A Land Flowing With Rot - by Inioluwa Adeyeye

A land flowing with milk and honey. But the milk is stale and the honey is putrid. They promised us sweetness, but gave us spoiled dreams and fermented hope. The giant of Africa is now a midgetshrinking under the weight of corruption, knees buckling beneath decades of misrule. A nation once loud with pride now whispers in shame. Green white green, green red greenoh sorry, GREEN BLOOD GREENBecause what else do you call a country where bloodshed is a weekly announcement, and funerals now feel like national holidays? We bleed at the borders, bleed at the checkpoints, bleed in the hospitals, bleed in silence. Our anthem should start with: *“Arise, O compatriots… and survive if you can.”* The rich complaining. The poor in anguish. A system meant to protect us now feeds on us. Hunger, starvation :normal. Suffering,normal. Poverty,default setting. Hardship,national identity. Yet the leaders stand on podiums with bellies round from taxes, telling us to “endure,” as if endurance can fill the stomach or silence the cries of a child who hasn’t eaten in two days. A land flowing with milk and honeybut whose? For whose table? Because the milk never reaches the poor, and the honey is locked away in the pockets of men who have never tasted hunger, men who use our futures as bargaining chips, men who govern like gods and fail like mortals. They tell us the youth are the leaders of tomorrowbut tomorrow died twenty years ago. It was buried under manifestos and resurrected only during elections. Every four years, politicians remember our names and forget them again as soon as we vote. The streets are filled with graduates who speak the language of survival, not passion. Doctors becoming drivers. Engineers becoming hawkers. Students becoming shadows of themselves, walking through life with passports instead of dreams. A land flowing with milk and honeybut our borders have become escape routes. People flee not because they want luxury, but because staying feels like suicide in slow motion. The giant of Africa is now a midget, but they still ask us to stand tall. Tall in hunger, tall in insecurity, tall in fear. Tall in a country where standing tall makes you a target. Green white greena flag of peace, but peace left this place a long, long time ago. Green red greenthe real colors of our reality. Green blood greenthe anthem of mothers who send their children to school and pray they don’t return in body bags. The hymn of fathers who work themselves into exhaustion only to feed their families crumbs. And despite everythingdespite the rot, despite the pain, despite the betrayalwe still wake up. We still hope. We still endure. Because in the middle of this chaos, the Nigerian spirit is stubborn, wild, unkillable. Yes, the milk is stale and the honey is putridbut we are still here, fighting for a country that has not learned to fight for us. One day, maybe, the giant will stand again. But for nowwe live in a land flowing with milk and honey, where the milk is sour, the honey is rotten, and the people are starving.

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