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  • On social media, many people often joke about wanting to work in tech or in startup companies in general so we decided to ask a few people who already do what that really is like.

    Cynthia, 28.
    I was excited when I got the startup job at first because I loved the company’s mission, and founder as well. They painted this impressive image online of who they were, what problems they were trying to solve, and what their work culture was, so when I got in, it was a dream come true, until it wasn’t of course.

    The first thing I noticed was that their ‘vision/mission’ was just something cute to say and get funds because, in truth, they were far from what they preached internally.

    There were so many worst parts but I’ll tell you the one that stuck out to me. No matter how great you did in your role, they’d never agree to send you a good recommendation letter. I once heard the founder telling HR to say and I quote “He got along well with his co-workers” finish. They did not even say anything about his work, this guy worked very hard.

    The weirdest thing was the founder openly being partial to team members she liked. I know she had a right to like whom she wanted but she did it without tact and it had a bad impact on the company culture.

    It wasn’t all bad though, my team members were the bomb and we’re mostly friends till this day. Because startup cultures are sometimes toxic, you and your colleagues bond well. One thing I enjoyed about the startup culture was the energy and the feeling that you’re doing something to make the world better for someone else, so that’s pretty cool.

    I know you didn’t ask me but I think that investors should look at the rate of team churn in businesses before investing because most of these startup leaders need lots of leadership training. Can you believe we had about 20 people resign in less than one year, with some of them spending 2 months before resigning? It wasn’t a huge team so 20 people meant the company literally started afresh.

    People should generally look at the churn rate before joining some companies. If they’re always hiring for the same roles, let your legs hit your head as you’re running away. Also, the HR at your startup is not your friend!

    Victor, 35.
    I have almost exclusively worked with tech startups since I started working and I won’t say it has been bad, to be honest. I just want Nigerian startup founders to stop acting like they’ve invented or founded the biggest thing since sliced bread. At my last job, I left because the founder spent most of his time being condescending to staff and belittling them. It is weird because you hired them because they are good so why go back to tell them they are stupid and should be ashamed. One day, he was shouting at a junior product manager and told her that when he was her age he was doing this and that. That was when I thought to myself ‘guy, one day it will be your turn and with your temper, you’ll do something that you’ll regret.’ I think the startup space is pretty great to work in and stuff, but it’s great when compared to traditional working spaces. On its own, man it isn’t all that. A person is expected to do the workload of three people, be on the clock 24/7, never complain and deal with rude founders/bosses.

    Patrick, 27.
    Nigerian founders are probably the ones that’ll kill their companies. It’s a bit weird seeing them pretend to be nice considerate people on social media but you that work with them will be wondering when you’ll see that version of them. My boss fired an intern the day her mother died because she came late. Many of these companies can’t retain people because the moment people actually work for them, they immediately start looking for a new place to run to because of the toxic work culture. Last year, my boss fired me because he saw me looking at calls for job applications on my laptop. I didn’t even bother doing back and forth, I was already fed up. I think startups aren’t a bad place to work at because it tends to be more progressive but some of these founders need an attitude adjustment. You are not Batman, breathe sometimes.

    Diane, 22.
    The workload almost drove me mad. I was employed as an intern as the first and then promoted to content associate. As an intern, I was doing the work of a full-time staff and was paid 60,000. I was handling social media, posting on their blog and everything. When I was promoted to content associate, my salary was increased to 120,000. The amount of content I was pushing out and for a company that was actually doing well, being paid 120,000 was an insult. I would be asked to do work on weekends, and even at night. God forbid. I quit there immediately I got a better offer.

  • As told to Hassan.

    A couple of weeks ago, I overheard a doctor talking to an ex-patient. The tenderness in the doctor’s voice piqued my curiosity. During the course of the conversation, he sounded incredulous because someone had died. For someone so used to death and dying, the doctor was visibly shaken. A few prodding questions, a couple of phone calls and consent later, I had the story that led to this article. 

    My sister died at 11.47 p.m. on Friday. I’m not sure what her last words were, but she must have probably called out for me, saying, “Mummy, don’t leave me.” 

    Mummy? I can tell that you’re a little confused. To understand why she used to call me mummy, we need to go back to the beginning. 

    ***

    4 years ago:

    My sister was a vibrant, playful, four-year-old child. At least until the pain came. Young children in pain can’t fully express themselves with words because of their limited vocabulary. However, they show discomfort by either writhing in pain or becoming dull and withdrawn. In my sister’s case, it was the latter. She quickly became a shadow of herself; solemn and reclusive. Her withdrawal worsened so much that her dad, who’s actually my brother, had to beg me to take her to the hospital. 

    My first question was, “Where’s her mother?” to which he replied, “She abandoned me and ran off with another man.” — we’ll get to her uselessness later.

    So, thus began our journey of doctors, syringes and repeated rounds of diagnostic tests.

    ***

    Everyone who saw us at the hospital always asked: “Is she sick?” or “Is she visiting someone?” To which I smiled and responded, “She’s sick.” The next thing was for them to say: “How can a child this active and pain-free be sick. What’s wrong with her?” With a tight smile, I’d say: “Nephroblastoma“, pause, and add “a cancer of the kidneys.” The response would be a characteristic “Oh…”

    Another question I always got was “Who’s she to you?” To which I’d reply, “my sister.” Since we were related by blood [her dad, my brother], I preferred calling her sister rather than my niece.

    It took us six months before we got her diagnosis. In that period we had gone from one general hospital to another in Lagos before finally landing at the University of Ilorin Teaching Hospital. This change had required leaving my job in Lagos to take of her for six months in Ilorin. In that time frame, we experienced one major surgery, numerous rounds of chemotherapy, multiple blood transfusions, and various forms of brokeness. 

