Let Someone's Success Inspire You (#254).

In a small, sun-baked village between Mile Siaka and Okra Hill, there lived a boy named Osman.

He was ten years old, skinny as a stick, with a wild head of curls and eyes that sparkled with dreams too big for his little town.

Osman lived with his grandmother, who always said, “Dreams are like seeds.

If you plant them with hope and water them with effort, they’ll bloom.”

But the village was a place where dreams wilted easily.

Most children grew up to be farmers, shepherds, or shopkeepers.

Nothing wrong with that, but Osman felt there had to be something more.

One day, the whole village gathered in the square.

A famous runner named Momoh Kamara, who had once lived in the village.

Had returned after winning a silver medal at the International Youth Games.

He had trained on the same dusty roads, drank from the same well.

And sat under the same fig tree that now shaded Osman.

When Momoh spoke, he didn’t brag.

He smiled and said, “I’m not the strongest or the fastest.

But I believed I could be better every day.

I kept going, even when no one believed in me.”

Those words hit Osman like lightning.

He ran home, dug out an old pair of torn sneakers from the shed.

And started running every morning—past sleepy goats, barking dogs, and fields of golden wheat.

His lungs burned, his legs ached, but he remembered Momoh’s words: Believe you can be better every day.

At first, people laughed. “You? A runner?” they said.

But Osman didn’t stop and He kept running, in the rain, in the cold, and under the hot sun.

Months passed, and He entered his first local race and came in last.

But he showed up for the next one, and the next.

Each time, he ran a little faster.

Years later, at sixteen, Osman stood at the starting line of the same Youth Games Momoh had once won.

He wasn’t just a boy from a forgotten village anymore—he was a contender.

When the race began, Osman ran like the wind that raced across his village hills.

He didn’t win gold, He didn’t even win silver.

But he finished with a bronze medal around his neck and tears in his eyes.

Because he knew: someone else's success had inspired him, and now, his success would inspire someone else.

Back home, under that same fig tree, a little girl tugged on her mother's sleeve and asked, “Do you think I can be like Osman someday?”

Her mother smiled. “Only if you believe. Just like he did.”

And so the dream moved forward, passed from heart to heart, one inspired soul at a time.

Thank you for reading.

Happy New Week