There was a time when the rhythm of our nation was set to the frequency of absolute resilience. If you grew up in a certain era, you know the lyrics by heart. Veno Marioghae’s Nigeria go Survive was more than just a song; it was a national anthem of defiance.
“If them thief our oil o / Even if them burn the oil o / Nigeria go survive… Andrew no checkout o / Stay and build your country.”
That song shaped an entire generation of believers. It was an audacious declaration that no matter how deep the rot or how severe the trial, our roots were too strong to be uprooted. But as the years bled into decades, that frequency shifted. Fast forward to Eedris Abdulkareem’s Jaga Jaga. Arguably an honest, unflinching exposition of the decay in our country, it inadvertently did something else: it gave a soundtrack to our collective cynicism. It validated our despair.
Today, that cynicism has metastasized into the “Japa Syndrome.” The modern-day Andrews are checking out in droves, packing their skills and their dashed hopes into suitcases, bound for shores that seem to offer the basic dignity that home has denied them. The optimism that once fueled us is rapidly being depleted.
Yet, we must confront a brutal, unavoidable truth: optimism remains the only vehicle through which change can arrive. You simply cannot change, influence, or rebuild a system you no longer believe in.
There is a significant, heavy cloud of despair across the land. The realities we face daily are harsh, exhausting, and fiercely unforgiving. To speak of optimism now feels, to many, like a cruel joke. But true national optimism is not a naive denial of these harsh realities. It is a rigid, defiant discipline. It is the refusal to surrender to the dark.
For our lives and for our country, good is coming, but faith is the prerequisite. It is non-negotiable.
We must begin to treat courage not as a feeling we wait for, but as an asset we actively take. In our local parlance, we talk about “always guiding” – staying alert, guarding your space, protecting your perimeter. We must apply this defensively to our minds. Guard your courage. Do not dissipate it on endless complaints or the intoxicating lure of despair, because courage is the very currency you must exchange for the promise of a better future. If you bankrupt your courage, you have nothing left to build with.
We must become like the farmer who plants not because the weather is perfect, but because he understands the mechanics of the harvest. He knows that irrigating dry ground is back-breaking work, but he does it anyway. Why? Because the seed demands it. We are sowing seeds today in unyielding soil so that our wives, our daughters, and the sons coming after us do not inherit a barren wasteland.
We must rise above the decay, choosing to see an apparent future that is brighter, and then working relentlessly to pull that future into the present.
“As for you, be strong and courageous, for your work shall be rewarded.”
This is the clarion call for the new Nigerian. It is a call to excel in good work. It means doing your best and doing more than is needed, day in and day out. It means being continually aware of your labour, even to the point of utter exhaustion, while resting in the quiet assurance that your labour is not futile. It is never without purpose.
Therefore, my fellow Nigerians, be steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of progress. The night may be long, and the roads may be broken, but fortune is coming. Hold the line.
I still believe in Nigeria, do you?
This piece was written by Kingsley Iweka
