The Travel Fever

Mehn, sometimes all I just want to do is pack up my bags and travel. 

To where? I do not even know. 

I just want to see the world for the beauty that it is. 

To sleep under the stars (that is if mosquitoes would let me) 

To take nothing but pictures, 

To leave nothing but footprints and

To kill nothing but time. 

I just want to listen to the harmony  of this Uni (one) – Verse (song)  . 

To hear the chirping songs of birds in the Amazon, 

To bask in the quietness of the Sahara desert, 

To dive into the vast oceans and let it’s wave caress my skin (even though I still don’t know how to swim) 
I want to travel for an adventure,

I want to travel to forget, to remember and to create,  

To forget my pains and celebrate my victories. 

Travel to create and find love, love for nature, love for life and yes if possible find a bride (winks) 

To see the world through someone else’s eyes, 

To dance to the distorted rhythm of an Indian song, 

To lie face up on a Miami Beach, 

To take a swing off the edge of the world, 

To spend the night at the underwater hotel in Dubai and sleep in a glass Igloo in Finland. 

Mehn, sometimes I just wish I could wake up one morning, pack up my bags and travel around the world.  
#The travel fever 


#Stay Inspired.


Where Does Inspiration Come From 

​Just when I thought that there were no more inspirations left in the world, I come to your wall and get drowned in your thoughts. 
Your words are even more beautiful than than watching the sun set and the things you say calms the body, soul and nerves like the silence of the cool midnight quiet. 
For once I want to see through your eyes, to know how you manage to get by. I mean I don’t think I have ever seen you cry  and even when your eyes don’t look too dry, you’d simply smile and act like everything is alright.  
For once I want to hear through your ears, to hear the same soothing words you hear. Those same words that keeps you calm and even when the world seems to be turning upside down, all you see is a new way to view life. 
Obim, tell me, how do you manage to stay inspired? It seems like everyone lost their inner child to the noise and furry of life while growing up but you, you manage to keep yours protected and safe. And now you let her run wild. 
Obim, please tell me, how do you manage to stay inspired? Because just like the blue evening moon, your words become more beautiful every night. Even your smile twinkles like the stars and brightens up the night.. 
Obim, please answer me, where does your inspiration come from because even when everywhere goes dark and people complain of the night, you always find a way to hold on to your faith, I hear you whisper into the air that joy comes after the night. 
I guess whenever I run out of inspiration, I would just look at you. 

#Where does inspiration come from


#Stay Inspired.  

The Picture Series. 

Picture B. 

It all started when he told her that he loved her. He whispered sweet words into her ears and she fell for them, for him.  He said he would rather die than live without her. His words were assuring, his love felt so real, she could feel it, it was as certain as  the morning sun. To her, he was an angel. She was in heaven and she just couldn’t help but have her head in the clouds. 

Soon time started to go by and this angel wasn’t so angelic anymore. Her heaven was getting hotter and hotter, like the burning sun of the Sahara Desert. 
First, it all started with the hot slap he gave to her during an heated argument they had. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She saw the look in his eyes, it was as though she stared the devil in the face. Suddenly it dawn on her, her angel was not so angelic anymore and even if he was, he definitely was a fallen one and what she thought was heaven was nothing but  cloudy skies. 
He saw the look in her eyes, it was as if he knew what ran through her mind. He quickly apologized. 
“It was the work of the devil, it would never happen again, I swear. Baby you are my all, if you leave me, I would die. I would kill myself, take poison, hang a rope around my neck. Baby you are my air, without you I would suffocate and die” these were the words he said. 
Red roses and chocolates was what followed next, the angel had put on his white robe once again. Although she knew that this was not the last time she would see this demon escape from hell, but what was she supposed to do?? He said he would die without her, he called her his air and more importantly, she was two months pregnant already. 
Black eyes, bruised skin and  the sound of her own sob soon became her lullaby. More red roses and brown chocolate followed until red became her worst colour and the night, her worse nightmare. She was trapped. Why was heaven suddenly so hot and since when do angels now wear black?? 
#Picture Story Series. #Picture B#and then there were three. #His_Storyteller.  #Stay Inspired. 

​Obim, The Tales Of A Love That Never Was. 

