I write this for the one who has lived through so many unhealthy cycles of love that the lines between healthy and unhealthy have become blurred.

When you’ve been fed a certain perspective for a prolonged time, you begin to convince yourself that it is a universal truth. Somehow, you become oblivious to the actual truth, replacing empirical standards with conclusions drawn from unhealthy personal experiences.

I’ve loved long enough to know what true love should feel and look like. I’ve also loved hard enough to recognise unhealthy love patterns disguised as healthy love. So, if I were to be the judge of a love that stays, these would be my verdicts:

1. You Would Be Your Authentic Self Around Them

You would never have to alter your personality simply to become more palatable for them. You’d never need to perform or become someone else for them. You’d feel comfortable enough to be weird, funny, angry, sad, and show whatever emotion you’re feeling. You’ll never be deemed “too much” or “too boring” because they will be in love with your person first, before any other thing.

2. You Would Never Have To Question Your Importance To Them

True love would never put you in doubt. A love that stays will constantly make you feel like a main character in its story, not a bystander who was lucky enough to witness it. You would know that you’re special to them, and they’d never hide it from you.

3. Reassurance Would Come Easily

People who have never experienced healthy love often regard certain love gestures as “corny” or “fairytales”. They do this to convince those who have a picture of what genuine love should look like that it isn’t real. But oh my, when you’re loved correctly, reassurances would never seize from the mouth of your lover. It might lessen at certain times in the relationship (because life has its highs and lows), but it’ll never stop.

4. You Would Feel Seen And Heard

Love should never make you feel like a burden. Your feelings, dislikes, likes, comfort should never be discussed as things unworthy of consideration. A love that stays is one that honours you—feeling seen and heard would never be something to struggle for.

5. A Love That Stays Will Honour You

True love honours, even in absence. Your absence would never be treated as a gateway to promiscuity. A love that stays would consider and reconsider every action with your feelings in mind. It’d never seize an opportunity to do something that would hurt you in the long run. It’d think, “how’d they feel if they saw me doing this” not “here’s my opportunity to be free without their disturbance”. If they’re going out with friends, they’d inform you. If they’d be sleeping out for the night, you’d be aware. If their plans change at any given point, you’d be in the loop. You’d never have to find out about their past or actions from an outsider.

6. Their Actions Would Match Their Promises

A love that stays would not only feed your soul with words, it’ll show you exactly what those words mean through their actions. Their behaviour would align with their attitude. Their promises would align with their actions. Their professions of love would align with their values and beliefs. And it’ll be constant every step of the way.

7. Difficult Conversations & Misunderstandings Would Not Be A Signal To The End

The hard conversations can be had without the fear of breaking apart. Misunderstandings can occur without the fear of being asked for a “break”. Difficult conversations and misunderstandings would never be treated as a means of “escape”, instead it’ll be treated as an opportunity to know and understand each other better.

If you’ve ever been broken up with over a minor misunderstanding that could’ve been resolved, you’d understand this point.

8. Your Future With Them Wouldn’t Feel Uncertain

Not every true love has to end in marriage or come with a picture-perfect ending. But it is important that your partner can envision a future with you in it. A love that stays considers you in its plans and makes room for you in them. It doesn’t necessarily mean rejecting a job offer because it would take you miles away from your partner. Sometimes, it simply looks like planning the days you’ll visit each other if you eventually become long-distance. The point isn’t that every decision must revolve around the relationship. It’s that, when they picture their future, you’re not an afterthought in it.

9. They’d Respect You, Even in Anger

Respect is non-negotiable in a love that stays. Your partner may get angry, frustrated, or hurt, but none of these emotions should become an excuse to intentionally disrespect you. And when they do cross a line, a love that stays honours you enough to acknowledge it, apologise sincerely, and make a conscious effort not to repeat it.

Respect can look different to different people. What feels respectful to one person may feel dismissive or hurtful to another. That is why a love that stays pays attention to your boundaries and learns the difference between what you welcome and what you don’t.

10. Being With You Would Be An Active Choice

A love that stays would actively choose to be with you every single day. Your lover would meet hotter people, more intelligent people, more successful people, but in all you’d be the one that they’d choose—even in another lifetime. There will definitely be days when being in the relationship might be hard for them, but they’d never stop choosing you.

Another verdict of mine would be that they invest in and believe in your dreams. A love that stays doesn’t treat its support, sacrifices, or investments in your dreams as a transaction or a way of buying your loyalty. They won’t keep a mental ledger of everything they’ve done for you or use their support as leverage when things get difficult. They would support you because they want you to grow into the person you long to be.

The list of things to identify a love that stays are endless, but these ones listed here are some of the most vital.

Healthy love exists, and I’ll keep writing pieces like this to prove it to you.

I genuinely hope that when love visits next, it comes with a fancy box and tasty wine; beautiful enough to excite you, sweet enough to savour, and nourishing enough to fuel your soul.

Yearning, in romantic terms, is the quiet, persistent ache to be consumed by another person's presence—to know their soul, understand their heart, and be drawn to everything that makes them who they are. It is a longing that exists even in their absence, one that reaches beyond attraction and into deep emotional desire. Somewhere along the way, however, this generation of men and women who call themselves "lovers" seems to have lost the art of yearning.

To yearn for a lover is to find traces of them in places they have never been. It is to carry the memory of their presence with you and delight in it throughout the day. It is the quiet disarray of your thoughts whenever they are near, the way your mind forgets itself in the comfort of their existence. It is the desire to be wholly immersed—almost baptized—in their being, in every part of who they are.

Yearning is wanting to be involved in the smallest details of their life, even when your presence is neither expected nor necessary. It is seeing them in places and timelines where reality offers no assurance of them. It is catching the lingering scent of their cologne long after they have gone, holding onto a shirt they left behind because, somehow, it still feels like them. It is remembering the warmth of their touch as though their hands are still grazing your skin, or the sweetness of a kiss long after your lips have parted. Yearning is loving someone so deeply that even their absence refuses to feel empty, because every part of the world seems to echo their presence.

Having a crush is exhilarating, but yearning, yearning exists on an entirely different plane. A crush is excitement; yearning is devotion. It is slower, deeper, quieter. It is an art.

Our generation has grown out of touch with the quiet beauty of genuine, healthy love and with the art of expressing it. We have become fluent in attraction and infatuation, yet increasingly unfamiliar with the kind of love that lingers, stays, and yearns.

It’s almost unsettling that some of the truest portrayals of yearning are found in fiction. We encounter them in novels, films, book adaptations, and other forms of art that dare to linger on love instead of rushing through it. Has yearning become so rare that it now feels like something reserved for fiction?

Perhaps that’s why so many people are drawn to romance stories that portray women being deeply desired with tenderness and respect. For a moment, those stories transport them to a world that often feels unreachable in real life. They remind us of a kind of love many people hope exists, but rarely witness. It is why so many of us, myself included, are captivated by modern romance stories that choose to center yearning alongside love, proving that the deepest romances are often built not on grand declarations, but on quiet longing.

Even then, many of the books we read and the shows we watch are still laced with toxicity, often confusing unhealthy attachment with romance. It’s become so common that genuine love can feel almost unfamiliar on screen.

It’s been a long time since I watched a series where the men were emotionally healthy, genuinely yearned for the women they loved, and allowed that yearning to grow into real, intentional love. Off Campus was the first high-groove romance adaptation in a long while to give me that feeling. Since films like To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, The Kissing Booth, 13 Reasons Why, and others, countless romance dramas have been released, but very few have captured what the writers, producers, directors, and cast of Off Campus managed to create.

There is something enchanting about that series. It isn’t just that every character is incredibly attractive. It’s the care that was poured into shaping their stories, their mannerisms, and the way they love. Every lingering glance, every hesitant touch, every moment of restraint feels intentional. The romance doesn’t ask you to believe in love because the characters say the right words. It asks you to believe because they yearn first.

Over time, we’ve watched countless high school and college romance stories give us male leads who were undeniably attractive but deeply toxic. Their behavior was often explained away by trauma, a difficult childhood, or some profound emotional wound. While those experiences can shape a person, they should never excuse cruelty. Yet, somehow, we were persuaded to overlook the toxicity because the romantic leads had undeniable chemistry and looked good together.

Off Campus, however, takes a different approach. Garrett, the male lead, carries his own emotional burdens and past wounds, but he isn’t a jerk because of them. That alone feels refreshing. It is almost ironic because sports-coded love interests in college or high school shows are usually introduced as arrogant, emotionally unavailable, or outright awful. The audience is then expected to wait for love to “fix” them, usually through the patience and emotional labor of the female lead. It’s a familiar trope, but that trope rarely reflects how healthy relationships should actually work.

Instead, Garrett begins as a fundamentally decent person. He initially has his flaws with promiscuity, but he remains a decent person overall. His love doesn’t transform him into someone worthy of affection. Rather, it gives him the courage to become an even fuller version of who he already is by heart. There is a significant difference between redemption through accountability and redemption through romance, and Off Campus understands that distinction.

Garrett’s yearning is revealed in subtle, yet consistent ways. Once he realizes that his feelings for Hannah are real, he becomes steady, intentional, and emotionally present. He doesn’t simply tell her he wants to be with her. He shows it. His love is evident in the way he pays attention to her, looks out for her, makes her feel safe, and cares for her without asking for anything in return.

One defining moment comes when Hannah becomes unreachable during one of the most important hockey games of his career. Garrett keeps trying to reach her, but she doesn’t answer. If we’re being honest, he needed her in that moment. Still, he understood that Hannah was a whole person with struggles and responsibilities that existed outside of him. So when she finally appeared, he didn’t lash out or make her feel guilty, as many viewers expected he would. Instead, his first response was concern. He wanted to know if she was safe. He wanted to know if she was okay.

That scene stayed with many viewers because romance stories like these rarely allow their male leads to respond with emotional maturity. We have become so accustomed to possessiveness being mistaken for passion that genuine care feels almost revolutionary. Garrett reminds us that yearning is not about demanding someone’s presence. It is about caring for their well-being, even when your own heart is aching.

Another part of the show that sold audiences was how well they portrayed true love and yearning. When you yearn for someone, love comes easily. Yearning will make you want to drop everything to really study and know your lover. It compels you to notice the little things, to understand their fears, habits, dreams, and contradictions. To yearn for someone is to commit yourself to knowing them, over and over again. This is something the men in Off Campus do remarkably well.

Some of the male leads are introduced as men who prefer casual flings and fleeting fun because they don’t believe they’re capable of sustaining meaningful relationships. At first glance, they seem emotionally unavailable. As the story unfolds, however, we discover that they were never truly opposed to love. What they lacked was the experience of encountering a love that made them want to stay.

It is obvious from the beginning that Garrett’s feelings for Hannah extend far beyond mere attraction. “Like” is too small a word to describe what exists between them. He yearns for her. The same emotional progression appears when Dean realizes that what he feels for Allie is deeper than fleeting desire. His instinct is no longer to avoid intimacy but to embrace it. Their stories suggest that it was never about hating love. It was about meeting someone who awakened the desire to love differently.

Beyond romance, the show gives equal attention to friendship in all its forms: the difficult moments, the joyful ones, the ordinary days, and the laughter that quietly holds people together. Friendship becomes the thread that ties the entire story together.

One of the most meaningful moments comes when Hannah encourages Garrett to open up to his friends about his trauma. At the time, Garrett believes Hannah is all he needs. But his decision to eventually confide in Logan becomes a reminder that love and friendship are not competitors. They complement each other. Sometimes, telling your partner everything isn’t enough, not because they don’t care, but because one person should not be expected to carry every emotional burden. That is why friends matter.

What Off Campus does so beautifully is refuse to place romantic love above platonic love. Instead, it presents them as relationships that nourish one another. The series is filled with moments of healthy male friendship that are rare to witness in real life. Logan being present for his friends, Dean advising Garret to go after Hannah, Beau making Dean realise his feelings for Allie, Tucker quietly caring for everyone through small acts of service, constantly cooking, cleaning, and making sure the people around him are looked after—things the average male friendships fundamentally lack. Justin was also very respectful of Hannah, her love decision, and her craft. None of these gestures are treated as extraordinary. They are simply expressions of love between friends.

The women are given that same generosity. Hannah and Allie are genuinely present in each other’s lives, supporting one another without unnecessary rivalry or manufactured conflict. Even Kendall isn’t portrayed as the stereotypical “jealous ex.” She isn’t written as a woman determined to steal Garrett back, nor does she resent Hannah for loving him. In a genre that often pits women against one another for the sake of drama, that choice feels pleasantly new.