    Her dad would shuttle between Lagos and Ilorin and send money, grudgingly. 

    630 Nigerian Children Stock Photos, Pictures & Royalty-Free Images - iStock

    Her mother simply never showed up or called. The most effort she made was to send her sister to take a photo of the sick child. 

    My sister got tired of waiting for her mother to show up, and she started to say: “Iya Amirat [name of my sister’s immediate older sibling] didn’t come to see me, so she’s not my mummy. You’re my own mummy.”

    This newfound bond made things tricky for me because she was always scared that I’d leave. She never let me out of her sight. She’d follow me if I had to go buy medicines, or even if I was going to the toilet. One time, she yanked off her drip because I was going to get medicine outside the hospital compound. She was definitely not letting her new mummy go so easily. 

    One thing that struck me about that period was that all the kids in the ward who had similar symptoms as my sister died. Some died while on admission, others, like my sister, died after a brief period of recovery. The doctors kept asking if we lived near a refuse or telecommunication mast or anything that might have predisposed her to the illness. To which I always answered, “No”. Then they’d scratch their head trying to figure out how best to help her. 

    The solution always came back to chemotherapy.

    One round of treatment cost us ₦15,000. And she had to undergo treatment three times a week. This was minus treatment for some of the side effects of chemo, and minus the tests she had to take before starting chemo. Every treatment cycle involved her hair falling out, a bout of malaria, a lot of blood samples, and her dad complaining that he didn’t have money. 

    When her dad asked us to return to Lagos, I didn’t put up a fight. At that point, I was tired of his complaints and I was also tired from uprooting my life. That’s how we abandoned the treatment halfway to restart our lives in Lagos. 

    Things were going well until one year later when the illness returned. Before then, she had returned to her playful self. I had also been saving from my salary to finally attend University. Our fairy tale was shattered because the sickness came back with twice as much force. Her breathing was the first to struggle, then the pain came along.

    Once again, we found ourselves back at the hospital from which we had run.

    ***

    We had barely spent a week in the hospital when my sister gave up. I’ll never forget the time because at 11:30 p.m. on that day, I had rushed to the pharmacy to get some drugs for her. At that point, she was already gasping for air. The doctor met me on my way back from the pharmacy and pulled me aside. She told me, “Your sister has given up.” I replied, “Is she sleeping?” Then the doctor said, “She’s dead.” To which I replied, “Dead bawo?”

    At that moment, I wanted to give up. I felt betrayed. After all we had gone through, she abandoned me. How could she be gone like that? I had just asked her a few minutes ago what she wanted to eat, and she had responded. What happened to our promise of beating this illness together? Did those words hold no meaning to her? 

    Looking back, the signs were there that it was her last week. She had to bend to breathe, she was always in pain, and had to lie in the foetal position to be comfortable. But we had passed through worse, so I thought this too would pass. 

    I take consolation in the fact that God knows best.

    ***

    Pain ages people. It turns adults into wizened old people, and it makes adults out of children. Part of the reason I miss my sister a lot is that we related like age mates. Even though I was eighteen at the time and she was barely five, we found a lot of common ground in conversation. I found that I could talk to her about my struggles and she could also confide in me. 

    In addition to her precociousness, she was also smart. My sister knew the name of her favourite doctors, the name of tests like Full Blood Count, or medical jargon like PCV. She also quickly learned to associate hospital gates with a lot of pain. 

    There were also extreme mood swings where things got thrown at you. Or she could become so lively and animated that you had no choice but to participate in her joy. 

    I sometimes feel guilty that her father didn’t have enough money for us to stay back and finish the treatment. Then I also get angry that her mother never showed up. In her short life, my sister learned that pain could be both physical and emotional. For that reason alone, I can’t ever forgive her mother. There’s a part of me that still believes that if her mother was present she might have held on for longer.

    I’m grateful for the experience. I’ve come to understand how precious the gift of life is. I’m grateful for the time I got to spend with my sister, however short. Most of all, I’m grateful for the privilege to be the mother she never had.

    Editor’s Note: 

    Balikis, the subject of the story shared her story to spread awareness of Nephroblastoma and to also seek ways the Nigerian government can help in the early detection of the illness. 

    [donation]

  • “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 Juliet Simone, and she’s a pornstar. Juliet tells us about some of the stereotypes she faces in her line of work, managing her family’s expectations with her job, and how powerful she feels when she’s in front of a camera.

    MONDAY:

    I’m awake every day between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m. I stand up from my bed by 6:30 am today, and the first thing I do is check my phone to see if there are any messages I missed while asleep. Then I start my morning ritual — I drink Seaman ogogoro to clear my eyes, do some squats to keep my body fit [because I don’t want to have a fat stomach], and look for something to eat. I’m done with my routine by 11 a.m. After that, I make content for my paying subscribers — I have a WhatsApp group where people pay ₦5,000 per month to see my nudes, watch me masturbate, rant or just dance. It would have been easier to manage the subscribers if I could go live on Instagram or Twitter, but I’ve been banned on both apps. I’m grateful that at least I still have my Snapchat account where I can post even though I don’t fully understand how to use that app.

    I don’t have time to be worried about Snapchat because there’s work to be done, and my major “headache” now is entertaining my subscribers on WhatsApp. I’ll video call my over 20 subscribers in batches of seven. The signs are clear that I have a long day ahead of me.

