WE’RE SUFFERING AND BARELY SMILING!

 Chinedu pushes a squeaky, battered cart through the chaotic market. His middle-aged face is a mix of determination and frustration as he maneuvers through the throng of people. He’s deep in thought. No smile!

"Ah, Nigeria! See suffering. Smile, nko? Not today, o. Now, even a loaf of bread is like buying a plot in Banana Island," he mutters.

At  Mama Nkechi’s tomato stall, he stops. The prices are displayed prominently, almost as if to mock the onlookers. It looks more like a joke.

Chinedu: “Mama Nkechi, how much for these tomatoes?”

Mama Nkechi: “My broda, nah five thousand o. You know things are tough.”

Chinedu is shocked: “Five thousand naira for this small container? Are these tomatoes or gold nuggets? Do they come with a free plot of land?”

 They both laugh, but more out of shared misery than genuine amusement. Just now, Ngozi, Chinedu’s wife arrives, balancing their youngest child on her hip. She looks as worn out as an overused tyre.

Ngozi: “Chinedu, I’ve been to two different markets. It’s the same story, everywhere. Prices are higher than my blood pressure.”

Chinedu: “Tinubu’s policies are squeezing us dry. Atiku said it right— they ‘pauperize the poor and bankrupt the rich.’ I think Tinubu wrote that song for Davido: ”Dem Go Feel It!” Even the rich are feeling it now.”

At the grain section of the market, Papa Ade is having a heated discussion with someone over the price of rice.

Papa Ade: “This is daylight robbery! Are we supposed to eat air? No wonder Nigerians are losing weight faster than a Christmas chicken!”

Adamu, the Rice Seller: “Oga, I swear, I no be my palt (fault). Fries (price) go up like falmy (palm wine) tapper. Soon we go buy  garri with fromise (promise, meaning on credit).”

Chinedu and Ngozi shake their heads. “At this rate, we’ll be paying for garri with Bitcoin,” Ngozi says.

Soon, Chinedu spots his friend Tunde, who once ran a thriving small business. He sits dejectedly on a makeshift stool by the roadside.

Chinedu: “Tunde, why are you sitting here?”

Tunde: “My shop closed down. Between the high rent and the lack of customers, I couldn’t keep it open. Tinubu’s policies are strangling small businesses.”

“And the big ones too,” adds Chinedu.  “There’s no conducive climate for anyone, not even foreign investors. It’s like we’re all stuck in a bad dream.”

As Chibedu and wife walk home, they meet Onome returning from the hospital. According to her, she was not feeling well. But before she was given an injection, she decided to urinate and collapsed in the toilet. A kind doctor bought her food and she got well, instantly. Truth is, she was hungry and not sick. She had not eaten for days!

Chinedu’s spirit only lightens a bit, as he passes by a shop blarring Fela’s tune.  “Fela sang about ‘suffering and smiling,’ but these days, we’re just suffering. Even our smiles are in short supply,” he says to wiffy.

Ngozi: “We have to keep going, Chinedu. For the kids, for ourselves. Maybe someday, things will get better.”

Chinedu agrees: “Until then, we’ll sing, laugh when we can, and fight to survive. Because, that’s the Nigerian spirit,” Chibedu says.

 “We may not be smiling like we used to, but we’re still here. And as long as we’re here, there’s hope,” he adds.

“Hope and humor, Chinedu. Even if it’s the dry kind, ” Ngizi corrects him.

Chinedu: “Yes, hope and humor. Because in Nigeria, no matter how tough things get, we always find a reason to laugh. And that, my dear, is something no inflation can take away.”

Nigeria is a land of endless challenges. The laughter might be faint, but we still laugh. With indomitable spirit, we continue to fight, to hope, and yes, sometimes, even smile through the tears!