Lately, I have been entertaining a rather disturbing theory.

Maybe this world ended a long time ago.

Maybe the trumpet sounded.

Maybe judgment day happened.

Maybe heaven opened its gates.

And maybe, just maybe, we are the people who did not make the final list.

Before you dismiss the idea, hear me out.

How else do you explain Nigeria?

Take electricity for example.
Only in Nigeria can you faithfully pay for a service every month and still not be entirely sure whether you will receive it.

The electricity company sends a bill with confidence.

You pay with hope.

The light arrives with uncertainty.

Sometimes it stays for three days.

Sometimes it disappears for three days.

And yet the bill never loses its way.

If that is not punishment for some unknown offence committed in a previous existence, I do not know what is.

Then there is inflation.

A loaf of bread today costs one amount.

You return to the same shop three days later and discover the bread has attended a leadership seminar and returned with higher aspirations.

Same bread.

Same shelf.

Same supermarket.

Different price.

Tomatoes have become luxury items.

Pepper is beginning to think it is gold.

And a bag of rice now carries itself with the confidence of a private jet.

But somehow Nigerians still survive.

How?

Nobody knows.

Even our banks seem determined to test our faith.

You check your account balance.

Your money is there.

The bank can see it.

You can see it.

Everybody agrees the money belongs to you.

Then you attempt a transfer.
“Transaction Failed.”

Why?

No explanation.

You call customer service.

They apologise.

They always apologise.

In fact, “We sincerely regret the inconvenience” should probably become Nigeria’s second national anthem.

And then there is traffic.
A journey that should take fifteen minutes somehow requires the strategic planning of a military operation.

Google Maps says eighteen minutes.

Nigeria says two hours and forty-five minutes.

By the time you arrive at your destination, your purpose for travelling may have expired.

Meanwhile, the tuketuke driver responsible for half the congestion is calmly asking passengers:
“Along?”

Then we come to fuel.
The average Nigerian now discusses fuel prices with the seriousness of a financial analyst discussing global oil markets.

“How much is fuel in your area?”
“₦1,350.”

“Ah! You’re lucky.”

Lucky?

At ₦1,350? See what we have become.

Our leaders do not make the situation any easier.
During campaigns, they promise heaven.
After elections, they begin speaking in riddles.

“We are studying the situation.”

Which situation?

We are the situation.

We are the case study.

We are the research material.

Yet somehow, despite everything, Nigerians remain remarkably cheerful.

A man whose salary is meagre will still buy pepper soup on Friday evening and watch football.

His team loses 4–0.
He shrugs.

“Next match.”

Another person spends four hours in traffic, receives three debit alerts, discovers that the price of food has increased again, and still ends the day with:
“We thank God.”

At that point, you have to conclude that Nigerians are not ordinary people. We are built differently.

Maybe heaven actually looked at us and decided we were too resilient.

Imagine Nigerians arriving at the Pearly Gates. Within two weeks somebody would organise a football competition. Someone else would start selling jollof rice.
A committee would emerge.

A subcommittee would emerge from the committee.

Before long, heaven itself would begin to look suspiciously like a Nigerian local government secretariat.

Perhaps that is why we were sent back. Perhaps heaven looked at us and said: “These people can survive fuel scarcity, inflation, traffic, network failures, generators that refuse to start, and leaders who communicate exclusively in promises. Nigeria must be their heaven .”

So here we are.

Still laughing.

Still hustling.

Still helping one another.

Still finding reasons to celebrate.

Still borrowing data.

Still saying, “God dey.”

Which is why I now have a different theory. Maybe we did not miss heaven after all.
Maybe heaven is still under construction and we are building it.

Especially in 9ja.