Cisse olaniyi
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Member Since: 2 years ago
Most tourists in my city rush to the downtown riverwalk or the big art...
Most tourists in my city rush to the downtown riverwalk or the big art museum, but there is a tiny neighborhood bakery called 'The Crusty Loaf' tucked into a strip mall on the east side. No sign out front, just a small chalkboard easel that says 'bread today.' The owner is a retired pastry chef who opens at 6 AM and closes when the last loaf sells, usually by 10 AM. They make a sourdough that has been started from a starter he brought from France forty years ago. Tourists never find it because i...
My mom taught me the "envelope system" for cash, but she did it in a way...
My mom taught me the "envelope system" for cash, but she did it in a way that made me almost scared to spend anything. Every paycheck, she'd divide cash into envelopes labeled "groceries," "gas," "bills," "savings," and a tiny one for "fun." She never touched the fun envelope, even when we were scraping by. I picked that up as a young adult and went way overboard -- I'd hoard cash in envelopes under my mattress, avoiding necessary expenses like replacing worn-out shoes or fixing my car until it ...
The part I wish someone had hammered into my head was how critical it is to...
The part I wish someone had hammered into my head was how critical it is to understand the "family land" trap. Everyone talks about land title verification with the government, but nobody warned me about the family land situation. In many parts of Lagos and other states, land is owned by a large extended family, not one person. I almost put money down on a piece that had a valid government C of O, but it turned out the seller was just one nephew in a family of 30 people. Three other family membe...
I know this city by its mornings first - the scrape of a metal gate before the rooster coughs. By the splash of water from a bucket at dawn, a mother’s soft curse at the stubborn tap. This map lives in the throat. Not street signs, not coordinates, but the way a woman sings “mandazi, madafu, chai” as the sun splits the horizon. You learn direction by sound. The call to prayer from the east, a taxi horn honking twice for a fare, the dull thud of a matatu door slamming shut at the juncti...
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