Zikoko!

The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Bunmi (28) moved to the UK in 2023, hoping to gain experience that would take him closer to his plans for a master’s in Special Language Therapy. But the reality of life abroad came with a few surprises, including the struggle to find stable work and the need to navigate life away from family.

Where do you live currently, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the UK. I moved in September 2023.

What were you doing in Nigeria before you moved to the UK?

I was working as an account officer.

What made you decide to leave Nigeria?

I studied Linguistics and African Languages at university, and I wanted to travel abroad for my master’s in Special Language Therapy (which is still my plan). I kept applying for schools, and couldn’t get in because I didn’t have the necessary experience. So I applied to come to the UK as a care worker to obtain the necessary experience before getting into a school.

Was moving abroad always part of your plan?

Moving abroad was never my ultimate plan. Most of my friends were shocked that I travelled because I had always said I didn’t want to. But at a point, all the opportunities just came at once. Someone called my dad and advised that there are some opportunities his son could leverage. So, I just locked in, and we started applying to different schools. I didn’t get into any but got a job instead.

What did you think your life in the UK would look like before you arrived?

I was already calculating how much I’d be making per month, how I’d spend it, where I’d go, and all of that. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like I had thought. I was expecting the UK to be some sort of paradise. It didn’t pan out that way

What was the first thing in the UK that made you realise you’re now abroad?

That’d be public transportation. I took the underground, and everything went according to the scheduled time. Everything was organised.

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What was your biggest culture shock?

Referring to people without the cultural respect we used back in Nigeria. Back home, we use “uncle” and “aunty” for anyone way older than us. But here, everyone calls one another by name. I have colleagues in their fifties and sixties, and I’m compelled to call them by their names.

Was there any experience that made you think, “They would never do this in Nigeria.

I live very close to the beach right now. Sometimes I go swimming. Although in London, they’ll probably steal your phone if you drop it anywhere. But in Bournemouth, it’s quite safe. When I started living here, I was always surprised to see how safe your belongings are in public spaces. We don’t always have that in Nigeria. Of course, it’s everywhere, not just at the same level.

What was the hardest part of your first few months in the UK?

It was when I arrived. The company I was supposed to be working with suddenly started having issues with its clients. So, I couldn’t start work when I needed to, and I had bills to pay. I didn’t have the money to really cater for myself, and I was almost stranded because things were really difficult.

Did you have to start your career from scratch, or were you able to continue what you were doing in Nigeria?

I had to learn a few things when I got here. But I wouldn’t say I started from scratch because I had a few experiences in what I’m doing right now. I’ve volunteered, dealt with people in the care system, and actively helped people in the communities. So, not from scratch, but working in the UK gave me a new perspective on life and the care sector.

What’s the biggest difference between working in Nigeria and doing the same thing in the UK?

You’re all on your own. You either work to pay your bills, or you don’t, and you suffer. Plus, you need to keep working. In Nigeria, there’s always family, no matter what happens.

What’s the most expensive or financially painful part of living in the UK that nobody warned you about?

The financially painful part is having a job to pay the bills. When I first came, it was really a struggle to get a good, stable job because they’d tell you that you needed a certain number of months or years of experience before they could offer you certain kinds of jobs. If you can’t afford to pay the bills, you’ll most likely end up living on the streets.

Do you actually have more disposable income or savings now than you did in Nigeria?

Yes. Back home, I was barely surviving on my income. It wasn’t even sufficient to rent my own space. But now, I can afford my own rent, car, and other bills. Couldn’t afford to live the life I’m living now in Nigeria on Nigeria’s income.

Have you experienced racism, discrimination or any situation where you felt like an outsider?

Yes, a number of times.

What happened?

Sometimes people ask me if I got to the UK by boat. But I’ve never felt like an outsider because I don’t go around looking at people with the mentality that they’ll be racist towards me. When my friends and I go out, they’d tell me that some people are staring at us, and I’d tell them I didn’t notice. I’m not bothered about it.

How has moving to the UK affected your relationships with your family and friends back home?

Moving to the UK didn’t affect my relationship with my family and friends. I have a very small friendship circle, and we still keep in touch.

What about your dating or relationship life?

I had a partner before coming here, and we are still together. She’s the love of my life.

What’s one thing about Nigeria you didn’t think you’d miss until you left?

I’d have said the food, but I can still find it here. Maybe the way we treat big people. In Nigeria, if you carry yourself well, people will start hailing you for money. But here, everyone is equal and just going about their business.

What’s something about life in Nigeria that you now appreciate more because you’ve lived abroad?

The hard work. My dad really raised me to be hardworking, and that has helped me here. There’s no place where I’ve worked that doesn’t always want me to come back. So, Nigeria did well in that part.

Have you ever seriously thought, “Maybe I should just go back to Nigeria”?

Yes, sometimes.

When I couldn’t secure the job that brought me to the UK, I couldn’t find another job quickly. I had to move around a lot looking for jobs, and I felt so alone. I thought no matter how bad it is in Nigeria, I always had my family. And sometimes, there’s that feeling of loneliness that comes with leaving your home far away, and you and your family are just left with your struggles.

Will you go back to Nigeria one day?

Yes. I have a plan for the Nigerian community. That’s the ultimate goal. I’m still working and trying to sort out a few things. When I’m done, I’d like to relocate back to my own country, build a life, and implement what I’ve learnt for the benefit of Nigerians.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?

I’d say a solid eight.

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What is your earliest memory of money?

There were the typical memories of cash gifts from older relatives, which I gave to my mum. But the most profound memory was realising that we didn’t have money.

Our financial situation started becoming clear around the time I got into secondary school. I attended a church’s private school for my primary education, and I assumed I’d naturally progress to the private secondary schools my mates moved on to. But we couldn’t afford the fees.

I eventually went to a lesser-known school that my mum couldn’t afford either. At least once or twice every term, I was called out for owing school fees. In JSS 2, I had to move to the school where my mum taught.

On top of that, my mum was always asking our well-off relatives and her friends for money or taking things on credit from vendors. Going to my cousins’ houses became uncomfortable because we all knew that every visit meant my mum was about to beg for money.

I notice you keep mentioning just your mum

Yes. My mum is a single parent. All I know is that my dad never wanted to be in the picture, so my mum raised my sister and me.

Beyond the school fees, things were so tight that we sometimes couldn’t feed ourselves. We would sit around the table waiting for a family friend or relative to answer my mum’s call so we could buy food. My heart would beat so fast whenever I was walking home from school because I wasn’t sure if there was food at home.

One day, a teacher at school asked me in front of the class if I was the poorest child in the school because my hair was undone and I didn’t have lunch. I was so embarrassed.

Sigh. That’s terrible

The annoying thing was that even though relatives often helped us, it hardly showed up in our lives. I know that my uncles sent around ₦500k or more several times to help, but the money would disappear within weeks. My mum was always coming up with vague business plans that never materialised. It was a constant cycle of getting money, losing it, and going right back to begging.

Maybe I’m being overly judgmental, but I still feel that she made too many bad decisions. I was always so angry like, “What are you even thinking? Why will you do things like this?”

Even the school she moved me to, she still couldn’t pay the fees. I was known for never paying school fees. School staff always looked at me somehow. Everyone knew that, “Small thing now, your mummy will come and beg.”

Phew. That must’ve been a lot for you. How did all of that financial stress affect you?

I was constantly embarrassed. In SS1, I finally told my mum to move me to a different school, or I’d run away. She moved me, but the whole situation had made me too scared to form close relationships or make deep connections with people. I constantly felt like I didn’t belong. It was really traumatic.

It also made me want to make my own money very early, and gave me a deep scarcity mindset at the same time. On the one hand, I desperately wanted money; on the other, I felt it wasn’t available to me. Like a “Can I even have money?” feeling.

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When did you first act on this desire to make money?

At 14. This was in 2018, and I’d just graduated from secondary school. I didn’t go straight to university — actually, I didn’t want to go. I was so exhausted from constantly being bullied in secondary school, and I just needed a break.

Also, my mum kept talking about “having faith” to send me to a private university. That’s another thing about her. She was very religious and never planned for things, only choosing to believe that things would “work out”. Of course, that meant begging people for money.

When she brought up the private uni matter, I wanted to scream. The same person who couldn’t afford secondary school was open to such a crazy idea.

Anyway, I got a job as a teaching assistant/minder at a school run by our church. I worked there for a year, earning ₦20k/month. For the first two months, I saved half of my salary to buy a cheap phone. Then, for most of the year I worked there, I saved the remaining half in my mum’s account. I didn’t have a bank account, and I was saving towards my university admission.

I saved about ₦80k in total, but at the end of the year, I found out the money was gone. I was supposed to pay acceptance fees and other expenses of about ₦100k+.

What do you mean the money was gone?

My mum had used it. When I asked her for it, she said, “I had to sort things out. I didn’t use it to buy clothes or shoes. It’s not my fault. Everything is expensive.”

Then she started making me feel guilty because, of course, I ate from the food she bought with it; I just didn’t know it was my money.

I couldn’t even process the anger. I just let it go. She later went behind my back to borrow money from a church member — which she never paid back — to cover the uni fees.

How did you navigate finances in uni?

I gained admission in late 2019, but I was home for a while after the lockdown hit in 2020, followed by ASUU strikes.

I started writing online during the lockdown and became active on Facebook. Around this time, I saw a Facebook post from a movie director looking for script synopses. I sent in a story idea, expecting a quick payout. Instead, he asked me to develop the full script. I spent a whole year writing and developing it with him. He ended up paying me ₦70k.

