ABIODUN OLUWADARE meditates on Nigeria’s present moments
There are epochs in a nation’s life when the weight of reality grows so immense that the present appears almost mythical, larger than life, heavier than time, and louder than the voices of those who must endure it. Nigeria stands in such an epoch today. To think about Nigeria is to wrestle with a paradox: abundance in potential yet scarcity in fulfilment, unity in theory yet fragmentation in experience, promise in speeches yet hardship in streets and markets.
But philosophy invites us to look beyond the headlines, beyond the clamour of competing narratives, and to interrogate the spirit of the age. What, truly, is the meaning of this moment? What does hardship reveal about the character of a nation? And what truth about ourselves might this turbulence be trying to teach?
Nigeria, today, is a traveller passing through fire yet refusing to surrender the flame of hope. That, in itself, is profound.
Modern Nigeria is a nation being tested, economically, politically, socially, and spiritually. The struggles are not abstract. They manifest in the rising cost of food, in the shrinking middle class, and in the palpable insecurity that intrudes into communities and reshapes daily life.
But to understand this moment, we must resist the temptation to treat these challenges as isolated crises. They are not. They are interconnected, mutually reinforcing, and deeply historical. The economic turmoil feeds frustration; insecurity erodes trust; political tension magnifies social anxieties. It is a web, not a chain.
Yet even within this turbulence, the heart of Nigeria continues to beat with astonishing resilience. Markets open. Schools operate. Art is created. Elections are contested. Families laugh. Churches pray. Mosques chant. Life moves on, not because it is easy, but because Nigerians refuse to surrender their right to tomorrow. This refusal is the deepest philosophy of all.
Indeed, one of philosophy’s oldest insights is that a society collapses not when it runs out of wealth, but when it runs out of meaning. Nigeria’s most profound crisis is therefore not monetary; it is moral and existential.
“It is the widening distance between public office and public service.
It is the erosion of trust between citizen and institution.
It is the fatigue of a people who have given far more to their country than their country has returned.
This is the crisis beneath the crises.
And it is this crisis that demands reflection”.
A nation cannot be secure if its people are afraid, not only of criminals, but of inflation, neglect, and the unpredictable whims of governance. And a nation cannot prosper if its citizens lose faith in the possibility of justice.
Thus, the present darkness is not merely an economic night; it is a philosophical night. The questions confronting Nigeria today are questions of meaning, responsibility, leadership, citizenship, and destiny.
History is a merciless but honest teacher. Societies do not leap from disorder to harmony; they journey through storms. Greece rose from ruins. The United States survived the Civil War. Rwanda turned tragedy into transformation. South Korea emerged from ashes into innovation.
Nigeria’s storm, while painful, may yet be formative. For every nation blessed with destiny must first wrestle with adversity. The philosopher Hegel argued that progress often hides itself within contradiction; a society becomes what it ought to be only after confronting what it should never have become. This moment is Nigeria’s confrontation with itself.
The discomfort we feel today is not proof of failure. It is evidence of awakening. Citizens are asking sharper questions. Civic consciousness is rising. Youth activism is deeper. Debates are richer. Even the loudness of criticism is a sign of engagement, not defeat. Nations are not transformed by silence but by agitation of the spirit.
Despite everything, something remarkable endures in the Nigerian psyche, a stubborn refusal to die. Hope in Nigeria does not wear a suit; it wears dust. It is not polite; it is persistent. It is the market woman who prays over garri. It is the teacher who shows up without pay. It is the student who studies by candlelight. It is the farmer who plants in fear but plants nonetheless.
“Everywhere one looks, the Nigerian spirit resists despair.
There is a quiet philosophy embedded in this resilience: Life insists on itself, even when circumstances conspire against it”.
That resilience, raw, unadorned, unyielding, is the fire Nigeria must harness, not extinguish. For nations are not built by perfect conditions; they are built by imperfect people who refuse to surrender to their imperfections.
If these times are to become a turning point rather than a tombstone, leadership, both political and civic, must embrace responsibility with a new seriousness.
Government must govern with empathy, not aloofness.
Policies must be grounded in justice, not technocracy.
Institutions must treat citizens not as subjects, but as partners.
And citizens must demand more, not through violence, but through voice, vigilance, and virtue.
The Nigeria we dream of will not come from a single leader or a single administration; it will come from a collective shift in values. From the strengthening of institutions. From the courage to discipline ourselves even as we discipline our leaders.
Above all, it will come from a rediscovery of the idea of the common good, a moral space where tribe, religion, party, and class do not overshadow nationhood.
The storms of the present do not erase the promise of the future. Nigeria is not a failed nation; it is a struggling one. She is not dying; she is in labour. The pain we feel is real, but so is the possibility embedded within it.
If philosophy allows us one sentence to inscribe on the marble of history, let it be this:
“A nation does not fall because it stumbles; it falls only when it refuses to rise again.”
Nigeria has stumbled many times, but she has never refused to rise.
And as long as her people continue to rise each morning with courage in their hearts and faith in their hands, Nigeria will continue to rise with them.
Her story is not finished.
Her strength is not spent.
Her destiny is not lost.
Her tomorrow is still possible.
Oluwadare is a
Professor of Political Science,
Nigerian Defence Academy,
Kaduna
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