Abike* (30) has known she’d be a pastor’s wife since she was 19. But she’s married to one now, and it’s not what she expected.
She talks about her husband’s habit of giving money away to the church and how it’s contributed to financial uncertainty in the home.
As told to Boluwatife
Image: Canva AI
I don’t doubt that God called me to be a pastor’s wife. At 19, I was already active in my local church and university fellowship, and it was easy to predict that I’d marry a committed Christian, too.
My life revolved around school, church and fellowship activities. All my friends were from these circles, too. If you know how uni fellowships work, you’d know that marriage is a common topic. Christian students are encouraged to seek God’s will for their marital lives instead of dating casually. So, I’d begun praying about my future spouse and home even before I was ready for marriage.
Because of these prayers, I believe I heard from God, confirming my prediction that I’d marry a pastor. So, when my husband, Goke*, proposed to me in my final year in 2015, my response was a quick “Yes.” Goke was one of the fellowship pastors, and I didn’t doubt he was God’s will for me.
I still don’t doubt that Goke was meant to be my husband, but I’ve had reasons to reconsider if I really knew what being a pastor’s wife would entail.
Goke and I got married in 2017, and I thought I had a decent idea of what being married to a pastor would be. I’m close to several pastors’ wives and knew the position would come with many sacrifices.
I prepared to share my husband’s time with the church and members who needed him. I’d also mentally prepared to always cook in excess so I could entertain the countless visitors I knew we’d have. I was even ready to have my husband travel for days to different locations for ministry work.
I didn’t prepare for the financial uncertainty that came with the position. While we were still courting, I learned that Goke received a decent monthly salary from the head church that oversees the fellowship. In 2016, it was around ₦80k. Now, it’s almost ₦200k. He also lived in an apartment provided by the church, so I was confident we wouldn’t struggle with money or beg to feed.
I should mention that money was one thing I struggled with when I first realised I’d marry a pastor. I’ve heard stories about how full-time pastors and their families typically struggle to feed themselves because they lack a consistent income, and I prayed to God to help me with this.
I told God I was willing to accept His will to marry a pastor, but I wanted a pastor who could provide for his family. My parents weren’t rich, and I’d grown up seeing my mum hustle to support my dad and put food on the table. I didn’t want that for myself.
So, learning Goke received a salary from the church helped allay any minor fears about poverty that tried to spring up during our two-year courtship.
But it turned out that I shouldn’t have worried about whether Goke received a salary or not; I needed to worry about Goke himself.
My husband is a very generous giver, especially toward the things of God. He believes that sowing financial seeds and spending all your money to move God’s work forward and help His people is one of the most important forms of worship.
On multiple occasions, Goke has received his salary and immediately transferred it to one senior pastor somewhere, sent it to the church account as a seed, or even paid someone’s school fees. He does this based on “divine instruction.”
Often, he completes these instructions before telling me because he knows I’d most likely disapprove. We’ve had several arguments about his almost obsessive desire to spend all his money on God and disregard his family. My husband’s defending argument is always, “God will never leave us stranded.”
But we have been stranded sometimes. We have two children now, and I’ve had to take loans from my siblings on three different occasions to pay school fees.
I still don’t know why I didn’t see this part of him during courtship. Maybe it’s because I never asked him for money or expected him to buy me gifts. Perhaps if I’d billed him, I’d have realised he was almost always broke and traced his financial situation to his constant sacrificial giving.
For about two years now, I’ve deliberately tried to reduce my objections to his financial decisions because it makes me look like an unbeliever. Goke doesn’t understand why I try to rationalise instructions from God, and he says it shows that my faith is small. So, I’ve decided not to interfere anymore.
Instead, I’m focusing on aggressively saving and building a safety net without Goke’s knowledge. I fear that Goke will make us bankrupt one day or that we’ll have an emergency and no one to beg loans from, so I’m preparing for that day.
I don’t make that much from my job as a caterer, but I ensure I save at least ₦20k/month after handling the necessary expenses like feeding and clothing. It’s very tough because it means I have to deny myself many things.
I now trek to my shop most days to save on transport fare, and I had to sack my children’s nanny to save extra money. But I get comfort knowing I have a safety net to fall back on if the worst happens.
Right now, I have about ₦300k saved up. It would’ve been more, but I removed ₦100k a few months ago to support my mum’s surgery fees. My husband still doesn’t know how my mum got the money to complete her surgery.
Sometimes, I think about all the hiding I have to do, and it annoys me. My husband should be able to help me enjoy a sense of financial security, but I have to struggle to build a safety net because I can’t trust him to be there in an emergency. I’ve also had to bail him out several times when he’s broke.
I guess that’s part of what comes with marrying a religious man. I just wish I’d known this part of him before marriage. I’d have started saving earlier.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
That was in 2010. I didn’t really understand what money could do and how it felt to earn it before that time.
What changed?
So, I was in my second year and my uni was organising a rag day — it’s an event where students dress funny and go out to make money. I didn’t participate because it wasn’t my thing, but I helped a friend with their costume and jokingly requested a percentage of whatever money was made.
My friend got a lot of money almost as quickly as they went outside. When my other colleagues saw that, they rushed to me and asked me to help with their costumes. After the whole thing, they returned and gave me a cut of their earnings — ₦2k here, ₦1k there. I don’t remember exactly how much I made, but it was cool cash for simply exploring my creativity.
It was also the first time I held money that hadn’t passed through my parents’ strict approval process for financial matters.
Tell me about your parents
My parents were teachers and were very strict. They believed that letting children have money could lead them to vices. They were right, sha. In secondary school, I had friends who gambled among each other, but I couldn’t join because I didn’t even have as little as ₦5 on me — my siblings and I took lunch to school, so there was no reason to handle money.
Also, if a family member gave me money, I was meant to immediately hand it over to my parents, who decided what to do with it. If my mum saw a pencil she didn’t buy in my bag, all hell would let loose.
I can trace my lack of a savings culture to my upbringing. Imagine me trying to save as a child. With which money? Even if I miraculously found money, how was I supposed to explain keeping it? My parents controlled everything in our house, which followed me until that point in university when I finally did something independently.
Did you try something else to make money after that?
Yes. But I just pursued a passion and ended up getting paid for it. I loved organising tutorials for colleagues in uni, and one time in my third year, a friend asked if I could cover for her at work because she was writing exams.
She worked at a company that connected tutors to parents who wanted after-school lessons for their kids. So, while my friend was away, I tutored her client’s kid. When she returned after two weeks, the child’s parents called the company and asked to retain me for their child while my friend taught someone else.
They liked you that much?
Apparently, they did. The company employed me and paid me ₦20k/month to teach the child thrice a week. About a month later, I got a different gig through a senior colleague to teach maths and physics to someone preparing for WAEC.
Then, I got another referral from the same senior colleague. I juggled the three clients until my final year and made about ₦70k/month from all of them. In my final year, I had to scale back down to one client —the one paying ₦20k — because I wanted to focus on my studies and pass well. I’d been an unserious student for most of uni, and final year was my last chance.
Thankfully, I graduated with good grades and held the job for a few more months until I landed a new one in 2013. The new job was in health and safety, which aligned with what I studied in school, so I dropped the teaching gig to focus on my new role.
Was the pay better?
Haha. My salary was ₦5k/month. It was a serious pay cut, but I wanted professional experience. I lived with some friends and didn’t have to worry about rent. The ₦5k covered my transportation for only 2-3 weeks, and I had to rely on my friends for transport fare.
I supplemented my salary with occasional tutoring gigs — I got one in 2014 that paid ₦60k/week for a two-month period.
Fortunately, I landed a similar role at a non-profit in 2016. My starting salary was ₦60k/month, but it got up to about ₦100k after transportation allowance and other incentives.
A welcome relief from ₦5k/month, I imagine
It was. However, my lifestyle didn’t change much. I had free accommodation courtesy of my job. I’m not social, and I’d grown used to living on very little income, so there was almost nothing for me to spend on.
That said, I began giving out money. I like helping people, and since I wasn’t doing anything with money, I was using it to meet people’s needs — especially friends and family. If someone complained about a need on WhatsApp, I’d DM them and send them money.
