By Abdoulie Mam Njie
Every act is a seed. Some planted in anger and others in love. Time buries them, but one day, each will sprout. For the harvest never lies.
In an earlier reflection, I wrote that when destruction becomes the mission, destruction becomes the end. This meditation continues that thought. Every act, noble or destructive, is a seed, and time itself is the patient harvester. What we sow in anger, pride, or compassion will one day return to us, because the harvest never lies.
Life has a way of balancing its books. Every act, every choice, every silence is a seed. Some grow into blessings, others into regrets. But in the end, the harvest never lies.
The idea that we reap what we sow runs through every faith and culture. In the Holy Qur’an, Allah reminds us: “Whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it, and whoever does an atom’s weight of evil will see it.” (Surah Az-Zalzalah 99:7–8). The Bible echoes the same truth: “Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.” (Galatians 6:7). Our African elders understood this long before scripture was printed. They said, “If you plant kindness, you will harvest respect; if you plant deceit, expect shame.” These words carried the wisdom that actions never vanish. They wait for their season.
Our nation’s early years were filled with unity and promise. But as honesty waned and service gave way to self-interest, the cracks widened. The attempted coup of 1981 and the upheaval of 1994 were not sudden storms. They were the harvest of seeds long planted: neglect, frustration, and silence when truth was needed most. These were not just political turning points; they were mirrors reflecting what had long been sown in our institutions: the corrosion of truth and the decay of accountability. History speaks in echoes, but the present always answers back.
We must also remember April 2000, when young Gambians took to the streets seeking justice and met gunfire instead. Sixteen students fell that day. Their deaths marked a moral debt on our national conscience, one that could not be wished away. Decades later, as trials and testimonies emerged, the nation again faced its own reflection. The wheel of justice may turn slowly, but it never stops.
Even today, the same moral order continues to unfold before us. Those once thought untouchable now face the weight of justice. Properties once claimed as private wealth now stir public debate. Traditions long protected by silence reveal their pain, as in the tragic loss of a child to an old, forbidden practice. These moments remind us that wrong, however buried, will one day bloom. They are not punishments from fate but lessons in accountability. Life simply returns what was given.
Yet among the seeds we plant, few are as destructive as envy and indiscipline. Envy blinds judgment and turns neighbours into rivals and colleagues into enemies. Indiscipline weakens both leadership and followership, eroding the order that binds communities. Too often, we see people unfamiliar with one another, driven by rumor or resentment, rushing to pull each other down as if another’s fall could raise their own worth. These are the weeds that choke our national garden. If not uprooted, they turn promise into bitterness and progress into rivalry.
As our nation continues to reckon with its past through truth telling and reform, we are reminded that healing begins when we plant honesty where fear once grew. Today, as we rebuild trust in our institutions, from land to justice, from health to governance, we are reminded that reform without conscience is a harvest without roots.
From our journey, a few lessons stand clear.
First, truth delayed is never truth denied. It always finds a way to speak.
Second, silence in the face of wrongdoing is not neutrality; it is consent.
Third, no society can outgrow its conscience. We may ignore it, but it never forgets.
These are not only national lessons but personal ones, for nations are built from the souls of their people.
The question before us is simple: what kind of seeds are we planting today? In leadership, in family, in business and in faith. Every choice becomes tomorrow’s harvest. When leaders sow truth, they reap trust. When parents sow patience, they reap peace in their homes. When citizens sow respect, they reap stability. Our nation’s future will not be built by speeches alone but by the daily planting of fairness, humility, discipline and responsibility.
The Gambia’s soil is rich not only in sand and river clay, but in spirit. What we put into it will determine what our children inherit. The conscience of a nation, like its soil, must be tended. If we plant truth, mercy, and service, the harvest will not shame us.
The harvest never lies. Time may hide the seed, but it never forgets it. Let us each sow with care, in truth, mercy, and service so that when the fields of tomorrow ripen, they may feed our children with peace, not regret.
