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growing up in nigeria | Zikoko!
  • I Had a “Spoilt” Upbringing, by Nigerian Standards

    This week, a young girl shared a TikTok video of her parents’ reaction to her request for an iPhone 8, striking up a conversation about Nigerian parents and their preferred parenting styles that tend to border on abuse.

    Angel (22) had a different Nigerian upbringing. She talks about experiencing gentle parenting with her mother and grandma, and how it’s made her a self-assured adult.

    This is Angel’s story, as told to Boluwatife 

    Image designed by Freepik

    Corporal punishment is the average Nigerian parent’s default when a child misbehaves. That wasn’t the case for me. And I did misbehave— a lot.

    My mother had me very young, while still schooling in the university. So, I spent most of my formative years living with my grandmother in Abuja. 

    I was a troublesome, extroverted child. So much so that I was already sneaking out to go play by six years old. We had only recently moved to Maraba then. My grandma thought the new environment was unsafe, so she thought it best to keep me at home with my nine-year-old uncle (whom I called “brother”) when she was away. An older uncle was supposed to watch us, but my brother and I would time him. Immediately he started washing plates, we’d run to a fence close to my house and jump over it.

    One day, during our usual running escapade, I suddenly developed cold feet when I climbed the fence. I became scared of jumping down, and when my brother got tired of talking me into jumping, he left. I later jumped after a while, but instead of going to look for him, I decided to play with a neighbour’s son on a nearby farm instead.

    Only, we were playing with lighters, and before you could say jack, I’d burned down the entire corn farm to ashes. Luckily, the mother of the boy I was playing with pleaded with the farm’s owner on our behalf and my grandma never knew. Even if she did, she didn’t believe in spanking.

    I remember when, still at six years old, I created a dance group with about six other girls, and we were practising to show off our moves at a neighbour’s birthday party. We called our dance group “Hottie Pop Girls” and really thought we’d get to Maltina’s dance all competition. 

    On the day of the party, I was excited to get to the venue as soon as possible, but my grandma asked us to wait a while. That didn’t sit right with me, and I angrily threw a stone at our window louvres and broke a couple of them. She didn’t beat or shout at me. Instead, she said, “Well, now you aren’t going to the party.” I had to sit and hear all the festivities. It was painful, but as usual, she explained how actions have consequences, and how my impatience had cost me something I wanted. At that moment, I wished she’d just punish me and let me go to the party, but that wasn’t her way.

    I was nine years old when I got into boarding secondary school, and that’s when I started living with my mum in Kaduna. She was pretty much on the same wavelength as my grandma when it came to discipline: calm, rational and believed in conversation.

    In JSS 2, I got into a fight with a classmate who’d taken a letter from my bag to read without my permission. The fight led to me getting suspended from the hostel for two weeks because even though the other person had started it, she falsely accused me of ripping out her hair. When school authorities called my mum to inform her, she immediately defended me. She asked if a proper investigation had been carried out, knowing I wouldn’t just pick a fight for the sake of it. The school insisted, so she came to pick me up. 

    That day was our inter-house sports day, so she took me to the stadium and bought me snacks and a yoghurt. She allowed me to explain what happened and never once questioned me. She even bought food for my classmates at the stadium too, including the girl who’d falsely accused me. The school later did an investigation and apologised to me, but my mum never doubted me for a second. She taught me always to speak my truth, regardless of who believed me or not.

    It’s not like I was a saint. I got into trouble with neighbours too, but when they came to report me, she’d defend me in their presence but then show me the error of my ways when we were alone. With her, I never had to hide anything. She made sure I could tell her even the most uncomfortable things, like when I started getting attention from boys. She never used whatever I said or did against me, and we’d always just talk and talk.

    There was a time I almost burned the house down. I returned from school extremely tired and hungry, so I started cooking. I was watching TV at the same time and somehow fell asleep. By the time my mum returned home, I was still sleeping, but the kitchen was on fire, and smoke was seeping into the sitting room. She put off the fire, woke me up and took me outside. I was expecting her to shout or ask why I was so careless, but she hugged me and told me not to try to cook when I was tired. It was like, “Don’t put yourself in this kind of danger. Just buy bread when you’re tired instead. Collect it on credit if you don’t have money, and I’ll pay.” That was the kind of relationship we had.

    I sat for WAEC in 2015 and passed all my subjects except Maths. Even on the exam day, I knew I’d done rubbish. So, when I came out of the hall, I put a call through to her and said I’d messed up. She encouraged me to think positively and wait for the results.

    I was on holiday with my grandma when the results came out. As expected, I failed, and I was devastated. My grandma had the funniest reaction. She was like, “Why are you crying because of only one fail? Come and eat.” 


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    Click HERE to buy a ticket.


    My mum saw how bad I felt and just encouraged me to focus on the GCE alternative. She got me a math tutor, and I passed— end of story.

