Before you reject it in the name of Jesus — remember, even 100 more years is still soon.

Mortality has been one of humanity’s greatest gifts. It sharpens our sense of meaning.

People plan for decades, but only pause to savour a day when someone their age passes. Parents scream at their children, then spoil children the same age — now as grandparents. Young capitalists chase every Dollar and Naira they can ‘maximize’, then spend their last decades trying to give it all away.

30-year-olds panic that they haven’t done enough. 40-year-olds feel left behind. 60-year-olds are just grateful to be alive.

We want the whole world, until the reality of death reminds us to just enjoy the breath of this minute.

And when you really ‘deep it’ — that we’re all going to die — you may finally start to live, do what matters, forgive faster, take more risks, breathe deeper, try, quit, restart, laugh, dance your ugly dance, say NO — and find out you didn’t die after all. At least, not yet…

And maybe you’ll stop trying to win at everything and just be in some things. Because how many things can you even truly be in — even if you’re allotted the full 100 years? And you know that friend or cousin who only got 15… right?

We are going to die soon. And what a beautiful, freeing perspective that is.

I wrote my thoughts today, as always, and that’s all I owe myself — to write them out and, in the process, clear my mind for more.

But sharing them? I owe it to you that it makes sense and is useful. So today, I’m leaving my piece in the drafts. The thought hasn’t quite added up yet.

I will rather share this — that I have nothing to share.

I don’t feel well today. I am not ‘sick sick’ but my body doesn’t just feel right. But the beautiful part? It sharply reminds me what feeling well—full energy—feels like.

And I’m grateful for that.

It reminds me of something my mentor Chude Jideonwo said the last time I was down—psychologically in that case:

“Sadness accentuates joy. Sadness is a good part of life, because it helps us recognize and appreciate joy.”

And like Michael Rosenberg (Passenger) sang:

🎵 “You only miss the sun when it starts to snow.”

We should all have our own opinions—and share them. But we must also remember: others might take us seriously. In fact, we often want to be taken seriously.

If our words can influence others, then we owe it to them—and to ourselves—to invest in how we form those opinions. That means paying deeper attention, seeking different perspectives, reading more widely, and observing more closely.

It also means reflecting after we speak. And being open to disagreement—not just to defend our view, but to refine it, where we find gaps in our opinions, as we listen to those of others.

We’ll never have perfect opinions. But caring about their impact should push us to think better. And that includes making space to actually think—so our minds can process what we’re constantly consuming.

As you read this, and anything else you read or hear, I invite you to do two things: on one hand, consider what might make sense in it, and on other, consider that the writer or speaker might have no idea what they’re saying.

No matter how well-meaning the advisor is… how many years they’ve put in, how much research backs their view, or how eloquently they deliver it—what they’re saying might not be right for you. It might even lead to a good outcome… that leads to a bad one… that leads to another. Life is funny like that.

Life is far too complex for us to sit permanently at anyone’s footstool and take everything they say as instruction.

No one should have that kind of hold on you—not out of pride, but because no one is wise enough to know what’s exactly right, true, or best for another.

What we do have are experienced minds and thoughtful voices. They are useful. But ultimately, our duty as individual humans is to gather these voices as inputs—not instructions—and think for ourselves.

PS. You may have just read the worst advice of your life.

Late last year, after many years of Bolaji (my co-founder) not taking leave, we booked him a 4-day resort vacation, before informing him. He resisted—it was a critical time in the business and not a time to rest. We didn’t listen. We kicked him off virtual meetings and forced him to rest.

One month after he returned, he shared a framework that shaped our defining business strategy for 2025. He later admitted the clarity came during those four days.

Most of us try to do the most, as fast as possible. But we would also admit that many times we are unsure we are doing the right thing, or doing it right.

Why do we do simply pack more on our desk though, especially when Vilfredo Pareto’s observation—that only 20% of our efforts generate 80% of our results—has been proven to be true?

Building a great business (or anything at all) requires pausing. Observing. Reflecting. Because you don’t see patterns when you’re nose-deep in to-dos.

Yes, you can book a vacation. But slowing down doesn’t need to cost a thing: a morning walk, dancing alone, reading a book, writing 5 things you're grateful for, calling someone just to say something kind. You are not even trying to strategize. But many times, clarity meets you in the middle of that road.

