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

The subject of this week’s “A Week in the Life” sells gadgets at Computer Village. He tells us about the chaos of the Village and how he manages to stay faithful in a market infamous for dishonesty.

SUNDAY

I sell phones, laptops and accessories in the Lagos Computer Village. My week starts on Sunday night because business almost never stops — na them dey rush us.

From 6 p.m. until around midnight, I respond to messages from people making inquiries. When I receive payment for an order, I verify it and schedule delivery for Monday morning or whenever they need it. Doing so on Sunday nights makes my already busy Mondays more bearable.

MONDAY

I wake up by 5 a.m. every Monday morning to get ready for the week. By 6 a.m, I leave Ogba and head out to my shop in Computer Village, Ikeja. Depending on the traffic situation, I can get to my shop by 7:30 or around 8 a.m. Resumption time is 9 a.m. but I like to arrive early so I can get a head start. Also, the orders from the previous night need to be dispatched as early as possible. If I waited until 9 a.m. to resume, stress would kill me.

I get most of my orders from social media and Whatsapp, from first-time customers and a network I’ve built over the years.

By 12 p.m., I take a two-hour break to either nap, stroll around the Village or go see my girlfriend who lives close by. I head back to the shop at 2 p.m. and keep selling until 6 or 7 p.m. when I close and head home. Sometimes, people keep coming after 6,especially those who have office jobs, and I have to attend to them.

At 7 p.m., I turn off my data, put my phone on silent and place it in my backpack because the way home is dangerous at night. I also put any cash I have into the bag and hold it as if my life depended on it — I’ve been a victim of pick-pocketing before.

Due to Monday’s rush-hour traffic, it takes two or three hours to get home. I have dinner, respond to more inquiries and take more orders until sleep calls.

TUESDAY

Computer Village is wild gan! If you lose guard, you go collect. But even with all the warnings, some people are either too naive or don’t hear word. I saved someone from being duped today.

If you’ve ever been to Computer Village, you know that it’s very easy to get scammed. Everyone knows about buying a phone only to find out that there’s fufu inside, right? That’s old news. The reigning one these days is taking the panel of an older model of a phone and wrapping it on a new model to dupe unsuspecting customers. They can cover the panel of an iPhone XR in an iPhone 13 casing.

A woman came to my shop and asked to buy a London-used iPhone 13. The market price of such a phone is ₦430k. She complained that it was too much and went elsewhere. Soon after, she called me and started cussing me out. She called me a thief just because she felt my price was too high. After all, she found someone to sell it to her for almost half my fee.

After she’d finished ranting, I told her it was unnecessary. She could have either told me she wasn’t buying or given me the “I’ll get back to you” line and ghosted. There was no need for her to insult me. She hung up and forwarded a message to me on WhatsApp. Someone was willing to sell it to her at ₦250k.

I did a double-take and asked her if that vendor was in Computer Village. I told her it was impossible for someone to sell an iPhone 13 for so cheap, even if it had faults. She kept arguing, and then, she sent me a photo of the phone. I took one look and knew it was a scam. But she refused to believe me. According to her, I just wanted to chop her money.

I’d have collected my “L” and kept it moving o, but I decided to get her to ask the vendor about the phone. I told her to tell them a fellow vendor was asking. The vendor admitted that it was an iPhone XR in an iPhone 13 case.

She started wondering why they didn’t tell her from the beginning. In Computer Village? Where almost everybody is hustling by hook or crook? Plis dear!

I don’t take disrespect lightly, so after that conversation, I deleted her number along with the Whatsapp conversation. I was angry.

WEDNESDAY

In Computer Village, every day, new drama. Everybody thinks they’re smart — not just traders; even customers do dishonest shit. But me I sha know how to give close marking.

Today at the shop, these three guys came to buy laptops and behaved strangely. I know there are customers who can’t make up their minds, but these ones rubbed me off the wrong way.

I closed the door and stood by it, making sure all three guys were inside. As they kept asking for laptops, dropping them and asking for more, me I knew it was “format”. I promptly texted my shop assistant to watch them closely and ensure she returned every laptop to the show glass as soon as they dropped it so that we won’t hear stories that touch. The guys got frustrated and left eventually. Awon oloshi.

Editor’s pick: The Zikoko Guide to Surviving Computer Village

THURSDAY

The first rule of Computer Village is to never follow anybody you don’t know. Those boys and men who prowl the streets, who don’t have shops, avoid them. The best thing is to have a trusted plug or get a referral. Even if you don’t know where you’re going, you must never show it. Find a proper shop and do your business; never trust a stranger.

People fall victim every day. Like today, I went to get a spare part from a colleague and found somebody sitting in his doorway. After some time, people at the shop noticed he wasn’t doing anything, so we asked him to leave if he didn’t have any business there.

The guy (let’s call him Bayo) told us he was waiting for someone. Who? He mentioned someone nobody had heard about. We suspected foul play and asked what happened. This man told us he needed to change his screen, so when he got to the Village, someone approached him and said he could fix it. But first, Bayo had to give him ₦15k to buy a new screen as he was just an engineer. When he was done, Bayo would complete the payment for workmanship.

The man brought Bayo to the shop and told him to wait, but hours later, neither screen nor “engineer” was anywhere to be found. We just told Bayo, “Your phone don go. Sha dey go house.”

We taunted him sha, because that’s how we do. How you go follow person wey you no know like zombie? At least, whenever he hears gist about Computer Village, he too will have a story to tell.

FRIDAY

In Computer Village, everybody minds their business. If you see someone getting duped, mind your business. Most times, it’s their greed that’s getting the better of them. Unless you want to put yourself in trouble, just keep it moving.

Sometimes, a deal goes bad and the customer returns. Maybe they were sold something that didn’t last as long as expected or developed a fault. They’re not coming back peacefully; they’re coming back with “Indaboski”. Unless I know the seller and can vouch for them, in which case I’ll step in and try to resolve the conflict, but if I don’t know them? As I see the angry customer starting go cause a scene, I’ll just do “eyes right”.

The biggest lesson I’ve learnt is to be a straightforward person. When I started this business in 2013, I was lucky to be handheld by the kindest vendor, and his values have stayed with me.

So even though Computer Village is infamous for deception, I choose to keep my customers happy because nothing matters to me more than peace of mind. I treat everyone as if they’re my only customer, and it has worked for me so far. I get a significant amount of referrals weekly.

Thankfully, my customers treat me the same way.

If you enjoyed this “A Week in the Life”, check out: A Week in the Life of a Computer Technician Selling Ewa Agoyin on the Side

Check back for new A Week in the Life stories every first Tuesday of the month at 9 a.m. If you’d like to be featured on the series, or you know anyone interesting who fits the profile, fill out this form.

Yes, I want to be featured!
A Week in the Life is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles and victories of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

On today’s #AWeekInTheLife, we feature Samiat Salami, who designs textile prints which she uses to make ready-to-wear clothes and home decor. She walks us through her design process, the pains of running a global business in Nigeria and how difficult it is to find plus-size models for her robes.

MONDAY

I’m not an early riser because I wake up multiple times during the night, so I usually get out of bed at 9 a.m. Because I have asthma and tend to wake up with a sore throat thanks to the air conditioner (AC), the first thing I do is have a cup of tea to help me clear my sinuses.

I try not to open my phone or computer first thing in the morning because if I do, anxiety will kick in, and I’ll get caught up in the slog of it all for the rest of the day. So while enjoying my beverage, I like to live in the moment for a bit; I can read a chapter of fiction on my toilet seat or mosey around the house.

By 10 a.m., I finally switch my phone on. And the minute I do that, it’s an avalanche that never ends, back-to-back calls or emails or whatever else I need to catch up on.

As a textile designer, I work with many artisans, and it’s a lot of stress! I get so many calls from people going, “We’ve run out of blah blah blah”, “Did you really want it this way?” and “Because we did it this way the last time and you didn’t like it, we thought we have to ask you specifically before…” Yeah, there’s just a whole bunch of back-and-forths.

I also work with manufacturers who sew my designs into actual products. So I’ll need to give and receive feedback from them as well. Then, I have to work with retailers I sell my stuff to in the US, and they would usually have follow-up questions. I also do a healthy amount of customer service following up with direct online orders and on social media.

