Segun Ozique

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 ...

SCENE: A corner at Evking’s Bar, Ikeja. Ebube is clearing where Nne and two others sat. Ebuka, her junior brother, is sitting with the adults on another table, scrolling through his phone. A few minutes earlier, the tension of the international political debate was slowly dissolving as Nne leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Ebube, the bar owner’s 16-year-old daughter. Ebube had just tripped slightly while bringing a bowl of peanuts to her table and before anyone could speak, she whispered a frantic "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," shrinking her shoulders as if trying to disappear. ​Nne sighed, turning to the group and finger-pointing to Ebube, she said, "See? That, right there. That's the emergency I’m more concerned about. Not Greenland, not Trump. It’s the fact that we’ve turned our girls into professional apologisers." NNE: ​Ebube, why did you say sorry three timesa few minutess back when you tripped? You didn't even drop the bowl. ​Ebube (Shrugging, lookin...

SCENE: Evking’s Bar, Ikeja. The sound of clinking glasses is drowned out by the news anchor’s voice. ​ JIDE: Look at that. A Russian-flagged ship seized on the high seas, the President of Venezuela snatched from his own palace, and now Greenland is on the "shopping list." If this were a movie, we’d say it’s too far-fetched. But this is 2026, and US, acting as the  "World Police" just took off it's badge and put on a crown. ​ BISOLA: It’s a legal nightmare, Jide. We are looking at a total disregard for Article 2(4) of the UN Charter , which strictly prohibits the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state.  When the most powerful nation on earth treats international law like a Terms of Service agreement they can just "skip," the entire framework of global peace evaporates. ​ [03] OLA: But Bisola, isn't this just the reality? The UN has been toothless for years. Trump is just saying out loud...

SCENE: Jide’s living room. Bisola, a lawyer is visiting and join the conversation by opening a folder full of case files as part of her contribution to the conversation. ​ BISOLA (Voice steady but heavy): ​You want the truth? Statistics suggest that 1 in 4 Nigerian women have experienced some form of sexual violence before the age of 18. While people say "it happens every few minutes," the real tragedy is that we don't even know the true number. Why? Because less than 10% of cases are ever reported. ​ JIDE : ​1 in 4? That’s a quarter of the female population! Why is the silence so loud? ​ NNE (Scoffing): ​Because of who we have to report to, Jide! You walk into a police station trembling, and you’re met by a desk full of male officers who look at you like you are the criminal. They ask: "What were you wearing?" or "Why were you there at 10 PM?" They don't see a victim; they see a girl who "asked for it." ​ BISOLA : ​Nne is...

SCENE:  Still at Jide’s parlor. Jide drops the phone he has been reading from on the table, looking at the ceiling refectively. ​ JIDE : ​I have just finished reading the International Law on religious freedom. It says everyone has the right to hold, change, or even reject any belief without interference. But look at us these days. In practically every homes, "Freedom" feels like a suggestion, not a right. If it’s not State-level interference, it’s in your home, the penticostals, Boko Haram or ISWAP waiting to make your life miserable or even end your life because you don't pray like them. ​ ELDER EPHRAIM (Sighing): ​It wasn't always this bitter. We used to pray privately, encouraging each other as well as celebrate together. Now, religion has become a "Hydra-headed" monster. Under the guise of the Cross or the Crescent - and even the white supremacy of groups like the KKK have turned God into a reason to be heartless. ​ NNE : ​And it’s not just th...

​ SCENE:  Still in Jide’s house. The group is snacking on plantain chips. Jide drops the latest "gist JIDE : ​So, a friend of mine got a text from his female "pal." She said, "Come meet me at "Sunny Spot" in Victoria Island, let's have some grilled fish and drinks." Just the two of them. His girlfriend saw the text and went nuclear. ​ OLA : ​Standard. No woman wants her man "eating fish" alone with another woman. It’s a date in disguise. ​ JIDE (Smiling): ​Wait, it gets better. She didn't just say "Don't go." She asked, "Why did she invite you and not both of us?" Then she made a move: "Stay at home. I will buy you double the fish and double the drinks she was going to buy. Anything you want out there, I have more of it here." ​ NNE : ​Energy! That’s a "Boss Move." She’s not just crying; she’s outbidding the competition. She’s saying, "I am more resourceful, more loaded, ...

SCENE: Jide’s living room. Jide is pacing. ​ JIDE (Voice trembling): ​I like her. Infact, I love her. I really do. But guys, my head is a mess. One minute I think lovingly about her, the next minute I’m obsessing over the way she drinks, things she says  - wondering, is it a mental issue? Does it mean she cannot control herself? Then I start doubting the love or if we over extending infatuation. It’s like a song I can’t stop playing in my head. ​ OLA (Scoffing): ​Jide, you’re just bored. If you had more work to do, you wouldn't have time to check if a girl’s habit is "mindset or not" This is just overthinking. Be a man and decide: are you in or out? ​ JENNIFER : ​It’s not that simple, Ola. What Jide is describing is a Compulsive Obsession . It’s often called ROCD . It’s a mental loop where your brain treats a minor flaw like a life-or-death emergency. The "doubts" aren't based on reality; they are irrational, persistent urges that cause massive a...

