Being Nigerian is a full-time job on its own, and unfortunately, there is no salary attached to it. Every day comes with a new reason to question your existence in this country. You wake up to the rising cost of living, unreliable electricity, insecurity, and the constant reminder that surviving in Nigeria requires a level of strength nobody should have to develop. At this point, I sometimes wonder if we are citizens of a country or contestants in a survival challenge nobody remembers signing us up for.
What is particularly interesting is how much we have normalised suffering. We have mastered the art of making jokes out of things that should make us angry. There is no light? Bring out the candles and charge your phone whenever electricity decides to visit. Food is expensive? Manage what you have. You cannot find a job after years of education? Keep pushing; your time will come. And when things become unbearable, someone will remind you that Nigeria is not the only country with problems. Of course, but must everything have to be this difficult?
The frustrating part is that Nigeria is not a country without potential. We have the people, the resources, the talent, and the ideas.
What we seem to struggle with is a system that turns basic necessities into luxuries. Quality education, affordable healthcare, security, and a decent standard of living should not be things people have to pray, beg, or struggle excessively to access. Yet, the ordinary Nigerian is expected to keep adjusting, keep sacrificing, and keep believing that things will get better, even when there is very little evidence to support that optimism.
And somehow, the responsibility always finds its way back to the people. Be resilient. Be patient. Work harder. Pray more. Start a business. Learn a skill. Do something for yourself.
While personal effort matters, how can we keep telling people to work harder without asking why their hard work barely translates into a better life? At what point do we admit that individual determination cannot fix a system that refuses to function as it should?
Perhaps this is what makes the situation so exhausting. It is not just the hardship itself, but the expectation that we should endure it quietly. We are expected to love our country, but what happens when that love is constantly tested?
What does patriotism mean to a young person who cannot afford basic necessities, a graduate who cannot find meaningful employment, or a family that struggles to access quality healthcare?
Must loving Nigeria mean pretending that everything is fine?
I do not think Nigeria is beyond saving, but I do think we need to be honest about what is failing us. A country cannot continue to rely on the resilience of its people while neglecting the systems that should make life easier for them.
Nigerians deserve more than survival stories. We deserve a country where living is not a daily struggle, where hard work has a reasonable reward, and where hope is based on something more substantial than the familiar promise that things will get better.
Until then, perhaps the real question is not whether Nigerians are strong enough to survive. We have proved that countless times. The question is why we keep having to prove it in the first place.
Leave a Reply