Around 1 p.m., my team members come to my house where the living room doubles as my studio, where all the following-up comes to a head. All the “Do we like this print?” “Do we not?” “Will this print be better for robes or tableware?” “Do we need to talk about different marketing ideas?” “Do we need to shoot a campaign?” “Are we planning for this?” questions get answered from 1 – 6 or 7 p.m. We just go ham and it’s pretty intense. The day tends to be very fast-paced, but we make sure to take short breaks for lunch and to catch our breaths.

By 6 p.m., I’m hammered and restless. So when everybody leaves, all I want to do is go for a walk around my estate. I have a restless body that’s always trying to keep up with my mind and walking helps me catch up. When I get back, I just collapse into bed.

Samiat Salami

TUESDAY

My process of designing textiles begins with prints and patterns. I’m inspired a lot by the flora and fauna of Nigeria, and I do a lot of research for each collection, about the origin of a plant, how it falls, what it’s like, the colours… I often take long walks in nature, taking loads of pictures of flowers and other beautiful things I see. I curate all these photos into a mood board. Then I work with my illustrator to refine them.

For example, for the hibiscus prints I’ve been working on for months, it was just me taking loads of different species of hibiscuses I’ve seen in nature. I took pictures in Nigeria, and in California and Florida. After photographing, I’ll study the patterns, like how they go from red to yellow, for example.

Next, I work with my illustrator to create digital designs inspired by my mood board. Then we’ll send them to a really lovely man in Osogbo with whom I like to work, and fabrics for him to hand-draw the patterns on — he has to translate our illustrations into something that’s a lot more illustrative by hand. When he’s done creating the sample prints, we’ll go through several iterations until we get it right.

WEDNESDAY

I only meet my team about three times a week, so when I’m not having anyone come around my apartment, like today, I’m running around Lagos.

After catching up on emails and correspondence at around 12 p.m., I head out to Surulere or Lekki where my manufacturers operate, to approve things and discuss samples and finer details of new products.

For example, if I’m doing a fit test — putting a garment on a fit model — I’ll have to make different iterations to get it right, and that can take a whole day because it involves a lot of back-and-forths. It’s like: “cut it”, “put it on”, “twist it this way”, “put it back on”, and so on…

I use myself a lot, which is interesting because I’m not the typical fit model. I have very small body parts, and I’m only five-two. When people think of models, they’re typically tall and slender and have no curves. But that doesn’t translate into the body of many Nigerian women. This is why so many people struggle with traditional brands.

For me, I’m smallish, and I have thighs and boobs, and all sorts of things that aren’t straight, so I need to know how the clothes fit me so I can translate how it would fit other body types. This is why I’m size-inclusive. One of the reasons I started my brand is that I got frustrated struggling to find clothes that fit me.

So now, I make clothes for people of different sizes: people who are larger, people who are thinner, people who are top-heavy or bottom-heavy, etc. I want everybody to feel comfortable and safe and happy in my clothes. I don’t want anyone to have to feel like they’re conforming to any standard of beauty I’m setting. This is not about me. It’s about you feeling fucking great in whatever I make for you.

But it’s been really difficult for me to find models above a certain size, and I don’t think it’s because we don’t have women like that. Such women shy away from that industry because they’re often told that they’re not the ideal of beauty. There are cultures that find only thin people attractive, but that’s not Nigerian. I’m currently on the lookout for bigger models.

THURSDAY

One of the most frustrating parts of my work is that the manufacturing industry in Nigeria doesn’t have a solid structure yet. Countries like India, Indonesia, Morocco and Mexico, all have long histories of artisanship that have been vetted and worked with other countries. There are whole brands, American and British, that go to places like India to mass-manufacture. These countries already have legacy systems in place for everything. We don’t have that yet in Nigeria; we don’t have working production systems, so it’s difficult to get things done.

So I find myself having to build everything from the ground. It’s gruelling, but it’s me that chose this life.

Because of this, problems come up all the time in manufacturing. For instance, I only work with 100% Nigerian cotton, like Funtua. Funtua is not the kind of thing I can just go to the market in Lagos and buy because I manufacture in such large quantities, so I buy thousands of yards at a time. I get it from Kano. And now, there are problems like insecurity and terrorism plaguing that area, so these materials are becoming increasingly difficult to get.

My suppliers can just increase their prices in a blink of an eye because of all the inflation and uncertainty. Imagine how much this affects my estimates and budgets. Things like this affect production and delivery to customers. I’m not really good with sloppy work, and my perfectionist self has to deal with all these variables. It’s so tiring.

FRIDAY

Today, I received satisfactory feedback from a client. It’s the best thing in the world for me. I love that twinkle in their eyes when they try something on and go, “I look fabulous”. Especially the robes, as they tend to have a kind of decadent feel so every time someone puts them on, I can see their demeanour change. They take on this kind of rich aunty or uncle vibes, and I’m just like, “I’m here for it!”

Seeing people love something I made, after all the labour, brings me unspeakable joy. It’s especially fulfilling because my designs don’t always translate properly to print. So when we finally get it right and people fuck with it, that “oh, I made a beautiful thing” feeling washes over me.

SATURDAY

I went to Ibadan with my team today. I’ve always had this fascination with the city. As a child, one of my many ambitions was to study Yoruba and teach at the University of Ibadan (UI). Ibadan is one of those cities where the myth of it is so rich and so closely tied to what it means to be Yoruba. It has hills and red sand, a rustic feel and a certain kind of magic you can’t find in Lagos. Ife is another such city.

The last time I visited Ibadan, I knew I wanted to shoot a campaign there. So when we got into Ibadan today by train, we went straight to Amala Skye in Bodija to get our amala fix. Mehn, I ate the best ogunfe I’ve ever had. Then, we lodged at the International Institute of Tropical Agriculture (IITA) at Moniya.

I’m excited about this campaign because I’m working with an all-women team. I love when I get to work with women. The energy is always different. I like working with men too, but working with a bunch of creative women in the same room? The energy is kind of magnetic and beautiful. We’ll continue shooting in choice locations around the city for the next few days, and I can’t wait for all the beauty that’ll come out of this project.

READ ALSO: A Week in the Life of an Instagram Thrift Vendor

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

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

Kedei Ibiang is a medical doctor who specialises in public health, but she quit her job this year (2022) and turned her focus to selling fragrances and scented candles. For today’s A Week in the Life, she explains the process of making fragrances, why she quit her job and the beauty of being in control of her time.

MONDAY

I’m not a morning person, so when I wake up at 7 a.m., the first thing I do is pick up my phone to check social media. I spend about 20 minutes checking my inboxes to ensure I’ve not missed any messages or inquiries from customers or prospective customers. Then, I catch up on Facebook and Instagram. There’s always one drama or the other. The recent one is about some lady influencer who scammed people for billions of naira in a Ponzi scheme. After 30 minutes of mindless scrolling, I’m out to face the business that pays me.

I spend the rest of the day packaging orders within Abuja for the delivery guy to pick up. When he does, I follow up with him and ensure that all the orders reach their buyers. For interstate orders, I have an account with a delivery company. The dispatch rider picks up the orders and drops them off at the company’s office, and they take it up from there.

I have terrible eating habits which means I often forget to eat. Ironic that I’m a doctor but I’m not a fan of food. If I could find a way to exist without eating, I would. But by late afternoon, I order food and go back to work until 7 p.m. I don’t have a social life, so after work, it’s Netflix until 10 or 11 p.m. when I sleep.

TUESDAY

When I started using perfumes around 2006, I discovered that I couldn’t use most sprays because my mum and I are asthmatic. I had respiratory allergies myself, which meant that the alcohol in perfumes choked me. The best I could use were roll-ons and body mists because of their lower alcohol content. Even then, I would run into the bathroom, spray whatever I needed to spray while pinching my nose shut, and run back into the room, slamming the bathroom door shut so I wouldn’t inhale the spray. Wild times.

But in 2017, I decided to look for non-alcoholic alternatives that are non-toxic and hypoallergenic. My search led me to start Kay’s Perfumery the following year. I eventually Then I expanded my product line to producing and selling scented candles, diffusers and room sprays. I also formulate fragrances once in a while.

