The Hyena That Became Too Refined

The Kikuyu have a proverb that has amused me for years.

"Hiti ĩrĩ kĩnyĩria ndĩnoraga."

Roughly translated, it says, "A hyena that is nauseous never gets fat."

It is one of those proverbs that makes you laugh before it makes you think.

After all, why a hyena?

Why not a lion? Or an elephant? Or one of those graceful gazelles that seem permanently ready for a wildlife documentary?

But then you remember what hyenas eat.

They are not exactly known for their refined tastes.

A hyena has never been heard asking whether the meat is organic, grass-fed, or free-range.

Its menu is refreshingly uncomplicated.

If it is edible, the hyena is interested.

If it is slightly unpleasant, the hyena is still interested.

If every other animal has turned up its nose and walked away... the hyena considers that an invitation.

Which makes the proverb wonderfully ironic.

Imagine a hyena developing sophisticated culinary standards.

Picture it approaching a week-old carcass, taking one cautious sniff, frowning in disgust and muttering,

"Absolutely not. I have standards."

It would be a very dignified hyena.

It would also be a very hungry one.

That, I think, is where the wisdom begins.

The hyena survives because it is willing to deal with what other animals reject.

And perhaps life isn't all that different.

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Over the years, I have noticed that most of us want the harvest.

Very few of us enjoy the planting.

We admire successful businesses but rarely envy the years of uncertainty that came before them.

We celebrate the finished building without thinking about the trenches, dust and concrete that made it possible.

We applaud the farmer at harvest time but conveniently forget the months of watching the sky, worrying about pests and wondering whether the rains will arrive.

We love results.

Processes are another matter.

I know this from experience.

There are days on a construction site when everything goes according to plan.

Then there are days when you spend hours discussing why a trench should actually be dug where the drawing clearly showed it yesterday.

Farming has taught me similar lessons.

People often imagine that growing food is a peaceful life surrounded by birds singing and green fields swaying gently in the breeze.

Those people have clearly never argued with tomato blight, stubborn irrigation pumps or goats that have somehow convinced themselves your vegetables were planted specifically for them.

Life has a curious habit of hiding its greatest rewards inside activities that are, frankly, not very glamorous.

The uncomfortable phone call.

The difficult meeting.

The unpaid invoice that needs chasing.

The budget that refuses to balance.

The apology we know we should make.

The discipline we keep postponing until Monday... and then the Monday after that.

These are the carrions of life.

They are not attractive.

They don't inspire motivational posters.

Nobody wakes up excited to follow up on overdue payments.

Yet, strangely enough, that is often where progress begins.

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I have also noticed something else.

The people who eventually succeed are not necessarily those with extraordinary talent.

More often, they are the ones with ordinary persistence.

They simply develop the ability to stay with uncomfortable work longer than most people.

Perhaps that is why leadership is often misunderstood.

People imagine leadership as standing in front of a crowd giving inspiring speeches.

In reality, leadership is frequently sitting alone with difficult decisions that nobody else wants to make.

It is taking responsibility when there are no perfect options.

It is solving problems before they become emergencies.

It is choosing what is necessary over what is comfortable.

The higher you climb, the fewer unpleasant conversations you can afford to avoid.

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Sometimes I wonder what the "carrion" looks like in each of our own lives.

Perhaps it is the conversation we have been postponing.

The course we keep saying we will take.

The business idea we continue discussing but never begin.

The relationship we know needs attention.

The habit we have promised ourselves we will change... immediately after one more weekend.

We often pray for opportunities.

What if some of those opportunities have already arrived, only dressed in overalls and carrying a shovel?

Perhaps that is why they are so easy to miss.

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I still smile whenever I remember that old Kikuyu proverb.

On the surface, it is about a hyena.

In reality, it is about us.

It reminds me that life rarely serves success on polished silver platters.

More often, it arrives disguised as hard work, inconvenience and responsibilities that nobody else is eager to claim.

The hyena does not become fat because it found better food than everyone else.

It becomes fat because it saw nourishment where others only saw something unpleasant.

Maybe wisdom is learning to do the same.

After all, growth has never asked whether the work looks attractive.

It only asks whether we are willing to do it.

And perhaps that is the quiet difference between those who keep waiting for perfect opportunities and those who eventually build meaningful lives.

One learned to admire the feast.

The other simply developed the stomach for the journey.