Nothing is easy. I go out everyday and I see things. Disturbing things. I see suffering, sweat and struggle. I see pain-etched faces wrinkled with fatigue by the rays of the scorching sun. I want to do something about it but what do i do? Who do i help? How do i start?
I see the hustle on the streets. The bid to search for comfort makes us bury our pride and work, doing all kinds of task, just to feed, to provide for our families and to live in a semblance of comfort.
The fear of lack makes us get up everyday, pick up our gloves and meet poverty in the boxing ring. Irrespective of our bloodied faces, our scraped knuckles and our drunken sways, we always strive to emerge victorious no matter how many teeth poverty knocks out.
I will do something to help my brethren. That woman sweating by the corner, that child with an artfully balanced tray on her head, that little boy chanting “Cold water tu tu re”, that old man lifting heavy wares at Oyinbo market…
There is nothing to this life. Nothing! We must help in any way we can. We have to do something.