My parents have always considered me a heretic. 

My father has always had issues with my stubbornness, especially when it has to do with my fixating my mind on a particular course. Even when he threatened not to attend my wedding except I did it in a Roman Catholic Church, I went ahead. He didn’t attend, but I wedded. Today, we are still buddies. 

Till now we still disagree on certain cultural practices. 

I defied the cultural rules that I felt were clogging me to death. I despised it when my mum always wanted to know where my friends were from. 

If I told her they were from Mbaise, she had a special warning – Mbaise people are to be feared more than snakes.

If I told her they were Northerners, she’d remind me of Biafra Civil War and how the Hausas hated the Igbos. 

If I told her they were Yorubas, she’d tell me that Yorubas eat oily soups that weren’t comparable to Igbo soups. And the Ikwerres? She’d tell me that the Ikwerres took over their house in Port Harcourt during the war and as such I should never love them. 

Damn, how clogging these thoughts could be. How could I exist with others when I had all these biases and sentiments buzzing around my head?

And when it comes to religion? The bickering between us takes a feverish pitch. Catholics against the Pentecostals. The Pentecostals against the denominations amongst them. Dear Lord!

This week, refine your thinking. Humanity ties us all. See your colleague, neighbour or friend as human, not based on tribal or religious lines. 

This translates to the awesomeness we wish to see in the nation we live in.