Lady Donli, Nigeria, HONOURABLE MENTION
In Lagos, where the chaos never sleeps and silence feels like a forgotten dream, I found myself craving it more than ever this year. Not the uncomfortable kind of silence that fills awkward spaces, but a deep, peaceful quiet — the kind that lets you breathe and think clearly when the world outside feels like it’s spiraling into noise.
I wanted that silence for everyone, for the world, because no matter where I looked, all I saw was chaos.
As a Nigerian living in one of the busiest cities on the planet, chaos is nothing new to me. It’s stitched into the fabric of daily life — loud voices, hustling streets, never-ending traffic, and the constant rhythm of movement. Chaos is part of what makes Lagos so alive, so vibrant. But this year? It felt different. The chaos was sharper, more unsettling, like the jarring sound of metal scraping against metal. Something wasn’t right.
That constant noise, that unsettling feeling, made me wish for a reset. I started to fantasize about a “joy switch” — a simple, magical button to turn sorrow into laughter, despair into hope. But life doesn’t work like that. There’s no magic button to make everything okay.
Instead, there’s just us — me, you, all of us — trying to make sense of the chaos and find moments of peace. And that’s where the truth lies: no one is coming to save us. Not from the systems that seem indifferent, not from the conflicts tearing communities apart, and not from the silent struggles that go unnoticed. It’s just us, standing in the middle of it all, with our humanity and our communities as our only lifelines.
We live in a world that often feels like it’s losing its way. We see it in the news, in our cities, in our interactions. But no matter how loud the chaos gets, there is something sacred about choosing to hold on to hope. About creating small spaces where we can breathe, where we can connect with each other, where we can find meaning in the madness.
Silence — real, peaceful silence — gives us that space. It allows us to step back from the noise, even if just for a moment, and remind ourselves that we still have power. Power in how we respond to the world. Power in how we care for each other. Power in how we choose to move forward, even when everything around us feels overwhelming.
Living through chaotic times can make us feel helpless, like everything is spiraling out of control. But in reality, we still have each other. Our communities, our relationships, and our shared humanity are what ground us when everything else seems to be falling apart.
No, there’s no one coming to save us. But maybe we don’t need saving in the traditional sense. Maybe what we really need is to save each other — to lean on one another, to find strength in our shared experiences. Perhaps the most radical and necessary thing we can do is to show up for ourselves, for our neighbours, and for the world.
This year taught me, more than ever, that we are all in this together. Every small act of kindness, every moment of solidarity, every effort to spread joy in the midst of chaos is part of something bigger. We don’t need to be perfect. We just need to be present — to listen, to care, and to offer each other the silence and space we all deserve.
There may not be a joy switch, but we have something better. We have each other. And in this noisy, unpredictable world, that might just be enough.
