• “A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.


    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is Juliet Simone, and she’s a pornstar. Juliet tells us about some of the stereotypes she faces in her line of work, managing her family’s expectations with her job, and how powerful she feels when she’s in front of a camera.

    MONDAY:

    I’m awake every day between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m. I stand up from my bed by 6:30 am today, and the first thing I do is check my phone to see if there are any messages I missed while asleep. Then I start my morning ritual — I drink Seaman ogogoro to clear my eyes, do some squats to keep my body fit [because I don’t want to have a fat stomach], and look for something to eat. I’m done with my routine by 11 a.m. After that, I make content for my paying subscribers — I have a WhatsApp group where people pay ₦5,000 per month to see my nudes, watch me masturbate, rant or just dance. It would have been easier to manage the subscribers if I could go live on Instagram or Twitter, but I’ve been banned on both apps. I’m grateful that at least I still have my Snapchat account where I can post even though I don’t fully understand how to use that app.

    I don’t have time to be worried about Snapchat because there’s work to be done, and my major “headache” now is entertaining my subscribers on WhatsApp. I’ll video call my over 20 subscribers in batches of seven. The signs are clear that I have a long day ahead of me.

    TUESDAY:

    I don’t shoot porn videos every day because I don’t own a personal camera. Instead, I have to shoot once or twice in a week depending on the schedule of the actors, video crew and location. There’s a lot of planning that goes into making these videos. We travel outside Lagos, sometimes as far as Badagry, to make them. You can’t just say you want to act porn in your room or a hotel in Lagos. From the screams and moans alone, oversabi people will call police to arrest you for trying to murder someone’s daughter. There’s also the part of choosing the men I’m acting with because I have a preference — neat, honest, and willing to show face on camera — that must be followed. After making my choice, I invite the person for lunch to gauge them before we go for routine [HIV, Hepatitis, etc] tests. Then we can now shoot a video. 

    During video shoots, I tell my men that it’s acting we’re acting so they shouldn’t get carried away thinking it’s their girlfriend they’re fucking. I also make it clear that they must not cum in me —  they can cum on my laps, face, tummy but not inside me — because the viewers want to see the sperm.

    Anytime I’m stressed, I remind myself that it’s my channel that these videos are being uploaded to and that makes me happy. I’m excited anytime I look at my money counting and see that it’s dollars. I can’t wait till it’s plenty so I can cash out. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    People ask me if I’m shy to have sex in front of a camera. Me, Juliet, shy for what? For why? I even think I’m addicted to the camera. I’ve been acting for a while, so I’ve gained confidence. Although I started acting porn three years ago, my dream was to always get into Nollywood, so I grew up participating in dramas, teen plays and being a drama queen. I wasn’t shy when I used to act for people, why will I be shy now that it’s my channel?

    Anytime I’m in front of the camera, I feel like I’m Wizkid, Davido or even Burna Boy, and all these people are coming to look at me. I won’t lie, the first time I acted in a porn video, I didn’t know it’d go far. It wasn’t until my brother in Dubai called to say: “Juliet, you don dey act porn?” I was “Shoo, this thing is international now? This is my chance to shine.” In fact, during lockdown, I became famous again because one of my videos did like two million views. I noticed that anytime I passed my street, boys would be looking at me. It was one of my male friends that now gave me the gist that someone downloaded my video and people started sending it to themselves. Sometimes, too much of the attention in real life makes me shy, so I stay indoors. Other times when I want to do my werey, I wear my shades and don’t give them face. Is it pussy they’ve not seen before? Is it dick they’ve not seen before? — it’s everywhere. And if anybody comes to challenge me that why am I acting porn, I’ll also challenge them that why are they watching porn. Wetin carry their eyes go there? Are they also pornstars?

    THURSDAY:

    I’ll say this anywhere: I’m not addicted to sex. It’s just that I can’t see dick and run. I know that pata pata na you go tire because I don’t see sex as stress. I also don’t pay attention to that thing they call body count — how does it affect me? I can’t count how many guys I’ve fucked.  I also know that I’ll stop acting one day. I’ll move into “pure” acting and make money from my old videos. By then I’d have settled down with the man of my choice that loves me. I’m not worried because I’ve swimmed into the world and seen what’s there. 

