Being homesick is ghetto. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re missing traffic noise, street food smoke, and your mum’s unsolicited gist. But while you wait for your next trip home, Netflix has some comfort shows that feel like a long-distance hug.
From chaotic friend groups to found families that actually text back, these are the 10 best series to watch when homesickness comes knocking.
Shanty Town unfolds in the grim underworld of Lagos, where a group of women fight to free themselves from the control of Scar (Chidi Mokeme), a brutal crime lord whose influence extends from the city’s slums to its corridors of power.
Led by Inem (Ini Edo) and the embattled Shalewa (Nancy Isime), the women’s struggle for liberation exposes a criminal syndicate built on human trafficking, drugs, and political complicity.
Set in Lagos, Baby Farm peels back the polished surface of a charitable foundation to reveal a chilling operation built on exploitation. What appears to be a benevolent organisation, managed by an expatriate couple, is in fact a front for a baby trafficking ring.
At its centre is Adanna (Onyinye Odokoro), a young pregnant woman lured into the foundation under false pretences, only to find herself trapped in a cycle of coercion and confinement. As an investigative journalist and a group of captives work to expose the truth, the series evolves into a sharp indictment of greed, hypocrisy, and the systemic failures that enable such cruelty.
In To Kill a Monkey, director Kemi Adetiba turns her lens to the digital underworld of Lagos, where ambition, morality, and survival collide. Efemini is a gifted but struggling programmer drawn into cybercrime by an old friend, the magnetic yet dangerous kingpin known as The Bozz.
Efe’s technological ingenuity transforms their operation into a sprawling criminal enterprise, catching the attention of a shadowy rival known only as Teacher. As Efe descends deeper into the web of power and betrayal, a determined police inspector, haunted by her own past, races to dismantle the syndicate before it consumes them all.
Blood Sisters begins with a celebration but spirals quickly into chaos. On the eve of her lavish engagement party, Sarah (Ini Dima-Okojie) becomes entangled in a nightmare when her best friend, Kemi (Nancy Isime), kills her abusive fiancé, Kola (Deyemi Okanlawon), in self-defence.
What follows is a gripping, fast-paced tale of a fugitive that exposes the deep fractures in Lagos society between wealth, violence, and justice.
As the two women flee, pursued by Kola’s powerful family and the machinery of influence that protects them, Blood Sisters evolves into more than a thriller. It becomes a meditation on female friendship, survival, and the suffocating pressures of power.
In The Plan, director Dimbo Atiya crafts a taut, character-driven drama about friendship, greed, and survival in the aftermath of corruption.
When Karama (Rahama Sadau), a young widow, discovers that her late husband (Ali Nuhu) had embezzled public funds and hidden a cache of stolen gold, she turns to her two closest friends for help.
What begins as an act of desperation soon becomes a moral quagmire. As the women struggle to conceal the fortune, loyalties fray and trust erodes under the weight of temptation.
In Inside Life, director Clarence Peters weaves a bleak, interlocking portrait of survival and consequence in contemporary Lagos.
The limited series traces the fates of several characters whose lives intersect through violence, loss, and the quiet ache of desperation. Among them are a medical student battling the weight of systemic failure and a young woman driven to a brutal act of self-defence against her abusive stepfather.
The result is a haunting exploration of trauma and the hidden economies of pain that shape urban life.
Yemi “Filmboy” Morafa’s The Party begins with glitter and ends in chaos. During an opulent birthday celebration, the host, Bobo (Kunle Remi), plunges to his death from a balcony before a stunned audience of friends and family.
Within moments, the festivities dissolve into suspicion as his powerful father seals the estate and summons the police, transforming a night of excess into a claustrophobic crime scene.
Structured as a taut, three-part chamber mystery, The Party unfolds through a series of interrogations that peel away layers of privilege, betrayal, and buried resentment.
Directors: Catherine Stewart, Kayode Kasum and Kenneth Gyang
Genre: Drama
In Far From Home, the dream of upward mobility collides with the grim realities of survival. Mike Afolarin stars as Ishaya Bello, a gifted but underprivileged artist whose long-shot scholarship to the prestigious Wilmer Academy promises escape, and perhaps redemption.
But when his savings vanish in a family betrayal, desperation drives him into the orbit of a dangerous crime lord, Oga Rambo (Bolanle Ninalowo).
What begins as a tale of ambition soon unravels into a moral maze of deception, privilege, and violence.
Directors: Femi Adebayo, Tope Adebayo and Adebayo Tijani
Genre: Drama, Epic
Set in the mythical Ilara Kingdom, Seven Doors unfolds as a grand meditation on duty, destiny, and the weight of tradition. When Oba Adedunjoye (Femi Adebayo) ascends a throne shrouded in unrest, he inherits not only a kingdom but also a centuries-old curse.
The chief priest warns that peace can only be restored if the King performs a sacred rite that demands he open seven doors and take seven wives.
Caught between his devotion to family and the unyielding expectations of lineage, Adedunjoye faces a moral reckoning that transcends the palace walls.
In Anikulapo: Rise of the Spectre, Kunle Afolayan expands his acclaimed Yoruba folklore universe into darker, more transcendent territory.
The story follows Saro (Kunle Remi), once a man who wielded the divine power to resurrect the dead. Now, he returns to earth as a reluctant messenger of death, bound to collect twenty souls to repay his debt to the afterlife or face eternal wandering without rest.
Haunted by the weight of his past and drawn into the ambitions of a ruthless warlord, Saro’s journey becomes a sweeping allegory about fate, punishment, and redemption.
Birthdays in Nigeria are never subtle affairs. But when the celebrant is Seyi Tinubu, the president, Bola Tinubu’s first son, birthday wishes become a full-blown performance.
Tinubu, whose birthday is today, October 13, would not get the random “HBD, Boss!” messages flooding the timeline. Instead, we would see a digital parade of political hopefuls, social climbers, loyalists, and professional well-wishers all trying to outdo each other.
From the poets writing 10-slide tributes to the subtle critics hiding shade under emojis, the internet becomes a theatre of aspiration and irony.
Here are the 10 kinds of people who showed up online to wish Seyi Tinubu a happy birthday.
1. The Loyal APC Soldiers
These are the card-carrying members of Action Progressive Congress (APC), to which senior and junior Tinubu belong. About any elected official or important party member, get public wishes all the time. Now, imagine Seyi Tinubu, the party’s heir apparent and it’s a whole celebration.
To spot these loyal APC soldiers isn’t hard. They plaster their Facebook and X pages with birthday wishes written in press release format, and fill them with endearments like: “The future of youth empowerment, the bridge between generations, etc.” You can almost hear the campaign jingle in their captions. They’re in the same group chat as those who say “Office of the First Son of the President.”
2. Ronu People
You’re likely to mistake this category for the one above, though they aren’t the same. Ronu people can belong to any political party, and are the self-appointed “defenders” of the Yoruba Nation.
Their birthday message always starts with, “Happy birthday Oju Eko (meaning “Eyes of Lagos”). You’re a source of inspiration to us all.” If they’re trying to be posh, they’d say “Memento Vivre. Happy birthday to the King of Boys.” They don’t know Tinubu or have anything to do with him. They’re just happy to wish him a happy birthday because he’s a Yoruba son of an “Emilokan” President.
When they’re not celebrating a “son of the soil,” they’re fighting over the right way to spell “Owambe.”
These ones have never met Seyi Tinubu and don’t know him personally, but they have been “meaning to connect.” Their well-wishes rarely fall far from “Happy birthday, boss of bosses. A true inspiration. More wins, sir!” Every line is a networking pitch disguised as a prayer, hoping one of his people will see it and call them for a business meeting.
Their profile bio reads something like, “Entrepreneur | Crypto | Logistics | God over Everything.”
4. Motivational Speakers
These ones won’t only wish Seyi Tinubu a happy birthday; they deliver a TED talk. They write things like, “Success isn’t by age, it’s by grace. Look at Seyi Tinubu, the definition of focus, discipline, consistency and divine alignment.”
They use Tinubu’s birthday as an opportunity to remind us that we, too, can make it if we stay consistent — as if consistency alone can fund a Lekki apartment or automatically make Nigerian musicians give you shout-outs in their songs.
