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Amaechi Okobi

@amaechiokobi

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Live the life you love. Love the life you live.
El’s Husband. C&K’s Dad.

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Sweet mother, I no go forget you, for the suffer wey you suffer for me…”
Sing along if you know the words.

If you’re Nigerian and of a certain age, you know this song. Chances are, you can sing most of it without missing a beat.

It is a truly special song that has survived generations and manages to mean a little more the older I get. Even Tupac’s, ‘Dear Mama,’ doesn’t compare. Yes! Na me talk am.

As kids, we sang along, danced to it, and probably didn’t give much thought to the words. We were kids; what could we possibly know about the sacrifices our mothers made?

We were too busy being kids. Eating their food, spending their money, and in the case of the Okobi boys, testing their patience, and generally making their lives… well, interesting.

But age has a way of flipping things around. We get older, have children of our own, experience life’s ups and downs. And suddenly the lyrics take on a whole new meaning.

We begin to understand the sleepless nights, the worrying, the prayers, the sacrifices. The things she did that we saw, and so many we never even knew about. But that’s not the story. Well it sort of is.

Today is my mother’s birthday.
That’s Maman in the middle, surrounded by yours truly, El, and my sister (ofunne ofunna) Adaobi.

After all these years, I still have my Sweet Mother. I can still sit with her, laugh with her, tease her, and listen to her stories.

I can still celebrate her birthday with her.
And that is a privilege I don’t take lightly. Chukwu dalu.

When you’re young, Sweet Mother is just a beautiful song. But as you get older, it becomes a reminder. To appreciate her while she’s here. To make the time. To take the pictures and videos. To create the memories. To cherish her.

Happy birthday, Sweet Maman.
Thank you for everything.

May God continue to bless you… today, tomorrow… always.

Good health, happiness, peace, and many more beautiful years are yours in the name of Jesus… Amen. ❤️ by @amaechiokobi

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12 hours ago

Serendipity is such an awesome concept.
You’re going about your business, looking for nothing in particular, and one day, just like that, life hands you a lovely surprise.

Listen to this and tell me what you think…

I was at my Uncle Martin’s Requiem Mass a couple of days ago. It was wonderful seeing folks I hadn’t seen in years, even though the occasion was a sad one.

There were tears, hugs, the usual attempts to catch up on several years in a few minutes of conversation, and the mind-blowing realization that children you knew from way back are now parents.

It was a beautiful Mass. Sombre, but comforting to see how many people had come to say goodbye to my uncle. But that’s not the story.

As we slowly headed out after Mass, in the midst of hellos and goodbyes, this guy looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’re Amaechi Okobi.” Okaaaay!

I shook his hand and smiled the awkward smile reserved for moments like this. The smile that buys me time as I shuffle through my memory trying to figure out who the mystery person is.

Me: I’m sorry, please remind me…
MP: I’m the street artist.
Me: You have to give me a little more.
MP: You did a post about my art.

Chimooo! The blue wall! The painting I found on that hot Saturday walk. He had DMed me after my post and we’d been chatting. I just didn’t connect the face.

It could’ve been being in church, the emotions of saying goodbye to my uncle or simply the surprise, but I grabbed him in a huge bear hug. Poor guy; he only came to introduce himself. But I’m a hugger.

Then we got talking. He knew Uncle Martin, of course. But, get this… He. Knew. My. Father. Had actually come to my old house to visit Dad, who was staying with me while he was ill and my parents’ home was being renovated for wheelchair access. Small world.

I kept thinking about that walk and the painting. Something about it stopped me in my tracks. Now here we were, barely four days later, meeting the artist and talking about my father.

#Serendipity? Providence? Who knows?
What I know is that meeting @addie.mak felt like a sign. At this point, we’ve gone past “shoulda, woulda, coulda;” I definitely want his work on my wall.

#artlovers by @amaechiokobi

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2 days ago

I met Okiki (short for Okikiola) six years ago today. I’m guessing she was two or three years old at the time. She was adorable and excited to be out. She came out with her mother and grandmother to be a part of something phenomenal.

