In Nigeria, everyone has a story about love. The crush that made school days sweeter, the heartbreak that left you rethinking everything, or the random spark that changed your life when you least expected it. Love here isn’t one-size-fits-all; it’s shaped by family, faith, distance, and sometimes, sheer luck.

“Love here often feels like a group project you didn’t sign up for,” says Tade, 34, and that frustration runs through so many of the stories we heard.

For this story, we spoke to 100 Nigerians about their attempts at finding love — the wins, the failures, and the lessons in between. Together, their experiences paint a messy, hilarious, and sometimes heartbreaking picture of what it really means to search for love in Nigeria.

Nothing feels as big as your first love. The butterflies, the secret smiles across a classroom, the thrill of sneaking in a text or holding hands when no one is looking. It’s messy and innocent at the same time, and even when it ends, you never forget how it made you feel. These Nigerians share the memories of their first attempts at love,  the ones that taught them how sweet and sometimes fleeting it can be.

I met Jude* while trying to hustle back in school. I went to advertise my goods at the boys’ lodge. I was scared, but hunger doesn’t care if you’re scared. He was one of the people I tried to sell to, and he took my number, promising to patronise me later. That’s how we started talking.

At first, he was cool. We talked all the time and shared sweet moments. But things changed after he left for NYSC. The calls stopped coming, our conversations became bland, and whenever I complained, he would brush it off with, “I’m trying my best.” But he wasn’t even doing the bare minimum. On top of that, he was very authoritative, always demanding I apologise even when I wasn’t at fault.

I felt miserable, constantly pleading for attention and affection. I checked out long before we officially ended things; I was just waiting for him to say the words.

That relationship taught me to never do long distance again, especially with controlling men. These days, it feels like most guys I meet only want sex, and no one is ready to put in effort. Still, I believe love will find me eventually.

I used to play Tennis tournaments across states. During one match in 2016, I noticed a girl cheering loudly just for me. I won, partly carried by her voice. Later that evening, we spoke, and her energy drew me in like a magnet.

We became close friends until one day she confessed her feelings to me. I liked her too, and it became official. We stayed together for about five years, even after she moved abroad in 2020. Distance made things more complicated, and by 2022, we broke up.

She was my first real love.  Her communicative and selfless nature set a standard for me. I know I can love again because she truly loved me.

My parents met in a campus fellowship, so when I got into the same university in 2019, I went to check it out. I expected a big, beautiful auditorium from the way they spoke, but it was just a tiny hall. I started attending out of habit, and that was where I first met him. He was the academic coordinator, and we exchanged numbers when I showed interest in a tutorial group.

Months later, during the COVID-19 pandemic, I reached out for study tips.  We began chatting frequently; he guided me, shared opportunities, and even helped me optimise my LinkedIn. Our relationship slowly shifted from mentor and mentee to friends. People teased us, but I never saw him as anything beyond a friend until 2022. I realised I had a crush on him when I started getting jealous of his female friends. He noticed. When he asked if I liked him, I admitted it, and we started dating. It’s been three years in a beautiful relationship.

My first real taste of love came in SS2. The butty-looking guy sat beside me in class, and one afternoon, he slid a packet of Cabin biscuits across the desk. I laughed and asked why, and he just shrugged: “You looked hungry.” That was the beginning.

From then on, we became inseparable. We exchanged notes, shared our meals, and sometimes stayed back in school after closing hours to play. At 16, I truly believed we’d get married.

Of course, we didn’t. His family moved to Canada, and that was that. We lost touch, and life went on. But looking back now, I see how pure it was. The way he was so generous with everything he had, the way he carried my bag when it was heavy, or how my whole day could brighten from a single text.

These days, the bar is on the floor. Men aren’t even willing to do the bare minimum. I’m currently single, and I plan to stay that way until I find something genuine. 

I met him in 2023 at my cousin’s wedding. We were seated together, and when the zip of my dress tore, he quickly helped me cover up. His kindness drew me in, so I asked for his number. We kept chatting, and soon, feelings grew.

He worked in Belgium and was only in Nigeria for the holidays, so I assumed nothing serious would happen. But even after he returned, he never missed our nightly video calls. For an entire year, his consistency and thoughtfulness made me feel cherished in ways I had never experienced before.

As a Muslim woman who had never really been in a relationship, I was sceptical of his intentions. But earlier this year, he proposed, and now we’re planning our wedding for December. Looking back, I’m grateful it turned out to be the best decision of my life.

When I was sixteen, I had a huge crush on Bola*, the best singer in our church’s choir. We got close, bonding over the wahala of final year in secondary school. After we graduated, I asked her out and we started dating.

The news must have reached the grown-ups because two months later, the youth pastor gave a passionate sermon warning against “relationships that don’t lead to marriage.” That same week Bola broke up with me and threw herself deeper into church work.

It pained me like mad. I couldn’t talk to her for months after. She was my first love. I eventually got over it, but I still wonder what could’ve been if we had stayed together. When I left for university, I stopped attending that church, and we lost touch. My mind still drifts to her now and then, hoping she’s doing well wherever she is.

In 2018, during my second year of university, I noticed her in the library. She always sat in front of me, and for almost a year, we kept ending up in the same spot. I didn’t think much of it until one night, by coincidence, we left at the same time. That was when I saw her face properly, and she was stunning.

I developed a quiet crush, but weeks passed before I saw her again. The next time was at a food spot with my friend, who pushed me to talk to her. I had never approached a girl before, but I gathered the courage, introduced myself, and to my surprise, she gave me her number. We started talking every day, and soon after, I confessed my feelings. She admitted she liked me too.

By Valentine’s, we were already exchanging gifts. She was my first real relationship, and for a while, everything felt sweet. But as time went on, her mood swings became unpredictable and overwhelming. After two years together, we knew it wouldn’t work.

The first boy I really liked was back in 2015, when I was in secondary school. My dad worked as a chaplain at a boarding school. I didn’t attend the school myself, but lived on the premises. He was in SS3, and I was just starting senior secondary.

He noticed me one holiday when he stayed back for extension classes. We started chatting and hanging out. Sometimes I’d sneak out at night, pretending to fetch water, just so we could talk and hold hands. 

It ended quickly, though. Tobi graduated, lost his phone, and we stopped talking. Years later, in 2018, he showed up at my dad’s funeral and tried to rekindle things, but by then, I’d already outgrown whatever brief history we shared.

I met him in 2011 when I first entered boarding school. He was my bunkmate — kind, protective, always saving me food or helping with my notes. That closeness slowly made me realise I was attracted to him, even though I didn’t fully understand my sexuality at the time.

It took me three years to finally confess in JSS3. To my surprise, he admitted he felt the same way.

But we were in a missionary school, and the guilt was heavy. We were convinced a relationship between us would be sinful, and the consequences if we were ever caught would’ve been serious. Many people already suspected we were more than friends, but they never had proof.

Still, we grew comfortable enough to be together quietly until he left after SS1.

I’ve had other relationships since then, some good, some bad, but nothing has compared to how pure that first love was. Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve embraced my sexuality as early as I did without him.

I met her in secondary school. She was the popular girl everyone admired, and I did too. We were both athletic and ended up in the same house, which brought us closer together as friends. In 2014, I realised my feelings for her had grown into something more.

At the time, it felt wrong to want her, so I suppressed it. I gave small signs, but she never acknowledged them. To this day, I don’t know if she ever noticed. The lack of reciprocation hurt, so when a boy who liked me continued to show interest, I let him in.

