The Seed

I was among those who never believed in karma — until it stood face to face with me. It was in 2023, in our face-me-I-face-you compound in Akwa Ibom State.

That year marked my first semester at the University of Uyo as a final year student. It was a choked-up experience. The strike had prolonged my years in school, putting everything on hold. Though it gave me some relief from the pressure of my project and physical stress, it didn’t change how mentally exhausted I was.

Nothing felt sweet back then. From the daily hunger strike to the heat in my cramped one-room apartment, life was a living hell. The smell alone from Mummy Alex's room could kill insects without needing insecticide.

Mummy Alex, my neighbour, was a mother of four and a seller of locally processed palm wine. She was also the village broadcaster — the kind who somehow knew everything happening in the area, even before the people involved knew it.

One evening, after a long, boring lecture, I was trekking home — tired and full of regret for staying back for that last class. I was lost in my thoughts when I saw something on the ground — some ₦1,000 notes and a card.

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I was shocked and scared. But something was pushing me to pick the money. After all, if I left it there, someone else would carry it, and I would be the one to lose. So, without overthinking, I picked it up quickly — but not before spitting on it multiple times and whispering some quick incantations to make sure it wouldn’t turn me into a goat, as superstition made me believe.

I walked away nervously, constantly turning back to check that I was still in my full flesh.

When I got home, I brought it out and counted it. It was ₦15,000. The rectangular paper turned out to be a business card with a number on it.

Just then, my stomach growled. I had foodstuffs, yes, but I was craving something I hadn’t tasted in a long time — Suya and Nutri Milk. Without wasting time, I took out ₦3,000 and headed straight to the Suya joint nearby.

As if the Suya vendor knew the money wasn’t mine, he didn’t open that day.

I walked back home, disappointed. Then something spoke to me: "What if the way you are feeling now is exactly how the person who lost this money feels? Don’t you think you should try to return it?"

That struck a chord. I picked up the card and dialled the number on it. It rang twice — no response. Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. It was him

I explained how I found the money and got his number.

“I just got back home not long ago. I went back there to check if I would be lucky to find it,” he said.

Mr Emmanuel, a master's degree holder and a business man. Without wasting time, he boarded a vehicle and came straight to my address. The joy on his face said it all.

“That money was what I withdrew for my brother’s transport back to school. You have done so well. God will reward you bountifully,” he said, visibly relieved.

His appreciation alone was enough to let the neighbours know I had done something remarkable. Even though he didn’t give me anything from the money, I understood it was meant for a purpose. Deep down, I felt fulfilled. I had done the right thing.

But after the strike, life didn’t get easier. We resumed, and I struggled to complete my project, defended it, and then waited for NYSC — the one-year national service every graduate must undergo.

Unfortunately, my department delayed our mobilization. We waited at home for almost two years while others had long gone. Everyone kept saying it was a blessing in disguise, but to me, it felt like just disguise, with no blessing.

I needed to make money to prepare for when the time would come. I became a job hunter, knocking on every office door. But most companies requested my certificate, which wasn’t ready yet.

My only companion during that time was my old phone. I was already giving up when Mummy Alex, who had noticed how I returned home daily with an envelope, told me about a vacancy notice she saw. She described the address and told me to check if they were still accepting applications.

I did some research and found the job advert online. I called the number and got the full details. That same day, I grabbed an A4 paper and wrote my application.

The next day, I went to submit it in person. As I climbed down the stairs from the office, I whispered a prayer for favour. That was when someone suddenly stood in front of me.

I tried hard to recognize the face but failed — I’m terrible at recalling faces after meeting them once or twice.

Seeing my confusion, he smiled and said, “You are the lady who returned my money a few months back, right?”

“Oh! Mr Emmanuel!! Yes, I am! Sorry — I’m really bad at remembering faces,” I replied with excitement in my voice.

“I’m the Chief Marketing Officer of this organisation,” he said. “I didn’t mention that the last time we met. We are currently hiring assistant manager, sales reps, and marketers. I will go through your documents and get back to you — but rest assured, you already have the job.”

That was how I got my first job — one that paid me my first ₦50,000 salary as an employee.

Who would have thought that the man I helped that day — the man whose money I almost spent on Suya— would end up being my breakthrough?

Whenever I remember how I almost gave in to temptation that night, then my mind goes straight to Karma. Karma didn’t return immediately but it showed up when I least expected.

And since that day, I have never doubted: what we do always finds its way back to us positively or negatively — depending on the seed we sow.

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