About six months into the job, my salary increased to ₦80k. My need to travel for official duty also increased, and the allowances from travelling and field work brought my monthly income to ₦200k.
Did you consider savings or investments?
I didn’t grow up with a savings culture, so it wasn’t the first thing that came to my head. So, even though I was earning more than I ever had, I was always broke before month’s end.
In 2017, my mum noticed my terrible spending habits. She’d asked me for ₦50k, and I ended up sending ₦100k. She also learned from my siblings that I always gave extra money whenever they asked, so she called and told me it was time for me to learn how to save for a rainy day.
My mum opened a cooperative account in my name and asked me to decide on a monthly deposit I was comfortable with. I decided on ₦100k, and from then, I just sent the money to her monthly to help me save it.
I didn’t have access to it and had no desire to keep track of whatever I sent to her. My own was: They’ve told me it’s good to keep money, so let me just keep it. I didn’t have a goal.
I’m screaming
I worked at the non-profit till 2019, and my income grew to about ₦400k/month before I left.
Around the same time, my mum suggested I invest my cooperative savings in a landed property. Honestly, I was fine with just keeping it, but she advised against saving indefinitely.
So, I used most of the money — about ₦3m — to buy seven acres of land. The first day I stood on the land, I thought, “Hey, maybe investments aren’t so bad.” Like, I couldn’t see the end of the entire property, and it was all mine.
I farmed plantains on the land for about two years and made some profit, but I stopped because I struggled to juggle it with other responsibilities. Plus, I didn’t buy the land to farm. The goal is to build an estate on it someday.
I was just about to ask if you left the non-profit for farming
I left because I wanted to get a master’s degree, but my workplace didn’t let me. I even suggested a part-time study program, but they were against it. I decided that it was better to upskill than hold on to a job that could kick me to the curb, so I resigned and became a freelance consultant. I also stopped saving with the cooperative since I no longer had a consistent income.
Did you have a plan for school expenses with an inconsistent income?
I have contacts in the non-profit sector. I knew I’d still get something every other month. The only thing was, I couldn’t predict what my income would be. With consulting, you can make ₦200k today and ₦2m tomorrow.
I planned to freelance for only two years. After my master’s program, I’d re-strategise and return to an office job. Unfortunately, the pandemic happened and disrupted my academic calendar. Even after schools reopened, ASUU went on an eight-month strike, essentially wasting the whole of 2022.
I finished the program this year, so I’ve been a freelance consultant for longer than I planned. Fortunately, I get consulting gigs fairly regularly, so I survive. I also got married in 2021, and while that has increased my responsibilities, it’s also helped me manage the reality of having an inconsistent income.
How so?
We’ve already established I’m a spontaneous giver. I can’t stand seeing people in need and looking away. I could get away with that on a monthly salary, but consulting is different. If I make ₦1.2m today, I can’t just blow it because I don’t know if I’ll earn anything for the next few months.
It requires extensive financial planning, which isn’t my strength. After I got married, my wife and I decided it was best that she controlled my finances, and we’ve stuck with that. I don’t have access to my accounts or know how much I’m worth, and it works well for us.
Also, I believe that men having extramarital affairs is directly proportional to them having money. With the way I spend, I know having money might be a tempting factor to go that route, and I don’t want it. There’s no way to have a woman on the side if you don’t have a kobo to your name, and I’m fine with that.
I’m curious. How does the financial arrangement with your wife work?
My wife has all my bank apps on her phone, and she also receives the SMS alerts. I don’t get alerts, and I don’t have an ATM card either. I have zero access to my funds. Whenever I get paid for a job, she’s the one who tells me that money has entered my account.
She allocates the funds to whatever need we have at the moment. She also ensures there’s still money to run the home and attend to family emergencies in the months I don’t earn anything. She even buys me clothes or whatever she thinks I need. If I need money to repair the car, for instance, I call her, and she transfers money to the mechanic.
So, you don’t hold cash at all?
Nope. Sometimes, my wife puts money in one of the ATM cards if I want to buy something. But it’s always the exact amount because we both know I can still dash the extra cash to a random groundnut seller on the road.
I should mention that no one knows about my wife controlling my finances — not even my family. I know people would think it strange, so we keep it to ourselves.
Have there been any challenges with this arrangement?
The only challenge is that it’s quite difficult to make a transaction my wife disapproves of. For instance, I could ask her to transfer ₦150k to someone who needs a new phone.
Of course, she’ll query it, and if she doesn’t think the reason is good enough, she tells me we can’t do it or suggests a smaller amount. Sometimes, I try to defend my reason. Other times, I don’t push it.
I’d like to know how someone like you thinks about money
Money provides one of the easiest means to help people. I hate seeing people in need and looking away.
Right now, I’m looking forward to bigger consulting jobs and businesses, and it’s majorly because I want to be able to confidently ask my wife to increase our giving budget.
At least I’ve accepted that I’m a reckless spender, and I don’t mind that my spending is on those who need help.
So, how do you move money around these days?
I work from home most days, and with my wife handling the majority of the household’s needs, my spending oversight is limited to fueling the car, electricity, and monthly allowances.
Let me break it down:
Is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?
Solar electricity to increase my efficiency. My house is also my office, and the epileptic power situation in Nigeria is so crazy. The last time I checked, I’d need about ₦1m for a small solar system to power my office. To power the entire building, I’d need about ₦4m. According to my wife, we can’t afford either right now.
What was the last thing you bought that significantly improved your quality of life?
My laptop, which I bought for about ₦1.4m earlier this year. It comes with a smart pen, and for someone like me who does a lot of pitching, it’s so easy to pictorially represent a concept or solution I’m trying to proffer to clients. The laptop just has a lot of crazy features that make brainstorming seamless.
Is there anything you’d like to be better at financially?
I’m currently working on diversifying my income, considering that Nigeria’s economy isn’t smiling anymore. I can put on many hats, and I just need to figure out which skill I can utilise to get another income source to stabilise my finances.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
I’d like to split that into two: income and spending. My income rating is 5 because I still need to get more income sources.
My spending rating is 2 because of my poor spending habits. I’ll rate it higher when I learn how to handle my spontaneous spending, or better still, earn enough so I can spend spontaneously and not feel it.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Do the children of Nigerian politicians recognise their [often unfair] privilege? Amelia* does. The 24-year-old talks about growing up privileged, her reasons behind publicly denying her family and why she’s grateful for them regardless of how they make money.
As told to Boluwatife
Image by Freepik
I’ll be honest; I’m privileged, and I know a lot of that privilege comes from dirty money.
My family has been in the Nigerian political scene since before I was born, and from a young age, I had a sense of how things worked. I knew my parents were important people, and not everyone liked us. I got to know that second part because my mum always talked about enemies and people plotting our downfall.
Visitors were constant in our house, and my mum tried her best to ensure that my siblings and I were always in a different wing —mainly for security concerns but also because she didn’t want us too involved in my dad’s business. Again, because she didn’t want our enemies to get us. You’d wonder why she married a politician in the first place.
But despite my mum’s best efforts, it was hard to miss the plenty of cash always available at home, especially during campaign periods. My dad liked introducing his smart daughter to his colleagues, so I frequently got cash gifts. I once got ₦200k cash as a 12-year-old for greeting my dad’s colleague in French.
To be honest, I had a lit childhood. I attended secondary school with children of politicians and businessmen, and while everyone was rich, I was considered a rich kid.
My dad was in office throughout my secondary school days, so I didn’t lack anything. I had a ₦100k/month allowance even though I had access to free meals at school and didn’t have expenses. So, I did what any teenager with too much money would do and spent it all on my friends.
My generosity made me popular, and everyone wanted to be my friend at school. I even created a clique of my top seven best friends and often bought them gifts for no reason.
I pretty much did the same thing during my time at the university. I schooled abroad, but money still wasn’t a problem. I was the friend who would convince everyone to abandon class so we’d take an impromptu flight to one Island somewhere or attend a Taylor Swift concert.