Obim, I hate how this makes me feel. I hate the fact that I have to put up a fake smile everytime I see you, when in reality, I am secretly dying on the inside. And whenever you smile back, Obim, I swear I can feel my entire universe colliding around me. I hate the fact that we can never be and for once I really wish, no, I pray that you could just look into my eyes and see the truth that lies helpless in my soul. For once, Obim, I really wish we could be more than friends. 
Obim, this my love is gradually turning into madness and everytime I see you, I can feel my brain stop working. Obim, just one look from your eyes pierces even the deepest part of my soul and your words are the “peace be still ” to my raging storm. Obim, this love is like a sickness, a disease, one whose cure I secretly pray should never be found. Obim, this your love is like a maximum security prison, one I don’t even  want to get free from.
Obim, you remember the last time you ran to me excitedly and how you couldn’t even breathe, you said you had good news and I thought it was for us, only for you to tell me of how you have found love in the arms of another, you spoke of him with so much passion in your voice, you even had ‘the sparkle’ shooting from your eyes like the rays of the sun lighting the earth and even though I laughed and said I was happy for you, in my heart, I secretly wished that all those emotions would be for me. 

Obim, you know, today I had to delete your contact from my phone along side with all the pictures we shared and no, this was not because I was developing a particular hatred for you but rather the opposite of that. Obim, my love for you is gradually turning into an obsession, I can’t sleep without hearing from you, I even laid my bed next to the memories of you, just so you become the first thing I think about everytime I wake up and the last face I see before I sleep. Obim, everytime I see your name on my phone or your picture, I swear my heart starts to drum and no matter what I do, it would not stop.  Constantly playing this rhythm that even I don’t understand. 
Obim, I can’t continue to fight this fight anymore, because although I’m getting to know more of you, I’m slowly losing some of me. 
Obim, you know I nearly killed a man because of you. I stabbed him like a thousand times in my mind. I nursed this anger and hatred and bitterness for someone who has done me no wrong, simply because he hurt the one I love, simply because he hurt you. 
I unconsciously ignited a flame of hatred for your Ex for ever beating an angel like you and our love fueled it even more but the irony of it all was that it was actually I who was being burnt alive. Obim, I swear I can’t keep doing this anymore, my heart is too shattered to love again, my knees are bruised from praying for you and my feet are tired from waiting for you for so long.
Obim, I’m scared of picking up the broken pieces of my heart, I’m scared of putting them back together again, I’m scared that you would unknowingly dash them on the floor again, just like you did the last time and the time before. 
Obim, I think it’s best to move on, to leave this painting on the wall where it belongs. Obim, I think it’s better we see ourselves through your eyes, I think it’s better we be just friends. 
I don’t even know why I’m writing this, maybe it’s the voice of my love begging to be heard, maybe it’s my broken and shattered heart crying for mercy or maybe it’s just the fear taunting me, knowing fully well that  this letter would never be sent. Or maybe this is just the universe own way of telling us that this love would never be….
#First, it was just me and her and then love stepped in and changed everything. 

#Obim, the tales of a Love that never was.


#His_Storyteller #Stay Inspired .

Your Inspiration for Today 

A wise man once said that until the lion learns to write every story told would forever glorify the hunter. 
What is that gift that God has given you, it’s time to develop and use it. 
Use it as a tool, use it as a weapon, let it be your medicine, let it be your voice to touching lives and inspiring the world. 

#His_Storyteller #Stay Inspired. 

The Message. 

1 2 3 4_this was how her body swayed as she walked pass us, 5 6 7 8_this was the number of eyes dangling with her every sway slowly increasing and as she walked every eye couldn’t help but trail her every step and every head just had to turn almost 180 degrees. Why the sudden shift in our attention you asked, well, I really can’t say. Was it because of the way her hair danced so freely in the wind or was it her red long gown having two long slits by the sides that revealed her fair flawless thighs ? I really can’t say or maybe it was the way she swayed from side to side even in her tight gown that revealed not only her shape but the type of clothes she wore underneath too, maybe that was what caused our eyes to move back and forth, left and right, dancing to the rhythm of her every step… What was it that made us turn you ask, I really do not know but here is one thing I know that if you had taken a peep into the eyes of everyone that stared;  mine, the young man by the side stretching his hands in the wrong direction to pay for the corn he just bought and the bike rider who almost fell into the gutter because he was distracted, everyone, you would see that in each soul was a question, a thought, an idea, a deadly desire, a story gentle unfolding in the wrong direction. If only she knew that she had just sent a message, she probably would have sent a better one. 


