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  • As told to Conrad

    Are women the only ones who struggle with infertility? This is a question that has stuck with me for a while now. Maybe it’s the Nollywood films about looking for the fruit of the womb or the hundreds of religious activities that centre women looking to “complete” their family, either way, it seems like men are excluded from this narrative. To answer this question, I started asking questions of my own and that’s how I met Kolapo*. 

    Looking to start a family of his own, the 38 year-old was shocked when he realised he was the cause of his family’s infertility struggles. I asked him to tell me a little bit about his story, and this is what he said. 

    For as long as I can remember, the idea of having children had always been a core part of who I was as a person. I remember being asked as a child what I’d like to be when I grew up, and my answer — to my mother’s greatest embarrassment — was something along the lines of, “I want to be a daddy.” But after all the struggles my wife and I have been through in trying to have a child, given the choice, I doubt I’d still choose to be a dad. I’m exhausted. 

    I met my wife Tolu* in my second year of university. Even though we’d been in the same year and attended the same classes, we didn’t really notice each other until she became the assistant course representative. These days, I fondly remind her of her terrorist behaviour back then; she was the class’” I Too Know” asking extra questions in class and making sure everyone submitted their assignments on time. But I’ll never forget the day she randomly helped me prepare for a test throughout the night when she didn’t have to. Since then, we’ve been inseparable. By the time we got to final year, we were in love and we  could weather any storm together. 

    We graduated, got decent jobs and got married. We could provide the necessities and still travel to Western countries every once in a while. By Nigerian standards, we were balling. For the first two years, we didn’t want kids because we wanted to have a good time and figure out our dynamic without the pressure of someone crying or wanting to suck breasts or something. We had a good time. However, it was when we eventually decided to start having kids that life just started to turn into a pot of spoiled beans. 

    RELATED: I Got A Vasectomy. Here’s How It Went

    We took out pregnancy pills from the equation and started going at it. We both enjoy having sex, so no one needed to tell us to off pant and get busy. We did this for about a year, but crickets. Nothing happened. My wife and I didn’t read much into it, after all, we were still having fun. But when our families started adding their question marks to the equation, we decided it was time to find out what was going on. 

    I never got tested because I just assumed we were fine. Tolu, on the other hand, was poked and prodded with needles like some guinea pig for months on end. She desperately wanted answers, and while all the doctors said nothing was wrong with her, she still couldn’t get pregnant. Our families piled on the questions because we were both first children in our respective homes and they just wanted to see their grandkids. More questions and jokes about pregnancy made Tolu stressed and insecure. Even though I reminded her that she was enough and maybe we just needed to chill for a bit, she was already invested in this baby thing and there was no stopping her. 

    Following the advice of a friend at the end of last year, Tolu eventually asked me to get tested too. I didn’t think it was a big deal, after all, as a virile Nigerian man, I couldn’t be the reason for our childlessness. But everything changed when the doctor called to tell me that I had no viable sperm left in my body. I sat there, losing my shit in silence as I prayed and waited desperately for someone to wake me up. 

    After I got off the phone with my doctor, I left work immediately and headed back home to talk to my wife. It was the most difficult discussion I had ever been involved in. She had a straight face throughout as I gave her a detailed account of what the doctor had told me over the phone. For a second, I thought she was going to leave me. Instead, she held my hands and told me we’d be alright. Since then, every time I start to panic about something, I think back to this conversation and what she told me and it helps me power through h. 

    CONTINUE READING: 5 Nigerian Fathers on How They Fell in Love with Their Babies

    Telling my wife was one thing, but telling our families? Omo, it was crazy. To this day, my mum doesn’t believe my condition is medical — to her, all of this could be solved if only we prayed more often and “moved in faith”. There was a lot of crying, casting and binding on my parents’ side, but that didn’t change anything .

    I wish the questions and shady comments came from only our families. But, as with typical Nigerian settings, neighbours, church members and work colleagues also poked their noses in my family’s business. asking about kids and when we were going to have some of our own. It was harder on Tolu because just like I assumed at the start of our pregnancy journey, a lot of people immediately assume she’s the problem, and I can’t go around trying to correct that impression. If I could, I would, but most of them wouldn’t even believe me anyway; they’d just assume I was trying to protect her. 

    I feel guilty because not only did a part of me feel it was her fault initially, I actually hoped it was her fault. How many times have you heard that a man was the one behind a couple’s infertility issue? It’s always women, so I don’t know why my case is different. I’ve spent the past few months depressed and feeling like shit. Knowing I can’t father my own kids makes me feel like a failure as a man. 

    I’m still grieving this loss and trying to make sense of it.

    My wife has asked that we look into adoption, but honestly, I’m over it — not the adoption, just kids in general. The failure of not being able to father my own children has become too much of a burden to bear, and it has thrown me off having children in general. I don’t know how to tell her I don’t care for kids anymore, especially after all she went through with tests and looking for answers. I’ll go with it, but I don’t know If I’d be able to fully love the child as I should. I’m willing to work through this and I’m seeing a therapist now, but it’s going to be a long journey. I feel like I’ve ruined everything, so building it back is going to take some time. 

    ALSO READ: 5 Men Share What They Wish They Knew Before They Became Fathers

  • 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.

    If there’s one person who understands how humour can change your life, it’s content creator and radio host, Jay on Air. Born Joseph Onalapo, the Lagos-based creative was unemployed and dealing with the boredom only a pandemic-induced lockdown could bring when he decided to start making skits on TikTok. Three years later, these skits have landed Jay a job with one of the top radio stations in Lagos, while over 100,000 followers tune in weekly to watch his skits inspired by mean secondary school girls, hyperactive Mummy G.Os and dramatic Yoruba mothers. But behind the larger-than-life personality and costume changes, Jay is still your regular guy trying his best to balance it all.

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about how his relationship with his mum has evolved over the years, dealing with insecurities about his height, his fear of losing control and why he believes women are funnier than men. 

    So Jay, it’s women’s history month and we’ve gotten used to seeing your mum on your page. Can you tell me a little bit about your relationship with her? 

    When I think about my childhood, my mum happens to be the core focus of most of my memories. My parents split up when I was about six or seven years old, and my siblings and I had to move to a different part of Lagos with my mum. 

    She wasn’t always around because of work, but she was present and made sure she showed up for as many monumental events — birthdays, school graduations, etc. — as she could. I remember those memories fondly. 

    That’s so cute. How has this relationship evolved with time, especially now that you’ve grown into your own man?  

    I can confidently say it’s evolved as I’ve gotten older. Do you know those stories of parents who would horn coming back from work and all the children would start running helter-skelter? That was my mum. My siblings and I were terrified of my mum though we loved her deeply. She was a no-nonsense disciplinarian. 

    But I believe the turning point in our relationship happened when instead of asking for her permission somewhere, we asked a friend of hers to talk to her on our behalf. She was livid. I remember her crying and asking why we couldn’t talk to her directly. She realised she needed to take it easy on us. She remained a disciplinarian but also became our friend. 

    I mean, even till now, our relationship isn’t perfect. We still butt heads because we’re so similar. But the truth is, I’m just happy we have a functioning relationship. 

    LOL. What are some of the ways you and your mum are alike and how does that cause the squabbles you’ve mentioned? 

    First off, we’re both short and stubborn. LOL. We both have strong personalities that border on being domineering, so both of us want to be the right person all the time. I sometimes catch myself acting like my mum, and I’m genuinely shocked. It’s funny as hell. 

    How do both of you resolve issues? 

