My Greatest Risk
I can tell you the exact moment I decided to jump off life’s metaphorical diving board. It was a Tuesday in Lagos, mid-April, with that unforgiving humidity that clings to your skin like cling film. My best friend, Amaka, had just given me an unsolicited Ted Talk about “risking it all for love.” Her impromptu sermon ended with a dramatic clap of her hands: “Harriet! If you don't take risks, you'll be giving your future children what if as their bedtime story.”
You see, I had met Dele—a charming medical doctor-slash-compulsive smoothie drinker—at my cousin’s wedding six months earlier. He was the kind of man Nollywood scriptwriters dream up when they’re creating the too-good-to-be-true love interest: kind eyes, impressive cooking skills, and the ability to pronounce quinoa correctly. Intriguingly, Dele lived and worked in Kigali, Rwanda, while I was based in Lagos.
We had been engaging in a fun, slightly flirtatious WhatsApp tango ever since. But every time our conversations veered into the “what’s next for us?” abyss, I pulled a Usain Bolt and sprinted the other way. Long-distance relationships? Hard pass. Leaving my Lagos bubble for some rosy, long-shot romance? Not my ministry. Yet, Amaka’s words lingered louder than my fears: What if?
Love, Lagos, and the Leap of Faith
When Dele invited me to visit him in Kigali, I hesitated. Risking an international trip (with my precious holiday allowance) for a man I wasn’t officially dating felt, well, bold. But life is nothing if not unpredictable, and sometimes, you have to let your inner Beyoncé sing, "Baby, I got me, baby, I got me."
After a week of overthinking, I booked the flight. The entire time, I kept thinking about Nigerian proverbs that highlight the bravery in taking risks—“Eyin to ba f’owo we, nii jeun p’elu agba” (Only those who wash their hands clean will eat with elders). Did booking this trip make me wise or just vulnerable and reckless? Either way, there I was, on my way to Kigali, armed with a suitcase, way too much shea butter, and high stakes for my fragile ego.
The Kigali Chronicles
Kigali stunned me immediately. The city was peaceful, pristine, and entirely as charismatic as Dele had described in his endless voice notes about his relocated life. (Though, if I’m being honest, I could have lived without the several-hour lecture about the city’s excellent waste management system. Men and their random fascinations.)
Dele met me at the airport holding a bouquet of flowers. Actual flowers. Imagine that—no “sorry, I was caught up in traffic” excuses, just punctuality and botanical romance. For the Nigerians reading this, you already know this was Olympic gold-level boyfriend behavior because Lagos men and flowers? Rare!
He had planned our week meticulously: gorilla trekking, dinners filled with lively debates about the pros and cons of jollof rice, and even a quiet day just exploring the Kigali Genocide Memorial. That day stuck with me. Walking through the corridors of history, holding hands with someone who understood the weight of the past and the hope of resilience, I felt an unexpected sense of connection—not just with Dele, but with myself.
But let’s not over-romanticize everything. During the trip, there were cringeworthy moments. Like when I tripped over my flowy Ankara skirt while trying to look cute on a hike (spoiler: I did not look cute). Or when I nearly caused a diplomatic incident at a café by insisting loudly that Lagos jollof reigns supreme. Dele shook his head, muttering, “everywhere she goes, she takes West African politics with her.”
Underneath the cultural banter and daily adventures, something organic grew between us. It wasn’t just that Dele could seamlessly quote Burna Boy’s lyrics while discussing medical research. It was the way he saw me—not just as Harriet, product of a large Nigerian family (who double as my unofficial investigative team) but as Harriet, someone willing to embrace life’s uncertainties. And suddenly, all my doubts about taking risks started to feel... trivial.
Lessons from the Dive
Here’s what I learned from my leap of faith:
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“What If” Deserves an Answer
The fear of failure, embarrassment, or ending up in the group chat as someone else’s cautionary tale can paralyze us. I’d been so afraid of what if it doesn’t work that I forgot to consider what if it does? Dele and I didn’t leave Kigali with vows and matching Instagram couple photos, but we did leave with clarity. That clarity—a big, beautiful school of “what if”—would have been lost had I not taken that flight. -
Your Comfort Zone is Overrated
Staying in Lagos surrounded by amala and non-risky familiarity felt safe. But stepping into a new city with an open heart taught me more in one week than my comfort zone ever could. Risks stretch your limits—they teach you what you’re really capable of. Spoiler: it’s a lot. -
Redefining Success
Here’s the thing: love doesn’t have to end with a fairy-tale ending to be worth it. Kigali wasn’t the chapter that defined my entire story, but more like one of those museum exhibits where you walk away with unexpected insights. The trip was a success simply because I allowed myself to show up for it.
The Outcome: An Unexpected Blessing
Now you’re wondering: What happened to Dele and I? Well, dear reader, we ultimately decided long-distance wasn’t for us. But—and here’s the twist—two years later, when I moved to London for my Master’s, it turned out some of the courage I gathered in Kigali was still with me. It fueled my boldness to strike up conversations, risk rejection, and trust life’s unfolding. (It also got me through a disastrously awkward office crush, but that’s another story for another day.)
Today, Dele and I remain great friends—friends who occasionally argue over whether gorilla trekking is really worth it when you hate hiking. Our story didn’t end with wedding bells, but it continues in the joy of knowing that we both dared greatly.
Dare, Leap, Repeat
The hardest thing about taking leaps of faith is that you never truly know where you’re going to land. But here’s my advice, for you romantics and skeptics alike: you’ll learn more from the leap than from endless ground-level deliberation. Maybe the relationship works out, maybe it doesn’t, or maybe it evolves into something you didn’t expect—a reminder of the beauty in risking, in showing up, in trusting.
So, pack that emotional suitcase, take a page from Amaka’s playbook, and risk it for what if. Besides, even if it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll have a killer story to tell—and some excellent jollof debate points to wield in cafés worldwide.