I spent money without thinking twice about it because, well, the money was there. Aside from getting allowances from my parents, my name also opened doors, especially when I was in Nigeria. My dad’s colleagues fall over themselves to give me gifts or do favours for me because they know I’m one of my dad’s favourite children and want to be in his good graces.
When I first became active on social media and fancied myself a content creator, I plastered my name on my accounts. In hindsight, I knew it was a bad idea. Most of my friends from political families tend to stay low-key for safety concerns and to avoid random insults from Nigerians who are angry at whatever their politician parents do.
But I was proud of my name, so I owned it. It went well at first. Brands began reaching out to offer me free stuff so I could post them on my feed, and I was really getting into my influencer bag when the COVID lockdown happened in 2020.
It wasn’t particularly the lockdown that made me rethink publicly affiliating with my family; it was what happened after the lockdown — the #EndSARS protests and the mass looting of COVID-19 palliatives.
I wasn’t in Nigeria while all those were happening, but there was this palpable tension, especially among the ruling class. It was like a threat to a system that’d worked so well for certain people over time; no one knew how much effect it’d have. I wasn’t too concerned because I’m not that crazy about politics. But then, a few angry Nigerians found my social media, linked me to my father and started commenting about — and swearing for — politicians’ kids who help in spending the country’s money.
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There were only a few comments like that, but I panicked and hurriedly deactivated my accounts before the attacks would gather steam. That was my first reality check about the people praying for my family’s downfall that my mum had been preaching for years, and I didn’t like it.
Since then, I’ve become wiser. While I’m back on social media, I use a pseudonym. I’ve abandoned all plans of becoming a content creator and set all my accounts to private, so it’s just my friends and people in our circle who know who I am.
I also often deny my family name in public spaces. I work in the professional space now and have had to deny being related to my family more than once when I introduce myself to people, and they ask about my distinct surname. Of course, some people in the political circle still know who I am, but I try to limit that knowledge.
My friends usually ask why I do the whole hide-and-seek thing, and I think a major reason is self-preservation. I don’t want a target placed on my back simply because of my family’s choices. I prefer not to be judged based on who my father is or what he did before I was born.
I know my family has done some illegal things, and my privilege isn’t exactly clean, but I’m not ashamed of my family. Claiming to be ashamed would be a lie. They’ve provided me with a good life and meaningful connections, and many people would kill for the same opportunity. I know several political families who aren’t as close-knit and loving as mine, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
No one chooses their family; the most we can do is work with the cards we’ve been dealt. The same way a poor person can’t run away from their family because they were born poor is the same reason I can’t run away from mine.
I don’t always agree with my family’s actions and don’t see myself towing the same path, but I can’t become a puritan and choose to live like a pauper because I don’t want to touch blood money. I’m trying to make my own path and career, but I won’t reject my family’s support where needed, either.
Not everyone will agree with me, but I think it’s worse to pretend like I don’t know my privilege because I don’t want to offend anyone. I have access to bastard money and can choose not to work if I want to. It’s not fair, but then life isn’t fair. I can’t change my family or “turn them good,” so I have no choice but to accept them.
Still, I want to make a name for myself, and I don’t want my surname to announce me before I even arrive. So, I’ll probably keep denying my family in public for as long as possible.
Nigerians will always have opinions about whether women need to take their husbands’ surnames after marriage or not, but let’s consider what it actually costs — financially and stress-wise — to undergo a legal name change in Nigeria through these women’s experiences.
Image by Canva AI
Lara, 28
When I got married in 2021, I thought the name change would be easy. Since I didn’t have an international passport, I assumed I’d only need to get the court affidavit and newspaper announcement everyone talks about.
My husband got the court affidavit on my behalf for about ₦4k and then paid ₦18k for the name change announcement in the newspaper. I assumed that was all, but then I tried to create a new bank account with my married name, and the bank said I couldn’t because my BVN had my maiden name.
So, I had to return to the bank where I originally did my BVN to submit my marriage certificate, court affidavit, and newspaper announcement. It took about two weeks for the name change to be reflected.
Then, I returned to the other bank to create a new account. But they said the names on my BVN (Bank Verification Number) and NIN (National Identification Number) didn’t match and that the NIN was supposed to be my means of identification. So, I had to go to the NIMC office to update my name.
The first time I went to the NIMC office and saw the crowd, I just gave up. I kept visiting the office and returning home over a six-month period because the crowd always scared me. Eventually, I got someone inside the office to help me and paid them ₦5k. Altogether, it took me a year and so much stress to change my name.
I still don’t know what I’ll meet when it’s time to update my name on my permanent voter’s card. I think I’ll just leave that one abeg.
Azeezat*, 26
I got married in 2023 and saw shege with this name change thing. I planned to travel to meet my husband abroad and decided to change my name before japa. That meant I needed to update my name on my international passport.
The court affidavit and newspaper publication cost less than ₦30k and were ready in two days. However, I also needed to update my NIN name, and that’s where the wahala started.
Every time I went to the NIMC office, the staff said their systems were down and they couldn’t update the change on the server. After going up and down for three weeks, I eventually got one of the staff to hold my documents (wedding certificate, affidavit, newspaper announcement and former NIN slip) so they could help me update my NIN portal as soon as the server was up.
I still had to go back after a week to re-capture my biometrics. I can’t remember the actual price for the entire process, but I gave the staff who helped me ₦7500.
After the NIN, the next stage was to go to the immigration office to update my passport name. I heard it normally costs ₦30k, but I paid ₦80k in total because I wanted to fast-track it. The immigration office collected my old passport, and I went to pick up the new one two months later when it was ready. I heard it takes others up to a year.
Brown, 29
I’ve changed my name twice — once when I got married and the second when I got divorced.
I got married in 2018, and it was pretty seamless. My ex-husband took me to the court, where I used my marriage certificate to swear a change of name affidavit. That cost about ₦1k. Then, I took the affidavit to publish my new name in the newspaper. That cost ₦6k.
After my divorce in 2021, I used the document containing the court judgement of divorce to swear an affidavit, which I used to publish my revert to my maiden name in a newspaper. I think the whole thing cost ₦10k.
I also had to update my NIN after the divorce because I’d registered while married, and it carried my ex’s surname. It was a seamless process because I knew someone in the NIMC office, but it still took a few weeks.
Esther, 32
I got married in 2021 but only changed my name in 2023 because I was trying to include my husband’s details as my spouse and next of kin on my pension account, and my pension fund administrator said it’d be easier if we bore the same name.
The affidavit and newspaper part were pretty straightforward, but the NIN update was unnecessarily annoying. I paid ₦2500 and had to queue for the whole day before submitting my application and re-capturing my biometrics. Then, it took two weeks for the update to reflect, and I had to queue for hours again to collect my new NIN slip.
I also want to update my name on my bank account, but I heard that’ll involve updating the BVN. I’m not ready for another lengthy process.
Erioluwa, 43
I changed my name a year after my wedding in 2015, and I only needed the court affidavit and newspaper announcement. I can’t remember how much the newspaper cost, but the affidavit was ₦2500. Then, I submitted the documents to my bank and place of work, and they changed my name where necessary.
I even registered my NIN with my married name before I changed my name officially and had no issues.
I was just lucky, really. I hadn’t registered my NIN before, so I took my marriage certificate there and filled out the form with my husband’s surname. Fortunately, the NIMC staff didn’t check. If not, I’d have gotten delayed until I did the affidavit.
Ronke*, 24
I started my name change process about four months ago, and I’m still in the NIN name update stage.
I’m using the new NIMC self-service portal, which is supposed to allow me to change my name from the comfort of my home. However, there are several issues with it. The portal says I need to upload the court affidavit for the change of name, which I’ve already done.
But it also says I need a government-issued means of identification with the new name. I only have an international passport, and I can’t update my name there because I still need the same NIN. Even updating the voter’s card requires NIN, too, so what does Nigeria want me to do?
Someone has suggested getting a driver’s license with my new name so I can then change the NIN. But it doesn’t make sense why I have to spend so much just because I’m trying to avoid queues at the NIMC office.
*Some names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
In Primary 1, I sold my biscuits to my classmates for money. My parents gave me biscuits to school, but I preferred money. Money meant I could buy anything I wanted and not be limited to biscuits.
