Heiresses In Hot Water

When Grandma said vacation, I imagined Paris. Maybe Santorini. A dreamy little island where shirtless waiters hand you fresh pineapple juice while you soak your perfect body under the European sun. 🏖️🍍

I did not imagine... Nigeria. 😩

Yes, darling. Nigeria. Land of mosquitoes 🦟, screaming chickens 🐔, and mysterious market women who grab your arm and try to sell you roasted snails like it's the deal of the century.

And the worst part? Grandma tricked us. 😤

"This is just a vacation, girls," she said, in that sweet, fake voice of hers. "Two weeks, and you'll be back home in Manhattan."

Lies. Dirty, juicy lies. 🫣

Here I am-Scarlett freaking Anderson-the firstborn, the queen, the shining diamond of the Anderson sisters-dragged across the world to this sweaty, chaotic jungle of heat, dust, and goats. 🐐

Yes. Goats.

Do you know what chased me this morning? A goat. In the middle of a market. While I was wearing Valentino slippers worth more than the goat's entire family tree.

Me. The Scarlett Anderson-5.2 million followers on Instagram 📱, blue tick verified, once called "the IT girl of New York" by a fashion magazine-reduced to running from a village goat that smelled like onions. 😭

My life? Over.

My dignity? Dead.

Buried.

Left in JFK airport.🛫

Let's rewind a little. 🔁

Before this nightmare began, I woke up in my four-poster bed with silk sheets, in my 16-bedroom Manhattan mansion. The sun streamed through floor-length windows. My personal maid brought me fresh croissants. Birds actually chirped outside like I was Cinderella. 🕊️

I had plans. Big plans. A summer of rooftop parties, yacht trips, and possibly dating that hot new actor everyone's obsessed with. 😍

Instead, my phone buzzed. A family group chat message.

Grandma: "Pack lightly. Vacation soon. Very soon."

Lightly? For me that meant **only three suitcases.

Next thing I knew, Father gathered us in the golden dining room-the one with the stupid crystal chandelier I once hit my head on during hide and seek-and said,

"Girls, you're going to Africa with Grandma. It's just for fun."

"Paris is fun," I argued. "Lagos is... where?" 🧐

Nobody answered.

Then came the flight. Twenty freaking hours.😩

Have you ever been stuck in economy with four sisters, a crying baby in the next row, and no Wi-Fi? Hell. Pure, suffering hell. 🔥

Vivian sat beside me, filing her nails like she wasn't on a flying sardine can. Luna wore noise-canceling headphones and mumbled poetry about death. Chloe kept gasping every time we hit turbulence-"Is this where the lions get in, Scarlett?!"-and Mimi swapped seats five times, laughing like a maniac every time she annoyed someone.

I aged ten years on that flight.

And then... arrival.

The heat smacked me in the face like a frying pan. 🥵 The air smelled of roasted corn and car fumes. People shouted. Taxi drivers fought. Chickens actually walked around the airport parking lot. I nearly wept. 😭

And our ride? A dusty old SUV with no air conditioning. Grandma sat in the front, looking like a queen in sunglasses the size of frying pans 🍳, fanning herself dramatically.

"Welcome to Lagos, girls," she said. "Time to become real women."

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! 😫

We drove for hours. The city buzzed with life-markets, honking cars, yelling people-but I was dying. My hair frizzed. My makeup melted. My soul left my body.

And then... Grandma's mansion.

I expected luxury. Marble floors, chandeliers, servants bowing.

What I got was an ancient house with squeaky doors, faded curtains, and lizards. Lizards, darling. Everywhere. Watching. Judging. 🦎

I almost screamed when one fell from the ceiling onto Vivian's designer bag. She shrieked like a cat and threw the bag across the room.

Grandma just laughed.

"Don't worry. They bring good luck."

GOOD LUCK?! I wanted Dior, not geckos. 😤

And speaking of disasters... my sisters.

Vivian.

Twenty-seven. Ice Queen. Law school dropout. Probably the only person in Lagos who wears six-inch stilettos to fetch water from a well.

She never sweats. She never smiles. She walks around like she owns the place, side-eyeing everyone like they're peasants.

But you know what? I've seen her sneaking glances at the poor carpenter fixing Grandma's broken fence. 👀

Oh yes. Miss High-and-Mighty Vivian might be falling for a man who smells like wood and sweat. Can you imagine? Our father would drop dead if he knew. 💀

Then there's Luna.

Twenty-one. Gothic. Vegan. Hates joy. Hates life. Probably hates the sun itself. Back home she wrote poetry about dying flowers and the pointlessness of existence. ☠️

Guess what she did here?

She accidentally joined a Lagos street dance group.

I kid you not. I caught her last night behind the house trying to practice Zanku or some Afrobeat move. She looked like a depressed zombie attempting yoga. 🧟‍♀️

Honestly, I wanted to laugh-but I was too busy slapping mosquitoes. 🦟

Next... Chloe.

Eighteen. Blonde energy. Big eyes, big smile, tiny brain. She honestly thought lions roam the streets here.

"Scarlett," she whispered on the plane, "what if lions attack us when we land?" 🦁

Lions? In Lagos? Please.

Now she's in love with the coconut seller boy who barely speaks English. I swear, this girl will fall for anyone holding fruit. 🥥

She giggled when he cut open a coconut with a machete. A machete. She clapped like he was performing magic. ✨

Pray for her. 🙏

And the baby... Mimi.

Fifteen. Evil gremlin. Mischief queen. TikTok addict. The one who actually loves this place.

She made friends with the street kids faster than you can say "Gucci bag." Now she speaks Pidgin better than any of us. Sometimes I hear her shouting things like, **"Wetin dey happen for here?" and I want to scream. 🗣️

Grandma adores her, of course. She would.

And Grandma?

The Queen of Lagos herself.

Our father's mother. Former ambassador. Still scarier than an angry principal holding your phone. 📱

This woman has the power to silence a room of screaming men with just a glance. She called us here for a "vacation" but it's obviously military training for rich, spoiled brats.

"I will turn you girls into proper African women!" she declared at dinner, while Mimi cheered and Vivian tried not to gag. 🤢

Proper African women? In Dior?

Good luck, Grandma. 💅

So here I am.

Scarlett Anderson. Once the pride of Manhattan, now sweating in Lagos.

Covered in mosquito bites. Wearing knockoff slippers from the local market. Hair frizzy from the heat. Dignity? Dead and buried. 💀🪦

This is officially the worst vacation of my life.

Or maybe... just maybe... the best mistake we ever made. 😉

Stay tuned, darling.

Because this disaster is just getting started. 🌴🔥