Suzanne Myada

I have nothing against any individual or group... BUT everything against Nepotism Favoritism Tribalism Incompetence Mediocrity & the likes. #NigeriaFirst #NationalInterestFirst #NotAnotherNigerian .@julietkego .@AishaYesufu .@segalink .@okekecc .@Uruokpala .@johnonyeukwu

My friend Tolu opened a bakery with a rule: anyone who came in before 8am and smiled got their bread for free. His accountant told him this was unsustainable. His mother told him he was foolish. His landlord told him he would be evicted within 6 months. Tolu nodded at all of them and kept giving away bread. The rule was not about money. It was about his late wife, a woman called Grace who had died 3 years earlier from something quick and cruel and completely unfair. She had been a morning person, the kind who woke up humming and opened the curtains like she was revealing a gift. She had always said a smile before breakfast was the most honest thing a human could offer because it had no agenda. Tolu started the bakery in her name and the free bread was her memorial. The regulars came slowly. A woman who had been up all night with a colicky baby. An old man who had no one to eat with. A young couple who were saving for their first flat and counted every penny. They came for the free bread and stayed for Tolu, who asked their names and remembered their orders and once, memorably, wrote a note on a baguette with a marker: You look tired. Sleep more. This one is free. The bakery is now in its 4th year. The accountant has stopped complaining because the paying customers now outnumber the free ones, drawn by the story of the smiling baker and his late wife's philosophy. Tolu still gives away bread every morning. He stands at the counter watching the door at 7am, waiting for the first smile. Before breakfast, a smile is enough currency.

I was 21. NYSC posting: a village clinic in Osun. No light. No water. Just me, a matron in her 60s, and women who walked 3 hours for antenatal. Day 1, a 16 year old girl came in bleeding and pregnant. Her 40-year old husband said, “It’s normal. First baby always hard.” Matron took one look at me and said, “Corper, you go learn today.” We had no ultrasound or blood bank. Just gloves, faith, and a torchlight I held with my mouth while Matron’s hands disappeared inside that child. For 6 hours we fought. The girl was slipping. Matron prayed in Igala and English. I cried, thinking, “This is why I wanted to japa.” 😂 Then the baby’s cry came; a small, angry boy, alive. The 14-year-old whispered, “Aunty, thank you for not running.” 😭 Covered in blood and sweat, Matron said: “You think this work na for money? This work na for the girls who don’t know their own worth yet. You stay. You fight. You stubborn. Because if we no stubborn, who go be stubborn for them?” That was 5 years ago. Today I’m a doctor in Lagos with a clinic in Abule Egba. Every girl who comes in with “normal period pain” that’s been killing her for years reminds me of that torchlight and Matron’s hands. I get stubborn. I’ve diagnosed 47 cases of advanced PID this year, done 12 fibroid surgeries, and caught 3 girls early before their wombs got damaged. Ladies, my message is simple: 1. “Normal” pain that stops your school, work, or life? It’s NOT normal. 2. Your body is not “village people.” It’s biology. Test it. Scan it. Know it. 3. Be stubborn about your health. The world will call you dramatic. Be dramatic and alive. That matron died 2 years ago, but her stubbornness lives in every girl I refuse to let die quietly.

How do you as a man connect with your kids and be present while still holding a full career and provider role ? - Create the time. If you leave early and come late, don’t play with your weekends with them. Spend time bonding with them, take them out, have shows you watch with them, be curious and not assertive. - Attend school functions. Take the day off, use your leave, be intentional. - Don’t always say you are tired. Find the strength and energy. - Hug them as much as you can. Show affection. - Explain your job to them. What you do, how that translates to money and responsibilities, and how it helps them afford the life they want

Then at UBA a colleague in sales got married to a lady in operations. No drama from HR. Nobody was asked to resign. Nobody lost their job. The only decision management made was simple. The husband was transferred to another branch within the same city. I respected that. If you understand how banking works, especially in operations, people spend almost their entire day at work. It is the same faces, the same pressure, the same environment, every single day. It is only natural that people will form real connections in that space. So when marriage happens banks should not force one person to resign. I have seen many women bankers in their early to mid-thirties who are not married. Not because they do not want to be, but because work takes most of their time and energy. There is little room to meet people outside that environment. In many cases, they end up marrying customers or people they meet through work. It is not easy to find love outside work.

