• Sharon* (21) feels satisfied and happy in her relationship with Tim*, her boyfriend of two years. But she can’t stop feeling guilty about how she treated her ex, Tobe*, when she wanted to end their relationship for the love she has now.

    This is Sharon’s story as told to Betty:

    An incoming call vibrates my phone in my pocket. I pull out the device and see my ex’s name flash across my screen. This is his fifth call today, and I’ve ignored every single one. Guilt churns my stomach as I decline for the umpteenth time. I’m not ready to have a conversation and explain why I cut him off. Honestly, he did nothing wrong; I just couldn’t ignore what my heart was telling me.

    Let’s rewind to secondary school. A new student, Tim*, joined our class in SS1. When we saw each other for the first time, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that we had met before. He felt the same, so I knew there was something there. That weekend at home, I looked for my primary school graduation photo, and I got a pleasant surprise. Tim and I were in the same primary school set. 

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    He was just as delighted when I told him, and we became really close friends. It didn’t take me long to realise that I liked Tim— a lot. He told me he liked me, too, but it was one of those things where I thought we were better off as friends. Besides, secondary school is nothing like the real world. I didn’t want to get distracted by my feelings or have them ruin our friendship. After leaving secondary school in 2021, we lost touch, but those feelings I had for Tim were never resolved, just buried at the back of my mind.

    In my 100L, I was all in on making good grades, so I didn’t really entertain any suitors. After one of my departmental tutorials, I walked up to one of the organisers, Tobe*, and asked if he knew when the next one was going to be held. He took my number and promised to update me about the tutorial schedule. But instead of just tutorials, Tobe and I talked about almost everything else. Soon, we became very close and comfortable with each other. A few more weeks passed, and I started to realise that we were in a relationship. He never asked me out officially, but we did basically everything couples do. Besides, I felt like his girlfriend.

    When we talked, Tobe would confide in me about his previous bad luck in romantic relationships. He said he always got his heart broken and asked why I would want to be with him. He wasn’t the most handsome guy in the world, but Tobe was two years ahead of me and talented. He was sweet, and I loved his voice. I reassured him that I was different and that I wasn’t going to hurt him. I liked him, and I enjoyed being with him. There was something about Tobe that made me feel so curious and intrigued that I couldn’t imagine why he had those doubts.

    In 2023, when I was in 200L, a strike interrupted our school year, and we all went home for a bit. While we were away, communication between Tobe and me slowed to a crawl. We usually kept in touch much better, but something about that unexpected break from gruelling school work made it easy to relax and not think too much about texting my boyfriend or whether he replied or not.

    During this gap in our communication, Tim and I reconnected online. At first, it was just a casual conversation with an old friend, but the more we talked, the more I realised that I still had a massive crush on him. We reminisced about all our favourite memories from secondary school, and I found out that we still lived in the same town. Tim invited me out to see a movie that weekend, and I agreed. I knew Tobe would have objected, but I felt that since he wasn’t giving me any attention, he wouldn’t be too upset about it. Besides, it wasn’t like Tim and I were going to do anything, so I pushed my niggling conscience aside and went to see the movie with him on that fateful Friday.

    After the movie, Tim and I were talking about what we enjoyed about it. He then said he wanted to ask me something and I told him to go ahead. After beating around the bush for a bit, Tim asked me to be his girlfriend. I was shocked but secretly, a little pleased. 

    I asked him why he would want me to be his girlfriend. Why now? Why, after all that time had passed? Tim looked me in the eyes and told me his truth. He had liked me since we were in SS1, and even though we lost touch after school, he had never been able to stop thinking about me and his feelings. He didn’t want to miss another opportunity, and that’s why he was making his intentions known.

    I loved that Tim wanted to be with me because my feelings for him were just as strong. But this also threw me into a dilemma: what was I going to do about Tobe? I told him I wanted sometime to think about it but when we went on another date to a park on Sunday, I said yes.

    I already felt bad enough about being with Tim and was wondering how best to break it to Tobe when he started trying to communicate with me in earnest. I tried to tell myself that what I did wasn’t so bad because Tobe and I weren’t in a very defined relationship. But that didn’t stop my conscience from pricking me constantly. I was so wracked by guilt, and I didn’t know what to do. So instead, I made a decision I’m not proud of — I ghosted Tobe.

    He tried so many times to contact me. Texts, calls, emails, you name it. I couldn’t bring myself to respond to him. I didn’t know what to say or where to start the conversation. The strike lasted a few months, so I thought that by the time we resumed, he would have stopped trying, but Tobe was relentless and it made me feel even worse.

    Even though I did my best to avoid him, I ran into him at school, and he refused to let me go until I explained my sudden disappearance. I managed to choke out a summary of what happened during the strike. The knot of guilt in my throat almost made it impossible, but I did my best. The look on his face when I told him made my guilt even bigger. 

    He said he didn’t hold it against me for choosing my first love. After all, he said, he already knew that he had bad luck with love. I think I would have felt better if he had exploded in anger. I tried to explain that I was wrong and he should be more upset with me, but he just walked away. 

     After a few months of no contact, Tobe felt ready to discuss what had happened properly, but honestly, I was too afraid to even try. I had blocked his number and profile everywhere so he couldn’t reach me. Then one day after a class, he walked up to me and begged me to give him a number he could call so we could talk. I knew he still wanted to talk about us and why we ended. I couldn’t imagine looking him in the eye and telling him why I chose someone else. So I lied that my number was still working and he could reach me anytime, but I knew in my heart that we wouldn’t be talking. 

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    The guilt became even worse, and I think it’s because I’m so happy with Tim. I’m afraid that karma might come back to pinch me later down the line.  I tell him everything, and when we talked about this, he said that though what I did was cowardly, I should just let it go and not try to force the conversation. I suspected it was because he was a little jealous of Tobe,  but it allowed me to convince myself that continuing to avoid confronting my guilt about Tobe was the right thing to do.

    I would still choose Tim all over again. We’re still together, and our relationship only keeps getting better and stronger. I just wish that I had been gentler with Tobe’s heart, and I was brave enough to end things without hurting him too badly. He didn’t do anything wrong, but I had to follow my heart. I had to go to my true love.

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  • While most Big Brother Naija alumni pivoted to entertainment, Topher Bassey took a different route. The 25-year-old, who gained recognition on BBNaija Season 9, saw his post-show spotlight as a springboard for his true obsession: building brands that last.

    “I think I’m a workaholic,” Topher says with an easy laugh. “I sleep thinking about work. I wake up thinking about work.” 

    It’s hard to doubt him once he starts talking about his multi-hyphenate life: creative director, designer, entrepreneur, consultant and how he’s turned fame into a functional ecosystem of business.

    From Code to Campaigns: The Making of a Creative

    Topher’s story starts at university. A computer science student with a sharp eye for style and a knack for driving buzz, he quickly realised that coding wasn’t where his passion lay. “If I were going to be a software engineer, it’d just be for the money,” he says. “But what’s life without purpose?”

    While still an undergraduate, Topher Bassey began channelling his love for fashion into something more structured. Guided by his sister’s partner, who introduced him to the fashion business, he started selling pieces for him and learning the ropes. “He showed me how a fashion business works and encouraged me to turn my personal style into a venture,” Topher recalls. What began as a side hustle on campus, sharing his style and selling pieces, gradually evolved into Debonair Republic, a brand specialising in modern suits and statement pieces, with tailors, stylists, and photographers in his employ.

    After graduating in 2022, Topher took a job as a PR consultant as his first real 9-to-5 experience. Before that, he’d interned at companies like HP and Topshot Media, experiences he credits with building his discipline and professionalism. “Those years taught me how to manage people, handle presentations, and think strategically,” he recalls. But while he was learning corporate order, his mind was already sketching out brand blueprints.

    Building Before the Breakthrough

    By the time he entered the Big Brother house in 2024, Topher already had a functioning fashion brand and a plan. “I knew I wanted to be a thought-leader in the fashion and design space,” he says. “The show was a platform, not the goal.”

    He used the spotlight strategically when it came. Rather than chasing endorsement deals or acting roles, he doubled down on business. The show’s popularity gave Debonair Republic new visibility and reach, setting the stage for his next chapter, Creations by Topher, a design agency specialising in merchandise and branding, with a growing footprint in sports and gaming communities. Built on the design skills he honed during his university days, the agency reflects his ability to blend creativity with strategy.

    At the same time, he continued to provide PR consulting on a larger scale, collaborating with brands to scale their presence and expand their reach through creative direction and storytelling. 

    Creations by Topher: Where Design Meets Culture

    He calls ‘Creations by Topher’ “a dynamic and innovative design agency crafting high-quality, engaging merchandise that resonates with fan communities.” The company’s ethos is simple: it’s not just about putting logos on T-shirts, but turning brand stories into culture.

    That mindset caught attention fast. Within a year, Creations by Topher landed contracts with the African Military Games (AMGA), the Nigerian Football Federation as AFCON’s official merchandise designer, Ughelli Rovers FC, and Mazerance, an Australian gaming company.

    “The AMGA project opened every other door,” Topher says. “After that, almost every merch design job we’ve done traced back to that work.”

    Today, his agency runs with a small but efficient team of five to ten: illustrators, marketers, and social media leads, while he functions as “the creative engine behind it all.”

    The Republic Expands

    Meanwhile, Debonair Republic has evolved into a full-scale fashion house. It now employs eight to ten tailors, a production head, social media and sales leads, and a creative team for photography and video.

    The brand’s storytelling-driven collections: “For Everyone” and “Sarang” (meaning love in Korean), explore identity, belonging, and emotion through clothing. “I like to create pieces that connect with people,” Topher says. “Every drop has to tell a story.”

    Their reach is now global, serving clients in Nigeria, the UK, the US, and Canada, particularly international students who want Nigerian-made suits abroad. “We’ve bridged the gap,” he says proudly. “African designers can compete globally.”

    When asked about scale, he’s candid: “We’ve serviced 500 to 1,000 customers since last year,” he says. But, he’s more reserved about how that volume translates to revenue, choosing to keep the figures private. Still, he admits the growth has far exceeded his expectations, raking in nearly five times what he imagined when he left the Big Brother house.

    When Fame Meets Function

    If there’s one thing Topher doesn’t shy away from, it’s giving Big Brother Naija its credit. “That platform opened doors that would’ve taken me five years and ₦200 million in marketing budgets,” he says. “It expanded my market beyond Nigeria; now we ship to Ghana, Zambia, South Africa, and other countries, all thanks to the show’s dominance across Africa.”

    Still, he insists the show didn’t change his direction, only his speed. “I was already doing the work,” he says. “The visibility just multiplied it.”

    That visibility has also powered his community of fans, the “Guardians”, who consistently buy his releases. “We rolled out one merch drop after the show, and over 100 pieces sold out in under eight hours,” he recalls, “That showed me the community is real.”

    Balancing Ambition and Reality

    Running multiple businesses hasn’t come without cost. “It’s not glamorous,” he admits. “There are months when sales are slow, but salaries still have to go out.” When Creations by Topher, Debonair Republic, and his PR work all peak at once, “it gets overwhelming.”

    But he’s grateful for stability. “None of my staff have left since we started,” he says. “It means something’s working.”

    When asked how he measures success, Topher pauses for a moment. “It’s not just numbers,” he says. “Its impact. When I see a jersey or a suit and think, ‘We created that story,’ that’s success.”

    What’s Next for Topher Bassey

    A year after leaving the BBN house, Topher’s focus has shifted to scale. He’s now eyeing global collaborations: sportswear, luxury branding, international fashion showcases.

    “It would be nice to consult for Chanel or direct for Louis Vuitton while my brands still stand strong,” he says with a grin. His motivation, he adds, is a mix of restlessness, addiction to change and fear of regret. “I hate doing the same thing twice. And I never want to look back and think I should’ve stayed in tech.”

    Legacy Over Limelight

    In a post-reality-TV world where fame fades fast, Topher Bassey is building something that would outlive the spotlight.

    Through his design agency and fashion label, he’s doing just that. Each project, from sports merchandise to tailored suits, is another step toward creating a brand that’s known for its value.

    “I wasn’t trying to chase the spotlight after the show or get into entertainment,” he says. “I just wanted to build something that would last longer than attention.”

    And if his trajectory so far is any proof, he’s already doing just that.


    Read Next: 12 Other Big Brother Naija 10/10 Housemates Who Won (Even Without the ₦150 Million)


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

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

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

    And that is exactly what they have been doing.

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

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

    Kenya

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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    Peru

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

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

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

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

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

    Morocco

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

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

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

    Nepal

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

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

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

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

    Who will barb us this style?

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

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

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

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

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

    The tower of Babel Nigeria

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

    ~Genesis 11, verse 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    We came, we saw, they opened fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    What was it all for?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Many ways to kill rat

    “A problem well stated is half solved.”

    ~Charles Kettering

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

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

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

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

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

    The art of the follow-through

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

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

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

    Dear Nigerian Gen Z, which one you dey?


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


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  • Another September, Another iPhone

    Every September, iPhone owners face the same dilemma: stick with their current device [that probably still works perfectly] or splurge on Apple’s newest release. But this year, the question feels more pressing, and the answer, a little clearer.

    The iPhone 17 series arrives with some substantial upgrades: double the base storage (256 GB, up from 128 GB on the iPhone 16), improved battery life, a brighter display, and significant camera enhancements. On paper, it’s Apple’s most refined device yet. It’s faster, sharper, and more efficient in all the ways that matter.

    But refinement comes at a price. The iPhone 17 starts at $799 (about ₦1.2 million), and that’s just the base model. For those eyeing the Pro and Pro Max models, the numbers climb much higher, raising a familiar question for buyers in Nigeria and beyond: Is the upgrade really worth it?

    Here’s our verdict — a clear-eyed look at how the iPhone 17 series price in Nigeria stacks up against its predecessors’features, performance, and real value for your wallet.

    The Lineup: Meet the iPhone 17 Family 

    Each model is designed to appeal to a specific kind of user. Whether you’re after portability, performance, or the best camera Apple has ever built, the iPhone 17 family has a clear hierarchy.

    1. iPhone 17

    The standard model is Apple’s new baseline, and it’s far from basic. With an upgraded A19 chip, improved energy efficiency, and a larger 256 GB base storage, it corrects one of last year’s biggest criticisms. It’s the most balanced option for users who want flagship-level performance without stepping into Pro territory.

      2. iPhone Air


      As its name suggests, the Air is lighter and slightly smaller, built for those who prioritise portability and comfort. It sacrifices some of the higher-end camera and processing power of the Pro line, but remains sleek, capable, and ideal for people who simply want Apple quality in a more compact form.

      3. iPhone 17 Pro

      The Pro takes a noticeable leap forward with the A19 Pro chip, AI-assisted photography, and a refined titanium frame. It’s designed for creators and power users who care about speed, performance, and professional-grade photo and video quality without going all in on the size and price of the Pro Max.

      4. iPhone 17 Pro Max

      At the top of the lineup sits the Pro Max — the flagship powerhouse. It offers the largest display, the most advanced camera system, and the longest battery life in the series. Built for users who want the absolute best Apple has to offer, it also carries the highest price tag — a device that blurs the line between phone and professional camera.

      The standard iPhone 17 comes in Lavender, Sage, Mist Blue, White, and Black, while the iPhone 17 Pro and 17 Pro Max are available in Silver, Cosmic Orange, and Deep Blue. 

      The Big Numbers: What It Costs in Nigeria

      The iPhone 17 lineup isn’t just about better cameras and faster chips; it comes with a significant gap in pricing , too. Based on current exchange rates, here’s how much each model costs globally and what that roughly translates to in naira.

      iPhone 17 Series Prices at a Glance:

      ModelPrice (USD)Approx. Price (₦)Available Storage OptionsKey Highlights
      iPhone 17$799₦1.2 million256 GBImproved battery life, A17 chip, efficiency boost
      iPhone Air$999₦1.5 million256 GB, 512 GB, 1 TBLightweight design, portable, same chip as base model
      iPhone 17 Pro$1099₦1.6 million256 GB, 512 GB, 1 TBA18 chip, AI-assisted camera, titanium frame
      iPhone 17 Pro Max$1,199₦1.7 million256 GB, 512 GB, 1 TB, 2 TBLargest display, best camera system, longest battery life

      N.B.: These are base prices. Models with higher storage capacities typically cost significantly more.

      Upgrade or Hold On? 

      The iPhone 17 series brings a mix of meaningful and marginal improvements, depending on what kind of user you are.

      At first glance, the upgrades are tempting: the A19 chip promises faster performance and improved energy efficiency, AI-assisted photography makes image processing smarter, and battery life has been bumped up across all models. For everyday use, these tweaks mean smoother multitasking, better low-light photos, and a few extra hours before you need to plug in.

      But if you already own an iPhone 15 or 16, you might find much of the experience familiar. The design language remains nearly identical, the charging port is unchanged, and outside the Pro and Pro Max, the camera refinements are subtle rather than game-changing. In other words, this isn’t a complete reinvention — it’s an optimisation.

      iPhone 17 vs. iPhone 16 at a Glance


      Feature 
      iPhone 16  SeriesiPhone 17 Series
      Base Storage128GB256GB
      ChipsetA18 & A18 Pro chipA19 & A19 Pro chip
      AI FeaturesLimitedExpanded AI integration across camera, search, and system
      Battery LifeUp to 22 hoursUp to 25 hours
      DesignAluminium/GlassSimilar design, lighter build on Air model
      CameraDual 48MP systemImproved low-light and AI-assisted photography

      Expert verdict: “Most people won’t notice a huge difference unless they create content or shoot videos professionally,” says a Lagos-based Apple vendor we spoke to.“For everyday users, the 15 or 16 still perform exceptionally well.”

      Our Take

      Worth upgrading if… you’re a creator, tech professional, or rely on your phone for photography, video, or performance-heavy tasks.

      Not worth it if… you’re a casual user whose current iPhone already meets your needs.

      Ultimately, the iPhone 17 series is only a smart upgrade for those who’ll use its power, but an unnecessary splurge for anyone else.

      The Psychology of Owning an iPhone

      The psychology behind iPhone upgrades goes beyond specs or performance. For many people, it’s driven by perception: the feeling of progress, of being up to date, of owning something premium , and a sense of belonging to a particular class of users. But that emotional satisfaction rarely lasts long enough to justify the steep price. Understanding the difference between need and novelty is where financial clarity lies.

      Bottom Line

      For creators, tech professionals, and heavy users, the upgrades: more storage, longer battery life, AI-powered photography, and faster chips are worth the spend. For casual users or anyone whose current iPhone still performs reliably, the 17 series adds little to daily life. Weighing the iPhone 17 series price in Nigeria against your actual needs ensures every naira spent delivers real value, letting you make a smart, financially informed decision without paying for features you won’t use.


      Read Next: Top 10 Most Expensive Phones in the World (2025)


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    1. On October 3, 2025, US Senator Ted Cruz made a post on X (formerly Twitter), claiming that Nigerian officials are helping with the “mass murder of Christians by Islamist jihadists.”

      Since then, people have been arguing about whether there is actually a religious genocide happening in Nigeria.

      To be fair, Nigeria has been dealing with terrorism in the North for decades. Thousands of lives have been lost, and millions of people have been displaced. Then there is the farmer-herder conflict, especially in the North Central (Middle Belt) region, which keeps tearing communities apart.

      But what is really behind these conflicts? And do they actually prove that Christians are being specifically targeted?

      A history of violence

      The religious terrorism of terror groups in Nigeria’s North is a complicated issue with deep historical roots. Analysts trace it back to unresolved resentments from the carving up of territory and the work of British missionaries during the colonial era.

      Since then, different groups have popped up preaching an extreme form of Islam that rejects all Western influence. These groups are usually started and led by charismatic men with deeply conservative religious views.

      There was Muhammad Marwa’s Maitatsine in the 1970s, then Mohammed Yusuf’s Boko Haram, which has evolved, splintered and had different leaders over time.

      These leaders might genuinely believe in their doctrine, and many of their followers do too. But to really understand the nature of the violence in Nigeria, you have to look at how these groups recruit.

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      The root of all evil

      In the 1970s, Marwa recruited most of his followers from poor members of the Kano population, especially the Almajirai. He drew them in by calling out the hypocrisy and flashy lifestyles of rich Northerners, who he said had been corrupted by Western influence. He tapped into a very real resentment that comes from wealth disparity.

      Almajiranci is a system of Islamic education in which children, usually from poor families, leave their families to study with an Islamic teacher. They survive on alms earned through begging.

      Years after Marwa led his followers in the Kano Riot of 1980, which killed over 4,000 people, including himself, Mohammed Yusuf showed up with a similar tactic.

      Yusuf opened a school in his hometown in Yobe state, where poor families enrolled their children. This became a recruiting ground for Boko Haram members from the impoverished and alienated Northern population. He established micro-financing programs to loan small amounts of money to individuals, which created a large following of loyal youths for him.

      It is the same pattern we are seeing now with the terror group known as Lukarawas, which burst onto the scene in early 2025, offering ₦1 million to new recruits as part of their recruitment drive.

      This trend has played out in other parts of the country. The South has seen violence from armed groups in the Niger Delta, and the East from secessionists. Both are driven by feelings of economic and political dissatisfaction. People feel the government is not looking out for them, so they lash out.

      Nigeria is a very poor country with a shocking wealth disparity. The poor are facing actual starvation, while the rich are loud and proud with their wealth. That is always a recipe for unrest.

      Drought and a rain of bullets

      Truthfully, the violence has been creeping further south for a while now. And as it moves from the majority-Muslim populations of the North to the majority-Christian populations in the South, it is getting a lot more coverage, with some communities alleging ethnic targeting. But the violence has more to do with climate change than religion or ethnicity.

      The nomadic herdsmen of the Fulani ethnic group are being pushed further south by changing climate conditions. This has led to more clashes with the farming communities in those regions. The easy access to weapons—thanks to the terrorist conflict in the North and Nigeria’s loose borders—makes these clashes deadlier.

      Niger, Benue, Plateau, and recently Edo state have been major flashpoints. But farmer-herder clashes have also been reported as far south as Enugu, Delta and Bayelsa.

      Sadly, the cycle of violence has gone on for so long that it has taken on a more bigoted tone. An “us versus them” mindset. You can see this in the recent burning of a group of Hausa travellers by youths in Edo State.

      But we must not lose sight of the real reasons behind these conflicts: scarce land resources made even scarcer by rapid climate change.

      Cho cho cho! Ted, show working

      After his initial post on October 3, Senator Ted Cruz made another post on October 7, claiming that 50,000 Christians had been killed since 2009. He did not provide any source for these numbers.

      The numbers of casualties from the violence vary with sources with different sources claiming vastly different numbers. Also, there is an unfortunate trend in media coverage, especially in the west, is the underreporting of Muslim victimisation.

      A 2020 Oxford Journal of Communication study which analysed Western media coverage of Boko Haram attacks in Nigeria found that Muslim victims received significantly less coverage than Christian victims.

      Still, a 2014 African Studies Centre report estimated that two out of every three Nigerians who died in the conflict with Boko Haram were Muslim.

      In 2021, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) reported that 35,000 people had been directly killed by terrorist activity in the North East (specifically Borno, Adamawa and Yobe), all Muslim dominated areas.

      The report estimated there were around 315,000 more deaths due to indirect factors such as lack of food and other resources caused by the conflict. So, a total count of around 350,000 deaths due to the conflict between 2009 and 2020.

      The report also projected that by 2025, the death toll would have risen to around 48,000 direct deaths and 674,000 indirect deaths.

      We are all targets

      An important point about the Boko Haram insurgency that is often left out of media reporting is the deliberate targeting of Muslims. So let us talk about the concept of takfir.

      Takfir is the excommunication or declaring of a Muslim as an apostate, which is punishable by death.

      The concept is used by Islamic terrorist groups as justification not just to discount the deaths of Muslims due to their actions, but also as justification for specifically targeting them. Boko Haram is a takfiri jihadist movement.

      Abubakar Shekau, the leader of the group from 2009 until his death in 2021, was quoted as saying, “Even if a woman is praying and fasting, once she engages in democracy, I can capture her in a battle.”

      Any Muslim who is not an active member of the group is considered an “apostate”, and for members of the group, it is not just acceptable to kill them, it is a duty.

      No matter your religion, to fanatic terrorists, we are all targets.

      Why now?

      They say not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but we are not sure that saying makes sense here. In this situation, it is very important to ask, “Why now?” Why the sudden interest from the US government at this particular time? And why is it coming from the right wing of American politics?

      Senator Ted Cruz’s first post on the issue came on October 3, 2025, just a little over a week after Vice President Kashim Shettima told the UN General Assembly that Nigeria supports a two-state solution in the Israel-Palestine conflict.

      It is easy to see how pro-Israel voices might try to stoke Islamophobic sentiments in Nigeria to distract us from rightly empathising with the majority muslim population of Palestine. 

      Senator Ted Cruz is a fierce supporter of Israel’s interests. He receives campaign funding from the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC), a pro-Israel political lobby organisation.

      It looks like this particular gift horse has Israel lobby money in its mouth.

      All I want to say is…

      The reason we are so tempted to quote the King of Pop himself is because the attitudes towards insecurity in Nigeria give us very little hope that this new concern is coming from a good place.

      In 2014, the US refused to help Nigeria fight Boko Haram, citing human rights violations by the Nigerian military. Then, on October 26, 2020, a US citizen was kidnapped at the border with Niger and held in Sokoto State. Five days later, US special forces rescued him with zero casualties.

      So we have to ask: why has a country with the ability to carry out such a successful mission on Nigerian soil not offered more help earlier in the conflict?

      In an X post, Cruz claimed to know the masterminds of the so-called Christian genocide. He wrote, “The United States knows who those people are, and I intend to hold them accountable.”

      Again, we ask, “Why now?” How long has the US known the masterminds behind Nigeria’s violence? And why is it only after Nigeria has spoken against US and Israeli interests that Senator Cruz has decided to act?

      In the words of Michael Jackson: “They do not really care about us.”

      Following Ted Cruz’s lead, United States House of Congress member Riley Moore has called on the US government to sanction Nigeria over what he called “systematic persecution and slaughter of Christians.”

      He asked for Nigeria to be declared a Country of Particular Concern (CPC) so the US can stop all sales of weapons and technical support to Nigeria. The irony of criticising the Nigerian government’s inability to protect its citizens by taking away even more of that ability.

      The Nigerian military is not doing enough, but surely, when we take away their guns, they will finally defeat the militants.

      We are not pawns

      Nigerians must not allow themselves to be used as pawns in the US propaganda war. To these US politicians—who are far removed from the conflicts they stir up, whether in Gaza or Maiduguri—it might all feel like a game. But it is not a game to us, the people who live through the violence and its effects.

      The stakes are too high for us to be dragged into a simplistic and bigoted version of a very complex issue. The genocide of Christians that Ted Cruz and his people talk about simply does not exist. The numbers do not support it. Saying otherwise ignores the countless Muslim lives that have also been lost.

      What is true is that Nigerians, Muslims and Christians included, are being killed and displaced in huge numbers. And that is a problem that deserves our full attention until it is solved. But it can only be solved by working together, not by tearing ourselves apart along religious or ethnic lines.

      How do we fix it?

      A United States Institute of Peace report from 2014, “Why Do Youth Join Boko Haram?” listed the causes of the insurgency as “poverty, unemployment, illiteracy, and weak family structures.”

      To weaken these armed groups, it recommended that the Nigerian government “strengthen education, job training, and job creation programmes; design robust programmes to aid destitute children; promote peace education; and embark on an anti-corruption campaign.”

      The report concluded that fixing these issues would greatly reduce the strength of the insurgency or even wipe it out completely.

      As a people, we need to come together and choose leaders who understand these problems and know how to solve them. That means getting involved in politics and using our democratic tools. Get your PVCs and vote!

      What you can do right now is not let yourself be used to spread harmful propaganda. Do not share or repost those narratives on any platform. Instead, post messages that unite us, and share well-researched data, facts and figures that expose the lies.

      Most importantly, we need to realise that our solutions are here, at home. The US is not coming to rescue us. We have to save ourselves.


      Talk to us hereIf you have had any experience when Nigeria’s systems made life harder or unexpectedly easier, we want to hear about it.


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    2. We all know at least one person who’s always in need of urgent 2k. Unfortunately, Nigeria is that “person” to every country that has a few dollar bills to spare. With the country’s debt servicing rising from ₦8 trillion in 2024 to  ₦16 trillion in 2025 under the Tinubu-led administration, the country can now easily pass as your average chronic debtor. 

      It’s becoming increasingly difficult to deny that the country may be facing a debt crisis, but the worst is yet to come, as experts have predicted that the country’s overall debt could reach ₦187.79 trillion by the end of 2025.

      Here are some of the most interesting loans the Tinubu administration has taken this year and the goals they were supposed to achieve:

      $500 million World Bank loan to boost economic resilience 

      In March 2025, President Tinubu, who is now one of the World Bank’s regular customers, bagged a $500 million loan from the global lender. The money was supposed to ease Nigeria’s growing economic struggles through the Community Action for Resilience and Economic Stimulus Program.

      What this money was supposed to do for Nigerians: President Tinubu’s economic reforms have functioned as the weapon fashioned against Nigerians for two years now, and according to the presidency, this loan was supposed to fix that by strengthening the local communities hit hardest by inflation, food shortages, and instability. The plan was to do this by handing out targeted grants and livelihood support to low-income families and small businesses. It’s hard to find any relevant information that confirms how that’s going since the present administration has a history of being slow to disburse funds that were borrowed to sponsor projects. 

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      $1.08 billion World Bank loan for education

      Nigeria started in April 2025 with a $1.08 billion loan from the World Bank. The loan was originally supposed to be a response fund to the COVID-19 pandemic, but since the approval is coming in an economically challenging year like 2025, it is being redirected to fund Nigeria’s other development priorities.

      What this money was supposed to do for Nigerians: This loan was supposed to improve education, household resilience, and nutrition, particularly for underserved communities. According to the breakdown by the World Bank, $500 million was supposed to be allocated to an economic stimulus program, another $500 million directed toward enhancing education quality, while the remaining funds were supposed to be used to improve nutritional outcomes across the country. It has also been hard to track the progress of this program, and over 3 million children are still suffering from malnutrition in the country. 

      $747 million loan for the coastal highway

      In July 2025, Nigeria decided to give the World Bank some breathing space by patronising other lenders. This time, it was Deutsche Bank and a crew of other financiers like the First Abu Dhabi Bank, African Export-Import Bank, and Zenith Bank, who stepped in to offer Nigeria a $747 million syndicated loan.

      According to the Ministry of Finance, this is the largest infrastructure-specific loan of its kind in Nigeria’s history. 

      What this money was supposed to do for Nigerians:  This loan will fund the first phase of the country’s ambitious 700-kilometre coastal highway, a multibillion-dollar megaproject expected to stretch from Lagos to Calabar over the next eight years. But, it’s worth noting that this initial financing only covers 47.47 km, which is roughly 6.7% of the total route. Even though this project hasn’t hit the halfway mark, it already has its fair share of drama. Oyo State Governor, Seyi Makinde, recently questioned the transparency of the project because the Minister of Works, David Umahi, has refused to disclose the project’s actual cost.

      $750 million loan for digital infrastructure and health access 

      On Tuesday, September 30, the World Bank put on its big lender hat again and announced another $750 million loan to Nigeria. The fund was designed to sponsor two development projects to boost the country’s digital infrastructure and healthcare preparedness, especially in underserved and vulnerable communities.

      What this money was supposed to do for Nigerians: According to the Bank, $500 million was set aside for a project called the Building Resilient Digital Infrastructure for Growth in Nigeria (BRIDGE) project. This project, led by Nigeria’s Ministry of Communications, Innovation and Digital Economy, is expected to expand broadband access in rural and remote areas. The other $250 million was allocated to Phase II of the Health Security Programme in Western and Central Africa, with Nigeria as a key participant. The project is designed to help Nigeria strengthen its ability to respond to health emergencies. It’s too early to predict how this loan will be utilised since it was approved a few weeks ago. 

      $238 million loan for National Grid 

      In August 2025, President Tinubu took his borrowing business to Japan, where he secured a a $238 million loan from the Japan International Cooperation Agency to strengthen the country’s national power grid.

      What this money was supposed to do for Nigerians:  According to the president, the loan “will finance the expansion of the national grid. The project includes the construction of 102.95km of new 330kV double circuit lines, 104.59km of 132kV double circuit lines, four 330/132/33kV substations, two 132/33kV substations, and multiple line bay extensions to improve efficiency and reduce system losses.”

      $300 million loan for Internally Displaced Persons (IDP)

      If you’re thinking “another loan”? Yes, another loan. In August 2025, the government secured another $300 million loan from the World Bank; this time to support Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) and the communities hosting them in Northern Nigeria.

      According to a statement released by the World Bank, the loan’s goal was to sponsor the Solutions for the Internally Displaced and Host Communities Project (SOLID), targeting areas most affected by conflict and displacement.

      What this money was supposed to do for Nigerians: The project has ambitious goals of benefiting up to 7.4 million people, including 1.3 million IDPs, by improving access to basic services and creating economic opportunities. 

      $1 billion loan to finance agriculture 

      In September 2025, the government, through the Bank of Agriculture (BOA), secured another huge loan from a different big lender, the African Export-Import Bank (Afreximbank). The released fund was $1 billion, and according to BOA’s Head of Corporate Communications, Maikenti Akila, it will go toward setting up a National Fund for Smallholder Farmers.

      What this money was supposed to do for Nigerians: This fund’s goal is to provide loans for seeds, fertilisers, agrochemicals, and mechanised services to help increase crop yields. Some of it will also go into building out infrastructure for storage, aggregation, and logistics. The status of this loan’s progress is also unknown at the time of publication. 

      Every country has its loans, but experts fear that the Nigerian government is going overboard with them. Our loan servicing bill for 2025 is much higher than the government’s budget for education, defence, security, infrastructure, and health. 

      While you cannot fix Nigeria’s debt problem, there are a few things you can do to demand transparency from the government: 

      • Find out which ministry, the agency, or the contractor is responsible for implementing each loan-funded project. Use public records, watchdog groups, or civil society platforms like BudgIT or Tracka. Then ask the necessary questions through social media. 
      • Call your senator or state assembly representatives for updates on the loans affecting your constituency. 
      • Support media platforms that investigate spending by sharing their work, subscribing or donating if you can. If the government knows people are watching, it changes the game.

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    3. The rainy season in Nigeria runs from April to October. But for people living in Lagos, a low-lying coastal city surrounded by water, it often means flooding. Poor drainage and decades of neglected infrastructure have turned places like Lekki and other high-end island areas into flood zones.

      Despite the high cost of housing, basic systems still fail. For residents like Cynthia (26) who live in these flood-prone areas, one night of heavy rain can mean losing their homes, belongings, and the uneasy hope that next time, the water won’t find its way back in.

      In this story, she recounts what it was like to live through one of Lagos’s most severe floods in 2025.

      As told to Aisha Bello

      It had been raining since Sunday night; a slow, endless downpour that blurred day into night. By Tuesday, the whole estate was submerged. The road outside had turned to a river, but that was normal for Lekki. Flooding belongs out there, but not inside our homes.

      That morning, I stayed upstairs, curled up in my duvet, half-asleep to the sound of rain drumming steadily on the roof. I didn’t realise it was the sound of the estate drowning.

      The cold was comforting, the kind that wraps around you and lulls you into deeper sleep. Around noon, I finally decided to go downstairs.

      The moment my foot touched the last step, I froze. The living room was already covered in murky brown water, spreading quickly across the floor.

      I’d only been asleep a few hours. How could my home have turned into a floodplain in that time?

      Moving In and Early Warnings

      I live in an estate in Lekki. It’s supposed to be one of those places where you can breathe a little easier — less chaos, some sense of order. The terrain is marshy, but it’s never a problem until it rains and the water starts to rise.

      I moved in on May 10, and it hasn’t even been six months yet. My housemate and I live in a four-bedroom two-storey home. We turned one of the rooms into our studio and kept another as a guest room.

      We’re both artists. I make rugs: tufting and mat-making with wool and yarn. My housemate also works in the creative space. The plan was to build a “craft house,” a kind of open studio where people could come, create, and connect. We chose this place because of the location. Lekki is central, secure, and easy for people to reach. It felt like the right foundation for what we were trying to build.

      But almost from the start, the rain became our biggest obstacle. Since we moved in, the estate has flooded so frequently that it has disrupted practically every aspect of our lives. There’s the flooding outside the estate, the one right at the entrance, and then the one that creeps into the estate itself. It’s like three layers of water closing in, each one worse than the last.

      Because of this, we’ve had to pause many of our plans. I host rug tufting classes from home, and we’ve had to reschedule at least three times because of the weather. Even simple things, like hosting dinner for our community, get cancelled once the rain starts.

      The estate flooding happens almost every time it rains heavily. The water just sits there, stagnant, for days. Then there’s the house flooding — the one that keeps me anxious. Before the big flood in September, we’d had one where water seeped in gently, rising through the pipes and trickling past the front door. It wasn’t bad then, just a thin film on the floor in the guest room and kitchen. But it was enough to scare us.

      We didn’t know that was just a warning of what was to come.

      The Worst Flood: September 23

      That Tuesday afternoon, I was still trying to make sense of the water when I heard movement near the kitchen. Our guest, my housemate’s friend, was frantically lifting things.

      “What’s going on?” I asked, still half in shock.

      “There’s water everywhere!” he said, splashing past me.

      We didn’t have time to think. We carried everything we could upstairs: electronics, furniture, kitchen appliances, even the fridge. The guest room bed went up too; the water had already submerged the bed frame. 

      By the time we finished, the water had risen to my knees, and at 5’2, that felt like a lot.

      At one point, I almost panicked, but our guest said, “This isn’t the time.” He left shortly after, but I stayed. I couldn’t leave my cat.

      By evening, I was wading through water trying to feed him. The flooded roads delayed my cat’s food delivery, so I had to pay extra for the dispatcher to slog through the estate. The water was at his chest when he reached my gate.

      By the next day, exhaustion had set in. I was anxious and a little depressed. I didn’t want to move. My friends eventually came to drag me out, literally. They waited at my estate’s junction and hired someone to carry me across the water because walking through it myself wasn’t safe.

      I’d tried to walk out on my own, but halfway down the street, I stopped. The water had risen so high that I knew it would reach my neck if I took one more step. It wasn’t worth the risk or the possible infection. So I swallowed my pride and climbed onto a stranger’s back.

      When I returned days later, the water had drained, but the house reeked of rot. The stench clung to the air: thick, sour and unbearable. 

      A thick line on the walls marked how high the flood had climbed. Maggots wriggled in the fridge. We’d only just stocked up that week. Everything, from meat to fruit, stew, and leftovers, was rotten. We threw it all away.

      We’d saved the electronics but not the peace of mind. I had to completely reshuffle my budget — including food, repairs, and unexpected expenses that weren’t part of the original plan for the month.

      The Aftermath: Cleaning, Living with Anxiety, and Adjusting

      It’s been two weeks since the flood, and everything is still in disarray. Time, space, and even safety have been thrown off balance. When we first got back, the house reeked of rot and dampness. 

      In a moment of disbelief, I shared the flood aftermath on social media. That’s when a Lagos-based cleaning company, Shaaré, reached out to offer a deep clean, free of charge.

      It was such a kind gesture, and honestly, we desperately needed it to get past the overwhelm.

      They came in, scrubbed, and disinfected every corner. They practically brought the house back to life. Even then, my housemate couldn’t bring herself to stay. The anxiety was too much. So, for almost a week, I was the only one sleeping here, moving through the silence and trying to adjust to how different everything felt. Everyone finally returned a few days ago, but the house still doesn’t feel the same.

      I’m still anxious; I can’t shake the feeling that a terrible downpour might happen again.

      Most of our things are still out of place. We only just put the fridge back downstairs, and even that felt like a risk. The kitchen items are still upstairs, just in case. None of us can bring ourselves to fully unpack. The fear of another flood lingers.

      Every rainfall now feels like a warning. When it rained again earlier this week, I woke up panicking, half-expecting to find water rising at the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad this time. Our houseguest had already moved things out of harm’s way before I even got out of bed.

      Still, the anxiety hovers. We’ve started planning for floods the way other people plan their routines. It’s unsettling how normal it’s become: keeping valuables upstairs, checking the weather, moving through the house like we’re waiting for something to collapse.

      Decision to Leave — and What Flooding Says About the Lagos System

      What angers me the most is that it happened at all. Before moving here, I lived in Ajah for almost two years and never once saw water enter my house. So, to be paying nearly three times my old rent and still find myself trapped in knee-deep water feels insane. It shouldn’t be happening. Not here. Not anywhere.

      Flooding in Lagos highlights the inadequacies of our systems and infrastructures. The drainage is blocked, the city is overbuilt, and no one seems to care. The solutions are basic: proper drainage, stricter building laws, and some actual enforcement. But instead, people build over drainage paths, government officials look away, and we all make jokes about “Lagos flooding season” like it’s harmattan. 

      It’s not funny. It’s loud, deliberate neglect, and somehow, everyone has accepted it as “normal.” Because that’s what happens here: nothing changes for so long that people stop expecting it to. 

      We have already decided to leave when our rent expires. There’s no point staying in a house you can’t trust to stand when it rains. But even when I move, I’ll still remember the smell of rot in my kitchen, the sight of a delivery man chest-deep in water, the anxiety that lingered and the quiet understanding that Lagos will always test how much discomfort you can normalise, until you finally reach your limit.


      Read Next: Here’s How You Can Save Your Area From Flooding This Year


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    4. Sometimes, life puts you in messy situations where you’re not sure if you’re doing the right thing or not. That’s what Na Me F— Up? is about — real Nigerians sharing the choices they’ve made, while you decide if they fucked up or not.


      Kelvin* (33) swore never to lend his long-time friend Derin* (32) money again after he defaulted on a loan. But after deciding to stand on business, the aftermath left him conflicted.

      When you’re done reading, you’ll get to decide: Did he fuck up or not?

      This is Kelvin’s dilemma as shared with Betty:

      Derin has been one of my best guys since uni. We bonded over our shared love for football and Manchester United, and quickly became inseparable. 

      We lived in the same hostel and shared everything — food, clothes, money, and more. In 2017, after we graduated, I got into tech as a designer and earned a decent money from international gigs. My income soon outweighed what Derin earned as a human resources officer. 

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      His work workplace was toxic and always delayed salaries, so he often borrowed small amounts from me to survive till payday. It was usually ₦20k here or ₦30k there. The amounts were small enough that I never asked him to pay back. I felt I could have spent the money on something trivial anyway.

      But in 2019, Derin asked me to lend him ₦700k. He said he wanted to start a poultry business and promised to pay me back in six months. I told him I was saving for a trip, so I’d need the money back as planned. He agreed and promised he would repay it.

      Six months passed, and Derin didn’t mention the loan. I figured he needed more time, so I let it slide. A month later, I gave him a gentle nudge. He said he’d pay me back in two weeks. Two weeks came and went, still nothing.  When I called him again, he said his favourite aunt fell sick and he’d used part of the money for her hospital bills.

      I wanted to give Derin some more time, but then my phone got stolen and I needed money to replace it. When I asked about the repayment again, Derin flared up and accused me of hounding him like I thought he’d run away with the money. I got upset. I’d been more than patient, especially since he chose the repayment deadline himself.

      That argument turned into one of our biggest fights. We didn’t speak for a week until he finally sent ₦350k. We made up afterwards, but he never mentioned the balance again. I also didn’t bring it up. I simply resolved I wouldn’t lend him money anymore.

      At first, Derin stopped asking for small loans, and I kept quiet too. But almost a year later, in August 2020, he sent an urgent text. He said his dog had caught a parvovirus and needed ₦300k for treatment. He promised to pay me back at the end of the month.

      My first instinct was to send the money, but I remembered the unpaid balance from the last loan and how he’d never even brought it up. So, I held back. I told him my expenses were high that month and I couldn’t spare it. 

      Unfortunately, his dog didn’t make it. He didn’t even tell me about it. I only found out from  his WhatsApp status. I sent him a message saying, “Sorry about your loss,” but he flung my well wishes back in my face. He insulted me, called me a useless friend and said I was the reason his dog died.

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      Am I a virus? The statement annoyed me. I reminded him that I’d lent him far more than ₦300k in the past, and he had never paid it back. But, he said I should have considered the life at stake before saying no.

      I found his reasoning  ridiculous, but that argument changed our friendship. We haven’t been the same since. However, I still feel torn. I sometimes wonder if I should have just sent the money, even though I’d probably never see it again.



      Also Read: 5 Nigerians Open Up on Going No Contact With Their Parents


    5. Sunken Ships is a Zikoko weekly series that explores the how and why of the end of all relationships — familial, romantic or just good old friendships.


      When Nifesimi* (25) told Ada* (24) he wanted them to get into a long-term relationship, she thought they were a match made in heaven.

      In this Sunken Ships, Ada shares how her complicated relationship with Nifesimi bloomed and faded in four months and how she’s learning to cope in the aftermath.

      What was the moment you realised that your relationship with Nifesimi was over?

      When the usual check-in calls and texts I got in the morning, afternoon and midnight evaporated, I knew that something between us had changed for the worse. Nifesimi used to want to talk to me all the time, but all of a sudden, he became too busy to respond to me or pick my calls. It was nothing like when we first met.

      Tell me about that. How did you meet Nifesimi?

      It was early February 2025. I was scrolling on Instagram when I got a notification of a new follower. I checked who it was and saw it was Nifesimi, the really cute keyboardist in the church choir. Being in the choir myself, I had noticed him on the choir group chat when I was at school in Calabar. I saw him every week at rehearsals, but aside from the cordial greeting when we saw each other, we were no more than church acquaintances. 

      How did you become close?

      We became close when he helped me mediate a big fight I had with one of the other choir members. We talked about it on Instagram, and he was my shoulder to cry on while I talked out my frustrations. I got so upset, I started crying, and he called me to calm me down. We ended up talking for hours. It was as if we had been close forever; it was a heady feeling. He even mentioned that night that talking to me was so soothing that it felt like therapy.

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      How did that connection make you feel?

      I was excited, but wary. I had just come out of a messy, toxic relationship at the end of 2024, so I wasn’t keen on jumping into another thing so quickly. Nifesimi also said he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He wanted us to be friends who confided in each other. But he would call me every morning, afternoon and night just to check in or flirt and also share about his day. Of course, the emotional lines started to blur shortly after.

      How do you mean?

      I get easily emotionally attached to people with whom I share a close rapport. When Nifesimi came into my life and suddenly started calling me multiple times a day, I found myself developing feelings for him despite my wariness and desire to be single for some time. He would call and text me in the middle of the night so I could wake up to his messages. He also started signing off our calls with “I love yous” that I responded to in kind. Soon enough, I was hooked, constantly looking for a notification from him.

      Did you tell him how you felt about him?

      No. We hadn’t really spoken about our feelings, and I had to keep reminding myself that even though we were talking and flirting regularly, he wasn’t my man yet. That all changed two weeks later, after an overnight rehearsal we had at church.

      What happened then?

      He snuck out of the designated hostel for the men and came to talk to me. We found ourselves a secluded spot, and before I knew it, we were in each other’s arms, kissing.

      Aw, that’s so cute.

      At first, I thought the same, but he started trying to get us to do more. I told him to back off, mostly because we were in church and still hadn’t defined what we were doing. Then he flipped. He accused me of not really loving him because I declined his offer of sex. He eventually agreed to hold off, and we parted. I should have noticed that as a red flag.

      Why?

      The ex I had just split up with used to do the same thing. He would try to manipulate me into having sex with him even though that wasn’t what I wanted. It was one of the reasons our relationship was full of fights.

      I see. What happened after you parted at church?

      We went to bed for the night. In the morning, while we were waiting to leave church, he asked me if I knew that I was his woman. He also asked if I was ready for a long-term relationship of maybe six or seven years because he wanted us to take each other seriously. My emotions bloomed when he said this. It was exactly what I wanted to hear. I became very attached to him in that moment because I felt he was being intentional about us. 

      So you guys became a couple?

      Yes, we became a couple that night, but we agreed to take it slow.

      Okay. What happened after that?

      After our conversation that morning at church, I noticed that I was the one putting in more effort into our relationship. The calls and texts from Nifesimi had slowed down to a trickle. It made me so anxious. I started questioning myself if I had done something wrong to offend or put him off. The funniest thing was that he wouldn’t reply to my messages but I would see him chatting away on the choir’s WhatsApp group. It hurt me so deeply.

      Did you reach out to him to complain?

      No I had bigger issues, my exams were around the corner. So I didn’t have time to chase him down with calls at texts. I stopped reaching out entirely a day to the start of my papers and the day after that he called me.

      What did he have to say?

      He begged me on the phone and said all sorts of things. He kept begging me not to leave him and said he wasn’t afraid to beg for my love. He claimed he couldn’t lose me. His sincerity softened my heart, and I forgave him for disappearing. We went back to our lovely dovey state for the next three days, and he ghosted again.

      Ah, for the second time?

      That wasn’t the only time. It became his thing for the rest of our relationship. He would disappear without saying anything, and the moment I stopped reaching out, he would come begging and making all sorts of promises. Regardless, I visited him at his house when we made up the second time in April after he pulled a disappearing act.

      How did the visit go?

      It was uncomfortable even though I tried to ignore it. I wanted to keep my no-sex policy, so when he made advances to me after we ate at his place, I declined. His mood changed instantly, and he became withdrawn. It bothered me a lot. He continued saying that I didn’t love him, and if I did, I would prove it by sleeping with him. I really wanted to keep what we had, and I thought agreeing to sex would help maintain our relationship, so I said yes.

      What happened afterwards?

      I went home, and almost as soon as I arrived, I got a call from Nifesimi.  I thought it was going to be a cute check-in call after our first time together, but instead, he called to insist I buy and use birth control because he didn’t want to risk getting me pregnant. This rubbed me the wrong way, but I wanted to make us work, so I went along with it and got some protection.

      Would you say your relationship with Nifesimi improved after this?

      No, in fact, things reached a fever pitch on my birthday in May. Nifesimi and I had fallen into a routine where we would go to church and head back home together. If we weren’t leaving together, he would usually walk me to my bus stop and get me a ride home.

      That Sunday, when I asked him if he got me anything for my birthday, he snapped at me. He said asking was impolite and that I shouldn’t ask him about his plans. So I decided to mind my business. However, when I got home that day, he had disappeared online again. I decided that I wasn’t going to reach out because I wanted to see how long it would take for him to respond to me.

      How long did it take?

      If I were still waiting, I’d be waiting forever. I couldn’t get him off my mind, so a few days after, I sent him a screenshot of his texts when he was begging for my attention and love. I asked him what had changed between his confession and his current behaviour. It was then that he said he wanted to end our situationship because he was very busy at work.

      Ah!

      That’s not all, he also said that what happened between us was a mistake and we happened too fast. He tried to make me feel like none of what we shared was real.

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      How did you take that?

      I took it very badly. I was sad and listless for days. I got so sick, my period didn’t come for more than a month. I realised Nifesimi has love-bombed me, and I was left holding my bag of emotions alone.

      Did you try to reach out to him after that?

      Yes, I did. It was hard for me to accept that the man who had been chasing me for weeks suddenly didn’t want anything to do with me. He, on the other hand, took it in stride. He sent me funny videos on Instagram now and then as if we were still friends. Sometimes, he would shower me with attention, other times, he wouldn’t reply for days. I wanted to break the cycle of ghosting, breadcrumbing, and reappearing, so I unfollowed him, and since then, I’ve had peace of mind.

      Would you take him back if he promised to change his ways?

      No. He hurt me deeply and took advantage of my feelings for him. I keep thinking of how my mental health deteriorated after we split up, and I wouldn’t wish that pain on any girl. I don’t wish him ill, but I never want anything to do with him again.

      What’s something you learned from this experience?

      I learned detachment. This relationship with Nifesimi affected me badly, and I have learned to distance myself from those feelings. I also learned how to spot love bombing and move away from people who don’t have my best interests at heart. It’s been a good journey so far


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    6. What do you get when you mix tradition, games, great vibes, and the rich taste of Malta Guinness? A celebration like no other! That’s exactly what went down at the Iriji Festival in Festac on the 28th!

      From the moment you stepped into the festival grounds, it was a full-blown sensory party. The air was alive with the rhythms of traditional drummers, dancers in colorful attire twirled through the crowd, and majestic masquerades added that touch of cultural magic that makes Iriji so special. But it wasn’t just about soaking in the sights, it was about diving into the action, and Malta Guinness made sure of that.

      First up, the games! Whether you are an Ayo board master or a Ludo champ, there was a game with your name on it. The eating competition had everyone cheering (and drooling a little), with winners walking away with cash prizes and free Malta Guinness drinks — now that’s a win-win! The photo booth kept the vibes fresh, with guests striking their best poses against a backdrop of tradition and fun.

      Thirsty? Of course you were! Good thing there was a mixologist whipping up Malta Guinness-infused mocktails so delicious they had people coming back for their second (and third…we’re not judging). It was refreshment, reimagined and trust us, your taste buds would’ve danced too.

      The festival also brought out the foodies! Popular influencer chefs like Daniel Ochuko and Tife Pereao were on ground, soaking in the beauty of culture and cuisine. They tasted, toasted, and celebrated the rich blend of heritage, all with Malta Guinness at the heart of it.In the end, the Iriji Festival wasn’t just a celebration of the harvest, it was a celebration of culture, community, and that unmistakable Malta Guinness energy. Here’s to fueling more moments of goodness — one festival at a time!

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