Nigeria, as we know it, is not the polished idea recited in classrooms or echoed in official speeches. It is something far more complex, unpredictable, and demanding. And in this reality, one truth quietly governs daily life: everyone is mad.

This madness is not clinical. It is functional. It is the adaptation required to navigate a system that barely works as expected. The moment one steps outside, it begins. Faces harden. Voices rise. In a society where calmness is often mistaken for weakness, a certain level of aggression becomes necessary. One learns quickly that being too soft means being overlooked, while being too quiet means being cheated.

This is the Nigeria we know—a place where resilience often looks like hardness and survival demands a performance. It is a system that conditions individuals to defend themselves at every turn, anticipate disadvantage, and respond accordingly. Because the moment you act normal, Nigeria will remind you that normality is a luxury item. None of us was born this way, but the quest to survive has caused us to remain this way.

Students understand this madness early. You leave your house thinking, Today will be smooth. Nigeria laughs, waiting for you with a ton of experiences. Transport fares double, yet the bus conductor is shouting as though he owns your future. At this point, something rises within you, and you adjust your tone. Your patience grows shorter, and your face becomes harder. Suddenly, communication becomes effective. Congratulations! You are becoming mad because that is how we roll here.

Markets are not helping matters either. You walk in with your soft smile, and the seller looks at you and immediately upgrades your financial status.

“Aunty, ₦15,000.”

You blink. That is your cue. You clear your throat. Your voice deepens.

“How much last?”

Now you are negotiating as though your rent depends on it. Right there and then, you realise that negotiation is less about price and more about presence. A hesitant tone can double a cost; a confident one can cut it in half.

And then there is the cheating. Someone is always trying it out like a piece of shoe. In Nigeria, calm people get cheated, but the mad ones are respected. Over time, this behaviour becomes normalised. This is the Nigeria we know: the one that turns everyday activities into heated competitions. A place where madness is not the problem but, rather, the solution.

But then, there is the Nigeria we dream of.

A country where sanity is not a rare achievement but a normal state of being. Where you can step outside without your face entering defensive mode. Where your voice can remain calm and still carry weight. Where systems work and individuals do not have to compensate with aggression.

In that Nigeria, you do not need to rehearse arguments before leaving your house or double-check every transaction as though it were a potential scam. It is a Nigeria where pain is not constantly disguised as humour, where jokes are just jokes and not coping mechanisms, and where survival is not something you have to fight for every single day.

It sounds almost unrealistic. Like a concept. Like something we describe more than we experience.

Maybe the next generation will see it. Maybe they will inherit a Nigeria where calmness does not equate to losing and loudness is not the price of winning. Maybe. Just maybe.

But for now, we are in this Nigeria where you have to be mad without a choice. And if you are still surviving, then you know that in this country, sanity is admirable, but madness? Madness is what keeps you going.