My process starts with contacting my supplier in Dubai. Once every three or four months, I send him a list of fragrances I need, and we conclude on quantity, sizes and pricing. My orders usually cost anywhere from ₦300k to ₦600k, but the naira’s freefall has really affected my business. The quantity of oils I’d have gotten for ₦300k in 2021 now costs me an extra ₦75k to ₦100k. It’s really wild.

When I’m ready to pay, I send the payment through a middle man who converts my naira to dirhams. Once my supplier confirms that I’ve paid, he ships my order.

I play around with ideas in my head a lot, so when I get one that sticks, I just type it out on my phone’s notepad and expand on it. When I have enough options for the notes, I start formulating the scent. It’s sort of an elimination process: I decide on my main notes and the ones that I want to be in minute quantities, then I come up with the first sample which I test for notes and sillage — the trail created by a perfume when it’s worn on the skin. If I don’t feel comfortable with the scent, I go back to tweak it — drop some percentages, increase others, add a new note and repeat the process to come up with a second sample. I test it again: do I like it? Is it nice? Does it linger? I could repeat that process up to five times until I get something that works nicely. When I’m satisfied, I wear it out to gauge people’s reactions and the kind of compliments I get.

If it’s a scent I think would sit better on a guy, I gift it to a few friends or some old customers — if a longtime customer is lucky enough to be placing an order at the time I’m creating a new scent, I just throw in a small sample and ask them how they like it. I use their feedback to decide whether or not I’m adding it to my product line.

And when I create a scent that bangs? It really bangs. In December 2021, I formulated a signature diffuser — I called it “Christmas Wine” — that was a hit. I sold over ₦400k worth of it in eight days! The orders poured in so much that I had had to stop taking orders for two days so I wouldn’t break down from stress.

WEDNESDAY

Today, while I was writing ideas down for a new candle scent, I remembered the time I made a scent that flopped.

Before Valentine’s Day this year [2022], I was working on three special candle fragrances: Date Night, Love Potion and Let’s Get Nutty (which had coconut and truffles in it). I spent so much time on Love Potion because I wanted it to be the flagship. I had made noise about it on social media and people were hyped! I received so many pre-orders. The mix of notes was just perfect… in theory, but when I produced it, it turned out mid as fuck.

I tried so hard to make it work but it just didn’t. I was running out of time so I had to abandon it and inform my customers that Love Potion wasn’t going to be available due to unforeseen reasons. Luckily for me, customers accepted other fragrances. The Let’s Get Nutty that I didn’t really put much effort into making turned out to be the star — and saviour — of the show.

THURSDAY

Even though everything in this Nigeria is out to frustrate business owners, I still derive joy from this entrepreneurship thing. I carry my customers on my head, and I love it when they’re delighted, but once in a while, someone comes around and moves mad.

When I’m not making signature scents, I sell candles wholesale and produce in bulk for other brands. The candle industry is fairly new in Nigeria. People have started appreciating scented candles, so these days, they bring me almost 70% of my monthly revenue. Vendors buy my custom scents, slap their branding on them and resell. Sometimes, I take orders to import specific scents that can’t be found here, and I sell them as well.

In February, a lady reached out and asked me to make candles and diffusers, and import packaging materials for her. She had very niche requirements, and her order amounted to ₦1.2m. We spoke for over a week. I invested so much time and effort into this deal. I even informed my suppliers, and we finalised on shipping and delivery timeline. All that was left was payment. Then this babe ghosted me.

This thing pained me, I can’t lie. I’d been so happy about the deal because I wanted to get some things from a supplier in China at around the same time she reached out. I was like, “Oh, perfect. I’m just going to throw my other cargo into this and ship all of them at once.” The ghosting touched my chest.

To add insult to injury, she now blocked me. I was shocked when I found out. All she needed to do was just let me know she wasn’t going to proceed, but she just went ahead and blocked. Just. Like. That.

Me that like closure, I reached out to her through my personal IG profile only to receive excuses and apologies. She told me that something came up and yada yada yada. She now promised to continue the deal later on. Abeg abeg. At that point, I no longer gave a damn.

That experience has taught me to be more apprehensive of customers when they make certain inquiries. Sha the information I fed that babe for free, ehn? I suspect she didn’t really want to buy from me; she just wanted information. I hate when people waste my time. But we move.

FRIDAY

It’s not every day you see a medical doctor who sells perfumes, but abeg, at the moment, I’m not “doctoring”. I never liked clinical practice because it was very monotonous. I hated going through the same processes every day go to the hospital at 7:30 a.m., work all day till maybe 4 p.m., attend to the patients, rinse and repeat.

When it was time to specialise, I decided to go for public health because no two projects are the same. There’s always variety. I could work with organisations that either run as private firms or provide public health services to the government. So everything from infectious diseases or sexual reproductive health or maternal and child health.

For a while, I was running my fragrance business on the side. I used to coordinate a gender-based violence project that wrapped up in 2021. After that, I decided to take three to four months off to focus on my perfume business and do some serious marketing. During that time, I applied to several grants and won one of them.

This year (2022), I decided to delve back into public health, so I joined an organisation in March. But it didn’t quite work out. I didn’t enjoy working there, and even though it paid quite well, the work culture was very different from what I was used to. The environment was beginning to tell on my mental health, so I quit after one month. Now, I’m back to focusing on Kay’s Perfumery full-time. That doesn’t mean I’m done with medicine. I still have a lot of plans for the year.

I have an assistant who helps with inventory, so after the dispatch driver picks up the orders for today, I catch up on the International Health and Women’s Rights course I’m taking. There’s another course on health tech that I’ve abandoned for a million years, but I intend to go back to it.

I didn’t exactly plan my work life to turn out this way, but it couldn’t have been better if I did. I love that I own my hustle and I get to create and execute my ideas. I’m excited to see what more the future holds. Who knows? I could be expanding to skincare soon.

I study till I’m tired. By 7 p.m. on those rare days I feel like stepping out for fresh air, I’ll just check on a friend to see if she’s free. If she is, we’ll have a chill girls’ night out till about 10 or 11 p.m.

Check back every Tuesday by 9 a.m. for more A Week in the Life goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill out this form.

Yes, I want to be featured!
“A Week in the Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

The subject of today’s “A Week in the Life” is the caretaker of a hostel close to a university that houses 45 self-con rooms. He talks about the chaos of his job, managing difficult tenants and his dream to japa one day.

I usually wake up around 6:30 to 7 a.m., but sometimes it can be earlier. My family and I live in one of the rooms in the same building where I work, and I work seven days a week, so I can’t separate work from life.

Tenants usually wake me up for one thing or the other. Sometimes it could be that water finished overnight and a tenant is calling me first thing in the morning because they have to bathe and go to work. So I have to get up, put on the gen and pump water. Or maybe someone’s shower got blocked and I need to call a plumber as soon as possible. There are 45 self-contain rooms in this building, so problem no dey finish. But thank God this morning is problem-free so I can sleep till 8 a.m.

My daughter is at her grandma’s for the holiday, but immediately I rise from the bed, my secondborn — who is just a few months old — starts crying. My wife gets up and carries the baby.

As the hostel manager, my responsibility is to make sure the compound is neat and well-maintained. Since every tenant pays an annual service charge upfront, I also have to make sure they’re comfortable. If there’s a socket that suddenly stopped working, I call an electrician. If someone’s having trouble with their lightbulb or kitchen sink, na me dem dey call.

I spend my days in the compound doing almost the same things 24/7, and it can get boring, but how man go do? Today, I’m happy sha. A former tenant came in the afternoon and we chatted for hours until nightfall. It’s been a long time since I last saw him, so the gist was plenty.

TUESDAY

My job is easy these days, but it wasn’t always like this. When I got employed in this building last year, I saw pepper. In late 2020, I got hired to care for this building. It was a new building that was taking tenants for the first time, and management made a lot of — I don’t even know if I should call them mistakes or just negligence.

The problem is that first of all, they built this hostel as if they were building it abroad: three columns of apartments facing each other, but they now sealed the small corridors in between with a plastic roof. And they didn’t stop there. They wanted to make the building shine-shine, so instead of leaving space for small breeze to be flowing in front of the building, they went and covered everywhere with glass blocks which ran from the ceiling to the ground floor, covering every inch of space. Without any air conditioning system.

