I would lie on my bed, repeating “joy is coming” ten times, yet I’d sight no joy. Instead, I’d only smell rotting flesh, unwashed hair, and sense the disarray of my room.
As Nigerians, we often place too much faith in the silver lining, in the promise of a light at the end of the tunnel. A Nigerian and a foreigner can walk the same dark path, but while the Nigerian waits patiently for that distant glow, the foreigner is often already kindling their own flame.
Don’t misunderstand me: we are incredibly smart people. Very. However, sometimes that intelligence tends to lean sideways, manifested as a peculiar form of imposter syndrome. “It can never be me or my family,” we often tell ourselves. “I am better; my fate will be different.” This is us.
I’m not saying joy isn’t coming. But sometimes, joy simply needs you to take the first step so she can see you.
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