By Kenneth Nkadi
IT was a sunny day. I was driving through Ikeja. The Lagos assault on the senses was in full force – a cacophony of horns, shouts, and the relentless pulse of traffic. Amidst this urban symphony, I spotted a solitary figure on the sun-baked Ikeja road. A young vendor, sweat a badge of honest labour on his brow, hawked a peculiar product: books with titles that blared in bold red– “Your Key to Riches!” and “Millionaire in 30 Days!” The scene struck me with an irony so profound, it demanded a closer look.
Here was a man, toiling under the baking heat of the midday sun, peddling the very ambition that could, elevate him from his present station. One wonders, if these books truly held the key to unlocking immense riches, why would the vendor himself remain chained to his meagre earnings? Surely, with the wisdom in those books – sound financial advice, a roadmap to prudent saving and wise investing – he too could become the millionaire he so eagerly promotes. But the cynic in me doubts it. Real wealth-building is a slow, deliberate dance, a marathon, not a dash. It requires education, discipline, and calculated risk – qualities not readily apparent in the books he peddled.
Most likely, the authors of these books peddle snake oil, empty promises wrapped in a veneer of legitimacy. They prey on the desperation of those yearning for a quick escape from the everyday grind. It’s a seductive fantasy – bypassing the tedious climb to success through some magical shortcut. The allure of these books lies not in some guaranteed path to riches, but in the desperate hope they promised.
For many Nigerians, the chance to improve their lives feels like a distant dream. Wages are stagnant, the cost of living is rising, and a relentless tide threatening to drown them. In this suffocating reality, these books become lifelines, offering a fantastical escape route. They dangle the illusion of control, the belief that with the right formula, anyone can become a master of their destiny.
Perhaps. But cynicism, while offering a quick dismissal, overlooks a deeper truth. Maybe the vendor himself believed. Maybe he too had been seduced by half-truths wrapped in those glossy hardcovers. Maybe he saw himself not just as a seller, but as a fellow traveler on the path to riches.
But perhaps, there’s a more nuanced reality. These books, however flawed, might not be mere promises, but reflections of a fundamental human yearning – the desire for a better life, that transcends the daily grind. Flawed as they may be, they offer a flicker of hope, a chance, however slim, to rewrite one’s story.
The vendor on the Ikeja Street remains an enigma. Yet, his presence speaks volumes – a story of aspiration, of the unyielding human spirit that chases dreams even under the harshest sun. It’s a story that, while not always leading to great wealth, speaks to the enduring power of hope, a powerful currency on the unforgiving streets of our cities.
Weeks, perhaps months, bled into one another, and the Lagos sun continued its relentless assault on the city. On another visit to Ikeja, I ran into our itinerant purveyor of financial liberation. Where I once encountered the sweat-drenched vendor hawking dreams of untold riches, a different scene unfolded. Gone were the books promising millionaire status in 30 days. Instead, a more prosaic display of phone chargers and power banks gleamed in defiance against the harsh light.
A sardonic chuckle escaped my lips. Was this the market speaking? Was the lack of buyers a comment on the dubious nature of the ideas in those books? Did the curious dwellers of Lagos, perpetually grappling with power outages, prioritise the immediate need for a charged phone over the elusive dream of millions?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. After all, how can one chase an elusive fortune with a perpetually dead phone? In this city where power outages descended with alarming regularity, a charged phone became a lifeline – a connection to the outside world, the ability to conduct business and contact loved ones. It could also be that Lagosians, with a pragmatism born of necessity, prioritised keeping their lifelines – their phones – charged over fantastical tales of overnight riches.
But there’s another, more poignant interpretation. Maybe the vendor, witnessing the indifference to his “millionaire” wares, had undergone a necessary epiphany. He’d seen the powerlessness of empty promises in the face of everyday struggles. Here, in the pulsating heart of Lagos, the dream of wealth seemed as transitory as the city’s flickering street lights.
There was a certain pathos in this shift.
The vendor, once a peddler of far-fetched futures, now offered a more immediate solace – the ability to stay connected, to navigate the urban complexities even in the face of power outages. Perhaps, in a city perpetually on the verge of a blackout, this too was a form of empowerment, a tiny act of defiance against the capricious whims of the electric grid.
The question lingered: did this change of heart signal a surrender of ambition? Or was it a strategic shift, a recognition that the path to wealth and a better life, while undoubtedly paved with ambition, required a foundation of functional basics? Perhaps, in this city of relentless chase, the ability to stay charged – figuratively and literally – was the first crucial step on the long, arduous climb to financial independence. And this is where the hope-monger and the pragmatist meet.
The vendor on Ikeja Street embodies the complex duality of Nigeria – a nation where ambition and pragmatism collide in the relentless pursuit of a better life. In the cities, the attraction of immense wealth is undeniable, a constant pull perpetually beckoning from every side. Yet, the realities of daily survival often necessitate a more grounded approach to immediate needs over a life of lushness.
But the story doesn’t end there. The vendor’s transformation speaks to a larger narrative across Nigeria – a nation grappling with its aspirations and harsh realities. We are a people captivated by the allure of wealth, forever chasing the dream of escaping our unpleasant circumstances, often with a naiveté that borders on the comical. The ubiquitous prayer houses that hawk prosperity gospels, the lottery stands and the betting houses, teeming with hopefuls are pointers to this national yearning. It’s a yearning that’s both understandable and, frankly, a little tiresome. Citizens of our country deserve a shot at prosperity, a chance to shed the shackles of poverty. But this relentless pursuit of wealth, often at the expense of hard work and a clear-eyed assessment of reality, holds us back.
Our vendor’s departure from hawking dubious fantasies to selling tangible necessities embodies a dawning recognition:the path to a better life requires a solid foundation of practicality. It’s not about fantastical leaps of fortune, but the slow, steady accumulation of skills and knowledge. It’s about understanding the delicate interplay between calculated risks and potential rewards, a far cry from the promises peddled in those books that promise to make you a millionaire in 30 days.
Nigeria’s story is far from written. The road ahead will be long and arduous, filled with potholes and detours. But with focus and determination, we can sow seeds of a more hopeful future. The obsession with wealth may not entirely disappear, but it will be tempered by a dose of realism and a newfound appreciation for the value of hard work and education. The vendor in his transformation, offers a glimpse into this possibility – evidence of the enduring human spirit forever adapting, forever seeking not just riches, but a life of purpose and dignity.
- Fr Nkadi, O.P. writes from Obosi
email: [email protected]
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