On Managing Illness

BY Adejoh Idoko Momoh

‘I think I have cancer Aunty’

There would be the longest ten seconds of silence and then I would continue. ‘It was in the bathroom, I reached for my scrotum and I found a lump’

Like every other Christian I know, my aunt would break into prayer: tell me of how cancer was not my portion and I probably was just scared. She would advise I go see a doctor and ask me to update her after I saw one.

Seven years later I would summon the courage to tell my mother of this lump, we would go to a clinic and discover it was a hernia. They would say it was on the right and then as they surgically repaired the one tear, they would see that it presented on the left as well and recommend that I had a second surgery.

My mood swung like a pendulum in the days that followed the diagnosis; at first I felt nothing, then my mother would ask why I did not trust her with information on the lump when I first found it and I would feel guilt. In a few hours, I would wonder if the doctors really diagnosed me wrong and it was cancer, then I would feel some relief it was not. At night, as I lay to sleep I would sink my face deep in my pillow and cry really loud sobs. In the morning I would think to surgical procedures and how expensive they can be. My thoughts would progress to worry induced by illness and then a lack of finances, then guilt again and some more blame; just the thought that I may have brought this upon myself.

I would go through all these privately and largely alone. I would have the support system of family but then I would consider that everybody has his troubles and I would not bother them. My brother would be at my side all the time, offering to help and my mother, as though magically putting her life on hold would constantly cater to me. I have only a handful of friends and at the time, besides 2 dear friends, they all would be absent. I would wonder why no one else was there and then I would think this spoke more about me and the people I chose to surround myself with.

It is a terrible thing to feel alone: It is horrific to keep family at a distance or hide the fact that you truly hurt from those who are closest to you. For we all who have at some point experienced illness, it is important that we get educated, know that we do not bring these things upon ourselves and discuss them with family, friends, and doctors. Know that if we only will, there is no illness that is too big to conquer or no situation that is capable of breaking us beyond what we allow.

Today, I met someone who would become a lifelong friend. He broke his neck and spine last year in an accident. His lungs collapsed due to an untreated pneumonia infection and he lost all feeling because of his broken spine. The doctors told him he might not speak, or walk, or stand for the rest of his life. Now following a course of therapy, even if his speech is painfully blurred he talks. Even if his hands are slow and they constantly flail, he has regained function in them. Even if he does not walk steady, he stands, takes a few steps then sits again. Stories like these should give us hope; tell us that whatever life throws at us, if we are so willed we would conquer, succeed and that we are truly not limited by anything beyond ourselves.

Feel free to share in the comments experiences that keep you hopeful. If you prefer, leave me a mail  (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) and I promise to respond to each one.

The Red Lipstick-ed Teacher

BY Adejoh Idoko Momoh

We’ve all had that one teacher who was so tough on all her students that she was generally feared. That one in her middle ages who would wear layers and layers of very bright red lipstick and would come to school in stilettos. She mostly would teach a subject like English and would speak it impeccably, such that she would feel somewhat superior to fellow teachers who spoke the language averagely.

‘Take out a sheet of paper and have your writing materials ready’

she would say as she cat-walked into class one morning. She would administer an impromptu test that would form part of our continuous assessment even though she did not prepare us for it. All through primary school as I remember it, I had never felt as much pressure about passing a simple test as I did that day.

I had written about Kenya’s Maasai people and their distinctive, a-little-too-colorful customs. How they believed soil was therapeutic and they buried themselves in the ground for healing. And then I waited, held my breath as she sat at her table with cane by her side scoring our essays.

As she passed by me returning test scripts, I would see red circles correcting grammar on the first page of my essay and I would think of how she now considered me a failure. How the matron when I got back to the hostel would consider me same and my dad… His face as he looked at the test script not saying anything but probably contemplating if it was still a wise decision to have me in school.

I would flip three pages and what I would see would shock me;

97%. With a tiny gold star next to it.

The universally feared teacher who made it a point not to ever give good grades gave me an A. She didn’t just stop there; she stapled a tiny piece of paper just at the bottom of my script that made me feel special, very special.

‘Excellent storytelling. You have an ease with words. You do us all a disservice if you do not consider a career in writing’ 

The words so profound, no one had ever said anything like that to me. Except of course for my mom who in typical mom-like manner would say I was particularly skilled at whatever it is I told her I was interested in and that I was a genius who would redefine everything I set my hands on. This was when I knew I wanted to write. I knew I would purposefully look for something to genuinely compliment about people whenever I met them. For the sole reason that affirming words like these from friends, mentors, teachers, family, strangers even, make us into the people we ultimately become. They point us in the direction of a dream, make us consider or at least contemplate it.

