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  • My Bro is a biweekly Zikoko series that interrogates and celebrates male friendships of different forms.

    They met eight years ago, when Emmanuel started cutting Tejiro’s hair. In this episode of #ZikokoMyBro, these two besties talk about the relationship secret that started their friendship, navigating a significant difference in wealth and influencing each other to be better. 

    Our origin story 

    Tejiro: We met in 2015, when I’d just moved back to Port Harcourt after my masters in the UK. I was looking for a barber that’d treasure my hairline, so my girlfriend at the time brought me to your salon. But I wasn’t the only guy she was bringing there sha. 

    Emmanuel:  This guy. Are we starting our story like this? 

    Tejiro: Is it your heart they broke? Anyway, I sat in the salon for a while, watching you and the other barbers cut people’s hair. By the time you guys were done, I decided you were the least likely to fuck up my hair. 

    Emmanuel: I didn’t notice you until you asked if you could sit in my chair. 

    First Impressions

    Tejiro: I remember you smelt really nice, not like aftershave or powder, but like this quality big boy scent. I really liked it. You were also acting all serious, like the hair you were cutting was further maths. 

    Emmanuel: Why do you think I’m the best at what I do? Cutting hair is like painting for me. 

    Tejiro: Come on, Picasso. Abi, are you Leonardo Da Vinci? Guy, abeg. 

    Emmanuel: I noticed you were restless that day. And I wished I had a biscuit to give you so you could calm down. 

    Planting the seed of our friendship 

    Tejiro: I was one of your regulars for almost a year before we had any serious conversation. I’d text you to see if you were in the salon. I’d come in, cut my hair and bounce. Nothing serious. At least, not until you told me my girlfriend was cheating on me. 

    Emmanuel: I knew your girlfriend before I knew you, and even before she brought you, she’d been bringing other guys to the salon. I didn’t think anything of it because I never got to know any of them. I also didn’t know the arrangement you guys had. But the gist about her, you and the other guys became a joke among the barbers, and even though it was a risk, I felt like I needed to ask you. I just had to be strategic about it. 

    The week before I told you, I made small talk with you about work and life before I was like, “Where is madam? Shey, we’re coming for wedding soon?” or something like that, and that’s when you just went into the whole gist about how she’s so special to you, blah blah blah. 

    It was like I’d given you the space to gush about your woman, and you didn’t want to stop. 

    Tejiro: I was down bad for love, bro. 

    Emmanuel: That’s when I decided to tell you what was happening. I could tell you really liked her, and it was unfair that you’d become a joke among my co-workers. What’s the worst that could happen? You’d say you knew and stop cutting your hair with me? No wahala. 

    So the next time you came, I asked to see you when you were leaving and told you everything I knew. 

    Tejiro: I didn’t want to believe it initially, but I had my suspicions. The weirdest thing is it wasn’t the cheating part for me. It was everybody knowing. It made me feel like a fool. 

    I considered changing salons after we broke up. I was too ashamed to come back. But I wasn’t going to allow a woman fuck up my life and then my hairline. You were my barber, and I’d rather cheat on a girl than a barber that understands my hair. 

    Emmanuel: LOL. I hope all the girls you meet next read this and understand that you’re trash. 

    Navigating our different backgrounds 

    Tejiro: One of the most significant issues for us when we got to know each other was our different upbringings. 

    Emmanuel: That part. You were this ajebo who was used to getting what he wanted, and I’d hustled my way on the streets of PH to get to where I was at the time. We saw life differently. You were always inviting me to the club and places I’d spend money unnecessarily, and I was like, “This one no know say I no get mama and papa with millions for their account.” 

    Tejiro: So, the break up pushed me to a crazy lifestyle. I also felt this need to prove to you (as the person who broke the news to me) that I was handling it well. But I wasn’t. I was a mess. 

    Emmanuel: I’d been there before, so I had a feeling you were avoiding your feelings. But outside of that, your clique treated me like shit, and I didn’t find it funny.

    Tejiro: Some of my friends at the time were assholes. They wondered how I was friends with the guy who cut my hair. To them, it was like being friends with your driver. I won’t lie; I started to look at it weirdly at some point too. But it came up in a conversation between my mum and me once, and she shut it down. 

    Emmanuel: I trust Mrs N. No time for rubbish. We became closer after you stopped hanging out with most of those guys and took time to get over your breakup. 

    You were trying to pretend like money wasn’t a factor in our friendship, but it is, and that’s normal. I can’t travel for summer like you, and I’ve accepted that there are things we can’t experience or do together (for now) because of money. 

    Tejiro: I’d never had a friend outside of my social class, so it was somehow. Plus, I don’t like addressing issues. I tried to pay for stuff most of the time, but your shoulder pad is too high. I respect that, though. 

    Emmanuel: Guy, abeg, you can’t pay for everything we do or get. You can pay for shawarma and bottles once in a while, but it’s okay to do something alone or with other people, if I can’t afford it. Shebi, we’re doing Ghana this December? That one I can do. 

    Pushing each other to be better 

    Tejiro: Where do I even start when it comes to how you’ve come through for me? 

    Emmanuel: I know mine. You pushed me to open my own salon. I always wanted to do it, but I second-guessed myself a lot and feared failure. 

    Tejiro: Look at you today with three branches. You should name one after me, out of gratitude and all. It’s just a suggestion. 

    Emmanuel: Get out! But seriously, these salons happened because of our different backgrounds. 

    Tejiro: I don’t get. 

    Emmanuel: Because I don’t come from a lot, I tend to limit myself, so I don’t lose the little I have. I make plans and dream, but something in my head always tells me to be “realistic”. But you? Bro, the way you make plans? You have the luxury to dream big because you have something to fall back on. Even though I don’t have that luxury, I needed some of that blind faith from you. 

    I don’t think I’d be this successful if you didn’t push me to jump. 

    Tejiro: You keep me grounded and make sure I’m not overdoing things, so I guess we’re in a “Scratch my back, and I’ll scratch your back situation.”  

    What I wish I could change about you

    Emmanuel: Please, stop being restless, or channel it into something that challenges you. You could do a lot of cool stuff, but it’s hard to focus because you’re trying to do too many at once. 

    Tejiro: It’s hard, but I’m working on it. 

    I want you to rate yourself more. You’re the baddest at what you do, but you need some oud de confidence. Move with the energy of someone who’s a rockstar. 

    I want you to know

    Tejiro: Outside of saving me from a shitty relationship, I want you to know you’ve changed my life in ways I could never imagine. Most of the friends I had before you were either too scared to tell me the truth when I did something wrong or just as oblivious as I was about life. You’re not like that. You’ll tell me I’m messing up even when I don’t want to hear it. 

    I’m grateful to know you and glad our friendship has lasted this long. I’m also happy I get free haircuts now because what’s the point of my best friend being my barber? 

    Emmanuel: You’ll soon start paying again. 

    I’m happy I know you. I’m happy your family has been warm and kind to me. And I’m excited to be that friend who’s rooting for you while you do cool stuff.

    Do you have an interesting bro story you’d like to share? Fill this form and we’ll get back to you.

  • In school, men become friends because of shared classes or extracurricular activities. But as we get older, it sometimes gets harder to make new friends since everyone is either in an established friend group or too busy chasing the bag to focus on friendships. 

    We spoke to seven 30+ Nigerian men who’ve made friends through unconventional means in recent times. They share their interesting friendship stories and what it’s like to make friends at this stage of their lives. 

    “We moved from gym bros to actual brothers.”

    — Tade*, 32

    I used to hate being at the gym until I met my best friend, Obidinma, in 2019. I was a chubby guy new to the gym life, so every piece of equipment was confusing to me, and everyone seemed intimidating. Obidinma was the first person to talk to me in the gym. I wasn’t using the lats pull machine correctly, so he came over and explained how. He didn’t sound condescending or like one of those ITK gym bros.

