“Raised to Endure: The Cost of Teaching Nigerians to Suffer in Silence"

From childhood, Nigerians are taught that suffering is strength — but at what cost?

“We are resilient,” people say. “We survive anything.”

But behind that pride is a quieter reality — one where survival has become so constant that it no longer feels like an achievement, but a requirement.

Across homes, classrooms, and markets, many Nigerians are not just living life. They are enduring it.

At 5 a.m., before the day properly begins, Queen is already awake.

She is 21, a student, and also a small business owner. Like many young Nigerians, her life is divided between education and survival. School fees, transport costs, food, and expectations all compete for attention in a country where the cost of living keeps rising faster than opportunities.

For her, adulthood came early — not because of age, but because of pressure.

“School is hard,” she says quietly. “And most times, young girls now are pushed to see relationships as a way of escaping poverty.”

In her words, survival has reshaped even how young people relate with one another.

“Everything now feels like survival,” she adds.

If Queen represents the pressure of youth, Vivian represents the pressure of survival.

A trader who sells yams in the market, Vivian started her business with N22,000. Today, she says even N100,000 is no longer enough to sustain the same trade.

Nigeria’s rising inflation has made basic goods increasingly expensive, leaving small traders struggling to keep up.

“For this Nigeria, we no get money, but it no dey hard us to adjust to anything we see,” she says.

But adaptation does not always mean comfort.

“How I go take train my children when capital of ?100,000 no even dey enough?” she asks.

According to the World Bank, a significant portion of Nigerians continue to live below the poverty line, with millions affected by rising economic hardship.

For many families, survival is not new — it is inherited.

A mother of four explained how decisions made years ago are now being judged under a harsher economic reality. Her husband works as a mechanic, earning less than ?3,000 daily, while they raise four children.

She says people often question their choices — especially the decision to have children. But she insists the context has been misunderstood.

“When we born our children, things never reach like this,” she says. “Nobody expect say Nigeria go change like this.”

Despite the hardship, she believes leaving is not an option.

“No matter how the country continue to spoil, we go still dey here. We no get where we go go.”

Then there is the pressure of skill and stagnation.

A 32-year-old tailor shared how she learned tailoring in 2017 but could not afford to open a shop at the time. She survived through other means — working as a salesgirl while saving little by little.

By the time she attempted to return to her skill, the world had moved on. Fashion trends had changed. Training costs had increased. Advanced courses were now priced beyond local earning power.

“The rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer,” she says. “You may have a skill, but if you don’t have money to develop it, you are stuck.”

She is 32 and still figuring life out — balancing rent, bank charges, rising living costs, and family responsibilities, with no clear end in sight.

Across these stories, a pattern becomes clear.

Nigeria’s economy is not only shaping income — it is shaping mindset.

From students adjusting dreams to fit survival, to traders adapting daily to inflation, to families managing generational pressure, and skilled workers unable to grow their craft — endurance has become a national default.

Yet culturally, endurance is celebrated more than questioned. People are told to “manage it,” “stay strong,” or “be grateful.” Over time, silence becomes normal. Struggle becomes invisible.

Perhaps resilience is not Nigeria’s greatest strength.

Perhaps it is its most quietly expensive habit.

Because there is a difference between resilience and resignation.

Resilience says: I will rise.

Resignation says: this is simply how it is.

Nigeria has confused the two for too long.

When citizens are told to be patient without structural change, when families are blamed for decisions made under different economic realities, when young people are forced to choose between dignity and survival — these are not signs of culture. They are signs of strain.

The question is no longer whether Nigerians can endure. We have proven, time and time again, that we can.

The question is: why should we have to?

It is time to stop celebrating suffering. It is time to start demanding better

Sent-in by: Osadebe Success, a student of Delta State state University Abraka

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