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Nigeria at 65: What’s Your Role?
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‎At 65, Nigeria is not just a country to celebrate—it is a responsibility to carry. The question is not only what has Nigeria done for me? but also what am I doing for Nigeria?
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‎Your role as a citizen is not limited to voting once every four years. It is in how you live daily. A teacher who teaches with passion is building Nigeria. A trader who refuses to cheat is building Nigeria. A civil servant who resists bribery is building Nigeria. Each action adds up.
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‎Patriotism is not blind loyalty; it is a conscious decision to confront our problems with hope and persistence. If all we do is curse Nigeria while praising foreign lands, who will fix home?
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‎At 65, Nigeria is still a work in progress. The real independence is not in parades or speeches, but in citizens who take responsibility.
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‎So as we wave the flag and sing the anthem, let us ask ourselves:
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‎Am I building Nigeria or breaking it?
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If you don't have a father like mine, you really miss a lot. I grew up in love, I grew up knowing love and being shown real love.

I thought it was only my dad, because he's the only one always available, I knew a woman used to appear and disappear, but my young mind couldn't fathom why she does that. I wouldn't care because my daddy was enough for all I needed at that age. Care, food, snacks, play, someone to cry to and many more. It was later I understand that my mummy was schooling at the Teachers college.

The sound of my daddy's motorcycle then, was the sound of hope, merriment, joy, goddies and more. Daddy will dance for all of us in my mummy's buba and iro on a good day, making us laugh our hearts out😄😄😄😄. Maybe my own enjoyment was compounded because I am the last born, I don't know, but I sure have fantastic memories about my younger years.

Being a teachers daughter living around the school, gave us access to all the teachers from other countries, India, Ghana and others.

Let me tell you also that my daddy was a disciplinerian and an extremely neat person. I watched him flog my older siblings for not ironing their uniforms, for tearing or not wrapping their notebooks, for neglecting home chores, for stains on their clothes. Haa,, my daddy does not joke with Joy soap and cream (that one inside bottle with metal cover), Nku powder, robb, lemon grass and bongo tea. Let me not forget our routine Sunday night pounded yam, the one they use hand to pack from mortar into your plate.🤪🤪🤪

My daddy was a fantastic man, there's basically nothing he cannot do, so we didn't miss mummy for the three years she was away in Teachers training school. Daddy was enough for us.

Our routine bi-monthly hair cut experience was one of the dreaded experiences I had growing up, no thanks to the barber at Asipa in Ipetumodu, may God forgive him and the goldsmith who molded that clipper that looks like a surgical instrument. Even though we look forward to rolling on baba's chair, the pain of those clippers will not allow us to enjoy our rolling in peace and baba's restrictions are our enemy too. There's no way you won't come down with a headache after barbing in those days; but my daddy has another good but awful solution. He will drive us straight to the health center at Moro for injection and paracetamol. And the wicked Nurse there won't even look at our young Uche's face before pinning us down to administer injection. Sometimes we pray daddy should have an extra meeting in church so we can escape this experience, but alas, my daddy always has his ways.

I will not forget to tell you that my daddy doesn't joke with morning and night prayers with hymns. Our prayers are always said on our knees then, my daddy was a faithful CMS member, an English teacher per excellent, an handsome farmer🤪, a fantastic networker(we enjoyed good relationships through my daddy).

Idowu Simeon Ogunsola, I'll always miss you daddy. You are forever in my heart.🎉🎉🎉