Seedtime and Harvest

One of the most humiliating memories I have is from my first year as an undergraduate at the University of Ilorin. I was an influential student from the start because of my involvement as a student leader.

At that time, the student representative body in my faculty began an effort to establish a faculty park to decongest the main school park and ease the mobility of students within the faculty. In the early stages of testing this idea, I often assisted with crowd control and vehicle organization due to my role as a general representative for the 100-level students.

Unfortunately, on one fateful day, some students from other faculties strangely asked me what level I was in. Proudly and somewhat naively, I replied that I was in 100 level, without recognizing their intentions. My naivety led them to mock and ridicule me, asking if I didn’t have more important things to focus on—like securing a good CGPA to progress to the next level—rather than spending my time managing the park, including ensuring that even senior students were orderly.

I felt deeply embarrassed and discouraged that day, but the memory didn’t haunt me for long. A few years later, I was elected Senate President by the students of the University of Ilorin. Being Senate President gave me the privilege of not having to queue for buses, no matter how long the lines were. I often imagined a scenario where one of those seniors who had mocked me years before, saw me walking straight into a bus without being stopped. They would likely criticize me again, oblivious to the years of effort and sacrifice, including their humiliation, that had earned me this privilege.

Recently, a colleague in the business, whose father is one of the major players—like my current boss and mentor—called me because he needed an item. He arrived in his car and called me to say he was outside. It was drizzling, and for a moment, I hesitated. I wanted to be sure if he expected me to bring the item to him in the rain or if he would step out of his car to collect it, even though we are agemates—or I might even be older than him.

My mind quickly rebuked me. I might consider us agemates, but the truth is, he is my senior in the business. Whether or not his father’s status gives him an advantage, I realized that if I never refused honor from others who were my age—some younger, some older—while I was their leader on campus, I must now extend that same honor to my senior colleague in business.

It doesn’t matter if his father’s influence is his only leverage, or if he hasn’t sown as many seeds or served others as I am doing now to earn that level of honor.

I remember having a conversation with a more senior colleague who said that my generation of entrants into the business isn’t laboring as hard as they did. He mentioned some of the efforts my late father made when they were under Hadji Bashy. I responded by saying that the very things my father did are the reason I get to "enjoy" certain benefits today. I don’t have to labor as much because my dad already did that for me.

One of my favorite biblical passages says that as long as the earth remains, seedtime and harvest will not cease. However, what people often overlook is that there is provision for someone to enter into the harvest of another’s labor. The ease with which one reaps the harvest may vary. I am benefiting from the seeds my father sowed, but I still have to work harder than my colleague, whose father is a major player in the industry. And there are others whose starting point is even further behind mine.

This weekend, I missed two major events. One was for someone I deeply respect, my pastor, and the other was my sibling’s wedding—a chance to celebrate with loved ones. I missed both because I was busy working, laboring, and sowing seeds for my future by serving others. A few years from now, when I have others doing the work for me, someone might criticize me for having it easy, without knowing the backstory of how I labored to get there. 

Also, if it so happens that like my senior colleague, my children also come into the business without having to make as much sacrifices like I did, some may be tempted to criticize their harvest not realizing the seeds I sowed so they won’t have to labor as much as I did.

Dear friends, the purpose of this post is to let you understand that every harvest has a backstory of labor, sacrifice, and perseverance. Before you judge or criticize the success of others, be sure you know the seeds they’ve sown or those that were sown on their behalf. Likewise, if you expect or have ever received honor from others, be prepared to extend the same courtesy when the roles are reversed.