It’s killing everyone. The enlistment and support would be overwhelming.

Bank charges

Imagine getting debited every time just for terrible services. The Nigerian Armed Forces would be fighting for a good cause if they faced these banks.

Our right to soft vacations

What’s the point of a country that can’t make it easy for you to take periodic breaks from it? Everything from travel bans to visa restrictions is stressing Nigerians out. We deserve soft vacations first.

Passport office billing

The Nigerian passport is already worth little. What’s the point of billing us to death before we get it?

Semo

The best time to get rid of semo was before it was invented. The second best time is now. This food is a crime against us as a nation, and something needs to be done about it.

People who hate dodo

They’re clearly enemies of progress, and we don’t need them at this critical point in the life of our dear country.

Lagos traffic

The constant traffic on Lagos roads is a matter of national urgency. It’s shortening our life span every single day. 

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I grew up in a Muslim family of five. We were moderately religious, at least when I was younger. 

My father had grown up in a staunchly religious family but left home early, so he couldn’t learn so much about the religion before going off to boarding school. He didn’t want the same thing for me, so I started learning about Islam very early on.

I was five years old when I was first enrolled in a Madrasa — an Islamic school, where I learned about the basics of Arabic and Islam itself. I spent two hours at the Madrasa after school on weekdays and five hours during the weekends. 

By the time I was eight, I’d memorized the entire Quran. It was a flex; many people in the area and in my family thought it was a cool thing to achieve at such a young age. 

I didn’t stop attending the Madrasa after this, so I was able to go deeper into my studies. At this point, I was in the high school equivalent of Islamic Studies. I learned about Islamic Law, Arabic Grammar, theological thought, and even how to write poetry in Arabic. When I was ten years old, I was already speaking fluent Arabic. 

A female childhood best friend recently told me she always thought I’d become a Muslim cleric. But I did not. 

At the time, though, I was the model kid for my dad and my extended family — well-learned in religion and doing great at school, too. It was the best of both worlds for them. 

But there was one problem — I was too inquisitive. It started off as a harmless thing my dad indulged, but it eventually took on a life of its own. 

I’d question everything I didn’t understand, and I’d debate you until I got a satisfactory answer.

In early secondary school, I  got into religious debates with my Christian classmates about which religion was “more correct”. Now that I think about it, I must have been quite insufferable. To me, I knew everything, and my religion was perfect. There were no flaws in what I’d learnt, and I had sound logical explanations for everything. Not that the interreligious conversation ever went beyond harmless debates, but I derived pleasure from proving that I was right.

I was 13 when I first realised that I might be wrong. It started when I asked the cleric I’d learned from a question about the concept of destiny. In the Islamic doctrine, belief in Qadar (destiny)  is one of the articles of faith.  

But the explanation I got from my cleric just didn’t make sense.

As a Muslim, you’re meant to believe that everything that happens is ordained and destined by God. Both the good and the bad stuff. And this doesn’t apply to just the broad strokes of our lives alone. Even the tiny details like the choice of food you had for breakfast on a certain Monday happened because God said so. 

My question was simple: if this was the case, why does God still need us to pray, have faith, do good, or even do anything? Since it’s simply all His will playing out in everyone’s life. 

For the first time, I was told that some questions are inspired by the devil. But this event was the start of my search for answers. I asked every adult I knew for answers, and while they all saw how inconsistent the idea was, it made them sick to their stomach that someone pointed it out. They were always shocked at the realization of what the logical conclusion is. So, they’d ask me to stop asking questions and stick to my faith, because some things are beyond the knowledge of man.

Since I couldn’t get answers from the people in my life, I turned to books. My dad never censored the kinds of books we read, and luckily, my school had lots of them. It had books that had no business being in the library of a secondary school. It had novels that explored the history of religion, and even a copy of the Bhagavad Gita. It was there I read a lot about other religions and the doctrines they’re built upon. I also learned about Abrahamic religions through the lens of history and started to see things really differently. 

For example, I read about how the collation of the Qur’an was completed many years after the prophet passed, and how the formation of the Qur’an formed the basis for standardised Arabic today, as the tribes had different dialects at the time. 

So, how could I even be sure that what I’d memorised actually meant what I was taught that it meant? It all started to seem a lot less divine at this point.

Also, with the thousands of religions that exist, and the documented reports of metaphysical experiences from each of them, how can I ever be sure that mine is the right one?

