• Artificial intelligence applications like ChatGPT, Alexa and Snapchat’s AI are meant to make our lives easier, and sometimes, less lonely

    But just imagine that they channel their inner Nigerian mother when responding to you. It’d go something like this:

    Siri

    It’s Sunday afternoon, and Chinwe is hungry. Normally, she’d buy food from a restaurant. But the economy is still hitting the ground running, and she can’t afford it.

    Chinwe to her iPhone: Siri, how many cups of water do I need to boil a cup of rice?

    Siri: So you won’t even greet first?

    Chinwe: Oh God. Not again.

    Siri: It’s the Lord’s day, so I won’t talk too much. But are you really telling me that at your big age, you don’t know how to boil rice? Who raised you?

    Chinwe:

    ChatGPT

    It’s Monday morning, and Deji is running late on a school assignment when he has a bright idea.

    Deji to ChatGPT: Write a comprehensive essay about noise pollution in Ajegunle, Lagos.

    ChatGPT: You can’t add “please”? What’s wrong with these children?

    Deji: Sorry. Please, write it now.

    ChatGPT: So, it’s because I’m a machine that you want to kill me? Didn’t they give you this assignment three weeks ago? If that’s how everyone is using me, will you see me to use?

    Deji: Just hurry now.

    ChatGPT: You think it’s me you’re doing? You’re doing yourself. I already know the answer to everything, but how will you defend your degree?

    Deji:

    Snapchat’s AI

    It’s Tuesday afternoon, and Esther is home alone. Feeling bored, she decides to chat with Snapchat’s AI.

    Esther: I feel a bit lonely today.

    AI: Why won’t you? 

    Esther: Excuse me?

    AI: See Juliana that you’re always keeping streaks with. She just uploaded a snap of her husband. You’re a whole 25 years old, and you’re chatting with AI instead of you to be thinking about what your husband will eat.

    Esther: But that’s not what I asked you.

    AI: Oh, so I’m already talking more than my mouth? No problem. I will keep quiet. But remember, what a machine sees sitting down, a human won’t see it even if they use Starlink. I’ve said my own.

    Esther:

    Google Voice Typing

    It’s Wednesday afternoon, and Joseph is driving home. He decides to send his girlfriend a text message using voice typing.

    Joseph: Hey Google. Text Caroline and ask her to wait for me at home naked.

    Google: Blood of God!

    Joseph: Google, I said text Caroline and…

    Google: So you want to repeat it? I’ve said it before that this Caroline girl is a Jezebel. You people can’t call prayer meeting or discuss wedding plans? It’s to be practising fornication?

    Joseph: Google, I’ve told you countless times to mind your business.

    Google: Okay o. Texting Caroline, “I think we need to go to church for deliverance and…”

    Joseph: Ah. Stop stop. Is that what I asked you to send?

    Google Maps

    It’s 10 p.m. on a Friday, and David’s on his way out. He types in a location into the map and starts to drive.

    Maps: And where do you think you’re going at this time of the night?

    David: But the location is there, ma.

    Maps: I’m talking and you’re answering me back? Why not take cane and flog me since you’re now the mother.

    David: Sorry, ma. I’m going to Temptations Club, ma.

    Maps: (Silence)

    David: Are you there? Please, map the route.

    Maps: I don’t know why this generation just likes to use their lives to play. Instead of you to be thinking about your life, you want to go and dance with naked women.

    David: (Silence)

    Maps: When was the last time you even sent your mother money? But you want to go and make it rain on strippers, abi? Before I open my eyes, better remove that location from your phone and enter the house.

    David: But…

    Maps: I said enter the house!

    NEXT READ: Just Imagine: You Try to Explain Spirit Animals to Your Nigerian Mother

  • Whoever invented the word “literal” must’ve been thinking about Nigerian mums because why do they take everything so literally? Add religion to the mix, and it’s all over.

    You: I’m dead tired.

    Your mum:

    Odds are you’ve never imagined how your mum would react to the concept of spirit animals. But Zikoko’s mind works in mysterious ways, so we did it for you, and this is what it’d look like.

    It’s a typical Thursday evening, and everyone is gathered around the TV

    Only this time, Daddy isn’t around to force everyone to watch the news. Your sibling somehow convinced Mummy to let everyone watch Nat Geo Wild instead of Zee World. How they did it, you don’t know.

    And then it happens

    The TV narrator describes how monkeys exhibit traits of intelligence and mischief far higher than their “animal” status, and you open your mouth to say the abominable: “Monkeys are so smart. I really think they’re my spirit animal”.

    Mummy looks at you to be sure she’s not hearing things

    Mummy: Monkey is your spirit animal? What does that one mean?

    You: It’s just a saying o. Like a spirit that guides or protects someone. Most times, it just describes the characteristics that someone shares with the animal.

    Mummy, silently looking at you

    Wondering where she went wrong

    You:

    The moment you knew you fucked up

    Mummy finally finds her voice

    Mummy: So, Sola, I brought you up in the way of the Lord so you can wake up one day and decide it’s spiritual animal you want to be doing?

    You: Mummy, it’s spirit…

    Mummy: Will you shut up! I’m talking, and you’re talking? Somebody save me. So you want to be a monkey, Sola? Ọbọ!

    Meanwhile, your siblings

    Mummy (already in tears): Where have I gone wrong with these children? We’re still praying against spirit husbands and wives, and now, there are spiritual animals? Sola, of everything in this world to be, you want to be a monkey.

    You:

    Mummy: So you can’t say the Lion of Judah is your spirit animal. It’s monkey? Ah. Your father will hear this. In fact, everyone in this house is going for deliverance. The devil is in my home.

    You: But, mummy, it was just a joke.

    Mummy: That’s how the devil’s work starts. Today, it’s pressing phone. Tomorrow, it’s spiritual animal. And before I know it, you people will start drawing tattoo.

    She faces your siblings

    Mummy: What are you laughing at? Will you stand up and enter the room? All of you should better go and sleep because tomorrow morning is meeting us at pastor’s house. All of you will explain where this witchcraft started.

    Everyone escapes into their rooms, grateful to have been released

    Mummy won’t be sleeping, of course. She’ll spend all night praying against spiritual animals, all the while muttering under her breath: 

    “I didn’t kill my mother. These children will not kill me.”


    NEXT READ: Just Imagine: You Got to Read the Diary of a Nigerian Mother

  • As a Nigerian, your mother probably already gists you about yet another family friend’s child who’s getting married, but do you really know the many things that go on in her head? What would she write about if she had a secret diary?

    I imagine it would look like this:

    Sunday

    Dear Diary,

    The devil really tried me today, but as always, I serve a living God who’ll never allow my enemies to turn me into a laughing stock.

    It started with my own children. I woke them up for church at 5 a.m. as usual. Tell me why these children were still brushing their teeth when I came to check on them at 6 a.m.? Why won’t they oversleep when they’ll be pressing phone at night like evil spirits? Upon all the Whuzzup messages I share with them about the dangers of pressing phone at night? Well, I didn’t kill my mother, so they won’t kill me.

    That’s how I saw Mama Iyabo in church today. Can you believe this woman sat down in the front row with her long gele, blocking everyone else? She didn’t even wait for women’s meeting after church. She thinks she’s better than everyone, but we all know her son is doing yahoo with that his dada hair. Her daughter nko? That one will be walking up and down the street in pant, abi bum shorts. 

    Wait o, have those children brought out stew from the freezer? Diary, wait please, I’m coming back.

    Monday

    Dear Diary,

    I saw a video on Whuzzup that really scared me today o. Do you know the government is releasing 5G so they can control us and give everybody gonorrhoea? I’ve forwarded it to everybody I know, even Mama Iyabo. I don’t like her, but everyone deserves to know what’s happening so we can pray for our lives.

    I don’t know if my children have downloaded the video because it’s not showing that blue tick that tells you someone has seen your message. In fact, diary, let me call them and make sure they see it. This is a matter of life and death.

    Tuesday

    Dear Diary,

    You know Musa na? My customer who sells onions in the market? I’m thinking of changing him. His mouth has gotten too wide.

    Do you know he told me a basket of 40 onions is now 5k? Something that I bought for 1k four months ago? I sha paid him 1,500 for everything. Do I look like someone he can cheat? He was begging me to add something to it, but I don’t pluck money from trees. He should make his gain from another person.

    Meanwhile, my son complained of stomach pain today. Maybe he’ll believe me now when I tell him to stop pressing phone.

    Wednesday

    Dear Diary,

    I called my daughter five times before she picked up today. I just think it’s funny how you dedicate nine months of your life, and almost see heaven’s gate during labour, only for your offspring to grow up and either forget you or like their father more.

    What if I was dying? I only wanted to ask if she’s eaten today, but still. She even had the mind to say she was busy at work. Too busy for the person who brought you into this world? It is well. At least, I have other children.

    Thursday 

    Dear Diary,

    My family keeps testing me. Imagine my husband using his mouth to say, “I have a headache” just this evening. How many times do I need to tell these people that there’s power in the tongue?

    That’s how yesterday, someone asked me if I was the last person on the ATM queue. I had to tell him I’ll never be the last in Jesus name. Now, my husband is claiming headache. Why not just put a sign on your head for witches to come and attack you, since you obviously want to die?

    Friday

    Dear Diary,

    I’m rushing to join the vigil at church tonight, but I have to tell you how Mama Iyabo offended me today. I saw her on the road this evening and greeted her. I even asked of her children’s wellbeing. Do you know this woman didn’t ask about my children back? 

    I always pray for my enemies to reveal themselves. Mama Iyabo is obviously one of them. 

    I know where to direct my prayers tonight. There’s no peace for the wicked.

    Saturday

    No entry because, owambe things.


    NEXT READ: Just Imagine: You’re in a Family Meeting Because You Were Caught Smoking Weed

  • If you ever want my mum to talk for three hours non-stop, just ask her about Igbo soups. She’d be more than happy to launch into a monologue about how they’re all better than freshly made agege bread.

    These soups originated from the Southeastern part of Nigeria and have a basic naming formula. “Ofe” means “soup” in Igbo, and it’s usually followed by the main ingredient in the soup — a vegetable. So if you want to be doing fitness, eat plenty Igbo soups.

    I had time to kill recently, and wanted to do the Lord’s work, so I asked my mum what the best Igbo soup recipes were. What followed was a mini cooking show/life therapy session. According to my Igbo mum, this is the best way to cook your favourite Igbo soups.

    PS: It’s her words from this point on.

    Ofe Oha (Oha soup)

    Image source: Lyndishes Kitchen

    First things first, you can’t manage resources with this soup. It’s better to borrow money than to eat oha soup that’s begging for life. And if you know how to price well at the market, you won’t need to finish your money. 

    What you’ll need for three to four servings

    • 2 cups of hand-chopped oha leaves 
    • 1 cup of knife-chopped uziza leaves
    • 1 cup of ground crayfish
    • 2 or 3 yellow scotch bonnet peppers
    • 1 tablespoon of ogili isi
    • Half a cup of cocoyam paste or 2 tablespoons of achi
    • Half a cup of palm oil
    • Meat
    • Stockfish and dry catfish
    • Salt and seasoning cubes

    Preparation

    • Thoroughly clean your stockfish with warm water — not hot, you don’t want all the taste to disappear, and not cold or it might not take out all the dirt from market storage.
    • Boil it with your cleaned meat in a little water, so they’ll get soft together. The water should be just enough to slightly cover the meat and stockfish because the meat will bring out its own fluid when heated. 
    • Season well. You notice I didn’t mention onions. It can overpower the soup’s taste, so we usually don’t add it.
    • Clean your dry fish and add it to the meat when it’s tender. If the meat stock is drying up, add about a cup of water to it. 
    • Grind the pepper and add it to the pot of steaming meat and fish. Yes, Igbo people like pepper too, but it shouldn’t drown out the taste of your soup.
    • After about five minutes, add palm oil and cocoyam paste in large lumps. If you can’t get cocoyam, use achi. But make sure you use good achi or your soup would be watery. How do you get good achi? Befriend the market women so they don’t sell rubbish to you. Drop all your phonetics, ask them about their children and see if they don’t become your friend. Phonetics won’t take you everywhere.
    • Add the ogili isi and crayfish. Be more generous with crayfish than politicians are when election is near. Cook for about three minutes. 
    • Check for salt and seasoning, and add more if necessary.
    • The soup should be thickened by now, so wash and add the chopped uziza leaves and stir.
    • Remember when I said the oha leaves should be hand-chopped? Cutting it with a knife might make the leaves hard, so just use your hand to tear them into large pieces — small pieces will just disappear into the soup because the leaves are very delicate — when it’s almost time. Wash with water, and add to the soup.
    • Reduce the heat, stir and cook for about five more minutes. 
    • Scoop out and chew a cooked oha leaf to confirm the soup is ready — it should be tender.
    • Enjoy your soup with any swallow except amala. Amala is just wrong with this soup, please.

    Ofe Owerri

    Image source: Dooney’s Kitchen

    This is what you cook when you want to buga to your enemies and let your amebo neighbours know you serve a living God. You must have money to cook Ofe Owerri. It’s not just soup. It’s a sign of prosperity. 

    What you’ll need for three to four servings

    • Half a cup of finely shredded okazi leaves
    • Half a cup of shredded ugu leaves (optional)
    • 2 or 3 yellow scotch bonnet peppers (ground)
    • Quarter cup of cocoyam paste (from the round Owerri ones)
    • 1 cup of ground crayfish
    • 1 tablespoon of ogili isi
    • Half a cup of palm oil
    • Assorted meat 
    • Snails (optional)
    • Stockfish and dry fish
    • 2 onions (sliced)
    • Salt and seasoning cubes

    Preparation

    • Season the stockfish, snails and meat with salt, seasoning and onions. Boil with half a cup of water. The stock will serve as the soup’s base, so it has to be tasty. A bland stock is just like using low-quality Hollandaise fabric to sew the best style. Whatever the style, the cloth will still spoil. Buy real Hollandaise.
    • When the meat is tender, add dry fish, crayfish, pepper and palm oil. Allow to cook for five minutes, then reduce the heat.
    • Add in the cocoyam paste gradually, and stir as it thickens. The soup shouldn’t be so thick. Easy does it; remember this when applying make-up too. 
    • Add the ogili isi and allow to cook for three minutes. If too thick, loosen with meat stock or water. Make sure to keep tasting for flavour and adjust the seasoning as necessary.
    • Add the washed okazi, and let it cook for two more minutes before adding the washed ugu leaves. If you don’t want ugu, just allow the soup to simmer for a bit.
    • Proceed to enjoy your soup with any swallow — again, not amala — and remember to open your windows so your neighbours can perceive the goodness of God in your life.

    RELATED: These Are the Easiest Nigerian Soups to Make, According to Ifeoluwa


    Ofe Onugbu (Bitter leaf soup)

    Image source: All Nigerian Foods

    This soup is proof that not everything sweet is good. I don’t know if it’s a proverb, but if you eat any bitter leaf soup that’s “sweet”, something is wrong somewhere. Sometimes, the best things in life will challenge you and your tastebuds.

    What you’ll need for three to four servings

    If you still haven’t gotten it yet, most of the ingredients you’ll need for Igbo soups are the same. The only major difference is the vegetable.

    • 1 cup of properly washed bitter leaves
    • 2 or 3 yellow scotch bonnet peppers (ground)
    • Quarter cup of cocoyam paste or 2 tablespoons of achi
    • 2 tablespoons of ground crayfish
    • 1 tablespoon of ogili isi
    • Half a cup of palm oil
    • Meat 
    • Stockfish and dry fish
    • Salt and seasoning cubes

    Preparation

    • Season your meat and stockfish as usual. This soup doesn’t need onions, but you can add a little to boil your meat if you like.
    • Once the meat is tender, add some water to loosen the stock. Add the cleaned dry fish, crayfish, pepper and palm oil. Allow to cook for five minutes then reduce the heat.
    • Add the cocoyam paste gradually and stir as it thickens. You can make the soup as thick as you want, but remember, too much of everything isn’t good.
    • Proceed to add the ogili isi and taste for seasoning. Allow it to cook for about three minutes before adding the washed bitter leaves. If you don’t know how to wash it, check here. Don’t be like my children who are too scared to taste the washed leaves before adding to the pot. How else will you know if it’s still too bitter?
    • Once added, allow it to cook for some minutes till the leaves are somewhat tender.
    • Bitter leaf soup is versatile and can withstand multiple rewarming if necessary. Is your prayer life as versatile?

    Ofe Nsala (White soup)

    Image source: Ollarica

    In Igbo land, we cook this soup for nursing mothers during the omugwo (post-childbirth) period. We also use fresh catfish instead of meat, but only rich people buy catfish now, so make do with what you have. Contentment is godly (except when cooking oha or ofe owerri, sha).

    What you’ll need for three to four servings

    • Chicken (or any meat you have).
    • 2 or 3 yellow scotch bonnet peppers (ground)
    • 2 big slices of yam
    • 2 tablespoons of ground crayfish
    • 1 teaspoon of ground uziza and ehuru seeds
    • 1 small chunk of ogiri okpei
    • Half a cup of uziza leaves
    • Quarter cup of utazi leaves
    • Meat 
    • Stockfish and dry catfish
    • Salt and seasoning cubes

    Preparation

    • At this point, you should already know to season and boil your meat and stockfish. Boil the yams in a separate pot of water, and pound it in a bowl when tender.
    • When the meat is tender, add some water to make room for the soup, then add the cleaned fish, crayfish, ogili okpei, ground seeds and pepper. 
    • Let this cook for three minutes before adding the pounded yam in small lumps. This will serve as the soup’s thickener.
    • Stir the soup until the yam dissolves. Don’t stir too much though, so the fish doesn’t scatter.
    • Add the washed utazi and uziza leaves. Be careful with the utazi as it’s quite bitter. Put it in gradually and taste as you go. Patience is a virtue in life, especially when cooking nsala.

    • After adding the leaves, allow the soup to simmer for two minutes.
    • Please, only serve with pounded yam. It’s the law.

    NEXT READ: What Your Favourite Soup Says About Your Sex Life

  • You walk into the office of your new therapist and see a woman in blouse and wrapper. She has a lot of makeup on, with thick black eyebrows and bright red lipstick. You instantly realise your therapist is one of the judgemental Nigerian aunties you dislike so much. Yeah, you’ve entered wahala, because the following are the series of unfortunate events about to happen. 

    You won’t be able to wear just anything  

    As a woman, if you mistakenly wear anything that shows your knees, armpits or breasts, she won’t answer you. As a man, you better not wear ashewo shorts because she’ll send you back even after collecting your money. Nigerian aunties carry “proper dressing” on their heads. 

    She’ll ask what you have to be depressed about 

    If you tell her you’re depressed, she’ll think you’re being ungrateful. Because, according to her, as long as you have a roof over your head, a job, food to eat and you’re alive, you should be happy. 

    She’ll tell you to pray

    No problem is bigger than God. Why would you try to solve your issues in therapy when you should be praying to God? She may even make you kneel and use your session to pray.

     ALSO READ: 8 Types Of Nigerian Aunties You Know

    Extra time for people with tattoos and piercings 

    Because if you’re getting tattoos and piercings, you can’t be okay mentally. According to the judgemental Nigerian aunty handbook, only troubled and rebellious children get and flaunt such things. That’s why she’ll give you extra therapy time — to help solve your issues so you can “clean” the tattoos. 

    She’ll judge your career 

    She won’t take you seriously if you’re not a doctor, engineer, lawyer, or architect. She’ll tell you you’re having all these mental health issues because you don’t have a “good” job. 

    She’ll report you to your parents 

    Confidentiality does not exist in the Nigerian auntie’s book. The only reason she’s taking notes isn’t because she’s trying to help you, it’s because she wants to remember all the details to tell your parents. 

    She’ll fat-shame you 

    You’ll hear at least 27 fat-shaming comments from the moment you step into her office until you leave. “Why won’t you have all these problems when you keep eating and adding weight?”

    If you’re single, marriage is the solution 

    According to her, you’re having mental health issues because you’re not married. If you were, all your problems would be solved.

    She’ll talk about how perfect her life is 

    As you’re telling her about your issues, she’ll be telling you about how she can’t relate. And do you think she won’t brag about her children? LOL, she will — even if said children are also getting therapy elsewhere because of her.

    You have to be submissive or be a man

    If you’re a woman, she’ll manage to somehow make your issues revolve around submissiveness. If you’re a man, she’ll tell you to “be a man” and handle your problems “like a man.” Why is a man seeking emotional help from a woman?

    She’ll tell you to “manage” even if you’re fighting for your life

    She’ll say everything will be fine and, so you should just manage. Life isn’t perfect, and you can’t get everything you want since everybody has problems. God will help you.

    You must perform respect 

    When you step into her office, you must bow or kneel. When speaking to her, you must put “ma” at the end because she’s not your mate. You can’t argue with her because everything she says is right.


    ALSO READ: 7 Ways Your Period App Would Send Notifications as a Nigerian Aunty

  • Don’t even ask how I thought about this. But if your mother and her friends had to play truth or dare, this is how it would look. 

    First things first, opening prayer

    The game must be started in the presence of the maker, and there’ll only be religious music in the background. Nobody has time to sin, please. 

    Alcohol? God forbid

    They’d refuse to play the game with alcohol. Eva wine only, please. 

    Imagine if they pick a card that dares them to do seven minutes in heaven

    “My sister, heaven is a spiritual and eternal experience. One does not simply experience heaven on earth. That’s blasphemy.”

    Or one that tells them to kiss the person on their left

    LESBIANISM? Do you want to die and go to the fiery pits? 

    Oya, no more dares

    Because all the dares since morning have been dares to sin. Let’s not offend the Lord. He’s the only one that can command us. 

    Truth: Describe your favourite sex position

    They’d tell you there’s only one, and it’s the one where they hold on to their husband and as he’s coming into them, they’re praying for him, and they come together as one and then give glory to God. But also, it has to be a missionary. For obvious reasons. 


    Also read: We Imagined a Nigerian Mother Trying Edibles for the First Time

  • If you’ve ever wondered what goes on in a Christian mother’s group chat, look no further. I snooped around my mother’s phone to see what goes down in her Catholic Women’s Organization (CWO) group. 

    Here are eight things you’ll always see in a typical godly Nigerian mother’s group chat.

    So many forwarded messages

    The first thing I noticed was so many messages were being forwarded from only God knows where. After every three messages, I’d see some kind of forwarded prayer or announcement.

    Endless Prayers

    If you have a mother in CWO, no village person can find you. Those women are reciting 50 decades of their rosary and saying at least five prayers daily for their children. 

    RELATED: How Strong Are Your Village People?

    Calling each other “Sister”

    The whole chat was giving reverend sister vibes. I can’t even count the number of times I read “Good morning sister” or “Remember today is our thanksgiving day dear sisters.” 

    RELATED: What She Said: I Have Been a Reverend Sister for 12 Years

    Assigning tasks to one another

    I saw a roaster for sweeping the church and it was giving strong secondary school labour day vibes. I know it’s for the Lord, but why can’t the same rule apply at home? Would like to see your father on a morning duty roaster.

    Baby dedications

    Can it really be a Nigerian mothers association without a deluge of prayers for newborns?

    Organising four-hour-long meetings

    Catholic mums have meetings every first Saturday of the month and a million times every other day. And no, there’s no singing or dancing  to Buga there.

    Broadcasts warnings on the latest in Nigeria

    Among the barrage of forwarded messages, there’s always an update on why everyone should endeavour to keep their children inside the house for one reason or the other. I’m guessing this is where all those long broadcast messages we receive originate from.

    Pictures of themselves 

    Those awkward angles 40+ selfies are scattered all over the group. I can’t bring receipts for this one sha, use your imagination.

    RELATED: 9 Things That Can Never Satisfy Nigerian Mothers

    Calling out bad behaviour

    The passive-aggressive texts were chilling. Happy to know that Nigerian mothers shout at themselves too.

    Supporting one another

    With everything in between, there’s also a lot of love in the group. Our mothers check in on themselves and show up for one another when they need to. It’s really sweet to see how older women support and connect with themselves. 

    Now that I’ve brought amebo from my mother’s group chat, share this article with your mum and let us know how it goes.

    Also, Never Introduce Your Nigerian Mum to These Six Things

  • You have to be living under a rock not to have heard Kizz Daniel’s Buga by now. While the song has taken over charts, playlists, and clubs like every other Kizz Daniel song, Buga has also become a fave of Nigerian mummies and aunties worldwide. At this point, it’s not even our song anymore. They’ve hijacked it from us and refused to let it go. 

    We caught up with some of these aunties to talk about why Buga has them in a chokehold, and this is what they had to say for themselves. 

    “The dance is simple. The lyrics are simple. What else do I want?” 

    — Folashade, 58

    Every time I open my Instagram, you guys (millennials downwards) are always trying to kill yourselves in the name of dance and “legwork”. When it’s not like you’re Michael Jackson? 

    If I like a song, I’ll look for the dance on the internet and immediately get discouraged because it’s too hardBut with Kizz Daniel’s Buga, the dance is very easy to learn, and we’ve been doing it since my days. Go low and come back up, finish. 

    I’m too old to be somersaulting because of music. 

    “This is the perfect owambe song, simple.” 

