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For millennials and GenZers, real estate agents are the people we love to hate. I talked to Oluwaseun Lisk-Carew, a certified real estate agent based in Lagos and Ibadan, Nigeria, about why there are so many costs involved in renting a house and why the hell inspection fees exist.
Why did you become a real estate agent?
I’ve always loved buildings. In 2020, friends and family encouraged me to give real estate a shot. At the time, it seemed like a lucrative business. I heard agents brag about their commissions even if they didn’t mention figures, so I didn’t hesitate to try my hands at it.
I understudied a few experienced agents for a while and found that I loved touring properties and helping people decide where to live. They showed me how to register my business and get certified as a real estate agent. There is this joy I feel after I close a deal; I can’t explain it. I also picked up interior decor — I’d helped my brother decorate his house even before I broke into the industry.
What does a typical day as an agent look like?
Incredibly unpredictable. Every day is different. Some days, you may be fully booked, but all your clients cancel last-minute, and then you end up not going anywhere. Some days, you decide you don’t want to leave the office but spend the whole day inspecting houses all over the city. Other days, you find yourself arguing with client after client and fighting fires under the hot sun. Except on my off days, I have to be prepared for anything.
What’s the most frustrating part of your job?
Most Nigerians dislike real estate agents, and it breaks my heart. But I get why.
First, there are too many fraudulent agents, so most clients are naturally suspicious; they think all agents are the same. On the other hand, some Nigerians don’t like to hear the truth. They want heaven on earth for small money. So when they meet a genuine agent who is straightforward, they baulk at the price. They’d rather go to roadside agents that will waste their time. No, Kayode, you won’t get a two-bedroom apartment in Bodija for ₦250k.
I would also like to clarify a common misconception: most people believe that the agents fix the price. We don’t.
I’m listening.
Think of it like this: I’m trying to close deals as fast as possible in a crazily competitive market. Why would I raise the prices above what people can afford? The thing is, landlords talk in their circles and set their prices. We agents actually try to persuade them to keep prices reasonable. Sometimes, they agree, then later, their friends and colleagues encourage them to increase the rent. It’s not my house. I’m just an agent, so I cannot just put any price on a house. Agents simply do not have that kind of control.
The landlords also determine these extra prices. The agent only takes agency fees (usually around 10-20%). Other fees like caution, agreement, legal fees and service charges are out of our control. The landlords fix these fees. If a lawyer is involved, there will be legal fees. The caution fees are typically refundable, subject to terms and conditions. The caution fee is insurance of sorts for fixing things in the apartment. If you are moving out of a house and everything is intact, you are entitled to a refund of the caution fee. Most people don’t read agreement forms, hence the misunderstanding.
Interesting. There’s another one: inspection fees. What’s the deal with that?
To be honest, I don’t even like collecting inspection fees. But you need to understand that agents are human beings too, and this work that we do is a thankless one. When I first started, I did not demand inspection fees. Clients took advantage of me; they would waste my time checking so many houses even when they were not ready to do business. I was spending around ₦10k a week for time wasters. When I started collecting inspection fees, the number of time wasters reduced.
Helping people rent houses is a very dicey job. Agents demand inspection fees as a form of commitment to cover logistics and because time is money.
So it’s a cause and effect thing…
To be fair, renting a house is not for the faint-hearted, but I wish renters would realise that agents are Nigerians too. The market is affected by the economy. Prices of everything in Nigeria are soaring every day, and it shocks me that people are shocked housing is following suit.
I usually have a list of questions to narrow down prospective apartments for clients. It turns out some renters don’t even know what they want. In large cities like Lagos or Ibadan, people want to check out numerous houses in different parts of the state. And they want me to take them to all those places, expending my time, energy and money. Renters need to be able to manage their expectations. Some people want plush apartments with constant power and water supply in beautiful estates at the centre of town for ₦300k Buhari naira. In 2021, come on!
Tell me about one time that a renter frustrated you.
I usually put out notices of available apartments, including photos and pricing details, and people reach out to me. There was this renter who wanted to check out several of them. They wanted to check out apartments in Oluyole, Jericho and Bodija. I told them to pick the location they preferred and to pay an inspection fee to visit all those places. In Ibadan, inspection fees typically never exceed ₦2,000 for these kinds of requests. The renter hesitated and went, “I don’t think I want the Bodija house,” and “The one at Oluyole is too expensive. Maybe we should check Jericho.”
Okay, since you know you don’t want Bodija, why did you want to check it in the first place?
Inspection fees help with clients like this. People will think twice before spending money because nobody wants to pay multiple inspection fees for different houses.
[newsletter]
What’s the craziest experience you’ve had with a renter?
Oh, I have lots of this, but one really stands out, and a renter who had found an apartment that he liked. The house cost ₦900k. We got back to the office and were about to sign a contract when the renter said he needed to step out. It turns out that once the renter left the office, someone approached him and promised to get him the house for ₦50k cheaper. They must have taken him to a fake office because they ended up duping him, and he never saw them again.
In this economy?
Yes, people do this a lot.
Hm. How does one detect fraudulent agents?
If someone offers you a deal and it looks too good to be true, chances are, it is. They typically promise mind-blowing stuff for cheap, but decent housing is not cheap.
Registered agents have proper documentation processes and are more than willing to answer questions. Genuine realtors are licensed — fraudulent agents are unlikely to have the required licenses to operate. Most of them are not actual agents — they are middlemen determined to get money by hook or by crook.
Also, any agent who demands payment into their account is likely shady. Never pay to a middle man. People need to draw up a checklist of must-haves when house-hunting; making sure to see the house themselves and communicate with the landlord before payment should rank high on this list. The red flags are always there, and sadly, the system isn’t well regulated. There are laws governing these things, but they aren’t being enforced. So many roadside agents are not accredited. Hopefully, one day, the government will set up infrastructure that will help curb the widespread fraud that has permeated the system.
In May 2021, just as the world was getting out of the funk caused by months of lockdown and inactivity, Seyi Akomolafe found herself in an interesting position. After sitting at home for months and applying for fashion internship roles around Lagos, the 18-year-old finally got an offer, the problem was, she needed to work for free. “Job hunting in Nigeria is an extreme sport and I was excited to finally get one,” she tells Zikoko. “Did my heart sink when I saw it was an unpaid internship role? Yes. But it was from a designer I admired, so I took it.”
Following two “grueling” months at her job, Seyi eventually quit. Why did she leave such an incredible work opportunity? “Well, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was a slave. I thought passion was enough, but I was tapping into my savings and getting very little [knowledge] in return.”
Unpaid internships in the creative sector are as common as the shade and drama the sector constantly feeds the internet. We’ve all seen it in play out before, either in real life or in the movies; A young, passionate intern runs errands and performs tasks for their boss in exchange for lucrative knowledge and exposure in a glamorous field, such as filmmaking, fashion, public relations, or the magazine industry. Through all of this, the intern is not given actual financial remuneration, just experience, a couple of celebrity sightings (if they’re lucky), and vibes. The employer, on the other hand, gets the benefit of services while minimizing costs.
According to the World Bank, Nigeria’s population stands at over 200million with its youth claiming over 40% of this figure. The recent success of Nigeria’s creative scene ranging from music to film production and fashion have led to a proliferation of job seekers looking to break into the sector. As of today, the entertainment sector is the second highest employer of labour in Nigeria after agriculture. In this day and age of social media, everyone knows someone who’s either already a creative or working towards becoming one. The numbers are insane.