    For the moment I’m making my money and facing my business. I’ll advise people to do the same and leave judgement between me and God. I am at peace with my God.

    FRIDAY:

    I have a few secrets. My mum thinks I’m an actress in Nollywood, and although my siblings know what I do for a living, they didn’t cast me. My dad is dead, so he doesn’t need to know. Sometimes, people whisper to my mum but I encourage her to ignore them. As far as I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t rob or collect anyone’s money illegally, my life doesn’t concern anybody. If my siblings could go from an initial violent reaction when they found out I was acting porn to a cordial one, people’s opinion don’t matter much to me. 

    Another secret is that I enjoy slow fucking and not knacking-knacking like you’ll see in porn videos. I think that’s even a major reason why it’s difficult to enjoy sex while acting. If I like the guy and we’re done shooting, I’ll ask him to come and have the slow sex that I like.

    My last secret is that I don’t make friends with people outside the porn industry because they won’t understand me. And insult can even enter. But if you’re in my industry, how can you abuse me when we’re partners in crime? Even if you abuse me, it’ll be work-related — you’ll say I didn’t cash out last month or my video quality is poor — and I know you’re correcting me. Let me tell you a secret: The people insulting me about pornography will grab this opportunity I have if they see it. Them go too rush am. 

     SATURDAY:

    I can’t help but think about the pornography industry here in Nigeria because there’s potential that we’re not tapping into. There’s a lack of trust amongst us, so we don’t collaborate. You’ll watch Oyinbo porn and you’ll see crossovers and collaborations making people money. But Nigerian slogan is “Everyone be on your shoe oh because na only you know as your shoe dey pain you.” I know there’s the opportunity to make money. When I was still upcoming and working for people, I’ve made around ₦300,000 and above per month before. As long as we don’t combine resources, we can’t regulate and grow the industry. 

    I’m always looking for people to collaborate and work together because I want to blow to the extent where I can establish a business for my mum and myself. Once I remove black tax and set up a passive source of income from my old videos, then I’ll stop acting porn. Maybe then I’ll finally be free to pursue my childhood dream of acting in Nollywood.


    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

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  • Take this quiz to know when you’ll blow:

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  • I wonder why we have to do this adulting thing. Especially seeing as we have to work for money. Anyway, if you’re wondering like me, and you also had to resume work today, you’ll relate to one or more of these:

    1) Waking up has never been harder

    Is this necessary? It’s ghetto to wake up before 10 am.

    25 Things You Definitely Do Every Single Time | Fox memes, Funny fox, Weird  and wonderful

    2) Your face when your boss said: “welcome back.”

    Mschew.

    3) You considered faking your death this morning

    Life can’t be this hard you know.

    4) Or eloping to Togo

    Cheers to new beginnings.

    5) You also wished you had inheritance or family money

    Just imagine it.

    6) Or Dangote would come to claim you as his long lost child

    Daddy Snnopy plsssss.

    7) You’re already dreaming of when you’ll go on leave

    When will my enjoyment return from war?

    8) Or the next public holiday

    Especially the long weekend holidays: Thursday till Monday.

    9) You’ve done everything but work today

    Still in holiday mood pls.

    10) You’re scrolling through Zikoko

    Better face your daily bread. We’re not there oh.

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  • “A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.


    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a 60+ woman who runs a pure water manufacturing company. She talks to us about how pure water is made, the challenges involved and her plans for retirement.

    MONDAY:

    Every day by 7 a.m, I’m awake. I wake up early for two reasons — to motivate my staff to start the day early and to also prevent pilfering of the pure water. Manufacturing water is a tough and laborious business because, in addition to facing a people problem [good non-thieving employees are scarce], the day starts really early and sometimes doesn’t end until midnight. 

