Another year has been gracefully added to my name.
Another year subtracted from my time.
Birthdays have a strange way of humbling you. This one is leaving me with a quiet, uncomfortable question:
What exactly will remain of me when I am gone?
Not my titles.
Not my wardrobe.
Not my applause.
Not my possessions.
The earth is not sentimental.
The earth is honest.
One day, it will take me back.
Take you back.
Take all of us back.
And when that day comes,
The WORMS will not negotiate.
They will not be impressed by status.
They will not recognize influence.
They will not respect wealth.
They will simply do their work.
Patiently.
Faithfully.
Without ceremony.
And in that quiet, unavoidable moment, only one thing will matter:
What did we leave behind that death could not eat?
This is the Parable of the Worm
It is the story of a people blessed with fertile soil, rich culture, boundless talent, and breathtaking possibility.
Yet, somehow seduced into accepting mediocrity as a lifestyle.
It is the story of a continent that knows greatness, but too often negotiates with smallness.
I look around sometimes and my heart bleeds.
Not because Nigeria lacks brilliance.
We are overflowing with brilliance.
Not because Nigeria lacks resources.
We are sitting on abundance.
But because somewhere along the journey, we became comfortable with compromise.
Comfortable with excuses.
Comfortable with survival.
Comfortable with watching things fall apart — as long as they do not fall on us.
We mastered endurance.
But we forgot responsibility.
We learned how to complain.
But we forgot how to confront.
And slowly, quietly, dangerously, mediocrity stopped being an accident and became a culture. A way of life.
A system we defend.
A standard we normalize.
A ceiling we refuse to break.
Standing for nothing has become fashionable.
Moving with the wind has become wisdom.
Silence has become strategy.
But history has never been kind to cowards.
History remembers those who chose something.
Those who risked something.
Those who stood when it was dangerous to stand.
Because standing for something is choosing something.
And choosing something always comes with a cost.
Sometimes the cost is comfort.
Sometimes the cost is popularity.
Sometimes the cost is opportunity.
And sometimes — the cost is loneliness.
But dignity has never been cheap.
The Cost of Compromise
In recent times, I have watched men and women wrap themselves in titles and parade themselves as honorable.
I have watched sycophancy dressed as leadership.
Compromise disguised as diplomacy.
Self-interest marketed as patriotism.
And I have wondered:
When did we start clapping for the very people digging our graves?
When did we start mistaking noise for courage?
When did we start rewarding loyalty to power instead of loyalty to truth?
The people we expect to fight have been bought.
And the people we want to fight for are so mentally impoverished they have put zero value on dignity.
They do not understand that freedom is not inherited. It is defended.
That integrity is not convenient.
It is costly.
That legacy is not accidental.
It is intentional.
A Delayed Victory
I refuse to surrender to despair.
Nigeria is on the rise.
We are not a failed story.
We are a delayed victory.
Our continent has survived slavery.
Survived colonization.
Survived corruption.
Survived neglect.
We will survive this season too.
But survival is not enough anymore.
It is time to rebuild.
Time to rethink.
Time to reclaim our standards.
Time to demand excellence from our leaders, from our institutions, and from ourselves.
Because the future of Africa cannot be destroyed by enemies.
It can be destroyed by OUR indifference.
By the slow poison of “it is not my problem.”
By the dangerous comfort of “someone else will fix it.”
By the quiet lie that one voice cannot make a difference.
But history proves otherwise.
One voice can start a movement.
One decision can change a nation.
One act of courage can rewrite a generation.
A Promise to Myself
And so, I make a simple promise to myself:
I will not live a life the worms can celebrate.
I will not chase comfort at the expense of conscience.
I will not trade dignity for convenience.
I will not remain silent when truth is required.
Because one day, the earth will call my name.
One day, the sand from which I came will receive me again.
And when that day arrives, I want to leave behind something the worms cannot touch.
A legacy of courage.
A legacy of integrity.
A legacy of service.
A legacy of truth.
The Only Currency That Matters
So let this be our reminder to leaders, to citizens, to dreamers, to skeptics:
We all owe life one final payment.
Death.
And when that debt is paid, the only currency that will matter is legacy.
Not what we accumulated.
Not what we displayed.
Not what we protected.
But what we built.
What we defended.
What we gave.
Because in the end, the worms will take the body.
But history will keep the story.
And the question each of us must answer is simple:
Will our story be worth remembering?
DIG.
