The moment people see “made with AI,” they dismiss it.

An image, a video, a script- it doesn’t matter how good the work is. One touch of AI and it gets relegated to the bin, waved away as somehow lesser, somehow cheating. I’ve watched it happen in comment sections, in boardrooms, in group chats. The work is judged not on what it is, but on what helped make it.

I train AI systems for a living, and I come to this with an engineering background, so let me say it plainly: AI has come to stay. It is already woven into our lives, whether we acknowledge it or not. The choice in front of every professional today is not whether AI will matter. It’s whether you embrace it or go into extinction.

That sounds dramatic? Well, history says otherwise.

Every generation fights its typewriter

Humans once wrote letters in ink and trusted them to couriers and carrier pigeons. Then the typewriter came, and here’s the thing people forget: it didn’t stop humans from writing. Humans still wrote. The typewriter simply enhanced them, made the output faster, cleaner, more legible.

Then organised postal systems replaced the pigeons. Delivery was no longer guesswork; humans were held accountable for every letter that moved. Notice the pattern: the tools changed, and the human part of the work got stronger, not weaker.

Some centuries later, computers showed up, and the resistance came again. Typewriter manufacturers fought hard, because the computer was coming for their income. But the smart ones, the manufacturers and typists who embraced the machine early, stayed relevant.

Or take the photography industry. There was a time we visited studios to take pictures. Photographers had long queues and made huge profits. Then phones arrived with HD cameras, and today people shoot entire wedding albums on phones. Did studios die? No. People still go. But that market has shrunk by a significant amount, and the photographers who thrived were the ones who embraced the new reality.

AI is the same, at a much larger scale and a century later.

As long as AI remains a tool that accelerates human productivity, value will keep flowing into the AI economy; that is simply where the money and the leverage are moving.

Will AI replace the old ways of doing things? Partially, yes. And we should be honest about that instead of pretending. Every innovation shrinks one market so that another can emerge. The ink didn’t vanish when the typewriter came; the studio didn’t vanish when the phone camera came. But the ground shifted under both, and the people standing still felt it most.

The four domains shaping everything else

If you’re choosing a domain to build a career in right now or advising someone who is, look hard at these four spaces: finance, data centres, space exploration, and AI infrastructure.

I’m not saying these are the only places to work. I’m saying every other industry will be shaped by them. They are the plumbing of the next economy. The way medicine is practised will change forever. Engineering has already evolved before our eyes - entry-level software roles are almost non-existent compared to a few years ago, because the work those roles used to do is exactly the work AI does best.

Does that mean you should abandon every other field? No. It means the market will shift. What we call value today may not be value tomorrow. Some markets must shrink for new ones to rise; that is not a tragedy, it’s the mechanism. The question is whether you position yourself on the rising side of it.

How to actually get value out of AI

Here’s the interesting part: using AI well is a skill, and most people are bad at it.

Be ruthlessly specific in your prompts. Provide context. Provide data and facts. Better still, provide a sample of your original work so the tool understands the standard you’re holding it to. Vague requests produce vague output, and then people blame the tool for their own laziness.

AI is only as good as the expert prompting it.

The winners will be the domain experts

Because after all is said and done, the people who benefit most from AI are not the ones with the tools only. They are the domain experts.

An experienced doctor with AI gets more done than an experienced doctor without it; and infinitely more than a novice with the same tools. A highly trained journalist with AI produces more, and better, than either the journalist or the AI alone. Expertise compounds. AI multiplies it. Multiplying zero still gives you zero.

So no - AI will not replace humans. It will enhance human productivity, the way every tool has done in the past. But it will absolutely leave behind the people who refuse to embrace it, the same way history left behind the raven-keepers, the typewriter users, and the studio owners.

Don’t be the person still fighting AI. Pick up the tool. Bring your expertise to it. That combination is the future - and it’s already here.

If this resonates, share it with someone.

The last time I felt this particular kind of anger about Nigeria was during the 2023 general elections. I have always known that things were bad; that has never been a secret, but the full weight of it did not crush me until I saw President Muhammadu Buhari cast his vote at his polling unit in his hometown of Daura. In that moment, something settled in my chest like cold stone. Here was a sitting president, surrounded by cameras and press, utterly comfortable voting in a crumbling, dilapidated primary school, and not a flicker of shame crossed his face. That was when I accepted, perhaps for the first time, that things would most likely never get better on their own.

For those unfamiliar with how Nigeria operates. Nigeria is a country that has perfected the art of prioritising politics over virtually everything else, including the education of its children. Elections, local, state, and national, routinely trigger public holidays that send millions of school children home. Businesses come to a halt. Economic life on hold. The only industry that thrives during this period is politics, and enormous sums of money, dollars and naira in large quantities, change hands with breathtaking speed and shamelessness. But that transactional spectacle is not the reason for this article.

Most Nigerians had resigned themselves to the fact that Muhammadu Buhari was a disastrous leader who reversed the country’s economic progress by decades. That widely shared frustration is part of what drove so many to place their trust in the political godfather from Lagos, President Bola Tinubu. Yet the images and videos emerging from the recently concluded APC primary elections, Nigeria’s ruling party, have made it impossible to argue that anything has improved. If anything, they confirm that the rot has deepened.

What made me cringe, repeatedly and viscerally, was watching those primaries being conducted inside primary and secondary school premises. The state of those schools is not merely disappointing; it is an indictment. Broken walls. Leaking roofs. Decayed infrastructure that no self-respecting government would tolerate, let alone conduct a gathering in full glare of the camera. And yet our leaders stood in those compounds, conducted their political business, and walked away without an ounce of visible discomfort. No pledge to fix a roof. No promise to replace a desk. Nothing.

What disturbs me even more profoundly than the leaders’ indifference is the silence of the people. The very communities whose children sit beneath those leaking roofs every school day did not rise in collective outrage. Money exchanged hands in those same school premises, and in that exchange, the future of every child studying there was quietly, casually mortgaged. Nobody asked the hard questions. Nobody demanded accountability. The transaction was completed, and life went on.

This is Nigeria’s most dangerous cycle: leaders who are comfortable with failure, and a system that has been deliberately engineered through poverty, cash inducement, and learned helplessness, to ensure that the people who should hold those leaders accountable are too desperate or too exhausted to do so.

I still carry the hope, stubborn as it is, that a turning point is coming. A day when Nigerians will refuse to accept polling units in schools as a symbol of democratic participation, and instead demand that those schools be worthy of the children inside them. A day when elections do not come at the cost of a single school day, and when economic life does not grind to a halt so that vote-buying can proceed uninterrupted. A day when a Nigerian citizen can walk to a polling unit, cast a vote freely and without financial coercion, and walk home knowing that their choice was their own.

That Nigeria is possible. But it will not arrive by accident, and it will not be delivered by the leaders currently comfortable in its ruins.

If this resonates with you, whether you are Nigerian at home or in the diaspora, do not let the anger dissolve into another cycle of passive frustration.

Demand accountability. When your local, state, or federal representative next appears before you seeking a vote or a favour, ask them one question: What have you done for the school in this community? Demand a specific, verifiable answer. Accept nothing less.

Support organisations working on education access in Nigeria. Groups like Teach For Nigeria, the Education as a Vaccine Foundation, and Rising Academies are doing on-the-ground work that governments have abandoned. Donate, volunteer, amplify.

Register and vote, but vote informed. Examine candidates’ records on education funding, school infrastructure, and policies that affect children. A candidate’s comfort level in a crumbling school tells you everything about their vision for the country.

Break the silence in your community. Share this article. Start it at your dinner table, your WhatsApp group, your church, your mosque. Normalise the expectation that any leader who cannot guarantee a child a roof over their head does not deserve a single vote.

Nigeria’s children are not waiting for a miracle. They are waiting for adults who care enough to be angry, and angry enough to act.

Adetunji writes from Ontario, Canada.

By now, you have probably seen the clip. Tosin Eniolorunda, the co-founder and Group CEO of Moniepoint, standing at The Platform in Lagos, declaring that his company has 500 open roles it simply cannot fill and that many Nigerian youths are, in his words, “unemployable.” The internet, predictably, erupted.

Some people cheered the candour. Others cried betrayal, and you could understand why. In a country where thousands of graduates continue searching for opportunities, and where technology remains one of the few sectors still offering economic hope, such comments were always going to strike a nerve. What many people heard was not a CEO frustrated with a recruitment pipeline. They heard an indictment of an entire generation.

But I want to resist both camps, the outrage and the applause, because I think both sides are arguing about the wrong thing.

