeed in many countries of the world, some self-proclaimed prophets and pastors are known to encourage their poverty stricken followers to give extravagant offerings to the religious body under the guise of “seed sowing” for divine blessings. A well-publicized example from Nigeria involved a televangelist who promised visa approvals and instant wealth in exchange for large sums of money, only to later be exposed for amassing personal wealth from the contributions.
Sexual abuse and manipulation also represent a grave abuse of religious authority. The Catholic Church has faced global scrutiny over decades-long cover-ups of priests who molested children in the United States, Ireland, and Australia. These cases highlight how religious leaders can abuse their positions of trust, not only committing heinous acts but also silencing victims through institutional protectionism. Moreover, religious figures sometimes overstep their spiritual mandate to interfere in political processes, leveraging their influence to sway elections or policies for personal benefit. In some African nations, it has become common for politicians to seek endorsements from prominent pastors and imams, who in turn receive favours, government contracts, or legal immunity. Such actions undermine the independence of religious institutions and erode public trust.
Abuse of religious position is a betrayal of moral and spiritual responsibilities entrusted on religious leaders. It does not only harm individuals—especially the vulnerable—but also tarnishes the credibility of religious institutions.
Then, we take a cursory look at human relationships which essentially thrive on mutual respect and sincerity. We know from experience that trust, once betrayed, can be hard to restore. Abuse in relationships, whether it is emotional, financial, or psychological, often stems from a deliberate decision to exploit some other person’s vulnerability. In all of that, domestic abuse which remains a scourge in many homes can be easily pinned down. In marriages, some partners use their spouse’s loyalty as a licence to dominate or demean them. Others gamble with their partner’s trust through infidelity or manipulation. But it is not always romantic relationships that suffer this fate. Friendships and family bonds too often become battlegrounds for betrayal. The cousin entrusted with school fees diverts it for his personal enjoyment. The friend given access to private information uses it as gossip fodder. In all these, the abusers do not just harm others, they erode the very structures that act as pillars in human relationship.
Yet, there are stories of those who make good use, individuals who nurture their relationships with honesty and care. The friend who lends a hand in times of need, the sibling who mentors a younger brother through difficult examinations, or the spouses who support their partners’ business dreams. These are examples of people who choose to use relationships for growth, not for personal gain. They know that opportunities are not always grand or obvious. Sometimes they come disguised as challenges or simple responsibilities. But what we do with them matters. Many Nigerians today celebrate the likes of Iyinoluwa Aboyeji, who co-founded two billion-dollar tech ventures, Andela and Flutterwave, before the age of 30. But behind the accolades lies a story of a young man who recognized and used every opportunity available to him, including his education, mentorship, and even failure. At the other end of the spectrum are those who abuse their chances. There are scholarship students who abandon their studies for nightlife abroad. And there are youth empowerment beneficiaries who sell off their starter kits. These are individuals who take a moment of promise and turn it into a memory of regret. From the market woman in Kaduna giving goods on credit, to the father handing over his car keys to his teenage son, trust is the invisible oil that keeps society running. Abuse it, and the entire engine begins to stall.
A popular case was that of Nigerian pastor and self-styled prophet, the late T.B. Joshua. While many hailed his healing crusades and community outreach, others raised troubling allegations of his many manipulations and cover-ups, suggesting that the trust of thousands may have been misused or abused not just for spiritual upliftment, but also for personal elevation.
Like any invention in human history, AI is another tool whose use or abuse will have dire consequences on human life. Like all tools, its effects do not depend on itself, but on the hands that wield it. It can be used to uplift, or abused to destroy. When properly used, AI opens doors to boundless progress. It empowers doctors to diagnose diseases faster and more accurately. It helps teachers to tailor education to every student’s unique needs. It enables farmers to predict weather patterns and increase crop yields. It assists businesses to serve customers better and more efficiently and governments to plan smarter, safer cities and services. Through responsible use, AI can help close knowledge gaps, bridge service disparities, and amplify human creativity and productivity in unimaginable ways. But when abused, AI becomes a dangerous force. Abuse of AI could result in violating privacy and human rights; deployment of deepfake technology that can be used to impersonate and deceive or algorithmic bias that can be used in reinforcing societal prejudices and injustice and misinformation that spreads falsehoods faster than facts. In such cases as these, AI does not serve the best interest of humanity because it undermines trust, dignity, and safety.
