Before Night Falls
“As long as it is day, we must do the works of Him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work.” - John 9:4
Chika was twenty-three, a final-year nursing student with dreams of working in a rural clinic. She had grown up in a small village where her mother had died because there was no nurse on duty when complications arose. That night haunted her — not with bitterness, but with purpose.
By day, she juggled lectures, part-time jobs, and volunteering at St. Matthew’s Children’s Hospital. By night, she read medical textbooks under the flickering light of a rechargeable lamp.
One sweltering Tuesday afternoon, on her way to class, she saw a young bus conductor collapse at Ojuelegba bus stop. Crowds gathered, filming with their phones but doing nothing. Chika dropped her bag, rushed to his side, and began CPR. Sweat trickled down her forehead; she didn’t notice the stares or the traffic honking behind her. Within minutes, the boy coughed, dazed but alive.
She missed her lecture, but gained something far greater: a reminder that opportunities to save a life often appear without warning — and they vanish just as quickly.
That evening, sitting by the children’s ward, she overheard a little patient, Ife, telling another child, “Aunty Chika is like the sun — she comes before the night.” The words sank deep.
Weeks later, Chika would graduate, but she carried the boy at Ojuelegba and Ife’s words with her like a compass. She knew time was short — not just in years, but in moments.
Moral: Life’s daylight is precious; the chance to act, to love, to heal, will not always be there.
“As long as it is day, we must do the works of Him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work.” - John 9:4
Chika was twenty-three, a final-year nursing student with dreams of working in a rural clinic. She had grown up in a small village where her mother had died because there was no nurse on duty when complications arose. That night haunted her — not with bitterness, but with purpose.
By day, she juggled lectures, part-time jobs, and volunteering at St. Matthew’s Children’s Hospital. By night, she read medical textbooks under the flickering light of a rechargeable lamp.
One sweltering Tuesday afternoon, on her way to class, she saw a young bus conductor collapse at Ojuelegba bus stop. Crowds gathered, filming with their phones but doing nothing. Chika dropped her bag, rushed to his side, and began CPR. Sweat trickled down her forehead; she didn’t notice the stares or the traffic honking behind her. Within minutes, the boy coughed, dazed but alive.
She missed her lecture, but gained something far greater: a reminder that opportunities to save a life often appear without warning — and they vanish just as quickly.
That evening, sitting by the children’s ward, she overheard a little patient, Ife, telling another child, “Aunty Chika is like the sun — she comes before the night.” The words sank deep.
Weeks later, Chika would graduate, but she carried the boy at Ojuelegba and Ife’s words with her like a compass. She knew time was short — not just in years, but in moments.
Moral: Life’s daylight is precious; the chance to act, to love, to heal, will not always be there.
Before Night Falls
“As long as it is day, we must do the works of Him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work.” - John 9:4
Chika was twenty-three, a final-year nursing student with dreams of working in a rural clinic. She had grown up in a small village where her mother had died because there was no nurse on duty when complications arose. That night haunted her — not with bitterness, but with purpose.
By day, she juggled lectures, part-time jobs, and volunteering at St. Matthew’s Children’s Hospital. By night, she read medical textbooks under the flickering light of a rechargeable lamp.
One sweltering Tuesday afternoon, on her way to class, she saw a young bus conductor collapse at Ojuelegba bus stop. Crowds gathered, filming with their phones but doing nothing. Chika dropped her bag, rushed to his side, and began CPR. Sweat trickled down her forehead; she didn’t notice the stares or the traffic honking behind her. Within minutes, the boy coughed, dazed but alive.
She missed her lecture, but gained something far greater: a reminder that opportunities to save a life often appear without warning — and they vanish just as quickly.
That evening, sitting by the children’s ward, she overheard a little patient, Ife, telling another child, “Aunty Chika is like the sun — she comes before the night.” The words sank deep.
Weeks later, Chika would graduate, but she carried the boy at Ojuelegba and Ife’s words with her like a compass. She knew time was short — not just in years, but in moments.
Moral: Life’s daylight is precious; the chance to act, to love, to heal, will not always be there.
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