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  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    Riding an okada for a living in Lagos is almost like being in a badly written movie. With villains like agberos, taskforce and police, on the road, any day without an incident is nothing short of a miracle. Have you ever wondered what makes a person ride okada for a living? And why okada riders are always in a hurry? Today’s “A Week In The Life” shows just why.

    MONDAY:

    My alarm wakes me up by 5:30 a.m. The first thing I do after standing up is to perform ablution. Next, I take a five-minute walk to the mosque. At the mosque, in between sermons, and just before solat, I find myself battling with sleep. It takes all my power to not fall asleep. Thankfully, as I start to lose the battle, the imam starts the prayer. 

    We’re done around 6:05 a.m., and I return home. “Home” is a compound where 27 other people and I, mostly non-Lagosians, pay money to sleep in every night. ₦200 per night for a human being and ₦200 per night for our okadas. What benefits do we get? A small room with no windows and a bathroom without running water.

    So, when I get back from the mosque — every morning — I have to ride my bike to the nearest public tap three streets away to have my bath along with my okada brothers. At around 6:35 a.m., I go back home to dress up, and I’m ready to hit the road by 6:50 a.m.

    Before I even make any money, I’m already behind by ₦1,400 every day.  First, I buy a ticket from the agberos for N700. This is minus the ₦50 here and there that I have to pay agberos at every junction in my vicinity, which cost around another ₦700 in total. This is minus the ₦1,200 that I deliver to the owner of the okada at the end of each day. 

    So, you have ₦1,400 + ₦1,200 + ₦200 to sleep + ₦200 to park my bike = ₦3,000 before my day even starts — I haven’t even factored in money for fuel or food during the day. 

    The worst parts? There are more okada riders than people willing to pay for okada. Also, I can’t work late into the night. Once it’s 6:30/7:00 p.m., I have to close for the day because if police catch me, my money na ₦11,000. If Lagos Taskforce catch me, my money na ₦22,000. 

    After doing calculations, you realise that ₦4,000 – ₦5,000 is the most an okada rider can make in a day. So, tell me: why won’t okada riders speed all time? 

    Anyway, it is well though. The main thing now is that work has started and for the next 12 hours I have to out-earn my expenses. I’m hoping for nothing short of miracles.  

    TUESDAY:

    Walahi, today I didn’t make any money for myself. Na only ₦2,550 I don make all day before Task Force came to arrest our okadas. If you see the way we ran for our lives. Me that I collected okada from someone, how will I explain if they seize it? 

    It’s so annoying because there are some people who disguise themselves like Task Force to steal our bikes. Then, they’ll now go and resell it at a cheaper price. So, we also have to be on the lookout for those ones too. Sometimes, because you’re not sure who is who, you’ll end up dragging with the real Task Force who will beat you like a thief because they think you’re dragging power with them. Just last year, this thing still happened to my brother. They beat him, collected his bike and we still had to pay to bail him. 

    But walahi, the woman who gave him the okada is so nice. She told him not to worry and even bought him a smaller bike to be using while repaying her small small for the old bike. Alhamdulilah because he just finished paying her last month. 

    Me, I don’t want that to ever happen to me, and that’s why I’m going home after running from Task Force. By the time I remove ₦1,200 for the bike owner, ₦400 for sleeping and parking, ₦500 for fuel, I have only ₦450 left. And I still have to buy a ₦700 ticket tomorrow morning because agbero won’t hear any story. 

    When I get home, my plan is to go around begging my other brothers for money. ₦200 or ₦300 here and there can help with food this night and a ticket tomorrow. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    I have noticed that sometimes when I’m riding okada, my mind is not there. In this job, you’re constantly thinking about tomorrow because even if you say Alhamdullilah today, you don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Most times, there’s no hope for tomorrow.  

    I can’t help thinking about my past. I came from Mokwa town — in Niger state — to hustle in Lagos because my helper died. Before before, I used to do business. One Igbo man in Lagos used to send me money to help him buy rice, beans, corn, in large quantities from Mokwa and send down to him. My profit on each bag was like ₦200/₦300 and I would get around ₦50,000 from each deal. On top of that, the man still dashed me money at intervals, so I was okay. It was out of this money I used to marry and rent a house in Niger state. 

    Everything was going sweet until I got a call one day that my business partner was dead. How? Road accident. His business and family went just like that. I didn’t even know how to respond because I was sad about his death but also worried about my future after his death. It’s funny that it wasn’t until I started feeling the effect of not doing that business again that I even remembered that my business partner was owing me ₦166,000 before his death. 

    It has been more than one year since the accident happened. Except on days when I’m thinking about my life, I don’t like to think about him because remembering my old life is painful. Nevertheless, I still carry around the biggest reminder from that era — the Android phone my business partner bought for me when the going was still good. 

    Last last, this life just get as e be. 

    THURSDAY:

    The only thing that’s keeping me going today is the thought of the sleep I’ll sleep on Sunday because I’m so tired. Because I’m not the owner of the bike, I’m always working come rain or sunshine. The only off day I get is on Sunday and that’s because the owner, who’s Christian, told me who’s Muslim, not to ride the bike on Sunday. I was initially not happy with her decision and now, I look forward to resting on Sunday. 

    The work is not easy at all, but at least you make something however small. I remember 10 years ago where bike men could make as much as ₦5,000 – ₦6,000 in a day. That time tickets were still ₦200 and a lot of Northern people hadn’t migrated to Lagos. At the end of each working day, after removing every other person’s money, bike riders were guaranteed at least ₦2,500 profit. This used to be money then. 

    My only saving grace money-wise is the contribution I make with my brothers. Every day, 10 of us contribute ₦1,000 into a pot, and at the end of five days someone takes the bulk money. On and on we go until we go round and then go again. It’s part of this money that I send to my people at home to use to hold body small. 

    After leaving my home in search of greener pastures, I refuse to believe that this is it. I’m just 31 or 32 years old, but why do I feel so hopeless? 

    I don’t know how but I must find the strength and hope to see Friday and Saturday through. The job is not the greatest, but at least it’s an honest way to earn a living. 

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is an egg donor. For a fee, egg donors donate their eggs to couples who are struggling to conceive a baby. Today, our subject takes us through three days in her life before she goes in for her egg donation duties the following week. 

    Here’s what her journey looks like: 

    FRIDAY:

    Next week is going to be the third time I’m donating my eggs and I don’t know what to expect. I’m not scared or worried, it’s just that each donation episode is different. The first time I donated eggs, I could only take pepper soup for the first three days after I was done. The next time, I survived on Cameroon pepper mixed with warm water for two days. In both cases, it wasn’t until after the third day that I started eating solid food. 

    On Monday, I had better not encounter any surprises. But that’s a worry for next week because there are problems today that demand my attention. 

    I stood up from bed this morning with one question on my mind: “Where do I tell my parents I’m going to so I can leave *Delta to Lagos (where the egg retrieval clinic is)?” In the past, I told them I was going for job interviews but I’m sure they’ll soon start getting suspicious. It’s not like I can exactly tell them that I’m going to donate eggs because it can result in a fight. The last person I told that I donated eggs (for cash) used it against me in a fight. According to her, “at least she’s better than me because she’s not selling her eggs.” 

