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Time is a funny thing. It moves forward, yet carries pieces of yesterday. It whispers of tomorrow, while keeping us chained to memories we cannot change. The past and the future often collide, blurring our vision, clouding our judgment, making us forget where we are standing. And in those moments, life feels like a maze with no map. Sometimes, the silence becomes so loud that the only voice we hear is the echo of our own pain. We replay old mistakes. We revisit abandoned dreams. We carry regrets like luggage we were never meant to keep. And slowly, we begin to believe the lie: "Perhaps I am the problem." Especially when storms arrive from places we never expected. Especially when life feels unfair. Especially when the things we cannot control leave scars we cannot explain. But pain was never meant to become our identity. Regret was never meant to become our home. At some point, we must loosen our grip on what hurt us so we can hold tightly to what heals us. We must re...

There are stories in the Bible that inspire us, and there are stories that disturb us because they reveal uncomfortable truths about human nature. The story of Balak and Balaam falls into the second category. At first glance, it sounds almost unbelievable. A king was so afraid of a people he could not control that he decided to hire a prophet to curse them. He was willing to spend resources, build altars, offer sacrifices, and manipulate circumstances just to stop what he perceived as a threat. Yet in one of the greatest ironies in Scripture, the money spent to destroy God's purpose ended up announcing it. The plot failed. But the lessons remain timeless. Balak, the king of Moab, looked across his borders and saw the Israelites. Their numbers frightened him. Their progress unsettled him. Their presence alone made him nervous. Instead of seeking wisdom, building alliances, or understanding the situation, he allowed fear to take control of his decisions. Fear has a strang...

As I celebrate this year's birthday, I found myself doing something unusual. I played 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐝𝐨 on repeat. Again. And again. And again. At first, it was just another song from a familiar playlist. But somewhere between the lyrics and the silence that followed them, the song stopped being music and became a mirror. It began to ask questions I wasn't prepared to answer. Questions about purpose. About commitment. About fear. About the difference between merely existing and truly living. For years, I had listened to the song casually. This time was different. This time, I heard it. And sometimes, hearing is more painful than listening. One line, in particular, refused to leave me: "𝑰𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒚, 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑰 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒈𝒆𝒕." The line haunted me. Not because it was harsh, but because it was honest. It made me wonder ...

For years, I have listened to sermons, attended Bible studies, and read countless books on faith, leadership, and success. Yet one story keeps surprising me because of how little attention it receives compared to the powerful lessons hidden within it. The story of the 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞 Woman is not just a story about miracles. It is a masterclass in wisdom, influence, positioning, discernment, and strategic living. Quick background so you feel the weight of this: A Shunammite woman built Prophet Elisha a private room. Bed. Table. Chair. Lamp. Expected nothing back.  That room she built for someone else? It became the altar where her dead son came back to life. Silent good-intentions win. 1. 𝐀 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 (𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞) 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 (𝟐 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝟒:𝟖–𝟏𝟎) In a place called Shunem, a wealthy woman regularly hosted the prophet Elisha whenever he passed by. She built him, his own private room. She recognized value and invested ...

Growing up, there were certain lessons you heard from elders that sounded ordinary at the time. You nodded, moved on, and thought little of them. Then life happened. You left home, met different people, experienced different environments, and suddenly those simple statements began to make sense. One lesson that has stayed with me over the years is this: "𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒘𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒘𝒆. 𝑩𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝑶𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈." Another one that keeps coming back to me is: "𝑼𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕. 𝑹𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒘𝒔. 𝑭𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐." The older I get, the more I understand the wisdom hidden in those words. As children, many of us grew up in communities where ownership was not something people talked about, it wa...

My Dear TMO, January reminded us how fragile life can be. But by God's divine intervention, mercy, and grace, I am writing a birthday tribute today and not a tribute of sorrow. For that, I will forever remain grateful to God. Five years ago, you made your mother and I parents, and you made me a father. I still remember the day you came into our lives. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Before then, I had heard people talk about the joy of being a parent, but I didn't fully understand it until I held you in my arms for the first time. Over the last five years, you have filled our home with laughter, questions, songs, mischief, hugs, and countless beautiful memories. Watching you grow has been one of my greatest privileges. Every day, you remind me of God's goodness and faithfulness. As you turn five today, there is something I want to share with you. It is a simple lesson that life has taught me over the years. As you grow older, you will understand it e...

