What It Took Me to Join the BBC World Service

This could easily be the story:

I significantly increased my income as a working journalist within the space of two years. It’s a venerable achievement for a young and ambitious person like me who has faced the realities of building a career out of passion, calling, and clear direction.

The real story, though, is woven with different, unique layers. It is painted with tears and the fear of returning to Ekiti, where I was born, raised, and educated.

Three years ago, when I moved to Lagos to “get myself busy in the world of media,” it was a big bet for me. It was a sure-odds situation. I have now officially resumed an audio journalist role at the BBC World Service as part of the Africa Content Hub team, extensively covering African stories and issues. I’ll be reporting from Lagos and travelling to different parts of the continent.

Writing this article is an arduous one to bring myself to do, considering I now have half a decade of experience in media, communications, and journalism. It’s a journey that has taught me a lot about life—about finding your own voice in the midst of noise and being clear and ready to go after what you want.

While this serves as a reflection for me, I am also writing this lengthy piece as some sort of guide for anyone who wants to dare. To dream. I am writing this for anyone who baffles at how old I am and how I can move through life and my career with grace. I am writing this for my friend, a young journalist living in Osun State, Nigeria, who can’t make sense of how I moved to Lagos without an actual home to stay in. A lot of people marvel at how I’ve also always found comfort in the arms of strangers ready to help me.

I am now associated with an international newsroom, producing and consulting at an international level, but everyone who knows me can testify about my focus, dedication, and what some consider sheer luck—hard work.

WHAT LOOKS LIKE THE BEGINNING

Growing up in Ekiti, I would often find myself engrossed in newspapers while at the market. There was a man near my mother’s store who always bought various Nigerian newspapers and would offer me to read them. I often pondered hard about how these newspapers are able to gather and present diverse stories daily.

That wasn’t my only exposure to news. My mother was an avid radio listener, starting her day with a programme called “Ogbono Felili” (It is steamy), a catchphrase hinting at the spicy and intriguing nature of the day’s news. This programme served as a morning alarm, urging me to get ready for school and join my friends at the bus stops. In the evenings, my mother would tune into the night shows until all the local stations signed off with the national anthem, often leaving the white noise from the radio channels playing like soft music in her ears. Sometimes, sharing the same bed with her, I would wake up and turn off the radio.

In 2017, I began having recurring dreams of myself speaking on stage under bright lights and addressing a massive crowd in a presentational and elegant style. Shortly after, I co-hosted a session at my music group’s camp activity, and it struck me that I possessed the ability to engage people in meaningful conversations. It was my first time doing so, and people felt comfortable sharing intimate details about themselves, their lives, and their aspirations. It felt empowering. At this time, I reached out on Facebook to one of the voices I often admired from the local stations in Ekiti, and I got no response.

In 2018, as part of my requirements to graduate with a degree in chemistry, I underwent a 6-month industrial training (IT) during my second semester. My IT placement was at Chi Limited, a manufacturer of popular beverages like Capri-Sun, Chi Exotic, and Hollandia Yoghurt. I was rotated across various units, from production floors for drinks and snacks to pharmaceuticals to quality assurance labs and effluent treatment plants. While it was an enriching experience, it didn’t align with the life I envisioned for myself.

The work felt like mere labour, lacking in fulfilment and satisfaction. I felt out of place and was constantly questioned about my lifestyle, sense of style, and independence. This experience reinforced my desire not to end up in a similar situation after graduation. The graduates working on the production floors and labs expressed a clear disinterest in their work, conveying a sense of trapped potential and a longing for alternative paths. I wanted to be in control of my life’s direction.

My dissatisfaction with this experience prompted me to delve into self-reflection, exploring my passions and purpose in life. I consumed a wealth of books and articles on these themes, seeking answers to questions like why Quality Assurance Officers, working under stressful conditions to ensure product quality, earned significantly less than influencers who were paid millions to promote the same products to their audience. In 2018, the creator economy in Nigeria was gaining momentum; it was shaping up, and people had begun calling themselves influencers and content creators.

I came to the conclusion that value was key. To earn more money doing what I love, I needed to redefine myself by presenting myself as a star talent or by building an audience. This challenged my views on career paths dictated by degree choice. I realised I might have a different calling and paths beyond conventional expectations.

TAKE THIS AS THE BEGINNING

During my IT internship, I travelled to Abuja as a production assistant for a weekend filming of a show that was intended for YouTube or television, but it never got released. The host, who is a relative, covered my transportation. I had contacted her, sharing my concerns about my future and my interest in TV. Upon returning to Lagos, I persuaded an online friend who was already working at the time to sponsor me for a one-day TV presentation course at 10,000 naira. During this course, I received coaching on my self-introduction on camera and learned how to pronounce my name, Todah. My last name, Todah, is self-named, and it’s my preferred choice of reference. If you’ve ever heard me on-air at any radio station or on my podcasts, you’ll recognize this unique, catchy, yet reverb-slow way of saying my name, which effectively captures the attention of any listener.