    So, since then, this egg donation business is strictly on a need to know basis. 

    Sometimes I sit down to ask myself why some Nigerians look down on donating eggs. I’m shocked because I thought we were all facing challenges and money problems. To me, I see this whole process as something wey person fit chop from and gain experience at the end of the day. I was introduced to this hustle because I needed quick cash and it’s perfect for me because I’m not the type of girl who’s comfortable collecting stuff from men. 

    Anytime I need money outside my 9-5, I just tell myself that the egg donation process takes only three weeks and I psych myself up for it. It’s not a perfect system but it works and so we move. 

    SATURDAY:

    I woke up really early today to clean the house and complete all my chores. I don’t want a situation where my parents will hold anything against me and prevent my trip from happening. Not that I’ll hear, “you haven’t done x or y but you want to travel.” No ma/sir, I’ve done my work oh. 

    I don’t want any excuses pls.

    I have to travel to Lagos because each hospital has its own rules. Some hospitals will tell you to first come for blood test screening before anything can commence. Other hospitals may first start you on hormonal pills for two to three weeks, depending on your body system, before they run the tests. 

    After this point, it’s time for injections. Some clinics don’t like stories because injections are expensive so they’ll give you transport money to come for daily injections for a few weeks. But, some clinics believe that you’re mature enough to choose a particular time that works for you to self inject at home.  Last last, if you know say you need money, you go heed to their rules and regulations. Moreover, everyone signs an undertaking so you have to be serious about following the rules and regulations. 

    Apart from the occasional pain of injecting myself close to my pubic region, I don’t experience a lot of side effects. Sometimes the injections make me feel chubby or bloated but that’s the highest side effect I’ve ever experienced. 

    After you’ve taken pills, injections, and done scans for three weeks, you now have to face the main challenge: the egg retrieval process.  Think of the aftermath as having really nasty menstrual cramp pains where you can’t function. You can’t walk and you can’t talk; all you can do is rest. 

    The pain makes sense because the procedure wan resemble when person dey abort pikin — the doctor will give you sleeping injection and then put a long needle inside of you to retrieve eggs. Even though plenty of girls dey fear, the procedure is relatively safe and doesn’t even affect your chances of giving birth in the future. But e no even concern me. After one incident happened to me, I don resolve my mind say whether I marry, born pikin, no born pikin, I’m okay with it. 

    For me, as long as I’m living life on my terms and not begging anyone for money, I’m fine with any outcome. 

    SUNDAY:

    Today is shaping up to be a relatively good day. My parents have agreed to my “reason” for going to Lagos and I’ve finished packing. Now, I’m thinking of the next story I’ll give them when I need to go back to Lagos for donation. 

    Ideally, you should only donate eggs every six months so that your body can rest. But, as everywhere tight and girls need money, I dey run am every 3 months. I know some babes who donate six times a year, and that’s like every two months. 

    Clinics pay ₦100,000 – ₦120,000 for first-time donors. And by your second donation, this amount goes up by ₦20,000 – ₦30,000. The only caveat is that you must produce six eggs completely before you get full payment. If not, you’ll get only half of your payment. But that rarely happens. After all, you’d have been going for scans and weekly checkups to monitor your progress. 

    I can’t even lie, it’s that money that keeps me going in this job. The first time I got paid, I bought a new phone. The second time, I saved the money. This time, I’m using the money to move out of my parents’ house. 

    Being an egg donor is something I see myself doing for as long as possible. The procedure is relatively safe and I like the turnover time for making the money. As long as I keep going to reputable clinics and following the instructions of health professionals, I’ll be fine. And even if I’m not, I’ll still be fine. At the end of the day, I want to be catching flights and not feelings — and this job provides funds for some part of that lifestyle. 

    Editor’s note: Not all egg donors have it good. Here’s a report by Al-Jazeera on the other side of the egg donation divide. 

    RECOMMEND: What Do These 7 Nigerians Think About Donating Their Organs?

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” has been unlucky. One bad decision in conjunction with a faulty educational system took him from studying a professional degree to selling cattle. Now, he’s trusting God and waiting for his big break. 

    MONDAY:

    I’m awake before my alarm rings. I unlock my phone to check the time and it reads 3:25 a.m. — this means I’m up early by five minutes. Every day, for the past six weeks, I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night for tahajjud prayers. 

    I roll out of bed, perform ablution and drop on my praying mat. It’s a little bit past 4 a.m. when I’m done praying so I go back to sleep. The next time I open my eyes, it’s 5:30 a.m. and I’m just in time for morning prayers. Although standing up requires a little effort, I manage it.  From this point, my day starts in full swing. 

    I say my prayer, have a bath, wash plates from the night before and cook breakfast. By 7:00 a.m., I’m out of my house and on a bike to the market where I sell livestock for a living. The first thing I do when I get to the market is survey prospective animals for sale. Because I do not [yet] own any cattle; I start my day by convincing people to let me handle the sale of theirs. After negotiations, we usually settle on a cost price, after which I’m free to add my own markup. Sometimes, if a cow costs ₦250,000, I can sell it for ₦255,000 or ₦260,000. The final price depends on the bargaining power of the customer. For expert customers, I usually end up selling at the cost price so the owner doesn’t make a loss. In scenarios like this, my commission ranges between ₦1,000 – ₦2,000. At all at all na him bad pass. 

    Mondays are typically slow. All the parties have happened over the weekend and there aren’t any more till the next weekend. So, after surveying prospective animals, I spend my Mondays feeding and cleaning them up to look healthy for sale during the week.  I also stock up on support items like ropes, feed, etc so I can at least have something to sell and show for my efforts at the close of the day. 

    My plan for today is simple: make at least ₦1,000 to cover food and transportation back home. 

    TUESDAY:

    Cows are very wicked. And that’s why I always carry my cane anytime I’m feeding or cleaning them. For any cow that is proving stubborn, I use my bulala to reset its head. Yet,  these animals can be sneaky. One time when I wasn’t looking, a cow hit me on my chest with its horn. The blow packed enough force to make me sore for a few days but not enough force to make me bleed. After that incident, I became extra careful around the animals. 

    Truthfully, not all cows are wicked. Some are gentle, easy-going and even allow you to touch them. Currently, I have one cow that fits that bill. Although it has been paid for, I’ve been taking care of it for a month. It’s such an easy-going animal that I sometimes wish it were mine. 

    But it’s not and I’m just a caretaker. I can’t wait until I start going to the North to buy my own cattle. Until then, I’m going to be spending my days, like today, cleaning, feeding and caring for the animals. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    Sometimes when I compare how much I make on average versus my expenses, I ask myself what I’m doing here. My average daily commission falls somewhere around ₦1,000 – ₦2,000. Bike to and from my house costs ₦400. Food that can sustain me for the kind of work I do costs me around the same: bread and beans costs ₦300 while fufu or eba costs ₦400. Whatever is left goes into my kolo for the rainy days. Sometimes, in a week, all I make is transport money with nothing to save. 

    For me, this reality is twice as painful because I used to be in the university until I dropped out in my final year. Most times, I find myself thinking that with my level of exposure I should be in a better place. But Allah knows best. 