    TUESDAY:

    I don’t shoot porn videos every day because I don’t own a personal camera. Instead, I have to shoot once or twice in a week depending on the schedule of the actors, video crew and location. There’s a lot of planning that goes into making these videos. We travel outside Lagos, sometimes as far as Badagry, to make them. You can’t just say you want to act porn in your room or a hotel in Lagos. From the screams and moans alone, oversabi people will call police to arrest you for trying to murder someone’s daughter. There’s also the part of choosing the men I’m acting with because I have a preference — neat, honest, and willing to show face on camera — that must be followed. After making my choice, I invite the person for lunch to gauge them before we go for routine [HIV, Hepatitis, etc] tests. Then we can now shoot a video. 

    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 — because the viewers want to see the sperm.

    Anytime I’m stressed, I remind myself that it’s my channel that these videos are being uploaded to and that makes me happy. I’m excited anytime I look at my money counting and see that it’s dollars. I can’t wait till it’s plenty so I can cash out. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    People ask me if I’m shy to have sex in front of a camera. Me, Juliet, shy for what? For why? I even think I’m addicted to the camera. I’ve been acting for a while, so I’ve gained confidence. Although I started acting porn three years ago, my dream was to always get into Nollywood, so I grew up participating in dramas, teen plays and being a drama queen. I wasn’t shy when I used to act for people, why will I be shy now that it’s my channel?

    Anytime I’m in front of the camera, I feel like I’m Wizkid, Davido or even Burna Boy, and all these people are coming to look at me. I won’t lie, the first time I acted in a porn video, I didn’t know it’d go far. It wasn’t until my brother in Dubai called to say: “Juliet, you don dey act porn?” I was “Shoo, this thing is international now? This is my chance to shine.” In fact, during lockdown, I became famous again because one of my videos did like two million views. I noticed that anytime I passed my street, boys would be looking at me. It was one of my male friends that now gave me the gist that someone downloaded my video and people started sending it to themselves. Sometimes, too much of the attention in real life makes me shy, so I stay indoors. Other times when I want to do my werey, I wear my shades and don’t give them face. Is it pussy they’ve not seen before? Is it dick they’ve not seen before? — it’s everywhere. And if anybody comes to challenge me that why am I acting porn, I’ll also challenge them that why are they watching porn. Wetin carry their eyes go there? Are they also pornstars?

    THURSDAY:

    I’ll say this anywhere: I’m not addicted to sex. It’s just that I can’t see dick and run. I know that pata pata na you go tire because I don’t see sex as stress. I also don’t pay attention to that thing they call body count — how does it affect me? I can’t count how many guys I’ve fucked.  I also know that I’ll stop acting one day. I’ll move into “pure” acting and make money from my old videos. By then I’d have settled down with the man of my choice that loves me. I’m not worried because I’ve swimmed into the world and seen what’s there. 

    For the moment I’m making my money and facing my business. I’ll advise people to do the same and leave judgement between me and God. I am at peace with my God.

    FRIDAY:

    I have a few secrets. My mum thinks I’m an actress in Nollywood, and although my siblings know what I do for a living, they didn’t cast me. My dad is dead, so he doesn’t need to know. Sometimes, people whisper to my mum but I encourage her to ignore them. As far as I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t rob or collect anyone’s money illegally, my life doesn’t concern anybody. If my siblings could go from an initial violent reaction when they found out I was acting porn to a cordial one, people’s opinion don’t matter much to me. 

    Another secret is that I enjoy slow fucking and not knacking-knacking like you’ll see in porn videos. I think that’s even a major reason why it’s difficult to enjoy sex while acting. If I like the guy and we’re done shooting, I’ll ask him to come and have the slow sex that I like.

    My last secret is that I don’t make friends with people outside the porn industry because they won’t understand me. And insult can even enter. But if you’re in my industry, how can you abuse me when we’re partners in crime? Even if you abuse me, it’ll be work-related — you’ll say I didn’t cash out last month or my video quality is poor — and I know you’re correcting me. Let me tell you a secret: The people insulting me about pornography will grab this opportunity I have if they see it. Them go too rush am. 

     SATURDAY:

    I can’t help but think about the pornography industry here in Nigeria because there’s potential that we’re not tapping into. There’s a lack of trust amongst us, so we don’t collaborate. You’ll watch Oyinbo porn and you’ll see crossovers and collaborations making people money. But Nigerian slogan is “Everyone be on your shoe oh because na only you know as your shoe dey pain you.” I know there’s the opportunity to make money. When I was still upcoming and working for people, I’ve made around ₦300,000 and above per month before. As long as we don’t combine resources, we can’t regulate and grow the industry. 

    I’m always looking for people to collaborate and work together because I want to blow to the extent where I can establish a business for my mum and myself. Once I remove black tax and set up a passive source of income from my old videos, then I’ll stop acting porn. Maybe then I’ll finally be free to pursue my childhood dream of acting in Nollywood.

    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.

    [donation]

  • Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.

    As we anticipate the 100th episode of the Nairalife series, here are 10 must-read episodes from the series:

    1) The Firstborn Who’s Playing Breadwinner On A ₦104k/month Salary

    I like this story for a couple of reasons. First, it’s a story about the dark underbelly of city life. I also like it because the #NairaLife before it was about a designer. Except that the previous designer was earning 10 times more than this designer was earning. When you read these stories side by side, it’s an early #Nairalife lesson for me in how a ton of factors, beyond talent, drive success.

    Read here.

    2) The Housewife Living Her Best Life With Zero Salary

    This housewife shook the internet. Why? She tried everything. 9-5’s, entrepreneurship, and you know what she chose? To be a housewife. What exactly is ambition?

    Read here.

    3) The Hustler Staying Hopeful At ₦25k/month

    The suffering in this one is immense. This guy literally trailed off whatever path he’d dreamed for himself. I can’t stop thinking about that one exam he couldn’t pay for…

    Read here.

