₦airaland Forum

Languages are fascinating. Sometimes, a single word carries an entire philosophy. In English, there is simply “father.” In Yoruba, there are Bàbá and Baba. To the untrained ear, they may sound identical. But anyone steeped in Yoruba culture knows they do not always mean the same thing.

One may give you life. The other may raise you.
One may introduce you to the world. The other may teach you how to live in it.
And sometimes if grace allows, one man becomes both.

The Blood Father: Bàbá

Bàbá represents the biological father - the man whose role in the human story is as ancient as procreation itself. Long before modern medicine or schools, there was the act of continuation. There was inheritance. There was the quiet transmission of life from one generation to the next.

Biologically, a father contributes half of a child’s genetic identity. He passes on more than cells: genes, predispositions, facial features, bloodline markers, physiological traits, and sometimes inherited strengths or vulnerabilities. Medicine confirms what Yoruba wisdom has always known - every child carries ancestral echoes in their very cells. A grandfather’s eyes. An uncle’s stature. A family’s resilience or its susceptibilities. Blood remembers.

This is why questions of origin endure across cultures: Who is your father? Not because inheritance is everything, but because roots matter. The Yoruba captured this truth in proverbs long before modern genetics existed.

“Aya ole nikan ni ale gba, a ko le gba ọmọ ole.”
(You may take the wife of a lazy man, but you cannot take his child.)

This is not about possession. It speaks to permanence. Marriages may dissolve, households may shift, but blood leaves signatures that time cannot easily erase.

The biological father helps the earth renew itself. He expands humanity’s story, ensuring yesterday does not vanish tomorrow. His role is foundational, irreplaceable. His absence often leaves questions that echo for generations.

The Present Father: Baba

Yet biology alone has never been enough. After birth comes the harder task: presence. This is where Baba enters.

Baba is not defined by blood alone. He is the one who gives himself, whether he is the biological father, a grandfather, stepfather, uncle, mentor, teacher, community elder, or neighbor. He is anyone who steps up and assumes responsibility until a child can stand on their own.

Yoruba wisdom puts it succinctly:
“Baba ti o to Baba ṣe ni.”
(He is the one capable of truly fathering.)

Notice the emphasis: fatherhood is not merely a title, it is an active practice. It is something done, not just claimed.

Modern psychology echoes what Yoruba communities have long understood. Children need more than provision; they need attunement, safety, consistency, encouragement, boundaries, and a secure base. A present father figure often becomes the bridge through which children learn trust, identity, discipline, and resilience. This influence ripples outward: a supported mother parents differently, and families with steady support experience less stress and healthier emotional environments.

The quiet labor of Baba rarely appears on certificates, but it reveals itself in outcomes…in the voices of grown adults who say, “I am who I am because someone believed in me.”

In Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood, the author explores how parenthood transcends mere biology, delving into sacrifice, expectation, and social obligation. The novel probes not just who gives life, but who carries the weight of raising it.

Medicine may emphasize stable biological foundations, nutrition, and genetic continuity. Psychology may highlight attachment, security, and responsive care. Yoruba wisdom refuses to choose between the two. It insists on balance.

A child without roots struggles.
A child without nurture wanders.

One provides identity: “This is where you come from.”
The other offers direction: “This is where you can go.”

Can one person embody both Bàbá and Baba? Yes…and when it happens, it is fatherhood at its finest: blood carried with responsibility, inheritance paired with presence.

But life does not always grant that unity. Sometimes one man gives life while another gives meaning. In such cases, the final judgment perhaps belongs to the child: Who deserves the crown?..the father who made me, or the father who stayed?

I leave that question to the reader.



Written in the spirit of reflection of Father’s Day celebration by © Ayomide Abiona

There was a time in Yorubaland when religion occupied our places of worship but never occupied our hearts against one another. There were Muslims, there were Christians, but above all, there were neighbours. Looking back now, I often wonder whether we truly appreciated what we had while we lived it. Growing up in a six-flat apartment at Ajigbotoluwa in old Alekuwodo, Osogbo, I never imagined that one day people would have to organise conferences and seminars to teach coexistence. We lived it naturally.

In those days, Osogbo had its own social map. The elites mostly resided in Dada Estate, while many others were spread across Ogo-Oluwa and Alekuwodo. Alekuwodo was unique because it brought together the upper class, middle class and working-class families in one community. Many civil servants of that era belonged to the respectable middle class; teachers, social workers, accountants, engineers and local government officers. Salaries might be modest, but relationships were rich.

My father remained devoted to his new faith without condemning his former one. He never taught us to view people through the lens of religion. Because of that, we moved freely among everyone in the neighbourhood. Christians lived in our compound. Muslims lived in our compound. Traditional values quietly existed among both. Festivals were not occasions for division; they were occasions for celebration. The only thing that changed was whose mother was cooking.

