Bye Bye Fatman

09/01/2026

Due to technical reasons, ishownospeed, also known as Bye Bye Fat Man, has had to postpone his scheduled bungee jump off the Victoria Falls Bridge this afternoon.

ishownospeed was hoping to emulate the legendary ishowspeed by jumping from the very same bridge, confident it would be even more spectacular, largely due to increased mass, stronger gravitational pull, and undeniable presence.

However, after urgent consultation with the International Institution of Rope Makers, several engineers, and one deeply concerned official, it was agreed that ishownospeed might be a little too heavy for the rope and could, in a worst case scenario, cause minor bridge distortion and an unnecessary international incident.

Safety first. Ego bruised. Jump postponed.

08/01/2026

Today turned into a proper family adventure.

We knew that IShowSpeed was in Livingstone. The children have followed him for years and absolutely love his content. Debra, although not a regular viewer, knew enough about his plans for the day for us to start thinking, what if we tried to find him?

So we did what any modern family would do. We followed the trail. We tracked his arrival into Zambia, knew he had met up with members of the bike community and the Minister for Tourism, and that he had headed to the bridge between Zambia and Zimbabwe for some bungee jumping, which felt very on brand for his high energy, adrenaline driven style.

Later we saw online that he had been at the Falls on the Zambian side at around six in the evening. That was enough. We rushed home from work, picked up the children, and jumped in the car. Debra, her sister Florence, six children and myself, all buckled up and headed along Mosi Oa Tunya Road.

Our first stop was the Protea Hotel. We did not seriously expect him to be there, but it was worth a quick check, and it remains one of our favourite spots in Livingstone. No luck.

Next was Avani. This felt like a possibility. We popped to reception, joked that we were friends of his, and shared a bit of banter with the staff. As often happens in Livingstone, at least one person knew who I was from social media. They assured us he was not staying there, and everything about the interaction suggested they were being straight with us.

We briefly checked the Royal Livingstone too. The gentleman on reception was clear and polite, and we believed him when he said our man was not a guest there.

By now everyone was getting tired, so Debra and Florence stayed in the car while I walked up to reception at the Radisson Blu with the children. I asked, with my usual light hearted approach, whether my good friend IShowSpeed might be around and fancy a nightcap. The reception team laughed and said no.

But something in the room told me to keep the joke going. I turned to the children and asked if they thought the ladies were telling the truth. Smiles appeared, then laughter. Eventually they explained that yes, he was in the hotel, but he was in his suite with his entourage and security and would not be meeting anyone from the public. They even shared that their own general manager had hoped for a selfie and had been politely declined.

The children were deflated. So was I. At the same time, as an adult, I understood. He had clearly had a long and busy day, and rest matters. Still, knowing some of the people who had been part of his daytime programme, it was hard not to notice that much of his time had been spent with adults who were not really his core audience.

His real fans are children and young people. The ones who watch every video, quote his lines, and light up when his name is mentioned. When you reach that level of online fame, I imagine it becomes difficult to stay fully authentic and to meet everyone who wants a moment of your time.

We took a few photos outside the hotel and called it a night. Had he not been there, our last stop would have been the David Livingstone Lodge.

In the end, we told the children exactly what we believed ourselves. Meeting him was always unlikely. The fun was in the chase, the excitement, the stories, the shared memories. And they got that. The adventure mattered more than the outcome.

So, on the off chance that anyone from his team sees this before he leaves Livingstone, my inbox is open. A simple breakfast with my family would mean the world to six children, three of ours and three nieces and nephews.

Thank you for visiting Zambia. You are welcome here. This is a magnificent country, and its people are generous, warm, and full of life. Just as they have welcomed you, they have welcomed us too.

08/01/2026

We spent the whole evening searching for IShowSpeed around Livingstone. We eventually tracked down his hotel and asked if there was any chance the kids could see him, even just wave hello.

His security team were keeping him completely out of sight, and the kids were left pretty disappointed. I get it, he needs rest, he’s human, and the schedule must be intense.

But at the same time, it did sting a bit. He’d spent the day entertaining grown adults who probably didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet there was no time for the kids who actually watch his videos every day and genuinely adore him.

That mix of excitement, hope, and then disappointment is hard to watch as a parent. Still, life lessons everywhere. Heroes are human, and sometimes the chase is more memorable than the moment itself.

08/01/2026

08/01/2026

Forget IShowSpeed.
Come and meet IShowNoSpeed.

Bye Bye Fatman.
Officially the slowest man in town.

Your favourite influencer across all channels is right here in Livingstone, all the time. No running away. No security. I’m far too slow for that.

