Nigerians | Page 4 of 253

Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.

What’s your earliest memory of money?

The money gifts I received from visiting relatives when I was younger. Then my mum would say, “Bring the money. I’ll keep it for you or use it to buy you something later.” I never saw the money again.

Haha. Typical Nigerian parents. What was money like growing up?

We were comfortable, but started to struggle when I entered secondary school. My accountant dad moved to a different state for work, and joining him meant my mum had to leave her previous teaching job to start looking for another.

Things weren’t bad, per se; we just had to make some adjustments. For instance, I attended a boarding school, and we had to reduce some of my provisions. When I’d usually get both cornflakes and Golden Morn, I now had to choose between them. It was a slight inconvenience.

What was the first thing you did to earn money?

Fresh out of secondary school in 2014, I got a job teaching at a school for the ridiculous salary of ₦5k/month. I worked there for a couple of months before leaving to work with my mum, who had now opened her own school.

I feel like I already know the answer to this, but did she pay you?

Haha. There wasn’t a solid payment structure. My younger sister also worked there at some point, and I don’t think we ever received an actual salary.

My mum was paying the other teachers, but, of course, as her children, she only gave us random pocket money. We never actually had the salary conversation. You know how it is, she was feeding us, so how do you ask for a salary?

Right. How long did you work with her?

I worked there for about two years before leaving for university in 2016. In uni, I received a ₦25k – ₦40k monthly allowance. It wasn’t specific, as I could just call home if I ran out of money.

In my second year, I began exploring ways to earn money part-time without solely relying on an allowance. I wanted something that wouldn’t require a lot of my time or interfere with my studies. My roommate was actively doing ushering jobs, so I got her to help me get started as well.

What was the pay like?

It was usually ₦5k per event. In rare cases, payment could be as high as ₦6k – ₦7k. I didn’t always get a lot of gigs, though. I’m not very tall, so my options were limited. That said, I secured at least one or two ushering gigs monthly.

I did this throughout my time in university, taking on these random gigs until 2022. I left uni in 2020, but we officially graduated in 2022.

What did you do between that time?

I was home when COVID happened. The pandemic led to my dad getting laid off at work, which affected our finances. I needed to find a way to support myself and my siblings, so I started actively seeking opportunities.

I found a boot camp for young professionals on Twitter, which came with a scholarship to attend for free. Towards the end of the boot camp, one of the partners said they needed a virtual assistant to manage social media and customer service for their fitness brand.

I applied and got the job even though I didn’t have virtual assistance experience. I did have some social media management experience from the time I helped a coursemate with their brand. I’d also taken a handful of courses on design and content creation, so I believe those helped.

My salary was ₦35k/month. I did that for a few months and realised I couldn’t survive on that amount.

I’m the firstborn, and I had two younger siblings in uni. By the time I bought data and shared money with my siblings, I was back to zero. I needed another source of income. While I held onto my job, I continued to seek out new opportunities.

How did that go?

In a matter of weeks, I saw an opening for a social media assistant on a Telegram career board, applied, and was hired at ₦25k/month.

Someone at church who knew I was into social media also offered me a role, and I collected that too, juggling all three jobs together. The pay was also ₦25k, which wasn’t great, but at least I was gathering all the salaries together to make a reasonable income.

I held onto two of those jobs for a year, until one laid me off and the other closed down. This was around 2021. I still had the virtual assistant job, and they even increased my salary to ₦45k/month. I worked there for two more years before eventually leaving in 2023.

My uni’s convocation delay contributed to my staying that long. Also, my employer travelled, and I kept waiting for her to return, only to learn she actually relocated.

I’m screaming

I should also mention that I began my journey into video editing while working as a virtual assistant. Actually, I picked up the skill while working with the church member who employed me.

I was supposed to manage their social media, but somehow my job also involved editing videos. I realised I enjoyed it, so I kept at it even after losing the job. I was in the social media department of my church, so I’d shoot content, edit and post on the church’s social media pages.

In 2023, just before I left my VA job, I applied to work as a creative assistant for someone who needed one during her time in Nigeria. She lives abroad and needed someone to help with shooting, editing, and creating behind-the-scenes clips while she was in the country.

It was a 10-day visit, and in my application, I even said she didn’t have to pay me. I just wanted the experience. She picked me up, and although there was no pay, she covered my transportation. I actually learnt a lot from her, and she must have liked my work, because she gave me a shoutout on her Instagram story after the project.

The shoutout helped me land a booking to cover a baby shower, marking the beginning of my foray into mobile videography. I began taking on small jobs here and there. When the first lady I worked with got married a few months later, I was the mobile videographer for the event, which brought me visibility and more bookings.

Love it. How much were you making from these bookings?

See, I might have a problem with knowing how to charge for my services. When I got my first baby shower gig, the client asked for my rates, and I didn’t know what to say.

Mobile videography was still relatively new, and I didn’t have anyone doing something similar whom I could ask. I ended up charging the client ₦25k.

Ah

I learnt after that incident sha. I think the next fee I charged was ₦40k. Then I started considering transportation costs and the value of my time in my rates, and gradually increased them to ₦60k, then ₦80k, and later ₦100k.

Fast forward to 2024, and I was finally called up for NYSC. I served at a government agency that paid me ₦25k/month — too many people have paid me ₦25k in this life — in addition to the ₦33k stipend from NYSC.

I didn’t do much at the agency, so I still actively took on mobile videography gigs during this period. I did everything from proposals and birthday dinners to weddings and corporate events. By now, my pay was a standardised ₦100k – ₦150k.

How often were these gigs coming?

I averaged five to seven gigs monthly, but my main problem was that I didn’t keep track of my income. I’m not proud of it, but I was terrible with my finances and spent money anyhow.

Suddenly, I no longer understood the concept of public transportation. I took cabs everywhere, bought junk food and skincare and regularly sent money to my siblings. I didn’t have many expenses, but I just couldn’t track how my money was disappearing.

It was only two months ago that I sat myself down and decided to try to be intentional about my finances.

What’s your income like these days?

I’m a full-time freelance video editor, so my income isn’t very stable. I make an average of ₦250k – ₦300k monthly. In really good months, I can make up to ₦500k or ₦600k. In very bad months, I make nothing.

Remember the lady who hired me as a creative assistant? We currently have a monthly retainer arrangement, and she pays me ₦150k/month to edit videos and develop content ideas and strategy. Our work relationship is now more personal than strictly employer-employee. So, I’m sure of at least ₦150k even if I don’t get any video editing gigs.

I’m also in film school. I started in September, and I applied because I felt stuck at some point in the year. I wanted something concrete, more knowledge than what I already knew. Thankfully, the film school is sponsored by the state government, so it’s free. My long-term goal is to become a film editor. I realised I loved the editing part of my job more than shooting, so I’m currently studying visual post-production.

I noticed you didn’t mention virtual assistance or social media management anymore

Yeah. I made a decision at the end of 2024 to stop them. I just felt like I didn’t know what I was doing, and that I wasn’t good at it. I think it was just a step on the journey of figuring out what I want to do in life.

It’s interesting because I earned dollars for the first time last year through virtual assistance and social media, but I just didn’t see myself doing that anymore. It was time to move on.

Wait. Tell me more about that dollars part

Around March 2024, just after NYSC orientation camp, my boss (the one I work with as a creative assistant) linked me up with a talent recruitment agency that connects talents with clients in the UK, Canada and the US.

The talent doesn’t discuss payment with the client; the agency just tells you XYZ person needs you and is willing to pay a certain amount. I’m sure they get their percentage or a commission. I got two clients through them; one paid $175/month and the other paid $195.

The contract for both gigs lasted about six to seven months. I finished the last one in December. Then I informed the agency that I was pivoting to video editing and was open to roles in that field. Maybe they don’t have many clients who need video editors, as I haven’t received a client from them since then.

What kind of lifestyle does your income afford you?

I live paycheck to paycheck, and I know my terrible financial habits contribute to that. At least, I can afford my basic needs. I live with my siblings in a family house, so thankfully I don’t pay rent. That’s my saving grace.

How would you describe your relationship with money?

It’s very touchy. Before 2024, I liked the idea of hoarding money, but then I started to convince myself to let money go. I believed I should be a channel through which money flowed, rather than just keeping it somewhere.

So, I started to get comfortable spending money. Unfortunately, I took it to the extreme. I’d use my last money to order food online and be doing, “If I perish, I perish.” I’m just now trying to find a balance and taking financial literacy seriously.

How are you doing that?

For one, I’m trying to reduce the amount of food I order, which is difficult, especially since I’m almost always in school. I also use an Excel sheet to track my income and expenses. I haven’t seen much active change yet, but it’s a gradual process.

Another thing I recently did was to register my business (which cost me ₦13k) and open a business account. The idea is that I can separate business expenses from my personal expenses. I haven’t figured out how to do that yet, but my younger sister, who is an accountant, suggests paying myself a salary so I can use that to fund my expenses and have money specifically set aside for scaling my work.

Speaking of my work, I want to get better at my pricing. I think I don’t have the greatest appetite when it comes to charging my worth. I need to work on my mindset to accept that I deserve to be paid more. I also need to build systems to make my business solid and reputable.

