I had a very simple, unremarkable and happy life. And I grew up

“I had a very simple, unremarkable, and happy life. And I grew up in a very small town. And so my life was made up of, you know, in the morning going to the river to fetch water—no tap water, and no electricity—and, you know, bathing in the river, and then going to school, and playing soccer afterwards.” Thus speaks Ishmael Beah, the child of Sierra Leone, who knew both innocence and sorrow, yet remembers with reverence the sweetness of ordinary days. In these words, he reveals that greatness is not always born from grandeur, but from the quiet rhythm of humble beginnings. The ancients would say: it is not the palace but the hearth, not the banquet but the simple loaf of bread, that teaches the heart true contentment.

Beah’s small town is more than a place—it is a symbol of rootedness, of life lived close to the earth, where every task is woven with the threads of survival and joy. To rise with the morning sun and walk to the river is no burden, but a ritual that ties one’s spirit to the land and to the flow of life itself. Though there was no electricity and no tap to summon water with a turn of the wrist, there was an abundance of connection: to the land, to community, to the sacred simplicity of work and play. This is the heart of his memory, and it teaches us that what is called “unremarkable” may in truth be most remarkable of all.

The ancients understood the sanctity of such simplicity. Consider the life of Diogenes, the philosopher of the Cynics. He shunned wealth and luxury, choosing instead to live in a clay jar with little more than the cloak upon his back. When Alexander the Great, ruler of the known world, came to him and offered any gift he desired, Diogenes simply replied, “Stand out of my sunlight.” For he already possessed what kings could not grant: freedom, simplicity, and joy in the bare necessities of life. Beah’s memory of bathing in the river and playing soccer beneath the open sky echoes this same wisdom—that happiness is not bound to possessions but to the fullness of being alive.

There is great power in Beah’s recollection, for he contrasts what the world often calls “progress” with the deeper truth of contentment. Many believe that only when the house is filled with devices, when the town shines with lights, and when water flows endlessly from the tap, can joy be found. Yet Beah shows us otherwise. His happy life was not adorned with abundance, but with routine, community, and the delight of play. It is a reminder that the pursuit of more often blinds us to the sufficiency of enough.

And yet, this memory is not one of naivety. Ishmael Beah would later be plunged into the horrors of war, torn from this idyllic rhythm into the chaos of violence. That he recalls his simple beginnings with such fondness only deepens their meaning. For it teaches us that the small, daily blessings we take for granted may one day become the treasures we long for most. His voice, therefore, is not nostalgia alone, but warning: cherish what seems ordinary, for in the crucible of hardship, it may prove to be the gold of your soul.

The lesson is clear: seek not always the extraordinary, but honor the ordinary. To live simply, to wake with the sun, to drink from the river of life, to work with diligence, and to play with joy—these are riches beyond calculation. Do not despise your beginnings if they are small; do not curse your life if it seems unremarkable. For in its quietness, you may discover a happiness that wealth cannot buy, and resilience that hardship cannot destroy.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, let this be your practice: each day, name aloud one simple gift that sustains you—the taste of clean water, the laughter of a friend, the warmth of light upon your skin. When the world clamors for greater heights, ground yourself in these humble blessings. Play, as Beah played soccer, not for victory alone but for the sheer delight of the game. Work, as he fetched water, not with resentment but with gratitude for the life it sustains.

And remember this teaching: happiness is not born of abundance but of presence. Live simply, honor your roots, and drink deeply from the rivers of your own life. For in the unremarkable, you may find the most enduring joy of all.