This is me during my Shell Recruitment Day in November 2011. 1hr after the whole day group interview, I got the phone call I can never forget, “Congratulations, they all loved you. When can you start?” If you have an upcoming group interview where they put a bunch of you together in a room and give you a task to work on together, then sit up. I will tell you my secrets. I don’t need them anymore and it can help you land your dream job. They are what I used during my SRD. I have given the same playbook to many mentees who used them to land their dream jobs in various companies. So, trust me, this works. A 🧵

GTCO .@gtbank is consistently turning out to be a fine investment choice 🇳🇬 Kudos to the management and entire team👏🏾 💐 #NGX #Investment #StockPortfolio #StockExchange #Stock

@Her_Nonymous_D Finances and financial security are an important part of your marriage. You need to find the best time and approach to discuss this with your husband and come up with a plan. Next time he asks you to spend your savings, say "We need to be disciplined and protect our savings."

I’ve been married a little over a year now. No kids yet, just the two of us trying to figure life out as we go. Lately, I’ve been feeling really uneasy about our finances. We don’t have any real savings, and that’s been weighing on me more than I expected. I try to be intentional and set some money aside when I can, just to have something for emergencies or the future. But somehow, it never stays there for long. Whenever he realizes I’ve managed to save a bit, it ends up being used for food or other shared expenses. And while I understand that those things need to be covered, it’s starting to feel like there’s no room to actually build anything beyond just getting by. We split everything 50-50, even though his job…

Bola buried his mother on a Thursday and sold his car on Monday. Not because he needed the money. Because sitting in the passenger seat still smelled like her, the specific combination of Pears baby powder and the coconut oil she rubbed into her hands every evening, and he couldn't drive to work without pulling over. He told nobody why he sold it. Just listed it online Sunday night, first offer accepted, handed over the keys Monday morning to a stranger who didn't understand why the seller looked the way he did. His mother had been sick for 9 months. He had managed it the way he managed everything, efficiently, quietly, without distributing the weight to anyone around him. Hospital runs before work. Medication schedules on a spreadsheet. Calls to doctors in language she couldn't understand that he translated into something softer before repeating to her. She knew what was happening. She never said so directly. She just started giving him things. Her mother's wrapper. A Bible with her handwriting in the margins. The small transistor radio she had carried from Ogbomosho to Lagos in 1987 and kept on her kitchen shelf ever since, the one that only received 2 stations clearly but which she treated like irreplaceable technology. He accepted each thing without discussing what the giving meant. That was their agreement. weeks after the burial his colleague Segun noticed he was commuting by bus. Segun knew about the car. Had admired it specifically, a clean 2010 Camry Bola had maintained with the care of someone who understood that dignity sometimes lived in the condition of your possessions. He didn't ask directly. He just started driving slightly out of his way every morning to pick Bola up, arriving at 7:15 without announcement, no explanation offered or requested, the radio on low, conversation optional. Every morning for 6 weeks. One morning Bola got in and said you don't have to keep doing this. Segun adjusted his mirror and pulled into traffic. He said my mother died in 2019. Someone drove me for 2 months. I never properly thanked them. He said nothing else. Bola looked out the window at Lagos moving past in the early morning light. He said I sold the car because it smelled like her. Segun nodded once. Said I know. They drove the rest of the way in the specific silence of 2 men who have visited the same country and recognize each other's passport. Bola bought another car 4 months later. Different make. Different smell. Clean in the way of something that carries no memory yet. He drives it without pulling over. Most days. The transistor radio is on the dashboard. Still only catches 2 stations clearly. He never turns it off.

