So, what if Netflix got bold and decided to bring Single’s Inferno to Lagos? Yes, the same show where hot singles pretend they’re not hungry while forming “genuine romantic connections.” But this time, it’s not on a private island in South Korea, it’s in Nigeria. Welcome to Single’s Inferno: Lagos Heat Edition. (Don’t say BBNaija)

Here’s exactly how it would go down:

That “Strictly Basic Meal, No AC” Rule? E No Go Work.

Let's start from the basics: in Korea, they’re out there cooking two ramen packets and acting like it’s a feast. In Lagos, the organizers cannot play that kind of rough play with people’s stomachs. I mean, we're already suffering physically as it is, we cannot risk stomach ulcers as well.

And then there's the heat. Korean “Inferno” still had sea breeze. Lagos inferno? Whole new dimension. Even the camera crew will be sweating. You’ll hear, “Who carried NEPA light?” between takes. One babe will faint dramatically because the inverter died mid-shoot, and the only breeze left is the spirit of her ancestors fanning her with pity.

Half of Them Already Know Each Other

Lagos is a big city with small village energy. The moment they walk in, someone will whisper, “Ah! That’s Tobi from my church WhatsApp group.” By Episode 3, stories will start unraveling. “You’re forming single, but didn’t you marry Chioma in 2021?” Someone will find out their ex is one of the new arrivals. Somebody else will pretend they’ve never seen each other. Meanwhile, there are couple pictures buried somewhere on Twitter.

Dating show? Nah. It’s giving Genealogy of Lagos Relationships, Season 176 (never ending).

People Will Be Soft-Launching Their Business, Not Their Feelings

In Korea, they’re forming mysterious with “I’m a dancer” or “I work in fashion.” But Lagos contestants? You’ll hear things like: “I’m a skincare CEO, real estate advisor, crypto consultant, and I sell hair on the side. Follow my business page, please.” (even when it was clearly stated they couldn’t disclose their occupation). Lagos people will always prefer more money and clients over love.

Someone will make jollof and end the cooking session with, “This is what I do for my food brand, Jemmy’s Pot. DM to order.” Half of them came for visibility. The show might not find them love, but Instagram followers? Boom.

The Confessionals Would Be Gold

Forget quiet reflections and slow piano music. Lagos confessionals will be giving “tell-all with spicy subtitles.”

• “I don’t like wahala, but if she wants to try me, I will show her pepper.”

• “He thinks he’s hot because he has a beard and a Benz? Please, I’ve dated better.”

• “I prayed before I came here, but I didn’t pray against foolishness.”

By the time two people argue over who fetched the last bottle of water, it’s over. There’s no romance left, only vibes and passive-aggressive dishing.

Paradise Will Be VI or Lekki, And Still Someone Will Complain

In Single’s Inferno, Paradise is a five-star escape where you finally get AC, real food, and get to ask each other personal questions. Lagos version? Maybe they’re taken to a boujee restaurant in Lekki with a waterfront view and grilled catfish. But trust someone to say: “This is the same place my ex brought me to. I’m not impressed.”

Meanwhile, their “romantic partner” is still calculating if they can afford Chapman and a ride home. Plus, Lagos roads on a date night? Lagos people should come for the mic.

This Lagos Edition wouldn’t just be a dating show. It would be social commentary, spiritual warfare, soft business launches, and relationship therapy all in one. Would it be chaotic? Yes. Would it be iconic? Absolutely. Would you survive it? That’s between you and your prayer point.

Let’s hear it, if this show really happened, would you watch or would you apply?