Asanat* (39) has been married for 18 years. Growing up in a small village in Abeokuta, she only saw marriage through the lens of duty; the man provides, the woman serves. But nothing prepared her for the unexpected bond she’d form with her senior wife, or how losing that bond would change everything.
In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about navigating an arranged marriage, learning strength from her senior wife, and why she sometimes wishes she weren’t the only wife left.
This is a look into Asanat’s marriage diary.
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I thought marriage was all about service
Where I come from, marriage isn’t about love. It’s about duty. The men provide, the women serve, and everyone sticks to their role. That’s what I saw growing up in my village in Abeokuta.
My father was about 15 years older than my mum. He was the sole provider and the one who called all the shots. My mum didn’t go to school or work; she stayed home, cooked, cleaned, and raised me and my half-siblings. She didn’t complain; that was just life.
I didn’t think much about marriage back then, but I understood what would be expected of me when it eventually happened. Serve your husband, raise your children, and keep your home in order.
My senior wife changed my life
My marriage wasn’t something I planned for. I had finished secondary school, with no intention of furthering my education, when my father told me I was getting married. One of his close friend’s sons wanted a second wife, and my father believed it was a good opportunity for me to leave the village and make something of myself. My mum agreed. I didn’t have a say.
I didn’t know what to expect the first time my husband and his people visited. They came about three more times, and he brought his first wife along on the final visit. I’d never thought much about polygamy, but she seemed pleasant. Something about her calmed me, even though I was a naive village girl being thrown into a life I didn’t understand.
Looking back, I realise now that the greatest surprise in my marriage wasn’t my husband or life in a polygamous home, it was the bond I formed with my senior wife. She wasn’t just welcoming; she became my guide, my older sister, the person who made marriage easier for me. I came into that home completely naive. I didn’t understand men, relationships or how to navigate sharing a husband.
But my senior wife took me under her wing. On days when my husband got angry and I’d break down crying, she was the one holding my hands, calming me down. She’d even scold him on my behalf when necessary. She taught me that being a wife didn’t mean losing your voice. She was respectful, but she was firm. She knew how to stand her ground. She taught me how to hold my own while giving my husband the respect he deserved. She made that house feel like a home.
She passed away four years ago, and I’ve never healed from that loss. Even now, I sometimes sit and wonder why she was so good to me. Maybe it’s because I came into that home willing to learn. Perhaps she saw that I wasn’t there to compete or fight. I don’t know. But I know that I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without her.
I had to figure out polygamy on my own
Nobody teaches you how to be a second wife. Even my mum, who was fully in support of the marriage, had no real knowledge of polygamy. Her only advice was to stay on guard, avoid getting too friendly with my senior wife, and work hard to win my husband’s heart to my side. But I saw things differently. My senior wife never gave me a reason to be defensive. She treated me with kindness, and I allowed myself to stay teachable. I didn’t enter that marriage thinking I was up against someone else.
Over time, I saw how different things could be from all the scary stories. We did everything together. She’d even advise me on handling our husband if I ever had challenges. I miss that sisterhood every day. Even now, I sometimes wonder why she was so good to me. Maybe it’s because I was open, or it’s just who she was. I’ll never know.
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Grief made me lose myself, and my home almost suffered for it
When my senior wife passed, the house became a different place. My husband was grieving his first love and companion, and I was grieving a woman who had become my sister. But that grief made me lose sight of everything she’d taught me. For the first time, I listened to my mum’s old advice. She told me to be firm, make sure my husband wasn’t planning to bring in another wife. I became rebellious; raising my voice, making demands I didn’t need, poking into his business, questioning his every move. The peak of it was when I demanded my own car. We already had two cars I could use freely, but I wanted one in my name. I fought with him constantly.
Everything changed one day when I finished my solat and walked into the room. I saw my husband sitting alone, crying over my senior wife’s photo. That moment broke and reset something in me. It reminded me that I wasn’t the only one grieving. A week later, I apologised. He forgave me. He’s not given me any reason to suspect he’s considering another wife. But funny enough, I think I might want one of these days.
I’ve never felt lonelier in this marriage than I do now. The house is empty when my husband is away at work and the kids are at boarding school. Back when my senior wife was alive, we had each other. We cooked together, gisted, and watched movies. I miss that sisterhood. Sometimes I even think, if I could find someone exactly like her, I’d gladly welcome her into this home. But I know not every polygamous home is peaceful like ours was. Our case was rare.
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I found a stronger version of myself in marriage
I entered marriage ready to be completely subservient, just like I saw growing up. But my senior wife changed that. She taught me a woman could hold her own, still respect her husband, and have a say in the home. I often think about how different my life would’ve been without her. Maybe I would’ve become like my mother, always saying “yes” even when I disagreed.
But my husband has also played his part. He’s older, more experienced, yet he’s managed to meet me where I am. I don’t know if it’s how he’s always been or if it’s the result of how my senior wife handled their marriage, but I’m grateful. When I look at my life now — the freedom I have, the say I have in my home, the version of me that exists — I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I don’t think love is enough to sustain a marriage
If you ask me whether love is enough to hold a marriage, I’ll say I don’t think so. I believe it’s simply the willingness to stay. That’s what has kept my marriage going. When I married my husband, love wasn’t even in the picture. I saw him when I heard he would be my husband, and I liked what I saw. But love? No. It felt more like duty.
And honestly, even now, I sometimes wonder if what I feel for him is love or just a deep commitment to the man who cares for me. My husband doesn’t joke with my welfare or the children’s. He’s kind, patient, and does his best to make life comfortable for me.
But when I look at him, I don’t feel butterflies or what people talk about when describing love. I see him as the person I’ve been assigned to do life with. That’s what drives our marriage: commitment and dedication to each other. Not love the way people describe it.
*Name has been changed to protect the identity of the subject.
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