Ever since I started trying out Indian curries in 2022, I don’t know how I’d lived my life on only Sunday rice and stew all those years.
Indian curries are sauces made with traditional Indian spices like garam masala, a combination of spices like dried pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg, coriander and a mix of other dried herbs. And it can be cooked with meat, tofu or vegetables.
Now, I want to show you the light. On a ₦10k budget, Here’s a list of spicy Indian curries to try the next time you visit an Asian-styled restaurant like Indigo in Lagos or one with Indian options on the menu like Cilantro in Lagos or Abuja..
If you haven’t tried any curry before, go with this guy. It’s the curry that initiated me into ditching tomato stew. Kadai lamb is a tomato-based curry, so it’s like eating a version of stew that isn’t as spicy. But it’s just as tasty. There was coriander, chopped tomatoes, bell peppers and onions. And that tender lamb shredded into the sauce.
Once you’ve tasted lamb in a sauce for the first time, there’s no turning back. After kadai lamb curry, Lamb rogan josh was the next curry I tried. It has more pepper and onions as the base and is a lot creamier because it has yoghurt in it. I don’t love the creamy coconut taste too much and that’s the main ingredient, but the spicy lamb meat more than makes up for that.
Chicken chettinad is really spicy and packed with ginger and garlic flavours. And like the rogan josh, coconut is a main ingredient in the sauce. Some restaurants like Cilantro serve it with chopped tomatoes, onions and bell peppers.
Unlike the thickness of chettinad and rogan josh, with the goan fish curry, you get a much lighter coconut sauce. It goes without saying that to love curry, you have to be okay with the sweet and spicy taste of coconut and tomato-based sauce. But the goan fish curry also has some sour notes to it. Maybe it’s just me, or it could be the vinegar or the tamarind paste.
I have a love-hate relationship with this curry because it’s strictly vegetables. But it’s nice if you’re a cheese fan because it’s a mix of potato dumplings and fried paneer (Indian cheese). Malai Kofta can either be cashew or coconut tomato sauce, but coconut is the most commonly used. Also, note that it’s not as spicy.
I’m not a fan of mushrooms, but this is like malai kofta without cheese or potatoes. It’s vegetarian-friendly and includes green peas, dried fenugreek leaves and coconut milk mixed in an onion and tomato sauce.
This was my least favourite curry to try because I’m not a seafood fan. I’m really just a meat type of girl. But if you’re a seafood lover, kadai prawn curry is just like kadai lamb with more chilli peppers.
With the 2023 elections drawing closer, I wonder what it was like to live in a time without democracy. In this article, a police officer who lived through the first military coup in 1966 shares the moments that led up to joining the force at 18 and the moment that reminded him there was more to life after 35 years of service.
The life of an Igbo police officer in the ‘90s, as told to Ortega
Life before the first military coup in 1966
I was a restless child born in 1937. I grew up as the only son of my father, and his brothers expected me to take up his role as our village’s chief priest. But my father wanted something more for me. He wanted me to go to school and live outside the cage tradition had built for our lineage as its custodians.
My father was convinced living together would make it easier for my uncles to persuade me. So he kept me away for as long as he could. When I was five years old, I had to live with different people in my village and depend on them to put me through school. They called me Nwali, son of the soil. It meant I belonged to everyone in my village but to no one at the same time. The villagers were in charge of taking care of me while my father kept my uncles at bay. Their generosity got me a secondary school education. But that was as far as I could go with the resources they had.
“They called me Nwali, son of the soil”
Everyone expected me to become a teacher, but I found the role quite stuffy and boring. I spent the two years after secondary school working odd jobs instead. I tapped palm trees and helped families build houses — I did anything I could get my hands on. I saw my father once in a while, but he expected me to figure things out on my own.
At 17, I decided to leave my village in Delta for Benin. My cousin promised to teach me to drive and offered me work as one of his cab boys. The first three months were okay, but I couldn’t bear the long hours of driving just to have my cousin take most of the profit I made. I couldn’t tell him that because I had to be grateful to him for trying to help.
After another three months of yelling for passengers under the hot sun, I decided to take a break and go back to Delta. That’s when I found a bit of luck in my life.
On my way to the park, I met a friend who was coming in from Delta. We exchanged pleasantries and I explained why I was heading home. His response to my complaints of driving taxis for hours under the sun was an odd demand for me to follow him on an errand in Benin. He offered to cover the two pence it would cost to get a bus back to my village, so I decided to go with him. There was nothing to lose.
The errand turned out to be recruitment at the police college for new constables in 1955. Of course, I was surprised my friend wasn’t just upfront about it, but I was more interested in how to get in as well. So while he queued up, I rode a bicycle back home to get my documents. Hundreds of people were in the queue when I got back. Every young man wanted a chance to wear fancy uniforms and work with white men. I just needed money.
“I refused to learn Yoruba. I felt it was easier to handle thieves that pleaded for mercy if I didn’t hear anything after e jo”
When it finally got to my turn, the constable took one look at my file and asked me to leave. Apparently, 18 was too young to serve. But then, luck was on my side. One of the senior officers asked him to consider me because I looked strong. And that’s how I got into the ranks.
