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Ayomide Olabisi

@saar_haywhy

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Creative writer || Freelance writer || Movie Director || Video Editor || Script Writer || #GGMU || Son of the Greatest King || 2 Cor 5:20

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Some songs are easy to sing and hard to live out. 🎶

We open our mouths on a Sunday, and the words travel further than the room. They end up in prayers, in decisions, and in the kind of people we become. Nobody tells you that while you’re humming along with your eyes closed.

So this isn’t a post about one song or one service. It’s a reminder to listen to what you’re agreeing to when everyone else is singing it too.

Next time, ask yourself before you join in: do I mean this? 🙏🏾

If a song ever caught you off guard, tell me which one and how it came back to meet you. I read every comment. 💬

Share this with someone who sings loud and means it. 🤍

#SundayService #ChurchLife #ChoirLife #WorshipSongs #FaithReflection ChristianCommunity SpokenWord SaarHaywhy by @saar_haywhy

Before the drug, there was a child.

Not an addict. Not a criminal. Not a disappointment. Just a child who, somewhere along the way, stopped being seen.

This is "Before the Drug". A spoken word piece I ministered at @sheynormalrehab 1st Anniversary Conference, themed "No One Is Too Far Gone." It's about what happens before the addiction which is, the rejection, the loneliness, and the wounds nobody dressed. Sometimes the thing destroying you introduces itself as the thing saving you.

Grateful beyond words to Rev'd Dr. Israel Olusegun Ayuba and the Sheynormal Initiative family for trusting me with this stage and for the restoration work they do every single day. 🙏🏾

#BeforeTheDrug #SpokenWordPoetry #NoOneIsTooFarGone #YorubaSpokenWord #FaithAndHealing #AddictionAwareness #SheynormalInitiative #NigerianPoet by @saar_haywhy

It started with a post.

@121selah asked people to send in their piece on the theme of home, and something in me just opened. Prior to seeing the post, their song Home had already been on repeat, bringing back a lot of reminders of things I had quietly packed away. The distance. The voices I don't hear enough. The laughter that used to fill a house I no longer live in.

And somewhere in that reminiscing, this poem found its way out.

I grew up in the remote parts, half-understanding the language the elders spoke. They would gather in the cool of the evening and say things in Yoruba so thick and seasoned it felt like the words had roots. One proverb kept coming back to me as I wrote,

Ajo o le da bi ile.

No place can be like home.

I used to think they meant the building. The compound. The roof over your head. But home, I have come to understand, is not a place you live in. It is a person who challenges you. A sibling who asks, "Am I your mate?" with five years between you and not a single ounce of respect for the gap. It is a laugh so specific that no outsider could ever quite understand why it was funny. It is the language you half-speak but fully feel.

Now I live in a house with my wife and children. And slowly, quietly, without me announcing it, that house has become the home I find myself aching to return to at the end of every day.

That is the bond age. Not bondage, no! The age of bonding. The years that turn a place into something you carry.

I wrote this for the ones far from family. For the ones building something new while quietly missing something old. For anyone who has ever felt homesickness not in their feet but in their chest.

Swipe through. Let it sit with you.

And if you have a piece of home you've been holding, I'd love to hear it in the comments.

💝 & 💡

— Saar haywhy by @saar_haywhy

Sometimes, we all have conversations in our minds about situations happening around us. Some of those thoughts become words. Some remain memories. Some we try to bury and move on from.

For me, one of those thoughts has been the Ogbomoso kidnapping.

It hit me harder than I expected.

There was a time when the norm was for children to wait at the gate asking,
*”Daddy, where are you?”*
*”Mummy, when are you coming home?”*

Today, the question seems to have changed.

Now it is:
*”Child, where are you?”*

A painful twist in a story none of us signed up for.

Sometimes it feels like Nigeria is acting out a movie titled *Call of My Life*. Not the romantic comedy kind that leaves you smiling at the end, but a tragic series with new episodes every day and no end credits in sight.

The saddest part is that we are gradually becoming accustomed to headlines that should shake us to our core.

But we cannot keep going this way.

We cannot normalize fear.
We cannot normalize missing children.
We cannot normalize uncertainty.

So once again, I ask:

Children, where are you? by @saar_haywhy

As Youth Week comes to an end, I thought I’d share a little story behind this spoken word piece that was infused into our drama presentation.

The idea started from a simple reflection on our journey. From Children’s Church, to the Teenagers’ Class, and now the Youth Ministry, we’ve all gone through different stages of learning, growth, and training. But one thing became clear as I prepared for this presentation: everything we’ve been taught isn’t meant to stay within the four walls of the church. It is meant to impact the world around us.

That was the picture we wanted to paint.

Initially, the plan was to perform a spoken word piece over a beat, similar to Jaymikee’s”Eru Jeje”. But somewhere along the process, the entire concept began to evolve.

