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I’m a first-born daughter and that meant that from an early age, I had to fill in for my mum who had a full-time job. I hated every minute of it because I didn’t even know what I was doing. I learned to cook at age 7 and I was in charge of all house chores. I thought it’d get better when I left for university, and it did for a while. But then I graduated from school and got an awesome job. I started making my own money, and requests for financial assistance have been pouring in from everyone. I’m back here, living my life for them, and it feels like there’ll never be an end to it.
“Losing my dad forced me to grow up” — Daniel, 24
I had a sheltered background, but everything changed when I lost my dad. I was 16 at the time, and I had two other siblings. My mum was a petty trader, so we quickly went from being relatively comfortable to very poor. What made it worse was that we weren’t close to the extended family, and my parents were all I had.
I had to make money to survive somehow because my mother still had two kids (14 and 12) to take care of. I started with the easiest thing I could think of — laundry. I was washing clothes for my classmates for ₦200 a piece, even missing classes sometimes. I quickly became popular for this and soon started my own laundromat in school. My grades weren’t bad, but I’d gotten too preoccupied with making money that I’d lost interest in school.
Eventually, I discovered tech through a friend and started learning how to code. I was 19 at this point and I already had a lot of money saved up from my business. I shut it down to focus on school and coding. I graduated at 20 and got my first job two months before graduation. In many ways, losing my dad forced me to grow up faster. Even though I’m sad that he’s gone, I’m still grateful for the road that brought me here.
“I wasn’t ready to go to the university when I did” — Feyi, 29
Growing up, I was the ideal child. I was well-behaved, got good grades, and made my parents proud. I even skipped two classes in secondary school and got into the university at 14. It’s not that I was done with secondary school, but I’d taken JAMB and GCE in SS2 and passed really well. I got admitted to study medicine and my life pretty much looked like a straight line towards becoming a doctor at 20.
I got into school and quickly found out how brutal it was. I wasn’t used to the long classes. I’d never lived outside of home, and I didn’t even know how to take care of myself outside the influence of my parents. But that was easy to learn. The hardest part was blending in with people who were several years older than me.
I had classmates who had boyfriends, and who’d talk about sex like it wasn’t a big deal. Meanwhile, the closest thing I ever had to a boyfriend was a class crush that lasted one term. I didn’t even know “Netflix and Chill” meant something else until my third year in school.
Even though I’ve always been proud of the fact that I grew up fast and had excellent grades, I realized that I had poor social skills.Growing up too fast had done nothing to prepare me for life in school.
“My parents were never around so I had no choice” — Ibrahim, 22
My parents worked late every day, and they went to parties on weekends. It also didn’t help that I was the first of five kids. We used to have a maid, but she was sent away after she had a physical fight with my mum. Somehow, all her duties were transferred to me when I was only 8.
I’d take care of my siblings after school and wash their uniforms. I cooked most of the food we ate, and I did most of the chores around the house, with my siblings doing as little as possible because they were really young. The worst part was that I had mischievous siblings, who made sure I always got into trouble with our parents for things they did. That gave me a huge sense of responsibility to keep them in check. It’s probably why I’m such a control freak now. But looking back, the experience gave me invaluable life skills.
“I started working when I was 15” — Amaka, 25
My family fell on hard times after my father died, and my mum didn’t have enough money to support all four of us through school. After I graduated from secondary school, my mum told me to wait a few years and work before going to university. This was so she could have enough money to support my two other siblings through school.
I started out working as a waiter at a nearby restaurant for ₦15,000 monthly when I should have been in school. A lot of it was demeaning and I was sacked two years later when I slapped a customer who tried to harass me. With the help of someone I met at the restaurant, I went on to learn how to import shoes from China and sell them for huge profits. In my first round of sales, I made ₦90,000 in profit. That was the highest amount of money I’d ever seen in my life at that time.
I continued with the business and used the money to support the family and enrol in school. It wasn’t the most horrible experience, but it forced me to grow up and learn to fend for myself.
There was food and shelter, but emotional safety was missing. Whenever my mum came back from work, everyone would scramble because she was always angry about something. Sometimes I used to avoid even sitting in the living room because I might be sitting the wrong way, and she’d lash out.
That level of uncertainty led to anxiety, hypersensitivity, and over-analysing. I was always anxious about the smallest of things.
