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For years, many people move through life trying to be liked or respected. You soften your edges, adjust your tone, and listen closely to what people say about you. You enter different rooms and, without realizing it, become slightly different versions of yourself, just to fit, just to be accepted. But over time, one thing becomes clear: the admiration , the resentment , even the criticism you receive is rarely about you as a person. It is often about what you represent to others, their fears, their expectations, their insecurities, or even their own limitations. This is where many get it wrong. In trying to gain approval, they lose consistency. They begin to shape themselves based on reactions, not on values. And in doing so, they attract people who connect with a version of them that isn’t real. They wait for consensus that never comes, and end up surrounded by people who think they know them, but don’t truly understand them. Now, place this beside what we see in politics...

I was honoured to join Value Female Network Africa’s Women-Empowerment Safety Programme as a facilitator for master-artisans from two local government areas in Ekiti State. The programme’s aim—to equip master trainers who will then step the training down to girls and young women learning a trade—felt especially powerful. In two sessions I led, I explored what information and communication technology (ICT) and innovation mean for artisans today, and how those same technologies can be used to facilitate gender-based violence (GBV). My goal was practical and person-centred: to give master-trainers clear, everyday language and usable strategies they can pass on to apprentices so that learning a trade becomes not only economically empowering but also digitally safe. I began by framing ICT and innovation in a way that connects directly with craft and apprenticeship. Technology is not an abstract concept meant only for programmers; it is a set of tools — phones, messaging apps, s...

There is something about the way I was raised that made caring come naturally to me. I grew up believing that life’s true measure isn’t in what you have, but in what you give. Over the years, that belief shaped how I relate with people, family, friends, even strangers. I have always been the one who wants to see others smile, even if it costs me my own comfort. It’s not an exaggeration to say I could give my last kobo to someone in need. I have done it before, too many times to count. Someone calls, someone cries, someone explains how bad things are, and even if I don’t have much, I’ll find a way to make something happen. Sometimes it’s not even because I have plenty, but because I can’t stand the thought of someone I care about suffering while I still have something left. But here’s the part I never used to talk about, the flip side of that generous heart. Because while I have built a reputation for being kind and dependable, I have also learned that caring without control...

In every community, there are people who are present but lack presence . This simple but profound difference explains why some projects flourish while others fade away, even when both begin with enthusiasm and promise. Being present means showing up, attending meetings, joining initiatives, or standing with others physically. It’s the visible participation that anyone can see. But presence goes much deeper. It is the energy, empathy, and sense of ownership one brings into a space. Presence transforms attendance into impact. It is what turns ideas into action, and action into lasting change. In the context of community development, this distinction is critical. A community might have many people who are present, but only a few who carry true presence, their influence, passion, and consistency become the backbone of progress. They are the ones who don’t just show up; they engage. They listen, understand, and contribute meaningfully. They bring life to projects, helping other...

In church today, I listened carefully to what my Pastor preached. It was one of those rare sessions that forces you to unlearn, relearn, and learn, a message that pierces the heart and exposes the quiet things we often ignore. He spoke about the Spirit of Error, and as I sat there, I couldn’t help but realize how dangerous, silent, and deceptive that spirit truly is. It’s when the spirit of error enters a man that he begins to see his benefactor as nothing. The same person who once prayed for his success now looks like a threat. The voice that once guided him now sounds like control. The path that once felt divine suddenly feels restrictive. That’s what the spirit of error does, it twists perception, making light look like darkness and wisdom feel like manipulation. The Bible captures this deception clearly in 1 John 4:6 , where the Apostle John wrote, “We are of God: he that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth not us. Hereby know we the spirit of truth, ...

When I was a young boy growing up, I loved associating with the elderly ones and I remember sitting by my grandpa in the evenings, under the moonlight, as he told me a story that carried deep wisdom. This story has never left me. He said: “In every farming season, a wise farmer does two things before the harvest. First, he builds Ajùbà, then he makes sure of Atìbàbà.” I asked him what that meant. He explained that Ajùbà is the small hut a farmer builds on the farm before planting begins. That is where he rests, where he keeps his tools, and where he shelters when the sun is hot or the rain comes suddenly. Without Ajùbà, the farmer is exposed. Then he spoke of Atìbàbà. He said it is like the ceiling of a house. It is what shields the family inside from storms, from heat, and from danger. Without Atìbàbà, the house may have walls, but it is never safe. My grandpa would smile and say: “Omo mi, politics is just like farming.” And today, when I look at Nigeria, I understand exac...