When I asked both mothers why they brought Okiki to the protest, the answer was simple and urgent. “All these people are protesting for Nigeria’s future. For a better Nigeria. I wanted her to be a part of history.” But that’s not the story.

As I walked home from work through the crowd of beautiful young Nigerians intent on having their voices heard... intent on changing Nigeria, I was struck by a melange of sights, sounds and smells. Pink mohawks. Purple beards. Sequined trousers. Intricate tattoos. Tie-dyed tee shirts. Multiple piercings. A saxophonist on rollerblades. People singing. Others dancing. A dreadlocked guitarist. A solar-powered device-charging spot. Suya.

The boxes that said young, irreverent, unique, awesome, creative, dynamic, adventurous, bold, and ingenious were ticked many times over.

That notwithstanding, nothing hit me quite like the sight of some of the participants of the protest who had made it their business to pick up trash. Swipe left.

They were not singing, dancing, chanting or waving banners but they were very, very involved. I asked one, why he had decided to pick up trash, he responded with a smile: This is my contribution to the cause. They think we’re lazy, unruly and useless. I need to prove them wrong.

#nigeria #fridayflashback by @amaechiokobi

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4 days ago

That day’s meeting was special/emotional. One of our new members gave her first speech ‘The Ice Breaker.’

Now you hear about people that fear public speaking but you never really get to see it in real life. The fear that literally paralyses.

This speaker had been at the lectern for barely five seconds when she froze. No words. Hands trembling. Entire body quivering. You’ve heard the expression, ‘sweating bullets,’ right? That was happening too.

Everything I saw screamed panic attack. When she did speak, all that came out was a strangled, barely audible, “I can’t speak.”

The magic of @eagletoastmasters shone for the next couple of minutes. The audience (members and guests) broke into raucous applause and words of encouragement. “You’re doing great.” “You’ve got this.” etc.

Next, the President, @kejisanni got up and stood by her. Asking questions. Guiding her along. Encouraging her. Figuratively and literally holding her hand.

All the while the audience kept applauding and supporting her through this her first (most terrifying) speech.

She eventually found her voice and did not even notice when Keji returned to her seat. She got through her speech and at the end got a 15-second ovation. Yes, I counted.

Why am I telling you all this? Why is this post the length of a bible? It has been said that at a funeral, most people would rather be in the coffin than at the lectern giving a eulogy. Insane exaggeration - I know. You get the message, though. Not too many people like public speaking. I’m a stutterer, so you know I’m not a fan.

Okay, back to our girl. I was so happy for and proud of this woman that day. Though petrified, this first-time speaker stood her ground. SHE DID NOT BOLT FROM THE ROOM. She did not dissolve into a pool of tears. It was beautiful. But that’s not the story.

Her name is Odinaka and it was 14 years ago, today. Wherever she is, I know she is still speaking, communicating and sharing.

If you are still reading and have even a small desire to communicate more effectively, to conquer your fear, I strongly recommend Toastmasters. Trust me; you’ll be glad you did.

#publicspeaking #findyourvoice #communication #toastmasters by @amaechiokobi

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6 days ago

Someone recently asked me if I ever had hair. Hisssss… The audacity of some people.

You know yourself. This one is for you. Evidence. Granted, it’s a shot from a while back when things were a little different from what they are today.

Let’s stay focused, though, that was quite a respectable head of hair, if I do say so myself. Where it all went is a mystery I’m still investigating. But that’s not the story.

I have a question.
Imagine you could travel back in time. Any year. Any place. And you could take everything you know today with you. Where would you go? When would you go? Importantly, what would you do?

Before you rush and say something about buying up Facebook shares or Bitcoin, think about this one a little.

You could change a decision that still keeps you awake at night. Or spend one more day with someone you miss.

No rules. No limits. Just one trip.

What year are you going back to, and what’s the FIRST thing you’re doing when you get there?

#Flashback by @amaechiokobi

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9 days ago

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12 days ago

This is Ogbueshi Ikemefuna Michael Okobi. He was my paternal grandfather (my Daddy’s daddy), and the reason behind my middle name. But that’s not the story.