    This afternoon, after some older men sent me to buy recharge cards and Amala, I found myself thinking about my life.  

    It started with a carryover in 200 level, although the repercussions only surfaced in my final year. In my department, one of the requirements to be eligible for final professional exams was having zero carryovers. However, because of a mixture of my negligence and horrible record keeping, I wasn’t aware that I had failed a course. At least, not until when I was prevented from registering for final year. I was asked to retake the course I had failed and that meant an automatic extra year. 

    Then I made a bad decision. 

    Because I was very active in school, and because of the shame and stigma I associated with having an extra year, I dropped out. 

    I got a job at a restaurant, continued to lie at home, and allowed one year to pass me by. By the time my parents found out what had happened, the school had removed me from their system. I begged, wrote letters, and even lobbied, but I was told I couldn’t be reabsorbed into the system. Even though I was on a good academic standing, I was kicked out for not deferring the admission and just ghosting. While I take full responsibility for my actions, I wish I had someone to tell me that a carryover wasn’t the end of the world. 

    Because I did not and I lived with the stigma of failure alone, I made the wrong decision. Now, all I’m left with is menial jobs and no professional degree. 

    I’ve accepted my fate and the part I played in making it so. But on days like this, my regrets are fresh again. My only consolation is that I believe that not everyone is destined to work a white-collar job. Perhaps this is my destiny and I should bear it with more humility. Whenever I wake up to pray at night, the one thing I ask God is that the things I’ve lost should not be greater than what I’m going to achieve in the future. 

    THURSDAY:

    I try as much as possible to fast on Thursday to cut down the cost of feeding. Additionally, I also use the day to reflect and be grateful for my life so far. Although I’ve lost a lot, there’s still a lot to be grateful for. 

    Today, I’m especially grateful for a good support system; my parents and siblings, and friends who have encouraged me. I haven’t been the best person or been in the best of places but they’ve been rock solid. 

    Sometimes, when I complain of the fact that I’m almost thirty with nothing to show for it, they encourage me to go further. Also, when necessary, they do not hesitate to tell me difficult truths. 

    For the first time in a long time, I’m starting to feel like my old self and starting to pick myself up. The first sign is that I’m feeling restless again. More than ever, I’m constantly thinking of ways to save up money to buy livestock from the North. Even if I buy just one cattle or sheep, I’ll know that it is mine. With the income I earn, I don’t know how I’ll do it but I’ll make it work one way or another. 

    It has to work because my plan of going back to school depends on it. I can not, in good conscience, ask my parents to fund my education again, especially after what happened the last time. My dad is a retiree and my mum has my four siblings to take care of. I have to sort myself out even though I don’t yet know how. 

    On some level, I understand that this is a trial, so I’m constantly praying to Allah for forgiveness and the strength to see this through. I also understand that it’s not the trial that matters but your attitude while undergoing said trial. 

    I don’t have the answers but I know that my life story will not be defined by my mistakes. Even if I don’t know how I’m going to achieve any of my dreams, I’m going to try. I want my life story to be a testament to the fact that you can be at your lowest point and still pull yourself out. I believe that there’s no limit to what you can achieve as a human being. 

    I may not have all the answers but I have God. And his presence alone is sufficient for me.

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a process engineer at an oil-producing facility. Process engineers ensure that the process of crude oil production from collection to processing for sale runs smoothly. What this means is that they spend a lot of their time solving problems or preventing problems from happening.

    Our subject tells us about being the only woman at her job, life at sea, and what it takes to extract crude oil.

    MONDAY:

    The time I wake up depends on whether I’m working from my house or I’m working offshore at sea. At home, my body wakes up by 7:30 a.m., but my brain starts by 8:00 a.m. 

    When I’m offshore, my day starts at 6:00 a.m. and doesn’t end until about 2 a.m.

    Today, the thing that wakes me up is the sound of my 5:30 a.m. alarm. I almost press snooze until I remember that I’m on a floating oil production facility at sea. I have just enough time to get out of bed, shower and prepare for my day. 

    It’s a few minutes till 6:00 a.m. when I leave my room for my first meeting of the day. Dressed in my coverall, safety goggles, hat, safety boots, and earmuffs, I slowly make my way to the meeting point. 

    The first meeting of the day is typically a handover shift. Because oil production is a 24-hour affair, personnel work 12-hour shifts. This means that every 12 hours, one shift is handed over to the other. At the 6:00 a.m. meetings, the technicians on the night shift inform their colleagues on the morning shift of whatever happened during the night. While the technicians get to work shifts, my job as an engineer requires me to work round the clock. 

    I listen attentively during these meetings because their updates determine the course of my day. If they raise an issue, my plans for the day take a backseat until I fix that issue. If there’s nothing to report, my day proceeds as planned. 

    Thankfully, the meeting ends at 6:15 a.m. That gives me time to relax before my 6:30 a.m. meeting. At this meeting, managers from the different teams on the platform gather to give updates about what happened the day before and also map out plans for the day. 

    The meeting ends at 7:15 a.m. with a reminder of safety precautions. This gives me some time to prepare my notes for the next meeting at 7:30 a.m. Here, I report to the higher-ups. As the engineering rep on board the facility, I summarise all the updates from the technical team and update my senior colleagues on our progress regarding oil production. 

    It’s 8:30 a.m. before I’m done with my final meeting for the day, and that’s when my day truly begins.  

    TUESDAY:

    It’s currently 2:00 a.m. and I’ve barely slept. I started yesterday with meetings, continued with reading safety reports, extended the day by inspecting oil pipes in my facilities, and ended it in my room responding to emails. 

    I find engineering super fascinating. It’s interesting that some people used some super cool technology to locate crude oil-producing rocks, mapped out an area and drilled for oil. Then, the drillers not only discovered oil, but they confirmed — using various methods — that the oil was present in commercial quantities. 

    So they made oil pipes, machines, and other cool equipment to extract the oil from 10,000 feet below the ground to the surface. But, because this oil isn’t exactly fit for use, they now extended pipes from the spot where the oil was discovered to production facilities like mine. 

    On the facility, there’s me, whose job it is to ensure that oil flows smoothly from where it is produced to production facilities where we process into a form fit for sale to refineries. Whew. 

    The cool part of the job is that I’m always solving problems. One valve spoils and because of that, a well isn’t producing oil? I’ll brainstorm, send an instrument technician to look at it and provide technical oversight. Some machine part is not doing what it’s supposed to do? I’ll think over it, share a repair plan and send a mechanical technician to fix it. Safety precautions not being met that can spell danger for us? I’ll get in front of it. My entire job is an exercise in firefighting and proactiveness. 

    The downside? The subtle pressure. Being in charge of the oil production process means I must be on top of everything. The facility I’m in charge of has a target to produce more than *60,000 barrels of oil a day. Crude oil is $85 per barrel. Do the maths and tell me what it adds up to.

