LOVERS&FRNDS is back tomorrow, and I will be playing as usual. It’s gonna be pretty awesome. Register here to attend for FREE.

Last Sunday I found out about the death of a friend who’d been in and out of the hospital for most of his life. I don’t want to talk about him for this Epis0de, though. I’d rather leave honoring the memory of his life and times to those who knew him better than I did. But personally, I’ve been in a bit of a reflective mood all week about death, especially the sort of death that leaves you stunned and feeling like an expensive joke has been played, or a serious mistake has been made. It’s one thing for a ninety-something year old to die after a relatively long, reasonably full life; no one is exactly popping champagne over it, but at least the prevailing sentiment is that the universe has followed procedure. When it happens to anyone under forty, I don’t care how much you “submit to the will of the Almighty.” It’s nearly impossible to accept untimely death as the natural, ordained order of things.

Because you expect a twenty-nine year old to turn thirty, or the forty-one year old to turn forty-two. You expect them to mock their elders, then complain about getting older themselves. To change jobs, get fired and get new jobs, get married or not, have kids or not, vote for the very obviously wrong presidential candidate, then regret voting for the very obviously wrong presidential candidate. And so on. Then, without warning, none of that ever happens. That’s part of what makes young death so difficult to comprehend or deal with. The fact that instead of the things that were supposed to fill the years between now and that unknown, hopefully distant future when one might maybe be okay with their not being around, there’s just nothing now. No more birthdays, no more laughter or tears, no more weekend shenanigans to laugh about later in the group chat. It’s easy to take the miscellaneous mundanities of life for granted because they’re supposed to happen and keep happening. Until suddenly, for one person, they don’t anymore.

Ah, well. It is what it is, life goes on and whatnot. All things considered, this hasn’t been a particularly judicious use of my thinking time, has it? It’s not like I’ve learned or said anything new. We’re all gonna keep living our lives and making future plans as if time is an infinite resource. Obviously it isn’t, but what other way is there to look at it, really? Living in fear of death doesn’t do shit for you either; it just means you don’t get to actually enjoy life while you’re living it. At the end of the day, life doesn’t owe us the amount of time we think we’re entitled to. Some people will get to have multiple birthdays, jobs or even midlife crises, while others simply won’t. And there’s really no satisfying reason why. I don’t make the rules.

Shit, maybe no one does. Great, now there’s another delightful thought to ruminate on until next weekend.

Later, this particular train of thought led me to a question. How much does it cost to be a good person anyway? I’d say it depends on who you ask. Since I’ve already mentioned the Bible, take Jesus, for instance. It cost him a painful death and three days of mummy cosplay. Not exactly an entry-level commitment, but fortunately, most people will never have to go that far. For the average person, doing good is considerably more affordable, and definitely easier, yet still not free. In fact, it’s a series of varying sizes of financial, emotional and logistical inconveniences. If you give money or time, you lose money or time. If you forgive someone their trespasses, it gives them the opportunity to trespass again. If you let a car merge in front of you into your lane, they end up being the last car to pass before the traffic lights turn red, leaving you stuck. These are the issues.

As a Nigerian you need to be more aware of the economics of being good than the average person, because a lot of the time it can be like swimming in the ocean with a bleeding wound. Nigerians can sense when you’re a decent person, and most of the time their immediate reaction is to use you to their own advantage somehow. And even if their intentions are good and they really just need help, you still can’t help everyone. It’s just not possible, and trying to do so is exactly how you develop a reputation for being useful, which is one of the more expensive reputations one can have. So sometimes, as uncomfortable as it may be to refuse that relative with the suspiciously-timed problem that just happens to appear after you’ve been paid your salary, you have to bite the bullet and do it anyway. If you’ve ever had that experience, you know how stressful it is. Also, this is probably not an exclusively Nigerian thing, but allow.