    It took going to university and becoming very religious for me to understand that I needed to become the bigger person in fights. I was stubborn and wicked, so this was a lot for me to process. Thankfully, I got into the preacher, Joyce Meyers, whose books and tapes just felt like therapy for me. I learnt to keep quiet whenever my mum made something an issue. I realised that if I allowed her to speak without arguing and turning it into a back and forth situation, then whatever the issue was would simmer down faster. I needed to learn how to let go and not make everything a big deal. 

    How about your dad, are both of you close? 

    He’s awesome! The only thing the separation did was put us in two different houses. Other than that, he has been a constant in our lives. He made sure my siblings and I were taken care of financially and he sees us often. He’s almost 90, so there were times when people mistake him for my grandfather, but he still puts in a lot of effort to show us we are important to him. One thing I absolutely love about him is how affirming he is. He’ll constantly say things like, “I love you”, “I’m here for you” and “I support you”. This is a rarity with Nigerian dads, so it feels really special. 

    You’d think something like having my parents go through a separation would affect me, but to the best of my knowledge, I don’t think it did. I’m lucky to still have two loving parents who showed up for me. I can’t even complain. 

    That being said, because I was with my mum more, she’s the person I’m closest to.  

    Did you ever fear people would call you a mummy’s boy? 

    Even though my mum had a strong personality, she made sure we had personalities of our own. She complimented us and made sure my siblings and I were confident enough to know that there was nothing we couldn’t do. We didn’t spend time thinking about other people’s thoughts about us. 

    This doesn’t mean I didn’t have to struggle with insecurities, because omo, I did back then and I still do now. 

    RELATED: Mama’s Boy? — Nigerian Men on Growing Up With Single Mothers

    Insecurities like?

    I’m very insecure about my height. I might make jokes about it, but deep down, I still can’t get over how small I look. 

    I also have this fear that people I’m interested in romantically would always pick a taller person over me. This fear is one of the reasons I avoided relationships for a long time. I don’t meet society’s “tall, dark and handsome” standards. 

    One other thing that people do that really gets to me is saying something like, “You’re so handsome. If only you were taller.” Why? That’s not a compliment, because I go back home and that’s all I can think about. Even though I’m confident and everyone knows this, height is something I’m still insecure about. 

    Has this fear of being left for a taller guy actually happened in your reality? 

    Not directly. Once, someone I was talking to kept going on and on about how they weren’t looking for a relationship. Fast forward to a while later and they randomly mention their new partner during a conversation. I did some digging and the guy is way taller than I am. The height may not have been a factor in their decision, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. Who knows? 

    Damn. Have you shared this with people you’re dating?

    No. I suck at communicating my emotions. I’m constantly talking all day every day for work, so just sitting to talk about myself feels like a lot. I’d also rather therapise myself — I can tell myself anything and also proffer solutions when necessary. I feel like people wouldn’t understand me. 

    Why do you feel that way? 

    Don’t get me wrong, I have supportive people in my life, but I don’t think they’d understand my struggles. It’s just an assumption that I’ve made. Maybe this assumption is because I’m afraid of uncomfortable situations. I’m thinking about it now. I just don’t want to burden people sha. 

    Is this a “being in control” thing? 

    Hmm. Now that you’ve said it, maybe. 

    I never wanted people to know I was insecure about anything, so I built a wall and overcompensated by being the best at things — the neatest in class, leader of the debate team etc. I wanted to be visible, but still hide the things I was insecure about. I wanted to limit just how much people knew about me. 

    Would you say your comedy stems from this feeling as well? The need to cover up insecurities? 

    I don’t think so, man. I do these videos because they make me happy, and I’ve always been a funny guy. The pandemic hit and I was jobless, so I decided to join TikTok like everyone else. My first video wasn’t a hit, but people I knew liked it and that encouraged me to make more. By my third video, I had consistent engagement and just never looked back. 

    I didn’t plan this. II didn’t know I’d have an audience, but it’s been three years since and I’m still here. 

    Love to see it! Does blowing on social media put you under pressure to be funny? 

    I don’t feel pressure at all. When I started getting traction, I told myself, “You started doing these videos because you were having a good time. Don’t lose that.” There are times when I don’t post, and it’s because I’m not feeling inspired. I want to have fun and the minute that stops happening, I take a step back. Once I find a video funny, I’ll post it. Some days I’ll have 20,000 views and other days, 4,000, but I don’t care about the numbers. I never did. 

    But in creating with brands, don’t you have to sacrifice your personal satisfaction sometimes? 

    My brand is funny and real. I don’t want my work to be mechanical. If people look at my page and it’s obvious I’m trying to sell them something, then I’ve failed. I say no when I don’t feel like a brand aligns with who I am and what my page is about. My page is personal to me because I also share tidbits of my personal life there as well.  

    Talking about sharing tidbits. We’ve gotten used to seeing your mum on your page. I’m assuming it’s your mum’s clothes you use in your skits. How is she handling your growing popularity? 

    She’s always complaining about me wearing and using her clothes for skits because people will see her in public and know they’ve seen the outfit before. But will I stop? No. In the videos I make of her, she looks like she’s not interested, but let me tell you something, she is. People stop her on the road to talk about my skits and gives me the gist with a smile. Now all she’s waiting for is for me to be filthy rich. 

    I noticed a majority of your characters are based on women. Why?

    I feel like without women, the world wouldn’t be funny. Women are just more interesting and funnier than men. I’m intrigued by women and maybe it’s because the women I grew up watching heavily influenced my life to a large degree. From preachers in the church to the musicians I had access to, a majority of my role models are women, so it just made sense to centre them in the stories I tell

    Men making skits dressed as women has become a major trend over the past few years. This has me thinking: is it that men can’t be funny as men? 

    I think men can be funny on their own, but personally, I think women are funnier. 

    It’s important to note that I’m not making fun of their experiences. Before I put a skit up, I try to get it vetted by women in my life who I look up to and respect. If they give it a go-ahead, fine. I want women to watch my skits and have a good time. I want them to appreciate my work. 

    Nice. So what are you looking forward to this year, anything exciting? 

    I definitely want to create and collaborate more. I also want to host shows surrounding serious and important conversations. I want to be more vocal in this hosting space. People don’t know this, but I have a journalism degree. I can’t waste my parents’ money. It’s time to use it. 

    ALSO READ: My Wife Is the Best Thing Nigeria Has Given Me — Man Like K10

  • As told to Conrad

    Growing up, I always felt a deep sense of responsibility for my family. For as long as I can remember, my extended family never stopped reminding me that my birth wasn’t easy on my mother. Despite being the second of four children, my birth had become a cautionary tale in my family, detailing how I almost killed my mother, made my father a widower and left my older sister motherless. When that’s all you hear as a child, it’s hard not to feel indebted to your parents. After all, you owe them your life. 

    The first time I realised I was sacrificing my happiness to please my family was when I had to choose between science and arts in SS1. I wanted to study Law, but my family insisted I pick a science course instead. That’s how I started my journey towards becoming a pharmacist. I’m smart, so no matter what I chose, I knew I wouldn’t struggle, but this didn’t stop me from being really disappointed with the choice. I tried to voice my concern to my mum, but she reminded me that I was the smartest of my siblings, and the one who’d take care of her when she grew old. How do you argue with a statement like that? I played my part as the good kid, selected science classes and did what I believed was the best thing for my family. 

    After all, I owed my parents my life.

    My mum turned out to be right though. Now at 36, I’m the most successful of all my siblings. But it came at great personal costs. While my mates and siblings were enjoying their youth, I was drowning myself in my books and taking internship opportunities every time I had a school break. 

    Every time I tried to come up for air, I’d remember I was my parents’ retirement plan and dived back into studying. I never dated in university, never went to the club or skipped classes. 

