Post by Deep Thinker (@Pretioso)

I'm scared of Nigeria

I am scared of Nigeria
frightened of what home has become.

The blood of children, of mothers and forgotten fathers,
spills endlessly into the cracked cup of government,
and those meant to shield us now dine beside our fears.

A mother's cry no longer shakes the nation.
A father wears bitterness like a borrowed smile.
Hope sits quietly in the corner, starving.

I am scared of my community.

Schools close before sunset.
The mosque grows silent too early.
Church doors tremble at every strange sound,
and the streets remember
more gunshots than laughter.

I do not live in fear because I am captive,
but because freedom itself feels hunted.
Each passing day whispers:
What if you are next?

Nigeria is bleeding,
and the head of the house
keeps rubbing salt into the wound.

Our guards stand weary and outdated,
holding yesterday's glory
against today's fire.

I am scared for my life.
Bitter for the land I once called beloved,
a nation once spoken of
like milk and honey,
now choked by famine, ashes, and silence.

And perhaps what frightens me most
is learning how to call Nigeria
a place that no longer feels like home.

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