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Dear Diary, Today I saw a property listing. Now, seeing property listings in Lagos is not unusual. At this point, I browse them the same way some people browse luxury watches. Not because I intend to buy one, mostly for entertainment, and occasionally for cardiovascular exercise. Because some of these prices can raise blood pressure.
Dear Diary, I heard something recently that made me sit down and stare at the wall for a few minutes. Not because I was shocked, because Nigeria has exhausted my shock reserves years ago. But because I was trying to determine whether I heard correctly. Apparently, in response to the worsening insecurity in the country,
Dear Diary, Let me tell you about Nigeria.Actually, no.Nobody can truly explain Nigeria. People have tried.Historians have tried.Politicians have tried.Journalists have tried.Even Nigerians themselves have tried. Nigeria is not a country that can be understood through statistics. The numbers will tell you our population, they will tell you our GDP, and they will tell you
Dear Diary, Before I start ranting about Nigeria, men, women, politicians, social media philosophers, and the collective confusion we call adulthood, I suppose I should tell you who I am. After all, it would be strange to spend years talking to someone who doesn’t know my name. Well… My name is Rahima Ifunanya Adekunle.At least
Dear Reader,Since you’ve somehow found your way here, introductions are probably in order. My name is Rahima Ifunanya Adekunle. Most people call me Ria.It’s shorter, easier, and saves me from turning every introduction into a discussion about Nigerian geography. I am a Nigerian woman with too many thoughts and a diary patient enough to listen
Dear Diary, There are many ways to become famous. You can become a musician, an actor, a footballer, a politician, or an entrepreneur. You can invent something revolutionary, discover a cure for a terrible disease, win an award, or even change the world. What I did was slightly different. I became famous for sleeping. Not
Dear Diary, There is a particular kind of pain that comes from being betrayed by a stranger. And then there is the pain that comes from being betrayed by the person who knows exactly where your heart lives. The second one is worse. Much worse. Because they don’t stumble into your weaknesses by accident. You
There is a difference between being alone and feeling alone. I learned that tonight. The hard way. For the past three months, my life has become a predictable cycle of exhaustion.Wake up.Fight traffic.Work.Fight more traffic.Get home late.Repeat. Sometimes I wonder if adulthood is just paying bills while sitting in increasingly worse traffic. I work in
There are three things I see every day. Passports.Hope.And desperation.Not necessarily in that order. I work at a visa application centre in Ikeja. Officially, I process documents. Unofficially, I watch dreams queue up before sunrise. Every morning, before we even open the doors, there are already people waiting outside.Students.Business owners.Families.Newlyweds.Retirees.Young professionals.People who have sold land.People
I have always believed in rules. Not because I am a lawyer. Well, maybe partly because I am a lawyer. But mostly because rules are the only thing standing between civilization and what I can only describe as a highly organized form of madness. And nowhere is this more obvious than a BRT queue in