The male leads didn’t rely on misogynistic humor or degrading comments to establish their masculinity. Instead, they showed genuine love and care for the women they were interested in and those around them.

The show also explains that while trauma can shape our lives in different ways, we also have the capacity to reshape it and reinvent ourselves. Trauma can indeed push many to certain heights, but it can’t always be used an excuse for every action. A painful beginning does not have to determine a painful ending. Accountability remains essential, especially when our past causes us to hurt others. Being hurt by our trauma is human, but refusing to take responsibility for that hurt is a choice.

The series also made me think about why so many creators seem creatively adrift today. We often struggle to surrender ourselves to art, to let it speak through us instead of trying to control every part of it. Perhaps it’s because we are afraid of being seen. We hide the imperfect, vulnerable parts of ourselves, convinced they are unworthy of an audience. But art has always asked for honesty before perfection. It asks us to be exposed, to create from the places we spend so much of our lives trying to conceal. Until we are willing to strip ourselves bare, metaphorically at the very least, genuine art will always feel just out of reach.

Another lesson the show quietly teaches is the importance of making your partner feel safe. One of the reasons Hannah chooses Garrett over Justin is because of the emotional safety Garrett creates around her. He feels like home. He pays attention. He sees her for who she truly is. He notices her likes and dislikes, understands her moods, and remembers the little things that make her who she is. Hannah extends that same grace to Garrett, creating a space where he can confront his trauma without fear of judgment.

When safety exists, love has room to flourish. And that is what yearning is ultimately trying to build: not possession or obsession, but a place where two people can be fully known and still choose each other.

Lastly, the series doesn’t simply invite viewers to indulge in another modern romance. It discusses difficult subjects, particularly sexual abuse and assault, themes that many stories of this genre either avoid altogether or resolve too quickly. Off Campus treats these experiences with the weight they deserve, recognizing that they can profoundly alter a person’s life, relationships, and sense of self.

There are countless remarkable things about this series. Beyond its romance, it is the way every theme is woven together with care that makes it memorable. Love, friendship, vulnerability, healing, accountability, and safety all exist alongside one another, creating a story that feels emotionally complete. I can just tell when a show was written by a woman.

If there is one thing Off Campus proves, it is that we need more yearners. We need more men and women who are willing to love with intention, to pay attention, to remain curious about the people they choose, and to make them feel seen. It’s way hotter watching men yearn though. Maybe because we’ve been conditioned to believe that emotional restraint is masculine, making tenderness from men feel almost radical.

Let’s bring back relationships that are fun, where every new day feels like another chance to discover hidden treasure on an uncharted island. Where the mere sight of your lover still sends tingles down your spine. Where sitting beside them on a quiet couch feels more fulfilling than the loudest party. Where every kiss isn’t a routine, but a new discovery, another universe waiting to be explored.

Let’s bring back intentional love. Let’s bring back hot, steamy, yearning. Because yearning is, and always will be, incredibly attractive.

P.S. I do not own the rights to the video clips attached. They are excerpts from TikTok and are included solely for illustrative purposes.

I’ve felt very detached from writing and everything I used to love for the longest time. Because I’ve always called writing my first love, I found it hard to accept that I might’ve been slowly losing my spark to write. Now that I think about it, it has not only been about writing. Somehow, I’ve lost my drive to create content, create colourful and creative makeup looks, make styling videos I enjoy, and so many other things. I don’t know how I began to disappear into the shadows, but at least I can now sit with my emotions because I have more time at hand. I’m a graduate now, so exams are the least of my worries (thankfully). The downside of that is you have just the right amount of time to really evaluate your life.

You guys know that I’ve never hidden my hunger for success. I want to be successful—call it greed or whatever—I really don’t care. I want to be disgustingly successful that even I will begin to fear my workmate and success. I want it that bad, and I’ve always been willing to work for everything I want. I’ve worked tirelessly, developed things, started a business—I’ve basically done everything to continually invest in myself and craft. However, I’m beginning to lose sight of who I truly am.

It’s currently 4am WAT, and I just spent the last one hour scrolling through my archived posts on instagram. I used to be so carefree. I used to post my articles on my page, create whimsical makeup looks, dress up to take pictures around my estate—creating used to be fun like that. But now, I worry about being stuck on 3k followers since December. I worry about having the wrong hook for an almost perfect video. I worry about my fellow creator who has a more stable community than mine. I worry if I even have a community at all, or I’m just existing online. It’s funny because I used to be so sure. It was always: “I’ll become a very good writer; best selling author in fact. I’ll also act if I’m opportuned to”. Then it transcended to: “I’ll become a very good writer, maybe publish a book. I’ll also be a successful beauty influencer and build one of the biggest beauty businesses in Africa and beyond. I’ll also be known in the fashion industry because my approach to beauty wouldn’t be the usual ‘clean girl aesthetic’ but a bold and colourful approach that blends fashion and beauty seamlessly.”

Now, I don’t even know where I stand. I remember being asked on several occasions what I wanted to be in the future as a child. The first day, I wanted to become a popular actress, but I was told that I’d go wayward too soon. On the second day, I wanted to become a journalist, but my brother told me that journalists were often killed unjustly while covering trendy news. So I switched and decided to become a doctor. However, I knew that was a big bluff—something in me knew I wasn’t made for the ICU. I just didn’t know any other profession at the time. Then I wanted to become a Lawyer, but I discovered much later in life that I chose law because I thought it was the only relevant non-medical course—basically, scarcity mindset.

My point is, I’ve been shuffling from one thing to the other from time immemorial. You could say it’s because I’ve been blessed with the ability to be good at so many things. I didn’t ask to be multitalented. What multitalentedness does is that it creates so much confusion for one person to bear.

Sometimes, I see certain friends following a singular path and I wonder how much easier life must be for them. They don’t have to deal with internal struggles of deciding which cause to align with. Craziest part is, the digital era we live in today mostly rewards compounded consistency. But how can one be consistent with just one thing when they also find fulfilment in other things?

In our world, you must either have a touch of silliness or exceptionalism to be relevant, but what happens when you don’t even know where you belong sometimes?

I find myself creating content that feels genuine at first until I hit the ‘post’ button, and I start thinking about everything I could have done better. With overthinking also comes the loss of followers, motivation, and drive.

I am on a path to discovering myself again, at least I like to think of it like that. But I know deep down that I have tried to discover and rediscover who I am several times. The deeper I go, the heavier this identity crisis becomes. I can’t dedicate my entire life to writing because I know that I’d be unhappy without makeup brushes and clothes. I also can’t dedicate my entire life to makeup because I’d lack depth without my first love, writing.

God, it’s much worse now that I’m done with school. “You need to have a plan” keeps ringing in my head, and the voice keeps getting louder. I actually have to get my life together and get it right. Maybe not in my twenties, but I eventually have to get it right. There’ll be too much at stake to not get my shit right.

As I kept scrolling through my archives, I realised that I had lost my colour and carefree nature.

Life feels really directionless and blurry right now, and I don’t like being unsure. I don’t like when I don’t have stuff figured out because it’s daunting. There’s always a subtle reminder that you’re in control of your life and actions. Yes, one should surrender all to God, but even that surrender requires the willingness to push yourself forward.

I’m not sure where to end this blog post because I’m not even certain of how I started it. I just need a lot of clarity and structure right now because I really don’t want to merely exist.

I want to live. I really want to live unapologetically and spontaneously. I want to get ideas and not be limited by nepa or heat. I want do what I love without spending 7 hours in traffic with trailer horns and engine combustions blasting in my face. I want to live without having to spend 50k on four makeup products alone. I want to live without having to worry about electricity to power my light to film fashion content. I want to live without having to worry about the nearest library to write in. I want to live without having to turn off my phone after having an insane article inspiration because of low battery and no electricity. I just want to live in the simplest and littlest ways. I’m so certain that if I continue doing everything I’m doing, I put God in my plans, I keep looking for ways to upgrade my craft—success will never be a fallacy. But with limiting resources? It takes longer time and energy.

I don’t even know who I want to become anymore. As silly as that sounds, I’m very hurt by it. I want to be sure about my dreams again. I want to get my spark back. I want to create what feels genuine to me without being limited by resources or worried about the numbers and reach. I want to feel alive without being suffocated by my thoughts and worries. I just want to live.

I know that I can be so much better. I have so much greatness in me, and I need to unpack every single thing. I have so much life to live, and I truly want to die knowing that I lived life.

This is my little rant. I’m overwhelmed and deeply confused. I can’t seem to focus anymore, and it’s tiring. You can give suggestions on how I can scale through this phase. I need a bunch of those right now. Bye, xx.

Note: this piece is for those who feel dissatisfied with their lives, yet haven’t fully committed themselves to becoming better.

The real reason you hate your life isn’t because others are doing better than you. It isn’t because life is hard, or because the life you want feels out of reach. It is simply because you lack discipline.

Comparison, self-sabotage, self-doubt, skepticism—these are all natural emotions we experience at different points in our lives.

But this piece isn’t about those emotions themselves. It’s about the people who feel them, and the real reason they exist in the first place.

If you spend your days doing nothing but doomscrolling on social media, then find yourself hating your life after watching others live out their dreams, it’s time to sit with yourself and reevaluate your daily actions.

I hear a lot of people complain about how much they dislike their current position in life—whether it’s their finances, academics, body, or even the gadgets they own. And I find it quite interesting, because the truth is, almost everything you want in life is within your reach—if only you dare to reach for it.

“Daring” requires discipline and real effort, not complaints or constant self-sabotage.

You complain about your body, yet refuse to take daily steps to improve it. You complain about your finances, yet won’t consistently job hunt or invest in something meaningful. You say your business failed, but you didn’t give it your all. You’re tired of using the same phone, yet you haven’t actively worked toward upgrading it. You dislike your dress sense, yet you’ve never taken the time to learn how to improve it. You want better grades, yet you won’t make the sacrifices required to study.

Instead, you complain, over and over again, without taking responsibility or holding yourself accountable to change.

You can’t expect life to work in your favour when your daily actions are rooted in laziness. You get angry at other people’s success, envious of those around you who are doing well, and frustrated with your current reality—yet you refuse to take action.

If you’re not actively working to better your life, then you’re not uncomfortable with your situation enough to change it. You can’t expect things to fall into place when you’re barely putting in the work or choosing to persevere.

And this isn’t just my “random opinion”, there are principles that support it. I’ll explain.

The Law of Correspondence explains this perfectly. It says that your external world is a reflection of your internal state—“As within, so without; as above, so below”. In simpler terms, what shows up in your reality is often a projection of what’s happening internally. If you’re not earning enough, it could be because you’re not taking enough action to create change, or because your mindset isn’t aligned with the level you say you want.

“As within, so without” explains how your life cannot transform until your mindset changes.

The Law of Vibration also explains how everything in the universe is vibrating at different frequencies. So, to attain something, you must constantly be in harmonious vibration or rhythm with it.

To attain your desired body, you must consistently do something each day that moves you closer to that result. To build wealth, you need daily, intentional habits that align with the version of yourself you envision, not resentment toward those already living it.

Do you see it now? It’s not that others have it easier; they’ve just chosen discipline and consistency more intentionally than you have… for now.

So if you’re genuinely ready to shift your reality, pay close attention.

Real transformation starts within. It begins with your mindset, flows into your daily actions, and eventually shapes your external reality.

And to unlock that inner shift, you need to understand one concept: quantum leaping.

Quantum leaping is basically a sudden, transformative shift in the quality of your life and reality. It’s about stepping into a higher version of yourself and moving through different levels where things progressively improve for you.

Many people view quantum leaping as something overly spiritual or abstract, but I believe it’s much simpler than that. To break it down for you, here are the exact steps you need to take to quantum leap and shift your reality:

1. Be Very Clear About Your Wants

   In essence, discover yourself.

   You need to be sure about what you

   want for yourself, and work in accordance to it. If you’re not fully sure yet, take time to study yourself and identify what you naturally do well. Pick one direction and commit to it seriously.

   If you feel like you’re not good at anything right now, then do your research; explore skills you can learn or business ideas you can invest in. Choose what resonates most with you, and build from there.

2. Write Out Your Goals Intentionally

   To elevate your life, you need clearly defined goals. Write them down with intention. Be realistic and honest with yourself about your goals, but don’t limit your potential.

   For example, if your goal is a first-class degree, but your current academic units or workload doesn’t yet align with that vision, then you need to understand that it will require more time, consistency, and effort to reach it.

