THERE is a season when phones do not rest.
They ring early in the morning before quiet reflection begins. They ring during meetings. They ring late at night when the body is tired but the ego is still awake. Messages pile up faster than they can be read. Visitors fill waiting rooms, living rooms, offices, and corridors. Old friends reappear. Distant relatives suddenly remember shared bloodlines. Even former adversaries discover reasons to smile.
This season is called power.
In our society, power is loud. It attracts attention the way ripe fruit attracts insects. When a person becomes a president, a governor, a minister, a legislator, a senior appointee, or even a powerful adviser, life changes almost overnight. The individual may not have changed, but the world’s response certainly has. Doors open more easily. Compliments multiply. Laughter becomes abundant and cheap. Everyone seems to care.
But power has another season, one that is rarely discussed and often feared.
It is the season after.
There comes a quiet moment, deeply personal, when the phone no longer rings. At first, it feels temporary. Perhaps it is a network issue. Perhaps people are simply busy. Days pass. Then weeks. And reality arrives gently but firmly. The calls have stopped.
The visitors disappear. The praise singers find new platforms. The same people who once waited endlessly for a brief acknowledgment now avoid eye contact. Invitations fade away. Silence settles into spaces once filled with noise. And a difficult question emerges, unavoidable and honest. Did they ever truly care, or did they only care about what the position represented?
This experience is not unique to any one country, but it is especially visible in societies where public office has been transformed into personal power, and power into a marketplace. Many people do not love leaders. They love access. They love proximity to influence, contracts, protection, and opportunity. They are loyal not to individuals, but to what those individuals control.
When someone is in office, they are no longer seen as just a person. They become a gateway. And everyone wants passage through that gate.
This is why allegiance around power is often loud but shallow. It is why loyalty dissolves the moment authority changes hands. Yesterday’s honorific becomes today’s anonymity. When we say nobody cares, it is not cynicism. It is realism.
So the more important question must be asked. If nobody truly cares, then who should care?
This question is especially important for those who currently hold power. Presidents, governors, ministers, legislators, and appointees must hear it clearly. Attention is not affection. Presence is not loyalty. The crowd that surrounds power today will not necessarily follow it into private life tomorrow.
Power is borrowed. Office is temporary. Titles expire.
What remains is character and impact.
Those in authority must care about what will speak for them when the convoys are gone and the doors no longer open automatically. They must care about the institutions that remain strong because corners were not cut. They must care about the lives quietly changed because fairness was chosen over favoritism. They must care about policies that protected the vulnerable when no one was watching. Integrity deserves special care, because it does not leave office when the appointment ends.
If a leader builds only networks of dependence, those networks will collapse once resources dry up. But if they build relationships rooted in respect, truth, and service, those relationships may diminish, but they will not disappear entirely.
This message also extends to the families of those in power. Power can mislead families as much as it misleads leaders. It creates the illusion that comfort is permanent, that influence is inherited, that privilege will last forever. It does not.
Families must prepare for life after office. Children must be taught humility while the world is applauding them. Skills, values, and identity must be built beyond government privilege. When power leaves, the family must still stand.
The true test of leadership begins after office. When no one needs a signature. When introductions are made without titles. When events are attended without reserved seats. That is when individuals meet themselves without the noise of authority.
Some former leaders respond to this season with bitterness. They resent how quickly the world moves on. Others cling desperately to relevance through noise, conflict, or constant public agitation. But the wise accept the changing season. They transition into statesmen. They mentor without demanding loyalty. They speak without craving applause. They contribute without seeking control. They understand that the end of power is not a punishment, but a natural stage of life.
History is kinder to those who leave power with grace.
This reflection is also meant for those actively chasing appointments and political elevation. Yes, people will gather when authority arrives. Yes, praise will increase and loyalty will appear strong. But much of it is transactional. Identity must not be built on attention. Worth must not be measured by the size of an entourage. It is important not to forget who one was before recognition arrived, because the noise will eventually fade, and self-encounter will follow.
In the end, very few things truly care. Conscience cares. Legacy cares. Faith cares. The impact made on ordinary lives cares.
Crowds do not care forever. Praise singers move on. Power always expires.
So while power is present, care must be deliberate. Justice must matter more than applause. Service must matter more than status. Tomorrow must matter more than today’s noise.
Because when the office is gone, when the calls stop, when the visitors disappear, only one thing will remain.
The answer to a simple but lasting question.
What was done with the opportunity when power was available?
That answer will speak louder than any title ever could.
- West is a seasoned journalist and development practitioner with over a decade of experience in media, human rights advocacy, and NGO leadership. Her syndicated column, The Wednesday Lens, is published every Wednesday in News Point Nigeria newspaper. She can be reached at bomawest111@gmail.com.