The sun blazed relentlessly, and exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. The journey from Abuja to Minna had been nothing short of draining, leaving me restless, weak, and parched. My mouth was dry, my stomach empty, and my thoughts consumed by one thing—food and water. I checked the time: 5:13 PM. Just thirty minutes stood between me and the moment of relief. It struck me then—could a person in constant hunger truly be happy? Could deprivation coexist with peace?
In that moment, I understood something profound: hunger does not merely gnaw at the stomach; it imprisons the mind. The poor, before thinking of dreams, ambitions, or love, must first think of survival. Food is not just sustenance; it fuels energy, interest, and the simple ability to feel joy. Life, at its core, is built upon the privilege of eating, drinking, and hoping for another day.
Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs suddenly made perfect sense. At the very foundation of human survival sits food and water. Without them, nothing else matters. I pondered the possibility of productivity, fairness, or even kindness in the absence of nourishment. Then, the call to break my fast echoed in the air, and a prayer escaped my lips: “Oh Allah, may You never leave us without our basic needs.” In that moment, I felt the invisible weight that hunger places on the soul—a burden of helplessness, an imprisonment without walls.
I reached for the chilled water beside me, whispered a quiet “God be praised,” and took a sip. Instantly, the thirst vanished. My body, moments ago weak and sluggish, surged back to life. Energy, clarity, and comfort flooded in. It was staggering how a mere drink could alter my entire state of being. Just a minute ago, I had felt drained, disconnected from the world. Now, I felt whole. This—this was the essence of life: phases that shift like the tides, transitions that are inevitable, uncontrollable.
Life, I realized, is a constant cycle of fasting and bounty. One moment, we endure scarcity; the next, we bask in abundance. No condition is permanent. The pain of hunger is real, yet temporary. The comfort of fulfillment is sweet, yet fleeting. And in between these two realities lies the test of our attitude—the measure of who we truly are.
As humans, we tend to forget our struggles the moment relief arrives. A starving man, once fed, no longer remembers the ache of emptiness. Yet, what truly defines us is not just how we suffer, but how we act when privilege is in our hands. Leadership, power, and wealth test people just as hunger and hardship do. Do we remain humble, just, and kind? Or do we let prosperity turn us into oppressors?
I recalled a conversation from a WhatsApp group the previous day. A man had visited the National Assembly in Abuja, hoping to see his representative. When he finally saw him, the lawmaker, without even hearing him out, snapped, “Report every complaint to my staff back home.” The visitor left, humiliated. People defended the legislator, saying he was under pressure, that it was unlike him. But does pressure justify arrogance? Does power excuse insensitivity? No matter how brief our moment of privilege, it will define us forever in the minds of others.
Strength is not just enduring suffering; it is remaining just when we have the power to be unjust. A person who cannot manage their emotions—whether in hardship or in affluence—lacks true strength.
Professor Patricia Manko Lar, the acting Vice-Chancellor of the University of Abuja, once made a powerful statement in her address to the university’s Senate:
“We have not exhibited the highest or loftiest sense of decorum, tolerance, respect for each other, and self-restraint in the face of provocation. These are characteristics of a community of noble scholars…”
Restraint, she emphasized, is not weakness—it is the mark of true strength. Many believe their anger is justified, but justification does not make it right. No circumstance should ever push us into actions that cause harm, humiliation, or regret. Emotional intelligence, as described by Peter Salovey and John Mayer, is the ability to monitor and manage both our own emotions and those of others. Leaders who master this create environments where fairness and dignity thrive.
History has shown us that true leaders-Mandela, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr-were not those who lashed out at their people but those who embodied patience, resilience, and self-control. Their strength lay in their ability to remain composed under the weight of both suffering and power.
Yet, in a world where some argue that “strongmen” like Donald Trump, Ayo Fayose, or Nyesom Wike can achieve results through force and emotion, one must ask: Does leadership through fear build a lasting legacy? Does power wielded without restraint create respect, or does it breed resentment? True power is not the ability to dominate but the wisdom to balance authority with compassion.
Life will always oscillate between fasting and feasting, between struggle and success. Those without power today will rise tomorrow. Those at the top today will one day fall. No condition is permanent. The most dangerous illusion is to believe that our current reality—whether good or bad—will last forever.
What remains, however, is how we conduct ourselves during each phase. While people may forget the pain of their suffering, they will never forget the way we treated them when we had the chance to be kind. Time erases wounds but not memories.
As I savored the coolness of the water in my throat, I realized that life is not about avoiding hardship or hoarding privilege. It is about handling both with grace. For the tides will always turn, and the greatest legacy we can leave is not wealth, power, or status, but the way we made people feel—whether in hunger or in abundance.
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