If you scroll two tweets down the birthday wishes, the same person is complaining about NEPA and the new tax policy.
5. The Influencers and Opportunists
These ones smell “visibility” from a mile away. The second “Happy Birthday Seyi Tinubu” starts trending, they’re in the quotes with gratitude posts. You’d see tweets like “A visionary! A leader! A man of the people! God bless you abundantly, sir 🙏🏾💙 #STBDay”
Some will even tag him: “@egbonseyitinubu, thank you for all you do for the youth. We see you, sir 👏🏾👏🏾🔥” They don’t know him personally, but they know engagement when they see it because if they don’t post, how will Tinubu remember them when he’s “empowering the youths and creatives” next?
These ones are the grassroots soldiers. You’ll find them in the trenches of the comments section, typing like their next appointment depends on it, because it actually might. They’ve probably only met Tinubu once, during a photo-op when he came to commission a borehole, but that one handshake is now their entire political CV.
They’ll post a picture of him with captions like, “A leader with listening ears” and tag every political handle from @APCNigeria to @lagosstateofficeofsomething. By evening, they’ll be in a WhatsApp group shouting, “Have you people posted for Seyi? Don’t dull o, the Chief of Staff is watching.”
7. Other Politicians Who Want to Decamp to APC
These ones know that this is Nigeria, and power can be monarchical. So, they pitch their tent to an important government figure. Whether they’re old enough to be his father, they always start their posts with “My leader and brother, Seyi Tinubu…” like they’ve been friends since university.
Their captions are long enough to qualify as a manifesto, full of “renewed hope” and “youth empowerment,” even though the only empowerment they’ve ever given anyone was a few cups of rice during political campaigns.
Their posts are usually to signal their transfer of allegiance, so that when you see them in agbada by the next press briefing, casually saying “We in APC…” you’re not too shocked.
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8. The Content Farmers
They don’t follow him and don’t care about him. They want to go viral and only care about engagement. They will post: “Say what you want about Seyi Tinubu, but he’s doing something right.”
Then they go to bed, wake up and find their post has 500 comments arguing in the replies. Mission accomplished.
9. Aspiring Lagos Big Boys
These ones are dreaming of being at the top of the class system. They are the young guys who see Seyi Tinubu as the ultimate role model. Think private jets, Tesla and political access. Some have no clue what he is about and how he got his money, but they just want they may call his kind of “doings.”
On his birthday, they post things like, “One day, they’ll mention my name beside yours, boss 🙏🏾🔥.” Well, nothing to see here. Just people hoping their own “Seyi Tinubu Moment” starts before their rent expires.
10. The Non-Well-Wishers
These ones don’t say “Happy Birthday”, they drop thinkpieces. They see Seyi Tinubu’s birthday trend and suddenly turn into full-time political analysts. “In a country where the minimum wage is ₦30k, someone’s son is cutting cake in Dubai?” they’d tweet, unprovoked. Just long threads about nepotism, privilege, and “the real problem with Nigeria’s elite structure.”
They won’t wish him well, and they side-eye every birthday post like, “So na our tax money dey celebrate too?” or “Is this leadership?” The closest to a birthday wish from them is a sarcastic “E go be.”
Rising musician Skinny Skater has built a name off love songs filled with heartbreaks and commitment issues. But behind the lyrics are real stories from his own life.
In an interview with Zikoko, he opened up about the inspiration behind the lyrics — “She no care about balling…Casanova / But she know that I no go treat am well”, from his latest single, “Casanova” — a personal experience from years ago that still haunts him today.
This is Skinny Skater’s story as told to Marv.
I’ve never been good at commitment. I hate being tied down. My parents are divorced, and all four of my uncles are divorced and unmarried, too. Maybe it’s because of those experiences and the people I’ve seen around me, but the idea of belonging to someone entirely has always made me uneasy.
I have been to therapy because of this, and it couldn’t even fix me. Rather, I spent a lot of time rehashing my lack of commitment, things I already knew.
They gave me tools to help me manage it and patterns to look out for, but it didn’t work.
I like freedom. I like being able to do what I want, when I want. But that freedom also comes with its own kind of loneliness, which I love because no visitor means everything is left and kept where I put it.
A lot of this is about control. I like being the one who decides how close or how far things go. Love makes me surrender that control, and that scares me. I’ve always been the guy who wants to handle everything on his own, who doesn’t like to depend on anyone. But when I care about someone deeply and they’re always around, dependence and vulnerability sneak in quietly. I wasn’t ready when this happened with a girl I dated some years ago.
When I met her in 2018, she was the first person I had a long-term relationship with. Initially, I didn’t think it would become anything serious.
For a year and a half that we were together, it was mostly great. She had a calm personality and was the kind of babe that made me feel seen. And even though I didn’t plan for it, I found myself getting used to her. She made things easy. She’d call to check on me, show up when I needed someone, and never ask for too much. That’s what got me.
I liked it. It felt good, but it also scared me. I knew what it could mean, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that. Her kindness felt like she had ulterior motives.
I thought she was too nice and too good for me.
She began to notice things changing and complained about it. Many times she tried to talk to them about it. She wanted more of me and my presence. I could feel it in the way she’d ask questions — “What are we doing?” “Where is this going?” “Do you see us together for real?” I didn’t have the answers. Sometimes I’d change the topic; sometimes I’d just stay quiet. I wasn’t trying to hurt her, but I didn’t know how to tell her the truth, that I didn’t want to be committed. I just wanted things to stay how they were.
But I knew that I couldn’t expect someone who loved me to stay in the dark forever. She started pulling away, little by little. She’d reply slower, cancel plans, and stop calling first. I noticed, but I didn’t bring it up. I told myself, “If it’s meant to be, it will be.” That was a lie I said to make myself feel better. Deep down, I knew I was the reason things were falling apart.
When it finally ended, I couldn’t even explain what happened. There was no big fight, no argument. Just silence that grew until it swallowed everything. One day, she stopped showing up, and I didn’t go after her. Maybe I thought she’d come back; perhaps I didn’t want to face what losing her meant.
She was so hurt, she joined an X (at the time Twitter) trend about bad ex-lovers, and she made a thread about me, detailing how I’m not present, committed, unfit to have a relationship with anyone. Some friends shared it with me and it hurt a little bit.
I tried to move on like it was nothing. I told myself I was fine, that I didn’t need anyone. Actually, she wasn’t in my head anymore. I was busy with other things, like my music. But most relationship-leaning songs I wrote somehow had a bit of our story. That’s when I realised it wasn’t nothing. It was something real, and I’d lost it because I was scared of commitment.
That’s where my new single “Casanova” came from. I was talking to myself, confessing. I wasn’t proud of how things went down. I knew I let her on. I gave her reasons to believe we were building something when, in reality, I was too afraid to build anything at all.
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It’s strange, because I wrote the song this year, almost four years after we drifted apart. I write love songs all the time. I can describe what heartbreak feels like and how it sounds. But living through it is a different kind of lesson. Writing it was the first time I admitted that I was the problem. That I wasn’t some victim of heartbreak, I was the one causing it.
You might hear “Casanova” and think it’s about being a player, but it’s really about being lost. It’s about wanting love but being afraid of what it asks of you. I didn’t set out to hurt anyone; I was just scared of being vulnerable.
Now, when I listen to that song, it feels like a mirror. It reminds me of who I am, because I’m still struggling. Other relationships I have had since then haven’t lasted up to four months. Even now, I’m currently in one that’s just a few months old.
I’m sure I’ve not changed completely, but I’m learning to own up to what I did. She showed me what fear looks like: my own reflection, hiding behind excuses. I’m learning that I can’t keep someone halfway. I either show up or I don’t.
My ex from years ago is married with kids now, and I don’t have any attachment to her anymore. I learned through her, but there’s nothing more to say to each other.
Other people I meet now, I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I don’t say what I don’t mean. I don’t hold someone’s hand just because it feels good in the moment, because affection can be misleading if it’s not backed by intention.
The fear is still there, and I’m afraid it’s how I’m always going to be. It’s especially frightening when I think about how those close to me have the same commitment issues, and mine is just like an extension.
Few artists have shaped modern Afrobeats like Tiwa Savage. From her 2010 breakout hit “Kele Kele Love” to the viral hit “Somebody’s Son,” she has built a career defined by range. Is it sultry R&B, street-pop jams, dancefloor fire, or gospel-leaning tracks? She’s capable.
