The Price of peace: A Story of Dreams Deferred
In the heart of Lagos, where ambition meets opportunity, I met an elderly woman whose story I will never forget. It wasn’t just the weight of her words that struck me, but the life lessons they carried—lessons that, if ignored, could leave one stranded in the harsh realities of regret.
Decades ago, this woman was a beacon of hope and determination. Working tirelessly in her office, she joined an esusu group with her colleagues—a lifeline for those striving to achieve dreams otherwise out of reach. Slowly but steadily, she saved enough to do what many only dream of: purchasing a piece of land in one of Lagos’ most prestigious neighborhoods.
Holding the property documents in her hands, she felt an unparalleled sense of achievement. She envisioned a future of security and pride, finally able to call herself a landlord.
But when she shared the news with her husband, expecting his admiration and support, everything unraveled. Instead of joy, there was anger. Instead of pride, there was resentment. “How could you make such a decision without me?” he thundered. What she saw as a step forward for their family became a battleground of accusations, control, and bitterness.
As the days wore on, the home she had worked so hard to nurture became unrecognizable. The conflict drew in others—her mother-in-law included—who insisted that selling the property was the only way to restore peace. Torn between her dreams and the weight of societal expectations, she made the ultimate sacrifice.
She returned to the real estate company and pleaded with them to sell the land as quickly as possible. With tears in her eyes, she watched her dream slip away.
The sale brought temporary calm, but the cost was enormous. For 35 years, she lived with the haunting regret of letting go of her future. She had traded security for peace, only to realize she had lost both.
The cruelest twist came in her later years. Her husband, who had once demanded the sale, revealed that he had willed their home to a motherless children’s home. “If I go before you, you’ll have no place to stay,” he said coldly.
These words became daggers, piercing her every time she thought about the land she had once owned—the land that could have been her sanctuary. Now, in her twilight years, she is tormented by the reality that she might one day have nowhere to call home.
As tears rolled down her cheeks, she asked me a question that still echoes in my mind: “Why did I sell my land? Why did I let go of my only guarantee for a peaceful future?”
Her story is not just a cautionary tale; it’s a wake-up call.
How many of us are delaying decisions, letting fear or societal pressure dictate our choices? How many are waiting for the “perfect time” to invest, not realizing that time waits for no one?
This woman’s regret is a reminder that a property is more than just land—it is independence, security, and a legacy. It is a future you can count on, no matter what life throws your way.
If you are reading this and thinking about your own dreams, let this story ignite a sense of urgency in you. The best time to secure your future was yesterday. The next best time is now. Don’t wait for regrets to become your teacher.
Because one thing is certain: peace is never truly yours unless you own it.