When my IT was over, it was time to go back to Ekiti. I had made connections in Lagos, some from the church I was attending. Many others from events I was showing up for. I was networking. Also, accommodation in Lagos was becoming less favourable. My sister was inching towards a break in her marriage; her now-ex husband, who was abusive, found my independence and audacity irritating—he would complain about me dressing up, dashing out of the house, and coming back at night. I had to move to a school friend’s place, whose mom was gracious enough to house me for the few months left for us to go back to school, and for me, it was a return home. There as well, I’d get complaints about not following them to their church. My outings were monitored, and there were time caveats for my return.

Back in Ekiti, with a bit of experience and confidence in my abilities, I reached out again to the radio host I admired. He was one of the voices at the state’s first private radio station. This time, he responded. To this day, I wonder if it was my tone that demanded his response or if he was now able to read that I meant business. He provided me with an opportunity to establish my voice and name on-air within Ekiti. It was a big deal. It was a weekend gospel show, so I would join him every Sunday at 5 p.m. to watch him present and control the studio console. I would also occasionally appear on his programme, discussing gospel music and countdowns. He also directed me to intern at another new station, where I learned about the basics of news writing, including the 5 Ws and 1 H rule of who, what, where, why, and how in exploring a story.

I disliked the newsroom atmosphere, where drinking beer was allowed, and the general manager was misogynistic and didn’t want me near the studio. We had an unproductive conversation about how I’d like to be managed and about my interests, which made me know I had to leave there. It was an unpaid internship, and one afternoon I eventually walked out and took a bike to the other station, where I usually went into the studio on Sundays, to speak with the head of programmes.

I met with him and explained that I was a final-year student at the state university, that school activities had not yet begun, and that I wanted to be around and learn about the studio operations during the week as well, rather than only on Sundays. I eventually got the opportunity to co-host the lunchtime show with an amazing lady who always took the time to listen to me. She was doing her national youth service there and would waste no time coaching me and allowing me to learn from her.

I learned from the majority of the hosts, news readers, and production managers. Before leaving to face my finals in school, I had the opportunity to produce live shows for both staff and programmes owned by outsiders. I learned time management, on-air presenting, and live radio production, including coverage of the 2019 Nigerian general election throughout the state.

GRADUATING FROM UNI HAD A COST

I thought I knew what I wanted now. I could at least face my studies as a chemist and graduate with the best of grades. After all, I was not a poor student. I had lots of hopes of graduating and bracing up to explore all there is in media. But I also began to consider getting my Master’s degree in pharmacology or forensic science. I was passionate about medicinal chemistry and pharmaceuticals, as well as analytical chemistry. I felt like I had the chance for a scholarship abroad.

It’s 2019, my final year. The first semester exam preparation was here. I was preparing for it. It was my final chance to make sure I graduated. Then suddenly, I fell ill. It was dramatic. I was about to climb the stairs at my faculty to get my exam permit card when I almost fell. I was taken to the school health center. It was serious. I went there several times, and all I was being treated for was malaria. I would then learn that it was chronic malaria at a private hospital in town, outside the school. Then later, I stayed at my sister’s house, who was a nurse. At the same time, my mom was admitted to the Federal Medical Hospital, and my other sister had just been discharged from the hospital as well. It was a battle. I felt like I was going to die. This is not the first time I’ve felt this way, but this time it was intense. Noise awakens my brain’s deepest self. I was paranoid. I was anxious.

One Sunday evening, as the exam was going to start on Monday, I went into a coma. All I could remember was my sister handing me two bottles of Coca-Cola drinks and waving at me to “take care” while I was seated in front of a bus back to campus.

I regained full consciousness four days later. I was diagnosed with meningitis, with brain and spinal cord inflammation. The exams had already started. I’d missed a few exams. Upon my return, I thought I would be allowed to sit for them privately upon providing both the medical report from the school’s health clinic and that of the federal hospital, but no amount of effort seemed helpful. I was advised not to sit for the rest of the semester’s exams; I ignored the advice. I took the exams and passed them all. I continued to push to be able to take the exams I missed, and a lecturer said all I ever needed to hear to know that the school system never cared about me. “In the history of this department, no one has ever been given a chance to retake an exam they missed,” he said. And with all the medical reports I have, it will only help me to mark that I was absent for that semester so that it won’t affect my CGPA.

This made me lose hope in school. In education as a whole. I was not a poor student; why would anyone not help me? I’d ask myself achingly and cry.

By my second semester, I had gotten a job to work with a startup in Ekiti as the brand and communications manager. It was the state’s first courier service, and I was managing riders and the creative output and messaging of the brand. It gave me joy—the joy school had stolen from me. But although I was less serious at school this time, I was majorly committed to my final project on the synthesis, characterization, and antimicrobial studies of mixed ligand complexes of Metronidazole (Flagyl) and Sulfamethoxazole, incorporating transition metals with them in an aqueous medium.