    After our first interaction, I made it a habit of saying “Hi” to Obidinma every time I was in the gym, and he helped me understand the equipment, diets, etc. He was my free personal trainer. We got closer when he started dating my sister after I introduced the both of them on a night out. Fast forward to 2023, and Obidinma has married my sister, which makes him my brother-in-law. He’s stuck with me legally now. 

    “I didn’t want to go through the NYSC camp alone.”

    — Michael*, 30

    The first time I shot a friendship shot as an adult was in NYSC camp. I live in Lagos but ended up in Akwa Ibom where I didn’t know anyone. I spent the first week in my shell, praying for time to pass, but the days were so slow I knew I had to make friends before I died of loneliness. That’s when Eyo came into the picture. 

    He was the DJ with the camp’s version of a radio station (OBS) and was very popular. What better way to make new friends than by befriending the most popular kid, who could then introduce me to other popular kids? So I sat close to him at the canteen and struck up a conversation about rap. Our gist was so long that day that I followed him everywhere. By the time I left camp, I’d become almost as popular as Eyo. I don’t regret making that first move, even though he thinks our meeting was by chance. 

    “He forced this friendship on me, but I love him for it”

    — Emmanuel*, 35

    I like to keep my work life separate from my personal life, so I wasn’t thrilled when my coworker started shooting his friendship shots at me. At first, it was invitations to get drinks after work with the rest of the team, which I always said “no” to. Later, it was messages and calls during the weekend to hang out at W Bar or some restaurant he was trying out. Honestly, I was confused about how badly he wanted us to be friends because this man had a lot of friends at work already. 

    After almost a year of dodging him, I finally agreed to attend his birthday party, and it was the best night of my life. I got so wasted that I only remember stripping for a girl at some point in the night while everyone watched. As an introvert who only focused on work, that changed a lot for me. I started hanging out with him, and he’s helped me come out of my shell and have fun in Lagos. I can’t lie, my life was dull before I accepted this friendship shot. 

    “The trauma of protesting for #EndSARS brought us together.”

    — Pelumi*, 30

    I met my best friend while the Nigerian police were shooting teargas at us during #EndSARS in 2020. I protested in Abuja with some friends, and everything was peaceful until the Nigerian police started attacking protesters. Amid all the running, I lost my friends and was on the floor, unable to see. This guy came over and carried me while running for his own life. I don’t know how he did it, but I also don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t. He disappeared after he dropped me off where everyone else was resting. 

    About two days later, someone reposted the guy’s image to my TL on Twitter, and I slid into his DMs to say, “Thank you.” That’s how we started talking and going to the protest grounds together. The events of October 20, 2020, happened shortly after we started talking, and I remember calling him crying. I didn’t know who else to call. We’ve been each other’s coping partners since. I still feel guilty that I found my best friend during those tragic moments. 

    RECOMMENDED: My Bro: I Felt Abandoned After You Got Married — Jacob and Seun

    “I always shoot my shot when I like someone. What’s the worst that could happen?”

    — Nnamdi*, 33

    I strongly believe in going after what you want in life, no matter what. I use this energy when it comes to work, my love life and any other type of relationship. I’ve shot a lot of friendship shots on social media, and while I get aired sometimes, or I meet the person and we don’t click, most times, it actually works, and I make a new friend. 

    My most recent friendship shot was at this guy on IG who’s always serving looks. One day, he wore a shirt I had, so I messaged him with a picture of me in the shirt and wrote, “Fashion bros.” He messaged me back, and we started a back-and-forth about fashion. These days, he’s my shopping buddy and the first person I’ll message if I want to order a fit online. I’ve shot other shots that had to do with music, career or even something as basic as me liking the perfume a guy has on. I’m the Jason Statham of friendship shots, my bullet no dey finish. 

    “I’ve become best friends with my ex’s brother.”

    — Joey*, 30

    I met my current best friend through his sister, who’s now my ex-girlfriend. We’d been dating for about a month when she finally invited her “overprotective” brother to my house so we could all hang out and hopefully get along. I knew we’d hit it off the minute this guy started talking. We had the same taste in music, video games, liquor and basketball. You see that basketball one? That’s what sealed the deal. We gisted so much that evening, you’d have thought my ex was a third wheel and I was dating her brother. 

    When I broke up with her, I was worried about how he’d take it and if we’d still be friends, but it looks like being a Lebron fan is thicker than blood because we’re still cool. It took my ex a while to adjust, but now that she’s in a happy relationship, I can come to the house to hang with my guy. He’s the best thing my ex gave me. 

    “I’ve discovered friendship with my brother in my 30s.”

    — Ehis*, 37

    My younger brother and I were never close growing up; we were competitive. From school to sports, he always wanted to prove he was better than me because everyone around us kept comparing both of us. He was living under my shadow. The competition between us never allowed me to really know him as a person. 

    I only yearned for my brother when I started having my own kids. Watching my boys build such a close bond, looking out for each other, forced me to face the fact that my brother and I never had that bond. I started calling him more often, even if we didn’t have much to say, and now, we’ve both made it a rule to grab drinks or do some activity together once a week. I have other friends, but I realise my brother is also cool enough to be my friend. 

    ALSO READ: My Bro: We’ve Been Best Friends For Six Years But Only Met Last Year — Desmond and Collins

  • What if I said you could be in your 20s, but deep down, you’re a 40+ man? To allow this math to math properly in your brain, I’ve researched and come up with a list of activities that are synonymous with 40+ men. If you do at least three of these things, maybe it’s time to start being intentional about your pension. 

    Play tennis 

    If playing tennis on a Saturday morning is your idea of relaxing or getting a good workout, then I hate to break it to you, but you’re a 40+ man. Unless your name is Roger Federer, there’s no excuse for this grandpa behaviour. I bet you wear all white and scream, “Thank you, Lord”, after each serve. 

    Watch movie marathons on AfMag Yoruba, Igbo or Family 

    Please, don’t deny it; you live for those moments on Saturday when you can finally catch up on all your favourite Nollywood movies on Africa Magic. You open a bottle of beer, grab some chin-chin or fried fish and watch for the first 20 minutes before dozing off. If we do some extra digging, there’s a high chance you’re still following Tinsel. 

    Go to church committee meetings 

    Your youth evaporates from your body the moment you start willingly attending weekend meetings to plan bazaars, harvests and revivals. This is the first step in the religious 40+ ladder. Before you know it, you’re staying behind for small meetings after Sunday service, and the real youths are calling you Daddy Shola even though you have no offspring of your own. 

    Read the newspaper 

    You buy an actual newspaper made out of… paper? Wow. What happened to Google news updates or any form of online media? As if that’s not enough, you still spend hours solving the crossword puzzles in them. Don’t deny nature; you’re an older man on the inside. 

    Go to any place with “Country Club” in its name 

    You know you’re officially 40+ when you start swapping night clubs for daytime trips to country clubs to receive fresh air, eat suya and drink beer. Your bones can’t handle the gragra of partying all night, but you don’t want to leave the “club” scene, so you make a compromise. We see you, Daddy. 

    RECOMMENDED: How to Find a Sugar Mummy Before You’re Old Enough to Be a Sugar Daddy

    Brought to you by LOVE LIFE

    Update your Facebook photo albums 

    You’re still on Facebook? We don’t even have to get into this. You’re already old, Sir. Can I get you some Aboniki for your joints? 

    Fight with your carpenter, electrician or plumber

    Fighting with your mechanic or tailor is fine; we all do that. But the moment you graduate to the carpenter, electrician and plumber, then omo, you’re really invested in your surroundings. People say, “With age comes more responsibility”, and supervising Tiamiyu while he checks the pipe in the guest bathroom is the responsibility they’re referring to. 

    Compose WhatsApp BCs

    Sending out BCs and spreading misinformation are signs you’re crossing over into the 30+ lane. But trust me, the moment you start composing your own BCs days before you drop them like a surprise Beyoncé album, then my good sir, you’ve left 30+ behind and should be hanging out with RMD, Frank Edoho and Femi Otedola. 