    Trucks loaded with water leave the factory at 7 a.m. and the rest of my day is divided between calling distributors to confirm if they received their order or calling drivers to deliver water to certain areas. Another portion is spent troubleshooting over problems like broken-down trucks, flat tires, and fuel problems. To reduce this, I ensure that I do early morning inspections before the trucks leave the premises. However, we still encounter issues here and there. The last portion of my time is allocated to cash collection: adding it up, and comparing with the total amount of water sachets produced. Sometimes, book balancing doesn’t end until midnight because we try to balance the sales for the particular day to avoid stories that touch.  In between all of this, I have to keep an eye out for members of staff who might be trying to cheat me. I get so engrossed with doing so many things that I sometimes forget to eat. 

    However, today is different. I’m not going through any of the usual stress. I’m currently on vacation and my son in charge of the factory. I plan to rest and spend some time with my husband because I too like to enjoy life.

    TUESDAY:

    Many people aren’t aware of the process involved in manufacturing pure water.  Truthfully, there is not much of a difference between how bottled water and sachet water are made. Bottled water is just an elitist way of drinking water because of the packaging. 

    The very first step in setting up is getting a borehole. If you’re lucky, you get somewhere with very good soil, like my area, which means your water won’t require a lot of treatment. After getting the water source, it has to be tested for acidity/alkalinity because most of the water from a borehole is acidic and needs to be treated before consumption — the neutral point for drinking water is between 7 – 8.  

    To start the process, water from the borehole is pumped into big plastic Geepee tanks and this is called raw water. At this point, I add 3g of Ozonator to purify the water. 

    The next step is to pass this “raw water” through a sand media containing different sizes of pebbles and gravels. This process filters the water and removes impurities. 

    Then this impurity-free water is passed through an activated carbon media tank, which removes smell and taste and gives the water a clean sparkling taste.

    After this stage, the water is passed into a big microfilter. Then it goes into the production hall where you have more mini filters — a five-micron mini filter, a mini carbon filter, a one-micron filter and a 0.5-micron filter. The “final water” after this stage then passes through a UV light apparatus that kills all the germs and bacterias that may have been introduced throughout the process. 

    At this stage, the water is ready for consumption and packaging. We have a machine called the Dingli machine which fills polythene printed bags with water. These polythene bags contain the company’s design and logo and are attached to the machine. The Dingli machine has temperature controls that seal the edge and the chest of the nylon as water fills into it. 

    After water fills the bag, it drops down sealed. And we have people called baggers who pick up the sealed water and arrange them in 20 pieces inside an ordinary polythene nylon bag. Then you get bags of pure water, which are transported into the truck and ready for sale.

    It’s sad that after all of this process, people still think water shouldn’t be sold because it is gotten for “free.” They don’t consider all the steps that happen before the water is made fit for consumption. 

    WEDNESDAY:

    Have you ever wondered why water sometimes has taste, especially after going through the rigorous process of purification? The answer is simple: polythene nylons for packaging the water. I use three to four suppliers of sachet water nylons, and my best customers so far have been Indians. I had to ditch my Nigerian supplier because I was always having issues with his nylons.

    One time he bought fake ink that affected my business. Fake ink doesn’t dry well on nylons and because a lot of our customers display their bags of water under the sun, the ink leeches into the water from the nylon and changes the taste. A recent incident was so bad that I had to exchange all the contaminated bags with new nylons supplied by the Indians. Not only did the incident set me back by hundreds of thousands of naira, but it also solidified my decision to ditch the Nigerian company for good. The whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth. 

    It’s sad that with all of these issues, distributors still make more than manufacturers. We sell 11 bags of water to them at ₦1,000, and they retail between ₦120 – ₦150. We need to phase out the distributors and sell directly to retailers or consumers.

    THURSDAY:

    It saddens me that the pure water business is not as lucrative as it used to be. In 2006 when I started, I was making an average of ₦800,000 per month in profit. The highest I ever made was about ₦1,000,000 million in profit. I remember that I’d drive the truck myself alongside my motor boy and we’d go supply pure water. This endeared people to me because I was a woman and also the MD of my company. They’d always say “We don’t see the MD’s of these other pure water companies coming to meet us, and that’s why we’ll patronise you.” Sometimes they’d even come directly to the factory to buy if they didn’t see the truck. In addition to all of this, my quality product made people want to associate with me.

