What if… Maybe?

What if… maybe?

What if I'd died at birth?

Maybe then I’d have already done something remarkable with my life — the ability to make people cry at the sight of my remains.

What if I never excelled at school?

Maybe then I’d have finally learned to channel my inner thug and put it to better use on the streets. Who knows, I may have become the author of the “change!” mantra, and actually mean it.

What if the fruit didn't taste so good to a 13-year-old?

I still wouldn’t be a monk, that’s for sure; but, maybe, I’d have had better chances locating my missing-rib before I turned 20.

How about, What if Dangote was my father?

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t be complaining about how tough surviving in Nigeria currently is because I wouldn’t notice. I’d live in a mansion, ride around town in my Maserati, fly First-Class everywhere and look down on the heathens as I hover around in my helicopter, without feeling a thing. I’d thrive here without even trying 'cause that’s how stars do.

What about if my dad was Dangote?

Long story short, he’d count me a disappointment and, most likely, wouldn’t want me for a son. No one wants a bag of brokeness latching onto them.

But What if I wasn’t so broken?

I probably wouldn’t recognize the me standing before the mirror. He’d be without my signature smirk and it’d be hard to tell if he was happy, sad, or simply biding his time before lashing out at an innocent. He’d be harsh without provocation, that’s for sure, cruel and disgusting, so much that being broken will start to sound appealing.



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