This friend would tell me how his uncle bought him the latest gadgets, and I’d feel compelled to tell him how my aunty already promised to do the same later in the year. I’d tell him how my dad promised me a laptop if I did well in school, and he’d feel prompted to do the same and probably sprinkle some sugar and spice in his ‘rebuttal.’ I remember when he got his first iPhone, I immediately became overcome with the “Apple obsession”, I had bitten from the forbidden fruit. I began looking up how to get a fake iPhone 6 that cost only a quarter of the real thing, so I could pose as the ‘cooler’ kid. I’m grown now, and in retrospect, it’s painfully clear how vain we both were, embarrassing even…but the other painful reality is that this behavior I exhibited as a child is still very much pervasive in our culture here in Nigeria across board…this compulsion is classism. Let’s talk about it.

Talk to me when your iPhone is orange!

The iPhone 17 Pro and Pro Max designs are ugly, at least that’s what I thought when they first came out. But slowly, I began to hold my tongue with that opinion, as everywhere I turned, I saw the phone. Everyone and their mum has an iPhone 17 Pro or Pro Max, to the point that it’s made me go look at the price of the phone, again and again, thinking “come on, is this phone not 2 million naira? So all this time, everyone has been pretending to be broke?”

Earlier this year, there was this whole thing about getting a “fake iPhone 17,” and it was genuinely one of the wildest reality checks on the state of the mind of the average Nigerian man (or woman). Hordes of people threw away their dignity to get a phone that only projected the impression of wealth to everyone else, but in truth was nothing more than a knockoff. This was something I struggled with in JSS2; I was more than bewildered to see adults scrambling to prove that, indeed, they too were not suffering at the hands of Tinubu.

Even more interesting was the response from the actual “custodians” of the real iPhone 17. They came out in their numbers as well on social media, drowning their phones in water to show that THEY had the real iPhones, they were not so fragile that they would buy fakes, and to show also that “money na water” (get it? cuz they were putting their phones in water, I know you laughed), they embarked on a ‘myth-buster’ endeavor. But I put it to you today that those people were no different from those with the fake phones. They felt the need to set up a camera and turn on the tap (causing discomfort to the DSTV fishes) to prove a point: “We are not the same brokie.” That’s the exact same message those with the fake phones were trying to prove, one is just owing Palmpay while the other is owing First Bank. One is broke in his pocket, the other in his mind. It’s bullshit versus bullcrap

Bonestraight but the mind ain’t

We all remember that time, a truly perilous time indeed, when every conversation was about the bonestraight wig. Where food was the way to a man’s heart, the bonestraight wig was the way to a woman’s heart, or head. What started out as a mild admiration soon became an obsessive craze.

To be a well-respected baddie, you need to have a wig that’s straighter than the path to heaven, and if you don’t, you’re no baddie, you’re just some normie girl who will be doomed to the lake of broke people fire. And so every girl wanted one, and what came of it was the comparison again. “Your bonestraight is fake, and mine is real. “Where did you get your own? I imported mine from China/Brazil. “Look at her with her all back, she can’t even afford a wig”

The tension was real, so much so that it stripped many women of what was left of the pride of their own natural hair. Women no longer felt “well put together” if they didn’t put on the wig, and if they didn’t have it, every single kobo they acquired went into saving towards acquiring what was now more than an accessory but a symbol of status; the hair of another people. Low self-esteem is a bastard.

Now, don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m not condemning the purchase of the hair altogether; by all means, do with your money what you will. But you need to seriously check yourself when your purchases are driven by an innate desire to prove your class or status. But I’m a guy, what do I know?

Small weddings are for small pockets

With this one, I find myself oscillating between admiration and contempt for what has now become part and parcel of our matrimonial culture.

A part of me feels like it’s part of our culture to invite your friends, acquaintances, your father’s friends, your mother’s friends, your aunty who carried you once when you were only old enough to latch on to a nipple, the lesson teacher than told you would never make it in life, your coworkers, the boss you hate, your village people praying on your downfall and those you’re convinced would poison you if they get the chance. I mean, after all, in our culture we know that it is the whole village that raises the child, not simply two parents. And a part of me loves that for us. Here in Nigeria, a thing of celebration is not just something we do in private; just look at church testimonies. Good news is something we announce on the rooftop, something we dress up in ridiculously tight corsets for, something we make communal, something we do together, and to me, that is beautiful.

But the other part of me hates it. Our wedding ceremonies have become less of a celebration of love and more of a display of wealth, status, and success in the dating and mating pool. You cannot have a small wedding because your mum’s friend’s daughter shut down the whole highway with hers, and you have to shut down the city, your mother didn’t give birth to a loser, you’re no failure, and you must show it in the most grandiose way possible. A big hall with a ceiling more captivating than the Sistine Chapel, a guest list longer than the wedding dress, a wedding dress longer the Great Wall of China, and of course, we definitely have to take loans to buy mint cash to spray, what’s a wedding of the ‘bourgeoisie’ if we don’t throw ourselves into ridiculous depths of debt (get it?) to have our shoulders on the same level with our ears. Oh, Tomike also has to be the MC, and AEO MUST come sing as a surprise (we’d pretend we didn’t know he was coming), and don’t forget the after party, cuz you know the real party starts when the daddies and mummies go home.

It gets to a point, yk. What really are we embracing here in Nigeria? I get that there’s money, and I love the flamboyance, but what are you really doing it for? I think that’s the big question. Then again, if you invite me to your celebrity wedding, I plaster o😔🙏

If you no get money, hide your face

I loved Small Doctor, and we all love this his catchphrase. But the funny thing about Nigerian classism is that it didn’t start with the iPhone craze, nor with the bonestraight-mania; it’s something that’s been etched into our culture as a sort of unspoken rule for as long as we can remember. The title of this article is the colloquial name for a popular tiger generator that produced a loud noise when it was powered on. It was called that because, back in the day, tenants in houses bought them to show their neighbors that they could afford to bypass the experience or sentence of being a citizen of a dilapidated country. “Oh, we don’t have power? Oh, that’s alright, I can enjoy power regardless of what NEPA decides.” Twenty years ago, it was the Tiger generator; today, it’s solar power. “You don’t have light in your area, guy just buy solar, I have solar, and I don’t even depend on NEPA.” New generation, same classism.

Conclusion

The concept I’m discussing in this article isn’t new to anyone reading. It’s become one with the Nigerian identity at this point. It could sometimes be funny, but it’s while we laugh that we would trade empathy, compassion, and common sense for the sustenance of our own ego, pride, and financial prudence. But here is the paradox: the more we feed our ego with these things we so frantically chase, the greater our appetite becomes for them. This year, the iPhone 18 will drop, and soon, you’ll feel broke with your iPhone 15/16. You would see your friend get a Benz, and you would be ashamed to come to the class reunion with the Uber (I remember when going anywhere in an Uber was class). Soon, your boyfriend would propose to you at the spot you first met, and you would look at the pictures of your bestie being proposed to in the most expensive style ever, and you would be filled with sadness, contempt, and bitterness.

Nothing would ever satisfy you; your thirst would drain the oceans and demand that the rains pour till you’re filled. But you will never be filled; how miserable. That is the curse you bring upon yourself when you refuse to reflect. “Why do I want this? Do I really like this? Can I afford this? Is it all worth it?”

Classism births greed, and greed, classism, and so the compulsion grows. Don’t think of this as something alien…you already nurse it in your heart. Be careful

Some time last year, I was doomscrolling on Instagram Reels—my favorite pastime at that time — and I was laughing. Till I noticed an unmissable trend, one I know you’ve noticed as well, but probably couldn’t put into words. Almost every single Nigerian skit involved the overt sexualization of a female character. Now, I’m no wet blanket, I’m a funny guy. All my friends would be able to testify that I’m the funniest person they’ve ever met. I love laughing, I love comedy, I love a good joke. Back in the day, I’d go to YouTube to search for “Papa Ade,” “Mark Angel,” “Samspeedy,” “Brodda Shaggi,” “MC Lively,” etc., to get a good rush of endorphins. But rather quickly, the space got overly saturated, comedy quality got diluted, and was replaced with softcore pornography, intellectual degeneracy, and an overall eventual substance void. Let’s talk about it

Freaky Freaky

We know the slang, and we know who it belongs to. Fun fact, I didn’t know what “freaky” meant till I heard it a lot in his videos and went to look it up (I’m not giving him the stick for that btw). I love Mr. Macaroni. But it might interest you to know that I came to write this article just after visiting his YouTube page and found my eyes lingering longer than they should on certain “subjects”, more than I was laughing. I sat with my thoughts for a bit, then opened Substack to write, but I wanted to pick the picture that’d be my cover, and I was moving like that Will Smith meme.

Everywhere I looked, it was the same thing. A heavy emphasis was placed on their figures and “assets” for want of a better and more respectable term (I’m a gentleman, cough) an emphasis I believe exists primarily to attract men to these videos.

Now, like I earlier stated, I love Mr Macaroni, so I used to watch a lot of his videos. I remember when he blew up, and how it took barely six months of venturing into skitmaking for him to become a nation wide phenomenom. The purpose or message of his niche was clear—infidelity would never end well—and it worked for two reasons; they were ‘educative’ in that the men (faithful or otherwise) saw how badly infidelity could turn out for them, and because they were truly just hilarious.

But I can never forget the day he made a skit where this lady he (Mr Macaroni) was going to get “freaky” with in a hotel room made this incredible arch. I’m not the wildest guy, I’ve not had an interesting sexual past that it would pique the interest of anyone, so you can imagine my amazement when I saw that. It had an effect on me that words would fail to describe and the fact I still have the very picture in my head is a testament to that. But on a more serious note, I remember clicking off that video almost immediately (I had spent a couple seconds in awe ofcourse), but overtime I wondered how something so interesting (erotic) could just be on Youtube like that. Hmm

Further down the line, I noticed it had trickled down. From just Mr. Macaroni, almost every other skitmaker had a “sexy mama” in their video, and the camera would always, without fail, pan to their backside when they walked away. Some would wear the most revealing dresses/outfits, and so on. And yes, maybe these would be part of the plot of these skits, but soon it started to seem more like a creative-not-so-creative device to hold the attention of a horny audience. Like a buy-one-get-one-free promo. “You came for comedy? Okay, cool. How about I make you laugh and give you something to work with later at night?” And I find that truly disturbing, unoriginal, and bottom-of-the-barrel creative work.

Just as a disclaimer on this point. I’m not a “no sexual content in media” typa guy, no (my friends know I believe every explicit scene in Game of Thrones was necessary, I strongly believe that). But if the content you released is going to be accessible on the open web and marketed as family-friendly, then you have a responsibility to be cautious and subtil. Do better! But I’m not done.

Where’d all the mind go?

I used this title cuz I’m listening to “Where’d all the time go by Dr Dog”, if ykb.

There have probably been a hundred articles on Substack and other publication platforms on ‘The rise of anti-intellectualism’ and the ‘Olodo uprising’, so don’t worry, I’m not going to bore you with another one. But I have a couple of things to get off my chest.

Nigerian comedy has always had this element of ‘silly’ to it. We’ve been used to it; we grew up with it. Think of Baba Suwe and Jelili. It was just silly stuff we would see as kids and would have us bawling our eyes out in laughter. In fact, I don’t think this is a ‘Nigerian’ thing; I think people of many different cultures tend to find it silly and funny. I know this because it’s one of my favorite things to make silly faces at kids being carried by their parents, and they would often laugh (some cry, but you get the point). But as time went on, I believe we communicated, involuntarily of course, that “just be stupid, we would laugh.” And so Brodda Shaggi was born.

No shade to Brodda Shaggi. My family and I would watch him together on YouTube many years ago, binge-watching his skits and laughing till it was time for bed. But the success of Brodda Shaggi communicated something more to the rest of the entertainment industry, I believe.

