In this article, four Nigerian university students tell us how pregnancy scares affected their mental health and relationships with others.

1. “I couldn’t hear anything my lecturer was saying” – Lewato*, 21

The scare lasted eleven days. I was sitting in class and not retaining a single thing, and walking around campus with this weight on my chest that nobody could see.

I didn’t tell anyone. Not my roommate, not even my best friend. I just carried it alone because the moment you tell someone on this campus, it becomes hot gist. I’ve seen it happen before. You tell someone and by next week, everyone knows. The story will even have extra details.

So I just waited. I took three or four different tests within two weeks because I didn’t trust the first result. Each time, I’d lock myself in the toilet, hands shaking, trying to read the result fast before anyone knocked. The anxiety was physical. I was losing sleep, skipping meals, and convincing myself my body felt different.

When my period finally came, I sat on the bathroom floor and cried for a long time. Not just from relief, but exhaustion as well.

2. “My boyfriend’s first response was ‘are you sure it’s mine?’” – Debire*, 22

When I told my boyfriend I thought I was pregnant, he asked me if I was sure it was his. That question ended something in me. We had been together for eight months. I went to him scared and vulnerable, and that was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

I didn’t even have the energy to fight about it. The rest of that conversation was him talking about what we’d “have to do” if it turned out positive. I stayed quiet all through. He was making decisions without asking me anything about how I felt or what I wanted.

Thankfully, I wasn’t pregnant. But the scare showed me exactly who I was dealing with. I broke up him with three weeks later.

3. “Keeping The Baby Would Have Been My Only Option” – Dammy*, 23

When I got the scare, I wasn’t thinking about telling my parents or what my friends would say. I was already on my phone calculating antenatal costs and imagining what a semester deferral would be like.

I’m currently in my final year. I’ve spent four years working towards something specific and the thought of it all pausing or disappearing because of a mistake was painful. I couldn’t sleep properly and I was very irritable. My group project partners probably even thought I hated them.

It eventually turned out fine. I was so glad about that because trying to comfortably afford a pregnancy would have been impossible for me at that time.

4. “I was anxious for a long time after the scare” – Mary*, 24

Everyone focuses on whether it’s a positive or negative result. They don’t dwell on what happens to you afterwards even when it’s a negative result. My brain was supposed to go back to normal after finding out I wasn’t pregnant, but I just couldn’t.

I was anxious for weeks, every new random symptom I discovered just made me spiral. If I felt even slightly nauseous, my mind would start thinking and connecting the dots. I was constantly wondering whether I was pregnant even though my period was regular. I couldn’t enjoy sexual activities for a while and I became withdrawn generally. I cried in the bathroom a lot.

I think I needed to talk to a counsellor or therapist, but the ones available on campus have a very long wait list. Also, I didn’t have faith in them understanding me without judgement. So I just managed my emotions alone until it got better.

Next Read: 4 Reasons Why Nigerian University Students Won’t Get Tested For STIs

In this article, four Nigerian University students tell us why getting tested for sexually transmitted infections (STIs) sometimes feels like a nightmare.

1. “I Don’t Have Money for Treatment, So I’d Rather not Know” – Daniella*, 23

The clinic on campus is genuinely terrible. I went in once to treat malaria and left feeling like I’d done something wrong. The nurse looked at me like I was wasting her time. So the idea of walking in there and asking specifically for an STI test? I can’t even picture it.

It’s not just the attitude. There’s no privacy, either. The waiting area is open; everyone can see who’s sitting where, and people talk. My school isn’t that big. By the time you leave, three people you know have already seen you and started drawing conclusions.

I’ve had unprotected sex before, and I know I probably should get tested, but every time I think about actually doing it, I talk myself out of it. What if it’s positive? I don’t have money for treatment, and I can’t tell my parents. So I’d rather just not know.

2. “I’d Rather Wait It Out or Pray It Away” – Anna*, 20

There’s a way people in school look at girls who aren’t bothered by sex. The moment they notice you’re not ashamed of it, they start talking about you. Honestly, I’ve seen it happen to other girls in my hostel and class. Just snippets of gist here and there about what they must be up to.

My friend once went to the campus clinic for a routine check. Somebody saw her there and assumed the worst. Now the entire department knows her for being the girl who took tests at the clinic. She hadn’t even done anything, yet that story followed her for the rest of the semester.

I’m in 200 level, so I still have years left in this school. I can’t afford to have a rumour about me being spread. So even when I’m worried or something feels off, I just wait it out and pray it resolves itself.

3. “My Girlfriend Thinks Asking to Get Tested Means I Don’t Trust Her” – Bazzy*, 24

My babe and I have been together for about two years. A few months ago, I brought up the idea of us both getting tested, just to be responsible. She wanted to know why I was suddenly suggesting it, whether I’d been with someone else, or if I didn’t trust her. I dropped it so fast, and I haven’t brought it up ever since.

The thing is, I actually want to get tested, but testing has this loaded meaning in relationships. It feels like I’m starting to make a statement about my babe’s loyalty, and it’s going to keep causing unnecessary drama. I’ll probably just go alone one day without telling anybody.

