• Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.


    Nairalife #377 bio

    What’s your earliest memory of money?

    When I was in JSS 2, I desperately wanted this trendy purse that all my friends were bringing to school. It cost ₦2,500. I asked my mum to buy it for me, but she refused. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford it; she just didn’t think a purse was necessary.

    Instead of trying to convince her, I decided to find a way to get the purse myself.

    What did you do?

    I asked my sister for ₦200, and used it to buy powdered drink flavours and small nylon bags. I mixed them with water to make what we called “Tasty Time” ice drinks, and packed them into our home freezer.

    Then I sold them to neighbourhood kids for about ₦20 or ₦50 each. Within a week or two, the word spread, and kids would flock to my house after school to buy them. I made enough to save up ₦2,500 and bought the purse myself.

    How did your mum react?

    She was so surprised. She didn’t realise I wanted the purse that badly, and she definitely didn’t expect me to pull off a business like that. She was incredibly proud of my resourcefulness.

    What was the financial situation at home back then?

    My parents separated when I was about a year old, so I grew up with just my mum and my sister. My mum was a civil servant, but she also ran two businesses on the side, including travelling across Nigerian states and Dubai to buy clothes to resell.

    We were a very comfortable, average family. She paid for private school for my sister and me, and food was never an issue. We even had house helps. 

    Did you try anything else for money in secondary school after the ice drink venture?

    I can’t remember doing much else until after secondary school. I graduated in 2017 but didn’t get admission into the university until late 2019.

    During the waiting period, I decided to train to be a makeup artist. I had done a bit of modelling and always loved how makeup artists transformed my face, so I asked my mum to pay for a training course. She paid around ₦30,000 for a three-month programme.

    During the training, I got really close to my boss, and she made me her personal assistant. I ended up staying at the shop way past my training period. We’d work together, and sometimes I’d handle clients at the shop or do home services. 

    Were you making money from that?

    Yes, I made between ₦3,000 and ₦5,000 per appointment doing makeup and tying gele. The appointments weren’t frequent, usually once weekly or three times every two weeks, but the money was something. My boss also randomly gave me pocket money.

    Around that same time, my aunt noticed that the makeup shop was in a busy market area, with lots of women coming in, so she suggested I start selling women’s accessories. My mum gave me the capital — I can’t remember how much — and my aunt took me to the market to buy slippers, sandals, earrings, and rings. 

    I’d buy earrings for ₦200 or ₦250 and resell them for ₦1,000 or ₦1,500. It was highly profitable. I sold to my colleagues at the shop, clients, and friends. I also sold to family members whenever I visited them for holidays. 

    I used the money I made to buy new makeup, clothes, and general supplies to prepare for university when I eventually gained admission in 2019.


    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.


    Did you continue the business at uni?

    Only in my first semester. The friends I made in school weren’t business-oriented at all, and without that shared energy, the ginger to continue disappeared.

    For the rest of my time in uni, I didn’t do a single thing for money and lived on the ₦20k monthly allowance my mum sent me for food. I called home for other expenses, like textbooks and handouts. I also always took provisions and foodstuff back to school whenever I visited home.

    So I guess your pocket money was more than enough for survival

    Yeah. It also helped that my roommates and I shared foodstuff and cooked together. Whenever anyone had money, we sort of spent it together.

    Also, I had boyfriends who regularly gave me money. I hardly ever cooked because someone was always buying me food or junk. So, I didn’t really have a major need for money in school.

    How about after graduation?

    I graduated in 2023 and went for NYSC the following year. My Place of Primary Assignment (PPA) was a loan company that paid me ₦35k/month, in addition to NYSC’s ₦33k allawee. 

    The job wasn’t convenient for me, though. I had to stay at my mum’s friend’s because it was closer to the office, but transportation alone was eating up a massive chunk of my earnings. The company’s culture also didn’t align with me. I worked for just about six months and ghosted them for the rest of my service year. 

    What did you do after NYSC?

    I passed out of service in 2025 and tried applying for jobs, but the options I saw paid too little. They were offering between ₦100k and ₦150k/month. I didn’t want to stress myself at a corporate job for that little money.

    I decided to focus my energy on running a business instead. I restarted my clothing business, selling basic tops and women’s clothes on Instagram and TikTok. In July 2025, right before Girlfriend’s Day on August 1st, I came up with the idea of making “basic top bouquets.” They were gift bouquets made out of folded female tops and boxes. I hadn’t seen anyone do it online, so I partnered with a friend who does decorations. We rented a hotel room, shot a creative video, and posted it on TikTok.

    The video went viral and got almost 400k views. Orders started flying in from guys who wanted to surprise their girlfriends. In that single week leading up to August 1st, I made over ₦600k.

    Whoosh! Sounds like a big win

    It should have been, but it didn’t feel like it because of a financial crisis happening in the background. I was heavily drowning in debt.

    What happened?

    My dad passed away in 2021 when I was in 200 level. He was a civil servant. Since I’m his only child, the responsibility fell to me to handle the documentation we needed to process his pension and insurance benefits, which are worth about ₦3 million.

    The nightmare started when I went to his office in 2024. For about a year and a half after his death, we couldn’t find his phone or ATM card. It turns out that a woman he was dating before his death had stolen them. My dad lost his sight as he grew older, so she had access to everything. 

    When he died, she didn’t report it to his workplace, so the government kept paying his salary for over a year, and she was secretly withdrawing and spending the money. They eventually found out and stopped the payments. I didn’t even know that was happening — it was when I tried to process the pension that his office demanded we refund the overpaid salaries (about ₦600k) before they would release his pension clearance.

    We tried to take the issue to court, but the woman vanished. Meanwhile, my mum had fallen severely ill with a chronic leg condition. She hasn’t been able to walk or go to work for two years now, so our finances were completely drained by her hospital runs and expensive medications.

    I couldn’t ask my mum for the money, so I took it upon myself to fix it. I turned to loan apps.

    Oh no. How bad did it get?

    I took a ₦600k loan to pay off the government, fully expecting my dad’s pension to be released in a month or two, so I could pay it back. But the back and forth dragged on.

    Because I didn’t have a stable salary, I couldn’t meet the payment deadlines, and the interest rates compounded aggressively. To avoid being harassed, I started taking loans from other apps to pay off the old ones. It became a vicious cycle. My debt ballooned from ₦600k to ₦1.2 million.

    Every single kobo I made from my clothing business and my viral bouquet launch went directly into paying off those apps. I had zero savings. I couldn’t even eat properly because any money that touched my hand immediately went to a loan app. I was living in constant terror.

    How did you get out of it?

    I started dating my current boyfriend in 2024. At first, I was too ashamed to tell him. But by late 2025, he had noticed something was wrong. One day, he randomly asked me, “Are you owing anyone money?” To this day, he hasn’t told me how he found out.

    I had to come clean. By then, I had managed to pay off ₦400k from my business profits, leaving a balance of ₦800k. My boyfriend gave me the balance, and that was how I finally cleared my debt in November 2025. I haven’t touched a loan app since then.

    That must have been a huge relief. Where do things stand with your dad’s pension now?

    We are still processing it. Just last month, I was asked to submit his obituary and some other documents for verification. Every time I visit their office, the officials come up with a new excuse. Today, they’ll say a letter is missing in a name. Tomorrow, they’ll ask for a new affidavit. It’s exhausting, but I’m pushing.

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    What does your monthly income look like today?

    My clothing and bouquet business brings me about ₦200k monthly. Some months are higher, some are lower. Then my boyfriend gives me a monthly allowance of another ₦200k. That’s usually ₦100k to ₦150k for my hair and maintenance, plus some extra money in between. So on average, my monthly income is ₦400k. 

