Getting a job at Microsoft before graduating? Chisom, you have to show us the way

I promise it wasn’t a big deal. I was just aware that there’s a lot more to life than school.

What does that mean?

While I was invested in keeping my grades up, I realised as a computer scientist, it’s not all about books. In the real world, people want to know if you can code, programme or build something. As a student, I just focused on that.

Your degree didn’t prepare you for the real world?

Every computer science student knows we’re taught mainly theory. On some occasions, we’d use software, but on most, we learnt about coding on a whiteboard or paper. 

Coding on paper?

No shade to Nigerian universities, but I didn’t make a lot out of what I learnt there. Still, it was an important experience for my journey.  

How?

I met the guy who got me into coding in my second year. There was an innovation hub on campus and science students liked to hang out there. On one of the random days I stopped by, I met a tech bro designing an android application.

It wasn’t unusual to see people coding, but it looked like he was designing a mobile application on his laptop. I was intrigued and asked what he was up to. That was the first time I’d heard anyone talk about building apps on Google Play Store.

Two years in computer science and none of that came up in class?

All I’d done was code on paper and attempt to teach myself on a laptop. But that guy was developing real apps for phones. That was an upgrade I knew I needed, so I asked him to teach me.

Sweet. So the journey to tech sis, how did that go?

I had some programming knowledge from joining Aptech in Calabar in 2018, but it was still hard to keep up with the tools for building the apps. I got a hang of it eventually when I started taking tutorials online. The tutorial videos had practice projects at the end that made it possible for me to build a portfolio, which was instrumental to my transition to software engineering.

What’s the difference between being a computer scientist and a software engineer?

The difference is in the practical aspect. Software engineers design and ship products by the minute. While a computer scientist is more theoretical; it’s like a bigger umbrella.

What major thing helped you to prepare for the role? 

The projects at the end of each tutorial. After a year, I wanted to apply for internships, but I didn’t have a resume. When I looked up samples, there were sections for work experience and personal projects. And I didn’t have anything relevant to include. That’s a big issue when there are a million other people trying to get the same job you want.

I get you. What was the first experience you got as a student?

Building my first phone application in 300 level. I wasn’t sure what to build initially. But it was easier to replicate a more culture-specific version of the programme I’d been taught. That’s how I made Igbò Amáká, a language-teaching app.

How well did Igbò Amáká do to be relevant enough against a million other people?

The most important aspect was getting the application to work. Companies want to know you can actually build the app. And I did. By the time I graduated, I’d built a second application designed to help visually-impaired people send emails. That was pretty impressive to talk about during job interviews.

When did you start applying?

Before the end of my final exams in early 2020. I wanted to get a software engineering job and start immediately after school. So I was submitting 30 to 50 applications a day — I literally flooded the internet with my resume, applying for jobs. But I was more interested in getting into the Big Tech companies — Facebook, Amazon, Apple, Microsoft or Google.

You weren’t even thinking about Nigeria at all?

I was at first. While applying and going through interviews, I realised that junior and internship roles are like “mid-level” roles in Nigerian companies. They always asked if I had work experience. So I changed plans and focused on the big tech companies. My thinking was they have more capacity to train people with little experience. 

Fair enough

But even with the projects I’d done, I wasn’t getting hired at any of the companies I actually wanted. They were looking for someone with more experience than I had. 

The first interview I failed was Bloomberg’s. Then the aptitude tests for Google, Facebook and Microsoft followed. That’s how companies kept dropping me. It made me feel like it wasn’t a project problem anymore.

Then what was it?

I had the skills. But the recruiters needed more than me being able to build applications. Every entry-level engineer can code. The question was how well-grounded I was as a developer without any work experience.

Did I have any published articles? Any volunteer experience or a portfolio website to showcase? That’s the difference between startups and bigger companies like Google. They don’t just care about your work experience as a student. Skills that demonstrate being good at communication and problem-solving are what matter.

How about the aptitude tests you failed? What were you missing?

Everything around data structures and algorithms. When you combine them with strong soft skills like communication, problem-solving, teamwork and collaboration, they can be the real access card to bigger organisations. 

Interesting. What do data structures and algorithms mean?

It’s a course on its own. Data structures and algorithms test your knowledge of logic, coding and communication. You get to answer technical questions using your preferred coding language, and the tests can be complex. They’re the most common questions international organisations ask. 

What helped you pass them?

A book called Cracking the Coding Interviews. It’s a bible for data structures and algorithms. And courses on Educative helped because they were more structured.

How long after your first attempt at Microsoft did you try again?

Six months. I felt ready to apply again in August 2020. And I’d been applying to other companies as well. Every interview was my practice leading up to my final interview with Microsoft.

Clearly, things worked out

Yeah. I got a call back in December and an offer letter in January 2021 to resume after school in November.

You were doing all this in your final year. How did you manage it?

Haha. Time management. I spent most of my early mornings doing some work before school. I’d get back quite early to work on my final project, revise what I was taught and get right back to work again.

It was a rollercoaster, but it was worth it.

Best in studies

It’s funny how I was offered an internship as a technical analyst at Bank of America (BOA) just a month before the Microsoft offer. I applied during my six-month period of preparing for interviews. 

That’s wild

The euphoria was intense. I was going to school, running a three-month internship and looking forward to resuming at the Microsoft office in Lagos. 

What do you think changed with the Microsoft interview? How did you scale through the first stage this time?

I felt ready for the test. Every other failed attempt made me ready. That’s the only way to explain it.

Give us some inside gist. What were the other phases of the interview? 

After the coding test, there’s a phone interview with four phases. Each one lasted 45 minutes, followed by two non-technical interviews. My manager interviewed me and asked questions like what I’d do if my team didn’t understand a task. Or how I’d approach a problem I couldn’t solve even after asking for help and googling for answers. The focus was behavioural questions. 

I scaled through, and now I’m here. 

And how has your experience at Microsoft been so far?

It’s been more than a year, and my time at Microsoft has taken me from a university graduate with no experience to a seasoned software engineer. I still have a lot to learn, but the future looks really bright. 

If you could go back, what would you have done differently?

I would start earlier. I’ve met colleagues who started off with an undergraduate internship at Google. And I wish I didn’t doubt opportunities like that were possible.

What’s one place to start looking out for the right opportunities?

I get asked a lot of questions like this, so I’ve created a database of resources for interviewing and getting started in tech. And my Twitter page is dedicated to helping more people get into big tech companies. 

What does the next level look like for your career?

Gaining more technical skills. The world is moving towards innovation, and I’d always want to be at the peak of things. Fortunately, I’m at a company that has the same vision I do. 

I’d also love to explore leadership roles in tech, managing engineering teams and products. I know I have to keep upskilling — taking courses and staying current with tech trends — leveraging my network and building a solid brand for myself to make this happen. And I plan to make it all happen.

Hustleprint stories drop every two weeks on Tuesdays at 12 p.m. WAT, and Hustleprint guides will drop in the interim weeks. 

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Sola Ajao is a 59 -year-old Nigerian woman based in Boston, US. She started cooking at 10 and grew to love it. But when she moved to the States to get married, she realised there was a gap in accessing African foods. She’s spent 20 years building a business to bridge the gap and tells us how she’s done it. 

