• Nigeria welcomes approximately 800 new births every hour, and it’s easy to understand why. Having (multiple) kids is strongly tied to our societal and religious beliefs. Plus, the idea of having a cute mini version of yourself doesn’t sound half bad.

    But beyond the cute smiles and precious moments, parenting can also involve endless worries and significant financial burdens. We spoke to five Nigerian parents, and they shared how having children has impacted their cost of living, financial stability and even income opportunities.

    Image source: Zikoko. Models are not affiliated with the story.

    “I went from earning ₦500k/month to ₦100k”

    Oyin, 35, single mother of one

    I knew I’d be a single parent while still pregnant with my son, so I mentally prepared for it. My partner and I planned to get married, but I caught him cheating when I was five months pregnant. The cheating incident revealed a history of lies I couldn’t overlook, so I left him and had my son alone in 2023. 

    I thought I was ready to raise a child, but nothing prepared me for the reality that motherhood would also affect my income source. Before my son, I had a job and a side hustle selling perfumes and thrift, bringing my monthly income to ₦500k on average. I still managed to juggle both while pregnant, but it became a different story after I gave birth.

    I quit my job and thought I could rely on my business, but that didn’t work. I couldn’t go to the market regularly anymore because I had no one to keep my son with. The few times I managed to go, I begged my neighbour to watch him. That stopped when I came home one day and saw she had left my six-month-old crying alone on a mat on her balcony. 

    When my son was eight months old, I decided to risk taking him along with me to the market. I saw shege that day. The heat made him very irritable, and he cried throughout the day. I also almost fainted from the stress of carrying him on my back and dragging heavy bags of clothes. Safe to say I didn’t try it again.

    Over time, I’ve had to scale my business down because there’s only so much I can do alone. I only sell perfumes now because they’re less stressful, and my customers come from social media — no time to go office to office hustling for customers. Right now, I make an average of ₦100k in profits monthly. It’s even more than I used to make between 2023 and 2024, when my son was still a baby and I had less free time.

    From that ₦100k, at least ₦80k goes to our feeding and my son’s needs. I manage the remaining ₦20k for utility bills, internet and emergencies. I had ₦800k in my savings when I got pregnant, but I’ve been pinching out of that to survive and pay rent. Only ₦60k is in my savings now. My son’s father sends ₦30k every three months to “support”, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Plus, the money only comes after I’ve called to shout at him several times. 

    I literally live hand-to-mouth every day, and it’s a sharp difference from who I was before. I don’t buy things for myself anymore, and I dread when my son will have to resume school because the expenses will only increase. But I try to console myself with the fact that school will mean extra time for me to try keeping a job. So, there’s hope. 

    “I’m tied to my job because of constant loans”

    Dabiri, 38, married father of three

    My wife got pregnant one month after our wedding in 2014, and we suddenly moved from newlyweds to new parents. As if that wasn’t shocking enough, we gave birth to twins. 

    I was initially scared — my wife was unemployed and I earned ₦80k/month — but I figured we could make it work. Fortunately, our family came through for us with monetary gifts, and my mother-in-law helped us with the babies while my mum often sent us food stuff. Those first few years were great, and I didn’t feel too much financial pressure. But to be safe, my wife and I agreed to leave it at two kids. She’d be a stay-at-home mum and we’d manage with my salary. 

    Fast forward to 2021, we found out we were expecting again — my wife’s IUD contraceptive failed. Our situation was much tougher this time. Our mothers had passed away, and the COVID lockdown had taken my job. I was still wondering how I’d provide for my family with no salary when we found out about the pregnancy. I begged my wife to have an abortion, but she refused. 

    The whole thing almost separated us. I was angry that she wasn’t being realistic, and I moved out of the house. I was honestly scared of the expenses. It took our family’s intervention for the issue to die down. A family friend also helped me get my current job at a microfinance bank that pays me ₦200k/month. 

    I have a salary now, but it really doesn’t feel like it. After paying for food and school fees, there’s nothing left. My twins had to change to a government school for their secondary education because I don’t have ₦500k to pay for both per term in a private school. 

    But the expenses aren’t my biggest challenge. It’s that I can’t change my job. I’m tied to my workplace because I’m constantly taking loans from my employer to cover household expenses. Currently, I owe ₦800k, and they’re removing ₦40k from my salary for a 20-month period. I’m very sure I’ll borrow more money before I finish paying this one. 

    Since I can’t get a new job and receive a salary immediately to pay my debts, I have to stay here until I can gather (or borrow) enough money to pay them off. It feels very limiting.


