My guy is 38. He works in Lagos, earns ₦280K. Married with 2 children, his wife is not working. For 3 years he has been applying for Canada. Finally his agent said his visa is almost ready. He has already saved ₦9M for proof of funds and ticket. Last week, his former boss called him and offered him a manager role in his new company. Salary is ₦650K plus commission, plus official car. But condition is, he must commit for 3 years and forget this Japa talk for now. Now he is confused. His wife said: “Take the job, let's stay. ₦650K is good money, we can save and build here. Abroad is not easy, you will go and start washing plates.” His friends said: “Are you mad? Take the Canada. Suffer for 2 years and your child will have a better future. That ₦650K today will be ₦150K in 2 years due to inflation.” He told me, “Bros, I am tired. I want the best for my family. If I stay, what if the company sacks me after 1 year? If I travel, what if I struggle and regret leaving a good job?” If you were him, would you STAY for the ₦650K job or JAPA with the ₦9M?

I carried Buyer go Computer Village to buy Laptop. After checking everything, opening system, testing battery, verifying serial number, and agreed on price the buyer said "bro, I no like this one, make we dey go.” I said okay, no wahala. I still told the shop owner “baba no worry, I go come tomorrow with another buyer.” Then we comot. I branch for Ikeja Under Bridge get snacks and drink, I leave those buyers make dem dey go on their own. Ah ah, after like 20 minutes, the Shop Owner call me say “Shey you send those people back? Dem don return come my shop say dem wan pay for the laptop o, you dey aware?” I say NO o! Na so him tell them say him no fit sell for that price again 😂😂 Na another person wey I carry go the next day later pay for the Laptop. GOOD DEAL.

Don't revenge. Don't forget.

When you have nothing, your house is lonely. Not because people don't know where you live, but because there is nothing to gain from visiting. So please, don't stop. Keep pushing. Keep building. Not to impress them, but for yourself. So your children will never have to beg for attention. So your home will be full of peace, not loneliness.

His name was Bayo. For 11 years, Bayo lived in Houston. He worked as a diesel mechanic, two shifts, no weekends off. Every December, he came home to Ibadan for three weeks. It was the arrangement. He would send money. She would keep the house. His wife, Funke, never complained on the phone. “Money don enter, thank you,” she would say. “The children are fine.” His best friend was Seyi. Seyi was the one who helped him build the house. Seyi was the one who drove Funke to the market when her car broke down. Seyi was the one who held the spare key to Bayo's gate. Bayo landed on December 15th, 2025. No one was at the airport. That was strange. Seyi always came. Funke always came. He took a Bolt home. The gate was open. His two boys ran out, taller than he remembered. Funke came out last. She didn't hug him. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. That night, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Seyi didn't show up until the next day. “Omo! Boss! You don show!” Seyi hugged him too hard. Bayo noticed Seyi knew where the mugs were in the kitchen. He knew which light switch flickered. Bayo wasn't a stupid man. Abroad teaches you to watch things. He started noticing small things. His son's 9th birthday photos on the wall. Seyi was in almost all of them. In one, Seyi's hand was on Funke's waist. Funke was laughing in a way Bayo hadn't seen in years. His bathroom. There was a second toothbrush in the holder. Blue. Not his. Not Funke's. Not the boys'. Funke's phone. She never left it face up anymore. On the third night, Bayo pretended to sleep. Funke got up at 1:14am, went to the parlor, whispered on the phone. Bayo stood in the dark hallway and listened. “No, he dey sleep... I tell you make you no come this week na...” It wasn't the words that broke him. It was her tone. Soft. Familiar. The tone she used to use for him, years ago. He didn't shout. He didn't fight. The next morning, he told Funke he needed to go see his mother in Ogbomoso for two days. He didn't go to Ogbomoso. He went to a small hotel near Iwo Road and waited. On the second evening, his neighbor, Mama Tolu, called him. “Bayo, your friend Seyi car just enter your compound.” Bayo drove home. He didn't rush. He met them in his own living room. Seyi was wearing the singlets Bayo left in Houston last year. Nobody screamed. Seyi stood up, stammering. "Bayo, na... na the devil..." Funke was crying already before Bayo even spoke. Bayo looked at his friend of 20 years and his wife of 12 years and said the most realistic thing a man in his position could say: “So who go tell my children?” Because that was the real problem now. Not the betrayal. Not the cheating. That part was already done. The problem was, Bayo's flight back to Houston was in 10 days. And for the first time in 11 years, he didn't want to go back, and he didn't want to stay. He slept in the boys' room that night. Funke slept in the parlor. Seyi left his slippers at the door when he ran. In the morning, Bayo called his elder brother. “Egbon, I need you to come to the house. We have family meeting.” Who is more at fault here? The husband who left his wife for 11 years, the wife who got lonely, or the best friend who betrayed the friendship?

Knowledge is power, and Power corrupts... So study hard and be evil.

This is how I’m moving around in Lagos now.