All in all, I think I’m making progress. I used to call myself a spendthrift, but now I see myself as someone taking intentional steps to improve my finances and do better.

I’m curious. What informs how you currently charge for your services?

I charge by the hour, as I mostly work with events. My lowest offering is three hours for ₦120k, and the price increases with the number of hours I spend. My highest rate is about ₦300k for 12 hours.

I believe I should be charging more, maybe at least ₦350k – ₦400k. However, I’m also self-aware. I’ll probably need to change my phone or get a new gadget so I can produce higher-quality videos if I hope to increase my rates.

Let’s break down your typical monthly expenses

Since I decided to take my finances seriously, I’ve been doing a thing where I try to save ₦10k or ₦20k from every new gig. I currently have about ₦60k in my savings, and another ₦120k in a locked account.

What’s an ideal amount you think you should be earning now?

I should be able to average ₦2.5m/month if I take my life seriously, upskill and put in the work. I suspect I hit ₦1m or ₦1.5m a couple of times last year, but I didn’t exactly track my money, so I can’t say for sure.

That said, ₦2.5m feels possible. I mentioned my business earlier. I’m trying to put together a video editing agency. I already have video editors who work with me, and I pay them per video. With an agency, I can put more structures in place and expand my income sources to include hosting video editing classes. This all depends on me putting in the work. Film school will end in a couple of weeks, so I need to get my act together.

Rooting for you. What’s one thing you want but can’t afford right now?

An iPhone 17 for my business, but that’s almost ₦3m.

How about the last thing you bought that made you happy?

It was my brother’s birthday a few weeks ago, and I bought him a ₦35k Kaftan two-piece. I loved being able to do that for him.

How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?

2. My financial habits got me to where I am right now. I should’ve done better with my finances, but there’s room for improvement.

If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.

Yes, I want to do a Naira Life!

Find all the past Naira Life stories here.

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

When Damola* (26) tried to get some help from his friends when he was in a tight spot, their mocking response made him reconsider whether the friendship was worth continuing at all.

In this Sunken Ships, he shares how he joined his friend group and how he came to the painful decision to end their friendship.

What moment made you realise that your friendship had gone downhill?

I tried to borrow some money from my friends because I was in a tough spot, but instead of helping me out, they mocked me, and that spelt the end of our friendship. It hurt me a lot.

Take me back to the beginning. How did you become friends with them?

I met them in my first year at the Polytechnic, Ibadan* in 2015. Tife*, John*, Tobi* and I bonded over our shared love for football and became very close after a few months. It helped that we were in the same hostel. It meant we spent a great deal of time together.

How would you describe the dynamics of your friendship?

We were very close. We went to school together every day, relied on each other, shared our resources when we had them, and even our families knew how close we had become. I really thought that we would stick together through school, and beyond but that wasn’t the case.

What changed?

A rift began to grow between me and the others in the group when they became involved in internet fraud.

How did that happen?

In January 2016, after the Christmas break, Tobi came to school flaunting a new iPhone. We were all surprised and thought he had received it as a Christmas gift, but he said he had bought it himself.

Did you ask how he got the money?

Yes, but he only gave vague answers about how a ‘friend’ abroad had sent it to him. After class that day, we tried to press him for more information about the phone.

How did he respond?

He told us about how he had learned to get money from guys online by pretending to be a girl on Snapchat. Then he raved about how lucrative it was and even offered to teach the rest of us how to do the same. The other boys were interested and took him up on his offer, but I didn’t.

Why did you refuse?

My conscience wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t raised to steal. I knew that I couldn’t be proud of myself doing something like that. Also, I was afraid of getting in trouble with the police.

Okay, what happened after that?

The boy started making a lot of money very quickly. They spent it on girls, clothes, shoes, and gadgets. Their popularity at school soared overnight.

Did any of your parents or people in authority ask where all this extra money was coming from?

We were away from home, so our parents didn’t notice the boys’ sudden lifestyle changes. Only John’s mum asked once when he paid for his younger brother’s school fees, but he told her he was doing ‘small online jobs’.

Wow. Okay, what happened next?

They started pressuring me to join them in the different scams they were doing. I refused each time, but I thought we could still maintain our friendship, and I would just ignore what they did. But what happened soon after made me realise that it wouldn’t be possible.

Tell me about that.

I needed some money to fix my laptop screen. I thought I could borrow the money from my friends, but the way they responded cut me deep.

What did they say?

They taunted me, saying, ‘Sebi, you said you don’t want to do what we’re doing,’ and laughed at me. I wouldn’t have minded if they had just said no, but I couldn’t stand their mockery. I eventually got the money I needed from my uncle and withdrew from the group after that.

Did they ever try to reach out to you when you drew back?

Only a few times. It was usually an invitation to a party or an outing, but I always found an excuse to be absent. I didn’t want to be in their company anymore. Eventually, they stopped reaching out, and I think my life was better off for it.

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Did it hurt to leave the friendship so suddenly?

Yes. For a few weeks after I decided to pull back from them, I was a loner. I didn’t make another proper friend till my second year in school.

That’s wild. Do you know how they’re doing now?

I’m not sure. All three of them dropped out in the middle of our second year. I heard that they moved to Lagos, but I focused on my schooling instead.

Do you think you’d consider being friends again if they stopped doing fraudulent work?

No. I think we’re better off apart. Even when they had extra resources, they mocked me instead of helping me out. Also, the fraud is hard to ignore. Those are not the kind of people I want in my life.

See what other people are saying about this article on social media.

Hey, if you’d like to share your own #SunkenShips story with Zikoko, fill out this form!

I was scrolling through TikTok one afternoon when I saw a girl with a little over 200 followers posting her OOTD (Outfit Of The Day). A few people in the comments asked where she got the dress, but she ignored them. Later on, she posted a follow up video explaining that she wouldn’t reveal details of where she got the dress because the brand didn’t pay her to promote them.

It is tempting to judge her for gatekeeping her outfit details. But, she is well within her rights to gatekeep. She purchased that outfit with her own money and doesn’t owe any brand unpaid visibility. Maybe she didn’t want to share her vendor. Or she doesn’t want other people copying her look. All completely fair.

Her story, however, is symptomatic of a bigger issue we have on our hands: everyone is an influencer now. But people aren’t even working towards being influencers, they just wake up one day and decide that they are, which is not how it works. And this identity crisis has warped how they view themselves and also, relate with other people.

How did we get here?

It all started in ancient Rome. Gladiators were the first product influencers. Yup. Influencer marketing predates the Kardashians and has existed for thousands of years.

It also means that the scene in Disney’s Hercules where he becomes famous for defeating the hydra so they have him on billboards for sports sandals and energy drinks is lowkey accurate.

But I’m digressing.

Millennia after gladiators used their glistening muscles to help bottles of olive oil fly off store shelves, influencer marketing has taken on a life of its own, but with a twist. Everyday people—regular internet users—now have the ability to command influence. COVID accelerated this shift, showing brands that Influence doesn’t need to come from star studded celebrities.

YouTubers filming from the comfort of their bedrooms now wield the ability to influence their audience in a way distant TV celebrities can not. Influencers are relatable. Celebrities are not. When people stuck at home can sell out products from their bedrooms, the line between regular users and influencers blurs.

With social media influencers, it is pretty simple. They spend years building up their social capital through relatable content and strong audience engagement. Brands, in turn, leverage the social capital of these social media personalities to exert influence on audiences who have developed interpersonal relationships with the influencers.

Everyone wants free PR packages and sponsored trips

Imagine sitting in your room all day, dressing for the fun of it, putting on makeup and just talking in front of a camera. And then at the end of the month, a big fat cheque lands in your bank account.

The monetary benefits aren’t even half of it. All the gatemen at the estate know you by name because of how frequently dispatch riders have deliveries for you. The most wanted PR packages. Every other day, you are being invited to exclusive brand events or even more exciting, sponsored trips across the world. Meanwhile all you do is sit in front of a camera and talk. Just talk.

“Seeing Peller making videos off of doing dumb stuff made me consider pursuing TikTok influencing as a career path”, Chika*, an upcoming TikTok creator tells me. “I see content creation as a pathway to ‘blow’ and make a lot of money. I’m currently considering taking a gap year to focus on it”, he says.

While influencing looks very glamorous, the behind-the-scenes are not as glitzy. There is frequent burnout and having to show up as bubbly and happy-go-lucky on camera even when your life is falling apart off screen. For social media personalities who have made influencing a career, content creation is not happenstance. There is a carefully crafted content strategy down to even intentional posting times.

We are all main characters

Let’s pause for a second. When was the last time you went someplace fancy without someone around you trying to create content? You can’t think of a time, can you?

We live in a world where we live to create shareable content on social media. Bonding activities with friends are turned into pristine Instagram boomerangs. Nothing feels real anymore. We have stopped experiencing life, instead we are performing it for our 46 followers.

Basic life moments are constantly being turned into content themes. It is not a gym session, but rather a ‘that girl aesthetic’ complete with the hideous green smoothie we all secretly hate.

Did you just go through a bad breakup? You’re not just crying over your ex. You’re having a “healing era” that needs to be documented with moody lighting and a trending sound on Tiktok.

We actually need to have a conversation about crying on camera, but that’s a topic for another article.

