Imagine entering somebody’s house to steal, seeing an unwashed play pant, and still deciding to pack it. 😭💔

At this point, I don’t even know what kind of thief we’re dealing with anymore.

Good morning, Substackers!!!!

So, every Sunday used to be laundry day in my father’s house. As a Muslim nah, you know I don’t really have anywhere to go 😂. So it was neither the first time nor the second time they burgled into the apartment—not a cozy one motigbo, make your papa build to nah 😂. Sorry for that humour lol.

Third time, I will still answer no.

Fourth time, I can say yes, partially.

“Asiwaju, that means your baba guide niyen.” 😂

The first time, we didn’t even have a gate in the house. Just a door. But the attack wasn’t on gadgets or accessories in the room. They went straight for the poultry.

You know how imported live turkey 🦃 is used to now. Shey na everything I go dey explain niiii? 😂

We had close to 90 birds, and the male turkeys had the highest ratio. Let me say 70:20—I can’t really remember sha. We had broilers as well because my dad loves seeing animals 😻.

Yoruba people mostly call them Dabaa. I don’t know if that’s actually our language or a borrowed one.

On Sunday mornings, my dad usually gives these birds freedom to roam around for about 30 minutes to one hour. But you know they won’t move like all these local birds. These ones decided to stay close to their apartment 😂.

What is the name I should use then? 😂

Fast-forward to when they started growing up, and you know omo, money will surely come in. At least one big male turkey of that size should fetch around ₦35,000, Nigeria’s highest currency 😂.

Then there was an impromptu meeting because my mum will not gree.

All the wahala of a poultry.

If you have a poultry, you know how it smells 😂. Nah, it’s horrible.

So, they stole the birds, but they left 15 females and 5 males.

Bruh.

I was very devastated.

And I could see it on my daddy’s face too. But as a man, e no fit dey grieve. Make mama dey grieve, make child dey grieve 😂. Who go console who?

Another incident happened after we decided to fence our compound.

Someone stole my mum’s phone.

But honestly, no one was to blame but us. We actually forgot the phone on a pavement and left the house.

I wouldn’t have called that burglary.

But for you to enter our compound when nobody is around?

You are a thief. 💯

Then came another one.

This one was painful.

They removed one of the kitchen burglar proofs to enter the house.

It happened on a Wednesday. I was in school, far away from home. My little brother, mum and dad were all away at work and school.

By the time they got home that night, they discovered that the Smart TV, the Hisense home theatre, fans, cash and some other precious things had been taken away.

My mum had also kept some cash she collected from thrift.

Yoruba and Owo Ajo 😂😭

She couldn’t hold herself.

Another meeting was called.

At this point, we were like, this is not normal.

They can’t keep targeting our own apartment every fucking time.

We wanted to fish this one out, but we weren’t ready to let it go.

Then one woli told us we should let it go, that something big was coming.

At the time, I didn’t really understand.

But now?

I think I do.

There is this verse in Worship by Asake:

“Forget all your loss, something must go before something must come.”

Then:

“It is work, no be luck.”

“Seeing is believing, you have to trust yourself.”

“Can’t wait for result.”

“Never feel remorse.”

The lyrics are golden. ❤️💯

After all that, we got Enzo.

My little brother decided to train him with fresh food, and Enzo became deadly to animals but friendly only to family and friends.

But if you don’t live in our house, don’t provoke him. 😂

I loved Enzo because I genuinely enjoyed his company.

I could travel and come back home and find all my clothes dirty because of his touch, but I still loved him. 😂

Rest in peace, Enzo. 🤍

Since then, everything felt normal.

Until yesterday.

I discovered that Enzo had been poisoned.

It really pained me.

It hit me badly because yesterday’s incident happened again.

They stole creams.

Perfumes.

Clothes.

And mostly, my corporate wears.

I’ve been gradually buying clothes because I’m preparing myself for the corporate world. If I get a job, I need something to wear, so that’s why I’ve been buying shirts and other corporate clothes.

My father’s own clothes are mostly native—Senator materials, American wool type and all those ones.

And they took almost all of them.

They even took my little sister’s wig.