He hated the thought of giving out his hard earned money, not even to the poor beggars on the street. Everyone should work for themselves, no one should be meant to suffer for anyone’s misfortune, he thought. To him, it was not his fault that the crippled  beggar lost his legs at an early age in life, so why should he have to pay with his hard earn money, why? If only he had seen the look in his daughter’s eyes when he screamed at that little beggar girl who ran after them with her rickety legs, round belly, scruny arms and unkempt hair, if only he had read the mind of his little princess as she stared into the eyes of that beggar girl and saw the emptiness in her soul, if only he knew the message he sent when he said to her that he didn’t have any money even when she knew that they had just gotten some excess change from the woman who sold biscuit to her a few minutes ago. If only he knew the message he sent into the mind of his twelve year old daughter, he probably would have spent more time composing a better one. 


She loved her husband and loved God too but once in a while, she gulps down a bottle of beer or two. This beer which turns her into a wild bear, making her act, feel and behave like she owns the world, shouting and cursing her husband, threatening him with a knife in her hands while her kids hide behind the closet with tears in their eyes. And even though her neighbor hear  the noise too, no one could dare to interfere, they knew her too well. Her kids say a prayer or two still with the tears flowing from their eyes, hoping that God would hear and save daddy from the wrath of mum and if he has time to spare, save mommy too from herself. 

If only, if only she knew that her life was a message, maybe, just maybe she would have sent a better one. 


It was 2:55 in the afternoon and he was already bored, he picked up his phone and logs into facebook hoping to find something interesting, something fun, anything to cure this disease called boredom. He scrolls up and down, left and right but still there was no cure, he had only one notification and even though there were over a hundred persons online, it seems like no one had time for him. He was desperate for attention. He thinks of a way to increase the likes on his timeline, he thought of making a post with a message, some morals but then again, he had been doing that for a while now and where has that gotten him? Nowhere, post like that don’t pay anymore, he thought. The light bulb in his head comes on, he had an idea, he knows what to write, ‘s*x, money, b*t*h, sh*t, sh*t’ was what followed and soon the likes doubled, he had gotten what he wanted, his wall soon got the attention of a market place and the cry of boredom was drowned out by the loud and busy noise of vanity and so was the voice of sanity and humanity. He had got what he wanted but was that really what he needed? If only he knew, if only he knew that his life was a message, he probably would have spent enough time writing the right words. 
# So in whatever you do, please know that even though our life is a gift from God, it is also a message being sent out. Every single thing we do forms the ink used in writing the script of this movie called life. The way we talk, walk and act even when it seems like no one is watching is a message sent to our neighbors, children, family and even our future. The real question is what type of message are you writing?? 
#remember, every message is meant to be read and every story is meant to be heard. So tell me, with the kind of life you are living, what story do you want to tell?  Think about this….Selah. 
#His_Storyteller #Stay Inspired.

For The Love Of God. 

