When I became rich, I promised myself that I would pepper everyone who had ever looked down on me because of poverty.

I wanted them to see that the poor boy they laughed at had finally become somebody.

But the day a gun was placed on my head, I realized that my desperation to prove myself had almost cost me my life.

So…

When I was growing up, everyone looked down on me because we were poor. In fact, poor people called us poor. That was the extent of how poor we were.

I was that one child who always paid school fees last. I was that one child they would constantly send out of school because of one payment or another that my parents had not been able to make.

I was intelligent. I knew what I was doing in school, and I knew I had the potential to go far in life. But the constant embarrassment of being sent out of school made even an intelligent child like me look unlucky.

Sometimes, when we were asked to bring money for excursions, I would just sit quietly and listen to my classmates making plans.

Then somebody would turn around and ask me,

“Ah, Oga Last, you go go?”

They weren’t asking because they genuinely wanted to know if I was going. They were asking because they already knew that, in my family, even putting food on the table was sometimes a problem. So how would my parents give me money for an excursion?

That was the kind of life I grew up living.

There were times I would look at people from wealthy families, especially those who lived in beautiful houses and drove big cars, and I would ask myself,

“God, why did You put me in this kind of family? Why is my own life so difficult? Why can’t I be born into a family where I don’t have to struggle for everything?”

I didn’t understand why my life had to be so hard.

But you know what they say? Bad days don’t last forever.

Although, let me tell you something: sometimes, those bad days can feel like they are going to last for a lifetime.

After I finished secondary school, my parents couldn’t afford to send me for further education. There was no money to continue my studies, so they had to send me to one of my aunties who was based in Lagos.

And honestly, that move changed my life.

My auntie took me in, cared for me, and helped me go to school. She also helped me learn practical skills that people needed in their everyday lives.

Little by little, I started finding my feet.

By the special grace of God, my life began to change in ways I never imagined. I got opportunities, developed myself, and eventually secured a job.

Before I knew what was happening, I started making good money.

The life I used to pray for was gradually becoming my reality.

And that was where another problem began.

You see, when I finally had money, I remembered everybody who had ever looked down on me.

I remembered the people who laughed at me in school. I remembered those who made me feel ashamed of my family. I remembered the way they looked at me whenever school fees or excursion money was mentioned.

And I told myself,

“Now, I will show all of you that I have arrived.”

I wanted them to know that the boy they used to call Oga Last was now somebody.

That boy they thought would never amount to anything had become somebody.

And, my dear, I carried that mindset straight to the village.

The day I took my latest car to the village, some of my former classmates couldn’t believe their eyes.

“Is this you? Is this really you?”

They kept asking me.

And honestly, I enjoyed it.

I enjoyed seeing the surprise on their faces because, in my mind, I felt like I had finally proven myself.

It was as if leaving that village had created a huge distance between me and the people who once laughed at me. I had gone far, and I wanted them to see how far I had gone.

Then came Sharon.

Back in secondary school, she was the hottest girl in our set.

I had been in love with her back then, but I didn’t even have the liver to approach her because I didn’t have shishi.

I never even chop, let alone ask a babe out.

So when I entered the village and saw Sharon, I didn’t waste time.

I first shoot my shot by asking her for a dinner date.

And of course, she obliged immediately after she saw me in my latest Mercedes-Benz.

If only I knew that I was digging my own grave.

Unbeknownst to me, Sharon wasn’t just impressed by the car or my new status.

She was surrounded by some of my former classmates who had secretly kept score.

They were the ones who noticed my return, approached Sharon, and plotted everything with her.

They encouraged and fueled her desire to get close to me, whispering plans on how to squeeze more money out of me.

They played along with my need for validation, making me feel like a king while meticulously tracking my every move.

The first thing I did when I returned home was look at my father’s small house.

The roof was leaking. The building was old, and I remembered how we had struggled in that house.

I pulled the building down and started constructing a two-story building.

But I wasn’t just building a house because my family needed a better place to live.

No.

I wanted to stay on the second floor so I could look around the village and see all the people who had laughed at me.

I wanted them to see me.

I wanted them to know that I had arrived.

I wanted them to feel the difference between where they were and where I was.

And that wasn’t even the end of it.

I started building things around the village. I built a borehole. I got involved in chieftaincy activities and took a title, not necessarily because I had always desired the title, but because I wanted people to see me as a successful person.

I wanted to be recognized.

I wanted people to talk about me.

I wanted them to say,

“Look at this boy. See how God has blessed him.”

But, to be honest, there was a part of me that wanted them to feel bad for ever looking down on me.

And WhatsApp status? My sister, don’t even get me started.

I turned my WhatsApp status into a personal television station.

If I went shopping, I posted it.

If I entered a flight, I posted it.

If I bought something expensive, I posted it.

If I signed a contract, I posted it.

Everything I did, I wanted people to know.

And because we all know how information travels in the village, one person would view my status, tell another person, and that person would tell somebody else.

Before long, people started sending me messages.

“Boy, God don bless you o. Show us love now.”

And I would look at those messages and laugh.

“Me? Show you people love? For what?”

“After everything you people did to me when I was in school?”

“After all the shege banza I passed through?”

I felt like I owed nobody anything.