But what really finished me?

They took my unwashed play pant. 😭💔

Hmmm.

Thief don dey do too much ooo.

What do you mean you entered my house and packed my play pant that I had not even washed? 😭😭💔

At this point, I don’t even know whether to cry, laugh or just sit down and look at everybody.

But honestly, this one dey pami. 😭

A few months ago, I watched a man unlock his shop before sunrise.

By 6 a.m., he was already arranging his goods. Customers came in throughout the day. He barely had time to eat. When I passed the same road around 8 p.m., he was still there.

Fourteen hours of work.

The next morning, he repeated the exact same routine.

If hard work alone created wealth, that man should have been a millionaire.

But he wasn’t.

And that made me question something many of us rarely stop to ask:

What if the problem isn’t that people aren’t working hard enough? What if they’re working hard inside a system where hard work alone is not enough to create financial freedom?

The Promise We Grew Up Believing

Most of us were raised on the same advice:

Study hard.

Get good grades.

Find a stable job.

Work honestly.

Save your money.

One day, you’ll retire comfortably.

Our parents weren’t trying to mislead us. They were passing down what made sense in their time.

For many of them, a steady salary could provide a decent life. Staying with one employer for decades could bring security. Saving money could preserve its value more effectively than it often does today.

That advice wasn’t necessarily wrong.

It’s just incomplete for the world we live in now.

The economy has changed. Technology has changed. The cost of living has changed. The nature of work has changed.

But many of us are still following instructions written for a different economic reality.

Why It Feels Like You’re Running Without Moving

Have you ever noticed how payday can feel exciting for only a few hours?

Your salary arrives.

You smile.

For a moment, you breathe a little easier.

Then reality begins knocking.

Rent.

Electricity.

Transport.

Food.

School fees.

Family responsibilities.

Unexpected expenses.

Before you know it, your account looks almost exactly the way it did before you were paid.

The frustrating part is that you’re not lazy.

You’re tired because you’re trying.

You’re simply caught in a cycle where your income struggles to keep up with your expenses, while inflation quietly reduces what your money can buy.

It feels like running on a treadmill.

You’re sweating.

You’re moving.

But you’re barely changing your position.

The Question That Changes Everything

Many people ask:

“How can I earn a bigger salary?”

That’s a reasonable question.

But there is another question that can change the way you think about money:

“How can I build income that isn’t completely dependent on the hours I work?”

The first question focuses primarily on increasing your earnings from labour.

The second forces you to think about leverage.

That leverage might come from a business, investments, intellectual property, digital products, systems, or skills that allow one person’s work to create value for many people.

A salary generally pays you for your time and contribution.

An asset or scalable system can continue producing value without requiring you to personally perform the same task every time.

That distinction matters.

Two People Can Work Equally Hard and End Up in Completely Different Places

Imagine two friends.

One drives a taxi every day.

He wakes up before dawn, battles traffic, deals with difficult passengers, pays for fuel and maintenance, and works until he is exhausted.

Nobody can say he isn’t hardworking.

The other spends months developing software that helps thousands of drivers find passengers more efficiently.

He also works hard.

He faces setbacks, long nights, uncertainty and failure.

But if the software succeeds, he can potentially serve thousands of customers without working individually with every one of them.

Years later, the first person’s income may still depend heavily on how many hours he can physically work.

The second person has built something capable of scaling beyond his individual hours.

Neither avoided hard work.

One simply found a way to multiply the impact of his work.

And that is one of the biggest differences between working hard and building wealth.

Three Habits That Can Change the Way You Build Wealth

1. Don’t Depend Entirely on One Source of Income

Putting your entire financial future in the hands of one employer can be risky.

Companies downsize.

Industries change.

Businesses collapse.

Economies slow down.

Jobs disappear.

This doesn’t mean everyone needs five side hustles.

It means you should think about financial resilience.

For some people, that could mean freelancing.

For others, a small business, investments, consulting, teaching, or creating a product.

The goal isn’t to do everything.

The goal is to avoid having your entire financial life collapse because one income source disappears.

2. Learn to Distinguish Between Consumption and Investment

Many purchases feel rewarding in the moment.