So really, how much does it cost to be a good person? Probably more than what it costs to be bad if you don’t care about the state of your eternal soul and whatnot. I think it’s because good people voluntarily choose to be good every day, or at least as often as they can. So they send the money for that urgent emergency and do the pick-ups and drop-offs at the airport, and take on all the other miscellaneous inconveniences. The cost is in the choice. But being good doesn’t mean making yourself readily available for exploitation. Especially not intentionally, because martyrdom is just a wholly terrible experience. Again, remember Jesus. You’re allowed to have limits and decide that a particular good deed is outside your budget. I really hate when I start writing an Epis0de with the express intention of chatting shit, only to come up with a moral lesson at the end. If this becomes my brand I will be furious.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m an architect.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“…and I sell perfumes.”

“Oh? Interesting.”

“…and I trade forex.”

“Okay…”

“…and I’m also into event planning.”

“Why not.”

“…and I have a fish farm.”

“Ah.”

When I was in university I only ever wanted to have one job when I graduated. These days, well over a decade later, I find myself with two (well, three to be accurate, but I’m told one of them doesn’t count because I don’t get paid regularly enough. Na wa.). I have my regular job, the one that pays me every month and gives me something sensible to write on forms that ask for my occupation. Then I DJ on the side, and that’s just starting to become a dependable second income stream, which is awesome. Sure, it’s not enough to dramatically quit my regular job like when a movie character wins the lottery, but it’s enough to make me pay attention and work harder at it for sure. But fingers crossed on being able to quit my regular job soon, though. The quitting itself might not be as dramatic as in a movie, but it’ll definitely feel just as good. E sure me die.

Balancing two or more jobs isn’t a unique experience. Nearly everybody wears at least two working hats because having just one job in this economy is borderline insanity. We still call these second and third gigs “side hustles,” but that can often feel like an understatement. Because sometimes the main salary funds the business, and then sometimes the business picks up the slack from the main salary’s heavy lifting. And then other times it’s impossible to even tell which one is actually carrying the other anymore. At that point, the distinction between a main job and a side hustle starts feeling unnecessarily academic. Let the money just be coming in anyhow or from anywhere.

Growing up, most of us were taught the same formula to a comfortable adult life. Study hard, get good grades, find a good job and work hard. It’s still being taught today, and it’s still decent advice, but a good job isn’t always good enough on its own anymore. These days you’re more likely to do everything right and still find yourself looking for something else to supplement the thing that was supposed to be enough. So we adjust as needed. I’m also a DJ. At least three of my regular work colleagues sell thrift clothes online and in-person, and the rest of them are probably running other businesses I’m not aware of. I doubt anybody wants to be doing all this shit at once, but it is what it is. And having options beats putting all your eggs in one increasingly expensive basket.

So that’s why I’m not particularly bothered by the idea of having multiple things going on. I’ve always loved music, whether just listening to it or working with it, but becoming a DJ never occurred to me until less than two years ago. But now something I really enjoy has become something people are willing to pay me human monies for, and now I’m curious to see how far it can go. I also still have my regular job, and I’m perfectly happy to add another source of income if one presents itself. In fact, if you know of one, abeg involve me. We can discuss my long-term career strategy after I’ve seen the money.

Sorry about last weekend. I was just starting to feel human again after being sick the week before (and writing about it here), and my brain wasn’t braining at full capacity. But that’s done now. We’re good. And not a moment too soon, because…

LOVERS&FRNDS is back this weekend, featuring yours truly as usual. RSVP here to attend for free.

See you soon.

I ain’t got it this weekend. Please bear with me.

Honestly, it’s gotta be some kind of record for how fast the consequences of one’s actions have bitten them in the ass. Usually the universe might let you bask in the glow of a poor decision for a little bit before handing you the receipt, but this one was express delivery, only slower than that time I had a virtual job interview around 3pm and got the rejection email before 6pm on the same day. Kuda, na you do this one. Well done o.

