EPISODE 1: The Passing Out Parade Was Just the Beginning
I remember that day so clearly.
Standing under the hot sun in my starched white-and-khaki NYSC uniform, smiling for pictures, hugging friends I’d come to see as family. Our Passing Out Parade (POP) was filled with energy, promise, and hope.
People around me were already talking about the future.
“Guy, I dey go Lagos next week. Make I hustle tech.”
“I go enter Masters straight, I no get time.”
“I get connect for Shell. I go soon start.”
Me? I had nothing concrete. No offer letter. No job waiting. No plan beyond getting back home and figuring things out.
But I smiled through it all, convinced that something would click. I had done the “right things”—graduated with a good grade, served my country, followed the rules. Life had to reward me soon, right?
Right?
The First Few Weeks
Returning home was comforting but confusing. For the first few days, it felt like a well-deserved break. I slept, ate, watched movies, and scrolled endlessly on my phone. “You deserve it,” I kept telling myself. “You’ll start applying next week.”
Then weeks turned into a month. One month became two.
I applied for jobs—hundreds of them. Graduate trainee programs. Entry-level roles. Internships. NGOs. Government jobs. I rewrote my CV so many times I lost count. My inbox was full of “We regret to inform you…” and worse—silence.
Every rejection felt personal. Every unanswered email chipped away at my confidence.
Waking up became harder. Some days, I wouldn’t leave the bed until noon. I stopped taking calls. I avoided gatherings. I didn’t want to answer the question: “So what are you doing now?”
Family Pressure and Silent Shame
At home, things started changing. Slowly, subtly.
My parents didn’t say it outright, but their questions stung:
“So what’s the latest now?”
“Have you thought of teaching, even if it’s small school nearby?”
“Why don’t you talk to your uncle in Abuja?”
My siblings—most of them younger—seemed to be doing better. One was learning coding. Another was planning her JAPA to the UK.
And me? I was there, battling CV fatigue and watching YouTube tutorials on how to “stay motivated when job hunting.”
Sometimes I would sneak out of the house in the afternoon just to walk. To feel like I was doing something. To clear the noise in my head. I’d pass people on the street and wonder if they could see the confusion I was carrying like a load on my back.
The Mental Spiral
Let no one deceive you—unemployment is more than just having no income. It strips you of identity. It questions your worth. You wake up asking yourself, “What am I even doing with my life?”
There were days I felt utterly useless.
Scrolling through LinkedIn became depressing. Everyone seemed to be getting jobs, getting certifications, getting promoted—while I was stuck refreshing job sites like Jobberman, MyJobMag, and LinkedIn Jobs.
Friends stopped calling. And I didn’t blame them. What would I even say? “I’m still searching”? Again?
Small Hustles, Big Reality
At one point, I started teaching home lessons for ₦15,000 a month. It wasn’t much, but it helped me keep my sanity. At least it got me out of the house. At least it made me feel useful.
Then I joined a friend selling things online. I helped with packaging and promotion on WhatsApp and Instagram. Sometimes we’d make enough to eat out. Other times, we made nothing.
Still, it was something.
But at night, the questions always returned.
“Is this it? Is this my life now?”
Why This Story Matters
If you’re reading this and you feel seen, it’s because you are. The truth is, thousands of Nigerian graduates go through this cycle after NYSC—hope, struggle, silence, depression, survival.
It’s not your fault. The system is broken. Opportunities are scarce. And those with connections and capital often get ahead while the rest of us hustle for scraps.
But still—we move.
Because this isn’t the end of the story.
Exactly my condition right now