ZIZI

They say Abuja girls don’t stress, we just manifest. Well, I’ve been manifesting since 2019, and my blessings still seem to be stuck in Lagos traffic. My name is Zizi Owu, short for Chiziterem, and no, I’m not your regular Abuja babe. I’m a full-time soft life advocate, part-time social media strategist, and occasional hot mess. On paper, I live the dream, pretty, educated, dual citizen, and always on soft glow. But if you’ve ever tried to chase your dream in a city that survives on vibes, you’ll know the soft life sometimes comes with hard hustle. This morning, I woke up to my phone buzzing like a generator on its last breath. My best friend, Imani, was screaming on FaceTime before I even opened my eyes. “Zizi, check t****k! Your video blew up!” At first, I thought she was joking, until I saw the numbers. 1.2M views. 142K likes. Thousands of comments and shares. My voice cracked. “Wait. Which video?” “The one where you were dancing to Rema’s Calm Down in your towel, duh. Girl, you’re trending!” I dropped my phone on my duvet and screamed into my pillow. Not the quiet, composed scream. The full “I might faint but let me act calm” type. See ehn, Abuja people will tell you to be chill, but when your first viral video hits? You lose home training. I jumped, screamed, even did a small azonto in my pyjamas. That video was never supposed to go public. It was just me vibing after my skincare routine, with Rema in the background, pretending I was in a music video. I only posted it because I was bored but apparently, boredom pays now. “Zizi Owu for the win!” Imani shouted. And I laughed, trying to act humble even though I felt like Cardi B with a new wig other than the other ones from the court room case. I scrolled through the comments. “She’s giving Nigerian soft girl energy!” “This girl’s vibe is unmatched.” “Is she from London? The accent is accenting!” The thing is they’re not wrong. Half my heart lives in Abuja, the other half in London. My dad’s business took us there every summer, so I grew up learning how to switch accents faster than PHCN switches off light. One minute I’m saying “You dey whine me?”, the next I’m like “Bruv, that’s mad innit?” But right now, the only thing that mattered was that I was finally seen. After years of posting to two hundred views and my mum’s pity likes, I finally had an audience. Then came the DMs. Brands. Influencers. Even Rema’s fan page reposted me. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just a fluke. This could actually change my life. Still, in the middle of all that excitement, one message caught my eye. A DM from someone named “K.” No profile picture. Just one sentence. “You don’t know me yet, but your life’s about to get interesting.” I froze. Who was K? And why did that message feel like the beginning of something big? I didn’t know it yet, but that DM was about to pull me into a world where clout meets chaos where Abuja luxury meets secrets. And honestly? I WAS READY! ———— The next morning felt unreal. My phone hadn’t stopped buzzing all night. Notifications poured in like rain during Abuja’s rainy season. Every ping, every vibration, every new follower felt like a heartbeat. I dragged myself out of bed and stared at the mirror. Puffy eyes. Bonnet barely hanging. But somehow, even in my chaos, I looked like success. “Na me be this?” I whispered, half in disbelief, half in gratitude. I threw on my oversized hoodie, grabbed my phone, and headed to my favorite café in Wuse 2 Café Bloom. That spot was basically the Abuja influencer headquarters. You’d find someone filming a t****k video in one corner and another babe editing her vlog by the window. As soon as I walked in, people turned. Whispers. Smiles. One girl even mouthed, “Are you that Rema girl?” I smiled politely but inside? I was screaming. Imani was already there, sipping an iced latte like she owned the place. “Miss Viral herself!” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Abeg, keep your voice down,” I whispered, sliding into the seat. “Please! Don’t play humble now. You’re literally trending on t****k Nigeria and London at the same time. Even Cardi B’s fan page commented ‘She ate’!” I nearly choked on my drink. “Wait, what?!” Imani turned her phone to me. And there it was. The Cardi B fan page had reposted my video with the caption: “This Nigerian baddie’s energy is elite.” I dropped my straw. “Nahhh, stop playing.” “Zizi, you’re not normal again oo. You’ve entered celebrity pre-season.” That’s when my phone buzzed again. It was the DM. K had replied. “Meet me today. 5PM. Transcorp Hilton. Don’t bring anyone.” My stomach did a small somersault. Imani noticed instantly. “Why do you look like you just saw your WAEC results?” “It’s that K person again.” “The one who sent that creepy message yesterday?” “Yeah. And now they want to meet me.” She raised an eyebrow. “Girl, you better not go alone. You’ve watched too many Nollywood thrillers to know how this ends.” “I know, but what if it’s a big opportunity? Like, brand deal level?” “Or ritual level.” We both laughed, but I couldn’t shake the curiosity. By 4:30PM, I was dressed neutral makeup, cream blazer, jeans, and my lucky bracelet. Imani begged to follow, but I convinced her to wait on standby. The Transcorp Hilton lobby glowed golden as always. Expensive perfume. The hum of quiet business deals. I checked my reflection in the glass doors. Confident. Calm. Clueless. Then I saw someone wave. Tall. Hoodie. Designer sneakers. Phone in hand. “Zizi?” the voice said. Smooth. Low. British accent. I turned fully. And froze. He was foiiiinee! Like, London fine, dark skin, locs, quiet confidence, with that “I know I’m trouble” energy. “I’m K,” he said, smiling like he already knew what I was thinking. “You’re joking.” “No joke. You’re trending, yeah? I’m the reason.” For a moment, I didn’t speak. My brain tried to connect the dots. “What do you mean you’re the reason?” I finally asked. He showed me his phone, analytics, graphs, data. Turns out he was a digital strategist from London, specializing in viral trends. Apparently, he’d found my video before it went viral and used his network to amplify it through repost chains. “So technically,” he said, smirking, “I made you famous.” I laughed, nervous but intrigued. “And why would you do that?” “Because you’ve got something different Nigerian confidence with London finesse. I want to help you build that into something bigger. Think brand deals, interviews, maybe even a reality show.” My heart was racing. Me? Reality show? But before I could reply, he leaned forward. “Only thing is, fame isn’t free. The internet gives, but it also takes. You could walk away with this one viral video… or you could own the whole narrative.” Something about the way he said it sent chills down my spine. Outside, the Abuja sky was turning sunset-orange. Inside, I was trying to decide if this was my big break… or the beginning of trouble. And as he handed me a contract folder with my name printed in gold, I realized something, this wasn’t just about one viral video anymore. This was the start of my new life. And baby, I was ready to risk it all.