Part Of A Broken Generation

Part Of A Broken Generation

Many Nigerian youths have become lazy, not because it is their choice to, but the system has done a great job frustrating our plans and we should take a moment to celebrate our brothers and sisters, who out of the struggles have been able to build something worthy out of nothing and living their dreams.

What exactly is the Nigerian dream?

Quite frankly, I think whatever it is, is dead and buried. Our graveyards got more wealth than the metropolis and many are just walking corpses with a baton heading to make the finish line. What a tragedy!

I remember growing up as a child with well set up goals and dreams and even though I am still full of them, hunger is beginning to define my order of priorities.

Many, unfortunately, believe in the 'NOW'. Do whatever it is to put food on the table, acquire yourself a couple of good outfits, put a roof above your head and maybe a couple of shoes and a watch to match and you just might be living the Nigerian dream. Guess that's what it has become. What a shame!

The lasting solution has become a job, Get one and you're hard-working. What happened to the dreams; planting a seed, watering and cultivating it to grow? Now we just want to harvest like a hoe in a farmers hand, that is never going to guarantee a better future.

A job is like a rat race and the salary, a wage paid to enslave us. But who are we to complain when getting one has suddenly become a miracle. You are advised to grab it before the next man does, that's the madness we wake up to in a city flowing with milk and honey. Please pass me the tissue!

I am a fugitive in my own head, caught between right and wrong. I don't know how much longer I can keep up with the fight. Each day I wake up tempted to do fraud, or maybe get myself a rich fine sugar-mother to foot my bills. All I have to do is use what I have to get what I want, right? NO.

Going against God's will for my life has never been an option. It may seem like a way out but it only leads to hell and I've suffered too much on earth to burn in eternal agony. Heaven, I need a hug.

The land is broken and hungry and desperately in need of a messiah. Should I just pack my bags and leave or maybe get a couple of followers and a godfather to endorse me and make my interest in power known? Well, that could have been an easy way out considering how Nigeria has become a national cake, but how do I overcome my hatred for politics, it has never been my thing. It sucks!

There is just so much going wrong. Our leaders have failed us and we are not left out. We as a people are the biggest failure and I just wonder how heartbroken our Creator is. So much investment made in the black most populated land and yet we borrow to eat. I'm sure God must be wondering where the cashew farms are.

We have missed it and ask for your mercy Lord. We desperately need a way out. I refuse to enrich my grave. There are so much in me dying to come out. All you have to do is open the door. My dreams are still making the headlines in my diaries and Nigeria will be a better place if just one of them is fulfilled. Give me a breakthrough.

I love race cars, houses on the beach, sleek white bikes and trips to the Caribbean but will have to work my butt out with a lot of insurance policy in place to get a shot at coming anywhere close to making it a reality. But here I am, stuck in my thought, fighting to get out.

What a broken land.

Heal our land, oh God.

The country is getting set for another election in a few years and with your grace and divine intervention, we can have the right candidate rocking that sit, and the land can thrive again.

We can't do this anymore. Each day we send out CVs that ends up in the trash. And those that are lucky end up borrowing to transport themselves to work. That is how demoralizing and faulty the system is. It needs to be fixed. We need help.

I am part of a broken generation full of dreams. With the right structure and governance, we can make a difference.

But it starts with us.

You and I.

When my pen bleeds, expressions are kept close to my heart, and as it bleeds the words from deep within through my writings, I discover I have created art. I display a piece of my soul. This is my work, my blood, and it should be an object of pride, no matter how much it is criticized or praised.