Segun Ozique

The conversation at the corner table is steady. Ola is scrolling through his phone, showing a video of his niece—a girl so quiet she’s almost invisible in the frame. ​"Everyone calls her an angel," Ola says, a hint of pride in his voice. "She never talks back. She’s the 'Good Child' of the family. Not like my son, who won't stop asking 'why' until your head spins. We need more like her, don't we?" ​Jennifer sets her glass down firmly. "Ola, that 'angelic' silence might be a scream you can't hear. When we reward a child for being invisible, we aren't building character - we’re building a mask. I’ve seen those 'Good Children' grow up into adults who don't know how to say 'no' until they finally break." ​ The Lead: Why the "Easy" Child is at Risk: ​We’ve all heard it at family gatherings: "Oh, he’s such a good boy, so quiet!" or "She’s so mature, she never causes trouble....

The Parents who never say"I love you" to their affectionate ones. Clinking of glasses at Evaking’s Bar usually signals a celebration, but today, the mood is reflective. Ola is staring at a photo of his own father - a man who worked three jobs to put Ola through school but never once sat him down to say, "I love you." ​"He was a good man," Ola says, his voice thick. "He never missed a school fee. He never left us hungry. But when I look at that photo, I don't feel warmth; I feel a strange, cold distance. I find myself doing the same with my kids - providing everything but saying nothing. Is 'I love you' just a word, or is it the food I’m actually starving them of?" ​Jennifer leans in, her expression softened by empathy. "Ola, you can feed a child’s stomach for a lifetime and still leave their soul emaciated. In trauma recovery, we call this the 'Hidden Wound.' It isn't about the blows that were landed, but the embrace ...

The shadows are lengthening at Evaking’s Bar , and the usual "cold one" on the table feels a bit heavier today. The television in the corner flickers with a news report about a spike in teenage pregnancies and a harrowing story of a primary school girl whose family blamed her for her own assault. ​Ola pushes his glass away, looking troubled. "I don’t know, Jide. We were raised to believe that talking about those things puts ideas in their heads. If you tell a child about fire, they want to touch it. Isn't it better to keep them innocent?" ​Jennifer, overhearing, leans in with a gentle but firm look. "Ola, the 'fire' is already in their pockets—it's on their phones, in their music, and in the whispers of their friends. If you don't give them a fire extinguisher and a safety manual, you aren't keeping them innocent; you're just leaving them to burn." ​ The Lead: Breaking the Taboo of Sex Education ​For generations, "Sex ...

The neon sign at Evaking’s Bar flickers as the group settles into their usual corner. Ola is staring at a stack of bills, while remembering his 25-year-old daughter, who finished NYSC two years ago, and working in an insurance company, still lives at home. ​"I don't get it," Ola sighs, rubbing his temples. "At her age, I had a flat in Surulere and was sending money home to my mother. Now, I’m still supplementing for her data, her clothes, and feeding her. Did I fail to raise a woman or is the world just broken?" ​Jide leans back, sipping his drink. "Maybe a bit of both, Ola. You moved heaven and earth to make her life easy, and now she doesn't know how to move the earth for herself. But look outside - rent in this city is now a king's ransom. Even if she wanted to leave, where would she go?" ​ The Lead: The Perpetual Nest  -  Launching Adults in an Expensive World ​We pour our lives into our children so they can "be someone." We ...

The generator at Ola’s house is humming, but inside, the silence is louder. Ola is staring at a cold cup of coffee, his laptop open for a 9:00 PM meeting, while his toddler finally sleeps after a two-hour battle. ​"I remember my mother saying she never cooked a meal alone," Ola mutters to Jide, who stopped by to drop off some groceries. "There was always an auntie, a grandmother, or a neighbour’s daughter in the kitchen. Now, I’m Googling 'how to stop a tantrum' at midnight because there’s no one across the fence to ask. I’m living in a city of millions, but I’ve never felt more alone." ​Jide nods, looking at the quiet street outside. "We traded the village for the 'hustle,' Ola. We moved for the paycheck, but we left the safety net behind. Now we’re paying for it with our sanity." ​The Lead: Motherhood as a Solo Sport in a World Built for Teams ​In the old days, "home training" wasn't a job for one person; it was a communal p...

The ceiling fan at Ola’s house is working overtime, but it’s the conversation that’s heating up the room. Ola is holding two report cards. He looks at his younger son, Chidi, and then at his eldest, Tobi. ​"Chidi, look at your brother," Ola says, his voice tinged with a familiar frustration. "Tobi was already winning math competitions at your age. Why can't you just sit still and focus like him? You’re always the 'restless one,' while Tobi is the 'serious one.' You need to catch up, or you’ll be left behind." ​Chidi’s shoulders slump. He looks at Tobi, not with admiration, but with a flicker of something sharp and cold. Tobi looks away, uncomfortable. Jide, sitting in the corner, catches the exchange. "Ola," he warns softly, "you aren't motivating Chidi. You’re just teaching him to hate the person he should love most." ​The Lead: The War of the Report Cards - Why "Why Can't You Be Like..." is a Dangerous Ques...

