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

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

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

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

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

What was that experience like? 

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

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

What’d you learn? 

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

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

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

Wahala! Do you know where it comes from? 

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

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

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

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

All your exes have the same complaints? 

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

Do you think they’re right? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry, what? 

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

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

How did this particular loss change you? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting. What was this rediscovery about? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

So how did this transition from law to fashion happen? 

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

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

But weren’t you scared? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know that’s right!

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

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

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

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

That’s valid 

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

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

Are you more or less of a perfectionist now?

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

Random question, but does anything scare you? 

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

Ooop

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

So how do you view masculinity? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, good food and good sex. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would you change about your experience in the house? 

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

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

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

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

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

But do you enjoy being famous? 

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

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

So what’s the downside of fame? 

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

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

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

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

Ah! So when was the last time you cried? 

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

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

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

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

Is it an attraction thing? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Music? Let’s go! 

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

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

This gym part is a personal attack on me 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, though? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You understood controlling your narrative at 5? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh! And don’t be daft. 

Scrim! I was going to ask how you navigate relationships 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, I’m just grateful. 

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

What was your childhood like? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn. What happened next?

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

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

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

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

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

I’m so sorry, man

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

That must’ve been tough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh wow

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

Sensitive question: do you fear death? 

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

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

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

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

How are you fitting in these days?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before I go, are you genuinely happy? 

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

I hope you get there soon

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

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

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

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

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

Damn. Being laid off must’ve sucked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is this unnecessary disrespect thing about? 

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

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

I feel you 

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

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

How does this affect your relationships? 

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

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

Doesn’t it ever get lonely? 

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

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

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

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

But would you approach parenting differently? 

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

I want a loving relationship from the get-go. 

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

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

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

This was about ten years ago, right? 

Yes. 

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

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

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

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

Did the pushback get to you? 

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

What does fashion mean to you as a Nigerian man? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve blocked out society. 

Has anything ever threatened your masculinity? 

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

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

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

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

Would you change anything about this journey? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boarding school from primary level? Omo 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can we talk about this? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what’s next for you? 

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

I’m excited to see what that looks like. 

It’s the growth for me! 

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

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

What was growing up like? 

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

LOL 

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

Omo. How did you manage? 

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

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

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

I’m so sorry 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what did you do? 

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

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

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

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

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

You mentioned graduating. How did you get into school? 

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

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

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

What happened next? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re welcome!

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

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

Tell me what it was like growing up? 

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

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

So what was your relationship with your dad like? 

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

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

What exactly do you understand now? 

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

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

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

Wow

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

Where was your mum in all this? 

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

Abuja? 

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

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

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

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

How did you hear about it? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How did the show affect you as a man? 

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

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

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

Even after you won money? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what’s next for you? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What sparked this realisation? 

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

Has this changed your relationship with women? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, give me tips on how to overcome imposter syndrome 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the flip side, what drives you? 

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

Sir, why do you like violence? 

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

So what’s next for Opeyemi Famakin? 

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

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

LOL.