As much as we all love to bag on Gen Z, the data shows that Gen Z is statistically the generation that has rejected empire, hegemony, colonialism and forever wars. The kids are alright after all.

I’m 26, single, and living alone in a mini-flat in Ipaja. Last year I interviewed for a “Content Lead” role in Ikoyi at ₦300k. After four rounds, the HR said in the final chat: “You’re our pick. You can resume Dec 4th.” That same week, I resigned from my ₦160k job and bought a new blazer for the role. On Dec 1st: “Hi, we’ve paused hiring till Q2. Apologies.” Just like that—no job. Rent was due Jan 2nd, and I had ₦62k saved. Oh Lord, what do I do? How will I survive? I kept applying nonstop—four interviews a week, all virtual and data-draining. One HR ghosted me after I spent two hours on their unpaid test project. Another said, “You’re great but we need someone with agency experience,” even though the job post said entry-level. What broke me wasn’t the money. It was the silence. I’d wake up, send 10 applications, then sit in my room till night. My phone became my enemy. Every notification made my heart jump, then drop when it was just MTN. I stopped replying to friends because “What are you doing now?” felt like judgment. Christmas came. I told everyone I was working from home. I ate Indomie and eggs alone on Dec 25th while watching people post family photos. I wasn’t hungry—I was invisible. I started doubting everything: Am I dumb? Do I smell in interviews? Should I just marry someone? Rejection became my daily routine. On Jan 3rd, an old freelance client DM’d: “You still write? I need someone. ₦250k per month.” No interview. Just “Send account. A colleague of mine would be needing your service as well. I already told her about you but I wanted to confirm from you first.” And that’s how I got my life back. Job hunting as a single lady in Lagos isn’t just rejection emails. It’s calculating if you can afford to stay safe while broke. Job loss isn’t just finances—it’s your self-worth evaporating in real time. No one tells you “You’re still smart” after the 20th “We regret” email. You have to be your own cheerleader when you don’t even believe in yourself. Lessons learned: Never resign without a signed contract and first salary date. Verbal offers are lies. Being a single young lady means some men will test you—if the job needs dinner, it’s not a job. Lastly, your emergency fund is your dignity. Even ₦50k saved stops you from saying yes to trash. I’m okay now. But I don’t wish that quiet loneliness on anyone.

My client was engaged by a company that produces Baby Oku products. Baby Oku was a popular brand of bitters and alcoholic beverages some years ago (I don't know if it is still in the market). The company complained that its products were being heavily faked in some major markets in Lagos. They needed help to identify those behind it. My client was hired for that job and was allowed to recruit others to assist him. The agreement was clear: once the job was done, he would be paid a few million naira. He recruited a team and they went into the markets. After some horrendous time, they identified specific places where the fake products were being produced and sold. He reported everything to the company. The company then worked with law enforcement. The identified locations were raided and arrests were made. The assignment was successful. That was when the problem started. When my client asked for his payment, the company invited him over. He went there expecting to be paid. Instead, he met police officers waiting to arrest him. The company’s Managing Director suddenly accused him of being the mastermind behind the faking of the products. My client who didn't even know what that means. Just like that. He was arrested and detained. He was kept in custody for two weeks. He was not allowed to contact anyone. After two weeks, he was taken to court and granted bail. That was when we were engaged. At the point of arraignment, something strange happened. None of the alleged fakers that were earlier arrested were brought before the court. He was charged alone for conspiracy and faking the product, even though conspiracy requires at least two people. No accomplice was named. No co-accused was produced. No evidence was tendered to show who he conspired with. He was made to stand trial alone for an offence that is legally impossible to commit alone. It became clear that the accusation was false. It was only a plan to intimidate him and avoid paying him for the job he did. The trial commenced. Throughout the case, the company and the police could not produce a single piece of evidence against him. Not one. No document. Nothing. They called only one witness. When I began to cross-examine him, just a few questions in, he became unsettled and told the court he was feeling dizzy. The case was adjourned for the cross-examination to continue. That was the last day the witness ever appeared in court. He disappeared completely. It was clear he was a hired witness who could not withstand cross-examination. The trial dragged on for about two years. In the end, the court discharged and acquitted my client completely. We did not want the matter to end there. He had suffered detention, trial, and public humiliation. He was also still owed his agreed payment. We advised him to file a civil case to recover his money and claim damages for malicious prosecution. Unfortunately, like many Nigerians already worn out by long court processes, he lost the zeal to continue. That was how a man suffered for doing a legitimate job and still never got paid. If you still haven't seen reasons to choose leaders that can overhaul the entire system, wait as I drop more stories that will make you weep for Nigeria. This Nigeria!

