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  • Behind most jobs, there’s a boss who left a mark either for better or worse. Some people credit their growth and success to the leader who believed in them and opened doors. Others have been scarred by toxic bosses who abused their power and cut short promising careers.

    In this story, six Nigerians talk about the boss who either broke or made them, and how those experiences have shaped their career today.

    “He refused to process my transfer to the job that would’ve changed my life” — Nancy*, 46

    For Nancy*, a single mother of four, a toxic chairman who barely knew her, stood in the way of a career that was 17 times her income. 

    “I’ve been an accountant in the civil service for years, and my life was manageable until our current chairman was appointed in 2022. He made life unbearable. He stripped staff of benefits and privileges that made our pay tangible, and my take-home dropped to barely ₦280k a month. As a single mother of four, that money couldn’t feed my family, and I soon drowned in debt.

    Out of desperation, I started looking for other opportunities. In May 2023, I found a vacancy at a subsidiary of a major oil company. I applied, went through rounds of interviews, and finally got good news in September. I still remember sitting at my desk when the offer letter came through. My knees almost gave way when I saw the figures: nearly ₦5m a month, excluding allowances. I thought I’d finally gotten my big career break. 

    To finalise my transfer of service, I needed my chairman’s signature. When I took the documents to him, he flung them off his desk, looked me squarely in the face, and said, “You are going nowhere.” I had never crossed him, and he barely knew me, but he refused to sign. I begged, pleaded, and even brought colleagues he liked to intercede, but he insulted us and sent us away.

    Weeks went by, and I knew time was running out. People advised me to get politicians to appeal on my behalf because they were the only ones he respected. But I didn’t know anyone with that kind of influence. After two months, the company withdrew the offer and gave the role to someone else. They tried to hold the position for me, but their hands were tied.

    It’s been almost two years since then, and I haven’t come across such an opportunity again. Sometimes I lie awake thinking about how close I came to changing my life forever, only for one person’s pettiness to ruin it all. I still bite my fingers over that loss.”

    “She targeted me because of her husband” — Maryam*, 31

    For Maryam, it was a jealous boss who sabotaged her chances of finding stability in the banking career she’d dreamed of.

    “I worked at a bank from 2016-2019.  The job itself was stressful, but I loved it. My only problem was my team lead, Madam Hauwa*. She made it her mission to hate every young, pretty girl in the office, and I wasn’t spared. Her husband,  the branch manager, also had a reputation for promiscuity. 

    He once flirted with me, but I declined, and he respected my boundaries. After that, he stayed cordial, maybe even a little fond of me in a harmless way. I think Madam Hauwa noticed this and decided to punish me for it.

    She constantly pushed unnecessary extra tasks to my desk and publicly embarrassed me by calling me fat or saying my outfits were too tight. I tried to win her over by running errands and carrying her bags, but it never softened her. 

    Eventually, I reported her to a senior officer, but they only issued a mild warning because her behaviour was ‘mostly subtle’. That only made her angrier.

    From then on, she actively tried to implicate me. When important documents got mixed up and money went missing, she shifted the blame onto me.

    I ended up with queries, which eventually ruined my chances of moving from contract to permanent staff. I’m sure Madam Hauwa’s negative evaluation sealed my fate.

    Now, I work as a fashion designer and love what I do. But sometimes I think about what my career in banking could have been if not for her. I can’t help but wonder how much further I’d have gone if one bitter boss hadn’t cut my progress short.”

    Do you have a story to share? Click here

    “She kept a whole file on my shortcomings” — Michael, 29

    Michael’s boss made his work life hell, documenting his every mistake and playing mind games. In the end, it pushed him to outwork everyone and level up.

    “When I first met my boss in 2021, she seemed like the sweetest person. Back then, I worked briefly as a developer on contract, and she was always nice to me. So when I returned to the company as a customer support representative in 2022, I thought working under her would be fine.

    Her team had a heavy workload, and people kept their distance, but I threw myself into helping her. I worked overtime, covered shifts, and even woke up at night to handle tickets. I thought being dependable would earn her trust.

    It didn’t take long to realise why everyone avoided her; she was full of games. She acted nice and supportive when we were together, but took notes on my ‘shortcomings’ behind my back. I found out one day during a screen-sharing session when she mistakenly exposed a notepad file titled ‘Michael’s shortcomings’. In it, she had logged in details like: ‘He came 30 minutes late, he used a robotic response for a customer’. It was clear she had it out for me, so I stayed on my toes, determined not to give her anything on me.

    After that incident, she openly criticised everything from how I signed off my shifts to how I handled tickets, so I became meticulous. She tried to dump work meant for interns on me, but I learned to push back professionally without leaving room for her to twist anything I said. 

    Over time, her constant pressure forced me to become one of the best performers on the team. I eventually got so good at the role that I didn’t even care anymore. The irony is that her attempts to break me only pushed me out of customer support altogether. I left the role for a tech job at a bigger company in 2023.

    Looking back, I know her games took a toll on my mental health, but I also know that without her, I wouldn’t have grown so quickly. She broke me in some ways, but also made me better.”

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    “She gave me the opportunity to become somebody” — Bola 59

    What was supposed to be a laborious job became a blessing in disguise for Bola*, thanks the the boss who treated her like family.

    “I left my village in 1979, when I was just 14, to work as a house help for a woman in Ibadan city. My uncle arranged it because he felt I was a liability. My parents were dead, and since he was my primary caregiver, it was easier to send me off to work than wait until I was old enough to be married off. I was excited to leave his care, but deep down, I was also afraid of what the future held.

    The agreement was that I would work for Madam Rose* while she sent money to my uncle every month. A few months in, she asked if I wanted to learn a skill or return to school. Without hesitation, I picked school. I had dropped out after primary school because my uncle thought it was unnecessary for a girl, but I’d always dreamed of going back. 

    Madam Rose enrolled me, gave me time off chores to study, and even let me join her children in their lessons. Slowly, I caught up, and that was how I completed secondary school, all while she continued to pay my uncle.

