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Debt is just like the proverbial shege — it touches everybody. Almost everyone has had to deal with debt at one point or another, either due to money mistakes or urgent needs. I asked six Nigerians to share how they handled debt and what they learned from the experience. Here’s what they said.
I’m a mechanic, and in 2022, one of my regular customers dropped his car in my garage for repairs. His car’s AC system had issues. It wasn’t the first time his car — or even other cars — would spend the night in the garage, but that night, thieves broke into my garage and stole car parts. This customer’s engine — worth about ₦500k — was stolen.
The man refused to hear any explanation and insisted that I had to replace the engine. We finally agreed that I’d pay him ₦300k in instalments over six months. I paid twice but was broke by the third month and begged for an extension. He refused and got me arrested. I spent four nights in jail before a family member borrowed me money to pay for that month.
I still went into more debt during the remaining months because I had to keep borrowing from loan apps to meet the customer’s payment and avoid another prison episode. I finally finished paying all the money I owed to several apps in January 2024.
I don’t pray to experience that kind of situation again. I now try to be careful with the type of cars I allow to sleep over in my garage. If they steal a Benz, what will I do? I also pay for vigilantes in my street for added security. More importantly, I’m now avoiding loan apps. They’re easy to get, but the interest rates will keep you in a borrowing cycle for a long time. It’s better to ask friends and family for loans.
Charles*, 39
I was one of the people who lost their money to MMM in 2016. The worst part was that it wasn’t just my money; I had borrowed people’s money, too.
I was trying to double my profit, so I took my ₦300k life savings, borrowed ₦500k from two other people, and put it into the scheme. When it crashed, I started running away from my creditors. Omo, there’s no swear these people didn’t send to me. I kept blocking their calls, but they always used new numbers to send texts filled with swears and curses.
I only got to pay one of them back in 2019. The other person had died, and I still feel guilty about it today. It’s a bad sign to owe a dead person money. I’ve even seen the person in my dreams a couple of times. I’d have given the person’s relatives the money if I knew any of them. Unfortunately, I don’t, so I just have to live with the guilt.
The experience has taught me never to borrow money for any investment again. There’s always risk in investment, and losing money is easy.
Titi, 24
I borrowed ₦100k from my mum’s ajo contribution money to buy sneakers to sell online in 2021.
Before then, I’d been seeing people post items to sell on their WhatsApp and thought it was a good idea. I didn’t know these people didn’t own everything they posted o. They just posted pictures and only bought the items when people paid for them.
My mum kept the contribution money with me for safekeeping, and I thought I could quickly use it for business before she needed it in about six months. That’s how I bought about ten sneakers and started posting on WhatsApp. The business didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, and when the six months came, I only had ₦40k to pay.
I had to come clean with my mum, and she was very disappointed. She had to borrow money to meet up, and I eventually paid her back after some months, but I know I destroyed her trust in me. I should’ve involved her right from the start. She’d have even warned me about the foolishness of using that much money to start a business I’d never tried before.
Joseph*, 22
I used to have a bit of a gambling problem. I don’t gamble as much now, but the dumbest thing I did was gamble ₦80k out of my school fees on a ticket I thought was “too sure” in 2023.
I lost the money, and instead of telling my parents, I borrowed ₦10k from a loan app and bet it on another ticket to triple the money. I lost that one, too. I was too scared to tell my parents, so I kept going to school like everything was okay. I missed four exams because of non-payment of school fees, but I still didn’t tell anybody.
My parents only found out when the loan app called them and told them to make me repay the loan or risk going to prison. I had to tell them everything. They’ve settled the debts now, but I automatically have four carry-overs. Even me, I know I made a series of terrible decisions.
Lizzy*, 29
I went into debt in 2020 after I trusted a close friend and agreed to stand in as a guarantor for him to collect a ₦700k loan from a microfinance bank. He used the money to japa without telling anyone. We only met his apartment completely empty.
Of course, the bank came to hold me when they didn’t see him. I had to repay that loan monthly for the next two years. Thinking about it still annoys me but I know I’ll catch this “friend” one day. He thinks he’s run away, but hand will still touch him. I can’t stand in as a guarantor for anyone anymore, though. I’ve learned my lesson.
Israel*, 33
I got scammed trying to japa in 2019 and lost about ₦1m. I had borrowed that money from a friend who works at the bank with the promise that I’d repay the money once I started working abroad.
But my agent ran away with my money. I was right back at square one, and I had a debt to settle. Fortunately, my friend was very understanding and told me to pay any amount I was comfortable paying monthly. I used a year to finish repaying that money, and he never once stressed me. He even returned ₦300k to me after I finished paying.
When I later asked him why he was so relaxed, he said it wasn’t the first time I’d borrowed money from him, and I always repaid. He said, “I know this situation isn’t your fault, but I know you and trusted that you’d do the right thing”.
That left me with something. We can’t always avoid unforeseen situations like debt, but having a good reputation might just make all the difference in how your creditor treats you.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What was your first “I have to make this money” moment?
It was after one small nail killed my younger sister in 2000. We were playing outside when she stepped on it. The people we lived with just put bandages on her leg and left her like that. A week later, she started jerking like someone who had convulsions.
They called my father, and he took her to elewe omo (herbal medical practitioners). Those ones asked him to buy something, and he started pursuing some of his debtors to get money. To cut the story short, my sister died.
I was 13 years old, and she was 10. If there was money, she’d have been treated faster. We wouldn’t even have had to live with other people in the first place.
I’m so sorry. Which people were you living with?
I don’t know how to describe the relationship. They were probably distant relatives. But I called the man and his wife Mummy and Daddy.
My parents had seven children — apart from the other children from my dad’s two other wives — and they sent us to live with different family members when it became tough to raise us. My father earned little from his carpenter income, and my mother also made small change as a hairdresser. That’s why my sister and I were sent to live with those people. We’d only stayed a year when the incident happened.
Did you continue living with them?
I didn’t have a choice, even though I was angry. I’m sure they wouldn’t have left their own children like that, but you can’t tell someone who’s feeding you that the meat in your food has too much bone. Also, the man was the one paying my school fees. The only thing I could do was to make some money, so I wouldn’t have to wait for anybody to do something again.
What was the first thing you ever did for money?
I sold empty soft drink bottles in SS 1. This was around 2001-2002. One woman sold soft drinks to my school’s teachers and rich students. She was always at the school’s gate, but I didn’t have money to buy from her. I noticed she always came inside the school to look for empty bottles to exchange with her soft drinks suppliers.
We had plenty of those bottles at home because Mummy also sold them. So, I approached the woman and told her I’d sell them to her. I can’t remember how much we agreed on for each bottle, but she paid me ₦5 weekly for the bottles. I sneaked bottles from the house in my big school bag for six months.
Mummy eventually caught me with the bottles one day. She’d noticed the missing bottles, but there were always plenty of people in the house, so I could say it wasn’t me. The beating I got when they caught me ehn? Ah. it was serious gan. I still carry the scar on my back. After the beating, they called my father to come and take me.
Was that the end of living with them?
Yes. It was also the end of school. My father said, “Since you’ve decided to become a thief, you better start looking for money.”
First, I did labourer work at a construction site near our street. My job was to pack the blocks from where they were spread to dry to the place where the bricklayers used them. At one point, I was also pushing a wheelbarrow filled with stones. For all of this, I got paid ₦50/day.
I only worked there for three weeks because the oga stopped paying after the first week. He was always talking story.
What did you do next?
I started helping a market woman sell poly bags. She’d give me five bags, and I’d walk around the market to sell them to women who were buying things. I think each poly bag was like ₦5. If I sold ten, she gave me ₦1.
The money was too small, so I decided to buy my own poly bags to resell. The profit didn’t make sense so I abandoned it too.
After that, I became a sales boy at a poultry. The owner paid me ₦500/month to stay in the shop and sell eggs. They pursued me after three months because I almost stole all their eggs.
Ah
They beat me and reported me to my father. After he also beat me, he told me I was going to learn carpenter work under him so I’d stop disgracing him up and down.
How long did you learn carpentry?
I’m not sure how long it took me to learn, but I worked with my father from 2003 to 2014. He didn’t pay me, so I made money by adding small small change to the price of materials whenever he sent me to buy them. That’s what I used to hold body.
From 2010, I was the one who did the work for his customers because he started having health issues. Whenever that happened, he allowed me to take the payment. It was a good arrangement. I didn’t have to pay for shop rent and was making money — sometimes ₦10k for a one-week job, sometimes ₦50k.
I even thought I was going to inherit the shop, but I had to run away in 2014 after an issue with a cult group in my area.
What happened?
Woman matter o. I was dating one girl who didn’t tell me she was dating a cultist. When the cultist and his friends came to warn me, I was forming strong man. I said they should let the woman make her own choice.
I realised they were serious when I found a human finger in front of my father’s shop. On the same day, they went to see my mother and told her to warn me to disappear if she didn’t want to bury me. I left Lagos and went to live with an uncle in another state.
What was that like?
Hm. There is broke, and there is — what do you people call it? Sapa, abi? I was deep inside sapa. My uncle had a fish pond, and I started helping him for free.
But unlike the previous places I’d worked where I managed to remove small change, I couldn’t do anything like that because my uncle was always around. If he wasn’t at the shop, his wife and children were there. I was so annoyed. They were feeding me o, but as a man, you should have small money in your hand.
I managed for a year before I convinced my uncle to let me go and learn mechanic work.
Why mechanic?
I didn’t want to learn any work jare. I just wanted to find a way to leave his house without causing a fight. I told him that one of my friends in another state knew a mechanic who didn’t charge a lot of money. He agreed and allowed me to go. He even gave me ₦20k. That’s how I returned to Lagos in 2015.
What about the cultists?
I didn’t go back to my family house. Instead, I went to squat with a friend who lived far from our house. I concluded that Lagos is big, and it’ll be hard for them to find me. Also, one year had already passed. Didn’t they have other people to fight?
Anyway, the friend I stayed with was a yahoo boy and I also wanted to learn the work. I think I have bad luck because police raided my friend’s house and arrested all of us just one week after I started living there.
Ah. They knew he was a yahoo boy?
They suspected. It was one of his neighbours who gave a hint to the police. You know when boys have big generators, sound systems and POP ceilings, everyone begins to suspect them.
My friend settled the case with the police and was released, but I spent four months in prison — they wanted me to bribe them, but I kept saying I didn’t have money. In the end, I had to call my father to look for ₦80k so they’d release me. That was how he even knew I was back in Lagos. Looking for the money took another two weeks.
I was sick for several months after my release. Prison is not a good place. It’s just God that said I won’t die.
Phew. Sorry you went through that
At this point, I was just ready to calm down in one place, make small money and live peacefully. I returned to stay with my uncle in 2016, and he allowed me to use a small space in front of his house to work as a carpenter.
Small small, I started getting clients. The first time I made big money was in 2018. Someone was building a new school and called me to make 250 chairs and tables for her. I made ₦200k in profit. I could’ve made more, but the woman can price ehn. I just took the work because it was my first big job.
I used the money to rent a ₦100k/year apartment and used the balance for my wedding. I also got married that year.
Nice
That was my first and only big job. But I was still doing quite well and making small money — at least ₦40k – ₦50k monthly.
2020 was a bad year because of the lockdown and everything becoming more expensive. But I was still surviving small small.
Towards the end of 2022, I started considering finding something else to do.
Why?
The market became somehow. One time, I charged a customer ₦60k for a dining table, thinking I’d use like ₦40k to buy wood and other materials. By the time I reached the market, everything I needed cost ₦55k, and I couldn’t go back to tell the customer that I wanted to increase the money.
I had to buy less quality materials to deliver, but even that caused problems because the customer kept complaining. I started telling customers to buy the materials themselves, but I had to stop when they started trying to make me collect ₦10k-₦20k for workmanship.
I’d also moved from using my uncle’s space to my own shop back in 2019, and paying the ₦80k/year rent became difficult.
I shared my troubles with one of the alhajis in my local mosque, and he asked me to think about a business I could do and get back to him. I decided on okada. It seemed profitable.
Everyone in my town uses okada, and I won’t have to think about looking for money to pay shop rent or buy goods. I told the alhaji and he bought me an okada in 2023.
Has this been more profitable?
It was profitable at first. I made up to ₦6k/day after removing ₦1500 for fuel and ₦300 for tickets. I gave my shop to my wife, and she turned it into a salon. Things were going fine, and I was happy.
But Tinubu came and removed fuel subsidy in May 2023. I first parked my bike at home for one week because fuel became scarce. There’s a filling station near my house, but as early as 5 a.m., you’d see plenty of okadas already lining up. Being first in the queue didn’t even mean you’d see fuel to buy because the filling station people could come at 8 a.m. and say they didn’t have fuel.
I can relate like mad
Even when I finally found fuel, finding customers was another thing. Like other okada men, I had to increase the amount I charged because of the fuel matter. But people were more interested in trekking than paying ₦500 for a journey that usually costs ₦100.
I’ve been riding okada for just about a year, and I’m already regretting it. If not that someone gave me this okada, I would’ve sold it. I’ve just been moving from one wahala to the other. If fuel is not scarce, it’s expensive or even fake.
My okada started having issues late last year because of one fuel I bought from the black market. The mechanic said they mixed the fuel with something. I used about ₦30k to fix the engine when the problem started. Since then, I return to the mechanic to fix another problem at least once every month. That usually takes between ₦10k – ₦15k.
What pains me about this thing is that the alhaji bought the okada new. I should’ve still enjoyed it for a long time before having to repair it every time.
How much do you make these days?
Now, I struggle to make ₦4k daily. Most times, it’s ₦3k — after removing fuel and ticket money. I can’t go long distances because my okada can just start misbehaving. It’s tough, but I’m just trying my best.
I’m considering restarting my carpenter work on the side so I can earn extra cash. I need another income now, especially since I’m marrying a second wife soon.
A second wife?
Yes. She’s pregnant, and I can’t let my child be born as a bastard when my religion allows me to marry more than one wife. I didn’t intend to remarry so soon, but God has a way of doing things.
I hope to sort out the wedding plans within the next three months — I’m spending more money because she’s not living with me. I have to send her own feeding allowance separately. There’s also money for antenatal and medicine. I had to pay half of her ₦80k house rent in January. When we get married, those costs will be reduced.
I’m curious. What are your expenses like right now with your current home?
God is helping us because I don’t really calculate how much I spend. I just spend. But I give my wife ₦3k every two days to cook. We have one child who just started nursery school last term, and I paid ₦14k for his school fees and uniform.
I mentioned my wife has a salon, so she helps to pay for small things in the house like water and the NEPA bill. I pay the ₦150k rent for our two-bedroom house. I thank God for ajo. I make a ₦3k weekly ajo contribution, and it’s what I use to save for rent.
Why do you think carpentry would work now when it wasn’t profitable a few years ago?
Someone advised me to go into making bed frames. I heard it’s easier to make more money on them. Before, I focused on just tables and chairs. If I see ₦100k now, I’ll just make like two or three bed frames and display them in my wife’s salon. I’m sure customers will come.
Have you considered what would happen if they don’t come?
Ah. Are you wishing me bad? I just have to hope because if I can’t hope, I’d better just sit down at home. But if the business picks up, I may consider selling my okada and investing more in it. Let me just get my wedding out of the way first.
Let’s rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10
5. I’m not happy with my finances at all, but there’s hope.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Tokunbo’s* first marriage began to crash barely a year after the wedding due to infidelity and constant arguments. He married his current wife while processing his divorce in 2017 and thought he’d finally found a shot at happiness.
Seven years later, he’s struggling with regret and hopes to reunite with his first wife.
I married my first wife, Yetunde* when I was 27 years old, but I’d loved her since I was 10.
We were childhood friends. Actually, she was my childhood bully. We lived in the same estate and we met when my dad bought me a bicycle as a reward for getting the first position in JSS 1. I rode the bike to the farthest part of my street that day, and as expected with children, other boys came up to me and asked me to let them ride for a bit.
I allowed a few boys, and Yetunde came to ask for a turn, too. I refused — not because she was a girl, though. I had a very small stature growing up, and Yetunde, who is two years older than me, was taller and generally bigger than me. I was scared she wouldn’t return my bicycle. She thought I was just being mean and forcefully dragged the bicycle from me. She did return it later, but we became sworn enemies after that day.
Like I said, we lived in the same estate, so we always ran into each other. Whenever Yetunde saw me, she either mocked me by calling me “Stingy koko” or knocked down whatever was in my hands. I’m not even sure how we later became friends. I just know I reported her to my elder sister, and she made her stop bothering me. We became inseparable, and I thought she was the prettiest girl ever.
We started dating in SS 3 and tried continuing in university, but we schooled in different states, and our love didn’t survive the distance. We only communicated occasionally via Facebook and only saw each other thrice over the next nine years. We always had a one-night stand kind of “reunion” each time we saw. One of these reunions led to Yetunde getting pregnant in 2014.
The pregnancy came with serious issues for both our families. Yetunde’s family insisted we had to marry because it was taboo in their village to give birth outside wedlock. My own family said she was older and physically bigger than me, and that meant she’d control me in the house. In the end, Yetunde and I felt we still had feelings for each other, so we married.
It’s safe to say both of us didn’t know what to expect in marriage. We didn’t even really know each other. We’d loved each other as kids and were attracted to each other sexually, but that was about it. Living together opened our eyes to the fact that it took more than childhood love and sex to keep a home.
We fought over the smallest things. I remember how we kept malice with each other for three days because I farted in the sitting room, and it led to a huge fight. Parenting strained our relationship even more. I spent long hours at work, and Yetunde expected me to take over the baby’s needs once I returned because she’d done it all day. But I didn’t think it made sense for me to come home tired at night to start babysitting.
Yetunde resented me for that, and we fought endlessly. We also stopped having sex after our child was born. She just stopped letting me touch her. This was barely a year after marriage.
So, I started cheating. I know I should’ve put in more effort to solve our issues, but I took the easy way out. It was just casual sex, honestly. There was this babe at work who I knew liked me. We got closer when Yetunde and I stopped being intimate, and things just got out of control.
Yetunde found out six months later after going through our chats. She threatened to leave, and I begged for weeks. She only agreed to forgive me if I tested for STDs. I did the test and came back clean, but she said we’d still have to abstain from sex for three months so she could confirm I didn’t have HIV.
I was annoyed at that. It was like she thought I was a child who didn’t know how to protect himself. I still did the test again after three months, but I decided I wouldn’t approach her for sex again. If she really forgave me, she should also make the first move. She didn’t make any move.
I couldn’t cope, so I went back to having affairs. I think Yetunde knew, but she never confronted me again. We grew apart even more, and our conversations reduced to ordinary greetings or if she needed to ask me for something our child needed. I still sent her monthly allowances to care for the home as she wasn’t working. I wasn’t completely irresponsible.
In 2017, I met the woman I’m currently married to — Comfort*. I initially intended to keep her as a girlfriend, but I fell in love with her and stopped seeing other women. Comfort didn’t know I was married.
By now, I was tired of my marriage with Yetunde. I came up with every excuse possible to convince myself we weren’t meant to be together. I thought, if she hadn’t fallen pregnant, I wouldn’t even have had to marry her. Did I have to resign myself to a sexless, loveless marriage just because of one mistake?
I decided to put myself first, so I told Yetunde I wanted a divorce. Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. She just said she wouldn’t move out of the apartment, and I had to keep paying the rent. She also said she’d never give up custody of our child, which was more than fine with me.
So, that same year, I married Comfort. I had to convince her we didn’t need a court wedding because I was still in the middle of divorce proceedings (which she didn’t know), and I heard I could face jail if I tried to remarry legally while still married. We even did the traditional marriage quietly because I didn’t want Yetunde to know and probably tell the court. My family knew about my issues with Yetunde, so it wasn’t difficult telling them of my choice to remarry and keep the whole thing quiet.
I only told Comfort after the court finalised the divorce in 2019. She was angry, but my family joined me to apologise to her, and all went well. I also tried to introduce her to my child, but Yetunde relocated out of the country with her.
I’m still shocked that she didn’t tell me beforehand. If I hadn’t texted her to inform her of my marriage and ask to see my child, she probably wouldn’t have told me they’d left. I mean, I still paid the child’s school fees for the previous term, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t doing my part. I wanted to drag the issue out, but I just told myself it was for my child’s benefit.
In my head, I was finally getting a new shot at happiness. I’d tried marriage, and it didn’t work out, but I had a second chance. I was also on civil terms with my ex and didn’t need to hide anything from Comfort again. I could now be happy without feeling guilty or thinking of another woman outside.
And I was happy. Comfort even encouraged me to attend church more, and I gave my life to Christ in 2021. Since then, I’ve been serious with God and feel like a new person. But I’m now navigating a new kind of guilt: regret over divorcing Yetunde.
I listened to a sermon in 2022 about how God hates divorce, and since then, I’ve been struggling with feeling like I made a grave mistake. The Bible says, “Whoever divorces his wife and remarries has committed adultery — except the wife was unfaithful”. Yetunde wasn’t unfaithful. She didn’t even do anything to me.
No matter how I try to reason it in my head, I feel like I’m constantly living in sin by staying married to Comfort. It’s even affecting my walk with God. I feel like I call myself a Christian, but I’ll still go to hell because of this one mistake. I’ve never discussed this with Comfort.
Some church elders I’ve spoken to about my concerns have suggested reconciling with Yetunde and probably letting Comfort go since we don’t have children together yet. But first, I don’t even know if Yetunde wants to come back. I know she isn’t married, but she might not want to have anything to do with me again. Second, what do I tell Comfort and our families?
I wish I’d made better decisions and generally been a better person, but I can’t turn back the hands of time. I just know I need to make a final decision soon because I can’t continue living like this. Comfort already thinks I’m cheating because I’m constantly acting distant. Maybe I’ll gather the courage to beg Yetunde and hope she forgives me and returns. Or maybe I should just let Comfort go and live alone for the rest of my life. I don’t know.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
This is debatable, but the most dangerous venture, apart from dodging a Nigerian mother’s slap, is investing in land — especially in Lagos. If it’s not the fear of getting scammed, it’s navigating “omo onile” and hoping you aren’t buying land in an area that’ll be demolished by the government in the future for one reason or another.
However, land remains a valuable long-term investment option, and you can invest safely by following these tips I got from discussing with Grace Ogunlaja, the lead consultant at I-Brow Properties.
Check for the type of land
Not all land in Lagos is for residential purposes. Some have been earmarked for agricultural, commercial, or even mixed use. Buying a residential land and using it to produce pure water may earn you visits from the authorities, and you’ll probably lose ownership. Some lands can even be in locations under territorial dispute. You can verify the type of land at the state Ministry of Lands (or Lands Bureau).
Does it have a title?
You should always confirm the land title with the land seller or real estate developer. Do NOT purchase any land without a title.
A title can be the Certificate of Occupancy (AKA, C of O) or Governor’s Consent. The C of O is a state-provided document demonstrating land rights to an individual; It proves ownership. Governor’s Consent is given when someone buys land that already has a C of O and wants to notify the Governor and the general public that the land has a new owner.
Land title differs from the deed of assignment or receipt the land seller gives after purchase. Those documents just indicate that you’ve bought something. You still need to confirm you didn’t buy stolen property, or worse, land that’s been mapped out for government purposes. Like a coastal road project, for instance.
Run away from “freehold”
Some real estate agents in Lagos will try to sell you land and claim it has freehold rights, meaning you own the land in perpetuity (or forever) and can use it for anything. This doesn’t exactly work because all land belongs to the government. Also, freehold isn’t exactly a land title, and chances are that the land isn’t free from government acquisition. When in doubt, always verify at the Ministry of Lands.
Go with your own surveyor
The seller may try to convince you that the land already has a registered survey plan approved by the State’s Surveyor General, but those can easily be falsified. You should always go with your own surveyor to pick the land coordinates and verify them at the ministry.
Get familiar with the authorities
When buying land, you must verify everything with the Ministry of Lands because land issues quickly become complicated in Lagos state. If proper verification isn’t done, you risk losing your investment.
Also, verification doesn’t end with buying the land. You also need to obtain building approval from the state government before doing anything on the land. If you build something different from what was stated on the approved building plan, the government has the right to demolish it without giving any compensation.
Remember: The government can come for your land
It’s important to make peace with the fact that the government can claim land for major projects at any time, even if the owner has a C of O or Governor’s Consent. The only difference is, having the correct land titles gives the owner the right to sue the government or collect compensation. The owner has no compensation or fighting rights if it’s untitled land.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
When did the hustle start for you?
1987. I was 17 and had just run away from home. I squatted with a friend whose mother sold ice water, so I started helping her hawk, too. Although she didn’t pay me, she fed and allowed me to live in the one-room apartment she shared with my friend.
It’s not like I hadn’t hustled before sha. My mother had a restaurant, and I always helped her cook and serve guests. But hawking ice water was the first thing I did on my own to survive.
Why did you run away from home?
I was a young, stubborn woman who wanted to experience life by making her own mistakes. I grew up in Ajegunle — a popular slum community in Lagos — and it was easy to follow the wrong crowd. You know, the type that drank and partied with area boys.
My stepfather always tried to discipline me. To me, it was like the man just didn’t want me to shine or was only trying to prove seniority. This led to us fighting a lot, and my mother was always on his side. So, I left home immediately after finishing class 5 — what you people call SS 3 now.
Did you have a plan, though?
Freedom was the only thing on my mind. I squatted with my friend for a year before her mother brought someone she was seeing to live with us. It was obvious that time had come for me to leave.
I squatted with another friend and got a job at a nearby canteen. My job was to keep the place clean and wash the plates. I can’t remember how much I earned, but it may have been around ₦200/month. ₦200 was enough to buy foodstuff — for me and my friend — to last at least three weeks.
Ah. Why wasn’t I born in the 80s?
Funny enough, we also complained about things getting expensive, but things were so much better then, compared to what our eyes see now. I was living well on that ₦200. I even saved out of it to pay to learn nursing in 1989.
Like nursing school?
Nursing school, ke? It was auxiliary nurse training. I paid a doctor some money, and he trained me in his clinic for two years.
Why did you decide to go into nursing?
I was tired of working at the restaurant, and nursing seemed like a more distinguished job. So, I asked around and found the doctor who trained me. I also worked for him during those years at his clinic. He saw that I was a fast learner and retained me after the training, paying me ₦1k/month.
Was that good money for 1991?
Somewhat. It was a small clinic, and I wasn’t an actual qualified nurse, so I was earning quite well at my level. It was enough to move out of my friend’s house and rent my own apartment.
Also, I mended my relationship with my family around this time. My mother reported me to one of my aunties in the village, and the woman appeared in the clinic one day to talk to me. Since I was now on good terms with my mother, I started sending money home once in a while. I wasn’t making money only from my job, though. I also started selling okrika (thrift clothes) in 1992.
How did that work?
You know I mentioned that I worked in a small clinic? Well, it’s not every time we had patients. The clinic had a verandah at the back that opened up to a major street. People always passed by, and I thought it was a great spot for an okrika business.
I used to buy the clothes I sold from Katangua market and display them on the verandah when work was slow. Thankfully, the doctor didn’t have a problem with it. I made roughly ₦4k in profits monthly from the clothes. That time you could buy up to ten shirts with ₦100.
My salary was ₦3k/month when I left the clinic. I spent five years there. I sold okrika throughout the years I spent at the clinic.
Why did you leave the clinic?
The doctor married a new wife who started complaining about my okrika business. I think the woman just didn’t like me. She helped her husband run the clinic, and one time, she put me on night duty for a month. I got angry and resigned. After I left, the woman started selling okrika at my spot.
What did you do next?
I got married and moved out of the area in 1997. I tried to continue selling okrika, but it was difficult to manage during pregnancy. There was one time I went to the market to buy more clothes to sell during my third trimester, and I fainted at my customer’s shop. She warned me seriously not to show my face until after I’d given birth.
While at home, I found another business idea.
What was that?
Jewellery. I lived close to a local government office and noticed that the staff loved owambes. I used to take my okrika to the offices to sell to them, but most of them either wore corporate clothes or ankara. However, they all wore jewellery. So, I decided I was going to sell that.
I started with watches and costume jewellery sets. I’d load them in my bag and go from office to office. The good thing about the business was that I could sell a ₦800 or ₦1k watch for ₦3k. The more expensive, the better. Office people like to dress well, and these ones thought that “expensive” meant quality.
Most of my customers bought on credit because they were salary earners. They only paid me at the end of the month. But it wasn’t hard to collect my money because the local government paid in cash then. The staff would all line up at the bank on salary day to withdraw money, and me too, I’d wait outside for them. Immediately I saw any of my customers come out, I’d go meet them to collect my money. They couldn’t tell me stories because we were in public.
Hehe. I love it
That was a good period for me, and I made a lot of money. My husband and I bought our first land for ₦100k in 2000. Unfortunately, we lost it years later to a land grabber — I mentioned it so you have an idea of how well the business was going.
In 2001, I bought my first mobile phone and SIM card. I think it was a Nokia 3310, but I know it cost ₦18k. The SIM card was also ₦18k. It’s hard to believe that these telecom companies basically give out SIM cards now.
2001 was also the year I started considering other business opportunities.
Did jewellery stop being profitable?
Something like that. The debt became too much. Some of my regular customers were transferred to other local governments, and I think the government also changed how it paid its staff. Or maybe the bank they used. I can’t recall well now. I just know it became more difficult for me to pursue my debtors and collect my money on time. So, even though I was still making some money, I was close to broke as most of it was tied up in bad debt.
I thought about it for a bit and decided it’d be best to get a shop and expand into shoes, bags and other accessories. That way, I wouldn’t limit my customer base to the local government office.
I found a small kiosk close to the local government office in 2002 and rented it at ₦12k/year. Then, I used all the money I had at the time from my jewellery sales to stock shoes and bags. It was a risk, but I knew I couldn’t start with two bags. No one would enter an empty shop.
Did the risk pay off?
It did. I was already popular in the area, so it wasn’t difficult to get customers. But I still couldn’t avoid credit buyers, so I tried to make up for delayed payments by increasing the cost for people who wanted to pay later. For instance, if I wanted to sell a bag for ₦2k, but the buyer wanted to pay later, I’d sell it for ₦3k. On average, I made ₦20k- ₦50k monthly.
My income went into assisting my husband to provide for the house and our three children. His mum also lived with us from 2000 to 2005, when she passed away. She suffered from a stroke, and a good part of our income went towards her medication too.
In 2006, I moved from the kiosk to a bigger shop where rent was ₦36k/year. I also added ankara and lace to the list of items I sold. Those were the days when people could just buy fabric and sew. I could buy six yards of material at ₦1k and sell it for ₦1800 or ₦2k. I stopped selling these in 2010 and faced my shoes and bags because people were no longer buying.
Do you know why?
It got more expensive — six yards of ankara fabric increased to ₦3k upwards without profit — and more people had more aso-ebi than they knew what to do with. It didn’t make sense to just buy fabric to sew when you’d get a new aso-ebi for someone’s wedding or burial by the next month.
But even though I stopped selling fabrics, I was comfortable. I still sell shoes and bags till now, but I really enjoyed the business during those early years. Some friends offered to help me land a job at the local government, but I laughed it off. Why should I sit in an office for ₦30k/month when I made up to ₦200k in two weeks during the Christmas season in 2015?
Now, I sometimes wonder if I should’ve taken the job because things started changing in 2016.
How so?
Buhari entered, and everything just scattered. I think 2016 was when the dollar first entered ₦300. I buy most of my goods from wholesalers in Lagos Island, who import them. With the rising price of the dollar, everything became more expensive. Fuel prices also increased.
I remember I had this bestseller that my customers really liked: a half-shoe that cost ₦1200 from the market. I always sold it at ₦2k. Then, this shoe moved from ₦1200 to ₦2k in a matter of weeks. People didn’t understand why I was suddenly trying to sell it to them at ₦2500. I was charging even less profit, but my customers still struggled to pay. I went from going to Lagos Island twice a week to restock to once every two weeks.
I began thinking of more ways to make money to cushion the decline and decided to try a business that grew popular in that period.
What business was that?
It was like a mini-provision business. People could no longer afford to buy tins of milo and milk or even full packs of cornflakes, so sellers started selling these provision items and cereals the same way they sell rice — with measurement cups. So, instead of spending ₦2k on a tin of milk, you could ask them to sell ₦500 worth for you, and they’d measure it with those tin cups and tie in a nylon.
I wasn’t too sure about the business — I heard some of the sellers buy these cereals in unmarked bags from factories — but the business was moving, so I decided to try it. I took ₦50k and used it to buy a few 50kg bags of milk, cornflakes, chocolate powder, and sugar. Then, I arranged them in one corner of my shop. This was 2017.
Was it profitable?
Profit is a different matter. It was selling fast because people needed to buy these things in small quantities, but the profit wasn’t much. I could sell a whole bag of milk and only make ₦2k in profit. The profit only made sense when I sold plenty of bags quickly.
But everybody likes good things, and soon enough, almost everybody was selling measurement cereals. It made sales even slower. I didn’t bother at first because I still had my shoes and bags to sell.
However, in 2019, I noticed that I was practically making nothing from it. The cereals got more expensive, and I couldn’t raise my prices too much because of competition. The last straw for me was when the bag of milk I usually bought for ₦16k increased to ₦30k in two days. I decided enough was enough.
So you returned to focusing on shoes and bags
I did. They were still expensive, but at least I didn’t have to sell my whole shop to make ₦1k profit. But business gradually grew worse as inflation grew worse. You don’t expect people looking for what to eat to think about getting a new bag. There were weeks in 2019 when I sold only one bag for the whole week.
Business was far worse in 2020 due to COVID. No one was going anywhere, and for a while, I returned to selling the measurement cereals. I was hardly making anything in terms of profit; I just sold it to have something to do.
In 2021, I decided to start selling ready-to-wear boubou gowns too. They were popular then, and I thought, “At least, if people don’t want shoes, they’ll buy gowns.”