4. “My Parents Don’t Know How To Mind Their Business” – Bibi*, 18

I’m really dependent on my parents for all my finances. They pay my fees, my allowance, everything. And because my account is connected to theirs, they’re able to monitor the account. So any unusual transaction is a conversation waiting for me on the next phone call. And that’s assuming they don’t immediately call to ask.

Going to the clinic isn’t free. I’ll pay for registration to get a card, a consultation and the testing. Even if I could explain away a random clinic charge, the follow-up questions are going to be crazy. My mum, especially. She would want to know exactly what I was tested for and why.

I’m not ready for that conversation, and I don’t think I’ll ever be while I’m still depending on them.

Next Read: The Reality of Working as a Tech Babe in Nigeria

Elizabeth was in 300 level, when she decided that waiting to graduate before earning was a plan she wasn’t interested in. Her first check came from interning at a marketing and advertising company. After her internship, she decided to make a full move into tech product management before completing her degree.

Now 24, she already has years of product management experience across FinTech and MediaTech. Her current role as a Product Innovation Associate at a venture building and capital firm has her working directly with start-up founders. Elizabeth’s day-to-day includes running user research, writing product documentation, sitting in stakeholder meetings, and removing whatever blockers are keeping engineers up at night.

But before you start romanticising the trajectory, Elizabeth wants you to know what the path actually looks like up close. Here are five things she’s learned about working in tech and product management that nobody really warns you about.

1. The Job Doesn’t Clock Out When You Do

For Elizabeth, the “end of the work day” has always been more of a suggestion than a rule. An 8:30pm call from her team lead on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday. Saturday morning messages arriving with the urgency of emergencies. Sunday evening pings showing up right as she’d finally exhaled. Late night meetings with developers that nobody thought to schedule at human hours.

She absorbed all of it from her very first startup job, and young enough that the chaos became her normal before she had time to be shocked by it. “I’m not unfamiliar with how chaotic, exciting and sometimes unstructured working in a startup environment can be,” she says. Startups move fast and Elizabeth moved with them, even when moving fast meant always being on.

2. Your Personal Life Will Feel The Effects

This is the part Elizabeth tells with a laugh, because what else can you do?The first story involves a guy she’d been trying to meet for a while. They kept scheduling and the schedule kept collapsing because of work, which was a very clear preview of things to come. They finally locked in a date at Hans and RenĂ© on a weekday evening, after work hours. Surely after work hours would be safe territory. It was not safe territory.

A meeting got scheduled and stretched well past when it was supposed to end. Elizabeth sent apologies from her screen while he waited in his car outside for three hours. When she finally got there the place was nearly closing, they squeezed in anyway and got their ice cream. He ended up taking a work call during the date too. Just two tech people, doing their absolute best.

The second date had a different energy entirely. She was already mid-conversation with someone when her team lead called and needed her in a meeting immediately. Elizabeth excused herself, and joined the call on her phone. Then realised she needed her laptop and went back to her bag and date. Elizabeth returned to the table about forty minutes later with apologies. He was understanding. She was grateful. The laptop was completely unbothered.

3. Work-life Balance is Going To Need A New Definition

Elizabeth used to be a loud advocate for work-life balance back in school. She talked about it often and she meant every word. She’s since updated her position, not reluctantly but realistically.

“Nobody needs to tell me there is nothing like that,” she says, “especially if there is a certain level you want to get to.” Weekends started looking like weekdays. Rest became something she had to schedule rather than something that just arrived on its own. The version of herself that kept strict boundaries between work and personal time quietly stepped aside. Now, she’s made room for the version herself that was actually trying to build something.

She’s clear that this isn’t a complaint. It’s just the honest cost of being in a fast-moving industry. And she went in with her eyes open.

4. The Mental Load is its Own Full-time Job

The meetings and the late-night messages are the visible parts. What Elizabeth describes underneath them is a constant background hum of work that doesn’t switch off even when her laptop is closed. Checking messages first thing in the morning just to confirm nothing is on fire. Testing the product before the day properly starts to make sure everything is still working. Her head is a live map of every team she works with: Engineering, design, customer service, stakeholders, all running at once. And she has to know which one needs her attention at any given moment.

“People management is not easy at all,” she says. The job of a product manager is as much about holding people and priorities together as it is about the actual product. That kind of work lives in your head long after you’ve logged off.

5. You’re Allowed to Enjoy Your Money

This is the part Elizabeth wants young Nigerian women to actually hear. She takes herself out, buys herself things and plans annual vacations. She approaches it the same way she approaches any product goal: with a target, a timeline, and full intention to see it through. “Enjoy the money you’re working for,” she says. “Life is too short not to.”

The conversation around ambition for young Nigerian women tends to focus heavily on sacrifice and the grind. Those things are real, but the permission to enjoy what you’ve built is just as important. Building and enjoying aren’t opposites. Locking in at work and treating yourself well can exist in the same life. Elizabeth is proof of that.

For the Girl Who Wants This

If you’re watching Elizabeth’s career from the outside and wanting it, she’d tell you to want it fully, laptop dates and all. The path is worth it and the learning curve is steep. It will ask something of you. Your time, your weekends, and sometimes a version of your personality you were attached to. Go in knowing that.

