There’s so much music out there that it’s hard for even the most loyal fans to stay up with their favourite artists or what’s new and hot right now. That’s why we’ve created #BumpThis – a daily series that features the one song you need to listen to, every day. Don’t say we never did anything for you.
Lady Donli has never been too shy to let us into her journey or more importantly, the mind and emotions that drive her decisions. Her impressive catalogue is a run through an individual’s evolution from an awkward teenage prospect to a self-assured woman. It is perhaps why “Enjoy Your Life”, the title of her 15-track debut album sounds like a decision made on a night at the beach after years of chasing her dreams.
“Corner”, one of the project’s standouts shows why that title and the decision are perfect. In the last few months, Lady Donli has added a more contemporary, highlife element to her music. Merged with her jazz leanings, it’s produced a smooth, mid-tempo sound that’s a perfect entry point for fans across generations.
The songopens with a choral rendition that feels lifted from an Igbo highlife song, or more recently, folk hits from the 1990s. Donli sticks with that feel as she sings in a hushed tone about a love interest who’s playing tricks or ‘corner corner’ on her. The Cavemen, a stellar band who she’s worked with on songs like “Cash” provides a minimalist bed of live instrumentation. It’s perfect for Lady Donli to evoke her inner Madam, with help from Van Jess, a Nigerian-American R&B duo composed of sisters Ivana and Jessica Nwokike.
Seen by many as the First Lady of Nigeria’s much-vaunted Alte scene, the new album from Lady Donli (or Madam President to you common folk) sounds like a journey through decades of Nigerian sound.
The culture is more than safe in her hands.
Listen to “Corner” and the “Enjoy Your Life” album on Apple Music and Spotify.
Since he first announced himself with “Tonight”, Nonso Amadi’s music has never been defined by his roots or particular influences.
A self taught producer and vocalist, he’s become one of the faces of the new sounds coming out of Nigeria. As the internet propels this new wave and inspires collaborations like “War”, his 2017 EP with Odunsi, Nonso Amadi has played in his lane.
He’s earned a reputation as a loverboy, mostly by capturing young adult emotions in music that blends his love for internet-era R&B with the melodies of Afrobeats, pop and soul.
The title of his new EP’, “Free” suggests liberty or release; to no longer be confined or imprisoned. It’s an interesting prospect for a reserved artist who’s carved his niche of emotive pop songs.
On “Never”, the album’s opener, Nonso shows why liberty is this project theme. Over the spacious sound of drums and airy chords, Nonso talks about the pressures of having the whole world on his shoulders and “why he’s been so shy from the start”
For one seen as a preppy pop act, it’s somewhat surprising to hear him get so vulnerable. Yet, it’s a neceasary moment from an artist who’s eager to move beyond what he’s become known for and sets the tone for the EP.
While “Free” starts on a sombre note, any fan of Nonso’s work would expect Free to have its share of love songs and they won’t be disappointed. On “Better”, he taps Simi for a stripped down ballad about making effort in relationships. “No Crime”, the album’s lead single, is Nonso Amadi in his bag, a love song that’s become a playlist staple since its release.
“Free” is glorious in the moments when Nonso Amadi gives himself the liberty to go beyond the familiar. The album’s title track, starts as just another airy R&B track before it kicks up into a more melodious take on Afro-swing. It’s fitting that on the song, he asks a lover for space to do what he wants.
On “Go Outside”, he taps the globetrotting Mr Eazi for a dynamic song that combines his love of Afrobeats with lyrics that paint him as an assured ladies man. It’s far from the delicate loverboy who shows up on the final track, “What Makes You Sure?’, a plea for his lover’s trust.
The 6-track EP is proof that Nonso Amadi is no longer afraid to create on his terms. On a project with high profile collaborators like co-producers, Juls and Spax and diverging subjects, he achieves a seamless listen that should be the precursor for a new chapter of his career.