The newest phone.

A bigger television.

Another subscription.

A car you can barely afford.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with enjoying your money.

You work for it. You should be able to spend some of it on things you enjoy.

The problem begins when almost everything you buy increases your expenses while very little of what you own helps strengthen your financial position.

Before making a major purchase, ask yourself:

“Will this improve my financial position over time, or will it make my financial life more expensive?”

That question won’t prevent every bad financial decision.

But it can prevent many unnecessary ones.

3. Chase Valuable Skills, Not Just Impressive Titles

Degrees matter.

Titles matter.

Credentials matter.

But skills are what allow you to create value.

Can you communicate clearly?

Can you sell?

Can you write?

Can you analyse information?

Can you use technology effectively?

Can you solve difficult problems?

Can you manage money?

Can you build something people actually need?

These abilities can travel with you.

A job title may disappear when you leave an organisation.

A valuable skill stays with you.

That is why investing in yourself can sometimes produce a greater long-term return than simply chasing another title.

The Truth Most People Don’t Like Hearing

It is comforting to believe that someone else will eventually fix our financial situation.

Maybe the government.

Maybe our employer.

Maybe a relative.

Maybe luck.

And to be fair, circumstances matter.

Not everyone starts from the same position.

Some people inherit wealth.

Some inherit debt.

Some grow up with excellent education and connections.

Others begin with almost nothing.

Pretending that everyone has equal opportunities is dishonest.

But there is another truth that exists alongside that reality:

You still have to make the most of whatever room you have to move.

That might mean learning a new skill.

Starting something small.

Finding better opportunities.

Reducing unnecessary expenses.

Saving.

Investing carefully.

Building relationships.

Creating something useful.

Progress may be slow.

But waiting indefinitely for someone else to change your financial situation can be even slower.

Nobody Will Care About Your Financial Future More Than You Do

This may sound uncomfortable, but accepting it can also be liberating.

Your employer is not responsible for making you wealthy.

A politician is not personally planning your retirement.

Your relatives cannot carry your financial future forever.

At some point, responsibility comes back to you.

And that is actually good news.

Because if your financial future is partly your responsibility, then there are also things within your power to change.

You can learn.

You can adapt.

You can make better decisions.

You can build.

You can start small.

You can try again.

One decision at a time.

So, Where Do You Start?

You don’t need to become rich overnight.

Start by becoming financially wiser.

Learn one skill people are willing to pay for.

Cut one expense that quietly drains your money every month.

Build an emergency fund.

Invest what you can reasonably afford, after understanding the risks.

Create something that can generate value beyond your immediate working hours.

Look for ways to make your existing work more valuable instead of simply working longer.

Most importantly, stop measuring progress only by how busy you are.

Because being busy and making progress are not the same thing.

Final Thoughts

Hard work is still valuable.

It always will be.

But hard work without direction, leverage, or financial discipline can leave you exhausted without necessarily making you wealthy.

The people who build wealth aren’t always the smartest.

They aren’t always the luckiest.

And they certainly aren’t all born rich.

Many simply learn to think differently about what their work produces.

They develop valuable skills.

They manage their money.

They build businesses and assets.

They create systems.

They look for ways to multiply the impact of their effort.

They understand that working harder is only one part of the equation.

Maybe that’s the real lesson.

The goal isn’t to escape work.

The goal is to stop working endlessly without getting closer to the life you want.

Because at the end of the day, being busy and making progress are not always the same thing.

And once you understand that, you can begin asking a better question:

How can I make my hard work work harder for me?

You can enter a bus, hand your luggage to the driver, wave goodbye to your parents and say, “I’m coming.” And somewhere in your mind, you already know you should probably add, “By God’s grace.”

Not because you are travelling abroad.

Not because you are crossing the Sahara.

You are simply travelling on a Nigerian road.

A few days ago, I imagined a fresh NYSC corps member leaving orientation camp. Khaki neatly ironed. Boots probably still looking new. NYSC kit packed into a bag. Phone fully charged. Perhaps the person had already called home.

“Daddy, we are leaving camp now.”