I’m assuming this affected your relationship with others, like your siblings?
I have three sisters, and our relationship is beautiful. We understand each other on many levels. I think we bonded over the trauma of living with a mum like ours. But I haven’t explored this conversation with them, to be honest.
Let’s talk about your relationship with your mum
Growing up, like every Nigerian girl, you think your mum hates you at some point. Mine was even more intense because, as I said before, my mum is a pastor, and there were lots of religious and vigorous religious activities always going on in our house. It definitely played into my personality traits. The only friends I had were from church, I didn’t have many outside church.
It was all very stressful; going to multiple churches, having pastors come in and out of the house, being a Christian, your parents having certain expectations of you. Now that I’m older, I sort of understand and sympathise with them because I recognise how difficult raising four girls must have been. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t their intention to create that kind of environment, but that was the result.
It was intense; there wasn’t a choice to be anything but a Christain girl. But even then, I didn’t believe in the patriarchy, I’d always questioned that. But life outside of religion was difficult for me to navigate, and still is. Now I ask questions about who I am outside of that very intense Christian upbringing, and sometimes I don’t have the answers.
Now our relationship is a long-distance relationship. We touch base, but nothing too in-depth. I don’t feel like I can really talk to her, we’ve never had that type of relationship, but I recognise that she’s mum, and I know that if shit hits the fan, she’ll be there for me.
How does your healing impact interactions with friends?
If I’m in a gathering with friends, I’m able to notice when I’m overextending myself or people-pleasing. I’m also reluctant to ask for help or accept it. It stems from being hyper-independent from a young age. I’m the firstborn; my sister (the middle sibling) has always been closer to my dad, and my mum was more concerned about my younger sister because she’s deaf, so she had special needs. I was mostly left to figure out myself and also take care of everybody else in a way. I was usually the one they’d ask about laundry or cooking.
Growing up like that, you just get the sense that you’re your protector and provider. I guess that’s why it wasn’t too difficult for me to leave my parent’s house. I remember going to university and thinking, “Whew, this is nice!”
Being on my own has been my way of feeling like I have control over something. My therapist was telling me recently that I have to be okay with relying on people sometimes but also understand that they won’t always be able to come through for me.
Let’s talk about leaving home
In 2018, when I was 24, I moved to Ghana for a scholarship programme. I felt relief but also a little sad. Leaving family and friends was scary, but it also felt freeing. It was like breaking away from the pressures, the belief system, and just the environment.
What belief system?
Christianity. My mum is a pastor and fervent Christain, so we were always in church or going for church programmes or hosting house fellowships. Being away from home and indoctrination, you’re faced with more in-depth interactions that aren’t coloured by religion. Sometimes you start to see the cracks in your existence.
A big example is when I lived with my friend; we had a big fight, and it was about me not being able to express my needs and concerns because I avoided negative reactions. This stemmed from just trying not to make my parents angry, and that felt normal because, as a child, my life was easier if I could avoid it. But as an adult, I had to confront and work that out.
So those interactions force you to see the places where there are issues and what you need to solve. I only started to recognise emotions for what they are when I moved away and had to interact with other people on many different levels. Growing up, emotions were always shut down because, in Christianity, you’re not allowed to be afraid as a child of god or feel anxiety or anything. In a religious setting, you’re either happy or sad, and if you’re sad, you have to go and pray. I remember my dad always saying, “You can’t be afraid because you’re a child of God.” But it never stopped me from feeling the fear, even though things usually worked out. So you never explore or confront what you’re afraid of or anxious about.
Outside of the bubble of Jesus being your joy, you have to find happiness in yourself. You start to ask yourself what makes you happy etc. Being present in your own body and life helps you recognise all these things. So now I’m identifying and recognising emotions like anxiety and hypervigilance and stuff. They’ve always been there, but I now have the language for it. And I know there are other ways to exist. The biggest part of my healing journey is being able to recognise what is outside that bubble.
So, I take it you’re no longer a Christian?
No, and it wasn’t an abrupt decision It took some time to get there and for me to even acknowledge it. Once I left home, there was less pressure to go to church, to pray, to do all these things. And that meant that sometimes I didn’t do these things, and I was okay. I didn’t get attacked by demons or anything of the sort. It was in the little things; for instance, if you dream about eating, the church would have told you that you’ve been poisoned spiritually and you have to pray, but I’ve had that dream, and nothing happened. I’m alive and well.