    Watch the news

    It’s one thing to check the news online, but sitting in front of the TV all weekend to watch CNN and Al-Jazeera is a bit extra. Think about it, the only thing that differentiates you from your dad is that his own is NTA news with Eugenia Abu and Cyril Stober. 

    Rest 

    Rest? The young and agile don’t know that word. What we know is, “We go again”. Why are you resting on the weekend like you carried cement throughout the week? Like Saro in Anikulapo will say, “Gbera di de!” 

  • My Bro is a biweekly Zikoko series that interrogates and celebrates male friendships of different forms.

    Chide and Edem are best friends who started out as fuck buddies. In this episode of #ZikokoMyBro, they talk about why they decided to stop having sex, the time Edem rescued Chide out of a toxic relationship and why a relationship between both of them can never work.

    Let’s take a trip down memory lane 

    Chide: We met in 2020 when we tried to have sex but you couldn’t get it up. 

    Edem: God, abeg. Is that how you want to start? Now, everyone will think I have erectile dysfunction or something. Please, tell the whole story because I’m still on the streets, and I don’t need people thinking I can’t blow their backs out. 

    Chide: We met on a hookup app after they lifted the lockdown in 2020. I was bored with a sprinkle of horniness, so I started chatting with you, and luckily for both of us, you didn’t live far from me. 

    Edem: Imagine if you ended up being a catfish? I was ready to chase you with a cutlass. 

    Chide: When last did you see a cutlass in real life? 

    Edem: Fair enough. So we tried to have sex, but I was nervous AF. 

    Does FIFA work as viagra? 

    Chide: I really don’t get why you were nervous. It was frustrating and hilarious at the same time because you looked like you wanted to die. 

    Edem: I wanted to bury myself in the ground. But I also didn’t want to give up, so I asked you to play FIFA with me so we could get comfortable. It worked because we ended up smashing in between the game. Hallelujah. 

    Chide: So FIFA is your viagra? Interesting. 

    Transitioning from fuck buddies to regular buddies 

    Edem: We started hanging out regularly after that. We were hooking up, but we also started getting close. I’d just moved back to Nigeria and didn’t have a lot of gay friends, so our friends-with-benefits situation was heavy on the friendship part. You just got me. 

    Chide: My dear, I was giving you the Nigerian LGBTQ+ orientation. That one is more important than the NYSC camp you went to. We stopped hooking up around 2021, right? 

    Edem: Yeah, We became so comfortable with each other that the sex got weird. I remember the last time we tried. It was like the first time all over again, but worse. We were laughing like mumus, and no one could get anything done. 

    Chide: See, choosing not to have sex with you again wasn’t a hard decision, no offence. 

    Edem: Plenty of offences have been taken, Chide. You clearly don’t rate me, and now I know. 

    Chide: Guy, rest. LOL. I’d started talking to someone who wanted a relationship towards the end of 2021, so what was the point? 

    Edem: And where is that relationship today? That’s the same relationship that made me reassess our friendship. Your choice in men is the ghetto. 

    Chide: Like you weren’t one of those men. 

    Trouble in paradise? 

    Edem: Please, explain why you kept avoiding me and hiding me from your boyfriend? The whole thing really pissed me off. I didn’t want to say anything at first so no one would call me a bad belle, but even when I did, you didn’t take me seriously.

    Chide: I didn’t tell him about you because I wasn’t sure what we were. We were friends who’d hooked up, and I knew he wouldn’t like it. 

    Edem: That should’ve been your first red flag, but your shades were too thick. He didn’t need to like our friendship. The worst part is you started acting differently. You used to be “in your face”, which helped me accept myself as a gay man too. But you went into a shell with him and started moving like a boring straight man.  

    It felt like a betrayal because you helped me come out, only for you to now go back into the closet. We were still friends but only saw each other at general hangouts. We didn’t get to hang out on our own until I convinced our other friends to stage an intervention. 

    Staging an intervention and getting through heartbreak

    Chide: I remember the intervention lunch at your place. It looked like you guys watched the video for Girl by Destiny’s Child and decided to recreate it. I hadn’t heard from you in a while, so I didn’t know what to expect when you invited me over. I saw you and our other friends and knew shit was real. 

    LOL. It’s all jokes now, but omo, I needed to be saved. 

    It’s easy to say, “It can never happen to me”, until you find yourself cutting off your friends and dressing a certain way just to make some guy comfortable. 

    Edem: People stage interventions for drug addicts, but your own had to be different. We had to call a meeting on top of your matter because of man. Chai. Are you proud of yourself? 

    Chide: I left that relationship a mess. I don’t think I would’ve left or survived without you reminding me daily that I was loved. We were friends already, but that’s when I realised you’d become my personal person. 

    Edem: Look at me getting my flowers. I showed up at your house with either shawarma, pizza or ice cream (sometimes, all three) every other day after work, so I definitely deserve “friend of the year”. 

    We can never have a sexual relationship again

    Chide: If I’m being honest, just for a brief moment, I did reconsider you and me again after that breakup. You were there for me, and we got each other, so I thought, “Why the fuck not?” 

    Edem: You did? I don’t think it would’ve worked out, but I’m curious to know why you didn’t say anything. 

    Chide: I knew it would end in tears. LOL. I love you as a friend, but I genuinely don’t think I’m attracted to you romantically or sexually (at least, not anymore). I only considered it because I was lonely and you were there, but I’m comfortable with what we have. As a matter of fact, I love it. If we do anything else, we’ll be fucking up a good thing. 

    I didn’t leave a toxic relationship to end up with a guy who snores. Did they swear for me? 

    Edem: You won’t see the pearly gates of heaven for this thing you just said. But I agree. I can take a bullet, like a small skin-wound-only bullet, for you because I love you as a friend. I doubt I’d do that if we were dating. You and I would fight all the time and start resenting each other. 

    If I could change something about you 

    Chide: We’d always fight each other because you don’t know how to talk.

    Edem: Why am I catching strays? I know where this is going. 

    Chide: I know it’s from a place of love, but guy, sometimes, you’re too blunt. There’s a way you can tell someone the truth without them feeling like they’re being dragged. I’m used to it, sha. 

    Edem: I was raised in a family where my parents said it as it was and rubbed off on me. But I’m trying to be better now. These days, I do a lot of mental gymnastics before I say shit. I also apologise when I feel like you’re offended. You know I love you, right? 

    Chide: No, I don’t. Do I even know you? LOL. 

    I want you to know 

    Edem: As annoying as you are, I can’t imagine my life without you. We met when I was really hiding from the world because I was scared for my life as a gay man in Nigeria. Knowing you has helped me understand that shit is dangerous here, but it doesn’t mean I should cower in fear. You’ve helped me become comfortable in my queerness, and I love you for it. 

    Chide: Alexa, play Lady Gaga’s Born This Way. 

    Edem: Why are you like this? 

    Chide: I love you too, Edem. You can be a lot sometimes, but I’d rather have a lot of you than none of you. 

    Edem: Bars! Nicki Minaj and Jay Z are in the mud. 

    Chide: Who would I share this many pop culture references with if I didn’t have you around? You’re the real love of my life. At least, until I meet another hot guy and make you number two again. Love you for life, babes. 

    Do you have an interesting bro story you’d like to share? Fill this form and we’ll get back to you.

    Brought to you by LOVE LIFE

  • My Bro is a weekly Zikoko series that interrogates and celebrates male friendships of different forms.

    Jacob and Seun met in their first year of university, when they were just 18 years old. 30 years later, on #ZikokoMyBro, the two talk about transitioning from roommates who hated each other to best friends, going their separate ways in their 20s and reconnecting in their late 30s. 

    Let’s take a trip down memory lane 

    Jacob: My first memory of you was in our first year at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, back in 1992. I got in on the second list, so when I resumed, most of our coursemates already knew themselves. You were the crowned prince of parties, and I came to school all focused. Looking at you, I kept reminding myself, “This is the kind of guy I don’t want to be.” 

    Seun: I was the social prefect in secondary school, so I’ve always been popular. LOL. We didn’t talk throughout our first year because I never noticed you. It was when we became roommates that I actually got to know you. And we started fighting from the moment we started living together. 