One festive season, it would be my mother’s turn to prepare food for half the neighbourhood. The next celebration, it would be the turn of the Adewoyes or the Bamidele family. As children, we were not concerned about whether the celebration was Christmas, Easter, Eid-el-Kabir or Eid-el-Fitr. We simply knew that food was coming and that everyone would eat. We understood aroma; the language of the cooking pot was universal, and every household spoke it fluently.

The Adewoye family, whose patriarch would later become Commissioner for Works under the first civilian administration in the newly created Osun State, were among those families whose generosity became part of our childhood memories. Then there were the Bamidele family, fondly known across the neighbourhood as “Bandy.” Their Ileya ram was almost a community celebrity. It was fed with special grass, admired by neighbours and sometimes entered into inter-community ram contests. I still remember how difficult it was to sleep as a young boy whenever I knew that Bandy’s ram had not yet been fed its evening grass. Such was the prestige attached to that animal. The ram was itself was a seasonal attraction.

The soundtrack of those years was equally memorable. Festivals came alive with the music of Sir Shina Peters, Dele Taiwo and Dayo Kujore etc. Their songs flowed from Table turner and giant loudspeakers, announcing celebration even before invitations were extended. Then came Christmas with its own special attraction, the beautiful multi-coloured, dotted local chickens fried in vegetable oil inside the popular square cooking cans of that era. To this day, I still wonder what happened to those chicken breeds. They seemed more colourful, tasted better and smelled richer than the breeds we see today. Perhaps childhood simply seasoned everything differently.

One of my most vivid memories was the communal reception given to a returning pilgrim from Mecca. The entire neighbourhood turned out in celebration. Drummers played endlessly while praise singers chanted, “Barika re o, Alhaji to re Mecca to bo, barika re.” The procession stretched from around the present Orita-Olaiya axis through the Akindeko Market area. Nobody asked whether the celebration belonged to Muslims alone. The joy belonged to everyone. One person’s blessing was regarded as a community blessing.

Politics also felt different then. The late Serubawon himself, who would later become the first civilian governor of Osun State, often visited political associates in our neighbourhood, including Alhaji Muibi Garuba Adewoye, the Bamidele family, Baba Abiola the councillor, the Oyelamis KK and others whose names have faded from memory. Whenever his helicopter descended, another form of excitement followed. Naira notes would flutter from the sky and we young ones would scramble after them with the determination of treasure hunters. No economics lesson has ever taught me the value of money better than seeing a fresh ₦5 note descend from the heavens. Those were also the days of the Social Democratic Party. I remember following a heavily bearded man carrying a small megaphone through the streets while we chanted, “Daddy, Mummy, Adeleke ni ẹ dibo fún!” Supporting Chief M.K.O. Abiola’s presidential campaign felt equally natural. Nobody paid us. Nobody needed to. Hope itself was enough motivation.

Yet, beyond politics and festivals, what remains most enduring in my memory is the culture of sharing. Even after we left Ajigbotoluwa in the mid-1990s and moved into our own family house, some traditions remained intact. For decades afterwards, one of the first meals we ate during Ileya often arrived from Alhaja Adewoye’s kitchen. During Christmas and New Year celebrations, food travelled in the opposite direction. Sometimes, if my mother’s Christmas package delayed, Alhaji Adewoye would call landline directly, not to complain, but to remind her. That was how seriously those relationships were taken.

The food itself was never the true gift. The relationship was.

For whichever child was fortunate enough to deliver the food, there was always an additional blessing waiting. We called it owo aganran; those crisp, mint-fresh naira notes. A child who returned from Alhaji’s house with a fresh ₦5 or ₦10 note felt like a successful businessman. That money could buy a plate of Wanke at Orita, Baba Dudu sweets or any number of childhood treasures. The messenger always returned richer and the friendship always returned stronger.

We also spent many festive periods with family friends such as Engr. Akande and others who had become extensions of our family. In those days, family extended beyond bloodlines. Neighbours became relatives. Friends became siblings. Communities became homes. The Yoruba say, “Ajoje owo kan ko gbé ẹrù dé orí.” One hand cannot lift a load onto the head. Looking back now, I realise that our parents understood this wisdom deeply. They built relationships across religious and social boundaries because they knew that life was lighter when carried together.

Today, when discussions about religious division dominate our public space, my mind often returns to that six-flat compound at Ajigbotoluwa. I remember the aroma of Ileya ram, the taste of Christmas chicken, the songs welcoming returning pilgrims, the excitement of fresh naira notes falling from a helicopter and the warmth of neighbours who became family. I remember fathers who respected one another and mothers whose cooking pots travelled more frequently than political opinions. Perhaps the secret of our coexistence was never hidden inside the mosque or the church. Perhaps it existed in the simple journey between both houses, where a bowl of steaming food crossed a fence and returned with friendship.

Our mothers exchanged pots, our fathers exchanged respect, and we children exchanged laughter, religion found its proper place, not as a wall that separated us, but as a window through which we appreciated one another.

Those were beautiful days. And sometimes, I fear that what we miss most today is not merely the food, but the spirit that travelled with it.

