• Globally, there have been a number of youth-led protests in recent times. All around the world, young people seem to be reaching the end of their patience with corrupt, ineffective and repressive governments.

    Analysts suggest Gen Z (born between 1997 and 2012) got the worst end of the stick when it comes to the economic fallout of the 2008 financial crisis. But Boomers, Millennials and Gen X probably have something to say about that. 

    We can argue about who has it the hardest all day long, but what is clear is that the youthful Gen Z have the energy to actually go out onto the streets and do something about their frustrations.

    And that is exactly what they have been doing.

    Lately there have been youth-led protests in several countries including Kenya, Morocco, Peru, and Nepal.

    So, are we likely to see a Gen Z protest in Nigeria? Well, let us look at the similarities Nigeria shares with the countries that have had protests.

    Kenya

    In Kenya, the protests kicked off in June 2024 after the William Ruto government tried to pass a Finance Bill that came with heavy taxation including a 16 percent Value Added Tax (VAT) on bread.

    After the first wave of protests, the government tweaked some parts of the bill and passed it, but the youth were still not having it. More intense protests followed.

    Protesters stormed the parliament building and were met with brutal police resistance. Over 20 people died and many others were injured. But on June 26, 2025, President William Ruto announced he would not sign the bill into law.

    In Nigeria, the Tinubu administration is trying to make up for a revenue shortfall caused by lower oil prices by taxing an already struggling population and turning government agencies into revenue-focused, money-printing machines.

    Apart from widening the tax net through four tax reform bills set to kick off in January 2026, the government has been flirting with several other taxes on goods and services.

    The Nigeria Immigration Service (NIS) has increased passport fees twice since Tinubu became president, including doubling the fees in 2025. Then there is the 4 percent Free-On-Board (FOB) charge on imported products to boost the revenue of the Nigeria Customs Service (NCS). It was suspended in February, reintroduced in August after the senate raised the NCS revenue budget from ₦6.584 trillion to ₦10 trillion, then suspended again in September due to public backlash. 

    The government has also floated the idea of a 5 percent surcharge on petroleum product purchases. Even the police are not left out, with attempts to bring back tinted glass permits which were scrapped in 2022 because officers were using them to extort and harass motorists.

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    Peru

    Peruvian youth have been protesting since early September 2025. On October 22, the government declared a state of emergency to try and stop the protests, which have already seen at least 19 people injured in clashes with law enforcement.

    The youth are pushing the government to do something about the country’s high crime rate. Kidnapping by organised crime groups is a serious issue in Peru.

    In Nigeria, insecurity is also a major problem, and kidnapping has become a trillion-naira industry.

    The National Bureau of Statistics estimated that Nigerians paid a total of N2.23 trillion as ransom between 2023 and 2024. And according to SBM Intelligence, N2.56 billion was paid between 2024 and 2025.

    Nigerians have even turned to social media crowdfunding campaigns to meet ransom demands.

    Morocco

    Gen Z protesters in Morocco have been filling the streets since September 27, 2025 to complain about the poor state of public education and healthcare.

    A big part of their frustration is watching their government spend money on hosting international sporting events like the 2030 FIFA World Cup and the 2025 Africa Cup of Nations, while public services remain underfunded and youth unemployment is through the roof.

    The parallels with Nigeria are uncanny. We have all the same problems, yet Tinubu was determined to host the 2030 Commonwealth Games. Thankfully, India’s bid beat ours.

    Nepal

    Nepal had its own Gen Z protests in September. The trigger? The government shut down social media platforms during a viral trend that exposed the lavish lifestyles of politicians’ family members.

    It has been reported that the ban was a way to pressure social media platforms into complying with a new Digital Services Tax that placed stricter VAT rules on foreign e-service providers. It was all part of the government’s plan to boost revenue.

    Over 70 people were killed in the protests, government buildings were vandalised and burnt, and Prime Minister K. P. Sharma Oli, along with a few other ministers, resigned.

    Nigerians are no strangers to flashy displays of wealth by government officials and their families on social media. And recently, OpenAI announced it would be increasing its subscription fee for Nigerian users of ChatGPT to account for the 7.5 percent VAT mandated by the government.

    Who will barb us this style?

    With how similar Nigeria’s situation is to these countries that have had protests, it is almost surprising that Nigerians have not taken to the streets already, or at least mobilised some other ways.

