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Man Like | Zikoko! Man Like | Zikoko!
  • Feeling Undesirable Made Me Hungry For External Validation — Man Like Franklyne Ikediasor
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subect of the week.

    It’s hard to find a picture where Franklyne Ikediasor isn’t smiling like he just won the lottery. While I initially dismissed this energy as a performance set up for social media, the more time I spent with Franklyne, the more I understood a man who’s worked hard to find the joy he shamelessly displays to the world — even when the conversation broaches painful subjects. 

    In this episode of Man Like, Franklyne talks about being a young adult desperate for romantic validation, how losing his mum changed him and why he rates friendships over romantic relationships. 

    Everyone gets their “I’m a man now” moment. Do you remember yours? 

    The moment that came to me was when I moved out and got my first apartment at 23. It was right after NYSC, and I’d been living in Port Harcourt with my aunt, but I was a horny guy in his 20s and needed my privacy. I couldn’t bring people over or stay out past 7 p.m, so I was itching to leave. As soon as I had some money, I moved out. 

    That was my first experience, not just being a man but as an adult taking responsibility for himself. 

    What was that experience like? 

    Omo, moving out was when I realised that everything was expensive. I needed a bed, a gas cooker, a pot — why would posts cost me 20k to 50k? It’s just for cooking! And while I was making all these expenses, I had to save up for the next rent. It was a lot. 

    I was hell-bent on being independent, so I made sure I didn’t ask my aunt or sisters for money. I wanted to figure things out on my own. Even though I knew moving out would be hard and I didn’t have a lot of money, there were certain things like stumbling home drunk or waking up whenever I wanted to. I needed to experience those things, and I learnt a lot about myself during this period. 

    What’d you learn? 

    Number one, I have ojukokoro. I can eat like a thief. I didn’t notice this with my family because the food was being regulated. But living on my own and being able to wake up and make eba at 2 a.m. or finish all the meat in my soup was all the proof I needed to understand my relationship with food. 

    I’ve also found out I enjoy my company, which is surprising because I’m an extrovert and the life of the party. I thought I’d be bored all by myself, but I could go weeks without leaving my apartment. After all, I have Wi-Fi, booze and food. But when I go out? I will enjoy myself to the fullest. 

    I’m also anal about having things cleaned and arranged in a certain way. It’s such a big deal that I remember being annoyed at a lover because they rearranged my bookshelf. They didn’t get why I was so upset. 

    Wahala! Do you know where it comes from? 

    I wish I knew. It’s just that I become unsettled when things are not arranged the way I like. I could be in bed unable to sleep because I’m thinking about how my dishrack isn’t arranged in a particular order. 

    Like the lover you mentioned, I’m sure this impacts your relationships

    My friends unlook because they’re used to me now. But it’s an entirely different thing when it comes to relationships. I told a friend the other day that almost all the breakup messages from people I’ve been with have the same message. There’s a pattern. But I’m set in my ways and at a point of emotional independence where I don’t feel like I need anyone.

    I had my hoeing days in my early 20s. From my mid 20s to early 30s, I was obsessed with relationships and felt like I needed someone. Thankfully that horrible era of being desperate for companionship is over. 

    All your exes have the same complaints? 

    Let’s see, about three of my exes have described me as self-absorbed, and another thing that came up with like two was I’m incapable of giving or receiving love. 

    Do you think they’re right? 

    Maybe. There’s that bible thing about two or three witnesses, so who knows? 

    I’m not mushy when it comes to relationships. I once saw a tweet about getting upset when your lover doesn’t speak to you for four days, and honestly, I might not even notice. It was part of the problem in my relationships because they mistook my silence as me not caring for them. 

    Right now, I’d prefer someone who has stuff going on, so I’m not the one that completes them. I’ll never be that person. 

    Therapy has helped me unpack my past relationships and the role I played in their demise. I decided to chill on relationships for a bit, and now that “a bit” has turned into five years. 

    Before this break from dating, you referenced a period where you were desperate for companionship. What was that about? 

    I didn’t particularly feel like I was attractive growing up. My siblings and other people around me were more good-looking than I was. The only thing I had going for me was my intelligence. 

    In my late teens, things started to change. People were noticing me for my looks. Did I get more attractive? I don’t know. People would say things like, “Fine boy,” and I’m like, “Is it me, Jesus?’ LOL. Becoming more desirable was a bit confusing for me. I couldn’t see myself the way people saw me. This feeling drove my hunger for dependency and the need to have someone like and validate me. I needed to get to a point in my life where I was the only one validating myself.  

    Therapy is expensive and inaccessible to many people, but it helped me unpack these feelings. If my office didn’t cover it, I’d probably use whiskey as my coping mechanism. Outside of therapy, having a tight-knit community of friends helped me find that feeling of self-validation. 

    We’ll come back to therapy, but tell me about how friendship helped you love yourself

    I always preach that friendship is the cornerstone of life, not romantic relationship. If a lover leaves me today, it’ll hurt a bit, but I don’t know how I’ll survive if one of my best friends stops talking to me. I’ve built healthy long-term friendships, and these people are the ones who fix me. 

    My friends are the people I can have open conversations with because we’ve been through so much shit together. I remember I gained a lot of weight after the lockdown, and it affected how I saw my desirability. After a healthcare scare, losing weight was one of the things my doctor recommended. I dropped about 10 kilograms in six weeks. 

    With the weight loss, I began to enjoy going out more, taking pictures and wearing clothes. But at some point, I also felt like a fraud, like I was enjoying someone else’s body. I called a friend, Fiyin, who explained that she was going through the same thing. She asked if I’d be okay if the weight came back, which helped me interrogate why I was feeling the way I was. It was because I was viewing myself through the lens of what society found attractive, and I wasn’t used to that. 

    I have these open conversations with my friends, and it just helps me figure out life. It’s always weird to me when people say they don’t have friends. 

    I love it! So about therapy. Was there a particular experience that pushed you to start? 

    I used to go to therapy on and off for years, but it became a permanent part of my routine after I lost my mum in December, 2020. 

    My mum’s death was the first time I dealt with something I couldn’t navigate, and I needed help processing my emotions. I’m not a crier, but I cried for two weeks after she died. Without the support of my therapist and friends, I doubt I would’ve been able to survive that period. My friends gave me space when I asked for it and followed me to the funeral. My therapist also allowed me to talk, no holds barred, about how I felt. They created a space for me to feel a full range of emotions. 

    I remember people saying, “If you’re crying as a man, what do you expect your sisters to do?” An uncle tried to force me to look at my mum’s body. I’d chosen not to see her body because I wanted to always remember her alive, but this uncle was literally dragging me “as a man” and didn’t stop until I got violent. 

    I’m sorry, what? 

    Yes. My siblings had to intervene and ask him to leave me alone. 

    Anyway, I said renting an apartment was when I realised I was an adult, but let me say losing my mum was the hardest thing I’ve experienced as an adult. Grief changes you in ways you don’t expect. 

    How did this particular loss change you? 

    Like I said before, I wasn’t a crier, but now I find myself crying unprovoked. I was recently on a run and started crying randomly. I had to pause, sit down and try to understand why. Fun fact, I couldn’t find an answer. 

    I’m so sorry about that man. Not so random question, but what does it mean to “be a man”? 

    Being a man is about doing what makes me happy as long as I’m not hurting anyone. 

    I want to explore the full range of my humanity. If I feel anger, it’s okay. If I feel like crying, then cool. My therapist always says they’re all feelings that’ll pass. It’s what we do with these feelings that matter. 


  • I Don’t Want to Succumb to the Nigerian Definition of Masculinity — Man Like Demola Fashola
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subect of the week.

    The subject of this week’s Man Like is Demola Fashola, a former lawyer and tech bro who followed his passion to create the viral Anfàní fashion brand. He talks about how COVID pushed him to finally follow his dream, how growing up surrounded by women influenced his view on masculinity and why he doesn’t want to be a “strong” man. 

    When did you get your “I’m a man now” moment?

    I don’t think I’ve had just one moment. But even the different ones I’ve had were more about realising some things are just expected of me as a person. I don’t equate them to “coming into my own” as a man. 

    The COVID period of 2020 was one of those moments when I felt I needed to step up and ensure everyone around me was doing okay emotionally. I have a calming energy, so my version of being a man is stepping in to remind my family and friends to calm down when life gets chaotic. The lockdown was also a period for me to walk back and rediscover myself after years of listening to the noise around me. 

    Interesting. What was this rediscovery about? 

    I finally got to take charge of my life and trust myself with where I wanted to go with my career. I’ve always been a creative, and my earliest memories are of me sitting in front of a TV, watching commercials on a loop. But when it was time for me to go to university, I studied law just like my dad because it would’ve been hard as a 17-year-old to convince my parents to pay for film or photography school. 

    I was miserable studying law, but I’m a nerd who likes intellectual challenges, so I was good at it. I graduated from the UK, and the conversation quickly turned to “Just go to law school”, and I did that for a year. The same happened with NYSC, which ended with me eventually getting my first job at a law firm. Even though I wasn’t into any of these things, because I always got the job done, a lot of people around me kept telling me things like, “Just stay for another year.” 

    I had a lot of anxiety and fear around starting a career that didn’t have the structure of a 9 to 5, but COVID helped me confront it. I’d been toying with the idea of starting my clothing line, Anfàní, for five years before I eventually made the move in 2020. 

    Not you leaving, “Objection, my lord” for fashunz

    Honestly, university or work wasn’t the worst part for me. It was law school. I loved university; 10/10 would recommend it. But my experience in law school was harrowing; that place has been problematic and tyrannous for years. It has to be one of the top five most degrading postgraduate programmes in the world. The lecturers there were teaching us about human rights, but when it came to their class rooms or how they treated students, these rights didn’t apply.   

    The whole law thing was like looking out the window and seeing people playing while I was in class studying maths. I should’ve been out in the world, figuring my life out, not doing something I had absolutely no interest in. 

    So how did this transition from law to fashion happen? 

    I’d already pivoted once in 2018 when I left my law firm for a tech company. I stayed there for another two years before quitting the 9-to-5 life altogether. When COVID happened, I was still at this tech job, but I had to reassess whether it gave me the same level of fulfilment it did when I first got it. I didn’t even tell my parents I wanted to leave until the exit paperwork was signed, and I was officially out. 

    It was easier to start my creative journey in 2020 because I wasn’t dependent on my parents for financial support. I told them I’d left my job, and they accepted my decision. 

    But weren’t you scared? 

    I’m not going to lie, I have a significant amount of privilege, so I wasn’t that scared of the financial implications of my decision. Even if I didn’t have savings or my parents, I had a lot of extended family and friends who would’ve been happy to help in any way. But luckily for me, I did have some savings and investments. 

    Leaving a secure job can be a very big and unwise move to make for a lot of people, but I was also lucky that mine happened during the lockdown, so I didn’t have to go anywhere or spend that much money. The world slowing down helped me focus on building my business and stretching out the money I saved. 

    Tell me about this brand that keeps getting sold out every time I try to buy something

    LOL. Anfàní is an idea my co-founder, Temitayo, and I had way back in law school. We just wanted affordable quality t-shirts we could order on Wednesday and wear on Friday for drinks. Over time, it has evolved into a way for us to push this cultural shift of telling stories through the clothes we make and show, not just how we view the world creatively, but also, how young Nigerians like us see the world.  

    “Anfàní” is Yoruba for “value” or “privilege”, and we chose it because we believe clothes shouldn’t be something that’s restricted to just a group of people, it should be accessible for everyone. 

    Nice. What did the experience of finally starting your business teach you about yourself? 

    That I’m exactly who the fuck I think I am. 

    I know that’s right!

    It has also taught me that I’ve built wonderful relationships with people in my 20s, to the point that I have people who’d follow me off a cliff. I’ve also learnt I can handle shit… I don’t like to call myself strong, but I genuinely think I have a strong will to live and enjoy this life no matter what. 

    But most men like the word ‘Strong’, so what gives? 

    I don’t think strength is something that should be tested. It’s exhausting to prove time and time again that I can rebound. A lot of people who say they’re “strong” smile through the pain. I like to sit with my pain and figure out why my body or mind is acting the way it is at the time. 

    I’d rather figure out why I’m not okay and deal with my issues than pretend everything is fine just to look strong. 

    That’s valid 

    By the way, even though I sort of knew it, starting my business forced me to admit how much of a perfectionist I am. I don’t believe in participation medals. What the fuck is the point of doing something if it’s not excellent? 

    It comes from how I was raised. My parents were very supportive, but they were also honest with me regarding how I approached life. They told me when I didn’t apply myself like I should. 

    Are you more or less of a perfectionist now?

    Business isn’t about perfection; it’s just about being good enough. I’m getting a bit more relaxed, but letting go completely feels like recklessness, and I might have an anxiety attack if I do. I’m learning to accept that mistakes happen though. 

    Random question, but does anything scare you? 

    Horror movies are at the top of my list. I watched a lot of scary shit as a kid, and now, I can’t watch them anymore. Then random stuff like needles on TV and moths. But on a deeper level, I’m afraid of succumbing to what Nigerians think masculinity is. 

    Ooop

    For us as Nigerian men, masculinity is all toughness and inaccessibility. But you’re a person, not a tyre. Another thing I’ve noticed is that in the process of unlearning toxic narratives from the past, a lot of us are looking back, without actively asking what the future should look like. It’s almost like we’re focused on what wasn’t as opposed to what should be.

    So how do you view masculinity? 

    I’m not interested in defining masculinity. I feel like a man is simply a man because of the thing between his legs. Everything else is noise. There are so many words and descriptions of masculinity that it can be a lot to understand or aspire to. 

    This is why I fully fuck with the feminist movement, because it gives men space to breathe and be. We don’t have to live up to specific standards, traits and behaviour patterns defined as “masculinity”, that force us to regress instead of evolve as a society. 

    What’s something you’ve had to unlearn about masculinity? 

    Honestly, I’ve always questioned gender structures since when I was little. I grew up surrounded by many formidable women like my grandma, mum and aunties. These women were running businesses, doing really crazy shit and handled just as much, if not more, money than the men. 

    Imagine growing up around women like that, and some man starts saying women are inferior to men. That’s cap! Growing up, we all cooked, cleaned and did all the chores together. No one was pushed toward one activity because of their sex. 

    Because of the environment I was raised in, society’s idea that men are superior to women never settled in my head. It sounded like bullshit. I even stopped playing football because I felt most of the boys were unnecessarily aggressive and mean. I’ve always removed myself from ideas or situations that didn’t make sense in my head. 

    I’m curious about how you’re able to navigate male relationships, especially when they don’t share your views on masculinity

    Male friendships were hard for me growing up. Always hearing guys say stupid things made me gravitate towards women. But that didn’t mean I had a smooth relationship with them either. For my female friends, it was a trust thing where I had to constantly prove I wasn’t like other men. 

    It was a double-edged sword because I couldn’t get on with the guys because I didn’t agree with them, and the girls didn’t really trust me enough to be their friend, so I couldn’t fit in anywhere. 

    Damn. Has this ‘fitting in’ situation changed with time? 

    It’s much different now. I’m having a better time with guys because most of them have also been working to unlearn a lot of the stuff society has told them about masculinity. So it’s easier to make friends. 

    Also, a lot of guys share my views, and I tend to stick with those guys. I’m not responsible for another adult’s education anymore. Everyone has to learn and unlearn themselves, so I’ve chosen to limit unproductive conversations with men who don’t share my views.  

    Interesting. Who are your role models for what it means to be a man? 

    My dad inspires me to be hardworking and generate goodwill. I have a lot of uncles, so I can’t name one and not name the others. LOL. They all taught me a sense of responsibility to myself, my family and friends. 

    Before you go, what are your ingredients for living a happy life? 

    Drink water, mind your business, go outside and touch grass once in a while, go to therapy if you can afford it, love without asking for love in return, acknowledge your feelings, be kind and patient with yourself, and take a deep breath. Scratch that, take 10. 

    Oh, good food and good sex. 

    I’m jotting everything down. Thank you, Demola!

  • I Refuse to Let My Shyness Get in the Way of My Dreams  — Man Like Elozonam
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subect of the week.

    Not everybody has the “it” factor to make it after Big Brother Naija (BBNaija). But talking to Elozonam Ogbolu, I can finally see why the actor, singer and TV host is still in the spotlight three years after leaving the show. While Elozonam may not be a fan of all the sacrifices that come with fame, he’s more than willing to make it work, even if it means letting go of a massive part of who he is. 

    In this episode of Man Like, Elozonam talks about navigating fame as a shy guy, why he doesn’t believe men should show emotions and the one thing he wishes he’d done in the BBNaija house. 

    When did you get your “I’m a man now” moment?

    For me, the concept of becoming a man is tied to responsibility. Luckily for me, responsibility, especially regarding my finances, is a value my dad instilled in me and my two brothers from a young age. He made sure we developed a savings culture early, to avoid one brother being dependent on the other because it can cause some level of disrespect. 

    Since I finished secondary school, I’ve always had a job every holiday. My brothers and I also contributed to the house financially. Transitioning into becoming my own man wasn’t jarring, and I have my parents to thank for that. 

    Always having a job sounds like a lot. Didn’t you want to do fun stuff? 

    Working while my mates were out having fun was annoying. I just wanted to be a kid. It was also hard on me because I was a very shy kid. It may be hard to believe since I work in entertainment now, but I’m a wallflower. 

    Anyway, I’m glad I started working early because it’s an investment that’s paid off. 

    How? 

    Naturally, I love to spend money. Working and saving money from a young age has helped me find a balance because it’s now second nature. I’m spoiling myself o, but I’m wise about saving twice as much. Now, I don’t really need to start saving for something I want. I can just get the money from one of my savings accounts or investments. 

    Okay, funds! Tell me more about the wallflower comment you mentioned earlier

    LOL. I’m very shy in person. But I’m also in the line of work where it’s a big problem, so I consciously try to control it and come out of my shell. I became more self-conscious after I left the Big Brother Naija house. 

    It’s not just what people think when they see me; I can feel it when they stare at me. So most times, when I go to a party or public event, I find the nearest hiding spot, and I disappear. I have coping mechanisms now, but shyness is still a part of who I am. 

    I wouldn’t have guessed. Care to share these coping mechanisms? 

    Man, I don’t know if these are the best, but for one, finding a place to hide. LOL. Then, I often look for faces I know or people I can just hang out with, who will help me loosen up. Finally, getting some alcohol in my system always works. It’s Dutch courage, but free cocktails make me chill. 

    Amen to alcohol. But what makes someone shy choose to go for Big Brother Naija or any life in front of the camera? 

    I’ve always known I wanted to do something creative. And since I started the 9-5 life early, I could decide on time it wasn’t something for me. I knew going into the Big Brother Naija house would give me the exposure I needed, so I had to decide whether or not I would allow my shyness get in the way of my dream. 

    Being shy has never paid anybody, to the best of my knowledge. My goal, which is to be an entertainer, became the number one thing; everything else became irrelevant. This doesn’t mean going into the house was easy. No. 

    I wanted to die when I saw the cameras and the other housemates at the door. It was like one of those Spartacus arena movies scenes with everyone watching, and I wanted to turn back and run, but the doors were closed. LOL. Another housemate, Venita, had to give me a pep talk and remind me that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The first week was tough for me. 

    But I’ve learnt to psyche myself up when I want to do something. I tell myself, “It’s go time,” and the more I do this, the easier it becomes to manage my shyness. 

    I’m curious to know how you navigated being on camera 24/7 with your personality

    I knew I’d be on camera 24/7, but nothing fully prepared me for my experience in the house. Nobody knows the emotional pressure involved. My body underwent physical changes when I was in the house. 

    It was harder for me because I came into the house about a month into the show. IThe other housemates were already friends, so it was unnerving. I was with 20 people who questioned my motives and didn’t trust me. I didn’t get to relax until the first party. Over time, performing house tasks with them made it easier. 

    What would you say the Big Brother Naija experience taught you as a man? 

    It taught me a level of patience I wasn’t accustomed to. It’s easy to get provoked in such a small space with many people, but I couldn’t fight or go off at the slightest provocation. I’ve learnt to let go and not react to everything or everyone. 

    What would you change about your experience in the house? 

    I’ve thought about this question a lot, and yes. I’d have been more intentional and brutal about playing the game instead of letting my emotions run most of the time. It was a game, and I forgot everyone else was approaching it that way. 

    For example, Frodd was one person who really got under my skin and annoyed me while we were in the house, but I’ve realised he’s not annoying in real life; it was a game. He’s one of my Gs now. 

    Talking about real life, what was it like coming out and dealing with attention from fans? 

    Coming out of the house and facing real life was jarring. I couldn’t walk ten steps without people asking for pictures or wanting to talk about my experience on the show. Everyone was in my business. I didn’t think I’d be that popular because I was shy in the house, but I came out, and the reaction was crazy. 

    I’d interviewed housemates from the last season on a show I used to host called The Cliffhanger, but nothing prepared me for life after the show. All the information I’d gotten from former housemates didn’t cover the experience inside and outside the house. 

    But do you enjoy being famous? 

    Yeah, I do. Does it have downsides? Yes. But I went for the Big Brother Naija show because I wanted the world to take note of my craft. I wanted to get opportunities, make money and enjoy my life. That was the plan then, and it’s still the plan. 

    As human beings, we all have a certain level of vanity. Being famous fills my vain side. 

    So what’s the downside of fame? 

    The lack of boundaries. Sometimes, it gets annoying when I’m trying to have private time, and people come to me with the expectation that I must take pictures or make videos. The sense of entitlement from people is what really frustrates me.

    There are also misconceptions and rumours from people who don’t know me. I remember someone said something untrue about me that trended on Twitter, and I lost a job before the person made a public apology. I don’t have a problem with bants, but don’t mess with my bag. 

    That sounds intense. Not so random question since this is “Man Like,” but what does masculinity mean to you? 

    Masculinity means being responsible for yourself and others, setting good examples, and also, on the downside, showing less emotions. Because of how the world is, we can’t be ruled by our emotions. 

    Ah! So when was the last time you cried? 

    I can’t remember, but I’m sure I did it alone in my personal space where no one could see me. Only the closest people I can trust with my life see the emotional side of me. 

    As a man, showing your emotions can be detrimental. People are trying to change that narrative these days, and I’m all for it, but I still believe men were designed in a specific way. Our primal instincts is very strong and It takes control, whether we like it or not. 

    So there’s no hope for a society where men can be vulnerable? 

    We can get to a point where it’s not new for men to cry, but it’ll always be less attractive. 

    Is it an attraction thing? 

    Yes, it is. As men, we can show our emotions to people we trust, but when it comes to romantic relationships, especially with women, I don’t think a man who cries will go very far. There are exceptions, but I just don’t think it works. 

    There was this thread I randomly saw on Twitter where a girl spoke about how a guy became really vulnerable with her and she immediately stopped being attracted to him. It blew up and other girls came under the thread to agree with her. That’s just an example I can think of now. 

    Scrim. But has anything ever threatened your idea of what it means to be a man? 

    Nothing has ever threatened my masculinity because I’m comfortable with my identity. I mean, I don’t really play sports. I don’t drink beer. As a matter of fact, I’m not a guy’s guy. I prefer to hang out with women. But none of these things has made me feel less like a man. 

    Very sus. Why aren’t you hanging out and drinking beer with mandem? 

    I just naturally prefer the company of women. I have like five male friends, and even though we work together, we don’t hang out often. If you see me out, I’m with women and maybe one or two guys to balance it out. 

    As for the beer thing, it doesn’t go with my abs. 

    Honestly, I agree with the beer thing. What are some exciting things you’re working on at the moment? 

    Man, it’s a lot. I’m hosting The Big Brother Eviction Vodcast for Showmax and a cooking competition show called Street Food Naija. I finally have an EP coming out in October or November, to remind people I’m still a singer. LOL. 

    Music? Let’s go! 

    But before I let you go, what are the ingredients for living a happy life? 

    I don’t have a definite answer to this, but I can try. Find people who care about you and are willing to go hard for you. Secondly, Identify your talent, and if you can make money from it, omo, you’re set. Finally, go to the gym and don’t take life too seriously. 

    This gym part is a personal attack on me 

    Pele. Maybe it’s the sign you’ve been waiting for to go to the gym. LOL. 

  • Once You Accept Who You Are, No One Can Intimidate You  — Man Like Obida Obioha
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subect of the week.

    If self-awareness was a person, I’m confident it’d be Obida. 

    There’s no use telling Obida Obioha what his problem is. Chances are, he’s already diagnosed himself — and he’s either going to fix up or tell you to kindly fuck off. I was initially tempted to believe he developed this confidence with age, but let’s just say I had to throw my first impression in the gutter after talking to him. The truth is, Obida has always known who he is. He just needed everyone else to catch up. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about being forced to figure out his identity at a young age, how therapy has helped him process his childhood and why he’s good at everything but relationships. 

    Let’s start at the beginning. What was growing up like for you? 

    I was a very independent child. Before I was 16, I’d started picking universities and the courses I wanted to take. I remember getting my first job at an electronics shop when I was 10 and riding my bike there and back home every day. Other people found it strange that my mum let me make adult-like decisions as a child or ride a bike unsupervised around VI. But for her, exploring was the only way I’d understand how to take care of myself. 

    That independence followed me to London. I moved when I was 12, and I remember getting a job, distributing fliers on weekends, as soon as I got there. By the time I was 13, I worked in a shoe shop, and by 16, I was working at the GAP store. I lived with an aunt who couldn’t understand my independence. Looking back, it must’ve been difficult for her. Even though I was placed under her care, I didn’t really need her or anyone. I didn’t ask for help with my homework or bus fare. I wasn’t looking to be parented, even at that age. 

    Why, though? 

    I’ve always known what I wanted to do and did things my way. It also helped that I wasn’t a child who got into trouble or raised any cause for concern, so it was easy for my mum to permit that autonomy. 

    Even in school, I was a Bs and Cs student by choice. I just thought the work to get an A was unnecessary, and I didn’t have to prove to anyone I was intelligent. 

    Autonomy is important to me. I always tell people the reason I work so hard is so I can have control over how I choose to live my life. I get to decide what I want to do (and not do), who I want to work for and what projects I’m happy to take on. 

    What was it like navigating England as a young Nigerian boy? 

    It was difficult, and it took me a while to adjust. I came from a country where I was brought up to be respectful of elders (teachers, etc), and in my inner-city state school in London, they made fun of me for that. 

    There were instances when other students tried to make me feel less because I’m Nigerian. They’d make fun of my accent and tell me I was from the bush. These things were funny to me, and I used to say to them, “My guy, I live in a penthouse in Nigeria, and I have my personal driver too.” I had a strong sense of self that didn’t allow their bullying or racism to land. 

    Hmm. Now, I’m curious to know how you figured out your identity at such a young age

    I was forced to deal with it very early in life. My parents weren’t together, so I was raised primarily by my mother, which made my family dynamic quite interesting. My mum and her family are Yoruba, so among them, I was already different because my dad is Igbo and my name is Obida Obioha. 

    From when I was 5, I spent a lot of time explaining who I was to other people. I remember going to birthday parties where adults would ask if I was my stepmum’s son when I mentioned my name. I’d then have to explain the situation with my parents and that my mum is a different woman.

    By explaining myself over and over at such a young age, I was able to understand a lot about who I am — I understood I was Igbo and different from my Yoruba family. I also understood I was born out of wedlock, and that’s fine.

    My childhood experience made identity an important part of my life. For me, it’s knowing who I am and where I’m coming from. Essentially, who I am is how I treat people, the principles I take on, my actions, my great style (haha), and perhaps, even the man I hope to become. 

    Wow. Explaining your family dynamic must’ve been tough for a 5-year-old

    I didn’t know it was a big deal back then, but over the past two years, I’ve realised it was a lot to process and explain as a child. Back then, it was very matter of fact for me. If you asked, I just wanted to tell you what it was and go back to playing or whatever I was doing. 

    A part of me was also blunt about my parents’ story because I wanted to control my narrative. 

    You understood controlling your narrative at 5? 

    I don’t think I understood it that way when I was younger, but in hindsight, it’s what I was doing. I could sense some of these adults were trying to make me feel less. Most of them knew what had happened but still felt the need to ask a child about an affair in a scandalous way. It was mean. And when someone is mean to me, I don’t give them the satisfaction of making me uncomfortable. I’ll take that joy from you. 

    I never lied, cried or hid that part of who I am. And it plays into how I view what it means to be a man today. For me, being a man is accepting where you’re from. Once you do that, no one else can use it to intimidate you. 

    Interesting. What made you sit and process these events from your childhood? 

    About five years ago, I started going to therapy. I’d felt I was okay and well-adjusted regardless of my past, but I really wasn’t. I even fought with my mum because I had to ask her why she wasn’t more of a parent to me, even though it looked like I didn’t need it. Why didn’t anyone warn me as a child that people would bring up my identity whenever I went out? 

    I thought practising self-parenting was great for me, but it also affected me negatively, especially how I approach life today. I’m so used to fighting my battles and protecting myself that I’m not used to needing people. This is probably why I’m also shitty at relationships. 

    And how has finding yourself helped you, besides shedding the need for external validation very early on?

    As much as I didn’t have an ideal childhood, I can’t deny it’s made me extremely resilient, and helped me succeed business wise because I can stay the course much longer, till success eventually comes. 

    I also can’t deny the influence my mum has had on my life. She taught me some important lessons. One, to never lie, and this is the reason I don’t do things I can’t defend; two, to not rely on people for anything including validation; three, to be good to people; and finally, be content with what I have. 

    Oh! And don’t be daft. 

    Scrim! I was going to ask how you navigate relationships 

    I’m good at many things, but I’m not good at relationships. 

    My therapist says I’m very self aware, good at spotting my faults and super self reliant. And I recently realised I must be a difficult person to be in a relationship with because I sort of rely solely on myself for all my needs. I don’t think it makes me a pleasant partner to have in a relationship — someone who’s so independent and self-orientated. 

    They always say identifying a problem is the first step to solving it. Do you plan on being more malleable to accommodate a relationship? 

    To be honest with you, no. My independence and autonomy are important to me — more important than being in a relationship. 

    Honestly, I agree. But what if loneliness sets in? 

    So I worked from home today, and at no point during the day did I think my own company wasn’t enough for me. I listened to music, went for a walk, and had a nap. I don’t think there’s been a time I thought my life would improve if another person was in it with me. Wait— 

    I don’t think that’s completely true. There was a point when I woke up and thought to myself that a hug would be nice. If I meet the right person who understands I need a lot of time alone and can engage me intellectually, I think life would be nicer, no, sweeter. But my criteria for a partner have become so niche, it’ll be difficult to find someone to match them all, but not impossible.

    I currently run three startups, which distracts me from loneliness because they’re intensive. But if I’m sincere, I can see loneliness coming my way. Once these businesses stand on their own, I might wake up one morning and be like, “Ye! I feel lonely.” 

    I think it’s dangerous what I’m doing. 

    It’s the self-awareness for me. So you can’t adjust these criteria? 

    No. I don’t know how to manage, and I can’t pretend. When my friends say I communicate well, they don’t always mean through words. You can see how I feel on my face, so if we were dating, you’d know I’m unhappy or dissatisfied. 

    But the basics of what I’m looking for in a partner is someone who knows who they are. Own your shit, and I’ll respect that. I also want someone intelligent and kind to people around them, not just me. 

    Outside of relationships, I’m curious to know who you are as a friend

    Surprisingly, I have a lot of close friends, for someone with these walls. I think friendships work for me because I’m pretty transparent. I’m always constant, and my friends appreciate that. I’m not the friend you call when you want to moan or cry about something; I’m the friend you call when you’re ready to take action and find solutions. 

    You defined what it meant to be a man earlier, and I’d like to know how your approach to masculinity might’ve changed as you’ve gotten older

    As a human being, not just a man, I’m working on being more patient with others. I’m consciously sharing my decision-making process with the people in my life now. It’s no longer, “Fuck everyone. It’s my way or nothing.” I’m taking time to explain why I do certain things. 

    Love it! Is there anything you know now that you wish you knew when you were younger? 

    I wish I’d learnt to open my mouth and ask for help. I wish I didn’t build this fortress, but now, it’s formed. I don’t ask for help a lot, but when I do, it’s positive. I wish I knew how to open up like that some more. 

    Baby steps, Obida. So before I let you go, can you tell me something you’re grateful for? 

    Yes, I’m very grateful for a lot of things. 

    I’m grateful that I can comfortably be who I am. I’m grateful for my friends. I’m grateful for my mum — the lessons she taught me — for accepting me for who I am. I’m grateful to make a living from designing and curating beautiful things. I’m grateful that I’m able to afford my lifestyle and that my house is beautiful. I’m grateful that I’m able to connect with people. I’m also grateful to my body for keeping up with my ambitions and staying healthy. 

    Yeah, I’m just grateful. 

  • I Don’t Care About Fitting in Now That I’m in My 40s  — Man Like Mr Grey
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    For my first anonymous episode of Man Like, I talked to Mr Grey, a 44-year-old customer service expert, who shared what it was like to be sent to military school to toughen up, finally finding people he can be odd with in his 40s and why death doesn’t move him anymore. 

    What was your childhood like? 

    I always felt like I was odd. I started feeling like an outsider as early as primary school. Most of the time, I was too scared to play with the other kids because I knew I wouldn’t blend in. I was considered too “girly” because I would gesticulate a lot and didn’t care about gender when it came to style. I liked girls’ sandals the same way I liked boys’ sandals. I got bullied for these things.

    Things changed a little bit after my dad took me to a military secondary school when I was 11, which ended up being one of the most challenging experiences for me at the time. 

    Do you know why you were moved to a military school? 

    In hindsight, I think my dad was scared.  Like I said, I was perceived as girly at the time which made me different from other boys my age. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself if he didn’t take it upon himself to toughen me up and make me more of a boy.

    His plan worked to some degree. I became conscious of my mannerisms and learnt to walk straight, but I hated being there. Once, I had to hide in an uncompleted school building because I was afraid of a senior, and there was an instance of attempted sexual assault.

    My grades also fell in comparison to how they were in primary school. It was so hard for me in my first term that I ended up having a meltdown in front of my mum because I didn’t want to go back. It convinced her to plead with my dad so we could change schools, but that didn’t work. He told us he had no problem putting me in another school, but it would’ve meant my mum had to take responsibility for my school fees. She convinced me to go back.

    Damn. What happened next?

    School went as it went. I continued with the early morning wake up calls and marches in harsh weather. Younger students like me were bullied into washing clothes for our seniors. I was once beaten so badly by an officer for being minutes late that my arm and back bled; he wasn’t held accountable for this. 

    Even though I fixed my mannerisms to an extent, I still didn’t fit in because I didn’t like most of the things other boys liked, like sports. So when boys in my class were outdoors playing, I was the odd one who didn’t join in. 

    Looking back, I learnt to fend for myself quicker than most teenagers could and can today. It was boarding school, but on steroids, and I still have the scars to show for my experience there. 

    About two months after graduating from military school in 1995, I lost my dad and became more confused about my life.

    I’m the last child of seven kids, and my dad made all of my decisions. I wanted to study the arts in university, but he had me choose the sciences after he’d asked me what I wanted and I told him. I trusted his decisions because he was my guide.

    I’m so sorry, man

    I remember coming home after graduation to meet a different man because my dad had lost so much weight due to his illness. It was so bad, I had to take care of him at some point. 

    That must’ve been tough

    Yeah, he was in and out of the hospital for about a month before he died. There were times when I had to go and take care of him. I didn’t like that because I was out trying to make up for lost fun. I was once left at the hospital to cater to him, but I walked quite the distance back home, and I didn’t feel guilty at the time.

    When my dad died, I remember walking into the kitchen and crying my eyes out. But I don’t remember crying much after that day. A part of me feels it’s because of the military school I attended. I had to “be a man,” and crying wasn’t part of the deal.

    Did you ever feel guilty for not spending as much time with your dad before he died? 

    1000%. It’s been decades now, but I vividly remember feeling so guilty because a part of me knew my dad wanted to spend more time with me. Anyway, I’ve learnt to forgive myself and understand that kids do stupid things sometimes.

    I’m also very familiar with death because my dad’s death was only the beginning. We went from a family of nine to four. Witnessing all these deaths, I’ve become numb.

    But I can say I tried to be more as present as I could for the others before they died. I don’t know if it was some form of atonement, but I’ve become more conscious of stepping up for people now.

    I’m curious about what you meant by being numb to death

    Death feels like a routine at this point — I grieve, pay my last respects, and we bury. I recently lost my mum, who was my reason for living, and I haven’t been able to grieve her death. I don’t know how to. I know if I dwell on it, I’ll get stuck, and I don’t know how to ask for help if that happens.

    Death is so normal now that I could be chatting with a friend about someone who died, and we might find a laugh somewhere in there. It’s how I process death now.

    Oh wow

    I know it’s weird. My sisters process it differently. I see the grief on them and hear it in their voices. But for me, after the initial shock and maybe tears, I move on. Perhaps I’ll have a meltdown in the future. Who knows? 

    Sensitive question: do you fear death? 