    I thought it would end there, but she went further. She promised to send me to university if I passed my exams. This was in 1987. I studied hard, passed, and began applying to schools. When I went home for the holidays, I told my uncle about her promise, which would make me the first in our family to attend university, expecting him to be happy. Instead, he tried to sabotage it. He even called Madam Rose, convincing her not to overeducate me. He suggested keeping me back in the village. 

    Madam Rose never told me this. Instead, she doubled the pay to persuade him to send me back. I only discovered the truth two years later when his wife let it slip.

    When I finally confronted her out of guilt for all she had done for me, she said something I’ll never forget: “You’re a daughter to me, and I’d want my own daughter to become somebody.” 

    By then, she had already employed another help, and I only did chores occasionally, but she refused to let me go. I cried like a baby that day.

    I eventually finished school, and she helped me get a teaching assistant job at a university in 1996. I’ve grown in the same institution ever since, and in a few months, I’ll be appointed a professor. None of this would have been possible if Madam Rose hadn’t taken a chance on me and given me the kind of love and opportunity my family never did.”

    “He gave me all the credit for a big project” — Nonso*, 26

    Nonso’s career almost stalled in a team where he felt invisible, until a boss saw his potential, fought for him, and gave him the confidence to shine.

    “My boss, Timothy*, has been one of the biggest blessings in my career. When I first met him back in school, he was two levels ahead of me. We only exchanged greetings then, nothing more. Fast forward 2023, our paths crossed again when I joined the same company where he worked as a team head.

    At the time, they placed me in the finance team, which wasn’t my field. The work felt unengaging, the team barely interacted, and I felt like  I was wasting away. One day, while chatting with Timothy, I mentioned how unhappy I was.  He immediately suggested I join his team instead, which aligned more with my career as a developer.

    That decision changed everything. I joined at entry level and, as expected, made mistakes here and there. But Timothy always covered for me, sometimes even taking the blame himself. He guided me through projects patiently and gave me room to learn without fear. 

    The biggest turning point came when we developed a new software feature together. Although he guided me through most of it, he presented it as though I’d done all the work. The feature was a huge success, and I gained so much recognition that the company promoted me soon after.

    Beyond technical skills, Timothy also taught me the value of relationships at work. I used to be a lone wolf, keeping to myself, but watching how he included everyone on the team changed me. I learned to approach people better, collaborate, and take chances I’d normally shy away from.

    Looking back, I know I’ve progressed faster in my career than many of my peers, and it’s largely because Timothy saw potential in me and nurtured it. If I had stayed in that finance team, I’d probably still be invisible and frustrated. Thankfully, I found a mentor who believed in me, and that has made all the difference.”

    “He fought for me to be transferred to my dream department” — Abisola, 35

    The single decision of one boss to take a chance on Abisola’s talent propelled him into the career he always wanted.

    “I joined an Abuja-based newspaper company as a marketer in 2012. Deep down, I wanted to be an editorial staff, but the marketing job was at least a foot in the door. Shortly after I joined the company, I met my boss, Boboye Onduku, who led the special publications desk. He was the first person to see beyond the role I was hired for and believe I had what it took to be a journalist.

    He gave me small writing tasks at first, and when he saw my potential, he fought to have me officially transferred to his department, in 2013. That decision set me on the career path I’m still on today. He didn’t just throw me in; he also guided me. 

    One of my most memorable moments came barely a month into joining his team. He gave me the chance to write the cover story for our weekend pullout magazine. It was a huge deal at the time because the publication was nationally syndicated. I couldn’t believe he trusted me with that responsibility so early, and it gave me the confidence to immerse myself fully in the work.

    To date, the lessons still guide me. He taught me not to work for the sake of just completing a task, but to put in my best effort until the task becomes excellent.

    If I never met him, I honestly don’t know where I’d be today. Probably still in sales, convincing people to buy things. But because he took a chance on me, I’m doing what I’ve always dreamed of.”

    * Some names have been changed for anonymity

    Click here to see what others are saying about this on Instagram

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  • When Linda* (24) landed her first job, she was focused on building her career and having a drama free work life. But a slow-burning connection with her married boss, Tony*, quickly blurred professional and emotional boundaries. What started as a simple friendship quietly spiralled into something deeper, more confusing, and harder to let go of.

    In this story, she recounts the emotionally consuming affair they had, and why walking away hasn’t made it any easier to let go.

    This is Linda’s story, as told to Mofiyinfoluwa

    In the last year, I’ve learned that the line between right and wrong isn’t as clear as we like to pretend. There are complicated grey areas no one really talks about. In March 2024, I got my first job as a junior strategist at a rising marketing agency in Lagos. I was 23, and Tony* was just over 30 — the youngest boss in the company. He oversaw my department and was the kind of boss everyone loved. He was gentle, charming and approachable. But I didn’t pay much attention to him until a few months later, when we finally had our first real conversation.

    It was at a team hangout. I’d mostly kept to myself, sipping a drink in the corner, when he came over and asked why I was always so serious. He wanted to know if I ever did anything for fun. I told him I loved reading, and his face lit up. He said we were twins. We ended up talking about thrillers, and even though it was just small talk, the ease of it made me forget he was my boss. That night, he sent a list of book recommendations with voice notes describing each one. That moment changed everything.

    We became buddies. We’d swap memes and movie/book recommendations. But slowly, the lines got blurred. I started paying more attention to what I wore to work. I overanalysed my messages and everything I said in meetings. I became hyperaware of him. He’d linger at my desk to ask if I needed help, touch my arm when we talked, and give me compliments that made me giddy. I looked forward to everything and convinced myself it was just admiration. A minor crush. He had a wife. I had no business thinking about him that way.

    One night, about two months into our friendship, I stayed late at work to finalise a proposal. He’d offered to help, and when we turned it in, we were the only two workers left in the building. Since it was a Friday night, he ordered food and drinks to celebrate. Midway into our conversation, I felt an ease that prompted me to ask if his wife ever complained about him staying out late. He avoided the question and simply said he really enjoyed talking to me. That was all it took. I leaned in and kissed him. It was quick and clumsy, and even though he kissed me back, I felt bad and immediately apologised. He shrugged it off and offered to drive me home.

