Kola-nuts for the Architects of Our Lives, By Collins Nweke

The greatest tributes are often spoken too late. We wait until mentors have gone before finding the words we should have said while they could still hear them. Our highest accolades, our most eloquent speeches and our deepest expressions of gratitude are too often reserved for memorial services, delivered in quiet rooms where the subject can no longer receive them. We build monuments to the departed, yet frequently overlook the living architects who quietly carved out the contours of our minds.

Recently, I decided to break that pattern.

A Homecoming Built on Legacy

We speak with her on the telephone every day, sometimes more than once. Yet there is something profoundly different about physical presence. Four weeks before travelling, we told her we would be spending part of our summer holidays with her. She paused, sighed gently and replied:

“That is wonderful. I hope I am still here when you arrive.”

It was not the first time she had spoken those words. Increasingly, her conversations drift towards the horizon. “The time is drawing near,” she tells us, often followed by her wishes for how she would like to be laid to rest. Each time, we gently reassure her that her life will not simply be mourned but celebrated. There will be no funeral, we tell her, but a festival in honour of a remarkable life.

Listening to her, I have come to realise that there is a rare, almost sacred privilege in living long enough, with one’s faculties still intact, to anticipate one’s own passing. To stand at the summit of a century of life and calmly prepare one’s final exit. It invites those around her to reflect on the beauty of a life well lived and the solemn responsibility of preserving what she has built. That reflection stayed with me.

The Unplanned Reunion in Igbuzo

“A short time at St. Thomas’s College; a lifelong imprint on a fifteen-year-old student. Thank you, my revered Teacher and Vice Principal, Mr. Louis Onwordi, for your innovative approach to learning and for shaping my enduring passion for the written and spoken word. Please accept this book as a tribute to your early and profound influence.”

As I read those words aloud, I watched decades of quiet service register in his eyes. He was visibly moved. For a brief moment, time dissolved. There was no retired educator and accomplished author. There was simply a teacher and his fifteen-year-old student, reunited by the enduring thread of gratitude.

Unseen Threads of Providence

As these memories unfolded, it felt as though Providence itself had quietly woven our families together long before either of us recognised the pattern. The reunion became more than a courtesy visit; it became the rediscovery of a shared inheritance.

The Visionary in the Classroom

As we reminisced, my thoughts returned to my days at St. Thomas’s College. Mr. Onwordi’s stay at the school was relatively brief, yet his influence proved enduring. He was one of those rare educators who quietly introduced the future before the rest of society had recognised it. Great teachers do more than teach the curriculum. They shape how their students think about life itself.

At a time when boarding schools often prized rigid discipline above student wellbeing, he introduced reforms that were revolutionary in both their simplicity and humanity.

He extended our lunch break by a full hour and introduced a compulsory midday siesta, believing that rested minds learn better than exhausted ones.

He also created what he called the “Social Moment”, a designated period between dinner and evening prep-class when students could laugh, converse and simply enjoy one another’s company before returning to their books.

These were not merely adjustments to a timetable. They were educational innovations rooted in empathy, balance and foresight.

Long before neuroscience confirmed it, he instinctively understood that tired minds struggle to create, and uninspired hearts struggle to learn.

For a fifteen-year-old discovering the power of language, watching a teacher innovate with such quiet confidence left an indelible mark. He did not simply teach us English. He taught us curiosity. He taught us confidence. He taught us that leadership begins with understanding people.

The Invisible Architects

As I drove away from his home, it struck me that this visit was about far more than one retired teacher in Igbuzo. Every accomplished life rests upon invisible shoulders. Very few of us are self-made. Someone opened a door. Someone corrected an essay. Someone encouraged a hesitant voice. Someone recognised a gift before we recognised it ourselves.Yet we rarely return to say thank you.

We celebrate the published author, the successful entrepreneur, the respected public servant or policy expert, while forgetting the foundational hands that first moulded the clay. To honour those who built us while they are still living is more than good manners. It is a moral responsibility. For the mentor, it offers the quiet satisfaction of knowing that seeds planted decades earlier have borne fruit.

For the student, it is an act of humility. It reminds us that success is never an individual achievement alone. Perhaps the greatest leaders are not those who accumulate followers, but those who quietly produce leaders in others. That is what great teachers do every day.

The Kola-nuts We Owe

As Tonia and I returned to the car, she held my hand, smiled gently and whispered,

“That was compelling. I liked it. Well done.” Her words captured what I had been struggling to express.

Kola-nuts for the Architects of Our LivesLegacy is not simply what we leave behind when we die. It is the living imprint we leave in the lives of others while we are still here to witness it. Let us not wait for eulogies to speak our deepest truths. If there is a teacher, mentor or guide who changed your life, find them. Write the note. Make the journey. Say the words. Give them their flowers while they can still smell their fragrance.