MOVING TO LAGOS

Towards the end of 2019, the COVID-19 pandemic was beginning to disrupt the world. Before the lockdown, I attended an event on personal branding and creativity in Lagos, but I had to return to Ekiti because I couldn’t afford to be stranded there during the lockdown. I had no money to sustain myself for an extended period, and I was staying at a friend’s family house. I had been following this friend on Instagram for a while, and we met when he came to Ekiti to organize a campus tech event. I also attended an event on digital marketing, where he was the project manager.

Despite the uncertainty of the pandemic, I left Lagos feeling happy about the connections I had made at these events. Many of the friends I made are still very present in my life. I knew I would be back.

Once back in Ekiti, I had to take up a shawarma delivery job to afford data. I helped the shawarma spot with their deliveries, dressing smartly and impressing customers with my communication skills. Later, I learned how to make shawarma. After a few weeks there, I started podcasting. I would rush home after closing up for the day, lock myself in, and start recording episodes of “Talk With Todah.” One of the friends I made at one of the events in Lagos helped me with my cover art, and another friend helped take the photos I used in the cover art. It was during this time that I began to appreciate friends who believed in me, my visions, and my dreams even more.

I continued this routine until the lockdown eased in mid-2020, and I made another plan to return to Lagos. This time, I told my friend, who would accommodate me at his family house, that I had some potential work leads. I had done my first interview while in Ekiti, and in Lagos, I was tasked with editing interviews with Eniola Badmus, Fireboy, and, I think, Joeboy. This opportunity to edit their audio stemmed from my podcasting, but I hadn’t yet learned audio editing properly. I was just uploading my recordings and interviews directly to the Anchor app. The task forced me to learn how to use Audacity via YouTube.

I wasn’t offered a job in the end. I was paid 10,000 naira for editing the audio, and I received feedback indicating that my editing was not impressive. I hadn’t significantly improved the audio quality. However, the experience challenged me.

TO GO BACK TO EKITI OR STAY?

In Lagos, unemployed and feeling lost, I vented to my best friend, expressing my desire to work in media. I was somewhere in Costain that evening, and I told him, “This media thing, I can do it. Is it not to talk, engage, and communicate with people? I can do it; I can create content.” While in Ekiti as well, I read books on journalism and media from a friend’s book collection. I was reading a lot of articles and watching online videos. I was connecting with people I admired and wanted to work with as well.

As I was ranting, my friend asked me, “How many jobs have you applied for? How many people have you reached out to?” I responded, saying, “Nobody really.” My friend challenged me to apply for more jobs and reach out to more people proactively.

That night, the first person I reached out to offered me my first job in Lagos. I pitched myself as a social media manager, podcast enthusiast, and communication expert (even though I wasn’t an expert). I was told to come to Ikoyi, where they record podcast episodes every Sunday, and I was introduced to the other co-founder. When one of them asked me, “What do you want?” I told him, “I need a job to learn and earn from. I need a job to keep me in Lagos.” This job, as a content executive for one of the first podcast networks in the country, made staying in Lagos a bit achievable for me.

But I had to also leave my friend’s family house in Surulere because he wasn’t always around. And with the level of noise there, listening to podcast episodes would be challenging. I had to consider another friend’s place somewhere in Oshodi, along Airport Road. We first met in 2018 at the church I was attending while doing my IT, and we stayed in touch after then. Before moving to Lagos, we met again at an event in Ondo while I was working as the brand and communications manager for the now-defunct startup in Ekiti.

His mom and siblings accommodated me. I am really grateful for this accommodation; it helped me balance out my stay in Lagos. It made me go after everything I wanted. You see, most people who will help you will not always be your relatives. They will also be strangers, and you must open yourself up to accepting their help and support.

While there, I did my job as a content executive, working remotely during the week and going for recording on Sundays in Ikoyi. The family I was staying with fed me. It was while I was staying here that #EndSARS started. I created a podcast episode about it for Talk With Todah after following one of the protests at the airport toll gate. It was in this house that we watched live on Instagram as unarmed protesters at the Lekki toll gate were being shot at. I felt a lot of emotions. I wanted to be able to tell the stories of people affected by this event. I wanted to amplify issues like this around the world. I was angry at the brutality going on, at the abuse, and at the deaths. I knew right from there that I needed a job to help me achieve this.

I was already becoming bored with the talk on my podcast network. There was not enough substance or in-depth analysis of the issue like that of the podcasts I was now listening to, like that of the BBC (Focus of Africa, Africa Daily, The Comb, etc.) and the New York Times’ The Daily podcast show. I wanted to be part of something like that—treating big issues and stories that are happening on the continent, especially in Nigeria.

