We live in a world where technology makes everything accessible, including information, attention, and even affection. And yet, a deeper crisis is quietly unfolding: despite all the tools to connect us, we’ve never felt more alone.
In Nigeria, users now spend an average of 3 hours and 23 minutes daily on social media, placing the country among the top five globally for online engagement.
Across Africa, the average young person spends 3 to 6 hours daily on social platforms, mostly through mobile devices GeoPoll. With over 36 million Nigerians active on social channels in early 2024 alone, the digital space has become emotional oxygen.
Despite this, or perhaps because of it, loneliness is exploding among Gen Z. Nearly half of Nigerian Gen Zers (ages 16–25) now admit they’d rather hang out online than in real, physical spaces. This isn’t just about screen time; it’s a sign of deep meaninglessness lurking beneath buzz and scrolling.
The New Therapist: Chatbots as Emotional Crutches
AI chatbots, such as ChatGPT, are increasingly being utilised as emotional support systems. Some people vent about heartbreak. Others ask for life advice. Some share their trauma, deep, personal, vulnerable truths they wouldn’t even tell their closest friends. And it’s easy to see why.
A chatbot doesn’t interrupt. It doesn’t shame. It doesn’t ghost you. It’s available 24/7. In a world where human relationships are becoming increasingly transactional, AI offers a comforting constant. But there’s a catch, and a dangerous one.
These chatbots aren’t therapists.
They aren’t trained to protect you. They’re not bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI, recently admitted that it’s “very screwed up” how little privacy exists for what people share with AI models. What you tell a bot isn’t protected by law. Your secrets could be stored, studied, or even exposed.
This isn’t to shame those who talk to chatbots, we get it. It’s a symptom of something deeper: a collective loneliness that keeps growing.
Hooked, Not Held And The Illusion of Connection
We’re hypersexualised but emotionally starved.
We have more access to bodies than we do to hearts.
Hookup culture has made it easier to find someone to spend the night with, but harder to find someone who will stay for the hard days. Many Gen Zers say they’re done with traditional romance, opting for “vibes,” “soft life,” and “low effort” relationships. But beneath the curated Instagram love and “no strings attached” energy is a generation quietly yearning for safety and belonging.
Sex, for many, has become a stand-in for closeness. And attention has become mistaken for affection.
But the truth? You can be sleeping with someone and still feel completely unseen.
You can have 50 unread DMs and still be utterly alone.
Our culture celebrates accessibility, hookups, casual flings, “situationships”, and equates attention with validation. Yet these interactions often leave a hollow ache. The illusion of intimacy fades. People with multiple partners or many followers can still feel utterly unseen. Studies of Gen Z globally, and in Nigeria, show rising anxiety and emotional exhaustion despite increased accessibility and connectivity. Sexting, late-night DMs, and meme exchanges can’t hold the weight of emotional safety.
Burned by People, Coddled by Screens
Part of why people are retreating into AI, hustle, and hookups is because human connection hasn’t been safe for them. They’ve opened up before and been judged, misunderstood, or even punished for it, especially in communities that shame vulnerability.
Think of the young woman whose church dismissed her depression as a “lack of faith.”
Or the guy who opened up to his girlfriend and was mocked for “being too soft.”
Or the child whose parents raised them with more rules than hugs.
When love hurts, technology becomes a safe alternative. You can control a chatbot. You can end a situationship. You can mute a friend. But that control comes at the cost of real intimacy.
The reality remains that for many, human connection feels unsafe: vulnerability met with judgment, trauma dismissed, emotions shamed. Whether in family, faith, or friendship circles, people report opening up and being punished emotionally, or erased quietly. That drives them back to screens. Screens don’t judge. They don’t flinch. They don’t speak unless typed. But the emotional cost is isolation dressed as freedom.
This Is More Than Loneliness, It’s an Epidemic
Studies show that Gen Z is now the loneliest generation, with over 73% saying they feel alone “sometimes or always.” The U.S. Surgeon General even declared loneliness a public health crisis in 2023, comparing its impact to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. And it’s not just a Western issue. In Africa, the rise of solo living, social media addiction, and mental health stigma has made many young people silently suffer behind curated images.
Even faith spaces have, at times, become performative, places where you’re applauded for being strong but rarely held when you’re breaking. We’ve replaced discipleship with visibility, authenticity with branding. And people are slipping through the cracks.
With 70% of Nigerian youth aged 16–26 using platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat, 20% of them engaging for over five hours daily, social media is deeply embedded in their lives. That level of engagement, however, doesn’t translate to belonging. Gen Zers globally have been identified as the loneliest generation; some studies place the figure near 73% yet community and physical presence are disappearing. Social media succeeds as imitation intimacy, but often breeds emotional destructiveness, not depth.
We Need Soul Intimacy, Not Just Digital Companions
We don’t just need attention.
We need safety.
We need people who see us and don’t flinch.
We need friends who can handle our grief, our questions, our “I don’t know how to pray anymore” moments.
We need real human connection.
Because no AI chatbot can wipe your tears.
No situationship can anchor your soul.
No Instagram like can replace the power of a friend who shows up with food when you’re too depressed to cook.
And you know what?
That kind of connection doesn’t happen by chance. It’s built.
So What Can We Do?
Start small. Text someone and ask how they’re doing. Make room for deeper conversations. Choose presence over performance. Choose friendship over followers. Choose community over convenience.
And if you’re the one feeling alone, hear this:
You’re not weak for wanting a connection.
You’re not dramatic for needing people.
You’re just human.
Humans were built for connection, not code. So, prioritise soul over scroll, presence over performance.