The rewards are real too. You’ll learn fast, meet people who matter, and do work you’re genuinely proud of. You’ll build something that belongs to you, and when the money arrives, you’ll have earned the right to feel every bit of it.

Next Read: 7 Business Moves That Separate Profitable Brands From Broke Ones

1. Track These Three Things

Customer behaviour, inventory, and cash flow. These three systems stop businesses from leaking money. A basic website logging orders and customer profiles, an Excel sheet watching stock movement, and any tool showing the flow of money, in and out of the business. “The data you get from that is truly undervalued, especially in Nigeria, where we don’t take data seriously,” Seun said. They don’t have to be expensive. They just have to exist.

2. Cost-reflective Prices

Copying a competitor’s price without knowing your own numbers is guess work, and guess work keeps brands broke. Start with your actual costs, as regards production, logistics, overhead and marketing. Then factor in your customer type and leave room for inflation. “You don’t want to be that brand that’s always changing prices every other day,” Seun said. Buffer it in from the start.

3. Your Content Needs More Than One Function

Entertainment content gets traffic. Getting eyes on your page doesn’t mean getting money in your pocket — people who discover you through entertainment content are strangers, and strangers don’t buy on sight. For Seun Mallami, her fix is to use content pillars such as education, product information, behind-the-scenes and founder-led content. “Traffic is your cold audience. What that means is that they’re just eyes on your page. It doesn’t necessarily translate to sales.” Brands that only dance are doing one job, when they need to do more.

4. Build a Sales System

Urgent promotions spike demand but they don’t build a customer base. “If you only sell when you do the urgent ticket promos, I wouldn’t call that your customer base. That’s just a temporary spike in demand.” The framework Seun Mallami offers is to build consistent sales with consistent traffic. Consistent traffic comes from intentional content and marketing. A business that only sells with discounts doesn’t have customers. It has opportunists.

5. You Don’t Need Capital To Start

Dropshipping, affiliate marketing and made-to-order are all real business models.. Many “big” brands on Nigerian social media don’t carry stock. They produce when ordered. “Even I,” Seun said, “before my stock comes in sometimes, use AI to generate pictures. My sales team is using that to convert sales in the DM. We’re getting sales before the stock comes in.” The excuse of no capital is losing ground fast.

6. If You’re Broke, There Are Three Causes

Bad pricing that doesn’t cover real costs. Stocking up faster than your customers can buy, and dipping into company money before you understand your net. “For most average businesses, your net is no more than 20, 25%. So they see that cash flow, they see that money enter and they’re like, oh, I have money
 then dip into it.” Seun says AI tools can help small businesses track this without paying for sophisticated software. But none of it matters if you’re not tracking anything to begin with.

7. Selling to Nigerians Still Works

Inflation is real, purchasing power is unstable, and logistics costs can eat into margins. But abandoning the local market isn’t the answer either. “Don’t abandon Nigeria, just try to think bigger than one market,” Seun advised.

Founders who are fixated on the USA and the UK underexplore other African markets, such as Kenya and Ghana, which can be very profitable. As a founder, you need to think in economies of scale, explore B2B and bundle products. The goal is bulky cash flow, not just sales volume.

Seun Mallami’s point across every advice she shared is the same. Structure isn’t something that you add when you grow. It’s what makes you grow.

Next Read: Uzoamaka Power Made Call of My Life for Everyone Who Has Ever Loved Too Much

Eight years later, Uzoamaka Power literally brings back to life for the world to see.

“I got tired of it, and I stopped,” she says. Call of My Life is a romantic comedy about a woman named Soluchi, a call-centre agent still nursing old heartbreak when a single phone call pulls her toward something new. The film is set to hit Nigerian cinemas on May 15th and stars Uzoamaka herself as one of the main characters. The story of how it went from three abandoned pages on a Word document to a full feature film is just as mind-blowing as the .

The Three-paged Story from Eight Years Ago

It was Blessing Uzzi, the producer of Call of My Life, who forced the resurrection. She knew Uzoamaka had old writing hidden away. The sort of early drafts writers typically shy away from. Blessing had a hunch and convinced Uzoamaka to start looking.

“She called me, and she was like, ‘Even if you wrote them when you were two years old, they mean something. And when you’re able to look at them critically, revisit them and do better.’”

So Uzoamaka sent Blessing the existing pages of Call of My Life, and Blessing loved the premise of the story. Just like that, Call of My Life was back in the world. The thing about revisiting something you wrote eight years ago, though, is that you’re not the same person who wrote it. You’ve lived more, felt more, gotten more honest with yourself about what you actually want to say.

“In 2018, I wanted to write about my experience at the call centre,” Uzoamaka says. “But fast forward to 2026, and I’m asking different questions. What is the story I want to tell? Is the call centre the centre of this story? Am I telling a love story about this person? Can I remove this person from this job and have them live life outside their work?”

Those are not the questions of someone who just wants to document what happened to them. Those are the questions of a person ready to create something beautiful and different from their personal experience.