As interest continues to grow, structured job and internship opportunities are struggling to meet up. But why do we even need internships in the first place? Why not start something small on your own and work your way up? While internships are an imperative part of the industry, there are thousands of Nigerians creating art on their own without training from experienced people in the industry. However, according to Hassan, a Lagos-based editor who preferred to remain anonymous, “It’s easier said than done.”
Hassan’s entry into Nollywood wasn’t easy. He remembers having to juggle two lives at the beginning, one as an unpaid editing assistant and the other as a digital marketer. After years of working his way up, Hassan has become one of the most in-demand editors in Lagos, a feat he attributes to his early unpaid days. “Just like most things in Nigeria, Nollywood is about connection,” he explains. “I knew how to edit from watching tutorials online, but I needed a way to get myself through the door and being an ‘assistant’ provided that opportunity. What’s the point of having a skill if you can’t use it? I had to find a way to hack it because my passion came first.”
Although most of these internships are unpaid, they still demand just as much as full-time paying jobs. Due to the time-consuming tasks, most interns find it hard to take up other paying side-gigs that could actually fund their lives. Young Nigerians these days have to weigh their options carefully, choosing between their dreams and a job that foots the bill. More often than not, they are forced to walk away, just like Seyi. Because of this, internship opportunities tend to be limited to those who come from privileged backgrounds and are willing to work for free.
Pat Ada Eze is a popular image consultant and stylist to stars like Ayra Starr, Ladipoe, and Johnny Drille. Starting as an intern herself, Pat tells Zikoko, “I think unpaid internships are the worst. I have never done it and I don’t think anyone should do it.” With a successful business of her own, she reveals that she pays all her interns no matter how small the budget is. When the budget is too limited to pay, she does all the work herself. On how unpaid internships affect the industry, she explains that while she’s never really thought about it, she can imagine it “blocking the dreams of people who come from less-privileged backgrounds.”
Times are changing in countries like America. Over the past few years, unpaid interns from different projects have held the country’s creative scene under siege. Lawsuits demanding minimum wage and overtime have been filed against Fox Searchlight, Bad Boy Entertainment, publications like Vogue, the New Yorker, and Vanity Fair. But with Nigeria lacking structure legally and creatively, is this even a possibility? “We haven’t gotten justice for cases of misappropriated funds, election fraud, or even sexual assault,” Seyi explains. “There’s no way it’ll work for interns? We are all hustling and we’ll continue to hustle.”
A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
Riding an okada for a living in Lagos is almost like being in a badly written movie. With villains like agberos, taskforce and police, on the road, any day without an incident is nothing short of a miracle. Have you ever wondered what makes a person ride okada for a living? And why okada riders are always in a hurry? Today’s “A Week In The Life” shows just why.
MONDAY:
My alarm wakes me up by 5:30 a.m. The first thing I do after standing up is to perform ablution. Next, I take a five-minute walk to the mosque. At the mosque, in between sermons, and just before solat, I find myself battling with sleep. It takes all my power to not fall asleep. Thankfully, as I start to lose the battle, the imam starts the prayer.
We’re done around 6:05 a.m., and I return home. “Home” is a compound where 27 other people and I, mostly non-Lagosians, pay money to sleep in every night. ₦200 per night for a human being and ₦200 per night for our okadas. What benefits do we get? A small room with no windows and a bathroom without running water.
So, when I get back from the mosque — every morning — I have to ride my bike to the nearest public tap three streets away to have my bath along with my okada brothers. At around 6:35 a.m., I go back home to dress up, and I’m ready to hit the road by 6:50 a.m.
Before I even make any money, I’m already behind by ₦1,400 every day. First, I buy a ticket from the agberos for N700. This is minus the ₦50 here and there that I have to pay agberos at every junction in my vicinity, which cost around another ₦700 in total. This is minus the ₦1,200 that I deliver to the owner of the okada at the end of each day.
So, you have ₦1,400 + ₦1,200 + ₦200 to sleep + ₦200 to park my bike = ₦3,000 before my day even starts — I haven’t even factored in money for fuel or food during the day.
The worst parts? There are more okada riders than people willing to pay for okada. Also, I can’t work late into the night. Once it’s 6:30/7:00 p.m., I have to close for the day because if police catch me, my money na ₦11,000. If Lagos Taskforce catch me, my money na ₦22,000.
After doing calculations, you realise that ₦4,000 – ₦5,000 is the most an okada rider can make in a day. So, tell me: why won’t okada riders speed all time?
Anyway, it is well though. The main thing now is that work has started and for the next 12 hours I have to out-earn my expenses. I’m hoping for nothing short of miracles.
TUESDAY:
Walahi, today I didn’t make any money for myself. Na only ₦2,550 I don make all day before Task Force came to arrest our okadas. If you see the way we ran for our lives. Me that I collected okada from someone, how will I explain if they seize it?
It’s so annoying because there are some people who disguise themselves like Task Force to steal our bikes. Then, they’ll now go and resell it at a cheaper price. So, we also have to be on the lookout for those ones too. Sometimes, because you’re not sure who is who, you’ll end up dragging with the real Task Force who will beat you like a thief because they think you’re dragging power with them. Just last year, this thing still happened to my brother. They beat him, collected his bike and we still had to pay to bail him.
But walahi, the woman who gave him the okada is so nice. She told him not to worry and even bought him a smaller bike to be using while repaying her small small for the old bike. Alhamdulilah because he just finished paying her last month.
Me, I don’t want that to ever happen to me, and that’s why I’m going home after running from Task Force. By the time I remove ₦1,200 for the bike owner, ₦400 for sleeping and parking, ₦500 for fuel, I have only ₦450 left. And I still have to buy a ₦700 ticket tomorrow morning because agbero won’t hear any story.
When I get home, my plan is to go around begging my other brothers for money. ₦200 or ₦300 here and there can help with food this night and a ticket tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY:
I have noticed that sometimes when I’m riding okada, my mind is not there. In this job, you’re constantly thinking about tomorrow because even if you say Alhamdullilah today, you don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Most times, there’s no hope for tomorrow.
I can’t help thinking about my past. I came from Mokwa town — in Niger state — to hustle in Lagos because my helper died. Before before, I used to do business. One Igbo man in Lagos used to send me money to help him buy rice, beans, corn, in large quantities from Mokwa and send down to him. My profit on each bag was like ₦200/₦300 and I would get around ₦50,000 from each deal. On top of that, the man still dashed me money at intervals, so I was okay. It was out of this money I used to marry and rent a house in Niger state.
Everything was going sweet until I got a call one day that my business partner was dead. How? Road accident. His business and family went just like that. I didn’t even know how to respond because I was sad about his death but also worried about my future after his death. It’s funny that it wasn’t until I started feeling the effect of not doing that business again that I even remembered that my business partner was owing me ₦166,000 before his death.
It has been more than one year since the accident happened. Except on days when I’m thinking about my life, I don’t like to think about him because remembering my old life is painful. Nevertheless, I still carry around the biggest reminder from that era — the Android phone my business partner bought for me when the going was still good.
Last last, this life just get as e be.
THURSDAY:
The only thing that’s keeping me going today is the thought of the sleep I’ll sleep on Sunday because I’m so tired. Because I’m not the owner of the bike, I’m always working come rain or sunshine. The only off day I get is on Sunday and that’s because the owner, who’s Christian, told me who’s Muslim, not to ride the bike on Sunday. I was initially not happy with her decision and now, I look forward to resting on Sunday.
