Quizzes

Stacks

Shows

Podcasts

Newsletters

Naira Life

Love Life

Hustleprint

Love Currency

Sunken Ships

What She Said

My Bro

So You Don’t Have To

Interview With…

Zikoko Memes

Jollof Road

Cholera Outbreak Update

Follow our socials

  • After the AMVCAs and the whirlwind of corsets flying left and right, I reminisced on the simpler times from 2010 to 2015. A time when fashion wasn’t a play on who can suffocate all the oxygen from their lungs first. If you’re really a hot babe, there’s no way you didn’t rock any of these 8 fashion pieces from way back.

    Abortion belt

    I can still see African mothers around the world throwing hands because of the name of this belt. Why was it called abortion belts though? Did it have to do with how unnecessarily large they were? Those are the unanswered questions you may continue to live with. Either way, consider yourself a premium babe if you rocked it.

    Dashiki and Ankara tops

    Dashiki, a pair of jeans and heels were on chokehold back then. In our minds, that was the real shit and there was no way an Ankara crop top could go wrong for any kind of event. Please give us back our colourful tops.

    RELATED: These Fashion Trends Have Now Come Full Circle and You Need to Update Your Wardrobe

    Tank tops

    If you threw a boyfriend jacket over your tank top, it was over for everybody. Of course, tank tops are still very much in style, but there were a lot brighter colours going on back then. And the prints and captions on them were the darndest things.

    Shambalas

    There was something sweet about accessorising with shambalas. And the best part was when you didn’t have to spend any money on them. All you had to do was steal one or two from your guys and you were good to go.

    Wedged shoes

    The slay queens are shaking. You’re feeling fly in your six-inch stilettos these days, but deep down, you know you’d give anything to go back to the times when wedged heels were for the gorgeous gorgeous babes. 

    RELATED: Which Old Nollywood Fashion Trend Would You Pull Off?

    Caribbean/bandana skirt

    Also called pleated skirts. They were the starter pack for every church girl trying to maintain her material girl status. 

    Peplum tops

    Peplum tops were a foodie’s best friend. Nothing was better than being able to cover up the consequence of eating eba at 1 a.m. The good old days when nobody sent your pot belle. Now, we’re in the era of crop tops and baggy jeans. Good thing we’re finally able to breathe sha.

    Mohawks/Rihanna

    Rihanna’s music was (and still is) definitely iconic but her hair? If you weren’t shaving off your head every time Rihanna came out with a new hairstyle, then you weren’t a happening babe.

    READ ALSO: The Ultimate Closet Checklist for the Modern African Corporate Queen

  • Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    Today’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Nkechi Ebie, a 50-year-old Nigerian woman. She tells us why 22 was the most interesting age of her life, why she avoided committed relationships for many years after university and the pregnancy scare that made her retire from her party days.

    What has been the most exciting phase of your life?

    Definitely my university days. Age 22 was exciting for me. In Benin, I met friends who knew how to party well. I’d grown up with a protective older brother and two older sisters, so partying hadn’t been a part of my life before Benin. We threw parties on campus and clubbed around town, but my favourite part was being able to wear jeans. Unfortunately, when I had my first baby three years after NYSC, girls were into skinny jeans. I was 29, and as a mum, I couldn’t follow the trend. 

    Why did you feel that way?

    I’ve always been on the big side, but I didn’t think a lot about my body until after my first child. Do I wish I never had kids? No. But I do wish I could go back to the Ngozi of my university days.  

    Don’t get me wrong. I could’ve worn anything I wanted to, but squeezing into a pair of jeans felt so unfamiliar after months of dressing in huge maternity dresses. I still put on make-up and wore gold hooped earrings. But I felt like the rest of my body needed room to breathe.

    So what was the style of a 29-year-old mum in 2001?

    For me, the style came in form of the corporate outfits I wore to work. The eight hours I was away from work were the only moments I was just “Ngozi,” not “Mummy”. I ended up as a banker after NYSC. And one of the things I loved was my skirt suits and bold red lipstick. My kids laugh at those pictures from 2002 to 2003, but they’ll get there soon.

    LOL. Did life ever get as interesting after that?

    Not really. It had nothing to do with not loving my kids. I was just mostly unprepared for how motherhood happened to me.

    How?

    Towards the end of uni, I lost the man I wanted to marry. He was shot. We’d been together since my second year. I struggled with his death for a long time because I truly fell in love with that man. While I partied away in uni, I was very particular about sticking to one guy. I didn’t mind that my friends were dating around and hanging out with different guys. 

    Why were you particular about sticking to one guy?

    Maybe it was my older brother’s strictness that kept me reserved when it came to sex. Sometimes, he’d show up at my hostel unannounced. I didn’t want to be hanging around many different people because I knew he’d make it a big deal. And once my mother got that kind of news, she would have been on the next bus to UNIBEN. I wasn’t ready for that. 

    And the man you ended up with? Did you love him as much?

    Not in the beginning. I wasn’t planning a life with him when we got together. I had commitment issues and didn’t care to be invested in anything. I was too scared about someone I loved dying again. 

    I’m sorry that happened.

    Thanks. It’s strange because I said 22 was great, but grief made me lean into being a full-on party babe at 26. And that turned out to be fun too. I didn’t want to feel anything too deep. Everything was casual. The sex, the hangouts, none of it meant anything to me. The guy I eventually married — Chima* — was just someone I happened to be constant with. He was a guy in my class who liked me and always wanted to date me, so I leaned into that comfort. 

    So when did things become official with Chima?

    When I found out I was pregnant in 2001. I was done with NYSC in Kano and had gotten a job in Asaba. It was 2000, and I was partying more than I’d ever done before. My boss at the bank was a friend, and after work, we’d go out with other colleagues for a beer or two. If it was a Friday, none of us was going home. Chima and I would also see each other sometimes. 

    We used protection, and we were careful enough. I was still getting my periods too. So I didn’t realise I was pregnant until about three months in. We had been seeing each other casually for a year by then. How I realised I was pregnant was the most ridiculous event of my life.

    LOL. Please, do tell

    It was a typical day at the office. I was feeling sick, but I didn’t think much of it. I’d had a few pregnancy scares that turned out to be nothing, so I didn’t overthink. But by closing time, things got worse and I fainted.

    My colleagues rushed me to the hospital, and that’s where all my wahala started. First, the man who took me to the hospital was friends with my older brother, who was living in Lagos at the time, while I was in Asaba. The guy sent me straight to Lagos to meet my brother the next morning. 

    Were you scared?

    No. I was sure it was his baby because I’d been having sex with just him in the last six months. I knew my brother wouldn’t take it lightly, but he’d also been living with his girlfriend in Lagos. He didn’t have a right to say much. The fear was only triggered by the thought that I’d have to marry Chima. With my kind of parents, there was no way around that. Even I wasn’t willing to go through the stress of being pregnant and single.

    And Chima? How did he take it?