I had a big axe to grind with the way the whole “Olodo uprising” conversation was undertaken, especially with how Peller was used as the poster boy for unintellectual content, as though he was the one unmistakable cause for the rising unintellectuality of our generation, whereas people like Peller did not just fall from the sky. “You are a product of your environment,” but how come not Peller? How come not Geh geh?

You see, economics goes beyond just commercial buying and selling; it is an active part of our everyday lives. Every decision we make in our everyday activities involves economics, one option over another, demand, supply, and scarcity. Economics is all around us, even in entertainment. You see, the approval we gave to the one before, and those before him, communicated a demand for more unintellectual forms of comedy/entertainment to the market. However, these skitmakers can only make so many skits in a day; their ideas are limited, and they also have to be normal people during some portions of their days, because if you think Brainjotter speaks like that in real life, then you, my friend, are the skit. But that's why their inability to give us as much as we were asking for was the scarcity. Then people like Peller, Gehgeh, and Carterefe said, “Hold on, how about I take this rising form of entertainment, streaming, and supply these ready buyers a constant dose of stupidity? And what happened? Yeah…economics

Yes, the kind of content these people produce is genuinely a harm to standards, values, and cultural norms we uphold as a society…but are they not simply as a startup that finds a need, and builds an app to cater to that need, because do not be mistaken, a lot of these guys are quite intelligent, and these antics are not without intention

I say all this to acknowledge that we bear the responsibility for undoing what we did without realizing it. Pointing fingers would get us nowhere because it only gives the power back to these individuals we’re trying to de-platform or at least discourage. Pointing fingers would only take the spotlight back to them, so they dance harder.

I find it relieving, however, because the tides are shifting. Individuals and platforms such as Eric Gugua, PlaywithTomide, wearegst, Zikokocitizen, Solomon Buchi (with reservations, but yes), and more are gaining an audience because, again, economics. There seems to be a growing hunger for more intellectual content. But it seems that just as the influence of these people grows, so does the noise of the other, and again, I attribute it to the finger pointing. Let’s do better

In conclusion

There’s much more I can speak of that irk me about the entertainment industry in Nigeria, especially comedy and music, but the points above are the two most pressing for me…the first especially.

I believe with all the conversations being had around the subject, we could very well be at a pivotal moment in the space, but this depends heavily on how we steward these conversations and engage in them. If we don't do it right, it’d just be another dot on the timeline with no consequence.

Let’s hold the creators accountable and ensure responsibility, but let’s remember they only exist because we demand, and the responsibility is ours to instruct what gets supplied.

Thank you for reading!

Like my heart’s in a lock these days, my head is a rock, and my mind is amok these days,

Lost these days, been getting hard to trust these days,

Tossed to the moon, been moving back and forth, wandering like a flock these days,

And if I’m being honest, my life is a wreck like a ship sailed from the deck,

Accustomed to the noose round my neck, am I busy or am I too high to rest,

I don’t know anymore these days,

It’s been five-six days since I’ve gotten some sleep,

Moving faster than I should like a high-speed chase but I’m not the police,

Plastic fake; yes, I feel like that, so I hide in shame cuz I’m not proud to be—

—The man that I see is a man insane, so I rock my frame cuz the man I need him to be is a man indeed, so I’d be proud of me

Rest in peace, killing myself, no, the parts of me that I detest to see,

The best in me, I’ve been trying to seek, but he’s John, a wrestler, and his name starts with C

I tell when I kiss, so if you ask me if I practice what I preach, I would show you that in truth I’m a Sadducee

HYPOCRITE. Yes, I know, and It’s quite sad you see,

JIBBERISH. When I write cuz it’s quite hard to read,

DELICATE. Is my heart, so it might skip a beat, or it might stop one day simply for the HELL OF IT.

But it’s been stopping a lot these days,

Barely functioning, a broken wheel in a cog these days

And some days I boast like I’m the best, but I feel farthest from a 10 these days.

Four years ago, we met, friends,
We made each other laugh like we’d known for years and years on end,
There was a time we didn’t talk and blocked each other…But then what’s a good story if it doesn’t have a bend,
Little did I know that this story would soon come to an end.

Rent free, her voice lived in my head, but it’s starting to fade like the sound of a passing train
She called me 3 weeks ago, crying tears of fear, but I heard more of pain,
She told me how she feared that the man who brought her to this world would be the one to take her out, and she wasn’t talking of a dinner date.
She told me how she’d gotten closer to God, cuz in the cage that was her home, He was the only place she could now call safe.
She told me how she wanted to run away, but she couldn’t; she felt like she was trapped in a maze.
How she felt like a slave, and the man who once was daddy, is her captive today

Her father was the devil; he wanted her dead. He made it very clear that he wanted her head,
She told me on the phone that day, it left me speechless.
How could a father wish for his daughter’s life to end? How can a father want his daughter speechless?
He locked her up in her room, didn’t let her out of the house for days
The last text she sent, was her voice crying for help from a place she couldn’t leave. She was trapped in a cage.
Imagine the place you were born in, becoming the prison you die in.
That and hell, spot the difference. It’s either I’m blind, or they’re literally the same,
How can the man you called ‘daddy’ when you were six,
Be the one who wants you dead in a pit,
God, it’s making me sick

I remember you congratulating me on graduating. You were proud of me, and I was proud of you, too.
You had a future and a life ahead of you, too; there was so much more we could be celebrating
Now the pain of your absence is tangible in my chest, it’s in my heart, serrating
You wanted to run, you were deliberating. But you didn’t have the money to,
Maybe I should blame the government for the economy, but I deserve some blaming too because of the complacency I was cultivating

I acknowledge your absence with my eyes dilating
You remember last year when you sent me the reel about bad parents, had us debating, and I got all defensive?
You told me I would never understand, then the conversation got pensive,
Tenses get mixed up cuz I speak like you’re here.

When I heard the news, I texted you cuz I thought you were there.
Even now, my heart’s palpitating. They say yours is cold, but no, it only needs defibrillating
I don’t know what to write anymore cuz inside of me is a boiling pot of different emotions
I’m hurt that you’re gone, I feel pain, I feel it physically

But I’m mad that you’re gone, I feel pain, but I want the man responsible to feel the same, I mean it literally.
Old Testament, a life for a life, so death might be the only remedy.
She banged on that door, crying for mercy, she did it severally,
But your heart is colder than a lifeless one,
God, if there’s any suffering in my future, put it on him instead of me,

How could you end your daughter’s life?
A man high on his ego, like he’s hooked on methamphetamine
Hitting your own daughter feeds you adrenaline, but you’re a coward and a dog without a pedigree

Heavenly Father, forgive me for this vitriol, but I hope she sees that her father suffers a worse fate when he’s dead indeed.
And I pray that this isn’t just a rant but that every child with an abusive parent would read this and realize that certain things can’t be the same, and maybe they need some setting free
And I hope the life of your daughter rests peacefully in your embrace, and that she walks gold-plated streets
While I’m here, filling my page with tears that could fill the seven seas

Amen

RIP

Disclaimer: I’m not giving a disclaimer in this one because in my article on Eugenics compassion, someone said I have a certain style of writing where I make a disclaimer, then write in a way that invalidates the disclaimer. Woo, you people would be fine.

The Accusation

“The God of the Bible, the Christian God, is patriarchal, woman-hating, and responsible for years of female oppression. He is the divine embodiment of misogyny.”

The above is the claim I would be addressing, but before I do so, I’d like to acknowledge that these claims aren’t baseless. Women have experienced oppression at the hands of men and systems that are proponents of scripture, Christianity, religion, and the whole nine. But the issue isn’t just mere correlation. It’s not simply that the men who abused women happened to be Christians too, no. It was the case that before the men slapped women, they wet their hands in holy water. Scripture was a crucial tool for many in both the personal and systemic oppression of women in many times and places. So the above claim I would be addressing is not baseless; it’s not unfounded, and if you still think so, keep reading

1 Timothy 2:12 — “I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent.”

1 Corinthians 14:34-35 — “Women should remain silent in the churches.”

Ephesians 5:22 — “Wives, submit to your husbands.”

Genesis 3:16 — God tells Eve her husband will “rule over” her.

Leviticus 12:1-5 — A woman is ceremonially unclean longer after bearing a daughter than a son.

Numbers 5:11-31 — The “bitter water” trial for suspected adultery (only applied to women).

1 Corinthians 11:7-9 — “Woman is the glory of man... woman was created for man.”

Deuteronomy 22:28-29 — “A woman who is raped must marry her rapist.”

Numbers 31:17-18 — Moses instructs keeping virgin girls alive after battle.

Judges 19 — The Levite’s concubine gang-raped and dismembered; no divine condemnation recorded in the text.

Genesis 19 — Lot offers his daughters to the mob; God rescues Lot.

1 Peter 3:7 — Women described as the “weaker vessel.”

The above-listed verses are often stated by people who make claims that suggest that Christianity champions misogyny or the oppression of women more broadly, and I list these out to help come to the common ground that, although these claims sound abrasive to Christians, I (as a Christian) can grant that they aren’t baseless; they didn’t come from nowhere. However, the conclusion drawn is what I disagree with, as the title suggests.

Mental and theological gymnastics

I name this section this because I engaged with a non-religious person a week ago, where he restacked my Inclusivist Christianity substack post, asking why Christians would always perform mental gymnastics to defend their belief. I understand him. Many times you hear us Christians say, “You have to read it with context,” whenever we’re thrown a complex question that may involve what seems like a contradiction in scripture, and it almost always seems like an easy cop-out. But let’s use the worm-like sponge in our heads together, shall we? How is it that we require a simplistic reading and comprehension of a book that is a collection of ancient Near Eastern texts written over various decades and centuries, more than 2000 years ago, and yet expect it to meet the modern, sophisticated standards we brandish in our 21st-century world? It’s a dishonest double standard, consciously or subconsciously designed to vilify said text, and I’d show you how.

Aristotle — Politics (4th century BC)

One of the most celebrated minds in Western history wrote:

“The male is by nature superior, and the female inferior; and the one rules and the other is ruled.” (Politics, Book I, Chapter 5)

Also:

“A slave has no deliberative faculty at all; the woman has, but it is without authority.”

Aristotle is taught in every philosophy department in the world (Not in Nigeria, but what do we even know about philosophy besides Que sera sera.) His works are foundational to Western logic, ethics, and political thought. Nobody argues that Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics should be rejected because his Politics endorsed female inferiority and slavery. Why? Because we read Aristotle in context — as a 4th-century Greek philosopher operating within the assumptions of his world, whose contributions to logic and virtue ethics transcend his cultural blind spots.

So when Paul writes that women should be “silent in the churches,” he is writing from within a 1st-century Jewish-Greco-Roman world. He is not a 21st-century egalitarian. Neither was Aristotle. We extend one contextual grace we routinely deny the other. It’s also important for us to note that even beyond the broader cultural climate of the time within which he spoke, we also must understand exactly who he was speaking to. Many scholars have come forward to clarify that he was not simply writing to the Corinthian church because he had free time on his hands (hands that were probably bound lol), but to correct certain flaws and address rumors he had heard, one of which was that uneducated women disrupting services, as was permissible under the Greek culture, from which these Gentiles had been converted. He was not writing to the Democratic church of America (lolzies) on how they should run their affairs, so why do we choose to read it as such?

Homer — The Iliad (8th century BC)

The foundational text of Western literature treats women almost entirely as property. Briseis (fire name btw) is a “war prize” fought over by Achilles and Agamemnon. The entire Trojan War, in one framing, is about recovering a man’s possession (Helen). Women are awarded to heroes after battle the way cattle are.

The Odyssey is no better in places; Penelope is valuable primarily as a symbol of fidelity to a man who has been gone for twenty years and whose faithfulness is never interrogated with the same intensity. Hot damn, Penelope😔 Penelope Featherignton could never hold a candle to you

Yet the Iliad is assigned in university literature courses globally (Again, not in Nigeria. We’ve not finished tackling Brighter Grammar 3). It is celebrated as a meditation on honour, mortality, and the cost of war. We read it with its cultural assumptions, not through them.