The last concert you went to? You watched half of it through your phone screen because you needed to create FOMO for your Snapchat viewers. We’ve ensnared ourselves in this trap of being the main character online that we’ve forgotten what it feels like to just live our lives.

If every moment is instagram worthy or every hobby needs to be sold as content creation, what do we have left for ourselves alone?

ALSO READ: How Much Money Is There To Be Made Being Funny Online?

Why is this a problem?

While people are well within their rights to live their lives any way they choose. This illusionary feeling of being an influencer has a number of downsides which need to be discussed.

The most insidious part is that we are losing our sense of self. When you spend a good chunk of time performing for an audience, the line between who you are and the persona you have so carefully curated becomes non-existent.

Do you like journaling or does it just look good in your daily vlogs? Are you actually into makeup or has the internet convinced you that is the best way to record GRWM videos?

I spoke to Joy*, a lifestyle creator who started sharing vlogs on TikTok one year ago. “I make a conscious effort to keep it real when posting content. I don’t want people to see me in real life and accuse me of double standards”, she said.

After I probed further, she goes on to share, “But then, content creation is about aesthetics too. On days I want to get my hair done and I know I am going to vlog, I actively choose upper end salons”

And it’s making people meaner too. If someone walked up to you, complimented your outfit and asked you to share where you got it from, the first thought would not be, this brand hasn’t paid me. But, when we believe we are the future Charli D’Amelio, we start to be uncharitable.

There’s also the problem of oversharing. In the bid to perform relatability like a typical influencer would, people tend to share details of their lives that quite frankly the general public has no business hearing or even knowing about. How can we not overshare when “performative vulnerability” sells?

As influencers are posting aesthetically pleasing day-in-the-life vlogs with pristine white Houses, brown carpets and artsy couches, the pressure to live curated lives has never been more intense. For the influencers, it is a performance. It is their job to put up that front. As a normal person posting on TikTok, your house does not have to look like that. You are a normal adult with a normal house, and that is completely okay.

My biggest grouse with this whole issue is how it has deeply affected our interactions with social media. Instagram doesn’t feel casual again. Every single time, I scroll through my explore page, I see curated photos with the best lighting in the most aesthetic restaurants.

Nothing feels real anymore. While photo dumps were supposed to take us back to laid back instagram, even those feel curated. Off guard selfies that look very on guard. That “candid” laughing photo probably took seventeen tries. And the “random” screenshots were carefully selected.

We have gotten so entangled in performing a perfect life on social media as if we are influencers when we are not. It feels like people are not allowed to be just basic anymore. And that’s a big problem.

Is there a way out?

Yes. If we are willing to collectively boycott social media and go back to the age of internet-less phones. But that is a pipe dream. Social media has become such a pivotal part of our lives, that it is almost impossible to imagine a life without it.

We cannot throw the baby with the bath water. But we can throw some of it away. Like making a conscious decision to not turn every single moment of your life into content. Doing things without documenting them to post. Or posting a selfie without thinking about how many likes it’ll get. Most importantly, sharing outfit details without thinking about payment.

It does not have to be a big shift. Maybe the most radical thing you can do right now is to be ordinary. Go to that restaurant and don’t take a photo. Experience your life fully without thinking of an imaginary audience. Even if it is just for a day.

ALSO READ: Everyone’s Raving Now — and That’s (Not) Fine

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Folake* (36) has been married for 7 years, but a well-intentioned attempt at financial compatibility almost ended her marriage in the first year.

In this story, Folake recounts how losing her financial independence and her husband’s spending habits pushed their relationship to the brink, and how separating their finances became the unexpected solution that saved their marriage.

As Told To Boluwatife

The worst fight of my marriage happened a few days after our first anniversary, and it was because of money.

My husband, Diran, had taken ₦200k out of our joint account without telling me. He didn’t do it for any sinister reason; we both had access to the account and could withdraw money at will. Our one rule was to inform the other of the transaction and what we planned to use the money for.

Or at least, I tried to do that.

Diran wasn’t the best communicator and often struggled to share what he spent money on. Most of the time, a debit alert was how I’d be notified about the transaction. Then I’d have to ask him before he’d remember spending an amount of money. It was slightly annoying to only hear he spent our money after the fact, but I absorbed my annoyance and tried to ignore his habit. Until the day I couldn’t anymore.

When I saw that ₦200k debit alert, I literally felt intense anger well up inside me. It wasn’t the random ₦20k or ₦40k he could spend and come and explain to me later. ₦200k wasn’t small money, and I was really angry that he’d spent that amount of money without consulting me first.

For context, this was 2019, and our combined salaries totalled approximately ₦550k. ₦200k was close to half our salaries, so it was not a negligible amount of money at all.

I was angry, but I didn’t plan to shout or make a big deal out of it. I thought I just needed to calmly explain why that kind of behaviour was unacceptable, and we’d work things out. But Diran worsened things the moment he opened his mouth.

He told me a mutual friend, who had suddenly become homeless, needed an urgent loan and would pay back in instalments over six months.

But as he spoke, I felt something snap inside me. It wasn’t the money itself; it was the betrayal and the lack of consideration.

I knew the person involved and would’ve probably agreed to the loan because of the seriousness of the situation, but I couldn’t believe he’d make such a decision without speaking to me about it first.

Before I knew it, we were screaming over each other. He argued that the need had come urgently and that he planned to tell me about it the moment he returned home, but that wasn’t good enough for me. What happened to calling me?

Then he said I was micromanaging him. I said he was irresponsible. He said I didn’t trust his judgment. I said I didn’t trust our joint approach to finances, which felt like only one person made the major decisions.

We argued for hours. At the end, he stormed out of the room, and we slept in separate rooms for the first time in our marriage. I cried into my pillow for hours that night. Maybe I was being dramatic, but I really felt like our marriage was ending.

We’d dated for three years before marriage, and had never fought like that or raised our voices at each other before. That night felt different, like our union as I knew it was ending. After crying my eyes out, I came to a realisation: the joint account arrangement was killing us, and we had to end it.

Interestingly, we didn’t enter our marriage blindly. Before the wedding, we promised each other transparency. We thought sharing everything, including money, was the mature thing to do.

I grew up watching my mum depend entirely on my dad financially, and I never wanted to be in that situation. But when our premarital counsellor at church talked about “oneness” and “financial unity,” it sounded noble and romantic. So we agreed to merge our salaries: 80% from both of us into a joint account, which we both had access to, and 20% left as personal money for data and transportation for work.

The thinking was that we’d use the 80% to cover our joint living expenses: food, rent, utilities and leave extra money for joint projects like a car in the future or real estate investments.

Our joint arrangement worked for the first few months. Diran and I didn’t have strict “gender roles,” so a lot of the time, he handled market runs and cooking, and buying whatever we needed at home.

Since 20% wasn’t much, we usually ran out of personal money by the middle of the month, so we also used money from the joint account for transportation and personal needs, such as clothes, maintenance, and basically anything we needed.

I started noticing cracks in our arrangement as we approached the eight-month mark.

Diran isn’t a prudent spender, so there were things he bought that I thought were unnecessary. On top of that, he rarely communicated with me before spending money. I didn’t like it, but I said nothing to avoid him feeling like I was pocketwatching because my money was involved.

Additionally, I began to feel limited in what I could spend money on. One time, I wanted to buy myself a pair of shoes I saw online. At ₦56k, they were quite pricey, but I thought they were worth it. And I deserved it; I was always the one watching the budget and trying to make careful expenses. But when I made the purchase from the joint account, Diran looked at the alert and said, “Ah babe, this month is tight o. You couldn’t wait?”

It was as if someone had pressed on a childhood bruise.

I had spent years trying to escape the image of my mother asking my father for permission to buy anything. That was the moment I realised how easy it is for love to become dependence without even noticing.

The whole thing started eating at me. I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was tightening my own spending while he was spending as he liked without bothering to check in with me.

I didn’t say anything out loud, and — looking back, I should have complained earlier — resentment slowly grew in my mind. Since I had access to the joint account transactions, I couldn’t even escape the reminders. Every debit alert felt personal.

The night he gave out ₦200k without a heads up broke whatever thin thread was left. It was like, why couldn’t I spend ₦56k without discussion, but he could make a move like that?

We gave each other the silent treatment for a week after the fight. I even made a show of packing my bags to leave until he sat me down and said, “We can’t continue like this. Please, let’s talk.” So, we did, and finally admitted the truth to ourselves: a joint account wasn’t for us. It could work for other people, but ours magnified every financial difference between us.

We decided to restructure everything, and I must admit, we got the idea from some Christian marriage sermons we watched online during this period.

Instead of pooling the majority of our money in the joint account, we only sent savings there — between 15% to 20% — for future joint projects. Then we agreed to commit 50% of our salaries (still in our personal accounts) to living expenses. We created an Excel tracker and assigned budgets for each item.

When either of us bought anything from our 50%, we noted it there. That way, we didn’t have to do the “What did you spend money on” conversation; we could just see it there. The remaining 30% – 35% of our salaries was personal money, and we didn’t need to police what we spent that on. Of course, personal money sometimes had to come back to the home when the need arose. When that happened, we communicated and settled it.