Words carry immense power and it’s no good trying to deny this. My very favorite quote by Nigerian writer, Toni Kan is ‘sometimes the verbal wounds we inflict on others live with us for the rest of our lives’. As far as our words can go to tell someone we believe in them, they can also tear us or someone else down, make them question the very essence of their lives.

This is perhaps why we need to speak a little more kindly, a little more thoughtfully. Make conscious efforts to have our words motivate people rather than discourage them, inspire them as opposed to devastate them. We most often have no idea what impact a few words stringed together can make. 

Share stories of someone who has been an inspiration to you in the comments or send me a private mail at momoh.adejoh@gmail.com.

26 long years.

My fondest memory from being 25 is arriving at Hartsfield Jackson. I would sigh a long held sigh and whisper

‘I am finally in the land of the free’,

then my thoughts would wander and I would ask myself if a man in Atlanta and a man in Nigeria would turn 26 at the same time? Or if a man in Nigeria would turn 26 an hour before the man in Ghana? I would conclude that such time zone differences were too complex for my fragile head to decipher.

Over the years, I have cultivated the habit of writing a short post or poem every 12^th February and it is relatively easy to look at my previous year’s list of goals and tick most of them as accomplished. This year however, it is different.

Apart from two or three accomplishments, the list stares frustrated at me. I wanted to travel more, earn a lot more, work two or three more writing jobs but none of these has turned out the way I planned. What I would later come to conclude is that progress in your circumstance (wealth, title, salary) is one thing and progress in yourself is an entirely different thing.

In the last year, I travelled for a bit: experienced cultures I had only dreamt of. Survived surgery and believe me when I say nothing gives you a better appreciation of life than surviving surgery. I finally took some responsibility and know what I want to do with my life, what steps to take that would lead me where I want to be in the next few years. And I met a slightly muscled, hazel eyed beauty who I am determined to have the most meaningful intimate relationship with.

In retrospect, this list looks far more meaningful than making a lot more friends or trying to beat deadlines. Perhaps, the major lesson here for me is recognizing that personal progress even when I have not made career progress is progress and every growth, no matter where it happens counts.

That said, I am happy, grateful just to be where I am and I look forward to exploring all the ills and good that come with being 26. 

Please share tales on how you spent your last birthday in the comments or leave me a mail at momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) 

A BIROS TALE

‘Like it is in the picture’. I would run to my mum bellowing like a wild puppy. Pointing to the Ebony magazine I had in my hands, I would repeat, ‘buy me a Mont Blanc pen like it is in the photo’.

My mum would nod a nod that said something like:

‘why does a 9 year old want such a pen’

and then proceed on her journey. She would not buy the pen like it was in the photo when she returned and I would not ask her about it. My brother would later say to me that she had a budget of four hundred pounds for all of four children and could not afford my six hundred pounds pen from the magazine.

Today’s post would not be about luxury pens and all, it would be about a biro or bic- whichever is more appropriate. One First City Monument Bank had freely given as a New Year ‘thanks for your patronage’ gift to customers. As I received mine, first thing I would think is:

‘Would customers not appreciate improved services even more?’

The biro would go on to mean more than just biro to me. It would prove to me that there still is some good to Nigeria. From it, I would come to sudden realization that even when we say Nigeria is doomed because it lacks good people, this is most often not true.

It was on Friday the 17th January, I had stopped a taxi just up the road from the American Embassy and asked the cab driver to take me to my office, he immediately would demand a four hundred naira fare and I would allow a smile spread generously across my face. Three hundred I’d say and he’d look me in the face and frown that weird frown that ultimately continues until it becomes a smile, he would nod slightly and I would get in. Apart from pleasantries, we would not speak until I got to my office. I paid him in complete change, thanked him and I hurried off. He would mutter something like N300 was inadequate and I’d simply ignore him. Thirty minutes would pass and I’d be busy with the day’s paper when the security guard would interrupt and hand me a biro. He would say the taxi man returned it.

This single act would leave me impressed. Remind me that even in a country where everyone is said to be corrupt or self centered and poor, a taxi man still would expend his time and fuel to return something as basic as a biro to its owner.