Over more than two decades, she’s grown from Nigeria’s “Afrobeats Queen” into a global symbol of confidence, femininity and success.
To celebrate Tiwa Savage’s legacy, we asked fans to help us rank her 40 greatest songs of all time.
40. “Ade Ori” (2021)
This song captures Tiwa Savage’s healing era — a moment of release and self-rediscovery after pain. Her vocals carry both vulnerability and strength, reminding listeners of her emotional depth beyond the hits.
“She’s so vulnerable in this song. It gives me goosebumps.” — Seyi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “Ready to come out from my pain / I don’t need yours.”
39. “Kolobi” (2016)
In this uplifting track, Tiwa Savage offers gentle encouragement to anyone facing hardship — the barren, the poor, and the heartbroken — urging them to stay hopeful and focus on brighter days ahead.
“This is one of the most underrated tracks on her second album. I like it.” — I.D, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “E no get mountain, e no get road block / There’s no holdup wey no go clear o.”
38. “Attention” (2019)
“Attention” shows Tiwa Savage at her most emotionally honest — no tears or drama, just a calm, clear demand to be seen and valued. It’s the voice of a woman who knows her worth and won’t settle for less.
“She turned a complaint into a song, and I like how she warns him she’ll get another man if she has to. No time for stupid men.” — Bola, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “If you don’t give me quality attention / I might get it from somebody else.”
37. “Kilimanjaro” (feat. Young Jonn & Black Sherif) (2024)
On this Amapiano-infused track, Tiwa Savage teams up with Young Jonn and Black Sherif to deliver a confident anthem about protecting one’s peace and blocking out negativity.
“I have always jammed Tiwa Savage, but Black Sherif led me to this song, and it’s my favourite by Tiwa Savage.” — Yomi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Diet.”
Standout lyrics: “I dey my junction, no let their bad belle come stop my show.”
Tiwa Savage and Amaarae turn on the charm in this sultry track, playfully shooting their shots and trading flirty lines about love and desire.
“I like that the two of them collaborated. It’s the best sound for Amaarae. It’s like listening to your big sister and her cool friend gossiping about love.” — Adaeze, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Six foot five, act your size.”
35. “Rewind” (2016)
A smooth Afropop track with a nostalgic groove, “Rewind” finds Tiwa Savage reminiscing on the start of a sweet love story — warm, simple, and heartfelt.
“It’s one of her best songs.” — Dolapo, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “But when you say hello, I know say I don die.”
34. “Sugarcane” (2017)
Sweet, flirty, and full of charm, “Sugarcane” showcases Tiwa Savage in her confident prime — effortlessly balancing tease and tenderness on a smooth, addictive groove.
“It’s my favourite track on her EP of the same title.” — Ife, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Iwo, emi, eemi ati Iwo / Come my melody, I’ll be your harmony.”
33. “Get It Now” (2017)
In this soulful mid-tempo track, Tiwa Savage demands honesty and clarity from her lover — either commit or step aside. It’s a plea wrapped in confidence, reminding us of her gift for turning emotion into melody.
“It’s the Tiwa song I’d play anytime, anywhere. I don’t know a lot of Yoruba, but it gets me in my feelings.” — Adanna, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “The time is running out / You better get ready now.”
32. “Tiwa’s Vibe” (2018)
Here, Tiwa Savage is in full boss mode — confident, carefree, and unapologetically living her best life. It’s a bold anthem for self-made women who refuse to settle or be limited.
“It’s an infectious fun song.” — Yewande, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “All of my girls dem bad, dem go kill somebody o.”
31. “One” (2018)
A confident, feel-good anthem, “One” has Tiwa Savage celebrating her wins and affirming her place among the best. It’s her reminder that when greatness is counted, her name belongs on the list.
“I like the boss-woman energy of the song.” — Funke, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Dorobucci.”
Standout lyrics: “Ododun la rorogbo.”
30. “Folarin” (2012)
On “Folarin,” Tiwa Savage sends a clear message to her critics — she’s here to stay. Confident and self-assured, she bets on her own talent and longevity in the music game.
“She’s talking to haters here. It’s one of the few songs I still go back to on her Once Upon A Time album.” — Nkechi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Omo Folarin / You dey blow my mind.”
29. “Informate” (with DJ Kaywise) (2017)
One of Tiwa Savage’s early artist-DJ collaborations, “Informate” is pure party energy — made for girls’ nights out, dancefloors, and carefree vibes.
“It’s how she layered her voice — like she was smiling while singing.” — Eniola, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “The way you need am, only me get / Chop am like tozo.”
28. “Park Well” (feat. Davido) (2020)
A lover’s quarrel turned into a smooth, romantic groove. “Park Well” thrives on the undeniable chemistry between Tiwa Savage and Davido. Their playful back-and-forth gives the song its irresistible charm.
“The song is slow and nice. Davido delivered with his feature too.” — Jonathan, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Park well and balance well for me.”
27. “Without My Heart” (feat. Don Jazzy) (2012)
A sultry, high-energy track built for late nights and flashing lights, “Without My Heart” blends pop, sex appeal, and rebellion. It marked Tiwa Savage’s bold step toward defining her sound within the Mavin era.
“You could tell she was carving out her own identity in Mavin. This was like a pop rebellion.” — Isi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Couple of drinks in me / Feeling a little tipsy / Turning on my sexy.”
26. “Standing Ovation” (feat. Olamide) (2015)
A vibrant, street-pop anthem, “Standing Ovation” sees Tiwa Savage and Olamide teaming up to get everyone on the dancefloor. It’s pure feel-good energy, showing off Tiwa’s versatility and her ability to blend seamlessly with any sound.
“That ‘Savage don’t play!’ energy was peak Mavin era confidence.” — Lade, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Anything wey dem do, dem no fit make me change formation.”
25. “One A Low” (feat. Skepta) (2025)
Tiwa Savage and Skepta turn up the heat on this smooth Afrobeat track, trading flirtatious verses and grown, sexy energy. It’s effortlessly stylish — the kind of song that feels intimate and cool.
“It’s smooth and groovy. I like the Skepta feature too.” — Sarah, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Lova Lova.”
Standout lyrics: “Lay in between the sheets in the low.”
24. “Key to the City” (Remix) (2015)
On this dancehall-galala banger, Tiwa Savage is in full command — confident, playful, and ready to light up the dancefloor. It’s a celebration of rhythm, swagger, and pure energy from start to finish.
“Bro, she’s flowing on this song. Just singing on a very bouncy track. It’s dance from the start to the end.” — Segun, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “The way I whine my body go less / All your friends must to confess / Get your body right, no rest.”
Unfiltered and unapologetic, “10%” finds Tiwa Savage exploring love, lust, and late-night temptations with sensual honesty. It’s smooth, sultry R&B — Tiwa at her most candid and confident.
“This is proper R&B. She’s just flowing on the beat and letting it breathe and rip.” — Bilal
Standout lyrics: “Mix the Hennessy with some other things / Playing Jodeci / Risky recipe.”
22. “Stamina” (feat. Ayra Starr & Young Jonn) (2023)
Sultry and addictive, “Stamina” sees Tiwa Savage leading a sensual exchange about desire and connection, joined by Ayra Starr and Young Jonn. It’s a perfect blend of chemistry and rhythm that bridges generations of Afrobeats.
“She is timeless. She blends with any genre and generation of artists.” — Dammy, a Tiwa Savage fan since “49-99.”
Standout lyrics: “Stamina stamina / You go need more stamina / Oya, raga momi na / Make I know say you cover me now.”
21. “Lova Lova” (feat. Duncan Mighty) (2018)
On “Lova Lova,” Tiwa Savage challenges her admirer to prove his love with action, not words. The playful back-and-forth with Duncan Mighty adds spice and chemistry, making it one of her most memorable duets.
“The chemistry here is unreal. One of her best.” — Oluwatobi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Give me love, no be and tell.”
20. “Loaded” (feat. Asake) (2022)
A bold, boastful anthem, “Loaded” has Tiwa Savage and Asake flexing their wealth, success, and star power. It’s pure swagger over a slick beat — proof that confidence never goes out of style.
