Life Challenges, No. 8: Reputational Damage

Toyin Falola

When You Wound a Name

Do not throw mud at another person’s name
because your hands will remember the stain.
The river may carry away the evidence,
but the ancestors have eyes beneath the water.

A good name is not a leaf
to be crushed beneath a careless foot.
It is an iroko planted by generations—
watered by sacrifice,
strengthened by honour,
and guarded by the prayers of mothers.

Why sharpen your tongue
against the character of another?
Why make a marketplace of lies
and invite the village to purchase shame?
The mouth that manufactures disgrace
builds its own house beside misfortune.

You say, “It is only a rumour,”
but rumours have legs.
They cross seven hills before sunrise,
enter homes without knocking,
break marriages,
scatter friendships,
and turn innocent laughter into tears.

In Africa, we say:
until the lion learns to write,
the hunter will remain the hero.
But what shall we call the hunter?
who invents a lion that never attacked,
who displays imaginary wounds?
and demands applause for false courage?

Character is a white cloth:
one drop of malice can trouble its brightness.
Even when washed in the river of truth,
some eyes will continue to see the stain.
That is why slander is worse than a spear—
the spear wounds the body once,
but slander wounds a person
each time the story is repeated.

Remember:
the person whose name you damage
has a mother who blessed that name,
a father who announced it with pride,
children who shelter beneath it,
and ancestors who carried it
through famine, war, and wandering.

Do not set fire to that inheritance.

For the harmattan wind has no private road;
the dust you send toward your neighbour
will return to settle on your own roof.
The pit dug for another.
does not ask whose foot approaches.
The lie released from your mouth
may one day circle the earth
and knock upon your children’s door.

If another person rises,
do not become the axe at the root.
If another person shines,
do not curse the sun.
There is enough sky
for every bird to spread its wings,
and another person’s honour
does not diminish your own.

Speak truth,
but do not season it with cruelty.
Correct wrongdoing,
but do not invent wrongdoing.
Where silence will preserve justice,
let wisdom close your lips.
Where speech is necessary,
let conscience stand beside every word.

For wealth may disappear,
beauty may bow to age,
and power may abandon its throne,
but a good name—
a good name is the drumbeat
that continues after the dancer has departed.

So, guard the names of others.
as you would guard your father’s grave.
Handle their character
as you would carry a newborn child.
For whoever destroys another person’s honour
has wounded the whole community,
and whoever restores a damaged name
has poured healing oil
upon the head of humanity.

For a better part of his adult life, Akin had passed through Oja-Oba Market every day. The market route was the only accessible route that linked his home, his place of work, and his favorite relaxation point– the newspaper stands. On weekdays, he waved as he passed familiar faces and stalls. However, on weekends, he does more than that; he waits around for a friendly catch-up with long-time friends on his way back from the newspaper stand. It was a routine he enjoyed. Everyone around enjoys his company. His friendly act and warm overtures get him preferential treatment with artisans and traders around the popular mosque junction. Akin reciprocates their kind gestures by being a good customer. He never bargains, and sometimes when he does, he bargains fairly.

This attitude has helped sustain his two-decade-long relationship in the community. He gets the freshest vegetables and peppers because the traders know he would pay well. He enjoys the same treatment from others. At the newspaper stand, the vendor always had a copy reserved for him.  Akin enjoyed being treated nicely, yet he does not trivialize the efforts. He looks forward to these routines.

            Then, without warning, the unexpected happened. His trader friends still smile and respond to greetings, but the enthusiasm was long gone. The fashion designer who would sew and then send to him weeks before any festival, before payment, feigned busyness whenever he stopped by. Conversations that would have been more interesting with him died down anytime he approached. Nobody insulted him; fingers were not pointed at him.

It all began on that Tuesday afternoon. A chat from an unknown source popped up in one of the community WhatsApp groups alleging that Akin, the Vice Principal of a public secondary school, had misappropriated funds. Everyone knew about the emergency educational funds. It was contributed annually by members of the PTA, school alumni, well-meaning individuals, and private sponsors to cater for the needs of the school. In the past, the fund board had helped indigent students through school, through grants, scholarships, amongst others. Nobody knew who sent the message, but before sunset the message had circulated beyond reach to the ears of people who had never met Akin. Everywhere the message got, people discussed him as though they had witnessed everything themselves.