    While a few factors have sparked protests elsewhere, Nigeria has a cocktail of all of them. Yet, Nigeria’s Gen Z remains silent.

    Quite understandably, many Nigerians have been watching these protests with a bit of envy. Nobody wants chaos and violence, but it is easy to wish for a day when Nigeria’s political class finally get what many think they deserve.

    But can Nigeria’s youth actually make a stand against the government like their mates have done globally?

    Well, the simple answer is yes. Anything is possible. But the more honest answer? It is currently very unlikely.

    The tower of Babel Nigeria

    “…let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another’s speech.”

    ~Genesis 11, verse 7

    Nigeria has many problems, but one of the biggest is the problem of cultural identity.

    Obafemi Awolowo wrote in his 1947 book, Path to Nigerian Freedom, that “Nigeria is not a nation, it is a mere geographical expression. There are no “Nigerians” in the same sense as there are “English” or “Welsh” or “French”. The word Nigeria is merely a distinctive appellation to distinguish those who live within the boundaries of Nigeria from those who do not.”

    In Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s 2006 novel, Half of a Yellow Sun, the character Odenigbo says, “I am Nigerian because a white man created Nigeria and gave me that identity… But I was Igbo before the white man came.”

    This sentiment still lives in Nigeria today—the idea that ethnic identity must come before the national identity of being Nigerian. This means it is still very easy to divide Nigerians along ethnic lines, and opportunistic politicians take full advantage.

    In the 2023 elections, people were profiled and harassed if they were perceived to be from the wrong ethnic group. In Lagos, hoodlums stopped people from exercising their constitutional right if they were suspected to be Igbo.

    Since then, there has been a rise in ethnic supremacy sentiments in the South West under the guise of “Yoruba, ronu!”

    For a united stand to be taken against the government, Nigeria’s youth will have to look beyond their differences and fight for collective interests.

    We came, we saw, they opened fire

    We must not forget that young Nigerians have had a nationwide movement before. And they are still reeling from the fallout.

    October 20, 2025, marked the fifth anniversary of the Lekki toll gate massacre, where officers of the Nigerian Army opened fire on peaceful protesters during the nationwide EndSARS protests in 2020.

    The shooting basically marked the end of the protests, which had seen young people all over the country unite under the common goal of ending police brutality and extortion.

    The EndSARS protest was exactly the type of organic, united movement that has led to youth-led change around the world. Police brutality affected a wide range of young Nigerians, regardless of class, religion, or ethnicity.

    But the fatal response from the government took the wind out of the sails of the youth, and five years later, they have not returned to the streets in such force again.

    Whether young Nigerians can overcome the trauma of the violence they faced in order to start a similar movement seems unlikely.

    Many are scared. And they have good reason to be.

    What was it all for?

    It is hard not to look at the EndSARS protests as a thorough defeat.

    In the wake of the Lekki shooting, several All Progressives Congress (APC) members denied the events of that night. Five years later, the APC is still the ruling party.

    Days after soldiers killed innocent citizens, Bola Ahmed Tinubu said those who had been shot had to “answer some questions.” He implied they deserved their fate for staying at the protest site and questioned their characters. He is currently the president of Nigeria.

    Despite the Judicial Panel of Inquiry describing the events of October 20, 2020, as a massacre, none of the deniers has taken back their words or apologised. Nobody with the power to have ordered the soldiers to the toll gate has been held accountable.

    Five years later, activists trying to honour the victims of the massacre by placing flowers at the toll gate were harassed by security operatives.

    In August 2024, angry citizens held demonstrations and marches to protest hunger and bad governance. Afterwards, a group of minors were arrested and tried for treason which carries the death penalty. They were eventually pardoned and freed after public outrage, but the fact that the death penalty was even on the table shows the kind of culture of fear the government wants to instill in Nigeria’s youth.

    In this climate, it is understandably hard to build the motivation and momentum for mass movements.

    Many ways to kill rat

    “A problem well stated is half solved.”

    ~Charles Kettering

    Knowing why a youth protest would be difficult in Nigeria means we also know how to solve those problems.

    Nigeria’s youth need to realise that, just like with police brutality in 2020, many of today’s problems affect all of us, regardless of ethnicity. Nigeria might be the product of colonialism, but so are many other countries where people have found ways to work together regardless. Cultural identity is not an insurmountable challenge, and a Nigeria that works for everyone is possible if we work together for it.

