Chapter 7: Learning The Hard Way

Chapter 7: Learning the Hard Way

Life in Ogbabo Centra had a way of molding you into something stronger, sometimes in ways that were not always gentle. By the time I was entering my early teens, I had already learned more about survival than I had ever expected. The fields, the forest, the water well, the firewood collection—it all felt like second nature. But there was one lesson that I would learn the hard way, a lesson in responsibility, that would change everything.

It all began with Emmanuel Agbo, a boy who had become more than just a friend; he had become a companion in my journey of hardship and growth. Emmanuel was from Olamaboro, a neighboring local government area in Kogi State. He had moved to our village with his parents to help with the farming season, as they had fallen on hard times. He was older than me by a few years, but that didn't stop us from becoming close. His rugged demeanor and hard-working spirit impressed me. I admired how he carried himself, always calm and collected, despite the challenges that life threw at him. I think we both understood each other's struggles, and that made our bond strong.

Emmanuel had learned the ways of farming from his father, who was a seasoned farmer in Olamaboro. However, despite his experience, Emmanuel always looked at life with a certain level of skepticism, as if he knew how fickle things could be. His father had taught him that farming was not just about planting crops—it was about surviving. It was about understanding the seasons, respecting the land, and knowing when to act. Emmanuel was a quick learner, and in no time, he had become a trusted partner in the fields.

One day, as we worked side by side on the farm, Emmanuel started teaching me the ins and outs of the trade. "Danjuma," he said, his voice low but steady, "You've got to learn to make the land work for you, not the other way around." I had been used to working hard on the land, but his words struck a chord with me. Farming was not just about labor—it was about strategy, timing, and patience. Emmanuel's father had taught him that the land could be as much a friend as an enemy, depending on how you treated it. But with all that knowledge came a heavy burden: the weight of responsibility.

That weight became evident one afternoon when Emmanuel's father fell ill, and he had to take on the full responsibility of their family farm. At first, Emmanuel tried to keep up with everything—planting crops, repairing tools, managing the farm animals. But he soon realized it wasn't possible to do it all alone. That was when I saw it—the burden of responsibility pressing down on him. He looked weary, his face drawn with the fatigue of carrying more than he could handle.

One day, after hours of hard work in the fields, Emmanuel collapsed on the ground beside me, his eyes closed, sweat trickling down his forehead. I knew something was wrong. "Emmanuel, are you okay?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.

He opened his eyes slowly and managed a weak smile. "I'm fine, Danjuma," he said, but I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. "Just... just tired."

It was then that he told me about the weight of responsibility—the kind of responsibility that made him lose sleep at night, wondering if he was doing enough. He explained that his father's illness had placed him in charge of the farm, and with that came not just the physical labor but also the pressure to keep the family's livelihood intact. I could see the strain in his words as he spoke of deadlines—of planting at the right time, of making sure the crops were watered, of dealing with unexpected setbacks. And yet, there was no one to share it with. "You have to learn how to carry this weight," he said. "No one can do it for you."

It wasn't long before I found myself stepping in to help him, whether it was in the fields or in the house. Emmanuel had taught me that life didn't always give you the luxury of time to learn. Sometimes, you had to pick up the pieces as you went along. My work on our family farm was already demanding, but helping Emmanuel taught me new levels of responsibility.

I started helping him with the fields more often. We woke up early to tend to the crops, fought off the birds and pests, and worked late into the night. One evening, I watched as Emmanuel carefully watered the crops, his face set in determination. It was clear to me now that this wasn't just about farming. It was about survival. Emmanuel's father had taught him that in farming, there were no guarantees. Success depended on how well you adapted to the changes in the environment, how you responded to unforeseen challenges. When the rains didn't come on time, or when the pests attacked, you couldn't just sit back and hope things would get better—you had to act. It was this mindset that made Emmanuel different from others.

One day, as we worked on clearing the overgrown weeds from the crops, I asked him how he managed to stay focused despite all the pressure. "How do you do it?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Emmanuel paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow. "You don't have a choice," he said simply. "When you're the one carrying the weight, you don't get to stop. You just keep going." His words resonated with me. They were a harsh truth, but they were the kind of truth that shaped a man.

As the season went on, Emmanuel's responsibilities grew, and the pressure mounted. But his resilience only strengthened. He handled each setback with more maturity, more composure. He learned how to delegate tasks, how to make tough decisions, and most importantly, he learned to ask for help when he needed it. It wasn't easy for him—admitting he needed assistance was a sign of vulnerability, something he had learned to avoid for a long time. But in the end, he came to understand that responsibility wasn't about doing everything alone; it was about knowing when to rely on others.

Working alongside Emmanuel taught me invaluable lessons about responsibility. He showed me that growing up wasn't just about age—it was about accepting the weight of life's challenges and learning how to carry them. It was about knowing when to stand strong and when to lean on others for support. More than anything, Emmanuel taught me that real strength comes not from avoiding hardship but from confronting it head-on, no matter how heavy the load.

Looking back, I realize that the bond I formed with Emmanuel was more than just a friendship; it was a partnership in survival. Through him, I learned that life doesn't always unfold the way you expect it, and that the greatest lessons often come not from books but from the hard lessons taught by experience. And as I carried my own burdens alongside him, I knew that the weight of responsibility was not something to fear but something to embrace. Because it was in that weight that we found our true strength.