    4) Still Fighting For Her Future at ₦60k/month

    Marriage can come at a steep cost for women, and no Nairalife epitomises this more than any. Shortly after the marriage, she got pregnant. And then everything changed.

    Read here.

    5) Bills? Over ₦6 Million/Year. Income? She Has No Clue

    This was such a wholesome conversation for me. But it was a very valuable moment of inflection for the subject. It helps that it was hilarious too.

    Read here.

    6) This 70-year-old Woman Sacrificed Every Kobo For One Goal

    I really enjoyed this one because it was the first #Nairalife peek into the 70s and 80s. This woman went through it. She remains the oldest subject of Nairalife till date.

    Read here.

    7) The Student Who Went From ₦3k/month To ₦1 Million

    Some #NairaLife stories mess up your insides. But some of them fill you with hope. This story of how one skill transformed the life of a student and his family will forever be close to my heart.

    Read here.

    8) The #NairaLife Of The Woman Who Went From Maid To Magnate

    This is my favourite NairaLife outlier story. It doesn’t get more extreme than going from maid to magnate.

    Read here.

    9) #NairaLife: How Did She Grow Her Income By Almost 600%? Language

    This is another outlier story that I really love. There’s time, chance, and a wild income jump!

    Read here.

    10) The #Nairalife Of A Depression

    It’s common to hear people talk about “Oh, go to therapy.” This Nairalife is about what it’d look like if people went to therapy. Frankly, the subject of this Nairalife even got lucky.

    Read here.

  • What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up.

    “Man Like” is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    The subject for today’s “Man Like” is William. He’s a husband, father and entrepreneur. He talks about being scared of old age, the benefits of contentment and why a supportive partner is everything.

    What was it like growing up?

    I had everything on a platter of gold to an extent because Popsi worked in an oil servicing company before he retired. My primary school was okay. In secondary school, I was fine. When I entered university, I was on a Mobil scholarship, so money was never an issue. Even NYSC was smooth. It was post-NYSC, when I got married, that things started to hit me.

    What happened?

    I had my “I’m now a man” moment.

    Haha. I want to hear about it.

    Before marriage, I was a YO man. That’s what you young people call OYO these days — On Your Own. Let me give you context. As a corper, I was being paid ₦21,000 as a pharmacist. I was also earning a ₦7,500 allowee. This was at a time where my mates were earning ₦6,000 monthly. I had scholarship money saved up from university and had also done the mandatory one-year internship for pharmacists, where I made more money. While my mates were taking buses to their NYSC camps, I was catching flights. 

    Ahan. 

    So, I was making money, saving and spending mainly on myself. When I decided to settle down and start a family, it hit me that I had to carefully make major decisions because it was no longer only me. 

    Marriage became the difference between seeing and buying a nice tennis shoe I’d eventually dash out and telling myself to save. When a baby came into the picture, I had to buckle up. 

    It wasn’t easy the first time my wife told me a tin of SMA Gold had finished under two weeks. I was like, we have to buy another one? That was when I knew it was not child’s play. I had to be a man or else I’d run into money issues. Although I was fortunate that my wife was employed; it made the “pressure” easier. But you know how it is na. You don’t want to start sharing responsibilities that early. You don’t want to say you buy this, while I buy other things. You still want to say, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” But that was before oh, now that things have hit hard, omo, we are sharing this thing. I can’t come and kill myself. 

    Scream. 

    How did you decide your wife was “the one”?

    In the past, my criteria used to be physical appearance. I painted an ideal picture growing up — complexion, height, accent, physique. As I got older, I realised that beyond looks, manners are important. 

    I can’t stand bad manners and people who aren’t respectful. I also don’t believe a person will change in marriage. At least, not unless they decide to. For me, I looked at the criteria I wanted and screened people for them. I won’t say because you have a fine face let me go ahead and marry you. It won’t work because it’s for better or for worse. 

    I’m with you. 

    Another thing I looked out for was some measure of financial independence. You see all those people you meet and haven’t dated but they are already telling you about their sick parent or bad phone, I avoid them. I was fortunate to meet someone who fits into what I wanted.

    Single people are shaking.

    [laughs]

    I’ll be honest with you, there’s no 100% person. Not you, not your spouse. What I was looking for was cut down to let’s say 70%  because I wanted someone tall. However, as I grew older, I realised that the only thing that matters is that your partner gives you peace of mind. Every other thing is an addition.

    You can’t see me, but I’m furiously jotting down.

    Lol.

    I was going to ask: what scares you?

    Two things scare me. The first is poverty. Not being able to afford what I want is a major fear for me because I’ve come from a background where I was able to get anything. At least, most things.  

    Recently, I’ve seen myself wanting a few things and checking my balance to say, “No you can’t afford this.”  Some people out there look at me as someone comfortable, but I still look at myself when I want to get something. These days, I’m asking myself questions like, “Is it necessary? Is it a need?”

    I ask myself how will I survive if I don’t have money, to the point where my kids will ask for something and I can’t give it to them or I have to ask people to help me pay school fees for my kids? That scares me. 

    Me too.

    My other fear is old age. I fear that a time will come when I wouldn’t be able to take a step without fidgeting especially when I get up from the bed to urinate.  I’m not even scared of death. I don’t want to be dependent on people.

    I saw my dad go through that. Sometimes Popsi would tell me he’s going to ease himself and before he gets to the restroom, he’d have done it on himself. They used to call my dad baby boy when he was younger because he could jump around and he was the life of the party. All of a sudden, old age made him into something else. Kudos to my mum because I know what she went through. 

    I don’t look forward to it because I don’t want to be a liability. 

    Mahn. What now gives you joy?

    If you consider Nigeria’s wahala, you’ll look for joy and not find oh.