    Many of the countries that have had successful youth protests were also met with stiff, even lethal, government resistance. But they did not back down.

    If Nigerians do come out to the streets again, they must be ready for resistance from security forces. Momentum cannot be lost in the face of state violence. It must become fuel for even more stubborn demonstrations.

    While it is easy to be envious of global examples of youth protests, we must not fall into the trap of seeing civil unrest as the only route to achieve the change we want. Democracy offers a peaceful way to get rid of unwanted governments.

    The art of the follow-through

    Three years after the EndSARS protests, Nigerians went to the polls in 2023. And while the lead-up to the election saw increased registration numbers for young people and women, the voter turnout was one of the lowest in our history.

    Nigeria’s youth are its largest demographic group and, as a bloc, would be a voting majority. But they need to shake off their apathy, realise the impact that politics has on their lives, and get involved. And when elections come round, they need to follow through by actually showing up on the day and casting their vote.

    We could hope for another organic protest movement that balloons into the toppling of the government in a blaze of violence and chaos. Or we can put our energy towards having a quieter but equally impactful revolution at the polls.

    Dear Nigerian Gen Z, which one you dey?


    Before you go, help us understand how you and other young people feel about the 2027 general elections by taking this 10-minute survey.


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  • Slang or rubbish?

  • We’re not trying to shame you, this quiz helps you know if you’re cool enough to hang with the kids.

    Find out here:

    An eater

  • I hate to be one of those people, but while I appreciate the wide range of Afrobeats at the moment, a part of me is still nostalgic about the songs and artistes who raised me. 

    I’ve been listening to some of them again recently, so I decided to give them their flowers and do a little digging to find out what some of them are up to now. 

    Olu Maintain 

    Nigeria is never beating these 419 allegations because how did a song about doing yahoo-yahoo become the country’s unofficial anthem in 2007? Olu Maintain’s Yahoozee was so big I remember watching him perform it in front of then-President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua. 

    But even before Yahoozee, Olu Maintain was responsible for 1990s hits like Catch Cold and Wifey

    Mo’Cheddah 

    Miley Cyrus’ Hannah Montana might’ve raised some of you, but my teen female pop icon was, and will always be, Mo’Cheddah. This babe gave attitude, fashion and range with songs like If You Want Me and Ko Ma Roll. No one was doing it like Mo’Cheddah from 2009 to 2010, both within and outside rap in Nigeria. 

    Even though Mo has given up music for the lifestyle-content-creator-mummy lifestyle, she’s still one of the baddest to ever do it, and that’s on Mary and her little lamb

    Naeto C

    For millennial Nigerians, life is divided into life before Naeto C’s Kini Big Deal and life after. Economies were saved, clubs were popping, MP3 players were on fire, and life was good, all because Naeto C sang the lyrics, “Wahalai lai talai, gimme lighter. Shebi shebi, we’re on fire.” 

    Naeto C has evolved from yummy rapper to yummy Instagram daddy and husband. Even though I want new music, watching him and Nicole Chikwe serve couple goals is enough for me. 

    Terry G 

    Is it me, or did Terry G’s Free Madness come out 15 years too early? We were all relatively sane when he dropped that and Akpako, but after the shege we’ve seen over the years, omo, Nigerians are currently running on madness, vibes and long island. 

    I discovered that Terry G still makes music, so I feel this is the right time for Free Madness 3.0. Does anyone have his WhatsApp number so I can pitch my idea? 

    RECOMMENDED: Gen Zs, Here are the Biggest Nigerian Songs From the Year You Were Born

    Soul E 

    Soul E’s short run in the Nigerian music industry feels like a fever dream. One minute he’s climbing charts with Soul E Baba and singing with 2Face on E Be Like Say. Next thing, the man is announcing that he’s an apostle. 

    Happy for you, sir, but you could still drop a gospel album. I won’t be mad at that. 

    Kas 

    I know what you’re thinking, “Conrad, but Kas had only two hit songs, Fimile and Whine for Me“, and my response is: 

    Imagine leaving such an indelible impression with just two songs that people still ask of you over ten years later? I mean, look at the material. But like Soul E, Kas is now a man of God, so we’ll have to manage these songs until we get raptured or something. 

