As I lie down to take a nap, an old friend life keeps running through my head while looking at these old times pictures from school.
We went to the same school, but he was always at the bottom of the class. No matter how hard he tried, his name stayed in the same place on the results sheet.
Teachers doubted him. Classmates dismissed him.
But he had a gift.
He was a gifted rapper, he turned the classroom into a studio. Desks became stages, exercise books became notebooks for lyrics, and every free moment was spent writing lines instead of copying notes.
He was like a worn-out transformer, charged and ready to explode with potential.
But in a country where power is unreliable, even brilliance struggles to shine. In Nigeria, darkness can delay even the brightest sparks.
Still, he refused to give up.
He had a dream, a loud, stubborn dream even when no one else believed in it. They told him to be realistic. They told him music was a distraction. They told him success didn’t come from where he was standing. Many times, I rebuked him too.
Life pushed him early.
He found himself on the streets at a young age, learning lessons no classroom could teach: survival, caution, resilience, and silence. Hunger became familiar. Doubt followed closely behind.
There were moments he questioned himself. Moments he almost believed the voices telling him he wasn’t enough. But every time he came close to quitting, something pulled him back a voice, a rhythm, a reason to write one more line.
He hasn’t arrived yet.
There is no fame, no breakthrough headline.
But the dream is still alive.
Still breathing.
And from what I am seeing, there is a tremendous progress in his music career right now.
Picturing the whole thing right now, I said to myself 'white collar job ain't for everybody some people in essence, only went to school to improve their gift and not to use the certificate after ward in securing a job.
That is where many parents have issues with there children on what they want for their children vs what the child enjoys doing.
