Obodo emebi go, our land is in agony.

There is nothing as dangerous as a powerful slave. Wearing a crown does not change a person’s mind, it only exposes it. Though the colonial masters have physically left the African continent, they remain with us psychologically and emotionally. This is evident in how we relate to one another. Africans continue to enslave themselves by refusing to learn, unlearn, and grow.

The sycophants among us interfere in the affairs of leadership while the elite sit back and watch. The mentality of master and servant still exists today, you see it in classrooms, workplaces, and even among government officials. Once someone is given a position within an institution, they often become authoritarian, viewing colleagues as subjects rather than equals.

This problem extends even to primary school classrooms, where a simple prefect role can be misused. It raises important questions about the kind of leadership model we have accepted as a people, and it helps explain why many of our so-called leaders continue to please outsiders at the expense of their own citizens.

Today, many government-created task forces and unions exist to enforce policies and maintain order. However, these policies are often implemented without meaningful public participation. More concerning is how these task forces operate, their original purpose frequently shifts toward revenue generation rather than service. They are less about creating lasting change and more about punishing defaulters and extracting compliance.

We hear of people dying in police detention without proper investigation. In some cases, individuals are killed publicly without consequences. Justice is no longer about the law but about who you know.

In South Africa, we see Africans turning against fellow Africans, labeling them as foreigners, while the real economic powers remain largely untouched. And even if someone is a foreigner, does that justify taking a life you cannot create?

Gradually, we seem to be drifting toward barbarism. The pain a tree feels when struck by an axe is deeper because the handle is made from the same tree. In the Southeast, armed groups operate where there is no declared war, and innocent traders and businesspeople fall victim in the name of security.

It saddens me each time I read or hear about these events happening in a continent so richly blessed with natural resources. Sometimes I wonder if we might have been better off without them. Yet the real problem is not the resources, it is the selfishness and greed of leaders, and the unquenchable desire to please outsiders.

Woe to the land when a slave becomes king… Aru mere ha.

Villages, communities, and states must rethink the path we are taking. Today, one can hardly step out with confidence of returning safely. It may be fake police officers or unknown task forces accusing you of crimes you did not commit, only to detain or extort you.

Everyone must remain watchful—maka agwo di na akirika ooo. Protect yourself and stay alert. Together, we will get through this phase, but we must stay alive to see it.

Isee!!

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi.

The Danger of Comforting Illusions

The shift toward comfort-driven validation is not healthy.

Over time, the yardstick for measuring love and beauty has moved from intangible values to fleeting physical qualities. While these physical traits may satisfy temporary desires, they often fail to meet our deeper, lasting needs. Recently, I listened to a podcast discussing the merits and risks of plastic surgery, particularly BBL procedures. Many of the reasons shared by guests centered on external pressure: what others said, how others reacted, and the fear of rejection. One woman shared that her partner left her and she lost her job after childbirth changed her body.

These stories highlight a painful truth: people are often judged, rejected, or even bullied because of changes in their appearance. Plastic surgery itself is not the core issue, many individuals who have suffered accidents regain confidence through corrective procedures. The deeper problem lies in how we treat one another and how much we allow external opinions to shape our self-worth.

While everyone has the right to make personal choices about their appearance, those decisions should be grounded in informed understanding and personal conviction, not merely a desire for acceptance.

So, I write to you, the one who feels “not enough” because you are not tall enough, slim enough, or “perfect” enough.

You are an intentional creation. There is no exact copy of you anywhere in the world. That alone makes you valuable. Self-love and self-acceptance are not optional, they are essential. People are different because their needs and desires are different. The right people will value you for who you truly are.

Many of these cosmetic procedures are not worth the risks people take just to please others, people who may still not accept them afterward. We must return to a time when character, attitude, skills, discipline, and values were the true measures of beauty.

Today, the more revealing an outfit is, the more attention it gets. Yet, those who design these trends often present themselves with dignity and modesty. Somewhere along the line, we were convinced that exposure equals value.

Let me share a simple illustration. In my hometown, we have a local food called okpa. When it is sold, one piece is cut open and displayed to show buyers what the others look like inside. Interestingly, that displayed piece is rarely chosen, it is valued only for what it reveals about the rest.

Some people live their lives like that displayed okpa, constantly revealing themselves for attention. They may attract interest, but when it comes to commitment, they are often overlooked for those who have quietly invested in their personal growth and values.