© Ayomide Abiona

There are dates that the calendar remembers, and there are dates that the heart refuses to forget.

The 7th of June is one of such days for me.

Once upon a time, it was my birthday. A day of laughter, greetings, prayers, and celebration. A day when family and friends gathered to rejoice over another year of life. But six years ago, the meaning of that day changed forever.

On that fateful day, I was preparing for what should have been a memorable birthday celebration. Pots were on fire. People were cooking. A live goat had been slaughtered. The atmosphere was festive. We were expecting her arrival from Lagos.

She arrived.

But not in the manner we had hoped.

She came to us and gave up the ghost.

And just like that, my birthday ceased to be a birthday.

Since that day, I have struggled with dates. Birthdays slip away unnoticed. Anniversaries lose their significance. Eventful days no longer carry the excitement they once did. Perhaps grief has a way of rearranging the mind. Perhaps when a traumatic event becomes permanently attached to a particular date, the brain quietly chooses survival over celebration.

The experts may call it traumatic grief, anniversary reaction, or emotional avoidance. I simply call it living with a wound that remembers.

Every year, when June 7 approaches, my heart does not prepare for celebration.

It prepares for remembrance.

But if her death was painful, what followed was even more profound.

The day Abiola died, something else died with her.

The unity of the Olasehinde family.

She was not merely a unifier.

She was the unit of unity itself.

She was the living bridge between distant relatives and forgotten branches of the family tree. She carried relationships the way women carry handbags effortlessly and everywhere.

Many times, my phone would ring.

“Ayomide, speak with this person.”

And before I could ask who was calling, she would begin a long genealogical explanation.

“He is the son of our father's most senior step-sister.”

Or,

“She is related to your grandfather's maternal lineage.”

And I would wonder in amazement:

How did she even find these people?

How did she keep all these connections alive?

How did she remember everyone?

Today, many of those links have disappeared into silence.

Numbers have changed.

Relationships have faded.

Faces have become memories.

Conversations have become stories.

The family tree still stands, but many of its branches no longer touch.

The truth reveals itself most clearly during festive seasons.

There was a time when celebrations felt like a gathering of rivers flowing into one ocean.

Now, they feel like separate streams travelling in different directions.

Bímbọ́lá is navigating her own world.

Ayomide is chasing survival and purpose through the endless demands of life.

Your Kusibe is shepherding his own flock across distant horizons.

Each of us moving.

Each of us breathing.

Each of us existing.

Yet somehow, not quite together.

Like stars occupying the same sky but separated by unimaginable distances.

The Yoruba have long understood what modern psychology now explains.

When the central binding force disappears, systems gradually lose cohesion.

What psychologists describe as disintegration of social bonds, our fathers understood through wisdom.

"Osan já, orun di ọ̀pá." - When the rope snaps, the bow of the hunter becomes a mere stick.

And another saying comes to mind:

"Àgbà ò sí, ìlú bàjẹ́; bàálé ilé kú, ilé dàwọ́rọ̀." - When elders disappear, communities falter; when the head of a household dies, the household scatters.

You held no throne.

Yet somehow, you were the rope.

And when the rope snapped, we discovered how many things it had quietly been holding together.

Even your father could not survive the weight of your departure.

Five months after you left, he followed.

At his age, grief was a mountain too steep to climb.

Perhaps there are pains that medicine can soothe.

And there are losses that only eternity can explain.

Your mother is still with us. By God's grace, she continues her journey among the living. But the labour of gathering scattered pieces is heavy on her shoulders.

Some people are builders of walls. Some are keepers of gates. Some are custodians of memories.

You were all three.

And in your absence, we have come to appreciate how much work love was doing behind the scenes.

Today, six years later, I write not merely to mourn you.

I write to acknowledge you.

To celebrate you.

To thank you.

For every call.

For every reunion.

For every connection.

For every family gathering that happened because you made it happen.

For every relationship you nurtured before we realised relationships needed nurturing.

As I mark another birthday, I do so with mixed emotions.

Life asks me to count my years.

Memory asks me to count my losses.

And somewhere between gratitude and grief, I find myself thinking of you.

Abiola.

The one who died on my birthday.

The one who left with the unity of the Olasehinde family.

May your memory continue to challenge us to rebuild what was lost.

May your labour of love not perish with you.

And may God grant us the wisdom to gather again around the same table that once felt so natural under your watch.

Until we meet again.

Written by Ayomide Abiona
On my birthday, and in loving memory of Abiola omo Baba Abiona

07/06/2026

naijapikin2:
Why is it even a debate?

The one (taiwo) who came out first is the senior. But even taiwo doesn't argue with the decision that kehinde is the senior.

Whatever rocks their boat.

After all. Some seniors are not deserving of the title.