So, I sold the biscuits for ₦3 even though they were worth ₦5. Then, I spent ₦1 on sweets and saved ₦2. This was in 1993, so there were still ₦1 sweets. I did that till my elder sister found out after some weeks when she saw money with me and snitched.
Yikes. Were you punished?
No, but my parents held a family meeting. They wanted to understand why I sold my biscuits cheaper just because I wanted money. Like, what did I need the money for?
I don’t remember what I told them, but they started giving me ₦3 to school instead of the biscuits. I continued buying sweets and saving what was left. Every month, I’d give my mum what I’d saved and ask her to add money to buy me a shirt or anything that caught my interest. It was a good arrangement.
Tell me more about what growing up was like, financially
I was born with a silver spoon and lost it along the way. My dad was a big-time contractor and businessman; he had a printing press and a real estate business. My mum was a full housewife who also made aso ofi at home.
Unfortunately, our fortunes started to change around 1995. My dad bought a German company that was exiting Nigeria without knowing the company was already going under. He told me much later that the deal had cost him ₦35m — big money back then — and he’d also taken some loans from the bank.
When the company eventually folded up, we had to move to a smaller house, and my mum lost all her aso ofi customers. I must’ve been 8 when it happened, and I saw how we slowly went from wealthy to struggling.
What were some of the things that came with this major change?
First, we didn’t have a driver to take my siblings and me to school anymore. Then we started taking danfo buses. I also transferred to a nearby, less expensive school.
The Christmas clothes also stopped coming, and people stopped visiting us. Usually, during festive seasons, many visitors came to ask my dad for money, but that stopped.
My dad didn’t get as many contracts as he used to. He lost some of his influential friends due to his bank debt. However, he managed to sponsor me and my siblings through school by selling many of the landed properties he’d acquired.
Sounds tough. Do you remember the first time you worked for money?
That happened after graduating secondary school in 2005. I couldn’t start uni immediately because two of my elder sisters were in the polytechnic, and my dad couldn’t afford to send more children to school at the time.
So, I picked up a ₦2500/month teaching job at a small private school. Apart from the salary, I made small change teaching after-school lessons. The school charged each student ₦20 daily for those lessons, and the proprietor shared the money amongst the teachers. Sometimes, I made ₦100 extra, sometimes ₦800. It depended on how many students paid per day.
I worked at the school for two years until I started university in 2007. Because of our financial situation, I barely got an allowance from home. When the allowance came, it was between ₦3k – ₦5k for a month. So, I had to do several hustles to support myself.
What kind of hustles?
I joined the decoration unit of my university fellowship and often got small gigs outside the fellowship. They weren’t paid gigs, but I was fed before and after the job.
Sometimes, I got actual decoration gigs that paid in cash, and I had to share the money with the unit members I took to assist me. My share at the end of these jobs was mostly ₦5k.
When I was extra broke, I’d gather ₦200 each from a few friends and tell them to come eat in my room. Then, I’d buy foodstuff at the market and cook enough rice. It worked out because the portions I served were more than what my friends would get with ₦200 at the cafeteria, and I also got to eat out of the food.
That was how I survived university till I graduated in 2011.
What did you do next?
I worked as a manager at a clubhouse for six months, earning ₦12k/month before I left for NYSC in 2012.
My place of primary assignment was a school, and I wasn’t paid a salary. However, the local government paid me ₦1500/month, while the state government paid ₦5k/month. Then there was the ₦19800 allowance from NYSC.
I supplemented my income by transporting food items for fellow corps members. I served in the North, so whenever I was returning home, I’d ask them to give me a list of things they wanted me to bring back to the North— anything from beans and garri to gadgets.
Some of them even bought on credit and paid me in installments. I didn’t mind because I added healthy profits. I could buy a UK-used BlackBerry phone for ₦25k and sell it for ₦35k. I made ₦30k-₦50k monthly from that business.
Not bad
I didn’t pay for rent as I lived in a lodge, so I saved most of my income after the food and travel costs. I also applied for a master’s program during this time. The plan was to start my master’s degree immediately after NYSC.
I finished NYSC in 2013 and invested in a hire-purchase taxi business just before returning to school. I bought a local taxi for ₦320k and gave it to a driver who paid ₦15k weekly. The agreement was for him to pay ₦650k and then own the taxi afterwards. The weekly payment delivery essentially supported me through postgraduate school, which I finished in 2015.
What happened after postgraduate school?
I became a network marketer at a company that sold nutritional supplements. To work with the company, I registered with ₦36k. I had the option of selling the products or recruiting other people to join, and I chose the latter because I didn’t like the idea of selling products.
I earned ₦9500 for each person I recruited, and there were months when money didn’t come in at all. Then, sometimes, payments would come in quick succession, up to ₦100k. It was tough, but I had no other option, so I stuck with it.
The only positive thing about that job was that I learned to sound convincing and market anything to anybody. I also travelled a lot around Nigeria.
But how did you survive if payment wasn’t regular?
My fiancée had a job, and she often helped me out with cash. I also registered more accounts on the network company to increase my earnings through recruits; I went from having one account to 15, which helped the payments become a bit more regular.
Then, in 2016, I joined MMM. I made a lot of money at first — I already knew how to canvas people and got great referral bonuses. Then, I got carried away and joined a few other Ponzi schemes —Twinkas, Helping Hands, Donation Hub, etc. Anyway, I received sense when I lost about ₦6.5m after the schemes crashed.
Damn
I lost almost all I’d made from the networking marketing job and all the profit from the Ponzi schemes. I lived in a ₦65k/year apartment, but I started owing rent because I couldn’t pay it.
I tried to go into dog dealing to make money quickly, but I gave the dogs out after a few weeks. I was using all my money to feed the dogs, and I was starving myself. I decided it wasn’t worth it and focused on my job at the network company. Thankfully, I’d used some of my MMM money to rent an office space, so I decided to intensify my efforts.
I made reasonable money for a while. I got a car, got married, and things were reasonably okay. But I started having second thoughts about the network company.
What happened?
I started questioning my morality. I was good at what I did; I could convince people to join. But then these people joined and didn’t know how to do the same, so they didn’t make money.
Once, I recruited someone who used his house rent to register after hearing me speak. Unfortunately, he didn’t make money, and the landlord nearly chased him out. Another did the same with his child’s school fees. I became uncomfortable with the whole system; it was starting to look a lot like MMM. So, I quit in 2018 even though I had no alternative.
That’s when sapa hit me full-time. I lost my dad earlier in the year, which affected me mentally, and I couldn’t think of business ideas. I became extremely broke, and then my wife got pregnant. Things went downhill from there.
The baby came, and I sold my car to handle the bills. After some months, I moved my family to my parents’ house when I couldn’t afford rent anymore. Nine months after we had our first child, my wife became pregnant again.
Oh wow
There I was — broke, owing rent and trying to survive with a baby and another on the way. Also, my wife had left her job because of the babies and the fact that we changed locations.
I tried to make money from forex trading and crypto, but it was a series of ups and downs. I’d make money today and lose it the next day. I also had a stint driving cabs on an e-hailing app in 2019.
In 2020, I moved my family to a friend’s family house. It was a four-bedroom house, but we had access to two. My friend lived in one of the rooms with his wife. I lived in another room with my family and another friend who was also squatting. My wife and two children slept on the bed, and I and the other friend slept on the floor.
Later that year, a family member moved us to Lagos and rented an apartment for us. My wife got a small teaching job, which sustained us for a bit.
Were you still trading forex and crypto?
On and off, but it wasn’t profitable. In 2021, I landed a government contract to supply bricks for a project in my home state. I got it through some friends, and it was supposed to change my finances.
This is how these contracts work: the contractor funds the project and gets paid after different levels of completion. The contract was worth ₦40m, and I didn’t have money, so I borrowed it from a finance firm.
Unfortunately, the engineer overseeing the project wasn’t happy with me. He’d expected me to give him a ₦2m bribe, and when I didn’t, he decided to frustrate my payments. I finished the project in 2022 and was in a ₦40m+ debt.