Remind me again why you didn’t go to church ⛪ today ?? The weather was cold, your compound was flooded, right?? Or maybe it was because of the rain, it cried too heavily and there was no umbrella left in the house?? Or maybe it was simply because of the weather, it was a weather for two and the church would have been too crowded and I couldn’t possibly understand this because I’m single right?? Or maybe it was your shoes, the shoes you probably wanted to wear were too classy to be drowned by the cloud’s vomit, they were designers, Gucci and Prada, and if anybody knows a thing or two about fashion, they would know that these shoes weren’t made for walking too long.. After all there was no bike or keke in the area and yeah, Jesus loves you, so He should understand.. Right? 
But you know sometimes, I wonder how the weather of eternity was like when He decided to step down into time. I wonder how flooded the earth was but still He embarked on this crazy journey to save us, the journey of love. I wonder if He too had nice and classy shoes and didn’t also want them to get wet… Or wait, probably that was why He walked on water, right?? 
Sometimes I wonder the depth of His Love for us and how He made every necessary sacrifice to bring us back to the father. I mean why did He have to do all that, why did He have to come down when He could easily have remained at the right hand side of God and watch us pay the price for our carelessness, turning the other cheek to our sufferings because after all, it wasn’t His fault that Adam ate the forbidden fruit.. Right?? But no, He didn’t, He couldn’t, rather He came down and was wounded for our iniquities and bruised for our transgressions, taking lashes upon lashes, a pain that couldn’t stand in the way of our love, so by His stripes, we were, we are and we will forever be made whole… So yes, remind me again why you didn’t go to church today?? 
Now I’m not here to make you feel bad or guilty and I’m not saying that not going to church today would make you miss heaven either but if the grave and death itself, couldn’t stop Him from finishing His quest and getting to you, then the rain is just too small to hold you back from Him….. He loves you. Remember it is His will that we do not forsake the gathering of believers especially in this weather. Remember,  the fire only burns brighter when the wood comes together…. Think about this.. Selah. 
#What can separate us from the love of God?? 

#The rain and I 

#His_Storyteller #Stay Inspired.

The Child That Was Never Born. 

They say the reason why every child cries when they are born is because they have just been taken from the world they are used to, a world filled with joy and happiness and love into another world, a world filled with uncertainties. Yes, every stranger has his fears, this cold shiver that runs down their spin as they stare into a new world, a world in which they have absolutely no idea what their fate holds. They say every child cries when they are born, every child, except for the one that was never born. 

You know every child has a lot to learn, every child learns to walk even after falling a thousand times, to say the words ‘dada ‘ and ‘mama’s to the ones they love, to laugh when happy and cry when offended, to run when pursued, to goof around with nothing but  pants on their waist. Yes, every child has a lot to learn, every child but the one that was never born. 

They say that children are the leaders of tomorrow, that in the heart of every child is a vast ocean, just waiting to be explored, an endless stream of opportunities and in the palm of every child lies the future of humanity. They say every child is a shining star, a twinkling star that would one day light up our world, that every child is like a vast ocean of endless possibilities, every child, except for the ones that were never born. 

Have you ever seen a shooting star before, yes, that one that travels across the sky burning bright but slowly fading away until it is no longer seen and that one that makes you close your eyes, cross your fingers and make a wish? Well, some believe that every shooting star is a child that was never born returning back to their maker, carrying with them their dreams and aspirations and visions and hopes and desires, some even say that if you believe well enough that they may just carry your wishes along with them to heaven and help you deliver it to God Himself. Some even believe that the flames trailing behind those stars are the dreams and visions of those unborn babies, the shadow of things that would never come to pass. 

You know the Bible describes every child as a gift from God, even Jesus was once called a lover of children and sometimes I just can’t imagine the look on His face as He stares at those children, those very gifts He so graciously blessed us with as they return back to Him with their tired feet and red eyes having little tears dropping from the sides and their tired arms still carrying all their dreams, visions and aspirations which by the way now has a huge stamp all over them with the words “RETURN TO SENDER” boldly written on them. I just can’t imagine the look on his face, I just can’t. 

You know they say that every child is  like a shining star, one that would one day bring light to our cold dark world, every child, except for the one that was never born. 

#’Lo, Children are an heritage from the lord and the fruit of the womb is their reward ‘_Psalm 127 vs 3

#Say No to abortion even as God keeps us and our children from untimely death. 

#Say a prayer for a child today. 

#The Child That Was Never Born. 

#His_Storyteller #Stay Inspired.

Tears at a funeral. 