There’s so much music out there that it’s hard for even the most loyal fans to stay up with their favourite artists or what’s new and hot right now. That’s why we’ve created #BumpThis – a daily series that features the one song you need to listen to, every day. Don’t say we never did anything for you.
Nigeria’s emerging alte r&b/pop scene has many gems. Tems is one of the best at making music as an experience, whether it’s disgust at an unfaithful lover on “LookuLooku” or the fervour of infatuation on “Mr Rebel”.
After the singer’s brief silence, Tems’ new release, “Try Me” shows off her vocal range and why her brand of fusion brims with potential. Tems’ voice often carries undertones of pain, most notably on “Shadow Of Doubt”, her collab with Show Dem Camp. On “Try Me”, an upbeat song about ill intentions, it makes her sound confident. It’s fitting for the production, a lively beat influenced by 2000s pop.
“Try Me” lets Tems flex her chords in a manner that is as easy on the ears as it’s defiant. She’s sure of herself even if as she sings, those who should complement her have worse plans, “Why you want to stop me? Try to challenge me?“, Tems sings, helped on by a cheeky marijuana reference. She’s a voice that you’ll hear a lot more of in years to come.
We want to know how young people become adults. The question we ask is “What’s your coming of age story?” Every Thursday, we’ll bring you the story one young Nigerian’s journey to adulthood and how it shaped them.
What’s a good word to describe the feeling of comfort in an imperfect situation? ‘Lethargy’ sounds like I’m lazy – I’m not. My mother says you can leave me in a spot as the world collapses and I’ll stay put until something comes close. I move at my own pace, even in the worst situations. I’ve been called many things for this: lazy, unbothered.
Before those monikers, my role was being the only son of a customs officer. It was an important position. My father was a driven man who gave a bigger share of his life to working and got married in his late 40s, decades after his mates. My mother was 25 at the time they got married. I was born the next year. In family photos of outings during my childhood, we look like three generations – one stern, grey-haired man in flowing traditional wear, a fine woman in her 30s and a little child.
We lived in Bashorun, Ibadan. In the 1970s, it was reserved for wealthy civilians and influential military men. When I was growing up, it wasn’t as exclusive, but life was good.
I went to the best school in Ibadan. My dad’s name got me in and his money kept me there. On the best days, usually Fridays, I’d return home to him and my mum, a full-time housewife, sitting over drinks in the shade of the veranda while the driver pulled into the compound.
Once, when I was 12, I returned from school early for the wrong reasons. The look on my mother’s face changed from fear to shock when I told what happened.
A classmate had made me the butt of a nasty joke, so I played a more practical one on him. He wasn’t the first person in my school who unknowingly sat on a pencil, but my mischief bruised him so hard, he bled. Knowing hell would break loose if his parents showed up, the principal sent me home.
I returned with my dad, apologised and stepped out of the principal’s office on his instruction. That was it. Nobody laid a finger on me, not even him. I swear.I guess people in their 60s don’t get surprised easily. If my father was ever fazed, it happened before my lifetime. Granted, he had the range to solve his problems and every family member’s. But he’d make them drink and talk about random things first.
It was his way of getting them to relax. It gave me the impression that people tend to overreact to issues. Perhaps, he wanted them to see that.
I know boys say their fathers are their heroes, but when I look at my father’s photos, I see the only man I’ve ever wanted to become. My dad and I were an unlikely pair. Between spending weekends with him and sitting at his feet while he talked to guests, I only ever looked up to one person: him.
My fairytale was cut short on the 16th of September 2009. My father was 66 when he died – peacefully, I assume, in the backseat of his car on a trip home from Lagos. They say he lived a full life. I don’t know. All I felt was emptiness.
I should have been in my third year studying Psychology at the University of Ibadan when it happened. It was when things had passed and cooled off that I told my mom I hadn’t been a student there for over 6 months.
I was placed on probation after the first session and advised to work on my grades or be withdrawn. But I was too distracted. I had everything I wanted and a two-bedroom at Agbowo. At the end of the first semester, I didn’t have enough attendance to write exams. My time at U.I was done. It became official when the session ended.