    That said, I’m still aggressively job hunting. I recently paid ₦5,000 to join two Telegram channels that post job updates. I apply to four or five jobs every single day, specifically looking for remote customer service or administrative assistant roles. I want a steady, predictable salary of at least ₦500k that allows me to work from home, run my business, and occasionally take on makeup clients. I’ve had a few interviews this month, and I’m hoping something clicks soon.

    Rooting for you. Let’s break down your monthly expenses

    To be honest, my personal living expenses are really minimal. I don’t spend any money on food because I still live with my mum, and she handles food expenses. 

    Also, whenever I visit my boyfriend, we eat out, or he handles food. In a month, I probably spend an average of ₦300k on data, personal maintenance, outings with friends, some savings, and maybe restocking once in a while. 

    You mentioned savings. How’s that going?

    I think the trauma of being in debt and watching my mum’s illness drain our family’s finances has made me really scared of being broke. I never want to be caught unprepared by an emergency or be in a situation where I don’t have money.

    Right now, I have a strict savings plan. I save ₦2,000 daily and have another ₦50k locked monthly in a separate account. Whenever money enters my hand, I try to save something out of it. Since I started this in January, I’ve managed to save ₦850k. My goal is to hit ₦5 million by the end of the year.

    I really regret only starting to take savings and money seriously this year. I should have started earlier and would be in a better financial position by now.

    What do you think you could have done differently?

    I should have been more business-oriented in school. If I had built my makeup client base and consistently run my clothing business while in school, I would be so far ahead by now. 

    Uni is the easiest place to find a loyal customer base. Instead, I chose to cruise and enjoy myself with my friends because I was getting money from home. I really think that was my biggest mistake. Now, I have to fight for customers on social media. My boyfriend is very business-minded, though, and he keeps pushing me to record videos and stay consistent. So, I guess I’m on the right path.

    What are your plans for the business moving forward?

    I’m currently rebranding. I want to move away from modelling the clothes myself, so I plan to invest in mannequins. I’m also in the process of getting a proper studio backdrop or wallpaper for pictures, hangers and signage so I can start restocking and selling in much larger quantities.

    Is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?

    Probably new mannequins and a studio light for my business, new makeup products because they’re so expensive, and a pair of real gold earrings or a gold necklace. 

    The gold is mostly to keep as an investment/backup plan. Gold appreciates, so I can sell it if I need to.

    How about the last thing you spent money on that made you genuinely happy?

    Last month, I spent about ₦150k to buy six new pieces of clothing for myself. That was nice. 

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

    5. I’m definitely not where I want to be yet, but I’m trying my best. If I can land the remote job I’m currently interviewing for, which pays ₦500k monthly, and combine it with my business income, that number will shoot up to a 10. I’d be really happy.


    If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.

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  • 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.


    When Ada* (22)  came out to Susan* (22) in University, she became the first person to make her feel safe. But as Ada grew more comfortable with her sexuality and found community among other queer women, she noticed Susan pulling away. 

    For Sunken Ships, Ada shares how she lost a precious friendship because the person who once accepted her unconditionally became uncomfortable with being associated with her. 

    What made you realise your friendship with Susan was going downhill?

    I noticed that when we went out, she never posted pictures of us or our outing, but she did that for all her other friends.

    Let’s head back to the beginning. How did you meet?

    I met Susan in 2021 at a canteen at our university. A mutual friend introduced us, and we clicked almost immediately. We swapped contacts and started texting on WhatsApp. Within months, we were inseparable and remained so for the next three years.

    What were the early years of your friendship with her like?

    It was amazing. Our friendship quickly became a sisterhood. She was the first person I called when anything happened, good or bad. We spoke or texted each other every day. She was also the first person I trusted enough to see the parts of myself I was hiding from the world.

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    What parts of yourself were you hiding?

    I’m a lesbian. I’m comfortable with my identity now, but back then I wasn’t. Not even to myself at first. I grew up in a conservative Christian home, so even entertaining the possibility felt terrifying. Susan is straight, but she was the only person I felt safe enough to talk to about the complex feelings my sexuality gave rise to. 

    How did she react when you told her about your queerness?

    She didn’t even flinch or do anything dramatic. She treated my coming out like it was just another regular day. It lifted a huge weight from my heart that I didn’t even know was there. For years, she was my safe space. 

    At what point did you start accepting your sexuality?

    After university. We both moved to Lagos for our service year in 2025. There, I started meeting other queer women for the first time. It felt like somebody had finally switched on a light. I made new friends, started going to events, and I even experienced my first relationship with a woman. In all this, Susan was by my side, and I told her everything.

    How did Susan fit into this new phase of your life?

    At first, I thought she was happy for me. Whenever I told her about a date or a new friend, she’d smile and listen. But after a while, I noticed she never asked follow-up questions, she’d just change the topic. Then I started noticing other things.

    Like what?

    Whenever she went out with her friends, she always posted photos of their outing and them together, but she never posted us, even though we saw each other multiple times a week. It became obvious to me that something had changed.

    Did you ever ask her about it?

    Yes, many times. Every single time, she’d tell me I was imagining things. She’d say she didn’t post photos of me because she forgot or was busy. I accepted her explanations because ultimately, she was my closest friend.

    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.

    Was there a particular moment that made you realise the friendship was in trouble?

    Yes. I invited Susan and a bunch of my other friends to my birthday dinner in 2025. Most of the guests were queer because those were the people I spent the most time with. Then, halfway through dinner, before we even cut the cake, Susan begged to leave, saying she had an emergency. It was very odd.

    What happened next?

    I called her the next day to ask if she was okay, since her behaviour the previous night had been unusual. What she said shocked me.

    Tell me what she said.

    She said she’d spent the entire evening feeling like an outsider. I apologised immediately because I thought I’d somehow excluded her. Then she said something that completely threw me off. She said I was getting wrapped up in “that lifestyle”.

    What did she mean by that?

    According to her, hanging out with queer people all the time was giving me a bad reputation in our old school groups. More and more people were clocking my queerness, and it was making her uncomfortable. She confessed that was why she hadn’t been posting photos of me. To avoid rumours that something was going on between us.

    How did that make you feel?

    It hurt. Especially because she was the first person I was ever comfortable being myself with. I didn’t know how to explain that becoming my true self wasn’t something I could undo to make her feel more comfortable.

    What happened after that conversation?

    That conversation revealed a gap in our closeness. We tried to continue our friendship, but the distance between us kept growing. First, we stopped hanging out as much and started talking less and less. Then, over a few months, we just stopped talking altogether.

    Did either of you officially end the friendship?

    No. That’s the saddest part for me. I miss our friendship terribly, but we’re on different paths now.

    Have you spoken to her since the end of the friendship?

    Yes, but only once in a while. It’s cordial. We check in on birthdays and holidays, but the intimacy is gone. We don’t know each other’s daily lives anymore, and every conversation reminds me of what we used to share. 

    How do you feel about her now?

    I still love her, and I miss our friendship. She was my best friend during some of the hardest and most confusing years of my life. But I think she loves a version of me that no longer exists, and I had to choose between keeping that version alive for her or becoming myself. I chose myself.

    Would you be open to reconciliation if she said she was interested?

    No. I don’t know if she has let go of her fear of what others think of our friendship. Losing her hurt, and I don’t want to go through that again.

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


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


  • Most smartphones today don’t really say much about the people holding them. They’re sleek, yes. Powerful, yes. But emotionally? They all kind of blend into the same story.

    That’s why the HOT 70 Series from Infinix feels a little different. It’s not just another upgrade cycle; it’s a shift in how we think about phones altogether. And at the centre of that shift is something surprisingly simple: colour.

    Not just colour as “black, blue, or gold” but colour as expression, mood, and identity.

    From fashion and music to social media feeds and personal spaces, today’s generation is constantly finding new ways to express who they are. Individuality is no longer confined to what people wear; it extends to the devices they carry, the content they create, and the aesthetics they choose to surround themselves with.

    It is this growing desire for self-expression that sits at the heart of the new Infinix HOT 70 Series.

