Nepo vs. Lapo Baby: Class, Privilege, and the Social Media Debate That Won’t Die

The timeline has been ablaze in recent weeks with a cultural class war framed in one of the most Nigerian of dichotomies: “Nepo Baby” vs. “Lapo Baby.” What began as light-hearted banter quickly turned into a ferocious discourse on X (formerly Twitter), exposing deep-rooted resentment, performative self-madeism, and Nigeria’s ever-widening class gap.

Who Are the Nepo and Lapo Babies?

Nepo baby: The child of privilege. They didn’t just attend the best schools they never had to worry about school fees. They secure jobs before NYSC ends, start businesses backed by family wealth, and glide through life with an invisible safety net.

Lapo baby: A term coined from LAPO (Lift Above Poverty Organisation), referring to those who started life from scratch; sometimes from sub-zero. They hawked pure water, did freelance gigs for 5k, navigated public universities and ASUU strikes, and now work twice as hard to sit at the same table.

Where the Fire Started

The debate reignited after a tweet that read:

“Y’all be praising lapo babies for grinding so hard. I don’t wanna grind. I’m a nepo baby and I’m okay with that.”

It was honest but also tone-deaf. A brutal reminder that some can opt out of the hustle many are imprisoned in.

The backlash was swift. Critics called it elitist and insensitive. But supporters argued she was simply telling the truth and that many lapo babies wear suffering like a badge of honour. The timeline split in two.

Enter @UnkleAyo and a Dose of Reality

One of the more grounded voices in the noise was @UnkleAyo, who tweeted:

“We’ve reached the part of this nepo baby convo where many of you are now writing fiction. You didn’t start from zero. You started from comfort and connections but want us to believe you ate garri to fund your startup. Be serious.”

That tweet hit a nerve. And rightly so.

In Nigeria, unlike in many developed economies, wealth is often opaque. Riches appear sometimes overnight with no traceable path. Yet we have a proliferation of “self-help” books and TEDx talks by 30-something “CEOs” who claim they built empires with ₦5,000 and grit.

The truth? Most can’t give an accurate account of how they built their wealth. They hide behind vague buzzwords like “networking” and “vision,” while their real stories remain locked in backdoor deals, political favour, or outright family funding.

Compare this with truly self-made individuals in the West, people with verifiable “from rags to riches” journeys, open tax records, and a trackable history of struggle, iteration, and breakthrough.

Why It Matters

This is not just banter. The nepo vs. lapo discourse reveals the rot beneath:

The myth of the self-made Nigerian is often a façade weaponised to gaslight the struggling majority.

Lapo babies are not envious; they’re exhausted. They’ve played the “work hard” game by the rules, only to realise the system is rigged.

Nepo babies are not villains, but those who claim self-made status while skipping the struggle are.

The Bigger Conversation

This debate should force us to ask better questions:

Why is access to opportunity in Nigeria still largely tied to family wealth?

Why do we celebrate “hustle” while ignoring the trauma it leaves behind?

And why do we let people rewrite their stories just to fit into a bootstrap narrative that doesn’t match their truth?

It’s not about cancelling nepo babies or pitying lapo babies. It’s about redefining success with transparency, not an illusion.

Final Word

In the end, privilege isn’t a crime, but dishonesty about it is. If you were helped, say so. If you struggled, document it truthfully. But don’t distort your story to sell books, clout, or motivational speeches.

The Nigerian dream doesn’t have to be built on lies. And maybe, just maybe, if we stopped pretending, we could finally build a country where the next generation doesn’t have to be lapo babies just to be respected.

Until then, the timeline will remain divided between those who had doors opened for them and those who had to break the door down.

Yesterday, I stumbled upon a heartbreaking video that encapsulated the struggles of the common Nigerian. It depicted a grown man crying openly in the market, tears streaming down his face as he bemoaned the skyrocketing price of rice. With only N2,000 in hand, he was dismayed to learn from the seller that the required quantity would cost him N2,200.

It’s remarkable how something as mundane as a food staple can trigger such despair and anguish. “God! How are we going to survive? Who have we offended in this country?” he cried out, his voice echoing the sentiments of many silently suffering citizens. It was a stark reminder of the harsh realities faced by ordinary Nigerians every day.

As I reflect on this incident, I can’t help but ponder the direction in which our country is headed. With the exchange rate soaring past $1 to over N1,500, the economic landscape appears bleak, and the future is uncertain. I’ve queried friends who are ardent supporters of the current government about the tangible achievements of the administration in improving the lives of Nigerians. Their response? The relocation of a department of the CBN to Lagos. Frankly, I fail to see how this translates to meaningful change for the average citizen.

Nigeria is grappling with myriad challenges, from a faltering economy to rampant insecurity. Kidnappings, banditry, and senseless killings have become all too common, casting a dark shadow over our nation’s future. The recent spectacle of a former government official organizing crowdfunding for kidnapped victims, despite his failure to address the root causes of insecurity, serves as a grim reminder of the state of affairs. This official, who previously subjected Nigerians to hardship and squandered significant funds on implementing a failed NIN system that cannot be used to trace criminals, is a testament to our nation's ongoing challenges.

Yet, amidst the despair, there remains a glimmer of hope. Many of us who wanted to vote for a better future have come to terms with our reality. We are stuck with this administration, but we refuse to wish for its failure, knowing that our fates are intertwined. However, it’s imperative to acknowledge the shortcomings and hold our leaders accountable.

As the Yoruba adage goes, “The eyes that will last will not start bringing out mucus at the very beginning.” It’s time for honest conversations and bold actions. Blaming past administrations can only go so far. The real question is: How do we fix our country?

Integrating reformed bandits into society and negotiating with terrorists are not viable solutions. We need innovative strategies and decisive leadership to navigate Nigeria’s turbulent waters. It’s time to move beyond rhetoric and work towards tangible progress for the betterment of all Nigerians.

So, how do we fix our country? I ask again. The answer lies in unity, resilience, and an unwavering commitment to building a brighter future for future generations. We must resist division along ethnic, political, and religious lines, directing our focus instead towards the true culprits who are squandering our national wealth.

Perhaps we should start by teaching our politicians how to swim; they seem to be drowning in their incompetence!

Endowed by both God and nature with ample natural and human resources, we merit a brighter future. Nigeria, in all its richness, warrants nothing short of excellence.

Of a struggle against corruption’s hold.

A nation rich in vibrant hues,

Yet tarnished by dishonest dues.

From corridors of power to humble streets,

Corruption seeps, a poison that repeats.

The embezzlement, the bribes, the deceit,

Undermining progress, justice, and heat.

In shadows cast, the truth is veiled,

As greed and dishonesty prevail.

Promises broken, trust eroded,

The people’s dreams, forever corroded.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker remains,

A flame of hope that forever sustains.

Voices rise, demanding change,

For a Nigeria free from this corrosive range.

Citizens unite, their spirits ablaze,

Resilient souls, a chorus of praise.

Demanding accountability, justice’s reign,

To cleanse the nation from corruption’s stain.

Let truth prevail, let transparency reign,

In the fight against corruption’s bane.

For Nigeria’s potential, vast and bright,

Can only flourish in the absence of night.

Oh Nigeria, land of abundant might,

Unshackle the chains that hinder your flight.

Embrace integrity, let justice guide,

And watch corruption’s walls subside.

For in the hearts of Nigerians strong,

Resides the power to right the wrong.

To build a future where all can thrive,

Where corruption’s legacy will not survive.

So let us stand, united and bold,

Against corruption’s grip, uncontrolled.

In Nigeria’s land, a new dawn shall rise,

Where honesty prevails, and justice flies.

ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY RESPONSE IN NIGERIA
An erudite once said " a good story is like a mini skirt on a hot girl, you want it long enough to cover the subject and short enough to be interesting" the hot girl here is none other than my dear country Nigeria.

The only thing I remember caring about when I was 12 was street football. Myself and six other boys created a makeshift stadium in front of my mother’s shop where she sold petty items. On a good day, school ended by 4pm and we would play till dusk, games often interrupted by our mothers’ frantic voices calling us to run errands.

One day, i heard the screeching of tires and for some reason, I knew that sound heralded doom. At that time, cars were extremely uncommon, only two out of ten families could afford to own cars at the time, so a screeching sound; a sound I had heard only on television; was not a good thing. It turned the screeching had happened prior to a head-on collision between a motor-cycle and ‘the Bentley of the day’ a Peugeot 504.

The man on the motorcycle was dismembered on impact, his torso torn away from his trunk. Even though I was still a child I could tell that if first aid was not administered immediately, the cold hands of death would not spare him this one, I was in shock, I could not move. I had never seen so much blood in my entire life. Moments later, a couple of grown-ups rushed to the scene, shouting and crying, ignoring the victims who needed medical attention.

A decade ago, accident and emergency services were available, but the citizenry scarcely had need to take advantage, ten years down the line, the reverse has been the case. There is a sharp contrast from what is regarded as the norm in other countries as against what it is in Nigeria. That is, if the movies paint a true picture. The response and proficiency of Western paramedics is a joy to watch.

