When Parents Turn Children into ATMs and Cursed for Not Bringing Enough: Destiny Boy and the Dangerous Culture of Entitlement
R. M. Adisa
The death of Destiny Boy, born Afeez Adesina, at just 22 years old is a tragedy that should trouble the conscience of every parent, guardian, and young person in Nigeria. A life so young, gifted, and full of promise has been cut short, leaving behind grief, confusion, and uncomfortable questions we can no longer afford to ignore.
Destiny Boy was not just another rising Fuji–Afro voice; he was a symbol of youthful ambition in a country where many young people believe success must come early, loudly, and at all costs. Yet the circumstances surrounding his final hours are deeply unsettling. Conflicting reports, ranging from a severe private illness to unverified claims of his death occurring at a traditional spiritual house in Ijebu-Ode, have left fans traumatised and searching for answers. Even more painful are reports circulating online of family conflict, including audio evidence of his mother cursing him and placing heavy emotional pressure on him over money. Whether every detail is true or exaggerated, the broader lesson remains painfully clear: pressure can kill.
Sadly, Destiny Boy’s story is not isolated.
We have seen similar public family conflicts play out repeatedly. Imisi, a Big Brother Naija winner, was accused by her mother of abandonment after her rise to fame, only for Imisi to publicly explain the support she had been quietly providing. Asake’s success was also followed by accusations from his father, allegations that later unravelled into a more complex story of long-term absence and reconciliation. Phyna shocked fans when she openly described how financial demands from her father left her feeling more like ATM machine than a daughter. The tragic death of Mohbad in 2023 further exposed how unresolved family tensions, property disputes, and public accusations can turn grief into spectacle.
Behind all these stories is a recurring and disturbing pattern: children becoming financial projects rather than human beings.
Many parents today, whether intentionally or not, are transferring their personal frustrations, economic failures, and unmet dreams onto their children. Some no longer ask, “How are you coping?” but “How much are you bringing home?” This mindset is dangerous. It pushes young people to chase money at all costs, morally, emotionally, and sometimes spiritually.
From observations and experience, it is clear that this pressure is driving many youths into unholy paths. Across campuses and cities, young girls are drawn into hook-up culture, cybercrime, ritualism, and online exploitation. On TikTok, teenagers appear half-naked on live streams, trading dignity for virtual gifts usually not worth more than ₦20,000. Young boys are lured into fraud, Yahoo Yahoo, robbery, and dangerous shortcuts, all in the name of “making it” quickly. This is not merely youthful recklessness; it is often parental silence, expectation, or encouragement dressed as survival.
There was a time when parenting meant sacrifice. I remember vividly how my own mother sold her gold to fund my university education in 1989. She did this repeatedly until all of us completed school. Until the day she died, I felt I could never truly repay her sacrifices. Even now, not a single day passes without me praying for her soul 5 times. She was staying put in in Issele-Uku Delta Sate where she operated her shop even at old age, until we the children and grandchildren insisted she returned home in Ilorin to rest and in return for us to take care of her. She gave without demanding returns. She invested without expecting profit. That was parenting.
What, then, are many parents doing today?
Let us relate this with another good examples set by the mother of the late Sikiru Ayinde Barrister, the unquestioned pioneer of Fuji music. His mother stood by him through poverty, mockery, and uncertainty. The same unwavering support was given by the mothers of King Ayinde Wasiu (KWAM1) and Alhaji Wasiu Alabi Pasuma, women who nurtured talent with patience, prayer, and protection not pressure.
In today’s Nigeria, social media has become more than a town square; it has become a family meeting held in public. Celebrities now resolve private family matters before millions of strangers, turning pain into content and conflict into currency. The more these issues are dragged into the open, the more they escalate, harden positions, and become impossible to resolve. What could have been settled in a living room becomes a lifelong digital scar.
This is a warning, to parents and to young people alike.
To parents: Your child is not your retirement plan. Do not curse what you laboured to bring forth. Do not emotionally blackmail your children into destroying themselves. Guide them. Pray for them. Protect them. Remember that success has seasons, and pressure shortens lives.
To young people: Money is not worth your soul, your health, or your life. Avoid shortcuts that promise wealth but deliver destruction. No amount of fast cash can replace peace of mind or restore lost years.
Destiny Boy’s death should not become just another trending topic. It should become a turning point, a moment of reflection, repentance, and change. Because when children are pushed too hard to produce money, society ends up paying the price in funerals, broken families, and wasted potential.
May his soul rest in peace. And may we finally learn the lesson his death is trying to teach us.
