A Life of Grace, Grit, Wanderings, Reinvention & Destiny
(To be marked on 16th December 2025)
PROLOGUE: SIX DECADES OF GOD’S MERCY
At 60, as I stand on the sixth floor of life, I look back with a profound sense of gratitude and awe. Mine is not the story of a straight line. It is the story of a man who walked through storms, danced with wolves and destiny, survived the unthinkable, stumbled, rose again, and kept rising, carried always by the invisible hands of grace.
Call me Oblong, OBT, Shinado, Shinani, BT,
or as my lineage fondly names me:
Duruebube Ihiagwa ófó asato, Duruebube uzii na abosi.
Whatever name you choose, one thing remains constant:
I am a child of God’s mercy, a son of two worlds, and a man forged by experience.
I was born at dawn on Thursday, 16 December 1965, at Whittington / St. Mary’s Hospital, Islington, London, the first of four siblings, a child of promise to two extraordinary parents:
Chief, Engr. Ignatius Ugwuanya Nnadi (BS, KSM)
A Southampton university, trained telecommunications engineer and a man whose discipline and vision shaped my childhood.
Lolo Henrietta Nwakego Nnadi (GN, RN, LSM)
A University of Leeds, trained thoracic nurse with a heart as large as the world.
From an early age, life exposed me to excellence. I attended:
The Hall School (Pre-Prep), Hampstead London NW3
St. Gildas’ Roman Catholic Primary School, Oakington Way, London N8
I was a London boy, confident, curious, sharp, and completely unaware that destiny had bigger plans beyond England.
I have lived many lives within one lifetime.
A child of London fogs.
A boy of Lagos heat.
A teenager of Enugu’s red earth.
A wanderer between continents.
A survivor of mistakes.
A student of destiny.
A voice forged by truth.
A man rebuilt by grace.
My story is not a straight line.
It is a river, bending, breaking, roaring, resting, rising again.
At sixty, I stand unbroken.
Not because the storms spared me,
but because destiny carried me.
This is my journey.
According to my late parents, the morning I arrived, London was still half-asleep.
The winter air outside was unforgiving, but inside the maternity ward, warmth glowed in the faces of nurses bustling up and down the corridor.
At exactly 6:30 a.m., I entered the world.
My mother, Lolo Henrietta Nwakego Nnadi, held me first, my father, Chief Engr. Ignatius Ugwuanya Nnadi, stood nearby in his thick Southampton University coat, looking at me as though inspecting a rare, delicate instrument.
“A strong boy,” the midwife whispered.
And indeed I was.
I came into a world standing on two foundations:
British order and precision
Igbo dignity, resilience, and lineage
From the beginning, I belonged to two continents.
Two cultures.
Two destinies.
Early London Life
My earliest memories were quiet ones, our cosy homes at Ormidale house, 222 Nether street Finchley N3, and later, 19 Mount view road crouch end N8, my prep school, the Hall school in Hampstead N3, St. Gildas’ Roman Catholic School on Oakington Way N8, the kindness of British and Irish catholic nun teachers, the politeness engraved into everyday life.
I was a child nurtured by books, warmth, and expectation.
My parents were achievers, and they raised me to believe excellence was not optional, it was identity.
But destiny had other plans.
London was only the beginning.
The Summons of 1970
After the Nigerian Civil War ended, Standard Telephones & Cables (STC) loaned my father to International Telephone & Telegraph (ITT) Africa an the middle east, to rebuild Nigeria’s telecommunications backbone.
Nigeria needed him.
So Nigeria called.
And because a man’s family follows his purpose, we packed our bags and left London, leaving behind the cold, the order, the familiarity, Irish catholic nuns who felt I and my kid brother should should stay back and relocated to a country I knew only through my parents’ stories.
I didn’t know it then, but that journey would shape the rest of my life.
The boy born in London was about to meet Nigeria.
And Nigeria would change every thing.
The Lagos air hit me first.
Thick.
Hot.
Alive.
It was 1970.
The Civil War had just ended.
Nigeria was breathing again, wounded but hopeful.
We arrived from London with our suitcases, British accents, and innocent expectations. My father and his team were to head ITT’s operations in Lagos, a role that symbolised both expertise and responsibility.
