The Day I Died

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By Oluwaseyi Ige

The Day I Died

I collapsed and passed out in my hostel one day. I believed I died that day.
Okay, maybe not die. Maybe I just fainted.

I remember the events clearly.
It happened at Nancyretta Hall, a 12-room hostel in Iworoko Ekiti, the nearest town to the university where I was studying Microbiology. I shared a room with Bro Bayo, my fellowship president. I was the Secretary General of the fellowship.

There I met two brothers, Tunde and Toyin. I had known Toyin back in secondary school. We were not close then, but meeting again in this hostel brought us closer. Many times, I crashed in their room.

Tunde was an ardent follower of Bishop Oyedepo. He prayed in tongues and studied the Bible daily. He was never shy about his Christian lifestyle, and I enjoyed our long discussions about scripture. Toyin, on the other hand, was the vibe. A smooth talker, suave, a good Scrabble player, brilliant and funny. I loved his aura. Their room naturally became my second room.

One of those days, I fell seriously ill. Too weak to do anything, I just lay in their room, waiting for the drugs I had taken to start working. But wellness was a distant dream. Instead, I drifted in and out of hazy consciousness, waking up drenched in sweat and feeling completely uncomfortable.

By evening, the hostel was quiet. I wasn’t aware of anyone else in the hostel. Dusk had set in. Then my stomach began to churn, painfully and persistently. From experience, I knew that when that happened, I needed to get to the loo quickly and ‘drop a few things’ , literally.

Summoning all the strength I had left, I got up and headed for the pit toilet outside, beside the bathroom. I made it as far as the door, opened it, and stepped out of the room. That was the last thing I remembered before everything went dark.

When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on the floor in the passage, alone in the darkness. I didn’t know how long I was on that floor, helpless. The cat was out of the bag. The ‘few things’ I had been trying to hold back were already in my briefs. I could feel the wetness. I pulled myself together and staggered to the toilet and bathroom. I don’t even remember how I got cleaned up and made it back to the room, but I remember the prayer I prayed when I returned.

I told God, “If you heal me, I will serve you with all my life.”

At that moment, I felt my spirit leaving my body. I realized how close I had come to death. I was afraid I might not live to see the next day. I told God I didn’t want to die, and I dedicated my life to Him. I needed healing, and I traded my most valuable asset – my life, for it.

At that point, I became dead. I felt my life was over, and that He was now in charge. Of course, I got healed. So maybe the deal went through.

But then again, that was not the first time I had said that prayer. I had pledged my life to God many times before and after that day. Whenever I ran out of words to say to Him, I would give my life again. Sometimes when I hear a touching sermon, I’ll give Him my life again.

I don’t exactly remember the date of the day I “died” on that floor in Nancyretta Hall, but I know that from that day, “I” ceased to exist.

I also know that my life isn’t mine. It has never been. The first time I consciously gave myself to God and became born again was when I was about nine years old (though I took it back several times in my teenage years). I grew up with the consciousness that every life belongs to God. The understanding is from the breath that made a clay form become a living being.

In truth, I had been offered long before I took my first breath. The one who carried the seed told me so. She had used Hannah’s formula.

Now, this is my reflection in my forty-fifth year. Looking back, I can see that everything that has happened has been by divine design, even though I didn’t fully understand it earlier. The journey only makes sense now when I view it through the lens of purpose. All the ups and downs, the highs and lows, and everything in between have been for a reason. This life is not ordinary. It is a “given” life.

Often, we try to find ourselves, to figure out what is really happening. Sometimes the mathematics does not add up, especially when reality fails to match our expectations and dreams.

Yet I encourage you to find strength and consolation in this, because it was the truth that lifted me: we may not look like the journey, and we may not even be able to explain how we got here, but if we see things through the lens of God’s grand plan, we will find the satisfaction that keeps us steady and focused on what truly matters.
And that is all that matter.

I am grateful, as always, to have come this far. And as for the journey ahead, I will be honest—I do not have all the answers, but I know the direction, and I am determined to stay on course.

I celebrate the days past, but I am even more excited about the days ahead.

