God saved my life and gave me my name.

This story is one I’ve been taunted with all my life, so I’m just going to tell it as it is.

I’m the last child. No surprise there, I rant too much, but I am also the last child with distance: 7 years apart from my immediate sibling. Last child of 6.

Why did they have to wait 7 years to have me?

First answer: they didn’t wait 7 years, they waited 3. I’m supposed to have a different immediate elder sister, but she died.

That was the second child of my parents that died, so my ma was already fed up; no more kids, let’s keep the ones we have.

“Go into the world and multiply” is not the first commandment God gave to man as a fluke, so my parents went at it again, and Ichaka the sharpshooter, I didn’t miss my chance—I was conceived.

Here’s where it starts to get wicked.

See, my ma was serious about not having another child—like, damn serious. So let’s say she found out she was pregnant this weekend; she was already going to get rid of me, like meeee, Ichaka, on Monday, without my Dad’s knowledge of the pregnancy, nor his consent to the removal of the baby. Not that I have a problem with that—I’m pro-choice, I’m not exactly happy to be born as a Nigerian—but heyyyyyyyy, there’s Igbo babes, Yoruba babes, and some boys, but let’s not get carried away here.

I was to be washed away on Monday. If today was a Saturday in October 2003, the Sunday leading up to that day (washing away Monday) was pretty chill. A random woman came to my ma and said, “God gave you something and you want to throw it away. Don’t.”

Type shit, type shit. Cosmic forces going to battle for a man like Ichaka.

Well, my ma is a believer, so when someone comes to you with something like that, you don’t play about that baby. So she went home and told my dad that she was pregnant. That nigga was happy and oblivious to the fact that he might have missed out on a generational nigga like Ichaka.

In that sense, God saved my life.

But the nigga wasn’t done. Here’s where the story gets interesting. Of course, the pregnancy went without incident (angels were ready to ride and whatnot), but when I was finally born, God sent another person to my house.

He came as he was told and said, “I don’t know if this is crazy, but God said a baby will be born here, all you have to do is name him IKENNA” My dad said, “No shit, he’s inside, you might as well name him yourself.” That is how I got my name 6 days before the traditional naming ceremony. I got the name Excel later on after a debate that my aunt won about a pastor that she knows that was called Excel.

SO YES, God gave me my name and saved my life. Even though my faith isn’t as strong as it used to be, for reasons best known to me (I’m avoiding being called; women are so fine), I still hold the belief that He is real.

This story doesn’t make me special or anything. I’m just a lastborn with a 7-year gap. What is special though? I’m Ichaka, and that motherfucker is tough like mad.

I’m not a destiny child though, you are my destiny. Text me babe❤️