To my young eyes, Lagos was a sensory earthquake.
The noise.
The colours.
The heat.
The rush.
People shouted across streets as if distance did not exist.
Children ran barefoot with freedom I had never seen in London.
Women balanced trays on their heads as though obeying some ancient choreography.
And the smell, roasted corn, exhaust fumes, fried plantain, wet dust, all mingled into a scent that shouted:
Welcome to Nigeria.
Maryland: My First Nigerian School
I was enrolled at Maryland Convent Private School.
Uniform crisp.
Teachers strict.
Students curious about the London boy who spoke with a foreign tongue.
I adapted slowly.
Nigeria was not London, and I was no longer the centre of my small British world.
Still, Lagos had a heartbeat I couldn’t ignore.
It awakened something in me.
A Second Migration, The Call of Enugu
In 1976, my father received another transfer, this time to Enugu, to head ITT and it’s subsidiary IIM’s Eastern Operations and lead post-war telecommunication installations across the region. I remember clearly that ITT was headquartered at 2nd floor Investment house, No 4 Club road, opp Enugu sports club while IIM was quartered at No 1 Chime lane Enugu.
Once again, destiny uprooted me.
But Enugu was different.
Calmer.
Warmer.
More intimate.
We settled into a new life, and I was enrolled into Santa Maria Primary School (now Zik Avenue Primary School). It was here I began learning my own language, Igbo, a language that belonged to me even before I belonged to it.
I was still the boy between two worlds, struggling to fit into either.
But the greatest challenge was yet to come.
THE “LONDON GOAT”, PAIN, BULLYING and THE BIRTH OF RESILIENCE
In 1977, after my FSLC, some childhood stubbornness, my father was advised to send me to Nike Grammar School.
No one warned me that it would be the harshest chapter of my early life.
My Accent Became My Enemy
On my first day, the teacher asked me to introduce myself.
I opened my mouth, and London fell out.
The class erupted.
“Correct oyibo!”
“Say it again!”
“Speak Igbo nah!”
“London boy!”
“London goat!”
That last name stuck.
It stung.
It followed me everywhere.
I was punished for:
speaking English too well
speaking Igbo too poorly
dressing neatly
minding my business
being different
Children can be cruel.
Teenagers are worse.
Some days, I was shoved.
Some days, slapped.
Some days, mocked until tears gathered against my will.
The Bathroom Incident
One day, a group locked me inside the school toilet and walked away laughing.
I banged on the door, shouted, cried.
No one came.
In that moment, sitting on a cold floor, I realised something:
Nobody is coming to save you. You must save yourself.
That was the day resilience was born in me.
My Mother’s Intervention
One afternoon, my mother arrived unannounced at closing time.
She saw them cornering me, mocking me, pushing me around.
She did not shout.
She did not threaten.
She simply walked to me, put her arm around my shoulder, and said:
“Let’s go home, my son.”
That evening, she spoke to my father.
The next day, I was withdrawn from Nike Grammar School.
I had been rescued.
CIC, Where I Found Myself Again
I was enrolled into College of the Immaculate Conception (CIC), Enugu.
There, life changed.
CIC was discipline.
CIC was brotherhood.
CIC was academic fire.
CIC was a community where excellence was law.
I regained confidence.
Made friends.
Spoke Igbo better.
Learned courage.
Learned discipline.
By the time I graduated in June 1982, the bullied London Goat had become a baadass young man ready for the world.
Or so I thought.
Life had one more dramatic twist in store for me,
a love story, a Volvo car, ₦400, and a decision that would shake my entire family.
THE VOLVO, ₦400, AND THE LOVE THAT REARRANGED DESTINY
By mid-1982, I had completed CIC and was preparing for the next chapter of my life.
The plan was perfect:
Travel to England in September
Begin A-levels at St. Aldate’s College, Oxford
Join the path my parents had carved, education, excellence, prestige
Everything was in motion.
Everything was stable.
Everything was predictable.
Then love entered the scene.
My First True Love
She was soft-spoken, stunning, spirited, and everything a teenage boy could fall helplessly for. Our connection was instant — innocent yet intense, youthful yet consuming.
With her, I felt seen.
With her, I felt free.
