I walked down a familiar street recently, but what I saw left a deep scar in my soul. Three of my primary school classmates—once bright, ambitious, and full of promise—were roaming the streets like lost shadows, talking to themselves, their clothes in rags, their minds far gone. I froze, my heart sinking. These were not strangers. These were boys I laughed with, shared biscuits with, solved arithmetic with. Now, they were prisoners of their own minds, abandoned by a country that should have protected them.
God, please save our land.
Mental illness is no longer something whispered about in corners. It is now a loud, painful cry echoing through our streets, yet our leaders remain deaf to it. Instead, they are busy with power struggles, fighting like market women over positions, as if their seats in office are more important than the people they swore to serve. Every election cycle, they throw around empty promises, yet our hospitals remain broken, our doctors continue to flee the country, and our streets are filled with lost souls who should have been saved.
But here is the most heartbreaking part—our government doesn’t even pretend to care. In broad daylight, they hire buses to sweep the streets, packing up mentally ill people like discarded refuse, only to dump them in another state. Out of sight, out of mind. No rehabilitation, no medical care, just a wicked game of shifting responsibilities. Is this governance? Is this humanity?
I weep for my country.
I weep for those who once had dreams but lost themselves in a system that doesn’t care. I weep for the brilliant minds turned into wandering bodies because they lacked the privilege of treatment. I weep for every mother who watches her son slip into madness, powerless to help because therapy is a luxury in this country. I weep for the families who wake up one day to find that their loved one has disappeared into the abyss of mental illness, never to return.
If our government won’t listen, can Nigerians in the diaspora hear us? You who have seen how things work in saner societies, where mental health is taken seriously, where rehabilitation centers exist, where medication is not a death sentence—please, help us. Raise your voices. Push for change. Let the world know that Nigeria is bleeding.
Because if we remain silent, one day, we will wake up and find that the streets belong to the mad while the sane ones hide indoors.
God, please save our land.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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