    Lmaoooo.

    On a more serious note, apart from my family, looking inwards gives me joy. My joy is not based on the external. I’ve learned not to place my joy in material things because it’ll break your heart. I’m armed with the knowledge that I have a measure of good health. 

    At least for now. I find joy in my sound health because I know I can leverage on opportunities when they come. A measure of belief and spirituality also gives me joy. Spirituality is a belief, and it’s a major source of joy for a lot of people. Having something you believe in makes tough times easier to handle.

    Interesting. Tell me about a time placing your faith in material things broke your heart.

    After my NYSC year, I didn’t practise as a pharmacist. Instead, I got a job at the bank. Fast forward a couple of years later, I left the job.

    I left with a lot of hope. I was telling myself that in two years, I’d set up a retail pharmacy and blow. I put all of my hope into it. After a year plus, I realised it didn’t give me what I was looking for. Also, I lost a lot of money. 

    I dusted myself and re-invested in another pharmacy business which is currently threading the path of the first one. I also remember at some point in my life, I used to think that once I got something, I’d be made for life. Especially when I wanted my job at the bank. And guess what? After getting some of them, I didn’t stop seeking for more. It left me wanting more and more. All of these are material things. 

    That’s why politicians keep stealing billions. The money doesn’t give them the kind of joy they’re searching for. It plunges them into a further search for joy and happiness. I live every day as it comes. I tell myself today is a beautiful day, and I want to be happy. Joy, happiness, all these things are a personal decision. 

    Has anything threatened your new mantra? 

    Sometimes when life gives you what you don’t expect, it reduces your ego, your masculinity. Men believe what makes them men is their spending power. To comfortably boast and say, “Do you know who I am?” And be able to back it up. But when you watch businesses fail in front of you, it’s easy to feel less of a man. 

    One day, my wife looked at me and said, “You’re feeling moody these days.” I was like, I don’t know what the problem is. She looked at me and said: “You’re thinking about money right?” I just smiled. Unconsciously, even if you want to be tough, these things have a way of getting to you. 

    I’m sorry. How have these things changed you as a person? 

    Life is weird because you never know when it’ll give you that hard knock, especially in Nigeria. What makes you a man is that when you get the knock, you don’t stay down. You have to keep trying and hoping something works. There’s a time for everything and if your “time” doesn’t come, you have to ask yourself: “Are you happy?”

    I want you to answer the question. Are you happy? 

    Yes.

    What are the things that make you happy?

    Contentment. If I have a CRV and it’s taking me to where I want to go, I’m fine with it. This doesn’t mean I’ll not hustle for more. But I’ll ask myself: do I have a car? Yes. Does it do what I want? Yes. Why do I want a better one? — is it because I envy someone driving a better car? 

    While doing my best, I must be content with where I am right now. I must also carry the hope that I’ll be better. Things will be better. For me, this is better than jumping the gun and looking for money at all costs. If I’m content, I’ll be happy. My new definition of masculinity involves learning to be a simple man. 

    Lit. How’s your wife taking all this?

    Remember that time she asked if I was thinking about money? I smiled and didn’t say anything. She told me not to worry, that the current financial situation wasn’t a big deal. Having a partner that tells you not to worry during a tough time is a blessing. When I heard her soothing voice, I was like, it’s all good. We’re in this together. It’ll pass. 

    Check back every Sunday by 12 pm for new stories in the “Man Like” series. If you’d like to be featured or you know anyone that would be perfect for this, kindly send an email.

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  • Close shaves with death have a way of putting things in perspective; all the ice cream you decided not to eat because of fitfam, all the sex you didn’t have because you were saving yourself for marriage, all the trips you didn’t take because you were saving money. A close brush with death isn’t as uncommon as you’d think. You probably just didn’t notice the time a car almost hit you, or when you just missed an ill-fated vehicle or the time you contracted a virus but your antibodies barely saved the day.

    Others aren’t so lucky. They’ve had to stare death straight in the face, for some people, multiple times. I spoke to six of those people.

    Tobi, 24

    I was eight and spending the holiday at my Grandma’s. Like every eight-year-old, I was bored and constantly seeking things to keep me busy. One day, I found a paint bucket with one side of the handle broken off. I ripped it off and started swinging it in the air like a sword. Soon, I got bored of that too.

    I looked around and saw a rarely-used electric socket and the devil decided to use me. “What would happen if I stuck in the bucket handle?” I thought. So I poked in one end of the metal in one of the socket holes and turned it on. Nothing appeared to be visibly happening so I thought maybe I needed to plug in the other end too. I forgot I’d left the socket on and grabbed the metal handle.

    The shock flung me to the other end of the room. I was unconscious for a while. I couldn’t move for a while, couldn’t breathe properly and noticed that all the veins on my palms were white. When I was eventually able to move, I didn’t even bother to turn off the switch. I just left the room. After the veins on my palm returned to normal, I summoned the courage to turn off the socket. I tried removing the handle from the socket but it appeared to be stuck so I left it there.

    Femi, 30

    Every year, something is trying to kill me. I’ve been shot at, survived four car accidents and a plane crash landing in Morocco. Funny thing was, the flight was already overbooked and had to fight for a seat on it.

    The one that almost took me happened in 2016. One time, while I was travelling from Lagos to Abuja, we were waylaid by armed robbers around Lokoja. We fled into the bush and while I was running, a bullet hit the laptop in my backpack.

    Another time, I had driven five hours to go beg my ex who was apparently already dating someone else. I cried all night. On my way back, I slept off while driving. I crashed into the embankment, which was the only thing stopping me from falling down a cliff.