   This is why setting timelines should be done with wisdom, not pressure. Don’t rush a process that requires structured growth; align your expectations with your current pace, and build from there intentionally.

3. Normalise Your Desires

   Train your mind to be in alignment with what you want, so it no longer feels distant or unattainable. Begin to embody your desires through your thoughts, words, prayers, declarations, and daily affirmations.

   Don’t see them as something far away; instead, view them as a reality you are steadily growing into.

4. Do The Damn Work

   When people talk about mindset shifts and quantum leaping, they often present it as something purely mental, but that’s not the full picture. Without action, it quickly becomes delusion.

   You have to put in the work. Stay up late if you need to, put in extra hours when necessary, rest when required—but whatever you do, do the work.

   Do whatever ethical effort is required to reach your goals. Work intentionally, work smart, and work hard to build the life you say you want and deserve.

5. Be Consistent

   Doing the work alone isn’t enough. What truly builds success is showing up repeatedly and dedicating yourself to the process.

   Life doesn’t always reward the most talented or the most experienced—it often rewards the most visible and consistent. So whatever you’re working toward, stay committed to it. Show up as often as you can, and keep going even when it feels slow.

6. Pray and Believe

   I am deeply spiritual. I believe in God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, and I seek guidance through prayer. Pray to whatever you believe your Creator is, and trust that things will eventually work out in your favour.

   It may take time, maybe longer than you expect, but it will happen in due time . And that is what matters most, as long as your desires are genuine and rooted in truth.

Building a life of substance takes real grit and sustained effort. You will be tested along the way, but the true test lies in your willpower and your persistence in pursuing your ambition.

Remember, the version of you living your dream life already exists. If you can consistently hold that vision over time, then it is not only imaginable, it is achievable.

Who you want to become already exists in potential. Your task is to consistently take deliberate steps each day to align yourself with that version of you.

Stop resenting your life; it didn’t do anything to you. Instead, confront the complacency you’ve accepted and use that awareness to get moving.

But if you still hate your life after reading this piece, then you either need to see a therapist or you need to reread this piece because you weren’t paying enough attention.

proverbs 23:7: “As a person thinketh in their heart, so they are”

If you believe you are enough, then you are.

If you believe you can be greater than your current self, then you can.

If your heart and mind are aligned, then reality will eventually submit to their will. If only you make the right decisions.

If you’ve spent enough time around influencer babes, you’ll start to notice that most of them have a quiet obsession with wigs and frontals. Somehow, almost every babe who has stepped into the “respectable influencer lifestyle” begins to drift away from braids.

It’s not always intentional or even openly discussed, but the shift is clear. Braids become occasional, almost nostalgic, while wigs and frontals take over as the everyday look—polished, versatile, and always camera-ready.

Now, I’m drawn to ask the question: is this sudden repugnance or uninterestedness in braids, and the obsession with wigs and frontals, based on genuine love for them, or classism?

“Classism” in the sense that braids are only meant for average people, or are only to be worn during casual or unserious moments.

I mean, when was the last time you saw an African bride in braids?

If you had asked me a year ago what my dream wedding look would be, I’d have mentioned a buss down human hair installation wig for my hair. But was that genuinely out of an innate love, or social conditioning shaped by the fact that most brides wear human hair wigs?

In the middle of this conversation, my mind drifts back to babes we watched rise to fame. Before the fame, these ladies wore braids unapologetically—to weddings, functions, formal events, you name it. But once the influencing money started coming in, their lifestyle shifted from braid lovers to “buss down” babes.

Now, I have nothing against ladies who change their appearance once they become wealthy. Money and status change people, and that’s okay. People are allowed to have choices and preferences.

What is not okay is shaping those choices around what is deemed socially acceptable for someone of your supposed status.

Most young women today didn’t just suddenly become obsessed with wigs. This wave began sometime after the 2020 lockdown. Girls who had never cared for wigs before started caring for them simply because bigger influencer babes were endorsing them. Even those influencer babes didn’t endorse them from a place of original thought.

I firmly believe that this new culture is rooted in classism and a colonial mindset. Over time, we’ve been told that things innate to us as Black people are dirty or “local.” It’s evident in how African secondary schools require girls to shave their heads or plait their hair, deeming it unkempt. Braids are even seen as a tool of “distraction” for female students, as though any of those officials have ever told a white or biracial student to shave their head.

This culture has, quite surprisingly, seeped into the wig era as well, where Afro wigs are considered untidy or uncouth for certain settings. You hardly ever see these same influencer babes wear Afro wigs, our natural hair type. The only wigs deemed desirable by this set of women are straight, bouncy, or loosely curly wigs—textures more commonly associated with white or biracial women.

These attitudes call for questioning. Why is it okay to wear braids to the beach but not to a conference? Why is it okay to wear braids for travel but not on your wedding day? Why is it acceptable to regard braids as a “distraction,” but wigs as “desirable”? Why is it okay to shame women who can’t afford human hair wigs—the ones who go for blends or synthetic hair, either because that’s what they can afford or because it’s their style?

If this were truly about preference, why has classism and shaming seeped into the picture?

There are so many things we see as “normal” or “desirable” today that were not born out of pure desire, but repeated exposure. It reminds me of the piece, “You Share Other People's Thoughts Because You Don't Have Any of Your Own” by my writer friend, FeiFei.

We do not think in isolation. We move based on trends and continuous exposure. So, if a female influencer of status tells us that wigs and frontal installations are the new normal, we simply follow suit because the next popular influencer endorses it too. And just like that, we see it enough times for it to become what we believe is the truth.

You step into a room filled with influencers and content creators and the first thing your eyes are welcomed with is variants of wigs—bouncy, curly, straight—name it. You see young ladies beating themselves up because they don’t own human hair wigs. You see people attacking public figures like Jesi Damina because they are comfortable with wearing their natural hair.

How did we go from patewo and base, shuku, and all back (all made with our natural hair or attachments), to obsessing over wigs? How did we convince ourselves that it is normal to hate the very styles that framed our childhood?

One of the arguments I often hear on this subject is that braids take a lot of time to get done and can affect some people’s edges. And while that is true, I find that stance a bit impractical, as frontal installations do more damage than we like to admit. Regular frontal installations can damage your front hair, thin out your hair, and even cause discoloration between your forehead and the rest of your face, yet that has never stopped influencer babes from getting them done.

So, how is it that sitting down for a few hours to get braids done is now considered such hard work?

It is because of this glorification of frontal installations that braids themselves are now being weaponised as a means to overcharge people. You see salons doing simple cornrows (all back) for 12,000 Naira—basic cornrows with six plaits of your natural hair for 12k! Mainly because braids are now being treated as a scarce service, desired only by a select few among the elite.

In essence, the demand for braids among these so-called elite women isn’t particularly high, so the few who still want them end up paying double just to get them done. Or maybe we’ve simply grown comfortable with accepting exploitation that is dressed up as luxury.

At some point, we need to sit with ourselves and reassess our desires. Are they truly ours, or have they been shaped by the noise and validation cycles of social media?

You might think I hate frontals or wigs. I don’t. I actually like sew-ins, wigs, and other extensions. But my appreciation for them didn’t come from trends; these are styles I’ve been familiar with since I was young.

Lately, I’ve noticed that some micro creators are beginning to romanticise the hairstyles we grew up plaiting. Fresh twists have now been added to hairstyles like patewo and base, cornrows, shuku, and more. There’s a visible effort to reimagine these styles and, honestly, it’s commendable.

But this shouldn’t be reduced to a trend. Styles that are this deeply rooted in our history and identity are not casual, fleeting aesthetics to pick up and drop. It calls for something deeper, a need to unlearn the narratives we’ve internalised and begin to think more independently about what we choose to value.

My point isn’t to criticise human hair, but to encourage a reevaluation of our desires and choices. Make sure you’re drawn to these things because they genuinely resonate with you, not simply because a group of influencers on the internet have positioned them as the standard.

You probably spent most of your childhood imagining a world where things were different—more attainable. Where opportunities didn’t cost an arm and a leg. A life driven by impact and purpose.

Growing up with fiery dreams meant living your life constantly hoping for something better than the life you knew—hoping quietly, in subtle ways.

I want to be disgustingly rich and successful, not just for myself, but for my future little ones who deserve better than I did—who deserve access to better opportunities and more dignified rooms than I had. And I want to help people too, especially girls who need liberation and empowerment.

A part of me sometimes wonders if these are just the things aspiring successful people say to themselves to make their ambitions feel noble. Wanting to help others is valid, of course—but oh, how amazing it would be to book a flight to a beautiful city without worrying about your account balance. To have options. Real, tangible options.

Privilege is beautiful. It gives you access, stability, and options. There was once a time when people were shamed for being privileged, or irritatingly labeled ‘nepo babies.’ But not anymore. Today, people are very open about their desire for wealth. They are unapologetic about it, because when has poverty ever truly helped anyone? Never!

Poverty is cruel. It harms people in countless ways, even the middle class who aren’t exactly ‘poor.’ It strips people off their sense of dignity and decency. Escaping poverty often feels like running the longest marathon of your life. You do everything in your power to outrun it because you have seen its adverse, no, its devastating effects on people. And once you’ve seen that reality up close and actively lived through it, the thought of ever returning to it becomes unbearable.

Pop culture no longer even romanticises the “grass to grace” narrative because every story now matters, regardless of its circumstances.

My biggest fear, like that of many ambitious people, is being on my deathbed and regretting the life I lived, or waking up one day poor and deeply unfulfilled. The thought alone is sickening.

Young people today are doing everything they can to outrun poverty—to flee from that evil curse! One woman might be an entrepreneur, a model, a 9–5 worker, a remote freelancer, a content creator, and more, all at the same time, just to escape that vicious cycle of poverty.

I didn’t grow up underprivileged. I had, and still have, privileges that some of my peers do not have to this day, and I am immensely grateful to God for that. But I have also missed my own fair share of opportunities because of money. I have had limited access to opportunities and impactful spaces because of financial constraints.

Poverty costs more than we often realise. It doesn’t just deny you access; it slowly chips away at your sense of self-worth and confidence. It strips you of dignity. It makes you second-guess every decision, wondering whether a single financial move might cause your entire life to crumble.

Some people who grew up with little financial privilege still find themselves looking over their shoulders, even when they’re finally earning good money.

I could go on and on about why poverty feels so cruel, and why I’ve made it my life’s goal to outrun it and become disgustingly successful—but even a hundred blog posts wouldn’t be enough to explain it.

Success means different things to different people. To me, success is a deep sense of fulfillment fueled by purpose. And I intend to do everything humanly possible to build the life I want and deserve.

Like they say, the life you want already exists. It’s just on the other side of being a little cringe, and of changing the habits that keep you where you are.

So, if you’re my fellow poverty hater, tell me—what are you doing right now to flee from it? Or why is it so important to you to escape poverty?

For me, one thing is clear: I must be disgustingly rich and successful.

One common example she often gave was that of someone who got pregnant out of wedlock or someone who impregnated a woman. She would say that, most times, the daughter would experience that same reality, and the son would go on to make another woman experience it too.

At the time, I didn’t believe any of those things. I thought it was just another misogynistic African theatric. That was until I began to see these patterns unfold in real time. I would watch a distant family member move in with another relative, perhaps because they had become orphaned, and for a while, everything would seem normal. But as they grew older, things would slowly begin to go downhill.

They would develop an obsessive attachment to men who clearly did not have good intentions for them. At some point, I genuinely began to wonder if some of them were cursed, because why did they all place men at the center of their lives? What was this idolisation of emotional and sexual intimacy all about—one that was so misleading and ultimately sabotaged their future?

It never made sense to me. And I was certain it wasn’t true love. Because what kind of man who genuinely loves you would leave you with a pregnancy and just run away?

Most of the time, these people would eventually begin to voice their desire for freedom. They would say they wanted to move out and fend for themselves, and their relatives would grant them their heart’s desire by letting them go.

My parents, who took a relative in because she wanted to leave our hometown, never believed in tying anyone down. If you felt like travelling somewhere else or choosing not to further your education, they would let you be. So when M told my mum that she wanted to be independent—after bringing multiple men into our home to touch her—my mother let her go.

I didn’t feel uneasy about it at the time because I believed M genuinely wanted independence. She was relatively young, but I didn’t see that as a bad thing then. I thought she had goals and aspirations. I mean, if you grew up in abject poverty and missed opportunities because of it, wouldn’t you want something different for yourself?

M moved out of our house and started working at a restaurant. I was genuinely happy for her when I heard the news. Then tell me why my mother called me yesterday to tell me that M is pregnant!

