Can Anything Good Come From Nagaland?

Nazareth, by Guido Borelli, 2018.

Lately, I’ve been writing about heartbreak, pain, and the frustrations we face with our system, and a part of me feels like, ok, we can’t hide our heads in the sand… and my research is basically an internal critique on Nagaland...

And so, like the Hebrew Prophets, my writings are a mix of lament, venting and critique (both self- and society). I am like the 'weeping Prophet' at times, and no wonder that Nevi or Nevi'im (נְבִיאִים)  basically means 'prophets' in Hebrew. Writing for me is a 'bell jar' mode that gets activated. It is sour, it's bitter, it's pain and angst mixed together. 

Why should we play the fiddle while Rome burns?

 

But this time, a glimmer of hope arose, which came in the form of a YT update.

It made me realise that even in our land of barbed wire, AK-47s, potholes, and government jobs filled through backdoor deals, there might still be some 'good.'

It reminded me of the verse from John’s Gospel, ‘Can anything good come from Nazareth?’(John 1:46)

 

In our state, as we say in Nagamese, ‘heights of corruption hoishay.’ 

Corruption has become a way of life (Wouters, 2018) and a social norm (Odyou, 2022). If we talk to any lay Naga, we will hear that almost every problem, jobs, roads, electricity, water, or even extortion, traces back to corruption. Even things like auto parking fees are affected by poor administration stemming from a lack of governance, which, in turn, is rooted in corruption. I often meet young entrepreneurs here in my hometown of Dimapur, and our conversations always range from the weather, roads, to...corruption. There is no end to it; it’s like a default system imprinted in our society.

This time, even as the local news about the gun robbery and auto-parking fees was unfolding, I could not help but notice, in the comment sections, the usual rant circling back to corruption. (“Beneath the Safe Surface: Naga Woman Robbed at Gunpoint by Masked Man at Aokong Colony, DMP,” YouTube video, posted by Global Window, accessed April 23, 2026, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDrxyDMZTDE). 

And, (“DMP: DAN Official Responds; Auto Parking Near Town Hall, Supermarket Under Scanner,” YouTube video, posted by Nagaland News Network, accessed April 23, 2026, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RD1nAv04LGw). 

Both incidents again had the same usual comments from local Nagas, lamenting about ‘corruption’ in our society. 

 

Still, before I get lost in the rabbit hole of this topic, I want to focus on the good that exists here.

Can anything good come from Nagaland? 

 

There are a few good men and women, and today I want to talk about them. I realised this when I saw local news about Dr Mhasiseno T. Belho’s new project in Dimapur and the  IVF centre. ( “1st of Its Kind: Dr Belho’s Clinic & Children’s Hosp. Partners with Nova IVF for IVF & IUI Treatment,” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlUvCf1EcBo.)

 

We often travel to cities like Delhi or Guwahati for treatment, a common practice among many Nagas seeking medical care. Our state lacks the infrastructure for an effective healthcare system, often due to corruption. But people like Dr Mhasiseno have made a difference; their efforts have brought real benefits. It’s not just about the IVF centre; people like her, who have had access to good education, have come back here, opened a hospital, created jobs, and set up a system that works.

 

This made me think of others who have done the same. 

Those could have chosen a comfortable life, travelling the world and enjoying luxury, but instead, they returned to their hometowns to start businesses, cafes, bookshops, hotels, or music schools, and in this way, they create jobs and help our hometowns grow. 

I personally know at least eight people who have done this. Those who studied in the UK, Australia, Bangalore, Delhi, and have chosen to come back to Nagaland, opened their centres of clothing wear, cafes, schools etc; and it’s like a small yet well-oiled machine that works, and it’s a win-win, there are no losers here.  

One of the largest issues plaguing our Naga society (againnnnn stemming from corruption) is what we infamously call ‘educated unemployment.’ (Lakhs of educated college goers, with a University degree, and no jobs, educated, over-qualified and unemployed!) 

But the faithful few, the remnant, have somehow done their part, and in turn it benefits not only them, but the society, so kudos to these 'good' ones!

 

These examples prove that good things can come out of Nagaland. It’s an initiative that endures. These are the ones who see hope even in tough times, who perhaps face threats and endless extortion letters, who face endless government bureaucracy, in a state where there are endless bad roads and electricity failures are the daily lament of an ordinary Naga, but they are the ones who keep going against the tide.

 

I always say, if you can make it in Dimapur, a town that sometimes feels like Gotham City, you can make it anywhere!