If you are overweight, it does not mean you are unworthy of love or acceptance. But it does mean you should prioritize your health. Self-acceptance is the foundation for self-improvement. When you accept yourself, you can begin to grow into your best version.

Always remember: you can control what you think, say, do, and accept, but you cannot control others. Conformity is not always healthy. Sometimes, you must take responsibility for your life by prioritizing your health, happiness, and purpose. Surround yourself with people who tell you the truth with the intention of helping you grow.

Your value does not lie in how appealing you are to others, but in how much you respect yourself. Understand why people are drawn to you, is it for your appearance or your substance? One is temporary; the other is lasting.

Do not make life-altering decisions because of insecurity or fear of what others might say. If you struggle with body image concerns, seek guidance and support. True confidence grows from within.

Whatever your insecurity may be, build value that strengthens you. If people mock your height, do not try to create illusions, develop skills, knowledge, and character that elevate your life in meaningful ways.

Life is too short to live under the weight of other people’s opinions. Take charge of your life. Happiness is a decision you make ahead of time. Focus on what truly matters, the intangible values that define who you are.

You are enough.

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi.

Chi’s Crossroads

The sun beat down on the earth with scorching intensity, so much so that even the fans blew hot air. People gathered on their balconies in search of fresh air, hoping for some relief as the water they had poured on their bodies slowly evaporated. Everyone felt the heat—except Chika.

Chika sat in her bedroom, lost in thought, contemplating her next move.

“Should I do this with Amadi? After all, Ogechi and the other girls have done it,” she asked herself. “What’s the big deal? I love him, and I don’t want to lose him.”

She was still wrestling with her thoughts when her mother walked in. Unaware that her mother had been standing there for several minutes, she was startled by the sound of her voice.

“What is it, Chi?” her mother asked gently. She sat beside her, placing an arm around her shoulders. “Tell me what is troubling you.”

Chika forced a faint smile, her tone casual but heavy. “Mummy, I’m fine. I’m just thinking about starting at my new school. I don’t want to lose all my friends. Must I go? Why can’t I just finish school with them?”

She continued to deflect, trying to make her mother believe that her distress was only about transferring to a new school just twenty minutes away.

This girl must think I am a fool, her mother thought to herself before switching into her firm, no-nonsense mode.

“Bia, Nwada, look at me. Do I look like a fool to you?”

Chika was not surprised by the sudden change in tone, but she was not prepared for the next question.

“Chikadibia, are you pregnant?”

The use of her full name made it clear that something was wrong.

“No, Mummy!” she exclaimed. “I am only trying to tell you that—”

“That what?” her mother interrupted.

It was difficult for Chika to say anything under such pressure. Fear gripped her, and her words failed her. Now she was both scared and worried.

Meanwhile, her boyfriend Vincent was waiting for her at her best friend Ogechi’s house. They were supposed to seal their love with a blood covenant.

Chika’s mother, unaware of her daughter’s plan, would later be grateful for her intervention, as it saved her daughter from making a grievous mistake, one that had become increasingly common among teenagers in the Ezite community. Rumour had it that many secondary school students had been exposed to risky behaviors, including the early use of contraceptive pills with little or no understanding of their effects.

Eventually, Chika was cleared by a negative pregnancy test. However, shaken and frustrated, her mother searched her bag and found a note titled “Mine.”

It was a love letter that revealed what Chika had been planning to accept.

Dear Chi,
I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of my life. If you truly love me the way I love you, let us make a blood covenant so that we can be inseparable and never betray each other. Meet me at Ogechi’s house on Saturday so we can immortalize our love.
—Vincent

Chika’s mother, Grace, broke down in tears, blaming herself for not being fully present in her daughter’s adolescent life.

It was at this moment that Chika finally opened up and told her everything.

Her father’s early death was not the reason for her decision. She still had uncles who were actively involved in her life. Rather, it was peer pressure, the desire to belong.

Chika’s relationship with Vincent came to an end. Both of them were made aware of the dangers of such a covenant. Life is unpredictable, and decisions involving life and death should not be made solely based on feelings.

In the end, our lives must reflect our core values. The fact that many people are doing something does not make it right said Mrs Ofordile. Chika thanked the guidance counselor, Mrs. Ofordile, as she left her office.

Her mother continued to admonish her as they find their way home “blood covenants are not a dance one performs lightly…..(Light fades)

Be part of your children’s lives, be present. Ndewonu!

