The Hunger Games: Nigerian Food Delivery Edition

Ordering food in Nigeria is not for the faint-hearted. It’s a high-stakes gamble where hunger meets chaos, and every tap on your phone feels like yelling “take all my money” into the void.

If you’ve ever tried to get shawarma or jollof delivered, you know it’s not just an order—it’s an experience. The kind of experience that leaves you laughing, crying, or questioning your entire life.

Let’s break it down: Why is food delivery in Nigeria one big, hilarious mystery?

Jimmy Fallon

Level 1: The ETA Is a Lie

The app says “Delivery in 25 minutes.” You know it’s a scam, but you still believe—because hope is free. Forty minutes later, you call the rider, and he tells you he’s “almost there.” Translation? He hasn’t even left.

At this point, your hunger transforms into spiritual warfare. You’re pacing the floor, bargaining with God, and Googling “how to fry eggs without crying.”


Level 2: The Packaging Drama

Nigerian food packaging is like unboxing a Russian doll. First, there’s the mandatory nylon bag. Then another nylon—because why not? Add some foil, layers of sellotape, and a twist-tie that looks like it moonlights as a spare part for roadside mechanics.

By the time you get to your food, you feel like you’ve completed a NYSC obstacle course.

Kanayo O. Kanayo nollywood meme

By the time you get to your food, you’ve burnt 200 calories and aged three years. And if you order pepper soup? Good luck. That nylon will betray you faster than your village people during Christmas rice sharing.


Level 3: The “Double Portion” Scam

You decided to ball out and ordered a “double portion” of fried rice. The picture promised an overflowing plate of goodness, but what you got? One spoon more than a regular serving. Barely.

You call to complain, and they hit you with, “That’s the standard measurement, sir.” Measurement, ke? Who is measuring? WAEC examiners?

Jim Iyke Nollywood Meme

Level 4: The Spicy Roulette

You asked for mild pepper. What they delivered could wake the ancestors. Nigerian food vendors believe spice is not a seasoning but a personality test. If your lips aren’t burning and your eyes aren’t watering, did you even eat?

The worst part? There’s no escape. You drink water, it makes it worse. You drink soda, you regret your life choices. Now you’re Googling, “How to sue for emotional damage caused by pepper.”


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Level 5: The Detour Olympics

Why is it that Nigerian delivery riders never know the road? You’ve given perfect directions—“The last gate at the end of the junction, black gate”—and they’ll still call, lost, standing in front of a green gate.

If you’re really lucky, they’ll stop at a random point to “check something,” leaving you wondering if they’ve gone to fetch your Coke from the Atlantic Ocean.


Level 6: Pricing Wahala

You’re already broke, but food delivery will humble you further. A simple burger? N7,000. Add fries and a drink? That’s your monthly salary gone. The math doesn’t math, but hunger will make you reckless.

When you see the bill, you’ll tell yourself, “This is the last time.” Spoiler: It never is.

mercy johnson meme

Level 7: Why Do We Still Order?

Because we’re lovers at heart. We believe in second chances. Maybe this time, the jollof will arrive hot. Maybe the rider will have change. Maybe life will make sense.

But until that day comes, we’ll keep living on the edge—ordering suya at midnight and hoping for a miracle. Because if there’s one thing Nigerians do well, it’s thriving in chaos.

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