Daddy Freeze Shares Shocking Ordeal: Death Threats, Church Rejection, and His Fight for Religious Reform

 

Popular broadcaster and social commentator Ifedayo Olarinde, more widely recognized as Daddy Freeze, has peeled back the curtain on a turbulent chapter of his life—one shaped by personal loss, institutional rejection, and unwavering criticism of Nigeria’s powerful clerical elite. Speaking candidly on a recent episode of The Honest Bunch podcast, where he now serves as a co-host following comedian Nedu’s departure, the OAP recounted the intense backlash he received years ago after he began calling out high-profile Nigerian pastors.

The media personality revealed that his criticism was met not only with public vilification but also with chilling threats to his life and those of his family members. According to Freeze, these threats began nearly a decade ago, during a time when few dared to challenge the authority and practices of the country's prominent religious figures.

Long known for his outspoken stance on what he describes as “doctrinal manipulation” and “pastoral excess,” Daddy Freeze has been a controversial yet influential figure in Nigeria’s media landscape. His online movement, Free the Sheeple, was launched to encourage Nigerians to critically examine religious teachings, demand accountability, and reject exploitative spiritual practices. However, that mission came with a heavy price.

While discussing the genesis of his bold advocacy, Freeze reflected on a deeply personal moment that would change the course of his faith journey. Following his divorce, he said his pastor at the time made an attempt at reconciliation between him and his ex-wife. When Freeze declined the offer, citing a lack of interest, the church’s response was swift and harsh.

“I was excommunicated from church activities. I wasn’t allowed to serve, nor could I sit in the front row anymore,” he said during the podcast. “It felt like I was being treated worse than the woman at the well in the Bible, whom Jesus neither condemned nor rejected, even though she had five husbands and was living with a sixth man.”

That sense of abandonment by his religious community drove him to reevaluate his spiritual beliefs from the ground up. No longer finding meaning or consistency in sermons preached from the pulpit, Freeze turned to the scriptures themselves—studying them in their original Hebrew and Greek languages to understand their deeper meanings. The more he read, the more alienated he felt from the version of Christianity being promoted by many Nigerian pastors.

“You can’t spend even one year genuinely reading the Bible in its original context and still find most Nigerian pastors’ teachings logical,” he asserted. “It’s simply not possible.”

What began as a personal theological journey soon grew into a public campaign. As he continued to speak out on radio shows, social media platforms, and now podcasts, Freeze said he encountered fierce resistance—not just from church leadership, but from devout followers who saw his views as sacrilegious. He described the climate as hostile, noting that he was branded with derogatory names and targeted through direct threats.

“I’ve faced more persecution than most. The death threats weren’t limited to me; my family also had to deal with it,” he said, his tone somber but resolute. “This wasn’t just opposition—it was warfare. And all because I dared to question the system.”

Despite the intensity of the backlash, Freeze takes pride in the impact of his work. He believes that his early criticisms paved the way for a new wave of Nigerians who now feel empowered to hold religious authorities to account. To him, the rising culture of questioning and seeking transparency within Nigerian churches is not accidental but rather a delayed ripple effect of his years of advocacy.

“I laid the groundwork. That’s why people today can question the church without immediate fear of exile or condemnation,” he claimed. “The narrative is shifting, and that’s progress.”

Although Daddy Freeze continues to draw both praise and criticism in equal measure, his story sheds light on the cost of challenging long-held societal norms—particularly in a country where religion holds immense cultural and political sway. His voice, once nearly silenced, has now become one of the most influential in sparking a long-overdue national conversation around faith, leadership, and accountability.

Whether one agrees with his methods or message, Freeze’s experience underscores a broader reality: questioning religious authority in Nigeria is not for the faint-hearted. But, as his story shows, it can ignite a movement.