    World War 1993

    Jacob: You were the worst roommate ever. I was constantly cleaning up after you, and you never even acknowledged all I was doing. Because I was brought up to be overly polite, I didn’t know how to tell you how frustrated I was, so I was always passive-aggressive. 

    Seun: That was the problem. There were weeks when you didn’t say a word to me, and I thought you were a snobbish ajebutter. It’s true sha. I’m not easy to live with. But we never had a real fight. We just hated each other in silence. 

    Getting drunk and becoming friends 

    Seun: The first time I ever felt close to you beyond our cold “heys” and “hellos” was that night in our second semester when I came back to the room drunk and sick after a party. 

    Jacob: How could I ever forget that night? You usually came back drunk on weekends, but this time was different. You kept throwing up, and I thought you would vomit your intestine. I didn’t like you, but I wasn’t going to let you choke on your own vomit, so I got a bucket, sat beside you, rubbed your back and prayed you wouldn’t die right before exams started. 

    Seun: Jacob, you were thinking about exams? I was really sick that night, and you stayed up with me until I got it all out of my system and slept. I woke up the next day and just knew, this guy has seen me at my lowest, I have to get to know him. 

    Jacob: You’ve gotten lower than that, Seun. 

    I was taken aback by how nice you became after that night. I still didn’t like you, but you were persistent, always trying to start a conversation with me, so I started warming up to you too. You’re not that bad when you’re not causing wahala up and down. 

    We ended up getting a place together after our second  year. You still didn’t clean well, but I agreed it was a cross I’d bear for our friendship. 

    Seun: At least you managed me until we graduated. 

    Parties, late nights and life after university

    Jacob: Life after we finished university was wild. I was jealous of all the fun you and your other friends had when we were in school. You guys went to parties while I was spending my nights trying to maintain my first class. The pressure was a lot, so after university, I decided to do all the things I missed out on. 

    Seun: Those were the good times. We would close from work on Fridays, go dancing and only sleep on Sunday nights. We did that until you got tired of it. 

    Jacob: It wasn’t for me, but I was glad I got it out of my system. 

    Three years after university, I knew I wanted to settle down. I’d been dating my girlfriend back in university on and off, but we reconnected again, and I asked her to marry me when I was just 25. 

    Seun: I never felt like a third wheel when both of you were dating in university, but the moment you got married, I started noticing you becoming distant until I felt like a stranger. 

    Taking a break from our friendship

    Jacob: I don’t think I changed when I got married. I just rearranged my priorities. I’d done the partying thing with you and realised it wasn’t what I was into. The problem is, you were still really, and I mean, really into going to parties. You wanted to go out, and I wanted to stay at home all the time. We wanted different things. 

    Seun: But just like in university, you could have communicated this better. You never returned my calls, and I started seeing less of you. It was like I did something wrong but didn’t know what it was. 

    Jacob: I started feeling guilty for always postponing our outings, so I decided to avoid the conversation altogether. 

    Seun: Smart move. I asked you several times what was going on. 

    Jacob: I know now that it was wrong. I should’ve just spoken to you about it. Then the kids came, and life just revolved around them. That’s when the gap widened between us. 

    Seun: I felt unwanted, so I kept to myself too. It broke my heart because you’d been like my brother for so long. But it was clear you needed space, so I gave you space. Your move to the UK in 2003 didn’t make it easier — NITEL calls weren’t cheap. 

    Jacob: Sho get? Those bills used to be crazy. The break wasn’t expected, but it was necessary at the time. We were on different paths. 

    Reconnecting and rebuilding life together after a separation 

    Seun: I made new friends, but you were still my best friend, even if we didn’t talk. While you were away in the UK, I still found ways to find out how you were doing. Your wife and I share mutual friends; unlike you, she communicated with them.  

    I was shocked when I ran into you at a wedding in 2010. I didn’t know what to say. 

    Jacob: I was shocked too. I’d just separated from my wife in 2009, so I came back to Lagos to pull myself together. I remember I broke down that night when I was talking to you. So much time had passed. It was the first and only time you’ve seen me cry. 

    Seun: That’s why I didn’t know what to say. I’d heard about the separation but seeing how hard it hit you put things in perspective for me. You’ve always been a family guy, so having that part of your life end must’ve been really hard. I knew I couldn’t be angry anymore. I had to be there for you. 

    Jacob: You were my unofficial therapist back then. We talked and talked, and I was surprised by how you’d changed. You still liked parties, but you switched nightclubs for owambes. LOL. Just having someone to talk to helped me during that period. 

    40+, single and thriving together

    Seun: Crazy how we’re almost 50, and we’re still single men.

    Jacob: We’re not the same. I’ve been married, so my case is different. I never saw myself being single in my 50s, but it looks like that’s how it’ll be, and I’m getting comfortable with it. We’re the weird single uncles at weddings now. It would’ve been much more challenging if I didn’t have you to plan activities with. 

    Seun: I knew I wouldn’t ever get married, so I’ve mentally prepared for this phase of my life. But you’ll still meet someone soon, Mr Romantic. Hopefully, I’ll still be in your life if that happens again. 

    Jacob: You can count on it. 

    I want you to know

    Seun: Even though our friendship hasn’t been perfect, I want you to know I’ll always have your back. I shouldn’t have stepped back when I noticed you were pulling away. I feel sad about the time we lost, but I know we have the rest of our lives to make up for it. 

    Jacob: Do we have that much time? Remember we’re almost 50 o. 

    Seun: Thank you so much for holding my hand through one of the darkest periods of my life. Looking at our friendship, I realise many things can come and go, but real friendships hold you through everything. I appreciate you for doing just that. Here’s to 50 more years. 


    Seun: You and who? I plan on clocking out at 80 tops. LOL.

    Do you have an interesting bro story you’d like to share? Fill this form and we’ll get back to you.

  • Life is hard, but life in Nigeria is harder. When we’re not out here fighting for our lives in the name of finding work-life balance, we’re dealing with prices that rise like garri while our salaries continue to unlook. So how does a Nigerian man make it in these streets? It’s time to start spending someone else’s money; it’s time to find a sugar mummy. 

    If you’re serious about joining me on this mission, these are some tried and trusted ways to find your true motherly queen before you’re too old to be a sugar baby. 

    Make sure you’re good in bed 

    If you’re still grunting after ten decent thrusts, this career may not be for you. Read this article on how to make a Nigerian girl fall in love with you instead because only women in love can tolerate one-round men. 

    Sugar mummies are paying you to lay pipe, so you better be the best goddamn pipe layer in your local government area. They’re not like sugar daddies that you’ll rub their head small, and they’ll lose guard.

    Find rich friends

    You see that guy in the club that does dorime with Azul every Friday? Yes, the one from a wealthy family. It’s time to kiss his bum bum with vim until he becomes your friend. Convince him to invite you into his home, and when no one notices, cut eye for his mother. Sugar mummy secured. 

    Start hunting on Facebook 

    Are you still looking for a sugar mummy on Twitter and Instagram? You’re clearly not a serious fellow. Facebook is where the real money is. Transfer all your thirst traps and gym pictures to Facebook and allow Mark Zuckerberg to handle the rest. You’ll be swimming in sugar mummy requests before you know it. 

    Pray about it 

    What God cannot do does not exist, and that’s on period. If you’re serious about landing a sugar mummy, you’d get on your knees right now and lift your eyes to the hills because prayer is the master key. Also, try to be active in church because that’s the only place you can find a God-fearing sugar mummy who won’t use you for rituals. 

    Use juju as backup

    Are you using Glo or Etisalat and struggling to send a message to heaven? Don’t worry. Investing in a local babalawo as a backup plan is the way to go. Tie your red wrapper, drop that boiled yam and palm oil at the T-junction, collect your love potion and trap the sugar mummy of your choice in a groundnut bottle. Easy as ABC if you ask me. 