So yes—just do it, like Nike inspires us to. But also, sometimes, Adenike, just slow down.

One of the most thought-provoking things I ever read went something like this: we spend so much on the things we like that we never afford the things we love.

We spend so much on hotels (like) that we never make our home exquisite (love); so much on Uber that we never afford a car; so much on trips that we never gain the freedom to go anywhere, anytime. These are good things—but how much of them, and at what cost?

We chase short-term happiness so hard that we never build the equity for long-term freedom.

But you’re not alone. I do this too. And we often have good reasons. But still we need that small space to think: what can I delay now that I like, so I can have later what I love?

Maybe you live with your parents and could move out today. But maybe wait a year or two. Save on food, light… the cost of new curtains and pots! Contribute something to the bill so you’re taken seriously—but if you can, maybe stay? And double down on learning, building and earning way more than you spend?

It’s not that simple, I know. But neither is the rat race, or regret.

Here’s what my life has looked like over the past 15 years: I finally figure out “the truth,” then not long after, I discover the real truth. Then again. And again.

I reach the horizon at night, only to wake up in the morning and find the note it left behind.

In one moment, I believe I see the answer clearly—I’ve cracked the code, connected the dots. Finally. Victory at last! Then, two years later, I laugh at what I thought to be conquest.

Does it ever end? Will there ever be a time when I finally find the answer and nothing changes about it any longer? When do I finally become?

Or wait? This it? This is the becoming? This endless cycle of learning, iteration and hope? Which, let’s be honest, can sometimes be hard, boring, and grueling—especially when the disappointment hits that we were either far from it, or only close but not quite there.

Maybe one day I would have arrived at this elusive destination. But will that be still becoming? Or the end of it—and the beginning of death.

I wish I could say that I’m fully authentic. And grounded. That I wake up every morning driven purely from within, and guided by purpose. That I reflect only on what truly matters, untouched by ego or selfish desires.

I wish.

Yes, I’m driven by purpose—but also by more ego than I would admit.

Yes, I’m focused on my journey—but I compare myself with others more than I would acknowledge.

Yes, I care about others—but I care about my own interests more than it appears.

I wish I were truer. More stoic. More real.

But I’m grateful to know I’m not quite there—because somehow, knowing how far I am from the ground keeps me close to it.

You might’ve heard this story before—but it’s worth hearing again.

A man’s horse ran away. “What a tragedy,” his friends said.“Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see,” he replied.

Days later, the horse returned—with a rare wild horse.“Such good luck!” they said. “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Then his son tried to ride the wild horse, was thrown off, and broke his leg.“How tragic!” they cried. “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Soon, the army came, conscripting all the young men—except his son, whose leg was broken.“Such fortune!” they cheered. “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

This is not to say that the big break you missed was secretly a curse. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. You may never know. That crushing heartbreak might be a blessing—or not. You may never know.

What looks like a setback might lead somewhere good. And then bad. And then good. And bad?

All we get to do is appreciate and make the most of the temporary ‘positives’—and endure the apparent ‘negatives’.

…and not everything needs proof.

There were years I didn’t believe in God. Now I do. But the questions that once fueled my doubt haven’t disappeared. I’ve just stopped needing them to be answered.

Pastors sometimes try to explain God scientifically. I respect the effort—it can help some people. But I usually tune out. Because if we line up empirical facts alone, the unbelievers probably win. And that’s the point—faith is hope, not data. Not by sight.

Same goes for love. For meaning. For life itself.

Eight billion of us live on a flicker of a planet lost in a vast, silent universe. Still, we act like we matter. We create. We sacrifice. We seek justice. We raise children. We pursue truth and beauty. All for what?

There’s no logical necessity to even get out of bed—or make your bed. But we do. Because we believe our lives matter. That we matter.

Some root that in a Creator. (There’s no scientific proof of one—and in the instance that such a being existed, it wouldn’t make sense for our labs to be able to detect such a being). Others believe in humanity’s inherent worth. (Though from the cosmic zoom-out, it’s hard to see why).

Either way, you believe in something without proof. And that’s alright.

I believe the smallest measurable unit of greatness is a great day. Stack enough of those over the years, and you’ll become great. That’s my working theory, shaped by watching mentors, clients, and patterns in my own life.

