A few days ago, on our way out of school, my friend and I walked through one of those narrow paths—muddy from the rain, the kind that makes you tiptoe like you’re walking on eggshells just to avoid slipping. We laughed through it, university girls navigating puddles like pros.

But on the other side, life greeted us with a different kind of story.

A little boy maybe clocking four or five was trudging toward us, his tiny hands resting on his head. His uniform looked worn. His eyes… tired. That deep kind of tired that feels bigger than his age. 

You could tell he hadn’t eaten. His steps were slow, his face heavy.

My friend leaned in and whispered, “This one never even see anything. Na just nursery school you dey, life don dey tire you.”

I smiled, but deep down… I felt it.

Because if we, university students, feel overwhelmed, what do we say about him? A child too young to name his pain, yet old enough to feel it.

He had taken off his jersey top and tied it around his head, maybe to block the sun, maybe because he just needed to feel like he still had some control.

I looked at him and felt a sting in my heart not just for him, but for his mother too.

She was right behind him, carrying an infant on her back. Her face told a story of sleepless nights, aching bones, and dreams that had paused somewhere along the way. 

She walked slowly under the scorching sun, sweat tracing her cheeks, her eyes hollow from fatigue.

And I thought, this is how it starts for many.

Not with choices, but with circumstances.

Not with dreams, but with survival.

Some are born into soft landings. Others into mud.

Some trek their way into hope, barefoot and hungry.

And even as children, they begin to understand what it means to carry weight.

Life doesn’t wait for you to grow before it hands you its baggage.

It just starts—whenever, however. And for some, it starts hard.

But I also believe something else. 

That pain, though cruel, is not purposeless.That the most beautiful stories often come from the hardest beginnings.

That hunger, though bitter, can grow into drive if it doesn’t break you first.

So, to every little boy/girl walking tired, and every mother fighting her own battles while carrying another…

I see you.

Your story matters.

And even in this muddy, unfair world, I hope you find a path that leads to light.

Know this. 

Some journeys begin with heavy feet and empty stomachs, but even from the mud, greatness can rise quietly, steadily, beautifully. 

Don't throw in the towel. Be encouraged. 

Again, I see you. ❤️