Kindness(a special gem)

Stop doing this when you go to the market.

You see women sitting on low stools with their babies tied to their backs, sweat dripping from their foreheads as they fan the smoke rising from roasted corn and pear. The smell of grilled plantain and smoked fish mixes with the air, pulling hungry passersby closer.

Some sit behind small basins of tomatoes, onions, pepper, or vegetables, calling out in tired but hopeful voices: “Customer, come and buy, I go do you well.” Their children tug at their wrappers, asking for food, while the mothers smile through the pain of hunger, pretending all is fine.

Not far away, you’ll find a man with a tray of bread balanced on his head, calling out: “Butter bread! Fresh bread o!” What most people don’t see is that this man probably woke up around 5 a.m. to rush to the bakery and collect bread on credit, hoping he sells enough to pay back the supplier and still make a small gain.

He walks long distances under the sun, weaving through streets and traffic, his voice hoarse from shouting. Some days, he doesn’t finish selling. By evening, the leftover bread is no longer fresh, and his profit for the day is gone. Yet tomorrow, he’ll rise again before dawn and repeat the cycle because survival has no off day.

Then you notice young boys running barefoot with sachet water, puff-puff, or biscuits. They dart between cars in the scorching sun, risking their safety just to bring home something small for their families.

And when you finally stop to ask the price of what they are selling, the response is soft, almost apologetic: maybe ₦500, ₦700, or ₦1,000.

But what do we often do? We begin to bargain. We press down the price so low until the little profit left is almost nothing. Sometimes, out of fear of losing the sale, they agree not because it’s worth it, but because going home empty-handed means no food on the table.

Yet, the same us will walk into a supermarket or restaurant, order food and drinks of ₦30,000–₦60,000, and pay without blinking. We even add a ₦5,000 tip to the bill without argument, and sometimes we don’t even finish the food.

So here’s the question: why do we open our hands wide to those who already have plenty, but close our fists tightly against those who have nothing?

The truth is:

That poor trader often survives on just ₦50–₦200 profit per item.

Some days, they feed their families directly from their stock, eating the bread, rice, or garri they meant to sell.

Many go home with less than ₦1,000 after sitting all day in the sun and rain, yet they return again tomorrow, hoping things will get better.

That’s why I want to leave you with these gentle reminders:

✅ When you buy from the poor, stop bargaining too hard. Pay their price, or even add a little extra. Sometimes your “extra” is their miracle.

✅ If a shop owner gives you goods on credit, repay quickly. Don’t make them beg you for their own money.

✅ Don’t make it a habit to always buy on credit. Many of them already stretch themselves beyond the limit to help customers.

✅ Don’t cheat them of their small change. Even ₦10 is part of their survival. That ₦10 may be garri for a child at home.

✅ Stop demanding unnecessary “jara” (freebies). That “extra” groundnut or sweet you pick casually might be part of their daily profit.

Remember this: your little act of fairness can mean food, transport fare, or school fees for someone’s child.

So be deliberate. Support the poor. Bless their hustle. Treat them with the same respect you give to the rich, the same way you honor the waiter in the expensive restaurant.

Because in the end, kindness to the poor is not charity, it’s humanity. And humanity should never be negotiable. 

If this touched you, don't keep it yourself.

©️ Sharon Ben