A great day isn’t perfect, but it’s intentional. It hits the key areas—physical, mental, social, and spiritual. For me, it includes focused work, writing, prayer, meditation, movement, reading, purposeful connection, journaling, and sleep. I don’t do all that every single day, but more often than not.

You can begin with 1, 2 or 3 elements. Plan the next day before bed? Meditate in the morning? Write a gratitude journal?

Over time, these intentional days compound.

Want to be a great writer? Stack more days reading and writing. Great business leader? Stack more days thinking, building, and serving others.

You won’t always feel like it. You’ll need internal drive. This could come from a sense of purpose, faith in the divine, exposure to greatness, a near-death experience or maybe just a moment where you realize “enough is enough, I need to take my life seriously.”

But it starts today, with one great day. Then another.

Lying in bed this morning as I woke up, I thought about the day ahead and it dawned on me — “I have no clue what’s going to happen today!”

I’ve got meetings scheduled, an internal quarter review, a feature update test, 2 client calls, a stop-by at someone’s office, and a deadline to ensure we meet. Still, the truth is—I don’t actually know how the day will unfold.

I might meet someone who changes my life forever, in the direction I desire—or not. Something could happen before noon that wipes out the rest of my plans. I might learn a lesson I’ll never forget. I might eat the best roasted street food of my life. It might send my stomach running too. I might witness the most beautiful interaction between two strangers. I might see something that sparks something that births something incredible.

Or none of that.I might even die, or live to declare the works of the Lord.

I’ll never know for sure. And that—hope, faith, curiosity—is what gets me out of bed.

I don’t hear ‘imposter syndrome’ as often as I used to but every now and then someone still reaches out confiding in me that despite what people have said about their work, they just don’t think they are good enough.

“That can be a good thing”, I respond.

Maybe it is true that you are underrating your capabilities, but if you respond by doubling down on more structured learning and intentional practice, to finally ‘get good enough’, then you only get better for it.

So maybe you are truly a 7/10, but you don’t believe it. With the right response, the worst case scenario is you get closer to 10 in reality.

That might be a better place to be than the person (and there are many) who believes their own hype—and stops growing.

It was 2015, the year I should’ve graduated with my mates. I had chosen the rebellious ‘drop out to follow your dreams’ path, and I was concerned about my (former) classmates seeing me jump taxis across town. So, I bought a car that almost took my life — literally and figuratively.

I was also in a relationship. And without her asking, I stretched myself to impress her and her family — far beyond my actual means. I repeat, nobody asked. But I needed to make a statement.

It didn’t work out, of course.

You can’t be 21 with 31 years of experience. But if it were somehow possible to go back, I would strip down the urge to impress, and instead lock in to build an impressive life.

I would know that going out of my way to impress early on — with money I didn’t really have — only stands in the way of that. Or at the very least, slows it down.

And so I’d focus entirely on the seeds instead: knowledge, reputation, goodwill, experience — which I did plant, but not as much as I now wish I had.

The less people pause to observe, the more you should.
The less people serve genuinely, the more you should care.
The less people connect deeply with others, the more you should reach out.

As the world microwaves everything, spins fast around us, and puts everything at our fingertips—there’s growing value in doing what others wouldn’t, like slowing down.

On Sunday evening, at the home of Mohini and Chuba Ezekwesili, which is fittingly named a ‘sanctuary of nature’, I got a full appreciation of their ‘Framework of Intention’, especially the simplicity of it.

Time slowed down, as we listened—really listened—to each other, in an environment that made gratitude the default. We took responsibility for our own happiness.

“Slow down, be grateful and take responsibility” the 3-step framework guides. Stuff like that seem to be going out of trend, but as a result, increasing in value.

I’ve been thinking about a quote I read somewhere: “the way we do one thing is how we do all things.”

This morning, it struck me how deeply it applies to corporate culture.

The true culture of an organization isn’t just how people act at work—it’s also how they show up off the clock, with family, friends, and strangers. While many know how to ‘act right’ on a normal Monday morning, their real selves (most reliably evident off-work) emerge in pressure-filled, mission-critical situations. And the essence of culture is how they act in those situations.

Efforts to transform culture are more effective if they influence how people act both on and off work. So leaders must invest more thought and effort into making it real.

This matters for perception too. Most people experience a company’s culture not in team-building events, but from how an employee behaves on a queue or responds on a Twitter space about football. Or Beyoncé. This shapes how your culture is truly seen—and remembered (your brand).