With her, logic evaporated.
The Day That Changed Everything
Youth is brave.
Youth is irrational.
Youth is unstoppable.
That morning, with trembling hands, I took:
My father’s Volvo
His ₦400
And drove to pick up the girl who had stolen my heart attack the time name with elf.
We disappeared for two weeks.
Two weeks of laughter.
Two weeks of youthful rebellion.
Two weeks of believing that love was enough to conquer everything, even my future.
But Nigeria is not England.
African parents are not British parents.
Consequences here are not gentle.
Walking into the compound after those two weeks with 80 Naira left of the 400 Naira, felt like stepping into a courtroom.
My father sat in silence, the dangerous kind.
My uncles were present.
My grandmother Sisi 40 Victoria Street PH too.
Other family filled the living room.
Everyone looked at me with disappointment, shock, and disbelief.
My father’s voice was calm but sharp:
“You took my car.
You took my money.
And you abandoned your future.”
There was no shouting.
No slaps.
Just the quiet authority of a man whose trust had been fractured.
The Verdict, No More Oxford
He spoke one sentence that collapsed my world:
“You will not go abroad. Not yet.”
And with that, St. Aldate’s College vanished from my life like smoke.
The Punishment That Became a Turning Point
My father grounded me and handed down a new educational path:
Repeat Class 5 at Ihiagwa Secondary School
Rewrite Mathematics
Then proceed to St. Augustine’s Grammar School (SAGS), Nkwerre for A-levels, instead of England as advised by Archbishop Unegbu.
It felt like exile.
It felt like the end.
But in reality, it was the beginning,
because it humbled me, disciplined me, matured me.
At Ihiagwa secondary school, I learned responsibility.
At SAGS, I found stability and direction.
I emerged not broken,
but forged.
Little did I know destiny was waiting patiently for the right moment to restore everything I had lost.
That moment came in 1987.
THE SECOND ARRIVAL, LONDON, FREEDOM and REINVENTION (1987)
By 1987, the turbulence of my teenage years had settled.
I had completed my punishment, perfected discipline at SAGS, and grown into a young man who finally understood the weight of choices.
Then one evening, my father entered my room.
He looked at me long and thoughtfully, then said:
“You may go now. You’re ready.”
Just like that, the door to my destiny reopened.
The Journey Back to London
On 24 March 1987, I boarded a flight out of Nigeria.
This time, the journey wasn’t about escape or rebellion.
It was about purpose.
Landing at Heathrow on the 25/03/1987 felt like stepping into a familiar dream, but this time as an adult, not a child.
London was the same city that had welcomed me at birth, yet I saw it with new eyes:
The red buses
The underground hum
The drizzle
The multicultural crowds
The endless possibilities
I had come full circle.
Student Again, but Not the Same
I pursued studies at:
University of Manchester (Salford)
Greenwich School of Management
Made friends.
Faced the cold nights.
Laughed through struggles.
Learned independence.
London toughened me.
London matured me.
London sharpened my ambition.
It was here that I truly became my own man.
Love, Marriage & Fatherhood
In the late ’90s, life added another blessing,
the woman Hassana who would become my wife.
We married in 1999.
Soon after, God blessed us with two beautiful children,
a son and a daughter Prince and Michelle who became the anchors of my existence.
Holding my first child in my arms, I can remember feeling so helpless and wondering how I could protect this innocent child from this wicked world. There and then, I remembered the kunta kinte ritual in Roots and as with both of my children, I raised them up to the heavens and dedicated them to God for protection.
The Birth of the Entrepreneur
London’s system rewarded hard work.
I built companies variously:
Profit Step Auto Ltd
Oblong Incorporated UK Ltd
Top Ventures UK Ltd
Transglobal Cargo Logistics
Some flourished, some struggled, but all taught me the principles of risk, resilience, and reinvention.
By 2001, with a stronger financial base and a young family, I felt destiny tug at me again.
Nigeria was calling.
Not for pleasure.
Not for comfort.
But for purpose.
I returned, this time as a businessman ready to build.
ABUJA, THE BUILDER, THE BUSINESSMAN and THE BATTLE FOR SUCCESS (2001–2004)
Returning to Nigeria in 2001 felt different.