Ah
It was a terrible period. The interest on the loan increased every day, and the finance firm threatened me several times.
At a point, the payments began coming in very small instalments. I had to involve a lawyer to retrieve the money when only ₦8m came in after several weeks. The lawyer’s fee sef was about ₦3m.
It took a year to get 90% of the project payment—about ₦36m. Thankfully, the finance firm understood my plight after I explained and gave me time to repay. I paid the ₦4m loan balance myself in 2023.
How did you do that?
I secured more contracts. I’m a restless person and don’t know how to sit back and watch, so I applied for several government contracts. In 2023, I got one to supply furniture to schools, made ₦2.5m, and used most of it to pay off some of the debt.
I got a job that same year and used part of my salary to pay off the balance until I cleared everything.
Tell me more about the job
The role was drilling engineer at a multinational oil company, a job I got by a stroke of luck. I was at a family friend’s event when someone randomly asked my wife if her husband needed a job. I sent my CV, got the interview invite and eventually got an offer — ₦1.4m/month, including bonuses.
I got promoted a few weeks ago, and my average salary is now ₦1.5m/month.
Whoosh. To think you were ₦40m in debt just about a year ago
It’s such a relief. My experience has taught me a big lesson: never give up. There were days I wanted to end it all, but I looked at my family and lost my nerve. Plus, I’m not a coward. I couldn’t run away from my problems.
However, there were days I tried to run. One evening, when I was still squatting with my friend, my baby was crying out of hunger, and there was nothing I could do. I just told my wife I was coming and walked out of the house. I switched off my phone and kept walking. I slept in a church that night.
I raised some money from a few people before I returned to the house the following morning. I found my wife crying, thinking something had happened to me.
Luckily, one of the guys we lived with borrowed her money that night so my baby could eat. I really felt terrible. As a man, I couldn’t feed myself, talk more of my family.
I’m sorry you went through that
2018 to 2022 were trying years for me, and I’m grateful they’re behind me now. I just kept telling myself that if I didn’t die during that period, everything would be fine. I also developed high blood pressure at some point. How many stories do I want to tell?
I can imagine. Have there been any lifestyle changes with the new income?
Well, I don’t owe rent again, and I can easily pay my kids’ school fees. My lifestyle hasn’t changed much except that I now invest heavily in different business ventures.
Aren’t you worried that some of your investments didn’t exactly do great in the past?
Nope. I face everything believing that I have God and no matter the outcome, I’ll survive. Moreover, business is in my DNA. I can’t do without it.
I’m currently investing in a tech startup designed to connect people globally via digital cooperative societies. My team and I are still in the app development and compliance stage, and I’ve spent over $2k on it.
I also leased some land to cultivate cassava and process garri in 2023, which cost me about ₦1.2m. I’d have started planting this year but couldn’t get farmers because I was busy with work. However, I intend to begin operations next year.
I also regularly pursue government contracts, which require constantly pumping in money. I have over ₦8m tied up in these contracts.
That’s a lot of money tied up in investments
I believe that money is like a Christmas goat. It’ll run away if you don’t tie it down, and your Christmas is gone. I’ll always spend money, so I think it’s better that it’s out there working for me.
That’s pretty much my relationship with money. I don’t believe in holding money; I either give it out, loan it, or invest it.
Let’s break down your typical monthly expenses
Is there anything you want right but can’t afford?
“Can’t afford” is relative, but I want three things: to get my tech startup running, move my family abroad while I stay back to hustle, and build a house. I’ll need about ₦5m to get the startup fully functional, and japa will cost a lot more.
I estimate I’ll need about ₦35m – ₦50m to build a house. I can’t get that from my salary, which is why I’m always on the lookout for contracts and business opportunities.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 -10?
4.5. I’m grateful for where I am, but more must be done. I really want to influence society and help people, which is why I’m keen on the startup. It’ll help me reach as many people as possible and play a role in people’s lives.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Janet* (28) first met her long-term best friend, Jesse*, when she was 13. She talks about their 15-year friendship, people mistaking their closeness for romance and why she doesn’t want to date Jesse.
As told to Boluwatife
Image by Freepik AI
My best friend, Jesse*, has been the one constant in my life for the past 15 years. It’s funny how I initially hated him.
We met in 2009 when we were in JSS 3 at the same secondary school. Jesse joined my class in the middle of the second term as a transfer student, and I remember thinking, “Who joins a new class halfway through the school year?”
We got talking when Jesse inevitably fell behind on most of the subjects. He had weeks and weeks of notes to write, so he came to my seat to ask me for my English notes. Apparently, other students had told him I kept the most detailed notes, so I was the obvious choice.
I lent him the note, but Jesse lost it after two days. To make matters worse, he didn’t tell me because he was scared of how I’d react. He came up with excuses whenever I asked for the note and only came clean when it was three weeks to exams.
Of course, I was angry. I reported Jesse to a teacher who punished and directed him to rewrite my note from scratch. He wrote the note and even stuck an apology card inside. I was still angry with him, so I tore the card into pieces and dropped it on his desk.
But Jesse didn’t mind my reaction. It was as if my anger only made him more determined to make me smile. Every day, he’d stop by my desk to tell me a joke or present me with snacks. On my part, I thought he was an unserious fellow who joked too much, and I’m not sure why, but I just hated his guts.
He started to wear me down towards the end of third term, and I began to look forward to his “disturbance”. Then, when we resumed SS 1, we found each other in the same science class and immediately became fast friends.
Ironically, Jesse’s parents moved to a new house in my neighbourhood that same year, which made Jesse and me even closer.
Every morning, Jesse would walk down to my house to wait for me to get ready, so we’d walk to school together. The distance from my house to our school was about 30 minutes on foot, but rather than take a bus, Jesse and I chose to walk and gist all the way.
When we got to school, we used our transport money to buy Ghana buns to share over lunch break. After school, we’d buy yoghurts and drink them while we walked home.
We quickly became inseparable. Our classmates used to call us “husband and wife” teasingly, but we just really enjoyed each other’s company. Our friendship did not have a romantic undertone.
In fact, Jesse had a crush on another classmate when we got to SS 3 and begged me for weeks to talk to his crush on his behalf. They eventually got dating, but the girl dumped him by second term because he spent all his time with me. I did try to include her in all the discussions and walks that Jesse and I usually did together. But she wanted Jesse to stop talking to me to focus on her instead, and he just couldn’t do it.
Leaving secondary school in 2012 was extra emotional because we knew we couldn’t attend the same university. Jesse’s parents had always said he’d attend their church’s private university, and I knew there was no way my parents could afford that.
But somehow, even when we attended university in different states, we kept our friendship intact. We met up during school holidays, but whenever we were in school, we kept in touch through FaceBook, 2go, Blackberry Messenger, and phone calls. Omo, we made so many phone calls, especially at midnight, because it was cheaper.
We also tried to create memories together by watching movies and TV series at the same time so we could talk about it.
We’d just finished watching an episode of “Friends” when we decided to start telling each other, “I love you,” as an inside joke. We thought, well, people don’t understand how two people of the opposite sex can be platonic friends but still genuinely love each other, so let’s throw them off even more.
Since then, we’ve ended every conversation with “I love you.” It’s still difficult to explain to others, but it was worse when we first started saying it.
Jesse had a girlfriend then, and while she was cordial with me, she always complained to him that she didn’t like our declarations of love. So, he toned it down whenever he was around her. It wasn’t much of a problem for me because I dated a lot of fuckboys in uni, and most of them didn’t care.
Jesse thinks I expect too little in romantic relationships, so I typically go for guys who break my heart. I’m still not sure whether to accept that analysis, but knowing I have a best friend who loves me unconditionally and without expectations somehow reduces the hurt from my almost non-existent love life.
Jesse and I have lived in the same city since 2019, and while we don’t see each other as often because of adulting struggles and work, our friendship has remained as steady as a rock. We talk on the phone daily, send each other little gifts and are even part of each other’s families. I think of Jesse as my soulmate; he just gets me.
