ZIZI

Ember Pressure

The ember months were here, and Nigeria was moving mad.

I woke up to noise everywhere… w******p chats buzzing, influencers screaming on i********: Live, Lagos girls pricing flights like they were buying pure water, Abuja babes hunting for “sponsors” before December hit.

This wasn’t a normal morning.

This was the annual end-of-year rush where everybody suddenly wanted to blow.

Imani barged into my room, face drenched in excitement.

“Zizi! Lagos don scatter! Abuja don catch the fever too! Have you been online?!”

I grabbed my phone.

And boom instant chaos.

Girls were posting “spontaneous” travel pictures but everybody knew the flights were sponsored.

People were tagging Zanzibar again as if the place hadn’t been dragged for being the official HQ of secret vacations.

Influencers were pretending they paid for Maldives trips on “brand partnership” when the brand wasn’t even verified.

Somebody’s secret Dubai weekend got exposed because her friend accidentally posted the wrong angle.

Someone else was crying because her December “Detty Party” table sponsor backed out last minute.

And of course, Lagos nightlife was already forming pre-December madness, fake champagne, fake designer, fake friendships, real problems.

Abuja wasn’t innocent either.

Pre-December pressure had everybody behaving like they had five months left to become rich.

Girls were suddenly “creatives.”

Guys were suddenly “investors.”

Influencers were suddenly “international.”

And the camera was lying for everybody.

And the married women?

Ha.

Ember months had turned some wives into prayer warriors, private investigators… and negotiators.

Some were already preparing for war by pretending they didn’t see their husbands “networking.”

Some were openly threatening to move to their mother’s house if their husbands misbehaved.

And some…the exhausted ones were whispering in group chats that if December became too wild, they were ready to share the man in peace, even proposing threesomes just to keep him controlled.

“Abeg let me know what I am fighting for,” one woman wrote online.

Translation: “Tell me if I should stress or just join the madness.”

Nigeria was boiling.

Imani flung herself on my bed.

“Zizi, it’s going to be a long December. People are already packaging their lives and the month hasn’t even started.”

Imani saw my expression and hissed.

“December never even start, and people don dey mention your name. Zizi, brace yourself oh.”

I stood up, tightened my robe, and grabbed my phone properly.

“Brace myself for what?” I scoffed.

“If anybody wants to use my name to blow, they should come correct.”

Imani smirked. “Ah. You’re in that mood.”

“That dangerous mood,” I corrected.

“The one where I mind my business publicly… and scatter things privately.”

My phone buzzed again another notification, another subpost, another coded shade.

I smiled.

A slow, confident, disrespectful smile.

“Imani… tell them to play with someone else,” I said, picking up my coffee.

“If they want gist, I’ll give them gist.

If they want smoke, I own the factory.

And if they want to drag me into December madness…”

I flipped my hair back.

“I will show them why Abuja fears a quiet woman with data and receipts.”

Imani cackled. “Zizi, ah! This December go hot!”

“Good,” I said, grabbing my phone and walking out.

“Let them talk.

It’s ember season.

And I’m not here to survive it.”

Then my phone buzzed with drama, not gist.

A voice note from a big influencer group chat leaked on X.

They were discussing who was flying where, who owed who, and one girl who was planning to sell fake skincare during Detty December because “traffic go choke”.

Then I saw it.

my name casually dropped inside the mess.

Not accused of anything.

Just mentioned.

Enough to spark suspicion.

Enough for people to start whispering.

I kicked off my blanket.

“Who is putting my name inside this kind of gist?”

Imani sat up.

“Exactly why you must stay sharp this month. Ember months come with pressure and jealousy.”

Phone buzzing again.

A DM from K.

Short.

Sharp.

“Zizi, be careful. People are talking too much this season.”

I stared at the screen.

This wasn’t like the Board mystery.

This wasn’t quiet tension.

This was familiar ground…

chaos, gist, pressure, fake life, and Abuja–Lagos madness.

Home turf.

I texted back, “Talking about what?”

He replied instantly.

“About your December deals. And someone said you’re flying out soon.”

I froze.

Because I wasn’t.

So who started that rumor?