    I had a “spoilt” upbringing by Nigerian standards, seeing as I was never spoken to harshly or punished unnecessarily, but it’s made me a very self-assured adult. Even when I got into uni and would get mocked for being so skinny, I’d remember how loved I was at home, and soon the comments stopped getting to me. It was also when I got older that I realised not everyone had the privilege of growing up in a place where they were actually talked and listened to. 

    I had this roommate in my first year in uni who came from an extremely strict background. It was basically taboo for her to talk to boys. When she experienced freedom in school, she started running after every Tom, Dick and Harry. It was like she was set free and didn’t know how to handle herself. It was strange to me because I was trusted with freedom from a young age and didn’t think it was anything special. It made me grateful for my background.

    I grew up with so much assurance, and it’s such that even the people I call friends now show me the same type of assurance. It’s a continuous cycle. That’s definitely what I want to pass across to my children, regardless of the Nigerian status quo.


    NEXT READ: I Was Happier When I Stopped Sending My Parents Money

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  • What She Said: Growing Up With A Pastor Mum Was Hard

    What She Said: Growing Up With A Pastor Mum Was Hard

    Tell us about your childhood

    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. 

    RELATED: Growing Up around Juju Made Me a Stronger Christian

    How did your parents take it?

    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 Embodied by 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

    RECOMMENDED: I Never Knew My Father, but He Gave Me the Best Life 

  • Hear Me Out: Break Your Mum’s Heart in 3 Steps

    Hear Me Out is a weekly limited series where Ifoghale and Ibukun share the unsolicited opinions some people are thinking, others are living but everyone should hear.


    Before you hunt me down on social media to cancel my ass, I bet you’re just as guilty of breaking your mum’s heart.

    Think back to your many sins. Sure, maybe you’ve never been arrested or you’ve somehow managed to consistently call your mum once every week, but what about those times you broke curfew in her house? Hm? And let’s not forget the lies after: “Mummy, leave me alone. It’s not like I was drinking.”


    We’re not perfect. We’ve likely disappointed our mums at least once. And okay, dads can come in. It’s Father’s Day tomorrow, so it would be rude to forget that their hearts are just as breakable. Which is what I’m here to say: You will break your parents’ hearts, and that’s not so bad. Trust me, I’m not shouting it. I’m more like stuttering because this is one of those times the truth hurts like a bitch.

    Right now, I’m talking to all my young adults who can’t ignore the desire to go out into the world and do their own thing. This is for us twenty-somethings who’d like to party literally all night, take that unpopular job and figure God out for ourselves. 

    So how do you grow up, even when your parents don’t want you to?

    Build a fence taller than Otedola’s money. Breaking a heart always begins with setting boundaries. That’s why it feels like a gut punch when an ex blocks you on social media. It just so happens that this time, the people on the outside are also the same two people who bathed you for years, bought birthday cakes and prayed for you to “join a multinational company” after university. Of course, it’ll break their hearts.

    You will break your parents’ hearts, and that’s not so bad.

    I could tell that their relentless asking about my life, salary and every move was their attempt at guiding me, but I knew better. There are many ways to say it, but always, it’s the same thing: Your parents will only begin to recognise you as a separate and capable individual after you’ve cut them off kindly.

    Say “no,” and make sure they hear you. Till today, my parents can’t understand why I’m growing my hair out. Every time they ask, I fling some version of “I’m trying something new” at them. Casually like that. I know the image of me they hold in their hearts and the son they see on the WhatsApp video call are worlds apart. Once, they sat me down and begged me to get a haircut. “Look responsible.” I said no.

    When you stand your ground, your parents will get mad or sad or really quiet and confused; it’s all okay. Part of growing up is making your own decisions, consequences and all. This is what our parents want for us, whether or not they realise it.

    Finally, make space for them. Because bless their hearts, they’re trying their best. It truly is not easy to watch a child grow and go. I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be to see your child brave the world by themselves. You know how babies are born and it seems everything on earth is somehow designed to end them? What if that feeling never goes away for our parents? I can’t imagine it, but I try. 

    So once every week, I call from wherever I am to let them know I’m good and safe. I drive them to church on Sundays when I’m home, and we all take pictures together. I ask my dad what stocks to buy even though I already know the answer. Because I know my mum prays for me, and it comforts her to do so, I pray too. I even tell her when I’m travelling so she can pray extra, extra hard.

    I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be to see your child brave the world by themselves

    Growing pains, I think they call it. Emphasis on the pains because damn, it breaks all of us. I have this friend who — mid-laugh — says, “you will heal” to me whenever something slightly unpleasant happens. And just like that, we’re laughing at that same unpleasantness.