Come say hello. Have a chat. Take a selfie. Let’s be friends.

And forget the guy heading back to America anyway.

07/01/2026

A genuine thank you to everyone who has reached out to offer help and advice regarding my spouse visa situation in Zambia. The level of support has been overwhelming, and it is deeply appreciated.

I now have legal assistance in Lusaka, and I am trusting that process as we move to the next stage of appeal. We have several clear strategies in place to address the technical issues involved. I remain optimistic that the visa will ultimately be granted and that I will have the legal right to remain in Zambia. In the meantime, I am still lawfully present in the country, and what remains are procedural matters that need to be resolved.

I also want to be honest about a wider context. I am acutely aware that my country of origin, the United Kingdom, operates an immigration system that is structurally and institutionally discriminatory. It deliberately prices families out of reunification by imposing excessive savings thresholds and unrealistic income requirements, particularly on spouses of British citizens. The process is deliberately prolonged and layered, forcing families to pay repeatedly over many years simply to exercise a basic right to family life. I am also deeply uncomfortable with the way people are treated at points of entry in the UK, whether airports or ports, and I have spoken out about this consistently.

I do not believe my current situation has anything to do with global geopolitics, nor do I believe it is retaliatory in nature on the part of Zambian authorities. If there has been any interference, it is more likely local, personal, and rooted in discomfort with my public views and my social media presence. I do not believe there is anything more sinister than that.

I continue to trust that the institutions of the Republic of Zambia function properly and fairly, and that our right to family life, as protected under international human rights law, will be respected.

Finally, for clarity, although I previously described myself as an economic migrant, which was accurate at the time as I came to Zambia to work, my circumstances have now changed. I have ceased employment on a point of principle due to a fundamental difference in worldview with my former employer. I am committed to supporting my wife in her business, contributing to our home, and taking on a secondary role within our family life. At this stage of my life, I am content with that arrangement. I may return to formal employment in the future, but for now, I am seeking the appropriate visa that allows me to live legally, peacefully, and with dignity alongside my family

07/01/2026

The challenges of content creation. You’re trying to be deep, thoughtful, maybe even inspirational… and then a fly lands on your head and refuses to move.

No filters. No retakes. Just real life reminding you who’s in charge.

Content creation is glamorous like that.

06/01/2026

Today I received news I never imagined I would have to share. My application for a Zambian spouse visa has been denied.

I am married to a Zambian. I am the father of three Zambian children. I have lived here for the past 18 months, legally and transparently, working, contributing, and building a life for my family. When I resigned from my job, I followed the correct process to change my immigration status. At no point did I believe refusal was even a possibility.

Yet here we are.

For legal reasons, there are things I cannot go into, and I have been advised to be careful about what I say publicly. What I can say is that this decision has left me stunned and deeply saddened. Zambia is not just where I live. It is where my family belongs. It is the country I have given my heart to.

Those who follow me know that I have consistently tried to use my voice in a way that is respectful, constructive, and rooted in love for this country. I have spoken out against exploitation, against the misuse of white privilege, and in favour of justice, dignity, and equality. I have tried, in my small way, to be an ally and an advocate. I genuinely believed that this commitment mattered.

Right now, I do not know what comes next. I will appeal this decision. That is the immediate step. But I also have to be honest and say that, if the appeal fails, it may mean leaving Zambia and then trying to rebuild our lives elsewhere, with enormous uncertainty. That is not something I ever thought I would be writing.

I am sharing this not to stir anger or blame, but because this is our reality at this moment. We are hurting. We are confused. But we are also trying to remain hopeful.

To those who know us, who know our family, and who know my intentions, thank you for your support. To those who have shown us kindness over the years, please know it has never been taken for granted.

For now, we take this one step at a time. We hold onto each other. And we try, somehow, to keep believing that the glass is still half full, even on days like this.

05/01/2026

If you are fortunate enough to earn a decent income, my advice is simple, don’t waste it on stuff. Stuff you hoard. Stuff you barely use. Stuff that looks shiny but adds nothing to your life. Even functional things can become clutter when they are unnecessary. Instead, invest in experiences. Travel. See the world. Meet people who live differently to you. Learn new cultures. Eat unfamiliar food. Sit in places where you are the outsider and listen more than you speak. It is the greatest education you will ever receive.

I know this because I’ve lived it. I was lucky enough to travel extensively on my own, and later even more blessed to do it as a family. Living and travelling across different countries has shaped who we are, how we think, and how we see others. It has taught our children empathy, curiosity, and humility. Memories outlast possessions every time. Experiences grow you. Stuff just gathers dust.