Why? How? By whom? With whose child? Oh my God.

Apparently, she returned to the village for her father’s burial shortly after relocating, met a man there, got involved with him—and now she’s pregnant. Mind you, this girl never believed in using protection.

Girl, these men don’t care about you. I promise you!

Anyway, I felt extremely sad for her because she had, and still has, so much potential. But half the time, in situations like this, people end up reliving the same poverty that once left their parents helpless. For the women, the men who impregnate them often don’t even have solid plans for themselves. And for the men, they mostly abandon the women and leave them with their own mothers, adding extra burden to women who are already struggling to survive.

My mother later told me that the exact same thing happened to M’s parents. Again, I don’t want to believe in the idea that this type of family cycle exists, but after so many experiences, it’s hard not to.

Aside from all that, if you come from a lineage where many people have had a particular illness (or several illnesses), there’s a high possibility that you’ll live with a quiet fear, one that eats at you unconsciously.

You begin to worry that one day you might inherit that same cycle. Maybe it’s fibroids, hormonal imbalances, diabetes, cancer—name it. The thought lingers at the back of your mind, persistently. And you do everything in your power to avoid it: changing your lifestyle, exercising regularly, taking supplements for different purposes—the list goes on.

Sadly, you might do all of this and still end up in the very pit you spent your entire life trying to avoid.

Ugh! It’s a stupid thing, honestly.

I genuinely think some things in life are mysteries. There are many things that lie beyond our control and reasoning, yet we try to make sense of them by forming theories that cater to our observations.

Family cycles can be frustrating because, most of the time, you spend half your life trying not to relive your mother’s or grandmother’s realities, only to wake up one day and realise you’re slowly slipping into them. Sometimes it’s the result of poor decisions; other times, it’s simply life.

Like I said, I’ve never really believed in family cycles, except it’s heredity, but I’m beginning to question my stance on all of it. I’d also like to hear your thoughts. Do you think family cycles exist? If yes, do you think people try hard enough to avoid it?

But really, what is it with these babes and their drive for useless men?

My parents are getting older, and like every child, fear is slowly beginning to envelop me. But this time, it isn’t just about me. It’s about how life can take you by surprise just when you think everything is fine.

Have you ever been in a situation where a distant relative or a long-forgotten friend calls to tell you that someone you once knew has passed away? Maybe it’s a distant friend of your mother’s, or one of those relatives you never really understood how you were related to. In that moment, time pauses—not because you deeply loved the person who died, but because a quiet thought creeps in:

If it could happen to her, then how much time is left for mummy?

It isn’t a constant thought. It doesn’t invade your mind and keep you restless for days. Instead, it settles quietly at the core of your memory, at the back of your mind, lingering all day long. And all it takes for that fear to resurface is the phone call saying, “aunty X slumped and died yesterday”.

A few years ago, I read an essay titled “Slipping Away” by Chinonso Nzeh, my dear writer friend (I really should send Nonso a text). In it, he wrote about his fear of losing his parents. Every time his phone rang, his mind leapt to the worst possible conclusion. He assumed it was a distress call because he feared that one day, he’d be told that one of his parents had passed on. His heart would flip, over and over, bracing itself for bad news that hadn’t even come.

There is a rippling effect to death and grief that we don’t fully understand. It is hard, yet somewhat manageable, to process the death of someone you cared about but were not deeply attached to. The pain is real, but it does not leave you undone.

But when it is your mother or father, especially if you share a beautiful relationship with either of them, it is different. Entirely different. The word “grief” suddenly feels too small, too tidy, too insufficient, and too meagre. Five letters cannot fully describe something that complex. Because what you would feel would be heavier than sorrow, and deeper than loss. It would be a quiet unraveling of parts of yourself you didn’t even realise were etched into their skin.

Do you ever think about it? How one day, you might receive a call telling you your mother is no more. Your comforter. Your support system. Your woman.

And even if you shared a love-hate relationship, it would still pierce your heart. So sharply that, at first, you might not even register the pain—like a needle slipping into your skin while you’re sewing a small tear in your top. You feel it, but it doesn’t really settle in immediately.

You would pause. Still. Unblinking. Then shake your head, as though you just heard the most ridiculous lie. You might even laugh—hysterically—because surely, it has to be a joke. It has to be untrue.

And then it dawns on you.

You will never call “Mummy” again. That is when the tears begin to fall. Your sobs begin to cloud the entire room, and your heart begins throbbing unstoppably.

It is a complex cycle. Parents pray that their children will bury them. Children dread the day they will bury their parents. Yet one day, death will catch up to all of us, and we have no control over who it takes first.

I have been thinking about how vicious this cycle truly is. My heart aches for parents, especially mothers, who have watched their child or children die. How do they cope? How do they sit with the unbearable reality that they will never see their child again?

Does anyone ever fully heal from such trauma? I doubt it.

Time may pass. The world may continue moving. But I firmly believe that a part of them remains suspended in that exact moment—the moment their child’s body went cold. I firmly believe that the only heart time can’t heal is that of a mother who buried her child herself.

For parents who have lost their children, time does not make it easier or bearable. It simply forces them to move on physically; they remain in the same place mentally and emotionally.

There are so many things in life that will forever remain mysteries. Why you never fully heal from your first love. Why some people remain poor no matter how relentlessly they work. Why death sometimes disrupts our imagined order of things.

I wondered then, and I still wonder now: how does one survive such great loss? How does one wake up the next morning and continue breathing in a world where their parent or child no longer exists?

Maybe we do not fully survive loss; we simply learn to exist around it.

A few years ago, a distant family friend lost their 25-year-old first son. A boy they had birthed when life was unbearably difficult. He had now grown into a man with a promising job, a stable future, and on the brink of marriage. It finally seemed like life was making sense and coming together.

Then he fell ill on a random day. He took the necessary medications and treated himself properly. When he felt a little better, he resumed at work.

Despite the medications and signs of recovery, he slumped at his workplace one day. His colleagues called his parents, and they rushed down with agony brewing in their bones. I was told that the young man’s body grew cold in his mother’s embrace. His arms were akimbo, and his tongue was heavy with words that would remain forever unspoken in his final moments.

Just like that, he was gone.

Till date, his mother has not healed. It is quite obvious. The WhatsApp profile picture she refuses to change alone gives it away. Everything shifted from that very moment. It will never, and can never, be the same again.

And all of this leads me to a bigger question: what even is the essence of life? If life and death are playing a quiet chess game over each soul, what then is the point of over complicating life? Of keeping malice with loved ones? Of fighting over which meal to prepare with your mother? Of arguing endlessly without resolution? Of getting scared to take risks. What even is the essence of not living fully?

I see people—children and parents—act ungrateful toward each other’s kindness. An argument erupts one day, and suddenly everyone acts detached: no texts, no calls, no check ins. Just pure silence. Thick, stubborn silence.

This is why I always urge people to live fully. Live as if the future isn’t assured because it really isn’t. And love your parents—love them hard. Because one day, they might not even be here to hear your screams. The people you love today might not be here with you tomorrow. You must hold onto the present, and cherish what you have now.

But we must never forget that, in the end, no matter how painful the thought is, one person will recieve a phone call about the other’s death, or worse, watch it happen physically. The question remains: who would it be? Would it be you or your parents?

Hey there! First blog post of the year!!!!! Happy new year! I’m extremely happy that I’ve finally published a piece (even though this should have come way earlier).

Today, I’m leaning more toward having a conversation than just sharing my thoughts on this topic.

If you’re chronically online, you’ve probably come across at least one of these things I’m about to mention:

1. Stranger Things coming to an end.

2. The devastating death of CNA’s child.

3. Kristy Sarah filing for divorce.

4. Farina Jo and Dongin’s separation.

These are just a few public or celebrity-related events that have made people feel sad since the start of the new year.

Some people have expressed genuine concern for everyone mentioned on that list. As for the show, many have felt alienated and melancholic, considering they grew up watching it. For some, the show was an integral part of their childhood.

Now, the purpose of this blog post isn’t to dissect the horrible things that have happened to people in 2026 (crazy cause the year just started), but to discuss the backlash towards fans who are genuinely affected by each news.

Personally, I’ve been affected by Stranger Things coming to an end because it was the only show I genuinely looked forward to after You ended. I was also deeply saddened by the news of Chimamanda’s son’s death. I’ve been a fan of CNA since my early teens and have read most of her works. She shaped my understanding of feminism and self-worth, and one thing that consistently stands out in her writing is grief. She doesn’t just write about grief—she dissects it, layer by layer.

Kristy’s news was heartbreaking as well. Their page was a comfort space for my twin and me, especially after our secondary school graduation when we often felt sad. It was a form of relief for us.

So yes, these people have impacted me in one way or another, and hearing sad news about them is bound to sting a little.

What really shocks me, though, is the amount of backlash directed towards people who genuinely feel for them. You see comments like:

• “It’s just a damn show.”

• “The show isn’t even that good.”

• “How can you feel sad for someone you don’t even know?”

• “Stop letting social media deceive you—not every couple is happy.”

• “Why are you affected by the passing of a celebrity’s child?”

These are the kinds of vile comments you see online, and they make me wonder if people realise they’re talking about real human beings. If you strip away the “celebrity” label so many of them carry, what’s left are people with real feelings, just like the rest of us.

Imagine growing up with something and then, all of a sudden, it ceases to exist—you’re bound to feel a sense of sadness. That’s exactly how it feels for people who grew up watching a show or reading a book series and are now witnessing it come to an end.

Now, this isn’t a justification for extreme parasocial relationships with public figures. Those can be unhealthy and even dangerous. It is wrong, and those type of people should learn how to differentiate realities.

But I really need our generation to start allowing people to feel again.

Even though the things I mentioned earlier are what sparked this post, it becomes clear when you dig a little deeper that this pattern shows up everywhere in the world we’re living in today.

Someone loses their partner and takes a long time to heal, and people say they’re “stuck.”

Someone loses their job and spirals into depression, and people say they’re “slow” or that they should learn to “pick themselves up.”

Someone loses something meaningful, and people dismiss it with, “It’s just X—you can easily replace it.”

This culture of policing people’s feelings and dictating timelines has to stop.

Empathy isn’t weakness, and it isn’t performative. It’s simply human. We are allowed to feel things deeply and reminisce about past memories, even when the source of those feelings don’t fit into someone else’s idea of what’s “valid.” Stories, art, and people shape us in subtle ways, and grief doesn’t ask for permission before it shows up. It simply envelops a part of your heart and affects you for a certain period. Feeling something doesn’t make us foolish; it reminds us that we’re alive.

So, if you’re sad that your favourite coffee drink is scarce? Let it sting a little. If you’re moody because your favourite show ended? Let it sit with you. If you’re healing from a traumatic breakup? Let yourself breathe and feel. If you’re struggling with personal stuff —real, private struggles, not just celebrity news? Let yourself feel it.

Just let people be humans with emotions again.

This has been on my mind a lot lately. Now I’d love to hear your thoughts: do you think people feel too much these days, or do you think we should all be allowed to feel without judgment?

I started 2025 with a burn to do better. I wanted to do better in my business, health, life, relationship—name it. I really had the burn for greatness because I knew I could be more.

I always had this problem where I’d burn out mid year and then take a break. But by the time I would get back, I’d have lost most of the things I worked hard for. For instance, if I had grown my social media account before taking a break, my reach would collapse before I get back. It was a vicious cycle, and I needed to snap out of it quickly.

I talked about this cycle a lot this year, and I realised that I wasn’t alone. Other people could relate to the fleeting nature of social media and goals in general.

I know a lot of people also have end-of-the-year blues. Well, we’re twinning because I’m feeling very lost and detached today.

Today is Wednesday, 31 December 2025–the year has almost come to an end. The burn out of 2025 has ended. The toils and struggles to stay consistent has ended. Everything has come to an abrupt pause, and we’re all giving room for new things to unfold.

However, I can’t help but reminisce on how hard I worked this year—only to lose most of the things I worked hard for by December. I lost my job, became depressed, and lost my drive to push all in one day.

I really worked hard for that job. I took on more responsibilities than required, and I gave it my best shot. So, it was deeply defeating to hear the COO say, “Content strategy has changed, so we can’t continue with you. It has nothing to do with your work rate—you did well.” This was an opportunity I prayed for, fasted over, and cried about. How did it go sour?

Something died in me that day. Depression crept in quietly, and I didn’t fully realise this until yesterday—30th of December.

Did I work tirelessly all year only to lose the most crucial things I worked hard for?

