This is not a pep talk from someone who just stubbed her toe on reality. This is a scream from the heart of a young Nigerian girl, writing with the grit of unfulfilled dreams.
They tell us a bad day doesn’t mean a bad life. But what about when every day feels like a bad stretch in a never-ending sprint? When “good” is just the absence of worse? Where every day is a gamble, every step a prayer for something, anything, to change? Even good days, if there are any, are tinged with this grey reality. There’s no unadulterated joy, just a hesitant sigh of relief, a “Thank God today wasn’t so bad.”
“A Bad Day Doesn’t Equate a Bad Life?!”
Tell that to the child selling groundnuts at 5 am in his school uniform with eyes older than his years. Tell that to the woman hawking tomatoes under the unforgiving sun. Tell that to the artist whose dreams are mocked as frivolous hobbies. Tell it to the woman begging with a baby strapped to her back, her voice a rasp against the city’s roar.
In Remembrance – A Creative Non-Fiction by Owami Hugo Jackson – South Africa
This isn’t a bad day; this is a bad chapter—maybe even the whole damn book. It’s a bad life, and pretending otherwise is like painting over cracks with cheap paint. They say Nigerians don’t read, but I read. I read the stories etched in the lines around my father’s eyes. I read the resignation in people’s sighs, the quiet acceptance that dreams are luxuries for the privileged few.
I read the stories of dreams sacrificed for survival, of passion choked by the dust of unpaid bills. I graduated, yes, but into a world where dreams curdle in the face of reality. Work, endless work, swallowed the hours, leaving no space for love, for life, for the laughter that used to bubble in my throat.
Online platforms to find jobs slam shut with the message, “Your location is restricted.”
Every closed tab, every unanswered email, feels like a brick wall slamming shut on my dreams. So, when they tell me not to let a bad day define my life, I want to scream: What life? The one where dreams shrivel by greedy leaders. The one where frustration hangs heavy like humidity before a downpour? We walk past each other, eyes hollowed by struggle, smiles thin as paper money.
Read – Two Wheels, Soul Mover – A Creative Non-Fiction by Brianna Matheka – Kenya
Is that supposed to be my consolation prize? A pat on the head for surviving another day?
Let me scream the truth: bad days aren’t mere blips, they’re the chorus of a life where the odds are stacked against you. Don’t tell me to ignore the struggle, the systemic cracks that splinter our paths.
Acknowledge it and understand it.
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Cynthia Ajiboye is a passionate writer and editor. She is the founder of the WriteHer Community, a platform dedicated to empowering women writers. She has edited several books and published her works on platforms like Amazon, Wattpad, and Medium. Cynthia is committed to sharing her knowledge and experience with aspiring writers and enjoys helping other writers bring their stories to perfection through editing and mentorship.