    The most poignant experience happened a  years ago. I had gone in for an appendicectomy. It went seamlessly until, post-surgery, the pain of the stitches became unbearable. I kept asking for painkillers and this cute nurse, for whatever reason, kept pumping me with morphine.

    Now, I’d never had morphine in my life, so I was what doctors call “opioid-naive.” I had a bad reaction to it and stopped breathing. As I was slipping into unconsciousness, I could make out blurry outlines of people rushing to my side with oxygen and other equipment. Then everything went black.

    It felt like I was in a vacuum. No sound, no light, no movement. I couldn’t even make out where I was. It was pitch black. I was aware of my own presence but nothing else. Just suffocating blackness. I have no idea how long this lasted but all of a sudden everywhere lit up. Turned out it was a doctor shining a pen torch in my eye.

    I don’t know which one disappointed me the most, that there is something on the other side or that it is just black and empty. I wonder if that’s what nothingness is.

    JayJay, 22

    During the lockdown, my sister and I were heading back from my aunt’s place after spending two weeks with for Eid. My mom was alone and sick at home, so we had to break Ogun state lockdown rules to go home. The driver of our bus was pretty reckless. We didn’t thin pay it much mind; after all, most bus drivers are reckless. My sister and I were quite uncomfortable, but we chalked it up to being worried about our mum’s health. 

    Right after MFM camp, a trailer crashed into our speeding bus while it was trying to avoid another motorcycle. My sister was seated in the middle, so she got off lightly with a few bruises. I wasn’t so lucky. After we collided with the trailer, my right leg slipped and was stuck between bus’ doors. When a car behind slammed into the bus, I was jolted forward and left leg twisted behind me.  I would 100% sure I would have died. My saving grace was that I held my travelling bag in my laps instead of in the boot, out of sheer laziness. It helped cushion me from slamming against the seat in front of me.

    The bus seat came crashing down on us and when the bus stopped, the passengers were stomping on my twisted leg while trying to get out of the bus. Meanwhile, my right leg was still stuck in the door.

    The pain was excruciating. I kept screaming in Yoruba until I lost consciousness. I woke up a few minutes later, still stuck in the bus. My sister was beside me, crying and screaming for help. I was dragged from the bus to the side of the road. The other passengers twisted the broken leg back in place. It was the most excruciating pain I had ever felt.

    I was taken to the hospital and put in a cast. I couldn’t walk for weeks. The funniest part was, instead of worrying about my life, I kept wondering if my boyfriend would still date me if my legs we amputated, LOL. I even told my sister to call him first, instead of my mother. Luckily, my legs are fine and my boyfriend was supportive. These days, I call him when I’m on buses so he can distract me because I still have panic attacks from the accident.

    Richard, 27

    It was just after my university graduation. My parents called me to congratulate me and me to stay in school till I could come home. I, being the good kid they thought I was, lied and said I had no plans. Meanwhile, we were planning on a graduation party. It was the first party I’d ever attend because I’m pretty boring. I definitely did not want to miss out on my first party. I even snuck out of school to buy an outfit for the party.

    Sunday evening, the big boys in school pulled up with their rides and I tagged along with my coursemate who was going to the same party. We stopped at Shoprite, Lekki and bought more alcohol more than we had fuel in the car. I’d never tasted alcohol at the time either so I was excited. We arrived at the party and was astounded by the amount of weed and alcohol available and the number of girls there. We partied all night. I smoked a whole pack of cigarettes (it was my first time smoking too). My friends then offered me weed and alcohol till I was in a state of stupor. 

    A couple of hours later, I was still up but staggering. Everyone I came with was with drunk or high. The driver said he was fine and could make it back to school before 7 am. I couldn’t offer to drive because I couldn’t at the time. We set out for school and I dozed off on the way. I woke up on the Third Mainland Bridge and found that the guy driving had slept. I shouted and he woke up, but it was too late for him to do anything. We were headed straight for the lagoon.

    The car vaulted up the concrete guardrail and stopped, the front tire literally hanging by an inch off the iron guardrails. Had I not woken up, we would have plunged straight into the water at full speed. My mom called by 7 am, saying she just felt like checking on me, not knowing that I was inches from certain death a few minutes ago. It was weird as hell. I’m thankful I’m still here today.

    Ayo, 28

    I’ve had a couple of experiences. One time, I was in a major car crash on my way to the club after I had lied to my parents that I was going to a vigil. Funny enough, that’s not my closest shave.

    In 2006, I was standing on a balcony in secondary school with some of my friends. A crush of mine at the time called me to go buy food for her. I pretended not to hear and continued to talk to my friends. They were teasing me about my crush sending me on errands so it made me more determined to ignore her.

    Suddenly, she came over to where I was and dragged my shirt. That was probably what saved me. Immediately she pulled me from where I was standing, the second-floor balcony we were standing on gave way, and I was hanging in the hands of my crush, by my collar. Other classmates rushed to pull me up to safety.

    Three people died and many more were injured. One of my friends who I was standing with had to have major surgery on his head. I owe my life to Victoria.

    Chizy, 31

    I’ve had a few near-death experiences,  from surviving 2 ghastly motor accidents before I was 9, to slipping in the pouring rain and hitting my head on a slab and passing out. No one found me till I woke up, but the one that stuck with me was Christmas eve of 2015.

    I overdosed. My folks had travelled to the east for Christmas while I stayed behind in Abuja, alone in the house. My friends and I were supposed to go to a block party, so I drank a mix of codeine and Sprite. The party was supposed to start at 11 pm. By 10:30 pm, I started feeling uneasy, like my lungs weren’t filling up to capacity. I was short of breath and dizzy, so I told my friends I was gonna head home and crash a little before the party. 