The work is not easy at all, but at least you make something however small. I remember 10 years ago where bike men could make as much as ₦5,000 – ₦6,000 in a day. That time tickets were still ₦200 and a lot of Northern people hadn’t migrated to Lagos. At the end of each working day, after removing every other person’s money, bike riders were guaranteed at least ₦2,500 profit. This used to be money then.
My only saving grace money-wise is the contribution I make with my brothers. Every day, 10 of us contribute ₦1,000 into a pot, and at the end of five days someone takes the bulk money. On and on we go until we go round and then go again. It’s part of this money that I send to my people at home to use to hold body small.
After leaving my home in search of greener pastures, I refuse to believe that this is it. I’m just 31 or 32 years old, but why do I feel so hopeless?
I don’t know how but I must find the strength and hope to see Friday and Saturday through. The job is not the greatest, but at least it’s an honest way to earn a living.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is an egg donor. For a fee, egg donors donate their eggs to couples who are struggling to conceive a baby. Today, our subject takes us through three days in her life before she goes in for her egg donation duties the following week.
Here’s what her journey looks like:
FRIDAY:
Next week is going to be the third time I’m donating my eggs and I don’t know what to expect. I’m not scared or worried, it’s just that each donation episode is different. The first time I donated eggs, I could only take pepper soup for the first three days after I was done. The next time, I survived on Cameroon pepper mixed with warm water for two days. In both cases, it wasn’t until after the third day that I started eating solid food.
On Monday, I had better not encounter any surprises. But that’s a worry for next week because there are problems today that demand my attention.
I stood up from bed this morning with one question on my mind: “Where do I tell my parents I’m going to so I can leave *Delta to Lagos (where the egg retrieval clinic is)?” In the past, I told them I was going for job interviews but I’m sure they’ll soon start getting suspicious. It’s not like I can exactly tell them that I’m going to donate eggs because it can result in a fight. The last person I told that I donated eggs (for cash) used it against me in a fight. According to her, “at least she’s better than me because she’s not selling her eggs.”
So, since then, this egg donation business is strictly on a need to know basis.
Sometimes I sit down to ask myself why some Nigerians look down on donating eggs. I’m shocked because I thought we were all facing challenges and money problems. To me, I see this whole process as something wey person fit chop from and gain experience at the end of the day. I was introduced to this hustle because I needed quick cash and it’s perfect for me because I’m not the type of girl who’s comfortable collecting stuff from men.
Anytime I need money outside my 9-5, I just tell myself that the egg donation process takes only three weeks and I psych myself up for it. It’s not a perfect system but it works and so we move.
SATURDAY:
I woke up really early today to clean the house and complete all my chores. I don’t want a situation where my parents will hold anything against me and prevent my trip from happening. Not that I’ll hear, “you haven’t done x or y but you want to travel.” No ma/sir, I’ve done my work oh.
I don’t want any excuses pls.
I have to travel to Lagos because each hospital has its own rules. Some hospitals will tell you to first come for blood test screening before anything can commence. Other hospitals may first start you on hormonal pills for two to three weeks, depending on your body system, before they run the tests.
After this point, it’s time for injections. Some clinics don’t like stories because injections are expensive so they’ll give you transport money to come for daily injections for a few weeks. But, some clinics believe that you’re mature enough to choose a particular time that works for you to self inject at home. Last last, if you know say you need money, you go heed to their rules and regulations. Moreover, everyone signs an undertaking so you have to be serious about following the rules and regulations.
Apart from the occasional pain of injecting myself close to my pubic region, I don’t experience a lot of side effects. Sometimes the injections make me feel chubby or bloated but that’s the highest side effect I’ve ever experienced.
After you’ve taken pills, injections, and done scans for three weeks, you now have to face the main challenge: the egg retrieval process. Think of the aftermath as having really nasty menstrual cramp pains where you can’t function. You can’t walk and you can’t talk; all you can do is rest.
The pain makes sense because the procedure wan resemble when person dey abort pikin — the doctor will give you sleeping injection and then put a long needle inside of you to retrieve eggs. Even though plenty of girls dey fear, the procedure is relatively safe and doesn’t even affect your chances of giving birth in the future. But e no even concern me. After one incident happened to me, I don resolve my mind say whether I marry, born pikin, no born pikin, I’m okay with it.
For me, as long as I’m living life on my terms and not begging anyone for money, I’m fine with any outcome.
SUNDAY:
Today is shaping up to be a relatively good day. My parents have agreed to my “reason” for going to Lagos and I’ve finished packing. Now, I’m thinking of the next story I’ll give them when I need to go back to Lagos for donation.
Ideally, you should only donate eggs every six months so that your body can rest. But, as everywhere tight and girls need money, I dey run am every 3 months. I know some babes who donate six times a year, and that’s like every two months.
Clinics pay ₦100,000 – ₦120,000 for first-time donors. And by your second donation, this amount goes up by ₦20,000 – ₦30,000. The only caveat is that you must produce six eggs completely before you get full payment. If not, you’ll get only half of your payment. But that rarely happens. After all, you’d have been going for scans and weekly checkups to monitor your progress.
I can’t even lie, it’s that money that keeps me going in this job. The first time I got paid, I bought a new phone. The second time, I saved the money. This time, I’m using the money to move out of my parents’ house.
Being an egg donor is something I see myself doing for as long as possible. The procedure is relatively safe and I like the turnover time for making the money. As long as I keep going to reputable clinics and following the instructions of health professionals, I’ll be fine. And even if I’m not, I’ll still be fine. At the end of the day, I want to be catching flights and not feelings — and this job provides funds for some part of that lifestyle.
Editor’s note: Not all egg donors have it good. Here’s a report by Al-Jazeera on the other side of the egg donation divide.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” has been unlucky. One bad decision in conjunction with a faulty educational system took him from studying a professional degree to selling cattle. Now, he’s trusting God and waiting for his big break.
MONDAY:
I’m awake before my alarm rings. I unlock my phone to check the time and it reads 3:25 a.m. — this means I’m up early by five minutes. Every day, for the past six weeks, I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night for tahajjud prayers.
I roll out of bed, perform ablution and drop on my praying mat. It’s a little bit past 4 a.m. when I’m done praying so I go back to sleep. The next time I open my eyes, it’s 5:30 a.m. and I’m just in time for morning prayers. Although standing up requires a little effort, I manage it. From this point, my day starts in full swing.
I say my prayer, have a bath, wash plates from the night before and cook breakfast. By 7:00 a.m., I’m out of my house and on a bike to the market where I sell livestock for a living. The first thing I do when I get to the market is survey prospective animals for sale. Because I do not [yet] own any cattle; I start my day by convincing people to let me handle the sale of theirs. After negotiations, we usually settle on a cost price, after which I’m free to add my own markup. Sometimes, if a cow costs ₦250,000, I can sell it for ₦255,000 or ₦260,000. The final price depends on the bargaining power of the customer. For expert customers, I usually end up selling at the cost price so the owner doesn’t make a loss. In scenarios like this, my commission ranges between ₦1,000 – ₦2,000. At all at all na him bad pass.
