Nigeria bleeds silently, not in streets, not in headlines, but in the hearts of those who left. The sons and daughters of this nation, the ones who once ran barefoot through dusty streets, who once believed in a tomorrow untainted by corruption, insecurity, and stagnation, carry their grief across continents. London, New York, Toronto. Abuja may still pulse with life, but for millions of Nigerians in the diaspora, the nation is a shadow, a ghost of what it promised.
These tears are invisible, yet relentless. They are shed in quiet apartments where the smell of black okro (Oro Egbe), Suya and jollof cannot mask the ache of homesickness. They are shed in corporate offices where promotion feels empty because the spirit of giving back, to a country that failed, is stifled by red tape, bribery, and systemic decay. Every success abroad, every degree earned, every opportunity seized carries the sting of “what could have been” if Nigeria had nurtured her own.
The diaspora’s lament is not a mere anecdote; it is an indictment. It is a chronicle of lost potential. Nigeria, Africa’s most populous nation, is rich in talent, yet poor in vision. Generations of engineers, doctors, teachers, and creatives now fuel other economies, their skills exported, their dreams deferred. Each flight abroad is both survival and subtle protest, a vote against dysfunction, a declaration that the homeland no longer guarantees hope.
Yet, this heartbreak is also a mirror. Diaspora tears reveal the fractures within Nigeria’s soul. A nation where nepotism thrives, where institutions crumble under patronage, and where ordinary citizens bear the brunt of elite greed will inevitably create exiles. These are not strangers. These are the sons and daughters who once imagined themselves as builders of roads, architects of justice, and defenders of the weak. Their departure is both literal and symbolic: Nigeria’s promise abandoned by those it ought to empower.
Consider the paradox: the Nigerian abroad sends remittances that prop up families, stimulate local economies, and sustain communities. Yet these acts, noble as they are, cannot substitute for systemic reform. No sum of money can compensate for hospitals without doctors, schools without teachers, or governments without accountability. Diaspora tears, then, are not just personal grief; they are national alarm bells ringing, warning that talent drained is potential squandered.
Nigeria’s path forward demands recognition of these tears. Policies must shift from rhetoric to implementation. Opportunities must be created not only to retain talent but to reclaim those who left. Governance must be transparent, corruption punished, and merit celebrated. Diaspora voices must be engaged, their expertise leveraged, their hearts reconnected to the land of their birth. Only then can tears be transformed from symbols of despair to instruments of renewal.
Until that moment arrives, the diaspora weeps. Every news of insecurity, every scandal, every systemic failure reignites memories of abandoned childhoods and broken promises. They grieve for the nation they carry in stories, in accents, in kitchens that smell faintly of home. They grieve because they are Nigerians, rooted in history, tied to soil, yet exiled by circumstance.
Diaspora tears are not weakness. They are witness. They are testament. And they are a clarion call: Nigeria must rise to honour the very people who, even in absence, remain her greatest hope. If she fails, the tears will continue. If she succeeds, the diaspora might finally come home, not just in body, but in spirit.
Nigeria’s soul depends upon it.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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