My mother was disappointed, but she no fit carry two things wey dey fight to be the one wey dey pain am pass, so she gats fix wetin dey her power.
Strings were pulled and I got into the pre-degree program at The Federal University of Technology, Akure (FUTA). Everything started well. Raw regret fuelled a new level of diligence. Starting afresh was simply humbling. But I soon noticed I was on the fringes. It didn’t help that my mum had become tight-fisted after my dad passed. I couldn’t beat them, so I joined them.
I was doing things like travelling to party in Abeokuta for the fear of missing out. FUTA isn’t well-run, so I could skirt the problems that got me sent away from UI. I could catch a cruise, miss classes and pay for grades. I graduated as a 25-year-old who lived a 19-year-old’s life. Youth Service at the Broadcasting Corporation of Oyo State (BCOS) was next, from 2016 to 2017. I practically lived at home.
I think people are eager to project their responsibilities so they can appear more serious adults than others. What’s that? Why would you want to prove you’re better at suffering than others?
I haven’t held a full-time job since BCOS. I can afford not to. My father left everything to my mother and me.
I live with my mother and help manage his investments. That’s making sure no-one sells our land, houses are maintained and tenants pay rent on time. I spend my spare time with friends, travelling or exploring small business openings. Ibadan is a big place and opportunities are opening. Taxify launched here recently. More people are moving from Lagos. Soon our nightlife will start popping properly. I have to get in on that action.
I know people say stuff about me and the money, especially family. A lot of it comes from envy. Is it my fault that my dad left money behind? Am I to blame for being an only child?
My mum has suggested I get a full-time job. She once asked if I would like to move to one of our flats. Why should I leave a house that’s big enough for me, my mum, extended family and friends, just to prove a point? For what though? In a country where the reward for hard work is getting by? Half the people who yarn about me want to be me.
Am I adulting? Yes, but I think if you ask most people, they’ll disagree because of my privilege. But what does it matter? I like what I have and I don’t see the point in plunging myself into adversity to prove something.
I miss my father a lot. Maybe I’d have a better sense of how I’m doing if he was still here. It would be fun to ask if he thinks I’m doing okay.
I’m not proud of everything I’ve done in my rather eventful life. I look back at that time I ran away from a bunch of kids trying to mug me in 2011 and shake my head in regret. There’s also the time I went to a Constitutional Law lecture in a pair of jeans and got the dragging of my life. But none of that comes close to the 2000s; the decade I let peer pressure get the better of me.
The 2000s are iconic for many things; every other person had Y2k fever, and the lyrics to Will Smith’s “Will 2k” were gospel. Good times. Who woulda thunk that barely years later, I’d be rocking corduroy trousers big enough for my entire body to fit in? If you look at the photos of you and your best friends from that era, you’ll get my point better. The 2000s were a dark time, a time when we collectively decided to dress like badly drawn cartoon characters.
Now that street fashion is more popular than ever, and more fashionable people are looking to past decades for inspiration, we must make sure nobody ever decides to bring these fashion fads back.
Anything With ‘OBEY’ On It
The first time I saw a shirt with “OBEY” written on it, I assumed it was a PSA. Like the United Nations had sponsored a program to get Nigerian children to be more obedient. Then I began to see it on TV, on the backs of people who have never obeyed any instruction in their lives. Man, every young Nigerian male who was alive and had spare cash in the 2000s rocked something with OBEY on it. The ‘OBEY’ clothing line was vital in bringing streetwear to the masses (and our people at Aba did their fair share to help). To be fair, their designs are pretty cool. Nah, they’re not. I’ve seen enough OBEY for 60 lifetimes.
Boot Cut Trousers
Bracket doing it for the culture.