So yes, it’s valid to not hire someone whose public behavior clashes with your values. And as leaders, we all need to reflect: if we preach punctuality or respect, for example, do we embody it everywhere? Maybe we arrive meetings on time, but what about speaking engagements or family dinners? Culture that doesn’t cut across dimensions won’t survive when tested.

Insisting on excellence can feel really good—mostly because it’s assumed we already embody what we’re asking for. And that’s fair… if we actually do.

But when our actions fall short of the very standards we’re demanding, our insistence quickly becomes ineffective, even hypocritical.

The most powerful way to insist on excellence is to quietly model it. It is even better when we hold ourselves to higher standards than the ones we ask of others.

If we’re all over the place, how can we ask others to plan carefully and not miss the details? If we don’t treat our team well, how can we expect them to treat our clients well? If we don’t put effort into crafting a clear brief, how can we expect execution to be intentional? If we don’t define and live out our values, how can we ask others to act in line with them?

Sure—we can ask.

But many times, they just won’t take us seriously.

Have you ever complained about something poorly done and the response was something like “it’s not that bad, it works”? Or maybe you were making a case for why something needed to be done in a certain way and you get the “I too know” label—a nickname intended to mock people for doing too much as if they are better than others.

First, you are probably better than them, to be honest—at least at caring more. And that counts for something.

That said, the world needs you to continue to insist on excellence, especially our side of it where mediocrity has become popular and without apparent consequences.

As long as your drive is not your ego but simply a desire to see things done well, it matters that you continue to be an example. And a voice.

First, they will mock you.
Then, they will tolerate you.
Then, they will respect you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’ll inspire someone who always wanted to be excellent, but never had an example.

Every January, I hope to achieve many of my big life goals by December. I don’t — and by the next January, I repeat the drill. Can you relate?

This year I started to think more in terms of what I could build over a decade, and it’s helping me become more patient to do each phase right, focus on daily habits I know will compound, and resist the pressure to impress in today’s rat race. I don’t need it done by December, tbh. I’d rather take 3, 7, or 10 years and do it excellently. I call this the decade’s view — a way of stretching time so execution becomes intentional and meaningful results actually happen.

Without a decade’s view, there are things you won’t even consider. For example, you can’t plan to write a book and expect it to shape your reputation, attract the right community, or contribute to a long-term vision — all by December. Unless you don’t care about writing a really good book. Which then defeats the point.

When we squeeze big goals into short timelines, it often hinders us from thinking properly, researching deeply, and obsessing over the tiny details. But precedence shows that masterpieces, breakthroughs, financial freedom and the big things we desire often take longer than a year.

This doesn’t mean we can’t have quick wins. But for our most ambitious goals — the ones that shape our life’s work — we might need to take the decade’s view.

I wrote about dealing with ‘beginner’s shame’ when learning something new, and someone asked, “How do you become shame-proof?”

I’m not shame-proof. Most of us aren’t. We still feel the sting of failure, and dread what others might think. But what helps me is remembering how vast the universe is—and how small I am, in comparison.

I’m one person out of 8 billion, standing on a fraction of a planet that wouldn’t even register as a pixel on the ‘map’ of the universe. What, really, is there to be ashamed of?

I try to live fully, to leave even the tiniest dent. But when I fail, I remind myself: I am nothing. And everyone laughing? They are nothing too.

Easier said than done, but that’s where I try to get to mentally.

Earlier today we stopped to check the car's tyre pressure with a road-side vulcanizer. As we slowed down, I noticed him tossing some garbage right in the middle of the road. “You don turn the road to your dustbin abi?” I said with a sarcastic smile. He mumbled some unclear response trying to explain his action away, while smiling back in a quiet admission of his wrong.

Five minutes later he was done inspecting and pumping the tyres that needed some air. We paid and just before we drove off, he appeared next to where I sat holding his trash in his hand—proudly confirming that he had gone back to pick it up. I didn’t ask him too.

When you're learning a technical skill like coding or design, people encourage you. But when you are trying to acquire performatory skills often perceived as innate, like me learning to dance ‘shaku-shaku’ in 2017, the response is ‘well-intentioned’ mockery.