Mondays are typically slow. All the parties have happened over the weekend and there aren’t any more till the next weekend. So, after surveying prospective animals, I spend my Mondays feeding and cleaning them up to look healthy for sale during the week. I also stock up on support items like ropes, feed, etc so I can at least have something to sell and show for my efforts at the close of the day.
My plan for today is simple: make at least ₦1,000 to cover food and transportation back home.
TUESDAY:
Cows are very wicked. And that’s why I always carry my cane anytime I’m feeding or cleaning them. For any cow that is proving stubborn, I use my bulala to reset its head. Yet, these animals can be sneaky. One time when I wasn’t looking, a cow hit me on my chest with its horn. The blow packed enough force to make me sore for a few days but not enough force to make me bleed. After that incident, I became extra careful around the animals.
Truthfully, not all cows are wicked. Some are gentle, easy-going and even allow you to touch them. Currently, I have one cow that fits that bill. Although it has been paid for, I’ve been taking care of it for a month. It’s such an easy-going animal that I sometimes wish it were mine.
But it’s not and I’m just a caretaker. I can’t wait until I start going to the North to buy my own cattle. Until then, I’m going to be spending my days, like today, cleaning, feeding and caring for the animals.
WEDNESDAY:
Sometimes when I compare how much I make on average versus my expenses, I ask myself what I’m doing here. My average daily commission falls somewhere around ₦1,000 – ₦2,000. Bike to and from my house costs ₦400. Food that can sustain me for the kind of work I do costs me around the same: bread and beans costs ₦300 while fufu or eba costs ₦400. Whatever is left goes into my kolo for the rainy days. Sometimes, in a week, all I make is transport money with nothing to save.
For me, this reality is twice as painful because I used to be in the university until I dropped out in my final year. Most times, I find myself thinking that with my level of exposure I should be in a better place. But Allah knows best.
This afternoon, after some older men sent me to buy recharge cards and Amala, I found myself thinking about my life.
It started with a carryover in 200 level, although the repercussions only surfaced in my final year. In my department, one of the requirements to be eligible for final professional exams was having zero carryovers. However, because of a mixture of my negligence and horrible record keeping, I wasn’t aware that I had failed a course. At least, not until when I was prevented from registering for final year. I was asked to retake the course I had failed and that meant an automatic extra year.
Then I made a bad decision.
Because I was very active in school, and because of the shame and stigma I associated with having an extra year, I dropped out.
I got a job at a restaurant, continued to lie at home, and allowed one year to pass me by. By the time my parents found out what had happened, the school had removed me from their system. I begged, wrote letters, and even lobbied, but I was told I couldn’t be reabsorbed into the system. Even though I was on a good academic standing, I was kicked out for not deferring the admission and just ghosting. While I take full responsibility for my actions, I wish I had someone to tell me that a carryover wasn’t the end of the world.
Because I did not and I lived with the stigma of failure alone, I made the wrong decision. Now, all I’m left with is menial jobs and no professional degree.
I’ve accepted my fate and the part I played in making it so. But on days like this, my regrets are fresh again. My only consolation is that I believe that not everyone is destined to work a white-collar job. Perhaps this is my destiny and I should bear it with more humility. Whenever I wake up to pray at night, the one thing I ask God is that the things I’ve lost should not be greater than what I’m going to achieve in the future.
THURSDAY:
I try as much as possible to fast on Thursday to cut down the cost of feeding. Additionally, I also use the day to reflect and be grateful for my life so far. Although I’ve lost a lot, there’s still a lot to be grateful for.
Today, I’m especially grateful for a good support system; my parents and siblings, and friends who have encouraged me. I haven’t been the best person or been in the best of places but they’ve been rock solid.
Sometimes, when I complain of the fact that I’m almost thirty with nothing to show for it, they encourage me to go further. Also, when necessary, they do not hesitate to tell me difficult truths.
For the first time in a long time, I’m starting to feel like my old self and starting to pick myself up. The first sign is that I’m feeling restless again. More than ever, I’m constantly thinking of ways to save up money to buy livestock from the North. Even if I buy just one cattle or sheep, I’ll know that it is mine. With the income I earn, I don’t know how I’ll do it but I’ll make it work one way or another.
It has to work because my plan of going back to school depends on it. I can not, in good conscience, ask my parents to fund my education again, especially after what happened the last time. My dad is a retiree and my mum has my four siblings to take care of. I have to sort myself out even though I don’t yet know how.
On some level, I understand that this is a trial, so I’m constantly praying to Allah for forgiveness and the strength to see this through. I also understand that it’s not the trial that matters but your attitude while undergoing said trial.
I don’t have the answers but I know that my life story will not be defined by my mistakes. Even if I don’t know how I’m going to achieve any of my dreams, I’m going to try. I want my life story to be a testament to the fact that you can be at your lowest point and still pull yourself out. I believe that there’s no limit to what you can achieve as a human being.
I may not have all the answers but I have God. And his presence alone is sufficient for me.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a youth corps member currently without a place of primary assignment. She talks about the bleakness of her days, being frustrated by the NYSC scheme and the ways she sparks joy in her life.
MONDAY:
I feel like my life ended when I started NYSC. First of all, I didn’t get mobilised with my mates because my university was playing with my certificate. I had to wait for the second stream.
When my posting came out, I ended up being posted to the north. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my redeployment to Lagos failed. After camp, I spent two months in a totally different state with no housing or family members. When I finally redeployed to Lagos, no PPA. And thus began the next two months of my life hanging in limbo doing nothing, waiting in uncertainty and listening to NYSC officials say the infamous, “just keep checking your NYSC dashboard for your new posting.”
The first thing I do when I wake up this morning is to open my NYSC dashboard to check my PPA portal. I’m met with the familiar disappointment of a blank page, so I log out.
It has been five months from mobilisation to redeployment, and I’ve not done anything significant. But that’s not the most annoying part. The worst part is that other people wake up with a clear idea of how their day will go and then there’s me who just, well… wakes up. A large part of my day involves figuring out how to occupy myself until everyone returns from work at 4:00 p.m.
Sometimes, I sleep or read a book, or just stare out into space. Nobody tells you how slow time moves when you have nothing planned for the day.
Another thing that frustrates me about the uncertainty of my situation is that I can’t get a side job. Every company I’ve interviewed with wants some measure of commitment, but I’m scared of taking a job, getting a PPA the next day and having to deal with clashing schedules. So I find myself declining jobs and waiting for NYSC to sort me.
Today is gearing up to be a long-ass day. I can’t believe it’s just 10 a.m. My initial plan was to scroll mindlessly through social media, but everyone online looks like they have their life together — and that’s just going to make me feel bad.
I can’t do NYSC, can’t do a side job, can’t scroll through Instagram. All I can do is wait for 4 p.m.
TUESDAY:
I find it ironic that I had more fun outside Lagos than I’m having in Lagos. Although NYSC chopped my eye for redeployment on the last day; I still had a swell time in the north. The camp was fun and I got to meet interesting people.
Now, my life is far from fun. My days are monotonous, and they repeat themselves. The only reason I remember that today is Tuesday is that I’m receiving a delivery for my sister whom I live with. Another aspect of not having a job is that I’m the designated “always-at-home-to-receive-a-package-person.” Sometimes, I feel like I’m part of the house and will soon merge with the furniture or the house itself.
By mid-afternoon today, tired of sleeping, I call my contact at the NYSC office for an update and he goes, “Why are you complaining? Are you not just sleeping and waking up?”