    Invest in trad and deadly ouds

    You can’t keep dressing like an alté rapper with baggy trousers and think you’ll land a premium sugar mummy. These days, they want to be seen with men they can introduce as their assistants or business partners, so do the right thing and invest in trad. Package yourself. Also, cover yourself in the most masculine oud you can find, so your sugar mummy can smell you from a mile away.

    RECOMMENDED: 6 Jobs Abuja Men Do On The Side While Squatting With Their Babes

    Moonlight as a personal trainer or massage therapist

    I don’t even have to say much about this one. The more packs you have, the more your chances of being sold on sugar mummy AliExpress. 

    Stop chasing small girls 

    You can’t be out here looking for a sugar mummy and chasing that hot babe from Instagram at the same time. My man, whoever said you could have it all clearly lied to you. Please, put all your eggs in the sugar mummy basket and focus. 

    Attend more funerals and weddings 

    You won’t find a sugar mummy in the club or South Socials, but best believe you’ll see them at weddings and burials. Anywhere you see two or more canopies, know there’s a high chance you’ll find a sugar mummy there. But make sure you go to events thrown by rich people, so you don’t end up with a sugar mummy who wants to soak garri with you. 

    Know one or two things about technology 

    Who’s going to help your sugar mummy update her WhatsApp? These are the important issues. Once you show one or two “mummies” that you know how to upgrade their iPhone ioS, it’ll be hard for them not to welcome you with open arms. 

    Start a business

    Sugar mummy or not, women like men who are passionate about something, or at least pretend to be. Start a barbing salon or start selling bespoke trad, just make sure you have a business registered under your name, so you can look serious. How can your sugar mummy “support your business” if there’s no business in the first place? 

    ALSO READ: 6 Signs That Show You’re Going To Become A Sugar Daddy

  • My Bro is a biweekly Zikoko series that interrogates and celebrates male friendships of different forms.

    Osagie and Raymond have been friends since they fought and got beat up by a bully when they were eight years old. In this episode of My Bro, they talk about bonding as children and why Raymond’s parents are no longer in support of their friendship. 

    Our origin story

    Osagie: My first recollection of you was in 2009 when your family moved into our neighbourhood in Port Harcourt. I remember being eight years old and wondering how rich your family was to have not one but three gigantic “jeeps”. I saw you once or twice, walking with your maid, and I knew you were an ajebo to the core. 

    Raymond: Why would you start this thing by telling everyone I’m an ajebo? My reputation is on the line here, my guy. 

    My family used to move a lot because my dad was a professor, so it was mostly me and whichever maid we had. I was an only child, and they were my only friends. 

    I saw you too because we lived opposite each other, but I was very shy to talk to you. LOL. It wasn’t until school started that we finally started talking. 

    When we became friends 

    Raymond: Apparently, our parents gisted one time, and it had come up that you and I would be in the same school and class that year, so they agreed that our driver would pick you up every morning, and we’d go together. We did that shit for almost two weeks before we even started talking. 

    Osagie: What did you expect? I was mad intimidated at the time. New kid with fancy everything? I didn’t want to overdo it. I remember it was when we both had to fight this guy two classes above us that we finally cracked the wall. I couldn’t allow some bully to beat my carpool partner, so I stepped in, and we both received the beating of our lives. 

    Raymond: LOL. Plus, another round at home. 

    It was a long time ago, but I remember feeling a certain way that you were willing to stand with me to fight a bully, knowing fully well we’d get our ass beat. I think this was when everything changed, and we became guys. The car rides stopped being silent from then on.

    Osagie: We became inseparable after that one fight. We ended up going to the same secondary school, and we couldn’t spend 24 hours away from each other. It was insane. Fun fact: I saw the guy we fought recently, and he’s married. 

    Getting separated by life 

    Raymond: Omo, our life was good until my parents had to move again in 2014, when we were in JSS 3. 

    Osagie: Dark times, my brother. 

    Raymond: I thought Port Harcourt was it, but that year, they just broke the news that we had to pack our lives and move again. I was so fucking devastated. I’d built a life there with you and our other friends. The thought of starting all over again just made me depressed. 

    Osagie: I don’t know which broke me the most, losing you or my free ride to school. 

    Raymond: Wow! Men are truly scum. 

    Osagie: Okay, seriously, it was hard for me too. We had other friends, but it was always you and me. We’d been together since I was eight. I wasn’t sure I knew who I was without you. 

    Raymond: Stop using these dead lines you use on your babes, abeg. 

    Moving to Kaduna was tough. I was angry all the time, and frustrated. It didn’t help that my parents were distant as usual. For them, it’s all about work and Jesus; everything else is by the way. Talking to you constantly got me through most of it. 

    Osagie: Shebi their love for Jesus is why they banned you from interacting with me. 

    Raymond: Ewo. You’ve chosen violence. 

    Moving back to Port Harcourt and falling out with Raymond’s parents

    Osagie: In 2016, while you were away in Kaduna, I lost my dad, and my life changed. I was very close to him; his death made me question a lot about life, one of those things being religion. My dad was the most devout Christian I knew, and for the longest time, he kept asking God for healing while he battled cancer. But nothing happened. 

    I wasn’t really into religion, but my dad’s death had me considering whether or not I still believed in God. By the time I got into university, I knew I’d become an atheist. Your parents weren’t exactly thrilled to hear that about their son’s best friend. 

    Raymond: A whole deacon and deaconess? Guy, let’s be serious here. 

    I hated that I couldn’t be there for you in person when your dad died. But I was excited when my dad retired and decided it was time to move back to Port Harcourt. Moving back meant I had my manchi back, but then the whole atheist thing got to my parents, and shit hit the fan for real. 

    Osagie: I don’t precisely recall what led to what, but I know I said something about being an atheist, and your dad was there. His face changed immediately, and I knew he didn’t like it. I had the chance to backtrack when he and your mum spoke to me about a week later, but I maintained that I was an atheist, and they asked me to never come to the house or talk to you again. 

    It’s crazy how people I’d known since I was eight were so quick to shut me out because I didn’t share their beliefs. They’ve known me all my life. 

    Raymond: I was shocked when they told me. I knew they’d freak out, but I didn’t think they’d ban us from hanging out. I talked to them, and it was the first time I had a big fight with my parents.

    Osagie: That’s not what I wanted. 

    Raymond: But it was necessary. I told them that banning you from the house was fine since it’s their house, but asking us not to be friends was impossible. They went on and on, but I’d made up my mind. I hate to admit it, but I’m still disappointed in them. 

    Osagie: They don’t want me to spoil you. LOL. 

    Raymond: If only they knew I’m the spoilt one in this friendship. Thank God, we’ll soon finish university and get our own place. All this wahala will end. 

    Why this friendship is important regardless of religion

    Raymond: You’re the first friend I ever had. I was lonely for a long time as an only child, but then we moved, and I met you. We’re more than friends at this point. We’re like twins. There’s no way I’d let all that history go because of what my parents wanted. 

    Osagie: I feel the exact way. I had siblings (before they drag me on socials), but I didn’t have actual friends. You changed that, Raymond. You’ve stuck by me from primary school fights to adulting stress. 

    Raymond: Ride or die for life. 

    Osagie: Please, who is dying with you? Not me. 

    If I could change something about you

    Raymond: Please, open up more, my guy. I always have to force you to tell me what’s going on, like when your dad died, and you were struggling. It’s okay to not say, “Fine” when I ask how you’re doing. 

    Osagie: But you know I’m trying. 

    Me, I need you not to take life so seriously. You’re cracking jokes now, but you’re always carrying face and forming deep on a normal day. Fix that, bro. 

    Raymond: Have you met my parents? Chilling is not in my blood, abeg. 

    I want you to know 

    Osagie: No long talk, guy; you know I love you, right? 

    Raymond: I do. 

    Osagie: That’s all I want to say. Full stop. 

    Raymond: Actually, me too. I love you, and I’m sure you know it, so full stop. 

  • My Bro is a biweekly Zikoko series that interrogates and celebrates male friendships of different forms.

    There’s nothing surprising about two lawyers being friends, but a married guy and a single guy? Now that’s an interesting dynamic. 