What Actually Makes a Story Worth Telling?

There’s something Uzoamaka says in conversation that sounds almost like a joke but isn’t. When she was building Soluchi, the character at the centre of the film, she had to make peace with an uncomfortable truth.

“Sometimes, your life is not that interesting,” she says. “But it’s given you a foundation to begin something.”

In real life, the phone call Uzoamaka received while working at that call centre didn’t change anything. It didn’t redirect her path. It was just a funny call, and then it was over. But in the film, a similar call becomes the thing that changes Soluchi’s life.

“In writing the screenplay, I could have decided that the phone call was funny or annoying, or made decisions outside of the real thing that happened,” she explains.

This is actually the most freeing thing about the way she talks about writing. Uzoamaka doesn’t treat her experience as sacred. It’s raw material. You take what happened, ask what it could mean if something different had followed, and then you follow the character wherever she goes. “The more open-minded you are, the more questions you ask, the more the character tells you where they’re going,” she says. “At some point, it’s out of your hands. You’re serving the story now.”

A Lover That Yearns

The thing Soluchi does that makes people regard her as relatable is simple. She does too much. Soluchi loves too much. She gives too much. She cares too much. In the film’s trailer, someone says this to her face disapprovingly, like it’s a problem.

Uzoamaka has feelings about this.

“I don’t believe that there’s any love where you should have to pretend,” she says. “You have to perform wickedness so that somebody can love you? If you’re going to perform nonchalance in love, what is the point? Just get out of it.”

Uzoamaka is not describing a character flaw when she talks about Soluchi being a lover girl. She’s describing a superpower. “The person who loves wins. Even in heartbreak, even in hurt, even in pain. You loved, you won.”

The dominant romantic playbook right now is all about withholding. Wait ten minutes before texting back. Don’t call twice. Make yourself seem unbothered. Soluchi does none of these things, and she gets hurt for it, But Uzoamaka’s argument is that she still won.

“We see her mother saying, you will not be too much for someone who truly loves you,” Uzoamaka notes. “And I hope that Soluchi collects herself and loves even more fiercely again. Because what are we doing in this world? If we stop loving, we’re dead.”

The Woman Who Shows Up for Her Own Work

Concerning her love and excitement for Call of My Life, Uzoamaka is not performing humility. She says she’s very happy with the work. “I’m very happy with the story that I wrote,” she says. The award-winning writer and actress says that she has plans to go to the cinema every day once Call of My Life is released. Every day, in as many cinemas as she can get to in Lagos.

When the idea of shrinking her excitement comes up, she says, “I’m not doing that. When I was shouting for , I was shouting because I loved the film. Now, I’m shouting for Call of My Life, and that’s because I love the film from the depths of my heart.”

Uzoamaka wrote this screenplay and stars as the lead actress. She watched it come together across Lagos, Abuja and Enugu, because that’s what the story needed. Blessing Uzzi took her writing seriously enough to make her work on it. Now she’s standing on the other side of it, refusing to be modest about what she made.

It matters, the way she says it, because there’s a specific kind of pressure on women in creative industries to qualify every good thing they’ve done with a disclaimer. Uzoamaka doesn’t.

will be out in cinemas from May 15th. Uzoamaka will be there watching. Probably every day.

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They explained what unsafe sex actually costs, financially, physically, and mentally.

1. Looking Fine Is Not a Diagnosis

The first thing both doctors want to retire is the idea that no symptoms means no problem. “Many infections are silent, including HIV, gonorrhoea, chlamydia,” Dr. Abiri says. “People can look perfectly healthy but still be carriers and transmit infections.”

Dr. Smith-Okonu takes it further. “Most STIs are asymptomatic. People have them and do not know.” Her prescription is to stop waiting for your body to send a memo.

2. We Did the Maths and It’s Not Cute

According to Dr. Smith-Okonu, emergency contraception sits under five thousand naira if you know where to look. An IUD from a government facility can be close to free, while a private clinic charges between ten and twenty-five thousand.

Then there’s abortion. Because it’s illegal in Nigeria, most people procure unsafe ones, which means complications, which further means that costs spiral fast. “It can vary between twenty-five, fifty, one hundred thousand, depending on where it’s being done,” she says. And if things go wrong, which they often do, “the cost of getting into an ICU is about one and a half million for blood transfusions, dialysis, and surgeries.” She lost a patient to those complications recently. “Prevention is definitely cheaper than cure.”

3. The Bill Always Finds a Woman

Both doctors are clear on the fact that women carry the heavier bill. “Because of the female anatomy, women are more likely to acquire an STI from a man than a man from a woman,” Dr. Smith-Okonu explains. Pregnancy, complications from unsafe abortions, and fertility damage from untreated infections. All of it lands primarily on one body.

Dr. Abiri brings up the cost that rarely makes the conversation. “The children are often forgotten bearers of the cost.” Kids born from unplanned circumstances grow up with limited resources, unstable environments, and emotional difficulties they didn’t sign up for. “Unsafe sex is not just an individual decision. It can create family, economic, and emotional strains, as well as generational impact.”