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    “It feels like the expenses are never-ending”

    Bukola, 44, widowed mother of three

    I didn’t fully realise how expensive raising children was until my husband died in 2022 and left me to provide for three teenagers alone.

    Suddenly, I had to bring out money from my unstable income as a fabrics trader for food, school fees, birthday gifts, and even barbing appointments. I sometimes get support from my late husband’s sister, but it feels like the expenses are never-ending.

    Two of my children are in uni and they’re constantly calling for money. If they don’t need a laptop for assignments, it’s that their ₦30k/month pocket money has finished. I laugh when I remember complaining about handling the feeding expenses when my husband was alive. Now that I’m paying for everything, I wish to return to the time when I only worried about food. 

    I’ve turned to an accountant by force, constantly drawing budgets and calculating how to save more money. In one way, it has made me better with money. I save more and avoid unnecessary expenses. I even started a ₦60k monthly ajo contribution for my house and shop rent. 

    I would’ve liked to become more intentional about money under different circumstances, but this is my situation, and I have to try my best. 

    “I’m slowly accepting that I can’t have it all”

    Esther, 27, married mother of one

    When I got married in 2023, I had a clear plan: Relocate with my husband to the US for my master’s degree, find a job, make money, and then start thinking about children.

    But like they say, man proposes, God disposes. I already had a uni admission offer, but the whole wahala with Trump led to the school pausing my scholarship. I dusted myself off and applied to UK schools instead. While the offers came, scholarships didn’t follow.

    Then, in August 2024, I fell sick and the hospital discovered I was five months pregnant. Even I didn’t know. I missed my period once during the five months, but my home pregnancy tests were negative. The periods even returned, so I’m still confused how I turned up with a whole five-month fetus.

    The baby put all my plans on hold. I quit my job after getting the US scholarship and am still unemployed. I can’t even look for a job properly because I have a baby to worry about. My husband provides all my needs, but it’s somehow not having anything to my name.

    I’m still half-heartedly applying for scholarships, but slowly accepting that I can’t have it all. Even if I get the scholarship, will I study with a baby? My husband won’t come with me because he has a really good job now. We can’t risk relocating to a new country as two unemployed people with a child.

    My financial prospects don’t look great right now. I just hope things start to make sense when my child gets older.


    RELATED: Having Kids Took Me From Middle-Class to Poor


    “I’m glad I invested before having children”

    Daniel, 36, married father of two

    I earn reasonably well at ₦800k/month, but I also have two growing boys who seem like they were born to chop my money. 

    Before we had our children, my wife and I could spend only ₦80k on food monthly. But now, it’s ₦250k and above. My children will eat breakfast at 8 a.m. and start shouting, “I’m hungry” by 10 a.m. I still have to worry about clothes, toys and school fees. 

    I’m just glad I wisely invested in a plot of land before getting married. Now, I just try to save 100k monthly and put it towards my building fund. I should have 3m by the end of the year, and I’ll use it to start building something. 

    If I hadn’t gotten land before having children, I doubt I’d be able to do it now, especially with the economy. I mean, it took me almost four years to save just ₦3m. This is me who saved ₦2m in a year for my wedding in 2018. But saving is a luxury now. I’m just glad I can still afford to put some money away.


    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.


    NEXT READ: I Stopped Paying My Family’s Bills, and They Started Disrespecting Me

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  • Inflation has generally made it more difficult to live comfortably in Nigeria, but for Faridah*, it’s robbing her of her mother’s legacy.

    She talks about enjoying the fruits of her mother’s generosity to others, deciding to follow in her mother’s footsteps, and how the high cost of living might be changing her values. 

    As told to Boluwatife

    Everyone says their mother is their hero, but I actually mean it when I say the same. My mum passed away when I was 7 years old, but her life still inspires and teaches me so much. I’ve always wanted to be like her.

    I don’t have many real-life memories of my mum, but I’ve heard so many stories about her that it feels like I actually knew her. While my dad came from a wealthy family and had always known how it felt to have money, my mum didn’t come from the same privilege. 

    My maternal grandparents were farmers who barely made enough to feed their children and send them to school. My mum and her siblings often had to hawk plantain and corn to support the family. That experience growing up made my mum more in tune with people who also had little to live on. 

    So, as soon as she started making money, she began helping people around her. I’ve heard about how my mum used her nursing profession to provide free healthcare for people in the community. Sick people would come to our family house, and my mum would use her own money to buy the injections she needed to treat them. 

    I’ve met at least three people who said my mum helped birth them and didn’t charge their parents. If she wasn’t assisting people with free medication, she was giving them food and money. My dad constantly shares stories about how he’d give my mum money to buy a bag of rice and come home to see that my mum had shared half of the bag’s contents with our neighbours. 