How did that turn out?
It was a saving grace. People loved the gowns. I’d buy them for ₦1500 and sell them at ₦3k or ₦3,500. In addition to the few sales from the shoes and bags, I returned to making at least ₦30k monthly. In good months, I made ₦50k.
But good things hardly last in Nigeria. I began recording a slump in sales in 2023 after the whole fuel subsidy issue. Again, people were looking for how to survive, not how to look good.
As if that wasn’t enough, prices kept skyrocketing. The gowns moved from wholesale prices of ₦1500 – ₦2k to ₦3k, and then ₦4k. Now, wholesalers sell these gowns for ₦6k – ₦8k. By the time I add my profit, it’s around ₦10k. How many people are ready to buy simple boubou gowns for ₦10k? I’m so tired.
I can relate. What’s your income like these days?
My dear, I honestly don’t know. I went to the shop all through last week and didn’t sell a single item. Sometimes, I sell one pair of sandals, make ₦1k profit, and not sell anything again for the week.
It was much easier to make a good profit by selling bags. I could buy a bag for ₦5k and sell it for ₦9500. But when quality bags now cost ₦25k from the market, how much do I sell them for? I can’t even remember the last time I sold a bag.
I’ve been racking my brain about what I can add to my business to make money. I’ve considered a food business, but do I really want to try that with food prices going up every day? I just bought four pieces of shombo pepper for ₦500. Imagine doing that on a large scale.
I’m tired of the whole thing. It’s like I’m always trying to fight inflation, but it keeps beating me back. I’m not sure how long I can continue trying to keep my business afloat. Nigeria doesn’t even look like it’ll get better. My children have advised me to stay at home and rest. But I also don’t know if I’m ready for that. What will I be doing at home? I can’t sit idle.
What takes your money on a monthly basis?
Basically, feeding and transportation. I lost my husband in 2022, so it’s been just me and my last born in the house. My eldest is married, and my other one is in university. I pay school fees for the children still in school, but thankfully, my husband’s family also supports us. I don’t know how I’d have managed otherwise.
God is just good. The economy can be doing its own thing, but I’m not homeless or begging for food.
What’s something you want right now but can’t afford?
I want to send one of my children out of this country. At least, with one abroad, the other siblings can find ways to go too.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
5. Things are tough, but I’m alive with my children. There’s hope.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
In 2014, Omolola Akintola left the US for Nigeria with a dream. She’d spent the last seven to eight years getting her degrees — a BSc in Economics, an MBA and an MSc in Marketing — and knew she didn’t want a long-term banking or consulting career.
“I wanted to do something different, something that didn’t already exist,” Lola tells me. “I wanted my own startup so I could solve a problem and impact Nigeria.”
She decided on greenhouse farming. Nigeria’s fine dining scene was on the rise and with it, the need for fresh produce. Lola predicted that it’d be difficult to keep up with importing produce like fresh strawberries and herbs, necessitating a need for all-year-round cultivation — the perfect market for a greenhouse farm.
But setting it up isn’t a small investment. The cost of a small 250 square meter-sized greenhouse averages ₦3m now, and Lola had big plans. Bigger than just one greenhouse.
“I knew what I wanted to do would involve a lot of money,” Lola says. “I planned to stay and work in the US for a few more years to raise capital for the farm and then return. But I fell in love with my partner and returned to Nigeria much earlier — let’s hope my dad doesn’t read this. Greenhouse farming was still the plan — specifically, a 10-year plan. I just needed to work for some years in Nigeria before that could happen.”
Soon after returning to Nigeria, Lola found a job at Access Bank, one of the country’s big four banks.
“I enjoyed my time at Access. I worked in the strategy department, and I felt useful. I loved the fast-paced, exciting environment. I was going to stay at the bank for years so I’d have saved enough for my greenhouse farm.”
However, Lola only spent a few months before she resigned to pursue another business idea.
A “breakfast for the skilled middle-class” business opportunity
Working at the Access Bank head office in Victoria Island opened Lola’s eyes to two things.
First, the 9-5 life for young professionals in Lagos is hard. She had to leave her home in VGC before 6 a.m. if she hoped to beat traffic and get to work by 8 a.m. Returning home wasn’t easier as long hours at work meant she often had to leave the office at 10 p.m.
Secondly, her new lifestyle meant she never had time to grab breakfast or prep food. This wasn’t a problem peculiar to her.
“My colleagues had the same problem. The higher-ups could afford to get in-house chefs or maids to bring them food. Married guys didn’t have to worry about food because they had someone else doing that labour for them. But the single men and women — mostly millennials — didn’t have time to cook their own food.”
Lola also noticed something interesting. The skilled middle-class wasn’t willing to rely only on roadside food.
“It was 2015 in Lagos, and people had disposable income. There was always a concert or show happening during the weekend, and people could afford to go. I had 9-5 friends in different industries too, and I knew that the average millennial Lagosian liked going to cafés on the Island to treat themselves to brunch on weekends. What if they didn’t have to wait for the weekend to treat themselves? What if they could have nice, fancy breakfasts delivered to them daily?”
“In business school, we discussed how businesses are gradually going online,” Lola says. “Buildings are disappearing, and people are exploring new ways of doing business. When I got the idea for a breakfast business, I knew I didn’t need to invest resources in a physical restaurant.”
It made economic sense to run her new idea as a subscription-based service, where customers could subscribe to a meal plan, pay and get their food delivered daily. This way, Lola didn’t have to worry about buying ingredients in bulk and hoping that the power supply was regular enough to store them.
She did a trial run with her sister and some friends first. “I’d close from work and prep the meals I wanted to send to them the next day. My menu included local and international (mostly American) cuisine. Most of what I did was self-taught and by reading recipe books. I already had a passion for cooking and wanted to attend culinary school to get professional skills, but that would’ve meant sponsoring myself and an additional two years of study. So, I decided to just start.
I’d wake up really early to cook and send the meals through my sister’s driver to save costs. Interest grew when other colleagues at work noticed my sister and friends having meals like tortilla wraps and quesadillas for breakfast.”
The referrals flew in, and Milk and Honey became a full-fledged business in 2015. Lola offered different meal plans, from the Bronze subscription plan (breakfast-only) at ₦7,500 weekly to the Platinum plan (including lunch) at ₦20k/weekly, with customised recipes designed to replicate the fine dining experience.
She did that for a few weeks before deciding she could no longer juggle it with her 9-5 at the bank.
“But I was wary about leaving because I had senior colleagues who loved me. Fortunately, I had to report to the NYSC orientation camp soon after, and I used the opportunity to resign. I couldn’t bring myself to do it face-to-face.”
Without the distractions from her 9-5, Lola could now give her full attention to building her business. And she did exactly that, but there was a lot to figure out.
“I was new in the country with a lot of theoretical knowledge. But I didn’t know how to get the right people to bring my vision to life. I was building a tech-enabled startup, so I needed to know where to find experienced website developers. Also, I knew the kind of packaging I wanted, but I needed someone who knew how and where to get materials to make it happen. My lawyer-sister helped with filling me in on legal registrations and regulations, but I needed someone who knew how to run a business specific to Nigeria — a partner.”
Olumide Akinsola became that person. Introduced through mutual friends, Olumide was the key to connecting Lola to everything she needed for her new startup.
“Olumide had a guy for everything,” Lola says. “We discussed the brand image, website and operations. It was like a meeting of the minds. He immediately saw the vision and ran with it. We created a system and knew it would work. We were creating the next big thing.”
Slow and steady [and expensive] growth
Naturally, running a business involves spending money. While Lola didn’t have to invest in a physical restaurant, she had to spend on chefs and kitchen assistants, branding, digital marketing and delivery bikes.
“I didn’t get external funding, and my parents’ support only extended to them allowing me to cook out of the home kitchen and using my dad’s car for delivery initially,” Lola explains. “I get it, though. My dad didn’t understand why I left my US degrees to come and cook.”
However, as Milk and Honey’s clientele expanded to over 300 subscribers, running the business out of her parents’ kitchen became impossible, so she had to rent a ₦1.1m/year kitchen space and office.
“I’d saved about $20k over 7-8 years working summer jobs in the US, and most of it went into keeping the business running between 2015 and 2018. It shouldn’t have cost that much, but like Temple Run, Nigeria kept bringing us new hurdles to jump over.”
Inflation and the adverse effects of government policies
In 2017, the Lagos State government announced a ban on commercial motorcycle (okada) and tricycle (keke) movements on major highways, bridges and roads. This wasn’t the first time the state would restrict bike activities — the last ban was in 2012 — but the new ban affected hundreds of routes, including Yaba, Surulere, Ikeja and the entire Lagos Island. These areas were the major hotspots for Milk and Honey’s activities.
Image: Tribune Online
“We initially bought two bikes for delivery,” Lola says. “But when the government impounds one, you have to go and beg, which affects delivery time. At one point, it was like we had to buy proper motorcycles that didn’t look like okada.
We did that, but we still ran into problems. When it became too much, we partnered with Gokada — the government allowed their bikes on the road. That cost us an extra ₦5k/day for each bike.”
With Nigeria’s age-long power supply problem and the need to keep generators running to preserve ingredients, Lola also had fuel price increases and scarcity to worry about. In 2016, fuel prices rose from ₦87 to ₦145 and maintained the same price between 2017 and 2018. However, frequent scarcity increased the price slightly at several points in the same period.
“It was just hard. I had to maintain relationships with several fuel station managers because no one knew when fuel would suddenly become scarce again.”
On top of all that, the naira kept falling against the dollar. By 2017, it had fallen to ₦300/dollar as against ₦197 to the dollar in the previous year. For an importation-heavy country like Nigeria, this led to a steep rise in the cost of packaging material Lola needed to keep her business going.
“We tried multiple things to keep our costs low. We started a recycling drive and encouraged our customers to return their plates for a discount, but it didn’t do much to minimise expenses,” Lola explains. “I also never paid myself a salary — even though I made sure my eight regular staff were never owed, but it was a lot of money. We had no choice but to increase the prices of some of our plans.”
Even as Milk and Honey was fighting for its life, the customers were fighting for theirs, too.
“People could no longer afford to pay ₦7,500 weekly (without delivery) for breakfast. It wasn’t like they were moving to different brands. There were just more important things they had to pay for or prioritise. When I started the business, I argued that people would always eat. Now it became clear that, yes, people would always eat. But what they ate was a different question. Bread and eggs could fill them just as much as a BLT sandwich.
For most of my bronze plan subscribers, the service was initially a small price to pay for luxury. But when the economy took a nosedive, it became a luxury they couldn’t afford. There just wasn’t as much disposable income to work with. We lost 70% of our bronze subscribers in 2017”.
Trying to stay ahead of the curve
In a quest to stay afloat and reinvent the wheel to continue serving her customers, Lola started offering health-based meal plans in 2017.
“I got a dietician, and we started offering nutrition consultations to create meal plans for people with dietary restrictions who wanted to stay healthy.”
Of course, this service was mostly used by the richer middle and upper-class who could afford to care about what they put in their mouths. The problem? This target audience was a tiny portion of Milk and Honey Gourmet’s initial customer base.
“I had to gradually abandon the idea that our service would be for the global millennial. I had to focus on older rich people, and this category isn’t necessarily online. I needed to re-invent Milk and Honey if we wanted to make enough to keep running. That would involve a new form of branding, marketing and the whole works.”
Making the difficult decision to exit the business
By 2018, it became clear that the economy was deteriorating faster than it was trying to improve, and everyone was struggling. Even Lola’s husband, who’d initially refused to leave Nigeria, had decided it was time to leave.
“At the end of the day, I didn’t really leave Milk and Honey. I left Nigeria,” Lola says. “I’d already calculated that the pivot to an older market was what we needed, and we could turn profitable in the next two to three years so I could take a step back and let the business run on its own.
But Nigeria just wasn’t working. Did I want to stay because of all the time and money I invested or because I thought Nigeria would get better? What if the upper class also have to make tough decisions and decide our services are an unnecessary luxury?”
Lola left Nigeria for the UK in December 2018 after giving her customers a month’s notice to shut down operations. She sold the remaining bikes and donated most of her cooking equipment.
“I rarely talk about Milk and Honey because giving it up was so sad. I’d invested everything into it; my finances and my mental and physical health, and for a while after it ended, I lost my confidence. I did everything by the books, and while that always resulted in success, I was suddenly introduced to the possibility of failure. That fear followed me into the other dreams I tried to pursue.”
As our conversation ended, I asked Lola what the experience has taught her about doing business in Nigeria and what other prospective business owners might benefit from knowing.
“Nigeria discards economic principles. I have a degree in marketing and knew all the fun things to do to make a business work, but one plus one was no longer equalling two. The government can announce a new policy, and you may think it’ll have a positive effect. But it doesn’t because they don’t follow through with all the other things that should make the policy work.
For instance, the government can announce it wants to tackle inflation by releasing funding. That should work, right? At the same time, the same government can decide to stop importation and allow only one person to produce an item. Or they sell forex cheaper to that person. It causes chaos. The word for the Nigerian economic market is just chaos. Some businesses are still making it work regardless, but it’s exhausting. All your permutations and projections can mean nothing at the end of the day.”
On what she thinks might help, Lola says, “So many businesses would do much better if the electricity and transportation problems were solved. If someone comes and solves just those two problems, I’d say they did a wonderful job.”
Ten years later, Lola isn’t the same person who stepped into the country with big dreams.
“I don’t think I’ll return to Nigeria. Many people are doing greenhouse farming now too, so no one needs me. I might consider returning for a vision that has to do with the girl child. If I’ll be helping save a million lives, then I can come back. Otherwise, I’m fine where I am.”
As an almost-middle child myself, I’m familiar with the popular sentiment that middle children are often ignored and tend to dislike their position in the family. That isn’t the case for Timilehin (26).
He talks about how being a middle child has made his life easier and contributed to his being a well-adjusted adult.
The first time I realised people were supposed to have issues being middle children was at university.
I was in a talking stage with this babe, and when the conversation moved to families and siblings, she began feeling sorry for me after I said I was the middle child. It was like, “Oh no. I can’t imagine how lonely that must’ve felt”. I didn’t want to piss her off or make the conversation awkward, so I just said “Yeah” and moved on. But I was confused as hell. What do being a middle child and loneliness have in common?
I didn’t think about it again until a few months later. I was talking with a couple of my friends in the hostel about how much Nigerian parents can stress your life, and the conversation shifted to siblings. It turned out that some of my friends were also middle children and associated it with being a difficult experience.
I was more than a little surprised. I mean, we all agree that being the first or last born comes with challenges. As the first, you automatically become the third parent. And as the last, you sometimes turn to the chief errand goer.
But I didn’t know that middle children also battled loneliness because they didn’t get as much attention as the other kids and were often left alone to do their own things. I didn’t have that experience. In fact, I had an amazing life growing up. I still do.
I grew up with four other siblings. As the third of five children, that effectively made me the middle child. You know how you have vivid memories as a child of rushing to bring out the soup from the freezer just before your parents came back because you forgot to do that earlier? That was never my problem. That responsibility typically fell to one of my two older siblings. Sure, I had chores and all. But my parents never really put me in “charge” of something.
I also never really felt lonely. I’m just two years older than my immediate younger sibling, and our closeness in age meant we automatically became best friends. My brother was—and still is—my partner in crime. My older siblings could do whatever they wanted. I had my brother, and that was fine by me. If I wasn’t hanging out with him, I was perfectly content to sit in silence or fight imaginary enemies with sticks.
As an adult, I’m grateful I’m not in a position where my family expect so much from me. I’m 26, and our last born is 22. We’re technically in the same age range, so he’s more likely to call our older siblings for money before he even remembers me.
There’s also no black tax from my family because, again, my siblings are there. No one will disturb me to get married for at least seven years or until my siblings get married. Chores? Nope. I don’t live with my parents; only the lastborn does. I’m older than him, so I still get to send him on errands whenever I’m home.
Another thing I absolutely love about being the middle child is the absence of pressure. My oldest sibling just switched to tech after spending several years studying medicine simply because my parents decided they wanted to be called “daddy doctor” and “mummy doctor”.
My second older sibling had to study law. She’s practising now, but I don’t think she ever really decided it was what she wanted. No one batted an eyelid when I chose human resources. However, that could be because they were relieved I finally got uni admission after waiting for two years.
That’s another thing — my parents didn’t stress that I failed JAMB twice. My big sister still says she can’t believe they didn’t fuss too much after I failed. Maybe they just didn’t care, or they’d grown enough to realise that flogging children into submission didn’t do much. Whichever way, I’m just glad I had space to figure out what I wanted to do.
I think space and pressure from home are two factors that can determine just how difficult navigating adulting can be. I have friends who hate their jobs but can’t leave because they have responsibilities at home and need to earn money. I quit two toxic jobs without backup plans just because I could. I know I don’t have to impress anybody, I have space to try things, and there’s no pressure to figure things out immediately. If bad turns to worse, I can always run back to my siblings or parents. My life is the definition of a “well-adjusted adult”.
I won’t lie; it’s a stress-free way to live. I love my life, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Whatever your thoughts on Nigeria’s billing culture, it isn’t likely to leave our society anytime soon. In one of the stories in today’s newsletter, we explore just how difficult the billing culture can be, especially for firstborn children, with some going into debt to shoulder family responsibilities.
Speaking on debt, today’s #NairaLife subject has been struggling with it since 2022, when a series of unfortunate events pushed her into a loan cycle. To manage her debt, she’s resorted to several money-making ventures, including stripping and bikini dancing.
Let’s get into the stories.
In this letter:
#NairaLife: The Corps Member Who’s Stripping to Pay Off Her Debt
6 Money Situations Where First Borns in Nigeria Just Can’t Say No
Aunty M: I’m Earning ₦270k. How Do I Structure My Expenses?
QUIZ: Are You Living Above Your Means?
Where The Money At?!
The #NairaLife of a Corps Member Who’s Stripping to Pay Off Her Debt
The 26-year-old corps member in this #NairaLife wants only two things: to pay off her debt and find dignified work. A series of unfortunate events pushed her into a debt cycle in 2022, and she’s done many things to get out, including stripping and bikini dancing.
Jollof+ is a cutting-edge savings app providing up to 21% net interest rate with no hidden charges. Designed to help combat inflation, Jollof+ offers personalized saving features, ensuring steady financial growth for users.
6 Money Situations Where First Borns in Nigeria Just Can’t Say No
Nigeria is tough and being the first child in Nigeria is even tougher. A major source of this stress is money. No matter how many times you give, the one time you can’t, it becomes a problem.
What are some of the money situations where you just can’t say no?
Hi, Aunty M.
I just got a job with a monthly salary of ₦270k. I have never saved or had a job paying this much. How can I structure my expenses and what percentage is advisable to save? – R
Congratulations!! I’m so happy for you. I’m happy to hear that you want to get a system around your finances. My suggestion is to follow the popular guideline 50/30/20. Remember, this is just a guideline and not a law but it can help you figure out how to allocate your money.
The 50/30/20 rule dictates that 50% of your income goes towards your essentials (housing, utilities, groceries), 30% of your income towards spending (entertainment, enjoyment), and 20% towards investing and saving. So, with ₦270k monthly, you would allocate ₦135k to your essentials, ₦81k for spending,
and ₦54k for saving and investing.
Personally, I think this a good place to start but again, it depends on your life circumstances. With my first job, I was still living with my parents rent-free, so I put closer to 50% of my income towards my savings and investments each month. This allowed me to fast
track my way towards my financial goals.
To figure out what the best structure is for you, I encourage you to:
1: Look through the past 3 months of your spending and see how much you are spending in each category.
2: Start budgeting and tracking your spending going forward so you can be more mindful of where your money is going.
3: Start setting goals. Yes, ₦54k monthly is a decent amount to save, but if you plan to buy a car in the next 6 months or go on a trip, you need to increase your savings rate.
4: Automate your transfers toward your savings and investments. This ensures you are always saving and investing before spending rather than vice versa.
5: Adjust regularly. Just because you start with a specific structure now doesn’t mean you have to stick to it forever.
We can’t say we’re about the money and not actually help you find the money.
So we’ve compiled a list of job opportunities for you. Make sure you share this with anyone who might need it because in this community, we look out for each other.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
My parents gave me ₦10 daily for snacks in primary school, and I spent it on those frozen powdered drinks sold as “ice cream”. ₦5 could get five of those, and I’d spend the balance on whatever. Life was good.
How good?
Good enough to take food to school and still have money to spend on whatever I wanted. My parents were civil servants, and sometimes, my dad would drive me to school. We were the average middle-class family. But then, my parents separated when I was in Primary 1, and money became a problem.
How so?
My mum, siblings and I had to leave our three-bedroom house and move in with a family friend until my mum could afford a one-room apartment. We even moved in when it was practically empty — we had just three plastic chairs.
My mum became the sole provider. I went from being the student with money to spend during lunch break to being one of the students who was sent home for not paying school fees. It was a harsh transition that lasted about three years before my parents got back together.
They stayed together for a year and separated again — for good this time — when I was in Primary 5. This was in 2008.
What did this mean to you?
It affected me more than it did the first time. I must’ve been around six when we had to leave the first time, and I don’t remember feeling sad that my dad wasn’t around. But by the final separation, I could see just how much it affected my mum financially.
I was just about to enter secondary school, and she’d always talk about trying to raise money for my fees. At the end of the day, she had to convince my principal to waive some extra charges so I could resume school after I’d spent a few weeks at home.
Then my mum got laid off from work when I was in JSS 2 and started selling raw grains to make money. I helped her anytime I was home from school. That was the first thing I did to earn money.
Did your mum pay you?
Yes. People in our area couldn’t afford to buy in bulk, so she’d open a bag of grains and ask me to divide them into smaller portions and tie them in smaller bags. She paid ₦100 for every bag I tied, and I could tie two to three bags in a day.
I did that on and off during the weekends. In SS 2, I started selling chocolates to my classmates. I’d moved in with a family friend to reduce the financial burden on my mum, and I decided I needed to make extra money to cover transportation and other things I needed at school.
My mum was still paying for my school fees and sending a ₦2k – ₦3k monthly allowance, but the extra money from the chocolates came in handy for additional expenses.
What kind of profit did you make?
A pack of 80 pieces cost ₦300, and transportation to and fro the market cost ₦100. I sold each candy at ₦10, making ₦400 in profit after removing the cost of buying and transportation.
I sold the chocolates until I left secondary school in 2014. I didn’t get admission into university until 2018. I first took on a ₦14k/month waitress job and then left to work as a receptionist at a photo studio for ₦15k/month.
After a few months, my mum had an accident, and I had to stay home to take care of her. It was while I was at home that I started writing for money in 2016.
How did you start writing?
I read a lot and often wrote to replicate what I read. I wrote a lot about everything going on in my family. I posted some of these stories on Nairaland and met the first person who paid me to write. She paid me ₦1k for a 1000-word lifestyle article. She liked it and gave me three more writing gigs. I made ₦4500 in total from her.
I applied for more writing gigs on Nairaland and gradually got clients. I could write up to three articles weekly and earn between ₦6k – ₦10k. That became my primary source of income till I finally got into uni in 2018.
Did you continue the writing gigs in uni?
Managing the gigs and school work was difficult, especially because I used my phone to write. Since I didn’t have a laptop, I’d first write out the articles on paper before typing them into my phone. It was too stressful, so I just stopped looking for gigs.
Around the same time, I saw an advert for a modelling audition at school and decided to apply. I passed the audition and got cast to walk for a fashion show for free. I was happy to do it for the experience. The agency offered to sign me on, and I paid ₦5k to register as one of their models.
How does modelling for an agency work?
A modelling agency should train their models, send them out for gigs and then handle payment. Unfortunately for me, my agency only took their models to parties and clubs to meet men.
The final straw was when they made me do a nude photoshoot. I wasn’t comfortable with my nude pictures being out for anyone to see, so I quit. I was with them for only five months.
Did you try to get gigs on your own?
I went for multiple auditions, but I’m short, and most of the casting directors said they wanted someone 5’9” and above.
I didn’t get another gig until 2019 when I got paid ₦10k to walk the runway for a one-day show. The fashion house owner saw one of my online practice videos and liked it.
That show helped me meet other people in the industry and build a network. I started getting small modelling gigs once or twice a month. ₦7k for a photoshoot here and ₦5k to work with a make-up artist there.
I spent most of what I made on transportation. In modelling, you’re always on the move for one rehearsal, fitting or the like, and that took a lot of my money. When I wasn’t working on paid gigs, I worked on unpaid collaborations to build my portfolio. Honestly, it was just something I enjoyed doing, so I didn’t mind that I wasn’t making much from it.
But how were you surviving?
I picked up stage decoration — mostly from watching others do it — and did the odd decoration gig for faculty and departmental functions when I wasn’t modelling. That usually brought in ₦10k – ₦15k per gig, but it wasn’t regular. I hardly got any allowance from home.
In 2021, another modelling agency signed me. I found them on Instagram and they looked legit. I paid ₦15k to register, but I left after six months.
Why?
The gigs weren’t coming. None of the new models got gigs within that period, and I couldn’t even take on outside jobs. At that point, I decided to give modelling a break.
I took up a part-time job as an assistant to someone who produced cosmetics. It was just twice a week and paid ₦20k/month. It was the highest I’d ever made up to that point, and it helped that it didn’t interfere with school. I worked there for seven months and left when I was about to enter my final year because I needed to go for a three-month teaching practice internship.
Did you get paid for this internship?
Nope. I survived by taking random modelling and movie extra gigs on the weekends. I even got a small supporting role on a movie set once and got paid ₦70k after filming.
The school I interned at did try to retain me and offered ₦20k/month, but I didn’t take it. Around that time, I participated in a beauty contest/reality show situation that turned my life upside down.
I’m listening
I honestly don’t know why I keep falling for sham agencies, but I fell for this one. It was a pageant that was supposed to pay the winner ₦100k. I paid ₦5k for the application form, and the organisers housed me and the other contestants. Then, they began hounding us for votes.
This was how votes worked: You had to get people to “buy” votes for you by paying the organisers. Each vote cost ₦100, and most contestants bought their own votes just to get ahead.
I had to join them to buy votes after the organisers placed me in the “bottom five” group twice in a row. I contacted a few people for money but got no help, so I borrowed ₦10k from a loan app to buy my votes.
Did that help?
It kept me in the house until the main event. But then, the organisers came again and told us to start selling tickets for it, and I just gave up.
But I still had to repay the loan, and with interest, it came to about ₦13500. I started getting multiple calls from the loan guys after the pay-back date elapsed, and I panicked and took another loan from a different app to pay them. That’s how my loan cycle started in 2022.
I didn’t have a strong source of income, so it was easy to fall back on more apps to repay my debt. Plus, the interests were always so much. I’d borrow ₦18k and have to pay back ₦27k. Then I’d borrow ₦27k and have to pay ₦35k.
My debt had grown to ₦78k when I saw a WhatsApp BC about an opening for bikini girls for a pool party.
Bikini girls?
Dancers. We just had to dance in bikinis. The pay was ₦6k for a one-day event. I’d never worn a bikini in public before, but I was desperate for money. So, I applied and got the gig. I danced and got paid, but the organiser complained I was too self-conscious and stiff.
A week later, I got another bikini dancing gig for two weekends. That one paid ₦12k in total. I got another gig at a lounge that paid ₦5k to dance every Friday. I noticed the other girls got tips when they danced close to the men. So, I did the same thing and made ₦15k in tips on the first day.
I danced for a month and made enough money to clear my ₦78k debt. There was no reason for me to take the gigs anymore, so I left most of the WhatsApp groups that posted those jobs. But two weeks later, I realised I was pregnant. I couldn’t tell anyone, and I couldn’t keep it either, so I Googled options for an abortion. I found medication online that cost ₦38k. I didn’t have money, so I returned to the loan apps. I borrowed ₦45k and bought the drugs. While waiting for the drugs to be delivered to me, I had a miscarriage.
Damn
I couldn’t get a refund, and I had a debt of ₦70k — the loan amount + interest — to clear. The fastest way I knew to make money was to return to dancing, so I did that.
I found a club that hired strippers on a tip-sharing basis — they took 40% of every tip the dancers made. I worked there for a week and made ₦30k. I left because they didn’t allow dancers to wear masks, and I wasn’t comfortable.
The next gig I found only required me to strip dance at a lounge on Fridays and get paid ₦15k. Thankfully, I was allowed to wear a mask. I sometimes had sex with male customers to get extra tips — usually up to ₦15k/week. It weighed a lot on my conscience, so I only had the courage to work once every two weeks. That worked for a while, and I was able to reduce my dependence on loans.
But then, I hit a setback in 2023.
What happened?
I lost over ₦200k to a fake Instagram vendor. I was trying to buy a phone, and the vendor looked legit. I borrowed the money from several loan apps. But the vendor took my money and blocked me. Thinking about it now, it was a very unwise decision.
I began another round of borrowing to repay the different apps. But again, their interest rates were high, and within three months, my debt had grown to ₦700k.
Yikes. What was the plan to settle that?
I had to start stripping every weekend to meet up. Sometimes, I dance twice weekly, depending on how often the gigs come.
I graduated from university in 2023 and am currently serving, but I still have debt, so I strip and dance. I do any job I can find at clubs: bikini dancing, bottle service and stripping. I make at least ₦50k weekly.
How much do you currently owe?
₦215k. I created a list with all the apps I owed and gradually paid them off according to who I first borrowed from to limit the multiple calls and reminders to pay. They even called my mum and sister multiple times to threaten them. But I was determined not to borrow from more apps to pay back my debts, so it helped me progress. I’m not putting myself under any pressure to pay anymore. When I have, I pay.
You mentioned you’re currently serving. The extra income must be welcome
It is. I started NYSC in February, and my PPA pays ₦30k/month. Then there’s the ₦33k NYSC stipend. However, I spend ₦30k monthly transporting to and from my PPA, where I work as a front desk officer. So, it’s only the ₦33k stipend I can say is mine. I also rented a ₦300k/year apartment in March, so saving for rent takes part of it.
Can you break down these expenses into a typical month?
Thankfully, I’m the youngest in my family, so there’s no black tax. I also don’t have a “flex” budget because I know I’ve been super irresponsible with money in the past, and I’m just trying to move past my mistakes.
My experiences have made me a lot wiser. For instance, I currently have ₦120k saved up for rent that’s due next year. My relationship with money isn’t healthy yet, but I’m on the right path.
How do you juggle a 9-5 with the many gigs you do?
There are days when I go to the lounge to dance straight from my PPA and then go from there back to work the next day. That’s after dancing in heels for hours. But I don’t have a choice. I have to dance so I can pay off my debts.
Apart from the long hours, stripping can also be very demeaning. It’s a mental struggle. I can be dancing on my own and someone would come and try to pull off my lingerie or touch me. Some days, I finish working and go back home to cry. Like, this isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing.
I make sure to always wear masks as a way to preserve the little dignity I have left. I overhear snide remarks from male customers all the time. Stuff like, “This one is only good for sex”. It’s crazy how people judge you for the same things they’re there for, but this is Nigeria.
Have you considered what the next few years of your life might look like?
I’m actively planning for my future. I hope to transition into tech after NYSC, and I’m taking courses in preparation. One is a virtual assistant course, and the other is about using AI to write. Both courses cost me ₦57k, but I see it as investing in my future.
How much do you think you’ll earn monthly from these skills?
₦500k/monthly would be a good starting point. The aim is to earn in dollars.
Rooting for you. Do you have financial regrets? Apart from the loans
I wish I’d reached out to family and friends when I first got into the loan cycle. My parents don’t support me anymore, but I could’ve reached out to my siblings and friends for help with my debt rather than going at it alone.
It would’ve been quite embarrassing, but at least, I wouldn’t have gotten into as much debt to resort to everything I’m doing now to get out of it.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 – 10?
5. It’d be higher when I start earning money in a manner I consider dignified.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
This year’s Ojude Oba Festival has again broken the internet with steeze-worthy pictures and videos of colourful outfit displays and horse-riding.
But one thing caught our attention — even when serving looks, the “Yoruba mummy” face comes through. We have evidence.
The “Mind yourself” face
The face she makes when you say something stupid, but she’s giving you the chance to right your wrongs.
Trouble ranking: 3/10
The “You now know more than me” face
When you tell her it’s “WhatsApp”, not “Wuzzup”
Trouble ranking: 5/10
Image: ariyocreates
The “Is this child okay?” face
When you actually collect food from Mummy Dare because she told you to “collect jor”.
Trouble ranking: 25/10
Image: theayoadams
The “I trained you better than this” face
When you walk past her and her group of friends without kneeling or prostrating properly.
Trouble ranking: 15/10
Image: theniyifagbemi
The “Wait till we get home” face
When you do something stupid in public, but she’s maintaining her composure till you both get home.
Trouble ranking: 10/10
Image: fotonugget
The “You will see pepper” face
When she catches you picking money sprayed at the owambe and hiding it inside your pocket.
Trouble ranking: 30/10
Image: fotonugget
The “You want to beat me?” face
When she flogs you and you hold the cane.
Trouble ranking: Unlimited.
Image: fotonugget
Bonus: The “I can’t believe my ears”
When you tell your Ijebu dad you want a “small wedding”.
Trouble ranking: 1000000
Image: theniyifagbemi
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After detesting her mother’s parenting methods for much of her growing-up years, Jess (31) had pretty much accepted that she’d never experience a mother-daughter relationship with her mum. But that’s changed since she had her own child.
I spent the better part of my childhood and teenage years detesting my mother.
I’m an only child, and growing up, whenever I told someone I didn’t have siblings, they assumed that meant I was being spoiled silly at home. But that was far from my reality. My mum was a perfectionist. There was no room for “spoiling” in her house.
There was hardly anything anyone could do to please my mum. She had a particular way of doing things, and I got a scolding if I didn’t sweep under the chairs or forgot to arrange the plates according to size.