    More than a smartphone launch, the HOT 70 Series represents a bold exploration of colour, personality, and identity. Built around Infinix’s new Dynamic Shine Design philosophy, the series transforms the smartphone from a functional everyday device into a personal style statement, introducing a range of colourways that are designed not just to be seen, but to be experienced.

    At the centre of the collection is Thermo Orange, perhaps the most expressive smartphone colourway introduced by Infinix to date. Unlike traditional smartphone finishes that remain unchanged throughout their lifespan, Thermo Orange evolves with its environment. Powered by Dual-Way Thermo Sensing Skin technology, the back cover responds to temperature changes, transitioning between different shades of orange depending on surrounding conditions.

    In cooler temperatures, the device deepens into a rich, saturated orange. As temperatures rise, it gradually transforms into a lighter, brighter shade. The result is a smartphone that never looks exactly the same twice.

    In many ways, the feature mirrors the fluid nature of personal identity itself. Just as people adapt their style, mood, and energy depending on the moment, the HOT 70 adapts alongside its environment, creating a dynamic relationship between the user and the device.

    The experience becomes even more personal through the device’s DIY customisation capability. Users can imprint semi-permanent patterns, symbols, initials, or creative designs onto the Thermo Orange back cover, transforming the smartphone into a unique canvas of self-expression.

    For a generation that values personalisation, this feature moves beyond customisation and enters the realm of ownership. The device becomes more than a smartphone; it becomes an extension of the user’s personality.

    While Thermo Orange takes centre stage, the HOT 70 Series offers other interpretations of personal style through its carefully curated colour palette.

    The Quiet Violet edition embodies understated elegance. Inspired by the transition between dusk and dawn, it features subtle purple hues enhanced by Infinix’s Lumina Flare Dynamic Flame Texture. As light interacts with the surface, flowing patterns emerge, creating depth and movement without overwhelming the eye. It is a colourway designed for those who prefer quiet confidence over bold statements.

    Green Texture takes inspiration from nature, reflecting the layered beauty of leaf veins and organic forms. The textured finish creates a sense of depth and dimension that changes as the device catches the light. Fresh, contemporary, and effortlessly stylish, it speaks to users who gravitate towards authenticity and natural aesthetics.

    The lineup is completed with Night Pulse, Silver Dancer, and Dive Blue, each bringing its own personality to the series. Whether users prefer bold and energetic, clean and modern, or cool and expressive, the HOT 70 Series offers a colourway that feels intentional rather than generic.

    This diversity of choice reflects a broader shift in how consumers relate to technology. Smartphones are no longer simply communication tools; they have become extensions of personal style, appearing in photos, videos, workspaces, social media content, and everyday interactions.

    What makes these colourways particularly interesting is that they do not simply apply colour to a smartphone. Instead, they create interaction through colour. Light shifts. Textures move. Surfaces respond. The device becomes part of the user’s visual identity rather than merely supporting it.

    This philosophy extends to details such as the Crystal Mood Island camera design, where the camera module is elevated from a purely functional component into a design feature that refracts light and adds another layer of visual character to the device.

    The HOT 70 Series arrives at a time when smartphones have become deeply intertwined with how people present themselves to the world. They appear in photographs, videos, social media content, workspaces, and everyday interactions. Increasingly, consumers want devices that reflect their tastes and lifestyles as much as their technological needs.

    Infinix appears to understand this shift. While the HOT 70 delivers practical features including a dedicated One-Tap AI Button, AI FlashMemo, AI-powered productivity tools, a 50MP camera system, a 6000mAh battery, Military-Grade durability, IP65 water and dust resistance, and up to five years of security updates, the story of the device extends beyond specifications.

    At its core, the HOT 70 Series is about expression.

    It is about recognising that technology can be functional and fashionable. That smartphones can be practical and personal. That colour can communicate something meaningful about the people who choose it.

    In a world where individuality is increasingly celebrated, the HOT 70 Series shows that the strongest statements are often made through the colours we carry every day. For a generation unafraid to stand out, the message is simple: Be Seen. Be Hot.

    The Infinix Hot 70 is available at authorised retailers nationwide, priced at ₦189,900 for the 128GB variant and ₦299,900 for the 256GB variant. For more information about Infinix Nigeria’s products, please visit www.infinixmobility.com/ng  and follow @InfinixNigeria on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and X (formerly Twitter).​

  • In 1960, Nigeria took charge of its own affairs, sending its colonial masters packing. When the British left, they essentially handed over a complex machine we had never been taught to drive, and so, our learning process began.

    They say practice makes perfect, but Nigeria’s rehearsal was violently and repeatedly disrupted by military coups until 1999, when we finally had our longest, most stable stretch of democratic practice.

    But in 2023, that practice session was disrupted yet again. Only this time, the disruption wasn’t wearing a military uniform but an agbada; it came from a civilian administration—the administration of Bola Tinubu.

    This is how Nigeria’s democracy died in 2023.

    Demo of democracy

    Abraham Lincoln’s definition of democracy is perhaps the most quoted: “government of the people, by the people, for the people.” Because of this popular definition, the most easily understood aspect of democracy for most people is choice. In other words, we get to vote for our leaders. Voting is a massive pillar of democracy. But it is certainly not the only one.

    True democracy also relies on vital concepts like the separation of powers, free speech, freedom of the press, and strict respect for the rule of law. Proper democratic practice requires all these pillars to function together, not just focus entirely on elections. Nigeria has historically focused on the voting aspect of democracy, and famously struggled in the non-voting areas, but we have never had it quite this bad. Since 2023, we have watched these foundational pillars be completely demolished.

    State capture 101

    If you want to destroy a democracy, one of the first pillars to attack is the Separation of Powers. It is the fundamental principle that a government must be divided into independent arms and tiers to prevent absolute control.

    The arms represent the functional divisions of power:

    • The Executive: Implements and enforces laws.
    • The Legislative: Formulates and passes laws.
    • The Judiciary: Interprets laws and administers justice.

    The tiers represent the geographical levels of governance:

    • Federal
    • State
    • Local Government

    In an ideal democracy, each arm and tier operates within its own constitutional boundaries, completely free from outside interference. This structural wall ensures they act as vital checks and balances on one another, keeping excessive power in check.

    In reality, however, the Tinubu administration has embarked on the grandest—or at least the most successful—campaign of state capture Nigeria has ever witnessed.

    The minions ayes have it 

    The ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) started the 10th Assembly with 59 out of 109 senators, and 162 out of 360 seats in the House of Representatives. For a ruling party, that is a perfectly respectable majority.

    But the party spent the next three years aggressively recruiting opposition legislators to dump the parties that got them elected and switch to the APC. By March 2026, the APC had secured 84 Senate seats and 231 House seats. That sits well above the two-thirds supermajority needed to ruthlessly force through legislation.

    To put it simply: any law Tinubu wants passed will be passed. Even if every single opposition lawmaker votes against an executive bill, the APC lawmakers vastly outnumber them. They will always win the vote in the chamber. You might need to read that twice.

    Tinubu on the throne

    Even before the APC secured this massive supermajority, the National Assembly had already proved to be almost entirely obedient to the president. Examples include rubber-stamping his move to change the national anthem, or their compliance when he suspended the democratically elected state government in Rivers State in 2025.

    Whenever Tinubu needs something pushed through, he can confidently count on his yes-men at the  National Assembly, led by Senate President Godswill Akpabio, to get it done. The absolute surrender of the legislature’s constitutional oversight powers over the executive is perfectly embodied by Akpabio himself.

    This is a man who actively sings “On Your Mandate” when Tinubu enters the senate chamber, and has literally declared that  “Tinubu is on the throne.”

    We are not even kidding. It is genuinely that bad. The Senate President is invoking monarch status on the President. It’s  Akpabio’s job to keep Tinubu in check, yet he calls him a king. If that doesn’t tell you we’re in trouble, nothing will.

