The Night I Learned Lagos Relationships Run on Vibes and Grilled Meat
Last Friday night, I learned one thing about modern dating: nothing prepares you for the kind of plot twists Lagos can throw at you—especially when it comes to relationships, trust issues, and romantic drama.
I had just stepped out of a café in Lekki Phase 1, takeaway cup in hand, when my phone buzzed. It was Kamsi—the girl I had been soft-liking, hard-crushing, and definitely overthinking for the past three months.
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She texted:
“Are you around? Please I need help urgently. Don’t ask questions.”
Immediately, I knew this was relationship wahala.
I replied, “Send location.”
She did. It was a lounge close by.
I got there in five minutes.
When she walked out, her eyeliner was smudged, lipstick half-gone, hair rough like she had fought a small dragon. She held her heels in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Kamsi? Are you okay?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, slid into the passenger seat, and said:
“Please just drive. Fast.”
See me see dating thriller.
We hit Admiralty Way, and she finally spoke.
“Promise you won’t judge me?”
“I can’t promise. But talk.”
She sighed dramatically.
“I need to beat my boyfriend home.”
Ehn? Boyfriend?
Me that was planning soft-launching her by December?
I kept my face straight.
“What happened?”
Turns out, she told her boyfriend she was attending an “all-girls sleepover” in VI. Meanwhile, the “girls” turned out to be just one guy—who apparently fell asleep after they watched a movie.
A movie. Yes. Sure.
Anyway, the boyfriend texted her:
“Babe, surprise! I’m already heading to your house.”
That’s when her spirit jumped out and ordered me.
“I SMELL LIKE SOMEONE ELSE’S COLOGNE”
“We need to stop somewhere,” she said.
“My clothes smell like… perfume I don’t recognize.”
I didn’t talk. I just nodded like an Uber driver collecting emotional tax.
We stopped at her friend’s apartment in Oniru. She ran in and left her phone in my car. It immediately began vibrating.
Her boyfriend.
Calling.
I stared at the screen like it was a live bomb.
After the third call, temptation whispered, Pick it.
But maturity held my hand: Mind your business, king.
Minutes later, she came back wearing joggers, oversized tee, and lip gloss—like someone who spent the night baking banana bread, not breaking hearts.
“Phone’s dead,” she said. “Let me use yours to call him.”
I handed mine over reluctantly.
She dialed and went straight into sweetheart mode:
“Baby, I’m so sorry! My phone died. Network was terrible. I just left Ijeoma’s house now. I even brought you breakfast.”
Breakfast ke? At 11:20 p.m?
She hung up, smiled sweetly at me, and said:
“You’re a lifesaver.”
At this point, I wasn’t sure if she meant it as a compliment or an insult to my self-respect.
We reached her estate in Ogudu.
Before I could even park fully, she turned to me:
“One small favor… can you pretend you’re the Bolt driver who dropped me from Ijeoma’s house?”
I blinked twice.
“Only if your boyfriend tips me for acting.”
We laughed, but my soul was crying.
When we got to her gate, her boyfriend was standing outside—arms folded, face tight, scanning me like airport security.
Kamsi ran to him, hugged him like nothing happened, then pointed at me:
“That’s the Bolt guy. He picked me from Ijeoma’s place.”
He nodded at me, still suspicious.
I nodded back like a man who now knows the true meaning of dating red flags.
As I drove off, I heard her say:
“Baby, let’s go inside. I even bought suya for you.”
Suya.
For cheating apology.
Lagos relationships run on vibes and grilled meat.
Two days later, she texted me:
“Hey… can we talk?”
I replied, “Sure.”
She sent a long voice note admitting the truth:
She and her boyfriend broke up that night.
He had already suspected she was cheating.
And the final twist?
“Honestly… you’re the only person I felt safe calling that night.
Maybe I called the wrong guy.”
My heart did a front flip.
But before I could reply, she added:
“Anyway, I’m taking a break from dating. I want to focus on healing and understanding my relationship patterns.”
Healing.
Understanding.
Patterns.
She basically friend-zoned me with psychological terminology.
I typed:
“Proud of you. Take your time.”
Then I put my phone down and whispered to myself:
“In this dating world—na who no get expectations go survive.”
