A lady from Lesotho, who was visiting Ibadan for a conference, once said she had never seen people so stylish anywhere else in the world. A Ghanaian living in Cape Town called Nigeria the only truly authentic African nation where black people walk tall, confident, and unafraid. He admired how Nigerian food is served proudly in every hotel, from roadside bukas to five-star restaurants. Even an African American researcher was so captivated by the beauty of Nigerian women that he kept bumping into things, distracted by the view. Also, a French colleague once told me he could not explain why he kept returning to Nigeria, despite the challenges and risks. And then there are the other expatriates, many of whom, after living here for a few years, dread being posted elsewhere.
Nigeria, for all its flaws, has a magnetic pull. Why? Because Nigeria is real. It is full of life. It is one of the last places on earth where people live with authenticity and energy. Nigerians do not pretend. We celebrate, we hustle, we shine. Our weekends are filled with parties, fashion, laughter, and joy. We are resilient, hopeful, and fiercely proud.
We are also free in ways many nations are not. You do not need permission to start a business. You can buy land, build your home, room-by-room, and grow your future. Our informal sector thrives not because of government support, but because of its absence. That is why we survive. That is why we thrive. Nigeria is, in many ways, the true definition of a free world.
As we mark Independence Day, I could easily have written a lament. The economy is tough. Corruption is real. Insecurity persists. But I choose hope. Because life is about choices, and success is about recognising opportunities and acting on them. Opportunities are not handed to us; they are created by vision and action. To seize them, we must first dare to dream. We should not forget how to dream. We cannot forget hope.
Yes, our leaders have failed us. But they are not our destiny. We are not helpless. We tie our own hands when we make choices based on fear, false promises, or blind loyalty. It is not God’s mistake that we are Nigerians. There are no bad countries – only bad choices. We are the reason for our troubles, not our land, not our stars.
Corruption thrives because we have allowed it to thrive. We have given up and given in. We send our children abroad instead of fixing our schools. We stash our wealth in foreign banks rather than invest at home. We speak as if tomorrow will never come, looting as if the nation is not our common inheritance. Leaders are not spirits; they are part of us, and they reflect the values of the people they govern. To cure corruption, we must look inward. It is not only the leaders who must change – the people must also reclaim their integrity.
It is easy to forget that Nigeria still has beauty, still has laughter, still has resilience. Every day, people build businesses from scratch, feed families against all odds, and support each other in times of need. These stories rarely make headlines, yet they are the foundation of our survival. If an ordinary company can bring together Nigerians of different ethnicities to work and succeed, why can’t Nigeria itself do the same?
We must also resist the despair that drives us to abandon our homeland. Too many young Nigerians dream only of leaving. But who, then, will build Nigeria? No foreigner will fix it for us. A nation is not built by escape but by commitment. Our responsibility is to plant here, to water here, to harvest here. Every time we give up on Nigeria, we prolong the cycle of failure. Every time we choose shortcuts, we forfeit the opportunity to build lasting institutions.
Nations do not rise because of policies alone. They rise because of people. Great minds build great nations. Small minds destroy them. To change Nigeria, we must first change our mindset. We must dream again. Let our celebrations be filled with hope, not hypocrisy. Let our anthem be a song of vision, not an empty ritual.
I dream of a Nigeria where youth have boundless opportunities; where our children return to rebuild; where honour reigns; where the world begs to come here; where visas are no longer needed because every nation wants us. I dream of a Nigeria that learns to look inward – valuing its culture, talents, and resources, rather than exporting its best and importing its worst.
The truth is that nations are built by ordinary citizens who refuse to surrender. We must believe again, not because things are easy, but because they are worth fighting for. Nigeria’s future is not guaranteed, but neither is it lost. It depends on whether we, as a people, choose despair or choose courage, surrender or struggle, selfishness or solidarity. I still believe. I still hope. I still dream.
