If you have ever lived in a Nigerian compound, you know that the most dangerous words in the English language are not “We need to talk.” They are: “Landlord says all tenants should come downstairs by 7 p.m.”

That message landed on our compound WhatsApp group on Tuesday evening, with three exclamation marks and a voice note from Baba Landlord himself. The voice note was mostly background noise of a radio, but we managed to hear the words “emergency,” “water,” and “nobody should be absent.”

The Gathering of the Tenants

By 7:15 p.m., every tenant in the building had come downstairs carrying their own plastic chair, because Baba Landlord’s chairs are reserved for “important visitors.” We arranged ourselves in a circle like a village square meeting.

There was Mr. Okon from Flat 2, who always comes to meetings with a notebook and never writes anything. There was Madam Joy from Flat 4, who sells pure water and somehow brought a full bag to sell during the meeting. There was the young couple in Flat 6 who always look like they are planning to move out. And there was me, in my slippers, praying it would be short.

It was not short.

Agenda Item One: The Water Tank

Baba Landlord stood up, adjusted his cap, cleared his throat for a full minute, and began. “I have called this meeting because of the water tank.”

We nodded seriously. The tank had been leaking for two weeks, and the pumping machine made a sound like a goat with a cold.

“But before we talk about the water tank,” he continued, “let me talk about the gate.”

And just like that, we left the water tank. We would not see it again for the rest of the evening.

The Gate Debate

According to Baba Landlord, somebody had been leaving the gate open after 10 p.m. Everybody immediately looked at the young couple in Flat 6. The young couple looked at each other. Then the husband looked at the sky, like he was expecting a helicopter to rescue him.

Mr. Okon opened his notebook, looked at it, and closed it again. Madam Joy sold two sachets of water to the gate man.

How the Meeting Travelled the World

From the gate, we moved to the issue of people spreading clothes on the balcony “like a market.” From the clothes, we moved to the generator noise from Flat 3. From the generator, we somehow moved to the price of tomatoes, then to whose child kicked the football into Baba Landlord’s window in 2019.

At one point, Baba Landlord spent fifteen minutes telling us how he built the house with his own money, “one block at a time,” while we all nodded like students in a lecture we had heard many times before.

Madam Joy had sold her whole bag of water by then. She was the only person who made a profit from the meeting.

The Contribution Surprise

Then came the part every tenant fears. Baba Landlord brought out a small paper and announced that each flat would contribute money for “maintenance.” Mr. Okon finally wrote something in his notebook. It was the amount. He underlined it twice and sighed.

The Grand Ending

At 9:20 p.m., two hours and five minutes after we started, Baba Landlord said, “Okay, I think we have covered everything. Meeting adjourned.”

Somebody at the back whispered, “But what about the water tank?”

Baba Landlord paused. He looked at the tank on the roof. The tank looked back at him and dripped quietly.

“We will discuss it at the next meeting,” he said, and walked inside.

We all carried our plastic chairs back upstairs in silence, like soldiers returning from a long battle. As I climbed the stairs, the pumping machine started its goat noise again. Na so life be for compound.

What We Learned

• An “emergency meeting” can last longer than a Nollywood trilogy.
• Always bring your own chair, and maybe a snack.
• The agenda is just a suggestion.
• If you sell pure water, every meeting is a business opportunity.

What is the funniest thing your landlord has ever said at a tenants’ meeting? Share this with your compound group chat and drop your landlord stories in the comments!

Featured image: Photo: “Central Park Lake” by guillenperez, CC BY-ND 2.0, via Openverse — source

In most parts of the world, “five minutes” means three hundred seconds. In Nigeria, “five minutes” is a spiritual journey. It can stretch from a short walk to a full Nollywood film, and it has stages. After careful research (we waited for our friend Tobi for two hours last Saturday), the Mairago team has identified the eleven official stages of “I’m five minutes away.”

Stage One to Four: The Home Phase

1. Still in bed, scrolling

The person is lying down with one leg hanging off the bed, watching skits. Your call comes in. They answer with a fresh, energetic voice: “I’m almost there!” The blanket is still on them.

2. Looking for what to wear

The bed is now covered with clothes. Three outfits have been tried and rejected. They text you: “Traffic is crazy today.” The only traffic is in their wardrobe.

3. Taking a bath

You call again. They don’t pick up. Twenty minutes later, they reply: “Sorry, I was driving.” They were in the bathroom singing.

4. Searching for the car key

Everything in the house has been turned upside down. The key is eventually found inside yesterday’s trousers. This stage alone can take fifteen minutes and one argument with a younger sibling.

Stage Five to Eight: The Journey Phase

5. Finally leaving the house

They lock the door, walk to the gate, remember they forgot their phone charger, go back inside, find the charger, and leave again. They send you a voice note: “I’m on my way, I’m close.”

6. Stopping to buy fuel or “something small”

There is always a quick stop: fuel, recharge card, a bottle of water, or puff-puff from a roadside seller who refuses to be rushed. This stage is not mentioned to you at all.