Do you have any formal training as a chef?

No, but cooking has always been a part of my life. I started cooking for my family when I was ten years old. We didn’t have a maid, and I had two younger siblings, so my mum taught me to take care of the family while she was away at work. It made me grow to love food. 

How did you move from being a ten-year-old learning to cook to growing a business?

When I was 26, I moved to Boston, Massachusetts to marry my husband. I was living in a different country for the first time, and I could never find familiar ingredients to cook my meals.

Whenever I wanted to make something as simple as jollof rice, I’d drive 215 miles to New York for the spices. It didn’t take long to notice the gap, so I decided to buy African spices and foodstuff from New York to start a food business in my Boston home. 

Interesting. So there was no competition in Boston at the time?

None that I knew of. New York, on the other hand, was a much bigger hub. When Africans came to the states in the 80s, they usually landed in New York — that’s what most people referred to as Yankee. 

As a result of the influx of Africans in New York, they had the infrastructure for importing African food. So I’d place my orders through vendors in New York who had importing licenses.

How were you able to build a network in a new country?

When I started, I was pretty much taking a leap of faith. I put all my savings into the business. I tried to get other sources of funding, like bank loans, but it didn’t work out.  

Also, introducing African food to Boston wasn’t easy. Everyone was familiar with Chinese and Indian food, but Nigerian food wasn’t as common. So naturally, the business started very small, and I took up corporate jobs to make up for the money I wasn’t making. I came to the United States with only a secondary school certificate, so the job I could get at the time was a secretarial role at what is now known as Bank of America.

But kids change things. 

When my kids came, I decided to be at home more often. This made it easier for me to build a network. I started daycare at home and met a lot of other mums who needed help with their kids. This was a good opportunity to market my products, and I did at every chance. I started offering catering services too — food is a basic human necessity.

My husband became a church minister in 2008, which helped me connect with more Nigeran and African people in my community. 

And there weren’t any regulations against running a restaurant from your home?

I only took bulk orders for events while I was trying to expand to accommodate daily orders. It’s very common for caterers to cook from their homes as long as they’re licensed. We call this concept “home cooks” or “home chefs.”

What was your most notable catering opportunity?

A convention for people from Edo state in 2007 was my biggest contract. 2000 people showed up to this event, and I had to hire a team of ten to pull it off. By the end of the day, people from all over the U.S. had tried my bestselling jollof rice. I was pleased. I built on that and continued to grow the business until I got a store in 2020.

I’d wanted to get a store for the longest time, but I didn’t have the money to put into it with a family to take care of. When I got COVID in 2020 and spent two months not knowing whether I’d survive, I knew there wasn’t enough time to wait for the right moment. It’d been 20 years already.

I decided to take a calculated risk and put all my money into renting a property. But even with the money, it wasn’t easy to find a space in my town. The real estate market here is extremely tough.

But without any formal training, how did you manage to scale up the business?

The most important thing to keep in mind is turning your everyday life into useful and profitable skills. 

For instance, being a minister’s wife meant I needed to communicate and network even when I didn’t feel like it. I needed that to understand good customer service for my grocery store and catering business to grow. There’s no separation between my business and personal life because my business grows from my life experiences.

Also, a culinary degree isn’t what gets you through the door when you’re cooking a different style of food. What sells you is how well you can educate people and persuade them to actually try your food. 

So how do you educate non-Nigerians about Nigerian food and get them to actually try it out?

We host pop-up experiences in different areas of our state, Massachusetts. It takes our business model to various locations outside of our storefront location. We recently did a pop-up in a predominantly white neighbourhood over 25 miles away. We had 100 transactions, many of whom promised to visit our store.

We also use social media as a form of education and entertainment, promoting our foods and creating educational content around them. We also invite influencers to do food tastes at our store. We even have a Spicy Indomie Challenge with some of our community members who we affectionately call the #DAMFam.

Did you depend on the supply chain in New York as the business grew?

Not entirely. I registered the business in Nigeria in 2022 for about ₦50k. So I don’t always have to depend on third-party vendors in New York. Instead, I can import directly from local vendors in Nigeria. This has strengthened the business’s B2B wholesale model. 

I’m curious. It took you 20 years to get a physical store. Is there any part of the journey you’d change if you could?

Honestly, there isn’t. It’s natural to feel like I could’ve prepared more. But I believe my personal journey is my destiny, hence why I named my business Destiny African Market. My hope is someone will learn from my journey and not have to go through the same hardships.

And the first rule for Africans hoping to start a catering business in a foreign country? Where’s the first place to start when you have nothing?

Focus on the quality of your food. While I’m still not a formally trained chef, I’m now a licensed caterer and have all of my certifications to serve people safely with quality food. That’s a good place to start. 

Don’t be afraid to find a mentor and learn from others even if they’re not from your tribe or country. I’ve mentored so many African caterers and food service providers, who’ve garnered great success and even opened their stores before me. I love to mentor and support people. Collaboration is important in our community because it’s so small.

What do you think is next for the business?

The short-term goal is expanding to other “African food deserts” for communities that don’t have African food options within a five-mile radius of their home. African culture, especially fashion and entertainment, is becoming increasingly mainstream. Our mission is to make African food top-of-mind too. 

So Zainab, how you do am?

The story is long.

I never had one dream. At some point, I loved mathematics and wanted to study that, but by the time I finished secondary school, I wanted to study chemical engineering — it was the most interesting option for a science student who didn’t want to go for medicine — but I didn’t get in. West African Examinations Council (WAEC) did me dirty.

What happened?

My Senior Secondary Certificate of Education (SSCE) results were delayed. I had to use my General Certificate Examination (GCE) instead. But who really aces GCE? Of all the subjects, biology was the one that messed me up. Without it, I couldn’t apply to the chemical engineering department at the University of Ilorin.   

By the time WAEC decided to release our SSCE results, the department was full. I wasn’t ready to stay home for a year. And that’s pretty much how I ended up in Agricultural and Biometrics engineering. I had no clue what it was about.

I relate to the madness of WAEC, but this interview isn’t about me

Studying agricultural engineering wasn’t a horrible experience though. I took some helpful courses from other engineering departments and there was some programming involved. In 200 level, I took a programming class called Visual Basic, which was a third-generation and old programming language. Nevertheless, it sparked an interest because I was super interested in programming in general.

The issue was what job I’d be able to get in Nigeria. When I got to 400 level, that question became even more difficult to answer. While my guys in other engineering departments were able to get internships in big oil companies,  I was stuck working at a government ministry in Ilorin. No shade to government workers, but I knew I wasn’t interested in working there.

So you didn’t know where you would work after school?

Not exactly. But like my mates in other engineering departments, I wanted the flexibility of choosing big organisations in the private sector. I didn’t want to be stuck at a job because I didn’t have any other choice. 

After my internship, I was sure I’d transition into another field of engineering. I considered mechanical engineering because I took a lot of courses with the mechanical engineering department, and I could relate more with that. It also seemed interesting, and that’s how my transition began.