    I’m not sure about fear, but I can say ending my life has crossed my mind many times. The weird part is these thoughts didn’t come up during any of the deaths. My most recent dark moment was during the pandemic when I had COVID and had to sit with my thoughts. I kept thinking, “Is this going to be me when I’m 50? Sick and alone? It was fine for COVID to take me”.

    I’m in a better place now, though. Not my best, but better than lockdown. I’m trying to note when I start sinking and do something to spark joy, like rewatch a show I like or make myself a cocktail. 

    Not so random question: when was the last time you cried? 

    In June [2022] while I was on the phone, talking to a friend after my mum’s passing. I was nagging about how life was unfair, and at some point, I just got emotional. I ended the call and cried until I stopped. It was an okay night, though. I still went out for drinks with my friends.

    How are you fitting in these days?

    I’m now 44 and have found my tribe, even though they’re a handful. I feel like I’m still odd in my own way, but I don’t feel the need to fit in with people outside my tribe. My odd feels great because we’re all bouncing our oddness off of each other.

    A friend also said something about validation that changed how I feel about “fitting in”. Validation is necessary and reasonable as human beings, but it should be from people who matter to us. The problem starts when you seek that validation, especially from strangers. It also doesn’t define me.

    Does this IDGAF energy come with age? Because I need it

    I’m not sure it does. The only role age has played for me is it has given me more experience in figuring out who I am. Some people have figured out themselves without these experiences and at a younger age. 

    How would you say your view of masculinity has changed as you got older? 

    These days I’m not worried about how my masculinity is perceived. I don’t need to be an alpha male or whatever this generation calls it. I’m living for me. 

    Was there a moment that led to you finally living for yourself? 

    There was a time when I was under a lot of pressure to find a partner. I met this amazing girl, and even though she liked me, I only liked her as a friend. Being mature enough to let her go amid the pressure was when I realised I needed to start living for myself. 

    I still think, “Oh my God. Am I going to slip in the bathroom and die at 50 because I’m alone.” But for now, I’m here, and that’s fine. 

    Cheers to us single boys. What gives you joy these days? 

    Music, my incredible tribe of friends, being in control of my life, video games to help me relive my childhood and a good nightcap — my poor liver, but alcohol brings me a lot of joy. 

    Oh, and those cheesy audition videos for singing reality shows on YouTube. 

    Before I go, are you genuinely happy? 

    If happiness is a destination, I’ll say I’m getting there. 

    I hope you get there soon

  • Surviving Unemployment Showed Me Nothing Can Break Me — Man Like Goldie Iyamu
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Goldie Iyamu seems to be doing it all. Starting out as one of the OG fashion influencers back in 2014, he’s gone on to launch his own clothing line while working to make a name for himself as a tech bro. 

    But before he found his footing, Goldie had to deal with a major career shift in 2019 that completely changed his life and how he looks at people today. 

    In this episode of Man Like, Goldie shares why he plans to approach fatherhood differently from his dad, the loneliness that comes with setting boundaries and why masculinity is not important in fashion. 

    Hey Goldie, fill me in. What’s happening with you? 

    Man, I just started a new role at Chipper Cash alongside running my fashion and lifestyle brand, Metroman. A lot is going on right now. Even though I’m working on two projects I enjoy, I can’t deny it’s a lot, especially with Metroman, which I started in 2019 after I got laid off. 

    Damn. Being laid off must’ve sucked

    Yeah, it was a crazy time. I think I’m just getting out of that funk. I lost my job around July, at a time when most tech companies were complaining about funding, alongside 400 people in my old company’s global marketing team. Our manager told us some people might be laid off soon, and in like 30 minutes, our emails stopped working. 

    I couldn’t believe it was happening until the next day when I couldn’t go to work. The period of unemployment was a very trying one for me. It was eye-opening how quickly people could turn their backs on me. From those who refused to refer me for jobs to those who’d take my CV and do nothing with it, I learnt a lot about how humans change. 

    Coming out of that struggle, I’ve learnt not to place importance on other people or their ability to “help” me. I realise now that I’m the only person who has my back. Nothing can move me again. 

    Talking about having your back, when did you get your “Man Now” moment? 

    I’ve had to man up from a young age. My dad wasn’t in the country when I was really young, so I grew up surrounded by my mum, grandma and aunties. He came back when I was about six or seven and was really invested in making me a man to make up for my time surrounded by women. 

    There were also times in University when despite money from my family, I had to make ends meet by designing and selling waistcoats and skirts. Those were moments when I had to step up as a man to care for myself. 

    What was it like having a strong male presence step into the picture with the arrival of your dad? 

    I probably understand it now, but then, I wondered why he came in with so much vim. He used a lot of tough love because he wanted me to be real independent fast. We always had fights during long holidays because I wasn’t down for washing cars, mowing the lawn or going to the factory to monitor workers. 

    Because I had this heightened sense of self-respect, I tried to be independent to avoid see finish from my dad. I was even laughing recently when I remembered I can’t drive because I didn’t want to drive my dad’s car and deal with his wahala. I didn’t want any unnecessary disrespect. 

    Our conversations are easier now that I’m older. I wonder why it was so hard for him to relax back then. 

    What is this unnecessary disrespect thing about? 

    I’ve always hated being spoken to in a condescending tone. Even as a child, I was beaten for talking back to my elders. I was standing up for myself a majority of the time, so if you said something I didn’t like as a child, I’d tell you my mind. That’s why I set boundaries with my dad very early on.

    I maintain the same energy when it comes to money. I don’t think I’ve ever borrowed from anyone. I’ve always had to hustle extra hard so no one would start talking to me anyhow because of their money. Remove me from anything that will cause disrespect. 

    I feel you 

    Yeah. I’ve never been a kiss ass. A client once gave me a snarky reply because I asked for my payment. After a while, I sent him a message saying I was no longer interested in working with him. 

    How you carry yourself is how people treat you, so I’d rather just take precautions and keep to myself. I’m not going to lie, it has rubbed some people wrong, and they assume I’m proud. I just want to maintain my lane. 

    How does this affect your relationships? 

    I’ve had friends who thought I was distant, and one who specifically said I wasn’t letting my guard down. 

    In romantic relationships, it’s about knowing boundaries. Like in my current relationship, she understands I’m not the most romantic person. It’s just who I am. It doesn’t mean I don’t love or think about her; it’s just that I like my own space a lot. 

    Doesn’t it ever get lonely? 

    It does. Like on Friday nights when I’d want to hang out and not know who to call. But to be great in life, you need to know your worth and act accordingly. I won’t settle for relationships or friendships I’m not comfortable with because of loneliness. 

    A lot of things come to me in my solitude. I get my best ideas when I’m in my own space. This makes me intentional about the associations I make. 

    How did your relationship with your dad influence the man you are today? 

    My strong sense of independence today is one of the good results of how my dad approached parenting. My half-brother said the other day that we all learnt to be sharp from our dad. There’s also being able to diversify my interests because he had a lot of businesses when we were growing up. 

    But would you approach parenting differently? 

    I’d try a softer approach. I obviously want to impact my child’s life, but I also want to be their friend. I see kids playing with their dads these days, and I realise this wasn’t the case for me growing up. 

    I want a loving relationship from the get-go. 

    Love it! Let’s talk about fashion. When did you develop an interest in it? 

    I’ve been interested in fashion for as long as I can remember. Before I was 10, I’d already convinced my parents to allow me to pick and buy my Christmas clothes. 

    My mum was a significant influence on my love for fashion. How she mixed and matched her aso-ebi colours still influences how I coordinate my clothes today. Covenant University was where it really took off. I got in at the height of colour blocking, and that was my shit, so it came easy to me. You know when they say, “e dey body?” That’s how I feel about my relationship with fashion. 

    This was about ten years ago, right? 

    Yes. 

    What was the response you got from people back then, as a man experimenting with fashion? 

    People weren’t receptive. I remember I had red and wine pants back then. LOL.  

    There was an incident in university when a friend and I were walking back from fellowship. This guy had neon green pants on, and we were like 1000 students walking back to the hostel. From nowhere, students started making fun of him, shouting, “Fally Pupa”. I could tell he was very embarrassed by what was happening. 

    Back then, wearing bright-coloured trousers was weird. But it was just colours, so I didn’t care. In less than a year, it became popular. I can say the same thing about when they called me and my friends “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” for wearing vintage shirts back in school. The funny thing is I ended up selling a lot of those vintage shirts by the time school caught up. 

    Did the pushback get to you? 

    No. I knew these kids didn’t know what they were saying. I was wearing shit their grandfathers wore. It had been done before and was accepted, so they’d get it later. They didn’t know more than me. 

    What does fashion mean to you as a Nigerian man? 

    Fashion is a statement for me. Wherever I’m going, I make sure I’m well dressed. It’s also a form of self-care because, first and foremost, what I wear is for me. 

    It impacts my confidence. It really gets to me and how I present myself if I don’t feel well dressed. 

    I’m curious. Do you feel more comfortable with fashion now or when you were younger? 

    I was more experimental then. Now, I’m more laid back. There’s nothing too serious about my style these days. I look back at some of my older pictures, and I’m like, “Na wa for you o.”

    These days, I’m more focused on dressing for the occasion than just freestyling fashion. 

    What’s your view of masculinity as it relates to fashion? 

    I don’t think masculinity should influence how we as men approach fashion. Most men are just scared and lazy to dress up, so they wear the same design of trad every day. 

    When we look at pictures of our great grandfathers, we see that they were trying different things and nothing is strange or new. There’s nothing that should be off limits in fashion because of gender. I believe in trying different styles, colours and cuts until I find something that works for me. 

    Still on masculinity, how do you handle pressure as a Nigerian man? 

    What people think about me doesn’t get to me. I’ve taught myself to appreciate the little steps and understand that I’m the only one that has a say in the direction my life takes. I don’t succumb to external pressures anymore. The only person that can put pressure on me is me. 

    I’ve blocked out society. 

    Has anything ever threatened your masculinity? 

    Back in university, I felt a way when guys went out to watch football, and I knew it wasn’t my thing. I used to mention Arsenal whenever they asked what team I supported so they wouldn’t say I was a woman. I don’t care about pretending like that anymore. Now, I’ll tell them confidently that I don’t watch football. They can’t beat me. 

    Don’t get me started on people talking about how “Goldie” is a woman’s name. Uber drivers are always telling me they were expecting a female passenger. And recently, someone sent out a press release quoting me as “She”. LOL. 

    I’m dead. So what gives you joy these days? 

    I have more clarity of purpose. The things I’m working for are coming to fruition, which makes me happy. I’m more confident in my journey because other people reaffirm my belief that I’m on the right path, from fashion to my 9-to-5. 

    Would you change anything about this journey? 

    I should’ve come as a trust fund baby or a Kardashian who sells out immediately after they drop a new product. LOL. 

    Apart from that, I feel every step has been necessary to getting me here. Looking at what’s happening in the world today, I feel I’ve had it easier than most people. 

  • I Had to Leave the Comfort of My Family to Find Myself — Man Like Adejoh Momoh
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    In 2015, Adejoh Momoh seized the opportunity to take the driver’s seat in his life. Leaving the relative safety of family behind, Adejoh, who works in the developmental space, was excited to figure out who he was without external pressure or direction. How successful was this journey and what has he learnt about himself through it all? 

    In this episode of Man Like, Adejoh talks about leaving his sheltered life behind to find himself in a new city, how Nigeria that motivates him to work hard and why kids are a responsibility he never wants to deal with. 

    Everyone has their “man now” moment. Do you remember yours? 

    I’ve had several moments, but the most profound has to be when I moved to Kaduna for work. I was 26 at the time, and I was leaving behind the comfort of my family and support system for a new city where I didn’t know anyone. It felt like I was being thrown into the deep end and finally getting the chance to make adult decisions instead of being handheld. 

    At that age, I still had to call home by 10 p.m. to tell them I’d be sleeping out. I also had to think carefully before bringing a partner home, and things like that. I’d outgrown living like that, so as soon as the Kaduna option presented itself, I knew I had to take it. 

    Interesting. So was Kaduna all you expected it to be? 

    To an extent, yes. As trivial as it might sound, just having my own apartment, curated the way I wanted, meant a lot to me. I was very protected growing up, so almost everything had either been done for me or handed to me.

    In Kaduna, I got the chance to do stuff for myself, to work at a job I absolutely love, and there was some sense of validation knowing I was in control. It felt like I was finally making adult moves. 

    But the funny thing is, even after all I said about wanting freedom, I got to Kaduna and I’ve spent most of my time at home because I don’t know anyone outside of work. All my friends I usually hang out with are back home in Abuja. LOL. 

    You’ve mentioned not making decisions a lot. What’s that about? 

    So the hand-holding thing happened a lot. Now that I’m an adult, I understand I was shielded from a lot of things to protect me. But I would’ve loved to have an input in most of those decisions. 

    For example, after university, I would’ve liked to take a break from everything and travel or something, but there was a job waiting for me as soon as I finished. I’d also attended a boarding primary and secondary school, reading and being serious all the while. I just wanted some time to actually have fun and find myself. But I didn’t have that choice because everything was already planned out.  

    I know this sounds like privileged whining. I’m grateful, but it’s really how I feel.

    Boarding school from primary level? Omo 

    Yeah. I started boarding school when I was about three years old. This school is in Ikenne, Ogun State — Mayflower. It really was one of the best schools at the time. But I didn’t like that I started there really young.

    Wow. Have you ever had this conversation with your family? 

    Oh, I never did. I just accepted things as they were. I talk about wanting to have had more input into decisions as they affected me, but a part of me is grateful for the many ways I was guarded as well. It created the trajectory my life is on right now, and I feel like if i’d done everything I wanted to do, I would’ve wrecked my life. 

    There was the time I wanted to get a face tattoo. LOL. I think I turned out pretty okay, not being in control of my life? 

    Is that rhetorical? LOL. The boarding school experience though, how did that affect your relationship with family?

    It really didn’t hit me until I was in secondary school. I realised I wasn’t as close with my siblings and family as I’d wanted, and a lot of the strain was because we weren’t around each other a lot. My siblings and I were off in different boarding school again; my parents were out working. That’s when I knew we had to consciously work and be more deliberate about creating the sort of familial bond we wanted. 

    With the boarding school decision, for instance, my mind was all over the place for a long while. I started to wonder if I was a bad kid. Boarding schools are great for teaching discipline and independence, but if I had a say in the decision to attend, I wouldn’t have done it as young as I was. 

    I felt this way as a child, but now that I’m older, my perspective has changed. My parents were moving around a lot for work, so I see why they might’ve felt having me in a boarding facility would ensure I had some stability. 

    Is it something you’d consider if you had kids? 

    I don’t think I want kids. They’re very unpredictable and too much of a responsibility. 

    Can we talk about this? 

    As soon as I became an adult, I came to the conclusion that children won’t be a part of my life plan. There’s a lot that goes into having kids, and I don’t want to be forced to make the same sometimes uncomfortable choices my parents had to make in the interest of their children. I want to live as selfishly as I can.  

    Don’t get me started on how children can be out of your control. I know good and bad kids. I don’t want to try my best to bring up a child only for them to turn out to be a disaster. I can’t deal with all that. 

    I want to pack a backpack with two shirts and travel to South Africa without worrying about diapers or where my child would stay. There’s also the part where I have to look out for them. I don’t want to be involved in making decisions for anybody. I want to travel as light as possible. 

    I’m stealing that last line. What happens if you meet a partner who wants kids? 

    It’s not a deal breaker for me. We just need to have an understanding that even though we’re both parents, you’re pretty much responsible for this child, and I’ll only be around for as long as I can tolerate it. I’ll be there for the good times and the good times only. 

    Wahala. Looking back, do you regret the move that gave you your “man now” moment? 

    It was absolutely the right decision. I’ve seen that I can live by myself and do my own thing. I love my job. I’ve been working here for about 7 years now and it has expanded my mind and career prospects in ways I can’t even begin to explain. 

    Also, I was sheltered for a long time, living in a bubble. Moving to Kaduna and working with the government on intervention programmes, I’ve gotten to see the opposite of this spectrum. It has been an important part in helping me realise my privilege and how it’s not the same for everyone. 

    Fair enough. So what drives you as a man living in Nigeria? 

    I’d say the fear of poverty. Systems don’t work in Nigeria whether you’re rich or poor. But it’s particularly shitty for people who don’t have money. I work hard to make sure I have enough financial options to always have choices. That’s what drives me. 

    I’m curious to know what you’ve learnt about being a man over the years

    That I have the will to survive, thrive and just enjoy life. I’m tougher than I look or sound. No matter what life throws at me, I’ve realised I always find a way to thrive. 

    So what’s next for you? 

    I’d move back to Abuja to live by myself, in my own house. My family lives in Abuja, so it would be the first time we’d all be in the same city, yet live in separate houses. 

    I’m excited to see what that looks like. 

    It’s the growth for me! 

  • Man Like: How Toheeb Azeez Levelled Up from the Streets to the Life of His Dreams
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up.  Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    If there’s one thing you need to know about Toheeb Azeez, it’s that this man is committed to anything he sets his mind to. From keeping to our interview time despite shuttling between states, to changing his family’s narrative in the face of tragedy, the brand marketing exec has learnt to make things work no matter what life throws at him. 

    In this episode of Man Like, Toheeb talks about navigating grief after the death of his parents, stepping up as the man of the house despite financial struggles and how loss has influenced his outlook on life.

    What was growing up like? 

    Where I grew up and where I am in life today are worlds apart from each other. I grew up in Okokomaiko, a place most people call the trenches. My dad was an electrician, my mum was a trader, so my family didn’t have much. But even though our situation wasn’t ideal, my mum made sure my siblings and I didn’t let it define us or weren’t swept away by what was happening around us. She trained us to know our lives could be better, which made us selective of the type of people we rolled with. I remember people used to say, “Don’t play with these ones because their mother will come for you o.”

    LOL 

    Despite our financial situation, my parents made sure we went to a private secondary school, which was rare for people from my area at the time. The school was expensive, and we had to supplement it with a schedule where I had to hawk on the street right after school. I did this every day, including weekends. 

    Omo. How did you manage? 

    I started hawking in primary school, and I think that was one of the most challenging time for me. I used to run into my classmates sitting in the back of their parents’ cars while I hawked on the street. While some were compassionate about the whole situation, others would come into school the next day and laugh at me. I remember a girl who refused to pair up with me in a class simply because I was from a poor family. She would always make fun of me. It was hard. 

    But every time I came home to complain to my mum, she’d remind me there was no reason to be ashamed of what I was doing as long as I wasn’t stealing. After all, regardless of their parent’s financial status, I was in the same class as them. That’s all that mattered. 

    My mum was special like that, so it felt like my world ended when I lost her at 16. 

    I’m so sorry 

    Thank you. That wasn’t my first encounter with loss, though. When I was about 11, my mum had a baby girl, and I was very excited. My siblings and I at the time made up four boys in the family, so the idea of a little sister made me so happy I remember rolling on the floor when she was born. Unfortunately, she passed away after a year and some months. My mum had another baby girl not long after, but she also passed after nine months. 

    I already knew what grief meant at that tender age. By the time I turned 15, I lost my dad. A year and a week after, I lost my mum too. I was in my final year of secondary school when this happened. It was especially hard for me because we had a shared dream and plan for my future. We planned so far ahead, we hoped when I’d be 50 years old, I’d have a 25-year-old child. All these plans, and then boom, I was left alone to fend for myself and my brothers. 

    Damn. Do you recall what you were thinking when all of this happened? 

    It felt like rapture had happened. I didn’t see the point in anything anymore. My parents were dead, and I was like, “At this point, the world needs to end”. It truly felt like complete darkness. It was also around this time that I attempted suicide on Carter Bridge. I was walking slowly by the railings, just convincing myself to jump. I didn’t do it because I’d promised my mum I’d look after my brothers, and I knew I had to honour that promise. 

    I lost more people after my parents, like my aunt and my grandma. Now, I’m numb to death. When I hear someone close to me is dead, I feel the pain in a way, but I’m so used to it that I’m like, “Let’s get on with the funeral and move on.” 

    Did you ever come out of the grief that made you suicidal? 

    You never get over a loss like that. No matter how much I’ve tried, it still feels like it happened last year. I’ve been able to manage it over time by adopting my mum’s approach to life. As much as we made all these grand plans, she always thought about the negative and the positive — think about what you want and mentally prepare yourself if it doesn’t happen. 

    Her philosophy helped me understand that losing my parents was out of my control, but you know what’s still in my control? How I move on with my life. I couldn’t dwell on my situation because it’s not an excuse. I had a responsibility to myself and my brothers. 

    So what did you do? 

    I moved to live with my grandma after my parents passed, while my brothers lived with other family members. While there, I started baking and selling donuts and meat pies from her shop. Thankfully, my mum had raised me to be in the kitchen regardless of gender, so all that work wasn’t new to me. I moved from small pastries to cakes, and when mobile phones became a thing in Nigeria, I became a procurer, helping people get phones at affordable prices. I spent a large portion of my time in Computer Village. I knew almost everyone there. 

    I was doing all these things to care for myself and my brothers. 

    You became a dad to your siblings. What was that like? 

    Before my parents passed, my brothers and I were always fighting. I felt like my parents were strict with me and not with them. It was so bad that on her deathbed, my mum cried and begged that even though I didn’t like my brothers, I needed to take care of them. I didn’t know she thought it was that serious. I never hated them; we were just kids. 

    I did my best to send them to school, and with me, we became the first batch of graduates from my father’s family. We’re close, but I still have to play the role of a parent and older brother to guide them on the right path. 

    You mentioned graduating. How did you get into school? 

    First off, I wrote jamb five times. LOL. The first time, the result was withheld. The second time, they cancelled the result. The third time, the centre got cancelled. And the fourth time, the result was withheld again. It was after my fifth attempt that I finally got admission. 

    At this time, my grandma had passed away, and I was now living with my uncle. Even though he wasn’t exactly invested in my education at first, after I passed my GCE, he decided to support me. That’s how I ended up in a private university. I’d spent five years at home, so most of my coursemates were younger, but I didn’t care. I knew what I was there for, and I had a good time. 

    I remember saving my pocket money from my uncle to send my younger brothers to school. Then I started working with a bank and used most of my salary to continue this. I was able to send my brothers to school in Ghana. And because I had a first-class, my uncle agreed to sponsor my master’s years later, so I went abroad to get that done. 

    What happened next? 

    I studied Petroleum Economics and Finance in Scotland because I wanted to work in the oil industry. Long story short, there was an oil crash at that time, and I found it very hard to get a job with an oil company. But this beverage company got my CV in London and wanted to meet me. I initially refused because I’d still set my mind on working with an oil company. But after talking to my friends, I just took the job in the meantime. 

    I ended up spending three years with this company before moving to my current one. I also currently lead the Nigerian brand marketing team for this beverage company. 

    Talk about a major level-up moment! How have all of these experiences influenced your outlook on life? 

    My experiences have made me a critical thinker. I even feel like I overthink everything because I can look at something and picture variations of the scenario. This has helped forge my philosophy; if I’ve thought something through and understood that its success or failure lies on my back, I can go for it.  

    I’m also an independent thinker who likes to make my own decisions. I tend to seek second-party opinions on things, but ultimately, I know I’m responsible for myself and my decisions. I analyse my situation and do what’s best for me, not just what people expect or want.  

    Interesting. So what are you looking forward to these days? 

    The things I’m looking forward to scare me. I know my opportunities are limitless, so I’m looking forward to surprising myself with the choices I make moving forward. 

    Can you give me the ingredients to live a happy life? 

    First, learn to let things go, especially when they’re outside your control. The second rule will be “Do you”. And finally, celebrate every step, no matter how small it looks. It’s not until big things happen that you find happiness. Each step in the right direction will motivate you to keep going. So celebrate them. 

    I’ve taken notes. Thank you for the pointer, Toheeb 

    You’re welcome!

  • Man Like: Odudu Ime Otu Is a Millionaire Who Wants to Visit His Mai Shayi in Peace
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Not many 23-year-olds would think to continue hustling after winning ₦50 million, but not many people this age have a story like Odudu Ime Otu’s. Odudu’s life changed in 2021 when he won the Gulder Ultimate Search, catapulting him into fame and money (a lot of it). Even after such a massive payday, Odudu refuses to accept he has, in Nigerian terms, arrived. “I’m not joking with my 20s,” he says, “If there’s one thing my dad taught me, it’s this is when I have to hustle like my life depends on it.” 

    In this episode of Man Like, Odudu talks about the tough life lessons his dad taught him, leaving home at 20 and the surprising thing winning the reality show has taken from him. 

    Tell me what it was like growing up? 

    I grew up in a rough neighbourhood, and my parents made sure I was aware of it. I lived with them and my two brothers in Uyo, Akwa Ibom, in an area that had a lot of bad boys. Many times, my dad would point out someone who had ruined their life in one way or another, using them to teach me and my siblings to stay focused. 

    My dad was very strict because he wanted to protect us. I didn’t understand it back then, but now that I’m older, I know it was for my own good. 

    So what was your relationship with your dad like? 

    We were close, but he had clear boundaries he set with his children. He mostly provided financially and gave out words of wisdom. Throughout my time in boarding school, he never showed up for one visiting day. It was always my mum. I’d ask her, and she’d tell me he was busy. 

    I’d be lying if I said I was surprised by this. Before I went to school, my dad would talk about how I needed to learn to stand on my own as a man. All that pep talk was lowkey to mentally prepare me for his absence during that period. I never held it against him because, like I said, I see where he was coming from now that I’m a man of my own. 

    What exactly do you understand now? 

    What it means to be a man, bro. As men, we go through a lot of things in silence, and it’s tough. Like most men, my dad had a lot on his plate as a husband and father. He had to work hard to pay our school fees, feed us and ensure we were generally okay. He also had to get promoted at work and elevate us beyond our financial situation at the time. He might not have been the most sentimental parent, but up until he passed in 2014, he always showed up financially. 

    I’m so sorry, man. How old were you when it happened? 

    I was about 15, and I remember just staring into the coffin in shock. I realised that as the first son, I needed to step up and become a man. My dad was gone, so this was a responsibility I had to take on. 

    Wow

    Since that day, I’ve had to think three times ahead of my age. It affected me in school, not academically, but in how I interacted with people. My classmates focused on TV and talking to girls, while my number one thought was, “How I go make sure sey my family dey alright?” 

    Where was your mum in all this? 

    She was doing her best for my siblings and I. So there were times when I’d sit outside on the balcony, deep in thought for almost two hours, and she’d see me. She understood I was under a lot of self-inflicted pressure, but she didn’t dismiss them. She let me process my emotions for as long as I wanted before offering reassurance that everything would be fine. We were both trying to get through everything together. We continued this until I moved to Abuja. 

    Abuja? 

    Yes. One day in 2018, I was hanging out with my friends when a question hit me: “Do you want progress or not?” I wanted to be more, and I was confident leaving Uyo would make that possible for me. The thing was, I had to convince my mum about it. 

    I explained to her that it was time for me to explore other paths. I’d gotten all of my education in Uyo. Staying back felt like I was going round in circles. We talked about it until she understood and gave me her permission to move. 

    Weren’t you scared to leave the only home you’d ever known? 

    Of course, I was. It was even scarier when I finally moved to Abuja in 2019 and started living with my aunt. I was there for three months without a job. I had faith in my future, but there were days when I felt defeated. Things weren’t working out for me, so I considered returning to Akwa Ibom, but I finally got a job. I was still working at that job when I heard about the 2021 Gulder Ultimate Search. 

    How did you hear about it? 

    Someone I played basketball with randomly told me about it and asked if I was interested. 

    You must’ve had liver to go for a show like Gulder Ultimate Search

    Trust me, I was intimidated when I arrived at the audition venue. The place was filled with huge guys, and I looked at myself like, “How is this going to work?” But I’ve been an athlete since my secondary school days, playing basketball and running, so that just gave me the ginger. I also wanted it badly. 

    Funny thing is, this season of the show ended up being more about mental tasks and how well you can accomplish them under pressure. I wouldn’t have been stressed if I knew it’d be like that. 

    What was going through your mind when you eventually got into the competition? 

    As soon as they announced my name as a contestant, I switched into observation mode. I started watching everyone to know who my main competition was. I knew I had a shot because everyone else underestimated me based on my age. I was the youngest on the show. 

    But shooting with cameras, especially in high-tension scenes, was a lot of pressure for me. There were days when I was ready to walk away from everything, but I remembered my family and how I was doing it for them. That kept me going. Fun fact: I knew I’d win as soon as I reached the top three. I just felt it. 

    Come through, Prophet Odudu! What were you thinking about when you won? 

    My family. I started thinking of all the things I could finally do for them. I also thought a lot about sneakers. LOL. We’re a sneaker-loving family, so I was happy I could buy as many as my siblings wanted. I cried because I knew it was a breakthrough for my family and I. It felt like all my hard work and sacrifices were finally validated. 

    How did the show affect you as a man? 

    It has taught me patience. Being around people with different personalities, I had no choice but to adapt. I’ve learnt how to handle people better. It has also taught me to be more conscious of how I conduct myself in public. I’m more vigilant these days. 

    Outside of the money, I’m curious about how much your life has changed since you won? 

    It’s been good and weird. With the good, random people cover my bills when I’m out sometimes, just because they saw me on TV. 

    Even after you won money? 

    Yes o! There are girls who always want to take me out to spoil me. Life is sweet, bro. 

    Can we switch lives? How about the weird stuff you mentioned?

    The same attention that has people buying things for me, has taken the small things away. I can’t go to my local Mai Shayi without someone trying to record a video of me or take a picture. Mai Shayi has always been my thing, and now, I feel like I don’t have that anymore. There are people who’ll say things like, “Oh, GUS winner. What are you doing at Mai Shayi? You’re a big boy na.” 

    I don’t regret the competition or anything like that. I just miss the simple stuff I had access to before it. 

    But they’re not lying. You’re a big boy 

    Where? I’m still hustling, man. The first thing I did was buy a house for my mum, and after I did that, I just started hustling again with school and acting. 

    So, what’s next for you? 

    I need to finish school, go pro with basketball and do some more acting. I just wrapped a TV show, and I’m excited about it. 

    Go you! I can’t wait to see the show, man. Good luck with everything 


  • Man Like: Opeyemi Famakin Wants You to Know He’s the Biggest Food Critic in Nigeria. Period!
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the week.

    Opeyemi Famakin prides himself on being Nigeria’s biggest food critic and he wants you to know it. Throughout our conversation, he mentions the title more than once, but what initially seems like bragging slowly reveals itself as a burden — to not just be the best, but remain the best. How has this title affected him and does he really enjoy the fanfare that comes with it? Well, Opeyemi has a lot to say. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he tells us why he’s no longer interested in gender wars, the weird thing that drives him and why he’s unhappy with making it this early in life. 

    Was there a time in your childhood when you struggled with the concept of being a man? 

    I don’t think I’ve ever struggled with that. But in the past three years, I’ve started to understand what it means to be a man in Nigeria and the male privilege that comes with it. I grew up in a family without gender roles. Sometimes, I cooked, and sometimes, my sister washed the car. Chores weren’t assigned based on sex, so I just assumed that was how the world worked. I was wrong. 

    I can go on a long walk in the middle of the night and the only fear I’d have is I might get robbed. Even that is unlikely because I’m really tall and intimidating with a deep-ass voice. Women can’t do that because the dangers they face are much worse. But I never understood these tiny privileges as a teenager. 

    What sparked this realisation? 

    I stopped arguing and started listening to women more. I never really had female friends outside of classmates or women I had sexual relationships with. Because of this, my conversations with women were limited to banter and nothing deep. We were all catching cruise. I’m older now and less inclined to argue with women when discussing their experiences. This year, I discovered women were scared to take Uber at night. Me, if an Uber driver says nonsense, we’ll throw hands.

    Has this changed your relationship with women? 

    Yes. I shut up and listen when women are talking. Even though it’s reduced now, I remember when we had gender wars on Twitter, and I felt like women were painting men as villains. Because I had a dad who always told me he loved me and friends who were real stand-up guys, I just thought the generalisation that Nigerian men are scum was a lie. I was in a bubble. But now I know that everyone is entitled to their truth. I was doing all lives matter for a black lives matter situation. 

    It’s not like I’m a fan of the bad rep Nigerian men get, but these days, when conversations like that come up, I know there’s a reason behind it. 

    This bad rep you talk about, has it affected you personally? 

    Yes. So there was this girl I really liked a while ago. She had just come from Abuja to Lagos for NYSC, and just like everyone, she’d heard of Yoruba demons. Looking at me with the beard, the trad and the gold chain, I fit the description. And because of that, she was hesitant about being with me. 

    It affected me because, during our interaction, I hadn’t done any Yoruba demon activity. LOL. I was a total gentleman, but this girl wouldn’t go forward with a genuine relationship because of the stories she’d seen on Twitter. We all laugh about it online, but some people take these jokes seriously. 

    Damn. Do you try to prove you’re different? 

    I don’t bother with that anymore. If I like you and you think I’m a Yoruba demon then, OK. It is what it is. I try to pursue relationships with open-minded people because I don’t like stress abeg. 

    Talking about proving things, when did it hit you that you were a man? 

    When I paid rent for the first time. All my life, my parents covered me financially, and even when I moved out, they paid my first rent. But when it was up and I paid the next one myself, omo, it changed how I looked at money. 

    How? 

    I realised I wasn’t really approaching money the right way. My parents brought my sister and me up as savers, not investors. They were civil servants, so they expected us to work for somebody else and save from our salaries. This is a good and bad thing because saving a lot means I don’t struggle financially, but not investing means I’m unable to grow my money like I could. It’s the one thing that keeps me up at night. With the way the naira is losing value every day, I might wake up one day and see that all I’ve saved has lost its value.

    These days, I’m looking into investing in forex sha. I’m not proud that I don’t have financial investments, but I’ve invested in myself, and now I’m the number one food critic in Nigeria. 

    Big flex. How did this food critic journey even start? 

    I’ve been prepping to be a food critic all my life; I just didn’t know it. While most families travelled to Disneyland and the likes during holidays, my parents took us on trips to try out food from places like the US and Asia. This is how my love for food started because it broadened my palette. I started posting about my food experiences at university, but I didn’t take any of it seriously. 

    In 2019, I started working in advertising, and one time, a food brand asked my company to work on a campaign. I noticed that we compiled mostly fashion and lifestyle influencers. For a food brand? It didn’t make sense to me. When I realised we didn’t have food influencers in Nigeria, I pitched myself to my colleagues, but they laughed at me because my engagement was low. I took that ginger, studied the market for three months and created a strategy for how I could blow as a food influencer. 

    Another thing that motivated me was when I DMed Eat Drink Lagos, asking if I could work for them for free, and they aired me. Now that I have many followers, I understand there’s a chance they never saw it. But I took it personally, and that animosity fueled me. LOL. I told everyone I’d be one of the biggest food influencers in the country before the year ran out, and look at me today. I fucking did it. 

    How do you feel now that you’ve gotten what you wanted? 

    Good and bad, but more of a bad feeling. It’s like saying you want to be a billionaire and actually becoming one in your early twenties. 

    I’m sorry, where is the problem here? LOL

    I’m not a billionaire or anything. It’s just that I had planned to do so much over time, and now, it looks like I’ve achieved most of it. I’m going to expand my plans. But there’s this initial question of “What next?” and the emptiness that comes with checking everything on your checklist. It’s almost like I’m floating around. 

    Most of my problems sound dumb to non-food influencers. Unlike social media comedians who make skits, I don’t have a community of colleagues to talk to or collaborate with. So to an extent, I’m also very lonely. But I’ll pick this problem over going back to my 9 to 5. 

    Interesting. All of this must come with a lot of pressure 

    It does because now, I have to look for ways to do more and reinvent myself constantly. I’ve also built a brand as the number one food critic in Nigeria, and I have to work twice as hard to maintain this post with many aspiring food critics popping up. That’s a lot of pressure. To other people, it’s a thing of “You’re making money and eating up and down. Why should the number one spot mean so much to you?” But omo, it’s my entire brand. 

    Fun fact: I still recommend these new influencers to brands that can’t afford me. It’s almost like I’m giving them the ammunition to take my spot. LOL. 

    Not so random question. Do you ever deal with imposter syndrome? 

    I struggled with imposter syndrome as recently as last year. I would go to events with big celebrities and stay in a corner because I didn’t think I deserved to be in spaces like that. After all, all I do is eat food and tell people whether or not it’s good. I used to question myself and what I brought to the table with my job, but I don’t do that anymore.

    Please, give me tips on how to overcome imposter syndrome 

    Fake it until you make it. People assume I’m a celebrity, so I lean into it and play along with the script. Over time, I’ve gotten more confident and comfortable with my job and social interactions. I did it so well the first time I tried that someone flew me out to Abuja for work based on my networking that night. 

    Scrim. Talking about identity, in your own words, what does it mean to be a man? 

    Where I am right now, I’d say being a man means taking on a lot of responsibilities. This ideology might change in three years, but right now, it’s how I understand the concept of masculinity. 