The feelings I had for her were stronger than anything I ever felt for him, but he was a boy, and that was what was acceptable. After graduation, we drifted apart, and I stayed with the boy for a while. Still, she remains the first person I really liked.

I met her in 2012 during remedial classes. We met in school and dated throughout university. She was my first everything — the girl I moved in with, the one I built dreams around, and the woman I eventually proposed to in 2021.

Not long after, tragedy struck. She passed away in an accident, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. For months, I felt like my world had ended. Even now, there are days when I still imagine what life would’ve been like if she were here.

She taught me what it meant to love fully and openly. Though she’s no longer with me, she remains the standard my heart remembers whenever I think of love.

When I was about nine, I developed a crush on my female math teacher. At the time, I didn’t even realise it was a crush. I just loved being around her. The staff room became my second home because of her. I shared my snacks with her, checked in to make sure she was alright, and even convinced my parents to hire her as my home lesson teacher so I could see her more often.

That innocence shifted when I was eleven, sitting in a moral instruction class. The teacher described same-sex attraction as a bad thing, and suddenly, my feelings felt wrong. I felt ashamed and started to distance myself from her. Eventually, I left the school and never saw her again.

In 2021, just before Ramadan, I prayed for many things, including my dream partner. Inspired by visualisation videos, I even wrote down the qualities I wanted. On Eid, a day I usually dreaded, I felt an unusual happiness and sense of expectation. That was the day I met him.

A friend introduced us casually at the mosque. We only exchanged a wave, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Later, I told my friend I was crushing on him. It was the first time I’d ever felt that strongly about someone. Somehow, he found out, and a few hours later, he texted me.

By November, he admitted he liked me and wanted a relationship that would lead to marriage. As we got closer, I realised he embodied every quality I’d written down. It felt surreal, like God had fulfilled my exact request. We got married earlier this year.

I was 15 when I first noticed Seyi*. He wasn’t the most handsome boy in school, but he was tall, always smiling, and kind in a way that stood out. I’d write his name in the margins of my notebooks and blush whenever he borrowed my pen. Sometimes, I’d hang around in school just to see him play.

We never dated. I doubt he even knew how hard my heart beat for him. But those years of daydreaming gave me something sweet to hold on to, especially because my teenage life wasn’t easy.

At university, I ran into him again. He didn’t remember me, but I remembered everything. He was still warm and funny, but this time, I told myself to let the fantasy go. First crushes are beautiful because they’re pure, not because they’re meant to last.

Now, at 28, I smile when I think of him. He was the beginning of my understanding that I could feel something so powerful. He’s dating now, but I sometimes wonder if there’s a future where we give love a chance.

My first love was in 2019, during NYSC. She was in the same platoon. We bonded over how terrible we were at marching drills and laughed through everything. I thought it would end after camp, but it didn’t. We travelled every weekend just to see each other.

We were broke, but that didn’t matter. Our dates were roadside suya, free concerts, or long walks. She was the first person I told, “I love you.” And she said it back. For a while, that was enough.

Eventually, life pulled us apart. She left for the UK, and I stayed here. Calls grew fewer, visits stopped. It hurt, but I never regretted it.

Even now, years later, no relationship feels quite as innocent and pure as what we had.

I met Amaka in SS1. She was new in school, and the teacher asked me to show her around. I didn’t think much of it, but after a week of walking her to class and sharing my notes, I realised I liked her. She was smart, funny, and always beat me at debates.

By SS2, we were inseparable. We never officially called it dating; we just knew we liked each other. We exchanged gifts during Valentine’s Day, sneaked phone calls late at night, and wrote letters we hid inside textbooks. When WAEC ended, she told me she was moving to Enugu for university. I cried more than I expected.

We stayed in touch through social media, and eventually, we found our way back. By 2016, we were officially dating. We’ve been through a lot together: distance, career changes, and the loss of our parents. But the bond we built as teenagers made us stronger.

Now, at 30, she’s my fiancée. Every time I think about it, I feel grateful that my first love also turned out to be my last.

I was 16 when I first noticed Sodiq in our neighbourhood. He was a family friend, always coming around to play football with my cousins. I liked him quietly for years, but I never said anything because I thought he only saw me as “the younger cousin’s friend.”

We grew closer when I got into university. He would check in on me, help with assignments, and sometimes buy me food when I was broke. It felt natural, but I didn’t realise he liked me too. One evening during my second year, he walked me to the hostel and said, “You know you’re my favourite person, right?” I laughed it off, but he was serious.

We started dating not long after, and now we’ve been together five years. It hasn’t always been easy. There were fights about distance during NYSC, and when he lost his job for a while. But we worked through it.

What started as a crush has grown into a real partnership. Sometimes I still remember the girl who used to blush at him in the compound, and I smile.


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Some connections spark but never catch fire. Maybe the timing was off, perhaps the feelings weren’t mutual, or maybe life simply got in the way of what could have been a fairytale love story. Almost-relationships can hurt even harder than breakups because they leave you wondering what might have been. These accounts sit in that delicate space between “we could’ve been everything” and “we never even started.”

“I’ve tried to find love by shooting my shot with people I’ve known for a while or met along the way. Some went well at first, but never really lasted.

There was one girl I connected with deeply during a talking stage. I thought she was the one, but then she ghosted. That really hurt because I’d already started imagining a future with her. Later, in NYSC camp, I met another girl who was my type to a tee. At first, I thought she was my missing rib, but religion got in the way. I’m not religious, and she couldn’t stop bringing it up, so it became exhausting.

The girl I’m seeing now is also someone I met in camp. It’s still early, so I don’t want to conclude too quickly, but I’m hopeful. I’ve learnt not to build castles in the air too soon. I used to do that a lot — fall into my feelings fast, assume there’s already a future — but now I’m learning to be patient and take things as they come.

Honestly, I don’t think my chances of finding love are high. I’m a very logical man, and everything has to make sense to me. That mindset even causes issues in my current relationship. Still, I believe things will work out eventually. My life always does.”

I’d been feeling neglected in my marriage when a man slid into my Facebook DMs. He lived in Kano, and I was in Port Harcourt, so I thought the distance meant nothing serious could happen. Still, he persisted with the sweet talk, calling me “my wife,” “my love,” and “sweetheart.” Against my better judgment, I started giving him an audience.

At first, it felt harmless. We spoke twice daily, making video calls on his way to work and voice calls at night. However, the red flags began to pile up. The first was when he complained about running out of data, and I sent ₦5k. Then I found out he had a wife at home. He was also a junior worker, which wasn’t a deal breaker on its own, but it didn’t sit right. The final straw was when he asked me to visit, saying I’d need to cover the flight and hotel because he couldn’t afford it.

One day, his sweet words started messing with my head like I was a teenager again. That was when I told myself the truth: this wasn’t love. I packed my two left slippers and ran. What I thought would ease the pain of neglect almost left me with more tears.

I think dating sites are the only place I haven’t tried finding love this year. I’ve watched too much “Dateline” and “Law & Order” to risk it. But also, 90% of my days are spent between church, work, and sometimes school, so naturally, my search for love has been centred around those places. 

The most recent was a man I met at a church conference. I work in the protocol unit, and he’d just joined the department and was attached to my team. From the start, I couldn’t help but notice how fine and tall he was. For the record, I’m six feet, and he was taller than me. It felt like a match made in heaven.

