There was a time when every Nigerian dreamer with a voice wanted to be on radio. The smooth FM cadence, the thrill of jingles, the thought that millions were tuned in as you unpacked music, politics, or heartbreak—it carried a kind of magic. But that magic has shifted, and it now lives online. Podcasts are the new radio, only without the gatekeepers. No auditions, no program director telling you to cut a gist short, no station manager curating your playlist. Just you, a mic, some Wi-Fi, and an audience that might be listening in Lagos traffic, Abuja offices, or even London’s underground. That freedom is exactly why it feels like everyone you know is starting one.
For Nigerians, it makes perfect sense. Ours is a culture built on gist. We are storytellers by nature—whether it’s WhatsApp voice notes that run longer than Nollywood movies, arguments at beer parlours, or impromptu political analysis over pepper soup. Podcasting simply bottled this love for gist and gave it a platform. When I Said What I Said, hosted by FK Abudu and Jola Ayeye, hit the scene, it became more than a podcast—it was a cultural marker. Their witty, candid takes on relationships, careers, and the absurdities of Nigerian life became a safe space for young listeners. Soon after came Tea with Tay, hosted by Taymesan, which felt like a warm living-room chat —unpretentious and welcoming —a reminder that not all conversations need to be polished PR interviews. These early favourites proved that Nigerians were hungry for authentic conversations that sounded like them.
That hunger hasn’t slowed. If anything, it has widened, welcoming a new wave of voices. Nicole Asinugo’s Lone Wolf offers deeply personal reflections on solitude and self-discovery, while Ezinne Akudo’s Beyond with Ezinne takes listeners into more thoughtful, often vulnerable conversations that rise above the everyday noise. Each of these podcasts has its own rhythm, but collectively they show just how diverse the medium has become. Whether banter-filled, reflective, inspirational, or investigative, there is now a Nigerian podcast for every mood.
Part of the boom is accessibility. Years ago, to broadcast your voice widely, you needed serious resources. Today, with little more than a phone mic, a free editing app, and the courage to upload, you can reach thousands. Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and even Audiomack have flattened the barriers. Suddenly, everyone with something to say feels they should say it—and in a country where many feel drowned out by louder systems, the chance to be heard is irresistible. As one Lagos podcaster put it, “My mic is my therapist. I just record and let it out. If people connect, that’s a bonus.” That intimacy, the sense that someone is talking directly to you while you wash plates or inch across Third Mainland Bridge—is what keeps listeners hooked.
But in true Nigerian fashion, there’s also the hustle. Few start out chasing money, but sooner or later, the thought creeps in: “What if this can pay my bills?” And why not? If Joe Rogan can secure a hundred-million-dollar deal, surely a Nigerian voice can strike gold too. Already, brand sponsorships, ads, and even live podcast shows are creeping into the scene. For comedians, influencers, journalists, and even pastors, podcasting is no longer just a hobby—it’s another branch of their brand.
Even without big money, podcasts are building communities. Listeners don’t just tune in; they identify, they participate, they share, and they defend their favourites. It’s why I Said What I Said fans proudly call themselves “ISWIS Babes” and why Tea with Tay listeners often feel like part of an extended family.
There’s also the FOMO factor. Just like we all once rushed to open YouTube channels and Instagram boutiques, there’s now a sense that if you don’t have a podcast, you’re missing out on cultural currency. Conversations have shifted from “Do you listen to podcasts?” to “Which ones do you listen to?” and increasingly, “What’s the name of yours?” It’s not unusual to meet three people at a Lagos dinner, all of whom host podcasts in wildly different niches—football, spirituality, or finance. The field is wide open, and everyone is grabbing their slice.
Will podcasts replace radio? Not likely. Radio still holds sway, especially in communities where smartphones and data costs remain out of reach. But in urban Nigeria, podcasts are already reshaping how we consume conversations. And it won’t stop here. We’ll see more language-driven shows in Yoruba, Igbo, or Hausa, more serialised storytelling and investigative podcasts, and maybe even audio dramas that feel like binge-watching Nollywood with your ears.
Ultimately, the rise of Nigerian podcasts isn’t just about technology. It’s cultural. Nigerians have always been creators, hustlers, and gist-lovers. Podcasting simply gave us the microphone and stripped away the gatekeepers. And we’ve run with it—loudly, consistently, and creatively. So the next time your friend tells you they’re starting a podcast, don’t roll your eyes. Just hit subscribe. Because everyone has a story worth telling, and the real question isn’t why everyone is starting a podcast—it’s why haven’t you?