    You’d think that after all of this, I’d have my life back post-university, but it only got worse. I earned more money than every other one of my siblings so the responsibility of everything that had to do with my parents fell on my shoulders. From big things like my dad’s battle with glaucoma and all the surgeries, to the little things like paying the cleaning lady, my siblings just left everything to me. Whenever I tried to bring it up or at least delegate a small portion of the bills, they all ignored me. So I kept coughing out money without any sort of assistance 

    RELATED: 8 Nigerians Share Their Black Tax Stories

    When my mum got diagnosed with cancer, she needed all the help she could get. I pleaded with my younger brother who lived in the same city with her to at least move in with her so he could monitor the caregivers I had hired. Big mistake on my part. This guy, a full-grown adult at 28, decided to “take care” of our mum by spending all the money I sent to her through him. 

    I had to leave a work conference and fly back to the East after my mum collapsed because she hadn’t been taking her medication — something I’d paid for. I was livid. The worst part was, my mum kept defending him, and somehow I became the villain. 

    I paid for my parents’ medical bills, I covered tuition for some of my nieces and nephews. And let’s not get started on the uncles and aunties I had to “settle” once in a while. I was a walking NGO with my family as the ungrateful beneficiaries. The most annoying thing is that with all I spent on them, I barely spent on myself. I still use the same car I was using four years ago, while my siblings change cars all the time — and yet, they somehow always manage to be broke. I can’t remember the last time I travelled abroad for something other than work or my parents’ medical trips.

    In my romantic relationships, I found it difficult to go all out and spend money on my partners or fun experiences with them. In the back of my head, there was always this nagging voice that I needed to save all my money in case my family came to me with one emergency or the other.  I became a slave to their expenses. It had to stop. 

    I cut my family off last year. My mum passed away — I paid for the funeral — and since my dad was already deceased, it just felt like the right time to finally step back. The people that brought me to this world are gone and now, I can show everyone my true colour. 

    I gave my siblings one month more of enjoyment and then I started airing them. The school fees for my nieces and nephews? Aired — don’t take your kids to schools you can’t afford. Random calls asking for this or that? Aired. I told them to fuck off and support themselves. 

    My extended family has been calling to tell me that I’m wicked for abandoning my siblings, and it’s wild to me because they aren’t children. I finally have peace, but I regret not telling my parents how frustrating it felt having the entire family’s weight on my back, while they were still alive. They died thinking I enjoyed it, and I blame them for it, as my suffering was all their fault.

    Anyway, it’s time for me to finally live my life and enjoy my money. Where’s everyone going this summer? I have money to blow. 

    CONTINUE READING: 8 Annoying Things Every Nigerian Adult Struggling With Black Tax Can Relate To

  • 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.

    Damola Adeyemi sees the silver lining in everything. Working in Nigeria’s commercial capital, Lagos, where any and everything can go wrong, it’s easy to see why the Lagos-based stylist relies a lot on his humour. If you can laugh at your situation, it’d probably hurt less. Damola has become a well-known name in the fashion circuit for crafting the style for films and TV shows like Ayinla, Battleground, MTV Shuga, Desperate Housewives and Skinny Girl in Transit, as well as stars like Sharon Ooja, Toke Makinwa and Adesua Etomi-Wellington. So how does he manage all the moving parts of his career despite the chaos around him? 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about losing his mum, his dad walking out on him and his siblings, using fashion as a tool to deal with the pressures of being a Nigerian man and why he desperately needs to leave the single streets. 

    Can you tell me a moment from your childhood that stood out to you? 

    Losing my mum when I was 13, and my dad walked away right after she died. 

    What? 

    Growing up, I was a mummy’s boy so losing my mum was a major moment for me. She died on a Sunday, and I had seen her the Thursday before she passed. It was such a huge blow, I refused to see the body. I wanted to remember her alive, just as she was the last time I saw her. 

    And your dad just upped and left?

    LOL. It’s crazy because I couldn’t fully process her death until I got older. I got shipped to boarding school almost immediately, so I barely had time to settle into my new reality. My mum died in September, he dropped me off in school in January and I haven’t seen him since then. There was no real explanation. He just left me, my brother and my sister behind. 

    Wow.

    We all have villains in our life story, and I’ll say my dad was mine. Thankfully, my mum’s older brother stepped in and made sure we were well taken care of. So I eventually grew up with him and my cousins. We’re still a close-knit family to this day. 

    Did you make any attempts to find him? 

    I did right after secondary school. I hunted down his phone number and gave him a call. He picked up and I said, “Hi daddy, this is Damola”. Do you know what he said? “Damola, why are you just calling me now?” I had to end the call right there. I think he tried to call me back, but I didn’t pick up. I confided in my mum’s sister and she asked me to delete his number and keep what happened to myself. I think she was trying to protect me from getting disappointed by him. 

    This must’ve been hard for you.

    It was. I heard he passed away last year. I know it’s been a long time, and I should probably let it go, but I’m still angry at him. There are certain decisions I’ve made that can be traced back to him abandoning us. I don’t want to have kids, and I feel like it’s because I’m scared I’ll make the same mistakes he made. That’s scary. I don’t want to be my father’s child. But on a lighter note, I also want to party till I’m 70 without any extra baggage in the form of children. 

    They can be a lot to handle. I babysit my nieces once in a while and I’m like, “This can’t be me.”

    LOL. Talking about stepping up as a man, I’m curious about when you got your “I’m a man now” moment.

    Omo, the day I paid house rent for the first time. I had always lived with friends or my sister, so this was a huge step for me. I was now extra enough to buy a car around the same time. The next thing I knew, my cousins started taxing me. 

    That’s standard now. Damola funds!

    I don’t mind the black tax — as long as I have money sha. The moment they say, “hi”, my brain already knows where the conversation is going. I’ve been that cousin before, so I get it. Back in university, I used to call and disturb people for money too. I was very charming so no one could tell me no. Being good with words and my charm has helped me go a long way in my career as well. 

    Tell me a little bit about how you became “Damola the stylist”.

    I had always been a fashionable baby boy. My first major fashion entry was interning at Arise Fashion Week in 2012. This was how I met my mentor Bolaji Animashaun, who I followed as an assistant to Maltina Dance All Competition. From there, I started working with other stylists like Yolanda Okereke who introduced me to Skinny Girl in Transit. As part of a styling team, I went on to do other projects like Desperate Housewives for EbonyLife TV and Battleground for AfricaMagic. A year later, when I heard Skinny Girl in Transit was about to start a new season, I spoke to it’s showrunner and convinced her to make me  the head costumier. This was my first time working solo and heading a styling team of my own. Working on that show was an incredible experience because I was able to turn it into a fashion show, where everyone looked forward to what the characters would wear in every episode. I did that shit!

    I’m doing work that will outlive me and that makes me happy. 

    RELATED: Fashion Helps Me Manage My Anxiety — Man Like Denola Grey

    Is working in fashion really as glamorous as we (people on the outside) think it is? 

    Glamorous? It’s very chaotic. LOL. Working in fashion in this Lagos, omo, there’s nothing I haven’t seen. From the time a dispatch rider ran away with my clothes on the day of a shoot to the time I had to take a bike to third mainland bridge to pick up clothes. Sometimes, I find myself going to designers to make my case as to why they need to make or lend us clothes for a shoot or celebrity. It’s a lot of work and yet, as stylists, we still don’t get our flowers. 

    Damn. So what do you love about your job? 

    I love how my job keeps me busy. It’s a safe space for me, and a routine reduces the amount of time I have for rubbish. 

    But not having time can have its negative side. These days, I’m beginning to realise I don’t have time for some of the people in my life. I go online and there’s always one wedding or birthday I’ve missed because of work. 

    How do the people in your life handle your constant absence? 