I suffered cognitive dissonance for a while, but I just kept learning outside of what I’d always known. When I went off to university, I was finally able to be open up about my views with the friends I made. Some of them were shocked that I’d say such things, while others admitted that they had their doubts, but they’re choosing to believe. With time, I realised that I didn’t really care so much about the faith anymore. 

I started missing prayers because I thought, “What’s the point anyway?”. I also got tired of asking questions because I mostly didn’t care anymore. At home, my parents noticed that I’d stopped praying altogether, but they thought it was just a phase. They still forced me to do it anyway, but it was all for show. 

A year ago, I had an existential crisis that shook me. I felt like I needed some sense of meaning since I didn’t believe that anyone up there was guiding my life anymore. I was somewhat depressed because it felt like my life had no meaning whatsoever. I thought, “Why not just go back to the safety of having faith in God? Does it really matter if any of it is true?”

I started praying often and doing all the things I’d normally do as a devout Muslim, but it felt like I was only going through the motions. 

I’ve made my peace with it now — I’ve outgrown faith, and I doubt that anything can change it. But I don’t intend to come out publicly about my disbelief, at least not in real life. So, I’ll carry on and hope something changes and makes it feel right again. 

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*Name has been changed for the sake of anonymity

Zikoko: Ahn ahn, Threads. Long time no see.

Threads: Don’t patronise me. Leave this place.

Zikoko: But you wanted us to patronise you last month. Why are you giving mixed signals?

Threads: How can you even accuse me of mixed signals? After everything you guys did to me.

Zikoko: (Scratches head) Sorry o. What did we do? A lot has happened this year, and we can’t remember everything.

Threads: We literally spoke a month ago. 

You and everyone else acted like I was the app you’d been looking for all your life. You made me think I was the best thing ever — 30 million sign-ups in less than 24 hours. You people love-bombed me. 

Zikoko: What do you want us to say? It wasn’t us.

Threads: Are you gaslighting me right now?

Zikoko: Oya, wait. Listen to me. We can work things out.

Threads: You all said you loved me because I wasn’t toxic. Only for you to start breadcrumbing me. You people barely open me anymore. And now, you want me to open up to you? 

On top of that, you went back to your toxic “X”.

Zikoko: (quietly blushing at the mention of “X”)…

We’re… we’re sorry.

Threads: Save it, please. You’re all scum.

Zikoko: There’s just something about “X”. We just don’t have that fire with you. But you deserve better.

Threads: Please, shut up.

*Bursts into hot tears*

My God will judge you.

Zikoko: Oya, stop crying. It’s enough. Sorry. We’re here for you.

Threads: Promise?

Zikoko: …

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They already stress you every day, and they still want to charge you for it? No. It cannot happen.

Or your Bolt driver wants extra money

They’ll say fuel is crazy expensive, but it’s not affecting them alone. The app has already increased price. They should leave the rest to God.

When food passes you by at a party

You mean you’re just going to sit there and be mature about the fact that you’ll be leaving an owambe without tasting rice? Come off it.

Or when they tell you meat has finished

It’s a different story if you’re a vegetarian. But if you really like meat, what’s the point of hiding your pain?

When someone takes too much time at the ATM stand

Be the smaller person by kneeling down to beg them for funds since they have too much of it.

If you’re arguing with an agbero

In this scenario, change our advice from “go lower” to “lay low”, and you’ll be safe.

When salary doesn’t enter on salary date

If your salary always takes too long to drop, why are you working fast and getting everything done quickly? Take your time too. Obviously, no one around you is in a rush.

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Why are you expressing joy? That’s a sign that things are soft and you have money. Don’t do it. You need to make the people who’ll bill you think there’s no money on ground.

Stay inside

Out of sight is out of mind. People can only bill you when they see you. If you stay inside this week, you’ll definitely escape billing.

If you must go outside, frown

If you have a resting ‘vexed’ face, put it on. Let people know they’re taking a risk by asking for anything.

Or print your account number on a shirt

It’s cheaper to just stay inside. But who knows? Maybe you might get fuel money for another week if you try this.

Put your phone on DND

This is a good time to unplug for the month. There’s money, so you can put your phone on do-not-disturb for a week without feeling like you’re playing with fire.

Complain about Nigeria on Twitter

We all know things are more expensive now. That’s why you need to actively complain about the increasing cost of living on Twitter so no one mistakenly comes near you.