    You don’t want to be the person who missed something that caused the company to lose 60,000 times $85 for every day the facility is down. But, no pressure. It wouldn’t be fun for me if it wasn’t this challenging and rewarding. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    Life at sea is peculiar; the problems differ every day but the scenery remains the same. I’m surrounded by miles and miles of water with nothing else in sight. When I get stressed from work, I go out and stare at the water. Surrounded by water I feel very small and I’m reminded that not a lot of things matter. This helps to decompress and center me. 

    You already know how my days go, but today is different. 

    I have a difficult problem that I can’t quite crack: cravings. Because I’m at sea and I can’t quickly cross the road, I’m stuck with the nonsense feeling. Yesterday, I was craving puff puff. Today, I am craving waakye. I wonder what craving I will have tomorrow. The most annoying part is that when I’m on land the cravings won’t come, but immediately when I’m offshore, they’ll start to hit me. And I can’t do anything about it but endure until it passes. 

    The good thing is that there’s a lot of food, fruits and snacks in our offshore canteen. This is in addition to my own specially prepared offshore starter pack.

    Ebeano plantain chips: present ma.

    Chocolate Mcvities biscuits: present ma.

    Gestid for acid reflux: present ma. 

    Excess sanitary pads: present ma.

    Painkillers for cramps: present ma. 

    These are the things that make life a little bearable for me. At least, if I can’t eat waakye, I can eat plantain chips and manage myself. 

    THURSDAY:

    Everywhere I turn on this facility, someone is always shouting, “Our Engineer,” “Well-done, Engineer.” I suspect I get special treatment offshore for two reasons: The first is that I’m an engineer which is a highly respected role in the organization hierarchy. The second is because I’m the only woman in my facility. For various reasons such as family responsibilities, marriage pressures, etc women typically don’t go offshore. For this reason, the men are usually excited to see a woman among them. 

    The good part? The men are some of the funniest people I know. I guess humour is how they deal with being separated from their families for long stretches in a year. 

    The bad part? The people who don’t know me sometimes try to proposition me. Well, up until they find out who I am and then the conversation changes to that of deference and respect. 

    Today, I wake up thinking that one of the reasons this role works for me is because I’m single, I don’t have kids, and nothing ties me down to one place or city. For many other women, this is not the case. With children and family responsibilities, their priorities shift and this role with its demands no longer suit them. 

    I don’t know what will change if I decide to start a family someday. I love engineering because of how much there is to learn and discover, and the closest I come to practising it is when I’m offshore. The thought of giving it up if push comes to shove is something I have never considered. I wonder what choice I’ll make. 

    But that doesn’t matter now because I have a ton of inspection and oil pipe integrity testing to do today. A perk of this job is that you can get so immersed in monitoring day to day operations that your personal problems take a back seat. And to be honest, that works for me. At least, for now.

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a youth corps member currently without a place of primary assignment. She talks about the bleakness of her days, being frustrated by the NYSC scheme and the ways she sparks joy in her life.

    NYSC

    MONDAY:

    I feel like my life ended when I started NYSC. First of all, I didn’t get mobilised with my mates because my university was playing with my certificate.  I had to wait for the second stream. 

    When my posting came out, I ended up being posted to the north. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my redeployment to Lagos failed. After camp, I spent two months in a totally different state with no housing or family members. When I finally redeployed to Lagos, no PPA. And thus began the next two months of my life hanging in limbo doing nothing, waiting in uncertainty and listening to NYSC officials say the infamous, “just keep checking your NYSC dashboard for your new posting.” 

    The first thing I do when I wake up this morning is to open my NYSC dashboard to check my PPA portal. I’m met with the familiar disappointment of a blank page, so I log out. 

    It has been five months from mobilisation to redeployment, and I’ve not done anything significant. But that’s not the most annoying part. The worst part is that other people wake up with a clear idea of how their day will go and then there’s me who just, well… wakes up.  A large part of my day involves figuring out how to occupy myself until everyone returns from work at 4:00 p.m.

    Sometimes, I sleep or read a book, or just stare out into space. Nobody tells you how slow time moves when you have nothing planned for the day. 

    Another thing that frustrates me about the uncertainty of my situation is that I can’t get a side job. Every company I’ve interviewed with wants some measure of commitment, but I’m scared of taking a job, getting a PPA the next day and having to deal with clashing schedules. So I find myself declining jobs and waiting for NYSC to sort me.

    Today is gearing up to be a long-ass day. I can’t believe it’s just 10 a.m. My initial plan was to scroll mindlessly through social media, but everyone online looks like they have their life together — and that’s just going to make me feel bad. 

    I can’t do NYSC, can’t do a side job, can’t scroll through Instagram. All I can do is wait for 4 p.m.

    TUESDAY:

    I find it ironic that I had more fun outside Lagos than I’m having in Lagos. Although NYSC chopped my eye for redeployment on the last day; I still had a swell time in the north. The camp was fun and I got to meet interesting people.

    Now, my life is far from fun. My days are monotonous, and they repeat themselves. The only reason I remember that today is Tuesday is that I’m receiving a delivery for my sister whom I live with. Another aspect of not having a job is that I’m the designated “always-at-home-to-receive-a-package-person.” Sometimes, I feel like I’m part of the house and will soon merge with the furniture or the house itself.

    By mid-afternoon today, tired of sleeping, I call my contact at the NYSC office for an update and he goes, “Why are you complaining? Are you not just sleeping and waking up?”

    I’m speechless. 

    In terms of how great my life could have gone, things haven’t gone according to my plan. I’m not only humble, but I believe that I’m now a cautionary tale. People are now like “If NYSC posts you outside Lagos, don’t redeploy. *Yinka redeployed and now look at her life.”

    At this point, I don’t mind working for free; as long as I can just start working. 

    Wait, I mind working for free. Lagos is too expensive for that behaviour pls. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    En route to the Secretariat for monthly clearance today, one policeman shouted “corper wee” at me. I felt like coming down from my bike to punch his silly mouth because who is smiling with him. 

    This NYSC period has been full of only stress and frustration for my life. If not that allawee is tied to monthly clearance and monthly clearance is tied to wearing the NYSC uniform, where will people see me to be shouting “corper wee”.

    In all honesty, even the ₦33,000 allawee is not enough to survive on. Before NYSC, I used to comfortably buy Chicken Republic Refuel Max, but now, my motto is that there is rice at home. I can’t believe part of the reason I left the north was because they didn’t have Refuel Max, and now, I can’t afford to buy it in Lagos. 

    Today, I find myself very grateful for my benefactor aka my older sister. If not for her financial support, I’d probably have died of starvation. As a way of extending my stay in the house, I make up for my lack of earnings by doing domestic work.  

    I clean, cook and do everything in between. 

    If my sister asks me to run an errand, I do it with no questions asked. How can I protest when a carton of Indomie is now ₦3800? 

    Once I remove money for data, transport money from running around to sort NYSC runs, there’s almost nothing left to spend from the allawee. 

    My mentality now is that if any activity is going to remove from my ₦33,000, I’m not doing it. I’m going to politely decline, stay home, eat rice and do the dishes after. 

    THURSDAY:

    I wake up with this bout of sadness and an impending sense of gloom. I don’t want to talk to anyone around me; at least, not for a few hours. 

    I feel like the last five months has made NYSC a core part of my identity, and I’ve given it more power than I’d like. It has become an integral part of my conversations with people. 