Tosin is not entirely wrong. And neither are the young Nigerians who are furious. The deeper issue is one that nobody seems to want to say plainly: Nigeria has been training her children for an economy that does not exist.

I studied civil engineering. Not because the market demanded it, but because my family was proud of it, and pride, in Nigeria, is a powerful curriculum. In less than two years, I already knew I would never practice engineering, not in Nigeria, at least. I watched contracts awarded not to the most qualified engineers, but to whoever had the right handshake with the right ‘oga’. Large road projects went to foreign-owned firms, who then hired local talent as artisans, skilled hands, poorly compensated, invisible in the credit. My colleagues in chemical engineering graduated expecting to walk into refineries. The refineries were not working.

Think about what that means for a moment. Universities were consciously designed to produce engineers for the Ajaokuta Steel Mill. For Sapele textile mills. For River Basin Authorities. For the automobile industry. All of them, ghosts. The institutions trained the graduates. The industries simply did not show up. This is not a new problem; it is a decades-old structural betrayal that we keep dressing up as a youth attitude problem.

Which brings me back to Tosin. Beneath the outrage lies a contradiction that is difficult to ignore. Nigeria produces hundreds of thousands of graduates yearly and continues to battle widespread unemployment, yet some of its fastest-growing technology companies insist they cannot find enough qualified talent. The problem is not necessarily a shortage of people; it is a shortage of people with the specific skills, exposure, and experience required by companies operating at a global scale.

That is true. But here is the part that is equally true, and far less comfortable: Who built this gap?

Who designed the job adverts asking entry-level candidates for three years of experience? Who refused to pay interns properly? Who treats young workers like disposable labour? Who wants global-standard workers but offers Nigerian-standard wages? The Moniepoint CEO is not an innocent bystander in the labour market he is critiquing. And there is a beautiful irony worth noting: Tosin himself worked at Interswitch before founding TeamApt, now Moniepoint. That experience mattered. It gave him industry exposure, problem context, confidence, and networks. Interswitch was part of the ladder that produced Tosin. So why should Moniepoint not become part of the ladder that produces the next Tosin?

But I do not want to make this purely about Moniepoint, because the deeper rot starts long before any job application. Nigerian parents, God bless them, have a near-religious attachment to what they call “professional disciplines.” Engineering. Medicine. Law. These are the certificates that make the family photograph feel complete. Everything else, marketing, finance, sales, and communication, is treated as a consolation prize for those who could not make the cut.

This is not just snobbery. It is a dangerous mismatch between national pride and national reality.

Here is the truth that nobody is saying at those family meetings where course choices are debated: Nigeria is not, and has not been for a very long time, a manufacturing economy. It is a consumption economy. A distribution economy. A marketing and services economy built around over 200 million people who wake up every morning needing things. The manufacturing sector is weak. Mineral resources are exported raw and processed abroad. The engineering sector, brilliant as it is, operates without the industrial infrastructure that would give it oxygen.

In marketing, we are taught a simple discipline: study the market, then supply what it actually wants, not what you wish it wanted. We apply this thinking to products without blinking. But when it comes to our children’s futures, we abandon the logic entirely and choose based on what impresses at church or at owambe. We supply engineers to an economy that needs salespeople. We train technologists for factories that have never been built.

My own pivot came not in a classroom but at Procter & Gamble, where I was thrown, fresh from an engineering degree, into world-class sales and marketing training. P&G taught me what five years of civil engineering could not: how to read a market, how to serve a consumer, how to build something that lasts in a distribution-first economy. The irony is that I needed a multinational company to teach me what my own country’s universities should have been orienting me toward all along.

I am now aggressively studying finance. I am learning how artificial intelligence is reshaping financial services. Not because these are fashionable, though they are, but because I have learned to ask the question that should precede every career decision: What does the market actually need?

This is not a Nigerian character flaw. Germany, the industrial engine of Europe, is actively importing workers from Africa and Asia because its own population cannot fill the gap. Japan has a skills crisis so severe that companies are hiring people in their seventies and eighties. China, with 1.4 billion people, has millions of unemployed graduates while factories go short of skilled technicians. This is a structural development problem that every economy faces at different stages of growth.

But Nigeria’s version has a specific shape, and it requires a specific response.

The forward-thinking undergraduate sitting in a lecture hall right now, at UNILAG, OAU, ABU, or Covenant, does not need to abandon their course. But they need to ask a harder question than the one their parents asked for them: Am I building skills for the Nigeria that exists, or the Nigeria someone imagined in 1975?

Finance. Sales. Marketing. Data analysis. Product thinking. Communication. These are not soft options. In the economy Nigeria actually has, and in the global digital economy that is absorbing Nigerian talent faster than any domestic industry, these are the load-bearing walls.

Tosin was right that there is a gap. But the gap did not start with lazy youth or Instagram culture. It started when we decided that what looked impressive on a certificate was more important than what the country’s economy could actually absorb.

We trained children for factories. The factories never came. And we have the nerve to call the children unemployable.

Adetunji writes from Ontario, Canada and can be reached here

When I moved to Canada, nothing quite prepared me for the culture shocks that came one after another - like quiet, polite ambushes.

One of the earliest ones hit me during my first job in Ontario. Moving from street to street, I kept marvelling at something most locals never think twice about: houses with no fences. Back in Nigeria, high concrete walls and iron gates were the norm - a barrier between the private world and the public one. Here, front doors open directly onto the sidewalk. Anyone with a legitimate purpose can simply walk up and knock. It is a quiet but profound statement about trust, access, and openness.

But another culture shock was far more expensive to ignore.

The gas price game.

A new immigrant carrying the mindset of their home country will treat fuel like any other commodity - stable, predictable, government-controlled price. That mindset, innocent as it is, can cost you thousands of Canadian dollars every year.

I spent months studying this. I watched gas stations sell at $1.54/L in the morning and quietly flip to $1.74/L by afternoon - same station, same pump, same street. No announcement. No explanation.

Here is what is really happening: gas prices in Canada are driven by demand and competition, playing out in real time across major players who benchmark against each other like opposing chess masters. Every station watches the others. They adjust. They compete. They win, quietly - while the average consumer fills up without ever knowing the game is being played.

Everyone at the table has information. Everyone except the consumer. That is exactly the gap CentWiseAI was built to close.

Meet the Gas Savings Module - your AI-powered co-pilot for the pump.

Before you back out of your driveway in the morning, just ask CentWiseAI’s chat advisor: “Show me the cheapest gas stations near me.” Instantly, you get real-time, data-backed suggestions - complete with directions. No guesswork. No overpaying. Just clarity, right when you need it.

Now, I can already hear the pushback: “Doesn’t Google Maps already show gas prices?”

Yes. But Google Maps doesn’t track your potential savings benchmarked against the city average. It doesn’t remember what you paid last week. It doesn’t connect your gas spending to your grocery habits and subscription costs to show you the full picture of where your money actually goes. CentWiseAI does.

The Gas Savings Module is one of three pillars - Gas, Groceries, and Subscriptions - the three categories that quietly consume nearly half of every household’s monthly spending. Together, they form a complete financial intelligence layer built specifically for everyday Canadian life.

And it doesn’t stop at today’s savings. CentWiseAI tracks trends over time, showing you how your spending is moving - week over week, month over month - and flags exactly where the gaps are before they become holes.

Whether you just landed in Canada and are still finding your footing, or you have been here long enough to call it home, CentWiseAI is the financial advisor that fits in your pocket, speaks your language, and never stops working for you.

The game has always been played. Now, you finally get to play too.

👉 www.centwiseai.com

PS: Whether you are a startup looking for a software engineer or a business leader to upgrade your workplace productivity, you can hire my expertise at Kingadetunji

When I left home for Canada, I carried the same belief most of us do: that the sacrifice would be worth it. That the cold, the unfamiliarity, the starting over; all of it would eventually give way to something better.

What nobody tells you is that “better” doesn’t arrive at the airport with you.

It hides behind a transition period that nobody warns you about, and that period has a way of stretching much longer than you planned.

The Job Nobody Dreams Of

I didn’t arrive with a job lined up. But within a month of landing, I had one. It wasn’t the career I had envisioned, not by a long shot, but it put money in my pocket and supported my young family while I figured things out. I told myself: a few weeks, maybe a few months.

Eighteen months later, I was still at it.

The job? Door-to-door sales for the two biggest telecoms companies in Canada: Bell, then Rogers. Internet, wireless, home entertainment, security solutions. I knocked on an average of 50 doors a day. More than 200 unique doors every single month.

