Segun Ozique

The humidity at Evking’s Bar is thick, but the atmosphere inside the booth is heavier. Jide is watching a man at the far table. The man is wearing a sharp suit, looking exhausted, and handing a brand-new, high-end tablet to a six-year-old girl who hasn't seen him all week. The girl takes it, but she doesn't look at the screen - she looks at her father, hoping he’ll stay. He doesn't; he opens his laptop. ​"There it is," Jide whispers, nodding toward them. "The Lagos Trade-Off. We trade our hours for Naira, then try to buy back the child's heart with the same Naira. But does the math ever add up?" OLA: ​Look, Jide, life in 2026 is a marathon. If I’m away for 12 hours a day, I want my kids to have the best. I didn’t have a bike or a console when I was young. If I buy it for them, it’s because I love them. Why is that an "escape"? ​JENNIFER: ​It becomes an escape, Ola, when the gift is used to soothe your own anxiety rather than meet the child’...

The blue light of Nne’s phone reflects in her eyes as she sighs, finally locking the screen and placing it face down on the wooden table at Evking’s Bar. "My cousin’s daughter just spent three hours editing a photo to look like a 'perceived' version of herself," she says. "By the time she posted it, she was so anxious about the 'likes' that she couldn't even finish eating dinner. She’s scrolling through life, but she’s losing herself in the process." JENNIFER: ​Adolescence is the ultimate Identity Lab. It’s when kids figure out "Who am I?" and "Where do I fit?" Usually, this happens in classrooms, but now it’s happening on social media. ​The problem is that social media creates a "Culture of Comparison." When a 14-year-old compares their "behind-the-scenes" life to someone else’s "highlight reel," they don't just feel sad - they experience a distortion of their very identity. ​NNE: ​And it’s t...

The atmosphere at Evking’s Bar is a bit more intimate tonight. Nne is sitting with a glass of juice, her brow furrowed as she recounts a phone call with her cousin. ​"My cousin is exhausted," Nne says to the group. "She and her mother are like fire and petrol. Every conversation ends in an explosion. Now she’s looking at her own young daughter and panicking - wondering if this 'first daughter - mother Friction' is a generational curse or just a bad script they keep rehearsing." NNE: ​My cousin asked me if all first-born ladies are destined to be on the opposite side of their mothers. I told her I have a great relationship with mine, but then I realized... is it because we are "close," or because I was raised never to say "No"? I followed every directive without question. But my cousin's daughter is different - she’s influenced by social media, her peers, and her own mind. She’s "expressive." ​ELDER EPHRAIM: ​That "expre...

The evening rain in Ikeja is drum-beating against the roof of Evking’s Bar , but inside, the mood is contemplative. Jide is tracing the condensation on his glass, thinking about a story his neighbour told him about a 15-year-old who tried to "negotiate" a time-out using the exact legal jargon his father uses on work calls. ​"They are little tape recorders," Jide says quietly. "They don't just hear what we say; they record how we breathe when the bill comes, how we look at our partners when we're tired, and how we treat the gateman." OLA: ​So, what you’re saying is that from the moment I have a child, my "freedom" is gone? I can't live "YOLO" (You Only Live Once) anymore because I have a mini-me watching my every move. That’s a heavy prison, Jide. If I’m stressed and I shout, I’m "teaching violence"? That’s a lot of pressure. ​ JENNIFER: ​It’s not a prison, Ola, it’s a Social Learning environment. ​Children ...

The ceiling fan at Evking’s Bar is spinning faster tonight, mirroring the rising voices at the corner table. Ola is leaning forward, his palm slapping the wood as he describes what he saw at a bar bear Balogun Market earlier that day. ​"It wasn't a fight," Ola says, his eyes wide. "But the atmosphere was heavy. This young girl, probably in her twenties, was standing her ground against two elders. She wasn't cursing, but she was... loud . She was opinionated. One of the men looked like he wanted the earth to swallow her for being 'disrespectful' But the girl? She looked like she was finally breathing." OLA: ​What I saw in Balogun wasn't just a girl raising her voice; it was a clash of two worlds. The elders saw an "alien" behavior - a child who thinks she is an equal. We’ve imbibed these Western attitudes so deeply that a twenty something - year-old thinks she can "chat" her own individuality right in the middle of a tradi...

The crowd at Evking’s Bar is in full swing, but Jide notices something eerie. On the TV screen where a drama is playing, a large family table of four children, ranging from a toddler to a teenager, is sitting in absolute silence. No laughter, no "gist," just the cold, blue glow of four different screens reflecting in their eyes. Their parents are doing the exact same thing. ​Jide clinks his glass against the table to get the others' attention. "Look at that," he gestures. "We used to fear the 'Bogeyman' in the dark. Now, the Bogeyman lives in their pockets, and we pay the monthly subscription for him to stay." JIDE: ​Statistics show that kids aged 8-18 spend an average of 7.5 hours a day on screens. That’s a full-time job! If your child were working a 40-hour week at a factory, we’d call it child labour. But since it’s social media, and gaming, we call it "keeping them busy." ​OLA: ​Jide, be fair. You’ve never tried to drive through t...