    When I got home, I could barely walk. I collapsed on the sofa and nothing was working except my eyes. I knew I was in trouble. Before I passed out, I remembered to turn on my  side to minimize the risk of asphyxiation (choking to death)., I woke up by 8 am the next morning to see that I had indeed vomited. I could have choked and died in a pool of my own vomit.

    Read: 6 Nigerians Narrate Their Wildest Experiences When They Ate Weed Edibles

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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 for today is Mr A, a mortician. He talks about his first day on the job, people asking him for human parts, and why he lives intentionally.

    MONDAY – TUESDAY:

    The sound of my phone ringing is the first thing that wakes me up today. Mid-sleep, I hear my boss shouting at the other end: “What do you know about the body that’s smelling in the department?” “Come to work now!” Before I can explain myself, she cuts the call.

    I jump up from bed, have my bath and quickly rush down to work.

    From the gate, I see people covering their nose. The source of the odour is a three-day-old body in the morgue. When the body got to the mortuary, the relatives couldn’t pay for embalming, so my boss didn’t release the necessary ingredients even after I pleaded for the go-ahead while the family members were out raising money. But now, because of the escalated smell, everyone is suddenly feeling charitable. 

    At the office, my boss is shouting, so I remind her of her role in our current situation. This calms her down. I then state my case: We can’t embalm the body until late at night because there’s no protective gear and I don’t want house flies from the body to lay eggs on me. I don’t want to carry a disease that’s not my own before people say I got an infection from being promiscuous. The government doesn’t care about our safety, so we must protect ourselves. Before I’m even done talking, the ingredients for embalming have appeared out of nowhere – she just wants the smell gone by this time tomorrow.

    I tell her that all we can do is wait until midnight.

    Midnight:

    I like working at night because there’s no disturbance. I work faster because I have complete focus. Embalming is meant for social gathering, for people to pay last respects to the body in open caskets. In some cases, it’s used to “beautify” bodies that have been deformed through accidents – it helps hold the body together for a befitting burial. 

    The embalming ingredients we use are sodium chloride, water, eosine and hydro formalin. Contrary to what people think, we don’t remove the organs when we embalm bodies. We mix the ingredients in a keg and set a line [in the femoral artery or humerus] for the body so that the fluid enters into the body. However, before doing anything, we first wash the body. [Editor’s note: Morticians don’t worry about smell after a while because it becomes part of the job]

    I can tell that it’s going to be a long night ahead. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    It’s funny that I started working with dead people because of the living. My old job didn’t allow me to spend time with my family and that’s why I chose this job. 

    One day, my friend asked if I was open to any other work and I said why not? As long as they pay me a salary and it doesn’t disturb family time, I’m ready. That’s how I started this work. 

    I’ll never forget my first day here because they put me on night duty. I sat down outside and my head doubled in size. I couldn’t sleep because someone on night duty shouldn’t be sleeping. I was just consoling myself that shebi day will break, today is today. That’s how I did the first night, then I did the second night too. 

    Then I now learned how to bath dead bodies.

    I was so scared to hold their hand because I was worried that any small touch would disconnect the shoulder. I used to think that embalming made the skin parboiled, therefore any small touch would break the body. It wasn’t until one day when my senior colleague shouted at me to hold the hand that I got over myself. That’s how I used confidence to scrub the back of the corpse. Since then, I’ve become an expert. I can now bathe a body at any time of the day without help. 

    Today, I’m just thinking that with all my skill, someone should just come and tell me: “Let’s be going to America.”

    THURSDAY:

    Something happened at work today that made me happy. A man with a jeep came to the mortuary asking for “small human meat,” and my colleagues and I handled it well. I was glad to know that we haven’t allowed evil people to mix with us in this department.

    I’m still wondering why someone would ask me for the flesh of a human being that I can’t create. So that curses will come to me? Or my children? God forbid. 

    He offered me ₦5 million and even houses. Little does he know that the bible has chained my hand and money can’t confuse me. My colleagues and I told him to check back in some days because when you pursue them away like that, they’ll be targeting you. They feel that you now know their face and what they do. The plan is that after some days, we’ll say that there are no fresh bodies because we embalm them immediately they come in. We’ll also say that if we cut out anything, we have no way to preserve it, so it’ll start smelling. That’s the story we are going with because even the bible says that bless thy child that uses wisdom to do things. 

    I remember another case where a woman came asking for cotton wool from the mouth of a dead person. She said she needed it to cure her daughter. I know that it’s used as a commanding tone when mixed with juju: if they tell you to stop, they don’t born you well not to stop. She even offered me money, but I told her that since it’s “healing,” there’s no need for money. I told her that I wished I could help, but we had no corpse with an open mouth. I then advised her with a sad face to try another mortuary.

    Another time, a man came for that same cotton wool because his wife was wayward. This one even offered to soak it in the mouth of the corpse himself. So, I asked him if he’d bring any of his family members so he could soak it by himself for as long as he wants. For his family member, he can do whatever he likes because it’s unfair to ask me to do that to another person. I think that’s the first person I lost my temper for.

    The problem with many people is that they don’t wait for God’s time. I know that if I’d been allowing such people, I would have built an estate by now. I’m not rich and I’m not poor, but I’m okay with my life.

    FRIDAY:

    This work has opened my eyes to many things especially how the world works. The wahala on a dead body is far more than the one on a living person and if you have eyes, it’s a lesson for how you live your life.

    I heard of a case where the husband brought the wife to the hospital and she died. Then the woman’s family now claimed that the man divorced her, so he can’t bury her. To prevent a fight, the management told them to settle the matter in court. It has been almost five years and the woman’s family has refused to show up in court. Not even once. The body has been in the morgue since then. I heard that every Friday, the man still goes to the mortuary to check on his wife. He can’t even give her a proper burial, he can’t do anything. In this job, I have seen many cases like that.

