ABOUT INNERMEN

External security means nothing if personal safety is ignored.

It was March 2020. COVID-19 had just crept into Nigeria, and uncertainty hung in the air like fog. I decided to go for a routine check-up at Jaiyeola Clinic. I arrived masked, armed with hand sanitizer, cautious but calm. The nurses chuckled. “You too dey fear,” one said. “COVID no reach here like that.” We laughed. It felt harmless—until it wasn't.

Then I walked into Dr. Segun George's office.

He smiled when he saw me, teasing gently about my “over-preparedness.” But unlike the others, he didn't trivialize it. He respected it. We spoke at length—about the virus, about the seminar he'd just attended for top medical professionals. He was sharp, thoughtful, deeply committed to his calling. I left that day feeling reassured. Protected. I didn't know it would be the last time I'd see him.

Weeks later, the air around Jaiyeola Clinic felt heavier. The laughter had faded. The virus we once joked about had begun to show its teeth.

Then came the news.

A patient had come in—Dr. George, as always, stepped forward. He treated them with the same calm professionalism he was known for. No panic. No shortcuts. Just care.

But days later, he began to feel unwell.

At first, it was subtle—fatigue, a dry throat. He monitored himself, hoping it was nothing. But the symptoms grew. And he knew. He didn't wait for drama or fanfare. He packed a small bag, informed his colleagues, and drove himself to the isolation center.

No ambulance. No escort. Just a quiet drive into uncertainty.

He fought. For weeks, he fought. But by May 2020, the virus claimed him.

A man who had spent his life protecting others. Taken by the very thing he tried to shield us from. A man who taught protection. A man who respected it. Lost to a culture that didn't.

Was it failed PPE? Was it ignored PPE? We may never know. But what we do know is this: protection must be personal. It must be cultural. It must be constant.

We also exist because of Tolulope Arotile, Nigeria's first female combat helicopter pilot. She shattered ceilings, inspired a generation, and redefined what it meant to serve. But her life was tragically cut short in a domestic accident—off duty, on home soil. Her story reminds us that protection isn't just for the battlefield. It's for every moment we choose to live boldly.

These aren't just losses. They're lessons.

That's why Innermen started Amorr—our voice, our movement, our message to the continent.

Through Amorr, we tell the stories that shift culture—because until safety lives inside the individual, no gate, guard, or gear can truly protect them.

We're here to spark a revolution. One helmet, one habit, one human at a time.