The morning wore a quiet mist like a soft white wrapper, covering the sleepy village road in silence.
The sandy path stretched far ahead, marked with footprints, bicycle tracks, and the stubborn remains of yesterday’s carelessness, plastic nylons, broken bottles, dry leaves scattered like forgotten memories. But today was different Day, Today was Clean Up Day which was made open to the villages both indigenous and non- indigenous.
The first sound that broke the calmness was a cool air which was the sharp scrape of a cutlass slicing through overgrown grasses. Then came laughter's, Then footsteps. Then purpose.
From the far end of the road, young boys and men appeared one after another to attend to the calls for clean up, some holding cutlasses, others carrying rakes, shovels, and old sacks. A motorbike passed slowly, its rider wearing an green shirt, nodding in approval as he rode through the sandy path, his only joy was that people really turn up for the clean up.
The road that once looked abandoned now felt alive. Close to the bushy roadside, one young man bent low, pulling stubborn weeds from the edge of the drainage. Sweat formed on his forehead despite the cool morning breeze.
A little boy in a blue shirt stood nearby holding a stick, poking at plastic waste stuck in the grass. He wasn’t forced to be there. he wanted to be part of something which is bigger. The cassava plants beside the houses swayed gently, as if clapping for the effort. Palm trees stood tall like silent witnesses, watching the community come together not for a festival, not for a ceremony, but for responsibility.
Every sweep of the rake uncovered more than dirt; it uncovered pride. Old wrappers were gathered into piles. Dry branches were dragged off the road. The sandy surface slowly began to look smoother, cleaner, almost new. Even the signboard by the roadside, once hidden behind thick weeds, became visible again like a reminder that visibility matters, both for roads and for people.
There was no loud music. No cameras. No politicians. Just neighbors helping neighbors. Friends teasing each other while working. Someone shouted, “Carry that side well!” and laughter followed.
The mist began to fade as the sun slowly claimed the sky.
What was once a dusty, littered road now looked welcoming. Children would walk to school safely. Motorcycles would ride without dodging debris. Visitors would see not neglect, but unity and as they stood there tired, dusty, but satisfied, they realized something powerful:
Clean Up Day was not just about clearing grass or picking trash. It was about clearing excuses. It was about picking responsibility. It was about cutting away the mindset that “someone else will do it.”
That sandy road would gather dust again someday.
Leaves would fall again. But the spirit born that morning, the spirit of togetherness would remain planted deeper than the cassava roots beside the houses. Because sometimes, the cleanest thing in a community isn’t the road. It’s the hearts of the people who decide to care.
Thank for reading!
