At this point, everyone and their family members can relate to January being the longest and most challenging month of the year. We usually receive our salaries in the thick of Detty December, making it hard for us to save and plan for the new year. While this year’s January seems to be speeding, many of us may still be stuck in the financial trenches right now. We asked some Nigerian dads about their current January situation and how they’re avoiding SAPA.
“Why are we paying over N150,000 for a child who isn’t learning anything?” — Kamdi, 43
I have three kids, so it’s easy to assume I would be used to January and its wahala by now, but alas. My little one started creche this month, and because there’s a four-year gap between the baby and her older brother, we hadn’t done this creche or baby thing in a while. Omo, everything don cost! Why are we paying over N150,000 for a child who isn’t learning anything? I tried to talk my wife out of it, but I started looking like an enemy of progress, so we just went through with it. We can afford it, but I still think it’s unnecessary. How are we surviving the new cost? Well, my wife is going back to work. Last last, two incomes are better than one. But there’s no way we’re having another baby, not even by mistake.
“Our baby came early, but we’re trying to make it work” — Nsikan, 31
Being a dad changes your life. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s actually true. I’m a first-time dad and my baby who was due to come in March arrived in the last week of 2021. I can’t even begin to explain how draining it has been physically, mentally and financially. We had a solid plan, but this baby looked at us and said, “Dear sir/ma, fuck your plans.”
So far, we’ve had to dig into our savings to pay for two surgeries and his incubation since insurance wouldn’t cover everything. This is not how we planned our first time as parents, but thankfully we’d saved as much as we could. It’s annoying that I can’t complain because children — early or on time — are a gift from God and I don’t want to be ungrateful. Hopefully, this whole thing ends before the month runs out.
“I hate that rent is in January, but I think I have a system” — Toye, 30
Paying rent stresses me out. I’ve always hated the idea and it’s probably the main reason why I didn’t move out of my parent’s house until I was married. My wife and I moved into a new apartment in 2019 and it’s expensive AF. Renewing our rent in 2020 almost made me cry because honestly, I suck at saving. I tell myself I’ll put cash away, but I just never seem to do it. Two years ago, to avoid stories that touch, I started saving aggressively, using one of those saving apps that deduct money from your account. It worked out well for 2021’s rent. This year, I’m ready to pay rent at the end of the month. I’m now so used to these things that I have a savings account for everything down to the next PlayStation because heaven knows my wife will buy me a white collared shirt again.
“My wife lost her job, but we meuve” — Nonso, 28
Everyone else keeps saying that January is moving with speed this year, but for me and my family, it’s literally crawling. My wife lost her job in November last year and it’s been crazy for us. It’s not like we’re dying or anything, but losing one source of income changes the dynamics in your home. My wife suggested that she and the kids move in with her parents since they have money. I feel weird about it, but I don’t have a choice and I know it’s temporary, pending when we get back on our feet. It’s good to know that all I have to worry about is rent and school fees, let them sit there and eat grandpa and grandma’s money abeg.
“Everything is unnecessarily expensive in December, so I sit at home” — Louis, 30
My pro-tip for surviving January as a dad, a man, Nigerian or human being is to sit your ass at home in December. I’ve noticed over the past few years that December is just expensive for no bloody reason. All the car-hailing apps are on a permanent surge, restaurants decide it’s time to print out new menus, concerts that used to be N5,000 for regular tickets become N25,000 and everyone just starts to move mad with money. I try to create fun and affordable plans for my kids, because I owe them a good time before life starts to give them gbas gbos. Outside this, no other plans for December. I sit at home through the month, so when January comes with rent, school fees, black tax and all its other burdens, I’m not out here looking like a big fool.
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.
Today’s Man Like is Afolabi “Yela” Aiyela, a songwriter, musician and branding executive. As an artist, his songs have been featured on various Nollywood productions including Skinny Girl in Transit, Banana Island Ghost, Phases and Little Black Book.
In this episode of Man Like, he talks about building his relationship with his dad after his parent’s separation, running away from home, how being an upcoming artist can get depressing and why women are more valuable than men.
Tell me a little bit about your childhood.
My childhood was a bit lonely. My parents went their separate ways when I was a baby, so it was just me and my mum for the most part. At some point, she sensed my loneliness, and we started having a lot of cousins and other family members around, but deep down, it never fully filled the void I felt. Then I found music.
These cousins I had around me always had a lot of CDs at the time and listening to their records helped introduce me to a different world through music. There was Madonna, Brandy, Mariah and all these artists. I ended up immersing myself in the music and that was a way I could escape the loneliness I was experiencing. It was also where my love for being a musician started. I realised I could sing like these guys I was listening to.
I’m curious about your relationship with your dad since you spent all this time with your mum. . .
Oh, my dad is late now. He died of pancreatic cancer in 2010.
So sorry about that.
It’s fine. 2010 was a long time ago. For most of his life, I only visited him during holidays. Luckily for me, I got to spend more time with him during the last six years of his life. In 2004, I left my mum in Abuja where she lived and moved in with my dad in Lagos. During that time, we got to build a relationship we didn’t have before. I love that I can look back and say he wasn’t a stranger in my life, that he was present. Although it was weird at first because I felt like I was rewriting certain wrongs.
What wrongs?
My dad thought I’d be like his other kids. My step-siblings gave my dad a lot of stress. They would steal, bash his car and just other juvenile stuff. In their defense, it was a reaction to him being militant and overly strict with them.
He had this fear that I would be just like them, but I just wasn’t into all that unnecessary drama. We got along once he realised that.
Interesting. What motivated the Lagos move though?
Errrrrrmmmmm. . . I ran away.
Oh?
While my dad had his own issues, my mum was super strict. Looking back, I’ll say it shaped me and gave me the sense of discipline I have today, but back then, I hated it. She would always say the reason she was hard on me was that she didn’t want me to be a spoiled only child. I understood that, but as I got older, it started to get to me. I hadn’t given her any trouble, so I wondered why she was on my case. I remember the tipping point being a fight we had about how I wanted to spend the money an aunt had gifted me. So my mum wanted to save it, but I wanted to spend it on new uniforms or something like that. It was petty, but we were already fighting a lot, so the next day I hopped on a bus to Lagos and didn’t look back.
See vex. How did she take it?
It was hard for her because I had spent most of my life with her, but I just needed to get away. I believe it was the right choice because I eventually spent time with him before he passed.
Did you talk to your dad about his initial absence from your life?
We spoke a ton. I finally got to see things from both sides. They were both stubborn and everyone wanted to be right. When they met, my mum was already independent with a career of her own, and from my understanding, the marriage was born out of a need to settle down, not necessarily love. Over time, the issues became a lot and they just figured out it wasn’t worth it anymore. Talking to my dad helped me understand this.
Getting to know him later in life, how did his death affect you?
I remember I was writing my finals, so no one wanted to tell me he had cancer. I came back home on the assumption that he had gone for his routine check-up only to hear the news. He came back about three weeks later in a wheelchair, a shadow of the man I knew. We spent a lot of time together as I was the only child around. Up until the day he died, I assumed he was getting better. It was shocking to wake up and realise he had died overnight. Took me a while to get over it, but I still miss him and it hits me hard because I know if he were alive, a lot of things wouldn’t have happened to me.
Like what?
He believed in my music from the jump, unlike my mum who got into it like two years ago. He always told me I had something in me. I wish he was there to hold my hand and guide me through most of my decisions. I was very spontaneous in my 20s. I mean, I quit a bank job, bought a ticket and moved to South Africa to chase music. He would’ve helped me make better choices.
Being spontaneous when you were younger, do you regret anything?
I believe in fate, where every experience is a building block that gets you to where you’re supposed to be. I don’t regret anything. I might have had to struggle with depression because my dreams were not taking off as I’d expected, but I’m still thankful for it because it’s all part of my journey.
How did you envision your career and how did it fall short of your expectations?
My music has always been different. I love experimenting with sounds, and I remember someone from the radio telling me my sound was too “alternative” and “experimental” for Nigeria. No one knew where to put me. This is why I moved to South Africa. When I got there, I realised that while they liked my music, the industry was stacked against outsiders. I went to almost every record label, but the problem was they didn’t want to work with someone who didn’t have papers. Don’t get me wrong, I was more than willing to go through the process of getting my papers, but these people made what was supposed to be a simple process extremely difficult for Nigerians. I left when I realised my visa was about to expire, I had no plans of living there as a fugitive.
I moved back to Nigeria with the mindset of making music for radio because while art is art, it’s also a product. Even after tweaking my sound, my music still wasn’t connecting with the level of intensity I expected it to. I would work really hard and put something out, only for it to fall flat or die slowly. It really messed with my mind. I started to doubt myself and ask if maybe my friends and family had just overhyped my talent. It was a lot because I was doing everything myself, being my manager, publicist, etc. These things would send me into bouts of depression over a long period of time.
How did you work through this?
Music. It’s crazy, but my love for music was my way out. The truth is, even if I never make music again, I’m still a fan of it. I listen to music all the time and it’s what helps me cope and heal. There’s magic in good music.
True that. Talking about good music, how do you maintain honesty in your work?
When it comes to my music, I don’t want a project that just goes in one direction, I want a myriad of emotions. I want people to listen, cry and dance with me. To do this, I have to be as honest as possible. For Antisocial, which people refer to as my biggest song, I wrote about how I was feeling at the time and it surprisingly connected with a lot of people. I just try to write from a realistic place that is true to my experience.
What do you strive for as a musician?
I try to be my most authentic self; sonically and personally.
Love that. I’m curious to get your thoughts on the concept of masculinity?
I’ve experienced masculinity in different stages. There’s the idea that was drilled into me as a child — being impenetrable and seizing control. We were taught to see women as objects when in reality, they should be on a higher ranking than men. They do so many things that men can’t even fathom or attempt. They literally create life and we can’t do that. The masculinity I recognise today is different. For one, it understands the power of vulnerability. There is a major difference between what society described as masculinity back then and what it is today. That being said, I believe it’s our responsibility as men today to note these differences, unlearn the past, listen to the conversations being had and evolve with the times.
How did you get to recognise this?
I exposed myself to a lot of information. I listen to different perspectives and experiences outside of my own, both in real life and through the media. Doing this, especially since I spent a lot of time consuming foreign media, I got to spot the disparities between what we see here in Nigeria and what an ideal society looks like. In Nigeria, we’re still shocked when we see women in certain positions of power, when globally, women have been wearing many hats for a long time. The narratives aren’t balanced out. In the end, everything boils down to how you want to be treated as a human being. It doesn’t hurt to treat others the same. Also, everything is easy to learn now. We can access information and be better.
I totally agree. So what are you looking forward to in the new year?
Honestly, I just want to be happy, well and in control of whatever narrative my life takes this year. It doesn’t matter if it’s at work or in my relationships.
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.
2021 has officially wrapped and we’re now in a brand new year. Just like with everyone else, a new year sparks a new beginning for the Man Like team and Zikoko general. We‘re excited to explore new subjects, shed light on uncomfortable issues and most importantly, start poignant conversations through the stories we’ll tell this year. But before we dive right in, let’s take one final look at the past with the stories you enjoyed reading and sharing in 2021.
It’s hard not to draw inspiration from Dare’s story, especially now when we’re all making new year resolutions and making plans for the future. Not only did this Man Like subject deviate from the career path his family mapped out for him, but he did this knowing he still had to cater to two young children who depended on him. Did this risk pay off? Well, you’ll have to find out here.
From moving out of his parent’s house at 25 to becoming a pandemic daddy, Adekunle Gold gave us full access to his evolution into AG Baby. In this episode of Man Like, our fave also talks about the new and experimental AG Baby fashion and why being a man in Nigeria is not beans at all. Read AG’s Man Like interview here
When you think “Chief priest”, you immediately imagine an older, grey-haired man in traditional garb offering advice to a king or something (blame Nollywood). However, in this episode of Man Like, we are introduced to Osunniyi, a 30-year old Ifá priest who became an Oluwo (Chief priest) at just 23. Read his insightful story here.
Denola Grey? Anxiety? Those are two things we didn’t expect in the same sentence, especially when you consider his almost larger-than-life social media persona. Talking to Man Like about life when the cameras are off, Denola explains the important role fashion plays in his life, as well as the need to curate friends that get and support you. Read his interesting story here.
In this episode of Man Like, we talk to a Zikoko OG and all-around tech baddie, Justin Irabor popularly known as The Vunderkind. He talks to us about growing up independent, the unique thing that brings him joy, his fear of coasting through life and finally, his ideologies about masculinity. Take a deep dive into Justin’s mind here.
What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.
As we slowly say goodbye to 2021 and brace ourselves for a new year, we decided to compile a list of some of our favorite Man Like moments of the year. From navigating fatherhood and career pivots to surviving secondary school bullies and mental health struggles, these stories cut across different parts of the male Nigerian experience.
The subject of today’s Man Like is Tunde Onakoya, a national chess master and the founder of the Chess in Slums project. He talks about a hard and poor childhood, his initially difficult relationship with his father and the impact he’s made with the Chess in Slums programme.
We all love feel-good stories that inspire us to be better and Tunde’s story happens to fit the bill. Coming from a family that could barely afford to pay his school fees, this Man Like subject has gone on to inspire and impact the lives of other young Nigerians through his Chess in Slums project.
The subject of today’s “Man Like” is Olanrewaju, the head of TC Insights — a research group that gathers data on startups in Africa, and uses the data to provide insights for stakeholders. He talks to us about the sacrifices of fatherhood, the influence of his parents in his life’s journey and what men should know before getting married.
We know diapers and school fees are very expensive at the moment, but something about Olanrewaju’s story has us ready to become someone’s daddy. Yes, we know it’s not easy, but we still want to take risk and succeed.
This week’s Man Like is Dare Aderinokun, a 34-year-old Nigerian man who went from being a banker to a bartender. He talks about making this career switch, his impostor syndrome and internal conflict around being the provider and how this change is improving his relationship with his kids.
Making a career switch from banking to bartending in your 30s is not something most Nigerians would do or encourage. However, this Man Like subject did it anyway. Here, he talks honestly about finding joy and how his decision affected the people around him, especially his children.
The subject of today’s “Man Like” is Muyiwa. He’s a writer and business mogul. He tells us why men should live intentionally, the role of friendship in his life, and his beer journeys.
It’s not every day we get to talk about male friendships. In an open conversation about accountability and navigating life, Muyiwa talks about his tribe of friends, beer-loving men who are always willing to drop everything to show up for him no matter what. Love it.
Today’s Man Like is Michael Ejoor, an actor and singer known for his roles on AfricaMagic’s Tinsel and Unbroken.In this episode of Man Like, he talks about dealing with paralysis as a child, being bullied in secondary school and how that sent him into depression, surviving a devastating suicide attempt and how his job helps him escape his problems.
Everyone was talking about bullying this year and Michael’s story is one that struck us. From his condition as a child to navigating the effects of the traumatic events he experienced in secondary school, reading this interview, I couldn’t help but appreciate Michael’s vulnerability and strength.
Today’s Man Like is Osunniyi, a 30-year old Ifá priest and the Oluwo (Chief priest) of Ile Oluwo Idingbe Temple. He discusses growing up with his grandfather, how he became the youngest-ever Oluwo at the age of 23 and the stigmatisation of traditional religions in Nigeria.
One of the standout stories for me this year, Osunniyi talks to Man Like about life as an Ifa priest, people’s reaction to his choice and how it affects his dating life. I couldn’t stop reading until I was done.
The subject of today’s “Man Like” is Desmond, a renowned writer. He talks about not fitting into the masculine stereotype, being raised by women, and how his anxiety about money pushes him.
Society places a lot on the importance of father figures, but if there’s one thing I took away from Desmond’s story, it’s that sometimes all you have are the women who inspire you and honestly, that’s fine.
When it comes to babies, there’s a cliché assumption that as a parent, the moment you hold your child for the first time, your heart will melt and you’ll experience love at first sight. It doesn’t always happen — especially not for Nigerian fathers who sometimes take longer to connect with their children. We spoke to five Nigerian fathers on falling in love with their children, why it took them so long and how they eventually got there.
Dapo, 43
We talk about the joys of having a child a lot, but honestly, having a baby can be scary. Falling in love with my daughter wasn’t immediate for me; it took almost a year. She was born when I was depressed. I had lost my job four months prior, and the fear of messing everything up drowned the joy of being a father. I was constantly thinking “Can I care for a baby?” Holding her for the first time, I was happy, but the overwhelming emotion was fear, not love.
The fear held me back from fully investing my emotions. Maybe that fear was love, who knows? Over time, seeing her in her little world unfazed by everything around her, I began to realise that she’d be okay. That made it easier to connect and fully love her. On her first birthday, even though we weren’t where I wanted us to be financially, I looked at her and had this feeling that everything would be fine. She was perfect.
Nasir, 36
I used to be a workaholic. It was so bad I wasn’t even around for my son’s birth. I was on a conference call and although I might have been able to skip it for his birth, I just couldn’t leave work hanging. The first time I met him, I was just surprised by how small he looked.. He was very close to his mum and I immediately thought I wouldn’t be able to “compete”, so I focused on work instead. I didn’t know him. I think everything changed on my 30th birthday. I came back from work after a stressful day and he was the first face I saw as I walked in and he just smiled. He had never looked at me and smiled before. It was almost like he knew I had a shitty day. It was my birthday too. That smile made me feel at ease. At that moment, I knew making him smile was all I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
Joel, 33
My wife and I wanted to have a baby the minute we got married, but it didn’t happen for the next four years. We tried everything from church camps to fertility doctors. Our sex life became a timetable that was based on when my wife ovulated. By the time she got pregnant, I was exhausted. Do you know how you work hard and long for something that when it comes, it just doesn’t excite you anymore? This was how I felt when my son was born. I remember walking up to see him for the first time and just wanting to be over it. Omo, this baby scammed me. I saw his tiny head covered in hair and I just started wailing. I couldn’t believe he was mine. Me, a father? I never believed in love at first sight until I saw Tade (my son) that night. Thinking about it makes me want to cry again. LOL.
Kayito, 30
I think I put too much pressure on myself (and our baby) to be perfect. I had read all the books I could find. After all, it was the least I could do since I wasn’t the one carrying a whole ass human being in their tummy. I thought the baby would be born, I would cut the cord, and look at her and it’d be love at first sight. Yeah, that didn’t happen. Her birth was chaotic because just like me her head was big and by the time she arrived, everyone just wanted to sleep. It wasn’t that I didn’t love her, it was just that I was disappointed in myself for not loving her the way I thought I’d love her. I eventually spoke to my therapist about it and she was the one who helped me see that I was expecting too much from our father–daughter relationship. I’m obsessed with her now, even more than I thought I’d be. The best part? I’m her favorite parent. My wife is number two, haha.
Malachi, 39
I wanted a girl, but I got a boy. I’m not ashamed to say it, and I think everyone knows it as well. It was one of those things where we got pregnant, went for a scan and apparently, the little rascal was hiding his penis so they thought it was a girl. Imagine my surprise when the baby was born and it was a HE. I was upset and it still hurts me that I couldn’t hide my disappointment, and that my wife could tell. I’m a planner so it felt like all my plans had gone to shit. For the first few weeks, I had to fake it. But once we came back to Nigeria and settled in our house, I just started to look at him differently. Maybe it’s because he looks like his mum and she is the best person in the world, but the more time I spent with him, the more I fell in love with him. Now, I even let him beat me at video games — and trust me, I hate to lose.
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.
Today’s Man Like is Yinka Bernie, a singer, producer and all-around creative whose work has been a crucial part of Nigeria’s alté scene since its SoundCloud days. He is also the producer behind the viral Amaarae song, Sad Girlz Luv Money. Over the years, he has also worked with other artists Lady Donli and Ogranya.
In this episode of Man Like, he talks about being a problem child, pivoting from music to tech, the relationship that changed his life and whether or not he’d ever consider coming back to music full time.
When would you say you had your “man now” moment?
I’ll say about two years ago when I turned 22 and started paying my brother’s allowance.
You started paying someone’s allowance at 22?
Yes. LOL. So I had just started to work and earn money when my parents got on my case to start taking financial responsibilities. After thinking about it for a while, I decided I’d start paying my younger brother’s allowance. Although it wasn’t life-changing money, my parents knew I was making a lot of money for my age and I could afford it.
You told your parents how much you were earning? Can never be me.
I didn’t tell them, they could see it. I switched up my lifestyle and they could tell I was making money. I was buying a lot of stuff, leaving the house a lot and I wasn’t asking them for allowance.
Not asking for money is where you messed up.
Right? But I also remember they had stopped sending me allowance in university too. After I sold my first beat and told my father how much I made, the next thing I knew, my allowance started coming late and over time it just stopped completely. I was about 20 years old at the time.
Did you ask them or did you just chest it?
I asked, but they were like, “You’re making money. What do you need our money for?” This didn’t mean that they didn’t give me money when I was very broke. But yes, they stopped the allowance because they knew I was making money.
All this money talk has me thinking you might be the first child.
You’re very correct.
Ah. Now I get it. So what were you like as the leader of the pack?
Mehn, being the first, I don’t think I was a good example to my siblings when we were growing up. I’ve grown and unlearnt some things and now I’m decent, but if we check two or three years ago, it wasn’t the same.
How?
I was doing random shit like fighting my parents a lot, not coming back home, etc. And even growing up, I was the problem child spoiling everything in my path. I remember the time I just jumped on the center table in our living room and broke it. All my siblings were jumping on the cushion but I chose that table and broke it. I chopped beating that day and rightfully so.
You clearly chose violence. What’s your relationship with your parents like?
As you can imagine, it wasn’t good back then because I was very mischievous. However, as I’ve gotten older, we’ve become really cool. They’re like my guys now.
Mad!
But I had to change it for them and set clear boundaries before they could finally understand and accept me as a grown adult. It took a lot of conflict and arguments to get to this point. I don’t think people realise the importance of setting boundaries with your parents. It’s always parents setting rules we should follow. I had to be firm and now they know not to call me at certain times or ask me really personal questions.
But how did you enforce these boundaries?
We had a lot of back and forth. They’d raise their voices and I’d raise mine too. In the end, everyone will calm down and look at the situation. Other parents might have thrown their kids out, but my parents knew that threat wouldn’t work on me because I could afford a place if I wanted to. Somehow, we reached a meeting point after I got them to understand that our generations are different and things have changed.
With some parents still being sceptical about music as a career choice, I’m curious as to whether that came up in your many conversations?
Obviously! So I studied Computer Technology in university and they wanted me to pursue it career-wise because the music wouldn’t be sustainable. I got where they were coming from because I had gauged the situation myself and chasing music alone wouldn’t have worked out well financially. Although my heart was still in music, I took a break in 2018, learnt how to code and started exploring other options. I eventually got a tech job in July 2019 and I liked it.
What was it like switching to tech?
It was seamless and fun for me. I didn’t have to dress “corporate”. Plus, it was a creative design job so it wasn’t boring at all.
Are you still there?
Oh it was an internship, but now I’m with Flutterwave.
Unicorn status? You’re a proper tech bro o
LOL
I know you’ve started making music again, how do you combine it with your job?
I started producing when I was about 16 or 17 so I can confidently say I’ve mastered how to work well and fast. It’s not difficult for me. I just open my laptop; make a beat or record vocals depending on what I’m working on. Taking out time away from music in 2018, I was able to find my footing and now I can afford to do music properly.
Found your footing how?
During the period I was away, I found a system that works for me. This time around, I’ve learnt how to delegate. I know I can do everything myself, but I don’t have to. I’m delegating so I don’t start to stress out.
Will you ever do music full-time again?
Yes. I plan on retiring from nine to five soon. It’s been great gaining experience from these cool tech companies, but in time, I’ll pick something less time-consuming so I can go back to music. Music has brought me this far and I know it’ll take me farther. I’m still young, so I have time to explore anything I want to do.
Talking about your music, a lot of it revolves around navigating relationships. Can you tell me about one relationship that left a major impression on you?
I haven’t really dated that much.
Okay, maybe I have. LOL. So I was in this relationship with some babe who was so dishonest, the relationship left me scarred. What started as me trying to empathise with a situation she was going through, ended up with us being in a relationship. There was a lot of manipulation and I just felt stuck most of the time. That relationship changed my perception of love and how it manifests. It taught me that you could love someone and still be in an unhealthy relationship. It was hard for me to trust any girl after that. When they talk, I assume they’re lying. But I’m working on my trust issues so I can allow my other relationships to flourish.
Wow. But how are you working on the trust thing?
The first step for me was acknowledging that I had a problem. I’m also trying to be optimistic in my relationships by giving people the benefit of a doubt when they speak. But last last, people are funny. I’ll just do my best to trust the process and let the relationship go in whatever direction it wants to go. I’m also conscious about being with someone who understands that it’s not about them, it’s just something I have to work on.
I feel you. Still on the music, your song It’s Ok to Cry reminded us about the importance of connecting to our feelings. What inspired the song and when was the last time you cried?
The ironic thing is I don’t express myself that much, so I don’t cry often.
So you scammed us?
LOL. No. I’m still trying to figure out how to connect to my emotions on that level, but I understand the concept sha. Whether or not I cry, I still feel like I’m just a medium sharing messages from a greater source (I don’t know who or what). I’m happy people can relate to the song. When I think about it, making the song was random. Although I was in a really happy place in my life mentally, I was still able to reflect on the darkness of the previous year (2019) where I was stuck while all my friends were making progress.
Stuck how?
It was when I took a break from music to focus on getting a job. Most of my friends who had left university with me were doing jobs they liked and being great at it. I was just there in one place, trying to figure my life out. It was really hard for me.
Damn. So since you’re not a crier, I’m curious to know how you handle these dark days?
I talk to people a lot. I express my emotions by sharing what I’m going through. I talk to my sister and most of my friends. It’s just about talking to the people I trust.
Talking about dark places, what are some of the challenges you’ve observed when it comes to navigating masculinity in Nigeria?
There’s an information gap. We don’t really groom male children in Nigeria. There isn’t a lot of focus on developing men mentally and socially and that’s why we have so much violence. There isn’t a lot of information and people don’t know better. Our parents didn’t teach us a lot and now we have to rely on the internet.
What is something you’ve had to unlearn with the presence of new information?
Over time, I’ve come to understand equality more. Growing up, I didn’t really notice the disparities in how men and women were treated by society. I’ve come to understand this gap better as I’ve gotten older.
Nice. So looking at your life now, what brings you joy?
My babe. Lol
Single people in the mud.
She gives me joy.
Congratulations o!
Come watch Yinka Bernie perform at Z! Fest on the 26th of November 2022.
Growing up as men, the world has continued to hammer on things we should or shouldn’t do as we try to “protect” our masculinity. As the world continues to change around us, we are beginning to understand what’s toxic and what isn’t. Despite these changes, some men still struggle to shake off societal standards and beliefs on masculinity. These six Nigerian men spoke to Zikoko about the times they didn’t feel like men.
Donatus, 41
I hit a rough patch financially when my daughter was just starting primary school. Before this happened, we’d had a deal where my wife took care of little things in the house, while I paid the main bills like rent and school fees. But things got so bad my daughter was refused entry into school. So, my wife had to gather the money herself and pay. My wife has probably forgotten about it now, but the fact that I’d failed at my responsibility to my family broke me. There are a lot of things I’ve connected and disconnected from manhood over the years. However, the one thing that still makes me feel less of a man is not being able to provide.
Ishaya, 30
I was super religious in university and remained a virgin up until my third year, even though I drank alcohol. After our final paper, my friends and I went out for drinks. We all picked up girls from the club and took them home. I lost my virginity that night. I regret having to pay for the sex I felt (and still feel like) shit every time I think about it. I haven’t paid for sex since then and I’ll never do it again. I don’t believe in having to pay for sex, as it makes me feel like I’ve failed as a man.
Aliyu, 33
The day I felt less like a man was the day I realised that my ex had been cheating on me with some other guy in our social circle. The cheating part hurt because I loved her, but the part where everybody knew and I was just the mumu playing love? That part messed with my head. I couldn’t go out for months and I cut everyone off. People still think it was the pain from the break-up, but for me, it was the embarrassment that stuck. I had become a joke in Lagos. Anyway, that’s why I keep serving breakfast left, right and centre. It will reach all of us.
Jeremiah, 29
Do you know how after break-ups we all assume women gather with their friends, hold hands and recite words of affirmation? Well, this was me when I went through a bad break-up in 2016. I was crying every day like somebody died and I couldn’t call my friends to join me because they would’ve slapped some sense into me. I didn’t even think it was a big deal until I came online and saw that this babe had gone to Dubai with another man while I was in Surulere weeping. It was serious first-hand embarrassment for me. People say she might’ve been sad too, but it’s my own I know. Men can cry, but crying over someone that doesn’t want you is just pathetic please. Never again.
Uzoma, 24
So I was hooking up with this girl one time and she tried to peg me. We were having missionary sex as the Lord intended, and this babe just started sliding her finger towards my butt. The next thing I knew, it was in and I liked the feeling. She continued for a bit and then asked if she could use her strap. Now, hollup! The West African in me took back control and I was like “Hell, no!” I said it in a jocular manner sha, even though I was firm, so I wouldn’t ruin the vibe. The crazy thing is that I liked it, but the toxic part of me was like, “We don’t do that ere! ” God abeg!
Tonye, 30
If you can believe it, I’m a 30-year-old closeted bisexual who still believes sleeping with other men makes him less of a man. While I had always liked women, I hooked up with this guy once after our office’s Christmas party. He was someone’s plus one that night, but went home with me. It was great and everything, but I woke up the next morning feeling like shit — it’s not like I’m religious or anything. I think it goes back to my uncle always telling me not to behave like a girl when I was a child, which is something I struggled with growing up. I rarely hook up with guys because that feeling keeps coming up. I’m seeing a queer-friendly therapist now and hopefully, I get over it and enjoy my life.
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.
Today’s Man Like is Lateef Saka, an investment banker and skincare content creator who has created content for brands like Cantu, The Body Shop and Murad. You might also recognise him from this viral video.
In this episode of Man Like, he talks about how he navigates an industry that is predominantly white and female, helping young people find their footing in the UK through his mentorship programme and the difference between Lagos and London men.
What was growing up like for you?
I grew up between London and Lagos. I was sort of an only child, which made me super independent real quick.
Hold up. What do you mean “sort of” an only child?
I’m my mom’s only child, not my dad’s. I interacted with my step-siblings, but we all lived in different houses, so it wasn’t the same.
To be honest, I enjoyed being an only child. Listening to cousins and friends complain about things like: “I couldn’t do X because my sibling wanted to do a different thing” or “Someone took my CapriSonne from the fridge”, made me happy I didn’t have to deal with that stress.
LOL.
Yes. Can you imagine if someone took a drink I kept in the fridge? Everyone in that house will fall. I don’t have time for nonsense.
Scrim. Between London and Lagos, where did you spend the bulk of your time as a child?
Most of my time was in London and I loved it. I got to meet a diverse group of people and try out things. For example, when I was about six years old, I became interested in sculpting after seeing a sculptor on TV. Though I didn’t end up becoming a sculptor, I was able to take sculpting lessons because I was in London.
I’m curious about what else you tried because you were interested…
LOL. Off the top of my head, I’ve tried out writing, coding, photography and even ballet. An only child never really has anyone to show them how to test the waters of life. That forced me to be driven and accountable from a young age. I try not to limit myself when it comes to trying new things.
I’ve also come to realise that the limitations we put on ourselves are oftentimes linked to our socio-economic backgrounds. Our financial backgrounds sometimes prevent us from exploring other interests to see if there’s something else we might be good at.I’ve seen young people push their hobbies to the side with tunnel vision on academia and the jobs that come with it. They view these jobs as the only way to make money, when some of our hobbies could be profitable as well. Mentoring young black men and women is something I became very passionate about after this discovery.
How did you get into mentoring?