What do you know about walking around in trousers that feel like they’re hiding an entire village and its citizens. From time, trouser cuts have been the first casualties of fashion trends. So I reckon people were excited when the boot-cut thing (or bell bottoms, as some call them) showed up. They shouldn’t have. Except that you’re trying to smuggle your extended family into another country, there’s no alternate reality where these trousers make sense. Imagine walking and waiting for the bottom half of your trousers to catch up with you. There’s also the part where the trousers would swallow your shoes, with no regard for how much you spent on them. Never Again.
Supra Hightops
Christ. These ‘sneakers’, which was the ruse they were sold under, look like what happened if Wall-E spent too much personal time with a leather ball. Yet everybody I knew, boys and girls wanted to rock a pair in 2008. Supra fever was so intense that it was tied to dance moves like the Dougie and an entire batch of baby-faced rappers. To be fair, they stood out; a pair of Supras look like Optimus Prime is hugging your feet with your trousers all scrunched near your knee. Hightops aren’t bad; a nice pair of 23s will prove this point. Supras just don’t work.
That Shirt & Sweater/Waistcoat Combo
P-Square Being P-Square
Yes, Bayo. I know you’ve seen all those interviews of Jeff Bezos where he’s stylishly decked in a dress shirt and a nice sweater. I know you want to be like Bezos. I wanted to be a young, hip billionaire too. So I let my friends convince me to dress the part – by wearing waistcoats over dress shirts in the midday sunshine, with a patriotic ‘Nigeria’ pin for effect. Guess who’s still poor? Me. Certain philistines still dress like this, but we must raise awareness and kill this virus before it overwhelms the entire population.
Multicoloured Snapbacks
This guy again.
I blame Wizkid and “Holla At Your Boy”. You see, when a young, talented singer who’s supposedly in his teens shows up and grabs all the (ladies’) attention, it’s only understandable that every potential baby boy wants to look like him. Hats, or face caps as they are also known, had been a thing long before Wiz. But when he began to show up everywhere in snapbacks of varying colours, the mandem followed suit. Then, unimaginative Nigerians began making theirs, complete with meaningless terms like “SWAGGER” embossed in hideous colours. Snapbacks are still a part of popular culture, as Wizkid will show you any day. But the 2000s were a dark time we must never return to.
HONOURABLE MENTION
No matter what you do, you just can’t beat this one. It’s trying to live forever.
Colour Blocking
Debs, an Abuja Lifestyle Blogger
Want to see what a person looks like when they manage an outfit that combines all 9 primary colours? To be fair, you’ve probably seen it already. Colour blocking is essentially a display of graphic design. People rock items of very different colours, supposedly to create a diverse visually-pleasing palette. What I see is pure, unadulterated confusion.
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Nowadays, if you’re in the mood for some local entertainment, all you have to do is hop to a cross-dressing Nigerian comedian’s Instagram page, turn on Africa Magic, or (if your soul is dark) scroll through Instablog9ja.
As a 90s baby who grew up in the 2000s, I hdid different things. As a child, local TV shows were my primary form of entertainment for years.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3ZjHeIQpUo
Cartoons were great (and judging by all the new anime on Netflix, they still are) but local television was more relatable. For long, my entire week revolved around Super Story. When I developed a taste for anarchic humour, Fuji House of Commotion took its place. Shows like those showed me multiple views of Nigerian life that I couldn’t get anywhere else.
Of course, that’s a massive world of realities. But over time, I found that my favourite shows were those with a family as the central cast. They still are. Family life in Nigeria is special, for lack of a better word and there’s no better way to see the many varieties in full splendour than on Nigerian TV.
That said, here are my 5 favourite families from Nigerian Television shows through the years.
The Johnsons (from “The Johnsons”)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSGMnZ6M66E
I got into this show just as I was leaving the safety of my parents’ house for the jungle that is the Lagos job market. If there’s any show that captures the mischief typical of eccentric Nigerian kids (and a cheapskate father), it’s this one. The Johnsons are a lower–middle-class family – but that’s where all the normalcy ends. The father, an amateur scientist played by funnyman Charles Inojie, is one of those middle-aged men who won’t stop reminding people he got an A in Physics. His family is just as dramatic. His wife, the family’s semi-educated matriarch tends to mispronounce words loudly.
