Wake up. Please, wake up.

On the night of 20 October 2020, at the Lekki Toll Gate, unarmed young people took cover under the green-white-green and sang the national anthem, yet the bullets flew. The youths had believed in vain that the flag would shield them, that their voices would be heard, that their country would protect them.

That night became a scar in our national memory. But it should also become a mirror.

My dear young Nigerians, I write to you not as a politician, not as a preacher, and not as someone who has all the answers. I write as an African who has watched our continent struggle, watched our people suffer, and watched generations of young people inherit problems they did not create.

You are the largest demographic force in Nigeria. You are the majority. You are the energy of the nation. You are the ones who will live longest with the consequences of what we do today.

But numbers alone do not create transformation.

Character does.

This is where the ancient wisdom of Omoluabi becomes relevant.

Omoluabi is not simply a Yoruba word. It is an idea of character. It speaks of a person formed by discipline, integrity, courage, responsibility, humility, respect and moral excellence.

It asks a difficult question:

What kind of human being are you becoming?

Not what degree do you have?

Not how many followers do you have?

Not how much money do you possess?

Not how loudly can you shout?

But what kind of person are you becoming?

My generation has not given you the Nigeria you deserve. We have made mistakes. We have tolerated corruption. We have accepted mediocrity. We have allowed ethnicity, religion and political loyalty to divide us when the greater identity should have been our common humanity.

For that, we owe you an apology.

But you must also understand something: you cannot build a better Nigeria by simply becoming a younger version of the people who failed you.

If corruption disgusts you, do not become corrupt when you gain power.

If injustice angers you, do not become unjust when you become powerful.

If bad leadership frustrates you, do not reproduce the same leadership style when your opportunity comes.

If tribalism hurts you, do not embrace tribalism when it benefits you.

If religious hypocrisy offends you, do not become a hypocrite when religion gives you influence.

Change must begin inside.

My dear youth, do not allow social media to become your conscience.

Do not measure your worth by likes, followers, views or comments.

Do not allow the pressure to appear successful to destroy your ability to become successful.

There is nothing wrong with wealth. There is nothing wrong with ambition. There is nothing wrong with wanting a beautiful life.

But wealth without character can destroy the person who possesses it.

Power without character can become oppression.

Knowledge without character can become manipulation.

Religion without character can become hypocrisy.

Education without character can become arrogance.

Technology without character can become a weapon.

This is why I ask you to rediscover character.

Learn to tell the truth even when lying is profitable.

Learn to keep your word even when nobody is watching.

Learn to respect people who cannot help you.

Learn to apologize.

Learn to listen.

Learn to disagree without hatred.

Learn to work with people who do not look like you, speak like you, worship like you or vote like you.

That is the Nigeria we must build.

Do not wait for government to make you useful.

Do not wait for politicians to give you purpose.

Do not wait for society to validate you.

Build something.

Teach somebody.

Mentor somebody.

Employ somebody.

Create something.

Serve somebody.

Make your community better.

And when your time comes to occupy a position of authority, remember those who stood where you stand today.

Remember that public office is not private property.

Remember that leadership is stewardship.

Remember that power is temporary.

Remember that history records more than speeches. It records consequences.

My dear young Nigerians, the future is not waiting for you.

The future is being created by what you do now.

Do not allow disappointment to turn into cynicism.

Do not allow anger to turn into hatred.

Do not allow frustration to turn into destruction.

Let your anger become energy.

Let your pain become wisdom.

Let your disappointment become determination.

And let your ambition be guided by character.

You are not merely the future of Nigeria.

You are Nigeria now.

Wake up.

Organize.

Learn.

Build.

Serve.

Lead.

And above all, become an Omoluabi.

Your Royal Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, Revered Custodians of Our Heritage,

We greet you with the honor due to the throne and the institution you represent.

Across Africa, the traditional ruler has historically been much more than a ceremonial figure. The throne was a moral institution. The king, chief, oba, emir, ooni, obi or traditional custodian was expected to embody the values of the community and serve as a bridge between generations.

The throne was not simply a seat.

It was a trust.

It was an obligation.

It was a sacred responsibility.

Today, I write with respect, but also with concern.