While the hostel building looked fancy from the outside, the way they built it wasn’t practical. The self-con rooms are small and have only one window each. But the builders put solar panels and inverter in the building, and that’s what they used to market the rooms. All 45 rooms were taken in two weeks. But small time, problem started coming.

When tenants paid their one-year leases and service charges in December 2020, the harmattan hid the ventilation problem in the building. Also, it was dry season so there was sufficient sunlight to power the solar inverters. Everybody had fun.

Until the heat came in February. NEPA stopped bringing light and the inverters started running down frequently. Hot air was trapped within the building with nowhere to go. Tenants complained, but building management didn’t say anything. After some time, the tenants transferred their vex on me. I tried to explain to them that none of this was my fault, but since I was the only representative of the building management on-site, na me collect all the complaining and insult. It was the most difficult time of my life because I lived in the same building as the tenants and was suffering the same problems. I asked the manager to buy a backup generator for but she ignored me.

Then one day, after NEPA refused to bring light for two days, the inverter went off in the middle of the night, around 2 a.m. Water also finished because there was no light to pump. Nobody could sleep. Almost all the tenants came downstairs to protest. They hurled insults at me and emptied the waste bins at my doorstep. There was nothing I could do except hope and pray that morning would come quickly.

When day finally broke, I called the manager and showed her what was going on in the compound. I was ready to quit at that point. Luckily, she sent money for a backup generator. I don’t know why Nigerian business owners like to wait until everything is falling apart before they act.

In March, the heat became unbearable. The owner of the building sacked the manager and hired somebody more proactive. The new manager finally brought masons to break the huge blocks of decorative glass and installed windows in their place. Finally, we could breathe fresh air again.

WEDNESDAY

Human beings can be funny, but I understand that we can’t all be the same. That’s why I do my best to be patient with people. Before tenants move into the building, they sign an agreement form that contains rules and regulations. But me I don’t know if they don’t read it well. After moving in, you’ll start seeing tenants doing anyhow. and if I didn’t have patience, I’d be fighting everyone every day.

Like this guy that lives on the top floor. There’s a shed outside the gate with two drums dedicated to waste disposal. But this boy came downstairs and scattered his trash all over the place. I asked him why he behaved like that, and he just told me, “No vex,” and ran back upstairs. I’m not even going to let anything steal my peace of mind today. I’ll calm down and clean up the place.

By the time I go back into the compound, I realise I’m not even angry again.

THURSDAY

Even with the occasional madness, I enjoy this work. E no dey stress me at all. But I wish it paid better. I’m raising a family of four, and I’m the breadwinner. I have two daughters: a toddler and a newborn baby and I don’t know how we’re even roughing it. It can only be God.

I usually tell my younger friends to think of settling down, but this thing is hard. The friend that visited me on Tuesday, who has more money than me, said he’s not thinking about getting married until he gets to around 35 because he wants to make money first. And I can’t even blame him because this country is somehow.

Before this caretaker work, I was a porter at a hotel. The salary was chicken change, but I used to get so many tips that I could go months without touching my salary. And my previous oga was so impressed with my work that when my current madam wanted to start renting this building out, he recommended me to be the caretaker.

I no longer get any tips, but at least I’m not worrying about rent. I also have more time to spend with my family, so nothing spoil.

My current madam lives in the US, and she normally says she likes the way I’m taking care of her building. And sometimes, like today, I wonder if she’ll just invite me and my family to japa to the abroad since she’s so impressed. But my wife thinks I’m a joker. Anyway, I’ll keep doing my best and hoping for the best. One day, I’ll see better opportunity that will change my life.

Hi, I’m Ama Udofa and I write the A Week in the Life series every Tuesday at 9 a.m. If you’d like to be featured on the series, or you know anyone interesting who fits the profile, fill out this form.

Yes, I want to be featured!
A Week in the Life is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

The subject of today’s “A Week in the Life” studied animal science in university but now plans weddings for a living in South East Nigeria. She explores the challenges of dealing with Nigerians who love to party and why she loves her job so much.

MONDAY

The first thing on my mind when I wake up at 8 a.m. today is that I’ve been doing this wedding planning thing for two years.

It feels like two lifetimes ago when I stumbled upon this line of work by chance — I studied animal science at the University of Maiduguri, so what’s my business with weddings?

My faith led me to event planning. I was in a Christian group back in school, where I organised and planned its events on campus. After youth service, I met a woman in Abuja who was an events decorator and started to help her out. After some time, I grew to love the business, so she took me on as an intern. My experience with planning events in uni made me confident that I’d be good at it professionally, so I also enrolled in an events agency for a training programme and got certified.

When I completed my training, I didn’t get any clients. People didn’t want to take a chance with an unknown, fresh-faced lady. But one day, a relative asked me to plan their big wedding — for free. The thing with family is that they always want to use people for free. I needed to get my brand out there, so I took the job.

In that first gig, I ran into problems. The decorator I hired was supposed to be at the venue on Thursday, but he didn’t show up until Saturday at 3 a.m. He stopped picking up my calls. I couldn’t sleep. The decorator was meant to set up a cabana for the groom and bride, amongst other elaborate things as it was a big-budget wedding — and cabanas take so much time to make. I still don’t know how I managed to pull through, but the wedding turned out successful. Since then, I’ve built my business with sheer determination. If you’re faint-hearted, you can’t succeed in this business. Nigerians like to do anyhow.

And as I wake up today, I’m thanking God. I take some minutes to mentally prepare for my day which will involve a lot of calls with vendors and soon-to-be-wedded couples, then I rise from bed and freshen up.

TUESDAY

The thing that stresses me the most about planning weddings is the unpredictability of it all. I got five proposed weddings in the first quarter of 2022 and only completed three.

People cancel weddings all the time for several reasons. Someone could’ve cheated or is hiding a child somewhere. There was this client who reached out to me and we started planning. Everything was going smoothly, but suddenly, there was a problem with the families. Someone didn’t pay the full settlement of the bride price. They called off the wedding.

Anything can happen at any time, so I’m always prepared. Though I hate when this happens because I don’t receive my full pay if a wedding is called off. I also have to make refunds. And the biggest disappointment of all: since I can only book an event for one wedding at a time, I’ve lost out on other clients.

But when a wedding goes according to plan, it’s beautiful.

WEDNESDAY

I have a wedding billed for this Saturday. Thankfully, this client booked me about five months back [in late 2021]. I love clients like this because they give me enough time to get the best possible venues and vendors. This couple knows what they want and it’s an absolute joy to communicate with her.

I met this client at an event I planned we got talking. She was a guest and loved the decor and the orderliness of the show. She later reached out on Instagram and said she trusted I’d do a great job for her wedding. She’d been dreaming of her wedding forever. She had a mood board and a clear idea of how she wanted the ceremony to be. So I knew I’d enjoy working with her, and we’d become good friends.

I’ve covered all the bases ahead of Saturday. I’ve hired the best decorators and the ambience we’re working on will blow everyone’s mind. All I need to do until Saturday is make calls, send reminders and make sure all bookings and logistics are sorted out. Photographers are one of the most important aspects of weddings. The pictures are going to like last a lifetime. So if you don’t have good photographs, you might end up regretting your big day. But my photographers are tested and trusted, so we’re good to go.

We’ll have a bachelorette party and pre-wedding games the night before the wedding day. We’ll also do a dress rehearsal of sorts. It’s all going to be stressful, but I know I’ll have a lot of fun while at it.

THURSDAY

I’ve been burnt a few times by people. Now, I don’t even let people try rubbish with me. Every time I communicate with a client on phone, I record it on my notes app and send a copy to the client on Whatsapp. I also never let clients arrange logistics [feeding, accommodation] for me. I prefer to do it myself.

There was this client that frustrated me in 2020 ending. I live in Imo State but regularly plan weddings outside the state. This lady’s wedding was going to be in Aba, and she booked hotel accommodation for me. When I arrived at the hotel, it was bad. I called her and she told me that she booked ₦10k rooms for me. But when I went down to the reception and asked for their price list, I found out that my room was the cheapest room at the hotel at ₦5k. I was so mad.

Then, she refused to pay me the full price. I’d charged her ₦250k, but she paid ₦80k upfront and said she’d complete it just before the wedding. The day before the wedding, I asked her about it, and she claimed she was only owing me ₦40k because she’d booked my hotel accommodation. I was furious. Was it ₦120k that would make me travel all the way to Aba to stay in a rubbish room and plan an event that was already stressing me out?

