Segun Ozique

The generator at Evking’s Bar is humming a little louder tonight, almost as if it's trying to drown out the notification pings from the group’s phones. Ola is staring at a photo on his feed—a local "influencer" family in matching white lace, looking seren, elegant and flawless. ​"Look at this," Ola says, turning his phone around to each of the group members. "They look like they live in their private Island, as if they’ve never had a cross word between them or mistakenly, ever spilled bowl of soup in their lives. Meanwhile, I left home and travelled by public transport this morning and spent over one hour looking for my purse after I dropped from bus where, I suspected that as a result of my not paying proper attention someone someone may have picked my pocket. I feel like a failure just looking at this." JIDE: ​We’ve stopped living and started performing . We’re handing our kids a map to a city that doesn't exist. If they think 'Home' ...

Evking’s Bar. A plate of spicy gizzard sits between them, cooling as the debate heats up. Ola is looking at his phone, tracking his daughter’s location for the fifth time in an hour. ​"I can't help it," Ola sighs. "The world is different now. One minute they are catching a bus, the next they are on a news headline. How can I let her 'fail safely' when the stakes feel like life or death?" ​Elder Ephraim chuckles, a dry, raspy sound. "Ola, when I was ten to 18 years old, I still go to the bush catching snails and roasting corn over fires we built ourselves. My parents' only instruction was 'Don't come back after dark.' We learned that fire burns and water drowns by experiences. Today, you parents are like human bubble wrap ir behavourial police." JIDE: ​We have to face it - the world isn’t actually more dangerous than it was thirty years ago. Statistics show that in many ways, it’s safer. But we are fed a diet of Sensational...

The generator at Evking’s Bar kicks in with a low thrum as Bisola finishes her story. She had just detailed her cousin's gruelling transition from an apprentice in the male-dominated spare parts markets of Mushin to owning her own automotive logistics firm. ​"They didn't just dislike her," Bisola says, leaning back. "They resented her for being better. When she organised the inventory more efficiently than the men who had been there for twenty years, she wasn't just a 'supervisor' anymore—she was a threat to their entire identity as 'Kings of the Shop.'" JENNIFER: ​What Bisola’s cousin faced is Status Incongruity. When a woman outperforms men in a "male sanctuary," it challenges the psychological blueprint that says men are "innately" more capable. This isn't just a social quirk; it’s an economic strategy to keep the "boxes" small. ​[02] OLA: ​But is it really a "blueprint"? Aren't we just r...

The rain has finally stopped, leaving the Ikeja air smelling of damp earth, fallen leaves and fruits. Inside Evking’s Bar , the Dynamic Group is huddled around their favourite corner table. Ola is tapping rhythmically on his phone case, looking a bit sheepish. ​"Guys, I have a confession," Ola begins. "Yesterday, I told my teenage son that his cousin is already solving algebra while he is still struggling with ordinary arithmetical questions. I thought I was 'encouraging' him. But he just walked away and didn't touch his books for the rest of the day." ELDER EPHRAIM: ​But Ola, isn't competition the way of the world? If I see the girl next to me running faster on Sports Day, it makes me run faster! If we don't show them the standard, how will they know where to aim? ​ JENNIFER: ​There’s a massive difference, Elder. When a child chooses to run faster, change jobs, or improve at their business because they want to make progress or win, that i...

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 ...