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Nigerians are not having it: PayPal’s quiet comeback bid meets fierce resistance

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PayPal

Victor Ojelabi

Nigerians reject PayPal Africa return, citing past restrictions and calling for boycotts as the company plans partnerships with local fintechs in 2026

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PayPal is trying to slip back into Africa, and Nigerians are not here for it. Not one bit.

Also read: Ighalo backs Osimhen as next Super Eagles captain

The company recently hinted at a 2026 return through partnerships with local fintech players, framing it as some grand expansion into the continent.

But across social media, especially on X, the reaction has been swift and brutal: calls for a full boycott, threads digging up old wounds, and a flat-out refusal to welcome the payment giant back.

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Many see this move as opportunistic, almost insulting, after years of being shut out while the rest of the world used PayPal freely.

The bad blood goes way back.

Since the mid-2000s, PayPal placed heavy restrictions on Nigeria and a handful of other African countries.

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Officially, it was about high fraud risks, chargebacks, and stolen cards.

In practice, it meant Nigerians could open accounts and send money out, but receiving payments or withdrawing to local banks? Forget it.

For almost two decades, freelancers, remote workers, small business owners, and everyday hustlers were locked out of a huge chunk of the global digital economy.

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The stories are painful and personal.

A graphic designer lost major international clients because the only payment option was PayPal.

A software developer watched job offers vanish the moment “Nigeria” appeared on his profile.

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Countless young people trying to earn dollars through surveys, micro-tasks, or gigs on platforms like Upwork and Fiverr hit the same wall.

Many resorted to desperate workarounds: using VPNs to fake locations, borrowing relatives’ accounts abroad, or paying hefty fees to middlemen.

It wasn’t just inconvenient; it felt discriminatory. “Why us?” became the constant question.

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And that’s the part that still stings. Fraud happens everywhere. Scams aren’t exclusive to Nigeria.

Yet PayPal seemed to single out Africa’s biggest country, slapping on restrictions that didn’t fully apply to nations with similar or worse records.

While PayPal rolled out services in over 190 markets, including tiny countries few people think about, Nigeria stayed on the outside looking in.

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That lingering sense of unfair treatment has never gone away.

But here’s the thing: Nigerians didn’t just sit and complain. They built alternatives.

When PayPal turned its back, local and regional fintechs stepped up.

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Flutterwave, Paystack (before the Stripe acquisition), Payoneer, Grey, Cleva, Raenest, and others created solutions tailored to the reality on the ground.

Virtual dollar accounts, easy cross-border transfers, seamless integrations for freelancers.

Today, Nigeria’s fintech scene is one of the most vibrant in the world, moving billions annually.

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People found ways to get paid, save in dollars, and run businesses globally without ever needing PayPal.

Now the company wants back in, quietly, through backdoor partnerships rather than a direct apology or full restoration of services.

The plan, teased as “PayPal World,” would link local wallets to its network without requiring traditional PayPal accounts.

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It sounds convenient on paper, but to many Nigerians, it feels like too little, way too late.

“We survived without you,” is the common refrain. “We built our own thing. Why should we let you profit now?”

On X, the sentiment is raw.

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One designer wrote in all caps: “PLEASE BOYCOTT PAYPAL IF YOU HAVE THE CHANCE.” Another threatened to sue any local fintech that integrates with them, demanding compensation for years of frozen funds and lost income.

The anger isn’t manufactured; it’s built on real scars from a time when opportunities slipped away simply because of a postcode.

Some analysts point out the irony in PayPal’s timing.

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The company has struggled lately, with its stock taking heavy hits while competitors eat its lunch.

Africa’s young, tech-savvy population looks like the next big growth market.

To many Nigerians, this doesn’t feel like goodwill. It feels like fear of missing out.

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A few voices argue it could bring more options and competition, which isn’t a bad thing.

But right now, those voices are drowned out by the overwhelming chorus of “no thanks.” Nigerians endured the exclusion, adapted, and thrived in spite of it. They built bridges PayPal refused to cross.

Also read: Kano Governor orders revocation of illegal Northwest University land allocations

So when the company finally shows up at the door, years later, acting like nothing happened? The response is clear: the door stays closed.

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Opinion

Seven prime ministers in a decade: What Nigeria can learn from Britain’s chaos

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Prime Minister

By Dr Toju Ogbe,

The resignation of British Prime Minister Keir Starmer, less than two years after leading the Labour Party to  a landslide electoral victory, was dramatic, yet reflected a pattern we have become familiar with in recent British politics.