It was humbling work. Some days were brutal, with either extreme cold or extreme heat. But I showed up, and apparently I was decent at it. I was recognised as a top 5% sales agent in Ontario, with a conversion rate of nearly 10% against an industry average of just over 3%.

I’m not sharing that to brag. I’m sharing it because of what those thousands of conversations taught me, something I couldn’t have learned any other way.

What I Saw Behind Every Door

After a while, a pattern became impossible to ignore.

It didn’t matter whether I was speaking to a newcomer still finding their feet, or a Canadian who had lived in the same house for forty years. Almost everyone I met was quietly overpaying - on the internet, on wireless, on services they’d signed up for years ago and never revisited.

The Canadian market has a peculiar feature that most people don’t realise: the best deals almost always go to new customers. Loyalty, in many cases, is penalised. Two people can live side by side, subscribe to the same service from the same provider, and pay completely different amounts; sometimes by hundreds of dollars a year.

I would stand at someone’s door, ask to take a quick look at their bill, and watch their face change when I showed them what they were actually paying versus what they could be paying.

That face - part disbelief, part frustration, part relief, I saw it at door after door after door.

The Real Problem Isn’t the Price. It’s the Information.

After thousands of those conversations, I understood something clearly: people aren’t losing money because they’re careless. They’re losing it because they’re busy.

Busy with work. Busy with family. Busy with the thousand small demands that make up a life. Nobody has time to audit their own spending, cross-reference grocery prices across four stores, or decode what Statistics Canada’s monthly Consumer Price Index actually means for their household budget.

That information exists. It’s out there. Most people just can’t access it in a form that’s useful to them, until someone shows up at their door and does it for them.

I was that person for 18 months. I can’t be at everyone’s door forever.

But technology can.

Introducing CentWiseAI

This is why I’m building CentWiseAI - an AI-powered tool designed to do exactly what I used to do at the door, but for every household, at any time, without the knock.

CentWiseAI scans your spending habits across gas, groceries, and subscriptions - the three categories where Canadian households leak the most money without realising it, and shows you exactly where the gaps are, and what to do about them.

Not vague advice. Not generic tips. Specific, local, data-backed insights built for the realities of life in the Greater Toronto Area, Mississauga, Brampton, Scarborough, and beyond.

I’m building this alongside talented people with deep experience in financial intelligence, artificial intelligence, and the Canadian market. And while CentWiseAI is currently built for the GTA, the insights are relevant to anyone watching their household costs carefully.

This product is for the newcomer still learning how the Canadian market works. It’s for the family that’s been here twenty years and suspects they’re overpaying, but has never had the time to check. It’s for anyone who has ever stood in a grocery aisle and wondered if there was a smarter way to do this.

What I’m Asking From You

I’m not here to sell you anything today.

I’m here to ask for something more valuable: your honest feedback.

CentWiseAI is live. You can try it right now. And if you do, I want to hear directly from you - what worked, what confused you, what you wish it did differently. Every message helps shape what this becomes.

Try CentWiseAI → centwiseai.com

If 50 people from this community try it and tell me what they think, that’s worth more to me right now than any marketing campaign.

And if you’re the kind of person who looks at a problem this size — millions of households quietly losing money every month and sees an opportunity worth backing: I’m open to that conversation too. Reach me at office@centwiseai.ca.

The door is open.

Adetunji

We talk about opportunities, celebrate courage, and share success stories. But very few people talk about what migration does to retirement.

I have seen this play out too many times. A senior manager in a developing country migrates to the West and becomes a janitor. Not because the job is beneath him, honest work is dignified work, but because it represents a reset. A banker, almost at the director level, starts over as an intern. An FMCG executive begins selling insurance to survive. I have my own version of this story. This is not about pride. This is about retirement.

The Retirement Reset No One Warns You About

Most immigrants leave in their 30s or 40s. Some are even in their 50s. By then, you’ve built career capital, Pension contributions, Land or property, and Investments.

Then you liquidate, withdraw part of your pension, sell asset and convert stability into mobility. You arrive in a new country and realize that there is no utopia. The bills move faster than you expected.

And just like that, your retirement clock resets.

Housing Changes Everything

Back home, many of us paid rent one year in advance. That created breathing room. In our new country, rent is monthly. And in many cases, that monthly rent equals what we paid annually back home. Missing one month equates to stress, and missing two months means crisis. When you are constantly trying to avoid homelessness, retirement planning becomes an option.

You enter survival mode. And survival mode rarely builds wealth.

The Silent Distraction

Then comes consumer debt. Credit cards. Limits. Points. If you’re coming from a cash-driven culture like Nigeria and many developing countries, it feels like free money. It isn’t. Before you know it, you’re servicing interest instead of building assets.

The disciplined immigrants learn quickly: Use a credit card as a payment tool, not a borrowing tool. Pay it off immediately. Never carry consumer debt. Every year spent servicing debt is a year not compounding investments.

Life Has Already Scored You 1:0

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: As a mid-career immigrant, life has already scored 1:0 against you. You’re competing with people 10 to 15 years younger who started pension contributions at 22. Most Western retirement systems reward early compounding.

If you start at 40, you cannot follow the same script as someone who started at 22. You also likely interrupted your pension in your home country. The compounding stopped. Time is no longer neutral.

So What Do You Do?

There is no universal formula. But passive planning will not work. Retirement for immigrants must be intentional, not optional.

Some possible paths:

1. Entrepreneurship

Business is risky. But it creates asymmetry. If it works, it compresses time. It can change your retirement math dramatically. I would recommend following

@thekenndubisi

who shares tips for immigrants to start or buy businesses in their new country.

2. Income Acceleration

Move aggressively toward higher earning power. It won’t be easy. But increasing income early after migration creates leverage. AI is here to stay; you have to begin to use it to accelerate your income.

3. Ruthless Financial Discipline

Avoid consumer debt. Live below your means. Maximize tax-advantaged accounts and learn the system deeply. You cannot afford autopilot.

Migration Is Good, but It Is Not Neutral

Migration expands opportunity. It can transform your children’s future. But if you migrate mid-career, your retirement strategy must change.

If you follow the ideal path designed for someone who started early, you may arrive at old age with regrets.

So pause and acknowledge the scoreboard, then design your own game plan. Because retirement, especially as an immigrant, is now your personal responsibility.

I don’t know exactly who needs to hear this today, but someone out there is scrolling through Instagram right now, seeing yet another ad promising to help them “break into tech” or “break into product management” in six weeks. And I can’t stay quiet about it anymore.

Here’s what I want you to understand: a career is something you build, not something you break into like you’re stealing something that doesn’t belong to you.

Every single day, my feed is flooded with these people; I call them career peddlers - selling a pipeline dream. They promise that if you just take their bootcamp, enroll in their masterclass, or buy their certificate course, you’ll land that six-figure tech job within weeks. The language is always the same: “break in,” “fast-track,” “guaranteed placement.” It sounds exciting when you’re desperate. I get it. But I’m here to tell you something uncomfortable: if you fall for this, you’re not investing in your future. You’re funding theirs. You’re funding their lifestyles, and your tuition is their source of income.

Let me be clear about something. I know what desperation feels like. I know what it’s like to lose a job and feel that panic in your chest when the bills are still coming, and the savings account is draining. I know what it’s like to move to a new city, start over, and wonder how you’re going to make it work. When you’re in that headspace, these ads sound like a lifeline. They promise certainty in a moment when everything feels uncertain.

But here’s the thing they don’t tell you: you are the product. Your participation fee is their income stream. Most of these people are selling you the dream? They’re unemployed themselves. Or underemployed. Or they’re affiliate marketers who’ve never worked a day in the field they’re promising to get you into. They’re not successful professionals who want to help you; they’re people who figured out that selling hope is more profitable than actually doing the work.

And it gets worse. Some of them will dangle a “job offer” at the end of the program. Sounds great, right? Except when you dig deeper, you realize the “job” is basically permission to put their company’s name on your resume while you go out and hunt for a real job on your own. It’s smoke and mirrors. You’re not getting employed; you’re getting exploited.

So let me ask you something: if it were really that easy to switch careers by just “breaking in,” why did you spend four or five years in university studying your field? Why does anyone? Because there’s something real to the idea that mastery takes time. You’ve probably heard of the 10,000-hour rule: the concept that it takes roughly that much deliberate practice to become skilled at something truly. Now, I’m not saying you need a decade to make a career change. But six weeks? Come on. If someone is promising you mastery, competence, and a guaranteed job in six weeks, they’re selling you a fantasy.