Last Friday, I published this Epis0de dedicated to explaining why I'd officially had enough of the rainy season. I accused it of disrespecting boundaries, called it clingy, and even gave it a one and a half stars review. You know, just venting and saying what more than a few people have also said and/or thought in the last few months. Well, I don’t know who told the weather or whether it reads my Epis0des, but it looks like it took the matter very personally with me. I fucked around on Friday and started finding out on Saturday afternoon, when I noticed a tickle in my throat. That might be a minor inconvenience to you, but for me it’s the John the Baptist to my Jesus Christ, which is me getting sick. And let’s just say that you do NOT want me getting sick.

When I get a sore throat, it’s usually useless to try to resist what’s coming or convince myself that it’s nothing, but I always try anyway. I go into defense mode with my medicines and whatever else, to varying results. On some occasions I might get lucky and escape with a sore throat and a slight fever. THAT was not the case this time, however. On Monday morning I was able to do my morning cardio, then walk to and back from work. By Monday evening I felt like I’d been stuffed into a washing machine. And then someone turned the washing machine on, threw it into the boot of a danfo bus with no shock absorbers, and then proceeded to drive said bus at full speed into every single pothole they could find on Ikorodu Road. Now imagine feeling like this every day of this week and tell me it’s a jolly old time.

I don’t care how strong you think you are on your best day, being sick will bring you to your knees and rearrange your life without sparing you enough energy to get embarrassed or upset. Got plans? Not anymore. To-do list? Nope. The 100+ week streak I’ve been maintaining on my fitness apps since I started being serious about losing weight? Suspended until I can stop wearing socks 24/7 and turn the fan on in my room again. Na who dey alive fit exercise. It’s mad how the definition of a “productive day” changes when your greatest achievement is walking to and back from your bathroom without needing a hydration break, like you’re at the ongoing World Cup.

It’s not that I’m taking back what I said o. I’ve had enough rain, and I still stand by that statement. But there’s a good reason why every child has been told to “mind their mouth” by an elder. Some things are probably better muttered quietly under your breath, or left in your head altogether, than published for hundreds of people (and the weather too, apparently) to read. So fair enough, rainy season. Fair enough. Nice one.

What's been particularly offensive this year is that I've spent all six months and ten days of it becoming one of those people who voluntarily walks everywhere. It started as exercise, then it became an addiction. I've walked before sunrise, to work, from work, after work, on weekends, collected blisters, lost toenails, and gone through more running shoes than I can willingly admit. You know all this. But does the rain care? Absolutely not. These days, when I wake up every morning I first go outside and take a good look at the sky like a native priest looking for omens. If it doesn’t appear too cloudy, or if it isn’t raining already, I put on my gear and head out. Some days I get lucky and make it back home sweaty but otherwise dry.

Other days, though, the weather just prefers to fuck with me, especially with its comedic timing. You see, if it’s already raining when I wake up, or when I go outside to look at the sky, I can simply postpone my cardio and go back to bed for a little longer. But where’s the fun in that? No, it’s apparently far more hilarious for me to be an hour into my walk, locked in and committed, and far enough from home that turning back would be just as inconvenient as continuing. Then let it rain, let it rain, open the floodgates of heaven. This is the kind of disrespect I’ve been dealing with.

Which brings me to the bigger picture. Of course, my exercise routine isn’t the rainy season's only victim. The moment rain starts falling for extended periods in Lagos, the city collectively loses its mind. Roads become rivers, canals and gutters overflow, traffic explodes exponentially, and every puddle is Schrödinger’s puddle. It may be only two inches deep, or it may be deep enough to fully baptize a small child. No way to know for sure until you put a foot or a tyre wheel into it. Every journey becomes an adventure, because Google Maps can tell you how to get to where you’re going; it just can't tell you whether the road there is currently underwater or not. I’d also talk about the horrible smells and how this constant rain is amplifying the huge sanitation problems that Lagos already has, but rumor has it that if you say “Lagos is smelling” three times, the Honourable Commissioner for the Environment & Water Resources will appear in front of you and beat you to death with a wastebin. Not just the lid, the entire wastebin. I don’t need that.