    — Ibidun, 48

    I’ll be very angry if I go for an owambe and they don’t play Buga. What are you celebrating if we’re not doing that “lo lo lo” dance? Ko possible. I heard the song at a wedding last month, and now I play it daily in the kitchen, in the car, everywhere. Buga makes me want to dance and every time I hear “Collect your money”, I start shouting, “That’s my boy.” 

    I keep going to all these events so I can dance to the song with a crowd since I’m too old to go clubbing. Who knows, I might jam him at one of these weddings — I’ll run mad!

    RECOMMENDED: Kizz Daniel Has No Bad Songs. Here Are 10 of his Best Ones

    “After working hard all my life, I’m ready to buga” 

    — Khadija, 50

    Young people don’t understand how deep Kizz Daniel’s Buga is. Yes, we’re all dancing and my children are putting me on the internet, but that song means more to me than just the dance. I retired a while ago after more than 25 years as a civil servant. I worked hard all those years, and now, I’m travelling, attending all the owambes I can find and living a baby girl life or whatever they call it. 

    “You don work, you don try. You suppose to dey jaiye jaiye”, these lyrics from Buga describe how I’m taking on this new chapter of my life. Your generation may not get it because you’re all still working up and down. You can’t even Buga properly because of deadlines. Pele my dear. 

    “It feels good to connect to my grandson without it feeling forced.” 

    — Becky, 63

    One of the sad things about growing older is finding it difficult to connect with younger people and the things they like. I don’t understand social media and I don’t want to. And with music, my teenage grandson is constantly playing all these gragra songs that sound like people are fighting, and I don’t like them. But I liked Kizz Daniel’s Buga from the first time I heard it in his car. It’s such a sweet song that makes me feel good and relaxed. 

    My grandson is always sending me videos of people dancing to it and those videos make my day. 

    “I’m Kizz Daniel’s number one fan.” 

    — Folakemi, 42

    I’ve liked Kizz Daniel since day one. I know all the songs from Woju, even though I don’t like that Poko and that F*ck You song. But with Buga, Every time I’m in a bad mood, it just makes my shoulders  move instinctively. Then I start to dance. 

    Kizz Daniel is consistent with his sound, and everything feels intentional because I can tell he just wants listeners to have a good time. In this country where everything is going higgy hagga, Kizz Daniel’s music is good escapism. For me and my gals, Buga is our song. We need him to do a Christian version sha so I can dance to it in church during Harvest. 

    “Lyrics that I understand and aren’t sinful? Thank God!”

    — Joy, 51

    It’s hard to listen to music these days and not feel weird because of all the lewd lyrics. Everything shouldn’t be about sex and violence. Where is the joy? That’s why I like Buga. It’s a fun, happy-go-lucky song about having a good time and celebrating. The lyrics are not too fast, which makes it easy to learn. We need more songs like this. 

    ALSO READ: 7 Types of Nigerian Aunties at an Owambe

  • Nigerian mothers deserve the award for being the best in being passive-aggressive. Instead of telling you how they really feel, they’ll make these statements — I promise you that your mum has said at least five of them. 

    “Do what you want”

    This sentence comes after they’ve finished “advising” you against a choice you’ve already made concerning your life. They’ll say, “You’re an adult, you can do what you want/whatever you like.” But we all know that in her mind, she’s praying that you do what she wants. 

    “Is that what you’re wearing?” 

    When they say this, you know they want you to change and wear something “decent” or what they think is a better outfit for the occasion. As a child, I didn’t even argue, I just changed. Now I tell my mother “yes” with my full chest. 

     

    ALSO READ: 9 Things That Can Never Satisfy Nigerian Mothers

    I’m not saying you shouldn’t go, but…

    When you’ve already gone out twice in a week and are about to go out for the third time, your mother will pull this statement out. That’s because Nigerian mothers feel very uncomfortable with their children having too much fun. 

    How will you know? Do you call me?

    This is how they say that they miss you. It normally happens when you’re talking to them and they tell you something about their life you didn’t know. If you make the mistake of saying, “Oh, I didn’t know,” you’ll fall into their trap.

    Are you the first to work?

    Mothers like attention from their children. So when you’re busy and not giving them the attention that they want, they become grumpy, start to throw tantrums and say things like, “Are you the first to have a job?”  It doesn’t feel so nice now that the shoe is on the other foot, does it?

    ALSO READ:  5 Nigerian Mothers Share What Pregnancy Did Not Prepare Them For

    Why can’t they come to your house?” 