There were only four police colleges in Nigeria at the time. Benin was just a point of recruitment, so I was moved to the one in Kaduna for a while before I was relocated with other southern officers to Lagos in 1956. I can’t remember how much I earned, but we were paid in pounds until 1973 when naira notes were introduced. What I loved about my job was the respect it gave me. No matter the rank, there was some kind of honour you felt putting on a police uniform in the ‘60s. There was also a lot more investment in the force. I attended the Police Colleges in Paris and Britain for short courses, and in a year, I rose to the rank of cadet.
I worked in Lagos until 1959. A senior officer decided it was best to experience other parts of the west. And in 1959, the country was still at a point when a mid-western Igbo (Igbos from the Bendel region) man transferred to Lagos or Abeokuta wasn’t odd. Nobody cared where I was from or that I refused to learn Yoruba. I felt it was easier to handle thieves who pleaded for mercy if I didn’t hear anything after “E jo”. I didn’t believe Yoruba people were open to learning my dialect. But it didn’t matter. No one bothered too deeply.
Abeokuta was a lot calmer than Lagos. I was stationed there to monitor the railway stations. We derailed passengers coming in from the north and monitored the day-to-day running. But after two years, I got bored. I liked the rush of Lagos more, where things like welcoming renowned leaders happened. For instance, in 1956, I got to see the Israeli prime minister, David Ben-Gurion.
“It wasn’t until the first military coup in 1966 things changed. The attack happened the day I got married in the village.”
Working at the police station in Lagos let me meet people from different works of life. And that made my work interesting. Like the time I met a gambler who was brought in from Obalende back in 1956. He was charged as a thief, but he didn’t seem like one to me. I was in charge of the evidence desk, so I could probe a bit more when criminals came in.
When we spoke, he mentioned that he ran away from home and was trying to win bets to make more money. But the men who arrested him didn’t believe it. He confessed to stealing clothes the morning of his arrest, but that was it. For some reason, he seemed genuine, and I believed his story. I spoke to my colleagues and we got him off on a two-week sentence rather than a year for petty theft. Those were the moments that made me feel like my job mattered; even the bible says blessed are the peacemakers.
The year everything changed
It wasn’t until the first military coup in January 1966 that things slowly began to change. The attack happened the day I got married in the village. For the most part, civilians were safe. But because the attack was by southern soldiers, Chukwuma Kaduna Nzeogwu and Emmanuel Ifeajuna, it looked like the Igbos were trying to disrupt peace. I knew better than to share my thoughts with colleagues; people were upset.
I was moved to Lagos to serve later that year. They began to look at me as a police officer who was Igbo rather than just a police officer.
As a corporal and the only breadwinner of my home, I knew better than to get involved in the messiness of politics. My main priority was keeping my family safe while my wife was expecting our first child.
The second attempt at taking over the government took away the last shred of peace. It was in August 1966, and officers called it the revenge coup. Unlike the first coup, which was handled mainly by southern officers, this operation seemed like retaliation from northerners because it was led by Lt. Colonel Murtala Muhammed.
Unlike the first, this takeover was successful, and for the first time, we lived under military rule. It was a very difficult time depending on your tribe. For me, it suddenly meant something to be an Igbo man serving with the Lagos police force. Some superior officers checked our badges and their countenance changed when they found out I was from the south. But I wasn’t going to buckle under the sudden pressure.
“When we lost the war in 1970, Nigeria went into a long period of discrimination”
Back home, people were being slaughtered. Trains were loaded with dead bodies in the east, and when Lieutenant Colonel Ojukwu decided to push back in 1967, so did the ruling officers. It was a bloodbath, and I still don’t know how Lagos maintained some sense of sanity. Still, by 1968, I had to send my family back to Delta state from Lagos.
I’d become a sergeant by the end of 1966, and it was business as usual at the force, which meant always being away from home. But I’d had my second daughter and wasn’t comfortable with working all the time when things were so unsafe. I also couldn’t get any of my wife’s sisters to travel from Delta to Lagos because of their safety.
It was better to take my wife and kids to Delta dressed in my police uniform, which was the only thing keeping me from being harassed or outrightly killed. It was a hard decision, but keeping them away was for the best. Our village didn’t experience the attacks going on in the eastern towns.
Between 1967 and 1970, Nigeria was at war with itself. But I didn’t have the time to process what it meant at 30 years old. I had to focus on my task of training police officers, assisting to keep some level of sanity in Lagos.
When we lost the war in 1970, Nigeria went into a long period of discrimination. Rising to the top of the force suddenly became difficult. I should’ve officially been promoted to sergeant, but the results for the exams I took weren’t released until after a year. Most people had theirs a few weeks after the exams. That’s when I knew a lot was about to change for me.
By 1975, I’d made a life for myself in the Ikeja barracks. My marriage was what you’d call successful because my wife and I had five children at that point. What hadn’t been so successful was my ability to support my family on my salary. I was earning less than ₦20k as a sergeant, and a family of seven wasn’t exactly cheap. But I wasn’t the only one experiencing the economic challenge.
“When my friend, a fellow officer, died from high blood pressure, I realised there was more to life than chasing ranks”
Leaving behind the police force
With the political instability, getting goods was hard and prices went up. I could get Omo for less than ₦5 before the coup, but after, we were spending almost ₦20 per sachet. Rice was also a luxury because importing was difficult. My wife eventually had to open a store to sell drinks so she didn’t have to depend on my salary for foodstuff. But I didn’t care about the money. I wouldn’t have enjoyed any other job as much.