    It’s tough, I’m sure. But I do my best to reach out and maintain a presence in their lives. I call and text a lot. I even reply to Instagram stories. Even though I’m not present physically, I want them to feel like I’m a part of their lives. 

    And romantic relationships? 

    Romance is a matter of spontaneity for me. If I meet you and we hit it off, then that’s good. If it’s a one-night stand, then great. LOL. But the truth is, Lagos hasn’t been fair to me relationship-wise. I’m handsome, rich and hardworking, how the hell am I still single? The math is not mathing. 

    Maybe it’s because you don’t have time. 

    Even though! Okay, I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’m trying hard enough. All I do is complain. But if it’s meant to be, then it’ll happen. 

    Fingers crossed. As a man in fashion, do you think times are changing with regards to how men express themselves through clothes? 

    Things are changing. Looking at the current landscape of fashion, we have people like Daniel Obasi doing big things as a stylist and creative director. The best part, these men all bring something different to the table. Back when Denola Grey started wearing belted suits, people were shocked. Now the boys are out here painting their nails, rocking mesh tops and expressing themselves however they want. The lines between menswear and womenswear are being blurred out, and I love to see it. 

    Same. But do you think men leaning towards what we’ve come to know as classic feminine aesthetics is now overplayed in fashion? 

    No. Men have always been fluid when it comes to fashion. If we look back at our parents’ style back in the 1970s and 1980s where men wore exaggerated bell bottoms, you’d see that what we now see as reserved for women, is what the men back then were rocking without a care in the world. We went through this gangster phase in the 1990s, and fashion became rigid. It’s good to see us get back our more flamboyant side as men. We don’t have to think too deeply about symbolism. Emotions should be the defining factor that influences our styles. 

    Thankfully, we also exist in a time where gender-bending role models like Kid Cudi are blurring the lines further, and reminding us that men dressing however they want — exploring masculinity and femininity — should be normal and not necessarily groundbreaking. 

    So what does it mean to be a Nigerian man living in Nigeria? 

    Double pressure. There’s a pressure that comes with being a man, and then there’s added pressure that comes with being a Nigerian man. Nigeria is unforgiving of men who aren’t successful. Like Yoruba people say, “Iwọ jẹ ọkunrin ti ko ni iṣẹ ṣẹ”. You can’t be a man and not have something [work] to do. 

    For us as Nigerian men, there’s this subtle rivalry where everyone feels the need to be more successful than the next man. We’re not trying to make it for ourselves, we’re doing it because we feel like we don’t have a choice. We live in fear that since the space for success is limited, there can only be one winner. I don’t even think it’s just a guy thing, it’s a Nigerian thing. We’re raised to believe that there can only be one winner. Everyone is under pressure to make it by any means necessary.

    How do you handle this pressure? 

    Work. I focus on working hard and killing it in my career. Since my focus is set on one thing, I’m able to ignore everything else. 

    I have a job that I love, and love from my family and friends. I’m happy.

    Amen to that. What are you looking forward to this year? 

    See, I hope I find love soon because the streets are lonely  AF. I’ve seen and done it all. Now I want to meet the bone of my bone and relax. 

    I’m putting you in my prayers. LOL

    CONTINUE READING: Men Can Be Both Masculine And Effeminate — Man Like Jerry Oputa

  • 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.

    Ibrahim Suleiman is booked and busy. Scheduling and rescheduling this interview, I got to understand that the actor most notable for roles on shows like Tinsel and The Olive lives a life that throws him between sets, with a small window of time left to spend with his wife, actress, Linda Ejiofor-Suleiman, and their 18 month-old son, Keon. But with a charismatic presence on screen and a career on the rise, it’s hard to believe that the former dancer had no intention of chasing life in front of the big screen. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about his stepping up to become his mum’s go-to-guy after his parents’ divorce, what being a dad has taught him about his strained relationship with his military dad and how his wife tricked him into becoming an actor. 

    Tell us about growing up. 

    I was born and raised in Kaduna and then Abuja. My two younger siblings and I were raised by my mum because my parents split up when I was six years old. At that age, I had to step up and become my mother’s closest confidant. She would tell me how she was dealing with everything and encouraged my siblings and I to talk about our emotions as well. According to her, If you feel or think it, you should also express it.

    I think she created this open communication channel as a coping mechanism, but it helped us grow emotionally. One thing I’m also grateful for is that, no matter how financially tough things got, we always had laughter and it’s something we still push for till this day. 

    Damn. What do you remember about their separation and the impression it left on you?  

    My parents got married when my mum was 21. As she got older, I think they just grew apart. I remember my dad was a funny guy who was good with kids. However, I also remember that he wasn’t really present in our lives. He was a military man who had to travel all the time, so there really wasn’t a lot of time for family. His absence is why I’ve made being a really present dad one of my priorities in life. I’ve grown to understand that my dad wasn’t a family man. For him, work came first and I can’t fault him for that because I understand now that he wasn’t built to be a family man. For him, work came first and there was nothing we could do about that.  

    You mentioned becoming your mum’s go-to-guy. What did that entail? 

    My mum was strong-willed, but having to go through a divorce at a young age took its toll. There were days when it was so bad, I’d wake up to her crying at night, and I’d just sit by her bed. She was open about her challenges and would talk to me about her plans and the things that scared her. All I could do was let her know I was there for her. One of the craziest things I remember is she used to show us her payslip at the end of the month, and we’d all gather around to calculate how to use it for all our costs.  That’s where I learnt how to live within my means. 

    That’s sad but wholesome. Back to your dad: how was your relationship with him after the divorce? 

    I mean we never had a relationship to begin with, so even though there are no hard feelings, we still don’t have one now. We call each other once in a while and we communicate, but that’s about it. We’re just two men from different generations who know and have mutual respect for each other. That’s all we have. 

    Talking about men and responsibilities, I’m curious about when it hit you that you were a man. 

    I’ve had several of those. There was the time I saved up enough money to pay for the NITEL phone bill to support my mother — she cried, but not after grilling me for hours to be sure I hadn’t stolen the money. 

    But I’ll say the most significant “man now” moment that changed my life was when my mum died. 

    I’m so sorry bro. 

    Thank you. That’s when I realised that I had become the unofficial leader and decision-maker in the family.  I didn’t have a safety net anymore. It was rough, but my siblings and I came out strong. Wow, it’s been seven years now… 

    My mum’s death also taught me about impact and posterity. During her wake, we met a lot of people who she had influenced in one way or the other through job opportunities or financial support. She wasn’t just looking out for the future of her children, she was also trying to leave a… Whew! I’m just going to say, she really tried. Her life taught me that it’s what you do for the community and people around you that outlives you, not what you do for yourself. I want to leave a legacy like that for my son. 

    That’s deep. Did your mum influence your creative journey in any way? 

    Yes. I grew up a lover of comic books and I remember she used to get them for me every Saturday. These comic books were my first introduction to being a creative because after a while, I developed an interest in illustrating comics of my own. I was so invested in it that I set out to study fine art in university. That didn’t happen because an uncle mentioned that I’d end up poor, and I developed cold feet. I settled on architecture because I thought it was the closest thing to fine art — it wasn’t. 

    My introduction to performing, on the other hand, happened while I was in university. I joined this dance crew in school called Soul Quest and eventually rose to become its lead choreographer. During my time with the crew, we won the very first Malta Guinness Street Dance Competition and from there I started choreographing adverts professionally for companies like MTN, GTBank and Guinness.  

    Acting was one thing that never crossed my mind. I knew it was too much work based on the stories of friends I had in the business, and I didn’t need that stress in my life. If I was going to make movies, it would be as a writer or director. But then one very beautiful girl conned me into recording an audition tape and now I’m an actor. 

    Ibrahim, abeg slow down and explain what you just said.