So as you shift away from that, you see that it’s not that deep. And you even start to question those beliefs. Sometimes you meet other people that are living life completely differently. For instance, one thing that intrigued me when it was still very early on when I first moved. I went for some sisters’ fellowship, and everybody was wearing trousers with nail extensions, they didn’t cover their hair, but I could see that they were very much rooted in their beliefs like other Christians. It was bizarre to me because I’m coming from a background where they’d have told those ladies that they were going to hell for wearing extensions, so it made me think about things differently. There was a lot of fear-mongering, and it felt like normal human things were things that would take you to hell and have horrible consequences.
You see things that help shape your narrative and change your mind. I’ve also been doing a lot of learning; like, I saw a TikTok about how Christianity is a colonisation technique. So I’m getting a lot of information from many places and making my own inferences.
It was a disaster the first time we had that conversation. I came to Lagos to visit, and one day, said I wasn’t going to church. They sat me down and talked and talked. The fear-mongering came up, and one of our family pastors called me every week for two to three months until I eventually stopped picking up his calls.
The second time around, I was much bolder, and said it was my decision. My dad was like, “What do you mean it’s your decision?” and I was like it’s just is. I don’t need to defend or explain it. And he was like, “Where is all this coming from, who have you been talking to?” And I reminded him that I’m almost 30 and I can make my own decisions outside of other people. He asked if I was going to change my mind, and I said we’d see how it goes.
I guess they have a fear of me missing heaven, and there’s also the idea that if you don’t stick to God’s plan, your life won’t turn out the way it’s supposed to. You could end up destitute or poor. I guess that’s what they’re afraid of.
How has the healing affected your relationship with your partner?
It’s been helpful. Now some of the things I’m also aware of is seeing the patterns in other people. A lot of things happen because we fear vulnerability, because growing up, it wasn’t accepted with kindness or patience. And that shows up in different ways for different people. So now I tend to recognise it in my partner, and I can usually point it out and redirect the conversation to a healthy place.
Due to the few things I have learnt (I’m no expert, please), I’m able to help him navigate his own hurt too.
That’s sweet. What are the daily steps you take to make sure you don’t regress?
Regression is normal. Some days, I don’t have the bandwidth or capacity to do the exercises that are required to grow, and that feels like a regression. But it’s all part of the healing process.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
What sort of exercises?
The most recent one is something called identifying and separating facts, feelings and sensations. I learnt it from this book I’m reading: Becoming Safely Embodiedby Diedre Fay.
So facts, feelings and sensation is essentially dealing with an upsetting or triggering event like this: you identify what the facts are, what you’re feeling and the sensations in your body. The idea is to write it all down, then circle the facts, and then underline the feelings and sensations. Then you read only the facts a few times. When I tried it, I found that the more I read the facts, the less intense the feelings. When I started to feel calmer, I went back to read the feelings attached to it and found it easier to work it out.
What other tools do you use?
I spend like 15 minutes meditating every day in the mornings. I also try to focus on core wounds. For instance, if I’m feeling unsafe, I spend a few countering the belief system by stating the facts around it. So questions about safety in my job, my relationship, my finances, my career, emotionally and mentally. I list these things and just counter the feelings with these facts.
Another thing I do is: at the end of the day, I do something called guilt and shame journaling. I look back at my day and list the ways I felt guilty the point is to identify them and find the ways I’m innocent and the ways I’m being realistic in my expectations. For instance, if I’m feeling guilty about taking a nap because I was tired, I claim innocence because it happens sometimes, I’m only human.
I exercise and try to sleep, these two things are really helpful. Having routines are also very helpful.
Any last things you want to share?
Self-development and self-healing work is hard. We all need support. It sounds nice to be self-aware, but it’s a lot of hard, painful work. But if I can see myself navigating life a lot calmer, more peaceful, more secure and just generally better, then it’s all worth it.
For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women-like content, click here
When we were younger, many of us spent a lot of time wondering when we would grow up so we could finally be adults. How is that going now? If you haven’t clocked it yet, let us be the first to tell you: adulthood is a major scam and these 14 things prove it:
1. You have to feed yourself.
This is one sure sign of adulthood being a scam. So you mean I have to come back to this house and my parents don’t have food waiting for me? My mother is not offering me extra meat? Wow, so I have to look for what I will eat on my own? This is betrayal.