05/01/2026

One of the most disturbing religious practices I see today is the way the tithe is weaponised against the poorest people in society.

The idea that the very poorest of the poor must hand over at least ten percent of their income to a pastor in order to unlock a financial breakthrough is not biblical. It is not rooted in the teachings of Jesus Christ. And it is certainly not an act of faith. It is manipulation.

This modern obsession with the tithe has evolved largely within Pentecostal and prosperity churches. It has been dressed up as obedience, faithfulness, or spiritual discipline. In reality, it is a system of extraction. A transfer of money from people who have almost nothing to people who already hold power, influence, and relative comfort.

Jesus never preached prosperity through payment. He never promised wealth in exchange for money handed to religious leaders. In fact, his words were consistently critical of those who exploited the vulnerable under the cover of religion. He overturned tables. He challenged authority. He sided with the poor, not those enriching themselves from them.

And yet today, pastors stand in pulpits telling unemployed mothers, struggling pensioners, and people living hand to mouth that their poverty is a spiritual problem. That if they just gave more, sacrificed more, trusted more, then God would bless them financially. It is a cruel lie.

What makes this even harder to stomach is that it operates at every level. From global megachurches with private jets and luxury lifestyles, to small churches in compounds and townships where the pastor may live only slightly better than his congregation. Different scales, same message. Sow your seed. Pay your tithe. Your breakthrough is coming.

It rarely does.

Instead, what comes is guilt. Shame. Fear. People give money they cannot afford because they are told that not giving will block God’s favour. They go without food, school fees, medication, while the church budget is treated as sacred and unquestionable.

This is not faith. This is exploitation.

It is particularly widespread in sub-Saharan Africa, not because people are more religious, but because people are more desperate. Poverty creates vulnerability, and vulnerability is fertile ground for false hope. When systems have failed people, religion becomes the last place they look for answers. That is precisely why abusing that trust is so evil.

Let me be clear. This is not an attack on Christianity. It is a defence of it.

Any church that grows wealthy from the poverty of its members has lost its moral authority. Any pastor who promises financial miracles in exchange for money is not preaching the gospel. They are selling it.

And the poorest always pay the highest price.

If faith demands that the hungry give to the full, while leaders live in excess, then something has gone very wrong. And it deserves to be called out, calmly, clearly, and without fear.

05/01/2026

My weight loss journey has never really been about scales, numbers, or before and after photos. At its core, it has been about love. More specifically, it has been about my wife, Debra.

I met Debra when I was at my heaviest. I was morbidly obese, uncomfortable in my own skin, and carrying more emotional baggage than I cared to admit. And yet she chose me. Not the potential version of me. Not a future promise. Me, as I was. She never shamed me. Never pressured me. Never made my size a condition of her love. She simply believed in me, even when I did not believe in myself.

When I eventually made the decision to change my life, it was not driven by vanity. It was driven by a promise. A promise that I wanted to live longer. To be more present. To be more active. To be a better husband and a better father. And through every high and every low, Debra has stood beside me. When the weight dropped, she celebrated quietly. When the weight crept back on, she did not withdraw. Her love did not fluctuate with my waistline.

There have been moments of real success in this journey. Times when I felt lighter, stronger, more mobile, more alive. And there have been relapses too. Periods where food crept back in as comfort, as escape, as habit. Through all of it, Debra has remained constant. Encouraging without nagging. Supportive without judgement. Loving without conditions.

That kind of love changes a man. It strips away excuses and replaces them with responsibility. Not responsibility born out of fear, but responsibility rooted in gratitude. I want to be healthy because I am loved like this. I want to fight my demons because someone believes I am worth fighting for.

With Debra at my side, I know I can keep going. I know I can reset. I know I can recommit. Not because I owe her a slimmer body, but because I owe myself a fuller life, and I want to share as many years of that life with her as possible.

Her love has never been transactional. It has never been conditional. It has simply been there. And that, more than any diet or fitness plan, is what continues to inspire me to try again.

I am endlessly grateful. And deeply blessed.

05/01/2026

When you realise that dancing was never just a hobby, it was the thing that transformed your health and wellbeing. It carried you through weight loss, lifted your mood, strengthened your body, and gave you joy when motivation was thin. And then you realise something else, that stepping away from it came at a cost. So this is the moment of honesty. To get back to what worked. To recommit to movement, rhythm, sweat, and discipline. Not punishment, not obsession, but consistency. Dancing is my fitness. Dancing is my therapy. And if I did it once, I can do it again. It’s time to put the music back on and let my body remember what it already knows.