What if you woke up one day and discovered your monthly income had shrunk to a tenth of what it used to be? That nightmare became the reality of Ibrahim Abdullahi, a phone repairer and PoS handler in Arewa Market, Abuja, North Central Nigeria. One minute, he had a booming recharge card-selling business; the next, his profit dwindled to a fraction of what it once was.

Ibrahim’s financial decline had nothing to do with his efficiency or work ethic. The market itself changed with the adoption of the virtual top-up (VTU) service between 2011 and 2013, enabling people to purchase data and airtime digitally via USSD, mobile banking applications, ATMs, and the web. Leading telcos such as MTN and Airtel first introduced the service. 

VTU quickly became mainstream, and by 2021, Ibrahim’s business had collapsed. 

“I used to sell about ₦100,000 worth of recharge cards in a day, but when people stopped buying paper recharge cards, I wasn’t able to sell up to ₦10,000 daily,” he recounted with eyes fixed on the phone he was repairing, as if any glance away might cost his income. 

But for people like Ibrahim, whose livelihood depended on the physical scratch cards, the change was devastating. Soon, as expected, the once-lucrative trade vanished, leaving sellers with lost profits even as they scrambled for alternatives. Three years ago, Ibrahim closed shop.

Across Nigeria, entire lines of work are being erased by new technologies, echoing a global trend.

The casualties 

Scratch-card sellers are not alone.

Wuraola Adebisi* used to be a call centre agent in the ‘90s. With low mobile-phone penetration, people depended on her service for communication and were charged per second. In 1999, she gained admission and left for tertiary education, hoping to return to the business afterwards.

However, even before she got her diploma, mobile telephony was introduced in 2001, ending the monopoly of Nigerian Telecommunications Limited, which was the sole provider of the common wired telephony, but also keeping call centre agents like Wuraola out of business. 

“The call centre business left by itself because people now had phones in their hands,” she said.

These changes, while detrimental to those who lose, are a natural part of the way the world evolves. A survey conducted by HumAngle in Nigeria also shows this trend: 15 per cent of respondents attributed their job loss to the advent of technologies such as artificial intelligence and banking digitisation.

Globally, this is not unusual. The World Economic Forum projects that 92 million jobs will vanish worldwide by 2030 as innovation reshapes economies. But it also projects 170 million new roles, highlighting that while some professions fade, others emerge.

“While tech evolution may render some jobs obsolete, it also unlocks new opportunities in emerging fields like digital entrepreneurship, virtual assistance, cybersecurity, data analysis, amongst others,” Ponfa Miri, Team Lead of Langtang Innovation Hub, a non-profit tech skills training institute based in rural Plateau State, told HumAngle. 

This balance between loss and opportunity is already visible in Nigeria.

When scratch-card sellers lost their jobs, business people across the country found alternatives via other digital-enabled businesses like PoS operations, where agents sell cash to consumers. There are about 1,600 PoS operators per square kilometre in the country, according to the International Monetary Fund.

“I switched to the PoS and phone repair business because it was digital,” said Ibrahim. 

Yet, it was not simply a random switch. For phone repairs, particularly with the rising diversity of smartphones, he needed to learn new skills. The HumAngle survey found that 79.3 per cent of respondents are learning at least one digital skill, with 33.3 per cent doing so solely to adapt. 

The challenge, then, is not only about jobs disappearing, but about who has the skills and access to compete for the new ones.

Inside the digital divide

This rapid adaptation has its limits. As of May, internet penetration reached 48 per cent, according to the Nigerian Communications Commission. However, this still leaves a majority without essential connectivity, which UNICEF identifies as the first step towards acquiring digital skills. In conflict-hit communities like Birnin Gwari in the country’s North West, telecom shutdowns have lasted for over three years. 

Not only are several left without internet, but many who have access to it complain that poor national connectivity hinders their ability to carry out their jobs properly. 

Telecom operators argue that the interruption or slow speed is sometimes caused by power shortages or vandalism of infrastructure by armed groups, locals, or construction companies. For everyday Nigerians, however, these explanations do little to ease the frustration. The impact is felt most by small operators who depend on steady connectivity to survive.

Blessing Adejoke*, another who shifted from scratch-card sales to PoS, said: “People don’t like it when they’re looking for money, and it takes a long time for the PoS machine to connect. It’s not always a big problem, but earlier this year I nearly lost a full day of making money because my machine refused to go online.”

Connectivity and power shortages weigh heavily on operators like Blessing and on millions trying to learn or work digitally. With over 89 million Nigerians living below the poverty line, opportunities in the digital economy remain largely out of reach for the poor and displaced, HumAngle’s survey found.

The consequences are visible in the unemployment rate. A Nigerian Economic Summit (NES) Group study showed joblessness climbed to 5.3 per cent in early 2024, marking the third consecutive quarter increase. Young people, entering the tech-driven job market for the first time, account for 8 per cent of that rise.

With such situations, privilege often determines access. 

Haruna Bello*, a recent graduate, credits her private-university education and paid digital skills training for securing an internship that pays more than the minimum wage. 

“Before I applied for the role, my mum paid for a private course to help me boost my CV. I don’t remember how much it cost, but it was over ₦60,000,” she said. 

Haruna believes that her lucrative role could only be obtained through private-funded efforts and expenses, two things many Nigerians can’t afford due to the growing poverty rate. The result is a massive employment disparity between the rich and the poor, where a larger percentage of Nigerians remain unemployed, hired in low-income positions, or running small-scale businesses. 

To reduce these notable issues, the government has set out to introduce programmes that may lessen the digital gap, but these have yet to be far-reaching.

Government’s shallow fixes

In 2023, Nigeria’s minister for communication, innovation, and digital economy, Bosun Tijani, launched the 3 Million Technical Talents (3MTT) Fellowship to equip 3 million Nigerians with tech talents within four years. The programme, which has held two cohorts, has trained about 117,000 people. In isolation, the number may seem grand, but in reality, it barely scratches the surface of the estimated 100 million Nigerians who are digitally illiterate. 

Authorities at the sub-national level have also attempted to bridge the gap. For instance, the Plateau State Government in 2019 launched Code Plateau, a programme similar to 3MTT, over 1000 young people were trained, but the initiative abruptly closed after a political transition.

With progress so limited and the rise of more advanced technologies like artificial intelligence, optimism quickly gives way to doubt. 

“Who Nigeria help?” Wurola laughed when asked about government aid. Our survey respondents feel the same way: 40 per cent said they need government support to compete in today’s job market. 

However, some experts say the government cannot do it alone. Non-profit and private initiatives, especially those at the grassroots, remain vital to Nigeria’s digital transition.

“By working together, we can bridge the divide and create a more inclusive future, empowering individuals to thrive in the new economy,” said Ponfa, whose organisation has trained hundreds of rural women and young people in digital literacy and entrepreneurship.

Whether or not those programmes are created or enhanced, one thing is certain: the labour ecosystem is ever-changing, and many will have to find ways to adjust to it if they hope to stay afloat. As Wurola puts it, “This is the tech age. We had the Stone Age, we had the Iron Age. So, this is the age of tech, you can’t beat it. This is where we find ourselves, whether good or bad.”

*Names marked with an asterisk have been changed to protect the identities of sources.