Here’s the truth that nobody wants to say out loud: in this age of artificial intelligence, you don’t need to pay someone thousands of dollars to teach you the basics of a new field. You can literally ask AI to be your tutor. You can learn SQL, project management frameworks, UX design principles, sales strategies, whatever you want, for free or close to it. Will that guarantee you a job? Absolutely not. But it will make you conversational in the subject. It will give you enough knowledge to speak intelligently in an interview. And sometimes, that’s what tips the scale in your favor.

But, and this is important, learning a skill and building a career are not the same thing.

A career is not a destination you arrive at after six weeks of cramming. It’s not a door you kick down. It’s something you construct over time, with intention, through trial and error, relationships, reputation, and resilience. It’s the culmination of the work you do, the people you help, the problems you solve, and the trust you earn. You can’t hack that. You can’t shortcut it. And you definitely can’t break into it.

The language matters here. When you say you want to “break into” something, you’re positioning yourself as an outsider trying to sneak past the gatekeepers. But that’s not how this works. You’re not a thief. You don’t need to break in. You need to show up, do the work, learn what you need to learn, and prove that you belong. That takes time. It takes humility. It takes consistency.

Someone offering you a job is not the same as someone offering you a career. A job might pay your bills for a few months. A career gives you direction, growth, and long-term security. Don’t confuse the two.

So the next time you see one of those polished ads promising to help you “break into” whatever industry is trendy this quarter, ask yourself: why are they using that language? Why do they want me to think of myself as someone who has to sneak in? And more importantly, ask them: if this is such a valuable skill set, why aren’t you working in the field instead of selling courses about it?

I’m not saying mentorship and education are bad. They’re not. Learning from people who’ve done what you want to do is invaluable. But there’s a difference between a mentor who invests in you and a peddler who profits off your desperation. One will challenge you to grow. The other will just charge your credit card.

You deserve better than that. You deserve to build something real. So stop breaking in. Start building.

The difference between people who make it through and those who don’t? It’s not talent. It’s not even luck. It’s preparation and having the right information when you need it most. And honestly? It’s also knowing you don’t have to figure it all out alone.

That’s why I’m pulling back the curtain on my own story today.

The Dream Meets Reality

Landing in Canada felt like the beginning of something amazing. You know that feeling when you step into a new country, full of hope and possibilities? Yeah, I had all of that. However, I was also juggling relocation, career uncertainty, and family responsibilities simultaneously.

As a man, that first pressure point hits hard: getting a job to provide for your family.

I came in confident, maybe too confident. I had multinational experience, I’d run my own businesses, and my resume was solid. I genuinely thought employers would be fighting over me like it was the last plate of jollof rice at a party.

Man, was I wrong.

What followed was rejection after rejection. And with each “we’ve decided to move forward with other candidates” email, the doubt crept in a little deeper.

The Career Crossroads Nobody Talks About

Here’s the first curveball: I couldn’t even decide what career path to take.

I thought I was the only one feeling this lost until I started talking to friends and former colleagues who’d also made the move. It turns out that this confusion is pretty much universal. This is exactly why you need community; never try to do life alone.

Should I stick with sales? Pivot to project management? Maybe lean into something more technical like engineering? I was genuinely torn.

Sales was my comfort zone. It was the path of least resistance, the low-hanging fruit. Out of all my interviews, only sales roles came back with offers. But here’s the thing—I turned down the first one. I wanted something remote, something with less travel, because my family needed me around.

After more rejections, reality set in. I had bills to pay. I had mouths to feed.

So I took the sales job.

The Humbling Season

I ended up working in sales for Canada’s top two telecom companies, Bell and Rogers. Together, they control about 80% of the market. Sounds impressive on paper, right?

But let me paint you the real picture: I was working retail booths, dealing with new weather that felt like it was personally attacking me, learning to navigate public transit, and adjusting to a completely different work culture.

These were entry-level positions. Jobs I never imagined I’d be doing at this stage of my career. But they paid the bills. They kept my family afloat. They kept us going.

When the Doubt Hits

There were days when a nasty customer would get under my skin. Days when my manager’s feedback felt harsher than helpful. Days when the winter cold made me question every decision that led me to that moment.

In those times, I developed a practice that saved me: I went into my archive.

I’d remind myself:

• Who I was before this chapter

• Where I came from and what I’d already overcome

• Why was I doing this in the first place?

Because here’s the truth: Transition is never easy. It’s a season of self-doubt and disbelief. You’re walking a path you’ve never walked before. Of course, you’re going to feel uncertain. That’s 100% normal.

The Bend, Not the End

The word “transition” itself tells you what you need to know: it’s a bend, not the end.

If you’re in your own transition season right now, here are five things that kept me going (and will keep you going too):

1. Remember your why: Keep your purpose front and center

2. Remember who you were: You had skills and strength before this; you still have them

3. Keep your destination in mind: Detours don’t change the destination

4. Learn along the way: Even struggle teaches something valuable

5. Pray for clarity: Ask for open doors and keep your mind open to unexpected opportunities

Your Transition Toolkit

Whether you’re about to make a big move, change careers, or face any major life transition, I’ve put together a checklist to help you prepare. Think of it as your roadmap through the uncertainty.

Transition Readiness Checklist

Vision & Clarity

• Have I clearly defined why I’m making this transition?

• What are my short-term and long-term goals?

• Have I talked this through with trusted mentors or advisors?

Research & Planning

• Do I understand the new environment I’m entering?

• Have I researched both opportunities AND challenges?

• Do I have a solid plan for my first 90 days?

Legal & Documentation

• Are all necessary documents ready and verified?

• Have I triple-checked names and dates on official paperwork?

• Do I have both physical and digital copies of everything important?

Financial Preparedness

• Have I budgeted for the transition, including emergencies?

• Do I have access to funds or credit in my new situation?

• Have I mapped out ongoing costs and how to manage them?

Emotional Readiness

• Am I mentally prepared for the ups and downs?

• Do I have support systems lined up (friends, family, community)?

• What are my healthy coping mechanisms for stress?

Family & Dependents

• Have I considered my spouse’s, children’s, or dependents’ needs?

• Have we had honest conversations about expectations and fears?

• Are there support structures available for them?

Logistics & Essentials

• Is accommodation secured or do I have a reliable backup plan?

• Have I booked travel and verified all the details?

• Are essentials (medicine, important tools, necessities) packed and accessible?

Contingency Planning

• What’s my Plan B if things don’t work out as expected?

• What are potential roadblocks, and how will I handle them?

• Who do I contact in case of an emergency?

Career & Work

• Have I communicated my plans with current employers or clients (if needed)?

• Do I have a strategy for finding new opportunities?

• Are my professional documents (resume, portfolio, references) current and polished?

Reflection & Gratitude

• Have I taken time to reflect on what this phase is teaching me?

• Am I expressing gratitude for the support I’ve received?

• Am I celebrating the small wins along the way?

You’re Not Alone in This

Look, I’m sharing all of this because I wish someone had been this honest with me before I leaped. The glossy Instagram posts and LinkedIn success stories don’t show you the retail booth, the difficult customers, or the nights when you wonder if you made the right choice.

But they also don’t show you the strength you discover, the resilience you build, or the person you become on the other side.

Your transition season is preparing you for something greater. Trust the process, even when it’s uncomfortable.

What transition are you facing right now? I’d love to hear your story in the comments. And if this resonated with you, share it with someone who needs to hear it today.

If you found this helpful, hit that subscribe button so you don’t miss future posts. I’m committed to sharing the real, unfiltered journey, the wins AND the struggles.

#Transition #ImmigrantStory #CanadianDream #CareerChange #NewBeginnings #RelocationJourney #SalesLife #Entrepreneurship #PersonalGrowth #ImmigrantLife #LifeTransitions #CareerTransition #RealTalk #CommunityMatters #NeverGiveUp #JourneyToSuccess #ResilienceInAction

Transition can be daunting—this much, I know for certain. I’ve lived it.

Not too long ago, my family and I embarked on a journey that stretched more than 24 hours across the ocean, from our home country to Canada. The decision to move was one we had prepared for over many months. Countless hours of planning, prayer, documentation, and logistics led up to that moment. Everything seemed set—the documents were in order, the flight tickets booked, and the bags packed. All that remained was to step into the next chapter.

But transitions, by nature, have a way of testing your preparation.