It sounds like a small change, but it saved our marriage. We still use a similar approach today, though my husband contributes more now since he has a better-paying job and we have children.

I’ll always preach the gospel of separate accounts. I enjoy financial independence, and he’s happy doing his own thing. We come together when we need to and talk about money without tension. In fact, our marriage is the healthiest it has ever been.

At the end of the day, keeping our money separate turned out to be the most united decision we ever made.

*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

NEXT READ: My Boyfriend Threw Me Out. It Forced Me to Learn Financial Discipline

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Before marriage, Yinusa* (41) never imagined himself as a husband or father. For years, he focused on work, convinced it was better to stay single than bring a wife and children into hardship. Eight years after finally taking the leap, the 41-year-old has the family he once feared he couldn’t afford, but he’s still unlearning the survival mindset that shaped him.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he shares how childhood poverty influences the way he loves, why overworking nearly cost him peace at home and why he believes love alone can’t hold a marriage together.

This is a look into his marriage diary.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

I never dreamed of marriage because I wasn’t sure I could afford it

I never sat down to imagine what my marriage would look like. When you grow up watching your parents struggle to provide, you don’t daydream about family life, you daydream about escaping poverty.

As a child, I started noticing how much they deprived themselves so we could eat and go to school. It built something inside me that I still carry: a fear of being the man who cannot provide. I didn’t want my future children to experience the kind of lack that followed my family.

So instead of thinking about marriage, I focused on surviving and making headway in life. In university, I didn’t date. I didn’t have the bandwidth for relationship drama when feeding myself was already a struggle. Even after school, dating didn’t cross my mind for years. I buried myself in work because I believed that until I was financially stable, I had no business dragging someone else’s child into my life.

It’s funny now because the man who once didn’t think marriage was possible is now a husband and a father. But back then, marriage was a luxury I didn’t think I could afford.

The biggest surprise is that this life actually became mine

I got married in my late thirties, at a time when I finally felt like I could stand on my own two feet. I wasn’t rich, but I wasn’t scrambling anymore. Still, the real shock hit me after I got married.

Sometimes, I sit in my living room watching my kids play with toys I couldn’t even dream of owning at their age. Sometimes I watch them eat without worrying about whether the food will last until the end of the month. And it hits me again that I made it. I gave my children the childhood I had prayed for, but never had.

That feeling still surprises me.

Another surprise is how aligned I am with my wife. I didn’t marry in a rush, but I still wasn’t expecting someone whose mindset almost mirrors mine. She supports me, understands me, and pushes me without dragging me. I didn’t think I would be lucky in that way. After all the years of worrying, I ended up with someone who sees life the way I do.

Sometimes I still ask myself if this calm is normal or if trouble is waiting somewhere ahead. When you grow up looking over your shoulders, peace feels far-fetched. But I look at my life and how far I’ve come, and I can say I have peace.

I was fully prepared for marriage when I went into it

Unlike many people, I never had that moment inside marriage where I questioned if I’d made a mistake. My doubts happened years before I even met my wife.

My parents tried to pressure me into marriage once I crossed 30, the same way many Nigerian parents do. They didn’t care if I was prepared. They just wanted to tick the box. Anytime I challenged them with a simple question about whether they could sponsor a wedding, they went silent.

During that period of pressure, I briefly dated someone who wanted me for all the wrong reasons. She and her family saw me as a means to an end. It reminded me again of why I wasn’t ready for marriage. They’d insist I come over for weekends, but I knew it was a ploy to get into my pockets. I never felt comfortable going empty-handed, so each visit took a deep cut into my finances. What made it so annoying was how normal my girlfriend at the time made it seem, almost like it was my duty. I left the situation after six months.

By the time I met my wife, I was already prepared. I had waited until I was in a place where I could give my family stability. Once I made the decision, that was it. I didn’t have any fears or doubts about my capability to build a family.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was realising that even when you think you’ve left your childhood trauma behind, it still finds a way to control how you behave inside marriage. I brought my fear of poverty with me into my marriage and the panic of lack. I had to do a lot of unlearning, and my wife was really patient with me. I can’t say I’ve changed completely, but it’s way better.

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Nobody told me how hard it would be to balance providing and being present

The real shock came after we had our first child. That was when something in me switched on, almost like a survival mode I didn’t know was still inside me. Suddenly, I was back to the boy who grew up watching his parents struggle, and the fear returned stronger than ever.

I started working like a madman. I would leave home before sunrise and return at 11 p.m. most days. I didn’t need to work that hard, but my mind kept telling me I had no choice. Even when we were financially okay, I always assumed trouble was around the corner, or we were one debit alert away from financial woes.

That took a toll on my family. My wife and child were living with a ghost husband. I was providing everything except my presence. It took small arguments and a few emotional conversations for me to realise I was repeating the same pattern I grew up in: a father who loved his family deeply but was never around enough to show it.

I’m still learning to balance the hustle with being there. Some days I get it right, some days I slip. But at least I’m aware now. I don’t want my kids to grow up calling me a good provider but a missing father.

Money arguments forced me to adjust the way I communicate

Money is the one thing that causes tension between my wife and I. She likes to celebrate things. She didn’t grow up in lack the way I did, so she doesn’t understand why I live like a man waiting for money to disappear overnight.

Every year, we fight a little about birthdays. She believes in having a small gathering or inviting a few people over. I only want a quiet day and maybe a meal with my family. Whenever she pushes for anything more, I feel stressed because all I see are bills. And when I mention school fees coming up, she rolls her eyes and says life isn’t meant to be lived with fear.

It used to be a big issue, but I’ve started making adjustments. I’m beginning to understand that her happiness matters too. She doesn’t want to live on the edge of fear the way I do. So I’m learning to compromise, even though my first instinct is always to say no.

These days, when we argue, I try to explain myself calmly. It doesn’t always work, but at least it’s not what it used to be. I’m learning that communication is not only about saying the right thing, but also about saying it without projecting your own trauma onto the other person.

Marriage made me a better man, but it also intensified parts of me I’m still working through

Marriage has given me a sense of responsibility I am genuinely proud of. My wife and kids come first. If they need something, I will find a way to provide it. I don’t think anyone who knew me ten years ago would recognise how committed I am now.

But marriage also amplified my fear of lack. I’m constantly chasing the next job, the next gig, the next financial cushion. Sometimes I forget to rest or catch my breath.

Still, I wouldn’t change where I am. I’ve gained confidence, stability and a softer heart. I’ve also gained pressure, fear and the constant urge to work harder.

If I could talk to my younger self, I would tell him one thing: take your time. Don’t rush into marriage because society says so. Make sure you are truly ready. And when you finally find someone you want to build a life with, show up fully. Not just with money, but also with your presence.

Love alone won’t sustain a marriage. Fear won’t sustain it either. What keeps it going is a combination of commitment, patience, communication and the willingness to unlearn things that no longer serve you.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

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

Bose* (55) and Tayo*(34) became close friends after bonding over their shared experiences as stay-at-home mothers. However, Bose’s well-intentioned assistance to Tayo’s husband started a chain of events that has now left her questioning her choices.

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

Tayo and I met when I moved into my apartment with my family in 2018. She lived in the flat directly opposite mine, and as stay-at-home mums, we began to spend time together after our kids had gone off to school.

I was initially reluctant to throw myself into our friendship due to our significant age gap, but it didn’t prove to be an issue, and I took on a “big sister” role in Tayo’s life.

Because of our closeness, our families also became close, and so when she complained that her husband couldn’t get a better-paying job, I asked my husband to help him find better opportunities. My husband connected hers with a new job that came with a generous salary in Abuja. Unfortunately, this became a source of strain in Tayo’s marriage.

She felt that the new distance created by her husband’s job, along with his bigger salary, would give him the space and resources to begin cheating on her. I knew Tayo’s husband and felt that he was a good man who wouldn’t betray her, so I told her to stop thinking negatively about it and instead consider the positives that came with his job. She didn’t see things my way.

On a trip to visit her husband in late 2019, she went to his office and accused one of his coworkers of trying to wreck her home. Her evidence? Her husband uploaded a group photo taken at the office to his Facebook page, and she had noticed the lady was standing “too close to him to be his friend”. Tayo’s husband felt embarrassed, and he also got into trouble at work, receiving a stern warning.

When I heard about this from her husband, I was disappointed in Tayo and tried to speak to her about it, but she insisted that if she didn’t do something too drastic, her husband was bound to try to cheat on her when he was away.

The lockdown rolled around in 2020, and our husbands couldn’t visit from Abuja as often as they used to, so we kept each other company for the most part. In September that year, I noticed that Tayo was spending more and more time with a man who owned a car dealership near the neighbourhood.

As a friend, I advised that it wasn’t a good look for a married woman to be spending so much time with an older bachelor, especially since it was within the neighbourhood. I was sure that tongues would soon start wagging and spreading rumours. She dismissed my concerns and didn’t take my advice seriously.

As I predicted, rumours that Tayo and the car dealer were dating started spreading and eventually got back to her husband. When he came home for the Christmas break, they had a huge argument about it that ended with Tayo’s husband storming out of the flat and going back to Abuja.