    LOL. So my wife, Linda Ejiofor-Suleiman — we weren’t married then — and a couple of my friends like Imoh Umoren and Nkiru Njoku told me to help them test a new camera they bought, but apparently, it was an audition tape. They sent it to Africa Magic, and that’s how I got a part on Tinsel.


    Even though the role was supposed to be for three weeks, I’ve been doing it for five years now. The craziest thing is now I love it so much because it challenges me  every day. I mean I get to work with so many talented people on screen and then watching the crew set up and get things running against all odds, those guys are the real heroes. Seeing all of this, It’s hard not to be inspired to put in your best. I respect the industry so much now that I’m in it. 

    That being said, outside acting, my goal now is to work on business projects my son can have a stake in when he’s older. I want his future safe and secure, whether I’m around or not. I’m sure you can hear him in the background making noise. Do you have kids? 

    Omo, Ibrahim, I’m young and poor abeg. 

    LOL. See, my brother, take your time! I wanted to get married at 28 and have kids at 30, but it just never happened. Looking back, I was ready financially, but definitely not mentally. I don’t think I had a strong sense of self at 28 or 30. It was when I was about 32 that I finally figured out myself. Truth is, when you’re ready, you’ll know. You’ll get up one day and ask, “Where dem dey buy ring?”

    I bind the spirit of wedding rings for now. Talking about your son, what’s the most interesting thing about being a dad? 

    Every day is a surprise bro! These kids grow really fast, and they’re tyrants who know what they’re doing. Because they figure out early how to make you bend to their will, you’ll bend the knee many times. With Keon, the most surprising thing for me is the look he has when he figures something out for the first time. I remember when he discovered how light switches work; he was so happy. Every time he discovers something new, I feel like my chest is about to explode. It’s the little things. 

    Another thing that will shock you is the way these small human beings poop. Their capability in this department will shock you. Being Keon’s dad has been the most exciting venture of my existence. 

    Awww. How did marriage change your outlook on life, and did it change again when you had your son? 

    I married the most genuine woman I know, and for the first time, I was taking up a responsibility that I chose. I didn’t choose to be a firstborn. I was grateful for the opportunity to guide my siblings, but that responsibility was handed to me. With marriage, I chose my own family. Getting married also taught me what it means to earn the right to take care of someone. For example, my wife doesn’t need me, but she lets me take care of her, and that’s an honour. 

    With Keon, it was more settling. I finally felt like I was on the right path. I also developed tunnel vision and now everything outside my wife and son is irrelevant to me. There’s a sense of calm that also comes with the anxiety of being a parent for the first time.

    What has your relationship with your son taught you about your relationship with your dad? 

    It is important to be present, available and selfless. While I don’t hold a grudge against my dad for not being any of these things, I want to be hands-on and present in the life of my son. I’m hoping that my son sees the effort I’m putting in and allows me to be a part of his life as well. I’m already learning so much from him, but I want to teach him so much as well. Hopefully, we’ll both meet in the middle. 

    That’s so cute, man. What would you want your son to take away from your life? 

    I want Keon to know it’s important to be humane to everyone around him. It’s something my mother taught me, and I hope he picks it up as well. I also want him to live each day knowing that he could be a better version of who he was yesterday. Above all, I want him to know God for himself and develop a relationship that isn’t tied to a man of God or church. 

    What are some of the exciting things you’re working on at the moment? 

    One cool thing going on in my life right now is NollyData, a start-up I launched with my friend, Chidinma Igbokweuche. It’s a site that allows creatives in Nollywood to staff their projects either in front or behind the camera. We’ve created a link for everyone in the industry and we’re super excited about all the possibilities it could bring. I just wrapped up a film, The Man for the Job, with Temi Otedola, directed by Niyi Akimolayan. I’m also shooting a new season of The Olive for Accelerate TV. And this is the third project I’ve done this year. There’s still going to be a lot to come and I’m excited about everything. 

    Come on, booked and busy. Can’t wait to talk about all these projects once they’re out.

    LOL. Be nice o. 

  • People are always dragging Nigerian men up and down like small generators and honestly, we’re tired of that rubbish. Every day you go online, “Nigerian men this” and “Nigerian men that”. When you really think about it, we are the most elite group of men in the world and today, we have gathered evidence necessary to prove this fact. 

    1. Nigerian men don’t hear word, so we won’t hear other women calling us 

    We barely listen to you when you speak, so what makes you think we can hear other girls trying to get our attention? Simple maths. 

    2. We know how to cook Indomie and boiled egg

    Where else will you find men that are naturally-born chefs? No, we’re asking you o. We might not know how to make soups, swallow or even white rice, but you see this Indomie and egg thing? Omo, nobody is seeing our brake light. Once in a while, we add crayfish or fried plantain for visual effects.

    3. If you’re tired, we can marry another wife to help lift your burden

    Marriage is a partnership and Nigerian men are very supportive of our women. This is why whenever we begin to notice signs of stress, we make the move to bring another woman into the home. People misunderstand this and think it’s for us, but really it’s for our queens. Get you a selfless king today. 

    4. We are very fertile 

    There’s a reason why Nigeria is the most populous black nation and trust us, it’s not because Buhari is working. 

    5. We will buy you that creamy pasta you’re hungry for

    While they say food is the way to a man’s heart,  we strongly believe creamy pasta is the way to a Nigerian babe’s heart. You see that pasta you’re always craving on the interwebs? We will buy it for you. When you’re ready, call us. 

    6. We know how to turn on the generator and change over from NEPA 

    Yes, we know our ancestors were out here building huts and hunting wild animals, but have they experienced the heartbreak that comes pulling and cutting that generator rope thing? No. We do a lot these days and we don’t feel appreciated for all our hard domestic work. 

    7. We are tall online and offline 

    You know how women look tall online, but in real life they end up short? Can never be a Nigerian man. In fact, we’re even taller in person. #TallKingsUnite

    8. We are men of God 

    You see that man you’ve been praying for? We are him and he is us. The problem is you people like looking far. Turn to your neighbour today and say, “Neighbour, will you marry me?”

    9.  We have home training so we won’t disgrace you 

    If there’s one thing you can count on us for, it’s that we’re trustworthy. Forget all the bad PR we’ve been getting on social media, those people are lying lazy Nigerian youths. You can even leave us in the midst of all the hot girls in Nigeria and we won’t do anything.

    10. We have plenty money

    It doesn’t matter whether it’s tech or running $1000 per plate restaurants, Nigerian men will always find a way to hustle and keep you away from poverty. We are very loaded.

    11. We fine die

    Have you met us? You must be a joker. 

    12. We know one or two things about genital meet and greet

    Every day you people drag Nigerian men, but later we will jam you in traffic travelling across state lines for fornication. Give us our flowers please. We know what we’re doing in that department.

  • We all know Nollywood and romance go hand-in-hand with each other. In the spirit of Valentine’s — yep, it’s more of a week than a day at this point — we caught up with some of our favourite Nollywood men dem to get the gist on their best and worst Valentine’s Day experiences. Awww, the things we do for love.

    Daniel Etim Effiong — Superstar, Castle & Castle 

    Worst Valentine’s

    My worst Valentine’s happens to be my very first Valentine’s as well. I used to live in Benin at the time and I was so young and clueless. LOL. My cousins had raised some money for me to celebrate Valentine’s Day, so I called up this girl and asked her out. I didn’t have a car at the time, so we both had to jump on a bike to the fast-food restaurant I was taking her to. On getting there, I asked her to order anything she wanted, even though deep down I was praying I could afford whatever she ended up selecting. Anyway, after paying for her order, I didn’t have any money left for myself to eat, so I just told her it’ll be fun to “sit and watch her eat”. Mehn, I sweated throughout that date!