We started talking after the conference, and within a month, things got serious — meeting-the-parents serious. But three months in, the red flags began. He made passive-aggressive remarks about my plans for academia, said we’d have to live with his mother after marriage, and even insisted I deactivate social media and change my number.

The final straw came when he started making rape jokes, despite knowing I was once a victim. One day, he even said, “I want to rape you to death.” That was it. I ended things immediately.

I’ve learnt that most people in church need both spiritual and mental help. Still, I want a God-fearing man. I love love, and I want to experience the kind my parents have.

I met him in December 2021 on my way back from the market. He’d been in the city to visit someone and offered me a ride. There was a ten-year age gap, and even though that worried me, we started talking every day.

Four months into our situation, we finally met when I had an event in Lagos. I thought it would just be a casual visit. I’d already told him I wasn’t ready for anything sexual. However, when I arrived at his place, things quickly became uncomfortable. He pushed against my boundaries, and I felt unsafe. I begged him to stop, and eventually, he did.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I had to ask a friend to fake an emergency, just so I’d have an excuse to leave. Later, when I confronted him, he accused me of being insensitive to his needs. That was my breaking point. I knew then we wouldn’t work and blocked his number.

After being single for a while, I decided to change that. I started replying to people who slid into my DMs because my friends had success stories, and I wanted mine too.

But it didn’t unfold the way I imagined. The boy I opened up to rushed everything. We’d only spoken for a short while before he brought up dating. Another red flag was that he’s a huge Andrew Tate fan, and I couldn’t see myself with someone like that. Our “talking stage” became awkward, so I blocked him. It felt like he was more interested in the idea of being with me than in me as a person.

I’ve learned I might not be cut out for relationships right now. It’s better to focus on myself and my future instead.

I’ve never been married, and it’s because of my brother. Back in the 1980s, I got admitted into a course I didn’t like. After completing my degree, I returned to study medicine. With all the delays, I spent nearly 17 years in school. I only started considering settling down in my 40s.

In 2004, I met someone during a joint hospital training. He was kind, and I thought we could work. We dated for a few months, and I introduced him to my family. That was when my brother discovered the man was distantly related to his wife. It was far removed, but he insisted it was incest. He and his wife’s family pressured my partner until he ended things. It remains one of the saddest turns of my life.

We met last year through a campus fellowship. He’s a gentle, sweet and practical man. At first, it was just friendship, but as we talked more, my feelings grew. We’d spend hours on the phone laughing and having meaningful conversations. He also helped me with a lot of my academic and spiritual goals.

Eight months in, he suddenly withdrew. I noticed he chatted with me in fewer words and less enthusiasm. When I brought this to his notice, he said he wanted us to slow down; I was giving him too much attention for an undefined relationship. I was shocked. I thought we were working towards something solid. It didn’t take long before everything came to an end.

I kept asking myself what I did wrong. I’d been vulnerable with him like never before, and losing that was painful. I’ve chosen to move forward, even though I never got closure.

Two months before we graduated, I realised I had a massive crush on a classmate. I’d stay back after tutorials just to talk to him. After exams, I confessed, and he said he liked me too. We spent the little time left in school together, and it felt right.

But graduation scattered everything. Between NYSC wahala and job hunting, we slowly drifted apart. We tried to keep in touch, but life pulled us in different ways. I hate that we never got to explore what we had. I’ve tried meeting new people since then, but I haven’t felt that same click.

I chased a girl for three years. We bonded over our family struggles and got into a situationship. I met her through her friend, who happened to be my ex, and that complicated everything. I couldn’t make things official because of the past. When I finally confessed my intentions this year, like I predicted, she insisted we couldn’t date because of that history. Her family issues also made her disinterested in commitment. 

It hurt deeply because I spent so much time holding back, hoping she’d eventually say yes. 

When I got married in 2018, I regretted it instantly. My husband didn’t care for me and entertained other girlfriends. About eight months in, I got a job in another state, and that distance became my escape.

That’s where I met Kola. He was kind and attentive. Slowly, I developed feelings. He eventually confessed he liked me, and I was thrilled yet heartbroken. I had to admit that I was married. He was shocked; I never talked about my marriage or wore my ring.

After that, he set boundaries. Our friendship fizzled, and when I got transferred, the closeness disappeared. Eventually, he married someone else.

I still think about him. If I had waited longer before marrying, I believe I would have chosen Kola.

I got divorced in 2021 and fell into depression. For over a year, I drowned myself in alcohol and meaningless flings. Then, in 2022, I met a woman at a club. She stood out because she was modestly dressed, and when she offered me her shisha, we connected. That night, we ended up in bed. She told me she was married and only wanted fun.

We kept meeting at hotels with an unspoken rule not to ask personal questions. I liked that it came with no pressure, but with time, I caught feelings. I never admitted it because I knew it wouldn’t change anything.

After about eight months, she vanished. No calls. No explanation. I didn’t even know her last name. Two years later, I still think of her and wonder if things would have been different if I’d told her how I felt.

I thought I had found love after reconnecting with a former family friend who lives abroad. We started talking late 2024, but this year we took it further. We shared our pasts, our secrets, and our dreams. We even planned what we’d do when he visited Nigeria. For a while, it felt like two lonely people finding comfort in each other’s company.

He eventually confessed his feelings, and though I felt the same, I held back. I was too afraid of getting hurt, so I never fully opened up. I doubted him, questioned his feelings, and second-guessed whether I was the only one on his mind. I think he sensed my hesitation. Then one day, out of nowhere, he asked me to stop speaking to him.

I pleaded with him, but it didn’t change anything. When it ended, I felt empty. I still do sometimes, because his presence was such a bright spot in my life. I miss the teasing, the video calls, and the comfort of being accepted as I was.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that love requires vulnerability. Holding back only cost me what might have been something beautiful. But I haven’t given up. I believe love is still possible for me. It may take time, but I’m learning to heal, trust again, and leave the past behind.

I moved into my current apartment in 2023, and that’s where I met my neighbour. At first, we only spoke when we passed each other in the compound. We bonded after our transformer blew up in March, and we had to sit outside with other tenants to escape the heat.

We discovered a shared love for movies and started having weekly watch nights. By June, he confessed he had feelings for me, and I told him I felt the same. We aren’t official yet because I want us to take our time, but I already know what we have is more special than anything I’ve had in a while.

I started the year determined to stay away from love. Last time I shot my shot at a girl in my department, she told me she would’ve blocked me. I took the hint and stayed away from love. Then I met Sarah.

It happened in the most random way. I was in a massive exam hall with a friend, charging my phone, when she walked up to me. She asked if she could use the socket, and before I knew it, we were talking like old friends. The vibe was so natural, I barely noticed when she slid closer to me. I collected her number but hesitated to message her. It was close to Valentine’s, and I didn’t want to be anyone’s placeholder. But curiosity won, and once I texted her, we couldn’t stop talking.

At first, it felt perfect. But cracks soon appeared. I entered 2025 with a lot on my plate — academics, finances, and life goals. I didn’t give her the attention she wanted, even though I genuinely liked her. She kept asking for more: more presence, more effort, more proof.

Still, she had this pull I couldn’t resist. Late-night conversations, inside jokes, moments where “my love” slipped out of her mouth so easily. One night, while cuddled up in a classroom, she mentioned Mohammed, her crush. That’s when I realised that no matter how close we got, something would always stop us from crossing that line.

I’ve never really been a big believer in love, so I stayed away from dating for the most part. But I’ve had a good friend I’ve secretly been attracted to for years. We’d been close for over a decade and never crossed that line.

