Most letters start with some sort of felicitation, but there is no need for one here. I already know how you are doing. You are not fine. I have spent a good amount of time thinking of the best way to write this letter, but I can’t sugarcoat the situation anymore: We are in trouble.
Our healthcare system is in shambles, education is terrible, infrastructure is practically non-existent, and our economy is a joke. Nigeria has the largest number of people living in poverty, with almost 50% of the population living on less than $1 a day. Our maternal and infant mortality rates (indicators of a country’s healthcare system) is tragically high. Many university students are out of school due to ASUU strikes. Fuel, food and other essential services are at an all-time high. Insecurity, high level of unemployment, lack of payment of salaries, closed borders, police brutality,… and the list goes on and on. Everyone is looking for the next ticket out of the country. We are in deep sh*t.
But you know what’s funny Nigeria? Your children in the abroad are going sooo hard for you right now. Many of them are sad that they can’t come back for the Christmas holiday. Others are doing threads celebrating their proud Nigerian heritage. They are proud of you but only because they don’t get to experience you up close. Is that what you want? To remain in a long distance relationship with your kids? The best way to enjoy you is from the loving arms of another parent. What sort of relationship is that? We are only proud of you when we can associate with you in the most minimal way possible.
Anyways, I’ve said enough. It’s clear that this is no love letter. Its really hard to love you right now when all you cause us is pain. I just want an Independence day where I can celebrate you with the gusto that those without a green passport do. I want to love you the way Diasporans do, but this time from within your arms. Is that too much to ask?
A very pissed off daughter.
Its really hard to love you right now when all you cause us is pain. I just want an Independence day where I can celebrate you with the gusto that those without a green passport do.
It also allows me to take stock of what I have, and to use up items that would go bad soon…By planning this way, I can adequately space out how often I am cooking that week.
As you can see, we Igbo women love to compliment our men with references to their ability. We look at their physique, their pocket, and their strength.