During the Ushering In program organized by Lagos West Baptist Conference Youth @lagoswestbaptist.youth , something clicked. The ministrations, the atmosphere of worship, and the messages shared all seemed to connect with thoughts that had already been stirring in my heart.

Around the same time, I found myself constantly praying and singing along to I Have Escaped by Lawrence Oyor, and the theme, Altars kept taking the central page of the youth week theme which was Explore.

Before I knew it, the original idea had taken a completely different direction.

What you’ll see is not just a spoken word or a drama presentation. It’s a reflection of growth, discipleship, encounters, and the realization that our training is ultimately for the people outside the church walls who need to experience Christ and we have all that is needed.

Thank you for following our Youth Week journey. I genuinely hope this piece blesses you as much as it blessed us while putting it together.

Enjoy. ❤️

In need of the piece, you can request and I’ll send it to you. by @saar_haywhy

I’ve been holding back from posting this piece for a while now. Not because I didn’t believe in it, but because I kept questioning how best to present it.

I wondered if it should come in English or pidgin, whether it would connect more as a video or a carousel. In the middle of trying to get everything perfect, the moment I initially planned to post it passed quietly.

But even after that, the piece stayed with me.

The idea came while I was thinking about content for Mother’s Day in church. Somewhere in that process, a spark came to me instead of focusing only on the strength people usually associate with mothers, why not also tell the stories of their pain, sacrifices, weaknesses, and silent battles?

Then I thought about adding a touch of Nigerian identity to it, reflecting the culture, emotions, and realities we grew up around.

That was how this piece was born.

What surprised me most while writing was how connected I felt to every character in the poem. It didn’t feel like I was simply creating stories; it felt like I knew these women personally. Their experiences felt familiar, almost like reflections of mothers we see every day around us.

So this is my own contribution to the Mother’s Day art and stories that have filled the timeline already.

And to every mother still sacrificing, still praying, still pushing through despite everything,

when it is finally time for you to reap the fruit of your labour, the traffic light no go turn red ooooooooo ❤️

#mothersday #happymothersday❤️ #mymothermymodel #poetry by @saar_haywhy

It’s been a while, yeah…
And one of the promises I made to myself this year
was to write more with a series of topics already sitting patiently in my notepad.

Truth is, this piece was the last thing on my mind to write about. Probably till November during the world singles day.

But then, weeks back, a friend of mine posted on her status
“I will marry right. I will not miss it.”
And another one posted a meme that says,
“Love is not good… stay wicked.”

Two different confessions.
Same quiet longing behind them.

I get that we all have our experiences.
Because loving… truly loving… means becoming vulnerable,
seen, and known.

From silent hearts to tired marriages, hopeful dreams to missed chances.

We’re all just learning how to hold something this precious
without breaking it.

Because at its core, love is not a burden to manage. it is a gift to nurture.

Falling in love is a gift, so handle with care.

And beyond the kind of love that fails us, there is one that doesn’t.

God’s love.

Steady.
Unchanging.
Not based on how close you are
or how far you’ve gone.

Just… accept it.

Because even when human love confuses us,
divine love remains true.

And maybe that’s where we start again. by @saar_haywhy

Some days, surviving is the bravest thing you do. Nobody talks about the days where looking put together. Your outfit is right, your shoes are shining, your smile is ready on cue… but inside, there’s nothing. Just a quiet, stretching emptiness you can’t quite explain. And somehow, even as a Christian, it feels confusing to admit that everything doesn’t always feel like light or clarity. Some days, it feels like fog (thick, quiet, disorienting fog). The kind that makes you second-guess your steps, even when you’re sure of where you’re going.
So you move carefully. Almost mechanically. Like someone walking along the edge of a cliff fully aware that one wrong step could take you somewhere you never intended to go. You’re present, but not fully there. Functioning, but not fully alive in the moment.
There are days when laughter feels like a costume you wear just to get through conversations. Days when you sit at a table full of people (friends, family, colleagues, lover) and still feel deeply, painfully alone. Not because people aren’t around you, but because something deeper is missing. And that’s the part no one really prepares you for in the human experience:
People can sit with you at the table, but they cannot fill the seat that was always meant for God.
It’s a hard truth, especially when you’ve tried. When you’ve opened yourself to people, to moments, to experiences. When kindness finds you in unexpected ways, and for a brief second, you think, “Maybe this will fix it.” But somehow… it doesn’t reach that place. It doesn’t settle the unrest. It doesn’t quiet the void.
We perform. We push through. We pretend the fog isn't thick. But behind closed doors, at the end of the night, it's just you, the silence, and a quiet prayer that somebody bigger than your pain is listening. And guess what?
"God, help me" hits different when nothing else has worked. When you’ve exhausted your options. When you’ve tried to fill the space with everything you thought might be enough. It’s no longer about sounding spiritual. It’s about being real. Because deep down, you’re realizing something important, something that shifts everything.
Some voids aren't meant to be filled by people, by @saar_haywhy