So when Numbers 31 describes the taking of virgin girls after battle, it is operating within the same ancient Near Eastern war culture that Homer depicts without apology. The difference is that the Mosaic law, in many cases, restricted and regulated practices that were universal, rather than inventing them. The law in Numbers 31, as a matter of fact, acts as a protective cover for these women in the way they should be treated after said capture, provides them agency and recognizes their value and will, something which was a direct counter to the cultural norm. We read Homer’s battlefield without assuming he endorsed war slavery. We should read Moses the same way.

Plato — The Republic

Plato is more progressive than Aristotle on women (cool guy), he argues in The Republic that women should be trained as guardians alongside men, which was radical for his time. Yet elsewhere, in the Timaeus, he writes:

“It is only males who are created directly by the gods and are given souls. Those who live well return to the stars, but those who live as cowards or lead unrighteous lives may with reason be supposed to have changed into the nature of women in the second generation.”

Omo, I can’t defend you on this one Plato✋😔🤚

By this account, being born female is a punishment for a man’s moral failures in a previous life.

This is Plato. The same Plato we regard in every Philosophy class alongside his texts. We read the Allegory of the Cave and the women-as-punishment passage as the same author in the same world, allowing the brilliance of one to coexist with the failure of the other.

The Bible too has internal tensions. Paul both restricts women’s speech in one passage, then greets Junia as “outstanding among the apostles,” greets Phoebe (a deacon in the church whom he recognizes), and Priscilla (named before her husband, unusual for the era), all active church leaders, and still says “there is no man or woman in Christ”. However, Plato both elevates and degrades women across his own works. So, if we’re even being honest with our reading of scripture and we see something that, on the surface, seems to contradict an author’s foundational belief, do we not inquire? And upon said inquiry, we see that Plato does not even hold a candle to Paul when it comes to upholding ideas of equality during a time when it was unheard of. We handle Plato’s tensions with scholarly nuance. The Bible deserves the same.

The Code of Hammurabi (c. 1754 BC)

This one is one of my personal favorites.

One of the oldest legal codes in history, celebrated as a landmark of human civilization, contains these provisions:

• If a man’s wife is caught with another man, both shall be thrown into the river (Law 129).

• If a woman’s husband accuses her of adultery but she has not been caught, she must throw herself into the river to prove innocence — trial by ordeal (Law 132). I don’t understand this one walahi😭

• A wife who has been taken captive, if her husband takes another wife, the first wife may return but is not required to (Law 134-135).

• Women could not testify in most legal proceedings.

This document is exhibited in the Louvre. It is praised as evidence of early human legal sophistication. Scholars study it admiringly as a contextualised ancient legal text. Really guys?

BUT critics point to Numbers 5 (the bitter water trial for suspected adultery) as evidence of divine misogyny. But the Code of Hammurabi — with no divine pretension — mandates drowning as the trial method. The Mosaic ordeal was arguably less violent. Reading Numbers 5 in isolation, without understanding that trial-by-ordeal was the universal ancient legal standard, produces a distorted verdict. If you asked me, I’d rather not be fish food because I was wrongly accused. And while I realize that even the Numbers 5 alternative might seem barbaric, I also understand that I view this through the lens of a more sane, polished, and sophisticated legal system. I can critique the Numbers 5 law without declaring it evidence for divine misogyny; if anything, within the context it existed, it is evidence of the contrary.

Roman Law — The Patria Potestas

Roman law, which is the direct ancestor of most Western legal systems, gave the male head of household (paterfamilias) absolute legal power over his wife, children, and slaves, including the right to sell them or, in early periods, execute them. Women existed under tutela (permanent guardianship); they could not own property, enter into contracts, or appear in court without a male guardian.

Roman law is not considered a monument to barbarism. It is taught as the foundation of Western jurisprudence. Lawyers study it. Legal systems across Europe derive from it.

However, when Ephesians 5 instructs wives to submit to husbands, we castigate it as barbaric, backward, and inhumane when in truth it is operating within this exact legal world, a world where wives were legally owned, and Paul isn’t even advocating for ownership of women or wives, because if that’s your translation, you should read the verse before that where he commands mutual submission. The radical thing Paul actually does in that passage is tell husbands to die for their wives as Christ died for the church. In a world of patria potestas, that is not an endorsement of patriarchy; it is a direct subversion of it. You cannot see the subversion unless you know the world.

What am I trying to say

None of these texts are dismissed, burned, or declared illegitimate because they contain ideas that offend modern sensibilities. They are studied, taught, celebrated, and contextualised. Their authors are honored for what they contributed, while their cultural limitations are acknowledged without hysteria.

The Bible is held to a standard that no other ancient text is required to meet — full alignment with 21st-century ethics, or condemnation as morally bankrupt.

That is not a standard. That is a trap.

If we applied the same decontextualized reading to Aristotle that critics apply to Paul, we would conclude that the founder of Western logic believed women were subhuman. If we applied it to Homer, we would say the father of Western literature endorsed sexual slavery. If we applied it to the Code of Hammurabi, we would say that early human law was simply organized femicide.

But we don’t do that because we know better than to read ancient texts that way. The same literacy that rescues Aristotle, Homer, and Hammurabi from misreading is the same literacy that rescues the Bible.

Now I know the exact response you’re thinking of commenting to this. “Yes, we can hold the Bible to a hire standard because Christians claim it is inspired by God. Should not God’s moral standard be reflected through these verses clearly, and should they not be consistent across culture and time?” I hear you (no, literally, I heard you thinking that), and I appreciate that line of thought because the response is evidenced clearly in what I’ve outlined in the comparison of the Judeo-Christian alternatives to the “pagan” laws of the time. We see laws that directly counter the understanding of equality, the value of life, and social order of said times all together. Although not perfect, evidently progressive over time. And the law which was given in these times is explicitly stated in scripture as a shadow of things to come

Hebrews 10:1: "The law is only a shadow of the good things that are coming, not the realities themselves. For this reason, it can never, by the same sacrifices repeated endlessly year after year, make perfect those who draw near to worship.”

So even scripture recognizes the imperfection of these ancient moral standards before the sophistication of the 21st century, within which we operate. If that’s not progressive, I wouldn’t know what is

Female inclusion in scripture

Jesus had no female disciples

When I was reading Mubarak’s take on why God is a misogynist, I laughed. Firstly, because he has a good sense of humor, but also because some of his points genuinely had me cackling, and I swear, I mean this in no derogatory way…he is indeed a funny guy, you should check his stuff out.

Mubarak claimed that God is a misogynist because Jesus had 12 disciples, but not one woman. Not a single woman was fit to join his fold, yet he chose 12, and even one of them was a betrayer. That made laugh genuinely. I genuinely don’t think that if Judas were a girl, he would have betrayed Jesus. I think maybe she wouldn’t have asked for 30 pieces of silver from the Pharisees, but for equal rights, which she deserved. But I’m afraid even the Pharisees had no power to grant that. I digress (and please, this is my attempt at being as funny as Mubarak, cut me some slack)

However what’s interesting is Mubarak admits that yes, Jesus had women in his fold, but then he doubles down to point fingers at him for not having a single woman in his fold.

I would like to state plainly that it’s well known that Jesus had far more than 12 close followers. In Luke 10, we see him appointing seventy for the task of evangelism. And Luke 8 also acknowledges that Jesus not only had female disciples/followers, but that he also traveled with them, and these weren’t just ‘women,’ they were gentiles, wives, and former demoniacs whom he had healed. People who were consciously avoided not only by rabbis but by Jewish men and women alike (except for the wives). This was unheard of at the time, a Rabbi with female students, which alone was reason enough to discredit him. Women had no place learning, but Jesus directly subverted that. Still, somehow, he’s misogynistic.

Deborah

I finished the book of Judges last week, and upon getting to Judges 4, I see something very strange. A woman, a married woman, leading Israel. It’s literally there in verse 4. God appointed a woman as prophet and leader over Israel, his chosen nation. And she was not just some woman; in the whole book, she bore more character, more vim, and more life than any other character, even more so than Samson, in my opinion. Imagine telling your male counterpart who has come to you for battle advice, “Don’t worry, I’d go with you to war, but honor will not be yours, for the Lord has given victory to the hands of a woman.” Dayummnn.

The very existence of this woman in scripture, which is inspired by God, counters every notion that this God somehow views women as inferior to men. Say something else.

Other examples I’d quickly run through (pause)

Huldah (2 Kings 22:14) : When King Josiah finds the lost Book of the Law, he sends his male priests to consult a woman prophet. She authenticates Scripture for the entire nation.

Jael (Judges 4:21): A woman kills the enemy general. She is called blessed among women in the victory song.

Ruth: An entire book centered on the loyalty, agency, and redemption of a foreign woman.

Esther: A woman’s courage saves an entire nation, the chosen nation of God. God is not mentioned in the book, but His hand through a woman is unmistakable.

Luke 8:1-3: Women funded Jesus’ ministry. They were financial patrons, not just followers.

Joel 2:28 / Acts 2:17: “Your sons and daughters will prophesy.” The Spirit falls on all flesh, gender is explicitly not a barrier.

Now, if you once held or still hold the notion that God is a misogynist and you’ve gotten this far in this article, I applaud you genuinely for being able to. People like you are beacons of hope amid the growing intolerance for conflicting ideas. You’re amazing!

Conclusion

God is not a misogynist, finito. (Soon I’d finish a Substack post like this, but not this one.

Complex scripture is complex scripture. I recognize the implications they may pose, but whenever reading any kind of text, it’s important that we do so with care, patience, and objectivity. Has this scripture been used to validate patriarchal and misogynistic ideologies? Absolutely, and that’s a damning reality we have to face. It’s happened in the past, and it continues to happen today. My mum was once chased out of a church because she looked too beautiful (exaggeration lol, she didn’t tie a scarf, but my mum is so beautiful, my goodness), and the people who did so did so from an incomplete understanding of scripture, a haphazard interpretation of verses, and a hasty conclusion backed by an adoption and an internalization of misogynistic ideals. It’s wrong and MUST be addressed in the Church. But it is not a reflection of the truth as is in scripture, and as I have shared here today.

Thank you for reading my post today. Leave a comment on your disagreements, agreements, and insults. I’d be happy to read them all

Here’s a picture of the former head of the Democratic Church of America. May his humble soul rest in perfect peace🙏✝️

I've not always loved that name,

Because David was a king, but at the same time, he wasn’t great,

So to be real, it sometimes brought me shame,

I've liked it, and I've hated it,

I’ve had friends call me Dave cuz the truth is, even now, I’m still debating it,

Am I a king or just a man, and do my flaws remove my crown?

So while David fought with being king, I wrestled every day with him, I wrestled every day with me.

“Does the name make the man or the man make the name,” a thought I considered

I was on the fence about it till I saw me Bathsheba,

She danced with the water, her skin was like silver,

In the cool of the day while I fought with my name, I was stuck on this beauty.. my eyes could not leave her,

I know I have a duty, my men are at war. Don't look at me like that,

I'm a man, she's a diva,

I'm a king, she's a healer,

Her body is a temple and I'm a believer,

I'm a man after God's own heart, but I'm looking at God's own art,

If Da Vinci was Mozart, she could be Mona Lisa ,

You said that she's married? Then I'd just go release her,

Deleting Uriah cuz I want and I need her,

My lust is my god and desire my preacher,

My name is David but I act like I'm ceaser

I think I'm like this cuz my parents named me after someone so dysfunctional,

He killed a man and took his wife,

But I killed my love just to get a life,

He played the harp to cast the devil,

I played your heart so I’m the devil,

A heart of flesh, I wish to have, cuz in my chest I feel a pebble,

I go to sleep, head on a stone, cuz I broke our house and I’m in the rubble,

Covered by the darkness so it’s hard to see,

I'm a shell of a man, I'm no king, I'm a thief ,

I stole your heart and I told you to leave,

David wrote Psalms but I'm writing in grief,

And I'm writing in Greek cuz my writing is shit,

You still said you could read it,

You said you loved me, and I said I did too,,

But that counts for shit cuz I left you there bleeding,

They say that Saul was mad, but I think he was crushed,

Cuz now that you’re gone, I feel sanity seeping.