And to the meat of our gist

After my NYSC in 2016, I applied for a master’s degree in advanced mechanical engineering with management at the University of Leicester, UK. I ended up deferring my admission because my visa was delayed.

I just took the delay as a gap year and used the free time to learn coding. I couldn’t take the programming classes in uni as seriously as I’d wanted because there was no time. Now, I had all the time in the world.

I started with coding courses online, but I wanted to try out for an internship. So I searched for internships and found a tweet from Hotels.ng calling out for interns.

I got in, but the it was too fast paced for me as a complete beginner.

 Nevertheless, I’m grateful for the community the program gave me. I had the opportunity to meet and connect with people of different level of technical skills both online and offline, some of who I’m still connected with today.

A few weeks after the internship, I applied for the first Andela Learning Community sponsored by Google at the time. The program’s structure was hybrid, so I had more access to people in the tech community in Ilorin. That was a plus to the Twitter community I discovered from my Hotels.ng internship.

At this point, what tech skill were you focused on building?

Android development. It made me consider switching my master’s degree to computer science. But I didn’t want to flop. 

When I finally went for my master’s in 2017, my interest switched to artificial intelligence. We were taking a modelling and statistics course that covered how algorithms make it easy for computers to classify and recognise objects. I was curious.

I read more about artificial intelligence on my own, and that’s how I stumbled on data science. It seemed like the perfect mix of my interests. The programming aspect I’d learnt before my master’s degree and the data part covered statistics and mathematics. 

So the best of both worlds?

Exactly. It only made sense to branch out into data science and start taking courses online.

Sweet. When did you land your first role?

Towards the end of my master’s degree in 2018. At first, I was applying for any kind of job. Whether it was consulting or banking, I applied because I didn’t want to leave the UK after school. But I wasn’t getting feedback. Eventually, I realised I had to stay focused on my initial goal to work as a data scientist. 

I started applying for analytics roles aggressively. I must have sent at least 300 applications before I got my first interview invite. The initial chit-chat with the team went great, but the technical assessment made me nervous – it was my first job, and I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t worked on a real-life data set. Essentially, I wasn’t very confident in my skills for these reasons.

The whole room started spinning in my head. And I flunked the test.

But you still got the job?

Yeah. On my trip back home, I sent an email to the team and thanked them for the opportunity. But I also added in an apology for messing up my test.  I explained how nervous I felt, and the pressure from writing my dissertation while preparing for the test. I guess they understood.

Surprisingly, the team asked me to take the test again. This time I had two weeks to submit the test like a take-home assignment. I still didn’t ace it though.

And you still got the job, Zainab?

LMAO. Yes. They felt the email demonstrated my willingness to learn. At least that’s what their email said. My job at the company was assisting the team with analysing market research surveys. 

This was my first taste of the corporate world was great. At least for the four months, it lasted.

What happened?

I couldn’t sort out the extension on my UK visa, so I moved back to Nigeria. 

The company allowed me to work remotely, but between the horrible internet and frustrating generator noises at many meetings, keeping up was impossible. I decided to leave.

I’m sorry. How did the Nigerian job market compare to the opportunities in the UK?

It was next to zero. I searched for data analyst roles on LinkedIn and there was nothing available. I reached out to my friends in tech for help. I remember one texting me about my salary expectations for a particular role. I said ₦500k. I’m sure the guy laughed because, thinking about it now, I had barely a year of experience to offer. But still, how was I to know? I didn’t understand the jobscape in Nigeria.

A month later, I got a job with an energy company. I was doing everything data and engineering-related at the company. I’d go to sites to set up energy metres and still spend time analysing the energy consumption of all our clients. The workload was a lot. I needed something else. 

Fascinating

But while I was still at the energy company, a friend started a data visualisation community. The goal was to connect and learn how to present information visually with graphs. But I didn’t have time to dedicate to learning and practising this until the lockdown.

During the pandemic, it was easier to attend classes. Tableau was one software people in the data industry talked about, so I dedicated more time to practicing. Every project I did went up on Twitter, and I started gaining traction. I was just everywhere at the time plugging my work.

Nine months into my job at the energy company, a friend directed me to a fintech company searching for product analysts. I applied, got the job and spent the next year there.

The next stop was Spotify.

How did the Spotify offer happen?

The weekly Twitter posts became my portfolio online. I didn’t know it at the time, but people were watching. In 2021, a senior data scientist at Spotify sent me a DM on Linkedin. He was recruiting for his team and asked me to apply for the job. I went through a five-stage process, and that was it. 

I got the job and relocated to Sweden in April 2021. It’s been a year since I joined the Sweden team. Now, I’m looking forward to a new experience at the London office in May. 

Nice. How has the experience been so far?

Spotify is a cool company. At first, working in a big company was overwhelming, especially after coming from a startup but I’ve eased into it. There’s more structure than I was used to, and everyone’s role is defined and clear. 

Speaking of roles, what exactly do you do at Spotify?

I help product teams make informed decisions with data. One aspect is through visualisation. For instance, if there is a goal to reach x billion user streams, I build dashboards where people can go to monitor the progress. I also do exploratory deep dives into certain trends and patterns observed and test different hypotheses based on data observations. These analysis are presented to products teams and other stakeholders who then make decisions based on them.”

That’s huge. What’s one thing you think has prepared you for this role?

I’d say consistently learning and moving forward. My career journey never looked put together to me. I went from engineering to programming to data science and now, data visualisation. I think by now you should know I work with vibes. 

The funny thing is, when I went to the UK for my master’s, Spotify was one of the first apps I downloaded. I’d never experienced anything as good as their recommendation engine. The algorithm knew the exact songs I’d want in a playlist. As a tech enthusiast, that was insane. I wanted to understand how it worked.  

At that point, I couldn’t have believed I’d end up working at Spotify. Every decision I made about my career was vibes, a little bit of strategy and a lot of luck.

What do you think is next for your career?

Right now, I want stability. I’ve spent the last two years moving companies, so I’m focused on building at Spotify. At least for another year or two.

Jemima Osunde is a 26-year-old physiotherapist and actress. Fed up with the chaos of medical school, Jemima decided to pursue acting on the side. She called her big break pure luck, but through her story, we found out what it’s like to hustle as a newbie in Nollywood.

So Jemima, how did you do it?

I always tell people acting happened to me randomly. Physiotherapy was what I wanted to do. Things started in my first year at UNILAG in 2013. Post-JAMB messed up my grades, so I took a diploma program to get into 200 level the next year. Anyone who knows what UNILAG’s diploma is like knows it can be chaotic.

How chaotic was it, on a scale of 1-10?

Hmm. We’d be like 200 in one hall with no power. Lecturers would yell at the top of their lungs at the front of the hall, doing their best, but only the first 50 people could hear them. The rest of us were just there to sign attendance and fulfil all righteousness by being there. 

So it broke the scale? 

LOL. Yeah. 

I did that for a few weeks and knew it couldn’t be my life for the rest of the year. That Christmas, I was at an uncle’s party, and we talked about how school was going. He suggested I consider acting since I was always talking everyone’s ear off. He felt it was a good way to make some money or just occupy my time.

What did you think?