Yes, the “I” has died, and I’ll rather he stays that way, so that I can live forever!

Showing up: The Media Practitioner’s Secret Weapon

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In the fast-paced world of media, whether you’re a budding intern, a young on-air personality, a seasoned producer, or a veteran broadcaster, being reliable isn’t just a soft skill; it’s a professional currency.

For media practitioners, particularly those in radio, reliability often separates the forgettable from the unforgettable, the mediocre from the memorable, and the hired from the promoted.

Reliability means being consistent, dependable, and trustworthy in delivering your duties on air or behind the scenes. It means showing up on time for your shift. It means  preparing thoroughly for interviews. It also means ensuring that the microphone comes on before the theme music fades out. It’s understanding your role and giving it your best every time the red light turns on.



Renowned Nigerian broadcaster, Bimbo Oloyede once remarked, “Credibility in broadcasting isn’t just what you say, it’s how often and how dependably you show up to say it. Listeners may forget a story, but they never forget the person who’s always there to tell it.” For an up-and-coming media practitioner, this kind of dependability earns you trust quickly. When producers, team leads, or station managers can count on you, you’re given more responsibility and, eventually, more visibility.

American radio legend Larry King once said, “I never learned anything while I was talking. But I never got a chance to talk if I didn’t show up prepared.” In an industry built on deadlines and live moments, your ability to consistently deliver without excuses becomes a reason you’re remembered and recommended.

For the established broadcaster, reliability becomes your staying power. Audiences may come for your style, but they stay for your consistency. Being known as someone who always brings their best to every show, every segment and every script cements your legacy and keeps your voice relevant in an evolving media space. One striking example is Nigeria’s Frank Edoho of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, whose professionalism and consistent delivery over several seasons made him not just a host but a household name. Behind his calm demeanor was a reputation for never missing a script review or a technical run-through.

Media, like every other creative industry, has its glamours. The lights, social recognition, public admiration and so on. But beneath the glitz is a relentless grind. Only those who pair creativity with consistency grow long-term. Being talented is good. Being reliable and talented is unstoppable. Reliable media professionals find themselves first in line for promotions, collaborations, syndications, and leadership roles. Supervisors remember the ones they didn’t have to chase. Media houses invest in people they can trust.

The late veteran broadcaster Stella Bassey once told young interns at Radio Nigeria, “The best voice is useless if it’s not available when needed. Be there when it counts. That’s how careers are made.” In the current  freelance-heavy and contract-driven media economy, this trait becomes even more critical. A reputation for reliability is often the reason clients return, events get rebooked, and referrals keep coming in.

In radio programming, the audience doesn’t just listen, they form habits. A listener tunes in at 6:00 a.m. every day because they expect to hear your voice or that familiar signature opening. Sometimes they repeat it verbatim on those rare occasions when they meet you in person. Once a bond is built, it becomes fragile and must be guarded. An unreliable presenter is one who frequently misses slots, comes unprepared, or delivers haphazard content. That presenter risks breaking that bond. And in today’s digital world, once a listener drifts, they may never return.

Reliability communicates respect: for your audience, your profession, and your platform.
The best radio stations retain listeners not just through content, but through consistency. When every part of the station’s clockwork ticks in harmony, like having the news at the top of the hour, music beds rolling seamlessly, traffic updates timely and programmes coming up on schedule, listeners are more likely to stay tuned. And behind this orchestration are reliable media practitioners, ensuring everything runs smoothly.

British broadcaster and former BBC radio host Simon Mayo once noted, “A presenter’s greatest compliment is when a listener says, ‘I feel like I know you.’ That only happens when you’re reliably part of their daily life.”


Radio stations have built cult-like followings around presenters whose punctuality, planning, and passion made their slots the most anticipated of the day.

Good programming is like good storytelling: it requires planning, pacing, and timing. A reliable practitioner understands that each segment, each ad break, and each transition plays into a larger narrative the station is building for the day. When team members can rely on one another to do their parts, maybe research, bookings, editing, scheduling and other little but important details, the station functions as one seamless unit. Unreliable personnel break this rhythm, forcing others to overcompensate and reducing overall show quality.