    He’d always wanted a serious relationship. I wasn’t surprised he was excited about it. In a matter of weeks, we were introducing our families and making plans for our traditional marriage. Everything needed to happen before my belly began to protrude. My parents were respected people in the Catholic community, so no daughter of theirs would be pregnant out of wedlock. None of my sisters had done it. 

    What made the transition bearable was the fact that I knew Chima loved me. He did. I was never as fully committed as he was, but that never mattered to him.

    Were you honest about why you couldn’t commit?

    He knew right from the start. The part I hid was how much I struggled with the idea of being with him when we finally got married. I felt so guilty. I was moving on with another man’s child when the person I’d planned a life with would never get the chance to. I tortured myself with “What ifs”.

    Even after the marriage?

    Yes. Chima would want to make jokes and laugh — normal things people do in the honeymoon phase. All I wanted to do was cry. It’s a miracle the man wasn’t fed up. When I had my baby and was happy, I felt that same guilt. I think that phase of trying to get used to being fully committed also made dressing up fun for me, especially after the baby. It took me back to when I had a bit more control. I had to get over myself after the first year of being a mother. 

    How were you able to let go?

    Honestly, I never did. But after one of my long cries in the bathroom, I was tired. There was no point in my self-imposed suffering. I still think about him occasionally. Although when my daughter went to uni, I thought about him more often. She’s also going through her partying stage, and it reminds me of when I was 22. I like watching her Whatsapp stories when she’s away. She blocked me, but I have her younger sister who I recently got a phone for.

    They’re ten years apart, so her sister is always home with me. When she comes back from school, we go through what her older sister shares. That age gap was the best decision I ever made.

    LOL. Wow

    LOL. That’s the only way I know what’s going on. Beyond that, watching her reminds me of a time I enjoyed. I don’t doubt I’m still that party babe who knows how to have a good time, but when you’re 50, you find other ways to enjoy life. One of those ways happens to be watching my daughter live out her 20s right now.

    How about your style right now? What does a retired 50-year-old party girl wear?

    When I get the chance, I mostly want to wear absolutely nothing. Everything is stressful to put on. I think the only thing I’ve become obsessed with as I’ve gotten older is bags. The bigger the better. Then, there’s the red lipstick for when I want to show people that being 50 doesn’t mean I’m too old for anything.

    If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell us why

  • We’ve called out every type of girl that comes out to play when money hits their account, but what do the cool Gen Z women absolutely say no to spending their money on? Let’s find out.

    Men

    Whenever you feel your mumu button coming on, call a Gen Z babe. These girls aren’t out there trying to be sugar mummies to any man, please. They’re the sugar babies that only expect princess treatment. We don’t have money, please.

    Wigs

    It’s giving itchy and hella stressful in this heat. A true Gen Z babe is committed to gold or purple hair dyes and low cuts. Anything other than that should be braided. Where are you people seeing money to spend on wigs abeg?

    RELATED: If Gen Zs Don’t Say These 12 Things in a Day, They Might Actually Die

    Physical books

    Millennials always brag about the beauty of a hardback novel, but who wants to spend ₦5k or ₦10k on paperbacks when we can read Wattpad and Medium? 

    Flowers

    These women aren’t falling for the standards of love set by Hollywood and Nollywood in the 1980s, please. It’s cute to buy them, but to buy things that will end up withered is not on the priority list for Gen Z queens. What will we use the flower to do? Send the money instead, thanks.

    RELATED: These 7 Nigerian Movies Will Raise Your Standards for Love

    Designer clothes

    SHEIN is the pasta version of fashion for the Gen Zs. So if you’re out here flaunting the thousands of dollars you spent on Gucci, good luck to you because the highest they’ll do is borrow it from you. 

    Enjoyment

    Gen Zs are like the last borns of the house. When you’re young and free, the millennials and baby boomers should be able to cover the bills because they’re the elders. Anything that involves a good time should be sponsored. We just want to have fun.

    Anything and everything

    The truth is, Gen Zs are generally liars and will do anything for aesthetics on their timelines. So, from overpriced pasta to the latest corset craze, they’re all over it and ready to spend their life savings in a heartbeat to maintain their drip. SMH.

    ALSO READ: 15 Nigerian Gen Z’ers Tell Us What They Really Think About Nigerian Millennials

  • Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    Today’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Joy Ashiedu, a 36-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about her big-city dreams after moving from Owerri to Lagos, why she married her persistent lover from Facebook and the challenge of living with her in-laws before finding happiness.

    What age did you enjoy the most?

    Right now. When I was 28, I assumed marrying my first love would somehow make me happy, but after the first year and a half together, the bliss ended. I spent a lot of years fighting to fix things. Everything was about not ending up in a marriage like my parents. I eventually realised that was unresolved baggage I was carrying with me. I was fighting with myself.

    What do you mean by “fighting with yourself?”

    I had expectations of the way my life would turn out by 25. I’d never really anticipated marriage, but I’d hoped for something better than what I experienced growing up in Asaba (in my village, Issele-Mkpitime) with my parents. I’m the last of five children, and my older siblings had moved out of the house before I was even nine. So it was just my parents and I until I was 12. I went to secondary school in a completely different town in Delta.

    My parents tried to give me the best with everything they had. My father was a farmer while my mum was a trader. The issue with growing up with them was seeing the problems they had in their marriage. They weren’t friends. Half the time, they weren’t even around because of their work, and when they were home, they barely spoke to each other. If they did speak, it was an argument or a physical fight. I saw my dad beat up my mum several times.

    At the time, I didn’t realise how much it weighed on me to see my parents living like enemies. I also didn’t know how much their fights would affect my own marriage. I was only focused on getting out of the village and making something more for myself. But that didn’t happen for a long time. 

    What did you want?

    I always wanted my own business. I loved being on the farm with my parents and siblings as a kid, but I wanted more than the isolating lifestyle of being in our village. I always wanted to end up in Lagos. My eldest brother lived there, so I lived with him for two years while I tried to get into university. 

    Before 2004, I’d only lived in the south. I moved back and forth between my village and Agbor, Delta for secondary school. In Lagos, there was so much going on, and everyone had some kind of hustle going on. 

    In 2007, I ended up going to school in Owerri because it was the only place I got admission. I took all the Lagos hustle and wanted to start a business there.

    What kind of business exactly?

    For someone who didn’t have a lot of money, I went back to the south trying to set up an organisation that taught people on campus to market their skills. On some occasions, I’d take my school fees to buy things they needed and get a commission when I connected them with clients. I really had a passion for personal development. 

    At some point, I was part of the radio outlet on campus. I’d go in to give talks about personal development and entrepreneurship. I was talking a lot more than I’d done in years. When you’re young, you have many dreams. 

    I was hoping to be somewhat like Fela Durotoye. I’d seen him give talks and wanted to somehow replicate that. I was on track. I went to school debates, won, and even started an NGO. But when I went for my IT in Lagos, I met my husband, Steve. It was 2012, and we ended up getting married immediately after my NYSC in 2014.

    Why?

