The Hausa tricycle driver did not set out to be a hero. He owns no newspaper column, has no audience hanging onto his every word, and wields no influence beyond the handlebars of his humble Keke NAPEP (tricycle). Yet, in the holy month of Ramadan, while inflation alternates its grip on random food prices and every naira bears the weight of a thousand worries, he made a simple choice: to give. He scrawled a declaration on his tricycle: Ramadan Discount: From N200 to N100 per Drop.
He did not do it for fame or political points. But as a measure of unpretentious goodwill and for the unadorned virtue of kindness. The beneficiaries of his generosity are not predetermined by ethnicity or religious affiliation. They are Igbo, Yoruba, Hausa, Christian, Muslim, and those who worship in silence. In his small act of selflessness, he weaves a stronger fabric of unity and compassion than the questionable intellectuals who, from their lofty perches and soapboxes, sow discord in the name of activism.
The critic, channeling fiery cynicism, parades himself as a self-anointed custodian of truth, but he is a prophet of doom in disguise. At the first whiff of roses, he starts looking for a coffin. He is the silent epidemic that gnaws at the soul of the country, more insidious than the crisis of governance and the spectre of economic hardship. He is the proverbial future, now walking with a slouched spirit.
Cynicism, now pervasive, is cultivated by an unrelenting stream of discontent. Every day, the public sphere becomes a battlefield, rife with the narratives of doomsayers: politicians, activists, and frustrated elites who have been denied the fruits of power. Once silenced by ambition, these voices now rage with venom, spewing defeatism and prophesying Nigeria’s inevitable collapse. Yet, behind their calls for change is a lurking self-interest, the bitter taste of being left out of the corridors of influence. They are neither patriots nor prophets; they are casualties of their own desires. The youth, in their vulnerability, have become their prey.
Young Nigerians must exercise caution in choosing their role models. It is easy to be swayed by voices that loudly condemn the state of the nation, but not all who decry Nigeria’s failures seek her restoration. Many are simply opportunists in waiting, men and women who will seize power not to heal but to gorge themselves on the spoils of a broken system.
Any youth that emulates them will simply burden himself with disillusionment and perpetual cynicism until he can ill afford the luxury of dreaming. Therein lies the death of his conscience and fervour to see Nigeria succeed. His heart will become a graveyard of lost hopes, pulsating only to despair. Even when he fancies himself a thinker, his words drip with venomous cynicism. He stalks the corridors of national discourse, like a vulture circling a dying beast, waiting for the collapse of the Nigerian enterprise so he can proclaim, with gleeful sanctimoniousness: “I told you so!”
For many of his ilk, Nigeria has been on a death watch since Bola Ahmed Tinubu emerged as the country’s president. They do not simply anticipate calamity; they yearn for it, that their chosen narratives might be justified. At each flicker of crisis—each naira that plummets, each scandal that erupts—they rejoice and dance with macabre delight. And even when tragedy strikes in the form of system failures, disasters, or celebrity deaths, they belabour the premise of cause and effect, eagerly laying blame at the feet of the president, the government, the nation itself. Their cynical gospel spreads like wildfire among disillusioned youths, who, in their thirst for change, mistake nihilism for wisdom.
Yet, the Good Nigerian does not preach; he acts. His love for country is not found in vitriolic essays or televised debates but in tangible, everyday kindness. His simple discount may seem inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, yet to the weary commuter clutching his last naira, it offers relief. The nation may bleed from a thousand cuts, but when its nationals manifest such heartfelt gestures of kindness, even in its smallest dose, it will begin to heal.
The response to the tricycle driver’s gesture is as telling as the act itself. Across social media, voices from every corner of the country rose in admiration. A Christian woman prayed for Allah to bless him. A security guard, accustomed to receiving food from fasting Muslims, marveled at the consistency of their generosity. An Igbo man, weary of holiday season price hikes in his homeland, acknowledged the contrast with a wry smile. The lesson is unmistakable—here, in the small frame of a commercial transporter, is a true patriot, a man who understands that love of country is not merely an anthem sung but a kindness given. This is the Good Nigerian.
The critics, in contrast, know little of giving. They pontificate on patriotism, yet their patriotism is conditional. They wield their critiques like scythes, severing hope wherever it dares to sprout. They celebrate nothing but decay and languish in the luxury of discontent. Their weapon is not action but rhetoric—fiery words that scorch the land but plant no seed. If the nation crumbles, they will be there to gloat rather than rebuild. Their cynicism is no longer just an affliction; it is an agenda.
But the tricycle driver? He does not speak of love; he lives it. And his love, though seemingly inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, resonates louder than the critic’s flamethrower words. The Good Nigerian does not look for scapegoats. He does not sneer from the sidelines, unwilling to engage unless conditions are perfect. He understands that patriotism is not in the cynical condemnation of the land but in the conscious, deliberate acts of service that make the land better. He knows that a nation is not only its rulers; it is its people, its daily interactions, its gestures of solidarity in the face of shared struggle.
This is the lesson that must be learned. Nigeria’s problem is not only the failure of governance; it is the erosion of goodwill among its citizens. The political elite did not fall from outer space or descend from the heavens; they are products of our homes, our schools, and our society. If we demand better leadership, we must first demand better citizens. The Good Nigerian understands this. The critic does not.
Let the so-called intellectual take heed. His towering ego and exaggerated sense of worth serve neither him nor the country. If wisdom is the measure of greatness, then this tricycle driver, with his modest means and boundless heart, has taught more in a single act than the critic has in all his essays and televised debates. The country does not need another cynic cloaked in the guise of patriotism. It needs more men and women who, in their small corners, choose to give rather than take, to mend rather than tear apart, to believe rather than curse the darkness.
And so, shall we, like the tricycle driver, embrace the quiet heroism of practical patriotism? Or shall we continue to wallow in the quicksand of bitter cynicism? The answer will determine not just the fate of Nigeria but the soul of her people.