2. You start to manage meat and fish.
When you actually manage to feed yourself, you realise how much turkey and Titus costs in the market, no one will teach you before you start rationing the meat and fish you eat. Especially with this one that Constable Sapa is in town.
3. You probably won’t even be able to afford milk.
You see that three scoops of milk you always wanted as a child? You see that Milo you wanted to lick but were not allowed to? You probably won’t be able to afford it. And even when you can afford it and can lick it the way you want to, you’ll realise that it is not enough to soothe the pain of adulthood.
4. You are qualified for heartbreak.
You think adulthood is one land of bliss and romance until one person will invade your peace and then break your heart. Like, what exactly did I do to you people? Is it a crime to be an adult?
5. You have to pay your own bills.
From now on, rent is on you. Data subscription payment is on you too. Anything you buy or involve yourself in, you must pay for it by yourself. The literal definition of carrying your cross by yourself.
6. There are really no parties to attend.
I blame Nollywood and Hollywood for making us believe that adulthood was all parties and popping outfits. See ehn, as an adult, there are not so many parties to attend. Take it from us.
7. And when there are parties to attend, you are too tired.
After working hard all week, when Friday night comes, you just want to curl up in your bed watching Netflix and laughing at tweets or TikTok videos. The party can take care of itself. You simply won’t have the energy for it.
8. The sex you want so much, you won’t get it.
You think you’ll enter adulthood collecting knacks and snatching orgasms left, right and centre. LEEMAO. The lies. Either the sex is bad or simply just not available with the person you want it with. Eventually, you will turn celibate.
9. No more Christmas clothes.
The only thing you might get is a matching pyjamas set. And even that one is dependent on finding love. You that is constantly chopping heartbreak, where will that one come from?
10. You have to motivate yourself to get things done.
Because if you don’t, who will? So, you have to motivate yourself to show up for work in time so they don’t fire you. You have to motivate yourself to wake up in the middle of the night to put extra effort into your own personal development.
11. Nobody dashes you free money anymore.
Everybody is an adult now. Deal with it oh. The most they can dash you is urgent 2k. And the day you misbehave like this, they will probably drag you for it.
12. Your younger ones expect you to dash them money.
These ones don’t know what is wrong with them. They don’t know you are also expecting to be dashed money. The ghetto. LMAO, sorry dears, we are all corporate beggars in these streets.
13. Your parents and everyone around you suddenly expect you to be responsible.
Imagine that. Responsibility, when you are trying to survive and stay afloat. Wahala for who dey look up to me oh.
14. Expect to cry. A lot.
This is the strangest part of adulthood. You could be doing something unrelated to tears and you will feel the tears running down. Someone shouts at you too much and the tears come pouring down. Sometimes, you even schedule date and time to cry.
If you grew up with only sisters, chances are, you’ll be getting some nice memories and flashbacks as you read this
1. Makeovers and Dress-ups
Growing up, if your sisters were ever bored, you already knew it was time for a complete makeover. You would say you didn’t want it, but you low-key did. We know.
2. When your guy friends say your sister is hot
They would even just say this randomly, just to trigger you, but once they did, it’s on! “LEAVE MY SISTER ALONE”
3. Dolls everywhere
These things would just be lying everywhere and whenever you asked for a toy car, you would be told to focus on your studies. This life no balance.
4. Watching fights
One sister would slim-fit the other sister’s dress and that house would go up in flames. Grab your popcorn and enjoy.
5. Getting hairdos
They would also use your hair to practice for the future when they would become hairdressers. Not a bad experience at all.
6. Hair pins everywhere
These things were fucking everywhere! You would even find them in your own room. And they were always annoying and oily.
Hello, Zikoko fam. Something for men by men is coming to Z!
If you loved (or still love) playing Ludo, then you’ll understand the rush of playing a double six, sending someone’s seed back home and beating all your friends with a mix of strategy and sheer luck.
1. When someone wants to play ludo with just one die.
Are we joking here?
2. When there are only 2 players so each of you has to handle 2 homes.
STRESS!
3. Your face, when they try to make you play with either yellow or green:
Tueh! Red or blue or nothing, biko.
4. When the game is almost over and you’re still struggling to get your first six.
Am I cursed?
