In a country where the number of university graduates far exceeds available jobs, Nigerian youths are constantly being told that the key to employment lies in ‘gaining experience’. Yet, for many of these graduates, the only route to this elusive experience is through internships, often unpaid. The idea is that these opportunities provide hands-on knowledge, networking exposure, and a stepping stone into the job market. But beneath this well-worn narrative is a bitter reality: unpaid internships are no longer about learning. They have morphed into an exploitative norm that benefits employers at the expense of already disadvantaged young professionals.
The Pipe Dream of “Experience”
In theory, internships are meant to prepare graduates for the world of work. They are supposed to offer a structured learning environment, skills development, mentorship, and possibly lead to full-time employment. But this assumption collapses under scrutiny in Nigeria. Many organisations exploit the desperation of young people who are eager to do anything to avoid the stigma of idleness post-NYSC (National Youth Service Corps). Rather than a learning opportunity, internships have become the cheapest form of labour for companies looking to cut costs.
With no pay and often no training, Nigerian interns frequently perform the exact same tasks as paid employees answering emails, managing social media accounts, compiling reports, attending meetings, and even driving revenue-generating activities depending on the organisation and field. They are expected to work long hours, show up daily, and maintain ‘professionalism’, without receiving the basic dignity of a stipend or transport allowance. In a harsh economic climate, this amounts to institutionalised theft, taking value without offering any in return.
In addition, the economic situation doesn’t make it easier. Nigeria’s economic situation makes unpaid internships not just unethical but unsustainable. Inflation rates hover around 30%, and minimum wage remains stagnant at ₦30,000, while graduate unemployment is rising sharply. For a fresh graduate commuting from the suburbs of Lagos to Victoria Island, daily transportation alone can cost upwards of ₦1,500. Add feeding, occasional airtime, internet subscriptions for remote work, and clothing expectations, and the cost of showing up to an unpaid job quickly escalates beyond affordability.
The implication is simple: only those from financially stable backgrounds can afford to intern without pay. This creates a systemic gatekeeping mechanism where opportunity is reserved for the privileged, while the less fortunate are excluded not because of competence, but because they cannot afford to work for free. In essence, unpaid internships perpetuate inequality under the pretence of meritocracy. For a country grappling with youth restiveness and social volatility, this is a dangerous precedent.
One of the most damaging aspects of unpaid internships in Nigeria is how normalised the practice has become. In job descriptions, companies openly state that a role is unpaid as though they are offering a charitable opportunity. Interns are subtly (and sometimes overtly) warned not to complain or they’ll be replaced without hesitation. After all, there are thousands more who are ‘willing to learn’ for free. This fear of being blacklisted, combined with societal pressure to be productive, keeps many graduates quiet even as they’re exploited.
Many organisations know that for every unpaid intern who leaves, ten more will queue up. Employers abuse this imbalance of power, cycling through interns every few months without the obligation to hire or pay. It’s a convenient arrangement that allows businesses to function on the backs of unpaid labour while branding themselves as youth-friendly and supportive of national development. This façade is what makes the practice so insidious.
Supporters of unpaid internships argue that they offer a chance to learn real-world skills and understand workplace dynamics. But what is the value of skill acquisition when the intern is overworked, under-supervised, and never compensated? A growing number of Nigerian graduates report being made to work full time with little or no mentoring. The most they get is a vague reference letter, usually with no clear metrics of performance or growth.
Worse still, in many sectors like media, tech, and even accounting, interns are recruited specifically because they are ‘cheap’ or free. Some companies have built business models around unpaid interns who form the backbone of daily operations. This amounts to institutionalised exploitation dressed as opportunity.
True skill development requires intentional structure, supervision, and periodic assessment not the blind hope that proximity to an office will transform a novice into a professional. Without a learning framework, what many Nigerian interns undergo is not mentorship; it is disguised servitude.
The damage of unpaid internships extends beyond the financial. It chips away at self-worth. Graduates who leave university with hope and energy are quickly confronted with a reality that devalues their qualifications and effort. Many fall into depression, questioning their abilities and relevance. They move from internship to internship, sometimes for years, without earning a stable income, without progressing, and without recognition.
For women, the exploitation can come with additional gendered burdens. Some face harassment in workplaces that know they cannot report or resist without risking replacement. Others are sent on personal errands unrelated to their job role, an extension of the long-standing culture of ‘oga-centric’ workplaces that view interns as domestic aides rather than professionals in training. These psychological burdens are seldom spoken of, but they are real. They erode the confidence of the very people Nigeria should be preparing to drive the future economy.
The normalisation of unpaid internships persists largely because there is no regulation. Nigeria lacks any clear legal framework that protects interns or defines their rights. In contrast, many developed countries have begun to clamp down on the practice, defining unpaid internships as illegal unless tied to academic credit or structured learning programmes.
The National Youth Employment Action Plan (NYEAP) launched in 2021 makes mention of youth skill development, but offers little in terms of enforcing fair labour practices within internship arrangements. Agencies like the National Directorate of Employment (NDE) and Industrial Training Fund (ITF) are focused more on vocational training than on enforcing workplace standards. The result is a vacuum that leaves graduates at the mercy of unregulated employers. It is baffling that a country battling youth unemployment and economic hardship allows this exploitation to thrive unchecked. The need for a national internship policy, one that mandates stipends, defines hours, sets training standards, and offers legal protection, is long overdue.
What Happens When Talent Walks Away?
A country that refuses to value its graduates will inevitably lose them. Already, the ‘Japa’ wave has seen thousands of Nigeria’s brightest minds emigrate to countries that reward effort, skill, and time. If a graduate can earn £12 per hour as a cleaner in the UK while still being respected and protected by labour laws, what incentive is there to stay in a system that demands free labour? The consequences go beyond brain drain. Internships, when mismanaged, become a bottleneck that traps talent instead of developing it. It delays financial independence, reduces national productivity, and breeds disillusionment. At a time when Nigeria needs innovation, entrepreneurship, and resilience from its youth, unpaid internships sap the very motivation required to power those ideals.
It is not unreasonable to expect that a graduate contributing to the day-to-day operations of an organisation should receive a stipend, at the very least, transport allowance. Even NYSC, with all its flaws, provides a monthly stipend to acknowledge service. The same logic should apply to internships. For those still in training, organisations should create clear learning pathways, assign mentors, and offer flexible hours. Internships must be temporary, goal-based, and either compensated or directly linked to academic institutions with robust oversight. Employers also have a moral and economic duty to invest in the future workforce. Exploiting interns may save a few naira today, but it sabotages the country’s long-term growth. A demoralised, broke graduate cannot contribute meaningfully to nation-building.
In conclusion, learning alone is no longer enough. For Nigerian graduates, the real battle lies in translating learning into livelihoods something unpaid internships actively undermine. For policymakers, now is the time to act. A national conversation is needed one that challenges the status quo and centres the voices of young people. If Nigeria is serious about transforming its labour landscape, then it must begin by ensuring that learning doesn’t come at the cost of dignity and survival.