In creative brainstorms, reliability also manifests in following through with ideas. The person who not only suggests but implements, tests, and refines is the one who leads innovation. Channels TV’s stronghold on Nigerian news broadcasting, for instance, wasn’t just built on style or budget, it was driven by a culture of showing up and delivering every hour, on the hour, day after day.

In a media industry filled with noise, reliability is a quiet but powerful voice that sets you apart. It builds your credibility, strengthens your brand, and anchors your growth. For radio in particular, it ensures your listeners return, your team thrives, and your programming remains impactful.

Whether you’re just finding your voice or have been on air for years, let reliability be your trademark. Talent may open the door, but reliability keeps you in the room. Let the red light find you ready every time.


Oluwaseyi Ige is a seasoned multi-disciplinary  media professional.
He’s currently the General Manager at Ebi Nla Radio 102.3 FM, Ado Ekiti.

The Silent Backbone: Africa’s Unsung Workforce Deserves Recognition

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By Oluwaseyi Ige

They don’t trend on social media. They don’t speak at conferences. They’re not the faces in campaign posters or corporate profiles. But without them, Africa’s cities would stall, public offices would freeze, and homes would fall apart.

From cleaners in Marrakesh restrooms to transporters in Maputo weaving through chaotic traffic, millions of Africans are working jobs they never dreamed of. Not by passion, but by necessity. And yet, they show up—day after day—to keep the continent moving.

According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), over 85% of sub-Saharan Africa’s workforce is informal or employed in low-income, low-productivity jobs. These are positions often dismissed as “ordinary”—yet include indispensable roles such as lab technicians running blood tests in under-resourced hospitals, security guards patrolling school gates, cooks in roadside restaurants, and taxi drivers navigating cities with little protection or pay.

In Nigeria alone, the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reports that more than 20 million people are engaged in “elementary occupations.” These include office assistants, cleaners, market porters, and Okada riders. The country’s education sector is no exception—public and private school teachers often earn below-average wages while shouldering the nation’s hope for an educated future. And in the sports industry, behind every celebrated athlete is a team of groundskeepers, local coaches, jersey washers, and trainers, these workers who ensure whatever is needed is done so that our stadiums function and games go on, yet rarely get a mention.

Their contributions are immense, but society treats them as invisible.

The common narrative often celebrates tech entrepreneurs, reformist politicians, and elite professionals. But what of the woman who prepares 200 plates of rice daily at her roadside buka? What of the young man who teaches 60 pupils in an overcrowded classroom with no electricity? Or the lab assistant in a rural clinic working overtime with outdated equipment?

Many ended up in these roles not by choice, but because life gave them few alternatives. Some were derailed by poor or no early education. Others found themselves in bad marriages, had kids too early out of wedlock, or trapped in the consequences of prior decisions. A few are victims of policy gaps and poor governance. “In Africa, opportunity is not just unequal—it is rationed,” said the late Malawian scholar Thandika Mkandawire, whose work on African development highlighted how systemic barriers shape personal destinies.

Aisha, 43, cleans offices in Victoria Island, Lagos. She has done so for over a decade. “I wanted to be a nurse,” she says, “but I had to drop out when my father died. This job is not what I planned, but it keeps my children in school.” Like millions across the continent, Aisha doesn’t live her dream, but she works to keep others’ dreams alive.

According to a 2024 World Economic Forum (WEF) briefing on Africa’s labor future, economies must begin to “recognize the dignity of labor at every level” to foster inclusive development. Without such recognition, we risk building fragile societies propped on invisible suffering.

And the implications extend beyond the workplace. A UNICEF report warns that children from households in low-income and insecure jobs are more likely to suffer poor nutrition, drop out of school, or be forced into child labor themselves, perpetuating the cycle of disadvantage.

Africa’s youth, which is over 70% of the population, is vibrant, aspirational, and talented. But many of them are stuck in what Harvard professor Dani Rodrik calls “premature economic stagnation,” where the formal job market cannot absorb the growing labor force. While tech hubs and innovation clusters are celebrated, the average worker—without access to advanced education or elite networks—remains stranded in survival mode.