    Using your definition, grade your manliness from 0 — 100%

    Hmm. I’ll say 75%. My idea of responsibility is financial, and I think I have that covered.

    Funds! With this confidence, I’m curious if anything scares you. 

    I have an irrational fear of failure. Nothing points to me heading in that direction, but I’m just scared of it. I’m also scared of being a bad father and husband because my dad set a standard I must meet. He was the best dad. 

    On the flip side, what drives you? 

    Competition. I thrive when I feel like I’m competing with someone else. After I surpassed Eat Drink Lagos’s numbers on social media, I remember I was bored for a while because they were my driving force. Now, there are new guys coming up, and I’m like, “Yes, finally.”

    Sir, why do you like violence? 

    Some people have self-motivation, but I don’t. I need to have someone to compete with all the time. Maybe I need to see a shrink. It’s not a negative competition. It’s just someone to keep me on my toes. 

    So what’s next for Opeyemi Famakin? 

    To be the biggest food critic in Africa. Now that I’ve conquered Nigeria, I want to colonise African countries and make them my bitch. 

    Please, put me in your travelling bag when you’re ready to go 

    LOL. 


  • Man Like: Aaron Ahalu’s Bold Style Is a Middle Finger to Societal Norms
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the subject of the week’s perspective.

    Aaron Ahalu refuses to be bothered by the concept of masculinity. Joining me for a virtual chat from the beach where he’s celebrating his birthday, the creative director and photographer tells me his entire existence is somehow a middle finger to society. “I do what I want because I want to”, he says. But being this self-assured in a place like Nigeria doesn’t come without consequences.

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about finding freedom of expression in makeup and fashion, breaking out of his dad’s control and how he deals with pushback from people uncomfortable with his look. 

    What was growing up like for you? 

    My childhood was anything but conventional. My parents were never married, so I spent most of my childhood with my mum in Jos while my dad lived in Lagos.

    In Jos, I was surrounded by many women who taught me a lot about acceptance and what it means to be a thoughtful person. I wore one of my aunt’s heels when I was about eight and tumbled down a flight of stairs into the living room. My mum and her sisters had never seen me in heels before, but instead of freaking out, they laughed about it. That was my first experience with not being judged. I’ll never forget it.

    As for my dad, I didn’t meet him until I was 13. 

    Why? 

    I was born out of wedlock, and because of that, my dad didn’t feel indebted to me. Also, my mum was doing better than him financially, so it just made sense for me to live with her. 

    But the year I turned 13 was when the crisis in Jos began to intensify, and my mum thought it best to send me to Lagos to live with my dad. She mentioned she didn’t want to burden any of her relatives, so she called my dad and sent me over. When my aunt and I got to the park, she was like, “Oh, there’s your dad,” and I remember just looking at all the random men there, trying to figure out which one was my dad. He eventually walked up to both of us. 

    Did he meet your expectations? What was your expectation?

    I’d never seen this man before, and as a material gworl, I was hoping not to end up with a raggedy-looking dad. He looked really good in his white jalabiya, which was a relief. It was a weird first encounter. I didn’t know what to ask him. He didn’t know what to ask me either. We just rode in silence until we got home. And even then, we never had a proper conversation during the two months I spent with him. 

    What happened during those two months? 

    Nothing spectacular. When we got to the house in Lagos, I realised my dad was married. He showed me where I’d sleep and introduced me to my half-siblings, which was weird because I was meeting these people for the first time, and now I had to call them “brother” and “sister”. I was also very frustrated because, like I mentioned earlier, he didn’t have as much as my mum financially, so I had to manage and share a lot of things with my half-siblings. 

    Ironically, the best part of my stay with my dad was meeting and bonding with them. This was the first time I had other children who looked up to me because I was older, and we all got along. Given a choice, I doubt I’d choose to meet my dad under the circumstances we met. But they’re the one thing I wouldn’t change about that trip.  

    After two months with my Dad in Lagos, my mum sent for me after things calmed down and I went back home to Jos. 

    Hmm. Did you and your mum talk about your time in Lagos? 

    We spoke about it briefly, but it was mostly me complaining about how jaga jaga my dad’s house was compared to hers. LOL. She still teases me about the way I described his house.

    After my return to Jos, one thing that changed was my dad started to communicate with me more often. He eventually moved to Abuja and I moved in with him. Living with him again, we got closer until things fell apart between us.

    Let’s not rush. Why did you move in with your dad again after the last time? 

    I didn’t have a choice, sis. My mum was tired of my bullshit, so she sent me to go live with him. 

    LOL. What did you do? 

    I was pretty rebellious as a child. I got expelled from school for jumping the fence and this was like the third secondary school I was attending. I’ve never been a fan of rules and regulations, yet they kept sending me to boarding schools rife with oppression and people I didn’t want to be around. I think my mum was just over everything, considering this was my third expulsion. I had to go live with my dad, and that’s how I started attending a day school, which was a better fit for me. 

    Did anything change when you moved in with your dad for the second time? 

    It was a completely different experience. I was older and more present, which made everything feel better. But I’m mostly glad for being old enough to provide emotional support for my younger step-siblings. We had bonded, so it wasn’t all fresh and confusing like before. Abuja was fun for me because I had them around. I also got to finish secondary school, attend university, and eventually get a job. Life was good. Until it wasn’t. 

    How so? 

    The older I got, the more I started changing in terms of experimenting with fashion and going out to events. My dad saw me as this “good boy”, so the change was too much for him to handle. It’s not like I became bad. I just started to evolve into who I am today. My dad became very good at making me feel small. He did that to my siblings as well and it messed us up. 

    The oppression I’d complained about in boarding school moved to my own house from my family. My dad and step-mum couldn’t handle that I wasn’t a child anymore, so I had to break free. 

    Damn 

    The fact that he couldn’t control who I wanted to be as a person triggered a weird anger in him. I used to go out a lot back then because I was getting into the events business space I currently work in, and I remember coming home one day when I was about 24, just to find all my belongings thrown out of our house. Even my fucking mattress. 

    I thought it was stupid, so I tried to let myself in, but they refused. At some point during the whole back and forth, my dad had police officers drag me to a police station, where I was beaten and threatened. All of that shit was toxic AF, and I couldn’t take it anymore. If they couldn’t handle who I was becoming, there was no point staying with them, so I left. 

    I’m so sorry you went through all that. Did your mum know about this? 

    Thank you. I wanted to reach out to her that day, but my dad had seized my phone. I later got through to her, and she was pissed. She tried to call her contacts in the police to get back at my dad. That was the most challenging part because I could hear the pain in her voice. All of it hurt her. I’ve tried to repress these memories and move on from them. 

    I get that. So what did you do when you left? 

    I had some savings from my job, so I moved to Lagos where I stayed with my aunt until I could get back on my feet. I later moved in with some friends here and there, and now, I have a place I share with my friends. Things were slow, but I somehow pulled through.

    That’s great to hear. How have all of these experiences influenced who you are today? 

    I think it has made me a better judge of character and energy. I meet people now, and I can read them better because I’ve experienced the good and the bad. I can’t fully explain it, but I get people now. 

    We are shifting gears. Let’s talk about fashion and beauty 

    Yassss. 

    How has having a style that doesn’t conform to society’s definition of masculine influenced your interaction with people? 

    Hmm. So I like to tell people there’ll always be barriers to happiness in life. I’ve met several people who disrespected me based on my outfit and appearance. Today’s my birthday, and police officers stopped and searched our boat on the way to the beach. Because I was wearing makeup, one of them threatened to slap me and throw me into the water. It’s nothing new.

    But one thing I’ve told myself is never to let these things get to me or prevent me from expressing my true self. I get a lot of love and support from the people around me. I refuse to let the negative reactions I get drown out the love because I have more of that in my life. 

    So you’ve never felt the need to fit into the mould? 

    I’m human, and sometimes, it happens. I’ve walked into a place and thought, “Oh, shit! Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this today.” Or the times when I’m walking on the street and get catcalled. It’s unintentional. But, yeah, I try to get over those feelings as soon as possible. I also try to avoid spaces where I’m not welcome. 

    Preach! Why is your expression of fashion and beauty an important part of your identity considering the backlash it comes with? 

    For me, it’s all about how I’m feeling and finding creative ways to express that. I could wake up in the morning, get my face beat and sit at home. I’m doing it because I feel like having fun with my looks and also because I can. I don’t take life or myself too seriously. 

    I also don’t believe anything is gender-specific regarding fashion and beauty. Everything belongs to everyone because we’re all human before anything else. We have these systems that have kept us down for so long, believing that we should be one way or another. Who makes the fucking rules? I wear what I want and use makeup because I want to. 

    Also, my pronouns are he/him/they. The “they” is there because I can be whoever I want to be. 

    Inject it! Your thoughts make me really interested in how you view masculinity

    What’s that? I feel like that term is stupid. It’s such a weird question. I don’t know what masculinity is abeg. 

    Fair. So it’s pride month! What does this period signify for you? 

    It means a lot to me, but I also feel like it should mean more to other people. June is the one month in a year when we celebrate people who are continuously marginalised. It’s an important period for me because I also get to celebrate with an annual pride ball that I’m excited about. 

    Ouu. Invites for me? 

    Yes, of course! 

    ALSO READ: I Was Labelled Gay Before I Even Understood What It Meant — Man Like Richard Akuson

  • Being Broke Forced Me to Get Over My Imposter Syndrome — Man Like Etubi Onucheyo
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    While you may not recognise Etubi Onucheyo‘s name or face, you’ve probably seen his visual art at some point. The reclusive artist is behind some the cover of our favourite albums, from Show Dem Camp’s “Clone Wars Vol. 5: The Algorhythm” to The Cavemen’s “Love and Highlife”. With a portfolio like this, I’m surprised when Etubi tells me there was a time he didn’t rate himself as an artist. So what changed? 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about what his dad did that forced him to move out, how SAPA made him man up, the one time he questioned his masculinity and how he’s turned his imposter syndrome into “conman syndrome”. 

    Let’s talk about your tattoos. Which one is your favourite, and why? 

    The most significant tattoo I have has to be a compilation of icons down my spine. These tattoos represent who I am. There’s a paper plane because I’m a dreamer, an upside-down crown showing that I’m a misunderstood king, a straw hat and robot monkey from my favourite Anime, One Piece. The last tattoo on my spine is a Latin phrase from another anime fave, Little Witch Academia, which says, “You get what you work for, not what you dream of”.

    I was trying to be deep. 

    I’m dead. So with all these tattoos, who is Etubi? 

    A misunderstood dreamer trying to create dope art and do something great with his life. 

    How did your upbringing influence who you are today? 

    My childhood was complicated for a lot of reasons. My mum had been married a couple of times before, so I had a lot of half-siblings. Because of the age difference between my half brothers and me, I remember my dad did his best to shield me from them. I think he didn’t want them to influence me negatively, but it didn’t work. We didn’t care that we had different dads; we all loved each other. My siblings supported me over the years and came through for me when I least expected it. Having that kind of love in such a complicated mix has deeply impacted my life and work. 

    What’s the deal with your dad? 

    Right now, my dad and I are trying to rebuild a relationship that had deteriorated over the years. I hadn’t spoken to him in a long time, but then, this year, a friend of mine gingered me to reach out, so I did. My dad and I used to have a lot of back-and-forth arguments because he wanted me to be someone I wasn’t. He wanted me to be a teacher at some point, but it wasn’t for me. 

    Another thing that got to me was how he spoke about women, my mum in particular after they separated. He spent a lot of time talking about how evil women were, refusing to acknowledge that for their relationship not to have worked, he must’ve played a part in it, no matter how small. He was hurt, and instead of addressing his pain, he took it out on the people around him. 

    By 2017, I’d had enough, so I moved out. 

    Wait, what happened? 

    My dad lost his mum, and my immediate elder brother moved out of the country, leaving him with me at home. In retrospect, maybe I should’ve tried to see things from his point of view since we were going through all these things simultaneously. But all I felt at the time was this man was trying to frustrate and oppress me. 

    The final argument that eventually made me move out was the day he went into my room in my absence, and threw some of my things out. 

    Ah. Why? 

    My dad is big on going to church, and he expected me to always go with him for the first service by 7 a.m. no less. The church thing was a lot for me, so I’d go to my friend’s place on Fridays and come back home on Monday evenings to avoid church. One time, because there was a public holiday, I left my house on Thursday and didn’t return until the following Wednesday. 

    He didn’t say anything when I returned, but I noticed later that most of my beaded bracelets were missing. I asked him about them, and he admitted that he’d thrown them out, but not before asking if I was a cultist. Then, he started to drag my mum into the conversation. That’s when I realised maybe I wasn’t the son he wanted and I needed to give him space. 

    I moved out that month. My dad and I weren’t really speaking and he saw when I was leaving with my big ass box and knew it was because of the fight. I’m sure he thought I’d eventually come back. But I never did. 

    Even though my dad and I are back on speaking terms, we haven’t seen each other since I moved out or had an actual conversation to unpack what happened between us. It will happen in time, but I can imagine my dad’s face when he sees all my tattoos. He might have a mini-stroke. He’ll be fine las las sha. 

    How did your siblings react to you moving out? 

    Everybody kind of knew my dad and I had a rocky relationship, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise. They asked if it was what I wanted and reminded me to be safe. My brothers and sister actually asked me to come live with them. They’d always been supportive, but as a man, I wanted to try things out on my own.

    What was life like after you left? 

    Omo, bills! But luckily for me, I moved in with a friend, so I wasn’t shouldering rent and other bills alone. I also had a small stream of income from the art I was making, so I wasn’t dying. One thing I learnt about moving out of my dad’s house though was that I enjoy my personal space. 

    Because I lived in a central area in Abuja, it was easy for everyone to visit me. The visits became so much that people would stop by my place to wait out traffic after work. These were my friends, but I needed time to myself and to not have unexpected visitors all the time. It eventually piled up in my mind until I lashed out at a friend who visited me unexpectedly. It affected that friendship, and I regret it. But now, I’m better at saying things as I feel them, so it doesn’t pile up in my mind.

    In all of this, I’m curious about when you got your “I’m a man now” moment 

    My first Christmas out of my dad’s house, when I was so broke I couldn’t even afford to kill a chicken for the holidays, mehn. 

    Scrim 

    At that time, I made comics, and I’d done two graphic novels that year. I worked Mondays to Sundays. Despite all of that, I was still broke. I had to confront my imposter syndrome to realise that I’d been undervaluing myself and my work. I was working hard, but I was suffering because I wasn’t charging good money. I didn’t think I was good enough or “there” yet. Deciding to change this notion and value myself as a person, a man and creative, was a turning point for me. 

    My friends also helped me realise I didn’t appreciate my work. They were making big moves and working with the best brands, but they still took the time to tell me my work was good. I just had to believe it too. They saw me as an equal, and I knew I couldn’t let them down. I didn’t want to be left behind. 

    Why do you think you struggled with imposter syndrome? 

    I didn’t feel like my work was where it needed to be. I was also hungry and broke at the time, so I was taking whatever I was offered and overworking myself. We’re in Nigeria, and life is crazy, so walking away from projects because I wasn’t offered good money felt like such a huge risk. Now that I know I’m the shit, I even get to increase my rates every three months. 

    I’ve moved from having imposter syndrome to what I call the “conman syndrome”. So instead of thinking I’m an imposter, I tell myself I’m a conman and everybody believes I’m this great artist who deserves a ton of money. So until they catch me, this 419 will continue. 

    Etubi, abeg. How did you even get into making art? 

    Surprisingly, it was through my dad. I had plans to study economics, but he gave me the gist that economics was like maths, with a lot of “find x” and “differentiate y”, so I changed my mind sharply. He was the one who suggested art and promised to support me. I remember many of my classmates who studied fine arts, getting cut off by their parents because it was against their wishes, but my dad supported me. It’s ironic that he wanted me to have a 9-to-5 life later on. LOL. 

    Considering all your experiences, I’d like to know your definition of being a man 

    Standing on my own two feet and being free. Society is constantly telling us who we should be as men, but omo, I just want to do my own thing. Also, we’re learning new things about how men can be dustbins sometimes, so I think being a man should just mean being a good human to other people. 

    Has anything ever threatened your masculinity? 

    I remember once, I went to this party, and because I’m a playful person, some girls there started tickling me. This was in 2019, and I noticed a group of guys kept looking at me and trying to allude that I was gay. I started acting strange because I was also conscious of that label, but thinking about it now, I don’t care. Bro, it’s just tickling. We need to free ourselves from all these rules. Why would anyone be so uptight about a man getting tickled by a woman? Don’t you want a woman to tickle you? LOL. 

    Fair enough. So what would you say are the necessary things to lead a happy life? 

    Accepting that you’re not perfect. Everybody get the thing wey dey do them. It’s been great accepting my madness and knowing it’s okay. I’m not that different from everyone else. 

    ALSO READ: I Was Labelled Gay Before I Even Understood What It Meant — Man Like Richard Akuson

  • I Was Labelled Gay Before I Even Understood What It Meant — Man Like  Richard Akuson
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    In 2017, Richard Akuson launched the groundbreaking online magazine, A Nasty Boy, to celebrate queerness in all its beauty and struggles. Over time, the magazine became a beacon of hope to young Nigerians whose identity and overall existence were being trampled on by the country they call home. Listening to Richard recount poignant moments from his childhood, what initially seemed like an obvious reason for starting the platform and stepping into the role of an LGBTQ+ activist takes a clearer shape — just like other members of this community, Richard has had struggles of his own. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about being labelled queer way before he knew what it meant, overcoming his childhood obsession with being liked, his journey to self-acceptance and why he’s scared of growing old alone. 

    Let’s throw this thing back a little bit. Was there a time in your childhood when you struggled with the concept of being a man? 

    Oh, absolutely! I grew up in a small conservative town in the North, called Akwanga, and for as long as I can remember, I struggled a lot with getting people to see me as a cool kid. “Cool”, in this case, meant participating in the “masculine” activities my friends, siblings and other boys around me regularly did. But I wasn’t good at football nor shaking hands the way boys did. I was failing at even the simplest things and it frustrated me, made me feel inadequate. Growing up can be challenging, but it was extra tough for someone like me who walked and talked in a way people didn’t consider boy-like. 

    Kids are brutal. They made fun of me because I didn’t fit in with the boys, and even when I started gravitating towards girls, it became a thing in which they’d ask why I always wanted to be around them. It didn’t help that I had a brother I was always compared to because he was essentially the model of a handsome young man. Next to him, I just paled in comparison. Every day was a struggle for me.

    Damn. Do you remember when you realised you weren’t like the boys around you? 

    The feeling of being different was always this thing that just existed. I was either called boy-girl or “inna-màcè” as a child, with the second one being a combination of the short form of my native name, Innanoshe, and “màcè”, which means “woman” in Hausa. At the time, I just thought it was a harmless nickname, but there’s still a lot I’m unpacking at the ripe age of 29. 

    However, if I could pinpoint a moment that had the most impact on me, it’d be my interaction with a girl I met when I was about 12 or 13, representing my state in an essay competition in Lagos. I gravitated towards her because I thought she was the most intelligent person I’d ever come across. One day, on a ride back to where those of us competing  were all staying, I was talking to her, gesturing a lot, and the next thing she said was, “Oh my God. You’re such a sissy.” Even though I didn’t understand what it meant, I recognised a look I had become used to from people. I recoiled into my seat and tried to check the meaning on my phone. Something in me died the minute I saw what it meant. I felt a profound sense of shame, regret and loss. I also felt angry at myself for behaving in a way that made her recognise that part of me.

    Before this, there were times when we had to choose teams for games in school. Every time this happened, I’d either not get picked or end up the last to be selected. If a teacher forced me into a group, I’d see that same disappointing look in the eyes of my classmates, and sometimes, they’d even complain out loud so I could hear them. 

    I’m so sorry. Did these interactions ever affect the way you expressed yourself? 

    In a way, yes. I was living in the shadow of my older brother, and I was obsessed with being liked. I remember realising that I was an intelligent talker, so I made it my mission to constantly flex and show people that I was smart, hoping that would make them like me. Also, my brother was shy, so this was something I had that made me special. In a way, I was doing my best to entertain them. I would tell secrets people had shared with me in confidence so that I could score points with new people I was meeting. There’s only so much gist I could share without adding my own jara and getting into trouble. LOL.

    True. But where would you say this desire to be liked came from? 

    I was trying to make up for a lot. I was overcompensating for feeling inadequate and invisible. 

    Their validation would’ve satiated the very human part of me that wanted to be acknowledged and desired. But when it comes to validation from other people, I’ve come to realise that it only lasts for so long. Over time, it begins to wear off. I’ve had to work hard to find that grounding self-affirmation that’s also self-fulfilling. Without it, no matter what the world says, I’d still have a lot of self-doubt. It’s lovely to get compliments and whatnot, but what’s important to me is that I feel it too, that deep down, I know who I am.

    How did you get to this point of self-valuation? 

    It took a long time. Even after I’d grown up and left Akwanga, I still struggled with placing value on myself. I’d prepare to go out with friends and hope I’d meet some guy who liked me. Even when I did, there were always terms and conditions to our interactions. Let’s just say I took a lot of bullshit at the time because I didn’t think I deserved better. 

    I’m glad I’m where I am now because I feel like I’ve worked real hard to move past looking to people for validation or to like me in general. I’ve done my best to change the things I felt insecure about that were within my control.  Some of this confidence also came with age. 

    On the physical side, I had struggled with acne for a long time, so when I moved to America about four years ago, I got on Accutane as soon as I had the opportunity, and now, my acne is gone. I got into fitness as well. So basically, I worked to manifest for myself the things I admired about others. Another thing that helped me was journaling. Being able to unpack all the issues I was going through, confront my past and make peace with myself, went a long way in helping me get here. 

    I love to see it. Talking about relationships, when did you know you liked men? 

    I’ve known I was gay for as long as I can remember, even when I didn’t know the word for it. I’d already been introduced to all the homophobic tropes within my community, like the names I was called growing up. Before I self-identified as gay, I was already labelled by the people around me.  

    Shit! At what point did you find the words or understand your sexuality? 

    I finally understood my sexuality in my second year of university. I’d come across the words “gay” and “homosexual” before then, but it was at that point I gave myself the permission, even if regretfully, to internalise it as a part of my identity. It happened because I became friends with another guy from my university who was gay and had much more lived gay experience than I did. The way he owned his sexuality wowed me. He didn’t associate who he was with a feeling of shame like I did. I think this was crucial in my journey to self-realisation. 

    What was going through your mind when you finally accepted yourself?

    Everything finally made sense. There wasn’t any strangeness or shock. It was just a feeling of accomplishment, peace of mind and lightness. 

    Talking about your friend, I’d like to know the role friendship and community played in your self-realisation process. 

    I can’t begin to put a value on the importance of a safe space through all of this. This space could be a person or community, just where you feel accepted and affirmed. I had a lot of that. I was accepted, not tolerated. Even what I have now with my friends, it’s a relationship in which I can show up in the fullness of my queerness and know I’m respected and accepted. These are the things I enjoy now. I wish every queer person had access to these types of affirming friendships. 

    Preach. So let’s pivot to your life in America. What have you learnt about yourself in the four years you’ve been away? 

    That I don’t have to tolerate bullshit from anybody. I’ve been able to set clear boundaries without fear of losing friends or being disliked. These days, when I feel disrespected, I speak up and put the person causing the offence on notice. I’m also making myself less available to people who objectify me and fail to see me fully. There was a time when I’d see people who were the centre of attention at nightclubs and wonder what it must feel like to be the object of everybody’s attention and fancy. And let me be the first to tell you, it can be exhilarating but also tiring. You grow tired of people indiscriminately groping and touching you for their own satisfaction. Because I exist doesn’t mean I’m here for people’s enjoyment. 

    Interesting. So does anything scare you? 

    Yes! Not living up to my fullest potential and not doing enough with my life. I’m also scared of getting to a point where fear and doubt influence my choices in life. When I was younger, I remember my Aunt Becky telling me she loved how fearless I was. She was like that too, she said, but as she got older, she lost that spirit. The older we get, the more fearful we become, the less daring we get with everything in life. This is true for me. Some days, I imagine I’d make a good actor, but fear kicks in every time I think of taking the first step. I fear failure, rejection, mediocrity and so on. I hope the fear of failure doesn’t become a hindrance for me. 

    Oh! I’m also afraid of growing old alone. To be clear, this has nothing to do with romantic companionship. I want what my grandmother had. She had children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She had a house full of laughter, chaos, and ultimately, joy. That’s what I want. 

    Ah. I see. So on the flip side, what gives you joy these days? 

    I find joy in my friends, family and just all the people I love in my life. 


    ,
  • I Don’t Enjoy Black Tax, But It’s a Necessary Investment — Man Like Ope Adetayo
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up.  Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Ope Adetayo has worked his way from humble beginnings on the streets of Mushin to the life he’s always wanted. Before making a name as the internationally-acclaimed journalist with bylines across the globe, Ope knew his potential but still struggled to accept it. “I knew it was a big deal, but the hooligan in me wouldn’t allow me to express my full potential”, he tells me while thinking about the time he missed out on receiving an academic award because he was out “catching cruise”. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about finding the ginger to escape poverty, how his financial independence has changed his relationship with his parents, handling black tax and why his dad remains the go-to person in his life.

    Was there any defining moment when you realised, “Oh shit, I’m now a man”?

    I don’t think I ever had a lightbulb moment when I felt like I’d come into my own as a man. I come from what you’d call a low-class family, and I lived in Mushin, where from the very beginning, it was ingrained in my psyche that oyo ni o, meaning that I was on my own. My parents did the best they could with what they had, but the ecosystem in that place always reminded me that I needed to be on my toes. I remember looking around me and thinking, “Omo, this isn’t how life is supposed to be.” 

    We weren’t poor poor, but things weren’t enough for us. I had to do many odd jobs to hustle to buy books for school. I was one of those guys who’d just stand at the junction hailing people going to work to get some money. Getting into university was not that different because I was now on my own for real, and even though they sent something from home, it didn’t go anywhere. I’ve finally made it out of Mushin and into my apartment somewhere else, and I can say that the feeling is different. Me becoming a man is a culmination of all these experiences. 

    Wow. What are some of the things you saw that gingered you to hustle hard to leave that life behind? 

    Let me start by saying that my experience in Mushin is unique to me and not a generalisation of the people there. My family lived in what I’d call a “face me, I slap you” house, and even then, we were better off than most people. Mushin was really fun and interesting for me when it came to vibes, but it was also limiting. I usually tell people that the internet saved me as it was my gateway into other people’s lives. I saw things differently. I saw what my life could look like. The internet helped me become a writer because it’s where I found other people’s stories. 

    Another pivotal moment that motivated me was a volunteer programme I participated in when I was 19. It was with the Lagos Photo Festival. Their office was on Victoria Island, and for a kid from Mushin, getting to see all those buildings and lifestyles, I felt like a fish out of water. The lightbulb moment was at the festival’s opening when I saw people who literally smelt like money. I left that exhibition and didn’t return to my volunteering job. I got home at about 2 am that day, walked past my friends who were outside drinking and went straight to my room. I was like, “Nah, I can’t continue this way.”

    So what did you do? 

    I’ve always known I could write. I found the work of writers online and knew it was something I wanted to focus on. I started writing more until I got into an editorial internship. The lockdown of 2020 was a turning point because that was when I moved from editorials to writing, and it was a great experience for me. I just kept writing from then on, and well, we’re here. 

    Now you’re a big man writer in the streets! But do you remember your first major paycheck? 

    Aljazeera, $500. I was asleep when the money came in, but I knew it was money because it sounded different when I heard the alert. I did the exchange calculation in my head, and then, I withdrew $300 the next day. I spent the entire thing settling bills in my parents’ house. We even had this couch we were so ashamed of, we didn’t like having guests over. I changed it. I’ve bought everything I wanted since then, as long as it was something I could afford. 

    Funds! But before the writing took off, did you have a conversation with your family about the discontentment you were feeling? 

    I had an interesting upbringing. My parents gave us free rein to make our decisions and trusted that we’d be okay. My dad never went to my secondary school till I left there, and it wasn’t a case of bad parenting. I don’t think my mother knows what course I studied in uni either. 

    The only time I had a conversation with them about a life decision was when I switched from science to art class in secondary school. They were against it because they’d just assumed I’d end up as some science genius. I remember I’d won this science competition and the Deputy Governor of Lagos state at the time came to my school to present me with an award. I was out gambling with with my friends that I didn’t even know all of this was happening. 

    Scrim. 

    I got to school late and the principal had made everyone on the assembly grounds wait until I showed up. It was a huge deal, but the hooligan “nothing is important” part of me acted like I didn’t care. Anyways, I won other competitions too so the switch from science to art sounded like an abomination to my parents and the people around me.

    When I insisted, they stopped the little support they’d been giving me. But I persisted and went to university to study English. Last week, my dad randomly looked at me and said, “Thank you for resisting me”. He was referring to me being stubborn and going against the science thing. 

    Let’s talk about your dad for a minute.

    Yes. I don’t think I give my dad enough credit for his role in my life. Even though we didn’t have a smooth relationship from the start, my dad is one of the most important people in my life. I have a reputation in my family for being proud. Even though I’m the third child, of all my siblings, I’m the one that always argues and won’t shut up. This didn’t always sit well with my dad because we both saw life differently, from politics to social issues — we were diametrically apart. Back then, we would argue, and even my mum would try to step on my feet, signalling me to stop, but I was always insistent on what I believed in. That being said, my dad is the kind of parent who, when you’re sick, will spend every waking moment with you, while my mum is more of a “pay for the bill and go back to work” parent. My mum was my financial support, and my dad was my emotional support. 

    As I’ve gotten older, my relationship with my dad has evolved into one where he has become my backbone. I call him my PA because I can’t do anything without him. If an extension box goes bad in my house, I’ll call my dad. He put my house together and if he can’t find a solution himself, he’ll find someone who can. I delegate everything to him, and he’s always happy to help. He’ll still send his invoice, though. LOL. When I got my first commission to do a piece about agberos for Al Jazeera, he was the one who took me from bus stop to bus stop. My dad will make it happen if I want to talk to someone from the governor’s house today. 

    Awww. I love a father-son moment. So how has the change in your finances affected your relationship with your parents?

    For my mom, the invoices are never-ending. I’m responsible for my two younger siblings’ well-being, and they are still living with her. So I tell them to collect everything from her, and I’ll transfer the money to her, so she writes everything down. I think our relationship got better. You know when money’s there, things get better. A lot of our frustration was caused by a lack of money. Now she has someone who can free her of some financial burdens. When we meet, we discuss stuff about life, not money. I have always been close with my mom. We’ve been gossip mates since I was in her womb. 

    Dead. But do you enjoy this black tax life? 

    I don’t enjoy it o. It’s constantly frustrating. I’m responsible for two human beings: our last born and my immediate younger brother in tech. I take care of their feeding and clothing sometimes. I feel it’s an investment because I want them to get to a place where they can also contribute to my parent’s welfare. But yeah, it’s a lot, being responsible for other people. I don’t hate it, though. I feel it’s necessary, and I can handle it. 

    Do you miss your life in Mushin now that you’ve moved out? 

    The funny thing is, I go to Mushin all the time. That’s where 23 years of my life was. To date, that’s where I still feel most at home. Leaving the environment was difficult for me in a way because where I am living is quiet. To tell you how isolated everyone is, I have this friend. Our windows are adjacent to each other, but we only see on Twitter. Mushin is always bubbling with excitement. It’ll always be home to me.

    What would you say you have learnt throughout this journey? What lessons has this experience taught you? 

    It has taught me that if I can keep having a clear vision for my life, and be patient, my dreams are bound to come true. 

    For someone who understands the importance of vision and going for what you want, does anything scare you? 

    I’m in mortal fear of looking back and saying I didn’t do enough or could have lived life more than this. And it’s not just in the professional sense because I don’t want my whole life to be about work stuff. I have a life and I want to continue having a life outside Aljazeera, BBC, and Guardian. I don’t want to be Ope Adetayo all the time; I want to be Opeyemi for at least half the day. I want to cruise with my guys.

    What would you say are the ingredients to living a happier life, according to Opeyemi?

    It’s not just when you can afford a lot that you’re living a happy life. Try as much as possible to enjoy within your means. There’s no one way to enjoy life. Just give room for happiness. Happiness, I think, is manufactured. It’s not the natural state of life. It’s something we invent. Try to invent it constantly. 

    Check back every Sunday by 12 pm for new stories in the Man Like series. If you’d like to be featured or you know anyone that would be perfect for this, kindly send an email.

    Are you a man who would like to be interviewed for a Zikoko article? Fill this form and we’ll be in your inbox quicker than you can say “Man Dem.”


  • I Could’ve Worked in an Oil Company, But I Chose to Make My Own Path — Man Like Ernest Nwangwu
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up.  Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Ernest Nwangwu has made a name for himself, helping brands like Yamaha, MTN and GSK Pharmaceuticals communicate their stories digitally. But how do you convince brands that you can help them project their voice when you’re still struggling to find yours? So it comes as no surprise when I learn of Ernest’s decision, … years ago, to go against his family expectations by setting up a creative path that feels true to who he is. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about growing up under the pressures of being a first child, losing his mum at a young age, putting himself through school after he decided to switch courses and why he doesn’t believe in fear. 

    What was growing up like? 

    I grew up with a sense of responsibility from a very young age. I’m the first child in my family, so a lot of what I heard growing up was stuff like, “There are people after you so you have to set a good example.” That early sense of responsibility placed pressure on me to live a certain way. But things got even more confusing for me when I turned 11 and lost my mum. Once that happened, I had to speed things up to grow from boy to man because my dad became a single parent and needed me to step up. So, yes, my teenage years were not just about me. They were also about making sure my family was okay. 

    Damn. But what was your relationship with your dad before your mum died? 

    Before my mum’s death, my relationship with my dad was pretty normal. He lived in a different state from me, my mum and siblings, so he wasn’t always around. I knew I had a dad, and that was enough. I was what you’d call a mama’s boy. My mum was closer to me than any of my friends, so losing her made me feel like a building without a fence. I felt exposed. Like I had lost my security. She was my guardian. While my dad offered financial security, we didn’t have the same relationship. 

    After she died, I became more aware of myself and how different my relationship with my dad was. I had to navigate his expectations, and since we’re both strong-willed men, our opinions clashed multiple times. One always had to go, and for the longest time, it ended up being mine. The back and forth put more strain on our relationship, but we’re in a better place now. 

    What expectations did your dad have of you? 

    As the first child, he wanted me to follow a calculated path. Now that I’m older, I know it was from a place of love. But then, he just set a path for me and expected me to follow it. His intentions were good, but his delivery wasn’t. 

    I was already figuring myself out and had a strong opinion of what I wanted to do with my life. I started writing and rose to become the contributing editor of a magazine even before university. I was on my path, but he wanted me to become a doctor or something more formal. We started butting heads because I wanted something different. 

    And how did he react? 

    There were several conversations. I remember when it was time to pick a course and I’d mentioned my plans to study something in the creative field. It didn’t go well with my dad. He wanted me to study geology. He was very serious about it, and knowing I couldn’t pay my fees, I finally agreed to go with his plan. But what he wanted wasn’t what I wanted. 

    So you went to school to study geology? 

    Yep!

    How did it go?

    I didn’t like it one bit, but I kept my writing job on the side. Being able to fuel that passion and have my work published regularly was what kept me going in school. Unfortunately for me, it was really hard to combine a full time job in a different city with school, and I ended up missing a lot of work-related projects. I had to come to an understanding with the company that I couldn’t handle everything at the same time, so I left the job to focus solely on school. 

    Even at that, studying Geology was a major challenge, and it started showing in my grades. I failed a course that meant I’d have to spend an extra year. It was at that point I knew I had to revisit the course discussion with my dad. 

    Ah!

    If I was staying an extra year and struggling, I might as well switch to a course I actually liked. I told my dad I wasn’t going back to geology, and he didn’t take it well. His reaction showed me that I’d have to get a source of income to put myself through school. 

    Wait…what? 

    Once I failed the course and shared the news with my dad, he wasn’t keen on helping me continue school, so I had to support myself. 

    How did you do it? 

    The bible says something like the talent you have will put food on your table, so I had to go back to the talent I had, which is writing. I also picked up a few other skills. I took up learning about the digital market. I offered that service and got paid enough to go through school to study psychology. This was way before digital marketing became what it is today. 

    That’s a lot. What was going through your mind at the time? 

    I was in survival mode, almost like I had a point to prove. I didn’t permit myself to fail. The whole idea was to let my dad (and myself) know that this career I insisted on pursuing was worth it and I could make a living out of it. I didn’t have support outside of my earnings and some contributions from other family members. My feeding, school fees etc., was on me. It was also exciting in a way. I felt like I was given a chance to prove myself in unlikely circumstances. 

    Do you still feel the need to prove yourself these days?

    I won’t say I’m in survival mode any longer. I’ve gotten to the point where my daily pursuit is not for the basic things. I haven’t achieved all I set out to, so there’s still that struggle. But now, my focus is on whether or not what I’m doing can pay my staff and afford me a holiday or something. I could’ve chosen geology and probably worked in an oil company, but I chose digital marketing, so I have to constantly prove to myself that I made the right choice.