I’m speechless.
In terms of how great my life could have gone, things haven’t gone according to my plan. I’m not only humble, but I believe that I’m now a cautionary tale. People are now like “If NYSC posts you outside Lagos, don’t redeploy. *Yinka redeployed and now look at her life.”
At this point, I don’t mind working for free; as long as I can just start working.
Wait, I mind working for free. Lagos is too expensive for that behaviour pls.
WEDNESDAY:
En route to the Secretariat for monthly clearance today, one policeman shouted “corper wee” at me. I felt like coming down from my bike to punch his silly mouth because who is smiling with him.
This NYSC period has been full of only stress and frustration for my life. If not that allawee is tied to monthly clearance and monthly clearance is tied to wearing the NYSC uniform, where will people see me to be shouting “corper wee”.
In all honesty, even the ₦33,000 allawee is not enough to survive on. Before NYSC, I used to comfortably buy Chicken Republic Refuel Max, but now, my motto is that there is rice at home. I can’t believe part of the reason I left the north was because they didn’t have Refuel Max, and now, I can’t afford to buy it in Lagos.
Today, I find myself very grateful for my benefactor aka my older sister. If not for her financial support, I’d probably have died of starvation. As a way of extending my stay in the house, I make up for my lack of earnings by doing domestic work.
I clean, cook and do everything in between.
If my sister asks me to run an errand, I do it with no questions asked. How can I protest when a carton of Indomie is now ₦3800?
Once I remove money for data, transport money from running around to sort NYSC runs, there’s almost nothing left to spend from the allawee.
My mentality now is that if any activity is going to remove from my ₦33,000, I’m not doing it. I’m going to politely decline, stay home, eat rice and do the dishes after.
THURSDAY:
I wake up with this bout of sadness and an impending sense of gloom. I don’t want to talk to anyone around me; at least, not for a few hours.
I feel like the last five months has made NYSC a core part of my identity, and I’ve given it more power than I’d like. It has become an integral part of my conversations with people.
Friend 1: “How far your PPA?”
Friend 2: “Can’t you do the NYSC without PPA?”
Family and friends: “Why is this happening to you?”
Me: “I don’t know…”
I miss the old me. The fun me. I remember enjoying things like musical concerts, book shopping and watching plays. I’ve allowed life and NYSC take those away from me. But I can’t continue like this.
Today’s operation is to spark joy in my life. I’ll kick off the day by watching season 2 of the series, Ted Lasso. Then, I’ll listen to the Hamilton soundtrack and scream along when they say “how do we emerge victorious from the quagmire”. After that, the soundtrack is over.
By then, the day would be perfect for taking both Zikoko quizzes of the day. Finally, I’ll end the day by listening to Zikoko’s Love Life and that one will spark endorphins that’ll carry me for at least 30 seconds.
Less worrying and more enjoying.
FRIDAY:
If there’s any lesson from this period, I’m struggling to see it. But today is not the time for plenty of questions. I’m packing a bag to one of my friends’ houses where I can binge TV and let someone else worry about feeding me.
I could do with the company and distraction.
When my NYSC service is over, I’ll throw a party. Then I’ll tear my uniform. After, I’ll frame and hang my NYSC certificate because I’ve suffered for it.
I lied when I said I didn’t have any lesson from this experience. I do, and it’s that life doesn’t always go as planned. If you had given me a thousand guesses, I don’t think I’d have guessed that five months into NYSC I’d still be struggling to be posted. In my head, I thought that I’d be saving money from PPA [the subject has paying PPA options] alongside my allawee for jaapa. Then I’d also use the opportunity to build up hours for my minimum work experience.
All my planning is in the mud.
My prayer now is that when I wake up on Monday morning my PPA has changed. God pls.
Editor’s note: The subject in no way seeks to tarnish the image of the NYSC scheme. She simply wishes to share her experience of/with the scheme.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
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The first time the guy in this story tried to make money, he was beaten for it. Years later, he became a product manager and was slowly building up his wealth until a work mishap sent him out of a job and wiped out his life savings. Two years later, he’s building it back up and at $9800/month; it’s never been easier.
What’s your oldest memory of money?
It dates back to 1994 when I was in primary three or four, I stole ₦20 from my mum to buy some biscuits and sweets for a teacher so I could become their favourite student. I said it was from my mum. Unfortunately for me, the following week was Open Day and the teacher thanked my mum for the gifts. When we got home, she asked me to explain and I came clean. I got the beating of my life.
Wiun. Could you paint a picture of what it was like growing up?
My mum was a teacher in the civil service and my dad was a jack of all trades. What both of them made wasn’t always enough for a family of eight. Things were especially tough during periods when the government owed my mum salaries or times when my dad’s businesses didn’t do so well. We were pretty much alternating between plenty and lack for the longest time.
Do you remember the first time you made money?
1997, and I was about 10 years old. I had friends who worked at the local market. They helped people carry their goods for a fee. I asked to follow them one day to observe how they worked. After watching for a while, I joined them. I made ₦16 on that evening and was so proud of myself. Unfortunately, one of my church members saw me and reported to my mum. I got another round of beating for “embarrassing the family and making people think we were hungry.”
I don’t even remember what I used the money for anymore. But I stayed off trying to do anything for money until I got into university to study computer science. This was in 2005.
What was the next thing you did for money?
I helped someone write a math exam in the second semester of my first year, and I got ₦2k for it. I got over the guilt of what I had done when I got the money. For context, my allowance from home was ₦1k/month.
When I got to my second year, he introduced me to another guy who had missed out on school for the entire semester due to a personal tragedy. He was going to write six exams that semester, and I agreed to do it for ₦6k per course. That brought in ₦36k.
I knew it was illegal and could get into a lot of trouble, so I pivoted into something different in my third year.
What was this?
I started a tutorial centre to teach students in the lower levels. The centre caught on, and I was always booked and busy during the exam periods. On the side, I was writing final year projects and seminar papers for final year students. On average, I was making more than ₦150k per semester. I did these things until I left university in 2011. By that time, I had about ₦1m in savings.
Hmm.
One of my cousins was going to a university in the UK that year, and I started thinking about the possibility of going abroad for my master’s degree. He directed me to the affiliate centre that helped him with the whole process, and I went there to make enquiries. But I missed the floor and found myself at an I.T training centre. Somehow, the facilitator of the centre convinced me to get some certifications with them instead and showed me a pathway of how I could use this to get into tech. I thought it sounded good, so I paid for six certifications in software development and network engineering. It cost me ₦600k.
The courses lasted for six months. The centre retained me as a facilitator after I finished my programme and paid me ₦15k/month. On the side, I was also looking for a better paying job, but nothing came until NYSC in 2012.
Two weeks before my service year ended, I got a job as a systems and server admin with a contractor doing some IT work for the government.
How much was the pay?
₦90k. But I also had to be transferred to a state in the south-south. However, I was at the job for only three months. I resigned in May 2013.
Ah, why?
I found out that my chances of growth were low. On my team, there were people who had been working there for two to three years and were still at the same income level they were when they joined. I didn’t want that for myself. I’ll admit that I made the decision because I had a bit of savings. ₦450k.
Fair enough. What came after?
Unemployment. I was at home for five months.
Uh-oh.
I was getting interviews but I either didn’t think the companies I was interviewing with were the right fit for me or they were offering me ridiculous salaries. I was bent on not accepting any offer below ₦100k and these companies were offering me ₦40k or ₦50k.
