A real Nigerian

I met a neighbour recently. A Nigerian, yet in behaviour like none I have ever met.

In the time I’ve known her, she has never once complained. Not about Nigeria, the government, her ex, the traffic, electricity, Nigerian men, corruption, the economy or the one million other things Nigerians routinely complain about.

I wish more Nigerians would think in this certain way.


The things we measure (Lagos)

In September of 2021, a container crushed a car in Lagos, trapping the four occupants. The emergency services arrived at the scene 120 minutes after the distress calls.

At 44, Gerard Road Ikoyi, the emergency services started arriving 120minutes after the distress calls.

Lagos must reduce this response time, which affects the outcome in trauma patients.



Listened to a pastor use what I thought was a basic sales process from my marketing classes.

I was on a Cross Country Bus about traveling to Accra from Lagos this past week.

As usual for the Nigerian Road Traveler, there was the silent thought in the collective mind, “what if today is our last day”, swiftly squashed by the collective blood of Jesus.

Close to set-off time, at about 9am, I heard a voice

issuing some quick commands from behind me. I sat in front of the bus. “Clap for Jesus”.

Some scattered clapping, which became stronger with carefully placed guilt trips placed between the commands.

Stage one:

Qualification and introduction using several short stories (why should we listen);

Stage two:

The message itself, aligned to the target market (traveler you will not die today on this bus if you believe)

Stage three:

Testimonials and Proof (How brother Ken reluctantly donated N1,000 in obedience to God, and called to testify about getting N100,000 a week later – actual story)

Stage Four:

Call to Action (Offering time)

I’ve been thinking.



I won’t say how long I’ve been writing this for…

Whenever Ghana comes to mind, I get a mix of different impressions.

There’s the good-natured and ongoing online rivalry between the two countries, something which revolves around the mysterious yet glorious Jollof Rice.

I usually don’t like taking sides in such international disputes, but I have to weigh in on this one… Ghanaian Jollof didn’t “werk” for me.

There’s also the frustratingly “slow” nature of the average Ghanian when compared with their Nigerian counterpart. This particular aspect has led to me having to sleep at the Ghana/Togo border twice in the past 18 years.

Jollof Rice apart, I found Ghana to be a lovely country with easygoing, friendly and interesting people. I enjoyed their nightlife, especially when shown around all the cool spots by my good friend LMS.

The local street food!

The first time I tasted it would probably be one of the scenes that might flash through my mind during my last minutes. It was such a new and strange experience for me.

In fact, Ghanaian street-food beats her Kenyan version hands down.

I mean, I still can’t believe how boring the Yamachuma in Kenya is, considering the fact that it is basically meat. How can meat be boring? Meat oh. Meat.

Maybe it’s a West African thing.

My first time to Ghana was in the year 2000, as a student of Architecture. It was a road trip and was the first time I heard Dbanj’s Tongolo.

That particular track became the soundtrack for the entire journey, and automatically transports me back into that school bus anytime I hear it.

Nothing beats singing along to  “Mobolowowon” at top the top of your voice with follow travellers.

That trip was pivotal in waking up the wanderlust in me. You would think having to sleep at the Ghana boarder would have resulted in an overall bad experience, but no.

In conclusion, I’m glad I did those things back then. There’s absolutely no way I can recreate such an experience again.

Road trips are so awesome.