The afternoon sun over Lagos carried a restless kind of heat, the type that felt like something big was coming.
The show date was approaching, and everywhere — from Lekki to Surelere to UNILAG — girls were preparing, dreaming, panicking, plotting.
But far away, in Kaduna, where the breeze smelled hotter and the sky stretched wider, another kind of preparation was going on.
******
The Kaduna morning light filtered softly through light grey curtains, falling across Zainab’s room—a space so orderly it almost looked untouched. Her bedsheets were crisp white, her wardrobe arranged in neat colour gradients of cream, navy, charcoal, beige.
Nothing loud.
Nothing bright.
Nothing chaotic.
It gave the room a quiet elegance, the kind that came naturally to Zainab Dandatti.
Tall, dark-skinned, graceful in a way that didn’t demand attention but gently invited it, she sat on the floor, folding a navy dress with slow, deliberate care.
From the slightly open door, Safiya, her older sister, peeked in.
“Zee,” she breathed dramatically, “why is your room looking like a bank manager’s office? Relax now. You’re just twenty-three, not forty-five.”
Zainab looked up with a soft smile.
“I like things neat.”
“Neat?” Safiya stepped inside fully, scanning the room. “This is not neat. This is… military precision. One day, I’ll sneeze inside this room and you’ll arrest me.”
Zainab laughed quietly, a small, melodic sound. “You exaggerate.”
Safiya flopped onto the bed. “I’m serious! Look at your colours. Everything is ash, white, navy. Don’t you like colour? Even small mustard?”
“It distracts me,” Zainab replied simply, folding her last scarf—also neutral-toned.
Safiya threw her hands up. “Kai! How will you survive Lagos girls? They will blind you with all the hot pink and neon green!”
Zainab only smiled. “I will be fine.”
“You and ‘fine’,” Safiya muttered. “You don’t shout, you don’t argue, you don’t panic. When that boy broke your heart last year, you said ‘it’s okay, he must be going through something.’ When Halima accused you of stealing her notes, you said ‘maybe she mistook me for someone else.’ Who lives like that?”
Zainab shrugged lightly.
“People have their reasons. I don’t like holding things.”
Safiya paused, studying her sister with the kind of affection that made her eyes soft.
“You’re too gentle,” she whispered. “Too calm. Too… good.”
Zainab closed her suitcase and stood.
“It’s not goodness,” she said quietly. “I just like peace.”
She said it so sincerely, so simply, that it didn’t sound like philosophy—just truth.
Safiya threw her arms open. “Come here, my peaceful queen. Let me hug you.”
Zainab leaned into her sister’s embrace, warm and still.
“Go to Lagos and show them class,” Safiya murmured. “Elegance. Don’t let them change you.”
Zainab smiled against her shoulder.
“I’ll just be myself.”
“You better. And remember—if anybody troubles you—”
“I will walk away,” Zainab finished.
Safiya groaned. “Exactly! That your walking away is annoying sometimes, but I love you like that.”
Zainab laughed softly.
Her laugh was gentle.
Her presence, serene.
Her room, quiet and symmetrical.
If Zainab’s room breathed peace, Kalamhia Badmus’s hostel room crackled with tension.
*****
The sun over UNILAG campus was too bright, too sharp, like it was deliberately judging people.
But Kalamhia Badmus didn’t care. She walked through Moremi Hall like she owned it—or like she was floating above it—her footsteps oddly light, her outfit even louder.
She wore a burnt-orange skirt, a mint-green long sleeve top, and a gold scarf wrapped like a turban on her head. On her feet?
One red sandal,
one blue Crocs.
She didn’t notice the difference.
Or she didn’t care.
Hard to tell with Kalamhia.
Her bag swung wildly from her shoulder as she hummed a tune—off-key, but proudly. Girls stepped aside when she passed, not because she was popular, but because she had the chaotic aura of someone who might suddenly start dancing or throw the bag on the floor for no reason.
Today, she was excited.
Today, she’d gotten her acceptance email into The Real Lagos Baddie show.
Her mind buzzed.
They will finally my worth. The country will know I am special.
She walked into the hall’s common area just as two girls, Kofoworola and Sandra were standing by the water dispenser. They paused, eyes traveling slowly from the gold head wrap… to the mint top… to the orange skirt… to the mismatched shoes.
Sandra whispered sharply, “Why is she always dressing like twelve moods in one body?”
Kofoworola giggled. “I swear this girl is… not normal. How did she even get accepted? They don’t screen people?”
“I heard she once chased someone with a metal spoon,” Sandra added. “Just because the girl said good morning twice.”
Kofoworola gasped softly. “You’re lying.”
