Basil Odilim
In a private letter to his son, John D. Rockefeller—the world’s first billionaire and one of the most disciplined minds in modern capitalism—laid out the philosophies that built his empire. He told his son that no one achieves success by chance. Success, he wrote, is the result of constant effort, discipline, and sacrifice. He spoke of waking early, mastering time, and making decisions that always aligned with long-term goals. He urged his son to adopt these habits early: to be diligent, persistent, and, above all, to live by example.
But there was something even deeper in Rockefeller’s wisdom—a warning. He cautioned against deception and unethical shortcuts. “A businessman’s word,” he said, “is his most precious resource.” Reputation, he explained, takes years to build and can be destroyed in an instant. In his eyes, a man’s credibility was his greatest currency, more valuable than profit or power.
These timeless values formed the foundation of Rockefeller’s enduring success. But sadly, in countries like Nigeria today—and by extension, the world—this philosophy seems to be a rarity. Integrity has been replaced by cunning, deceit, and lies. Too many men and women today have preferred the quick and hollow rewards of dishonesty, selling their souls for the mere porridge of wealth, power, and status. Their names, once held in esteem, are now thrown to the dogs, as they build their empires on the ruin of others.
It is a tragedy that the most gifted often don’t make it—not because they lack ideas, talent, or drive—but because they refuse to bend the rules or betray their moral compass. The rise of the morally compromised is all too evident, as those who play the game of deception, patronage, and manipulation are rewarded, while those who stay true to their discipline and integrity are marginalized. What has become clear is that those who stick to the principles of honesty and hard work often face barriers, while those who compromise at every turn climb to the top.
This contrast reminds me deeply of my father.
Throughout my childhood, I cannot recall a single weekday morning seeing my father at home. Monday through Saturday, he was gone before sunrise and rarely returned before nightfall—most times just in time for a late dinner. He was a disciplined workaholic, not because he loved toil for toil’s sake, but because he believed it was the only honest way to live and provide. More than that, he believed in justice and fairness—even to one’s enemies—because to betray those principles was, in his eyes, to betray the very meaning of life itself.
He didn’t write us letters like Rockefeller did. He didn’t need to. He lived those principles every day.
Our father, Igboewesioke Enwegbara, bore a name that itself was a philosophy. Igboewesioke—Igbos have always believed in an inclusive, non-zero-sum compassionate world. The Igbo, he reminded us, are a people who believe in ‘live and let live’—a deeply humane approach to economics and life. His surname, Enwegbara, meaning “when everyone has wealth,” pointed to a deeper truth: that peace and harmony are only possible in a society where prosperity is shared.
These values weren’t just spoken. They were lived. My father’s word was his bond. His name—our family name—was treated like a sacred trust. He taught us, not through lectures but through example, that in the end, your good name is worth more than all the riches in the world. It is your true and irreplaceable trademark.
Yet today, I find myself asking: Was the devil on vacation during Rockefeller’s and my father’s time, only to return in full force today? In an age where public figures seem to openly worship the devil and money at all costs, the price of integrity seems to be spiraling downward. It’s as if society has sold its soul in exchange for fleeting pleasures.
The contrast could not be starker. In my father’s time—and in Rockefeller’s—integrity and hard work were the cornerstones of success. But today, it feels as though dishonesty has become the foundation of success. The very values that my father instilled in me—discipline, truth, and justice—seem to have no place in the corridors of power and business anymore. And what makes this so painful is not just that these values are being discarded, but that those who still hold onto them are often discarded in turn.
When I encounter dishonesty, when I see the glint of deceit in someone’s words or actions, I cannot abide it. For me, once the truth is compromised, I am gone. I turn away, not out of anger, but out of fear—not for myself, but for the world that seems to reward dishonesty. There is an unease, a fear that, by engaging with people who have no regard for truth, I too might be swayed by the devil’s whisper. It is a quiet, personal sacrifice, but it is a necessary one.
As an introvert, I may often feel alone in this stance. My circle is small, not because I seek isolation, but because I know that integrity comes with a price. In a world where most are willing to compromise, it’s not easy to find those who share this outlook. But in the silence, in the solitude, I hold on to the one thing that remains when everything else is gone: my name. My word. My integrity.
And it’s moments like these that make me appreciate the gift my father left behind. Recently, someone who knew the story of my father, upon hearing my surname Enwegbara[aku], publicly declared that if there’s one person he is certain is in heaven, it’s my father. That statement brought me immense joy—not because I didn’t already know it was possible, but because my son was there to hear it. To see that my father’s integrity—his unwavering commitment to honesty and fairness—still resonates today is a powerful testament to the lasting impact of a life lived with honor.
In today’s world, particularly in Nigeria, the tragic reality is that honesty is often seen as weakness. It’s a harsh truth that we’re surrounded by individuals who will do anything for money and power, and in the process, they willingly sacrifice their souls. They deceive, they cheat, they lie—and in return, they climb higher. But for me, the cost is too great. A name, once lost, can never be restored. The same cannot be said for money or fame.
I know that where I am today is not where the world expected me to be. I don’t have the big bank account, the fancy cars, or the grand houses that others might associate with success. But to gain those things at the expense of my name and my integrity is a price I’m not willing to pay. I’ve seen too many who chased wealth at any cost, only to find that their success came at the cost of their soul. My father’s legacy taught me that true success is measured not by material gain, but by the strength of your character.
So, I hold on. I hold on to my father’s teachings, to Rockefeller’s timeless wisdom, and to the truth that no matter how harsh the world becomes, my integrity is my shield. It is my legacy, and no amount of deceit will ever take it away.
I know for sure that at the end of our lives, we often reflect on the things we could have done differently. If given a second chance, we would likely avoid those mistakes entirely. This is the undeniable truth of life.
