Nigeria:The black sheep. - by Abisola Oladimeji

Title: Nigeria: The Black Sheep of a World That Once Had Hope By a Heartbroken Witness There is a particular kind of pain that comes from watching greatness stumble—repeatedly, publicly, and avoidably. That is the pain many Nigerians feel when they look at their country. A nation bursting with brilliance, blessed with natural wealth, drenched in culture, but often portrayed as the black sheep of the world. And perhaps, in some agonizing ways, that label fits. Not because Nigeria is inherently broken, but because it continually betrays the very potential that once made it a symbol of African hope. A Nation That Should Have Led When Nigeria gained independence in 1960, the world watched with admiration. Here was a country with oil, agriculture, intellectual capital, and a diverse, dynamic population. It could have led Africa into a new era of dignity and development. Instead, over sixty years later, Nigeria limps. Roads crumble. Power flickers. Schools are abandoned. Hospitals underfunded. Insecurity festers. Dreams die quietly in traffic jams, in visa queues, in the desperate scrawl of “Japa” plans. How did we get here? The Rot Within Corruption is not an abstract sin in Nigeria. It is tactile. It eats away at every system. A child dies because a doctor wasn’t paid. A road collapses because the contractor cut corners. A graduate roams the streets because jobs are reserved for those who “know someone.” Billions disappear while citizens ration fuel in an oil-rich nation. And the world watches. Disappointed. Exhausted. Confused. To many outsiders, Nigeria is chaos personified: home to internet scams, electoral violence, and unchecked government excess. But they do not see the heartbreak of its people—how it feels to love a country that doesn’t love you back. The Stigma and the Silence Mention you're Nigerian, and you brace for the raised eyebrow, the polite smile masking suspicion. The Nigerian passport opens fewer doors. The Nigerian accent is often second-guessed. The world has quietly written Nigeria off as “that troubled African giant.” But Nigerians are not their leaders. Nigerians are fighting—every day—to build, to create, to escape. Our music dominates global charts. Our tech entrepreneurs are reshaping digital Africa. Our writers are world-class. Our resilience is legendary. Yet it is not enough. A Cry for Something More This article is not a condemnation—it’s a cry. A cry from those who still believe. Who still hope. Who still vote, despite the rigging. Who still stay, despite the exits. Who still teach, despite unpaid salaries. Nigeria is not beyond saving. But it is tired. Wounded. Bleeding brilliance. We do not wear the label “black sheep” with pride. We wear it like a scar—a reminder of what we were meant to be, and what we might still become, if we dare to confront the truth. Nigeria must stop blaming colonialism, the West, or bad luck. It must look in the mirror. Our healing won’t come from outside. It will come from within—from the youth who refuse to give up, from a civil society that insists on change, from a people who love their country enough to fight for it. Until then, the world may still see Nigeria as the black sheep. But maybe—just maybe—we can prove them wrong.

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