This third part of Between Ages: A Conversation That Connects deepens the generational reflection; an ongoing dialogue between what we inherited, what we are living through, and what we may leave behind. It is a conversation that forces us to look not only at our failings as a nation, but at the quiet ways we all contribute to them.
It is difficult to accept that some officers have become the very criminals their colleagues are meant to protect us from. It breaks my heart to see the name Nigerian Police mentioned in the same breath as crimes like extortion, assault, and bribery- the very wrongs they were sworn to fight. Now, these acts are being carried out by those who should protect us, prevent them, and defend justice. The rise in crime is spiraling out of control, and it should never be said that an officer of the law has joined the ranks of the offenders. Yet, here we are.
Still, I believe they can do better by choosing what is right instead of what is easy. The uniform should be a symbol of honor, not fear. It should command respect, not suspicion.
There is a truth we can no longer avoid: the burden of fighting crime and corruption has grown beyond what mere mortals can shoulder. Even as we call for reforms, training, and better policing, the weight keeps increasing. We have reached a point where our streets bleed with corruption, our homes cry out for safety, and our children’s futures tremble in uncertainty. If the fight has become larger than our human capacity, then perhaps it is time to admit that we need help beyond policy and manpower – time to call upon heaven itself.
But even with divine help, one reality remains: the police cannot fix what the rest of us continue to fuel. Fighting crime is not their burden alone; it is a shared responsibility. The citizen who refuses to pay a bribe, the leader who chooses integrity, the officer who remains honest when no one is watching – these are the true foot soldiers of national transformation. If we keep expecting the police to solve every problem while we continue to create new ones, then who exactly is going to bell the cat?
Because the cat we speak of is not a thief lurking in the night. It is the corruption we tolerate, the shortcuts we embrace, and the silence we maintain when wrongdoing becomes normal. And as I pondered this, a troubling question emerged: perhaps the cat we keep trying to “bell” is not just fierce – it is overfed. We imagine that once we place a bell around its neck, we will hear danger approaching, just like the mice in the old fable. But what happens when the cat grows so large, so entitled, so accustomed to feeding on everything around it, that no bell can warn us anymore? What happens when it turns toward the smaller and more vulnerable-the next generation, the unborn children, and the future leaders we hope will rebuild the nation? At that point, the problem is not the bell. It is the cat we have allowed to swell on corruption, excuses, and collective complacency. Maybe what the cat truly needs is not a bell, but discipline-perhaps even a long overdue workout for a nation weakened by excess.
This reflection carried me back to an experience from last year. My daughter was only five months old, and I had an important exam scheduled for 11 a.m. living in Delta State but schooling in Anambra, I set out by 7 a.m., confident that the usual one-hour journey was more than manageable. But that day, the fragile road collapsed under the weight of a bustling market day. Potholes deep enough to swallow tyres, eroded lanes, broken-down vehicles, honking drivers, thick fumes, people abandoning their cars to walk – it felt like the road itself was protesting years of neglect.
By 9:30 a.m., I was still trapped in Delta State, panic rising as time slipped away. Missing that exam meant carrying the course over into my final year something I desperately wanted to avoid. Exhausted, sweating, inhaling smoke, I made the only choice left: I stepped out of the bus, wrapped my five-month-old daughter tightly in my wrapper, and began walking under the burning sun, weaving through stranded vehicles until I finally found another ride.
And the question that echoed long afterward was simple: Who is responsible for this?
Every year, millions are allocated for road repairs. Yet months later, the same roads crumble. When the rains come, we hear the same excuse: “The rain spoiled the road.” But is Nigeria the only country with rain? Must we beg the heavens to hold back the clouds? Or should contractors simply do their jobs with the funds entrusted to them? Around the world, nations endure storms and harsh climates, yet they repair and maintain their roads. The difference is not weather. The difference is accountability.
Bad roads do more than inconvenience travelers – they endanger lives. A woman in labor may not reach a hospital. A student may miss an exam. A patient may die because an ambulance cannot pass. Sometimes, I joke that if we filled our potholes with fish from the River Niger, they could at least serve as fishponds, since they certainly cannot serve as roads.
But beneath the humor lies a painful truth: we blame rain, citizens, and fate, but refuse to hold leaders and contractors accountable. We admire foreign nations yet refuse to build the same here. Is it that we no longer love this country?
Nigeria desperately needs a rebirth of patriotism – not the kind measured only by sacrifice, but the daily loyalty expressed through responsibility and integrity. As Dr. Newton Jibunoh once said, patriotism is not merely dying for one’s country – it is an intense loyalty to its well-being.
We do not need a war to fix this nation. We need a change of mindset. We must see Nigeria as a child we are nurturing – a child we want to thrive, to stand tall, and to succeed. When we see our nation this way, doing what is right becomes natural.
Only then will we stop feeding the cat.
Only then will the cat shrink to a size we can finally bell. Only then will police officers stop protecting criminals, and lawmakers stop breaking the laws they swore to defend.
Only then will the conversation between ages lead us toward a future worthy of the generations to come.
To Be Continued….