    He was a persistent man. I’d never dated anyone before him because most of the men I met on Facebook didn’t last more than one or two chats. On my way to work, a random message came in from Steve, and we got talking. Before the end of the day, he asked for my number, but I wasn’t interested.

    Two days later, a security man showed up in my office to tell me a man named Steve was outside looking for me. I’d updated my internship location on my profile months before, so it wasn’t hard to find me. That caught my attention. I couldn’t say no to that level of interest. I gave him my number.

    Beyond the persistence he showed, I was convinced we were meant to be together.

    LOL. Because?

    Before I went back to Owerri to wrap up school and serve, I broke things off. When I went to work the next day, the bus driver dropped me off at the wrong bus stop. I didn’t know how I’d missed my junction. I stood confused on the roadside, trying to figure out my next move. And you won’t believe who I saw in a taxi that was slowing down in front of me. It was Steve. Of course, he told me to get in, and we got into the groove of talking again.

    I was convinced that coincidence meant something. It wasn’t anything spiritual, but I just knew I would give the relationship a try again. The incident gave more room for friendship between us. 

    By the time I was done with school and preparing for service in Lagos, he proposed. It felt natural. A year later, we got married. I was 28, marrying my best friend and hopeful for my career.

    What changed?

    Steve got a job in Bayelsa, so we had to move to Asaba for proximity. He’d travel to Bayelsa every two weeks and go back and forth.

    He went from being a banker to joining Shell as a contract staff. He was making way more money than I was, so it only made sense to move. Before we moved to Asaba, I tried setting up my youth empowerment program, but life as a graduate in Lagos was different. I was a married woman, so of course, I wasn’t getting any money from my parents. I also wasn’t getting enough from my husband. Eventually, I needed to get a real job. 

    I applied to several companies but never got any positive feedback. Then I got pregnant in 2015, and I knew owning a business would be easier. I wanted to be home with the kids. My husband didn’t like the idea. He expected me to work a corporate job like when we met. I didn’t know that was important to him, and he obviously didn’t know building a business was always something I wanted to do. It was one of the things we began to argue about down the line. 

    Our marriage just gradually fell apart. His mother and sister’s daughter moved in, and that’s when things really got worse. It’s not that my husband cheated or I hated my in-laws, but I wasn’t prepared for everything that came with them living with us. And for so long.

    What were the expectations you had at first?

    I expected that my marriage would be better than my parent’s marriage. I expected my husband to keep being my friend. 

    And what did you get instead?

    Dealing with external people made it difficult to connect. It was only me, and I suddenly had three people on one side. I’d bicker about his sister, and he’d tell me I was being heady and stubborn rather than take my side.

    His mother was ill, and I went from learning to take care of a baby to fully caring for her because he was away at work. At some point, he associated my complaints with me being jobless and idle at home. I felt horrible. By 2017, the whole marriage was practically gone. We’d had our second baby, and his family was still living with us in Asaba. I was exhausted from dealing with so many people.

    But you seemed quite social in uni, you were running a whole NGO. What was the issue with handling people?

    In uni, I was working towards a career. Now, I was just being choked up. I never knew how to handle those kinds of family issues. I didn’t have that kind of people skills, and that’s not something I learnt growing up with parents who argue all the time. 

    My breaking point was when I had a disagreement with his sister, and he kept taking her side. She forgot to pack my baby’s cloth from the line when it got windy, and I hated seeing them on the ground when I got back from the market. Of course, I shouted at her. He kept going on about how irrelevant it was, and it could wait to be addressed the following day. The next morning came, and he went on with the “you’re overreacting” line. That did it for me.

    It may seem insignificant, but I was mad. That’s when I packed my things and took the kids to my parent’s house. I was done.

    What happened next?

    My father was late by then. My mother asked me to go back because she’d stayed in her marriage despite everything. There was no valid reason to pack out of my husband’s house, so I went back. 

    The bickering continued. I didn’t have a job, and the business I’d been trying to grow wasn’t working. Nothing was working. I felt lost. 

    So how did you get to your current point of happiness?

    This is the part that’s hard to explain sometimes. In 2019, we had a fight about letting the kids do what they wanted. I always had to be the strict parent, and I went off on him for that.

    I walked into the bathroom furious. I needed a shower, and I stood there thinking through how the years had gone by since I moved to Lagos in 2014. It seemed so far away then. 

    In the middle of all the thoughts, I heard a voice asking, “what if you are the problem”. Call it the Holy Spirit, the universe, my mind or a hallucination. Whatever you consider that type of moment, it happened. 

    Did you actually feel like the problem?

    I never did. And that’s why I took it as a moment of epiphany. I’d always thought my parents’ marriage didn’t affect me, but it did, more than I cared to admit to myself. Maybe I should have taken more time to rethink my first love, but that didn’t matter.

    I came into the marriage with expectations based on my parents. That was my baggage, and I blamed my husband for anything that didn’t fit the ideal standard of love I wanted. But loving myself first was more important.

    What exactly have you changed about yourself now?

    I’ve stopped expecting love from people, without first giving it. And it’s saved me so much stress. I had to pull back from the consistent fights with everyone.

    I’d diverted from everything I wanted after uni to building and fixing a marriage.  And that’s why it was falling apart. It’s not that my in-laws moved out, or my husband suddenly changed, my happiness is more about where my mindset is at right now. 

    Which is?

    Conditioning my mind to take responsibility. I had a part to play in my marriage falling apart. A lot of people would be happier in life if they’d just accept they’re the issue. I started a blog to share my experience, and I’ve slowly rediscovered the driven entrepreneur I once was. 

    I’m finally earning my own money again. It’s not a lot, but I’ve gotten writing gigs on the side. It took me eight years to get here. I’m happier thinking that I have something to offer again, and that’s what I’m going to hold on to.

    Is there anything besides the money that’s made you happier?

    Keeping my marriage together. Steve’s mother still lives with us, but I’m a lot less bothered by that. She’s older and needs the company of her son and grandkids, I understand that now. Even when we have our disagreements, I focus on not getting as upset over those issues. When it comes to my husband, I just take away the things he loves. 

    He knows if he wants something from me when he’s back from work, he won’t get it until he apologises. I’ve just found better ways to get what I want. It’s entirely in the way I respond to the challenges and people around me that’s changed.

    I know my happiness isn’t in the hands of someone else. 

    If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell us why

  • Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    Today’s subject on #Zikokowhatshesaid is Fehin Okegbenle, a 30-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about her childhood love for motorcycles, why she waited until she was 28 to ride one and handling the stares when people realise she isn’t a man, on her biking trips across the country.

    What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?

    Biking. I can’t remember what age I was, but I know it started with watching people ride motorcycles in movies, and video games like Need for Speed. I always thought it would be cool to ride one too. I brought it up a few times, but my mum wasn’t having any of that talk. To her, biking was a dangerous sport. I eventually had to settle for basketball and swimming, but I knew I wanted to bike. 

    I didn’t circle back to that conversation until I was 28 though. 

