A Sudanese writer once shared a story that seems simple on the surface, yet it carries a weighty question that should make all of us pause: Am I a thief? When we look closely, it becomes less about one man and more about the everyday choices we make, especially in societies like ours.
He described two experiences while he was abroad.
In the first, he paid for a medical exam in Ireland. The fee was £309, but without the exact change, he handed over £310. It seemed like nothing, just one extra pound. He completed his exam and eventually returned home to Sudan. Then, sometime later, he received a letter from Ireland. Inside was a cheque for £1. The message was clear: you paid more than required, and we do not take what does not belong to us.
It is striking to imagine that the cost of sending that letter, the envelope, the stamp, and the administrative effort likely exceeded the £1 they were returning. Yet, the principle mattered more than the money. Integrity was not negotiable.
The second situation was even more personal. On his daily route between home and school, he would buy chocolate from a small shop run by a woman. One day, he noticed the same chocolate being sold at two different prices, 18 pence and 20 pence. Curious, he asked why. The shopkeeper explained that the newer stock had become more expensive due to supply issues, while the older stock remained at the old price.
Naturally, he reasoned that customers would only buy the cheaper ones until they were finished. Then he suggested what many people might consider a clever solution: mix them together and sell everything at the higher price so no one would know the difference.
The woman leaned in and asked him quietly, “Are you a thief?”
That question unsettled him. It followed him long after he left the shop.
Now, when we bring these two situations closer to home, the question becomes uncomfortable. It stops being about a Sudanese man in Ireland and starts being about us here in Nigeria.
How often do we see situations where integrity is treated as optional? When accidents happen on our roads, instead of rushing to help, some people rush to pick phones, wristwatches, and valuables from victims. In markets and shops, many people hesitate to return extra change when a seller mistakenly gives more. Some even feel lucky when they benefit from such errors, as if it is a small, harmless gain.
But is it harmless?
The truth is, these everyday actions reveal something deeper about our values. It is easy to condemn large-scale corruption, to criticize leaders. Yet, in small, quiet moments, when no one is watching, we sometimes make choices that reflect the same mindset, taking what is not ours simply because we can.
The Irish institution returned £1 because, to them, keeping it would have been wrong. The shopkeeper refused to deceive her customers because honesty was not something to be negotiated for profit. In both cases, integrity was a habit, not an exception.
Here, however, we often normalize the opposite. We laugh about “smartness,” we justify cutting corners, and we excuse minor dishonesty as part of survival. But if everyone keeps a little that does not belong to them, the result is a society where trust disappears.
So the question remains, echoing just as it did in that small shop: Am I a thief? Are we thieves?
It is not a question to answer quickly or defensively. It is one to sit with. Because change does not begin with systems or governments alone, it begins with individuals choosing, in the smallest moments, to do what is right even when it seems insignificant.
Returning that extra change. Refusing to take advantage of someone’s mistake. Choosing honesty when dishonesty would be easier.
Perhaps, if we begin there, the answer to that question will slowly start to change.
Adapted by Bola Babarinde, Pretoria, South Africa.
