If Nigeria had a national superpower, it wouldn’t be oil. Or jollof. Or the hustle mentality. Not even the ability to form numerous committees. It would be humour. Pure, unfiltered, sometimes outrageous, and deeply philosophical. Naija humour is the balm we rub on bruises of everyday living.
When your country turns into a full-time action film, with inflation doing push-ups, electricity playing hide and seek, and politicians acting like Netflix villains, laughter isn’t just comedy; it’s survival. It’s the only thing standing between sanity and madness.
Our humour is more than just a coping mechanism. It’s a protest, a therapy, a survival kit passed down from generation to generation. It’s how we turn tragedy to comedy. Pain to punchlines. Hunger to ha-ha-ha.
In many nations, a broken system leads to broken people. In Nigeria, a broken system leads to stand-up comedy, Twitter threads, and WhatsApp broadcasts that go viral faster than electricity can disappear.
Let’s start with Exhibit A:
“The moment I knew Nigeria was in trouble was when someone stole his neighbour’s white goat and dyed it black, only for the neighbour to say he recognised the goat by its smile.”
Wawu!
My brother, when goats begin to “smile” and people start recognising them like old classmates, you know you’re no longer in a normal society. This isn’t just a joke. It’s an allegory. A parable of desperation and familiarity, where even a goat’s smile gets stored in memory like biometric data. That’s Naija for you.
Then there’s the legendary art of winning arguments with mouth odour.
“Best strategy to win arguments? Have serious mouth odour and people will just be nodding in agreement.”
Forget logic and debate. In Nigeria, even body chemistry is weaponised. It’s the street MBA in conflict resolution. Odour diplomacy. Lol.
But Naija humour is also self-aware. It drags itself with reckless abandon:
“I don’t like people who can’t let go of the past—especially people I owe money.”
There’s something poetic about how we normalise owing people like it’s part of the national curriculum. And the delivery? Effortless! Nobody can laugh at Nigerians better than Nigerians.
Electricity wahala? Ah! When NEPA takes light, a true Nigerian will stand up and check outside, to make sure their neighbors don’t have light too. This isn’t paranoia. It’s the sacred tradition of shared suffering. Because in Naija, if your neighbor has light and you don’t, it’s not just a technical fault. It’s spiritual warfare.
We’re a nation that buys sachet water and gulps it like we just crossed the Sahara, but when it comes to bottled water, we sip it like holy communion:
“You will be opening and closing it like it’s doctor’s prescription.”
Why? Packaging. Perception. It’s the Naija way.
Church and Mosque nko? You sleep through eight thunderous loudspeakers at a vigil, but can’t sleep at home without switching off your small radio. That one no be joke, it’s spiritual gym.
And hey, have you seen those immortal cockroaches that live in your ovens?
“You will be warming food and see them walking like Shedrack, Meshack & Abednego.”
I don’t understand. If Naija cockroach writes memoir, it will sell more copies than Harry Potter. These insects are not ordinary. They’re survivors. Like us.
We laugh because if we don’t, we’ll cry. And tears no dey trend.
Humour is our rebellion. It’s how we stay sane in the madness. It’s why Naija is not just one of the most interesting countries on earth but it’s the most entertaining, most unpredictable, most drama-filled country with the most dangerously funny people alive. That’s why funny skits and stand-up comedy industry are billion dollars market, because we just need to laugh.
As we say in Lagos, if you survive here, you can survive anywhere. But if you laugh here, you’re already a part of the tribe.
And that, my friend, is why we laugh—not because it’s funny, but because Nigeria don show us shege and we refuse to let it win. So next time your goat gets stolen and comes back fully dyed, just check the smile. No be juju, na Naija we dey.