    Or when she’d use the money meant for our foreign Christmas clothes to buy slightly cheaper ones so she could buy Christmas clothes for the neighbours’ children, too.

    You only had to tell my mum you liked the necklace she had on, and she was ready to take it off and give it to you. That was the kind of woman my mother was. She died in a car accident in 2005, and I wish I had spent more time with her. My only consolation is how much her good deeds have opened doors for me all my life. 

    My dad told me the story of how he didn’t pay my school fees for my first three years in secondary school simply because of my mum. He lost his bank job in 2008, just as I was rounding up primary school. According to my dad, he had already started the process of getting me into a public school since he could no longer afford the private school my siblings had attended. 

    Then, the private school’s principal — who had been friendly with my mum — called my dad to ask why she hadn’t seen me come to resume school. My dad explained the situation, and she said, “Why will Mummy Sara’s* daughter attend a public secondary school when I’m alive?”

    The principal made sure my dad enrolled me in her school and refused to collect school fees. She said my mum had done her so much good that it would be a crime not to pay it forward to her children. I’d have probably gone the whole six years not paying anything if my dad hadn’t gotten a job in another state when I finished JSS 3 and moved us away.

    When I first got into uni and was trying to do my registration, one of the school staff saw my surname and asked if I was related to my mum. I confirmed, and the man practically ignored others and started attending to me. He never told me how he knew my mum, and I didn’t bother to ask.

    I’m also lucky to share an uncanny resemblance with my mum. Whenever I return to our state, I already know I’ll get stopped by at least one person and asked if I’m the daughter of Mummy Sara. Prayers and stories of how my mum helped them often follow. Some even squeeze money into my hands. This doesn’t just happen to me; my siblings experience it, too.

    These experiences made me decide early on that I wanted to be as generous as my mum. It’s not my first instinct to help people; I think I got that from my dad. But after my registration experience at uni, I decided I wanted to follow in my mum’s legacy. I wanted to have a name that’d open doors for my children.

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    So, I began deliberately offering financial help and assistance. I lived in a school hostel for much of uni and made it a point to share my food always. Of course, sometimes I felt like my roommates took advantage of it, especially when they wouldn’t buy water and wait for me to buy for the entire room. But I refused to get angry.

    I started buying food randomly for my class colleagues and recharge cards for the course rep. I was an efiwe, so I also started taking tutorial classes. My dad gave me a ₦30k monthly allowance, which hardly lasted three weeks because I made sure to lend money to anyone who complained. I also made it a tradition to visit orphanages on my birthdays and share food items with the children.

    Since graduating from university, generosity has remained a big part of my life. During NYSC year, I took in two people and allowed them to live rent-free in the apartment my dad got me because they had accommodation issues. I also made it a habit to buy random gifts for my friends.

    When I started working in 2022, I had to take a more streamlined approach to giving. My dad wasn’t giving me an allowance anymore, and I had to budget to survive on my ₦120k salary. But even with that, I usually budgeted at least ₦20k for random giving and loans monthly. When my salary increased to ₦250k in 2023, I increased my monthly giving budget to ₦50k.

    However, I’ve had to cut back on giving since around December 2023. With transportation costs constantly increasing because of fuel prices and the drama of food costs now, I hardly retain any extra cash at the end of the month to do anything, much less be generous. 

    It’s funny how I comfortably lived on ₦80k – ₦100k in 2022 and still had some money left to save. But I earn more now, and it feels like I spend all my money on food, transportation, and data. Last month alone, I spent ₦90k transporting from my house in Surulere to work in Victoria Island. I spend like ₦80k just to feed myself monthly. Imagine if I wanted to share food with others.

    It’s a struggle to save ₦10k monthly. My dad pays my rent, but I still have to handle utility bills and Band-A electricity tariffs, and it feels like I’m constantly struggling.

    I can’t afford to buy random gifts for my friends anymore, and I’ve also had to cut down on outings. I constantly feel bad whenever someone asks me for a loan, and I have to explain that I don’t have cash to spare. Everyone understands when I say no because I’m usually generous—some even try to confirm I’m fine and whether I need money too so they can borrow for me. But it still feels like I’m not meeting people’s needs.

    The worst thing is, I’m barely 26, and it already feels like I’m struggling to survive. What about when I have family responsibilities? Where will I get extra money to help people then? Maybe it was easier for my mum to extend a helping hand because money actually meant something in those days. It feels impossible to try to reach her standards with how inflation and the economy are moving these days.

    I’ll keep trying my best, but it feels like an exercise in futility — no thanks to our rubbish government. 