I’m sure it was clear to the man that I was a novice. He was supposed to pay me ₦150k, but I didn’t complain or say anything when he paid me less than half of the amount. I was probably unwise, but also just excited for something I wrote to be developed and put onscreen. I was actively trying to become a script writer, so I didn’t mind. I even wrote comedy skit scripts for people online for free.

By 2022, my pastor paid for me to take a graphic design class, and someone gifted me a laptop. I started freelancing, making ₦1,500 to ₦2,000 per design.

Were you able to build a steady income from freelancing?

Not really. I lacked the business sense, a trait I definitely inherited from my mum. I didn’t know how to market myself online or retain high-paying clients.

In early 2023, my laptop completely broke down. This matters because later that year, I tried ghostwriting web novels for someone online. So I wrote a nearly 100,000-word story on my phone. He paid me ₦6,000 for the initial outline, but after I delivered the final draft, he blocked me without paying my balance.

Omo. How were you handling living expenses in school then?

I was mostly surviving day-to-day. Pocket money wasn’t consistent, and I could go days without eating. Also, I don’t think I was as enterprising in school as I should have been. I wanted money, but I couldn’t make the moves to earn it. I often felt stuck, making excuses like “my laptop and phone are bad,” and I couldn’t do anything to change my situation.

A small ray of hope shone later that year. In 300 level, I won a government scholarship that was to pay me ₦250k per session. Tuition was ₦45k, so I could easily pay my fees and have extra.

Oh nice

However, government disbursements take forever. The money didn’t hit my account until April 2024. While waiting, I took a writing job in January 2024 that paid ₦60k/month. My job was to write two articles daily and post on social media. But my phone kept overheating and turning off mid-work. As a result, I often didn’t meet my deliverables.

As if that wasn’t stressful enough, my mum kept planning my salary before it even arrived. I wanted to use most of my salary to fix my laptop, but she’d constantly tell me to “relax” and wait for the scholarship money. Of course, she said that because she’d already planned my salary for household expenses.

Honestly, the whole thing was my fault. I didn’t take my destiny into my own hands. I should’ve said, “No. This is what I’ll do with my money. I’ll fix my laptop and do other things I want.”

But I didn’t.

I eventually had to quit the job after three months, because I had to manage the same phone for school, and it was affecting my studies. I didn’t want anything to affect my grades in any way, which is probably why I wasn’t money-minded then. I regret it now, sha.

When the scholarship money eventually came in, it went to rent and other household needs. That was the pattern for the rest of my time in uni. The scholarship covered my fees, and I helped out at home. There was one time my mum started borrowing from loan apps, and I had to step in. See, let me not even get into that.

Fair enough. What came next after graduating from uni?

I graduated in late 2025 and decided to stop treating content as a side hustle and take LinkedIn seriously. I started learning more about content and applying for jobs.

In January 2026, I got my first job as a content marketing associate at a tech startup. My salary was ₦180k/month. A few days later, I got another job as a social media manager for an individual professional for ₦80k/month. Both were remote jobs. For the latter, I had to go to my employer’s house and shoot content periodically. Technically, my salary was ₦50k, since I was paying someone ₦30k to help me edit the videos, as I didn’t really know how.

In the same January, I got a third job — this one is more of a recurring gig — as the Instagram handler for a Nigerian living abroad. The job was on an as-needed basis, so she paid me ₦25k/post. Sometimes I did three in a month, sometimes I did zero. That January, I made about ₦300k from all three jobs.

Not bad. Do you still do all three jobs now?

Hmm. Not exactly. I got fired from my content marketing job in April. They merged the role with product marketing, and I wasn’t delivering as expected.

Damn. I’m so sorry

Thank you. I was really heartbroken. I was so attached to the startup and really liked it there. I started questioning my skills and wondering if I was good enough. I think another thing that affected me at the job was our power situation. We’d go days without light, and I’d be looking for where to charge. Sometimes I’d just burst into tears because I was so scared I was messing up my life.

Anyway, after getting fired, I spent the next two months recovering. I also started editing videos at the ₦80k job myself, so I kept the whole pay. In June, I began posting more on LinkedIn and sending cold emails. One of those emails led to a one-time ₦100k content and communications gig with a startup.

Then, towards the end of July, I got three part-time roles with three different early-stage startups.

Mad mad. Can you break that down for me?

So, if I add these three new ones to my ₦80k social media management gig from early in the year, I have:

Communications officer: ₦180k/month

Programmes staff: ₦150k/month

Community manager: ₦100k/month

Social media management: ₦80k/month

Altogether, that’s ₦510k monthly. There’s still the ₦25k-per-post gig, but it’s very irregular, so I’m not counting that.

Out of curiosity, does your mum still “plan” your income?

She definitely has expectations because she knows how much I earn. It’s kind of difficult to hide it because of where we live. We stay in a small flat, and since I take my interviews at home, she hears everything.

Recently, she asked my sister and me to contribute ₦125k each toward our house rent. I’ll pay it, but I plan to be an adult and set firm boundaries. We’ve had arguments because she constantly demands more, but I told her point-blank that once I leave for NYSC later this year, my monthly contribution to her will be capped at ₦50k.

How did she react to that?

She cried and shouted, but omo, that ship has sailed. My current jobs are contracts, and I need to find a permanent one and save money. I can’t be earning this amount and not be able to do anything with it.

I’m building my life now. Besides, she still earns a salary, and she isn’t feeding anyone. I can’t let any black tax pressure ruin my future or return me to how bad things were in my childhood.

Let’s break down your typical monthly expenses

I’ll use my projected expenses for this month as an example since I only started earning this much:

What does your savings portfolio look like?

It’s practically zero right now. Everything I saved between January and May 2026 went into my uni clearance and convocation expenses, which cost me about ₦180k. Then I loaned my mum ₦45k, which she hasn’t repaid.

I’m starting from scratch this month. My immediate goal is to save ₦200k to buy a portable power station for backup power.

How would you describe your relationship with money?

It’s getting better. I actively look for ways to make money, and I don’t feel the need to spend it all. I’m also a bit better at budgeting now than I was before.

Do you think you still have the scarcity mindset?

Kind of. I’m constantly thinking, “After this job, what next?” I even find myself applying to jobs on impulse, just because I don’t ever want to depend on one person or get stranded. So, there’s a constant fear. But I’m working on it, and God is helping me.

What’s an ideal income you think you should be earning right now?

₦2m/month. It would mean I can sort out my family’s needs without stress. But what I really want is a stable job. I’ve moved around too much.

What’s something you want right now but can’t afford?

My own apartment. I plan to work towards that during my service year. I can’t return to live with my mum if I want to set boundaries around my money.

How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?

6. I’m grateful for where I am. I’m still worried about the status of my jobs, but I plan to change my trajectory by interacting with my life as it is. By that, I mean understanding that my position is different and moving accordingly.

For instance, I often wished as a child that I were one of those kids whose parents had a nice house and generators. But the truth is that I’m not. So, I’ve decided to take life by the horns and work for my future.

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Where do you currently live, and when did you first leave Nigeria?

Well, that’s a pretty layered question. I left Nigeria for Dubai in November 2020. I later moved to the UK in December 2022 for my master’s, and I got my Canadian permanent residency this year. I travelled to Canada on April 2. I’m currently splitting time between the UK and Canada, but I’ll be moving to Canada for good pretty soon.

Wow! That’s a lot. Before we get into Dubai, take me back to what life was like for you in Nigeria

Way before any of this, I wrote my General Certificate Exam (GCE) at 13. I think I was the youngest person I knew to write it at the time. I then finished secondary school at 14.

I was too young to be admitted to a Nigerian university, so I completed a French-language diploma at the Nigerian French Language Village to buy time. But when I tried to get into a Nigerian university afterwards, I ran into the usual admissions frustrations; one school’s deadline closed the day I submitted, and another just mishandled my application without telling me what else I needed to do.

At that point, I decided I wasn’t going to wait around anymore. Looking back, I genuinely believe it was God at work. When He wants to push you somewhere, He just lets things happen the way they do, so you end up moving in that direction.

My parents couldn’t afford to send me to school in the United Kingdom (UK) or the United States (US) for school, so I found out about universities in the Benin Republic through a friend, applied entirely on my own and didn’t tell my parents until I had gotten in. My mum funded it after they found out.

I graduated at 18 and returned to Nigeria to serve in the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC).

That’s really interesting. So, what were you doing before you left for Dubai?

After NYSC, I moved to Abuja to work as a restaurant manager. I specifically asked to be posted there instead of Port Harcourt because I wanted to be somewhere I didn’t have too many ties, so I’d be forced to figure things out on my own.

That job ended up being huge for me. It’s where I did restaurant consulting, operations management, sales, and recipe compliance, and it’s honestly where my love for hospitality and food businesses really started.

After a while, I moved to Lagos and entered the oil and gas industry as a business development executive. I was earning well, living comfortably on the island, and meeting great people. But I got bored fairly quickly, which happens to me a lot. I loved my boss and the company, but I realised I was chasing someone else’s dream, not mine. My dream was to eventually own a chain of contemporary restaurants, and I wasn’t going to get there sitting in oil and gas.

So what took you to Dubai?

I applied for a hospitality master’s in Spain first and got a partial scholarship, but I realised the school was far from town and I wouldn’t be able to work while I studied.

Around the same time, Dubai was preparing to host Expo 2020, and it was the biggest name in tourism. So I thought, why not go get hospitality experience there first, build some bragging rights, and then apply for my master’s after?

How did you actually get into Dubai? What was the visa process?