As the years went by, I began to feel like my work as an officer didn’t matter. My family joined me in Lagos again in 1971. The Civil War was over, and I missed seeing my family. I’d had my second child in 1968, and we only saw a few times a year because of the state of things. So I brought them to join me at my flat in Ikeja barracks.
I spent years leading up to the final coup in 1975 as a sergeant. I was in the office with a few personnel who talked about setting a village close to mine on fire. I’m sure they didn’t have a clue where I was from. But that’s how ruined we were as a country after 1965. At least, the failed 1966 coup was just a power struggle, but the rest were about personal dislikes amongst ourselves.
As long as the ruling party preferred a certain ethnic group over mine, even as an Assistant Commissioner of Police (ACP) in 1983, I dealt with unwarranted questioning and didn’t get the recognition I deserved. But I was convinced I needed to rise the ranks to be a commissioner because it would make a difference.
Then one of my friends, a fellow officer, died from high blood pressure, and I realised there was a lot more to life than chasing ranks. I was earning around ₦80k as an ACP in 1986. I decided to start putting money aside to build a home for my family in Delta. As the only son, my father left over 500 hectares of land to me. That was enough for a farm and properties to rent out over time.
“I don’t regret my time on the police force”
Major General Babangida was still in power and the force was dominated by western and northern men. I could count the officers in my rank who were from the south on one hand. But I didn’t have the time to feel bitter. I put in my notice for retirement in 1989 and was approved for pension within six months. I left in 1990 at 53 without looking back.
It’s been 32 years since and my monthly pension hasn’t changed. Less than ₦80k per month is all I’ve gotten since 1990 while my retired colleagues from the army receive a minimum of ₦150k per month. I was one step away from the highest rank in the force, but I can’t get decent money for 35 years of work. That’s the biggest pain for me. It shows policemen aren’t as valued as we were in 1955.
But I don’t regret my time there. I’d do it all over again if I could because being on the police force gave me some of my greatest memories. Being an officer was a time I got to see the real side of human nature because of the amount of history I saw unfold. And now that I spend most of my time alone, it’s nice to remember what life was like when I was a young man.
Now that we know what life was like for a Nigerian police officer in the ‘60s, imagine what would’ve happened if Abacha Never Died.
The mother-daughter relationship during the daughter’s teenage years aren’t pretty. The bickering is unmatched and the tension is unending. But there’s something about growing older that balances things out. Maybe it’s because you truly grow wings? Well, here are eight signs you and your mum are now besties.
You know about all the men that could have been your fathers
If your mum hasn’t told you about her escapades at 25, then you haven’t unlocked the best friend level yet. The moment she tells you about her first love, she’s opening a rabbit hole into her darkest secrets.
You pick from her food
Imagine being 13 and using your spoon to collect food from your mum’s plate. The council of African mothers would have descended on you. But these days, you’re taking two pieces of meat from the pot with your full chest and even cutting from her plate. Tell me that isn’t love.
You talk about the lovers in your life
Gone are the days of hiding under your blanket to have midnight calls or lying about summer lessons to spend time with your crush. Now you’re showing her pictures of your mumu ex and getting valuable anecdotal advice.
Nothing about the family is hush hush and no one is off limits. If you’re at the point where your mum tells you who’s cheating on who in the family and who is owing who, that’s your best babe right there.
You’re always out for brunch
Remember when the only response to buying food outside was, “There’s rice at home?” Now the woman is sending pictures of the waffles and sandwiches she wants to try for Sunday brunch.
You’re slaying to parties together
Mummy and daughters that slay together? What more do you need to say when you turn up as baddies with the woman that used to chase you around to cover up. Now you’re wearing the mini skirt version of whatever iro and buba she’s sewing.
Low key, mums are sugar mummies that spray dollars without having to give any sugar. So travelling together means she can take care of your bills. A girls’ trip is sweet, but a trip with just your mum just hits different.
Y’all are drinking alcohol now?
I was once beaten for drinking fruit wine at home. Now, my mum is mixing beer and Fanta and offering me some. If that doesn’t say bestie, I don’t know what does.
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Itohan, a 20-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about why surviving a scoliosis surgery was big for her, getting surgery in India, gaining weight after and growing into a thrill seeker who plans to retire at 35.
Scoliosis is an abnormal curvature of the spine. The cause isn’t known, but symptoms typically occur from childhood and range from a hump in the lower back to uneven shoulders/hips.
What’s something about your life that makes you happy?
I guess my happy story is accomplishing shit. I’m a big brain, and to be honest, that’s bad bitch doings.
Okay, smarty pants. What’s one big thing you’ve done at 20 that blows your mind?
I’d say surviving my scoliosis surgery. That was big for me.
In what way?
The things I got to achieve after. I mean, it fucked up my weight and mental. But it is what it is; it happened.
I didn’t know I had scoliosis, right? I had a funny walk when I was 13, and my mum thought I was trying to do guy. But that same year, I saw a bunch of pamphlets about different medical things at home. It had everything on scoliosis, lung and heart diseases. I loved to read as a child, so I read all of them.
And?
When I was done with the scoliosis pamphlet, I gave it to my mum and told her the symptoms were exactly what was happening to me. She read it and called my aunt who’s a nurse in the UK. She said I should go for an x-ray. I was right.