Early this year, I started thinking seriously about settling down and starting a family. Who better to try with than someone I already knew and trusted? I thought dating her would be easier than my past situationships, but it turned out to be a disaster.

As friends, she gave me space, and I assumed it would be the same in a relationship. Instead, she wanted us to spend nearly all her free time together. I wasn’t used to that level of closeness, and the more we tried to talk through it, the more we fought.

By April, we ended things on a terrible note. What hurts most isn’t the failed relationship, but the loss of our friendship. It was something I really valued, and now it’s gone. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll be trying for love again anytime soon.

I’m queer, and after three years of scoping the community, I finally decided to try dating. I had to keep it secret because it’s not exactly safe to be out of the closet.

At a house party in May, I met a handsome older guy, Timi* (22). He swept me off my feet. For two months, I practically lived at his place off campus. Those weeks felt brief but wonderful.

Then, in July, everything changed. He went cold. Each time I asked to visit, he gave flimsy excuses until we just fizzled out.

My friends keep telling me to charge it to the game and move on, but I’m still trying to forget him. I hope the rest of the year has a pleasant romantic surprise for me because I’m tired of being hung up on a guy who won’t match my energy.

Swipe left, swipe right, reply, ghost — swiping often feels like a small leap of faith, maybe this stranger behind a profile picture could be the LOYL. The late-night chats, the playful banter, even the awkward first dates all hold the promise of love at your fingertips. But sometimes, the fantasy crashes into reality: profiles don’t match the person, conversations go stale, or the connection simply fizzles out. These stories capture the thrill, the chaos, and the heartbreak of looking for love online.

This year, I tried finding love on social media, but it hasn’t been easy. Dating apps feel more like hookup sites now, and as an introvert, I’m not bold enough to shoot my shot. The people I meet through mutual friends also don’t want what I want — a long-term relationship with someone serious about building a life together.

I met a few people online, but things never went far. Most lived in Lagos, a place I don’t see myself moving to anytime soon, or our conversations just fizzled out. One guy even asked me for a loan when we barely knew each other, and because I’ve been burned before, I’ve learnt to be careful.

Part of me enters every new connection thinking, ‘Oh, this could be my future husband,’ so I put so much thought into every word. That probably comes from my last relationship. He said he loved me, but broke things off because he didn’t believe relationships exist during hard times. He insisted I deserved more than he could give, and that was the end of it. It made me stop believing in “building together.” I want someone who has already done the work on themselves, just as I have.

Now, finding love just feels exhausting. I’ve decided to focus on my career instead. Every day that passes, I believe in love a little less. If love happens, good. If it doesn’t, I’ll still be fine.

Dating apps were my go-to this year. Being a homebody and also in the closet, I thought it’d be easier to connect with other queer people online. I’d heard stories of people finding love on Grindr and Bumble, so I was hopeful.

Even signing up was stressful. I couldn’t log into my account after creating it and had to wait on customer support. By the time they fixed it, I’d forgotten I even made the account. Then, when I finally got on, I had to deal with horny men who only judged me based on my sexual availability. I explicitly wrote in my bio that I wasn’t looking for sex, and while that helped a little, the conversations still mostly circled back to whether I was a top or bottom, or where I lived.

It was exhausting. I felt like the heavens were against me; maybe romantic love just wasn’t in the cards for me. Eventually, I deleted my account because I couldn’t deal with how shallow it all felt. Nobody wanted to know me beyond sex.

So for now, no more dating apps. I want to meet people organically, even though that’s hard in Nigeria, where I can’t even be safely out. Still, I believe love is possible. But even if it doesn’t come, that’s fine too. Romance is only a subset of life.

I didn’t find love by walking up to random women, though I tried. In January 2025, I met my girlfriend online while training her in crypto trading. After the classes ended in May, we stayed in touch through calls and conversations. Before long, we realised we couldn’t go a day without talking.

One defining moment for me was when I lost money. She lent me some cash, and when I tried to return it with interest, she refused. It meant a lot and made me confront my feelings for her.

I’m very traditional and intentional about relationships, so I knew I had to do things properly. We’ve scheduled a meeting with her family this September, and I’m looking forward to it. Love finds you in the most unexpected ways.

In 2023, I decided to finally give dating apps a try, since I was actively looking for love. A friend had been raving about Bumble for months. Within the first 20 minutes of signing up, I had about 20 matches. I was chatting and replying to texts until I got overwhelmed. 

Only one guy stood out. Unlike the others, our conversations didn’t feel forced. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t give out my number so quickly, but with him, I broke it.

At first, everything was amazing. We talked consistently for six weeks, and I thought it’d grow into a real relationship. Then he suddenly pulled back and told me he was not mentally ready for a relationship. Still, he kept disturbing my phone. I realised he only wanted to hook up, so I cut him off.

I met him on Twitter in December 2024 after a friend reposted his pictures. I jokingly commented, “fine boy,” and he slid into my DMs. During our chats, I realised he was still in a relationship, so I pulled back. But after they broke up, we slipped into a physical situationship. I had a crush, but I was wary of someone fresh out of a breakup. Eventually, I ended things because we wanted different things.

That was when the harassment started. He blocked me and then posted indirect insults on Twitter. I blocked him, too, but soon after, I began receiving threatening messages from multiple private accounts. I traced one back to him when it accidentally retweeted my post. He denied it, but the messages stopped once I threatened police action.

Last month, I learned he’d been arrested for posting unconsented sex videos of women. It shook me, but it also made me grateful I trusted my instincts and walked away when I did.

I met him on a dating app in February 2025. He was smart, funny, and easy to talk to. Our conversations flowed so well that we could jump from random topics to serious life plans without skipping a beat. I began to see him as a potential partner, and we even started planning a joint business together, despite never meeting in person.

One night in April, during a call, he said he had to go because he was reading a bedtime story. I assumed it was for a niece, but when I asked, he admitted it was for his daughter. At first, I thought he was joking. Later, he confirmed it. I was shocked because I had specifically asked if he had children, and he said no.

For me, the lie mattered more than the child. When I later found out the child’s mother was still in his life, I knew I couldn’t trust him. By June, I walked away. 

I started using dating apps in 2019, and Bumble quickly became my favourite because it gave me control and felt safer than Tinder. For a long time, I only texted and never met anyone in person. That finally changed in 2025 when I decided to give two matches a chance.

One of them stood out immediately. From his very first message, I could tell he was intentional and genuinely interested. I waited for him to lose interest or ghost me like others had, but he stayed consistent. His effort and kindness gradually won me over, and we started dating.

Now it feels almost surreal to say I found love on Bumble. After years of thinking it might never happen, I am glad I trusted the process. I always believed it could work, and this time, it finally did.

This year, I grew tired of searching for love on my own. I was so thirsty for it that I even told some of my friends I was (and still am) actively searching for a partner. I thought maybe they could connect me with someone, but nothing solid came from it.

I also tried dating apps, but those were a total waste of time. Ninety-nine per cent of the women I met there only wanted money. They’d tell me they liked me, then start begging for one thing or another barely two days later. It was exhausting.

In May, I finally summoned the courage to confess to a crush I’d liked for a while. But she told me she already had a boyfriend. 

Honestly, my continued search for love has left me tired. The main lesson I’ve learnt is that Lagos men and women are crazy, and maybe they deserve each other. 

Deep down, I know my person is out there. She may be hard to find because my standards are high, but that’s fine with me. I believe it’s not impossible. There’s still time for something great to happen.