One time, when I was 8 years old, I took a drink from the fridge at night and forgot to close the fridge all the way, so everything inside got warm by morning. A bowl of soup went bad, too. My mum beat me so much that my dad had to intervene.
My dad was the complete opposite of my mum. He tried his best to spoil me silly, but my mum never stood for it. He once bought me a bicycle in JSS 1 because I was upset about not getting picked to be the class captain. You know what my mum did? She waited for me to go to school, then she picked up the bicycle and donated it to an orphanage home. When I got home and began looking for it, she announced that she’d given it to children with real problems. I was so angry.
My mum also never let me leave her sight. I soon learned there was no need to ask her if I could stay over at my friends’ houses during the holidays or visit them to play on the weekends. Her answer was always no. If my friends didn’t come to my house, I might as well forget about seeing them till school resumed.
Everyone I knew could play outside in the field close to our estate after school, but I was always stuck at home. I still don’t know how my mum caught me the one time I snuck out of the house to play. She came home from work that day and said, “Who gave you permission to go outside?” After that incident, she got us a live-in maid who ensured I never set foot outside unless I was out on an errand.
We had a maid, but I still did most of the house chores. The only thing our maid did was cook and watch my every move. By 12 years old, I’d started washing my parents’ clothes and mine. The maid left when I turned 14, and I took over the kitchen too. Some days, I wondered if I was actually my mother’s child. Maybe she adopted me because she just wanted a child to punish or something.
In SS 2, my mum found my diary where I wrote about my crush on the head boy of my secondary school. Strangely, she tried to talk to me about it instead of her usual beatings. It was the most awkward conversation ever. For almost two hours, she gave me story after story of young girls who got pregnant by kissing boys and either died after seeking abortions or giving birth to the children and becoming destined to lives of struggle.
In the end, she burned my diary and made me swear not to crush on anybody again. The only thing I left that conversation with was an intense fear of kisses and the wisdom to never write my thoughts down where my mum could find them again.
When I entered the university, my mum developed a habit of coming to visit me unannounced. Probably in an attempt to catch me hiding one boy under my bed in the hostel I shared with two other female students.
Even at university, I wasn’t free from her scrutiny and scolding. She once called to scream at me because I posted a picture on Facebook where a male classmate was holding me by the waist.
In all this, my mum still expected me to confide in her. My dad constantly told me how my mum wasn’t happy that I only told him about things bothering me and never told her. She also didn’t like that my dad was the first person I called to give exciting news. I never understood it. Did she really think she offered a platform where I could come to her freely?
If anything, realising she wanted me to talk to her made our relationship even worse. I was so determined to push her to the back of my mind. How dare she traumatise me so much growing up and suddenly want us to be best friends? It didn’t make any sense.
As a result, I can almost count the number of times I visited or spoke to my mum after I left uni in 2015. She was the last person to meet my boyfriend (now husband), and I made sure to hire an events planner while preparing for my wedding in 2021 because I didn’t want to clash with her during the wedding prep or have to deal with her opinions on how she thought things should go.
I became a mother myself in 2023 after almost losing my life to childbirth complications, and let’s just say I’ve learned to be more forgiving of my mother’s antics. Actually, I’d say I now understand her.
My change of mind happened when she came to help me with my newborn and stayed for two months. I didn’t want her to come at first, but my mother-in-law fell ill, and I had no other option.
I thought my mum and I would spend the entire time arguing, but I saw a different side of her. Gone was the judgemental perfectionist. She took care of me and assured me even when I thought I was doing things wrong when I initially had problems with breastfeeding.
We also talked a lot during that period, and while she didn’t say it outrightly, I understood that she’d actually done most of what she did in my childhood out of fear. She’d only given birth to one child in a society like Nigeria’s that still considers people with only one child as almost childless.
She was under pressure to train her girl child to be socially acceptable and without reproach while navigating fear that she’d make a parenting mistake and her only child would turn wayward.
I can relate to that now, too. Half the time, I worry about whether I’m making the right decision for my child and if I should’ve done something better. Fortunately, my experience with my mum has taught me that it’s more important to work with your children and make sure they know why you make certain decisions rather than have them resent you for it.
I’m just glad I can finally have the mother-daughter relationship I didn’t have all those years ago. We started late, but it’ll help forge a better one with my own child. I’m grateful for that.
Everyone knows the second day of the Sallah break is when you actually get a break. After all the cooking, excitement and hanging out with family, you finally get the chance to relax. We’ve compiled a list of fun reads to help you do just that.
“The Story of Maha”
Written by Sumayya Lee, “The Story of Maha” is a coming-of-age fiction about the titular character. Maha is a South African-Indian Muslim girl whose life changes after her parents are killed at a political rally during Apartheid. She then goes on to live with her grandparents and navigates the boundaries of Muslim life, the conventions of her community and her desire for independence.
“The Story of Maha” can be found on Goodreads.
“Everything Good Will Come”
Did you know that Sefi Atta—the Nigerian writer of this book—is of Muslim parentage? She was born to a Muslim father. “Everything Good Will Come” is Sefi Atta’s first novel and is a coming-of-age story that follows Enitan’s friendship with Sheri, the daughter of a Muslim Nigerian man and an English woman. The book depicts the struggles of women in a conservative Nigerian society and touches on post-colonial Nigeria and ethnic tensions after the Nigerian Civil War.
You can find the book on Amazon, Goodreads or your local bookstore.
“Ayesha at Last”
If you like a good love story, you’d love this book by Uzma Jalaluddin. It is a modern-day retelling of “Pride and Prejudice” set in a Toronto Muslim community. The titular character, Ayesha, dreams of being a poet and is determined to avoid an arranged marriage. Then she meets Khalid, who’s as uptight and conservative as they come. Will sparks fly? Find out by getting the book on Amazon or Goodreads.
“The Good Muslim”
You might need to grab tissues for this read because Tahmima Anam’s novel is deeply moving. It’s a story about faith and family shadowed by the Bangladesh Liberation War and Islamic radicalism. The book focuses on two siblings (survivors of the war) and how they come to terms with their actions and choices. You can get this book on Amazon and Goodreads.
“A Thousand Splendid Suns”
This bestseller, written by Khaled Hosseini, is set in Afghanistan and follows Mariam, a Muslim woman forced to marry a shoemaker at 15. Decades later, she befriends Leila, a local teenager. Their friendship gets tested when the Taliban take over, and life becomes a desperate struggle against starvation and brutality. You can get this book on Rovingheights, Amazon, and Goodreads.
Pro tip: You might want to check out Khaled Hosseini’s “The Kite Runner” too.
“Between Two Moons”
Set in the holy month of Ramadan, this book tells an intimate family story about what it means to grow up as a Muslim teenager struggling with identity and faith in a new country. “Between Two Moons is written by Aisha Abdel Gawad and can be found on Amazon and Goodreads.
“You Think You Know Me”
If you loved “The Hate U Give”, you’d love this book by Ayaan Mohamud. It tells a powerful story about finding the strength to speak up against hate, discrimination and fear. It focuses on Hanan, a teenage girl who loses her friend and then gains the confidence to stand up to Islamophobia and racism. You can get the book on Amazon and Goodreads.
Have you ever felt guilty about making money? Most people live by a moral code that also applies to how they think about money: the morally acceptable and unacceptable ways to make and spend money. The man in this week’s #NairaLife is a pastor who’s currently earning more money than he ever has. However, he believes his income source is morally unacceptable.
The second story in today’s newsletter also touches on moral codes. We asked people what they thought about marrying for love or money and got interesting responses.
Let’s get into it.
In this letter:
#NairaLife: The Pastor Navigating Guilt and a Marketing Career
To Marry for Love or Money? — 6 Married Nigerians Share Their Experiences
Aunty M: I’m a Student. How Do I Start Investing?
#ZikokoMoneyVideo: Would You Abandon Your Career To Marry Into Wealth?
QUIZ: Does Money Like You?
Where The Money At?!
The #NairaLife of a Pastor Navigating Guilt and a Marketing Career
Before the 36-year-old pastor in this #NairaLife started moonlighting as a marketing professional, he had stints as a teacher, farmer and mission volunteer. At ₦250k/month, he’s currently earning more than ever.
The only problem? He believes his job is affecting his relationship with God.
Jollof+ is a cutting-edge savings app providing up to 21% net interest rate with no hidden charges. Designed to help combat inflation, Jollof+ offers personalized saving features, ensuring steady financial growth for users.
To Marry for Love or Money? — 6 Married Nigerians Share Their Experiences
A Nollywood actress recently said they wished they’d married for money instead of love, sparking a new debate on social media.
Curious, we spoke to married Nigerians, and they talked about marrying for either love or money and what they’d do differently if they could have a do-over.
Hi, Aunty M.
I am a fourth year student, and I’m interested in personal finance and financial literacy. I’m quite confused on how to start investing and suitable options for a student. I’m not a fan of saving; I believe investing is way more profitable. There’s also the decline of the naira to consider. How do I start investing and suitable/profitable options for a student? – Adebbie
Hi Adebbie.
I love your interest in personal finance! You’re doing well. There are so many ways to invest. You can invest in stocks, real estate, exchange traded funds, cryptocurrency, bonds, index funds, and in mutual funds, just to name a few. You have to choose the one that is suitable for your risk level. I’d suggest thinking about it in five steps.
Step One: Educate Yourself: Before you start investing, take the time to learn about the basics of investing, including different asset classes, risk management, and investment strategies.
Step Two: Choose a brokerage account. In order to buy and sell stocks, you need to have a brokerage that facilitates that transaction. In Nigeria, you can consider Trove, Chaka and Bamboo to name a few.
Step Three: Fund the account. Choose a realistic amount of your monthly salary that you can consistently invest. Is it ₦10k, ₦20k, ₦30k? Automate this transfer so that you’re always putting money towards your goals.
Step Four: Consider purchasing ETFs which are funds that a professional fund manager has created. There are a variety of funds available and you can choose the one that works for you. A good place to start is a fund that tracks the S&P 500, which is the 500 largest companies in the United States.
Step Five: Sit back and monitor your portfolio. Remember, your money will fluctuate up and down in the stock market, but you are investing for the long term. You don’t make money until you sell and you also don’t lose money until you sell. Have patience and keep your in for the long term.
We can’t say we’re about the money and not actually help you find the money.
So we’ve compiled a list of job opportunities for you. Make sure you share this with anyone who might need it because in this community, we look out for each other.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
Tell me your earliest memory of money
I stole ₦10 from my mum’s purse when I was 10 years old. I was annoyed that she always made me homemade food when my mates got money to buy food at school. I thought she was purposely trying to make me “uncool”, so I took matters into my own hands. This was around 1998, and ₦10 wasn’t small money.
I used part of the money to buy tampico and puff-puff on the first day. But my teacher noticed I bought snacks instead of eating the usual rice at my desk and gave amebo to my mum when she came to pick me up. I had to confess where I got the money. My mum made sure a teacher flogged me every day on the assembly ground for a whole week.
She also made me wear a cardboard placard that read, “I am a thief” on my uniform. She wanted me to wear it for a week, but my teacher begged on my behalf, and I only wore it for one day.
But that one day ehn? I was so embarrassed. My classmates called me “I am a thief” for the whole term. That was the first and last time I stole anything — not even meat from the pot.
I guess it’s safe to assume your mum was strict
Both parents were very strict, and their disciplinary methods sometimes bordered on abuse. There was a lot of flogging and creative punishments whenever my siblings and I misbehaved.
My parents were pastors and held their three children to high standards. I’m also the firstborn, so the expectation was times a hundred.
For example, I couldn’t collect monetary gifts from people in church even though we really needed the money. My parents thought it’d trigger the love of money in me — which, according to the Bible, is the root of all evil.
Were things hard at home?
Very. My mum wasn’t a full-time pastor like my dad; she had a provision store, and we lived on the sales from the store.
My dad got a salary from the church, but it mustn’t have been much because he occasionally borrowed money from my mum’s business.
I was once sent out of school in primary five because we hadn’t paid school fees. I later found out it wasn’t the first time my school fee had been delayed, but the teachers didn’t punish me out of respect for my dad.
I really hated not having enough money, though. I saw how important money was, and it didn’t make sense that admitting a need for money equalled sinning against God. So, I decided to find ways to make money as soon as I was old enough.
When was “old enough”?
As soon as I got into the university and no longer lived under my parent’s roof. I got into uni in 2007 and immediately started hustling.
The first thing I did to make money was serve as the class rep for my level.
They pay class reps now?
Haha, no. But it gave me an opportunity to make money. Lecturers were always selling handouts, and I’d sometimes add small money to the price. That didn’t work all the time, though. Most times, the lecturers announced the price of handouts in class.
I also made money from photocopying the handouts. This only worked for an elderly lecturer. For instance, I’d tell her that only 100 students paid when 105 did. Then, I’d make five extra copies for the other students. Photocopies could cost about ₦500, and each handout could be about ₦1500. I’m not proud of it, but I made some money.
What were you doing when you weren’t selling handouts?
Everything. When I was in 200 level, I started playing instruments for two different churches on Sundays — learning how to play instruments was one benefit of growing up as a pastor’s kid. I was paid in transport fare and made between ₦3k – ₦4k weekly. I also had stints assisting the cyber cafe and photographer guys on campus for money. My parents sent me ₦10k/month, and I just used to jama jama everything together to survive.
I didn’t really do much for money in my last two years in uni because I unexpectedly became more involved at church. The pastor also put me on a ₦20k/month allowance to support me, so that helped.
Why do you say “unexpectedly”?
I didn’t really like the idea of church growing up. I didn’t like how seriously my parents took it and the fact that we didn’t have money. So, I thought becoming independent would allow me to be as far away from the church as I wanted.
Ironically, I gave my life to Christ and became closer to the church. In fact, I was an executive of the corpers’ fellowship during NYSC in 2013.
I also helped start a fellowship at the secondary school where I worked during my service year. The school paid me a ₦5k stipend in addition to NYSC’s ₦19800 allowance, and I used my income to support indigent students. I was posted to the north-central, and there were a lot of students like that.
But what were you living on?
I don’t know. I just know I didn’t starve. Many of my students’ parents were farmers and they sent me foodstuff. I also lived in a hostel the school provided. There was accommodation and food. What else did I need?
After NYSC in 2014, God led me to volunteer with a student fellowship in the state where I served. Apart from spreading the gospel to students in secondary and tertiary institutions, the fellowship also organised training programs to help the students become well-rounded individuals and career professionals. I resonated with the vision, so I joined.
Did it come with a salary?
More like a stipend. ₦20k/month. I lived in the fellowship’s office, so once again, accommodation was sorted. Those were simple days — I was doing what I loved and didn’t have to worry about money.
I had very minimal expenses, so I saved most of what I made — except when I had to support students or anyone in need.
Were you saving towards a goal?
Not really. But in 2016, I used my entire savings — about ₦250k — to purchase land and other necessary materials to farm yam and rear chickens. It made sense because everyone else had a farm. Besides, I wanted something to do with all the extra time I had.
I wouldn’t say I made money from the farm because I hardly sold any produce. I either ate my harvest or used it to support other people.
This happened until 2021 when I left the fellowship.
Why did you leave?
I clashed with management over their decision-making. It felt like some people sat in an office and decided what the volunteers would do without leaving room for feedback. It took the joy out of the work, and I thought it was dangerous to approach God’s work feeling cheated.
I wanted to stay back in the north-central, but the Fulani herdsmen issue was getting worse, and I was about to get married. My fiancée lived in the west and wasn’t thrilled about moving there, so I joined her instead. I sold my farm for ₦300k, most of which went into our wedding expenses.
Did you have a plan to make money?
I planned to get a job, which turned out to be much harder than I imagined. I didn’t have formal work experience, so I got rejections left and right. For the first six months, my wife and I relied on her ₦150k operations manager salary. Then, I finally got a teaching job that paid ₦80k/month in 2022.
The salary wasn’t great, but my wife and I pooled resources together and made it work. We’d been living in her room and parlour apartment since we got married, but we moved to a ₦180k/year two-bedroom apartment towards the end of 2022.
Things were looking up
Yeah. But I felt like something was missing — like I wasn’t really where God wanted me to be. I prayed a bit and discussed it with my wife, and realised God still wanted me in ministry.
Around the same time, the pastor at the church my wife and I attended approached me and said he felt led to ask me to join the pastorate as a youth minister. We’d only been part of the church workforce for less than a year, and it seemed strange I’d become a minister so quickly. But I knew it was God directing me, so I accepted the role.
What does being a youth minister entail?
It’s like being a junior pastor. I don’t get paid because I’m not a full-time pastor, but I do everything a pastor does. I’m at church twice weekly and on Sunday for services.
My schedule worked pretty well while I was a teacher, but I got another job towards the end of 2023. Now, it’s harder to juggle both 9-5 and my work at the church.
What’s the job role?
I work in marketing for a drinks company; one of my wife’s relatives helped me get the job. My role requires me to travel for market activation, so I’m not always available for weekly church services.
I love the marketing part of the job, and it feels like I should’ve been on this career path much earlier. The salary is also good — ₦250k/month. It’s just that my conscience often pricks me about doing this job.
Why?
The company also produces alcoholic drinks, and I sometimes feel like I’m directly responsible for marketing something that has led so many lives astray. I don’t primarily cover the alcoholic drink category, but I occasionally have to work with the product.
My senior pastor and wife think I’m overthinking it, but I’m not sure I am. If not for the fact that I have a child now and my responsibilities have doubled, I’d have resigned. Even that reasoning increases my guilt. I’m working at a company I feel ashamed to talk about, and to make it worse, it’s taking over my time and reducing my availability for God. Is the need for money now overcoming my desire to be right with my God? Maybe my parents were right after all.
Hmmm
I’m praying to find something else soon because I don’t know how to explain to my wife that I want to quit without another job lined up. She’s an understanding woman, but I’m trying to be fair to her. She deserves to relax without constantly thinking about how to manage money. It’s not like the ₦250k even does much in this economy, but it’s better than ₦80k.
Fingers crossed you find something soon. But have you considered what you’ll do if you don’t?
I’ve thought about saving to start a poultry business I can fall back on while I figure out what to do with my career. But it almost doesn’t make sense to start a business in this economy.
Just last week, someone complained about how the price of chicken feed had almost doubled within a few weeks. What if I think I need ₦200k to start, then finish saving and realise I now need ₦400k? Planning is almost impossible in this country.
For now, I’ll just focus on trusting God to lead me. I’ve gone from being willing to do anything to make money to relying totally on Him for my finances. I’m currently at a point where it feels like I’m relying on money to live, and I need to leave this point and go back to relying on Him. I just need to retrace my steps.
Hopefully, you find that soon. Can you share a breakdown of your monthly expenses?
I have about ₦80k in my savings, but it’s more of an emergency fund. In Nigeria, one sickness or accident can carry all your money away. My dad is late, but my mum is elderly, and I constantly worry she’ll suddenly need medical care at any point. So, I like to prepare for any eventuality.
What’s one thing you want but can’t afford right now?
An inverter. It’s interesting that I spend more on fueling my generator than I do on electricity bills. And with all the different news we’re hearing about whether or not the fuel subsidy has truly been removed, the cost of fuel will only get higher. But I don’t have ₦2m to spend on an inverter right now.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
3. I’m earning more than I ever have, but I don’t feel fulfilled. I was happier when I was earning ₦20k and doing what I loved.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
I’d just published this story about an apprenticeship gone wrong when Tunrayo* reached out, saying she’d had a similar experience with a Nigerian politician who’d been her role model since she was 9.
She talks about finally getting the opportunity to work with this politician, abandoning her family, enduring abuse, and almost losing her identity and life to her work.
I became fascinated with a particular Nigerian politician at 9 years old. Fascination doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was obsessed. I even had pictures of the woman in my room.
Let me tell you how it started. I decided I wanted to be a journalist pretty early in life. I loved watching the news and following political stories. Though a businessman, my dad knew a lot about the political happenings in my home state. That’s how I got to know this politician. Biodun* was a prominent political figure in my state at a time when it was almost impossible to see women at the forefront of politics. She was 20 years older, but I wanted to be like her.
I admired and wanted to be like Biodun so much I’d write short notes about my admiration and paste them on the noticeboard at the mosque. Biodun was partly the reason I didn’t study in the UK. I graduated from secondary school around 2010 and had already secured admission to the UK — not for journalism, though. My dad thought studying law was better.
Just before I was meant to travel, my dad changed his mind and decided I’d better go to school in Nigeria instead. His reason? Biodun also studied in the UK and was a chain smoker. He knew how much I idolised her and feared I was ready to imitate this woman in everything, including smoking. He was right because I did get into smoking years later because of her, but we’ll get to that.
Eventually, I got admitted to study law at one of the universities in my state. Ironically, that brought me closer to Biodun — it was the same state she worked in. By then, my obsession had grown to commenting on all her social media posts and fighting everyone with anything negative to say in the comments. I followed every single thing she did. I started calling myself a “Biodunist” and made her picture my wallpaper on everything I owned. She was also my display picture on all my social media accounts — the love was that deep.
It was politics that finally brought me the opportunity to meet her. My penchant for writing led me to work for several media houses as a student, and I regularly wrote articles criticising the state government in power. This made me well-known to some members of the opposing political party in the state, and I became friends with many of them. I also became active in student union politics and championed several causes to ensure female involvement in school politics.
In 2014, I organised a female conference and magazine launch to highlight women doing great work in their fields. Of course, Biodun had to be the face of the magazine. I repeatedly sent several invitations to her via Facebook, but I didn’t get any headway until someone I knew from my political activities gave me her contact. Surprisingly, Biodun responded, and we started chatting on BlackBerry Messenger.
I couldn’t believe my luck. It was my chance to impress her, and I tried my hardest. She loves rap music — BBM had a thing where you could see what people were listening to, so I started listening to Nicki Minaj and Drake because she did, too. One time, we were chatting about Game of Thrones during exam season, and I’d literally leave my books to watch new episodes so that I could respond if she talked about the series.
Biodun wasn’t in office at this point, but she planned to run again in 2015, and I somehow became involved in her campaign. She knew I was her staunch supporter and that I knew my way around politics. So, she sent me a data modem and tasked me with creating social media accounts for her campaign.
I should note that we hadn’t met at this point, and I wasn’t being paid, but it felt like I was part of something great. I bragged about my work with her to everyone who cared to listen. I went for Hajj that year, and instead of praying for myself or my family, I stood in front of the Kabba praying for Biodun to win the election. I cried like a baby when she lost the party’s primary elections.
Remember that conference I organised? She didn’t come, even though she promised she would. She sent a representative instead, but I couldn’t stay angry with her for long. Especially since she came through for me some months later when I got into trouble with the police because of my outside-school political activities. She promised to send lawyers if I wasn’t released. It didn’t get to that, but I took that assurance as her reciprocating my love for her. And my loyalty tripled.
We still kept in touch when I went on to law school. She’d always tell me how stressful work was for her since she didn’t have a personal assistant, and I’d respond by saying I wished I was there to help her. I moved into her house immediately after my final exams in 2017 and resumed work unofficially that same night. I say “unofficially” because no one gave me an appointment letter. I was supposed to go home — my mum had even booked a flight for me, but I refused to leave her side.
Biodun was planning to run for governor in 2023, and I was tasked with building a roadmap for her to get there through humanitarian initiatives, charity, and the like. That became my life’s work. In my head, I was going to help make a difference in the state.
My daily schedule involved waking up around 11 a.m., going to Biodun’s study, and working with her until 3 a.m. I lived in the same room with her maid and slept on a bunk bed. They also had a dog in the maid’s room who peed everywhere, which meant I couldn’t observe my daily prayers regularly.
I ate once a day in Biodun’s house — only breakfast, and that was typically bread and eggs. I rarely ate more than once a day, and that happens if the maid brings food to her study and Biodun tells me to come and eat. That wasn’t often because she did a lot of diet fasting. I also wasn’t being paid, so I sometimes called home for money so I could buy food. Looking back at it now, it was a far cry from my privileged background, but I didn’t see it at the time. I was working with my idol, and that was all that mattered.
It also didn’t matter that I took monthly flights with my own money during NYSC year for monthly clearance just so I could keep living with Biodun even though I was posted to a different state.
Our schedule got a lot tighter in 2018 because of the preparations for the general elections the following year. Biodun wasn’t contesting, but she needed to ingratiate herself with the party, and she handled many campaign efforts and empowerment projects in our state on behalf of the presidential candidate.
We flew together everywhere. I was always in the car with her, never more than a few feet away. No jokes; I followed her into the toilet several times and even helped her dress up. I was the one carrying campaign money and following her up and down. People began calling me her PA, and it thrilled me.
If you know anything about politics in Nigeria, you know there’s never a shortage of enemies. Biodun’s house was always full, with different people going in and out. That crowd got bigger with the campaigns, and we began killing a cow daily to cook for people. I was the one handling money, and sometimes, when she directed me to give someone money to buy something, I’d naively exclaim that the item shouldn’t cost that much. That brought me a lot of enemies.
There was also a lot of backbiting and passive-aggressiveness going around, and I soon started feeling unsafe. I had to bring some friends to come live with me because I worried about even eating food at the house. I’m honestly not sure if I was attacked because I was found unconscious one day with my three cats dead beside me and three random scars on my back. This was just before the elections in 2019, and I’d briefly returned to my family home. I was hospitalised for a week, and after I was discharged, I still returned to Biodun’s house despite pushback from my family.
2019 was also the year my eyes started to “clear”. Biodun landed a ministerial appointment and got an actual PA. I didn’t mind it because I thought there was a way personal assistants were supposed to dress or look, and I didn’t fit that position. Where did I even want to see money to buy good clothes? I was literally dressing like a maid back then. But that wasn’t the only thing that changed.
I’d always known Biodun had temper issues — she was known for screaming at people and throwing objects, but I always knew to avoid her when she was in a mood, so I was hardly the focus of her outbursts. But the night before a dinner to celebrate her appointment, she called me a stupid person and threw a remote at me because I couldn’t find golden spoons to rent for the dinner.
We also went from working closely together to hardly speaking to each other. We were still living in the same house, but there was now a PA and several DSS officers around her and I couldn’t just approach her.
Those first few weeks after her appointment, I felt like I was just floating around—going to the office and returning to the house with no sense of direction. After a while, I was officially given a title as research and policy assistant and a ₦150k salary, but I didn’t feel like part of the team.
I’d thought the ministerial position would provide an opportunity to work on the projects Biodun and I had discussed as her roadmap to governorship, but she was no longer interested. We’d planned to start a recycling project, but that got abandoned. She’d also placed someone on a scholarship but suddenly stopped paying the fees and ignored prompts about it.
Around the same time, she bought aso-ebi for everyone in the office for someone’s wedding. People would reach out for help, and we’d ignore them, but if the person died, we’d send cows and visit for optics. I didn’t recognise who she’d become, and I felt betrayed. What happened to the visions and the people we used to go see back to back during the campaigns?
It suddenly became like I didn’t know how to do anything anymore. Biodun would scream at me and insult me in full view of everyone for the slightest thing. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house or office without permission. One time, I went to the mosque, and when she didn’t see me in my seat, it became an issue. I was also working long hours. I had to get to the office before 9 a.m. and only leave after she had left. Sometimes, I’d return home by 9 p.m. only to continue working till well past midnight.
The office politics was even worse. People who work in government offices have the opportunity to go on training programs with an estacode allowance (or travel allowance) to cover any expenses. Biodun’s chief of staff made sure he was the only one who went for those programs. He actually didn’t even go for most of them; it was the allowance he wanted.
In 2020, I summoned the courage to leave Biodun’s house. I rented an apartment but had to lie to her that it was my friend’s place, and I just wanted to visit her during the weekends. That was how I packed my things small small till I moved into that apartment.
Moving out was a lifesaver. I really began to see how I’d grown into a shadow of myself. I could cook and eat without worrying about going out to buy food and having to explain where I went. I should mention that my mum had been worried about me for a long time. My dad had passed away at this point, and she expected me to return home to manage his business, but I couldn’t even visit. I was also constantly taking money from my trust to survive. She didn’t understand why I just couldn’t leave.
The final push I needed to leave came during the EndSARS protests. I wasn’t allowed to join because I worked for the ruling government, but it was a cause that affected me. My younger brother was a victim of these SARS officers, and it was personal to me. So, I’d sneak out of the office to attend protests. I could do that because the presidency had directed most officials to return to their states to try to diffuse the tension.
On social media, Biodun formed solidarity with the youths, even helping project the #5for5 demands. But on a WhatsApp group with other party members, she was inciting people to throw curses on the youths for protesting and claiming a political opponent sponsored them. I was appalled by it all and even got into a public argument about it on the WhatsApp group until some people reached me privately and called me to order. I was so disappointed and ashamed. This wasn’t the Biodun I knew and admired.
The presidency also called for stakeholders to present reports about the protests, and I attended one to get pointers on how to prepare Biodun’s report. You won’t believe no one talked about the lives lost at the Lekki toll gate or the damaged properties. The “stakeholders” were rather discussing contract approvals.
I think that was the point I became disillusioned with the whole thing and decided I was leaving for good. I did leave sometime later during a meeting with Biodun and some other staff. They were complaining about something I supposedly did wrong, and I just stood up, plugged in my headphones and walked out.
Four years later, I’m still glad I left when I did. I can finally breathe. Since then, I’ve grown in the political space and have done important work that I care about. I also manage my dad’s business now.
I can make friends with whomever I want. I couldn’t do this while working with Biodun because I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone connected with other politicians. She also made me write damaging and insulting articles about other people, and I regret being used to do so much of her dirty work, but I’m moving on from that.
Most importantly, I’ve grown, and I now know my worth. I wasted so many years of my life following someone mindlessly, but I know better now, and no one can make me go through that again. I don’t have any political leader because I can’t do that running up and down for someone else anymore. I’m grateful for my family and appreciate how much they stood by me while I figured things out. I’m in a better place now, and my experience has taught me to treat people with respect. I know how it feels to be treated like shit, and I have a responsibility to make sure I don’t pass that on.
For every young person aspiring to get into politics, it’s important to develop yourself first before putting yourself under someone else because reaching your full potential will be difficult that way. Also, don’t trust any politician. They change.
A Nollywood actress’ recent comments about wishing she’d married for money instead of love has woken social media debaters from their slumber and inspired another version of the age-old conversation topic: Should you marry for love or money?
I spoke to married Nigerians, and they talked about marrying for either love or money and what they’d do differently if they could have a do-over.
Gbemi, 51
I married for love, but I won’t advise any young woman to do the same. My husband isn’t a bad man, and I’m not suffering, but I have a reason for my answer.
When I married my husband, he was unemployed and only had foam in his bedroom—no bed or mattress—just foam to sleep on. If you mistakenly slept on that foam without a bedsheet, you’d have to spend hours removing foam from your hair. But I loved him, and he was kind to me. I also had a job, and we planned to use my salary to build a school as our family business.
It worked out for us, but only because my husband is a rare breed. For over six years, I brought most of the money, and he never acted out. He never talked even when I did my normal woman wahala and spent money on unnecessary things. He neither asked me for money nor tried to police what I used money for. I dropped it at home by myself because of our school plan.
Men of these days can’t do that. I can’t count the number of family issues I’ve helped solve that’s rooted in the woman earning more. Don’t say your own man can’t do it. Marry someone with money, please. Marriage is already stressful without adding money and the stress of managing someone’s ego to it. If I didn’t get married to my husband, I most likely wouldn’t have married a poor man.
Obinna, 43
I didn’t even marry for either love or money. I got married to my partner because my parents knew her family and recommended her. I don’t have any regrets. She’s made my house a home and is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We’ve been married for over 10 years, and that’s love if you ask me. If I had the opportunity again, I’d still allow my parents to pick for me.
Rola, 29
I married for both love and money by making sure to find love where the money was. I understand that money is vital in building a home and removing unnecessary stress, so poverty was a deal-breaker for me when I was single. I don’t have much in common with broke men, so where did they even want to find me? I make good money and expect the same from a romantic partner. That’ll always be my standard.
Justina, 40
I married quite young for love, and while I’m grateful that my husband and I are fairly financially comfortable now, it wasn’t always like that. There were years of struggle that affected the love. Of course, you can’t be thinking about love when landlord is threatening to throw you out over unpaid rent, or when you’re doing 001 and eating once a day so your kids can eat.
Fortunately, we stayed together through those years, but I don’t think we’re as close as before. We lost that connection while struggling to make ends meet. If I had the opportunity to do it all over again, I’d have waited for us to make money first before getting married and raising children.
Femi, 34
Do Nigerian men really have the option to marry for money? I don’t think it’s as common for us. I married my wife because I love her. Whether she brings in money or not isn’t really my business because I’m meant to provide for her and my family. That’s not to say it doesn’t get difficult. I’ve been married for five years, and sometimes, I want to run away from all my financial responsibilities. If it’s not house rent, it’s fuel or the children or even extended family. Maybe if I had another opportunity, I’d find a way to hook Dangote’s daughter so that I, too, can enjoy.
Yemi, 31
I married for love and peace of mind. Money isn’t everything. My husband and I don’t have it all, but at least we’re together. I’ve heard stories of richer couples who eventually divorced or are battling one problem or the other. I’ll advise anyone to consider peace of mind and whether they can stay happy with that person for years over how much is in their account. Money can disappear overnight, but marriage is a lifetime thing. Will you end the marriage because there’s no money again?
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
When was the first time you made money?
I worked as a childminder — an assistant class teacher — at a nursery school when I was 16. The school paid me ₦7k/month to look after the children and help with their school work. This was 2012, and I’d just graduated from secondary school. I took the job so I could reduce the time I spent at home.
Why’s that?
My parents often fought about money. Our financial situation wasn’t even terrible — my mum was a teacher and my dad was a lecturer — they just hardly agreed on what to do with money.
For instance, my dad would talk about saving money to pay school fees and house rent, but my mum didn’t think that should stop us from going out to eateries and parties on Saturdays. Then I started hearing my mum say my dad was hiding money so he wouldn’t have to spend it on what he called “unnecessary things.”