Take our leaders for example

Well said… the place of culture appears like truth without a fact… the so called “Elders” just want us to key into it without verifying… any attempt to get out of the box of traditions might land you the name “Rude”. The present GenZ dispensation are not having that chill tho! A whole lot is changing and more will

In Yoruba land, the birth of twins is a sacred event and a divine gift that transforms a home. As the late Kayode Fasola sang in his soulful melody, “Ti mo ba bi ejire, inu mi a dun o”—if I birth twins, my heart will sing with joy. The arrival of ejire, the twins, is heralded with the oriki chant: “Ejire to wole, alakisa to so o d’onigba aso”—twins who enter the home, turning rags to riches, weaving prosperity into the family’s fabric. A mother’s name shifts from, say, “Mama Bola” to Iya Ibeji, the revered mother of twins, her identity forever tied to this sacred duality. Yet, beneath this celebration lies a timeless Yoruba debate: who is the elder, Taiwo or Kehinde?

Yoruba cosmology offers a vivid lens for this conflict. Taiwo, the first to emerge, bears a name meaning “the one who tastes the world” or Tayelolu—“Taye is the Lord.” Taiwo is the scout, the pioneer sent to test the waters of existence. Kehinde, the second to arrive, is “the one who comes after,” their name suggesting a deeper wisdom, a quiet authority. The proverb “Akeyinde gba egbon”—the one who comes last claims the elder—captures the belief that Kehinde, in divine patience, sent Taiwo ahead as an emissary, retaining the mantle of leadership. This notion is reinforced in the saying “Kehinde ni baba, Taiwo ni omo”—Kehinde is the father, Taiwo the child—tilting the scales toward Kehinde’s supremacy.

Yet, Taiwo’s name, Tayelolu, asserts its own claim, suggesting lordship and primacy. The very meaning contests Kehinde’s assumed eldership, sparking a debate that has echoed through generations. Yoruba elders, gathered under ancient iroko trees, have long wrestled with this question. Wole Soyinka, in his acclaimed autobiographical memoir “Aké: The Years of Childhood” (1981), recounts cultural beliefs and practices surrounding twins in Yoruba society - “The villagers believed twins brought prosperity to a household and would hold elaborate naming and blessing ceremonies, for their spirits were thought to be linked with divine forces.”

This reverence is echoed by Amos Tutuola, in his classic novel “The Palm-Wine Drinkard” (1952) “And there appeared two spirits alike in form and voice, who spoke with one tongue but had two hearts.”

Yet, the question of eldership persists, a riddle woven into proverbs and songs.

Consider the Apala maestro Ayinla Omowura, whose song “Ibeji lo l’aye, ibeji lo l’owo”—twins own the world, twins own wealth—extols their divine favor. While the song unites the twins in glory, the cultural narrative often leans toward Kehinde’s wisdom. The proverb “Kehinde ni egbon, Taiwo ni aburo”—Kehinde is the elder, Taiwo the younger—seems to settle the matter for some. Elders cite this to affirm Kehinde’s authority, arguing that the one who waits, who sends the other forth, holds the true mantle of leadership. Yet, Taiwo’s supporters counter that the first to greet the world, to bear the name Tayelolu, embodies the boldness of an elder.

This conflict, though spirited, is but a fleeting shadow in the radiance of twins’ presence. During the Odun Ibeji, the festival of twins, communities gather amidst bata drums and the aroma of Beans and palm kernel oil. Here, the debate takes on a festive air, with voices rising in song and laughter. The oriki resounds, praising the twins’ indelible mark on their people. In these moments, the question of eldership feels ephemeral, overshadowed by the unity of ejire. As the proverb declares, “Ibeji ni orisun ayo”—twins are the source of joy. Their presence is a divine gift, eternally cherished, their bond transcending any contest of primacy.

In the end, the Yoruba embrace both Taiwo and Kehinde, not as rivals but as two halves of a sacred whole. The debate, though rooted in proverbs and songs, serves only to deepen the reverence for twins, whose arrival heralds joy and transforms the world they touch.

In recent weeks, headlines have celebrated Nigeria’s removal from the International Monetary Fund’s (IMF) debtor list, with many attributing this milestone to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration. While this is a significant achievement, the full picture of Nigeria’s debt profile—past and present—requires a closer look to help everyday Nigerians understand what it means for the country’s economic future. Let’s break it down simply, comparing the debt landscape before Tinubu’s presidency with today, examining state-level debt trends, and clarifying the current status with the IMF—all while acknowledging progress and the work still ahead.

Nigeria’s Debt Before Tinubu: A Heavy Load
When President Tinubu took office on May 29, 2023, Nigeria was grappling with a substantial debt burden inherited from previous administrations. According to the Debt Management Office (DMO), Nigeria’s total public debt stock in the second quarter of 2023 stood at N87.38 trillion (about $113.42 billion). This included N33.25 trillion ($43.16 billion) in external debt—money owed to foreign creditors like the IMF, World Bank, and China—and N54.13 trillion ($70.26 billion) in domestic debt, owed to local lenders like banks and bondholders. The debt-to-GDP ratio, a measure of how much debt a country has compared to its economic output, was 38%, considered sustainable but worrisome as it had risen from 9.3% in 2010.