4. The Part That Lives in Your Head Rent-Free

Dr. Abiri describes the psychological toll as “one of the most underrated and underestimated costs.” Even waiting for results does damage. A patient of hers described the weekend between doing an HIV test and waiting for results as “the longest weekend he ever had.” According to her patient, “Food tasted bland, and colours looked dull.” He was negative, but those days still cost him something.

A positive diagnosis can trigger grief, shame, emotional withdrawal, and a complete reshaping of how someone approaches intimacy afterwards. “Unsafe sex affects the body,” she says, “but it can also affect the mind. It affects confidence, and it affects how a person relates to others, long after the event has passed.”

Both doctors will be the first to say this isn’t about judgment. It’s about information that could genuinely save your life. “Don’t allow a few minutes of fun and excitement cost you a whole lifetime of pain and suffering,” Dr. Smith-Okonu says. Test regularly and communicate before things get complicated. Choose yourself, even when it’s awkward.

Next Read: This Nigerian Woman Turned Her Concern For Brides Into a Business

The message from Dammy Twitch read, “Are you ready for your first feature?” If you know Justin UG from his skits, this moment might surprise you. But it really shouldn’t. Those skits made rounds in secondary school group chats and still live rent-free in people’s heads, but they were never the whole story. We sat with him to talk about , Nollywood legends and love.

You started out making skits. When did you know you wanted to be in actual films?

I think this was during the time of skits like , when everybody was just starting out. Even then, people doing that weren’t necessarily thinking, oh my God, I want to act. It was just a new thing everybody really liked. But then I ended up getting a job as a photo and video journalist for a company. They’re now called . That’s where I learnt how to use Premiere Pro, a video editing software.

I liked the process of editing, I also liked the process of shooting, but I liked being in front of the camera more. This was in 2016, and I was like, I think I genuinely want to act. So when I got to the U.S., I decided that everything I do onwards will be to lead me to that position.

How did the events of you starring in Call of My Life come to be? Can you share the story?

I love telling people this story because I think it was, first of all, God. I had just released a short video on grief. The only reason I released it was because I wanted to show people that, behind all these skits, I take acting very seriously. That was me showing a different side of myself. A week after I posted the video, I started feeling very weird. Like nothing was really clicking. I went to sleep and woke up the next day to two messages. One was from a well-known producer.

The other was from Dammy Twitch, who was the director. I saw the preview of Dammy Twitch’s message, and he said, “Are you ready for your first feature?” I’m like, bro, what is going on? I’m also receiving a message from one of my favourite directors at the same time? Eventually, Dammy told me Blessing Uzzi was going to reach out. I did the audition, and I got the role. That was my first time ever doing a formal audition. She could tell that I was scared, but she was kind enough to guide me and made sure that I really understood what I was getting into.

What was it about the character of Ezekiel that made you say yes?

The first thing was the story. I have always told myself that if I was ever going to do my first role, the story had to make sense. I don’t want people watching it to think, “What is going on here?” So the story being genuinely interesting was big for me. And then when they told me my character, I was like, okay. It was a very, very important supporting role. It’s one of those roles where when it’s your time to shine, you better shine. I was very grateful for that, honestly.

Comedy skits and feature films are different veins in entertainment. What surprised you the most about the process of making a full film?

Seeing every single moving part come together to make something successful. I realised there are so many things involved in making a movie, so many people involved. This project would literally fail if just one of those pieces goes missing.

Also experiencing how everybody comes together to make something work by every means possible. Even when there’s no light and Nigeria is happening. Everybody is still very much active and trying to make sure the project is successful. With skits, it’s just me and my camera. With movies, you need proper planning. The amount of planning that goes into making a film genuinely surprised me.

What was the most fun scene you shot, and what was the hardest part of it for you?

I enjoyed shooting every single scene, I really did. But there was a scene with where we both had to share the screen for the first time, just the two of us, nobody else. And I was nervous because Beverly is somebody.

You know her from Wedding Party; she’s been on TV. I’m supposed to be in a scene alone with this person. But we actually did it, and I really, really loved that scene. When the movie is out, you’ll know exactly which scene I’m talking about.

You’re sharing the screen with Nkem Owoh and Patience Ozokwor. What’s that like as a younger actor?

Who would have thought that for my first-ever feature film, I would be with legends? You cannot talk about Nollywood without mentioning these people. I’m just genuinely grateful and fulfilled to even be in the same project as them. It’s crazy. I’m speechless. They didn’t even tell me until the first day on set. They said, “Oh yeah, and are in this”. I said, “What?” It was amazing.

Broda Shaggi is also in the film. Was it beneficial to have someone from the same background as you?

Not necessarily, because I didn’t know was in it until the day before we were supposed to shoot our scene together. He played the role of our boss in the movie. Before then, I was asking who our boss was, and they said, Broda Shaggi. I said that’s crazy. That was actually my first time meeting him. It was a really great time.

But I wouldn’t say it was beneficial. It was just really nice to see familiar faces. Even if someone has done just one movie, I’m excited to work with them. So it wasn’t about the skit background; it was about being around people who have done what I want to do.

