There is a silence that comes when life places you on hold. It is not the silence of peace but of longing—an ache wrapped in questions. “When?” “Why not now?” “How much longer?” You look around and see others moving forward—getting admitted into the University, landing high paying jobs, marrying the loves of their life, bearing children—while you sit in the hallway of hope, staring at doors that just won’t open.
Waiting in Nigeria often feels like a punishment. Like the air here is thicker with delay. Graduates roam the streets with certificates that gather dust, not offers. Lovers plan weddings that never come. Wombs wait in prayerful silence. Applications are sent into the void. And still—nothing. “Not yet,” life whispers. And sometimes, it doesn’t whisper. It says nothing at all.
The hardest part isn’t even the waiting—it’s the not knowing. Should I keep trying? Should I let go? Is this a lesson, or is this just…life?
But there is something sacred about waiting. Not the kind that is forced upon us by broken systems or harsh realities—but the kind that chisels your soul into something deeper. The waiting that births empathy, resilience, and the kind of faith that is forged in fire.
To everyone waiting, your life is not on pause.
The clock is still ticking. The days are still shaping you. Your story is still being written. And maybe—just maybe—this slow, aching part is the most important chapter. Because when the door finally opens, you won’t just walk through it. You’ll know why it had to take this long.
