Damilare Kuku’s Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad is a loud, chaotic, and sometimes painfully relatable collection of short stories about Lagos’ dating (and marriage) scene. I am (proudly) one of those who didn’t read it after its release, but crawled back to it after her recent Only Big BumBum Matters Tomorrow release.
The title is already a statement, and the book delivers on it. You’ll read about men who lie, cheat, manipulate, and, in some cases, are just plain unserious; men who are, for lack of a better word, exhausting. Although the collection centres around the men, I find the women more interesting here. Some are victims, yes, and some are just trying to survive the madness, but many of them are complicit. (Case in point: Pastor Mrs Evelyn Oriade, aka “The Anointed Wife.”) Because while the book offers a scathing critique of these men, it also acknowledges the complicity of the women who stay, make excuses, and sometimes play the game themselves.
The collection kicks off with “Cuck-Up,” a wild opener where a woman calmly threatens to slice off her husband’s penis after a betrayal. Immediately, you know you’re in for a ride. Then there’s “The Gigolo from Isale Eko,” quintessential Lagos boy shenanigans, filled with friendship, betrayal, and a man who has truly mastered the art of being an opportunist. I appreciate how Damilare Kuku’s writing shines in these stories; it’s sharp, she’s funny, and the stories are always full of drama that feels both ridiculous and entirely believable.
But while the book starts strong, it loses steam somewhere in the middle. The pacing starts to drag, and certain stories feel like they go on longer than they need to. “International Relations,” “Catfish” and “Side-lined,” for instance, have great setups, but some of the scenes, like the ones involving sex, didn’t always add much to the story.
Also, a few stories in Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad are written in second-person POV, which didn’t always work for me. I generally find second-person narration tricky; it can pull me out of a story if it’s not done really well, and in some cases here, it made it harder for me to stay fully immersed. That’s more of a personal preference than a flaw, though, so if you enjoy second-person storytelling, you might feel differently.
That said, the collection picks up again towards the end. There’s “I Knew You,” one of my personal favourites. It’s the kind of story that sneaks up on you; nostalgic, heavy with regret, and so well-written that you can almost feel the weight of past love. In a way, it brings back the punchy, no-nonsense storytelling that made the beginning so enjoyable.
One of the book’s biggest strengths is its raw honesty. Kuku doesn’t sugarcoat anything. Lagos men are portrayed in their full, chaotic glory. But as much as I enjoyed the drama, I couldn’t help but feel like the book leaned a little too hard into the idea that nearly all Lagos men are a lost cause. Obviously, the title is an exaggeration, but it does paint a very one-sided picture. Are nearly all of them really mad? Maybe some, but definitely not nearly all.
At the end of the day, Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad is a fun, frustrating, and very Lagos book. It’s messy, it’s loud, and it’s packed with drama. (Emphasis on the drama). Some stories hit, some stories miss, but overall, it’s an entertaining read, especially if you’ve never had the misfortune of dealing with a mad Lagos man.
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