The evening air at Ola’s house is heavy, not with heat, but with a silence that feels like a physical weight. The group is sitting in the parlor, the television is off, and for the first time, no one is checking their phones. ​Ola is looking at an old family photograph - everyone is smiling, perfectly dressed, the "ideal" Nigerian family. But he knows the truth. He knows about the uncle who wasn't allowed back into the house but was never spoken of. He knows about the "discipline" that left more than just physical scars. ​"We were told that what happens in this house stays in this house," Ola says, his voice barely a whisper. "But I think the walls are starting to crack. My son asks questions I can't answer, and my own sleep is disappearing. Is the secret protecting the family, or is it eating us alive?" ​ The Lead: The House of Whispers  -  Breaking the Toxic Inheritance ​In many homes, the most powerful rule isn’t "Love one an...

The scene at Ola’s house is a study in "intense care." Ola’s son, Chidi, is trying to tie his shoelaces for school. Ola is hovering over him, his hands twitching. "No, Chidi, left loop over the right. Not like that. Here, let me just do it, we’re going to be late." ​Jide, watching from the doorway, sighs. "Ola, let the boy trip. If you keep tying his laces, he’ll be twenty-five and still waiting for you to walk him to the bus stop. You aren't helping him; you’re handicapping him." ​ The Lead: The Invisible Shield That Smothers ​We live in the era of the "Helicopter" and the "Snowplow." One hovers to ensure no mistake is made; the other moves ahead to clear every obstacle before the child even sees it. On the surface, it looks like the ultimate act of love - protecting our children from the harshness of the world. But beneath the surface, this "over-parenting" is a silent thief. It steals a child's resilience , kill...

The ceiling fan at Ola’s house is humming, but the air is thick with a different kind of heat. Ola’s daughter, Tems, has just shared that she was promoted to a senior role at her firm—the youngest in the company's history. ​Instead of a toast, Ola scoffs. "Senior role? At twenty-five? In my day, we actually had to sweat for ten years to get that title. They probably gave it to you just to meet a quota. When I was at the ministry, I managed three departments with half the tools you have." ​Tems’ smile vanishes. She looks at her shoes. Jide catches Nne’s eye across the room. The "Parental Spotlight" hasn't just dimmed; it has been snatched. The Lead: The Stolen Spotlight ​We expect parents to be the wind beneath their children’s wings, but sometimes, they become the ceiling that keeps them from flying. This is the uncomfortable reality of Parental Competition . It is a shadow dance where a parent's own unfulfilled dreams and deep-seated insecurities t...

The fans at Evking’s Bar are spinning at full speed, but the air is thick. Ola’s daughter, Tems, has just told him, "Dad, I hear you, but I don’t agree with that choice for my life. I need some space to decide." Ola is stunned. He looks at his friends, his ego visibly bruised. "Did you hear that? In my day, you don’t 'disagree' with your father. You don't ask for 'space.' That is pure rudeness! The internet has spoiled these genZ generation." ​Nne leans over, stirring her drink. "Ola, she didn't curse at you. she didn't shout. She told you her boundary. If she can’t say 'no' to you, her father who loves her, how will she ever say 'no' to a boss who exploits her or a friend who may want to pressure her into what she may not want to do? You’re calling it rudeness, but the world calls it confidence ." ​Play Summary : The Voice or the Violation? ​Is your child being a "rebel," or are they just becoming...

The mood at Ola’s house is a bit tense. Ola’s youngest daughter was in a neighbour's house and it was reported that one of the boys was seen touching her inappropriatly. Ola is already reaching for his belt, his face flushed. "You’ll learn today!" he shouts. "I’ve told you a thousand times not to go playing inside the house with those boys!" ​Jide gently puts a hand on Ola’s shoulder. "Ola, wait. If you hit her now, all she learns is how to hide, duck and how to fear your belt. She won't learn why going there is dangerous or how to be careful. You’re treating the symptom, not the ailment. You’re punishing her, but you aren't giving her a consequence." ​ Play Summary : The "Switch" of Control ​In many homes, "discipline" is synonymous with making a child suffer so they don't repeat a mistake (the idea of spare the rod and spoil the child) This is Punishment . It works - but only while the punisher is present. The mo...

