Inside the Nigerian Creative’s Hustle

The dream is valid. But so is rent.

There’s a very specific look in a Nigerian creative’s eyes.

It’s not just hunger. It’s not just drive. It’s the weary twinkle of someone who has had to explain what they do. Again. For the fifth time that week, usually to an auntie who still believes a “real job” involves a cubicle and corporate email signature. It’s the gaze of someone toggling between Canva, CapCut, and their 9–5 Google Meet, all while praying NEPA (sorry, PHCN) keeps the light steady long enough to export.

Welcome to the Nigerian creative hustle.

Whether you’re a designer, writer, content creator, filmmaker, photographer, stylist, or all of the above (because, let’s be honest, most of us wear multiple hats), you’ve probably felt the dizzying mix of purpose and pressure that comes with being a creative here.

And if you haven’t yet, just give it time.

 

The Origin Story (aka “How It Started”)

For many Nigerian creatives, the journey starts not only with passion, but necessity. You were the one in secondary school who knew how to draw. The cousin who edited photos “with filter” that actually looked good. The friend who could write Instagram captions that slapped. The one who “knew fonts.” It was never supposed to be a career. But then you realized people would actually pay you for it.

Sort of.

If you’re lucky, your first creative paycheck was thrilling. More often than not, it was humbling. Or unpaid entirely, “for exposure.” And exposure, of course, does not pay NEPA bills.

 

The 9–5 x 5–9 Dilemma

Let’s be real, most creatives in Nigeria don’t get the luxury of quitting a 9–5 to “focus on content.” We’re not in that economy. Many of us are doing both. You wake up, log into your corporate job, pretend you’re focused during the Zoom call, and then spend your night storyboarding a campaign idea for a friend’s skincare brand.

It’s not glamorous. 

But it’s real. Because the truth is, creative success in Nigeria isn’t just about talent. It’s about endurance.

 

Romanticizing the Grind vs. Living It

We love to romanticize the idea of the Lagos creative. You know the vibe: coffee shop laptop girlie with big headphones. Or the stylish guy who always knows the best angle, the best lighting, the best spots. But what we don’t see are the unpaid brand deals, the endless rejections, the delays, the mental burnout.

Being creative here requires strategy. If you’re not thinking of how to monetize it, someone else will, and you’ll be left behind. It’s not enough to be good. You have to be marketable.

But at what cost?

 

Where Community Saves Us

The creative grind in Nigeria can be lonely. But the community saves us.

Whether it’s Twitter group chats, IG Lives, co-working hubs like Cre8 or CapitalSquare, or just a WhatsApp group of struggling designers hyping each other, you need people. People who get the chaos. People who’ll send you gig links. People who won’t ask “So when will you get a real job?”

Sometimes, just knowing you’re not mad for trying to create beauty in a country that barely lets you rest is enough.

 

Money Talk: Pricing, Confidence & the Guilt of Charging

Here’s the awkward part, how do you price yourself in an economy where people think “you’re just writing” or “just snapping pictures”? How do you charge 150k for a logo when someone else is offering to do it for 5k?

Confidence.

It takes a certain boldness to say, “This is what my work is worth,” and stand by it. Even when they ghost. Even when they tell you it’s “too expensive.” Especially then.

And no, it’s not pride. It’s protection.

You’ve invested time, energy, creativity, and probably your data, laptop, back pain, emotional stability to get here. So charge. With your full chest.

 

Creativity & Mental Health: Let’s Talk

We need to talk more about the toll this hustle takes on the mind. The constant comparison. The feeling of being unseen. The fear that you’re not doing enough. That your best work will always go unnoticed unless someone famous reposts it.

Add to that the financial stress, power outages, inconsistent clients, and pressure to “go viral,” and it’s no wonder many creatives are burnt out. 

Take breaks. Go offline. Romanticize your rest, not just your output. And please, get therapy if you can afford it or find one of the many Nigerian mental health platforms offering  affordable sessions like She Writes Woman or Mentally Aware NG.

 

Is It Worth It? Yes. No. Maybe. Still, We Move.

There’s no blueprint. Some creatives get lucky fast. Others take years to be “discovered.” Some give up. Others reinvent. And some of us are still figuring it out, every day, one pitch at a time.

But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the Nigerian creative is a different breed. We don’t just create. We build. We adapt. We survive. And despite everything, we still find ways to make beautiful things.

So, is it worth it?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But we’re still here.

Creating.

If you’re a creative, share your hustle story in the comments and if you’re not, tag a Nigerian creative you love.