By the fifth month, I had burnt through my savings and had ₦70k left. I was beginning to realise that saving money only works if you’re earning.
Thankfully, a company reached out to me in October 2013. Someone at my last job had referred me to them. I got an offer almost immediately after I did my interview. They wanted me to come join them as IT support staff and my starting salary was ₦90k. Not the ₦100k I was looking for, but it was close.
I get that. How long did you spend there?
Six months. I left in March 2014 after I got a better offer from an FMCG company. They brought me on as an IT lead and my salary was ₦150k. This was probably one of the most toxic places I’ve worked at.
Why, what happened?
First, an IT lead was the highest role for the Nigerians who worked there. The supervisor positions and other superior roles went to foreigners. So, there was no opportunity for growth for me. I spent six months there and left in August 2014 after an argument with one of the supervisors.
Here’s where it got interesting: they didn’t accept my resignation.
Why not?
A lot of the foreigners on the team were in violation of their visas, and they feared I would report them to immigration if I left like that. They gave me an offer instead: they would pay my salary for six months if I didn’t get another job within that time frame. I accepted it.
Sweet.
I got a new job lead at a fintech company about two weeks after I left. Two months and a series of interviews later, they offered me a senior IT role. My basic salary was ₦250k, but there was an extra ₦30k transport allowance, which brought my total monthly earnings to ₦280k. Another ₦150k was coming in from my last job. In total, I was earning ₦430k until November 2014. Somehow, my former workplace found out that I had gotten another job and stopped the payments.
Hehe. How did it go at the fintech company?
Oh, it was great. I spent three years there. A lot of growth and learning happened there, so I wasn’t in a rush to leave. However, I never got a salary raise even once. It probably wouldn’t have mattered much, but I got married in 2015, so I had to earn more. Ultimately, it was one of the reasons I left.
Another fintech company had been trying to bring me on board, but I didn’t give them a lot of attention. I accepted their invitation to interview when I made a decision to leave the company I was with at the time. They liked me, and I got the job. Like that, my salary grew from ₦280k to ₦650k. It was a massive move I should have made earlier.
It does seem that way.
Haha. Apart from my salary, there was at least one bulk payout in every quarter of the year: leave allowance in March, performance bonus in June, Profit from the previous business year in September, and end of the year bonus in December.
Could you tell me a bit about how you navigated money at the time?
I was saving 40% of my monthly salary. The remaining 60% was spread across other expenses, mostly household expenses and black tax. At the end of everything, my core savings was enough to cover house rent, which was ₦1.8m.
The bonuses I got on the job went into investments.
What kind of investments?
Bank investments. Treasury bills were hot and at an all-time high, bringing in 13% – 14% per year. I also had a fixed deposit account I was putting money into. By 2018, I had gathered ₦6m in core savings and investments.
Then something happened.
Uh-oh.
At the fintech where I worked, I was on a product team where we managed high network individuals. We helped them buy international portfolios and investments to reduce tax.
Everything ran smoothly until December 2018. I got a call from work and was notified that the infrastructure we used to facilitate these transactions had been exposed. What had happened was that the systems could not verify if the transactions we had made on that day to the BDCs — who were the middlemen — were successful, so we ended sending money to these people more than twice. And these were large volumes of money — $30k here, $20k there, some were more than that.
By January 2019, we had recovered most of it. But the other BDC agents went underground with the money. The total debt that was on our head was $2m.
Ehn? This sounds like a nightmare.
It was. The affected High Net Worth Individuals were on the company’s neck. Before long, the regulators got wind of it and everything spiralled out of control. My line manager resigned. I was next in line, so I had to be the fall guy.
When the regulators came knocking, they seized the assets of everyone on my team to recover the money. All the money I thought I had went up in smoke.
How much?
About ₦8.2m. They also took two cars belonging to me and my wife and some pieces of land I had bought. I was at level 0.
Damn.
The company asked me to resign, so I was without a job for the most part of 2019. Marrying my best friend saved me. My wife took over providing for the family on her ₦200k salary.
Seven other people were affected by the asset freezes, and we were fighting it in court. But I pulled out in 2019 because I realised how long court cases in Nigeria can drag on. I had to move on.
What did moving on look like for you?
For starters, I had to figure out how to make rent in October. Thankfully, there was something to look forward to.
What was that?
Before the whole situation started, I had been talking with some Chinese acquaintances about the possibility of bringing in Android POS machines into the country, and I had paid ₦700k for it. In March 2019, 10 POS machines were delivered to me. I had the infrastructure and configuration skills, but zero coding skills to integrate the POS into the Nigerian payment gateways and teach them how to read ATM cards. I went back to the same fintech company I worked at the previous year and convinced two friends to work on it with me, promising them 15% equity each. After five months, we figured it out.
Agent banking was already becoming popular in the country, so it wasn’t hard to find 10 agents. I got ₦120k in revenue from the 10 machines in the first month. It increased to ₦300k in the second month.
Then I ran into another problem.
What was it this time?
Regulators again. I got an email and they informed me that I was running the operation without a license. That’s how I was back to fighting for my life. I still had a relationship with the MD of the last fintech company I worked with, so I thought I could leverage it. After a series of back and forth, the company bought me out and paid me ₦10m for the POS machines and the solution I had built.
Whew.
I paid my guys ₦1.5m each per our equity agreement, ₦2m fine to the regulators and paid my rent, which had been due for a month. At the end of everything, I had ₦3m left. Things were beginning to look up again.
Did you ever get another job?
I did in the same month. My former boss came through again and referred me to a company that needed somebody to manage their payment gateway. The salary was ₦350k.
It was less than what I earned at my last 9-5, but it was either that or rely on the ₦3m I had left. I spent only three months there and left in January 2020. The people there weren’t open to change and preferred to stick with their old ways of doing things.
The same week I left, I got a call from an oil and gas company. They were looking to build a product for efficient fuelling for their fleet offshore and someone had referred me to them. I got a six-month contract as senior product manager for the product. ₦750k per month. When I left, I had built my savings to about ₦5m.
Then I got another job.
Tell me about it.
I wasn’t even keen on another 9-5, but it was a digital bank and the offer was good. ₦1.3m. It’s funny when I think about it now, but it took me about eight years to hit ₦1m every month.
Inside life.
The product I was building went live in December, but I stayed two extra months before I left in February 2021. The plan was to take some time off, build and ship my own product. But I couldn’t refuse the next offer I got.
Ghen Ghen.
One of the VPs of a digital bank in South America DMed on Twitter and asked if I was interested in a senior product manager role at the bank. I got an offer from them in April 2021.
How much?
$11k gross. $9800 net. That’s about ₦4.9m per month.
Omo. How do you move money in and out now?
Every month, I take $2k out for my monthly running costs, $2900 for short term investments, and I leave the rest in my international bank account. My wife and I should leave the country before the end of the year because of my new job, so I’m saving for when the time comes.
Let’s start with a breakdown of your running costs.
This is not an exhaustive list, but I imagine it looks something like this.
What about your short term investments?
Every month, $900 is spread across different crypto investments. $400 goes into my PiggyVest for any emergency expenses. I put $1k in mutual funds, and this is to raise the tuition for my two kids when it’s time every three months. I also put $600 across a couple of agritech investments.
What has all of this done to your perspective about money?