How did you feel about the diagnosis at 13?
I felt relieved. Growing up, people made so many comments about my body. They still do, but back then, the comments made me feel like everything was my fault. So even though it was kind of sad finding out, I also felt happy.
I also wouldn’t have figured things out without reading the pamphlets. That’s why when people say they don’t self-diagnose, I’m like hmm… that’s what saved my life.
So how did things progress after confirming it was scoliosis?
Getting surgery was the first option, but I didn’t want one. The idea just made me so uncomfortable, and my mum said I didn’t have to do it if there were other options to explore. So that’s what began the many many hospital visits.
Were there drastic changes in other parts of your life?
I was out of school more than I was in it. There were hospital visits three times a week, with a lot of tests and scans. But I was in SS 3, so for the most part, I didn’t need to be in school. The exhausting part for my mum and I was showing up at the hospital.
But why so many hospital visits if you weren’t getting surgery though?
I needed to get a brace customised for me at Igbobi Hospital. The doctors said there was nothing they could do except try to stop the spine from bending anymore. As in, my spine will be bent o, but they’d try to prevent it from getting worse.
Omo
The doctors also told me my mum was irresponsible for not knowing I had scoliosis. When it’s not like scoliosis is something they teach everyone everywhere.
I’m really sorry about that. Did the brace help with your back, at least?
No. It was so uncomfortable. I cried the first day I wore it. My mum had to hold me when we got home. I didn’t want to wear the god-forsaken thing. It was made of plastic, looked so weird and made my clothes bulky. And they said I’d have to wear it for at least 22 hours a day. As in, I’d sleep in it and only take it off to bathe.
I didn’t put it on again after the first day. I was ready to have the surgery and kept going for consultations until then..
When did that happen?
A year later. I’d turned 14 by then. Making the decision meant another round of tests. The main question was where the surgery could be done? My mum didn’t want it to halt my life. She wanted somewhere that would guarantee I’d get healed quickly and move on. Nigeria wasn’t an option for us.
So how did things go in India?
Can you believe the doctors in Igbobi refused to release my x-ray? They asked me to stay in Nigeria so they could monitor the progression of my sickness for the doctors to learn.
I’m screaming
LOL. My mother said, “you want to use my only child for practicals”. We stole my x-ray. We told one of the doctors we needed a photocopy of the documents. They told us to talk to the student doctors instead for any questions we had. I guess they were busy that day.
Luckily, the student didn’t stress about getting the documents for us to make photocopies. Turned out the main doctor in charge of my case had it in the boot of his car; is he not mad? When the student brought it back, my mum took it, entered our car and never went back to the hospital.
Love it!
A lot of James Bond stuff happened o. Like I paid for it, it was my property, but I had to steal it.
But why did you choose India?
Hospitals in the US said I’d need to stay for a year post-surgery. The UK said six months, Germany was three months, but India gave me two weeks to get back into a normal routine. Clearly, you can see where we went.
Weren’t the extra days needed for recovery?
They also wanted to use me for practicals. Staying was less about the recovery and more about monitoring my movement and abilities. It’s not common to have scoliosis surgery. Only 2% – 3% of children get it, so people wanted to use me as a test subject.
So what happened after the Igbobi James bond saga?
LOL. We started doing research on Indian hospitals for scoliosis surgery. We found one with the help of my mum’s old classmates. She also had a child who’d had surgery in India and recommended a place.
How did it feel knowing things were about to get better?
Experiencing India for the first time was the best part of the process. Their food slaps. But when they attempted to make Nigerian food in the hospital? The ghetto. I guess they were trying to make me comfortable as a child. And they seemed to like Nigerians as well.
I had doctors who’d come in after looking at my file saying “You Nigerian? I love Abuja, Lagos. Yes, yes. Great people.” The energy just didn’t reach the food. Imagine putting one whole okra in my stew. No grating or boiling, just raw okra inside stew to eat rice.
LOL. Okra and rice is normal in Côte d’Ivoire, sis.
Fair enough. The free drinks were compensation. Once you enter a shop, “orange juice? mango juice?” everywhere.
Free? Please explain this to my Lagosian eyes.
LOL. It was their culture. Whenever you went into a store they’d hand you a pet-sized bottle of juice. Maybe it had to do with being a foreigner. I drank juice tire sha. And the hospital stuffed me with milk at least four times a day because I needed the calcium.
It sounds like you had a pretty good time considering you were there for risky surgery
Being sad wasn’t going to change anything. The best thing to do was eat the free food and enjoy the city. I was cleared to leave after two weeks, but we stayed an extra two or three days because my mum’s passport was seized at the hospital.
Sorry?!
Yeah, Nigeria was refusing to let our money clear. My cousins in the UK and US sent money as well, but it didn’t reflect. The hospital could see we’d tried to pay, so they kept my mum’s passport while they waited to receive the funds.
That’s crazy stuff. How were you doing post-surgery though?
I gained a lot of weight. Of course, the food had something to do with it. But because I had just done surgery on my spine, I wasn’t active. For six months, I couldn’t play rugby like I used to in school or move around too much.
What did you do with the six months of inactivity?
JAMB lessons. The year I went for the surgery cut into my time for JAMB and WAEC. Not getting into school with my friends really got to me. But my mum wanted me to be useful to myself and forced me to focus on writing the exams. Eventually, things got better.