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi

The Immortality We Choose: Justice, Legacy, and the Cost of Silence

Life is often understood and viewed from perspectives that favor the observer. When you ask the grass in the field, the goat is the monster and the lion is the protector. However, I am very sure a goat will not see a lion as a protector, but as a predator. It was Wole Soyinka who said, “A man dies in all who keep silent in the face of injustice.”

There is one thing everyone must experience, and that is death. Death is inevitable; how and why you die is what matters. In Ernest Becker’s best-selling book, “Denial of Death” written while he was battling colon cancer, he explains how humanity’s attempt to preserve immortality has led to the creation of many civilizations.

He called it the “immortality project,” an attempt by the physical self to soothe the anxious mind about death by creating the idea of an immortal self. The need to still exist even after the physical body has died is what makes the idea of death less painful. He maintained that this is why people become parents, governors, warlords, and anything else that ensures they leave a legacy.

Some people left ideas behind and paid dearly for daring to achieve their own immortality project. People like Steven Biko, Thomas Sankara, Kwame Nkrumah, and the list goes on. All these men wanted not just to be remembered, but to liberate their people.

The sad reality of this immortality project is that while some channel their efforts into creating lasting value, others are bent on causing destabilization in the world. The goal is the same to be immortalized, however, the impact on the living varies greatly.

Additionally, when you ask someone in America, the UK, or China about police officers, you are likely to get a response associated with hope, protection, and justice. However, when you ask a Nigerian the same question, I believe you already know the answer.

On the 28th of April 2026, in Delta State, Nigeria, a police officer allegedly shot and killed an unarmed citizen who was willing to comply with an investigation. The painful part is that other officers and bystanders were present, yet no one could prevent the injustice. He was 28 years old, with ambitions and dreams, yet his life was cut short by the very force meant to protect him.

If such a barbaric act can happen in broad daylight, imagine what happens when no one is watching.

Many have suggested different solutions to the challenges faced by Nigerian youths. Some believe that leaving the country is the best option, but I doubt that Nigerians in South Africa would agree, given the hostility they sometimes face there.

The only solution that seems viable is to stay and confront this injustice. We cannot continue to run, because either way, lives are being lost. There is an urgent need for unity. From my observation, vast lands in Zamfara, Sokoto, Kwara, and other states rich in mineral resources such as gold seem to matter more to the elites than the people who live on them, people who are often unaware of the wealth beneath their feet.

However, a troubling question remains: why is the elites’ immortality project centered on eradicating their own people instead of preserving them? Why are Africans so willing to lose their sons and daughters instead of protecting them? Sadly, those who are brave and conscious are often avoided or even rejected by the very people they seek to defend.

Recently, in Mali, reports indicated that thousands of armed insurgents entered the capital in an attempt to destabilize a functioning government. One cannot help but ask: who is sponsoring them? Where did they come from? And why are other African nations not uniting to confront such threats?

There is so much happening, but my message remains the same: let us all get involved and develop genuine love for our country and continent. Since we are all going to die someday, let us commit to building a legacy that benefits our people.

There is enough space for everyone, if only we can let go of entitlement and the superiority mindset. The idea that all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others remains one of our greatest problems. Like the mushroom syndrome, growing bigger than others, only to be plucked too soon.

Our youths must understand that oppressors will not suddenly change and begin to care for you, unless you demand it and stand firm. It does not have to be violent, but it must be resolute: a decision to stand against injustice whenever it arises.

I will conclude with the words of Steven Biko: “It is better to die for an idea that will live forever than to live for an idea that will die.” Therefore, decide today what and how you want to be remembered.

Nigerian lives matter.

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi.

Hope Has Come Home.

Aku ruo uno amara onye kpatara ya

Bethrand had just returned from the United States of America after spending nearly five decades abroad. He came home with a single mission, to liberate his people and uplift his community.

At the time he decided to return, a great deal was happening in his village. A powerful group of men had conspired to sell off community land. They were influential and deeply connected to the government. Any youth who dared to speak against them were either thrown into cells or forced to flee the village.

Igwe Odoziobodo had been weakened, surrounded by men of questionable character placed in positions of authority by this same Ikenga group. They had long sworn to take over the kinship. Yet His Royal Highness, Igwe Osita Odoziobodo, remained resolute, standing his ground for years.

But as the elders say, the only way to eat an elephant is piece by piece.