Still, they persist. With quiet dignity. With enduring strength. And often, with little thanks.

To quote Nigerian academic and satirist Pius Adesanmi (of blessed memory), “In Africa, to be ordinary is to be heroic.” In that sense, the overlooked workers like the cooks, teachers, cleaners, security men, and Okada riders are some of the most heroic of all.

It’s time we recognized them. Not with pity, but with respect. Not as failures, but as pillars.

Because without them, nothing works.

THE TIMELESS ECHO OF RADIO

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The Timeless Echo of Radio: A Tribute on World Radio Day by Oluwaseyi Ige

In an era dominated by digital media, streaming services, and artificial intelligence, one might assume that radio—a technology that first crackled to life over a century ago—would be a relic of the past. Yet, here we are, on another World Radio Day, celebrating its enduring influence. Radio has not only survived the tides of technological change but has also remained a steadfast companion through wars, revolutions, and ideological shifts. It has continued to inform, entertain, and unify audiences across the world

Radio’s resilience is rooted in its simplicity and intimacy. The technology behind radio, though complex, has been readily available. Unlike television or social media, where visuals often distract, radio fosters a direct connection between the voice and the listener’s imagination. Orson Welles demonstrated this power in 1938 with War of the Worlds, a radio broadcast that sent listeners into panic, believing an alien invasion was underway. This incident underscored the medium’s unparalleled ability to engage emotions and minds.

“Radio is the theater of the mind; television is the theater of the eye,” legendary American broadcaster Steve Allen once remarked. That imaginative element—the ability to paint vivid pictures through words and sounds—remains radio’s magic touch.

Beyond entertainment, radio has been a powerful agent of social and political transformation. It has been the voice of resistance in times of oppression and the beacon of hope during crises. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Fireside Chats reassured Americans during the Great Depression and World War II. Similarly, Nelson Mandela’s anti-apartheid messages were transmitted clandestinely over radio waves, fueling the struggle for justice.
It has also been misused. The embers of genocide in Rwanda was in part fanned to flame by the use of radio.

In Nigeria, radio has been an integral part of national discourse. During the independence movement, figures like Obafemi Awolowo and Nnamdi Azikiwe recognized the importance of radio in rallying public support. The Federal Radio Corporation of Nigeria (FRCN), established in 1951, became the nation’s voice, informing and educating people across diverse regions. Olusegun Obasanjo’s resolve to establish 32 Radio Nigeria FM stations across the country was a game changer. That gave myself, and others like me, the opportunity to properly hone our voices in the profession.

Even today, with over 150 radio stations operating in Nigeria, the medium remains deeply woven into the fabric of society. Bisi Olatilo, a veteran broadcaster, once said, “Radio is still the best way to reach the heart of the people. No other medium speaks so directly, so personally.”

Some feared that television and the internet would render radio obsolete. Instead, it has evolved. Podcasts, online radio stations, and AI-driven broadcasts have expanded its reach beyond traditional frequencies. BBC’s transition into digital broadcasting and Nigeria’s growing number of online radio stations are testament to this shift.

Larry King, the iconic American radio and TV host, once declared, “I’ve always believed that radio, when done well, was a lot more intimate than television.” That intimacy has now extended into the digital space, where listeners can tune in from anywhere in the world.

As we celebrate World Radio Day, we are reminded that radio is more than just a medium—it is a legacy. It has survived world wars, military coups, the rise and fall of empires, and the digital revolution. Through each phase, it has reinvented itself, proving that sound alone can be more powerful than the most dazzling visuals.

To paraphrase the legendary Nigerian broadcaster, Soni Irabor, “As long as there is a story to tell, radio will never die.”

Today, as we commemorate this incredible medium, let us honor those voices—past and present—that have kept the airwaves alive. The story of radio is far from over; in fact, it is still being written, one voice at a time.

Happy World Radio Day!

  • Oluwaseyi Ige, Chief Operating Officer, Jabbok Media