FEATURES
I Miss the Nigeria That Made Independence Day Feel Special
By Daniel othegbemeh
I remember what Independence Day used to mean to me as a child.
October 1 was not just another date on the calendar. It was one of those days I genuinely looked forward to. Apart from Christmas, New Year and Easter, it was one of the days when there was a different kind of excitement at home. Sometimes, we would kill chicken. We would paint our faces green, white and green. We would buy Nigerian flags and hold them proudly. Everywhere just felt different.
There was a kind of happiness I cannot properly explain now.
But today, that happiness feels like a distant memory.
October 1 has gradually become just another day for many Nigerians. You can wish someone a “Happy Independence Day” and instead of getting a smile or a simple response, you may get a question: “What exactly are we celebrating?”
Sometimes, you even see people getting angry at those who wear green, white and green or celebrate the day.
And honestly, I understand where the anger comes from.
People are asking difficult questions.
Are we really independent?
If independence means freedom, can we truly say we are free when many Nigerians do not feel safe in their own communities? When people are afraid to speak their minds? When ordinary citizens struggle to live with dignity? When many people have lost faith in the very institutions that are supposed to protect them?
Nigeria became independent from British colonial rule in 1960. Nobody is sitting in Britain today telling us how to run our country. We have our own government, our own leaders and our own laws.
But sometimes I cannot help but wonder whether independence is supposed to mean only having our own people in government.
What does independence mean to the ordinary Nigerian who still feels powerless?
What does it mean to the young person who has dreams but cannot see a clear path to achieving them?
What does it mean to the parent who is constantly worried about providing for their children?
What does it mean when people feel they cannot freely speak the truth without consequences?
These are uncomfortable questions, but pretending they do not exist will not make them disappear.
Sometimes, it feels like the faces have changed but the suffering has not.
The colonial masters once controlled and oppressed Nigerians. Today, the frustration many citizens express is that they sometimes feel oppressed by the very people who are supposed to represent them.
That is why some Nigerians struggle to celebrate.
But this is where I also find myself conflicted.
Because when I look at October 1, I do not only see the problems of Nigeria. I also remember the people who fought for the independence we have today. I remember that there was a time when being able to call Nigeria our own was itself a dream.
And it hurts that a day that should remind us of our shared history and bring us together can now pass almost like an ordinary Thursday.
I miss the genuine happiness.
I miss seeing children with their faces painted green, white and green.
I miss people buying Nigerian flags and proudly carrying them around.
I miss the feeling that, for at least one day, we could forget our differences and simply be Nigerians together.
Maybe that is what hurts me the most.
It is not that I want Nigerians to celebrate blindly. I don’t think we should ignore the problems around us just because it is Independence Day.
But I also don’t think we should completely lose the ability to hope.
I want to live in a Nigeria where, someday, if I have children and start my own family, I can proudly tell people where I am from without feeling like I have to defend my nationality.
I want to be able to say, “I am Nigerian,” and have it sound like something to be proud of, not something I need to explain.
I want my children to experience the kind of Independence Day I remember.
I want them to paint their faces green, white and green, carry the Nigerian flag and feel genuine excitement when October 1 comes around.
I want them to understand that Nigeria is not just a country on a map. It is home.
But for that to happen, something has to change.
Our leaders have a responsibility to build a country where people can feel safe, where hard work can mean something, where young people can dream without constantly worrying about how those dreams will survive, and where citizens can speak without feeling powerless.
And we, as citizens, also have a responsibility to keep asking questions, demanding better and refusing to completely lose our sense of belonging.
Because perhaps the biggest tragedy is not that Nigerians complain about their country.
It is that some Nigerians are beginning to feel like there is nothing left worth celebrating.
I don’t want to get to that point.
I still want to believe that October 1 can mean something again.
I still want to believe that one day, when someone says “Happy Independence Day,” the response will not be anger or sarcasm.
Maybe just a smile.
Maybe a flag.
Maybe a child with a green-white-green face, holding it proudly and genuinely happy to be Nigerian.
That is the Nigeria I miss.
And honestly, that is the Nigeria I still hope to see.