Skip to main content

Everyone wants a village…

But not everyone wants to be a villager.


The first time I heard those words, I had to snap my fingers like I’d just heard some soul-crushing poetry.


It’s true, though. Everyone wants community, but very rarely do people show up—at least in this day and age. Certain things are starting to feel like a lost art when they’re not transactional. People long for support, for others to be there during their hardest moments, but how often do they extend that same presence to others? We talk about community as something we want to receive, but not enough about what it means to build one—to put in the work, to give, to show up when it’s inconvenient, when no one is watching, when there’s nothing to gain.


I was having a conversation today and had to pause for a minute to keep my thoughts to myself because—why is everything so transactional these days? Friendships, romantic relationships, even familial relationships… people love to apply this you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours mentality to literally everything. And I’m not saying that one must become a doormat, constantly bending over backwards for others. I’m not saying that at all. It’s just getting tiresome—having to live a life of chess with people you’re supposed to care about. 


Truthfully, I’m glad more and more people are speaking on this matter because things feel increasingly dystopian by the day, no matter where in the world you are. We are more connected than ever through technology, yet so many of us feel lonelier than ever. We’ve become spectators in each other’s lives instead of active participants. We see our friends’ struggles in passing—through a vague post, a missed call, a quiet withdrawal—and assume someone else will check in. We watch their victories from a distance, offering a quick “congrats” in the comments but rarely showing up in person. But true community isn’t built on convenience. It’s built on presence.


We’ve forgotten the simplicity of just existing together. It used to be normal to do nothing with your friends—to sit in comfortable silence, to join them while they ran errands, to go hungry together and scrape up loose change for a shared meal, or to cover each other when times were tough. These little acts of care, the unspoken understanding that no one had to struggle alone, are the foundation of true community. It wasn’t always about having the perfect words or grand gestures; sometimes, it was just about being there—about letting someone know they weren’t alone.


And it’s not just about struggle—it’s about joy, too. It’s important to celebrate your friends’ wins, big or small. Milestones go beyond marriage and babies. Achievements are getting a job, moving to greener pastures, graduating, picking up a new hobby, getting a license—the list goes on and on. And yet, so often, we only rally around people when tragedy strikes. Why do we wait for grief or hardship to remind us to be present? Why do we hesitate to make the good times just as meaningful?


Love is inconveniencing yourself. Not everything has to benefit you all the time. You can find joy in seeing the people you care about be happy. That’s the essence of community. Love, at its core, is an act of selflessness—to offer support without expecting repayment, to take joy in another’s joy simply because they matter to you. And in a world that often feels disconnected, choosing to show up for one another might just be the most radical thing we can do. Because at the end of the day, a village isn’t something you find—it’s something you build, piece by piece, through every small act of love, every moment of presence, every choice to stand beside each other, no matter what. 


Otherwise, let me know if I have to move through life like a politician.


(I won’t, hehe)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Prayer Is Not a Policy

Earlier this week, the Ministry of Youth and Gender Affairs launched what it called a “groundbreaking initiative”. The National Week of Prayer Against Gender-Based Violence under the theme  “United in Prayer, Solidarity Against GBV.”   I know right? And look, we’ll get to women in positions of power upholding misogynistic and patriarchal values another day. Or maybe later today.  One crisis at a time, neh?  So here’s the thing. Botswana is facing a relentless and escalating epidemic of GBV. From child rape to domestic homicide, survivors are left with shattered lives, limited access to justice, and an insufficient social support system. With churches, religious groups, and communities being called to unite in spiritual solidarity against a national crisis, this initiative was painted as a hopeful, healing intervention. But let’s be brutally honest: this is  not   what change looks like. A man was able to walk into a university and take a woman’s life as she...
Post a Comment
Read more

Bloom Again

I hope this is the last time I’ll be this candid. I tell myself that each time — that I’ll keep my thoughts locked in a private journal. But this isn’t that. This is for the moments when silence feels heavier than the truth, and when the truth is met with the world’s strange discomfort with the word  victim. I put the word in quotes because somewhere along the way, society decided it’s unseemly for us to claim it.  Survivor  is the softer, braver term. It’s supposed to shake off the pity in people’s eyes, to make us sound like we’ve climbed out of the wreckage and dusted ourselves off. I understand why some prefer it. But maybe it’s the literalist in me — I don’t understand why naming what happened to me is considered self-pity. I was wronged. I was harmed. I am the victim of a crime. That acknowledgment doesn’t mean I carry it as a badge or romanticize it. It’s just the truth. After putting my thoughts on trial I realized that it’s easier for me to think of things that h...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Young Woman in a Man’s World

Trigger warning SA/H I'm not a stranger to the advances of men. I was sexually assaulted at the age of 7 or 8, in a knee-length skirt made of shades of blue and a bright green Hannah Montana T-shirt. I was leered at by the angry man's cousin when I wore a ruffled pink skirt my school had asked parents to buy for a concert. He didn't touch me, but his eyes undressed me as I played on the trampoline. I learned to cover up. I also learned that wearing boy clothes, being a gothy tomboy, or avoiding clothes that actually fit me wouldn’t stop a man from aggressively reaching between my legs in broad daylight. Staying away from boys, and being scared of men, was never going to make them  not  notice me. Like something that goes bump in the night, the scent of fear only seemed to get them going. I’m 25 now, and as I’ve said, I’m not new to this. But for the first time, I’m surrounded by grown men. I can’t escape them—I bump into them at every turn. I’ve never had to deal with them ...
Post a Comment
Read more