The Dreamers Who Prefer to Smile While Standing in the Ashes.

George Omagbemi Sylvester | Published on saharaweeklyng.com

“We pray for change; then we applaud the status quo.”

The tragedy of Nigeria is not a lack of intelligence, talent or even ambition, it is the absence of collective courage. The average Nigerian dreams of the best, prays for transformation, but trembles at the thought of doing what it takes to make that dream real. He is content to “suffering and smiling” as the late Fela Anikulapo Kuti sang, while waiting for salvation from a system he secretly knows is rotten to the core.

We are a nation of dreamers not doers; believers, not builders. We talk revolution at night and queue for handouts in the morning. Everyone laments corruption, but only a few dare to challenge it. We all desire a better Nigeria, yet most Nigerians fear the discomfort that true change demands.

Our national mindset has been conditioned to equate endurance with virtue. We glorify survival instead of progress. Instead of fighting back, we have learned to adapt to hardship (living without light, without security, without hope) and calling it “God’s will.” This attitude has birthed generations of citizens who prefer endurance to resistance.

The late literary icon Chinua Achebe once declared, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” Leadership is not born in isolation; it grows from a people willing to demand accountability. The Nigerian tragedy, therefore, is not just in bad governance but in citizen complacency but the silence of millions who prefer to smile in the ashes rather than rebuild from the ruins.

According to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS), over 133 million Nigerians live in multidimensional poverty; deprived of access to clean water, health care, education or secure income. Yet, the outrage is mild. Instead of mass civic awakening, we see mass migration. The World Bank estimates that more than 1.2 million Nigerian professionals have left the country in the last five years, draining critical sectors such as medicine, engineering and academia.

Dreamers keep leaving; the timid keep surviving.

History offers us instructive contrasts. Some nations reached a breaking point (that sacred threshold where silence was no longer an option) and chose to stand.

South Africa did it in 1994, after decades of apartheid. The courage of Nelson Mandela and countless unnamed revolutionaries changed the course of history. They decided it was “now or never.” For them, freedom was not a prayer point; it was a moral obligation.

Ghana did it in 1957, when Kwame Nkrumah declared independence and rallied his people around self-reliance and dignity. They did not wait for perfect conditions; they created them.

Tunisia did it in 2011, when the self-immolation of Mohamed Bouazizi sparked the Arab Spring, ending decades of dictatorship.

Even Rwanda, ravaged by genocide in 1994, stood up, redefined itself and became one of Africa’s most disciplined societies.

Each of these nations reached a point where fear was no longer an option and they transformed because citizens decided to act.

In contrast, Nigeria (with her unmatched human capital, oil wealth and global influence) still crouches beneath the weight of timidity. We have perfected the art of complaining without confrontation. We hide behind tribalism, religion and pessimism, waiting for messiahs who never come.

Dr. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, current Director-General of the World Trade Organization, once said, “Reform is never easy. Those who benefit from the old ways will always resist change.” But Nigerians themselves, too, often resist reform. Why? Because true reform requires short-term pain and we have grown allergic to discomfort.

We want electricity but reject tariff adjustments. We want good governance but sell our votes for ₦5,000. We want leaders with integrity but glorify looters who share food during elections.

This moral inconsistency keeps us trapped in the cycle of stagnation. Economists call it “rational inertia”, the tendency of societies to prefer familiar misery over unfamiliar hope.

When President Bola Tinubu removed fuel subsidy in 2023, the same Nigerians who once criticized Goodluck Jonathan for “cowardice” in 2012 suddenly called the move “heartless.” Yet, every credible economist (from Bismarck Rewane to Dr. Doyin Salami) agrees that subsidy removal was essential to stabilizing Nigeria’s collapsing fiscal structure. But because we have been trained to seek comfort over correction, we sabotage necessary change even when it is for our collective good.

The Spirit of Revolution (Not in Blood, but in Mind.
The revolution Nigeria needs is not a bloody uprising. It is a revolution of responsibility) where citizens decide that enough is enough. The courage to demand transparency, to reject tribal politics, to participate in governance and to hold public officers accountable.

Countries that rose from chaos did not do so because of divine luck; they did so because ordinary men and women refused to surrender. South Africans defied fear to dismantle apartheid. Tunisians risked their lives to end tyranny. Rwandans rebuilt a shattered nation brick by brick.

When will Nigerians stop outsourcing courage to God? When will we realize that God blesses effort, not excuses?

Data Doesn’t Lie, Nigeria’s youth population (over 70% under the age of 35) is its greatest asset, yet also its greatest untapped potential. UNESCO reports that about 10.5 million Nigerian children remain out of school; the highest in the world. The World Bank ranks Nigeria among the top 10 countries with the worst human capital indices in 2024.

We are a nation sitting on a demographic goldmine, but instead of mining it through education, innovation and governance, we are exporting it through migration.

As Professor Wole Soyinka once noted, “The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.” That silence, today, has become deafening. We have grown comfortable in fear and fluent in endurance.

To fix Nigeria, we must break this culture of passive optimism. Dreaming is not enough, but doing is the true measure of belief. The young must take ownership of their destiny, not just through hashtags and protests but through political participation, innovation and civic involvement.

Run for office. Build cooperatives. Join reform movements. Start small, but start somewhere.

Nigerians abroad (from Johannesburg to London) must redirect part of their remittances to projects that build, not just sustain, families. Communities must take charge of local schools, hospitals and policing. Accountability begins at the grassroots.

Dr. Akinwumi Adesina, President of the African Development Bank, once said, “Africa does not need pity. It needs fair policies and empowered people.” Empowerment begins when the people stop being spectators.

Every generation faces its defining moment (its “now or never.” For South Africa, it was apartheid. For Ghana, it was independence. For Tunisia, it was dictatorship. For Nigeria, it is moral paralysis) the choice between perpetual complaint and collective courage.

If 220 million Nigerians decide, truly decide, that this is the moment to stand, the story will change. We will no longer be the giant of Africa in name only, but in substance, in vision and in courage.

Closing Reflection.
A chronic disease that has spread to every organ can only be cured by radical treatment. Nigeria’s moral and civic illness demands a similar remedy; one rooted in discipline not denial.

If South Africa could defeat apartheid, if Rwanda could rise from genocide, then Nigeria can surely rise from mediocrity. But only when her dreamers stop standing and smiling; and start marching and building.

The choice is ours: to keep narrating dreams or to start living them.