By Chris Curtis
There’s a picture that keeps coming to mind.
A mother is deep in conversation while her children are hungry and restless. They grumble. They complain. The noise grows. Instead of ending the chatter and feeding them properly, she sends someone to buy snacks just enough to quiet them for a while.
Later, she steps out and asks, “Are we ready now?”
The loudest child answers quickly, “No, Mum. You can continue.”
Another tries to speak, but his voice disappears under the confidence of the older one who wants to appear in control. He wants Mum to believe everything is fine even though nothing really is.
That is where we are as a country.
We speak about hunger, rising prices, insecurity, unemployment, and systems that barely function. We talk about them everywhere in buses, online, in church compounds, in late-night conversations that solve nothing by morning.
But when courage becomes necessary, something shifts. Our energy thins out. Our unity dissolves.
We are easily redirected.
Ethnic loyalty plays its part. Religious identity joins in. Familiar sentiment finishes the work. Each election season, these old tools are dusted off and handed back to us — and we accept them as if they will finally build what they have always prevented.
Meanwhile, the deeper problems remain.
Nigeria is not under foreign occupation. No external army holds us hostage. The painful truth is simpler than that.
We entrusted power and resources to people who promised stewardship. Somehow, we now defend them while struggling under the weight of their decisions.
That contradiction should trouble us more than it does.
We feel the consequences of poor governance, yet we soften our stance when it comes wrapped in familiar language. We criticize corruption in theory but explain it away when the offender “belongs to us.” We declare that enough is enough — until taking a stand begins to cost something personal.
Perhaps we are waiting for someone else to move first.
And while we wait, the pattern continues.
When public frustration grows loud enough, sudden relief measures appear. Speeches become warmer. Promises return. Temporary gestures create the impression of listening.
And we pause again.
But a country cannot be sustained on gestures. Snacks are not nourishment. A brief show of concern is not reform.
If our elections consistently reflected disciplined civic participation and watchful citizens committed to lawful accountability, many familiar faces would not feel so secure in power.
This is not an invitation to disorder. It is not a suggestion of violence. It is certainly not a call to abandon legal process.
It is a call to grow up civically.
Because no one rescues a people who refuse to participate in their own rescue.
A citizen who avoids holding leaders accountable through lawful pressure, organized advocacy, informed voting, and sustained public engagement should not be surprised when little changes. A society that excuses wrongdoing because “he is our own” weakens its own institutions.
We often describe ourselves as brilliant. And in many ways, we are.
But intelligence without moral courage eventually becomes decoration.
The individuals who stall our progress are not a majority. They are comparatively few. What gives them strength is not just their position, it is our division, our distraction, and sometimes our exhaustion.
And the exhaustion is real. Survival here demands effort every single day. Long-term civic engagement can feel like a luxury when basic needs are uncertain.
Still, meaningful change rarely begins when it is convenient. It begins when citizens decide that remaining silent carries a heavier cost than speaking up responsibly.
Help will not descend from somewhere else.
It begins when we insist on better standards through community organization, civic education, lawful engagement, and the steady refusal to normalize what harms us.
It begins when we stop outsourcing responsibility entirely.
When ethnic identity no longer overrides truth.
When faith is no longer used as a substitute for
accountability.
When loyalty to individuals gives way to loyalty to justice even if that shift feels uncomfortable.
Until then, we will keep circling the same arguments.
We are not helpless.
But we are not fully ready.
Readiness is more than frustration. It demands involvement. It requires attention beyond election season. It calls for the difficult choice to think beyond our immediate circle.
And perhaps the most sobering thought is this:
Maybe our collective discomfort has not yet reached the point where unity feels necessary.
One day it will.
The question is whether we will wait for complete collapse or decide, calmly and within the law, to mature before that point arrives.
Nigeria does not lack potential.
What it may lack, for now, is a people willing to match that potential with disciplined civic resolve.
Chris Curtis.
email: chriscurtiswrites@gmail.com
Facebook link: https://www.facebook.com/share/1bqvGFzDn3/?mibextid=wwXIfr