    Best Valentine’s

    So this year, because I didn’t have a lot of time off my set, I came into town on the 12th and made plans with someone who helped organise a surprise Valentine’s Day getaway for me and my wife. We had to do it on the 13th because I had to leave   town again on the 14th. 

    She was surprised when I took her to get pampered at a beach house that already had a masseuse and chef on standby. I also took her out on a boat ride to Radisson Blu for the second half of my plan. There, we had a room filled with roses and balloons and I remember her telling me she had never experienced Valentine’s Day like this before, which means my plan totally worked. It’s my best Valentine’s Day because I got to plan something special for her and everything actually worked out fine. Oh, by the way, she got me a new laptop as well, so she had a memorable experience while I got a new work machine. Love it!

    Jammal Ibrahim — The Delivery Boy, The Lost Okoroshi

    Worst Valentine’s

    I don’t think I’ve ever had a bad Valentine’s Day experience because, hey, I’m a lover and a giver, so It’s always been great for me. 

    Best Valentine’s 

    The best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had was probably one I celebrated when I was a teenager in secondary school. I remember my mum giving me a box of  chocolates, some flowers and a book with my face on it saying, “My son, my number one man, my Valentine.” It’s still my favourite Valentine’s Day memory because my mum is my first love. 

    Michael Ejoor — Aberrations, Unbroken

    Worst Valentine’s 

    This was a long time ago and even though I wasn’t an actor at the time, I used to get invited to sing at events and things like that. So on this fateful Valentine’s Day, I was invited to perform at TerraKulture, but I cancelled my performance because of love and went home to make the day special for the lady I was dating. I cooked, got rose petals, candles, little boxes with gifts in them, chocolate and all of that good stuff. She came in and was so surprised by everything. We had a wonderful time together, but shit hit the fan when, later that night, her phone just started buzzing with lots of messages. This was the BlackBerry era so it was just pinging and popping up and down. I saw a message that looked funny and then I did the one thing you should never do: I snooped. I realised that she had been taking me for a fool and seeing other people. The worst part, I didn’t know how to confront her because I was also wrong for invading her privacy. 

    The next morning, I sha told her what I saw. We broke up and she carried all her gifts and left. That was also my first serious Valentine’s Day.

    Best Valentine’s

    I was seeing this girl back when I lived in the UK and even after the breakfast of the last time, I went ahead to do my rose petals-and-candles move again. I hadn’t really said “I love you” yet, so I bought her this teddy bear from Build-A-Bear, a place where you can actually create a teddy bear of your own. I did this thing where I recorded myself saying, “I love you” into a part of the bear, so anytime she pressed its arm, she’d hear me saying it to her. It was a perfect Valentine’s Day because I was deeply in love at the time. We had so much fun together and it’s a Valentine’s Day I’ll never forget. Even though we didn’t work out in the end, she was one of my best relationships. 

    Chris Okagbue — Sanitation Day, Ije Love

    Worst Valentine’s 

    I can’t really say I’ve had any experience that was so bad that it could be called my worst. Most of them were just mid because I was once in a relationship in which Valentine’s Day never happened for us because we would always have an argument or something the day before to jinx it. That sort of affected other relationships that followed because I was never really into the whole Valentine’s Day thing. 

    Best Valentine’s 

    I’ll pick my Valentine’s Day from 2019. I was seeing this girl at the time — sadly, we’re no longer together — and we had such a good time that day. Because I hadn’t done anything special in a long time, I took time out for three days just to plan a beautiful day for us. We had a beautiful private dinner, there was a trumpeter to serenade us and lovely deserts as well. It was a fun night.

  • 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.

    Koye Kekere Ekun first gained popularity making short Instagram skits while practising as a lawyer. Since bursting out onto the  entertainment scene, Koye, popularly known as “K10”, has made appearances in films like Namaste Wahala and Three Thieves, as well as shows like Inspector K, where he plays the titular character. Actor, comic, event host, content creator and now, husband, K10 juggles a lot, but how does he do it all? 

    In this special Valentine’s episode of Man Like, he talks about navigating life after moving out of his father’s house, the job that makes him the happiest,  going back to practising law after years working as a creative and how his wife is the best thing Nigeria has ever done for him. 

    K10, before we get into this, I need a list of all the jobs you have because I can’t keep up. 

    First and foremost, my main job is being a sweet boy. LOL. But seriously, I’m a lawyer by training, an actor, a content creator, a comedian and an event host. 

    Only you? In all this, I’m curious about when you got your “I’m a man now” moment.

    It has to be when I turned 30 and decided to move out of my parents’ house. Nothing triggered it, I just felt the need to be independent. I wanted to learn how to run a home and deal with bills on my own. I also wanted to know what it’d be like to build a relationship with whoever I decided to date within my own space and free from monitoring eyes. 

    LOL. Ater moving, what did you find out? 

    Living by yourself is freeing, but at the same time, I had to start dealing with stressful things I never interacted with before like electricity bills and Nigerian artisans that like to promise and fail. 

    The hardest part was food. In my parents’ house, I had guaranteed meals, but by myself? I had to learn responsibility and control. There I was, conscious of money, checking how many pieces of chicken I was eating.  The expenses I was dealing with made juggling these different creative outlets handy because money was coming in one way or the other. 

    Tell me about how you became a creative. 

    I know law is not a part of the creative scene, but it came first for me. Then at my old law firm, I started doing Instagram skits, which led to the content creation part of my career. 

    Funny story: I got worried people wouldn’t take me seriously as a lawyer after putting up my skits on Instagram, so I deleted my skits page after a while. It was my boss at the time who told me to bring it back because it showed that I was multifaceted, so shout out to him. From skits, I eventually transitioned to acting with my show Inspector K, and then event hosting followed. 

    Mad. With all these creative gigs, do you still have time to practice law? 

    The answer to this question a year ago would’ve been no, but I’m pivoting back to law with a firm I recently set up with a friend. 

    You’re successful at being a creative, why this pivot? 

    I’ve tried to shake off my law degree, but it’s something I feel like I started for a reason, and I’m not done with it yet. Now that I’m in the entertainment space, I can explore the combination of both in the form of entertainment law. 

    In the long run, practising law is something I’d like to do. Don’t expect to see me in court sha! 

    LOL. Content creation started as fun for you, but now it’s a business. How’s that been? 

    The way I approached it changed for sure. When it was a hobby, I did it whenever I felt like it. Now it’s a business so whether I like it or not, I have to produce content, especially when I’m working with clients who give me deliverables. Also, consistency is key. If you’re not putting out something new, there’s a high chance the buzz around you will fizzle out.

    That being said, I still enjoy it. I like that I can make people laugh, and the creating process still gives me joy. In a country like ours where there aren’t that many things to make you happy, that’s a plus. The feedback I get also makes the whole process fulfilling for me. 

    On the subject of Nigeria, how do you balance being funny in this country that’s always moving mad?  

    There’s definitely pressure to always have my funny button on.  When I first started, people would walk up to me and expect me to just have jokes ready for them as soon as they turned on their cameras. It was awkward, and I handled those instances awkwardly, but now I’m more comfortable navigating those situations. Sometimes, I have my jokes ready.

    But other times, finding  humour can be hard, especially in a country like ours where there are uncountable things competing to steal your joy. During the EndSARS protests, some people shared their views with humour, but I just couldn’t find a way to do the same and I’ve learnt that it’s fine. We deal with things in our own way. When there are less weighty events around me, the humour is everywhere. I love satire, and the real news in Nigeria already sounds like satire. 

    Of all your jobs, which one gives you the most joy and which stresses you out the most? 