“I swear! Something is off with her. Like… she wants friends but in a creepy way.”
Kofoworola nodded. “And she’s going on that show? They’ll send her home in one episode. She can’t even blend in.”
Kalamhia walked past them, humming, unaware, her brain someplace else entirely.
She didn’t hear their gossip.
Her mind was replaying imaginary interview scenes.
“Kalamhia, why did you join the show?”
“I want the nation to see my worth.”
“What makes you unique?”
“I feel more than people think. I feel everything.”
She smiled to herself.
Then she heard it.
A single word.
Just one.
Kofoworola whispered, quiet, but not quiet enough:
“Weird.”
Kalamhia stopped mid-step.
Her body stilled completely.
The way a predator freezes when it senses something.
Her head turned slowly, unnaturally smoothly, until she was staring directly at them.
Kofoworola swallowed hard.
Sandra stiffened.
Kalamhia’s smile stretched into something too wide, too calm.
“What… did you say?”
Her voice was low, eerily flat.
Kofoworola cleared her throat. “We didn’t mean—”
“You called me weird?” Kalamhia stepped closer, her mismatched shoes scraping the floor. “You think I didn’t hear it? I hear everything.”
“You literally didn’t hear us,” Sandra whispered.
Kalamhia’s eyes snapped to her.
Cold.
Sharp.
Calculating.
“Ohhh, I heard enough,” she said softly.
Sandra took a slow step back. “Kalamhia, it’s not that serious. We were just—”
“Talking about me.”
Kalamhia’s voice turned childlike. “Behind my back.”
She tilted her head. “That’s rude. Very rude. My mommy taught me not to be rude.”
Sandra frowned. “We weren’t insulting you. We were just—”
Kalamhia suddenly lunged forward.
Her hand shot out, grabbing Sandra’s wrist in a vice-like hold.
“DON’T LIE TO ME!” she snapped.
Her voice wasn’t loud; it was sharp, cutting.
Sandra yelped, trying to pull away.
“Kalamhia, leave her!” Kofoworola shouted.
But Kalamhia was gone—emotionally gone.
Her face was blank, eyes strangely detached, as if she wasn’t inside herself anymore.
“Do you know what it feels like,” Kalamhia whispered, face inches from Sandra’s, “to want prople to see your worth? To smile at people that pretend you don’t exist? To dress nicely”—she looked down at her chaotic outfit—“and nobody compliments you? Not once.”
Sandra’s breathing turned shaky. “Kalamhia, we’re sorry—”
She flinched as Kalamhia’s grip tightened.
“You think I’m weird?” Kalamhia whispered again, but now tears sat in her eyes.
Unstable tears.
Tears that came from nowhere.
Emotional… but not like everyone else.
Then abruptly—too abruptly—she let go.
Sandra stumbled backward.
Kalamhia wiped her cheeks, laughing as if the whole thing were funny.
“Awwww, don’t be scared,” she cooed. “I’m not angry.”
Both girls stared, speechless.
Kalamhia leaned closer again, smiling sweetly.
“But next time,” she whispered, “talk to me, not about me. Otherwise…”
Her smile widened, revealing too much teeth.
“…I might not be nice.”
She turned away, humming again as if nothing happened, adjusting her gold head wrap.
As she walked off, people who had seen the commotion stepped aside, clearing a path.
Kalamhia didn’t seem to notice or care.
Her mood had flipped back just as fast as it had broken.
She muttered to herself,
“The nation will sees my worth soon. They will. And nobody will ever call me weird again.”
But behind her…
Sandra whispered, voice shaking, “That girl… is dangerous.”
Kofoworola nodded. “And she doesn’t even know it.”
****
Gbemi’s room was quiet, too quiet.
She sat on her bed, her mother’s hospital file open beside her. The words blurred every time she blinked.
Stage Two Breast Cancer.
Her mother, once strong and always smiling, was now thin, tired, but still fighting with stubborn virtue resilience.
Gbemi wiped her eyes and stood. She crossed to the wardrobe and slowly packed her clothes—the same ones she had packed earlier, but she refolded them because her heart were shaking.
Her aunt’s voice echoed in her head:
“This show may help you. The money, the exposure… you can help your mother more.”
She swallowed hard.
Her phone buzzed with a message from her mum:
“Pele omo mi. Don’t cry. God is with us.”
Gbemi sat on the floor and burst into tears.
Her mother always comforted her, even now.
She picked up her mum’s scarf, the soft blue one she always wore to church. It still smelled like her. Mint and anointing oil.
Gbemi sobbed harder, hugging it to her chest.
She wasn’t joining the show for fame.