5. The joy that fills your heart when you see this:
YES LORD!
6. How you look at your friend when they land on you and send you back home:
Later you will say we are guys.
7. When the person that shakes and blows the dice the most still doesn’t get double six.
E go pain you die.
8. The pain you feel, when you’re already here and someone lands on you:
WHY ME?
9. How you feel when you get double six twice in a row:
As a boss.
10. You, wondering whether to bring out a new seed or keep moving when you get a six.
The toughest choice.
11. When you’re about to cheat and they catch you.
Oops!
12. When you get to this position and you have to get double one to enter.
The worst.
13. How you feel when your last seed finally enters.
If you grew up Christian in Nigeria, then you definitely have memories of children’s church. From the snacks that were always guaranteed to having to wait for your parents to pick you, this post will take you right back to those simpler times.
1. How you dress for church when your mother picks out your clothes:
Chai! See my life.
2. When your parents drop you and you see your noise-making squad.
YESSS!!!
3. That newcomer that doesn’t want to leave their parents and come to children’s church:
See this one.
4. When you finally graduate from the first bible to the second bible:
As a big boy.
5. When you use your offering money to buy ice-cream from that seller at the gate.
God, forgive me oh.
6. You and the rest of the children’s choir, singing in adult church like:
They will sha clap for us.
7. When you’re the first child to read the scripture during ‘draw your sword’.
WINNING!
8. Testimony time in children’s church be like:
What else na?
9. When all the children have to stay in the adult’s church for a special service.
NOOO!!!
10. The children’s church choreography starter pack:
Still don’t know what the gloves were for.
11. When your teacher picks you to recite the memory verse for the day.
Hay God!
12. When you see them bringing out biscuits and capri-sonne after service.
The best.
13. When you’re already too old but you don’t want to leave children’s church.
I’m not ready, biko.
14. You, when children’s church closes service before adult’s church.
You people should share the grace na.
15. When your friends have gone and you’re still waiting for your parents to come and pick you.
You know your parents are greeting the whole church.
We want to know how young people become adults. The question we ask is “What’s your coming of age story?” Every Thursday, we’ll bring you the story one young Nigerian’s journey to adulthood and how it shaped them.
The young woman we spoke to this week feels like she turned out okay, but she knows she could have been in a better place if she mentally prepared for some of the things that happened as she became an adult.
My life as a child revolved around the church. My parents were ministers in a popular Pentecostal church at the time. They made my siblings and I go to church on Sundays, Saturday evenings and often after school for weekday services. My reading revolved around religious books. I read a lot of bible stories with the same reverence that I read books like Chicken Licken, Famous Five, and Enid Blyton titles. My dad was an avid reader too, so there were books around me all the time. This made me develop a love for reading real quick. Reading was my escape.
In junior school, I read a court case and decided I would be a lawyer. A 10-year-old who knew what she wanted was everyone’s darling. I’d tell adults I wanted to be like Gani Fawehnmi, a human rights activist and a writer like Wole Soyinka, and they would smile. At every moment as a child, I knew exactly what I wanted and had all I needed to get to there. Knowing this made me confident.
My parents were bankers. Executives in two old generation banks. In spite of the money they had, my parents taught us to live so frugally. It was mostly my mum; she was strict. She made us save the little we had and invested in top companies on our behalf before we even became adults. When my dad bought us expensive gifts: new laptops, new shoes, dolls, etc., my mum complained. She shopped for our things on the busy streets of Eko market, while my dad bought most of our things when he travelled out of Nigeria. Somehow, this made me think we were poor, or at best average.
When I joined a new secondary school that was different from my old school at the start of SS1 — in that they used both British and American curriculums — this feeling became even more profound. I was astounded by just how often my classmates travelled every summer. In my first week, when my new classmates asked where I went for summer, I shrugged and said, “Just South Africa,” because I felt it didn’t count. It wasn’t Greece, or London, or Rome, or Paris.
They also had very liberal parents; parents who let them drive, allowed them to have sleepovers, boyfriends, and girlfriends. It was a very lonely period of my life because I felt left out. Worst still, the class bullies picked on me because I had acne and didn’t carry the best backpacks or wear the best shoes.