    What happened before that?

    Life. I had to focus on earning money after I decided to leave uni early. I got in for physiotherapy in 2009 because I thought I’d love the idea of taking care of athletes. But I realised it wasn’t for me, so after my first year, I left. Hustling to make money took centre stage from then on.

    Did not having a degree at the time hold you back?

    Not really. I didn’t feel the need to go back to uni until 2016. Figuring things out didn’t feel daunting because I’d always taken care of myself. When I was eight, I’d learnt how to cook for myself, wash my clothes and generally survive without needing any help from my parents or two older siblings. The post-dropout phase was no different. I just needed to make money. 

    I’d taken up a few jobs, like ushering, but the first one that had me travelling a lot was in 2013. I worked as an amplifier, marketing the company products from state to state. I loved travelling, but it was stressful to always be on the road with no breaks. When I saved up enough money, I rented my first apartment and quit the job at the end of that year [2013]. 

    But did you have a plan though?

    I thought about biking again, but my mum still wasn’t having it. I didn’t exactly have a plan, so when Valentine’s Day was around the corner, I decided to sell gift boxes. 

    I was selling out at first, but everything crashed barely two months in, when I was scammed by the guy I paid to develop my website. I didn’t have money for myself or the business to keep going after that, so I ended up moving into my sister’s house. She’d just had a baby, and it made sense to be there to help out. 

    It was great not thinking about bills, but after being independent for so long, depending on someone else for everything was hard. That was the first time I couldn’t figure things out alone.

    I’m sorry.

    Thanks. To get by, I sold bottles of zobo at my old university. It wasn’t easy, but I enjoyed having something to do while I thought about what I really wanted. Other than biking, I loved fashion.

    As a kid, my mum sold clothes for women her age. She loved fashion, and I remember always loving it too. While I’d been a sporty kid, dressing up was something I enjoyed. So when I thought about setting up a clothing business in 2015, it made sense to try it out. I saved up about ₦7k selling zobo and ordered my first batch of clothes from online stores abroad. The exchange rate wasn’t as horrible as it is now. I made enough profit to keep buying and selling, and I’ve stuck with it ever since.

    So, biking?

    LOL. Not yet. Biking is an expensive hobby to get into. My release at the time was still basketball. If I wasn’t at the court, then I’d be home. Fast forward to 2018, and my brother-in-law wondered why I didn’t go out more. I was 26 and still enjoyed my time alone.

    Since my family wanted me to socialise more, I joined a Telegram group for foodies in Lagos. Back then, everyone was on Telegram, and I liked the idea of hanging out to eat food. I started going out more and connected with a biker group at one of the foodie hangouts.

    How?

    The event was called Jollof and Palmie. Lagos bikers attend the show too, riding around and displaying  their bikes throughout the event. Actually, that’s why I decided to go. Coincidentally, I met a family friend there, who’d been riding bikes for a while, and he introduced me to other bikers at the event. One of the guys let me get on top of his bike to ride with him.

    After the event, I had people in my DMs calling me “engine burster”. 

    LOL. Why?

    It was an inside joke. The guy’s bike had probably been revved above the Rotations Per-Minute (RMP) recommended for it. That means it had been used for a longer time than it should have without getting checked or serviced properly. Either way, they joked about it being my fault his engine burst. Next thing, the group was asking me to join their Telegram group for bikers and biker enthusiasts. Since I had a family friend in the group, I felt comfortable saying yes. 

    I followed them for a race in Benin City. When I got back and told my mum about the bike ride, she didn’t seem so bothered by the idea. I’d only been on the bike for a short distance to the track, but I didn’t feel the need to clarify since she didn’t ask. She practically said nothing. I took it as my cue to get into biking.

    Sweet. 

    I paid for biking lessons for four weekends in 2019. My family and friends were concerned about safety, but once I had my helmet on, the rest was about taking control of the bike. Paying for the bike wasn’t cheap, but I was making enough profit from selling clothes to cover it. Besides, I had other bikers on the road with me. They eventually stopped stressing because this was a passion I really wanted to pursue.

    How did biking on your own for the first time feel?

    Freeing. It was a moment of escape from thinking about anything other than just driving. I can’t fully describe what it feels like to move at 90km/h on the freeway, but I’m sure nothing beats that rush of adrenaline. 

    Lagos traffic gets in the way sometimes, but like driving a car, I’ve learnt to manoeuvre it. My first solo trip out of Lagos was about three months after my first ride. I took a trip to Ibadan with the biker group. At first, I was scared of being on my bike alone because I thought I wouldn’t make it all the way. 

    When I got to Shagamu, I realised I was doing alright and the rest came easy. The fear wasn’t unusual. Even more experienced bikers feel the same way whenever they’re exploring new places or taking long rides. After Ibadan, Ile-Ife was my next trip outside Lagos. I was alone on that trip, so imagine the anxiety I felt. Getting to Shagamu calmed me down. It was some kind of safe zone for me.

    Beyond your solo trips, what’s a milestone you’re proud of?

    It’s hard to pick because I did about 10 trips after Ibadan. But biking to Onitsha and back to Lagos alone in 15 hours in 2020 was an important achievement for me. I’d never biked that far. I covered my longest distance — 1000km — in less than a day. 

    That’s crazy.

    It was. My next milestone was a trip around the country, but before then, I had one of my toughest experiences at Mambilla Hills in Taraba. It was hilly terrain, with so many turns, and cattle obstructing the whole place. Definitely a tough ride, but making it through was amazing. 

    In 2021, I biked across 22 states in seven days with my team. It’s called Across the Nation, and we do it every year. That was my first time, and it wasn’t exactly great because my bike had issues, but the stress was worth it. The best part was how the terrain switched from trees in the west to miles of hills and mountains as we moved up north. 

    On the first day, we went from Lagos to Ogun. The next day, we moved to Oyo and stopped at Kogi. We went on through the north, Kano to Kaduna, and kept going until we circled back to Lagos.

    Mad! I’m curious. What’s it like to ride a bike as a woman in Nigeria?

    A lot of stares. Until I take off my helmet, people assume I’m a man. Sometimes, people are rude when they realise I’m not. For instance, when I was in Taraba in 2021, a fuel attendant didn’t agree to sell fuel to me. Not until one of the guys on the trip asked him to fill up my tank. So yeah, some Nigerians haven’t evolved past the “only men can do this and that” narrative. 

    After that incident, I stopped taking off my helmet on trips. Even when I do, I make sure I’m stern with my approach. I’ve also learnt that it’s important to never let anyone tell me I need a man to feel safe on my trips. I can take care of myself.

    Love it. And how about your fashion business?

    It’s grown to the point where I don’t always need to be present. It took time, but I’m happy I get to make money from what I love while turning a childhood passion into a brand.

    In four years, you’ve been to almost all the states in Nigeria. What’s next?

    I’ve been to the borders of Togo, but I want to take a tour around West Africa. After that, I’m aiming to be a part of the European Bike Tour.