I tried to de-escalate things, but Tayo confirmed to me that she was indeed dating the car dealer, and he had promised to marry her and accept her kids, too. She said they planned to relocate to Germany in January 2021, and she would file for divorce. There was nothing I didn’t say to try to convince her to change her mind, but she claimed to have lost trust in her husband and was ready to leave.

January came, and one day, I woke up to Tayoknocking angrily at my door, accusing me of destroying her marriage. I was shocked.

When I asked why she’d accuse me of that, she said the car dealer had broken up with her and had gone on with his relocation plans with another woman. She blamed my husband and me for introducing her husband to a job that led to their marriage becoming a long-distance one, which she claimed was the main source of their problems.

I won’t deny that I felt bad for her. I even followed her and some of her family members to visit her in-laws, to try to see if we could get her husband to forgive her and reconcile, but he refused and insisted that they go through with the divorce.

We still live opposite each other, but our friendship has fizzled out. She no longer responds when I greet her in the mornings, and she keeps her children away from mine.

I thought I was helping a friend out by securing a better job for her husband. Was I wrong for not considering that she would hate the distance that came with it? My husband says it was her jealousy that was her undoing, but I can’t shake the feeling that my interference also played a role.

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As Nigerians navigate the highs and lows of 2025, from the hustle and bustle to quiet, personal moments, one thing remains constant: music is a powerful tool.

I reached out to ten Nigerians to compile a list of songs that’s more than just a list of hits. They’re candid and personal music that are carrying them through their year, giving them melodies, joy and resilience needed to face another day.

“It was my prayer point during the crossover night and in fact for 2025.” — Favour

The first 2025-realised song that I first heard this year is Lawrence Oyor’s “Favour”, back in January. The title was my prayer point during the crossover night and in fact for this year. I just want God’s favour in everything I do and the song fits perfectly. Also, my name is Favour — and so far, my name has been a reflection of my life. My grades are good, my family too. If there’s something that’s ever felt perfectly made for me, it’s this song.

“It clearly expresses many of my feelings to my partner.” — Tunde

I have been in love for the most of this year and FOLA’s “you” clearly expresses many of my feelings to my partner. It’s groovy and Afrobeats; just how my babe loves her music. It’s delivered in languages my babe and I understand; very easy to sing to each other.

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“On a deeper level, it’s about how I lost my spark and praying that I will soon find myself.” — Wale

Easy. It’s Tim Lyre’s “Find You.” The entire Spiral album has an introspective theme that makes it emotive, but “Find You” stood out to me because I had different interpretations of the song.

On the surface, I associated it with an ex I was deeply entangled with in the past and still imagine a future with—just because of how perfect we were together and how she brought a brighter aura to light up my life. So maybe, if it’s meant to be, I’ll find her. But on a deeper level, I interact with the song as if it’s a letter to myself, about how I lost my spark and praying that I will soon find myself. It’s a really beautiful song that’s helped me so much this year. Shout out to Tim Lyre for real.

“It helped me survive a hellish commute in the first quarter of this year.” — Thomas

It’s “Egaju” by Tim Godfrey and Emekasongsz. It’s a beautiful Christian song, which is funny because I’m not religious. Like many Christian songs, it doesn’t have a lot of lyrics (most of it is a call and response of the same two lines), but somehow ends up being seven minutes long.

It’s catchy as hell and helped me survive a hellish commute in the first quarter of this year. Tim Godfrey (the main artist) gets bodied by the person he features (Emekasongsz) and I find that so fucking funny.

“There was a particular midnight I had it on repeat and I got a little teary eyed.” — Wisdom

For me, it’s “Memories” by Lojay and Tyla. It’s a heartbreak song sort of and there was a particular midnight I had it on repeat and I got a little teary eyed at some point. I didn’t exactly cry but it made me feel something and reminded me of some past experiences with heartbreak.

“It’s my motto and where I find my optimism right now.” — Folaranmi

When Seyi Vibez first released “Pressure”, I loved it, though not almost as quickly as I loved his previous releases. But a couple months later, around the time I was experiencing a drought: volunteering and looking for freelance gigs but nothing — a line in the song hit me. It says, “Only a diamond can come from all this pressure.” I repeated that line like twice after I heard it and shook my head in agreement.

It’s my motto and where I find my optimism right now. By the time better days come, you’d know that my struggles made me but they wouldn’t matter anymore.

“It makes me feel that love in any form is still worth believing in.” — Mercy

One song that means a lot to me this year is Burna Boy’s “LOVE” from his latest album. It makes me feel that love in any form is still worth believing in. I liked the song immediately when I heard it and every time I’m driving my car, it’s a must-play — once, at least.

“It’s been healing me and activating the spirit of worship in me.” — Chidinma

I found a song titled “Ya Yesu” by CHEE and Kaestrings. Personally, I have been through a new phase in my faith. I have been looking for God’s mercy and this song is part of my journey. It’s been healing me and activating the spirit of worship and reverence for God in me. If I’d found it earlier, it’d be my most played song this year.

“This song was my ‘I know God will not forget me.’” — Honour

For me, it’s Sound Of Salem’s “Promise Keeper.” You know how they say after you cry, you will look for a solution? Well, this song was my “I know God will not forget me, my name is Honour and God will honour me.” When this song comes on, I’ll bop my head because I know the pain I’m facing is nothing compared to the joy that’s coming. So, I celebrate.

“It’s the song I have played the most this year.” — Yomi

I will go with Rema’s “Baby (Is It a Crime).” It’s one of the best produced songs this year. It’s beautifully written too. It’s the song I have played the most this year, whether I’m working,cleaning or want to sleep at night. I expected more of Rema’s 2025 releases to follow that song’s template and I was disappointed tbh. “Baby” is a jam. In fact, it’s the best Afrobeats song of 2025.

ALSO READ: Motherhood Changed Me, But It Didn’t Take Music Away From Me

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Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.

Gozie* (28) and Amara* (28) met at a Lagos Passport Office in April 2024. What started as a kind gesture—Gozie helping a sick stranger get through her appointment—turned into friendship, and eventually, a relationship.

On this week’s Love Life, they talk about meeting by chance, bonding over relocation dreams, and whether his reluctance to give when asked is a sign of stinginess or a deeper problem.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Amara: April 2024, at the passport office in Ikoyi. I wasn’t feeling well — I was dizzy, nauseous, and completely out of it. I’d been sitting there for hours waiting for my number to be called, and I could feel myself getting weaker. I realised I couldn’t manage everything on my own. I had files to organise, and I needed to listen for when they called my number. So I turned to this guy sitting next to me and asked if he could keep an eye on my things and let me know when they called my number.

Gozie: I remember that day. I noticed Amara immediately when she sat down next to me. She looked really pale, like she might pass out at any moment. I wasn’t sure whether to say something or mind my own business, but she clearly wasn’t doing well. When she asked for my help, I was more than happy to assist. I watched her files, listened for her number, and when they finally called her, I helped her gather her documents. After her appointment, she was too weak to wait for a cab under the sun. So I offered to order a ride for her on my phone.

Amara: I was so grateful. Before I got in the car, we exchanged numbers. I wanted to be able to thank him properly later and maybe reimburse him for the ride.

When did you reach out to him?

Amara: Almost immediately. I kept thanking him over text for the next few days. I even tried to refund him for the ride, but he refused to take it. After that, we’d chat occasionally — random messages here and there about our days.

Gozie: I didn’t think much of it at first. I was just being a decent human being. I didn’t think we’d become anything more than two people who met at the passport office and stayed loosely in touch.

Right.

Amara: About a month later. We both went back to pick up our passports, and we ran into each other again. It felt like fate.

Gozie: I saw her in the queue and walked over to say hi. We ended up talking for a while, much longer than we had the first time. We talked about why we were getting passports, where we wanted to go, and what our plans were. That’s when I learned she didn’t actually have pressing relocation plans yet.

Amara: My parents just insisted I get the passport so I’d have it ready whenever I needed it. They’re big on being prepared. Gozie, on the other hand, had an actual plan. His sibling was abroad and helping him sort out his relocation.

Gozie: Yeah, I was actively working toward relocating. I had timelines, researching visa processes and was saving money, among other things. When I told her, she seemed genuinely interested. That’s when we started talking more regularly. We’d share articles, send each other links about opportunities abroad, and discuss visa application processes. It gave us something concrete to bond over.

Amara: It felt really good to have someone who understood what I was thinking about. Most of my friends weren’t considering relocation at all, so I couldn’t really discuss it with them. But Gozie got it. We were both in similar headspaces, so our conversations just flowed.

At what point did things start to shift from a platonic level?

Gozie: Around October. I’d ended my previous relationship a few weeks before that. My ex was very demanding and she was always asking for something — money, time, attention, more money. No matter what I did, it was never enough. I’d send her money, and a week later, she’d need more. I’d spend time with her, and she’d complain I wasn’t doing enough. It became exhausting. Eventually, I realised I couldn’t keep going like that, so I ended things.

Did Amara know you’d just come out of a relationship?

Amara: Not immediately. He didn’t tell me right away. I found out later when he opened up about it during one of our conversations.

Gozie: After the breakup, I wasn’t actively looking for another relationship. But as Amara and I continued talking, I began to see her differently. She was easy to be around. Our conversations were light; she didn’t put any pressure on me, and I genuinely enjoyed her company. I started thinking, “Maybe this could be something.”