    Shank 

    Before Burna Boy began serving dancehall-inspired jams like Run My Race and Check & Balance, Shank was the original don gorgon of reggae and dancehall in Nigeria. Remember Julie and Ghetto? Shank was the music industry’s resident bad boy, churning out hits and getting tattoos like it was nobody’s business (to be fair, it’s actually no one’s business).

    Burna might be the African giant now, but best believe he’s standing on the shoulders of artistes like Shank. 

    Sasha P 

    If there’s one rap song I can rap bar for bar with a gun to my head, it’s Sasha’s 2007 hit, Adara. Dropping the song as a response to the haters who called her a one-hit wonder after the success of 2004’s Emi Le Gan, Adara was a significant part of my early teens. Even though I couldn’t see them, I was super confident I had haters too. 

    Sasha, we don’t have a lot of female rappers in Nigeria today. Do you maybe want to help us with an album or two? 

    QUIZ: Can You Identify The Artist Who Popularised Each Of These Nigerian Dances?

  • From your choice of snacks, we’ll tell you if you’re Gen X or your back hurts.

  • Was your 2022 “giving”, or was the entire year a classic case of “the math ain’t mathing”? Gen Z slangs describe it best, and this quiz will let you know which one sums up your year.

    Take the quiz:

  • If you’re a Gen Z, premium enjoyment is most likely your first, second, and third priority. Apart from that, nothing else really concerns you. So, here’s everything you need to truly settle into that soft life. 

    First, you need to have zero tolerance for stress

    If you think you can still manage with a little inconvenience here or there, then you’re not ready yet. You’re still catching feelings for the struggle life. But if you don’t like a single bit of stress, then here’s what you need to do.

    Have money

    You can’t be saying no to stress without having plenty of money to speak for you. If you want to taste the soft life while broke, you will see pepper.

    Or have rich parents

    Your life will be even easier if your parents are wealthy. But you still need  to have your own money because they might not approve of the extent of your enjoyment.

    Have a second passport

    You need to stay guided with your second passport, preferably from a country that uses +44 or +91. Because Nigeria will stress you so much, you’ll need to take trips to cool your head off.

    Have constant light

    “Up NEPA” cannot be your portion if you’re planning to enjoy yourself as a Gen Z. If you don’t have light for at least 20 hours a day, how exactly is your life soft?

    Your drip needs to scream “luxury”

    You need to make a statement with your dress. You can’t be planning for enjoyment and wearing clothes that’ll make your estate security stop you at the gate . Your wardrobe needs to fall in line with your plans.

    Make sure to add a pair of crocs

    You can trust me because I’m Gen Z. This is the maggi that brings together the school uniform for Gen Zs that are enjoying the soft life. Will you start wearing it everywhere you go and look like a homeless person sometimes? Yes. Will it be worth it? Also yes.

    Try out new restaurants every weekend

    A bit of ambience and variety are what you’re going for here. You can sample a Chinese restaurant this week and visit a roadside buka the next weekend, just to confuse your enemies.

    Make your Instagram lit

    Document the life of leisure that you’re living with full doses of inspirational captions: Iskelebetiolebebebee — nobody knows what it means, but it gets the people going.

     The intensity of your enjoyment needs to be felt everywhere please, both offline and online.

    Have fast internet 

    We don’t need to say much about this one. You know half of your life is going to be on the internet, so don’t make the mistake of having a slow internet connection because your life will be hard for no reason. Pick a good service provider and save yourself any stress.

    Use Paga to handle your money

    You need to use Paga because you’re not a maga, and you can’t have your money giving you an attitude when you’re trying to spend it. If fast payments, better cards experience and total freedom with your money sound good to you, then you definitely want to use it to handle your money. Start your journey here.


    NEXT READ: People, This Is What Soft Life Actually Means


  • GenZs hardly ever like anything or anybody, including their (millennial) siblings. They don’t think you’re cool or woke, so they don’t like you. If you have a GenZ sibling, let me tell you how to get on their good side. I’m speaking from experience. 

    Record TikTok videos with them

    You’ll have to sacrifice your millennial hips to do their trendy TikTok dances with them. Maybe they’ll pity you and give you the less complicated ones. 

    Don’t comment on any of their social media accounts

    You’re lucky that they allow you to follow them on social media sef, so don’t ruin it. Just look and pass when you see their posts. Hold yourself from dropping that “funny” comment. They’ll block you. 