This debt pile-up was driven by years of borrowing to cover budget deficits, fund infrastructure, and cushion economic shocks like the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic. External debts were particularly tricky because they were paid in foreign currencies, and the naira’s depreciation made repayments costlier. For example, a $1 billion loan became more expensive in naira terms as the currency weakened. By 2022, Nigeria’s external debt was $41.69 billion, with nearly half owed to multilateral lenders like the IMF and World Bank. The country was spending a huge chunk of its revenue—73.5% in 2023—on debt servicing, leaving little for schools, hospitals, or roads.

The Tinubu Era: Progress Amid Rising Debt
Fast forward to December 2024, and Nigeria’s total public debt has climbed to N144.67 trillion (roughly $100 billion), a 65.5% increase from June 2023. At first glance, this might sound alarming, but the story is more complex. In dollar terms, the debt actually decreased slightly from $108.23 billion in Q4 2023 to $91.46 billion in Q1 2024, largely due to naira devaluation, which inflated the naira value of external debts. The Tinubu administration borrowed N6.53 trillion between December 2023 and March 2024, including funds to finance the 2024 budget deficit and securitize “Ways and Means” advances (short-term loans from the Central Bank of Nigeria).

Despite the rising debt, Tinubu’s government has made strides in managing it. The debt-to-GDP ratio, now at 51.29% as of September 2024, remains below the 70% threshold for market-access countries, indicating Nigeria can still handle its debt without tipping into crisis. More impressively, debt servicing as a share of government revenue dropped from 97% to 65% in 2024, freeing up more funds for other priorities. The administration’s reforms, like removing fuel subsidies and floating the naira, have boosted revenues, though they’ve also raised living costs for many Nigerians.

State Debt Profiles: Mixed Progress
Nigeria’s debt isn’t just a federal issue—states and the Federal Capital Territory (FCT) also borrow, and their debt trends tell a varied story. In Q2 2023, Lagos State led with N996.44 billion in domestic debt, followed by Delta State at N465.40 billion. Jigawa had the least at N43.13 billion. By Q1 2024, Lagos’s domestic debt slightly decreased to N929.41 billion, while Delta’s dropped to N334.90 billion. Jigawa’s debt plummeted to N2.07 billion, showing significant repayment efforts. However, states like Kaduna, with $569.38 million in external debt in Q2 2023, continued to carry heavy foreign debt burdens.

Some states have made progress in reducing debt, likely due to increased federal allocations and stricter borrowing oversight. For instance, posts on X suggest states may have slowed borrowing in 2024, possibly due to federal reforms. Yet, others continue to rely on loans to fund projects, raising concerns about sustainability, especially in states with low internally generated revenue. The Tinubu administration’s push for fiscal discipline could help states manage debt better, but more work is needed to ensure borrowed funds are used productively.

The IMF Debt Milestone: Kudos, But Not the Full Story
The headline-grabbing news is Nigeria’s repayment of the $3.4 billion IMF Rapid Financing Instrument (RFI) loan, taken in April 2020 to combat COVID-19’s economic fallout. According to the IMF’s website (as of May 7, 2025), Nigeria no longer appears among the 91 countries with active loan commitments, confirming the principal was fully repaid by April 30, 2025. IMF data shows Nigeria’s debt to the Fund dropped from $2.47 billion in 2023 to $800.23 million in 2024, and finally to zero in 2025. This is a major win, and President Tinubu deserves kudos for overseeing this repayment, which signals fiscal responsibility and boosts Nigeria’s global credit standing.

However, the narrative needs shaping to avoid misleading Nigerians. While the principal is cleared, Nigeria still owes about SDR 125.99 million (roughly $30.24 million or N274.66 billion at N2,180 per SDR) in interest and administrative charges, with payments scheduled through 2029. These are not new loans but costs tied to the RFI loan. Claims that Nigeria is “debt-free” with the IMF are overstated, as these charges remain. Still, clearing the principal is a bold step, and it’s fair to applaud Tinubu’s administration for prioritizing this repayment amid other economic pressures.

Looking Ahead: A Path to Financial Strength
Nigeria’s debt journey under Tinubu shows both progress and challenges. The administration has reduced the IMF debt burden, lowered debt servicing costs relative to revenue, and encouraged some states to manage debt better. Yet, the rising total debt stock and naira devaluation highlight the need for caution. Borrowing isn’t inherently bad—it can fund roads, schools, or power plants—but it must be prudent and tied to projects that grow the economy.

To become a formidable economic force in Africa, Nigeria must build on Tinubu’s efforts. This means diversifying revenue beyond oil, supporting businesses to create jobs, and investing in infrastructure like electricity and roads. States should follow Jigawa’s example, reducing debt where possible, while the federal government ensures loans are transparent and productive. Nigerians deserve an economy where debt doesn’t eat up resources needed for health, education, or security.