“I have always loved Tiwa Savage. Asake is one of the new artists I just fell in love with. It’s well-produced and made intentionally. This is how collaborations should sound.” — Pelumi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “Omo oba, I dey for you if you dey for me.”
19. “Bad” (feat. Wizkid) (2016)
On “Bad,” Tiwa Savage and Wizkid bring unstoppable confidence, trading lines about power, success, and dominance. It’s a swagger-filled anthem that cements both stars as forces in Afrobeats.
“They’re a force on this song. They sound like trouble.” — Femi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “You can’t talk about my hustle / You make money, I make double.”
18. “Labalaba” (2018)
Playful and flirtatious, “Labalaba” finds Tiwa Savage in full Bad Girl mode — teasing, loving, and craving affection with her signature mix of charm and rhythm. It’s pure, feel-good Afrobeats energy.
“Bubblegum Afrobeats songs will always have my heart and bumbum. This song tops the list of my favourites.” — Nifemi, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “Labalaba, no dey do me anyhow / You dey make my body dey jolly.”
17. “Dangerous Love” (2020)
Soft, vulnerable, and irresistibly smooth, “Dangerous Love” captures Tiwa Savage caught between desire and doubt — a lover torn between falling deeply and protecting her heart.
“It’s a song that I personally relate to. I’m a lover girl. No one should toy with me, please.” — Moyo, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “I fit to love you tire / Are you really the one? / No go come tire for me / Make you no go turn yawa for me.”
16. “Temptation” (and Sam Smith) (2020)
A lush cross-continental duet, “Temptation” blends Tiwa Savage’s Afropop sensuality with Sam Smith’s soulful vulnerability. The result is a silky, irresistible song about surrendering to desire.
“They are two angelic voices singing about lust. I love it.” — Rita, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Without My Heart.”
Standout lyrics: “Sweet temptation got the better of me, baby.”
15. “Ma Lo” (feat. Wizkid & Spellz) (2017)
An Afropop classic dripping with chemistry, “Ma Lo” captures the electric pull between two lovers. Tiwa and Wizkid’s musical connection is magnetic — their voices dance around each other with effortless heat. It’s easily one of her top three collaborations.
“This is my favourite Tiwa Savage song.” — Ayo, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Ife Wa Gbona.”
Standout lyrics: “Ma lo, jo o / You give me love I never see oo.”
14. “All Over” (2017)
A perfect blend of romance and rhythm, “All Over” is Tiwa Savage in her element — sultry, confident, and irresistibly catchy. It’s a love-soaked anthem that ruled both dancefloors and hearts, cementing her status as the matriarch of Afrobeats.
“My friends and I had this on repeat that year.” — Teni, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Woju (Remix).”
Standout lyrics: “Na because of you wey I get goosebumps / All over, all over.”
13. “Celia’s Song” (2020)
Named after her mother and closing out her Celia album, this song feels like a prayer, a reflection, and a love letter all in one. Tiwa bares her soul — speaking to God and her mother in the same breath, balancing strength and fragility.
“Every time I hear it, it gets me emotional.” — Beatrice, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Can’t seem to get myself up out of my room / Be my leading light.”
12. “Emotions” (feat. Asa) (2024)
This is a stunning meeting of two musical icons, Tiwa Savage and Asa. They blend their voices in a soulful duet about love that aches but refuses to fade. With stripped-down production, the song lets their raw emotion take centre stage — a gentle storm of vulnerability and strength.
“These two are my favourite women in Nigerian music and this is definitely my favourite from them.” — Adesewa, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “Drown me in your emotions / Save all your love for me.”
11. “Ife Wa Gbona” (feat. Leo Wonder) (2013)
One of Tiwa Savage’s earliest hits, “Ife Wa Gbona,” beautifully blends Yoruba and English to celebrate a love that’s warm, deep, and full of passion. The chemistry between Tiwa and Leo Wonder makes it both timeless and tender — a perfect balance of romance and class.
“It’s romantic and classy.” — Yinka, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Oya, baby o, take my hands, let’s go.”
10. “Somebody’s Son” (feat. Brandy) (2021)
An instant classic, this song unites two powerhouse vocalists — Tiwa Savage and Brandy — to sing about love, faith, and the hope that “somebody’s son” will find them one day. It’s soulful, relatable, and empowering, especially for women who’ve loved and lost but still believe.
“This is her best R&B collaboration in my opinion.” — Jopelo, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Eminado.”
Standout lyrics: “Okan mi le, o le koko / San bi soni m’eran ni?”
9. “Olorun Mi” (2013)
“Olorun Mi” shows Tiwa Savage at her most emotional and soulful. Dedicated to lost loved ones, it’s both a prayer and a tribute. Over tender piano melodies and delicate percussion, Tiwa’s voice glides between sorrow and hope, offering comfort through faith.
“It’s one of her most heartfelt performances.” — Caleb, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “When you take all the ones we love / We’ll carry on and it won’t be long.”
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8. “Wanted” (2014)
Here, Tiwa Savage gets raw and fearless, making a bold declaration of independence and sexual freedom. The song was a daring shift from convention — honest, confident, and powerfully self-assured.
“I like it because it challenged societal norms back when people couldn’t fully express themselves. The sound was so different, and it gave me this bold, liberating feeling that really stood out from everything else at the time.” — Tiana, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “By the way nothing you fit do / Said by the way nothing you fit do / Cause by the way I’m better than you / That’s why I’m wanted.”
7. “If I Start to Talk” (feat. Dr Sid) (2016)
This is a jam of gratitude, resilience, and triumph. Tiwa Savage and Dr Sid reflect on perseverance and blessings, transforming struggle into a soulful celebration. It’s that moment when praise meets groove.
“It’s for anyone who’s ever had to smile through struggle. That ‘God no go shame us’ energy.” — Wale, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Love Me 3x.”
Standout lyrics: “If I start to talk, the thing wey Baba God E don do / E no go end / My sister, e no end.”
6. “Eminado” (feat. Don Jazzy) (2013)
One of Tiwa Savage’s signature tracks and a defining collaboration with Don Jazzy, “Eminado” radiates warmth, joy, and feel-good energy. It’s the kind of love song that instantly lifts moods — smooth vocals, catchy rhythm, and Don Jazzy’s unmistakable production magic.
“This is her best song, and it’s on a Don Jazzy production. Goated.” — Sammy, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Open the, open the door / I’ll leave you begging for more.”
5. “My Darlin” (2014)
“My Darlin” remains one of Tiwa Savage’s most beloved love songs — a perfect blend of Afropop, highlife, and heartfelt emotion. She sings about a tender, pure, and everlasting love, carried by her silky vocals and infectious rhythm. It’s a timeless wedding and celebration anthem.
“This is her first song I heard. I don’t know if nostalgia plays here, but I’ve come to love it above others I thought I liked more.” — Yusuf, a Tiwa Savage fan since “My Darlin.”
Standout lyrics: “Alaroka won gbadun / Oloruka mi a gbadun.”
4. “49-99” (2019)
This song tackles Nigeria’s wealth inequality with sharp lyricism and confidence. The title, “49-99,” is a nod to Fela Kuti’s phrase describing the country’s working-class struggle — “49 sitting, 99 standing.” Tiwa Savage flips that social commentary into a bold, fashion-forward anthem that moves both body and mind.
“She made a song about economic struggle sound like a catwalk anthem. Only Tiwa could do that.” — Ikenna, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Wanted.”
Standout lyrics: “Monkey no get skills / Igi sumo’gi / L’obo fiyan / I thank you Lord.”
3. “Koroba” (2020)
Playful but sharp, “Koroba” takes aim at society’s double standards — especially how women are judged for wanting the same luxury and ease men openly pursue. Tiwa Savage wraps her critique in catchy melodies and wit, proving you can dance and still think.
“She basically said, ‘Don’t hate the game if you’re also playing.’ She uses her voice more than people give her credit for.” — Zainab, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Who no like enjoyment? / If money dey for pocket.”
2. “Love Me (3x)” (2011)
An Afropop gem that perfectly captures Tiwa Savage’s early charm — smooth, flirty, and irresistibly catchy. The song fuses her R&B background with Nigerian pop rhythms, creating a timeless romantic anthem that still feels fresh today.