He’s currently in a long-distance relationship with the girl he’s been dating since 2021 — she relocated last year — and I’m still as single as ever. This dynamic often makes mutual friends joke that we’ll hook up one day or suddenly realise we want to be together romantically, especially because we go on friendship dates at least once a month.
Some friends have even whispered to his girlfriend not to trust him fully since she’s far away in a whole other country while Jesse and I are so close in the same city.
It gets tiring having to constantly explain that I don’t want to date my best friend. Is it really that difficult to imagine people can love each other and not want to have sex?
I’m very sure that attempting to make our relationship romantic will ruin our friendship. We’ve never talked about becoming more than friends, and I don’t want it either. Jesse is the one good thing in my life. I’m shit at romantic relationships.
What if we start dating, and I mess it up? I wouldn’t just be losing a boyfriend; I’d be losing my best friend and literal soulmate. That’s too big a risk to take just because of sex. At least, as friends, I know he’ll be part of my life forever, and I’m okay with that.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
What does pretty privilege look like in men? Jonathan* (28) talks about getting financial favours from the women in his life and why he doesn’t mind it.
As told to Boluwatife
Image by Canva AI
I’ve been aware of my good looks since childhood.
As a young boy, it wasn’t strange for my mum’s friends to say things like, “Fine boy, you’ll marry my daughter o,” or “Mummy Jonathan, won’t you collect groom price like this?” It was almost to be expected. People acknowledged my looks everywhere I went, and I grew to expect it.
I started expecting it with girls right from primary school. You’d hardly find a girl and boy in my school sharing the same seat. It was usually two seatmates of the same gender. Seatmates of different genders only happened when the class teacher forced it to as some form of punishment.
However, in primary 4, three female classmates always struggled to sit with me. I sat alone as the class captain, and these girls always came to sit with me at different times. One of them, Remi*, would bring her lunch box to my desk during break time and invite me to eat her food. Then, she’d stay there long after the break was over unless one of the other girls tricked her away so they could sit beside me.
By secondary school, I’d realised my advantage, and I’m not ashamed to say I used it to the full extent. I didn’t have to do more than the bare minimum; I only had to smile and show a little care, and I never lacked a girlfriend. Even when other girls knew I was with someone else, they didn’t stop trying to be nice to me. I only had to say I was hungry or wanted to buy ice cream, and someone would offer to get it for me. It was so interesting to me.
I once designed a handwritten birthday card for a girl in another class, and she bought me a bottle of perfume to thank me for giving her a birthday gift. Another time, I lent a girl my sweater, and she told everyone I liked her.
The first time I got actual money from a girlfriend was in university. I had gambled away my school fees, hoping to win it back, but I lost it. I complained bitterly to my girlfriend, Seun*, and she asked for my account number. The next thing I saw in my account was ₦50k. Seun actually sent me part of her school fees and lied to her dad that it was stolen so he’d send it back to her.
Looking back, I really got a lot of money from Seun. We dated all through my time in university, and I still think of her as my one true love. She was a rich man’s child, and I was in a gambling phase, so she saved my ass most of the time. We’d have still been together today if her dad hadn’t sent her abroad after we graduated in 2018. A long-distance relationship wouldn’t have worked, and we mutually ended things.
Since Seun, I’ve had four other semi-serious relationships, but I’ve noticed that all my exes always had more money and were okay with spending it on me. I don’t know if that makes me sound like a gigolo, but it’s the truth.
It’s also not like I deliberately look for richer women. It’s just a thing where I know I can have almost every woman I want, so I’m not scared to approach successful women.
For context, I’m an upwardly mobile young professional with a good job who always meets people like me. Women in this category are often successful and relatively independent. None of the professional women I’ve dated have ever waited for me to buy them something before they took me out on a date or bought me shoes and wristwatches.
I also occasionally spend on dates and gifts for special occasions, but a more significant part of the financial support has always come from the women I’ve dated. I don’t know what it is, but women easily give me money. I only need to complain, and they’re offering to help me out. It’s the reason why I can’t relate when people say women are stingy or only want men with money. That hasn’t been my experience.
Just last year, my girlfriend gave me ₦400k to support my rent because I complained that I didn’t have enough. I think that’s the highest amount I’ve ever gotten from a woman at once. I fully intend to pay that ₦400k back, but it still blows my mind that she was willing to give me that much.
I’m not mad at the pretty privilege. I know guys who spend so much on ladies and never get that energy reciprocated. At least, that’s not my story.
Maybe ladies don’t even spend on me because I’m handsome. Maybe I’ve just been lucky enough to meet generous women. Whatever the case, I’m grateful for it. Will I ever date someone I have to be spending on? Not likely. There’s no need for me to stop something good just because I want to feel like I’m also spending on women. I’m not trying to prove any point.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
When did you first become conscious of money?
My parents separated when I was 7 years old. It didn’t become a financial problem until 2020, when I turned 15. Before this time, I went back and forth, living with both of them at different times.
I started living with my mum permanently in SS 1 and hardly got money from her. We didn’t have a great relationship and seldom talked to each other because she’d remarried, and I thought she focused more on her new family. So, I couldn’t tell her my school and personal needs. That wasn’t the case when I lived with my dad, and I realised I had to make money by myself.
How did you do that?
I began writing notes for my classmates for money. I attended a free public school, and most students didn’t take things like writing notes seriously. So, I charged them to do it. I wrote a full topic or two for ₦500 – ₦1k. If the topic was too small, I accepted snacks as payment. It was a win-win situation for me. The more I wrote, the more I read, so I liked it.
I also washed clothes for two neighbours on weekends and made ₦5k/week from both of them. For the rest of secondary school, I fended for myself with both hustles. I also opened a student account and saved some of my earnings there.
I’m curious. Why didn’t you ask your dad for help?
Let me give you some context: My dad didn’t have a steady income source. He was a pastor and only got money when churches invited him to preach. It wasn’t an actual job. However, he always provided for me when I lived with him. During bad periods, he didn’t mind borrowing money to ensure I was comfortable. My mum worked as a caterer. When I moved in with her, she’d remarried and had other children.
It didn’t occur to me to ask my dad for money because I knew how difficult things were for him. Also, I think he expected my mum to sort out my needs because she basically forced me to come to live with her permanently. She arrived at my dad’s house one random Sunday and made me follow her.
But my mum barely provided for me. We had a huge fight once, and I accused her of focusing only on her new family. I told her to leave me alone and allow me to fend for myself. So, I guess that was a factor in why I had to be independent early.
So, what did you do after secondary school?
My mum enrolled me in a government-funded catering school in 2022. Tuition was free, but participants paid for materials and foodstuff for the practical projects. My mum gave me the money for each project — usually around ₦1k or ₦2k — for the first two to three weeks, then she suddenly stopped.
I kept washing clothes to earn money, so I had enough to get me through the six-month catering programme. I toyed with the idea of going to the university, but there were no funds. I also considered making money from catering, but I wasn’t sure how to start.
So, I stuck with laundry, making around ₦5k/week. Then, one day in December, I followed a friend to the microfinance bank where he worked. I applied to work there as a joke. They told me to resume immediately.
What role?
Loan collector. Basic salary was ₦40k/month with a ₦5k monthly bonus for complete attendance at the office. There was also a ₦5k bonus for using my personal phone to work and incentives for every amount I retrieved from a debtor. In total, I made ₦50k – ₦60k/month. But the job came with many challenges.
I’m listening
A big part of my job was calling debtors to remind them to repay the loans, and I had targets to meet. My colleagues often resorted to screaming at debtors, insulting them, and even intimidating them by sending false messages to their contact lists.
At first, I found it difficult to rain insults, but I had to adapt when people refused to pay the money they owed. The only thing I didn’t do was send messages to their contact lists. I often missed my targets and was constantly threatened with losing my job. It was so stressful.
On top of that, I started selling pastries at work. My goal was to make as much money as possible, save and then use my savings to return to school. So, three months into the job, I began making chin-chin and peanuts at home and taking them to the office the following day to sell to my colleagues. I figured I’d use the profit to sort out transportation and other minor expenses so I could save a bulk of my salary.
Did it work out like you imagined?