She wasn’t joining to look like a baddie.
She wasn’t joining to shade anyone.
She was joining because her mother needed treatment they couldn’t afford.
She was joining because she had no choice.
She wiped her face and whispered shakily:
“I’ll do anything. Anything. I’ll win it for you, mummy.”
Her phone buzzed again. A video call. Her mother.
Gbemi sniffed and picked up quickly.
Her mum smiled weakly, wrapped in a hospital blanket. “My baby.”
“Mummy…” Gbemi’s voice cracked.
“Don’t cry,” her mother whispered. “You are strong. You are my star. Go and shine. Go and win. I’ll be watching.”
Gbemi placed her forehead against the screen.
“I love you, mummy.”
“I love you too,” the woman answered softly. “Now go. Make us proud.”
When the call ended, Shindara didn’t move for a long time.
Her heart felt bruised.
Her dreams felt heavy.
But her determination burned.
She wasn’t like the Lagos girls with drama or aesthetics.
She wasn’t like girls doing it for brand deals or bragging rights.
Her reason was heavier, purer, painful, and full of hope.
And if life was fair, people would root for her.
As different corners of Nigeria prepared their girls—Kaduna, Lagos, Ibadan—the air buzzed with anticipation.
Some were coming for fame.
Some for mischief.
Some for attention.
Some for quiet observation.
Some for survival.
And one… for her mother’s life.
The show was approaching.
The stage was set.
Nigeria was about to meet the girls.
And none of them knew how deeply their stories would affect the audience.
Nigeria was buzzing quietly beneath the surface.
Every corner of the country held a girl rehearsing a dream, a lie, a fear, a hunger, or a pure deadly ambition.
The show hadn’t begun, but destinies had already started to shift.
Tonight, the shadows moved toward Lagos.
And every girl carried something different in her chest.
UCHE & CHIOMA — The Partners in Mischief
(LOCATION: LAGOS – SURULERE)
The hot evening breeze rolled through the small compound as Uche and Chioma sat on the porch with bowls of garri and groundnut, plotting with the confidence of world leaders.
Chioma kicked her slippers off. “Babe, I don’t care what anybody says. We’re entering that show as strangers. If they ask? We don’t know each other.”
Uche nodded sharply. “Exactly! Intentionality will be our strategy. Enemies in public, partners in private.”
They burst into laughter.
CHIOMA — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Fast thinker, Strategic, and calculating,
Weakness: Easily manipulated.
UCHE — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Bold, overconfidence and manipulative in a sweet way.
Weakness: Greedy, impulsiveness and easily provoked by competition.
Chioma stretched her legs out. “Uche, if we do this well, we fit collect the five hundred million and even start our own empire.”
Uche raised her spoon like a microphone.
“Even the God in heaven knows we deserves the bag!”
Another round of laughter echoed.
Two girls who had nothing, yet planned like they owned Lagos.
Somewhere in their neighbourhood, a girl overheard them talking about the show scrolled her phone — quiet, applied, got verified, unknowing to them, she’s joining them on the show..
TEMILOLUWA & ABIMBOLA — Beauty With Sharp Teeth
(LOCATION: LEKKI – ORCHID ROAD)
Temiloluwa’s apartment smelled like vanilla perfume, lip gloss, and loud confidence.
She and Abimbola sat cross-legged on the bed, ring light shining on their faces as they shot a playful TikTok.
Temi pouted into the camera. “If we enter that house, Lagos will faint.”
Abimbola scoffed softly. “Correction — they will collapse.”
They giggled and fell back into the pillows.
TEMILOLUWA — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Composed beauty, intelligent, brand-minded
Weakness: Pride, obsession with public image
ABIMBOLA — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Fearless, money-driven, persistent
Weakness: Doesn’t think things through, shallow when pressured
Abimbola fanned herself dramatically. “Temi, I’m telling you, we must dominate.”
Temi smirked. “Dominate? We will rewrite the show.”
And with that, the Lekki girls sealed their plans without realizing how many enemies beauty and lip gloss could attract.
ZAINAB — The Quiet One With a Velvet Smile
(LOCATION: KADUNA – BARNAWA)
Soft evening light rested gently on the earth-toned room — warm greys, deep browns, muted cream sheets.
No bright colours.
No chaos.
Just calm.
Zainab Dandatti tied her scarf neatly while her sister, Safiya, sprawled on the bed talking rapidly.
“Zee, you didn’t tell me the show was THIS big. People are going mad online o! Some are already picking favourites.”
Zainab smiled — small, controlled, peaceful.
“I’m not thinking too far,” she said softly. “Let me just get there first.”
