DEAR NIGERIA, WE NEED TO TALK…

By IHIEKONYE GIFT OGOCHUKWU  

There is a prayer Nigerians often say.

You know it.

You've probably said it too.

"God forbid bad things."

We say it with passion, with gusto, as though mere words can shield our existence. We pray it in church and at traffic jams. We say it at the market and while travelling in overloaded buses. We say it before bed and after prayers. But every day, bad thing wakes up earlier than us, buys noodles at the traffic light, and waits for us at our desks.

When do we stop praying to God to forbid what men are enthusiastically permitting?

Let's start with our roads. Not the good ones. Let me talk about the trip from Abuja to Kaduna, where you sit in a bus wondering whether the people waiting for you at your destination will actually be your family members or armed men with a phone and a SIM card.

Bandits have changed the way Nigerians travel. They collect road tolls without any legal authority. They know every checkpoint as though they double as traffic wardens. They are doing more to shape Nigeria's transportation sector than the government itself.

Think about that family praying before their journey. The ones dancing on their knees, mouthing words they barely understand. Sending their location to family group chats. Whispering, "Just in case."

Just in case the faith they've poured into God somehow runs out.

"Just in case" has become so common in our travel prayers that, if you listen closely, you can hear the fear behind those words.

Our soldiers and security agents, with their enormous budgets, shiny berets, and endless quarterly meetings—what exactly are they doing if not fighting these men with guns?

There is always urgency when power is threatened, but leniency when people's lives are at stake. Nigeria can deploy troops within days if an election is under threat, but cannot respond quickly enough when thousands of citizens are being kidnapped. They are selective about what they choose to see and what they ignore.

Now, let's talk about elections.

People stand under the scorching sun, enduring long queues just to cast votes that may never count. They do this every four years with hope in their hearts.

Then they return home to watch the results, only to see numbers scrolling across television screens that do not reflect what they witnessed at their polling units.

Do votes travel too?

I wonder.

Because ballot boxes certainly do.

Politicians and their supporters manipulate the system, then return to social media to convince everyone that it was the will of the people.

The courts, too.

The last line of defence has become a major player in this theatre of corruption. Come election season, you can almost bet your last naira that justice has already been sold.

By the time a verdict is delivered, the candidate who should never have won is already comfortably seated in office, spending budgets from ministries he never genuinely earned. Before long, he is flying to London or Saudi Arabia for medical treatment because, heaven forbid, he should use the same healthcare system his administration has neglected.

Election corruption in Nigeria is no longer news.

It has become infrastructure.

Its foundations have been laid over decades, so deeply rooted that no meaningful change seems possible—not because there are no good people, but because those benefiting from the system protect one another. They are too busy supporting each other's corruption to care about what it is doing to ordinary Nigerians.

It's also time we talked about the home.

Someone needs to talk about men and women because, everywhere I look, I see quietly accepted truths that deserve to be spoken aloud.

The faithful Nigerian man exists.

I'm not talking about celebrities or social media captions.

I'm talking about the man who stayed, honoured his vows, raised his children, hustled, and provided for his family.

That man is real.

He just doesn't get Twitter applause.

Instead, we focus on stories of cheating wives. We celebrate when we find evidence. We pull out the old "holier than thou" Bible and condemn women into cyber heaven.

But guess who rarely gets called out?

The wicked husband.

We are quick to condemn women when they step out of their marriages, yet we hardly speak about the men whose actions pushed them there.

Betrayal is still betrayal. I'm not excusing anyone's mistakes.

But how can we condemn one while applauding the other?

How can we demand self-restraint in marriage when we refuse to demand accountability from those governing our country?

As far as we're concerned, elected officials are cheating on Nigeria.

They promise us lavish weddings but serve us dry bones.

We grow tired of waiting, yet they refuse to offer anything better because they know we're starving.

So we settle for rotten meat called epileptic electricity because, somehow, we convince ourselves that it's better than nothing.

That's cheating.

Now let's talk about where all the money goes.

It ends up in the pockets of powerful people.

They post pictures of extravagant weddings on Instagram while their children attend schools abroad, and ordinary Nigerians cannot enrol their own children in public schools without paying extra money under the table.

Government officials travel overseas for medical treatment to see specialists while Nigerian doctors and healthcare workers continue begging for support.

Nigerian politics has become extortion in its purest form.

We accept too much.

We didn't just accept stolen elections; we watched politicians doctor images of polling units online to support their lies.

We didn't just allow them to disrespect us; we rewarded them by voting many of them back into office.

This is not how human beings should be treated.

It is beneath human dignity.

And, like abused animals, we've learnt to expect less, demand less, and keep going back for more.

I'm not saying we should all become activists, flood the streets, and return home choking from tear gas.

I'm simply asking that we stop accepting the bare minimum.

Stop listening to speeches where the only thing amplified is the politician's voice.

Stop watching the same movie repeatedly and acting surprised when the ending never changes.

Wake up.

Stop hitting the snooze button on your alarms.

"God forbid bad thing."

That phrase didn't build Nigeria; it merely rented one.

It didn't provide electricity; it merely sighed whenever darkness came.

It didn't send our students abroad; it mocked them when they returned to join the growing ranks of the unemployed.

God didn't do this.

Yahoo Yahoo husbands and pregnant TikTok wives didn't do this.

Leaders with degrees from Point Less University and endless security votes did this.

So let's stop praying to God to forbid what we have the power to confront ourselves.

Come together.

And forbid it.