My name is David, and I once killed Goliath, but I killed that we had so I’ve been having some trouble now sleeping,,

Cuz my dreams once had you, now they’re empty and dark, so when I close both my eyes, it’s a nightmare repeating

Once I’m done with this poetry, I’m sure you will agree,

It’s clear that my way of life is one of constant surivval,

If you asked me where my next meal I’d say “bro, how would I know,”

Cuz I’ve been riding through potholes while I curse the government,

And out the window, I’m littering, so of course it’d flood again,

I hate our leaders,

They think first of themselves, forget who they serve,

They think next of they wealth, for us, they could not concern,

Out my breath is a curse that came from deep in my heart,

“God will punish politicians!” I said loudly with a snark,

Cuz they lie and they cheat and then they plot in the dark,

“This president should die” I say softly with a smirk,

“Cuz they’re corrupt and they lie” that’s the line that I repeat,

That’s my daily mantra, I even recited today,

So when my brother asks me how much something is worth,

You know that double of it’s price is what I’d make him to pay,

I’ve got to survive in this world, why you dey look me like that,

If you’re smart and you’re sane you won’t even have an eye to bat,

I’m not corrupt, that’s for them. I’m simply trying to live,

Trying to make enough money so I can jand with my kids,

I’m not sick, only trapped, and I’m trying to be free,

I’d leave this country anyhow, even in a cargo on the sea,

Even if it’s Libya or Syria, anywhere but Nigeria,

Anywhere the colors aren’t green and white is prettier,

Or you want me to stay?

Where the po po is killing the brothers I cheat all day?

While I argue Nepo v Lapo in classisms cage?

While I smell the blood of my sister when I pass the toll gate?

While I lose my religion waiting at Tinubu’s grave?

While I learn how to lie like my leaders seen on the news?

While I become more enthused by the politicians groove,

And the range and the fame I’d acclaim starts to pull,

Me in so I’m starting to want to be in their party too?

Shit I think I’ve become the very monster that I rebuked,

HYPOCRITE!

I’m the biggest hypocrite in 2026,

I’m certain by now you’ve called me worse and that is rich,

Coming from people I control with carrot and stick,

Use bags of rice to hush you, and groundnut oil does the trick,

And the four years in between, I’d tell you “Dry your eyes,”

“And don’t forget to pay your taxes, give unto me what is mine.”

You hate me, don’t you?

I hear you cursing at your TV when I’m on the news,

But I know that God sees my heart, so I’m fireproof,

God won’t punish me at all, when he’s punishing you

I know the law leads to death, I’m above it too,

You know I grew up ribs out, and a growling tummy

And food was a luxury I paid through a tooth,

I know you know me for the lies, but this is the truth,

You know I lived in mud huts with leaves for the roof,

Back then the world had devils, Abacha was proof,

So when you call me evil, you’ve misunderstood,

I’m a product of a system, I’m not a broken tool,

You see I cursed my government when I was a youth,

But then I fought to the top and I didn’t complain,

But when you look up at me, you speak with disdain,

You say I’m meant to serve you cuz you gave me my seat?

Sounds like a pawn saying loud “I voted my queen,”

It’s a cutthroat world, so file on the line,

You’d do worse in my place so please stop the whining,

You want palliatives cuz you’re lazy, but I worked for mine, I robbed for mine, I spilled blood for mine.

Emi lo kan is my mantra, so take a bend, cuz the turn is mine.

You can’t shame me, I would do what I need to,

I take down your internet, exercising my veto,

“Freedom of speech” is no freedom I’m really into,

In the war I was born, there was no freedom to cling to.

So it doesn’t matter how much you curse my name,

It doesn’t really matter how much you pray for change,

It doesn’t really matter much the minimum wage,

It doesn’t really matter the dollar exchange,

It doesn’t really matter how much I bleed my people,

It doesn’t really matter how much the taxes you pay,

It doesn’t really matter how I was once like you,

Cuz I know soon you’d be my reflection today.

HYPOCRITE!

On saturday, I went out for a party. The “going and coming” was hell because I don’t go out at all, so I wasn’t very familiar with public transportation (I hate getting into a danfo), which I was forced to use. Now, even though I hate danfo buses, I have to admit that listening to the hot gossip that takes place in these buses would give the chief scriptwriters of your favorite TV shows a run for their money (except Breaking Bad, Vince Gilligan is a freak of nature). But on Saturday, to my disappointment, I didn’t hear the hot gist. I heard a statement today that inspired me to write this Substack post, a statement that belongs to a family of statements that have been normalized and have become part of the everyday Nigerian conversational experience. The statement? “Igbo man, igbo man. You no fit trust igbo man o, If you do business with igbo man just know say e dey cheat you, na you no just know.”

Translation: You can’t do business with an Igbo man; they aren’t trustworthy.

So let’s talk about Tribalism, shall we?

Aboki = mumu, Mallam = ode

Growing up, I had the impression that your ability to speak English translated to your level of intellect. Because of this, I thought Hausa people who really couldn’t speak much English were the dumbest of Nigerians, and I wasn’t alone in this thinking, so calling anyone I thought was stupid “Aboki” was a well-accepted norm. Because growing up, we were also smartasses. Whenever someone would retort, “Don’t call me aboki!” we’d simply say, “Aboki means friend,” which wasn’t a lie, but we sure as hell didn’t mean to call you friend.

So our tribalism thrived. Preconceived notions based upon flawed premises built a mental framework and logic that not only permitted this form of bigotry but also fueled it. Last year, I saw a Hausa friend post on her story “Calling me aboki is not cool.” And to be honest, it broke my heart. We stole the language of a people. As a society, we built up a model that stigmatized people but also allowed us to bury our heads in the sand of tomfoolery. We called Hausa people stupid when, in truth, we were the fools.

I have a friend who calls me “Molla” and “Mallam.” If he ever reads this (very unlikely), he’d probably laugh seeing this. I don’t mind it when he calls me that, genuinely. It’s a lighthearted joke. I call my friends worse things all the time. But if we really deep it, Mallam in our society is synonymous with “ode”. When you make a mistake, there’s a high chance of being called a Hausa word as a slur, and we all laugh (I’d laugh too), but that really is the language and genuine identity of a people we simply have mentally dissociated with intellect, because their “p” is “f.” Shame on every one of us for internalizing the racism and hate that came with the Queen’s ships.

Omo Igbo!

I was quite the sheltered kid growing up. Go to school, come back home. Run errands, come back home. Go to church, come back home. Church, school, home; the triad I became most familiar with before the Machiavellian one. I couldn’t get out, and I strongly believe it is why I believe the Bermuda Triangle exists… cuz that’s simply my life, but on a larger scale. But as with any kid stuck in any kind of loop, I began to rebel, quietly.

One day, my mum sent me out to buy Maggi, and there were some kids my age playing football on the street. I knew a lot of them, and they knew me, but we never interacted. To me, they were street boys, and I was a house boy. But I love ball, and even then I loved it a lot (I don’t play so much these days cuz of work), so I joined them. I played with them for quite some time, rehearsing and repeating to myself the lie I had concocted that I was going to tell my mum, who was waiting in the kitchen with the Egusi soup.

But these boys didn’t know my name, so they kept calling me something, “Omo Igbo”. Now it’s normal for boys and football players not to know their teammates’ names and to call them whatever works best for them. There’s usually “red shirt,” “small Messi,” “Man U (if you’re wearing a Manchester United jersey),” “Blackie,” “big show,” “Vinicius (if you were like very clapped).” But they called me “Omo Igbo.” It’s been over a decade since that day, and I still think about it

I remember how I felt when they first called me Omo Igbo. I wasn’t offended, I tensed up, because I felt there and then like an outsider as they were all Yoruba boys. In my head, I was just playing football with a bunch of kids my age on the same street as I, but being as self-aware as I was, I realized I was never really viewed as one of them. I was an outsider, simply because my tribe was different. I never really interacted with these boys after that day, not because I didn’t want to, but it just never came to me as naturally as it would have on a regular basis, but simply because the dividing lines they had drawn in their heads had been projected successfully onto me, and I had subconsciously installed them.

Now I know you’re probably reading this and going “Oh, what’s he on about? Omo Igbo simply means Igbo boy,” but as we have established with Mallam and Aboki in the previous section, we’re not going to play dumb to the fact that these phrases and words are often used in demeaning and segregational contexts to reinforce prejudice. If you live in Lagos and are familiar with the culture, you would know that “Omo Igbo,” even though it holds its literal meaning, also carries a condescending undertone when uttered. So let’s not play games, guys, let’s simply look at the mirror and assess our ugliness.

Ofe Mmanu

Now, I’m not Igbo, nor am I Yoruba. But I enjoy both cultures very, very much. I understand Yoruba like I’m a Yoruba boy, speak the language, and am a sucker for the culture in general. Yoruba girls also have a politeness that’s very admirable. But (and I’m sure you could sense the ‘but’ coming) their soups tend to be really spicy and really oily, which is where the Igbo phrase ‘Ofe Mmanu’ comes from.

To be honest, I never really realized Yoruba meals had more oil or spice than any other meal. I simply knew I had a really spicy meal when I had one; I never once attributed it to a particular tribe, till one day I had the Ofe Mmanu phrase translated to me, and I became more consciously aware and began to take notice.

At first, I didn’t have a problem with the statement until it became evident that it wasn’t simply a commentary on how Yoruba people prepare their meals. It was a subtle affront to their cooking skills whenever our Igbo friends said it. In a cultural climate where cooking was a mark of hospitality, and hospitality an indicator of homeliness and stability, it wasn’t simply a comment on how sweaty you would get when you put the Yoruba stew on your tongue; it was more so an implication of an unmistakable incapability that rested at the heart of the identity of the Yoruba cook. And no, I’m not reaching. We must take into account the context in which this subliminal jab became normalized, and within that context, if your people could not cook, your people had no taste, no flavor, no culture, and, by that standard, you had no say.

The funniest thing here is that the assessment of another’s position is done by declaring one's own as a standard. “Yoruba people can’t cook because their food is too spicy” is the claim, but that’s an assessment made by an individual outside said culture, with little to no understanding of the culture and a bold presupposition that the meals that come from their own culture is the standard for perfection. That’s the equivalent of the left butt cheek telling its twin brother it’s too black. “Butt calling kettle black” or however the saying goes

Narcissism of small differences

Speaking of two black butts hating each other, there’s this concept from this guy called Sigmund Freud. Now, I don’t know much about the guy, so I don’t think I’m smart. I first heard of the concept from an Instagram reel a year ago, where the creator was discussing how 2 popular conservative republican women in the US got down and dirty on the streets of Twitter/X. Two people of the same political ideology, in the same party, who grossly detested each other with every fiber of their being.

The narcissism of small differences describes how people or groups who are actually very similar often become extremely hostile to each other over minor distinctions. And even though you may be hearing of this for the very first time, you’ve seen it a thousand times already: light-skinned vs dark-skinned black people, 67th street vs 64th street, O block vs G block, crips vs bloods, 2 neighboring secondary schools, Nigeria vs Ghana, South Africa vs every other African nation, and every tribe in Nigeria vs every other tribe in Nigeria.

It’s a very interesting paradox that the two people/groups who are meant to be so closely knit often find themselves focusing more on the things that distinguish them than on what unites them. They focus on and exaggerate the small things that distinguish them, and amplify them in a bid to protect their own identity. And that’s what we see in the cultural boiling pot that is Nigeria.

Many tribes, many people, united under one flag, one name, which is supposed to grant a unique identity to be unified under. Yet, we are a people that continue to hold on too tightly to what we think makes us, without recognizing that that very obstinate grip is the very thing that breaks us.