The Igwe was growing old. His only son had died in a tragic road accident, leaving no heir to the throne. It seemed only a matter of time before the Ikenga group achieved their aim.

However, there was one obstacle Bethrand, popularly known as Obiajulu. He had returned home to confront these men. But as expected, they were waiting for him.

What made Bethrand’s return unusual was that he came without escorts, without police, without weapons. Many expected him to arrive armed and ready for battle. But Bethrand understood something deeper, you do not catch a fish in the water; you draw it out onto land.

He first visited the Igwe, seeing the state of affairs for himself. Then, he sounded the Ikoro.

Gbom! Gbom!! Gbom gbom gbom!!!

It had been years since the Ikoro had echoed through the land with such force and urgency.

The people gathered at the Igwe’s palace. Upon seeing Bethrand, many were excited, assuming he had returned with gifts from America.

The Igwe began:

“Odoziobodo: Cha chaa! Umuogbodo, kwenu!”
The people responded: “Iyaa!”
“Kwenu!”
“Iyaa!”
“Kwezunu ooo!!”
“Iyooo!!… Igwe!!”

He spoke of how things had fallen apart and warned of the consequences if the village continued on that path. Then he invited Bethrand to speak.

To the astonishment of the Ikenga group, Bethrand did not confront them directly. Instead, he spoke of building clinics, schools, and roads. He promised development and hope. Yet he issued a quiet warning: anyone who interfered with his work would awaken the soldier within him.

He organized the Umuogbodo neighborhood watch. He provided a grating machine for communal use. He initiated road construction and installed pipe-borne water.

Even as he worked, the Ikenga group continued their disruptions. But what they did not realize was that Bethrand was quietly gathering evidence.

Believing he had no intention to fight, they decided to strike.

What they failed to understand was this an old woman never forgets the dance steps she has mastered.

Bethrand anticipated their move. Acting on intelligence, he laid a trap that led them straight into the hands of the armed forces.

The village rejoiced as the men were arrested.

Bethrand, though wounded by a gunshot, was the happiest of them all. A man at the twilight of his life could ask for nothing more than to see his people free and to have his legacy stand at the entrance of his village.

In his closing speech, His Royal Highness, Igwe Osita Odoziobodo I of Umuogbodo, reminded the people:

“The Ikoro calls a man twice in his lifetime once when he is alive, and again on his deathbed.

It is not what your community will do for you that matters most, but what you will do for your community. We must love our land, protect it, and make it safe for all.

Charity begins at home. Our land is always there for us, yet too often we lose our way and risk surrendering it to oppressors.”

He concluded with a proverb:

“O ma akwa asa ahu mara onwe” He who bathes with his clothes on must be mindful of his actions, for the head that attracts bees must also endure their stings.

Let your wealth benefit your people, no matter how small it may be.

Everyone echoed: Igwee !!!

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi

Papa Enugu: The Indispensable Saint of Our Childhood

I know Gen Z may not understand that there was a time when it was a luxury to watch television, let alone own one.

Back then, we only watched TV or films occasionally, usually during Easter or Christmas celebrations. For those of us who grew up in the village, it was always something joyful to look forward to. Both elders and children enjoyed these moments, but I will speak for the children, because that was the group I belonged to at the time.

Growing up in the village, we were raised on moonlight stories, riddles, and jokes, what we fondly called gwam gwam gwam. Whatever movie we watched during Christmas would sustain us until Easter or the next celebration when someone decided to turn on their generator.

Although many people made efforts to power their generators so we could enjoy these festive periods, one man stood out among them. In fact, he took it upon himself to ensure that we never went through any celebration without watching TV, even when his own family would not be home with him.

He was fondly called Papa Enugu, a name given to him because he lived in Enugu city and, of course, because of his age. Back then, every elderly man was “Papa”; we never called elders by their first names.

He had a large sitting room filled with plastic chairs. We would rush to finish our chores early just to secure a good spot. Whether he was busy or not didn’t matter to us. Once we heard the sound of his generator, everyone would head straight to Papa Enugu’s house, chatting, laughing, and demanding a continuation of whatever movie we had watched the night before.

I remember one day when we were watching an Osuofia movie (I can’t recall the title now). It was in English, but many of us village children didn’t fully understand the language. We simply watched their actions, laughed when others laughed, and asked questions later to understand why. Despite that, we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Even though we watched the same movie, our interpretations often differed because many of us didn’t understand English.