I applied for a visit visa. I found an immigration company online, and they handled my visa application. What I submitted was fairly straightforward: bank statements, proof of funds, passport details, and information about my job at the time.

I actually got the visa and bought my flight before COVID hit, so my trip was delayed. I flew out of Abuja to see my parents first, and that’s when the lockdown happened. I got stuck in Port Harcourt with just a handbag while all my luggage was still in Abuja. Dubai’s borders eventually reopened, and I landed in November 2020.

The visit visa was renewable, so you could just keep topping it up, no physical stamp needed except at the airport. The important thing was staying legal in the country. Once I found a job, the company would sponsor a full work visa.

What was life in Dubai like for you?

The first three months were tough, especially because I wasn’t working.

I had to set a photo of Dubai’s skyscrapers as my phone’s screensaver, as a reminder every time I unlocked my phone that God’s promises for me were true and that I was going to make it happen.

I started selling Nigerian food to other immigrants I met around, going from shop to shop with a little trolley. Eventually, I landed a restaurant job doing customer service and online orders.

Wait! You actually turned down a work visa sponsorship?

Yes! The restaurant wanted to sponsor my visa, but that came with a two-year commitment to the company, and I just knew that wasn’t what I was meant to do. I kept telling myself, “God, this is not what you’ve brought me to do.”

My friends thought I had gone mad. People were literally praying for the kind of opportunity I was turning down. But I stuck to my decision. Not long after, a friend connected me to a high-end sales role selling skincare with gold and diamond infusions, plus non-surgical facelifts. That job changed everything. I was earning up to 15 times what I made at the restaurant job.

Love that for you. So how did the UK come into the picture?

At some point, I wanted more immigration stability, so I looked into Canada. That’s when I found out World Education Services (WES) no longer evaluates degrees from most schools in Benin Republic, and my first degree was from a school there. Instead of fighting that, I decided to do a master’s in the UK, since a fresh, recognised qualification would help me build a stronger case for Canada afterwards.

I made the decision, applied three days later, got admitted three days after, and paid my full fees within a week. I entered the UK in December 2022, and my course started in January 2023.

What was life like while you were studying?

I worked part-time in education as a teaching assistant in a special-needs school and as a support worker in healthcare. That healthcare experience ended up mattering a lot later; it contributed to my Express Entry eligibility.

I was very intentional about never applying for a job with a Certificate of Sponsorship (CoS), even when people around me were chasing those roles, because I didn’t want to start conditioning myself to stay in the UK long-term.

Nice, now let’s get into the Canada process. Walk me through it.

In August 2025, I was in church, and my pastor was preaching about not procrastinating on the things you’ve set your mind to do. That same day, I booked my International English Language Testing System (IELTS) exam, exactly one month before the test date, and I hadn’t studied a single day yet.

Between a full-time job, running my own business, and recovering from surgery two months prior, I didn’t start proper studying until about two weeks before the exam and didn’t get serious until three or four days before.

Oh wow! Did that affect your results eventually?

I got a perfect score. I sat for the exam on September 28, and the next day at church, I asked God to change that score if it wasn’t what I needed; some people would call it delusion; I call it faith.

When my results came in the next day, I screamed in the Uber I was in. I maxed out every section. The moment my score came in, my Comprehensive Ranking System (CRS) score shot up. I entered the Express Entry pool the very next day, September 30, created my profile with all my experience, and got my Invitation to Apply exactly (ITA) two weeks later, on October 15.

What documents and timeline did the PR application involve?

I submitted my application 19 days after getting my ITA, on November 3, and they confirmed receipt within an hour. I did my medicals as part of the process. One thing that mattered a lot was my letter of explanation; I ended up writing about 16 pages, explaining everything clearly, including explaining my proof of funds.

My money was spread across a few different accounts, including some newer banks so I moved everything into my HSBC account and included proof of that transfer to show the funds were genuinely mine. You don’t need six consecutive months of savings sitting untouched,you just need to show the funds are legitimately available to you.

It took exactly four months to get from submission to approval. I got my PR confirmation, sent in my passport, and got it back with my PR stamped in about a week. I landed in Canada on April 2.

What did the whole process actually cost you?

From start to finish — IELTS, Express Entry, the application itself — I spent under £1,800 total for the entire process. I know people who’ve been charged £3,000 by agents for the same process.

You’re clearly not a fan of agents.

Not at all, specifically for this process. I did everything myself — no agent, ever, for Canada. It took a lot of research, filtering out wrong information, outdated advice, and other people’s bad experiences. I now run one-on-one sessions to help people build their own Express Entry profiles, plus an IELTS strategy ebook and boot camp classes with mock tests.

There isn’t a one-size-fits-all pathway; some people qualify through the Canadian Experience Class, some through a Provincial Nominee Program, and others because they have family in a specific province. It really depends on your individual profile.

The two biggest factors for PR success are a high CRS score and working in an in-demand job category. Your CRS score comes down to age, academic credentials, and your language test results, which is why I stress the IELTS so much. I didn’t need French for my application; my score was already high enough from my healthcare experience and academic background.

What’s life actually been like so far, between the UK and Canada?

The UK was a big culture shock after Dubai. In Dubai, everything was delivered to your door; I once asked a friend in Sheffield to have a painkiller delivered to me, and he looked at me like I was mad. In the UK, I had to get used to paying council tax, doing things myself, and a much colder social culture generally. I was low for the first four to six months after moving.

Canada, so far, feels like the closest thing to Dubai I’ve experienced — modern buildings, condos with pools and gyms, and a genuinely warmer culture. When I arrived at the airport, a stranger helped me lift my suitcase onto the train without me asking. Someone even walked me to my platform. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen in the UK, in my experience.

What’s your favourite thing about Canada?

How multicultural and warm it feels. People seem genuinely happier; restaurant staff, strangers on the street, everyone. When I joined a Toronto neighbourhood Facebook group, over a hundred people responded with tips on where to live, whether I had a car, walkability, all of it. It doesn’t feel like survival mode the way it does in the UK.

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate life in the UK and life in Canada?

UK — I’d say four out of ten, and I’ll be honest that I’m biased. I’ve tasted a more disposable-income, higher-quality lifestyle in Dubai, so the UK will always feel like survival mode to me by comparison. People here eat and sleep so they can work, instead of working so they can live.

Canada — six or seven out of ten so far, based on visits rather than living there long-term. It feels multicultural, less toxic, and people are far more willing to help each other out.

Any advice for someone considering this exact route?

You can do whatever you set your mind to; that’s actually a tattoo I have. Don’t let other people’s negative experiences become your excuse before you’ve even tried.

The Canada PR process isn’t as complicated as people make it seem. Read, research, use the resources available to you, and only pay for guidance if you genuinely need pointers, not because you’re too scared to try.

Any mistakes you’d tell people to avoid?

Worrying too much during the waiting period. I paused parts of my own life while waiting for my application to come back, and it left me overwhelmed, almost depressed. What eventually got me through it was telling myself that everything was in God’s hands.

I submitted a clean application, checked everything, and there was nothing left to do but trust the process. Once I actually settled into that and moved on with my life, I got my PR two days later.

This has been such a good conversation. Anything you want to add?

Just that everyone’s timeline and pathway is different. Don’t compare your process to anyone else’s. Focus on your own situation and what’s actually available to you.

Want to share your japa story? Please reach out to me here.

The Naira Life Conference is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria. Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together. Secure your spot here.

Sunken Ships is a Zikoko weekly series that explores the how and why of the end of all relationships — familial, romantic or just good old friendships.

Dorcas* (52) met Sandra* (45) at church in 2011. Over the next three years, they became close, with Dorcas treating Sandra like a younger sister. But when Dorcas shared a business idea with her, Sandra discouraged her from pursuing it, then secretly executed the same idea.

For Sunken Ships, Dorcas shares how the betrayal ended their friendship and why Sandra’s apology years later wasn’t enough to rebuild their friendship.

Take me back to the beginning. How did you become friends with Sandra?

We met at church in 2011. She was a newcomer, and she sat beside me. At the end of the service, we greeted each other and got talking. I immediately liked her because she had a bubbly personality. We kept sitting together at church, and within a few months, we grew close.

She’d also just moved to Ibadan for a new job and was still settling in. I was happy to become one of her new friends.

What were the early days of your friendship like?

They were great. Sandra would come to my house after work so we could go to church together. She always had interesting stories, too.

Whether it was about a co-worker or something she’d overheard about a fellow church member, she always had gist to share. I was a stay-at-home mum at the time, so Sandra and her gist made things less boring.

We also didn’t have an issue with our age difference. I saw her as a younger sister, and eventually, she became my closest friend in the city. There was nothing we didn’t share.

That sounds great. So at what point did things change?

Around 2014. I decided to start a small tailoring business to keep busy. I shared my plans with Sandra because I trusted her.

I didn’t know how to sew, so my plan was to hire apprentices who had just finished learning and pay them salaries while I brought in the customers. I wanted to start by pitching to my church and offering to help sew robes for the choir members.

Sandra discouraged me. She said it would be difficult to get customers consistently and might look strange to bring business into the church. She told me to consider other ideas, and I agreed.

A few weeks later, Sandra called to say she wouldn’t make the mid-week service. It was unlike her, but I didn’t think much of it. Then Sunday came, and I got the shock of my life.

What happened?

Sandra didn’t sit beside me as usual, so I almost thought she hadn’t come to church. Then the service started, and I noticed the entire choir was wearing matching robes.

I planned to tell Sandra how strange it was that someone else had come up with the same idea I had. But when I found her after the service, she was curt instead of her usual warm self. I asked if something was wrong, but she said she was fine and needed to rush home.