    In this episode of My Bro, Chuma and Soma, two men who have been friends for over 10 years, talk about navigating a friendship where one of them is married and the other is not, understanding each other during major arguments and why their relationship is nothing without their shared faith. 

    Where we began

    Chuma: The first time I noticed you was in church, right about when I’d just moved to Abuja in 2011. 

    This guy drove a big car, so he was very noticeable. Our paths didn’t really cross until a mutual friend mentioned you in relation to something I wanted to do at work. I remember you drove to my office, and that was the first time we spoke to each other. 

    Soma: It wasn’t the first time we spoke. LOL. You’ve forgotten the meeting we had at that restaurant where we ended up talking about work, church and life? I think that’s when we actually got to know each other. 

    Chuma: Yes! We even found out we lived close to each other and you invited me to your house, but I kept dodging you. LOL.

    First Impressions 

    Soma: Mr likeable! I used to hear about you from our mutual friends, and it was like you were everybody’s chum-chum friend. You were always so put together, and then when we actually had that restaurant meeting, I realised you were also grounded and had strong convictions. 

    It’s hard to hang out with you and not take something tangible home. 

    Chuma: Soma, don’t lie. You’ve never told me this thing before. 

    Soma: It’s true. There are people you’ll meet and everything goes. But I noticed you were quick to share your likes and dislikes. For example, you’re always prompt. If you say you’re going to be somewhere at a certain time, you go out of your way to make it happen. And that’s the same level of dedication you put into anything you say. 

    Chuma: Like I was on time today and you weren’t? These are the problems in our friendship. 

    Soma: LOL. But I really liked that you were someone who kept to his words. And let’s not forget the gist. You’re my E News. 

    Chuma: The first thing I noticed about you when we started talking was how calm you were. You also dress well, which is important for someone like me who also knows how to dress. People may say these things are superficial, but they’re the qualities I’d notice meeting someone for the first time. 

    Getting to know you, I realised that you’re really intelligent and not just book smart. Even though we don’t always agree on things, your arguments always have some thought-out truth. And finally, just like me, you understand the value of family and friendship.  

    Navigating life with my married friend 

    Chuma: Let me start by saying I don’t like saying I’m single; I prefer to use unmarried. People are always dragging that word “single” like it’s a bad thing, which makes me cringe. 

    Soma: Haba.

    Chuma: I’m not lying. Anyway, back to our friendship. You came to my house first, and I avoided coming to see you every time you invited me over. I did all of that because, mehn, you’re married with kids, and I didn’t know the dynamic in your house. You know how it is when single guys are friends with married men. I didn’t want a situation where if you did anything wrong, your wife would be like, “Is it from that your Chukwuma friend you’re learning this thing?” I wanted to stay in my lane. 

    Over time, I realised you were persistent about this visit, and I remember you mentioning that your wife wanted to meet me. I found that interesting. This meant that beyond our interactions, you cared about our friendship enough to talk to your wife about it, and in turn, she was nice enough to invite me over. 

    Maybe it’s how I view family, but it’d take a lot for me to let someone into my house because it’s my personal space. We’d only known each other for a year, but you invited me to meet your wife and hang out with your children. Now I have a permanent seat at your dining table. LOL. 

    Soma: Hope you know meeting my wife was the final test? 

    Chuma: Test again? 

    Soma: Women can easily make an accurate judgement of someone’s character, so meeting my wife was a test you had to pass. I feel women are the ones who complain most times when friendships like ours happen, so it was important that both of you clicked. She could see that you were a sincere friend, so it wasn’t a problem for her. 

    I know wisdom is not a conventional word, but I use it for you a lot. You know how to act around the guys when we’re out having a good time, and with the family, you’re always playing with my kids and gisting with y wife. These days, both of you even make plans and I don’t find out about it until later. You guys are buddies. And now my kids are always asking of Uncle Chuma. 

    Chuma: Of course.

    Soma: I also feel like society places these structures where nothing gets to flow freely. How can you say that I shouldn’t be friends with a single guy because I’m married? It doesn’t make sense to me, and I don’t like giving in to societal pressures. 

    Chuma: I’ve had friends who got married and we stopped hanging out like before. It doesn’t mean they’re not my friends, but that’s because their marriage changed our friendship dynamic. 

    I’m cautious about married people because there’s this famous saying, “You’re probably gist in all your married friends’ lives.” I didn’t want that. But the more I got to know you, the more we formed this mutual respect where I could trust you to take things concerning me seriously. And that’s how I opened up to this friendship. 

    Plus, your wife and your kids give me a perfect picture of what a family can look like. It doesn’t mean that I’m under pressure to get married o. LOL. 

    No matter how hard we argue, we must talk the next day

    Chuma: We’re both lawyers, so it’s not hard to imagine how chaotic our arguments are because we both speak with a level of certainty. One thing I like to say is: “Perpetual peace is bad.” You have to rock your relationship once in a while to strengthen it. As long as no one is disrespecting the other person sha. 

    There are times when both of us have argued to the point that your wife walked out so we could fully get into our thing. I remember how we argued a lot leading to the 2019 elections because we supported different candidates. I didn’t understand it at all. It’s like the way I like Asake. I expect my friends to also like him, so when a friend doesn’t, it’s confusing for me. LOL. 

    Soma: I remember it used to get so heated during that period. I think it’s because we’re from different generations thats why your stand tends to differ from mine, even though I’m not that older than you. LOL. Even when we’re on different sides, we try to see from each other’s perspectives. I’m always quick to say you’re right when it turns out that way. 

    Chuma: And I was right during the elections. LOL.

    I like that we can always resolve our differences. There’s no day we’ve had an argument, no matter how heated, that we didn’t talk the next day. The core of our friendship is not threatened by our conflict. If it’s awful, I’ll share how I feel, and you do the same. We apologise when we need to. 

    We’re never getting to a point where we’ll let everything go because of a disagreement. Too many people are invested in our relationship at this stage, from my mother to your wife. It has extended beyond both of us, and there’s too much at stake. 

    He came through for me

    Chuma: There’s a reason I call you my come-through commissioner. A recent event that comes to mind was when I lost a close family member early this year [2022], and you followed me all the way to my village. 

    My family was shocked when I told them you were coming because my village is in a distant place in the east. It wasn’t the most comfortable situation or place, but you managed and didn’t put me under pressure to take care of you while I was mourning. Showing up like that meant a lot to me. 

    Soma: It wasn’t anything for me. I see you as my family, so coming with you for the funeral was the least I could do. You’re always there for me too. I love how thoughtful and deliberate you are with your friends. Your concern for me extends to my family because I remember when a family member was ill, and you regularly called to check up on them. 

    Not every friend shares the love and respect they show you with your family members. 

    What holds our friendship together 

    Soma: I believe God created friendship so we could have certain people that play important roles in our lives. With you, I have someone who prays with me and for me, someone I can talk to and someone I can share ideas with. It’s important to me that we share the same faith and belief. You also always have the right words to inspire me. 

    Chuma: People in my office know the workaholic side of me and people on social media see a side of me that’s laid back but still serious. With you, I have that friend I can be my real self around — all the different parts of me. I can also talk to you about anything without feeling uncomfortable. 

    I also feel our shared values and faith play an important role in our friendship. I don’t think we would have a non-transactional relationship without God. He teaches us how to love, how to be giving and how to be kind. These are the core pillars of a solid friendship. We’ve grown in faith individually, influencing how we treat each other with mutual respect. 

    I want you to know

    Soma: I love that you always tell me the truth. You don’t try to sugarcoat things or twist the situation to make me feel good; you just say something like it is, and I appreciate it. Outside of my wife, I don’t think anyone else is this honest and sincere with me. 

    Secondly, I’m grateful you’ve taught me how to face conflicts head-on because my reflex move was always to avoid confrontation. LOL. Now it’s easier to be open when I feel offended. 

    You’ve also taught me how to be intentional when it comes to my friendships. What do they like? How do they want to be treated? And things like that. I appreciate this too.