It did at first. I’d spend about ₦7k getting flour, sugar, and other ingredients to make a batch of pastries. I sold them at ₦100 each and made about ₦2k profit per batch. Then, after some weeks, more people started buying, and my profit grew to ₦4k.
I sold the pastries for only two months, though. The stress was too much; I’d return home by 11 p.m., make pastries, and wake up at 6 a.m. to prepare my siblings for school. The pressure from missing targets at work was also at an all-time high, and to make it worse, flour and sugar became wildly expensive.
A paint rubber size of flour shot up from ₦2k – ₦3k to ₦5k straight up. Sugar also went from ₦5k to ₦10k, and butter went from ₦1700 per row to ₦2,200. Every single day, the prices increased by an additional ₦100 or ₦200. I changed my pastry prices from ₦100 to ₦150 to try to meet up, but people complained, and I lost money.
I had to stop for my peace of mind. I even considered quitting my job too, but fortunately, I didn’t have to.
Did anything change at work?
Yes, and it’s still funny how it happened. Around June/July 2023, I went to work and was preparing to go round to collect payments when my boss stopped me and asked, “Can you do auditing?”
I replied, “Yes,” even though I didn’t know what she meant. It just sounded better than loan collection. The next thing she said was to ask me to resume at the auditing department the next day.
When I got home, I did some research about auditing to understand what I’d agreed to. The next day, an existing audit staff member gave me a crash course about the department. That’s how I became an auditor at my job without a degree or any form of higher education.
Does everyone in the auditing department have degrees?
Yes. Only people with BScs and HNDs work in auditing, and I’m still shocked I got the opportunity. My boss didn’t even ask to evaluate my CV or anything. I think it was just God’s grace.
My basic salary remained ₦40k, but my monthly incentives increased to ₦30k, bringing my salary to ₦70k/month. In March 2024, my basic salary was increased to ₦50k, bringing my total salary to ₦80k – ₦90k, depending on monthly bonuses and incentives.
There are no targets in my new role. My job description involves evaluating loan applications and reviewing customers’ information to confirm they sent the accurate requirements. It sounds simple, but it isn’t. Nigerians are funny people. They’ll comfortably send fake information just to get loans.
I’m screaming. What were some of the things you spent on?
I mostly saved my salary for school. By July 2023, I’d saved about ₦300k, but I gave my mum ₦200k out of it to rent a house. It repaired our relationship.
How so?
I met my mum crying at home one day, and I found out that her husband had beaten her. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed she had struggles in her marriage, and even though we barely talked, I’d told her to leave the marriage.
When I met her crying that day, I brought up the topic of leaving again and offered to contribute money to help her find a new place. I think she didn’t expect that. A month later, we got a new apartment and moved in with my young siblings. After that, we had a serious discussion about our issues and made sure things were okay between us. We couldn’t afford to keep fighting when we now had only each other. I still have my dad, but our communication is quite rare.
I’m glad you worked things out with your mum
I am, too. We understand each other better now. My expenses have slightly increased because I contribute to the home’s expenses, but I try to save at least ₦30k monthly. My savings have grown again to about ₦380k, and I’m planning to use it to pursue admission.
Have you made any attempts towards that?
I’ve been trying since December 2023. I’m trying to work out a part-time program, but I’ve been stuck at the JAMB regularisation stage. I was admitted into a polytechnic and needed to register on the JAMB portal. However, the person who created the profile forgot to link my correct email address to the registration number before paying.
This means I only got a JAMB-generated email, which I have no access to and no way to complete the process. I’ve tried to change it, but it’s been an extremely long back-and-forth. I’ve spent ₦60k on the whole admission process, but it looks like I’ll have to abandon it and try again next year.
I hope it’s resolved soon. You seem intent on getting into school
To be honest, it’s the degree I’m pursuing. I’ve tried applying to other jobs, but they ask for a BSc or HND certificate. I need school to get better career opportunities.
However, if I were to attend university to study what I’d like, it’d be law. I’m outspoken, and I’d like to help people who don’t have a voice. But studying law would mean quitting my job since I can’t take the course part-time. Where would I get the money from?
I’m pursuing mass communication now. Maybe if I graduate and there’s still time, I can study law. I also plan to take a short auditing course someday.
How would you describe your relationship with money?
I’m always on a budget. I’m extra careful about what I spend money on and how I spend it because any mistake means hanging on by a thread till salary enters again. I don’t think I’ve ever made a bad financial decision.
What would you say has influenced your thinking around money?
My family’s situation. I was pampered before my parents’ final separation. I had no business thinking about money. But when I started fending for myself after their separation, I realised that money isn’t easy to make, and I needed to be careful with how I spend it. Managing money became all I could focus on.
Sometimes, I wake up and cry when I remember my financial situation. I’m not 20 yet, but I already have so much to shoulder. I’m going through life without a safety net, which means I have to create my own. So, I must consciously save and save because I don’t know what can hit me in the future. My mum doesn’t make much as a caterer, so I can’t depend on her. I’m always stressed about money, and I think I’m even at risk of developing high blood pressure.
I can’t help wondering if my life would’ve turned out easier if my parents had made different decisions. My siblings will also go through this when they get to my age because their father is not around too. I just hope I can be financially there for them when the time comes.
Rooting for you. What do your typical monthly expenses look like?
I don’t spend on data or airtime because I get ₦500 airtime daily at my job, and I have enough left over at the end of the day to use for data and calls.
Is there anything you want right but can’t afford?
A new phone. My phone has been damaged for a while now, and I had to choose between fixing it and buying a new one. I settled on fixing it since I couldn’t afford a new one, which cost me ₦25k.
How much do you need to earn to worry less about money?
I feel like, the more you earn, the more your responsibility increases. But I think ₦200k/month would significantly reduce my stress levels.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 – 10?
4. I’m surviving despite the fact that I don’t have a certificate, but I don’t like having to think extra hard about how to avoid going broke while still providing for my family. It’s a lot.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Christiana* (62) first left Nigeria in 1990 after her marriage broke down, but she always planned to return home. She finally returned in 2022 but left again after eight months. Why?
I left Nigeria at a time when it wasn’t really popular to relocate.
I probably wouldn’t have left if things hadn’t happened the way they did. In 1989, I was married with two children under three years old and had a good job as a clerk in a popular law firm in Nigeria. Everything was great.
Then, my marriage fell apart. If I were completely honest, it had started to fail right from the start.
My ex-husband, Dapo*, was a serial cheat, and his family hated me. They never hid it, and I honestly can’t remember why I still went ahead with the marriage. Maybe I thought our love would conquer all — make him faithful and get his family’s approval.
Well, Dapo cheated again that year, but instead of pleading after I caught him, he beat me up and asked what right I had to question him. When I reported to his mother, she told me to stop broadcasting my marital issues everywhere.
My family came to bundle me away after they learnt of the beating, and Dapo didn’t come to beg or explain. My best friend worked at the British embassy then, and she convinced me to relocate to the UK to start my life afresh. She had an aunty who could help me get back on my feet.
So, in 1990, I arrived in London with two children and no idea what I wanted to do with my life.
London saved my life. The stress and pressure from working two jobs didn’t give me the luxury of time to think about Dapo or cry about the fact that I was only 28 but was already a single mother of two.
I experienced mildly racist remarks a lot in those early days. My accent was still very noticeably Nigerian in those early days, and the shoppers at my department store job often threw weird glances at me when I spoke or asked me to repeat myself with their fake concerned “What did you say, love?” questions. All while going behind to report me to my manager for being difficult to understand.
But I had a focus. I needed to work myself to the bones to forget my loneliness and make enough money to create a good life for my children. A big part of my plan was also to return to Nigeria as a richer, wiser woman and show Dapo and his family exactly what they had lost.
That plan changed over the years. I made reasonable money and was able to provide good lives for my children. I even bought a house outside London in 2005, but Dapo stopped being the reason why I wanted to return to Nigeria. I heard he’d remarried, and I gradually lost interest in “showing him.”
I wanted to return to Nigeria because I missed home. I visited home at least once every two years, and each visit strengthened my resolve to return permanently one day. Even if I couldn’t return immediately because of my children, I knew it was a matter of time before they’d grow up and have their own families. At least then, there wouldn’t be anything holding me back. I could return and retire peacefully in the land of my birth.