 

There’s no better place to test us, and no better place to inspire us to do good, be good, and work for the common good.

 

Kevi u uya.

A cloud the size of a hand

I hardly know where to start, because today the sky finally opened up and poured. It was no timid drizzle, but a true downpour, and I am honestly in awe.

Nagaland is unprepared for drought. Since the last Durga Puja in October, the rains have vanished, winter and spring both slipped by bone-dry, and even Holi arrived without a drop. We waited, praying for relief.

Nagaland has no safety net against drought, and people like us, who literally depend on the rain (for our crops), hope was beginning to thin out. 

 

I was away for two weeks in January, and when I returned, the drought still clung to the land. Dimapur was so choked with dust it could have been a scene from Mad Max. Last December brought one of the driest Christmases I can remember, and we ran the car AC in winter just to breathe easier.

Then came February, and still no rain. No seasonal rains to awaken spring.

I remember checking the weather app every week, only to see 0% chance of rain.

 

But today, March 13, the rain finally arrived in force, and the forecast promises more. Earlier showers barely dented the dust, but this downpour revived the leaves, scrubbed the grass clean, and coaxed the spring buds awake.

 

This rain also stirred memories of my own drought in matters of the heart. With two family weddings this month, the familiar question echoed: ‘Bilat, what about you?’ I laugh it off, but inside, I am just as uncertain.

 

I appear composed on the outside, but when I retreat to my room for devotional time, that is when the questioning starts, and I crawl down the rabbit hole of an existential crisis.

 

Scripture has been my anchor, but just a few nights ago, frustration boiled over. I pleaded with God to speak, to answer, to break the silence. I have prayed, fasted, and watched doors close. I received a prophetic word, prayers, and encouragement. I have listened to sermons about contentment in singleness from pastors with families, and heard every cliché: 'You will find someone when you stop looking,' so I stopped. Then, 'Your standards are too high,' or 'Try dating apps.' Friends have tried to set me up, but my heart found no peace, so I declined. I know what I want, and I refuse to rush just because I am in my forties. The pressure is real, but I am grateful that academia keeps me busy and gives me purpose.

 

And then this happened: A few nights ago, as I was praying (again), I challenged the Lord, saying, 'Hello? It’s me again. ‘What is up? Speak now, your servant is listening. 

Give me a word, or else I’m not moving from this place. I’m going to kneel here the whole night till you speak to me.

And you won’t believe what happened. This is where things got interesting.

The Lord reminded me of Elijah’s prayer for rain in 1st Kings 18:41.

 

It didn’t rain in the land for three and a half years.

“V42 Elijah climbed to the top of Mount Carmel and fell to the ground and prayed…

V43 Then he said to his servant, “Go and look out toward the sea.”

The servant went and looked, but he returned to Elijah and said, “I didn’t see anything.”

Seven times Elijah told him to go and look, and seven times he went.

V44, Finally, the seventh time, his servant told him, ‘I saw a little cloud the size of a hand rising from the sea.

V45 and sure enough, the sky was soon black with clouds, and a heavy wind brought a terrific rainstorm.

 

And I started reading every commentary available online from this narrative!

It was bang on. Like, whoa, dang! This is so cool.

 

 

I was refreshed, recharged, and excited to the core.

For me, this story echoed the droughts we all face and why persistence in prayer matters, not just once, but perhaps seven times.

Maybe this lesson is not just for those like me waiting on the Lord. It could speak to anyone, in any season of waiting. Those in dire need of a miracle, of answered prayers, of healing, of restoration, of confirmation.. we pray and we wait and nothing seems to happen. Like a land dry from drought…

Dry seasons can make our prayers feel lost, answers out of reach, and the journey endless.

Some prayers are answered swiftly, but for others, perhaps it is on the seventh try that we glimpse a small cloud, promising not just rain, but a downpour, so never give up, our Miracle is just around the corner. It’s waiting at the threshold . 

Let it rain, open the floodgates of heaven, and until that happens, remain persistent in prayer.

 

gaze

 

                                                           

There is apparently a trend on Instagram to visit beautiful places
and cry alone.

Sometimes it is the beauty itself,
too vast, too radiant, breaking the heart open.

Sometimes it is this: the beauty remains,
but there is no one with whom to share it.

For me, it was the latter.

This was my second journey through Europe as a single person.

and the second time, leaving alone.

The first trip surprised me with its weight.