I first met someone on a Zikoko dating show that seemed promising, but it didn’t go anywhere. A few months later, I connected with another lady on social media. At first, things flowed. Then, suddenly, we stopped talking for about five days.

Out of the blue, she texted me. That single text caught my attention. It wasn’t just about the message itself but the fact that she noticed the silence and cared enough to bridge it. That was when I realised she might not be just another person to chat with and forget.

That one text was the start of us becoming an item. It felt good knowing she was intentional, not just passing time.

Through this journey, I’ve learned that love isn’t about being with someone for the sake of it. You need to be with someone you genuinely care about, someone you can truly say you’ve found love with.

I downloaded Grindr during lockdown, thinking it’d be a fun distraction. Within weeks, I matched with more men than I’d ever spoken to in real life. At first, it was exciting with all the late-night chats, flirty emojis, and even a virtual date where we cooked the same meal over video call.

But after a while, the excitement turned into confusion. Conversations fizzled, people ghosted, and one guy even asked me for a ₦50k “urgent need” before we’d ever met. By the third month, I was drained. I felt like I was swiping myself into madness.

It hurt my confidence for a bit. I kept asking myself if something was wrong with me. But honestly, it wasn’t me, it was the randomness of it all.

I’m not rushing these days. I’ll still try dating apps, but I’m also letting real life do its thing. Love might just walk up to me at the supermarket instead of through a screen.

I met him on Bumble, and from the very first day, we clicked. We talked for hours, and within a week, he declared his intentions. I worried about love bombing, but I liked him enough to give it a chance. Even though we lived in different cities, it never felt like distance because we spoke every day and often stayed on calls while working.

A few months in, he changed. His tone became formal, and the affection reduced whenever he didn’t get his way. Most of it centred on my postponing visits. He also began showing controlling tendencies, like insisting I pierce my ears even after I told him I had none.

The final straw was when he came to my city unannounced and demanded I meet him at a hotel. I felt disrespected, and when I voiced my concerns, he brushed them off. His last message was a thumbs-up.

I’ve been trying to put myself out there by using dating apps, but I haven’t had the best experience so far.

I met a lovely man on Tinder this April, and he seemed perfect. He was funny, caring, and consistent, and I thought I’d found my last bus stop. Only two months in, I discovered he had a wife and a child. I almost couldn’t believe it. 

I’ve deleted all the apps and taken a break from dating. That experience taught me to be wary of the people I give my trust to, especially in this Lagos.

I attended Moonshot to network in the tech space. On the first day, a guy walked up to me while I was talking to someone else and asked if I knew him. I responded with a curt “Am I supposed to know you?”

I didn’t mean it in a snobbish way, and thankfully, he wasn’t offended. He introduced himself and got my number, but he never texted. I couldn’t get him out of my mind, so I looked him up on IG and teasingly asked if I had to appear in his dreams before he texted me.

We moved the conversation to WhatsApp, and the rest, they say, is history. We’ve been together since, and it’s been beautiful. I’ve had to learn lots of patience, but when you’re in love, even the hard lessons feel light. I’m glad I gave us a chance.

Like most introverts, when I was looking for love, I turned to the apps. I met a lot of people, but they were just a series of disappointments. They either ghosted or friend-zoned me.

One in particular hurt because I thought she was my final bus stop. Now, we don’t even talk. It made me start to believe I’m likeable, not lovable, and that’s fine.

I’ve mostly given up on love because the back-to-back headaches after each connection end are too much. I can’t be dealing with heartbreak while trying to keep a clear head for work. If there’s someone out there for me, I don’t know if I’ll ever find them. Until I sort myself out, it’s best to stay on my own.

I’m not sure I’ve done the best job of it, but this year, I tried hard to put myself out there for love. I met people through friends and even tried dating apps. The journey hasn’t been smooth. I’ve met too many foolish people.

One man I liked turned out to be married with a family in the UK. Another person I connected with online claimed to be much taller than he was. When we met in person, he was almost a metre shorter than what he’d written in his bio.

At the start of the year, I felt hopeful. But all the confusion and disappointment dampened that hope. Don’t get me wrong, there were lovely moments with people I genuinely found interesting. But there were also stretches of loneliness and self-doubt, when I’d catch myself wondering if this love thing is really for me.

Still, all the mistakes of the year taught me something. I’m clearer about my boundaries now, and I’ve learned to run at the first sign of a red flag. I still believe love is possible for me. I see it everywhere around me, in friends and family. I can’t be the exception.

We first dated in secondary school and stayed together until 2015, at the start of university. But back then, I wasn’t serious. I got involved with other people, and while she tried to make things work, I’d lost interest. It ended badly when I let a friend tell her I no longer wanted the relationship, which, I admit, was a cowardly way out.

Fast forward to 2022. We’d both moved to Canada and were living in the same city. After six years, we reconnected through our church community. At first, it was strictly friendship, but with time, I realised my feelings for her had never really gone away. When I saw her talking to someone else, it hit me hard. That was when I swallowed my pride and asked for another chance.

She was reluctant at first, but eventually gave in. By 2024, we were married. I’m grateful I didn’t let her slip away twice.

He was my first real love. We met in 2020, and I fell hard. He was intentional, funny, and made me feel seen. But one day, he ended things, saying he needed to “focus on himself.”

Even after the breakup, I kept going back. We had sex often, and I convinced myself it meant we could get back together. Instead, it became a cycle of him using me while I clung to hope. At one point, he gave me an STI. That should’ve been my wake-up call, but I still stayed.

The final break came in 2022, after a night together. Out of nowhere, he snapped, said he was tired of me, and threw me out of his place. It was painful to accept, but that was the moment I finally let him go.

After I moved to the UK for my master’s in 2023, my dating life completely dried up. Between school and work, I barely had time to go out and meet new people.

By 2025, I decided to try dating apps, but all I found were people looking for hookups or casual relationships. I wanted something more substantial.

Then, one Sunday in June, a new member at church asked me out for lunch after service. I said yes, and to my surprise, he turned out to be great company. He made his intentions clear from the start, and even though I hadn’t dated in a while, I agreed to give it a try.

We started dating properly in July, and honestly, something tells me this man is my last bus stop. He’s wonderful, kind, and everything I’ve been looking for. I finally feel hopeful about love again, and I think this journey will be a beautiful one.

He was my childhood crush and closest friend. We dated on and off in university but ended the relationship for good in 2021. I thought I had moved on when I married someone else in 2022, but that marriage quickly crumbled. His mother never accepted me, he belittled me constantly, and he openly cheated. By 2024, I filed for divorce.

After relocating to Lagos, I ran into my old love again. His family, especially his mother, welcomed me back with open arms, reminding me of the love and support I had once known. Slowly, I realised what I had missed all along. It wasn’t only him, but also the feeling of belonging to a family that genuinely wanted me.

Five months ago, we got married. This time feels different. We communicate better, respect each other, and I finally feel at peace.

I wasn’t really looking for love this year, but in February, I decided to give dating apps a try. That’s how I met Caesar*. We hit it off quickly and soon started meeting offline. He moved fast, calling me his woman and even talking about a baecation. I wanted us to build a friendship first, and he agreed.

My birthday was coming up in May, and when I mentioned it, Caesar planned a lavish dinner date at a fancy restaurant. The night felt magical. We had great food, amazing wine, and all the right vibes. But when it was time to pay, Caesar said he would retrieve his ATM card from the car. That was the last I saw or heard from him.