The following month, after the Lekki Massacre in October 2020, I got into a one-week broadcasting bootcamp meant to usher a few people into careers in multimedia production and primarily broadcasting. It was designed by RedMedia for a new radio station in Lagos, called RadioNow. In December, about 15 of us, out of a total of over 40 who participated in the bootcamp, got picked to work as interns at the radio station for 6 months. After which, the best of the interns will be offered a full-time job.

One month into the internship, they had to let some people go. I also had to resign from my other job as a content executive, even though they were aware of my new job and would let me do both. However, it was a lot to handle, considering I was transporting from Oshodi to Lagos Island every day. The distance was worsened by the almighty Lagos traffic. At the radio station, it was also very easy to pick those who were truly interested in the work or invested in learning, depending on how it relates to their long-term career plans. It was competitive, it was challenging, and it was a rich experience—an experience I go back to to this day to draw inspiration and editorial ideas from.

At one point, we had about seven interns left. All of us were built for the best careers, but there was also an inkling I had that I was among the most skilled of all the interns—I had previous radio experience and media-related work experience. With audio production as well, I was now very good at making narrative features. Even though I was being restricted from going on-air often, with reference to my pronunciation and accent, I was determined to work on it.

I was raised in Ekiti, but I didn’t pay much attention to being a “local” boy. I was an elite child in Ekiti, raised by a famous man in Ekiti and Ondo State. I lived in one of the more modern areas and went to the best primary and secondary schools. But the devilish H-factor couldn’t leave my neck, and my voice on the radio was also not appealing to my boss, who had spent a significant amount of time working at the BBC in the UK. Still, I paid no attention; I’d nominate myself for taxing stories, and I’d raise my hand to report from outside the newsroom.

It was like a school for me. I was enjoying the thrill that came with chasing guests for interviews. I was enjoying being a production star across all the belts. I’d beg to interview some of the guests, and I’d beg at any chance to do the work that I consider to be in line with my future goals. I knew where I was going, and I was determined that excellence and quality were my priorities in all I was doing.

WAKE UP, TODAH!

The wake-up call for me was that, after 6 months of internship, I was not promoted because I had not finished school. Universities had resumed since the country could now handle the COVID-19 situation, and I was reluctant to go back to school to sit for the exams I missed. I felt that since I could now work without a degree, maybe I should just work hard, stay at the station forever, and get promoted. That was it for me; being on-air in Lagos was a big deal. People who I used to work with in Ekiti now admired me.

Not being promoted, with no increase in salary, despite being a major force in the newsroom, was devastating. I was producing a lot of big shows. I was getting big guests. I was producing digital content. I was going to great lengths to chase guests. I was writing incredible radio scripts. I could produce a show from ideation and scripting to the final output with little supervision.

When my project supervisor called me to plead with me to reconsider my decision to drop out, I took his support to go sit for the exams I had missed when I was sick. He told me I was never a poor student and that he believed I’d pass the courses. I took a leave from work, went down to Ekiti, and sat for the papers, and I passed them all.

But while in Ekiti and surrounded by nature, I reconnected with life. I realised that being on radio in Lagos wasn’t going to be my only big moment. I was able to talk myself into seeing how much I’d grown. My news writings got incredible feedback, my questions were almost always considered solid, and I could get any newsworthy person across Nigeria and outside the country—my contacts and access grew as a journalist. I was producing stories about the Middle East, getting sources from Israel, Gaza, and other parts of Africa. I was an audacious producer and an incredible storyteller. I saw my worth in Ekiti. It took me a lot to get here, and it will also take that much faith in myself and confidence to get me anywhere.

Being back in Lagos as a regular entry-level staff member with no “Intern” title and no financial promotion, in juxtaposition to being a multimedia producer and journalist, I was determined to figure out what to do next. Knowing that I didn’t have the luxury most people had to leave a job, I needed to make a plan. So, I did make a plan. One thing to note is that my family has had no involvement in my career decisions. I went through university with no proper idea of how I was paying school fees, and now in Lagos, I needed to make money to survive or risk returning to Ekiti—and to be frank, I was willing to return at this point if things didn’t pan out favourably.

The office culture at RadioNow was becoming something not to write home about. I was learning a lot, but I was overworked. I was enjoying the experience that came with my work, but my health was crumbling. Anxiety had me in a chokehold. I was sleeping an average of 3 hours per day.

I would get home and call all my friends and rant to them. I’d cry my heart out. Then, after talking to lots of friends and a few mentors who helped me navigate my situation, we had a plan. This was the plan: I’d need to consider leaving radio for another media platform, and digital media looked like the best option. I’d also need to set an earning target for myself that could make me afford to live and get an apartment in Lagos. Since I’m interested in working for an international newsroom in the future as an Africa correspondent, I’d need a job that would continue to keep me in touch with African stories. I’d also need to be clear about the skills I’d be contributing where I’d be working that would help them grow.