    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.


    NEXT READ: My Father’s Money Is His, and It’ll Probably Never Be Mine

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  • It’s not news that our politicians and the federal government have joined hands together to further stress our lives with crazy-high living costs, naira devaluation and the threat of food shortage. As if that weren’t enough, Daddy Tesla tried to put us in Twitter jail.

    Do you want my life?

    The point is, these are trying times, and we all need extra motivation, especially 9-5ers. If you’re an employer thinking of using free lunch or mental health seminars to support your staff during this period, please stop it. Here’s how we really want to be supported.

    Remote and hybrid work options

    The new fuel prices mean transportation costs aren’t smiling. If the employee can do the work at home, please let them. It’ll also save the amount of money spent on electricity and Wi-Fi at the office. A win-win.

    Hardship allowance

    No matter how small the amount, it’ll show that you’re not like Nigerian politicians and you actually relate to your employees’ struggles.

    Employee loans

    There’s no money on ground, and offering loans may be what saves your employees from Nigeria-induced sapa. It doesn’t even have to be a huge amount. Loaning employees a couple of months’ salary won’t crash the business, and you can recover it through salaries.

    Surveys that actually help

    Another option is asking the employees how they’d like to be supported and trying to implement the feedback.

    Salary increase

    Your revenue and profits are probably not that great either, but if possible, increase salaries to help cushion the effects of these times. No one says no to more money.

    Can that meeting be an email?

    Remember what I said about fuel? There’s really no need to call a team-wide meeting if it could just be an email. Help us reduce charging time, biko.

    Talk about it

    Whatever you do to support your staff, carrying them along is important. Knowing they’re not alone in these struggles could do wonders for motivation.


    NEXT READ: How Has the Fuel Price Hike Affected Transportation Costs in Major Cities?

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  • Even if you never seem to have light for long enough to cook beans, your electricity bills keep going up.

    Two months ago, I bought 77 units for ₦5k. Last week, imagine my shock when I got 51 units for the same ₦5k.

    For the 100th time. I wonder why I’m still in this country. So because misery loves company, I reached out to fellow Nigerians who are having to deal with the skyrocketing costs of electricity while getting a lot less supply.

    Ahmed, Lagos

    Even though my electricity bill has doubled over the past six months. I still spend more than ₦30k to fuel my generator. The first time DisCos increased the price two years ago, they promised that we’d receive more power. I didn’t mind because no one likes generator noise, and I didn’t have any problems paying more money if I was guaranteed more electricity. For some time it seemed things were improving. But suddenly, the bills kept increasing and the quality of service fell off. Nowadays, I have a lot less light than I had two years ago — I went from receiving an average of 15 hours of power supply a day to less than 8 hours of electricity, even though I’m paying a lot more money now.

    RELATED: Will Nigeria’s Fuel Scarcity Be Over Soon? We Have Updates

    Oluchi, Jos

    These NEPA people came to collect money yesterday. They demanded  ₦25k. For what? The only electrical appliances we use in my parents’ house are energy-saving bulbs, a TV and a fridge and we don’t even have steady power. They keep bringing these outrageous bills, and we’ve asked them for a prepaid metre, but they said we must pay off outstanding bills of ₦1.5m before they install it. From where na? 

    Even as it is, they don’t even read the metre to gauge our power consumption; they just estimate any random figure and slap it on the bills so that they can steal money. But me I don’t even have their time. Yesterday, I just counted ₦5k and gave them, let everybody calm down. If they insist to collect ₦25k from me for NEPA bill, they’ll have to carry gun.

    Olamide*, Uyo

    Omo, let’s just say that I now know why my mum always used to shout at me for leaving lights on. 

    Sylvia, Ibadan

    It’s been crazy, but what will I do na? Not pay for electricity? Everything is doubling in price every day, and IBEDC has decided to go the way of Nigerian brands: increase the price but reduce quality. I no longer even get up to 10 hours of light a day. Sometimes, I even go for days without electricity. With the current fuel scarcity, it’s been a truly stressful time for me as I work from home. Last week I couldn’t get anything done and I’m sure my boss got tired of my excuses, but na Naija wey we dey. 

    Kedei, Abuja

    I used to buy power for ₦10k before and it’d last me for a month. Right now, ₦10k only lasts for three weeks at best. And that’s with serious monitoring o. I switch on my air conditioner for some time until my bedroom gets cold, then I switch it off. I only leave my water heater on for 10-15 minutes daily so I can have enough hot water to use twice a day.

    CONTINUE READING: Airlines Are Sending Ticket Prices to the Moon. Can They Do That?