This reaction comes from a deep-seated belief that some abilities simply can’t be learned. In recent Nigerian parlance, “if it didn’t dey, it didn’t dey”. So when you are trying, the observers, including your friends, rather feel embarrassed. They wouldn’t try to learn those things—like dancing, football, drawing, singing—and so why are you trying to force it?

But that leads us to the special, critical skill called shame, or being ‘shame-proof’. This is your ability to try to learn just anything—even when you’re ‘supposed’ to be born with it but you aren’t—while smiling through the mockery and forgiving them, for they know not what they do.

PS. Now I represent the groomsmen at wedding dance contests. But in 2017, you would have been embarrassed watching me try.

Many times the leader starts out as the first employee, brimming with passion and a love for getting the thing done — the core service itself. As the company grows, however, so do their responsibilities, forcing them to juggle their ‘true love’ with new demands. Eventually they start to use the assistance of other people, sometimes reluctantly. But what they must do is even harder — recognize the roles they can no longer excel at and fully replace themselves, no matter how painful.

What would make a leader evaluate themselves as not good enough for a role they established? Vision. When a leader becomes more consumed by the big vision and the excellence required to reach it, their ego shrinks. They become small, necessarily.

From that vantage point, clarity emerges: ‘I’m no longer focused enough to be great at this’ or ‘This person is sharper than me in this role; it’s time they take over while I focus on another component of the big picture.’

I am sure you have heard the saying, “there is no such thing as bad publicity.” But in a world where people no longer buy just because they know you exist, that popular quote may be due for a rethink.

As the internet, e-commerce, and social media gives people unlimited access to options, a bad reputation becomes a good enough reason to cut you off their consideration.

Popularity from negative controversy often grows due to curiosity, not admiration—people want to see ‘the bad thing’ this person allegedly did, the same way they watch a documentary about a criminal. Now we know to stay off!

Yes it is true that once you have the numbers, you can attempt to switch things up, but reputation is not a tap you just turn on and off. You will have to do so much, consistently, over time, to have any chance. And even then, the shadow of the original issue lingers, and comes back to mind anytime you slip.

Because we now know you, we may indeed buy from you in a moment of urgency, especially if you are the fastest or cheapest at that point, but we DO NOT trust you. And we won’t identify with you, let alone tell others. So, if there are any gains at all, it’s short-term and fleeting.

We all know it when we have met a person that seems driven by purpose, an experience that carries more meaning, or a business leader that seems to be chasing something bigger. And it is these ones who seem to care less about our money, that we are the most eager to give it to.

And so it can be tempting for us to want to ‘come up with something’ too, to be like them. But in the best examples, they didn’t just come up with something. They are being true to something.

Although simply wanting it is not enough, it is better than not caring. Those who don’t care, and simply want to focus on the obvious surface, miss out on the depths of human motivation.

The alternative to 'making something up' is discovering it—because it’s already there. You may just need to slow down, step away from your ‘workaholic factory,’ and take the time to finally SEE what you've only been looking at.

Inspiring people, conversations, books and retreats can help. For some, adversity, near-death experiences, or spiritual encounters have triggered the shift.

We create more impact when we go beyond the surface—when there’s a deeper motivation and a more compelling story. But the truth is, we don’t have to make this up.

As I sat on the thick wooden chairs inside the Christ Anglican Church at the end of the commercially active sawmill, I imagined the lives beneath the grey hairs and the bald heads that sprawled across my view. The creeds are followed by hymns that end with the long-drawn ‘Aamin…’ before a priest comes on the pulpit to reflect on the life of Coach Akinade, who was said to have accepted nonsense from no one!

We are at the funeral service held in the memory of my friend’s dad, officers of the Nigerian Army unmistakable in the car park and the light brown ‘Aso-ebi’ attires of the family unmissable. From his days in the military to becoming an athletics coach, so much was said about his integrity and insistence on high standards. Perhaps that explains why Mary finished with the first class she told me she would finish with on Day 1 in 100 level. At our off-campus Bible study with The Navigators, she would memorize the full list of verses that I still can’t fully recall ‘off-hand’ 10 years after.

I have always loved the Anglican Church and my boarding house school founded by the Ilesa Diocese gave me a closer view of the ordinances. Before I knew anything about graphic design or branding systems, I was always curious about the design of the cassocks — the coats the priests wore, and how they differed from Reverend, to Venerable, Very Reverend, Right Reverend, Most Reverend. Synod was a sight to behold, of beautiful order.