I would immediately picture God saying:

‘For as long as you are faithful with little, I would bless you with even more’ and I would wonder what this means.

I’d say a prayer for the taxi man and say ‘thank you’ to the security guard. Seating at her desk across from me, my colleague would look to me and ask:

‘are you sure that taxi man is Nigerian?’

I’d look back at her and smile, knowing exactly what she meant.

Share your stories of exceptional Nigerians here in the comments or send me a mail at momoh.adejoh@gmail.com. 

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

In Gratitude

courtesy: www.gratitude.org

By

Adejoh Idoko Momoh

Usually, I think through as I write my blog posts. Checking for inaccuracies, making sure that every statement reads just as I intended it. Today, it will be different. I would write directly as the words come to me, no second thoughts, no corrections.

In the last 5 years, I’ve gotten through the Christmas and New Year holidays with excitement, calm and some sense of accomplishment. Why? Because these past couple years have been some of the best in my life. I have seen myself grow in love, forgiveness, skill and health.

One of my proudest achievements of 2013 must be my blog. For the gift of readers, I am truly grateful. I have seen my blog grow from a site where I mostly write thoughts that are read by a few friends to one that has more international readership than it has national. My readership has grown from a modest 50 persons the first year it started- Yes, I really had only 50 readers read my blog in a 12 month period- to about 2,000 in December 2013 alone and about 45,000 in the year.

I would get e-mails from people genuinely interested in my posts, I fondly remember an e-mail message I got from an anonymous reader on my post ‘Finding Fit’. I had returned from the United States and saw the obesity crisis first hand; it encouraged me to write a post in which I referred to certain people as fat. This is the first time I would hear from the anonymous reader:

Dear Adejoh,

I have read your blog for some time but didn’t feel the need to write in until now. I found your post ‘Finding Fit’ very interesting to read. I enjoy your play with words and the ease there is to your writing. Fascinating. 

However, as an overweight lady myself it is my opinion that you need sensitivity training. You haven’t considered genetics or any other factors which can lead to weight gain in your piece. You somehow manage to generalize and blame it on diet and a lack of healthy choices. The sad thing is the piece in itself was so enjoyable that despite hating its message, I stayed reading it to the end; I guess that’s good writing. 

Anonimous.

In all honesty, as I read this mail I smiled. Thankful that a reader would take out time to read my blog and send me an e-mail in response. It is at this point I would conclude that the achievement really is in my readers, not the blog itself. After all, it really is simply personal experience and things as I relate to them. I would realize that one of the down sides to living in a busy society is that we tend to take things for granted. We overlook everyday blessings; the gift of readers, the blessing of people who freely share their opinion and the generosity of all those who offer encouragement however they can.

It is for this reason I have decided to with my first 2014 blog post just say ‘Thank You’. It is my hope that in this year, we all would be more generous with our thankfulness. I have come to realize that one of the reasons why we should be grateful for the seemingly small things is that it helps us appreciate the big things in life when they come. And the other and perhaps ultimate reason is that as we learn to appreciate the small things, we realize that no act of kindness really is small.

Share your stories on gratitude as comments here or send them privately to momoh.adejoh@gmail.com 

Discovering ISLAM- On Separation of Sexes

By

Adejoh Idoko Momoh

One of my first experiences with Islam was in my mother’s reading room; as she busied herself in the corner reading and chanting verses from her Koran, I picked up a bright purple and yellow book. Its title startled me:

‘Islam forbids the free mixing of men and women’

I remember fondly then I wanted nothing to do with a religion that would seek to forbid my association with my mother and sisters: the only females I had come to see as role models at the time.

It was not until 2007 when I travelled to the Islamic holy land, visited the holy shrine and stood at the foot of al-Hajar al-Aswad or the black stone in my ritualistic dress that I realized this doctrine is tradition at best. Adopted by a few, practiced overtime and has come to be accepted as right.

First off, there is no separation of sexes in the holy Ka’abah: I walked with and took instructions from my mother as we performed the tawaf - the circular walk around the Ka’abah, we were together during prayers and several other men and women prayed alongside each other. This was particularly refreshing for me, in some way, it made me more interested in the religion, in learning its tenets. 

I began to wonder, the Ka’abah and the rituals surrounding it are relics of Islam in its purest form as observed by the Holy Prophet (SAW), if there was any need to separate sexes in Islam wouldn’t it be obvious in this holy mosque? Would efforts not have been made to build a female section behind the male section in the Ka’abah?