For someone doing their first feature, the director matters a lot. What made Dammy Twitch the right director for this?

A bad director could literally spoil a good script. I’ve known Dammy Twitch for a long time, and we’re kind of friends. So when I got to Nigeria and went to his office, I told him straight, Dammy, it’s my first feature. I’m not about to flop on this movie. I don’t want a situation where you tell me this is good, we can manage, because I don’t want to be managed. Tell me when something isn’t right.

The way he communicates is amazing. After he’s watched a take, you’ll just see him walk toward you, and you already know he’s about to tell you something important. He’d pull you to the side and say, okay, I think you could do this better, show me more. And then there’s the Shakespeare moment from the .

That wasn’t in the script. Dammy called me to the side after a scene and said, “Show me something.” We shot it. Immediately after, he said that was exactly what he needed. He’s such a good director.

Call of My Life seems to be a story about healing from heartbreak and finding love again. Is that personal to you?

One thousand percent. It’s a very relatable story and it’s also very personal. Lowkey, let me not cast everybody, but yes. It’s personal. We were all talking about our love lives at some point on set and it was so beautiful. It’s a story that everybody would be able to relate to.

Do you believe in the kind of love this film is selling?

I’m a lover boy, so yes. I believe it’s very possible. It starts off with a love where you’re giving more than you’re receiving. Then it transpires into this whole new phase where you’re doubting a new thing because of what you’ve experienced from your old thing. Just because the emotions are new and pure.

But when you eventually let it blossom, it’s just beautiful. It’s a totally different experience. It’s not just one type of love shown throughout, there are different stages. And I believe all of that is possible in real life. How it happened exactly, maybe not. But the feelings? Very possible.

Looking at where you started and where you are now, where do you see acting taking you?

First, I want people to see this project, because I think it would sink into people’s heads that, okay, this guy is really serious. That’s something I really tried with every scene I was in. After that, I’m going to start doing more auditions and taking acting classes, just to see what’s next.

I’m very open to working with different producers, as far as the story is great and makes sense. But I’m not in a rush to get into just anything. What’s for me will be for me and what’s not, I shouldn’t stress myself about it. I’m just going to keep auditioning, keep learning, and see how God leads.

Next Read: “Stop Collecting Certificates” — 2 Data Experts on Becoming a Data Professional in Nigeria

, an event content creator, was fortunate enough to see this gap. For over a year, she moved through weddings with a camera and caught the one thing everyone was missing. The need for bridal assistants.

“It’s one of those things you can’t unsee once you’ve seen it. All that money, all that planning, those long months of preparation, and the bride still spends a good part of her own wedding feeling unsettled,” she said.

The wedding industry excels at managing logistics, but it often fails at managing the human. We spend millions on the stage but forget to support the main characters. A bridal assistant’s job is to ensure that the bride isn’t just the host of her wedding but a guest of honour at her own celebration.

“Brides always seemed to be frustrated on their big day,” she says. “And it was simply because the friends they expected to support them did little to nothing on that day.”

The problem wasn’t bad vendors or poor planning. It was a structural issue. There was a role nobody was officially filling. And everybody assumed someone else was covering it.

Heritage decided to cover it herself.

She launched by Heriana in February 2026, a bridal support service built around one job: being the calm, steady, fully-present person in the bride’s corner from the moment the day starts till it ends.

What About the Wedding Planner and Bridesmaids?

Nigeria’s wedding industry isn’t small. There are planners, coordinators, decorators, makeup artists, hairstylists, caterers, photographers, and videographers. An entire ecosystem of people making a living off the fact that Nigerians love to celebrate weddings lavishly. So if all these people are already at the wedding, what exactly is missing?

Heritage’s answer comes without hesitation. “No matter how saturated an industry becomes, there will always be space for something new. Plus we are providing value by catering to the needs of brides, and once everyone understands they have nothing to lose, they will embrace it.”

That’s a specific kind of thought process. She’s looking at a crowded room and asking a different question. She’s not asking if there’s space? But “is there a need going unmet?” Getting that second question right is what separates a business from a passing idea.

The unmet need she identified is sentimental and practical. Someone who wakes the bride, feeds her, helps her get dressed and keeps her outfits in order through the chaos of the full day. Someone whose only job is making sure the bride feels okay.

The Chief Bridesmaid Isn’t Your Employee

The most common reaction Heritage gets when she explains her work is a variation of the same thing: “What’s now the work of the chief bridesmaid?”

It stung, especially when it came from close friends. She explained it to them, and they still didn’t get it. She stopped bringing it up and let the work speak for itself. A bridal assistant and a chief bridesmaid have completely different jobs, and understanding that difference changes everything.

A bridal assistant works behind the scenes. She makes sure the bride’s outfits are ready and put together, that she’s eaten, that she feels physically okay and emotionally safe through every transition of the day. She stays out of the photographer’s frame deliberately. Her job is to be effective, not visible.

The most demanding part of the job isn’t the morning prep, it’s the event itself. Once the day is in motion, a bridal assistant stays on standby the entire time, ready to move the moment she’s needed, while still managing everything else that needs to happen in the background.