    However, these days, the story has changed. Some months we’re barely able to pay full salaries — especially the months where I’m not around to supervise the workers. This is as a result of many things: increased cost of materials, weak naira, power issues. In the past, the profit margin would have taken care of the cost of fueling both the generating sets and the vehicles, but not anymore. Production machines that used to cost ₦300,000 were sold at ₦800,000 the last time we bought it. And with the dwindling naira, only God knows how much it’ll go for now. With all of these increased costs of production, pure water is still sold at a fixed price. If you raise your selling price people will just buy from another seller. 

    Then you also have the people problem. It’s difficult getting trustworthy employees. A lot of my setbacks have been as a result of people problems. To reduce the stress of commuting, my employees live in my house. However, this has proved to be my undoing because I’ve had cases where I’ve caught some of them stealing diesel or petrol. At night, after fuelling the trucks for the next day, I’ve seen someone siphon fuel from the truck into a container and throw it over the fence to their partners on the other side. All for quick cash.

    The workers also pilfer water through a process called magic loading. Assuming a truck is supposed to contain 100 bags of water, the workers would arrange it in a way that it’d contain 120 bags. That’s why I always have to be on standby whenever they’re loading the trucks. I’ve had a case where one of my managers fixed 2.19 million naira of my money into his account. I almost ran mad when I discovered it.

    I don’t want to think about these things because it’s painful. I pay my workers a competitive wage just to prevent them from stealing, and yet they still don’t appreciate it. It’s very tiring having to always monitor them. I want to lease the place so that someone younger than me can run it with their own money and be following them bumper to bumper. I believe that the business is still lucrative and can generate millions of naira every month if you pay close attention to the business. 

    FRIDAY:

    I’m spending time with my husband today and it feels good to be able to relax and not think about business. I’m not getting younger. I’m closer to 65 than I am to 60, and I’ve had my fill of the business. I think I’ve made enough money to step aside. 

    Unfortunately, none of my children is interested in running the business. Some of them feel I should be a little lenient in my approach, but I tell them that if not for my ruthlessness, I’d have lost a lot of money. And it’s part of the money I used to educate them.

    I had a cousin who I thought would be able to help me run the business, but he told me he’s sorry because he no longer has that kind of strength. I understand because he’s turning 50 soon. Since the pandemic started, we haven’t been making enough money, so I’m running the business as a form of “charity” to my workers. My joy is that I’m feeding a lot of families because my workers are getting paid salaries. Another thing I enjoy is seeing my water being hawked or sold anytime I go out. Seeing it all over the place makes me feel so delighted — people are drinking this water. People know this water. People recognize this water. 

    Even if I’m not making money the way I used to, I’m making a difference. And that singular fact is why I want to retire but I still want the business to continue. 

    Until then, I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my day gisting and bonding with my husband, my first true love. 

    Editor’s note: Pure water business can be profitable if proper measures are put in place. The subject is old and doesn’t have as much time to monitor the business anymore. If anyone is interested in leasing, reach out: hassan@bigcabal.com


    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

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  • If you find yourself dreading Sunday nights and Monday mornings then this post is calling your name.

    Answer below:

    1) Your face every Monday Morning

    If God wants to punish you, you also work during the weekend.

    2) Salary alert no longer moves you

    Money that has finished before it even lands.

    3) Going on leave is the best part of work

    Yes!

    4) You LOVE public holidays!

    Especially the long weekends – Friday to Monday.

    5) You’re always jealous when you see children relaxing

    Lucky unemployed brats. Pfft.

    6) You’re always daydreaming about picking up $1,000,000 from the floor

    If you see that money like this, your life will change forever.

    7) Or you daydream of Dangote coming to claim you as his child

    Daddy D-$ pls come for me. This suffering is too much.

