Nigeria teaches you to laugh even when your chest is tight.
To plan, and then plan again, because NEPA might take light, the ATM might swallow your card, and rain might fall like it’s trying to wash the whole street away.
And still… life goes on.
There’s a strange beauty in that. A kind of resilience you don’t read in books; you just absorb it, like harmattan dust in your lungs.
Joy amid Madness
I’ve seen people dress up in their Sunday best, full face beat, gele touching the heavens, only to return home to a house without power or running water.
But somehow, they still dance, laugh, and find a reason to post “God did” on Instagram.
That’s Nigeria. We find joy where it shouldn’t exist. Because we have to.
The Art of Adjusting
One day, the naira is here. The next day, it’s running away from value like it’s being chased.
The fuel price increases overnight. People sleep outside banks looking for cash.
A bag of rice becomes a luxury.
And what do we do? We adjust. Not because we like it, but because it’s the only way to stay sane.
Nigeria teaches you to move with the madness, to have backup plans for your backup plans. It also teaches you not to get too attached to anything, not the system, the government, or even your own expectations.
Laughter as a Coping Mechanism
Nigerians joke about everything. EVERYTHING.
If there’s a crisis, just wait, there will be memes.
Humour isn’t always denial. Sometimes it’s defiance.
It says: You may mess with my country, my light, my money, but you won’t mess with my spirit.
That, too, is survival.
What We Carry
We carry a lot. Unspoken pressure, unprocessed grief, and unrealised dreams.
And sometimes, it makes us hard. But other times, in traffic, or in the market, or when someone randomly calls you “my sister” with warmth, you feel it.
We carry that unkillable Nigerian spirit, that stubborn hope, and that ability to say “e go better” even when nothing suggests it will.
Final Thoughts
Nigeria is not easy. Let’s not romanticise it.
But somehow, in the cracks, we’ve learned to grow things. We’ve learned to stretch. We’ve learned to survive.
Maybe even… to live.
And amid the noise, the chaos, and the disappointment, that’s no small thing.
That’s a kind of victory.