Money Made Me Do It

There was a time in my life when I thought “I cannot come and kill myself” was a budgeting strategy. That was until I found myself staring into a pot with only two spoons of rice and the ghost of better decisions.  Let me take you back. The Month I Tried to Ball Like Davido It started in January. You know that fake rich energy January gives you? You collect December salary early, people are doing giveaways, and your brain convinces you that ₦100k can last forever. I was in high spirit. I bought suya like I owned a cow. Ubered everywhere like I had shares in the company. I even took my friends out just because someone said “Show us love nau, you dey ball oh.” And I was, for 7 days. Reality Set in on Day 8 By the second week of January, my account balance started sounding like gospel: “ Where two or three naira are gathered ” I knew things had gotten serious when I started measuring rice, not with cup, with spoon; and not tablespoon, Teaspoon! My entire lunch was two spoons o...

On this week's episode of money made me do it , I will be sharing the story of a friend (with her permission, of course) but for the purpose of this blog, I will call her Chika. Big Girl's Job When Chika got her first real job in Lagos, she had dreams. Big ones. She was going to save, buy a small car, and maybe even move out from her uncle's boys' quarters, where the generator snored louder than the landlord. ₦150,000 a month wasn’t Jeff Bezos's money, but to her, it smelled like freedom. She imagined saving, investing, and maybe even going on weekend trips to Ouidah or Accra. But by the first month, Chika realized something uncomfortable: her salary had more dependents than her bank account could carry. This invisible burden had a name,  the Black Tax. Black Tax Black tax is not a government tax. It’s the unspoken expectation that once you start earning, you must financially support your family, even extended family.  Think of it like the water drum in your compoun...

A Soft Heart and an Empty Wallet There’s a difference between being kind and being careless. I learnt this the hard way, with ₦50,000 I may never see again. You see, I used to think lending money to friends made me a good person. It made me feel helpful and Important. Like I was someone you could count on. What it really made me was broke. The Call of Help It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I was at work, dodging emails and dreaming of retirement when I got a message from Fola, an old friend I hadn’t seen since NYSC. The kind of friend that only calls when things are rough (I am not complaining). “ Babe, I no even know how to talk am… I really need your help. I need ₦50k, urgently. I go pay you back next week.” She sent voice notes too for dramatic effect. Crying baby and a generator coughing to death. It sounded like desperation and helplessness, and I felt it. Did I have ₦50k to spare? No. But I had ₦67,000 in my account and a soft spot for helping people. So, without thinking, I sent...

Life Has Hands You think you’ve seen hard times until your femur snaps like dry spaghetti. One minute, I was heading to work; the next, I was horizontal on the pavement, blinking in disbelief. My leg broke, but so did my finances, peace of mind, and sense of control. HMO or HM-No? We had an HMO at work. I said had because, a few months before my fall, the company decided to “pause” it. They blamed “rising costs.” But my salary didn’t rise with those costs. No one asked if we had backup health plans. I didn’t. So, when the doctor said, “ You’ll need surgery,” all I heard was, “ You’ll need money.” Sick and Salaryless Before the accident, I earned ₦150,000 per month. After deductions, I was managing around ₦135,000. Transport, feeding, and the occasional family obligation, my salary already had a full-time job. I was barely surviving and definitely not saving much. I had some small savings, but they were for paying off a loan, so when my leg snapped, I had two choices: use the money to t...

The Lie I Told with My Chest Years ago, when I got my first “real” job, I told my friends I was earning ₦250k. It wasn’t true. I was earning ₦120k gross. After tax and pension, my take-home was about ₦103,000. But I rounded it up, doubled it, and said it confidently. Why the lie, you may ask? I don't know or maybe I do. Nobody wants to be the broke friend. Especially when everyone else is talking about remote jobs in dollars, tech gigs, and “soft life.” So, when someone in our group chat asked, “ How much are they paying you at that law firm? ” I panicked. “ Not bad oh, around ₦250k,” I replied, pretending it was nothing. My chest was tight. Living the Lie The lie started small, Just one extra zero. But soon, it had me in a chokehold. Now, I was expected to pick Uber over Danfo. They invited me to lounge on the Island like I was earning foreign currency. Once, I borrowed money to buy a dress for a birthday dinner because someone said, “ With your salary, you fit afford am nau.” Th...

The Silent Tax  There’s a silent tax we pay in Nigeria. It’s unspoken, expected, and always urgent. No, it's not the famous black tax.  It is weddings, and not yours, of course. Other people’s weddings. In Nigeria, Aso-Ebi has become a social tax and just like all taxes, you are expected to pay by any means necessary.  Take my case, for instance, one random Wednesday evening, I got a message from someone I hadn’t spoken to in years. We were classmates in university, but we hadn’t exchanged a single text since graduation. No “happy birthday,” no “how far,” no “I saw your tweet.” She was getting married and she wanted me in her aso ebi squad.  “ Hey, sis! Long time! I’m getting married next month. Aso Ebi is 85k. I’d love you to be part of the bridal girls. You’ll look great in peach.” My Aso-Ebi Dilemma I stared at the message for a full minute not because I was flattered, but because I was broke. It was the middle of the month when last month's salary was gone with t...