It wasn’t that Nigeria was doing extremely well. My children and family members didn’t understand why I wanted to return. The UK was all my children knew; it was home for them. For my family members, they wanted to come to the UK, too, in search of greener pastures. I understand that, but I believe there comes a time in everyone’s life when the hustle no longer matters, and they just want to relax with their loved ones.
I have family in the UK, but there’s no real sense of home here. I missed waking up early to gossip with neighbours, eating roasted corn, and walking to the market to haggle with market women. I just wanted to go home.
That’s why I started planning to return to Nigeria immediately after I clocked 60 in 2022. I sent money home every month to my nephew to build me a house on some land I’d gotten in 2018 when I visited Nigeria.
The house was ready in December, and I moved back with almost all my belongings. I rented out my house in the UK and said goodbye to my children and grandchildren.
I’d saved enough money from working for almost 30 years and had pension payments to ensure I didn’t have to worry about working in Nigeria. My plan was to spend my days visiting family and travelling to different states in Nigeria.
It’s not like I thought everything would go smoothly. I knew Nigeria still had electricity problems and a new battle with insecurity, and I thought I was prepared. But I wasn’t prepared for how terrible the idea of living in Nigeria actually was.
The first thing Nigeria used to welcome me was a robbery. I moved into my new house when I first arrived and even shared gifts with my new neighbours. Everyone was friendly to the smallish old woman with a British accent, and I thought I’d hit the good-neighbour jackpot.
But then, I left for a week to visit other family members in different parts of Lagos and returned home to an empty house. Thieves had entered my house through the ceiling and stolen my valuables: laptops, foreign currency, jewellery, a generator and two TVs. No one in the neighbourhood admitted to knowing when the robbery occurred.
I thought, “Well, there are thieves everywhere,” and insisted on staying back in my house even though my family members begged me to come to stay with them. They were scared I’d get kidnapped, but I didn’t build a home and moved my life back to Nigeria to be afraid. I was ready to tough it out.
Then, the cash scarcity started. I’d never experienced anything like that in my life. I didn’t have a debit card for my Nigerian account, and I couldn’t even enter the bank to request one because of the massive crowd at banks and the fact that I didn’t have a National Identification Number (NIN). There was also no cash to pay cabs to get me to the bank.
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To make matters worse, I lived some distance away from my other family members, so the only thing they could do was find ways to gather ₦5k to bring to me once a week. I was living from hand to mouth despite having money in my account. I couldn’t sleep most nights because I hadn’t replaced my generator, and there was no light. Of course, my plan to travel around Nigeria had to take a back seat.
Even after the cash situation began to ease up, I was still stuck at home because of the elections. My neighbourhood was a political hotspot, and people always argued about parties. I even locked myself inside on the day of the presidential elections because thugs came and started attacking people.
I thought the worst was over, but the new president also removed fuel subsidy, and it was like the economy crashed. Things got so expensive at the market.
I remember getting angry and feeling like a market woman wanted to scam me when she said a piece of ponmo was ₦1k. I didn’t understand. Ponmo was what we used to buy in my childhood when we were really broke. I still remember when ponmo was ₦20. I even bought it in 2018 for ₦200.
Every day, people complained about the economy around me, and it was really depressing. One of my neighbours was a single mum of five, and I regularly shared my foodstuffs with her because of how difficult things were for them. That woman really used to boil corn to eat for breakfast and dinner with her children. It was so sad.
By July 2023, I was ready to go back to the UK. It’d become clear that the “home” I was looking forward to in Nigeria had changed. It wasn’t 1990 again, and things didn’t look like they’d improve. Even with my pension, I was still struggling, and I just couldn’t ignore the suffering around me.
I eventually returned to the UK in August and moved in with one of my children. I’ll still visit Nigeria, but I can’t retire there anymore. I just can’t cope.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Losing a job can be devastating on two fronts: The apparent loss of a steady income and the not-often-discussed loss of the identity tied to that job.
For many people, feelings like a sense of self-importance and success are often tied to their ability to keep jobs and earn their own living. What happens when this ability is taken away? These Nigerians talk about it.
I grew up in a polygamous home, and for much of my younger years, I dreamed of growing up and making money so I could leave home. My first job after NYSC gave me that opportunity. It was in 2014, and I was earning ₦100k. It was good money — enough to get me an apartment and make sure I didn’t have to return home.
I only enjoyed the freedom for eight months sha. My boss started hitting on me, and when I refused to sleep with him, he influenced my termination on flimsy reasons. It wasn’t just losing my job; I also lost my freedom and ability to change my life’s circumstances. I fell into depression for a long time.
I had to return home, and even though I got another job months later, it didn’t pay as well, and I didn’t get the chance to leave home again till I got married in 2020. I feel like I’d have achieved financial independence much earlier if I hadn’t lost that job.
Sola, 29
I’ve been fired from work only two times in my life, but the second one was the most painful. It was during the pandemic in 2020, and my job was the only thing going well for me at that point.
My girlfriend had broken up with me, and my dad was seriously sick with COVID. To make matters worse, I couldn’t even visit him. So, I used my job as a crutch — a way to get through each day. So, when they fired me because of “operational changes,” it felt like I’d lost everything. I suddenly had no purpose, no excuse not to break down and cry. It was a tough time for me. I crashed out for months and didn’t have the energy to job-hunt. My dad also passed away during that period. I honestly don’t know how I survived.
Akeem, 26
I lost my job after a company-wide layoff last year, and I’m still unemployed. At first, I thought I’d be fine. I had some savings to fall back on, and I don’t even have that many responsibilities since I live alone.
However, it’s more than just not having a salary. I’ve begun to doubt my skills. I’ve never had to wonder whether I’m good at what I do — my managers always praised me. But now, I’m realising maybe I’m not that great. I’ve applied to several jobs and done countless interviews, but still no callback.
It’s so bad that I’m now wondering if the layoff hadn’t been because I wasn’t performing as expected. At least, my previous employers still kept some people on the payroll. Maybe I’m just not that good. It’s a bitter wake-up call. I know I should focus more on improving my skills than feeling not good enough, but it’s difficult not to think about it.
Nosa, 29
I became jobless right in the middle of that 2023 cash scarcity when my workplace packed up, and I seriously panicked.
I’m the firstborn and don’t have anyone to turn to for financial help. I also don’t know how to beg anyone for urgent ₦2k, so I had to find a solution quickly. I’m not proud of it, but I started looking for “any work.” I’m a human resource officer, but I applied to every vacancy I could find, from cleaner to personal assistant.
I was so ashamed because I’ve recruited for people and always badmouthed applicants who applied to jobs very different from their career paths. But I was doing the same thing. I just needed the security that came with a job, knowing that money was coming at month’s end and I could take care of myself.
Five months later, I got an admin job, but the whole experience humbled me. I wasn’t above desperately looking for work just so I could afford to live without begging for money. I learned not to be so judgemental about others and the decisions they took. Anything can happen to anybody.
Evelyn, 22
I got fired a month ago for calling in sick on my birthday so I could party. Unfortunately, a coworker follows me on Instagram and saw my posts, so they reported.
The painful part is that I’ve only been at the job for a year, and my dad helped me get a foot in. I feel like I’ve failed him and destroyed his trust in me. It’s like I just threw away the one opportunity I had to show my dad that he could treat me like an adult, and I feel foolish.
Chinwe*, 27
I now believe that getting fired from your job hurts just as much as breaking up with a partner or best friend. In 2023, I was fired from one of the best jobs I ever had because the company didn’t think my department was meeting expectations.
I think I went through all the stages of grief. My work was my wife, and I couldn’t believe it was going away just like that. Then there was the anger at the company. They’d just hired me a few months prior; how could they do that? Ultimately, I had to accept it, but I felt empty all the months I was unemployed. Like I was missing out on something in life.
I have another job now, but I’m focusing on filling my life with other interests and building relationships rather than depending on work to fulfil me. The job can go at any time, so it shouldn’t be the only thing that brings meaning to my life.
*Some names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