Conclusion

Tribalism isn’t cool; if you are tribalistic, you are not cool, you are lame. finito✨

I could end there, but I believe this is too serious a topic for me to leave it at that. Tribalism has broken this nation for far too long, and our leaders have weaponized it against us in an unfortunate but shamefully effective manner. If you see tribe before you see value or personality, or individuality, the very lens you utilize to see is due for an impolite destruction and a rude replacement, because you have partaken directly in the ruinous project that is the shrinking of the Giant of Africa. Borrow yourself a brain. Wazobia 4L!

I have decided not to include the names or tag the person who made the post or wrote the comment, because my aim with this article is not to get into some back-and-forth about what people intend to do in their own personal lives, no. The comment and post merely inspired me to write about something I’ve noticed and have tried to keep quiet about for some time, something that’s becoming somewhat of a popular ideology, and history tells us plainly is a road we shouldn’t be walking down. So let’s get into it

Disclaimer: This isn’t just another pro-life Substack post. You would be able to surmise what my views on abortion are from this post, but I have made a vow to myself not to involve myself in these pro-life/choice debates publicly, so please do not put me in a box that will make it comfortable for you to insult me. Read with care and patience, understand where I’m coming from, then constructively disagree. If you simply are incapable of that, no wahala, I would ignore you.

Suffering is real!

I would like to begin by first acknowledging that while claims like aborting a child diagnosed with a disability may seem edgy or sound like hot takes, they often come from a true place of understanding what suffering is. Suffering is real and is indeed a painful experience for the subject. Children born into homes where a two-square meal is not guaranteed, or born with malformed mental faculties, or any form of disability, are examples of real lived suffering experiences. I’m not here to glamourize suffering, nor am I here to paint it as noble. No. I also wouldn’t want to bring a child into the world and see that they cannot enjoy the conventional standards of life, nor would I want to bring a child into the world knowing full well that I am incapable of fully catering to my own needs. As a matter of fact, anyone who would want that is either selfish, deranged, vain, or incredibly short-sighted

In fact, I believe the place these claims come from is a place of compassion, and not simply a vim to kill babies, no. I think these people genuinely see children suffer and feel a heavy heart, as do I. That’s where statements like the one I referenced in the post and comment come from; that is the root. But the bone I have to pick is when the fruit begins to look a little rotten.

Eugenic Compassion

Yes, eugenics. The question I’ve always asked myself, deep down in my heart, whenever I hear statements like the one referenced, is, “Who decides when life is worth living?” But these days, as I see this “compassion” metamorphose, I ask myself an even bigger question: “Who decides who deserves to live?”

“Why bring a child into suffering?” is the initial probe and justification, but such logic carried consistently leads us down quite the slippery slope, because we not only decide for the unborn child what their life is before they even live it, but we also begin to rank lives based on their predicted quality.

First, poor lives, then disabled lives, then mentally ill lives, then genetically imperfect lives, then socially disadvantaged lives, and the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.

At its very core, eugenics is the idea that society should encourage the reproduction and breeding of certain kinds of people and also discourage or prevent the existence of other kinds of people based on perceived desirability.

Historically, the desirable traits include: intelligence, race, physical ability, health, wealth, social class, while the non-desirable traits include: disabled, poor, mentally ill, minorities, immigrants, socially “unfit.” But here’s the interesting thing about eugenics: it has never been framed as “evil,” no. It’s often framed as “compassion,” “progress,” “science,” or even “social improvement.”

It’s hardly ever “we hate these people, so let’s kill em,” but more “Society would suffer less if fewer of these people existed.” The heart is there, and the genuine care for the eradication of suffering is evident, but it is undoubtedly misplaced.” In the U.S., thousands of people were forcibly sterilized because they were considered “feebleminded,” poor, disabled, mentally ill, socially undesirable. Let that sit with you for a bit. People with power decided that certain kinds of people, left with the ability to produce more people like themselves, would be a detriment to society. This is where genuine compassion morphs into something that leaves a sour taste at the back of the throat of any sane person.

The Nazis later radicalized these ideas into racial “purity” ideology and mass extermination. That history is why people react strongly to the term today.

So, when we begin to make statements that suggest that only socially acceptable or perfect kinds of children should be born, what are we saying?

A difficult life is a life not worth living

I am well aware that quality of life varies per circumstance. I’ve grown up in a middle-class home, and I cannot compare the kind of life I’ve lived to the one a child born into the Okoya family has tasted, just the same way I know a child from a low-income home cannot relate to some of the privileges I’ve enjoyed in my lifetime. There are strata, there are levels.

Take the world of remote work, for example. I've noticed something. The US-based founders would be absolutely willing to pay someone with a certain skill set anywhere between $500 and $2000, without debate or negotiation, which would make you wonder, “Why don’t they just hire someone in the US instead of me?” Then I did my research (asking ChatGPT) only to find that minimum wage per month in the United States is roughly $1300, meaning someone of my skillset in the US should be earning $4000-$7000, and you’re only being paid a fraction of what you’re really worth, simply because you live in Nigeria, where the standard of living is drastically low. Hence, to them, you’re cheap labor

I say this to say that when a kid in the US from a “middle-class” home complains about a difficult life, I would prefer that difficult life 10 times over my own “middle-class” life, and the “middle-class” kid from India would take mine as well. So when we say things like “I would advise a poor couple to abort a child” under the guise of not wanting to bring a child into a difficult world, what are we really saying? Do we mean that people who live comparatively difficult lives by our standards might as well not be living, just because they are unable to live life to the fullest? How about the whole of the middle to low-income class in West Africa get sterilized by Europe and Western nations so we don’t keep bringing poor kids into our poor nations to suffer, because clearly they can afford to go to dinner and eat a steak, but we can only afford to put #200 meat on our meals that would struggle to be as big as a table tennis ball.

I’m not saying abortionists (what a weird word) want to kill all poor kids, but to claim that the only time kids should be brought into the world is when their parents pass some satisfactory income class, and tick all the checkboxes that would indicate comfort in the eyes of the West African man, is to set a standard that would prove economically inconsistent overall, and in my opinion is very much classist. In other words, broke parents don’t deserve no children—Cardi B.

Bullying indicates imperfection, and I want the perfect child

I’m done with the serious points; this one was just completely absurd to me. It struck a chord in me and genuinely pissed me off because I was bullied as a kid for having a big head.

When I was going into secondary school, my mum wanted me to go to Command Secondary School. Those who know, know. For those who don’t, it’s a military school, and my mum wanted me to go because, according to her, “I wasn’t street smart, and she wanted me to ‘toughen up’.” And in Command, you had to be bald; you couldn’t keep your hair, or the soldiers would shave the center from the front to the back, leaving you looking like a reverse Avatar in this joint. The beauty of African education innit.

During the first couple of weeks of being bald, these kids called me “Agege bread head” cuz I’m light-skinned and, according to them, my head looked like fresh, hot agege bread.

My mum pulled me out after the first term there cuz I was “becoming something else” and threw me into a private school. And here, I still was bullied for having a big ass head. I can never forget a close friend telling me when we were talking about getting girls, “You’re a fine boy o, but if your ‘ogo’ wasn’t so big, girls would like you.” Goddamn. I grew up believing that lie, that I wasn’t unattractive because of my big ass ogo.

Maybe my mum should have dumped me in the bin the moment she saw I looked like Roger from American Dad, cuz no way I’m making it through life without being laughed at by my classmates with a head like that. You'd better not pray for a child with a lot on their mind.

Completely absurd. If TikTok validation is what decides whether or not you keep a kid, you need to look in the mirror and realize that you are the very embodiment of the word “brainrot.”

I’ve seen conventionally attractive people get picked apart, on the internet and in real life. I’m living proof that you can be the sexiest person on the face of the planet, and niggas would still find something to use to tear you apart. When societal validation becomes a tool for you to make a decision as weighty as whether or not to keep a life, when it’s even a discussion, we need to become fully aware that the very foundation of the moral framework we live by—the value of life, is being not only depleted, but dismantled. If that does not worry you, then we have a very big problem.

Conclusion

Like I said at the start of this article, this is not a “conservative” take on abortion; this is not a pro-life article. I’m not Princewill, and I’m not looking to spark a debate on whether or not women should abort children or not. It’s a very delicate matter that I’m not willing to engage Substack on. I wrote this article with the intent to tackle the idea that some children are deserving of life while others aren’t. A disabled child is deserving of life, love, and human experiences to the extent they are capable. A poor child is no less human than any other person. The very thought that these are critical factors in a human's life will dismember the fabric of morality as we know it, and, if unchecked, we would become a people we cannot even recognize.

The cure to suffering and poverty isn’t abortion, nor is it the cure to disability. If that is your way of thinking, I will introduce you to this thing called critical thinking, then to therapy. There is a thin line between “We should reduce the number of people suffering” and “We should reduce the number of people likely to suffer.” One is Mother Theresa, the other is a German dictator incarnate. One is geared towards preventing suffering, the other is geared towards preventing people. They sound similar but have different moral directions

Now I do concede that disability exists on a spectrum, and there are cases of disabilities that are simply just impossible. I understand that there are extenuating circumstances where hard decisions must be made. I understand, and I am well aware. But these decisions must be made with the weight and grief that they require. Not some “My sister, sacrifices are for the better good😂” bs (Sacrifices indeed). It’s life we’re discussing here.

Hey Lord, you know I’m tired,

I’ve lied about strength, but I’m tired,

I’ve walked a road with pits and highs,

I’ve bottled up my pain inside,

I’ve smiled and said, “No, I’m alright,”

Knowing my life could very well end that night,

I’ve longed for hope but waited amiss,

My life’s the wreck the world won’t miss,

I know you want me to keep fighting, but I wish you’d stop putting me in these battles because you should know by now that there’s a reason I’m hiding,

I’ve asked for freedom, but I’m stuck here in these shackles,

I’ve fought for freedom, but you say I’m strong enough for the cross I’ve been saddled,

Can you see me here, being crushed by what you thought I could handle?

Can’t you see that I’m weak, and the lake that I paddle is salty and warm like the tears my cheek has now stradled,

If you take the pain away, my heart would be fallow,

I’ve cried an ocean with eyes on the sparrow,

I’ve called out to you, but all I heard was my echo,

I’ve wept in my bed, and no one knew but my pillow,

I know you’d hate me for taking my life, but I’m tired, so bring me home

Lord, bring me home to you.

Hey Lord, you know I’m trying,

I’m trying to hold on, but it’s tiring,

I’d be lying if I said I believed in you, but I want to, so show me you’re true,

Because there’s proof to convince me what you say is a lie,

I want faith, but I’m doubting, so give me a sign,

Cuz when I prayed for my cousin, “Lord keep him alive,”

There was no one to hear my cry,

And they say that you’re God, and your word is true,

So tell me if you’re there, or is this all some ruse?

Do you really love me, or am I in some game, that you’ve masterfully made, am I in your cage?

Was it really by your hand that I was made,

I would love some answers right about now,

Because I’m at the door and I’ve not heard a sound,

Mum told me you care, but I’ve not heard a sound,

And if this is some game, I would like to be out,

And if you’re not up there, then I would love to reroute,

So I know I won’t be going home to you.

But the world is bright yet violent,

And evil is what defines it,

This can’t be all there is too,

The world is bright yet violent,

Its design is so divine yet,

I find it hard to believe and doubt,

I’m tired, so show me you’re true

I got the inspiration from a really nice song from a really popular show…lmk if you caught it. Also, it’s 2 different people/stories, I wanted to do more, but I’m so damn hungry and I have a headache (that’s probably why the first one is stronger than the second cuz I wasn’t as hungry then). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and if it spoke to you in any way, I’m sending you a really big hug🫂

I don’t blame you mama,

You woke up to this broken world from sleep in your pajamas,

You needed love that you couldn’t afford from your own mama,

So you grew up cold but puffed the za, that’s where you found the warmth,

And when the weed was too expensive, you would give your body for it,

I still don’t blame you mama,

You fell in love with Dad, but can I even call him that?

