By Asma’u Yusuf — The Teacher with the Loud Voice
It’s 2026.
Honestly… where did 2025 even go? One minute we were making New Year resolutions, the next minute we were saying ah ah, the year has ended again.
But here we are. Alive. Still standing. Still trying.
And for that alone, we say thank you, God.
New Year always comes with big feelings — hope, fear, excitement, exhaustion, and determination — sometimes all at once. We promise ourselves we’ll do better, be better, complain less, work harder, and heal more. Some of us keep those promises. Some of us try. Some of us forget by February. Life happens.
But here’s the thing: wanting to do better does not make you fake. It makes you human.
Now, quick question — and answer honestly in your head: Did anyone actually read any of the book recommendations from last time?
No judgement. Just checking.
(If you didn’t, this year is still young. You can always start again.
Hope without denial — what does that even mean?
Let’s talk plainly.
Hope without denial means loving your country without pretending everything is fine.
It means believing in tomorrow while still naming today’s problems.
It means saying:
Nigeria has issues… but Nigeria also has people.It means refusing two extremes:
pretending nothing is wrong
or believing nothing can ever be right
Both are dangerous.
Real hope sits in the middle. It looks truth in the eye and still says, We can do better.
Loving a country is not blind loyalty
Some people think patriotism means silence. That if you complain, you’re ungrateful. If you question, you’re disloyal. If you’re tired, you’re weak.
But history tells us something else.
Every meaningful change has come from people who loved their country enough to challenge it.
Our forefathers and foremothers didn’t fight so we could pretend. They fought so we could speak. So we could think. So we could dream freely.
When you question injustice, unfairness, or broken systems, you are not being negative. You are being responsible.
Love that refuses to think is not love — it’s fear dressed up as loyalty.
Being young in Nigeria right now
Let’s be honest — being a teenager today is not beans.
You’re growing up in a country that asks a lot from you while giving very little clarity. You’re told to be patient while watching people struggle. You’re told to dream big while also being told to be realistic. You’re told to stay hopeful while scrolling through news that can be heavy.
That contradiction can be exhausting.
So if you ever feel confused, tired, or emotionally overloaded—you’re not weak. You’re perceptive.
Hope does not mean pretending everything is fine. Hope means saying: This is hard, but I still believe improvement is possible — and I have a role to play.
What hope looks like in real life (not instagram hope)
Hope is not aesthetics. It’s not quotes on pastel backgrounds. It’s not fake positivity.
Real hope looks like:
choosing honesty over noise
choosing integrity when cheating feels easier
choosing kindness in small, quiet ways
choosing to learn, even when the system frustrates you
choosing not to harden your heart
Hope is studying even when motivation is low.
Hope is helping a friend without posting it.
Hope is asking questions instead of spreading rumours. Hope is saying, “I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’m willing to grow.”
That kind of hope builds nations.
You are not too young to matter
Here’s a secret adults don’t say enough: Young people shape culture before they ever hold power.
Your music taste. Your language. Your humour. Your values. Your online behaviour.
These things matter.
Long before policies change, culture shifts. And culture is shaped by people your age.
So when you choose empathy over cruelty. When you refuse tribal insults. When you question stereotypes. When you stay curious instead of cynical — you are already doing nation-building work.
Quietly. Powerfully.
Hope needs honesty to survive
Hope without honesty becomes delusion. Honesty without hope becomes despair.
We need both.
You’re allowed to say: This country frustrates me. and also say: I want to be part of making it better.
Those two thoughts can live in the same heart.
That tension? That’s maturity growing.
Book nook — stories that hold hope without pretending
African and teen-appropriate reads that deal with struggle, identity, courage, and quiet hope:
Stay With Me – Ayọbámi Adébáyọ
A deeply human story about love, disappointment, endurance, and quiet strength.
Under the Udala Trees – Chinelo Okparanta
A tender story about identity, courage, and choosing honesty in difficult times.
Born on a Tuesday – Elnathan John
A powerful look at youth, belief, confusion, and resilience in Nigeria.
Final Word — From The Teacher with the Loud Voice
Hope doesn’t mean closing your eyes. It means opening them — and still choosing to care.
It means believing that even in hard seasons, something good can grow. It means refusing to become numb. It means staying human.
So as 2026 unfolds, don’t pressure yourself to have life figured out. Just promise yourself this:
You will think. You will feel. You will question. You will grow.
And you will carry your hope — not as denial, but as quiet courage.
We move, together.