I felt like I had suffered alone, and now that God had blessed me, I had every right to enjoy my money and make people see it.

I didn’t realize that, in trying to prove that I had become somebody, I was exposing myself to people who didn’t need to know so much about my life.

Until one day.

The day I almost lost my life because of the things I posted online.

I was planning to travel to the village, and as usual, I started giving updates on my WhatsApp status.

First, I posted when I was at the airport.

Then I posted when I boarded my flight.

When I landed in Enugu, I posted another picture.

After that, I entered the car that was taking me to my hometown, and I posted that too.

I was giving people updates about my movement from the airport to the village.

I didn’t know who was watching.

I didn’t know who was taking note of my location.

I didn’t know who was paying attention to the things I was saying.

All I knew was that I wanted people to see that I was doing well.

At some point, I had recently secured a five-million-naira contract, and I had talked about it online.

I had no idea that the information I was sharing would eventually put me in danger.

As I was driving towards my hometown, I was suddenly attacked by armed men.

They stopped me, took my car, and dragged me out.

They started asking me about the money from the deal I had talked about.

“Where is the money? Where is the five million naira?”

I was shocked.

How did these people know about the contract?

How did they know what I had been talking about?

They collected my phone and started trying to access my bank accounts.

They wanted to withdraw money from my accounts.

But, by God’s grace, I had set up a security feature on my banking apps. If someone entered the wrong password, the apps would lock.

So, whenever they tried to access my accounts, they couldn’t get in.

They became angry.

They started demanding money from me.

I told them I didn’t have any cash with me.

They threatened to shoot me.

And then they began mentioning the different contracts and things I had shared online.

That was when everything became clear to me.

I suddenly realized that I had helped expose myself.

The same information I had been sharing to make people believe that I was successful was now being used against me.

The same contracts I had posted.

The same lifestyle I had been displaying.

The same updates I thought were harmless.

All of it had made me a target.

And there I was, with a gun pointed at my head.

I started asking myself,

“How did I get here?”

“Why did I have to show people everything?”

“Why did I feel the need to prove myself to everybody?”

I had been so busy trying to show the world that God had lifted me that I forgot that not everybody watching me had good intentions.

At that moment, I started begging God for mercy.

I can’t even explain what was going through my mind.

I was scared.

I didn’t want to die.

I kept saying,

“God, please help me.”

“God, please have mercy on me.”

“God, please save me.”

I must have called on God more than twenty times in just a few seconds.

I don’t know how I managed to keep praying, but I knew that I needed God more than I had ever needed Him before.

And then, something happened.

I heard the sound of a police siren.

I don’t know where the police officers came from, but they were approaching the area.

The moment the attackers heard the siren, everything changed.

They became distracted.

And before I knew what was happening, they ran away.

They left my phone.

They left my car.

And, by the special grace of God, they left me alive.

My sister, I entered that car, but I didn’t continue to the village.

I went straight back to the airport.

I was too frightened to stay in the village because I knew that my life could still be in danger.

That day, I returned to my base and sat down to think about everything that had happened.

Weeks later, sitting in the quiet safety of my home, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from one of my former classmates—the very person who had plotted everything with Sharon.

Guilt-ridden and panicked after hearing I survived the attack, the classmate sent a long, desperate confession.

The message admitted how Sharon had actually organized the armed men for them to take my life, how they had egged her on to bleed me dry, and how Sharon had later realized the gravity of what they did when things went sideways.

She had begun to apologise through them, begging me not to involve the authorities.

I read the words, and for the first time, that heavy chip on my shoulder completely shattered.

And that was when I truly understood something.

God did not bless me so that I could use my blessings to pepper people.

God didn’t bring me out of poverty so I could spend the rest of my life trying to prove that I was better than the people who once laughed at me.

I had allowed the pain of my past to control the way I enjoyed my present.

I had spent so much time remembering the people who looked down on me that I forgot to appreciate the peace and opportunities God had given me.

I had become so focused on showing people that I had arrived that I was putting my own life at risk.

And for what?

For people who might not even genuinely care about me?

For people who didn’t ask me to prove anything?

That day, I asked God for mercy.

I made up my mind that I was going to start living differently.

I stopped posting every single detail of my life on WhatsApp.

I stopped telling people about contracts they didn’t need to know about.

I stopped announcing my movements.

I stopped feeling the need to show everybody what I had bought, where I had gone, or how much money I was making.

I went quiet.

Not because I was ashamed of my blessings.

Not because I was no longer doing well.

But because I had finally learned that peace is more valuable than the applause of people.

I started living my life in a more private and peaceful way.

And, honestly, I wish I had understood this much earlier.

Because sometimes, when you grow up being looked down on, you can become so desperate to prove yourself that you forget to protect yourself.

You can spend your entire life trying to make people regret how they treated you, only to realize that you are the one carrying the burden.

Today, I understand that I don’t have to show everybody what God is doing in my life.

I don’t have to announce every blessing.

I don’t have to make people feel bad because I am doing well.

And I certainly don’t have to risk my life trying to prove that the poor boy they once laughed at has become somebody.

Because, at the end of the day, I know who lifted me. And I don’t need to use my blessings to settle scores with anybody.

Today I’m happily married to the love of my life, and I’m living my life jeje.

I’ve understood that if you value what you have, you protect it.