Lord, I Saw Him
A MOnoLogUE on Friendship with a man in a wheelchair (at the GloverRoad-AlfredRewane Intersection becomes a reflection on compassion, dignity, poverty, and finding Christ in the forgotten among us.
May His Soul Rest in Peace
Sunday, July 19, 2026
“Where's my friend?” I asked the little guy who sometimes pushed his wheelchair around. The same little guy who sold DVDs featuring little people.
His face fell.
“I know,” I said quietly. “The last time I saw him…”
The traffic light turned green.
“I'll come again,” I shouted. “We'll talk, okay?”
He nodded.
I drove away.
I Saw Him
The last time I spoke with him, I realized I hadn't seen him for quite a while.
So I asked,
“Where have you been? I haven't seen you around?”
He sighed.
“These environmental people keep driving us away.”
I looked at him, puzzled.
“Driving you where?”
He shook his head.
“Nowhere. They just drive us away. They don't want us hanging around the roads begging. Once they see our wheelchairs and our things, they chase us.”
Not to a shelter.
Not to a rehabilitation centre.
Not to somewhere they could receive food, medical care, or dignity.
Just...
...away.
I drove off feeling suffocated by the quiet cruelty we have learned to normalize.
We Would Rather They Disappear
It struck me that perhaps the greatest tragedy is not poverty itself.
It is our desire not to see it.
The little these men and women do, sitting quietly by the roadside hoping someone might stop and help, has somehow become too much for society.
So rather than solve the problem...
...we remove the evidence of the problem.
We would rather they simply disappear.
"Lord... I Saw Him"
Later that day I found myself unexpectedly emotional.
There were tears in my eyes.
Not because I had done something extraordinary.
Quite the opposite.
I simply whispered,
"Lord... I saw him."
Thank You for giving me eyes that can still see.
Because it is frighteningly easy to stop seeing.
To drive past.
To become accustomed to suffering.
To become comfortable with invisible people.
Yet another question would not leave me.
Obi... did you do enough?
How I Came to Notice Him
People often ask how I came to know him.
The answer is simple.
I passed him almost every time I drove to the Ikoyi Club.
Like many Lagosians, I was often in a hurry.
And like many Lagosians, I hardly ever carried cash.
So I would lower my window, bow slightly, smile, and gesture,
"I'll circle back."
He always nodded.
Not impatiently.
Not suspiciously.
Just...
...gratefully.
The Gift of Trust
Looking back, I think that was what first caught my attention.
Unlike many who asked for alms, he never continued pleading once I had spoken.
He never chased the car.
Never argued.
Never tried to make me feel guilty.
Instead, he did something remarkable.
He trusted me.
In that brief exchange, he gave me something I had not expected.
He gave me dignity.
It was as though he was saying,
"I believe you will keep your word."
That simple act of trust made it much harder for me not to.
More Than Money
Sometimes I genuinely had no cash.
But once or twice I happened to have a bottle of cold water with me, probably left over from a packed lunch.
I would hand it to him.
It wasn't much.
But he always received it with the same gratitude.
Looking back now, I realize our relationship was never really about money.
It was about recognition.
About acknowledging another human being.
About seeing one another.
One of Our Last Conversations
One of the conversations we shared, I took the liberty of recording.
Today, I am grateful that I did.
It is now one of the few remaining memories I have of my friend.
Watch our conversation here:
▶️ https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1cKkop7vCE/
The Tyres of a Wheelchair
One day I asked him,
“Is there anything you think I can do for you?”
His answer surprised me.
He didn't ask for money.
He pointed at his wheelchair.
“The tyres.”
I asked how much they would cost.
Perhaps ten or twelve thousand naira.
A few days later I returned with the money in an envelope.
He was deeply grateful.
It wasn't a fortune.
But it mattered.
Sometimes compassion is not measured by how much we give.
It is measured by whether we listened.
I Want to Know My Friend
I had planned to go back.
This time with a camera.
Not because I wanted another "poverty video."
Quite the opposite.
I wanted to know my friend.
Who was he?
Where was he from?
How did he end up here?
What had he dreamed of becoming before life took this turn?
What hopes did he still carry?
Because before he became "the man in the wheelchair," he was someone's son.
Perhaps someone's brother.
Perhaps someone's father.
A man with a name.
A story.
A life.
Now...
I never will.
A Small Idea
His passing has strengthened an idea that has been growing in my mind.
What if we created a simple interview format?
Nothing elaborate.
Just honest conversations.
Questions like:
- What is your name?
- Where are you from?
- How do you survive each day?
- Do you have a bank account or an Opay account?
- What number is linked to it?
- What are your hopes?
- What would you like the world to know about you?
The videos could be recorded by volunteers and uploaded to the Intent Makers community.
Not to make people objects of pity.
But to restore something even more valuable.
Their identity.
One Person. One Connection.
I've also been thinking about how people should help.
Should everything go into one central charity account?
Perhaps.
But I increasingly believe something else may be even more powerful.
One person.
One relationship.
One act of kindness.
You hear someone's story.
You decide what you want to do.
Perhaps you send ₦1,000.
Perhaps ₦5,000.
Perhaps more.
Perhaps you simply call every now and then to ask,
"How are you today?"
Real compassion is personal.
Technology Can Help Us See
Our lives are busy.
Most of us don't have the time to stop and get to know everyone we pass.
But technology gives us another opportunity.
From your living room.
From your office.
From your car.
You could watch a three-minute interview.
Learn someone's name.
Pray for them.
Call them.
Encourage them.
Help them.
Suddenly, the invisible become visible again.
Compassion Is Good Economics
Compassion is not only good Christianity.
It is also good economics.
Imagine one million disabled Nigerians becoming more productive because ordinary citizens helped them obtain mobility, medical care, equipment, training, or employment.
If each created just the equivalent of US$1,000 of economic value every year...
Nigeria's GDP would increase by US$1 billion annually.
Helping people become productive does not make society poorer.
It enriches us all.
"You Did It Unto Me"
Jesus spoke about these people far more often than we remember.
"I was hungry and you gave me food.
I was thirsty and you gave me drink.
I was a stranger and you welcomed me.
I was sick and you visited me."
Then He added words that should unsettle every Christian:
"Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."
Matthew 25:40
Perhaps that man in the wheelchair was never merely a beggar.
Perhaps Christ was sitting there all along.
Perhaps every time I slowed down at that traffic light...
...it was Jesus waiting patiently by the roadside.
Let Us Become Our Brother's Keeper
This is only the beginning of an idea.
But perhaps ideas like these can become something larger than charity.
A community.
A movement.
A network of compassion.
A society that refuses to look away.
Let us use the technology we now have to restore names, stories, dignity, and hope to those we have forgotten.
Because the opposite of love is not hatred.
The opposite of love is invisibility.
And perhaps our first duty is simply this:
To see.
For perhaps the greatest miracle is not that we see Christ in the poor...
but that, in learning to see the poor, we finally begin to see Christ.
Obi Akaraiwe | Don Kenobi
#OldManInTheMolue
#MyFrancisEssays
