God when? This is Zahrah’s first thought as they all walk into Chinwe’s apartment.
She truly respects and admires her friend for all the effort she puts into her business, and she is thankful on her behalf that her hard work keeps yielding good results. She just wishes she knows what to do to grow her income.
I’m still living with Mum and Dad, and my salary barely covers my expenses, nawa oo.
As they all settle in, Zahrah speaks up, “Babe, have I told you that I truly admire and respect your hard work and resilience. It’s hard to believe that we’re in the same age bracket. Well done, girl!” The others nod and respond in agreement.
“Thank you, losing Mum and Dad in my final year of school forced me to sit up, maybe a bit more than the average person our age. You know it took less than three months for extended family to show me that I was on my own. All I had access to was the 500,000 in one of my mum’s accounts that I happened to know the pin to the ATM, I moved the money from her account to one of mine, afraid that the money would be snatched from there, like they were snatched.”
“I remember that period,” Zahrah said sadly.
“The money was there for about 3 months; all I removed was my 20,000 monthly allowance. The balance eventually birthed my current business” She chuckles sadly, “why am I talking like you’re strangers to my story. Abeg, the room is getting heavy. Where is that Suya we bought on our way here?”
They all laugh.
Before long, the scent of spicy suya, light-hearted gist, and laughter fills Chinwe’s spacious living room.
Tola drops her phone on the glass centre table and claps her hands together. “Okay, girls. Meeting called to order. Eunice and I need to become moguls before the year ends. Let us talk business.”
Eunice sits up, looking a bit more anxious than excited. “I thought about it the entire trip here from the restaurant. What exactly are we selling? And how much is this going to cost?”
“I was thinking we sell imported luxury perfumes,” Tola says, her eyes lighting up. “I know a supplier. We put down 150k each, buy in bulk, and sell to our contacts on IG and at my firm. Easy money.”
Zahrah watches Eunice’s face drop. 150k. That is exactly half of her remaining savings.
“Tola, 150k is a lot,” Eunice says softly. “You have 180k coming in at the end of the month from your firm. If nobody buys these perfumes for three months, you will survive. If I drop 150k, that’s half of my savings. If I don’t get a job within those three months, I am literally stranded.”
Tola frowns, crossing her arms. “But the truth is, either way, if you don’t get a job in three months you won’t have any money left, but you’re living with your parents, so your accommodation and feeding is sorted. Besides, business is a risk, Eunice. We have to be bold. Plus, it is a fifty-fifty partnership; we have to contribute equally.”
The room is silent for a split second, everyone wondering in their minds when Tola would finally learn to be subtle and diplomatic.
“Actually, you don’t,” Chinwe breaks the silence. She gets up from where she is perched on a stool, wiping her hands on a serviette. She stands directly in front of Tola. “Tola, you work from 8:00 AM to 7:00 PM at your law firm. Who is going to run the Instagram page, respond to DMs, package the perfumes, and coordinate with dispatch riders?”
“Well, Eunice has the time right now,” Tola replies, shrugging. “Since she is still looking for a job.”
Chinwe smiles, but anyone who knows her knows it’s her ‘I mean business’ smile. “If Eunice is running the day-to-day operations, an equal financial split is not fair to her. In business, time and physical effort have a monetary value; it is called sweat equity. If she is doing all the labour while you are at your 9-5, you either need to bring a much larger share of the capital, or she takes a significantly larger cut of the profits.”
The room goes quiet again. Zahrah sips her water, letting Chinwe’s words sink in. Sweat equity. She calculates her own life. She has no capital to spare from her 120,000 salary, but she writes compelling content every single day for her boss. Could she use her skills to build her own sweat equity somewhere?
“I never thought about it like that,” Tola admits, her defensive posture dropping. For me, money equals ownership, but this makes me see it differently.”
“Money is just one part of the equation,” Chinwe explains. “A lot of friendships get ruined because one person brings the money, the other does all the hard work, and then they fight over equal profits. You need to value Eunice’s time just as much as your cash.”
Eunice nods slowly, looking relieved. “Thank you, Chinwe. Honestly, I don’t want to sell perfumes just because we want quick cash. What if we offer a service instead of a product? Something that requires zero capital from my end, but utilises my actual skills?”
Zahrah leans forward, suddenly very interested. The conversation is pivoting from spending money they do not have, to making money with what they already possess.
But the question remains: what service can a frustrated young lawyer and an unemployed marketing strategist offer that Lagosians will actually pay for?