On a random day a few weeks ago. one of those days that looks innocent on the calendar but comes with hidden emotions. I went through my daily activities with my heart doing too much but on a lowkey waiting for me to fall on my bed before it starts to unwind. Not broken. Not healed either. Just confused. My mind had too many tabs open and no idea which one was making the noise.
I found myself missing people. Deeply. Unexpectedly. The kind of missing that doesn’t announce itself but sits quietly beside you. Missing family, friends, loved ones (both living and dead). I missed childhood friends too, and honestly, whoever created the slogan “20 kids can’t play together for 20 years” clearly knew what they were doing, because life took that quote personally and I really want to give them a bombastic side eyes.

At first, it felt like I was about to write a heartbreak piece. The type that looks dramatic, heavy, almost begging for sad background music. But halfway through the feeling, I realized it wasn’t heartbreak. Heartbreak became heartbroken. This one whispered. It was the quiet ache of absence. The kind that comes from realizing that some people didn’t leave because they wanted to… life just happened. Some drifted. Some became strangers. Some left this world entirely. And the irony? We often don’t realize how deeply we’re attached until they’re no longer within reach.

It felt like being engrossed in a book, chapter after chapter, page after page, so absorbed that you forget to look up. Then one day, the book ends. Suddenly, you want to reread the lines, underline the words, cherish the moments you rushed through. But the pages are closed. And all you’re left with is silence.

For some people, we become strangers. For others, we clock the pain together, pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. The truth is, we all have someone occupying a space in our space. A reserved seat in our hearts. Someone we think of randomly. Someone we want to call. Someone we almost text. And one day, we finally ask the question: “Where are you?” by @saar_haywhy

I hope I didn’t come late to the event. At this point, I don’t have the energy to say anything. I’m just here showing up because a friend challenged me and I just didn’t want to fail.

The intended spoken word is now a voice over. I hope it blesses you.

Ps: I might come here later to change the caption or I just leave it.

#nogreaterlove #thisisredemption #unendinggrace #christmas #voiceover by @saar_haywhy

I recently had a conversation with a close friend, and we talked about how easy it is to forget the things we truly love while chasing excellence at work. Somewhere along the way, passion gets replaced by pressure.

That conversation stirred something in me. I remembered how much I loved video editing, and I found myself revisiting the creative projects I worked on during my service year. As I scrolled through them, I laughed, smiled, and felt a quiet sense of joy. Those little works, as simple as they were, meant more to me than I realized.

In the process, I stumbled on a short video clip I made for my grandmother after she passed away. As a young man with little to contribute to her burial preparations, I asked myself a simple but heavy question: What can I do for her?

All I wanted was to sit with her in the kitchen one more time and watch her cook my favourite meal. The one she always made better than anyone else. That meal carried her signature, her love, her presence. Since I couldn’t relive that moment, I chose to preserve the memory the only way I knew how which is through video.

I may not have captured it perfectly, but it taught me valuable lessons. Looking back, there are things I wish I had done differently:
• Create a clear storyboard to guide the narrative
• Record short interviews with the children talking about Grandma because, truth speaks loudest in moments of quiet reflection, and you can see the heart clearly then

Unfortunately, I couldn’t complete the edit as planned. My system developed faults, and the one I borrowed lacked the capacity to render the project properly. Still, the process taught me something important. No matter the challenge, when your heart is fully set on something, you will find your way through it.

That experience reaffirmed my love for storytelling. It awakened a desire in me to create documentary clips and, eventually, edit short films.
Just as the editor of this write-up said, I will also quote,

“Creativity isn’t something we lose; it’s something we return to.”

Behind The Scene: I was sober editing the video and that also added to the late delivery. by @saar_haywhy

#Thursday_tales

_Note: Read this with the tone of a southeastern _

Every cool evening, you’ll always see papa clapping his hands to the rhythm his mouth is producing as his lips opens and closes to say “ta, ah, ah , ah, finish” as he teaches his music students the tones we have starting from semi tone, tone, crotchet, etc.

Even from his sleep, Papa knows when Ay who secretly goes to play the keyboard instead of doing his assignment plays the wrong note.

Papa can hear from the gate all the arpeggio, staccato as a means of running away from sight reading.

Papa encourages and that’s why he would teach you with his book that he has tested and called Play Keyboard in 4 weeks, book 1 and book 2.

Papa watches and see that your voice stays in good shape and monitors to see you don’t take cold drinks.

Papa is also friendly that he reminds me of my off key singing of the hymn When we walk With the Lord, 😂😂😂 which is why I laugh anytime we are about to sing that hymn.

And today I saw Papa most loved instrument which took me down the memory lane of playing classical musics and all. by @saar_haywhy