Do you know if you are mad?

That’s not a joke. It’s a serious question.

One of the biggest puzzles about madness is that mad people usually don’t know they are mad. They’re in their own world, doing their own thing with full confidence. No shame. No fear. It makes perfect sense to them. You see them talking to the air, laughing alone, or yelling at shadows, it looks crazy to you. But to them? That’s just life.

What is wild is they still respond to reality.

Hunger? They look for food.

Pain? They react.

Fear? They know it too.

So they’re not completely disconnected. They’re just plugged into a different version of the world, maybe clouded, maybe cracked, maybe full of blind spots. A world that’s real to them, even if it’s broken.

How sure are you that you are not mad?

That’s what makes it scary. Because if a mad person can do all that and still be mad, how sure are you that you’re not mad too?

You think madness only wears rags and shouts on the road? Think again. Madness can wear perfume. Madness can have Wi-Fi. Madness can post fine pictures and still be deep in delusion.

There’s a Nigerian saying: “Many are mad, but few are roaming.” Translation: some people roam physically, the rest roam in their minds.

Like the man that dresses sharp but eats like an animal in secret. Or the rich guy that can’t stop performing online for likes - validation addict. He’s mad, he just doesn't know. And that's the thing - he doesn't know.

That’s why people get shocked when someone does something wild. “But he looked normal…”

Exactly. Because you expected madness to wear a label.

Let’s be real

As a boss, you deliberately create fear in your team. You love it when they tremble around you. Is that in your job description? You are mad sir.

As an employee, you know what’s expected but you keep doing it halfway, or not at all. Nobody has told you, so let me: you are mad.

Daddy Daddy. You can’t drop money at home, but you are out there popping bottles with babes. No one told you? You are mad.

Anything in skirt - leggo. You move like a dog on heat. But you dress well, so your steez is covering it. Still, you are mad.

“If he has money, I’m available.” Your bumbum is what is covering your madness. Remove beauty, we will see clearly.

As a wife, you frustrate your husband daily. Drama every week because “I’m a woman.” Sister, you are mad.

You beat her so she can respect you? That’s not masculinity. It’s madness

You are a rich politician, but you are hiding palliatives meant for poor people. That’s not strategy. It’s madness

You support a politician you know is bad, because he is from your tribe. You’re not loyal, you are mad.

You stan celebrities online. Fight strangers in comment sections for people that don’t even know you exist. My guy, you don’t need Twitter, you need psychiatric evaluation.

Why are we seeing your breasts outside? Or wht is it squeezed because you want to wear corset? It's owambe abi? You are not peng sis, you are mad.

Uncle pablo, you bought a full length pair of jeans without belt so you can pull it down to show your stinking ass, it's not swag, it's madness.

If I continue, the psych ward will be full so let me just stop here and leave you to judge yourself and place yourself on treatment.

And remember this Yorùbá saying: “Ọjọ́ tí wèrè bá mọ̀ pé ó yàwèrè, ìwòsàn rẹ̀ ti bẹ̀rẹ̀.” - The day a mad person realises they are mad, that’s the beginning of their healing.

Until then, they will keep moving mad, with boldness.

So ask yourself again: Am I mad?

Think am o…