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Also read: Abolish state of origin: A prerequisite for true national integration

Starmer now joins a procession of fallen prime ministers stretching back to 2016 – from David Cameron to Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, and Rishi Sunak.

None of these prime ministers was ousted through military intervention, popular insurrection, or a court order. Rather, each was ultimately brought down by the same political system that elevated them to electoral glory.

To the casual observer, the rapid turnover of British Prime Ministers in the last decade may appear chaotic, or even a symptom of political instability. Some argue that the British electorate has become ungovernable.

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However, beneath the apparent chaos at Westminster lies an uncomfortable truth that African democracies would do well to examine, particularly Nigerians who wonder why our democracy has delivered so little despite almost three decades of uninterrupted civilian rule.

The turbulence of British politics over the last decade, presents an important lesson on democratic accountability beyond successful elections.

Once the prime minister is deemed a liability by their own political party, the mechanics of accountability are activated. The daggers are quietly drawn and the ruthless pressure to resign begins.

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Every poll and survey on public opinion is closely monitored, local election results are taken as a referendum on leadership. Cabinet resignations begin to gain momentum and backbenchers get restless.

Once the news media smells an internal uprising, they amplify scrutiny of the prime minister, subjecting every move – speech, public appearance, political misstep etc to relentless examination.

Pressure gradually mounts until the prospect of bitter internal leadership challenge becomes impossible to resist. The Prime Minister falls.

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For every British Prime Minister, winning an election is merely the beginning of examination, not the end. Political survival lasts only for as long as the prime minister maintains the confidence of his party and the parliament.

This is the muscle of British democratic accountability; a political culture that prioritises institutional survival over individual ambition. Starmer recognised this reality in his resignation speech:

“The question my party is asking now is whether I am best placed to lead us into the next general election. I have heard the answer of my parliamentary party to that question, and I accept that answer with good grace.”

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That closing sentence alone is a masterclass in British institutional democracy. The party spoke. The leader listened. The correction comes from within.

 

Nigeria presents a strikingly different political logic.

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Nigeria on the other hand, presents an interesting contrast with a different political logic and culture.

The notion that a governing party would overtly interrogate the performance of its own leader and engineer a transition to someone better equipped to maintain public confidence, is in most cases politically unthinkable in Nigeria.

Political parties in Nigeria do not coalesce  around ideological principles; rather, they operate more as electoral instruments organised around powerful individuals.

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Internal dissent is often dealt with as betrayals rather than as part of healthy democratic engagement. Godfatherism and transactional loyalties shape political succession and leadership retention.

Once elected in Nigeria, there is an inherent assumption that a governor or president has a fixed two-term lease on power.

While 10 Downing Street is preparing to welcome its seventh Prime Minister in a decade, Nigeria, in contrast, has had only two democratically elected presidents during the same period – one of whom is still serving.

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Social and economic conditions may deteriorate. Insecurity may worsen. Campaign promises may be ignored.

Public frustrations may become unbearable. Yet, incumbent governors and presidents often remain insulated from meaningful internal scrutiny and are even routinely anointed as ‘consensus’ candidate for second terms provided loyalties to godfathers, rather than the electorates are maintained.

The consequence is that loyalty, instead of performance is often rewarded at the expense of accountability.

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This is not an argument for a revolving door at Aso Rock, as frequent leadership changes, by themselves, do not guarantee good governance.

Rather it is a case for making accountability an integral aspect of party politics in Nigeria.

Although the Nigerian presidential system provides for a fixed four-year term regardless of party confidence, political parties should however, be more than instruments for election campaigns, activated to simply retain or take over power every four years.

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Electoral victory, should not be the ultimate goal, but the starting point of public service where democratic legitimacy must be continuously earned.

Equally important, political parties must develop the institutional maturity to honestly evaluate their own leaders. They must prioritise public interest and institutional credibility over loyalty to ‘Godfathers’.

The ultimate lesson from Westminster’s revolving door is clear: the true strength of a democratic system, lies not in the ability to produce leaders, but the capacity to effectively replace them, when they no longer command confidence.

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Protecting failing leaders from accountability weakens democracy and political parties must ensure that no leader is more powerful than the institution.

Also read: Madugu Targets Strong WAFCON Title Defence for Super Falcons

As political parties gear up for the 2027 general elections, the political class must decide what matters more: we can continue to reward blind loyalty and endure predictable decline, or discover the courage to demand accountability from those who seek to lead us.

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