Even after he passed away following a serious illness, his wife and children continued this tradition. Over time, others in the community followed his example, ensuring that we, the village children, could share in the experiences they enjoyed in the city.

Papa Enugu never complained about the cost of fuel, the noise, or even the arguments that sometimes broke out during movie time.

Today, we are all grown, but the memories we created during those years remain some of the best. Though he is no longer alive, he continues to live on in the hearts of many men and women.

What this shows is that we had many unspoken saints, men and women who gave selflessly to their communities, showing genuine love and care for children who were not even theirs biologically. He was not a perfect man, but he was deeply humane, far more defined by his kindness than by any faults.

The good news is that his children have carried on his legacy, ensuring that this spirit of inclusivity continues.

The question we should all ask ourselves is: What am I doing to make my community better? How am I using my gifts and talents to benefit others without expecting anything in return?

To those who play fatherly roles to children who are not theirs, simply because they understand that a child’s future depends on a good upbringing, I say thank you.

I also see women who take in children and care for them as their own, refusing to give up on them and ensuring they receive a proper education, not because they expect anything in return, but because they understand that to live in the hearts of others is to live forever.

Some doctors go the extra mile for their patients, teachers for their students, and parents for their children. Yes, there are people who can be mean or hurtful, but often such people lack self-love and need love themselves.

People like Papa Enugu, along with dedicated healthcare workers, teachers, parents, and all who strive to uplift others even while facing their own struggles, are the ones I call indispensable saints. They may not be widely known, but they will forever live in our hearts.

May the soul of Papa Enugu, and all the good people who never gave up on those around them, rest in peace. Amen.

Life is understood backward but must be lived forward. Be kind to others and to yourself because we are not here forever.

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi

Turn Life’s Challenges into Strength: Daily Words to Guide and Empower You

Life is full of challenges, and to rise above them, you must equip yourself with positive, empowering words. I call these words from great men and women “magic bullets” powerful reminders that can lift you out of difficult situations. Here are some life lessons you should read to yourself daily and commit to memory, just as you would your Bible or other sacred texts:

When life presents you with a situation where you must make a choice, remember this: your choices become meaningful only when they are connected to your desires and dreams. Never forget that the strength of your “why” is what carries you through the grueling, mundane, and laborious moments.

When it comes to creating value and building something worthwhile, understand that true creative potential and inner drive go beyond money or material rewards. Focus on creating value and solving real problems financial success will naturally follow as a reward for the value you provide.

As you navigate through life, keep in mind that your core values are your internal compass—your guiding light toward your desired destination. Psychological stress often arises when your actions and behaviors are not aligned with these values. Therefore, understanding and living by your core values will make your life simpler, clearer, and more purposeful.

Finally, remember this: a bend in the road does not mean the end unless you refuse to turn. No matter what you are going through or have been through, there is always an opportunity for growth. It may be difficult to see in the midst of pain, but it exists. You must be determined not only to find it, but to pursue it until you achieve your desired results.

Never accept defeat. Tough times do not last, but tough people like you do. Stay strong. Stay positive. Be kind to yourself and to others. Never lose hope, and never give up on your dreams.

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi.

AFUFU GBA NWOKE OBI: When Suffering Becomes Habit.

Ndi Igbo si na, “afụfụ gba nwoke obi, o di ka o na-eke ike.” When a man becomes accustomed to suffering without purpose, over time he begins to mistake it for hard work.

The hallmark of development in any country lies in the combination of economic, social, and institutional progress that improves the overall quality of life for its citizens. In essence, for a nation to be classified as developed or even developing, the general standard of living of its people should be above average. If we use Maslow’s motivational theory as a reference point, then the basic needs, physiological needs, safety, and security must first be met.

Yet since 1960, it has been the same story: the same patterns, the same leadership cycles, and a condition that continues to deteriorate. So what exactly is the problem? Ọ bụ na okpu isi amaghi akpụ ka ọ na-aguba adịghị nko? (Is it that the head does not know how to wear the cap, or that the cap itself is faulty?)

One reason I believe we are where we are today is what I call poverty conditioned habituation. Habituation is a form of non-associative learning in which an organism reduces its response to a repeated, irrelevant stimulus over time. In our context, this means we have gradually become desensitized to hardship.