    I couldn’t face him after that encounter, so I called in sick the next Monday. I also followed up with another apology. He replied with a sticker, and I spent hours overanalysing it. I had no idea how he felt about the kiss. I For almost two weeks, I avoided him. I’d leave work early so he wouldn’t offer me rides.

    Then, one weekend, he texted that he was coming over. I panicked, but we just sat in his car and talked about everything except the kiss. He reached for my hand at some point, and when I didn’t pull away, he kissed me again. He said he missed talking to me and asked if I could go with the flow and stop acting weird.

    At first, I felt elated. The man I’d admired for so long actually liked me back. But I also felt unsettled. What did “going with the flow” even mean? What about work? What about his wife? I felt extremely guilty. I had so many questions, but I kept mum. I feared he’d pull away if I pushed too hard — and I couldn’t handle that. I was falling too hard for him.

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    I don’t know if the people at work noticed. If they did, no one confronted me. But there were jokes. They called me his “work wife” and teased that I was his favourite. Maybe they thought he just looked out for me as the youngest in the department. We didn’t have strict office polices, but I knew that if we continued, it was only a matter of time before someone found out. Still, I pushed my concerns aside. A part of me believed that if things got messy, I’d just resign to avoid facing the consequences.

    So we kept going with the flow. He’d drive me around after work or follow me to my hair appointments. Afterwards, we’d sit in his car, talk, and make out. It was never planned. It just happened. Each time, we went a little further, but we never had sex. I used that to justify everything. I told myself we weren’t technically doing anything wrong since we’d not had sex. And that, somehow, felt even more intimate and sincere. 

    This went on for almost four months. December was the peak; the best time of my life. We hung out almost every day, going on dates, to the beach, and even shopping. It felt like a real relationship.

    Tony easily became my favourite person. I didn’t ask much about his marriage, but from the little he shared, it sounded like he and his wife had grown emotionally distant. He once said they were very different people. He made it sound like we were more compatible because we both enjoyed quiet and thoughtful conversations. That made me feel special.

    But by late January this year, things started to feel different. He’d go from replying to my messages instantly to ignoring me for hours or even days, then return like nothing happened. It left me feeling anxious. I never wanted to seem too attached, so I pretended not to care. It made me feel pathetic, and I hated that.

    I tried to distract myself at some point by talking to Salam*, a guy I met through Snapchat. He was my age, sweet, funny, and wanted something serious. My friends liked him more than Tony. I thought that maybe if I focused on him, Tony wouldn’t matter as much.

    But the first time Salam kissed me, I felt sick to my stomach. Not because he did anything wrong, but because it felt like I was cheating. That kiss made me realise just how much my heart already belonged to someone else. I convinced myself I didn’t like Salam, so I cut things off. But deep down, I knew I hadn’t been able to find anyone else attractive since Tony.

    I started asking myself the hard questions. Was I really cheating? Or just blocking my chances because I loved a man who would never be mine?

    Eventually, I did something I had been avoiding for months. I sent Tony a long message explaining how I didn’t understand what we were doing, how he never clarified his intentions, and how tired I was of feeling confused. To my surprise, he told me to be realistic and not complicate things. He emphasised that we weren’t even having sex.

    That gutted me. It felt like he reduced everything we’d shared to the fact that he hadn’t taken my clothes off. We met up, and when I told him I didn’t appreciate how dismissive he sounded, he acted like I was being dramatic and imagining things. When I asked his intentions, he deflected and reminded me that I kissed him first.

    In anger, I lied and said I wanted to start seeing someone else. I expected him to talk me out of it, but he only shrugged and said he respected my decision. I was shattered, but I knew there was no point holding on.

    I still had to go to work and pretend everything was fine. We spoke occasionally, and he still texted to check in. I clung to those messages, reading too much meaning into everything he said. I acted like I didn’t care, but it felt like a breakup. I cried a lot. Some days, I felt tempted to message him and say I didn’t mean it. That we could go back to doing things his way.

    I avoided my friends because I knew they’d say, “I told you so.” They warned me from the beginning, but I was bent on staying delusional. I eventually opened up to one of them, and she gently told me that even if Tony didn’t mean to, he manipulated me. She believed the only way  to move on was to stop seeing him every day. Deep down, I knew it was true.

    Since I couldn’t quit outright, I requested a transfer to our branch in Magodo. The commute would be longer, and I didn’t know anyone there, but it was a necessary move. I only told Tony when they said he needed to approve my transfer. He looked genuinely shocked, even though he knew it was about him. He tried to discourage me, but he didn’t insist.

    It’s been a little over three months since my transfer. Sometimes, I regret the transfer because, like I predicted, the new branch is more difficult. We are fewer, and the workload is heavier. But it’s helped because I haven’t seen him in all that time. I don’t know if he feels guilty, but he texts me occasionally and asks if I’m free to meet. So far, I’ve avoided his advances. I’m trying to draw boundaries because I know might relapse if I see him again.

    I still love him even after seeing the other side of him; it’s very difficult not to. He’s made it clear that there was nothing between us. But if that’s true, why does he keep texting me? 

    I hope that, with time, I can finally stop caring.

    If you want to share your own story, I’d love to hear it here.

    Read Next: I Was Born Without an Arm, and the Search for Love Reminds Me Every Day

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  • You might think your job is just “stressful,” but there’s a thin line between character building and outright toxic behaviour. Beyond the long hours and bad bosses, there’s a deeper issue: how toxic work environments mess with your relationships, both at home and at work.

    We spoke to Sarah Oyefeso, an organisational psychologist, who broke down exactly why it happens and what to do about it.

    What makes a workplace toxic?

    “At its core, it’s any environment where your emotional safety is consistently undermined,” Sarah tells Zikoko. “This could look like poor leadership, constant micromanagement, favouritism, harassment, unrealistic expectations, or just persistent disrespect. Once your work stress starts to  spill into how you relate with others, that’s your sign.”