First, your risk appetite is directly proportional to how much you’re earning. I’ve realised that the more I earn, the more my interest in investments grows. A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have considered investing in crypto.
Also, whoever says money doesn’t give happiness isn’t being fair. I would know because I was at my lowest point in 2019, and I know what that did to me. I developed high blood pressure during those months that I now have to manage for the rest of my life.
I’m sorry about that.
Thank you. I’m fine. But perhaps the most important shift is realising that people who depend on you will manage without you if you don’t have money. For the entire time I was down to zero, calls from members of my extended family were non-existent. The good thing about that is it’s now easier to say no to them when they come knocking. So, maybe don’t kill yourself so others could live.
How much do you think you should be earning now?
I don’t think I should be earning a salary at this stage. I feel like I should have launched a couple of products in the market and earn money based on their market valuations. That’s one of the things I’m looking to do in the next five years.
Let’s come back to the present for a bit. Is there anything you want but can’t afford?
I’m big on family houses. I’ve been thinking about a building that would accommodate my family, my parents, and my siblings and their families. I know the location I want for this project, but I’d have to buy old properties from the current owners and tear them down, and that alone will cost about ₦90m. It’s a huge investment I can’t take on yet.
That’s an ambitious project. Is there anything you’ve bought recently that’s improved the quality of your life?
An air fryer. I bought it for health reasons, and it’s been absolutely worth it. It cost only ₦120k.
Ah, nice. Is there a question you think I should have asked but didn’t?
My financial happiness.
I was coming to that, but let’s hear it.
It’s a six. 2019 was tough, but it could have been worse. I’m also glad that I’m bouncing back. I’m not 100% fulfilled yet because I haven’t built and shipped a product for myself — all the ones I’ve worked on have been for companies I’ve worked with. When this finally happens, I’m moving up to an eight or nine.
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A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a bricklayer. He tells us about the poor wages that come with the job, battling omo oniles at building sites and how he plans to become an engineer.
MONDAY:
I don’t like staying at home on Monday. Whether I have a job or not, I must leave my house to do something. Based on the nature of my job, work is not always constant. Sometimes we have work and sometimes we’re jobless and just looking at God. It’s not every day people need bricklayers.
When I leave my house by 9 a.m. today, the first place I go to is called “Center” — a bubbly place in Ilorin where clients come to request the services of bricklayers. Here, customers come and tell us about their job, we agree on a price, number of people and duration of work. Win-win for everybody.
However, the first thing I notice when I enter Center is that everywhere is dull. No clients, no nothing. Everywhere just calm like say fight just finish. My body is not feeling the place, so I leave for my friend’s office nearby.
Unfortunately, my friend isn’t around, so I have to go back home. On the way home, I can’t help but think about how this job is changing. Bricklayers used to have plenty of jobs, but now there are too many people doing this work. And they are cheap too because of desperation.
I get angry when people say we make a lot of money because we get paid daily. How much are they paying us? ₦3,000 or ₦3,500 pata pata. Then someone will now open their mouth and be calculating for me. They’ll say ₦3,500 x 30 days is big money. Do I work every day? Do they work from Monday to Sunday? Let’s even say I want to every day; is there job?
These are the issues and part of why I don’t like people who don’t mind their business. Anyhow, that’s their own problem. My current headache now is whether there’ll be light at home. At least if I’m not working today I can relax at home and watch TV or play games. Tomorrow is there for us to try again.
TUESDAY:
I’ve been doing bricklaying work since I was 12 or 13. Before secondary school. Immediately after graduating from primary school.
How did I get into it? Typical story. My dad, the breadwinner of a large family, lost his job as a transporter. 8 kids, large house, plenty of bills. Me, the second-born, the only male child, and subsequent new breadwinner.
Options for work when you’re 12/13? — labourer work.
The first month was carrying blocks up and down. Next, I progressed to mixing concrete. This led to double promotion and becoming a bricklayer’s assistant. I continued doing this work even while in secondary school. Small school work, small bricklayer work. All na learning.
As far back as I remember, I always wished to be educated. A teacher offered to sponsor my education but my father refused. His reason? He can’t allow his son who happens to be his second child to live with someone he doesn’t know. That’s how my chance for free school went, and I had to be hustling up and down for my education.
At the work site, I met some guys who encouraged me to think big and work hard. I took their advice, saved some money and entered Kwara Poly after secondary school.
That’s where I entered wahala part two. I thought I could handle the expenses, but billings everywhere. Lecturer says we should buy handout, money. Lecturer says we should photocopy textbook, more money.
After I finished ND1 [first year in a polytechnic] like this, I ran out of money. No way to do ND2 [second year] and that’s how I entered gambling to try to make money.
I’ll not go into details, but that experience taught me that there’s a difference between suffering and hardness. When you’re suffering, people can pity you and assist because it’s not your fault. But you see hardness? Nobody will help you because they can see that you’re your own problem.
Anyhow, I stopped gambling, returned to bricklaying work and eventually raised the money. I even ended up doing civil engineering for my HND programme.
After that programme, I now faced wahala part 3. No job.
The company I did my NYSC with was offering me ₦30,000 a month for full-time employment. I did the maths of my earnings as a bricklayer and realised I was better off there. That’s how I switched back to this work.
Why am I saying all of this? It’s because I woke up feeling very grateful today. Things may not be going the way I want, but thank God we don’t look like where we’re coming from. And for that alone, today feels like it’s going to be a good day.
WEDNESDAY:
I’ve been working under the hot sun all day. All my body is screaming for water and my shirt is soaked with sweat. But that’s not even the worst part. The person we’re working for just announced that he can’t pay the full amount we negotiated — ₦3,000/day — because something something money didn’t come through.
Me I’m asking myself how that one concerns me. And why is he just telling us after we’ve been working since morning under the heat? As per say him be oga, I said let me try to reason with him, but he’s not listening to anybody. He’s showing power because he knows that we can’t abandon the work after coming this far.
This is the part of the job that I don’t like. Because we don’t have a written contract, someone can just change their mind after you’ve started work. And there’s nobody to fight for us.
Just last week, Agberos came to the house we were working on and asked for money.
I asked them, “Money for what? In Kwara state?” Before I could say anything, I heard “gboa.” That gboa was a slap.
Next thing, me and my boys carried shovel to fight them. The next thing police have arrested everyone. Godfather came to bail agbero. The house owner told us that he was coming to bail us, and after keeping us waiting for hours, he came and started shouting at us.
Nobody to defend us, and now we can’t even defend ourselves.
Anyhow sha, after plenty of back and forth plus shouting, oga finally agreed to pay ₦2500 instead of ₦3000. It’s still out of this money that I’ll buy strong paracetamol for all the stress.
THURSDAY:
I’m not in a hurry to go to work today. After the drama of yesterday, I take my time to prepare. I listen to the radio, I browse through my phone and call my friends.
If not for the economy of Nigeria, why will I, a graduate, be working a job where the highest you can make in a day is ₦3500? Okay, maybe ₦4,000 if you do certain jobs. But I can bet that you will spend half of that money buying pain relief drugs.
So what’s now the point?
I recently started taking some certifications because my goal in future is to become an engineer. I’m constantly praying and working towards this goal. I just need time for things to align for me.
But before then, I need to leave this house so that I can hustle my daily ₦2k.
FRIDAY:
I don’t work on Fridays because it’s Jumat and I have to go to the mosque. I can’t do any work that won’t let me serve my God.
