Thirteen years ago, I stood in my London bedroom, surrounded by towers of books, and did the unthinkable: I broke up with most of them. Moving to Lagos meant whittling down my library to just two boxes. The rest—nine boxes of dog-eared, well-thumbed novels—went to a charity shop. I like to imagine someone stumbled upon them and thought, “Did a library close up?!”

Then Lagos happened.

When Chaos Eats Your Books

Lagos is a city that hijacks your attention, holds it hostage and makes sure you can’t pay the ransom. Work deadlines, traffic jams that outlast transatlantic flights, WhatsApp groups draining your phone’s battery, and Netflix whispering, “Just one more episode…” Slowly, my life—once a sanctuary of paperbacks and late-night reading marathons—became a graveyard of half-finished books. The irony? I hosted a weekly book review show. What had been my oxygen turned into obligation. And if you knew me as a kid, you’d know I’d rather …anything… than do chores.

Even when I tried to read, my brain—now wired for Lagos’s “hustle harder” tempo and Instagram’s 15-second dopamine hits—sabotaged me. I’d crack open a novel, only to abandon it minutes later, lured by the siren song of my phone. “Just a quick peek,” I’d vow, only to wake up hours later, phone in hand, trapped in a YouTube vortex.

The Day My Phone Died (Sort Of)

The turning point came during a deadline meltdown. My friend staged an intervention: “Turn. Off. Your. Phone.”

“You want me to do WHAT?” I clutched my device like Gollum guarding the Precious. But desperation breeds compliance. I powered it off—and instantly, the world went still. No pings. No reels. No “urgent” messages. Just me, my coursework, and the hum of my air conditioner. I finished my essay in record time.

Then I turned my phone back on and immediately got lost in the maze again. 

But that time off-screen sparked something in me. I found myself doing what I had thought was impossible – I turned off my phone. Again. And again. Instant peace every time. And in that peace, I remembered my first love – I began to read again.

I opened a book. Just the book. No phone within grabbing distance. And there, in that quiet, I remembered: Oh. This is what it feels like.

Rediscovering My First Love (No, Not Secondary School Crushes)

I started small. Nikki May’s This Motherless Land—a story of fractured identity and homecoming—mirrored my own Lagos-London tug-of-war. Laura Schlitz’s Amber and Clay dragged me into ancient Greece with prose so immersive I forgot to check my phone. Martine Leavitt’s Calvin was unexpectedly funny and stirring, and made me fall in love with a character all over again.

Now, I’ve set my sights on Chimamanda’s Dream Count. I’ve learned to treat reading like a first date: silence the distractions, lean in, and let the magic happen.

Lagos hasn’t gotten any quieter. Traffic still snarls. Work still lives rent-free in my head. But now, I carve out pockets of quiet. I turn my phone off, grab a drink and ignore the side-eye from my dogs, who’d rather I throw their ball.

Books aren’t chores anymore. They’re lifelines—portals out of Lagos’s beautiful chaos.

Let’s Swap Survival Strategies

So, what (if anything) has pulled you back into reading lately? Share your gems in the comments. Let’s build a TBR pile that could rival Lagos traffic.

And to anyone drowning in the noise: Try turning off your phone. Just for an hour. See happens.

—Shopsy

P.S. If you spot me at a Lagos eatery, I’ll be the woman with a fork in one hand and Dream Count in the other, ignoring reality. Progress, not perfection.