Based on the criteria I now had, my friend Bolu texted me, “Have you heard about The Republic?” He told me that the journal is about African stories and issues, and he casually endorsed the founder, Wale Lawal. After assessing the platform on social media and the website, I concluded that they needed me. They needed podcasts. They needed to have narrative podcasts as part of their content offerings, and I’d do my best to get any job with them.

BEING THE REPUBLIC’S FIXER

I reached out to Wale Lawal via Instagram, requesting his email and saying that I had plans to make a pitch on why they need a podcast network and why I’d like to work with The Republic. I made my detailed pitch via email about myself, the podcast, my plans for the future, and why I saw working at The Republic as an opportunity to achieve some of those plans—to be on top of African stories, to develop a professionally respected grasp on issues happening on the continent, and also to have the work experience contribute to my plans for my Master’s, which at this point saw my interest change from the sciences to journalism, politics, and African social issues.

I was tasked with a social media and newsletter management role because The Republic couldn’t afford to hire me only for the podcast building that I planned to do. We had to properly define my role. Although I was managing social media while working on radio, I had never handled a newsletter. I did the best I could with the task; I created a dummy newsletter, created social media captions and designs, and answered the questions to the best of my knowledge. While I was on radio, I had made graphics using Canva and branded almost all shows for promotion on social media, so creating designs was easy for me to do. I felt really good when I sent it. I’d later get a comment from Wale that what impressed him the most was the newsletter and how lively and active my writing voice was. I had, at this point, never found the courage to call myself a writer, despite writing daily for radio show programmes. I was offered a Junior Editor (Audience) role at The Republic, and I was to manage social media, the newsletter, and audience engagement.

At this point, it was a no-brainer; I’d leave radio and join this print and digital platform. I left radio on a very high note after having my resignation drafted months before. I was covering the Ikoyi Building Collapse and was self-promoting my work across my social media pages as well, with hopes that any future employer would take note of me. It was one of the highlights of my career, and it was also one that made me shed a few tears.

One minute of Sanwo-Olu calling my name and responding to my question, the tears of people at the venue, and the anger of the crowd towards the government made for a compelling radio feature. I was reporting live on the radio, sending audio inserts to use across all news programming from the ground to the studio.

I resigned the day Sanwo-Olu, the Lagos State governor, answered my question along with the BBC’s Mayeni Jones, Adefemi Akinsanya of Arise News, and another notable journalist from The Guardian Newspaper. I was the only radio journalist among the four, and we were the only ones granted permission to ask the governor a question. It was a big deal for me to be lined up beside these journalists, Mayeni and Adefemi, whose work and ethics I specifically admire.

My resignation was a moving one; I’d get a talk from the head of news that if it was money, they’d be willing to review it. But I told him, despite how impactful his coaching was, that I had gotten a job offer and would like to take it up as a challenge. My resignation also entailed leaving the apartment that the office provided for me and some other colleagues. It meant I’d have to find somewhere else to stay. I had previously pushed to live in the office-acquired apartment because commuting from Oshodi to Lagos Island was so stressful that I’d already started sleeping back at the office some days, and also because where I was staying, they were beginning to question my returning home so late at night.

On one occasion, I gave this type of monologue you see in movies when someone is clearly frustrated. A meeting was called on my head, out of love by the way, that I should calm down and take life easy. I went on about how I didn’t come to Lagos to pick beans or to play, how I had a lot to lose and would be back in Ekiti if I wasn’t careful, and how I had no one sponsoring me. My friend’s mom would later report me to my mom, who told me that I should keep flying. My mom understood my fear; she knew where I was coming from. She was the one sponsoring my transport fares to go on radio in Ekiti, and knowing I’m making a life for myself in Lagos was a win for her.

A colleague of mine who resigned before I did while I was on the radio offered that I stay with him. I am still grateful for that opportunity. It allowed me to go to work at The Republic, and it allowed me to navigate project managing The Future Awards Africa (TFAA) in 2022, from which all the money made, in addition to a small loan, went towards getting an apartment. My boss, Wale, also supported me in managing work at The Republic and doing all that was required to make the awards event happen.

It was stressful, but it was worth it.

The person who considered me for project management at TFAA was a mentor whom I deeply respect, despite not keeping in touch with him for a while now. His care for my career mattered. In December 2021, after resigning from RadioNow, he gave me the opportunity to host a red carpet at Afrobeats star Simi’s concert, where I was paid an equivalent of my RadioNow one-month salary in one night.

Despite having to sleep at a mosquito-infested hotel reception in Ikeja—because I couldn’t find where to sleep nearby at VI and had to hitch-hike with a stranger—that night taught me that in Lagos and in my life, I can make as much more money as I intend on making. I was capable of making more. I just needed to keep believing.