    I’m curious, though. How did you know you were making the right decision? 

    I started working from a very young age and developed a work philosophy. The truth is, we’ll be working for a very long time, so it made sense for me to do something I actually love. Once I figured this out, I knew that if I loved the job I did, it’d be easy for me to make money from it, and I would be able to deliver and do said work well. When I tried to do the things my dad asked me to do, it was like wearing a fancy shoe that didn’t fit.

    You mentioned your siblings earlier. Did you feel like you disappointed them with your defiance? 

    I believe people thrive when you allow them to be their own people. What I was concerned with was having my brothers see that you have to figure out who you want to be. I believe parents and older people can guide me based on experience and age. However, no one should tell me what to do.

    In my mind, as a parent, a child simply comes through you. Parents like to lay claim to a child as if birthing them means owning them. A child has a destiny, and a parent is supposed to help them find it. All my siblings are different people. I wanted them to have the guts to know what they wanted to do and go after it. Thankfully, they’re all doing well.

    How is your relationship with your dad now, especially since you’re successful at what you do? 

    We’re in a good place now. He looks out for me and I look out for him. I think our issue at the time was we weren’t always aligned. The older I’ve gotten, the more I realise what I needed to do at the time was get to know and understand him as a person, not just as my father. I’m doing that now where I look at him as human, a man trying to figure things out too. On his end, I think he’s learnt and grown to accept that I’m the type of person who likes to do things my way. There’s love between both of us. But most importantly, there’s acceptance and respect. 

    For someone who’s no stranger to risk, does anything scare you?

    I’m a Christian and a faith-based person so I believe we have the power to breathe life into things. So if you fear something, it’ll happen. How I deal with fear is that I tell myself it’s a concern. When I’m concerned about something, I’m not in panic mode, so it’s easier for me to approach the issue, interrogate it and either solve it or psyche myself into getting over it. Fear is debilitating for me. I don’t want to live like that. Also, turning it into a concern makes it easy for me to plan and prepare myself. Like death, for example. I’m able to understand that it’s something that happens and my concern might be tied to not wanting to lose people. 

    This is the best way I can explain it. LOL. It’s what works for me. I just change the name and idea from fear to concern. 

    What gives you joy these days? 

    I think it’s work for the most part because my social life is going downhill (almost nonexistent). I draw a lot of joy from my family. We have this group chat, and for the past couple of months, messages on there have been fun. My growing relationship with God also gives me joy. 

    Also, when I am in idea-creation mode, it gives me joy. 

    Love that for you, bro!

  • I Repressed My Experience With Racism For a Long Time — Man Like Teslim Alabi
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up.  Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Teslim Alabi is living the dream: leading Product Design at Netflix Global after five years at Microsoft, living a nice life in a country with constant electricity and having great skin — yes, I noticed. Honestly, Teslim is the tech bro I aspire to be. But as I fawn over his life, our conversation shows that the self-declared introvert hasn’t always had it easy. It’s been a long journey, and now, he’s finally getting settled into the life he deserves. 

    In this episode of Man Like, Teslim talks about growing up with a Muslim dad and Christian mum, stepping up to save his university relationship and how he’s been able to navigate life as a black man living in America.

    What was growing up like for you? 

    I grew up with my family in Enugu. We didn’t have a lot, but I wouldn’t say we were poor. My dad was a branch manager for a restaurant start-up in Enugu, and my mum was a trader with her own store. We were generally okay, my parents did a good job of shielding my siblings and I from the tough times we’d routinely experience. Interestingly, when we were younger, my dad was Yoruba-Muslim, while my mum was Igbo-Christian. We grew up with that mix and went to the church and mosque. We were in between. 

    Wow. I’m interested in knowing how this worked out? 

    I don’t know how they did it, but my parents made it work, and we never noticed any friction between them about religion. We would go to the mosque on Fridays and church on Sundays. Outside religion, the difference in their cultures was another interesting intersection for my siblings and I. My dad always said, “When you’re old enough, you’ll decide the path you want to take.” He later converted to Christianity, and if you ask my mum, she’ll tell you it’s because of her prayers. LOL. 

    Did growing up with a structure like that affect your sense of identity? 

    The only time I became aware that my family was a bit different was in primary school, specifically in social studies classes, where they’d talk about the makeup of an ideal family. Those were the moments I realised my family didn’t fit into the typical box of what a Nigerian family should look like. Intertribal & inter-religious families weren’t as common as I assumed at the time.

    Growing up like that helped me realise that multiple truths can co-exist. It has shaped my mind to accept different views and ways of living and being. 

    Now that you’re older, what religion have you settled on?

    I was raised primarily Christian, but I’ve always been very curious about exploring philosophy and understanding more about the universe. I don’t oppose any beliefs. I will always be curious — wherever that leads me, I’ll go. 

    Still on identity, can you tell me when you first realised you were a man? 

    I feel like I’ve always been independent since I was like 8 years old. But one significant moment I can pinpoint was when my wife’s (my girlfriend at the time) parents wanted her to return to Nigeria for NYSC, after university in Canada. We had done long-distance in the past and understood a move would strain our relationship, so we had to act fast. There was a short period of time when she wasn’t getting any direct support, and I offered to help.

    It wasn’t easy. I wasn’t making money at the time, but whatever pocket money I had, I’d split it with her. We made it work. She’s also very independent, so the idea of someone who’s not her family supporting her didn’t sit well. It took her a while to accept any help from me. I had to beg. LOL. It was a lot of pressure and sacrifices on both sides.

    I told my dad about it, years later, after we had gotten engaged, and his response was that these are the things that make us men — we make sacrifices and give even when we don’t have. 

    What did you take away from this experience? 

    I learnt how to see things from a mindset outside of my own. My wife is more balanced and level-headed with how she approaches things. But as a man, I wanted to be useful and do something immediately. In a bid to act, I could’ve come off as desperate and controlling, and she’d have just gone back to Nigeria instead of putting herself in that situation. Working through this process with her taught me to be gentle in my approach to conversations and problem-solving. It was a learning curve for me. 

    Why did you feel this need to be “useful”? 

    From my perspective, it’s a massive part of our notion of masculinity — the need to always be the problem solver, to want to be seen as the person mobilising and moving everyone else forward. But over time, I’ve realised that people’s needs differ, and masculinity should be about a malleability of approach. I’m learning that being there for people doesn’t always mean that I have to solve their problems. Sometimes, they just want you to be there, to listen. 

    Nice. Being a black man in Nigeria is one thing, but being a black man in the US must be different. Can you tell me about your experience? 

    So I moved to the US for my master’s after completing university in Nigeria. I’d been to the US with my parents a number of times, but this time, I travelled on my own. When I arrived, on my first day, I went out to look for food, and it hit me that my parents had been doing most of the running around whenever we visited. For the first time, I was on my own. I went to this crowded park across the street, and even though there were so many people around me, I just felt incredibly alone. 

    Things got easier as I started cultivating relationships, but something happened in my first week that messed with me. I was walking on the street with my headphones, and a group of mostly white teenagers started following me around, yelling the N-word. All I could think about was how I was alone on the road and how this could end badly for me. 

    I’m so sorry. 

    I was coming from a country where I looked like everybody else, and suddenly, I was in this country where I stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a jarring switch for me. Oppression is rife in Nigeria, but people see it, everyone is aware, it’s undeniable. As black men in America, we get oppressed and people act like it’s not there, they can’t see it, so we feel paranoid and question our reality. There was another time I was in Hawaii, this woman on a scooter called me the N-word and just sped off. There are other less apparent instances like being the only black person at work and having no one take your ideas or suggestions seriously. Even though you’re the expert, your qualifications are always being questioned. 

    Early on, I had to repress my experiences with racism, hoping that maybe if I didn’t dwell on them, then they never happened. It wasn’t until a community gathering after another black man got profiled, shot and killed that all of the repressed emotions came flooding back again. Coming from Nigeria, the use of the N-word might not be seen as a big deal. But getting here and knowing that some people say it to intimidate me, to make me feel small, gives it a different meaning. 

    I’ve adapted to the system because I know I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t come here. But despite all this, every time I go back to Nigeria, I immediately feel like I’m home. There’s something peaceful about being around people who look and sound like me. 

    I agree. Let’s switch gears for a bit. What brings you joy these days? 

    Joy, for me, is starting to look more like impact. I’ve always been in this space where I try to make an impact by telling stories. And now, I am getting to a point in my career where I am mentoring other people, and I co-founded a program to help underrepresented people get jobs in tech. When I think about joy and fulfilment these days, I think about these things. It’s always about service and what you can do for others.

    As a product designer, I’m working with Netflix to design features that ensure users have the best possible experience on the platform. I’m doing what I love, so my job is a source of fulfilment. Also, making time for family and the important people in my life. I’m trying to invest more in those relationships. 

    Looking at what we’ve discussed, and your journey so far, if you could change one thing, what would it be?

    If I changed anything, I don’t think I would end up where I am. We can have all the speculations about what could have gone better, but I feel like I only have the power to influence what is before me, so I spend a lot of energy on that. I don’t have regrets. 

    Amen to that. 


    ,
  • I Get More From Platonic Relationships Than Romantic Ones — Man Like Dearest Odubu
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Dearest Odubu has made a name for himself as a menswear connoisseur, but before he started creating content, attending exclusive events and influencing fashion, he struggled to find his place in the world. “I felt like my existence meant nothing,” he says. “If I died, it wouldn’t really matter.” 

    While our conversation eventually helps me understand how Dearest got to this point, the pertinent question on my mind is whether or not he has successfully pulled himself out of it — he remains confident that he has. 

    In this episode of Man Like, Dearest talks about shrinking his personality to avoid bullies, the stressful misconception about masculinity he recently had to unlearn, his parents’ reaction to his mental health struggles and why most Nigerian men would rather die than call him by his name. 

    Before I raid your wardrobe, I’d like to know how you got into fashion? 

    I was a very shy kid who always looked for ways to put myself out there without having to actually talk to anyone. Luckily for me, my dad was the real fashion OG and the blueprint for my style today. He taught me a lot about collecting watches, leather goods and just how to make sure my clothes lasted longer. Both of my parents are stylish. I always looked up to them, wanting to express myself through clothes. 

    As the shy kid in the corner wanting to show himself to the world, fashion was the only tool I could use at the time. I let my clothes speak for me. 

    Can you tell me a little bit about this shyness thing?

    It started in secondary school, where I was bullied a lot. The bullying turned me into a recluse. All I wanted to do was shrink myself and avoid being the centre of attention. I was about 9 or 10 at the time, and I was so scared that I just shut myself off from the world mentally and physically. I didn’t want to be seen. 

    I’m so sorry bro. Do you want to talk about some of these experiences? 

    I don’t think I can. I’ve moved on and healed to an extent, but what I went through in secondary school really hurt me and made me small. I don’t know if I can revisit it. 

    Does your family know about this? 

    I couldn’t report or tell anyone at the time. Bullying in boarding schools is weird because reporting the case might only make it worse. I didn’t think talking to my parents about it would help, so I stomached everything and hoped it would go away. But, I recently had a casual conversation with them, and it came up. My mum and dad were shocked and disturbed by what I’d been through. I had to explain to them that reporting would’ve just made matters worse.  

    Wow. How did this experience impact your life after secondary school? 

    Being on the receiving end of bullying has made me a more empathetic and compassionate person, but getting to this place of healing wasn’t easy. When I was about 19, I spent a lot of time pretending to be someone I was not, just so I wouldn’t get hurt again. I was projecting the image of this nonchalant guy who didn’t care how people saw him. I wanted to be this cool kid, but that’s not who I am. I’m a guy who feels all of his emotions.

    Damn. That’s sad. 

    I was in Ghana for school, so it was easier to rebrand with a new identity. I eventually found this small community of Christians who helped me shed that fake exterior and accept myself. They didn’t judge me. I finally met people my age who loved God and accepted one another. I didn’t know a community like that existed. I felt accepted there. 

    It was also reassuring to hear other people in the fellowship share their trauma. It made me realise that if they could overcome whatever they went through, I could too. I wouldn’t be here today if I hadn’t had that interaction in my life. 

    Was faith the only thing that helped you heal?

    Have I fully healed? I just know I’m here today. When it comes to my support system, I had my friends, and most importantly, my family. Shoutout to my parents, mehn. They’ve never dismissed my feelings, especially my mum. I needed people who loved me, and they showed up for me. 

    How?  

    I have to add that the bullying in secondary school was something I internalised to the point when I believed I was insignificant. To me, if these people who didn’t really know me could treat me like this, then maybe my life had no value. Even when I left secondary school, I found myself feeling suicidal. One day, when I was about to end things, something told me to talk to my mum about it. I did, and even though she was alarmed, she made sure to remind me that I was loved and appreciated. Just having her acknowledge my feelings went a long way in helping me deal with them. She knows about my struggle with depression, and in some ways, she can sense when I’m really struggling. 

    That’s good to know. What’s your relationship with your dad like? 

    My dad knows as well. Not as much as my mum, but he’s well aware of my struggles. He schooled and lived in the US. He was the first and only black man to do a lot of things in the 1980s, so it’s safe to say he experienced his fair share of resistance. He has supported me and lets me know he’s here whenever I need him, which is nice. Just knowing that I have support like this takes a heavy weight off my shoulders. I know that even if the world judges me or disapproves of me, I have a family that listens to and understands me. 

    I’m curious about your relationship with other people in your life. 

    Even after finding my Christian community in Ghana, I’ll admit that I was still guarded. I finally opened up at 22 when a friend of mine asked, “How come I’ve never met anyone who can say they really know you as a person?” That question hit me, and I knew I had to be more open to receiving people in my life. There were people who loved and cared for me, but I wasn’t letting them in. 

    Another issue was I wasn’t used to being helped. I come from a privileged background, so I’m used to helping the people in my life. I didn’t think I needed help — especially since I was okay financially — but now, I have friends who “do life” with me. They get me, and I value our friendship. The love and support people look for in romantic relationships; I get that from my platonic friends. This is why I’m not keen on romantic relationships. It’s not something I actively search for. 

    In all of these experiences, did you ever have an “I’m a man now” moment? 

    I don’t think I’ve had a “man now” moment, but in 2021, I realised that to get to my goals, I needed to let go of the way I viewed masculinity. Prior to that year, I saw masculinity as hustling and strictly shouldering responsibilities. I put a lot of pressure on myself to the point that I suffered burnout several times. Why was I sleeping at 11 p.m. and waking up at 3 a.m.? Because I thought it was what real men did to make it in life. LOL. 

    Not you doing aspire to perspire. LOL. But what would you say is the hardest part about being a man in Nigeria? 

    The hardest part of being a man in this country is breaking away from societal and traditional norms. Once you try to do things your way, people will push back. There are weird expectations placed on us as Nigerian men. I was talking to an older Nigerian woman about a friend of mine who lost his dad three days after the birth of his first child. I couldn’t imagine how devastated he must’ve been, and all she said was, “Tell him to be a man and move on.” How would that help him? She also went on about how he needed to be strong for his family. This is part of the problem. People expect men to have zero emotions. It’s hard. 

    Speak on it! Have you experienced pushbacks of your own? 

    I’m a Nigerian man called Dearest. I’ve been against the norm since I was born, and Nigerians don’t find it funny. LOL. I’ve met men who’ve said they’re not comfortable with calling me by my name because it’s a term of endearment. It’s so silly. So you mean your sexuality will change, and your masculinity will shatter, the moment you say my name? We align terms of endearment with femininity, and femininity with weakness, and that’s very problematic. This is why most men struggle with telling their male friends that they love them. 

    Scrim. I’d like to know if you’ve always felt comfortable with your name. 

    The only time I wasn’t comfortable with my name was when I was a kid and people teased me about it. When I turned nine, my parents told me that my name was important and symbolic of their love for each other, and that made me fall in love with it. 

    For someone named Dearest, has anything ever threatened your masculinity? 

    Not being able to give. When I was younger, my brain was wired to believe that I needed to provide for any and everybody who asked, especially my female friends. Whenever girls asked for money, I felt less of a man if I couldn’t provide it. I’ve overcome that now. These days, if I want to, I’ll give, if I don’t feel like it, I won’t inconvenience myself anymore just to prove that I’m a man.  

    Wish I could go back in time as a babe and collect your money. So what gives you joy these days? 

    I’m all about having childlike fun with the people in my life. I don’t have the energy for Dorime again. I just want to chill with my people. 

    I love that! 

  • I Never Saw Myself As the Head of Anything — Man Like Chiby Iwobi
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Chiby Iwobi is one of the most animated men I’ve ever spoken to. Still, I expected nothing less from the man responsible for turning Lagos into one big party every other Friday. “My major skill is I can make friends with any and everybody,” he says. “I’m always hugging and fist-bumping everyone. It’s what I enjoy.”

    Partnering with a friend in 2019, Chiby took his love for parties and a Lagos-based hot spot, South, to another level when he began hosting South Social — a party that quickly transformed into a youth movement laced with alcohol, sweat, social media sightings and FOMO for those unable to attend. While throwing parties and running an education-focused foundation might be a lot for some, Chiby seems to be managing it well… or is he? 

    In this episode of Man Like, Chiby talks about his struggles with body dysmorphia, the pressures of turning 30, why he wants to control his drinking and the one mistake from university that still haunts him today. 

    Chiby, before we get into this, outside of throwing sick parties, what’s one thing people would be surprised you did? 

    I used to write a lot of poetry. 

    Poetry? 

    Yes. I can explain. I was very insecure when I was younger. I was overweight and thought I was talentless. While most of the other kids around me had something they were good at like football or singing, I never felt like I was good at anything. 

    The poetry started because of a girl I met on Facebook when I was 15. I liked her, but I couldn’t pursue anything because I was insecure about my weight. We eventually became friends. One day, on a road trip, I thought of her and got inspired to write a poem about how much I appreciated her as a friend. It didn’t rhyme or anything, but it was a start. 

    Do you still write poetry? 

    I stopped when I was about 23 or 24. I started writing because I was emotional and it was my only way to vent. The older I got, the harder it became to connect with, and translate my emotions into poetry, so I started writing stories instead. Even though I’m in a much happier place now, I’m finding my way back to poetry and I’m excited. 

    Love it. I’m curious about how you dealt with the body insecurity you mentioned? 

    Dealt with it? Man, it still affects the way I see myself today. I had to admit to myself a couple of years ago that I struggle with body dysmorphia. I’ll always see myself as a chubby kid. I used to punish myself with intense workouts or runs whenever I ate too much. I’d also go on these ridiculous fruit detoxes where I would only eat fruits and drink water for three straight days. Till today, just knowing that I’ve had too many calories fucks me up mentally. There’s also the fear of putting on all that weight back. 

    But I’m working on it, and I have a better relationship with my body now than I had years ago. My end goal is to be comfortable with how I look. 

    Damn. Have you tried talking to someone about this? 

    I haven’t. The best thing I’ve done for myself is finally admitting that I have a problem with my body. During the lockdown, I was working out twice a day, and I was shredded. But I still found faults in my body. These days I tell myself, “Accept that you have this issue and don’t bother yourself too much about how you look because whoever will love you, will love you regardless.”

    I felt this. When did it hit you that you were a man? 

    Don’t laugh, but this year for sure. I was going to be serious about my life in 2020, but COVID happened. It has dawned on me that I’ll be 30 next year; I’m not a kid anymore. Moving out and also becoming the head of the foundation where I work 9-5 has also brought more responsibilities and bills. 

    I never imagined myself being the head of anything because I’ve always thought I wasn’t special. Look at me now. LOL. I can’t keep living life like I’ve been doing before. All the reckless drinking has stopped. I’m changing my mindset and mentality. 

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    Omo turning 30 is a big deal. What’s going through your mind? 

    The fact that the older I get, the more people expect of me. It’s exhausting. Now that I’m almost 30, the conversation has shifted to marriage. Because I also have what people might call a public relationship, everyone is expecting a big wedding from me and my girlfriend. 

    How does having a public relationship affect the dynamic of your relationship? 

    It hasn’t changed much. This is my first serious relationship. We’ve been together for three years, and before that, my longest relationship was three months. It doesn’t bother me that we’re out there because now everyone knows I’m taken and I can’t mess up. 

    Fair enough. How does a three-year-old relationship change a man? 

    The first thing that comes to mind is drinking. I’m always out every week and I could get waved quickly. It’s not a good look for me to be drunk and have my girl trying to take care of me in public. It’s taken a while, but I’m working on my drinking by taking things slow. 

    I’ve had to make that change for the both of us. 

    Nice. How is that going for you? 

    As a guy who throws parties for a living, managing my drinking has been a tough process. Parties are fun, but they can also get physically and mentally draining. Drinks used to help me get through back to back parties, but now I’m conscious about how much I drink. I feel like it’s the best move for me right now.   

    Love that for you. Can you speak on your experience navigating masculinity as a Nigerian man. 

    Fragile masculinity is common among Nigerian men and it’s something I’ve had to unlearn over time. I used to be very homophobic because society had conditioned me into believing it was wrong for a man to like another man. I’ve moved past it now, and most people would even say I do too much. 

    Too much?

    LOL. Yes. I’m always hugging and pecking my friends and most of them are just getting used to it. I remember pecking one of my guys once and in a reflex move, he hit my hand and I smashed my phone. Men aren’t used to intimacy with one another the way women are. Women are comfortable with their bodies. I’m not saying we should go around grabbing one another, but we can learn something from that freedom women have. 

    It’s not that deep. 

    Has anything ever threatened your masculinity? 

    There used to be a time when hearing statements like, “but you’re a man”,  used to make me do things, even if I didn’t want to. I was trying to prove myself back then, but now I’ve gotten over that shit. If you tell me to do something, “because I’m a man”, chances are, I’ll be more gingered to turn you down. 

    Are there men in your life you’d consider role models for what it means to be a man? 

    No. I’ve had a situation where I respected and looked up to people only to be disappointed by their actions down the line. Human beings can and will disappoint you. I want to be my own person. 

    Don’t you think having flaws is what makes us human? 

    I get that. But it can be a hard and painful blow when someone you respect falls your hand. I used to really love and admire John Terry the footballer, only to learn later on that he was a racist. That was really disappointing for me. 

    I feel you. Can you talk to me about moments where you’ve been disappointed in yourself as well? 

    Damn. When I was younger and just getting on the internet, I didn’t see male sexual assault as a big deal. To me, I thought, “It’s just sex, who wouldn’t want that?” Thinking about it now, I realise I was ignorant. Why would I want something that traumatic to happen to me or anyone? This also goes back to some of the things I’ve learnt since I started listening to women, because I learnt most of these nuances from them. 

    Another incident I deeply regret was a mistake I made at university. My friends and I had gone out with an older guy who had more money for a night on the town. While we were hanging out, he asked if we could introduce him to any girl in our school and we did. That was my first mistake, handing a girl over to another guy like a pimp. 

    The next day, this guy tells us that after the girl refused to have sex with him, he refused to let her sleep on his bed. Basically, this girl had to stand in a corner all night. 

    What? 

    Yes. The worst part is I just laughed her situation off like it wasn’t a big deal. I look back at that moment and understand how unfair and depressing that situation must’ve been for her. It was messed up. 

    I wish I’d been more vocal about it. I should’ve found her and apologised, but I didn’t. Instead, I acted like it never happened. You know what? I’m going to give her a call soon.

    You should. But that’s a really messed up story.  

    It is. I was young and I made a mistake I deeply regret. However, what worries me today are the people who defend sexual assault in big 2022. I’m like where can we go from here? We have women suffering just because men don’t want to do better. 

    ALSO READ: Knowing I Won’t Always Be Around to Protect My Kids Scares Me — Man Like Jare Fola-Bolumole

    But do you now hold the men in your life accountable? 

    I want to say I’m grateful that the men in my circle don’t do things like this, but omo, as I said before, human beings can surprise you. For now, I’m surrounded by men who understand the importance of equality and respect for women. That being said, I’m also at a stage in my life where if someone says or does rubbish, I will correct or cut them off. No time. 

    I support this movement. Let’s shift to good vibes. What brings you joy these days? 

    My girlfriend is number one. Then there’s my family, friends, working out, getting results in everything I do—and then money; you know money has to be there. 

    Moneyyyy!

    Wait o, while money can bring security and happiness, the love I get from my family and friends is irreplaceable. I’m not saying I’m rich, but when I’m sad, it’s not the money in my account that brings me out of that pit, it’s the people I love. They are what really matter to me. 

    Cool. So if you could tell a younger version of Chiby something, what would you say? 

    Chiby, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry. The extra year you had in school is a blessing. The accident you had with the car, I know it’s depressing, but it’s a learning curve for you. You’ll do better. Trust me; you’ll be fine. By the way, you’ll have the prettiest girlfriend ever. 

    Who’s cutting onions? 

    LOL. 

    Editor’s Note: After this interview, Chiby worked on his first poem in years. It’s a work in progress but he’s just happy to be trying again.


    ALSO READ: My Bro: You Completely Changed the Trajectory of My Life

  • It’s Not Healthy For Me to Be My Own Support System — Man Like Folu Oyefeso
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    If there’s one thing Folu Oyefeso will do, it’s remind you that he’s living life on his terms. “I don’t care about people’s opinions,” he says at the beginning of our hour-long call. But the more Folu talks about navigating masculinity as a young man living in Nigeria, the more I realise his initial statement stands true only to an extent. 

    While the photographer and blogger might flip the middle finger to the rest of the world, at his core, he’s constantly searching for a way to do right by the people in his life — his friends and family. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about the last time he cried, the toxic trait he’s had to unlearn over the years and why most of the gist people have about Nigerian men are true.

    Folu, you’ve done this interview thing before. What’s a good icebreaker you use with your subjects? 

    Hmm. I do my best to make sure they’re in their comfort zone when I’m speaking to them. Get them to be at home or a nice spot they like to hang out and watch all the anxiety disappear. 

    Ah! So where are you now? 

    I’m out with my friends in Ibadan. Everywhere is home here. 

    Whew. So have you always lived in Ibadan? 

    I grew up here. I only moved away for school and then there was the time I tried to stick it out in Lagos for a bit. These days, I only go to Lagos once in a while to say hi to my people.  Ibadan is my original life. Lagos is too stressful for me.

    That, we can agree on. So as the thing goes, I have to ask you about the first time you realised you were a man.

    When I moved back to Nigeria after university and started living in Lagos. I didn’t realise how expensive Lagos was until I had to start paying for things. I had friends, so there was always one outing or the other, and it was money-consuming. And the truth is, I like expensive things — I don’t want to have to manage, so to afford the lifestyle I wanted, I knew I needed to step up my hustle. 

    So how did you hack it? 

    Omo, I don’t think I’ve hacked anything o! I reach my goal, and the next thing, there’s another goal ahead. As my goals change, I have to keep working harder, so I can’t confidently say that I’ve hacked anything. 

    Outside of money, what was another adjustment you made when you moved back to Nigeria? 

    In the first few months after university, I took out time to adjust to the mentality here. I was a soft guy who didn’t argue in traffic or queues. But these days, anybody fit collect. Nigeria teaches you not to let people walk over you. I have to always be on my toes so no one takes advantage of me. 

    I love Nigeria, but not from an “everything is rosy” lens. It’s home for me and has its charm. I’ve lived in Ghana, Canada and America because of school, and I still came back and settled in Ibadan, which most of my friends find hilarious. I want to build my career from here. 

    Why Nigeria? 

    As a photo-journalist and entrepreneur, I look at Nigeria as untapped land with a lot of resources and potential to capture. Work aside, it also didn’t make sense to take all the investment my family has poured into my education and offer up to develop another man’s country. If I want to tell authentic stories with my work, it just makes more sense to start from home. 

    Interesting. As someone who’s lived all over the world, I’m curious about how you view masculinity. 

    I’d say it’s being confident in whatever kind of man I choose to be and sticking by what I believe to be important to me. I want to own my shit, take care of what and who I’m responsible for, and do right by myself. That’s masculinity for me. It’s not the trivial things like people who say men can’t wear pink or something like that. If somebody feels wearing pink makes me less masculine, then it doesn’t matter to me. 

    You said “being confident in the man that you choose to be”. What type of man are you? 

    I have chosen to be a support system for people. I’m the first child of my parents and the oldest cousin in one arm of my family, so I kind of grew up with people always coming to me with their problems. The same thing applies to my friends. I don’t always have a solution, but I make sure I’m there for them in whatever way I can. When my friends talk about Folu, I want them to say, “Folu has our back”. I want to be there for my people. 

    Doesn’t this get exhausting?

    It does get exhausting being everyone’s shoulder to cry on. And one thing I’m trying to learn is that I too can go to these people for support. It’s something I haven’t perfected, but I am working on it. It does get tiring being the only one carrying everyone else’s problem; meanwhile, you have a whole cabinet of problems that need solving. I’m learning that these people are also here for me. 

    Why do you keep your problems to yourself? 

    In my case, I can trace it back to social conditioning. I grew up playing a supportive role, so it’s all I’m used to — never to break down or reach out to people with my problems. I’m not even supposed to have problems. 

    But as I grew older, I realised that everybody goes through some shit, and we can’t go through this life alone. It’s not healthy being my own rock. 

    Can you tell me about a time you shared your struggles with someone? 

    I can’t pinpoint one event. I know it’s been helpful for me in the past. They don’t even need to have the solution to my problem. Sometimes, all I need is some advice, a different context or just someone to cry with, who’ll say, ”Man, that shit is fucked up.”

    You do usually cry? 

    I don’t cry often. The last time I cried was when my cat died after a botched surgery. I understand that crying helps other people and it’s healthy, but for me, it doesn’t do much. 

    So what helps you process your emotions? 

    Do I process my emotions? That’s the real question. I understand that I should and can be more open, but most times I rely on humour as a coping mechanism.  I went on Twitter recently and joked about “It’s almost time for my daily midlife crises”. It comes off as a joke, but I was really going through it. I do that a lot where I decide to laugh about it and hope I’ll be fine. I don’t think it just helps me escape the situation for a while, it doesn’t make it go away. 

    But what happened to being your own rock? 

    I know I can’t be my own rock, but like I said, there’s been a lot of social conditioning where I feel,  “Oh well, I’m a man”, I’m just supposed to soak this up and move on. A lot of my feelings get shrugged off and it’s not because I don’t have people in my life to talk to, I just don’t want to feel like I’m a burden.  

    Do you feel like you’re a burden? 

    I feel it all the time. Luckily, some of the people I do share my problems show they don’t see me as a burden. Maybe because I don’t talk about myself very often. Vulnerability is a side of me that they don’t typically see, so they’re usually quite supportive and appreciative of my honesty. 

    How has your approach to vulnerability changed over the years? 

    I’ve had to unlearn some of the ideals I was raised on. I’ve had to let go of homophobia and understand that reacting negatively because someone doesn’t like what you like is stupid. 

    Why should somebody’s sexuality seem like a threat to you?

    How did you move past your prejudice? 

    I cut off organised religion from my life. When we were young, we used to go to church frequently. But one Sunday, while I was still in secondary school, I just told my mum I felt the whole church thing was a waste of my time. It wasn’t a hard conversation because even though we all went to church, my parents weren’t really religious. These days, they don’t even go like they used to. 

    I realised that the world is more complex than what some pastor or 3,000-year-old book is telling me. I try to process things, ask questions, and dig deeper. Religion and spirituality are personal to me. And what this means is I have to find my path on my own, without anyone’s agenda. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m very inquisitive. I don’t want to simply take whatever some pastor tells me and dictate my life around that. 

    It also helped that I lived in other countries and saw that there were people of different sexualities everywhere and the world had progressed beyond what I was used to in Nigeria. Those different factors all came together to affect the way I perceive things.

    What would you say is the hardest part about being a man in Nigeria? 

    There’s a societal burden. A lot of people still believe in gender roles,  but I don’t think it’s so black and white where a man is supposed to be one way and a woman is supposed to be another way. It’s 2022 and there are grey areas. No one is born to be the sole provider or stay at home parent. It’s all bullshit. Like I said earlier, I’m also unlearning that mindset about being a man who’s strong for everybody else even when I’m dying inside. Fuck that!  

    Are there misconceptions Nigerian men that you’d like to dead today? 

    I don’t think there is any misconception that is not there for a reason. I think everything people are saying about Nigerian men is true on some level. So when they say men are trash, there are definitely some men who are flying the trash flag. Everybody can just be a better person to the next man, and we would be in a better place. As far as misconceptions go, I don’t think there’s any I would change. 

    A drag. I’m curious about who you look up to on being a man. 

    A lot of men in my social circle inspire me every day. My dad, my uncle, my grandfather, and a couple of my best friends who are my guys. I’m inspired by how present the men in my family are. It doesn’t matter what you’re going through, once you reach out to my dad, uncles or grandfather, they’ll drop whatever it is they’re doing to be there for you. Even if it’s just to give you urgent ₦2K.

    I’m constantly learning from them. I soak up their good qualities and also learn from their mistakes.

    What would you say brings you joy these days? 

    Credit alert. Just having money in my bank account keeps me happy because when I don’t have money, I am really sad. As I grow old and start asking questions like “When am I going to start a family?” or “Can I afford a family?” Those thoughts creep into my mind, but I’m like, “Fuck it. Let me just make my money for myself and enjoy it.”

    Money apart, what else do you need to live a happy life in the face of Nigeria’s chaos? 

    One thing that’s helped me be a balanced individual is the kind of friends I have. I don’t know if I am lucky or attract good people, but I am surrounded by some of the most amazing people on earth. I think that’s the key for me, because there is nothing I’m doing that means anything if I am not surrounded by people I love and who love me. You have to find your support system.

    My chest. So what are you looking forward to in life? 

    This year is shaping up to be interesting. I’m seeing quite a lot of growth in my work. More people are noticing my pictures, so I’m making sales of my pictures and receiving invitations to exhibit at galleries. So I’ll say I’m excited because this year is the next step of my career, which will come with bigger bags and bigger checks. I’m excited about all-around growth.  

    Don’t forget me o!

  • Knowing I Won’t Always Be Around to Protect My Kids Scares Me  — Man Like Jare Fola-Bolumole

    Jare Fola-Bolumole is genuinely content with being a family man. As the CEO of ChocBoy Brand, a Nigeria-based chocolate manufacturing company, he’s making a name for himself as an innovator and leader. But when he’s not talking about using chocolate as a tool for global domination, he enjoys talking about his life as a family man. His voice lights up at the mention of his two daughters and the wife that inspired his unconventional entrepreneurial journey. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about how love pushed him into becoming a hustler in university, the changes he’s experienced since he became a dad and why he’s scared to truly open up to the people around him. 

    Tell me about the first time it struck you that you were now “a man”? 

    In my second year of university, I decided to stop collecting pocket money from my parents. I had just started dating my wife and figured I needed to make my own money. I mean, how can I take money from my dad and spend it on my babe when he’s not the one dating her? 

    Ah. So how did you make money? 

    Making that decision to fend for myself was a defining moment for me and the origin of my entrepreneurial journey. I started a private tutorial business, and a couple of years later, I invested in plastic chairs and put them out for rent in collaboration with a friend of mine. 

    Starting a business was new to me, but I did what I could and learnt on the job. 

    An entrepreneur for love. God when? But I’m curious about your wife’s reaction at the time. 

    I was a student with a business on the side making money. Of course she liked it. Plus, it got to a point where I ended up employing her as a private tutor too. Everyone needed extra cash so she took it. 

    Didn’t all this work interfere with school? 

    Mehn, it was hard. In my fifth year, classes started clashing with my tutorials and I had to make tough choices to follow the money. In all of this, I couldn’t leave school because I had come so far, but I also couldn’t leave my business because we had grown. I was juggling a lot, but I still managed to see everything through. 

    What did your parents think about you running all these businesses in school? 

    Their first reaction was, “You’re on your own.” LOL. But even after saying this, they still supported me. My mum donated her BlackBerry so I could market my products. When I started importing chocolate in my fourth year, my dad looked for people travelling overseas to help me bring the chocolate back to Nigeria. 

    Aww. So what’s your relationship with your parents like? 

    My parents are the best! My dad is as entrepreneurial as I am, so I enjoyed a mentor-mentee kind of relationship with him.  He is a brilliant entrepreneur with a life and struggle I could relate to and this made the mentorship process a lot more impactful for me. 

    My mum on the other hand is a prayer warrior who has always supported me with prayers. She’s very invested in my education and wishes I was practising what I studied. Even though I’m married now with kids, she’s still trying to convince me to go for my masters. I can bet she’d go to church for thanksgiving If I told her I was leaving this entrepreneur life to use my degree. 

    LOL. You mentioned that you’re a father now. How has fatherhood been treating you? 

    It’s blissful. I have two daughters — one is four years-old, the other four months old. 

    Fun fact: I always wanted a boy. But now that I have girls, I’m so happy because they are very cute. Growing up as a boy, I destroyed all my father’s gadgets. Thinking of having to reproduce myself as a little boy scares me. But with girls, I have peace of mind; their wahala doesn’t come close to that of boys.