    So, what should you look out for before accepting a job?

    Sarah says the signs are usually there. 

    If they’re overly eager to hire you without due process, that’s a red flag. If they’re constantly hiring, ask yourself why people keep leaving. Pay attention to the vibe during the interview, too. If the interviewer is too casual or dismissive, chances are you won’t be taken seriously on the job either. Also, observe the current employees. They might not complain, but observe their mannerisms. And if you can, find someone who’s worked there before — ask about their experience and why they left. That alone can save you.

    6 Nigerians Share How Toxic Jobs Changed Their Lives

    To understand just how bad it can get, we asked six Nigerians about the toxic jobs that pushed them to the brink.

    “I became deeply anxious and withdrawn. I barely spoke at home”  — *Dan, 24

    *Dan learned that even being around loved ones can feel like a chore when you’re deeply burnt out. He shares:

    “I joined a digital marketing agency in 2024. On my first day, I greeted the managing director, Ronke, and she ignored me. I brushed it off, thinking she was having a bad day. I didn’t realise that was just who she was.

    She constantly picked on me for little mistakes. I understand corrections are part of the job, but she humiliated me in front of the whole office. Once, just two weeks after I joined, the network was down and I couldn’t complete a task. I let her know, but instead of understanding, she scheduled an all-hands meeting and used it to insult me for an hour. I cried. I even got a query from HR that started with, ‘I believe you don’t have sense.’

    After less than two months, I resigned. But the damage was done. I became deeply anxious and withdrawn. I barely spoke at home because I couldn’t even find the words to explain what I was going through. My relationship with my mum and brothers became strained. I used to be bubbly, but I had no energy left after work.”

    Sarah’s take: “When you’re constantly anxious at work, your nervous system doesn’t just switch off when you clock out. That stress follows you home. You might withdraw, snap at people or stop communicating because you’re emotionally drained. Don’t assume your partner or family will automatically understand — overshare the mundane details of your days. Keeping them in the loop helps them show up for you.” 

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    “The same fear I felt walking into the office follows me everywhere” — *Faith, 25

    Faith’s job didn’t just take her peace; it changed how she felt in every other space, too. She shares: 

    “I worked at a fintech where my manager, Tayo, was desperate to please our supervisor. So he started sabotaging me. 

    Once, I tweeted about enjoying remote work. Tayo messaged me privately about it, and we had a casual chat. Next thing, the supervisor called to insult me. Turns out Tayo had twisted my words.

    He began taking my big leads and assigning me accounts that barely brought in commission. I became so guarded that I stopped collaborating and withdrew from even my friends. I still find it hard to go to church or talk to people. It’s like I’m permanently scared.”

    Sarah’s take: “What Faith is going through is workplace-induced trauma. It causes anxiety that affects your confidence in relationships and stops you from reaching out in familiar spaces. 

    Reclaim your safe spaces, even if it’s just with one trusted person. And be gentle with yourself, healing from a job shouldn’t be your responsibility, but sadly, it is.

    “I constantly lashed out at the people who loved me” — *Jachima, 23

    Toxic workplaces don’t just stress you, they erase your sense of self. That was precisely *Jachinma’s reality.

    “Working in that space really changed me. From day one, I felt unsafe.  A senior colleague saw my pink bag and said, ‘Is pink your favourite colour? That’s the colour of my favourite part of a woman.’

    The sexual and degrading comments targeted at women kept coming, and HR never did anything.

    I once came in sick and asked to go home, but they refused. Meanwhile, my manager strolled in at 10 a.m. and left before 2 p.m. I ended up leaving around 4 p.m. because I was losing feeling in my leg. The next morning, I got a query.

    It got to a point where I was crying on the way to work. I had panic attacks and snapped at my family and friends all the time. I hated who I was becoming.”

    Sarah’s take: “Toxic workplaces can trigger anxiety, depression, and even suicidal thoughts. When you’re constantly berated, your body starts to absorb that message. You feel trapped, and that hopelessness can spiral into panic attacks, exhaustion, or depression. Like in *Jachinma’s case, you may even lash out at people who love you. Once you begin to lose your sense of self, it’s time to prioritise an exit plan.

    A Human Resource Person is supposed to protect employees, but in many Nigerian workplaces, HR simply echoes management. If HR enables abusers or becomes one itself, that’s not just a toxic culture; it’s dangerous.

    “I was suspended from work for three weeks without pay, amidst my struggles” — *Aisha, 26

    Toxic workplaces don’t just steal your joy; they can crush your self-worth and convince you that you’re not worthy of compassion. *Aisha can relate:

    “I worked at a logistics company during NYSC. They didn’t pay salaries for three months, and I had to survive on ₦33k,  which barely covered rent, food or transport.

    One day, I told my manager I couldn’t afford to come in because I didn’t have money. The next morning, I got a query — on the general group chat — where he called me lazy and unserious.

    It hurt me because I expected him to understand.. Instead, he suspended me for three weeks.

    There was never any explanation or apology about the withheld salaries. Over time, I started withdrawing from everyone, even people who cared about me. I felt like I wasn’t enough.

    Sarah’s take: “If, like *Aisha, you’re stuck in a toxic job,  detach emotionally. Find something that’s yours —a personal goal, hobby, anything that gives you joy outside work. It’ll give you perspective. Also, lean on friends and family who love and affirm you. Their support will help protect your self-worth until you can walk away.”

    “My blood pressure shot up”  — *Hameed, 29

    Beyond your mind, toxicity from work also affects your body and physical health. *Hameed shares: 

    “I had a managerial role at a food company, but instead of feeling empowered, I was always on edge. Whenever a staff member made a mistake, my superior threw me under the bus because he wanted to be in the CEO’s good books. Even when staff made mistakes, I paid the price. If funds went missing, they’d deduct it from my salary.

    I was so anxious I couldn’t sleep. My blood pressure shot up. I was constantly sick and snapping at my fiancée, who didn’t understand what was happening to me. Truth is, I didn’t understand either.