My mum had constantly told us that her aim was to read the Koran wholly from cover to cover inside the holy Ka’abah before we had to return to Nigeria, so when hunger began to whirl in my brother and I, she suggested we have lunch at a Kentucky Fried Chicken close to the mosque. I grumbled a bit, wanting to eat some home cooked food but that trip to KFC would eventually provoke some curiosity in me, make me interested in the religion and its truths.

Inside the restaurant, there was a partition with bright red labels that read ‘Men’ and another that read ‘Women’- I sighed to myself and muttered ‘the separation of sexes Nigerian mosques are so familiar for finally shows up here’. A giggle would later escape my lips as we sat to eat.

My brother would ask why I laughed and in dismissing his questioning, I would simply nod and say I just remembered something funny. In reality, I thought of the irony and hypocrisy inherent, it is okay for men and women to mix when they prayed and it is not okay for men and women to mix while they eat?

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

Finding Fit

BY

Adejoh Idoko Momoh

First it was at the Wal-Mart, then the Premium Outlet would follow. It would be the same thing at the local Wendy’s or Burger King: all fat people.

Some riding automated carts so they didn't have to walk about shopping for their groceries or ordering the most fattening item on the menu irrespective of their balloon-sized-weight. It wouldn’t be too long before I would ask myself:

‘Where’s all the fitness, sexiness Hollywood has made me believe is synonymous with America?’

I would go to Food Courts, look around for a snack: candy, frozen yoghurt, sugar coated Danish and I would conclude America is a society that encourages obesity among its young. A society that charges a higher premium on small soda packs only so you are encouraged to purchase larger ones.

I would see this first hand when with a Nigerian friend training as a doctor in Florida at the time; I would go to the Altapointe Mall in Winterpark. Tired from seeing ‘Elysium’ and window shopping, we would settle for a blizzard. I would ask for a mini cone and my friend a medium, the red haired server lady would ask:

‘a mini?’ wearing that look sales people wear when they think you made the wrong choice and can do better. ‘if you’d upgrade your mini to a medium, you could get both cones for 99 cents each as opposed to the $1.30 cost of a mini or $2 medium’.

My friend, himself a few pounds heavier now would say;

‘Take the upgrade, whatever you have left over, I’d finish’.  I would look to him and smile. Run my palm over my now slightly bulging tummy and say, ‘I’d take the upgrade’. The lady would smile back as though I had made the wiser choice.

She would turn the cone up-side-down as though to show the blizzard was frozen stiff and I would remember my friend saying to me earlier nothing is quite as good as a blizzards frozen deliciousness.   

As we took our seats to enjoy our blizzards, I would notice a white haired lady with her American accent bent to reach the lowest layer of a phone case booth, her thighs about half the size of my waist and I would wonder: how in a society with unlimited options and organic food, people still couldn’t make the simple choice of living healthier lives.

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

What Would Victoria Do?

BY Adejoh Idoko Momoh

There’s something about the worship here; the church amazing in its construction: paved rocks like waterfalls leading to doorways that in themselves lead to a really expansive football- field -like arena with very high ceilings of public address systems, air-condition vents and beautiful art.

With arguably the largest congregation of any American church, Lakewood Christian Center seats a remarkable 40,000 people; the building was once Houston’s Compaq Center before the church bought it at $7.5 million and then started an ambitious $93 million worth of renovations, the church as it stood before me, justified every expense.

‘I am a mess sometimes. I might be a mess tomorrow… And you know what? God-says- it- is- okay to- be- a- mess, provided- I don’t- stay- that- way’ Victoria Osteen would say. Picking her words individually, in that voice white people use when they are overtaken by amazement or the sudden realization that whatever troubles they have has been mysteriously relieved.

I would loose concentration, think to my local church: Pastor Biodun Fatoyinbo’s Commonwealth of Zion Assembly, Abuja. His church, much like this: in branding, the motivation- like sermons, the largely youthful, hopeful population with excellent service of songs and praises: the ideal picture of a progressive church.

I would allow my mind wander. Ask what Victoria would do if like Pastor Modele Fatoyinbo, Joel Osteen had an ‘Ese Walters’ leveling allegations of a weeklong affair against him. A weeklong indulgence in fornication which Pastor Biodun fully aware of his actions lured her into, first by asking her to join his pastoral care unit, offering personal spiritual counseling and encouraging her to try alcohol. 

