From the office to the family dining table, meeting the absolute lowest standard has become an art form. Here is why it's breaking our systems.
Let us gather, brothers and sisters, to talk about a unique kind of human being. Some call them "quiet quitters." Some call them "boundary setters." But in our average Nigerian office, we know them by their true, unfiltered title: "I-cannot-come-and-die."
These are the apostles of The
Barest Minimum. They have mastered a highly specialized skill: sharing the
benefits of teamwork without ever sharing the burden of teamwork.
The Art of the Contract
To understand this gospel, you
need to look no further than an office like Progressive Solutions Ltd. in Wuse,
where our friend Emeka has lived, thrived, and somehow avoided being sacked for
three years.
Emeka arrives at work on time,
greets everyone with a beautiful smile, switches on his laptop, and settles
into his chair like a man who has come to change the world. But to Emeka, the
employment contract is not a career opportunity; it is a legal boundary that
must never, ever be crossed by a millimetre of extra effort. He does exactly
what he has to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.
If a colleague is drowning and
needs just one extra hand, Emeka suddenly develops a mysterious condition
called “That's not my department.”
"Ah, Chidimma," Emeka
will say, his hand over his heart as Chidimma frantically tries to design
graphics for a sudden, urgent campaign because the main designer took ill.
"My sister, I really wish I could help you with the caption. But you know
on my JD, it says I handle 'Content Scheduling,' not 'Creative Copywriting.' If
I touch it, Audit might ask questions."
"But Emeka," Chidimma
will gasp, her eyes bloodshot, "the client is launching at 5:00 PM today,
and if we don’t get this live, we lose the account!"
Emeka will check the time, look
at the ceiling, and gently tap his watch. It is 4:55 PM. "Ah, I have
something highly important to attend to at home. I need to head to the bus stop
before Kubwa Express becomes a nightmare."
What is that important thing? The latest episode of a series on Netflix.
The Magic of "We"
The real magic happens the next
morning. Emeka arrives in his finest shirt, his brightest smile, and the
confidence of a man who personally carried the entire organization on his head.
When salaries are paid, he
collects his full portion. When bonuses are shared, he is the first to arrive
at HR to ask why his envelope hasn't landed. And when the team is praised by
the MD, Emeka will nod proudly, chest out, and say, “We really worked hard. We
did it!”
“We?” My brother, which
we?
The we that stayed until
9:00 PM eating cold meat pies while you were at home eating pepper soup?
The we that spent Saturday
reviewing documents while you were posting pictures at a birthday party?
Because in his mind, "I was
there" equals "I did it." He wants the promotion, but not the
extra responsibility. He wants his name on the presentation, but none of the
sleepless nights.
It’s a Spirit That Travels
This virus does not stop at the
office door. It follows us straight into our homes, friendships, and
relationships.
Consider a family house. One
person buys the foodstuff, another pays the electricity bill, someone else
cleans, and another helps the children with schoolwork. Then there is the
"Barest Minimum" sibling.
During Saturday morning
environmental sanitation, he is suddenly struck by "the spirit of
slumber." He sleeps as if he is under medical observation. When the NEPA
bill arrives or when the family needs money to support their parents, he is
completely invisible.
But the moment the smell of fried
plantain and eggs hits the hallway, or before the person carrying the food tray
even reaches the dining table, he emerges from his room rubbing his eyes. “Ah,
my people, well done. God bless you. Who is serving?” When the family takes a
trip for Christmas or succeeds in an investment, he expects the most
comfortable seat, an equal share, and the front row for the pictures.
We see it in relationships, too.
The Barest Minimum partner believes their mere existence in your life is a favour
to humanity. They won’t call unless replying to your missed calls. They won’t
plan a date - “Just tell me where to show up, babe.” They want a partner
who will go to the ends of the earth, but their own version of
"effort" is a broadcasted “Happy Sunday, hope you slept well?”
The Law of Harvest
The problem with the Barest
Minimum isn’t just that it’s annoying. It’s that it relies entirely on other
people’s excess.
If everyone in a team, a family,
or a relationship did only "their part" without ever extending a
helping hand, the whole system would collapse. A successful group isn’t just
about staying in your lane; it’s about acknowledging that sometimes, the lane
next to you is flooded, and your colleague needs a pull. In Nigeria, we call it
"carrying each other’s load." If the company grows, everyone eats.
When you want the reward of a
champion while putting in the effort of a spectator, you are not being
smart—you are just being a free rider.
Let's make a deal this week:
Let's do a little more than the "contract" asks of us. Because nobody
ever built anything great by doing just "the barest minimum." Let’s
help that teammate, do that extra chore, and invest a little more in the people
around us.
Unless, of course, you want to be
the "Emeka" of your circle... and believe us, no one is cheering for
Emeka when he stands in the front row for pictures!