You gave your heart to him, but tell me what he gave you back?

Still you’re chasing after him, you’re still chasing after him,

Is it the love or drugs this time? It’s getting really hard to tell,

He left you with a baby boy, the pain you felt was worse than hell.

So you went to pills to feel alive, but they sent you off the rail,

You raised a son, derailed,

I really want to blame you mama,

I remember when I sang in school, you promised you’d be there,

I remember when I graduated, you told me you’d be there,

You remember when I got arrested? I thought you’d pay the bail,

But you’re in a prison of your own, and your escape is your exhale,

And the smoke from your exhale would always make me want to leave,

But who am I to blame you when I’m the apple from your tree,

I could never blame you mama,

Even though it’s hard to accept,

I know you’ve always loved me. I hear the love beneath your breath,

You woke up to this broken world from sleep but ran to death,

And even though you’re gone today, I’d smoke the blame and your regrets.

Let me know if you know the inspiration behind thisss, and I hope you enjoyed it

We was never friends, and I hated you,

You’d come around, but I berated you,

I’d see you and wish someone had killed you and then cremated you,

I hate that my God created you,

He knows I’m not okay with you,

You know I’d be the first to spill your guts after sedating you,

But at 12AM when I’m laying in my bed,

You’re the one to come cuddle me and whisper in my ear,

You say, “it’s okay that you hate me, it’s okay you want me dead”,

“For tonight, let’s be friendly, but a little more than friends,”

And a little more than friends is what we were in bed and under covers,

And things we did that night would make you think that we were lovers,

Like Jack and Rose, you’d make a ship cuz you’d think we loved each other,

But the hate I felt for her was one that made me want to murder,

Then it became like a cycle,

I’d swear before a judge and jury, I wanted it to stop. See, my hand’s on the Bible,

I’d burn her up, I’d be the arsonist if I was pyro—

—kintectic, it’s magnetic how she pulls me in at night,

Selective like a fetish, I would say she was effective,

Repetitive and then cyclical, the spirals were elliptical,

I’m giving you this imagery, but what I’m painting isn’t physical,

See her voice was my very weakness, it was nothing short of rhythmical,

Cuz you’d see her whisper in my ear, now I’m feeling like a criminal,

Her body against mine, but her touch, it wasn’t feelable,

So you could listen to her syllables, but know that there’s a cost,

Your purity or your sanity could chip away like rust,

A victim of this seductive stranger, I wouldn’t be the first,

But if I’d be the one to call her out, her name is Lust.

I hope it’s clear enough that the whole thing’s like metaphorical and not literal🙏. Anywayy, I hope you enjoyed it

We can’t do this again

I love you, but we can’t do this again,

The way you hold my hand,

The love you give, I don’t deserve,

I know I probably sound absurd,

But you’re too good for me, I’m sure, so we can’t do this again

We can’t do this again,

We can’t do this again,

I love you, but we can’t do this again.

I see your curves in every scene,

Hate that I love it when we sin,

Your body’s like the sweetest wine,

I know it’s wrong, but I’d be lying, if I said you’re only “fine”,

I’ve been writing songs about you,

And I mostly wish you’re in my room,

Unholy thoughts at night and noon, we shouldn’t do this, it’s too soon, babe, we can’t do this again

We can’t do this again,

We can’t do this again,

I love you, but we can’t do this again.

You said you’d be back home by 5,

But you came in late at night,

Don’t lie to me, babe, I’m no fool,

But I fear I cannot stand the truth,

Cuz if you’re honest, what’s the use?

Your heart belongs to another,

It’s sad that mine belongs to you,

I guess this is where it ends,

I wish you were someone else, but we can’t do this again.

We can’t do this again,

We can’t do this again,

I love you, but we can’t do this again.

I don’t want you any closer,

I’m afraid I’d break your heart,

I’m already broken deep within,

So I know where this would end,

Maybe we could just be friends,

Play it off, a new beginning, but I know we can’t do this again

Each “verse/stanza” is a different story, btw, came to me randomly, I hope you like it. Again, not a confession🙏

Told my girl I’d never leave, but that just put the fear in her,

She loves me when I’m gone cuz my presence could get scarier,

The syndrome is Stockholm, the more the tears, the more the merrier.

I promise that I’m caring and I’m not a bad guy,

I really do what I can with the tools I’m afforded,

But I grew up all alone, there wasn’t much I afforded,

I had 10 friends, sorry, 6, I have four dead,

I knew who did the crime, but if you speak, then it’s your head.

I’m on the streets for some more head, if you know what I mean,

Lusting after all these women, fat, slim, and in between,

But what I need is some love, cuz the example I have seen,

Only taught that a woman can only love me on her knees,

Yes, my father was my teach—; he sure did make my mother bleed,

And every single day, swear I tried to make her leave,

Cuz I would want to run away,

But it’s a love-hate relationship when family brings you pain,

Cuz my mother called him “babe”, but he damaged half her face,

That was the part I couldn’t take, so I picked up the stake,

Brought the demon to his death, he saw the twilight from his grave,

But I didn’t see the light again, cuz they locked me in the pen,

I was stuck behind bars, thinking back when I was 10,

When there wasn’t much I afforded,

Counting the days on my wall, I crossed the first couple lines, so you could see that it’s four dead

The hate I felt for my father was even real even then,

But he taught me how to ball, taught me how to be a man,

So the love I had for him was even real even then,

I’m grown now, but I see him in the mirror,

And I’m much like him, not just talking my exterior,

Cuz my girl’s in love with me, but looks at me like I’m a killer,

I hate who I’ve become, and the reflection’s even realer,

I wish my girl would leave, but it’s not an option she’s afforded,

I wish that I could change, buy a house, like a four bed,

I wish that when I say I hit her, that meant that I had more sex,

But the syndrome is Stockholm, and loving me could mean your death

Again guys, not a confession

I feel it in my chest, the hurt is my epiphany,

I know that you’re bad for me, I know that you would be the death of me,

But every second away, feels like I’m really at the death of me,

The melody of your voice is like a dagger in my chest,

And when I hear you laugh, my sanity slips with every breath,

I know I’d get over this, but you didn’t have to be so cruel,

I tried to step away, but now I know that I’m the fool,

I’m the fool for saying hi, I’m the fool for even trying,

I’m the fool, I played it nice, excusing every single burden,

I tried to make you see and recognize the pain you were causing,

But I couldn’t come to realize that you didn’t even bother,

See, I’m the fool, I hate myself,

I’m the fool, I blame myself,

I was full, I ate myself,

Now I can’t stand to taste myself,

I’m confused, debate myself,

You think I’m cool? I play myself,

You have me thinking about suicide; you could make me take myself,

I hate you and the person that you’ve made me come to hate,

I hate you and the love you gave, I was gullible to take,

I know the pretty ones are evil, foolish me thought that could change,

I hate you, I hate me, I hate love, I need peace, I want proof, I need God,

But I’m the fool that needs love,

Oh, I’m a fool.

This poem is not a confession😭🙏I’m simply writing from the perspective of a guy who’s in love with a girl wey no really send am. Thank you🙏

Whenever I find a Nigerian who’s an atheist, I’m usually so fascinated. You should see the expression on my face, it’s like finding a Pokémon, or finding a Cybertruck in Ikorodu, or a yahoo boy that loves poetry and is a feminist. So whenever I find one, I’m like, the happiest person and the most eager to have a conversation

Because contrary to what many atheists would assert, religion and belief in a “higher power” aren’t imported concepts in Nigeria; they are something critically fundamental to the very root of being a Nigerian, they are the solid walls that keep intact and keep secure the very identity of the Nigerian and the lens through which they interpret almost every circumstance and outcome in life; and I use “almost” very conservatively. If you think this is just another assertion, explain how Christians—albeit not very good Christians, lol, or at least people from Christian homes—can still say “Ogun a pa e!” (If you don’t know what it means, ask me in the comments), or you think “Thunder go fire you!” just appeared from thin air?.

Let’s get to it

“Belief in God is foolish.”

One of the axes I have to grind with atheism in general is the high horse it rides on while making its claims, whereas it is itself a belief system that fails to answer the questions it raises, a belief system that glorifies raising questions and calls it intellectualism, but not the actual quest for answers. My annoyance rests in the bravado and the subtle “you’re just a dumb brokie” that’s laced with the claims, while errors riddle their approach to disprove the existence of a creator God.

Like, why are you, as an atheist, arguing to prove the immorality of the Christian God as though that strengthens atheism? It only at best establishes the Judeo-Christian God as one not bound by a moral code he seems to enforce, finito. It’s a great conversation to be had with Christians, absolutely! But for atheism, it’s simply misplaced. It’s a debate that, at best, makes the belief and worship of said God difficult, but at worst is simply irrelevant. You’re not an atheist, you’re someone who has questions about who Christians call God…welcome to the club and get in line.

You’d hear claims like “Religion is the opium of the people” repeated countlessly by atheists, which yet again…does not strengthen atheism itself, only provides sufficient reason for religion’s widespread acceptance. Yes, religion is most likely very well embraced in Nigeria because Nigerians are poor, so what? That’s the equivalent of saying “Humans eat because they are hungry” and expecting it to disprove either the fact that food exists or the existence of insatiable hunger in people like me (I eat as many times as Muslims pray). It also raises the question of what the argument’s purpose even is. If the atheist successfully uses said claim to rid a Nigerian of said belief, what would they cling to? Their fellow proponent established that belief in the existence of a god is necessary in a society that holds it as the very foundation of its culture. You cannot remove any real Nigerian completely from the concept of belief in some form of extraterrestrial power, even the language of the average Nigerian exemplifies my assertion.

If religion is the opium of the people, then atheism is the adderall of the individual who believes himself an intellectual who has escaped the claws of the matrix. Simply two sides of the same coin. One often just thinks it is smarter than the rest of the bunch, silly boy!…or girl

“You are a colonial slave for the white Jesus.”

It’s very common for colonialism to come up when engaging with a Nigerian/African atheist, and I think it’s valid because you cannot ignore the atrocities enacted by our colonial masters while they had the bible in their hands, unspeakable things, and yes, I believe these conversations should be had. History cannot be swept under the carpet to uphold the sanctity of Christianity, for example, because I don’t think the colonial atrocities invalidate the religion; they only tell a story of the evils of colonialism and how anything good or neutral in the hands of the wrong wielder can seem otherwise. To view Christianity through the lens of the oppressor for the purpose of vilification, but not western education would be inconsistent and dishonest, but most of all, it proves either that the judgement of any individual who employs such framework is marred by a skewed interpretation of history, or that said individual is in truth not on a quest for truth but on one to prove their intellectual superiority to the black man that in their eyes is still bound by the shackles of a white messiah, His sky daddy, His British offspring, and their queen/king. Either way, good luck on your journey to yaba left.

The most notable thing about this angle to tackling religiosity (most especially Christianity) is the dementia or ignorance of history altogether. They seem to forget that Christianity didn’t just land in Africa as a monolith. It came in different forms, at different times, with slightly different doctrines, and via different media. To the honest atheist, this paints a picture of a tension between beliefs in different contexts, not simply a “shoving down the throat” (pause) of ideas by one party to the other. But to the dishonest atheist, this either never happened or is irrelevant.

We must also discuss how the Nigerian atheist’s claim, as it relates to colonialism and religion, usually sounds something like “Christianity was imposed on us, so I'm decolonizing by rejecting it.” Sounds noble, but pick a poison because the philosophies that often replace religion for these individuals are often colonial themselves; empiricism, secular humanism, scientific materialism; all colonial as well, they’re also imported. If the argument is that Nigerians should think with indigenous frameworks, then congratulations, you've just argued your way back into Sango, Amadioha, and the Orishas. Which, by the way, aren't atheist positions.

Nigerian Atheists aren’t rejecting God; they’re rejecting a structural flaw.