When she saw that being aggressive wasn’t working, she started begging me to quietly accept it so her husband wouldn’t hear. When I noticed that she didn’t want me to involve her husband, I pounced. Me? I was ready to cause wahala o. I even refused to attend the reception ceremony unless she completed my money. I had receipts to show that this woman was trying to defraud me.

The groom later decided to pay me in full. I laugh when I remember the bride shooting me daggers with her eyes. And nowadays, I make sure all my clients sign contracts before we even start working together. Then I ask for 70% upfront and collect the remaining 30% two weeks before the event.

FRIDAY

I used to live in Abuja, then I moved to Port Harcourt after I got married. When I got pregnant with my first child, I and my husband moved to Owerri in late 2019 — just before the COVID-19 pandemic and lockdown. That lockdown made me pause my business for months. I say I’ve done event planning for two years, but that’s because I don’t count 2020. I didn’t do much during the pandemic. So when the country opened up again, I was the happiest person in the world.

I’m grateful for a supportive husband. My job is chaotic, and he calms me. His mum is a caterer so he understands the business. He’s the one who got me my first, second and third paying clients, and I love how he carries my matter on his head.

I’m also grateful for the woman I first interned with when I was starting out. That woman showed me I stood a chance. When I started branching out on my own, she gave me as much support as I needed. She always believed the sky is wide for everyone and never saw me as a competitor. She used to say that my clients are not her clients even though we played in the same market.

As I head to tomorrow’s wedding venue to make final checks, I’m daydreaming of the future. Business is growing steadily; I currently have two coordinators and one intern, and I want to expand. I want to diversify my event coverage bandwidth and go into the events industry at full blast. So help me God.

Check back for new A Week in the Life stories every first Tuesday of the month at 9 a.m. If you’d like to be featured on the series, or you know anyone interesting who fits the profile, fill out this form.

Yes, I want to be featured!
A Week in the Life is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

The subject of today’s “A Week in the Life” dropped out of school and fled home as a teenager due to parental abuse. After years on the road, she had dreams about denim and is now carving a niche for herself as a Denim Pro.

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault

MONDAY

I wake up high on hope today, and the first thing I do is pick up my phone. With motivational quotes flying up and down on social media, I have a feeling this will be a good week. My day usually begins with pressing phone, and today is no different. I go over my content calendar, choose a topic, then post on my Facebook and Instagram personal and business pages. Today, I’m posting about the history and cultural importance of stonewashed jeans. After that, I take a deep breath and get ready for the week.

Mondays are slow for my business as I usually don’t make a lot of sales. Maybe it’s because everyone else is serious and trying to change their lives on Monday. So, after posting content online, I’ll use the rest of the day to tend to the little business that comes in. Towards evening, some customers stop by my apartment to try on denim outfits on their way back from work.

My heart leaps for joy at the sound of each credit alert.

By 6 p.m, I lock my doors and head to the gym, where I’ll work out till 8 p.m. When I get back home, I take my bath, eat, scroll through social media and plan tomorrow’s social media posts before I sleep.

TUESDAY

I wake up grateful that my love for denim changed my life. I’m so glad to be sharing this love with people and getting paid for it.

I’ve always loved denim, but I didn’t always know I could make a living from it. I spent so much time drifting aimlessly through life as a teenager before I started having a recurring dream about denim. In these dreams, I’d see myself running around in denim shorts while holding a camera.

I come from a poor background with an abusive mother and a father who wasn’t always around. I dropped out of school after my first year and ran away from home. My parents couldn’t afford the tuition anyway — after paying for my first year, they left me to fend for myself. I didn’t even choose the course I was studying — nursing; they did, and I hated it.

I tried many things to help me survive. I ran errands for people. I took on writing jobs for content mills that took advantage of my desperation and paid me next to nothing.

I learnt early that people would not help me if they weren’t getting something in return. And most times, if I asked a man for help and I wasn’t giving anything in exchange, my body became something they had to take.

From 2016 to 2018, I spent so much time on the road, travelling to different places. I was a homeless, broke teenager trying to figure out life. The women I’d tried to befriend didn’t seem to connect with my reality. They either treated me badly, didn’t care or couldn’t help me. Some would offer to help but just leave me hanging.

But men? Men were always more than willing to spend money as long as they were sure they were going to obtain sex.

There was a time I went to squat with someone in Edo State, a man who I’d met on Facebook. He raped me and took the small money I had. When I left his place, I got into a car headed to Bayelsa State, completely penniless. Lucky for me, I struck up a chat with a guy in the Sienna. Later in the conversation, I told him, “See this car wey I dey so? E be like say when we reach, the driver go need to come down come beat me because me I no get shi-shi to pay am.”

I lied to him that I’d come to Edo to look for work. As someone who’d been stranded before and had strangers help him, he offered to pay my t-fare.

When I got to Delta, I begged a driver who was going to Port Harcourt to take me along with him. I also managed to convince this one too that I was job-hunting. In reality, I was going to squat with another man.

I lived with him for a while. My denim dream continued: me running around playfully in stylish denim outfits while holding a camera.

In 2018, I went to the market and saw a woman selling the kind of denim I’d dreamt about. It was a dream come true, literally. She sold two pieces to me for ₦500 each. When I got back to my host’s house, I told him about it, but he didn’t give a shit.

The reason he’d let me stay with him was transactional, but he could’ve at least pretended to care. At this point, I was tired of it all and could no longer continue living at the mercy of men. I told him I didn’t want to keep having sex with him, and he promptly kicked me out of his house.

I was stranded yet again. In the scorching sun, I thought I had come to the end. They say, “He that is down needs fear no fall.” I was down and out.

But I got lucky. While I was moping around, trying to figure out my next move, a student with whom I’d recently become friends on Facebook texted me, “How are you?” I told him my plight. I didn’t know where to go, didn’t know who to ask for help, and I was tired of fucking men for shelter. He told me that he was in Lagos for his Industrial Training programme, but he could let me stay at his off-campus room in Uyo for a while.

I had enough money for transport fare and nothing else and I expected to sleep hungry that night. But when I got to Uyo, he called his friend, sent ₦1,000 to buy fries for me and asked him to give me the change.

When he came back to Uyo, I told him about my denim dreams and plans: we lived close to students, and I’d read somewhere about starting a business, niching down and building brand recognition. I was going to make sure I became known for all things denim.

As I go to bed tonight, I feel so blessed because it still feels like a blur. I don’t know how I was able to build all this from nothing — the sleepless nights and peppery tears, the panic attacks and rigid goals. Now I’m squatting in my own room because the clothes I sell are so many, they now own my space. Na small small sha.

WEDNESDAY

Today made me laugh so hard!

I usually travel interstate to restock thrift t-shirts and denim clothing every Wednesday. Depending on the quantity I need and how much I have, I either go to Aba, Port Harcourt (PH) or Lagos. I don’t go to Lagos often because it’s very stressful and expensive — I have to spend ₦50k upwards on transport alone.

Today I went to PH. I left my room before 5 a.m., arrived at the bus park by 6 a.m and boarded the first bus to PH.

In the bus, I posted content for Wear or Tear Wednesday, a fun weekly series where I post different denim styles and ask my audience to choose the denim outfits they’d wear and the ones they’d tear. I love how it gives me a chance to share interesting things about denim as well as entertain them. After posting, I closed my eyes and slept for the rest of the journey.

I got to Port Harcourt at a few minutes past 9 a.m and went straight to my suppliers’ stalls. I wanted to buy t-shirts first because they are lighter to carry, then denim jeans and jackets later. A bale of t-shirts costs about ₦200-₦250k, while jeans cost anywhere from ₦300-₦500k. I didn’t have enough money to buy full bales, so I had to join the section where wholesalers open their bales and share the clothes among retailers. Those wholesalers have a rule: no one touches a bale until the owner opens it, and in cases where more than one retailer likes a piece of clothing, the wholesaler decides who gets it.

While we waited for the owner to open his bale, I noticed that the small man beside me was fidgeting. I don’t know what entered into his head, but he dipped his hand into the bale as the owner was opening it. What happened after that was complete chaos.