Safiya rolled her eyes. “You’re too calm for this world. Too gentle. Too… I don’t know, mysterious in a soft way.”
Zainab laughed softly, almost shyly.
ZAINAB — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Elegance, emotional control, disarming charm
Weakness: Mysterious reserved, keeps everything inside, unreadable
Safiya reached for her hand. “Just be yourself. Lagos will love you.”
Zainab nodded quietly.
And maybe that was the truth or maybe Lagos would never understand a girl who moved like a whisper carrying secrets that even she didn’t fully admit to.
KALAMHIA (AYO BADMUS) — The Sociopath in Neon
(LOCATION: UNILAG – GIRLS HOSTEL BLOCK)
The fluorescent light flickered overhead as Kalamhia stood before her mirror wearing a combination that could blind the devil:
A mustard skirt, a purple chiffon top, neon green socks, and red platform shoes.
Two girls, Kemi and Titi, sat on their bunk beds pretending she didn’t exist.
“Kemiii,” Titi whispered, “is she mad? Whoever accepted her for that show needs deliverance.”
Kemi bit her lip to suppress laughter. “It’s not even madness… it’s the colors. Why is she dressed like a traffic light having an identity crisis?”
Kalamhia spun suddenly.
“You think I didn’t hear you?!”
The room froze.
Her eyes widened too much.
Her smile stretched too hard.
Her breathing got sharp — fast.
Titi swallowed. “Ayo, calm down, we weren’t—”
Before she could finish, Kalamhia lunged forward and grabbed her scarf.
“Say it to my face!” she hissed. “Say I’m mad again!”
Kemi jumped up. “Ayo leave her! We were joking!”
“Joking?”
Kalamhia laughed — a quick, misplaced laugh.
“You think I don’t know you people hate me? Everybody hates me. But when I enter that house ehn, you will see!”
She let go abruptly, grabbed her bag, and stormed out, slamming the door.
The room trembled.
KALAMHIA — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Bold, unpredictable, emotionally immune
Weakness: Impulsive, unstable, desperate for validation
Outside, she walked like someone who didn’t feel her own body, muttering:
“I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them.”
And the wind carried her promise away like scattered wrappers.
AMAKA — The Working-Class Fighter
(LOCATION: APAPA, LAGOS)
Amaka typed at her desk, pretending to work while scrolling through the show’s Instagram page.
Her colleague, Jude, leaned over her table. “Amaka, you this girl… are you sure your madam will let you go for audition?”
Amaka hissed. “My madam doesn’t own my destiny. Abeg carry your long mouth commot here.”
AMAKA — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Street-smart, tough, stands up for herself
Weakness: Quick to anger, doesn’t plan, reckless
But when her phone buzzed with a message from her mother, she softened.
How was work today?
Amaka sighed.
She needed this show, not just for money — but to stop living a life that felt too tight for her spirit.
GBEMI — The Girl With a Breaking Heart
(LOCATION: IBADAN – OLUKOBO ESTATE)
Gbemi sat on her mother’s bed, gently massaging her mother’s frail fingers.
“Mummy, you didn’t drink the pap I prepared,” she said softly.
Her mother smiled weakly. “I’m not hungry, my baby. Sit. Talk to me.”
Gbemi obeyed, but her eyes glistened.
“I got an email today,” she whispered. “For the show.”
Her mother’s face lit up. “My daughter… this is your moment.”
Gbemi shook her head, tears falling. “How can I go when you’re here… like this?”
Her mother reached up and wiped her tears.
“Gbemi, listen to me,” she said, voice trembling with both sickness and strength.
“If you stay because of me, my sickness will win twice. Go. Let the world see your light.”
Gbemi broke into sobs and leaned into her mother’s arms.
“I want to win it for you,” she cried.
“You already won,” her mother whispered. “The moment you refused to give up.”
GBEMI — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Pure-hearted, hardworking, emotionally unstable.
Weakness: Fear of loss, fragile confidence, easily overwhelmed
Later that night, Gbemi sat before her small suitcase and folded each outfit as though praying over it.
The room smelled of hospital ointments and hope.
She packed her mother’s headscarf last — the one she would hold whenever she felt like breaking.
CHINEYE — The Socialite Raised in Softness
(LOCATION: IKOYI – GERRARD ROAD)
Chineye walked through a boutique like it belonged to her.
The sales attendants followed with forced smiles.
“Try this one, ma,” one said, holding up a shimmering gown.
She shook her head. “It’s giving… regular.”
CHINEYE — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Confident, socially powerful, stunning beauty
Weakness: Spoiled, entitled, doesn’t understand hardship
Her life was a runway.