    Sarah’s take: A lot of people underestimate how physically the symptoms of stress and toxicity from work manifest. It can show up as headaches, high blood pressure, and insomnia. And even if you don’t ‘look’ stressed, that doesn’t mean it’s not real. Everyone reacts differently, even in the same environment.

    “I began to question myself and my skills as an artist” — *Peter, 24

    *Peter’s job didn’t just drain him. It made him doubt his competence and talent. He shares: 

    “My boss got me the job, so I felt indebted. But the way he spoke to me?Always condescending.

    He’d give feedback in ways that made me feel stupid. Other colleagues noticed, so it wasn’t just in my head. But I  couldn’t report him. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful or cause problems.

    Over time, I lost confidence. I began to question myself and my skills as an artist. Things I used to feel confident about suddenly seemed basic in my own eyes.”

    Sarah’s take: It’s tough when your boss is also your helper, but silence only enables abuse. If they treat you poorly, you’re likely out of favour. If you can’t talk to them about how you feel, quietly plan your exit. In the meantime, seek feedback and encouragement from people outside that space who can affirm your work.

    The bottom line

    You spend most of your life at work. It shouldn’t leave you sick and anxious, or affect your relationships. If your job is stealing your joy, then it’s time to leave. You deserve a space that values you and lets your relationships thrive. 

    And to companies creating these environments? Free lunch and branded T-shirts aren’t culture. Culture is how staff are treated on a random Thursday morning.

    Read Next: I Took a ₦100k Pay Cut Because I Was Miserable

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  • We suggest you find a new job before you start the fights.

  • Femi Dapson recently went viral on X for this post. 

    He shared a throwback video from when he was a cleaner in 2017, which he’d made as evidence of his strong belief that he’d make it one day. It has since amassed over two million views.

    It’s 2023, and he did make it. He shares his inspiring journey with Zikoko.

    As told to Boluwatife

    Credit: Nouvelle Films

    I grew up poor.

    We were so poor my family rented uncompleted buildings because we couldn’t afford anything else. It was that bad. 

    I was born in Agege, but we moved to Idowu Egba, a neighbourhood in Igando, when I was about four years old. The uncompleted building we lived in had no windows or roof, so we used empty rice sacks to cover the ceiling and window openings. The floor was uncemented, so we put mats over the red sand.

    Despite the sorry situation we were in, I always knew it wasn’t the life I was made for. My dad was a driver, and my mum sold food. I saw them constantly struggling and would always tell myself that I’d never end up like them. 

    And I backed this mindset with actions.

    I made a deliberate effort not to make friends on my street. We were all poor there, so what was I supposed to gain from an equally poor person?

    I have a way with people, and I’d always target rich kids. I wanted to be like them. So, I’d wake up every morning, iron and wear the only shirt I had, and walk the 15-minute distance to Diamond Estate to meet with the friends I’d made from church or while helping my mum sell food in schools. 

    My rich friends liked my vibes. I showed and told them things and slang they’d never heard before. In return, I learned how they lived, ate their food and always stood out when I returned home. The only person I got close to in my neighbourhood was the son of a prominent general, and it was because I did everything in my power to make sure we became friends.

    Growing up poor meant I also had to start hustling early. I did many menial jobs while moving from one secondary school to the other due to challenges with paying the fees. You want to clear the grass in your compound? I’m there. You need someone to paint your house? I’ll most likely do rubbish, but just pay me ₦2k. 

    I started my hustle proper after I dropped out of school in SS one when my parents could no longer pay my fees. There’s almost nothing I didn’t do to survive —from barman, to primary school teacher, to factory worker. One thing I made sure to do each time was to put in 110% in every job. 

    In 2014, we moved to yet another uncompleted building in Sango, and I got a job cleaning at a popular church’s headquarters in Ota. I got paid between ₦11k – 15k monthly to sweep portions of the church premises, chapels, and sometimes, wash cars. I did that for about two years.

    One principle guides my life: “If you can read and write, you can teach yourself anything.” In 2016, while still cleaning, I started volunteering to help input evangelism converts’ data into a computer. I’d taught myself computer basics with a cousin’s computer when I was in JSS one, so while other volunteers would use all day to input the data of 100 people, I’d do it in 30 minutes. 

    The General Overseer’s secretary noticed and took a liking to me, and I unofficially became the assistant secretary to the G.O. Because I didn’t pass through the normal employment process, I didn’t get a raise. But it didn’t stop me from putting in my all. I helped the department make financial approval processes almost paperless before I left after six months. My reason? I was scared they’d just wake up one day and tell everyone without the right qualifications to go.

    In 2017, I moved in with a cousin in Ikeja and got a cleaning job at an event centre. It paid between ₦18k – ₦21k/monthly, but damn, the workload wasn’t beans. After parties ended around 10 p.m., the whole place would be a mess, and I’d clean and clean. 

    But I understood the power of positive confessions. I’d always tell my guys and say to myself that I’d be great; I was born to be great. I’d watch celebrities come to parties where I worked and even pour soap to wash their hands after they used the restroom so they’d give me ₦200 tips. That was the life I wanted. To spray money freely at parties and be greeted, “Good evening, sir”, when I entered toilets, too.

    I made this video in 2017 at a low point. I was down with Typhoid and had been in and out of the hospital for two weeks, but I left and returned to work while still sick because I was scared I’d be sacked for staying away that long.

    On that day, I was weak and frustrated. I had just finished cleaning the hall and was washing the toilets. At a point, I stopped and started self-affirming that this was just a temporary phase and I’d look back at the memory one day. I decided to document that moment, so I took my phone and recorded myself. If not for the fact that my physical look has improved since then, people would say I took the video yesterday, and I’m just lying. The confidence with which I spoke was crazy.

    A large part of my confidence stemmed from the fact that I know God loves me — that’s even what my name, Oluwafemi Ifeoluwa, means. I also had a habit of sacrificially giving out the little money I had at the time — I still give a lot. I believe that the more you give, the more you receive, and I know God is too faithful to fail.

    Knowing God saw my heart, I’d drop my bracelet or anything on me in faith when I didn’t have money. I even gave my toothbrush as an offering once. It wasn’t useful to anyone, but God knew that was all I had.

