Forgetting the years of caterpillars in Nigeria’s political history

As people gather across the world to celebrate the first bright moments of a new year, hope rises with the fireworks. Yet for many, the calendar turns without relief. For them, the new year feels less like a beginning and more like the continuation of defeat—another chapter in a long story of promises deferred and dreams denied. Reflection, though painful, remains a necessary guidepost for progress. When the noise of revelry subsides and the streets return to silence, nations, like individuals, are left alone with their conscience.

Science reminds us that only a small fraction of life’s events imprint themselves deeply on memory. Yet those who do are often marked by pain. They linger. They resist forgetting. True progress demands that we learn to leave the past in the past, not by denial, but by honest reckoning. In Nigeria, this task is made harder by a political culture that repeatedly reopens old wounds. The recycling of divisive narratives by political elites and regional power brokers does not heal the nation; it fractures it further. In seeking to preserve power, many sabotage the future—shooting themselves in the foot while claiming to lead others forward.

Despite remarkable advances in science, medicine, and technology, humanity still struggles to attain true peace and joy. The problem is not a lack of capacity but a crisis of priorities. In Nigeria, prosperity surrounds us in theory—abundant land, rich culture, energetic youth, and vast resources—yet agony persists in practice. The paradox is striking: wealth without wellbeing, promise without fulfilment. During election seasons, slogans bloom like fireworks—bright, loud, and fleeting. Once in office, too many leaders forget the people who entrusted them with power. Catchy phrases replace concrete policies; theatrics substitute for service. Governance becomes performance, not stewardship.

Nigeria’s political history carries scars—years likened to the ravages of palmerworms and caterpillars—times stained by the blood of the innocent. Tragically, the bleeding has not fully stopped. Violence today is not only the work of faceless criminals in forests; it is sustained by shadowy networks of influence—kingmakers and destiny destroyers—who profit from instability. These forces cheapen human life, undermine justice, and place the nation on strange altars where the fate of ordinary citizens is negotiated without consent. A country in such ruins inevitably attracts the mockery of neighbours—not out of cruelty, but as a consequence of squandered leadership and unfulfilled potential.

What makes this tragedy more painful is that Nigeria is not lacking in gifts. The experiences, resources, talents, and creativity embedded in its people are extraordinary. Yet these gifts rarely serve the common good. Instead, they are often privatised, weaponised, or wasted. The result is a nation gripped by fear: fear of economic collapse, fear of illness, fear of insecurity, fear of being alone, and fear of tomorrow itself. When fear becomes the dominant currency of public life, society begins to shrink inward. Courage gives way to survival. Vision is replaced by anxiety.

At the heart of this crisis lies an uncomfortable truth: a people who do not love themselves cannot build a nation that protects them. Self-contempt, expressed through corruption, apathy, and mutual suspicion, has eroded our collective capacity to dream together. Change will not come solely from new leaders or new laws. It will come when Nigerians renew their mindset, embrace opportunity with discipline, and align action with purpose. The past, its failures and its pains, does not define us, but it must instruct us. Lessons unlearned become obstacles repeated.

There is, however, room for hope. History teaches that dawn follows even the longest night. The sun shall rise again—not only over Nigeria, but across Africa—brighter and more resolute than before. As it rises, shadows will shrink. The shadows of fear, of selfishness, of short-term thinking will decrease. And when the sun stands overhead, when integrity, love of country, and shared responsibility take their rightful place, those shadows will disappear altogether. What remains will be a continent finally learning to walk in its own light.

Obiotika Wilfred is a Nigerian writer, poet, and essayist whose works explore faith, social justice, leadership, and the human condition. He writes with moral depth and cultural insight, blending reflective prose with prophetic clarity to interrogate contemporary African realities.

Join BusinessDay whatsapp Channel, to stay up to date