“Her voice in this era is incredible. You could hear the R&B training shine through.” — Victor, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “Love me, love me, love me, love me baby / Touch me, touch me, touch me, touch me baby.”
1. “Kele Kele Love” (2010)
Tiwa Savage’s official debut single — the one that launched her into the spotlight. A bold anthem about self-worth and setting boundaries in love, “Kele Kele Love” announced her as a confident, stylish voice who could blend pop, R&B, and Afrobeats effortlessly.
“This was the moment I realised that women in Afrobeats could sing about standards and still make it a hit.” — Imade, a Tiwa Savage fan since “Kele Kele Love.”
Standout lyrics: “I no do kele kele love, no kele kele love oooh / Ma semi lease baby ooo.”
If you’ve spent more time scrolling through Netflix than actually watching something, we get it — choosing a Nollywood movie these days feels like another full-time job. Luckily, we’ve done the hard work for you.
From chaotic love stories to tear-jerking family dramas and laugh-out-loud comedies, Netflix is packed with gems that remind us why Nollywood stays undefeated.
At nearly three hours long, King of Boys is as ambitious as its protagonist. The film follows Eniola Salami (Sola Sobowale), a formidable businesswoman and political power broker whose public influence is matched only by her ruthless control of Lagos’s criminal underworld.
When her pursuit of legitimacy collides with the violent realities of the empire she built, she’s forced to navigate betrayal, loss, and the high price of power in a man’s world.
Directed by Kemi Adetiba, King of Boys is a sprawling narrative about ambition and survival.
Ashabi (Toyin Abraham) was once the adored daughter of a powerful Pentecostal pastor — until a scandal exiled her from the pulpit’s glow to society’s shadows. Years later, she returns transformed, a stripper with fire in her eyes and vengeance on her mind.
Her target: Pastor (Kunle Remi), her father’s protégé and the congregation’s saintly idol, whose charm masks moral decay.
What follows is a glossy, slow-burning drama of temptation and revenge, where faith becomes theatre and desire a weapon. Adebayo Tijani stages his story with the heightened energy of a moral thriller — all neon lights, whispered confessions, and the irresistible pull of sin.
When Tunji (Emeka Nwagbaraocha) “borrows” his uncle’s prized car for a quick joyride, he and his friends imagine a night of freedom and fun. Instead, they crash headlong into chaos.
With the car wrecked and the clock ticking before Uncle Taju (Jide Kosoko) returns, the boys have just five hours to scrape together a miracle — or face certain doom.
Kasala! is a fast-paced, sun-drenched Lagos adventure that captures the restlessness and resilience of youth.
93 Days is a gripping, deeply human retelling of Nigeria’s 2014 Ebola crisis — a moment when courage, sacrifice, and science collided to save an entire nation. At its heart is Dr. Ameyo Adadevoh (Bimbo Akintola), whose quick action and moral clarity contained the outbreak before it could devastate Lagos.
Director Steve Gukas builds the tension like a medical thriller, but the story’s power lies in its realism: the exhaustion in hospital corridors, the quiet fear behind each mask, and the defiance of ordinary people facing the unthinkable.
In Love Is War, Omoni Oboli turns the domestic into the political — and back again — with striking precision.
She stars opposite Richard Mofe-Damijo as a married couple whose playful argument about ambition snowballs into a real-life political contest. Both decide to run for governor, and suddenly campaign posters replace family portraits.
What begins as marital mischief quickly becomes a referendum on ego, loyalty, and the fragile balance between love and power. Every campaign scene brims with subtext — debates sound like couples’ therapy sessions, and private arguments spill into public view.
In The Wildflower, Biodun Stephen turns an ordinary compound into a crucible of gender, power, and survival. Three women live side by side — Rolake (Damilare Kuku), harassed at work; Mama Adaolisa (Toyin Abraham), trapped in a violent marriage; and her daughter, Adaolisa (Sandra Okunzuwa), coming of age in a world that teaches fear as self-preservation.
Their stories unfold in quiet, parallel beats until one act of resistance shatters the routine. Rolake’s decision to fight back becomes the spark that binds them all, forcing silence to give way to reckoning.
In Man of God, Bolanle Austen-Peters examines the uneasy marriage between faith and ambition through the life of Samuel Obalolu (Akah Nnani), the rebellious son of a fire-and-brimstone pastor.
Raised under the weight of piety and punishment, Samuel flees home in search of freedom — and finds it in the seductive mix of music, romance, and reckless independence that university life promises.
But the rebellion that once felt like salvation curdles into something more complicated. Years later, Samuel reemerges as a charismatic preacher, adored by his congregation and haunted by his past.
Bunmi Ajakaiye’s Glamour Girls, a reimagining of the 1994 cult classic, dives headfirst into the seductive chaos of Lagos’s elite nightlife — a world where money buys access, but never safety.
At its centre is Emma (Sharon Ooja-Nwoke), a young woman whose sudden job loss pushes her from the strip club to the penthouse, from survival to spectacle.
The film unravels in glitter and shadows, charting Emma’s transformation as she joins a circle of high-end escorts orbiting the city’s most powerful men. Every encounter feels like a transaction, every promise a trap.
Kayode Kasum’s Sugar Rush takes the classic heist caper and gives it a deliriously Nigerian spin — loud, fast, and unapologetically over the top.
When three sisters (Adesua Etomi-Wellington, Bimbo Ademoye, and Bisola Aiyeola) stumble upon $800,000 at a crime scene, their impulsive decision to keep it sets off a chain reaction of chaos.
What follows is a riotous sprint through Lagos’s underworld, where corrupt agents, gangsters, and the supernatural all collide in the pursuit of misplaced money.
Beneath the laughter, Sugar Rush plays like a satire of greed and luck — a reminder that in Nigeria, even miracles come with small print.
At once boisterous and heartfelt, Ada Omo Daddy unfolds within the joyful pandemonium of a Nigerian wedding — where music, money, and emotion all compete for attention.
Pero (Omowunmi Dada) is preparing to marry the love of her life, Victor (Tayo Faniran), when her long-estranged biological father (Charles Okafor) reappears, threatening to upend years of delicate family equilibrium.
Ada Omo Daddy is both spectacle and study — a vibrant meditation on love, forgiveness, and the complicated choreography of family.
Two years after Tequila Ever After, Adekunle Gold returns with his sixth album. Titled FUJI, it is his first release in full embrace of Fuji, a genre of Yoruba music birthed in the late 1960s, which he reveals is what he’s “meant to do.” It’s the first album he’s drawing attention to his royal heritage of the Kosoko kingdom.
He digs into his family history. In homage to his forebearers, he returns to the palace and bows to pay respect to his king, the custodian of his ancestry. The throne accepts him like a true prince. Drummers with quick hands and tongues for chants and eulogy put him in a groove with their rhythms. All these are documented as part of the album rollout.
Two minutes and twenty-four seconds short of a forty-minute listening time, this 15-track-long album opens impressively. It begins with a sample from Sakara musician Lefty Salami’s Oloye Eko album, which honours King Kosoko from the 1950s. The sample rings out: “Omo Oba ki jagun bi eru…T’Oba Oluwa lase”—meaning “a prince doesn’t fight wars like slaves…the will of God, the Supreme King, is final.” Then it fades into Adekunle Gold switching flows and singing of his transition from nothing to great. A peasant-prince now wines and dines with elites. A small fry now disturbs the deep blue sea. Hence, his new sobriquet “Big Fish” is also the title of the opening track.
He has wanted these moments all his life: magazine covers draped in gold, front row seats at international fashion shows. Although his politics have never been a public discourse, it tickles the ears to hear him sing specifically that he has never collected “Bourdillion (Tinubu’s) money.” He made his bones without a handout from any politician. His success did that for him. In realisation of that, and that success attracts success and so does influence, he emphatically rebukes, “I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go / I don’t wanna go back to poverty.” It’s money in Adekunle’s line of sight. And there’s no better way to keep cash flow than to innovate or creatively captivate what’s currently popular.