Africa is experiencing a crisis of leadership, and traditional institutions cannot remain outside the conversation.

Our continent is struggling with corruption, insecurity, poverty, ethnic division, religious extremism, environmental destruction, youth unemployment and a gradual erosion of moral values.

Political leaders have failed in many places.

Religious institutions have also struggled.

Families are under pressure.

Schools are overwhelmed.

And yet, one institution remains uniquely positioned to provide continuity, identity and moral memory: the traditional institution.

Your Majesties, this is why the throne matters.

But the question we must ask ourselves is this:

What is the throne becoming?

Is it still a moral institution?

Is it still the conscience of the community?

Is it still the guardian of values?

Or has it become another platform for political negotiation, personal influence and social status?

I ask these questions not to diminish the institution, but because I believe it is too important to be reduced to ceremony.

The traditional ruler should be the custodian of the dignity of the people.

He should be the protector of cultural memory.

She should be a guardian of social harmony.

The throne should be above political parties.

The palace should not become an extension of political machinery.

When the traditional institution becomes politically captured, it loses one of its greatest strengths: moral independence.

A ruler must be able to speak truth to power.

Even when power is uncomfortable.

Even when power controls resources.

Even when power controls access.

Even when speaking truth has a cost.

That is the meaning of stewardship.

Our ancestors understood that leadership was not ownership.

The land did not belong to the ruler.

The people did not belong to the ruler.

The throne itself did not belong to the ruler.

The ruler temporarily occupied a position created by generations before him and entrusted to generations after him.

That is why the concept of Omoluabi is so important.

An Omoluabi understands that character is greater than title.

Character is greater than wealth.

Character is greater than political influence.

Character is greater than protocol.

And character is greater than the throne itself.

Your Majesty, your greatest legacy will not be the number of people who bowed before you.

It will be the number of lives that became better because you occupied the throne.

It will be the young people you inspired.

The communities you protected.

The conflicts you prevented.

The traditions you preserved.

The injustice you confronted.

The truth you defended.

And the moral example you left behind.

Africa needs traditional rulers who can become moral anchors in a rapidly changing world.

We need palaces that become centers of wisdom.

We need rulers who understand modern economics without abandoning traditional ethics.

We need custodians who can speak to young people without speaking down to them.

We need leaders who can explain why tradition matters without turning tradition into a weapon against progress.

Tradition must not become an excuse for stagnation.

Neither should modernity become an excuse for cultural amnesia.

We need the wisdom of the past and the imagination of the future.

This is the bridge the traditional institution can provide.

Your Majesties, I therefore respectfully appeal to you:

Stand above partisan politics.

Stand against corruption.

Stand for the dignity of every citizen.

Stand for education.

Stand for the protection of children.

Stand for women and the vulnerable.

Stand for peaceful coexistence.

Stand for the preservation of our languages and cultural heritage.

Stand for truth.

Stand for character.

And stand for the restoration of the moral authority of the African traditional institution.

Do not allow the palace to become merely beautiful buildings surrounded by ceremonies.

Let the palace become a place where society can still hear a moral voice.

Let the throne once again represent responsibility.

Let the crown represent service.

Let the staff represent justice.

Let the palace represent wisdom.

And let the ruler represent the best values of the people.

The African child is watching.

The African youth is watching.

History is watching.

The generations yet unborn are watching.

May they look back and say that when Africa needed moral courage, her traditional rulers answered the call.

May they say that the throne was not surrendered to politics.

May they say that the crown remained a symbol of dignity.

May they say that the custodians of our heritage remembered that leadership was first and foremost a sacred trust.

To the Fathers and Mothers of Faith across our continent: custodians of the altar, the minaret and the sacred grove; shepherds of the flock and keepers of the spiritual conscience of our people,

I write to you with respect.

I write as an African.

I write as someone who believes that faith can be one of the most powerful forces for moral transformation in society.

But I also write with concern.

Africa is experiencing a deep moral crisis, and religious institutions cannot pretend that the crisis exists somewhere else.

Our continent has more churches, mosques, shrines and religious gatherings than ever before.

Yet corruption continues.

Violence continues.

Injustice continues.

Tribalism continues.

Extreme poverty continues.

