The Observer
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When I first heard the saying “patience moves mountains,” I dismissed it as a mere façade, a hollow proverb meant to console the weary. But as the years unfolded, I came to realize that patience is not only a virtue—it is a force that reshapes destiny. It does not merely move mountains; it grinds them down to the plains, making the impossible suddenly possible. Since then, I have wished that every human being might cultivate even a seed of patience, for it is an altruistic virtue that blesses both the bearer and those around them.
A few years ago, a childhood friend of mine prepared to travel abroad in search of greener pastures—a land he imagined flowing with milk and honey. This dream was not new; it had been planted in his heart since our carefree childhood days, when we bathed in the rain wearing our birthday clothes, speaking freely to elders about matters that today would be wrapped in brown paper like doughnut fresh from the oil. Back then, nothing weighed on our shoulders, yet he often spoke of traveling to the “white man’s land” to make it big, as though our motherland were nothing but valleys too steep to climb.
When we completed basic school, we each pursued our chosen paths. He longed to sit in a bank, his neck adorned with a long tie, basking in the cool air of an office. He would joke that when we came to do business at his bank, he would sit in his swivel chair and toss us around like pawns. We, in turn, teased him that we would storm his office and pull him out with blows like Mike Tyson facing his fiercest opponent.
Time, swift as the eagle hunting prey, carried us into adulthood. We became tertiary graduates, roaming the job market like hunters in the forest. He was fortunate to secure employment first, and though life was hard—like harmattan soil cracked and thirsty for rain—he nearly abandoned his childhood dream of traveling abroad. Yet pressure from friends rekindled his ambition. He saved diligently, secured his passport, and worked with an agent to obtain a visa and work permit for North America, the land of “milk and butter.”
Grace smiled upon him, and he obtained all the necessary documents. But after paying the agent for his plane ticket, silence fell. Days passed with no word, and frustration gnawed at him. Just as despair was tightening its grip, a call came. The voice was familiar—it was the agent. He explained, with sorrow, that he had been admitted to the emergency ward of a top hospital.
My friend rushed to see him and found the agent at death’s door. The doctor explained the urgency of obtaining medicine to save his life. We rallied together and secured the drugs, giving the agent a chance at recovery. Yet my friend’s journey was only three days away, and he still had no ticket. The next day, during conversation, the agent revealed he had indeed made the payment but had mistakenly recorded my friend’s contact number with one wrong digit. That single error had blocked communication. He directed my friend to the agency, where the truth was confirmed, and the ticket was finally secured.
Reflecting at home, my friend realized the depth of the lesson. Had he lost his temper, accused the agent, or spoken harshly, he might have forfeited his golden opportunity—and worse, a soul might have slipped into eternity without help. Patience had preserved both his dream and another man’s life. From that day, he vowed to uphold patience in all things and to counsel others to do the same.
Patience is not weakness; it is strength under control. It is the rain that softens harmattan soil, the balm that heals wounded hearts, and the bridge that carries us safely across rivers of frustration. Without patience, opportunities are lost, relationships are broken, and lives may even be cut short. With patience, mountains crumble, valleys rise, and blessings flow like rivers after the storm.