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Did you feel the same way, Amara?

Amara: It happened gradually. At first, he was just the nice guy who helped me at the passport office. Then he became the friend I discussed relocation plans with. But somewhere along the line, I started looking forward to his messages. I’d check my phone, hoping to see a text from him. That’s when I knew it was shifting into something else.

Gozie: In October, I decided to just be honest with her. I told her I liked her and that I wanted us to be more than friends. I didn’t wish to rush anything, but I also didn’t want to keep pretending I only saw her as a friend.

Amara: I wasn’t surprised. I’d had a feeling he was interested. And honestly, I felt the same way. So I said yes.

Nice. What were the early days of the relationship like?

Gozie: Really sweet. We talked every day, saw each other whenever we could. It felt easy and natural. There was no awkward “getting to know you” phase because we’d already been talking for months as friends. The only real challenge was the distance. She lives on the Island, and I live in Ikorodu. Anyone who knows Lagos knows that’s not a small distance. Depending on traffic, it could take two to three hours just to see each other.

Amara: Yeah, it wasn’t easy. We had to be very intentional about making time for it. He’d come to my place sometimes after work, and I’d go to his on weekends. Sometimes we’d meet somewhere in the middle just to spend a few hours together. It required effort, but we were both willing to put in the work. But a few months into the relationship, I began to notice that Gozie was tight with money.

What do you mean?

Amara: He’s generous when it’s his idea. When we go out, he pays without me having to ask. When he decides he wants to buy me something, he does it happily. But the moment I ask him for anything, it becomes a problem. He hesitates, makes excuses, or gives begrudgingly.

Gozie: I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.

Amara: It is accurate. I’ve experienced it multiple times. The most painful one was during my birthday this year.

What happened on your birthday?

Amara: I’d been saving up to buy a new phone, but I was a bit short. So I asked Gozie if he could help me. I wasn’t asking him to buy the entire phone; I just wanted him to support me with whatever he could. He eventually gave me ₦100k, but the way he did it made me feel terrible. It felt like I was pulling teeth. He made it seem like I was asking for something outrageous and like I was a burden. Like I shouldn’t have even asked in the first place.

Curious, Gozie. Why did you feel reluctant to give her the money?

Gozie: I don’t like being asked for things. When I give on my own terms, it’s because I genuinely want to. There’s joy in it. But when someone asks, it feels like a demand. It changes the dynamic completely. Suddenly, I’m giving because I feel obligated. I understand that we’re in a relationship. But I also have financial goals. I’m actively saving for relocation. Every naira I spend affects my timeline. I can’t just be handing out money every time someone asks, even if it’s my girlfriend.

Amara: Your girlfriend asking you for help on her birthday shouldn’t feel like an obligation. It should feel natural. He works, he earns well, and I know he has money. I wasn’t asking him to break his bank account. The fact that he gave it grudgingly made me feel like I didn’t matter enough. Like my needs were an inconvenience to him.

And the worst part? It’s not an isolated incident. This is a pattern. Every single time I ask for help— whether it’s money or anything else — he hesitates. He makes me feel like I’m asking for too much. So now, I’ve stopped asking entirely because I don’t want to deal with the awkwardness.

Gozie, do you think you’re stingy?

Gozie: No. I don’t think I’m stingy; I’m careful and intentional with money. There’s a difference between being stingy and having financial boundaries. The problem is when it’s demanded of me. That’s when I start feeling uncomfortable.

I see. Do you think Amara is demanding?

Gozie: I don’t think she’s trying to be. But asking for things puts pressure on me. And that pressure reminds me of my last relationship, where I constantly felt like an ATM.

So you’re treating Amara based on what your ex did?

Gozie: Maybe. I don’t know. I just know that when someone asks me for money repeatedly, it triggers something in me. It makes me feel like I’m being taken advantage of, even if that’s not the intention.

Amara: But I’m not your ex. I don’t ask for things all the time. I ask maybe once every few months — maybe two or three times since we started dating — and it’s always for genuine needs. I’m not out here asking for bags and shoes. I asked for help with my phone because I genuinely needed a new one. That’s it.

Gozie: But even those few times feel like a lot to me. Maybe it’s my own issue, but I just don’t like the feeling of being asked.

But have you both had a conversation about this?

Amara: Yes. Multiple times. And every single time, it ends in a fight or argument because he refuses to take accountability.

Gozie: I don’t refuse to take accountability. I just don’t think I’m entirely in the wrong here. She wants me to admit I’m being unfair, but I don’t see it that way. I believe I have the right to establish boundaries around my finances.

Amara: Boundaries are fine. But what he’s doing isn’t setting boundaries; it’s making me feel bad for asking for help. There’s a difference. If he were taking accountability, he’d admit that he treats me differently when I ask for something versus when he offers on his own. And most importantly, he’ll agree to work on it instead of making excuses.

Right. Gozie, do you think you treat her differently based on whether you’re offering or she’s asking?

Gozie: Probably. I can admit that. But I also think context matters. When I offer, it’s because I’ve assessed my finances and decided I’m comfortable giving. When she asks, I haven’t had that time to prepare mentally or financially. It catches me off guard, and I react defensively.

Amara: But that’s the thing, I shouldn’t have to wait for you to offer. Sometimes, I have needs that come up unexpectedly. And in those moments, I should be able to turn to my boyfriend and ask for help without feeling like I’m committing a crime.

Have you considered breaking up over this?

Amara: I’ve thought about it. I won’t lie. But I don’t want to throw away a relationship over money. It feels shallow. There are so many other good things about us. This is just the one major issue.

Gozie: I don’t want to break up either. I care about her. I just need her to understand where I’m coming from.

How do you plan to navigate this issue if it keeps showing up in your relationship?

Amara: We’ve basically just stopped talking about it. Every time we bring it up, it ends in a fight, so we avoid the topic entirely. But the problem is still there. It’s not gone just because we’re not talking about it. Every time something comes up that I need his help with, I hesitate. I calculate in my head whether I can manage on my own because I don’t want to deal with his reaction if I ask.

Gozie: I’m trying to be more intentional, even if it’s not showing yet. I also think the amount of my resources that goes into saving for relocation just makes me get extremely cranky. But these days, I try to anticipate her needs. It makes it easier to be mentally prepared before she asks.

Fair enough. Moving on, what’s the best thing about being with each other?

Amara: He’s kind in other ways. He’s supportive of my career, he listens when I’m stressed, and he makes me laugh. This money thing is really the only big issue we have. Everything else is good.

Gozie: Amara’s easy to be with. She doesn’t create unnecessary drama; she’s understanding and supports my goals. I just wish the money thing wasn’t such a big deal for her.

Amara: It is a big deal, though. Because it’s not really about money, it’s about feeling valued and supported.

How would you rate your love life on a scale of 1-10?

Amara: Maybe a 6. We’re good in many ways, but this issue is holding us back. I love him, but I’m worried this will continue to be a problem. If we get married and I still feel like I have to beg for help, I don’t see how that’s sustainable. I need to know I can depend on him, not just when he feels like giving, but also when I actually need him.

Gozie: I’d say a 7. We have our challenges, but I think we’ll be fine. We just need to communicate better. Maybe I need to be more generous when she asks, and maybe she needs to ask less. Somewhere in the middle, we’ll figure it out.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

Trigger Warning: This article makes mention/reference to instances of self-harm and mental health struggles

Some friendships shift the entire direction of your life. They are the friends who arrive at the exact moment you’re falling apart and manage to catch you.

For this story, Zikoko speaks with people about the friendships that saved their lives at their lowest point.

From providing emotional support after heartbreak to offering free accommodation, these friends came through when they were ready to throw in the towel.

“Our friendship has become my salvation” — Vincent*,26, M

Vincent met his closest friend this year because their mutual friends insisted they’d get along. When they finally connected, they hit it off instantly, and their friendship has brought him back from the edge countless times.

“Dami* and I actually met because our mutual friends consistently kept recommending us to each other. I was initially sceptical, but one of us eventually reached out — I can’t even remember who. Our first conversation turned into a passionate two-hour debate about cinema and literature. When we finally met in person last year, it was as if we had always been friends.

They’re still saving my life. I’ve been dealing with a lot: family issues, money problems, and some very dark moments, and they’ve pulled me back from the edge more times than I can count. I can’t pinpoint a moment that stands out because they have been instrumental in saving me from myself more times than I can count.

There were times this year when they could tell I was about to harm myself. They preempted it and dragged me out of the darkness each time. It might not sound dramatic enough, but to me, that’s what salvation looks like.”

“Every time I feel like the world is against me, she reminds me I’m not alone” — Eghosa*, 25, F

Eghosa met Timi, a friend of her crush, and what began as a tepid relationship blossomed into a friendship that has anchored her through tough times.

“We met on Twitter in 2018 through my crush. They were friends, and she constantly spoke about Timi, so I thought it might be good to know her.

My crush and I didn’t work out in the end, but you see Timi and me? We’re locked in for life. In the beginning, I thought she didn’t like me because she hardly replied to my texts, but we got over that hump, and I realised she’s my platonic soul mate.