My time at The Republic was smooth; I loved it. We were custodians of important stories from Africa. It was a dream. I was project managing the publication’s first audio ambition, which is now out, and incorporating audio elements in our reporting for both social media and the website. I developed the work process for its podcast based on my experience on the radio, and with guidance from Wale, we designed it from pre-production down to post-production plans and promotions. It also required working with all the stakeholders involved.

I led the 2023 pre-election coverage under the “Road to 2023” column, which was a major feature on the website, social media, and newsletter—it later developed into an actual print issue. I was writing stories in deviation from the usual publication style and started featuring expert reactions and sources across all content. It spurred the publication to adopt a journalistic approach to its essay writing by featuring expert opinions; even if you yourself are an expert on the issue, you have to find sources to speak to and quote.

It was at The Republic that my writing was fine-tuned, and I learned a lot about editing, editorials, and even more about newsroom management. Getting mentored by Wale was a blessing, even with the disagreements we would sometimes have. It was worth it on some days. It was ultimately a privilege to be listed among editors with incredible scholarly achievements.

In all of this, imposter syndrome was a daily battle. I merely had a BSc from a university in Ekiti, and I was working with editors and writers with PhDs and specialised Master’s degrees. All I could bank on was my audio skill, project management, and incredible journalistic prowess of being able to get things done and support other writers with sources. I learned a lot on the job. My newsletter, at some point, became perfect; errors became a thing of the past, and I was getting fewer reviews and edits on my work for newsletters and social media content.

TV CALLED ME. I WAS POACHED.

While working at The Republic, I had a side gig to do for a week. It was to produce parts of a documentary assessing the public anticipation of Nigeria’s 2023 election, especially among its Gen Z population—one that I’m a part of. I was to travel to three major states: Kano, Enugu, and Ekiti. I took a break from work, and off I went, managing and moving crews across these states. I had to do editorial planning with my friend and former radio colleague, Umar.

I worked with local fixers who helped with sources and access to certain places, like INEC offices. It was a trip that would challenge me, and who was I not to challenge it back? I had to make sure we stuck to the days of travel and were back in Lagos safely and on budget. We took flights, but we also took buses. When there were no available flights back to Lagos or Akure, for example, to help us reach Ekiti, we had to travel by road from Enugu.

I came back with my production team with a good amount of content and interviews to make the documentary titled “Gen Z Goes to Vote.” Based on the work done and considering the tight deadline, I was asked if I’d be interested in joining the team full time, and I said, “It depends,” and that money would be a key motivating factor. I was already earning more from side gigs than I was being offered at The Republic at this point, and I considered that maybe it was time for me to embrace what I was being valued more for: a journalist and producer. I was being offered a role as a Producer and Documentary Team Lead. I was being given the opportunity to lead the team that worked on the popular #EndSARS-related “Awaiting Trial” documentary.

Despite The Republic’s willingness to match the offer, I took up the new role. It was shocking that The Republic wanted to bend its classed principles of having people with master’s degrees and PhDs as associate editors, sub-editors, and the like, with the exception of Junior Editor and Editorial Assistant roles for undergraduate degree holders. There was always an emphasis on the highest-degree class. I wanted to believe it, but at a point, it felt like someone was doing me a favour after I highlighted my contribution to the newsroom. It was a promotion offer with conflicting responsibilities for the job title. It was a sad situation considering I still wanted to work with Wale, but I decided to focus on a long-term career plan. I needed more TV production experience. My career since my time on radio had been tailored to multimedia journalism, and I needed all the relevant experience to make claims to that.

I joined Joy Inc.’s Factual Film Studio in September 2022 and then resigned in December. It was a brief and incredible moment that affirmed that, truly, I enjoy the newsroom process and structure. The decision-making pattern of a newsroom appears as though there’s no final authority, even though there is one. There is care for journalism ethics, for debating stories, and for looking deep into guests and sources.

I got frustrated at Joy Inc. because no one saw my vision for interviews. For example, with the now-late Aderonke Kale, Nigeria’s and West Africa’s first female major general, it took a lot of convincing to get it done. Bookings like that were not appreciated for the regular TV talk show we produced. It is not the type of story that goes viral or makes blogs in Nigeria hunt for clips, but it is resourceful. I wanted to be able to document and platform those whose stories were worth telling, and these types of stories are, as luck would have it, hard to get, slow, and, understandably, expensive to produce. I still regard it as a key achievement, though, that I succeeded in securing an interview with Nigeria’s major female military figure, one who doesn’t typically grant interviews. We were the only ones she granted an interview before her death in November 2023, almost a year later.

Apart from our conflicts on ethics, I also resigned because I wanted to focus on producing my podcast, The Outsiders. I got Alibi Investigations’ (now-Develop Audio) production support as a fellow while working at The Republic. You can read more about The Outsiders here.

THE BIG 2023

This year has been a remarkable one for me, as I have achieved all my written-down goals. It was a shocking realisation, and I believe I fully deserve the goodness, love, and opportunities that have come my way. Love found me in 2023, as did luck—it was a year of abundance.

