The bodies still float on the tides of the Mediterranean, nameless reminders of Nigeria’s buried future. These are not just victims of migration—they are victims of a homeland that failed them. In a nation rich in oil, culture, and human capital, the question persists: why do her children choose the sea, even when it often means death? The answer lies not in Europe’s allure but in Nigeria’s betrayal. Where leaders steal hope and institutions break spirits, escape becomes a form of protest.
From Lagos to Kano, young people rehearse Italian names in backrooms, paying smugglers more than they would ever earn farming their fathers’ land. Teenage girls dream of Milan’s runways while traffickers mark them for exploitation. The gospel once preached in churches has shifted from restoration to relocation. The Mediterranean, once a map of trade, has now become a graveyard for African potential.
Nigeria’s greatest crisis is not economic—it is moral. A country that forgets its youth signs its death certificate. The elites live abroad while the poor drown abroad. The poor seek mercy from oceans because the land has denied them justice. Each floating body is a parable. Each sunken boat, a prophecy unheeded. The nation bleeds not from outside threats, but from within—from systems that no longer serve, policies that choke, and a silence that kills.
Voices like Dr. Paul Enenche and Prophet TB Joshua warned of the price of neglecting the poor. Their warnings now echo through the waters, louder than any campaign jingle. Mothers who once prayed for scholarships now grieve for caskets. Hope has become a currency traded for visas, while truth is smuggled alongside refugees.
Yet flickers of light remain. Some youths return alive, preaching against the journey with scars as sermons. NGOs rescue those they can, doing the job of ministries grown fat on foreign aid. But no salvation can come until a nation repents. Nigeria must raise leaders who feed rather than feast, who stay rather than escape. We must build systems that reward virtue, not just connection.
Until then, the sea will remain the only road many trust. And the world will keep asking: why does Nigeria turn gold into grief? Why does she push her children from life into the waves? Until we answer, the bodies will keep coming—and the Mediterranean will never be silent.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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