    Acting and creating skits make me happy. I love how I get to explore emotions that might not come naturally to me in my daily life. You read a script and immediately start to think of ways you can be convincing in your delivery of your character, not you. That type of thing makes me happy. I’ve also been in a lot of comedies and have been lucky enough to work with directors who encourage me to improvise on set, and I think that’s when I do my best work. 

    The hardest part has to be practising law and hosting, especially when I have to host these big events with a lot of dignitaries with different titles and names. I remember there was a time I tried to be woke at an event, and it didn’t fly. 

    Woke? 

    Yes. I was announcing dignitaries at an event and saw a woman who was apparently the chairman of a company. In an effort to keep with the times, I referred to her as chairperson instead of chairman and she lost it. The moral of this story: know where to carry your wokeness to. Other than that, I don’t think I’ve made any serious blunder I couldn’t come back from. 

    I know Nigerians don’t like talking about money, but which one pays more? 

    Ahh! Currently, for me, it’s hosting. If you’re able to plug yourself in a way that you’re hosting something —  usually weddings —  every weekend, that’s some cool cash. 

    Talking about weddings, you recently joined the married men’s club. Tell me about your love story.  

    She was chasing me. 

    K10 abeg don’t lie. 

    LMAO. Meeting my wife was the best thing Nigeria has ever done for me. I saw her at an independence day event and was just like, “Who’s this damsel?” I didn’t speak to her that day, but we just kept running into each other after that. Finally, I did  at an event I hosted. I checked for her on Instagram that night, asked if she got home safely and we just started talking. 

    A couple of weeks later, she had an errand to run and even though I don’t like leaving my house, I offered to drive her on this errand. At that moment, I thought, “Ye, won ti get me”. I had turned into a Bolt driver. 

    The rest, they say, is history.

    So become a bolt driver? Got it. How did you know you were ready for marriage? 

    I didn’t necessarily know if I was ready for marriage as an institution, but I knew I had found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I also knew that if I was waiting for conditions to align, those things would never happen. Most of the time, we’re waiting to be financially capable, but when you hit your target, you end up getting a new one. It never ends. 

    I always wonder with proposals, what if she had said no? 

    She couldn’t have said no because our relationship has always been open and honest. She knew it was coming; she just didn’t know when in 2020 it would happen. Even with the ring, she had pointed out what she liked before I got it. We talked extensively about marriage.  

    You guys have been together for four years now. What’s a typical valentine’s day like for you? 

    Flowers, dinner, spa and sometimes a hotel or resort getaway type of thing. Nothing complicated. We also like food, so anything to do with food. I’m not particularly into Valentine’s, but I’ll do it and do it well. 

    Valentine’s Day means a lot of proposals are coming. What would you say to those of us trying to follow in your footsteps? 

    My wife is tired of me saying this, but genuinely liking the person you’re with is more important than love in a marriage. I think that’s what ensures longevity.

    What are you looking forward to this year? 

    My brother, myself and a friend of ours are currently writing a feature film which should be interesting. Generally, I want to take more risks and put myself out there some more. I also want to believe in the work that I’ve done as evidence that I can do more.

    And for your marriage? 

    For my marriage, I hope we grow from strength to strength. She’s an amazing businesswoman, and I hope her brand keeps smashing ceilings. I just want her to get everything she wants. 

    I asked what you wanted for the both of you and you turned into a prayer for your wife. You’re gone in this love thing. LOL. 

    She’s gotten me. But that’s what it’s about. 

  • If there’s one thing we know for sure, it’s that Nigerian women struggle with shooting shots. If you leave Nigerian women, they’ll “👀” you to death. The funny thing is despite this annoying lack of effort, women still expect their weak shots to enter. My dear, you can’t reap where you did not sow. With Valentine’s Day on the way, we decided to help women level up their toasting skills.  Read and take notes. 

    1. Talk to us with your full chest 

    Please and please, Nigerian men are a spec. Up your game. . We’re tired of receiving “Hey big head” messages. It’s your head that is big, ma. Slide into our DMs with a value proposition of why we should consider you. Kindly include your goals and aspirations for us and this potential relationship. Time is of the essence, so talk to us direct and stop beating around the bush. 

    2. If we have a girl, fight her

    Why are you allowing small relationship stop you from getting the man of your dreams? Time after time, we hear people ask men to fight for their women, but when you think about it, how many times have women fought for us? You heard we have a girlfriend, and so what? It’s just an opportunity to prove yourself. 

    3. When you’re buying skincare products, buy for two

    You people complain that Nigerian men are ashy and we don’t invest in skincare, but can you blame us? We took one look at the price of that cleanser thing and did  about-turn. The truth is, we want to do skincare too, but omo, the money involved is choking us and that’s why we keep stealing your toners and rubbing it on our feet. Want to trap a Nigerian man today? Buy him skincare products and when they finish, buy more. 

    4. Buy us Azul in the club 

    You want to bambam and chill with fine Nigerian men? You need to open your purse and spend some money. Anytime you see us in the club, send a bottle of Azul to our table. If you do this once or twice, there’s a high chance we’ll be parading the market looking for souvenirs and aso-ebi very soon. 

    5. Prove to us that you’re a  Prov. 31 woman

    At the core of every Nigerian man’s existence is a strong desire to marry someone that will cook, clean, take care of the home and  be his neck. At any slight opportunity you get, offer to pound yam for us or do our laundry. Once you make us feel like kings, we’ll propose to you sharp sharp. 

    6. Buy us fancy food

    Remember when they said, “The road to a man’s heart is through his stomach?” Well, no lies were told. You’re not the only one who likes creamy pasta and English breakfast; we like it too. 

    7. Send us money

    This one is a no brainer. Women like to be spoiled by intentional men. If you want us, be intentional too. What is good for Chidi is good for Chioma. Surprise us with credit alerts and help our lives. It’s not like we’re broke or anything, but there’s nothing like too much money.

  • 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 2020, Anthony Azekwoh’s life changed forever when his painting, The Red Man, became a viral sensation taking over social media and capturing the attention of the global art community. At 21 years old, Anthony has established himself as one of the biggest digital artists on the continent, selling out copies of his work worldwide and leading the conversation surrounding African art on the global NFT space. But with this success comes a lot of pressure, doubt and fear of being a “one-hit wonder”. 

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    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about dropping out of university despite his parents’ disapproval, surviving his first heartbreak, and how he tried but failed to recreate the magic of his most popular painting, The Red Man.

    Tell me about what it was like growing up? 

    I’d say I had a very quiet and uneventful childhood. I’m the eldest of three kids, we lived in Surulere, my school was on the same street as my house and we had a lot of family living around. It was a contained experience. 

    The only highlight I can think of was the time I got hit by a motorcycle when I was eight. 

    Omo, what happened? 

    So, there are two versions of this story. My version is that I was coming back from school with my mum and younger sister, and then this motorcycle came out of nowhere and hit me. The second version is from an uncle who lived on our street. He claims I ran towards the motorcycle, which I believe may have been possible, but I don’t want to believe it. LOL. I was rushed to the hospital, and they patched me up. After that, life continued and I’m here today. 

    I’m sorry, man. You talk about your university experiences on your blog. How did your time in Covenant University influence you?

    CU was hell. That place tested my physical and mental health. The rules were endless. From simple things like banning phones and jeans to using chapel attendance as a substitute for class attendance, they deliberately made life difficult when it didn’t need to be so.  The hardest part was knowing all they were putting us through was unnecessary and not being able to do anything about it. 

    Going there, I realised the only person I could trust with my life choices is me. I shouldn’t have attended the school or studied the course I did. Parents and authority figures are great, but they can be wrong sometimes. You need to stand up for yourself when necessary; Nigerian elders should be checked once in a while. 

    I’m dead. Have you ever had to stand up to an older person? 