It was always one thing at home, and after secondary school, I had to get out and try to forge my own path.
Did your first job help you do that?
The job helped me earn a living and build a sense of responsibility. My parents still provided for me, but I had something to call my own. I even gave my siblings money sometimes. I also saved, but I usually spent it on food. I wasn’t keeping track of my expenses either.
When I got admitted into the university in 2014, I quit teaching and moved to the south for uni, which was a long way from home. My parents usually sent me ₦15k as my total allowance for a whole semester.
How did you survive on that?
I had an aunt who I called for financial assistance when I got broke, which was often.
In 300 level, I decided to start a business. I think ASUU had declared another strike, and I needed to start something that’d bring me money. That’s how I started selling ankara fabrics in 2017.
How did the business work?
I used about ₦5k to start. I’d buy two yards of ankara at ₦1k and sell for ₦1500 or ₦1800. My primary customers were my friends and classmates, but I also gave some of the fabric to someone who sold provisions in school to help me sell. That turned out to be a good idea because I soon expanded to buying six yards. She’d sell at a markup and remit the remaining money to me. I made between ₦3k – ₦4k in profits weekly.
Not bad
I also started a palm oil storage business that year; I heard it was lucrative. A village close to my school had several oil mills, so I used the profit I made from selling ankara to buy six gallons of palm oil at ₦4k each.
The trick was to buy in January when palm oil was cheap and store it till September when it becomes expensive. By September, I sold each gallon at ₦16k.
There was already a market for it so it was quite straightforward. I just took the oil to a depot that Hausa traders frequented. The traders brought in yam and potatoes to sell and they bought palm oil to take back to the north.
I did both businesses till I graduated from uni in 2019.
Would you say you made good money?
I was comfortable. Just before final year, I moved to an off-campus accommodation and paid the ₦84k annual rent myself. I was essentially taking care of myself; I didn’t disturb anyone for money and no one disturbed me.
That’s the dream, TBH
After graduation, I stayed back in the south. The COVID lockdown met me there the following year. I couldn’t sell ankara because of the restricted movement, so I decided on a new business idea: sex toys.
How?
I discovered a need. Before the lockdown, I heard stories from my mum about one family or the other having sex-related issues. You’d hear one aunty had never had an orgasm and was sexually dissatisfied in her marriage. Anytime I went home, my mum and her friends would swap stories like that.
When lockdown came, it was like sex was all people could talk about online and offline. So, I decided that pleasure was a need. My plan was to sell vibrators to married women so they’d at least get some satisfaction.
Married women?
Yes. Women were the ones suffering according to the stories I heard. Also, I felt married women were a market audience people hadn’t gotten into like that. Till now, the market still isn’t saturated.
How did you start the business?
I started by dropshipping for a sex toy company. I paid ₦10k to register as a reseller, which gave me access to their website for pictures and videos of their products. From there, I marketed the pictures on WhatsApp and put my own price. If someone signified interest, I’d buy the toy from the company at a discounted reseller’s price and keep the profit. The company was in charge of delivering the product to the customer. For instance, they could give me a vibrator at a reseller’s price of ₦12k and I’d sell for ₦20k – ₦22k.
I only sold one item for the company in the whole of 2020 sha. A wand vibrator that brought me a ₦5k profit.
Was it difficult to get customers?
The problem was the company. They hardly gave resellers good products. Customers would reach out to me for products but I couldn’t deliver. The company could just decide to refuse to sell, saying they’d finished selling that particular product to resellers and wanted to sell the remaining themselves. It was like they only left the worst products for resellers, and that wasn’t helping me.
Yikes. What did you do?
I stopped dropshipping for them in 2021 and decided to buy and market my own toys. In March, a friend gifted me $100 (about ₦50k) and I used it to buy my first set of toys — 13 pieces of vibrators, dildos and BDSM kits.
My plan was to run ads on Instagram so I wouldn’t depend on WhatsApp. I didn’t do that till around October because I changed cities and needed a few months to settle in.
Why did you change cities?
I was tired of where I was and wanted a change of environment. Plus, a friend offered to let me stay in one of their self-contained apartments for free, so it was a win-win.
Fast forward to October, I started reaching out to bloggers and Instagram influencers for ads. I paid ₦5k to one influencer, and ₦3k to another. That week, I made ₦150k in sales. Profit alone was about ₦100k.
That’s impressive
It was as if the whole city knew about me from those posts. That’s how my business kicked off. My main mode of marketing is still influencers, and I run ads continuously every month. In the early days, I spent about ₦15k monthly on the ads and made almost ten times that figure in sales.
I’m curious. Did you experience any challenges starting out?
Not really. My family knows I sell sex toys and everyone minds their business. I’ve even sold toys to my relatives. I hardly have issues with customers too. People love their sex toys, maybe even too much. They treat them like important items.
If I were to name a challenge, it’d be that people tend to abuse sex toys. I started with the intention of selling the toys to married people, but it’s mostly young people who buy them. They’d buy up to four or five toys at once and come back again the next month.
One time, I visited a friend and saw that she had eight vibrators. People buy several types to experiment with and toss them after a while. I mean, it’s good for business but it’s bad for them. Excessive usage like that can’t be healthy.
Oh, I didn’t mention I also started a decorative flower business in 2021.
Tell me more about that
I’m always on the lookout for business opportunities, and I stumbled on bonsai flowers. They’re used to decorate TV consoles and are imported from China. I made findings and started off buying small quantities from a supplier — like 20 at a time — and reselling.
At the time, each flower was ₦1k, and I sold to wholesalers at ₦1800 – ₦2000. I also created an Instagram page for the business. For retail customers, I could sell the flowers at any amount. I once sold four pieces at ₦5k each.
I got my big break in 2022 when my sugar daddy gave me ₦2.6m to invest in both my sex toy and flower businesses.
Woah. This is the first time you’re mentioning him
I met him through a friend during lockdown. He was the “friend” who allowed me to live in a free apartment. But I didn’t want to rely on anyone and wasn’t asking him for money. Living for free was enough for me. I just wanted to do my business and make money.
How he even gave me the ₦2.6m was funny. I’d given him some of the flowers, and he liked them. He asked if I could sell them on a larger scale, and I responded that I’d need at least 1000 pieces to start. Then he just announced that he’d give me the money. I used that money to buy 3000 flower pieces and about 100 sex toys in October 2022. Funny enough, we parted ways soon after.
That investment must’ve changed your income flow
It did. The thing about having so many products as a business owner is that you become more confident in your marketing. I think I cleared off that first bulk batch of flowers in seven weeks.
This is how it worked: I imported the pieces straight from China and stored them in a warehouse. Since I was buying so much, the cost price for each piece was ₦600. Clearance at the port was the same cost for each item. So, I also paid ₦600 for each item. That meant it cost me ₦1200 to bring one flower pot to Nigeria.
After I cleared the products, I started running ads on Instagram with influencers. Also, I sold mostly to wholesalers — people who could buy at least 400 pieces. The flower business is quite profitable in Nigeria o. I didn’t expect the turnover. I didn’t know so many people were into interior decor like that. I made about ₦3.2m in profit from the flowers in 2023.
That same year, I was finally able to afford to move into my dream two-bedroom apartment. That costs me ₦600k/year in rent.
Nice. So you run both businesses concurrently?
The flowers are like a side hustle. I imported only three times in 2023. It’s capital-intensive and clearance costs can be all over the place. I’ve not even imported anything this year. Right now, I work with a supplier in Lagos whenever someone reaches out wanting to buy them. So I just add a small profit on top and she sends it to them. It’s not regular and I don’t actively market so I can’t say I make a particular amount from it each month. My sex toy business brings in enough money for me.
How much do you make on average from the toys?
I comfortably make between ₦150k – ₦300k in profits monthly. ₦150k in a really bad month.
I’m currently in a good place with my finances. There’s a satisfaction that comes from knowing I can pay for most of the things I want. I can walk into an eatery and order food without first asking for the price. I can hang out with friends and travel — at least within Nigeria. But I’m okay.
Can you break down what these expenses look like in a good month?
I’m always home, so I hardly spend on transportation. But I often host get-togethers to spend time with friends, and that increases my feeding expenses. That’s usually like an extra ₦80k. It’s not every month though.
Also, I don’t save. I’m always buying one product or the other for my business so I always need liquid cash.
What about black tax?
I rarely send money home unless it’s absolutely necessary. Maybe ₦5k here or ₦10k there. The most I’ve ever spent on black tax was ₦100k a few years ago when I paid my parent’s rent. I’ve realised that black tax isn’t always from a place of need, it’s usually from entitlement and greed.
I sent money home regularly when I first started making money, but I shut that down when it became too much for me. I noticed everyone was still fine without my money, so they’ll continue to be fine.
What’s the hardest part of running a sex toy business?
People treat the toys like food. What I mean is, someone would place an order right now and expect it to be delivered immediately. Some are ready to pay double the delivery fee just to get it immediately. I think it’s the state of mind people are in when they order an item. I constantly have to manage expectations.
Is it weird that that’s the only “difficult” side to the business?
Uhm —
It’s just a relatively easy business. I don’t even look for customers anymore. Sometimes, I spend only ₦3k in a month for influencer marketing and I still make sales. My customer base is mostly repeat purchases and referrals.
How would you describe your relationship with money?
I believe money is a spirit. If I don’t plan how I want to spend money before it enters, I may end up spending it on emergencies or impulse purchases. So, I try to plan and track my expenses to avoid that.
Also, I’m earning well, even though it sometimes feels like I’m not with how the economy moves these days. I need to reach a point where my income is more than my expenses. Maybe then, things will begin to make sense.
How much do you think you should be earning for that to happen?
At least ₦3m/month. I say this because, even though I don’t have that many expenses, I spend a lot on my business. I have to restock regularly and my money is tied down until I sell them. The thing with business is, you’re always buying. It’s sometimes difficult to separate business money and personal money. So, if I’m earning ₦3m and spending like ₦1m, I’d be rich.
Have you considered what you’d need to get to that figure?
I started offering business training classes this year. In fact, my first class is a few months away. I’m charging people ₦50k to teach them about the palm oil storage business, and I’ve gotten seven students so far. I should start running ads to get more students soon. I also plan to hold mini-importation and business foundation classes. Let me teach what I know how to do best, right?
Get it! Is there anything you’d like to be better at financially?
Knowing how to grow my money through investments, but I’ll still need money for that. I bought two plots of land for ₦1.3m in 2023 and they’re worth about ₦2.4m now. The land is close to a university and I know I can make good money if I build on it. It’s that or I turn it into a farm. But these are plans for the future.
Is there anything you want but can’t afford right now?
A phone so I can have a separate business phone. It’s very difficult using one phone for both business and personal life because of the tons of messages and calls I get. I’m considering an iPhone 12, but that’s like ₦530k.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
8. Maybe by the time I start the training classes and make small additional money, it’d be a 10. Ask me again in October.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Resignations and layoffs aren’t strange terms in the world of capitalism, and while the latter usually comes as a surprise, it’s not often immediate. There are often a few days or weeks to tie up loose ends — the notice period, AKA that “hanging around” period when you’re not actually working but still “working”.
We asked some 9-5ers who’ve been in this situation to share what they did — or didn’t do — during this period. Think of it as a guide.
“Just go on leave” — Wilson*, 27
I went on my annual two-week leave and then sent in my one-month resignation notice on the first day of leave. That way, I used half of the notice period to rest before returning to discuss the handover. I thought my bosses would try to cut the leave short, but they didn’t. Everything went smoothly. I advise people to do the same, especially if they’re leaving to join another job. So, they can catch a little break before jumping into the 9-5 life again.
“Steal everything” — Esther, 23
I was fired from a social media management job because I couldn’t grow the Instagram followers from 3k to 15k in two months. To make it worse, they kept me for two weeks extra to help hire my replacement. I stayed because I wanted to get my full salary, but I stole all the office milo and milk sachets. At least, I was drinking tea for two weeks for free and no one noticed, or maybe they didn’t care.
“Stop pretending to work” — Tayo, 29
My previous workplace was quite toxic and competitive. Even if you managed to finish your tasks early, you still had to make a show of being busy by announcing what you were doing so you wouldn’t look unproductive or be told you aren’t “thinking outside the box” to look for more things to solve. I used to form busy a lot by being all over Slack.
But when they laid me off and gave me a two-week heads-up, I just stopped faking it. I did my tasks quietly within a few hours and slept for the rest of the workday. No more announcing on Slack or volunteering to do things outside my duties. I was laid off with a few other people, and those two weeks were the quietest our Slack channel ever was. Work still went on fine. I guess we all just threw busy body-ism out of the window because we knew there was no point again.
“Tell your employers your mind” — Kay, 31
When I turned in my resignation, my boss scheduled an exit interview, and I used the opportunity to tell them my mind about everything I thought they weren’t doing well. It’s not like I was fighting with them. I just finally had the freedom to talk, knowing they couldn’t use it against me or become passive-aggressive. Plus, it was up to them to take my feedback or not. It no longer affected me.
“Remove personal items” — Mariam, 22
Don’t be like me who forgot to sign out of WhatsApp on my company laptop only to find out weeks later that my account was still linked there. I cringe every time I remember how much I shit-talked my boss on a group chat with my friends or even my personal chats with my boyfriend. Jesus.
“Show them what they’ll miss” — Detola, 28
Anytime I resign from a place, I make sure to do my best work during the notice period. Most of it is due to excitement that my days there are numbered. A part of it is also to show them what they’ll miss. Like a corporate version of “You’ll never find another woman like me”. It’s petty, I know, but I absolutely love it.
“Look for another job” — Ben*, 25
I was once laid off with a one-month notice, and I used the entire period to job hunt. I’d literally be in a team meeting with my phone, and on a job interview with my laptop. I was still working o, but my priority was securing my future. I also took many sick days to prepare for interviews. The game is the game. If you like, feel guilty. Everybody will move on.
“Blame” is a strong word, but it best describes how I sometimes feel about my parents.
They’re the kind of people you’d call “new money”. Growing up, I heard several stories about how my dad would trek to school with the one pair of shoes he wore everywhere; school, church and when he had to follow his dad to the farm to harvest yams. My mum had a similar upbringing; she grew up in Lagos in those “face me I slap you” houses.
Education and sheer grit changed my father’s story and brought him the money and connections he didn’t have growing up. For him, that meant his children never had to struggle like he did. Coupled with the fact that his first child — me — came after almost six years of waiting, and the second child came after I turned 9, his “my children will never suffer” resolve quickly turned into spoiling.
I don’t remember ever wanting something and being told “no”. One time in primary school, a classmate refused to let me try on his new watch, so I complained to my mum at home and she made our house help go to the market to buy the same watch for me that evening.
I failed my mathematics exam once in JSS 3, but it never got to my results sheet because the teacher called my parents and told them about it. My score was too close to a D, and the teacher knew my parents wouldn’t like it. I don’t know what they discussed, but they gave me new exam sheets with another that contained the answers to rewrite it in my dad’s room. All I had to do was copy the answers in my handwriting. I got an A.
I’m not saying my parents didn’t teach me any values. They taught me to be kind and respectful, but I never really “struggled” or had to think about how to solve challenges. I just always knew mummy or daddy would handle it.
The first time I might’ve handled “adult” problems was in 2013. I was in my second year at a popular federal university. My parents only wanted me to attend that university because of the alumni network.
But one lecturer came to the class and started saying “A is for God, and B is for me”, so my parents decided it was best to transfer to a private university. Why did I need to stress over a lecturer who was famous for failing students?
It’s the same quest for an easier life that made me fake an illness to abandon NYSC camp in 2018 and has made it almost impossible for me to stay at one job for more than six months. I once walked out of a graduate internship because third mainland bridge traffic was stressing my life, and I wasn’t about the “waking up at 5 a.m.” life.
That’s when I manage to get jobs. Since 2019, I’ve had three jobs. It’s 2024, and I’ve been unemployed for seven months. There’s just something unappealing about convincing potential employers to “choose” you that makes the job search stressful for me.
I’m not idle, though. I try tech content creation sometimes as a hobby, but it takes a level of consistency that’s difficult to keep up with.
I’m a 28-year-old man, and I see the strides my mates are making, but I don’t feel the push to do more. I feel like I’m not living up to my potential. Specifically, I don’t know what path to take; I feel stuck. My best friend says I have classic “failure to launch” symptoms.
My parents don’t seem bothered, probably because they’ve already mapped out my future; my dad has real estate investments that will go to me after I get married. But I don’t even know if I’m interested in real estate or learning what it takes to manage it. I love my parents and enjoy a close relationship with my family. They support my lifestyle, and I’m grateful for that.
However, I think my struggle with a lack of ambition and feeling stuck is connected to how they raised me. What’s there to look forward to when I already have all I need?
I’d like to raise my future kids better. But I’m not even sure how to make sure they’re better adjusted, and that scares me more than I like to admit.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
My daily allowance in primary school. Every day, I‘d get ₦500 to share with my younger brother. But I’d save my own half of the money for two weeks and return it to my mum. After collecting the money, she’d laugh and pray for me.
Why were you returning the money to her?
I was nine years old and saw how she struggled to provide for us; I wanted to make things easier for her in my own little way. My mum was once a trader, but she got robbed around the time I entered primary school, and had to start roasting corn to make money.
My dad, on the other hand, worked at a beverage factory but it wasn’t stable. He always feared he’d be laid off due to constantly changing company policies.
When was the first time you made money?
2014. I was in JSS 1 when I started hawking uncooked corn for my mum. Some context: My dad had been laid off and was now working at a transport company where he made little. My mum became the primary provider, so my siblings and I had to assist whenever we could.
I was out to hawk every day after school with my older sister from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. I’d go out with ₦900 – ₦1,200 worth of corn on a tray and usually did three or four trips within that period. This brought about ₦3k in profit, and my mum gave me a percentage — usually ₦300 or ₦500.
What did you spend the money on?
I saved most of the money in a piggy bank, and I often used my savings to help out my mum whenever she complained about being broke. I spent some of my money on myself, though — from snacks and soft drinks to okrika clothes.
I stopped hawking in JSS 3 after we started hearing kidnapping rumours in our area. My mum didn’t want to risk it.
What did you do next?
I got a job serving food at a restaurant after finishing secondary school in 2019. My salary was ₦10k/month and I made between ₦1k – ₦2k extra in tips weekly. I stopped after three months because the male customers kept trying to sexually harass me and the owner didn’t care.
After that, I moved to another restaurant where I also served food, but my salary was ₦7k/month. I didn’t make as much from tips either, but I felt safe. The owner was a woman who didn’t let her customers try rubbish with her staff.
I worked there for about five months before I left to start JAMB lessons. The lesson fees were ₦6k/month, but I couldn’t continue after the third month because I’d exhausted my savings. Thankfully, I managed to pass JAMB.
So, off to the university?
The lockdown happened and kept me home for a few months. But I wasn’t idle. I worked in a hotel as a receptionist, and then as a bar attendant. It paid ₦15k/month and I made even more working at the bar.
The hotel was running “codedly” because it was during the lockdown and no one was supposed to be there, but we had Yahoo boys who came regularly to drink. I made extra money by increasing the price of the drinks. If something cost ₦1,500, I sold it for ₦2,500 and pocketed the extra money. I can’t remember how much now, but I made so much at the bar.
Foolishly, I left the bar after three months.
What happened?
I got into a relationship with a guy who didn’t think a lady should be working at a hotel and bar. He promised he’d get me another job, but that never happened. He gave me money — between ₦15k – ₦50k — on several occasions, though.
It was from these monies I gathered ₦60k to pay for admission acceptance when uni resumed in 2021. But the relationship ended when admission came. He didn’t think I’d be faithful in school, so he ended things. I was only able to afford school fees with my elder brother’s help. He sent me ₦200k — all his life savings — to help complete the ₦220k fee.
Did you try anything to make money in uni?
Well, I dropped out of uni after a year. During that time, I relied on whatever amount my elder siblings sent to me.
Why did you drop out?
In 2022, my mum’s pastor told me and my mum about an opportunity to travel to Egypt to work as a house girl or house manager, and make as much as ₦300k/month. The plan was that someone in Egypt would sponsor my passport, visa and travel costs. In exchange, I’d pay them everything I make in Egypt for a year and seven months.
I was quite sceptical about the plan; I’ve heard stories of people who travel abroad to work and end up in prostitution. So, I initially refused to do it. But my mum reminded me there was no money to keep me in school. I saw a point in her argument.
I didn’t have a source of income, no potential boyfriend to sponsor me, and my brother could go broke at any point. How did I expect to start raising ₦200k? Plus, ASUU was on strike again and it looked like I was just sitting at home doing nothing.
I had no other choice. I agreed to travel to Egypt.
What was the process like?
I applied for a passport and visa and did a lot of medicals — especially COVID tests. I was also screened for HIV, diabetes and pregnancy. They don’t take pregnant house managers because the job involves cleaning and taking care of children, and pregnancy means you can’t do as much.
The whole process took about three months. My sponsor paid for everything, so I don’t know how much it all cost. That said, I know that sponsors make a crazy amount of profit from bringing people in. There’s no way they spent so much that you need someone’s full salary for over a year, but that’s how it works here.
So, you travelled to Egypt in 2022
Yup. I arrived at my sponsor’s three-bedroom flat with several other girls she’s sponsored also living here. Everyone only eats once a day in the house. When you’re lucky, you eat two times. The usual meal was one loaf of bread, a tea bag and some sugar. Sometimes, we’d cook Nigerian rice and stew with chicken and share it among ourselves.
I stayed there for eight days before I got my first job as a cleaner. The jobs are pretty easy to get —people are always looking for help. Most of the house girl or cleaner jobs in Egypt require moving in with your bosses. I only get to return to my sponsor’s house for brief periods of time. But the jobs aren’t fixed contracts; I can decide to stop working with an employer at any time.
How much did the first job pay?
EGP5,500/month. The exchange rate was ₦35 to an Egyptian Pound then, and it came to ₦192,500. I kept EGP300 of my salary as a living allowance because I had to send the rest to my sponsor.
My feeding was handled by my employer so my allowance went to small expenses like jackets and socks for when I’m cold. Then, I’d gather whatever was left of the allowance — usually ₦15k— for a few months and send money home to my mum. She wasn’t pressuring me to send anything; I just did it because I wanted to help out.
What was the job like?
It was pretty decent. I cleaned for a Syrian family of two who were nice to me. Syrians are actually really nice people. I’ve worked with two of them, and they treated me well. Anyway, these ones gave me a room and bought pads and perfume for me. Sometimes, they tipped me if they thought I did a good job. I worked long hours — from 10 a.m. to midnight, but their kindness made it easy.
I was with them for five months. The woman of the house gave birth and became cranky. One day she shouted at me and asked me to leave. She said she didn’t want to see me again. So, I Ieft.
Did you find another job?
Yes. I found another within four days. Though this one was both cleaning and nanny work. The pay was also EGP5,500/month, but I left after 12 days. Taking care of babies is stressful and the madam saw I couldn’t do it. So, she just paid me for the days I worked and I left.
My next cleaning gig paid the same amount, and I spent seven months there. I never went on holiday once because my madam’s children always wanted to see my face. I finally left because my salary kept getting delayed and my sponsor wasn’t having it. Salaries are paid on the 26th here, and if I don’t send money to my sponsor that same day, she’ll call and start swearing at me. It was my sponsor who insisted I find another job.
Why were there salary delays, though?
My madam was a stay-at-home wife — most Egyptian wives are — and all the expenses were on the husband. I think they struggled with paying their children’s school fees and paying for my services, which caused the delays. I left the job in November 2023.
My next gig was supposed to pay EGP6,500/month, but I only worked for 10 days. I fell ill and my employer asked me to go home to get treated. By the time I returned, she said I should go back because she didn’t have money to pay me.
Ah
Thankfully, I got another EGP6,500/month gig with a rich family of seven in January 2024. My job was to clean and basically take care of whatever they needed. They had two other black women working for them — a Nigerian and a Sudanese.
I worked with them for almost five months, and I was able to pay off my debt to my sponsor in March 2024, four months earlier than I was supposed to. I felt like I was finally financially free.
How did that happen?
You see the family I was working with? Their money is long. They could just wake up one day and travel to London for a few days. They also had multiple luxury cars.
The husband was a health worker, but he didn’t work anymore. He stayed at home during the day and only went out at night. He also always moved with cash. The Nigerian maid told me he was into money laundering. She understood Arabic well and had worked with him for a year before I joined.
One day in February, the husband returned from a trip with a few bags. One of the bags contained chocolates and gifts, which he shared with everyone. I tried to help carry the bags inside, but he instructed me not to touch one of the bags. He took that bag inside himself. Later that night, his wife asked me to go inside the room to take their child’s pacifier. I saw that same bag in the room and got curious. I opened the bag and found lots of dollars and pounds. I’m not sure what possessed me, but I took some of the notes. When I later counted what I took, it was about $1,200.
Did your employers notice?
They didn’t. I hid the money in the visitors’ toilet downstairs just to be safe. I knew they’d kill me if I was caught. It was stealing, but I was just desperate.
I didn’t even touch the money for a few days because I was worried they’d look for it one day. I understand a little Arabic, so I consistently eavesdropped on their conversations to see if they’d talk about any missing money. Nothing like that.
I got the chance to take the money out of the house some days later when they travelled. Normally, they searched every maid leaving the house for holiday to be sure we didn’t take anything. But they travelled ahead of us and couldn’t search.
I finally took the money out and hid it in my sponsor’s house. I didn’t tell a soul, not even my Nigerian colleague. You can’t trust Nigerians in this country. They can snitch for no reason.
Was that the money you used to pay off your debt?
Yes. I first changed the money to naira because there was no way I could explain having dollars. I did the conversions small small, though. It was risky to carry all that dollars to change. Then, I called my sponsor and told her I was ready to pay off my balance. At that time, my outstanding debt was about ₦700k. She probably thought a man gave me the money to pay off my debt because it’s normal here.
I also sent ₦100k to my mum because she was ill at the time. I told her my employer had dashed me the money. I also sent my brother about ₦200k to buy a laptop. After paying off my debt and sending money home, I had about ₦200k left in my account.
Did you have to move out of your sponsor’s house after paying the debt?
Nope. My stuff is still there. She has her issues — especially when it comes to money — but we got along well because I hardly owed her. I know how she treated others, though. I once saw her beat up someone because they hadn’t paid for a month.
People get into those money issues when they try to send more money home. They’d ask the sponsor to loan them a month’s salary so they can send home or sort out some things. When they delay in paying back, it becomes an issue.
Curious. Do you know anyone this sponsorship thing didn’t work out for?
Yes. Several ladies I know are back in Nigeria because they couldn’t handle the pressure. In 2023, I met a lady in a hair salon; she’d just come into the country. The next thing I heard about her was that she wasn’t in the right mind and couldn’t work anymore. Her sponsor eventually called her family to pay for her return ticket back home.
I see. So, where are you at now?
I’ve collected my full salary without having to pay anyone for two months now. I left my former employer’s house recently because they claimed I didn’t complete my work one day and refused to pay the full salary. I’m at another job now, cleaning and managing the house for a family of three. My salary is EGP8,000/month, which is around ₦300k.
What are your monthly expenses like these days, since you don’t have to pay your sponsor?
I know I can’t do this work forever, so I’m saving for whenever I need to leave and look for something else to do. Right now, I have about ₦350k saved in a separate account.
Have you considered when you might stop?
I think I’ll do this house girl work for another two to three years to gather money. It’s one of the easiest jobs to get in Egypt. That doesn’t mean it’s not hard o. It’s really difficult.
There’s also the risk of the police catching and deporting me. I was supposed to get a one-year work permit when I got here which would be renewed every year, but my sponsor didn’t do it. I hope to do that next year.
It costs $1k to get the permit and about $200 to renew it every year. I’ll also have to pay for the two years I’ve already spent here.
What do you imagine will happen after?
I plan to take a software development or cybersecurity course after the third year. Maybe I’ll also look for a job I can do thrice a week, so I have more time. I can’t do much about future career plans now because my work doesn’t give me any extra time.
Do you plan to return to Nigeria?
It’s in my plans, but I have to learn a skill first. Even people who finished university don’t have jobs in Nigeria. Not to talk of me who didn’t finish. Dropping out of school is my only regret, but I have to move on.
What’s something you want, but can’t afford right now?
Land. I feel like owning land in Nigeria is a good investment choice.
Can you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
4. I’m making good money, but I’m not satisfied with the level I’m currently on. That number would be a 6 if I was in another country like the US or Canada and making like $5k/month from software development or working as a travel nurse.
That’s another thing I want to do if I had the money — study nursing. I believe I can do that well. I just generally have big dreams, and I hope I can achieve them someday.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
The Nigerian wedding industry is the epitome of the saying, “It’s expensive out here”. From make-up to hall decoration, the cost of an item is most likely to double — or even triple — once the word “wedding” is mentioned.
Wedding vendors be like…
The intending couple aren’t the only ones affected by this account balance-reddening venture. In recent years, bridesmaids have had to dig deep into their purses to afford the expenses that come with the position. We spoke to six Nigerian women about what it costs to be a Nigerian bridesmaid.
May, 29
Highest amount spent bridesmaiding: ₦800k
I spent that much on one wedding because I had to take flights to the bride’s village for the traditional wedding and then to Abuja for the church wedding. That cost about ₦300k. Then I spent about ₦150k on two outfits, ₦50k on make-up and contributed ₦30k with the other bridesmaids to throw the bride a bridal shower.
I can’t remember how I spent the rest now, but I still bought her a gift and took her out to eat one time. Then there was the cost of transportation within both cities and spraying money during the reception. I even had to borrow money for my flight back because my salary was delayed a bit. The expenses were worth it because she’s my childhood best friend. I wouldn’t spend that much money if it were someone else.
My usual bridesmaid budget is ₦100k – ₦200k and the outfits take most of the money — specifically sewing. Aso-ebi can cost between ₦15k – ₦50k, and my tailor charges between ₦30k – ₦50k. I try to limit bridesmaid activities to once every two months because of these expenses.
Rebecca, 26
Highest amount spent bridesmaiding: ₦300k
The bride lived on the outskirts of Lagos and didn’t provide any accommodation. She expected all six bridesmaids to manage in one room in her dad’s house for two days. I couldn’t do that. I think I spent about ₦80k on hotel fees alone — I stayed three days because I was too tired after the wedding.
I actively avoid bridesmaid activities — because where is the money? — but when I have to, I try to keep my budget under ₦100k. That almost never works out because I still have to spend on Uber cabs, make-up and outfits. And good owambe make-up starts from ₦20k. How much is remaining?
Ola, 31
Highest amount spent bridesmaiding: ₦400k
My husband and I drove from one city to another for that wedding, so a good percentage of the ₦400k went into servicing and fueling the car for the six-hour journey.
Out of that ₦400k, I also contributed ₦30k for the bridal shower, ₦20k for the wedding gift and ₦60k for hotel accommodation. Aso-ebi was ₦45k and sewing was ₦15k. I also had to buy shoes, a new purse and new hair. The hair cost about ₦100k.
I think a reasonable bridesmaid budget is ₦200k, especially with how expensive things are now. At least, I don’t do it every weekend, and I can only be a bridesmaid for people I care about.
Chioma, 23
Highest amount spent bridesmaiding: ₦150k
I’ve actually only been a bridesmaid once in my life. The expenses would’ve been more than that, but the bride is my close friend, and she was very understanding of the fact that I was going through a rough time.
The aso-ebi cost ₦50k, but she gave it to me for free. I used ₦50k to sew it and contributed ₦15k for the bridal shower. I made souvenirs for the wedding and that cost ₦35k. Make-up cost ₦15k, and the rest went into transportation, spraying and helping the bride pay for random things.
I feel like ₦150k is a reasonable budget for a bridesmaid. When it’s not like I’m the one getting married.
Prisca*, 26
Highest amount spent bridesmaiding: ₦200k
This was a few months ago and the money I spent still annoys me because I’d already accepted to be a bridesmaid before realising I’d have to buy two different aso-ebi for the traditional and white weddings. That cost ₦40k. The bride also asked all the bridesmaids to do a ponytail for the wedding, so I had to install a 360 lace wig. That cost about ₦120k. Then there was still make-up, hotel fees, styling and the rest.
I’ll make sure to confirm what I’m expected to buy before I agree to be a bridesmaid again. Spending more than ₦100k for someone else’s wedding is wild.
Jola*, 30
Highest amount spent bridesmaiding: ₦250k
I was the chief bridesmaid and a lot of that money went into getting outfits for the engagement party, traditional wedding, white wedding and afterparty. That also meant triple the cost of makeup (because of the three different events) and transportation. The bride handled accommodation and feeding, though. So, that helped.
My usual bridesmaid budget is ₦80k – ₦100k. Most of my friends don’t like wahala and a good number of them combined the traditional and white wedding on the same day. One-day weddings are usually more cost-effective because you’re just spending once. Right now, my motto is, “Count me out of any wedding that goes over a day”.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
When did you first realise the importance of money?
I have vague memories of my parents telling me I couldn’t go on an excursion in primary school because there was no money. I didn’t understand it. All my classmates were going; what do you mean there’s no money?
But the first time I really understood how much money can change your plans and affect your life was when I was preparing for my wedding in 2011. Before then, I didn’t have to think about money. My own was to collect money from my parents and go to school.
What happened during wedding prep that made you come to that realisation?
I was 22, unemployed and fresh out of NYSC, but somehow, I thought my husband and I would be able to afford my dream outdoor wedding and a one-week honeymoon in the Maldives. We did the outdoor wedding — it cost a little over ₦1m, but the Maldives trip would’ve cost us between ₦3m – ₦4m, which we didn’t have.
It’s not like the money wasn’t there. My husband has a thriving electronics business, but we had to prioritise everything on a scale of preference. We were planning a wedding, had to rent and furnish an apartment, and all the other expenses that come with starting a new home.