How?
First, I was taller. The surgery straightened the bones of my back to an extent.
Nice. And the second part?
I eventually got into uni when I was 15. But there was a strike in federal universities right before I was meant to resume, so I had to stay home. I got a job as a cashier and an assistant at a pharmacy close to my house. I didn’t want to be stuck at home doing nothing all over again. And being good at the job made me feel validated and important.
That’s really sweet
Yeah. Uni was also a pretty good experience for me. I got a full scholarship for my whole degree and that boosted the way I saw myself. I felt smart, and I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.
No one tells you how difficult it is to be held back because you’re sick. I gained so much weight from all the food in India and the rest period too. It really fucked up my psyche. The medications added to how much my body changed, so I know it’s out of my control.
Hm. What parts of life are you looking forward to in your 20s?
Retiring at 35. I’ve been working since I was 14. After the pharmacy job, I wrote non-fictional stories about the people I met. I got a job as a writer when I was 18, and I’ve worked my way up to being a junior editor since then.
So after all that work, I can’t retire like other people at 60. The corporate world shouldn’t have that much of my life.
LOL. I feel like everyone says this, but it’ll eventually get really boring having that much free time at 35
LOL. Going through surgery makes you realise just how much life has to offer. And I want to live a full life. I want to dance, sing, teach, travel and live as many lives as possible. It doesn’t have to be a long life for me; it just has to be full.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
On a night I wanted to drown my sorrows from capitalism with a cocktail, and honey was the closest thing I had to a sweetener. I searched for a few recipes and found a couple of easy ones you need to get on today.
Bee’s Knees
Source: Cookie + Kate
Since our copy editor sneaks gin into his cups of tea at the slightest inconvenience, this one should be his favourite. All you need is dry gin, lemon and honey. But honey isn’t great with cold cocktails, so you need to turn the honey into a syrup by mixing it with equal amounts of water and heating it until it’s caramelised. If you hate gin, you can substitute it with vodka.
Recipe:
Find honey. Add two tablespoons of water and honey to a pot or a bowl to microwave. Heat it up until you get a consistency like syrup and set aside.
Get a lemon and grate some of the peels into the honey and water mix. Then squeeze some of the juice in as well.
Now to the cocktail: Fill a glass with ice and pour the honey syrup, lemon and gin. Next, stir things up.
Drink up!
Pro tip: Try pineapple-flavoured vodka with honey syrup and apple juice for an extra wave of sweetness.
I recommend this for tea lovers. It’s a hot cocktail with bourbon, so why not? Fallen leaf is a twist on a hot toddy (spirit, sugar and hot water) — find the recipe here. For this cocktail, you need ginger-flavoured liquor, or you can proceed to juice ginger into vodka and then add cinnamon, lime, nutmeg and honey.
Recipe:
Add 12 tablespoons of bourbon (or more) to a mug. Then add a tablespoon of lemon juice.
Boil some water and add your choice of cinnamon tea. You can also just toss in a cinnamon stick to water and boil it as your tea.
Now pour the honey syrup into the cinnamon tea and bourbon mix.
Garnish with grated nutmeg and a lemon wheel. Cheers!
This is for the coffee crack heads. And it only needs four ingredients: tonic water, gin, cold-brew coffee and honey syrup. The honeyed coffee gin and tonic says 28.3 grams (1 oz) of gin, but I eye-balled it and let the ancestors guide my decision. Enjoy it in any glass or mug of your choice.
Source: Emma Janzen, Imbibe
Recipe:
Make your coffee, toss in some ice and stir. Add in lemon juice, honey syrup and tonic water.
This one is for the plain Janes like myself. Gin is a crowd favourite when it comes to honey syrup, and this recipe includes apple flavour for a kick. You can throw in some blended grapes, lemon and bay leaves, but feel free to tweak the recipe or keep it as simple as possible.
Recipe:
Add gin to a glass.
Get a pot, add in apple juice, a cinnamon stick, honey, grapes or berries and bring to a simmer.
Strain the mix into a jar and pour it into your cup of gin. Add in some lemon juice and bay leaf for cover.
Specially crafted for a drunk night out with the girls on a yacht in Dubai. But I’ll take an evening sipping this cocktail while I pretend I’m the main character of a Tyler Perry movie.
It needs five main ingredients: tequila, honey syrup, lemon juice, lemon peels and Angostura Bitters, a concentrate of herbs, to temper the sweetness. Or you can use agbo; let me know how it goes.
Recipe:
Follow the bee’s knee recipe, but instead of gin or bourbon, use tequila as your base. Now add in Angostura Bitters, a lemon peel and ice.
This is where you’ll see lactose-intolerant people gather. This cocktail recipe is a mix of scotch, milk, cream and honey. I also think this is for bougie drunks because which Nigerian drinks scotch?
Recipe:
Get some alcohol of your choice as a base. Add in cold milk, some yoghurt or cream, orange slices and a cinnamon stick.
Mix the drink, leave it in the fridge to chill and enjoy once it’s chilled.
Beer isn’t for everyone and that’s okay, but can you really say no to a beer cocktail? With honey? C’mon, live a little. This is for the alcohol drinkers that need to be a little bit daring. And it’s the easiest recipe.
Recipe:
Add honey, lemon juice, beer and some mint into a cup. Next, stir the mix until the honey is dissolved.