    I do that all the time — I did it with my school. I wrote and published essays about my experience, and they didn’t take it lightly. They ended up suspending me twice. I did the same with my parents. I sat them down to have an important talk about letting me live my life. It was scary, but necessary.

    This question is for millenials: tell us how this conversation with your parents went. 

    They were hellbent on me becoming a chemical engineer, but I had been struggling with the course for five years and was over it. They didn’t listen. This same course had given me high blood pressure. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and I had tremors in both of my hands. I finally sat them down and  told them I was leaving for my sanity. 

    How did they react? 

    Mehn. I ended up running away and staying with a friend for a while until my mum came to pick me up for a meeting with my dad. They still maintained their stance, so I moved again. This time, I stayed in a hotel for about five weeks. 

    That time was hectic. I had other family members roasting me left, right and centre. Then I had to deal with a heartbreak and plan an exhibition around the same time as well. It was a tough time I won’t lie, but it was necessary for me and my family so we could eventually find a way to evolve our relationship. 

    We later got to the point where we all just calmed down, and my parents were like, “Okay, we don’t understand what you’re doing, but if this is what it has to be, then fine.” I think we just had to finally communicate effectively to move forward. 

    Whew! So you mentioned a heartbreak situation earlier, what was that about? 

    Well…

    I can sense the drama. 

    Over the years, I’d always said I couldn’t afford love or relationships because of work, school and just being busy. But the truth is, I was scared of being vulnerable. Anyway, I made the mistake of falling in love with someone I was in a situationship with. 

    Oh no. 

    Very big oh no. There are some things I never want to hear again, especially lines like, “Let’s see where it goes”. 

    It didn’t end the way I wanted because I don’t think they were on the same page as me. I also didn’t see the situation as clearly as I should have because I was deep in love. 

    Aww. How did this heartbreak affect your outlook on love and relationships? 

    My eyes opened and I became anti-everything love. With everything I was going through, the heartbreak took the longest, and I’ll say it hurt the most. It felt like someone punched me. I could’ve sworn it would be both of us to the end. Funny thing is, Omah Lay’s Understand became my jam because that was my life. I didn’t know I could care that much. To get over it, I spent time with my friends and by myself. It was important to reevaluate my self-worth.

    But now, I know it’s part of life. Sometimes, things don’t work out, but I can’t let that stop me. Waking up every day is a risk, yet we do it. Accepting heartbreak doesn’t mean I failed at love or a relationship. For the future of my romantic relationships, I’m letting life take the wheel. 

    Love that. In Nigeria, education is how people measure chance for success. Did you have doubts or fears about dropping out? 

    I weighed my options. The fear of living a miserable life doing a job I hated in a field I hated was bigger than any other fear. I know how easy it is to let the years pass because I had done that in university, and I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. To be fair, I had started to slowly establish myself as an artist and was making some money at the time. A part of me felt like If I didn’t take that step, I wouldn’t even have a future to begin with. I had to bet on myself and make it work. 

    Talking about things that worked out, your work, The Red Man, became this viral moment in 2020, how did that happen? 

    It’s crazy because I was just fucking around with this art thing and then one day I became an artist. The Red Man was one of those rare moments where I decided to work on something for myself, away from all the works that influenced me. I wasn’t trying to be like any of my art idols; it was something fun for me. I posted it online the next day, and the pain became this huge thing. 

    I wasn’t even looking at art as a career path. I had done smaller commissioned work and album covers, but I didn’t look at it as a potential primary source of income. 

    Mad. How did the love for The Red Man move from verbal appreciation to people wanting to buy copies? 

    It happened the same week. I was very blessed because most times people appreciate your work on Twitter and that’s it. But this time, I had people asking me for print copies. I fucked around, made some, and they sold out over and over. I then had to make my website and make everything a serious business.

    Mad. This NFT thing you’re doing, tell us about it. 

    The NFT thing also happened at the end of 2020. I remember this white man DMed me on Instagram asking if I was interested in exploring NFTs, and I was a bit hesitant because I felt something shady was about to happen. 

    I was wrong. He worked with an NFT platform and talked to me about crypto and NFTs. As I said, this was 2020, so in my head, I was like, “Omo, I don’t have money for crypto”. But I went with it and ended up planning my first NFT drop for 2021. 

    I had no idea what I was doing, but I just went with the flow. I didn’t want to waste an opportunity placed in front of me. Ten minutes into the NFT drop, someone messaged me on Twitter saying, “Congrats for selling out”. My first thought was maybe he was referring to print copies of my art, but apparently, we had sold out our NFTs. Everything worked out. 

    Funds! I’m curious to know, what does it feel like to have accomplished so much at 21? 

    I’d be lying if I said it was fun. A lot has happened and it’s all been back to back. Imagine you wake up in 2020 and you have all these papers to sign and shipments to coordinate and you just turned 20. Then 2021 came with its headaches. I dropped out of university and had to organise three events. As a human being, it’s a lot to go through at once. People look at me and expect that after all of this, my life would be solid and so I find it difficult to admit that it’s stressful. It’s just… there’s always something. 

    That sounds so tough. I hope it gets better. How are your parents reacting to all of this?

    This came out of the blues for me and I was the one it happened to, so you can imagine how confused they must be right now. In 2020 they saw me bringing all these paintings and then watched everything blow up. They both came for my exhibition, and I know it’s been interesting for them to watch in real-time. 

    What was the first thing you bought when you hammered?  

    Bro, I went to the supermarket and bought barbeque sauce and some groceries. LOL. In my house, my mum is the community manager, and we can’t just take or use anything anyhow, so for me, it was mad just getting to buy my own groceries. I look at my siblings like, “You guys have to use the family barbeque sauce? Eyah”. 

    I’ve always wondered if you’ve ever felt pressure to top or recreate The Red Man? 

    Do you know the deathless collection? 

    No. I don’t think so. 

    Exactly. LOL. I tried to get it back and trace my steps, but the more I tried, the more I failed. It’s like making art from a place of pride or trying to please everyone else; you just end up failing. I kept failing, and then one day I removed everyone from my mental workspace. I said fuck everyone! I needed to do something for myself and so I decided to paint a guy from a story I had read about: the African Samurai, Yasuke. When it dropped,it  went viral again. 

    Step 1 to success: Fuck everyone. Got it 

    LOL. It felt good to know I wasn’t a one painting wonder, but after that, I started thinking: “Maybe these are the only two paintings that would blow.” 

    My life is a constant circle of good things happening and me wondering if it’d be the last time.

    This question is for the fans: why do your paintings always look upset?

    I honestly don’t know. Maybe I’m upset. LOL. But these are questions I’m going to have to ask my therapist in the future. I think people look interesting when they’re not smiling. I won’t say they’re upset; I’ll just say they’re in-between emotions. They could be happy or distraught, who knows? But now that you’ve pointed it out, I’ll have to look into it. 

    This question is for fellow creatives: the whole hobby becoming a work thing, how does it work for you? 

    I’m trying to get back to a place where I did this for fun, but the deeper you go into this business, the harder it gets. My mum is the best cook I know, and I remember asking why she didn’t consider opening a restaurant and she said, “When money and work gets involved, it complicates everything.” I didn’t get it when I was younger, but now that it’s happened to me, I understand what she was saying. Something I did for the love of it has become the thing that provides food on my table.I’m constantly thinking about how to brand ideas and profitably communicate them. 

    I feel you. Looking forward to anything this 2022?

    I have a couple of work projects lined up, but the most important thing for me this year is to take a break. I do this thing where I say I’m taking a break, then somehow I get dragged back in. This time, I’m going to walk away from everything for a substantial amount of time. I have said and done enough, and it’s time to relax before I burnout. 

    I’m rooting for you.