Thread by @eketiette

“Sir, do you have a Will?”
“God forbid! Barrister, are you praying for me to die?”

“Madam, do you have a Will?”
“Me? Will? Is that not for men?”

Let me tell you a true story, about how a Will can make or break a family and how you’re #NotTooYoungToWill.

Names and locations have been changed. You know why.

Let me tell you about this guy, Emeka.
He was the smartest boy in school. Always came 1st. One year, for a state competition, he was chosen to represent his school. Being the smartest guy in the village school is one thing;

it’s another to compete at state level and win.

Emeka won.
After the dust of jubilation settled, Emeka’s father called a family meeting. He didn’t mince words.

“Emeka, your teacher came to see me. He said that you have a good chance to go to school abroad. That he can help..

But he said that we’ll still have to pay for some things. Since you’re the smartest child in this family, I’m willing to make this sacrifice. But before I make any decision, I’d like to know what everyone else thinks.”

Of course his mother agreed, as did his sisters.

The only person who may have had an issue, was his eldest brother, Evaristus.

You see, Emeka’s family was poor. Financially providing for anything not covered by his scholarship meant that someone was going to give up school.
That was Evaristus, the first son. He was in SS2...

and struggling. If Emeka got the scholarship, he’d have to wait before going to the university.

“Papa, nsogbu adiro,” he said. “It’s not like I like school sef. I want to go into business.”

Emeka eventually got that scholarship at eighteen and left for the US.

Evaristus began an apprenticeship with a man who sold shoes in Ogbete Main Market.

At first he and the family sent Emeka some money. Then Emeka got a couple of jobs and began to send them a little token. He was bright and well-liked and often got good afterschool jobs.

University done, a very lucky chance opened up for him to extend his stay and do his Master’s and PhD. His family supported him. He couldn’t afford to go home in the years he was there, not even when his father died.

Nearly ten years after he’d left Nigeria, Emeka returned.

Tears. Jubilation. Parties. It was a king’s homecoming. Young and ambitious, he moved to Lagos and started a very successful clearing and forwarding company.

But not before he settled his family. Re-buried his father. Built a humongous palace in the village as the family house.

Opened up a scholarship program for the most promising children in the village.

Finally, he gave his eldest brother money to start a business—20 million naira—more money than he’d ever had in his entire life.

Trouble started two years later, when he wanted to get married.

“Emeka, you’re too young,” Evaristus said. “At least, wait until you’re 35. You know my children are still young. Once you marry, you’ll start having children. How will you care for yours and mine?”

He’d always known his older brother was self-absorbed and a little entitled.

But for the first time, Emeka was stunned at the extent.

“Dede, I gave you money and even started a business for you, so you can take care of your family. What do you mean by how will I care for yours?”

“You know how it is nah,” Evaristus replied. “We’re family and we take..

care of each other. Just like I stopped going to the university, so that you could further your education.”

“Brother, you didn’t stop…..,”

“And I was also sending you money when you were in obodo oyibo. If anything happens to me now, you’ll have to care for my family.”

Emeka heaved a tired sigh. “Brother, nothing will happen to you in Jesus name.”

Emeka got married. Had twins a year later—a boy and a girl. Then one day while his office, his secretary called him on the intercom.

“Sir, you’re sister-in-law is here to see you.”

“My sister-in-law?” he asked, perplexed. Nwakaego had come all the way from Enugu to Lagos to see him?

Scared that something had happened to his brother, he said, “Please, send her in.”
When Nwakaego walked in, her countenance was sullen.

"Nwunye m," Emeka said, "What's the

matter? What brought you to Lagos?”

Not waiting for an invitation, she took a seat. After a couple of seconds, she took a deep breath and spoke.

“Emeka, what did I ever do to offend you?” she burst out.

“Eh?”

“What did I do to offend you, that you’ve ruined my marriage?”