My plan today: sleep, eat, pray and hang out with my friends.
Thank God it is Friday.
Editor’s note: Bricklayers can make more than ₦3,500 a day if they get contract jobs. However, those jobs are rare.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
The subject of today’s “A Week In The Life” is a forklift operator. Forklifts are equipment used in lifting heavy loads from the factory to the warehouse and from the warehouse into trucks.
Our subject talks to us about working two different jobs as a forklift operator, working flexible hours at both jobs, and making more money than the typical forklift operator. How does he do it? Read more to find out:
Unless I’m on the night shift or something as unpredictable as Lagos traffic delays me, my day typically starts at 10 a.m. The first thing I do is to lay out my plans and assess my level of preparation to achieve them. Both companies I work for — company A and B — require operators at the start of their shift, to go round their machines, assess their readiness for work and document their findings in a logbook. I equate planning my day with assessing my machine, but in this case, I am the machine, and the machine is me. Once I’m done with this, the day begins.
As a forklift operator, I’m half part an engineer who operates an industrial machine and half part an operator who has to lift loads. I mostly do this using a machine called a forklift — an industrial machine with a forklike mouth used for lifting heavy loads over short distances.
Think about it like this: in the absence of a mobile crane machine, you can use a forklift. Although, a crane is taller and safer because the load is carried at a distance from the operator, compared to forklifts which are quite close.
I work part-time with two companies that produce and sell drinks, and my job typically involves stacking these drinks into the warehouse after production or loading them for sale into waiting trucks.
People say knowing how to drive a car means you can drive a forklift. They aren’t entirely wrong but they are also not right. Knowing how to drive a car makes things easier, but you still need to learn the rules of the forklift from scratch because it has functions a car doesn’t have. The tyres have a turning pattern that ensures that the front tyre can be reversed to face the back, and vice versa — this means that you can navigate through extremely tight spaces.
In addition, the forklift has three levers — which a car doesn’t have — and that’s why we’re called operators, instead of drivers. One lever helps with lifting and putting down the load, another helps with balancing the load on the machine, and the last helps in manoeuvring tight corners. You also can’t drive a forklift with both hands. You need the right hand to perform the function of operating and carrying the load while the left hand is used in wheeling the steering, which is usually smaller/thinner than the steering of a car.
All these require their own special training.
I work part-time for a couple of reasons: Firstly, because it frees up my time. Full-time operators start their day at 7 a.m. and end at 7 p.m. However, as a part-time operator, I resume by 10 a.m. and I work for seven hours. During this time, I cover for seven full-time operators [as a break reliever] for one hour each, while they rest or eat. Sometimes, I’m lucky and someone tells me not to bother covering for them so this frees up an extra hour or two for me. Whether I work for seven or two hours, I still get paid at the end of the month. And the salary difference between a full-time and part-time time operator is just ₦9,000.
Money is the second reason I work part-time. I observed that Nigerian companies, especially forklift companies, are greedy and not deserving of my time. The drink companies pay ₦50,000 per day for each forklift machine and yet, the forklift companies don’t pay operators [especially full-time] well. However, by working two part-time jobs with flexible hours I outearn a full-time operator. For both jobs, I work two mornings, two nights and get two days off. I’ve timed my schedule such that when I’m on the night shift in company A, I’m off duty in company B. And when I’m off at company A, I’m on the morning shift in company B. This ensures that I have adequate rest and I work like someone who’s not working.
The last reason for part-time work is the benefits. Company A has health insurance but company B has a more comprehensive [covers more treatment] health plan. Company A has a better pension scheme than company B. Both companies give paid leave. Irrespective of whatever direction they take, I win in both places and get to customize my benefits. I laugh when people say, “this boy, you don’t have sense,” because I don’t have full-time employment. I know what I’m doing.
As a child of God, I don’t believe in using all my strength to work. I believe in grace and not in how hard you work. You’ll catch me spending my free time either reading my bible, listening to Christian music, or spending time alone rediscovering myself.
But with the good also comes the bad side of a job, like supervisors insulting you to get things done. At job A this morning, a supervisor screamed at me: “guy, carry this thing for me now abi you dey mad.” I just smiled calmly without reacting. I’ve learnt not to get angry because I understand that people are frustrated and so they transfer aggression. Therefore, it’s not your fault if someone mistakes you for the cause of their problems.
That was in the morning. Now, it’s afternoon and I check my watch to see that time is crawling. It should be almost close of work but now, it’s barely 3 p.m.
I’m glad when my last two covers for the day tell me they’re forfeiting break time because they’re behind schedule. My watch says 3:15 p.m., and this means that I can leave work before traffic starts to pile. I can’t emphasise how much I love that this job gives me control over my time alongside other benefits. Even though driving a forklift wasn’t always the plan, it will suffice until I can raise enough money to finally escape this country. It also helps that the job is fun and I love driving. Ultimately, my goal is not to be a billionaire but to be comfortable and both jobs are helping with that.
At the end of the day, I’m grateful for this job but I’m also looking forward to more. I’m not worried because, at the end of the day, my life is in the hands of God; from clay I came and to clay I shall return.
Featured image: Google.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
I don’t know about you but it has been a long year. A lot has happened that it feels like we’re starting to forget a few things. With that in mind, I decided to refresh our memories on some episodes of “A Week In The Life” that I have enjoyed writing.
Whether you started reading in January or just last week, here are some stories that deserve to be read twice.
“To be honest, I’m even changing. I’m not bad like that. If I count my girlfriends, I have only five consistent ones. I’ve removed the inconsistent ones from my list because no time. I’m also thankful that God take libido bless me to be able to keep everyone satisfied. It’s grace. I be pure Igbo guy, I strong die.“
This long-distance driver has gone from having a girlfriend in almost every state in the country to having “just” 5. Why does he do it? What’s his motivation? and is he not scared of the risks involved?
Forget everything you know because this story will challenge it. After failing to get into Nollywood, Juliet, the subject of this story decided to go into acting porn. She talks about the stigma involved in her job, not being ashamed to show her face in her videos and how powerful she feels in front of a camera.
According to Juliet, “During video shoots, I tell my men that it’s acting we’re acting so they shouldn’t get carried away thinking it’s their girlfriend they’re fucking. I also make it clear that they must not cum in me — they can cum on my laps, face, tummy but not inside me.”
Doctors are leaving Nigeria for many reasons ranging from poor pay to terrible work conditions. What’s it like being a junior doctor in a toxic work environment? It’s a lot of shouting and being treated like you don’t matter or exist. It’s also a lot of crying and making up your mind to leave Nigeria as soon as you can.
Don’t take my word for it, instead listen to a junior doctor narrate their story here.
If you watched the recently concluded Tokyo Olympics, the name Enoch Adegoke must ring a bell. If it does, it’s because, for the first time in over 20 years, Enoch took Nigeria to the 100m men’s final.
What does it take to be a pro athlete in Nigeria? Are Nigerian athletes rich? Satisfy your curiosity here.
As a zookeeper, you spend more time with animals than with humans. What happens when your job becomes your life? Well, if you’re like Mr Emeka, the subject of this story, it means you have no human friends.
How must that feel? Start here to experience what it feels like.
The Naira is tanking and everyone is screaming “earn dollars or save in dollars.”
Alright, you listen to them and do both. However, you still feel unsafe because deep down you know that if anything happens to you, dollars can’t save you.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