    8) Your face anytime someone asks about your career goals:

    Mschew

    9) You keep asking yourself if this is it

    So, we’ll work till we die? Then there’s now after-life in some religion? wahala for who be homo-sapien.

    10) You’ve asked yourself these questions:

    • Who sent me to be the winning sperm?
    • Why am I not a plant?
    • Or breeze

    11) You’re reading this list

    On a Monday morning? It’s definitely not for you.

    Image credit: @TheLotaChukwu on Twitter.

    [donation]

  • If you read today’s Naira Life, you’ve probably been triggered. However, there is hope. We’ve put together a guide for you to figure out how to get your money up. And the first step is to find out if you are underpaid by your employer.

    Come along on this journey:

    1) You’re not earning in dollars

    My brothers and sisters, wiun.

    2) Reading Naira Life stories from Zikoko triggers you

    Would the Naira Life stories trigger you if your boss was paying you well? Think about it.

    3) Your boss supports Buhari

    Birds of a feather [wicked people] flock together.

    4) or likes Semo

    This one is self explanatory.

    5) Your boss has never encouraged you to japa before

    It’s because they are making money from underpaying you and they want to kill you before Nigeria kills you.

    6) Your colleagues look happy

    Q: Why are they happy?

    A: Because they all earn more than you do.

    7) Your colleagues smell nice

    Q: How can they afford perfumes?

    A: Because they earn more than you do.

    8) You are always doing addition and subtraction

    You should be able to afford to buy chicken without trekking to work the next day, omo olope. You should also not be frowning if payday falls on a weekend because your money grows like grass.

    9) You live in Nigeria

    My brothers and sisters, game over.

    [donation]

  • “A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.


    The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a 24-year-old caterer who’s currently out of a job. He talks about how he lost his old job, losing his friend in the #EndSARS protest, the frustrations of unemployment and his plans for the future.

    MONDAY:

    I can’t breathe. 

    And to make things worse, my inhaler is empty. My chest is tight, and I feel like tearing my heart out. I can’t breathe. 

    Thankfully, my alarm wakes me up. I check my phone and it says 5 a.m. I’m having nightmares again. Normally, when I wake up by this time, I’d start preparing for work. However, after the incident of last week, I no longer have a job to go to. 

    My routine was: wake up, say my prayers, take a bath, brush and dash for work so that I could resume for 6:30 a.m. Every week, I’d work from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. on Mondays to Saturdays. This time last week, I was excited about the possibilities of working in a kitchen — I was looking to learn discipline, how to make the taste of food consistent and all the new cooking methods. 

    Sigh.

    It all started on Wednesday or Thursday morning last week. I was at work cooking in a closed space with only a fan and an extractor when I had my asthma crisis. It was still morning, so I hadn’t started cooking deep. I don’t remember how I survived. The last time I had this type of crisis was when I was a child. I remember feeling a pinching pain and wanting to tear my heart out. I don’t remember how my inhaler finished. I could have sworn that I used it the night before and even shook the bottle to confirm that it still had “air” inside. 

    I vaguely remember my brother dashing down and taking me to a nearby pharmacy with a sympathetic pharmacist and overpriced medicines. My boss was so scared by the incident that he called his boss who told me to take some time off. The next two days, I was informed not to resume. They told me that I shouldn’t come back because it was unhealthy for an asthmatic patient to be working under their kitchen conditions. 

    It’s been almost a week, and I still have my alarm set for 5 a.m. My body needs some time to adjust to the new reality. Until then, I’m going to pray and maybe watch some anime. I’m not in any hurry.

    TUESDAY:

    I’m thinking about the recent #EndSARS protests today. Truth be told, I’m usually the first person you’ll see at these things. I’m that guy who carries chest and protests for people. Last year I was in a protest in my school where students were killed, and because I witnessed those deaths, I struggled to join in the EndSARS protest.

    The fear of not wanting to die can make me come off as a coward, but I’ve lost a lot of people. And believe me, when you go, people will only miss you for a bit before they move on. They’ll remember you on some days, but that’s the limit — with time, dead people become forgotten history. If I die today, I want to be remembered for generations. I don’t want to be someone that you don’t know his name when you’re remembering the deaths of the 2020 protest. I don’t want to be part of “many people died.” 

    That fear didn’t allow me to join the protest. I was going out one day and saw some protesters. I joined and walked with them for 5-10 mins before boarding a bus to my destination. Not up to an hour after I left, I heard there was a shooting there. 

    The fear just came back again. Like this is what I was saying. There was also a shooting in Ebute Metta where they killed an old friend of mine. It was sad because he wasn’t a protester. He was just a casual observer working with the LNSC, and a stray bullet hit him. I only thought about him for two days before moving on with my life. I  really don’t blame anyone that doesn’t go out. 

    We want Nigeria to be a better place, but there are many forces kicking against it. I don’t even have fancy dreams, I just want to be the best dad for my kids. Fighting for this country is part of the process but if I’m dead, how do I even father the children I’m fighting for? 

    WEDNESDAY:

    This period of unemployment has made me happier because I’ve been able to reflect. I’ve realised that you’re alone at the end of the day. You were born alone, and you have to run your race alone.

    Before I started the job I lost, I was always busy. I was catering for one event or another and the jobs were back to back, so I didn’t have time to breathe. But Corona scattered plans, and everything paused. Then I had to get a job. Now that I’m unemployed without a business to fall back on, everything is boring. I can’t complain. If I do, it’ll be like I’m rushing too much. Nobody understands that I don’t want to be a liability to other people. I’m willing to survive by doing other things — I recently started a courier service in Lagos where I help people transport goods from point A to B.

    I see my peers and what they’re trying to do, and I’m just there sleeping and waking up. It’s easy to feel like I’ll soon be left behind. This period has given me time to evaluate and evolve. I’ve realised that everyone experiences times like this. Truth be told, I’ve experienced frustration, boredom and depression. But I’ve made a conscious decision to get out. Something as little as gratitude has been helpful for me. 

    I’ve gone from having my Monday to Saturday occupied to not having anything to do. I’ve gone from my mum saying: “You’re never at home,” “How’s work?” to her saying I haven’t done house chores. 

    It’s all good though. What matters is that I’m in a good place, for now. 

    THURSDAY:

    I’m hopeful that I’ll get another job. A few people I worked for have promised me jobs at the end of the year. I’ve also been trying to follow up on them. Check-ins here and there. In the meantime, I’m trying to survive here and there. Today, I realised that I haven’t even opened my school books since protests and Corona started. Not because I don’t want to but because I wish not to. I’m not in that space mentally, and I have a weird relationship with school.

    I attended two schools (but I didn’t finish) before attending this one. If I had certificates from one of them, shebi I’d have used it for work during this period. The only thing I have to show is my leaving school certificate. There are many jobs I feel I’m capable of but there’s no certificate to back up my claims. I have three years of an Engineering programme at a university, two years of the same Engineering program at a college of technology. In the past when I tried to apply to Engineering companies, they took me in as a labourer. I’m not saying I’m better than them, but I felt out of place — like an oddball. 

    I’m going to get my degree because I think I’ve suffered enough. When a soldier goes to war, he gets a medal of valour. My certificate is going to be my reward for what I’ve gone through. My catering will still be at the forefront, but the degree would be a useful addition; a safety net for times like this. 

    Compared to my mates, I haven’t lived. I want to travel. I want to go hiking, biking, mountain climbing. I want to live a stable life for my kids. Most importantly,  I just want to live while I still have that crazy, youthful energy.


    Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.

  • Working in Nigeria can be hectic. Sometimes, hectic doesn’t just even describe it: try abusive. We asked some Nigerians to tell us their horrible job experiences and with some of the answers we got, we don’t know whether to cry or to just give them a hug.

