Where stories come alive....
Two days to the end of term, I stepped out to collect my uniforms and found an empty clothesline staring back at me. Fear of home punishment pushed me into a decision that followed me straight into another kind of trouble, one that came with bold name tags, endless errands and a boarding house reputation I never asked for.
AI is not coming for your job. Someone who knows how to use it better than you is. While many fear automation, the real threat is falling behind in a workplace where intelligence is now augmented. This is a wake-up call, not a warning.
Morning assembly had started, but rebellion had already taken root inside the dormitory. What followed was panic, betrayal and a lesson no cane could teach.
By evening, the palm oil stains told a story no one bothered to investigate. Some victories are best enjoyed quietly.
Boarding house life has a way of teaching lessons no classroom can deliver. One moment you are chasing a midnight slapper through a dark dormitory, the next you are returning to find your mattress gone and your pride questioned. That night on bare metal springs reshaped my thinking. It pushed me into a mission that ended with a mattress I never bought and a story that never left me. Unity Secondary School had its drama, but it also had a strange way of preparing us for real strategy, fast decisions and survival at scale.
Nigeria’s deepest crisis is not banditry. It is a mindset that celebrates personal comfort while ignoring collective decay. The country has spent years treating insecurity as a “regional inconvenience” instead of a national emergency. While one zone was engulfed in violence, others believed distance equalled safety. That illusion created the perfect vacuum for today’s kidnappings, bandit networks and criminal economies to spread across the map. This article explores how a culture of isolation, rivalry and self-preservation weakened our national resilience and allowed a crisis in one corner to become a threat in every corner
Jelili approached UK public transport like a general going to war. The bus stop humbled him immediately. He stood confidently in the middle of the road like he was hailing a taxi in Ibadan, tapped his bank card on the bus screen like he was greeting technology and sat proudly in the pram space until a British mother nearly set him on fire with her eyes. By the time he travelled twenty minutes in the wrong direction and asked a stranger, “Which road leads to where I am going?” the abroad had completed his initiation. This episode captures the day the UK transport system baptized Jelili without water.
Fresh off his “Visa Miracle,” Jelili arrives in London dressed like Oyo royalty and gets baptized by British cold. From mistaking a radiator for a stove to crying over the cost of bottled water, he quickly learns that the abroad has its own way of humbling confidence. A hilarious tale of first impressions, frozen showers and the painful price of Tesco groceries.
We often sing, “The labour of our heroes past shall never be in vain,” but what about the heroes standing beside us today? The one who picks your calls at 1 a.m., who reminds you that you’re not alone when life feels heavy. These are the quiet heroes; our friends, siblings, partners and mentors. Those whose love holds us together in ways history may never record. This piece is a tribute to them. A gentle reminder to pause, to notice and to never let their labour of love, trust and hope go in vain.
Whether you’re just finding your feet abroad or doing fine in Lagos, Abuja, Nairobi or Accra, there’s always that person who pops up after years with a familiar line, “long time, boss!” Then comes the ask…
November is that in-between month, not quite festive, not fully dreary. It’s when cold mornings, missing gloves and warm lattes remind us that the year is winding down. Whether you’re feeling the chill in London or the harmattan breeze in Lagos, November whispers change softly but unmistakably.
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