A simple solution to the cubicles sorry houses they build in Nigeria these days would be bigger houses, but Lagos landlords would rather chew iron. So in this article, I shared some pro tips to make your bedroom look bigger. Even if you don’t live in a mansion, the least you can do is get your bedroom to fake it.
Clear all your clutter
Your room will keep looking like a cubicle if you handle it like a pig sty. Nothing in this article will help you if all your stuff’s scattered. At least, stuff them in your wardrobe and pretend.
Get longer curtains, and place them higher
Source: littlehouselovely.co.uk
Curtains aren’t cheap. Heck, they’re the most expensive basic furnishing you’ll have to purchase. But they’re essential if you don’t want people to see your nakedness. The idea with curtains is to place them closer to the ceiling. People will focus on the height and see things much bigger than they actually are.
Our forefathers didn’t have them, and they were fine. And again, they’re expensive. The goal is to have fewer items in your room, and heavy curtains can make it appear choked up. If you can’t live without them, blinds are less bulky and more pleasing to the eye.
Move your mirrors closer to natural light
First,
To make your space more like a home, get a full-length mirror. Squeeze ₦8k – ₦10k into your carpenter’s hand, and you should be fine. As long as you keep the frame as basic as possible.
When you get the mirror, put it close to your window. The reflective light will make you think the space is bigger as the reflection of the view outside just opens up the room a lot more.
A mattress on the floor has the potential to make your room look bigger because it leaves more space than a huge bedframe. You need to avoid high furniture in general because they take up more room.
White all the way
If you’re not down for white, nude is the next best thing. But whatever you pick, keep the colours light. Don’t go painting your entire room purple because you’ll wake up one day asking yourself why. The lighter the colour, the more light you get into the room, and remember what we said about light and the illusion of space?
Match your wall with the furniture
Like a man’s belt and shoes, you need the colours in your room to be coordinated. Once you’re out there buying a pink bed and painting your walls yellow, there’s nothing we can do for you again.
We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.
From: Onyinye, a woman who expects her best friend’s child to be named after her
To: Toyosi, the best friend who makes their friendship as refreshing as cold garri
Dear Toyosi,
You weird beautiful girl. First, I want to say you’re as amazing as you’re beautiful. I thank God every day for what we have, this friendship. It’s sweeter than honey and as refreshing as cold garri on a hot day. Maybe that’s why I’m writing — because I want you to see a written form of my love for you.
Do you even remember our story? Because I don’t, honestly. It’s like we’ve known each other forever. How we started talking because of a gossip you were caught up in, there’s the part of having a lot in common — missing fathers, first daughters who carry a lot of burden on their shoulders, a love for God and food — little wonder we connected so well.
Most times, I remember how you make me feel more than what you say. Like when we get bored, and I keep my head on the table while you run your hands through my hair until I sleep off. That’s one thing I love about you, you’re intentional about our friendship and how you love me. Running your hands through my hair made me feel like I was home. I felt so at peace. Honestly, I think that was how I started trusting you without a second thought.
Thanks babes for always trying to get me to go out and try new things, not only when it comes to life, but also when it comes to our love for God. Let’s not forget that if you didn’t drag me out, I wouldn’t have all my fine fine Instagram pictures.
Toyosi, you’re a very weird child. Who on earth invites someone to their house for the first time and gives them cold garri and milk? Who decides to teach a girl how to put on make-up just because they’re friends? Who takes in a friend they’ve known for a short time just because life is happening to that friend? You. You’re weird, sweet, and I love it.
I often ask you why we’re friends. You absolutely don’t benefit from this relationship like I do. Yet, you tell me every time that you love me. You always show up when I’m in my ghost mode. Nagode.
I know I always tell you you’re sweet, nice and gorgeous, but you should know you’re also strong and amazing.
Babes, our dreams, they’ll come true someday. We’ll travel around the world, and I’ll watch you take all those stupid rollercoaster rides while I take pictures because no be me you go kill.
But till then, as we hustle remember, I love you best, girl. I love you when you’re at your lowest and when you’re at your strongest.
As a closing remark, kindly make money abeg. I’m tired of working. And please, do and find a man, so you can name your child Onyinye too. And I’ll name mine Toyosi.
With lots of love,
From your weird bestie
If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why
When it comes to owambes, Lagos takes the cake with planning things out. But how much does it cost to put together a wedding that actually bangs? In this article, five Nigerian women broke things down.
Adeola* , 30, wedded in Ikeja
April 2022 was when I got married and I planned most of it with my mum. We only hired a planner to handle coordination on the wedding day. The initial budget was ₦20 million and my parents were meant to cover most of the bill because it was a cultural thing. I’m Yoruba while my husband is Igbo. Traditionally, in Yoruba land, the bride’s family is the host. But in modern-day weddings like mine, the groom’s family contributes financially too.
Beyond the culture factor, my husband’s family had less than 100 out of the 500 guests we targeted. I had a larger family based in Lagos and coming in from Kwara state too, so we had to cover those expenses. The 500 people were even a gamble because I was the last child getting married. With my older siblings, we ended up with over 1000 guests. It was hard to be strict with such a large attendee list. And Nigerians no dey RSVP invitations; trust me, I tried.