Their kids are a mess too. Chinedu Ikedieze plays the first son, who’s as problematic as he’s smart. His brother, played by Olumide Oworu is a lily-livereed mummy’s boy who will do anything for a girlfriend. Blessing, the last of three, loves attention so much she ran away from home because she wasn’t getting enough. The Johnsons are a family of misfits, but they are lovable in all their flaws. One minute, you’re wondering how a family like this can work, then you realise just how well they complement each other.
Chief Fuji’s Family (From “Fuji House of Commotion”)
The family that struck the fear of marriage into the young hearts of Nigerians in the 2000s. If there’s one TV family I never wanted to join, it was this one. Fuji House of Commotion was a spin-off of “Checkmate”, the iconic Nigerian series by Amaka Igwe. While Checkmate is remembered for nuanced stories, The Fuji House was, at first look, pure chaos.
Chief Fuji, as the main character was called, was the centre of it all. Of his three wives and one mistress, only one – the first wife played by Toun Oni – did not have an insane capacity for troublemaking. Add half-a-dozen men in their 30s who are fine with being overgrown babies + a dozen children and you see why the title makes perfect sense. Chief Fuji’s house was a barracks, refugee camp, rehabilitation centre and cultural hub, rolled into one.
What appealed to me about the Fuji family was how it managed to reflect all the troubles you’d typically expect from such a large, multi-tribal household. But it also showed how it could work; for every new dispute, the family would manage to reach a compromise and keep moving. Such examples of resilience and multi-tribal unity are rare on Nigerian TV, even if I would rather live on crackers than join that family.
The General’s Family (Extended Family)
You probably remember “Extended Family” as the show that brought comedian Bovi to the limelight. This 2000s show revolved around a family with a very stern father, referred to as “The General” (because what else would you call a dictator ruling over his own tiny (family) nation). The general’s main goal at the start of the series was to raise successful and well-behaved kids.
Enter his two nephews. Bovi, in particular, seemed bent on undoing all the general’s hard work with his get-rich-quick schemes and loyalty to his old lifestyle. I’ve come to realise that I may like this family in part because of my childhood. I’m partial to TV families that feature rascals and how they navigate their relationships with stern authority figures. Great comedy also helps.
I’m ashamed that I can’t remember their names, but my conscience will block my throat if I don’t include this.
Family Circle
How do you make a list of Nigerian TV families without Family Circle? Apart from being one of the more popular series of the 1990s, the show did a great job of getting into the nitty-gritty of Nigerian family life. From disputes with extended family members to dealing with impressionabl kids, Family Circle touched everything with nuance. Sadly, there’s very little record of this show on the internet of things (or in my brain, for that matter, which explains why I can’t remember the characters’ names)
Unlike many other shows on this list, comedy wasn’t the main vehicle. Instead, we were introduced to a regular family, with regular ideals and problems, trying to live a regular life. And sometimes, being regular is special enough. There’s also the part where the family head, played by Norbert Young, was the definitive stoic father of the 1990s. Let’s just say he reminded me of someone I knew.
HONOURABLE MENTION:
The Soundtrack (Everyday People)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUjA1MSTOHM
This is hands down my favourite Nigerian TV show ever. I loved everyone and all the families on this show. Everyday People was perhaps one of the most-watched TV drama series of the 1990s, largely because many viewers could see themselves in the ensemble cast. The show was as close to reality as you could get with a scripted series in the 1990s; that’s how real the stories were. But what kept me coming back was the soundtrack. I still remember the words. The families weren’t that bad. But man, that soundtrack was special.
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There’s so much music out there that it’s hard for even the most loyal fans to stay up with their favourite artists or what’s new and hot right now. That’s why we’ve created #BumpThis – a daily series that features the one song you need to listen to, every day. Don’t say we never did anything for you.