His ‘Ese’ would probably say he spoke in his very charming Texan accent, saying: ‘I’m gonna teach you a level of grace mankind doesn’t understand’ his eyes sparkling with the glow of a teacher eager to school his student. He would then threaten just like Pastor Biodun did: ‘I see premonition in which you leak details of our affair to the press. When such a time comes, remember that the bible requires you to hurt not Gods anointed’

Bringing myself back from thought, I would see her. Light skinned and very pretty in her above-knee-length blue dress accentuated at the waist by a metallic black belt, I imagine she would say to Joel, our marriage is for better and for worse, but mostly she would realize that he didn’t just sin against her, but against his church, against the part of Christ’s body he shepherds and therefore owed more of an explanation than the ‘Leave it to God’ posture Pastor Biodun has currently adopted with the people of COZA and the larger public.

For every one worker who would labor every Sunday, every weekday making sure services run smoothly,

she would demand that he apologizes. Not because by his apology he admits some form of guilt, but because by his actions, he has brought them embarrassment.

She would probably ask him to take a back seat from church activities, let other pastors who were content with their wives and didn’t see the need to desecrate their flesh with adultery, shepherd the church.

She would know that he is human, probably forgive him after she overcomes her own anger. She would know that because of this humanity, he would make mistakes sometimes and would need the direction a good wife should provide.

She would pull herself together: show that she is a woman in control and not just one who is lingering in the background, gleefully playing the victim of a cheating husband. She would take a stand: publicly stand by her husband, help him find God again or walk away, but all she would do, she would do boldly.

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

LOST IN TRANSLATION

By

Adejoh Idoko Momoh

I do not remember the date, what I do remember is that it was on our way from Orlando to Atlanta. The trip registers fondly not only because it was a 7 hour drive but also because on that trip I had a fight with my sister.

After everyone tired of hearing my hunger complaints, we stopped at a local Wendy's just on the highway to get a burger and a coke. I had gone in, placed and collected my order and returned to the car when my sister in her usual calm demeanor asked why I didn’t ask if any other person wanted to eat. I do not remember if I did ask, what I do remember is that I was so focused on my own hunger that I probably would have forgotten to ask.

'Supreme Chicken burger and a coke please'

I said to the red haired lady behind the counter. I was going to laugh at the very silly looking bright red hat that held her hair up the middle and had the word 'Wendy's' inscribed on it in white, but I decided not to at the thought that she might be rude if I did.

I ordered the most basic item on the menu so I didn’t have to speak a lot of English and have the lady annoyingly say 'excuse me' intermittently in her silly American accent that to me sounded very un-english.

'So, if you’d take a seat over there, your order'd be up in 5 mins'

She pointed to a sitting area splattered with color it looked like a child’s playground. I didn’t sit, I felt like it would be wrong to sit there so I stood.

This is one thing that confused me about Americans: the practice of ordering you to do something and making it sound as though it was merely a suggestion.

As she handed me my order, she finally asked:

'Where are you from?' I would hesitate and she would continue 'I ask cos your accent is so cool'. I would say Nigeria and thank her.

In about a week, I would leave Atlanta and head for Chicago where I would visit the Northern Illinois University to consider graduate school options, I would meet a dark skinned Cameroonian- whom I would first refer to as my African sister and therefore think her easy to relate with. Before I would notice her beauty.

Very sightly both in looks and features: humbly small breasts that would fit perfectly in the palm of my hands, healthy round hips and those kind of legs you only see in catalogs.

In the course of conversation, I would describe Igbo girls as light skinned and pretty. My Cameroonian would say:

'I enjoy listening to you, Momoh'

Her hands holding mine as we stared forward in the realization and discomfort that it was the first time we held hands.

'Here the 'T' is blurred such that it sounds like an 'L'. The 'R' is rolled off your tongue such that it sounds somewhere between an 'R' and a 'W'. If you’re considering graduate school here, you really have to learn to fit in, to sound like us'

I tightened my grip on her palm as though signaling that it was okay to hold hands and she tightened hers too in agreement. I looked at her and felt pity for this green card holding African. Despite being here 10 years, I could see she still tried to fit in. She was trapped between a country that would forever label her foreign and one very rich in culture and hospitality that lost her 10 years ago.

 Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

TEDxYouth@Maitama Review

The odds surely were not in my favor on Friday the 19^th July, 2013. I was already running close to the 5pm submission deadline for an NIPP bid when the internet decided to stop working, then power would follow and like cherry atop the cake, the generator would not start. This all would leave me in thought, if we succeeded in acquiring the desired power plant, would Nigeria’s power situation be any better? Would we do a better job than the government has done at managing the generating plants? Just when I thought it could not get better, it did.

I very lazily flung my drawer open and I saw it, a printed out invitation for the 20^th to an event that would compensate for what had now become a hard-work-filled-week with no results to show. Sanusi Lamido Sanusi, Nasir Ahmad el-Rufai, Aisha Babangida, Simeon Ononubi and Okechukwu Ofilli all people who I considered role models were going to speak.

Dressed in smart brown pants and a slightly off-white corporate shirt complete with cufflinks, I left at least 15 minutes early to the Sheraton Ladi Kwali hall venue of the event- as this event would be a gathering of people who lead twitter protests demanding change in Nigeria, I had expected it would start on time. 

My excitement quickly paled; I registered, a really nice name tag was printed and pasted on my left breast pocket- this is how organized events should work I thought. I took my seat and after what must have been a good 45 minutes behind schedule the MC- very young in his demeanor, would come with apologies, he would assure that the event would start soon.

The lights would go off and in a matter of seconds focus on a projector from which the Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 2009 Oxford TED talk ‘Danger of a single story’ would play. Not minding that this talk is about 5 years old and probably is the most watched Nigerian talk by Nigerians, everyone in the hall sat watching: knowing what would happen next, but watching nonetheless.

Bringing with it relief, the very refreshing Sir Ken Robinson talk on Education stifling Creativity would start. Just then, the MC would rudely interrupt again; tell a tale of how time was a scarce resource and go on to explain the video like we were not capable of watching and understanding it for ourselves. 

Aisha Babangida would give the first talk. I was amazed at her simplicity, there was humility, kindness in her voice, qualities that I previously did not think would be present in someone who was born to a military ruler who is said to have single handedly destroyed Nigeria’s future and squandered all the fortune that would come with it.

She went on to give a talk on values, respect and mentorship. She would speak of her mother’s NGO Better Life program which she now runs and is still focused on empowering women and youth. She would end her 18 minute talk with a tale of how someone who accused her of being rich and therefore not in touch with the poor people’s plight would later become her press officer and co-worker on a few people oriented programs.

Then Sanusi Lamido Sanusi in his impeccably tailored safari and usual humility would take the stage, give a stimulating talk on overcoming the fear of vested interests, talk about his experience with firing bank chiefs and how everyone was sure he would loose his job and/or life immediately afterwards.

He would speak of a certain female bank chief and Usher in her local church who stole more than a billion dollars and owned more than 200 choice properties in Dubai. A male bank chief and pastor of his local church who was handed over to the EFCC for prosecution and was mandated to pay back about N47.1bn in looted funds, with the intervention of some Northern leaders he was eventually discharged of all liabilities- At this point, I thought to myself, if you have any thoughts that suggest that a woman cannot out perform a man, just look to the story of the female bank chief.

He would quote really gory statistics and warn that if we do not demand change for fear of loosing security, we should know that in a matter of time, we surely would loose the same security we seek to preserve.

The MC who at this point sounded more like a bearer of bad news to me would announce that Mallam Nasir Ahmad el-Rufai was not going to come.

Simeon Ononubi who is CEO YouWin and has found start-ups since he was 16 would give a talk on business innovation, he would tell his experience with starting ‘Back Up My Phone’ with as little as a hundred dollars, only to sell the application a few months later for about Twenty thousand dollars. He would also talk of ‘Simple Pay’- Nigeria’s equivalent of Pay Pal. His talk was easy flowing, sensible, nice. I remember leaving the venue with new found respect for the man.

Nasir K Mohammed who was Secretary General to the ‘Nigerian Model UN’ and is just as impressive with his qualifications spoke on Entrepreneurship. Bright Jaja followed with the story of ReDance Africa and how the organization he founded with very modest expectations has grown beyond all he thought. Fatima Dansamaila talked on youths in sustainable development and Engineer and dedicated blogger, Okechukwu Ofilli who also is creator of the Okada books application would give a very lively talk on innovation.

In the end, despite its flaws, it would do what a TED talk should do: there was a richness and abundance of ideas exchanged amongst speakers and participants that is bound to see anyone walk away with one or two of his or her own ideas. Personally, the event would leave me inspired, motivated and with zeal to go break barriers, be the best I can be.

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh