The Recap Edition

Dirty 30s for real for real...

Now that the party is over, I have a few things to get off my chest—mostly positive, of course. I don’t know when I’ll recover from the high that April brought with it: wave after wave of joyful news, punctuated by sprinkles of disappointment, near and dear as life does. In the last decade, I’ve learned to love being alive, and now I’m militant about purposeful joy.

Easter came with a flurry of activities, but I chose reflection as my lesson. A whole year of actively announcing my weaknesses led to small, meaningful changes in the way I show up for my people. Patience, a wise person once said, is a virtue. But let me expand that with some lived experience: patience is a journey time takes us on. When exercised consistently, it bears amusing fruits; opportunities to gloat, rewards bigger than expected, and a better understanding of how to deal with people. I’m making a few life shifts soon. Anxiety lied to me in Q1, but here I am, doing the damn thing and seeing results. Yay, resilience. Anyway, I’m not here to inspire you with this letter.

I have some salacious news. Apparently, family ties aren’t strong enough to defend against hedonistic pleasures for some Lagos men. No line is too sacred to cross for certain people to get their fix. I’m listening and judging—because public health interventions for sexual health are at an all-time low in countries like Nigeria. If we continue down this path of uncurated “sex positivity,” we might just find ourselves reliving the HIV spikes of the late ’90s. Be safe out there.

We love to say "it takes a village," especially in Nigeria. But somehow, millennials seem to have lost the plot. Nobody wants to be a villager anymore, yet we keep having village-like expectations of each other. Between cancelling plans at the last minute and signing up for events we never attend, it’s no surprise that people are feeling disillusioned with modern connection. But no one wants to name the root cause: selfishness. It’s wearing designer now, speaking soft, curated therapy language to excuse itself. But its fruits remain the same, rotten. And when someone dares to complain about being mistreated, society clutches its pearls: "How dare you? Why must you speak up? Are you the first person to be disrespected?"

Me? I enjoy complaining. When done with purpose, it often drives change. I also recognize that some problems are systemic and don’t deserve my energy, so I opt out where I can and pray for strength to face the rest. For instance, right now, I’m enduring an olfactory assault to avoid prematurely killing off my sense of smell. I could have told the offending party he reeks, but that would be unnecessarily cruel to a stranger. Instead, I’ll slip a discreet note to his friends, encouraging him to explore the liberating world of personal hygiene. Will it work? Probably not. But it’s worth a try.

Now let’s talk about customer service in Lagos; or the absolute joke that it’s become. The city’s business owners have collectively decided that apathy is the height of professionalism. Once you pay, be prepared to beg, follow up endlessly, and sometimes even resort to threats just to get what you paid for. I try to avoid such nonsense where I can, but my party last Saturday? It wasn’t immune. Chaos crept in right at the finish line. Thankfully, my guests understood the assignment and staged a full-on stand-off with a vendor who breached contract terms. I got a refund and a story. First came pride, then joy, then two days later, mild disappointment that we had to escalate the issue to get basic accountability. I won’t forget that incident anytime soon. Shalla to my VILLAGE.

And now, dear reader, aren’t you lucky? I’m currently writing this from an airport lounge in Johannesburg. I was invited to Zambia for work and, true to form, the organising body tried me. They promised to cover key aspects of my travel and then ghosted me in the weeks leading up to the event. Thankfully, I made alternative plans and arrived a day early for breathing space. Good thing I did—everything that could go wrong did. Flight changes, cancelled transfers, delayed arrivals. And when I finally got to the hotel, surprise! The organisers hadn’t booked my room for the agreed duration. I sent an email for support and got a nonchalant “Ok, will do” in response. It took four strongly worded emails from my team and theirs to resolve the issue. I got my room; but not without losing sleep and a few ounces of dignity.

Things eventually picked up. I made some great connections and got into the flow of conferencing. I didn’t see much of Zambia, but I did meet a wildlife cinematographer on my flight who had just spent a month on the Lunga River. He confirmed something I’ve long suspected: I am not a nature girlie, unless we’re talking about a beach, of course.

I abandoned this blog in May, so pardon me if anything feels a bit dated. But I needed to get it out of the way so we can focus on the important stuff.

Things I enjoyed…

• Custard Crumble and Scones at the Lusaka Protea

• A brief flirtation

• Capturing Memories with my Instax Camera

• Mimosas at the SAA Lounge

• Getting back to the gym too

Stay jiggy my people…