Nigeria on My Heart – A Call to Hope

Do you ever wonder why some Nigerians release their grip on their ancestral plots, gather their treasures, and journey to distant shores? It’s the scarcity of hope that propels this diaspora, you see. Can we hold them accountable for such a decision? Honestly, I don’t believe we can. Who, amid the nation’s expanse, carries the mantle of sustaining hope? Is it the government? The religious sanctuaries? The schools? Who, precisely, guards the flame of hope for the land? Who paints a mural of brighter tomorrows, assuring the heart of every Nigerian that all will be well? If this riddle perplexes you, then perhaps, I ask, who performs this task for you? Who strengthens your wavering faith? Who bolsters the hope that in Nigeria, your dreams can yet flourish?

In truth, the soul cannot endure without hope. As we require sustenance—food, water, a sheltering roof—to persevere, so do we need hope, a psychological and emotional anchor. It’s intrinsic to our human voyage, an essential strand woven into our very existence. Without hope, we falter; hope becomes our resolute fortress. Amid uncertainties, hope assumes its role as our refuge. It furnishes a vista of optimism, a beacon that whispers: “Better days are within reach.” With hope as our lodestar, we navigate the tempests of stress and anxiety. Without hope, our courage falters, and action remains elusive. Hope ignites action—when belief in change persists, we’re emboldened to strive for better days, not just for ourselves, but for all.

For me, the wellspring of hope springs from Jesus Christ. He isn’t solely the hope for Nigeria; He’s my hope for existence, regardless of my geographical abode. He serves as my anchor, a steadfast assurance that all will be well, irrespective of location. He instructs me to sow my life’s essence into this soil, to bloom where I’m planted. And should He one day guide me to depart, then and only then shall I move. Some root their hope in visible signs and perceivable possibilities. But I’ve relinquished such calculations, trading them for an unwavering trust.

Yet, Nigeria thirsts for relatable hope, a lifeline its citizens can clutch. We, who remain tethered to this land by purpose, must offer that lifeline. My youth saw many voices—faith, melody, and culture—infusing hope into Nigeria’s veins, sustaining our collective spirit. Remember Pastor Tunde Bakare, returning from distant shores with a divine anchor to prophesy revival? Recall the impassioned pleas of Rev. Sam Adeyemi, the visionary aspirations of Fela Durotoye, and the inception of the New Naija Club, pioneered by one as humbly named as I. These were more than fleeting endeavors; they were fountains of hope for multitudes.

Yet, today, the chorus of hope sounds muted, faint. Numerous fellow citizens, who might not discern the divine or hear its guidance, are packing their dreams into suitcases of hope, departing, and too often encountering disillusionment. Even as Jesus remains our anchoring refuge, we shoulder the responsibility of kindling hope’s flame for others. An environment void of hopeful words is a desolate realm. Spoken words have the power to mold new realities, for, by words kingdoms ascend or crumble, communities prosper or perish, uncharted realms take form, and battles are fought and foes are subdued. We need voices that weave a tapestry of hope for Nigeria. Anchored souls must become anchors for those adrift.

In the end, people naturally gravitate toward lands that promise hope for their future. But for the masses whose options are limited, those whose true desires aren’t easily actualized, we are called to safeguard hope here, within Nigeria’s borders. There is much to be done, undoubtedly, but it all commences with one resolute step: Become a beacon of hope.