Dark comedy, strong language, political frustration, adult themes. For mature readers.
Daniel and Life Shegge
A Dark Comedy About Frustration, Ambition, and Trying to Escape a Country You Still Love
Daniel lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how life had turned upside down right before his eyes. He was trying to decide what to do when overthinking dragged him down memory lane. Ten years ago, everything had been easy. Twenty thousand naira then felt like a million today. He swore under his breath, cursing every politician and their uneducated foot soldiers who had plunged the country into this mess. Those foot soldiers were too dense to realize they were guarding their masters’ pots while destroying their own lives — and the lives of the coming generation. In fact, they were wrecking the very foundation of the nation and its democracy.
Daniel stood up, crossed to his wine cabinet, and reached for a drink. Everything about his country left a sour taste in his throat and made him feel useless. But the cabinet was empty. He swore again, went to his safe, and checked how much cash he had left for something strong. When he opened it, his blood ran cold. Just one thousand naira.
Odogwu Bitter
“What the hell!” he exclaimed. “How did it come to this?” The money couldn’t even buy a decent meal. He pocketed the note, stepped outside, and called to his neighbor who sold provisions.
“Mama Chichi!”
“Yes, Danny?”
“Please bring me a small — or medium — bottle of Odogwu Bitter.”
“That’ll be five hundred naira.”
“No problem. And bring five hundred change — I’ve got a thousand here.”
“Okay.”
Mama Chichi soon arrived with the bottle. Daniel took it inside, sat on his bed, and figured he’d go hungry afterward. No money for food. He decided to call his sister first. He pulled out his phone and dialed. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, sister.”
“Good morning, Dan. It’s Saturday and you’re calling this early — hope it’s not about food?”
Daniel swore silently. “Not really, sis. It’s been a while since we talked. Just checking you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, Dan. You?”
“Fine too. Er… no vex, but do you have anything in the pot?”
“I knew it. You and food, eh.”
“Sis, please — just tell me what’s in the pot.”
“Okay, egusi soup. But garri isn’t much.”
Daniel couldn't hold back his emotion when he heard egusi soup. He could already smell it — those ground melon seeds, the palm oil, and the scent of onion frying in the pot, and yes, the meat. He remembered how she used to give him a big portion of meat. Wait, she said the garri was not much. That was really a problem, but he could manage.
"Are you sure about the garri matter?" he asked her.
"Of course, there is not much," she replied.
“No problem. I’m coming.” He ended the call.
Daniel cracked open the Odogwu Bitter and took a swig. It was the first time he’d drunk this much of the hyped stuff. He smacked his lips, nodded in satisfaction, and thought: This Cubana guy really went the extra mile to give consumers a great drink — one that makes you feel like a billionaire.
But his mind soon drifted back to politics. While Cubana delivered taste and value, politicians schemed, committed every evil to grab power, and after winning — often with lives lost — refused to create jobs or provide basic amenities. No low-cost housing, no portable drinking water, no security, no sustainable agriculture. All they did was make people poorer, keep youth unemployed, then recruit the lucky ones as praise singers while pushing the rest into cultism or ballot-box snatching.
Daniel swallowed the last of the bitter liquid, tempted to buy another bottle. But the egusi soup called. He paused at the door, changed direction, and headed to the bathroom for a quick bath.
My Sister Is My Savior
At his sister’s place, he savored every bite — and every nag. She complained about how expensive everything had become and how all he ever did was finish her food. He laughed, then grumbled that she’d deliberately given him only one piece of meat.
"Sister, you really outdid it this time. I couldn't stop eating — this soup is the best I have ever tasted," Daniel said as he licked his hand. "But the meat, you gave me only one portion today." He said so while chewing, and you could see the grease sliding down his chin.
"Did you give me money to cook?" she asked him angrily. "Things are costly now."
"I know, but—"
"Don't 'but' me. You have parents — why not go and trouble them?"
"Come on, big sister, you're my second mother."
She just shook her head. What sort of brother does she have? she wondered.
“Give me my food back if you’ll complain,” she snapped.
“Sorry, you take things too seriously.”
“Why not?” she shot back.
“No worry — I’ll send you something when I get home,” he promised.