He may not know it, but Ghanaian DJ & Producer, Juls played a big role in making Ghanaian highlife a vital part of Nigerian pop. Yet another skill of his, as shown on his new project “Colors” is tapping talented upstarts from across Africa for incredibly smooth summer tunes.
Oxlade was relatively unknown when he grabbed attention for crafting the melody of Blaqbonez’s “Mamiwota” last year. Just over a year later, and the Surulere, Lagos singer is one of 2019’s best revelations.
Oxlade’s dexterity with melody seems ready for a larger audience, and on “Angelina”, he proves it by perfectly complementing Juls’ sparse production and Falz’s comedic raps. The song sounds mostly like the soundtrack to a raunchy night hopping through town with a temporary love interest – a point that Falz passes across with lines like “Omo this your figure eight e dey slay guys, If I bust 16 you go change mind, na all her 36 she take smile.“
Angelina captures what we love the most about all three collaborators; and for Oxlade, shows that he can hold his own beyond the safety of the Underground scene.
Listen to “Angelina” here.
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With Netflix, Amazon and more publishers claiming Nigerian titles, it can feel surprising when you sit channel-surfing for the whole day trying to find something worth watching.
That’s why we’re here. Some of the best Nigerian movies and tv shows of all time have been released in the last few decades. They show different sides to the Nigerian experience. If you haven’t seen anything on this list, do yourself a favour and fix up.
This expose on the life and times of Nigeria’s enigmatic musician, Fela Kuti is a staple. The documentary is shot with two timelines. The main story is about Fela’s life, from his childhood in Abeokuta to his final days in Lagos.
The journey sits side-by-side with a visual journal that follows the cast of Fela: The Musical as they prepare for their grand premiere. With interviews featuring Yeni & Femi Kuti and Sandra Iszadore, it’s arguably the most comprehensive look at Fela on Youtube.
Up North (2018)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvTVkh1LeLc
This 2018 movie, by Anakle Films, was one of the most talked-about movies of last year. It helped turn the production firm into a more prominent name. The movie’s highlight, however, is its portrayal of the NYSC program. The movie’s protagonist, a wealthy heir is forced by his father to Bauchi for his compulsory year of national service. There, he becomes more thoughtful and finds love. Up North has its ‘meh’ moments but it’s a good look at the gulfs between Nigeria’s social classes and makes a good case for the oft-maligned NYSC.
Knockout (2019)
For many Nigerian 90s babies, Wale Adenuga Productions reflected the playfulness of our childhood. Maybe that explains why Knockout, a movie by the same production firm is one of the funniest and most commercially successful movies out this year.
Featuring an ensemble cast of funnymen that includes Charles Okocha, Brother Shaggy and Klint The Drunk, Knockout is a beautifully offbeat movie about one man’s hare-brained attempt to win a boxing competition. Turn your deep thinking instincts off for this one and just have a few nostalgic laughs.
Women Of The Bay (2019)
With much thanks to the DIY culture, a crop of young filmmakers is creating timely exposes on Nigeria as they see it. One of the best in recent times is this short film by Nora Awolowo, produced by Kiki Mordi. The film is a humbling look at the lives of the women of Tarkwa Bay. Most Lagosians know the small island as a prime vacation spot, away from the bustle of Lagos. Tarkwa Bay is also home to an impoverished community of indigenes and local immigrants who service the wealthy Lagos Island neighbourhoods.
Hire A Woman (2019)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwQuE-FHGPk
Considering the new ground that this movie breaks, it’s strange that it’s only a footnote in most conversations. Despite being a staple of the Genevieve Nnaji’s Nollywood in the 1990s and 2000s, chick flicks, and their close cousins, romantic comedies have been replaced with shows of highbrow living in Lagos.
It makes “Hire A Woman” a refreshing watch. It’s like a real-life version of a plotline in Big Brother Naija, only with better acting, more creepy gazes and fewer disappearing accents. Definitely something to watch with bae while you try to forget you have serious problems.