“Sister…”

“Mechionu, let me finish! Evaristus wasn’t rich but we weren’t poor. Then you came back and gave him 20 million naira. Emeka, 20 million. You gave twenty million to a man who’d never seen such money in his life. You and I know your brother is not wise. Still…”

“But sister, I was only trying to thank him for the sacrifices he made for me to be able to further my education.”

The woman scoffed. “What sacrifices? It’s not like he dropped out of school or something. He sent you what—a total of ten thousand naira while you were there.

How much is ten thousand? But that’s not even my concern. Do you know he squandered away that money? Do you?”

“He didn’t squander it, sister. He just made a bad business investment, that’s all.”

“Emeka, you’re not stupid. So, don’t sit there and talk stupid, inugo?!

He used that money to become a local champion in Enugu. Chasing women up and down. Drinking and eating isi ewu in different joints every single night. Barely coming home. Until the business shut down.

But did I complain? Mba. Then you, Emeka, knowing all of these, decided to...

give him another ten million. So, I ask you again, k’ihe mmere gi? How did I wrong you in this life?”

At this point, I’d like to cut this story short.

Emeka confronted his brother. Evaristus told him he was stupid to confront him about how he spent his hard-earned money.

Emeka asked which money he’d earned.

Evaristus said, “For all we know, I’d have eventually gone to the university if you’d not stolen my chance. I slaved as an apprentice so you could go to school.

Technically, everything you own belongs to me. And let me tell you something -

these handouts you’re giving me will stop. It’s high time you made me a full partner in your business and a signatory to your accounts.”

And just like that, battle lines were drawn. Their uncle was called in to settle issues; he took sides with Evaristus.

Things went from bad to worse until they landed in court. Evaristus had fraudulently sold a piece of land belonging to Emeka.

Outside the court that day, both he and their uncle threatened his brother.

“Emeka, I will kill you,” Evaristus raged.

“It’s either you make me a co-owner of all you have, or you’ll die. Take it or leave it.”

At that point, Emeka realising the gravity of things, went to see his best friend and lawyer.

“Guy, write a Will. Quickly.”

“At my age?”

“Yes, at your age. You’re #NotTooYoungToWill.

Set up something for your kids. See, these people may succeed. Trust me, you don’t want to die intestate and leave your family to the mercy of these thieves.”

Two weeks later, Emeka did his Will.
The next day, at the age of 38, he died in his sleep.

Barely eighteen hours later, his uncle and brother arrived Lagos by night bus and went straight to his house.

They began to harass his widow. You witch! You killed our brother. Bring all his documents. Where are the car keys and the papers to his properties?

Who is the signatory to his accounts? Where are the children? We can no longer afford that expensive school they’re attending. Their father did well in the village—they’ll go to school there when all this is over.

The lawyer showed up.

1.Emeka had made plans and set aside money for his funeral. He even did a video to accompany his written instruction.

2.After the burial which was strictly supervised by the executor to his estate, the Will was read.

3.Everything was held in trust by the board of his company until his children turned twenty-one. Until then, his widow and children were to be given a stipend every month.

Said stipends were to be disclosed only to the widow, kids and executor.

4.His sisters and sister-in-law got something. His uncle and older brother got nothing.

I cannot describe how mad these two men were. How they threatened to contest the Will but couldn’t. But more than anything, I can’t describe the widow’s relief. That Will protected them.

This story is self explanatory. Have you acquired reasonable assets, both liquid and solid?

Write a Will. Don’t leave anything to chance.

Don’t be like my former clients in the first tweet. Or like the average Nigerian who does this:

Be smart. Protect the ones you love.

You can create a simple Will online at willpower.ng. Or, you can complete this contact form and @UTLTrustees will call to answer your questions: tinyurl.com/willpowerng. #NotTooYoungToWill

There are fees which cover probate and courier fees, so everything is included. Full details at willpower.ng

Remember: you're #NotTooYoungToWill