    If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell us why

  • Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    Today’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Meye Ebie, a 40-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about how she found out she may never have kids, the dating scene for black people in Canada and what enjoyment looks like at 40.

    What’s something you love about turning 40?

    Not giving a fuck anymore. Not about marriage, not about kids, all I have to do is focus on myself. I’m tired of degrading my peace trying to date men. The Canadian dating scene hasn’t been the best experience for me either, especially with these 40+ men.

    LOL. Let’s start from the beginning. What was the dating scene like while you were in Nigeria?

    I’d say the guys back home were much more respectful. At least, they’d feed you. Here, people assume you’re after their money. No one wants to go to a restaurant. They’d rather meet up at a park, and that’s no different from going to walk my dogs. It’s a waste of time.

    I spent my 20s in Nigeria, and the guys actually cared to impress me then. I was a hot cake too. They’d buy me gifts and chase me for weeks just to get one date. That’s how it should be, but men here want to skip all of that.

    Lol. Did you have any serious relationships back then?

    Oh yes. I had one when I was 28. He is three years younger, but I was sure I would’ve married him if I didn’t have to leave for Canada. He wanted to make a long-distance relationship work, but I wasn’t interested. I felt distance would eventually end the relationship. Doing it earlier was better.

    Now, he’s married with two kids and we’re still on talking terms. I loved being with him because It never felt like he was younger than me. We had conversations I wish I could have with the men I’m meeting now. He talked about his dreams; I knew exactly what he wanted from life. There were no games.

    Is that something you think is missing from your dating life right now?

    Yeah. It’s like men my age are having a mid-life crisis and want to be young and free. What I want right now is a man who can hold a decent conversation. Not just a night of drinks and sex, then it’s all over. I want to laugh, go dancing and have a genuine connection. I’m tired of wearing expensive makeup and dressing up to meet boring men.

    LOL. I’m sorry it’s been tough on the streets.

    When I moved to Canada in 2013, I was 30. My seven older siblings and friends were already badgering me about meeting someone, and I was worried time was running out too. Being in a new space didn’t make it easier to find someone after my last relationship ended. The easiest way to meet men was online because I was adjusting to my new life.

    I was living with my older brother in Alberta and shuffling between classes, watching my older brother’s kids and trying to earn money on the side. There was no time to go out and meet new people, so I tried dating apps. At first, I was focused on dating only black men.

    How did that go?

    That was a big mistake. Whether they were Nigerian or Ugandan, the African men were all the same.

    Like the Nigerian man I dated when I was 32. I’d been in Canada for two years at the time. I thought being with him was great because of course we shared the same culture, so I assumed our values were the same. A few months into the relationship, it turned out he was married and had kids back home. I even found copies of his marriage certificate and a kid’s birth certificate in a drawer, and he still tried to deny it. He spent the next week calling and crying about how sorry he was. 

    LOL… And after that?

    The next was a year later and a  guy from Haiti. I knew he had grown kids, but while we were dating, a newborn popped up. I confronted him, and his offer was that I should be his fifth baby mama rather than leave. I didn’t have the energy to be upset at that point, so I asked him to drop me at home and never contact me. As usual, he called a week later to cry and explain.

    It always ends in tears. 

    Then the following year, there was the Hawaiian guy with three children from his ex-girlfriend. I can’t blame him because my instincts told me to run from the beginning. That was the last time I dated a black or brown-skinned man. 

    My friends tried to make me go on some blind dates, but desperately hooking me up just never worked out.

    So were the white guys better?

    LOL. I did have one decent relationship when I was 33. We met on Facebook at a time when I felt even lonelier than I had when I first moved to Canada. I’d moved out of my brother’s house to get more time to myself, and worked at a department store I hated. The endless loop of going to work and coming home made me sad. I eventually got two dogs, but I still wanted to be with someone.

    So when this white guy started sending texts on Facebook asking about my day, it felt good. As things started to get serious, I made it clear to him that I wanted a relationship that would lead to marriage. He didn’t object, so I committed myself to him. 

    Awwn… Sweet

    For the first three years, sure. After that, I realised he was a douchebag. All he wanted was a partner to live with, cook and clean after him. A housekeeper with relationship perks, essentially. All the talk of wanting to marry me suddenly seemed unreasonable to him. I didn’t have any more time to waste and that ended the relationship in 2018. 

    I’ve been single ever since, dealing with the ups and downs of dating apps. 

    LOL. Is it better now that you’re older?

    Not at all. 40+ men are out here looking like grandfathers and expecting to date an Agbeni Darego at their age. It doesn’t make any sense. The worst part is how they play mind games.

    Take my last potential date for example. He was a white older man, and we’d been chatting for a while. When we finally wanted to meet, he kept talking about seeing me during the week. Since I have a busy schedule with a job and school, I asked him to choose a specific date to plan my week out. Suddenly, he got defensive. His response was, “What if things don’t work out between us? Why waste time planning?” 

    That sounds weird.

    It was. I didn’t understand why he was on a dating app in the first place. The point is to go on dates to see what happens. After that, he went on about how he was hurt in his last relationship, but I’ve been on these apps for eight years. I wasn’t falling for that. 

    Why stay on the app for eight years if it hasn’t been great?

    It’s either that or nothing. I don’t trust my friends to hook me up, and I don’t have the energy to dress up to meet someone I’ve never had a conversation with. With online dating, it’s easier to screen people out of your life. 

    Like the guy I’m chatting with right now. He claims that he’s over his fiancée and wants to get into a relationship with me. I’ve asked him many times to explain why the engagement ended, but he has no tangible reason except, “It was her fault.” There’s no part that was his fault, and that already tells me he’s not serious. It’s better to meet those kinds of people online than to waste a date to find out. 

    LOL. I see.

    Besides, I’m not bothered that I’ll never find a man. I was a hot cake in my 20s, and I’m a hot cake now. 

    A baddie at 40. Love it! So 40 may be your best year at this point?

    LOL. Yeah, but the toughest transition into 40 has been accepting that I may never have kids. I found out almost two years ago when I was rushed into the emergency room. I was at work and started feeling extreme abdominal pains and couldn’t move. The doctors thought it was a gallstone that would eventually pass, but when I couldn’t walk without assistance for a week, they ran more intense tests. 

    That’s when they found the fibroids.

    I’m so sorry. 

    Thanks. One of the fibroids is located too close to my womb, so if I chose to do surgery this year, I could lose my womb in the process. I’ve always loved kids. I have five older sisters and two older brothers, and they all have kids of their own now. I took care of each of them at some point and always wanted mine too. Accepting that it may never happen was hard. At first, I was worried, scared but… I don’t know. There was anger, grief and finally, acceptance. 

    I’ve blamed God and myself these last two years, but fibroids aren’t something any woman can control or avoid. I had to come to terms with that reality. I have to fight for my health. 

    I’m sick of waking up every morning and feeling pain around my hips and waist like my grandmother. I’ve also realised that I don’t have to worry about the idea of not having kids so much.

