The Unspoken Reality of Manhood in a Harsh System
If you’re born in Africa, let’s narrow it down to Nigeria, then right from the moment you take your first breath, life has already handed you a challenge. Consider that your starting point:
Version 1.0 of survival mode.
You’re born into a land of immense potential, yes, but also into a system riddled with dysfunction.
A place where corruption eats at opportunity, where bad governance stifles dreams before they even leave the ground, and where infrastructure fails more than it functions. Basic amenities, electricity, clean water, quality education, reliable healthcare, things that should be human rights, are now privileges.
So, you start with a weight on your shoulders. The air might feel free, but the pathway is already steep.
Now, imagine you grow up and discover you are a man. In a society like ours, that revelation comes not with pride, but with pressure. You don’t get applause for being male, you inherit expectations.
Society doesn’t ask if you’re ready; it simply begins to weigh you down.
From the moment you’re able to walk and speak, the world starts whispering in your ear:
“Be strong.”
“Don’t cry.”
“Provide.”
“Lead.”
“Make it work.”
You learn quickly that failure, weakness, or emotional vulnerability is a luxury you can’t afford.
And so, congratulations, your difficulty level just got bumped to Version 2.0.
You’re expected to carry responsibilities before you fully understand what they mean.
Then one day, you look around… and realize your parents aren’t rich.
They didn’t hand you a trust fund.
There’s no inheritance waiting in a safe.
No overseas account to back you up.
In fact, maybe your family is barely making ends meet. Maybe your father is still chasing a dream that the system never allowed him to catch. Maybe your mother is burning out just trying to keep the home together.
That’s when reality fully loads in, Version 3.0.
Now you’re not just expected to be a man, you’re expected to be the man. The savior. The solution. The financial plan.
And in this part of the world, being a man often means being alone.
No one is coming.
No social safety net.
No community support.
No fairy godmother.
Most people will only help you when you’ve already made it and even then, they’ll remind you that you “owe” them.
Only your parents might support you, but that’s if they’re disciplined, forward-thinking and emotionally stable enough to do so. Not every parent knows how to invest in their children; some are too broken by the system themselves.
Some are simply surviving.
And then comes the gender dynamic.
As a young man in Nigeria, you step into adulthood and suddenly realize that even relationships can become economic transactions.
In a society where the economy is choking and opportunities are few, survival becomes strategy.
And sometimes, women, conditioned by the same system, are taught, both subtly and openly, that a man is meant to be a resource. A provider. A financial plan in human form.
You begin to understand that love isn’t always about connection; sometimes it’s about convenience. In many cases, you are not desired for who you are, but for what you can give, and how much.
You see, this isn’t to demonize women, it’s a critique of the system.
Because when survival is the only thing on everyone’s mind, relationships can easily become battlegrounds of extraction and exploitation.
Meanwhile, in parts of the Western world, while not perfect, there are support systems. There’s often room for partnerships, where two people can build together. There’s space for love to exist outside of desperation. There’s the idea that a man and woman can grow side by side, without one draining the life out of the other.
Here, the average man is burdened with unspoken expectations, economic pressure, emotional suppression and often… no one to turn to.
That’s why as a man in this part of the world, you must hustle three times harder.
You don’t just need talent, you need resilience.
You don’t just need dreams, you need grit.
You don’t just need luck, you need relentless consistency.
Because the truth is harsh:
No one is coming to save you.
You are the backup plan.
You are the emergency fund.
You are the solution your family is praying for.
You either build or break.
You either rise or disappear.
But if you can face it, if you can survive these levels, Nigeria 1.0, Manhood 2.0, Poverty 3.0, then you’re not just strong.
“You’re unstoppable.”