“This is Not LA, This Is Lagos” (2019)
Lagos’ alte subculture has caught global attention in the last year, especially around musicians like Santi and Odunsi who have given more eclectic tinges to contemporary music. This documentary by Alte Daily is about one of the overlooked parts of the community; its burgeoning skate scene.
The documentary follows the WAFFLESNCREAM brand that has become known for skate gear and fashion in Lagos as they try to give skate culture into the Nigerian mainstream. The documentary is a refreshing look into what the kids are up to nowadays.
“Sweet Crude” (2009)
On a more serious note, if there’s one documentary you want to watch with a box of tissues in your hand and your phone on airplane mode, it’s Sweet Crude. The story of the Niger Delta, Nigeria’s overreliance on oil is familiar to most. This 2009 documentary (and Winner of the Perception of Vision Award at that year’s Seattle Film Festival) goes deeper into the heart of the problem.
It goes to the homes, boats, dead farms and empty nets of the people who have suffered the worst environmental crisis in Nigeria’s history. But rather than simply emphasising the problem, the documentary looks at the history of non-violent protests and the emergence of the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND).
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We want to know how young people become adults. The question we ask is “What’s your coming of age story?” Every Thursday, we’ll bring you the story one young Nigerian’s journey to adulthood and how it shaped them.
The young woman in this story admits she isn’t exactly an adult. She’s 20 and only a few weeks from her convocation ceremony – not like you need to be a full-blown adult to know what it means when your allowance gets cut off. There’s only one way to pay the bills. Money.
When I was in junior school, JSS3 precisely, two classmates and I started a small business selling sweets in school. This was in Seolad College, the secondary school I attended in Mowe, Ogun State. We had clocked that the cafeteria didn’t sell sweets and that some of our other classmates liked to keep their jaws busy in the middle of classes, so we came up with a brilliant idea to start selling sweets.
We bought packs of lollipops to sell every day and every day, before school closed, we sold out. When the school authorities found out, they beat us. Even worse, it was in front of the class. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was because we were making money. The profit was really good. It was a very lucrative business. I was sad to stop, but the experience was great for me, it was one of the experiences that made me realise that money made the world go round.
My parents raised my siblings and I – two boys and me – like a gang moving through three neighbourhoods in two states. First in Lagos, between Mile 12 and Ketu, and later in Mowe. We were tight-knit. Snitching was and is still a sin.When one of my brothers learned something, we all knew about it within hours. We did all sorts of fun things. One of our favourite hacks was making cookies by compressing a mix of milk biscuits and powdered milk and putting Robo chips on top. My oldest brother once made a magazine; he wrote an entire book full of stories, cut-outs and collages. He took it to school and his classmates happily paid to read it. We did these mostly for fun; although looking back now, I can see how we were always trying to create new things that kids our age would be interested in.
As a child, I thought all adults were ballers. I don’t know why, but I assumed people in their early 20s got some sort of stipend to help them figure their shit out. I didn’t think about it deeply. If I did, I would have wondered why some people’s slay was low-budget.
Our family was relatively comfortable. My dad started a chain of small businesses when I was 5. My mum was a teacher. My brothers got into university early – simple and straight-forward. I never worried about money (although I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like extra cash.) All my cash came from my dad.
So when I began to understand how life worked, my chest began to hurt. I think it happened when we moved to Mowe. I was 12. We’d been living in this nice three-bedroom in a good neighbourhood in Ketu; then the landlord woke up one day and decided to double the rent. Two months later, we were standing at the gate to my father’s uncompleted house in Mowe, with no running water, no electricity and lots of work to do. I was so worried. Why were we moving to the bush? I wondered why he couldn’t just finish the house; so I asked and he broke it down. He taught me about cash flow, savings and expenses in detail. He had money coming in, but he had expenses so he never had enough to finish his house on short notice.
From that point, nothing scared me like the knowledge that people run out of money, or worse, that my dad would stop giving me an allowance at some point. Man, I switched up once I realised how important money was.