SCENE: Jide’s parlor. Jide puts his phone on the table. ​ JIDE : ​I met a girl on social media few months back. Within minutes, we were on WhatsApp. Within the hour, the script started: “My rent is due,” “Everything is hard,” “I just need a helper.” Then followed the pet names—"Dear," "honey," "My husband," "My King" - all within few meetings. It wasn't a courtship; it was like a marketing or PR pitch. ​ OLA (Drinking a cold malt): ​Jide, that’s the Lagos "Standard Operating Procedure." Men call it “helping,” girls call it "cruising," or “vibing,” and the internet calls it “Soft Life.” But let’s call it what it is: survival. In a city where rent is 1.5 million, and salary is 150k, the math doesn't add up without "intimacy tax." ​ NNE : ​But it’s not just about the money, Ola. It’s the pressure to "have a man." Even if he’s seventy, geriatric, and you don't like his breath, having a ...

SCENE: Jide’s House. The sun is setting. ​ JIDE (Looking at the group): ​I was thinking about how much we brag about "Self-Made" success. But if you look at it, your birth was handled by others. Your name was given by others. Your first bath was done by others. And when you leave earth, your last bath will be done by others. ​ NNE (Sipping juice): ​Omo, that’s dark for a Friday. But true. We spend practically all our time building "Main Character Energy," forgetting that we can’t even bury ourselves. ​ JENNIFER : ​It goes deeper. Think about your "priced possessions." All you have fought others over, including your riches... the moment you are pronounced dead, they aren't yours. They are "shared by others." Your funeral, your grave, the casket—all carried by others. ​ OLA (Grumbling): ​So what? Because I’m going to die, I shouldn't own things? Or, should just let people walk over me? ​ ELDER EPHRAIM (Leaning forward): ...

SCENE: Nne is sitting on a stool, mimicking the way a Pastor holds a microphone. ​ NNE : ​You guys should have seen the "show" last night. The General Overseer (GO) was doling out cash and gifts like a politician at a rally! He sat back while his disciples spent an hour bragging about how the GO "ended poverty" for people in 2025, fixed broken homes and marriages, and as well as found husbands for girls and young men both home and overseas. They were shouting, "He is a miracle worker!"   OLA (Scoffing): Fixed poverty? With what? A 100,000 Naira note and a bag of rice? That’s not a miracle; that’s a "PR stunt." While he’s bragging about his "handiwork," I bet his members are the ones paying for his private jet, paying children's school fees, feeding and sustaining him ​ NNE : ​That’s the crazy part, Ola. While the bragging went on, I looked around. I saw singles who have been "waiting on God" for years. I saw mothe...

SCENE: As the clock ticks toward midnight. A preacher on TV is shouting, "In 2026, you shall sin no more! You shall be Christlike! You shall be a better person!" ​JIDE (Reaches over and switches the TV to another channel): ​Jesus, who actually cares? If I hear one more "wish list" for 2026, I’m going to scream. Every year it’s the same thing: “I’ll be better, I’ll pray more, I’ll stop this, I’ll start that.” Then December 31st comes back, and we realise we are the exact same people. ​ELDER EPHRAIM (Frowning): ​Jide! That is the language of a man without hope. We must aim for perfection. If we don’t try to be better in the New Year, what are we? ​JENNIFER: ​Actually, Elder, Jide has a point. It’s a Cycle of False Hope. We spend the first week of January pretending we are saints, and by February, we are back to our old habits. At the end of 2026, we will stand here again, making the same list of "No Sins" for 2027. It’s a treadmill. ​NNE: ​Exactly. And let’s...

SCENE: Evakings Bar. 8:00 PM. The music is loud. Nne is showing everyone a video of a famous influencer who just crashed an expensive car while partying. ​NNE (Shrugging): ​Honestly, I don't blame him. People are dragging him for "reckless living," but life is short! Tomorrow you could wake up with a stroke or a sickness that stops you from ever dancing again. Why not take the risk now? ​ OLA (Scoffing): ​Because "now" is the reason he’s in the hospital! You call it "living for the moment," I call it being a fool. You are actively digging the grave you are afraid of falling into. ​ ELDER EPHRAIM (Tapping his walking stick): ​In my youth, we referred to this as "madness." Now you children call it a "vibe." If you spend your strength on addiction and "risky fun" because you fear the future, you are making sure the future will be miserable. You are creating the very tragedy you say you want to avoid. ​ NNE: ​But Elder, be rea...

SCENE: Evakings Bar. The door opens. A lady walks in alone. She is dressed neatly but simply. She doesn't look around for anyone. She sits at a table, orders a drink and a plate of pepper soup, and starts scrolling through her phone with a small smile. ​ELDER EPHRAIM (Adjusting his glasses, whispering loudly): ​Ha! What is this world coming to? Look at that girl. Sitting there all by herself in a public bar. No husband, no brother, no boyfriend. In my day, a virtuous woman wouldn't even be seen near the door of a bar alone. It looks... suspicious. ​OLA (Nodding): ​I’m with you, Elder. A woman sitting alone in a place like this is usually waiting for someone. If she stays too long, people will start thinking she is one of those "umbrella traders" Jide told us about. It’s not "safe" for her reputation. ​ NNE (Rolling her eyes): ​Oh, please! Look at her. She’s not waiting for anyone. She’s vibing! She’s hungry, she wants a drink, and she’s enjoying her own comp...