    What do you mean?

    The only person that could’ve made this choice more emotional for me would’ve been my mother. She passed away in 2018, and she’d cry knowing I’ll probably never have kids. But without her, more grandchildren aren’t exactly a priority for anyone. My dad is 89 and has at least 10 grandkids. His bloodline is secured, so I have the space to do me.

    But you still want them, right?

    A part of me does, but I have my nieces and nephews. When that stops being enough, I can adopt or get someone’s sperm and go for surrogacy. The options are endless.

    My siblings and friends who are invested in me having kids have advised me to freeze my eggs, but the financial and mental stress involved isn’t worth it. I’m already in enough pain. I’m not interested in the hormonal injections and egg retrieval process. All because I want to create life? No, please. The unending badgering about marriage is enough stress. I want to be single and happy in peace right now.

    I just turned 40, and I’d like to focus on enjoying that.

    What does “enjoying 40” look like for you?

    Beyond accepting that I may never have kids and not giving a fuck about that or marriage. The beauty of 40 is that it can be anything I want it to be. 

    Right now, I’m trying to get another degree, so I can get out of my department store job. I want to give myself a lot more options than I’ve had in the past. There’s so much life ahead of me, and that’s enough to look forward to every day.

    If you’d like to be our next subject on #WhatSheSaid , click here to tell us why

  • Let me start by saying that women have been “keeping safe” all their lives, and this hasn’t helped or stopped them from getting harassed or abused, so let’s focus on what men can do for a change. Here are some ways that men can help women feel and stay safe. 

    Be an active passer-by

    If you notice that a woman is uncomfortable with a person’s behaviour, get involved. Make an evaluation of the intensity of the situation by watching or speaking with her, call for help, report to an authority figure (this could be a manager/supervisor, a security officer or the police), do anything but walk away.

    Don’t drive off immediately after

    When dropping off any woman, I beg you in the name of whomever you serve, wait till she’s fully inside the building or other venue before you drive off. Don’t leave a woman standing outside alone anywhere, because her chances of getting harassed or attacked — especially at night — are high. 

    Watch her drink when she leaves 

    It’s not new information that women’s drinks get spiked. No woman will ever believe that her drink was watched by a stranger and still drink it, but if a female friend leaves her drink unattended for one reason or another, please watch her drink. I don’t mean stay beside it while using your phone. Actively watch it. You’d be surprised how stealthy drink spikers can be. 

    Animation of a man protecting a woman's drink

     RELATED: Nigerian Women Share Their Public Harassment Stories and We Are Livid!

    Ask her to share her location with you

    Always ask your female friends to share their ride information with you when they use ride-hailing services. This helps you track their journey, and notice to an extent, if anything is going awry. If they’re driving alone or in a car with someone else or taking public transportation, ask them to share the plate numbers with you if they can and share their live location until they are safely at their destination. Also, text them throughout the ride to make sure they’re okay. But remember to offer, not push. In the end, it’s still her choice to let you help or not. There’s a thin line between concern and harassment too.

    Offer to walk with her

    This could be as simple as walking her to a public bathroom. Offer to walk with her to whatever destination while respecting her own privacy. This includes standing with her at a bus stop till she gets a bus. Once again, this majorly applies to women you know. Don’t offer to walk a woman you don’t know. Even though your intentions may be pure, it still gives off creepy vibes. 

    RELATED: 5 Nigerian Men Talk About The First Time They Asked Someone Out

    Animation of a man protecting a woman

    Be aware of your actions 

    Men need to understand that their very presence can be a source of concern for women in certain circumstances. Walking behind a woman at night may seem normal to you, but a woman is likely to have serious anxiety about it. It’s not ideal, but unfortunately, women have been through a lot. Keep a fair distance when you notice you’re directly behind a woman, especially on a deserted road. This helps her feel safe, and reduces her panic or anxiety. 

    Keep your friends in line 

    A man may do everything else on this list, but when it comes to calling his male friends on sexist and/or misogynist behaviour, he suddenly goes mute — that’s problematic. If your friend catcalls a woman, for example, change it for them. If you notice your friend harassing a woman in any way, shape or form, stop them and call them out on their actions on the spot. Don’t laugh with them, and don’t playfully tell them to stop. Be assertive; don’t give room for harassment to grow.

    ALSO READ: 5 Nigerian Men Share How They Feel When They Hear “Men Are Scum”

  • I read the article about Nigerian men and how much they want to earn before they get married. This inspired me to ask Nigerian women the same question. This is what the six women I asked had to say. 

    “I don’t want to depend on someone else for basic things.”

    — Sandra*, 24

    I have to earn at least ₦1m per month, that’s the least amount. I don’t want to start off struggling in my marriage. Life is hard, but money makes it easier. Also, I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to depend on someone else for basic things. No matter what men say, I think it leads to resentment. I’ve seen the older generation of women ask for money for things like gas and groceries, and I think it’s because they don’t earn enough. I just want a soft life, the bedrock of which is money, kudi, ego, you get me?

    “I don’t think it’s okay to earn less than ₦500k because you’ll eventually bring children into this world.”

    — Chiamaka*, 24

    I have to earn at least ₦500k – ₦600k after taxes and deductions. There are women who earn less than this and get married, and I sincerely wish them the best, but I don’t think it’s okay to earn less than ₦500k because you’ll eventually bring children into this world, and they are expensive. You don’t want them to suffer. Also, the cost of living is high, and the country as a whole is hard. If you’re not earning enough, don’t get married.

    “I should have ₦10m in savings, or the dollar equivalent.”

    — Yinka*, 23

    I don’t want to earn less than ₦500k. I’m not sure it’s realistic with the way Nigeria is today, but that’s what I’d like to earn before I get married, hopefully, in the next two years, and I know that on my career path as a lawyer, I won’t have achieved a senior role by that time, so that’s most likely what I’d be earning. I also want to have a side business to support my earnings. I should have ₦10m in savings, or the dollar equivalent — since it seems safer to save in foreign currency with the alarming inflation rate in the country. That amount in savings won’t be hard for me to get because I’ve been saving money since I was in secondary school. I’m sure I’ll even pass that amount by the time I’m ready to get married.

    RELATED: How Much Do Nigerian Men Need to Earn Before Getting Married?

    “I need to have enough money to take care of myself and my household too.”

    — Tamara*, 33

    I’m not suffering in my mother’s house, so I can’t go to my “marital home”  to suffer. Monthly, I have to earn at least ₦400k – ₦500k, and my savings cannot be less than ₦5 – 6m. 

    The major reason why people divorce, apart from infidelity, is financial issues. Two people coming together as one means they should combine their efforts to build a family. I need to have enough money to take care of myself and my household too. Also, anything can happen. For example, my husband could lose his job (God forbid). There has to be another source of income to fall back on. I’d also want to send a regular allowance to our parents and live a soft girl life too.

    African descent checking her wallet

    “For the married life I’ve always envisioned, an upgrade to €70,000 and above will do it.”