If I had to leave a review for this year's rainy season so far, it'd get one and a half stars. One because the weather is cooler most of the time, which is definitely a good thing, and then half a star because the sound of rain on the roof is still undefeated. Hopefully it stops soon so I can go out and get my steps in for today. That is, assuming I don’t get ambushed again when I’m far from the house.

At the time the only thing more annoying than suggesting a siesta was whichever adult that suggested it also insisting that I’d understand the importance “one day.” Even more annoying is the fact that they were right after all. As an adult, sleep is pretty much all luxury and no punishment now. These days I can’t wait to be horizontal in bed. If someone told me I had three free hours to do whatever I wanted, you wouldn’t catch me doing anything obviously productive. It would be sleep. Actually, you know what, don’t even bother telling me. Just knock me out with a frying pan and lay me flat on my back.

But now here’s the issue. It feels like despite needing and/or wanting to rest or relax now more than ever, I somehow seem to be getting worse at actually doing it. Sometimes I’ll have a free evening with absolutely nothing pressing to do, think about turning on my video game console for a bit, and then immediately start feeling guilty about it. Not because I’ve forgotten something, just this nagging feeling that I’m not being productive enough. I absolutely fucking hate it. Because now I gotta go find something else adequately “constructive” to do, like take an online course or try to write. When all I really wanted to do was shoot some enemy soldiers in the head with an automatic rifle. Shout-out to Call of Duty.

Somewhere along the line as we get older, many of us acquire the notion that being busy is the best proof that we’re doing life correctly. So the person answering emails at midnight is “dedicated,” and the one working through migraines while missing life's little moments is “committed.” It’s mad, feeling like your worth is tied to your usefulness in the great wheel of capitalism. Because then you start to feel like you can only stop once you’ve done enough to earn a break. But “enough” isn’t real. Not really. There’ll always be one more item on the agenda, and one more bill to pay. The finish line will always keep moving, and if you keep waiting to cross it before you can rest, that’s a pretty straight line to being found dead of a heart attack on a Monday morning, slumped against the door of your car with your key still in the door. This actually happened to someone.

So yeah, work hard. Chase your goals. Pay your bills. Try to build something you’re proud of, and all that. Just don’t forget to occasionally lie down and chill. Eight-year-old me would’ve hated that advice. Thirty-six-year-old me thinks it might just save your life.

In fact, I’m a little sleepy right now, to be honest.

Alright, you’ve already seen the poster above, so you know what this post is about. But this is a slightly different post, because there’s some new and important information:

LOVERSxFRNDS is moving to La Madison Place, Lekki this Sunday.

It’s a bigger venue, with more room to dance, connect and maybe even forget that it’s gonna be Monday again in a few hours. Same music, same vibes, just more space to make more great memories. And as my guy wey you be, I’m telling you now so that you don’t show up at the old venue and wonder why no one told you anything.

Registering (FOR FREE) is still mandatory, and still open here. See you soon.

Of course you have; you’re a human being. It’s one of humanity’s favorite coping mechanisms, a time-tested phrase to keep around because it sounds comforting and makes things sound a little less hopeless, even for a little while. The concept is simple enough, especially if you’re religious. Somewhere out there, your preferred Higher Power is carefully orchestrating events according to their grand plan, and every disappointment, setback or tragedy serves some sort of purpose. A purpose that you don’t ever need to doubt or question because, from your limited human perspective, you're simply too close to the painting to see the full picture.

So when you lose your job, it’s because a better opportunity is just beyond the horizon. When a relationship ends, it’s because it was leading you away from where and/or who you’re supposed to be. You get the idea. I don’t hate it, to be honest. It’s perfectly fine to want to put your faith in the existence of some kind of divine order to the everyday chaos of existence. Especially when the alternative is far more depressing. But the issue now is that I’ve been in a mildly existential funk all week, and I have nothing more cheerful to talk about. So for tonight’s Epis0de I thought I’d kick at the rickety three-legged stool of someone’s faith just to see what happens. You know, for the sheer, sadistic entertainment value.