    Did anything prepare you for fatherhood?

    I don’t think anybody fully prepares for parenting. Being a dad is sweet, but sometimes you’ll feel the urge to get rid of the kids, just dump them somewhere if you have the opportunity. People always say that fatherhood doesn’t really dawn on you until you hear your baby call you daddy for the first time. They were right, because that’s when you truly realise that this is a human being you’re responsible for. 

    What has been the most challenging part of fatherhood for you? 

    My four month-old daughter always wakes up in the middle of the night and insists that you carry her standing upright. Newborns are good at manipulating and strong-arming you into doing what they want. I’ve noticed my daughter smiles after crying and forcing you to stand up. It’s all a trap. LOL. Then there’s the staying awake to make sure they’re sleeping fine. That one is still standard procedure.

    But how has being a father changed you as a person?

    A lot has changed. Fatherhood has taught me that I can’t be selfish. I can’t make decisions without considering my family. It trickles down to the little things like buying shawarma. There’s a part of me that just wants to take it home so we can all share. My life is for them and this is something I never experienced when I didn’t have children. 

    I’m jotting things down. What lessons would you like your kids to learn from you? 

    Because I have daughters, my goal is to be the model of an ideal man. My girls should be able to look at me and the way I treat my wife and say, “This is the kind of man I want to marry.” I treat them like queens because I don’t want them to ever expect less from their friendships or relationships. 

    Does anything scare you more now that you’re a dad? 

    The way I look at it now, my children are currently under my protection. They’re still young, so I can guide them and make sure they’re okay. But what happens when I can’t do this anymore? As much as I want them to develop independence, as a parent, I’m still scared of what could happen if they ended up with the wrong crowd. I’d like to protect them forever, but I know it’s not realistic. 

    Mehn, it’s not easy being a dad o! 

    LMAO. It’s not. 

    Looking at the way you were brought up, what would you like to change when it comes to parenting your kids? 

    I grew up around a lot of criticism of other people and their choices. This wasn’t something from my parents, rather, it was a church thing. I remember my church literally used to criticise other churches during service. I think it’s wrong. While I’ll inculcate into my children as many values as they’ll need to navigate the world, I also want them to be able to make their own choices independent of me or my beliefs. I want them to be independent and think critically. I’m not all-knowing, so they’ll need to trust their instincts. 

    You’ve spoken a lot about running businesses and being a family man which makes you a rock for so many people. Knowing this, I’m curious to know who you lean on when things are hard? 

    Me. I tend to rely on myself and do whatever I can to fix my issues myself. Oftentimes, my wife notices and starts probing so I open up to her. But to be honest, I’m not great at opening up or going to other people for help or advice. 

    That must be tough. Why, though? 

    Information is power. The more information someone has about you, the more power they wield over you. I am very careful about sharing personal information. The less you know about me, the less you can hurt me. If I let you know things about me, I’m enabling you. 

    Damn. But has someone ever used something you told them in confidence as a weapon to attack you?  

    Funny enough, no. The only instance I can remember is childish and happened way back in secondary school. I told my friend I liked a girl, and then this guy went after her himself. It’s funny when I think of it. But other than this, nothing else. 

    It’s the drama for me. Nigeria is hard, so what gives you joy these days? 

    My family. My family is my source of joy. Having a four year-old run up to me with a very big smile, saying, “Daddy!” It just rewards all the hard work I do. Having to pick up my wife from work and see her smiling at me, even though it’s not all the time, also gives me joy. Everything else is a disappointment, from one level to another.  

    So now that you have given me baby fever, what advice would you give me? 

    Who gave you baby fever? Please, think about the cost of diapers, the cost of living and the cost of everything o! Me I’m already inside all of it, but you, omo, goodluck. 

    Wow. Thank you sha. 

  • I’m Done Living in Fear — Man Like Nonso Bassey
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Nonso Bassey might not be living his best life yet, but the actor/singer is definitely living a life of gratitude. ”I’m very thankful for where I am now in my life,” he says. “The last few years have been a learning curve for me. And I’m just thankful that I’ve come out the other side better, more determined, and just more thankful to be alive.”

    When we talk, his emotions are sincere, infectious even, forcing me to sit back and look at my life through a different set of lenses. After all, if someone could find gratitude in the face of pain and a gruelling journey of self-discovery, then maybe, just maybe, there might be something for the rest of us. 

    In this episode of Man Like, Nonso talks about how his mum’s death has inspired him to chase his dreams with vim, navigating two industries that continue to doubt his talent and his journey to overcoming self-doubt and insecurities. 

    When would you say you had your “man now” moment? 

    I’ve felt grown-up for a while now, but what shook me was my mum dying last year. Having to step up in a way that I’ve never really had to, that changed me. I’d often heard people before say, “You’re never fully grown-up until you lose a parent or both parents.” And that was so true to me last year—stepping up, footing bills, paying school fees now. Like hey, na wa o—this adulthood thing is real, like, there’s no going back. So, if anything, it has made me more determined.

    I’m so sorry about that man. How are you doing? 

    So, last night, I had a bit of a diary session with myself and I broke down. I realised I’d been on a steady go-go mode since she passed, and that’s because her death pushed me to confront the fact that I’d been holding myself back for a long time. I had been living in fear, and it forced me to start the process of letting that fear go. I’m done waiting to live. 

    Gratitude has also been very helpful for me. I’ve become a lot more thankful for everything—for everyone in my life, for every little kindness, for every mistake, and for every wrong done to me, because they all contributed to making me the man that I am today. 

    You mentioned that you’d been living in fear, holding yourself back. Why? 

    Who knows why we do these things to ourselves? I grew up knowing I had the talent to do anything I set my mind to. But the older I got, the more life and people socialised me into being afraid and limiting myself. I remember coming into the entertainment industry through music, then I got into acting and had this identity crisis because everyone kept telling me to focus on one thing or asking if I was good at any of them. People in music thought I was unserious and people in the film industry didn’t think I deserved the roles I was getting. 

    All of this takes me back to when I was younger and because I was doing a lot back then, I didn’t fit in anywhere because I was sort of everywhere. I didn’t know my place then and after joining the industry, I still couldn’t figure out my place. I was very insecure. Things are changing now though. I’m currently figuring out my shit and getting more confident in who I am. 

    How are you figuring your shit out? I need pointers, please. 

    Journaling plays a huge part. The more I write about how I feel, the more I’m able to understand and express those feelings to other people. I’ve done this on and off for a couple of years. It has taught me a lot about who I am and why I do certain things. It’s also a way to make sure I don’t forget parts of my life. 

    Talking about memories, there’s this thing where people fear they might forget the people they’ve lost over time, do you have that fear? 

    I don’t think I have that fear. As painful as it is to lose someone, death is a part of life; it’s part of some big picture. I’ll die one day and nothing will matter. She has lived her life and I’m glad she was around to support me because she was my biggest motivator. Back when I was scared to chase a creative career and I had a 9 to 5, she was the one who called me aside and asked me to go for it. The next year, I was on The Voice. 

    What I can do is make sure I attain a level of excellence in my career that honours her. 

    That’s so moving. How do you manage both parts of your career to achieve this excellence you’re gunning for?

    I focus a lot on the talents I’ve been given and what I want to do with them, as opposed to the industries they fall under. It can be overwhelming because I have multiple interests and passions and to a large extent, that’s why I’ve had to struggle with my identity crisis. But now, I can confidently say my approach to combining the two has changed because I’ve realised I can’t do everything at the same time. 

    These days, I think hard about what I can focus on now, and I embark on that project. What’s the next step and how does this part fit into my big picture? I’m exploring ways to tell stories with my talents, but also taking it one step at a time. I have completed the puzzle in my head, and now it’s time to put the pieces together. 

    You spoke about hesitancy from both the music and film industries when it came to your work. How did that affect you? 

    It was awful. I felt this need to please everyone and when that didn’t happen, I hid in a shell and did my best not to stand out. But now, I don’t let these things faze me. I’m not religious, but there’s a part in the book of Isaiah that says, “You will hear a voice behind you, saying ‘This is the way, walk in it’” This has been my guiding compass. I go with my gut and work on whatever I want to work on. 

    A word! But do you ever feel self-doubt? 

    I’d like to say I’ve been confident from the beginning, but one place I struggle with self-doubt has been making friends. I’d never felt worthy of love or good enough for myself and other people. It has affected me in more ways than I can express, but I’m working on it. 

    Do you remember when this feeling of being unworthy started? 

    I can trace it back to 2019 which was a dark period for me. My music wasn’t working out, I was robbed, l lost my car and I lost relationships too. I felt like I was fighting a losing battle. I had to take a step back, become a hermit and listen to myself. I guess that worked out since I’m much better now. 

    Switching gears to being a Nigerian man, what are some of the things you have learnt about yourself as you’ve grown into a man?

    I’ve learnt that I am a leader. I have always known, but I took it for granted. Leadership is service, doing things for other people, and thinking about people, not just your agenda for getting ahead. I’ve also learnt to give myself and my time to something bigger, to other people. I’ve learned that I care about other people. I’m not in a rush, because what is for me is for me, and what is not for me will not come to me. That is the biggest thing I have learnt as a man: how to love and think of other people. 

    Nonso for president! So when you think about the concept of masculinity, what comes to your mind? 

    I think the word is what we make of it. We’ve always defined what is, and you know culture changes. Being a man to me means taking care of my own, providing for my own, stepping up, taking initiative and building something that’ll outlive me.

    Have you ever felt like your masculinity has been threatened at any time? 

    Not really. Growing up, I had six sisters. And growing up around that feminine energy tends to rub off on you. I grew up making more female friends and being more comfortable around girls. But it’s not a threat to my masculinity. 

    So I’m curious about what brings you joy these days?

    I go to a really tall building, climb up to the highest floor, or the roof (if I have access to it) and just view the city. I love city lights; they do something to me. Sometimes I go to the beach on a Monday, when I know I would be the only one there, and just dip my feet into the sand and listen to the ocean. You know I am an artist. These things just inspire me to create. But something funny that brings me joy is washing plates and frying plantain. As much as I hate cooking, I can fry plantain all day.

    LMAO. So would you be open to washing my plates? 

    LOL. No problem. 

  • Football Has Played a Vital Role in Helping Me Connect to People — Man Like Tolu Olasoji
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Tolu Olasoji has built a career writing important Nigerian stories. Cutting across sports, culture and technology, his work has been featured in Vice, Quartz and Al Jazeera. But despite all of this, Tolu is not a fan of interviews, especially when they place him front and centre. 

    Considering the fact that storytellers rarely get a chance to talk about themselves and their experiences, I reached out to the renowned writer and convinced him to sit for his very first interview. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about leaving home for the first time during his NYSC, how the #EndSARS protests influenced his decision to finally leave Nigeria, why he doesn’t like the word “japa” and why Nigerian men seem to be obsessed with football. 

    When would you say you had your “man now” moment? 

    When I moved away from Lagos and my family to do my National Youth Service (NYSC) programme in Taraba state. It was my first time out of Lagos. 

    First time? 

    Yes. Before going for service, I had succeeded in avoiding anything that would make me travel out of Lagos or far from home. It’s not a sentimental thing for me, it’s more about the physicality of travelling. I don’t mind moving from point A to B, but I’d have to physically make that journey and I hate it. I actually rejected my admission to a university outside Lagos because of this. 

    But when Taraba came along, I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t something I anticipated. I thought I’d redeploy to Lagos because I had dreams of making it as a radio presenter there, but I got to Taraba and everything changed.   

    What changed? 

    I started to enjoy myself in camp. My mum called me and also got other family members to convince me to redeploy, but I made up my mind to stay and start afresh there.

    My family was worried about the insurgency in the north, but I found myself having such a great time meeting people and rediscovering myself, moving back to Lagos just seemed unnecessary. The media career I wanted for myself in Lagos, started manifesting in Taraba right after camp. I started hosting shows with my friends on the radio. 

    I felt like there was something for me in Taraba and I owed it to myself to explore it. I was finally experiencing life on my own, and it was so good, I asked them to stop sending me my allowance. I was ready to build my life around my  ₦19,800.  

    LOL. How did that go? 

    Omo, looking back, I realise that it was a trap. LOL. 

    So did you struggle with adjusting to anything in Taraba? 

    I won’t say I “struggled”, but no matter how open-minded I am about things, I draw the line at food. Even though I tried, I found it hard to enjoy the food there. I was like, “Where is the pepper?” The traditional  food there didn’t gel with me, so I just stuck to their versions of regular food I was used to.

    Was that all?

    There’s also the thing about moving to a place where they speak different languages from what you’re used to. But it wasn’t such a big deal because I was focused on overcoming that barrier. Interacting with people who don’t understand what you’re saying can be difficult, but just like most people who find themselves in this situation, I did my best to learn. I started with the bad words and worked my way up. LOL. Football also played a vital role in helping me connect to the people around me. It was a good way to immerse myself into the community because I was always either playing football with some of them or catching up on football games at random viewing centres.  

    What were the hardest and easiest parts of moving? 

    The hardest part was definitely travelling by road for 31 hours from Lagos to Taraba. That was a lot. 

    But it’s ironic because the easiest part came from that trip. This long ass trip from Lagos to Taraba introduced me to one of my close friends, T. We were on the bus together, got to camp at the same time, and because we got to camp late, they made us sleep outside the regular hostels for corpers. At some point, we were so pressed, we had to go into the bushes to take a shit together. We talked throughout. It sounds weird now, but it was really cool. We stuck together after that and throughout my service year. Fun fact, he’s still in Taraba. 

    I can’t imagine what it’s like for people who get thrown into the deep-end of NYSC with no one in their corner. It was easier to settle in because I had friends like this. 

    With the way you’ve hyped your time in Taraba state, I’m surprised you didn’t stay back too. 

    Oh I had plans to stay in Taraba, trust me. I had made another friend after we left camp, and we both bonded over the fact that we had studied tech-related course in school and I had a tech background. We realised there was an untapped tech market in Taraba, so we both made plans to stay back after NYSC to see if there was a way we could penetrate this nonexistent tech ecosystem. Unfortunately, he had to leave immediately after service for personal reasons and I was left alone with that plan. 

    I did try to see it through, but they weren’t really receptive and I ran out of money to sustain myself so I ran back home. I got back to Lagos, reached out to people I knew and eventually got a job as a sports writer and the rest is history. 

    You mentioned connecting with people through football, which makes me wonder how you found your own connection with football? 

    Fun fact, I might be popular for writing and offering commentary about soccer, but the truth is I never really liked it from the jump. I thought watching 22 people run around on a pitch was a waste of time 

    I preferred basketball. But the more I came in contact with football, the more I got attracted to the stories behind it. You have all these different players and fans from different backgrounds losing their minds over this sport. It’s fascinating. 

    There’s a story to every match, and I’ve learnt to look beyond the pitch. 

    Has football taught you anything about who you are as a person? 

    It has helped me unlock my power of imagination. I don’t know how to explain it, but I didn’t immediately learn football by playing it physically. Instead, I played a lot of games in my head first before eventually hitting the pitch. Another thing is, football helps me relax. It doesn’t matter if I’m playing it, watching it or writing about it, something about it just calms me down. I love soccer so much that I have two scouting certifications that I’ve never used before. 

    Why are Nigerian men so into football?

    For the most part, I think Nigerian men are attracted to the sense of community it brings. You can’t walk through an estate or street without seeing one makeshift goal post made of things from bricks to metal and even bathroom slippers. 

    Football is what calls us because, for a lot of us, it’s the one thing we have easy access to. Maybe it would’ve been different if these goalposts were hoops. Maybe then Nigerian men would be really into basketball.

    Pivoting from football, I recently found out you moved again. So you’ve done the Japa thing too? 

    Japa throws away context and creates this feeling that I’ve escaped, and I’m not coming back. People automatically assume I’m gone for good. To be honest, I’ve never been a fan of moving out of Nigeria. The only conscious effort I’ve made was to study away from the chaos here. I’ve been wanting to do this for years, but the opportunity finally came and there was money too. 

    For someone who didn’t want to leave Lagos at all, you’re a really long way from home. 

    I know right. Like I said, I always wanted to leave for school. I got to a point where I felt like I needed a journalism degree to match the work I was doing after freestyling for about seven years. But another thing that motivated my move was how the #EndSARS protests played out. 

    Luckily for me, my only experience with SARS was when I had a close-shave with them in 2017. But outside of my personal experience, covering stories during the protests showed me that every Nigerian knew someone who had been harassed or suffered violence at the hands of SARS. For a guy with beards like mine, I knew I was an easy target. 

    I didn’t feel safe anymore, especially in a country where I was being profiled. 

    What surprised you the most about how Nigerian men navigate masculinity in America as opposed to back home in Nigeria? 

    People don’t really give a shit about how you look here in America. So a friend of mine recently saw a picture of my dreads on Twitter, and he went off about how most Nigerian men land in America and start dressing and looking anyhow. LOL. It’s wild to me because my dreadlocks weren’t intentional and even if it were, does it matter? Even if I was in Nigeria, I would do the same thing. I’ve always been unconventional in the way I look and dress. One thing that happens a lot in Nigeria is how we are all expected to look a certain way that passes the mark as responsible. These restrictions shackle us as Nigerian men. 

    The big difference between navigating masculinity in Nigeria and in America is the freedom from people’s projections of who I should be or how I should look. 

    Nice. So I’m curious to know what brings you joy these days. 

    Okay, in this order: love, food and soccer. That’s all. 

    Lol. Very on brand!

    ,
  • Women are Funnier Than Men — Man Like Jay On Air
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    If there’s one person who understands how humour can change your life, it’s content creator and radio host, Jay on Air. Born Joseph Onalapo, the Lagos-based creative was unemployed and dealing with the boredom only a pandemic-induced lockdown could bring when he decided to start making skits on TikTok. Three years later, these skits have landed Jay a job with one of the top radio stations in Lagos, while over 100,000 followers tune in weekly to watch his skits inspired by mean secondary school girls, hyperactive Mummy G.Os and dramatic Yoruba mothers. But behind the larger-than-life personality and costume changes, Jay is still your regular guy trying his best to balance it all.

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about how his relationship with his mum has evolved over the years, dealing with insecurities about his height, his fear of losing control and why he believes women are funnier than men. 

    So Jay, it’s women’s history month and we’ve gotten used to seeing your mum on your page. Can you tell me a little bit about your relationship with her? 

    When I think about my childhood, my mum happens to be the core focus of most of my memories. My parents split up when I was about six or seven years old, and my siblings and I had to move to a different part of Lagos with my mum. 

    She wasn’t always around because of work, but she was present and made sure she showed up for as many monumental events — birthdays, school graduations, etc. — as she could. I remember those memories fondly. 

    That’s so cute. How has this relationship evolved with time, especially now that you’ve grown into your own man?  

    I can confidently say it’s evolved as I’ve gotten older. Do you know those stories of parents who would horn coming back from work and all the children would start running helter-skelter? That was my mum. My siblings and I were terrified of my mum though we loved her deeply. She was a no-nonsense disciplinarian. 

    But I believe the turning point in our relationship happened when instead of asking for her permission somewhere, we asked a friend of hers to talk to her on our behalf. She was livid. I remember her crying and asking why we couldn’t talk to her directly. She realised she needed to take it easy on us. She remained a disciplinarian but also became our friend. 

    I mean, even till now, our relationship isn’t perfect. We still butt heads because we’re so similar. But the truth is, I’m just happy we have a functioning relationship. 

    LOL. What are some of the ways you and your mum are alike and how does that cause the squabbles you’ve mentioned? 

    First off, we’re both short and stubborn. LOL. We both have strong personalities that border on being domineering, so both of us want to be the right person all the time. I sometimes catch myself acting like my mum, and I’m genuinely shocked. It’s funny as hell. 

    How do both of you resolve issues? 

    It took going to university and becoming very religious for me to understand that I needed to become the bigger person in fights. I was stubborn and wicked, so this was a lot for me to process. Thankfully, I got into the preacher, Joyce Meyers, whose books and tapes just felt like therapy for me. I learnt to keep quiet whenever my mum made something an issue. I realised that if I allowed her to speak without arguing and turning it into a back and forth situation, then whatever the issue was would simmer down faster. I needed to learn how to let go and not make everything a big deal. 

    How about your dad, are both of you close? 

    He’s awesome! The only thing the separation did was put us in two different houses. Other than that, he has been a constant in our lives. He made sure my siblings and I were taken care of financially and he sees us often. He’s almost 90, so there were times when people mistake him for my grandfather, but he still puts in a lot of effort to show us we are important to him. One thing I absolutely love about him is how affirming he is. He’ll constantly say things like, “I love you”, “I’m here for you” and “I support you”. This is a rarity with Nigerian dads, so it feels really special. 

    You’d think something like having my parents go through a separation would affect me, but to the best of my knowledge, I don’t think it did. I’m lucky to still have two loving parents who showed up for me. I can’t even complain. 

    That being said, because I was with my mum more, she’s the person I’m closest to.  

    Did you ever fear people would call you a mummy’s boy? 

    Even though my mum had a strong personality, she made sure we had personalities of our own. She complimented us and made sure my siblings and I were confident enough to know that there was nothing we couldn’t do. We didn’t spend time thinking about other people’s thoughts about us. 

    This doesn’t mean I didn’t have to struggle with insecurities, because omo, I did back then and I still do now. 

    RELATED: Mama’s Boy? — Nigerian Men on Growing Up With Single Mothers

    Insecurities like?

    I’m very insecure about my height. I might make jokes about it, but deep down, I still can’t get over how small I look. 

    I also have this fear that people I’m interested in romantically would always pick a taller person over me. This fear is one of the reasons I avoided relationships for a long time. I don’t meet society’s “tall, dark and handsome” standards. 

    One other thing that people do that really gets to me is saying something like, “You’re so handsome. If only you were taller.” Why? That’s not a compliment, because I go back home and that’s all I can think about. Even though I’m confident and everyone knows this, height is something I’m still insecure about. 

    Has this fear of being left for a taller guy actually happened in your reality? 

    Not directly. Once, someone I was talking to kept going on and on about how they weren’t looking for a relationship. Fast forward to a while later and they randomly mention their new partner during a conversation. I did some digging and the guy is way taller than I am. The height may not have been a factor in their decision, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. Who knows? 

    Damn. Have you shared this with people you’re dating?

    No. I suck at communicating my emotions. I’m constantly talking all day every day for work, so just sitting to talk about myself feels like a lot. I’d also rather therapise myself — I can tell myself anything and also proffer solutions when necessary. I feel like people wouldn’t understand me. 

    Why do you feel that way? 

    Don’t get me wrong, I have supportive people in my life, but I don’t think they’d understand my struggles. It’s just an assumption that I’ve made. Maybe this assumption is because I’m afraid of uncomfortable situations. I’m thinking about it now. I just don’t want to burden people sha. 

    Is this a “being in control” thing? 

    Hmm. Now that you’ve said it, maybe. 

    I never wanted people to know I was insecure about anything, so I built a wall and overcompensated by being the best at things — the neatest in class, leader of the debate team etc. I wanted to be visible, but still hide the things I was insecure about. I wanted to limit just how much people knew about me. 

    Would you say your comedy stems from this feeling as well? The need to cover up insecurities? 

    I don’t think so, man. I do these videos because they make me happy, and I’ve always been a funny guy. The pandemic hit and I was jobless, so I decided to join TikTok like everyone else. My first video wasn’t a hit, but people I knew liked it and that encouraged me to make more. By my third video, I had consistent engagement and just never looked back. 

    I didn’t plan this. II didn’t know I’d have an audience, but it’s been three years since and I’m still here. 

    Love to see it! Does blowing on social media put you under pressure to be funny? 

    I don’t feel pressure at all. When I started getting traction, I told myself, “You started doing these videos because you were having a good time. Don’t lose that.” There are times when I don’t post, and it’s because I’m not feeling inspired. I want to have fun and the minute that stops happening, I take a step back. Once I find a video funny, I’ll post it. Some days I’ll have 20,000 views and other days, 4,000, but I don’t care about the numbers. I never did. 

    But in creating with brands, don’t you have to sacrifice your personal satisfaction sometimes? 

    My brand is funny and real. I don’t want my work to be mechanical. If people look at my page and it’s obvious I’m trying to sell them something, then I’ve failed. I say no when I don’t feel like a brand aligns with who I am and what my page is about. My page is personal to me because I also share tidbits of my personal life there as well.  

    Talking about sharing tidbits. We’ve gotten used to seeing your mum on your page. I’m assuming it’s your mum’s clothes you use in your skits. How is she handling your growing popularity? 

    She’s always complaining about me wearing and using her clothes for skits because people will see her in public and know they’ve seen the outfit before. But will I stop? No. In the videos I make of her, she looks like she’s not interested, but let me tell you something, she is. People stop her on the road to talk about my skits and gives me the gist with a smile. Now all she’s waiting for is for me to be filthy rich. 

    I noticed a majority of your characters are based on women. Why?

    I feel like without women, the world wouldn’t be funny. Women are just more interesting and funnier than men. I’m intrigued by women and maybe it’s because the women I grew up watching heavily influenced my life to a large degree. From preachers in the church to the musicians I had access to, a majority of my role models are women, so it just made sense to centre them in the stories I tell

    Men making skits dressed as women has become a major trend over the past few years. This has me thinking: is it that men can’t be funny as men? 

    I think men can be funny on their own, but personally, I think women are funnier. 

    It’s important to note that I’m not making fun of their experiences. Before I put a skit up, I try to get it vetted by women in my life who I look up to and respect. If they give it a go-ahead, fine. I want women to watch my skits and have a good time. I want them to appreciate my work. 

    Nice. So what are you looking forward to this year, anything exciting? 

    I definitely want to create and collaborate more. I also want to host shows surrounding serious and important conversations. I want to be more vocal in this hosting space. People don’t know this, but I have a journalism degree. I can’t waste my parents’ money. It’s time to use it. 

    ALSO READ: My Wife Is the Best Thing Nigeria Has Given Me — Man Like K10

  • My Work Will Outlive Me and That Makes Me Happy — Man Like Damola Adeyemi
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Damola Adeyemi sees the silver lining in everything. Working in Nigeria’s commercial capital, Lagos, where any and everything can go wrong, it’s easy to see why the Lagos-based stylist relies a lot on his humour. If you can laugh at your situation, it’d probably hurt less. Damola has become a well-known name in the fashion circuit for crafting the style for films and TV shows like Ayinla, Battleground, MTV Shuga, Desperate Housewives and Skinny Girl in Transit, as well as stars like Sharon Ooja, Toke Makinwa and Adesua Etomi-Wellington. So how does he manage all the moving parts of his career despite the chaos around him? 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about losing his mum, his dad walking out on him and his siblings, using fashion as a tool to deal with the pressures of being a Nigerian man and why he desperately needs to leave the single streets. 

    Can you tell me a moment from your childhood that stood out to you? 

    Losing my mum when I was 13, and my dad walked away right after she died. 

    What? 

    Growing up, I was a mummy’s boy so losing my mum was a major moment for me. She died on a Sunday, and I had seen her the Thursday before she passed. It was such a huge blow, I refused to see the body. I wanted to remember her alive, just as she was the last time I saw her. 

    And your dad just upped and left?

    LOL. It’s crazy because I couldn’t fully process her death until I got older. I got shipped to boarding school almost immediately, so I barely had time to settle into my new reality. My mum died in September, he dropped me off in school in January and I haven’t seen him since then. There was no real explanation. He just left me, my brother and my sister behind. 

    Wow.

    We all have villains in our life story, and I’ll say my dad was mine. Thankfully, my mum’s older brother stepped in and made sure we were well taken care of. So I eventually grew up with him and my cousins. We’re still a close-knit family to this day. 

    Did you make any attempts to find him? 

    I did right after secondary school. I hunted down his phone number and gave him a call. He picked up and I said, “Hi daddy, this is Damola”. Do you know what he said? “Damola, why are you just calling me now?” I had to end the call right there. I think he tried to call me back, but I didn’t pick up. I confided in my mum’s sister and she asked me to delete his number and keep what happened to myself. I think she was trying to protect me from getting disappointed by him. 

    This must’ve been hard for you.

    It was. I heard he passed away last year. I know it’s been a long time, and I should probably let it go, but I’m still angry at him. There are certain decisions I’ve made that can be traced back to him abandoning us. I don’t want to have kids, and I feel like it’s because I’m scared I’ll make the same mistakes he made. That’s scary. I don’t want to be my father’s child. But on a lighter note, I also want to party till I’m 70 without any extra baggage in the form of children. 

    They can be a lot to handle. I babysit my nieces once in a while and I’m like, “This can’t be me.”

    LOL. Talking about stepping up as a man, I’m curious about when you got your “I’m a man now” moment.

    Omo, the day I paid house rent for the first time. I had always lived with friends or my sister, so this was a huge step for me. I was now extra enough to buy a car around the same time. The next thing I knew, my cousins started taxing me. 

    That’s standard now. Damola funds!

    I don’t mind the black tax — as long as I have money sha. The moment they say, “hi”, my brain already knows where the conversation is going. I’ve been that cousin before, so I get it. Back in university, I used to call and disturb people for money too. I was very charming so no one could tell me no. Being good with words and my charm has helped me go a long way in my career as well. 

    Tell me a little bit about how you became “Damola the stylist”.

    I had always been a fashionable baby boy. My first major fashion entry was interning at Arise Fashion Week in 2012. This was how I met my mentor Bolaji Animashaun, who I followed as an assistant to Maltina Dance All Competition. From there, I started working with other stylists like Yolanda Okereke who introduced me to Skinny Girl in Transit. As part of a styling team, I went on to do other projects like Desperate Housewives for EbonyLife TV and Battleground for AfricaMagic. A year later, when I heard Skinny Girl in Transit was about to start a new season, I spoke to it’s showrunner and convinced her to make me  the head costumier. This was my first time working solo and heading a styling team of my own. Working on that show was an incredible experience because I was able to turn it into a fashion show, where everyone looked forward to what the characters would wear in every episode. I did that shit!

    I’m doing work that will outlive me and that makes me happy. 

    RELATED: Fashion Helps Me Manage My Anxiety — Man Like Denola Grey

    Is working in fashion really as glamorous as we (people on the outside) think it is? 

    Glamorous? It’s very chaotic. LOL. Working in fashion in this Lagos, omo, there’s nothing I haven’t seen. From the time a dispatch rider ran away with my clothes on the day of a shoot to the time I had to take a bike to third mainland bridge to pick up clothes. Sometimes, I find myself going to designers to make my case as to why they need to make or lend us clothes for a shoot or celebrity. It’s a lot of work and yet, as stylists, we still don’t get our flowers. 

    Damn. So what do you love about your job? 

    I love how my job keeps me busy. It’s a safe space for me, and a routine reduces the amount of time I have for rubbish. 

    But not having time can have its negative side. These days, I’m beginning to realise I don’t have time for some of the people in my life. I go online and there’s always one wedding or birthday I’ve missed because of work. 

    How do the people in your life handle your constant absence? 

    It’s tough, I’m sure. But I do my best to reach out and maintain a presence in their lives. I call and text a lot. I even reply to Instagram stories. Even though I’m not present physically, I want them to feel like I’m a part of their lives. 

    And romantic relationships? 

    Romance is a matter of spontaneity for me. If I meet you and we hit it off, then that’s good. If it’s a one-night stand, then great. LOL. But the truth is, Lagos hasn’t been fair to me relationship-wise. I’m handsome, rich and hardworking, how the hell am I still single? The math is not mathing. 

    Maybe it’s because you don’t have time. 

    Even though! Okay, I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’m trying hard enough. All I do is complain. But if it’s meant to be, then it’ll happen. 

    Fingers crossed. As a man in fashion, do you think times are changing with regards to how men express themselves through clothes? 

    Things are changing. Looking at the current landscape of fashion, we have people like Daniel Obasi doing big things as a stylist and creative director. The best part, these men all bring something different to the table. Back when Denola Grey started wearing belted suits, people were shocked. Now the boys are out here painting their nails, rocking mesh tops and expressing themselves however they want. The lines between menswear and womenswear are being blurred out, and I love to see it. 

    Same. But do you think men leaning towards what we’ve come to know as classic feminine aesthetics is now overplayed in fashion? 

    No. Men have always been fluid when it comes to fashion. If we look back at our parents’ style back in the 1970s and 1980s where men wore exaggerated bell bottoms, you’d see that what we now see as reserved for women, is what the men back then were rocking without a care in the world. We went through this gangster phase in the 1990s, and fashion became rigid. It’s good to see us get back our more flamboyant side as men. We don’t have to think too deeply about symbolism. Emotions should be the defining factor that influences our styles. 

    Thankfully, we also exist in a time where gender-bending role models like Kid Cudi are blurring the lines further, and reminding us that men dressing however they want — exploring masculinity and femininity — should be normal and not necessarily groundbreaking. 

    So what does it mean to be a Nigerian man living in Nigeria? 

    Double pressure. There’s a pressure that comes with being a man, and then there’s added pressure that comes with being a Nigerian man. Nigeria is unforgiving of men who aren’t successful. Like Yoruba people say, “Iwọ jẹ ọkunrin ti ko ni iṣẹ ṣẹ”. You can’t be a man and not have something [work] to do. 

    For us as Nigerian men, there’s this subtle rivalry where everyone feels the need to be more successful than the next man. We’re not trying to make it for ourselves, we’re doing it because we feel like we don’t have a choice. We live in fear that since the space for success is limited, there can only be one winner. I don’t even think it’s just a guy thing, it’s a Nigerian thing. We’re raised to believe that there can only be one winner. Everyone is under pressure to make it by any means necessary.

    How do you handle this pressure? 

    Work. I focus on working hard and killing it in my career. Since my focus is set on one thing, I’m able to ignore everything else. 

    I have a job that I love, and love from my family and friends. I’m happy.

    Amen to that. What are you looking forward to this year? 

    See, I hope I find love soon because the streets are lonely  AF. I’ve seen and done it all. Now I want to meet the bone of my bone and relax. 

    I’m putting you in my prayers. LOL

    CONTINUE READING: Men Can Be Both Masculine And Effeminate — Man Like Jerry Oputa

  • Unlike My Dad, I Want To Be Present in My Son’s Life — Man Like Ibrahim Suleiman
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Ibrahim Suleiman is booked and busy. Scheduling and rescheduling this interview, I got to understand that the actor most notable for roles on shows like Tinsel and The Olive lives a life that throws him between sets, with a small window of time left to spend with his wife, actress, Linda Ejiofor-Suleiman, and their 18 month-old son, Keon. But with a charismatic presence on screen and a career on the rise, it’s hard to believe that the former dancer had no intention of chasing life in front of the big screen. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about his stepping up to become his mum’s go-to-guy after his parents’ divorce, what being a dad has taught him about his strained relationship with his military dad and how his wife tricked him into becoming an actor. 

    Tell us about growing up. 

    I was born and raised in Kaduna and then Abuja. My two younger siblings and I were raised by my mum because my parents split up when I was six years old. At that age, I had to step up and become my mother’s closest confidant. She would tell me how she was dealing with everything and encouraged my siblings and I to talk about our emotions as well. According to her, If you feel or think it, you should also express it.

    I think she created this open communication channel as a coping mechanism, but it helped us grow emotionally. One thing I’m also grateful for is that, no matter how financially tough things got, we always had laughter and it’s something we still push for till this day. 

    Damn. What do you remember about their separation and the impression it left on you?  

    My parents got married when my mum was 21. As she got older, I think they just grew apart. I remember my dad was a funny guy who was good with kids. However, I also remember that he wasn’t really present in our lives. He was a military man who had to travel all the time, so there really wasn’t a lot of time for family. His absence is why I’ve made being a really present dad one of my priorities in life. I’ve grown to understand that my dad wasn’t a family man. For him, work came first and I can’t fault him for that because I understand now that he wasn’t built to be a family man. For him, work came first and there was nothing we could do about that.  

    You mentioned becoming your mum’s go-to-guy. What did that entail? 

    My mum was strong-willed, but having to go through a divorce at a young age took its toll. There were days when it was so bad, I’d wake up to her crying at night, and I’d just sit by her bed. She was open about her challenges and would talk to me about her plans and the things that scared her. All I could do was let her know I was there for her. One of the craziest things I remember is she used to show us her payslip at the end of the month, and we’d all gather around to calculate how to use it for all our costs.  That’s where I learnt how to live within my means. 

    That’s sad but wholesome. Back to your dad: how was your relationship with him after the divorce? 

    I mean we never had a relationship to begin with, so even though there are no hard feelings, we still don’t have one now. We call each other once in a while and we communicate, but that’s about it. We’re just two men from different generations who know and have mutual respect for each other. That’s all we have. 

    Talking about men and responsibilities, I’m curious about when it hit you that you were a man. 

    I’ve had several of those. There was the time I saved up enough money to pay for the NITEL phone bill to support my mother — she cried, but not after grilling me for hours to be sure I hadn’t stolen the money. 

    But I’ll say the most significant “man now” moment that changed my life was when my mum died. 

    I’m so sorry bro. 