    All politics is local

    Okay, so the federal lawmakers bow to “king Tinubu”. But what about the state governments? Surely, democratically elected governors—voted in by their own people—can stand up to federal bullying, right? You probably already know exactly where this is going.

    The APC finished the 2023 elections with 21 governors out of the 36 states. But the campaign to take over the country has worked so well that the APC now controls a staggering 31 governors.

    This is where things get ugly. The way the APC and Tinubu have captured these governors shows a very brutal, undemocratic side to how they run the country.

    Governors like Dauda Lawal of Zamfara State and Ademola Adeleke of Osun State have openly accused the federal government of holding back money meant for their states  to force them to join the APC. Sadly, the pressure worked. Just weeks after complaining that Abuja withheld up to ₦500 billion in palliative funds from Zamfara, Lawal gave up and moved to the APC in March 2026.

    In Bauchi State, Governor Bala Mohammed has also accused the federal government of using agencies like the EFCC to harass him and his cabinet into switching parties.

    Tinubu has also shown a willingness to unconstitutionally remove elected officials from their posts. In March 2025, Tinubu declared a state of emergency in Rivers State, deployed the military, and suspended the elected state government for 6 months.

    And as you probably guessed, the rubber-stamp lawmakers in the National Assembly quickly approved it. Three months after the suspension ended, Governor Sim Fubara officially crossed over to the APC. In May 2025, we’d learn from Nyesom Wike that Fubara’s suspension was lifted following an agreement overseen by Tinubu.

    Democratically elected state governors shouldn’t have to switch to the President’s party just to get the money meant for their people, or to protect themselves from being locked out of their office, but here we are.

    The welcoming party

    But Tinubu doesn’t just expect these captured governors to run their states according to his will. No, he likes to parade them like trophies. This is most obvious in the bizarre airport ritual that has become a regular tradition under this administration.

    Governors who should be busy managing their own states constantly leave their offices to travel to Abuja just to wave Tinubu goodbye whenever he flies out of the country. Others fly across the world with him just to line up on the tarmac and shake his hand the moment he steps off the presidential jet, acting like a glorified welcoming committee.

    We have even seen photographs of sitting, elected governors literally greeting Tinubu on their knees.

    It is incredibly clear that this current crop of governors does not understand the basic rules of democracy or the independence that comes with their positions. They simply do not respect the weight and importance of their own offices.

    But the bigger question is: do we, as Nigerians, truly realise just how messed up all of this actually is?

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    We’ve never had it this bad

    Since the return to democracy in 1999, Nigeria has gone through three major leadership eras before Tinubu:

    • Olusegun Obasanjo (1999–2007)
    • Umaru Musa Yar’Adua & Goodluck Jonathan (2007–2015)
    • Muhammadu Buhari (2015–2023)

    While every single one of these past leaders had their flaws and definitely threw their weight around, the presidency was never as dangerously strong as it is right now. None of them managed to completely swallow up the rest of the government the way Tinubu has.

    Old soldiers sometimes die

    During the Obasanjo years, the ruling People’s Democratic Party (PDP) held almost as much numerical power as the APC does today. They grew from 59 senators, 206 representatives, and 21 governors in Obasanjo’s first term to a massive 73 senators, 223 representatives, and 27 governors in his second term.

    But being members of the president’s party did not turn these politicians into his stooges. The Senate constantly fought Obasanjo, actively revolting against executive control by repeatedly impeaching the Senate Presidents he tried to handpick. In total, the friction was so intense that the upper chamber went through five different Senate Presidents in just eight years. They even tried to impeach Obasanjo as president in 2002 over security issues. God when.

    The defining moment of this legislative independence came in 2006, when Obasanjo tried to push through a constitutional amendment bill to elongate his political career and secure a third term in office. Despite the PDP holding a commanding majority in the chamber, lawmakers looked the old military general in the eye and threw the bill out, permanently killing his dream of an extended presidency.

    Today, the contrast is stark. There is not a single political analyst in Nigeria worth their salt who would tell you they are 100 per cent sure the current National Assembly would say no if Tinubu asked for the same thing.

    Tinubu, was that not you I saw?

    It’s ironic that Tinubu, in his time as governor, operated democratically and was not a pushover.

    In the early 2000s, Tinubu was the Governor of Lagos State. When he created new Local Council Development Areas (LCDAs) without federal approval, President Obasanjo got angry and completely cut off Lagos State’s federal allocation funds.

    So, what did Tinubu do? Did he run to join the ruling PDP? Did he travel to Abuja to beg Obasanjo on his knees? Absolutely not. He stood his ground, fought the presidency all the way to the Supreme Court, and won.

    It is incredibly ironic that a man who built his political career by using the independence of state governments to fight executive bullying is now the very president destroying those same pillars of democracy today.

    Bad luck motel

    Goodluck Jonathan saw out the remainder of Umaru Musa Yar’Adua’s first term after the president passed away from a long illness. When Jonathan ran for his own fresh term in 2011, the PDP had 71 senators, 202 representatives, and 23 state governors. But having those numbers on paper did not guarantee smooth sailing. At almost every turn, the lawmakers and governors within his own party chose to make Jonathan’s tenure thoroughly miserable.

    The trouble began immediately when the House of Representatives flatly rejected Jonathan’s handpicked choice for Speaker, Mulikat Akande-Adeola, electing Aminu Tambuwal instead. Jonathan and Tambuwal would go on to feud for the entire duration of that presidency.

    Worse was to come. Between 2013 and 2014, a massive wave of 37 PDP representatives and 11 PDP senators defected en masse to the newly formed opposition party, the APC, effectively shattering the PDP’s absolute control over the National Assembly.

    The pull-out the military method

    The battle with the state governors was just as intense. In November 2013, five powerful PDP governors—popularly known as the nPDP—launched an open revolt against Jonathan’s leadership. Governors like Rotimi Amaechi of Rivers State and Rabiu Kwankwaso of Kano State led a historic walkout and defected to the APC, instantly erasing the ruling party’s dominance across the states.

    But since we are tracking political ironies, let’s look at a truly remarkable one: the bitter feud between Jonathan and Kashim Shettima, who was the Governor of Borno State at the time.

    With his state sitting at the heart of the Boko Haram insurgency, Shettima openly and fiercely criticised the federal government’s handling of the security crisis. An exhausted and furious Jonathan lashed out publicly, even famously threatening during a live broadcast to withdraw federal troops from Borno for a month just to see if Shettima “would stay in that government house.”

    Shettima later revealed that Jonathan had actively planned to suspend and remove him from office, much like Tinubu eventually did to Governor Fubara in Rivers State.

    However, Jonathan was stopped dead in his tracks. Then-Speaker Aminu Tambuwal told the president that he lacked the authority to sack an elected official. Even Jonathan’s own Attorney-General of the Federation, Mohammed Bello Adoke, backed by other cabinet members, looked the president in the eye and told him he did not have the constitutional power to remove a sitting governor—”not even a [local government] councillor.”

    During the Jonathan era, the legislature, the cabinet, and the country’s legal framework stood up to the president. They stood firmly on the core tenets of democracy and successfully protected Shettima’s rights from executive overreach.

    Today, that same Kashim Shettima sits as the Vice President to Bola Tinubu—a leader who arbitrarily suspended an elected governor and dismantled a state government, fully aided and abetted by a completely subservient National Assembly.

    The ironies are loud, clear, and incredibly tragic.

    One battle after another

    When Muhammadu Buhari won the 2015 election, his party, the APC, started the 8th National Assembly with 60 out of 109 senators, 212 out of 360 representatives, and 22 state governors.

    Buhari was a former military dictator with a reputation for getting his way. But the 8th National Assembly, led by Senate President Bukola Saraki, quickly proved that a civilian presidency could not simply order the parliament around. 

