Hope Against Hope

At sixty-five, Nigeria stands— a giant, yet weary, her crown of green stained with dust, her children holding candles in the storm. “When the roots are deep, there is no reason to fear the wind,” yet the tree of our nation bends, its branches heavy with broken promises, its fruits stolen before ripening. Politicians chant: “Change is coming!” but the people whisper: “Tomorrow never ends in Nigeria.” Still, a mother hums to her child, one day e go better. We hope against hope, even as queues lengthen, as hunger gnaws the marrow of the poor, and justice limps on crutches. And yet— we do not stop hoping, for a people that refuse to stop hoping cannot die, even if their leaders betray them.