When you live in the UK, you notice the systematic and institutional barriers against young black people — from education and housing to the justice system through the police. We have students who aren’t reaching their potential not because they’re not intelligent but because they’re not fully aware of the system and the opportunities available to them. I want to show them that they have options.
I had mentors myself, and it was beneficial to my journey. From big things like helping me network to silly things like choosing what tie to wear to an interview, my mentors were really helpful. People fail to understand the impact mentors could have on your life.
Okay, I think I need a mentor ASAP. I’m curious. How you define masculinity.
I don’t think there’s one way to be a man. Masculinity is always changing and evolving. Remember when men used to wear wigs and tights like 200 years ago? To me, masculinity is a construct that manifests in different men in different ways. Everyone should respect that.
I feel you. How does it manifest in you?
Wow. To be honest, I’ve never really sat down to think about it. You caught me with this question.
LOL. What are your thoughts on how masculinity is evolving in today’s world?
I mentor young men, and they could be quite impressionable. Some have this idea of what masculinity should look like and those who don’t fit into that mold become easy targets for bullies. Sometimes it’s the minute things like when one of my mentees didn’t like football — frankly, I don’t know when football became the A to Z of masculinity) — or when one of them wore a pink tie to prom, and it became a big deal.
There are two ways to go about toxic masculinity, have the conversation and try to change things, or uphold the current standard. I try to do the former. I talk to them about these misconceptions. We might not talk about the full breadth of masculinity, but we discuss toxic masculinity.
A pink tie?
As ridiculous as it might sound, it happens. Masculinity can be different depending on where you are in the world. And sometimes, it changes even within the same country. Now, I have an anecdotal example based on what I’ve seen travelling within Nigeria. In the north, I’ve seen two men walking and holding hands and no one seemed to care. Can two men hold hands in the south? Well, I doubt that.
That’s interesting. Any difference between Lagos and London men?
One thing I’ve noticed is that Lagos men rarely fight with each other like men in the UK.
Are you sure about that?
Yes. LOL. But this is a much-nuanced conversation. Men exhibit violence depending on what their immediate society finds appropriate. I look at London and Lagos (Nigeria) through the lens of consequences. Misogyny and homophobia are rampant in Nigeria because there’s little to no consequence attached to them. In the UK, these consequences might not be immediate or obvious, but there’s no denying that they exist. Men in the UK tend to be politically correct just so they don’t tarnish their image or face negative consequences. This in no way absolves or makes them better than Nigeria-based men. Everyone is just trying to tread the appropriate lines.
I’d like to know if you’ve ever felt “less” of a man.
Not particularly, but when I started creating skincare content, I realised there was this misconception that skincare is strictly for women. It didn’t make me feel a way because I knew it was false, but it was still weird.
How did you get into creating content for skincare?
For me, the whole skincare content creation thing started because I was on a personal skincare journey myself. When I hit 21, I started getting facial hair and with shaving came awful razor bumps. Now I have always been interested in the science of skincare and had taken courses on my own, so I started looking for solutions to my skin issues. Over time, comments about my skin went from from “You have good skin” to “What do you use?” I got tired of answering the questions individually, so I decided to mass-produce content and share the knowledge I had gained.
What was your family’s reaction to Lateef the skincare content creator?
My mum said “Okay”. She knows I’m very organised, and it wouldn’t affect my regular job, so there was no need to protest. I also know her well enough to understand how best to breach these types of topics.
Talking about jobs, how do you juggle all that’s going on in your orbit?
My brother, I have like 16 planners. I don’t commit to anything unless I’m 100% percent certain that I can see it through. For example, for the past two months, I haven’t put out anything due to the pressure of work and mentoring. I try to be real with myself with what I can or cannot do.
What’s a valuable lesson you’ve learnt now that you wish you knew when you were younger?
I’ve learnt that it’s really important to protect your peace. When I was younger, I don’t think I fully understood this because I was always trying to make everyone happy. It was the little things like going out with people when in actuality, I just want to stay home.
Finally, what would you say are the necessary things needed to live a happy life?
Money
Lol. Just money?
LMAO. What else? God and yeah, that’s it I guess.
Lateef, there’s like family and friends o.
Oh yeah. Money, God, family and friends. Thank you for reminding me because you know sometimes they slip your mind. But money doesn’t slip my mind because there’s always a bill to be paid, and I can’t carry last.
On 1st December 2021, Nigerians were shocked by the gruesome death of 12-year-old Sylvester Oromoni, a student of Dowen College, caused by bullying. Reigniting a conversation about a problem that has become normalised over time, Nigerians have demanded justice, not just for Sylvester, but for other students suffering in schools across the country.
With bullying becoming a recurring conversation in the Nigerian space, we spoke to seven Nigerian men on their different experiences as either victims or bullies themselves.
Tobi, 31
Over the past few years, I’ve tried my best to block out what I went through, but seeing the news lately has been triggering. I was bullied for most of my junior years in secondary school. I remember begging my parents to take me out, but that was a legacy school for my family and if my elder brothers could bear it, why couldn’t I just “rise above”? I still haven’t forgiven them for this and I think they know it.
Unfortunately, by the time I became a senior, I turned into what I hated. I don’t think it was on purpose, but it’s not an excuse. I remember it only hit me in my final year when I slapped a junior and realised I had changed for worse. I can’t blame it all on the school because I had a choice, but I know I still have residual anger issues that I’ll have to sort out over time. A part of me is still very mean.