President Tinubu has laid a foundation with the IMF repayment, but the road to financial buoyancy is long. By sustaining reforms, curbing wasteful spending, and boosting non-oil revenue, his administration can steer Nigeria toward a future where debt is manageable, and prosperity is within reach. For now, let’s celebrate the IMF milestone while keeping our eyes on the bigger goal: a Nigeria that stands tall among its African peers.

Ayo Abiona writes from the temple of International Institute of Journalism, Osogbo study center Temple.

Sources: Debt Management Office Nigeria, National Bureau of Statistics, IMF Website (May 7, 2025), Central Bank of Nigeria, Legit.ng, Sahara Reporters, Naija News, Daily Trust.

In a bustling city, where dreams often collide with harsh realities, there lived a man named Segun Anozie. A father, a husband, and a man who bore the weight of providing for his family, not just in the physical sense but with every ounce of his being. Every day, as he navigated the chaotic streets in his humble car, he carried more than just passengers. He carried the hopes of his children, the dreams of his wife, and the unyielding pressure to protect and provide for those he loved most.
Then one day, fate brought a stranger into his life—Asherkine, a well-known Digital content creator, influencer, and philanthropist. What started as a simple transaction—a ride to the mall—turned into an unexpected blessing. Asherkine, moved by Segun’s sincerity and dedication, decided to give him a gift that most would see as a his normal gesture. But for Segun, it was more. As he carefully selected items (rice and TV) for his wife and children, he wasn’t just shopping; he was trying to fulfill his role as a provider, to ease the burden he knew his wife had been silently carrying.

You see, in the back of his mind, Segun knew the size of his wife’s shoes, not just in measurement but in the weight she bore walking in them. He knew the exact amount of his child’s school fees, not just as a number but as a promise he made to ensure a better future. For Segun, this was more than just a shopping spree; it was an attempt to reclaim his role, to hold on to a sense of worth that had been slipping through his fingers.

But as the story unfolded, the past came rushing back. The social media family, always eager to uncover the truth, dug into Mrs. Anozie’s posts. The hashtag #singlemom stood starkly against the narrative Segun had woven in his mind. She had been strong, resilient, and carrying the weight of both protector and provider, a role that had been thrust upon her when life took an unexpected turn.

Mrs. Anozie’s words were sharp, laced with the pain of unmet expectations and the emotional scars that hadn’t yet healed. She defended her posts, not out of spite, but out of a need to reclaim her narrative, to speak her truth in a world that often silences the voices of women who bear too much. She called out Segun, not as the man she once loved, but as a figure who had failed to live up to the role she needed him to play.
The essence of this story is not to cast blame, but to illuminate a deeper truth. The delicate balance of roles in a marriage is not just about duty; it’s about identity. When a man can no longer provide, when his role is diminished or taken away, it doesn’t just affect the household; it shakes the very core of who he is. And when a woman is forced to step into a role that was never hers to bear alone, it can create a rift, turning both parties into strangers to themselves and each other.

In the end, this isn’t just about Segun or Mrs. Anozie. It’s about the countless men and women who struggle to find balance in a world that often demands more than they can give. It’s about the silent battles fought within the walls of homes, where the roles of protector and provider are not just responsibilities, but the very foundation upon which love, respect, and identity are built.

So, let us not forget the power of our roles, and the importance of upholding them. Let us remember that while society may change, and while challenges may arise, the need to protect, to provide, to nurture, and to submit with love and respect is ingrained in us all. When we stray too far from these roles, we risk losing not just our way, but ourselves in the process.

©ayoAbiona
17-08-24[font=Lucida Sans Unicode][/font]

In the remote parts of Osun state-Nigeria, where modern healthcare facilities are often sparse and traditional beliefs run deep, a unique synergy is forming. A sensitisation program organised by the World Health Organisation, Osun state office has recently taken root, aiming to empower traditional medicine practitioners with knowledge about priority diseases and their crucial role in public health surveillance. This initiative is not just about informing; it’s about integrating time-honored practices with contemporary public health strategies to create a robust system for preventing disease outbreaks.

Traditional medicine practitioners hold a revered place in rural communities. Their deep understanding of local herbs, roots, and holistic healing methods has been passed down through generations. For many, these practitioners are the first point of contact when illness strikes. Recognising their pivotal role, the sensitisation program sought to educate them about priority diseases—those that pose significant public health risks due to their potential for outbreaks, such as poliomyelitis, cholera, and tuberculosis.

Priority diseases are those that, if not promptly identified and managed, can lead to significant morbidity, mortality, and widespread outbreaks. The program highlighted the symptoms, transmission modes, and preventive measures for these diseases. By equipping traditional medicine practitioners with this knowledge, the initiative aimed to enhance early detection and timely reporting of potential cases.

One of the critical components of the sensitisation program was training practitioners on the importance of reporting suspected cases to the surveillance focal person attached to the local health facility. This person acts as a bridge between traditional practices and modern healthcare systems, ensuring that data on potential outbreaks is swiftly communicated and acted upon.