In 2020, after my first relationship with a woman ended, I thought I was going to die. The heartbreak was almost too much to bear, but she called me every day and talked me down during those worst moments. Every time I felt like the whole world was against me, there she was, ready to show me it wasn’t true

When I started my business last year and was scared that nobody would support me, she was my very first customer. She spent almost ₦100k so I could believe in myself. She wasn’t even in Nigeria at the time. Each time I felt like giving up, she’d place an order or send a message reminding me I’m supported.

She’s one of the best things to ever happen to me. One time, someone asked why I didn’t move to her since we’re both lesbians. But what I feel for her is kind of spiritual; romantic love isn’t enough. My life isn’t enough. Loving her saved me and kept me alive. I don’t know where I’d be without her.”

“She housed me for eleven months when I first moved to Lagos” — Romade*, 23, F

From an online connection to a real-life friendship, Romade shares how her friend’s intervention in her life helped set her on a positive path toward her goals.

“We met on Twitter in 2022 and quickly became close friends.

At the end of 2023, I was battling post-uni exhaustion, depression and the absolute torture that was my NYSC year. My friend, whom I had never met in person, knew that I had big plans, and I just couldn’t move the needle on them. She single-handedly built me a CV from scratch and sent me opportunities from companies that offered roles I was interested in.

When I first moved to Lagos and was finding my feet, she housed me for 11 months. These things she did without flinching are a big part of why my life has taken a positive turn. I’m so honoured to be friends with her, and I would give her the world if I could.”

“They created a safe space within their community for me to heal and thrive” — Cynthia*, 27, F

Cynthia was very vulnerable after finding herself trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship and low on funds, but meeting her friend, Ayo, changed everything for the better.

“I first connected with them on Twitter, through a random comment. Our conversations quickly blossomed into dates, allowing us to get to know each other. This past year has been incredibly challenging for me. I faced severe financial struggles and found myself in an emotionally abusive relationship that felt impossible to escape without a strategic plan.

During this difficult period, they stepped in and offered me both financial and emotional support. They created a safe space within their community where I could share my experiences and speak my truth. As a loner, I couldn’t have fathomed how I would’ve managed to navigate such a tough time if I didn’t have their support. Their kindness and friendship have been a lifeline when I needed it most, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

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“My friend group is my lifeline in the middle of mental crises” — Tiolu*, 24, F

Tiolu shares how her friends’ intentionality about her mental health saved her from being consumed by her condition.

“I find myself in a quartet I call my small constellation. In 2021, after a painful fallout with my old friend group, I found myself completely alone.

That same year, I was fighting a long-standing battle with bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder. They almost swallowed me whole. I cried every day, questioned my existence, and self-harmed because it felt like the only release I had. I had even started thinking of creative ways to unalive myself. I felt alone and like I had no one to talk to.

But quietly, they came into my life.

We began as a study group, with one person meeting once a week to review class material. Then it became random visits to my room and walks to class together. One person joined, then another. I honestly couldn’t tell you when the third person joined in. One day, I looked around and realised it was the four of us together.

They’ve shown up for me so gently and consistently that I didn’t even realise I was loving being alive again. I found myself looking forward to their visits, texts, and study group to do assignments.

Throughout that year, I was in and out of the psychiatrist’s office, exhausted from fighting and losing the fight over my own mind. On the days I couldn’t speak, they sat with me in silence. We cried together, laughed together and made very dark jokes about going together. They never got tired and never made me feel bad for being myself.

It was the first time in a long time that I felt safe. It might’ve seemed small to them, but our silly little games kept me together. I would tell myself, ‘I promised them I’d show up, so I can’t die today.’

I love them with all my being, every last corner of it. They became my reason to live that year, and they still are today.”

See what other people are saying about this article on social media.

Here’s your next read: 5 Nigerian Men Open Up On Their Life-Changing Male Friendships

Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.

When did you first realise the importance of money?

I was returning from school with my aunt one day — I was in Primary 4 — and we passed a store that sold toys. I saw a toy that I liked and refused to leave until my aunt got it for me. I kept shouting, “I want it. I want it,” while my aunt insisted she had no money.

At some point, the seller told my aunt the price, and my aunt said, “Don’t mind him. I don’t have money.” That was the first time I realised people used money to buy things.

What was the financial situation at home like?

It wasn’t bad. My dad was a printer, and my mum was a government school teacher. I never lacked basic things, but it was also clear we had no money to spend on unnecessary “wants”. My dad was very strict in that regard.

For example, I wanted a PlayStation because all my friends had one. But my dad said, “Pick one. It’s either I pay your school fees or get you the game.”

I liked school, so I picked education.

Fair enough. When was the first time you made money?

I spent my primary school holidays with my much older cousins, and they would pay me to do their errands for them — ₦20 or ₦25 every time I washed the dishes.

One time, I returned home after the holidays with ₦700, which I’d made from errands.

Another experience I remember wasn’t money I made for myself. When I was in JSS 1, my church was raising funds towards a university building project, and they gave members a card to help raise money.

It was like a promise card; we got people to pledge donations and make sure they redeemed them. I did that for about two months and made over ₦1k. When I took the money to the vicar, he was so shocked I’d made that much money.

The next time I did something to earn money was in university.

Tell me about that

One day, during my final year in 2015, I went to my friend’s room and noticed he was charging people ₦5k to do the statistical analysis for their projects. I thought it was interesting and decided to do the same.

Another friend had SPSS — the software we used for analysis — on his laptop, so I asked him to walk me through it. After I learned it, I started charging people. I got five clients and charged them ₦3500 each. I also received money from my parents to pay for my statistical analysis, but I ended up paying myself since I did it myself.

The gig was just a one-time thing. For most of my time in school, I relied on the ₦5k – ₦10k pocket money and foodstuffs I received from home, until I left university in December 2016.

What came next?

I studied medical laboratory science, and like other medical students, I had to do a compulsory one-year housemanship.

Securing a posting was quite difficult, and the Nigerian system played a significant role. People seeking housemanships had to write exams at different medical facilities, and there was no public scoring system; so there was no way to know if you passed or failed. The facility would just release the names of people they’d accepted. If your name was there, fine. If not, sorry for you.

I waited over a year and wrote five exams before I found a spot in a teaching hospital in 2018. My salary was ₦122k/month.

Typically, when people are employed in a government facility, their salaries are delayed for three months due to confirmation delays, and then the government pays all the arrears at once.

Mine was delayed for five months because I didn’t complete some registrations on time. When the accumulated arrears finally came, it was the largest amount of money my account had ever seen — ₦592k. I felt rich. For a moment, I even wished they had delayed the salary for a year, so I’d get a bigger windfall.

Screaming. Do you remember how you spent the money?

Oh yes. I visited Computer Village the next day and bought a Samsung phone for ₦82,500. Then I sent ₦100k to my dad, ₦50k to my mum and ₦30k to my brother. I also sent my aunt some money, but I can’t remember how much.

Then I went to a supermarket with a couple of friends and spent ₦25k on a few items. After that, I settled my hostel porters. Since I graduated from uni, I’d been living in the school hostel illegally and had promised to settle the porters once I got posted for housemanship. So, when I got paid, I gave them ₦30k to split among themselves.

At the end of my spending spree, I had about ₦150k left, which I put in a savings app. The app I used had just launched, and my friend was sceptical of me putting my money there, but I couldn’t just leave it lying around.

In addition to the ₦150k, I saved ₦50k from my salary there every month. By the end of housemanship in 2019, I’d saved ₦770k.

Did you have any plans for the savings?

I wanted to buy a laptop, but NYSC posted me to a state that didn’t have many opportunities available. I thought it’d be a waste to take a laptop there. I even transferred my savings to my mum to keep for me until I left the orientation camp because I was concerned my phone could get stolen.

My Place of Primary Assignment was a general hospital that paid me a ₦28k monthly stipend, and NYSC paid me ₦19800/month. I lived on the latter throughout my service year and saved the other ₦28k every month. By the time I finished service in 2020, my savings had grown to ₦906k.

Then the pandemic happened, and I had to stay home due to the lockdown. Thankfully, I was with my parents, so I didn’t spend any money. It was also the same time I started my crypto journey.

How did you get into crypto?

A friend posted online about how his “ETH” was now ₦89k. Curious, I asked him, “What is ETH?” and he said it was a cryptocurrency called Ethereum. He explained how it worked, and I also did my own research.

When I made up my mind to buy, one ETH was about ₦270k. So, I put in ₦180k and got 0.94 ETH. I also bought ₦55k worth of Bitcoin, which was a very negligible amount, and I later sold it to increase my Ethereum holdings to about 1.2.

I was making all these moves, but I didn’t know how wild crypto cycles — bull runs and bear runs — could be, or what they even meant. I just logged into my app one day and saw that the value of my Ethereum had dropped to ₦50k. I panicked o.

I mean, anyone would panic. What did you do?

I called my friend, and he encouraged me to wait it out. At some point, the whole thing crashed, but my friend reassured me that things would get better. So, I just forgot about crypto for a bit and went on with my life.

I didn’t forget it for long, though. After the lockdown, I secured a ₦120k/month job at a medical lab facility. Some months into the job, the same friend introduced me to BNB. One BNB was $90, so I invested ₦130k and got 1.3 BNB.