Oh.

I decided to put it out of my mind and call her later.

Seeing the choir’s robes had also reignited my interest in starting a business. After Sandra left, I went to the pastor on a whim and asked if I could start selling Zobo at the church after services. He was delighted and said he was happy that, like Sandra, I was also thinking about starting a business the church could patronise.

I had to conceal my shock. Sandra hadn’t mentioned anything about a business, but our pastor’s comment made me suspicious.

How did you confirm your suspicions?

I asked the head of the choir department. By then, people at church knew Sandra and I were friends, so he assumed I already knew she had supplied the robes. He was surprised that I was asking.

I felt hurt and betrayed. I wasn’t the first one to come up with the idea, but I would have preferred Sandra to tell me she wanted to partner with me rather than take the idea for herself.

Did you speak to her about it?

Several times. I called her and sent messages on WhatsApp and Facebook, but she ignored them all. She also started avoiding me in church.

People started gossiping when they noticed we no longer sat together during services. That was embarrassing, but losing someone I considered a younger sister without even getting an explanation hurt more.

I eventually told my husband about what happened. He agreed that cutting me off without a conversation was unfair.

She stopped coming to our church shortly after that, and since she had ignored all my messages, I didn’t reach out again.

Did she ever reach out to you after that?

Yes, in 2017. She sent me a birthday message and then begged for forgiveness for what happened between us. She said she’d gone somewhere to pray, and they told her that someone she’d offended was blocking her from meeting her husband.

I told her I wasn’t blocking anything and I had left her to God and her conscience. By then, I had started the zobo business and even moved on to a provisions shop, so I wasn’t thinking about the tailoring business anymore.

She still wanted to apologise in person and offered to visit, but I declined. I told her I was no longer angry with her.

Since then, she’s sent check-in messages now and then. She invited me to her wedding in 2018, but I didn’t go. I didn’t trust her enough to let her back into my life.

Has this experience affected your other friendships?

No. I have healthy friendships that have lasted longer than the one I had with Sandra. They just don’t live in my city, so we don’t see each other often. I’m more careful with friendships with younger people now. I try not to overstep my boundaries and leave room for disrespect.

Do you think you could fix your relationship with Sandra?

No, I don’t like dubious people. That ship has sailed.

Hey, if you’d like to share your own #SunkenShips story with Zikoko, fill out this form!

Ask the average Nigerian music fan under 25 to name more than three rappers and watch them stall. Afrobeats ate the conversation so badly that rap now gets talked about like a phase the industry grew out of, or worse, like it just started. But somebody was rapping before Wizkid could walk into a studio, and somebody kept rapping through every stretch.

I highlighted 15 of the rappers who built Nigerian Hip-Hop, created and experimented with what it should sound like, and refused to let it disappear even when the culture stopped paying attention.

1. Modenine

Modenine built a reputation as one of the most technically gifted rappers Nigeria has ever produced, stacking rhyme schemes that still make newer rappers sound lazy by comparison. Over two decades into the game, he remains the rapper other rappers name-drop when they want to prove they take the craft seriously.

2. Olamide

In Nigerian Hip-Hop, Olamide built a wing and put his name on the door. Baddo, as he’s fondly called, made street-hop the dominant dialect of Nigerian rap by rapping mostly in Yorùbá, folding in Fuji rhythms and street slang until “conscious rap” stopped being the industry’s default measure of skill. His discography is solid and he has hit songs for days. But his biggest flex here is the YBNL factory he runs: Lil Kesh, Adekunle Gold, Fireboy DML, Asake, all came up through the label. Olamide’s real genius might be spotting talent as sharply as he raps.

Subscribe to Chronically Online, a Saturday special edition of the Zikoko Daily Newsletter, Where We Break Down Five Topics That Got The Internet Talking That Week

3. M.I Abaga

M.I Abaga’s Talk About It launched his career and reset the coordinates for what a Nigerian rap album could sound like. He brought a more personal, punchline-driven rap style into the mainstream. He was Chocolate City’s flagship act and spent years functioning as the genre’s de facto gatekeeper. His “You rappers should fix up your lives” comments in 2013 blew up into one of the most cited controversies in Nigerian hip-hop. A generation of rappers made arguments around agreeing or disagreeing with him. M.I has since gone through reinventions, but the influence of that first run is baked into how Nigerian rap thinks about itself.

4. eLDee the Don

Long before ‘Afrobeats’ was a marketing term, eLDee the Don was already fusing Hip-Hop with Pop, Highlife and Reggae as one-third of Trybesmen, the group that gave Nigeria its first real taste of homegrown rap in 1999. eLDee didn’t stop at performing, he built Trybe Records and used it to develop artists like Dr Sid and Sasha P, shaping the business side of an industry that barely had one at the time. He stepped back from music for over a decade, and news of a possible comeback in 2026 has old heads paying attention again. Whatever comes next, the foundation he laid is one every Nigerian rapper is still standing on.

5. Vector Tha Viper

Vector treats a verse like a crossword puzzle he’s daring you to solve. Alliteration, layered wordplay, and a habit of turning simple lines into riddles have made him one of the sharpest emcees in Nigerian rap. He’s also a versatile artist who sings as great as he raps. Underneath the punchlines, Vector’s catalogue carries a philosophical streak too, songs that sit with faith, purpose and self-examination just as easily as they flex skill.

6. iLLbLiss

iLLbLiss didn’t invent Igbo rap, but he’s one of the MCs who dragged it into the mainstream. “Dat Ibo Boy” in 2009 made rapping in Igbo feel less like a regional experiment and more like a viable national sound. It opened a lane that Southeast rap still runs through today. iLLbLiss, or Oga Boss as most people call him, has stayed relevant as a rapper, actor and businessman running The Goretti Company, the outfit responsible for launching Phyno and Chidinma. His discography is deep and his ears for great production and talent are as valuable as his braggadocious bars.

7. Naeto C

Not many rappers make rap sounds effortless, sliding between English and pidgin with the kind of smoothness Naeto C has. He makes complicated wordplay feel like casual conversation. He was one of the faces of Nigerian Hip-Hop’s golden commercial run between 2008 and 2012, alongside M.I and Ice Prince — that was a period when rap briefly felt like it could rule the charts the way it does the culture. His hits carried radio hits with lyrical credibility, a balance a lot of rappers who came after him still struggle to find.

8. Erigga

There’s no cap in Erigga’s raps. He tells stories of the hustle that claimed him early and shares experiences of being a Warri born-and-bred. True to his origin, his choice of language is Pidgin. He built his name on gritty, street narratives that favour honest lyricism. He’s stayed something of an outsider by choice, more cult hero than chart-topper, but that distance is part of the appeal. Erigga represents the wing of Nigerian rap that never needed Lagos’ approval to matter.

9. Eva Alordiah

Nigerian Hip-Hop has never had a lot of women. Eva Alordiah walked into it and forced people to take her bars seriously. At her peak, she spazzed with razor punchlines and an ability to hold her own in the mainstream conversation during the early 2010s. She eventually stepped back from music to build outside the industry, but the space she created for women in Nigerian Hip-Hop didn’t close behind her. Every female rapper working today owes Eva a shout-out.

10. Reminisce

Reminisce turned street rap into something closer to cinema. His Yoruba-heavy flows on songs like “Kako Bii Chicken” and “Local Rapper” dramatises the street life, full of characters, scenes and bars that rewarded close listening. That instinct for narrative pulled him toward film, where he acted — a visual extension of telling stories in raps. With Reminisce, “local” is never a limitation, it’s a different lens.

11. Show Dem Camp

Tec and Ghost make up Show Dem Camp. They’re proof that consistency and reinvention pay off. Show Dem Camp first built their name on the Clone Wars series, battle-ready lyricism with a conscious edge. Then they pivoted into the Palmwine Music trilogy, which mixes rap with highlife and easy-going grooves. Few Nigerian rap acts have moved between sounds this deliberately while staying this respected on both sides. SDC also built the Palmwine Festival into a solid platform for new talent, extending their influence well past their own catalogue.

12. Ice Prince

“Oleku,” Ice Prince’s biggest hit, is one of those songs that defined a whole era of Nigerian pop-rap fusion. Ice Prince was a Chocolate City major crossover star alongside M.I. His charming charisma helped plant rap as mainstream entertainment and cool culture. He never had the technical reputation of a Modenine or a Vector, but his commercial viability opened doors that more “serious” rappers couldn’t.

13. Phyno

Phyno figured out early that you don’t have to choose between street credibility and radio success, you can just build around both. Mixing Igbo rap with traditional genres, he turned tracks like, ”Man of the Year” and “Fada Fada” into hits. Discovered and developed through iLLbLiss’ Goretti Company, Phyno went on to become one of the most successful indigenous rappers in the country. His run of collaborations with Olamide alone reshaped what a Southeast-Southwest rap crossover could sound like.

14. Blaqbonez

Since 2020, Blaqbonez has called himself the Best Rapper In Africa. The self-proclaimed title became one of the biggest conversations in Nigerian rap, backed up by bars and an internet-native sense of humour that made him feel different from the Chocolate City rappers before him. His 2019 profile in The New York Times as part of a new generation of Nigerian music signalled that the outside world was starting to notice this shift too. In the last six years, he has remained a consistent hitmaker, trend setter and one of the biggest names Nigerian Hip-Hop has ever had.

15. PsychoYP

PsychoYP built his following from Abuja, away from the Lagos machinery that usually decides who blows up in Nigerian rap. And truthfully, that distance shaped his whole sound. As part of the Apex Village collective, his YPSZN mixtape series introduced a rap-sung, trap-and-drill-leaning style that pulled as much from UK grime and American trap as it did from anything distinctly Nigerian. YP is the face of the genre’s newest generation and where it’s headed.

