Ā鶹ŹÓʵ! / Come for the fun, stay for the culture! Sat, 11 Jul 2026 11:06:00 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.8.2 /wp-content/uploads/zikoko/2020/04/cropped-Ā鶹ŹÓʵ_Ā鶹ŹÓʵ_Purple-Logo-1-150x150.jpg Ā鶹ŹÓʵ! / 32 32 South Africa Raised Me, But Now Iā€™m Banned From Going BackĀ Till 2031 /citizen/repatriated-from-south-africa-fola-kester-as-told-to/ Sat, 11 Jul 2026 10:44:15 +0000 /?p=380337 Fola Kester-Akinpelumi left Nigeria at 4 and grew up South African in every way except on paper. Now 21, heā€™s been banned from entering the country for five years, yet he’s resilient and trying to rebuild a life in a country he barely knows. This is his story, as told to Orame.

I have lived inĀ  South Africa for nearly as long as Iā€™ve been breathing. I donā€™t remember the move myself; I only know I got there in 2009, at age 4, because I was told. Before I was born, my dad had already been living and working there, trying to build something so he could bring my elder brother and me over.

My first real memories start from my preschool. By then, I’d already forgotten Yoruba, because my dad didn’t speak it and we were just fully becoming South African. My dad met my stepmom when I turned 6. She’s South African, and she’s the best woman in the world ā€” she’s the one who raised me into who I am. We lived in the west of Johannesburg, moved between Roodepoort and a few other places, and I basically grew up there for the rest of my life. I only went back to Nigeria once, for a short trip in December 2012.

We weren’t rich. My family believed in discipline, education, and hard work above everything else, and my parents were very strict about it. My dad and stepmom would tell me, growing up: you’re a foreigner,  not South African, and you’ll never be treated the same ā€” don’t forget that. I heard it, but it didn’t really register. I was a kid making real friendships. I felt like I belonged.

My parentsā€™ warning never really hit home until I turned 18.

I watched my friends get their IDs, get their driverā€™s license, open bank accounts, you know? typical adult stuff. I’d ask my dad when I could do the same, and he’d just say, “It’s coming, it’s coming.” I didn’t know yet that there was anything actually wrong with my papers.

In high school, I was deputy head boy and a top 20 student. In my final year exams, I got four distinctions, including 90s in maths and physics. My marks put me in the top per cent of high school graduates in the country. 

On the strength of that, I got into Wits University to study chemical engineering and completely fell in love with the degree, but when I applied for a study permit, Home Affairs rejected my application. That’s when I found out I didn’t have proper papers, and that’s why other things were much more complicated for me.

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I want to be clear about this part. I didn’t sneak into South Africa. I came in as a child on my father’s documentation through the legal process. The problem wasn’t that I broke a rule, it’s that a category of people like me, who entered legally as minors and aged into adulthood within a broken system, don’t have a clean path to formalise their status. There are people in South Africa who came in illegally, who aren’t supposed to be there. I’m not talking about them, I’m talking about the ones who did it the right way and still got stuck.

When Wits saw that I’d hired an immigration lawyer and was actively pursuing my papers, they gave me a conditional registration for the second year in 2025,  meaning I could continue on the understanding that I’d have my status sorted out by year’s end. We appealed by email, over and over, no response.

In December 2025, my mom and I drove to the Home Affairs head office in Pretoria with every document printed out, because we weren’t even sure our emails were being received. Nobody came down to meet us. Someone upstairs called the reception desk and told us to leave, saying that appeals could only be done by email. When we asked if they’d gotten our previous ones, they didn’t even check.

By early 2026, Wits told me I couldn’t register for third year, and that was it. I’d worked as hard as a student possibly could, and none of it mattered.

I am hurt, but it wasn’t South Africans who did this to me. My friends never once treated me differently once they learned my situation; if anything, we got closer. A lot of them started emailing Home Affairs on my behalf, trying to get someone, anyone, to look at my case.

My daily life barely changed. The only real hostility I ever ran into was from the odd Uber driver going on a rant about immigrants “stealing jobs.”  I just sat in the front seat, trying not to say anything that would give me away.

The people frustrating my life were government workers, not neighbours. To me, itā€™s systematic xenophobia, because the system treats you as a permanent outsider, no matter how legal your papers are, how long you’ve lived there, or how much you’ve contributed. Itā€™s heavier than the physical xenophobia everyone sees on the news.  Itā€™s slow and invisible, so it doesnā€™t get as much attention as the second kind. Why would it? Thereā€™s no camera to capture it. 

I’ve given it a lot of thought, and Iā€™m convinced the systematic failure in South Africa is behind the protests we see. Its invisible nature is why foreigners are attacked: most people can’t picture the government as the villain, so they blame the foreigner, who they can see. 

It doesn’t help that foreigners often take the odd jobs South Africans won’t ā€” the barbering, the gardening, the roadside plumbing ā€” for a fraction of what a South African would demand for the same work. That gets read as “stealing” when it’s really just people doing work nobody else wanted to do at a price nobody else would accept.

My dad lived this too. He’s an IT specialist who trained South Africans in townships for years, helping people become qualified enough to leave poverty behind. But because he was a foreigner, clients would refuse to pay him for finished work, knowing he had no real recourse. Several of his businesses went under because of it. He has permanent residence.

 My dad is married to a South African, and he still couldn’t get his son’s papers sorted. In January 2026, he moved back to Nigeria to try to start over.

Something broke in me when  I couldn’t register for my course for the third year of university. I had lived as close to a model life as a student could ā€” head boy, top marks, no trouble ā€” and it still came down to one fact: I was a foreigner, and the country I’d grown up in didn’t want me. I’ve put it this way before: the country raised me, then proceeded to abandon me once I was old enough for it to matter.

With school frozen, I spent most of 2026 at home, coding online because there was nothing else to do. When Nigeria opened its repatriation program, I signed up almost immediately. I was terrified, but I knew that if I didn’t do it, things could get worse for me.

The repatriation process itself took four days just for screening ā€” passport vetting, police clearance, biometrics, and a final Home Affairs sign-off, at their Pretoria office. I went in expecting a single day and ended up sleeping at friends’ places for most of a week, because I hadn’t packed for a stay. 

During the wait before my flight, my university friends threw me a surprise goodbye party. We had a big, beautiful braai and spent time together. Towards the end of the party, they brought out a giftā€“ a South African soccer shirt signed by all my university friends. I felt so loved that I found myself crying on the floor, and in a heartbeat, all my friends joined me there, hugging and crying with me. This gesture had to be the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love my friends so much.

On Wednesday, July 1, the embassy called: my flight was the next morning, and I needed to be there by 10 am. As an overthinker, I’d already been packing in my head for months, but I still had less than 24 hours to compress an entire life into three bags. Friends came by to say goodbye, and sadly, I didn’t get the chance to see my best friend before I left ā€” there just wasn’t time.

