The sun is up already; I don’t remember beating it in a long time except when I actually had a job and had to be up—early in the dark. However, today I get to open TikTok as my first act of the day, and there is a guy yelling at me, “You are poor!!!” I mean, it’s money I don’t have, and it’s not like I am even spending money at the club or going on expensive dates—the reality is that no amount of budgeting can overcome the fact that I’m just not making enough money (if I’m even making any money). But then it’s no one’s fault, is it?
Immediately, I think about living in this country, and my mind goes straight to the same question: How do I make more money? But at some point, no money-making idea can outrun a failing system. I was at the market a few days ago, and either these Abokis are trying to make money for a monumental project, or it’s just not the season, because the price of tomatoes and pepper seems more abstract than the last time I was there. I think I have to find a new customer, which is funny since I am actually the customer. Shouldn’t they be happy that I get to spend my money at their stand?
I’m not sure I have any real objective today, but at least, thanks to Salem and his Creator 101 series, today’s lesson is about starting with what you have. So let me wash up my face and set up my camera by the window. I don’t quite like how the whole setup looks—I’d like all those lights they advertise on my Instagram. Key light, fill light, backlight—anyway, with today’s lesson, I’m only working with sunlight.
That’s why I have to drop the exposure so the silhouette feels a bit more relaxed and hides my struggling walls—forgive the background guys. Just let me focus on sitting in front of my window and making content; at least I’m doing something productive. I just need to remember that Asake anthem—consistency!
It’s difficult these days to take things easy. On the days I manage to catch a break, my peace is interrupted by some Big Brother drama that has nothing to do with me, but then there are just too many episodes that I possibly can’t escape, up until the point that I get sucked into it. Then I have to tell myself literally… “I’m done!”
Even my friends in the diaspora aren’t having a ball either, but it doesn’t stop our conversations from leading towards “guy, you need to run away from that country”—but run to where with what? Perhaps I should apply for scholarships, but where will I get money for a flight ticket? Wrong question: do I even have money for an international passport?
Music at least offers some reprieve, but Mavo is after my existence with his catchphrase “No more way for”—how many times will you people call me poor in a single day?! Even the president, during his campaign, showed some empathy: “Let the…” that word again! At least that’s someone I can blame, but I already do that—every day, in fact.
My head and eyes hurt; I’m not even sure if that’s because I haven’t eaten all day or because I’ve been doom-scrolling Twitter (why are you even calling it X?). It’s likely people who are baiting me because I have been raging for the past half an hour. Thankfully, Layi is not part of my problems, because I can relate to him, certainly not because I’m a lawyer; neither can I even see anything from his perspective—literally, I mean—but then if I must have a change of reality, I need to know what I don’t know, so I know what to know.
Oh, I remember why I was actually raging—network service providers! Who are you saying has used up 95% of their data plan? Better not be me. I haven’t even opened any of my twelve professional courses, so there’s no way you’ll convince me that I’ve used that much data. It certainly can’t be from the reels my university friends send me, especially since we barely even talk. At this point, the only thing I can confidently blame is the streaks—we don’t even have conversations anymore; we’re just taking turns draining my data to keep a number alive.
At this point, I should go to bed; at least I’d be able to get some sleep and dream bigger. Apparently, that’s the only thing I can still afford. Because what else will I have if I no longer have hope that things could get better? We go again tomorrow.
Except I know I’m not really going anywhere tomorrow. I’m still unemployed, and whatever I would have spent on transportation would probably be better spent buying pepper from that same Aboki at the junction. So let me use my time wisely and sleep. At least that’s still free—for now.
There is something quietly radical about deciding to go again tomorrow when tomorrow offers no realistic nor structural guarantee of being different. It is exactly optimism, is it? Optimism requires belief that things will improve. This is something else, like the daily decision to keep your face towards a future that has not yet justified your confidence in it. In a country that has perfected the art of exhausting its people into stillness, choosing to try again is not a small thing. Even when trying looks like washing your face, setting up a camera by a window, and working with the sunlight you have.