I started the year determined to complete the interviews for The Outsiders podcast. Scripting was scheduled to begin in February, with a target release date of June. I planned to do all this without a full-time job, relying on my savings from previous employment. However, I quickly realised that I needed a laptop for scripting, editing, and audio dissection, unlike my previous job at the radio station, where equipment was provided. The harsh reality of freelance work in Nigeria was evident. No one had to tell me to reconsider my survival.

Despite applying for two positions at Big Cabal Media (BCM) with no response, I remained optimistic. BCM was the only company in Nigeria that truly appealed to me, primarily due to the ageism I’ve encountered in various workplaces. Being the youngest or one of the youngest employees was a common experience, and I witnessed firsthand the detrimental effects of ageism in Nigeria’s media and journalism scene. As a member of Gen Z, my intelligence on political issues was often questioned, and my age was constantly wielded against me as a limiting factor. Ageism will look you in the face and spit on you. It will ask you how you dare make certain demands. How could you ever think about demanding pay that most people in the profession with years of experience—that's right, years that amount to your age—earn?

Desperate for a solution and not willing to take up any traditional media or broadcasting position, I had my eyes set on foreign digital platforms. I also did not want to be offered meagre pay. When I resigned from my job in December, which paid over double my initial salary at The Republic, many thought I was insane. I shared this sentiment, questioning my own sanity. The production work for The Outsiders podcast was nearing completion, and I penned an open letter titled “Todah is on the hunt; help, share, or hire him.” It was a desperate plea for help, as I was on the verge of financial ruin.

My letter reached the intended audience. You see, I am not ashamed of asking for help. I needed to be rescued. I wanted to be a part of something great. Something that is worth my experience and time. Something exciting that would make me look forward to working again.

My letter caught the attention of TechCabal’s then editor-in-chief. He reached out, and I explained that being a tech reporter wasn’t the best fit at the moment and that I’d appreciate putting in a word for me about an open Senior Editor role at Zikoko Citizen at the time. Despite my successful tech show experience on radio, I knew this aligned more with my Master’s application plans and my long-held ambition to tell human-angle stories across social and political spheres.

Finally, I received a response to my application for Zikoko’s Managing Editor role. After undergoing assessments and interviews, I was offered the Zikoko Citizen Senior Editor position based on their assessment of my experience and interests. I appreciated this decision. BCM is the parent company of TechCabal and Zikoko (and Zikoko Citizen).

In this role, I collaborated with a talented team of young reporters, some of whom shared my editorial background. However, in August, I was laid off due to “economic hardship” that led to the downsizing of my publication and the disbandment of my team. Despite this setback, I cherished the three months I spent at BCM, recognizing its goal-oriented approach and structured plans.

One of my primary focuses was guiding my reporters in crafting feature stories and narratives that incorporated sources and experts. Initially, I struggled with adapting to the publication’s voice, having developed a more serious journalistic style influenced by my experience at The Republic. I love publications like The Atlantic and NYT and listen to daily BBC podcasts. At Citizen, I learned to write and edit for a Gen Z audience, many of whom were not particularly interested in politics. Our challenge was to make politics, policies, and governance engaging and accessible. The key was to ensure that the content was concise, captivating, and easy to munch on.

My editor-in-chief, Muhammed Akinyemi, played a pivotal role in my development. I hope to collaborate with him again in the future, as his brilliance and finesse are undeniable. He is an exceptional newsroom leader and was an outstanding manager.

With his support, we successfully launched the Citizen Election Report within a month of my joining. This comprehensive guide to Nigeria’s 4th Republic highlights key lessons from the 2023 elections. As the editorial and project manager for the report, I worked closely with reporters, researchers, designers, and civic sector partners to transform complex political events into an engaging and informative narrative, providing valuable insights for both local and international audiences.

I also developed and launched the Citizen Community Reporting Programme, with its first story published on the day our layoff news was announced. As the editor of this story, I was thrilled to witness its success. It garnered over 15,000 organic page views in less than 4 days, driving continuous conversation and engagement on social media.

MEDIA INNOVATION FELLOW

During my time at BCM, I was also accepted as an MTN Media Innovation Fellow at the School of Media and Communications, Pan Atlantic University. This fully sponsored programme by MTN Nigeria included cross-lectures at Lagos Business School and certified summit training at the University of Johannesburg, South Africa.

I had applied to the MTN-MI Programme before securing my position at BCM, and upon joining, I was concerned about whether I would be permitted to participate due to the potential impact on my work commitments. However, my E-in-C, Akinyemi, provided unwavering support throughout the programme. He also made it easy for me to balance my classes and work responsibilities, offering every assistance I could have asked for.

As a fellow, I made friends. They held me through even the dip moments of being laid off. There was this moment when I was moved to tears when I realised that I could have potentially retained a position at BCM if I had engaged in more office politics and invested more in stakeholder relationships. Two of my fellows and older colleagues, by the way, offered me sound advice, encouraging me to let go, focus on moving forward, and recognize my worth.