    Chuma: Ah! I just learnt a couple of weeks ago that being brutally honest in friendships is not the best idea, so I’m trying to cut back on that. I’m always going to be honest, but the brutal part is going away. LOL. 

    I want you to know you’re special to me, and I’m thankful you can accommodate my different sides. You understand me on the days when I’m overly boisterous and on the when I just avoid everyone. 

    I also love how you always present my best version to the world. I never doubt you have my back, which means a lot to me. Thank you so much, Soma. 

    Do you have an interesting bro story you’d like to share? Fill this form and we’ll get back to you.

  • My Bro is a weekly Zikoko series that interrogates and celebrates male friendships of different forms.

    Nnamdi and Yela both understand what position they hold in their friendship — one is dominant and outspoken, the other is a supporting character who chooses violence once in a while. This dynamic might prove difficult for some friends, but these two have figured out a way to complement each other and make it work. 

    In this episode of My Bro, they talk about surviving loss together, feeling guilty when one friend gets left behind and why they’re perfect for each other. 

    Let’s take a trip down memory lane 

    Nnamdi: My first recollection of you was around campus when we were in university. You used to sing at every opportunity, and it irritated me because you thought you were Bowen University’s version of Luther Vandross. 

    The first time we had a conversation was about 15 years ago at a cyber café in school. My phone rang, and you walked up to ask if you could get the ringtone. Again, I was irritated because I hate chit chatting with strangers. 

    Yela: I think your ringtone was John Legend’s Green Light. LOL. I love music, and most of the people in that school were sonically underdeveloped, so I gravitated toward many who shared the same musical taste. 

    I’d also seen you around school, always frowning in your black jalabiya. You had this presence that made you stand out every time you stepped into a room. It was intimidating. But I’m beginning to realise I’m attracted to dominant energy even in my platonic relationships because it allows me to take the backseat and fade into the background. That’s one of the reasons we work well as friends — you get the attention, and I can chill in a corner. Ying-yang. 

    Nnamdi: That’s why even though I was rude to you when you asked for the song, you just stood there shining your teeth. 

    We became friends when

    Yela: I had a couple of friends in school before I met you. We hung out together, but none of them got my sense of humour. With you, I finally met someone who got my pop culture references and listened to the type of music I liked. We also joined a fashion organisation that put us in each other’s space all the time, so I got to know you more. 

    Finding out you lived in Abuja, just like me, also helped. You graduated and moved back before me, so when I returned to Abuja, you were the only person I knew from school. We hung out some more, and that’s when our friendship really started to grow. 

    Nnamdi: Yes! We were friends in school, but graduating, moving back to Abuja and living in the same city brought us closer. Our mums even got to know each other, and your mum, who doesn’t trust anyone around you, started to rate me because she knew I was raised by a church woman. If only she knew I was an insane person. LOL. 

    But If I have to pinpoint the moment I knew our friendship was the real deal, it’ll be when my mum had cancer. 

    He came through for me 

    Nnamdi: When my mum fell ill in 2011, I had to take up the responsibility of running her business. I didn’t know how to communicate my feelings, but you were there through all of it. You’d call me every day, ask if I was going to her office and follow me there.

    We didn’t have to talk. You just kept me company at my mum’s office, assisted me with errands and things like that. It was the reassurance of knowing if I ever needed to break down or talk about my feelings, you were literally nearby. This is how our friendship has moved since then. We don’t have to talk about everything, but we know the other person is around. 

    Yela: I figured you needed someone, but not someone who’d be all up in your face forcing you to deal with feelings you weren’t ready to confront.

    Nnamdi: In 2019, when my mum died, you were the first person I called. Even though it was my biggest fear come to life, I didn’t grieve like people expected me to. I think you cried more than me. Because of how calm I sounded when I broke the news to you, you called our mutual friends to come and check on me as I was in Lagos at the time. 

    From what I remember about the burial and the days leading up to it, you were at my house every morning at 7 a.m. You accompanied me to get a casket, and other things I never saw myself doing. It was a lot. 

    Yela: I thought you were going to hurt yourself because I knew how close you were to your mum. It was also triggering for me because I’d experienced losing my dad. I wanted to be like a cushion for you amid the chaos. It was a no-brainer for me. All I did was show up. 

    Nnamdi: And it worked because you gave me space when I needed it. Random, but another significant moment in our friendship has to be when we both tried to go abroad for our master’s. I got in, but you had to stay back in Nigeria. 

    Working out our friendship when plans fail 

    Yela: I remember we started the whole master’s journey together after school. We’d become tight then, so we planned how we’d live life when we moved to the UK. You got in, but unfortunately for me, I didn’t. 

    Nnamdi: I could tell it affected you, but you were trying to be positive so that I wouldn’t feel bad about it. Your mum called me while I was in the UK and told me, “You and Yela are more than friends. He’s your brother. No matter what happens, you have to carry your brother along.” She said this because you were apparently in a mood, and it has sort of guided the way I approach our friendship. 

    Yela: I was in a mood because right from the time we started, I could see you making strides, but nothing was happening for me. It wasn’t jealousy; I was sad because I wouldn’t be part of this grand plan we’d made. 

    Secondly, I didn’t have a job, so my life for about two years after university revolved around us hanging out. I became depressed at the thought of losing that for a while. I also felt this pressure not to make you feel guilty, so I tried to act like everything was fine. 

    Nnamdi: I felt guilty. I tend to feel that way when I have access to something, but I can’t share that access with you. This guilt made me overcompensate because I’d call you more than usual, so it wouldn’t look like I was having fun without you. 

    Even when I moved back after my master’s, I made sure I introduced you to all my friends so you wouldn’t feel left out. I did the most sha. 

    Yela: But, look, it all worked out. We’re here. 

    Understanding our friendship dynamic

    Yela: Like I said, I feel like we work because my emotional frequency is the right fit for yours and vice versa. I understand when you want to shut off completely. I just show you that I’m here, and that’s enough. 

    While we’ve spoken about times when you bottled big emotions up, generally, you’re more outspoken than me. I hate confrontation. I used to be very passive-aggressive in our friendship, but you always want to address every issue so we can move on from it.  

    Your approach balances things out, but I’ve realised it’s unfair to burden you with trying to solve our issues. This also goes back to me preferring a relationship where I’m laid back. I’m working on ways to speak up when I feel upset or uncomfortable. 

    Nnamdi: I agree you don’t talk much when the issue involves us, and I tend to lead those conversations. But, omo, when it comes to defending me, you come through big time. As a big guy, people try to come for my weight—

    Yela: And I fuck them up!

    Nnamdi: Yes. And I do the same thing when people come for your music. Funny how I used to hate seeing you sing all the time in school. LOL. 

    Yela: The truth is, I don’t mind being a supporting character in this friendship. I mean, supporting characters still win Oscars and shit. The way I view it, we both don’t have to be at 100%. We don’t have to compete for air because we both know our strong points as individuals. Imagine if we had the same energy? It’d either be too dull (with my energy) or too chaotic (with yours). 

    What makes this friendship special? 

    Yela: I don’t know how to explain it, but our connection is different because I can tell you anything — even if you judge me. My life is better because you’re in it. 

    Nnamdi: I always say if I wouldn’t do something for you, there’s a high chance I wouldn’t do it for anyone else. I can talk to 100 people about a situation, but your opinion is what matters to me. You’re my voice of reason. 

    I recently saw a video about groups having reasonable and stable friends. I’m the problematic one who’s stubborn, and you’re the stable person who says, “Is this a good idea?” 

    The only time you’re problematic is when you’re in a relationship. 

    Yela: Wow. Nnamdi!

    Holding each other accountable 

    Nnamdi: People don’t always know it, but you have a very hot temper, and your first reaction is usually to fight physically. 

    Yela: Exactly. 

    Nnamdi: I’ve noticed you come to report yourself to me before I find out you’ve fought outside. Like when you fought a soldier and called me from the cab. LOL. 

