When Home Stopped Feeling Safe: A Nigerian’s Heartbreak
Yesterday it happened in Kwara - a pastor kidnapped, and two members in the church shot dead. When does it end?
I grew up in a country where childhood felt like magic.
Where we played outside in the sand till 10pm, barefoot and free.
Where road trips were laughter, Christmas was a festival, neighbours were family, and travelling across states felt like a small adventure written just for us. Nightlife was safe, the streets were alive, and home felt like home.
Then… things changed. Slowly at first. Then all at once.
Chibok girls happened. A generation’s innocence shattered.
EndSARS happened. And we watched young voices… hopeful voices… silenced for demanding dignity.
Nightlife died. Funeral silence took over streets that once held joy.
Deborah was lynched for her belief. A reminder of how fragile life had become.
Travelling by road became a fear you swallow like poison. Kidnapping became a headline we prayed never reached our own doorstep. But it did. A neighbour today, a friend’s child tomorrow… until danger stopped feeling far away.
People grew cold. Phones replaced humanity. We watched videos of people dying with the same numbness we scroll social media. And then one Sunday… My family returned from church and heard of the Owo massacre. I froze. Because it could have been me. It could have been any of us. It should not be normal to imagine death after worship.
The list of heartbreaks is endless.
The government? Often complicit, always distant.
And beyond the bloodshed? there’s the impunity, the joblessness, the epileptic power supply, the decaying hospitals, the crumbling schools, the rot in every corridor where citizens should feel safe.
But Nigerians aren’t asking for gold or silver. We’re not asking for luxury or miracles.
For a nation blessed with some of the most brilliant, hardworking, resilient people on earth… we’re simply asking for basics.
For dignity.
For stability.
But above all… for security. To just live without fear.
I am Nigerian. And I love the Nigeria I knew as a child…
the Nigeria that held us gently. What we have now feels like a nightmare we did not choose.
And it breaks my heart beyond words…