And there were the hymns. “Trust and obey… for there is no other way… to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey”, Reverend Fakankun would lead the student choristers as they slowly processed down the aisle while Soji and I did this thing called ‘parting’ with our voices. What a memory to recall as today’s closing procession held in the same slow, reflective motion. This time it included soldiers, with the casket wrapped in the National colors and a pair of military boots ‘hanged’ on top.

I remember the sermons back then were always a mix of everyday wisdom with some gospel to tie it up at the end. The priests who doubled as teachers took their opportunity to address our latest misdeeds from the classroom and dormitories, with warnings passed down this time from a holy place. It was still the same, but with the teenage dismeanors swapped with the adult ‘wickedness of the human heart’.

Stepping into an Anglican Church for the first time in many years, what touched me the most was neither a warning wrapped in the clothing of a life advice nor a headline from the good news that the gospel is. It also was not any of the reminders for us to imbibe the values Coach Akinade lived by.

It was something the priest said in passing — “Ojó á jìnà síra won”.

That was it for me. It’s not the first time I would hear that. Everyone says that when a Yoruba dies and I am sure he didn’t particularly write that as part of his sermon notes. In English, that translates to “may the days (of death) be far from one another”.

It struck me what that really meant, that all of us — the grey hairs and bald heads, the elegantly dressed ‘omo-olóòkús’ (children of the deceased), myself in the observation of events, as well as the baby whose mother just carried swiftly to the back of the auditorium as she cried for a pain she could not yet to put to words, the mother herself inclusive — have our dates of death right ahead of us at a time we have no idea of. All we could hope for, is that the next one doesn’t come tomorrow. Or even today.

Dead people attending a funeral. All of us.

Bye bye, Coach. You live on in our memories, till our own dates come.

We all agree that reality improves perception, but the reverse is just as true.

No one will argue that a product or person being good makes it easier to tell a compelling story about them. But if any of the world’s greatest things—including America as “the world’s greatest country”—serve as a valid reference, then we have seen, time and time again, that perception also improves reality.

While America factually boasts of the world’s largest military and leads on many other fronts, it is no coincidence that it is also the biggest storytelling machine, powered by Hollywood and some of the most influential media houses. The world doesn’t just witness America’s strength; it experiences it through movies, news, and cultural exports that reinforce its dominance.

Top Gun wasn’t just entertainment—it’s also an amplification of the legend of American military superiority. The Social Network isn’t just about Mark Zuckerberg—it fuels the perception of the U.S. as the place to be for any innovator watching from anywhere. The American Dream is a branding masterpiece, consistently attracting millions who believe in the idea that success is possible if they just make it to America.

While the examples reference recent history, this didn’t start in recent times. Long before America became a thing, let alone the leading superpower it is now, it was stories that first stoked the imagination of investors, inspiring them to commit resources to explorers ready to make the stories real. Marco Polo’s accounts of the East stirred European curiosity, and by the 15th century, myths of vast uncharted lands drove Christopher Columbus to set sail in 1492, backed by Spain’s Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand. These weren’t just stories about lands that already existed—they were narratives that created belief, mobilized resources, and ultimately brought entire new realities into existence.

Now, imagine if those stories had been completely made up with the sole intent of deceiving investors—only for the explorations to reveal the lie. The sailors would lose all credibility, causing more harm than good. So, for those who argue that doing the actual work should be the sole focus, they are almost correct—it remains critical. But consider the reverse: what if there was real potential ahead, yet no stories to inspire action? In most cases, the people we are trying to reach may never get the chance to experience our reality firsthand, making an objective judgment nearly impossible. We must be able to guide them to an assumption that something great lies ahead. And because we are committed to delivering on that promise, we can sustain and reinforce this perception over time.

Beyond validation, these stories also enhance the experience itself. A well-framed narrative sets expectations high, triggering a positive bias that makes people more receptive and more forgiving. They already expect greatness—so all that’s left is for confirmation bias to take over. Now, imagine telling great stories, and meeting it up with great work. Just imagine!

In the timeline of almost any great outcome, imagination comes first, then gives birth to real, tangible results, which are further refined and elevated through more storytelling. In other cases, it begins with action, as critics of ‘branding’ would prefer, but then gets fueled by stories and imagination which continue to combine with action to birth actual socio-economic greatness. A country, a company, or even a movement doesn’t just grow by working hard—it grows by crafting a compelling perception that inspires people to engage with it, demand more from it, and ultimately push it toward even greater heights.