“Okay, take care of yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

And that should have been the end of the conversation.

Instead, somewhere along the road, the country’s oldest game of hide-and-seek began.

Only this time, the people hiding were not children, and the people seeking them were not playing.

Another bus carrying young Nigerians has been caught in the nightmare that has become disturbingly familiar on our roads: kidnapping.

And this is where the joke stops being funny.

These are otondos.

Fresh corps members who have barely settled into the reality of national service. People who arrived at orientation camp with the usual mixture of excitement, anxiety and uncertainty. Some were probably already planning their first CDS meeting. Others were calculating how long their allowance would last. Some were simply looking forward to getting home after camp.

Then Nigeria reminded them that there are some journeys where having a destination is not enough.

You also need luck.

And apparently, plenty of prayers.

There is something deeply disturbing about the fact that young Nigerians can finish orientation camp and immediately become vulnerable on the road.

We tell graduates to serve their country.

We give them khaki.

We give them an identity number.

We give them an allowance that has remained a subject of national conversation.

We give them postings.

But can we give them something as basic as a safe journey?

That should not be too much to ask.

Imagine being a parent whose child calls to say they are leaving camp.

You probably breathe a sigh of relief.

The child has completed the first major stage of NYSC. They are coming home. Maybe you are already thinking about what food to prepare.

Then your phone rings again.

Except this time, it is not your child.

That is the kind of phone call that can change a family forever.

And perhaps the most painful part is how quickly Nigerians have become accustomed to stories like this.

We hear “kidnapped” and immediately begin asking how many.

We hear “rescued” and ask how many remain.

We hear “highway” and start naming the roads we would never travel at night.

We hear “security agencies are on top of the situation” and, somewhere inside us, a small voice asks:

Which situation?

Because if a bus full of young people can leave an orientation camp and disappear into the vastness of the country, then something has gone terribly wrong.

Security should not begin after people have been abducted.

Rescue should not be the only evidence that security agencies exist.

We need prevention.

We need intelligence.

We need safer routes.

We need effective surveillance.

We need a system where young Nigerians travelling for national service are not treated as if they are participating in an extreme-sports competition.

NYSC was created to promote national integration. It is supposed to bring young Nigerians from different backgrounds together to serve the country.

But what happens when the same country cannot guarantee that they will safely reach their places of primary assignment?

At some point, we have to stop treating these incidents as unfortunate headlines and start treating them as a national emergency.

Because behind every number is a person.

A son.

A daughter.

A sibling.

A friend.

Somebody’s child who left home with a bag and dreams, not knowing that the road ahead could turn into a fight for survival.

And for the families waiting at home, “your child is serving the nation” should never have to come with the silent fear of:

“Will my child return?”

Nigeria has many problems.

But insecurity should not be one we learn to live with.

Especially not when the victims are young people who are doing exactly what we asked them to do:

serve the country.

The Most Dangerous Thing About Testimonies

Imagine two people standing in the same rain.

One spreads out a bucket and goes home with water.

The other spreads out a basket and wonders why it came back empty.

The rain was the same. The results were not.

That is how many people misunderstand faith.

We live in a generation that loves testimonies but often ignores context. We hear someone say, “I gave everything I had to God, and my life changed overnight.” Before the testimony even ends, someone else has already decided to do https://inknaija.com/article/the-church-member-who-obeyed-god-and-lost-everything-or-so-everyone-thought-dc224dthe same thing.

Months later, they are broke, bitter, and secretly wondering if God has favourites.

The problem was never God.

It was assuming that someone else’s instruction was your principle.

A testimony can inspire you, but it should never replace hearing God for yourself. Sometimes, what encourages one person can become a trap for another.

Think about it.

One person had savings, gave sacrificially because God specifically led them, and still had the wisdom, opportunities, and discipline to rebuild.

Another person emptied the capital meant to start a business because they wanted to reproduce the same testimony. They called it faith.

Three years later, they called it disappointment.

Faith is not copying another person’s obedience.

Faith is responding to God’s voice.

Many people reduce faith to “name it and claim it.” They decide what they want, declare it repeatedly, and expect God to approve their plans. In that mindset, God becomes less of a King and more of a personal assistant whose job is to fulfil human desires.