    Friend 1: “How far your PPA?”

    Friend 2: “Can’t you do the NYSC without PPA?”

    Family and friends: “Why is this happening to you?”

    Me: “I don’t know…”

    I miss the old me. The fun me. I remember enjoying things like musical concerts, book shopping and watching plays. I’ve allowed life and NYSC take those away from me. But I can’t continue like this. 

    Today’s operation is to spark joy in my life. I’ll kick off the day by watching season 2 of the series, Ted Lasso. Then, I’ll listen to the Hamilton soundtrack and scream along when they say “how do we emerge victorious from the quagmire”. After that, the soundtrack is over. 

    By then, the day would be perfect for taking both Zikoko quizzes of the day. Finally, I’ll end the day by listening to Zikoko’s Love Life and that one will spark endorphins that’ll carry me for at least 30 seconds. 

    Less worrying and more enjoying. 

    FRIDAY: 

    If there’s any lesson from this period, I’m struggling to see it. But today is not the time for plenty of questions. I’m packing a bag to one of my friends’ houses where I can binge TV and let someone else worry about feeding me. 

    I could do with the company and distraction.

    When my NYSC service is over, I’ll throw a party. Then I’ll tear my uniform. After, I’ll frame and hang my NYSC certificate because I’ve suffered for it. 

    I lied when I said I didn’t have any lesson from this experience. I do, and it’s that life doesn’t always go as planned. If you had given me a thousand guesses, I don’t think I’d have guessed that five months into NYSC I’d still be struggling to be posted.  In my head, I thought that I’d be saving money from PPA [the subject has paying PPA options] alongside my allawee for jaapa. Then I’d also use the opportunity to build up hours for my minimum work experience. 

    All my planning is in the mud. 

    My prayer now is that when I wake up on Monday morning my PPA has changed.  God pls. 

    Editor’s note: The subject in no way seeks to tarnish the image of the NYSC scheme. She simply wishes to share her experience of/with the scheme. 

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a horologist. Horologists repair watches and clocks, and their job requires patience, focus/precision and very specific technical knowledge. This knowledge is usually learnt in informal settings like apprenticeships or through word of mouth.

    With almost 10 years of experience, our subject tells us about being able to fix any watch, spotting fake watches, and takes us through one day in his life. 

    I pack my office keys, wallet and phone as I’m leaving the house. Halfway out, I turn back to pick an umbrella and a nylon that I stuff into my pockets.

    Some days it rains heavily, some days the sun shines bright. You never know what Lagos will throw at you.

    Regardless of the weather condition, my oga expects punctuality, so I resume my watch repairing job on or before 8:00 a.m. every day. I head to my oga’s shop inside the Onipanu market of Lagos. From my house, it takes me one bus and a 10-minute walk to reach the shop. I like the location of the shop because people are always passing the market so they can easily see us. 

    Sometimes, I find customers already waiting for me. Other times, it’s just me in the shop with my watches and soft music playing in the background. 

    No matter the kind of day I get, I embrace it. Today can be good and tomorrow bad or vice versa.


    I set down my unused umbrella, shine my phone torchlight and struggle with my office padlock at exactly 8:00 a.m. From when I resume till 9 p.m., I’m either changing watch batteries or making general repairs. I can fix anything as long as it’s not a digital watch and you give me enough time to source the parts. But customers are never patient; they want their watch fixed immediately as if this job is sorcery. If you rush to fix their watch, it’s the same customers that will come back and shout at you when it stops working. So it’s just best I take my time. 

    I need customers today because yesterday was sort of slow, but this morning isn’t any better.  I keep checking the clocks in my office. For the first two hours, the shop is empty. 

    That’s why I’m happy at 10 a.m. when an elderly man comes in asking if I can fix his watch. I pause for a minute and study the watch.

    This work is not only about fixing watches. Customer satisfaction too dey inside. I always watch my client’s moods and gauge their reaction before saying anything. And I don’t talk too much. There are some customers who brag about the price of their watch, and I know it’s fake once I look at the chain or the engine. But I never say anything. I just face front and fix their watch. 

    The watch in front of me is an expensive Swiss model, so I tell the customer I need some time to fix it. Unlike a Chinese watch, I need a clear head to fix a Swiss. Misplacing one screw alone can affect the engine function and each screw costs about ₦12,000. This watch has 5. After fixing the watch, I plan to also clean and tighten the strap so it feels brand new.

    I see the customer weigh his options before deciding to drop the watch. I just hope that the extra effort and attention to detail makes him a repeat customer.

    By 12 p.m., more customers troop in. My oga is not around, and I’m the only one in, so I try to work as fast as possible. 

    First, someone brings a Seiko watch that needs fixing. I test the batteries with a battery tester and notice it’s the batteries that need changing. I charge them ₦300 for a replacement. Then, another person brings a Citizen watch with a slow seconds hand. I diagnose the problem, uncouple the watch and file off a few parts. Also, there’s a mother here to replace a watch she bought the other day. Why? Both she and her daughter struggle with setting the time when I’m not there. Then a customer comes in with a chain watch bigger than his wrist. One drill, two removed linking chains and a couple of nairas later, his watch fits perfectly. 

    watch repairer
    watch repairer
    Watch testing machine

    It’s 6 p.m. when the last customer finally leaves. Even after 9 years and 10 months on this job, the busy days still leave me breathless. Yes, the work is hard; it requires precision, patience and focus, but I’ll have it no other way. Before this job, I worked as a welder. I also sold animals. My boss, who I call my egbon, trained and introduced me to this work and I haven’t looked back. Apart from the plenty standing and sitting in one place and impatient customers, I love the job. More than anything, repairing watches makes me feel like I’m solving problems and making people’s lives easier. That feeling alone is priceless. Hopefully, one day, I’ll start my own repair shop. But for now, I’m not interested in that because I’m learning every day under my egbon. 

    I still have enough time to fix the Swiss watch from this morning. It should take about two hours which means I’ll be done around 8:00 p.m. I’ve tried today, so I can close early. I just need to finish with this watch, then it is home sweet home.

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a bricklayer. He tells us about the poor wages that come with the job, battling omo oniles at building sites and how he plans to become an engineer.

    MONDAY:

    I don’t like staying at home on Monday. Whether I have a job or not, I must leave my house to do something. Based on the nature of my job, work is not always constant. Sometimes we have work and sometimes we’re jobless and just looking at God. It’s not every day people need bricklayers.

    When I leave my house by 9 a.m. today, the first place I go to is called “Center” — a bubbly place in Ilorin where clients come to request the services of bricklayers. Here, customers come and tell us about their job, we agree on a price, number of people and duration of work. Win-win for everybody.

    However, the first thing I notice when I enter Center is that everywhere is dull. No clients, no nothing. Everywhere just calm like say fight just finish. My body is not feeling the place, so I leave for my friend’s office nearby.

    Unfortunately, my friend isn’t around, so I have to go back home. On the way home, I can’t help but think about how this job is changing. Bricklayers used to have plenty of jobs, but now there are too many people doing this work. And they are cheap too because of desperation. 

