Let’s talk about the people nobody writes LinkedIn posts or Twitter threads about: The ones who are still squarely in the ‘beans’ phase – the ones whose lives never magically arranged themselves into success stories.
Because for every bright-eyed youth with a tech job earning in dollars, there are countless others still hustling on dusty roads, submitting CVs that never get opened, sending “just checking in” emails that never get replied, and whispering small prayers into long nights that seem to have no end.
And it’s not because they’re lazy or unserious. That’s the most irritating assumption people make – that if you’re still struggling, you must not be putting in enough effort. As if Nigeria runs strictly on meritocracy. As if connections, luck, timing, and a thousand other random factors don’t play their parts.
What’s funny is how polite failure looks on people. They show up at weddings, smile at parties, hype their friends online, talk about “God’s time is the best” so effortlessly you’d almost believe their life is calm. Meanwhile deep down, it’s a constant undercurrent of worry: when e go be my turn? Will this hustle ever pay off, or am I just deceiving myself that all this grit will lead somewhere?
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People who haven’t “made it” yet live with a very particular kind of anxiety. It’s in the way your phone rings and you have to brace yourself before picking up because it might be your mum asking, “any good news yet?” It’s the sting of being added to a family WhatsApp group where someone drops a testimony about their son who just relocated to Canada, and suddenly everyone is typing “Congratulations!” Meanwhile, your own highlight of the week was fixing your phone screen for the third time this year.
It’s that awkward question at gatherings: “So what are you doing now?” You just mumble, “I dey work on some things,” knowing fully well that means “I still dey find my foot for ground.”
Or those nights when you dey scroll Instagram, seeing your old classmates announce new roles, new rides, new countries. You go like the posts, because true true, you dey happy for them, but afterwards, you go just drop your phone face down because your chest dey somehow.
Being stuck in the beans phase means living with invisible tension. Every outing plan with friends is mentally calculated: can I afford this? If I say no again, will they stop inviting me? It means pretending not to notice how people subtly start treating you differently when your life isn’t moving as fast as theirs. They’re not wicked, they just don’t know what to say to someone whose dreams are still simmering on low heat.
It means waking up every Monday telling yourself, “this week go better,” even when deep down you dey tire to dey hope. It means having plans so fragile you don’t even share them, because you’re scared of jinxing them. It means battling shame you didn’t ask for, for a reality you’re actively trying to escape.
And the worst part is that while eventual success stories are loud, struggles are mostly silent. Nobody claps for surviving another month of unemployment. Nobody reposts your story of losing out on a role you were perfect for. Nobody says “God when” when you borrow money to pay rent.
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But if you’re in this phase, let me say it out loud: you’re not doing nothing. Existing in a country like Nigeria, chasing dreams with almost no structure to support you, is an achievement on its own. Still sending out applications after your 47th rejection email is heroic. Still hoping when everything screams at you to quit is courage. Still showing up for your people when you can barely show up for yourself? That’s gold.
So no let anybody highlight reel rush you. You no dey behind, you just dey your own process. Maybe your story never ripe for before-and-after post. E no mean say e no valid. E just mean say you still dey write your own middle.
Because without beans, there’s no becoming.
And one day, this very phase, these nights you can’t sleep, these days your account is embarrassing, these bus stops where you stand calculating if you can enter Bolt instead of danfo, will become the plot twist in your own glow-up story. The same people who looked at you sideways will quote your story with “I always knew you’d make it.”
For now, keep grinding, keep hoping, keep breathing. Your time will come. And until then, remember: you’re not alone in the beans.
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