Anyway, as a caterer, I was able to cut back our ₦20m budget to ₦15m. It may not sound like a huge difference, but trust me, putting ₦5m back in the bank when you’re getting married is a huge feat. The ₦15m covered both the engagement party and wedding.
The most prominent wedding planners in the game were charging us between ₦1m – ₦2.5m. The not-so-big ones went for ₦500k. But I ended up getting a friend to help out and she took ₦250k for coordinating the wedding day.
Dress and makeup
My wedding dress and other outfits were the same approach. One dress from any big brand was going for ₦1m – ₦1.5m and upwards. Initially, I was willing to rent a dress at ₦200 – ₦300k, but I ended up finding an upcoming designer willing who made a custom piece for a little over that range. The engagement outfit was the same price, and I kept my accessories under ₦50k.
My husband didn’t also stress. He used an upcoming designer as well and paid ₦60,000 for the suit. He had a shirt he wanted to wear already, but the tie, pocket square and boutonnière all cost ₦11,500 while his shoes cost about ₦20,000.
We all know bridal makeup and gele are expensive. And for the engagement and wedding, I’d be paying ₦1m upward if I used a premium service. But my friend recommended someone who was doing a promo package at the time and paid ₦140k for everything.
Food
The catering would have been our biggest cost. As a caterer myself, if I was to charge for feeding 500 guests, their bill would look like this:
And I’d still add a 15% service and transportation charge. All for a service that isn’t premium — no fancy seafood, continental dishes, fancy dorime services or displays. But we only spent half of that amount (₦1.6m)for the engagement and wedding because we catered the event ourselves.
Venue and decorations
With all the basics settled, the venue was the next challenge to face. We were planning to get a place on Victoria Island, but when the best deal we found was ₦2.5 m, the reality of inflation dawned on me. And the venues that cost less on the island weren’t good at all. So we kuku went to face the mainland.
In Surulere, there were only two options that could house 500 guests. One was already booked for our date while the other was under renovation. Eventually, we found a decent wedding hall in Ikeja for ₦1.5m Luckily, we got a ₦200k discount An engagement venue close by cost another ₦300k. There were cheaper options for ₦100k – ₦200k but each had one issue or the other — there were either no taps, air conditioners or security.
The rest of the money went into items like videography, photography, catering to logistics and accommodation. But cutting costs made it possible to splurge on a few things other things, fresh flowers for my bouquet.
Faux flowers cost ₦5k in the market. Custom-made faux flowers cost about ₦15k – ₦20k while fresh flowers cost ₦60k – ₦100k or more — roses and tulips are the most expensive. But I paid a florist ₦40k for mine.
Halima*, 28, wedded in Surulere
I got married in March 2022. I had my Nikkah ( the religious ceremony for Muslims) and reception at Surulere on the same day.
During Yoruba weddings, the lady’s family does the planning for the wedding, but the groom and bride cook separately. I’m not sure how much my husband spent, but the budget on my side was a little over ₦2m.
For a start, finding an affordable venue was difficult. And planning everything while I was five months pregnant didn’t make it any easier. After checking through Island locations to fit 1000 people and ending up with quotes from ₦1.6m upwards, we settled on getting an open space in Surulere. It cost us ₦600k with the tables, and decorations and chairs cost me another ₦800k.
In between searching for the venue, my husband and I designed our wedding bands — were customised gold rings with our names on them for ₦220k. We had these done at Ojuelegba.
The night before the wedding, family members showed up at the house. So we had to plan for food. About 20 guests showed up and we had to buy a carton of turkey and fish, half a bag of semo and 10 cups of rice. I can’t remember exactly how much we paid for food, but the most expensive thing was the two cows that cost us ₦750k.
As for my dress and make-up, I made sure to keep it simple. The white material for my wedding dress was ₦25k while sewing it cost ₦18k. My aso oke was a bit more expensive because it was an express order. The material cost ₦35k and we spent ₦24k for sewing.
My accessories cost ₦60k. And my nails and makeup were ₦73k. Logistics, accommodation for our family coming outside of Lagos and my hotel room were handled by my husband.
Amaka*, 28, wedded in Yaba
We planned for something very small because the wedding happened during the pandemic. Beyond the limit the government put on gatherings, we always wanted something quiet.
Our court, traditional and white wedding cost about ₦2m in total. The majority of the money went into the transportation to my village in Imo State. My husband’s people had to come down from Lagos. Hotel accommodation and transport alone cost us ₦600k.
Igbo people also organise something called Igba Nkwu, a traditional ceremony where the groom performs rites for the bride’s kinsmen. There was a whole list with wine, foodstuff and money requests to cover. They cost about ₦350k.
The rest of the money went into my wedding dress, food and picking a small hall around Yaba. As a Deeper Life church member, I didn’t need to think about earrings, hair or makeup. Styling my natural hair myself worked fine.
Ronke*, 26, wedded in Gbagada
If you don’t have money, your wedding will stress you. Mine was relatively pricey because inflation just makes everything go up by the week these days. The exchange rate was epileptic this year [2022] so planning for 450-500 guests cost a lot. Feeding alone was more than ₦1m. Then the hall was at Gbagada and was to cost ₦1.2m – ₦1.5m on weekends. But I had my wedding on a weekday and paid ₦750k instead. There was really no way to avoid spending that much money on food and venue.
The next thing that took quite a bit of money was travelling to Akwa-Ibom. Since my father had a house in my village, the cost was on my husband to cover his family’s bus fare and hotel. That alone cost ₦500k.
