A recent scroll through Instagram brought forth a poignant memory for the author: a photo from October 17, 2020, showing her holding a placard in support of the #EndSARS protest, adorned with a cap and a green face mask representing the Nigerian flag. The image evoked a deep sigh, not merely from recalling the physical exhaustion of marching under the scorching sun in solidarity, but from mourning a past version of herself. It was grief for the girl who didn’t need to cling to hope each morning just to believe that Nigeria was still home. It was also for the daughter whose mother anxiously awaited her safe return that day, unaware of the tragedy about to unfold. Just days later, October 20, 2020, would become eternally etched in memory as the day dreams perished alongside protesters at the Lekki Toll Gate.

The author deliberately avoids recounting the harrowing events of that day, acknowledging that the footage, reports, and trauma have been widely documented and personally explored in a previous essay. Five years have now passed since that dark evening. In that time, the author has celebrated a new decade, cast her vote in a second general election, and endured the devastating loss of her mother. Yet, the memory of October 20, 2020 remains vivid and unforgotten a stark reminder of how easily collective memory fades. Death often dominates headlines, but the quiet persistence of grief rarely does.

The lack of official acknowledgment or courtesy visits for the 48 unarmed and defenseless Nigerian citizens killed that night, along with those who were injured, assaulted, or remain missing, underscores a deep societal wound. While statistics may command attention, behind every number is a human being left grappling with an irreplaceable absence. The author feels deeply connected to this shared sorrow, having experienced personal loss herself. For her, writing is not only a form of expression but an act of remembrance, a way to give voice to both collective and individual grief. It honors those who never returned from Lekki Toll Gate: the mother whose child missed his birthday, the lover who never made it to Valentine’s Day, the father who never met his newborn, and her own mother, who never lived to see the Nigeria she so passionately believed in. For those who lost loved ones, October 20, 2020, marked the beginning of a lifetime of mourning.

Though candlelight processions and annual memorials at Lekki Toll Gate may eventually fade, the enduring legacy of young Nigerians who peacefully demanded better governance will remain. Despite the despair of that night, the tragedy ignited a powerful desire for change among the youth. This momentum was evident during the 2023 general elections, when millennials and Gen Zers mobilized through social media, registered for voter cards, and documented their journeys with Get Ready With Me videos on their way to polling stations. Many waited hours to cast their votes, embodying resilience and hope. Among the most powerful images was that of Efidi Bina Jennifer, the woman who returned to vote in her blood-stained T-shirt, one eye bandaged from an attack. Her courage became a symbol of sacrifice and faith in a better Nigeria.

Yet, the reality of daily life in Nigeria often starkly contrasts these aspirations. Some nights, the author wakes in a sweat,another stolen armored cable has left her street in darkness for months. On other days, pride swells as she watches Nigerians like Hilda Baci achieve global recognition, such as setting a Guinness World Record for cooking the largest pot of jollof rice. And then there are days when searching for her voter’s card isn’t about civic duty but simply a quest for valid identification. Grief, she reflects, follows no fixed pattern. Each person’s response is unique, but its transformative power is undeniable.

The author acknowledges her grief—for the people lost, the dreams deferred, and the vision of a “New Nigeria” that feels delayed but not destroyed. She now strives to live embodying her mother’s spirit: fiercely loving, devoted to family, and unafraid of loud laughter whenever possible. Her mother taught her that true courage does not always wear the face of protest or resistance; sometimes, it lies in the quiet audacity to keep hoping and the determination to live fully again, even after profound tragedy.

Ultimately, the author affirms her identity as her mother’s daughter, a bond that even death could never break.