The ceiling fan at Ola’s house is whirring, but it’s not cooling the room. Tobi, Ola’s eldest son, is staring at a chemistry textbook as if it’s a death warrant. ​"Medicine is the only path for a first son in this family," Ola says, his voice booming with the weight of "tradition." "Doctors are respected. Doctors have money. I didn't work this hard for you to become a... what did you call it? A 'Content Journalist'?" ​Jide leans forward, looking at the boy’s sketchbooks filled with stories and observations of the neighbourhood. "Ola, you’re looking at a 1980s map while your son is trying to navigate 2026. You’re not giving him a career; you’re giving him a cage." ​Play Summary: The "Project" Child vs. The Purposeful Person ​Is it ever appropriate to force a career? The short answer: No. When parents "police" dreams, they often do it out of love and a fear of poverty, but the results are frequently disastrous. We a...

The generator at Ola’s house is finally off, and for a moment, the silence is beautiful. But it doesn't last. Ola is looking at a colour-coded calendar on his fridge that looks like a flight manifest for a major airline. ​"Look at this," Ola says, pointing to a slot at 4:30 PM. "Coding at 4:00, Mandarin at 5:00, and Violin at 6:00. If he misses one, he’s behind. The world is competitive, Jide! I’m just trying to give him an edge." ​Jide looks at Ola’s 7-year-old son, who is staring blankly at a wall, looking like he’s just finished a double shift at a factory. "Ola, you aren't giving him an edge; you're giving him a nervous breakdown. You’ve scheduled the 'child' right out of childhood." ​Play Summary: The "Achievement" Trap ​In our rush to build "Super Kids," we have inadvertently declared war on one of the most important educational tools ever invented: Unstructured Play. We treat "doing nothing" as a was...

 The Scene : The group has gathered at Ola’s housetoday. In the living room, Ola’s kids are glued to a tablet, laughing at a YouTuber with a thick American accent. Outside, the usual noise of the neighbourhood - Lagos’ rhythmic chaos - continues, but inside, the air feels like a different continent. ​Ola looks at his son and asks a question in his native tongue. The boy looks up, blinks, and replies in perfect, polished English: "Sorry, Dad, can you say that again?" ​Elder Ephraim sighs, his hand resting on his cane. "You see, he said, "We are building beautiful houses, Ola, but we are raising strangers under the roof." Ofspring we are raising are turning out to be a community of sociocultural Aliens." ​The Play Summary: The Thinning Social Cord: ​A "Community Alien" is someone who looks like their ancestors but thinks, speaks, and dreams in a language and culture that is entirely foreign to their roots. In the rush toward globalisation and urban...

The scene at Ola's house is quieter than usual, but not because the group are tired. Everyone, including Ola is staring at their phone, scrolling "news" they won't remember in five minutes. Across from him, Ola's teenage son is doing the exact same thing. They haven't spoken in twenty minutes. ​Nne walks by and taps the table. "Ola, are you waiting for a call from the President, or is that phone just part of your hand now?" ​Ola looks up, dazed. "I'm just checking something quickly," he mutters. ​"You've been 'checking' for half an hour," Nne retorts. "And look at your boy. He’s not even eating his suya; he’s feeding his eyes on social media postings. You’re not raising a son; you’re raising a mirror." ​Summary : The Dopamine Mirror ​Digital addiction isn't just a "kids' problem" - it’s a family ecosystem issue. While we worry about our children becoming "screen-heads," we...

The overhead fan at Evking’s Bar is clicking rhythmically, almost like a metronome for the heated debate at the corner table. Ola is leaning back, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Say sorry to my son?" he asks, incredulous. "If I apologize every time I lose my temper, he’ll think I’m his mate. A father’s authority is based on being the pillar. If the pillar says it’s sorry, the whole house shakes!" ​Nne shakes her head, smiling sadly. "Ola, the house isn't shaking because you apologized. It’s shaking because you screamed and slammed the door. The apology is the only thing that puts the bricks back together. If you don't say sorry, all he learns is that power means never having to admit you're wrong." ​ The Lead: Authority is Not Infallibility ​The "Old School" African parenting model often treats the parent as a semi-divine figure who can do no wrong. In this world, an apology is seen as a surrender of power. But the mode...

Play Opening: The evening at Evking’s Bar has taken a serious turn. Oluebube, the bar owner's daughter is standing by the counter, her voice trembling with a mix of tired laughter and genuine anger. "My brother finished his food at home sometimes," she tells the group, "and he just sat there, looking at his empty plate, then looking at me. He expects me to help him pick it and wash. While goes to spent the whole day roaming the streets with his friends, and I spent the whole day cleaning. Why is his freedom a right, but mine is a chore?" ​Ola shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Ebube, it’s just how things are. A boy needs to see the world to become a man. A girl needs to know the home to become a wife. We keep you inside to keep you safe." ​Nne slams her hand lightly on the table. "Safe? Ola, look at the numbers. We 'keep them in,' yet girls are twice as likely to get HIV and five times more likely to die in childbirth before twenty....