Because the funny thing about life is that it occasionally presents evidence that said Higher Power might be improvising as they go along (which means they have no fucking clue, just like you), or that no one’s actually in charge and SHIT JUST HAPPENS. Not as a lesson or a test, or some grand, mysterious plan that will make sense twenty years from now. Just cosmic entropy: random, untethered and ignorant of your feelings. No hidden reason why that pigeon dropped that precisely-aimed shit all over your shirt just outside the venue of your interview. And no hidden reason why last month I made the most money I’ve ever made as a DJ, only to lose it all in the events I recounted in this previous Epis0de posted below. Because if it was indeed part of a grand, divine plan, it feels suspiciously similar to the handwork of village people:

Now I’m not saying that life is pointless. King Solomon already said that. But I do believe that humans tend to be overly committed to finding the meaning in absolutely everything. I know it’s not a particularly comforting thought when you’re wired to look for an explanation every time something bad happens, and of course it’s your right to do so if that’s how you deal. It’s just that sometimes there just isn’t any greater lesson to learn. It is what it is. Not every instance of pain and suffering is meaningless, but sometimes a bad thing is just a bad thing. Sometimes you’re supposed to just take the hit, suffer for a bit, and move on with a new appreciation for the random ridiculousness (or is it ridiculous randomness?) of life. Maybe you even get a funny story out of it if you survive.

Which, now that I think about it, is probably a lesson. When I just said that there wasn’t one.

*Sigh*

God damn it.

I wrote this Epis0de when my sister Maka and her very talented friend Phlow released the single Lose My Mind last year, as well as this one when the music video dropped earlier this year. Well, now they’ve only gone and released a collab album, and it’s really good.

Personally I’ve always been curious about the need to show a “hard” exterior to the world when you’re really a tender-hearted soul inside. I mean, who’s the performance for, really? Okay, so you don’t want to be taken advantage of, which is reasonable. Nobody does. But let’s say you let someone in, someone you think is worthy of seeing your “soft” side, and then they hurt you. What was the point of the defensive tactics in the first place? These are the issues.

But never mind all that. You can stream the new album on your preferred music platform here. And if you want to support independent music and the artists who make it by buying a copy of the album, you can do so here as well:

I’ve been asked to lay extra emphasis on this second link because the money from streams doesn’t show up fast enough, so give us your monies directly pls. Enjoy!

Oh, that was the entire Epis0de. Well, the premise of it anyway. That’s right, I put a spoiler right there in the title like some kind of psychopath. Is it a strange thing for a writer to do, especially when he wants you to read what he’s writing about? Well, sure. But in my defence the thing I’m talking about has occupied so much of my attention lately that any subtlety just seems unnecessary. So yes, I’ve already told you the whole premise. What’s left is explaining how I got here, why I don’t particularly want to leave, and whether that’s a problem or a good thing.

So last October I wrote this Epis0de about restarting my fitness journey in the gym, only to fuck up my lower back on the bench press. I haven’t been back in the gym ever since, but this January I started walking instead, on mornings and evenings when I can’t make it out earlier in the day. And it’s really been working; the results have been tangible and measurable, and my fitness has improved dramatically. I recover faster, feel better, and am much less likely to sound like a malfunctioning generator after climbing some stairs. Sometimes when I catch my reflection in a window on one of my walks, I hit the double finger guns and wink. This is all freely volunteered information, and I am not ashamed of it.

Naturally I’ve doubled down because of the results, so I’m outside nearly every morning before dawn, inclement weather or not. Unsurprisingly, my body has developed very strong opinions about this new obsession. My knees hurt. My feet hurt. I have blisters on top of pre-existing blisters, and I’ve lost two toenails under circumstances that would sound deeply concerning to anyone who doesn’t know that distance runners/walkers casually treat this as a normal occupational hazard. I’m also on my third pair of running shoes since this year started. The amount of wear and tear I’m willingly inflicting on myself would normally be associated with manual labour in a concentration camp, not a lifestyle choice.

