Give me hope, don't pity me

It was one rainy evening around the Elebu area of Ibadan. The rain was heavy, the kind that soaks you completely within seconds. As I stood in front of my training center waiting for it to stop, I noticed a young boy standing in a corner. He was holding a tray. It was clear he had been hawking, but he had finished selling and was only trying to hide from the rain.

I too was waiting for the rain to reduce before leaving the office, but the longer I waited, the heavier it became. So I decided to run into my car. As I was about to drive off, I asked the boy where he was going and if I could help him. Thankfully, he was going in my direction, so I offered him a ride.

While driving, I noticed him quietly looking at my children in the car. I could feel the thoughts running through his mind. So I spoke to him gently and said, “I hawked palm oil too when I was small.” His face lit up immediately. He looked at me in surprise and asked, “Are you serious?” I said yes.

Then I told him something from my heart. I said, “It is not a crime to hawk, but it is a crime to remain small.” I told him that one day, he too could drive a car, own a house, and carry his children in his car—if only he understood what he was doing and believed in himself.

As I dropped him off, I could see joy in his eyes. He went home happy, not because he received money, but because hope had been restored.

Many times, pity is not what children who find themselves in difficult situations need. What they truly need is confidence. Sometimes, they must go through certain experiences so they can grow into who they are meant to become. When you help a butterfly out of its cocoon, it may never learn how to fly.

Fast forward to today—I saw the same boy again. This time, he had a tray of pepper on his head. He greeted me and said, “E se ojo,” meaning “Thank you for the other day.” I looked confused because I couldn’t remember him at first. Then he said, “You picked me sometime last year.”

Oh! I remembered him.

This time, I saw life on his face. He was no longer seeking pity. A seed had already been planted in his heart. And I will not be surprised at all to see him doing very well in the future.

Not every child needs our pity; some need our belief. A kind word, a shared story, or a moment of encouragement can plant a seed that grows into confidence, purpose, and greatness. When we choose to inspire instead of pity, we help children see beyond their present struggle into a future filled with possibility.

Closing Quote:

“Sometimes, all a child needs is not a handout, but a reminder that their story is still being written.”