    ALSO READ: The Very Nigerian Ways Nigerian Fathers Say “I Love You”

  • Why It Sucks to be the Middle Kid in Nigeria

    Middle kids are the most underrepresented demographic in the sibling industry. How many middle child memes have you ever seen? These five Nigerians had a lot to say about being a middle child in Nigeria. 

    Ik, 34 

    Honestly, there’s nothing special about being the middle child. It’s almost like no one expects anything good or bad from you because they don’t see you. When you’re a royal fuckup like me, you learn to appreciate people’s lack of expectations for your life. Also, you get to fail as much as you like without feeling the pressure the firstborns feel. It also helps that I grew up in a pretty comfortable family. 

    You can drop out as many times, start new businesses that don’t work out and never move out. You hardly have friends because most of your friends are your older siblings’ friends or your younger siblings’ friends that hung out with you growing up. But it’s harsh realising this in your thirties. 

    Nothing fazes you until you look back at your siblings’ lives and see how well they have it and how established they are. They’re married and they have kids, but it’s just you as a single father, still living with your parents, hustling for two. But it’s fine, things never really work out for us middle kids like that. My time will come whenever that is. 

    Daniel, 10 

    My mom always makes me wear my [older] brother’s old shoes and old clothes, but they used to be new for him, and my [younger] sister always gets new things. Every time I have sweets and snacks, I’m the only one that always shares it with them. They don’t share sweets with me. Sometimes I even have to celebrate [my birthday] when my younger sister is celebrating, and I don’t even know why.

    My parents always blame me for everything that gets spoiled or broken in the house, even when it’s my sister that did it, just because she’s too small. That’s why I want to go to boarding school like my brother so that nobody will be sending me errands or blaming me again. My siblings always fight and put me in the middle and they never allow me to watch my shows. It’s not fair. I only like being the middle child when my brother goes to school and I’m the firstborn for a short while, but then he comes back every time. 

    Tunmise, 19 

    Being a middle child can be nice but it can be hell, too. You get treated as a child sometimes and get treated as an adult as well.

    When my older siblings beat me, my parents are on my side, especially my dad, even if I’m at fault, but when I do the same to my younger siblings, it’s always my fault. I can’t feel wronged because they support me too even when it’s my fault.

    RELATED:QUIZ: Can We Guess If You’re The First, Middle, Last Or Only Child?

    Dami, 24 

    All my life I’ve never really caused any trouble. Everything with me is just always different and low-key. I like it. I’m not really in the spotlight, neither am I  really in the background. I love it so much that I’m not the firstborn. Because the firstborn is there, I can skip responsibilities. I’ll most likely get away with not getting married since they have other children of either sex. 

    I’m also the child that has never really been at home as much as my other siblings. When I was younger, I used to think it sucked to be a middle child because I didn’t get a lot of special treatment, but now that I’m older, I love all of it. And if there’re  any extra benefits of being a middle child, I’ll accept them with my full flat chest.

    Denise, 18 

    You always have to give up something for your other siblings, especially when you’re just three. You always end up as the “understanding” one that doesn’t need a new school bag and doesn’t complain. 

    People always forget you exist. People always remember to get things for your older and your younger siblings, but you? Never. No one ever calls my mum “Mummy Denise”. it’s always my older sibling’s name or the last born’s — never mine. It sucks. 

    If the firstborn is a fuckup, it’s on you to be better and step up. You always have that at the back of your mind. The only upside is that you can get away with a lot of things because you’re invisible, anyway.

    CONTINUE READING:15 Pictures That Accurately Describe The Life Of A Middle Child

  • 10 Useless Talents Nigerian Kids Used To Be Proud Of

    In the days before Nigerian kids had social media and coding as extracurricular activities, there were certain useless talents kids used to be so proud of having that seemed somewhat cool at the time but are just really stupid (and downright creepy) in hindsight. Here are a few of them.

    1. Being able to turn your eyelids inside out

    I don’t know who told kids back then that this was appropriate to do and show people. But if you did this as a child, you deserve to get your ass kicked. I don’t care that you’re an adult now. Also, it’s a disability called “Ectropion.” The more you know.

    2. Sewing your hands 

    Of all the useless talents Nigerian kids were proud of, this was by far the weirdest and scariest because it could have easily gone wrong at any time. Was it dead skin? Why did so many kids have access to needles?  Kids should have a signed note from a parent to be able to buy things like that. 

    3. Rolling tongue

    It’s funny how kids used to be so impressed by being able to roll their tongues, Do that now as an adult and, a picture will somehow end up being immortalised as a meme on the internet forever. 

    4. Making sweater babies

    Since it’s no longer a thing, I guess we’ll never know the logic behind turning sweaters into the shapes of a swaddled baby. We hope that kids that used to treat those sweater babies as footballs by dropkicking them don’t have kids now because omo…

    5. Cartwheeling

    If you sit down with a group of kids for more than two seconds, at least one of them will cartwheel in a bid to impress you. First of all, humans were not made to stand upside down, please. Secondly, what if you break your neck? Did anyone ever think of this??

