Rahma Abdulmajid
History is obsessive about the theatre of energy. It immortalizes the roaring stadiums, the blinding digital camera flashes, and the hole majesty of choreographed handshakes—however actual management operates within the shadows.
True, transformative management is rarely born on a brightly lit stage. It is solid within the shadows, deep throughout the quiet, unscripted margins the place teleprompters go darkish and the roaring crowds fall silent. When the glittering costume of energy is violently stripped away, solely two issues can stay: a hole, echoing vacancy, or the uncooked, unvarnished drive of pure humanity.
New Delhi was buzzing on day two of the BRICS summit. Inside the Nigerian Embassy, the power turned electrical as Vice-President Kashim Shettima arrived for a short courtesy go to. A roaring, joyous crowd of resident Nigerians had gathered, remodeling the venue into an impromptu homecoming. Excitement hung thick within the air, punctuated by rising chants and the limitless, rapid-fire click on of digital camera shutters capturing each handshake and smile.
Yet beneath that floor heat, a refined pressure shifted the room. While everybody else basked within the second, the vice-president’s gaze fractured. His eyes darted from nose to nose with a pointy, pressing depth, trying to find one thing very important that the remainder of us had fully ignored.
It was contagious. Soon, it wasn’t simply his safety element on excessive alert. Even these of us in his internal circle discovered ourselves scanning the room, attempting to find no matter phantom hazard our principal was so desperately looking for. Even contained in the personal quarters meant for his relaxation, there was no escape from the search.
The second the commotion outdoors died down, his voice sliced by the well mannered small discuss. “Where is Mr. Prakash?” The embassy officers froze, trapped in a heavy, bewildered silence. They traded clean stares, attempting to find the title of their reminiscences. Then, understanding clicked. He spoke once more, regular and agency. “Mr. Prakash,” he stated. “The embassy driver. Is he still here?”
Within minutes, Mr. Prakash appeared. He was an aged, humble Indian man, his weathered face and conventional mourning haircut bearing the unmistakable scars of a life battered by time. Though he held nothing greater than a modest driver’s job at an African embassy, he carried a crushing mountain of obligations alone on his slim shoulders. He approached, his fragile gaze holding the look of somebody who had simply stumbled upon long-lost household.
The vice-president had simply sat right down to his welcome meal when he noticed Prakash. In an prompt, protocol and plate had been forgotten. He stood straight again up, greeting Prakash with a deep reverence that hushed your entire room. “Mr. Prakash, how have you been?” he stated warmly. “Thank you for everything.”
Then, turning to the remainder of us as if to completely etch the person’s dignity into our minds, he defined, “He drove me around years ago during my visit to India as governor.” What adopted was uniquely disarming: he started inquiring about Mr. Prakash’s household by title. He remembered vivid particulars from a short encounter years in the past—the type of trivial historical past most leaders forged apart.
When Prakash, with trembling arms, pulled out a worn-out cellphone, determined for {a photograph} to mark the unbelievable reunion, my principal left his meal as soon as extra and threw an arm round him like an outdated, expensive buddy. In that second, he posed not as a Vice President, however merely as a person along with his brother.
But it wasn’t the cameras that stole my breath that afternoon. It was what occurred after the lenses lowered—away from the flashing lights and prying eyes. Without announcement or applause, Senator Shettima slipped a hand into his pocket, scooped out a beneficiant wad of money, and tucked it quietly into Mr. Prakash’s coat.
No aides had been instructed. No media had been invited. It was an act born purely out of kindness, deep empathy, and uncooked humanity. When language threatened to construct a wall—as a result of Prakash speaks little English and the Vice President speaks no Hindi—compassion discovered its personal dialect.
He switched effortlessly to Hausa, a Nigerian native language, not for Prakash to grasp actually, however to universalise the second, to say in a tongue he is aware of finest what the center is aware of in each language: “Mene ne amfanin nasarar rayuwa idan baka taimaka wa wanda yake bukatar taimakonka ba?” Translated in English, this implies, “What is the benefit of success in life if you do not help those who need your help?”
What I witnessed didn’t shock me, however it deeply enriched my soul. You see, I too am a Prakash within the Vice President’s world. Over the previous three years of working by his facet, no residing soul has recognised the heavy actuality of my life like he has. When my husband died serving our nation, I used to be left to hold the immense weight of elevating our youngsters alone. Yet, His Excellency really sees that sacrifice, honouring the burden I bear each single day.
To communicate absolutely the fact, Kashim Shettima’s quiet, unwavering remembrance of my grief over the previous three years has outshone even my closest blood family throughout the eleven lengthy years since my husband handed away. He remembers the dates others overlook. He asks the questions others keep away from. He carries burdens that aren’t constitutionally his to bear.
Seeing Vice-President Shettima evokes the presence of transformative leaders. He jogs my memory of Uruguay’s President José Mujica, who selected a modest farmhouse over a palace, and Nelson Mandela, whose profound friendship with Christo Brand transcended jail partitions.
Their tales remind us that true management is rarely about titles, workplaces, or protocols. It lives in an unshakeable refusal to stroll previous somebody in want—a cussed conviction that each human being, regardless of how small their station, is worthy of being remembered.
This noble, compassionate coronary heart is exactly why President Bola Ahmed Tinubu selected Kashim Shettima as his operating mate—to present Nigeria a management outlined not by noise, however by empathy; not by showmanship, however by deep, real service. In a world the place many leaders keep in mind solely those that can repay them, it’s really revolutionary to search out one who remembers a driver.
* Abdulmajid is the Personal Assistant to the President on Radio and Broadcast (Office of the Vice-President)
