Welcome back to another Thursday, my people. Gather round, pull up a chair, adjust your wig, sip your zobo, and let’s talk like family. Today’s topic is one we all know too well; in fact, whether you invited it or not, Nigeria has introduced you to it personally. Yes, we are talking about insecurity, that unwanted guest that keeps entering the country without a visa, without invitation, and without shame.
Let’s be honest: living in Nigeria sometimes feels like living in a group chat where anything can happen at any time. You can be laughing with your neighbor this minute, and the next minute, you’re hearing, “Did you hear what happened on that road yesterday?” And suddenly everybody goes quiet, adjusts themselves, and begins to pray silently. Because truly, you don’t know what to expect anymore. Nigeria has become that movie where the suspense is too much, and the director did not allow us to read the script before acting the role of “concerned citizen.”
From kidnappings to robberies to banditry, nobody is spared; rich, poor, tall, short, man, woman, even goats and cows are not safe anymore. You hear stories and start wondering if some people are doing extra lessons in wickedness. And the annoying part? Nigerians have now adapted in ways you would think insecurity is a school subject we are preparing for WAEC. The way we observe our surroundings before entering a taxi now, it’s like we’re FBI trainees. Even the way we check the number plate, face of the driver, and interior of the car before entering, you’d think we are doing border control.
There’s a kind of alertness that insecurity has given Nigerians that even caffeine cannot match. You could be walking down the street and someone shouts “HEY!” behind you; before you even ask questions, you’ve jumped three steps forward. It’s not fear, it’s experience. The survival instinct is now an integral part of our character development.
But beneath the humour and our ability to make jokes out of pain (because Nigerians will joke about anything), insecurity has become a daily reality affecting everyone. It affects businesses because people are scared to travel. It affects food prices because farmers are not safe on farmlands. It affects education because some students can’t even confidently go to school. It affects mental health because fear has turned into a quiet roommate living in many minds.
And then there is the way Nigerians now share safety tips like broadcast messages. “Don’t pass that road by 7pm o.” “Avoid this route for now.” “If you see a roadblock that is not looking like police, turn back immediately.” “If the driver is acting somehow, tell him your stomach is paining you so he can stop you.” You see, we have turned safety strategies into daily lifestyle.
But insecurity is not just about fear; it also shapes how we behave. We’ve become more united in some ways; Nigerians look out for each other more than ever. When someone enters a bus and announces, “Please help me note my location,” everybody nods like a committee member. And if anything looks suspicious, Nigerians will whisper to each other like secret agents until someone boldly says, “Driver, stop o! Something is not right.”
Despite everything, Nigerians are resilient. That spirit is unmatched. We find ways to laugh through pain, to push through fear, to keep hoping that tomorrow will be better. And that’s the funny thing about us: even in insecurity, we still find joy. We still hustle. We still pray. We still dream. Because we believe that one day, this country will get it right, or at least behave small.
Insecurity may be trending, but so is our strength. So is our courage. So is our ability to adapt, survive, and still be soft-hearted people who help strangers on the road. Deep down, we want peace. We want to live normally. We want to drive at night without sending our location to ten different people. We want to travel interstate without checking news for road updates. We want a country where parents don’t sleep with one eye open.
And truly, it’s not too much to ask. Safety is not a luxury; it’s a right. Every Nigerian deserves to feel secure, whether in Lagos, Abuja, Kano, Kaduna, Kwara, Jos, Benin, Osun, or anywhere else. And while we pray, complain, and hope, we also keep pushing, reporting, protecting, observing, and staying prepared, because your instinct in this country must be sharper than a tailor’s needle.
As you go about your day, remember to stay aware, stay smart, and stay connected. Check on your people. Update someone when you move. Trust your gut. And most importantly, don’t let fear swallow your joy. Nigeria is tough, but so are you.
Another Thursday, another truth.
See you next week, my people — same time, same gist, same chronicles.