Imani saw my expression and hissed.

“December never even start, and people don dey mention your name. Zizi, brace yourself oh.”

—————-

I sighed and dropped my phone on the bed.

“Imani, abeg explain… which flying out? Which deals? I’m in Abuja, drinking my coffee, wearing my robe. Who booked flight for me without telling me?”

She hiss-laughed.

“Na them. They will just open mouth and talk nonsense. If you like sneeze, they will say you traveled to Zanzibar.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Zanzibar ko, Santorini ni. I haven’t even packed wig.”

My phone buzzed again this time from a burner account.

A message popped up:

“So you dey go Ghana for Detty December? Na who sponsor am?”

I threw my head back and laughed.

Imani looked at me like I was losing it.

“What happened again?”

“They said I’m traveling to Ghana,” I said, wiping tears of laughter.

“Imani, I don’t even have Ghana Must Go bag.”

She collapsed on the bed laughing.

“Nigeria is unserious.”

Another ping.

A blog post.

Headline:

“Top Abuja Influencer Zizi Spotted Confirming December Travel Plans With Anonymous Sponsor.”

I blinked.

“Where did they spot me? In my house?!”

I clicked the picture.

It was a blurry screenshot of my InstaStory… of a mug of coffee… with the caption “loading…”

Loading.

As in loading my morning.

Not loading passport stamp and flight money.

I threw my pillow.

“This country is mad!”

Imani was wheezing.

“Zizi, see as your life dey trend because you wrote LOADING.”

I shook my head, grabbed my phone, and typed on X:

“To whom it may concern: I’m loading INDOMIE not IMMIGRATION. Abeg relax.”

The comments exploded instantly.

“Lmao Zizi don vex.”

“Abuja girls no dey ever calm.”

“She’s loading pepper soup, not passport. Rest.”

I smirked.

Good.

Then K’s message came in again.

“Stay sharp. This season brings envy.”

I stared at it for a moment, then typed:

“Abeg relax. It’s not that deep. It’s just ember madness.”

He replied:

“You’re trending on four platforms in one hour. It’s deep.”

I hissed.

“Make them trend. I’m not running.”

Because truthfully?

I loved this time of year.

Not because of the chaos…no.

Because this was the season when people exposed themselves without knowing.

Fake friends.

Fake trips.

Real jealousy.

Real pressure.

Abuja was buzzing.

Lagos was combusting.

Every babe was suddenly “out of office.”

Imani got up and stretched.

“Oya, enough gist. Let’s get ready. People are dragging you, you can’t drag back looking rough.”

I laughed.

“You’re right.”

We dressed up casually two fine girls in joggers, basic tops and gloss and drove out…

Not for brunch.

Not for café selfies.

We went straight to BluBar, because in Abuja, that’s where people really showed face when ember pressure started.

If you didn’t appear there at least twice a week in December season, people automatically assumed you were broke or dodging your “sponsor.”

As soon as we stepped into the bar, heads turned.

Someone whispered loudly:

“Ah-ah, is she not supposed to be flying today?”

I smiled sweetly at them.

“Nah, flight got rescheduled to your imagination.”

Imani nearly fell from laughing.

We moved to a corner table, ordered “soft drinks” that definitely weren’t soft, and watched Abuja behave like it was auditioning for a reality show.

Girls were hugging too tightly… you could feel the competition in their bones.

Guys were forming big boys while calculating their remaining balance.

One babe was taking 15 pictures of the same cup to pretend someone was buying her drinks.

Another girl’s “sponsor” walked in with a different babe, and the tension in the room shifted immediately.

December was close.

And Nigeria was shaking.

My phone rang again… K.

Before I picked, I smirked.

Imani raised a brow.

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m a bad b***h, I should smile.”

Then I answered.

“K, I’m outside oh. No mystery, no tension, just vibes. What’s up?”

He exhaled like he’d been waiting for this call.

“Good. Enjoy your day. But Zizi… watch your circle.”

I sipped my drink slowly.

“Babe, I don’t watch circles. I draw them.”

And for the first time all morning, I felt fully alive again.

The ember months had begun.

And I wasn’t running from the chaos.

I was the chaos.