The Unexpected Delay

The day of our departure began with hopeful excitement and a little nervous energy. My brother helped with the airport drop-off. We arrived with ample time, checked in at the airline counter, and waited for our long flight across continents. The anticipation built as the flight drew near to boarding. But then, just as we were about to board, we were pulled aside.

Only my daughter and I were cleared to fly. My pregnant wife was not.

At first, we assumed it was a concern related to her pregnancy. But no—it turned out to be a mismatch between her name on the airline ticket and her passport. A small clerical error, yet one with significant consequences.

In a matter of moments, months of planning were derailed.

We were told she couldn’t board, and the next available flight was uncertain. We were devastated. August is a peak travel period, and flights from our country to Canada were reportedly fully booked until the end of the year. We could only hope for a miracle.

Thankfully, we received favor. The airline found an open spot the very next day. It was nothing short of grace. But the night leading up to that flight felt like an eternity. We barely slept. Our minds raced through scenarios—what if we missed this opportunity? We had accommodation waiting for us in Canada, and our delay risked losing it. The weight of uncertainty was almost unbearable.

In those tense, sleepless hours, I had a moment of reflection. It hit me how transitions, no matter how well planned, come with unpredictable elements. Life rarely sticks to a script.

Preparation is Key, But So is Flexibility

Looking back now, I see that while preparation is essential, it’s never truly complete. You can dot every “i” and cross every “t”, but there will always be things outside your control. That’s the nature of transition. It’s a moment in time where your current identity begins to give way to something new.

Transition doesn’t always mean moving to another country. It could be a career change, a relationship shift, becoming a parent, or even rethinking your purpose. Each of these life moments carries the same weight of uncertainty, the same demand for clarity and courage.

Most people want to leap into the next phase without understanding the expectations or consequences. And that’s understandable—change often brings excitement. But the danger lies in skipping the critical questions: What am I stepping into? What challenges might I face? Who do I need to become to thrive in this next phase?

Why Transitions Matter

Transitions are not just physical relocations. They are mental, emotional, and spiritual processes. When done well, they refine us, make us stronger, and help us grow into the next version of ourselves. When rushed or ignored, they can leave us feeling lost, overwhelmed, and even stuck.

I’ve learned that how you begin a transition can determine how you experience it. Starting strong doesn’t mean having all the answers—it means being aware of the unknowns and preparing your mindset to navigate them.

You may not be relocating as we did, but maybe you’re in between jobs, or considering a shift in your professional identity. Maybe you’re recently married, or just had your first child. Maybe you’re recovering from burnout or chasing a long-postponed dream.

Whatever your situation, the principle is the same: to transition well, you need more than motivation. You need a plan.

The Transition Checklist

To help others move from inertia to momentum, I created a simple Transition Checklist. It’s not exhaustive, but it’s a solid starting point—a framework to help you think through your next big move with clarity.

Here’s a preview of what it includes:

1. Vision – What do you see for yourself after the transition? Clarity here guides every other step.

2. Preparation – Have you gathered the tools, knowledge, and resources you’ll need?

3. Support System – Who’s in your corner? Who will lift you when challenges arise?

4. Contingency Planning – What’s your backup plan if the first route doesn’t work?

5. Mindset Readiness – Are you mentally prepared to let go of the old and embrace the new?

6. Milestone Checkpoints – Can you break your journey into measurable steps?

7. Reflection Time – Have you built in moments to pause, assess, and recalibrate?

I invite you to follow this series and make your own plans. Learn from my mistakes and adapt to your own journey, your transition, your season of life.

Share Your Journey

I’d love to hear from you. What transition are you going through right now? Did the checklist help? What would you add or change?

We’re all navigating change in one way or another. I hope that this series and this first episode remind you that you’re not alone. Transition isn’t the end of your story. It’s the beginning of a new one.

So let’s walk this path together. Let’s move from merely surviving change to intentionally thriving through it.

Your next chapter is already calling.

Let’s answer it—together.

There’s a truth we avoid confronting: the rich will always get richer. The poor will get poorer too, unless they fight their way out. And sometimes, it only takes one person to break the cycle for an entire generation.

Being poor comes with a premium. It’s a tax levied on every transaction, every opportunity, every piece of information that crosses your path. Even when you have access to information, the same information the wealthy have, you can’t act on it. The information sits there, useless, mocking you. It’s like being handed a map to buried treasure but having no shovel to dig with.

This is the cruel arithmetic of poverty: knowledge without capital equals nothing.

Recently, a friend messaged me: the Nigerian government was selling oil licenses to new buyers. “They’re making the next billionaires,” he said. His words hung in the air, both exciting and devastating. Because we both knew what it meant. Somewhere in boardrooms across Lagos and Abuja, deals were being structured, partnerships formed, futures secured.

A few months later, the signs were everywhere. Otedola sold his stake in Geregu for $750 million. Tony Elumelu borrowed $750 million in debt. These weren’t random moves; they were chess pieces sliding into position, positioning for licenses, staking claims in the upstream sector. The next generation of oil wealth was being minted in real-time, and if you knew where to look, you could see it happening.

Did I have the information? Yes. Did it matter? No.

Having information isn’t the same as having information you can use. I knew what was coming. I understood the play. I could see the board. But I couldn’t move any pieces because I didn’t have the capital to enter the game. This is what people don’t understand when they talk about “equal access to information” in the digital age. Access means nothing without the ability to act.

I’m paying the premium for lacking the resources to leverage what I know. It’s a special kind of torture, understanding exactly how wealth is created, watching it happen in real-time, and being unable to participate. The people who will win tomorrow are already winning today because they have both information and capital. They can move when opportunity knocks. They can write the checks that need to be written, make the calls that need to be made, and take the risks that need to be taken.

The rest of us? We just watched the game from outside the glass.

This isn’t about bitterness or resentment. It’s about clarity. Understanding the rules of the game, even when you’re not yet in a position to play it. Because one day, you will be. One day, when the next opportunity comes, you’ll have built enough, earned enough, saved enough, connected enough to actually move.

This is what keeps me awake at night: grinding, networking, trying to build the right connections. Every conversation, every relationship, every small win is a brick laid toward that future. I’m building the capital, both financial and social, that will allow me to act when information comes my way again.

There’s a strange freedom in starting from the bottom: the man who is down fears no fall. When you’ve come from poverty, and you’re clawing your way toward something better, there’s no further down to go. Rock bottom is solid ground. You can only build up from there.

The wealthy can lose everything, their wealth, their status, their position. They fear the fall because they have something to lose. But when you start with nothing? Every step forward is pure gain. Every connection made, every skill learned, every dollar earned is progress. There’s a hunger that comes from that position, a clarity of purpose that can’t be manufactured.

I think about this often: what it will mean when I finally break through. Not just for me, but for everyone who comes after. Because that’s the other side of this equation, the realization that poverty is often generational, but so is wealth. One person who makes it out can change the trajectory for dozens of others. One person who builds something real can create opportunities that ripple outward.

That’s the prize worth fighting for. Not just personal wealth, but generational transformation. The chance to be the one who breaks the cycle, who rewrites the script, who ensures that the next time opportunity knocks, my family, my people, will have the resources to answer.

Until then, I grind. I learn. I build. I watch the billionaires being made, and I take notes. Because my turn is coming.

There has been considerable discussion lately about the strength of the Nigerian passport and its impact on career opportunities, global mobility, and quality of life. Some people treat it as a trivial matter, even. Others dismiss those who pursue second citizenship as unpatriotic or running away from their responsibilities.

But before I share my opinion, let me tell you about a personal experience that shaped how I think about this issue.

Frankfurt Airport, 2013.

I was invited to Germany by the University of Cologne. I was a young graduate, excited about the opportunity. I had secured my visa with no restrictions. My flight ticket was sponsored by Lufthansa Airlines. Everything was perfect. Everything was in order.

My flight was direct to Frankfurt, and it went smoothly. But something happened at the airport before I could catch my connecting train to Cologne. As I stood in the queue to exit, airport police officers called me aside. They asked me to sit down while they “checked my documents.”

I looked around. The queue I’d been standing in was visibly diverse—people from Asia, Europe, and other parts of the world. Maybe it was easy to single me out because of my skin color. Maybe not. But that wasn’t really the point.

I was set aside because they assumed I didn’t have the right documents. Just like that.

Where they asked me to sit, there was another Black man. He couldn’t speak English, but I managed to communicate with him in basic French. We sat there. Waiting. No explanation. No updates. Just silence.

Forty minutes passed.

No one checked in with us. No one told us what was happening. We were just… there. Sitting. Waiting. Like suspects.

Eventually, I’d had enough.