    Stay away from their love life 

    I know you want to ask a million questions about that person your sibling is always video calling, but don’t. Don’t try to do, “I’m your older sibling. I need to protect you from people.” Just face front and mind your business. They’ll eventually tell you if they want to. 

    ALSO READ:  Nigerian Millennials Respond to Nigerian Gen Z’ers Dragging Them

    Don’t say “pim” about their fashion choices

    Gen Z fashuonz is very unique. You may not understand what your sibling is wearing, or why, but don’t say anything. If not, they’ll drag you by saying “Okay boomer”. If you want them to like you, again, mind your business. 

    At least try to listen to their music

    It’s time to go and download trap and alté music onto your phone. Quick tip: trap musicians usually have “Lil” at the beginning of their names or “Baby” at the end. 

    Learn their vocabulary

    You need to know when to say insert GenZ lingo like “purr”, “period” and “it’s giving…” during the conversation. If not, they’ll think you’re boring and won’t like giving you gist. 

    ALSO READ: If Gen Zs Don’t Say These 12 Things in a Day, They Might Actually Die

    Always have WiFi

    If there’s one thing GenZs always do is look for where to charge their phone and ask for WiFi. Once you allow them to connect to your hotspot, you become their favourite person. 

    Don’t call them too much

    They don’t really like calls; they prefer texts. If you call them too much, you may get blocked. I’m not joking, this generation is brutal. 

    Send them money 

    In fact, if you don’t do anything else on this list, do this one consistently. They’ll love you for life. 

    ALSO READ: The Gen Z Guide to Keeping Older Friends

  • Hear Me Out is a weekly limited series where Ifoghale and Ibukun share the unsolicited opinions some people are thinking, others are living but everyone should hear.


    This Hear Me Out was written by Aladeselu Margaret Ayomikun.

    Of all the things a girl could be in this world, I chose to be a 19-year-old feminist in Nigeria. I was 9 years old the first time I read Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus. Even though I could only understand the book the best way a child can, I still remember feeling like I had discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

    “Being defiant can be a good thing sometimes.”These words stood out to me. Aunty Ifeoma was just a character in a book, but she gave me permission to embrace my “defiance”.

    It seemed almost impossible that somebody could give ordinary words so much power. And the more I flipped through the pages, the more I felt as if Chimamanda was writing my mother’s story. Then, it occurred to me that many women in Nigeria are just like Mama. In that very moment, I knew I had to know more about the author.

    As a Gen Z feminist, you must be ready to become the topic of every family meeting.

    I picked up my older sister’s phone and started my little quest for answers. It was during this process I discovered the word feminist, and when I knew what it meant, I knew I had found my identity.

    I had found my identity. 

    The world will always come up with new ways to objectify and sexualise women. I grew up wearing mini-skirts and thin-strap tops my mother bought for me at bend-down-select. I was called a slut for the first time when I was only 10. And as weird as it might sound, it was my own mother who called me that. According to her, people were starting to talk, my breasts were poking through the thin fabric of my favourite tops. One day, she looked at me with distaste and called me a slut.

    As a Gen Z feminist, you must be ready to become the topic of every family meeting. You should also prepare yourself for endless unsolicited opinions. I have come to realise my feminism terrifies a lot of people; it makes them angry. If I didn’t have such a coconut head, perhaps, I would’ve cared.

    I’ve always been vocal about my feminism. I would walk into a room and somehow, start talking about women’s rights. The world has a long history of despising “loud women.” The result of that is I’ve had to sit through painfully long hours of my parents giving me “the talk” about how no man will ever want a wife who won’t submit. 

    Several times, I’ve listened to my brother try to convince me that identifying as a feminist would make people hate me. He suggested I try other terms like “gender rights advocate.” I’ve seen my name become the butt of jokes about Nigerian feminists in my school. People have asked, “Oh, you’re a feminist?” I imagine they pity the person who would marry me. 

    And I can’t forget my religious friends who remind me that feminism is not part of God’s plan. As a matter of fact, I’ve been bullied in church because of my feminism. 

    On a “special Sunday”, youth pastors were walking in circles, selecting random people in the congregation to answer questions. One pastor called me out and asked, “What would you do if your husband wants you to cook, do his laundry, do the dishes and clean the house, every single day?” My answer was simple. “I would tell him I’m his wife, not a slave.”