Still, when I looked at my results at the end of every term, I was proud of myself. In the old school, we were 50 in a class, and each set had at least six classes. While my older siblings were the smartest in that school, always coming top of their set and winning prizes, I was never given any special award. I always came among the first 10 in my class. That was as good as it got. My mum’s response to this was always, “Congratulations.” Nothing more. It was her response to everything, even when one of my older siblings competed for the entire state in a Math competition and came in first.
In the new school, we were 30 in a class; each set had at most 4 classes. I was often the best in government, Christian religious studies, and literature. I usually came in the first 5 in my class. This was largely because the teachers in the new school were very thorough and friendly — they never flogged students; they spent time helping each student develop in weak areas. I even excelled in subjects like Maths and Biology, subjects I had previously sucked at. One time, during a test out, I scored 14/20 and was the highest in the entire set. The best students from other classes, especially the science class came to me to explain it to them. That was the only time I felt like I truly belonged in that school.
Things changed in 2008, during the financial crisis when stock prices crashed. My father lost his job — compulsory retirement — after his bank was merged with a new bank. It was a dark time, but my parents never painted the full picture for us. The only changes made were moving schools and my mum became the one to give us allowances. My older siblings were already in university at the time. The stability I had known for so long crashed. At first, I hated the new school. It was a lot cheaper than the old school, but still quite expensive than my first secondary school. Subsequently, however, I met new people and made new friends. I was still a star student, only now, in an environment that made me feel like I was truly accepted.
I assumed my dad would try to find a new job, but he didn’t. He got an offer at some point, but he rejected it on religious grounds. Before he lost his job, I was really close to my dad; we had the same interests and look exactly alike. He was my shield from my mother. But I started to loathe him after he declined the job on a religious basis. I don’t know how it happened, but the contempt slowly crept in and soon, I discovered I couldn’t stare at him when speaking to him. My siblings and I complained about him to ourselves all the time. We had a house and cars; we were comfortable, but it didn’t look good for our father to remain jobless. We couldn’t continue to lie to people when they asked what our father did for a living that he was a businessman, when all he did was watch movies and read books all day.
When I became a feminist, I loathed him even more — if he was going to be a stay at home dad, the least he could do was pull some weight around the house, but he didn’t. My mum still returned home after a hectic day at work, to prepare his meals. His demands of her, and us increased. I soon realised how fragile masculinity was. He had to assert himself somehow, so we could continue to respect him. And the ways in which he did it were terrible.
When it was time for university, I hoped to go to school in the UK, like most of my classmates. I searched online for scholarships and started speaking with people. I didn’t want to write JAMB, just because. My parents made me take it, and I ended up in a government university in Nigeria studying the course of my dreams.
It was at this point adulting started in the true sense of the word. However, if I’m being honest, I’ve always felt like an adult, even as a child; there’s one part – the unfair pressure of growing up as a girl-child in Nigeria. Then there’s this goodie-two-shoes maturity I’ve always had, that some of my classmates and friends didn’t. It’s the attitude that makes me a stickler for rules, always so scared to break rules or offend people. Sometimes, I blame my mum for this. She made us grow up fast because she didn’t want us to make mistakes she might have made. She wanted us to be independent, and with a mother like that — a mother that started a business on the side while being an executive in a bank just to support the family — it was easy.
With all the strikes and poor facilities, law became the course of my nightmares. I was on a 4.8 GPA in my first and second years. My older siblings had finished with first class, so I wasn’t about to be the exception. But in my third year, my grades dropped and I really didn’t care. I mean I did care to some extent – I became depressed but I eventually stopped caring. All my studying and burning the midnight candle wasn’t reflected in my results, so I settled for 3.8, second class upper. Sometimes, I wonder if I had put a little more effort, I’d have done better, but I’m not sure. I’ve always been laid back especially in uni:
I can’t come and go and kill myself. o
I could also fault my parents for this: we had drivers all through the time we were in primary and secondary school. We were pampered and sheltered to an extent, and suddenly, I get admission into university, and I’m expected to suffer by jumping busses and feeding myself? That’s hell. To cope, I found writing jobs that paid, which allowed me to take cabs and live in a decent place off-campus. This afforded me some comfort.
While in university, I abandoned religion. When my dad first lost his job, I thought things were falling apart, and so I found solace in religion. After a while, I realised that humans would always be stupid and find a way to say it’s religion. I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop, I just abandoned it.
