#NairaLife: The High Earner Who’s Constantly Job Hunting To Combat Her Financial Anxiety

Every week, Naijaonpoint seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.

Growing up, I had a rich aunt who, every time she visited or we visited her, gave my siblings and me brand-new currency notes. They felt so nice to hold. Of course, I never got to hold them long enough because of the typical Nigerian family, “Let Daddy and Mummy keep it for you.” 

I didn’t truly realise that money was important to do things until my first year of university in 2012. My family’s finances took a massive, sharp turn for the worse.

We weren’t rich, but we were comfortable. Before I was born, my mum was a schoolteacher, but she later moved into banking. My dad worked in the oil and gas business. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment with two other extended family members. 

My parents worked late a lot, so we were pretty independent kids. Eventually, my mum left banking to start a fabric business, which did really well for a while before she discontinued it. We had typical average-household moments, like using candles when there was no generator, but it never felt like a lack. I had no lavish wants. There was always food, and that was enough.

From my senior secondary school days up until my first year of university, things were actually great. My dad’s business had peaked. I had a car in uni and pocket money to do whatever I wanted. If I ran out of money at school, I’d just call my mum, and she’d just send it to my account.

Yeah. Towards the end of my 100 level, my dad discovered that his business partner was embezzling money. It was a serious issue because they executed government contracts. I was genuinely scared my dad would go to prison. 

He had to sell some land and a car, and we moved to the outskirts of Lagos. Gradually, the money stopped flowing in, and my dad stopped travelling as much.

I stopped getting money “just because”; my monthly pocket money became smaller and smaller. I think my world generally became smaller; I couldn’t just do things like I used to.

Around that time, my university went on a long strike. Initially, I was throwing tantrums, demanding that they send me to a university in Ghana or somewhere else since the strike was wasting my time. But the new reality had already crashed my brother’s UK plans, and my dad definitely couldn’t afford Ghana.

While sitting at home frustrated, my cousin told me about an internship at the media company where she worked. I loved reading and writing, so I took it just to get out of the house. That was my entry into employment.

Yes. They paid me ₦40k/month. At that point, I had never considered a career path. I didn’t even like the course I was studying in school. But that internship changed everything. I was writing for the blog, reviewing restaurants, and interviewing musicians and actors. I was having the time of my life.

The funny thing was that ₦40k couldn’t even fully cover my expenses, since the office was hours away from where we lived. My dad still had to help with fuel money so I could drive to work. I think he was fine with that extra expense because we all viewed the financial crisis as a temporary bump in the road, and things would get better soon. We didn’t know the bump would keep getting higher.

The company was incredibly flexible. During the strike, I worked full-time. When school resumed, I went part-time, working two or three days a week after classes or on weekends. The media house was expanding into video production, doing short films and series, and I completely threw myself into it. I assisted on sets and wrote scripts.

By my third and fourth year in uni, that ₦40k salary became my entire life. There was zero allowance coming from home. That money fed me at school, paid my tuition (about ₦15k then), and helped my siblings when they were broke. Things got so bad at home that my mum would occasionally call me to borrow ₦10k, which I’d never get back.

No. Four years as an intern, and the pay stayed exactly at ₦40k. But I saw a path there. I just felt, “This is what I have to do.” Even if they didn’t pay me, I was willing to work until I found my way into something else.

My work helped me build industry networks, and I got the opportunity to do some freelance stuff here and there. My boyfriend at the time was in the film industry, so I often assisted him on set. One time, he landed a two-day gig in another state and took me along. When he asked how much I wanted, I was like, “Just pay me whatever,” and he was like, “No, you have to know how much you want to make. Put a figure in the budget.” 

So, I asked for ₦60k per day. At the end of the shoot, he handed me ₦120k. It felt like crack. ₦120k for two days of work when my monthly salary was ₦40k? Crazy. I sent ₦15k each to my mum and dad, gave some to my brother, and it felt good to do it. That experience made me realise I possessed a skill people would actually pay money for.

By the time I reached my final year in 2016, I had completely lost interest in university. I failed a couple of papers, looked at the stress of rewriting them, and said, “Fuck this.” I walked away and went to the media company to let them know I was ready to work full-time.

They don’t know. To this day, I have never told them.