It made sense actually. His words got stuck in my head for weeks. And after my next horrible day at school, I decided to experiment with acting while I was trying to get into the College of Medicine for my second year at UNILAG. 

What was the first thing you did while experimenting?

I started following Nigerian production houses on social media and discovered that they usually posted open audition calls. It just made sense to me that to start acting I had to audition for roles, so I followed everyone from Africa Magic to EbonyLife. I followed producers too; from one producer’s page, I’d find another to follow. 

Then, I followed young actors of that period. When I started, there was Olumide Oworu, Owumi Ugbeye who’d been on MTV Shuga — I just kept following everybody so I’d see every audition notice going out. Even though I didn’t immediately get roles, I learnt a lot from attending auditions and mingling with other aspiring actors who knew more than me. They’d give me the gist on what to do, what to look out for, who to meet and so on.

How did all of that play out in landing your first role?

I saw an audition notice for Tinsel in 2013. I didn’t get the part, but I got called back for Africa Magic Original Films [AMOF]. 

When I saw the email, I actually thought it was a scam because I hadn’t heard of AMOF or attended an audition for it. I had to call one of my uncles in the industry to verify. Then I had my mum come with me for the first few reads — till today, crew members at different sets still ask me about her. 

I worked on five or six AMOFs. And through them, I got on The Johnsons, guest-starring in a few episodes as the character, Abby. These first few acting experiences were an exciting adventure for my mum and I. My parents used to drive me around to set locations.

What would you consider your big break into the acting industry?

MTV Shuga in 2014. I was 18 at the time so bagging my role as Leila on a show that big at the beginning of my career was significant for me.

How did that big break happen?

One of the actresses I followed at the start of my career and I were working on a film together. In passing, I said I really liked her character on MTV Shuga, and it’d be nice if it had a new character I could play. Like two days later, she texted about an audition and asked me to send my details to an email address. I did that, got a reply and went in for a reading. In a matter of three or four days, I was cast as Leila. 

Just like that? Did you have any formal training as an actor?

No. Honestly, I was lucky.

That’s pretty much how things started for me. I only had to do three or four open auditions after Shuga.

Wait first. How was school going?

For some reason, most of my auditions were in Surulere, Lagos, so it wasn’t hard to go for them from the College of Medicine. Max, one bus, one okada, and I’d be at any casting.

It sounds like you were living a soft life

LOL. Not on the days I had to find my way to Ikeja or Lekki though. I’d get to Ojuelegba underbridge and be clueless. Or sit in a bus and wait for it to get full before my 10 a.m. call. That’s when I started to get frustrated. I had to beg my parents to drive me to auditions until I could afford to take Uber.

What’s the average amount of time you’d spend on set?

For movies, two weeks at most, and I’d be on set ten out of 14 days. We’d shoot until we stopped, which meant several hours of shooting per day. 

Only Shuga took longer than a month to shoot. I was in one season each, on the Naija version and on Down South. I was on set every other day for three weeks for the first, and in Jo’burg for five to six weeks for the second.

How did things change after Shuga?

I kept grinding in between filming. I had a 9-to-5 as a researcher at One Music, and I was still a student at the College of Medicine. It was really hard to keep up. I was also just figuring out my life as a teenager, making friends — which didn’t quite work out because I don’t have many friends. Then I was always sending emails and DMs to every big director and producer I admired, even Shonda Rhimes!

But I got to a point where people would send me emails asking me to audition. A few months after we finished shooting Shuga, one of the producers cast me in her short film. Some months after that, I got calls from people I’d worked with on the set or I’d emailed earlier, who realised they had a role I was a good fit for.

I moved from needing to attend open auditions to being invited for table reads or screen tests. Instead of walking in with 500 people hoping to get a role, I scaled through to a more selected phase with maybe 20 people. 

Were the chances of getting a role much higher in a table read or screen test?

Pretty much, but other upcoming actors get this access too. That makes it more competitive because you have to show what makes you special. Like why should it be Jemima and not the 20 other girls they know could play the character well too?

And did you have an answer to that? 

For me, it was talking to the right people. People you work with mention your name in the right rooms. 

Every time I got on set, I made sure I interacted with the crew members, not just the actors. There’s a vast amount of knowledge you can get from them because production typically uses the same crew. These people have gone from one project to another amassing experience. I always stress them out with questions about things like cameras and lenses. And that’s one way to get informal training.

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What’s another?

Imagine being on a set with Kate Henshaw or Stella Damasus and not learning anything. I don’t have any shame in asking for help when I can’t connect with a character, for example. I remember meeting Adesua (Etomi-Wellington) on the set of MTV Shuga. We instantly clicked, and she’s been a strong support system ever since. She saw I was a young girl just trying to navigate the industry and could sense my silent cry for guidance, so she took me under her wing.

She was fairly new to Nollywood, but she’d been doing theatre and a bunch of creative projects in the UK. She’d ask things like, “What do you think should be a priority at the beginning of your career?” “What are you trying to do?” and just genuinely be a friend I can call anytime. It’s necessary to surround yourself with good people who’ll keep you grounded and remind you of your purpose even when you forget. That’s who she is to me. Our relationship has just evolved and metamorphosed into many different things over the years. 

I don’t think I could’ve come this far without the older women in the industry TBH. They tell you what they went through in old Nollywood and ways to skip all the stress. 

And younger actresses?

There’s a bunch of us that know we fall into the same criteria. If they’re not casting me then it’s Sharon Ooja, Tomike Alayande, Ini Dima-Okojie or maybe Efe Irele and a couple of others. It’s an unspoken thing, but we know ourselves. When a job comes, and one person isn’t available or interested, we refer each other.

How do you manage the competition since you all fall into the same category?

Being friends helps. My girls know how to stick together. And to make sure no one is getting the short end of the stick when jobs come. We know that for certain gigs within a certain duration, there’s a flat rate. No one goes below it. We basically set the standard for ourselves.

Beyond networking, what skills did you have to pick up fast as your career took off with MTV Shuga? 

Omo, so many things. I didn’t get a representative until 2020, so I had to learn how to multitask on a large scale. Sometimes, I had classes from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., with a call time at 2 p.m. and Lagos traffic to beat. So if I allocate one hour to something, and someone shows up 30 minutes late, that’s not my business. In my head, I have 30 minutes left. Till today, I’m still my own manager.

With the way things were going, why not just focus on acting?

In Nigeria, acting can’t be the only thing you do for income and fulfilment. How many good films do we make in a year compared to the number of actors we have? You can’t be busy from January to December.

Fair point

Yeah. Getting to MTV Shuga took a year. For me, it didn’t feel like such a long time because school kept me busy. If acting were all I had, that would’ve been difficult.

What happens when absolutely nothing works?

That happened to me during the pandemic. I had to find ways to keep myself busy. That’s why I started a music trivia game on Instagram. But I also tried to get roles on TV series so I could shoot weekly, like a monthly subscription to being an actress.

Let’s move to the medical side of things. Are you currently practising?

Not for the past two months. I finished my NYSC in the first quarter of 2022 and took a break. Medical work in Nigeria is the ghetto. If you know people in the medical field, check up on them. Na them need mental help pass.

LOL. What’s doing them?

