(Opening song twice)
The year I turned thirty-four,
I came of age—again.
My best friend then called it a midlife crisis;
I knew it as metamorphosis.
I was transitioning.
My life mirrored the journey of adolescence.
My intellectual diet changed,
my spirit craved strong meat.
It was a season of great discomfort—
but it ushered me into the best season of my life.
I was becoming.
I was growing up, shedding fear,
each step a reintroduction—
until I became
the kind of woman who carries
storms with steady hands.
I wasn’t the only one shedding skin.
Somewhere, a company was forming—
in uncertainty, in long nights and courageous mornings.
A group emerged. It endured. It became.
There is something to be said about the audacity
of architects who refuse to build ordinary dreams—
how they too came of age, not once but continuously,
taking a vision and growing it into groups,
into a body capable of things men call impossible.
Homework Group—even the name suggests industry,
suggests the kind of people who do not wait
for permission to build tomorrow.
Take a breath.
Look around.
Ten years—
a decade of questions answered
in sweats, concrete and steel.
But they are not done.
(MUSIC: NO DOUBT…(ONCE)
verse 2
This coming of age
was not about permits,
or secrets newly uncovered—
there were mood swings
triggered by market revelations.
They traveled many lanes
from vision into reality,
shedding fear as they became
the kind of company
that makes impossible mathematics
look like simple homework—
the home-work,
the heart-work.
They said:
We will not inherit mediocrity.
We will not genuflect to convention.
Watch us turn fragmented industries
into an integrated ecosystem.
Watch us weave pillars of real estate
into a living love letter.
And so they did.
Ten years of saying yes to bold visions.
Ten years of choosing what others called unreachable.
Ten years of becoming
something greater than imagined.
Because coming of age doesn’t beg for permission—
it unfolds in sustainable dreams made manifest,
in teams shaped by purpose
and held together by excellence.
We say, “Let there be light,”
and wire solutions into existence.
This coming of age is a call:
Take yourselves seriously,
but wear success loosely.
to not hug trauma like trophies.
To stop polishing your pain like silver.
To shatter inherited ceilings
and redefine what’s possible.
It begins with a personal responsibility—
to think freely, and act boldly,
knowing that your decisions brought you here.
How do you teach silence to speak in square meters?
How do you bend concrete to obey a dream?
How do you rise above conformity?
(MUSIC: ohhh we will sing new song…(ONCE)
Verse 3
Ten years of carrying vision in imperfect hands.
Of sacrificing, bleeding, building—
With no guarantee, only grit.
Of holding your breath between setbacks.
Nevertheless, you are coming of age—again and again.
Becoming more than you imagined.
Becoming more, even when it hurts.
Because in becoming, you bleed—
not just from wounds,
but from the pressure of growing past who you used to be.
You are much more than today’s challenges and struggles—
you are much more than now,
and you are not who you were yesterday.
You are a river flowing fluidly,
watering seeds of possibility along your path,
blessing all you touch with your essence.
From here on, this is your homework:
Build like you believe in yourself with
the audacity of God speaking through your hands.
Build like your ancestors are watching.
Build like your children’s children
are counting on you to leave them
something beautiful
It’s exciting, scary, rewarding, and risky—
yet we all deserve to come of age more than once,
to outgrow childishness and explore a new kind of wisdom.
So Today we celebrate a philosophy made flesh—
ten years of refusing the gravity of low expectations,
ten years of doing the assignment
many were too afraid to turn in,
Thank you for showing us what excellence looks like.
Thank you, Homework Group Africa,
for doing the homework
when others were still making excuses.
But we are not done yet—
not done believing,
not done becoming.
The first assignment was mastery—
ten years of proving what’s possible
when dreams are engineered with discipline,
when real estate becomes nation-building.
The next decade calls for deeper foundations,
wider territories to transform,
cities aching to be called forth by your touch,
Ten years taught you to build—
The next ten will teach you to soar—
not just higher, but deeper past borders drawn by fear,
into the realms where ‘unstoppable’
becomes your mother tongue.
This is your prophetic assignment:
Build nations. Expand neighborhoods.
Architect legacies that outlive the landmarks.
Create ecosystems that birth other ecosystems,
until your homework becomes
the curriculum others study.
Àpèjúwe—
the living description
of what is possible
when a vision refuses to shrink.
A testimony too solid to ignore,
too bold to forget.
And as for me—
I’m still becoming.
Still shedding.
Still saying yes to the fire
that began refining me at thirty four.
For we are never done becoming—
we are promises unfolding,
journeying from unraveling,
to enlightening,
to revealing.
(MUSIC: the full song twice)