I sat there for more than an hour, waiting and feeling foolish, before I finally paid the bill myself and went home. It’s not something I’ve gotten over. Since then, I’ve been very wary of anyone trying to move to me. I just hope I can bounce back to my loving self soon.

I wanted to try something different when it came to love this year, so in February 2025, I downloaded Bumble and Tinder. I spent a lot of time creating my profile and writing a bio because in my head, it was poorly set-up profiles that attracted creeps. But I was so wrong. Almost every connection I made on those apps was either a fake profile or a fraudster.

I even had a conversation that moved past the first day, but soon after, the guy started asking me to speak to a “client” of his because my English was better than his. Classic fraudster stuff. I blocked him immediately.

Now, I’ve given up on dating apps. I need to see you in real life before I can take anything we’re doing seriously. I’m trying to attend more events so I can meet new people. That’s my primary goal moving forward.

It surprised me that I’d fall in love with my coworker, but I did. I moved apartments earlier this year, and he started dropping me off a few bus stops from my house after work.

On those long rides back to the mainland, we’d talk about our shared interests, favourite music and more. Soon, the rides weren’t enough. We started texting frequently on WhatsApp and having our lunch breaks together. Other colleagues even started calling us “husband and wife” because we were always together.

He asked me to be his girlfriend in July, and I said yes. Thankfully, our office allows staff to date as long as HR knows. It’s been a dream seeing my favourite person every day. He makes work exciting, and I love how intelligent he is. I’m learning new things about him all the time, and I’m excited for what the future holds.


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There’s nothing easy about loving someone from afar. Sometimes, it’s endless hours on the road just to steal a weekend together or long hours spent on mobile devices lacking the needed warmth. Add arguments sparked by family who think you can do better, and even the strongest love begins to feel fragile. Still, some people choose to fight for it, even when the odds are stacked against them.

“When I got into university in 1992, I joined the Muslim Students Society. A year later, I started dating my coursemate after we worked on a project together. He was kind, thoughtful, and flawless in my eyes. The only difference between us was his Christianity. I didn’t care, and neither did he. We agreed to make it work.

When people in the Muslim society found out, everything collapsed. I was excommunicated, my closest friend stopped speaking to me, and hostel mates mocked me, calling me an infidel. It crushed my mental health and my academics. I wanted to stay with him, but when the pressure became too much to bear, I broke the relationship off.

By 1995, they matched me with a Muslim brother in the society, whom I married. Even now, I still think about my ex. If not for that pressure, he’s the one I would’ve chosen.”

“I’m a twin, and got married while my sister never did. My father always worried about that, especially since she was the firstborn. She was ambitious, focused on her studies and determined to become a surgeon. I was more family-oriented, so when I met my husband, I wanted to settle down quickly.

My father disliked him from the start — this was the early 1990s, and my husband was a lecturer. Lecturers were often owed salaries back then, and my father thought he wouldn’t be able to provide. He reluctantly gave his blessing but continued criticising him.

We struggled, and I sometimes asked my father for help. By my fourth pregnancy, he told me to stop having children and accused me of “robbing my twin” of hers. It was painful to hear. The lack of his support strained my marriage and left me always longing for his approval.

I met him during an office event in 2021 while welcoming guests. He refused to let me leave until I gave him my number. At first, I didn’t take him seriously, but our conversations surprised me. He was mature and understanding in ways men my age weren’t. Our first date went better than I expected, and soon we started dating.

By 2022, he asked me to consider marriage. I knew from the beginning that he was at least 15 years older and already had a wife, but I genuinely liked him and didn’t mind being a second wife. My parents disapproved, and when his wife eventually found out, she made life unbearable. She threatened me and warned me off.

As much as I cared about him, I couldn’t imagine raising a family in a hostile environment. Ending things was painful, but it was the only way forward.

“I met him in 2018 through a fellowship, and by 2019, we became close friends. What drew me in was the peace I felt around him. By 2022, he asked me out, but I told him to wait because I needed to tell my mum first. I’m from a deeply spiritual family where dating someone is taken seriously.

We kept talking until December 2024, when I finally got the courage to approach my mum. She said she would pray and seek God’s guidance. In March this year, she told me she hadn’t received him as my husband, and other family members agreed. As much as I loved him, I couldn’t ask him, a man in his thirties, to keep waiting for my family to approve. I had to let him go.”

“We met in December 2023, just after I joined a school club. I wasn’t looking to date, but spending time with him quickly became the best part of my week. We vibed to old reggae and Afropop songs, and shared countless simple moments that always left me full and happy. The night that sealed the deal for me was when we experienced a water scarcity on campus. He showed up carrying heavy bags of water so that I wouldn’t go thirsty. By 2024, we started dating.

Now, distance is our biggest challenge. In January 2025, I was posted to the North East for NYSC, while he was posted to the West. It hasn’t been easy, but despite the missed calls and stress of keeping up, we’re choosing to stay together.”

“I met him at work on my very last day. Coincidentally, it was his first day. As the facility manager, I had to show him around. What should’ve been a quick tour turned into an endless conversation. He asked for my number, but nothing serious came of it until lockdown. 

By then, he’d relocated to the UK, and suddenly, we were talking every day. We liked each other, but the timing was terrible. He was struggling with fees and adapting to life abroad, while I didn’t want a long-distance relationship.

I held out for two years, thinking he’d return after his studies. When his plans changed, I ended things. Beyond the distance, our personalities clashed. He was deeply religious and a people pleaser, while I’m extremely confrontational. We’re friends now, and he’s with someone else.”

I’ve been single since 2020. My last relationship didn’t survive the strain of long distance when school switched to virtual classes. Now that I’m older and ready for something serious, I decided to ask my parents to match me with someone they thought would be nice.

Their suggestions shocked me. First, they brought up a family friend’s son, but I know him too well; he’s a degenerate gambler. When I refused, they introduced me to one of the accountants who works for my dad. Apart from the fact that I’d never want my husband to work under my father, the guy was so boring I almost dozed off on our first (and only) date.

I’m trying not to stress about finding a partner since I’m still young, but one thing is clear: I can’t count on my parents to pick a man for me. Our tastes are too different.

My parents believe marriage brings stability to a woman’s life. Early this year, they tried to introduce me to a family friend’s son, a doctor.

He’s polite, but we have nothing in common. I love movies, but he thinks they’re boring unless it’s an action film. I love travelling, but he believes adults should stay close to home. He loves football, and I don’t care for it at all.

I told my parents I couldn’t continue, and they were disappointed. It’s been hard because I know they want what’s best for me, but I’d rather be single than miserable. With him, that’s exactly what I’d be.

There’s a pull that never really goes away when it comes to someone you once loved. The late-night calls start again, familiar jokes resurface, and for a moment, you both feel like time hasn’t passed at all. But the truth is, second chances don’t always guarantee happy endings when it comes to matters of the heart.

I met my ex when he resumed as a direct-entry student in 2019. He always greeted me after class, so during his birthday, I congratulated him. During the COVID lockdown, we were talking every day on the phone. Then, after school resumed in 2021, we became official. 

But five months into the relationship, he grew distant and kept picking fights. Out of the blue, he broke up with me over text. He said he was dealing with personal issues he couldn’t talk about.

We reconnected in 2024. We worked in the same unit in church, and my feelings came rushing back. We dated again for over a year, but the fights continued. This time, they were around his “female bestie”, whom he constantly compared to me. In the end, I realised I was stuck in a cycle. I ended things with him in January. This time, I know not to look back.”

