While I was in Abuja, my tennis instructor slash greens plug — large up Mr. Clement — dropped a word on me during Christmas that’s been living rent-free in my head ever since: JANWORRY.

January. Worry. One word. Mad economy.

It’s that month where the festive vibes get audited. All that December generosity? Yeah, the receipts pull up heavy. Credit cards start chirping. Mood drops. Seasonal blues go full shift. And for a lot of people, especially back in Nigeria, Janworry isn’t just a slow month — it’s survival mode. Labourers head back to their hometowns for extendachristmas, contracts end, jobs dry up, and Janworry becomes a scramble to pattern something new. That’s real Janworry.

So when Clement said it, it clicked instantly. Clean word. Honest word. No fluff. I’ve been using it ever since because it tells the truth without begging for sympathy.

And honestly? Fuck Janworry.

Janworry in Toronto is bleak. Cold. Dark. No statutory holidays, two! school PA days, and zero mercy. Bills land with perfect timing, right when your bank account is doing the limbo. Fingernails chewed down to nothing. It’s austerity season until, if you’re lucky, March break starts peeking around the corner.

So tell me this, Toronto — why aren’t we running with Janworry already? It fits. It bangs. It explains everything without a TED Talk.

And if you’re not on it?
NO WAHALA!
But I am.