Trigger Warning: This article contains sensitive topics like sexual abuse, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised.
For Nneka* (24), the road through romance hasn’t been smooth. She’s walked through love, heartbreak, grief, and hard-won lessons. Yet through every twist and turn, she still believes real love still exists.
In this story, she talks about loving too deeply, losing too often, and why focusing on her healing might be the most important decision she’s ever made.
What’s your current relationship status?
I’m single right now, for the first time in a long while. I’m very proud of my decision.
Sounds good. What led you here?
It was an on-and-off situation. The guy, Pascal*, was my first love. That relationship shaped a lot of me.
Tell me about it.
Pascal and I met when I was 15, and he was 16. His house was near my mum’s shop, so we saw often. We hated each other at first — he thought I was snobbish and rude. I got along with his other friends, but never spoke to him. We also couldn’t avoid each other because we were stuck in the same friend cycle.
Over time, we warmed up to each other and I soon found him attractive. It’s funny how we transitioned from enemies to lovers. He later admitted he’d always liked me but hid it because I seemed unapproachable. We started dating when I was about to turn 17.
You mentioned an on-and-off situation with him. When did that start?
It started from the beginning. Pascal was in a dance crew, and they travelled often. He wouldn’t tell me or keep in touch every time he left. It hurt, but I always bottled things up. I found it hard to confront people. Over time, I grew resentful and eventually broke up with him after a year of dating. A few months later, we tried again — only for him to wake up one day and announce he was moving to Cotonou. He never gave me a heads-up.
I thought it was a casual visit, but he went there to study long-term. His parents stayed in Nigeria, and I shared a close relationship with them, especially his mum, who treated me like family. So I was shocked. He had months to prepare, and nobody told me.
He promised we could do long-distance and convinced me to remain in the relationship. But barely two months after he left, he stopped picking up my calls. That was my first real heartbreak. He stayed in Cotonou for almost four years. It hit hard because our mutual friends always updated me about him, whether I wanted to hear it or not.
I’m sorry. How did you move on from that?
I didn’t. I just moved to the next man who treated me well. His name was Charles*, he was in his 30s and worked as a director. I’d also just gotten a job in the movie industry, so I was naturally drawn to Charles, who gave me the attention Pascal never did. He was charming, mature, and made me feel like an adult. He was the first man I had sex with.
The relationship went smoothly until I found out he was married with kids. Someone at work posted Charles’ family on his wedding anniversary.
I was in disbelief. We always met in hotels, and when I asked why he’d never invited me to his house, he claimed he lived with his mum and siblings. I had no reason to doubt him. Nobody on the crew knew we were dating because he wanted to keep work away from his private life. I felt like a fool after I found out. I broke up, quit the job, and went back to working at my mum’s shop. That was where I met Chike*. He was a regular customer and always made advances. I wasn’t looking for anything serious — I just wanted a distraction, and he was fun and very good-looking.
I should have known we weren’t a match. Chike was the life of the party — loud and impulsive. I’m reserved, the total opposite. We also had different values around money. He spent everything, while I saved.
Most of our fights happened because of how Igbo I am. He complained about my mannerisms, and had a problem with me visiting the village for Christmas. He also hated how I always spoke Igbo. I couldn’t understand him, especially since he was Igbo, too.
The end came on day he tried to rape me. He’d been talking about wanting a child from the moment we started dating. I was barely 21 and didn’t take it seriously at first. But it became a constant conversation, almost obsessive. It felt suffocating .
I told him I didn’t feel safe and wasn’t ready that day. Yet, he pinned me down and tried to force himself on me. He only stopped when I cried out, almost drawing attention. I left immediately and cut him off. That was the last time we spoke. A year later, he died. I found out he was a sickler and had been battling an illness the whole time.
Seems like a lot. So, did you take a pause from dating?
I didn’t. Pascal came back not long after Chike’s demise. He’d completed his first degree in Cotonou and moved to Cyprus for master’s. During a visit to Nigeria, he visited my workplace. He apologised for ghosting and asked me on a movie date.
I was surprised by how easily the old attraction came back. We gave it another try. He returned to Cyprus shortly after, and we tried long-distance again. Three months in, he ghosted again — he wasn’t responding to my texts but posted on WhatsApp. I realised what was happening and blocked him.
Curious. Why did you agree to a long distance relationship again? Especially with someone who’d shown he couldn’t keep up.
I never really accepted that we broke up. Deep down, I always waited for his return.
I blamed myself for the first breakup. I thought I was too uptight. I’d set boundaries like not having sex until I turned 20, and he hated that. He didn’t understand how different our freedoms were — I was the last child with a huge gap between siblings, raised in a strict Igbo home. I thought if we tried again as adults, we’d understand each other better. But I was wrong.
Still, I threw the doors open again when Pascal permanently returned to Nigeria and tried to reach me through a friend.
Oh dear.
I know how it sounds, but he was remorseful this time. He was present and emotionally invested this time, so I thought maybe he’d changed. We went on several dates, and in the months that followed, I allowed myself to believe we had a future.
But my world crashed down when I saw his WhatsApp update — Pascal had relocated to Spain. I didn’t want to believe it. We’d gone on a date the week before, and he was still texting me right before he left. But there wasn’t a single word about the travel. I was mad and confronted him.
What did he have to say?
He said he wasn’t built for long-distance but didn’t know how to say it, so disappearing felt like the least painful option. But to me, it was just cowardly.
It hurt more because it felt like he never saw what I was giving, only what was inconvenient for him. I remember when he fell seriously ill during our first relationship. I skipped work to care for him. When my brother found out where I was, he beat me mercilessly. But I carried that pain alone, thinking it was my cross to bear. And yet, none of it seemed to matter to him.
It’s been three months since Pascal left Nigeria, and I’ve finally let go.
I’m sorry you had to go through that. How has your love life been since then?
I’m trying to heal first. I’ve never really given myself time to sit with heartbreak and truly process what I want from relationships. I’m doing that for however long it takes. There’s no point rushing into relationships.
From your experience, what’s the hardest part about finding love today?
Everyone has been hurt, but instead of healing, they project their pain onto others. Love now feels like a competition of who can hurt who first. It’s really exhausting. And then you meet the nonchalant ones who don’t even try. Those are the worst.
Has your experience changed what you want from relationships?
Absolutely. When I’m ready, I want someone who makes me feel safe and vulnerable.
I’m also learning to be more vocal by saying what I want and don’t want. I tolerated a lot of bullshit before. Now, I’ll walk away the moment my boundaries are tested.
How would you rate single life on a scale of 1-10?
I’d say 8/10. I’m working, trying new things, and making friends. I’m not fully healed, but I’m finally at peace with myself. For me, that’s a step in the right direction.
*Names have been changed for anonymity
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