ALSO READ: The 10 Most Unexpected Afrobeats Collabs That Actually Bang

On August 16, 2026, Trinidadian model Alicia Daniella called out her husband, popular wedding photographer David Martins, alleging that he had subjected her to domestic violence during their three-year marriage.

The same day Alicia called out David, the couple’s neighbour came out to support her claims.

she was screaming that i should come knock on her door, i went back and forth between their floor and mine, three times

with him not opening the door the first time, opening and saying nothing was happening the second time and the third time telling me i was irritating him by…
— cyn🌸 (@cynugwudike) August 16, 2026

Alicia claimed that she experienced physical, verbal and psychological abuse at the hands of David. She described an alleged incident in which he attacked her while she was holding their three-month-old son, leaving her with a busted lip and almost knocking out one of her teeth.

In her posts, Alicia also added that she had heard stories about how David had allegedly physically abused other women before their relationship, but she believed that what had happened to those women would not become her reality.

“I had heard stories about allegations involving other women before me. For a long time, I seperated those stories from the person I loved. I wanted to believe what I had heard could never become my reality. Until it did. That’s my accountability, and that’s the bad choice I made.”

– Alicia on her IG Story

Now here’s the uncomfortable part: two things can be true at once.

We can question her decision without questioning whether she deserved what happened to her.

Alicia has taken responsibility for ignoring the red flags. Can we focus on the monster and stop asking why she stayed? 🤷‍♀️

I don’t like how we indirectly blame the victim in situations like this. If she lost her life now, people will ask why she didn’t speak up.
— The Undisputed Queen of Events (@chi_francis) August 16, 2026

Yes, we should be able to acknowledge that the woman is a victim while recognising that, if you know that someone has been accused of abusive behaviour by previous partners, ignoring those warnings because you believe your relationship will be different with you is a decision worth examining.

Even statistics says it takes about 7 attempts before a woman permanently leaves an abusive relationship. Let us be kinder in our attempt to hold people accountable. 👍🏽
— Bella Hadidn’t (@SkinwithLolami) August 18, 2026

Knowing about someone’s alleged history does not equate to consenting to experiencing the same treatment. A woman can make a decision that, in hindsight, she wishes she had made differently and still deserves compassion and support when she finds herself in an abusive relationship.

We should be able to say, “You really should have taken those warnings seriously,” without saying, “You knew, so anything that happens, you should take it like that.” Victim blaming is not cute.

I have always maintained that when a woman comes out of an abusive relationship, there is no accountability to be held. She has experienced the abuse, what does she want to be accountable for again? What she needs is love, help and support, not victim blaming and “accountability” https://t.co/Ql3ZK3J3P2
— keji baby peperempe♥️ (@madamkeji) August 18, 2026

You’ll Absolutely Love: What She Said: I Sometimes Wonder If I Married the Wrong Brother

But Why Do Some Women Think They’ll Be the Exception?

Perhaps the uncomfortable question that we should all be asking here is, why do you believe you will be different or special from the rest?

I hate it when women hear that a man has domestic violence or just general accusations of misconduct and she then goes ahead to date and marry him. I HATE it more when they cover this treacherous behaviour behind god. Is your god better than the gods of his other victims? At…
— CHIKAMMA (@AlexVivyNnabue) August 16, 2026

Why do you hear that a man has abused previous partners, and convince yourself that your relationship with him will be different? Maybe you believe he has changed. Maybe you think the previous women just didn’t understand, and that was why he was “provoked” into hurting them. Maybe it’s the whole “I can fix him” some of us saw our mothers doing, and we decided to emulate. Maybe you think they brought out a side of him that you will never see, or maybe you simply believe that the way he treats you is the version of him that matters.

Sometimes, people genuinely do change. Someone’s past does not automatically determine their future, but when there are repeated warnings about their behaviour, love should not blind you to the point of ignoring them.

An Ego death will free you as a woman.

It can be me like mad
I’m not special
I’m exactly like other women
He’s not just that into me and that’s okay
Again, it can be me like mad
— Eti (@Eti_baby) August 16, 2026

We should be able to believe that people can change while also asking whether there is actually evidence that they have, because perhaps, the real danger here is not believing that someone can change. It is believing that we will be the ones who change them. We can’t exactly change someone who does not want to be changed.

When that hope turns out to be misplaced, it still does not mean we deserved the harm that followed. It just means that in choosing to believe you would be the exception, you may have ignored warnings that were actually worth taking seriously.

Next Read: Why Is Motherhood Measured by How Much Women Give Up?

Anu and Pablo met by chance at a community event in 2016. A decade, five children and two moves around the world later, they’ve built a life far removed from everything they knew. In this story, they share why they left their lives and careers in America to settle in Nigeria.

Anu: We met in 2016 at a community fundraising event. I was chatting with some older women when Pablo walked in. I’d never seen him before and asked if he was the organiser’s son. Before I could protest, one of the women called him over, and he joined our table.

Pablo: I heard Anu tell someone she’d just returned from Nigeria after attending a wedding, so I asked if she was from Lagos. I was trying to show that I knew something about the country, but my pronunciation gave me away. I felt embarrassed when she corrected me.

We made small talk, but I was leaving for Mexico to work for the summer and forgot to ask for her number. Once I left, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, so I eventually tracked her down on LinkedIn and sent her a message. She never opened it.

Anu: He told me he’d be back in exactly six weeks, but the weeks flew by, and he didn’t return. I thought he’d forgotten about me. When he eventually messaged me two months later, it felt half-hearted. By then, I’d moved on.

Pablo: When I finally returned, I went straight back to the same community gathering to look for her. I’d almost given up my search when she suddenly walked through the door. I tried to play it cool, but I was over the moon. We ended up sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen island, and talked for a while. I got so carried away that I forgot to ask for her number again. Thankfully, she emailed it to me later that evening.

Anu: That same evening, he told me his parents were visiting and asked if I wanted to join them on an outing. I found it cute, but I thought it was a bit too early to be meeting his parents.

Pablo: She said she couldn’t come because she was slaughtering a rooster. I thought it was a made-up excuse until she sent me a picture. My mother was around, so I showed her the photo. I told her, “Mama, this woman is amazing.” At that moment, I knew she was my person.

Anu: We clicked almost immediately. I’d been in other relationships before, but Pablo was intentional and didn’t waste my time. About three months after we started dating, he proposed, and we got married in 2017, a year after we first met.

Pablo: I struggled at first to understand some Nigerian traditions, especially the process of formally travelling home to ask for her hand in marriage. There were also a few clashes with her family because I postponed travelling until it was too late. But with time, I adapted better, and our differences stopped being an issue.

Anu: Over the years, I started questioning whether the life we had in Chicago was good enough. During the pandemic, those questions became harder to ignore. I’d always dreamed of having a big family, twelve children in total. But with just two, our house already felt too small. The cost of living also made getting a bigger place unrealistic.

Then, in 2021, I almost lost my life to childbirth.

It was my third pregnancy, but it was a tough one. Everything hurt, and I wondered what I was doing wrong. My midwives suggested I pay more attention to what I was eating, so I started researching our diet.

Anu: After that, I had another baby and the pregnancy was much easier. We became more conscious of what we were eating and started growing some of our own food. But we didn’t have enough land, and the climate in our area made farming difficult.

On top of that, we were working hard, barely had time for our children and still worried about the rising cost of living. So we started thinking about moving somewhere warmer where we could have a slower, more hands-on family life.

Pablo: In 2022, I discussed with some colleagues who shared positive experiences working and farming in Uganda. I also liked that my family would be closer to their culture. In 2023, we decided to move permanently to Uganda.

When I told people I was leaving my job as a professor in the university to live in Uganda, they thought we were crazy.

Anu: Our families weren’t completely on board either, but we went anyway. At first, Uganda gave us the calm we’d been looking for, but it didn’t take long for us to run into challenges.

Getting work visas was tedious and expensive. We hadn’t expected the restrictions on foreigners, including having to send our kids to specific schools. To make things harder, the farming business we’d hoped to build there never really took off.

Pablo: That was when I started considering Nigeria. We’d taught our children Yoruba and Spanish from birth, and I’d even taken a Yoruba course to better understand Anu’s culture.

With that connection already there, I believed moving to Nigeria might be easier for us.

Anu: I wasn’t convinced at first. I hadn’t lived in Nigeria since I was 13, and heard terrible stories about kidnapping. But Pablo eventually convinced me to visit my grandparents with the children during Christmas in 2023. That trip changed my mind.

The Nigeria we experienced was safe and welcoming. Our children were also excited to see people speak Yoruba everywhere for the first time. And I realised they could live out their true identity here.

Pablo: Even Anu’s family became more supportive after they saw how well the children fit into life in Nigeria. Since they already had Nigerian passports, the move was also easier to make legally.

We had our last baby in Uganda. Then, in May 2025, we finalised our relocation to a small town in Ondo State.

Anu: The transition wasn’t perfect, though. When we first arrived, we ate everything because we were excited to be back. But our son got an infection, and Pablo had one of the worst cases of malaria I’d ever seen.

That experience made us even more conscious of our diet. We now eat only whole foods and have started growing some produce. We’ve adjusted better since then.

Pablo: What I appreciate most about being here is that I can be more present. Having the ‘American dream’ meant working endless hours just to keep up with loads of debt.

Here, we have to be more guarded about how we live, but I get to be there for my wife and children. It’s a trade I would make over again.

