Dear Diary,
Let me tell you about Nigeria.
Actually, no.
Nobody can truly explain Nigeria.
People have tried.
Historians have tried.
Politicians have tried.
Journalists have tried.
Even Nigerians themselves have tried.
Nigeria is not a country that can be understood through statistics. The numbers will tell you our population, they will tell you our GDP, and they will tell you our unemployment rates.
What they won’t tell you is how a country can simultaneously feel exhausting and exciting.
How it can frustrate you in the morning and make you laugh before lunch.
How it can disappoint you repeatedly and still convince you not to give up on it.
Nigeria is a paradox wearing green and white. We are one of the most creative people on earth. I genuinely believe that.
Give Nigerians a problem and we will find three solutions, five shortcuts, and two business opportunities hidden inside the problem.
A Nigerian can arrive in a foreign country with one suitcase and somehow establish a community, a side hustle, and a reputation within six months.
Our adaptability deserves scientific research. Our resilience should probably be bottled and exported.
But then…
There is the other side.
The side we don’t enjoy discussing. The side that cannot be blamed on colonialism, bad leadership, foreign powers, or bad luck forever. The side staring back at us in the mirror.
Because somewhere along the line, I realized something uncomfortable.
Nigeria is made up of Nigerians.
Revolutionary discovery right? Yeah, I know.
Yet we often discuss Nigeria as though it exists separately from us.
As though corruption lives in the air.
As though dishonesty is an independent organism.
As though greed materializes from thin atmosphere.
Who exactly do we think Nigeria is?
The politician collecting bribes was once someone’s neighbour.
The civil servant demanding a “little something” is Nigerian.
The driver ignoring traffic laws is Nigerian.
The student cheating in exams is Nigerian.
The business owner evading taxes is Nigerian.
The citizen who refuses to stand in line is Nigerian.
The voter who sells a vote is Nigerian.
The leader who buys that vote is also Nigerian.
Somewhere between blaming the country and blaming the government, we occasionally forget to audit ourselves.
Now before someone becomes defensive, let me be fair.
Nigerians are also incredibly generous.
We show up for one another, some of us though.
We contribute money for strangers.
We support family members, distant relatives, neighbours, church members, classmates, and people whose exact relationship to us remains unclear.
No matter where we travel, we carry community with us.
That is beautiful.
But community without accountability becomes complicity. This is where things become complicated. Because the same people who complain about corruption may celebrate it when it benefits someone they know.
The same people demanding justice may excuse wrongdoing when committed by their tribe, religion, political party, or favourite public figure.
The same people praying for change sometimes resist changing themselves.
That is not a Nigerian problem.
That is a human problem.
Nigeria simply magnifies it.
Perhaps because there are so many of us.
Perhaps because our contradictions are impossible to hide.
Or perhaps because Nigeria functions as one giant mirror.
And mirrors are rarely the problem.
The reflection usually is.
Sometimes I wonder what Nigeria would look like if every citizen became ten percent more honest.
Ten percent more disciplined.
Ten percent more accountable.
Ten percent more patient.
Not perfect.
Just better.
Would traffic improve?
Would governance improve?
Would businesses improve?
Would trust improve?
Would Nigeria improve?
I suspect the answer is yes.
Not immediately, but eventually.
Countries do not magically become great. People become better, and then institutions follow. I know this is not the exciting answer. It is much easier to identify villains than responsibilities as it is easier to point upward than inward.
But if Nigeria is ever going to become the country we imagine, then the work cannot belong only to presidents, governors, ministers, or lawmakers. Some of it belongs to us, which is both terrifying and empowering. Because if we helped create the problem, then perhaps we can help create the solution.
That thought gives me hope, and these days, hope is a currency I refuse to waste.
Anyway, Diary…Nigeria remains the most beautiful mess I have ever known.
Flawed.
Frustrating.
Extraordinary.
Complicated.
And somehow still worth believing in.
– Ria
Take what serves you and argue with the rest. It is, after all, just a rant.