But biblical faith has never worked that way.

Faith trusts God.

It does not control Him.

It believes His promises while accepting His sovereignty.

And sometimes, what changes your life is not your faith at all.

It is God’s mercy.

Look at Abraham and Sarah.

God had already declared that Sarah would have a son within a year. Instead of believing, Sarah laughed. When confronted, she even denied laughing.

Yet God’s promise remained.

The child’s name became Isaac—“laughter”—a permanent reminder that God’s decision was not cancelled by her doubt.

Then consider the man at the pool of Bethesda.

He wasn’t making bold confessions.

He wasn’t praying with unusual faith.

When Jesus asked if he wanted to be healed, his response was simply, “I have no one to help me into the pool.”

That wasn’t faith.

That was helplessness.

Yet Jesus told him, “Rise, take up your bed, and walk.”

Mercy found him before faith ever did.

This is why we must stop forcing every story into a formula.

Not every breakthrough came because someone had extraordinary faith.

Some happened because God chose to be merciful.

Some came because God made a promise.

Others happened because God had a purpose that was bigger than the person’s understanding.

Faith matters.

Obedience matters.

But so do mercy and God’s sovereignty.

When we confuse those things, we stop following God and start chasing methods.

And methods have never replaced a relationship with the One who gives the instruction.

The greatest principle of faith is not doing what worked for someone else.

It is hearing God for yourself and trusting Him enough to obey.

What is even wrong with this country of ours? That question didn’t just cross my mind—it sat there, heavy and stubborn, after I sent some political news to my oga late at night. I dropped my phone, turned to the wall, and closed my eyes, expecting sleep to come like it always does, but this time, it didn’t. Instead, my mind stayed awake, restless, almost uncomfortable, like it had seen something it couldn’t ignore. It kept dragging me back to a post I had come across earlier, a simple question on the surface, but the kind that quietly disturbs your peace. Who is the worst president Nigeria has ever had — Sani Abacha or Bola Ahmed Tinubu? At first, it felt like just another random debate, the kind you scroll past without thinking twice, but something about it lingered longer than it should have. And the more I tried to ignore it, the more it pulled me back in, like there was something deeper hiding behind that question… something I hadn’t fully understood yet.

•A Sleepless Night and the Questions Nigeria Still Can’t Answer

What is even wrong with this country of ours?

That was the question sitting in my head after I sent some political news to my oga late at night. I expected to sleep, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, my mind kept running. Earlier, I had seen a post asking: “Who is the worst president Nigeria has ever had — Sani Abacha or Bola Ahmed Tinubu*?”* Another asked who the best was. The comments were chaotic — people defending Olusegun Obasanjo, praising Goodluck Jonathan, criticizing Muhammadu Buhari. But one comment stayed with me: “With the kind of money some of these men have made, even in another life, they can never be poor.” That wasn’t just about wealth — it was about how differently we define success.

Did you know Nigeria was never really built to think the same way?

Long before independence, Frederick Lugard merged different regions into one country in 1914. It looked like unity, but it wasn’t necessarily alignment. Then came leaders like Obafemi Awolowo, who invested heavily in education and development, and Samuel Ladoke Akintola, whose political decisions deepened regional tensions. At the center were Ahmadu Bello and Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, trying to balance a country that was already pulling in different directions. Tafawa Balewa once emphasized unity when he said, “Nigeria can only be strong if we remain united.” But unity was easier said than lived.

You won’t believe what happened after independence...

Not long after 1960, cracks began to show. Political tension turned into military coups, and eventually, the civil war under Yakubu Gowon. A war that was meant to preserve unity ended up exposing just how fragile it was. In many countries, liberation comes through a shared struggle — often violent — that unites people. But Nigeria’s independence was negotiated, not fought as one people. Maybe that’s why, till today, we still struggle with what it truly means to be one nation.

We need to understand that every leader played a different game.