I approached the counter, visibly furious, and demanded to know why I was being delayed.

“Am I under arrest? What exactly is going on here?”

The officer looked at me again—almost like he was seeing me for the first time. He handed back all my documents except one: my Nigerian passport. Then he told me to sit down for “a few more minutes.”

By this point, my connecting train to Cologne was just over an hour away—and only because the train schedule had been delayed. If the train had been on time, I would have missed it entirely.

After another ten minutes of silence, I approached the counter again. This time, I demanded to speak to his supervisor.

The supervisor, who had been watching from the back office, noticed the exchange and came to the front desk.

And I let him have it.

“I didn’t come to this country on my own,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “Your university invited me to a conference. They booked my hostel. Your airline sponsored my flight ticket. Can you tell me why I’m being delayed? If you don’t want me here, call the university and let me go back to my country.”

The supervisor paused. Then he picked up the phone—I assume to call the university. My details were confirmed.

Only then was I released.

Still with no apology. No acknowledgment of what had just happened. No explanation for why I was treated like a criminal for holding the wrong passport.

You see, my friend, when some of us decide to do everything possible to get our kids a better passport, it’s not out of hatred for our motherland.

It’s for global mobility. It’s for peace of mind. It’s so our children don’t have to sit in an airport, defenseless and voiceless, while someone decides whether they’re “legitimate” enough to enter a country that invited them.

It’s so they don’t have to beg for visas just to attend conferences, visit family, or pursue opportunities. It’s so they’re treated with the dignity and respect that every human being deserves—regardless of the color of their passport.

This brings me to a recent post on LinkedIn directed at Iyin Aboyeji.

A woman shared a detailed explanation and only asked for Iyin’s perspective on the visa ban by the USA on Nigeria. And Iyin’s response? I found it disrespectful. Dismissive. It reeked of intellectual laziness and a shocking lack of empathy.

See the post here. See Iyin’s response here.

Here’s what gets me: This is the same Iyin who spent his formative years in Canada and the United States. He had access to opportunities, systems that worked, and infrastructure that supported his ambitions. And now he’s come to Nigeria with what I can only describe as a savior complex—telling people who are struggling, who are frustrated, who are tired, that they should just “stay and build.”

It’s easy to say that when you’ve already benefited from the very privileges you’re now telling others to do without.

The green passport that we carry has become a burden.

Let me be clear: I love Nigeria. I’m proud of where I come from. But love doesn’t mean blind loyalty. Love doesn’t mean accepting systems that don’t work. Love doesn’t mean sacrificing your children’s futures on the altar of misplaced patriotism.

And we should choose right.

You don’t choose your country of origin. That’s decided for you the moment you’re born. But you can choose your country of citizenship. You can choose where you build your life. You can choose the environment in which your children grow up.

That’s not betrayal. That’s wisdom.

I’m not saying everyone should leave. I’m not even saying leaving is the only solution. What I am saying is this:

Don’t let anyone guilt you into staying in a situation that’s suffocating you. Don’t let anyone with privilege tell you that your struggles aren’t valid. Don’t let anyone who had access to better opportunities tell you that you’re wrong for wanting the same for yourself and your family.

Your journey is yours. Your decisions are yours. And no one—no one—has the right to judge you for choosing peace, opportunity, and dignity for yourself and those you love.

“You don’t choose your country of origin, but you can choose your country of citizenship.” - Adetunji Adeniran

Choose wisely. Choose courageously. And don’t apologize for it.

In the spirit of the new year and doing things differently, I’ve decided to be more open with my thoughts on issues that matter—even the uncomfortable ones. Especially the uncomfortable ones.

One of those issues? Where we should really be sending 10% of our income, considering both Biblical principles and plain common sense.

Let me start by saying this: I believe God gave us brains so we could engage in critical thinking. He didn’t create us to be passive recipients of instructions. He told us to go into the earth, flourish, have dominion, and be prosperous. That requires thinking. That requires discernment. That requires us to ask hard questions.

But for some reason, so many people have delegated their critical thinking to pastors and preachers. Whatever they say becomes gospel—literally—without question, without examination, without any thought about whether it actually makes sense or serves the greater good.

And that needs to change.

I recently saw a video of a businesswoman whose pastor instructed the congregation to give 10% of their weekly revenue as a tithe. Not profit—revenue. And this was on top of regular offerings, seed offerings, special donations, and whatever other financial obligations the church imposed.

Now, let me be clear: I don’t have a problem with tithing as a concept. What I have a massive problem with is where that tithe goes and what it’s actually being used for.

Here’s another thing that makes me cringe every time I see it: A couple struggling with infertility finally conceives after multiple rounds of IVF—an expensive, emotionally draining, medically complex process. And when that baby arrives, where do they go to give their “testimony” and donation?

The church.

Not the hospital. Not the fertility clinic. Not the doctors and nurses who spent years helping them. Not a fund to make IVF more accessible and affordable for other struggling couples.

The church.

And I have to ask: what does the church do with that donation? How does it advance the cause that actually helped you?

Does it fund medical research? Does it subsidize treatments for other families? Does it build a better healthcare infrastructure?

Or does it just… disappear into the same pool of tithes and offerings that fund a lifestyle you’ll never see the details of?

This brings me to the Jewish community—and what I’ve learned from observing them.

I read a book called The Jewish Phenomenon, and after a few interactions with Jewish families here in Ontario, I finally understood why their community is so prosperous. It’s not luck. It’s not some divine favoritism. It’s strategy.

The Jews operate what’s called a circular economy.

Here’s how it works:

Wealth and resources circulate within the Jewish community. It’s driven by shared values, mutual trust, and intentional economic choices. When a Jewish family needs a contractor, they hire a Jewish contractor. When they need a lawyer, a financier, a broker—they choose from within their community.

Money flows in a circle. Everyone benefits. Prosperity becomes collective, not just individual.

And yes, they tithe—they give 10%. But here’s the key difference: that 10% goes back into the community. It funds Jewish schools. It supports Jewish hospitals and clinics. It builds infrastructure that benefits everyone in the community.

It’s reinvestment. It’s intentional. It’s aligned with the principle of Tikkun Olam—repairing the world.

When their schools are well-funded, their kids get better education. When their hospitals have better equipment, mortality rates drop. When their businesses thrive, they create jobs within the community. The cycle continues. Wealth compounds. The community rises together.

That’s what tithing was always supposed to be.

It was never meant to create a few mega-rich individuals at the top while everyone else struggles at the bottom. It was meant to build collective prosperity. It was meant to strengthen the community so that everyone could flourish.

But look around you today.

What do we see?

Private jets. Mansions. Designer wardrobes. Luxury cars. All funded by the tithes and offerings of people who are barely making ends meet.

We see churches with state-of-the-art sound systems and lighting rigs—but the schools in the community are underfunded. The hospitals lack equipment. The roads are in disrepair.

We see people giving 10% of their income faithfully, month after month, year after year—and yet the community isn’t better off. The poverty rate hasn’t dropped. The education gap hasn’t closed. The economic mobility hasn’t improved.

Where is the money going? And more importantly, who is it serving?

I’m not saying don’t give. I’m not saying don’t support your faith community.

What I am saying is this: Question where your 10% goes. Ask what it’s being used for. Demand transparency. Demand impact.

If your church can’t show you how your tithe is improving the community, maybe it’s time to redirect that 10% somewhere else. To a hospital. To a school. To a scholarship fund. To a food bank. To a community center. To something tangible that you can see making a difference.

Your 10% is powerful. It can change lives. It can build infrastructure. It can create opportunity.

But only if it’s actually being used that way.

My charge to you in 2026 is simple:

Think critically about where your money goes. Don’t just give out of obligation or guilt. Give with intention. Give where it creates real impact. Give where it builds the kind of community you want to live in.

God gave you a brain. Use it.

He told you to be prosperous. Build systems that create shared prosperity—not just for a select few, but for everyone.

That’s the kind of economy—and the kind of faith—that actually changes the world.

Let’s make 2026 the year we stop building monuments and start building communities.

This is my first newsletter of 2026, and I’m genuinely excited to kick things off with this topic. Not because it’s easy to talk about—but because I think it might be exactly what some of us need to hear as we start this year.

I know what you’re thinking: “Humility and arrogance in the same sentence? How does that work?”

I get it. It sounds contradictory. But stay with me—because this realization has been quietly eating at me for months, and I think it’s time we talk about it.