It’s so much work for such little pay and zero recognition. I’m at the point where I want to do it voluntarily, pick a few hospitals I’ll work at on the days I’m not filming. But for now, I’m on a break.

I’m curious: how has being a health worker made you a better actress?

Outside handling financial stress, the toughest part of being a health worker is seeing people die every day. Somehow, that’s helped me get into character without being so attached to the trauma I play, since it’s all fiction. It’s much more difficult when you actually know the person in reality.

And how does it work the other way around?

I’ve never thought about that. I think acting makes me a lot more sensitive and empathetic. Treating someone is very different from being able to become that person in your head and possibly picture your life like that. 

Best in acting

LOL. So even when I want to lose my cool with their family members — because patients are never really the issue — I can somehow put myself in their shoes. I guess that’s one of the ways being an actress helps my medical career.

How do you manage to keep both careers apart?

I don’t keep them apart o. My self-given nickname is “one true self”. I’m an acting physiotherapist, doctor-actress, health worker-entertainer, whatever version people prefer. I’m one person living the best of both worlds, that’s what makes me who I am. I’m currently doing a Master’s in Public Health, and people like to ask me what I need it for. I don’t have an answer for them. They should just watch and see.

And how do you handle people recognising you when you’re in hospital mode?

I actually prefer when people recognise me in the hospital than outside, on the streets, in the supermarket. It helps me cheer my patients up. It makes it easier to find a common ground with them, which is important in my line of health work. Apart from that, I’m a very public but private person. You’ll see me banter a lot on Twitter, or post random things when I’m in my lover girl stage, but I’m very deliberate with the details I share.

What’s a trick every newbie needs to learn in the film industry?

Characters become more challenging when you realise they’re not fictional. Anyone can read a script and have a flow. But sometimes, you have to create a backstory that helps you connect more with the character. That’s not something on a script. And that’s what some directors tell you to do, to actually become a character.

What were some roles that put you to the test? 

There was Nkem, the sex worker I played in The Delivery Boy in 2018. But one of the toughest characters I’ve played is Ranti from Rumour Has It in 2016. The babe was mean and controversial. I couldn’t play her until I could come up with a reason why someone could deliberately publish horrible stuff about their friends on a blog. Though there’s no justifiable reason to hurt people, giving her a defendable backstory helped me embody her character better. And that process makes it easier to get into challenging roles.

I have to ask: what does it take to get to the level you’re at in the industry?

Quality over quantity of films you shoot. And that’s why you need an extra source of income. But the best advice I received as a newbie was, “Never be afraid to take multiple cuts.” Because even when you think it’s perfect, a scene can always be better. 

How do you know when to stop then?

Sometimes, you just need to take multiple cuts to give the director different portrayal versions to choose from. You know when to stop by reading the room. People on set — the director, cinematographer, DOP — are very honest. If the cut is just there, it’d show on their faces. Or you could get a standing ovation because the take was just that good. You don’t have to wait for an ovation, but make sure everyone is satisfied before you stop. They’d even be the ones to reassure you that you don’t need another take.

When you’re across the world and five hours behind everyone you love, you quickly learn they can’t always help you through the challenging moments of living in a new city. At least, that’s what I learnt during my first week in Cambridge, Massachusetts. 

Between getting confused about how to find the right queue to exit the airport as an immigrant, not knowing when to cross the street and accidentally locking myself outside my room on day three, I’ve had to depend entirely on strangers.

I travelled to Cambridge for my master’s programme. I’d been working on it for three years and finally got a break when I got a scholarship to Harvard in March. Getting a degree from an Ivy League college felt like I’d get a shot at finally working at the United Nations or World Bank. The excitement from my family and friends pacified the idea that I would be alone in a new country in five months. There was no time to focus on that. I needed to prepare for my departure.

The months leading up to leaving were fast. Every single day was a rush trying to meet up with the list of things I needed to pack. Honestly, the most important thing to me was food. Where was I going to find my favourite dried smoked catfish in Cambridge? The city has only 10% of black people in America living there, so I needed to stuff my bags with everything Nigerian — that could fit into two 23 kg luggage.

How do you fit your entire life into two 23 kg luggage? You can’t. The night before my trip, I watched my mum and her sisters divide everything I owned for my cousins. My favourite clothes, the drawings I’d collected from paint and sip dates with friends and the speaker I tricked my boyfriend into leaving at the house just a month before. It felt slightly depressing.

You may think I’m ungrateful for the opportunity to leave Nigeria, but I couldn’t control feeling sad. The only time I ever left Nigeria before Cambridge was for holidays in Wales as a kid, and now, for the next two years, I’d suddenly be living in a foreign country with no family or friends. Imagine the stress of trying to make new friends as an adult or something as little as trying to figure out how to braid my hair rather than pay someone $200. That fear overshadowed all the hype about Harvard.

The feelings slowly faded away in the departure hall. I guess taking one last selfie with my parents and little brother should have made me feel worse, but somehow, it reminded me of how far we’d come — all the late-night reading for exams while I was working finally made sense. But what really got me was the last text from my mum before my flight took off. “You’re the best part of my dysfunctional relationship,” she said.  It was the first time I felt my mum was really proud of me. My mum isn’t the most expressive person, so knowing that made the next 23 hours of transit feel better. 

I’d read articles about immigration officers at the point of entry into the US who try to vet people coming. They’d ask questions about your trip based on your visa type. But one wrong answer could mean going back to your country. 

Everything on my documents checked out, but I wouldn’t say I was the most optimistic person.

All my fear came rushing back when I finally landed in Massachusetts. In the departure hall, separate lines are designated for immigrants to access the point of entry. Unlike the Nigerian airports where you see mostly white people on one side, the foreigners were a mix of races. I tried to filter for other Nigerians on my connecting flight from Qatar to Boston, but I couldn’t. A clear sign that I was no longer home.

With my two large bags filled with all the Nigerian snacks and soup spices I took for granted back home, I stood confused. There were airport officials to help, but a dark-haired lady yelling, “Stand on the yellow line if you’re American. Blue line, non-Americans,” didn’t make things easier.  

The sensible thing to do was ask for help, but the Nigerian in me wanted to figure it out alone. And that’s a character that doesn’t serve you well in a new country.

RELATED: “Leaving Nigeria Helped Me Accept My Sexuality”-Abroad Life

I finally made it to the right queue when I spotted a man holding a Ghana-must-go bag on the blue line. 

When I got past immigration, the next challenge was figuring out how to get from the airport to the apartment I’d rented in Cambridge over an online renting platform. Luckily, my roommate happened to be in the area when I texted to let him know I’d landed safely. 

Again, the Nigerian in me didn’t feel safe getting into the car without taking a picture of the plate number and sending it to everyone I knew back home. But what could they have done if the roommate I got online turned out to be the next Ted Bundy? 

Thankfully, the apartment was real.  “This is your new home,” my roommate said, as we dragged my bags onto the elevator. I wouldn’t call it home yet, but I can’t deny how pretty the apartment looked. I loved the view of trees from my window. But as I packed my stuff in and settled into my room, I felt empty. Only my bags and the huge rosary that once belonged to my grandmother my mum forced into my hand luggage created a semblance of home. It hurt to realise I was now alone.