Fuji has always influenced contemporary Nigerian music, dating back to LKT, and has had a particularly significant impact in the last four years. It’s the tail of 2025, and Adekunle Gold joins a growing roster of artists hybridising the culture and sound. Though his songwriting and sound gestures to a fusion of Afropop, Tungba, R&B and Amapiano, not Fuji in a purist’s approach or the neo-Fuji that’s common with the likes of LKT, Dekunle Fuji, Small Doctor, Olamide, Reminisce, Asake and Seyi Vibez. The look he presents, as seen on his curtain-call album art, is urban and gives no specific nod to Fuji. But a man can style himself as he likes, though on a closer look, it’s a vestige of his Mexican misadventure.
“Don Corleone” is the second track, featuring shimming and repetitive ad-libs, as well as backup vocals from his wife, Simi. Like every non-Sicilian artist who has referenced Don Vito Corleone to project their strict and ruthless-when-necessary side in their music, Adekunle Gold likens himself to Mario Puzo’s classic The Godfather character. But don’t fret — AG Baby, as fondly called, still wants you to dance…though only if you’re a spender.
With a tweak that encourages diligence and patience, “Bobo” continues his narrative that you’re noticed only if you’re rich, with features that carry emo-pop and street-pop sensibilities from Lojay and Shoday. “Coco Money” follows and plainly advises to stay out of his sight if money isn’t involved.
Now, love is in the air. “Believe”, the track that follows, is a serenade of a promising love, much like Bill Withers and Grover Washington Jr.’s “Just The Two of Us” (1980) — the song it samples. Here, he’s a young lover trying to keep his love youthful. Next, on “My Love Is The Same,” themes of family and sacrifice roll into a moment of fatherhood with his daughter, Adejare. He apologises for not being around to spend time together as much as he’d have loved to.
The music switches back to prospective love in the 6lack-featured “Love Is An Action”, a title that reiterates the message of the sampled song, “What You Won’t Do For Love” (1978) by Bobby Caldwell.
With the dots of American samples and Hollywood references on the album, followed by “Many People”, a Tungba-pop track that directly borrows from veteran Tungba-Gospel artist Yinka Ayefele’s song of the same title, the Fuji is yet to kick in. “Attack” with TkayMaidza, Cruel Santino, Mavo, the new generation lamba maestro, launches straight to a neon-light party where girls bring their friends to mingle. If anything, this song gives the youngsters more visibility than it reinvents Adekunle Gold.
“Only God Can Save Me”, featuring Davido, finds rhythm in Amapiano and throws the two married singers into a confession and temptation with infidelity.
Ten tracks in, it’s clear that the signalled Fuji is largely missing from the album’s sound, neither in the sample nor in the choice of featured artists. Instead, it vaguely hangs in his voice, tickling mostly the delivery of his choruses.
Adekunle Gold says the album’s title carries a deeper meaning. “Fuji is bigger than music. It is Lagos, it’s street royalty, it’s our story, our hustle, our heritage turned global.” All these are valid, except for limiting Fuji to Lagos, but his album is nothing like the music and culture. It only pays tribute to the genre in name, not in approach, style, or sonic appeal. Presenting a certain thing and offering something entirely different is a spineless appropriation.
This creates a fascinating cultural conundrum, especially now that African music genres move so fluidly around the world. If the name Fuji is used willfully, without an accurate context, won’t that enable listeners outside the culture to incorrectly assume the music is something else, rather than the existing, better-known Fuji genre?
Siriku “Barrister” Ayinde, the progenitor of Fuji music, blended Were, Sakara, Juju, Apala, Aro, Gudugudu and possibly Highlife to create the sound. If this is the route Adekunle Gold is taking with Pop, R&B, Tungba and Amapiano, perhaps he should call it something different.
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Anyway, the Afropop grooves on, but the eleventh track, “Lailo”, isn’t spectacular. It’s a reiteration of every saccharine lyric about love that you’ve heard from Adekunle since his magnum opus Afropop Vol. 1. On the soul-stirring “Simile”, which he wrote in 2019 after his father’s demise, he searches for an anchor to rest on, unwilling to be swept away by life’s fleeting tides. On this track, he brings back his band, 79th Element, and grabs assistance from Soweto Gospel Choir.
In less than six minutes before he takes the final bow and drops the curtain on the album, “I’m Not Done”, with American pianist Robert Glasper touches on tenacity and longevity. “Obimo” ends the album. You can call it a bonus track.
FUJI has been lauded by many as his best since Afropop Vol. 1, if not the top contender. But here’s an irony worth considering, as writer Ojo O observed in a recent Substack discussion: nothing on this Fuji-themed album is a strong option if brought next to Dammy Krane’s “Faleela”, or Seyi Vibez’s “Fuji Interlude”, or Falz’s “No Less.” Adekunle Gold did not refine the Juju-Tungba sound that came to him instinctively before grafting to a global sound. The result is a loss of musical grounding. He no longer has a centre to perform from with conviction, and his global experiments haven’t been as creatively rewarding as he often claims.
Afropop Vol. 1 is a critical success because he took time to bring the listeners into his pop world-building. Ten singles in, and the audience was aware he was making a switch from the folksy sound.
Post-Afropop, he began moving very fast, and the audience began to take the backseat. Adekunle Gold doesn’t give listeners enough time to love what he’s become before he splits himself into another thing.
But maybe winning takes care of everything.
Don’t get me wrong: six studio albums into a decade-long mainstream career is a serious discipline that deserves applause and more. And there’s no doubt that this is an enjoyable project that outranks many so far this year, in terms of quality and its flamboyant rollout. But FUJI, just like his last two albums, forces the audience to accept a new idea without proper preparation, and lacks the authenticity that allows them to bond with the artist and the body of work.
However, this is the new Adekunle. He’s not a Fuji artist, just a man, or a prince if you’d like, who has loved Fuji since juvenile — and is interpreting it the best way he can.
Score: 6.5
Editor’s note (October 10, 2025): Editor’s note: A previous version of this story included phrasing similar to a Substack comment by Ojo O. The piece has been updated to include proper credit. We remain committed to maintaining accurate attributions in our documentation.
Every season of Big Brother Naija ends the same way. One winner takes home the grand prize, and a few others take home a fanbase, brand deals, and fame that sometimes outlast the money. Because truthfully, the show has never been just about the cash prize. It’s also about visibility, personality, and the power of connection.
This piece spotlights 12 “10/10” housemates who are slowly becoming popular names even without the grand prize.
From the fan favourites who carried their seasons to the underdogs who turned moments into movements, these are the housemates who won in other ways that mattered…mostly.
From her first week in the Big Brother Naija house, Isabella became impossible to ignore. Her confidence, openness about attraction, and easy charm made her a standout among housemates — and a talking point for viewers.
During her time in the house, she spoke candidly about how both men and women found her attractive, a statement that sparked conversations online about her sexuality and self-assuredness.
Before the show, Isabella had already been creating sexy content online, but BBNaija gave her a new level of visibility. Since leaving the house, she’s seen a surge in followers — now over 306,000 on Instagram — and growing interest in her content. Despite the noise and occasional controversy, Isabella has managed to turn attention into opportunity, proving that she understands the power of owning her narrative.
Sultana didn’t come to the Big Brother Naija house to play nice — and she didn’t pretend to. Loud, bold, and sometimes ruthless, she quickly earned a reputation as one of the season’s most talked-about housemates. From heated confrontations to viral moments (yes, even the one with Dede’s box), Sultana’s time in the house was anything but quiet.
But beyond the drama, she made history as the first Northerner to reach the final week of the show. She owned her narrative — flaws, fights, and all — and turned it into a movement. Despite being polarising, she left the house with Arewa’s backing and a loyal fanbase that saw her as proof that Northern women can be bold, unfiltered, and fully themselves on national TV.
Mide didn’t make it to the finale, but she left the Big Brother Naija house with something just as valuable — a genuine friendship. Her bond with Dede became one of the most wholesome relationships of the season, a rare display of sisterhood in a house often defined by rivalry and tension.
Together, they shared laughs, late-night talks, and quiet support that fans quickly fell in love with. Even after leaving the house, their friendship has continued to thrive, reminding viewers that sometimes the real win isn’t the prize money — it’s the people you find along the way.
Faith made a name for himself as the season’s hothead and ultimate disruptor — the housemate who kept everyone talking. His fiery temper eventually led to his disqualification, but not before he snagged some serious wins.