I also wanted to have a lot of memories from the experience, so I really went all out on my media team. I paid about ₦500k to cover the events across cities. It was expensive but worth it for me.
My most questionable expense was the MC service. He charged ₦250k and I’m sure we could’ve gotten someone for ₦100k for the kind of forgettable experience he provided. That money could have been spent on a wedding coordinator instead, but we move.
Another thing that takes money is designing the wedding programs for the church wedding, but I did it myself in Canva. Most people just end up leaving it in church anyway. I can’t remember how much it costs to print them, but it was way cheaper since I did it myself.
Everything eventually came down to ₦6m for other expenses like my dresses and accessories, the live band, drinks, cake and a bunch of other things I can’t remember. Honestly, even if you have a budget, add ₦1m to everything on the list to be safe, and ask yourself what the intention of every item l on your list is. If it’s to show off, remember that everybody will go home, last last.
Dolapo*, 24, wedded in Isheri
I got married in April 2022. My husband’s family took most of the financial responsibility, but my husband made sure there was a spreadsheet documenting everything.
The hall and decorations were the most expensive. We went as far as Isheri, but we still paid ₦1,660,000. The photographer my father-in-law decided to hire was also quite expensive. I didn’t understand why we needed to pay ₦750k. I tried to push back but he decided to fund it. He also hired a live band for ₦700k. I had to give up and let the man spend his money at that point.
We had about 700 guests, so the food was around ₦2m. There was lots of amala going around, a whole ram grilled in front of the church and lots of drinks. The small chops and non-alcoholic drinks came down to ₦224,700; our wedding cake was ₦100k.
The food, venue and media coverage took the most money. I got my wedding gown for free and fixed the weave my sister gifted me for ₦4k.
Planning my wedding showed me that everyone needs good friends and family for support. It’s been three months since our wedding and we’re still getting gifts from people. It’s the most thoughtful thing.
Are you tired of receiving bad birthday gifts from your friends and partner? Are you tired of giving fake smiles when your wishlist for the year is completely ignored? Here are ten ways to put an end to getting horrible birthday gifts.
Shoot them
Preferably with a water gun — except you’re willing to spend your next birthday eating prison beans. Then, by all means, fire away. Either way, everyone will get the message to buckle up next time.
Forget their birthday
Pettiness is the only way forward in life. But if you’re too sweet for that, sha buy them a really cheap gift when their turn comes. Anyone that gives you nonsense should collect nonsense too my dear.
Avoid them like a plague
Since no one knows what you like after all the years of talking to them, avoid them. Let bad energy stay away from you.
Be passive-aggressive
Take the silent treatment a step forward and drag them in the mud. Anything passive-aggressive to let them know they fucked up your big day is a must.
Preferably a thrift shop they use. When they see it while they’re casually scrolling online, they’ll get the message. Make sure they’re home when you’re re-wrapping their gift for delivery.
Re-gift them their gift
An eye for an eye, a nose for a nose — you get the drill. Those words should be your daily affirmation this year.
Ask them what they take you for
Because why? Get to the root of the problem. Maybe your friends are really clueless about what you’d love as a gift.
Take time to plot your revenge. After all, they say revenge is best served cold. So bring it up 10 years later in a totally unrelated conversation.
Pray
What if all the years of bad gifts are a result of your village people? Maybe they found you, stole your friends and have been masquerading as the people you love. Just think about it.
If you’ve ever wondered what goes on in a Christian mother’s group chat, look no further. I snooped around my mother’s phone to see what goes down in her Catholic Women’s Organization (CWO) group.
Here are eight things you’ll always see in a typical godly Nigerian mother’s group chat.
So many forwarded messages
The first thing I noticed was so many messages were being forwarded from only God knows where. After every three messages, I’d see some kind of forwarded prayer or announcement.
Endless Prayers
If you have a mother in CWO, no village person can find you. Those women are reciting 50 decades of their rosary and saying at least five prayers daily for their children.
The whole chat was giving reverend sister vibes. I can’t even count the number of times I read “Good morning sister” or “Remember today is our thanksgiving day dear sisters.”
I saw a roaster for sweeping the church and it was giving strong secondary school labour day vibes. I know it’s for the Lord, but why can’t the same rule apply at home? Would like to see your father on a morning duty roaster.
Baby dedications
Can it really be a Nigerian mothers association without a deluge of prayers for newborns?
Organising four-hour-long meetings
Catholic mums have meetings every first Saturday of the month and a million times every other day. And no, there’s no singing or dancing to Buga there.
Broadcasts warnings on the latest in Nigeria
Among the barrage of forwarded messages, there’s always an update on why everyone should endeavour to keep their children inside the house for one reason or the other. I’m guessing this is where all those long broadcast messages we receive originate from.
Pictures of themselves
Those awkward angles 40+ selfies are scattered all over the group. I can’t bring receipts for this one sha, use your imagination.
The passive-aggressive texts were chilling. Happy to know that Nigerian mothers shout at themselves too.
Supporting one another
With everything in between, there’s also a lot of love in the group. Our mothers check in on themselves and show up for one another when they need to. It’s really sweet to see how older women support and connect with themselves.
Now that I’ve brought amebo from my mother’s group chat, share this article with your mum and let us know how it goes.
