Diogo Jota died recently, and the whole football world—media houses, football clubs, former and current players, fans—even my friends who didn’t know him personally—posted about his demise. You see, ladies—or even guys—who don’t watch football or any sport often think we watch it just for a healthy dose of dopamine or even ecstasy. But no, football goes far beyond that. When you watch football—or any sport—for, say, 5 to 10 years or more, you don’t just watch the players; you build a connection with them. You watch them break out, you watch them struggle, you watch them stay consistent for a while, you watch them fall, and sometimes, you watch them die. I walk into a viewing center to watch my favourite team play, and for at least two hours, I forget where I’m from. I don’t hate a rival fan—on the contrary, I love them. I always hope to see them on match days: to see the pain in their eyes when my team proves them wrong, and to feel the heat and banter when my team doesn’t. Football goes far beyond chasing a ball for an hour and a half. It’s more than the feeling. It’s more than the dopamine. It’s more than the chants, the "goallllllll," the banter. Football makes us family. It makes us one.

  I remember it was dark, wet, and warm. I was conscious and found myself in this large round wall—it was thin and stretched each time I kicked my legs or arms. Sigh. You know when they say curiosity kills the cat? Well, it's true like mad. Life was so sweet, but in the long run, it became boring. Omo, I was stupid. I wanted to test how far I could stretch this thin wall that protected me in my host. I overstretched it, and it broke. I started to feel my host panicking, and I started to panic too. I tried to use my hand to block them holes, but it just kept opening. That's when it dawned on me—I'm about to be thrown out.   I didn't even know whether to be happy or sad. Don't get me wrong, I was interested to know what life outside these round walls was like, but it was too relaxing to leave. Anyways, life, here I come. For the first time, light penetrated my eyes. I tried opening them to see what life was like, and I was pretty amazed. I saw these bigger versions of me, of which I'd later learn to know them as "adults." I couldn't smell anything, but I'm sure it smelled nice. I was smiling, but it seemed like a problem to them. This man kept slapping me and trying to scare me by fake dropping me. I later learned that crying as a baby is essential to clear out its lungs so it can breathe properly.   Ironically, I was actually breathing fine until I heard funny accents—they sounded Nigerian-ish. Don't ask me how I know, I just know that from when I was in my host, I didn't like that accent. My face started frowning, and the man goes, "yes, icbdiidndossdib, cry." He and everyone involved in making me cry started smiling too. I just had to accept that "ok, fine, I may have come as a Nigerian. It can't be that bad unless I'm—" Oh my God. My genitals. I hadn’t checked. I had to check if I at least had a fighting chance. I looked down in between my legs and saw this long soft tissue about half to an inch long that stuck out in between my legs. At the time, I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was not a good sign.   I started crying because I actually was scared that what I was thinking was actually true. Suddenly, all the smacking and slapping stopped. The man handed me to my host and said, "mada, nxixjdkcooxnxjidnslsoxxnxjsos, bebe BOY." Oh no, no, no, no. I started crying even louder. I felt like I had been scammed. These people thought I was crying my lungs out, but in reality, I was crying my heart out. I would later learn to call my host Mama, or Mom, or Mummy. It's been 2 decades since I remember all these, and to be honest, the memory is still foggy. But what I can still remember is that I'm still crying my heart out.

THIS WRITERS JOURNEY:AN INTERVIEW   INTERVIEWER: Good morning, afternoon or evening wherever you're watching or listening from. This is the writer's well show where we try to enter into the minds of up and coming writers and maybe, if we're lucky, established writers as well. On the show this morning is a fast rising fashion and content writer, Mr Chibuzor Assurance.   *Cricket INTERVIEWER: Ahem. Uh, this is where you introduce yourself.   ME: oh, I'm sorry. My name is Ifeanyi Chibuzor Assurance and I'm a fashion and content writer. I sometimes like to flex my muscles in fictional writing too.   INTERVIEWER: Yh, right. Anyways, thank you for that, well... Introduction. Now without wasting much of my time let's get straight into the details on how you discovered your roadmap.   ME: oh, the popular 4H and 2WHY.   INTERVIEWER: Eh? Um actually it's 5W and 1H.   ME: Are you su--    INTERVIEWER: First question. When did you know you wanted to become a writer?   ME: Well, I started writing when I realised I had had enough of trying to be what I wasn't. Right from when I was young, I was already tailored by my father to be in line of tech. I knew tech wasn't for me, but I usually aced most of my exams that involved calculations when I was younger --it wasn't my strongest suit but I still aced them-- so I thought it was all in my head. I thought if I actually gave this tech thing chance and time, it'd blossom into something of mutual love. But of course it didn't.  Then I realised that during my young years I was always writing and reading. I loved it more than calculations. I competed in my class debates which actually involved a lot of writing, research, and extensive reading. I picked up an interest in fashion, learnt the skill, and decided that It was what I was going to be writing on henceforth. And a little variation here and there.   INTERVIEWER: Don't you think you could have skipped to the last two sentences to just round off your answer? Anyways, moving on. Why are you writing?   ME: The reason is simple: Passion. I have grown to love fashion over the years I've learnt the skill and months I've started to write about it. I also continue to write as it gives me a sense of fulfilment, clarity, and purpose .   INTERVIEWER: WHICH: WHICH ICON, EVENTS, EMOTIONS, MADE YOU START WRITING?   ME: Alot of which's. But I'd like to speak in the icon. One icon I admire so much when it comes to fashion writing and even fashion as a whole is wisdom Kaye. Wisdom Kaye is a successful fashion enthusiast. He does this thing where he dresses like anything--animals, birds, movie characters, letters of the alphabet, cultures and languages. You name it. And his writings are always clear, fun, and detailed.   INTERVIEWER: Aren't bird animals or am I missing something? Anyways, next question. What type of writing do you want to focus on more specifically.   ME: Fashion writing. It's always called out to me. I wish to do what Kaye does but in my own modified way, God willing.   INTERVIEWER: So who do you write for?   ME: First I wrote for me. Then I write for whoever is a fashion enthusiast or maybe freak like me. If you always want to know how to look your best, my articles are always a great place to start.   INTERVIEWER: So in all these, how do you intend on attaining the height you've set for yourself?    ME: To be honest, I'm still figuring it out. I'm new to this. I recognise that there's a whole lot of processes, steps, and procedures to everything in life. I just have to keep improving and learning from people that do what I intend to do. Also putting why I learn into practice as well.   INTERVIEWER: So no plan? Anyways, I'm sure this has been fun for you listeners and if it wasn't, call me, we have something in common. Thank you all for your time. Hopefully it's been a pleasure for you.    