During his time in the Big Brother Naija house, Faith won an Innoson car from a brand task. Despite rumours that the prizes would be withdrawn after his exit, the show’s production confirmed he’ll be keeping them both. Love him or hate him, Faith proved that even chaos can pay off.
Kola might not have won the grand prize, but he left the Big Brother Naija house with one of the most genuine connections of the season — his friendship with Imisi, the show’s overall winner.
From inside jokes to emotional support, their bond became one of the season’s most endearing storylines. Fans rooted for them both inside and outside the house, proving that sometimes, the real win isn’t the title — it’s finding someone who makes the chaos worth it.
Someone won the cash prize. Some won the brand tasks. But Doris? She won Denari. Their connection in the Big Brother Naija house had viewers glued to their screens, from flirty banter to late-night heart-to-hearts.
Now that they’re out of the house, fans — a.k.a. the “shippers” — are already calling dibs on Aso-Ebi. Whether it ends in a wedding or just good vibes, Doris definitely didn’t leave the house empty-handed.
A few weeks into the Big Brother Naija house, Bright Morgan fell head over heels for Mide — leaving his then-girlfriend stranded outside. The drama didn’t end there. His jilted ex, who also doubled as his social media manager, tried to sabotage his chances of winning and get him evicted.
Still, Bright left the house with Mide by his side — and that, for him, might just be the biggest win of all.
Rooboy, the energetic hypeman and media personality, brought his signature vibe into the Big Brother Naija house — and viewers loved it. Since leaving the show, his follower count has shot past 100,000, giving his brand a major boost. With his charisma and crowd energy, Rooboy is already turning reality TV fame into real-life opportunities.
Big Soso didn’t just make waves in Biggie’s house — she made headlines. Known for her fiery temper and loud personality, she constantly defended the guys she fondly called her “younger brothers,” Jason Jae and Koyin.
Her loyalty to them even sparked one of the season’s biggest fights, when she clashed with Dede for calling them “fish.” Love her or hate her, Big Soso stood her ground and built a solid fanbase for being unapologetically protective.
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Thelma may not have snagged the ₦120 million, but she left the Big Brother Naija house with something just as valuable — free PR. Her beauty supply brand, Bellissimo, got massive visibility during and after the show.
Between her glam looks and soft-sell marketing skills, Thelma turned the house into a billboard and came out with her business glowing.
Koyin went into the Big Brother Naija house ready to compete, but somewhere between the tasks and Saturday parties, he caught feelings — or something close to it.
His chemistry with Isabella kept viewers talking and shippers working overtime. Whether it’s real or just Big Brother magic, one thing’s for sure: the “KoyBella” ship has already set sail. Shippers, get your Aso-Ebi ready.
Tracy left behind a stable job to chase something bigger — visibility, adventure, and maybe a new career. Her bold move paid off.
Since leaving the Big Brother Naija house, she’s talked about landing her first acting role, proving that sometimes, leaving a 9-to-5 is exactly how you find your spotlight.
On October 2, 2025—three days before the Season 10 finale—Big Brother Naija disqualified housemate Faith Adewale for physically assaulting fellow contestant Sultana. The confrontation erupted during a task rehearsal, when Faith yanked a basket from Sultana’s hands. She lost her balance, twisted an ankle, and injured her wrist. Within hours, Big Brother convened an emergency meeting, replayed the footage, and ordered Faith to leave.
This was not his first clash. Throughout the season, Faith had been involved in multiple altercations, yet only now did the show’s “zero tolerance” policy kick in. His expulsion was framed as decisive—but it also underlined a deeper problem: Big Brother Naija’s inconsistent enforcement of its own rules.
A Pattern That Repeats
The Faith incident is only the latest in a series of boundary violations this season. In the early days of the show, for at least an hour, Rooboy barred Imisi from moving and was physically aggressive with her. He wasn’t reprimanded. Faith himself had engaged in repeated confrontations with other housemates, without sanction. Imisi said Faith once threw her box away.
These aren’t isolated blowups. They reveal a house culture where physical and emotional boundaries are often ignored, reframed as “drama,” and only sometimes punished—usually when the optics become impossible to manage.
History shows the inconsistency. In 2019, Tacha Akide was disqualified after a fight with Mercy Eke involving shoving and hair-pulling. Mercy received a strike. But the fight between the ladies had been brewing for weeks and had been aggressive. In 2020, Erica Nlewedim was disqualified after repeated misconduct. In Season 7, Beauty Tukura was expelled after a series of aggressive outbursts. This season, Big Soso had an outburst where she used sexist derogatory words at Dede. She remained in the house until she was eventually evicted.
The rulebook—strikes, warnings, disqualifications—exists. But enforcement has been reactive, often coming only after fan outrage or escalating violence. Lesser violations; invasion of personal space, emotional abuse, and obvious provocations frequently pass with little more than a warning or post-eviction commentary.
Why this unevenness? Because conflict is the currency of reality TV. Producers know drama spikes engagement: social media clips trend, commentary proliferates, and ratings rise. Viewers may complain about toxicity, but they also tune in for the spectacle.
This is particularly important for a show that has struggled to retain viewership.
In recent years, Big Brother Naija’s cultural dominance has shown signs of fatigue. Critics argue the format is predictable, the novelty diminished. In response, producers have raised prize money, added surprise twists, and leaned harder into controversy. Faith’s disqualification, for all its severity, also generated the show’s loudest online discourse in weeks. The incentive is clear.
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What’s at Stake?
The risk is that, in chasing virality, the show normalises behaviour it claims to prohibit. Unwanted touching is reframed as playful; harassment is tolerated until it escalates; physical altercations are allowed to simmer until they explode on camera. Emotional abuse is the bread and water of housemates.
The lesson to housemates is that boundaries are flexible, and the lesson to viewers is that transgression is entertainment.
At its best, Big Brother Naija is a cultural mirror, dramatising the tensions of contemporary Nigeria—class, gender, ambition, intimacy. But its failure to enforce consent and safety undermines that potential. Drama may sell, but dignity cannot be optional.
What the Faith incident shows is not just one man’s aggression, but a system willing to gamble with boundaries for views. That bargain, season after season, is looking increasingly untenable.
For many young creators, the internet isn’t just a pastime anymore; it’s a stage. It offers visibility, connection, and sometimes, the chance to turn talent into livelihood. From singing covers to dance challenges, the digital space has become the launchpad for a new generation of stars. But what happens when you step online? Everything shifts in ways you never planned.
In this story, we trace the journey of Agnes Bada, whose playful experiment with content cracked open doors she didn’t even know existed, changing how she saw herself and her future.
This is Agnes Bada’s story as told to Marv.
Growing up, music was the air I breathed. My siblings could sing, and we all did in one way or another. But I carried it differently with an intensity and a seriousness that showed it was more than just play.
By 2018, I had started recording covers and sharing them on Instagram, offering little pieces of myself to the world.
Comedy, on the other hand, wasn’t something that happened by chance. My brother had dabbled in it before, making Sidney Talker–style skits. Sometimes we’d sit together, tossing ideas back and forth. I didn’t know it then, but that experience left me with a quiet reserve of knowledge, something stored away, waiting for the right moment.
That moment came in 2020.
I had fallen sick, too weak to keep up my routine. Normally, I posted covers back-to-back: sometimes daily, sometimes with small breaks when school or other responsibilities got in the way. But during that stretch of illness, two or three weeks slipped by without a single post. The silence unsettled me. I felt restless, as if my relevance was slipping through my fingers.
Still weak but determined, I told myself, “I need to put something out.” Singing the way I usually did wasn’t possible, so I reached for something lighter. I set up my camera, balancing my phone on a stack of books and buckets. And instead of pushing my voice, I got playful with it.
I didn’t plan it. It was instinct. I leaned into the silliness and hit record. That video became my first comedy-music skit. Nervous about how it would be received, I told myself, “Let me post this where nobody will see it.” Instead of Instagram, I tried TikTok for the first time.
Within hours, it exploded. Overnight, I gained over 1,000 followers, more than I even had on Instagram at the time. Phone calls and DMs poured in from friends: “Have you seen this? Your video has blown up!” It was overwhelming.
The comments were filled with encouragement, yet inside, I struggled. Sharing that goofy side of myself with the public didn’t come easily.