The heartbreaking story of Eno Offordum serves as a grim reminder of the human cost behind Nigeria’s rising insecurity. In February 2026, her husband, John Offordum, was gunned down by kidnappers at their home in Akure North. The attack didn't just claim one life; it claimed the community's peace. A fellow resident, Mama Christianah, also lost her life after a hospital strike delayed critical care, while a local school proprietress was forced to flee to Lagos after paying a ₦15 million ransom. A widow’s pain from kidnappers’ strikes: icirnigeria.org/terrorists-inc…

This woman on TikTok said: I met a 10 yo girl in a bus headed to the next city. Her mum was asleep beside her, head tilted against the window The little girl sat between us, watching a funny cartoon video on her mum’s phone. But she didn’t laugh. Her shoulders shook like she was holding it back. I leaned a little closer. “Is it funny?” I asked. She nodded. “Can I watch too?” She slid the phone so it was between us. The next scene had me bursting out laughing but she didn’t even smile. “You’re allowed to laugh, you know,” I said softly. She pressed her lips together again. “You like laughing?” She nodded. “You won’t laugh?” She nodded again. I lowered my voice. “Why?” She stared at the video. I tapped her hand gently. “You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “But if you want to, I’ll listen. And I won’t judge you.” She swallowed. Then whispered, “I just moved to a new house with my mum. While I was playing outside with the neighbours kids, I laughed at something they said and they…

This man is the Seyi Vodi of the shoe industry in Nigeria. See the one-of-one shoe he’s selling for ₦25 million. 😳

I was in my third year in university, just walking to the gate. As I passed a silver Lexus, the window rolled down and this guy called me, asking for a minute of my time. I said okay. He came down, very calm, very proper. The sun was hot so he suggested we talk inside the car. I agreed. Then he offered to drive me to the school gate. Gentleman behavior, no stress. While driving, he started asking questions like what secondary school I attended. Funny enough, he said he went to the same school and that his siblings did too. We didn’t really talk much about that. Then he said he wasn’t going to ask if I had a boyfriend because there’s no way a pretty girl like me wouldn’t have someone already talking to her. I won’t lie, I smiled small. So I asked him if he was single. He said yes and even added that his ex girlfriend cheated on him. He dropped me at the gate, we exchanged contacts and started talking. He took me out a couple of times. One thing though, he always wanted to know where I lived but I kept it at drop me at my bus stop sir. Fast forward to his birthday. I posted him on my WhatsApp story with a happy birthday and red heart. Mind you, I use red heart for everybody. Not even up to one hour later, one of my old secondary school classmates messaged me “This is my brother, how do you know him” I said “oh he’s just a friend” She replied “hmm” That hmm did not sit well with me. So I asked her “is he married?” She didn’t reply Few minutes later, she posted on her story My ladies…. Family picture. Wife. Two children. Full package. I didn’t even argue. I just blocked him everywhere quietly. Few days later this man calls me with another number asking what the problem is I said “are you married?” He said “what do you mean” I said “you heard me. Are you married?!!” He said “yes” I said “so why did you lie to me?” This man said “you never asked” I said “but you told me your ex girlfriend cheated on you” He said “yes I didn’t say my wife” Honestly, that was the day I truly began to fear Lagos men. Since then, if you say hello to me as a man, in my head I have already checked for wife, children and extended family