She gave him an infuriating look, sighed, and stepped outside. While he ate, Daniel’s thoughts returned to the country — and Africa at large. How could Africans depend so much on churches while Europeans built factories and invented technology? He marveled at OpenAI’s new GPT-4, yet here the continent was erecting the biggest churches while drowning in poverty, underdevelopment, greed, and wickedness.
The Call
Imagine a country swimming in crude oil yet without a single refinery — selling raw product abroad, then buying refined fuel back from the same buyers. Daniel sighed and shook his head. Everything was simple, but greed and wickedness were rooted deep in the African man.
His phone rang.
“Hello?”
“My main man Danny-dodo! Good news — just dust your passport, man. This your guy Frankie.”
“Oboy, you’re asking me to dust passport, yet you’re calling from a strange number?”
“Calm down — I borrowed someone’s phone.”
“Okay, Frankie. What’s the heat?”
“I need to see you, like now.”
“Come to my sister’s place. You still remember No. 21 Crescent City, right?”
“Yeah, bro.”
“Hurry, man — there’s eba and soup.”
“On my way, now-now.”
Frankie arrived in minutes.
“Wow, so fast?”
“Chill, man — I was around the corner.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“How’s the food? Help yourself. Now, what’s the heat?”
“Let me calm my stomach first — no hurry.”
“Give me a hint, bro.”
“Alright. Looks like we’ve got a contract.”
“Really? From who? How?”
“Told you I had a small connection. We’re to build a website for one of the big politicians in the governorship race.”
“Wow, that’s great…”
The Politician’s Website
Two hefty-looking thugs blocked the gate.
One was big, and one of his eyes was missing — you could see the red socket. He didn't even care about wearing dark goggles; he flaunted it, and it sent shivers down the spines of Daniel and Frank.
The other was smoking, dragging on it like it was a hot air balloon and his life depended on it staying airborne. When they saw the two boys, they frowned, and the one with the missing eye put his hand inside his jacket. That told them what was inside, and they humbled themselves.
"Who are you guys? And who are you looking for?" asked one of them.
"My name is Frankie and this here is Daniel. We have an appointment with the boss."
"What can two street hustlers have with the boss?" the other thug growled. "If you're here to cause trouble, you will have it served to you plenty."
"We have an appointment," Frankie said calmly.
"Wait here."
Soon the thug returned and beckoned them inside. When they entered the house, the boss wasted no time.
"Are you punks capable of creating a website for my campaign organization?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is good. I don't want to worry later, and I hope my money would not go down the drain?
"No, boss."
"So how much would it cost to build a good website that I can pass information to my constituency and show them my policy?"
"Eh, boss! The price has changed due to the fall of the local currency," Frankie said, while Daniel nodded in agreement.
"What is the price?"
"Twenty million," Frankie said.
"Just that alone?"
"Yes."
"That is nothing. I thought it is a hundred million."
They both looked at each other with regret in their eyes. They knew building the website would not cost more than a hundred thousand naira.
"Good," the boss said. "I want this to start immediately because you're getting the money now."
They left feeling happy, though they regretted not asking for more. Twenty million naira had solved their problem of seeking greener pastures abroad. They immediately went to work, created the website, and handed it over. Later, they sat in a bar to celebrate and decide which country to settle in.
"I want the UK," Daniel said.
"That place isn't cool with tax. Imagine giving every hundred pounds from every hundred and fifty pounds you make from your hard labour."
"Is the taxing not an exaggeration?" Daniel asked.
"Nah, I think one day they would even tax the air people breathe in the UK."
"So where?"
"I think the United States Of America is the best."
After getting the money and deciding which country to relocate to, Daniel called his sister. She answered him at once. One thing about her was that she didn't keep family waiting — no matter what, she always stood for the family.
"Hello, Danny."
"Big sister, I have good news for you."
"Hmmm, I hope you won't use it as an excuse to come for the food I'll be cooking this evening."
"Calm down — wait, what are you cooking?" he asked.
"What did you call me for?" she asked back.
"Oh, well, I have good news. I'm relocating to the United States."
There was a laugh at the other end. "Oh, how did you come about the money?"
"Well, I got a contract from a politician to build a website."
"That doesn't cost much," she said.
"Yeah, he didn't know, so he paid us 20 million naira."
Ghetto Tales & True Resilience
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