    The resistance started on day one. The APC leadership wanted Ahmed Lawal to lead the parliament, but Saraki outmanoeuvred the presidency. He even struck a deal with the opposition PDP, resulting in a historic anomaly: a ruling-party Senate President working alongside an opposition Deputy Senate President, Ike Ekweremadu.

    For Buhari, those eight years were one battle after another with the National Assembly.

    In 2016, at the height of an economic recession, Buhari sent a massive $29.9 billion external borrowing plan to the Senate. In a move that would be unthinkable today, the Senate completely rejected the loan request, citing a lack of detailed information and transparency.

    The current Senate continues to approve loan requests after loan requests from Tinubu. And with such speed, you’d think they’re gunning for a world record.

    Buhari nominated Ibrahim Magu to head the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). Despite heavy pressure from the presidency, the Senate screened Magu and officially rejected his confirmation—not once, but twice. Multiple times, we’ve seen this Senate tell Tinubu’s executive picks to “bow and go” during confirmation hearings. They have completely abandoned the job of grilling the people who will run our ministries.

    My state, my rules

    Even the governors during the Buhari era maintained their independence. While the APC held 22 states, governors from both the ruling party and the opposition routinely challenged federal policies.

    When Buhari tried to introduce the controversial Ruga cattle settlement policy nationwide, several state governors—including opposition figures like Samuel Ortom of Benue State—resisted, forcing the federal government to suspend the plan.

    Under Buhari, the executive had to fight, negotiate, and occasionally suffer embarrassing defeats at the hands of the other arms of government. The presidency was powerful but not absolute. That is how it’s meant to be.

    The most powerful president

    Compared to his predecessors, Bola Tinubu is the most powerful civilian president Nigeria has seen since 1999. His will is basically the law. But apart from proving that our democracy died in 2023, this absolute consolidation of power does something else: it shows us exactly who to blame for all our problems.

    Goodluck Jonathan still argues that he was unable to implement the recommendations of the  2014 National Conference due to political resistance, including from Tambuwal. Buhari supporters can claim that his Ruga cattle settlement plan would have solved the deadly herder-farmer clashes if state governments hadn’t rejected it.

    Tinubu has no such excuses. There is no policy he wants that he cannot push through the National Assembly, and no directive he cannot force state governors to implement. He has total control.

    Yet, here we are. Nigeria is currently recording wartime numbers of conflict deaths. We are paying billions in ransom every year as the kidnapping epidemic spins completely out of control. Runaway inflation has made basic survival—just buying food—unaffordable for millions of citizens. During his tenure alone, over 16 million more Nigerians have fallen headfirst into poverty. The list of disasters goes on. Nigeria has become an incredibly dangerous and difficult place to live.

    And remember: not a single plan to fix these issues has been blocked by a stubborn governor or a defiant Senate. Tinubu has had complete free rein. Yet, he has fixed nothing.

    For the first time in Nigeria’s modern history, if there is anything you hate about the state of the country, you can lay it squarely at the feet of one single man—Bola Tinubu.

    It’s flatlining!

    There is some good news. Our democracy may be dead right now, but it can always be resuscitated. The thing, though, is that it won’t happen by accident; it will take deliberate, aggressive effort from all of us.

    As citizens, we must become fiercely active in politics. At this point, it is no longer just about civic pride or fulfilling a duty—it is pure self-defence. These past three years of the Tinubu presidency have proved one terrifying reality: a badly run Nigeria is fatal. Paying attention and participating in politics is how you protect your own life.

    Follow the politics. Study the candidates and find out what their actual policy stances are. Decide who you are backing. Then, get your PVC before the upcoming deadlines and prepare to vote at all levels. We desperately need state and local governments and federal lawmakers with the spine to stand up to presidential overreach.

    It is bad right now. It really is. But we can still save our democracy.

    Nigerians, lock in.


    We want to hear about your personal experiences that reflect how politics or public systems affect daily life in Nigeria. Share your story with us here—we’d love to hear from you!


  • SpotMedia has officially selected 39 contestants for the inaugural SpotMedia Spotlight Open Mic Series, a live talent competition created to discover, develop, and showcase emerging creative talents. The competition will provide a platform for participants to demonstrate their abilities through a series of live performances, with the top five contestants earning a coveted performance slot at the Feel the Rhythm Grand Finale scheduled for August 2, 2026, in Lagos.

    The Spotlight Open Mic Series forms part of SpotMedia’s broader commitment to talent discovery and creative development, offering participants exposure, audience engagement, mentorship opportunities, and a pathway to perform on one of the platform’s biggest stages.

    The journey from social media to the Feel The Rhythm stage begins now.

    Between April 8th and May 30th, 2026, aspiring talents submitted public performance videos on Instagram and TikTok, tagging @spotmedia.online as part of the entry process. Following an internal review of submissions, 39 contestants were selected to advance to the live competition phase.

    Now, the real challenge begins

    Over the coming weeks, contestants will perform before judges and live audiences across multiple stages, including auditions, performance rounds, mentorship sessions, and eliminations. At the end of the competition, only five finalists will remain. By reaching the Top 5, they will have secured a performance slot at the Feel The Rhythm Grand Finale, where they will compete against one another for the grand prize.

    Competition timeline

    June 13, 2026 — Live Audition (Selection Stage)

    June 20, 2026 — Stage One

    July 11, 2026 — Stage Two

    July 18, 2026 — Semi-Finale

    August 2, 2026 — Feel The Rhythm Grand Finale

    The competition structure

    Phase 1 — Submissions (Closed): Artists submitted performance videos publicly on Instagram and TikTok, tagging @spotmedia.online. Submissions closed May 30, 2026. Following review and screening, 39 contestants were accepted.

    Phase 2 — Competition Starts: The 39 selected contestants will compete across four weekends, from June 13 to July 25, 2026, performing before a judging panel and audience voters. Throughout the competition, contestants will showcase their talents while battling for advancement to the next stage.

    Phase 3 — Selection: At the end of each stage, contestants will be evaluated based on judges’ assessments and audience voting. The competition field will be progressively narrowed each weekend, with some contestants eliminated and others advancing, until only the five strongest performers remain.

    Phase 4 — The Grand Finale: The five finalists will earn the opportunity to perform live at the Feel the Rhythm Grand Finale on August 2, 2026, in Lagos, sharing the stage with headline acts Buchi and GT da Guitarman. Following their final performances, one contestant will emerge as the overall winner of the SpotMedia Spotlight Open Mic Series and receive prizes valued at up to ₦1,000,000, which includes a ₦500,000 cash prize, free studio recording sessions, promotional support across SpotMedia platforms, and other career development opportunities.

    The selected contestants

    The identities of the 39 selected contestants were officially unveiled on June 6, 2026 across SpotMedia platforms. Their original submission videos are available on SpotMedia’s Instagram page: @spotmedia.online.

    Speaking on the selection, Omamuzo Samson, CEO of SpotMedia, described the initiative as more than just a competition:

    “Thirty-nine people took a chance on themselves and stepped forward. That deserves recognition. But selection was only the beginning. The real story now unfolds on stage. Every performance matters, every round counts, and only five will make it to the Grand Finale—with one ultimate winner emerging at the end.”

    The Spotlight Open Mic Series is part of SpotMedia’s broader mission to build a sustainable platform for talent discovery and live entertainment, bridging the gap between emerging creatives and wider audiences through digital media, live events, and community-driven storytelling.

    Follow every step of the competition

    Fans and audiences are invited to follow the journey across SpotMedia platforms for live updates, performance highlights, behind-the-scenes content, and elimination results as the competition unfolds.

    Contestant videos, competition updates, results, and Grand Finale announcements are published live on all SpotMedia channels and Festaconline. 

    Follow @spotmedia.online & @festaconline on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and YouTube to follow every step.