Her weakness was believing beauty was enough.
DERAH — The Glamorous Villain
Location: Lagos – Victoria Island,
The boutique glowed with gold lighting and glossy mirrors, the kind of place where every hanger whispered luxury.
Derah stood before a full-length mirror, adjusting the neckline of a champagne-colored dress that shimmered like calm water in moonlight. Her hair was curled to precision, nails sharp and glossy, her confidence filling the room like perfume.
“Assistant,” she said, barely glancing back. “That silver clutch. Now.”
The salesgirl hurried.
Just a few steps away, Shubomi, Lagos’ self-proclaimed princess of soft life, tilted her head and chuckled. “Omo, see drama. Even boutique people never rest when Derah enter.”
Her friend beside her snickered quietly.
Derah heard. She always heard. But she didn’t react — not immediately.
Shubomi moved closer, eyeing Derah’s dress with amusement. “You dey dress like person wey dey attend MET Gala every weekend. Who you wan impress?”
Derah turned slowly, a glittering smile forming, sweet as honey and sharp as poison. “Myself. Something you won’t understand.”
Shubomi raised a brow. “Oh, I understand. It’s giving… try-hard energy.”
A few shoppers hid their smirks.
Derah didn’t blink. “And you’re giving background character.”
The room fell silent.
Shubomi’s smile thinned. “Excuse me?”
Derah stepped closer, heels slicing the silence. “You heard me clearly. You’re loud, glittery, and still invisible. It’s painful to watch.”
The salesgirl froze mid-step, clutch in hand.
Shubomi scoffed. “Invisible? Babe, Lagos knows me well.”
Derah smiled again — the cold kind. “Then Lagos is bored.”
Shubomi shifted, clearly irritated now. “What’s your problem? Always forming queen, queen. Relax.”
Derah touched a silk scarf, slowly wrapping it around her wrist like a ritual. “I don’t form queen, Shubomi. I am one. That’s why the show needs me.”
Shubomi clicked her tongue. “Don’t choke on your pride.”
Derah’s expression hardened just a fraction. “And don’t trip on your insecurity.”
Two shoppers gasped quietly.
The tension tightened like a drawn wire.
Derah — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Glamorous, manipulative, online presence
Weakness: Thin-skinned, competitive, easily provoked
As Derah walked past Shubomi, she let the scarf slip from her fingers and handed it to the assistant. “Pack it. She needs it more than I do.”
Shubomi’s jaw tightened.
“I will see how you’ll win the show, with this stink attitude” she said, her voice sharp.
Derah didn’t turn back. “You’ll watch me from home darling.”
And with that, she walked out of the boutique — immaculate, untouchable, and unmistakably dangerous.
SHINDARA — The Girl From Ibadan
Location: Ibadan – Small Single Room, Amuloko, Ibadan.
The fan in Shindara’s room rattled softly, the only sound in the cramped space besides the occasional honk from the street outside. Her wardrobe was modest: two faded jeans, three tops, one pair of worn sneakers.
She knelt on the floor, folding a second-hand blazer she had bought for the show.
“This isn’t enough,” she whispered to herself, smoothing out the fabric. “People will laugh… I just know it.”
Her best friend, Tola, peered in from the doorway. “Shin, it’s fine. They’re not here yet. You don’t need Gucci to be yourself.”
Shindara shook her head. “It’s not about being myself. It’s about competing. I can’t just walk in looking poor next to… everyone else.”
Tola sighed. “They’ll respect you for who you are. Not what you wear.”
Shindara’s eyes glistened with determination. “Maybe. But if I want them to see me, really see me, I have to fight with what I have. And right now, this is all I’ve got.”
She straightened up, placed a pair of polished shoes next to her bag, and stared at herself in the small mirror. Her reflection showed resilience, humility, and quiet ambition. She was a girl who had learned to survive — and now she wanted to thrive.
Shindara — Strength & Weakness
Strength: Humble, persistent, quietly ambitious, clever
Weakness: Limited resources, self-conscious, lack of confidence
She picked up her phone and sent a quick voice note to Gbemi, who had just shared news about her mother’s health. “We’ll do this together,” she whispered. And for the first time that evening, she allowed herself a small, hopeful smile.
All Over Nigeria…
Twelve girls.
Different dreams.
Different demons.
Different weapons.
Some wanted fame.
Some wanted money.
Some wanted escape.
Some wanted validation.
One wanted chaos.
And one just wanted her mother to live long enough to see her shine.
They hadn’t met yet.
But the universe was already arranging their collision.
The show hadn’t begun.
But the war had.
Please drop us a comment…. 💋
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