By Suad Ayinla.
Edited by Bababunmi Agbebi
Young people across Lagos are increasingly using the words “tired,” “overwhelmed,” and “finished,” but very few will call what they feel by its real name: a mental health struggle. In Ikeja, where offices, markets, campuses, and courts all collide, the pressure is visible in packed buses at dawn, endless traffic, unpaid internships, and the quiet shame of going home with almost nothing after a long day. For many youths, expectations from family to “make it,” social media pressure to “blow” before 25, and the rising cost of living have fused into a constant, heavy anxiety. Yet in conversations, they still describe it as “stress” or “overthinking,” not depression or burnout, because those labels feel too big and too scary.
On the streets of Ikeja, from Computer Village to Obafemi Awolowo Way and around the Secretariat, the signs are subtle but everywhere. A young salesgirl who hasn’t had a full day off in weeks, a tech intern surviving on stipends that barely cover transport, a bike dispatcher who jokes about “dying on the road” while dodging trailers: all these are mental health stories, even if nobody is calling them that. Some cope with loud music in earpieces, others with jokes and skits, late‑night parties, energy drinks, or substances like loud and codeine. A few try to seek help but are told at home that “you just need prayer” or “you’re not the first to suffer.”
Accessing professional support is another major barrier for youth in Ikeja. Many do not know where to find affordable counselling, and those who do often cannot pay private hospital rates or feel safe discussing their inner life with someone from their own community. Public facilities are overcrowded and more focused on obvious physical illnesses, so a young person with panic attacks or constant sadness may leave with only painkillers or sleeping tablets. Fear of being labelled “mad” or “weak” keeps many quiet, especially young men who are taught that real men don’t cry or complain.
Still, the same Ikeja that exhausts young people also holds part of the solution. Youth‑friendly NGOs, faith‑based groups, and a few clinics are beginning to organize mental health outreaches, while some workplaces in the area now talk about “wellness” and stress management, even if in small ways. Simple steps like schools and NYSC centers in Ikeja inviting psychologists, local radio stations in Yoruba and pidgin openly discussing depression, and resident associations creating safe spaces for youths to talk can make a real difference. If the city can recognize that the headaches, sleepless nights, and constant anger many young people feel are not just “Lagos life” but warning signs, then Ikeja can become not only a commercial hub, but also a place where youth are allowed to be vulnerable, ask for help, and actually receive it.