Take NASA’s Apollo 11 moon landing in 1969 as another  example. President Kennedy’s 1962 speech, “We choose to go to the moon,” was more than a promise; it was an act of perception-building that rallied a nation and set expectations so high that reality had no choice but to catch up. The same principle applies to another defining moment in American history, just a year after—Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech. At a time when racial inequality was deeply entrenched, King painted a picture of a future of justice and equality. His powerfully crafted words, substantiated with ‘real substance’ — from bus boycotts to marches, community mobilization and policy advocacy — shaped a perception so strong that it moved people to action, forcing institutions and society at large to shift toward making that vision real. Both moments prove the power of storytelling—not just to reflect reality, but to shape it.

The trend runs through every facet of American life, including the tech startup ecosystem, with Steve Jobs’ Apple and Phil Knight’s Nike being references of the power of storytelling we are all familiar with, among several others. These visionaries made strong examples of hardcore excellence and obsession, but also carefully crafted presentations of their products that aimed intently at influencing perception.

Strategically selected and crafted stories that highlight the best parts and potential futures of any reality often go on to inspire more of the same. Perhaps a city is only partly clean, but it chooses to portray itself as a clean city while also doing the work. It consistently shares images of a clean city, tells the story of it’s committed cleaners and highlights the behaviors of everyday people it desires to see more of. Then, anyone traveling in prepares to be clean, and people living in the dirtier parts start to think there is something they are doing wrongly. “This is not who we are”, the stories make them feel. And what is real begins to bend towards what is portrayed, one properly disposed can of Pepsi per time.

The idea is that actual work has always worked hand in hand with depiction (perhaps a simpler term for branding?)—which may not always tell the full, real picture of today, but often inspires the reality to catch up by tomorrow. This is where many African founders and business leaders fall short—by focusing entirely on the core work and looking down on the craft of shaping perception as a dispensable tertiary effort. Or something worth doing on a second thought, but not with that much intentionality and investment. One may also argue that this has limited our excellence even on the substantial part. No grand stories, no extra motivation? Perhaps.

When African businesses invest more in depiction and perception, we can set something for everyone to look up to—both internally, to inspire teams to push for better, and externally, to shape customer expectations thereby driving demand, improving experience and retaining loyalty.

In conclusion, the businesses that win are not just obsessed with the core work and the problem they are trying to solve but also with how they present their mission to the world.

America has mastered the art of not only doing the work but also shaping perception in a way that fuels its continued reality. It’s time for African business leaders and startup founders who clearly put in the work (not sure I can say the same for our political leaders) to borrow from this playbook.

One of the seemingly-obvious-but-not-obvious insights I gained early as an entrepreneur is that it is better to find people who are already like the type of people you need in a job than to bring people in and ask them to be the type of people you need in a job.

At first read, you may wonder “that’s already what we do… we need a good engineer, we find and hire a good engineer”. The less obvious but more critical application of the thought however is on the non-technical capacities, which are usually the hardest to grow in people.

While you surely need a certain quality of technical skill to begin with, it is also the component of talent that is easiest to grow over time, with systems for knowledge acquisition, knowledge exchange and the sheer role of experience on the job. What is harder however is to make someone who doesn’t smile smile.

From being open to new ideas, caring about others, being driven, leading self… to being timely, communicating effectively, being proactive and more, it is wiser, for two reasons, to identify people who already come with some of these than to relegate them to the things you will bring out in them with your ‘team-bonding’ talks.

1. You are not a life school. You are first a business and your primary priority will always be in delivering your service to your customers in exchange of value. This means that the most natural force of growth your employees will experience is in the core service itself — the technical. While you can be an inspiring leader and bring in great coaches, you will hardly be able to spend enough time to deliver those missing soft skills.
2. Some competencies are best developed on a personal level. These soft, human, non-technical capacities are best built based from personal reflection, reading, mentorship and an eagerness to improve. While you can try as a business to institutionalize these as part of your people development, and you should, the best environment for it is personal. It is best if you simply for the people who are already doing that work on a personal level, and you then bring them on board to apply this alongside the technical capacity that you are ever primed to help them hone.

But why does all of these matter, to begin with?