    — Kemi*, 25

    I currently earn over €40,000 a year. For the married life I’ve always envisioned, an upgrade to €70,000 or above will do it. I want to live the softest possible life. Nothing extravagant or ridiculous, but the best we can both afford. I want to have a luxury apartment in a good neighbourhood, and a good car. Not necessarily luxury cars like Porsche or Benz, but not cars from 2002 either. I want to be able to afford the best possible life for our future kids as well.

    “I’m a simple person. I don’t ask for much.”

    — Mariam*, 25

    I want to earn at least ₦250k – ₦300k monthly and have at least ₦1m in savings. I’m a simple person. I don’t ask for much, and I believe in growing with my partner financially. As long as my career grows and my salary increases over time, I’m good. 

    *Names have been changed for anonymity.

    ALSO READ: 6 Nigerian Women Share The Best Thing About Being Married

  • Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    Today’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Faith, a 19-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about the medical error that motivated her to study medicine in Ukraine, being tired of the constant reminder to be grateful to her parents, and life since she moved back home because of the Russia-Ukraine war.

    Are you one of those Nigerian firstborns who were forced to study medicine?

    LOL. Not at all. My dad wanted me to be a civil engineer, and my mum, an accountant, but I always wanted to work in natural science. I knew I wanted to be a doctor when my sister ended up paralysed after a doctor overdosed on the prescription she needed. They also blamed it on the haemorrhage that happened in her coma, but it was their fault for not running an MRI after she came in for a bad fall. 

    My sister was a sickle cell patient that needed a lot more care than she got.

    She wasn’t the first family member I’d seen affected by some form of medical negligence. It happened to an aunt, uncle and cousin. But when it happened to my sister, I wanted to fix it. Medicine has been my dream since I was 13.

    Hence Ukraine, the motherland for Nigerian doctors?

    That happened by chance. Initially, I wanted to study in the US, but I knew my parents couldn’t afford the fees. After my sister’s accident, they were spending a lot of money on her drugs. I didn’t want to add to the burden, and my parents kind of made me feel that way with their constant need to make me feel grateful.

    You must wonder why I didn’t just attend a Nigerian school since my parents clearly didn’t have the money. But the Ukrainian university tuition was about the same as what I would’ve paid at Afe Babalola University, so why not take the chance to leave Nigeria? Studying at a public university didn’t make sense either because I’d probably spend ten years doing a six years course. I wasn’t up for that.

    Fair assessment. But how did your parents make you feel the need to always be “grateful”?

    That’s my firstborn origin story. They expected me to take up responsibilities I wasn’t ready to show gratitude for all the money they spent on me. When my sister got sick, it seemed like I became the backup plan for her and my brother’s welfare. I didn’t mind, but my parents wouldn’t let me hear the end of “my siblings were my responsibility”. They talked about how I’d sort my brother’s school fees when he was ready to join me in Europe. 

    It’s not like I didn’t want to take care of him. I just expected more time. 

    I’d been in Ukraine for three years when they were really pushing the conversation. I’d just started getting a hang of their system and barely understood the language. How was I supposed to earn enough money to support him? I don’t think they understood that I was in another man’s land, and it takes time to earn real money as a student. 

    Did you ever complain to anyone?

    Yeah, my mum. But to her, I was just going through puberty and acting up. Because my parents were focused on earning more money, I was saddled with the responsibility of managing my mum’s store at 14. I’d close from school and spend the rest of the day there. They would always tell me how I’d have to think of how to expand the store. I’d also have to help when my sister needed anything. It was a lot.  

    One day, I lost it. I shouted at my mum about treating me like a backup plan. It felt like I was just being groomed to take care of the family when my parents died. No one ever asked what I wanted. My mum always says, “Make sure you marry a rich man who’ll be able to take care of your sister.” She doesn’t even know I never want to get married.

    When I explained how I felt, her rebuttal was about how ungrateful I was. She listed everything they’d ever done for me. From being sent to a private school to having a roof over my head, I heard it all. That was the last time I talked about any of it. I just went along with their plans.

    I’m really sorry. Did relocating help in any way?

    Thanks. The only difference was choosing how much of what they said I wanted to listen to. The heart grows fonder when it’s far away. So yeah, we got along much better. Plus, I was 16 when I travelled. I still needed them financially even when we had arguments. At that point, I was to blame for allowing the firstborn title to haunt me, not them.

    How?

    I knew I’d have to pay my parents back someday. Nobody had sent my parents abroad, but they did that for me. As a first-generation migrant, you’re indebted for that for life. People expect you to graduate and carry the other generations on your shoulder. That thought made it hard to enjoy life in Ukraine. 

    Do you think being the firstborn took away your freedom to flex?

    I’ve never had a chance to explore my social side, but I don’t think I can blame my parents for not consciously enjoying myself. My mates in medical school went out for parties; I’d choose to stay home. I didn’t think I was missing out though. I’ve always been introverted, spending more time indoors. Being far away from my family wasn’t going to shock me into becoming an outgoing person. 

    Since I moved back to Nigeria in March, I’ve only missed out on my peace of mind. I’ve never felt more overwhelmed than now.

    Why?

    I’m thankful I made it out, but I have no clue what I’m doing with my life right now. I was already in my fourth year of uni, and now, I’m not sure when I’ll actually graduate. It feels like when I was walking to the Polish borders when we were trying to get back to Nigeria from Ukraine. There was no certainty that I’d make it all the way, but I kept moving. Only with this phase back home, I’m not sure it’ll end soon.

    I’m sorry. 

    Thank you. Beyond the uncertainty of school, I’m back to being hounded about creating generational wealth for my family. No one gave me room to relax and be taken care of. They’d typically say, “We need to start a new business for the family,” but I know they mean “I need to.” 

    We aren’t even making money from my mother’s store anymore. On top of that, my dad is angry with the way I silently carry myself around the house. These are people who experienced the brunt of military rule. I expected them to understand that I need time to process the possibility that my school may not resume anytime soon because of the Russian-Ukrainian, but of course, I only got the “You’re never grateful for anything we do” response. I still don’t understand why they felt so attacked by my sadness.

    I’m guessing you’ve not spoken to them about this…

    There’s no need. Paying back is the only way I know how to show gratitude as a firstborn. They always talk about everything they’ve ever done for me, so why not return the favour? But they want continuous thank yous, which gets tiring at some point. 

    Right now, I’m focused on setting up a business. Since we’ve always talked about some kind of generational wealth, I’ve decided to take my return to Nigeria as an opportunity to get started on that. First, I’m setting up a t-shirt business, and maybe, I’ll expand into affiliate marketing or tech.

    What about medicine?

    It’s my passion, but I have to make money first. I want to be less dependent on my parents. I turn 20 this year (2022), and I can’t keep complaining about feeling like I owe them and still ask them for everything.

    Whenever I go back for my degree, I want to live a different life. Not one constantly plagued by being the firstborn.

    If your sister’s accident didn’t happen, what would be different right now?

