Everyone dreams of that one company that finally sees your potential, pays you fairly, and makes the stress worth it. But sometimes, a dream job isn’t what it seems. Behind the free lunches, sleek offices, and grand job titles are workplaces that test your limits, drain your confidence, and blur the line between passion and survival.
We asked five Nigerians about the truth they discovered after joining their so-called dream jobs and the red flags they wish they’d noticed sooner.
“People kept quitting, and I called it weakness. Two years later, I understood” — Akins, 26, Graphics Designer
When I got the offer from the tech company I’d admired since university, I felt like I’d made it in life. Their designs were clean, their campaigns viral, and their name carried weight. A friend mentioned that people rarely lasted a year there, but I assumed they just couldn’t handle the pace. I told myself, I’m built differently.
The first few weeks felt electric. We shipped big projects and won awards. But soon, the deadlines stacked, revisions tripled, and our creative director treated feedback like a sport — the louder he yelled, the more “passionate” he thought he was. People started quitting in waves. I stayed, convincing myself every extra hour was an investment in my dream career.
By my second year, I was working weekends, skipping meals, and barely getting any sleep. My creative spark dimmed. The job that once inspired me now drained me before 10 a.m. When a junior designer asked if the rumours about burnout were true, I realised I’d become the warning my friend once gave me.
Leaving felt like failure, but it was relief. I learnt that prestige can hide dysfunction and that sometimes, the best thing you can do for your career is to pay attention to the signs others ignore. If I’d researched what former employees said before joining, I might have seen the truth sooner.
“By the time I realised I’d been doing five jobs on one salary, it was too late” — Bayo, 24, Operations Associate
I should’ve known something was off when I resumed and found out everyone who interviewed me had already left. Still, I brushed it off. The founders talked a big game about building something revolutionary — a company where “everyone’s voice matters” and “we’re all family here.” It sounded like the kind of place where passion could actually mean something.
Initially, it felt that way. I was part of strategy meetings, testing products, and even shaping our brand story. But soon, “family” became code for chaos. There was no HR, no clear roles, just constant firefighting. I was hired as an operations associate, but ended up handling customer service complaints, writing product specs, and managing vendor payments. Every time I asked for support, they’d remind me, “Start-ups are for people who want to grow fast.”
The late nights became normal. The promises of equity and career growth kept me going until one day, when I realised I no longer believed in the “big picture” anymore. The dream had become unpaid labour wrapped in motivational talk.
When I finally quit, it wasn’t out of anger. I’d reached a point where I couldn’t even bring myself to do the work anymore. The passion that once kept me up at night had completely burned out. I learnt that passion without structure is a trap, and any company that calls itself a “family” without clear systems probably wants devotion, not accountability.
Related: “I Was Used to Being Silenced” — Nigerians on Life After Leaving Their Toxic Workplaces
“I learnt that a beautiful brand can still have an ugly culture” — Eniola, 23, Content Creator
The day I got the offer from my favourite lifestyle brand, I almost cried. I’d followed them for years and always dreamt of the day I’d finally be part of that creative magic.
The first month was everything I’d imagined: photoshoots, brainstorming sessions, and content that went viral. But soon, I noticed my ideas showing up in decks without my name on them. My boss would smile and say, “We’re all one team, right?” Every meeting became a battle of egos disguised as feedback. She’d nitpick every post, shoot down suggestions, and somehow still take credit for the wins.
At first, I thought maybe I wasn’t assertive enough. I worked harder, volunteered for more campaigns, and worked late. But nothing changed. The more I gave, the more invisible I became. Eventually, I realised it wasn’t about performance, it was just a power play.
The brand that built its reputation on collaboration was quietly running on intimidation. Leaving felt like a breakup; I’d loved the brand too much to admit how bad it had gotten. But that job taught me a hard truth: loving a company’s product doesn’t mean you’ll love its culture.
If I’d checked reviews on platforms like PeerCheck or asked questions about team dynamics and leadership before joining, I’d have known the glossy image was only on the surface, nothing solid underneath. Tools like PeerCheck help you hear directly from people who’ve worked at a company, so you know what to expect before you join.
“I spent years chasing that promotion only to realise I’d climbed into a trap” — Vicky, 34, Line Manager
I worked for over a decade as a chemist with steady pay, solid benefits, and a good team. Still, I always believed the real mark of progress was moving into management. When I finally got promoted to chemistry supervisor, it felt like the reward I’d earned after years of hard work. But within weeks, I realised I’d stepped into something I wasn’t prepared for.
The people who used to be my friends suddenly treated me like the enemy. Jokes stopped. Conversations ended when I entered the room. I was now “management,” and that came with invisible walls I couldn’t cross. Every decision I made had to please both sides: upper management demanding results, and a team that no longer trusted me. It was like being torn in two, constantly trying to bridge a gap that only widened.
The workload tripled overnight with no extra compensation. Every problem, every delay, every conflict somehow landed on my desk. I stopped sleeping properly. The stress was constant.
On paper, the promotion came with status. In reality, it cost me peace, friendships, and time with my family. I thought management meant freedom and respect. Instead, it was a thankless balancing act. Looking back, I must’ve lost millions of naira in unpaid overtime and years of my life to stress. Not every step up is forward; sometimes, it’s just a prettier way to burn out.
“They called it remote work, but it felt like working with a surveillance camera pointed at my back” — Deji, 24, Remote Project Manager
I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I landed a remote role with a US-based tech company. They sold it as “flexibility” and “trust-based work.” I envisioned late mornings, deep work, and quality time with my family. What I got instead were digital handcuffs.
Every second of my day was measured, from the moment I logged in to when I took a bathroom break. My boss insisted on eight solid hours of screen time, tracked through an activity app that recorded clicks, idle minutes, and even how long my camera stayed on during check-ins. Miss one Slack ping, and you’d get a “Just checking in?” message that felt more like a warning than concern.
As a project manager handling support tickets, my shifts stretched across time zones. I’d be online at 2 a.m., trying to sound alert on video calls while my eyes burned. The freedom they promised was a facade; what they really wanted was control and a constant digital presence to prove productivity.
One night, after my internet lagged and I got flagged for “inactivity,” it hit me: this wasn’t remote work. It was remote surveillance dressed as a grand opportunity.
I joined for freedom, but I learned that true flexibility isn’t about location; it’s about trust.
Bringing Truth to African Workplaces
Too many professionals walk into jobs blind, drawn by big names, big promises, or buzzwords like “family culture” and “flexibility.” Only to discover that what’s said in interviews rarely matches what happens inside.
That’s why Peercheck exists: to change how Africans experience work. It’s a community-driven platform where professionals share honest, verified insights about their salaries, company culture, and interview experiences, helping others make informed choices and avoid hidden red flags.
Whether you’re searching for your first job, negotiating a raise, or looking for a healthier work culture, Peercheck helps you see the truth behind every company, from the people who’ve actually worked there.
Because when workers tell the truth, everyone wins.
Share your experience. Read real reviews. Know the truth. Visit peercheck.africa to check your peers today, because a “great place to work” badge isn’t always the full story.
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