The Sweet Dimensions Of Bitterness And The Bitter Dimensions Of Sweetness: The Quiddity Of The Nigerian Lawyer’s Reality

By: Ujah Israel Ujah, Esq. B.Phil, LL.B, B.L, LL.M, (Ph.D in view)

In the beautiful theatre of legal idealism, the Nigerian lawyer is expected to be a titan of knowledge, a temple of justice, and a luminary of hope. Yet, behind the regalia and rhetoric lies a stark contradiction — a life lived in silent frustration, an existence often weighed down by economic uncertainty, societal neglect, and professional exploitation.

This paradox — where sweetness and bitterness coexist — forms the very quiddity of the Nigerian lawyer’s reality.

For every courtroom drama and ceremonial robe, there are sleepless nights, unpaid fees, delayed justice, and dashed expectations.

In this bittersweet symphony, young lawyers often taste the bitterness first, and in heavy doses. Many of us entered the profession with blazing dreams, only to be greeted by cold realities — a system not designed to nurture but to test, to strain, and to sift.

Dear New Wig, Bolaji Oluwatosin Esq et..al, I say welcome to the fold — not just of robed elegance, but of rugged resilience.

This terrain will test your mettle in ways the Law School never prepared you for. You will meet principals who see you as cheap labour, not legal minds. You may draft volumes without acknowledgment, appear in court with passion only to be slammed with costs you didn’t deserve, and sometimes return home with more dust on your shoes than dignity in your pocket.

But do not be dispirited. Every brief you write, every file you chase, and every insult you swallow is not wasted — they are the silent bricks building your fortress of mastery. Don’t measure your growth by the coins in your account but by the scars that sharpen your instincts and the values you refuse to trade.

So, breathe — and brace. Yes, you will see premium shege — the kind that makes you question why you ever chose this path. But within that furnace lies your forging.

Do not envy those who rise quickly by cutting corners; their glow is often a flicker, not a flame. Stay rooted. Endure the garri days with pride, the long treks with vision, and the empty stomachs with faith.

You are not a mistake; you are a movement in motion. There is light at the end of this dark tunnel — not a metaphorical one, but a tangible, blazing, glorious light. And when it comes, may it find you not broken, but battle-hardened, wiser, and ready to lead others through the same storm you survived.

For the young lawyer without connections, without a benefactor, without anyone to say “well done” or offer a hand up, the terrain can be cruel. Some of us have written countless briefs, drafted pleadings into the night, faced hostile courts, and chased files and clients under the blazing Abuja sun — only to be told at the end of the month: “Manage this ₦20,000.”

And then, during job interviews, we are confronted with that seemingly innocuous but manipulative question: “What are your salary expectations?”

Let’s speak truthfully — that question is a decoy, a smokescreen behind which many recruiters hide their unwillingness to offer value for value.

How do you ask a lawyer — trained for six or more years, having faced the fires of the Nigerian Law School, and braved the early storms of practice — how much they think they’re worth, when you already know what you want to pay (or worse, not pay at all)? As much as I respect the formality of the question, it is time we admit: you can’t truly pay a lawyer — not in full, not adequately, and certainly not when you reduce him or her to a token.

Let’s call it what it is: a take-home pay that can’t take you home is not a salary. It is a stain on the conscience of a system that should reward dignity with dignity. It is an indictment of a profession that sells itself as noble, yet often grinds its noblest into powder.

To the young lawyer reading this, I see you. I feel your hurt. You’ve attended interviews where you were mocked instead of mentored. You’ve hoped on people who promised and failed. You’ve slaved in law offices that feed you garri and expectations but no gratitude or growth.

Some of you have cried in silence, curled on office floors, been detained with clients, or attended court with empty stomachs and tattered hope. You have been buried by betrayal, forgotten by those who once praised you. But let me tell you something — you are a seed. And we all know what happens to seeds buried in the ground. They germinate.

“If you can’t fly, run. If you can’t run, walk and if you can’t walk, crawl. By all standards—keep moving!  That is the goal. Never remain stagnant. In this our profession, visibility is keen and powerful. Na person wey dem dey see, dem dey give appearance fee.

So, don’t let one ‘alaye’ use your glory to shine while you fade in the shadows. Guard your light, show up boldly, and make sure the world sees you. Your relevance is your responsibility.” For my sake make efforts and grow. For yours; Blossom. Push through. Endure. Learn the ropes. There is no shortcut here.

If eating garri without sugar is the price, pay it with pride. If trekking from court to court in the rain is part of the process, endure it with vision. The Olympus of law you are eyeing will come. Just don’t die before you arrive there. Your mental health matters.

Your life matters. If your workplace is toxic, and it eats at your soul, walk away. Your sanity is not for sale.

Yes, the government may not have plans for you. The system may be broken. But your spirit must not be. Fear is killing most of you, the fear of the unknown, the fear of uncertainty, Guess what – cowards die six times because of fear.

What are you afraid of? The unknown? Why should you be afraid of something you don’t know? Do you know why it’s called the unknown? Because it does not exist. Behind the fear of the unknown lies your breakthrough. Behind the ridicule lies your refinement. Behind today’s suffering lies tomorrow’s courtroom — where you will stand, not as a struggling intern, but as a lion of the law.

And to our senior colleagues — the rare ones whose hearts still beat for justice and humanity — I salute you. To Ms. Ibrahim SAN, S.T. Momoh Esq., Peter John Nwokolo Esq., and to my dearest Sham Laura — may your tribe increase. You remind us that this profession can still be beautiful. You remind us that mentorship is not a myth. That generosity and brilliance can coexist. That true leaders lift others as they rise.

To every young lawyer out there: you are not alone. You are not foolish for dreaming. You are not weak for weeping. You are not lost — you are only being shaped. So let the bitterness teach you humility, and let the sweetness of small victories remind you that your journey is not in vain.

Remember this: every tree in the forest was once a helpless seed. You are that seed. Grow anyway. Flourish. Let your roots hold deep, and your branches reach the sun.

Ujah Israel Ujah, Esq.

B.Phil, LL.B, B.L, LL.M, (Ph.D in view)

Legal Practitioner, Judicial Accountability Advocate, and Defender of Due Process. He can be reached via 07034651322