Murtala Mohammed came with urgency and reform but didn’t stay long enough. Ibrahim Babangida was strategic but left behind the controversy of June 12. Sani Abacha maintained control, but his name still carries the weight of fear and corruption allegations. Then came Abdulsalami Abubakar, who transitioned the country back to democracy. None of these men were entirely good or entirely bad — they were all responding to the system in front of them.

What if ‘good leadership’ depends on where you are standing?

Umaru Musa Yar'Adua once said, “I belong to everybody and I belong to nobody.” Many saw him as sincere and humble. Goodluck Jonathan showed rare restraint when he said, “My ambition is not worth the blood of any Nigerian.” Yet both men were still criticized during their time in power. Muhammadu Buhari promised discipline and anti-corruption but left people divided on his results. Now Bola Ahmed Tinubu is seen by some as a master strategist and by others as a continuation of the same system. So who is truly right?

Did you ever think about the leader Nigeria never had?

Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola remains one of Nigeria’s greatest “what ifs.” Widely believed to have won the June 12 election, he became a symbol of democracy denied. His story reminds us that sometimes, it’s not just about who ruled — but who never got the chance to.

Maybe we’ve been asking the wrong question all along..

We keep asking who the best or worst president is. But maybe that’s not the real issue. Every leader — from Nnamdi Azikiwe to Bola Ahmed Tinubu — governed a different Nigeria, for different people, under different conditions. What worked for one group may have failed another. What looked like progress to some may have felt like suffering to others.

So what is the real problem?

Maybe Nigeria isn’t simply broken. Maybe it is complex — built on different histories, different expectations, and different definitions of success. In some parts of the world, nations were forged through shared struggle. In Nigeria, we were merged, managed, and handed over. And ever since, we’ve been trying to figure out how to truly become one.

And maybe this is the hardest truth..

The man you call a bad leader might be someone else’s hero. The system you criticize might be the same system that benefits another person. And until we understand that we are not all playing the same game — with the same rules — these debates will never end.

Because in the end, the real question is not:

Who was the best or worst leader?

It is:

What kind of Nigeria did they create… and for who?

Nigeria’s Africa Cup of Nations journey ended in Rabat on penalties. But long after the final kick, the conversation refused to move on. Not because of missed chances alone, but because of the officiating that quietly shaped the night.

The scoreline was simple: 0–0 after 120 minutes, Morocco through 4–2 on penalties. The experience of the match, however, was anything but simple.

Hours before kickoff, the appointment of Ghanaian referee Daniel Nii Laryea sparked unease among Nigerian supporters. CAF maintained that the selection followed standard procedures, yet the optics raised questions — a West African referee, a charged stadium, and a host nation chasing history. It wasn’t an accusation, but it was a concern that lingered.

That concern followed the Super Eagles onto the pitch.

From the opening minutes, Nigeria struggled to find rhythm. The game never truly flowed. Play was repeatedly stopped, physical challenges were treated inconsistently, and the stop-start nature of the contest dulled Nigeria’s pressing intensity. Some fouls were waved on, others drew quick whistles, leaving players visibly confused and frustrated.

There was no single moment to point to. No clear injustice that decided the match. But football is often shaped by accumulation — small decisions, repeated often enough, that tilt momentum and heighten tension. As the match wore on, appeals became louder, tempers shorter, and control harder to maintain.

After the game, defender Bright Osayi-Samuel put words to what many felt, describing the officiating as “poor,” while stopping short of using it as an excuse. His response captured the mood within the camp: frustration without denial of responsibility.

The Nigeria Football Federation struck a calmer tone, urging restraint and acceptance, even as debate raged across social media and fan spaces.

When the contest went to penalties, the narrative shifted decisively. Morocco goalkeeper Yassine Bounou rose to the moment, saving two spot-kicks to send the hosts into the final. In that instant, refereeing faded into the background, replaced by the brutal finality that penalties always bring.

Yet the match leaves behind familiar questions for African football.

How much do referee appointments influence perception in high-stakes games?

And how can CAF better safeguard trust when host nations are involved?

For Nigeria, focus now turns to the third-place playoff and the future. But for many supporters, this semi-final will be remembered for more than penalties missed. It will be remembered as a night when the whistle became part of the story — almost as loud as the crowd in Rabat.