    I think my family would be different. My parents were civil servants, and that one mistake continues to affect them financially. The pressure would take a mental toll on anyone, so I can’t blame them for the expectations. Some days, I just wish I wasn’t on the receiving end of their frustrations since that one mistake.

    If you’d like to be our next subject on #WhatSheSaid , click here to tell us why

  • Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    Today’s subject for #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Michelle Nelson, a 25-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about leaving Jos in 2012 after the religious riots started in 2001, and discovering versions of herself that make the woman she is today.

    How old were you when you left Jos?

    15. It’s a place with some of my fondest memories but was also the most scarring period of my life. Two years ago was the first time I could sleep well since we left Jos. I struggled with fear for so long.

    I’m sorry you experienced that. 

    Thank you. Jos is something I’ve always wanted to talk about.

    How about we start from the beginning?

    Yes, please. My parents found love in Jos. My mum was 18 when they met. A year later, she had me, and three years later, my brother. We were a small family. We lived in Dogon Dutse, located in the northern part of Jos. Although most of my years in Dogon Dutse were during the crisis, my earlier memories were good. Life was easy there.

    My mum was a full-time housewife, while my dad travelled for work all the time. We depended on just his salary because of how cheap things like food and rent were. 

    It sounds peaceful. Was it also fun?

    My parents were quite strict, so I don’t remember having much “fun”. Plus I was too young to be going to parties if there were even any at the time. I didn’t stay long enough to explore what fun meant for a teenager in Jos.

    Fun for me was running outside to lick ice whenever it rained and throwing it at my friends. That’s not something I ever got to experience outside of Jos. Dogon Dutse is known as the rock valley, so we did a lot of rock climbing too. If there’s anything I really loved, it would be those moments with my friends. Once we left Jos, making new ones became difficult.

    Why?

    Well, I’m an introvert. But there was the part of trying to figure out who I was after I’d seen so much death. 

    Let’s talk about the riots. 

    I witnessed my first in primary school. I can’t remember my age, but I remember the scene. There’d been religious riots around Jos, and it got close to Dogon Dutse. Everyone was scared. My brother and I were at the front of our school waiting for my mum to pick us up. Before she came, I watched people cling to their kids and important documents as they ran for safety. 

    And your dad?

    My dad worked with road safety and was posted to different parts of the country all the time. My mum had to be the strong one, but I could see the fear in her eyes, I could feel it. 

    After that, there were at least two or three more attacks. There were times we had to hide in the rocks around Dogon Dutse to feel safe. Falling asleep was impossible. About 11 years later, my dad finally asked us to relocate to Akwa Ibom. No one objected. I knew I’d miss my friends in Jos, but I also knew I wouldn’t survive another two or three years there. We had to go.

    I’m really sorry. What was it like living somewhere new for the first time?

    I still couldn’t sleep, but it was better than Jos. I still woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares. 

    Losing the familiarity of Jos also affected me. I had eight really tight friends back home, and it dawned on me that I might never see them again. Living miles away eventually took its toll on keeping in touch. Even the one person I thought would be in my life forever got married and moved on with her own life. I had to focus on my new life in Akwa Ibom.

    Did you talk to your parents?

    I tried once or twice to tell my mum, but she didn’t take it seriously. She felt I could easily get over it. Till now, she doesn’t acknowledge that it was a traumatic phase for me. It usually ended with a joke or two on how I exaggerated things. Maybe it’s a Nigerian parent thing.

    As for my dad, we weren’t close enough for me to open up. And my brother was too little to understand how I felt about the nights we had to hide. So I was on my own.  Now that I think about it, what I needed was therapy. 

    What did you get instead?

    Church. Going to church helped when I couldn’t handle the emotions alone. I finally got used to the peace I felt in Akwa Ibom. I’d wake up scared, and my brain would remind me that I was safe. 

    Sweet. What was Akwa Ibom like?

    Even though I felt like I had to start my life over again, the great part was experiencing the culture outside Jos. Like… the accent. It was very different from Jos. The people were also a lot more outspoken, and that’s not something you get in the north. 

    What I really experienced for the first time in Akwa Ibom was love. I went from being a naive girl into a full-blown young lady that knew what it was like to be in love. It’s also where I got my first heartbreak. 

    LOL. That’s what we call breakfast.

    LOL. That breakfast was my first and last. Two years later, I went to uni in Delta. And that’s where I got my real culture shock. 

    My school was located in Warri, and the people were loud. And I mean very loud. In Akwa Ibom, I was mostly inside the house. Warri was the first place I experienced for myself because I lived on campus. So I got to move around town and saw a lot of the craziness.

    Let me just point out that I’m from Delta sha.

    LOL. Don’t be angry. Warri was a place you’d walk out and see a fight break out from nowhere. It was so different from Jos. Learning to speak pidgin English was the only way to blend. It made it easier to sync with the people there.

    What did you discover once you connected with the people?

    The extroverted version of myself. I was coming from my first heartbreak, so I wanted to have fun. I was hanging out with more people and partying. I think of it as my exploration phase.

    Then I made a friend in 2018, and she took it up a notch. We’d go out clubbing back to back and drinking the night away. I grew tired of it by 2019. I think it had to do with finishing uni and realising there was a lot more to life than partying. The introvert in me was also tired. 

    After Delta, I retired the clubbing phase of my life. 

    So who were you after Warri?

    A Lagos babe. Lol. Going back to Akwa-Ibom wasn’t an option for me. I was the first child, and I didn’t want to depend on my parents anymore. So when I finished my NYSC in Lagos, I decided to stay. I needed to figure shit out on my own.

    Did you? 

    It’s been two years since I moved, and I’d say yes. I’ve gotten a job, and I earn enough to support myself. I even started sleeping better. There’s still a lot of work I need to do to fully support my family, but at least I’m on the journey. 

    What do you miss about Jos?

    All the years I’d moved around, I never met people that lived through my reality in Dogon Dutse. I also didn’t meet people that stayed in my life while I moved between different phases. So I got used to being alone. I didn’t try to stay connected with my friends in Jos even though some of them tried. 

    But I’ll say this, I wish I tried harder. Last year, one of my Jos friends died. She’d been in Lagos, but we never spoke. I never even followed her back on Instagram. When my childhood friends organised a virtual memorial for her, our pictures seemed like a lifetime ago. I couldn’t picture us as the kids that snuck out of school. Too much time had passed, and I judged myself for allowing that gap.

    I’m sorry. Did you try to stay in contact after that?

    I try to follow people back on Instagram. LOL. 

    Let me be honest, I’m fine if I can’t build back the connections I lost. There are some things time can’t fix or change. I will try my best though.

    And Jos? Would you ever go back?

    Nah. I miss the memories there, but I’m happier with the version of myself I’ve discovered between Akwa Ibom, Warri and now, Lagos. I can’t imagine losing myself all over again. I’m only focused on getting to the point where I can live my life without fear. 

    I miss eating masa and suya though. It’s been way too long since I had some.

    For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here