In Africa, there is a growing phenomenon that seems to have taken root in the very heart of our moral fabric: the celebration of wealth obtained through dubious means. It’s a truth that we tend to speak about only in hushed tones, if at all, because it cuts deep into the pride and self-image we like to present to the world. We’re supposed to be honorable, deeply religious people. We’re supposed to live by the words of God and the ancestral values passed down to us. But something has gone awry. The words of God are still spoken, but the actions tell a different story. People who should be pillars of integrity are enriching themselves at the expense of the poor, and instead of being called out for what they are, they are celebrated as blessed.
It’s painful to watch. In one breath, a preacher will talk about righteousness and the importance of living an honest life, and in the next, he’ll be blessing a politician or a businessperson who has clearly enriched themselves through corrupt means. There’s no hiding it. The evidence is there for anyone who cares to look. But no one looks—or rather, no one wants to see. Because in a twisted sense of reality, many people now equate wealth with divine favor. “God has blessed him,” they’ll say, even when the source of that wealth is dubious at best, outright theft at worst. And here’s the kicker: they genuinely believe it. There’s a pervasive mindset that says if someone has money, no matter how they got it, it’s a sign of divine blessing.
Let’s not pretend this is something new. For generations, there has been corruption in our systems. But what’s changed is the way we now openly celebrate it. Before, corruption was something people tried to hide. There was a sense of shame attached to it. If you were caught, you might be ostracized or at the very least, frowned upon. Now, however, we’re seeing a reversal. Those who manage to steal the most from the poor and vulnerable are not shamed—they are praised. They are given titles, invited to the front seats at church, asked to fundraise at community events, and celebrated at family gatherings. The more money they have, the louder the applause, and the more they’re regarded as blessed by God. It’s an upside-down moral universe we’re living in, and it’s high time we confront it head-on.
The poor, meanwhile, are left to watch from the sidelines, struggling to make ends meet while those who exploit them rise higher and higher. But here’s the thing about poverty: it breeds a sense of hopelessness that can be devastating. When the poor see those who have stolen from them being praised and elevated, it sends a chilling message: honesty doesn’t pay. Hard work doesn’t pay. Integrity doesn’t pay. The system is rigged, and the only way to make it is to play the game—and play it dirty. This is how we end up with a society where everyone is looking for a shortcut, a way to get rich quick, no matter the cost to others. When integrity is no longer honorable, what’s left?
We’ve all seen it. The government official who lives in a mansion while the roads leading to his village are barely passable. The businessman who drives the latest luxury car but underpays his workers and dodges taxes meant to provide basic services to the community. The politician who flies overseas for medical treatment while local hospitals crumble. These are not isolated cases—they are the norm. And yet, when these individuals show up at community functions, they are treated like royalty. They are seated in places of honor, handed the microphone, and asked to share their “wisdom” with the crowd. Wisdom? Really? Since when did stealing from the poor become something to be admired?
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this phenomenon is the role religion has played in normalizing it. In Africa, religion is deeply ingrained in our culture. Churches and mosques are full every week, and people wear their faith like a badge of honor. Yet, at the same time, many of these same religious leaders have cozied up to the corrupt elite. They bless them, they pray for them, they hold them up as examples of success. And why? Because, just like the rest of society, they too have fallen for the lie that wealth equals divine favor. If someone has money, then surely God must have blessed them, right? Wrong. But try telling that to a congregation that’s been fed this narrative for years. It’s a difficult conversation to have, but it’s one we need to have.
We need to ask ourselves some hard questions. How did we get here? How did we go from being a people who valued integrity, honesty, and hard work to a people who celebrate those who exploit the poor and vulnerable? How did we let our moral compass become so distorted that we now equate wealth with righteousness, regardless of how that wealth was obtained? And more importantly, how do we fix it? Because if we don’t, we’re on a dangerous path.
One of the reasons this has become such a widespread issue is that there’s little to no accountability. The systems meant to hold people in power accountable are often themselves corrupt. Law enforcement, the judiciary, and even the media can be bought off or intimidated into silence. This leaves the poor with no recourse, no way to fight back against the injustices they face. And when the very people who are supposed to be upholding justice are part of the problem, where do you turn?
In many ways, the celebration of wealth obtained through dubious means has become a self-perpetuating cycle. The more we celebrate those who steal from the poor, the more others are incentivized to do the same. Why wouldn’t they? If stealing makes you rich and being rich makes you respected, then why bother with honesty? Why bother with hard work? And so the cycle continues, with each generation learning from the one before it that integrity is for fools, and the real winners are those who play dirty.
But here’s the thing: we don’t have to accept this as our reality. We can change the narrative. It starts with us—the ordinary people who make up the majority of society. We need to stop celebrating those who enrich themselves at the expense of others. We need to stop giving them places of honor in our churches, our mosques, and our communities. We need to start calling them out for what they are: thieves, not saints. We need to demand accountability from our leaders, our businesspeople, and ourselves. It’s not enough to simply shake our heads in disapproval while continuing to participate in a system that rewards corruption.
We also need to redefine what it means to be blessed. Wealth, in and of itself, is not a sign of divine favor. There are plenty of wealthy people who are deeply unhappy, unethical, and spiritually bankrupt. True blessing comes from living a life of purpose, integrity, and service to others. It comes from using whatever resources you have—whether they are many or few—to uplift those around you, not exploit them. It’s time we start celebrating those who live with integrity, even if they don’t have a lot of money. It’s time we start teaching our children that being a good person is more important than being a rich person. And it’s time we start holding ourselves to a higher standard.
This won’t be easy. The mindset that equates wealth with divine blessing is deeply entrenched in our society, and changing it will take time. But we can’t afford to wait any longer. The longer we continue down this path, the more damage we do to ourselves and future generations. We are teaching our children that integrity is worthless, that the only thing that matters is money, and that it doesn’t matter how you get it. This is a dangerous lesson, and one that we need to unlearn as quickly as possible.
The poor are watching. They see how we treat the wealthy, even when that wealth has been obtained through theft and exploitation. They see how we reward corruption with praise, power, and respect. And they are learning from it. If we want to create a better, more just society, we need to start by changing the way we think about wealth, success, and blessing. We need to stop celebrating those who steal from the poor and start lifting up those who live with integrity, even if they don’t have a lot of money to show for it. Only then can we begin to rebuild a society where honesty, hard work, and integrity are valued once again. Only then can we create a future where our children learn that the real blessings in life come not from how much money you have, but from how you live your life and how you treat others.
This is not just about changing our attitudes—it’s about changing our actions. We need to start demanding accountability from our leaders, our religious institutions, and ourselves. We need to stop turning a blind eye to corruption and start speaking out against it. We need to stop giving places of honor to those who have enriched themselves through dubious means and start recognizing the true heroes in our communities—the teachers, the farmers, the nurses, the honest businesspeople who are doing their best to make a living without exploiting others. These are the people we should be celebrating, not the corrupt elites who steal from the poor.
It’s time to reclaim our moral compass. It’s time to stop equating wealth with divine blessing and start recognizing that true success comes from living a life of integrity, honesty, and service to others. Only then can we begin to heal the deep wounds that corruption has inflicted on our society. Only then can we create a future where the poor are no longer exploited, but uplifted. And only then can we restore the honor and dignity that should be at the heart of our communities.
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