Crazy Anger - by Emmanuel Daniji

Staring: Samuel Ibok --- Friday, 2nd of January 2026, was already testing my patience. I had been seated at the TwoCents Workstation, a wing of the TwoCents Restaurant and Café since a few minutes past 11 a.m., laptop open, notes ready, coffee already refilled twice. Around me, keyboards clicked, cups clinked, and the low murmur of creatives pitching ideas filled the space. It was meant to be a strategy meeting—my first proper one-on-one with my new boss, Mr. Samuel Ibok, since I joined the prestigious media company in November 2025. By 12:30 p.m., my calm was thinning.By 1:00 p.m., it was gone. Two hours late. I checked my phone again. No missed call. No update. Lagos traffic or not, irritation had already settled in. I had rehearsed a few sentences in my head—polite, professional, but firm. Then I saw him. Mr. Ibok walked in briskly, phone in hand, jacket slightly creased, the unmistakable look of someone who had wrestled Lagos roads and barely escaped. He spotted me immediately. “Emmanuel,” he said, exhaling as he pulled out a chair. “Please… don’t be angry.” I didn’t even try to hide it.“Sir, I’ve been here for over two hours.” He nodded slowly, raised a hand, and said calmly,“I know. And I owe you an apology. Lagos traffic is wicked—but before we talk strategy, let me tell you why I’m asking you not to be angry.” He leaned back, folded his arms, and the noise of the workstation seemed to fade. --- “During a staff meeting at the end of Q3 2025—just before you joined us—I asked everyone a simple question,” he began. <blockquote>‘Tell us about one day you’ll never forget, and the lesson you learned from it.’</blockquote> “I thought it would be light. Fun stories. Team bonding. I didn’t expect what followed.” According to him, the stories started gently—laughter, applause, shared memories. Then it got to a new staff member, a quiet young woman who had joined only days earlier. “She held her glasses, took a deep breath, and said softly,” Mr. Ibok recalled, <blockquote>‘The day I’ll never forget was the day I lost my right eye.’</blockquote> He paused, looking at me carefully. “The room went dead silent. I asked her, ‘Which eye?’ And she calmly pointed to it.” She had always worn transparent glasses. No one noticed. No one suspected. Then she told them the story. <blockquote>Her father beat her in anger when she was a child.</blockquote><blockquote>In that moment of rage, his hand struck her eye.</blockquote><blockquote>They tried hospitals. Treatments. Prayers.</blockquote><blockquote>But it was too late. She lost the eye.</blockquote> Mr. Ibok exhaled deeply. “At that point, Emmanuel, I couldn’t breathe properly.” Then he said something that struck me hard. “I had already planned to discipline my son that same night. I was angry. I felt justified. I was waiting for him to come home.” He shook his head slowly. “That story ended that plan instantly.” --- Just when he thought the meeting couldn’t go deeper, another staff member spoke. “A young man,” he said. “Quiet. Reserved.” The man shared that he once realized his father could barely hear—not because of age, but because his own father (the man’s grandfather) had slapped him once in anger when he was young. “One slap,” Mr. Ibok said quietly.“One moment.” That slap permanently damaged the man’s hearing. “Now,” the staff member had said, <blockquote>‘We have to shout or write things down for him. His ears never recovered.’</blockquote> Mr. Ibok looked at me and said,“Emmanuel, that room was silent. Not the awkward kind—the heavy kind. The kind where everyone is forced to look inward.” He leaned forward. “That meeting stopped being a meeting. It became a mirror.” --- Then he delivered the lesson—slowly, deliberately. “Never discipline a child in anger. Never.” “Anger blinds judgment. It turns correction into destruction. Training into trauma. Love into lifelong loss.” He gestured around the workstation. “How many destinies have been damaged by hands meant to protect? How many scars—visible and invisible—were created in seconds of rage?” He paused, then smiled gently. “So when I walked in late today and saw the anger on your face, I understood it. But I also remembered those stories.” “Sometimes,” he said, “patience saves more than punishment ever could.” We sat quietly for a moment. The hum of TwoCents returned. Someone laughed at a nearby table. Coffee was being brewed again. Then he said,“Now… let’s talk about 2026.” --- <h3>TwoCents Takeaway</h3> Anger is fast.Regret is forever. One careless moment can destroy what years of love built.One moment of patience can save a lifetime of sorrow. Correct with calmness.Lead with wisdom.Discipline with love—not rage. Until next time — stay wise, stay grounded, stay brewing. ☕ — Emmanuel Habila Daniji

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