Get this: retailers usually buy t-shirts at around ₦1k each, but prices have soared recently, and the wholesaler grudgingly agreed to sell at ₦1,800 per shirt, so he was visibly pained.

Have you ever seen an angry Igbo trader?.

The wholesaler yanked him up by his collar and dangled him mid-air. The small man kept shouting, “Drop me!” It took a small crowd to get him out of the wholesaler’s grip.

After that episode, everybody comported themselves.

I left PH at 4 p.m. and arrived at Uyo around 9 p.m. I was so tired I fell asleep immediately I got to my room. Even in my sleep, I was laughing at the thought of the man flailing in the air. I wondered what gave him the guts to dip his hand into the bale. You should never mess with an Igbo trader.

THURSDAY

I said it that this was going to be a good week!

A tech-bro acquaintance called me and told me he needed clothes for himself and his friends. Good thing I’d just restocked, so I took a pile of denim and t-shirts to their compound and sold nearly everything. It was the most money from sales I’ve ever made in a single day — over ₦100k.

When I returned to my apartment, I lay down and looked at the ceiling, like, “Ehen, is this me like this? In this life? Me that didn’t have ₦100 to buy fries not so long ago?”

The day kept getting better — customers kept stopping by to buy jeans and t-shirts.

As I wind down for the day, I look back on my life and feel so grateful. I feel that thing that makes people cry tears of joy, but I can’t muster the tears. As I’ve reached this height like this from nothing, how many more heights can I reach? How much more can I climb?

That climb that I’m climbing ehn, e go long o, because I still dey climb dey go.

FRIDAY

I don’t know when I became the poster child of the go-get-it attitude or became this person that if I tell you I’m going to do something, I’m going to do everything in my power to achieve it.

If I trace it, this started when I decided to get into the denim business. I got ₦20k from a friend I’d mentioned starting a business to. At first, bills came from nowhere and took a chunk of the money. By the end of the week, despite how much I managed, I was left with just ₦13k for market runs. I just closed my eyes and used ₦2k to buy shawarma because why not? The money would go away anyway.

After stress-eating, I sought help from a Facebook friend who’d done thrift business before. She was pursuing a master’s in English in Nsukka, but when she returned home to Aba, I visited her and she taught me everything she knew about Canva, basic brand identity and marketing.

I combed the markets for weeks, searching for good quality Okrika denim products. They were too expensive, so I decided to start by selling bralettes and other small clothes. Over time, I grew my revenue, started buying and selling jeans and T-shirts and founded two thrift brands: Denim Pro and Polo Palace. I went for it and got it.

Recently, I’ve picked up skating. I don’t remember how I learnt to skate; all I know is that one day I said I was going to learn to skate and I did it. I’m the happiest person once I have the wind in my face.

SATURDAY

Today, I’m thinking about the future. Someday, I’d like to go back to school and get the best education money can buy and study a course I actually want. I know it’ll be something in the humanities, possibly psychology. I find that I’m great at either putting people at ease or making them uneasy. I also want to collect their money while at it. If I don’t become a therapist, I’d like to do economics or marketing psychology and work in an advisory role.

If that doesn’t work, I’ll find something else that I love doing that can bring me money. I don’t have all the answers now, but I know I really want to go to school, and that’s why I work so hard. Either way, life will figure itself out.

As I put my skating boots in my gym bag and step out of my room, my heart is full.

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

Yes, I’d like to be featured!
A Week in the Life is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

What’s it like to be a rockstar in Nigeria? Today, we explore a week in ClayRocksU’s life. Clay is a Nigerian rockstar who grew up saving her pocket money to buy music albums. She shares the joys and challenges of performing rock music in Nigeria, blending Afropop and punk rock and why she thinks dogs are the absolute best.

WEDNESDAY

I woke up at 4 a.m. today to prepare for a video shoot for my new single with my band, The Misfits. Our shoot is billed for 8 a.m. but I’m up at 4 because I need to mentally prepare and leave early.

The name “Misfits” really fits my band. We’re five oddballs in a band of misfits that’s been jamming since 2015: Orange, the one who fusses over everything; Best — the complete opposite of Orange — the clown of the group; Jerry, who’s been in the band since he was 19, is the calming influence and source of optimism; and Dare, the bassist and official late-comer. If we have a session for 1 p.m, I have to tell Dare we’re starting by 8 a.m., and he’ll still come late. But to be fair, his schedule is tight, yet he’s supportive and shows up every time.

I started Clay and The Misfits by accident. I only used to do acoustics before, but one day, I needed a band to play for me at a show. I really enjoyed the performance and decided we could create a proper rock band.

I get to the studio at 8 a.m. Orange and Jerry come in minutes after I do. In 20 minutes’ time, we’re set for the shoot, but Dare hasn’t shown up yet. I can’t blame him today sha. Today’s traffic was awful because of the ongoing fuel scarcity and long queues.

The shoot lasts until late afternoon. After that, we go to the studio to rehearse for our weekend shows. We rehearse a few songs including my new single, but my favourite is a rock cover of Flavour’s Ashawo. The song isn’t part of our plans for today — it just comes up while we’re freestyling. But in 15 minutes, we’ve written the guitar arrangement. We flow through it so sweetly that we decide to record it.

We continue rehearsing until 6 p.m when we leave the studio. I spend the next few hours in traffic. By the time I get home, I’m exhausted but happy about the video shoot and the songs we made today.

THURSDAY

Every Thursday, I host an hour-long show on the radio where I play rock music with my co-host. I use this opportunity to plug in my music — I released a new single last week titled Amin where I fused Afropop elements into punk rock. The end product is a song I’m really proud of. I cried while writing Amin because it was such a validating experience, words can’t explain the feeling.

It’s a personal victory to be able to do something I love for a living. I grew up listening to rock. My dad played a lot of Bon Jovi and Bryan Adams and I grew to love the sound. As a teenager, anytime I got my hands on the remote control, I watched MTV. And I saved up my pocket money to buy rock music compilations.

I’ve always dreamed of being a musician. In secondary school, I was in science class and JETS club. After competitions, I’d take off my JETS club uniform and join arts students. I was also the best dancer in the school. After secondary school, I wondered why I even went to science class in the first place when I’d only always cared about music and performing arts.

After the radio show, since I’m trying to be more active on social media, especially TikTok, Instagram and YouTube, I’ll shoot TikTok videos to promote my music and engage with my followers.

FRIDAY

Sometimes I wake up and wonder why I chose this life. Like today, the only thing on my mind is, “God, why?” All my friends who went to school are working, and some are married. Me, I said I wasn’t going to work for anybody, I didn’t want to do a 9-5, I wanted to chase my dreams and do my own thing. I didn’t stop there; I now said it’s rock music that I’ll do — music that isn’t very popular in Nigeria.

As if that’s not enough, I’m a woman, and women usually have it harder in the entertainment industry. I’ve met people who loved my music and wanted to work with me or sponsor me, but at the last minute, they went, “But you’re a woman.”

Some men even move to me under the pretext of liking my music, only for me to realise later that they just wanted to get into my pants. If you want to have sex with me, just talk to me direct, let me know if I’ll say yes or no; don’t go through my music.

I spend all morning questioning God, then I move on. Weekends are the lifeblood of my job, so the Misfits and I are booked and busy. Knowing I’m performing with The Misfits at a popular cafe on the island later in the day makes me feel better. We do this every other Friday.

I didn’t always like performing. I used to dread getting on stage But I’ve come to accept it as part of the process. I look forward to every performance these days. When the music gets going, I transform into something so beautiful words can’t describe.

I feel like if I ever get to that point where I no longer feel anxious or get that rush of adrenaline before I go on stage, It means that I’m becoming complacent because I’ve “arrived”, and I might stop giving my best.

When my band gets on stage, we perform continuously for three hours, and it feels like I could sing all night. We’re so high on joy that our drummer throws the drums on stage at the end of our performance: this is how I rockstar, and the crowd cheers like crazy!

SATURDAY

I’m still not over yesterday’s performance. It wows me that I’ve connected with folks who really fuck with rock music. Somehow, there are people on the island who just want to listen to rock music, so that’s how we always get shows. It’s not mainstream money, but it pays the bills.