We got to the embassy at 10 am and didn’t leave until 7 pm. Five buses took us to O.R. Tambo airport. We didn’t board until 4 am and took off at 5. Because my visa had technically lapsed while I was waiting for Home Affairs to process my permit, my exit was recorded as an overstay, which resulted in a five-year ban. I can’t legally return to South Africa until 2031.

By the time the plane actually left the ground, I was feeling a lot of emotions, from fear to disappointment and, at some point, anger. I had been feeling this way since January, when I first accepted my fate, but there was relief mixed in, too: I was finally going somewhere I wouldn’t be treated as less just for being Nigerian.

We landed in the cargo area of the airport in Lagos, and it was so hot, it hit me like a wall. 

What I wasn’t ready for was how well-organised the reception was. MTN was waiting with SIM cards, 100 gigabytes of data, and ā‚¦50,000 in airtime for every returnee, so we could reach our families immediately.

Within two hours of landing, they’d registered us for our National Identification Numbers (NIN). There’s something almost funny about that: I spent years failing to get legal recognition in South Africa, and I got documented as a Nigerian citizen within two hours of touching down.

My dad picked me up, and so far I’ve been living at my uncle’s place in Lagos. The culture shock is real; Nigerians are loud in a way that has nothing to do with anger. I’m naturally soft-spoken, and people keep telling me to “talk properly,” when really I’m just not used to how loud normal conversation is here. I can follow Pidgin but can’t speak it, and I never learned Yoruba ā€” I asked my dad to teach me when I was 15, and he brushed it off, saying I’d pick it up in church.

Strangely, my body feels more at home here than it ever did in Johannesburg. I used to get sick constantly in South Africa. Here, despite the heat, something about it feels right, like my body already knows the place.

I haven’t seen a naira of the stipend I’ve been promised yet ā€” I still need to open a bank account and link my number to my NIN before that can happen. My stepmom and little sister, who are both South African, are still there. I don’t know when I’ll see them again. Maybe December, if the money works out. Maybe not.

I’ve already secured my transcript from Wits, so I have what I need to transfer. The University of Ilorin is one of the few public universities that accept international transfers, and thatā€™s my target. 

I’m going to finish my chemical engineering degree, then do a master’s in power engineering and petroleum, because I want to work on electricity generation and infrastructure on this continent.

What breaks my heart most isn’t the xenophobia on its own ā€” it’s that it’s Africans doing this to other Africans. I don’t think that’s really xenophobia so much as Afrophobia. We’re sitting on the continent with the most untapped potential on earth, and instead of building it together, we’re chasing each other out.

I want to work for the African Union one day, on a policy that stops this exact thing from happening to the next person. South Africa raised me and then closed the door. I’m going to build what’s next right here, in the country that’s actually mine.

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]]> Nigerians Who Got Life-Changing Money. Then Lost It All /money/nigeirans-made-lost-money/ Fri, 10 Jul 2026 16:52:47 +0000 /?p=380308 Most people spend years dreaming about what they’d do if they suddenly came into a lot of money, but making money and keeping it are two very different skills.

These Nigerians once found themselves sitting on more money than they’d ever had before. Unfortunately, a mix of bad decisions, misplaced confidence, and bad luck meant the money didn’t last. They share how they made it, how they lost it, and the lessons they learned the hard way.

“I lost my money investing in bad stocks” – David*, 63, (M)

I received a severance of ā‚¦15M when I retired in 2019. I decided to invest it in stocks. I didnā€™t trust that a broker wouldnā€™t abscond with my money, so I read a few books on investing and began building a portfolio myself. At first, almost every stock I bought went up, and my profits grew to ā‚¦20M.

Instead of taking profits, I convinced myself I was an investing expert and doubled down on riskier stocks. When the stocks started to tank, I kept telling myself prices would recover, but they kept falling. By the time I sold, I’d lost all my gains and ā‚¦6M of my capital. I took the rest of the money out and started a small poultry farm instead. I learned that I shouldnā€™t be overconfident in a field Iā€™m not familiar with.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

“Gambling gave, gambling took away” – Gboye*, 30, (M)

I was a chronic gambler until one moment in 2022 changed my life. By sheer luck, I turned ā‚¦20k into almost ā‚¦12m from a string of bets in one weekend. I didnā€™t tell anyone about it.

Instead of withdrawing and investing, I became convinced I had cracked the system. I started placing bigger bets. Within three months, I only had ā‚¦500k left. It was the major reason I left gambling.

I felt so stupid and depressed. I should have just bought a car or something else. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth each time I remember it.

“Losing my windfall made me realise the importance of financial responsibility” – Yemi, 29, (M)

In 2018, the biggest amount of money I’d ever seen landed in my account after I got paid for a contract job. ā‚¦3 million.

I told myself I’d enjoy it before becoming responsible with the rest of it. I wanted people to see I was doing well. I lived lavishly, bought myself some new devices and ate out a lot. Six months later, I checked my account balance and realised I had almost nothing left to show for the ā‚¦3M. No investments. No savings. I was basically back where I started. That was when I started taking financial responsibility seriously. If you blink, you can lose it all.

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“I started a business I didn’t understand” – Aisha*, 40, (F)

When my grandmother died in 2012, I inherited ā‚¦5 million. I decided to start a supermarket business. I didnā€™t have any experience, but I thought I would figure it out as I went. It didnā€™t go as planned.

I trusted the wrong people to manage it. There was constant theft, bad record-keeping, and costly losses. Within two years, the business had collapsed, and most of the money was gone. It pained me that I didnā€™t just keep the money in a bank.

“I over-estimated my income flow” – Kemi*, 26, (F)

When I first started working as a mobile phone videographer in 2023, I made ā‚¦3.2M in just three months. I thought that was how money would be coming in, so I moved out of my parentsā€™ house and bought a new phone with ā‚¦2.2M total. I had ā‚¦1M left over and thought that would hold me until more came.

Unfortunately, I ran into a long dry spell after that and only made small amounts like ā‚¦150k/gig for the rest of the year. Each month, I watched the money dwindle until I had to admit to myself that I couldnā€™t afford to renew my rent. I moved in with my older sister instead. The biggest lesson I learned is that if you canā€™t buy it twice, you probably canā€™t afford it long-term.