What breaks my heart most is that they’re people who probably work harder than me, and they still share this same reality. How will they carry on? It is unfair, but I guess life just likes taking its course—and there’s nothing we can do about it. Very rude life.

“We lose some, we gain some.”

I’ve been trying to live with this mindset, but I can’t lie to myself—this pain cuts really really deep.

But I have to keep going—we have to keep going. “Stopping is never an option”, they say.

So today, I decided to write a list of things I want to achieve in 2026. I sectioned these things into two categories: personal goals and career-based goals. A few of those things are: going to the gym, getting brand deals, earning more money, graduating with a first class, loving harder, and more.

I’m a big dreamer. I have so many things I want to achieve in life, and my greatest fear is lying on my deathbed and realising I never chased or fulfilled those dreams. My boyfriend often reminds me that as long as God is part of my story, that thought shouldn’t be rooted in fear. So, I’m choosing to trust his words a little more.

Ending 2025 depressed wasn’t what I planned, but I’m grateful for life so far.

You see, this is exactly why I hate depression. It’ll make you feel like a loser, even when you’re a fucking genius.

I literally bought myself a phone this year, I made almost a million from content & strategy, I grew my Substack, I loved my boyfriend for a whole year (& counting), I became closer to God, I worked on my relationship with my sister and parents, I attended numerous shoots, I posted consistently, I put myself out there more, I crossed 3k followers on Instagram and 1k on TikTok, and more—I’m literally THAT GIRL.

So, I’m promising myself that depression won’t have me. I’ll win, and I’ll keep winning every day until I die. And if you’re feeling this way too, I want us to make a promise that we won’t stop until we win. I’m rooting for us!

• Take a seat beside me 🫶🏼.

Here’s to a better 2026❤️. Thank you for reading Nostalgicink.

with love,

Toria.

There’s a certain prejudice people have against feminists. Most times, this prejudice is an evidence of misinformation and lack of understanding.

What started as a movement for women’s equal access and opportunity has been twisted by some into a tool for denying women their full humanity.

I first saw this tweet in October, and for a moment, I had so many retorts—but I couldn’t quite articulate them.

It’s saddening to see how much anti-feminists would go out of their way to prove that women aren’t deserving of compassion and simple care.

I’ve never been an advocate of chivalry. While some chivalric actions stem from genuine care, the concept has deeper implications. One of them is the idea that women are incapable of handling basic things and therefore need men as saviours—men who must swoop in and rescue them. Chivalry also fuels the existence of male-centred women, whose actions are often rooted in pleasing men in exchange for validation, protection, or reward.

***

Feminism- the advocacy of women’s rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes.

Feminist- an advocate of women’s rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes; a person who supports feminism.

At its core, feminism demands equality—not sameness. It does not claim that men and women are identical. In fact, men and women thrive in their differences, but difference has never been, and should never be, a justification for inequality.

We cannot discuss inequality towards women without shedding light on the several factors that influence it. Several feminist theories like the Radical Theory, Liberal Theory, and Marxist Theory all have one thing in common: their fight against the injustice and oppression of women. Each of these theories highlight several contributing factors to why women have been oppressed for years.

In the African feminist space, feminism is different and a lot tougher. If there’s no pick me woman bashing hardworking feminists, there’s a misogynistic man telling feminists that they don’t know what misogyny is—but proceeds to say men would forever be above women.

In Africa, we don’t operate with feminist theories. Instead, we have extremely angry feminists, proactive feminists, and off and on feminists. The extremely angry feminists are the ones who are well informed about the different aspects of oppression women face globally—from the cultural aspect, to the political aspect, and the social aspect. These women are well read and they spill facts, and a good number of them have also experienced this cycle of injustice perpetuated towards women directly or indirectly. These women bring in a healthy blend of action and strong societal opinions. Most of them have been directly harmed by the system, and when a system wounds you repeatedly, anger is inevitable. That anger is valid. What becomes ugly is when people dismiss these feminists as “bitter” and weaponise marriage as some golden prize they’ll supposedly never earn.

The second type of feminists are the proactive feminists. These feminists are well aware of the injustice done to women, and they always speak up. They write blog posts, engage in meaningful conversations online, argue with misinformed people on their contact list, and fight with family members occasionally because of their views. These ones do so much from their little corner—which still contributes to the change we all want to see.

The last type of feminists we have in Africa are the off and on feminists. These ones have feminist ideologies but would rather die than call themselves feminists. They’ll organise women empowerment events, speak at places that uplift women, give opinions that are in line with feminism, but would never call themselves “feminists” because it has too much drama. And when they do call themselves feminists, they’re quick to become patriarchy princesses, wiggling back into the same system that was never designed for them when it suites.

Regardless of the category of feminists that exist globally, it is inhumane to think that a woman doesn’t deserve anything good, especially love, because she believes in equality.

The root of this conversation lies in the refusal to see women as fully human—capable of making their own decisions. First, if you reject patriarchal practices, society will weaponize your feminist beliefs against you. Second, if you reject patriarchal practices but still believe in love, society will hand you a thousand reasons why love should be beyond your reach. Third, if you reject patriarchal practices and are happily married, society will dissect your relationship, litter it with toxicity, and offer irrational opinions at every turn.

The underlying problem is that our society struggles to accept that equality and love can coexist. Love isn’t just about showing care—it’s rooted in action, compromise, and commitment. And for patriarchs and male-centered women, creating a space where love can thrive without coercion, control, or cruelty seems impossible.

These set of people simply can’t visualise a world where kindness exists as a fundamental principle of humanity. They believe that one has to fit into a certain structure that they align with, if not, they’re under serving of good things.

If a woman has the same abilities and knowledge as a man in a certain field, why shouldn’t she be given equal access? Why is it that when feminists shed light on these issues, others are quick to use marriage as a rebuttal.

“I thought you’re a feminist, why do you need love or help”? —a stupid question.

On several occasions, we’ve seen men ask women: “when your car breaks down on the road, who do you call?” Or “When your sink clogs, who do you call?”

They say these things to iterate and prove to women that they are nothing without men—and I find it absurd. These fields that are often used as examples are well dominated by men, not because women can’t work in those fields, but because society has long confined women to specific careers and labeled others as inappropriate for them. It’s why a father can stop his girl child from being a civil engineer because “that course is for boys”. So, these people do not even realise that they are proving feminists right. The absence of women in these fields sends a powerful message, but every time, patriarchs and male centred women remain oblivious to this message.

Feminism isn’t a chieftaincy title that should only be attained after notable work. It is not an award given to someone for doing something extraordinary, nor is it a villa reserved for the elite—it is simply a basic human right. Therefore, using someone’s human rights as a reason to claim they don’t deserve love or good things is deeply out of touch.

Just because a woman says she deserves to be treated with respect does not mean she is undeserving of love or the butterflies that come with it. It also does not mean she will never get married, nor does it mean she will never need help.

Women asking to be treated fairly should not be used as a reason to ostracise them.

Many women struggle to ask for help because they have been forced to embrace hyper-independence, simply to avoid being looked down on by society. This has never been by choice, but by necessity. Society has continuously told women that needing help makes them weak, burdensome, and incapable, so many women have learned to do everything themselves—which is very exhausting. Hyper-independence is exhausting for everyone, not just women’s The constant pressure to prove strength silences their needs and makes asking feel like a failure to fulfil their personal needs rather than a human necessity.

There are so many layers to this conversation, but this is the simplest way to put it. The next time someone tries to weaponise love or care against feminism, remember that feminism is grounded in basic human rights. If that’s a problem for you, then the issue isn’t feminism—it’s you.

What Does it Mean to Be a Neutral Friend?

The neutral friend is the one who decides to listen to everyone’s part of the story without having an opinion; the friend who decides to stay “in the middle” because they think picking a side would cause more harm than good. The neutral friend tries not to hurt anyone’s feelings—little do they know that in considering everyone, they are shying away from the truth and fact.

I feel a deep repugnance towards friends who decide to not call out someone in their friend group when they mess up.

Neutral friends mostly exist in friends groups. You’d hardly ever find a a neutral friend situation happening in a dual friendship. It’s always with trios and quadruple friendship groups.

This is not to say that when two people in a friend group have a misunderstanding, you should pick a side and villainise the other person. But if one person is clearly at fault, why’re you restraining yourself from calling them out?

I personally fear friends who have witnessed someone in a friend group act callously and insensitive towards another friend, but they still decide to remain “cool” with them because “they didn’t directly hurt me”. I firmly believe that a friend who has the ability to undeniably hurt one person in a friend group without taking accountability can also hurt you too, so why are you so unconcerned because it hasn’t happened to you yet?“Breakfast na national cake” is actually so true in this context because the bad character you’ve been ignoring from someone will eventually come back to bite you.

This is not to say that you should randomly take sides with your friends simply because they have issues with someone else. What you should do is to hear both sides and harness the situation, especially if it is a well established friend group. Nobody even has to be right, but you owe it to your friendship to highlight those mistakes and look for solutions so everyone can do better.

I once had a friend who insulted and cursed out my family on a public group. She called my parents names, wished death upon them, and cursed me out too because of a misunderstanding. And to my surprise, only two people on that group firmly called her out. Every other person either ignored or sided with her and continued their friendship until all her supporters got a fair share of her cruelty.

I think that when we don’t call out people when they actively hurt others, we enable their behaviours. We leave it to blossom simply because “I haven’t experienced it. E never touch me”. When do we actually realise that it takes very little for someone with a barbaric behaviour to act crudely towards us?

Neutral friends are usually avoidant and self absorbed. I say “self absorbed” because there’s a high chance that they’d feel hurt if that act was ever done to them, but for weird reasons, they’d watch it happen to someone else without voicing out.

Friends owe themselves accountability and transparency. You can’t say you love your friend(s) and actively decide to not champion growth in the relationship. You can’t say you value your friendship and you decide not to uphold that value in a misunderstanding.

On Inheriting Beefs

Neutral friends also make statements like “I don’t inherit beef”. No one is expected to get angry at another person for no reason. But if someone openly does something terrible to your friend, and you are still best of friends with that person, you should be questioned. We are so accountability depraved that we’ve forgotten that friendship thrives on commitment, respect, accountability, and transparency .

If you’re committed to someone or something, you should protect it. You preserve it as your safe haven, and if someone or something tries to trespass, you guard it. That’s how you should be in such situations.

It is still important to learn discernment and diplomacy. You Shouldn’t be involved in every misunderstanding, but when your friend needs you, be there!

We need to be more intentional about our friendships. We need to learn how to take accountability and not shy away from being a genuine friend.

I hope every neutral friend learns that it’s okay to be unfiltered, supportive, and genuine.

My grandfather was the only child of his very aged mother. I was told that his father, my great grandfather, didn’t believe his wife when she told him about the pregnancy. He doubted it until her baby bump began to show.

My great grandfather was a renowned herbalist with many wives. My grandfather’s mother was the second of those wives. She tried to conceive for years, but it just never worked out until one faithful day, and everything changed.

I was told that my great grandmother often referred to my grandfather as her old-age blessing. My grandfather was an answered prayer to his mother, and he carried that weight as a child with no one to rely on. He weathered through every storm himself and comforted himself on dark days.

My grandfather never had the luxury of support. The first time he rebelled against his father was when he decided to leave traditionalism for Christianity. He says that his father thought of him as a stray child.

When my grandfather was older, he stayed with some people to be a “house boy”. Those people also had “boy-boys” who lived with them. “Boy-boy” is a practice where Igbo boys would go to a master’s shop to learn a specific business or trade. It is because of this practice that we see Igbo men in the market who say, “my colour, come and buy from me”, and many more ludicrous remarks to attract customers.

My grandfather says that he and his fellow boy-boys got served beans every single day till they were done serving their master. He now fondly says that it was what solidified his love for beans.

During my grandfather’s stay in that house, he fought hard and persevered. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to survive in such conditions, but he did anyway. That was the type of person my grandfather was—a fighter through and through.

The Biafran War Era

My grandfather got married during the Biafran war era. He was just 21 years old then, and he deemed himself ready for marriage. Later on, he birthed seven children with his only wife—he swore to never embrace polygamy because he witnessed its adverse effects on his family while growing up.

My grandfather revealed that he married early and birthed that many children because he was an only child with no support. He wanted to provide a long chain of support systems for his children because “even if the whole world turned on you, your true siblings wouldn’t.”

Two months ago, I asked my grandfather about his life during the Biafran war—as a newly wed and someone who was just starting out life. He took a long sigh and said the story was a long one. He promised to tell me everything in detail the next time we see.

