The Unspoken Truth about Nigerian Diets

Let’s be real — Nigerians have an unashamed, passionate affair with food. It’s in the bubbling stew that perfumes the air, the smoky allure of suya sizzling under the night sky, the vibrant glow of jollof rice at every gathering, and the satisfying heaviness that comes after a plate of pounded yam crowned with egusi soup. For us, food isn’t mere sustenance — it’s culture, connection, and pure joy served on a plate.

But behind our culinary pride lies an uncomfortable truth we often ignore: our diets are quietly killing us. Across the country, lifestyle diseases — once thought to be “Western problems” — are now filling Nigerian hospitals. High blood pressure, stroke, heart disease, and diabetes are on a steep rise, affecting both the rich and the poor, the old and the young. The culprit? Not just stress or bad luck, but what we put on our plates every day.

Traditional Nigerian meals, in their purest forms, were once models of balance. Think of millet, beans, vegetables, fish and fruits — meals rich in fibre, protein and natural nutrients. Our grandparents worked hard on the farms and ate simple, wholesome foods that nourished rather than burdened their bodies. Fast forward to today, and that balance has been lost. Urban life and fast food culture have quietly transformed our eating habits. We now live in an age where breakfast often means sugary tea with white bread, lunch is jollof rice with fried meat, and dinner is instant noodles or pastries washed down with a soft drink. We’ve replaced natural ingredients with refined ones; swapped fresh produce for processed convenience; and traded moderation for indulgence. The result? A population that’s well-fed but undernourished — overweight but energy-deprived.

Three ingredients sit at the centre of Nigeria’s diet crisis: salt, sugar and oil. We add salt as though it’s a blessing, sugar as though it’s love, and oil as though it’s life itself. Whether it’s in our stews, soups, or snacks, these three combine to make meals addictive — and dangerous. The World Health Organisation recommends no more than five grams of salt per day (that’s about one teaspoon). The average Nigerian easily doubles or triples that. The result is high blood pressure, heart strain or kidney problems.

Sugar is no less innocent. From sweetened beverages to doughnuts, meat pies and processed cereals, the average Nigerian consumes far more sugar than the body can handle. And our bodies respond in kind — by developing insulin resistance, diabetes, and obesity. Then comes oil. Palm oil, groundnut oil, vegetable oil — we pour them with generosity, often until the stew glistens like a mirror. Nutritionists constantly warn that many of these oils, especially when reused for frying, contain harmful compounds that damage blood vessels and raise cholesterol levels.

It’s ironic that in a land so blessed with natural produce, many of us eat as though we live in a desert of nutrition. From yams to plantains, okra, moringa, and leafy greens — we have one of the richest food baskets in Africa. Yet, many Nigerians would rather grab a plate of fries or white rice than a bowl of beans or vegetables. Part of the problem is perception. “Healthy food” has been wrongly branded as boring or “for the sick.” Meanwhile, the most colourful and flavourful meals — loaded with vegetables, herbs, and whole grains — are often the most nourishing.

Nutrition experts warn that we are raising a generation that equates satisfaction with sweetness and health with hardship. The shift from home-cooked meals to convenience foods is eroding not just our health, but our food culture itself. The consequences of poor diet are not abstract. They show up in the faces of families drained by medical bills for preventable diseases. They appear in workplaces where fatigue and poor concentration are the norm. They manifest in communities where obesity and malnutrition coexist side by side.

Studies by the Nigerian Heart Foundation and the World Health Organisation show that diet-related diseases now account for a growing share of premature deaths in Nigeria. In Lagos alone, one in four adults is hypertensive. In some urban centres, nearly one in five people has pre-diabetes — and most don’t even know it. The bitter truth is that our eating habits are quietly shortening our lives.

The solution begins with awareness — and small, practical changes. Go natural by eating foods in their closest form to nature. Choose unprocessed grains, fresh vegetables, and fruits. Control portions; not every meal needs to fill the plate. Eat to satisfaction, not to stupor. Reduce oil and salt; let flavour come from spices, not sodium. Drink more water; replace sugary drinks with water, zobo, or unsweetened smoothies. Plan your meals; healthy eating is easier when it’s intentional. Reclaiming our health means reclaiming our food culture — returning to the wisdom of our forebears who valued freshness, moderation and balance.

Food is one of the most beautiful expressions of our identity as Nigerians. But it must also be an expression of wisdom. As we celebrate our jollof, stews, and soups, let’s remember that true enjoyment comes not just from taste, but from vitality — the energy to live, work, and dream fully. The unspoken truth about Nigerian diets is that they hold the power to heal or to harm. The choice, ultimately, is ours.