This week, someone asked me what it’s like to live in my estate. I gave her my honest review. She listened carefully, then told me she had heard the complete opposite from someone else. She was polite about it, genuinely considering both accounts. Yet, the conversation lingered in my mind, much like certain small things that carry deeper meanings. Because here is what nobody tells you when you are researching where to live in Lagos. There is a house just outside my estate. It

Two slightly unsettling things happened this week. Not the dramatic kind of unsettling. More like a quiet nudge. The kind that makes you put your phone down for a second and stare at nothing. A vibrant market stall brimming with colorful fabrics and diverse goods, arranged in a lively, densely packed display under a patterned canopy. The first one came from watching people move between AI tools - which I wrote about earlier this week. What I’ve noticed is that everyone seems

Call it trauma, but as a child I was always scolded for not finishing my food. --- My mum would make me sit there through the tears until it was mostly gone. For her, the sign of a healthy child was a chubby child who ate everything on their plate, even if they didn’t serve that quantity for themselves. The rule was simple: finish what is in front of you. You don’t waste food. You don’t leave the table. You finish it. It’s funny how these things stay with you. Because lately