If there was something I could do differently, it would be to mentally prepare myself right from a young age that mummy and daddy’s money won’t always be there. Although I’m comfortable and happy with life now, I still always have it at the back of my mind that if things go to shit, I can always call my mum and she’ll give me money or ask me to move back home. Maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But that independence my mum always wanted me to have — financial independence that meant I wasn’t relying on men for money — made me rely on her for money. I feel like I’m ambitious, but I also feel like I’m too lazy and laid back.
Right now, I work a job that isn’t giving me the optimum satisfaction I want, and I’m afraid to quit because the money is good and I’m afraid I’ll never get another job again and end up like my father. Which is an irrational fear because I’m poached regularly, either to join companies or become freelance.
In the end, I’m comfortable with one thing: I am not turning out too badly. Yes, my relationship with my father might not be all that, but it’s getting better. I’m starting to see the future a bit clearly, and that’s good enough for me.
If you had to explain Nigerian parenting styles, chances are the descriptions around civilian dictators, passive-aggression champions and flogging samurais would probably make the cut.
Now I can’t think of any one scenario where these features would be ideal, least of all when young and highly impressionable children are thrown into the mix, but somehow, these have been part and parcel of the Nigerian parenting handbook for years and years
Perhaps because Nigerian children have always turned out okay, or okay to the extent where we aren’t publicly losing our shit in public on a daily; but it just might appear that these styles work… or do they?
To know where hearts stand in the matter of Nigerian parenting styles, we asked five people if they would continue where their parents left off in raising children of their own.
“I have to say the strongest, most non-negotiable no” – Femi
I don’t want to outrightly say God forbid because there is a chance my parents get wind of this and call a family meeting on my head, but I have to say the strongest, most non-negotiable ‘no’ there is to that question.
Growing up, the minute my father came in through the door, in fact, the second we heard the double-beep honk that marked his arrival home, my siblings and I would use all of .2 seconds to turn off the television, clean up every sign that we were in the living room and make our way to our rooms. The fear was so real, I don’t recall ever sitting down with him to chat, beyond asking for school fees here and some additional money for expenses there. Mind you, these requests only happened when my mother absolutely refused to be the conduit between children and father. Of course, as I’ve gotten older, attempts have been made to forcibly create a relationship, but it’s too little, too late. I’m overly polite at best and completely uninterested in the conversation most times.
When I have children, best believe my primary goal is being their best friend, someone they can confide in and laugh with. Not someone who takes pride in children being unable to look him in the eye for the smallest requests.
“I would ask my parents to write a book” – Dorothy
I grew up in the most unconventional Nigerian home there ever was. This may have had a part to play with my mother being half-Sierra Leonian but it was the most loving, nurturing home there ever was. Rather than leaving the raising of their children to schools and parental hands alone, our home was always filled with trusted family and friends. We were always encouraged to ask questions, speak up against anything we considered wrong and were granted social and freedom at relatively young ages. If possible, I would ask my parents to write a book on how they managed to be so liberal as patients while somehow raising the most well rounded children, if I do say so myself.
“There are actually a number of places my parents got it wrong.” -Nsikan
The only thing I would take away from the way my parents raised me was how strict they were with religion. You would think they were on the left and right hands of Jesus while he was on the cross. No songs, clothings, television programs or events not sanctioned holy in their heads were allowed while I was growing up. And if you were the one responsible for somehow bringing the devil into the home, oh boy, you might actually prefer death. Honestly, I don’t like remembering those days too much.
There are actually a number of places my parents got it wrong, but this religion thing, definitely the first place I’d note.
“My mom has the whole thing down to a science” – Husseinah
I grew up with my mom, who can I add is an absolute rockstar. She single handedly raised strong headed twin girls, with only the barest of outside help. She taught us to cook, change tyres, haul a jerry can of petrol, man, if anyone needs some training on self-sufficiency, look no further than my mother. If there was something I could change about her parenting style, I can’t think of it. She has the whole thing down to a science, I’ll forever be indebted to her. – Victor
“I won’t be making their mistakes” – Victor
I didn’t grow up with my parents. I was one of those children that attended primary and secondary boarding schools. They’ve been relative strangers my whole life. Though this had more to do with them living in a different state from where my schools were. It has made it virtually impossible to have any relationship short of perfunctory checking in and birthday wishes.