The pain of familiarity.
The second arrived with expectation,
not reckless hope,
but the quiet kind shaped by stories we read,
films we remember, Serendipity and People You Meet On Vacations,
the small promise that life might meet us halfway.

It did not.

The journey, after all, was academic,
papers presented, arguments defended,
larger purposes pursued.

Yet nowhere in my plans did I imagine singlehood
as a destination in my forties.

On a nightout in Haarlem,
I paused on a narrow bridge,
canals glimmering under soft yellow lights.
My peers moved ahead,
but for a moment I lingered.
wanting to be alone,
to let the loneliness speak,
to accept it without resistance.

The cobbled streets were dim and cold,
I wondered if they mirrored my own reality.

I swallowed hard and held back tears.
There was still a long walk ahead.

And the question arose, uninvited, unrelenting:
Is this it?

I had prayed.
I had fasted.
I had waited.
Two years accepting solitude, and now down on my third.
No glances held too long, no batting of my eyelashes,
no digital marketplaces of affection.

Like the daughters of Jerusalem,

To never awaken or arouse the temporal.
My standard was simple, uncompromising:
a man after God’s own heart.
Anything less, I removed, deleted, blocked.

Surely, good things come to those who wait.

Still, nothing.

Sometimes I joke to soften the truth:
2024, single.
2025, single—pro.
2026, single—pro max.

Still, my trip among the beautiful places, 

From the soft lights of Haarlem to the majestic towers of Ghent,
from Monschau’s quaint streets to the distant trains of Köln,
I met no one.

Only once,
a brief conversation beside a window,
a tall, thoughtful stranger bound for Berlin.
We spoke briefly about the delayed trains, smiled and exchanged wishes for safe journeys.
And that was it.

Home again,
the familiar questions closed in.
Did you really meet no one, again?

I smiled, thinly.
I had gone to present research,
not audition for companionship.

And yet in the quiet aftermath,
scrolling through images of beauty and distance,

I felt tears swelling up, 

again. 

But this time,
Scripture found me. 

It held me and comforted me, wrapped its arms around me, 

as if to soften the blows of societal and cultural expectations.

Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
Has it not been told from the beginning?

Why do you say,
My way is hidden from the Lord,
My cause dismissed by my God?

The Creator of the ends of the earth
does not grow weary.
He gives strength to the faint
and power to the weak.

Those who hope in the Lord
will rise, they will run, they will walk.

Words first spoken to a people who felt forgotten,

abandoned, weary, broken, left out...
Now speak to me.

And perhaps to every weary believer
who waits and wonders...

So then,

Don't despair, don't be ashamed, don't lower your gaze, 

This is our reality.
Our cause is higher, our calling divine, our eyes lifted,
Undiminished.

Perhaps the destination toward which we are all being drawn
is not romance, nor arrival,
but faith refined in solitude,

Especially for those
who travel to beautiful places
and learn to weep alone.

dystopian coffee

while making coffee,

I heard a loudspeaker split the air,

that particular kind of loud

That doesn’t ask, only announces.

It preached good news to the streets,

and for a moment

I felt I was inside a dystopian film:

truth broadcast at full volume,

meaning turned up, mercy turned down.

I wondered—

Is this what they need?

Or what we’ve decided they need?

Because in this town

Poverty kneels on one side of the road

while opulence reclines on the other,

one hand sorting trash for tomorrow’s meal,

The other booking first-class flights

just because they can.

And somewhere between them—

us.

The middle ones.

Trying to care.

Trying to critique.

Growing weary

speaking cynicism like a second language.

The roads tell the story better than we do:

dust and potholes,

SUVs gliding past autorickshaws

stuffed with bodies and breath,

metal and muscle and patience.

The loudspeaker keeps preaching.

The gospel echoes off cracked walls,

off people already fluent in noise.

The homeless, their bodies slumped too still—

They know the real message.

They’ve seen the camera angle.

They’ve heard the slogan before.

Maybe they’ll come today—

once a week, once a year—

to feed, to pose, all for the gram-

Then they’ll leave in pressed clothes,

trailing French perfume,

heading to church,

to worship,

to feel good again.

It really does feel like a sci-fi movie,

Or maybe this is the part, this is it.

As for me,

I did nothing.

I sat with my homemade iced Americano,

dark, diluted, cooling fast,

sipping slowly

Weary

Worried

Waiting.

"let the wise stay silent for the days are evil."

Amos 5:13