This was my introduction to financial responsibility. Things don’t just happen; money makes things happen, and sometimes you have to sacrifice a few things to afford something else.
That’s true
But I still thought life would be relatively easy. My husband has a traditional “provider” mentality, so I didn’t have to work for money. I just needed to have children and start my stay-at-home mum ministry. But the children didn’t come, and after about 10 months, I grew tired of waiting and visited the hospital to check if anything was wrong.
How did that go?
My worries were confirmed. I had fibroids, which were making pregnancy impossible. I got the diagnosis after I visited a second doctor and insisted on getting tested.
At the first hospital I went to, the doctor told me I was in too much of a hurry and just needed to have more sex. As in, he didn’t try to check anything — he just told me to go home and try more sex for the next six months. Now, I know many TTC mums can relate to having their worries overlooked by doctors in the early stages of infertility, but I didn’t know then, and I thought maybe I was overreacting.
But I still felt in my heart that something was wrong. So, I visited another hospital and got a doctor to listen to me. I paid ₦10k for the consultation, ₦15k for a hormonal profile test and I think ₦3k for a scan. It was the scan that showed the fibroids. The doctor said I needed surgery if I hoped to get pregnant.
How did you feel about that?
I was devastated and relieved at the same time. Devastated because I was scared of surgery, and relieved because it looked like I had found a solution. I told my husband but he was immediately against it. He also thought I was rushing. But I had a reason to rush. He’s eight years older than me, and the only male child in his family. I knew his family would soon start dropping hints.
Surgery was out of the question, so I began looking for alternatives. My mum swore that herbs could shrink the fibroids, and introduced me to a herbal practitioner who claimed to specialise in treating fibroids. This person charged me ₦80k for a herbal concoction that was supposed to shrink it in three months. This was 2012, so you should know ₦80k wasn’t small money. I collected the money from my husband and paid.
Three months passed, and my periods only got heavier. One time, I changed my sanitary pads in a restaurant’s toilet and bled through the new pad within 15 minutes. It was that bad.
Damn. I’m so sorry. Did you complain to the herbal practitioner?
I did. He suggested I wasn’t taking the concoctions as instructed, even though I was sure I followed all his steps. He gave me another concoction — that one cost about ₦20k — and said it was to stabilise my system to reduce the bleeding.
The bleeding reduced, but I started having migraines and dizzy spells. I fainted one time in the kitchen and my husband returned home from work and found me on the floor. He threw all the concoctions away and warned me never to visit the man again.
Did you return to the hospital?
For some reason, I still believed I could treat the fibroids without surgery. Most people I told about the situation either said they knew someone who got pregnant with fibroids or swore they used natural remedies to treat it.
Google became my best friend, and when I read that green tea helped reduce fibroids, I became a green tea ambassador. I drank it so much, I’m sure my pee was green at a point.
In 2013, an aunt introduced me to another herbal practitioner, claiming he was legit because he’d treated a close friend. I convinced my husband and he gave me the ₦45k I needed to start on the herbs. I spent about ₦120k over four months with that guy. I first had to do a herbal detox for a few weeks, then different herbal regimens over different periods. The guy felt legit, though. He kept asking me to do scans so we could observe the fibroids.
Were there improvements?
I grew tired of waiting to find out. I felt like I was doing scans and drinking potions without an end in sight. I’d asked the herbal practitioner several times about how long the treatment would take, and he always said it depended on how my body reacted to the treatments. It was too vague for me.
Also, my husband’s family had started dropping hints about babies. My mother-in-law had started calling more frequently to pray for me. Everyone knows that’s code for “Where are the grandchildren?”
I convinced my husband to agree to the surgery, and I did a myomectomy in early 2014. The operation, including some preliminary tests, cost about ₦200k.
What was recovery like?
It took me about two months to feel like myself again. I also had to wait at least four months before trying to conceive again. During the wait, I started sending out job applications as a joke. I was trying to keep myself occupied, and I figured the highest I’d get was a few interviews.
Surprisingly, I got a ₦80k/month front desk officer role at a logistics firm. The job proved to be a lifeline because it was the only thing that kept me sane when 2015 and 2016 passed, and I didn’t get pregnant.
Now, I was properly worried. The fibroids were gone, and I was taking fertility supplements to help with hormonal imbalance every single day, but nothing happened. Funny enough, all while this was happening, my husband hadn’t been tested.
Why, though?
He was busy and almost never went with me to the hospital. Plus, we all just assumed the fibroids were the problem. I changed doctors in 2016 — I wanted a second opinion — and my new doctor insisted that my husband do a semen analysis. To summarise, the chances of my husband naturally fathering a child were low and we needed to consider assisted reproduction — in vitro fertilisation.
Paint a picture of what that looked like
It was a lot of money, and mental and emotional stress. When we started the process in 2016, I quit my job because I didn’t want the stress of commuting and working to affect the procedure.
The process took about three months; they had to keep repeating tests and putting me on drugs to stimulate egg production. There was also the part where I had to inject myself with hormones every day for a week. I think the whole procedure cost us about ₦1.8 million. My husband even had to borrow part of that money because business wasn’t great at the time.
We got two viable embryos from that cycle and decided to transfer both. I was already dreaming of being called “mama twins”. Unfortunately, the embryos didn’t take and the cycle failed.
Oh no
I’ve never cried so much in my life. One thing about infertility is, you don’t know when it ends. You don’t know if a particular cycle is what will change your story, so you keep hoping. But the hope gets dashed again and again, and you have to keep it moving.
I had so much hope for that IVF cycle. I already had embryos! My children were alive, and it looked like my TTC journey was finally ending. But it disappeared again, and I just wanted to die.
It also didn’t help that our families knew we were trying IVF. I stopped picking up calls at a point because the amount of “Sorry. God will do it” I heard that period threatened to drive me insane.
I’m so sorry you went through that
Thank you. I’m not sure how I survived that period; the days were a blur. I just know that in 2017, I decided I needed another job to take my mind off things.
My husband’s friend helped me get a job at a finance company in August 2017. The role was customer retention and it paid ₦180k/month. Most of my salary went into retail therapy. Whenever I felt bad after seeing pictures of pregnant women on Instagram, I’d go to the mall to buy baby clothes and toys so I’d hug them to sleep.
It became a regular thing. I’d buy baby stuff, and when they began to pile up in the house, my husband would complain, and I’d give them out. Whenever I felt sad again, I’d buy more stuff. It was the only way I could cope.
In 2020, I tried another IVF cycle. That one cost about ₦3m.
How did it go?
I don’t know whether to say it was better than the previous attempt. I got pregnant, then had a miscarriage at the six-week mark. It was heartbreaking. The only thing that saved me from entering another depressive episode was the fact that I got a few more embryos from that cycle. We have them frozen for whenever we want to try again. Preserving each embryo at my clinic costs ₦600k/year.
Have you considered when you’d want to try again?
The plan was to try again in 2022, but we moved to our new house, and I didn’t want to risk doing that while stressing about moving to a new place.
We revisited the conversation in 2023, but I discovered some fibroids had regrown. They weren’t huge, but they posed a slight risk to embryo implantation and had to go. My doctor had already told me that the fibroids could grow back, so while I was disappointed, I just saw it as another hurdle to overcome.
I had another surgery around August. It cost about ₦750k for the procedure, tests and medication. The recovery period was basically the same as last time. I was allowed to work from home for a few months after, so I had time to heal.
I was just about to ask how work was going
Oh. I’m still at the same finance company. I’ve been promoted twice and my salary is now ₦450k. I’d probably earn more if I changed companies, but it’s easier for me to stay. I love the people I work with, and I’m already stressed about the challenges that come with being on a TTC journey to add career progression to my worries.
What are some of these challenges?
Where do I even start? There’s the emotional aspect. I know my hormonal imbalance isn’t the primary reason why we don’t have kids, but it still doesn’t stop me from crying or feeling a sharp pain in my heart when I see a pregnant woman.
There are also external factors. I’ve been married for over 10 years, so everyone knows there’s a problem in the baby-making process. You can’t imagine how often a harmless greeting from me turns into a prayer session. A former church member — we had no prior relationship — walked up to me one time, held my hands and told me she noticed I wasn’t smiling and that I needed to stay strong because infertility isn’t the end of the world.
Ah
It was the audacity for me. I’m part of a few TTC support groups online and when I share these experiences, they say it’s because I’m very friendly and approachable. Maybe I need to start frowning my face everywhere so people think twice about giving me unsolicited advice. But it’s still frowning that made that one show “concern”.
Also, several friends have hidden their pregnancies from me because they didn’t know how I’d feel. But the fact that I’m hurting doesn’t mean I can’t be happy for people. In fact, it hurts worse when I notice they’re avoiding me. Then there are the friends who stop associating with you after they get married because they somehow believe that infertility is communicable.
Really?
You have no idea. I’ve also made some fellow TTC friends who stopped talking to me after they had babies. Maybe they felt I’d be too sad to hear stories about their babies or they just didn’t want to make me uncomfortable.
See, I used to have a bunch of friends from uni. But infertility is lonely, and most people don’t know how to address it or even support their TTC friends, so they avoid you and the friendship suffers. Now, I don’t think I have up to three people I can consider close friends. I’ve made peace with the fact that my husband is my only true best friend.
Is there any pressure from your families?
Not really. My mum’s own is to pray for me daily and ask me to test for pregnancy if I do so much as complain about a headache. My in-laws basically mind their business and offer prayers occasionally. There was one time in the sixth year when my mother-in-law called me to ask if I’d just sit down and watch as the years went by. That hurt me so much — I was running from hospital to hospital and she felt I was “sitting down”. Was I going to magically grow a baby?
She hasn’t said anything along those lines again sha. I think my husband warned her never to interfere. I’m not sure if he had similar talks with his sisters, but no one disturbs me and I’m grateful for that small mercy.
How has infertility shaped your perspective on money?
I’ve learned that saving is very important. I used to spend anyhow, but TTC is expensive and almost impossible without an emergency fund. I save almost 60% of my salary these days just in case there’s a test to do or a new supplement to try. My husband’s business hasn’t been doing so great these days, so I can’t expect him to cover all my medical bills.
But it’s a two-way thing. Money is very important while battling infertility, but it can also feel useless. I’ve done IVF twice, with no baby to show for it. So, money can’t end my suffering. It only makes it better. At least, when I cry small, I can shop for baby clothes to make myself feel better.
What are your typical expenses in a good month?
My husband handles the household bills. I have about ₦1m in savings now, and that’s because I now handle most of the medical bills to support my husband. Did I mention he takes supplements too? The doctor said drugs might not necessarily boost sperm levels, but we still try. What if a miracle decides to happen?
Is there something you wish you could be better at financially?
Investments. I don’t know how it works. I can’t do that until I’m done with this TTC business as I can’t afford to tie money down anywhere. But I’m hoping to do an embryo transfer this year. Hopefully, it ends up in a full-term pregnancy. Maybe then I can look into investing my money somewhere.
How would you rate your happiness levels?
6. I have a gut feeling that this is the year I finally put infertility and TTC behind me. I’m trying not to raise my hopes, but hope is the only thing I have. I just need to get past this stage in my life so I can focus on new things.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
What’s it like navigating a marriage in which you have to endure disapproval from your spouse’s family — especially in a family-centred society like ours? That’s been Ese’s* reality for the last ten years.
She talks about enduring hate from her in-laws, believing her previous miscarriages are linked to spiritual attacks and how she navigates her situation.
There’s a saying popular among Nigerians: “You don’t marry the man, you marry his family”. It means that family approval, specifically from the in-laws, is necessary for a marriage to work.
I didn’t have the approval of my husband, Yinka’s family when we got married in 2014, but I didn’t think it would be a big deal. After all, Yinka* loved me and insisted we didn’t need his family to be happy together.
Funny enough, I’d known Yinka’s family long before we got married. My mum and Yinka’s mum were friends. My mum sold women’s shoes and Yinka’s mum was her good customer. As a teacher, she was always buying shoes.
I used to help my mum at her shop whenever I was home from school, and it sometimes meant following her to drop shoes at her customers’ houses. That was how I first met Yinka. I was 12 years old, he was 14, and he was my first crush. I remember drawing his name on my hand with a biro and scrubbing it off immediately after so my dad wouldn’t catch me.
But Yinka and I didn’t become friends until four years later when I resumed at the same university he attended. My mum had told his mum about my uni admission and both mums decided he should help me secure off-campus accommodation since he knew the area better.
I still liked him, and it looked like he liked me too. We hung out regularly. By my third year in school, we officially started dating. He graduated some months after we started our relationship, and it was at his graduation party that his mum figured out we were dating.
His mum had brought coolers of party rice — normal for university graduation ceremonies — and I was running up and down helping to share the rice and take pictures. She knew me, of course. But she realised my running up and down was more than friendship. She called Yinka that night to ask if we were dating, and he said yes. Her response was, “Omo Igbo? Why?” I’m not even Igbo, but I guess it means we’re all the same to her.
Yinka thought she was joking and laughed it off. She also didn’t pursue the issue. I guess she thought it was just a fling. But she realised he was serious when he took me to visit her “officially” a year later in 2011. That’s when the problem started.
The thing is, Yinka is the last born of five children. Plus, he’s the only boy and his dad died when he was a baby. His mum had it tough raising them, and for some reason, she thought his marrying from another tribe — specifically Igbo — meant she wouldn’t “eat the fruits of her labours”. According to her, Igbo women only know how to eat their husband’s money, lack respect and also won’t let the man’s family come close.
Of course, I didn’t know these were her reasons then. I know now because I’ve heard it repeated to me several times.
She had a bold frown on her face all through that first visit. This was the same person who used to dash me money as a teenager. After Yinka and I left, she called him on the phone and told him to end the relationship. He told me about it, and I innocently thought I just needed to show her how hardworking I was.
I decided I’d start visiting her every weekend to help her out with chores. The second time I visited, she asked me if I didn’t have anything to do for my mother at my own house. No one had to tell me to stop going.
His sisters also snubbed all my attempts to be close to them. I’d call, send birthday text messages and even visit to help out during major events, but it was obvious they didn’t like me. Even then, I didn’t think the disapproval was serious. My parents liked Yinka and our mums still talked.
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In 2013, Yinka proposed.
The night of the proposal, his mum called mine and told her there was no way the marriage would happen. It turned into a shouting match, and my mum called me that same night to return the ring. That night was so dramatic. How many women have you heard say they cried all through on the day of their proposal?
Yinka had to take the issue to his mum’s pastor. The man spoke to her and told us to go ahead with the wedding planning. Yinka’s mum respected her pastor and kept quiet. My parents were another matter. They didn’t understand why I wanted to die there when the man’s family didn’t want me.
In the end, the wedding happened because I got pregnant. Me, my mum and husband, kept it from my dad because he would’ve never allowed the wedding to happen.
My husband’s immediate family didn’t attend the traditional wedding in my village. It was his uncle and some people from church who attended. On the white wedding day, my mother-in-law brought her own live band and divided the reception hall into two. Our DJ was playing music on one side, and her live band was playing on the other side. The DJ had to just take the cue and stop the music. Yinka’s sisters and mum also refused to dance with us when it was time for the husband’s family to dance with the couple. Instead, they went to dance in front of the live band as their friends sprayed them with money.
Yinka just kept telling me to “calm down. They’ve done their worst.”
I should thank my in-laws for drawing me closer to God because these people started attacking me two days after the wedding. I had a dream where one of Yinka’s sisters hit me with a cane. I woke up with a stomach ache and had a miscarriage three days later.
I thought it was a coincidence, but I had three more miscarriages over the next three years, and they always happened after a dream where I’d see someone in Yinka’s family. When I noticed the pattern after the third miscarriage, I told my mum and we started visiting pastors and attending prayers. I prayed o. Almost every weekend, I was at one church or the other for a vigil or deliverance session.
I have two children now, and both times, I fasted almost all through the first three months of pregnancy. I also didn’t tell Yinka until the third month because I didn’t want him to tell his family. He didn’t even know the spiritual battle I was facing. I only told him about the first dream. His response was, “Are you saying my sister is a witch?” So, I just focused on winning the battle in prayers.
I still see his family members in my dreams sometimes, but I always give it to them hot hot. I don’t joke with my prayers.
We moved to a different state in 2019 and now only see them during family occasions where they give me weird looks and taunting words. Me, I just mind myself.
I also don’t report them to my husband because what use is it if he starts fighting with his family? Won’t that prove their reason for hating me in the first place?
I wonder about the reason for all the attacks and hate. It’s not like Yinka is one millionaire. He’s just a civil servant, and I contribute equally to the home’s expenses. Sometimes, I even convince him to send them money so it wouldn’t be like I’m the only one “eating his money”. But I guess you can do no good in the eyes of people who are already determined to hate you.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
There was a time when my mum would throw money on the floor to keep me busy, and I’d pick them up and arrange them. I was a toddler, so I don’t remember much. The first money memory that stuck happened when I was 13 years old.
What happened?
My mum gave me ₦200k cash to deposit at the bank, and the bank staff took me to an inner room to sort out the transaction. They even asked if I wasn’t too young to handle that kind of money.
I was just about to ask that, too
It was normal for me. My parents started sending me on similar errands early. With my mum‘s egg depot business and my dad’s lecturing job, they had very little time and these errands fell to me as the firstborn.
What was the financial situation like growing up?
Money wasn’t a problem. By that, I mean, my siblings and I went to good schools — not like we were travelling abroad for vacation every year.
Haha. Do you remember the first time you made money?
I sold recharge cards in JSS 1 because I wanted to make my own money. My mum gave me the ₦3k capital, and I sold them at her shop after school. But I didn’t realise I wasn’t supposed to eat both the revenue and profit. So after selling off the first set of cards and using the money to buy snacks, there was nothing left to buy more cards. The business lasted two weeks.
The next thing I tried to sell was zobo in JSS 2; I’d use ₦1k to make 30 bottles of zobo and sell each bottle for ₦50. My customers were on my street and I used all my profit to buy Lemon Plus sweets, Nutri-C and Noreos biscuits.
How long did this business last?
I can’t remember now. I think I just got tired after I made enough money. That’s one thing about me: I start businesses on a whim when I’m broke and stop following through when my finances are better. I had a few other zobo-selling stints across the six years I spent in secondary school. My mum is a businesswoman, so she was happy to provide the capital whenever I wanted to start again.
I got admitted into the university in 2018 and stopped thinking about business for a while because I had a ₦50k /allowance. Unfortunately, my allowance progressively reduced by at least ₦5k every new semester in school.
Why did it reduce?
Buhari happened and my parents’ finances took a hit. I began looking for ways to make extra money again. In 200 level, I took a receptionist job at an import/export firm during a three-month school break. I also did some proposal writing and co-anchored radio programs on behalf of the firm.
My employer was supposed to pay me ₦10k/month, but I thought it was too small. We eventually agreed on ₦50k spread out over a couple of months. He completed the payments in 10 months after I left the job to resume school.
Did you try to make extra money in school?
COVID and ASUU struck, and I had to return home for most of my 400 level. My bank account had ₦10k in it when I returned home, but it didn’t take long to hit zero. One day, I wanted to buy a bottle of coca-cola, and I didn’t have ₦70 to buy one. It felt like I had hit rock bottom. How come I didn’t have ₦70?
On the same day, my dad returned home with a 5-litre keg of liquid soap. I liked how it smelled and asked him where he got it; I was already thinking about how to make it too. I got the person’s number — she was a church member — from his phone and she graciously offered to teach me at home. That was how I started a business making soap.
How did that work?
I spent ₦2,500 on chemicals to make 25 litres of soap. That quantity gave me about 13 kegs of soap, which I then sold to my neighbours at ₦1k each. I usually made a profit of almost ₦13k on each 25-litre batch.
The batches sold quickly because of how intentional I was with distribution. I’d take my kegs to every door in our quarters, introduce myself and talk about my product. I was quite persistent. Once someone bought from me, they became repeat customers because the soap was good quality. By August 2020, I’d saved about ₦65k.
Nice
Around that time, I stumbled on essential oils at the shops where I bought chemicals for my soap. They were quite popular — people began talking about tea tree oil to treat pimples — and I assumed they were expensive. Imagine my surprise when I found out you could buy a small bottle between ₦500 and ₦800. Just like that, I saw another business opportunity.
Haha
I have a reasonably good following on Twitter, so I took my business online. I started creating content and advertising my products. The business took off. I’d buy the oil for ₦550 and resell it for ₦1,500 or ₦2k.
However, the liquid soap sales had begun to slow down. My customers could only buy a new bottle after running out of the old one, and I noticed I had more and more bottles of liquid soap tying down my money. I abandoned it when I resumed school in 2021.
Oh, wait. I did something else before school resumed.
What was that?
My dad connected me to an edtech company that produced past questions for JAMB, WAEC and other examinations. My job was to type the questions into their application, and the payment was based on how much I worked. I think it was ₦50 per question I input into the application. The faster you type, the more you make. I got paid ₦35k after the first project, then another paid me ₦50k. The last one I did before returning to school paid me ₦20k.
By this time, I’d also abandoned the essential oils business. It wasn’t moving again. If I’m being honest though, I stopped putting in as much effort because I was getting money elsewhere.
So you resumed school as a rich kid
Somewhat. I had ₦150k saved up, but I bought a new Samsung phone for ₦86,500.
I still had some money, so I wasn’t in a hurry to make more. I also had access to my dad’s friends and occasionally called them for money, using my project as a reason. My dad already gave me ₦90k for my project, but I still needed money for other school things.
After I graduated in 2021, I returned to the edtech company to see if they had anything for me while I waited for NYSC. It took a while because it wasn’t JAMB season and it was a downtime for the business, but I finally got an admin/receptionist role at their office. The salary was ₦60k/month.
I was going to work there for three months before NYSC, but I was there for a year. I had clearance issues at school and ASUU went on strike before they fixed it.
Did this bother you?
I wasn’t bothered about the delay because I was making money. For example, in April 2022, I got a lump bonus payment of ₦150k plus my salary.
I finally left after I got my NYSC call-up a few months later. My PPA was at a tech company and I was paid ₦50k/month. My role was project management associate, but I did everything there — from project management to graphic design.
With NYSC’s ₦33k allowance, my monthly income came to ₦83k. I saved about ₦22k of that monthly.
What were your expenses like?
Mostly transportation and personal needs. I didn’t pay rent because I lived with a friend. At one point though, I was almost homeless when my friend moved houses. But luckily, my aunt lived in the same city, so I moved in with her. She left the city shortly after and left me alone in her three-bedroom apartment.
The city I served in was quite expensive, though. Between trying to save money and transportation costs, I got broke again.
Time for another business?
Yep. But I wasn’t motivated until my birthday in 2023. I got an influx of money, and I thought, “Omo. Having money is nice o”. I didn’t want to go back to living hand-to-mouth.
So, I felt it was time to start selling zobo again. I’d been taking a bottle to work to curb my coca-cola addiction and my colleagues always complimented the drinks. I discussed my idea with some bosses at work — who were like mentors — and they helped me do a cost analysis. I bought bottles, branded them and made 50 bottles of zobo, fruit juice and tigernut drink. Everything cost me about ₦10k to produce.
Just ₦10k?
I even had ₦700 change left. I bought one mudu (bowl) of zobo for ₦500, five pineapples at ₦300 each and two watermelons for about ₦1k. The 50 bottles cost ₦3k. I can’t remember how much I printed the stickers for branding, but I didn’t spend more than ₦10k for everything.
I sold each zobo bottle for ₦500, and the other drinks for ₦700. The first batch finished in two days, and I made a profit of ₦30k. Subsequently, I was making about ₦60k in profits weekly. I also took the drinks to my CDS meetings, so that increased my customer base.
After a while, I started selling at trade fairs too. My colleague introduced me to the first one I sold at. I paid ₦30k for the stall and made about ₦77k in total. My profit was only about ₦25k, but it was a good start. The second time I sold at a fair, I sold all 150 bottles I went with — easy ₦150k. I was so excited.
Love it for you
My next plan was to buy a heavy-duty blender or a freezer for the business. My aunt’s house had a fridge, but it could only take 50 bottles at once. But in June, I stumbled on a post that promised to give ₦250k to a struggling business owner. I just had to comment and make sure I got the highest number of likes. Ah. I sent that post to everybody.
I gave up after I got 450 likes because others were getting up to 2000 likes. However, I found out that they were buying likes after the organisers reached out to me to tell me I had the highest organic likes. It was so unexpected.
That wasn’t all. Someone on Twitter had seen my post asking for likes, so they DM’ed me and said God told them to send me money. They also sent me ₦250k.
Mad
I screamed so much that day. I took ₦26k to register my business with the CAC. I called my aunt and told her I’d won some money and wanted to buy a freezer in the house. Remember I said I was staying alone in her apartment, right? Well, she told me to hold on because she wasn’t sure when she’d return to the city.
Apparently, the rent had expired and her husband had been paying it just because I was there. She didn’t want me to buy the freezer and then get stranded if it turned out that I had to move out.
Did you?
Not immediately, but this was the beginning of my business’ problems. I was getting a lot of drink orders, but I couldn’t store them.
In October 2023, my aunt and her family returned to the city. A cockroach infestation happened around the same time, and I had to move production to the boys’ quarters. It was a smaller space and it meant my production was reduced drastically.
Plus, they’d also started using the fridge so I had almost nowhere to store the drinks. I was down to making 30 bottles weekly and about ₦17k in profits.
Did you have another income source?
I’d finished NYSC earlier and was retained at the tech company. My salary was increased to ₦140k, so at least, I had a 9-5 to fall back on.
However, I became tired of the job in January 2024. I felt I should be doing better. So, I started sending out applications. It felt like I was sending my CV out into the air because I didn’t get any word back for a long time. The one time I got an invitation for a bank’s assessment, I didn’t see the email until the date had passed.
Ouch. Sorry about that
It was a beacon of hope — at least someone saw my CV. I got another bank’s assessment and passed the first stage. To celebrate, I walked into a mall to buy myself some snacks. That’s when I noticed a flower store. It was close to Valentine’s Day, and it was the period when Nigerian Twitter was dragging someone for selling a bouquet for ₦350k.
I asked the store assistants how much a mini stem of rose cost, and they said it was ₦1,100. I saw another business opportunity there. I put a flyer together and told people around me I was selling flowers. My cheapest bouquet was ₦25k — which originally cost me ₦11,500 to assemble. I got 12 orders for Valentine’s Day.
The amazing thing was that I didn’t even need capital. Once my clients paid, I just had to go to the mall on Valentine’s Day and assemble the flowers there. I was just the middle-man. Although the price of the stem had increased to ₦2k, I still made ₦150k in profit.
Sweet
I also took flower orders for Mother’s Day in March. I think I made about ₦70k from three orders. Then there was one time my boss at work bought a ₦250k bouquet. I made about ₦145k profit from that sale alone. It’s a seasonal business, but there’s a lot of profit there.
How’s the drink business going these days?
Quite slowly. There are weeks I don’t make them at all. But it’s a situation where I know I can make the drinks if I’m ever broke and need to make quick money. That’s the point I am at right now. I might not have money in my account at some point, but I have the skills to make sure I’m not entirely broke.
So, right now, you have two businesses and a 9-5?
One, actually. I’ve paused the drinks business because I recently landed a bank job. I should be going to training school in a few weeks. I heard I’d be paid ₦75k/month for the three-month training, then about ₦285k after confirmation. I’m still actively pursuing other offers, though.
The flower business is off-season right now, but I get approximately ₦50k/month from it. I have about ₦800k saved up just for savings’ sake — I like knowing I have money somewhere.
Let’s talk about your monthly expenses
How would you describe your relationship with money?
I think I chased money a lot before, which is the reason I tried so many things. But I think I’m comfortable in my own skin now. I don’t have to pursue money. When I need it, I can always do something or offer a service that’ll bring it my way.
Is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?
I’d like to go to Lebanon on vacation — I like that it snows there. But I don’t want to wipe out all my savings on one trip. It costs about ₦2m to go on vacation there. I may just start small and visit Benin Republic first. Last I checked, ₦500k – ₦600k can take me there.
Is there an ideal amount you think you should be earning?
I’d like to earn ₦500k/month from a 9-5. I’m not counting business money because I think it should support my primary earnings. I don’t want to feel like I have to run businesses before I earn well. It should just be because I want to do it. Not because I want to supplement my income.
Is there anything you wish you could be better at financially?
Yes. Investments. The only thing I do right now is save in savings apps. But I feel I should be doing better.
I also have this bad habit of depriving myself of things for a while. Then I break and spend so much money at once.
A recent example happened when I was interviewing for jobs. One interview was in a different state, and I decided to use the opportunity to visit my parents. It was a long series of trips and I went by road to save money. But when I had to return, I was tired and just spent ₦105k on a flight back. My plan to save money just scattered like that.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
5. I’m comfortable now, but I feel in my bones that I’m going to be a rich person. I still have a lot to do to get there.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Romoke* (32) has been her home’s primary breadwinner since she got married in 2018. At first, she didn’t think much of it, but over the years, she’s come to realise this dynamic isn’t normal.
She shares why she can’t leave and how she’s made it a priority to advise other women not to tow the same path.
Love can push you to do foolish things. Now, when I get the opportunity to talk to single ladies about relationships, I tell them to shine their eyes. Love won’t feed you; is there money? But the truth is, I didn’t take to advice either.
Let me tell you my story so you know what I mean. My mum was the sole breadwinner when I was growing up. My dad was what you’d call a sperm donor with audacity. He was a mechanic who hardly dropped money at home, but he’d come home at night to demand two pieces of meat in his food. My mum paid rent, school fees and bought clothes for all her four children with the money she made as a fabric trader.
My family’s dynamic didn’t seem strange to me. I never saw or heard my mum complain about providing for almost everything, including my dad’s demands. I grew up in a neighbourhood where most of the mothers had their shops and different hustles to take care of their children. This meant that I didn’t have anything else to compare my mum’s situation to. It was my normal.
As a child, whenever I went to my mum to ask for money to buy something, she’d say, “When you start making money, you’ll know that they don’t just spend money anyhow”. It always confused me. I want to buy sweets, and you’re saying I’m spending money anyhow. It made me start dreaming of making my own money, so I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone.
Of course, I became entrepreneurial early. I’d take my elder sister’s pictures to my secondary school to show my seniors and charge them ₦30 for our home’s landline so they could speak with her. My sister and I used to share the money equally.
There’s almost nothing I’ve not tried to make a business out of — selling recharge cards, writing notes for classmates in uni, braiding hair for my friends in the hostel and during NYSC camp and even selling baby clothes at a nearby primary health centre.
It was during one of my many hustles that I met Dare*, the man who eventually became my husband. It was 2016, and I was selling male clothes and watches on Facebook and WhatsApp, in addition to my 9-5 as an admin officer.
He was a friend on Facebook, but we never interacted before he slid into my DM to ask about a wristwatch I’d posted earlier that day. He wanted to buy it for someone but wanted it delivered to him first. That’s how we discovered that we lived in the same neighbourhood. We got talking and started dating after we met up at his church.
There were warning signs.
Dare didn’t have a job. He spent all his time at church where he served — still does — as the choirmaster. He also went to sing at other churches, and they’d pay him an honorarium. He didn’t tell me how much, but I guessed it was enough to survive on. He also lived with his parents.
We didn’t really talk about money. I didn’t care that he’d ask to borrow ₦10k on random occasions or that we hardly went out on dates. I didn’t depend on guys’ money in my previous relationships, so it wasn’t a big deal.
When I asked Dare about the job thing, he said he was applying but hoping to get something that wouldn’t affect his gospel ministry. Just before we started making wedding plans in 2017, he got a job as a supermarket supervisor. He didn’t tell me his salary, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t think it was my place.
After our parents agreed on a wedding date, we went to visit his pastor to inform him. The man called me aside and asked if I was sure I knew what I was doing. He said, “Dare doesn’t have a proper job. Why not wait a bit?”
I defended my husband-to-be. Sure, I wanted him to get better than the supervisor job, but I was also selling clothes and making good money — at least ₦25k weekly. Together, we could pull resources and build a home. But Dare and I hadn’t actually clarified how money would work in our home. I was too in love to care. In my mind, we’d get married and live happily ever after.
A few weeks after we got married in 2018, Dare quit his supervisor job. They’d refused to permit him to leave work for a week so he could travel to another state for a gospel ministration. So, he chose to leave.
The same scenario played out a couple more times over the first two years of marriage. He’d get a job and then leave after a few months because he was either tired or felt like it interfered with his passion. Did I mention I paid the rent for the house we lived in? In fact, I paid for everything we needed daily. But I still thought I was being a virtuous wife and didn’t harass him to stick to a job.
In 2020, Dare said he wanted to start a business selling musical instruments. He knew I had almost ₦1m in savings and convinced me to give him because we could make double that. So, I gave him. He never started that business.
We also had our first child around the time I gave him all my savings. I was so broke I couldn’t even buy clothes for my baby. After about six months, I began to ask him about the business. I mean, he’d taken all that money and wasn’t even telling me anything. That caused our biggest fight to date. It was like, how dare I have the audacity to question him? His parents came to settle the matter and I had to apologise to him.
I think it was then my eyes started to “clear”. Dare stopped trying to get jobs entirely and would just sit at home watching TV when he wasn’t singing at one church or the other.
I reported him to his pastor several times, and he’d call Dare — without telling him I’d talked — and ask him for updates about his job. Dare just gave excuses and the pastor would in turn tell me to be patient with him and pray. I’m sure the man was thinking, “Shebi I told you?”
We had our second child in 2022, the year I finally admitted to myself that there was nothing normal about our marriage. I listen to sermons and see other couples in our church. The women aren’t the breadwinners. Dare has no intention of earning anything to provide for his family. He has never bought clothes for me and our children. I don’t know if he still gets honorariums from ministering at churches, but I don’t get anything. I still feed him.
I’ve complained about him not dropping money several times, but it always turns into a huge fight, and I end up apologising. Church leaders can do nothing except advise me to be submissive. My pastor’s wife secretly advised me to save money in an account without my husband’s knowledge.