Now, if you’ve read up to this point and you’ve surmised that I hate atheists or Nigerian atheists in particular, you’re as wrong as Daniel Bwala was correct when he identified a glass of water (probably for the first time, as he couldn’t help returning to this novel discovery)

I don’t hate the Nigerian atheist, as a matter of fact, I understand them. I usually say to friends that if I weren’t raised in the household I was raised in, I’d most likely be an atheist, and I refer to my home not simply because it was a “Christian household” but because it was one that encouraged critical inquisition from a rather young age; my father especially. He not only allowed me to ask questions I had regarding the church, but also those that relate to God's morality, his existence… the whole nine. It’s a privilege I’m forever grateful for, and one I realize many weren’t exactly privileged to have.

I’ve heard stories of people who left the faith and the homes they came from, and many times, after hearing the stories, I’m like, “shiii, you right.” But as much as I understand it, and maybe excuse it to some extent, I cannot call it justification.

Think about the religious aspect of our culture here in Nigeria and it just might prompt you to place a biohazard sign ⚠️ in front of every church you walk by to save people from getting infected by the toxicity of these places. From dirty politics, gossip, unbridled desires to attain selfish interests, all the way to ostracization, the Nigerian church may claim its sole purpose is to turn people to God, but it’s more often doing the opposite as many can testify today.

And this very foundational defect in the Nigerian church culture is something of a justification for atheists to remain atheist, I do not believe it’s justification enough, but they hold it up as so…and fair play to them. The church today is a place where we’d preach love and unity in Christ, but kick people out because they don’t adhere to a dress code, we’d give them the stinky eye cuz they used a dirty word. How do we expect people to find the embrace of Jesus when we’re the quickest to show clenched fists before open arms?

The structural flaws in the church do not exist only in sociological but also in theological. Pentecostalism has become more or less synonymous with private jetism, pay your tithism, or you go to hellism, fancy pastor with broke church memberism, or to put it more succinctly, Prosperity gospel-ism. The irony is this kind of doctrine prospers in a nation that’s shriveling in poverty, but then it also makes sense, because what better product can you sell a lame man besides actual legs? “Pay your tithe so God can increase you financially” doesn’t sound like a covenant promise to the atheist; it sounds like a Ponzi scheme, like MMM, like CBEX, like Palmpay loan. So when the atheist hears this and rejects God, they’re not rejecting Yahweh; they’re rejecting the God you’ve presented to them that holds blessings back from his children till they subscribe for the next month’s blessings, even though their pockets may be bereft of the very amount, prompting them to go actually take Palmpay loans to subscribe. If the atheist did not reject this version of God, then I’d personally have issues with them

You cannot be a Nigerian Atheist!

At its very core, as I’ve earlier said in this piece, Nigeria didn’t borrow religion; it was built from it. The Yoruba concept of Ori. Igbo Chi. The entire moral architecture of how Nigerians understand destiny, community, accountability — it is soaked in the metaphysical from the root. You don't get to extract the religious scaffolding and have a Nigerian left standing. You just have a confused person with a Western philosophy degree and no grandmother.

To be Nigerian is to be in touch with the very Nigerian culture (and always vote for shit presidents every 4 years). It’s impossible to separate a culture from what formed it, its very foundation that highlights its significance. Here's what's actually funny about the Nigerian atheist: they still go to the naming ceremony. They still say “amen” when someone says “God bless you.” And they still have a plethora of questions, which is okay.

The whole point of this post is not to make a mockery of the atheist position of any Nigerian (Yes, I know, I threw a number of jabs. I tend to be a bully), the purpose is to question the view. What exactly do you mean when you say you’re an atheist? Where do you ground your beliefs, or non-beliefs, and where do you ground your nationality? When do you realize your atheism has lost its fundamental bearing? What birthed your atheism? I’m simply asking critical questions I find that Nigerian/African atheists seem not to ask as much. If you believe all I have written is bullshit or you have answers to my questions…I’m open to further discussion in the comments, where I can get your address and send psychiatrists to your place, in love🙏 jk jk XD

She’s got a nice ass, but I don’t wanna be vain.

She’s got a nice __, got me saying “God!” in vain.

She’s got a pretty face, the type that could have you slain for.

You know that I’m in love, so what you causing all this pain for.

Lipstick on my shirt, you know it’s you I’ve got this stain for.

You know my main girl started asking, “Baby, where’d you get this stain from?”

She knows she didn’t kiss me on that shirt, but you did.

I know she didn’t make me into a man, but you did.

I told her, “I’d never ever ever love again”, but I did.

I told you, “we’re not doing that again,” but we did.

I told you, “we can’t be seeing like this again,” but we did.

I told you, “I’m no fool, you’re tryna get me to cheat her,” and shit, I—

But I love you, and it’s true.

I want you and her, too.

Got 2 girls in my mind, I ask God, “What can I do?”

Cuz after her, there is you, and after you, there is none.

Cuz I love her, like the sun, but you, like the moon.

work has kept me from writing for the past week, but this literally came to me while at work…I knew I had to put it down. I hope you like it🙏

I’m Nigerian, and there have been one too many tragedies that have occurred within the last week that make it very hard to even say the first two words with which I opened this paragraph. However, I was scrolling about 2 days ago on Instagram when I saw this reel of a guy who listed out all of these tragedies, a good number showcasing targeted violence towards Christians, and he said, “Where is God?”.

The question reminded me of an atheist argument I relish and love to explore

So let’s talk about it

The argument consists of the following premises and conclusions:

Premise 1: If a perfectly loving God exists, then said God would ensure that every person capable of a relationship with Him and willing to enter such a relationship has reasonable, non-coercive access to belief in His existence.

Premise 2: There exist people who are non-resistant non-believers — that is, people who
• are capable of entering a relationship with God,
• are open to such a relationship if God exists,
• but still do not believe that God exists.

Premise 3: If such non-resistant non-believers exist, then a perfectly loving God does not ensure that everyone open to a relationship with Him has reasonable access to belief.

Conclusion: A perfectly loving God does not exist.

I love the argument because it makes sense, especially in a time like the one we are currently experiencing as Nigerians, Christians being killed in the very place of worship to this perfectly loving God. If this perfectly loving God the Christian faith is built on does in fact exist, why then does he not reveal himself to people who seek to know or have a relationship with him, but most of all, why does he not reveal himself in rescue to those who are so devoted to him but are oppressed for this very devotion?

I believe, first of all, that the very felt absence of God is a valid experience. I have heard Christians dismiss it with statements like “You don’t need to feel God to know he is real, or have a relationship with him. While I understand the heart of the argument that feelings cannot be the determinant of the health of any relationship, would it not also be unfair if you had a friend who never spoke to you, called you, visited, or even sent presents to you? Would it not be fair to come to the conclusion that said friend is only imaginary?

First of all, before attempting to tackle it, I need us to comprehend that having an absent friend is indeed a problem, or at least acknowledge that the felt absence of a friend is a problem. This will be crucial to tackling this argument later.

Let me begin by telling you a story. The Parable of the Prince and The Peasant Maiden:

There was once a great prince, heir to a powerful kingdom. He lived surrounded by wealth, honor, armies, and glory. Everything bowed at his presence.
But one day, while riding through a small village, he saw a poor peasant woman.
She wasn’t noble, wealthy, or famous.
But something about her caught his heart.

The prince returned to the palace, troubled in love, but with a problem:

“If I reveal myself as I am, she’ll never truly love me.
She might obey me, fear me, or pretend to love me because I’m the prince —
But she may never love me for who I am.”

He had two options:

Option 1: Approach her as the prince

He could show up with a parade of soldiers, gold, and trumpets.
He could summon her to the palace.
He could order her to marry him.
He could overwhelm her with his glory until she had no choice but to be impressed.

But what kind of relationship would that be?

Love can’t be forced, coerced, or intimidated into existence.

Option 2: Approach her as a common man

He could lay aside his robes, his crown, and his royal status.
He could meet her in her world, speak to her on her level, and let love grow naturally.
He could win her heart freely, without overpowering her.

And that’s what he did.

He dressed like a peasant, lived among the people, worked in the fields, and met her as an equal. Over time, she got to know him — not the crown, not the power, not the wealth — him.
When her heart warmed to him, it was real.
It was chosen.
It was love, not intimidation.

Only after she genuinely loved him did he reveal who he truly was—the Prince of the Kingdom. But at this point, the love was true and secure. She loved him for who he was and not the power he bore

This story shows us that overt revelation does not necessarily lead to a truly loving relationship blossoming; in fact, it often has the opposite effect. The perceived distance of God is not an act that disproves His existence or His perfect love, but rather causes this love to come to fruition more naturally and organically. Imagine you woke up every morning, and when you looked up in the sky, there was a bearded white man smiling down on you. What kind of free will would you then be exercising when there was always an evident watchful figure in the sky? God is indeed always watching, and this is common knowledge to all Christians, as we acknowledge that He is omniscient. However, it is not always evident, and the conspicuousness of His presence grants us the very agency required for a genuine and deliberate relationship.

The second response I have to the argument is a question. I’m sure everyone has had this experience where you walk into a room to get something, say a blue shirt, then when you walk out you are asked if you saw a brown shoe in the room, but you don’t really know because when you went into the room you didn’t “look” for the brown shoe, just the blue shirt. So the question to the atheist is “When you ‘look’ for God, what exactly do you look for?”

I once heard a story about a team of seismologists tasked with locating a volcano in a specific area, as their readings had indicated. But they couldn’t find this volcano; they searched for days, but still couldn’t find…till they realized they were standing on it.

Imagine a fish asking to know where water is, or a flying bird experiencing wind resistance, saying to itself, “If only I could get rid of this air holding me back.”

What if our very experience of life is a divine experience of God? The air we breathe, the thoughts we ponder, the emotions we process, what if living in itself is a divine experience and an implicit relationship with God

Scripture says, “In Him we live, move, and have our being.” So if our very existence is predicated on God as scripture describes it, maybe our “seeking God” really is based on expectations that are misplaced. What if we are looking for a blue shirt in a room where we should be looking for a brown shoe? What if our life is a divine experience with God that is so fundamental that it is easily trivialized? What if we are the fish in the ocean looking for water?

Lastly, I mentioned earlier that it is essential to acknowledge that the perceived absence of God/a friend is a problem. Here is why. You can only feel the absence of a friend you have already met, or at least a friend you already know. Currently, there is someone you will meet in a couple of years with whom you will have a lovely relationship, but you do not feel their absence right now because, to you, they do not yet exist.

So, doesn’t the fact that we feel the absence/distance of God point to an implicit knowing of His existence? Isn’t our being subconsciously longing for something it knows to be real?

To tie this all up nicely, while tragedies may prompt us to look up to the sky with puzzled faces, filled with questions and confusion, let us also realize that this is a longing for perfection that God has imprinted on our souls. A longing for Him and his presence here on earth.

So let’s talk about it

What does it mean to be? Is it the actions you take? An ideology you adopt? Your mode of operation? Or maybe intrinsic traits?

A “good” person, in the sense it is usually utilized today, refers to someone who carries out “good” acts. That’s a very simple, straightforward, yet efficient way of describing it. If an individual helps an elderly person cross the road, you are more likely to think of them as a “good” person than the masked man who you saw rob an elderly woman last week

But this definition of “goodness” is very dangerous because it relies solely on perception and understanding. Let me explain

Imagine the individual who helped the elder cross the road were to be part of a scheme that concluded with the elderly individuals being attacked and assaulted on the other side of the road. Would they still be good? And imagine the masked man had to steal from the elderly woman last week to pay for his dying daughter’s medical bills. Would they still be bad?

I know the scenarios might be far-fetched, lmao, but stay with me

Morality in this sense heavily relies on the viewer’s perception of a matter, as well as the viewer’s understanding of the events/actions, and not the reality.

