Dear Diary,
I have come to a conclusion…
Nigeria’s national sport is not football. I know…I know…Please sit down. And Breathe. I, too, was shocked by this discovery. Because if football were truly our national sport, perhaps we would have won the World Cup by now or qualified for the ongoing World Cup tournament (at the very least).
No.
Our real national sport is complaining, and frankly, we are exceptionally good at it.
If complaining were an official event, Nigeria would have so many gold medals that we would need an entirely new ministry just to manage them.
Think about it.
We complain about the weather.
We complain about traffic.
We complain about fuel prices.
We complain about electricity.
We complain about politicians.
We complain about our jobs.
We complain about our salaries.
We complain about our neighbours.
We complain about church.
We complain about the economy.
Then we complain about the people complaining.
We are remarkably consistent. There is something beautiful about this, though.
Complaining, in its own strange way, is evidence of hope. You only complain about things you believe can be better. Nobody complains that the ocean is wet. Nobody complains that fire is hot. Those things simply are.
But when Nigerians complain about the country, what they are often saying is: “This is not how it should be.” Buried beneath every complaint is an expectation.
A desire.
A hope.
A belief that things could be different.
In that sense, our complaints are actually tiny protests. Tiny declarations that we refuse to fully accept dysfunction.
Interesting.
The problem, however, is that somewhere between complaining and changing things, many of us have become trapped.
Complaining has become the destination instead of the starting point.
We complain.
We sigh.
We shake our heads.
We type long paragraphs online.
Then we sleep.
Then we wake up and begin the process again.
Lather.
Rinse.
Repeat.
At this point, complaining has become a form of entertainment, an emotional support system, and a bonding activity.
I have seen complete strangers become friends simply because they were both complaining about electricity. Nothing unites Nigerians faster than collective suffering. You can put ten Nigerians in a room and ask them to solve a national problem. There may be disagreement, there may be arguments, but ask them to complain about that same problem?
Suddenly everybody becomes family. I suspect this is one of our superpowers and one of our weaknesses. This is because complaining gives us something very important…
Relief.
You say it out loud.
You vent.
You laugh.
Someone agrees with you.
You feel seen.
Your frustration is validated.
Wonderful.
But relief is not the same thing as resolution. That is where things become complicated. This is because if all our energy ends with the complaint, then the complaint itself becomes a substitute for action, and I wonder how many times we mistake expression for effort.
How many times do we believe we have contributed simply because we have commented?
How many times have we mistaken awareness for action?
How many times have we mistaken outrage for participation?
Difficult questions.
I ask them because I ask myself the same questions because I complain too. I have a diary dedicated to it, I literally call it *Rants of a Nigerian.* I am not above this conversation as I am sitting inside it.
But perhaps there is a difference between complaining to release frustration and complaining as a lifestyle. At some point, every complaint should ask: “What now?”
The roads are bad.
What now?
Education is struggling.
What now?
Leadership is disappointing.
What now?
The environment is dirty.
What now?
People are hungry.
What now?
What can I do?
What can we do?
Even if the answer is small, especially if the answer is small. This is because nations are not only changed by dramatic revolutions, sometimes they are changed by ordinary people deciding to solve ordinary problems.
A teacher deciding to teach well.
A citizen refusing to pay a bribe.
A neighbour organizing a community clean-up.
A business owner treating employees fairly.
A young person mentoring another.
A community supporting local schools.
A professional offering skills.
A voter showing up.
A citizen paying attention.
None of these things sound glamorous, none of these things will trend online, but societies are often transformed by small acts repeated consistently.
I think one of the reasons Nigerians feel powerless is because our problems are enormous, so enormous that they can make individual action feel insignificant. What difference can one person make?
Fair question.
But then I remember that every traffic jam is made up of individual cars.
Every crowd is made up of individual people.
Every nation is made up of individual citizens.
And every culture is made up of individual habits.
If enough individuals change their habits, eventually the culture shifts. Slowly and painfully, but it shifts.
Imagine if we complained slightly less and organized slightly more.
Imagine if every complaint ended with one action…one…just one. What would happen?
Imagine if every Nigerian who complained about insecurity also joined a community initiative.
Imagine if every person who complained about education mentored one child.
Imagine if every person who complained about leadership actually paid attention to elections.
Imagine if every person who complained about corruption refused to participate in it.
I know, life is more complicated than this.
Systems matter.
Policies matter.
Leadership matters.
I am not suggesting that all problems can be solved by individual effort…Please…
Some problems require governments.
Some require institutions.
Some require large-scale reform.
But perhaps we underestimate the power of ordinary citizenship. Perhaps we underestimate ourselves because here’s the thing… Complaining is not the problem.
Silence is not a virtue.
People should complain.
People should speak.
People should ask difficult questions.
People should express dissatisfaction.
Democracy needs complainers.
Progress often begins with discomfort.
The problem is when the complaint becomes the finish line. When venting becomes our only contribution. When frustration replaces participation because then we become spectators in our own country, and spectators rarely change the score.
So maybe the goal is not to complain less. Maybe the goal is to complain better. To let our complaints become curiosity…then conversations…then ideas…then action, even small action, especially small action.
This is because nations are not transformed by people who never complain. Perhaps they are transformed by people who complain…and then get to work.
Anyway, Diary…I suspect Nigerians will continue complaining for generations. Honestly, we would probably complain if everything became perfect. It is part of our cultural identity now.
But maybe that is not entirely bad. Maybe our constant dissatisfaction means we still expect better. Maybe our complaints are proof that hope is still alive. The challenge is making sure hope eventually leaves the group chat and enters real life.
Until then, the national sport continues, and judging by our performance, we remain undefeated champions.
– Ria
Anyway, that’s today’s entry.
Agree if you like, be vexed if you must.
It is, after all, a rant.