The question is no longer whether AI will affect our lives because it is already doing that. The question is how we choose to use it. Will we use AI to empower people or to control them? Do we use it to solve global challenges or to create new ones? The future of AI, like everything else, lies in our ability to use it wisely and not to be consumed by its abuse. As we move forward, we should always remember that tools do not build the world. People do, by the way they choose to use the tools that come their way or tools that are made available to them. In everyday life, stories abound of employees entrusted with a business who end up embezzling funds, or children who sell their parents’ properties without consent. These betrayals go beyond personal losses: they represent a collapse of societal cohesion.
Still, there are those who uphold trust. The honest mechanic who returns excess payment. The civil servant who refuses a bribe. The student who resists cheating even under pressure. In each of these cases, individuals are making a choice to use trust as a building block, not a weapon. It may be tempting to dismiss the idea of “use” and “abuse” as mere semantics. But in real-world outcomes, they represent fundamentally different paths. Where use creates value, abuse causes destruction. Where use fosters trust, abuse sows fear. Where use leads to legacies, abuse often ends in scandal, prison, or social exile. The concept is universal but the consequences are local. For a country like Nigeria, still battling corruption, poor infrastructure, weak democratic institutions and social mistrust, widespread abuse of privilege, trust, and opportunity will continue to undercut progress.
Indeed, the history of governance in Africa is deeply intertwined with those two words: use and abuse. The terms help us understand why, despite vast resources and immense human capital, many African nations continue to lag behind in development indices. After the end of colonial rule, African leaders were handed nations with promises. They had the chance to use their political and economic power to build inclusive systems, strong and fair democratic institutions. Some did. Most did not. In Ghana, for instance, Kwame Nkrumah used his early post-independence momentum to promote pan-Africanism and industrialization. But he later embraced the one-party system of rule and the suppression of dissent. It showcased the ease with which public office holders could descend the slippery slope from use to abuse.
In Zimbabwe, Robert Mugabe began as a liberation hero. But over time, he abused his power through land seizures, economic mismanagement, and violent repression of opposition, eventually leaving the country in economic ruin. Rwanda’s Paul Kagame, on the other hand, largely used state machinery to deliver social services, infrastructure, and economic reform, even as critics raised concerns about human rights and political freedoms. The balance between use and abuse has continued to shape his legacy.
A failed entrepreneur
Come to Nigeria, Africa’s most populous country and arguably its most paradoxical. Blessed with crude oil, fertile land, cultural richness, and a dynamic youth population, it is regarded as a leader on the continent. Yet, it struggles under the weight of corruption, poor leadership, and underdevelopment. Why? Because power, public resources, and even citizens’ trust are often abused, and not properly used. From the disappearance of billions in oil revenue, to “ghost workers” on government payrolls, inflated contracts, abandoned projects, and electoral malpractice, Nigeria offers case after case of people entrusted with public offices, who chose personal gain instead. The late President Umaru Musa Yar’ Adua, during his brief time in office, was widely respected for trying to use governance for reform, particularly with transparency in the Niger Delta. Sadly, his efforts were short-lived. By contrast, under General Sani Abacha and several other military and civilian administrations, the abuse of power not only sabotaged progress but also normalized impunity.
The consequences were visible: crumbling infrastructure, widespread unemployment, educational decay, and a citizenry that distrusted its leaders. Yet, when leaders like Dora Akunyili of NAFDAC fame, Nasir El-Rufai in his FCT years, or Dr. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala used their offices with integrity and purpose, the results were clear: reforms, efficiency, and restored public confidence. For governance in Africa, and Nigeria in particular, to thrive, the philosophy of “use, not abuse” must become the standard for public leadership. Governance must be seen not as an opportunity to dictate, but to build; not as a right to rule, but a duty to serve. Until political leaders, civil servants, and even citizens embrace this mindset, success will remain enigmatic, and failure all too frequent.
If Nigeria, or any other society for that matter is to move forward, its citizens, especially those in influential positions, must revisit how they handle the responsibilities and resources placed in their care. The choice is always ours: to use for the common good, or abuse for short-term gain. In the end, it may not be intelligence, luck, or background that separates the fulfilled life from the wasted one. It may simply be the daily, moment-by-moment decision to use or abuse what we are given or what comes our way.
From the street vendor to the senator, the teacher to the entrepreneur, the same truth applies: success is not merely about talent or chance, but about stewardship. What do you do with what you have? How do you treat who you know? Do you honour what you are trusted with, or exploit it? As we reflect on the kind of future we want to build for ourselves, our children and our nation, it may be worth engraving this mantra in our hearts: “Use wisely. Do not abuse. At the end, use or abuse is the most important key word”. The key to Africa’s progress does not lie in foreign aid or borrowed development models. It lies in how Africans use or abuse what they already have.