    1. Kafaya, 26

    I worked for an advertising agency for a while. It was tough. There were some good times, but it’s like I have PTSD whenever I think about that place. I definitely have more bad memories than good ones. It was a “Your work is never good enough” place. My boss would criticise your work, look you in the face and ask, “What school did you even go to?”. Imagine hearing that every day for 2 years. There was verbal abuse every day.

    Everyone was scared of our boss because they didn’t know what mood he would be coming into the office with.  I had to leave because self-doubt had eaten so deep into my head. It took a very long time to get back to normal, but I’m in a better place now. When I was leaving, he told me all the demeaning statements were to “Push me and make me a better person”. Never again.

    2. Dennis, 29

    I quit my job after two months in the middle of a pandemic, without any other source of income, because of verbal abuse. Not just verbal abuse; it was all-encompassing. It felt like I was in kindergarten. You couldn’t leave your desk for anything unless the CEO granted you permission.

    The CEO basically shouted at everyone for every small “misdemeanour”, and a misdemeanour could be anything like missing morning devotion — yes, morning devotion. When I say shout, I mean he would drag you for about 20 minutes. No jokes. Talk about how you were useless to the organisation, talk about how he can’t justify your salary, bring up things you did months ago, anything.

    It was a small organisation. One of these new woke ones that have popping social media pages. The workforce had about 13 people, and about 4 people confided in me that they cried every day after work. One of them was a married woman. I asked HR why she never did anything about it and she just said, “Dennis, people have come and gone ahead of you. Everyone has complained. We have tried. This is what we have to live with until we find new jobs. We all hate it here”.

    3. Victor, 22

    When I finished secondary school, I decided to teach in a primary school, just to earn some bucks while waiting for University. Eight thousand naira, to work from 7:30 am to 5 pm. One day, after the school I graduated from beat the one I was working at in a competition, my boss got really angry, remembered that I graduated from there and decided not to pay me my salary for that month. It still baffles me to this day. How childish could someone be?

    4. Patience, 30

    My current workplace is the worst place to ever work. This is what happens here: You work round the clock with little or no sleep, and they either don’t give you a raise, or they abruptly sack you. If the CEO doesn’t like you, then nothing works for you — and the CEO hardly likes anyone.

    They also play this trick: When you get the job, they’ll tell you that you’ll be “confirmed” after six months. Lies. They won’t do any confirmation for you until after a year. You know why? Because they don’t want to increase your salary to full staff level, and you can’t ask for a raise if you’re not confirmed yet.

    They randomly go on firing sprees in the name of downsizing and then double the work of the people that still work here. And remember, you can’t ask for a raise.

    5. Oma, 28

    Let me explain. It was a telecommunications company. We never got our salaries at once. I got there in December 2019. So, December 2019 salary was paid in late January, 2020. Then 20% of January’s salary was paid in mid February, the remaining 80% was paid in late March.

    In April, our boss walked into the office and told us that since he had just paid us at the end of March, the next salary we would be getting was April’s. February and March salary was gone, and there was nothing we could do about it. There were a few complaints here and there, but the general vibe I was getting was one of acceptance and defeat. I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “You will pay me”. He laughed and walked into his office. I picked up my phone, put on the voice recorder and followed him.

    I told him the same thing, “You will pay me”, and then he went on a rant about how I was a nobody, and how I didn’t have the rights to tell him that he had to pay me my salary. He promised he wasn’t going to pay anybody, and the only option I had was to quit the job, go home and watch movies. I left his office.

    Later that night I sent the voice recording to him. He called me endlessly and kept begging me. I just picked and told him “Send my money”. After some days, I got my full pay, and I quit the job.

    The others? They didn’t get anything, just like he promised. And they still work there.

    6. Funke, 22

    During one strike in university, my sister and I decided to apply for a job at a water bottling company, because it was close to our house. After visiting the place, my sister decided she wasn’t interested. I told myself I was resilient, “Isn’t it just bottled water?”

    Labelling water is the easiest thing to do in water production. I labelled about eight hundred bottles in the first day. After the second day, where I also labelled about the same number of bottles, the body pains I had were crazy. I didn’t need to be told not to go back. At the end of the month, I got credited N1000 in my account.

