A Molue Monologue by Don Kenobi
- Calling out Nigeria’s intellectual paralysis,
The echolalia of the educated elite,
Moral exhaustion of the few who play by the rules,
And the betrayal of the common man.
Allow me first to speak, respectfully, to our social commentators — especially D.F
Dele, many admire your passion for Nigeria. You have spoken courageously for years.
But of late, your words feel familiar — almost predictable.
They stir emotion, yes, but offer little light.
Little that helps us grow.
“Don’t let Nigeria happen to you”?
My brother, whether we like it or not, Nigeria is already happening to every one of us.
We appear on television, we analyse, we lament.
It brings applause. It earns respect.
And sadly, for many, that applause becomes the reward —
and the work ends there.
People cheer because we speak.
But speaking is not the same as healing.
The real question — the one we avoid — is this:
What are we going to do about it?
Somehow, we have embraced the belief that Nigeria failed simply because those before us lacked understanding —
as if clarity alone brings transformation.
This age of information has produced many sincere Nigerians
who truly believe that identifying Nigeria’s problems is the great achievement.
Recognise the problem.
Talk about it.
Mention Singapore…
And suddenly, one is seen as a visionary.
My beloved brother Dele, I say this with kindness:
be careful not to fall into that cycle.
Those who remain there often struggle to find the path out.
If in doubt, ask Pat Utomi.
Ask Peter Obi.
Ask the father of them all — Rev. Father Hassan Kukah.
Nigerian commentators — wake up!
Analyzing why a faultily built, shoddily put-together country —
where hope is as scarce as water in the Sahara —
malfunctions?
Spending time doing that?
That’s not patriotism.
That’s another betrayal —
a betrayal of the country itself.
Every hour spent dissecting the rot
instead of rebuilding the foundation
delays her redemption.
We have become a nation of talkers —
eloquent in diagnosis, impotent in creation.
We know what went wrong,
who caused it,
how long it has been wrong,
and even the name of the ghost that started it all.
But ask for a brick, a plan, or a hand —
and the silence will humble even the angels.
We drown in symposiums,
in television panels,
in late-night Twitter sermons.
We chant, “Nigeria must change!”
as though repetition of words ever built a single nation.
Change does not answer to noise.
It bows only to builders.
We analyse while the house burns,
and then publish essays about the flames.
We write about corruption —
but cannot build an honest company,
with honest business practices.
We criticise the powerful —
yet crave their invitations.
We cry for justice —
but underpay our own staff.
We are the problem.
We complain only because our shoes hurt.
And the moment these same people
give us comfortable shoes,
we will grow silent.
There is no love for the common man.
Yet, in pursuing his interests —
the common man’s —
we will find our own interests fulfilled.
The Good Lord, in His wisdom,
has hidden the interests of the nation
beneath the interests of the poor —
the hungry, the homeless, the sick,
those who die from routine infections,
perhaps hunger —
while we embark on vanity projects
that serve, at best, five million,
and leave two hundred million withering away.
Because we cannot see them.
Neither the government —
nor the highfalutin social commentators.
It is time for a new tribe —
not of talkers,
but of carpenters.
People who measure, cut, and build.
Who fix without fanfare.
Who dream in blueprints, not soundbites.
For when analysts replace artisans,
and critics replace craftsmen,
the nation crumbles into ash —
beautifully explained,
but never rebuilt.
So rise, builders of Nigeria.
Your tools are your thoughts,
your hearts, your hands.
Let the commentators keep their microphones —
we have foundations to lay.
— Don Kenobi
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