Escaping Nigeria’s pressure pot

Life in Nigeria can feel like living inside a pressure chamber. Especially in cities where ambition isn’t just admirable, it’s survival. You move through your day knowing the ground might shift without warning. A policy tweak. A fuel scarcity. A currency swing that turns your well-planned budget into something slightly comical. And because the uncertainty never stops, many of us start carrying around these quiet, deep-rooted assumptions about ourselves and the world. They feel normal because nearly everyone around us carries the same ones, yet they leave us tense and restless.

What’s interesting is how the Judeo-Christian worldview steps in with a counter-story; one that asks us to loosen our grip on self-mastery and lean into Grace and Sovereignty instead. That shift sounds simple, but in practice it’s like learning a completely different way to breathe.

One of the first assumptions we cling to is this subtle sense of exemption. A chaotic incident unfolds (a government announcement, a sudden price spike) and our minds rush to separate us from the crowd. “That won’t be me. I’d react better. I’m careful. Or connected.” It’s almost second nature in a culture that celebrates sharpness and hustle. But it’s still a kind of quiet arrogance, the idea that we’re somehow shielded from the same vulnerabilities other Nigerians face daily.

Humility, real humility, offers a different rhythm. It’s the grounding truth that we’re just as human, just as breakable, as the next person in traffic or on the queue at the filling station. Oddly enough, that honesty lifts some weight off your shoulders. It makes room to rely on something stronger than personal brilliance.

Another belief that sneaks into our thinking is the illusion that if we can just understand something, we can control it. Fix it. Bend it to our will. Living here kind of trains you for that mindset; managing generators, navigating bureaucracy, sourcing forex in the most unpredictable market. You start believing the entire world is yours to troubleshoot.

But human beings weren’t built to be universal problem-solvers. Not at that scale. There’s a calm that comes when you finally accept that some things belong in God’s hands, not yours. Surrender isn’t giving up; it’s stepping out of the role you were never meant to play.

Then there’s the moral spreadsheet many of us carry around. The idea that if we behave well, pray hard, give generously, the universe should respond in kind. It’s almost a comfort during long seasons of struggle, except life doesn’t always cooperate with the formula. Good people suffer. Less upright people sometimes succeed. And if the world operated strictly on moral math, grace would have no meaning at all.

Grace, by definition, disrupts the equation. It frees us from constantly trying to earn outcomes. It encourages us to do good without obsessively scanning the horizon for immediate reward.

You also see how this striving for control and fairness spills into relationships. We assume people will understand us. That our intentions should be obvious. That clarity automatically travels across cultural lines, age gaps, social differences. Except it rarely does. Misunderstanding is normal, even predictable, yet we often react as though we’ve been wronged simply because someone didn’t interpret us perfectly.

Faith invites a gentler reflex; patience, forgiveness, charity. The kind of posture that leads rather than demands, and gives the same grace it has received.

Sometimes, when the weight of life in Nigeria gets heavy, a different mindset slips in. A soft fatalism dressed as faith. If it was meant to be, it’ll happen. Maybe I’ve missed my moment. Maybe the door is closed. It sounds spiritual, but often it’s exhaustion wearing a religious mask.

Yet Scripture paints a more dynamic picture: God is sovereign, but humans still move, act, sow, build. Even in imperfect soil. Even when the odds look unfair. Diligence becomes an act of trust; almost a stubborn declaration that the story isn’t finished.

And then there’s that familiar line: That’s just how I am. It feels like acceptance, but many times it’s a quiet retreat from the work of transformation. After all, when external life is already challenging, who has the energy to reshape the internal parts too? But the Christian journey assumes growth. Renewal. Gradual, sometimes uncomfortable change. We’re not finished products. And a country doesn’t grow if the people inside it decide they’re done evolving.

Underneath all of these is the pursuit of happiness; the quick, pleasant feeling. Comfort, success, influence, social status. They shimmer like promises, but they fade fast. When they do, we’re left wondering what went wrong, chasing the next temporary lift.

Faith shifts the target entirely. It points toward meaning, purpose, holiness. Not in a rigid or joyless way, but in a way that roots joy more deeply than emotion. It becomes something stable. Something that doesn’t rise or fall with exchange rates or political shifts.

When we begin to release these assumptions, nothing magically becomes easy. Nigeria is still Nigeria. But something inside lightens. You stop carrying the exhausting burden of trying to control everything. You move through the world with a quieter mind, a steadier spirit, and a freedom that comes only from resting in something larger and steadier than your own willpower.

In a place as demanding and unpredictable as this, that shift might be the most liberating thing faith ever gives you.

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Adebawo is an accomplished business leader and communications expert with extensive experience in the oil and gas industry. He currently serves as the General Manager of Government, Joint Venture, and External Relations at Heritage Energy. Adebawo is also an author, scholar, and ordained minister, known for his writings on socioeconomic issues, strategic communication and leadership.