BY NEWTON JIBUNOH
From time to time, it is important to pause and listen especially to those coming after us. Younger Nigerians are experiencing the country in ways that feel familiar, yet deeply different, and they are finding new words to describe old struggles.
The piece below was written by a younger voice, Chidera Melissa Onyia, reflecting on everyday life in today’s Nigeria: the quiet pressure of just getting by, the feeling of celebrating milestones without real progress, and the weight of unanswered national questions that continue to shape our present. It is honest, reflective, and sometimes uncomfortable not because it is extreme, but because it feels close to the truth many are living with.
What stood out to me is not only what is said, but what it reveals about the mood of a generation that has learned how to endure without applause, and to question without certainty that answers will come. Whether or not one agrees with everypoint raised, these are conversations worth having.
This contribution is shared in that spirit- as a window into how younger Nigerians are making sense of our current situation, and as a reminder that listening, too, is a form of leadership.
January arrived loudly, as it always does.
Crossover services overflowed. Prophecies were declared. Vision boards were dusted off. We stepped into the New Year convinced that by now, something unmistakable would have happened-a breakthrough, a miracle, proof we could point to and say, “God did it.”
And yet, here we are.
Not ruined. Not celebrated either. Just managing.
That word “managing” has quietly become the anthem of many Nigerian lives. We wake up, we commute through rising transport fares, and we endure inflation that does not announce itself but presses steadily on the chest. Nothing dramatic happened, yet everything feels heavy. At first glance, it looks like failure. But perhaps it is something else.
Perhaps we are celebrating nothingness.
Because surviving a season that did not reward you loudly is not nothing. Showing up to work when motivation is gone is not nothing. Holding yourself together in a country that constantly tests endurance is not nothing. Nothingness, in this sense, is not emptiness, it is stability. No visible progress, but no total collapse either.
And maybe that is where the discomfort begins.
Because as individuals, we have learned to manage silence – silence after prayers, silence after effort, silence when life refuses to give signs. But as a nation, we have turned silence into policy. We have mistaken endurance for healing, and survival for resolution.
Sometimes, I hate being a Nigerian. Not because Nigeria is uniquely broken, every country has its problems but because many of our problems are solvable. That is what hurts the most. We are not short of answers; we are short of honesty.
Recently, I read an article by my mentor, Dr. Newton Jibunoh, where he listed ten critical questions Nigeria must answer if we are ever going to get better. Since then, I have not been able to rest. I keep asking myself: why have these questions remained unanswered? Why have our grandfathers, great-grandfathers, and fathers, the ones who lived through these moments kept silent? Why are our leaders avoiding history, as if silence will erase it? Years later, those questions remain unanswered. Not because they are unknowable, but because answering them requires memory, courage, and uncomfortable truth. Just like in our personal lives, silence has become a coping mechanism.
From January till now, many of us did not become the people we announced on the first day of the year. Some plans stalled. Some dreams quietly died. Some days passed without meaning, without memory, without anything worth posting. But those quiet months taught us something important: growth does not always come with evidence, and survival without applause is still survival.
Nations, however, do not heal the same way individuals do.
A country cannot “manage” its past forever. What we refuse to confront does not disappear it waits. It leaks into institutions. It shows up as insecurity, mistrust, and
repeated failure. There is already enough dirt under Nigeria’s carpet, and sweeping harder has never made the house cleaner.
Take the Western Nigeria crisis as one example, a wound that was never properly treated. After independence, ideological disagreement within the Action Group between Chief Obafemi Awolowo and Chief Samuel Ladoke Akintola escalated into personal rivalry. When Akintola was removed as Premier by the Western House of Assembly, federal intervention overturned the region’s decision, deepening division rather than restoring order.
By 1965, the region had descended into chaos. Elections were openly rigged. Violence followed. Operation Wetie left homes burned, lives lost, and public trust shattered. Civilian authority collapsed, and faith in democratic institutions evaporated. This breakdown became one of the justifications for the military takeover of January 1966.
Yet decades later, the full story still sits with a few elderly witnesses. The questions remain. The silence persists.
In our personal lives, we have learned that ignored issues do not heal themselves. We have learned that reflection requires stillness something we often avoid because it forces honesty. The same applies nationally. Lessons are wasted when theyremain gist. They become wisdom only when they change behavior.
We celebrate December loudly, often without thinking ahead. Fireworks do not cancel hunger. New clothes do not reset rent. Crossing into January does not erase responsibility. In the same way, national celebrations, slogans, and political ceremonies cannot erase unresolved history. Celebration without reflection only postpones reckoning.
There is dignity in moderation – personally and politically. There is wisdom in restraint. Anewyear entered withpeace of mind isbetter than one entered withnoise and empty accounts. A nation that pauses to remember honestly stands a better chance than one that keeps running from its shadow.
So yes, let us celebrate survival.
Celebrate the quiet months. Celebrate the fact that despite everything, many Nigerians are still standing. But let us also admit this: survival alone is not enough.
Because while nothing may have happened in our personal lives, too much has been avoided in our national life. And until we stop managing silence and start confronting truth, we will keep celebrating nothing – privately enduring, publicly pretending, and collectively repeating the same mistakes.
Survival is wisdom.
But truth is healing.
And Nigeria cannot afford to keep postponing either.