Young people continue to lose hope.

Families continue to break down.

And political corruption continues to destroy institutions.

We must therefore ask ourselves an uncomfortable question:

What has happened to the moral authority of religion?

When religious institutions grow while society becomes more corrupt, something deserves examination.

When worship becomes louder while conscience becomes quieter, something is wrong.

When religious leaders become celebrities while ordinary people remain desperate, we must pause.

When the pulpit becomes a platform for political endorsement, financial accumulation or personal branding, we must ask whether we have forgotten the purpose of faith.

I call this the movement from countertop to conscience.

The countertop is where religion becomes a transaction.

Give this.

Receive that.

Pay this.

Receive a blessing.

Attend this programme.

Buy this material.

Make this offering.

But conscience asks a different question:

Who are you becoming?

Are you becoming honest?

Are you becoming compassionate?

Are you becoming just?

Are you becoming responsible?

Are you becoming an Omoluabi?

Religion must return to character.

Faith must return to conscience.

Worship must return to transformation.

My dear religious leaders, you have tremendous influence.

A single sermon can change the direction of a life.

A single word of courage can stop someone from giving up.

A single example of integrity can inspire an entire community.

But influence also creates responsibility.

When millions of people listen to you, your silence also becomes a message.

When corruption happens around you and you remain silent, people notice.

When injustice is committed and religious leaders choose political convenience over truth, people notice.

When the poor are exploited while the powerful receive special treatment, people notice.

The African people are not asking religious leaders to become politicians.

They are asking them to become moral leaders.

There is a difference.

Political neutrality does not require moral neutrality.

A religious leader can refuse to support a political party while still speaking clearly against corruption.

A religious leader can respect government while still challenging injustice.

A religious leader can preach peace while still defending truth.

Faith should never become a shelter for cowardice.

My appeal is therefore simple:

Teach character.

Teach responsibility.

Teach honesty.

Teach service.

Teach respect.

Teach discipline.

Teach compassion.

Teach young people that success without integrity is failure wearing expensive clothes.

Teach them that wealth is not proof of divine approval.

Teach them that poverty is not proof of divine rejection.

Teach them that human dignity cannot be measured by possessions.

Teach them that leadership is service.

Teach them that faith must produce character.

Africa does not need more religious competition.

Africa needs more moral cooperation.

The church, the mosque and the traditional spiritual institutions should be able to disagree theologically while cooperating ethically.

Can we agree that corruption is wrong?

Can we agree that killing innocent people is wrong?

Can we agree that stealing public resources is wrong?

Can we agree that abusing children is wrong?

Can we agree that humiliating the poor is wrong?

Can we agree that tribal hatred is destructive?

Can we agree that leaders must be accountable?

If we can agree on these things, then we have the beginning of a moral coalition.

Religious institutions possess enormous networks.

Imagine if those networks were intentionally mobilized for character education.

Imagine if every religious institution adopted a programme to teach young people integrity, civic responsibility, entrepreneurship, respect and service.

Imagine if religious leaders publicly refused to celebrate unexplained wealth.

Imagine if leaders asked powerful people difficult questions instead of simply welcoming their donations.

Imagine if religious institutions became examples of transparency themselves.

Imagine the transformation that could follow.

This is why I ask you to return from countertop to conscience.

Let the altar become a place where character is formed.

Let the mosque become a place where responsibility is cultivated.

Let the sacred grove remain a place where humanity remembers its relationship with creation.

Let every faith tradition teach its followers that the real evidence of spirituality is not merely what happens during worship, but what happens after worship.

If the worshipper leaves the sanctuary and becomes dishonest, what changed?

If the worshipper leaves the mosque and becomes unjust, what changed?

If the worshipper leaves the sacred grove and becomes destructive, what changed?

Faith must move from ceremony to character.

From words to works.

From performance to conscience.

From countertop to character.

Africa needs you.

Not merely as preachers.

Not merely as administrators.

Not merely as custodians of buildings.

But as guardians of conscience.

The future of Africa will not be determined only by politicians.

It will also be determined by what happens inside our homes, our schools, our religious institutions and our communities.

Religious leaders therefore have a historic opportunity.