My relationship ended because of religion, even though we were both Christians. It happened because of different doctrinal values and beliefs. 

When we got together in 2023, everything else was perfect. Our families knew each other, we’d been friends for years, and working together made the bond even sweeter. I joined his church, but quickly realised it wasn’t a place I could thrive or build a family. When we spoke about it, he didn’t want to leave, so I walked away in April 2024. 

A few weeks later, he promised to leave the church if I gave him time. Because the break-up was difficult, I agreed, and we got back together.  Weeks turned into months, and it was obvious he would never act on it. In December 2024, I ended the relationship for good. It was a messy breakup, but I don’t regret my decision. 

“I met Joel* when he bought jewellery from me in 2017. At first, I didn’t take him seriously, but he won me over with persistence and thoughtfulness. By 2018, we were a couple. For five years, we were inseparable. I spent most of my time at his place, met his family, and believed we’d get married. 

In 2023, NYSC posted me to Osun, and distance strained us. By my birthday in November, he broke up with me. I was shattered. After six months apart, we reconnected in 2024. He was already with the girl his mum wanted for him. We slipped into an affair, and I got pregnant. I thought the pregnancy would seal our relationship, but he pressured me into an abortion when he revealed his plan to leave the country in a few months. That betrayal hurt me, but I was able to walk away.”

My ex and I broke up in 2019 because I moved abroad. By 2022, I was back in Nigeria and convinced fate had given us a second chance. She agreed to try again.

The first few weeks felt magical. We were older, calmer, and I thought distance had matured us. But then, the old cracks reappeared. She still hated how close I was to my female cousins. I still struggled with her temper. We argued like before, only now it felt heavier. 

It broke me to realise love alone couldn’t fix us. I wanted it so badly to work this time, but I also didn’t want to spend another three years fighting the same battles.

Sometimes, closure isn’t about getting back together. It’s about knowing you tried and accepting that some love stories just aren’t meant to be. 

After a breakup in 2023, I swore I would never return to my ex. But when I saw him at a wedding last year, all the old feelings came rushing back. I convinced myself he had changed. We started talking again, and for a month, it was like old times. I felt hopeful that we could make it work this time.

It didn’t even take long for the old patterns to resurface. He started ignoring my calls again, borrowing money he never returned, and cancelling dates out of the blue. One day, I found myself crying again over the same issues that broke us up the first time. That was when it hit me that I hadn’t given love another chance; I’d just willingly submitted myself to torture again.

I felt like a fool, but that realisation also woke me up. I don’t miss him anymore. And I mean it when I say that ship has sailed forever. I haven’t given up on love yet. I just know I won’t be going backwards again.

I wasn’t having a good run in the romantic streets. It felt like everyone I met was racing to betray me as fast as possible. I got fed up and tried to rekindle things with an ex I split from in 2018.

It didn’t go the way I thought. We only broke up because I was graduating from school, and we’d kept a strong friendship since. I thought that meant dating again would be simple.

I didn’t account for how much we had both changed in the last seven years. We never had big fights when we dated before, but now? We were constantly disagreeing. She grew tired after a few months and ended things. The worst part was that instead of feeling sad, I felt relieved.

We don’t really talk anymore, but I’m fine with that. I’ve learned not to assume things about a person’s character. I’m still hoping I meet the right person to grow with, but I’m not in a rush.

I remarried in 2019, just before my 51st birthday, to a widower I met through a friend. My first marriage had never been about love, and when my husband died at 39, I spent the following years raising three children on my own. By the time they were grown and had left home, I realised I was lonely and needed companionship.

My friend introduced us, and we started jogging together. Slowly, something gentle grew between us. At first, I thought I was too old for this kind of feeling, but then I asked myself — who decides that? My children were surprised, but not opposed, and we had a quiet wedding. I have never regretted it.

This marriage has brought me more love than my first. He is my friend and my gist partner, and marrying him is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Even our children have adapted better than I imagined.

I haven’t tried hard to find love this year because I can’t let go of someone. We met in 2021, and what started as a casual fling quickly became complicated. Within months, I caught feelings and confessed. He said he felt the same, but we never defined things.

Still, we acted like a couple — trips, sex, family introductions, the whole package. Anytime I asked for clarity, he dodged the question or picked a fight. By 2023, I got fed up and ended things, but instead of freedom, it turned into an endless cycle of breaking up and making up.

Each time I say I’m done, he pulls me back with attention and promises. Right now, we’re not speaking, but I know that if he texts, I’ll probably go back. It’s made finding love hard because I keep holding off on exploring new romantic opportunities. I keep hoping this situationship will work out and we’ll actually date, but I’m not sure it’ll ever happen.

My ex and I reconnected when I ran into her at a funeral. She looked beautiful, and because I was lonely, I only remembered how good we were together.

We started talking again, and before I knew it, we had fallen back into a relationship. I thought it would be smoother since this was our second time, but it wasn’t. Not long after, all our old problems returned. She still didn’t trust me around other women, and I still couldn’t meet her emotional needs.

We broke up again, and it hurt almost as much as the first time. I learned a valuable lesson, sha. Loneliness is not a reason to force love. It won’t work out just because you want it to.

Nothing stings quite like the end of a love you thought would last. The silence after constant calls, the empty space where someone’s presence used to fill, and the sharp realisation that love isn’t always enough to keep a relationship going. These stories capture the heartbreaks that left scars, but also the lessons that shaped how people now see love.

I didn’t really make any effort to find love this year. Someone tried to date me, but he was 20 and I’m 25. I’d never dated younger before, but I decided to try it at some point.

I knew it wouldn’t work from the first time we hung out. We were walking by the roadside and he suddenly pulled me aside, saying, ‘You’re on the road, a car is coming.’ In my head, I was like, ‘I’m not a baby. I know how to cross the road.’ He was acting overprotective, and it irked me. That moment was enough to tell me we weren’t compatible. We never even got to the point of having sex because I just couldn’t bring myself to it. He still asks if I’ve reconsidered, but that bridge has sailed.

I guess I’m not ready at the end of the day. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of my past experiences with exes, but I don’t think so. I’ve healed — especially from the second person I dated. The breakup itself didn’t hurt, but that relationship almost took my life.

Maybe love just isn’t for me. Or maybe it’s something I’ll have to stumble into when I’m not even looking. For now, I’m fine being on my own.

I haven’t been in a real relationship since I became an adult, so I decided this year would be my year. As a Christian, I believed the best place to find love was within my community. I became more active in my church youth group, joined a creative group for Christians, and even tried being more outgoing—on a budget, of course. But none of it worked out.

I met some nice guys, but the attraction wasn’t there, and things just fizzled. I also met men with the most bizarre expectations, who either saw me as a sex object or made no effort at all. One I’ll never forget was a guy I met at a wedding. He asked me out, and on the day of our “date”, he said I should come to his house instead. When I refused, he went on a rant about how women should “cheapen themselves” if they wanted relationships. I blocked him immediately.

After several failed attempts, I became exhausted. I decided to keep focusing on my faith and goals. I’ve also learnt that just because someone looks like they have sense doesn’t mean they actually do. I’m better at trusting my discernment now. Not everyone deserves your number.

I still believe love is possible, and I hope to find it within the same community I’m already rooted in. I’m tired of chasing new excitement.

I’ve been looking for my better half for years now. Anytime a woman catches my interest, I make the move. The problem is that our goals rarely align. Some want to get married in under a year, while others have deal breakers I can’t compromise on, like not wanting children.

