Rich to Poor

There was a time I never imagined drinking garri.

Back then, my life was soft. Food was never a discussion. The fridge was always full, the pot was always warm, and hunger was something I only heard about in stories. If I wanted to eat, I ate. If I was tired of rice, there was stew. If stew bored me, there was takeout.

Then life changed.

It didn’t announce itself. It didn’t warn me. It simply happened.

A business collapsed. Savings disappeared. Promises from people who once called every day went silent. Slowly, comfort packed its bags and left without saying goodbye.

At first, I pretended nothing had changed. I dressed well, smiled outside, laughed with people. But at home, the silence was loud. The fridge stayed empty. The gas finished and was never replaced. Cooking became a memory.

One evening, hunger sat beside me like an unwanted guest.

I checked my account balance—₦0.00.

I checked the cupboard.

There it was.

Garri.

A small nylon, folded neatly, like it had been waiting. I stared at it for a long time. My chest felt tight. This wasn’t just food it felt like proof of how far I had fallen.

I remembered mocking garri once. Calling it “emergency food.” Saying things like “I can never reach that level.”

Life has a sense of humor.

I poured the garri into a bowl. Added water. No sugar. No milk. Just plain garri and cold water.

My hands shook slightly as I lifted the bowl.

The first swallow burned not my throat, but my pride.

But my body didn’t care about pride.

The second swallow tasted like survival.

By the third, hunger softened its grip.

As I drank, memories rushed in big dinners, loud laughter, careless spending. I realized how quickly “having” turns into “had.”

That night, I didn’t cry.

I just sat there, bowl empty, thinking.

Garri didn’t shame me.

Garri didn’t ask questions.

Garri showed up when everything else left.

That was the night I understood something important:

Being poor isn’t a crime.

Needing help isn’t weakness.

And falling doesn’t mean you’re finished.

I drank garri that night not because I wanted to, but because I needed to.

And somehow, it kept me alive.

Today, my life is rebuilding, step by step. I still drink garri sometimes not out of necessity, but out of memory.

To remind myself of where I’ve been.

To stay humble.

To remember that nothing is permanent not wealth, not loss.

From rich to poor… I drank garri.

And I survived.