One thing I hate the most about poverty or not having money is the self victimisation and self pity that comes with it. You crave a particular food--"you no get money you dey crave". You feel horny--"lmao, poor man dey get konji"; "broke men don't deserve no pussy". You want to go to a party or concert--"you no get money, you dey go party". You crave love--"them no dey love poor man"; "this babe cost o". Well meaning people try to advice you--"if to say I be breadwinner, them for no dey advice me". I could go on and on but you should get the point now. Just cause someone is poor doesn't mean the person doesn't have rights to his or her emotions, cravings, personal issues, or guilty pleasures.  You feel you can't get love when you don't have money meanwhile that's the only time you'd ever properly be loved. You feel you can't bag a girl until you have money like women are these trophies you get to work and sweat for before they can finally notice talk less of noticing you.  Listen, na money you nur get, nur be you kee Jesus. Enjoy your life, stay happy, find God, work hard, engage your healthy cravings when you can, no let anybody guilt trip you. You see shima wey you like, shoot your shot bro, if she gree, all the best, if not, onto the next. Dress, look, and smell nice. Be polite.  It's in this stage of no money that you can really discover yourself and be discovered. It's why all that talk of 'you can't trust the loyalty of a poor man's is partial bs to me. Whatever you become when you get money, that's what you were when you been nur get. Money doesn't change people's behaviours, it only amplifies them. That's why now is the best stage for character, mental, physical, spiritual, and psychological development because what you can't change or work on now in this stage, money nur fit change am.

I used to work in a hotel as a room cleaner a few years back. It was one of the most bittersweet jobs I’d ever taken—ironically, I had prayed to get the job.    Salary day, like with most employees of a franchise, was always the happiest day for me. Finally, all my debts, needs, and wants would be taken care of.   This particular month, my salary came—and of course, I was excited. But then I noticed the amount was more than I expected.   Now, the difference wasn’t that much, but it still bothered me. I started to think of it as a test. But honestly, the amount wasn’t even enough to be considered a test—at least not to me.   I wrestled with my conscience.   Eventually, I realized that if my salary had been less than expected, I would have definitely gone to management to complain. So why couldn’t I do the same now that it was more? My conscience—and home training—won.   I went to meet the management to report the sudden increase.   I finally spoke to the manager and explained everything. What happened next still baffles me to this day.    As soon as I told her, she took about a minute or two to cry.   In between her awkward tears, she rambled about how rare it was to find honest people these days, and how she didn’t believe they still existed. I beg your pardon!!!   I was flattered, to be honest, but also confused. I didn’t think my action was enough to move a grown woman to tears—because like I said, the disparity of the money wasn’t enough to warrant tears for me..   After her emotional rollercoaster, she prayed for me, thanked me, and gave me one thousand Nigerian naira as appreciation. And that was it.   No, it wasn’t a test. I wasn’t promoted. The salary didn’t stay increased. She didn’t even mention it to the hotel owners.   Of course, some colleagues jeered at me. But that didn’t bother me much. What stood out was that my department got scolded—apparently, others had gotten the same increase but said nothing. Still, nothing serious happened to them. Life moved on.   I’m recalling this story because people often say there’s no reward for doing good. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope for a reward—but that wasn’t my main reason for speaking up. I did something almost nobody else did. But more importantly, I had what many others didn’t: A clear conscience.   To the average Nigerian—and maybe even to you—a clear conscience might sound like nonsense or mythology. But to me, it’s real. Yes, rewards might come sometimes--they may be money, peace of mind, a promotion, renewed faith in humanity, a pat on the back, or even silence-- but ultimately, our motivation for doing good shouldn’t be the tangible reward.   So if you’re like me—someone who just wants to do good and sleep with a clear conscience — I say well done. Keep fighting the good fight. And if you’re not like me and don’t believe there’s any point in doing good—well, go astray. E fit be your way.   I won’t try to convince anyone of the benefits of doing good. I believe it's a matter of personal conviction. No one’s ingratitude should stop you from doing what’s right—just be more discerning while at it.    Looking back, I have no regrets. If I had to do it again, I would.