It is like the hen that cries not because it expects to be freed, but so the world can hear its distress. Nigerians have developed various coping mechanisms to survive the hardship created by poor leadership. However, our ability to adapt to these difficult conditions has unintentionally made the problem feel normal woven into the fabric of everyday life.

Some families now measure resilience by how much suffering they can endure, even competing over who bears more. For instance, when government schools fail in infrastructure and quality of education, instead of demanding accountability, we turn to private schools as an alternative. When electricity providers disconnect power yet still issue bills for unused supply, people advise compliance rather than resistance.

Parents are constantly preoccupied with survival chasing daily bread while children are forced to grow up too quickly. It is no surprise that many adults today carry unresolved childhood burdens. Some exhibit what can be described as childhood fixation, having never been given the chance to fully experience or enjoy their formative years.

My point is this: poverty has conditioned us into acceptance. It no longer feels like a threat, it has become familiar. We struggle to even imagine a life beyond our present circumstances.

With elections around the corner, some argue that it is better to let the current government continue after all, “no be today.” This reflects a deeper resignation, as though suffering has mastered us.

The painful truth is that while habituation may help us ignore constant noise or unpleasant odors, in a social and economic context, it comes at a devastating cost.

Just this week, a final-year cardiothoracic student collapsed in an exam hall. An ambulance arrived without oxygen. In a university responsible for training medical professionals, basic life-saving equipment was unavailable. After an hour of cardiopulmonary resuscitation, the student died.

This is the consequence of poverty-conditioned habituation. It strikes not just at our systems, but at the very core of our humanity it hits us at the center of the heart.

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi

A Reflection on Grace, Fear, and Divine Mercy ❤️

One man once said that if you know little about science, it takes you away from God—but when you advance and truly understand science, it brings you closer to Him. ❤️
That thought has stayed with me over the years, especially when people begin to question whether God exists or not.

For me, I often think about it this way: it is better to live believing there is God and wake up to find none, than to live as though there is no God, only to wake up and meet Him. ❤️
That reflection brings me to a moment in my life—one I can never forget.

Back then in secondary school, JSS1 to be precise, I was living in the hostel at Colliery Comprehensive Secondary School, Enugu-Ngwo. ❤️
I served as the head of the Block Rosary in the hostel, and I even extended it to the police barracks, making sure the children there joined in prayer.

Sometimes, I organized the Stations of the Cross because St Theresa Parish was quite far from the school. ❤️
In many ways, that devotion guided me—it even “saved” me from toasting girls, because everyone simply called me “Brother.” Chai! Ije nwoke. ❤️

But one night, something happened that almost ruined my reputation and nearly exposed me to jungle justice—Uto aka. ❤️

A day student suddenly ran into the hostel late at night. He was distressed, saying his aunty was after his life, accusing him of stealing her money. ❤️
It was already late, and everyone refused to accommodate him. But he pleaded with me, and as a brother, I couldn’t turn him away. ❤️

I begged my classmates on his behalf, and after much persuasion, they agreed, saying, “Yellow, na because of you ooo.” ❤️
Yes—“Yellow” was my nickname back then. In fact, I’m sure many people never even knew my real name before I left the school. ❤️

Since some hostel mates were uncomfortable with him staying inside, I went further to plead with students living outside the hostel. They agreed to let him pass the night there. ❤️

But by morning—Kolombo had disappeared… after stealing the landlord’s pams. ❤️

That was when trouble began.

I was summoned. The landlord was furious and threatened to have me arrested if I did not produce Kolombo. ❤️
I didn’t know what to do. I could have been beaten that morning, but perhaps because they knew me as the “Block Rosary Brother,” they gave me two weeks to find him—or face the consequences. ❤️

That was when I said to myself: ogo m egbunam (my goodwill shall not kill me). ❤️

There was no phone, no way to trace him, and no one knew where he had gone.
I even offered to replace the pams, but the landlord refused. He wanted the culprit. ❤️

So I turned to the only thing I knew—prayer.