The news of a 16-year-old only child has cast a shadow over Evking’s Bar . In a culture where children are often seen as "insurance" and "legacy," the idea of a young person with "everything" - no chores, no lack, no struggle - taking their own life has sparked a fierce debate. ​Jide sits quietly, staring at a half-empty glass. "They said he had a party being prepared for his 17th birthday," Jide mutters. "No dishes to wash, no errands to run. Just books and comfort. And yet..." OLA: ​We have to stop lying to ourselves. We are robbing these kids. By the time I was 17, I knew how to navigate the market, fix a fuse, and survive a week on garri. Today’s parents are so afraid of their children "suffering" that they’ve removed the Grit required to survive a "No." When life finally hits them - and life will hit them - they have zero armor. ​ ELDER EPHRAIM: ​True. We treat "Only Children" like fragile glass...

The air at Evking’s Bar feels different tonight. The usual banter has been replaced by a focused, electric intensity. Nne is holding her phone up, showing the group a viral video of a young Nigerian woman calmly explaining why she stopped attending high-status but repressive "traditional" gatherings of ex-students." ​The topic tonight isn't just about parenting - it’s about the Authoritarian Structure itself. How families and communities use the regulation of girls and women in general to keep "Silent Repression" alive, and how that cycle is finally breaking. JENNIFER: ​We need to be honest about how authoritarian settings work. They don't just use "Koboko." They maintain control through the systematic regulation of women’s bodies and voices. From childhood, a girl is taught that her "moral development" is tied to her compliance. If she speaks too loudly, she’s "loose." If she thinks too big, she’s "dangerous....

The debate at Evking’s Bar has shifted from "Who owns the child?" to the even more polarising question of how to communicate with them. Elder Ephraim is watching a young father at the next table laughing and "dapping" his teenage son, treating him like a peer. He clears his throat, the sound of a man about to challenge a modern trend. "In my day," he begins, "a father was a king, not a 'buddy.' Now, I see parents trying to be 'cool.' But when the wind blows and the child needs an anchor, can a 'friend' provide the weight of authority?" ELDER EPHRAIM: ​This "Friendship" trend is dangerous. If you are a friend of your child's, who is their parent? A friend cannot tell you "No" and make it stick. A friend cannot demand respect. By becoming "cool," you are leaving your child leaderless in a world that is already chaotic. ​ NNE: ​But Elder, I’d rather have a parent I can tell my secrets ...

The atmosphere at Evking’s Bar is buzzing. Jide shows his phone screen to the group. ​ JIDE: ​Look at this. You can now pay someone to potty train your child, pay a "behavioural coach" to handle tantrums, and pay a tutor to teach them "Nigerian values." If you have enough money, you don't actually have to be a parent - you just have to be a General Manager . ​ OLA: ​And what’s wrong with that? If I’m working 14 hours a day to pay for a house in Lekki, should I come home and fight a 3-year-old over a toilet? The marketplace is providing a service. It’s no different from hiring a cook or a driver. ​ ELDER EPHRAIM: ​It is entirely different, Ola! You can hire a cook to feed the stomach, but you cannot hire a nanny to feed the soul. It is like in my time when parents simply hand over their child to grandparents who may be too old to properly groom them. The "dirty" moments - the potty training, the midnight fever - that is where intimacy is built. ...

The scene. A humid Ikeja evening, at the Evkings Bar, but the heat inside the circle is purely intellectual. Elder Ephraim leans back, tapping his walking stick against the floor, his eyes misty with nostalgia as he looks at Zainab and Tobi. ELDER EPHRAIM: ​In my village, if you did something wrong, the nearest adult was your father or mother at that moment. You didn't dare say "Who are you?" You took your correction, and if you dared go home to report, your real father would give you a second round for "disgracing the family" in public. We were raised by the eyes of the whole street. ​OLA: ​And that’s why we turned out okay! Today, in these modern "Villas" and estates, you don't even know your neighbour. If you try to correct a child, the mother will come out like a lioness, shouting, "Who gave you the right to touch my child?" We’ve lost the Stringent Monitoring that kept the youth in check. ​NNE (Shaking her head): ​But Ola, that ...

The scene: The fan at the corner where the group are at The Evking’s Bar hums steadily as the group sits around a table with half-eaten gizzard, goat meat, and cold drinks. The conversation has shifted from the "Self-Policing" of girls to the root cause: parenting. ​Ola is shaking his head at a viral video of a 27-year-old "influencer" disrespecting a waitress. "You see this?" he gestures. "This is what happens when you give children 'Love' but zero 'Koboko.' We are raising a generation of lions and lionesses who don't know what a fence looks like." OLA:  Let’s be honest. The reason Nigeria is like this - the entitlement, the lack of boundaries, the 20-year-olds thinking the world owes them a "Soft Life" - is because parents have confused Permissiveness with Love. You let your child do whatever they want because you don't want them to be "policed," allowing them have "freedom," and now we are ...