    Thank you. That’s when I realised that I had become the unofficial leader and decision-maker in the family.  I didn’t have a safety net anymore. It was rough, but my siblings and I came out strong. Wow, it’s been seven years now… 

    My mum’s death also taught me about impact and posterity. During her wake, we met a lot of people who she had influenced in one way or the other through job opportunities or financial support. She wasn’t just looking out for the future of her children, she was also trying to leave a… Whew! I’m just going to say, she really tried. Her life taught me that it’s what you do for the community and people around you that outlives you, not what you do for yourself. I want to leave a legacy like that for my son. 

    That’s deep. Did your mum influence your creative journey in any way? 

    Yes. I grew up a lover of comic books and I remember she used to get them for me every Saturday. These comic books were my first introduction to being a creative because after a while, I developed an interest in illustrating comics of my own. I was so invested in it that I set out to study fine art in university. That didn’t happen because an uncle mentioned that I’d end up poor, and I developed cold feet. I settled on architecture because I thought it was the closest thing to fine art — it wasn’t. 

    My introduction to performing, on the other hand, happened while I was in university. I joined this dance crew in school called Soul Quest and eventually rose to become its lead choreographer. During my time with the crew, we won the very first Malta Guinness Street Dance Competition and from there I started choreographing adverts professionally for companies like MTN, GTBank and Guinness.  

    Acting was one thing that never crossed my mind. I knew it was too much work based on the stories of friends I had in the business, and I didn’t need that stress in my life. If I was going to make movies, it would be as a writer or director. But then one very beautiful girl conned me into recording an audition tape and now I’m an actor. 

    Ibrahim, abeg slow down and explain what you just said.

    LOL. So my wife, Linda Ejiofor-Suleiman — we weren’t married then — and a couple of my friends like Imoh Umoren and Nkiru Njoku told me to help them test a new camera they bought, but apparently, it was an audition tape. They sent it to Africa Magic, and that’s how I got a part on Tinsel.


    Even though the role was supposed to be for three weeks, I’ve been doing it for five years now. The craziest thing is now I love it so much because it challenges me  every day. I mean I get to work with so many talented people on screen and then watching the crew set up and get things running against all odds, those guys are the real heroes. Seeing all of this, It’s hard not to be inspired to put in your best. I respect the industry so much now that I’m in it. 

    That being said, outside acting, my goal now is to work on business projects my son can have a stake in when he’s older. I want his future safe and secure, whether I’m around or not. I’m sure you can hear him in the background making noise. Do you have kids? 

    Omo, Ibrahim, I’m young and poor abeg. 

    LOL. See, my brother, take your time! I wanted to get married at 28 and have kids at 30, but it just never happened. Looking back, I was ready financially, but definitely not mentally. I don’t think I had a strong sense of self at 28 or 30. It was when I was about 32 that I finally figured out myself. Truth is, when you’re ready, you’ll know. You’ll get up one day and ask, “Where dem dey buy ring?”

    I bind the spirit of wedding rings for now. Talking about your son, what’s the most interesting thing about being a dad? 

    Every day is a surprise bro! These kids grow really fast, and they’re tyrants who know what they’re doing. Because they figure out early how to make you bend to their will, you’ll bend the knee many times. With Keon, the most surprising thing for me is the look he has when he figures something out for the first time. I remember when he discovered how light switches work; he was so happy. Every time he discovers something new, I feel like my chest is about to explode. It’s the little things. 

    Another thing that will shock you is the way these small human beings poop. Their capability in this department will shock you. Being Keon’s dad has been the most exciting venture of my existence. 

    Awww. How did marriage change your outlook on life, and did it change again when you had your son? 

    I married the most genuine woman I know, and for the first time, I was taking up a responsibility that I chose. I didn’t choose to be a firstborn. I was grateful for the opportunity to guide my siblings, but that responsibility was handed to me. With marriage, I chose my own family. Getting married also taught me what it means to earn the right to take care of someone. For example, my wife doesn’t need me, but she lets me take care of her, and that’s an honour. 

    With Keon, it was more settling. I finally felt like I was on the right path. I also developed tunnel vision and now everything outside my wife and son is irrelevant to me. There’s a sense of calm that also comes with the anxiety of being a parent for the first time.

    What has your relationship with your son taught you about your relationship with your dad? 

    It is important to be present, available and selfless. While I don’t hold a grudge against my dad for not being any of these things, I want to be hands-on and present in the life of my son. I’m hoping that my son sees the effort I’m putting in and allows me to be a part of his life as well. I’m already learning so much from him, but I want to teach him so much as well. Hopefully, we’ll both meet in the middle. 

    That’s so cute, man. What would you want your son to take away from your life? 

    I want Keon to know it’s important to be humane to everyone around him. It’s something my mother taught me, and I hope he picks it up as well. I also want him to live each day knowing that he could be a better version of who he was yesterday. Above all, I want him to know God for himself and develop a relationship that isn’t tied to a man of God or church. 

    What are some of the exciting things you’re working on at the moment? 

    One cool thing going on in my life right now is NollyData, a start-up I launched with my friend, Chidinma Igbokweuche. It’s a site that allows creatives in Nollywood to staff their projects either in front or behind the camera. We’ve created a link for everyone in the industry and we’re super excited about all the possibilities it could bring. I just wrapped up a film, The Man for the Job, with Temi Otedola, directed by Niyi Akimolayan. I’m also shooting a new season of The Olive for Accelerate TV. And this is the third project I’ve done this year. There’s still going to be a lot to come and I’m excited about everything. 

    Come on, booked and busy. Can’t wait to talk about all these projects once they’re out.

    LOL. Be nice o. 

  • My Wife Is the Best Thing Nigeria Has Given Me — Man Like K10
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Koye Kekere Ekun first gained popularity making short Instagram skits while practising as a lawyer. Since bursting out onto the  entertainment scene, Koye, popularly known as “K10”, has made appearances in films like Namaste Wahala and Three Thieves, as well as shows like Inspector K, where he plays the titular character. Actor, comic, event host, content creator and now, husband, K10 juggles a lot, but how does he do it all? 

    In this special Valentine’s episode of Man Like, he talks about navigating life after moving out of his father’s house, the job that makes him the happiest,  going back to practising law after years working as a creative and how his wife is the best thing Nigeria has ever done for him. 

    K10, before we get into this, I need a list of all the jobs you have because I can’t keep up. 

    First and foremost, my main job is being a sweet boy. LOL. But seriously, I’m a lawyer by training, an actor, a content creator, a comedian and an event host. 

    Only you? In all this, I’m curious about when you got your “I’m a man now” moment.

    It has to be when I turned 30 and decided to move out of my parents’ house. Nothing triggered it, I just felt the need to be independent. I wanted to learn how to run a home and deal with bills on my own. I also wanted to know what it’d be like to build a relationship with whoever I decided to date within my own space and free from monitoring eyes. 

    LOL. Ater moving, what did you find out? 

    Living by yourself is freeing, but at the same time, I had to start dealing with stressful things I never interacted with before like electricity bills and Nigerian artisans that like to promise and fail. 

    The hardest part was food. In my parents’ house, I had guaranteed meals, but by myself? I had to learn responsibility and control. There I was, conscious of money, checking how many pieces of chicken I was eating.  The expenses I was dealing with made juggling these different creative outlets handy because money was coming in one way or the other. 

    Tell me about how you became a creative. 

    I know law is not a part of the creative scene, but it came first for me. Then at my old law firm, I started doing Instagram skits, which led to the content creation part of my career. 

    Funny story: I got worried people wouldn’t take me seriously as a lawyer after putting up my skits on Instagram, so I deleted my skits page after a while. It was my boss at the time who told me to bring it back because it showed that I was multifaceted, so shout out to him. From skits, I eventually transitioned to acting with my show Inspector K, and then event hosting followed. 

    Mad. With all these creative gigs, do you still have time to practice law? 

    The answer to this question a year ago would’ve been no, but I’m pivoting back to law with a firm I recently set up with a friend. 

    You’re successful at being a creative, why this pivot? 

    I’ve tried to shake off my law degree, but it’s something I feel like I started for a reason, and I’m not done with it yet. Now that I’m in the entertainment space, I can explore the combination of both in the form of entertainment law. 

    In the long run, practising law is something I’d like to do. Don’t expect to see me in court sha! 

    LOL. Content creation started as fun for you, but now it’s a business. How’s that been? 

    The way I approached it changed for sure. When it was a hobby, I did it whenever I felt like it. Now it’s a business so whether I like it or not, I have to produce content, especially when I’m working with clients who give me deliverables. Also, consistency is key. If you’re not putting out something new, there’s a high chance the buzz around you will fizzle out.

    That being said, I still enjoy it. I like that I can make people laugh, and the creating process still gives me joy. In a country like ours where there aren’t that many things to make you happy, that’s a plus. The feedback I get also makes the whole process fulfilling for me. 

    On the subject of Nigeria, how do you balance being funny in this country that’s always moving mad?  

    There’s definitely pressure to always have my funny button on.  When I first started, people would walk up to me and expect me to just have jokes ready for them as soon as they turned on their cameras. It was awkward, and I handled those instances awkwardly, but now I’m more comfortable navigating those situations. Sometimes, I have my jokes ready.

    But other times, finding  humour can be hard, especially in a country like ours where there are uncountable things competing to steal your joy. During the EndSARS protests, some people shared their views with humour, but I just couldn’t find a way to do the same and I’ve learnt that it’s fine. We deal with things in our own way. When there are less weighty events around me, the humour is everywhere. I love satire, and the real news in Nigeria already sounds like satire. 

    Of all your jobs, which one gives you the most joy and which stresses you out the most? 

    Acting and creating skits make me happy. I love how I get to explore emotions that might not come naturally to me in my daily life. You read a script and immediately start to think of ways you can be convincing in your delivery of your character, not you. That type of thing makes me happy. I’ve also been in a lot of comedies and have been lucky enough to work with directors who encourage me to improvise on set, and I think that’s when I do my best work. 

    The hardest part has to be practising law and hosting, especially when I have to host these big events with a lot of dignitaries with different titles and names. I remember there was a time I tried to be woke at an event, and it didn’t fly. 

    Woke? 

    Yes. I was announcing dignitaries at an event and saw a woman who was apparently the chairman of a company. In an effort to keep with the times, I referred to her as chairperson instead of chairman and she lost it. The moral of this story: know where to carry your wokeness to. Other than that, I don’t think I’ve made any serious blunder I couldn’t come back from. 

    I know Nigerians don’t like talking about money, but which one pays more? 

    Ahh! Currently, for me, it’s hosting. If you’re able to plug yourself in a way that you’re hosting something —  usually weddings —  every weekend, that’s some cool cash. 

    Talking about weddings, you recently joined the married men’s club. Tell me about your love story.  

    She was chasing me. 

    K10 abeg don’t lie. 

    LMAO. Meeting my wife was the best thing Nigeria has ever done for me. I saw her at an independence day event and was just like, “Who’s this damsel?” I didn’t speak to her that day, but we just kept running into each other after that. Finally, I did  at an event I hosted. I checked for her on Instagram that night, asked if she got home safely and we just started talking. 

    A couple of weeks later, she had an errand to run and even though I don’t like leaving my house, I offered to drive her on this errand. At that moment, I thought, “Ye, won ti get me”. I had turned into a Bolt driver. 

    The rest, they say, is history.

    So become a bolt driver? Got it. How did you know you were ready for marriage? 

    I didn’t necessarily know if I was ready for marriage as an institution, but I knew I had found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I also knew that if I was waiting for conditions to align, those things would never happen. Most of the time, we’re waiting to be financially capable, but when you hit your target, you end up getting a new one. It never ends. 

    I always wonder with proposals, what if she had said no? 

    She couldn’t have said no because our relationship has always been open and honest. She knew it was coming; she just didn’t know when in 2020 it would happen. Even with the ring, she had pointed out what she liked before I got it. We talked extensively about marriage.  

    You guys have been together for four years now. What’s a typical valentine’s day like for you? 

    Flowers, dinner, spa and sometimes a hotel or resort getaway type of thing. Nothing complicated. We also like food, so anything to do with food. I’m not particularly into Valentine’s, but I’ll do it and do it well. 

    Valentine’s Day means a lot of proposals are coming. What would you say to those of us trying to follow in your footsteps? 

    My wife is tired of me saying this, but genuinely liking the person you’re with is more important than love in a marriage. I think that’s what ensures longevity.

    What are you looking forward to this year? 

    My brother, myself and a friend of ours are currently writing a feature film which should be interesting. Generally, I want to take more risks and put myself out there some more. I also want to believe in the work that I’ve done as evidence that I can do more.

    And for your marriage? 

    For my marriage, I hope we grow from strength to strength. She’s an amazing businesswoman, and I hope her brand keeps smashing ceilings. I just want her to get everything she wants. 

    I asked what you wanted for the both of you and you turned into a prayer for your wife. You’re gone in this love thing. LOL. 

    She’s gotten me. But that’s what it’s about. 

    ,
  • I Had to Bet on Myself and Make It Work — Man Like Anthony Azekwoh
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    In 2020, Anthony Azekwoh’s life changed forever when his painting, The Red Man, became a viral sensation taking over social media and capturing the attention of the global art community. At 21 years old, Anthony has established himself as one of the biggest digital artists on the continent, selling out copies of his work worldwide and leading the conversation surrounding African art on the global NFT space. But with this success comes a lot of pressure, doubt and fear of being a “one-hit wonder”. 

    [newsletter]

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about dropping out of university despite his parents’ disapproval, surviving his first heartbreak, and how he tried but failed to recreate the magic of his most popular painting, The Red Man.

    Tell me about what it was like growing up? 

    I’d say I had a very quiet and uneventful childhood. I’m the eldest of three kids, we lived in Surulere, my school was on the same street as my house and we had a lot of family living around. It was a contained experience. 

    The only highlight I can think of was the time I got hit by a motorcycle when I was eight. 

    Omo, what happened? 

    So, there are two versions of this story. My version is that I was coming back from school with my mum and younger sister, and then this motorcycle came out of nowhere and hit me. The second version is from an uncle who lived on our street. He claims I ran towards the motorcycle, which I believe may have been possible, but I don’t want to believe it. LOL. I was rushed to the hospital, and they patched me up. After that, life continued and I’m here today. 

    I’m sorry, man. You talk about your university experiences on your blog. How did your time in Covenant University influence you?

    CU was hell. That place tested my physical and mental health. The rules were endless. From simple things like banning phones and jeans to using chapel attendance as a substitute for class attendance, they deliberately made life difficult when it didn’t need to be so.  The hardest part was knowing all they were putting us through was unnecessary and not being able to do anything about it. 

    Going there, I realised the only person I could trust with my life choices is me. I shouldn’t have attended the school or studied the course I did. Parents and authority figures are great, but they can be wrong sometimes. You need to stand up for yourself when necessary; Nigerian elders should be checked once in a while. 

    I’m dead. Have you ever had to stand up to an older person? 

    I do that all the time — I did it with my school. I wrote and published essays about my experience, and they didn’t take it lightly. They ended up suspending me twice. I did the same with my parents. I sat them down to have an important talk about letting me live my life. It was scary, but necessary.

    This question is for millenials: tell us how this conversation with your parents went. 

    They were hellbent on me becoming a chemical engineer, but I had been struggling with the course for five years and was over it. They didn’t listen. This same course had given me high blood pressure. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and I had tremors in both of my hands. I finally sat them down and  told them I was leaving for my sanity. 

    How did they react? 

    Mehn. I ended up running away and staying with a friend for a while until my mum came to pick me up for a meeting with my dad. They still maintained their stance, so I moved again. This time, I stayed in a hotel for about five weeks. 

    That time was hectic. I had other family members roasting me left, right and centre. Then I had to deal with a heartbreak and plan an exhibition around the same time as well. It was a tough time I won’t lie, but it was necessary for me and my family so we could eventually find a way to evolve our relationship. 

    We later got to the point where we all just calmed down, and my parents were like, “Okay, we don’t understand what you’re doing, but if this is what it has to be, then fine.” I think we just had to finally communicate effectively to move forward. 

    Whew! So you mentioned a heartbreak situation earlier, what was that about? 

    Well…

    I can sense the drama. 

    Over the years, I’d always said I couldn’t afford love or relationships because of work, school and just being busy. But the truth is, I was scared of being vulnerable. Anyway, I made the mistake of falling in love with someone I was in a situationship with. 

    Oh no. 

    Very big oh no. There are some things I never want to hear again, especially lines like, “Let’s see where it goes”. 

    It didn’t end the way I wanted because I don’t think they were on the same page as me. I also didn’t see the situation as clearly as I should have because I was deep in love. 

    Aww. How did this heartbreak affect your outlook on love and relationships? 

    My eyes opened and I became anti-everything love. With everything I was going through, the heartbreak took the longest, and I’ll say it hurt the most. It felt like someone punched me. I could’ve sworn it would be both of us to the end. Funny thing is, Omah Lay’s Understand became my jam because that was my life. I didn’t know I could care that much. To get over it, I spent time with my friends and by myself. It was important to reevaluate my self-worth.

    But now, I know it’s part of life. Sometimes, things don’t work out, but I can’t let that stop me. Waking up every day is a risk, yet we do it. Accepting heartbreak doesn’t mean I failed at love or a relationship. For the future of my romantic relationships, I’m letting life take the wheel. 

    Love that. In Nigeria, education is how people measure chance for success. Did you have doubts or fears about dropping out? 

    I weighed my options. The fear of living a miserable life doing a job I hated in a field I hated was bigger than any other fear. I know how easy it is to let the years pass because I had done that in university, and I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. To be fair, I had started to slowly establish myself as an artist and was making some money at the time. A part of me felt like If I didn’t take that step, I wouldn’t even have a future to begin with. I had to bet on myself and make it work. 

    Talking about things that worked out, your work, The Red Man, became this viral moment in 2020, how did that happen? 

    It’s crazy because I was just fucking around with this art thing and then one day I became an artist. The Red Man was one of those rare moments where I decided to work on something for myself, away from all the works that influenced me. I wasn’t trying to be like any of my art idols; it was something fun for me. I posted it online the next day, and the pain became this huge thing. 

    I wasn’t even looking at art as a career path. I had done smaller commissioned work and album covers, but I didn’t look at it as a potential primary source of income. 

    Mad. How did the love for The Red Man move from verbal appreciation to people wanting to buy copies? 

    It happened the same week. I was very blessed because most times people appreciate your work on Twitter and that’s it. But this time, I had people asking me for print copies. I fucked around, made some, and they sold out over and over. I then had to make my website and make everything a serious business.

    Mad. This NFT thing you’re doing, tell us about it. 

    The NFT thing also happened at the end of 2020. I remember this white man DMed me on Instagram asking if I was interested in exploring NFTs, and I was a bit hesitant because I felt something shady was about to happen. 

    I was wrong. He worked with an NFT platform and talked to me about crypto and NFTs. As I said, this was 2020, so in my head, I was like, “Omo, I don’t have money for crypto”. But I went with it and ended up planning my first NFT drop for 2021. 

    I had no idea what I was doing, but I just went with the flow. I didn’t want to waste an opportunity placed in front of me. Ten minutes into the NFT drop, someone messaged me on Twitter saying, “Congrats for selling out”. My first thought was maybe he was referring to print copies of my art, but apparently, we had sold out our NFTs. Everything worked out. 

    Funds! I’m curious to know, what does it feel like to have accomplished so much at 21? 

    I’d be lying if I said it was fun. A lot has happened and it’s all been back to back. Imagine you wake up in 2020 and you have all these papers to sign and shipments to coordinate and you just turned 20. Then 2021 came with its headaches. I dropped out of university and had to organise three events. As a human being, it’s a lot to go through at once. People look at me and expect that after all of this, my life would be solid and so I find it difficult to admit that it’s stressful. It’s just… there’s always something. 

    That sounds so tough. I hope it gets better. How are your parents reacting to all of this?

    This came out of the blues for me and I was the one it happened to, so you can imagine how confused they must be right now. In 2020 they saw me bringing all these paintings and then watched everything blow up. They both came for my exhibition, and I know it’s been interesting for them to watch in real-time. 

    What was the first thing you bought when you hammered?  

    Bro, I went to the supermarket and bought barbeque sauce and some groceries. LOL. In my house, my mum is the community manager, and we can’t just take or use anything anyhow, so for me, it was mad just getting to buy my own groceries. I look at my siblings like, “You guys have to use the family barbeque sauce? Eyah”. 

    I’ve always wondered if you’ve ever felt pressure to top or recreate The Red Man

    Do you know the deathless collection? 

    No. I don’t think so. 

    Exactly. LOL. I tried to get it back and trace my steps, but the more I tried, the more I failed. It’s like making art from a place of pride or trying to please everyone else; you just end up failing. I kept failing, and then one day I removed everyone from my mental workspace. I said fuck everyone! I needed to do something for myself and so I decided to paint a guy from a story I had read about: the African Samurai, Yasuke. When it dropped,it  went viral again. 

    Step 1 to success: Fuck everyone. Got it 

    LOL. It felt good to know I wasn’t a one painting wonder, but after that, I started thinking: “Maybe these are the only two paintings that would blow.” 

    My life is a constant circle of good things happening and me wondering if it’d be the last time.

    This question is for the fans: why do your paintings always look upset?

    I honestly don’t know. Maybe I’m upset. LOL. But these are questions I’m going to have to ask my therapist in the future. I think people look interesting when they’re not smiling. I won’t say they’re upset; I’ll just say they’re in-between emotions. They could be happy or distraught, who knows? But now that you’ve pointed it out, I’ll have to look into it. 

    This question is for fellow creatives: the whole hobby becoming a work thing, how does it work for you? 

    I’m trying to get back to a place where I did this for fun, but the deeper you go into this business, the harder it gets. My mum is the best cook I know, and I remember asking why she didn’t consider opening a restaurant and she said, “When money and work gets involved, it complicates everything.” I didn’t get it when I was younger, but now that it’s happened to me, I understand what she was saying. Something I did for the love of it has become the thing that provides food on my table.I’m constantly thinking about how to brand ideas and profitably communicate them. 

    I feel you. Looking forward to anything this 2022?

    I have a couple of work projects lined up, but the most important thing for me this year is to take a break. I do this thing where I say I’m taking a break, then somehow I get dragged back in. This time, I’m going to walk away from everything for a substantial amount of time. I have said and done enough, and it’s time to relax before I burnout. 

    I’m rooting for you.

    ,
  • “I’ve Learnt That Emotions Are Not My Enemy. It’s Okay to Be Angry” — Man Like Terna Iwar
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Terna Iwar has always been an elusive figure in Abuja’s burgeoning creative community. As a photographer and creative director, his work has been featured on i-D Magazine, Guardian UK and the New York Times. But years ago, alongside his brothers — Suté and Tay — Terna started what would later become a movement that became an important part what’s known as alté culture today: Bantu Collective. The label/creative space grew into a haven for creative misfits in Abuja catering to artists like Lady Donli, AYLØ and Terna’s brothers. 

    It wasn’t long until their unusual sounds reached Lagos, influencing other artists like Odunsi the Engine, Cruel Santino and Wavy The Creator. “I grew up isolated with my artistic leanings, but I knew there were a lot of people like me in Abuja, who were also unsure of what they wanted to do or how to approach their talents. Creating this space felt right,” he says. 

    Now, with the alternative movement influencing global pop culture, Terna sits with Zikoko for a different conversation, focusing on his views on masculinity. In this episode of Man Like, he talks about how moving to Lagos changed his life trajectory, his concerns about how people view masculinity today and why he made a major career switch from Business Computing to photography and art direction.

    [newsletter]

    Let’s talk about growing up. What was that like? 

    My dad was a police officer, which meant my family moved around a lot. I was born in Jos, spent my baby years in Markudi, moved to Lagos when I was seven years old and camped there for 10 years. 

    Lagos felt very interesting: there was this sense of being out of place, yet knowing it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.. We left Markudi, which felt like a safe playground at the time, and landed in a city that was fast-paced and dangerous. How dangerous? We lived in a government estate and the army came to kick us out.

    Ahh. How did we get here? 

    LOL. This happened when I was 14. The gist was that Obasanjo sold 1004, which was a government estate at the time, and they evicted everyone without creating a plan for where we were supposed to move to. Being evicted in that way and from that particular estate was a lot to process because this was a community where we all knew each other one way or the other, and the next thing, the army was kicking down doors asking us to leave. We eventually moved to Yaba and stayed with my uncle for a bit before we got a place of our own down the line. 

    How did this event and constantly moving affect yourself and your family? 

    I was too young to note how it affected me. But looking back, I know there aren’t that many people from my childhood that I’m still friends with today. It’s less than a handful. For my family, upheaval has always been part of the Nigerian lifestyle, so we just did our best not to dwell on it. I’m sure it had a ripple effect on us considering we were homeless and living with someone else at the time, but it could’ve been worse. 

    Damn. Through all of this, was there another moment from your childhood that also had a major impact on your life? 

    I’ve had plenty, but I’m not sure which one I should give. A dark or fluffy story?

    The dark one!

    LOL. Okay. Let me tell you about the time my school got burnt down and I had to hide in the ceiling. 

    Oh shit. Okay, let’s do the fluffy story.

    LOL. Too late. So in the very first year of my time in secondary school — I was 11 — the final year students fought with the teachers and decided to burn down the school’s administrative block. I had to hide in the ceiling of the boy’s hostel for my safety. 

    Sorry? 

    It felt like a movie.  Everything that followed was a bit fuzzy for me now, and I think that’s how I coped with the experience. I remember changing schools, going back home and only being able to eat cold boarding school style food for a long time. I was living like a savage, eating cold noodles and eba and concoction soups. I eventually got adjusted. 

    Omo. This has me thinking, when did it hit that you were “a man”? 

    I don’t know how it works for other people, but I never had one moment. There have been different points for sure: when I started driving and was picking my siblings from school, or my first job or my first rented apartment. Or maybe the time I had a pregnancy scare and I really had to sit and seriously contemplate fatherhood. However, I don’t think it’s a one-moment thing for me because even now, I’m still learning. It’s not stagnant.

    In your learning process, what’s one lesson that has stuck with you? 

    I’ve learnt that my emotions are not my enemy. It’s the biggest lesson I’ve learnt over the years. 

    What did you have to unlearn? 

    That being stoic doesn’t always give the results you hope for. Being stoic creates space for you to deny the totality of who you are as a man and as a human being. We are all thinking and feeling creatures, and for the longest time, I fell into this stereotype of suppressing my emotional range. When I would feel angry, I would put a tight leash on my anger. But sometimes, you just have to be angry. 

    Being stoic can be useful and will carry you through a lot of tough times, but you know what they say about too much of anything…

    How has this lesson come in handy in your day-to-day life? 

    It helps in moments where I have anxiety. Ordinarily, I’d just shut it down and compartmentalise, but more recently, I try to sit down with it and figure out where it’s coming from. By the time I figure that out, I’m no longer anxious. 

    Nice. For you, what would you say is the scariest part about navigating masculinity in Nigeria?

    The scariest part is that everyone has different ideas about what masculinity should be, and it becomes a thing when you don’t fit into this idea someone else has created. 

    I liked being in the kitchen a lot when I was younger because I liked cooking. I remember an uncle visiting at the time made it his job to point out that boys were not supposed to be in the kitchen. Even at that age, I knew it was bullshit. 

    I also think that we’re a traumatised nation and that also affects how masculinity manifests itself and is talked about. We live in a country where governance and economic systems are failing, you add that to the many social issues we have and it becomes a potent cocktail for rewarding bad behaviour. A lot of the ways we are raised as Nigerian men doesn’t allow for reflection, healing and reconciliation.   

    Do you think as Nigerian men, we have evolved with the times? 

    Hmmmm.What a lot of men hold up as the pinnacle of masculinity; always being strong, holding everything together etc, hold us back from not just re-examining what being a man is, but also what it could be. 

    I think most women are very aware of not just what they are in society but where they could be. It’s very powerful. Nobody  grows without honest reflection.

    You talk about “re-examining what masculinity could be”. What are the possibilities for you? 

    For me, I want to be healthy — physically and mentally. I’ve learnt that hurt people hurt people. If you’ve been traumatised your whole life, whether you’re a guy or girl, not passing that trauma on takes a lot of work. 

    This makes sense. Do you mind telling me how you process trauma? 

    Introspection, meditation, journalling, affirmations and facing my problems instead of running from them. The journalling part is important for me because it can be meditative, introspective and provide a platform to work through thorny problems for me. Be sure to keep people around you to keep you grounded. That helps too. 

    Thank you for that. Talking about journeys, I’m curious about your creative story? 

    Growing up, I was attracted to both the sciences and the arts. Even though I did a lot of sciences up to the university level, I always tried to explore my artistic side: writing, drawing, sculpting, clay work and music.

    I picked up photography in university. It allowed me to tap into both my scientific and artistic inclinations. For the science part, you need to know about angles, light, weather, the technicalities of the camera itself, etcetera. On the art end, you’re producing something visually pleasing, and hopefully, if you put a lot of thought into it, people see it and it sparks something. I also did a bit of graphic and website design when I was in school. 

    How did you manage everything with school? 

    Did I manage? That’s the question. LOL. I’ve never particularly been enthused with school. The first time I actually had a good time when it came to school was when I left university after studying Business Computing and Digital Media to go to Art School for photography. I try not to keep that many regrets, but a minor regret of mine was not pursuing art from the jump. 

    How did your parents take this career pivot? 

    They were not happy, but they’re also not the type to not stand in your way once you can prove you’ve done the homework and are determined.

    Cool. So what projects are you working on for the new year?

    Well, first I guess it would be to put out more work. A lot of people would say I’m incognito on social media. This year I want to share more of my work. I also have several personal projects I’m working through.

    Nice. Can’t wait to see them!

  • “Seeing My Parents Go Through Disappointment Inspired Me To Be Independent” — Man Like Ebuka Nwobu
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Ebuka Nwobu, a creative producer at Ladder, Lex & Booker (LL&B). His production credits include Tem’s Damages and Crazy Tins, BOJ’s Abracadabra, Rema’s Dumebi and OdunsiTheEngine’s Star Signs. He has also produced ads for Martell, Jameson and PiggyBank. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about how his family’s financial background affects his relationship with money, taking responsibility as the first son, being a Christian in “uncool” times and how money stops nonsense. 

    What was growing up like for you? 

    I grew up the first son in a family of six boys from a lower middle-class family. My childhood was peculiar because even though we lived in a rough area and didn’t have any money, because our parents sheltered us from our surroundings, we ended up being ajebutters. Thinking back, I only started speaking pidgin English after I was done with secondary school. My parents had shielded us from our immediate environment for so long, I didn’t even know how to speak pidgin English. 

    If I didn’t tell you about our financial situation growing up, looking at me, you wouldn’t know. 

    Through all of this, was there a moment that stood out to you in your childhood? 

    Being Nigerian and with everyone wanting a grass to grace story, I’m tempted to mention the time our landlord chased us outside the house. But when I think about it, what stood out was all the times richer family members disappointed my parents despite making promises to help us. Seeing my parents go through all of that helped me realise that no one can change my situation, just me. I’m independent because of my background and I believe that anything I need, I’d just have to get it for myself. 

    This is why we should eat the rich. What was it like being the first of six boys? 

    I was very aware of my responsibilities from a young age. My mum had my fourth brother when I was in primary school, and I became responsible for taking my two immediate younger brothers on a bus to school. Even though they gave us money, I would convince passengers to lap us so I could take the money back home to my parents. They didn’t ask me to do this, but I knew I needed to do all I could to make things easier for them. 

    Even now, I have to be exemplary to my siblings. I have to show them through my own life that they can do anything they want. 

    That sounds like a lot of pressure.

    Not for me. It’s all I’ve ever known. I was born into it. 

    Coming from this background, I’m curious about your relationship with Money

    Other people might not get this, but I don’t rate money. I’ve seen it come and go so I don’t place too much importance on it. I have significantly more money than my family did when we were young, but it hasn’t changed anything about me. I know that if I lose everything today, I’ll be fine. I do my best to control money, as opposed to letting it control me. Don’t get me wrong, I save, but when it’s time to spend, I’ll do it well because this life is one. 

    All right. Diving into your creative work, what would you say is the most challenging thing about being a Nigerian creative? 

    Executing ideas in a place where everything seems to be designed to make you fail. To be a creative in Nigeria, you have to be adaptable and flexible in a way that constantly puts your creativity to the test. You’re trying to be creative, while also creatively tackling all the problems that keep rearing their heads. 

    Problems? 

    Mehn, we’ve had to rewrite stories on set because of one disappointment or the other and there was also the time we had to go hunting for generators on a rainy night in the middle of covid curfew because PHCN took our power and our backup generator said “not today”. Another crazy instance was the time we had to escape a gang war which broke out right in the middle of our shoot, all because a fight scene in the video inspired an actual fight. 

    Nigeria and wahala. LOL. How do you cope?

    It’s God. Being a Christian makes it easier because I know that according to the bible, there’s nothing I can’t do. 

    Interesting. How did you find God and faith? 

    Finding God for me wasn’t like a big-bang type event. It happened over a period of time and is in fact still happening. The university was my first major exploration of independence — financially, physically and spiritually. I went to church because I wanted to, not because I was made to. During this time, I’d be in moments of worship so intense, there was no doubt in my heart that I was communing with a power beyond the natural. I’d learn spiritual principles, practice them and see physical results. I’d be in meditation and gain supernatural insight on various issues. I’d be filled with anxiety, pray about it and gain peace that can’t be explained by I couldn’t explain rationally. 

    Finding God for me was and still is the sum of all these experiences. 

    Tell me about being a Christian in the creative space

    For me, I subscribe to a personal relationship with God through Jesus Christ. It’s useful to me because it’s how I make sense of the world. I believe we all need a foundation of some sort and the bible is the through which I gauge my identity. 

    My parents started my Christian foundation. But while your parents might try to indoctrinate you, you have to know God for yourself. If not, it’s not real. 

    Have you ever struggled with your faith? 

    Earlier in my journey, I struggled a lot with ideas propagated by Christianity. Some were things touted by preachers and some others were things from the Bible itself. Atheists have questions about God, I have asked God these questions too. Questions are important because they help us grow and unlearn as Christians. I find answers by asking the Holy Spirit to give me insight. I sought to know for myself what the truth was, not what the pastor said, but what God himself was saying. 

    Spirituality is my secret weapon to defeat everything that life throws against me. Even if I find out later that God is not real, it would still have been beneficial to me because it gave me the vim to face life. 

    What are some things you’ve had to unlearn in your Christian journey? 

    There’s a culture around Christianity that is indoctrinated into us as we grow in Nigeria. It’s very judgemental and exclusionary. For example, a lot of people justify homophobia using Christianity, but my personal study of the Bible informs my current belief that gay people are indeed born gay. I used to argue that gay people chose to be gay until I read Matthew 19:12 and it answered the question conclusively for me. There’s also the guilt trip approach to getting people to contribute money to churches. It doesn’t work for me anymore because I know my blessings are not tied to my offerings. 

    We exist in a time where Christianity is not necessarily “cool” on the internet. Has this influenced your relationship with God? 

    No. My Christianity revolves around my personal relationship with God and I believe that’s something that most people lack these days. For you to believe in something, you need to test it and have a personal conviction about it. There’s nothing wrong with embracing vibrations, astrology etcetera, the important question is do you actually feel a connection to these things or are you just repeating cool catchphrases off the internet? If you’re following the herd, then you’re not that different from your parents who embraced Christianity without asking questions or discovering Christ themselves. 

    I’d also like to point out that spirituality is not about what’s “cool”, it’s about what works for you. 

    That makes sense. 

    I’m far from a perfect Christian. Even when I’m doing bad things, I know I’m doing bad things, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a Christian. I’m still in the process of growth. It’s just like me being an Igbo guy and doing something “un-Igbo”. It doesn’t change that my name is still Chukwuebuka Nwobu. We’re all learning. 

    LOL. You know what? Fair. Your style is sick, but I’m curious to know if there have been weird reactions to the way you dress?

    Choosing to grow locs is not something that makes my mum happy. LOL. But I just like to do whatever I want to do. As a human being and as a Christian, I believe I have the liberty to express myself the way I want to as long as it doesn’t harm anyone. For example, I went to my village for a funeral with my hair and earrings and my dad’s siblings had a lot to say. I, however, noticed that people couldn’t say it to me directly because where there’s perceived success, you can almost get away with anything. They think I’m rich and they don’t want to offend me. Rules are for broke people in Nigeria. 

    If you no get money, hide your face. LOL. What gives you joy these days? 

    I like partying with my bros and working on all my shoots. To be honest, my general dispensation is joyful. 

    Come through, black boy joy. As a big fan of your work, I’m curious about your creative journey. 

    Most people don’t know this, but I used to be in a boy band in university. LOL. 

    Stop

    Yeah. I was in this church creative crew and someone randomly asked me to drop a verse on a song they were rehearsing at the time and that’s how I became a rapper. Leaving university, I realised that to push my songs, I would need money and I didn’t have it. I eventually had to pivot towards something else I was good at and that was content creation, something I had been doing since I was a child organizing dramas in church. 

