Their Teacher, My Father! by Ayobami Oke.

The roundish woman, with tribal marks, flashing a winning smile during a traditional wedding ceremony I attended last week was the focus of all eyes. Well she ought to be as she was the lively Master of Ceremony.

The guests had already had their full of good food and drinks so the distraction of hunger was already check-mated. If you are not looking at the Master of Ceremony and you are too full to look at the empty plates of food, what then are you looking at?

With a flourish, she raised her hands and opened her mouth letting out sonorous music. And like it was pre arranged, a large number of women and men stood up to dance to the home made anthem:

‘A d’omo re ko ni’
‘A ran’mo re l’oko’
‘Eni ba f’oju di t’isa’
‘A ran’mo re l’oko’

He will teach his child all by himself
He will send his child a farming
He who thinks little of a teacher
He will send his child a farming!

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“Writers Sought!”

“Writers Sought!” the small advert said

For what exactly, was left undeclared

Is it for menus, love letters, or bankable checks?

Or twitter, or tattoos, or good old phone texts


“Writers Sought!” was what it did say

And where exactly? Do tell us, I pray

Prison or Facebook, where there are big walls;

Restrooms or park benches, or in dining halls


“Writers Sought!” was all it proclaimed

But did not quite say, what drove them away

Is the pay that poor that they must be sought?

Or are your sights so poor? Because I see lots


Of hand writing, phone writing, but hardly right things

Song writing, blog-writing, or just commenting

Real ranting, twit-fighting, govern-ment-bashing

Too busy for miserly “Writers Sought!” things


© Chukwudi Adepoju 1st May 2014.



Lord Help me, to stop measuring
My worth, my life, by all these things
The money i have, or really don’t have
Or to think i’m cool, cos i fly first class

Lord help mebenz, to stop thinking
‘Oh I’m blessed’, just b’cos of my Benz
Or to hope the guys can actually see
That I have arrived, when i do arrive!

Lord help me, to not judge men
By how they smell, or what they wear,
To know that crooks sometimes smell nice
And Lazarus was wrongly despised

Lord help me, to not despair
Not despair, if things disappear
Help me to look for you and rest
To know it’s in you I’m truly BLESSED!

Lord help me, to think like you
To see like you, and talk like you
To see all men, in heaven’s light
And treat all things, as Jesus might.

(c) Chukwudi Adepoju. 04 April 2014 [Inspired by Pastor GoodHeart Obi Ekwueme’s … “The Heart Series”]


No, Satan, this lie won’t hold!

I am a sheep in my shepherd’s fold
And It’s His love that makes me bold
Summer, Winter, Hot or Cold
Nothing can snatch me from his hold

No, Satan, this lie won’t hold!

To wander, yes, i know i’m prone
But you can’t claim me for your own
His blood shed cost much more than gold
The depth of his love is yet untold

No, Satan, this lie won’t hold!

I won’t conform to this world’s mold
Or live life like I’m all alone
My shepherd’s near, wherever i go
Baa, baa, your old lies still won’t hold

No, Satan, your lies won’t hold

I won’t repeat them, ancient foe
Its an old trick, I’m reliably told
Whatever i let from my mouth flow
Will go to my future, and will show

That’s why, Satan, this lie won’t hold
My Master’s word is what I’ll hold
Summer or winter, hot or cold
His Word is enough, and it makes me WHOLE.

©Chukwudi Adepoju, 28 March 2014.

10 Life Lessons for your 30s. By Mark Manson.

10 Life Lessons to Excel in Your 30s

10 Life Lessons to Excel in Your 30, by Mark Manson.

A couple weeks ago I turned 30. Leading up to my birthday I wrote a post on what I learned in my 20s.

But I did something else. I sent an email out to my subscribers (subscribe here) and asked readers age 37 and older what advice they would give their 30-year-old selves. The idea was that I would crowdsource the life experience from my older readership and create another article based on their collective wisdom.

The result was spectacular. I received over 600 responses, many of which were over a page in length. It took me a solid three days to read through them all and I was floored by the quality of insight people sent.

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“I knew Abram at 70!”


I knabraham 2ew Abram at 70
And he was going nowhere;
With his wife, oh so pretty
But they had no heir;

His neighbor i was, back then in Ur
With his dad and brother, the small Nahor
My son played often, with orphan – Lot
The nephew. The one that later got lost

When they suddenly packed up, bought tickets and left,
Some really weird rumors were all that we heard
“Abram’s hearing voices!” some people said
“No, Nahor’s twelve sons’re making them scared”

I hear he heard voices, right till he died
Well stricken in age, but oh, so so blessed
And the heir still came, bringing real laughter
I should have followed them, into God’s Chapter.

© Chukwudi Adepoju. 13 March 2014.

Your enemy is in form!

I recently started following the English Premier League, and I have found that it is truly amazing to feel the passion of it all if you let yourself get sucked in to the contagious atmosphere, watching out for upcoming matches, Summer transfers, checking up on your team’s performance on the League Table, and being interested in so many other things you never thought you would ever be interested in.

If you knew me growing up, you would understand why this is such a new experience.

Growing up, there was absolutely no football passion in our home. If my brother ever played any football, I did not know it. In his teenage years, he was more interested in the martial arts. My Dad, the only other male in the house, did not reminisce about playing football in his youth. He occasionally talked about his cousin, my Uncle ‘Deremi that was the goalkeeper for Osogbo Grammar School in the late 50s, and that was it. I realize now that myopia in his eyes must have made him a poor choice for football in his high school days.

On the other hand, I was rather chubby in my primary school days. Scratch that. I am still rather chubby. And running for 90 minutes around a football I would never see till it hit me was not much fun at all. With all the sweating, and the panting, and the turning around on one spot to find a good target to pass to, it became obvious very quickly that if you need to win that match of 5-a-side, you better pick someone that sees much better than Aanu. I did not miss the panting.

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Words Are All I Have!

The storms are all I see around
The master’s in but sleeping sound
Our rowing skills are of no help
And I see, words are all I have

How I hate a watery grave
But I’m helpless in this stormy place
Tempestuous sea, where there’s no land
In despair, and yet, words are all I have

With words, I’ve shouted at the crew
With more words, I’ve cursed at the devil
Finally I run to wake the Lord
And He knows, words are all I have

“Peace, be still” were his own words
And they went forth, two-edged swords
He shocked me, calmed me, and made me see
That faith-words indeed, are all I need.

© Chukwudi Adepoju. 23rd August 2013.

gardener. MENTOR. friend. 2

equal strength

The 19th Century American Philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson was so right when he wrote in that famous essay of his – “Self Reliance”, that “Envy is ignorance, imitation is suicide”.

Why in the world would the Mango tree envy the hibiscus flower? Or the palm-tree envy the Iroko? It does not really make much sense, you know?  It is sheer ignorance of its potentials that makes a palm tree complain about not having flowers. That was what Emerson meant by “Envy is Ignorance”, and Imitation? Suicide. You kill the potential of the orange seedling if you want it to imitate the flower in the corner of your office. It may not be immediately obvious, and it may never be. But something dies in the species that imitates another of a different kind.  Continue reading