Read Also: 8 Nigerians Recall How They Spent Their First Salary

]]> Qing Madi Becomes the New Face of Infinix HOT 70 Pro, Set for First Official Brand Appearance at UNILAG Campus Storm /announcements/qing-madi-infinix-hot-70-pro/ Fri, 10 Jul 2026 16:46:47 +0000 /?p=380318 Infinix has officially announced Nigerian music sensation Qing Madias the face of its all-new HOT 70 Pro, marking the beginning of an exciting campaign that celebrates creativity, individuality and fearless self-expression.ā€‹

The partnership brings together one of Africa’s fastest-rising music stars and one of the world’s most youth-driven smartphone brands, united by a shared belief that young people should have the freedom to express who they are, push boundaries and shine unapologetically.ā€‹

Over the past two years, Qing Madi has become one of the defining voices of a new generation of African music. With hit records, millions of streams across digital platforms, international recognition and a rapidly growing fanbase, she has carved out a reputation for authenticity, originality and effortless confidence. Rather than following trends, Qing Madi has consistently created her own lane, qualities that perfectly mirror the philosophy behind the HOT 70 Pro.ā€‹

For Infinix, whose products are built around the lifestyle and ambitions of Gen Z consumers, the collaboration is more than a celebrity endorsement. It is a celebration of a generation that refuses to blend in.ā€‹

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The HOT 70 Pro was designed for young creators, students, trendsetters and digital natives who see their smartphone as more than a communication device. It is a tool for creativity, productivity and personal expression.ā€‹

Leading the experience is the Active Matrix Cube, the evolution of Infinix’s signature Active Matrix Display. Built into the phone’s distinctive “Sugar Cube” camera design, the interactive display allows users to customise animated pixel art, create unique lighting effects, receive intelligent notifications and even share custom creations instantly with compatible devices using NFC. The feature transforms the smartphone into a dynamic extension of its owner’s personality, making every interaction feel uniquely personal.ā€‹

Designed under Infinix’s Dynamic Shine Design philosophy, the HOT 70 Pro introduces finishes that evolve with light and movement, alongside an ultra-slim profile that feels as premium as it looks. Every colourway has been crafted to help users stand out while expressing their individuality, an approach that aligns naturally with Qing Madi’s bold artistic identity.ā€‹

Beyond its striking design, the HOT 70 Pro delivers meaningful innovation for everyday life. Its IP68-rated dust and water resistance gives users the confidence to create wherever inspiration strikes; rom rainy commutes and poolside moments to spontaneous adventures, without worrying about accidental splashes or water exposure.ā€‹

The device also combines a powerful MediaTek Dimensity 7100 5G processor with a smooth 144Hz display, a long-lasting 6000mAh battery, AI-powered productivity tools and a 50MP Sony IMX882 imaging system capable of capturing stunning Live Photos and content that keeps pace with today’s always-on generation.

Speaking on the partnership, Oluwayemisi Ode, PR Manager, Infinix Nigeria, described Qing Madi as the perfect embodiment of the HOT series’ youthful spirit.ā€‹

“The HOT Series has always represented confidence, creativity and individuality. Qing Madi embodies those values in every sense. She is talented, fearless, authentic and deeply connected with today’s generation of young Nigerians. Her journey reflects exactly what the HOT 70 Pro stands forā€”standing out, embracing originality and expressing yourself without limits. We couldn’t think of a better person to lead this campaign.”ā€‹

Sharing her excitement about joining the Infinix family, Qing Madi said:ā€‹

“I’ve always believed that the best version of yourself is the one that’s unapologetically authentic. That’s why this partnership feels so natural to me. The HOT 70 Pro is bold, creative and different, and I love how it encourages people to express themselves in their own way. I’m excited to begin this journey with Infinix and connect with fans through this campaign.”ā€‹

Fans won’t have to wait long to experience the collaboration firsthand.ā€‹

Qing Madi will make her first official appearance as the face of the Infinix HOT 70 Pro at the HOT 70 Pro “Be Seen Be Hot” Campus Storm, taking place on Thursday, July 10, at the University of Lagos (UNILAG).ā€‹

Expected to attract thousands of students from UNILAG, Yaba College of Technology and the Federal College of Education, the Campus Storm promises to be one of the biggest youth experiences of the season. Attendees can expect immersive product experiences, games, creator interactions, exclusive giveaways, live entertainment and a special meet-and-greet with Qing Madi before she headlines the event with a live performance.ā€‹

More than just a campus activation, the event marks the official beginning of the HOT 70 Pro movement; a celebration of confidence, creativity and individuality, where technology meets music, fashion and youth culture.ā€‹

For fans of Qing Madi, lovers of innovative technology and anyone looking to experience the next chapter of the HOT Series firsthand, the HOT 70 Pro Be Seen Be Hot Campus Storm at UNILAG is shaping up to be one of the must-attend events of the year.ā€‹

With Qing Madi leading the campaign, Infinix is once again reaffirming its commitment to empowering the next generation with technology that does more than perform, it inspires, connects and gives every young person the confidence to be seen, be heard and be unforgettable.ā€‹

Be Seen. Be Hot.

]]> Married Nigerians Share How Having Children Changed Their Marriage /ships/married-nigerians-having-children-changed-marriage/ Fri, 10 Jul 2026 13:03:03 +0000 /?p=380304 In the third episode of Ā鶹ŹÓʵā€™s 100 Nigerians: Anatomy of a Marriage, we asked married Nigerians to reflect on the different ways having children has reshaped their marriages.

From newlyweds who became parents almost immediately to couples who struggled to find their rhythm once they settled into their new roles as mummy and daddy, these stories unpack the joy, pressure and constant adjustments that come with raising children together.

ā€œHaving children early affected usā€ ā€” Precious*, 29

I got pregnant two months after our wedding. Then our second and third children arrived in quick succession. Sometimes, I wish weā€™d had more time to enjoy being husband and wife before becoming parents.

Those first few years were difficult. Between pregnancies and raising young children, there was very little room for us as a couple. We argued more often, and there were moments when I felt completely overwhelmed and questioned whether I was ready for marriage at all.

Things improved once we settled into a routine and became intentional about protecting our relationship. These days, we leave the children with family occasionally and make time to reconnect.

ā€œAfter two kids, our closeness disappearedā€ ā€” Chika, 51

Before we had children, my husband and I were inseparable. Weā€™d spend hours talking after work, wear matching outfits whenever we went out and look for every excuse to spend time together. When our daughter was born, it took us a while to settle into parenthood, but we still made time for each other. Then our son arrived.

He came a few weeks early and developed jaundice. Between caring for him and raising a toddler, our routine disappeared overnight. Before we knew it, the only things we talked about were school fees, nappies, nannies and feeding schedules.

For years, Iā€™d sit right beside my husband and still miss him because it felt like we had stopped seeing each other. We didnā€™t get even a semblance of our old closeness back until both our children left for boarding school.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

ā€œThe pressure of providing almost ruined my marriageā€ ā€” Ugo, 42

I always thought becoming a father would give me a sense of pride and legacy. Instead, it introduced me to a level of pressure I wasnā€™t prepared for. I became obsessed with providing the best life possible for my children. Without realising it, I focused so much on earning money that I stopped showing up emotionally at home.

My wife eventually told me she felt like she was carrying all the emotional labour by herself. That conversation changed me. Iā€™ve had to make a conscious effort to slow down, be more present with my children and reconnect with my wife.

