To My Unborn Child

​To My Unborn Child, With Love

My child (of course I know your name)

You are not here yet, but I already know you.

I know your voice. I know your face. I know the person you are becoming.

And one day, you may read this blog and discover that I was writing to you long before you arrived.

This blog is almost twenty years old. It has carried my thoughts, my reflections, my dreams, my questions and different versions of me as I have grown.

But this particular story is one I want you to know.

Your grandfather, Sani Dangogo, was a presidential correspondent at Dodan Barracks, a decade before I was born.

He was there, reporting around the highest office in the country, long before I existed.

Years later, I went to university and changed my major three times.

My first choice was International Relations, which was connected to your grandmother’s path.

Eventually, I chose journalism.

At the time, I thought I was simply choosing my own career.

I did not realise I was beginning to merge both of your grandparents’ legacies.

Your grandfather started his career at FRCN and later went on to work with the BBC in London.

Before I graduated from university, I received an offer to work as a freelance journalist with BBC Media Action in Abuja.

I remember my father casually mentioning that he had worked at the BBC.

It did not hold much weight for me then.

Three years later, I started working at FRCN.

And then another connection appeared.

My first beat was health reporting, covering USAID.

Your grandmother’s professional background is in public health abroad.

Again, I was beginning to see it.

I was merging both worlds.

Journalism and international affairs.

Communication and public service.

Your grandfather’s path and your grandmother’s path.

Two and a half years later, I was posted to the State House, the Presidential Villa.

And there it was again.

Your grandfather had been a State House correspondent in Lagos, at Dodan Barracks, more than a decade before I was born.

I was not born when he was doing that work.

I did not grow up consciously planning to follow his footsteps.

Yet I walked into the same terrain decades later.

I followed footsteps I did not even know I was following.

Now, your grandfather shares his wisdom with me.

He tells me about his experiences, his work, his dreams, journalism and the realities of working around the highest office in the country.

And the terrain has not changed as much as you might imagine.

Your grandfather was one of the finest reporters I have known.

He worked humbly.

He served with integrity.

And he left no stain on his name.

Decades later, here I am.

And perhaps that is why I think so much about what will come after me.

I am writing this for you because I know you will read this blog someday.

You will find the woman I was before you arrived.

You will find my thoughts, my journals, my questions, my dreams and the things I learned along the way.

I learned love from your grandmother.

I learned love for family.

But as I have grown older, I have learned something else about legacy.

Legacy has to be intentional.

You can love many people.

You can care for many people.

You can help many people.

But there is something deeply intentional about what you pass to the child you birth.

There is a responsibility to preserve the stories, values, wisdom, relationships and blessings that were entrusted to you and to consciously carry them forward.

Your grandfather served his nation at the highest level a decade before I was born.

And you, my child, I believe you will serve your nation at the highest office too.

Your grandmother went on to serve at the highest global level.

And that is where I am headed too.

You will serve countries and people at the highest levels because you come from a legacy of service.

Not only from your grandparents.

From your great grandparents.

From generations before them.

There is a history behind you that you did not create, but one day, you will have the opportunity to add your own chapter to it.

And when you have children of your own, I pray you will have the wisdom to intentionally channel your legacy, your knowledge and your blessings into them.

Love everyone.

Serve everyone.

Be good to people.

But understand the particular responsibility that comes with the child Allah entrusts to you.

Your child will carry your name.

Your values.

Your stories.

Your bloodline.

Your memories.

Your life.

Give them something worthy to carry.

Because legacy is not simply about what you leave behind.

It is also about what you deliberately put into the hands of the next generation.

So, my child, I want you to know something before you ever arrive.

I already know your voice.

I already know your face.

I already know you.

And somehow, I already feel proud of you.

You are loved before I have held you.

You are prayed for before I have met you.

You are part of a story that began long before you.

There will be many more posts here as I grow, learn, work, serve and become.

One day, you will read them.

And perhaps you will understand the woman who was writing them.

You will understand where you came from.

You will understand the people whose shoulders you stand on.

And you will know that long before you were born, your mother was already thinking about you.

The sky is not your limit.

It never was.

Your story is yours to write.

Your legacy is yours to carry.

And I pray Allah gives you the wisdom, courage and humility to make it your own.

I will write another letter once I start walking in your grandmothers  footsteps. 

This is so fun!

I love you.

I am already proud of you.