I can’t sleep for six straight hours at night—not because I’m afraid of witchcraft, or expecting some midnight trouble. After all, I’m not a politician, and I don’t do shady business with anyone.
No, my sleepless nights are rooted in a different truth—one that many people refuse to face: we are all chained together by the same fate, whether we like it or not.
The rich man can’t sleep because he knows the poor man is still awake.
The poor man can’t sleep because his stomach growls from hunger.
Just yesterday, I read a post on a popular platform that unsettled me. A woman was torn between helping another woman who had six children… or simply minding her own business. Her reason? She had been wise enough to plan her family and only had two kids, thanks to family planning.
Some applauded her, saying she owed nothing to the mother of six. Others begged her to help if she could.
I have a different take. Personally, I struggle to support a single mother when the man who fathered those children is still alive. Why? Because we end up indulging irresponsible fathers—freeing them to chase yet another innocent woman.
Walk through the streets of Lagos or Ibadan, and you’ll notice a pattern. The majority of the underage children tapping on your car window, begging at traffic lights, are Northerners.
It’s a common sight—kids who have traveled hundreds of kilometres to disrupt the lives of strangers who share neither family nor cultural ties with them.
They’ve become more than a nuisance. They are a social vice—the product of leadership failure, cultural negligence, and economic collapse in their home states.
Yes, I understand there has been violence and unrest in parts of Northern Nigeria. But the difference between inept leadership, maladministration, and insecurity in the North… is like the difference between six and half a dozen.
There’s a saying: “When you see a man selling his pregnant goat in the market, know that the problem at home is more pregnant than the goat.”
The poverty in Northern Nigeria is staggering—and the blame lies squarely on their leaders.
Whether you like it or not, you will one day pay the price for someone else’s mistake, ignorance, or outright stupidity. Sometimes the price is small. Other times… it can be fatal.
Think about it.
Have you ever been trapped in a traffic jam caused by one reckless driver?
Have you ever had your electricity cut off because your neighbors refused to pay their share, even though you paid yours?
Have you ever driven through a flooded street because careless people clogged the drainage with garbage?
I have. And I don’t even litter.
Society is a spider’s web—touch one strand, and the whole thing trembles.
Remember Ebola? We didn’t care when it ravaged Congo… until Patrick Sawyer brought it to Nigeria.
Remember COVID? The world watched China struggle, thinking it was a distant problem—until it became everyone’s nightmare.
During the dreaded “One Million Boys” lockdown saga, men in my neighborhood—rich and poor alike—took turns staying up all night for two weeks to guard our streets. They weren’t the fathers of those idle, violent boys… but they still paid the price for their parents’ failure.
That’s why I remind myself every single day:
I am not okay if my neighbor is not okay.
My children’s future is not safe if I don’t protect the future of the child next door.
This isn’t just morality—it’s reality.
Social responsibility is not charity.
It is self-defense.
Mogaji Wole Arisekola writes from Ibadan.
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