TODAH, THE BBC JOURNALIST

I was with one of the fellows who encouraged me to wipe my tears inside a bus when the BBC email came in. We squealed with excitement. I was to be tasked with the role I had applied for. This was in August. I was laid off earlier that month at Citizen, and I swore never to apply for any local media jobs. I just knew there was no place fitting for me, both in the way I approach stories and work and where I see myself going. I have now worked with almost all the best newsrooms in Nigeria at this point. I have worked where journalism ethics are key, where process is key, and where there’s inclusion and policies against discrimination. I also knew ageism would kill me in most places, considering I’ve grown to have this kind of portfolio at my age. I was not going to shrink.

After getting the official email of my termination, I knew my best shot was at international organisations, just like I had hoped for 2023 and written down. A few days after processing the layoff, I decided to check my BBC portal. I’d been applying there since I started my journalism career, mostly for roles I was not qualified for. I’d look through job responsibilities and, in a way, be informed of all the work I was interested in doing everywhere I’d worked. At the BBC, you are expected to function as a multimedia journalist, no matter the medium you are working with. It also helps you move roles easily within the organisation. It’s one reason I’ve come to the conclusion that people get to spend lots of years at the BBC. You get to move roles and do exciting stuff, and your applications as an insider are mostly first considered as those of an outsider. I searched for Nigeria, and behold, there was an audio journalist role opening with a very close deadline. I had to put together the best and most ambitious cover letter I had ever written in my entire life for any application. It covered all my previous work with great stories, but it also housed my goals for the next 5 years to make a decade of my experience in media. I am proud of it. I was prepared for this moment. I had predicted a massive opening at the BBC, and there were openings for Nigerians both for BBC World Service and BBC Africa. I knew I’d give all the applications my best shot.

There’s so little I can say about the BBC and its hiring process, but it was intense. It was exhaustive. I kept applying for all the roles that were opening up. I got called up for a task for a senior role in September, and I finally had my first interview as an audio journalist late in October. I got an official offer in the first week of November and then signed my contract much later.

I am now an audio journalist for BBC World Service, reporting from Lagos, Nigeria, as part of the Africa Content Hub. My work will feature on the global news radio and podcast offerings of the BBC, including Focus on Africa, and among tailored African digital content.

WHAT HELPED ME?

Over the years, I’ve stayed informed on the BBC’s editorial and production style. This familiarity with the content, production, and style helped me during my assessment, solutions, and interview.

In my waiting, I continued to create work despite having limited resources and foggy short-term plans. I created work I could tender, stayed on top of African stories and issues, and frequently listened to the BBC. As far back as 2020, I had been making friends within the BBC, both in Nigeria and the UK. Many of them were supportive throughout my hiring period. I respected their time and advice and was confident in their belief that I was worth a chance at the BBC with all I had been able to do. Their belief in me was fuel. And I was never afraid to ask for their help. In my waiting periods during the hiring, they were comforting. It’s called networking and being mentored.

Just to mention as well, I’ve been a podcast consultant since 2021, following my time leaving radio. I started How2Pod to teach people how to start podcasting on a budget. I’ve trained and consulted for over 50 people, including Don’t Go Broke Trying, hosted by Reni, the resource. I also work with publications on a contract basis as an audience engagement expert. It was a no-brainer for any hiring manager to consider my experience working across different platforms, especially when there was evidence for it.

KEY LESSONS FOR ME

Every career needs dedication and commitment. What can you commit to? Can you enjoy and endure the challenges? While the ROI from university education in Nigeria is largely not impressive anymore, there are scientific roles with great pay. As with journalism, all life requires is dedication to your dreams and goals. Just find a career that you can commit to long-term and that you can throw yourself at because it gives you meaning and a heightened sense of purpose.

Find a job that is aligned with your values and passions, and you can help make a difference in the world. It doesn’t have to make any sense to anyone else.

Always talk about your work. Post about it. It makes it easy for others to learn more about you and your interests. It helps people share opportunities with you. They know you; they can almost tell what’s deserving of you.

You must realise that most people who will help change your life will be strangers. You must build relationships. Quality ones that nurture you, and you can be devoted to their growth.

Embrace peer mentorship. Embrace impermanence; don’t be afraid of letting go of jobs that don’t serve you anymore. This might also sound cliché, but don’t make monetary compensation tied to your worth. You deserve better for the work you do, but you are your best asset, and you are able to demand the best when you know your worth beyond what you can earn.

Most people will think you are crazy for attempting to give the life you want your all, but they’ll never understand what drives you. You are big, and your dreams are bigger, and you’ll let them hold you up through life.

Huge thanks to my team (mostly friends and my partner) for inspiring and editing this journey into something publishable. Your support makes moving through life as a storyteller worthwhile. ❤️

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