Anu: I also love being a hands-on parent. Over the years, I’ve realised that a fulfilling life doesn’t require having a huge family. We’ve decided not to have more children and focus on giving our five kids the best life. We homeschool them so they have the freedom to be curious and learn how to think for themselves.

Pablo: With more time on our hands, we also started exploring our creative side. In Uganda, we co-produced the film My Love from Another Land and started a YouTube channel to stay connected with family back in the US.

Since moving to Nigeria, our creative work has opened up in ways we didn’t expect. We’re now using comedy to explore our culture and share what we’ve learnt about living healthier lives.

Anu: I used to think living abroad automatically meant a better life. Now I don’t see it that way. Moving to Nigeria has given us a more stable life. Even our marriage is stronger without the constant stress we experienced in America.

Pablo: Through it all, we’ve been so aligned that sometimes it feels like we can read each other’s minds. I’ll forever be grateful that I chose to sit at her table and embarrass myself trying to impress her.

I found my soulmate in every sense of the word, and after everything we’ve been through to get here, I know we’re finally at home.

When Fikun*, 24, got married, she thought she was stepping into the kind of peaceful, loving marriage she grew up watching her parents enjoy. Less than nine months later, she began divorce proceedings.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she shares how pressure to make life easier for her widowed mother influenced her decision to marry early, how she discovered her husband’s substance addiction after the wedding, and how the experience turned her from a confident young woman into a shadow of herself.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

I thought my marriage would look like my parents’

I always imagined that my marriage would be a reflection of my parents’. My dad is late now, but my parents had what I considered a wonderful marriage. I know no marriage is 100% perfect, but the picture they showed us was beautiful and peaceful. It was the kind of marriage you wanted to aspire to.

As we grew older, I started to realise that they had their difficult moments too. But one thing I could never take away was how deeply my dad loved my mum. He loved her with his whole heart, and she loved him too. So naturally, I grew up believing I would also have that kind of marriage where everything was peaceful and smooth, and both partners were committed to sticking it out even when things weren’t perfect.

My experience has been nothing like what I grew up watching. It didn’t even take years before I started regretting my decision. I knew I had made the wrong decision about a month into the marriage. Thankfully, I’m already in the process of leaving, so I guess that’s something.

I wasn’t ready for marriage when I said “I do”

I had doubts from the beginning, especially when the relationship started moving towards marriage. Everything felt rushed, and I had so many concerns that everyone around me kept telling me to overlook.

My husband is about 10 years older than me, so after he proposed, his family intensified the pressure for us to get married. I had communicated that I wasn’t ready, but everyone kept saying there was no point wasting time and that we should just go ahead.

But there was also something happening at home that influenced me. I’m the first child, and my mum is a widow. I wanted to make life easier for her. I had just finished school and was working, but I still felt that getting married would mean she had one less person to worry about. I would also be able to support her by caring for my younger siblings.

So despite all my concerns, the reality at home made me feel like I needed to find the courage to push ahead with the marriage.

I found out about my husband’s addiction days after our wedding

I had such a positive image of marriage from my parents, so I never imagined that a marriage could have serious problems right from the beginning.

My marriage lasted less than three months, but I started having issues within the first week. A few days after our wedding, I discovered that my husband had a substance addiction problem.

He had gone to extreme lengths to hide that part of himself from me, and his family had also known about it. They knew what was wrong with him, and I believe that was one of the reasons they were pushing for the marriage.

I spent days blaming myself and wondering how I could have missed the signs. But looking back, if both he and his family had gone to such lengths to hide it, I don’t think there was any way I could have known.

It’s not like I didn’t notice a few things. I did. But whenever I raised them, family and friends would tell me they were non-issues. They’d say nobody was perfect and that everyone had their shortcomings. I believed them.

Then I got married, and everything changed.

He would get high and drunk and sometimes chase me out of the house in the middle of the night. I was dealing with all of this without telling my parents or anyone else because I didn’t even know how to explain what was happening.

Eventually, I realised I couldn’t figure it out on my own, so I involved my parents. There were several back-and-forths between both families, and he was eventually sent to rehab. He spent three months there before we reunited.

Unfortunately, he got worse after that. He became aggressive, and there were also several moments of sexual abuse. He never laid hands on me, but there were things I experienced that I never imagined I would have to deal with in a marriage.

One of the hardest parts was that my mum didn’t understand what I was going through. She had never experienced this version of marriage. I realised that no matter how much older someone is, there are some things you simply cannot understand until you have experienced them yourself.

I became a shadow of the person I used to be

Marriage definitely changed how I saw myself. I used to be a very confident person, but I became a shadow of myself.

My husband was a completely different person whenever he got high or drunk. He wouldn’t provide, he would insult and degrade me, and I had to be extremely careful around him. It became safer for me to tread carefully than to say what I was actually thinking.

I was scared of going home, so I started taking extra shifts at the hospital where I worked as a nurse. I would rather stay at work than go back to the house and deal with whatever version of him I was going to meet. About three months into the marriage, I told him I couldn’t continue, and I left.

His family was still determined to make the marriage work, which was when they sent him to rehab. It barely helped because he came back worse. There were moments when he became himself again, and he’d beg and plead and apologise for his actions. But there was only so much one person could take.

However, it wasn’t only the failed marriage or my husband.

At some point, my mum also started blaming me for entering the marriage. She’s a staunch Christian who doesn’t believe in divorce, so hearing her imply that I had somehow brought this situation upon myself made things even harder.

I became depressed. I stayed indoors a lot, especially after moving back into my mum’s house. I was also struggling with the shame of returning home after everyone already knew I was married.

Eventually, I opened up to a friend. He listened without judging me and always had something to say about how I could navigate what I was going through. He kept reminding me that I would pick up the pieces of my life again.

I think that’s slowly happening. It’s been about two months since I left and started divorce proceedings, but I’m still healing. I’m learning to forgive myself and move forward.

I should have been selfish and chosen myself first

If I could go back, I would tell my younger self to calm down and only get married when I was truly ready.

I got married for the wrong reasons. I got married because I wanted to make life easier for my mother and not because I was genuinely ready to commit to that phase of my life.

So I’d advise my younger self to be more selfish. I’d tell her to marry for herself, not because she feels responsible for solving someone else’s problems.

However, I don’t think this is the end of the road for me. I’m still very young. I’m 24, and I have my whole life ahead of me.

I believe that as long as there’s life, there’s hope.

Love is never enough

Love does a lot of the work of sustaining a marriage, but it can never be enough.

Whenever my husband comes to apologise after hurting me, I remind him that if you truly love someone, there are certain things you wouldn’t do to them, even when you’re angry or struggling with your own weaknesses. He’ll soon become my ex once our divorce is finalised, but I still believe that.

So, while love isn’t enough to hold a marriage together, I believe it shapes many of the things that make one work. It should shape how you treat your partner, how much you respect them and how willing you are to protect their peace.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

GridLocked is a daily pop culture guessing game built for Nigerians. Every weekday by 9am, you’ll get six clues, sixty seconds, and an answer only a Nigerian would know.

Today’s GridLocked is a food.

How many clues do you need to get it right? 👀

Share your result when done, but don’t spoil the answer for others. (Missed the last GridLocked? Play it here.)

21 August 2026

Come back every weekday by 9am for a new grid or subscribe to Z Daily, Zikoko’s daily newsletter, to get new GridLocked puzzles, real Nigerian stories and other fun content in your inbox.

How to Play GridLocked

The Goal: Guess the answer for the day before time runs out. (The answer could be a Nigerian person, place, song, movie, or even slang.)
The Lock: You cannot type a guess until you have revealed at least one tile (clue).
The Reveal: Tap any tile to reveal a clue. Every clue describes the answer for the day. The fewer tiles you flip, the better.
The Clock: You have 60 seconds to guess right. The timer starts the moment you flip your first tile. (You get multiple guesses.)

The GridLocked Squares: What Do They Mean?

When the game ends, you see your guess count, total time spent, and the number of tiles flipped. The tiles are shown as white and purple squares.

⬜ (White) = A tile you flipped
🟪 (Purple) = A tile you left closed

The fewer white tiles you have, the better your result.

Best Result = ⬜🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 | Guesses: 1 (Only needed one clue and one guess to get it right)

Nigerians will watch anything that entertains, but honestly, the drama is only half the pull. The other half is watching one single participant walk away with money that could change a family’s fortune. Every reality show in this country dangles a number in front of the contestants, and gets them to fight for it.

I lined up seven of the biggest names in Nigerian reality TV; old, new, defunct, and still running, and ranked them by prize money, from the least impressive payout to the one that broke the internet. Some of these are pure cash. Some are cash plus cars, trips and opportunities. I tried to separate the two wherever I could.

7. MTN Project Fame — ₦5 million (Final seasons)

Before Idol and The Voice, there was Project Fame, and for a while, it was the only music competition that mattered in Nigeria. Contestants moved into an academy, got vocal training, and performed live every Sunday while judges picked them off one by one. The pilot season in 2008 paid its winner a modest ₦2.5 million, a Toyota RAV4, and a Sony Music deal.

By its final seasons before going off air in 2016, the cash prize had grown to ₦5 million, still bundled with an SUV and a recording contract. It’s the smallest number on this list, but it’s also the show that gave Nigeria Iyanya, Chidinma, Praiz and Niniola.

6. Nigeria’s Got Talent — ₦10 million

The local edition of the global Got Talent franchise does what the format promises: singers, dancers, comedians and the occasional man who eats fire, all fighting for a public vote. There’s no academy or weeks of grooming. It’s just an audition, a judges’ panel that can buzz you off stage, and a live final. The advertised top prize has sat at ₦10 million since the show launched in 2012, making it one of the more modest paydays in Nigerian reality TV, even though it’s opened doors for acts who’d never have gotten stage time otherwise.