    So, I made that video with complete confidence and kept it as evidence so that when I made my money, no one would come and say I did fraud.

    And God did come through for me. 

    I gathered the little money I had and sat for O’Levels in 2018. Then a year later, I got an opportunity to work as a junior auditor in an auditing firm for ₦30k/month. How I got the job was even funny. When I arrived at the interview, I met guys with degrees speaking big English, but when it got to my turn and I showed the partners how I helped make that church in Ota go paperless, their minds were blown. 

    I had to leave the job a couple of months later because I had stayed with my cousin for too long, and it was starting to become uncomfortable for him. My next stop was Egbeda, where I moved in with a photographer friend, Perliks. We started working together, and I helped him rebrand and manage his business. He was such an amazing photographer, and I made sure he saw it, too. Many of the projects we worked on together went viral.

    It wasn’t just Perliks and I in Egbeda; some other friends lived with us. One of them was an artist, and that same year, he got funding for a music video. Perliks had some directing knowledge because he had been on a similar set before, so he said he could shoot it, and I’d produce. I didn’t know anything about production, but I read up about it and said I could do it.

    The first day of that production was a disaster because rain destroyed the set, but we pushed through and made the video. It cost ₦800k to shoot, and we even ran at a loss because of the rain. Another artist manager saw it, loved it, and hired us to shoot a video for one of the artists she managed. We went on to shoot three videos for three of her artists. We didn’t make any money from it — we were just trying to give our all.

    Around the same time, I pitched a social media influencer and told her I’d like to manage her, and she agreed. While doing that, I met someone who organised monthly parties for a Whiskey brand. He asked me to come on as his partner to blow the brand in Lagos. We threw the littest parties, and it brought cool money. Money cool enough to buy my first car; a Toyota Avalon which cost ₦1.6m. 

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    In 2020, a media production company signed Perliks and me as director and producer, respectively. It’s still crazy how these professionals were absolutely loving what I did with music videos, and I was just a random boy from Egbeda.

    When my contract expired the following year, I left and created my own company — Nouvelle Films — and I’ve had the privilege of working on amazing jobs. That’s what I do till date: production and the parties. 

    I believe everything I’ve gone through in life was specially designed to allow me to get to where I am right now. I never look down on people because someone selling Gala on the streets could be at a level you’d never imagined tomorrow. 

    Now, some people message me to say we grew up together; they may never have imagined I’d be where I am today. I mean, if someone had told me four years ago that I’d be driving a Mercedes Benz today, I may not have believed it. 

    Some advice I’d give anyone is to hold on to positive thoughts, hold God and believe in yourself. If you don’t first see IT, no one will see IT with you.

    Tickets are now available for the biggest meat festival in Nigeria. We’re celebrating the Nigerian culture of meat and grill simply for your enjoyment. GET A TICKET NOW.

    NEXT READ: I’ve Made Three Career Changes, but I’m Still Unsure About My Future

  • In my quest to find answers to the question, “How do you know what to do with your life?” I found Kemi* (27), but like most people I talked to, she’s still searching for an answer to that question. The only difference is, she’s switched careers thrice already, to find it.

    She’s gone from wanting to become a doctor to discovering a passion for teaching, then health and safety, before choosing a career in social media management. According to her, she’s just winging it at this point.

    This is Kemi’s story, as told to Boluwatife

    Image designed by Freepik

    At ten years old, I decided I’d be a neurosurgeon.

    To be fair, almost everyone who read Ben Carson’s “Gifted Hands” as a child — AND has Nigerian parents — is bound to have a medicine-fuelled future ambition. 

    It also helped that I was book-smart in primary and junior secondary school. It wasn’t like I knew how to study. I’m not even sure how I always topped my class. Of course, my grades meant that “science class” was my only option when I moved to senior secondary school at 12 years old.

    But that’s when my book-smartness façade started to fall off. 

    Physics and chemistry looked and sounded like gibberish. I never understood how to balance a chemical equation or even distinguish an unbalanced one. The formulas were too complicated for my brain, and if not for Mr Rotimi’s* solid teaching and patient explanations, I’d have been lost.

    When it became time to write JAMB in 2010, my neurosurgery dreams were already extremely shaky. I’d barely passed the core subjects at O’ levels, and I knew it wasn’t good enough for medicine, so I decided I could also change lives in physiotherapy. I applied for it, passed and got admission the following year.

    By the second semester of my first year, I knew I’d made a mistake. I couldn’t understand most of my courses, and even before the results came in, I suspected I’d have carry overs. I had six. 

    A lecturer advised me to consider changing departments because I’d likely be asked to withdraw by the end of second year. I took his advice and transferred to biology education. I knew I couldn’t survive a course like biochemistry or microbiology, so I rationalised that education would help me be a Mr Rotimi to students like me who struggled to study. We can’t all be doctors and physiotherapists just because we’re in the sciences. 

    Career change one.

    I did infinitely better in education, and by the time I graduated in 2016, I was sure teaching was my passion. But Nigeria soon taught me passion doesn’t count for much in these streets. 

    I taught in the North during my NYSC year, and it was a terrible experience. If students didn’t come to school bare-footed, they stopped coming at all because they were married off or needed to work for money. I once made the mistake of laughing when a nine-year-old student told me that a religious leader told them, “School is a sin.” He looked at me coldly, and in broken English, warned me never to try it again.

    I moved back to the South-West after my service year in 2017 and got a job in a private school, but while I no longer had disappearing students or thinly veiled threats to my life, it was a wake-up call to just how bad the education system is nationally. Students and teachers were nonchalant. The school only cared about collecting money from parents and making sure students got good grades on paper, even if it involved “dashing” them marks. At ₦‎18k/month, my salary wasn’t exactly the best motivator either.

    RELATED: What She Said: I’ve Given Up on Teaching in Nigeria

    By 2018, I’d seen enough and could no longer imagine teaching for the rest of my life. I started hunting for random jobs. I even applied for a restaurant supervisor position, and when the interviewer asked, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” I went blank. Does anyone really know the answer to that question?

