For many young creators, the internet isn’t just a pastime anymore; it’s a stage. It offers visibility, connection, and sometimes, the chance to turn talent into livelihood. From singing covers to dance challenges, the digital space has become the launchpad for a new generation of stars. But what happens when you step online? Everything shifts in ways you never planned.
In this story, we trace the journey of Agnes Bada, whose playful experiment with content cracked open doors she didn’t even know existed, changing how she saw herself and her future.
This is Agnes Bada’s story as told to Marv.
Growing up, music was the air I breathed. My siblings could sing, and we all did in one way or another. But I carried it differently with an intensity and a seriousness that showed it was more than just play.
By 2018, I had started recording covers and sharing them on Instagram, offering little pieces of myself to the world.
Comedy, on the other hand, wasn’t something that happened by chance. My brother had dabbled in it before, making Sidney Talker–style skits. Sometimes we’d sit together, tossing ideas back and forth. I didn’t know it then, but that experience left me with a quiet reserve of knowledge, something stored away, waiting for the right moment.
That moment came in 2020.
I had fallen sick, too weak to keep up my routine. Normally, I posted covers back-to-back: sometimes daily, sometimes with small breaks when school or other responsibilities got in the way. But during that stretch of illness, two or three weeks slipped by without a single post. The silence unsettled me. I felt restless, as if my relevance was slipping through my fingers.
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Still weak but determined, I told myself, “I need to put something out.” Singing the way I usually did wasn’t possible, so I reached for something lighter. I set up my camera, balancing my phone on a stack of books and buckets. And instead of pushing my voice, I got playful with it.
I didn’t plan it. It was instinct. I leaned into the silliness and hit record. That video became my first comedy-music skit. Nervous about how it would be received, I told myself, “Let me post this where nobody will see it.” Instead of Instagram, I tried TikTok for the first time.
Within hours, it exploded. Overnight, I gained over 1,000 followers, more than I even had on Instagram at the time. Phone calls and DMs poured in from friends: “Have you seen this? Your video has blown up!” It was overwhelming.
The comments were filled with encouragement, yet inside, I struggled. Sharing that goofy side of myself with the public didn’t come easily.
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So I stopped posting. I didn’t want to be seen as a clown. I wanted to be the “fine music babe,” not a comedian. But the video had already escaped me. People were reposting it on Facebook, on Instagram, everywhere. And with each share, more eyes turned toward me. A door had opened, one I hadn’t been planning to step through.
Until then, I was the girl who sang at events, keeping things low-key and living privately. But TikTok pulled me into the public eye. And even though I resisted, my parents, especially my mum, urged me on: “Keep posting. Don’t stop.”
So I kept going. The first viral video was followed by another that didn’t do as well, then another that caught fire again. Slowly, I began to post on Instagram too, encouraged by friends who believed in me more than I believed in myself. Their faith gave me the courage to embrace the side of me I had once hidden.
Of course, not every moment was smooth. When some videos didn’t hit the way the first did, doubt crept in. I felt the pressure of expectation, the fear that people might get tired. I asked myself constantly what was next and what fresh things I could add. In the end, I decided to keep moving, trusting that new ideas would come as they always did.
The consistency paid off. My audience grew to over 300,000 followers. And with that came changes in real life. Strangers began to recognise me at the market or on the street. For someone introverted like me, it was unsettling. Sometimes I just wanted to shop in peace, but people approached with smiles and excitement. Slowly, I learned to accept it, even if deep down I preferred to go by unnoticed.
By early 2024, the shift became undeniable. Artists began reaching out, asking me to promote their songs. That was when I realised: this wasn’t just content anymore. It was work and a career. My brother stepped in like a manager, handling the business side, while I sought out mentors who taught me how not to be cheated. For the first time, I began to see myself as a brand, to recognise the value of my craft, and to accept just how much people truly loved what I did.
Then came collaborations. Content creators I had admired from a distance reached out. One of the biggest moments for me was when Josh2Funny got involved. People had been tagging him under my videos, insisting we had to work together. Eventually, he reposted one of my skits and then reached out.
Meeting him in person was surreal. We recorded together, and he handled everything — logistics, feeding, and accommodation. It was from that experience that I learned that I have value and I could stand in those rooms and belong. Since our first content together, we have made many more.
In the last year that I started to enjoy a lot of visibility, I have learned a lot about the business. But the one I wish I knew early was that I could be the one to initiate things. I thought you had to wait for people to find you.
This has been an unplanned journey, but one that I’ve learned to embrace, from my first skit filmed on a sick day with a phone balanced on buckets, to collaborations with creators I grew up admiring, to building a community of hundreds of thousands of followers.
This is only the beginning and the time to get bullish.