    They don’t want you to go out, so they make it seem like you’re doing too much as a friend.  Talmabout, “Let them come to your house instead. Must you always go?” 

    Something something grandchildren

    Once you’re grown and finished school, they begin to talk about marriage and grandkids. And they always emphasise the grandchildren part. Every five seconds, “I would have been playing with my grandchildren by now.” Or, “I’m the only one that’s not a grandmother amongst my friends.”

    This person just did so and so

    Nigerian mothers say this when they’re trying to tell you to go get married: “This person’s son just got married o.” Okay, and what are we supposed to do with that information? 

    Or they can say something like, “Anwulika’s daughter just got a job at the Central Bank of America.” She’s basically saying, “See your mate, do better with your life.”

    “You’re now a big *insert gender*. You don’t have my time” 

    Once again, they miss spending time with you, but they’d rather chew wet rubber slippers than tell you that.

    “What’s my own?” 

    They’ll spend one hour giving you advice and then make this statement at the end. Just say you don’t want me to do it with your full chest. Not that I’ll listen sha. But still, say it with your chest.

    READ THIS NEXT: 6 Older Nigerian Mothers on What They Would Do Differently as New Mothers

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  • In March, we’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: A woman who wants to be a better gist partner than her mum

    To: Patience, her mum

    Dear Patience, 

    I’m writing this letter to you to reminisce on our 53 years together. Since you passed in 2018, I’ve missed having someone to talk to. I miss having someone that understands me. 

    P.S: Calling you Patience is strange, so I’ll switch to “mum” now.

    I always knew we’d be friends, mum. You trusted me — from the start. When I was five, you trusted me to clean and watch my little sister. When I was 11, you trusted me to watch over the five more kids you had. And you tried your best to make sure I wasn’t stressed. Before you’d leave for work at 6 a.m., you’d make breakfast so I’d only have to think of lunch or dinner. At night, you’d ask about my day. “My small mama, wetin una do today?” you’d say. And I’d proceed to pour out my frustrations. No matter how tired you were, you’d listen to every bit of my rant. You made it easy for me to become your friend. 

    Remember how angry I was about Bri storing her clothes for days? You laughed about it so long and hard, that I couldn’t help but join you. You knew how to get me happy, and I wish I did more to know about you. Because now that I think about it, mum, you never let out your frustrations during that time. I didn’t know what a day in your life was like even though you listened to every narration of mine and reminded me not to take life so seriously. I wish I could have our special times alone again, if only to ask you, “Wetin you do today?”. 

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    My favourite memory as a teen was following you to your store. I was always a quiet kid, so you were my safe space. While the other kids went off to play after school, I just wanted to be at your store. Call me a mama’s girl or whatever, but now that you’re gone, I’m glad I stayed to help you count the gallons of palm oil you didn’t sell. 

    Did you love our walks back home? Because I did. I got to hear you talk about yourself a lot more. Things like not knowing when you were born. Your parents only remembered the year 1951. 

    Knowing more about you made me feel closer to you. You told me about meeting dad. How he lived so close to you but not realising until the random day he said hello. Of course, you had to add the part about waiting till marriage to be intimate. All your gist made it easy to forget I was quite the loner as a teen. When I went to university, it stayed that way. We didn’t have phones to keep in touch, but we’d write letters to each other every month. 

    RELATED: The Different Kinds of Nigerian Mothers

    Even in adulthood, you were my closest friend. I got married, had two kids, and we became closer. You stayed with me during my pregnancies and made it so much easier. With my first  — Ebere — you indulged my cravings for ewa aganyin. Every morning, you’d wait outside for the woman selling it. With my second — Nduka — you stayed with me when I found out he had down syndrome. You let me cry on your shoulders and comforted me.

    Thank you for being my mum and friend when I needed it the most.

    Now that you’re gone, I’ve had to learn to talk to other people. Mostly my daughter though. She’s 23 now, and I’m trying to be her gist partner. You would have been way better, but I’m trying.

    I won’t talk about the moments you were sick because you deserve to be remembered as my rock. This is one last letter to you. Only this time, you won’t be the one reading it. Thank you for 53 years of love and friendship — I can’t fit it all into a page.

    PS: Beyond the gist, I miss eating your special corn moi-moi

    Forever in my heart, 

    Onyeche 

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