Sóró sókè

Even if the voice shakes, it still matters.

For as long as I can remember, social anxiety has walked beside me—uninvited, persistent, familiar. I don’t know when it came, how it started, or what triggered it. But it has stayed with me for years.

Last week, on my way back from work, I boarded a bus (or tro tro, depending on where you’re reading this from). I was supposed to get down at a certain stop. Normally, the conductor would call it out and passengers would respond. I’ve always hated doing that. Most times I relied on a friend to speak for me, or I banked on the fact that at least one other passenger would alight at my stop.

But that day, I was alone.

When the driver reached my stop, he didn’t stop—he kept going. My heart raced. I said nothing. I waited, hoping someone else would speak. No one did. By the time I finally got down at the next stop, I was trembling and upset with myself.

Later that night, a memory surfaced. Years ago, a friend and I had watched a random video. I don’t remember much of what was said, but one line stuck: “Even if our voices shake we will still speak up.” Back then it felt like just another inspirational quote. But in that moment, I realised how much I needed it.

So I promised myself; next time, no matter how anxious I felt, no matter how shaky my voice was, I would speak.

It didn’t take long for the test to come.

I was heading back to school from work and had boarded another bus. As we neared school, the thought of calling out to the driver already put me in an anxious state. I kept repeating to myself: Speak! Just speak!

But when the moment came, I couldn’t. And I hated myself for it. I was willing to let him pass my stop, willing to be dropped somewhere unfamiliar, willing to inconvenience myself all because I couldn’t speak up.

That’s when it hit me, courage rarely arrives all at once. Finding your voice isn’t one dramatic moment—it’s small, trembling steps. Sometimes you fail, then fail again, until courage grows bit by bit.

That’s what Sóró Sókè—“speak up”—means to me right now. It’s not just about telling a driver where to stop. It’s about choosing to use my voice, even when anxiety tries to steal it. It’s about remembering that silence may feel safe, but it often costs me more in the end.

And maybe you can relate. Maybe your battle isn’t on a bus, but in a classroom, at work, in relationships, or in standing up for what you believe in. Maybe you’ve swallowed your words one too many times because fear was louder than your courage.

If that’s you, here’s my encouragement: don’t give up on your voice. Even if it shakes, even if it comes out small, even if you have to try again and again—use it. The world needs to hear what you carry.

And so do you.

Because Sóró Sókè is more than a phrase. It was once a rallying cry for justice, a call to a generation to raise their voices against silence and oppression. And maybe that’s what makes it even more powerful on a personal level: it reminds us that our voices individually and collectively can change things.

And as believers, we hold this promise: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”(2 Timothy 1:7)

That means fear does not own us. Anxiety does not define us. In Christ, we are strengthened to rise, to speak, and to live boldly.

So this is me trembling, yes, but speaking anyway.

Sóró Sókè. Speak up.