We view “goodness” and “badness” as entities of activity that individuals often draw on when making decisions. But if a decision is made by listening to either of the angels on both shoulders of the individual, how then can said individual be classified as the embodiment of either of the entities

To be good is not just to make “good” decisions for 2 reasons:

There is—more often than we are willing to grant—not a unified consensus of “good” and “bad” in specific anecdotes. We are aware of the saying “One man’s food is another man’s poison,” which means what can be good for me can be bad for another. So how then can an individual be truly good when the world is not bereft of perspective, diverse experiences, opinions, and ideologies that often contradict and refuse to agree?

The second reason is that one can only draw from either baskets of “good” and “bad”, but can never become an embodiment of either of the two. To do good deeds is not to become the embodiment of goodness, as a human is too complicated a being that engages in even more complicated reasoning patterns to be neatly fit under either of the categories. This reason highlights the very impossibility of it all. From birth to the present day, no individual who functions in society can attest to only doing “good” deeds in the whole of their lifetime, even if the “good” deeds were widely accepted by their immediate society. But let us grant that there exists such an individual, who has only done “good” things in their whole life, they still wouldn’t be “good” due to the fact that—at every point of making a “good” decision—they had to contemplate the “bad” alternative which in itself brings said individual short of being the embodiment of goodness

As humans, we are a complex cumulation of deeds, environment, thoughts, ideologies, and so much more. To call anyone either “good” or “bad” in the true sense of the words would be to reduce them to a neat and more comprehensible entity at best, but at worst would be to exalt them to a standard impossible to live by

Jesus, the most influential figure in history, said it best:

“Why do you call me good? No man is good except God alone.”

This is not an imposing of personal philosophy on scripture, but an explanation of the impossibility of the marriage or union of oil and water.

Now, let’s define a few terms.

First; audacity

Second; madness

Section 1: The subsidy flex is dumber than they realize

If you’ve ever had a conversation with someone who supports Tinubu, you’d know that it’s impossible for them to go 10 seconds without uttering the phrase “he removed subsidy.” And on the surface, it starts to seem like a good argument/defense for the government’s appalling performance over the last 4 years, but let’s inspect it carefully

Nigeria was subsidizing gasoline with about $10 billion every year, more than 4 times the health budget, which is an outrageous figure for any country with a crumbling health sector like Nigeria’s (with the insane ratio of a doctor to 50,000 patients). So yes, the subsidy removal HAD to happen. As a matter of fact, Former president Goodluck Jonathan intended to remove the subsidy in January 2012, and you know who his chief opposition was? No prizes for guessing that one right.

Tinubu called it “Jonathan tax” and accused the then-president of “breaching his social contract with the people.” Same Tinubu, joined the “Occupy Nigeria” protest to force the hand of the then president to reverse the decision. Tinubu also described the subsidy removal as “a punitive imposition on the poor.” L M A O. At least he could string sentences together better back then.

Hear what he said: “By taking this step, the government has tossed the people into the depths of the midnight sea. The Government demands the people swim to safety under their own power, claiming the attendant hardship will build character and add efficiency to the national economy. It is easy to make these claims when one is dry and on shore." See poetry, pour me water abeg. Tinubu would have definitely been popular on Substack

11 years later, guess who thought subsidy was a great idea again. Some original thinking on display here.

But enough of that. Regardless, the subsidy was removed. And that’s a good thing for a multitude of reasons, including stopping the fiscal hemorrhage as Nigeria was bleeding serious funds like a gutted victim of John Wick, redirecting the funds to public welfare (which Tinubu specifically promised, he said the freed-up money would fund education, regular power supply, transport infrastructure, and healthcare). Those are 2 good enough reasons for the removal of the fuel subsidy, among others…and these would be the reasons you’d hear from Tinubu supporters, but let’s look deeper.

But it’s been 3 years since, and here is the report of development:

• UNESCO recommends allocating between 15% and 20% of a country’s annual budget to education. Nigeria has consistently fallen short of this benchmark, with education allocations hovering below 8% in most of the last 10 years. However, in 2024, only N1.59 trillion (just 5.5% of the national budget) was dedicated to that sector. To put it simply, the same year fuel subsidies were abolished to “free up fiscal space,” education received 5.5% of the budget. Not 10%, not 15%, and not 20%…Five point five. You know the Universal Basic Education Commission stated that over 20,000 new schools and 90769 classrooms are needed to absorb Nigeria’s existing out-of-school population. The government’s budget response to that? N50 billion in the 2025 budget for “Support for out-of-school children,” while promising to reconstruct 195,000 dilapidated classrooms by 2027. N50 billion for a crisis requiring nearly a million new classrooms. You do the math. So let’s clap for the government.

• Nigeria’s healthcare budget in dollar terms has declined dramatically: from $2.68 billion in 2023, to $2.02 billion in 2024, to $1.65 billion in 2025, which is a 64% decrease in the dollar value of Nigeria’s healthcare funding in just two years. The naira budget goes up. The real purchasing power crashes. And healthcare is a dollar-denominated sector; drugs, equipment, and supplies are imported.

  The consequence on the ground is a system in freefall. Nigeria currently has only 55,000 licensed doctors to serve a population of over 200 million, and out-of-pocket expenditures account for approximately 74.68% of total healthcare funding (Jesus!). That means when you are sick in Nigeria, the government is almost entirely absent from the bill. So where is the subsidy? Anyway, Tinubu is trying, so let’s clap for the government.

• The roads argument is where the government will try hardest to push back. They will cite projects. They will name highways. They will talk about Julius Berger. Here is what the numbers actually say.

  When Tinubu assumed office, he inherited 2,064 road projects valued at N13 trillion. Less than two years later, that figure had surged past N20 trillion, driven by inflationary pressures, exchange rate depreciation, and the removal of fuel subsidies itself. The subsidy removal made road construction more expensive. That alone collapses the argument.

  And the actual funding released to the roads? In 2025, the Ministry of Transportation received only about 1% of its N256.73 billion capital allocation, approximately N2.57 billion, forcing roughly 70% of projects to roll over into 2026. So, please, where is the subsidy? Anyhow, sha, let’s clap for the government.

• Now electricity (I’m literally laughing rn). Do I even have to talk about this? Just know that Tinubu said that if he hasn’t solved the power problem by 2027, we shouldn’t vote for him, and he pledged to add 15,000 megawatts of distributable power capacity within four years. I’m writing this on the 6th of April 2026, nearly 31 months into his tenure, and the grid has only added 1,000 megawatts, which is a 0.067%. In university, this one is a straight carryover, maybe that’s why y’all want him to “resit this class”. Waka.

Not to add the fact that Nigeria is not the first nation to remove subsidy. Multiple nations have done the exact same thing and handled it better, let me show you:

• Iran (2010): In 2010, Iran replaced almost all existing subsidies with universal cash transfers. The programme was immensely popular, despite subsequent criticism of the resulting inflation. The government moved first to cushion the people, then removed the subsidy.

• Indonesia (2015): Removing gasoline and diesel subsidies in 2015 allowed Indonesia to free up around $15.6 billion, which was then invested in special programs for poverty eradication, human development, infrastructure development, and social welfare programs such as assistance to poor students and cash transfers. The savings were visibly redirected. Indonesians could see where the money went. That's the difference.

• Namibia, Iran, Egypt — all gradual: Namibia successfully removed subsidies through a three-year reform plan, while Iran and Egypt adopted a five-year gradual reduction of energy subsidies. All complemented their reforms with expanded social assistance programs to cushion the impact on vulnerable populations.

Countries that successfully managed fuel subsidy reforms typically shared five common stages: analyzing drivers and identifying stakeholders, preparing alternative infrastructure, running public communication campaigns for six months to two years, and delivering social support and services before price changes, with cash and in-kind support targeted toward vulnerable groups to prevent immediate and steep impacts on inflation and essential goods prices. But NO, let’s all clap for the government

Section 2: It has become a curse to be Nigerian

I believe one of the administration's biggest shortcomings is prioritizing neoliberal reforms over the immediate survival of the citizenry. As we can all see, the administration that promises renewed hope is the one that has presided over the most aggressive destruction of the Nigerian economy that my ancestors and I have ever witnessed (I think). The administration’s service has functioned more as a scorched-earth policy for the middle class and a public execution of the poor for the crime of not living in Maitama, Abuja

In a country where inflation has torn past the 40% ceiling, the currency’s value doesn’t just depreciate, it evaporates, forcing its citizens into a period of “forced fasting.” It’s as though we have a very short-term memory of pain as Nigerians, but let me remind you quickly of 2024. Mid to late 2024 was one of the most excruciating times to be a Nigerian. Market women weren’t selling cow meat; they were selling cow bones for people to make soup. Waste became an option on the board for a meal. I felt it in my home, and if you didn’t, thank God for your life, but the pain was real, as real as the haunting fact that incompetence occupied the presidential seat at Aso Rock.

The 403.5% rise in interstate transport and 280.7% rise in airfares have effectively locked Nigerians in place. This isn't just an inconvenience; it throttles internal trade and separates families, turning the country into a collection of isolated, struggling pockets. And I heard someone say, "We have the cheapest fuel in the world; we should be grateful.” The curse that’s welling up in my heart for you would not be Christian to utter, but your size dey come.

The current cost of fuel in the US, for example, is $3.72 per gallon, which translates to about N1,351 per liter in Nigeria. But guess what the Federal minimum wage is in the US per month? $1,160, which in Nigerian terms is N1,598,480. And that’s federal, for some states like California and New York, where the minimum wage is ($16.90/hr) or ($17.00/hr), the monthly take-home could go up to N3,748,160.

Let me help you understand. The Americans’ average wage is x22 times higher, which perfectly aligns with their purchasing power, as they can buy fuel up to x15 times as much with their salary. As an NYSC corp member that earns shit from a shit PPA, tell me how many times you can buy fuel with your N77k

Since the administration assumed office, the average Nigerian has grown three times poorer. You thought Buhari was bad, but you don’t know how APC cooks.

Section 3: Security has become a myth

I saved the worst, for last.

While the administration promised a “Renewed Hope” for safety, the reality from 2023 to 2026 has been the democratization of terror. Security is no longer a localized issue in the Northeast; it has become a pervasive, nationwide crisis, and the government has responded with rhetoric rather than results.

Since Tinubu took office, the security landscape has evolved from traditional insurgency into a high-turnover "Kidnapping Industry." Imagine a nation where Kidnapping becomes a trillion-naira industry. Between May 2023 and early 2024 alone, Nigerians paid a staggering N2.23 trillion in ransoms. By 2026, kidnapping has moved from the highways into urban centers and school dormitories. In less than two years (2024–2025), at least 10 mass school kidnappings occurred, involving over 670 children. This has created a "lost generation," with an estimated 19 million children now out of school due to the fear of abduction. Can you even imagine that? Children are literally disappearing off the Nigerian map like Thanos snapped, and till this day, we have not had a single address from the sitting president on the matter.

The "Northwest Banditry" has metastasized. Reports from late 2025 and early 2026 show that the Southwest and Southeast are no longer "safe havens," with a surge in gunmen attacks and ritual killings that the decentralized police reforms have failed to curb.

But how does Tinuubu really handle this? The President frequently describes insecurity as "foreign to our culture" and "unacceptable," yet his strategy relies heavily on seeking international equipment and French/British collaboration. Lmao. But I truly do not care, whatever does solve the problem (only that nothing the current administration is doing is solving the problem, if at all they are doing anything). Imagine a president who goes to visit the victims of a massacre but stops at the airport and demands the victims come to the feet of their beloved President. Just splendid

Under the Tinubu tenure, Nigeria has risen to 8th in the Global Kidnapping Index. The administration has presided over a period where the state has lost its monopoly on violence, and the citizen has lost their right to move, farm, or learn in safety.

Now, there are scores of you who have reasons to defend all these failures. I have nothing to say to you but that you are truly a matter of concern in the matter of reason and require genuine help. Truly, my heart goes out to every other aspect of your life where you carry this sort of reasoning to. I fear for you my friend. In much simpler terms, I think you are mad