I understand the excitement of my friends and family for my trip, this new adventure, but it didn’t take away the reality that I felt like I was starting my life all over again. All my friends and family expected me to be happy. That’s all they talked about leading up to my departure. “Oh, you’re so lucky. Thank God you’re getting out before the elections,” they said. But I’d left my job, all my friends, and I didn’t have any family in Massachusetts. Calling to share that sadness wouldn’t make me feel better, so I focused on unpacking. 

I put all my foodstuff in the fridge. Of course, the garri poured in my bag, so I needed to clean it up. I also didn’t have any hangers for my clothes, so I picked out the nightwear I needed for the night and put out clothes I needed for a few days in my closet. Bathing was what really calmed my nerves. I brought my favourite soap, and the smell reminded me of being back in my own bathroom. Not the unfamiliar tub I was in. 

The next decision to make was what to eat. My roommate offered me some crackers, cheese and pickles to snack on. I hated the thought of cheese and pickles, but I tried it sha. The pickles were definitely not for me. They were salty and had some weird taste I honestly can’t describe. After one bite, I decided chin-chin was the best way forward. 

My roommate was kind enough to offer me dinner. His first suggestion was rice over chicken. I asked if there’d be stew. He said yes.

It was silly of me not to clarify what stew meant to my American roommate because I ended up eating the rice with chilli sauce and broccoli. Surprisingly, the broccoli was the best part. It was crunchy and salty, but the rest needed some salt and pepper to satisfy the Nigerian in me. 

In my first week here, the biggest hurdle was getting around the city. I want to trust Google Maps, but turning around at least three times to figure out the right direction to face gets really annoying. Yet, I’ve decided to figure it out on my own anyway. 

I know it’s not unusual to walk up to a random stranger for help in Nigeria. But when I was trying to find my way to class the next day and approached an Asian lady for help, she seemed startled. Maybe it was the way I said,  “Sorry, please, excuse me,” before I actually asked my question that confused her. So, I’m a little more cautious now.

After 15 minutes of walking, I eventually figured out I just needed to turn left from the street, and it was pretty easy from there with Google maps. But three days later, I got lost again trying to get to the store. It should be easy navigating the streets with Google maps, but the roads are laid out in a confusing way. 

When I ranted to my roommate, he complained about how much he hated driving in Cambridge too. Apparently, the roads were previously horse tracks, so there are many intersections that lead to confusion. 

I didn’t understand what all of that meant. I was just happy that someone who’s lived in the city all his life was just as confused with the roads.

If you’re wondering how I got home, just know I spent 20 minutes walking, missed one bus then cried at the bus stop. I eventually gave up and decided to take an Uber. I was upset at the thought of spending $10 on a ride rather than $2 on the bus. The Nigerian in me still converts everything to naira, so please, free me. 

When I returned to my apartment, I cried some more and sat on the kitchen floor. I was frustrated with how hard finding my way around would be for the next few weeks. I wanted to call a friend to vent, but it was 1 a.m. in Nigeria. 

I still tried calling my boyfriend. He wanted to be physically present, but hearing that was hard. I blamed myself for moving away and making our relationship so difficult. He didn’t think of things that way though. He wanted to comfort me in whatever way he could, so he ordered me some food with Uber eats. 

Sadly, the food never arrived. Turns out my street exists in two places, and I didn’t include the right one in the address I shared. There was no way we could sort things out because it was 11 p.m. on my end. I was getting tired and sleeping seemed like a better option. 

I can’t deny that it’s been surreal walking through Harvard for a  week. I remember my boss from last year telling me I’d never get in with a second-class degree from UNILAG. Until the moment I submitted my application, I believed him. But I pushed passed the fear and got in. 

Now that I’m here, this phase of figuring things out has been overwhelming. I can’t tell you how much I miss Lagos conductors. They were my Google Maps of Lagos, and they actually knew where I needed to go. The little things I really appreciate now. I just hope one day I’ll think about Cambridge as somewhere that feels like home or close enough.

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From: Simi, the woman who wants her secondary school bestie back

To: Taofeeqat, her best friend who made the best jokes

Dear Taofeeqat,

It’s crazy how we’ve been best friends since SS 2. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re the first best friend I ever had who didn’t do me dirty. 

Before you, every other person I applied the tag “best friend” to played me on a very massive scale. But that’s okay because all the hurt gave me you.

You’re the first person who’s ever made me laugh out loud. You cared about me, and you weren’t ashamed to show it. You loved on me and sent me such long love letters that always made me cry. I now cry because life is hard and it’s hard to not feel resentment towards how we’re too busy to talk as often. I wish I kept all of our letters to read.

Did you annoy me and make me want to break your head at times? Probably, yes. But you were my first in a lot of things: My first “I love you” was to you, and I meant it. My longest hug was with you. You were the first friend to see me cry, and the first I ever wrote a love letter to. 

I know we’re going through a lot, and we’re busy trying to build lives for ourselves, but I wanted to remind you of the happy times when our biggest problem was submitting assignments. Not a day went by when we didn’t hug each other.  

I miss those long hugs we had before everything fell apart between us last year. I miss the long love letters we wrote in black and red pen. Ah yes, I miss having so much to gossip with you about. 

Just in case we never go back to the way we were, I want to thank you for being in my life the longest yet hurting me the least. Thank you for being calm and supportive when I went into hysterical breakdowns over anything that stressed me out. Thank you for loving me so gently that I didn’t have a single fear in the world. 

This is my attempt at a love letter to get us to talk again and be as close as we used to be. Hopefully, you’ll blush and send me epistles when you see it. 

I love you so much, bestie. I can’t tell my story without you in it.

Love,

Simi

So what happens when you can’t afford to rent a new place? Seven Nigerians who’ve had their hearts broken before shared tips on making your home feel like yours again.

Yinka, 35

Accept that you’ll be fine

I spent five years with Susan*, and we lived together for four of them. When you start living with someone, especially if it’s a person you love, there’s a level of codependence that develops. 

I found myself staying up until she got back from work so we could eat on our favourite couch together, or stopping myself from watching my favourite shows after work because we always watched them together. I didn’t know how to do things without my partner in mind; I forgot how to be alone.

I can say you should get rid of everything your partner ever touched, but every penny counts. To get over the codependence syndrome, you need to start doing things alone in your home and loving it. Make dinner, open your favourite bottle of wine and enjoy sitting on your couch alone. FaceTiming a friend helps if you need the company to get through it.

Chika*, 28

Buy a fragrance you’ve never tried before

I started living with my boyfriend a year ago and rather than grow closer, we saw a lot of differences that couldn’t be overlooked. So we broke up after three years of being together.

Honestly, the best decision I made for myself was to switch up the fragrance of my home. Months after my partner left, I could still smell him all over my pillows and couch. I mean, my house was small so it was hard not to have his perfume fill the room. But it was different when he stopped coming over. 

I was holding on to the sense of familiarity his scent left, and that made it harder to want to be home. Nobody had to tell me to buy a scented candle and reset my nose. I didn’t think I loved vanilla as much as I do now. So find something new and let it fill your home with a new scent.