    I was walking back to my seat when a young man requested to speak next. “Women like her are the problem of the church”. Even though these words were coming from a complete stranger, they still stung. There is a common idea that feminists are “strong” and have a “tough skin”, but we’re only human. 

    What’s it about my feminism that terrifies people? Why does it make people’s blood boil?

    I was publicly humiliated at school once. I was in the middle of a heated argument about how Nigerian culture needs to be reformed until it acknowledges that daughters deserve the same respect sons get without even trying. There was a look of disgust on the faces of the men I was arguing with because I was suggesting something as “sacred” as culture needed to be reformed.

    Not just that, the only woman who agreed with me expressed her view in low whispers. I was still trying to make people see the sense in what I was saying when I felt somebody yank my wig off my head. The loud echoes of laughter that followed right after broke my heart. I cried horribly for days because that was the smallest I’d ever felt in my entire life. I didn’t tell anybody about the new level of anxiety and self-doubt it unlocked inside me. 

    Memories like these leave me with questions I haven’t been able to answer to this very day. What’s it about my feminism that terrifies people? Why does it make people’s blood boil? Is it because I’m tired of seeing doors slammed in the faces of deserving women on the sole basis of gender? Is it because I believe women should not be denied their right to safe abortion? Or because I would never fit the “good African wife” narrative my mother has spent her entire life trying to fit? 

    Society claims to appreciate women, but in reality, they only appreciate women who deliberately dim their light just to allow men shine. As a woman, you’re expected to aspire to be a good wife and mother, to never prioritise anything over your matrimonial duties.

    On some days, you’re allowed to have an opinion, but it’s usually better to keep those opinions to yourself. You can speak up about gender-based violence, but when you do, prepare for the “maybe you shouldn’t have gone to that place, or worn that dress, or said that to him” speech that would follow right after.

    All my life, my mother shrunk herself just to stroke my father’s ego, and it’s never made much sense to me.

    You’re expected to dress the way women are “supposed” to dress — everything knee-length or baggy, minimal accessories and NO cleavage — any other type of dressing would be seen as defiance. You should also smile even when you have no reason to. I’ve watched many women shrink themselves to fit that little, demeaning image society has created.

    All my life, my mother shrunk herself just to stroke my father’s ego, and it’s never made much sense to me. Even though we all knew how hard she worked to raise our school fees, she would give the credit to my father because that’s what good wives do. Just like my siblings and I, my mother had a curfew because “good wives shouldn’t be outside past 8 p.m.” And if God forbid, she ever misses her curfew, he would punish her the way bad wives should be punished, by locking her outside her own home.

    It’s very easy for people to ignorantly assume feminists are angry and unhappy women who hate men, and I’m tired of this misconception. You could spend your whole life educating people about the true meaning of feminism, and they would still choose to listen to those little patriarchal voices in their heads. I’m not naive enough to think the world would change overnight because of me, but I’m never going to stop clamouring for that change.

    I was once the kind of feminist who only said the things men like to hear. Things like, “I’m a feminist but I still think a man should be the head of the family”. I was at a point where I relied heavily on people’s validation for every aspect of my life. Even my feminism was tainted by societal stereotypes because I didn’t want my views to offend anybody. I would tell myself I could be a feminist and still be a “Nigerian woman”, the one who would master the act of compromising to seem nicer to men. A small part of me didn’t want to contradict everything the Bible says a woman should be.

    But last year, I got selected for a women’s rights fellowship where I met 19 like-minded women. For the first time in my life, I had the opportunity to be in a room full of feminists, and they helped me realise that if I couldn’t be an unapologetic feminist, there was no point in being a feminist at all. I’m used to being hated now. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t bother me anymore because the kind of people who hate me for my feminism is exactly the kind I don’t want to be associated with. 

    I have a clear vision of how I want my feminism to impact the world. It starts with calling bullshit on all the misogynist nonsense society likes to preach. And on days when I feel like giving up, I remind myself of the different ways society robbed my mother of her voice and happiness. Like many Nigerian women, she deserved better. She still does.

    ALSO READ: 8 Nigerian Women Talk About Why They Became Feminists

  • Ever wondered the songs your parents were listening to on the radio — yes, listening to radios was once fashionable — when you were in the womb? Well, Gen Zs, we’re here to help because these were the songs that were bangers in the year you were born. 

