HOW DID WE GET HERE? A SATIRICAL REFLECTION ON A NATION THAT ONCE TRUSTED STONES

By  Oluwaseyi Elizabeth Jimoh

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‎How did we get here?

‎It is a simple question, yet one that grows heavier each time another headline announces a kidnapping, another school closes its gates, or another family sells its possessions to pay a ransom.

‎How did we get here?

‎As a child, I read stories in my Macmillan textbooks about a society built on trust. Traders displayed their goods by the roadside and left stones beside them to indicate the price.

They would leave for their farms or attend to other business, confident that upon their return, both the goods and the corresponding payment would remain untouched.

‎No armed guards.

‎No surveillance cameras.

‎No security checkpoints.

‎Just trust.

‎The stone represented value. The human being represented dignity. Today, it seems the equation has been reversed.

‎The “stones” have disappeared. Humans have become the stones. What was once a simple system of exchange has evolved into a horrifying marketplace where human lives are assigned prices and displayed before the public.

Men, women, and children are no longer merely citizens; they are bargaining chips in a cruel economy of fear.

‎How did we move from trusting strangers with our goods to negotiating for the release of our own people?

‎How did we get here?

‎We proudly call ourselves the Giant of Africa. Yet a giant that spends its days fighting itself eventually forgets its own strength.

‎A giant should inspire confidence.

‎A giant should provide security.

‎A giant should protect its children.

‎Instead, we find ourselves trapped in endless debates while insecurity expands its territory like an unchecked empire.

‎The irony is painful.

‎A nation rich in resources now struggles to secure its people.

‎A people known for resilience now live under the shadow of uncertainty.

‎Communities that once celebrated harvests now organize fundraisers to rescue abducted relatives.

‎Families no longer gather merely for weddings and naming ceremonies; they gather to raise ransom payments.

‎How did we get here?

‎Perhaps part of the answer lies in what we abandoned.

‎In our race toward modernization, we discarded many of the values that once held our communities together. We embraced certificates but neglected character.

We pursued credentials while forgetting craftsmanship. We celebrated advancement while neglecting responsibility.

‎The result?

‎Millions search desperately for opportunities that seem increasingly scarce.

Frustration grows.

Hope shrinks.

Desperation expands.

‎And where desperation thrives, crime often finds fertile ground.

This is not an argument against education. Far from it.

‎Education remains one of humanity’s greatest tools.

‎But education without values produces clever minds without conscience.

‎Technology without character creates sophisticated avenues for destruction.

‎Artificial intelligence may make information accessible, but it cannot replace wisdom.

‎A smartphone can connect the world, yet fail to connect a child to moral instruction.

‎The challenge before us is not merely technological or economic.

‎It is cultural.

‎It is moral.

‎It is spiritual.

‎How did we get here?‎

‎Look around.

‎Schools close because of insecurity.

‎Parents worry not only about school fees but about whether their children will return safely from school.

‎Teachers struggle to teach while fear competes for attention in the classroom.

‎Entire communities live as though they are guests in their own homeland.

‎This is not the future envisioned by those who dreamed of a prosperous Nigeria.

‎Yet all may not be lost.

‎Perhaps the answer is hidden in plain sight.

‎Perhaps it has always been there.

‎Perhaps it is found in the values represented at the center of our national identity—the principles that remind us that nationhood is not merely about geography but about shared responsibility.

‎The solution may not come solely from government policies, military operations, or technological innovations.

‎It may begin with rebuilding trust.

‎With restoring values.

‎With reviving community.

‎With teaching our children that human life possesses greater worth than any ransom.

‎With reminding ourselves that progress without principles is merely a faster route to decline.

‎How did we get here?

‎The more important question may be:

‎How do we get back?

‎Back to a society where stones represented value and human beings represented dignity.

‎Back to a nation where communities protected one another.

‎Back to a country where children could dream without fear.

‎Back to a Nigeria that lived up to its title as the Giant of Africa.

‎Until we answer that question, we may continue asking, generation after generation:

‎How did we get here?

‎Perhaps the solution is not far-fetched after all.

‎While many may debate the causes of Nigeria’s insecurity, researchers have also examined the matter from an academic perspective.

According to Duru Ngozi et al on “Insecurity in Nigeria: Causes and Solution”  published in the Madonna Journal of English & Literary Studies (MAJELS), the major causes of insecurity in Nigeria include unemployment and poverty, elite exploitation of ethnic and religious differences, corruption, weak security apparatus, porous borders, marginalization, inequality, bad governance, and poor leadership.

‎The study further recommends that government should take the business of governance seriously by addressing injustice, victimization, and marginalization while creating a safe and enabling environment for investment, industrialization, and sustainable development capable of improving the livelihoods of citizens.

Perhaps this is where my question, “How did we get here?” meets a possible answer.

‎If unemployment, poverty, corruption, inequality, and poor leadership helped bring us here, then justice, responsible governance, productive engagement, and sustainable development may help lead us back.

‎Perhaps before we search endlessly for complicated answers, we should first revisit the simple truths we abandoned along the way.

‎Perhaps the missing link is not hidden after all.

‎Perhaps it has been staring at us from the center of our flag all along.