By Haruna Kabiru
Once you retire, you are no longer between yourself and the office; you are between yourself and your history.
Retirement is one of life’s quietest revolutions. There may be a party, photographs, speeches, gifts, handshakes and words of appreciation. Colleagues may gather around the retiree, celebrating decades of service and wishing him a peaceful new chapter.
But when the music stops and the guests return to their offices, another reality begins.
The next morning, somebody else occupies your seat.
Your name may still be remembered on the walls of the institution, but the chair is no longer yours. The files that once waited for your attention now wait for another person. The telephone that once rang endlessly may suddenly become silent.
Within an inch of your departure, someone occupies your position, and the relationship between him and the office begins.
You, meanwhile, begin a different relationship — between you and your history.
There was a time when you entered the office and everybody knew your name. People waited outside your door. Your telephone could receive twenty calls within an hour. Some called for official matters, others for favours, introductions, assistance, recommendations or simply because your position gave them a reason to remain close to you.
I once saw a Director whose telephone seemed almost permanently occupied. In one hour, he could receive not less than twenty calls.
But retirement has a strange mathematics.
The twenty calls can become ten. Ten can become five, while five can become one.
And eventually, you may sit for one full hour without the telephone ringing.
That silence can teach a lesson that years of service sometimes fail to teach.
Not everyone who stood beside you was standing for you. Some were standing beside your office.
This is where retirement exposes the true architecture of relationships.
Some people disappear because they were never genuinely connected to the person. They were connected to the chair, the signature, the influence and the access.
The real test is in those who remain:
The ones who still call when there is nothing to gain.
The ones who visit without an application in their hands.
The ones who ask, “How are you?” without immediately adding, “Please, I need your help.”
Yet retirement should not be seen only as a tragedy. It can be liberation.
For decades, a person may have lived according to official time: arriving at a particular hour, attending meetings, answering correspondence, supervising people, meeting deadlines and carrying responsibilities that followed him home.
Retirement finally returns something precious — time.
Time to sleep without an alarm.
Time to sit with one’s family.
Time to watch children and grandchildren grow.
Time to revisit old friendships.
Time to pray, reflect, read, travel, farm, write, teach or establish a small business.
For some, retirement becomes the first period in which they truly discover themselves outside their designation.
A person who was once known as Director, Permanent Secretary, Manager, Commander or Head of Department discovers that beneath the title there was still a human being waiting to live.
Retirement can therefore become a second beginning.
The difficult part comes when a person has mistaken position for identity.
When the office disappears, the person feels as though he has disappeared with it.
That is why preparation for retirement should not begin three months before retirement. It should begin many years earlier.
Build relationships that are not dependent on your office.
Build a family that knows you beyond your title.
Develop skills and interests that will survive your service. Save and invest wisely.
Take care of your health.
Build a reputation that does not require a government vehicle to announce your arrival.
Because one day, the official car will be returned. The office keys will be handed over. The nameplate will be removed.
The successor will move into the office and life will continue.
There is also a darker side to the story.
Some people deliberately destroy the dignity of those who are leaving office. They become friendly when they need something and hostile when they no longer need anything.
Some even celebrate the downfall of former superiors, forgetting that every chair is temporary.
The person you humiliate today may simply be experiencing what you will experience tomorrow.
Power is borrowed. Position is borrowed and authority is borrowed.
Even the office itself is borrowed.
A wise person therefore does not mistreat people simply because he currently occupies a higher chair.
Because the chair has never belonged to anybody permanently.
There are also those who spend their active years accumulating enemies instead of relationships. They use authority carelessly, humiliate subordinates, deny opportunities, build factions and believe that the world will remain permanently beneath their command.
Retirement can become a mirror.
The same people who once stood when you entered may no longer rise.
The same people who once waited for your approval may no longer answer your call.
And sometimes, the silence is not because people are wicked.
Sometimes it is because the relationship was never deeper than the position.
There is a Hausa saying: “Jini Ba Ya Maganin Kishirwa” — Blood cannot quench thirst.
It reminds us that something may appear valuable, powerful or emotionally significant, yet still fail to satisfy the need for which we seek it.
A person may spend his entire working life accumulating wealth, influence, houses, cars and connections, only to discover at retirement that material possessions cannot replace genuine human companionship.
Some retirees reach that stage and begin selling what they accumulated during their working years.
A house that once represented achievement may be partially sold.
Belongings accumulated over decades may gradually disappear.
Sometimes this happens because of financial pressure. Sometimes because of poor planning. Sometimes because circumstances change.
And sometimes, the painful realization is that possessions accumulated without a sustainable plan can become burdens rather than security.
The house may be large, but if there is nobody to share its silence with, its size becomes less important.
The telephone may be expensive, but if nobody calls, its value becomes symbolic.
The official photograph may be beautiful, but it cannot restore the authority of yesterday.
Perhaps the greatest retirement gift is not the plaque, the envelope, the souvenir or the elaborate ceremony.
It is the ability to leave an office with your dignity intact.
To have people who still call you after retirement.
To have former subordinates who respect you even when you can no longer promote them.
To have friends who remain friends without an official assignment.
To have children who are proud of you not because you were a Director, but because you were their father.
To have a spouse who knows the person behind the title.
And to have a peaceful conscience when you finally look backward at the road you travelled.
Because retirement eventually reduces every person to the same question:
When the office no longer needs me, what remains of me?
Your position will be occupied, your files will be reassigned, your signature will be replaced and your telephone will be quieter.
But your character, your kindness, your family, your friendships, your good deeds and the memories you left in people’s hearts can remain.
That is why the greatest investment during active service is not merely what you accumulate while sitting in the chair.
It is what you leave behind after you stand up from it.
Retirement is not the end of a person’s usefulness. It is the beginning of a period when usefulness is no longer measured by the chair one occupies, but by the life one has built.
And perhaps that is the ultimate retirement lesson:
Yesterday, you were the office to many people.
Today, you are simply yourself.
Tomorrow, your history will speak for you.
Haruna Kabiru Waziri, Assistant Director Information and Public Relations writes in from Abuja.
——
EDITOR’S NOTE: This opinion piece reflects the personal views of the author and does not necessarily represent the editorial position of this newspaper.