    I get angry when people say we make a lot of money because we get paid daily. How much are they paying us? ₦3,000 or ₦3,500 pata pata. Then someone will now open their mouth and be calculating for me. They’ll say ₦3,500 x 30 days is big money. Do I work every day? Do they work from Monday to Sunday? Let’s even say I want to every day; is there job? 

    These are the issues and part of why I don’t like people who don’t mind their business. Anyhow, that’s their own problem. My current headache now is whether there’ll be light at home. At least if I’m not working today I can relax at home and watch TV or play games. Tomorrow is there for us to try again.

    TUESDAY:

    I’ve been doing bricklaying work since I was 12 or 13. Before secondary school. Immediately after graduating from primary school. 

    How did I get into it? Typical story. My dad, the breadwinner of a large family, lost his job as a transporter. 8 kids, large house, plenty of bills. Me, the second-born, the only male child, and subsequent new breadwinner.

    Options for work when you’re 12/13? —  labourer work. 

    The first month was carrying blocks up and down. Next, I progressed to mixing concrete. This led to double promotion and becoming a bricklayer’s assistant. I continued doing this work even while in secondary school. Small school work, small bricklayer work. All na learning. 

    As far back as I remember, I always wished to be educated. A teacher offered to sponsor my education but my father refused. His reason? He can’t allow his son who happens to be his second child to live with someone he doesn’t know. That’s how my chance for free school went, and I had to be hustling up and down for my education. 

    At the work site, I met some guys who encouraged me to think big and work hard. I took their advice, saved some money and entered Kwara Poly after secondary school. 

    That’s where I entered wahala part two. I thought I could handle the expenses, but billings everywhere. Lecturer says we should buy handout, money. Lecturer says we should photocopy textbook, more money. 

    After I finished ND1 [first year in a polytechnic] like this, I ran out of money. No way to do ND2 [second year] and that’s how I entered gambling to try to make money.

    I’ll not go into details, but that experience taught me that there’s a difference between suffering and hardness. When you’re suffering, people can pity you and assist because it’s not your fault. But you see hardness? Nobody will help you because they can see that you’re your own problem. 

    Anyhow, I stopped gambling, returned to bricklaying work and eventually raised the money. I even ended up doing civil engineering for my HND programme. 

    After that programme, I now faced wahala part 3. No job. 

    The company I did my NYSC with was offering me ₦30,000 a month for full-time employment. I did the maths of my earnings as a bricklayer and realised I was better off there. That’s how I switched back to this work.

    Why am I saying all of this? It’s because I woke up feeling very grateful today. Things may not be going the way I want, but thank God we don’t look like where we’re coming from. And for that alone, today feels like it’s going to be a good day.  

    WEDNESDAY:

    I’ve been working under the hot sun all day. All my body is screaming for water and my shirt is soaked with sweat. But that’s not even the worst part. The person we’re working for just announced that he can’t pay the full amount we negotiated — ₦3,000/day — because something something money didn’t come through.

    Me I’m asking myself how that one concerns me. And why is he just telling us after we’ve been working since morning under the heat? As per say him be oga, I said let me try to reason with him, but he’s not listening to anybody. He’s showing power because he knows that we can’t abandon the work after coming this far.

    This is the part of the job that I don’t like. Because we don’t have a written contract, someone can just change their mind after you’ve started work. And there’s nobody to fight for us. 

    Just last week, Agberos came to the house we were working on and asked for money. 

    I asked them, “Money for what? In Kwara state?” Before I could say anything, I heard “gboa.” That gboa was a slap. 

    Next thing, me and my boys carried shovel to fight them. The next thing police have arrested everyone. Godfather came to bail agbero. The house owner told us that he was coming to bail us, and after keeping us waiting for hours, he came and started shouting at us. 

    Nobody to defend us, and now we can’t even defend ourselves. 

    Anyhow sha, after plenty of back and forth plus shouting, oga finally agreed to pay ₦2500 instead of ₦3000. It’s still out of this money that I’ll buy strong paracetamol for all the stress. 

    THURSDAY:

    I’m not in a hurry to go to work today. After the drama of yesterday, I take my time to prepare. I listen to the radio, I browse through my phone and call my friends. 

    If not for the economy of Nigeria, why will I, a graduate, be working a job where the highest you can make in a day is  ₦3500? Okay, maybe ₦4,000 if you do certain jobs. But I can bet that you will spend half of that money buying pain relief drugs. 

    So what’s now the point? 

    I recently started taking some certifications because my goal in future is to become an engineer. I’m constantly praying and working towards this goal. I just need time for things to align for me.

    But before then, I need to leave this house so that I can hustle my daily ₦2k. 

    FRIDAY:

    I don’t work on Fridays because it’s Jumat and I have to go to the mosque. I can’t do any work that won’t let me serve my God. 

    My plan today: sleep, eat, pray and hang out with my friends. 

    Thank God it is Friday.

    Editor’s note: Bricklayers can make more than ₦3,500 a day if they get contract jobs. However, those jobs are rare.

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a forklift operator. Forklifts are equipment used in lifting heavy loads from the factory to the warehouse and from the warehouse into trucks.

    Our subject talks to us about working two different jobs as a forklift operator, working flexible hours at both jobs, and making more money than the typical forklift operator. How does he do it? Read more to find out: 

    Unless I’m on the night shift or something as unpredictable as Lagos traffic delays me, my day typically starts at 10 a.m. The first thing I do is to lay out my plans and assess my level of preparation to achieve them. Both companies I work for — company A and B — require operators at the start of their shift, to go round their machines, assess their readiness for work and document their findings in a logbook. I equate planning my day with assessing my machine, but in this case, I am the machine, and the machine is me. Once I’m done with this, the day begins.

    As a forklift operator, I’m half part an engineer who operates an industrial machine and half part an operator who has to lift loads. I mostly do this using a machine called a forklift —  an industrial machine with a forklike mouth used for lifting heavy loads over short distances. 

    Think about it like this: in the absence of a mobile crane machine, you can use a forklift. Although, a crane is taller and safer because the load is carried at a distance from the operator, compared to forklifts which are quite close. 

    I work part-time with two companies that produce and sell drinks, and my job typically involves stacking these drinks into the warehouse after production or loading them for sale into waiting trucks. 

    People say knowing how to drive a car means you can drive a forklift. They aren’t entirely wrong but they are also not right. Knowing how to drive a car makes things easier, but you still need to learn the rules of the forklift from scratch because it has functions a car doesn’t have. The tyres have a turning pattern that ensures that the front tyre can be reversed to face the back, and vice versa — this means that you can navigate through extremely tight spaces.

    In addition, the forklift has three levers — which a car doesn’t have — and that’s why we’re called operators, instead of drivers. One lever helps with lifting and putting down the load, another helps with balancing the load on the machine, and the last helps in manoeuvring tight corners. You also can’t drive a forklift with both hands. You need the right hand to perform the function of operating and carrying the load while the left hand is used in wheeling the steering, which is usually smaller/thinner than the steering of a car. 

    All these require their own special training. 