Five years ago, I went on a hiatus after releasing an EP with high hopes. It went well to an extent, but I’m an independent artiste, and I didn’t have money to promote it. After that, I got burnt out. I got tired of dropping stuff that wasn’t resonating with many people as I’d like. It’s probably unfair to my core fans, but at some point, I just kept asking, “Is anybody even listening to my stuff?

In 2020, I wanted to make a comeback, but COVID-19 happened and the lockdown was really hard on me. But in late 2021, I pulled myself by my bootstraps and started going to the studio again.

I decided to focus on my music without bothering myself too much with numbers. Now, I’m sticking to what I love and promoting myself with whatever resources I can garner. The people that love me love me, and I’m choosing to focus on them. And that’s what I’m going to keep doing.

SUNDAY

Tonight, I’m billed for an event I’ve been looking forward to for two months, as it’s a major event. But before my performance, I’m walking dogs. Aside from music, I’m also a professional dog trainer. I love dogs because they bring me calm — but only when they’re true puppies.

Today’s client’s dog is not a true puppy.

When the owners reached out to me, I told them that I’m strictly a puppy trainer, but I realised their dog is like one year old when I got there. Training puppies is a joy because they’re cute and receptive, but a one-year-old dog is like a human teenager who has learnt all the bad habits, and now the owners want me to fix the dog in two weeks. I don’t know if they think it’s magic.

I don’t mind training dogs so much; they’re wonderful and so willing to give. Imagine the person who’s loved you the most and given you everything, no-holds-barred? Now, multiply that love by five. They can only break your heart when they die.

After my training session with the dog, I catch up with the band for tonight’s gig. But the organisers are moving mad: they’re refusing to pay the outstanding money we’d agreed. They had two months to plan this thing, but they’re only telling me now? But we’ve been preparing for this show for weeks! We eventually decide to perform just so that our efforts to prepare for the show would not waste.

With Nigerian shows, you never know what quality of sound to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for how bad this one is. It’s the worst I’ve sound ever heard — so bad that I have to apologise to the crowd. They seem to understand sha because they’re cheering us anyway. Midway through our performance, our mics get cut off. It’s one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. But we move.

I cannot wait to go home and sleep.

MONDAY

People approach me all the time to sign recording contracts, but they’re usually filled with red flags or just shabbily done. Like after yesterday’s performance, someone reached out to me and wanted to sign me to their label. He took my number, and the next thing he was sending me a record label contract. Just. Like. That.

As I suspected, it turned out to be a bogus contract. I’m looking for a label, but I put my all in my music and so I will only sign for a label that at least respects me.

Anyway, I quickly brush off the disappointment as one of those things. I’ve had a busy weekend, so I’m going to focus on resting and enjoying myself. For the next two days, I’ll drink wine, order food delivery, watch a crime show and have the time of my life until my week begins.

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

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

The subject of today’s “A Week in the Life” is Kelvin Alaneme, a Nigerian psychiatrist in the UK. He walks us through the heartbreaking aspects of his job, navigating a long-distance relationship with his family and juggling multiple businesses because he thrives in chaos.

MONDAY

My mornings follow a strict regimen. I’m preparing for a medical exam, so the first thing on my to-do list is to study for two hours when I wake up at 4 a.m. By 6 a.m., I hop on Telegram and Discord to follow up with my cryptocurrency communities. There’s never a dull moment in this group, and this motivates me to keep sharing knowledge and resources.

I have to go to the hospital at 9 a.m., but first, I post content about my career, cryptocurrency and immigration tips on my Facebook and Instagram profiles.

I’m a specialist doctor at the NHS, so when I get to the hospital, I resume ward rounds. If there’s no consultant around, like today, I become the most senior staff member on-site. I’ll spend the rest of my afternoon reviewing patients, preparing documentation and writing tribunal reports.

I look forward to studying and reviewing past questions after work for my licensing exams. I live in the UK, but my wife and kids live in the US. I can’t wait to pass this exam so I can relocate with my family. Which reminds me — I need to call my family before I sleep. It’s 6 p.m. in the US now; if my wife is still at work, we’ll talk briefly, but if she’s back home, I’ll video chat with the children too.

After the call, all I can think about today is our long-distance relationship. My wife is also a doctor. When I left Nigeria to pursue a master’s in public health in London, she had just completed her US medical licensing exam. She and the kids joined me in the UK but had to leave for her US residency programme — something she’d always wanted to do. We had to come to terms with the prospects of a long-distance relationship.

But it wasn’t supposed to be for long. In July 2020, she relocated to New York with the kids. When I completed my master’s later in September, I was going to flee to the US to join them, but in the days leading up to my departure, I received three middle-grade doctor job offers here with juicy salaries and great perks.

We started to rethink our plan. The jobs offered me career progression, which I couldn’t get in the US yet as I had not written the US medical licensing exams. Staying in the US meant I would have to do low-wage jobs while I waited to take the licensing exams. That meant I would only make enough to cope and would strain my wife’s income. We decided to stay apart for a little longer.

TUESDAY

There’s nothing as fulfilling as helping patients with mental illness get better. I’m a psychiatrist, so my job is to diagnose, treat or help people prevent mental illness.

This is why facing a progressively deteriorating mental illness is the heartbreaking part of my job, especially when I have to have difficult discussions with the family of the patient. I have to explain to them why a patient who initially responded very well to treatment is suddenly not responding again. Or why a patient who was supposed to be admitted for a month has been receiving treatment for six months. Then I also have to tell their families and friends that this is the new normal, that their loved ones may not return as the person they once knew — or return at all.

Watching families come to terms with that knowledge — denial, sorrow, pain, defeat — is crushing. I wonder: if I feel this way for telling them, I can’t imagine how it must be for them who are actually affected. But I have to help them face it. As a professional, finding the balance between objectivity and empathy is the most difficult thing in the world. But this is what I’ve signed up to do, and it is a responsibility I must bear with grace.

WEDNESDAY

While I have a full-time job at the hospital, I have my hands in many other places. I’m also a musician running a record label.

Sometimes, I wonder how I have time to pursue all these endeavours. I think it’s because my wife is not around. We were talking about it last week, and it struck me that if we lived together, things might be different. If I were living in the US, I wouldn’t have time to be starting new businesses up and down.

I look at myself and shake my head because it’s just a life of stress. But I’m grateful for my wife. She is patient; she sees the big picture and gives me massive support. Because of her, I can close my eyes and just do what I do.

THURSDAY

Today I’m grateful for immigration. Moving to the UK changed my life. When I first came here in 2019, I worked as a bartender and a waiter, then I taught nursing and medical students in London for nine months until I got my licence to practise as a doctor. I’ve been practising for two years in the UK, and the quality of my life has skyrocketed. I want as many doctors and nurses to move here.

I’m also grateful for data management: I just retrieved a patient’s medical history and records at the click of a button. I practised medicine in Nigeria for five years, and many of the centres didn’t have functional equipment or the power to run them, and it always broke my heart. Getting told there’s no oxygen when you need it to save someone’s life does things to you. I’ve been in the UK for over two years, but it still blows my mind that CT scans get done in minutes and I can receive MRI results by the next day.

I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.

FRIDAY

I can smell the weekend! On weekdays, I’m a full-time doctor; at night and weekends, I’m a serial entrepreneur chasing my passions. I’m looking forward to the weekend because I’ll have more time to pursue my other interests. After hospital work today, I’ll check in with my team of developers and designers.

Coming to the UK helped me get into tech — I wasn’t always interested. In 2020, I won the Voices of Tomorrow Competition for a healthcare financing solution that will help Nigerians reduce out-of-pocket expenditure. Healthcare is free in the UK, and it’d be nice to create something that’ll help Nigerians get a semblance of that. I now have contacts in Silicon Valley, which scares me as much as it excites me.

I love being exhausted and when I die, I want to die empty, knowing that I gave everything I could give. To me, life is an orange, and I’m squeezing out every last drop of juice.

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

Yes, I want to be featured
A Week in the Life is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.

The subject of today’s “A Week In the Life” mixes drinks for a living. He tells us about quitting his full-time bartending job to start his business, how his biochemistry degree makes him a better bartender and why Lagos restaurants sell shit cocktails.