    Full press release and media assets: spotmedia.online/press-release

    About SpotMedia

    SpotMedia (spotmedia.online) is a Nigerian music discovery and live entertainment platform connecting emerging artists with audiences through streaming, live events, and community-driven cultural experiences. The Feel the Rhythm series is SpotMedia’s flagship live event initiative for 2026.

    Media Contact

    Omamuzo Samson: CEO, SpotMedia

    Alexis Egenti: COO, SpotMedia

    spotmedia.online

  • Being a broke student will humble you. We asked Nigerians about the wildest things they did for money as students. These accounts held nothing back.


    “I briefly dated an older man.” —  Gift*, 22, F

    The wildest thing I’ve done for money was join a sugar daddy website. I was a 200-level nursing student, had just turned 20, and money was tight. I’m very extravagant by nature, and around that time, I’d just lost one of my major copywriting clients. So when things got tough, I figured, why not?

    I went on exactly one date. The man gave me ₦100,000, but the whole time I just sat there irritated. He was older than my dad. Being with a sugar daddy wasn’t giving what I’d seen on TV at all. I left thinking, nah, I’m not doing this again. After that, I went back to what I knew. I cold-DMed more potential clients to rebuild my copywriting income, and I dabbled in web3 around the same time. Looking back now, I definitely laugh about it. It’s an experience worth sharing.

    “I sold my eggs for ₦200k.” —  Christiana, 20, F*

    In April (2026), I went home for the holidays, thinking about how to get money to sort my bills at school. Then my friend started talking about egg donation, and I thought, why don’t I do it too?

    When I asked her for details, she hesitated, assuming I was underage and didn’t want to give me the information. After proving I wasn’t, I got the details of the hospital and went to donate. The process involved taking shots for seven days. Nothing about it caught me off guard; I’m a 300-level medical student, so I knew exactly what I was signing up for.

    I was paid ₦200,000. I added it to the money I’d made from working and used it to pay rent and buy school supplies. I don’t regret it at all. I basically used a part of my body to help people who are trying to conceive, and the money helped me too. Would I do it again? Surely. If only I could find a hospital that pays higher.


    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.


    “School was basically a side hustle for me.” — Jaja*, 26, M

    I had a full-time 9-5 at a furniture company during my 300-level, while studying theatre arts at Unilag. And I mean actual full-time with a whole pension account and everything. My employer knew I was a student, so whenever I had tests or presentations, I just needed to let them know. My parents knew I had a job, but they didn’t really mind. They were even happy.

    I was earning ₦120k, going to the office three times a week and school twice. Did they clash? Definitely, but the only reason I could pull it off is that I knew what I was doing academically. I could miss classes, get notes, and still understand a course. I even used to teach people in school then. School was basically a side hustle for me. I already knew what I wanted to do with my life.

    I left the job after four months because the workplace was toxic. If not, I might have stayed longer. 

    “I waited for my monies to start coming in. Nothing came o.” — Ronke*, 25, F

    One time in 200 level, I was strapped for cash, so I did blood magic. I’d seen a TikTok about how you could use your period blood to “work for you” by just speaking your intentions. I was supposed to write my wishes on a paper (while saying them out loud), drop my period blood on it and then burn the paper. I did that when I was alone in my hostel and went to sleep, waiting for my money to start miraculously appearing. 

    Nothing came. In fact, I got more broke. I couldn’t afford data or even ordinary ₦100. It was that bad. I’m never doing it again. I don’t want to go and invoke one entity, abeg.


    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.


    PS: If you’re a student reading this, you can relate to being broke. That doesn’t mean you should stay broke. At the Naira Life Conference, you’ll get the opportunity to start your wealth-building game early and meet experts who have already walked the paths you’re treading right now. Student discounts are available right now. Secure a seat in the room today.

    NEXT READ: How to Make Money Online as a Student in Nigeria, According to Students Actually Doing It

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  • 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. 


    Bambs (31) funded her relocation to the UK on a corper’s salary. In this story, she shares how her determination to practice nursing in a working environment saw her submit 20 applications a day and endure hundreds of rejections until she achieved her dream. She also shares the culture shocks she experienced in the UK, the best and worst parts of life abroad.

    This model is AI-generated and not affiliated with the story in any way

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

    I live in the United Kingdom (UK). I left Nigeria in 2021, towards the end of the COVID-19 pandemic.

    What inspired you to leave Nigeria?

    To be honest, I had always wanted to leave. Growing up, I was drawn to healthcare and wanted to be a doctor or a nurse. But I quickly noticed a huge gap between what our nursing textbooks taught and the reality in Nigerian hospitals. That was when I realised I could not practice in Nigeria.

    What do you mean?

    For instance, textbooks teach you to use a defibrillator on a patient in cardiac arrest. Yet, most Nigerian hospitals—at least the ones I worked in—did not even have one, which is wild. My main motivation was simply wanting to practice nursing the proper way. After university, I completed my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) and immediately began my relocations process.

    That is wild. How would you describe your working experience in Nigeria?

    It gave me a solid foundation. Working in Nigeria taught me resilience, empathy, and how to perform under intense pressure. Nigerian healthcare workers do their absolute best, even when patients do not appreciate how far we go for them.

    You could have a malnourished baby at the brink of death, and doctors and nurses will rally to save that child despite a lack of resources, poor infrastructure, and parents who cannot afford to pay. We do everything to give that child a chance at life, yet these efforts go unnoticed. Still, it taught me how to maximise the smallest resources to achieve the greatest good.

    What was the relocation process like?

    It was long and expensive, and I could barely afford it at the time. I had to work for a bit to save up, slowly taking the required exams and paying the processing fees.

    I registered with the UK Nursing and Midwifery Council (NMC) and sat for my Computer-Based Test (CBT) in October. After that, I began job hunting. I aimed for 20 applications a day because I was that desperate to leave.

    Throughout November, my routine after work was to shower, open my laptop, and apply for roles. Some days I submitted 20 applications, other days 30. Every Monday morning, I’d check my email and see a long list of rejections. I refused to let that discourage me because I knew I would make it. Whenever a rejection came, I reviewed my application, did some research, and refined my next attempt.

    Out of hundreds of applications, I landed about ten interviews in December. I remember having   to take an interview while at work; I asked my colleagues to cover for me for 30 minutes while I took it in the toilet.

    By January, those interviews turned into four job offers. I weighed the pay, location, and cost of living before choosing. They wanted me to resume in March, but I deferred it to April to spend time with my family. I quit my job in February and spent three weeks at home. The day I left, my mum and sister cried; it was an emotionally heavy moment.

    It must have been. What was it like when you arrived in the UK?

    There was a huge demand for migrant nurses in the UK at that time, so the hospital was recruiting a lot of nurses from Nigeria. They booked our flights, so we arrived as a cohort of Nigerian nurses. The UK was still under lockdown, so we had to be isolated for ten days in accommodation provided by the hospital. It was April, and I vividly remember how cold it felt that first day. I also struggled with the British accent; it felt like everyone spoke too fast.

    Any culture shocks?

    Yes. On our first day, we reached our accommodation around 4:00 PM. I was so exhausted, I went straight to sleep. When I woke up at 8:00 PM, it was still bright outside. I thought I had slept for 12 hours before I checked the time and realised that during the summer, the days are much longer here.

    I constantly charged my phone out of the habitual fear of power outages in Nigeria; it took me some time to stop. I also struggled getting used to how the bus system works.

    Then there was the food. I don’t like English food. I initially lived in a town without African stores, so I had to endure it. Eventually, I discovered other options like Asian and Mediterranean food.

    Another shock was summer fashion. People wear very little clothing—short skirts, shorts, and some men even walk around shirtless. Now I have started doing that too; in the summer, my legs are out.

    Religion is also viewed differently here. It is treated as deeply personal, and you cannot be overt about it or impose it on others. It’s not like Nigeria, where you even have morning devotions at work.