For seven nights, I prayed the rosary at midnight, caught between fear and faith. ❤️
Each night, I poured my heart out, trusting God even when I didn’t understand how things would end. ❤️

Then one morning, as I was preparing for class, a classmate ran into the hostel shouting:
“Yellow! Yellow!! Kolombo don show ooo!” ❤️

I dropped my soakie (garri) immediately and followed him—this time filled with a mix of anger and relief. ❤️
When I saw Kolombo, he was casually wearing the very pams he had stolen. ❤️

I held myself back, said nothing harsh, and simply took him straight to the landlord. ❤️

Looking back today, that moment remains one of the many miracles I have witnessed in my lifetime. ❤️
Someone might say it was coincidence—but what a coincidence indeed. ❤️

I have come to believe deeply that God lives in us, and we in Him. ❤️
To search for God only outside ourselves is to risk losing both Him and ourselves. ❤️

During my school days, I had many encounters like this—moments that, upon reflection, convince me that God is ever faithful. ❤️
When we align ourselves and look within, it feels like casting your burdens upon the sun—the shadows simply fall behind you. ❤️

The love and mercy of God are new every morning. ❤️
They do not fail, and they are not dependent on our perfection. ❤️

If you reflect on your own life, you will see moments—clear moments—where God has been faithful to you. ❤️
But do not be deceived: God is not mocked. Whatever you desire, you must work for it—and work with Him. ❤️

Tell me, my friend—when has God shown His faithfulness in your life? ❤️

I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi ❤️

🌸🌿 Remembering Our Roots in a Changing World 💛🌺

One may often wonder—do traditional beliefs still apply when people find themselves in foreign lands? 🌍💭 In many communities, acts such as adultery, stealing, or taking a life are strictly forbidden. Yet, what happens to those who are natives of a land but are born and raised in distant continents, far removed from their culture and traditions? 🌸

The truth is, somewhere along the way, many parents have allowed their children to lead them, instead of guiding them as they should. 🌿💛 This shift has quietly created a gap—one where knowledge of heritage begins to fade.

There is a story often told—a painful one. A young girl, still in school, lost her life after undergoing an abortion. 🌺 In her homeland, such an act is not only prohibited but considered an abomination. Even in cases where medical intervention becomes necessary, certain rites must be performed after saving the woman’s life, to restore balance and honor tradition. 🌸

It was one hot afternoon when Nwanneka came running into the compound, shouting that an ambulance was approaching. 🚑 But where we come from, the sight of an ambulance does not bring hope—it signals loss. Any vehicle without seats, carrying wooden planks, is what we call an ambulance—a carrier of the dead, not a saver of lives. 🌿

At once, anxiety filled the air. People began asking questions—who had been sick? Could it be an accident? And if so, who? 💭 Within minutes, the piercing sound of a siren echoed: “Wa wa wa wa wow!” Everyone froze, then panic set in. The villagers did not wait for confirmation; cries and wails broke out, rising and falling as they tried to uncover the truth. 🌺

Soon, the devastating news arrived—it was Amuche, Bernard’s first daughter, a young woman who had just graduated from the university. 🌸💔 The grief was overwhelming.

The elders gathered, speaking in hushed but firm tones: “It is not ordinary for such a fresh green leaf to fall. Something—or someone—must have plucked it.” 🌿 They sent two men to Ichie Ogwumagana to uncover the cause of her death.

Ichie Ogwu, as he was fondly known, consulted the Afa. After casting it four times, he shook his head in sorrow. 🌺 He revealed that the young woman had committed an abomination. In their land, terminating a pregnancy is a taboo. Even when done for medical reasons, certain rituals must follow, for the blood of a native cannot be taken lightly or used without appeasing the gods. 🌸

But Mr. Bernard, her father, was a Christian. He did not believe in such traditional practices. In his grief, he rejected the claims, insisting that his daughter had simply fallen ill and met her time. He asked only to mourn her in peace. 💛

Eventually, she was laid to rest, and the traditional rites were performed. 🌿

When I heard this story, I reflected deeply. Whether the dibia was right or wrong, one truth stood clear—everyone must learn the dos and don’ts of their homeland. 🌍🌸 There is an increasing rate of untimely deaths among young men and women, perhaps because of the blending of cultures and the freedom that often comes with exposure. Many begin to live without boundaries. 🌺

To the young girls—ask questions. 🌿💛 Be informed, because certain choices may lead to consequences you may not fully understand. And to the young men as well—be mindful and responsible. 🌸

Distance does not change who you are. 🌍 Your roots remain your roots. Know them, honor them, and live by the principles that guide your people. 🌺 Even in modern medicine, family history remains a vital key to understanding a person fully.

Do not be swept away by the distractions of new cultures and lifestyles. 🌿 Know yourself. Remember where you come from. As our elders say, a rat does not play with a lizard in the rain. 🌧️🐀

With love always, 🌸💛
I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi