There are friends whose lives you get to witness in chapters, and then there are friends whose lives you get to witness in transformations.
I met Victory Utiome in Bauchi in 2019. We were both trying to figure life out, chasing opportunities wherever we could find them and believing that somehow, creativity would make room for us. Since then, I’ve had the privilege of watching him quietly become one of the most thoughtful designers I know.
From shaping brands like Sujimoto, Renmoney, Opera, and Payaza, to picking up a camera to tell deeply human stories, Victory has never just created beautiful work. He has always been interested in people, in what they carry, what they hide, and what makes them keep going.
Today, that journey has taken him to the UK, where he is learning what it means to begin again. It hasn’t been the glossy migration story social media likes to sell. It has been slower, lonelier, and far more honest. Somewhere in that process, he also discovered he has dyslexia, a diagnosis that didn’t limit him but instead gave language to years of unanswered questions and sparked a new mission to make creativity more accessible for others.
This conversation isn’t really about design or relocation. It’s about rebuilding your identity, carrying home across continents, and believing that becoming someone new doesn’t erase who you’ve always been.
This is Victory’s Proof of Life.
What does “Proof of Life” mean to you in this current season, where so much of your life has been about starting over and rebuilding?
Proof of life, in this season, means still showing up even when I don’t feel like myself yet. I’m in a stretch right now where a lot of what used to come easy, the ideas, the energy, the constant creating, isn’t flowing the way it used to. I’m rebuilding, and rebuilding is slower and quieter than starting from nothing, because you remember what you used to have.
So for me right now, proof of life isn’t some big creative breakthrough. It’s smaller than that. It’s still getting up. Still trying. Still caring enough to be uncomfortable about where I am instead of numb to it. I think as long as I’m still asking myself questions, still noticing things, still wanting to make something even on the days I don’t, that’s proof that I’m still here, still becoming whoever I’m supposed to be next.
I don’t have it all figured out. But I’m still in it. And right now, that’s the proof. But i am still breathing, still creating, still discovering and thats all that matters in the end.
Before design, before cameras, before London, there was a little boy growing up in Warri. What kind of child were you? What are some of your strongest memories of growing up in Delta?
Honestly, I was a very shy but incredibly inquisitive child. I was always asking questions and trying to figure out how things worked. 😂 I remember sneaking into my dad’s room whenever he wasn’t around, opening his wardrobe, and trying on all his perfumes like I was conducting some kind of experiment.
I was also a very artsy kid. I was constantly starting new art projects, sketching, building random things, or creating something with my hands. The funny part is that I hardly ever finished any of them. I’d get excited by the idea, dive right in, and then get distracted by the next interesting thing. Looking back now, I think that curiosity and love for creating have stayed with me. They just found a more focused outlet.
You and I first met in Bauchi, and somehow we ended up visiting Yankari Game Reserve together. 😄 Looking back, what did that chapter of your life teach you? Do you ever miss Bauchi, and would you go back if you had the chance?
Lol, my friend from Jamaare!!! 😂 I didn’t even end up going to Yankari. Remember I went chasing government money that day instead? 😂
Do I miss Bauchi? Honestly, no, I don’t. I think that chapter of my life served its purpose perfectly. It was one of those seasons that really shaped me into who I am today. That’s where I learned how to build genuine friendships, and if I think about it, almost all the people who are still in my life today came from that period.
Living there also forced me out of my comfort zone. I had to learn how to put myself out there, meet people, sell myself, and create opportunities instead of waiting for them. Looking back, I’m really grateful for everything that came with that experience. So while I don’t necessarily miss Bauchi itself, I’ll always appreciate what that chapter gave me.
You eventually left Bauchi for Lagos, a city that has shaped so many careers. What were those early Lagos years really like? Tell us about the struggles, the breakthroughs, and the moments that made you believe you belonged there.
My early years in Lagos were rough. I moved with no certainty at all, not even my next meal was guaranteed. I remember sitting on a bus and wishing the ride would never end, just so I didn’t have to face whatever was waiting for me at the other side of it. It could have been worse though. I know people who had it harder and ended up moving back home. And this was in the heart of the pandemic, when businesses were shutting down, and everyone around me was downsizing, not hiring.
Lol, you know this one already since you were right there with me. We shared a room back then, and I remember the night the one million boys were out attacking the area. I woke up with a cutlass beside me. “Shocked!” but no explanation needed; we just understood each other like that. And that wasn’t even the wildest part of living there. Some nights we’d wake up chasing rats around the house like it was a sport; other nights we were dragging the bed around the room because the roof was leaking right above us. Looking back, it sounds chaotic, and it was, but I was lucky to have you in my corner through all of it.
My first real breakthrough came through people, not applications. I spoke with a friend who submitted my CV on my behalf. Around the same time, someone who would later become a close friend of mine had already seen my portfolio and had also come across my work in a WhatsApp group. Between the two of them, my work had quietly made its way to the right place before I even knew it. And the rest is history.
Looking back, all of it made me who I am now. The uncertainty, the fear, the quiet loyalty of the people around me, and the way two separate people, without knowing it, both vouched for me at the same time. Lagos didn’t hand me anything. But it taught me that showing up consistently, even when you have no idea what’s next, is sometimes the whole strategy.
At what point did you realize creativity wasn’t just something you enjoyed but something you could build a life around? Do you remember the first design or project that made you think, “I can actually do this”?
😂 Funny question.
I actually studied one of the most “serious” courses you could pick in undergrad, Mechanical Engineering. But even while I was studying it, I knew I didn’t want the traditional engineering path where you move from one level to the next and your salary goes up by ₦20k every few years. 😂 I wanted to be in control of my own journey.
The funny thing is, I’d already been nurturing my creative side for years without realizing where it would lead. It started with designing music covers for my friends, then church posters and banners, and eventually school event flyers and branding. One project led to another, and before I knew it, people were paying me for something I genuinely enjoyed doing.
I think what really hooked me wasn’t just design itself. It was the idea that I could take something that existed only in my head, turn it into something beautiful and meaningful, and have someone see enough value in it to pay for it. That feeling never got old, and it’s probably the biggest reason I chose creativity over engineering.
Your work has helped shape brands like Sujimoto, Renmoney, Opera, Payaza and several others. Looking back, which project means the most to you, and what has your career taught you about building brands that people actually remember?
I think my time at Renmoney shaped my career more than any other role, but the foundation was laid much earlier during my time at Opera. That’s where I learned that talent alone wasn’t enough. If I wanted to build the kind of career I imagined for myself, I had to work harder than most people, stay curious, and build a system that would keep speaking for me even during seasons when I wasn’t actively chasing opportunities.
One moment that really stands out was when I was given the brief to design Renmoney’s ATM card. It might seem like a small thing, but for me, it was a milestone. I remember sitting with that brief and realizing how far I’d come, from designing album covers for friends and church posters to working on something that thousands of people would carry in their wallets every day. It was one of those moments where you quietly acknowledge your own growth.
As for building memorable brands, my career has taught me that people rarely remember brands because of a logo or a colour palette alone. They remember how a brand makes them feel and whether every interaction feels intentional. Good branding isn’t about making something look nice. It’s about creating consistency, clarity, and an experience people can recognise without even seeing the name. That’s the lesson I’ve carried into every project since then.
One moment that really stands out was when I was given the brief to design Renmoney’s ATM card. It might seem like a small thing, but for me, it was a milestone.
Beyond graphic design, you’ve become someone who tells deeply emotional stories through film. What draws you to human stories? What kind of stories are you always hoping people will feel after watching your work?
I think I’ve always been a bit too curious for my own good. I notice things other people walk past: a look someone gives when they think no one’s watching, the pause before a hard truth gets said out loud. Film became the way I could actually do something with that noticing.
What draws me to human stories is the “be in my shoes” mentality. I don’t want to just show someone’s life to an audience, I want the audience to sit inside it for a few minutes. To feel the specific weight of a specific person’s day. Not sympathy from a distance, but something closer to recognition, that quiet “oh, I’ve felt that too,” even if the circumstances are nothing alike.
I believe every emotion is carrying a story that’s asking to be told, whether or not it ever trends. The world already has billions of images reflecting our lives back to us, most of them curated, most of them performing. What I’m chasing is the opposite: something honest enough that it doesn’t need an audience to justify existing. If a film only ever gets watched by ten people, but three of them go quiet afterwards, sit with themselves, and ask a question they’ve been avoiding, that’s the whole job done.
That’s really what I hope people leave with. Not a takeaway, not a message. A question. The same kind I ask myself daily. Because I think the questions are more honest than the answers, and film is the closest thing I’ve found to asking them out loud.
Every creative has moments where they question themselves. What has been your highest high and your lowest low as a designer and filmmaker?
I won’t pretend this is a rosy moment for me. My lowest low, if I’m honest, is right now. I moved to a new country, and everyone tells you it takes time to adjust; some people settle in weeks. For me, it has taken a lot longer than that. The creative energy I used to run on isn’t as high as it used to be, and that’s been a hard thing to sit with as someone whose whole identity is built around making things. I’m still working through it. Right now, I have written a lot of poem ideas and spoken words that are just sitting in my journals, but I’d rather be honest about that than perform a version of myself that has it all figured out.
My highest high takes me back to Lagos. I used to wake up in the middle of the night, in my little corner, just to record or edit clips. There was something about that quiet, that hour when no one else was awake, that made the work feel purely mine. One project I will always be proud of is a three-part episode I made on sickle cell warriors. That one was personal. It touched on something I grew up around, something I always wanted to understand more deeply: the people living with it, the strength it takes, and the parts of that story that don’t usually get told. Getting to sit with people and help carry their stories out into the world – that’s the version of this work that reminds me why I started.
I think that’s the honest shape of it. The high was born out of curiosity and closeness to people. The low is born out of distance, from home, and from the version of me that used to create without effort. But I’d rather name both than pretend only one of them exists.
Then came another huge leap: moving to the UK. What pushed you to make that decision, especially when you already had an established career in Nigeria?
Honestly, this had been in the back of my mind for years; it wasn’t some sudden decision. But around 2022, 2023, I just started feeling really uncomfortable where I was. Not in a bad way exactly, more like I could feel I’d outgrown a few things, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it yet. I knew whatever growth I was looking for, I wasn’t going to find it in Nigeria at that point.
It’s funny how life just seems to know when it’s time. Around that period, everything kind of nudged me in the same direction: work stuff, personal stuff, just this general sense of “okay, it’s time to move.” I don’t really believe in signs, but if I did, that would have been one.
So I made the move. It wasn’t just about career for me either; if I’m being honest, it was more about figuring myself out, who I am outside of everything Lagos built me into. I’m still figuring that out now, still adjusting, but I don’t regret it.
Migration is exciting online, but real life is often quieter. What’s something about relocating that nobody prepared you for? The loneliness, missing family milestones, starting from scratch, or simply learning to belong somewhere new.
It’s even quieter than you’d imagine. Let me paint you a picture. You leave everyone you know behind, your family, your friends, and you step into a new world where you constantly feel like a stranger. It does get better, but that first stretch is heavy in a way nobody really warns you about.
The strange part is that your family and friends stay frozen in time in your head. In your mind they’re exactly how you left them. Then you call them and realise they’ve all grown up without you. I remember calling my elder brother on Christmas day and seeing my nephew, fully grown, and I just broke down. The last time I saw him he couldn’t even form full sentences, he was still a baby. Now he’s finished secondary school. Nobody prepares you for that kind of time jump.
Then there was travelling to see my sister for the first time in almost seven years, and meeting my four year old niece for the very first time. A whole person, a whole personality, that I’d never met until that moment. She existed for years and I only just got to know her.
That’s the part of relocating nobody really talks about. Not the paperwork or the flights or starting over professionally, but the quiet realisation that life kept moving for everyone back home while you were busy building something new somewhere else. You miss things you didn’t even know you’d miss until they’re already gone.
Give us the real stories. What have been your biggest culture shocks since moving to the UK? The funny ones, the awkward ones, and the moments that completely changed your perspective.
Where I’m from, courtesy is basically a language of its own. You greet your neighbours, and I don’t just mean the person living next door, I mean the woman selling pepper down the street, the security man, basically anyone you cross paths with regularly. So getting here and realising courtesy was kind of optional was a shock. Say good morning, don’t say good morning, nobody really bats an eye either way. And it gets even quieter the bigger the city is. London versus a smaller town, completely different energy.
Then there’s the daylight thing, which nobody warns you about properly. In summer it’s bright outside till almost 10pm, and then winter flips it completely, it’s pitch dark by 4pm. That genuinely messes with your head in ways you don’t expect. Your body doesn’t know what time it is anymore. I’ve slowly learned to work around it, but the first year of that adjustment was disorienting.
The perspective shifting part has probably been friendships. Where I am now, I don’t have a huge circle, and a lot of people are constantly moving in and out, for work, for school, for life in general. So I’ve had to learn to cherish the people while they’re actually here, instead of assuming they’ll just always be around. Back home you kind of take that permanence for granted. Here, you learn quickly not to.
For Nigerians currently dreaming about relocating, what advice would you honestly give them? Not the motivational version—the real version.
Honestly, the real advice is to be prepared for how dynamic life becomes. Think of relocating like meeting a completely new person you have to build a relationship with. You don’t know them yet, so you can’t predict them. Anything can happen, and honestly, anything will. Some experiences will humble you in ways you didn’t see coming, and others will genuinely make you question your whole existence, your choices, why you left, whether it was even worth it.
Nobody tells you that part. Everyone online shows the wins, the beautiful pictures with iPhone doing things to make you extra shining, like a well-polished silver lol, the flights, the graduation photos, and the new apartment. Nobody shows the version of you sitting alone wondering what you’re actually doing with your life. That version exists too, and it’s just as real.
So my honest advice is this: find your anchor before you go, whatever holds your boat down when things get rocky, because they will get rocky. For some people that’s faith, for others it’s one or two real friendships, for me it’s been a mix of both plus staying connected to the work. Whatever yours is, know it before you need it. Because you will need it.
Relocating isn’t a glow up story on its own. It’s just life, in a new place, with new rules you have to learn the hard way sometimes. Go in with your eyes open, and you’ll be fine.
Has relocating changed your relationship with Nigeria? What do you miss the most, and do you think of Nigeria as home you’ll always return to, or has that chapter quietly started closing?
Most definitely, it has changed. The biggest shift is realising that basic amenities aren’t a daily battle anymore, power, water, just the general ease of life. When that stress is gone, it genuinely changes your whole outlook. You have more room in your head for other things, bigger questions, bigger plans, because you’re not spending half your energy just trying to get through the day.
What I miss isn’t really the place itself, if I’m honest. It’s the people. The place I can visit, the buildings and streets aren’t going anywhere. But the people, the specific version of being around them, laughing with them, existing in the same room as them, that’s what I actually miss.
As for whether Nigeria is still home, or whether that chapter is quietly closing, I don’t think I have a clean answer for that yet. I’m always thinking about what’s next, where’s next. My circle doesn’t feel close to full yet, there’s still a lot I want to build, see, become. So I think the honest answer is I haven’t decided, and maybe I don’t need to decide right now. Some chapters don’t close, they just quietly wait while you go live other ones.
Let’s talk about something you’ve become increasingly passionate about: dyslexia. What first drew your attention to it, and why do you think it remains so misunderstood, especially in Nigeria?
I want to really talk about this one properly. I was recently diagnosed with dyslexia, and it genuinely felt like a veil came off my eyes. Things I’d struggled with for years, things I’d quietly blamed myself for, suddenly made sense. I started seeing my own life in a completely different light, why i hated reading so much and why I get lost in pages even though I am a very intelligent person, and for the first time I gave myself permission to breathe, to stop being so hard on myself for things that were never really my fault to begin with.
That shift is what made me want to start talking about it publicly. Because the bigger issue, the one nobody is really addressing, is the Nigerian education system. So many people are quietly struggling with dyslexia and other forms of neurodivergence and just don’t know it. There’s no language for it, no diagnosis pathway, no teacher training around it. It just gets absorbed into “that child is slow” or “that child isn’t trying hard enough”, and the child carries that label for life without anyone ever questioning whether the label was even accurate. Now, knowing what the issues were i am constantly looking for ways to help me be better at things and bless the age of AI where I can feed a document to AI, and it helps me convert papers into visual presentations and podcasts in my own voice
Neurodivergence and disability, generally, are basically shelved in Nigerian education. Not maliciously, just structurally ignored, because there hasn’t been the awareness or the resourcing to look into it properly. And I don’t think we can build a better Nigeria while an entire category of struggling minds is being overlooked like that. So part of why I talk about this now is personal, but part of it is also from a researcher’s point of view. I want to actually understand it, study it, and push the conversation somewhere useful, not just share my story and stop there.
What are you hoping to build around dyslexia awareness? If someone listening today either has dyslexia or suspects they do, what would you want them to know?
For a while I was thinking too big, trying to imagine some massive finished vision before I’d even started. But right now, I’m just doing the little I actually can. Writing about it, researching and giving it a voice, and having conversations like this one. A couple of months ago I created my first intervention around this, a game, and it’s actually been tested here in the UK. That felt like a real turning point, taking something that started as a personal understanding and turning it into something tangible other people could interact with.