RELATED: 8 Women’s Perfumes Under 20k That’ll Leave You Smelling Expensive

Susan*, 30

Sleep on their side of the bed

Please accept that your partner is never coming to your house again. You can toss out everything they own — like I did — and still feel like a stranger in your own home. For instance, my ex-partner always slept on the side of our bed that’s closer to the door because he thought it was the manly thing to do. 

When he left, I just couldn’t imagine sleeping on his side. Even when I bought new bedsheets, it felt odd being on “his side” of the bed.

My dear, you need to get over the love and let yourself rollover. Start by sitting on their side of your bed every morning. 

Lanre, 32

Host your friends at your home

I think I forgot how wholesome platonic friendships are when I started dating. My friends barely came over because almost every night became date night while my partner and I lived together. So you can imagine how horrible my evenings have been in the last two years without a Netflix and chill buddy.

At the state of this year [2022], I knew I couldn’t keep up with my self-inflicted loneliness. Inviting my friends to come over for random game nights and drinks is something I look forward to now, especially during important football games. Reconnecting with your guys makes things a lot less gloomy at home.

Peace*, 29

Pack up the things that slow down your healing process

There’s nothing I hated more than the couch in my living room. Every time I walked into my house, it was a reminder of how close I was to getting married. How close I’d gotten to finally being the object of the “God when” phrase. I hated all the memories on that couch. The sex, laughs and tears. It hurt to think about.

I ended up giving the chair to my neighbour. After that, walking into my home didn’t feel entirely depressing. Of course, it didn’t take away the fact that I wanted to call him almost every day, but at least, there were some days I forgot about the couch.

RELATED: Love Life: Talking About Our Breakup Helped Us Find Closure

Dare*, 27

Throw her skincare products away

Long distance is the only reason my babe and I broke up, so I’m still bitter about it. To make myself feel better, I tossed out all the skincare products she left behind. She got them for my pimples, but I’d rather have them than keep thinking of her every single time I wash my face.

Hameedah, 29

Clear your kitchen

When I was dating my partner, she enjoyed Indian curries, so I bought all the masala spices to experiment with dishes for her. When we broke up, I hated going into my kitchen because everything reminded me of her absence. 

Beyond the spices, I hated how I nursed her favourite coffee mugs and plates. Let’s just say I accidentally broke them. Even though I still had to clean everything up, I felt a bit pacified from letting out the rage. I got to clean out my kitchen too. So it was a win-win, I guess. 

ALSO READ: How You Know You Are Ready to Break Up With Your Boyfriend

From: Asa, who wishes she met her older sister at least once

To: Barbara, the older sister who’s gone but not forgotten

Dear Barbara,

Is there a thing like missing someone you never met?

I hardly speak about losing you. I often think people won’t understand or they’d believe I’m looking for sympathy if I tell them I miss you though we never met. All I have are memories from our parents. But I miss you, sister. 

To me, family is thicker than physical. Family is always family. 

Dear Barbara, I’m grown now. Well, still evolving. But my perspective on life has changed. I’m on this journey of taking my love for writing more seriously, and  I wonder if you’d be proud of me. I’m hoping you would, and I hope you don’t mind that this letter is about you.

Dear Barbara, I look out for our younger sister. I know you’d do the same if you were here, and sometimes I wish you were here to look out for me too. Some days, I feel alone. But the thought that you would’ve been my best friend comforts me. I hear you whisper every time to me, “You’re strong.” Please don’t stop. 

RELATED: I’m Lonely and Sometimes Wish I Had a Larger Family

Dear Barbara, mummy is also okay. I can’t help but think she wishes you were here. I want her to talk about you, but I don’t know if the pain is still there, so I’ll just manage the little I know of you. Like your name and how much mum loved you. I promise I’ll take care of her and our younger sister.

Everyone else is doing okay, and I can’t wait for life to keep bringing everything it has for us. 

Dear Barbara, I’ll name your niece after you. Keep shining in heaven. I love you and one day, I’ll see you.  Until then, I’ll see you in the stars and the butterflies, my sister. 

All my heart,

Ada

Letters #ToHER will be ending in September. We have one more slot to share a letter, so click here if you’d like to write one too.

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With Nigerians buying $1 at ₦680 in 2022, we knew it was time to bring Dollar in for questioning. Turns out Dollar is a Beyoncé fan on a quest for world domination.

[Dollar has agreed to meet with Zikoko under terms of sworn secrecy. After three days of journeying, our blindfold is taken off and lights come on in an undisclosed location.]

[Dollar arrives surrounded by his guards.]

Zikoko: Was all of this really necessary?

Dollar: When you’re big, you’re big.

Zikoko: Can we at least get a seat? It took us days to get here. 

[Dollar snaps his fingers and one of the guards brings a chair.]

Zikoko: Thanks. So what’s been going on with you? The people want to know why you’ve been so scarce.

Dollar: Beyoncé already said it. I’m way too sexy for this world.

Zikoko: By world, do you mean just Nigeria?

Dollar: Is that why you’re here? I thought you wanted this interview to get to know me.

Zikoko: You’ve risen more times than Jesus Christ this year. What we want to know is, why?

Dollar: I’ve told Nigeria that the situation with Naira is out of my control. And I’ve begged her to stop sending me emails and calling me at odd hours. I don’t appreciate her constant interruptions on my off-days.

Zikoko: But…

Dollar: There are powers even greater than me in this world.

Zikoko: You mean Pounds? 

Dollar: For my protection, I can’t name names. But I can tell you how it all started.

Zikoko: I’m listening.

Dollar: [clears throat] You were a child or possibly not even born when Naira and I met on a cold night in 1973. 

Before then, Naira was almost on the same level as me because Queen Lizzie had Nigerians using pound shillings. Pounds was at the top of the world even in the 70s. And my guys didn’t really like that.

Zikoko: Jealousy is not a good colour on you.

Dollar: No, but power is. And Queen Lizzie got in the way of that. I was sick of her.

Maybe I’d respect Lizzie more if she was Queen Bey. Bey gets me.

Zikoko: Uhm… Can we stay on track?

Dollar: I’ve been around since 1792, that’s 230 years on earth, so you better watch your tone. Where was I?

Ah yes, Pounds.

My beef with Lizzie wasn’t important because I had to play nice. You know what they say, in the art of war, it’s best to keep your enemies close.

Zikoko: And the enemies here are…?

Dollar: My memory fails me. Where was I?

Ah yes, Lizzie my enemy.

Zikoko: Why does it feel like Nigeria was a pawn in your sick game of world domination?

Dollar: At least a pawn plays a game. You guys might as well have been the board. I didn’t have to lift a finger.

Zikoko: Educate us

Dollar: When Queen Lizzie got kicked out in 1960, Nigeria decided she was better off taking charge of her financial affairs and officially issued the naira in 1973.

Naira was rolling with the big boys and trading at ₦1 for 10 UK Shillings and 90 Kobo to $1. But the cookie started crumbling. Without Lizzie ruling, Naira was playing a game of Russian roulette.

Zikoko: Oshey bendownselect Wes Anderson. Look D… Can I call you D? Feels like we’re buddies now.