Chime, 26
I had this senior in secondary school who would always demand my provisions until one day, I decided to stop giving them to him. I remember he made me squat continuously from 10 p.m to 3 a.m the next day, even though I had classes that morning. I was just 14-years-old at the time. Punishments like this continued and my grades suffered for the entire year. There was also another guy who made me pay ₦6,000 for the chain he misplaced while he was flogging me. It’s crazy. I told my mother who reported to the housemaster but the school did nothing, and reporting just increased my suffering. I never spoke about it again.
Osas, 35
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to the realisation that as men, we’re always trying to “outman” each other. I don’t know where this feeling came from, but I know it’s there. I hate to admit it, but in boarding school, I was a terrible person. I was the senior whose name caused fear among junior students. I was bullied too, and every time I was hit, I promised myself that I would get revenge.
We went through these things with the hope that when we got to a position of power, we’d do the same (or worse). It’s also a very Nigerian thing where you want to be rich just so you can show other people pepper. Do I regret it? Yes. But It’s too late to start fixing things from the past, so I’ve moved on.
Prince, 29
For me, it was a rite of passage. The bullying in my time wasn’t really violent — it was more about chores. I remember having to fetch water, wash and iron my senior’s clothes, which was considered normal. And when I became a senior myself, I made my juniors do the same thing. I wasn’t a violent bully hitting people or depriving them of their food sha. However, I did hear a story of a senior who pressed a steam iron on a younger student’s chest.
Joe, 22
For me it was the time a senior asked me to lie down in a room that was being dusted, knowing fully well that I had asthma. I think I was about 12-years-old and he had summoned me, but no one told me. As if that wasn’t enough, after a while, he dragged me up, applied olive oil on his palm and just slapped me repeatedly until I passed out. I remember waking up in the hospital, but the worst part, the school’s nurse didn’t believe my story. The school later found out and compelled him to dig a hole his height. Please, what sort of punishment is that? Why couldn’t they just expel him?
David, 28
I’m a femme presenting man, so bullying and abuse is something I’ve gotten used to overtime. I remember it started in primary school when other kids used to taunt me, calling me names like “woman wrapper”. It was so bad that even when I finally caved in to perform masculine activities like playing football, these kids still didn’t give me a chance. They dragged me and threw the ball at me. It was a terrible experience.
Throughout primary and secondary school, I was made to feel less than I am, so I chose to bury myself in books. It’s so bad that I still get uncomfortable and scared anytime I see a group of boys gathered in one place. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to let go of my change in the bus because I’m scared I’d be attacked for having a tiny voice.
Lanre, 26
The bullying starts right at the beginning of your first year in school. I was 12 years-old and at the bottom of the food chain which automatically made me a prey. Some senior was in charge of assigning junior students to seniors slavery-style and he selected me to be one of his subjects. I would fetch his water, wash his clothes and hand him my provisions every term. He was smart enough not to beat me as that could raise suspicion. We didn’t report these things because we knew we’d be seniors too one day and there were teachers who flat out told us to deal with it.
I’m glad I got a lot of love from home which made me realise that it wasn’t a “me” thing. Looking back, it’s just a tiny part of my life and it didn’t leave that much of an impact on me.
Christmas is coming, and as usual, we’re forced to buy gifts for other human beings in the name of “relationship”. Anyway, if your lover likes to spend countless hours in the gym instead of in bed with you, we have a couple of affordable gift options they’d love to have while working out. While some might sound ridiculous, we implore you to take risk and succeed.
1. Ashawo shorts
If you ask a gym bro why they love ashawo shorts, they will tell you it allows them to spread their legs to squat properly, but we all know it’s a bloody lie from Lucifer. It’s just an opportunity to advertise their toned thighs in the gym. If you are looking to help your lover sell their market, you should probably order a pack of these.
2. Primary school water bottles
Working out can leave you dehydrated and that’s why having a bottle of water at all times is very essential. Looking to go the extra mile to ensure your lover has a steady supply of cold water at all times? Well, we suggest you invest in one of the water bottles we used to take to school when we were younger. These bottles are so heavy, they could pass for gym equipment. All your partner has to do is hang the rope on the neck while doing pull ups. We’ve heard the results are mind-blowing.
3. Curate a playlist filled with chaotic Terry G songs
As a supportive partner, we suggest you create a playlist with old Nigerian songs that are chaotic and loud for no reason at all. Nothing gingers a person more in the gym than listening to Terry G’s Free Madness. Listening to songs like this constantly while lifting crazy weights will definitely free their inner madman. It might not be your main goal, but in this life, you reap what you sow.
4. Food flask
We’ve all seen that picture of people turning a Nigerian gym into Mama Put. Well, buying your partner a food flask for the gym shows that you’re a thoughtful lover with foresight. The next time they go to the gym and there’s food, they’ll be able to bring a little takeaway home to you. They can also use the food flask to eat swallow when they decide not to do this gym thing again.
5. White handkerchief, not towel
We all sweat in the gym, so this is important. Get your partner a pack of white handkerchiefs they can use in the gym. Why? Well, if you get them a towel, chances are they might become lazy and not wash it (God help you if it’s brown). To avoid stories that touch, get them white handkerchiefs, so any time they see the dirt from their face they’ll be forced to wash their handkerchiefs. Also, if they ever decide to become cultural dancers, handkerchiefs would be the least of their worries.
6. Pay for their gym membership for a year
This is for people who have funds. If you’re broke, kindly wait for the next Black Friday or Christmas bonanza at your local store. Like Davido said, “Love is sweet o. When money enter love is sweeter.”