The bigger picture, the one I’m slowly building toward, is helping create the next version of global diagnostic tools, ones that actually include the African and Nigerian voice. Most of the existing frameworks weren’t built with us in mind, so a lot gets lost or misread when they’re applied in that context. I want to help close that gap properly, not just point it out.
For anyone listening today who suspects they might have dyslexia, or who identifies as neurospicy more broadly, the first step is always self acceptance, and that starts with actually getting a diagnosis. Speak to a professional psychologist, put a real name to what you’re experiencing. Once you have that, you can start seeking the proper support you actually deserve, instead of just quietly managing on your own the way so many of us did for years without even knowing why.
Love has a way of changing alongside geography and ambition. How has this season of your life shaped the way you think about relationships, marriage, and building a home?
Call me selfish, but I honestly feel like I’m only just now growing into adulthood, properly. I don’t think I’ve fully arrived at whatever maturity is supposed to look like yet, and I’d rather admit that than pretend otherwise. I do admire relationships, marriage, building a home, all of it. There’s something beautiful about that kind of life. But admiring it and being ready for it aren’t the same thing.
Right now I’m still learning to understand myself, the complicated version of me, what actually makes me tick and what quietly makes me shut down. I’m still figuring out my own patterns, my own triggers, the things I need to work through before I can responsibly hold space for someone else’s life too. And honestly, it would be selfish of me to rush into building a family just to check a box that society set for all of us, marriage by this age, kids by that age, house by this point. That timeline was never really mine to begin with.
So for now, this season is more about becoming a fuller, more grounded version of myself first. Not closing the door on love or family, just refusing to walk through it half finished. I’d rather arrive at that chapter as someone who’s actually ready, than someone who showed up on time but empty handed.
Looking ahead, what excites you most? Is it the stories you’ll tell, the brands you’ll build, the lives you’ll impact through dyslexia advocacy, or simply the man you’re becoming?
Honestly, it’s the dynamic nature of life itself that excites me most. The fact that I can wake up every single day and choose to be a slightly different version of myself, that’s the part that genuinely keeps me curious. Not one big five year plan I’m chasing, just the daily choice of who I want to become next.
Right now, while I wait for the creative juices to start flowing endlessly again, a few things are keeping me moving. I’ve been doing research and putting out an article every week on dyslexia and education in Nigeria, and that alone gives me a real sense of momentum, like I’m actually building toward something even on the days I don’t feel particularly creative. Alongside that, I’ve found myself really enjoying cooking and baking. It’s become this unexpected outlet. I’ve been baking bread at 2am, which sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but there’s something calming about it. A couple of weeks ago I made proper agege bread from scratch, and honestly, that felt like a genuine achievement. Small, but real.
So if I’m being completely honest, right now it’s less about the big stories or the brands I’ll eventually build, though all of that still matters deeply to me. It’s more about the man quietly becoming himself in the process, one article, one loaf of bread, one small win at a time. I think the bigger things will come. But I’m trying to actually enjoy this in-between season instead of rushing past it.
Finally, give us one random thought currently living rent-free in your mind. It can be profound, funny, reflective, or completely chaotic.
Oh, my head has been all over the place lately, but if I had to pick one thing that’s been sitting rent free, it’s this: why do we as humans always want to police other people’s thoughts? I notice it constantly. The moment someone has a different view from ours, our first instinct usually isn’t to understand them, it’s to correct them. To pull them back in line with how we think, as if there’s only one acceptable way to see something.
I keep wondering why that’s our default setting. Curiosity should really be the first response, not correction. Like, why do you see it that way, what shaped that view, what am I missing by not seeing it your way too. Instead we just skip straight to policing, trying to make people think like us instead of actually sitting with the fact that they don’t, and that’s okay.
I don’t have an answer for it yet, if I’m honest. It’s just something I keep turning over in my head, probably because it connects to everything else we’ve talked about today, the questions, the “be in my shoes” mentality, all of it. Maybe that’s the whole point though. Some thoughts aren’t meant to be resolved quickly, they’re just meant to sit there and keep nudging you until you actually do something with them.
Thank you Victory, you have always been an inspiration and your journey so far epitomises that. I raise a toast to grit, to purpose, to determination and the ultimate belief that we can truly be more. To everyone reading, thank you and remember TO DARE IS TO DO.
My leave at work comes to an end and despite my new found love to swords, shields and the dragons in House of the dragon, I am excited for work again.