ā€œMy mum had to move in before I lost my mindā€ ā€” Sola, 38

Nobody warned me how exhaustion could slowly change your personality. After I had our twins, sleep became a luxury. If one baby stopped crying, the other immediately started. My husband helped whenever he got home from work, but he was always exhausted after a long day, too.

At first, we worked as a team. Then the sleep deprivation caught up with us. Every small disagreement turned into a fight about whoā€™d woken up last, whoā€™d done more and who was more tired. It wasnā€™t really about the babies anymore. I just felt exhausted, unseen and deeply unappreciated.

I genuinely thought our marriage was falling apart. Everything changed when my mum moved in to help with the babies. Once I started sleeping properly again, I slowly felt like myself.

ā€œMotherhood became my whole identity. Iā€™m learning to love itā€ ā€” Amina, 45

Motherhood has swallowed every part of who I used to be. Before I had children, I had routines, hobbies and a strong sense of independence. Then I became a mum, and suddenly everything revolved around my children.

I love them deeply, but sometimes I feel like Iā€™ve disappeared in the process of raising them. My husband still had time for work, friends and hobbies, but my life became work, church and home.

These days, Iā€™ve chosen to find purpose in motherhood. By Godā€™s grace, Iā€™ll become a grandmother someday too, and I hope Iā€™ll find joy in that season as well.

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ā€œWe were so exhausted, we stopped having sexā€ ā€” Tolu, 32

After our son was born, our sex life changed completely. We went from having sex several times a week to once if we were lucky. It wasnā€™t because we loved each other any less; we were simply exhausted from our roles as parents.

There was always a crying baby, laundry, work or something else demanding our attention. By the end of the day, sleep felt far more appealing than sex.

At first, I worried something was wrong with our marriage. Then I spoke to a few other dads and realised how common it was when children get into the picture. 

Weā€™ve had to learn new ways to stay emotionally connected, especially now that physical intimacy isnā€™t as frequent as it used to be.

ā€œI wasnā€™t prepared for what postpartum depression did to my wifeā€ ā€” Emeka, 48

My wife developed postpartum depression after our first child, and nothing prepared me for it. My mum kept saying it would pass, so I convinced myself things would eventually get better.

But they didnā€™t. My wife became withdrawn and emotionally distant, and I felt completely helpless. I was terrified sheā€™d hurt herself and leave me to raise our baby alone. Eventually, I insisted we return to the hospital and also hired a nanny to support us. Thankfully, she gradually became herself again.

Looking back, Iā€™ve never been more afraid during our marriage. That experience completely changed how I see marriage. It isnā€™t just about finding a helpmate. Sometimes, youā€™re the one who has to carry your partner until theyā€™re strong enough to carry themselves again.

ā€œMotherhood suddenly made everyone respect meā€ ā€” Rukayat, 40

The biggest surprise after I became a mother was how differently people treated me. My parents, in-laws, neighbours, almost everyone suddenly spoke to me with a new level of respect. I was still quite young, but for the first time, I felt like a proper adult.

Thankfully, my daughterā€™s stubborn personality humbled me before I could let it get to my head. Sometimes I laugh when I think about it. It took over 18 hours of labour before everyone finally decided I deserved respect.

ā€œParenting exposed how differently we were raisedā€ ā€” Dekunle, 37

I never expected parenting to expose just how differently my wife and I were raised. Weā€™ve constantly argued about discipline, routines and even bedtime.

What I considered normal correction, she thought was too harsh. What she called gentle parenting, I thought was spoiling.

Weā€™ve had to unlearn a lot and intentionally decide what kind of parents we want to be, rather than simply repeating how we were raised. It hasnā€™t been easy, but itā€™s been fascinating to watch our child adapt to different methods as we figure it out together.

ā€œBecoming a mum made me understand my parentsā€ ā€” Funmi, 39

Becoming a mother completely changed how I see my own parents. For the first time, I understood their sacrifices and frustrations because now thereā€™s nothing I wouldnā€™t do for my children. It also made me realise how complicated parenting really is. Every decision feels enormous. Which school should they attend? Where should we raise them? Are we making the right choices?

In the middle of all this, Iā€™m constantly thinking about my husband. Imagine carrying all that while also feeling responsible for your entire family. Parenting has given me a new appreciation for him. Itā€™s not easy, and honestly, itā€™s only by Godā€™s grace that weā€™re doing our best.

ā€œI felt guilty because I didnā€™t enjoy motherhood all the timeā€ ā€” Nkiru, 36

I love my child deeply, but there are days I miss my old life. I havenā€™t slept properly since I had my seven-year-old. Spontaneous plans have disappeared because I always have to think about whoā€™ll look after my child.

In those early years, I felt like I wasnā€™t allowed to complain. Everyone expects mothers to be grateful all the time, but motherhood can also be exhausting and overwhelming.

When I finally opened up to other women, I realised I wasnā€™t alone. They were struggling too. That helped me breathe a little. At first, I even resented my husband because it seemed like parenting came more easily to him. Looking back now, I know I couldnā€™t have survived those years without him. If he hadnā€™t been there, I probably wouldā€™ve packed my bags and left my son with my mum.

ā€œHaving children made me love my husband even moreā€ ā€” Abosede, 39

Most people always talk about how children make marriage harder, but nobody talks about how much they can strengthen it, too. The newborn stage with our two children was incredibly hard. We were exhausted and irritable, and we barely had time for each other. But somewhere in that chaos, I started seeing sides of my husband Iā€™d never seen before.

Watching him wake up at 3 a.m. to soothe a crying baby or patiently brush our sonā€™s hair before school made me fall in love with him all over again. I loved him as my husband before, but now I admire him as a father too. I canā€™t deny that it has made our marriage stronger than it ever was when we just got married.

Navigating Crisis follows couples who hit a wall in their relationship and found their way back to other. Dropping July 17.

Here’s your next read: Married Nigerians on Staying After Their Partner Cheated

]]> My Husband Died After Our Daughterā€™s Autism Diagnosis /ships/husband-died-after-autism-diagnosis/ Fri, 10 Jul 2026 08:28:56 +0000 /?p=380298 When Rasheedatā€™s daughter, Faizat, was diagnosed with autism at 11, she thought finally having answers would make the journey easier. Instead, just as she began learning how to support her child, she lost her husband. In this story, she shares what itā€™s been like raising an autistic daughter alone for over two decades, the discrimination theyā€™ve faced and how that pain eventually became purpose.

This is Rasheedatā€™s story, as told to Adeyinka

I still remember the day we finally got a diagnosis for my daughter.

For years, I knew something was different about Faizat, but I couldnā€™t explain what. She never crawled as a baby. She didnā€™t start walking until after she turned three, and she hardly spoke. She cried a lot, often over things I couldnā€™t understand. As her mother, it broke my heart because all I wanted was to comfort her, but I never knew what she was trying to tell me.

