By Oladoja M.O
There is a sickness far graver than malaria, deeper than cancer, and deadlier than an undiagnosed pandemic: it is the sickness of perception. A tragic, self-inflicted malaise where men and women, intoxicated by their bitterness, misread the vital signs of a nation and call it death.
Nigeria, that African giant, that phoenix that has refused to be buried by dust or drowned by storms, stands misdiagnosed not by its enemies, but by its sons and daughters. They call for good governance, a sacred right, yet in the same breath, they auction the dignity of their fatherland for applause from foreign balconies. Climbing the stages of international conferences not as ambassadors of hope, but as broadcasters of decay, believing that to light their ambitions, the whole house must first be burned.
Yes, there are wounds, visible scars of leadership missteps and bureaucratic fatigue. Yes, the body occasionally limps, gasping for cleaner governance, for a fresher breath of accountability. But to declare her terminally ill? To parade her on global platforms like a festering corpse before she has even sneezed her last? This is malpractice of the highest order.
And yet, even as they wail, Nigeria births victories so luminous they should blind the eyes of every doubter.
In 2024, while cynics sharpened their tongues, Nigeria quietly pulled off the Dangote Refinery miracle. The largest single-train refinery in human history roared into operation. Built on African soil, by African hands, it shattered the historic curse of crude export dependency. Now, Nigeria refines for itself, and soon, for much of Africa. That is not a dying breath. That is the heartbeat of an empire in rebirth.
Even as global markets shook and economies shrank, Nigeria executed one of the most daring economic surgeries in modern African history: unifying its foreign exchange market in 2023, consolidating multiple exchange rates into a single one. The International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and even the Wall Street Journal stood still in reluctant applause. The Nigerian naira, which was once battered by artificial valuations, finally had its freedom to fight fair. It stumbled at first, as all warriors do. However, today, stabilisation is becoming a new reality, not a distant hope.
In health, the same nation that armchair critics mock has scored historic breakthroughs. Under the leadership of Professor Muhammad Ali Pate, Nigeria has launched one of the world’s first national rollouts of the Oxford R21 malaria vaccine, a game-changing move in a country that accounts for the highest malaria deaths globally.
Again, Nigeria has turned pain into policy. The federal government, under this administration, declared a Health Sector Renewal Compact in late 2023 (PVAC), marshalling partnerships with global giants like the World Bank and Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, channelling billions into revamping healthcare delivery, local vaccine production, and training health workers at an unprecedented scale. No more is health an afterthought; it is now a frontline battle Nigeria is visibly winning. While others talk, Nigeria saves lives. While others point fingers, Nigeria vaccinates its future.
Infrastructure? While “first-world” cities debate electric railways, Nigeria’s megacity, Lagos, launched its Blue Line Rail in late 2023, the country’s first electric-powered intra-city rail system. A steel artery now pulsing through a once-choked metropolis, easing congestion, breathing new possibilities. In Kano, Rivers, Abuja, and Ebonyi States, massive roads, bridges, airports, and industrial parks rose from the dust — monuments to silent nation-building.
Policy? Courageous policies thundered through governance corridors: the subsidy removal in 2023, ending decades-old economic black hole that bled over $10 billion annually. In its place: strategic investments in health insurance for the vulnerable, transport subsidies for the poorest, and agricultural revolution initiatives. The world’s harshest critics acknowledged it, but the nation’s sons spat on it, too drunk on their self-righteous venom.
In education? Nigeria has ripped the old rulebook. In 2023, the Student Loan Act was signed into law—an audacious leap toward democratising education. For the first time, children of farmers, traders, and artisans now have a gateway into universities, polytechnics, and colleges of education without fear of crushing tuition fees.
As of 2024, the first batch of beneficiaries has received their loans under the Nigerian Education Loan Fund (NELFUND), breathing hope into homes where education once felt like a broken dream. Now, a total of 525,936 students have registered on the loan platform, with 445,015 applicants successfully applying for financial assistance, representing an 84% success rate for student loan applications under the scheme.
Meanwhile, the accreditation of degrees has also been digitised, with Nigeria becoming the first in Africa to automate this critical gatekeeping process fully. New private universities have sprouted like fresh shoots, expanding access and excellence, whilst Nigerian universities are climbing global ranks.
They call for “change” yet campaign on the ruins of hope itself. They drape themselves in victimhood, seeking pity instead of respect. The so-called “obedient” torch-bearers, the tribe of Peter Obi, shout of patriotism while waltzing through global forums, slandering their homeland, reducing Nigeria, a giant stirring from slumber to the caricature of a failed state, just to score a few cheap political points.
Calling out leadership is democracy; Denigrating your nation is betrayal.
One builds; the other burns.
Nigeria does not need saviours who love her only when she shines. She needs sons and daughters who hold the line when the storms rage, who sing her greatness even when she falters, who plant seeds of hope, not thorns of despair, into her soil.
To those who mistake criticism for patriotism, remember:
The world does not respect nations that cannot respect themselves.
Call out your leaders.
Demand reform.
March for justice.
But never sell your mother for the price of your pride.
Because when the dust of time settles, and history opens her immortal ledger, it will not be your complaints she remembers, it will be your loyalty.
Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached via mayokunmark@gmail.com.