I was no longer the boy who left London with his parents or the teenager punished for youthful love.
I was a husband, a father, and a man with global experience ready to build something meaningful in the land that shaped my roots.
Abuja welcomed me with open arms and sharp elbows, the city of power, opportunity, danger, and ambition.
Abuja in the Early 2000s
It was a city under construction:
Cranes slicing into the sky,
roads stretching into new districts,
politicians arriving in convoys,
businessmen clutching proposals as if they were golden tickets.
This was not Lagos, where everyone hustled for survival.
This was Abuja, where everyone hustled for relevance.
And I came prepared.
Building My Companies
In just a few years, I established several businesses:
1. Natius Development WA Ltd
My entry point, construction, procurement, property.
It linked me to Abuja’s commercial heartbeat.
2. Communications Control Systems Ltd (CCS)
A cutting-edge company offering advanced telecom and counter-surveillance equipment.
I was ahead of my time,
bringing in technologies that Nigeria desperately needed but wasn’t ready to accept.
You cannot strengthen a system that benefits from weakness.
That was the bitter lesson CCS taught me.
3. Sagittarius Construction Company Ltd
My flagship engineering venture,
competent, competitive, and ambitious.
4. Krohne Oil & Gas BV (Netherlands) ,Country Representative
Representing a global leader in instrumentation technologies.
We secured a €4.4 million contract with NLNG in 2004 —
a project that should have transformed Nigeria’s oil measurement systems.
But Nigeria fights its own progress.
The oil sector rejected transparency.
They preferred chaos over accuracy.
The system protected leakage instead of efficiency.
And so Krohne left the country,
not out of failure,
but out of frustration.
Abuja, The University of Reality
Doing business in Abuja taught me:
How power moves
How people pretend
How money influences decisions
How connections outweigh competence
How political winds shape business survival
How visionaries often die in systems designed by opportunists
But I adapted.
I learned.
I thrived where many sank.
The Pull of Fatherhood
By 2004, I had learned enough about Nigeria’s system to know one thing:
My children needed the stability and structure the UK education system offered.
I loved Nigeria.
But the risk was too high.
So once again, I made the sacrificial choice,
to uproot my family and return to London,
not for me,
but for them.
That decision changed the course of my family forever.
BACK & FORTH, THE YEARS OF FAMILY, SACRIFICE and RETURN (2004–2014)
Returning to the UK in 2004 felt like stepping back into a familiar rhythm,
this time with maturity, purpose, and fatherhood guiding every step.
The Years of Peaceful Routine
From 2004 to 2006, life was stable until my marriage crashed. Before then it was about
School runs
Family dinners
Birthdays
Christmas gatherings
Weekday responsibilities
Weekend joys
Watching my children learn, laugh, and grow
These were the most gentle years of my adult life.
London provided what Nigeria could not ,
peace, predictability, structure, and safety.
When my marriage crashed, I found myself as the sole guardian of 2 children, a role I played with responsibility till they graduated from university and stood on their feet.
Business Across Two Continents
Even while raising my children solely, the entrepreneur in me never slept.
I continued running:
Oblong Incorporated UK ltd
Top Ventures UK
Transglobal Cargo Logistics
I was a Nigerian in spirit,
a Londoner in discipline,
and a global citizen in ambition.
Returning to Nigeria Again — 2010
By 2010, my children were older.
They needed grounding,
the cultural roots Nigeria provides,
the identity that only home can offer.
So we returned to Nigeria for their secondary boarding schooling.
They learned:
discipline
humility
culture
extended family values
community living
Nigerian survival instincts
These experiences shaped them in ways no British school ever could.
The Call of Politics, The Fire Reignites
Living in Nigeria again exposed me to the same failures that had plagued the nation since my childhood:
poor leadership
corruption
injustice
misrepresentation
the suffering of communities
the silence of intellectuals
the decay of infrastructure
And something inside me stirred once more.
I knew I had to return to politics,
not as a dreamer
but as a man who had lived enough life to understand strategy, sacrifice, and service.
Final Return to the UK — 2014
By 2014, it was time for my children to transition to A-levels and universities in Britain.