But how much can I save from a clothes business when I still handle all the bills? I can’t let my children starve, right? I’m honestly tired. I now avoid most of my friends at church because how many times will I say I can’t afford aso-ebi or monthly contributions that the married women in church do? Am I even married, in the real sense of the word?
I feel like everyone in church knows our situation — the choirmaster who does nothing but sings while his wife feeds him — but none of them can call him out because they want to keep up the appearances of a godly home. But what kind of home is this?
I didn’t know better when I was younger, but I do now. Even the Bible says the man should provide. I’m a woman, I shouldn’t be the breadwinner. But I can’t leave my marriage — that’s a sin. I can only pray that God will touch Dare’s heart and give him a job that allows him to take his place as the head of the house.
Until then, the most I can do is advise young single ladies. Love won’t feed you.
In the most recent episode of “Renewed Shege”, Nigerians have woken up to yet another thing to worry about. This time, it’s a new cybersecurity levy that’ll have citizens paying 0.5% on every electronic money transfer as “cybersecurity tax”. Meaning, you’ll need to pay ₦50 to send ₦10,000, separate from the normal stamp duty and other bank charges.
That’s a whole lot, so we had to figure out ways to avoid this billing.
Babalawo spiritual transfers
That’s a terrible name, but hear me out. If babalawos can make money appear out of thin air during money rituals, what’s stopping them from taking it a step further by helping a client “spiritually transfer” money to someone else?
Bring back bus transfers
Are you even a Nigerian student if your parents didn’t send money to you through an interstate driver? Of course, they hid the money inside garri so it wouldn’t grow wings. If you deep it, you’re killing two birds with one stone. Sending an item to someone and transferring money free of charge.
And bank deposits
According to CBN, the levy doesn’t apply to transfers done over the counter at physical banks. We shouldn’t need to make bank deposits in 2024, but it is what is.
Send the money as data
So they can sell it to get cash. And just like that, you’ve opened a business for them too. We rise by lifting others.
Or as fuel
Fuel scarcity happens every market day in Nigeria, so they can even make a profit. How will it get to them, you ask? We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
POS agents
At this point, there’s no difference between doing it yourself and paying someone else to do it — you’ll pay extra for both. At least, with POS agents, there are fewer cases of your bank app disgracing you.
Stop transferring money altogether
Where did you even see the money you want to give out? It only means you have enough to spare and the federal government is right to tax you more.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
I hawked okpa from morning till noon. When I got home, the money in my money bag was ₦100. All the okpa I sold that day should’ve been like ₦500. Maale — my mother — beat me that day, ehn. I was around 9 years old at that time. I already had small sense. I don’t know how I miscalculated the money.
Why did you hawk okpa, though?
Na hustle o. My father died when I was four years old and maale was the only one providing for me and my younger brother.
On that day, my school sent me home because I owed school fees, and I went to maale’s okpa stand to cry and complain. I don’t even know why I was crying. I didn’t like school like that. Maybe I had plans with my friends that day.
Maale vexed and packed okpa on a tray and put it on my head. She said I should also go and see what it’s like to make money. I sold everything at a nearby motor park, but those wicked people cheated me. After that, maale didn’t allow me to sell her okpa again.
I still helped with her other hustles, though. She also washed clothes for people and cooked sometimes. So, after school, I’d help her fetch water, rinse clothes and even go to the market.
What other things did you do to make money?
In JSS 3, I started pounding fufu with some other guys at a restaurant every morning before school. This was 2014. I’d start work around 7 a.m. and then rush off to school. Highest, one hour and I was done with the fufu. The restaurant owner used to pay me ₦200 every day I worked.
When I first started, I used to pound the fufu with my uniform so I could just rush to school. But I tried to talk to a girl I liked in school one day and she started squeezing her nose like I was smelling. I went to the back of the class and smelled my armpit. Omo, I was smelling like one-week-old fufu. Nobody taught me before I started wearing a singlet to pound the fufu before changing into my uniform.
Haha. What were you spending the money you made on?
Mostly school. Maale stopped giving me transport and food money because I was working, so I was providing for myself. I also bought food and clothes for my brother sometimes. Other times, maale would ask me to drop money for us to eat at night. The money was just going like that.
When I entered SS 1, I started helping the restaurant owner to transport drinks from their supplier twice a week. She had a big wheelbarrow I used to move the drinks, and she paid me ₦1k per week. That one only lasted for two months before I got into an accident and broke her drinks.
What happened?
The wheelbarrow and the load in it were too big for me; I was 14 years old. One aboki used to help the restaurant owner push the wheelbarrow, but they fought and he left. When I heard she was looking for someone else, I made mouth that I could do it.
But I lost control of the wheelbarrow while trying to avoid water on the road. Wahala. I didn’t even go back to the restaurant because she’d have asked me to pay. I think she later settled with maale.
What did you do next?
I started hanging around with the area boys at the motor park. I’d befriended one during my days at the restaurant and he sometimes dashed me ₦500. He used to help the transport buses load passengers, and I thought he was a big boy. Only big boys can be dashing people money like that.
I’d go to the park during the weekends and help to load passengers, too. You know all those boys who stand some distance from the bus to ask people walking around with bags where they’re going? That’s what I was doing. I was mostly helping my friend, so he used to share his money with me. Sometimes, I’d make like ₦2k daily.
When I finished secondary school in 2017, I started going to the park every day. Maale didn’t like it. She said I was becoming rough like the other boys. But if I didn’t act rough, the other boys would drag my passengers.
How much were you making this time?
Between ₦4k – ₦5k daily, depending on how hard I hustled for passengers. There were many boys in the park, so the drivers just dropped money after their bus filled up, and we’d all share it.
But that job no easy o. You have to stand for hours and shout up and down. You also have to fight a lot with everybody: The drivers when they don’t want to pay after loading, the other boys who try to drag your passengers, and even the passengers sef.
One time, one lady slapped me because I tried to drag her bag to the bus I was loading. It’s not her fault sha. Na condition make crayfish bend.
How long did you work at the park?
I worked there till 2019. By then, I was already thinking if that was what I wanted to use my life to do. My brother was already in the polytechnic. My head doesn’t carry book like that, so I didn’t want to go to school. But I couldn’t be loading passengers forever.
Thankfully, I knew a mechanic who trained people, so I went to him and he said I should bring ₦80k to learn for a year. He told me this in 2018, so I started saving money for it. By 2019, I had the money but it got stolen in the same week I wanted to pay the mechanic.
Damn. How did that happen?
It was my fault. I saved the money in a kolo, but I didn’t hide the kolo at home because I didn’t want maale to know I had money, so she wouldn’t ask me to borrow her. I hid the kolo in my friend’s room because I usually slept there sometimes. He must’ve found it because the kolo disappeared.
He denied it, but there was no one else who could’ve taken it. I couldn’t fight him because he moved with cultists and I didn’t want wahala.
Sorry about that. What did you do next?
I just stopped going to the park. My mind was out of there because I thought I’d soon learn mechanic work.
After staying home for two months, maale suggested I should learn a trade under someone instead. At least that way, I wouldn’t have to pay money to learn, and my oga would settle me after I finished learning.
So, in 2020, I moved to Lagos to serve my oga who sells imported furniture. Maale had discussed it with him, I think he’s a relative of one of her friends. I’ve been learning the trade since then.
What’s the arrangement like?
We arranged that I’d serve him as an apprentice for seven years and then he’d settle me with ₦5m and a shop, so I can start my own business.
It’s not in every case that your oga tells you how much he’ll settle you with, though. Some just settle you based on how you work. But I think that happens to people who become apprentices as small boys. I was already 19 years old, so I wasn’t a small boy.
I’ve done almost four years out of the seven. But honestly, I don’t know if I want to stay till the end.
Why not?
I’m not sure my oga will keep to our agreement. In the time I’ve been here, he’s settled only one person after the apprentice reported to his family in the village. The guy had served for almost 13 years, and my oga didn’t show any sign of releasing him. He eventually settled him with ₦3m. When he rents a shop, how much will remain?
I currently serve with four other apprentices, and two of them have been here longer than the initially agreed period. According to them, oga is blaming the economy as the reason why he hasn’t settled them.
It’s not just the economy; the man is stingy on his own. He doesn’t pay any of us a salary. Yes, that’s normal in this system, but he barely feeds us, too. We’re only sure of breakfast because we live in his house. The apprentices get home late at night because we have to close the warehouse, and by then, every other person has eaten dinner. Sometimes you see food, sometimes you don’t see anything.
But how do you survive without a salary?
The other apprentices and I usually “pad” the price of items in the shop to make a profit. For example, my oga can say we should sell a centre table for ₦500k, and we add ₦20k to it and share the gain among ourselves. Sometimes I can make ₦50k/month, depending on how well the market moves.
Oga doesn’t really care how much you sell the furniture as long as his money is complete. We don’t do that when he’s in the warehouse sha. But he’s been around a lot lately, and I’ve not really been making money. Now I struggle to get ₦20k in a month.
Do you know why your oga is around more now?
Market has been really bad since Tinubu became president, especially with how the dollar has been going up and down. Before, my oga regularly travelled to China and Turkey for goods, but in 2023, he only travelled twice. People don’t have money to buy imported furniture again. I think my oga even wants to branch into local furniture.
Another reason why I want to leave is I don’t even think I’m learning anything. My oga keeps details of how he imports the goods to himself. I somehow understand him sha. I heard that one of his former apprentices stole some of his China contacts and customers and went on to start his own business. But how come I’ve been here for four years and I only know how to check for high-quality pieces and price them?
Do you have any plans for if you eventually leave?
I’ll probably drive keke for some years to gather money. I know many keke drivers and some of them make up to ₦30k a day. When I’m ready, I can contact any of them to link me up with someone who wants to give out their keke on hire purchase. That’s when someone buys a keke and gives it to a driver to use. Then the driver pays the keke owner every week till they pay the full price (and interest) for the keke.
After I’ve saved enough money, I can think of starting a business — maybe a tyre business or electronics. I hear there’s money there. I just need something that’ll give me money. My brother doesn’t have a stable job even though he has graduated since. I usually send money home to him and maale, but it doesn’t even reach anywhere. I need to make money so maale will rest small.
How do you break down your expenses in a typical month?
I try to save at least ₦5k monthly in case they call me for emergency at home. I have a bank account now, sha. I can’t save in kolo again. Right now, my savings is around ₦70k.
What’s a recent emergency need you had to settle?
One part of the roof of our house in the village collapsed around April. The roof wasn’t too okay before, but it finally scattered after one small rain. I had to send ₦50k home so they could patch it small.
How would you describe your relationship with money?
Ah. That one is still far. I need to make the money before we start to know each other. But with the plans I have, I feel like I’ll touch money soon.
I’m also trying not to compare myself to other young people who are making it. I’m in a hurry to make money, but I’m also trying not to rush too much before I’m tempted to do foolish things.
What’s something you wish you could be better at financially?
Taking risks. One of my friends recently bet ₦1k on a betting platform and won like ₦100k. I’m too afraid of losing my money to try that type of thing.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 – 10?
2. My journey is still far but I thank God for life.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
I kid you not, I’m writing this article with about 20% battery power left on my laptop.
For about a week now, the queues have resumed at petrol stations across Nigeria due to another fuel scarcity situation. To make it even worse, the power supply seems to have worsened. No light, no fuel. I asked some remote workers how they were coping because, to be honest, I wanted to steal hacks from them.
“Work every time you see light” — Dotun, 28
The truth is, even if you drop your laptop somewhere to charge, the battery will still go down when you pick it up and start working. So, if you don’t have money for a coworking space, carry your work with you wherever you see electricity.
NEPA has been doing a thing where they bring light for 30 minutes around 2 a.m. Once I feel the breeze from the fan, I immediately stand up and do the work I can do. That way, I can save a full battery for when my actual workday starts.
“Guard your fuel jealously” — Funmi, 26
I divide my tasks according to how much time I think it’ll take to complete them, then I try to do as much as possible without using my devices. Of course, that doesn’t always work because I still need to turn on my generator.
But I guard my fuel jealously. I only turn on the generator for 30 minutes at a time when it’s absolutely necessary. Even then, I only pour small fuel into the generator to somehow trick it into consuming less fuel. What kind of life is this?
“Bribe someone to stand in fuel queues for you” — Josiah, 30
I don’t have time to leave work and hustle for fuel, so I bribe my brother to stand in queues for me. I think he charges me five times more than what I should actually pay, but I’m happy to pay. He’s saving me stress and getting me fuel, which is heroic in these times.
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“Befriend your neighbours” — Toke, 24
I’m the type who likes to keep to myself. I’ve lived in my compound for about a year and have never entered my neighbour’s house — at least until this recent scarcity started. They tend to turn on their generator more because they have kids and their apartment has become my second office. Thankfully, they’re nice about it but I try to only go there when absolutely necessary so I don’t take up too much of their space.
“Communicate with your employers” — Detola, 22
I always tell my employers when I have to be unavoidably absent because I don’t have fuel or power. They can’t say they don’t understand because we’re all in this country together. I try to limit the instances when that happens, but will I turn myself into fuel?
“Invest in an alternative source of power supply” — Fred, 27
I had to angrily drop almost ₦1m to install a solar panel system last week when the fuel situation wanted to kill me. Of course, this was only possible because I had the money. But it was my emergency savings and I’m not happy about spending it on something that shouldn’t even be a problem. But I had no choice. My employers aren’t Nigerians and definitely wouldn’t understand. It was either that or losing my job.
Get a free ticket to Strings Attached and enjoy a feel-good evening of music, dancing and games at Muri Okunola Park, Lagos on May 11, 2024.
Children are blessings, or at least what most Nigerians hold on to as a reason to become parents or convince others to tow the parenthood line.
But why do people really have kids? Do prospective parents stop to consider why they want a child? I spoke to seven Nigerians and they shared how — and why — they decided to become parents.
I have kids because I love babies. It’s a weird reason, but I just love cuddling babies and inhaling their scent.
When I first got married, my husband and I agreed to wait a year before having kids so we’d get to know each other better. But I started getting baby fever after the first few months and “accidentally” got pregnant. I wasn’t prepared for how fast babies grow out of the cute infant stage and start scattering your house, though.
Baby fever hit again when my child was one year old, and I got pregnant again. Just like the last time, I loved the baby stage but I’ve realised it’s just a small reward for the years and years of raising them — which isn’t easy at all. I don’t know if I want to try for another one again.
Sola*, 25
I’m a single mum of a five-year-old. My baby daddy wanted me to get an abortion, and I refused. I was in uni when I got pregnant and wasn’t ready for a child, but killing an innocent child is a sin I didn’t want to add to my list of errors.
I love my son, but I sometimes wish I didn’t have him so early. I’ve lost jobs because he was always falling sick as a toddler and we were in and out of hospitals. It’s also tough providing for him without help. I feel like I’d have been able to achieve more and even give him more things if I’d done the right thing at the right time.
Samuel, 31
Having children was the logical next step after marriage. My wife and I didn’t discuss whether we wanted children or not; we just discussed how many we wanted to have, and we landed on three kids.
It was after we had our first baby two years ago that I actually started to think about why we even decided on three. We can have one more to give our child a sibling, but that’ll be it. I love children, but they’re stressful and expensive. There’s honestly no need to amass them like property.
Tunde, 29
I believe children are a commandment from God. The Bible says we should “go forth and multiply”, so I’ve always wanted a large family. Maybe it’s also because I was an only child. I only have one kid now, but my wife and I plan to have at least five. The only thing that might reduce that number is this economy.
Loveth*, 36
I haven’t really thought about why I have kids. I’m a Nigerian woman; having children has been like a given since I was a child myself. All I knew was that pregnancy before marriage was a big no. After marriage? Start pushing them out. I guess I just did that. I got married in 2009 and I have three kids. They’re all I know, and I love them.
Christy*, 28
I’ve always loved children. But it’s not just wanting to have one for the sake of it. I think it’s important to guide the next generation on the right path and children are the best way to do that. If more parents trained their children well, we wouldn’t have so many evil people today.
And it doesn’t even have to be your biological children. I have only one child and I intend to adopt more rather than go through pregnancy again. There are more than enough kids on earth already who need guidance.
Kunle*, 38
I think children are what makes a family a family. So, after marriage, the next thing was obviously children. My wife and I dealt with infertility for a while, but deciding to go without kids just wasn’t an option. It took six years after marriage, but we’re a proper family now.
Get a free ticket to Strings Attached and enjoy a feel-good evening of music, dancing and games at Muri Okunola Park, Lagos on May 11, 2024.
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Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What was your first introduction to money?
Getting into university at 16 was my introduction to financial responsibility — or my lack of it. I started receiving a ₦15k monthly allowance and finishing it on food before the 19th of the month. Then I realised money wasn’t just there. I had to use it wisely if I didn’t want to go broke before I got my next allowance. Before that time, I never thought about money because my parents shielded me from it.
What do you mean by “shielded”?
I attended schools that were above my parents’ means. They’re civil servants, but my dad happily took loans to send me to expensive schools. Of course, I didn’t know this, so I had this illusion that we had all we needed.
It started to show we didn’t have much money when my dad would wait until the last minute to pay my tuition. One minute, he’s like I don’t know if I’ll be able to pay tuition. The next minute, he’d bring the money. It was obvious he had to take loans.
Interesting. When did you first make money for yourself?
My second year in uni. I helped a student faculty union political aspirant write campaign speeches for ₦2k. The thing is, there was no structure to the payment arrangement. He could just remember me randomly and send me ₦2k today and another ₦2k three weeks later. That lasted for only one semester. The guy lost the election; the last thing I wrote for him was an appreciation announcement.
But the experience taught me that I could get paid for writing. I’d been writing for fun since primary school, and I didn’t imagine I could get paid for it. So, I decided to pursue it further.
How did you get the next gig?
In 2019, a friend introduced me to some people who needed a writer to work on a white paper for a crypto token. I had no idea what a white paper was, and I went ahead to overpromise and undercharge. I charged them ₦50k and said it’d be ready in two days. Something that should’ve been around $500 – $1k.
I got it done though, but it has to be the worst piece of writing I’ve ever done. I downloaded several other white papers and just combined them. Thankfully, my employers didn’t know what a standard white paper looked like, and they thought it was acceptable. They put me on a retainer and paid me ₦30k – ₦40k/monthly to write promotional articles and employee agreement forms. The internet helped me a lot here. I just needed to search for templates and tweak for what I needed.
By the way, they gave me three million crypto tokens as a founding member— I still have them even though they’re practically worth $0 now. I stopped working with them after four months. The project wasn’t really taking off and there wasn’t much for me to do.
What did you do next?
I got a few opportunities to write for crypto companies. I also dabbled into trading crypto, and it was a lot of trial and error: I’d compete for airdrops and trade the token I got.
A few friends also introduced me to forex trading. The first day I tried it, I traded $10 on synthetic indices and turned it into $700. I guess it was beginner’s luck, but I was sold. I immediately called a friend and asked him to bring money so I could trade for him. He gave me $100, but I lost it. Thankfully I was able to pay back with the money I’d won.
That was a close one
Heh. It wasn’t the last time I lost someone’s money while trading. Towards the end of 2021, I lost $8k of my and other people’s money. I’d gained some trading experience and my portfolio was worth $5k, so I was comfortable trading with more money. I didn’t expect the loss.
How did it happen?
So, about $3k of that money was for me and a friend. We were collaboratively trading, so our money was together. The remaining $5k belonged to three lecturers and another friend.
How my lecturers got involved was so random. One day, I was on my phone in class, and the lecturer seized my phone. He saw I was on a trading platform and asked me about it when I went to pick up my phone. Apparently, he’d heard about the platform and wanted me to teach him. I convinced him to give me his money instead because my friend and I had a strategy to make about $100k from $8k. He brought in two more lecturer friends and they raised about $4k between themselves. The plan was to trade for three months and pay them back with 300% interest.
Why were you sure you’d make $100k?
My friend and I constantly explored ways to game the system and we came up with an arbitrage strategy for futures trading. It required us to trade simultaneously on two devices. We’d open a “buy position” on one device and a “sell position” on the other. If the market went up, we’d close the sell position and wait for it to balance out. It felt like a safe gamble since we were trying both ways.
When we were successful, we could make $10 every five minutes. So we thought — rather foolishly — that if we did that 100 times, we could make $10k daily. It didn’t happen like that; we made $300 on the first day.
Then a few days later, I left my room to watch a football game and dropped my tablet with my friend so he could trade with two devices as usual. When the match was over, I saw that my friend had called me several times. I called back and he said he’d lost the money. His phone had gone off before he could close a position and the only thing left of the $8k was $500.
Ah
I didn’t understand it. But I was very audacious and arrogant about my skills. I believed I’d trade the remaining $500 and make the money we lost back. I don’t need to tell you I failed miserably.
I had two months to pay back $5k and I couldn’t tell the people involved what had happened to their money. When the time elapsed, I called one of the lecturers and asked for three more weeks because the money was locked up in a trade. He called me a scammer and said I had used their money to buy clothes. The lecturer I discussed the opportunity with initially was more cool-headed.
But then the three weeks came, and still no money. I had to come clean. The cool-headed lecturer — who was a senior lecturer — told me I wouldn’t graduate if I didn’t pay him his money.
Damn
It was a chaotic situation. They were all on my neck and it seemed like the two other lecturers were willing to harm me physically. Thankfully, ASUU went on strike in February 2022, which gave me some breathing space. I stopped taking most of their calls so I could think about how to make money. I didn’t know how long the strike would last, and I needed to make the most of it.
I decided to go back to the basics: writing. I got ₦6k from my dad and paid for a “How to use Upwork” course. I was added to a group with the other course participants.
Within a week, someone in the group got a gig. I’m very competitive, and suddenly I didn’t just want any gig, I wanted to catch up with that person. So, I started studying like my life depended on it.
I believe that helped
It did. But I had to send proposals every day for a month before I landed a video transcription gig that paid me $15. I got another writing gig that was supposed to pay $1k, but after they made the first milestone payment of $10, they never got back to me again. After that, I regularly got random $20 gigs here and there.
I got my big break a few weeks after. I landed a $25 gig to write an edition of a daily crypto newsletter. They liked my work and paid me $125 weekly to write the newsletter daily. I did that for three weeks before they offered to take the gigs off Upwork so I’d join the team full-time.
On the same pay?
Somewhat. They offered $500/month. I took the meeting in my dad’s room, and after the call, I told him I’d turn down the offer. He thought I was mad, but I felt I could get more. I was basically keeping the newsletter running.
So, I made a list of the things I’d do on the job, requested another meeting with my employer, and successfully negotiated an increase to $750. My dad was shocked. Honestly, I wasn’t completely sure it’d work, but I had to try. This was in July 2022.
In September, I got another Upwork gig to create a tutorial for an edtech company. I had to walk a friend through the process over the phone so he’d do it for me on his laptop — I didn’t have one, and it was necessary for the tutorial. The employer liked the work and I became a regular tutorial content creator for them. The hourly pay usually came to $1,500/month.
By the time ASUU called off the strike in October, I had enough to pay everyone with interest as agreed. I even had to beg one of the lecturers with extra $200 because he was really pissed and insisted I wouldn’t graduate. I paid back $8,100 in total.
Phew
I kept working like crazy after school resumed. My boss at the edtech company was pleased and gave me $1k for a new laptop after I complained about the one I was managing. The money was enough to get me a laptop, a headset, keyboard, and a mouse.
Two months later, I got laid off from the newsletter job because of funding issues. I had the edtech job, so I wasn’t bothered. I’d also somehow transitioned into their marketing guy, so I was doing more strategy than creating.
My salary increased to $2500 in 2023. On average, I was spending ₦200k/month. I wanted something stable to put my money in, so I started thinking of starting a business.
What kind of business were you considering?
A lot. At first, I thought about building a restaurant. Later, I considered a gym. But in 2023, I finally settled on a co-working space after my friends and I visited one during a trip. I had $4k — about ₦2m — in savings which was nowhere near the ₦8 million I projected I’d need to start. I got two more friends who also earned quite well on board and we got started.
We leased land somewhere and worked on the building project for six months. All our savings and salaries went into it, and we eventually spent about ₦50m on that project. We’ve been in business for about three months and have made about ₦8m in revenue. Most of the money still goes back into the business because our dream now is to build co-working spaces in multiple locations.
That’s audacious
It is, but we have a roadmap for how we hope to achieve that. It’s transformed from just a means for me to invest and make passive income. It’s now the crux of my life’s work.
I should add that I also formed a digital services agency with two other friends in 2023. They’re badass designers and software developers. We pitched handling marketing and product development to a startup, and they accepted.
So, we gave ourselves a name, pitched more people and kept a portfolio of clients. We’re now a 10-person team and currently have one retainer that pays us ₦900k/month. We also get other bigger clients from time to time. I get about 40% – 50% of whatever we make monthly because I fund the upfront costs of running the projects. However, profit sharing is dependent on the project and terms. The highest payout I’ve gotten is ₦5m. There’s no standard amount, but it’s naira income and I like that it helps me save my dollar earnings.
What’s your monthly income like right now?
My 9-5 pays me around $3,500 these days. It slightly differs sometimes based on the number of hours I work. I make an additional average of $600 – $1200 from the agency. I earned more here in 2023, but I’ve not been as active this year because of school work.
Wait. Are you still in school?
I wrote my final exams a few weeks ago, so I like to say I’m done with school. But there’s still clearance and a few more steps before I’m officially done.
How would you describe your relationship with money?
I’m not shy about spending money. I don’t necessarily live above my means— my quality of life is pretty modest — but I spend aggressively on things that can improve the quality of my life, like my businesses.
Right now, I’m super confident that I have what it takes to make money at any time. So, I’m willing to take more risks and put my money into possible income opportunities because I know I can get it back.
Let’s break down your typical monthly expenses
Black tax is mostly self-imposed. I just send money to my parents and siblings because I want to. I live in a two-bedroom apartment that I share with a flatmate, and that sets me back about ₦300k in rent yearly.
What are your savings like right now?
Absolutely non-existent. I mentioned my partners and I are pursuing the expansion of our co-working facility, and most of my money goes into that. I recently made an additional ₦750k investment a few weeks ago.
What might the next few years look like?
I think I want a PhD, which is ironic because I didn’t take my undergraduate years seriously. However, working on my final year project resurrected an interest in school. But I’ll focus on my 9-5 and business for the next two to three years because I need to leave Nigeria before 2027.
Why 2027?
I feel like our president will contest for a second term, and it’s my personal responsibility to be out of here before he wins.
Haha. What would that mean for your businesses, though?
I’ll spend the next few years building them to become self-sufficient. The goal is to build systems and structures that move them from mere businesses to proper organisations.
What’s a recent unplanned expense you made?
I bought two phones in the last three months for frivolous reasons. I replaced my iPhone 13 with the same model in January because it had a scratch. That cost ₦800k. In March, I decided I needed a new phone for another sim and spontaneously bought a ₦500k Google Pixel. I only needed the phone to make calls. Thinking about it now, those weren’t smart decisions.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 – 10?
6.5. I’m earning reasonably well, but I think I’m still leaving money on the table. I’m not earning as much as I should because being in school hasn’t helped me explore all the opportunities available to me. Now that I’m nearing graduation, I intend to fix that.
What’s an ideal amount you think you should be earning?
At least $10k/month. It’s audacious, but I have a mental picture of how to get there. I’ll definitely need to pursue entrepreneurship on a larger scale. I have ideas for businesses I can start, as well as how I can increase cash flow to my digital services agency. I’ll also need to find a way to reduce time spent at my 9-5 to give more time to these ideas.
I’m curious. Have you ever thought about when you’d like to retire?
I think about that every day. I want at least a million dollars in liquidity so I can retire at 30 — even if it’s pseudo-retirement. I may not stop working totally, but it should be reduced to the barest minimum so I can pursue fun projects. I’ll be 22 in a few weeks, so I have eight years to achieve that goal.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
In this story, Juliet* (31) talks about navigating relationships as a person living with a disability. She shares her past dating experiences and why she’s extra careful about romantic relationships now.
Everywhere I go, people stop and stare at me. The funniest of the lot are those who think they do a good job of hiding their stares. But I only have polio-induced partial limb paralysis; I’m not blind. I see how they silently gesture to their friends to look at me.
Polio hit when I was two, and I’ve been walking with a bad limp since then. It got worse when I got into secondary school. As a teenager, that wasn’t great. As a secondary school student, it was even worse. I was bullied a lot.
My nickname in school was “Miss Koi Koi” because of the crutches I used occasionally when I felt more pain than usual from my deformed leg. The crutches gave a “koi” sound — hence the nickname.
I think my classmates were just jealous that the teachers had a soft spot for me, and I never had to participate in the compulsory sports activities every Wednesday.
I didn’t have a boyfriend until SS 2. Jesse* was one of the few people who were nice to me in class. Interestingly, we only got to know each other after a teacher forced us to share a seat in class. We became friends after I shared my yoghurt with him one time.
I’m not sure how we started “dating”. Our classmates began calling us husband and wife because we sat together and always talked in class, and we just went with it. I didn’t mind, and I felt like I could finally “belong” with my classmates. School relationships were a thing, and being part of that group made me feel normal.
We only dated for a term, though. Whatever we had ended after I saw him joking and laughing with one of my bullies and I confronted him about it. It turned into a fight and I can’t forget a line he said: “I’m even pitying you by talking to you and you’re disturbing me”.
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It was as if someone poured cold water on me. He wasn’t talking to me because he found me interesting. He was just being a nice guy trying to save me from having no one else to talk to. Our “relationship” ended there, and we found a way to exchange seat partners.
I still get pity just as much as the stares, and while pity helps when people give up their seats for me on the bus, it doesn’t feel so great in relationships. When I say relationships, I also mean friendships because I’ve only had two other boyfriends in my life. I met most of my long-term friends at a baking school in 2014. They’re good people, but I feel somehow when they don’t invite me out for things because they think I shouldn’t walk too much or when they feel uncomfortable when people stare at me.
When I met my second boyfriend on Facebook in 2016, I told him about my condition and he seemed fine with it. But he also thought he was doing me a favour by dating me. Anytime we argued, he’d complain about how I didn’t appreciate him being with me and not minding what people might say about my disability. This was someone who didn’t even introduce me to his family or friends. We dated for a year before he went to marry someone from his village.
I don’t know if I should even call my last partner a “boyfriend” — we were only together for two weeks in 2018. He was a neighbour, and he started avoiding me after we had sex a couple of times. That was strange because he put so much effort into toasting me, which was why I even agreed to date a neighbour. I think he just wanted to know what sex with a disabled person was like. I really thought he genuinely loved me, and I felt stupid when it ended.
I’ve been single since then, but it’s not like I don’t get suitors. I’m fairly active on Facebook and men flood my DMs every time I post my pictures or make funny posts about my experiences living with a disability. They say stuff like, they wish they could marry me so I wouldn’t be lonely or that they’re “willing” to give us a chance because I seem interesting.
Once, I jokingly talked about some of these DMs on Facebook as well, and people implied I was just being difficult. People seem to think I shouldn’t have a choice just because I’m disabled. They expect that I should be happy some men are even showing interest. But what kind of interest is “I’m willing to give us a chance”? That sounds like they’re trying to save me from a life of loneliness. It’s just pity, and I’m tired of it because I know a day will come when they will rub it in my face.
I want love, and I hope to get married someday. But I see how men treat able-bodied women every day. How much more will they treat someone they think they’re doing a favour? I’m really scared of that.
I feel lonely most times, but maybe that’s better than being with another man who will destroy the small self-esteem I’ve managed to develop.
Get a free ticket to Strings Attached and enjoy a feel-good evening of music, dancing and games at Muri Okunola Park, Lagos on May 11, 2024.
Nigerians recently woke up to news of a possible university admission age increase from 16 years old to 18 years old, and many people weren’t pleased. Students already have to worry about increased school fees and multiple ASUU strikes, yet the Federal Government wants to add to it?
What do Nigerians who’ve passed through university think about this? We spoke to Nigerian graduates who were admitted into university between the ages of 15 – 16 years old and asked if they’d change anything about becoming undergraduates so young.
Temi
I’m petite, and I was extra small when I got into university that my classmates called me baby of the class. It wasn’t great at the time, but I wouldn’t change a thing now.
ASUU strikes increased my four years to six years, and I left uni at 22. If I’d been older in my first year, I probably wouldn’t have left until I was 24 or 26. Yet banks don’t even accept graduates older than 26.
The age I graduated allowed me to do some career trial and error and take up jobs just for the money. I’d have felt pressured if I was older.
Diane
I got into university at 15 and graduated at 19. I liked it because I had a delusional plan — make bastard money at 22 and marry by 25.
Now, I’m not sure entering uni so early was a good idea. I was immature and made a lot of mistakes. I was just following friends and dating people I shouldn’t have even been friends with. Parents need to think twice about sending impressionable children away to school so early. 17 for university is a good age.
Tunde
I left university at 20 and went on to study another four-year course a year later because I only went for my first degree to please my parents. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do that if I’d finished my first degree at 24.
Not everyone will have the privilege to get into uni early, but we shouldn’t take away that option. Most of us don’t enter school knowing what we want to do with our lives. Starting early gives you time to experiment.
Joseph
I entered university at 16, but if I knew what I know now, I’d have convinced my parents to let me wait till I was 18 years old. At least it’d have delayed my journey to adulthood by a few years. There’s nothing we’re rushing to do in this world. Now it’s just to work and work every day.
Hannah*
If I had the chance again, I’d still choose to get admitted into university early. There’s no point delaying the move if you’re done with secondary school. Young people everywhere are doing great things. It’s not until you’re 18 that you’ll automatically have sense. That’s a limiting mindset.
Motun
I don’t think 16 is too young for university. I was admitted at 16 too, and I like to think I’m a well-rounded adult today. If not for JAMB delays, I might’ve entered at 15. I’d have been okay with that, too. We need to understand that young people grow up faster these days. They need to know what they’re doing early so they don’t put that excess energy into something else.