Will you help Africa rediscover character?

Will you help us restore dignity to leadership?

Will you help our young people understand that being successful and being good are not enemies?

Will you help us build societies where integrity is respected rather than mocked?

Will you help us move from countertop to conscience?

The answer will shape generations.

This is not a letter only to the alumni of Government College Ibadan or International School Ibadan. It is addressed to everyone who has shared a classroom, a dormitory, a corridor, a playground, a meal, a struggle, a dream or a formative season of life with another person.

We all came from somewhere.

We all sat somewhere.

We all learned from somebody.

And whether we acknowledge it or not, the people and institutions that shaped us remain part of who we are.

Our alma mater was more than buildings.

It was more than classrooms.

It was more than examinations and certificates.

It was an environment that helped shape our understanding of discipline, responsibility, friendship, competition and service.

We were young.

We did not fully understand what we were receiving.

We did not know then that some of the friendships we formed would survive decades.

We did not know that some of the lessons we resisted would become lessons we would later appreciate.

We did not know that one day we would look back and understand that our education was not only about passing examinations.

It was about becoming human beings.

That is why I return to the idea of Omoluabi.

Omoluabi is about the person one becomes.

It is about character.

It is about responsibility.

It is about honouring the trust placed in us by those who came before us.

My classmates, colleagues and friends, we have all travelled different roads.

Some became doctors.

Some became lawyers.

Some became engineers.

Some became entrepreneurs.

Some entered government.

Some entered academia.

Some travelled outside Africa.

Some remained close to home.

Our paths became different, but our roots remain connected.

That connection carries a responsibility.

We have benefited from opportunities that many others never received.

We have had access to education.

We have had teachers.

We have had libraries.

We have had communities.

We have had the privilege of learning.

What have we done with that privilege?

This is the question I believe our generation must ask.

Not how successful we look.

Not how much money we have accumulated.

Not how impressive our titles have become.

But what have we contributed?

Who have we helped?

Who became better because we were present?

What did we leave behind?

Our alma mater gave us something.

Our teachers gave us something.

Our parents gave us something.

Our communities gave us something.

And now we have an opportunity to give something back.

Giving back does not always mean writing a cheque.

Sometimes it means mentoring.

Sometimes it means opening a door.

Sometimes it means recommending somebody.

Sometimes it means teaching a young person what we learned through experience.

Sometimes it means returning to the school and asking what is needed.

Sometimes it means simply showing up.

Our younger generation needs examples.

They need people who can tell them that success does not require the abandonment of character.

They need people who can demonstrate that ambition and integrity can coexist.

They need people who can show that education is not merely a pathway to personal wealth but also a responsibility to society.

This is the Omoluabi challenge.

Can we become people whose success benefits others?

Can we become people who remember where we came from?

Can we become people who use influence responsibly?

Can we become people who refuse to participate in corruption even when corruption is convenient?

Can we become people who defend the vulnerable?

Can we become people who tell the truth?

Can we become people worthy of the education we received?

My dear classmates and colleagues, time has taught us something our younger selves could not understand:

Life is temporary.

Titles are temporary.

Positions are temporary.

Money is temporary.

Recognition is temporary.

But character leaves a longer shadow.

People may forget what position we held.

They may forget the car we drove.

They may forget the house we built.

But they will remember how we treated them.

They will remember whether we helped or harmed.

They will remember whether we were fair.

They will remember whether we were dependable.

They will remember whether we were people of our word.

That is the legacy worth pursuing.

To our alma mater, I say thank you.

Thank you for the lessons.

Thank you for the discipline.

Thank you for the friendships.

Thank you for the memories.

Thank you for the teachers who demanded more from us than we sometimes thought we could give.

And to my classmates and colleagues, I say this:

Let us not wait for another generation to remind us who we are.

Let us remind ourselves.

Let us return to character.

Let us return to responsibility.

Let us return to service.

Let us become examples.

Let us make our alma mater proud not merely because of what we achieved, but because of what our achievements enabled us to give back.

We sat where they sit now.

We ate where they eat now.

We dreamed where they dream now.

And because someone invested in us, we had the opportunity to become who we are.

Now it is our turn.

Let us invest in those coming behind us.