Once they were settled,
once their futures were secure,
once my responsibilities were almost fulfilled in 2018,
I turned back to Nigeria again,
this time fully,
this time for politics,
this time for legacy.
2018 awaited me.
And I was ready.
THE CALL OF POLITICS, THE BATTLES, THE SYSTEM and THE UNBROKEN SPIRIT (2018)
By 2018, my children were adults, grounded and confident.
The father in me had succeeded.
The businessman in me had paid his dues.
But the patriot in me was restless.
The Nigeria I returned to was a country begging for voice, clarity, courage, and representation.
I felt the pull,
not the excitement of ambition,
but the responsibility of purpose.
I had seen too much.
Lived too much.
Understood too much.
Silence was no longer an option.
The Return
Landing in Abuja, I saw a country sinking:
Youths unemployed
Roads collapsing
Hospitals failing
Leaders disconnected
Communities abandoned
Insecurity growing
Politicians living in alternate realities
Hope fading
The system had perfected the art of appearance without substance.
Everyone talked. Few listened.
Everyone promised. None delivered.
I knew then that my journey into politics wasn’t a choice —
It was an obligation.
The Primaries, Where Democracy Is Murdered
I entered the primaries with:
a clear agenda,
a strong grassroots base,
a message people connected with,
and a campaign structured for victory.
But Nigerian primaries are not democratic contests.
They are auctions.
I witnessed:
delegates traded like commodities
last-minute list manipulations
party “leaders” imposing candidates
vote buyers moving like merchants
godfather phone calls overriding fairness
manufactured results
The system did not reject me because I lacked support.
It rejected me because I lacked subservience.
But I refused to fold.
Action Alliance, The Second Frontline
Strategy required adaptability.
I shifted to Action Alliance (AA), from PDP
a platform that gave me room to stand and fight.
My campaign message spread:
youths believed
communities rallied
families opened their doors
elders nodded in approval
Something was shifting.
But on election day, reality struck:
ballots disappeared
figures were altered
thugs mobilised
security agencies looked away
the “winner” was pre-selected long before the vote
In Nigeria, elections are often not won at the polling unit.
They are organised in hotel rooms.
The Aftermath, Defeat That Was Not a Defeat
I did not enter the House of Representatives.
But I entered something far greater:
the consciousness of my people
the respect of my community
the trust of those who seek truth
the roadmap for future battles
the legacy that titles cannot confer
I walked away with my integrity intact,
a currency rarer than political office.
Politics did not break me.
Politics revealed me.
And that revelation birthed something extraordinary,
a platform that would shake narratives, awaken minds, and challenge the system:
Oblong Media.
OBLONG MEDIA, THE BIRTH OF A VOICE, THE FIGHT FOR TRUTH and THE RISE OF A PLATFORM (2011–PRESENT)
Before politics called in 2018, a seed had been planted in 2011,
a seed named Oblong Media Unlimited.
What began as a simple blog quickly evolved into a voice,
then a platform,
then a movement.
Why Oblong Media Was Born
Nigeria had (and still has) a truth deficit.
A propaganda surplus.
A silence culture.
A fear of speaking.
I created Oblong Media because:
people needed clarity
lies needed countering
history needed documenting
leadership needed criticism
injustice needed exposure
the masses needed a voice
I didn’t create it for fame.
I built it for truth.
The Rise of the Platform
Oblong Media grew like wildfire:
thousands of articles
millions of readers
powerful social media presence
intellectual discussions
political analyses
global geopolitical commentary
fearless advocacy for Nigeria and Africa
The website, http://www.oblongmedia.net, became:
a digital library
an archive of stories
a repository of knowledge
a sanctuary for critical thinkers
It also became a battlefield.
The Attacks, The Trolls, The Resistance
With visibility came enemies:
paid trolls
political agents
propaganda warriors
character assassins
intellectual pretenders
tribal extremists
government watchers
But I never backed down.
When they pushed lies, I responded with facts.
When they twisted narratives, I corrected history.
When they attacked my person, I stood on principle.
When they tried to silence me, I amplified truth.
Oblong Media became a thorn in the flesh of liars, tyrants, and manipulators.
And a blessing to those seeking enlightenment.