Subscribe to Chronically Online, a Saturday special edition of the Zikoko Daily Newsletter, Where We Break Down Five Topics That Got The Internet Talking That Week

5. Nigerian Idol — ₦30 million

Nigeria’s arm of the Idol empire runs the way Idol runs everywhere: open auditions, a judging panel with industry weight, and a season-long elimination process decided by public vote. Recent seasons have paired the ₦30 million cash prize with a brand-new SUV, a year of DStv Explora premium subscription, and a recording deal. Season 10 wrapped in 2025 with Purp taking the crown.

4. Gulder Ultimate Search — ₦50 million (Package)

Gulder Ultimate Search is the odd one on this list because it’s a survival reality TV, Nigeria’s answer to anything Bear Grylls ever did. Contestants get dropped into forest, hills, or island terrain and have to out-navigate, out-strategise, and out-last each other to find a hidden treasure. It’s the first fully local reality format Nigeria has ever produced, running since 2004.

Early seasons paid as little as ₦3 million; by the last aired season in 2021, winner Odudu Ime Otu walked away with a package worth ₦50 million: ₦20 million in cash, a brand-new SUV and a return trip to Dubai. The show has been off air since 2021, after a comeback attempt didn’t stick.

3. The Next Titan — ₦50 million

If BBNaija is about surviving a house, The Next Titan is about surviving a boardroom. Now in its 11th year, it’s Nigeria’s longest-running entrepreneurial reality show. Contestants pitch business ideas, get eliminated through weekly commercial tasks and the last one standing gets ₦50 million in funding to launch or scale their business. Season 11, themed “Be The Relentless,” opened auditions in 2026. Unlike the survival or talent formats, the money here comes with a rule attached: it’s capital, not a windfall.

2. Big Brother Titans — ₦77 million ($100,000)

For one season in 2023, Nigeria and South Africa pooled their most dramatic citizens into a single house and let DStv viewers across both countries vote. Twenty housemates, one continent-spanning audience, and a single winner: South African journalist Khosi Twala, who took home $100,000, roughly ₦77 million at the exchange rate when she won. It’s the only show on this list paid out in dollars.

1. Big Brother Naija — ₦150 million

BBNaija isn’t just Nigeria’s biggest reality show. It’s arguably the biggest reality television event in the country, full stop. Contestants move into a house for around ten weeks, complete tasks, get evicted by public vote, and one person walks out with a prize package that’s grown steadily since the show relaunched in 2017.

Imisi won Season 10 in 2025 with a prize worth ₦150 million, more than the next two biggest shows on this list combined. BBNaija is the show that turns a ten-week stay into a decade-long career, and the prize money is just the opening offer.

ALSO READ: Will You Survive With These Nollywood Characters As Your Roommate?

Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.

Olamide* (29) and Adura* (28) started out as coursemates who barely spoke, then grew close during a shared IT placement in 2019.

On this week’s Love Life, they talk about an unexpected dating proposal, a three-month silence that followed their biggest fight, and the spiritual messages that eventually brought them back together.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Olamide: My earliest memory of Adura dates back to August 2018, when I attended an event at her church. We were coursemates, but we barely interacted. She was one of the prettiest girls in class, but she had a somewhat snobbish air, so I kept my distance.

That month, a friend who knew I was also a member of the Celestial Church invited me to a programme, and I obliged. I had no idea Adura was celestial or that she even attended the same church. I guess she was equally shocked to see me because she walked up and started a conversation.

Adura: I was actually surprised, I won’t even lie. For some reason, I’d never imagined him as a celestial church member. I actually thought he was Muslim because he was always super involved with some Muslim students in our class. Anyway, I went to him as he mentioned, and we got talking.

You guys were conversing during church?

Adura: Oh no. We were already about to wrap up. That was how I spotted him in the first place. I’d left my spot at the front to stretch my legs, and there he was. After that day, I started striking up conversations with him more in class. I’d invite him to church whenever I could. I just liked the fact that he was a celestial member too, and I wanted him to be more involved.

Olamide: I actually didn’t like that. In a way, getting all that sudden attention from her felt cute. I remember some of my friends teasing me and asking how I’d managed to bag the prettiest babe in the department. Still, I didn’t like how every conversation with her always circled back to church.

That day at her church’s programme, I’d specifically told her that I didn’t like being too churchy whenever I’m at school, so it felt weird that she was doing the exact opposite of what I liked.

Right. Did you share this reservation with her, though?

Olamide: I didn’t. It felt easier to avoid her, so that’s what I did. I wouldn’t respond whenever she reached out, and I’d take a different route if I saw her around campus. After lectures, I’d leave immediately instead of lingering. I think she got the message after a while.

Adura: Once I picked up on that, I stepped back and stopped pushing. I also realised I’d been too forward with the whole church thing. So we went back to how things used to be. This time, though, we exchanged pleasantries and kept it moving.

So, when did things pick back up between you two?

Olamide: 300 level. We found out we’d both gotten our I.T. placements at the same radio station in Osogbo. The same lecturer who’d helped with my posting had also helped with hers.

I remember him calling four of us to his office that day and giving us our letters. It was awkward when we realised we were heading to the same place, but it also felt like a relief. After that, we started talking again and planning how we’d spend the next couple of weeks. We were both staying with relatives, and our houses weren’t too far apart.

Adura: After we resumed, we started going home together every day after work. We also hung out together at work and just looked out for each other, especially since some of the staff weren’t exactly nice to interns. Being the only two people who understood each other’s struggles naturally brought us closer.

Was this when feelings entered the picture?

Olamide: I guess so. You can’t spend three months seeing and spending time with the same person almost every day without feeling a pull, especially if the person in question is pretty. Around the last month of our placement, I asked Adura to be my girlfriend. It was totally unplanned.

We’d gone out together one Saturday, and after spending the whole day together, I just blurted it out, “Will you be my girlfriend?” And she started laughing.

Adura: Even though he still doesn’t believe me, it wasn’t a mocking kind of laughter. The way he said it was just so funny, almost like a line he’d rehearsed from a movie scene or something.

But I actually saw it coming, if I’m honest. I already knew he liked me, and I liked him too. We’d been inseparable for months by then. Still, I didn’t give him an answer that day. Not for any particular reason. I told myself I needed time to think, but I don’t think I did any thinking.

Two days later, I sent him a text saying yes. We became official in November 2019.

Sounds sweet. What were the early days of the relationship like?

Olamide: They were sweet. By the time we resumed for 400 level, people were genuinely surprised. I don’t think anyone expected the two of us to be an item. We’d gone from barely speaking to a whole relationship, and that surprise felt sweet in a way.

I loved how caring Adura was at the time. We spent time together; she always wanted to cook and just make sure I was fine. You’d have thought she wasn’t a student like me. But it was mutual. I also didn’t play about her at all. Everyone around me knew.

Adura: Everything he said. But I think my favourite part was that I still managed to get him to go back to church. I mean, we were in our final year, and we needed God more than ever. Cooking is one of my love languages, so I loved feeding him. He’d give me money, and I’d cook different things just so we could focus on other important things. It genuinely felt like we were a young couple.

Right. Were there any parts of the relationship that didn’t feel perfect?

Olamide: Definitely. Adura can be extremely headstrong. Once she decided she wanted to do something, there’s no changing her mind, no matter how I approached it. It used to worry me so much, but I tried not to focus on it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t much of a problem.

Adura: I noticed he could be somewhat bossy and controlling. He always blamed it on the firstborn syndrome, but I think it was more than that. We’d have back-and-forth about things as little as what we should eat. Like him, I told myself disagreements were normal at that stage because we were both still learning to understand each other. Plus, we always sorted out any issues within a day or two, so there was no cause for alarm.

I think we only ran into major issues after we graduated.

What major issues?

Adura: After we left school, I returned to Ibadan, and he went back to Lagos. We relied entirely on phone calls and texts to keep in touch. But we were always fighting and arguing over who hadn’t picked up a call or who hadn’t texted first. Small things somehow became bigger issues than they needed to be.

I felt like he genuinely didn’t trust me. He’d keep bringing up how I was pretty and could easily be snatched by someone else in Ibadan. I hated when he said things like that, but he kept doing it, almost like he couldn’t help himself. He’d also make random video calls just to see if I was truly where I said I was, and other times he wanted details about what I was doing.

But I never entertained that. I wasn’t going to let him have that level of control over me. Whenever he made weird requests, I’d tell him straight up that I wasn’t doing what he asked. He used to get so mad.

Olamide: I’ll admit that insecurity was real for me during that distance. Not seeing her every day like I used to made my mind wander in directions probably shouldn’t have. And we’ve discussed this before, but one of her friends in Ibadan didn’t make things easier. I don’t know what the babe’s intentions were, but she kept randomly sharing updates about Adura. Almost like she was trying to pass a “see what your babe is doing” message across. I only entertained her a few times before I told Adura.

But we were dealing with other issues. On top of everything was the fact that she just never listened. It felt like she’d become more determined to resist anything I said now that we weren’t physically together. And the painful part is that sometimes it’s not even like I’m being bossy or commanding her. Sometimes, I’m genuinely pleading. Our NYSC posting is a good example of that.

What do you mean?

