I do not know how it will happen, but the future of Nigeria as one united and recognised country is under serious threat. This is not a statement made out of fear or imagination; it is a sober observation of unfolding realities. Peace be unto you, my brothers and sisters. As we step into the beginning of the year 2026, I pray that the Almighty grants us the grace to see the end of it. In times like these, survival itself has become a prayer.
As we journey into this new year, we must be honest with ourselves. The world is watching Nigeria closely. The so-called Western powers and global forces have turned their full attention toward this land, not because of love, but because of interest. History has shown that when powerful nations begin to look in one direction for too long, something is about to change — and not always for the good.
What we have been gathering with both hands for decades is now slipping through our fingers. The foundations of our daily lives are shaking. We are on the brink of major disruption, not just economically, but socially, politically, and spiritually. Perhaps some will say I am being paranoid, but the signs are now too loud to ignore. The picture has been revealed clearly before our eyes.
Our politicians have been compromised. Our institutions have been weakened. Our people have been deliberately divided along ethnic and religious lines. Communities that once coexisted in mutual respect now look at one another with suspicion. Minorities have been pushed to the margins, torn between defending their ancestral lands and surviving in a system that no longer protects them. In many places, the struggle between indigenous communities and Fulani herders has become a symbol of a deeper national failure — a failure of leadership, justice, and moral responsibility.
The tragedy is that both sides are victims of a broken system. Ordinary Fulani families who only seek grazing routes and survival have been dragged into criminal narratives, while indigenous farming communities, many of them Christian minorities, have watched their lands overrun, their villages attacked, and their voices ignored. Instead of justice, there has been silence. Instead of protection, there has been abandonment.
We have reached a moment where the choice before us feels like life or death. As the Yoruba proverb says, the king sends you on an errand, but the river is overflowing. You cannot abandon the message, yet crossing the river may cost your life. This is the position Nigeria finds itself in today — trapped between responsibility and danger, between truth and convenience.
Another proverb reminds us that when Satan asks to sit beside you and you say there is no space, he will settle on the tip of your nose. This is exactly what has happened to our nation. We made room for corruption, thinking it was temporary. We tolerated injustice, hoping it would not reach us. Now it sits boldly before us, impossible to ignore.
The next thirty-six months will be defining. They will shape the destiny of this country for generations. These are not matters that prayers alone can resolve. Prayer must be accompanied by truth, courage, and decisive action. What is coming has already been written by our collective negligence. It has been signed by our silence and sealed by our refusal to confront reality.
We arrived at this point because we tried to solve new problems with old thinking. We allowed outdated systems to govern a rapidly changing society. We permitted individuals to collect rent on lands that were never truly theirs — politically, economically, and morally. And when the rightful owners of those lands, those ideas, and those identities grew old enough to ask questions, conflict became inevitable.
Many who now occupy positions of power have forgotten how they arrived there. They have forgotten the hunger, the struggle, the sacrifice. Like the prodigal son, they squandered opportunity and moved wealth abroad, abandoning the home that made them. Now the house is shaking, and those inside are pretending not to hear the cracks.
Nigeria today stands at a dangerous crossroads. The warning signs are everywhere, written in blood, poverty, displacement, and despair. Yet this is also a moment of choice. A nation can still turn back from the edge if its people awaken in time.
This is not a message of hatred or despair. It is a call to conscience. A call to remember who we are, where we came from, and what we stand to lose. History will not pity us if we fail to act. Future generations will not forgive our silence.
The question before us is simple but terrifying: will we confront the truth while there is still time, or will we continue to pretend until the ground beneath us finally gives way?
The answer lies not in slogans or sentiments, but in courage — the courage to face ourselves, to demand justice, and to rebuild what has been broken before it is too late.
Mogaji Wole Arisekola, Publisher of the Streetjournal Newspaper writes from Ibadan.