Ayo*
I’m glad I entered university early because of the multiple ASUU strikes. I ended up spending seven years in school instead of five and still graduated at 23. Maybe in a world without strikes, I’d advocate for allowing young people to stay kids for longer. But that’s a luxury in Nigeria.
Get a free ticket to Strings Attached and enjoy a feel-good evening of music, dancing and games at Muri Okunola Park, Lagos on May 11, 2024.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
“Do crypto with Quidax and win from a $60K QDX prize pool!” Bayo, a 28-year-old Lagosian tells Jide, his Ibadan friend seeking the most secure way to trade crypto in Nigeria after a major exchange he trades with announced its plans to leave the country. Find out more here.
When did you first clock the importance of money?
When I was about 8 years old, I noticed the kids in my neighbourhood came out to play with their bicycles every evening. I felt out of place because I didn’t have one, and the kids didn’t let me play with them. I asked my mum to buy me one, and she said, “You’ve not even seen money to eat, you’re thinking about a bicycle”.
Me, I wanted to play and make friends, and I thought I could only do that when I had money to buy my own bicycle.
What was the financial situation at home like?
My dad was a welder for offshore companies, but the early 2000s Warri Crisis forced some of these companies to leave the country. Then he didn’t get regular jobs anymore.
Plus, my dad wasn’t good with money. Whenever he got a temporary offshore job and got paid well, he’d spend it on electronic gadgets rather than follow my mum’s suggestion and invest in a business. I’d come home from school to find a new television when the old one was still working. Or he’d do some repairs on his car or buy a new freezer. So, my parents always fought about money.
I’m the firstborn, so I noticed how his financial habits contributed to the tension at home.
How did your family navigate the periods when he didn’t have a job?
My mum used to be a stay-at-home mum until things got tough. Then, she tried many things; from selling fabrics and hawking food to taking cleaning jobs, daycare and catering gigs. Her businesses hardly took off because my dad always came to borrow money, but at least she made sure we weren’t homeless and always brought food home whenever she went for catering gigs.
Watching her try several things for money, coupled with my dad’s financial habits made me think a lot about money. There was a limit to what I could get because of money, and I just wanted to make my own.
When did you first act on this need to make money?
In SS 1. My mum used to cook for a neighbour occasionally. One day, she had a small get-together and came looking for my mum to cook for her. My mum wasn’t home, and this lady said I should follow her. She assumed I could cook since my mum was a good cook. I didn’t tell her I’d never cooked in my mother’s house. I followed her home and cooked fried rice. I went from never cooking at all to cooking fried rice at 13 years old.
Please tell me it ended well
Surprisingly, it did. My heart was in my mouth when she tasted it, but she said, “This is nice. Your mother taught you well.” She even said I’d cook for her the next time my mum wasn’t around. She paid me ₦3k, which I used to buy foodstuff and cook for my siblings before my mum returned. I was feeling like a small mummy. My mum was pleasantly surprised when I told her what happened.
Did the cooking gigs become regular?
Somewhat. My mum started passing down jobs to me during the weekends. All the money I made was for the house: I never really thought of it as mine. Besides, the only thing on my mind was finishing secondary school at 16 and doing what was expected of me: studying medicine so I could become a doctor and turn the family’s fortune around.
Nigerian millennials everywhere can relate
Well, I failed two core subjects in WAEC in 2011 and couldn’t get university admission that year. Even worse, it had taken serious convincing for my dad to add to what my mum had scraped together for my WAEC fees. When I failed, he said I was useless and concluded I’d get married because he had washed his hands off my education.
Since school wasn’t on the horizon, I got a teaching job at a nearby secondary school.
How much did it pay?
₦4k/month. I did the job for a few months till some family members convinced my parents to let me write NECO and JAMB. I got into university in 2013. It wasn’t medicine sha.
But my dad refused to pay my fees, and my mum had to do a lot of running around to raise my fees. He later chipped in, but it was mostly my mum. It was clear from that moment that I’d have to take care of myself in school. They’d settled school fees. Everything else would be on me.
How did you manage this?
I had a stint serving drinks at a bar three times a week for ₦4,500/month. But I stopped after a few months because the male customers kept touching me, and the bar owner was only interested in keeping his customers.
Then, I worked as an attendant at a fuel station for ₦7k/month. Since I was still in school, I shared a shift with someone else and only worked half days. I hated the job because I had to stand for hours. I left after about three months.
Also, I had a much older boyfriend — I was 19, and he was in his 40s — who used to give me ₦10k – ₦15k every other week. He also paid for my hostel accommodation once.
My boyfriend kept saying he wanted to marry me. I didn’t mind because he had a two-bedroom apartment, a car, and seemed rich. At least, I’d be comfortable. Anyway, I saved up most of the money he gave me and began selling beaded items in school.
Did you make them yourself?
Yes, I did. I’d make the beads and post them on Facebook. A bead set went for ₦2k – ₦2,500. My profit on each sale was about ₦1k.
On the side, I was making ₦5k or ₦7k cooking for some Yahoo boys I’d befriended in my apartment building. They liked my food, so the money was regular.
While that was going on, the guys noticed I was well-spoken and started asking me to check for typos in the messages they wanted to send to “clients” to confirm there weren’t any typos. Sometimes, I’d edit; other times, I’d help them write the messages. Anytime they got paid, they’d give me between ₦30k – ₦50k as appreciation. The highest I ever got was ₦100k.
Those were my major income sources between first year and second year of uni. I was making money — approximately ₦40k weekly — and even sending some home. Because of that, I stopped paying attention to school. I hardly attended classes because I couldn’t leave someone calling me to cook for one rubbish class.
That must’ve affected your grades
It did. I had F parallel during the second semester of my 200 level. I had so many carryovers to write. But I was focused on making money. So, I started selling essential oils, too. I was also trying to raise money to start a hair business. The plan was to get hair from a distributor and resell them. It was lucrative at the time, so I saved everything I made so I could invest in it.
Around this time, my relationship with the older guy had ended, and I met another one online. The new guy was in his 30s and lived in a different city. I think he was the first person who told me he loved me. I told him about my plan to start a hair business and he seemed proud that I was so hardworking. I had saved ₦300k+ by that time.
A few weeks after I told him about my plan, he called and said he’d been in an accident. Then he ended the call.
An accident?
I was confused too. He was unreachable for the next couple of hours, and I was worried. When he eventually called back, he said he was in the police station. Apparently, he’d hit a woman and her child with his car, and the police held him, asking for about ₦600k. He said his bank app wasn’t working and asked me to lend him the money, promising to pay back as soon as he was released.
I didn’t stop to think. I just thought, “Well, he’s my boyfriend” and sent him my entire savings. He encouraged me to borrow the remaining ₦200k from people, and I did. After he got the money, I didn’t hear from him again.
Damn
I didn’t suspect anything at first. I thought he was still in danger. After three days, I borrowed more money to travel to his city to check on him. I met an empty house, and it was obvious someone had just packed out. I asked a neighbour, and they said they saw him leave a few days ago, and it looked like he was relocating.
At that point, my whole world shattered. I have no idea how I returned home that day. I was walking on the road, and tears were falling down my face. How could I have been so stupid?
I’m so sorry
I had lost everything I’d ever worked for and was about ₦300k in debt. I couldn’t tell anyone what happened. I stopped attending classes and didn’t even go out. I honestly wanted to die.
I started to “borrow from Peter to pay Paul” when my creditors started calling for their money. I’d take new loans to pay my old ones. I even used loan apps to fund a gambling habit I developed.
I picked it up from a neighbour. I desperately needed money and I asked him to teach me how to play but he refused because “babes no dey do this kind thing”. Instead, he suggested I give him money so he’d play for me. If he won anything with my money, he’d take a small percentage and give me the rest. I thought it was a good idea, so I agreed.
I started giving him ₦500 – ₦1k here and there for him to place bets. I don’t even know if he was placing the bets or using my money to smoke weed. But every time he’d come and say the game “cut”, and I’d give him more money for another “sure game”. I don’t know if it was desperation, but I just believed I’d win big one day and clear all my debts.
Did you win big?
I didn’t win anything. I was still getting cooking gigs, but they didn’t come as frequently, and everything I made went into paying loans and feeding. At one point, I dropped out of school completely. I was keeping to myself a lot and my friends just thought I was going through heartbreak. They didn’t know about the loans. I didn’t want to ask for help because I felt like I needed to solve everything myself.
I became homeless because I couldn’t pay rent. I started moving from one friend’s house to the other. They didn’t know I was homeless. I’d just be like, “I want to come and stay with you for one week,” and then I’d move to the next friend. I ended up staying with some of them for up to a month at a stretch.
It was crazy. I sank into a bad depression and was in limbo from 2015 to 2017. In 2017, I had to open up to my friends because the compounding loans were killing me. They pulled funds together, and I started to clear the loans. But then I saw an investment opportunity that promised to triple my money in two weeks.
Hmmm
See, I was at the mercy of people giving me ₦10k – ₦20k, and I didn’t want to rely on that. I wanted to make my own money, too. So, I took ₦100k that people had gathered for me and put it in the firm, expecting to make ₦300k. That ended terribly. I never saw one kobo.
At that point, it felt like there was no end in sight to the series of bad financial decisions I was making.
Thankfully, my friends helped me clear my debts completely in 2018. That’s also when my parents realised I’d dropped out of school.
How?
My mates were already going for NYSC, so they obviously had questions. I told them, and they were so disappointed. I couldn’t even go back home because I was ashamed. By this time, I’d rented another apartment with a friend’s help, so I just stayed back around school.
But I didn’t have a job or business. My mates had finished school and moved on with their lives, and I was still there.
I had nothing to my name and didn’t even know who I was. I sank into another depressive period that lasted until 2020. This time, it came with suicidal tendencies. I’d constantly overdose on drugs, and my neighbours would break down my door and rush me to the hospital.
When I wasn’t trying to kill myself, I was just existing. I’d go for days without eating until my friends sent me money. The last time I attempted suicide in 2020, someone told me, “Maybe you should just die so everyone will rest”.
Ah
I think, in the end, it was my friends’ encouragement that restored my will to live. They kept telling me things would get better, and I started to believe them. I was angry at this “things will get better” statement for a long time, though. I mean, I was a uni dropout in my 20s without a job, no relationship, and even my parents weren’t talking to me. Where was the “better”? But my friends didn’t let me give up.
Towards the end of 2020, I decided to return to cooking. It was the constant in my life, and I thought, if I could go to culinary school, I’d even be able to make a career out of it.
In early 2021, I got two steady clients. Between the two of them, I was sure of at least ₦100k/month.
Things were looking up
A little. But then my mum became hypertensive and had a stroke, and I had to start chipping in money for drugs. She was no longer with my dad, so I was also supporting my siblings in school. For every ₦100k I made, more than half went to my siblings and mum. So, that didn’t help with planning for my life or even culinary school.
What are things like these days?
Still pretty much the same. One of my siblings is waiting for NYSC and the other one is in final year at uni, and most of my money still goes back home. I really don’t think I’m living for myself. There’s always one need back home, and money is never enough. I have things bookmarked that I’d like to buy, but I can’t even think of buying them. I always think of home first.
Do you still rely on cooking gigs?
I learnt how to bake in 2022. Since culinary school wasn’t an option, I paid about ₦300k to learn to make cakes and small chops.
My plan was to set up a cute pastry shop, but I quickly realised it was capital intensive, so with the help of my friends again, I got a bigger ₦300k/year apartment with a big kitchen so I could bake in my kitchen and save on rent. It limits the number of cake orders I can get because some orders require storing products, which is a hassle without a freezer. The last time I priced a small freezer, it was ₦185k.
In a good month, I can earn between ₦100k – ₦150k from baking and cooking gigs. Sometimes, I don’t earn anything and have to rely on the grace and kindness of my friends. My financial life is very up and down.
You’ve mentioned your friends turning up for you a lot. Do you ever worry about relying on them too much?
All the time. I struggle with asking for help until things are falling apart. Anytime I have to pick my phone to ask for something, I feel regret and shame. These are my agemates, but I have to depend on them again and again.
My friends probably don’t feel the same, but I feel like a nuisance. It’s not great being the broke friend. No matter how kind people are, nothing beats the peace that comes with having my own money.
Plus, there’s a way people treat the broke friend. For instance, when my friends do things that piss me off, I can’t react or call them out because what if they choose to be vindictive and ignore me when I need help? It’s like I have to give away little parts of my dignity because I need them.
I’m also like the last person they think about for events or get-togethers. Like, why send an invite when I probably don’t even have money to attend? It hurts seeing the people I care about doing fun things and realising I’m the only one not there. But I can’t even be angry because if they invite me, I can’t afford it.
How many times will I say, “Sorry, I can’t make it”?
That’s relatable
But my friends are really good to me o. If not for them, I probably wouldn’t be alive to talk to you. I met most of them on social media, and they’ve helped my life. I just feel foolish that I can’t reciprocate. I’m the friend who writes long notes on birthdays because I can’t buy a gift. They love the notes, but I want to buy them gifts. I feel inadequate.
Sorry you feel that way. Let’s break down your monthly expenses
In a month that I earn ₦100k, my expenses typically go like this:
It involves a lot of manoeuvring to make it work. My toiletries are just sanitary pads and deodorant. That my savings figure is a delusional thing I like to do. I remove ₦10k and put it in a savings app, but then I collect it two days later when I need money. All my money goes into black tax and trying to survive. I honestly feel like I’m just existing.
How would you describe your relationship with money?
I always have anxiety no matter how much I have. I feel like there’s one bill coming that’ll take it all, so I always need more. Money is the only safety I know. I don’t want to return to the point I was years ago — gambling and in debt. I want to have so much money to the point where I never have to worry about it again.
How have your experiences shaped how you think about money?
Money gives you human dignity. Not having it can make you less than human. People can disagree and say, “But you can have a good quality of life without money”. It’s a lie. I’ve seen poverty, and I’ve seen how people treat me when they think I have money and when they know I’m completely broke.
It may be unintentional, but there’s this condescension towards poor people. People are always ready to advise me, like I’m completely clueless. They say, “Oh, why can’t you start a business?”. My darling, it’s money I’ll use to start it. Or “Why not learn a tech skill?” Sweetheart, it’s still money I’ll use to buy a laptop and data. People think I don’t have money because I’m stupid. Like all my problems would disappear if I only listened to their advice.
That’s a lot to think about. Are you still pursuing culinary school?
Oh yes. It’s still a dream. I want to become a chef so I can tell my mum I’ve taken her cooking gigs a step further. When this happens, I can confidently say I have a career. You can ask my friends what they do, and they quickly respond, “Software developer”. But I don’t have one straight answer. I have to start explaining how I bake, cook and write sometimes. That’s why I need this to happen.
But culinary school would require me to leave my state, move to Lagos, and spend a couple millions on school fees. I don’t have that yet. I’d also like to return to school one day and get my degree, but that feels like a far-fetched dream.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 – 10?
1. I can’t afford a good life. I’m always scraping the bottom. I can’t even afford to lose ₦100 from my account. I’m always anxious, and it’s not a great way to live. I feel like I’m failing at life.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
I grew up in a small town and thought I’d attend secondary school in the state capital with my friends. But my mum made it clear that we couldn’t afford it. The school fee was ₦65k, and books and uniforms would’ve added to that. I was 12 years old, and it was the first time it clicked that money makes things happen.
Tell me more about the financial situation at home
My parents both worked for the local government — which is the worst government job ever. They’re retired now, and my mum’s monthly pension is just ₦30k, and my dad’s is ₦47k. They spent almost 30 years in service.
But growing up, it wasn’t obvious things were bad until the secondary school incident. Most people in my small town didn’t have money, either. I settled for the run-down school in town, and when I asked for money to buy books — I love to read — my mum would be so confused. Like, why would I even think of using money to buy books when the money could take me to school or feed me for a week?
I’m also the first-born of three children, so I quickly learned to sacrifice my needs so my siblings could have nice things after I realised things weren’t great. For instance, my mum would buy Fanta, and I’d claim not to like it because of cramps, so she could give my siblings. If I said I wanted Fanta too, I knew she’d have to do mental calculations to see how we could afford to buy one more.
When was the first time you made money?
2017. I left my small town for the first time to write JAMB in a neighbouring town that was close to the state capital, and I remember being so excited. I was one step closer to the big city. I started thinking about what to do to make money and finally get to this city my friends had gone to.
So, with my mum’s help, I got a job in a small provisions store close to my house. My mum just wanted me to have something to pass time before uni.
The pay was ₦3k/month. The first time I got paid, I got the money in ₦500 notes, and it felt “bigger” in my hands. I was so excited.
I can relate
I used my salary to buy a book — Castles by Julia Garwood. When my mum asked about the money, I had only ₦500 left. My parents beat the shit out of me. After that, my mum collected my salary directly from my boss.
Well, uni admission didn’t work out, and my parents convinced me to try a polytechnic or college of education. But during Christmas, a friend visited from Abuja. She had a Tecno Android phone and a Facebook account. I didn’t have any of these.
She also had a job and lived in a rented apartment. I was fascinated by her stories about Abuja. At that point I was like, “What even is my state capital? I’m going to Abuja!”
Did your parents agree?
It took a couple of months and my grandmother to convince them, but they agreed. I told them I could get a job in Abuja and apply to a polytechnic in Nasarawa State.
In 2018, I landed in Abuja with ₦12k, moving in with my friend who lived on the outskirts of Abuja. My first culture shock was how expensive things were. What do you mean I had to pay ₦200 for a 10-minute bike ride? At home, ₦200 could take me from one town to another.
How did the job and school plan work out?
I focused on making money first. My friend helped me get a waitressing job at a bar. The salary was ₦15k/month. That was big money to me.
The male customers often tipped me ₦500 or bought me a plate of pepper soup. Of course, that involved flirting with them and rubbing their heads. One of them gave me ₦5k once, and I finally opened a bank account. In my head, I’d blown.
It was during this time I met the person who changed my view on life.
Who was that?
A free-spirited and loud fellow waitress at the bar. She encouraged me not to limit myself to the men in the bar who could only tip a maximum of ₦5k. Not when men in town could give me ₦50k.
At that point, my dad had retired and was dealing with blood pressure issues. My mum was also calling me frequently to complain about their needs and indirectly ask for money. So, I was more than ready to meet the ₦50k guys. If they liked me and wanted to sleep with me, no problem. As long as they brought money.
I started following this friend to clubs in town. Shortly after, I met a soldier. We started dating, and I quit my job at the bar.
Was he giving you an allowance?
Not exactly. But whenever I visited him, he gave me ₦10k – ₦20k. He also paid for my groceries and toiletries.
But I met someone else at a club four months after we started dating. The first time we had sex, he gave me ₦50k. He also wanted us to be exclusive because he wasn’t comfortable with me sleeping with other people. I weighed my options and decided soldier man could go. The new guy put me on a ₦50k monthly allowance, and he paid for my first apartment inside town. The rent was ₦105k. He also bought me a mattress and a standing fan.
Then, in 2019, I got a job at a spa.
How did that happen?
I’d become active on Facebook, and that’s how I met this babe who asked me to come be a masseuse at her spa. I hadn’t done it before, but the work schedule was on a one-week-on, one-week-off basis, and I figured I’d still have time to do other things. Plus, she offered ₦70k/month and the option to make more in tips from clients who wanted happy endings.
What do you mean by “Happy endings”?
The clients could request hand jobs or sex after the massage session. This brought me tips between ₦15k – ₦20k per client, and I could have up to eight clients in a day. The highest I ever got from one client was ₦50k.
My madam took a liking to me — maybe because she also came to Abuja to make it on her own. Three months into the job, she asked me to replace the manager, who was stealing and diverting her clients. My salary increased to ₦100k.
Managing client payments was one of my new duties, and it made me realise just how much the spa made. My madam would charge people ₦150k for a one-hour central massage session, and she was paying the people actually doing the work ₦70k/month. I thought it was unfair, but there was nothing I could do.
Interestingly, some of the clients continued to request for me even after I became the manager. My madam sent pictures of the girls available to the clients before their sessions, and they’d sometimes say they wanted me rather than the actual masseuses. I only accepted the requests if the tips were at least ₦50k. I was trying to gather as much money as possible.
Why was that?
My boyfriend had started dating someone else and misbehaving, so I ignored him. Now, I had to renew my rent myself, and I was saving for that.
Then, I met a senator at work. He told me he’d pay my salary so I wouldn’t have to work at the spa anymore. He knew about the happy endings and didn’t want me to do that while we were together. Apparently, people could “get to him” through me if I slept with other people.
The first night we slept together, he gave me $500. That was the first time I held foreign currency in my hand. When I got home that day, I had my bath and told myself I was washing away poverty.
Mad
It was a moment of realisation. So, I could earn that kind of money. Around that time, I was planning to leave my neighbourhood because of increased robberies. The senator suggested a place in an upscale part of Abuja, so we wouldn’t just be meeting at hotels.
I found an ₦800k apartment and told him the landlord requested a two-year payment upfront. This man sent me ₦4m. When I saw the alert, I just started crying and shouting. Like how? I immediately sent ₦700k to my mum and told her someone who wanted to marry me sent the money so she wouldn’t ask too many questions.
The COVID lockdown happened immediately after I moved in, but it was an amazing time for me. The senator’s wife was stuck in the UK, and I spent most of the time with him. He gave me ₦300k monthly and would sometimes send more when he wanted me to cook for him. He liked food, so that happened a lot.
What’s the highest amount of money he gave you?
₦9 million. I visited my parents for Christmas in 2020 and didn’t like the state of the house. So, I told him I wanted to build them a house, and he gave me the money a few months later.
Also, forget that thing he said about me not sleeping with other people. I occasionally had one-night stands with people I met in town or through friends I met at the salon or where I shopped. My friends would tell me about one actor or someone coming to town who needed girls, and those usually brought in $200 or about ₦100k.
The senator was my stable relationship and income source, though. But things fizzled out between us in 2021 when he started dating my friend.
Your friend?
Yeah. We met at a salon and became friends. They both met for the first time at my house. Sometime later, he asked about her and told me he was interested. To be fair, he asked if I didn’t mind, and I honestly didn’t. The girl asked me too, and I was like, “Girl, eat his money”.
The guy was married with kids. I wasn’t under any impression the relationship would go any further.
I think he felt guilty about “dumping” me, though. He sent me money more frequently towards the end of our relationship and even renewed my rent for two years. We still talk today, and I’m friends with both of them.
Did that affect your income stability?
There was no longer a particular amount guaranteed to come at the end of the month. So, I focused on getting one-off clients. I’d meet guys in clubs, we’d have sex, and they’d pay me. It wasn’t a great model, though. I didn’t discuss money with them before sleeping with them, and there were situations where I’d ride someone like a bicycle for hours and only get ₦50k after.
Why didn’t you talk about payment, though?
It was an awkward conversation for me. My friends always told me to discuss payment before the deed, but I just expected guys popping bottles in the club to have sense and do the right thing. By this time, my average income was about ₦200k – ₦300k/month.
I worked with this model for about two years, and it often didn’t turn out well. I even had a pregnancy scare in 2022. Technically, I only found out I was pregnant after I had a miscarriage. My period is never regular, and I’d missed it for about three months when I started getting really bad cramps. I was rushed to the hospital, and that’s how I found out. Ironically, I always use condoms. I got pregnant the one time I didn’t use one. It was crazy.
I’m sorry you went through that
Thanks. It’s not even the most unpleasant thing that’s happened to me in this job. One time, I was having sex with a guy, and his friend walked in. Then the guy I was with went, “Well, with the amount I plan to pay you, it makes sense if my friend gets a go, too. It’s the same one night.”
I was so pissed. I called my cab guy and left without collecting my money. See, having a cab guy is very necessary in this job. Online cabs don’t work all night, and sometimes I just need someone to come get me.
Anyway, my job became easier after a pimp approached me in 2023. He’d seen me hang out at a lounge a couple of times. He offered to hook me up with clients for 30% of whatever I make. It sounded good to me and we tried it for some time to see how it’d work. It worked out great and we still work together.
How does having a pimp make your job better?
He tells me how much I’d get before I even accept a job. So, I don’t have to worry about doing the work and receiving peanuts later. Also, he doesn’t demand for more money. For instance, we can agree he’d take ₦150k for a ₦500k weekend job. If, for whatever reason, I get paid ₦700k instead, he never asks for more. It also helps that I’m very transparent with him, so we just work well together.
Earlier this year, he hooked me up with two Arab guys who wanted to do intense BDSM with a black woman. He was clear they were going to beat me, but I’d get $20k. The money wasn’t bad at all, so I agreed to it and the conditions they set — getting tested for STIs.
I was with them for three days, and it was intense. That thing they did in “Fifty Shades of Grey” isn’t BDSM at all. These guys used real iron handcuffs and beat me ehn. I used a whole week to recover. I’ll never do it again.
Damn. That’s a lot
I’ve not done any major job since that time. Right now, I’m just resting and catching my breath. My pimp still hooks me up with ₦200k one-night jobs once in a while, but it’s nowhere close to the weekly jobs I’m used to.
What was your average weekly income when you were working regularly?
2023 was a good year for me. I had many clients who came into town because of the general elections. Plus, due to my pimp’s actual job, he was in close contact with a lot of them. Sometimes I could get up to ₦2m in a week. The weekend of democracy day, there was a private party and I went home with $1k.
Do you worry about running out of clients at some point?
I do. It’s why I’m focused on saving for my siblings’ education and my family. I fear becoming old and ugly and suddenly being unable to land clients. Everyone in my family depends on me now, and I subconsciously save almost everything I earn in a month. Before January, I used to save like ₦800k/month.
I have three savings accounts: one has ₦1.7m in it, and it’s for health bills and emergencies. Another has ₦610k for rent savings — it’s not much because I don’t have to worry about rent for another year — and I have ₦9.6m in the third one for savings sake. It’s usually where the money for groceries, food and flexing comes from. A large part of this money came from the January job. It brought me ₦18m after my pimp got his cut, and I used part of it to get some wigs, pay my rent in advance, got phones for my siblings and a generator for my parents. There were other expenses, too. When I was done, I was left with about ₦10m. But it’s the account I spend from, which is why it’s around ₦9m now.
Let’s break down these expenses in a typical month
My feeding expenses are high because my siblings moved in with me in 2022, and they’re teenagers who eat a lot. I’m glad they’re here, though. Every time I look at them, I’m reminded that I’m on the right track. Nothing I’m doing is in vain. They’re so intelligent, and I’m honestly in awe of them.
They’re still in secondary school, and the plan is to send them to the best universities possible. The schools I’m eyeing cost millions, so I need to get my money up. I’ve also thought about returning to school, but I don’t think it’ll work out. It’d be too awkward sitting with small children. So I’ll let my siblings do it.
You said something about black tax from extended family
Yes. There’s always one cousin asking me for money or one thing I need to pay for in the village. I just came back from a burial in my village in March because, apparently, it was an important person who died, and if we weren’t involved, they’d look down on my family. I had to buy a goat, crates of beer and even cook for people. I spent like ₦150k on that matter.
Just the other day, I got another call that another person died, and we had to buy another goat and crates of beer. As how?
How would you describe your relationship with money?
I feel like I’m at a point where I can finally breathe. I’m not tense about money anymore, because I have most of my responsibilities covered. Even if I don’t get a client in a month — which isn’t possible — I’ll be fine. I haven’t worked actively since January, and I still get ₦300k/month at the least.
Have you considered getting an additional income source?
The thought of starting a business has crossed my mind. The senator promised to give me money if I ever need to set up anything, but nothing concrete has come to mind yet.
I’m very comfortable where I am right now. I earn more than most civil servants, and I never get stranded; my pimp makes sure of that. I even reject clients sometimes when the requests get too bizarre.
What are some of the bizarre requests you’ve gotten?
Someone wanted me to eat his shit for ₦10m. Good money but omo, shit? Nah. Another one offered me ₦800k to wear a dildo and peg him, but I wasn’t comfortable with that. Then there are the ones who want to pee on you. People have weird fantasies. Maybe I’d have jumped at these requests in my early days when I was still trying to find my feet. But I’m comfortable enough to reject jobs now.
What’s one misconception about sex work that you’re tired of hearing?
People think sex workers always stand on the road. I’ve never had to do that to find a client. They’re also always shocked that I speak so well. It’s usually the first thing new clients say. Stuff like, “You’re so intelligent”. I don’t get it. Should I be stupid?
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 – 10?
7. It’ll be a complete 10 when I send my siblings to the universities I want them to go to and comfortably cover all their bills.
I’m curious. Do you have any financial regrets?
Yes. I opened a charging centre for a cousin in 2023 because his mum — my mum’s younger sister — came to me crying about how he wasn’t doing anything in the village. It cost me about ₦250k to set up the place and buy a generator.
Two months later, he left the shop unattended to go and drink, and all the phones were stolen. I had to pay about ₦450k to the customers who lost their phones and bail him from jail. I’ll never set up a business for a family member again. I’d rather give them money and keep it moving.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Like it or not, japa has become part and parcel of the Nigerian reality. In most families, at least one person has left the country to start afresh (in saner climes).
But starting afresh for the japa-ee also often means loneliness, a feeling that’s emphasised during festive periods. I asked 6 Nigerian Muslims living abroad what celebrating Eid-Al-Fitr was like in a strange land without family.
I’ve only been here for about four months, and getting into Ramadan this year was difficult. I always missed Sahur, and Iftar required serious calculation to be sure I was breaking my fast at the right time because the sun here has a mind of its own. I never had to worry about this back home because it was a family thing; we all looked out for each other. I couldn’t really celebrate Eid because I didn’t think I did my best during Ramadan, and I felt guilty. Plus, there’s no public holiday here, so I just had a cup of ramen noodles after classes and cried myself to sleep.
Banji*, 30, UK
For the first time this year, I spent Eid with my mum’s former student’s family. It was great; there was food, and I got to play with her kids.
When I first arrived in the UK in 2022, I spent Eid alone, and it was so depressing. My mum suggested I connect with her ex-student, and I thought it’d be weird. Like, how do I just appear at your door to eat rice? But when loneliness wanted to finish me again in 2023, no one told me before I found myself at her house.
Hamid, 29, Canada
Eid always reminds me that I’m all alone in a no-mans-land. Back home, every Eid was a big deal. We’d kill rams — even for Eid-al-Fitr when it’s not compulsory — and everyone would gather at our olori-ebi’s house.
I’ve been in Canada for about a year, and there’s a stark difference. I spent this year’s Eid at work and returned home alone to my cold apartment. In all, we thank Allah.
Jola, 24, US
I spent Eid cooking up several pots of rice and soups. I had to store most of it in the freezer to eat for the rest of the month, but cooking that much helps me feel connected to my family. We always cook up a storm for holidays in Nigeria, so, in a way, I’m still holding on to family traditions.
Bolajoko, 29, UAE
Maybe it’s because I live in a Muslim country, but I hardly feel alone in Dubai even though I have no family here. I spent this year’s celebration with friends (some of whom relocated from Nigeria, too), and we ate together in someone’s house after Eid prayers.
Ranti, 23, Ireland
I celebrated Eid by dressing up just to sit down in my apartment. I took pictures, so I guess that’s better than nothing. It’s my first Eid alone, away from home. I hope to have connected with more Muslims around my area before Sallah later in the year, so it’s not so lonely.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
“Do crypto with Quidax and win from a $60K QDX prize pool!” Bayo, a 28-year-old Lagosian tells Jide, his Ibadan friend seeking the most secure way to trade crypto in Nigeria after a major exchange he trades with announced its plans to leave the country. Find out more here.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
I must’ve been around three years old when my elder brother was resuming Nursery 3. He was reluctant to start the new class because everyone thought the class teacher was mean. So, my cousin promised to give him 50 kobo if he went to the class without making a fuss. It worked; my brother stopped complaining.
It was my first time realising money could insulate someone from certain experiences. Or at least, make the experience better. I became more convinced of that when I got into primary school.
How so?
My mum never gave me lunch money; I went to school with home-cooked meals. Other kids had money to buy stuff during break. They looked like they were balling, and I wanted that lifestyle. I knew I needed money to make that happen. So, I started a mini-rental business in Primary 3.
My elder brother was good at sketching storybooks. Whenever he made new ones, I’d lease them out to my classmates for ₦5 or ₦10. What I made went into sweets, sugar cane and snacks. I was finally balling like my mates, and I loved it.
What was the financial situation at home like?
It mostly depended on my dad’s job. He was a geologist who did several stints at private oil companies throughout my childhood. When he worked at a good place, there was money. But when he didn’t, we struggled. My mum’s tailor income couldn’t do much for five children.
One of the times we really struggled was when my dad lost a job as I was about to start SS 1. I had to stay home for weeks because he couldn’t pay my fees.
He got a new job a few months later, and things returned to normal. I never forgot that period, though. I noticed how trying to hold the family finances together stretched my mum. That’s when I started associating having good money with having a job. But interestingly, my parents didn’t allow us to work while in university — they were against whatever business my siblings tried their hands at. It was always, “Go to school and get a certificate”.
Did you try a business in uni too?
There was no point. I lived on allowances. I got into university in 2013 and was on a ₦40k monthly allowance right from the first year. In 2016 — my third year at uni — my allowance increased to ₦80k, then there was the extra ₦15k – ₦20k from my mum.
My dad lost his job that same year, thanks to Buhari. That man came and introduced policies that affected oil prospecting companies, and the whole sector became unstable. Even when my dad found another job, he had to take a nasty pay cut. I think he went from earning about ₦600k in allowances alone to an ₦100k salary. Of course, it meant he could no longer fund my lifestyle.
What were some of the changes you had to make?
I was a baller before my dad lost his job. I lived in a two-bedroom apartment my dad paid for and used to host house parties once a month. I also regularly bought food for my friends and splurged on gadgets and expensive shoes. In 2016, you could get good Nike shoes for like ₦20k.
