I love my son (obviously). He loves me. In fact we have the same name. Jason Njoku. But he doesn’t call me Daddy. He calls me Mummy.
As 2015 draws to a close and I think back at another year under the belt, I think of the recent tumultuous yet significant occurrences of the year. I remember a similar period of relative turbulence at iROKO. 2013. Back then, as there were earlier this year, there were calls I had mismanaged iROKO. 200 people were under my egotistical whim and were being exploited from a labour law perspective. And many applauded. Apparently they always knew I was a fraud. Thank God, I was going to be fired. Finally.
And yet here we are. Another year under the belt and my highest and ever after thought in 2015 was the birth of my daughter. Nwakaego (Igbo translation = a child is worth more than money) Annabelle Njoku. Back in 2013, with all the things that occurred, I only have one lasting memory. Having my first child and son. 2.5 years later, he calls me Mummy.
Why? Over the last 18 months, as he learned to talk, I basically wasn’t around. I was always doing something. Always on the road. Evangelising, selling, building iROKO. Closing a deal. Hiring a team. Something. Thinking back to 2015, I have compelled my family to live for periods of time in London, NY and Accra. But even though they were around, I kinda wasn’t. So when he wanted something, he called for Mummy. When I was around I was kinda distracted. Firing off emails. Thinking of the future. Ways to survive. When he called Mummy, I merely answered and thought nothing of it. Whoever was around would just go to him. Usually when I am around, that would be me. So he never learned to call me Daddy. So today my son, calls me Mummy.
Considering everything that happened 2 years ago in 2013, 90% of which I can barely remember nor care to remember. The emails I sent. The deals attempted. The monies spent. It’s pretty sad that I feel compelled to continually be on the move to ensure the survival of iROKO. But this is the reality of survival. I have always said and will caution my children. If you want to be happy, don’t found a startup. 80% fail. And even when you succeed, the sacrifices hollow the soul. Change the man you think you are. Or what to become.
But I am glad I survived 2015. Glad that one day my children will hopefully be proud of me. Proud that I at least made my little dent in the universe. Proud that my wife and I can at least dream of a future we never had. An interesting tidbit; My son has travelled more this year alone than I did in the 30 years prior to me founding iROKO. Anyway, it is the season of merriment. I have left Lagos (again) to calmer climes of Accra to take a break, think some more, hang out with my family. And finally write again. I’ve been so focused on fixing iROKO that I had little time to write this year. So many stories to tell. Over the next few weeks I will aim to tell them.
For 2016 I will slow down. Be around more. My daughter must call me Daddy. I made the mistake the first time. It can’t happen again. Because Nwakaego.
