I was 10 years old when you, my brother Nigeria, took your first breath of independence on October 1, 1960. Today you are 65, not old enough to be my father, but certainly old enough to be my elder brother.

And so I ask myself: if you were my brother, standing before me today with a birthday cake of 65 candles, what would I say to you? How would I speak the truth in love—without abuse, without pessimism, yet without denying reality?

My Brother’s Life at 65

Brother, I look at you, and I see a paradox.
You are called the Giant of Africa, yet your children run from you, scattered across the earth, many ashamed to bear your name. You boast of wealth, oil, land, talent, youth, yet you borrow endlessly, living above your means, spending on extravagance while your house leaks and your children starve.

At 65, you cannot feed yourself. You cannot house yourself. You cannot secure yourself. When you are sick, you fly abroad for treatment. When your children are sick, they die at home for lack of care. Your schools crumble, your justice system limps, your roads kill, your hospitals reject the wounded.

Brother, you have beauty, but you are bruised. You have resources, but they slip through your fingers like sand. You live a double life: prideful on the outside, broken on the inside.

What I Owe My Brother

Yet you are still my brother. I did not choose you; God appointed us together, placing us within these boundaries of habitation. And because you are my brother, I cannot abandon you.

At 65, you are not a fool forever. You are still young in the life of nations. Others took centuries to rise. You still have time, if you will stop deceiving yourself, stop living above your means, and face the truth.

Your children cry, not because they hate you, but because they long for you to become who you were meant to be. They want a brother who can stand tall without begging. A brother who can protect his home. A brother whose pride rests not on empty slogans, but on dignity, justice, and care.

 

What Must Change

Brother, you must:

• Feed yourself before you boast to neighbors.
• Heal yourself so your children don’t die untreated.
• Educate your children so they no longer flee in despair.
• Manage your resources with discipline, not with greed.
• Choose leaders who love you more than they love themselves.

Your life is not finished. But if at 65 you still stumble like a child, you must now decide to grow.

My Prayer for You, Brother Nigeria

And so today, I light your 65 candles and I ask: do you even have the strength to blow them out? Do those you call “leaders” wish you well enough to help you breathe?

Brother, my prayer is simple:
Stop living a double life. Stop wasting your strength. Arise, feed yourself, clothe yourself, heal yourself, and protect your children. Your potential is vast, your destiny is weighty, your future is still redeemable.

Nigeria my brother, the world is waiting.
May this 65th year mark not just your aging, but your awakening.