*Speaking Truth To Power* Gov Zulum laments non utilization of credible intelligence predicting attack in Benishiekh. Earlier, his Kebbi counterpart, Gov Idris recounted late response and withdrawal of troops just before the attack at Govt Secondary School, Kebbi, despite proactive intelligence by DSS. He described the action as *sabotage* and sought for answers. *This is the hard truth indeed. Early Warning Alert Without Appropriate Response Action*

Last November, a friend asked to borrow one of my silver jewelry pieces for a chieftaincy event in Nasarawa. I only had two, so I let her pick and she chose the choker. It wasn’t her first time borrowing from me. The last time, I practically had to beg before she returned them and when I finally got them back, one was damaged. I overlooked it and still trusted her again with my jewelry. By January, I asked for it back, and she clearly said she wasn’t returning it. I thought she was joking at first. Yesterday, while getting ready for church, it came to mind again, so I messaged her: “Good morning dear. You know I’m not happy with you, right? You borrowed my jewelry since November and refused to return it. That’s not fair. People don’t do that. Anyways, I’ll let it go, I won’t be asking for it again. I’ll just replace it myself. Thank you.” It’s been almost 24 hours, and she hasn’t replied. Honestly, it just makes you wonder, why do some people act like this?

Last year I trusted my childhood best friend with my entire 3.2 million savings to start a joint pure water and sachet business in Oyo state. She had the contacts, the location, and the sharp brain for marketing. We drew up a simple agreement on WhatsApp, shook hands in front of our pastor, and she promised 50-50 split every month. For six months the business was booming. She sent me 180k profit every 15th like clockwork. I even turned down two better job offers because my own business was finally working. Then the messages became shorter. Sales are slow this month. Generator fuel is expensive. Customers are owing. Still, I believed her because she was my sister from another mother from primary school. I even borrowed another 450k from my mother to push the business when she said she needed it for a big supermarket order. One random Tuesday I decided to surprise her at the shop. The gate was locked. The signboard was gone. A new tenant told me the place had been empty for three weeks. I called her line and it was switched off. WhatsApp last seen three days ago. I drove to her family house. Her mother looked me in the eye and said, My daughter travelled to Canada last month. She said the business money was her own investments but she left a note for you. The note was one line: Life is hard, Queeneth. Forgive me. I still have the WhatsApp agreement we both laughed and typed with emojis. The business I funded is gone. Even after the profits she paid me, over 2.5 million of my capital is gone forever. But the biggest thing I lost is the ability to trust any sister who says let’s do business together. That pain taught me one thing I will never forget again: Never put money into any deal you cannot personally verify every single week, no matter who the person is or how long you’ve known them. Have you ever mixed close friendship with business? How did it end for you? Please tell me I’m not the only one who has learned this lesson the hard way.

It happened so quietly, I almost missed it. I was walking down the hallway one afternoon, not really paying attention, just heading back to my desk. My manager was nearby, on a call, speaking in that low, focused tone people use when they’re trying to sound professional. I wasn’t trying to listen in… but then I heard my name. You know how your ears just sharpen when that happens? I slowed down without meaning to. Not enough to be obvious, just to catch a few words. He was talking about my work, explaining something to whoever was on the other end. And then, in the most casual, matter-of-fact way, he said, “She’s the most…

Nysc is experiencing low registration because 1. people are starting to value their lives more. 2. It's super expensive. 3. No guaranteed job afterwards. 4. Most are already switching to getting skills instead of getting killed. Love it for everyone that is boycotting. 💜🤲🏾