Well, we are human above all things. And the most enduring great organizations are built by humans who are great beyond just the core service. It takes more than just the ‘core thing’ to be great colleagues within and partners with the customer. And you will need all of these for sustained growth and eventual greatness. A badass guy at coding or say accounting on your team who talks trash on other people, is disrespectful of women and is unwilling to share or collaborate with others will do today’s job but ruin your company in the long term. I think we already agree on this but it’s important to touch on it for anyone still asking that question of why.

What happens to the technically gifted but otherwise lacking employees you have already hired before reflecting on a thought like this? I will propose a 3-part plan of action — Clarify, emphasize, and model. Yes, nothing will beat getting it right with a hire who is already on the desired path, but this can offer some course correction.

First, take time to reflect on the values and traits that matter the most and ensure this is clearly discussed and documented. Then take every opportunity, day to day or week to week, to refer to those things, from meetings to teachable moments and when you are commending someone. Finally and most importantly, be the embodiment of these values and reward others who are making great examples, which we can imagine as a final fourth part of the plan.

Above all, next time you are about to hire a receptionist who you expect to smile and welcome people with great, positive energy. Find someone who already smiles and engages people with great, positive energy.

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I have always been somewhat of a rebel. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ only gets me curious. And so when this conservative RCCG-born royal prince from a village in Osun became friends with my pan-African contrarian friend who hates fame and surely prefers not to be named, I was going to pick not only his admiration for African history which my school teachers forgot to tell me about (with Thomas Sankara easily becoming my own favourite), my response to his pan-African hairstyle was also going to be “why not?”.

Not that he ever asked though. Or cared.

Let me tell you one more thing about my friend before I continue — he will tear this article up with a long list of well articulated points of valid, constructive criticism. I write nonetheless.

Just before the COVID-19 lockdown, I began to keep my hair, which had always grown really fast as a kid but steadily truncated by my parents’ instruction whether in person or remotely. The lockdown made this easier and my locs (aka dreadlocks) journey began.

Apart from the core values of life, I have always contended with the endless list of what I consider surface-level norms I was taught directly and indirectly. I had dropped out of uni against popular wisdom, and now I was grooming what I knew might make my mother lose sleep. To me, she would be the one to blame for worrying about the minor instead of being grateful for a child who went on to become an employer of labour and not a ‘yahoo boy’.

‘Lol’.

To her, if it looks like a ‘yahoo boy’, like she believed it did, it’s as bad as being one.

Well, I didn’t care.

“I will be praying for you”

“Don’t waste your prayers, mum”

For 4 years and 10 months, I rocked my really beautiful locs, styled at different times in various forms to my confidence-boosting pleasure as well as the excitement and admiration of my growing fanbase of peers, clients and mentees. There was the signature Fá look with which I walked down aisles, climbed on stages and posed for endless selfies. It really did come together so well. My non-conformist self with this unapologetic look that I carried gallantly.

And those 5 years were so good! The pictures remain proof.

Then 2024 happened, with me failing in a major area of my personal life. When I got to the wall, I turned back and had to reprioritize everything, with two of my faith-based mentors having a significant impact on my life in my respective meetings with them in December. Two random meetings, no deep conversation per se, no ‘serious prayer’ but a transformation began in one and was clear in the other.

Now, I didn’t cut my hair because I suddenly became a ‘better person’ and let go of ‘bad things like the hair’. There was nothing wrong about the hair. It’s the most natural form of an African’s rich hair.

My mum will tell you a different version of the story but here’s what happened — I made so many drastic changes in my life in December 2024 that one midnight I woke up and looked at mirror, and the hair had become to me a symbol of the old version of me, which had now changed drastically. So while the hair itself was not one of the purpose-driven changes I was suddenly empowered to make, it had became a symbol of them. It became a victim of my change.

My change was not from bad to good per se. I believe I have always held onto a good number of good values. I simply raised my standards significantly, and the change (which still continues) was so drastic I needed a visual commemoration. Yeah… something like that.

Although I am a prince, the ‘Adé’ in my middle name has nothing to do with the crown. Adésóyè means “he who arrives to the chieftaincy”. The ‘A dé’ means ‘he who arrives’. On my journey, I continue to arrive. But for my locs, a journey was had.

“I will be praying for you”

“Don’t waste your prayers, mum”

“I told you I’ll be praying for you”.

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