And yet, despite all evidence suggesting that I should perhaps calm down a little, my brain has responded to these developments by becoming even more invested. What started as a sensible attempt to stay active after my gym plans collapsed has somehow evolved into a routine, a challenge, and on some days, my entire personality. Somehow I seem to have fully locked in on something for the first time in a very long while. Every day I want to do it. Every day I think about doing it. Every day I find a way to make time for it, even when it’s inconvenient and/or uncomfortable. My way of rationalizing this is that if I’m capable of focusing this intensely on something as simple as putting one foot in front of the other for several kilometres at a time, then maybe there’s hope for the other parts of my life that need similar discipline. Honestly, this might be the most glass-half-full opinion I’ve ever had about something happening in my life. Also, did I already mention the tangible, measurable, feel-good results?

Whether this is a good thing or a problem remains to be seen. Either way, there are worse things to be obsessed with than becoming healthier. For example, I could be immersed in the ongoing shenanigans of what ever iteration of Love Island is on right now. But instead, I’m scheduling this Epis0de and going for a walk because I couldn’t do it in the morning.

Oh, you don’t?

Ah. Why not?

You know what, it doesn’t even matter. I’ll just show you.

That’s right. LOVERS&FRNDS is back tomorrow. Featuring yours truly. On a Saturday. For the first time.

What’s that, you say?

What about the UEFA Champions League Final that’s also happening tomorrow?

Excellent question. We already thought about that. So…

Oh, yeah. We got y’all.

So this means you can come out a little earlier, watch the game, and then start your partying. And you don’t need to worry about the result. If the team you’re supporting wins, you get to party with your full chest. If the reverse is the case, then we’ll help you forget about it. Win-win for everyone.

But also, PSG abeg. In the name of Saint Denis of Paris, patron saint of the French people, please give me this win.

🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿

See you tomorrow.

Alright, then. What the hell.

I don’t like birds. I never have.

It might be an odd thing for a 36-year old man to admit unprovoked, but it is what it is. In fact, one of my recurring dark thoughts about how I die (because who doesn’t have at least one of those, right?) is being chased down and eaten by a kaiju-sized chicken in some apocalyptic mutation scenario, the way a regular-sized chicken would chase down and gobble up a cockroach. I saw that happen once, by the way. It must’ve sucked for the cockroach. Not that I pitied it, though. But that’s another Epis0de. Yes, I hear your question. Does this ornithophobia extend towards eating chicken, turkey and other feathered abominations that are acceptably edible? Well, of course not. Fear is one thing. Fried chicken stew is another. Don’t be ridiculous.

Anyway, this lifelong, deeply personal beef I have with birds has always been manageable. If I see a chicken on the road, I give it space. I make sure never to offend crows and/or ravens and their long memories. Even those aggressive geese you see in foreign videos online, I’ve made peace with the fact that if I ever travel and one of them squares up with me, I’ll simply backpedal and reroute my entire journey. Maybe I’ll even just go home. Sometimes life is about understanding that there are some battles you simply don’t need to fight, especially against creatures that can fly and almost certainly carry diseases we haven’t discovered yet. Birds are just deeply unsettling creatures in general. Everything about them is twitchy and aggressive. The random head movements, the sudden flapping of wings, and the way they walk around like high tax-paying members of society. It’s all wrong.

AND THEY CAN FLY.

I personally believe that flight is too much power for any animal to have. If goats could fly, society as we know it would’ve already collapsed by now. Shit, humans can’t fly, but look at all the chaos we’ve been able to cause with planes and drones. It’s too much power, I tell you. But because most birds are relatively small, we pretend that it’s fine. It’s not fine. Not while they can fly and shit on you and your car at the same time with sniper-level precision. Mbanu.