Everything about this life is money. You need money to navigate anything and everything else. I cannot wait to have a lot of it. The only other thing I’m looking forward to is independence and living alone – going out with the girls and having my friends over for intelligent conversations.
When I say these things, my brothers often ask how I plan to get there. I’ve never known. In all the schools I went to, I was constantly told to pick a mentor and follow their example. That’s not for me. I could like something about you, but not enough to follow every step you take. There are people I like but they don’t rank as role models.
I’m also lucky to have siblings that help me manage the pressure. One of their favourite things to say is how they’re doing all the suffering so I won’t have to. It’s helped me a lot, because, unlike a lot of my friends, I might actually have the luxury of deciding when I want to take on full-blown adult responsibilities.
Right now, I think I’ll be ready for adulting when I turn 24 or 25. I plan to start a baked goods business after school that should be profitable by that time. I don’t want to work for anybody. I don’t think I can do any of that exactly as I plan though. My dad is somewhat overprotective and I’m sure he won’t let me start adulting when I want. My brothers had to run away from home when it was their time. I’m the last child and a girl. Serious azzdent. My parents are fairly conservative and there’s a role I’m supposed to fill. Plus women typically have it harder starting out.
I hear women talk about how they have to do demeaning things to get or hold on to their jobs. They also tend to get disrespected often by their male colleagues. I remember reading an article once about how hard it is for single women to rent apartments. I laughed because my dad has a few apartments and he never rents to single women. I can’t imagine myself trying to navigate that world.
It’s still 50/50 sha.
For all the pressure, the real reason I’m reluctantto sign up for adulthood is simple: Bills. Those guys show up at random. You can never plan your finances well enough. Gas runs out at the worst times. If you have a car, you need to get fuel every morning. And if the car has a small issue, you have to get a mechanic. If he has your time or he’s just plain incompetent, he’ll spoil something else. Then you’ll have to call another mechanic. More expenses. You want to turn on the generator and something cracks. Expenses. Imagine paying for your cable subscription every month.
I hang out with a lot of older people. I hear them talk about finances and obligations. I won’t lie, it scares me sometimes. The biggest thing I’ve learned from them is to save money. Life is super unpredictable. You can wake up in the morning and something hits you so hard in the face like my family when we moved away from civilisation, it could be your reserve fund that saves you. That’s why 25 is where it’s at for me. I hope I’ll be ready then. For now, chasing that goal is what keeps me busy.
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There’s so much music out there that it’s hard for even the most loyal fans to stay up with their favourite artists or what’s new and hot right now. That’s why we’ve created #BumpThis – a daily series that features the one song you need to listen to, every day. Don’t say we never did anything for you.
Nigerian musicians are not famous for their use of songwriters, even though many know it’s a common practice behind the scenes. On his mission to reach the upper echelons of global pop, Davido has been criticised for using and not using songwriters. It’s consistent with the vitriol that he’s faced throughout his career – and addressed in a recent Instagram video. It is somewhat fitting that on “Blow My Mind”, an international collaboration featuring American singer Chris Brown, Davido proves why his formula (or the absence of one) works.
Last year, Davido sprung onto US charts with two singles; “Fia” and “Fall”, months after their release. “Blow My Mind” is similar in its Afropop leanings, albeit with a tinge of airy R&B and afro-fusion elements. Davido’s melodies are unusually light and breezy – as such, many Nigerian listeners were quick to draw parallels with Wurld, the Nigerian singer who has writing credits on the song. Davido’s pairing with Chris Brown proves to be an inspired choice as well; the US pop star’s forte is melody-driven pop songs and he delivers a typically memorable verse.
The production is a catchy mid-tempo beat that gives a summer tinge to the artists’ invitation to beautiful women. Davido may not have a songbird’s voice as many critics are quick to point out.
Whether he uses songwriters or churns out hits with no help, the man is in the business of crafting hits. “Blow My Mind” is the latest of them and it is as perfect as summer anthems get.
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