    I work part-time for a couple of reasons: Firstly, because it frees up my time. Full-time operators start their day at 7 a.m. and end at 7 p.m. However, as a part-time operator, I resume by 10 a.m. and I work for seven hours. During this time, I cover for seven full-time operators [as a break reliever] for one hour each, while they rest or eat. Sometimes, I’m lucky and someone tells me not to bother covering for them so this frees up an extra hour or two for me. Whether I work for seven or two hours, I still get paid at the end of the month. And the salary difference between a full-time and part-time time operator is just ₦9,000. 

    Money is the second reason I work part-time. I observed that Nigerian companies, especially forklift companies, are greedy and not deserving of my time. The drink companies pay ₦50,000 per day for each forklift machine and yet, the forklift companies don’t pay operators [especially full-time] well.  However, by working two part-time jobs with flexible hours I outearn a full-time operator. For both jobs, I work two mornings, two nights and get two days off. I’ve timed my schedule such that when I’m on the night shift in company A, I’m off duty in company B. And when I’m off at company A, I’m on the morning shift in company B. This ensures that I have adequate rest and I work like someone who’s not working.

    The last reason for part-time work is the benefits. Company A has health insurance but company B has a more comprehensive [covers more treatment] health plan. Company A has a better pension scheme than company B. Both companies give paid leave. Irrespective of whatever direction they take, I win in both places and get to customize my benefits. I laugh when people say, “this boy, you don’t have sense,” because I don’t have full-time employment. I know what I’m doing. 

    As a child of God, I don’t believe in using all my strength to work. I believe in grace and not in how hard you work. You’ll catch me spending my free time either reading my bible, listening to Christian music, or spending time alone rediscovering myself. 

    But with the good also comes the bad side of a job, like supervisors insulting you to get things done. At job A this morning, a supervisor screamed at me: “guy, carry this thing for me now abi you dey mad.” I just smiled calmly without reacting. I’ve learnt not to get angry because I understand that people are frustrated and so they transfer aggression. Therefore, it’s not your fault if someone mistakes you for the cause of their problems. 

    That was in the morning. Now, it’s afternoon and I check my watch to see that time is crawling. It should be almost close of work but now, it’s barely 3 p.m. 

    I’m glad when my last two covers for the day tell me they’re forfeiting break time because they’re behind schedule. My watch says 3:15 p.m., and this means that I can leave work before traffic starts to pile. I can’t emphasise how much I love that this job gives me control over my time alongside other benefits. Even though driving a forklift wasn’t always the plan, it will suffice until I can raise enough money to finally escape this country. It also helps that the job is fun and I love driving. Ultimately, my goal is not to be a billionaire but to be comfortable and both jobs are helping with that.

    At the end of the day, I’m grateful for this job but I’m also looking forward to more. I’m not worried because, at the end of the day, my life is in the hands of God; from clay I came and to clay I shall return. 

    Featured image: Google.

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a writer and gambler. He talks about how earning in dollars makes gambling in Naira bearable, selling his properties to offset gambling bills and the adrenaline rush betting gives him. 

    MONDAY:

    The first thing I reach for when I get out of bed this morning is my phone. Before I do other things like checking work emails, replying to WhatsApp messages or even reading the news, I open my betting site. It’s 10 a.m. and I’m looking for early kick-off [1 p.m.] football games to bet on.

    I scroll, unimpressed, through the Arabian league, Estonian league, before settling on the Portuguese league. I do a bit of reading up on the teams, do some mental maths, and play two tickets. One ticket has 8 games in it with potential winnings of roughly ₦50,000. Not bad for a ticket that cost ₦1500 to play. The other one has 7 games in it and costs ₦1,000 to play. The potential winnings are relatively lower than the first, but we move.

    With the bets out of the way and the looming thrill of winning or losing present, my day begins. As a freelance writer [for a foreign football and predictions site], I work overnight till 3 a.m., wake up at 10 a.m., place a bet, look at work emails, curse or jubilate when my ticket cuts or enters, and eat somewhere in between. This is in addition to my non-existent social life.

    My first task this morning is to have my bath, then I’ll move from there.

    2:00 p.m.: Most of today has been a blur. I wrote a few blog posts, replied to a few messages, cursed Nigeria; nothing out of the usual. My first match starts at 2:30 p.m. and I’m looking forward to it. I’m thankful for this app from work that allows me to watch obscure leagues so I can monitor, write and bet on matches. I’m super excited to see how my predictions perform. 

    4:30 p.m.: The ₦1,000 ticket has casted. Two of the teams lost already so there’s no hope. Although the ₦1,500 ticket is giving me life: 3 out of 8 games have clicked. I’m hopeful as fuck. 

    5:30 p.m: Now, 5/8.  We’re still on track.

    6:30 p.m.: Omo! 7 of 8 games are in. And the last two tickets had last-minute goals. I picked over two goals [that is, both teams score more than two goals by the final whistle] for one match and the teams didn’t score until the 67th and 81st minute. For the other match, they were playing 1-1 until someone scored an extra-time goal — see the way I screamed! Their papa!!!

    8:00 p.m.: Final fixture and I can feel things are aligning for me. All the signs have shown me that this ticket is the lucky one. I just know. My bet on this match is that both teams score more than 2 goals, and this team is notorious for scoring goals. Let’s bring this money home. 

    8:30 p.m.: Gooooooall. 1 goal down. Let’s gooooo.

    9:00 p.m.: Still waiting. Let’s do it.

    9:15 p.m.: Come on booyysss.

    9:20 p.m.: Please now, boys. 

    9:25 p.m: God, please. It’s never too late for a miracle. God pleasseee.

    9:35 p.m.: Fuck! These bastards have finished me.


    TUESDAY:

    Yesterday was a shitty day. In fact, this month has been shitty because I haven’t won a single gamble. My only consolation is that I earn in dollars so I have enough disposable income to spare. If not, I’d have become desperate. 

    Anatomy of recent losses:

    On Saturday, I lost ₦4,000 because some of the big premiership teams disappointed me. 

    On Sunday, I lost ₦6,500 because their counterparts in La-Liga also did the same.

    Monday, I said let me try obscure league and same embarrassment. I lost ₦2500.

    ₦13,000 gone in three days just like that inside this Buhari economy. It’s all good because I’m still going to try my luck again this afternoon.  

    Even with the drought, I’m not scared. I’ve seen worse. From 2017 – 2019, I didn’t win one single gamble; only losses. Both big and small bets were casting. One time, I even tried rising [a gambling term for increasing money] ₦100 to ₦500 just to get the feeling of winning and it casted. However, on August 18, 2019 — I’ll never forget the date in my life — I broke this jinx. I used ₦500 to win ₦19,000. I called all my guys to tell them that the jinx had been broken. Omo, see the faji after.

    I once saw a tweet that said there’s no better thing than having an orgasm. A gambler will disagree. There’s no better feeling than chopping a win after many years of losing. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    It’s a slow day at work today so I have time to think about my life. If I think hard enough I realise that the thrill is why I love betting.

    The emotional roller coaster gives me a rush of adrenaline that makes me feel alive. Following simultaneous games on your ticket, seeing one club win here, another lose somewhere else, and all that passion is thrilling. It’s happiness, anger and tension at the same time. Betting is the only way to have a literal stake in the tension, unlike a casual observer. If I don’t have a ticket running on any given day my body starts to feel one kind. That’s why no matter how many times I try to quit, I fail. 