However, when my dad lost his job, I became totally broke. In fact, the right word is poverty. I didn’t have any savings, and my allowance dropped from ₦80k to ₦12k to anything I got. I moved into a self-contained apartment and started missing meals. Obviously, the parties stopped. I suddenly became the “I don’t have money” friend.
Thankfully, this was close to a compulsory six-month internship period, so I left school for another town where the internship was.
Were you paid a stipend at the internship?
Nope. It was unpaid. I stayed with an uncle, so feeding and accommodation were sorted. But I wasn’t comfortable with not having money.
About three months into the internship, I was with a photographer friend’s phone when a ₦100k credit notification popped up. He saw the message and was like, “Oh, this person has paid their balance”. I asked what the balance was for, and he said a photoshoot. I was shocked. How much was the full amount if the “balance” was ₦100k? I decided there and then I could take pictures too.
LMAO
This was in 2017. My friend hooked me up with someone who owned a studio, and I started hanging around him to learn the photography business. After a month, I ditched my internship to focus on photography. I got a job at a studio — after forming like I knew what I was doing — and got paid ₦28k/month. I started as a photography assistant, but I was pretty much a full-time photographer.
At this point, I’d stopped calling home for money because the answer was always the same — there was no money. I was fully in hustle mode. I worked Sunday to Sunday — it was stressful as hell — but it felt good to earn my own money. I also made extra money on the side assisting other photographers and taking pictures on my own. These, plus my salary, usually brought my income to ₦50k monthly on average.
I should mention that I didn’t tell my boss I was still in school. I thought it’d spoil my chances. I only told him when I had to return to school in February 2018. I’d worked for about seven months in total and saved most of my income, so I used it to sort my school fees and the ₦90k rent for my self-contained apartment.
Did you continue with photography in school?
Yes. The friend who introduced me to photography was in my university too, and he had a studio in a nearby town. I’d gotten a number of clients from my time assisting photographers, so I still got gigs.
It was that time when everyone was doing model shoots and polaroids. Whenever I got clients, I’d use my friend’s studio and fuel his generator as appreciation for using his space. I usually made like ₦20k – ₦30k per shoot. I also set up an Instagram page for my pictures and became a mini-celebrity in school. I had photography jobs almost every weekend.
How much did that bring you in a month?
Between ₦30k – ₦50k.
I graduated uni in October 2018 and returned to the studio I worked at during IT. This time, my pay was ₦35k, and I worked for five months before I went for NYSC.
I chose a photography studio for my PPA, and they paid me ₦50k/month in addition to NYSC’s ₦19,800 allowance. I also joined the media department of a church and had access to their camera, which was useful for my side gigs, bringing in an extra ₦20k here and ₦30k there. During my NYSC year, I was averaging around ₦120k/month.
Not bad.
In January 2020, I got a ₦150k product shoot gig for someone’s website. Until that time, it was the most money I’d ever made from a single photography job, and I felt like I’d finally made it. It also sparked my interest in documentary photography. I love telling stories and had even written briefly at one point. I figured documentaries would let me combine storytelling with photography. I didn’t know many documentary photographers, but if I could learn it, I would stop taking portraits and covering events — I’ve always found the latter stressful.
Then, COVID lockdown happened immediately after I finished NYSC, and I couldn’t even find the events jobs I didn’t like. The studio I worked at also closed down, and they never reopened even after the lockdown was lifted.
Damn. So, no gigs and no salary
It was brutal. Thankfully, I went back to living with my uncle after university, so I wasn’t homeless. I didn’t have any savings, though. When people started coming out again after lockdown, I decided to focus on freelance photography rather than keeping a studio job. I realised I could make more money that way.
So, I started taking on a few jobs here and there, including corporate headshots for organisations. One thing I did was make sure to charge well — my rates were from ₦100k. I knew I did great work, and I wasn’t afraid to call money. At least, if I did only one job a month, it’d be something. Of course, there were months I didn’t see anything.
I also had a two-month stint teaching students at an academy. The organisers paid me ₦20k/month per student, and there were 10 students, making ₦400k for the two months.
Did you still pursue documentary photography?
Oh, yes. I applied to quite a number of brands, offering to make documentaries for them, but nothing came out of that.
Towards the end of 2020, I decided I’d lived with my uncle long enough. So, I moved into a two-bedroom apartment with a friend from school. The cost was ₦800k, and I contributed half of the bill.
In 2021, I partnered with a photographer friend who had an abandoned studio, and he allowed me to run it. There was equipment there and everything— I just had to sit down there. I even had an office like a proper big boy. It didn’t come with additional income sha. My clients were still mostly from my freelancing gigs, and I averaged around ₦200k – ₦400k monthly.
Then, in 2022, I got a job with an international NGO.
How did that happen?
A friend randomly shared the vacancy with me and asked if I was interested. It was a communications intern role, and I thought, “Well, let me try”. It was my first 9-5 job, and it paid ₦130k/month.
I didn’t stop photography, though. A few months into the job, a colleague noticed I took really good pictures for my reports and introduced me to a one-time project that involved covering photography for an NGO event. That paid ₦400k.
My job also involved a lot of travel, which translated to additional per diem allowances. That usually brought in an additional ₦100k every other month. There was also health insurance and other small benefits. I kept thinking, so this is what 9-5 people have been enjoying?
What was having two incomes like?
It was great. I was finally able to save up to buy my own camera. I’d been using my church’s camera and borrowing from friends until that point. It was a Sony Alpha 7 III, and it cost me ₦1.3m. I still use that camera today.
My roommate moved out at a point, and he owned most of the appliances. But I was able to re-furnish my apartment with a new TV, couch, air conditioner and a few other things. Generally, I felt like I was finally setting up my life. I hadn’t called home for money in forever, and I was living well.
I also finally landed a documentary gig in December 2020. An organisation I’d previously worked with said they wanted to produce infographic video content in five different languages. I randomly charged ₦1.8 million for a three-minute video, and they agreed. I bought myself a Macbook Pro after the project ended because why not?
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How was the internship at the NGO going?
It was initially for six months, but it got extended to a year. After the year ended, there was an opportunity for me to apply to become a regular communications officer, but I didn’t get the role. I could’ve renewed my internship, but I was angry that I didn’t get the regular role, so I left in March 2023.
Back to freelance photography?
Yes. However, I also became a subcontractor for the NGO. I’d left some projects unfinished and some decision-makers thought I should be the one to do it. I even made more money that way. I did about five gigs for them within seven months, and each paid between ₦100k and ₦200k.
However, I still wanted a 9-5. I’d tasted how the other side lived, and I liked it. So, I applied and got a communications officer role with another NGO in September 2023. My salary was ₦469k/month. I was back to balling levels.
Love to hear it.
It also involved a lot of travel. I could be on the road for three weeks in a month, and with per diem allowances, my monthly income came to around ₦800k. The only downside was I no longer had so much time for photography side gigs.
Interestingly, I found out after about four months of working at the NGO that I was like the least-paid person there. Someone else on my level was earning ₦1.4m.
AH. How did that happen?
I asked HR, and it turns out I wasn’t supposed to accept the first offer I was given. I had no idea I could negotiate. It really affected my morale, but shit happens. My salary was slightly reviewed to ₦600k, and I had to take it like that.
I’m still at the NGO. With travel allowances running into ₦350k – ₦400k, my income from my 9-5 runs into ₦1m monthly. Then, an added ₦350k – ₦400k approximately from photography — mostly portraits and documentaries.
I’m actively on the job market, sha. I’m hoping to land a managerial role and make more money.
What’s an ideal amount you think you should be earning?
If I were to change jobs now, I’d hope to earn nothing less than ₦1.6m – ₦1.8m/month. But comfortable money for me right now would be $9k – $10k/month, and I think I should be able to achieve that within three to four years if I stay on my current career course or expand my photography clientele.
How would you describe your relationship with money?
Money is a means to an end. I want to live a life without stress, and I know money is what can give me that lifestyle. So, I don’t hoard money. The moment I get it, I’m thinking of things that money can facilitate for me or how it can make my life easier.
I hardly save these days. I once put about $2k in a cryptocurrency just to have something somewhere. But I lost $1,500 out of it earlier this year when I took someone’s idea to trade it. I just removed my remaining $500 and left it in a dollar account. I recently added $1,500 to it, so it’s back to $2k now.
I’m also not into investing because I think there’s a gap between what I’m earning now and what I want to earn, so I prefer to focus on that.
Let’s break down your typical monthly expenses
Tell me about a recent unplanned expense you made
Reebok sneakers. I move around different communities for my job regularly, and the sneakers are so comfy. I can walk around in those things all day. It cost ₦45k, and I still think it’s worth it.
I’m curious. Do you see yourself juggling a 9-5 and photography for much longer?
I even have construction in mind. That’s what I studied in school, and I might pivot into that when I’m around 40 years old. But I definitely plan to set up my own media organisation so I can do media and communication consultancies and work on more documentaries. That’ll probably cost around $15k.
For now, I like working in the development sector because it makes me feel like I’m making an impact. So, I’ll probably stick to it for a while. I also hope to japa soon, so I’m deliberately applying to foreign-based jobs.
Is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?
Maybe a car. But it’s more of something I have to wait for, rather than can’t afford. I have about ₦4.5m saved for it, but prices have increased, and the car I want now costs around ₦9m, so I have to gather money for that.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1 – 10?
6. I’m not really happy with my finances, and I think I can do a lot better. My income seems like a lot of money because of where Nigeria is right now, but it’s really not. I’m not where I want to be financially. Maybe if I can bridge that gap and develop better money habits, that number could grow to an 8 or 9.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
I was looking to speak with people who’ve passed through the Igbo apprenticeship system when I got talking to my hairdresser, and this story happened.
Iyabo* wasn’t an Igbo apprentice, but she went through a slightly similar system. She talks about how her two-year training period extended to five years and why she had to leave Lagos to start her own hair salon properly.
A few years ago, someone asked me how I became a hairdresser. I said, “Na God o” and changed the subject because even me, I don’t know how I started this work. I like hairdressing o. I’ve been making people’s hair for 15 years, but I didn’t exactly decide it was what I wanted to do with my life.
I lost my dad at 12 years old, and as the last child from a polygamous home, that was the worst news ever. My mum was the favourite wife, so she didn’t have any handiwork because Alhaji (my dad) had money and took care of her. Of course, when he died, the three senior wives made sure my mum didn’t get anything.
I had to drop out of JSS 3 and live with a family friend because my mum couldn’t provide for me and my elder sister. My elder sister was in SS 3, and it made sense to allow her to finish.
After a year with the family friend, I was bundled to a hairdresser’s house to learn work in 2009. I was supposed to learn hairdressing from Mummy Deji for two years. Afterwards, I’d do my “freedom” and graduate from an apprentice to a professional hairdresser.
It’s probably old-school now, but hairdressing apprenticeship was normal in my time. A parent or guardian takes their child and pays a certain amount for them to learn under the hairdresser for a couple of years. The apprentice doesn’t receive a salary or any kind of payment during the learning period. After the learning period, the hairdresser throws a freedom party for the apprentice and gives them a certificate.
This certificate proves that the apprentice is now a professional and can open their own salon. I’m not sure how it works in other places, but that’s how most Yoruba people do it. You can’t just set up your own salon without a certificate proving you learnt the work from someone.
I started my apprenticeship with Mummy Deji when I was 13 years old. I wasn’t supposed to live with her, but my family friend’s house was far from her salon in Ikorodu. Everyone thought it was best if I lived with her so I could get to the salon early and save transport money.
It’s normal for hairdressing apprentices to become errand girls for their madam. You’ll sweep the salon, draw attachment, buy them food and even go and pick up their children from school. My own was worse because I was living with my madam, so I became like her housegirl.
I’d wake up at 5 a.m. to bathe her son, Deji — who was five years old at the time — and prepare him for school. Then, I’d sweep the whole house, wash plates and open the salon at around 8 a.m. The salon was right in front of her house, so we sometimes worked till 10 p.m.
It took about a year before I could plait hair in a single line. I never really had time to learn because I was always doing something else for Mummy Deji. After I opened the salon, I’d mop and fetch the water we’d use to wash the customers’ hair. Then I’d either cook breakfast on the stove she kept in the salon or stand and watch her as she plaited someone’s hair.
In the afternoon, I’d pick Deji from school and keep him entertained in the salon while doing other chores or take him with me if I was sent on an errand. The little hairdressing I learnt was by watching Mummy Deji, not because she allowed me to practise on anyone.
By the end of the two years, the only things I could do was put relaxer on people’s hair and plait all-back. When my family friend asked Mummy Deji about my freedom, she made it sound like I was lazy and wasn’t a fast learner.
I stayed with Mummy Deji for five years, and I was just like a slave. I did everything for her and couldn’t even go out I’d wash clothes, go to the market for her and take care of her children. By the fourth year, I was the only one going to the salon. I’d become better at hairdressing by watching her, and when she noticed that, she left me to do people’s hair on my own.
I remember the first time I fixed a weave-on. I didn’t know how to sew the closure, but I thought I could just wing it. I fixed rubbish, and the woman demanded I buy another weave-on for her because I’d spoiled her own. Mummy Deji had to beg her, but I paid for my mistake by chopping heavy slaps.
That’s another thing. Mummy Deji used to beat me a lot. If her child cried too much, one slap. If I didn’t wake up early, another slap. She reduced the beating when I turned 18 years old. Maybe it was because I’d grown taller than her, and she was scared that I’d beat my own back. But she also stopped shouting at me anyhow.
In 2014, I approached Mummy Deji and asked her when I’d do my freedom. I already knew how to do hair, and five years was enough time to be under her. She claimed she didn’t have money to organise a party for me and that I should wait. By then, I’d already decided I couldn’t stay with her again.
I told my mum and family friend that I’d leave in six months if she didn’t give me my certificate. They spoke to Mummy Deji, and she promised to set me free before then. You won’t believe this woman hosted two parties within that time, and when six months came, she started telling me story.
The whole thing led to a big disagreement, and I left her place to stay with my elder sister after she asked me to “do my worst”. But that wasn’t the end of my story with Mummy Deji.
My sister lived in the Ojo area of Lagos, which is quite far from Ikorodu. I thought I could start making hair for people without wahala from her about how I’m still an apprentice. And that’s what I did.
From 2014 to 2017, I made people’s hair at my sister’s house without any issues. But when I rented a shop in 2018, people from the hairdressers association started disturbing me about my certificate. I’m still not sure if they were supposed to do that, but I later learnt that Mummy Deji was friends with some of the executives and had somehow found out that I’d opened a shop. So, she sent them to frustrate me.
I had to do home service until I married and left Lagos in 2022. I’m in Ekiti now with my own salon my husband rented for me, and I haven’t had any issues since. I pray it continues like this. I never want to see Mummy Deji again.
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Interview With… is a Zikoko series that explores the weird and interesting lives of inanimate objects and non-human entities.
Doughnut — or the milky variation of it — has gained popularity with Nigerians over the past few weeks. However, it seems not every type of fame is welcomed.
Thanks to Doughnut’s busy schedule, this interview is happening weeks after they actually reached out to Zikoko.
Zikoko: It’s nice to finally have you here.
Doughnut: I wish I could say the same.
Zikoko: Why not?
Doughnut: Can’t you see the way I’m looking? Don’t I look sick and manhandled to you?
Zikoko: I thought that was the look you were going for.
Doughnut: I’ll let that slide because I need your help, and I don’t have much time before I resume my hard labour.
Zikoko: Who’s subjecting you to hard labour?
Doughnut: Is that a rhetorical question?
Zikoko: …
Doughnut: You want to tell me you’ve not heard people singing my name these days? From Instagram bakers to WhatsApp vendors, it’s like everyone suddenly remembered I exist.
Zikoko: Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, you’re famous because more people are interested in you.
Doughnut: That’s exactly my problem. This sudden interest has done me more harm than good. I was a simple, minimalist snack. Just mix flour, butter, sugar, and I’m good to go. A proper low-budget babe, and I liked it that way.
But you see Nigerians? They can never let a good thing be. Now, I look into the mirror and don’t even recognise the snack staring back at me. Ah, I’ve seen terrible things. [Shakes head in regret]
Zikoko: I feel like I know where this is going, but can you explain more?
Doughnut: That thing you’re thinking is exactly my problem. Whose idea was it to add milk abi whipped cream to me and change my name to “Milky Doughnut” without consulting me?
Zikoko: How were they supposed to consult —
Doughnut: It would’ve even been better if these bakers — if they can be called bakers — had kept to my minimalist style and added the milk in moderation. But no o. They decided to disfigure me with their milk concoctions till I looked like something that belonged on a kayan mata vendor’s page.
Zikoko: TBH, it looks weird.
Doughnut: God will bless you o. That’s why I came here. So you can help me beg them to stop it. As I speak to you now, a Doughnut somewhere is being torn open and then suffocated with milk. What happened to sprinkling a little sugar on top if you’re feeling adventurous? I wasn’t made for this life, please.
Zikoko: It’s likely just a fad; everyone will soon be tired.
Doughnut: That’s what I thought too. I thought, “Surely, the price of milk will soon discourage these people”. But I underestimated Nigerians. Your country people are now filling me with beans, ogi and even avocado.
Who did I offend? Very soon, someone will wake up with the bright idea to stuff me with groundnut paste and pepper and call it something like “Nutty Doughnut”. I can’t let it get to that. You people need to stop with these creations.
Zikoko: Hold on. Groundnut paste and pepper don’t sound so bad. Imagine how those flavours will complement each other.
Doughnut: Are you kidding me right now?
Zikoko: But why are you so resistant to change?
Doughnut: It’s not the change I’m avoiding. It’s that you Nigerians don’t know when to stop. That’s how one tribe started with just liking pepper. Now, they cook pepper with a dash of food. For another tribe, it’s remaining small for them to put crayfish inside cake. You people have started by pouring one tin of milk inside a baby-sized doughnut. Should I wait until I become extinct?
Zikoko: Hmm. I get your point.
Doughnut: I can feel another Instagram vendor summoning me to complete her latest creation. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Please, save me.
Zikoko: That’s a lot to ask. Saving people isn’t exactly our field of expertise. But we’ll be praying for you.
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Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
“Do crypto with Quidax and win from a $60K QDX prize pool!” Bayo, a 28-year-old Lagosian tells Jide, his Ibadan friend seeking the most secure way to trade crypto in Nigeria after a major exchange he trades with announced its plans to leave the country. Find out more here.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
I don’t have a specific money memory apart from spending my pocket money on books and two-for-₦5 sweets. I grew up privileged, so I didn’t have to think about money. It was just there.
Tell me more about your privilege.
My dad owned a law firm, and my mum didn’t have to work, so that should give you an idea. My pocket money in secondary school was ₦1,500/week, and my school provided lunch, so I was just spending on books, snacks and whatever else I liked.
My dad was pretty strict with money, though. I have five siblings, and we used to spend every summer vacation in England. During those six-week trips, my dad would give me a £500 allowance I had to use to shop for outing clothes for the rest of the year. He’d occasionally give the extra £50 for cinema outings or to go on the bus, but I had to run him through everything I planned to do so he’d approve. He had a particular way of doing things, and my siblings and I had to do exactly like he said to remain in his good books.
Fast forward to 2007, I finished secondary school and went on to do two years of college in the UK — a prerequisite to study medicine at university. After college, my dad said I had to study law like him or return to Nigeria.
What did you choose?
Law in the UK. I didn’t want to lose the freedom I had in England. Even if he’d said I should do animal dentistry, I’d have done it.
My monthly allowance was £500 in my first year in 2009, which was enough to cover my phone bills, food and transportation. But there was hardly anything left at month’s end because I also liked spending on things that made my life easier — I still do. Small rain would fall, and I’d pick taxis instead of waiting for the bus.
Then, I’d manage whatever I had left till the month’s end because I couldn’t call home for more money.
Why not?
I’d have to explain to my dad where the money went, and I’m uncomfortable asking people for money. Maybe it’s pride, but I’d rather not do it.
By the time I left uni in 2012, my allowance had increased to £900, but I still had money problems. I’d also developed a taste for retail therapy, so that didn’t help. I returned to Nigeria with zero savings. Then I went to law school and started working for my dad at his law firm during NYSC in 2014.
Were you paid a salary at your dad’s firm?
Oh, yes. My dad treated me like a regular employee. I was paid ₦150k/month — the same amount he paid every entry-level lawyer. He got me a car so I could drive myself to the firm though.
The funny thing was that he didn’t show me any favouritism at work but expected so much from me. Other lawyers would go home after regular work hours, and I’d have to stay until 10 p.m. if he was still in the office. When we’d eventually leave, he’d drive with his police escort and leave me to drive alone at night. I didn’t have any free time; I was almost always working.
Then, I had to leave the firm in 2016.
What happened?
I got pregnant, and my dad wanted me to get an abortion. It wasn’t a teenage pregnancy o — I was 24, and he knew my boyfriend. He just wanted me to do things the way he wanted. He even promised to upgrade my car to an SUV and fully sponsor my wedding if I did as he said.
But I didn’t want to live like that for the rest of my life; always doing whatever he said. So, I refused, and he disowned me. I lost my job and car and had to leave the house. My dad and I haven’t spoken since. My siblings are also not allowed to contact me.
Damn. What did that mean for you?
I moved in with my boyfriend. He worked in construction — still does — but his contracts didn’t come every month. He could get a ₦5m job today and then nothing else for a while. We went through a rough patch because of that. We were also saving every income that came in for me to have the baby in America. I didn’t think the America thing was necessary, but I went with it.
Also, I was suddenly very aware that I didn’t have money. Money was always there, but now it wasn’t. I was almost always ill during pregnancy, and the electricity supply in his area was terrible. We had to sleep without light multiple times because there was no money to fuel the generator. I wasn’t used to that, and it was tough adapting. It was a depressing period.
Sorry you went through that.
Thank you. My boyfriend and I had a registry wedding, and I travelled to America to have my baby. We had family there, so it worked out.
We made the best decision choosing America because my child was born with genetic defects that required surgery. Obamacare was still effective in the state where I had my child, so we got the surgeries and other healthcare benefits for free. We only paid for the birth, and that saved us about $250,000 in medical bills. I stayed in America for about a year before returning to Nigeria in 2017.
Did you try returning to the workforce?
Yes. I started job-hunting immediately. But I ran into a couple of issues. Law was my only experience, so I inevitably applied to law firms. But my dad is quite known in legal circles because of some high-profile cases he’d worked on.
Once prospective employers connected the dots and realised I was related to him, they were no longer interested. One even said I was coming to spy for my dad. Of course, I couldn’t go around telling everyone he disowned me so they’d trust me. They just couldn’t understand why I’d leave my dad’s firm to work elsewhere. After a while, I told myself that pursuing a law career wasn’t possible. It’s a good thing it wasn’t even my passion.
That’s wild. What did you do?
I started looking for “any work”. Anything to put on my CV. In 2018, I got a ₦25k/month business development role at an insurance company. I was promoted within two months to business development manager, and my salary increased to ₦40k. I also had a 7.5% commission on sales, so sometimes I made up to ₦100k in salary and commissions. I left the job after nine months because I didn’t like sales. It’s like walking up to people to beg them to give you money.
I feel you.
In my next job, I worked as a user researcher at a bank for ₦100k/month. My goal was to cross the ₦150k salary I earned while at my dad’s law firm to prove I could earn it on my own. He’d said I wouldn’t survive without him, and I wanted to prove him wrong.
I figured the quickest way to earn more was by upskilling, so I began to invest in online courses around user experience. I spent almost two years at the bank before I moved to another job in 2021. This one paid ₦189k after taxes, and I used my first two salaries to pay for a ₦200k Udacity course. To me, investing in my career was a better decision than trying to save.
Why did you think so?
I wasn’t earning enough to save. If I saved ₦50k/month, for instance, I’d only have ₦600k at the end of the year. It still wouldn’t make sense even if I got a 15% interest. But I can take that same ₦50k to invest in a course and work on getting a new role that pays five times what I was earning.
I got that advice from someone on Twitter and ran with it. I got another UX research job in 2022; my salary was ₦350k/month. By the time I left the job in 2023, I’d been promoted a couple of times, and my salary was ₦500k. Between 2022 and 2023, I spent about ₦2m on an education program with an international business school.
That’s a long way beyond your ₦150k goal
I’d have been excited to earn ₦350k in 2012. I mean, that money could take you to Dubai. I should’ve felt like I could finally relax, but the fluctuating exchange rate meant I couldn’t even enjoy the fact that I was earning more. It’s even worse now.
It’s the reason I decided to work towards earning in dollars. Towards the end of 2023, I started writing and sharing what I’d learned from my multiple courses on LinkedIn. A content manager reached out, and I got a gig — $350 for every technical article I write for their blog.
I’ve written at least one article a month since then. I did two articles in March and hope to keep that up. But I started another full-time job in January, and I’m a mum of two now, so it’s a lot to juggle.
How much does the new job pay?
₦1.5m/month, which is great because I’ve finally started saving. Since January, I’ve saved my dollar earnings in a domiciliary account and one-third of my naira earnings in a fintech savings account. I’ve also considered saving my dollars in a fintech platform to earn interest, but my challenge is having to buy the dollars on their platform. Why can’t I just transfer from my domiciliary account? I might just open a dollar-denominated mutual fund account and leave my savings there. I’m open to suggestions from whoever reads this sha. What should I do with my dollars?
I’ll be sure to ask them. How much have you saved right now?
$1,500. I recently took $500 out of it to treat my husband on his birthday. I’m looking to start saving half of my salary monthly, but I’m currently running a part-time Master’s program and eyeing a ₦750k course, so the saving plan is still just a plan.
Do you have a saving goal?
I’m saving because spending the whole money wouldn’t make sense. My husband handles most of the bills. If I ever have to save for something big, it’ll probably be buying a house or my kids’ education.
Japa might be an option, but my husband’s business is here, so we’ll need to put a lot of thought into it before deciding to leave.
How would you describe your relationship with money?
I’m still learning. I want to say I have it all figured out, but I really don’t. I’m not frivolous, but I definitely need better money management skills. For instance, every time I get a salary bump, apart from thinking about courses, I’m also considering what I can do to appreciate the people around me. Like, how do I appreciate my husband? Or make my kids’ lives better? I even increased the salaries of my housekeepers and security guard.
I want to save more because I might not have a choice with how inflation is going. I can’t confidently say earning ₦1.5m will still be considered a good salary in the next three years. So, I need to improve my savings and investment portfolio even as I try to earn more. Again, I’m open to financial advice.
Apart from saving, what other lifestyle changes have come with earning more?
Not much. My kids are still my biggest expense. My husband handles most of the bills; I just pay for food and the random things my kids need. I also have two housekeepers — over 18 — who go to school and some other vocational training, so I give them pocket money and handle expenses like their clothes and hospital bills. My husband pays them salaries, but they save it.
Can we break down these expenses into a typical month?
Most of my black tax expenses are spent on my kids’ teachers, house staff, and in-laws. My husband and I also contribute about ₦30k – ₦50k each to purchase monthly welfare packages (mostly foodstuff) and share with underprivileged people in my neighbourhood. The economy is terrible, and it’s our way of easing other people’s burdens.
Talking about the economy, I’m always shocked by my food expenses. When I was earning ₦100k, grocery shopping was like ₦50k in a month. Why am I spending more than triple that for almost the same things now?
Omo. I can’t answer that. What’s an unplanned expense you made recently?
I renewed my car’s comprehensive insurance and passport in February. The renewal wasn’t unexpected; it was the increased fee, especially for the car insurance. When my husband bought the car two years ago, insurance was around ₦180k.
It moved to ₦350k in January 2023, and now it’s ₦430k. Usually, my husband pays, but I offered to do it because I’d just gotten my new salary. The passport renewal was for a 10-year validity period, and I paid to fast-track it. It cost ₦140k.
What’s an ideal salary you think you should be earning now?
$5k/month. I see it as something I need to work towards rather than something I’m owed. I’ll be set for life if I can earn a minimum of $5k/month for the next 10 – 20 years. I don’t need to become a billionaire or make it so my kids don’t have to work a day in their lives before I’ll be fulfilled.
In fact, I want my kids to work and know the value of money. I want them to enjoy, but they should also know what it takes to get what they enjoy and be responsible contributors to society.
Is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?
A number of things, actually. I want to own my own home someday and have enough money to take a family vacation every two years. I’d also like to be able to afford to put my house keepers through school till university comfortably. Same for my kids as well, preferably outside the country.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
6. I can afford my basic needs, but I don’t think there’s enough structure in place yet to give my children and family the life I want for them. There’s promise, though. I just need to keep going the way I am.
The funny thing is, if you’d asked me how happy I’d be earning ₦1.5m last year when I was still on ₦500k, I’d have said a 10. It’s good to have something else to look forward to, though.
I’m curious. Do you think you’ll ever reconcile with your dad?
A part of me wants us to, but I know he can be quite problematic and controlling, and I don’t want issues. I miss my siblings, but the only way I can have a relationship with them is if I get back on my dad’s good side. Maybe it’s better like this.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
Weird as it may sound, some women would rather do gymnastics after sex or the “pull-out” method to prevent pregnancy than actual contraceptives. Why? Because of the widespread misinformation about contraceptive side effects and failures.
This is why I’m taking it upon myself to dissect all the female contraceptive options available in Nigeria, to help my girlies make informed decisions. PS: Contraceptives don’t rule out the need for condoms. There are still STIs in these streets, babes.
Birth control pills
Image: Healthy Women
Also known as “the pill”, this contraceptive prevents pregnancy by safely stopping ovulation. Without ovulation, there’s no egg for the sperm to fertilise. Meaning no pregnancy.
There are different types of birth control pills: Combination pills (which contain estrogen and progestin) are the most common type and are taken daily. The mini pill contains only progestin and is better suited for breastfeeding women. It’s also a daily pill. Then there’s the extended cycle pill which reduces the menstrual period to just four cycles in a year. This type is taken continuously for 12 weeks, followed by a one-week break.
Pros: When taken properly, the pill is 99.9% effective at preventing pregnancy. They can also help regulate your periods, lessen cramps and even clear your acne. It also doesn’t affect fertility. Most users just need to stop the pills to get pregnant.
Cons: Some pills, especially the mini pills, need to be taken at a certain time daily to be effective. Missing a dosage will make it less effective. You might also experience side effects like spotting between periods, mood changes or blood pressure changes.
Where to find it: Most combination and mini pills can be gotten over the counter at pharmacies. But you should always see a doctor before going on the pill to make sure you don’t have pre-existing medical conditions that may make the pill harmful to you.
Emergency contraceptives, AKA “Plan B”
Image: Facebook
Most people know this as “Postinor 2” because it’s the most popular emergency contraceptive brand in Nigeria. Emergency contraceptives contain either levonorgestrel or ulipristal; hormones that prevent fertilisation.
As the name implies, it shouldn’t be used as a regular form of birth control. It should only be used in cases like random condom tears, when the “pull out” method disgraces you and your partner or when you miss some doses of your regular birth control pill.
Pros: It comes in handy in emergency situations, and when taken within 48 – 72 hours of unprotected sex, can be up to 90% effective in preventing pregnancy.
Cons: Whether you take it immediately or not, if ovulation has already happened, that baby will come into the world. Side effects can include heavier or lighter menstrual periods, nausea and headaches.
Where to find it: Levonorgestrel-based emergency contraceptives can be gotten over the counter at any pharmacy.
Intrauterine Device (IUD)
Image: Planned Parenthood
It’s a T-shaped plastic device that’s placed in the womb to make it impossible for the sperm to get to the egg. IUDs can be hormonal (levonorgestrel) or covered with copper. Sperm doesn’t like copper and won’t go near it; levonorgestrel will prevent the eggs from coming out in the first place. IUDs can stay in the body for three to ten years.
Pros: Inserting the IUD is a pretty quick, painless procedure, and they begin the work immediately — they’re up to 99% effective in pregnancy prevention. Hormonal IUDs can also reduce heavy menstrual bleeding and relieve the pain of endometriosis with long-term use.
Cons: Your periods may be more painful and irregular in the first few months of insertion. There’s also the risk of the IUD slipping out of the womb during your period after it’s first inserted. Other risks include infections from the IUD and, if a careless health provider does the insertion, injuries to the uterine wall.
Where to find it: You should only get an IUD with a doctor or health care provider after proper consultation.
Also called a birth control implant, it’s a small flexible rod-like device implanted into the upper arm. It prevents pregnancy by releasing a slow, steady dose of the progestin hormone to stop ovulation or make it hard for the sperm to reach the egg. Implants usually last three to five years before they become ineffective and need to be replaced.
Pros: You don’t have to do anything else, so forget about the stress of remembering to take some pill every day. It’s great for breastfeeding women, and it doesn’t have any long-term effects on fertility.
Cons: Your periods may be irregular, and you have to visit the doctor to remove the implant after it expires. That’s not always a pretty sight.
Where to find it: You should only get an implant with a doctor or health care provider after proper consultation, as the implant may interfere with other medications.
Birth control patch
Image: My Health Alberta
This works similarly to the implant. It delivers pregnancy-preventing hormones through the skin to the body but has to be changed every week for three weeks to be effective. The week without the patch is usually when you get your period. The patch can be placed on your lower abdominal area, back or upper arm.
Pros: You don’t have to worry about tablets and needles for this option. It’s also easy to apply and remove.
Cons: It’s less effective with thicker women. The patch may also cause the body to produce more estrogen than other birth control options and increase the risk of developing blood clots.
Where to find it: The patch should only be used with a doctor’s prescription.
Sterilisation
Image: Aston safety signs
You can also go the permanent route. Sterilisation options include surgical removal of the womb or tying the fallopian tubes.
Pros: It’s 100% effective at preventing pregnancy. In other words, no pregnancy scares in your future.
Cons: You can’t change your mind after the procedure has been done. You’ll also still need to practice safe sex to prevent STIs.
Where to find it: These procedures should only be done by a licensed doctor or surgeon after extensive consultation.