    Then there’s racism. Some people will literally cross the street to avoid walking near you because you are Black. You face differential treatment even at work. You only begin to understand these dynamics after living here for a while. I initially chalked it up to being new until I saw newly hired white colleagues receive completely different treatment. That is when it hits you: “Oh, it’s because I am Black.”

    But you ultimately shrug it off and keep moving forward because you remember the sacrifices it took to get here.

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    How do you deal with racism?

    I have learned to understand how the system works and use it to my advantage. When a patient was once racist to me, I informed my superior, who instructed me to file a report. The system provides real support for these issues, and the police can even get involved in some cases. Now, when it happens, I stand up for myself and use those safeguards the system provides to protect myself.

    How do you feel about the wave of anti-immigrant rhetoric in UK politics?

    It is deeply unsettling. Currently, houses are being burnt in Belfast after an asylum seeker stabbed someone. Last year, large anti-immigrant marches were organised by people demanding that foreigners leave. I was terrified at the time, and my family constantly checked on me. But there is little we can do besides pray and trust in God.

    Do you feel your Nigerian education and work experience prepared you for the UK?

    Yes. Honestly, Nigeria’s educational system is highly robust. I see newly qualified nurses from UK universities, and some of them don’t know anything. I often have to teach them. Seeing how easily it has been for me makes me incredibly grateful for my training back home.


    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.


    Have you been back to Nigeria since you moved?

    Yes, I visited in 2023. I also hope to travel back this year. I have already asked for my leave so I can be in Nigeria for Detty December.

    Nice. Do you see yourself returning to Nigeria permanently in the future?

    I recently discussed this with a Zimbabwean colleague who is nearing retirement. She owns properties in Zimbabwe and plans to retire there for a comfortable life, which is wonderful. I used to share that dream, but with how things are going in Nigeria, I’m not sure it would be a wise decision. But if things change for the better, why not?

    I’m also considering moving to the United States (US). I’ve already passed the US nursing exams. In the UK, professional growth for nurses is a bit limited; you eventually hit a ceiling and plateau. In America, growth is astronomical, and nurses earn a lot more. I’m just not sure of the exact timeline yet. Relocating from Nigeria was stressful, and I am not entirely ready to repeat that process just yet, but I will move whenever the time is right.

    What is your support system like in the UK?

    First is my friends. Most of them are fellow nurses who arrived at different times. Since we don’t have family here, we lean on each other. My best friend and I moved at the same time—she flew from Lagos, and I flew from Abuja. We isolated together, learned together, and worked in the same hospital before some of us moved to other places. We take annual trips together, and every December, we have a potluck where we eat, party, and cry together.

    My church has also been an incredible pillar. They organise forums that offer guidance on surviving in the UK. My pastor is highly approachable; you can call him at any time, even at midnight, and he will listen.

    Of course, there’s my family back home too. Whenever I struggled initially, I would call my parents and cry. Settling in was tough; I cannot tell you how much I cried when I first came into this country. But my family’s support kept me going.

    It is great that you have that support. What is your least favourite thing about the UK?

    The winter. Oh my god! I hate the winter. If I make enough money, I will start leaving the UK from December through March to stay in Nigeria, and only work here from April to October.

    What about your favourite things?

    I love the economic reward system here. If you work, you will make money. In Nigeria, your salary is never enough, and even if you work extra shifts, it won’t make much difference.

    I also love how safe it is. I live far from London, so when I go there for concerts, I often return home around 2:00 AM. I can walk from the train station to my house without worrying about being harassed. I could never dare do that where I grew up in Nigeria.

    Travel is also incredibly affordable. If I want a weekend trip to Italy and have just £300, I can easily do it. I can fly out, chill for a few days, and come back. And £300 isn’t even a lot of money; I can make that in a single shift. It’s not like Nigeria, where going abroad is like a big flex; here, it is just a normal thing to do.

    Do you travel frequently?

    Quite a bit. I have visited Albania, Egypt, Morocco, Spain, Montenegro, Greece, and Rome. I am also heading to Monaco later this year. Mind you, I had planned that trip long before the whole Monaco craze that’s going on right now.

    What has been your favourite trip so far?

    Most have been fantastic. I thoroughly enjoyed my recent vacation to Egypt with a close friend. Mykonos was also incredibly relaxing; Greece is beautiful. I had the best pizza I have ever tasted in Rome. I went paragliding for the first time in Albania. I was just reciting Psalm 91 in the air because I thought I was going to die, but it was amazing.

    Do you have a least favourite trip?

    I’ll say Morocco. We’d booked a resort in Agadir for my friend’s birthday, but we missed our direct flight. So we got a flight to Marrakesh and had to take a five-hour drive to Agadir. There were six girls in a car with a driver who only spoke Arabic and a bit of French. I used my limited French to communicate with.

    The route had a lot of police checkpoints, and we drove past three horrific accidents with dead bodies on the road. We were absolutely terrified and spent the entire ride praying.

    Despite the scary start, the vacation turned out to be incredible. I loved the resort, rode a camel, and even tried quad biking for the first time. It was a wonderful experience, but that first day was really scary.

    What has been your worst experience in the UK?

    Honestly, nothing here compares to the experiences from Nigeria. Growing up in Delta State, I saw a lot if you get what I mean.

    My worst moments in the UK have been at work when I’ve lost patients. Working in intensive care means dealing with patients on the verge of death. I do everything I can to save them, but sometimes they don’t make it. It is incredibly tough, especially when you have cared for them for a long time and have to comfort their grieving families. But it is part of the job.

    What about your best experience?

    I cannot pinpoint a single moment, but the good experiences definitely outweigh the bad.

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

    I would say an eight. Life is good here, and I always encourage people to move if they can. It is a great country.


    Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).


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  • After secretly helping her niece reconnect with the biological father she’d never known, Yetunde*(48) found herself accused of betrayal, deceit and trying to destroy her sister’s family. More than a year later, the sisters still aren’t speaking. 

    In this story, Yetunde explains why she stands by her decision, despite everything it has cost her.

    This is Yetunde’s explanation, as told to Adeyinka:

    My younger sister hasn’t spoken to me in over a year.

    Not a text or phone call, just silence. We’ve fought before, and I think that’s normal in every family. Siblings fight and argue until everyone finds their way back to each other again. But this one feels different because she genuinely believes I betrayed her in the worst possible way. She says I went behind her back, undermined her parenting and tried to destroy her home.

    Maybe she’s right. But if you ask me today whether I’d do it again, my answer is still yes.

    The whole thing started almost twenty years ago.

    Ibidun got pregnant in her 20s by a man she was in a serious relationship with. At first, everyone thought they would eventually marry, but the relationship became increasingly toxic. The man was irresponsible, controlling and sometimes physically abusive.

    By the time my niece was born, the family had had enough. We supported Ibidun when she said she wanted out of the union. Nobody thought she should continue to stay with a man who constantly hurt her. The only thing we insisted on was that she shouldn’t stop him from being a father.

    My parents particularly insisted that whatever happens between them shouldn’t affect the child. At the time, Ibidun also agreed.

    But that wasn’t how things unfolded. Over the years, he barely contributed to the child’s upkeep. School fees were inconsistent, and contact was almost non-existent. It wasn’t a case of distance or misunderstanding; he simply didn’t show up in the way a father should.

    Five years later, Ibidun remarried. Her husband embraced her fully, including her daughter. He became the only consistent father figure in the child’s life and also took responsibility for the children they later had together. 

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    Nobody in the family objected because the man had earned that place.

    At some point, my sister made a decision that became central to everything that followed: she changed her daughter’s surname to her stepfather’s name. Nobody in the family objected because the man had earned that place. The biological father wasn’t around anyway.

    Or so we thought.

    A few years later, the girl’s biological father attempted to re-enter the picture. He said he’d been trying to reach Ibidun for years, but she’d blocked every avenue. He said he knew he’d made mistakes and wasn’t trying to undo the past. He just wanted to know his daughter.