Dollar: I might have bounded and gagged you before you got here, but you need to calm down. I won’t be referred to as a phallus.

Zikoko: Cool. So D, we’re the biggest suppliers of crude oil in West Africa. That has to count for something.

Dollar: Do you remember the parable of the 10 virgins waiting for their bridegroom? I am the five virgins that passed the test. Z!, I have reserves.

Zikoko: Maybe we should unpack why 12 virgins were waiting for one brideg—

Dollar: Look, you’re basically buying your oil back from countries with the infrastructure to refine it. And that means Nigeria has to buy everything with currencies like me. Word on the street is that you people are still importing toothpicks.

Do you get the full picture? I’m not the cause of Nigeria’s problems. You people are doing yourselves.

Zikoko: Wow. Do you have any advice for us?

Dollar: It’s simple, really. You’re owing the world $45.2 billion, I’m owing $28.4 trillion. But how many times have you seen the world come to drag me? When you act like the best, you’ll be regarded as the best.

Your celebrities understand this. Maybe they should lead the country.

Zikoko: Nawa. So the price of sardine will never go down?

Dollar: The only way is up.

Zikoko: *Cries*

Dollar: I’ll take my leave now. And please, no more calls for interviews except you’ve secured one with Bey and me. Or at least, recognise I’m way too sexy for this world.

[The blindfolds come on again and all we hear is D’s footsteps storming off.]

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I held my first pack of cigarettes when I was four years old. My dad and I should’ve been on the road trying to beat the rush hour traffic between our home in Festac town and my school at Victoria Island. But he’d forgotten a very important file upstairs, so I was in the back seat of the car waiting. 

Whenever I found myself idle in the car, I liked to poke around, hoping to find some leftover sweets from my mum’s purse or change stuffed between the car seats. That day wasn’t any different, except what I found was a pack of cigarettes. Of course, I had no idea what I was holding at the time.   I’d grow up to realise it was my father’s addiction. But I remember how quickly he snatched it out of my hands when he found me taking out a stick from the pack. 

Thinking about that moment makes me wonder how many things we witness as kids with no understanding of how much trauma they cause in our lives. My dad was an addict who loved the high of alcohol. My mum had been doing a good job of hiding it, so my dad was my hero. He’d pick me up from school almost every day, and we’d spend at least an hour at a restaurant close by, talking about my day. I loved those moments.

But as I got older, I slowly realised my dad wasn’t everything my four-year-old mind had summed him up to be. 

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When I was six, my family moved to Abuja. And then I became a lot more aware of how much time he spent outside of the house and in the backyard, smoking and drinking. My Primary three health class had taught me a little about what smoking was and why it was bad, so to me, Daddy simply become a bad man. 

But I was a bit conflicted on whether smoking was really bad. Part of what my health teacher said was that cigarettes were only okay in colder regions like Europe and America. My dad had spent the last two years in Wales, so maybe he was just cold and still needed it. 

While I was conflicted, I can almost choke on the memory of the cigarette smell that came through my bedroom window every evening. Maybe he thought I was asleep and wouldn’t notice how he closed my window to keep the smell from entering my bedroom, but I was always wide awake. 

I’d actually stopped sleeping when the backyard smoking began. Not just from the choking smell, but from the drunken arguments that quickly ensued between him and my mum when he was done in the backyard. By this time, I just never felt safe when he was home. If he was coming into a room, I’d greet him and leave almost immediately. But he didn’t care enough to ask why.

It didn’t get better in my teens. Whenever he was home, he was either asleep or smoking; we no longer had a relationship because he barely said anything to me, and when he did, it was to yell. Now in my 20s, I watch him smoke three times a day, every day — each cigarette stick comes at the end of each meal — not including the sticks he smokes when he’s out with friends before coming home from work.

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I’ve had every opportunity to smoke, but I associate cigarettes with the angry, sad and distant person my dad became. You can say alcohol played a bigger role in his anger issues, but I’ve seen him smoke more times than I’ve seen him drink. It’s like he smokes for some kind of escape. From what? I don’t know. 

But I recently got a little insight into why smoking is so important to him. First, it was a brief conversation with my mum where I outrightly asked her why she decided to be with someone who finds more solace in smoking than in being with her. She explained how he’d grown up with 13 step-siblings in Warri and a father who didn’t care much for him. 

His mum had left his dad when he took in a second wife. My mum went on about how he may have felt abandoned by his mum, and his step-mum maltreating him didn’t make things easier. Without parents who cared about his whereabouts, he was off smoking and drinking with the neighbourhood guys as early as 10 years old. He’s been smoking ever since. He’s 50 years old now.

My mum was attracted to his bad-boy side when they met at the University of Benin. She’s quite reserved, so I guess it was appealing to have someone bubbly and outgoing give her some attention. But why did the marriage last? “I didn’t think he’d keep up the lifestyle when we had kids,” she said. And after that? “I stayed for my children,” she said. It was hilarious because the reason she stayed led to many sleepless nights for me. 

Fear is the only good excuse I can make up to avoid blaming her. Yes, maybe the uncertainty of leaving someone she’s loved since her university days were too difficult to picture, so she said. That’s the best scenario I can make up for her. Sympathy may have been another reason, but I don’t have the energy to sympathise because they could’ve done better.

I never confirmed the story with my dad, but he has talked about days he didn’t get to eat at home because his step-mum refused to give him food. I understand how the hurt he experienced as a kid trickled into who he is now. It could easily trickle to me because I’m experiencing his pain physically and emotionally. That’s why I can’t imagine smoking.

I’ve chalked up his addiction to sadness, as, at 50, he’s now at a point where he’s worked all his life and has very little to show for it. Unlike his mates who’re driving cars or buying houses, he seems to be stuck. So maybe, this time, smoking helps him hide from the reality that he never did well for himself. But then, these are my made-up excuses for him.

Maybe I’m misguided for thinking I can be better than my dad. After all, we all think we’re different from our parents, but we sometimes end up slowly becoming them as adults. While I can’t fully control how my trauma manifests itself, the choice to smoke or drink is something I can control. It may not be enough in the long run, but for now, that’s my benchmark for not ending up like my dad. 

The same applies to who I eventually marry. I don’t want a man who has vices more important than me or our kids. I know I’m aware not everyone smokes or drinks for the same reasons, but I don’t want someone who isn’t honest enough to admit when he’s deflecting worries and emotions with addictive substances. 

I can’t say I’ll ever sum up the courage to ask my dad why he’s willing to spend his life slowly killing his lungs, but I’m so angry that dying doesn’t seem to scare him even though he has a family. And if he does get sick, his family will bear the burden. I’ve seen him cough around the house and drink agbo in an attempt to manage it. But who’s he fooling? All I can hope for is that my dad never gets to the point of a terminal illness. 

I also don’t know if I’ve forgiven him enough for letting me choke on cigarette fumes since I was six. I haven’t noticed any side effects — and honestly, I haven’t bothered to check — but those experiences have kept me from indulging in cigarettes like my dad. 

In our own ways, there are things we run away from to avoid being just like our parents.

*subject’s name has been changed to protect her identity.

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