    My brothers, my friends and I decided we would create shows similar to what we saw on channels like E! and put them on YouTube. We actually interviewed Falz, Yemi Alade and a couple of other stars at the time. Coordinating the interviews sparked my interest in presenting and I started auditioning for presenting jobs around Lagos. To be honest, I wasn’t very good. I had jitters and it would affect my speech. It was at one of the auditions I bombed that I actually pitched myself as a producer to the company. I showed them the things we had done on YouTube and they hired me. 

    Mad o! 

    After a while, I left there to work freelance before getting a job at Mavin as the Head of Visual Production. Leaving Mavin, I decided to start and focus on my production company Ladder, Lex & Booker (LLB).

    What’s the best part of your job? 

    It’s funny because what I hate the most is what I also love the most about it — the rush. There’s something beautiful about bringing something to life amidst all the chaos. There’s a saying that creatives are the godliest because when you think about it, the first thing God did was create. Even if I wasn’t making money, it’s something I’d still do. 

    You’ve been doing this for a while now, what is your idea of success? 

    I think I’m already successful. I’m not at the apex of my career, but I’m making money from something I enjoy. To me, that’s success. For my company, I want people to look at our work and say we brought the Nigerian film industry to a level at par with global standards. I also want people to say we created opportunities for creatives in Nigeria. 

    I’m rooting for you.

  • I Learnt Restraint From Getting Bullied – Man Like Yemi Davis
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Yemi Davis, an art director, 3D designer and all-round baby boy. He has been known to collaborate on multiple projects with international brands like British Telecom, USAID, Georgetown University and First Bank, as he continues to explore the unique intersection between art and technology. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about developing a thick skin after being bullied because of his albinism, growing up as a true omo pastor, how math stopped him from studying robotics and the mental health concern that drove him to therapy. 

    So Yemi, tell me, what was growing up like?

    Growing up was interesting. I’ve got albinism, and when I was younger, I was bullied and called all sorts of names like afin, oyinbo or yellow man. It would annoy the hell out of me. I was also a cry baby so once I heard these names, serious gnashing of teeth. My parents would tell me that these people didn’t know better and crying all the time was not a practical solution. I eventually learnt how to be comfortable with my skin enough to drown out everybody else and their opinions. 

    I’m curious as to how you found this confidence. 

    A lot of what I’ve said happened in primary school, but I think I started discovering my confidence halfway through secondary school. This doesn’t mean I wasn’t bullied, I just found a way to trick myself into not thinking too much about it. Plus, there were a lot more pressing issues I needed to focus on. 

    What other pressing issues again? 

    So I was absolutely terrible at schoolwork. Fun fact, I failed the math section of my GSCE twice. You know the usual grades are like “A” through to “F”? Well, I got a “U”, which is worse than an “F”. It literally means ungraded, like it wasn’t worth being graded. You might as well not have written anything on the exam paper. How I got into university was a miracle. 

    The only subjects I was good at were ICT, English and Fine Art. Everything else, zero. My teachers kept telling me there was no way I could make it on just those three subjects, but I already sort of knew the trajectory I wanted my life and career to take. Thankfully, it was in line with the subjects I was good at. 

    You already knew what you wanted to do with your life in secondary school? Must be nice. 

    I mean at the time I wanted to study robotics.

    Say what now? 

    I know right. A lot of people didn’t even know what it was at the time. Even my physics teacher was confused. To quote that song, “No one knows what it is, but it’s provocative. It gets the people going.” 

    So Tony Stark, did you do the robotics thing? 

    The first time I wrote the GSCEs, I went with my dad to collect the result and as soon as we got there, I knew I had failed. I did well, generally, but math was just my problem. My dad was the first one to see the result and I could smell the disappointment in the air. So basically I had to redo it again and this time, I realised that the sciences were not for me. I loved tech and art, so I had to figure out a way to combine both. I was looking through university brochures and found a course called Graphic Design and New Media, which basically combined the things I love. I looked through the requirements, wrote the second exam and even though I failed math again, I scaled through and got into university. Now, I’m a graduate working as an art director and 3D designer. 

    Whew. I hate to take you back, but how did the bullying you experienced affect you? 

    Getting bullied has been a somewhat good and bad experience for me. Good because I now have restraint for certain situations and can handle myself when I’m upset. But at the same time, things that should make me upset tend to just fly over my head. So it’s either I don’t react or I fail to react with the level of intensity I should. 

    Are there any scenarios you’d like to share? 

    So when I found out I got a 2:2 for my bachelors, I didn’t feel too bad about it. If anything, it further reinforced the fact that I’m not the best at academics, which honestly, I had come to terms with. Would it have been nice to get a better grade? Yes. But the people who truly mattered (my family) were okay with it and that’s all that mattered. 

    Normally, I’d be upset about something like that, but what I had gone through turned me into one of those “carpe diem” types of people, so I just try to enjoy the moment and avoid letting negative things get to me, especially when they’re beyond my control.

    Wow. But how does this affect your relationship with people? 

    So I started seeing a therapist when I was in university abroad. I would say I’ve improved quite a bit since that time and now I’m better at feeling things. 

    As men, we rarely talk about our mental health so I’m intrigued as to what inspired your decision to seek therapy. 

    When I got to university in the UK, everything felt unreal. There were certain times at night where I felt like I was observing myself from outside my own body and genuinely thought I was losing my mind. I used to run to my friends house because I was scared. I later found this toll free number on campus you could call in when you’re feeling depressed or suicidal. I reached out to them and they suggested I see a therapist who diagnosed me with Depersonalisation Disorder

    Getting this diagnosis helped me really understand what I was going through because while I had been to England frequently as a child, this was my first time here alone and I was just 18 years old. The disorder happens to people when they are placed in places foreign to them and at the time, England was a strange place for me. It was this new environment that was cold as fuck with so many white people in one place. I assumed I had everything under control and I was handling the move well, but apparently I was not. Over time, all my suppressed emotions eventually bubbled up to the surface. 

    Omo. 

    First day at therapy, and I didn’t know when I started crying. Big man like me? I hadn’t cried in years, and I was just there bawling my eyes out. I remember my therapist telling me it was normal to cry. It was a nice opportunity to be vulnerable and also understand that it’s okay to be that open and honest. 

    How long were you in therapy for? 

    About two months. 

    When did you realise you didn’t need it anymore? 

    So it wasn’t two months back to back, but more like two months worth of therapy spread over a longer period. I stopped going in my second year of university because I felt like I had found my footing. 

    Have you ever felt the need to go back? 

    Yes. I probably will, but I’ve been putting it off. Right now, I’m focused on work. I’ve been having this creative block and my head just feels clogged up. I’m sure it’s due to emotions or feelings I haven’t dealt with. I’ll go back soon.

    You’ve spoken about being bullied in Nigeria. What was your experience like in the UK? 

    Much better. I was intentional about having a fresh start and getting to experience other cultures and people. I had friends from all over, and I remember we had this thing where about six of us from different countries would hang out in a flat and basically make food from our different countries. That’s how I got to try sadza, which is like Fufu from Zimbabwe. It was a nice experience. 

    See enjoyment. 

    LOL. Then again, I had some people calling me “Yam” instead of Yemi. I mean, it’s a four letter word. How hard could it be? 

    Screaming. Have you ever had a “I’m a man now” moment? 

    That would be when I had to move out of the school dormitory and look for a place of my own after my first year in university. Damn. House hunting was not fun. It was crazy because I was still a stranger in this country, but I had to go get a place, sort out guarantors and sign a lease. It was tedious and made me realise that I was no longer a kid. I had moved from my parents’ house to a dorm and now I had to get a house where all the responsibilities fell on my head. My parents supported with rent, but they still had their own shit in Nigeria, so I eventually got a job to supplement for months when I didn’t get money from them. 

    What job did you get? 

    I remember my first job was with Dominos. I didn’t work in the main shop; instead, they made me dress up in a pizza box and just dance on the streets for like five or six hours.  

    This visual is killing me. Your current career path isn’t the most conventional. How did you sell it to your parents? 

    They didn’t respond to it badly because even as a child, my dad had a printing press and I used to kick it with the designers. I remember I was already panicking and thinking about how I would convince them, but they were like, “If you’ve prayed about it and it’s what God wants you to do, then fine.” 

    Awww. So are your parents religious? 

    Ahhhhhhh. Both my parents are ministers in church. 

    So you’re like a real omo pastor? 

    Yeah. When we were younger, we had to go to church. It wasn’t even a question. There was no “My tummy is paining me” or “I have a headache”. As long as you could physically walk, you would be in church. It was interesting and annoying because while everyone left after service, my family would stay back for hundreds of meetings. Church closed at 12 p.m., but we would be there till about 4 p.m. Also, as ministers, my parents got transferred a couple of times, and I didn’t always like the new church. 

    How did all this moving around affect you? 

    I missed my friends. We would move to a church, I would make friends and then we would move again. Honestly, it was chaotic. I was able to still keep in touch with some of them via Facebook and BBM because at that time, I wasn’t allowed to go out often. 

    Why weren’t you going out?  

    For the most part I didn’t do much going out other than the cinema or to see my friends, and even with these hangouts, I had to book an appointment with my dad days ahead and tell him whose house I was going to and how long I’d be there for. Even after all of this, he would still find a way to scatter everything on that day. That’s why when I got my freedom in university, I went out and did the most. Now my eye don tear. 

    LOL. Now that you’re a proper adult, what’s your relationship with your parents like? 

    We’re pretty good now. My dad supports my endeavors, while my mum is the person I go to when it comes to discussing intimate things. 

    Cool. Talking about spicy intimate things, what’s the dating scene like for you? 

    Honestly, I’m just being a baby boy, chilling and hanging out with people. My last relationship during the pandemic and she was absolutely wonderful. After that, I just decided to take out time for myself to heal, but now I’m at the point where I can try again. 

    If you don’t mind me asking, why did it end? 

    It wasn’t anything crazy, but it’s between the both of us, so I’d rather not get into it. 

    Fair. So Yemi has entered the streets? 

    Yes o. 

    But more specifically, has your albinism affected your dating life? 

    Honestly… I don’t think it has.

    Great. So it’s a new year, what are you excited about? 

    I definitely want to put out a lot more personal projects this year. Last year was focused on client work, and I didnt get enough time to explore my personal ideas. I also want to put myself out there this year. People always say they don’t know what I look like, and now I’m posting more pictures so they can finally see my face. 

    Love that for you!

  • I Would’ve Made Better Choices if My Dad Was Still Here — Man Like Yela
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Afolabi “Yela” Aiyela, a songwriter, musician and branding executive. As an artist, his songs have been featured on various Nollywood productions including Skinny Girl in Transit, Banana Island Ghost, Phases and Little Black Book. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about building his relationship with his dad after his parent’s separation, running away from home, how being an upcoming artist can get depressing and why women are more valuable than men. 

    Tell me a little bit about your childhood. 

    My childhood was a bit lonely. My parents went their separate ways when I was a baby, so it was just me and my mum for the most part. At some point, she sensed my loneliness, and we started having a lot of cousins and other family members around, but deep down, it never fully filled the void I felt. Then I found music.

    These cousins I had around me always had a lot of CDs at the time and listening to their records helped introduce me to a different world through music. There was Madonna, Brandy, Mariah and all these artists. I ended up immersing myself in the music and that was a way I could escape the loneliness I was experiencing.  It was also where my love for being a musician started. I realised I could sing like these guys I was listening to. 

    I’m curious about your relationship with your dad since you spent all this time with your mum. . . 

    Oh, my dad is late now. He died of pancreatic cancer in 2010. 

    So sorry about that. 

    It’s fine. 2010 was a long time ago. For most of his life, I only visited him during holidays. Luckily for me, I got to spend more time with him during the last six years of his life. In 2004, I left my mum in Abuja where she lived and moved in with my dad in Lagos. During that time, we got to build a relationship we didn’t have before. I love that I can look back and say he wasn’t a stranger in my life, that he was present. Although it was weird at first because I felt like I was rewriting certain wrongs. 

    What wrongs? 

    My dad thought I’d be like his other kids. My step-siblings gave my dad a lot of stress. They would steal, bash his car and just other juvenile stuff. In their defense, it was a reaction to him being militant and overly strict with them. 

    He had this fear that I would be just like them, but I just wasn’t into all that unnecessary drama. We got along once he realised that. 

    Interesting. What motivated the Lagos move though? 

    Errrrrrmmmmm. . . I ran away. 

    Oh? 

    While my dad had his own issues, my mum was super strict. Looking back, I’ll say it shaped me and gave me the sense of discipline I have today, but back then, I hated it. She would always say the reason she was hard on me was that she didn’t want me to be a spoiled only child. I understood that, but as I got older, it started to get to me. I hadn’t given her any trouble, so I wondered why she was on my case. I remember the tipping point being a fight we had about how I wanted to spend the money an aunt had gifted me. So my mum wanted to save it, but I wanted to spend it on new uniforms or something like that. It was petty, but we were already fighting a lot, so the next day I hopped on a bus to Lagos and didn’t look back. 

    See vex. How did she take it? 

    It was hard for her because I had spent most of my life with her, but I just needed to get away. I believe it was the right choice because I eventually spent time with him before he passed. 

    Did you talk to your dad about his initial absence from your life? 

    We spoke a ton. I finally got to see things from both sides. They were both stubborn and everyone wanted to be right. When they met, my mum was already independent with a career of her own, and from my understanding, the marriage was born out of a need to settle down, not necessarily love. Over time, the issues became a lot and they just figured out it wasn’t worth it anymore. Talking to my dad helped me understand this. 

    Getting to know him later in life, how did his death affect you?

    I remember I was writing my finals, so no one wanted to tell me he had cancer. I came back home on the assumption that he had gone for his routine check-up only to hear the news. He came back about three weeks later in a wheelchair, a shadow of the man I knew. We spent a lot of time together as I was the only child around. Up until the day he died, I assumed he was getting better. It was shocking to wake up and realise he had died overnight. Took me a while to get over it, but I still miss him and it hits me hard because I know if he were alive, a lot of things wouldn’t have happened to me. 

    Like what? 

    He believed in my music from the jump, unlike my mum who got into it like two years ago. He always told me I had something in me. I wish he was there to hold my hand and guide me through most of my decisions. I was very spontaneous in my 20s. I mean, I quit a bank job, bought a ticket and moved to South Africa to chase music. He would’ve helped me make better choices. 

    Being spontaneous when you were younger, do you regret anything? 

    I believe in fate, where every experience is a building block that gets you to where you’re supposed to be. I don’t regret anything. I might have had to struggle with depression because my dreams were not taking off as I’d expected, but I’m still thankful for it because it’s all part of my journey. 

    How did you envision your career and how did it fall short of your expectations? 

    My music has always been different. I love experimenting with sounds, and I remember someone from the radio telling me my sound was too “alternative” and “experimental” for Nigeria. No one knew where to put me. This is why I moved to South Africa. When I got there, I realised that while they liked my music, the industry was stacked against outsiders. I went to almost every record label, but the problem was they didn’t want to work with someone who didn’t have papers. Don’t get me wrong, I was more than willing to go through the process of getting my papers, but these people made what was supposed to be a simple process extremely difficult for Nigerians. I left when I realised my visa was about to expire, I had no plans of living there as a fugitive. 

    I moved back to Nigeria with the mindset of making music for radio because while art is art, it’s also a product. Even after tweaking my sound, my music still wasn’t connecting with the level of intensity I expected it to. I would work really hard and put something out, only for it to fall flat or die slowly. It really messed with my mind. I started to doubt myself and ask if maybe my friends and family had just overhyped my talent. It was a lot because I was doing everything myself, being my manager, publicist, etc. These things would send me into bouts of depression over a long period of time. 

    How did you work through this? 

    Music. It’s crazy, but my love for music was my way out. The truth is, even if I never make music again, I’m still a fan of it. I listen to music all the time and it’s what helps me cope and heal. There’s magic in good music. 

    True that. Talking about good music, how do you maintain honesty in your work? 

    When it comes to my music, I don’t want a project that just goes in one direction, I want a myriad of emotions. I want people to listen, cry and dance with me. To do this, I have to be as honest as possible. For Antisocial, which people refer to as my biggest song, I wrote about how I was feeling at the time and it surprisingly connected with a lot of people. I just try to write from a realistic place that is true to my experience. 

    What do you strive for as a musician? 

    I try to be my most authentic self; sonically and personally. 

    Love that. I’m curious to get your thoughts on the concept of masculinity? 

    I’ve experienced masculinity in different stages. There’s the idea that was drilled into me as a child — being impenetrable and seizing control. We were taught to see women as objects when in reality, they should be on a higher ranking than men. They do so many things that men can’t even fathom or attempt. They literally create life and we can’t do that. The masculinity I recognise today is different. For one, it understands the power of vulnerability. There is a major difference between what society described as masculinity back then and what it is today. That being said, I believe it’s our responsibility as men today to note these differences, unlearn the past, listen to the conversations being had and evolve with the times. 

    How did you get to recognise this? 

    I exposed myself to a lot of information. I listen to different perspectives and experiences outside of my own, both in real life and through the media. Doing this, especially since I spent a lot of time  consuming foreign media, I got to spot the disparities between what we see here in Nigeria and what an ideal society looks like. In Nigeria, we’re still shocked when we see women in certain positions of power, when globally, women have been wearing many hats for a long time. The narratives aren’t balanced out. In the end, everything boils down to how you want to be treated as a human being. It doesn’t hurt to treat others the same. Also, everything is easy to learn now. We can access information and be better. 

    I totally agree. So what are you looking forward to in the new year? 

    Honestly, I just want to be happy, well and in control of whatever narrative my life takes this year. It doesn’t matter if it’s at work or in my relationships.  

    ,
  • Man Like: The 5 Most Read Stories of 2021
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    2021 has officially wrapped and we’re now in a brand new year. Just like with everyone else, a new year sparks a new beginning for the Man Like team and Zikoko general. We‘re excited to explore new subjects, shed light on uncomfortable issues and most importantly, start poignant conversations through the stories we’ll tell this year. But before we dive right in, let’s take one final look at the past with the stories you enjoyed reading and sharing in 2021. 

    I Quit Banking to Become a Bartender — Man Like Dare Aderinokun

    It’s hard not to draw inspiration from Dare’s story, especially now when we’re all making new year resolutions and making plans for the future. Not only did this Man Like subject deviate from the career path his family mapped out for him, but he did this knowing he still had to cater to two young children who depended on him. Did this risk pay off? Well, you’ll have to find out here

    Growing Up as a Man in Nigeria Requires a lot of Work — Man Like Adekunle Gold

    From moving out of his parent’s house at 25 to becoming a pandemic daddy, Adekunle Gold gave us full access to his evolution into AG Baby. In this episode of Man Like, our fave also talks about the new and experimental AG Baby fashion and why being a man in Nigeria is not beans at all. Read AG’s Man Like interview here

    People are Afraid of What They Don’t Understand — Man Like Osunniyi

    When you think “Chief priest”, you immediately imagine an older, grey-haired man in traditional garb offering advice to a king or something (blame Nollywood). However, in this episode of Man Like, we are introduced to Osunniyi, a 30-year old Ifá priest who became an Oluwo (Chief priest) at just 23. Read his insightful story here.  

    Fashion Helps Me Manage My Anxiety Man Like Denola Grey

    Denola Grey? Anxiety? Those are two things we didn’t expect in the same sentence, especially when you consider his almost larger-than-life social media persona. Talking to Man Like about life when the cameras are off, Denola explains the important role fashion plays in his life, as well as the need to curate friends that get and support you. Read his interesting story here

    Masculinity is a Tool to Be Used Responsibly — Man Like Justin Irabor 

    In this episode of Man Like, we talk to a Zikoko OG and all-around tech baddie, Justin Irabor popularly known as The Vunderkind. He talks to us about growing up independent, the unique thing that brings him joy, his fear of coasting through life and finally, his ideologies about masculinity. Take a deep dive into Justin’s mind here.

  • Man Like: 7 Must-Read Stories of 2021
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    As we slowly say goodbye to 2021 and brace ourselves for a new year, we decided to compile a list of some of our favorite Man Like moments of the year. From navigating fatherhood and career pivots to surviving secondary school bullies and mental health struggles, these stories cut across different parts of the male Nigerian experience. 

    Chess Saved My Life — Man Like Tunde Onakoya

    The subject of today’s Man Like is Tunde Onakoya, a national chess master and the founder of the Chess in Slums project. He talks about a hard and poor childhood, his initially difficult relationship with his father and the impact he’s made with the Chess in Slums programme.

    We all love feel-good stories that inspire us to be better and Tunde’s story happens to fit the bill. Coming from a family that could barely afford to pay his school fees, this Man Like subject has gone on to inspire and impact the lives of other young Nigerians through his Chess in Slums project. 

    Nothing Prepares You For Fatherhood — Man Like Olanrewaju

    The subject of today’s “Man Like” is Olanrewaju, the head of TC Insights — a research group that gathers data on startups in Africa, and uses the data to provide insights for stakeholders. He talks to us about the sacrifices of fatherhood, the influence of his parents in his life’s journey and what men should know before getting married. 

    We know diapers and school fees are very expensive at the moment, but something about Olanrewaju’s story has us ready to become someone’s daddy. Yes, we know it’s not easy, but we still want to take risk and succeed. 

    I Quit Banking to Become a Bartender — Man Like Dare Aderinokun

    This week’s Man Like is Dare Aderinokun, a 34-year-old Nigerian man who went from being a banker to a bartender. He talks about making this career switch, his impostor syndrome and internal conflict around being the provider and how this change is improving his relationship with his kids.

    Making a career switch from banking to bartending in your 30s is not something most Nigerians would do or encourage. However, this Man Like subject did it anyway. Here, he talks honestly about finding joy and how his decision affected the people around him, especially his children. 

    The Men I Drink Beer With Show Up For Me — Man Like Muyiwa

    The subject of today’s “Man Like” is Muyiwa. He’s a writer and business mogul. He tells us why men should live intentionally, the role of friendship in his life, and his beer journeys.

    It’s not every day we get to talk about male friendships. In an open conversation about accountability and navigating life, Muyiwa talks about his tribe of friends, beer-loving men who are always willing to drop everything to show up for him no matter what. Love it.

    Being Bullied In Secondary School Caused My Depression – Man Like Michael Ejoor

    Today’s Man Like is Michael Ejoor, an actor and singer known for his roles on AfricaMagic’s Tinsel and Unbroken. In this episode of Man Like, he talks about dealing with paralysis as a child, being bullied in secondary school and how that sent him into depression, surviving a devastating suicide attempt and how his job helps him escape his problems. 

    Everyone was talking about bullying this year and Michael’s story is one that struck us. From his condition as a child to navigating the effects of the traumatic events he experienced in secondary school, reading this interview, I couldn’t help but appreciate Michael’s vulnerability and strength. 

    People Are Afraid Of What They Don’t Understand — Man Like Osunniyi

    Today’s Man Like is Osunniyi, a 30-year old Ifá priest and the Oluwo (Chief priest) of Ile Oluwo Idingbe Temple. He discusses growing up with his grandfather, how he became the youngest-ever Oluwo at the age of 23 and the stigmatisation of traditional religions in Nigeria.

    One of the standout stories for me this year, Osunniyi talks to Man Like about life as an Ifa priest, people’s reaction to his choice and how it affects his dating life. I couldn’t stop reading until I was done.

    Women Taught Me How To Be A Man — Man Like Desmond Vincent

    The subject of today’s “Man Like” is Desmond, a renowned writer. He talks about not fitting into the masculine stereotype, being raised by women, and how his anxiety about money pushes him. 

    Society places a lot on the importance of father figures, but if there’s one thing I took away from Desmond’s story, it’s that sometimes all you have are the women who inspire you and honestly, that’s fine.

  • It’s Important to Set Boundaries With Your Parents — Man Like Yinka Bernie
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Yinka Bernie, a singer, producer and all-around creative whose work has been a crucial part of Nigeria’s alté scene since its SoundCloud days. He is also the producer behind the viral Amaarae song, Sad Girlz Luv Money. Over the years, he has also worked with other artists Lady Donli and Ogranya. 

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about being a problem child, pivoting from music to tech, the relationship that changed his life and whether or not he’d ever consider coming back to music full time. 

    When would you say you had your “man now” moment? 

    I’ll say about two years ago when I turned 22 and started paying my brother’s allowance. 

    You started paying someone’s allowance at 22? 

    Yes. LOL. So I had just started to work and earn money when my parents got on my case to start taking financial responsibilities. After thinking about it for a while, I decided I’d start paying my younger brother’s allowance. Although it wasn’t life-changing money, my parents knew I was making a lot of money for my age and I could afford it. 

    You told your parents how much you were earning? Can never be me. 

    I didn’t tell them, they could see it. I switched up my lifestyle and they could tell I was making money. I was buying a lot of stuff, leaving the house a lot and I wasn’t asking them for allowance. 

    Not asking for money is where you messed up.

    Right? But I also remember they had stopped sending me allowance in university too. After I sold my first beat and told my father how much I made, the next thing I knew, my allowance started coming late and over time it just stopped completely. I was about 20 years old at the time. 

    Did you ask them or did you just chest it? 

    I asked, but they were like, “You’re making money. What do you need our money for?” This didn’t mean that they didn’t give me money when I was very broke. But yes, they stopped the allowance because they knew I was making money. 

    All this money talk has me thinking you might be the first child. 

    You’re very correct. 

    Ah. Now I get it. So what were you like as the leader of the pack? 

    Mehn, being the first, I don’t think I was a good example to my siblings when we were growing up. I’ve grown and unlearnt some things and now I’m decent, but if we check two or three years ago, it wasn’t the same. 

    How?

    I was doing random shit like fighting my parents a lot, not coming back home, etc. And even growing up, I was the problem child spoiling everything in my path. I remember the time I just jumped on the center table in our living room and broke it. All my siblings were jumping on the cushion but I chose that table and broke it. I chopped beating that day and rightfully so. 

    You clearly chose violence. What’s your relationship with your parents like? 

    As you can imagine, it wasn’t good back then because I was very mischievous. However, as I’ve gotten older, we’ve become really cool. They’re like my guys now. 

    Mad!

    But I had to change it for them and set clear boundaries before they could finally understand and accept me as a grown adult. It took a lot of conflict and arguments to get to this point. I don’t think people realise the importance of setting boundaries with your parents. It’s always parents setting rules we should follow. I had to be firm and now they know not to call me at certain times or ask me really personal questions. 

    But how did you enforce these boundaries? 

    We had a lot of back and forth. They’d raise their voices and I’d raise mine too. In the end, everyone will calm down and look at the situation. Other parents might have thrown their kids out, but my parents knew that threat wouldn’t work on me because I could afford a place if I wanted to. Somehow, we reached a meeting point after I got them to understand that our generations are different and things have changed. 

    With some parents still being sceptical about music as a career choice, I’m curious as to whether that came up in your many conversations? 

    Obviously! So I studied Computer Technology in university and they wanted me to pursue it career-wise because the music wouldn’t be sustainable. I got where they were coming from because I had gauged the situation myself and chasing music alone wouldn’t have worked out well financially. Although my heart was still in music, I took a break in 2018, learnt how to code and started exploring other options. I eventually got a tech job in July 2019 and I liked it. 

    What was it like switching to tech? 

    It was seamless and fun for me. I didn’t have to dress “corporate”. Plus, it was a creative design job so it wasn’t boring at all. 

    Are you still there? 

    Oh it was an internship, but now I’m with Flutterwave.

    Unicorn status? You’re a proper tech bro o

    LOL 

    I know you’ve started making music again, how do you combine it with your job? 

    I started producing when I was about 16 or 17 so I can confidently say I’ve mastered how to work well and fast. It’s not difficult for me. I just open my laptop; make a beat or record vocals depending on what I’m working on. Taking out time away from music in 2018, I was able to find my footing and now I can afford to do music properly. 

    Found your footing how? 

    During the period I was away, I found a system that works for me. This time around, I’ve learnt how to delegate. I know I can do everything myself, but I don’t have to. I’m delegating so I don’t start to stress out. 

    Will you ever do music full-time again? 

    Yes. I plan on retiring from nine to five soon. It’s been great gaining experience from these cool tech companies, but in time, I’ll pick something less time-consuming so I can go back to music. Music has brought me this far and I know it’ll take me farther. I’m still young, so I have time to explore anything I want to do. 

    Talking about your music, a lot of it revolves around navigating relationships. Can you tell me about one relationship that left a major impression on you? 

    I haven’t really dated that much. 

    Okay, maybe I have. LOL. So I was in this relationship with some babe who was so dishonest, the relationship left me scarred. What started as me trying to empathise with a situation she was going through, ended up with us being in a relationship. There was a lot of manipulation and I just felt stuck most of the time. That relationship changed my perception of love and how it manifests. It taught me that you could love someone and still be in an unhealthy relationship. It was hard for me to trust any girl after that. When they talk, I assume they’re lying. But I’m working on my trust issues so I can allow my other relationships to flourish. 

    Wow. But how are you working on the trust thing? 

    The first step for me was acknowledging that I had a problem. I’m also trying to be optimistic in my relationships by giving people the benefit of a doubt when they speak. But last last, people are funny. I’ll just do my best to trust the process and let the relationship go in whatever direction it wants to go. I’m also conscious about being with someone who understands that it’s not about them, it’s just something I have to work on. 

    I feel you. Still on the music, your song It’s Ok to Cry reminded us about the importance of connecting to our feelings. What inspired the song and when was the last time you cried? 

    The ironic thing is I don’t express myself that much, so I don’t cry often. 

    So you scammed us? 

    LOL. No. I’m still trying to figure out how to connect to my emotions on that level, but I understand the concept sha. Whether or not I cry, I still feel like I’m just a medium sharing messages from a greater source (I don’t know who or what). I’m happy people can relate to the song. When I think about it, making the song was random. Although I was in a really happy place in my life mentally, I was still able to reflect on the darkness of the previous year (2019) where I was stuck while all my friends were making progress. 

    Stuck how? 

    It was when I took a break from music to focus on getting a job. Most of my friends who had left university with me were doing jobs they liked and being great at it. I was just there in one place, trying to figure my life out. It was really hard for me. 

    Damn. So since you’re not a crier, I’m curious to know how you handle these dark days?

    I talk to people a lot. I express my emotions by sharing what I’m going through. I talk to my sister and most of my friends. It’s just about talking to the people I trust. 

    Talking about dark places, what are some of the challenges you’ve observed when it comes to navigating masculinity in Nigeria? 

    There’s an information gap. We don’t really groom male children in Nigeria. There isn’t a lot of focus on developing men mentally and socially and that’s why we have so much violence. There isn’t a lot of information and people don’t know better. Our parents didn’t teach us a lot and now we have to rely on the internet. 

    What is something you’ve had to unlearn with the presence of new information?

    Over time, I’ve come to understand equality more. Growing up, I didn’t really notice the disparities in how men and women were treated by society. I’ve come to understand this gap better as I’ve gotten older. 

    Nice. So looking at your life now, what brings you joy? 

    My babe. Lol 

    Single people in the mud. 

    She gives me joy. 

    Congratulations o!


    Come watch Yinka Bernie perform at Z! Fest on the 26th of November 2022.

  • I Enjoyed Being an Only Child – Man Like Lateef Saka
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Lateef Saka, an investment banker and skincare content creator who has created content for brands like Cantu, The Body Shop and Murad. You might also recognise him from this viral video

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about how he navigates an industry that is predominantly white and female, helping young people find their footing in the UK through his mentorship programme and the difference between Lagos and London men. 

    What was growing up like for you? 

    I grew up between London and Lagos. I was sort of an only child, which made me super independent real quick. 

    Hold up. What do you mean “sort of” an only child?

    I’m my mom’s only child, not my dad’s. I interacted with my step-siblings, but we all lived in different houses, so it wasn’t the same. 

    To be honest, I enjoyed being an only child. Listening to cousins and friends complain about things like: “I couldn’t do X because my sibling wanted to do a different thing” or “Someone took my CapriSonne from the fridge”, made me happy I didn’t have to deal with that stress. 

    LOL.

    Yes. Can you imagine if someone took a drink I kept in the fridge? Everyone in that house will fall. I don’t have time for nonsense. 

    Scrim. Between London and Lagos, where did you spend the bulk of your time as a child? 

    Most of my time was in London and I loved it. I got to meet a diverse group of people and try out things. For example, when I was about six years old, I became interested in sculpting after seeing a sculptor on TV. Though I didn’t end up becoming a sculptor, I was able to take sculpting lessons because I was in London. 

    I’m curious about what else you tried because you were interested… 

    LOL. Off the top of my head, I’ve tried out writing, coding, photography and even ballet. An only child never really has anyone to show them how to test the waters of life. That forced me to be driven and accountable from a young age. I try not to limit myself when it comes to trying new things. 

    I’ve also come to realise that the limitations we put on ourselves are oftentimes linked to our socio-economic backgrounds. Our financial backgrounds sometimes prevent us from exploring other interests to see if there’s something else we might be good at.I’ve seen young people push their hobbies to the side with tunnel vision on academia and the jobs that come with it. They view these jobs as the only way to make money, when some of our hobbies could be profitable as well. Mentoring young black men and women is something I became very passionate about after this discovery.

    How did you get into mentoring? 

    When you live in the UK, you notice the systematic and institutional barriers against young black people — from education and housing to the justice system through the police. We have students who aren’t reaching their potential not because they’re not intelligent but because they’re not fully aware of the system and the opportunities available to them. I want to show them that they have options. 

    I had mentors myself, and it was beneficial to my journey. From big things like helping me network to silly things like choosing what tie to wear to an interview, my mentors were really helpful. People fail to understand the impact mentors could have on your life. 

    Okay, I think I need a mentor ASAP. I’m curious. How you define masculinity. 

    I don’t think there’s one way to be a man. Masculinity is always changing and evolving. Remember when men used to wear wigs and tights like 200 years ago? To me, masculinity is a construct that manifests in different men in different ways. Everyone should respect that. 

    I feel you. How does it manifest in you? 

    Wow. To be honest, I’ve never really sat down to think about it. You caught me with this question. 

    LOL. What are your thoughts on how masculinity is evolving in today’s world? 

    I mentor young men, and they could be quite impressionable. Some have this idea of what masculinity should look like and those who don’t fit into that mold  become easy targets for bullies. Sometimes it’s the minute things like when one of my mentees didn’t like football — frankly, I don’t know when football became the A to Z of masculinity) — or when one of them wore a pink tie to prom, and it became a big deal.

    There are two ways to go about toxic masculinity, have the conversation and try to change things, or uphold the current standard. I try to do the former. I talk to them about these misconceptions. We might not talk about the full breadth of masculinity, but we discuss toxic masculinity.  

    A pink tie? 

    As ridiculous as it might sound, it happens. Masculinity can be different depending on where you are in the world. And sometimes, it changes even within the same country. Now, I have an anecdotal example based on what I’ve seen travelling within Nigeria. In the north, I’ve seen two men walking and holding hands and no one seemed to care. Can two men hold hands in the south? Well, I doubt that. 

    That’s interesting. Any difference between Lagos and London men? 

    One thing I’ve noticed is that Lagos men rarely fight with each other like men in the UK. 

    Are you sure about that? 

    Yes. LOL. But this is a much-nuanced conversation. Men exhibit violence depending on what their immediate society finds appropriate. I look at London and Lagos (Nigeria) through the lens of consequences. Misogyny and homophobia are rampant in Nigeria because there’s little to no consequence attached to them. In the UK, these consequences might not be immediate or obvious, but there’s no denying that they exist. Men in the UK tend to be politically correct just so they don’t tarnish their image or face negative consequences. This in no way absolves or makes them better than Nigeria-based men. Everyone is just trying to tread the appropriate lines. 

    I’d like to know if you’ve ever felt “less” of a man. 

    Not particularly, but when I started creating skincare content, I realised there was this misconception that skincare is strictly for women. It didn’t make me feel a way because I knew it was false, but it was still weird. 

    How did you get into creating content for skincare? 

    For me, the whole skincare content creation thing started because I was on a personal skincare journey myself. When I hit 21, I started getting facial hair and with shaving came awful razor bumps. Now I have always been interested in the science of skincare and had taken courses on my own, so I started looking for solutions to my skin issues. Over time, comments about my skin went from from “You have good skin” to “What do you use?” I got tired of answering the questions individually, so I decided to mass-produce content and share the knowledge I had gained. 

    What was your family’s reaction to Lateef the skincare content creator?

    My mum said “Okay”. She knows I’m very organised, and it wouldn’t affect my regular job, so there was no need to protest. I also know her well enough to understand how best to breach these types of topics. 

    Talking about jobs, how do you juggle all that’s going on in your orbit? 

    My brother, I have like 16 planners. I don’t commit to anything unless I’m 100% percent certain that I can see it through. For example, for the past two months, I haven’t put out anything due to the pressure of work and mentoring. I try to be real with myself with what I can or cannot do. 

    What’s a valuable lesson you’ve learnt now that you wish you knew when you were younger? 

