Stories of family expectations, generational conflict, secrets, loyalty, love, and everything in between.
The office is almost empty, I know because I’ve checked the time three times in the last ten minutes.8:17 PM.8:21 PM.8:24 PM. The cleaning staff have already passed my section twice, even the security lights have switched on outside. Everybody has gone home, everybody except me. I stare at the stack of documents beside the
Dear Diary, There are moments when a Nigerian party stops being an event and becomes an ecosystem, today was one of those moments. As I am writing this, my feet hurt, my gele is somewhere in another room, someone’s child has claimed my phone charger, there are approximately seventeen coolers of food in circulation, and
Some people are born brave.I was not. I know this because brave people do not spend three days rehearsing a conversation they haven’t even had yet. Brave people do not practice speeches while sweeping the compound.Brave people do not whisper arguments to themselves while bathing.Brave people definitely do not almost faint every time they imagine
Dear Diary, Apparently there are several hours missing from my day. I find this unacceptable. Not because I particularly wanted those hours. But because they belonged to me. And I have always been uncomfortable with losing access to things that belong to me. Time. Information. Control. Particularly control. The last thing I remember is standing in a boardroom
If you met me at work, you’d probably describe me as composed.Strategic.Intimidating, if we’re being honest. I manage scandals, reputation disasters, corporate meltdowns, and public relations nightmares for some of the most powerful people in Lagos. I am the person companies call when everything is on fire. And somehow, that felt easier than dealing with