Here’s what I’ve realized: Many of us play humble when it comes to certain things in our lives. We wear our modesty like a badge of honor. We stay quiet. We stay small. We convince ourselves it’s because we’re grounded. We’re not attention-seekers because we don’t need validation.

But what if I told you that humility—at least the version most of us practice—is actually rooted in arrogance?

As I step into 2026, I’ve had to confront an uncomfortable truth: 2025 made me more arrogant than humble.

Let me explain.

Do you know how many times I postponed writing again? How many drafts I started and abandoned? How many times I canceled the idea of creating content altogether—convinced myself it wasn’t the right time, that I wasn’t ready, that I needed to wait until things were more polished?

Too many times to count.

And every single time, the same thoughts held me back:

What if nobody finds my content interesting?
What if nobody reads my newsletter?
What if I fail at this new thing?
What if people think I’m not good enough?

Here’s the truth we don’t want to admit: We keep putting off doing these things—not because we’re humble, but because we don’t like to look bad. The thought of failing, of being criticized, of not being instantly successful keeps us frozen in place.

And that? That’s not humility. That’s arrogance.

Who says you can’t fail? Arrogance.
Who says you’re too important to look foolish? Arrogance.
Who says your first attempt has to be perfect? Arrogance.

We pretend we’re being modest and humble by not putting ourselves out there. We tell ourselves we’re “waiting for the right time” or “still learning.” But really, it’s our arrogance holding us back—because deep down, we just don’t want to risk looking bad.

The starting point is never pretty. It’s not glamorous. It’s messy, awkward, and full of mistakes. And it’s that very arrogance—the fear of being imperfect in public—that keeps us from stepping into the arena and facing the criticism that comes with creating anything meaningful.

I’ve been guilty of this for too long.

I told myself I was being thoughtful, strategic, waiting for the “right moment” to launch my YouTube channel. But the truth? I was terrified. Terrified of putting my face out there. Terrified of saying the wrong thing. Terrified that people would judge me, ignore me, or worse—laugh at me.

But here’s what I’ve learned: The world doesn’t need more perfect people. It needs more real people. People willing to show up imperfectly. People willing to fail in public and keep going anyway.

That’s the kind of humility we actually need—not the kind that keeps us hiding, but the kind that says, “I don’t have it all figured out, and I’m doing it anyway.”

So here’s my challenge to you, my friend, as we step into 2026:

Outgrow your false humility. Let go of the arrogance that’s keeping you small. Embrace the discomfort of being a beginner again.

It’s a creator’s world now, and you’ll do yourself—and the people who need to hear from you—a great service by starting to create. Your voice matters. Your story matters. Your perspective matters.

Even if it’s messy.
Even if it’s imperfect.
Even if nobody notices at first.

My own YouTube channel is up now. I’ve started creating content—and yes, I’m still very much a novice at it. My thumbnails aren’t perfect. My editing is basic. Some videos feel awkward when I watch them back.

But you know what? I’m doing it anyway.

Because staying silent out of fear of imperfection? That’s not humility.

That’s just arrogance in disguise.

Let’s leave that behind in 2025.

Here’s to a year of showing up, failing forward, and creating anyway.

Let’s go.

And honestly? I get it. Especially from people who knew me back home.

Nigeria was good to me. I had a solid career taking off, multiple projects running, and I was surrounded by family and friends. So why uproot everything and leave?

Here’s the thing about me: I’ve always loved to travel. But none of my trips—and I mean none—compared to actually packing up my life and moving to another country. The longest I’d ever been away from Nigeria before this was two weeks. My plan was always to build myself up so well that I could travel anywhere I wanted, but still call Nigeria home permanently.

I’d been all over. Business took me to about 30 of Nigeria’s 36 states. I’d visited Paris, Cologne, Frankfurt, Hamburg, Düsseldorf, Sandton City, Accra, Dakar, Abidjan, Cotonou—you name it. But living in Toronto, Canada? That’s a completely different story.

At the time, I was running two businesses and several side projects focused on getting young people into politics to create real change. Things were going well. So again—why leave?

The real answer started before I even got married. I made myself a promise: my kids would have opportunities I never had. One of those? A passport that doesn’t limit where they can go. I was tired of the visa applications, the rejections, the hoops you have to jump through just to visit a country for a few days. I didn’t want my children to experience that.

In 2021, when my wife got pregnant with our first child, I remembered that promise. I hired a consultant, paid the fees, gathered documents—everything. The plan was simple: visit Canada, have the baby, return home.

Then COVID hit. The world locked down. Travel stopped. Our visa application sat in limbo for two years. By the time it finally came through, we were already expecting our second child—and my wife had secured a student visa.

Even then, permanent relocation wasn’t the plan. I figured she’d go first, and I’d split my time between Nigeria and Canada. But when she arrived with a toddler and heavily pregnant? Leaving her to handle that alone just didn’t make sense.

Looking back, I believe God orchestrated the timing. A new political administration had just taken over in Nigeria, bringing inflation, currency collapse, and foreign exchange chaos. If I’d stayed or kept shuttling back and forth, we would’ve been financially crushed.

I always tell people considering a move: follow what’s unique to your family and your needs. If I could do it over, I’d probably do some things differently—but I’d still end up right here.

Our journeys are all different. And honestly, no explanation I give will ever feel “good enough” for everyone.

But this is mine.

Merry Christmas, my friend!

#RelocationStory #Mystory

So, what have I been up to, and why did I have a pause? There is a statement that I remember just now that captures this moment.

“If you are 30 now and want to do something that would change your life, but it would take 5 years to do it, whether you do it or not, you will still be 35 in 5 years.”

I think that captures how fast time goes by, whether we take action or not. The above statement has made me come back to write more and perform more.

So what has been happening in my life in the past few years? I think a lot did happen. Some things I deliberately did, while other things just happened to me (life happens, you know).

The first thing I can remember is that I relocated with my family to Canada. And you know one thing about relocation? Things seldom happen the way you plan. The transition was rough and tight, which made me forget many things. The only thing that mattered was getting my family and career back on track.

The full story will be posted on my YouTube channel. Subscribe and click the notification button.

I have tried many things just to get things started in Canada. I hope to share more details in subsequent editions. If you know anyone who recently migrated, get them to subscribe because I am going to share what is working for me and the mistakes I made that they can avoid.

The other thing that happened was that I had a second child. Yeah, becoming a dad the second time, 3 months into a new country…. You can imagine how tough that was. She is two years old now and doing excellently well.

Now things are settling, and I think it’s the right time to reignite the old flames and get things rolling again.

Expect to see my newsletter every Thursday in your inbox.

And if there is any topic you would like me to write about, please comment below, and I will do my best on it.

Another factor that contributed to our beliefs was religion. Our CAC church prayers made us depend solely on God sending us a ‘helper’ instead of seeing ourselves as helpers to some to many others. I wonder why it never occurred to us to tell us, God, to bless us so we can be blessings to others, but we focused more on making others have sleepless nights for our sake.

“O God, let my helper lose sleep until he/she locates me”

“O God, I must not fail, failure is not an option”.

“O God, anyone that wishes me to fail, strike them with the thunder of heaven”

As an adult, we are now living the reality that we will fail at one time or the other; we would lose money, go broke, lose jobs, or even lose loved ones. How did we fall into the trap of believing that we will never fail? Most of life’s successes; what we celebrate as innovative ideas; stemmed out of people who failed at trying. The people who succeed, also fail, but they rarely quit.

The man or woman who boasts of never failing is someone who has never made attempt to do something meaningful with their talents, skills, and resources.

Failure is indeed our friend, if we decide to try again, and again, and again.

Have a great evening and weekend.

Follow me on Instagram @kingadetunji

Despite the humongous challenges facing businesses in the country, we have seen the rise of businesses both in the informal and formal sectors and across various industries. After a careful assessment of the business landscape, I came up with five (5) ways not to start a business in Nigeria.

1. Don’t start too big: I have seen the rise and fall of some businesses simply because they hired too many staff than needed or rented offices when remote or co-working space would have sufficed. I know that this goes against the teachings of motivational speakers who tell you to ‘fake till you make it’. The problem with this kind of advice is that it makes businesses focus more on ‘packaging’ and ‘living larger than life lifestyle’ than selling an actual product.

2. Don’t just focus on raising funds: Most businesses fail because they focus more on raising funds than serving an actual customer. I can understand how difficult that can be with the proliferation of fundraising news on social media but trust me, nothing beats acquiring and serving a paying customer well. A customer-centric business will always stay in business.