You might be tempted to wonder if I’m being irrational. It’s always possible, I suppose. Maybe I have some deeply buried and unresolved bird trauma from my childhood. I don’t know, man. What I do know is that I don’t trust those twitchy little bastards. And until God and/or science can explain why descendants of dinosaurs should be allowed to make so much noise, track movement and shit with such terrifying accuracy, all while airborne, I will continue to keep my distance.

You know, in case kaiju chickens become a thing. You never know.

With all that being said, there's a difference between life happening and the forces of the universe actively colluding to take a shit on your head during one of those aforementioned moments of financial comfort. And I would definitely know, after the week I've just had. Walk with me.

My DJ career has (FINALLY) started to pick up a little bit. The end of last month and the start of this one were pretty decent, and I made the most money I've made so far. Now, for the benefit of well-wishers and village people, NO BE BIG MONEY OOOOO. There will be no champagne popping and “we made it” captions on Instagram. What I’m saying is that it was a decent sum, decent enough to make you open your banking app just to smile at it a little bit before closing it respectfully, like you would a door in your preferred religious establishment.

It felt good, you know? When you start a new thing and you receive the best form of positive feedback and validation about it (yes, it’s money. I love you, family, friends and fans, but it’s still money), it makes you feel like you’re doing something right. That the grind is starting to pay off. That you’re not as far away from financial freedom as you used to be.

That you’re basically a happily oblivious chicken in the middle of the road, milliseconds before getting flattened into roadkill by the oncoming vehicle of reality.

It started with the inverter, which suddenly stopped inverting on Sunday. I paid for it to be taken down, transported to another state, fixed and brought back three days later. Money. Then the car, which to be fair, already had problems that I’d been ignoring until I could afford to address them. I could, so I did. More money. And finally, the generator, which was actually what spoiled the inverter in the first place. That one still hasn’t been totally fixed yet, but you guessed it. Even more money.

Now, to answer the following relevant FAQs:

Shouldn’t you be grateful to be able to afford to take care of your problems almost immediately? Yes, absolutely. I’m not ignorant of the fact that I was fortunate to have the money available, or even that all these issues came at a time when I had it.

What would you have done if you didn’t have the money? Oh, simple. By the time those loan apps would’ve been done with me, my first child’s legal name would’ve been Fairmoney Opay Sam-Ejehu. Maybe we’d have called him or her Fossie for short.

Seriously, though. The whole point of chasing money is to be able to use it when you need it. I can’t be mad at that. What I can be mad at, however, is seeing my formerly healthy account balance start to dry up in shockingly real time. Mad at myself, mad at the universe, mad at Tinubu. All join. Especially because I didn’t spend my money uncovering the many secrets of the Secrets Palace or on similar shenanigans. These were all practical, responsible, adult problems. Backup electricity. Transportation. Other backup electricity. So the moral of this story is to make money, and just keep making more money on top of the money you’ve already made. Because once the universe notices that you’re comfortable, it suddenly starts raining invoices.

And when it rains…

Not permanently, like one of those “home is wherever I lay my hat” people. First, that just sounds stressful. Second, the logistics of making a hat big enough for my head would only add to that stress. What I’m talking about is an increasingly frequent desire to temporarily vanish into an unfamiliar place and interrupt my routine a little. I don’t know if it’s a mid-life crisis but if it is, it’s way too early and way too expensive-

Actually, you know what? Hold on.

Speaking of interrupting, I think I know what’s going on.

Lately I’ve been feeling life piling up on top of me. Expectations. Obligations. Bills. Billing (NOT the same as bills). Family stuff. Relationship stuff. Work stuff. All the mandatory emotional maintenance required when one lives long enough to accumulate people and problems. Annoyingly, none of these problems announce themselves when they arrive. They’re just always there, until one day you realize that you’ve been subconsciously holding your breath and tensing your shoulders for more than six consecutive months. So sometimes when I catch myself fantasizing about disappearing into some quiet foreign city for a week, it’s not about the destination itself. Even though a peaceful stroll through the Swiss countryside sounds absolutely fucking amazing. Seriously, why couldn’t I pick a less expensive mid-life crisis craving?

Really, I think I just want silence, the kind that comes from being temporarily removed from your own life. No obligations or familiarity, or people casually reaching into your mental space just because they can and they know you’re available. DEFINITELY NOT an Eat, Pray, Love (2010) experience (Sorry, Julia Roberts). Just me, existing anonymously somewhere nobody needs anything from me. Just last week I posted something on X along the same line of thought as this Epis0de, and a friend who I follow reached out to say that she had just returned from her own getaway. She took a flight to a different European country from the one she currently lives in, spent a week in a local pub/guest house in the woods, and came back home feeling happy and refreshed. Honestly, good for her. There's a small comfort in knowing that your particular issue isn't unique, and that it can be solved. And good for the Schengen Area, too. It’s such a valid selling point for moving to Europe.

Of course, running away doesn’t solve anything. At least, not if you’re gonna come back eventually. But there’s nothing wrong in wanting to take a break from your own life once in a while, especially if you’re big on routines. Because that’s how you become efficient at surviving while ignoring or even being unaware of the growing pile of anxiety and fatigue in the corner of your mind. So yes, a break is good. A vacation is even better.

Or it would be I could afford one.

Na wa.

I know, I know. It’s not a good look. 😔

First I just did a full month of Saturdays for no reason other than trying to keep up with the schedule along with holding my life together. And now I’m starting this new month off empty-handed, also on a Saturday. But it’s been a long week, and an even longer weekend somehow, and between personal stuff, and DJ stuff, and some other stuff, I haven’t had any mental room for an Epis0de. No vex, abeg. 🙏🏿

Back next Friday.

So if you weren’t at the one in February or the one in March, here’s yet another chance to come out and have a good time, again for FREE if you register here. And if you’re coming to see me especially, I’ll be opening the show at 8pm.

Bring your friend. Bring your mom. Bring your friend’s mom. Bring your mom’s friend. Bring everybody as long as they register using the link above.

See you soon. Come say hello.

You know, after I’m done with my set.

So on Thursday I went to my local INEC office, stood in line to get into the building, had my biometrics captured, and got my temporary voter’s card, pending the release of the permanent one at some point later this year. The whole process took less than forty-five minutes, and only because of the long line, which was a pleasant surprise. I’d mentally prepared for a typical day with the Nigerian civil service, where a simple, straightforward task somehow becomes a test of faith, endurance and bladder control. Any day you don’t have to use the toilet in a government building is a good day indeed.

Another thing that struck me that day was how young most of the people in line were. I’m 36, and apart from the few obviously elderly people I saw, I had to be one of the oldest people getting registered. And it’s encouraging to see younger people showing up and taking civic participation seriously, but you can only hear “good afternoon, sir” and “excuse me, sir” so many times before you realize that they’re talking to you, and then start to feel some kind of way about how old you are and/or look. It is what it is.

But mild age-related emotional damage aside, it was hard not to leave there with a suspicious sense of positivity. Because for all the nonsense attached to politics in this country, as well as all the justified cynicism, people still showed up. We stood in line, waited our turns, and tried to do something about the state of things without any guarantee of magic or miracles. Even when participating in elections can feel like trying to clean Tafawa Balewa Square with a single toothbrush, people still made the effort. That’s gotta count for something. Or at least one can only hope. God abeg.

I know what the reality is. I’m not an idiot. What many Nigerians did this week won’t automatically translate to motorable roads, a stable economy and the sudden abundance of elected officials with integrity. But there is value in participation, even when the outcomes are uncertain or almost certainly unfavorable. Doing something and refusing to disappear into apathy means that you want to have your say in how things go, and that already makes it harder for sheer indifference to win by default. So even if the eventual result is disappointment, at least it’ll have to work harder instead of just showing up and claiming the W.

So yeah, I got my voter’s card, and sent my 21-year old cousin to get his the next day, which makes me both a responsible citizen and a good role model. Win-win for me.