    To think that my gambling habit started from a radio show. As a die-hard football fan, I used to listen to this radio program where the host would announce how much people won from betting. The host would say things like clueless non-football fans won millions of money, yet die-hard football fans never made money from their passion. 

    One day, tired of being taunted, I placed my first bet and won ₦4,000. I was like, “Wait. Is it this easy?” From then on, it was a rabbit hole. I got into virtual betting and gambled away my project money, school fees, phone, laptop, speakers, and had an extra year. 

    In my final year, at the height of my troubles, I was owing my girlfriend about ₦100,000. I remember her suggesting that we go for deliverance. I struggled to explain to her that the same hope that allows human beings to show up daily is what gambling feeds upon. 

    You keep thinking, “I’ll win today. Today is my day.” But it’s not. 

    The more money you lose, the more the pull to get your money back. At some point, you start getting angry and making bad decisions and losing more. Then you start to borrow and drop properties as collateral. You then try to hustle money to bail your properties as collateral and start to owe everyone around you: from your roomies to friends to even your food woman. 

    If you’re lucky your eyes will clear quickly. If you’re like me, it’ll take gambling away your school fees, project money, and crying in the church to quit virtual betting. 

    To me, quitting virtual betting — like horse racing and other computer programmed games — and replacing it with online betting is a great step. At least, now I know I have a bad vice as compared to when it was a worse one. It also helps that I’m in a better place financially. 

    Thinking back on all this progress makes me feel lucky. I have a feeling today is going to be my day. When I finish replying to 10 work emails, I’ll reward myself by placing a small bet. For some reason, I have a feeling it will work out. 

    THURSDAY:

    Yesterday wasn’t great but today looks better. I’m watching the last game of a ticket I played and my team is winning. Other games entered earlier in the day and I have been waiting for this match to complete my long-awaited win. As the referee blows his whistle for an extra minute in the game, I start to celebrate.

    I open WhatsApp and order a shoe worth ₦30,000 and pay a ₦2,000 delivery fee. Any gambler will tell you that the minute you place a bet, in your head, you think the money has come. As a result, you become reckless with money because you think money is always coming and all you need to do is just “place a bet.”

    In the past, I used to see gambling money as awoof to be blown anyhow. But now, I see it as money for projects. A few months ago when I won ₦92,000 I bought a fridge. Another time when I went low on cash because I bought a generator, I used gambling to turn my last ₦2,000 to ₦75,000. 

    Although the disadvantages of gambling outweigh the advantages, it’s still a two-way street to me. 

    Let me be honest with you: these losses no longer matter because the money is too small to lose sleep over. 

    FRIDAY:

    I’m still on a high from yesterday. Today, I’m grateful for being in a place where I can laugh at losses. Before now, every time I lost a bet, I’d ignore the world and my 9-5 for a few hours to gather myself. And when I eventually came out, I’d go over each game, review my mistakes and jot them in an exercise book. 

    However, since my money went up, gambling has become a fun side vice for me. The only “bad” thing is that I sometimes go over my naira budget on gambling, but I’m managing it.

    It’s not like I’m going to outrightly stop gambling tomorrow or in two years time. All I can do is make tiny improvements here and there. My plan is to slowly wean myself off gambling before 35. Right now, at 27, this gives me 8 years to get there. My biggest fear is to be an old person who spends their life betting. I remember seeing old people at virtual betting shops and saying I don’t want to be that person. 

    I know for sure that I’ll quit one day. Probably. Maybe. Time will tell. 

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

    I don’t know about you but it has been a long year. A lot has happened that it feels like we’re starting to forget a few things. With that in mind, I decided to refresh our memories on some episodes of “A Week In The Life” that I have enjoyed writing.

    Whether you started reading in January or just last week, here are some stories that deserve to be read twice.

    1) A Week In The Life: The Interstate Driver With Girlfriends In Many States

    “To be honest, I’m even changing. I’m not bad like that. If I count my girlfriends, I have only five consistent ones. I’ve removed the inconsistent ones from my list because no time. I’m also thankful that God take libido bless me to be able to keep everyone satisfied. It’s grace. I be pure Igbo guy, I strong die.“

    This long-distance driver has gone from having a girlfriend in almost every state in the country to having “just” 5. Why does he do it? What’s his motivation? and is he not scared of the risks involved?

    Click here to find out.

    2) When I’m In Front Of A Camera, I Feel Like Wizkid Or Davido — A Week In The Life Of A Pornstar

    Forget everything you know because this story will challenge it. After failing to get into Nollywood, Juliet, the subject of this story decided to go into acting porn. She talks about the stigma involved in her job, not being ashamed to show her face in her videos and how powerful she feels in front of a camera.

    According to Juliet, “During video shoots, I tell my men that it’s acting we’re acting so they shouldn’t get carried away thinking it’s their girlfriend they’re fucking. I also make it clear that they must not cum in me —  they can cum on my laps, face, tummy but not inside me.”

    Read more here.

    3) A Week In The Life Of An Unpaid Full-Time House Wife

    What’s it like being an unpaid full housewife? It’s a lot of thankless hard work, unnecessary suffering and acceptance in the grand scheme of things.

    The heaviness in this story still haunts me today. See why here.

    4) “Everyone Shouts At You” — An Exhausting Week In The Life Of A Medical House Officer

    Doctors are leaving Nigeria for many reasons ranging from poor pay to terrible work conditions. What’s it like being a junior doctor in a toxic work environment? It’s a lot of shouting and being treated like you don’t matter or exist. It’s also a lot of crying and making up your mind to leave Nigeria as soon as you can.

    Don’t take my word for it, instead listen to a junior doctor narrate their story here.

    5) A Miraculous Week In The Life Of A Nigerian Olympian

    If you watched the recently concluded Tokyo Olympics, the name Enoch Adegoke must ring a bell. If it does, it’s because, for the first time in over 20 years, Enoch took Nigeria to the 100m men’s final.

    What does it take to be a pro athlete in Nigeria? Are Nigerian athletes rich? Satisfy your curiosity here.

    6) I Don’t Have Any Human Friend —A Week In The Life Of A Zookeeper

    As a zookeeper, you spend more time with animals than with humans. What happens when your job becomes your life? Well, if you’re like Mr Emeka, the subject of this story, it means you have no human friends.

    How must that feel? Start here to experience what it feels like.

    7) I Earn Dollars But I Still Feel Unsafe — A Week In The Life Of A Freelancer

    The Naira is tanking and everyone is screaming “earn dollars or save in dollars.”

    Alright, you listen to them and do both. However, you still feel unsafe because deep down you know that if anything happens to you, dollars can’t save you.

    This is an anxiety-filled “A Week In The Life.”

    8) Manager By Day, Sugar Baby At Night: A Week In The Life

    The subject of this story has gone from swearing not to sleep with married men to not refusing their advances.

    The result? A lot of gifts and houses. Why did she suddenly change her mind and go down the sugar baby route?

    Click here to read her origin story.

    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.