Olamide: I wanted us to both serve in Lagos since I was already there, and she also planned to relocate there eventually. Plus, we’d get to be together again and move on from the back-and-forth of texting and calling. To my utter surprise, Adura refused. She said she wanted to serve in Ibadan. I tried to convince her every way I could, but she was adamant. I was almost going insane because then, I started to think that maybe she wasn’t thinking about us in the long term like I was.

Adura: So, the thing is, at that particular time, I wasn’t ready to move to Lagos. It wasn’t just about the relationship. Practically speaking, who would I even live with? How would I settle in? Olamide offered to sort all of that, and I should at least move to Lagos first. But I wasn’t convinced. Yes, I loved him and knew I could trust him, but I wasn’t comfortable uprooting my life on those terms.

When the time came, I did as I said and served in Ibadan. That decision caused a rift between us. He felt like I wasn’t invested in a future together, and I felt like he was trying to force a decision on me. I think we stopped talking after camp. We tried to stay in touch during camp, but the communication just felt forced. At some point, we both stopped trying.

I hear you both on not wanting to force a decision and thinking about the future. But what do you think would have been a fair compromise?

Olamide: Honestly, I don’t know what that would have been. She’s currently in Lagos, and I just think that the service year was a waste of time in our journey. I wasn’t asking her to move to Lagos on a whim; it was already a part of her plans. And that’s what she’s eventually done.

Adura: But I moved when it was convenient for both of us to do so, financially and otherwise. Also, I forgot to mention that I suggested we visit each other, but he just wanted me to be fully in Lagos.

Let’s move on. How did you guys reunite?

Adura: It was still during the NYSC service year. At that point, my family already knew Olamide, especially my mum. She used to ask after him, and they’d occasionally speak on the phone.

One day, about two or three months after we’d stopped talking, my mum randomly asked after Olamide. I said he was fine, and then she asked if everything was fine between us. I was reluctant at first, but I knew if I didn’t tell her, she wouldn’t let me rest, or she’d even call him. So I told her we weren’t speaking. And then she said she had a dream and wanted us to visit our prophet.

When we got to church that Sunday, we requested an audience, and then my mum explained the dream. Then the prophet explained that Olamide and I had a promising future together if we were patient with each other. He specifically said I should embrace the dove’s spirit and be gentle in my ways.

After we left, my mum told me to call Olamide, but I didn’t.

Why?

Adura: Even though I trust the word of God and whatever the prophet said, I just felt like things would happen naturally. We’d not spoken for months, and it would just seem desperate if I suddenly reached out to talk about a vision. In fact, it would seem like I’m trying to trick him or something. So I just kept praying and waiting for a sign.

Olamide: Funny thing is, I’d also gotten a similar message in church. A member had told me I was fighting with someone who could make my life better. She didn’t say who specifically, but when she asked if there was someone I wasn’t on good terms with, Adura immediately came to mind. Then she said I should reconcile with whoever it was and be patient with them.

Usually, I’d always share messages like that with my mum, who’s also deeply spiritual. But for some reason, I didn’t. After I said my prayers that night, I texted her, “Can we talk?” Then I switched off my phone and went to bed. I don’t even know why I did that.

When I woke up the next morning, she’d read my message, and I saw that she had deleted something she’d sent. I called her that same morning, and we just talked. She said she was visiting Lagos the next weekend, and I said we could talk in person.

That weekend, we both shared the message we’d received. It felt awkward afterwards because, deep down, we were still mad at each other. The messages didn’t automatically fix the way we’d parted.

That makes sense. But did things get better?

Adura: Not immediately. Things still felt awkward for the next few months. What we knew didn’t change anything overnight. I was still in Ibadan, and he was still in Lagos, which was exactly part of what had caused our issues in the first place.

Olamide: We only got back fully when she moved to Lagos in early 2023. We’ve been riding it through since then. Not like we’re perfect, but at least we’re still here.

But is there anything you’re doing differently now?

Olamide: I still catch myself wanting to control certain things, but I’m more aware of it now than I was before. I try to check myself before it turns into an argument.

Adura: I’ve softened a bit, too, though I won’t pretend my stubbornness has disappeared completely; that’s just who I am. But I think we’ve both learned that the relationship can survive our individual flaws as long as we’re willing to be patient with each other.

Got it. What’s the best thing about being with each other?

Olamide: For me, it’s how much she genuinely cares, even underneath the stubbornness. The version of her that used to cook soup for me in school hasn’t really gone anywhere. She still shows up for me in ways that matter; she just also won’t let me push her around, which, honestly, I’ve come to respect more than resent.

Adura: I’d say for me, it’s the fact that he always means well and genuinely cares about me. I’ll be honest, a lot of times when he’s suggested a better way to do things, he always turns out right. Even if it doesn’t always look like I agree, I’m always thankful he’s someone I can call my own.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your love life?

Olamide: I’d say an 8. There’s still room for both of us to grow, especially around trust and control on my end, but I’m confident we’ll keep working on it.

Adura: I’ll also say an 8. We’ve survived the worst, so I have no doubt we’ll keep figuring the rest out together, one issue at a time.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

GridLocked is a daily pop culture guessing game built for Nigerians. Every weekday by 9am, you’ll get six clues, sixty seconds, and an answer only a Nigerian would know.

Today’s GridLocked is an album.

How many clues do you need to get it right? 👀

Share your result when done, but don’t spoil the answer for others. (Missed the last GridLocked? Play it here.)

20 August 2026

PLAY NEXT GRID: Can You Guess The Food? (21 August 2026)

Come back every weekday by 9am for a new grid or subscribe to Z Daily, Zikoko’s daily newsletter, to get new GridLocked puzzles, real Nigerian stories and other fun content in your inbox.

How to Play GridLocked

The Goal: Guess the answer for the day before time runs out. (The answer could be a Nigerian person, place, song, movie, or even slang.)
The Lock: You cannot type a guess until you have revealed at least one tile (clue).
The Reveal: Tap any tile to reveal a clue. Every clue describes the answer for the day. The fewer tiles you flip, the better.
The Clock: You have 60 seconds to guess right. The timer starts the moment you flip your first tile. (You get multiple guesses.)

The GridLocked Squares: What Do They Mean?

When the game ends, you see your guess count, total time spent, and the number of tiles flipped. The tiles are shown as white and purple squares.

⬜ (White) = A tile you flipped
🟪 (Purple) = A tile you left closed

The fewer white tiles you have, the better your result.

Best Result = ⬜🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 | Guesses: 1 (Only needed one clue and one guess to get it right)

Where do you live currently, and when did you leave Nigeria?

What were you doing in Nigeria before you moved to the UK?

What made you decide to leave Nigeria?

Was moving abroad always part of your plan?

What did you think your life in the UK would look like before you arrived?

What was the first thing in the UK that made you realise you’re now abroad?

What was your biggest culture shock?

Was there any experience that made you think, “They would never do this in Nigeria.

What was the hardest part of your first few months in the UK?

Did you have to start your career from scratch, or were you able to continue what you were doing in Nigeria?

What’s the biggest difference between working in Nigeria and doing the same thing in the UK?

What’s the most expensive or financially painful part of living in the UK that nobody warned you about?

Do you actually have more disposable income or savings now than you did in Nigeria?

Have you experienced racism, discrimination or any situation where you felt like an outsider?

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What happened?

How has moving to the UK affected your relationships with your family and friends back home?

What about your dating or relationship life?

What’s one thing about Nigeria you didn’t think you’d miss until you left?

What’s something about life in Nigeria that you now appreciate more because you’ve lived abroad?

Have you ever seriously thought, “Maybe I should just go back to Nigeria”?

Will you go back to Nigeria one day?

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?

What is your earliest memory of money?

I notice you keep mentioning just your mum

Sigh. That’s terrible

Phew. That must’ve been a lot for you. How did all of that financial stress affect you?

When did you first act on this desire to make money?

What do you mean the money was gone?

How did you navigate finances in uni?

Were you able to build a steady income from freelancing?

Omo. How were you handling living expenses in school then?

Oh nice

Fair enough. What came next after graduating from uni?

Not bad. Do you still do all three jobs now?

Damn. I’m so sorry

Mad mad. Can you break that down for me?

Out of curiosity, does your mum still “plan” your income?

How did she react to that?

Let’s break down your typical monthly expenses

What does your savings portfolio look like?

How would you describe your relationship with money?

Do you think you still have the scarcity mindset?

What’s an ideal income you think you should be earning right now?

What’s something you want right now but can’t afford?

How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

Where do you currently live, and when did you first leave Nigeria?

Wow! That’s a lot. Before we get into Dubai, take me back to what life was like for you in Nigeria

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That’s really interesting. So, what were you doing before you left for Dubai?

So what took you to Dubai?

How did you actually get into Dubai? What was the visa process?

What was life in Dubai like for you?

Wait! You actually turned down a work visa sponsorship?

Love that for you. So how did the UK come into the picture?

What was life like while you were studying?

Nice, now let’s get into the Canada process. Walk me through it.

Oh wow! Did that affect your results eventually?

What documents and timeline did the PR application involve?

What did the whole process actually cost you?

You’re clearly not a fan of agents.

What’s life actually been like so far, between the UK and Canada?

What’s your favourite thing about Canada?

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate life in the UK and life in Canada?

Any advice for someone considering this exact route?

Any mistakes you’d tell people to avoid?

This has been such a good conversation. Anything you want to add?

Take me back to the beginning. How did you become friends with Sandra?

What were the early days of your friendship like?

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That sounds great. So at what point did things change?

What happened?

Oh.

How did you confirm your suspicions?

Did you speak to her about it?

Did she ever reach out to you after that?

Has this experience affected your other friendships?

Do you think you could fix your relationship with Sandra?

1. Modenine