The crypto exchange we used for this purchase allows users to stake their cryptocurrency. It’s like investing; you lock your crypto and receive rewards through airdrops, as well as access to blockchain programs when new projects emerge. Once, I received a 43 USDT reward from a coin, which I used to buy more BNB and increase my portfolio to 2.3 BNB.

So things were going well

They were. I mostly left the tokens (with my Ethereum) to increase in value.

Back to my job; I worked there for a year before I left for another lab that paid me ₦156k/month. It wasn’t a significant income jump from ₦120k, but it was less stressful and had a shorter commute.

By then, I was squatting with a friend, who I ended up staying with for a year before getting my own apartment in 2022. Then, my rent was ₦350k/year. It’s now ₦700k.

Damn. A 100% increase

It’s even reasonable. Plus, my landlord doesn’t stress me and I get along well with my neighbours.

I still work with the same laboratory, but my salary has grown to ₦405k/month. I’m actually trying to change jobs and earn more, but it hasn’t materialised yet. I’ve also been trying my hardest to further my education abroad, but I keep facing roadblocks.

What kind of roadblocks?

Mostly funding. I applied for a Swedish Government Institute Scholarship twice, but I didn’t get it. I even got on the waitlist once — a backup of people that could get promoted to receive the scholarship if any of the awardees dropped out. Unfortunately, no one dropped out, and the tuition for the course I want to study is about $25k, which is quite expensive.

Besides tuition, Sweden expects you to have at least $1k/month for living expenses for the duration of your course. Most master’s programs have a 24-month duration, so I’ll need around $50k in total. I can’t do that without a sponsor.

I eventually sold off my crypto portfolio a few months ago. I’d been keeping it, hoping it’d go a long way into funding my tuition plans. But with the naira devaluation, that didn’t seem likely. Plus, the crypto market entered another bull run, and I didn’t want to risk losing my money.

How much did you make from the sale?

$6000 – approximately ₦9.9m. Very impressive profit compared to what I invested. I locked the full amount for a year in a savings app. The locking came with an interest of ₦1.9m, which I still saved.

I also save ₦200k from my salary every month. I estimate that all my savings would have grown to at least ₦14.5m by the end of 2026. With that, I plan to resume pursuing my graduate school dreams.

Planning to try Sweden again?

Not just Sweden. I also have countries like Poland, Belgium and Denmark on my mind. Belgium, especially since tuition is around 5,000 euros, which I’ll be able to afford. I also have a friend there who can stand as my sponsor, so I don’t have to worry about proof of funds.

I’ll still try the Sweden scholarship again this year, but this time, I’ll pick a different course. I noticed they didn’t award anyone in my chosen course a scholarship, so I’m not sure if there’s a course bias or if it was mostly Europeans (who don’t have to pay fees) who picked the course.

I’m also speaking to a South African professor who said she’d love to have me in her laboratory for my studies. However, the US recently cut major aid that affected her, and she might not be able to pay me an assistant stipend. I was considering it, but a friend who studied in South Africa told me it’d be difficult to get a formal job in the country as a student. So that route is dependent on whether the professor confirms she’ll pay me or not.

You seem pretty focused on leaving the country

On the one hand, yes, I would like to leave the country. I’m tired of Nigeria; the economy and security situation don’t give much hope.

On the other hand, I’m not satisfied with my career trajectory because I’m limited by my BSc qualification. I earn better than I did a few years ago, but my minimal career growth makes me really unhappy. Most of the roles I want straight up specify that the minimum requirement is a master’s degree, and I don’t want to do a master’s in Nigeria. Our research output is too poor. I once applied to a school in America, but I knew I wouldn’t get in because I didn’t have any research papers published anywhere, not even my undergraduate thesis. Yet I was competing with students from all around the world who had standard research work.

There’s one school in Nigeria I could consider attending, but I’d have to leave work for some time, and I don’t think I have the financial capacity to do that. So, right now, I feel stuck academically and professionally.

Out of curiosity, what do long-term plans look like for you, after postgraduate studies?

One reason I’m particular about studying abroad is that I want to be exposed to new technologies in genetics and genomics, as I want to pursue a career in precision medicine.

I decided on this path a few years ago when I realised there’s a space for it in Africa. For instance, many drugs produced by big Pharma companies and even their research tend to people of European ancestry. The African gene is more diverse than any other in the world, and my work in precision medicine can help people understand themselves better and tailor their lifestyle to prevent diseases.

In summary, my long-term plan is to run a genomic startup. We used to have one in Nigeria, but I think it shut down. After my master’s and PhD, I’ll likely attend a business school because I don’t know how startups operate. I may end up not setting up business in Nigeria. It could be another African country; I have a few in mind. I don’t know how I’ll do it yet, but I’ll figure it out.

Rooting for you. Let’s come back to money. Is there an ideal amount you think you should be earning now?

At least ₦800k/month. That way, I can save ₦500k and kickstart my study plans a little quicker.

You live on half your salary now. Does that get difficult?

Not really. I think it’s because of how I grew up. I didn’t grow up having extra money to spend, so it’s easy for me to survive on the basics. I understand the comfort that money brings, but I have no real desire to spend a lot of it.

The major reason I want more money is to save towards my academics. If not, I’m fine. The last time I bought clothes for myself was early this year. Maybe I’ll buy some more in December, and that’s it. I’m perfectly okay.

Interesting. Can you break down what your expenses look like in a typical month?

In the months when I don’t get money requests from my family, I channel the ₦50k to my savings for rent.

Besides your academics, is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?

My girlfriend and I have been dating for nearly two years, but I can’t take our relationship to the next stage yet. I believe I need to have a more stable source of income or even some career progress before getting married. So that’s something I can’t do yet.

How about the last thing you spent money on that made you happy?

My brother got married early this year, and I supported my parents with ₦700k. They weren’t expecting that amount, and I was happy I could do that for them.

How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?

6.5. I don’t think I’d be where I am now if I hadn’t invested in crypto, so that’s something to be grateful for. I’ll most likely return to crypto in the future. I’m not where I want to be yet, but the future is bright.

If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.

Yes, I want to do a Naira Life!

Find all the past Naira Life stories here.

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What’s your earliest memory of money?

Haha. Typical Nigerian parents. What was money like growing up?

What was the first thing you did to earn money?

I feel like I already know the answer to this, but did she pay you?

Right. How long did you work with her?

What was the pay like?

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What did you do between that time?

How did that go?

I’m screaming

Love it. How much were you making from these bookings?

Ah

How often were these gigs coming?

What’s your income like these days?

I noticed you didn’t mention virtual assistance or social media management anymore

Wait. Tell me more about that dollars part

What kind of lifestyle does your income afford you?

How would you describe your relationship with money?

How are you doing that?

I’m curious. What informs how you currently charge for your services?

Let’s break down your typical monthly expenses

What’s an ideal amount you think you should be earning now?

Rooting for you. What’s one thing you want but can’t afford right now?

How about the last thing you bought that made you happy?

How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?

What moment made you realise that your friendship had gone downhill?

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Take me back to the beginning. How did you become friends with them?

How would you describe the dynamics of your friendship?

What changed?

How did that happen?

Did you ask how he got the money?

How did he respond?

Why did you refuse?

Okay, what happened after that?

Did any of your parents or people in authority ask where all this extra money was coming from?

Wow. Okay, what happened next?

Tell me about that.

What did they say?

Did they ever try to reach out to you when you drew back?

Did it hurt to leave the friendship so suddenly?

That’s wild. Do you know how they’re doing now?

Do you think you’d consider being friends again if they stopped doing fraudulent work?

How did we get here?

Everyone wants free PR packages and sponsored trips

We are all main characters

ALSO READ: How Much Money Is There To Be Made Being Funny Online?

Why is this a problem?

Is there a way out?

ALSO READ: Everyone’s Raving Now — and That’s (Not) Fine

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As Told To Boluwatife

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I never dreamed of marriage because I wasn’t sure I could afford it

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The biggest surprise is that this life actually became mine

I was fully prepared for marriage when I went into it

Nobody told me how hard it would be to balance providing and being present

Money arguments forced me to adjust the way I communicate

Marriage made me a better man, but it also intensified parts of me I’m still working through

“It was my prayer point during the crossover night and in fact for 2025.” — Favour

“It clearly expresses many of my feelings to my partner.” — Tunde

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“On a deeper level, it’s about how I lost my spark and praying that I will soon find myself.” — Wale

“It helped me survive a hellish commute in the first quarter of this year.” — Thomas

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“There was a particular midnight I had it on repeat and I got a little teary eyed.” — Wisdom

“It’s my motto and where I find my optimism right now.” — Folaranmi

“It makes me feel that love in any form is still worth believing in.” — Mercy

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“It’s been healing me and activating the spirit of worship in me.” — Chidinma

“This song was my ‘I know God will not forget me.’” — Honour

“It’s the song I have played the most this year.” — Yomi

ALSO READ: Motherhood Changed Me, But It Didn’t Take Music Away From Me

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

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When did you reach out to him?

Right.

At what point did things start to shift from a platonic level?

Did Amara know you’d just come out of a relationship?