“You won’t die, Mom. You will survive this. We will get there soon,” Bayo said to his mother, who was gasping for breath and nodding through the pain. His heart raced like the legs of a cheetah. He could not bear the thought of losing his mother. He tried to distract her from her pain, even though he was shaken by fear.

After two hours of traffic and a journey along pothole-ridden roads, they finally arrived at Live Well Hospital. The nurses rushed his mother in on a stretcher. Meanwhile, the doctor told Bayo to deposit ₦350,000 for his mother’s operation before anything could be done.

Bayo’s heart sank as his knees touched the hospital tiles.

“I’m a first-class graduate of the University of Lagos. I memorised books for four good years. They told me that would be enough, Doctor, but look at me. I’m 25 years old and unemployed, not because I’m lazy. Is sending out 100 CVs not enough?”

He searched his pockets, only to find nothing close to the amount needed. What he had was all he could afford.

“Please, Doctor, accept this ten thousand naira. I earned it from my delivery job, and that’s all I have on me. Please,” he begged repeatedly.

After hearing his story, the doctor agreed to proceed with the operation. She explained that his mother would not be discharged until the outstanding payments were made. But before Dr Nkechi could even say, “Pass me the scissors,” the bleeding became too severe. They needed a transfusion kit, but it had not been paid for.

“Oh, God, not again…” Dr Nkechi murmured in despair at the thought of another loss.

The light in the operating theatre went off. The doctor came out to find Bayo pacing back and forth in the waiting area.

“Mr Bayo, you just have to be strong in this situation. I’m sorry. We lost her,” Dr Nkechi announced, informing him of his mother’s death.

Immediately, Bayo struggled to breathe. He was rushed to a ward for treatment. When he woke up, he could not say a word; sadness had already swallowed his emotions.

Two Nigerias exist: in our thinking, our actions, and our becoming. The first Nigeria is the one we live in. It is a cracked version of what a country should be. We are still developing, and there are things over which we have little control for now, such as bad roads. This is a Nigeria that is still evolving and learning from past mistakes.

The second Nigeria exists in our thoughts, beliefs, and hopes for a better tomorrow. We dream and imagine that, as we continue to grow, we can build a nation that meets the standards of a developed country.

The Nigeria We Know: The one where potholes everywhere have become normal. The one where life fades away in traffic. The one where skilled graduates remain unemployed because they lack connections with people in high places. The one where NEPA plays games with electricity, switching it off and on as though it were a child’s toy. This is a Nigeria that is evolving, but at the cost of its people.

The Nigeria We Dream Of: The one where roads are well paved, with clear markings and proper drainage. The one where every qualified person gets a job based on their qualifications, not their connections. The one where electricity is stable 24/7. And the one where no mother dies because a transfusion kit has not been paid for. This is the Nigeria we all hope for.

The roads would be rebuilt and restructured if citizens paid their taxes. Employers would recruit people because of their skills, not their surnames. Young people like Bayo would stay, teach, and help build the country. They would speak up instead of giving up.

The Nigeria we know is our story so far. The Nigeria we dream of is our next chapter, where we rewrite our wrongs. And the pen is in our hands.