My parents are the type who let me be because I grew independent very quickly. If I don’t want to answer a question, I will pivot the conversation expertly. Because I immediately went into full-time work, there was no gap where I was sitting at home acting like a graduate. I was constantly on movie sets or at the office.

I’m not a big fan of pageantry, so I didn’t care about graduation pictures or birthday shoots. When my younger brother graduated later, he didn’t go to his convocation either, so nobody at home really minded. They saw I had my life together and was financially supporting everyone, so they didn’t ask questions.

When I went full-time in 2016, my pay was bumped to around ₦60k or ₦70k. Still small, but the economy was better then, so it could stretch until the end of the month.

I finessed my way from being just a content writer to an assistant producer. I made sure I was highly likeable, pitched ideas constantly and stayed available. One day, the head of the media house was stressed because a fashion stylist on a shoot was messing up. She asked me to go into the wardrobe room and piece outfits together. I did it, everyone loved it, and suddenly, she appointed me as the head of wardrobe for one of our shows.

I had never done wardrobe in my life. I didn’t even know what continuity was, but I was like, “I can do it. Don’t worry.” It was three months of pure torture. I cried every day and barely slept because we filmed late into the night, and I’d stay up figuring out what everyone would wear the next day. Nigerian filmmaking is chaotic, and I was dealing with veteran actors who were kind but still intimidated the hell out of me. 

At some point, my car became the wardrobe trunk. It was awful, but I hustled through it. My pay was ₦120k/month for the three months of shooting, which was hilarious because I’m sure an actual stylist would have spat at that amount. But I was just a young person looking for a chance.

When the show wrapped up, I walked straight to the head of production and said, “Hey, I want to be a producer, and I think you should give me a chance.” She was like, “Okay,” then handed me a show to run and raised my salary to ₦150k.

The new pay felt good. I was the youngest, coolest kid in the office, so they routed all the millennial and Gen-Z digital lifestyle and music shows to me. I created formats that went viral and pulled massive numbers for the company. I was there for about two more years and left in 2018.

The ₦150k was why I left. The company started hiring new assistant producers. I would spend weeks training them from scratch, only to discover, in a casual conversation, that these new hires were being brought in at a ₦200k salary. Meanwhile, I was carrying a much heavier workload and producing their hit shows on ₦150k.

I went to the head of production and requested to be paid the same as what others were earning. She told me to “convince” her why I think I deserved it. I decided I wasn’t going to try to convince anyone. They could see the work I was doing, and if that wasn’t enough proof, then it wasn’t the right place for me.

While still at the job, I started job hunting. A contact connected me with a fintech company looking for someone to produce and do social media content. I interviewed, and they offered me ₦350k/month. I resigned instantly. My time at the fintech was incredibly short-lived, though.

I worked there for three months and got fired. I was young, hot-headed, and foolish. I had an issue with someone in management, and I didn’t handle it well. I lost my temper, and we got into a loud argument. Of course, they couldn’t let a lowly employee speak to management that way, so I lost the job. 

I was unemployed for about six months, and it was a really tough period for me. My parents still lived far away, so I’d moved in with my partner when I still had a job. After I got fired, I struggled to find any kind of work, whether freelance or 9-5, despite all my applications. I hated being dependent. 

I hated relying on someone else to buy airtime or food. It made me incredibly angry and sad. I also couldn’t ask my parents because things were still bad at home. In fact, the worse things got for my family financially, the more religious they became. I became a hardcore atheist because it all felt performative.

Then in 2019, I caught a break. One of my LinkedIn applications was successful, and I landed a senior producer role at a media publication. The pay was ₦200k/month, a pay cut from the fintech job, but I was desperate for survival.

The workload was hell, though. I was working Monday to Sunday and dying on the line. My commute meant waking up at 5 a.m. to battle traffic, working all day, and driving back late. 

I was severely depressed. I’d get home, turn off all the lights, roll up, smoke, and pass out. Then repeat. I felt like I was working myself to the grave because if I stopped, I wouldn’t eat.

The major positive was that I was able to save enough within a few months to rent an apartment with a roommate. 

Then COVID hit in 2020.

Lockdown was ironically the best time of my life. The company laid off many people, but my boss fought for me, so I kept my job.

What do you think about this?
Drop your opinion in the comment section.
FOLLOW US & Share this with someone who needs to see this.