Peace is not a Destination

Peace.

That five letter word currently means the world to me. It carries so much weight that the absence of it leaves a great void in everything I have ever hoped for. I bet ,for many, peace means the absence of war, but for a woman like me living in the North East of Nigeria after the years of Boko Haram, peace means something far deeper . It means the presence of life, dignity, and a chance to breathe without fear.

Not too long ago when the sounds of gunfire faded and the military seemed to have pushed back the insurgents ,we thought peace had finally returned. But peace, I have come to know, is not just about silence after violence, neither is it signing of treaties. It is about rebuilding what was broken , healing wounds that eyes cannot see, not only in our homes and communities but also inside us.

For me, peace means waking up every morning and not flinching at the sound of a motorcycle passing by mistaking it for an attack. It means seeing my daughters walk to school without wondering if they will return. It means hearing laughter again in the marketplace, seeing colors return to women’s wrappers, and smelling soup on the fire instead of gunpowder in the air.

But peace, in this place, is fragile. Once upon a time the battles changed faces. Survival took away humanity. The milk of human kindness became rare .Boko Haram is no longer at the gate, but hunger and hardship are. The cost of food, fuel, and housing feels like it doubles every week. You can no longer afford the comfort of sitting idly ,every woman I know is hustling, praying, trading, or teaching just to survive. Peace now means being able to afford a meal without selling a piece of your dignity.

Keeping my small organization afloat in this climate feels like rowing a canoe against the tideon many occasions .At the beginning , we set out to bring healing and hope, to help women and girls find confidence after trauma, to teach them leadership, to show them that education is power and that they can be more. But today, I find myself spending more time writing proposals than working with girls, trying to sell my ideas to anyone who can hear .The more we knock , it seems the more Donors’ doors are closed, priorities have shifted, and even the most passionate causes now drown in bureaucracy and silence.

Uncountable times I sat before my laptop late at night, reading through rejection emails, and I wonder , is peace possible in a system where truth is stifled by corruption? Where integrity feels like a liability? Where those who cheat are celebrated, and those who persevere are punished with neglect?

Peace for me, as a woman trying to lead change, means being able to do good without having to compromise. It means running an NGO without fear that your honesty will make you invisible in a country that worships shortcuts and sees smallness as insignificant . It means having just enough funding to turn your vision into impact.

And yet, while I’m trying to hold my organization together, my own body is teaching me new lessons. Menopause has come , uninvited, unpredictable, and unapologetic. The hot flashes, the memory loss, the mood swings, the sudden waves of sadness, the nights spent staring at the ceiling as if sleep has become an enemy. My body, once full of energy and strength, now feels like a territory I must learn to navigate again.

At this point,Peace now means harmony with myself accepting that I am changing, that slowing down is not failure, that my worth is not measured by how much I can do in a day. Peace means giving myself permission to rest, to pause, to listen to what my body and soul are trying to say. Peace looks like accepting what I cannot change but learning new ways to adapt to the changes .

Sometimes, peace looks like sitting quietly with a mug of favourite locally brewed drink even when the power supply is off and the heat is unbearable. It is that moment of stillness when I remind myself that I have come too far to give up now. That audacity to keep believing .

Peace means not being consumed by the corruption and chaos I see around me every day. It means finding order in my small corner. That, no one else can do for me. I let it trickle to my home, my garden, my relationships, my faith. Peace , for me stems from the quiet prayers whispered at dawn, asking God to give me the strength to face another day in a nation that often feels indifferent to the struggles of its women.

In all I now know that peace is not given; it is cultivated. It grows from small acts of kindness, from community, from sisterhood. It is the laughter shared among women who have all seen too much, yet still find reasons to smile and pass their strength to others. Peace is the resilience of ordinary women who rebuild after every flood,who build resilience after every attack and economic shock. It happens when an out-of school girl is enrolled to School so she can make something of her life despite all so that others can dream again.

Peace is not perfect. Neither is it impossible.It is messy, tender, and hard-earned. It happens when people chooe hope over despair, again and again.

Sometimes I think about the North East of before , the days before fear had a name, before prices became unbearable, before trust became rare. But nostalgia is a dangerous comfort. So instead, I choose to imagine the North East we can build. A place where peace is not just the absence of war, but the presence of justice. Where leaders serve, not steal. Where women are heard, not hushed. Where NGOs like mine do not die for lack of funds but thrive because the system values the work we do.

Peace, for me, is when the little girls in my community no longer have to attend trauma workshops because they have known war. It is when widows no longer have to line up for relief food but have steady income and restored pride and dignity. When their voices begin to matter. It is when I can walk into a government office and not be asked for a bribe to do the right thing. It is when my body and mind feel aligned, when I can smile without pretending, when I can sleep and not wake up to worry about tomorrow.

True peace is freedom ,freedom from fear, from lack, from corruption, from fatigue. It is not something you wait for others to give you; it is something you build daily from the broken pieces of faith that remain.

So here I am, still living in the North East. Seen war first hand, seing poverty, corruption, and most recently ,the quiet storms of menopause. Yet, I am still here ! Dreaming, working, believing. Because peace, to me, is not a destination ;it is the way I choose to walk through the fire.

And even in this tired body, I still carry peace within me fragile, but alive.