But what stuck with me most was his firm decision to start a family. He carried numerous responsibilities on his shoulders, and he fought hard so his shoulders wouldn’t break.

On Birthing Children

My mother was the first child of my grandfather. My grandfather birthed my mother when he was really young. He had no idea how to bring up a child, but he tried either way.

Things got really hard for the family, so my grandmother remained in the village, Ekala, while he stayed in Lagos to hustle and provide for his family.

My grandfather—a man who didn’t have any form of education—worked in respectable places during his youth. He worked in PZ as a supervisor until someone falsely accused him of theft. He was framed and jailed for a crime he didn’t commit. He lost his job and self-esteem, but he didn’t give up.

Phones didn’t exist during that era, so my grandmother had no idea that he was in jail. She’d only send letters that’d take ages to be delivered to my grandfather who was in Lagos, and he would assure that he was doing well.

My grandfather also worked at a well known Airline company before he resigned due to health issues. This was the peak of his career, and everyone enjoyed the benefits of that job.

My mother still jokes about how proud my grandfather was the day her eldest son was born—my eldest brother. She says that my grandfather came bearing gifts, Catholic hymns, and dollar notes that he sprayed on her and the new born.

My grandfather stopped living for himself at a really young age. His new priority was his family. Neither my grandfather nor grandmother were fully educated, but they made sure that all their seven children would become graduates. To them, education was the greatest path to a better life, and they wanted the very best for their seven children.

They produced the first female graduate in their entire village—my mother.

My mother says that even though they didn’t have much while growing up, my grandfather always made sure that she and her siblings went back to school with enough provisions and foodstuff.

My grandfather wasn’t just a hustler, he was also a Catholic choir master who loved music dearly. He led the choristers with grace and wisdom, using music to speak to people on deep levels.

On Building

Despite the challenges of life and training seven children through their education, my grandfather still bought properties in Ekala (his village) and Lagos. He built a house in Lagos and Ekala, and he now has tenants who reside there. My grandfather also has shares and partnerships (with brands like MTN). He has lived a life worthy of emulation. His results are testaments of his never-ending drive.

Now

My grandfather is now in his seventies. He’s battling asthma, arthritis, and some other health conditions, but he is still very much youthful and very happy. On days when his legs can’t will him to morning mass, he stays at home and sings hyms with my grandmother. On days when his seven children and grandchildren gather in his house, he mandates everyone to attend morning devotion and lashes out on anyone who disturbs that sequence.

My grandfather has his flaws—they’re quite a number. The first on the list is his troublesomeness, and we all quarrel with him because of it, but beneath the quarrels and “papa nsobu gi di egwu”—which loosely translates to, “papa your trouble is too much”, we all love him dearly.

My grandfather has lived a tough yet admirable life. Some days, I think of what we’d all do if he ever passes. I pray a day like that never comes, but I know I can’t cheat nature, so I pray that death doesn’t take him anytime soon.

Whenever I think of giving up, I remember the embodiment of determination—Mpa nnem (my mother’s father). A man who has fought against all odds—who has persevered not because perseverance was easy, but because he chose it over and over again.

Because of him, I am. Because of Mpa nnem, I will always be.

“Yes, Juliana. I love you.”

Kayode affirmed, but something felt off about his assurance. He drifted as he spoke, turning his head away. Juliana noticed, but she chose to believe.

“Kay,” she said, as she fondly called him, “do you love me, or you love my toto?” Juliana asked firmly.

“Ju baby! Don’t say that na. Of course I love you!” Kay said, but the hesitation in his voice was obvious.

“So why don’t you drive your ex away from this house whenever she comes to visit? Why does she still have your spare keys? Why does she linger around, waiting for you to come home to her ugly face?” Juliana asked, her voice brimming with confidence.

Kay inched closer as she spoke, and cupped her face in his palms. He slid his tongue into her mouth, silencing her before she could say another word. Juliana chuckled, forgetting the seriousness she had carried just moments ago.

He fondled her breasts, sucking on her left one vigorously while using his other hand to press her closer.

He kissed her neck, biting a little harder than usual, and she winced in pain laced with intense pleasure.

***

Juliana knew exactly what kind of man Kayode was. He was the type to profess love to her in the morning and stop by Allen Junction at night to pick up a local prostitute. He was the type to ridicule her appearance yet cover her body in drool as he thrust deep during steamy sex. He was the type to introduce her to his friends as just a “friend”, and also introduce his ex girlfriends as “friends” to her. But despite all his flaws, she believed he loved her dearly.

Juliana wasn’t naive. She knew Kayode was unfaithful. She often called his type a filthy womaniser—someone who would either end up miserably alone or die from sexually transmitted diseases. And yet, for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, she loved him. Time and again, she found herself going back to Kayode, even though he broke her heart a little more each time.

One time, she walked in on Kayode, choking and thrusting vigorously into a woman he had introduced to her as his “cousin.”

Juli knew Kay’s sense of loyalty was like rotten, spilled milk—yet she stayed anyway.

***

Juliana was a slender woman with a body that nearly edged on perfection. She looked like a figure drenched in caramel. When the sun shone on her skin, it glistened so brightly it could almost serve as a mirror.

Juli had lived a life of conformity. When her father sent her and her sisters to different homes after their mother’s death, she bent herself to please her relatives. She had no ideals of her own, and she was used to shape-shifting—everything she knew had been inherited.

Life turned cold for Juliana on a disastrous Sunday evening, when her father resumed his violent beatings of her mother. That chilly evening, Juli peered into her mother’s eyes and saw only pain soaked in regret. Her mother used to tell her and her sisters about other suitors who had been ready to marry her, but she had loved their Pa so much that his red flags had seemed to turn orange. It wasn’t until she married him that the gradient finally fizzled out.

That evening, as Juli watched her father beat her mother with frantic fury, she felt a sudden and fierce urge to hurt him—he had tormented them for far too long. She was willing to sacrifice her life for her mother’s happiness and safety. So, with tears streaming down her face, she hurried to the backyard, searching endlessly for a firm plank—until she found one. She marched into the parlour with rage burning through her. She had had enough of her father’s abuse—and she no longer cared what it would cost her. But she knew that she was either going to send him to his grave that night, or leave him in a condition that would never allow him to hurt them again.

Juli summoned all her strength to lift the plank as she stood firmly behind her father. Its weight overpowered her, but she couldn’t care less. Just as she swung the plank, he turned suddenly and dodged—and the plank struck her mother instead, leaving a deep cut on her temple.

Her mother winced in pain as a pool of blood gushed down her torn temple. There was blood everywhere. Blood on Juli’s hands, blood on her mother’s body, and blood on her father’s knuckles from pounding her mother uncontrollably.

Juli staggered back as shock swallowed her whole. She never meant to hit her mother—that was never her aim. But she had, and now her mother was bleeding nonstop. Her mother had given up long before the plank had injured her—that was only the final straw.

Juliana’s mother tried to string words together, but nothing formed. She kept trembling and gasping for air until she couldn’t fight anymore.

Juliana fell to her knees in surrender and shook her mother ferociously. “Ma, wake up! Mummy, wake up! Mummy, wake up!” She shouted repeatedly, but her mother lay there—unmoving.

It was that final call that made her realize how cold her mother had become. She wasn’t breathing, nor was she struggling—she was simply still and silent.

Juliana wailed and screamed with every ounce of energy she had left. She shook her mother again, desperate for a sign, but nothing changed.

For the first time, Juliana prayed her father’s fists would find her—because death felt kinder than a world where her mother no longer lived.

Her father drew her from her thick afro hair and continued the beating he didn’t get to finish off with her mum. It was then Juliana realised just how evil her father was. “He doesn’t deserve to be a father”, she thought so sometimes, but that thought never sunk in until that day. Years later, she would try to convince herself that her father hadn’t realised her mother took her last breath that night—that he must have believed she had only passed out, as usual, and would soon wake again.

***

Juli didn’t only lose her mother that day—she lost every part of herself. She blamed herself for years; she still does. But blame never brought healing. Nothing changed. Not then, not now.

That was the last day Juli ever made a self-conscious decision. The plank had been a symbol of her defiance, and it died with her mother.

So when she learned her father had chosen to send her to live with their most frustrated, brutal, and cruel relative after the funeral, she wasn’t surprised. It was his final way of breaking her—and she understood that all too well.

On the surface, that was why Juli stayed with Kay, even though she knew there might be better out there. Kay wasn’t a vile man, unlike her father.

Juli never believed a ‘good enough’ partner existed—that was for fortune people. Her ideal partner was simply anyone better than her father. So she comforted herself with the belief that Kay was different. He showed her affection, attention, and what felt like love. He worshipped her body and made intense and steamy love to her; his only constant flaw was how often he criticised her dressing.

He had other faults—womanising topping them all—but at least, he never dared to hit her.

On a deeper level, Juliana stayed with Kay because seeking a solution always brought her more pain than relief. She had never really learned what it meant to walk away from situations or people who didn’t serve her. And she had never fully understood what love was.

For a long time, “love” to Juliana had meant purple eye patches, beatings, and concealers hidden under the guise of “my husband’s house.” So when she finally found Kay, a man who didn’t hit her or make her feel like an outsider, she believed that was all she needed. She knew he loved her—he just made foolish mistakes. But at least his mistakes didn’t involve unprovoked beatings.

So, Juliana embraced her relationship with Kay, cherishing it as the closest thing to love she had ever known.

Note: The information presented in this piece was obtained through extensive research. It is subject to revision or correction in cases of misinterpretation, emergence of new evidence, or availability of additional verified information.

Who Is Ochanya?

Ochanya Ogbanje, a bright child who was passionate about her studies was raped by her uncle and cousin from age 8 to 13.

Ochanya was the youngest of eleven children in her family. She lived with her parents in Benue State and loved going to school. However, when the school in her village was shut down, there were no educational options left locally. As a result, Ochanya went to live with her aunt, Felicia Ogbuja, who promised to enroll her in school. Her aunt later registered her at the Federal Government Girls College, Gboko.

Ochanya’s Story

Ochanya lived with the Ogbujas—her aunt, uncle, and their five children—in their home. After sometime, Ochanya’s cousin, Victor Ogbuja, began molesting her at the age of 8 until she was 13. He was eventually caught by his sister, Winifred Ogbuja, who reported him to their father, Andrew Ogbuja. Andrew scolded him for his evil behaviour, and not long after, he started sleeping with Ochanya.

From an interview with Ochanya, “When I was eight years old, the son started sleeping with me and when his sister caught him, she reported him to their father and the father scolded him. From there, the father also started sleeping with me and I told my mother; that is why we brought this case here. I want my health back.”

(Kindly sign this petition: https://c.org/ssXxNSFm6Y)

According to reports, Winifred Ogbuja also informed her mother, Felicia Ogbuja, of the ongoing assault, but she allegedly dismissed it and warned Ochanya not to speak up.

Ochanya was raped from her vagina and anus by both Victor and Andrew Ogbuja from age 8 to 13 until she eventually died of Vesicovaginal Fistula (VVF), an illness that makes ones urinate and defecate without control, on October 17.

Ochanya’s sickness started in June 2012. In Ochanya’s last days, she was in immense pain, and she wore pampers to enable her movement. She was first taken to a hospital in Okpoga where she was treated for a while.

Ochanya’s situation wasn’t getting any better so her mother, Rose Ogbanje, took her to Restorer of PathCare Foundation in Otukpo. The founder of the foundation, Enuwa Margaret Soo, began looking into the issue to discover what was truly wrong with Ochanya. It was then that it was discovered that Ochanya had been a victim of continuous rape.

Ochanya’s situation is such a sad one because she could have gotten justice, but after her death, justice still wasn’t served. It was quite shocking when the medical history of Ochanya at the Medical Centre in Makurdi concluded that Ochanya died of natural causes, whereas the autopsy form the Police Forensic Department revealed that she died of illnesses caused by sexual assault.

The National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP) brought up this issue to the Federal High Court in Makurdi, and Felicia Ogbuja eventually faced charges of negligence because she was complicit in the inhumane act of her husband and son. She was arrested for only five months. It was also alleged that she hid eleven of Ochanya’s test results at the earlier stage of Ochanya’s sickness. After her arrest, people came to testify of her good conduct in court, but what form of pity should be accorded to a vile human being who encouraged assault on a child?

(Kindly sign this petition: https://c.org/ssXxNSFm6Y)

Andrew and Victor Ogbuja are still walking freely today. Winifred, the sister who reported the act to their mother, is a popular Twitter influencer now.

It’s quite disheartening that NAPTIP, an organization already burdened with numerous responsibilities, had to step in just to ensure a minimal level of justice was served.

