The hustle culture glorified, but at what cost?
Welcome to Arulogun village, where there are two genders: humans and man. The former are loved just for being. The latter? He must prove his worth daily, with a pocket that jingles and a back that never rests. Every morning, the familiar rhythm returns like harmattan dust: “Hustle ooo! No food for lazy man!” It echoes from WhatsApp statuses, from mothers’ mouths, from pastors’ pulpits, from friends who mean well.
It’s not just a village thing; it’s a national anthem. From Ibadan to Abuja, Enugu to Ilorin, the Nigerian man is born into a battle he didn’t sign up for but is expected to win regardless. “Be a man,” they say, “provide.” But no one tells him how to do that in an economy that barely provides for itself.
It’s no wonder that a lot of young men walk around with strong shoulders and shaky hearts. Smiling outside, screaming inside. Hustling in daylight, weeping in silence. The most tragic part? They don’t even have the permission to talk about it.
The Economic Pressure
There’s something deeply cruel about asking someone to carry the weight of a family, society, and future without giving them the tools to do so. In a country where “what do you do?” is the opening line of conversation and worth is measured in monthly income, pressure becomes a silent roommate.
Unemployment is a thief. But underemployment? That one is a subtle abuser. Imagine studying engineering, graduating top five, only to become a POS attendant earning ₦40,000 monthly. And yet, you still send ₦5k home to mama because you’re the “first son.”
Many young men have become experts at pretending. They scroll past job rejections like motivational quotes and swallow their dreams with sachet water. You’ll find them in studios, building fake smiles for LinkedIn pictures. In their inbox are unanswered emails, CVs tailored tighter than their shirts. In their hearts are unspoken questions: “Am I enough? When will it be my turn?”
The society tells them to hustle. So, they hustle. Side gigs. Forex. Tech. Internet fraud, for some. The ones with principles pray longer, fast harder, work more. They attend webinars, write cold emails, learn Canva and code at 2 a.m. All in the name of making it but nobody talks about what’s breaking them in the process.
Mental Exhaustion
It’s hard to say out loud, but many young Nigerian men are quietly drowning. Not in water, but in expectations. In bills. In comparison. In shame. What we often call “laziness” or “weakness” is sometimes just depression in disguise.
You’ll notice it when a once vibrant guy becomes distant. He stops calling. Stops posting. His voice lacks its usual strength. His laughter becomes mechanical. Maybe he even jokes more because humor is sometimes the only way he knows to hide his pain.
Many don’t know the name of what they’re feeling. They just know they’re tired. Tired, but can’t rest. They sleep, but don’t feel refreshed. They go to work, but feel empty. They get alerts, but feel no joy.
We’ve normalized struggle so much that rest looks like laziness. We see tears and say, “guy be a man.” We see withdrawal and say, “na woman dey worry am.” But maybe what’s worrying him is the weight of unfulfilled dreams and the fear of never being enough.
The Hidden Burnout Epidemic
And so, we arrive at the epidemic with no thermometer: burnout. It’s sneaky, often masked in busyness. That guy who’s “always grinding,” who “no dey sleep,” who’s juggling four hustles? He may not be okay. He may be running on fumes, not fuel.
Burnout is not just tiredness. It’s a deep, soul-level fatigue that doesn’t go away with a weekend nap. It looks like forgetfulness, like irritability, like avoiding calls. It looks like zoning out during meetings or hating the job you once prayed for. It can wear the face of a 22-year-old medical student or a 30-year-old man in corporate Lagos.
Students are not spared either. In lecture halls, some of the boys don’t just struggle with anatomy or history. They struggle with self-worth. Some stay up late not just to read but to scroll through job boards and wonder if all this effort is even worth it.
Wellness- the Grind
Still, in all of this noise and hustle, there is something deeply revolutionary about rest. Not sleep alone, but true rest. The kind that comes from knowing that your worth isn’t tied to your output. That your life matters even if you’re still figuring things out.
We must begin to build a rest culture in a country that idolizes grind. Taking breaks shouldn’t be seen as laziness and saying “no” shouldn’t feel like rebellion. You can be ambitious and still protect your peace. You can chase goals and still pause to breathe.
Set boundaries. Delete that toxic “motivation” page on Instagram. Decline that extra gig if it costs your health. Take long walks. Drink water without urgency. Talk to someone and cry, if you must. Rest is not weakness. Rest is resistance.
Resources & Solutions
Beyond rest, we need resources. Real, practical support. Career mentorship, for one. Every young man needs someone who has walked the path to say: “Here’s what I wish I knew.” Someone to review CVs, recommend courses, demystify JAPA, and whisper, “You’re doing okay.”
Mental health days should be normal. Workplaces, schools and even communities must begin to respect mental health like physical health. If malaria gets a sick leave, depression should too.
And then, financial literacy. Not everyone needs to be an entrepreneur. Not every talent needs to be monetized. Sometimes, the peace of mind that comes from managing your little salary well is more powerful than chasing fast money with shaky ethics.
Let’s also normalize therapy, or at least safe spaces. You shouldn’t have to drink to talk. Brotherhood can be more than banter. Friends can be accountability partners who check in on each other, deeply.
Hustle isn’t the enemy. Responsibility isn’t a curse. But if we don’t learn how to carry them with balance, they will crush us.
So, dear Nigerian man, whether you’re in a hostel in Ife or an office in Lekki, breathe. You are not lazy for being tired. You are not weak for feeling overwhelmed. Your value doesn’t reduce because you’re still on the journey.
And if all you did today was survive, that’s still something to be proud of.