Humankind?
Every now and then, a moment arrives that forces us to pause not because life stands still, but because we finally do.
The trigger for that moment for me was the Airbnb TV Spot: Is Mankind?
Back in 2017, in the middle of Lagos noise, ambition, I recalled the spot and I wrote a poem. Nothing dramatic. No grand occasion. Just a quiet inspired attempt to answer a question that has followed humanity for centuries:
Find out just how kind the ‘hes’ and ‘shes’ of this mankind are…
The poem opened simply:
I am what I say I am,
Not what I guess I am,
A flow of energy and blood,
I am human.
Identity, stripped to its barest truth: not a job title, not a performance, not the mask we wear to survive the day but something raw, alive, and honest.
As I wrote further, another truth surfaced:
I am what I say I am,
Not what I guess I am,
A flow of energy and blood,
I am human.
For all our talk about independence, self-made paths, and personal grit, we are held together by others more than we like to admit.
Solace is rarely a destination; it’s usually a person.
Then, inevitably, the question of love, that unpredictable force that can rebuild or unravel us::
If love overcomes anguish,
And giving brings so much gain,
On what fire do love’s coal burn,
Is love human?.
It’s a fair question.
We talk about love as if it’s a luxury emotion, but in practice, it’s the fuel behind most of what we pursue, protect, or fight for.
Perhaps love isn’t something humans experience, perhaps it’s something that makes us human in the first place.
And then the line that still hits hardest:
Can mankind be really kind?
Are we human?
For all our progress, intelligence, technology, and bravado, kindness remains the world’s most fragile currency. Yet it’s the one thing that defines our humanity far more than achievement ever could.
Really on being Human
Looking back, that poem wasn’t about answers; it was about honesty. A moment of clarity in a time when life felt louder than usual. It was the first poem I had written in years, a short reminder that beneath the ambition and the work, we get to be alive, by being in tune with our self, in some stillness.
Seven years later, the questions remain relevant. Perhaps even more so now.
Maybe being human has never been about perfection, certainty, or strength.
Maybe it’s simply being aware of ourselves, of others, and of the invisible threads that tie joy, pain, love, and compassion together.
And the real question isn’t “Are we human?”
It’s:
Are we willing to live like it?
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