At the time, Iā€™d never even heard the word ā€œautism.ā€

Like many parents, I believed she was simply developing late and would eventually catch up. We werenā€™t aware of any history of autism in our family, so it never crossed my mind that this could be something different.

Instead of seeking medical help immediately, we tried everything we knew.

We visited spiritual homes because people believed she needed prayers. We gave her different herbal concoctions because everyone seemed to know someone with a remedy. We werenā€™t trying to avoid medical care. We simply didnā€™t know what autism was, and we were desperate to help our daughter.

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It was our neighbours who eventually suggested taking her to a psychiatric hospital. Back then, that idea terrified us. We believed psychiatric hospitals were only for people with severe mental illness. My husband rejected it immediately. He said, ā€œMy daughter is not mad.ā€

Looking back now, I understand why he reacted that way. It came from fear and ignorance, not from a lack of love for his daughter. Eventually, we agreed to go.

Faizat was diagnosed with autism when she was 11 years old. Hearing those words brought both relief and heartbreak. For the first time in years, I finally understood why my daughter had struggled the way she did. I realised her behaviours werenā€™t because she was stubborn or because I had failed as a mother.

But at the same time, my mind immediately jumped to the future. Would she ever speak fluently? Would she make friends? Go to school? Live independently? Would society accept her?

The doctors prescribed medication to help with her aggression and tantrums. They also explained that therapy would be an important part of helping her communicate and become more independent. Then life happened again. 

Not long after Faizatā€™s diagnosis, my husband died. Almost overnight, I became a widow raising three children, including a daughter who needed more support than I could afford to give. I was grieving my husband while trying to understand autism at the same time. The medications, therapy sessions and specialist care the doctors recommended were expensive, and I simply didnā€™t have the money. Those were some of the loneliest years of my life.

Even so, giving up was never an option. As the years passed, I learned that one of the hardest parts of raising an autistic child wasnā€™t only autism itself. It was how people treated us.

One day, Faizat and I boarded a public bus. She made one of her loud vocal sounds and some passengers became uncomfortable. They complained until the conductor stopped the bus and asked both of us to get down. I canā€™t fully describe how humiliating that felt.

On another occasion, I booked an Uber. The driver arrived, looked at us, refused to unlock the doors and drove away without saying a word. Those moments stay with you. You arenā€™t just caring for your child. Youā€™re constantly explaining, defending and proving that your child deserves to exist in the same spaces as everyone else.

Housing also became difficult. Because I couldnā€™t always afford the therapy and medication she needed, Faizat sometimes had intense meltdowns. Neighbours complained, landlords became uncomfortable, and we had to move from one house to another. People assumed she was possessed or cursed. Some believed I was being punished. Others thought I was simply a bad parent.

Over time, I realised most of those reactions came from ignorance rather than cruelty. But ignorance can still be incredibly painful. They see a child having a meltdown in public, but they donā€™t see the sleepless nights beforehand. They donā€™t see the constant supervision, the exhaustion or the fear that never really goes away.

Even after 26 years, I still worry about Faizatā€™s future. I think about her health, her safety and one question that never leaves my mind: who will care for her when Iā€™m no longer here? At the same time, raising her has completely changed the way I understand love.

Before Faizat, I thought love was simply caring for someone. She taught me that love is showing up every day, even when youā€™re tired, discouraged or uncertain about tomorrow.

She also changed the way I think about communication. For many years, she couldnā€™t speak fluently, and I spent so much time wishing she would tell me what she was thinking. Then one day, I realised she had been communicating with me all along.

She communicated through her facial expressions, gestures, routines, and the way she responded to different situations. Iā€™d been so focused on what she couldnā€™t say that I almost missed everything she was already telling me.

That lesson changed not only how I saw autism, but how I saw people. Being non-verbal doesnā€™t mean having nothing to say.

For a long time, I kept our journey private because I was simply trying to survive each day. But as I met more parents raising autistic children, I realised so many of us were carrying the same burdens in silence. Thatā€™s why I started sharing our story.

I wanted other parents to know they werenā€™t alone. I wanted families to recognise the signs earlier than I did and seek professional help without fear or shame, and the response has been overwhelming.

Parents have reached out to tell me they finally sought an assessment for their own children after watching our videos. Others have said our story gave them hope during their darkest moments. Strangers have donated towards therapy, medications and Faizatā€™s care.

Of course, not everyone has been kind. There have been insensitive comments and people who questioned my parenting. But instead of allowing those moments to discourage me, theyā€™ve strengthened my resolve. Today, I run the Faizat Hope Foundation for Autism and Special Needs because I donā€™t want other families to walk this journey alone.

If thereā€™s one thing I want Nigerians to understand, itā€™s that autism isnā€™t a curse or the result of bad parenting. Families like mine donā€™t need pity. We need understanding, acceptance and support.

Looking back, I would tell my younger self not to waste years searching for a cure. I would tell her to spend that time understanding her daughter instead. I would tell her that although she would lose her husband and carry this responsibility alone, she would also discover a strength she never knew she had.

Most importantly, I would tell her to keep believing in her daughter. Because even though autism changed our lives forever, Faizat also gave my life a purpose I never expected. She didnā€™t just make me a mother. She made me an advocate for families who deserve to be seen, heard and accepted.

ALSO READ: Mothers Share the Reality of Raising Children With Disabilities

]]> GridLocked: Can You Guess The Food? (10 July 2026) /games/gridlocked/gridlocked-10-7-2026/ Fri, 10 Jul 2026 07:36:44 +0000 /?p=380271 GridLocked is a daily pop culture guessing game built for Nigerians. Every weekday by 9am, you’ll get six clues, sixty seconds, and an answer only a Nigerian would know.

Today’s GridLocked is food.

How many clues do you need to get it right? šŸ‘€

Share your result when done, but donā€™t spoil the answer for others. (Missed the last GridLocked? Play it here.)

10 July 2026

Come back every weekday by 9am for a new grid or , Ā鶹ŹÓʵā€™s daily newsletter, to get new GridLocked puzzles, real Nigerian stories and other fun content in your inbox.

How to Play GridLocked

  • The Goal: Guess the answer for the day before time runs out. (The answer could be a Nigerian person, place, song, movie, or even slang.)
  • The Lock: You cannot type a guess until you have revealed at least one tile (clue).
  • The Reveal: Tap any tile to reveal a clue. Every clue describes the answer for the day. The fewer tiles you flip, the better.
  • The Clock: You have 60 seconds to guess right. The timer starts the moment you flip your first tile. (You get multiple guesses.)

The GridLocked Squares: What Do They Mean?

When the game ends, you see your guess count, total time spent, and the number of tiles flipped. The tiles are shown as white and purple squares.

  • ā¬œ (White) = A tile you flipped
  • (Purple) = A tile you left closed

The fewer white tiles you have, the better your result.