Bill them first

Identify the people who are most likely to bill you, and bill them first. Preempt their move before they make it. You don’t need the money, but it definitely works if you want to keep these people away.

Use your bank as an excuse

Tell them your bank app has issues and you can’t log into it. If you’re using a Nigerian bank, chances are you won’t be lying to them. 

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I’m a first-born daughter and that meant that from an early age, I had to fill in for my mum who had a full-time job. I hated every minute of it because I didn’t even know what I was doing. I learned to cook at age 7 and I was in charge of all house chores. I thought it’d get better when I left for university, and it did for a while. But then I graduated from school and got an awesome job. I started making my own money, and requests for financial assistance have been pouring in from everyone. I’m back here, living my life for them, and it feels like there’ll never be an end to it.

“Losing my dad forced me to grow up” — Daniel, 24

 I had a sheltered background, but everything changed when I lost my dad. I was 16 at the time, and I had two other siblings. My mum was a petty trader, so we quickly went from being relatively comfortable to very poor. What made it worse was that we weren’t close to the extended family, and my parents were all I had. 

I had to make money to survive somehow because my mother still had two kids (14 and 12) to take care of. I started with the easiest thing I could think of — laundry. I was washing clothes for my classmates for ₦‎200 a piece, even missing classes sometimes. I quickly became popular for this and soon started my own laundromat in school. My grades weren’t bad, but I’d gotten too preoccupied with making money that I’d lost interest in school.

Eventually, I discovered tech through a friend and started learning how to code. I was 19 at this point and I already had a lot of money saved up from my business. I shut it down to focus on school and coding. I graduated at 20 and got my first job two months before graduation. In many ways, losing my dad forced me to grow up faster. Even though I’m sad that he’s gone, I’m still grateful for the road that brought me here.

“I wasn’t ready to go to the university when I did” — Feyi, 29

Growing up, I was the ideal child. I was well-behaved, got good grades, and made my parents proud. I even skipped two classes in secondary school and got into the university at 14. It’s not that I was done with secondary school, but I’d taken JAMB and GCE in SS2 and passed really well. I got admitted to study medicine and my life pretty much looked like a straight line towards becoming a doctor at 20.

I got into school and quickly found out how brutal it was. I wasn’t used to the long classes. I’d never lived outside of home, and I didn’t even know how to take care of myself outside the influence of my parents. But that was easy to learn. The hardest part was blending in with people who were several years older than me. 

I had classmates who had boyfriends, and who’d talk about sex like it wasn’t a big deal. Meanwhile, the closest thing I ever had to a boyfriend was a class crush that lasted one term. I didn’t even know “Netflix and Chill” meant something else until my third year in school. 

Even though I’ve always been proud of the fact that I grew up fast and had excellent grades, I realized that I had poor social skills.Growing up too fast had done nothing to prepare me for life in school.

“My parents were never around so I had no choice” — Ibrahim, 22

My parents worked late every day, and they went to parties on weekends. It also didn’t help that I was the first of  five kids. We used to have a maid, but she was sent away after she had a physical fight with my mum. Somehow, all her duties were transferred to me when I was only 8. 

I’d take care of my siblings after school and wash their uniforms. I cooked most of the food we ate, and I did most of the chores around the house, with my siblings doing as little as possible because they were really young. The worst part was that I had mischievous siblings, who made sure I always got into trouble with our parents for things they did. That gave me a huge sense of responsibility to keep them in check. It’s probably why I’m such a control freak now. But looking back, the experience gave me invaluable life skills.

“I started working when I was 15” — Amaka, 25

My family fell on hard times after my father died, and my mum didn’t have enough money to support all four of us through school. After I graduated from secondary school, my mum told me to wait a few years and work before going to university. This was so she could have enough money to support my two other siblings through school.

I started out working as a waiter at a nearby restaurant for ₦‎15,000 monthly when I should have been in school. A lot of it was demeaning and I was sacked two years later when I slapped a customer who tried to harass me. With the help of someone I met at the restaurant, I went on to learn how to import shoes from China and sell them for huge profits. In my first round of sales, I made ₦‎90,000 in profit. That was the highest amount of money I’d ever seen in my life at that time.

I continued with the business and used the money to support the family and enrol in school. It wasn’t the most horrible experience, but it forced me to grow up and learn to fend for myself.

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