    You’re welcome. 

    Kukere — Iyanya (2012)

    Iyanya had Nigerians in a chokehold the year this song came out. Once you heard, “All my ladies,” you knew it was time to break it down. Kukere was so inescapable, there’s a high chance even your grandma might remember it. 

    Chop My Money — P-Square (2011) 

    To think most of us sang Chop My Money even when our broke asses knew there was no money to be chopped. Anyway, if you were born in 2011, you have to work hard so you’ll live out your destiny as a sugar parent. 

    Oleku — Ice Prince (2010)

    The combination of Ice Prince, Brymo and Jesse Jagz was all we needed to start a new decade. Good times for real. Gen Z’s might never know what life was like back when a dollar was just ₦150. 

    Yori Yori — Bracket (2009) 

    Everyone complains about Yoruba demons, but have you had an Igbo man try to toast you? Bracket’s Yori Yori is a classic example of an Igbo man’s sweet mouth. You’ll be listening to the song and smiling like a fool. May God save us. 

    Gongo Aso — 9ice (2008) 

    No one was doing it like 9ice in 2008. With one of the hottest albums and tracks of the year, this guy was so gassed, he even saw himself winning a Grammy. While that hasn’t happened, no one can contest that Gongo Aso was a major musical moment Nigerians will never forget. 

    Yahooze — Olu Maintain (2007) 

    You know your song is big when it inspires a dance craze that becomes so common, people use it for other songs. Yahoozee was THAT GIRL in 2007. We don’t support the message behind this song, but Yahooze walked so Cash App could run. Also, there’s a high chance this was Hushpuppi’s anthem back in the day. 

    Ijoya — Weird MC (2006) 

    Ijoya was EPIC, and that intro was such an earworm. But you see its music video? Our minds couldn’t contain it. If you were born in 2006, just know you have no choice but to be a creative genius. The bar was raised to the skies that year. 

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    Mr. President — African China (2005) 

    African China released a whole song begging Nigerian leaders to fix up and do their job. I’m sure some Gen Z’s are thinking, “But we’re still asking for the same things boo.” Well, babes, this struggle? Omo no be today e start. 

    African Queen — 2face Idibia (2004) 

    Before Wizkid’s Essence or Burna Boy’s Ye became an international cultural movement, father Abraham 2face Idibia was laying the groundwork with this 2004 classic. African Queen shifted the culture and introduced a new wave of Afrobeats to the world. Respect that!

    Danfo Driver — Mad Melon and Mountain Black (2003) 

    We need to bring back the galala and swo dance moves. All this variation of leg work, are you people not tired? Throw on some Danfo Driver and show us what you’ve got. Dear Gen Zs, this song is an important piece of Afropop history; study it.

    Mr. Lecturer — Eedris Abdulkareem (2002) 

    Twenty years later and the message behind Mr. Lecturer is still relevant today. But that’s the thing about Eedris Abdulkareem songs because the last time I checked, Nigeria is still jaga jaga and that’s the (cold) tea. 

    My Car — Tony Tetuila (2001) 

    Honestly, Mr. Tony, if more than one person bashes your car in the same day, then maybe you’re the problem. Just let that sink in. Gen Zs born in 2001 are obviously bad drivers — it’s not a coincidence. 

    Konko Below — Lagbaja (2000)

    Before there was Meghan Thee Stallion, Cardi B or Nicki Minaj, there was Lagbaja. Thanks to this OG twerk anthem, Lagbaja had everyone with their hands on their knees popping their bootys. WAP and Anaconda are cute, but none of them come close to the power of Konko Below

    Diana — Daddy Showkey (1999)

    A masterclass in storytelling, Daddy Showkey’s Diana is a classic we all love. This man gave us a whole episode of Super Story and This Life in less than five minutes. We just have to stan. 

    Skakomo — Remedies (1998) 

    Shakomo takes us back to the days when Nigerian artists used to copy and paste American beats without shame. To be fair, 2pac was busy fighting Notorious B.I.G so I doubt he noticed this hit. 

    Dem Go Dey Pose — Baba Fryo (1997) 

    Gen Zs have PrettyBoy DO and Cruel Santino, but right when their era was about to start in 1997, Baba Fryo was the man of the moment. 

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