  • Best Result = ā¬œšŸŸŖ | Guesses: 1 (Only needed one clue and one guess to get it right)

]]> Mothers Share the Reality of Raising Children With Disabilities /her/women-on-raising-children-with-disabilities/ Thu, 09 Jul 2026 15:47:58 +0000 /?p=380240 Parents are often told that just loving their kids is enough, but when youā€™re raising a child with a disability, love is only one part of the equation. Thereā€™s also the fight for the right diagnosis, accessible schools, expensive therapy, and a world that wasnā€™t built with your child in mind.

For many parents, the hardest part isnā€™t their childā€™s disability. Itā€™s the guilt, grief, exhaustion, and constant worry that theyā€™re not doing enough, even when theyā€™re giving everything they have. 

In this article, we spoke to eight mothers about what itā€™s really like to raise children with disabilities, and the joys, heartbreaks, and difficult truths that come with the journey.

1. ā€œI Believe His Deafness Alienated Him From the Worldā€ ā€” Doyin*, 45

My son was born deaf, and although he is almost 20 and doing okay for himself, I feel like I failed him as a parent. My husband died a month before the birth of our son, so I struggled a lot. I wasnā€™t that close to my siblings; my in-laws thought I was the one who killed their breadwinner, and because of this, I didnā€™t have enough of a support system. Maybe if I had more people in my life, I wouldnā€™t constantly feel like I failed as a parent. 

I was able to enrol him in a school for deaf people, but I believe his deafness alienated him from the world. I didnā€™t know much sign language, so our conversations were always limited, and because of that, we donā€™t have a great mother-son dynamic. He barely had friends outside the ones he made at school because kids who could speak and hear always got frustrated with him for not understanding them. 

I couldnā€™t take him to a lot of events because he didnā€™t know how to read lips, and he hated that so much. He was a very lonely child, and although the world is better now and people are kinder to him, I still think I could have done more to make his life easier 

2. ā€œShe Got in Trouble for Being Unable to Perform Basic Reading and Writing Tasksā€ ā€” Amirah*, 39 

My twelve-year-old daughter has dyslexia, and I didnā€™t even know what it meant until her aunt, a psychologist, visited us for the first time, pulled me aside after a week of spending time with us, and asked me if I knew what dyslexia meant. That night, I conducted thorough research on it, and it started to put a lot of things into perspective for me. 

My daughter has always struggled with school. In primary school, she got into trouble with her teachers because she was unable to perform basic writing and reading tasks that most of her classmates could. We even had to change her school at some point because a teacher got so frustrated with her that he beat her till her body got marks. There was a time I sacked one of her home teachers who got too comfortable with calling her an olodo (dullard) whenever I wasnā€™t around to supervise. My husband and I thought she was just a child who didnā€™t like school and that she would eventually grow out of it. Thank God for her aunt. 

After her aunt guessed dyslexia, we booked an appointment with a neurologist who assessed her and confirmed what weā€™d already known. All we had to do was get her all the aid she would need. A week after her diagnosis, we found a private tutor who specialises in dyslexic children, and honestly, life has gotten better since then. She still struggles, obviously, but she seems happier, and honestly, Iā€™m just glad.

3. ā€œI Would Love It if She Were Like Other Toddlers Her Ageā€ ā€” Etim*, 28 

I have an autistic toddler, and I canā€™t lie, Iā€™ve not been having a great time with this parent thing. Iā€™m glad my husband and I have the financial resources to help her, but it hasn’t been easy. I know my daughter didnā€™t ask for this; itā€™s not her fault, but honestly, it has been so difficult. 

She is mostly nonverbal, so communication with her always ends in screaming, scratching, and tantrums. Unlike most kids, she shows little interest in anything or even anyone. She has a special interest in dolls, and that is the only thing she focuses on. It makes my heart ache because while her neurologist has assured me that she is not going to remain non-verbal forever, I would love it if she were like other toddlers her age. 

The worst part is that a lot of my friends and family do not understand autism or what it means, and theyā€™re not making efforts to educate themselves because they believe itā€™s ā€˜oyinbo illnessā€™, and itā€™s quite frustrating watching them pray over her head as if prayers would fix her. Iā€™ve had to distance myself from most of them because theyā€™re not even making the situation better. 

4. ā€œThereā€™s a Lack of Consideration for People With Disabilities in This Countryā€ ā€” Ngozi*, 38 

About three years ago, my son got into a life-threatening accident that permanently put him in a wheelchair, and ever since then, my eyes have started seeing the lack of consideration for people with disabilities in this country. Taking care of someone in a wheelchair is already hard enough as it is, but it is maddening when the places you visit do not have provisions to cater to people with disabilities. 

This is my biggest frustration about this. Few places in our state actually have wheelchair ramps or elevators, so there have been many times when my husband had to carry our son up the stairs, and on every occasion, I end up crying. I donā€™t mind moulding my life for my son and sacrificing certain things to ensure his comfort. It just pisses me off because when we step outside of our home, he faces the discomfort I do my best to shield him from. This is why my husband and I are planning to relocate to a new country where our son can feel more comfortable and at peace with himself. 

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5. ā€œHer Defect Doesnā€™t Make Me Love Her Any Lessā€ ā€” Aisha*, 48 

My third child was born with a congenital eye defect, and she barely has any working vision. This is something that continues to break my heart because I just feel like itā€™s unfair that her siblings didnā€™t have any defects, but she does. Still, I do not love her any less. She is my daughter, and Iā€™m very happy that I  take care of her and make the world livable for her. Itā€™s frustrating to exist in a country where people with disabilities are seen as cursed. Iā€™ve never subscribed to that belief, so I let their comments roll off my back easily. 

Although she experiences life differently from people with sight, my daughter leads a normal life. She goes to school, interacts with people who see her beyond her blindness, uses her devices comfortably, and still tries to see the beauty of life. There are times when she gets frustrated by her inability to see what other people can easily see, and I donā€™t blame her for that, but still, she is happy, and that makes me happy too.  

6. ā€œThe Money That Goes Into Caring for a Child With Down Syndrome is Not Smallā€ ā€” Tumi*, 3

Our son has Down Syndrome, and it has been a rollercoaster raising him. Having him made my husband and me realise that we cannot just be 50% in. We have to be there for our child in every way he requires us to. And that can be financially and mentally exhausting. I donā€™t mind because I was already aware of his condition before his birth, and I knew the sacrifices I would need to make, but I would advise anyone who canā€™t make that dedication to terminate if they can. 

The money that goes into caring for a child with Down Syndrome is not small. There are countless physical therapy, speech therapy, and other appointments with the doctor that just take and take from you. You even have to care for this child while keeping in mind that they could develop a heart defect anytime, and you have to be mentally prepared for the way people look at your child, like theyā€™re some alien wandering the streets of Lagos. If you donā€™t have the right armour, you are going to fumble, and it would affect your relationship with your child.