    I’m very honest with you when I think you’re wrong. My delivery could be better, but you know I don’t mean any harm. I’m just looking out for you.

    Yela: You tell me I’m in the wrong all the time. I used to argue with you before, but I’ve realised you’re almost always right. I do the same too. When you have issues with someone, I show you where you fucked up. But the rule is we can criticise each other at home, but we must have a united front outside. To the death!

    What holds this friendship together

    Nnamdi: Our determination to enjoy life keeps us together. We want to eat at nice restaurants, travel, enjoy life, make money and be premium. We’re not where we want to be yet, but we’re on the way to that life. 

    Yela: We’ve seen each other at our worst, so now, we’re trying to live our best lives together. You’re the closest to what I’ll describe as my soulmate. 

    Nnamdi: Don’t forget we work with a “we” dream, not a “you” dream. Anything you want to accomplish gets added to my list and vice versa. We move together. 

    What would we change about our friendship? 

    Yela: Communication. I’m still working on being direct when I’m upset about something as opposed to being passive-aggressive or deep in my head. 

    Nnamdi: Communication for me too, but in a different way. I tend to be too direct. My tone might be a little aggressive when I’m pointing out something, but most times, it’s from a place of love. 

    Yela: Most times? 

    Nnamdi: LOL. Stop it. 

    I want you to know

    Yela: Before I met you, I never had a dominant male figure in my life because I grew up with my mum. My friendship with you feels like a brotherhood, and sometimes, you’re like a dad figure to me. You’ve nurtured, protected and taken care of me. These attributes come with being someone’s family, and that’s what you’re to me. 

    Know that I don’t take you or our friendship for granted. 

    Nnamdi: I’m incredibly proud of your journey. It’s been a hard adult life. LOL. And I’m grateful most of my adult journey has been with you by my side through tragedy and successes. It’s been a blast! And it’s only going to get better. 

    Do you have an interesting bro story you’d like to share? Fill this form and we’ll get back to you.

    ALSO READ: Our Friendship Was Built on SAPA — Ama and Gideon

  • 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.

    In 2015, Adejoh Momoh seized the opportunity to take the driver’s seat in his life. Leaving the relative safety of family behind, Adejoh, who works in the developmental space, was excited to figure out who he was without external pressure or direction. How successful was this journey and what has he learnt about himself through it all? 

    In this episode of Man Like, Adejoh talks about leaving his sheltered life behind to find himself in a new city, how Nigeria that motivates him to work hard and why kids are a responsibility he never wants to deal with. 

    Everyone has their “man now” moment. Do you remember yours? 

    I’ve had several moments, but the most profound has to be when I moved to Kaduna for work. I was 26 at the time, and I was leaving behind the comfort of my family and support system for a new city where I didn’t know anyone. It felt like I was being thrown into the deep end and finally getting the chance to make adult decisions instead of being handheld. 

    At that age, I still had to call home by 10 p.m. to tell them I’d be sleeping out. I also had to think carefully before bringing a partner home, and things like that. I’d outgrown living like that, so as soon as the Kaduna option presented itself, I knew I had to take it. 

    Interesting. So was Kaduna all you expected it to be? 

    To an extent, yes. As trivial as it might sound, just having my own apartment, curated the way I wanted, meant a lot to me. I was very protected growing up, so almost everything had either been done for me or handed to me.

    In Kaduna, I got the chance to do stuff for myself, to work at a job I absolutely love, and there was some sense of validation knowing I was in control. It felt like I was finally making adult moves. 

    But the funny thing is, even after all I said about wanting freedom, I got to Kaduna and I’ve spent most of my time at home because I don’t know anyone outside of work. All my friends I usually hang out with are back home in Abuja. LOL. 

    You’ve mentioned not making decisions a lot. What’s that about? 

    So the hand-holding thing happened a lot. Now that I’m an adult, I understand I was shielded from a lot of things to protect me. But I would’ve loved to have an input in most of those decisions. 

    For example, after university, I would’ve liked to take a break from everything and travel or something, but there was a job waiting for me as soon as I finished. I’d also attended a boarding primary and secondary school, reading and being serious all the while. I just wanted some time to actually have fun and find myself. But I didn’t have that choice because everything was already planned out.  

    I know this sounds like privileged whining. I’m grateful, but it’s really how I feel.

    Boarding school from primary level? Omo 

    Yeah. I started boarding school when I was about three years old. This school is in Ikenne, Ogun State — Mayflower. It really was one of the best schools at the time. But I didn’t like that I started there really young.

    Wow. Have you ever had this conversation with your family? 

    Oh, I never did. I just accepted things as they were. I talk about wanting to have had more input into decisions as they affected me, but a part of me is grateful for the many ways I was guarded as well. It created the trajectory my life is on right now, and I feel like if i’d done everything I wanted to do, I would’ve wrecked my life. 

    There was the time I wanted to get a face tattoo. LOL. I think I turned out pretty okay, not being in control of my life? 

    Is that rhetorical? LOL. The boarding school experience though, how did that affect your relationship with family?

    It really didn’t hit me until I was in secondary school. I realised I wasn’t as close with my siblings and family as I’d wanted, and a lot of the strain was because we weren’t around each other a lot. My siblings and I were off in different boarding school again; my parents were out working. That’s when I knew we had to consciously work and be more deliberate about creating the sort of familial bond we wanted. 

    With the boarding school decision, for instance, my mind was all over the place for a long while. I started to wonder if I was a bad kid. Boarding schools are great for teaching discipline and independence, but if I had a say in the decision to attend, I wouldn’t have done it as young as I was. 

    I felt this way as a child, but now that I’m older, my perspective has changed. My parents were moving around a lot for work, so I see why they might’ve felt having me in a boarding facility would ensure I had some stability. 

    Is it something you’d consider if you had kids? 

    I don’t think I want kids. They’re very unpredictable and too much of a responsibility. 

    Can we talk about this? 

    As soon as I became an adult, I came to the conclusion that children won’t be a part of my life plan. There’s a lot that goes into having kids, and I don’t want to be forced to make the same sometimes uncomfortable choices my parents had to make in the interest of their children. I want to live as selfishly as I can.  

    Don’t get me started on how children can be out of your control. I know good and bad kids. I don’t want to try my best to bring up a child only for them to turn out to be a disaster. I can’t deal with all that. 

    I want to pack a backpack with two shirts and travel to South Africa without worrying about diapers or where my child would stay. There’s also the part where I have to look out for them. I don’t want to be involved in making decisions for anybody. I want to travel as light as possible. 

    I’m stealing that last line. What happens if you meet a partner who wants kids? 

    It’s not a deal breaker for me. We just need to have an understanding that even though we’re both parents, you’re pretty much responsible for this child, and I’ll only be around for as long as I can tolerate it. I’ll be there for the good times and the good times only. 

    Wahala. Looking back, do you regret the move that gave you your “man now” moment? 

    It was absolutely the right decision. I’ve seen that I can live by myself and do my own thing. I love my job. I’ve been working here for about 7 years now and it has expanded my mind and career prospects in ways I can’t even begin to explain. 

    Also, I was sheltered for a long time, living in a bubble. Moving to Kaduna and working with the government on intervention programmes, I’ve gotten to see the opposite of this spectrum. It has been an important part in helping me realise my privilege and how it’s not the same for everyone. 

    Fair enough. So what drives you as a man living in Nigeria? 

    I’d say the fear of poverty. Systems don’t work in Nigeria whether you’re rich or poor. But it’s particularly shitty for people who don’t have money. I work hard to make sure I have enough financial options to always have choices. That’s what drives me. 

    I’m curious to know what you’ve learnt about being a man over the years

    That I have the will to survive, thrive and just enjoy life. I’m tougher than I look or sound. No matter what life throws at me, I’ve realised I always find a way to thrive. 

    So what’s next for you? 

    I’d move back to Abuja to live by myself, in my own house. My family lives in Abuja, so it would be the first time we’d all be in the same city, yet live in separate houses. 

    I’m excited to see what that looks like. 

    It’s the growth for me!