Traditional practitioners learned to recognize signs that warrant immediate reporting, such as unusual clusters of illness, symptoms of highly infectious diseases, or conditions not responding to traditional treatments. This early warning system can trigger rapid response measures, such as deploying medical teams, distributing preventive supplies, and initiating community awareness campaigns.

Armed with new knowledge, traditional medicine practitioners can now serve as key players in educating their communities about disease prevention. They can advocate for proper sanitation, the importance of clean water, and the use of insecticide-treated bed nets to prevent malaria. Their trusted status within the community means their messages are more likely to be heeded, leading to behavioral changes that reduce the risk of disease spread.

Moreover, these practitioners can demystify modern health interventions. By explaining the benefits of vaccines, antibiotics, and other medical treatments in familiar terms, they can help overcome skepticism and resistance, encouraging more people to seek timely medical help.

In Egbedore local government, Osun state, the impact of the sensitisation program became evident when a traditional healer, Mama Aisha, noticed an unusual number of children with severe diarrhoea and dehydration. Recalling her training, she immediately reported the cases to the surveillance focal person. This prompt action led to the quick identification of a cholera outbreak, and health authorities were able to intervene with clean water supplies, oral rehydration solutions, and public health messaging, averting a potentially devastating situation.

The success of the sensitisation program underscores the potential of integrating traditional medicine with modern public health strategies. By respecting and leveraging the influence of traditional practitioners, health authorities can create a more inclusive and effective surveillance system. This approach not only enhances early detection and response to priority diseases but also fosters trust and cooperation between communities and the healthcare system.

As rural Nigeria continues to navigate the challenges of healthcare delivery, such collaborative efforts offer a promising path forward. By uniting the wisdom of the past with the advancements of the present, we can build a healthier, more resilient society capable of preventing and mitigating the impact of disease outbreaks.

iVolunteer for Public Health safety in my local county.
AyoAbiona
23/5/‘24

Cc: World Health Organization (WHO)

Love800:
How can i get into radio?
I want to be a presenter.
I dont know the process.

Are u working in the radio now?

You can do freelance, co-host show, be an analyst.

Save up and start your own show later

Today was a day of unexpected surprises and heartfelt gratitude as I found myself on the receiving end of an award from the non-governmental organization I volunteer for, the Refuge of Life Foundation. Under the esteemed leadership of Mr. Bolarinwa Olabode, the Executive Director, the organization has been tirelessly dedicated to its mission, and it was an honor to be recognized as the long-standing and most supportive staff member.

The moment of recognition came amidst my duties as the moderator of the organization's 7th-anniversary event, where esteemed panelists from the media, security sector, and academia gathered to discuss pressing security matters. As I diligently called upon the awardees from the list provided, little did I know that I would soon find myself among them.

With a humble heart, I watched as Mr. Olabode took the microphone from my hand, announcing a special surprise for an unsuspecting recipient – me. The emotions that surged within me were indescribable as my name echoed through the room, and I stood in disbelief, overwhelmed by the unexpected honor bestowed upon me.

Sharing the stage with distinguished individuals such as Comrade Ayo Ologun, a beacon of inspiration and mentorship since my undergraduate days, Pa Smallet Shittu Alamu, a seasoned journalist, and other notable figures, I felt a profound sense of humility and gratitude.

This award is not merely a testament to my individual efforts, but a tribute to the collective pursuit of humanity and empowerment, particularly for the resilient and determined girls striving for excellence in life. As I accept this honor, I pledge to continue dedicating myself to the noble cause championed by the Refuge of Life Foundation, and to uphold the values of compassion, service, and excellence in all endeavors.

It was a moment I had dreamt of since childhood, and finally, I found myself stepping into the bustling corridors of Fresh FM, ready to embark on my first-ever experience in a live radio program. The excitement bubbled within me as I took in the sights and sounds of the radio station, knowing that I was about to be a part of something truly special.

As I entered the studio, I was greeted by the friendly faces of Bolarinwa Olabode who happens to be a friend and leader in the world of humanitarian service; SnowBaba and Romeo, the hosts of the show. Their warm smiles put me at ease, despite the nervous anticipation swirling in my stomach. This was it – my chance to contribute to a discussion on a topic close to my heart: deal breakers in marriage during an economic crisis.

Taking my place on the panel alongside Bolarinwa Olabode, Ponder, and Rowland Reevs, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and gratitude for the opportunity. Bolarinwa Olabode, the one who had linked me up with Romeo, deserved a special thanks for making this dream a reality.

As the clock struck 8 pm, the show began, and the studio buzzed with energy as listeners tuned in to the men's roundtable talk. SnowBaba kicked off the discussion, inviting each of us to share our perspectives on the topic at hand.

Throughout the program, we delved deep into the complexities of marriage, exploring how economic challenges can strain relationships and unearth hidden deal breakers. From financial stress to communication breakdowns, we covered a range of issues that resonate with couples facing tough times.

Despite the weighty subject matter, there was an undeniable camaraderie among the panelists, as we shared personal anecdotes, exchanged viewpoints, and offered insights gleaned from our own experiences.