Exactly 59 years ago today, during the darkest, most horrific days of Nigerian history, he was brutally murdered, along with more than 700 men and boys (some as young as 12 years old). He was not a combatant. He was not armed. Eye witnesses and survivors of that incredible event say that many of the people who were slaughtered were chanting ‘One Nigeria! One Nigeria!’ before they were killed. So I don’t understand.

Only God knows why October 7, 1967 turned out the way it did. And why in 2026, there has still been no accounting for this atrocity. No acknowledgment. No apology. No atonement. Only God knows.

For a very long time, I didn’t know much about my grandfather because a sadness always clouded my father’s face whenever I asked, and I would end up having to make do with, “He was killed during the war.” As time went on and I got older, Dad started to open up about Ogbueshi Ikemefuna Michael Okobi - my grandfather. Little snippets about who he was.

It certainly would have been a privilege to meet him. There is still so much pain in the hearts of those who lost loved ones on that fateful day. I pray God heals my beloved country, Nigeria and forgives our sins. I pray that we the people find the strength to forgive, but never forget - lest we repeat ourselves.

I pray that something like this never happens again. I pray that the souls of the fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters who tragically lost their lives during the Asaba Massacre of October 7, 1967 rest in perfect Peace.

Grandpa, I’m sorry you were snatched away from your wife and children. I’m sorry you never got to meet my mother. I’m sorry you did not get to meet your grandchildren (my siblings and I are a pretty cool bunch). I’m sorry for your pain all those years ago. I love you and will never forget. Rest in Peace.

#asaba #nigeria #onenigeria #ozoemena #love by @amaechiokobi

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13 days ago

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15 days ago

As you know, Saturdays are for lying in and dancing a little longer.

The target for today’s walk was 10 kays. A little more than my usual because, well… Saturday.

At the end of my walk, I slowed my pace considerably. Partly because I was cooling down. Mostly because today was HOT. Dubai in August hot. So I ended up with a little over 8 kays. But that’s not the story.

I want you to look at this guy.
I walked past him at first. Then stopped. Had to walk back and look again. And take the picture.

There was something about him.
The simplicity. The almost childlike quality of the drawing. For some reason, my mind went straight to Keith Haring.

Back in the 80s, Haring started drawing with chalk on empty black advertising panels in the New York subway. Simple figures. Simple lines. Graffiti, essentially. His drawings disappeared when the advertising spaces were replaced.

Thousands of New Yorkers walked past his work without giving a second thought. Without realizing the Keith Haring would be… Keith Haring.

That’s the background.
Now look at this piece again.

I have no idea who painted it. Could be a kid. Could be an established artist having fun. Could be someone who has never sold a painting in his (or her) life.

I want to find out. And if whoever painted this has work on canvas, I want one.

I might be completely wrong, mind you. Maybe there is nothing here beyond a quirky painting on a blue wall that caught my eye at the end of a very hot 8 kay walk.

But what if I’m not?

Every once in a while, whether by luck, or the grace of God, you notice something before everybody else does. This could be such a moment.

Ten years from now, I don’t want to be the guy pointing at a piece in a gallery saying, “You know, I once saw his work on a wall in Lagos many moons ago…”

Sorrowfully saying, “I Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda...”

So… dear Lagosians, who painted this?

#saturday #artlovers taken in Lekki Phase 1, Lekki, Lagos by @amaechiokobi

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16 days ago

This is my sister Adaobi (@adaobikoniwinde).

I can’t imagine what my childhood would have been like without her in it. And now that we are grownups (how on earth did that happen?), I can’t imagine adulthood without her either.

She was my first friend, which also makes her my oldest friend. She was there before jobs, responsibilities, children and all the complicated stuff that comes with being grown. But that’s not the story.

Actually, today it is.

Today is Adaobi’s birthday. And for once, the story is entirely about her.

Happy birthday, Sis. I love you forever. ❤️❤️

#happybirthday #ofunneofunna by @amaechiokobi

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