In the shadows of our national conversations—beneath the noisy chants for youth empowerment and innovation—lurks a silent and venomous adversary: timidity. Unlike poverty, timidity does not beg on the streets. It walks in three-piece suits, graduates with distinction, and claps politely in the crowd when it should be standing on the stage. It is a spirit, a psychological paralysis, a subtle thief of destiny that has vandalized the future of Nigeria’s brightest without firing a shot. It masquerades as gentleness, humility, or “calmness,” yet underneath it lies trauma, rejection, and spiritual erosion. And in a generation that praises noise, the timid suffer in unspoken torment—rehearsing brilliance that never gets performed.
One young man’s descent into chaos paints this picture in tragic brushstrokes. Gifted, articulate, and emotionally intelligent, he longed to marry a woman who admired him from a distance. But the words trapped in his throat never found wings. Paralysis masked as patience handed her to another bolder man. And in a moment of mental collapse and spiritual rage, the young man was arrested for setting a trap to eliminate his silent rival. This is not just a crime—it is a national metaphor. Timidity, when neglected, metastasizes into bitterness, violence, or internal combustion. Beneath many youths’ sudden aggression is not arrogance, but years of suppressed potential and unrealized expressions.
The plague is intellectual as well as spiritual. I received a text from a graduate whose words haunt me still: “I need your useful help. I have been following your write-ups back to back. I am an intelligent guy but very shy or timid. Unless I am drunk, I can’t speak in public. This has cost me several embarrassments. Worse still, I always masturbate. It’s affecting my Christian life.” His confession is a window into the prison of many: chemically dependent just to find the courage to speak, morally fractured just to cope with shame. Timidity is not a mere emotional defect—it is a trapdoor to addiction, escapism, and moral decay. It drives some into secret societies, others into drugs, many into guilt-laden spiritual cycles that rob them of their joy.
There is an urgent need to re-introduce practical oratory and public speaking courses into every stratum of Nigeria’s educational system. Academic brilliance without audibility is like a golden flute locked in a soundproof box. Our children graduate with distinctions yet tremble at job interviews. Schools must be re-imagined as platforms of expression—not just examinations. Moreover, parents and spiritual leaders must cease the habit of tearing down the self-worth of their children. Words can either sculpt or scar. Many parents speak curses masked as corrections, constantly comparing, belittling, and unconsciously programming timidity into their children’s DNA. This erosion of confidence from the homefront is one of the root causes of the inferiority complex running riot among our youth.
But this disease is not purely psychological—it is spiritual. Timidity, often, is the absence of divine fullness. The Holy Spirit, the Spirit of wisdom and power, is the antidote to the timid soul. “Until you are filled with the Holy Ghost, life will continue to empty you,” thundered Bishop David Oyedepo. Bishop David Abioye amplifies this truth: “The Holy Spirit does not merely comfort—He empowers.” Bishop Aremu warned that “Any spiritual life without boldness is a wasted fire.” There are men who pray and literally become intoxicated with the presence of God—not theatrically, but with divine potency. That kind of intoxication breaks fear, silences shame, and ignites purpose. It was what turned cowards like Peter into bold revolutionaries.
Even Smart Adeyemi once observed, “The problem with Nigerian youths is not a lack of intelligence, but a shortage of holy boldness.” What Nigeria needs is not just a new generation of tech-savvy graduates—it needs prophets, reformers, entrepreneurs, and legislators intoxicated with the Spirit, speaking with the weight of heaven and the clarity of conviction. Confidence is not arrogance when it is birthed in the Spirit.
We must now orchestrate a multi-dimensional war against timidity. Schools must teach courage. Parents must affirm destinies. Churches and mosques must become theatres of empowerment. And the government must invest in youth emotional intelligence centres, where public speaking, mentoring, and confidence-building become national priorities. The revival Nigeria prays for will not come merely from electoral reforms, but from healed, vocal, and Spirit-filled youth who no longer bury their talents in the graveyards of timidity.
In the end, the nation that ignores timidity is the nation that kills her prophets before they speak. The youth are not asking for handouts—they are gasping for permission to breathe. We must give them air. And if you’re reading this and you see yourself in these lines—hear this: You were never created to be silent. Heaven did not plant you on earth for you to shrink. Let the fire fall.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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