My degree in Anatomy has enriched my understanding of injuries and the degree of risk it poses to victims. While it is needless to say a head injury is deadly, an injury to the foot can equally be as mortal if a major blood vessel has been lacerated. Recent statistics of mortality has shown that accidents accounted for nearly 23% of deaths after Malaria 63.3%, infant and maternal mortality 26.7%. While it cannot be denied that paramedic services are not readily available, it will be an untruth to say the populace do not make the situation more deplorable by their reactions when an accident occurs, instead of administering first aid; loosening tight clothing, carrying out CPR, giving the victim breathing space, the reaction of choice is usually shouting, screaming, outright panic and with the emergence of mobile technology; making videos and taking pictures for social media. It is more alarming to note there is no dedicated number (equivalent to 911) to call in time of emergency nor a world class accident and emergency ward in the southwestern part of the country. A lot of lives would have been saved if things were different.

Shortly after I graduated university, I was out running errands for my mother when I saw a crowd gathered. The scene was one of glass, blood and mangled metal. The victim of the crash was bleeding from a gash on the frontal part of his skull, his lips swollen. From my deductions, he had a blunt trauma to the head, a concussion and was swiftly losing blood. Instead of rushing him to the nearest hospital or calling emergency services, half of the crowd stood keening, the other half trying to chug milk down the dying man’s throat. I had come full circle, only this time, I was old enough to do something, I got four other people to help carry the victim to the hospital. He died after three days of being stable, if things happened differently, he would still be alive.

This and several other experiences across the country have a common denominator of ignorance on the part of the people and the bureaucratic inertia involved in reporting accidents at the police station. There have been incidences of the good Samaritans who helped victims to the hospital being held responsible for causing the accident. It is an incontestable fact that Nigeria is a developing country, and this is a basic human necessity that every country should have, but we can’t afford it, at least that is what the country’s budget says. It seems our leaders have turned a blind eye to the deplorable state of the health sector rather choosing to access ad-hoc medical care abroad.
There are ways to correct this, by public-private partnerships, organizing routine trainings for health professionals and communities, upgrading primary health care centres to provide gold standard accident and emergency services, routine renovations and maintenance of existing healthcare facilities, we can get the system to work. It is often said that what is not measured will most often not get done, and while it is our collective responsibility as a people to make the system work, elected officials are to be held most accountable and these points of action made essential deliverables mandatory to be considered for re-election into public office.

Here's your revised text with some grammatical improvements:

"The good thing about Africans is the fact that most of us, as children, never believed in the myth of Santa Claus, probably because we were too busy screaming out of fear (Naija no dey carry last). However, 99% of us adults suffer from the 'one big deal syndrome,' expecting a serendipitous event that will suddenly be a panacea to all life problems. Some variations of this syndrome include winning a big lottery that will take care of all our problems or getting a big contract that will change a life forever. We want something mega that will ensure a problem-free life and perpetual happiness. The fact is: reality has a way of sobering us up when our expectations are excessive, much like the proverbial change we all expected when APC took over from PDP. No wonder our expectations cause us the most disappointment in life. It follows that the more expectations you have, the more unhappiness you’re likely to experience, like taking a page from Newton’s third law of motion. Even when something good comes your way, you won’t feel grateful once you get it. It is so easy to be seduced by corporate adverts that paint life as a bed of roses (For those who watch TV, the Papilo Peak Milk advert is a perfect example). Much like the motivational speakers we have these days whose mantra is 'You can achieve it if you believe it,' ignorant people take this mantra at face value, always believing but never working to make the dream come to life. Ask those who were so eager to lie on this bed of subtle deceit. It won’t hurt to evaluate your expectations once in a while because that big thing you’re expecting may not be expecting you. Don’t make the mistake of thinking there is something wrong with wanting new things in life; don’t be silly! It is as normal as the inspiration of oxygen, but don’t expect too much, especially when you’re not working for it. However, the more unrealistic expectations you have, the more you open yourself up to a world of hurt, disappointments, and dejection. Some will argue that miracles do happen, and on that, we agree, but think of it this way: How come people die every day, but for some reason, you’re still alive? These opportunities do occur, but there’s a reason why it is called 'one in a million.' Before I go, let me drop the best thing to ever come out of Nollywood: 'Beware, be warned, don’t fall a victim.' This is not from Ebinpejo Lane, Idumota Lagos... El Oh El (Lol)."