Corruption is arguably Nigeria’s most significant vice.

Please, let’s not lie to ourselves.

From government officials lavishly looting the futures of the electorate, to you, frantically swallowing meat from your mother’s pot at night.

There is God o.

Anyway, corruption has a younger sibling; she takes some of the spirit of her big sis, but less of the uglier, overt force.

She is demure, subtle, and people love her because she makes things easy in a country where the bare minimum, like getting a voter’s card or not falling into a pothole while commuting, is tougher than undercooked shaki.

Her name is, Nepotism.

Now, Nigerian netizens have recently fallen upon a small sect of the nation; those kissed by nepotism, necked by “connection”, and nurtured by privilege.

Who are those? Why, The Nepotism Babies, dear!

These are the privileged few who have direct and/or indirect access to resources, information and influence that make average life, for them, just a tad easier.

Compared to the average Nigerian, they – Nepo Babies – range from slightly advantaged to so privileged that they are not even seeing others.

So, are you one of them, dear?

Should we call your name when it’s time to eat the rich and redistribute the wealth to the masses?

We know you’re curious, and so are we. Let’s find out.

Can buy a bunch of plantains in 2025 without fainting/immediate cardiac arrest

In the years of our lord T-pain, fresh produce has risen from an important necessity to almost ostentatious luxury.

Gone are the days of buying a sizable bunch of bananas for ₦1500/2000. Buying such a prized commodity – because, at this point, it is – will now set you back a crazy ₦6000, give or take.

In the same market where people are selling yams in slices, you’re buying a bunch of ripe plantains, and you think you’re on the same level as the rest of us?

Please, drop your address, you can’t finish it all alone.

Internships at a family member’s company – no CV, no interview, just vibes.

Let’s set the scene: IT (Internship/Industrial Training) year rolls around in uni, and you’re tasked with finding a place to accept you as an intern, even with your bad character.

While the plebians (your classmates) were frantically sending out applications or even physically rounding their cities, handing out CVs, all you had to do was tell mum you needed an internship for the break, and all she had to do was call HR of her office to make sure there would be an extra chair and desk for you when you got to work on Monday morning.

No stress, no gra gra. You slid in like an oiled hinge.

You see that oil? It’s from a brand called “Nepo”, dear.

You call long breaks from school “summers”

Speaking of school… a childhood of Disney, Nickelodeon, and yearly vacations has influenced your vocabulary.

You don’t say  “Omo, I can’t wait for the long break”, because what even is a long break? Razz. Where’s the fun? The buzz?

It’s Summer!

After a grand acknowledgement of this fact, your parents would then posit a most crucial quandary: Where should we go for Summer vacation this year?

So, you sweet summer (Nepo) child, do you see that your struggles are just a tad different from regular country folk?

We also love Italy and the rest sha, so anywhere you’re going, we don’t mind accompanying you.

Someone “worked” your NYSC placement for you

Most Nigerian graduates register with the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) for their service year shortly after leaving university – a scheme that sends people to the far reaches of the country and is chaotic at best and dangerous at its worst.

But we’re not here to lament the gradual demise of a national unity programme; you already know how it is.

Letting the Nigerian government decide your fate is risky business.

That’s why even before you registered, you paid your “plug” on the inside to make sure you got posted to a state of your choosing.

Oh, Nepotism, the lubricant you are!

You have an Airfryer in your kitchen.

There is just something so pretentious about an air fryer.

It is, essentially, a non-essential that owners always find a way to make sound like the most amazing modern creation.

Frying things with oil is just so unhealthy! My air fryer makes me try different recipes and ways of cooking! My air fryer keeps food warm, cleans my kitchen, and cures my depression! 

You’re a nepo baby, dear. Our science proves it.

You don’t think about electricity – you have an inverter, duh

There is a kind of rain that pours so hard you have to wonder if God is upset.

Which is a strong possibility, because some Nigerians are eating pizza with egusi, and isn’t that enough to anger even the most benevolent of gods?

Anyway.

This is usually when Nigerian electricity providers do their jobs – take light – but while your friends scramble in the dark, you romanticise the downpour, snuggled up in a blanket, watching To Kill A Monkey. 

You didn’t even notice the power outage; your inverter quietly picked up.

Odogwu Silencer. You are not with us, please.

Anyway, 

As you can see, being a “Nepo Baby” in Nigeria – at least by Twitter’s standards – is essentially about privilege: the privilege of being somewhat insulated from the country’s failings and dangerous edges.

For Nigerians, the term – despite its more literal, American origins (it blew up in 2022 in reference to the well-connected children of Hollywood elites) – is less about actual nepotism and more about escaping the very bottom rung of the Nigerian dysfunction ladder.

Makes you think, hm?

Anyway, are you a Nigerian “Nepo Baby”?

If you’re not, or if you don’t mind extra help, our Small Plug Index is here for you.

No be everytime, “Who is your plug?” sometimes, be the plug. 

The Small Plug Index