In Yoruba culture, proverbs (òwe) reflect a worldview of pragmatic realism through encoded insights about human nature, virtues and cosmic order. These sayings serve as vessels of generational wisdom which transform lived experience into actionable guidance. This philosophy aligns with a broader African saying “An elder sees sitting down what a child cannot see standing up.”
Recently I’ve been contending with “Ogún ọmọdé kìí ṣeré ogún ọdún”. In other words, twenty children cannot play together for twenty years. I suppose it can be considered a simple (but harsh) truth.
I heard that saying for the first time just over a decade ago, months following my elementary school graduation. At the time, I understood it as nothing more than a poignant observation about how time and circumstances naturally separate even the closest bonds. My friends and I had branched out to different schools across the country, many of those bonds would not remain the same, and we would inevitably each form new ones.
10 years later, the word ‘friend’ means something completely different to me - and I’m sure many of you can relate. In the same way, I no longer resonate with the proverb.
If you’ve been following these essays, you might’ve noticed a thematic interest in how language shapes thought. [1] In this case, I believe the specific juxtaposition of ‘children’ and ‘play’ does more than just mark time’s passage, but also reinforces the disparity in age/wisdom - perhaps to trivialise the nature of child-like companionship and social bonding.
While I appreciate Yoruba philosophy’s staunch realism, I find myself questioning the absence of a counter-narrative to this hyperbolic adage. [2] Yes, twenty children cannot play together for twenty years - I understood this even as a child. But perhaps the more interesting question is whether a handful of connections, carefully chosen and deliberately maintained, can defy the proverb’s implied inevitability. [3]
Many of my friends are also from Lagos, Nigeria, but are scattered across the world. Ideally this would not be the case, but it’s in one’s best interest to pursue education and career opportunities elsewhere if able to do so. [4] However, this dispersion only amplifies the difficulties in nurturing friendships. Hence, this paradigm is extremely intriguing on a personal level - more so considering the timely festive season where many of us return home.
Despite my friends and I being dispersed across different countries over the years, I am glad to still have friendships spanning 5, 10, and even 20 years. I am therefore able to provide some firsthand perspective.
All adult relationships are fundamentally rooted in choice: we actively choose to begin, maintain, or end relationships. These endings typically stem from either situational or personal changes; this aligns with Parfit’s ‘Relation R,’ regarding the effect of psychological continuity/connectedness in relationship dynamics. British philosopher Derek Parfit argues that personal identity isn’t what matters in survival – but what truly matters is psychological continuity and connectedness. When applied to friendship, particularly in the context of the diaspora, this framework illustrates why maintaining long-term connections is so complex. It’s not necessarily about staying in touch, but about maintaining connection with someone who, like you, is constantly evolving under vastly different influences. [5]
As explored in my earlier post, today’s social media platforms are content vehicles for consumption instead of network ecosystems for connection-building. Instagram, for example, is particularly sticky - most people use it daily, but not to see their friends anymore. Instead, our friends’ story updates compete with brand ads and influencer posts for our dwindling attention. Seeing ‘friends’ daily in real-life school or university settings was different: it was just us & them. Now, the dominance of social platforms has degraded the friend-friend paradigm to mulch.
This shift has also created a peculiar paradox in how we maintain relationships beyond the digital sphere. Social media promises constant connection but delivers something more insidious: an environment characterised by endless identity performances - a ‘bad bitch syndrome’ - making it impossible to decipher how our friends are actually doing. The result? A cycle of impossible-to-schedule IRL meetups and intense life-update sessions, where each meeting feels simultaneously exhausting and perpetually unfinished.
The ongoing discourse around ‘decentering friendships’ feels particularly ridiculous. [6] In an era where genuine connection is already fragmented by distance and digital performance, the suggestion to further minimise these bonds through low maintenance friendship seems almost inane. We have so many creative solutions to preserve friendships: iOS widgets, synced calendars, scheduled group calls, etc. Instead, we’re increasingly “understanding” that “everyone has things going on,” making excuses instead of low-maintenance but high-intent efforts.
This mindset has made it increasingly difficult to ask for favours which are increasingly seen as ‘free labour’ and inconveniences. For some reason, we’ve normalised this loss of reciprocity under the poorly misconstrued banner of boundary-setting or self-preservation, oftentimes taking this to distance from friendships.
I fear it represents a direct result of our lost sense of community which coincides with historic peaks in reported loneliness, particularly among young adults. It’s a striking irony where we possess extensive means for connection, yet meaningful connection feels increasingly elusive. The ease of maintaining surface-level digital connections has paradoxically raised the activation energy required for deeper engagement.
From doomscrolling short-form content to the proliferation of hookup culture, we’ve become accustomed to treating things as consumable rather than preservable. Our relationships increasingly mirror our consumption patterns - quick, disposable, and optimised for hedonistic pursuits rather than lasting value. Perhaps this is another feature of late-stage capitalism manifesting in our social dynamics. Who knows?
For the friendships we have lost, social media has enabled the permanence of memories we cannot return to. Our feeds have become museums of lost connections, with each reposted photo of a former friend an artifact of what was and what could have been under different circumstances.
I’m aware that change is inevitable, and I know relational change - more so with friendships than anything else - can be quite painful, and capable of producing an ineffable kind of lasting grief. I’ve seen this normalised extensively, but I feel our need to consistently universalise inherently nuanced experiences is simply a way to avoid hard, necessary and uncomfortable discussions. [7]
I suppose it’s only natural to resist accepting potentially harsh truths, especially when the outcome isn’t involuntary. But I fail to understand how we’ve elevated this into virtue by rationalising distance over effort, independence over interdependence, loss over preservation. Somehow we’ve convinced ourselves that losing connections - or treating connection as optional - is a necessary byproduct of growth and advancement.
On one level, I suppose there’s no benefit in deeply valuing something that society no longer seems to. [8] But in an ever-changing world – politically, socially, and technologically - the one thing you want to be able to count on is your tribe. [9]
I know twenty children can’t play together for twenty years; I’ve known that since I was a child myself. Yet somehow it seems we’ve rebranded naivety as believing relationships can endure, and wisdom as expecting them to fade - embracing “natural drift” as an inevitable occurrence rather than a genuine possibility.
I fear this self-fulfilling prophecy not only justifies our passive disconnection from existing bonds, but potentially leaves us perpetually guarded in new connections we’re told are temporary by design.
[1] It’s a sort of metalinguistic awakening.
[2] I suppose there were few-to-no means of communication at the time. Perhaps this wasn’t just a dictum, but a matter of fact without any deeper meaning. Notice the ‘cannot’ instead of ‘should not’.
[3] The 20/20 parallels used in the initial proverb were likely done so for hyperbolic effect. 5/50 is far more realistic, more manageable and likely aligns with conventional friendship dynamics.
[4] It is certainly a privilege to be able to do so, and I don’t take this for granted.
[5] This analogy also draws from Hume’s bundle theory of the self.
[6] Really, what’s going on? Death to pop psychology.
[7] In other words: your experience, while valid, is ordinary. Therefore, get on with things.
[8] Essentially, there is greater benefit assigned to social capital through influence of one’s network.
[9] I had dinner with a friend mid-week, and we briefly discussed friendship through the lens of ubuntu.