The Ogbuja family went to beg Ochanya’s parents for leniency after her death, but Ochanya’s family paid no heed. And I wonder, leniency on what grounds? That a child they laboured for was crumbled to nothing? That they were negligent to a girl child living in their care? And I wonder—leniency on what grounds? That a child they raised was reduced to nothing? Or that the Ogbujas were negligent toward a young girl entrusted to their care?

***

We have a systematic problem in Nigeria. The Child Right’s Act (CRA) wasn’t effective in all Nigerian states even down till 2021/22. It only became fully domesticated in all 36 states in 2024, and we still struggle with implementation.

In 2019, this interview that was conducted by TVC

proves that Ochanya’s death was a national tragedy—no one was quiet. Still, justice hasn’t been served.

The presiding judge, Mr. Ityonyiman, discharged and acquitted Andrew Ogbuja on the grounds of insufficient evidence. He explained that since the autopsy results from the Medical Centre in Makurdi and the Police Forensic Department did not align, there was nothing more he could do.

In a 2021 interview with the BBC, she recounted with pain how Ochanya walked slowly toward her that day. Her steps were weak, her face drawn, and she struggled to walk properly—constantly adjusting her wrapper. Her mother said Ochanya smiled at her and shook her hand, yet she looked so frail that it was hard to tell whether she was a teenager or a woman in her fifties—a reflection of how severely the illness had affected her.

In Rose’s words:

“Ochanya death dey pain me well well. I dey tink di mata too much I don be like vegetable. You no see how I dey thin evriday? Even sef, if I chop, e no dey do beta tin for my bodi. I know say pikin dey die for pipo, but di way she take die, if I tink am, e dey too pain me.”

This loosely translates to how deeply Ochanya’s death affected her, how she has struggled to regain her sanity since the incident, and how the memory still haunts her whenever she thinks about it.

My Last Words

We must further buttress on some points to understand the inadequacies within the Nigerian system that allow incidents like this to reoccur.

In the Nigerian context, it is common for uncles and aunts to take in young, distant relatives with promises of better education, only to exploit them as glorified servants in their homes. For a people who pride themselves on being moral arbiters, we must ask why kindness and empathy are so often absent from our moral code of conduct.

Every day, reports surface of adults abusing and assaulting young children:

“A 45-year-old man in Jalingo raped a 6-year-old girl who happens to be his Neighbour, and he’s HIV positive.

A security man molested a 4 year old child.

A nanny molested a little boy.”

There are countless similar cases, yet there is no reliable data showing whether these perpetrators are ever convicted.

Information gathered proves that Andrew and Felicia were religious people. The former a Knight, the latter a respected member of their church. I wonder—where did their empathy go? I sit with questions racing through my mind: ‘Would Felicia have hidden those test results if Ochanya were her daughter?’ ‘Would she have concealed the truth upon discovering Ochanya’s situation in her house if she were her child?’ ‘Would Andrew have taken turns with his son to assault Ochanya if it had been his own daughter he caught abusing?

I have so many questions, but words fail me every time I try to put them into writing.

We must protect our female children—the world is far too dangerous to leave them unguarded. A 2015 study by the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) shows that one in four girls and one in ten boys in Nigeria experience sexual assault before the age of 18.

Ochanya was denied any chance at survival, but justice could—and should—have been hers. The very system meant to protect her failed her completely. She spent her last days trapped in unbearable pain and relentless agony, a life cut short while the world looked on. She was raped until death, yet justice remains elusive. Has our justice system sunk to this level of failure?

@emikingzThere is victor Ogbuaja having a good time with friends,and I ask myself don't these so called friends know that the person they are hanging out with "R8PD"an underage girl for years till she passed away,him and his father "R8PD"the innocent child multiple,I mean "MULTIPLE"times for so many yeaars until she left this world😖, she was 13years old🥺,,her name was Ochanya OGBANJE,a girl that had a very bright future ahead,she was such a beautiful innocent lil girl that you and your dad destroyed.. Victor Ogbuaja you can hide,you can be on a low key but I want you to understand that Nigerians never forgets,Once Nigerians don mean you,it's takes the grace of God for you to scale thru the hate that we all are going to unleash on you!!!but God doesn't have your back on this one..Your name and your face has been marked as one of the most evil individuals ever,, And to those of his friends in this video,I know your names and faces but I chose not to tag names and show Ur faces cos I know Nigerians will drag you to the mud,which right now they have every right to do so!!!!! best you cut every contact and avoid Victor by any means necessary.. Speculations is that Victor Ogbuaja is in Lagos "Allegedly"....... A big thanks to the anonymous individual that shared this video to me,it was a long video but I had to cut the important one out..anyone with more info please slide to my DM🙏🙏,,also kindly share this and repost💪💪 #justiceforochanya #thestoryofochanyaogbanje #nigeriantiktok🇳🇬🇳🇬 #viral

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The Ogbujas have moved on with their lives as if nothing ever happened. The video above shows Andrew laughing with his friends, enjoying himself, and living his best life—while the pain he caused remains unresolved.

One thing that amazes me is how people—especially Nigerians—show pity for criminals. I often hear people make excuses for rapists, claiming that castration, life imprisonment, or even the death penalty are too harsh. Such statements leave me with nothing but pure disgust. What about the lives these monsters have destroyed? Did anyone stop to consider the victims’ well-being, or the lasting trauma inflicted upon them? I doubt they did. So why, then, do we feel pity for those whose actions are unimaginably vile?

I am also deeply disappointed by the silence of Nigerian public figures on this case. Nigeria is full of bright minds, and I’m certain many of them have seen this story. Ochanya is all over the internet, so why are these public figures not speaking up?

Influencers, content creators, pastors, imams, etc—no one is excluded.

Ochanya’s story blew up again because of a viral TikTok video that resurfaced recently. The creator in the video was sobbing frantically as she narrated the story. And I can’t help but imagine how this case would’ve been swept under the carpet forever if that lady didn’t post that video.

We must remember that anyone could be an Ochanya—even you. The sooner we start speaking out against injustice, the better it will be for our society.

Ochanya deserved to live, but since she could not, she at least deserves justice.

Kindly sign this petition: https://c.org/ssXxNSFm6Y

I’ll leave you with this interview of her parents:

@smallz307Replying to @Adnyl #ochanya

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In the Nigerian Constitution—and in constitutions around the world—every human is entitled to fundamental human rights: the right to live, to choose, and to think freely without external coercion or interference.
So why, then, do people—especially in African societies—deny women this birthright in the name of marriage?

It’s a familiar belief to many, especially in the eastern parts of Nigeria: “Don’t let your wife work—she’ll become proud and refuse your leadership,” they often tell husbands.
What’s worse is when religious institutions that pretend to be “modern” plead with men to “allow” their wives to work. They believe they’re dismantling a toxic system with such teachings, but they aren’t. Instead, they reaffirm—once again—that men have the authority to decide whether their wives can work or not.

Why do we believe that a woman’s decisions must be anchored to a man’s approval? It’s one thing to share dreams and plans with your husband, but it’s entirely different to let his verdict dictate the course of your life. To share your dreams with your husband is love; to let his verdict decide your future is surrender.

We need to confront society’s persistent obsession with limiting women. People often claim that women have it easy, but I disagree—I believe that idea is rooted in ignorance and irrationality. In reality, especially in corporate spaces, women are still seen as less capable, less logical, and unfit to lead.

At the heart of this problem is how we view marriage itself. Too often, we see marriage as an institution—rigid, ceremonial, governed by tradition—rather than a relationship built on companionship. When marriage is seen as the latter, it becomes something sacred, gentle, and shielded from the noise of societal expectations.

Last Sunday in church, a woman shared her testimony after graduating from medical school—one of the highest accomplishments in her field. In the midst of her gratitude, she mentioned that her husband cared for their children while she stayed in a hostel to prepare for her exams.

After her testimony, the pastor turned to her husband and thanked him repeatedly. First, for taking care of the children and knowing exactly what to do with them, even though it wasn’t considered a “man’s job.” Second, for allowing his wife to further her education. Third, for paying—or at least contributing toward—the exam fees.

Mind you, he wasn’t even certain whether it was her husband that paid for the exam or the woman herself—but he went ahead to give the man credit. When he spoke directly to the woman, he didn’t say “congratulations”, or “well done for raising your exam fee (or part of it)”. Instead, he reminded her that no achievement, no matter how significant, could ever make her greater than her husband. He stressed that, at home, she was to remain his helper, and all her successes should be presented at his feet.

He continued with stories and examples, yet never offered a single word of praise to the woman who had just passed her medical exams.

I found his statement more interesting than infuriating. Why is it that when women reach remarkable heights, people feel compelled to remind them that, at home, they are “nothing”? They try to limit women by insisting that their achievements are worthy enough to take pride in. Society constantly wants women to remember that they are to be treated as second-class citizens.

It is also troubling that society considers men taking care of their children “unusual.” Every parent’s first duty is to care for their child—so why should men be exempted from this responsibility? Doesn’t it reflect poorly on us when we assume men are incapable of caring for their children? Why should men be thanked simply for being responsible fathers to their children?

Love is rooted in consideration. True consideration means cherishing your partner’s dreams as if they were your own. No one should have the authority to say, “No, you cannot pursue this dream.” The very idea of needing to be allowed to do something is inherently flawed, because to allow implies that the same person can also restrict you from it.

As I write on this topic, I am reminded of our mothers who lost life-changing opportunities because they were not allowed to pursue their dreams. Marriage in Africa is often designed to stifle women. Its structures and expectations are built to subdue and oppress them. Yet, I am encouraged that many new-age couples are becoming more aware of what true love truly entails.

The average Nigerian marriage often requires a woman to put her dreams on hold to care for the family. This is why so many Nigerian women end up as replicas of their mothers and grandmothers. These women carry untold stories in their hearts. They cradle their dead dreams in their hands, using them to support their children and husbands—at what cost? Can we not strive to build a system where husbands and wives work together as a team to build their home, without suppressing the woman’s ambitions?

One thing we must stop is disassociating ourselves from the realities African women face due to this “allow” culture in marriage. Just because your mother was able to pursue her dreams doesn’t mean that the majority of African women get the same opportunity. Many women have had to deny themselves happiness in order to raise their families.

The truth is, children can still turn out fine—as long as both parents work together as a team. But because we have placed overly rigid roles on ourselves, we have forgotten that teamwork should be at the core of every marriage.

It is time for everyone to rethink. If you are a man reading this, dissolve the “allow” mindset in marriage. Let your wife live. If you are free to chase your dreams without restrictions, your wife should have the same freedom.

For us to dismantle the “allow” culture in marriage, we must begin by recognising a fundamental truth: women are full human beings, deserving of the same freedom and respect as men. When there is a shared understanding that women have autonomy—the right to live, to choose, to pursue their dreams, and to become leaders in the world—we can truly begin to progress.

Society must also kill the urge to subdue women simply because of their success. When a woman achieves something great, it is not the time to remind her of submission, but to celebrate her accomplishments and encourage her to keep forging ahead. When true love is present, mutual respect becomes a given. There is no need—or desire—to supersede or override your wife.

We must first see women as full human beings before anything else; only then can society truly move forward. The dreams of a woman—a full human being—should never be tied to another person or limited by marriage.

If a man can further his education, a woman should be able to do the same.

If a husband can advance his career, a woman should have that same opportunity.

If a family can relocate because the husband gets his dream job, it should not be a problem when it’s the woman.

If a man can lead, a woman should be given the opportunity to lead as well.

No what-ifs, no ifs, no buts—just equal access, respect, consideration, and opportunities.

We must learn not to stifle women’s dreams.
Our mothers carry buried dreams like heavy stones; our daughters and wives should never inherit that same reality.

Lately, I’ve had more time to myself. Spending the holidays at home, I’ve tried to strike a balance between rest and work. Amid it all, I’ve taken comfort in watching movies and series.

I’m very intentional about the films I watch because I feel deeply. I’m the type of person who lets movie characters live on in my heart. I believe that every character is an embodiment of someone somewhere in this world.

I recently watched You and Everything Else, and as usual, it left me with a lot of feelings to unpack.

That series showed how thin the line between love and hate can be. It convinced me that we can love people and still hurt them because of the complexities inherent in relationships. It also taught me that not every love is meant to last forever—even the most genuine kind.

The series made me reflect on my own friendships and relationships. So, before I share my thoughts on the film You and Everything Else, I’d like to tell you a short story.

***

I once had a friend in secondary school, whom I’ll call H for the sake of this story.