There he stood staring into the shadows of what used to be a promising tomorrow and even though he was surrounded by hundreds of persons, he felt alone. For the first time in his life, he felt alone. Although he tried to imagine what his new future would look like considering the fact that without him, the already perfect picture in his head wouldn’t be complete, like a puzzle with missing pieces, it just wouldn’t make any sense. He tried to picture what his new future would look like without him, but all he could see was sweet empty darkness and no, it wasn’t because of the hundreds of persons dressed in black casting their shadows all over him like an amateur painter carelessly swiping his brush all over his canvas, no, it was because in that glass coffin laid a part of him, the part of him that held the candle of his soul. it was because a part of him was about to be buried six feet underneath the ground and gone forever. It was because a part of him would never be seen again. And even though they say that men don’t cry, he just couldn’t hold back his tears but who could blame him, he was his father, the only one he would ever have and this was his funeral. But who could blame him, standing before this grave is a sixteen-year-old boy who would never get to say the word ‘dad’ ever again. So, yes, it was a funeral and just like rainfall in July, the tears would pour.
‘What’s a future without you? This was not part of the deal, I thought you said you would never leave, I thought you said you would fight for me, for us.. you said you would always be there for me, you joked about being there when I got my first girlfriend and stare at me with that proud look on your face with tears in your eyes as I present to you my graduation certificate, the one with the big DOCTOR written all over it. This wasn’t part of the deal, we were supposed to do this together, you were the reason I even wrote Jamb in the first place, dad. WHERE ARE YOU???’ He screamed, pacing up and down, punching the walls till his hands bled and shouting at the cold silent night, hoping to get an answer, any answer, even if it was just a sign, a prove that there was truly a reason for all this, that God had a masterplan, one that required the death of the only friend he ever had. But no, he got nothing, there was no sign, no burning bush, no bright star shinning in the east to follow and no handwriting on the wall. All he got was the sound of crocking frogs, chirping crickets and echoes, echoes of the words he screamed, echoes of his sobs, echoes of what used to be the sound of melodies in his heart. And every year he would remember this day, he would remember this funeral and the tears he cried.  

Although he knew that this day would come, he knew his dad had done the best he could, he knew dad was strong but the cancer was stronger and the harder he fought, the farther he drifted away. He was a soldier, a brave and strong one, he fought to the death and died at his post, this was how he choose to remember him. This was how he would be remembered, he would not be remembered by how the cancer slowly ate him up from inside out or how his hair slowly fell apart, falling in one and twos till there was nothing left or how he slowly lost his voice, pointing and waving, forced to use his fingers to communicate. No, he would not even be remembered by his heavy breathing or how he had to lie on that bed for months. No, rather he would be remembered by his charming laughter, by his sweet words and kind heart. He would be remembered by the prayers he said, how he would call his children to his room and teach them about love, about his love for them and God’s love too and why everyone should love their neighbours. He would be remembered as the soldier he was and how he battled cancer for more than two years because of the ones he loved. He would be remember by his favourite quote, ‘ Love is God’s greatest gift to us, it’s a light that must be used to brighten up our cold dark world’ These were his favourite words. 
This is how he would be remembered and one day, when the time is right, these tears shed at this funeral would be tears of joy, joy that you are in a better place, a place filled with hope where you would no longer have to fight this wicked disease anymore and these tears would be tears of hope, hope that one day we would get to see again. 

So for now, he  would bask in the thoughts of him, he would look at the stars and think of him, listening to his words in the sound of the roaring thunder and in the whispers of the wind and whenever he  shows love to someone and put a smile on the face of a total stranger, he knows that dad would smile too, because this right here, this is not a sad story.
#Tears at a funeral #Written by His_Storyteller.

The Place 

I know a place where the heavens  touches the earth, a place where the sun, moon and stars all radiate God’s  beauty. A place where the cloud spells out Yahweh’s love for you and where the angels gather  to watch the sons of men show forth the creative power given to them by the son of God, as they whisper to the ears of each other, questions, questions  whose answer they can’t seem to phantom, questions like, ‘who is man that God is mindful of him?? ‘.

I know a place where the heaven’s touches the earth, where celestial bodies come out to play and angels bear witness of the greatness of man. I know a place where only Gods dare to go, a place where God resides and Jesus stands at the door with arms stretched wide to welcome each and every person that dares to enter. 
I speak boldly of this place because I have not only seen it, but I have been there too. It’s everywhere, in the heavens above, on the earth and underneath the earth. It’s everywhere, it whispers in the wind and glides through the ocean, it’s everywhere, even on the inside of every Christian.

#For the love of photography 

#His_Storyteller #Stay Inspired.