Romeo, the radio loverboy, kept the conversation flowing with his trademark wit and charm, while SnowBaba skillfully steered the discussion with professionalism and grace.

By the time the clock struck 9:30 pm, signaling the end of the program, I felt a profound sense of fulfillment wash over me. Being part of such a dynamic and engaging discussion had been an honor and a privilege, and I couldn't wait to do it all over again next week.

As I bid farewell to the studio and made my way home, I couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had brought me here. From childhood dreams to real-life opportunities, this experience had been a testament to the power of perseverance, passion, and the support of good friends like Bolarinwa Olabode.

With a heart full of gratitude, I looked forward to many more evenings spent in the company of SnowBaba, Romeo, and the rest of the Fresh FM family, as we continued to explore the intricacies of life, love, and everything in between on the airwaves.

Ayomide Abiona
OAP, Blogger & content creator.

nah wah for who no sabi the meaning of investigation.

The election petition tribunal had earlier ruled in favor of Senator Ademola Adeleke.



The Appeal Court sitting in Osun state has ruled in favor of Osun state Governor, Gboyega Oyetola, in the Osun 2018 governorship elections.

The election petition tribunal had earlier ruled in favor of Senator Ademola Adeleke.

Source: Sahara News

Drop his whatsapp number here, let Nairalanders assist you to send the link of this post to him if you can't do that yourself...

Cynthia Nwadiora (popularly known as CeeC) the runner up of the last year Big brother Naija tagged 'Double wahala' emerged as the most bittered Nigeria woman in google search. This could have emanated from her Character during the reality TV show. Cynthia was one of the popular housemates and also had rancour with almost all the other 19 contestants. She is also found of saying "I am bittered about you" anytime she is having her usual heated argument with her fellow housemates.
Yesterday during the Double wahala reunion show hosted by Ebuka, she agreed to the fact that an award as the most bittered Nigeria woman was given to her and she is not being distracted about it, in her words " I don't think there is any other housemates that is facing social media trolls than me, I face series of attacks on my walls and DM, go to google and search for the most bittered Nigeria Woman and you will find out I'm the one" she received the award with smiles and a lot of boasts.

And the winner is Ademola Adeleke of PDP

Serious jubilation everywhere

Untainted007:
It's real babe, I'm presently in Osogbo and people are seen jubilating up and down.

Dead career Deeone ranting like Mama G in Nolly wood movie. He almost blamed low turnout of his dry comedy show on Miracle

Make dem no go target deez man

Tension already in Osun.

You no lie

ainas247:
When Going For Campaign Rallies,They Go With Thugs But When Going 2Collect Their Certificate Of Return They Go With Their children

its 2019, let your business be seen on Google
let us chat now and you will see result

Click here to watch

https://nigerianthem..com/2019/02/prof-mahmood-yakubu-speaks.html

More pictures.

"Charity is an act of kindness where a person who has more than enough of what he or she needs contributes a part of his or her surplus income for the fulfilment of the needs of those who are less capable." - Kirti Daga

It is against the "surplus income" described by Kirti Daga , that Step Up Foundation took to the streets on Valentines day; Feb 14, 2019 to donate foods, clothings and other relief materials to destitutes, Orphans, Motherless and less privileged in four States (Osun, Kwara, Lagos and Rivers) across Nigeria.

Mostly constituted by students and fresh graduates, Step Up Foundations is a non Governmental Organization with the sole aim of empowering women, supporting the less privilege and promoting youth participation in Nation building with basic educational tools (SDG 4 – Quality Education) .

This year edition tagged Project-VAL (Voluntary Alms for the Less Privileged) was made successful by members and charity minded others who donated money, gently used clothes, mosquito nets, cooked and raw foods, shoes and other edibles.

Step Up Foundation partnered with Nigerianthem (a non-profit organization) and Young African Leaders Forum.

It is important to state that members and volunteers raised money and materials from stipends given to them by parents, friends, progressive like minds or small incomes made from petty works. If a laudable project like this can be well supported by governments, private and individuals, it will go a long way to ensure that the vision of realizing a better society is attained.

Project-VAL is an annual program and you can be part of next year edition and other meaningful projects that Step Up Foundation embarks on.

Breaking News: The #NigeriaDecides2019⁠ ⁠ Elections now to hold on; 23rd February, 2019 for Presidential and National Assembly while the Governorship, State House of Assembly and the FCT Area Council Elections is to hold on 9th March, 2019.

Source: INEC

Corrinthians:
No proof, no sources. Can't buy this one.

Your eye go clear soon.

Information has it that the suspended Chief Justice of Nigeria is presently at the premises of the Code of conduct Tribunal.

More details shortly.

I have followed your link and already surfing ... Buh let's talk via whatspp 07032568377

Wrong comment

mynairaland2018:
Wrong section.

okwabayi:
I hope this is isn’t a situation where we’ll hear of side chicks after ten months.
This is not the first nor last time I’ve seen Nairalanders getting engaged.

We won't.. This one is a city set on the hills