  • If you’ve ever worked a job for an extended period of time, then you’ll relate to this.

    1) Punctuality:

    First month: I must get to work early.

    After one year: Let me sleep 30 minutes more. I’ll lie that police stopped me.

    2) Attitude towards KPI:

    First month: I must die for the company.

    After one year: I can’t kill myself.

    3) Attitude towards salary:

    First month: Oh my God, this is a lot of money.

    After one year: You people pay me peanuts for the amount of work I do.

    4) Behavior at work:

    First month: Hi.

    After one year: My peeeeoooppleee! How una dey?

    5) Attitude towards overtime:

    First month: I’ll work public holidays and weekends.

    After one year: Jesus died so we may live. I no do.

    6) Toilet manners:

    First month: I’m going to wash my hands in the toilet.

    After one year: I dey go shit.

    7) Gratitude level:

    First month: This is a glorious opportunity.

    After one year: It’s all a scam.

    8) How you respond to “Do you love your job?”

    First month: It’s the best thing ever.

    After one year: We thank God. Once there’s life, there’s hope.

    9) Attitude towards criticism at work:

    First month: I must be perfect so they don’t find fault in my work.

    After one year: No one ever died of insult.

    10) Loyalty:

    First month: I’m going to work here till I die.

    After one year: In case you see anything, I’m open to new opportunities.

    Did we miss anything? Let us know in the comments section.

  • A huge part of life revolves around money yet we don’t talk about it. Especially when it comes to jobs and salaries. In the hope of demystifying this, I asked a couple of young Nigerians how they found out they were underpaid.

    Here’s what they said:

    Enny/Female/20s.

    I did a job for a client where I charged ₦300,000. Then I found out from talking to a friend that I could have billed ₦500,000 – ₦600,000. See, I wanted to cry because the job stressed me. I truly wanted the job because of the client profile but last last there was NDA so wetin we gain?

    Knowledge is a weird thing. You can be earning ₦10,000 and be okay but when you realise that you can earn ₦50,000 for doing the same thing, you become disturbed.

    Kosi/Female/20s.

    One guy hit me up asking for an illustration. He did all the usual begging and beating down of my price. I accepted because I was like let me do him a favour – I’m kind like that.

    It’s funny because after I started the job, it suddenly hit me that I had agreed for a much lower price than he first agreed. Like, he agreed for a price, and still beat it down. Like say na jazz. Anyway, midway through the job I realized that it was for a big project for some celebrity and he was just the middleman, giving me peanuts from the entire thing. It pained me die, I can’t even lie.

    Igiri/Male/30+

    I was being paid ₦70,000 (65 after tax) to write 5 stories daily. You know, real sweat shop shit. And it felt like a lot because that was my first ever job fresh out of University.

    Then I started meeting people in the same line of work and I found out how much they were earning. It made me weak. Even worse, my boss at the time was a super shitty person. Like, I’m talking shitty-for-no-reason-Nollywood-villain-type-shitty.

    Hameed/Male/20s.

    I always feel underpaid especially as a doctor in Nigeria. Since the first day I saw how much doctors in Canada earn, it made me feel cheated and underappreciated.

    Tayo/Male/20s.

    I don’t know if this is ethical but I was sleeping with the accountant at my office. One day we had a fight and she just dropped it: “It’s because you don’t have sense, that’s why your colleagues earn more than you.”

    I was like what???

    I can’t even lie, that one entered. In fact, I still hate that girl till today. The funniest part is that I still work in that company and no, I haven’t asked for a raise. Not because I don’t want to but because I don’t know how to.

    Ebere/Female/20s.

    I remember complaining at work about how broke I was. One of my male colleagues was now like: “I know right. This ‘insert money almost twice mine’ they are paying is not enough.

    My head first scattered. I was like: “They’re paying you that!?!?!?!?”

    Let me not lie to you, when I found out that I was being underpaid, I actually took a brief moment to breathe and scream into a void.

    Editor’s note: Names have been changed to protect the identities of the subjects.