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 to them. This journal began as a private conversation with myself. Then, somehow, other people started reading it.
I write about Nigeria.
The Nigeria that inspires me.
The Nigeria that confuses me.
The Nigeria that occasionally behaves like a group project nobody volunteered for.
I write about women.
Men.
Relationships.
Culture.
Money.
Power.
Politics.
Faith.
Identity.
Africa.
And the strange ways human beings keep repeating old mistakes while calling them new ideas.
Some entries may make you nod in agreement.
Some may make you disagree completely.
Some may leave you slightly irritated.
All acceptable outcomes.
These pages are not written to tell you what to think, they are written to make you think. Think of this journal as a collection of observations, questions, frustrations, reflections, and occasional rants from a Nigerian trying to make sense of the world around her.
No expertise.
No superiority.
Just honesty.
And perhaps a little audacity.
If you enjoy thoughtful conversations, uncomfortable questions, social commentary, and diary entries that wander from Lagos traffic to global issues without warning, you may want to stay.
New entries arrive whenever life, Nigeria, or humanity gives me something worth writing about, which, thankfully, is quite often.
– Ria
A diary nobody was supposed to read.