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YOUR CHILDREN, NOT YOUR OWN

  It is a common yet flawed assumption that children belong to their parents. Many, particularly in African societies, operate under the illusion that biological connection equals ownership. But let us pause for a moment and reflect – who among us can claim ownership of another’s soul? Who among us chose their own entry into this world? The truth is as old as time itself: we do not own our children; they are God’s, lent to us for a time, to be raised and nurtured, not possessed and manipulated. The Divine Custodianship of Parenthood Children are not commodities to be controlled, coerced, or commanded at will. They are gifts from the Almighty, entrusted into our care for a fleeting season. Psalm 127:3 reminds us, “Lo, children are a heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.” The language is clear: they are a heritage, not an acquisition. Parents are custodians, not owners. In Genesis, when God blessed humanity with the ability to multiply, He did not ...

The Dialectic of Self-Preservation and Self-Destruction

    Nigeria, with other nations, is a land of constant negotiation with danger. To live here is to be alert. At Oshodi, a woman instinctively pulls her child back from the rush of okada riders. At Oluku, a man jumps aside as a reckless mini bus veers too close. When gunshots crack in a distant street, crowds scatter without waiting to ask who is shooting. Self-preservation is etched into our bones, a survival script rehearsed in every market, motor park, and traffic jam. And yet, paradoxically, this same instinct to survive is matched by an almost stubborn desire to flirt with death. The Lagos driver who carefully waits for the green traffic light later drinks himself into  stupor and insists on driving home. The civil servant who avoids unclean water to protect his health will, with equal certainty, consume endless bottles of sweet soda that quietly corrode his body. A man who cries out in panic when a snake slithers across the compound may, the same evening, light a cig...

OUTSIDE THE GOLD CIRCLE– A Captivating Journey into the Margins of Power

 Please, 🙏 follow and click on this link: https://www.iwemi.com/outside-the-gold-circle , and buy  or share: OUTSIDE THE GOLD CIRCLE – A Captivating Journey into the Margins of Power                By Emmanuel Okom In Outside the Gold Circle, Emmanuel Okom crafts an unforgettable tale of longing, legacy, and the silent war between tradition and progress. Set in the fictional village of Inibosinbo, the novel is a moving exploration of how ordinary people, trapped outside systems of power, wealth, privilege and opportunity - the metaphorical "gold circle" - fight for relevance in a world that demands they remain voiceless.At the heart of the story is Ukaani Irikwom, a weathered but dignified farmer and ex-Biafran soldier whose deepest desire is to see his son, Lucky, rise beyond the reach of village drudgery. But five years after graduation, Lucky remains jobless—an echo of a generation betrayed by a republic that promises progress but p...

Why Keep This Transient Spirit in This Perishable Frame? – A Philosophical Enquiry into Being and Nothingness

“For what is man in nature? A nothing in comparison with the infinite, a whole in comparison with the nothing, a mean between nothing and everything.”  –   Blaise Pascal, PensĂ©es What strange defiance is this: that the soul, knowing well its fragility, clings still to life? That we, bound in bodies destined to wither, fight against the pull of the abyss? What force keeps the trembling heart beating, even when sorrow presses against the ribs like an iron band? What makes a man, weary of toil and loss, rise again with the sun, unwilling to surrender? The question – Why keep this transient spirit in this perishable frame? – is not merely a philosophical riddle but a cry from the deepest chambers of the human condition. It is the plea of every suffering soul, the whispered anguish of the broken-hearted, the silent query of the lonely and the lost. It is the question asked in hospital rooms and warzones, in sleepless nights and moments of unbearable grief. It is the unuttered...