Every serious pursuit has its scars, but opinion writing in Nigeria comes with a special kind of bruising. Anyone who assumes it is a relaxed intellectual hobby has clearly never tried to do it consistently, honestly, and publicly. Writing opinion in this country is not for the timid, the impatient, or the easily discouraged. It demands stamina, conviction, and a thick skin.
Writers do cry, but not in the obvious sense. They do not wail or seek pity. Their tears are quiet, internal, and often unseen. They surface in moments of exhaustion, frustration, and self-doubt. They show up when words refuse to cooperate, when truth is ignored, and when effort meets indifference.
For some writers, this is not a phase or a seasonal interest, it is a lifelong habit. For this writer, writing began as far back as secondary school in the early 1980s, when putting thoughts on paper was less about publication and more about expression. What started as scribbles in notebooks, school magazines, and personal journals gradually hardened into discipline. Over time, writing ceased to be a hobby that could be dropped at will; it became a reflex, a way of thinking, and ultimately, a responsibility. That long gestation explains why quitting has never been a realistic option, no matter how hostile the environment becomes.
The first real test is inspiration. Ideas do not always arrive on schedule. There are days when the mind feels barren, when even crafting a headline becomes an uphill task. The lead paragraph refuses to settle. Thoughts scatter instead of aligning. This creative paralysis is familiar territory for writers. It is called writers’ block.
In Nigeria today, that struggle is intensified by the weight of reality. The news cycle is heavy with inflation, insecurity, institutional failure, corruption, and unending political drama. Processing these issues emotionally and intellectually, then shaping them into coherent, responsible opinion, takes a toll. Yet writers are expected to keep producing, as though the mind were immune to fatigue.
Many push through regardless. They find strength in routine, reflection, faith, or sheer stubbornness. Crying does not solve the problem, but persistence sometimes does. Still, the struggle leaves its mark.
Beyond inspiration lies a deeper frustration: impact. After researching, thinking, and writing with conviction, the writer begins to wonder whether any of it truly matters. Nigeria is awash with opinion pieces condemning corruption, violence, extremism, bad governance, and social decay. The archives are full. Yet the problems persist, and often worsen.
This reality provokes an uncomfortable question: Does writing change anything? It is a fair question. The truth is that many perpetrators of societal ills are not ignorant. They read. They listen. They understand. They simply choose not to act. Their consciences are hardened.
Still, opinion is not useless. It is cumulative. A single article may seem insignificant, but ideas work over time. Like persistent rainfall on stone, they reshape attitudes slowly but surely. Writers may not witness immediate change, but history shows that words outlast arrogance, regimes, and denial. The task of the opinion writer is not instant victory, it is sustained pressure.
Another layer of hardship comes from discouragement, often from friends and family. Writers are routinely advised to “focus on something more practical” or abandon “overdone topics.” Though usually well-meaning, such advice misunderstands the craft. Writing, especially when cultivated over decades, is not a switch that can be turned off at will.
Writers are wired differently. They see meaning where others see routine. Ideas visit unannounced, on the street, in traffic, at home, or in the middle of the night. Many articles are fully formed in the mind long before they reach paper. Asking a writer who has lived with words since adolescence to stop writing is to misunderstand both the person and the craft.
Without a doubt, this misunderstanding deepens the writer’s isolation. Ironically, opinion writers are rarely selfish. They write for the public good. Yet they are often treated as adversaries. Write about corruption and someone assumes personal attack. Criticize governance and you are labeled partisan. Examine social vices; hidden motives are ascribed to you. Discuss insecurity; loved ones will warn that you are risking your life. Sometimes, this writer would hear them whispering, “E don dey write again”, thereby making him feel mentally challenged.
This constant suspicion is draining. Instead of encouragement, writers encounter hostility. Instead of engagement, it is backlash. It is another reason writing opinion in Nigeria is not for the faint-hearted.
Perhaps the most painful experience is rejection. This is as an opinion writer experiences articles that never see the light of day, and pieces that die quietly on an editor’s desk. Many writers quit at this stage.
But rejection is not cruelty; it is part of the profession. Editors are not enemies. They are trained gatekeepers who weigh timing, tone, public mood, legal risk, and quality. They see more submissions in a week than most writers produce in months. When an article is rejected, it is not always because it is bad; often, it is simply not right now.
Seasoned writers understand this. Rejection becomes instruction, not insult. Crying over rejection achieves nothing. Writing again does.
For many, opinion writing is also civic duty. It is a way of contributing to national discourse without holding office or wielding power. Through articles, writers speak where they cannot legislate. They influence where they cannot command. That contribution matters, even when it goes unnoticed.
Writing demands love, patience, and resilience. Degrees help, but they are not guarantees. Talent matters, but discipline matters more. Writing is less about certificates and more about commitment, especially commitment forged over decades.
For aspiring writers, the path is demanding but clear. Read widely. Follow the news relentlessly. Understand politics, economics, society, and human behavior. Respect language. Verify facts. Rewrite without mercy. Let every article inform, educate, entertain, or do all three.
Good opinion writing is deliberate. It is researched. It is careful with names, dates, and claims. It improves through revision. The first draft is almost never the best.
Above all, writers must keep learning. No one ever graduates from reading. You cannot give what you do not have.
Yes, writers cry. But they endure. And endurance, not applause, is what keeps the pen moving. Those who have lived with writing since their teenage years, like yours sincerely understand this truth best: the tears may come and go, but the habit remains, and so do the words.
