I never thought I’d be sitting down to write a part two about VeryDarkMan so soon, but here we are. And to be honest, this time, it’s personal. What’s happening is not just a trending topic — it’s a mirror of how truth-tellers are treated in our world. The arrest of Martins Otse, popularly known as VeryDarkMan, isn’t just about him. It’s about all of us who dare to speak, to challenge systems, to live boldly.
You know, I’ve been following VDM for a long time. Since last year. I’ve laughed at his videos, I’ve nodded at his honesty, and sometimes I’ve just sat there and thought, “Wow… someone finally said it.” But nothing prepared me for this — for seeing him manhandled, beaten, blindfolded, and taken away like a criminal in broad daylight. Right in front of his own mother. And I don’t even know where she is right now. That alone is heartbreaking.
I was watching Arise News, and they said he was arrested outside a GT Bank in Abuja. Something about that bank bothers me. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story. Call it instinct, call it suspicion, but something tells me that GT Bank might be tied up in this deeper than they’ll admit. I’m not saying they ordered the arrest, but it all feels too convenient. Too quiet. Too calculated. And until VeryDarkMan himself tells us what happened, the truth is hanging in the air like smoke.
The EFCC came out and said it was because of serious financial crimes — that there were multiple petitions against him, and that he ignored their invitations. But if that’s the truth, then why didn’t they follow proper procedure? Why beat him? Why blindfold him like a terrorist? Why drag him away in front of his mother like he’s less than human? If they had a case, they could’ve served it with dignity. Take him to court, give him a fair hearing, do it the legal way. But no — they chose fear, intimidation, and force.
What they didn’t count on, though, was the reaction.
This isn’t just Nigerians crying out. The call to free VeryDarkMan has gone global. Foreigners. People in the US, in Europe, in other African countries. They’ve seen the videos. They’ve read the headlines. And they’re all saying the same thing: This isn’t justice.
It makes me proud but also shocked. People from outside Nigeria — people who’ve probably never set foot in Africa — are posting, making videos, using hashtags. Not because they know him personally, but because they see something bigger in him. A voice. A heart. A mission.
And I can understand why. The first time I saw VDM online, I’ll admit it — I judged him. The tattoos, the nose piercing, the hair. I thought he was another loud influencer looking for fame. But I was wrong. So wrong. When I actually listened, I found something different. A man with heart. A man with fire. A man who doesn’t just speak for clout — he speaks for justice. For people. For victims. For truth.
I’ll never forget the video where he went all the way to Cameroon. He wasn’t on vacation. He wasn’t there for a show. He went to rescue young Nigerian girls who were trapped in human trafficking. Girls who were being abused by Cameroonian men, stuck in a country not their own. He didn’t just talk about it — he acted. He brought them home. That moment alone made me realize: this man is more than content. He’s a calling.
And that’s why this arrest cuts so deep. Because if someone like VDM can be treated like this — someone who has helped so many, risked so much, and exposed the truth — then what does it mean for the rest of us?
Let me tell you something: people who speak truth always suffer. The world doesn’t like those who call out its wrongs. History is full of names we now celebrate, but many of them were silenced, beaten, jailed — even killed — before they were honoured. And yet, they kept speaking.
VDM is one of them. Unapologetic. Loud. Raw. But honest. And you can’t buy honesty in this world — not in politics, not in media, not even in activism sometimes. That’s why people are fighting for him. Not because he’s perfect, but because he’s real.
I never imagined I’d be so inspired by someone who looks nothing like the stereotype of a “role model.” But I am. I truly am. I want his boldness. I want his courage. I want to speak like he does — with my chest, with my heart, without fear.
Sometimes I ask myself: Who is speaking for my country? Maybe someone is, in French, behind closed doors. But where is the VDM for us? Where is the voice that shakes things, that holds power accountable, that wakes people up? If we all stay scared, if we all stay silent, who will fight for our future?
People will say being good doesn’t pay. I’ve heard that all my life. And sometimes, I’ve believed it. But then I see people like VDM — people who still choose kindness, still choose truth, even when it costs them everything — and I remember what my pastor used to say: Being good serves. Even when it hurts, it serves. Even when you’re betrayed, it serves. Because goodness is its own testimony.
This entire situation, to me, is more than an arrest. It’s a testimony. A call. A reminder. That speaking the truth will cost you — but silence will cost us all.
So to the EFCC, to the people watching, to the world:
You can blindfold a man — but you can’t blindfold the truth.
And to VeryDarkMan, if you ever read this: We see you. We hear you. We stand with you.
#FreeVeryDarkMan
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