There’s a river in Africa just like any parts of the world that never dries — even in the hottest harmattan. It flows quietly, steadily, not seeking ovation, yet nurturing every root, every life, every seed that leans into its generosity. That river is kindness. And just like our ancient streams that run beneath the earth’s skin, it never forgets its course. No matter how deep it disappears, it always finds a way back — often in surprising, divine ways.
The call came unexpectedly, from a voice far across borders — not one I expected, but one who had read the Holy Words of God through my human faculty. In fact he felt something deeper than just ink on paper. He said with sincerity and calm weight:
“I have read a couple of your writings via Kogi Reports and I want to say you are appreciated — especially on Christian themes. You have a growing readership, and there’s no doubt your callings manifest in what we’re reading. Will keep in touch…” – Paul
My heart danced like a masquerade during New Yam Festival — dignified, overwhelmed, grateful. It’s in moments like this that I remember the African proverb: “The child who washes his hands clean will dine with elders.”
We live in a world where everything including acts of kindness is sometimes measured by applause. But in the rhythm of the African soul, love and care are heartbeats — natural, unforced, generational. When you grow up with holes in your sandals but wholeness in your spirit, you learn that what you lack in resources, you can overflow in love.
I remember Mama’s words when I was still small enough to carry shame on my back like a schoolbag. She would say, “My child, never look down on anyone unless you’re bending to lift them.” That stayed with me. Because from the dusty roads of Ayah- Igalamela to the echoes of distant lands, I’ve seen with my own eyes — the givers of today often become the testimonies of tomorrow.
In the Holy Bible, Galatians 6:9 instructs: “And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” The reaping doesn’t always come where you sowed, but it comes — sometimes in strange currencies: a call, a smile, a platform, a voice that echoes your efforts from faraway hills. Isn’t that how destiny dances? Quietly, gently, but deliberately.
There are people whose lives leave you awestruck — those whose beginnings looked like dry bones in Ezekiel’s vision, but who rose with breath, power, and purpose. I see them and I whisper under my breath, “God, thank You. Who would have thought?” Like Joseph rising from prison to palace, some of us were written off by society’s early pen, only to be rewritten by Heaven’s ink.
To those whose lives have surprised me — classmates who once sat in back rows but now sit in boardrooms, friends who once shared garri but now share global stages — I bless God for you. May your oil never run dry. May the same hand that lifted you up keep you steady. You are a living proverb that God still lifts from the dunghill and sets among princes (Psalm 113:7-8).
Africa has a saying: “When the roots remain, the tree can always grow back.” To those who feel unseen, unheard, undervalued — keep being kind. Keep doing good, even when no one claps. Life may not reward you immediately, but Heaven has a long memory. Like the Iroko tree that grows slow but towers strong, your time will come.
Consider the story of Nelson Mandela — decades in prison, yet emerged not bitter, but better. Or Chinua Achebe, who gave the world Things Fall Apart, reminding us that our culture has always had value — even when ignored. Or in our day, watch those who use their pain as pulpits — telling stories, helping the weak, lifting others despite their scars.
Kindness is never wasted. It’s like rain on thirsty ground — it may not show immediately, but something always grows. Proverbs 11:25 tells us: “A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.” That is not motivational fluff. It’s truth — proven across generations.
I dedicate this piece to all those who read in silence but act with impact. To the one who called from afar, encouraged a soul, and added fresh wind to these weary wings — may kings rise to honour you. You are proof that kindness still exists in strange lands. You are the rain I didn’t see coming.
Let the world chase clout. Let us chase virtue. For what we give lives longer than what we keep. And someday, like the homing pigeon that returns no matter the distance, our seeds of kindness will fly back to us — carrying songs of thanksgiving from places we never imagined.
So, give. Encourage. Be kind.
Because in the end, “what the hand gives, the heart receives.”
And the world — this noisy, chaotic, distracted world — is still moved by the quiet, persistent force of good.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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