3. Don’t do marketing, just yet: Marketing will take money out of your shallow pocket, whereas, distribution is the engine that keeps replenishing your pocket. Setting up a distribution channel will always be profitable, allowing your products to move faster. Every product has its category and that is where your products need to be first, then spend more of your time and budget towards becoming a king in that category.

4. Don’t do it without a structure: Nothing frustrates employees and business partners more than a structureless business. Many entrepreneurs are of the opinion that structure gives them less control of their businesses but on the contrary, a well-structured business gives the owner more control. A well-structured business opens you to external resources such as credit, tax rebates, etc, and protects the owners from litigations or liabilities. The first step is to have your business incorporated. Then register with the appropriate regulatory bodies and open separate banking operations from your personal savings. You can then further hire the right people for different parts of the operations but always remember the number 1 point; don’t hire for roles that you don’t need.

5. Don’t overthink it: Due to the unfavorable business climate, it is quite easy to fall into the overthinking trap. This trap will give you a million reasons why starting or doing business is a bad idea and you may end up incurring debt due to losses. Whilst it is possible to fail and incur debt, it is also possible to win and incur profits. The best strategy is to start small within your individual capacity and start building from there.

The above points are not the only reasons for business failure in this part of the world but if you avoid the pitfalls stated, there is a very high chance that your business will succeed and transcends for generations to come.

If you enjoy what you read, don’t hesitate to share with friends and encourage them to subscribe.

Mr. John is from Delta State but has spent close to 15 years doing business in Ibadan. I didn’t meet him on my first visit to his office but because I prefer talking to the decision-makers directly, I didn’t hesitate to ask for his contact and I was willing to wait no matter how long. I had met more than 25 entrepreneurs like him in the past two weeks to pitch my new product and the possibility of partnerships but to no avail I kept learning from each encounter and making adjustments to the model. Mr. John picked up my call on the first dial and asked me to wait in his office after listening to my pitch. All I needed is one person to say YES, to pilot the plan.

While listening to my pitch, Mr. John stretched to a nearby table to pick up a calculator. He practically told me not to stress myself, that as I told him everything on the phone, he had done some calculations and needed to show me. It was the most productive discussion of the month for me. We went on to other things and to my surprise, this man that looks so simple owns branches across the Southwest and is the biggest spare parts dealer to one of the major vehicle manufacturers.

Mr. John shared 5 insights that have made him truly successful in doing business in Nigeria.

1. Choose consistency over intensity: He started very small in a small store in Ogunpa market in Ibadan. He now owns 5 branches in Lagos and Ibadan. He owns a big edifice in a choice area in Ibadan that doubles as his warehouse and showroom. Despite the challenges of doing business in Nigeria, he has remained consistent for the past 11 years or more.

   

2. Great rewards come with risks: He was always referring me to factor the cost of capital into whatever final offering we are bringing. The reason is that he is on a bank facility for his business and won’t do any business that does not pay back the loan with profit. Debt financing or Other People’s Money (OPM) is great especially when you put it into a profitable venture. But it requires a great deal of appetite for risks.

3. Remain a learner and keep experimenting. Be curious and listen to the market

4. Be humble. Great businessmen are approachable and they remain glued to their convictions.

5. Build a distribution channel, not a sales channel. He has empowered several apprentices to open their own businesses. These new businesses remain his distribution channel to expand his inventory.

I am inspired by business people like Mr. John because they provide jobs and means of livelihood to thousands of people through employment and partnerships.

If this newsletter has inspired you, please comment, share, and like.

First, it was the panel beater who noticed the exhaust leakage and advise us to work on it. I asked for the cost and after negotiations, we agreed on N5,000. Because I didn’t have cash, I almost asked him not to bother repairing it until he spelled out his account details and asked me to make a transfer. Now for context, we have been using the same workshop for over 20 years, and at no time had we transferred to any of these artisans. Transactions have always been cash-based. I was very surprised to see their level of preparedness and adaptation to the new cashless policy and Naira redesign. I tried my bank’s USSD code almost 10 times but it failed due to network. During this time, work had begun on the car in anticipation of receiving a credit alert anytime. After many failed attempts, I had to login into the internet banking app and do a NIP transfer and it was delivered. This was my first test of patience.

Mr. Laja came with his assessments and advised on his own part of the work. First, we needed to buy a few accessories including oil. The oil merchant is a small-scale businessman that has been in the business for more than 3 decades in the same spot. He is well known to my dad and they exchanged pleasantries. When he brought the materials out, he showed me the notice on his door where he wrote his account details for transfer. I was impressed. I snapped the account details and told him he would get credited anytime soon. He agreed and gave me the materials in trust.

In the same manner, I couldn’t pay Mr. Laja for service immediately due to the network issues and I had to make all the transfers by 10 pm when I got back to Lagos.

I replayed the entire scenario again in my head and came to some conclusions. If the oil merchant had insisted on payment on the spot, I might not have been able to buy the materials. And if Mr. Laja had insisted on upfront payment for his service, I wouldn’t have been able to repair the car. In essence, they both offered me credit (buy now, pay later) at zero interest. Therefore, the day someone comes up with a BNPL model for them, they may be sitting on money.

Essentially, they did the transactions in trust, what if I didn’t pay after I had left? Trust is expensive and should be paid for.

On my next trip, I might just advise the oil merchant to have a different pricing model. If you are paying for the oil immediately and if (due to network, lack of money, or for whatever reason), you choose to pay later, it comes with interest.

Do you think it’s good advice to give?

The market

The Okada business in major parts of Nigeria and sub-Saharan Africa is largely fragmented and traditional. Available data shows that an average of 500k 2-wheelers are deployed to drivers every month across Africa. In Ibadan, about 100k 2-wheelers are sold annually through different manufacturers. TVS and Bajaj (both Indian brands) own 95% of the market share while others such as Honda, Hero, and Jincheng are a few other brands. The traditional market, controlled by dealers, constitutes about 90% of the market. These people buy directly from OEMs (Original Equipment Manufacturers) while less than 10% are within the organized startups that are innovating and pioneering the vehicle subscription model.

The market has a lot of room for innovation, especially because there is a constant demand for assets by people who ordinarily cannot afford one.

Show me the money….

Jamiu, like every other Okada rider in the tarmac, gets on the road as early as 6 am and closes by 8 pm (a few extends to 10 pm). The insecurity in the country is forcing them to limit their operations to anything between 6 pm and 7 pm. Their average trip costs between N100 to N200 per passenger and each Okada rider makes between N5k to N8k per day. This translates to between N120k to N192k per month for a 6-day work. We can then assume that this industry accounts for an additional N100 billion ($200 million) monthly or $3 billion annually across Africa.

In terms of cost, they operate at a minimal cost, as low as N500 for 2 day-trip. This means an average Okada rider can use N500 to make a minimum of N12k. As sweet as the business is, it is hard to scale. Any business that cannot run without the presence of the entrepreneur is hard to scale. This is the story of every Okada rider.

Where are the opportunities?

The entire industry is still traditional and largely fragmented; from payment between the rider and passenger to vehicle acquisition by the rider from the dealers or companies. Startups looking to enter the industry need to solve these two problems; how does the rider get his asset at a cheap cost, and in less time? The industry operates on daily transactions, therefore, time is of the essence. Also, how does the rider get paid as easily and simply as possible, considering the new cashless possible where passengers no longer have access to cash? Nobody wants to wait hours to confirm payment of N200.

The typical model is that a passenger stays on the road and beckons on a bike, negotiates the price and the Okada man gets the passenger to their destination. This model accounts for over 90% of the market. Even with the entrants of ride-hailing services (these services were banned in Nigeria’s biggest market, Lagos), they account for less than 5% of the market. Also, capital cities in south-south Nigeria banned 2-wheeler; passengers are left with only 3-wheeler as means of transportation. Security, Safety, and pollution form the top reasons the government banned 2-wheelers in major cities. Therefore, there is a need to innovate around environmental sustainability by introducing electric bikes.

The supply end of the Okada business is split between traditional dealers and organized startups. Sadly, the dealers still constitute the majority in the market and their cost is at a minimal level compared to major startups in the space. The urge to become asset-heavy is strong but it’s the death path for any business operating ride-hailing or vehicle subscription. Therefore, rather than see the dealers as competition, I recommend that startups start seeing them as partners by riding on their network and integrating technology into their operations. This will take a while to mature, but it’s the surest path to scaling and making an impact in the market.

Credit is another opportunity that is fast rising in Nigeria. Next week, I will explain the relevance of credit in the Okada business and how entrepreneurs can tap into the opportunity.

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I am @kingadetunji on Instagram