H was very dear to me, and I loved H genuinely. I had never felt that kind of relentless, platonic love for anyone in my life. The love I had for H was pure—it forgave even when forgiveness wasn’t owed, and it cared even when it felt like an act of quiet self-destruction.

The love I had for H was also steeped in empathy. H did not have the easiest childhood, and H carried a burden far too heavy. That weight consumed H, blurring the lines between right and wrong, love and hate, care and overwhelm in H’s relationships. Yet, despite the ways H repeatedly hurt me, I remained H’s friend.

I often wondered why I loved H so much. H could be cruel—sometimes unbearably so—but H was also capable of remarkable sweetness. I remember a day when my sister, a mutual friend, and I were craving a particular meal. H didn’t have much money, yet H emptied her account to order it so we could all share.

There was a day when my secondary school’s proprietress spoke to me rudely. I left school in a pool of tears. No one noticed—I was alone, as everyone else was busy writing their WAEC exams. I had no one to run to for comfort. My heart raced as I walked down the road. My vision was blurry, and I was unable to tell left from right. I called H with desperation. H picked up immediately, but I couldn’t speak coherently—I could only cry, and I drew the attention of passersby.

H’s house wasn’t close to our school, yet H rushed to me as fast as possible. When H sighted me, H ran forward and embraced me with a warm hug. H was that kind of friend sometimes: the calm in the midst of a storm, the nail that binds planks together.

But H also hurt me often—too often. The arguments were endless, and with H, compromise was a fallacy. The toxicity eventually left me unrecognisable. In loving H, I lost myself. I accepted things that my self-love would normally urge me to reject.

I had an epiphany after one of our major arguments that happened after graduation: our friendship wasn’t meant to exceed that period—because if it did, we’d both turn into monsters. I didn’t really know if it was one of those relationships that were meant to exist for a season. But I had to force myself to understand that we had already played our parts in each other’s lives, and it was time to let go—for good. After that epiphany, I lost all contact with H, and that marked the end of our complex yet soulful relationship.

***

In the series “You and Everything Else”. Eun-jun and Sang-yeon really loved each other.

Eun-jun showed up so many times for Sang-yeon. She carried grace even when it should’ve deserted her. Eun-jun loved Sang-yeon even when she was undeserving of it. She offered grace too many times until it emptied her completely.

Sang-yeon continuously drained, manipulated, and gaslit Eun-jun. She ruined Eun-jun’s relationship with Kim Sang-hak effortlessly. She betrayed her and left her bleeding inside, yet Eun-jun still found it in her heart to show grace—even through her anger.

I like to think about how their relationship would’ve been if Sang-hak, Eun-jun’s boyfriend, never existed. Would Sang-yeon still have been a terrible friend? Would they have had a longer friendship? Then I had this realisation: people always know exactly what they are doing. Sang-yeon’s actions were intentional. There could have been a world where she bared her heart to Eun-jun, where she walked away from Sang-hak after learning he was Eun-jun’s boyfriend, where she chose loyalty over betrayal, humility over pride, and joy over self-condemnation.

There will always be a brighter side in every situation, but that brightness will only be visible to those who actively seek it. Sometimes, we can’t control our feelings. Emotions like envy and jealousy aren’t things we intentionally wish upon ourselves. But it is our duty to take control of the situation—to choose serenity over chaos.

I felt deep empathy for Sang-yeon; she was truly alone in life. But that could never excuse her actions.

I hope people like Sang-yeon learn that your life becomes what you mould it into. You become who you teach yourself to be. You are responsible for both your actions and inactions, and it is essential to have a strong sense of self.

One of the life lessons You and Everything Else taught me is that we can, often unconsciously, destroy beautiful things through our actions. Kim Sang-hak and Eun-jun’s love could have been end-game—if only he had explained Sang-yeon’s situation to Eun-jun sooner, just to ease her mind. He failed to see that Eun-jun should have been his utmost priority, and in neglecting her, he overlooked the value of a good person when life had handed him one. Time makes letting go possible, and once it has passed, rekindling old flames may be impossible. When someone shows you love, you do everything to make them feel seen and heard, because such fortune is rare and fleeting. Something in me truly wished she would have a happy ending with Sang-hak—but life doesn’t always work that way, does it?

My heart goes out to empaths like Eun-jun—people who love even when the weight of that love feels unbearable. They forgive, not from weakness, but from the deep understanding that pain is not theirs to carry forever. Eun-jun detested toxicity, and I admired that about her. She sought to untangle life’s complexities, showing understanding to those she loved, yet never failing to choose herself when it mattered most.

I hope we learn to show ourselves more love as a people. I also hope we come to cherish relationships to their very core, remembering that they don’t always need to be fraught with difficulties.

After reading this piece, if there’s someone you owe an apology, reach out to them. The outcome may not be positive—don’t expect it to because it’s hard to be embraced by someone you once hurt—but still, offer an apology. Sometimes, we don’t realise how deeply our past actions have wounded those we cared about.

Relationships are nuanced, but they exist because we have the capacity to navigate them. So, when life places something beautiful in your path, cherish it because such fortune is rare.

So, even on days when I barely get any sleep, or stay up editing or writing, I still wake up with a deep sense of underachievement.

They say that if you want to be successful, you have to be hungry for it. There are different levels of success, and if you come from nothing or something minimal, your thirst for success must always be at its peak.

But how do I explain that I work both hard and smart, yet it feels like I haven’t achieved much? How do I explain that when something big is about to happen, the “yes, I’m getting closer” feeling surges inside me—but when it doesn’t, I feel like I’m back to square one.

A lot of people share this heartbreaking reality, so it’s a common feeling. I’d be doing myself a great disservice if I believe that I’m the only one in that headspace.

***

Where does one draw the line between hunger for success and pure desperation? How does one build their habits in atoms until they become indomitable discipline?

When does one finally get to say, “I did it”.

will there ever be a time like that?

These questions pervade my thoughts.

***

I recently started watching a new Kdrama titled “When Life Gives You Tangerines”. So far, it has taught me that happiness and success mean different things to different people. To some, a fulfilled life might be one with kids and a husband/wife, while to others, it might be having a career and being able to support themselves. It has also taught me that one’s purpose and path in life can shift based on their reality. Lastly, it has taught me that life will not always pan out the way we imagine. Sometimes, our success story comes in fleeting moments, and that’s okay too.

It’s easy to dream big, but what happens when the hardships of life kill your drive? What happens when life bends you—when you have to be a shapeshifter just to survive?

That drama has taught me that power and wealth are the greatest catalysts of dreams and ambitions. Without these catalysts, you could still achieve your dreams, but how lovely it would be to be privileged enough not to worry about having the means to achieve them—to simply dream.

I often ask myself if my mother had big dreams—just like me—when she was my age. She once said that children of her time didn’t equate global recognition to success. To them, marrying right, birthing children, and having a job that could sustain their family was the greatest dream of all time. But I’m certain that one child from her generation would have dared to be different. One person from that time would have challenged the norm doggedly, right? So what happens when that person still doesn’t be?

What happens when we watch time fly, our ages evolve, and our bodies dissipate, yet we still haven’t attained our own concept of success?

***

I saw a TikTok video that said, “if you haven’t achieved your goals, it means you haven’t put in the right amount of work to get it.”

It reminded me of the “work smart, not hard” discourse that often permeates the internet. I strongly believe that achieving a goal requires a balance of physical and mental work. For instance, if you want to build visibility for your brand, sometimes you have to go out and engage with people in person. Other times, you need to develop effective strategies to promote your brand. Success requires balance and dedication.

It’s easy to let our imagination soar beyound the horizon. We’re often told by loved ones that the sky is not our limit, so it’s only natural to feel scared when it seems like you’re drowning. But remember, your life can change in a split second. It takes one post out of a thousand, one painting, one song, one exam to make all the difference—so never give up on yourself.

Be hungry enough to never take “no” or “I can’t keep going” as an answer—even from yourself. Take breaks when it starts getting overwhelming, but never stop riding—never stop.

I hope you remember this blog post and nod your head in approval when you finally become.

I see various meanings of grief every day. People keep trying hard to attach a meaning to grief. Some say, “grief is just love with no where to go.” Others say, “grief is the price you pay for love.” Chimamanda says, “grief is a cruel kind of education.” I say that grief is indescribable. It is one of those things with various interpretations but never one true meaning. No one can comprehend the weight grief places on one’s shoulders.

I like to think of grief both figuratively and literally. To me, grief isn’t just an emotion one feels when a loved one dies; it can be birthed from the loss of anything—be it a person, dream, or feeling. Grief only exists when death touches life. Life here could be the existence of a healthy relationship, a human being, or the furnace of a dream.

In the midst of this incomprehensible concept, there’s love—the only force that can make one grieve the living. You see, without love, there’s no grief. That’s what makes this sweet emotion so powerful: its ability to weave life and death together simultaneously, its desire to draw you into its arms, then leave you engulfed with resentment and pain.

I was scrolling through Instagram a while back, and I stumbled across a post about love.

The instagram post read:

“And that's why love scares me. Genuinely. Because it demands that you hand over the softest, most vulnerable parts of yourself without any promise that the other person will keep them safe. Because it teaches you that forever can sometimes mean weeks. Because it makes you believe, and then it breaks you for believing.”

How can a feeling so soft and sweet birth something so chaotic?

~ Love is the beginning of all hurt.

Love and grief are like Siamese twins. It’s why someone can resent the dead—how dare they leave you all alone in this cold world?

When a person you admire so much leaves this world, where do you put the love you have stored up for them in your heart?

The first time I fully experienced grief was when I lost my Aunty RN—a sweet and loving woman who was forcefully snatched away by death. Aunty RN was rare and special. Her eyes had a different glow when she spoke; her lips curled differently when she smiled—it was eximious and far more pleasing than anyone else’s s in the room. But with every curl came murmurs of the pain she felt in her half-paralysed legs, which eventually led her to rest in peace.

Death pokes into uninvited places; it snatches away the people you love without notice—no goodbye, no bickering, just silence. And that silence stays with you because you have nowhere to put it. The silence forms a mould in your heart, growing quieter and lonelier every passing second—until grief is born.

I didn’t fully understand how quickly my love could turn into grief. Grief takes up so much space in your heart—it cripples you little by little without you even realising. Until you wake up one day and your chest is tightened—you can’t breathe or think properly—you are simply swallowed by the feeling, while the world around you spins uncontrollably.

How does one recover from loss? Knowing that you’ll never see someone you love dearly again? Acknowledging that you’ll never be able to randomly text or call them? Knowing that all you have left are their memories—if you ever made any.

The concept of love, life, and death scares me to my bones. This is why I cherish my relationships to the core. I water them with every fibre of my being—because I have experienced grief deeply, and I will choose the path of making amends over grieving the living.

While your loved ones are still alive, tell them you love and miss them. Appreciate the people you love with gifts and love them vicariously because grief doesn’t send warnings; it only sends chills down your spine.

A time will come when you’ll wish to hear your friends nag, but they’ll be miles away in a different city. There will also come a time when your parents will only be able to watch you from above.

So, when your mother says, “iga i ibum”—you will not kill me, or I didn’t kill my own mother so you will not kill me, please laugh heartily. You might never get the chance to hear her nag again.

If you are sixteen, act like a sixteen year old. If you are twenty one, live like a twenty year old. Kill the need to imbibe a performative maturity because of likability.

Live for you, so that when death comes (at the right time), you can pat yourself on the back for a life well lived.

Make smart and informed choices so you don’t end up grieving who and where you could have been in life.

Lastly, love—love very hard because life is unpredictable. The unpredictability of life is what keeps many of us on our toes. So, don’t waste your time on depthless bonds and callous lifestyles.

Live as if death might come knocking anytime soon.

Love as if grief were only a myth.

It is endearing, vicarious, and lavish.

It is everything but unfaithfulness, lies, and deceit.

Like a mother’s cradle,

Love is soothing,

Not harsh.

Love does not bite.

It mollifies—carefully—tenderly.

I hope women learn,

that love is kind.

Love does not make your heart race in search for answers you’ll never find.

Love is peace—

Peace is love.

I hope women learn

That the one who makes them worry,

Makes their heart bleed,

And causes a knot to form in their stomachs—is not the one.

I hope women learn to say no to hurt,

To never allow one person hurt them numerous times.

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I hope women know,

That love shape shifts—it becomes what you say it is.

If you say you are love, then you are love.

If you say love is peace, then love is peace.

If you choose peace as your love, then that will be your love.

A love worthy of you—love.

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