Most brides come in warm. They booked for bridal assistants themselves, so there’s already an expectation of trust. It’s therefore imperative that they treat the assistant like a safe space, someone they can be real with. That may however change closer to the traditional ceremony or reception, when the overstimulation kicks in and everyone is just trying to get through the day.

The chief bridesmaid’s role works differently. She’s the one adjusting the bride’s dress at the altar during the vow exchange. She’s the one who can whisper something comforting at exactly the right moment, because she knows the bride personally.

The bridal assistant’s role is professional. The chief bridesmaid is personal. Together, they ensure that the bride is actually fully covered and cared for.

“Their responsibilities are totally different,” Heritage says, “and the presence of one doesn’t affect the output of the other.” Once people grasp that, the scepticism tends to dissolve.

Putting A Price on Emotional Labour is Difficult

Pricing emotional labour is difficult. How do you put an amount on being the provider of steady support? On the fact that someone showed up, read the room, and turned a chaotic morning into something manageable?

Heritage didn’t guess. She ran a market survey.

I wasn’t the first in the industry,” she says, “so I researched my competitors, analysed their rates against market demand, and balanced that with the unique value I provide.”

She studied economics, and she’s direct about why her education matters even in a career that has nothing to do with a classroom or a 9-to-5. “I didn’t just guess; I put my Economics degree to work by running a market survey to price the value I was providing.”

That combination of industry observation, competitor research, and personal assessment of value is how she landed on a price she could defend. She left what people might say was emotionally right or what clients could afford and followed what the market actually supported. The entry point for BridesCompanion is a ₩70,000 package, which covers assistance from the bridal morning all the way through to the end of the reception. Monthly earnings aren’t fixed. It moves with the bookings.

On what she wants a bride to feel, Heritage says, “I want them to feel warmth, to feel like she can trust me to be there for her.”

That’s the whole offer, really. A bride who actually eats before the ceremony, who doesn’t spend twenty minutes frantically searching for her second pair of heels. A bride who walks down the aisle feeling held and helped instead of harried. These small things add up to a completely different experience for the bride.

Heritage spotted the gap in the market, built the offer, structured her brand, assembled a team, and started booking clients. Building a team wasn’t the hard part, particularly because Nigeria has a labour-rich market, and people willing to work as bridal assistants aren’t difficult to find. What matters is the training.

In all of this, Heritage still works as an event content creator, capturing moments that matter. She wasn’t waiting for the perfect time to take it seriously. She already is. There’s value to be provided all around you. Like Heritage, you just have to notice, position yourself and hone in on that need.

Next Read: How This Copywriter Leveraged Her Community To Make ₩37 Million in a Year

In March 2023, Jennifer had just finished NYSC and landed her first job at a Nigerian digital marketing agency. Thirty thousand naira a month, plus fifteen from her dad, and it was remote work from home, which meant the money actually stretched into something livable. Data, skincare, and sharwama when the mood struck. It wasn’t desperate money, but Jennifer was chasing something else because “no shade, the pay was poor”.

“I wanted to prove to myself that if others are making money, I don’t have two heads,” she says. Jennifer’s biggest dream at the time wasn’t a flashy purchase or a travel goal. It was simpler and more urgent. She wanted to leave her parents’ house because she’d decided that depending on anyone, even people she loved, wasn’t something she wanted to do long-term.

At that time, a copywriter in the same online community as she was in had shared that she’d made ₩900k in one month. Jennifer stared at that number and felt something shift. She was already learning copywriting and had spent her entire NYSC year inside it, but seeing another woman successful in the same field suddenly made the whole thing feel real and urgent.

Jennifer had paid roughly ₩25,000 for a copywriting course called LMG, . What came bundled with it was a live, active community of over 500 copywriters at every stage of the journey, some still figuring out the basics, others already billing in dollars and posting receipts.

“Constantly seeing people like that motivated me more,” she says, and from inside that community she found friends, a mentor and the thing that no YouTube tutorial has ever successfully replicated.

When she hit walls, and she did hit them often enough to need it, these were the people she could call. On days she wanted to stop entirely, they pushed back and encouraged her. And when opportunities came up, they thought of her name.

“No amount of grind can beat that,” she says, and she means it without any performance behind it. The difference between Jennifer and the many people who join communities and extract nothing useful is that she wasn’t there only to take. She shared resources freely, helped with problems people posted publicly, and showed up without an agenda. It sounds simple because it is, but most people struggle with doing this.

“I became friends with people simply because I helped them out with one or two things, and didn’t ask for anything in return.” That energy made her someone worth knowing, and knowing Jennifer, it turned out, was worth quite a lot.

How Community Became Her Most Valuable Career Asset

The User-Generated-Content (UGC) business Jennifer now runs came from a mentor, now a genuine friend, who needed video content for his e-commerce brand and trusted her enough to say, “Try it” even though she’d never done it before.

She tried it, and he loved it. Then he started talking about her to everyone in his circle, telling them what to pay her and sending them her way without her having to ask. For the entire first year of that business, she didn’t need one cold pitch. Everyone who came to her DMs did so through him, and most of them are still her retainer clients today.