Having my child has made me realise that people really need to be gentle and careful with the way they care for their child. There have been many times Iā€™ve looked at him and asked myself whether I really made a good decision in bringing him into this world despite the risks. There have also been times when I cursed myself for doing this to myself, but I never let that show when Iā€™m taking care of him. Down Syndrome babies are humans who also deserve to be loved by their parents, and I hope that I live long enough to keep loving him.

7. ā€œHe is Losing So Many Opportunities in Life Because of His Deafnessā€ ā€” Atinuke*, 59

I have twin boys, and one of them, Taiwo, is deaf. Taiwo is almost 30, and he has cut his dad and me from his life. I donā€™t blame him because of the way we mishandled his deafness. We knew he was deaf, and instead of helping him out like we were supposed to, we just dropped him off at his grandpaā€™s and expected him to figure life out. We didnā€™t want to claim a child who was deaf. It felt like a stain on our reputation, and we didnā€™t actually have the money to care for him. 

While he was at his grandpaā€™s, Taiwo apparently found a way to communicate. He couldnā€™t use the actual sign language because he didnā€™t go to school, but I learned that his cousins and the friends he made at his grandpaā€™s found a way to communicate with him, despite his deafness and muteness. On the weekends, when we visited him, he would try to communicate with us, and while I didnā€™t care too much about him then,Ā  I feel so much guilt now because I didnā€™t even try to bridge that communication gap or make life easier for him.Ā 

From what his twin tells me, Taiwo is losing so many opportunities in life because of his deafness. It makes me angry at myself because I believe that I could have been a better mother who did not turn her back on her child because of who he was. 

8. ā€œIt Was a Good Thing I Decided Not to Give Birth After Herā€ ā€” Mayo*, 40 

My daughter has low-functioning autism, and even though she is currently 18, she has the mind of a 3-year-old. It has not been very easy caring for her, and it was a good thing that I decided not to give birth after her. Because she needs all the attention she can get, I have devoted my best years to caring for her. My husband didnā€™t have to make such sacrifices because right from her childhood, he has refused to acknowledge that she is different from other kids. 

My daughter is mostly nonverbal, and it can get frustrating when Iā€™m trying to communicate with her and get no response. But the moment I leave the house to run errands, she throws the biggest tantrum. Sometimes, she would even rage-scream and act physically violent towards me. I work from home because of her, but she barely even lets me finish my deliverables on time, and while my boss is very much aware of my situation, it is still very frustrating.  I know that I could just spare myself the stress and get her into a high-end autism program that could provide her with the right support, but with the way she behaves sometimes, Iā€™m scared of her being away from home. 

You’ll Love: Pregnancy Showed Me Who My Husband Really Was

]]> 10 Times Nigerian Artists Turned Money Into Catchy LyricsĀ  /pop/nigerian-artists-turned-money-to-lyrics/ Thu, 09 Jul 2026 15:34:56 +0000 /?p=380241 Nigerian musicians donā€™t flex in the abstract. They give you the exact number and dare you to do the maths. This pattern is common in our contemporary music, especially Afropop; it loves money. 

Anyway, for the moneymakers and everyone aspiring to be wealthy, here are ten lines where Nigerian musicians counted their money out loud, or likened their visions and ideas to huge sums of money.

1. ā€œ30 billion for the account oā€ ā€” Davido, ā€œIfā€ (2017)

The line sits in the songā€™s chorus, which is about impressing a love interest with cash. The 30 billion, now adopted as his gang name, is just an exaggeration. Itā€™s not a real balance, which is the whole point of the boast.

Holā€™up! Before you proceed, have you bought your ticket to the NairaLife Conference 2026?

2. ā€œMonday to Saturday, outside for my daily 2kā€ ā€” Zerrydl, ā€œFIND MONEYā€ (2024)

Zerrydl opens his verse with this line about his hunger for cash. It frames the song as a daily hustle jam, which is why the modest 2k figure is the point.

3. ā€œOne million dollar / E lo lo ma je tin ba se si naira / Eh, owo!ā€ ā€” Olu Maintain, ā€œYahoozeā€ (2007)

If you were around when ā€œYahoozeā€ was the hottest single in town, you probably know this line. And you also know its context, especially when you look closely at the song title. The ā€œOne million dollarā€ line was so popular that it became a catchphrase for the eraā€™s ā€œyahoo boyā€ opulence culture ā€” even though Olu Maintain has always publicly insisted the song is about hard work, not internet fraud.

4. ā€œI got plenty dollar in my name / I got plenty naira in my nameā€ ā€” P-Square, ā€œChop My Money (Remix)ā€ (2011)

The line is to impress the women flicking around them, to announce that theyā€™re super-rich and all bills are on them.

5. ā€œBillion dollar babyā€ ā€” Seyi Vibez, ā€œBD Babyā€ (2022)

This line is worth the flex. What Seyi Vibez is saying is that heā€™s a wealthy figure. Itā€™s self-exaltation.

6. ā€œBillion dollar dream, but Iā€™m still broke.ā€ ā€” Superwozzy,Ā  ā€œBillion Dollar Dreamsā€ (2019)

Rapper Superwozzy makes a blunt admission that ambition has outrun the bank balance. This sentiment is a recurring one across Nigerian Street-Hop.

7. ā€œI remember when I was praying for a million naira / Ego nsego na loud akaligo a million nairaā€ ā€” Jeriq, ā€œBillion Dollar Dreamā€ (2022)

This one is the intro and title track of Jeriqā€™s debut album. The rapper looks back on the days he wanted a million in his bank account. Now, he can blow that amount of money on exotic marijuana.

READ NEXT: 10 Addictive Nollywood Shows Youā€™ll Accidentally Binge Till 3 AM 

8. ā€œPounds sterling lawa n fi n se tissue.ā€ ā€” Olamide, ā€œWho U Eppā€ (2016)

This line is Olamideā€™s boast that even foreign currency like pounds sterling is casually disposable, like tissue paper.

9. ā€œHalf a million dollars, when I smile for the picture.ā€ ā€” Burna Boy, ā€œBundle By Bundleā€ (2025)

What this means is that whenever Burna Boy smiles for a picture, heā€™s flashing his diamond-studded tooth valued at $500k at your camera.

10. ā€œMe, I don touch money, I like am / Dollar signs load amā€ ā€” Adekunle Gold, ā€œCoco Moneyā€ (2025)

Here, AG Baby is flexing that heā€™s now rich and that the dollar is his preference. For more emphasis on his love for money, he states, ā€œBitch, better have my moneyā€, a nod to Rihannaā€™s song of the same title.