    6. Turning your lips outward and letting them stick

    How do you even discover that you have a useless talent like this? Who randomly plays with their lips until this happens? 

    7. Having that white spots on your fingernail

    The worst thing about this useless talent Nigerian kids used to be proud of is that having a white mark on your fingernail probably meant a deficiency in certain minerals or vitamins. No, because kids made up a whole song about a white bird that would give them white fingers. Anyways, it’s their creativity for us. 

    8.  Whistling

    For some reason, adults made up the most elaborate lies to make kids stop whistling but they never worked. Is it cool that you make very annoying and unusual sounds from your mouth? Maybe.

    9. Being able to snap your fingers

    Some kids could only snap the fingers on one hand, others could snap on both hands, either way, it’s not exactly a talent. Especially not when 5 girls snap their fingers at you while insulting you. Some kids went as far as soaking their hands in water for a long period to make it snap. No wonder parents always seemed annoyed with kids for no reason.

    10. Spinning pens, books, padlocks

    People that went to boarding school can relate to spinning padlocks during recess to cure boredom. It was kind of impressive that some people could spin books until they tore and padlocks until they didn’t work anymore. 


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  • 12 Reasons Why Nigerian Parents Actually Give Birth To Children

    If you think your parents gave birth to you because they actually love you that much, you should think again. This post exposes the untold reasons for Nigerian parents’ desire for children.

    We have no cause to lie to you.

    1. So that people will not say they don’t have children.

    Image result for nigerian baby

    For real, Nigerian parents are not concerned that people will say they lack every other thing. Children is where they draw the line. They don’t want people to call them by their first name. They want to be Mummy and Daddy of So-so.

    2. So that they can boast without being asked.

    Nigerian parents want to use their children to earn bragging rights. It’s why they shout at you when you say you’re working online or from home. How will they announce to the general public that their son or daughter finished with a strong 2:1, has a Masters, a PhD, and is now a Doctor of Medicine at LUTH?

    3. So they can have an unpaid househelp.

    You, in heaven: I’m coming to this world to enjoy my life.

    Your Nigerian parents: Heavenly Father, we thank you for the gift of a househelp that does not require monetary compensation.

    4. So they can have a powerless party to vent all their frustrations on.

    Nigerian parents will be insulted by touts, policemen, bosses, yet they will keep quiet. But let them get home and see that you’re too happy with the food you are eating.

    Wahala.

    5. So they can practice their pastoral aspirations on someone who will not accuse them of being unspiritual.

    Did they even born you well to say that their prayers are not scriptural? You will chop unscriptural flogging, my dear.

    6. So they can collect plenty foodstuff when it’s time for wedding.

    Image result for eru iyawo for introduction

    Why else do you think they ask for so many yams and fruits? You have now entered the second phase of your life as a glorified meal ticket. Even if your parents don’t eat it, the extended family members will do.

    7. As an unpaid teacher who will bring them up to date with trends.

    If your parents have never phoned to ask you what a slang means, you don’t know what God has done for you.

    8. So they can be hyped everyday.

    Image result for sola sobowale warning

    God help you if don’t give the required compliment and hyping when your mother (or father) asks you what you think about their outfit.

    9. To have someone they can report to when their other half refuses to listen to them.

    And you too, you will nod and say, “Yes ma, I will talk to him.” LEEMAO.

    10. To have someone they will force to gist with them.

    This is hilarious to see. You will just be on your own and they will barge in and sit on your bed. Next thing, “Come and gist me.”

    Gist you about what, please? Mummy please leave my room. I cannot gist you something that you will use against me in the future.

    11. Because they need someone to borrow money from without paying back.

    For real, has any Nigerian parent ever returned any money they borrowed from their children?

    12. And finally, as a retirement plan.

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    Nigerian parents partying and refusing to work because they know their children will take care of them in their old age.

    And honestly, are they wrong?


    How To Let Your Nigerian Parents Know That You Have Grown Wings


  • 8 Nicknames All Nigerian Parents Give Their Kids

    1. ‘Pssst’

    When they’re too tired/stressed to say your name.

    2. ‘This one’

    When looking at you is just annoying them.

    3. ‘That one’

    When they’re eyeing you as you’re walking out.

    4. ‘Em, what’s your name’

    When they’re concentrating on something else but need your help.

    5. ‘Mr man’

    When they’re about to tell you how unserious you are.

    6. ‘My dear’

    Used when they’re warning you in a public place.

    7. ‘Alan poser’

    When they’re hailing you for your outfit.

    8. ‘Eysss’ (Ace)

    Closely related to ‘this one’, used when they’re about to say you’re stupid.