By the following morning, the rumour had become accepted as fact. Akin had spent more than twenty years in education making impacts. In his years, parents and the kids had always regarded him. He was trusted for his fairness and discipline. He had grown up taking his father’s word to heart. The late nonagenarian had always reminded him that life’s goodies are temporal. They could disappear and reappear as circumstances warrant. However, a good name surpasses all. It was an inheritance no thief could steal. Akin had lived by those words for most of his life. He still could not imagine how quickly a reputation built over decades could be questioned in a matter of hours.

            Within hours, the Ministry of Education ordered an investigation. Government auditors were sent for an investigation that lasted for days. They left no stone unturned. They examined files, receipts, and payment records. Even members of the school team were involved. Those who shared personal relationships with Akin were questioned, one member of staff after another. Although nothing incriminating was found, the call to investigate alone was enough yardstick for many people. It was a difficult period for him; his days were spent defending purchases and every financial decision made over the years. He was exhausted but could not ask to be excused. The silent judgment was enough motivation to clear his name.

            Akin tried to keep the burden to himself. However, it was an impossible task. Reputational damage rarely remains with one person. His wife had a share of the burden on her way home one evening. She made a quick stop at the market to get food supplies. As she unpacked at home, Akin’s wife mentioned how strangely she was treated that day. One particularly friendly woman refused to sell to her. She was confused until she overheard someone whisper, “That is the Vice Principal’s wife.” Those few words struck her harshly. It then occurred to her that this was beyond her husband. Of course, she trusted her husband, but her experience was not nice.

Akin looked away from his book. He felt her pain but could only reassure her of his innocence. Just after that, his youngest daughter announced that she would not be going to school again. Her parents were surprised and confused. Further inquiries gave the answer they sought. She hesitated for a while before asking, “Daddy, did you truly steal money from your school? My friend said that is why we have a fine house.”

For a moment, everyone was silent. Akin and his wife exchanged glances. Akin looked at his wife, then back at his daughter. He remembered how hard he had prepared to answer government investigators and journalists, if necessary, but nothing had prepared him for how to answer his children. His wife looked at him with worry. He held the girl and explained as gently as he could. He lifted her and smiled, “Don’t mind your friend,” he said, she is just being naughty. The little girl nodded satisfactorily and resumed her play. Akin sighed and hoped the truth would prevail soon.

A few days later, his mother called from the village. Akin picked up and immediately sensed the concern in her calm voice. The older woman spoke as loud as her age could allow. “My son,” she said gently, “how are you? I only want to know if you are alright.” She did not ask him to confirm the rumours. She wanted to know whether her son was surviving the weight of the rumours. As he dropped the call and thanked her for her concern, he realised how threatening this matter was to his family. He knew many families had been destabilised over smaller, less threatening matters, yet his own seemed to be pulling through even though there were concerns.

Over the next months, Akin lived his life alone. He no longer enjoyed patronage like before. No one invited him to functions again. It was a difficult time as he reminded himself how superficial human relationships were.

            The investigation lasted six months before a final report was released. The funds were never diverted. An accounting error, coupled with poor record-keeping and malicious gossip, had created a story that people were eager to believe. Akin was cleared and asked to resume work. He was offered the position of principal in any school of choice. His salaries for the past months were paid in a week. The official letter confirmed his exoneration.

However, nothing could restore his reputation as quickly as it was questioned. No official newsletter could get the same reach as the initial message. The correction was shared quietly, while the accusation spread like wildfire. Few people reached out to congratulate him and offer subtle apologies. Most moved on. Akin was left to gather the scattered pieces. A close family friend who did not reach out at all called to advise him to take the offer for any position and move out of the community. Akin only thanked him and ended the call.

Weeks rolled by as normalcy returned. Akin got nominated for an honours award by the Ministry. He accepted. While receiving the award, Akin realized something his father had never explained. His own experience has shown him that a reputation built over the years can crumble in milliseconds. Yet, there is something stronger than reputation, and that is character.

Character is who you are when your story has been stolen from you. Life challenges each of us in many ways. Sometimes, like Akin’s case, by allowing us to watch a good name be tarnished. If this is your story today, don’t let others opinions change the principles by which you’ve lived. Stay true to your values.  Live your life with integrity.  Respect others.  Life may not silence every whisper, but it will reward honesty years after the whispers.