One of the most powerful lessons about life is hidden in a simple game of chess. On the chessboard, the pawn is often the least noticed piece. It moves slowly, has limited power, and is usually the first piece people are willing to sacrifice. Yet, there is something remarkable about the pawn. If it survives the journey, overcomes the obstacles in its path, and reaches the other side of the board, it transforms into a queen, the most powerful piece in the game. That is where the saying comes from: "It takes time to become a queen from a pawn." The statement is a reminder that greatness is a process. Nobody starts at the top. Every successful leader, entrepreneur, professional, athlete, or statesman was once a beginner. Before the recognition came the preparation. Before the influence came the sacrifice. Before the applause came the struggle. Unfortunately, we live in a world that celebrates the queen but rarely pays attention to the journey of the pawn. We admire s...

There are some experiences that quietly reshape the way we think about leadership, teamwork, and growth. Recently, I participated in an onboarding program, and while many may see onboarding as just another corporate routine filled with presentations, introductions, and policy sessions, I left with something far more valuable, a deeper understanding of what truly sustains great organizations. As I reflected on the experience, three words kept replaying in my mind: Competence. Culture. Collaboration. At first glance, competence and collaboration seem to be the most obvious ingredients of success in any workplace. Competence is the ability to deliver results, solve problems, and perform effectively. Collaboration is the ability to work with others towards a common goal. These are visible qualities. They are easy to identify, easy to measure, and often the first things organizations look for. But during the onboarding process, I realized there is another factor, one less visibl...

There comes a point in life where you stop explaining your pace, your silence, and your decisions to everyone around you.  Not because you have changed for the worse, but because you have finally matured into someone who understands that not every season needs an audience. Don’t confuse my ambition for desertion. There are moments when stepping back looks like walking away. Friends start asking, “Why are you no longer around?” Colleagues wonder why you have gone quiet in group chats. Even family may think something is wrong because you are no longer as available as before. But what they don’t see is that you are not disappearing, you are repositioning. Think about the student who suddenly reduces outings, stops attending every event, and spends long nights studying. To others, it looks like isolation. But months later, results come out, and the same people understand. Or the entrepreneur who goes off the radar. No more frequent posts, no more constant updates. People as...

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...

Sometimes I joke with my friends that if money made from politics was a perfume, half the youth would be choking by now. Because everywhere you turn, someone is “aligning,” “mobilizing,” or “waiting for appointment.” I always laugh and tell those closest to me one thing: may I never make my money from politics. Why? Because I’ve seen too many young people missing it. Instead of building, they are chanting. Instead of creating, they are waiting. And sadly, most of the people they are chanting for, when the lights go off and the cameras disappear, don’t even remember their names. It’s painful to watch, because I know how much potential we carry as a generation. The energy, creativity, and resilience of young Nigerians could build enterprises, products, and ideas that outlive any election cycle. Yet, in my state, every conversation still ends up in politics. Every gathering echoes with “ tani baba ni ile yi?” (“who’s our godfather in this area?”). Meanwhile, the real question...

Let’s be honest, if you ask most Nigerians about Ekiti, the first thing they’ll probably say is, “Ah, that’s the land of professors !” And they’re right. But lately, Ekiti seems to be proving that we can do more than just produce brilliant minds; we can also produce magic, the kind that flows through waterfalls, dances on hills, and hums through the laughter of our people. That’s why the air in Ado-Ekiti felt different that day — like the state itself knew something historic was about to happen. The banners fluttered with pride, the drums rolled in rhythm, and smiles stretched wide as the world witnessed the official launch of Visit Ekiti , a visionary tourism initiative birthed by Mr. Ogunro Ayodeji Success. It wasn’t your typical event with empty speeches and handshakes. This one carried purpose. It carried pride. It carried the heartbeat of a people who have decided that their story deserves to be told, loudly and beautifully. Representing the Spokesman of th...

(A long read, but worth your time, please read to the end.) I once listened to one of the preachings of Apostle Joshua Selman titled “ The Spirit of Envy ” which he gave in Kenya last year August. It was a message that didn’t just touch the surface of human behavior, it pierced deep into the truth about why people often resent those who carry the vision to build, change, and develop. Apostle Selman shared that one of the strangest battles of destiny is not against enemies from afar, but from those who should have been your biggest supporters. Those who should clap for you are often the ones who quietly hope you fail, not because you have done anything wrong, but because your progress exposes their comfort in mediocrity. Some time ago, I read a story about a young man from Kenya who decided to change the fate of his small rural community. The village had been forgotten for decades, no clean water, no access roads, no school beyond the primary level. He left home to study in Nairobi, and...