    I soon found a job opening for a health, safety and environment (HSE) officer. While I didn’t have the certifications they required and couldn’t apply for it, the job description seemed straightforward enough. Plus, the proposed pay was ₦‎90k/month. I was immediately interested.

    I started researching the field, and I liked what I saw. I could work almost anywhere, even outside the country, and I thought I only had to take some short courses to become a professional. I even started to dream about working in FMCG multinationals. HSE looked like my final bus stop. 

    Career change two.

    I resigned from my teaching job and started my certification journey with a couple of free courses on a popular online safety and health training platform. I then moved on to an HSE level 1 certification, which cost about ₦‎35k. Fortunately, I got a six-month HSE intern position at ₦‎30k/month shortly after. In my head, all I needed to do was impress my employers so they’d consider retaining me after the internship.

    I finished my internship in mid-2019, and when I asked about the possibility of retainment, they said it wasn’t possible. It turned out I still had a ton of certifications and professional memberships needed to be a confirmed safety professional in Nigeria — certifications I couldn’t afford. Some industries even require a master’s degree.

    I decided to push my luck and apply for other HSE jobs, but by 2020, I knew my safety professional dream wasn’t realistic anymore; I had no money or reasonable experience. All this, combined with the uncertainties of the pandemic, pushed me into a depressive state. I was unemployed with no sense of direction or plan for my career. There was no pressure from my family, but I felt like I wasn’t living up to their expectations.

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    I tried to pull myself out of that mental state by watching career-related motivational and self-help videos on YouTube, but it somehow made it worse. They kept saying, “Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life,” but I didn’t know what I loved doing anymore. They also talked about the importance of deliberate “career planning”. While it all sounded good, I was just as confused as ever.

    Then in 2021, a friend told me to try social media management. She offered to take me through the basics as she was a social media manager herself. She also told me stories about people earning in dollars just by managing social media accounts. She was earning about ₦‎100k/month from managing three accounts, but at least, she didn’t have to leave her house. It seemed simple enough, and with the whole world going remote, it was a sensible career path. So, I decided I’d be a social media manager.

    Career change three.

    I opened new Instagram and Twitter accounts and started applying everything my friend taught me. I even started to enjoy it and grew my accounts quickly by taking part in trends and using reels. I also started cold-emailing potential clients. I got about two or three short-term clients, but my big break came in 2022 when I got a job as a community manager. I’m still at it, and my salary has remained ₦‎150k/month.

    My job is great, but I know I can’t do it long-term. Who would want to hire a 30 or 40-year-old social media manager? Even now, some companies would rather hire a content marketer who’d handle social media with their other tasks rather than hire both a content marketer and a social media manager. What happens to me then?

    It’s funny how I’ve made so many career changes, but I still don’t know what to do with my life. I attend many career webinars, but these “career coaches” really need to know that not everyone can afford to “follow their passion”. When I speak to senior colleagues and friends about my confusion, they mostly advise me to pick my most lucrative skill and make a career out of it. But the problem is, I’m not sure I have specific skills. I just know how to perform well on whatever task is in front of me at any given time.

    If you ask where I see myself in the next couple of years, I’d probably say “Content marketing” because it’s the next reasonable step from social media management. But if I get a job as an operations executive tomorrow, my future ambition would likely change to “Operations management”.

    I’m honestly just winging it in life, so don’t ask me what will happen tomorrow.

    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    NEXT READ: I’ve Chased Money All My Life. There Has to Be More

  • While talking to friends at an event about how the increasingly high costs of living in Nigeria mean you’re either rich or poor — no middle-class or in-betweens — Kunle* (28) shared his probably all-too-familiar situation: Pushing through life and a crazy economy as a man who’s tired of the money chase, but feels his value is directly proportional to how much he provides.

    This is Kunle’s story, as told to Boluwatife

    Image designed by Freepik

    As a Nigerian man, I grew up believing my worth was tied to how much I made.

    I saw it in how my mother’s smile widened when my dad gave her money before leaving for work. How my parents quickly brushed off my ten-year-old self’s declaration that I wanted to be a veterinarian when I grew up. Their reason was based on: “How much do you think vets make? Don’t you know you’re a man, and you’ll need to make money?”

    It’s why, even though I got an allowance from my parents while in university, I was always doing one form of hustle or the other so I could make my own money. I didn’t need it; it just felt good to have money in my account.

    I started writing notes and assignments for my coursemates in third year. With my charges averaging around ₦500 to ₦1k per course and my uni’s abundance of unserious students, I made a cool average of ₦30k in a good month. A very decent amount in 2014.

    In final year, I graduated to helping my mates write their projects and charged each client ₦15k. By the time I was done with school in 2016, I could afford to be independent. I rented an apartment with a friend during my service year, got a couple of gadgets and even became a recipient of “billing” from my younger sister and parents. I was doing my part as a man, and life was good. Or so I thought.

    No one prepared me for the fact that I’d just entered a life-long rat race.

    In 2017, I got my first official job after job hunting for three months. The pay was ₦95k/month, and I thought it was a good deal. 

    It would have been, but transportation costs and saving for house rent became the weapons fashioned against me every month.

    Let’s not forget black tax, feeding and data. On paper, I was earning reasonably well for an entry-level 9-5er, but I was living from paycheck to paycheck. I was always broke by salary day.

    In 2018, I added love to the mix, and my problems tripled. Suddenly, I had the responsibility of being an “intentional man” by randomly sending my girlfriend money and taking her on dates. No one needed to tell me that I had to start making more money.

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    My search yielded success in late 2019 when I found another job, increasing my salary to ₦120k/month. For the first few months, it seemed like I was finally making enough to comfortably splurge on one or two things without worrying too much about it. But then the pandemic came in 2020 and took my job with it. 

    The six months I spent unemployed were one of the most uncertain periods of my life. Strangely enough, I also felt pockets of peace. There was this kind of relief that came with knowing I didn’t have to spend long days pretending to like work and my coworkers just because I needed money in my account. 