    I thank God for this understanding because it has made me focus on my family. I am the same age my father was when he died. His death meant that I couldn’t further my education, but I thank God for mum. She tried with what she had and I’m sad she didn’t get to enjoy more. I tell myself that if God can spare my life this long, there’s no reason why I should not spend all my money making sure my children go farther than I did. 

    Today, I’m thanking God for his mercies in my life. I can proudly say that I have one daughter who’s a university graduate, and another child about to enter the university. What more can I ask for? 

    SATURDAY:

    I was telling someone today that money is not everything. If you give me a hundred million on one hand, and you put 10 minutes of advice, on the other hand, I’ll drop the money.

    Advice will take me farther than money will or can. If I start with a hundred million, I’ll misbehave because money is a spirit. It’ll push me to talk to people that I should be avoiding. I know that I’m not a saint, so I know that I’ll offend many people.

    I like this work because it reminds me to caution myself against the distraction of life. Life is simple, and you shouldn’t take anything hard. You should be humble. If you’re in a post, remember that one day, you’ll return to the soil. If you have that constant reminder, nothing will be too much to dash out. 

    See them here [dead bodies in the morgue], they can’t raise their hands, they can’t bathe themselves, they can’t do anything. See the morgue [opens vaults to show dead bodies], this is where we all end. 

    Editor’s note: Name changed to protect the identity of the subject.

    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.

  • If you’ve ever worked a job for an extended period of time, then you’ll relate to this.

    1) Punctuality:

    First month: I must get to work early.

    After one year: Let me sleep 30 minutes more. I’ll lie that police stopped me.

    2) Attitude towards KPI:

    First month: I must die for the company.

    After one year: I can’t kill myself.

    3) Attitude towards salary:

    First month: Oh my God, this is a lot of money.

    After one year: You people pay me peanuts for the amount of work I do.

    4) Behavior at work:

    First month: Hi.

    After one year: My peeeeoooppleee! How una dey?

    5) Attitude towards overtime:

    First month: I’ll work public holidays and weekends.

    After one year: Jesus died so we may live. I no do.

    6) Toilet manners:

    First month: I’m going to wash my hands in the toilet.

    After one year: I dey go shit.

    7) Gratitude level:

    First month: This is a glorious opportunity.

    After one year: It’s all a scam.

    8) How you respond to “Do you love your job?”

    First month: It’s the best thing ever.

    After one year: We thank God. Once there’s life, there’s hope.

    9) Attitude towards criticism at work:

    First month: I must be perfect so they don’t find fault in my work.

    After one year: No one ever died of insult.

    10) Loyalty:

    First month: I’m going to work here till I die.

    After one year: In case you see anything, I’m open to new opportunities.

    Did we miss anything? Let us know in the comments section.

  • If you’re an adult then you’ll relate to one or more of these adulting problems we all face:

    1) Deciding on what to eat.

    Rice, bread, rice, bread – Rinse and repeat. I can’t decide on what to eat for more than three days before I start to repeat food.

    2) Deciding on what to wear.

    Especially on a first date. Or when they say “work casual.”

    3) Knowing how to ask for a raise at work.

    No manual for this one oh.

    4) Learning to say NO to black tax.

    If anyone figures out how to do this, let me know.

    tired

    5) Time management.

    Help! The weekend is never enough and the week days are too long.

    6) Making friends after university.

    Friendships after a certain age just doesn’t slap like before. In many cases, it feels guarded.

    7) Dealing with impostor syndrome.

    Generally just learning that everyone is faking it until they make it. It’s just that everyone seems so well put together.

    8) Deciding to switch place of worship.

    Good luck explaining to your parents why you want to switch from their church or even religion.

  • Cold Eba gets a lot of slander, and if it was human I’m sure it would have taken “legal steps”. But when I still used to go to Church, I remember the Pastor once saying that the foolish things of this world will be used to confound the wise. So yes, cast not away that cold eba. It just might save your life.

    I present to 5 times cold eba can save your life:

    1. WHEN YOU HAVE HOT SOUP

    Look, forget that thing, Cold Eba with hot soup is the Nigerian dream. A classic case of how opposite poles attract. You know how good girls like bad boys? Yeah, that’s it.

    2. WHEN IT’S A DAY OLD

    Ah, a day old eba is like ripe pawpaw – very fresh and delicious. Once you go cold, you’ll never be told. I promise.

    3. When You Don’t Want a Bitter Aftertaste

    Oyinbo say “what is dead may never die”, and feminists say “you can’t shame the shameless”. In other words, if you want to have a meal that dosen’t leave your tongue feeling one kain, try cold eba. It’s cold anyway, you taste buds will be numb to it.

    4. When You’re Looking For A Sleeping Pill

    One of those people who have trouble sleeping? Try cold eba. Once the heavy coldness hits the pit of your stomach, you’ll start snoring like a bricklayer in no time.

    5. When You Want To See Tekno Angry

    https://twitter.com/gidifeedtv/status/1228666533553025024?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1228666533553025024%7Ctwgr%5E&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.kemifilani.ng%2F2020%2F02%2Fsinger-tekno-laments-over-strong-eba-video.html

    I really don’t know why you’ll want to see Alhaji Tekno angry, but then again, he’s only human. So if you have anger issues and you’re this close to committing suicide, Tekno has shown that you can rob your kporororo in Eba’s kpotokpoto. WHATEVER.

    We also have premium gist on eba’s younger brother, Garri. Read up: 5 Garri Combinations That Will Give You Stomach Orgasm.