Thursday

My week begins on weekends when Lagos fires up with parties and events, so I must prepare. Every week is different for me, depending on whether or not I have a bartending gig. When I do — like this week — I spend a few days preparing. If I don’t, I experiment with new recipes and do some consulting for restaurants and bars.

This week, I have a gig on Saturday at an owambe-themed party in Ikeja. It’s supposed to be big. I’ll spend today sourcing supplies, finalising my signature recipes and testing them to make sure that they taste great and that I can produce them at scale.

Asides from mixing drinks, I also have to make sure the distribution of drinks goes smoothly, which is the most technical aspect of my business. It involves a lot of math and data analysis, especially for large events like this. I have to be sure that the ingredients are enough for as many estimated guests and any unexpected surge in demand. The worst thing that could happen to a bartender is a shortage of drinks or ingredients; that’s why I plan and calculate so much before an event. I’ll need to hire a bar assistant for the day, make a ton of calls to my suppliers, create a budget, etc. I have to make sure everything is in place by the end of tomorrow.

Friday

I woke up at 9 a.m. today with a heavy heart. It seems drinks get more expensive week after week. I have to go to the wholesale market at Apongbon because I still can’t believe the price quotes I got yesterday from my drinks suppliers. Absolut vodka was ₦5k just last week; today, it’s ₦6k — and that’s even a cheap drink. More expensive drinks like Ciroc added ₦3k overnight. Inflation is a bastard.

I’m just thankful I no longer depend on only bartending at events for a living. It’d be crazy. Thank God for my consulting which brings in the occasional lump sum on the side. Late last year, a businessman was opening a restaurant in Lekki. He had posted on Facebook that he needed an expert to create unique signature drinks to make his restaurant stand out. Over 40 people commented, tagging my name, so he reached out to me. I designed the restaurant’s bar, set up a custom signature cocktail menu and trained the current bartender. That was my first paid consulting gig, which broadened my opportunities. These days, when consulting, I make at least double of what I earn from bartending at events, but consulting opportunities aren’t as regular.

By 2 p.m., I’ve bought everything I need. I won’t buy fruits until the day of the event, so they’ll still be fresh.

The “Yoruba Demon” – one of the signature cocktails

Saturday

Today, I am once again thankful. This time last year, I was working full-time at a bar in Lekki which made me hate my life. My shift was meant to be 2 p.m. to 10 p.m., Wednesday to Monday, with shared accommodation in a room near the bar. This setup made sense because I lived on the mainland. Imagine going to Orile from Lekki at 10 p.m.

One month after I started, though, they made us vacate the room. For the next few months, I squatted in the bar’s lounge, sleeping on a couch five days a week. They also made me work overtime as I was the only bartender and I was always around.

This bar paid me only ₦60k monthly for all my effort, and I didn’t even have time for side gigs to fetch me extra money. One day, I just vexed and told them I wasn’t doing again. I left and started my own brand.

Nowadays, I love the flexibility of being my own boss, even though it has its downsides. For example, this business is seasonal — there are times when bartenders are in high demand, like during holidays. Then there are downtimes where you barely see any gigs. But freelancing puts me in the driving seat and has improved the quality of my life.

Sunday

Today was one hell of a day. The event went well above my expectations. My new signature palm wine cocktails were an instant hit. I sold out and got an outpouring of positive feedback, and so many people shouted me out on Facebook. That’s always good for business.

I was nervous before the party because I’m usually afraid of large events. And this started after my experience one day in 2020.

That day, I served drinks at the Lagos Social Hangout — an end-of-year party in Ikeja, Lagos. Guests loved the drinks so much that I made back my capital after just two hours. At around 7 p.m., when the party was in full swing and orders were pouring in, something unfortunate happened that ended the party abruptly. Seun Kuti, who lives on the street, got into a scuffle with some car owners at the event and fired gunshots. And the party scattered. The crowd dispersed and everybody scrambled.

By that time, I’d only made about 20% profit. This was supposed to be my largest party in a long time, and I was high on hope. I’d borrowed money to set up for the event and had to watch my potential earnings vanish in seconds.

I’ve since moved on from the incident, but I still panic when I’m bartending at large events, which is why I’m glad I don’t have any other events until next weekend. I’ll spend the rest of the week relaxing with my family and looking back on today’s success.

Monday

As a first child to Igbo parents, it once seemed like an absurd decision to mix drinks for a living, but that’s the life I’m living now.

People like to downplay this job. They say: “Is it not just to mix Coke and Jack Daniels?” I also used to think bartending was only about combining drinks. But there’s a science to it. I realised this when I started reading books on mixology. I saw references to entropy, enthalpy, thermodynamics and other things I’d learned studying biochemistry in school. Even the simplest things like why certain drinks are served in certain types of glasses and in specific quantities have scientific reasons. It all made sense.

I dived into the rabbit hole of mixology, exploring the science and art of it all. I even took a course. Those months I spent studying was the game-changer. To my parents, it didn’t make sense at all, because they expected me to graduate get a standard 9-5 job. But when they saw that I could make more than the average 9-5 wage from one bartending gig, it became easier to convince them.

My chemistry background applies to my job every day and informs the decisions behind each new signature I make. It’s very technical, and that’s what many Lagos restaurants get wrong. Only very few places bother to study how to mix drinks.

The path I have taken is somewhat unconventional — a long winding road, but I’m learning through every turn and becoming a better person with every step. My wrists hurt today. I must have made over 500 drinks last night, but I’m pleased.

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

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

2021 was a long year. I know it and you definitely know it. I wrote my first “A Week In The Life” story of 2021 on the 5th of January. It was about an interstate driver who had a girlfriend in almost every Nigerian state he visited. This awe-inspiring, mind-boggling, larger-than-life, yet commonplace story would set the tone for some of the episodes in the series.

As the year comes to a close, and with over 36 stories under the “A Week In The Life” flagship, I’ve picked 10 of the most-read stories from the series. These stories were picked based on the number of page views they had, the conversations they sparked and the general audience reaction to them.

Whether you started reading this series last year, this year, or even last week, here are some stories that our audience definitely enjoyed reading and sharing.

Dive in:

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

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

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

Read more here.

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

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

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

Click here to read her origin story.

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

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

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

4) My Life Ended When I started NYSC” — A Week In The Life Of A Tired Youth Corps Member

If you’ve done NYSC, this story will make you angry, sad, and confused. Why? Because the suffering is relatable and pointless. For this episode, a youth corps member without a place of primary assignment talks about the bleakness of her days, being frustrated by the NYSC scheme and the ways she sparks joy in her life.

Continue here.

5) Nigerians Call Strippers So Many Dirty Names — A Week In The Life Of A Stripper

The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is Debbie, a stripper. She tells us about how stripping changed her life, why she wants the Nigerian police to do better, and how she plans to fund her dreams of living an expensive life.

Read here.

6) I Feel Like I’m Juggling Two Identities — A Week In The Life Of A Dominatrix

Fair warning: This story has everything from drugs to sex to everything your Nigerian parents warned you about. However, if you want to get lost in a story, you should settle down and read this. Definitely worth your time.

Read more

7) I Almost Lost A Knee Cap — A Week In The Life Of A Drug Dealer

The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a drug dealer. He talks to us about his process for baking edibles, how he almost lost a knee cap, and his plans to set up a cartel if his japa plans fail.

Satisfy your curiosity here.

8) For 2 Years I Didn’t Win A Single Bet — A Week In The Life Of A Gambler

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

Dive in.

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

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

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

Click here to find out.

10) “Remember You Left Home To Feed Home” — A Week In The Life Of A Bus Driver

The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is Jimoh Adamu, a 27-year-old bus driver. Jimoh tells us about the inspiration behind the famous quotes on his bus, how the Lagos state Keke ban set him back, and his quest for a better life.

Finish up here.

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

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

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

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

4) My Life Ended When I started NYSC” — A Week In The Life Of A Tired Youth Corps Member

5) Nigerians Call Strippers So Many Dirty Names — A Week In The Life Of A Stripper

6) I Feel Like I’m Juggling Two Identities — A Week In The Life Of A Dominatrix

7) I Almost Lost A Knee Cap — A Week In The Life Of A Drug Dealer

8) For 2 Years I Didn’t Win A Single Bet — A Week In The Life Of A Gambler

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

10) “Remember You Left Home To Feed Home” — A Week In The Life Of A Bus Driver