    I was broke, but it was the closest I’d been to peace in a long while. Maybe it was because I had my roommate to rely on or the fact that everyone became homebodies due to COVID, but I didn’t always feel the crushing need to have money to prove myself.

    In late 2020, I got another job, and I’ve been at it since then. My monthly income has grown from ₦200k to ₦350k, but I still live from paycheck to paycheck. And no, I’m not living above my means. I’m a 28-year-old unmarried man living alone in a ₦450k/year Lagos apartment. I have only one girlfriend, and my black tax is not crazy. Yet I still feel poor.

    The Nigerian economy has gotten so bad that I can’t even appreciate that I’m a slightly above-average earner. By the time monthly expenses attack my salary, it becomes a struggle to save ₦50k. I’m constantly on the lookout for better job and income opportunities, but when does it end?

    There has to be more to life than pursuing money. I’ve chased money all my life, but I’m not happy, fulfilled or at peace. It’s as if money laughs at my efforts and has a thing against staying in my account.

    Honestly, I’m tired. Sometimes I envy people in a coma — no struggle to make money. They can just be. I want to just be, too. But I can’t even tell my friends or partner because I’m a man. My worth is tied to how much I make and can provide.

    *Name has been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    ALSO READ: I Hate Spending My Own Money

  • Image by Freepik

    “What if I jump from frying pan to fire?” 

    This question summarised Esther’s response to my suggestion about changing jobs after she’d ranted for 30 minutes about her job at a FinTech company in Lagos.

    Employee loyalty is often seen as a virtue; they show a high level of dedication to their job, which is expected to result in a willingness to go above and beyond in their work and, perhaps most importantly, long-term engagement.

    When you hear that someone has spent five years in a role, you — and especially the employer — might think, “Wow, this person is so loyal to XXX company’s goals and vision”. If the responses from these 9-5ers on the concept of employee loyalty are anything to go by, that conclusion isn’t often the case.

    Sometimes, they’re just scared to move on

    Esther’s main reason for staying is the fear of getting into a more toxic workplace. “I hate my job on most days. Not social media management itself, but doing it AT my current workplace. My superiors give unrealistic goals and constantly ignore my suggestions to build a long-term social media strategy rather than jumping on every social media trend. But I’m sceptical about leaving. The pay isn’t bad, and my colleagues are great. What if I move somewhere else that seems shiny on the outside and is toxic on the inside?” she said.

    For Joba*, a brand designer in Lagos, the fear of lay-offs is why he’s hesitant to leave where he’s worked for three years. “The state of the Nigerian economy now means almost everyone is laying off staff or shutting down operations. There’s more probability that a company will let go of a new staff who’s yet to prove themself than a valuable team player. What if I take on a new tech job and then get laid off six months later? It’s too big of a risk.”

    Kunle*, an operations executive, shares similar sentiments. “Money isn’t always everything. I know someone who went off to work at Twitter but got laid off soon after. Of course, I’d like to earn more. But if I leave, it has to be because I’ve come to terms with the risk of eventually losing the job due to the current volatile tech ecosystem. I’m not ready for that yet.”

    Others feel more loyal to their managers and colleagues than the organisation

    According to Josephine*, a content writer in Abuja, she’d take one good manager over a big-name job anywhere. “My current manager is the best I’ve ever worked with, and she’s the reason I’m still at my current workplace. I got an offer somewhere else three months ago, but some Glassdoor reviews about the leadership made me turn it down. My workplace has tons of issues too, but my manager is the best. If she leaves today, I’m out the door too.”

    Tola*, an executive assistant, is also enduring his job because of his teammates. “I work directly with the CEO, and she’s a grade-A pain. When she gets angry, she lashes out verbally, and working with her is exhausting. But my teammates are some of the smartest people I’ve worked with. They make coming to work every day worth it.”

    In other cases, it’s just money

    Oftentimes, employee loyalty is simply transactional. It figures, because the employer-employee relationship itself is primarily value-based. If the employer doesn’t see how the employee brings in value and improves the business, they wouldn’t be employees in the first place.

    Laide*, a product manager, puts it simply. “I’ll be loyal to you as long as you pay me what I feel I’m worth. If I feel I’m worth more and make you see it, but you don’t budge, I’ll move to the next person. The whole ‘we are a family’ thing is just vibes. Would you sack your brother if they didn’t meet your expectations? As long as the employee meets expectations, the employer is loyal to them. So, it should also be vice versa.”

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    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    NEXT READ: How Are Small Business Owners Dealing With Inflation in Nigeria?

  • If you’ve experienced Nigerian lecturers and universities teach stuff you’ll never use in real life, you might agree with the widely popular “school na scam” slang. 

    However, as a Nigerian, you simply can’t do without school. Here’s why.

    You’ll be poor

    This is Nigeria, where degree holders still earn ₦80k. What kind of chance do you think a secondary school certificate holder has?

    Not everyone will blow as an entrepreneur or musician

    If you don’t succeed at being the next WizKid or Dangote, at least you can still dust your certificate and enter the labour market. If not, refer back to my first point. Like the Yorubas say, “There’s more than one road to the bank market”.

    Two words: Nigerian parents

    Think about it. Which mouth do you want to use to tell your parents you want to drop out? Even if you think school is a scam, they don’t. And they’re always right. Better carry your book.

    You can delay adulting for a bit

    If you deep it, ASUU strikes are merely protecting you from the inevitable. At least, you can say you’re a student and attract helpers much longer. Once you drop “student” from your name, it’s over.

    And even make money

    Lie that you haven’t used school as a front to get more money from your parents before. It’s giving, “We need to pay Photosynthesis fee”.

    You might actually learn something

    Your luck can shine and you might actually use your education and degree to blow in the future. How will you know if you don’t try?

    It could help you achieve the Nigerian dream

    And by “Nigerian dream”, I mean japa. Now that countries everywhere are banning Nigerians from getting vacation visas, efiko scholarship visas may be your only hope. 

    NEXT READ: How Nigerians Deal With Realising They’re Underpaid