Her ₩300,000 copywriting job came through a colleague who put her name forward for a campaign. Her single highest-paying role, at $1500 monthly, came through a friend who spotted a job post on X and forwarded it before Jennifer even knew it existed. She almost didn’t apply, convinced she’d missed the window, but sent a cold message to the CEO’s inbox anyway. Two weeks of silence followed. She sent a follow-up. The CEO didn’t reply directly, but he used her email address from her portfolio to book a meeting, and on that call, she was offered the job on the spot.

By October 2025, she had made over ₩4 million in a single month. “I was just staring at my account.”

The ₩37 million Jennifer made in 2025 went in several directions at once. MBA tuition paid monthly, her e-commerce business, a mutual funds account for investments she feeds with roughly ₩500k every month, stocks in MTN and GT Bank, a new apartment on the island after her former landlord situation in Lagos forced her hand. And black tax, because it’s always there, whether you plan it or not.

Jennifer invested in herself as loudly as she invested anywhere else, which tracks for someone who understands that the asset generating the returns is her.

She’s honest, though, about the one thing community costs her. “Too many people having access to your life,” she says. She’s shy by nature, and the visibility that comes with others having insider access to her still sits uncomfortably with her. The referrals and the exposure come as a package.

It’s a real tension, and it’s worth naming, because Jennifer’s story can be easily flattened into a blueprint when it’s actually something more specific than that. She built relationships by being genuinely generous to people, stayed in rooms long enough to become useful, and chased things even when the timing looked wrong. The ₩37 million simply followed.

“I wasn’t looking to take,” she says. “I was looking to give.” That’s the whole thing, really.

HERtitude is turning 5 this April and your salary just dropped. Coincidence? Absolutely not. That’s destiny. Secure your tickets here:

At a recent conversation with żìĂšÊÓÆ”, expert product managers , and spoke with on what it really takes to enter the product management industry. What came out of this discussion was an honest look at what product management actually requires, who it’s actually for and what the internet keeps getting wrong about the profession.

If you’re thinking about making the move, here’s what they had to say:

1. The Job is to Define A Product and Make It Work

The jokes about product managers are everywhere. They attend meetings. They create tickets on JIRA and they act like mini-CEOs who don’t build anything themselves. Ebube gave the clearest definition of what a product manager is there to do. They’re there to define the product and coordinate everything across the company to make it successful. The job description is value creation, value delivery, and value capture.

Karen compared it to parenting. A doctor’s job ends when the baby is safely delivered. That’s the project manager. However, the parents’ job is the child’s entire life. A product manager owns a product’s whole arc, not just the launch, so they collect feedback, watch growth and adjust constantly.

Florence put it more bluntly: “We’re here to define what you’re building, why you’re building it, and then collaborate on the how.” The engineering team isn’t there to take orders. The product manager is there to make sure the right questions are asked before anyone writes a single line of code.

2. You Need To Understand Engineers, Not Coding

On what’s overrated, Karen took a direct aim at the “learn how to code” crowd. She drew a line early in her career and decided she wasn’t going to be a technical product manager. That closed some doors and opened others. Her point was to know what you bring, build your career around that, and stop chasing every new tool that the algorithm throws at you.

Florence came from a technical background and hasn’t opened VS Code in years. She stressed that technical knowledge matters, but not in the way most people think. Your role exists to be the bridge between the people who build and the people who don’t understand what’s being built. That requires knowing what an API is, understanding what a database does and being able to explain both to a non-technical stakeholder without losing them. Her advice was to skip the coding course. Make friends with an engineer instead, and ask questions. The conversations you pick up informally will serve you as well as any certification.

3. If Coding Doesn’t Matter, What Skills Do?

Karen laid out three non-negotiables. The first is product discovery. This is the ability to find the right problem before you build anything. This means talking to customers, analysing data, and running research. It sounds obvious, but product managers who skip this end up building things nobody needs, with real company money.

The second is stakeholder management. Engineering wants to fix a bug, while operations wants efficiency. Your customers want something else entirely. Security flagged a breach. Everyone has a priority, and everyone thinks theirs is urgent. The product manager’s job is to hold all of that at once and make a call.

The third skill is communication. Karen was blunt about it. “If you can’t communicate the value of your product, I don’t know what you’re doing.” Storytelling is how you get buy-in, ship things and grow!

4. Product Management isn’t Unidirectional

Karen went from Chemical Engineering at UNILAG to building cross-border payment infrastructure at Visa in London. Florence co-manages ProductBuddies, a community for aspiring product managers. Ebube leads product at Rise, building tools for wealth management. Three different paths and specialisations, but the same core role.

What stood out was something Karen said almost in passing: stop following trends and start compounding skills. One year, it’s Web3. Next is no-code. Then AI. The product managers who survive those cycles are the ones who know their value and deliberately build on it.

So, Can You Actually Become a Product Manager?

Yes! The people we spoke to spent years getting wrong answers before they got the right ones. They changed industries, crossed borders, made friends with engineers and built things that didn’t work before they built things that did. That’s still the fastest path in. Figure out what problem you want to solve, and then work it out from there.

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