I have a child now, perfectly precious and just learning to walk. I’m considering homeschooling him, I want to spend every waking moment with him. My obsession with my child makes things a little hard from their perspective, but I guess things happen like that sometimes. I won’t be making their mistakes however.
In a Nigerian home, there’s a very fine line between being a child and being an adult. 21 might be the official legal age for most things like voting or drinking but if you think that’s when you come of age then you are a joker. To prevent your parents from calling a family meeting on your head, here’s how you really know you’ve come of age in a Nigerian home.
When your mum starts putting two pieces of meat on your rice.
Is this me
When they ask for your opinion during a family meeting.
You mean you want my opinion??
When you are still out at 7pm and your mother hasn’t called you ten times
I don’t understand what’s happening right now
When they start using style to ask you if you have a boyfriend/girlfriend.
Is this a trick question?
When your parents stop sending you pocket money just because you got one small job like that
Am I not your child again?
When they start asking you what you are still doing in their house.
Is it not our house again?
When they bring NEPA bill and your parents ask how much you are going to contribute
But when did this one start?
When your mum starts asking you for grandchildren
Please ma stop this rough play
When you can go out without dropping 5 working days notice
Ehn sho mo age mi
When during family prayer your parents only prayer point for you is to get married and leave their house.
When did this one start?
When you tell your parents you have a boyfriend and they reply ‘Thank God o!’
Is it that serious?
But the surest way to know you’ve come of age is when they give you signs you’re ready to become a parent. Are you ready to have a child? Watch this video to find out what Nigerians have to say about parenthood.
1. How people react when they hear your name the first time:
Their brain is already frying.
2. Your face, whenever someone tries to pronounce your name:
Chai!
3. When someone asks if you have “an easier name”.
You will learn today.
4. You, calculating how much time you spend sounding out your name for people:
Wasting my life.
5. When you still have to spell it for them right after pronouncing it.
STRESS!
6. When people still get your name wrong after you’ve corrected them a million times.
Are you mad ni?
7. When people give you a nickname you hate against your will.
Did I send you?
8. When a teacher hesitates during roll call and you know they are about to destroy your name.
Hay God!
9. You, whenever someone says “sorry if I butcher your name”:
Save your sorry.
10. When they correct you when you say “Susan” wrong, but can’t get “Kunle” right.
See your life.
11. When you can’t even remember the true pronunciation of your own name again.
Everybody has already scattered it for you.
12. Your face, whenever someone asks what your name means:
You can like to mind your business.
13. When you stop telling people your name first and just start spelling it.
No energy, abeg.
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Which one is allowance? Are they not ‘allowing’ you live in their house for free? My friend, will you leave this place.
2. “Privacy”
You want them to give you privacy in their own house? You want them to knock before they enter your bedroom? You’re a joker. You will get privacy when you move out and marry.
3. “Dating”
Which one is dating? Better face your book, graduate, then you can ‘date’ your spouse after both of you have married finish.
4. “Sex”
Sex doesn’t exist. Simpu. The end. Full stop. Bye.
5. “Rest”
Rest ke? Are you God? Even God created the whole world before he rested? What have you done in your small life that you are resting? You can rest when you have died, abeg.
6. “Please”
Why are the people that gave birth to you telling you “please” biko? So they should beg you to bring the remote that is right beside them? You are not a serious somebody.
7. “Sorry”
Shebi people only say sorry when they are wrong? Well, there you have it, your parents can never be wrong. So why should they even know that word?
8. “Thank you”
Wait, you want your parents to thank you for doing something? See this comedian. The only time you might mistakenly hear those words is if you tell them “I love you.”
9. “Adult”
You think you are now an adult because you have turned 18 abi 21? Ehn go and report to the police that your parents don’t know what adult means. You will still chop all these slaps and punishments.
10. “Sick”
You’re not sick, you are well in Jesus’ name. Now stand up from that hospital bed, wear your uniform and be going to school.
11. “Sleepover”
You want to go and sleep inside another person’s house? You don’t have house? You don’t have bed? Infact, you don’t have sense.
12. “Whispering”
Why should they be whispering? If they don’t shout on the phone and at the person standing right beside them, how will people now hear what they are saying?
13. “Grounded”
Which kind of oyinbo nonsense is that one, abeg? Go an bring that cane from their room now now jare.