So I stopped posting. I didn’t want to be seen as a clown. I wanted to be the “fine music babe,” not a comedian. But the video had already escaped me. People were reposting it on Facebook, on Instagram, everywhere. And with each share, more eyes turned toward me. A door had opened, one I hadn’t been planning to step through.
Until then, I was the girl who sang at events, keeping things low-key and living privately. But TikTok pulled me into the public eye. And even though I resisted, my parents, especially my mum, urged me on: “Keep posting. Don’t stop.”
So I kept going. The first viral video was followed by another that didn’t do as well, then another that caught fire again. Slowly, I began to post on Instagram too, encouraged by friends who believed in me more than I believed in myself. Their faith gave me the courage to embrace the side of me I had once hidden.
Of course, not every moment was smooth. When some videos didn’t hit the way the first did, doubt crept in. I felt the pressure of expectation, the fear that people might get tired. I asked myself constantly what was next and what fresh things I could add. In the end, I decided to keep moving, trusting that new ideas would come as they always did.
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The consistency paid off. My audience grew to over 300,000 followers. And with that came changes in real life. Strangers began to recognise me at the market or on the street. For someone introverted like me, it was unsettling. Sometimes I just wanted to shop in peace, but people approached with smiles and excitement. Slowly, I learned to accept it, even if deep down I preferred to go by unnoticed.
By early 2024, the shift became undeniable. Artists began reaching out, asking me to promote their songs. That was when I realised: this wasn’t just content anymore. It was work and a career. My brother stepped in like a manager, handling the business side, while I sought out mentors who taught me how not to be cheated. For the first time, I began to see myself as a brand, to recognise the value of my craft, and to accept just how much people truly loved what I did.
Then came collaborations. Content creators I had admired from a distance reached out. One of the biggest moments for me was when Josh2Funny got involved. People had been tagging him under my videos, insisting we had to work together. Eventually, he reposted one of my skits and then reached out.
Meeting him in person was surreal. We recorded together, and he handled everything — logistics, feeding, and accommodation. It was from that experience that I learned that I have value and I could stand in those rooms and belong. Since our first content together, we have made many more.
In the last year that I started to enjoy a lot of visibility, I have learned a lot about the business. But the one I wish I knew early was that I could be the one to initiate things. I thought you had to wait for people to find you.
This has been an unplanned journey, but one that I’ve learned to embrace, from my first skit filmed on a sick day with a phone balanced on buckets, to collaborations with creators I grew up admiring, to building a community of hundreds of thousands of followers.
This is only the beginning and the time to get bullish.
Finding a good Nollywood movie on YouTube can feel like searching for a needle in a haystack. With thousands of movies scattered across the platform, the experience can feel overwhelming—an endless scroll of dramas, comedies, and thrillers of varying quality.
This October, we’ve sifted through the clutter to highlight 10 standout films that capture the range of Nollywood storytelling. From tender family dramas to nuanced explorations of love and resilience, these are the titles that make a night in feel like an event.
Sharon (Bolaji Ogunmola) returns from abroad with little more than pride to her name, only to be swept off her feet by Alex (Benjamin Effiong), a man with a Mercedes and the manners of a perfect suitor. The spell breaks quickly. Back at home, Sharon discovers Alex is no mysterious saviour but the son of her mother’s friend—and that the flashy car he flaunted was never his, but hers.
Embarrassed and angry, she vows to keep her distance. But in the claustrophobic closeness of shared living space, disdain begins to fray. What emerges is a slow-burning romance, fueled by sharp exchanges, lingering stares, and the thin line between irritation and desire.
Innocent (Maurice Sam) fancies himself clever, juggling his marriage with Chioma (Sonia Uche) while pursuing an affair with Sonia (Pamela Okoye). To mask his infidelity, he stores his mistress’s number under “Mechanic,” certain he has outwitted suspicion.
But a single misstep—a phone call at the wrong moment—collapses his carefully constructed façade. What follows is less a scandal than a reckoning, as Chioma’s intuition hardens into clarity. The film charts her slow but steady confrontation with betrayal, asking whether love is enough to salvage a broken union, or if self-preservation demands she walk away.
Folarin (Uzor Arukwe) is a fixture of Lagos nightlife, a man who thrives on parties and fleeting pleasures. But when the mother of his child dies unexpectedly, he is forced into a role he has long resisted: father to a daughter he barely knows.
The film traces his uneasy transition from recklessness to responsibility, asking what it truly means to grow up. Finding My Way does not romanticise the journey; instead, it confronts the pain of neglect, the weight of accountability, and the difficult, often unglamorous work of becoming the parent a child deserves.
At its core, Insurance Company is a portrait of longing and consequence. Bernadine (Lilian Esoro), a young wife pursuing a master’s degree abroad, falls into a passionate affair with Taye (Nonso Bassey). What begins as escape soon grows into something harder to erase.
Back in Nigeria, she returns to her husband, Samuel (Deza the Great), and the life she has built. But secrets do not stay buried for long. As the affair edges into the open, the film explores the cost of desire when weighed against duty, tradition and the fragile architecture of marriage.
On screen, their connection is electric. Off-screen, it becomes something more. Jidenna (Peter Komba), an actor on the rise, meets Chioma (Angel Unigwe) during filming, and what begins as scripted chemistry deepens into real affection.
But their love story soon collides with a more rigid script: Chioma’s mother (Chioma Nwosu), whose disapproval casts a long shadow over their happiness. Beyond the Cloud frames young love against the weight of parental expectations, asking whether passion can endure when family sees only warning signs.
Oby (Bamike “Bambam” Olawunmi-Adenibuyan) has lived her adult life by a vow she and her childhood friends once made: never depend on men, never repeat the mistakes of their mothers. While those friends gradually softened into more traditional roles, Oby doubled down, carving out a career as a feminist advocate and unapologetic voice for women’s autonomy.
Then comes Ejike (Bobby Ekpe), a man who upends her assumptions by being everything she didn’t expect—steady, patient, quietly attentive. Their growing connection forces Oby to reckon with the tension between her hard-won ideals and the disarming possibility of love that doesn’t diminish, but expands, her freedom.
Sarah (Chisom Okoye), a gifted hairstylist with a flair for fabrication, tells one small lie that snowballs into a spectacle: she claims on social media that Michgold (Uti Nwachukwu), a handsome but typecast actor, is her boyfriend. The post goes viral, reshaping both their lives.
For Michgold, the rumour becomes a reinvention, recasting him in the public imagination and reviving his career. For Sarah, it’s an unexpected gateway to fame and influence. But as performance bleeds into reality, the fragile arrangement is threatened by a rival intent on exposing the ruse—and staking her own claim on Michgold’s heart.
Tamara (Ekama Etim-Inyang) is balancing a busy life—career, friendships, and her faith—when she’s pulled into an unusual assignment: coaching Tosin (Eso Dike), a principled headteacher more devoted to scripture than to dating, on how to become “romantically eligible.” Their pastor, it seems, thinks a little guidance might soften Tosin’s edges.
What begins with awkward tutorials slowly evolves into something richer: a meditation on love, vulnerability, and the courage to let belief and desire coexist. To Love and Kabash frames romance not as a contradiction of faith, but as another form of it.
Tobi (Taye Arimoro), a hustler with quick wit and little to lose, discovers a wealthy man who looks exactly like him. When fate offers a chance to trade places, he seizes the opportunity, imagining a life cushioned by privilege.
But what begins as an escape turns into entanglement. For three months, Tobi inhabits a world of secrets, betrayals and blurred loyalties, where every slip risks exposure. Twin Deception plays like a parable on ambition and identity, asking what is gained—and what is lost—when you gamble with someone else’s life.
Idris (Qwasi Blay) is a man determined to bend marriage to his will, demanding loyalty from his wife, Jolene (Onyii Alex), even as he pursues other women. When she resists, he delivers an ultimatum: accept an open marriage or face divorce. But their fragile union is further shattered after a violent robbery leaves Jolene traumatised.
Rather than offering comfort, Idris turns her suffering into a weapon, shaming her and exploiting her pain. Bolaji and the Man’s Wife is a stark portrait of cruelty and control, tracing Jolene’s struggle against a collapsing marriage, her husband’s manipulations, and the suffocating weight of faith and family expectation.