The Community I Built
Over the years, a tribe formed around my voice:
thinkers
activists
professionals
academics
global Nigerians
diaspora intellectuals
patriots tired of nonsense
Together, we birthed a digital conscience,
a space where truth lived without apology.
Oblong Media became more than a website.
It became:
responsibility
community
mission
legacy
And it continues to stand firm,
a lighthouse in Nigeria’s fog of confusion.
THE SIXTH FLOOR, REFLECTIONS AT 60, LEGACY, LINEAGE and THE MAN I HAVE BECOME (2025)
On the 16th of December 2025, I stand at the entrance of my sixth decade with a heart overflowing, not with pride, not with regret, but with gratitude.
I have lived a life of many colours, many turns, many storms, many resurrections.
And yet, standing here, I am unbroken.
Not because life was easy.
But because grace was abundant.
What Sixty Looks Like
Sixty feels like:
clarity where confusion once lived
peace where battles once raged
wisdom where mistakes once ruled
gratitude where entitlement once existed
strength where my youthful fire once burned unchecked
Sixty is not old.
Sixty is seasoned.
Sixty is sharpened.
Sixty is enlightened.
Sixty is powerful.
The Man I Became
Looking back, I see versions of myself scattered across continents:
the London child
the Lagos boy
the bullied student of Nike Grammar school
the rebellious teenager with a Volvo and ₦400
the disciplined scholar of SAGS
the ambitious young man in London
the entrepreneur navigating two economies
the father making sacrifices
the politician confronting a broken system
the media voice shaping narratives
I am all of them.
They live in me.
They built me.
Life has humbled me, sharpened me, matured me, and refined me.
Today, I stand as:
a father
a community defender
a patriot
a historian
a thinker
a truth teller
an unafraid voice
a son of Ihiagwa ófó asato
a man walking in destiny
Lineage — The Blood That Speaks
I honour the names that came before me:
Duru Nnadi-Oforgu, the ancestral pillar.
Chief Engr. Ignatius Ugwuanya Nnadi, precision, intellect, leadership.
Lolo Henrietta Nwakego Nnadi, compassion, strength, grace.
I am their continuation.
Their investment.
Their echo in a new age.
Every achievement I’ve earned rests on the foundation they built.
Grace, The Invisible Storyline
If you ask me the secret of my life, it is not:
brilliance
luck
strategy
hard work
connections
It is grace.
Grace carried me when I stumbled.
Grace protected me in storms.
Grace elevated me in silence.
Grace redirected me from mistakes.
Grace restored what I thought was lost forever.
I am a product of grace.
Legacy, What I Leave Behind
When my time on earth is done, this is what will remain:
my children
my name
my writings
my truths
my fight for justice
my love for my people
my contributions to Ihiagwa, Owerri Zone, and Nigeria
the platform I built, Oblong Media
I do not need monuments.
My legacy is carved in minds, words, actions, and impact.
The Future, Still Unwritten
Sixty is not the end of the story.
It is the beginning of a wiser chapter.
There are still:
voices to raise
battles to fight
truths to tell
youths to mentor
injustices to challenge
communities to uplift
legacies to strengthen
I am sixty —
but I am not done.
My mission continues.
My voice remains.
My purpose is still burning.
I am Oblong.
Unbroken.
Unafraid.
And still walking the path destiny laid before me.
EPILOGUE: A MAN OF GRACE
When I look back at the last sixty years, I see storms that should have drowned me.
I see mistakes that should have ruined me.
I see valleys I should never have climbed out from.
I see battles I should not have survived.
But I also see:
the hand of God
the power of destiny
the strength of ancestry
the wisdom earned from scars
the beauty of reinvention
the resilience of a soul unwilling to break
My journey has not been perfect.
It has been human.
Real.
Raw.
Honest.
And above all, redeemed.
As I stand at the sixth floor of life, I whisper three words:
Thank You, God.
For the storms that shaped me,
for the grace that saved me,
for the path that transformed me,
for the destiny that continues to unfold.
My name is:
Duruebube Chima Ignatius “Oblong” Nnadi-Oforgu.
This is my story.
This is my journey.
This is my testimony.
I am OBLONG, UNBROKEN@
And my story is just beginning.
OBLONG MEDIA GLOBAL INTELLIGENCE 
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