ALSO READ: 14 Nigerian Music OGs and the Stars They Helped Discover

]]> The New Lagos Starter Pack: 7 Signs Youā€™re Heading to the New World /announcements/the-new-lagos-starter-pack-7-signs-youre-heading-to-the-new-world/ Thu, 09 Jul 2026 11:56:53 +0000 /?p=380227 Lagos has always had its starter pack. We had the era of people carrying cash around because ATMs were not to be trusted, or people joining long fuel queues because someone on Obasanjoā€™s internet swore that prices would go up by morning (they were usually right), and there was also the era where we willingly climbed high-risk okadas with engines that you couldnā€™t tell apart from a wailing child. That version of Lagos isnā€™t completely gone, unfortunately, but itā€™s no longer the only version of the city we are now used to. 

Beneath the chaos of the city, a different Lagos is slowly but steadily taking shape. One where smarter systems, everyday convenience, and new infrastructure are changing how people navigate the city. If youā€™ve paid attention to these things, chances are that youā€™ve already caught a glimpse of the future. 

Here are seven sure signs youā€™ve stepped into the New Lagos starter pack. 

1. You genuinely donā€™t know where your ATM card is

You probably think we are calling you careless, but honestly, thatā€™s not it. We also donā€™t know where our cards are.Ā 

There was a time when we had the tonasobe and the Motorola phones that could only make calls and send texts, but fortunately, technology has advanced, and we now have the androids and iPhones. Your phone can order groceries, pay your bills, settle your Uber driver, and take care of anything you need. The only time you ever remember you have an ATM card is either when your bank app fails (as it usually does) or when you enter a place that only collects cards.

2. Ā All the delivery riders in Lagos know the way to your houseĀ 

Yes, we are exaggerating, but even you know we are not lying.Ā 

There was a time when ordering things felt like a luxury, but now, itā€™s like second nature. Life has become so convenient that you donā€™t have to leave your house to buy food, clothes, groceries, or even medications. If you are an introvert, you are probably having a great time.Ā 

3. Fuel might be everyoneā€™s circus, but itā€™s not everybody’s monkeys anymore

Every Lagosian always seem to have a lore connected to fuel. Youā€™ve probably queued for it, fought a stranger over it, or watched it affect the cost of everything around you. Itā€™s exactly this reason why itā€™s impossible not to notice that some riders arenā€™t dependent on petrol like you.Ā 

4. An Okada finally gives your ears a break

If you are prone to sensory overload and live in Lagos, you probably have daily crash-outs dedicated to wondering about the reason for your existence.Ā 

The unorganised transportation system, the touchy conductors, the fumes, the buses and okadas with engines that sound like theyā€™re just two seconds away from croaking. So, the day an Okada passes by you without making any noise, you ask yourself if you hallucinated it, but no, you didnā€™t. Welcome to the New World.Ā 

5. You see a battery provide what a fuel station usually does

Youā€™re at the fuel station, fighting for your life (as usual), when you see a bike rider park nearby, and instead of joining the queue that was starting to get rowdy, they casually removed a battery from their bike, replaced it with another one, and rode off while youā€™ve barely moved an inch.

If youā€™re wondering what you just witnessed, itā€™s called battery swapping, and itā€™s already happening in Lagos. Spiro is an example of a company using it to keep electric motorcycles on the road without relying on petrol, giving riders a faster and easier way to get moving. 

But Spiro isnā€™t just making electric motorcycles. Itā€™s building the infrastructure behind them, making it possible for riders to easily swap batteries in minutes instead of waiting in fuel queues (like you). 

That vision is attracting serious (chaching) backing too. Spiro has raised a total of US$270 million from investors to expand its electric mobility and battery-swapping infrastructure across Africa. We guess itā€™s safe to say that, like us, the rest of the world might be paying attention too. 

6. You finally understand why that bike is soooo quiet

The first time you get to ride one of these bikes, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never does. The noise and the fumes youā€™re used to never come. It probably scares you at first because youā€™ve lived in Lagos all your life, and like a toxic ex, the city has not provided you with one single moment of peace and quiet, but guess what? That ends now.Ā 

7. You begin to realise that Lagos is on another levelĀ 

Not only are we beginning to have everyday conveniences, but we are now living in a world where bikes can run on batteries rather than fuel. If someone had told you a few years ago that such motorcycles would exist in a city like Lagos, you would have probably laughed in their face. Yet here we are, watching Lagos evolve with the times (as it should). 

The big story here isnā€™t the motorcycles, even though theyā€™re pretty awesome. Itā€™s the system behind them. Spiro is creating systems that could shape the future of mobility across African cities, finally making it possible for people to move around without constantly relying on petrol. 

The future isnā€™t in a strange land, expecting us with open arms. Itā€™s already finding its roots here, and years from now, we are going to look back on the fact that we were watching the beginning of something much, much bigger than quieter motorcycles. 

]]> 10 Nigerian Laws and Rulings Most Women Don’t Realise Are on Their Side /her/laws-and-rulings-most-women-dont-realise-are-on-their-side/ Thu, 09 Jul 2026 10:06:24 +0000 /?p=380153 Many Nigerian women grow up believing that they simply have to accept several injustices done to them, whether it’s being denied an inheritance, losing their job after having a baby, or enduring all sorts of abuse in silence, but the law doesn’t agree. Over the years, landmark court rulings and legislation have strengthened women’s rights in ways many people still don’t know about.

1. The VAPP Act (Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act), 2015

The first federal law to ban female genital mutilation (FGM), it broadened the legal definition of rape to better reflect women’s experiences and to cover tactics male offenders use, and Section 46 established a formal legal definition of sexual harassment women can cite when reporting.

2. The Child Rights Act, 2003

This act prohibits child marriage and betrothal and defines anyone under 18 as a child who cannot legally consent to marriage.

3. Ukeje v Ukeje, 2014

The Supreme Court ruled that Igbo custom cannot prevent a daughter from inheriting her father’s estate, relying on Section 42 of the Constitution, which prohibits discrimination by sex, ethnicity, religion, or circumstances of birth.

4. Anekwe v Nweke, 2014

Decided the same day as Ukeje v Ukeje, the court held that a widow cannot be denied inheritance for failing to bear a son.

5. Rivers State Inheritance Law, 2022

This law converted the Ukeje v Ukeje ruling into state legislation, giving women in Rivers State a written law to rely on rather than only a court precedent.

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6. Married Women’s Property Act (MWPA), 1882

Allows a married woman to acquire, own, and sell property in her own right, with no automatic claim by her husband over property she owns separately.

7. Matrimonial Causes Act (MCA) Section 70, 2004

This act allows a wife to claim financial maintenance from her husband while still married, during divorce proceedings, or after separation.

8. Labour Act Section 54, 2004

Entitles women to 12 weeks of maternity leave, with at least six weeks taken after delivery, and at least 50 per cent pay for those who have worked six months or more.

9. Labour Act Maternity Protection Clause, 2004

The clause prevents employers from dismissing a woman or serving her termination notice while she is on maternity leave.

10. Section 72 of the Matrimonial Causes Act (MCA), 2004

This act allows a wife to ask the court for a fair share of property after divorce, taking her tangible contributions into account.













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