I don't consume content from people like Peller and the rest
But I will never disregard their work and niche
We are not in North Korea
There are jesters and people like Peller In every thriving free economy
Instead of you focusing on Peller, what are you doing that is intellectual.. criticising Peller is not an intellectual contribution to society either
And Yes,
There will always be people like Peller. These people are part of the showbiz industry that needs to thrive.
Dismissing his efforts by saying he is Olodo is funny.
Society will always have people like him and you hating on it won't change anything.
If you want to counter the Olodo uprising, start something intellectual. Criticism is not intellectual. It's paper weight because it's all talk.
Gold wey never enter fire, na only shine e fit shine
Me: Hi baby, are you on your way?
Him: yes baby, what’s up?
Me: I was calling because I got an email
Him: What email?
Me: It’s saying you haven’t paid rent
Him: It’s not possible
Me: I was confused too
Him: Wait, what rent?
Me: What did you say?
Him: What rent did it say?
Me: It says you haven’t paid rent for living in my heart.
Him: 🤣🤣🤣 Oya I’m coming to pay it now, I’m omw.
Me: 🙈🤭
( Based on a true life story)
"In 1987, American Express introduced platinum card for 5000 people, here is mine, they later introduced the Black card (Centurion card) in 1999 for 1000 people on the planet, here is mine. I had a viable business and while I don't regret going into Politics, it made me poorer." - Peter Obi, NDC Presidential Candidate.
Recently, my mom was on admission. Everyday, myself, my siblings and my dad were at the hospital. We kept her company till 10pm before we dispersed, with one person staying back overnight.
Everyday, I looked around and saw the entire family and I smiled. It made me realized part of the ressons I hated living abroad. Your love one is sick and all you can do is send money. Meanwhile, your heart is beating fast because you cant see them. There is celebration or random Sunday family gathering and you are the only one missing. The reason I always show up in person for anything is that money cannot fill the place of presence. It is the memories we share that lingers.
Many families can't gather together anymore for celebration or caregiving. The only time some families can gather now is burial, and even burial no dey see complete family again. Nigeria has to work for the next generation. They deserve to gather around with their cousins, nephews, nieces, aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents on a random Sunday.
The Lessons I Learned from My Dad
I am not the man my father is.
I am trying. Some days closer. Some days farther.
He never sat me down and explained these lessons. He lived them. I’m still learning them.
Show up.
The kitchen table. The hospital room. The funeral. The picket line. The call from the son who won’t answer.
Show up.
Most days that’s the whole job.
My whole life I watched him do it. Not for cameras. Not for headlines. Not because there was something in it for him. He showed up because someone needed him.
I learned that grief doesn’t make you special.
My father buried a wife and daughter. He buried a son. Yet he never treated grief as a claim on other people’s sympathy. Instead, it made him notice theirs.
A mother who lost a child. A father sitting beside a hospital bed. A kid scared about what comes next. A son who lost his mother, his sister, his brother.
He always noticed.
I learned that power is not the point.
The people who chase power eventually confuse the office with themselves.
My father never did.
Whether he was a county councilman, a senator, vice president, or president, he was the same man.
The title changed.
He didn’t.
I learned that family comes first.
The train from Wilmington wasn’t symbolism.
It was every night.
He read to us. Showed up to games. Sat through hospital rooms. Waited up for children who were lost.
And when the day came that the country and the family could not both have him at full strength, he chose family. He relinquished the last chapter of how he wanted to be remembered. And he never complained about it.
Most of all, I learned that love is not soft.
Love is discipline.
Love is showing up at one in the morning when nobody is watching.
Love is answering the phone.
Love is staying.
Love is getting back up after life knocks you down and doing it all again tomorrow.
That love saved my life.
I’ve failed at many of these lessons, sometimes in very public ways.
He loved me anyway.
That’s the last lesson.
I am not trying to become my father.
I am trying to carry what he gave me.
And if I can do that, even imperfectly, that will be enough.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.