Published: June 30, 2025
Picking up the pieces of a broken heart still causes you to bleed. The aftermath hurts more than the moment everything fell apart. How do you feel looking at yourself through a shattered mirror? Incomplete. No matter how hard you try to make sense of it all, the cracks remain—a painful reminder that healing doesn’t mean the scars will vanish. And just because the scars are visible doesn’t mean the pain lingers. Sometimes, people grieve over things that no longer hurt them. The refusal to move on becomes the real bondage.
But when a new beginning rises—like the sun awakening the dawn—does it completely erase the darkness that consumed it?
Investing in Liberia is like falling in love with a woman willing to love you back. Sadly, she’s surrounded by manipulative family and friends—pretending to care but secretly rooting for her downfall out of envy. This is how many citizens behave when it comes to national progress. If you disagree, how do you explain the burning down of the Capitol Building? Isn’t that the same destructive mindset that caused Big Brabee Liberia’s three-year hiatus?
Our entertainment and social structures are modeled after Nigeria. We sing like them, dance like them, act like them, and even talk like them. If we could, we’d rename Liberia to “Little Nigeria.” So why, then, do we resent Nigerian investors? Isn’t that the height of hypocrisy?
Aside from the Nigerian films that once flooded our screens, the most-watched television program here was Big Brother Nigeria. Every season, Liberia becomes obsessed—glued to Nigerian content more than anything homegrown. You’d think Fred Ola, a Nigerian entrepreneur, would be celebrated for tapping into that obsession by launching Big Brabee Liberia, the country’s first-ever reality TV show. Instead, he was vilified.
Fred saw the obsession as a symptom of a deeper issue—identity crisis. And that, he believed, was more dangerous than any bomb, child soldier, or 14-year war. So, with selfless ambition and heavy investment, he created Big Brabee Liberia. For the first time ever, Liberian culture, tradition, music, and cuisine were broadcast to local and international audiences. Liberia was finally seen, heard, and appreciated.
You’d expect Fred Ola to be honored. Instead, he was bombarded with slander, lies, and baseless criticism. Of course, no business is without flaws. But nothing warranted the level of hatred Fred endured while trying to improve the Big Brabee brand.
A trending interview with Burkina Faso’s President Ibrahim Traoré recently struck a chord. He responded to accusations by U.S. Army General Michael Langley, referencing the late Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi and former U.S. President Barack Obama. His point was sharp: when a Black man falls, it’s often not another race pulling the strings—it’s another Black man. The betrayal isn’t new. Think Cain and Abel. Think of the centuries when Black men sold their brothers into slavery. Has any of that led to progress?
It’s time for Big Brabee Liberia to return. Whatever is hindering its revival should be dealt with decisively.
We’ve heard whispers that the last season’s winner, Shakey, is the stumbling block—allegedly because he hasn’t received the house he was promised. The BBL team has publicly explained the logistical and financial challenges they’ve faced in delivering that part of the prize. However, every other promised reward, including a luxurious car and other mouth-watering benefits, was reportedly fulfilled the night of his victory.
Some now question: would Shakey be this combative if Fred weren’t a Nigerian? Has nationalism blurred the lines between fairness and entitlement?
Liberia needs Big Brabee back. We need to see ourselves again. Shakey and the BBL team must rise above ego and grievances. This is bigger than personal pride—this is about rebuilding an industry.
We need Big Brabee Liberia. And we need it now.
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