    When I raised it with Ibidun, she shut it down completely. She didn’t even let me finish. “No,” that was her final answer. 

    According to her, the child already had a father. The man who raised her was her father. The man calling now had forfeited every right to that position years ago.

    The whole family understood her anger. But we also couldn’t shake the feeling that the situation wasn’t that simple.

    A child isn’t property. You can’t completely erase half of where they come from. But Ibidun was set on her decision. The argument kept resurfacing over the years. Several family meetings, phone calls and interventions, but her answer remained the same.

    What complicated things was that my niece wasn’t living in complete ignorance. Sometimes, she would ask questions about her father. Other times, she would look through old photographs whenever she visited and ask questions. 

    I later discovered that Ibidun had also shown her pictures of her biological father, but always within strict limits. In her way, she had tried to acknowledge him without opening a door she believed should stay closed.

    In 2023, he contacted me again. This time, he said he was ill and wanted to see his daughter before it was too late. I didn’t take the request lightly. I knew how much pain had already been caused on all sides. But I also knew I couldn’t ignore it entirely. I gave him his daughter’s phone number, and they began to communicate directly. 

    Eventually, I arranged for them to meet in person. I didn’t tell Ibidun.

    I kept it from her partly because I knew she would never agree, and partly because I believed I was acting in the child’s best interest. I also asked my niece not to mention it to her mother. 

    At the time, I told myself it was to avoid unnecessary conflict. Looking back, I can see how that decision only made things worse.

    Earlier this year, Ibidun found out. I still don’t know exactly how. My niece insists she didn’t tell her. What followed was quick and severe. The situation escalated into a full family crisis. We had meetings that ended in shouting, and at one point, things even became physical between us.

    Ibidun accused me of undermining her and trying to destroy her home. I tried to explain that my intention was never to hurt her, but she wouldn’t hear it. To her, I had crossed a line. 

    Since that day, we haven’t spoken.

    I understand why she feels betrayed. She built her life around protecting her daughter from instability. She made difficult decisions as a single mother and later built a home with a man who took on that role fully. From her perspective, reintroducing the biological father feels like undoing years of emotional security.

    But I still struggle with the idea that a child should be completely cut off from knowing where she comes from, especially when the biological father claims to have changed and has shown a desire to take responsibility. For me, it was never about choosing one father over another. It was about allowing a child access to her full story.

    Even now, I don’t deny that my decision caused pain. What I do know is that if my niece grows up and one day asks whether anybody tried to help her know her biological father, I can answer that question honestly. I did.

    Whether that makes me the villain or not is for everyone else to decide.

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


    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.

  • 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 drink.

    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.)

    12 June 2026

    PLAY NEXT GRID: Can You Guess The Actor? (15 June 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)

  • For many young Nigerians, landing a good-paying job isn’t just a personal milestone, it’s the moment they become responsible for everyone else in their family. 

    We spoke to Nigerians who became primary providers at a young age about how that responsibility changed the way their families relate to them. Here’s what they said.

    “My mum now treats me like her husband” — Chisom*, 29, F

    My dad suffered a stroke when I was 22. I had just wrapped up my NYSC when I got a remote job with a US company that paid me very well. Obviously, I couldn’t watch my family struggle when I was making decent money, so I started picking up small bills at home to ease the burden on my mum.

    Within a year, I was paying our rent, my siblings’ school fees, hospital bills, and food. The strangest part was how my mum started treating me.

    After I started paying the bills, she’d call me to discuss debts, extended family disputes, and even personal issues. It felt like I got promoted from daughter to husband overnight. She even makes my siblings show me respect, even though I’m not the firstborn. It’s strange and has caused issues between my older siblings and me.

    I love my family, but I don’t want to be treated differently. I just want things to be the way they used to be.

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    “My dad started competing with me” — Tunde*, 31, M

    My father lost his job when I was in my final year, and by the time I graduated, I was already sending money home regularly from the printing business I started in school. Eventually, I became the person paying for almost everything. I was happy I had the ability to help my family.

    At first, my dad seemed grateful. Then things changed.

    Whenever I bought something nice for myself, he’d make comments about how young people waste money. If I gave him financial advice, he’d get defensive and tell me I don’t know more than he does. Sometimes, he’d reject help entirely, only to make my mum call a few days later to ask for money.

    I think becoming dependent on me bruised his ego. Instead of seeing me as his son, it often felt like we were rivals in some financial competition.

    It’s hard because we were very close when I was younger. These days, every conversation somehow circles back to money. I miss when our relationship wasn’t complicated by who paid the bills.

    “They treated my money like family money” — Aisha, 27, F

    When I told my family I wanted to be a writer, they thought it was ridiculous. Then in 2023, I started ghostwriting for a small side income, but it quickly became my cash cow. My big mistake was telling my mum how much I actually made.

    Everybody had plans for it. My family would talk about spending money I was expecting as if we all worked for it. If I told my mother I wanted to buy something, she’d tell me to hold off because the money had to go somewhere else. My siblings would also pester me for loans when they needed extra cash. 

    When I told them I was going to stop giving them as much money because I was saving up to move to my own place, they reacted as if I were betraying them. They called me selfish and said I wasn’t the only person that God would bless.

    I realised that my family saw my money as a communal resource, and it had to stop. Since I moved out of the house, my relationship with them has frayed. My family thinks my funds have made me proud, while I think that they have become too comfortable treating my money like theirs.

    “I stopped answering family calls” — Amara, 30, F

    “Becoming the breadwinner of my family just gave me anxiety. I used to flinch and get breathless every time my phone rang because it was almost always someone asking for money, even when I didn’t have it.

    My siblings never call to ask how I’m doing. Nobody checks in on me to see if I’m okay. Every conversation was about one bill or the other I had to pay.

    I’m a freelance graphic designer, and although I make a good salary, my income isn’t consistent. My family doesn’t seem to care. As the firstborn, all financial solutions come from me. One day, I realised I’d started avoiding my relatives entirely. My phone was constantly on airplane mode, and I only called home out of obligation. 

    I had to lie that I had lost my regular clients and even threatened to move back home before the constant payment requests reduced.

    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.

    “Everyone wants me around now” — Ibrahim*, 32, M

    If you’d asked my extended family about me ten years ago, most of them would’ve described me as a disappointment.

    I struggled in school, flunked out of university once and didn’t have any idea what I wanted to do with my future. My parents would compare me to my cousins who were doctors, engineers and bankers. Everything changed when I got into tech.

    I used all the free time I had during the lockdown to complete a data analysis course. I got a remote job, and within a couple of years, I was earning more money than most people in my family. Suddenly, I became everyone’s favourite person. The same siblings who never called me before constantly check in now. My parents are constantly posting my face on their social media.

    At first, it felt good. I thought maybe I’d finally earned their respect. But after a while, I started noticing most of the attention came with a request. Someone needed help with rent. Someone wanted money for a business. Someone always wanted something from me.

    I don’t know how much of the love is real anymore.

    Sometimes, all I can think about is how invisible I used to be before I started making money. It’s hard to enjoy being accepted when you know the acceptance only arrived after the money did.

    I still help when I can because they’re my family. But a part of me misses when I knew exactly where I stood with everyone.

    “The more I make, the less of my brother I see” — Bolu*, 28, M

    My older brother has always been the more serious and disciplined sibling, so we always assumed he would be the more successful one. Once he finished school, he got a management job at a supermarket, and for a while, he was earning much more than I was.

    Then, I stumbled into videography during my service year in 2020, and now I make four or five times more than my brother does. I never imagined it would affect our relationship because we’ve never been rivals at anything, but as my income grew, my brother became more distant. I’ve tried bridging the gap with gifts and conversation, but he insists nothing is wrong between us. 

    The change in our relationship is undeniable. I love that I can live a comfortable life, but I miss the brother I used to have.


    READ ALSO: 7 Nigerian Men Get Honest About How Having Kids Changed Their Lives