Every December, IJGBs enter Lagos like they’re on a world tour. The moment they land, the entire city shifts. Suddenly, everybody’s accent changes, Bolt drivers start adding extra zeros, and Lekki becomes the United Nations headquarters of packaging. If you’ve ever had an IJGB friend drag you around, you already know the pressure is real. Their lifestyle is not for the weak, and if you’re not careful, you’ll enter January asking yourself who sent you.
First of all, the accent. They’ll land today, and by tomorrow, they’re already speaking like they grew up in London traffic. Even their “good morning” has British Airways inside it. If you dare talk normally, they’ll hit you with, “Sorry, what?” Relax, bro. You left here in 2021.
And let’s not forget how these IJGBs whip out their UBA Detty December Red Pass like it’s a VIP access card to enjoyment. They use it everywhere; restaurants, clubs, malls, and everything just goes through smoothly without any stress or “network wahala.” The way they tap that card with confidence will even make you rethink your own bank choices. To them, it’s not just a card; it’s their December superpower.
Then the outfits. IJGBs dress like they’re attending the Met Gala every day. Full designer from head to toe, even their socks have a story. If you mistakenly stand beside them for a picture, your entire outfit will start questioning its life choices.
Now the shortlet lifestyle. IJGBs don’t stay with family for long. Two days after landing, they’re already shouting, “Let’s get a place in Lekki for the vibes.” Before you know it, you’re contributing money for a shortlet you’ll only use to take pictures. The rest of the time? Everybody will be outside.
And the outside life is mad. Beach today, club tomorrow, concert next tomorrow, someone’s private party the day after. You’ll follow them out thinking you’re having fun until you check your account balance and discover the real meaning of “oppression.”
IJGBs and restaurants? Oh dear. Regular jollof is no longer enough; it has to be a ₦50k plate with small food arranged like a museum exhibit. They’ll take one bite and say, “It’s alright.” Meanwhile, you’re calculating if you should drink water to fill your stomach.
The Uber lifestyle is the final nail. IJGBs don’t do danfo, keke–anything. “Let’s just Uber,” they’ll say. Next thing: ₦18k for a 12-minute ride because the surge price is surging. They will pay their half in pounds equivalent, but you? You’re paying with your destiny.
Even the way they take pictures is stressful. 20 angles. 15 retakes. “Let me check it.” “Take another one.” By the time you’re done, you’ve taken 83 pictures, and you’re not even in any of them.
By the end of the month, they’ll pack their bags, fly back to their real life, and leave you in Lagos, tired, broke, and wondering why you followed someone with a stronger passport to do December. But don’t worry. Next year, when they say “I’m coming home again!” You’ll still smile and reply, “Pull up na, we go run am!”
Because one thing about IJGB pressure? It will always catch you with vibes.
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