    I’ve learnt that it’s really important to protect your peace. When I was younger, I don’t think I fully understood this because I was  always trying to make everyone happy.  It was the little things like going out with people when in actuality, I just want to stay home. 

    Finally, what would you say are the necessary things needed to live a happy life? 

    Money 

    Lol. Just money? 

    LMAO. What else? God and yeah, that’s it I guess. 

    Lateef, there’s like family and friends o.

    Oh yeah. Money, God, family and friends. Thank you for reminding me because you know sometimes they slip your mind. But money doesn’t slip my mind because there’s always a bill to be paid, and I can’t carry last. 

  • Being Bullied In Secondary School Caused My Depression – Man Like Michael Ejoor
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Michael Ejoor, an actor and singer known for his roles on AfricaMagic’s Tinsel and Unbroken.

    In this episode of Man Like, he talks about dealing with paralysis as a child, being bullied in secondary school and how that sent him into depression, surviving a devastating suicide attempt and how his job helps him escape his problems. 

    Can you tell me about a moment from your childhood that stood out to you? 

    When I was six, I got diagnosed with something called Guillain-Barre syndrome. It’s a disease that affects the central nervous system, so I was paralysed for over a year. 

    What? I’m so sorry. 

    When I look back, I realise my paralysis was a gradual process. It started when my teachers complained about my handwriting becoming harder to read. I couldn’t hold my pencils properly. Then before I knew It, I started limping. 

    Didn’t your parents notice? 

    I remember my mum telling my dad that I was limping at the time, but he was so busy, I don’t think he took it seriously. When he spoke to me about it, I also told it wasn’t serious. It wasn’t until I couldn’t walk or use my arms completely that it finally hit us all that it was real. 

    Damn. So how did you guys cope? 

    My mum was really scared. I don’t think I’d ever seen her cry so much in my entire life. As a proper Nigerian mother, she called pastors and all sorts of people to pray for or pray with me. There were so many pastors coming in and out of our house, it was insane. I was always on the floor with people joining hands in a circle and praying for me. 

    How about your dad? 

    He didn’t really show a lot of emotion in public at the time, but I’m sure he must’ve in private. He put on a brave face for the family. 

    Suddenly not being able to walk must have been tough for you as a child. 

    Oh yes. At the time I loved playing football and it crushed me every time I saw people playing football while I sat in a wheelchair. I mean, a part of me was hopeful that I’d walk again, but it still hurt not being able to do so at that moment. 

    How were you able to walk again? 

    Something interesting happened. My family moved to Germany and were there for almost a year consulting with doctors. I was poked and prodded, and I think they even put me on a clinical trial at some point. To be honest, they did a lot before they gave up and decided that I should be moved to a care home. According to their tests, there was no life in my legs, which meant no hope. 

    Ah? 

    At that point, I was also sick and tired of being in a hospital. Even though they had given up on me, I knew I was going to walk again.  

    So you didn’t move to the care home? 

    No. I randomly started walking again. 

    What! How? 

    We were in our flat in Munich, and my little sisters were playing with my wheelchair. For some reason, I just really wanted to push it with them. I still don’t have an explanation for it to this day, but I just got up and took a few steps. Obviously, they weren’t strong and I had to hold on to the wall for support, but they were steps nonetheless. And from then on, I just started to practice and learn how to walk. I grew up a firm believer in God, and I believe he changed my story. The doctors had even said it’d affect my brain and I wouldn’t be able to process things, but I ended up graduating with a first-class in university, and here I am chatting away and being an absolute nuisance. 

    Ah mad! How did your parents react when they found out? 

    I can’t express how happy they were. LOL.

    There was a glitch where I stopped walking the day we were supposed to fly back to Nigeria, and my mum didn’t shake. She was like, “You’ve walked before; you’ll walk again.”

    Tell me about your parents. What’s your relationship with them like? 

    I’m my mum’s only son, so my mum and I are close.  She’s so cool. I was 15 the first time I went to a club, and I didn’t sneak out because she just let me go. Years later, I asked her why she did that, and she said she knew she had raised me well. 

    I didn’t connect much with my dad growing up. He was just this guy I called “dad”. We’re cool now though. 

    How did that happen? 

    I honestly don’t know. It was almost like we just started talking one day and never stopped. I think I grew up and realised what being a Nigerian man was like and understood how men were raised to exist in a certain way. For example, how many people have heard the words “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” from their fathers? Everybody puts up their dad’s picture on father’s day, but if you ask them about things that have to do with one-on-one time, a majority don’t have that. People just expect fathers to be that way.

    I also figured that if I wanted a relationship with this man, I had to be open to understanding where he was coming from. 

    That’s deep. Still on fatherhood and by extension manhood, can you tell me about a turning point in your life that defined your idea of what manhood means? 

    I would say coming to terms with my mental health struggles. I’m clinically diagnosed with depression, and I’ve had to live on anti-depressants for many years. 

    I’m sorry. When did you get your diagnosis? 

    I got diagnosed in 2011 when I was 23 years old. It started when I went to boarding school in Nigeria and was bullied heavily. One time, I was literally thrown down a flight of stairs, and another time, someone put a knife to my neck. 

    That’s insane. 

    It really affected me and changed my outlook on life. I would wake up and wish I had died in my sleep. My parents started wondering why my mood was erratic and why I stayed away from other people.  I had moments where I would constantly just sit in the dark and there were other times where I cut myself. But they didn’t find out why. I was on antidepressants for over five years. 

    I’ll say coming to terms with my struggles helped me define my manhood. It helped me understand that I didn’t have to be strong; I could break if I needed to. 

    You spoke about growing up christian. How did this affect your diagnosis? 

    People are told that as soon as you find Jesus, your life will be perfect. But even Jesus admits that we will go through troubles. I don’t walk around thinking because I’m a Christian everything will work out for me. But one thing I’ve come to understand is, when there’s a setback,  I’ll be better for it in the end and there’s a reason it’s happening. 

    We decided I should see a professional when I attempted suicide. 

    I’m so sorry about that. 

    It’s all right. I was in a bad place. I did crack, got drunk and overdosed on a bunch of pills. They had to pump my stomach to take out over 40 pills. I was so embarrassed because when I woke up, the first face I saw was my mother’s. You’d expect panic, fear or disappointment, but her face was blank. I couldn’t help but think of all the emotions she had gone through before this. The look on her face hurt more than anything. To be honest, I was also thinking, “Why didn’t this work so it’ll all be over?”  

    It can’t be easy going through this and holding on to a career that demands that you throw yourself into a wide variety of emotions over and over again. How do you cope? 

    I tell myself I’m normal. Society and my mind might try to tell me otherwise, but I’m normal. Nature has just made me super hyper-attuned with my emotions. There are times when handling everything gets really difficult. I had a mental breakdown which led to a seizure right before a premiere once. I should have stayed back home, but I told myself, “Pick yourself up.” In the end, I left the premiere giddy, without the burden of what I had previously experienced. 

    Looking at that night, I will say my work helps me manage my depression. I love being an actor; I escape the noise in my head when I become someone else. 

    That’s an interesting way to experience work. We’ve spoken about navigating your career, how about relationships? 

    Omo, I just ate breakfast recently. I haven’t been very lucky with relationships. 

    Ah! Why? 

    LMAO. Maybe I have a bad character. 

    Lol. But seriously, why? 

    I think it’s the right person, wrong timing. I also feel like I have commitment issues. That’s all I will say

    Hopefully your future bae doesn’t see this. 

    Please, they should read it and know now. LOL.

    You did an interview with Funmi Iyanda where you went public with your mental health story. Coming from a society where this isn’t really talked about, how did that feel?

    It was scary. I almost pulled out that day, but I’m a man of my word and that’s the only reason I went through with it. I was scared that people would treat me differently once they found out. I was also scared it would affect my career.

    In retrospect, I would do it over and over again. I saw all the people it helped and to be honest, I haven’t gotten any negative backlash, at least not to my face. Yes, one day it might come up when someone is trying to drag me, but I don’t care. The feedback I’ve gotten so far is that Nigerians can be kind. 

    For my final question, I’d like to know your greatest fear. 

    My greatest fear is never making an impact despite all the things I’ve had to go through in life. I don’t want to believe I’d go through everything in my life for it to not have any meaning. God please.

  • I Feel Like 60% of a Man — Man Like Duktor Sett
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Saviour “Duktor Sett” Ezeoke, a musical artist and producer. He talks to us about growing up as a sheltered child in Jos during the crisis, escaping through music, working on one of the biggest albums of 2020 and facing his feelings when things get tough.   

    What was growing up like? 

    I grew up in a barracks in Jos, Plateau state. I used to think my life was really hard because my dad never allowed us out to play or make friends. I also didn’t have toys or anything, so all I had access to were the musical instruments in my living room. That’s how I got introduced to music. 

    But as a child you need friends, didn’t this affect that? 

    To an extent, it did. As an adult, I still don’t have a lot of friends and I feel weird about that. But I took away this confidence that I don’t need anyone but myself. I’m a one-man army. 

    You mentioned Jos. If you don’t mind me asking, were you there during the crisis? If you were, how did you cope? 

    I was. It was scary to see people being that violent because of religion. You had to be very cautious about the people around you and the places you visited. We surrounded ourselves with people of the same religion to avoid being attacked. It was particularly scary for me because my university was close to where most of the attacks were taking place. 

    At a point, you get desensitized. We had seen the violence when we lived in Kaduna, so we were used to all the fighting. You just try to be safe and survive. That’s what my family did. 

    Looking back at these events, do you think they influenced you in any way? 

    Yes, they did o. When I moved to Lagos in 2015, I was terrified. I didn’t really talk or go out much, so my first two years in Lagos was hell; I couldn’t keep up with how Lagos worked. But now, I feel like I have a grip on things. 

    So what would you say Lagos has taught you over the past six years? 

    I’ve learned that Lagos is a place where you have to be of value to yourself before people can look your way. Like, I have to be the best version of myself before I can attach myself to a unit. 

    Interesting. When did it hit you that you’ve become a man? 

    E neva too tey. It was just a few weeks ago. The last time I could remember my age was when I was 21 years old. The gap between both ages is just a blur to me. I recently realised that I’ll turn 30 soon, which made it click that I’m actually a grown-ass man. I was so busy trying to discover myself that I lost track of time.

    Do you feel like you’ve finally discovered yourself? 

    If we’re calculating it using percentage, I’ll say I’m at 60%. 

    I’m intrigued. What do you need to get to 100%? 

    I need to grow older. It’s all going to happen in due time. 

    Fair. So to the music, can you tell me how you got into music production? 

    I like to say I was born into music. My house always had a live band and there were instruments all around me growing up. When I was 15 years old, my dad connected me to the late MC Loph for lessons on how to make music and my interest in production piqued. Once I was done with secondary school; it was all I wanted to do.

    Why production? 

    I get bored easily, and production was the only thing that didn’t bore or satisfy me. I have tried my hands at sports and other aspects of music, but nothing stuck. I don’t have to think too much when I’m producing. 

    I’ve heard artists make music to either connect with their emotions or run far away from them. What does music do for you? 

    It makes me happy. I enjoy bringing things to life. Music is the only thing I’ve been called to do on this earth. If I don’t do it, I feel like I’m disappointing the universe. I know I get emotional and down sometimes, but music is something that the moment I’m in the zone, nothing else matters. 

    Talking about music, Basketmouth’s Yabasi was one of the biggest records of last year and you produced the whole thing. How did that happen? 

    I’ve wanted to work on a highlife project for a long time and randomly Basketmouth reached out to me about collaborating on the same thing. We made the album in like two weeks because everything was seamless and the energy was high. 

    Mad. 

    Honestly, when we made it, I was just having a good time. I didn’t know people were going to fuck with the album this way. I remember I used to jam it in my car because I liked it. I just wanted to share what I was enjoying. But then it came out and everyone got into it, which was insane. I’m happy people like it because I made it during one of my lowest points. I wanted to give up production because all my ideas weren’t working out.

    When did this happen? 

    Just like everyone else, I had made plans for 2020, and then Covid happened and I couldn’t see any of them through. I wasn’t even seeing a future for myself. And then Yabasi came along and changed everything. 

    That’s wild. I’m curious to know how you navigate your new life in this industry? 

    Music to me is like working in a bank. It’s my job and not my whole life. I make sure my life and my job don’t clash. My life is about my mum, my sisters, my friends — basically surrounding myself with the people I’ve known and loved for a very long time, just so I never forget who I am.

    Talking about building a life outside music, what are some of the things that give you joy? 

    It’s the simple things for me. I love movies! I could watch movies for a week straight. And then there’s eating good food and just surrounding myself with the people I care about. 

    Honestly, same for me. In your own words, what is the hardest part about being a man in Nigeria? 

    Making money. It’s a dog-eat-dog thing where everyone is trying to one-up the other person. No one is helping you, not even the government. Sometimes you just wake up in the morning and you have to ask yourself what you’re doing with your life.

    So how do you handle the days when you wake up and have no idea what to do with yourself? 

    Anytime this happens, I do my best to actually feel it. I don’t run away from it. We all don’t like to feel low, but I think sometimes it’s absolutely necessary to sink into your feelings. The only thing is I do my best not to stay there forever. Also, when I feel this way, I try something new or something I haven’t done in a long time. 

    Like what? 

    It could be trying a new meal or new sounds in the studio. I experiment a lot when I’m in a mental funk. 

    Maybe I should try that too. As you’ve gotten older, I’d like to know some of the things you’ve had to let go of as a man. 

    Do you know the “don’t talk back to your elders” thing? I’ve had to shake that off. We were brought up to believe that even when older people are wrong, as a sign of respect, we were to keep our mouths shut. As I got older, I realised it’s important to say exactly what you want to say. My respect for you doesn’t mean I have to be silent. 

    How about in your relationships? 

    I’ve learned that women are women, and they’re not men. 

    What does that mean? 

    Men like to treat women like they are men, but women are different. They have lives that are unique to them and you must try to understand things from their point of view. And sometimes you just have to do things so that peace will reign. Lol. 

    Valid point. I’m curious to know if you remember the last time you cried. 

    Wow! Probably five or six years ago. 

    That long? 

    Yes. 

    What happened? 

    I think my sister needed something and the situation made me frustrated, so I cried. Eventually, I stood up to look for a solution. I think it was good for me because it reminded me that I’m actually human. I tend to forget that. 

    If you could go back in time and advise a young Ducktor Sett, what would you say? 

    That he was right. Growing up I used to doubt myself a lot, thinking that my ideas were crazy. For instance, I should’ve moved on from formal education as soon as I was done with secondary school. But then again, I like that I did everything I did, including the things I didn’t like. It sort of gave me discipline. But going back to advise yourself might just lead to something worse. Whatever I did then that I felt didn’t make sense probably contributed to my journey.

  • There’s Space For Everyone To Show Their Versions Of Masculinity – Man Like Vcheba
    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.

    Today’s Man Like is Uche Uba aka Vcheba, a designer, stylist and fashion illustrator. He talks about growing up the youngest of six children, how he  deals with the different reactions to his style and his two cents on how to be a man. 

    Tell me about your childhood? 

    I am the last child in a family of six; however, I grew up a bit lonely because there was a massive age gap between myself and my siblings. I was way too young to offer them anything. Either way, I enjoyed my own company and was super close to my mum. She wasn’t super strict, and I could talk to her about some things. She was still traditional though, and sometimes it was difficult to discuss certain issues with her. Like the time I was molested in boarding school, it wasn’t something I could run and talk to her about. She’s still everything to me even though our relationship has gotten a little distant since I became an adult. 

    Do you want to talk about boarding school? 

    Sure. I was really small and fragile which made me an easy target back then. Physical abuse made up the bulk of my experience. There was sexual abuse too. Everyone had some story about a senior calling them to a corner and touching them inappropriately. We didn’t know what to call it because it didn’t feel aggressive.  There was something about knowing you were not the only one that made it a little bit bearable. I didn’t know how much damage it caused until I started experiencing certain trauma responses down the line. 

    Want to talk about that?

    I’ve had issues with trust and anxiety. After school, I found it hard to be in a space with more than five grown men I wasn’t familiar with. And it’s wild because you don’t immediately link it to your past, but your body just subconsciously knows that this could end badly, so just avoid it. I try to be attentive to myself, so when these things happen, I try to trace them back to their roots. 

    How do you deal with this trauma? 

    You never get over it. I don’t dwell on it anymore, but I still remember it. I’m glad that I worked through mine in a way I can finally have open conversations about it. 

    I’m so sorry this happened to you. So, in this day and age, what does being a man mean to you? 

    I don’t think there’s one way to be a man. If you identify as a man, you’re a man. Society tries to pressure us to present ourselves in a very rigid way, but the beauty of humanity lies in our differences. I’ve had people ask me I’m non-binary because of my style, but I’m not. These questions tend to pop up the moment you dress or act differently. There is space for everyone to show their versions of manhood. For me, being a man is living in truth and owning my decisions. But deviating from the norm in a place like Nigeria can be dangerous. 

    Dangerous? 

    I’ve been attacked by police and touts several times. I once took a Bolt ride and the driver asked me to come down when he saw my acrylic nails. At this point, I don’t think anyone’s opinion of me threatens the essence of who I am. 

    Does your family have any issues with how you present yourself? 

    I make compromises when I’m visiting my family. It’s not like I wear acrylic nails 365 days in a year. There are days when I’m at home and there’s nothing on, so if I can do that in my house, then it shouldn’t be an issue taking them off when I visit them. But they know the way I dress and there are times when they have expressed their reservations, but it has never really been a big deal. Also, they are from a different generation so the way we dress as young adults will always be strange to them.

    We’ve touched on the negatives. Have there been positive reactions to your style? 

    Yes! People come up to me to tell me that they’re really shy and scared, but seeing me inspires them to fully be themselves. It’s wild when I think about it. I’m just me. Despite everything happening in this country, I don’t know how to be anyone else but me. 

    [newsletter]

    I’m curious. How do you manage your mental health? 

    This is a constant journey. There’s a stigma surrounding mental health, so I’ve found a way to talk to people about what I’m going through without being direct. Therapy is not cheap! I know it’s not the healthiest way because I need to be honest about my struggles, but as I said, I’m working on it. 

    Do you think men get the short end of the stick when it comes to mental health conversations? 

    Yes. As men there’s a perception of us where we’re supposed to be strong “alpha” males. And this is a perception that we continue to feed. While we ask society to be more open to these conversations about men and mental health, we also need to cultivate a habit of communicating how we feel. We need to make the first step.

    What’s one misconception people have about men that needs fixing? 

    I would say the idea that men should be strong. I don’t think there should be any shame in being a softer person. There should be space for everybody. Men don’t have to be anything. 

    As we continue to evolve, what’s one thing we should leave behind? 

    I want us to move past thinking that equality is a threat to who we are or our livelihood. 

    What would you say is your biggest fear?

    My biggest fear is somewhere in between not reaching my goals and being left behind. I want to be successful and renowned in my field. I’m also scared of dying unexpectedly because it’s the one aspect of my life I can’t control. I once saw a truck run into a man’s car and I’m sure he didn’t wake up thinking he’d die that day.  If I’m dying, I want to know I’m dying.

    What motto do you live by? 

    There’s no time for regret. If it has happened, it has happened. Regret is not the same thing as reflecting. 

    What does happiness look like to you? 

    A safe space. I feel like I have this sometimes, but there are days where I don’t feel that way. It’s definitely a work in progress.

  • My Father Was Rich But We Weren’t — Man Like Babajide Duroshola

    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.


    Today’s Man Like is Babajide Duroshola, the general manager of M-Kopa. He talks about growing up without support from his rich father, surviving university by being a club promoter and his approach to handling black tax.

    What was growing up like?

    I was born with a silver spoon but at some point, the spoon turned into pako. My family was wealthy until my rich father decided he was more interested in his other families  — he had other wives and kids. We were the first family and typically, the first family suffered. My dad was rich: he had a hospital and was a government appointee. But we didn’t get anything from him. My mother took care of my siblings and me until we finished university.

    What do you mean didn’t get anything?

    We didn’t see him for eight years. When I was 17, he returned and put me in charge of running his hospital. That was my first stint with management. And then I went to uni to study computer engineering.

    I assume he became responsible for you in uni?

    Nope. My three siblings and I happened to enter Bells University, a private university, at the same time, so my mum had to cope with paying all our fees. What I got monthly was ₦3000. Most people received monthly allowances of ₦50,000 – ₦100,000.

    What? Like ₦3k?

    Yup. That meant eating one meal a day for no more than ₦150 per meal.

    How did you make it work?

    I’ve always had a knack for spotting business opportunities and making money. After some time, I picked up a job as a club promoter. I grew up in the Opebi/Allen areas of Lagos and there were many clubs that I used to go to. This prepared me to become the go-to guy for anything related to parties and clubbing in the University. I started by connecting people with great clubs where they could throw their parties. Someone who had just opened a club on Allen partnered with me to bring people to his club in return for a steady percentage of the earnings. From there, clubs started paying me to influence people to come to their clubs. I was making good money. By the time I was graduating from uni in 2010, I had ₦700k in my account.

    Wow. That was good money.

    It was great money. I was able to pay for my sister’s schooling needs and give my mum some money for her business.

    What happened after?

    I thought I had arrived so I moved in with my friend, thinking the money flow would never end. He was a rich kid and we lived like kings for a while. Turns out that club promotion gigs would dry up after I finished school. Because I was no longer a student, club owners weren’t keen on paying for my services. Meanwhile, we were still partying and bringing babes over and pretty much having the times of our lives. Before long, I ran out of money. 

    Like the prodigal son, I went back home after finishing the money and decided to start looking for a job. I went to NYSC and during this time, my father had come out of the blues to take an interest in me. He used to give me a lot of money during this period like he was trying to buy my affection, so I was eating good. After camp, I got into management consulting and started my professional career.

    From studying engineering to becoming a consultant though…

    I know. I was pretty much following the money. After my stint in consulting, I took up a job at a bank that paid three times what I was earning as a consultant. Those 30 months I spent at the bank were the worst years of my life.

    Why?

    It was depressing because the work environment was constantly hostile. It wasn’t a place where my creativity could thrive. I used to get depressed every Sunday afternoon for those 30 months, just dreading what the next Monday would bring. I felt like I was wasting away. That hasn’t happened since I left the bank six years ago.

    Ah, phew. What was your next professional move?

    I joined Andela in 2016, which was a total career shift. I became a community manager where I managed talent. It felt exciting to work there because Andela was a new company with a mission, intent on changing the world and the way tech was being perceived in Africa. It was one of the best years of my life and everything has been uphill since then.

    After, I joined SafeBoda, a mobility company, who was trying to expand its operations into West Africa. We launched and successfully grew the business in Ibadan before I moved to M-Kopa which is where I am now.

    What a journey. I imagine your finances changed a lot over the years. How has your relationship with money been?

    Although I took a pay cut to join Andela, by the end of the year, I was earning the same as my bank job. Today, I’m a general manager, so yeah, money has changed a lot for me since then. I didn’t grow up with much so I know that money can disappear as fast as I make it, so I try not to be too attached to it. 

    I had uncles who were wealthy but went broke in a short period because of poor money management. This has taught me that money doesn’t define a person, regardless of how much of it you have. Today it could be yours, tomorrow it might not be. What you do with your money matters. Are you using it to oppress or better people’s lives?

    Speaking about making lives better, how do you deal with black tax?

    With black tax, it’s important to have boundaries. If you’re in a plane in an emergency, you have to first ensure that you’re fine before helping others out, even your own child. The same applies to personal finance. You need to be able to stand on your feet before you help others up. If you don’t, they’ll pull you down and you won’t be able to help anybody. Meanwhile, the people who rely on you would survive regardless. There were times where I put my foot down and refused to do certain things.

    It is important to build your wealth first before trying to help others. This could be investing your money or investing in yourself, such as getting access to better opportunities. People with so much potential get weighed down with so much family baggage that they aren’t able to achieve things. People with less baggage are able to compete better, improve themselves and earn more to the point where they can help others.

    Right now, my family is doing great. My youngest sibling just graduated so I can say everyone is fairly independent now. It’s beautiful to see.

    Let’s change tack a little. How did you start your family?

    I met my wife in UBA Marina, at my first job during NYSC in 2011. We didn’t date until three years after we met and we married three years after that.

    What’s the most important lesson marriage has taught you?

    The first thing about marriage is that it’s a thing of service. Both parties are to serve each other. Learning to be that way defines your mindset, a massive shift in how you think. My decisions began to have more weight. I started having to think properly before changing jobs, for example. I once received a job offer that paid over 66% of what my job at the time paid. After discussing it with my wife, she didn’t think it was the right opportunity for me, even though it seemed crazy to turn it down. Turns out she was right. I would have remained stagnant in that role.

    I also learned to be more empathetic to others. I learned that everyone has baggage and people often react negatively to issues due to underlying issues in their pasts that haven’t been dealt with.

    That’s certainly interesting. Before we go, what’s a relaxing weekend like for you?

    When I’m not chilling with a glass of whisky and listening to South African music, I’m hanging out with my guys. Problem no dey finish.

    Check back every Sunday by 12 pm for new stories in the Man Like series. If you’d like to be featured or you know anyone that would be perfect for this, kindly send an email.

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  • Chess Saved My Life — Man Like Tunde Onakoya

    What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.


    The subject of today’s Man Like is Tunde Onakoya, a national chess master and the founder of the Chess in Slums project. He talks about a hard and poor childhood, his initially difficult relationship with his father and the impact he’s made with the Chess in Slums programme.

    What was your childhood like?

    I grew up in Ketu, Lagos. My dad was a spare parts seller while my mom was a petty trader at Eko market. I have a younger brother who’s two years younger than me. 

    During my teenage years, we lived in a slum community called Isale Odo in Ikorodu. It was in Ikorodu that things got really bad for my dad. He had a danfo which he used to lease out to drivers who would bring him an agreed amount. Sometimes, he would drive it himself. There were even days he’d be the conductor. Then his danfo ran into a series of problems and was no longer a source of income.

    I couldn’t start secondary school because my parents were too poor to raise school fees — my brother was still in primary school and they couldn’t afford to pay for the both of us. They didn’t want me to go to a public school as they were notorious for their poor standards and cultism. And so while my mates were in JSS 2, I was wasting at home. It was during this time that I found chess.

    How did that happen?

    I learnt about chess at our local barber’s shop. Whenever I was there to play PlayStation 1, the barber would bring out a chessboard and play with his friends. Once I saw the carved pieces, it was love at first sight. I begged him to teach me how to play, but he’d ignore me. Eventually, I learnt how to play and the rules of the game by watching matches between him and his friends.  

    Interesting. How did you get into school?

    My mom, tired of seeing me idle at home, approached an upscale secondary school owned by a Nigerian ambassador and offered to work for them in exchange for my school fees. That’s how I was able to resume my education. 

    My mother worked there for six years; she resigned on the day I wrote my final WAEC paper.

    Omo. What was it like in school?

    Imagine this: me, from a poor family who couldn’t afford to pay school fees, in the same class with kids who had known softness all their lives. When I was in JSS 1, I never used to speak because I couldn’t speak English at all — my primary school was really bad and we only spoke Yoruba at home. Eventually, my classmates rubbed off on me, and I started speaking English well and do really well in school.

    Fortunately, the secondary school I eventually attended had an active Chess Club. We even wrote exams on chess each term. That was where I honed my skills and in JSS 2, won my first trophy. I saw my dad cry for the first time that day. He was so proud. For me, I had found something I was better at than the other kids;  here was this kid who could hardly speak English coming third in a chess tournament. It really boosted my self-esteem. Chess changed my life.

    What was your journey with chess after this?

    Without chess, I’d have been stuck in my small hole in Ikorodu without knowing the opportunities available to me. We didn’t have things like a DVD player or cable. Whenever my friends would talk about watching some movie or gist about Naruto, I couldn’t participate because I had no way of watching, so I didn’t have a lot of exposure outside my family and Ikorodu. 

    When I started playing chess, I started travelling for tournaments and this took me to places I’d never been, helping me become more exposed. I played against kids from King’s College and other prestigious schools. This exposure widened my mind to see what was possible; my understanding of people, places and things. 

    What came next after secondary school?

    After my WAEC, which my dad had to sell his car to pay for, I didn’t get into school for two years. When I wrote JAMB the first time, I missed the cut off mark for studying medicine at the University of Lagos by 1 point. It was the darkest moment of my life. I decided to try again the following year at the Lagos State University (LASU). Unfortunately, that was the year LASU hiked their fees from ₦25,000 to ₦250,000. Of course, my parents didn’t have that money. We tried to run around to raise it but that didn’t work out and I lost the admission.

    At that point in my life, I hated everyone and everything. I hated God. I hated my family for being poor. A lot of my friends from secondary school had gone on to continue their education abroad or in private universities but I, who was the senior prefect and had a lot of expectations on me,  couldn’t even afford to get into a state university. That’s when it dawned on me how poor my parents were. My dad wasn’t working from 2009 to 2014, so there was no way he could raise my fees.

    Meanwhile, my friends would come back from school with stories about the university. It really did a number on me. 

    That’s immense. How did you eventually get into a tertiary institution?

    After my second failed attempt to enter school, I pretty much gave up on going to university. I started learning how to repair phones.

    One day, my mom brought back a form from Yaba College of Technology, saying one of her friends had recommended that we try it. I wasn’t having it. I didn’t want to go to a polytechnic. Over time, she wore me down and begged me to just try. That’s how I ended up studying computer science at Yabatech. It was here that my fortunes changed.

    How?

    At this point, I had stopped playing chess for some years. The frustration of trying to make ends meet and getting an admission had made me lose interest. One day, I was passing through the sports complex in Yabatech and saw a chess room. I made enquiries and became an active member in the chess club and I made it into the college team. Because of that, I didn’t have to pay school fees nor accommodation fees. I represented the school in the Nigerian Polytechnics Game Association tournament, where we won all the gold medals. I was a double gold medalist at the NIPOGA/WAPOGA games and also went on to win the gold medal at the RCCG Chess Championship.

    How did you get to be so good?

    Honestly, I played chess obsessively. I ate, slept, talked and dreamt chess. My clique were all players and were all on the college team, so we were always playing against each other. We were arguably the best chess team in Nigeria. (One of us was representing Nigeria at the time, while another went on to be a National Master, the highest-rated player in Nigeria.) I would play chess from morning till night, missing classes and on some occasions, tests. Fortunately, chess gave me a photographic memory and a skill with numbers so I was easily cramming for and passing my exams.

    I wasn’t getting any allowance from home — my parents weren’t working, my brother was working in a betting shop — so I survived solely on the winnings I made from chess tournaments. I used to gamble too, betting on chess games with some rich men who would come to Yabatech and gamble over games of chess with us. That was how I survived through school.

    I won the National Friends of Chess, the Chevron Chess Open and was rated 13th in Nigeria. I got money at tournaments and I was able to buy myself a phone for the first time. Yabatech changed my life. Not getting into UNILAG to study medicine was one of the darkest moments of my life, but if that had happened, I would never have been able to do all the stuff I’ve been able to do with chess. 

    Then I graduated from Yabatech and things started getting weird again.

    How?

    I couldn’t represent the school in tournaments anymore, so that source of income dried. There were still other chess tournaments but nowhere as many as I used to attend. I went back to Ikorodu. At this time, my parents had moved to Ibadan and it was just my brother and me at home. I didn’t know what to do. Chess wasn’t lucrative enough to pay the bills. I couldn’t afford to go professional because that meant travelling all over the world for competitions. I wanted to get a grandmaster title but that was a pipe dream because you need to spend a lot of dollars for that. So I gave up chess again.

    So I started teaching. I went from Ikorodu to Mowe for a ₦6000 salary teaching in a school. Sometimes I’d sleep in Mowe for the week and only go home for the weekend. It was tough. After three months, I decided I couldn’t do that anymore so I quit.

    I had a group of friends who were also unemployed. We’d walk around aimlessly. I used to play instruments like drums, guitar, piano and clarinet which I had learned how to play as a child in church. I’d play at churches and they’d give me some money. That was when I got the idea to become a chess coach. I spoke to a few of my chess friends from Yabatech who were also unemployed. We made a proposal and sent it to primary and secondary schools, offering to teach the pupils and students chess. Some of them agreed. They weren’t paying much, but it was something. We used to go from Ikorodu to Abule Egba in our suits. There was a day we realised we didn’t have enough transport fare after stopping at a buka to eat. We had to lap each other inside a Keke Napep, with our suits!

    I did this from 2016 to 2018. A lot of experiences like that made me realise that maybe chess just wasn’t for me. While I felt fulfilled teaching chess to children, I wasn’t earning enough. So I stopped in 2018 and wanted to take a professional coding course. Then something happened, which became a defining moment for me.

    One day after church, the people I played instruments with told me to go with them to a place called Lungu, a slum community in Majidun. It was a run-down area with people smoking everywhere. The men we met were rough men, thugs and cultists, hardcore guys with scars on their faces who would tell us their stories about their run-ins with the police or how they got shot. Right there, children were running around, watching their parents smoke. It wasn’t a conducive environment at all. Most of them weren’t in school, hawking to support their parents. I thought that these kids were not growing up in the right environment and would most likely end up like their fathers — thugs, cultists or dead.

     Then I had an epiphany. Why not teach these kids chess? I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That’s when I started researching slum communities and development. I wanted to know how chess could help them. Chess gave me some intellectual grounding and made me think of the world differently. I thought I could give the same to these kids.

    So I sought permission from the head of the community who gave us a place where I could teach the children chess in his palace. A few friends and I started teaching chess to the kids. We’d give them food and teach them. We’d take pictures and have so much fun. A lot of them couldn’t speak English but were learning chess at such an incredible pace.

    How were you funding this?

    It wasn’t easy and I was going broke all the time from buying snacks, transport and chessboards. Eventually, I couldn’t sustain it anymore. Fortunately, I’d started posting pictures on Twitter and people began to volunteer and eventually contribute. Eventually, it began to gather steam and people started reaching out from all over the world to sponsor some of the children’s education. I felt so fulfilled. We were featured on CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, France 24, DW. Journalists come from all over the world to cover our story not to highlight their poverty but because of the incredible potential they wield.

    What’s happening now?

    Now we’re at a place where we’re trying to expand and impact more kids because I believe that chess can change lives in impoverished communities in Africa. Not all of them will become chess champions, but they will learn how to think and their horizons will expand beyond their small communities. They won’t easily be pawns for politicians to disrupt elections for ₦1,500.

    We’ve secured deals with international chess organisations like chess.com and ChessKid and also received funding from Venture Garden Group. In three years, we’ve impacted the lives of 300 children, with 30 of them on lifelong scholarships. Some 

    What’s keeps you inspired?

    From Majidun, we expanded Chess in Slums to Makoko, the largest floating slum in the world. It was a lot more challenging because the children in Makoko spoke only Egun, so it was almost impossible to communicate with them. It was a proper slum where they live over stagnant water. The children even fall inside the water and drown sometimes. I could only live there for three days before falling seriously ill. It was horrible. No one should have to live there.

    There’s a boy named Ferdinand. He was born with cerebral palsy. He didn’t make it into our Chess in Slums programmes originally, but he kept crying and wouldn’t leave the venue, so we let him join. Turns out this boy is a chess prodigy. He came top of the group and has won chess championships. The story went viral. 

    The governor of Lagos State, who’s a chess enthusiast, sent me a message and asked to meet Ferdinand. They played an intense game of chess which lasted for 40 minutes before it ended in a draw. Now, his education is being sponsored by the governor. I went to bed with a big smile on my face, feeling fulfilled. I was glad I could make that kind of impact. I imagined what would have happened if I had given up on the project when things were tough and I was terribly broke.

    Also, three kids live with me now. They were orphaned last year and had nowhere to go. Two of them lost their mother to HIV. She had had an accident at the refuse dump where she was scavenging plastic and had one leg amputated. She was transfused with HIV positive blood and died in my arms. She asked me to take care of her kids as her dying wish. 

    Damn. How’s it like being thrust into fathering three boys when you’re only 26?

    First, it meant that I couldn’t just be bringing babes home anyhow, LMAO. It was really difficult at first. It’s one thing to fend for yourself, it’s another to be responsible for three other people. In some ways, it has made me more grounded. They bring a lot of joy into my life, and they’ve grown so much. Sunday, who hadn’t been to school before he was 9 years old can now converse fluently in English and beats me at Mortal Kombat. I’m happy he’s getting to relive his childhood.

    That’s amazing. What’s next for you, personally?

    I recently moved into a new apartment to start my life out. I’m looking to launch my business brand in the corporate world, using chess analogies to teach business strategy. I also plan on travelling to several countries and scale Chess In Slum’s impact and experience places and people. 

    I’m also trying to get into a relationship. I’ve been emotionally unavailable for the longest time because a lot of myself has been poured into the Chess in Slums project. But my mother has given me a deadline to bring someone home this year. 

    I’m looking to get back into the dating scene but the streets are rough. People are pegging out here.

    We have an article on pegging to help you prepared for the streets.

    LMAO.

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