7. Real traffic arrives

Now they actually meet traffic, and they send you a picture of it as evidence. “See it! Look at this road!” You are supposed to forget that they told you about traffic one hour ago when they were still in bed.

8. “I’m turning into your street”

This is the most famous lie in Nigerian history. They are not turning into your street. They are turning into a street that might one day lead to your street. Possibly.

Stage Nine to Eleven: The Arrival Phase

9. “Which gate again?”

They call to ask for directions, even though they have visited you seven times before. “Is it the blue gate or the black gate? Is it after the mosque or before the church?” You walk outside to wave at them like a traffic warden.

10. The parking negotiation

They finally arrive, but now they need to park. They reverse, move forward, reverse again, call you to come and guide them, and then decide to park somewhere else entirely.

11. The grand entrance

They walk in smiling, fresh and relaxed, and say the magic words: “Ah, you people have started without me?” You started two hours ago. The food is finished. The event is ending. But they are here, and somehow, everyone is happy to see them.

How to Survive a “Five Minutes Away” Friend

• Always tell them the event starts two hours before it actually starts.
• Ask for a live location, not a promise.
• Bring a snack while you wait. You will need the energy.
• Love them anyway. Every group has one, and if you can’t identify yours, it might be you.

To be fair, Nigerian roads and Lagos traffic do give everybody a genuine excuse sometimes. But we all know the difference between “traffic” and “I just woke up.” Your friend knows it too.

Tag that friend who is always “five minutes away”! Share this list and tell us in the comments: what is the longest you have ever waited for someone?

Featured image: Photo: “Early General Electric Colored Wall Clock” by alexkerhead, CC BY 2.0, via Openverse — source

Satire: this story is made up for laughs.

LAGOS — With the ember months in full swing and the whole internet already talking about December parties, concerts and “who is coming home,” a Lagos man identified only as Kunle has made history by starting a Detty December savings plan on Monday and officially giving up on it by Wednesday afternoon.

Experts are calling it the shortest financial plan in the history of Surulere.

The Bold Announcement

On Monday morning, Kunle posted on his WhatsApp status: “This December, I will enjoy like an ambassador. Savings starts today. No more unnecessary spending. Watch me.” The post was accompanied by a picture of a brand-new piggy bank, which he had bought for a price his friends described as “unnecessary spending.”

He also created a spreadsheet titled “Operation Enjoyment 2026,” with columns for concerts, owambes, new outfits, beach trips and “miscellaneous vibes.” The total target was so ambitious that the spreadsheet itself reportedly froze twice.

Day One: Strong Beginnings

Witnesses say Kunle started well. He skipped buying puff-puff on his way to work and dropped the money into the piggy bank with the seriousness of a man signing an oil deal. He walked to the bus stop instead of taking a keke, telling his neighbour, “This is how millionaires are made.”

At lunch, he ate the rice he brought from home and told his colleagues that he was “on a financial journey.” Two colleagues joined the journey immediately. One left by 3 p.m. after someone ordered shawarma.

Day Two: The Temptations

By Tuesday, the city began to test him. A new phone case appeared in his online feed. A friend invited him to “just one small hangout.” An aunty sent a voice note announcing an engagement party, with aso ebi prices attached.

According to sources close to the piggy bank, Kunle resisted most of these attacks. However, he did buy the aso ebi, explaining that it was “an investment in family relationships.” The piggy bank was not consulted.

The Data Problem

That evening, his data subscription expired. He stood in his room, staring at the piggy bank, and the piggy bank stared back. Eyewitnesses (his younger brother) say Kunle whispered, “It’s an emergency,” before gently shaking out enough coins to buy data. He then used the data to watch videos about saving money.

Day Three: The Official Retirement

On Wednesday, the end came quietly. A friend posted a flyer for an early “pre-December warm-up party” scheduled for October. Kunle stared at the flyer for a long time. Then he changed the title of his spreadsheet from “Operation Enjoyment 2026” to “Operation Enjoyment 2027.”

At a brief press conference held in his sitting room, attended by his younger brother and a curious cat, Kunle released a statement: “After careful consideration, I have decided to move my savings plan to January. January is a fresh start. The economy will be calmer. Me, I will be calmer.”

Asked about December, he said he would “flow with what God provides,” adding that his uncle usually visits on Christmas Day with envelopes.

Reactions From Across Lagos

• A financial adviser, speaking through a very long sigh, said, “We see this every year. People start saving in October for December, but October has its own plans.”
• The piggy bank, which now contains a single 50 naira note and a button, was unavailable for comment.
• Kunle’s mother simply said, “Did he buy the aso ebi? Then he is fine.”

The Mairago Lesson

If you are planning for the festive season, start small, be realistic, and remember: an aso ebi is not an investment, and a pre-December warm-up party in October is not a real event. Your piggy bank believes in you. Don’t let it down by Wednesday.

Have you started your own December savings, or has it already “retired”? Share this with your friends who are planning big for December and drop your own savings story in the comments!

Featured image: Photo: “Stethoscope and piggy Bank” by 401(K) 2013, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Openverse — source