Over time, I’ve learned to walk away early from relationships like this to protect my heart and my ability to love. It hasn’t been easy; leaving some of them was really painful.

Still, I believe love is possible for me. The search has been exhausting, but I never say never. I even have a meeting lined up with a potential partner visiting the country in December, so I’m holding on to that hope.

This year has been one of the most unromantic years of my life. No matter how hard I tried, I just didn’t click with anyone reasonable. Instead, it’s been older married people constantly trying to toast me, and honestly, it’s irritating.

My age mates are either emotionally unavailable or already in happy relationships, while these committed men and women keep running after me. At some point, I decided I’d had enough. I’ve joined “the great lock in” of Q4 and shifted my focus to making money.

Still, I believe love is on the horizon for me. I know I’m full of love, and I think I make a great girlfriend. This year might have been disappointing, but I look forward to trying again once it’s over.

I joined a dating app to be more intentional about finding love this year. I matched with a few guys, but nothing went beyond the first chats because we weren’t compatible.

Then I matched with someone who seemed like a great catch. He was consistent and kind, so I said yes when he asked me out. The minute I agreed, he changed completely. He stopped talking to me regularly and became “the busiest person on the planet.” He even ghosted me days before my birthday, then came back with the excuse that he’d travelled for a summer vacation in Canada. I was so angry I blocked him everywhere. There’s no way I’m keeping someone like that in my life.

That experience taught me not to put all my eggs in one basket or cut off other people just because one person is giving me attention. Love is still possible for me. In fact, I’m seeing someone now who ticks all my boxes. I just want to give it time before I accept it as permanent.

This year, I decided to open myself up more to love. It only led to two heartbreaks back-to-back.

The first woman I fell for was amazing. But while I’m liberal, she was extremely conservative. It didn’t take long before we realised we couldn’t make it work. We stayed friends, but a few weeks ago, I heard she got engaged to her ex. That one pained me, but I had to move on.

The second person hurt even more. She made it clear from the start that she only wanted us to stay casual, but I wanted more. I thought I could love her into seeing the potential in us. Instead, she broke my heart. Sometimes, I wonder if she just didn’t like me because I’m overweight.

I don’t know what lessons I’ve really learned from all of this except how to guard my heart. Right now, I’m just trying to keep it together while I heal.

I don’t usually go out looking for love; it finds me, and then I decide if I want to give it a chance. But it’s never turned out the way I imagined. Every time I’ve been in a relationship, I’ve given it my all, only for the other person not to show up in the same way.

It always leaves me disappointed, but I pick myself up and keep moving. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is this: you can’t love someone into loving you back.

Still, it hasn’t shaken my belief in love. I know my person will find me. After all, I was born because of my parents’ love. If they could have it, then I believe it’s still possible for me too.

2025 was the year I finally gathered enough courage to explore my sexuality by dating women. But it’s been a shaky start.

In April, I acted on a crush I’d had on one of my friends since 2021. She came to visit, things got heated, and we had sex.

Since then, our friendship hasn’t been the same. She claims she’s too busy to hang out, but I see her almost every day on our mutual friends’ snaps. It’s clear she didn’t like me as much as I liked her, and now she’s pulling back. Pretending nothing is wrong whenever I run into her has been tough.

I’ve had to swallow the bitter pill that mixing friendship with sex doesn’t always work. I’m still open to love, but I’ve definitely grown a little jaded. Hopefully, I find a connection that changes my mind soon.

I met her in 2023 on social media.  I saw her posts, slid into her DMs, and put in serious effort to win her over. From the start, she asked me for money, even for things as little as getting her hair done. I was just starting my banking job and didn’t earn much, but I gave anyway, hoping she would eventually like me back.

The truth was, I was the only one investing in the relationship. She gave me nothing in return. On my birthday, she didn’t get me a gift and said sex was supposed to be enough. I even took loans from friends just to keep up with her demands, while others my age were saving. After about eight months together, she ended our relationship for no tangible reason. What hurt the most was that within weeks, she began dating someone I knew. 

That heartbreak crushed me, but it also taught me to value my self-worth. I’ve learned relationships must be mutual. You can’t buy love or force someone to value you.

My biggest lesson came from my last relationship. For two years, I dated my faculty president, who was a year ahead of me. I admired him a lot, and when we started dating, I mistook his controlling ways for care. He told me not to wear certain clothes, pushed me to cook and clean whenever I visited, and even tried to dictate the friends I kept. I kept adjusting because I thought that was his way of showing love.

Over time, I lost myself and even cut off some of my closest friends just to keep him happy. In the end, he broke up with me in 2024, leaving me without the friendships I had sacrificed and without the relationship I thought I was holding onto. That experience taught me never to compromise my friendships or standards for a relationship because no matter how much you give, it will never be enough for the wrong person.

In 2023, I discovered the man I’d been dating for nearly two years was married. By then, he had met my parents, we had done our introduction, and marriage was the next step. I only found out because his wife contacted me. At first, I thought she was lying until she sent me their wedding pictures.

From there, everything unravelled. He had claimed he had not dated in years, but in reality, he had a wife and four children. I later found out I was not the only woman he was seeing. Even the job he claimed to have was fake; he was involved in fraud and other illicit activities.

The most painful part is that if his wife hadn’t reached out, I would have married him without knowing the kind of man he really was. That experience taught me to always research before committing to a person. Ask questions, talk to people who know them, and be sure of who they really are.

I left a bad relationship earlier this year and felt emotionally vulnerable. While talking through my feelings with an online friend, he was sympathetic and supportive. He checked in often, called, and interacted with my posts. I got drawn to him.

I confessed my feelings, but he said he’d just ended a relationship and wasn’t ready to explore. I accepted that and moved on, but a few weeks later, he brought it up again. He said he couldn’t stop thinking about me and didn’t want to miss out on a great experience because of his past. That encouraged me, and we started dating. Looking back, I think we rushed into it.

We didn’t last long. It was clear we weren’t compatible, but I didn’t want to admit it. I was desperate to leave my ex behind, so I put this new partner on a pedestal. Eventually, he broke up with me, saying I was “too much” for him. I felt hurt and betrayed. Honestly, I wish we’d never gone beyond friendship.

I’m still a lover girl, but this experience taught me something important: both partners’ needs have to be met, and a slow, steady build-up to romance beats a whirlwind fling, even if the rush feels good in the moment.

I downloaded Bumble and matched with this guy. At first, I was spontaneous and said yes to a date, but after a few months, the communication dwindled, so I ghosted him. Later, I matched with another person, and we saw each other almost every week for a few months before we went our separate ways. I don’t feel like I’ve found my forever person.

I haven’t fully healed from past heartbreaks, but I know I’ve become more self-aware. I can recognise red flags at a glance, and I protect my peace better now. Love might still be possible, but I’m indifferent. I’d love to find my person, but even if I don’t, I’ll be fine.

I left a terrible relationship in 2023. It lasted eight years and left me scarred, insecure and defeated. When we broke up, my ex told me no woman would ever accept me because of my personality.

That statement stuck with me, and I might have believed her if I hadn’t met my current babe. We met at a comedy show in 2025, and the sparks were instant. We agreed to spend time together afterwards, and even though we’ve been together for seven months, it feels like our first date never ended.

I’ve learned that love is always ahead if you let go of the past and embrace the future.

I wasn’t looking for love this year. I was bored and still heartbroken from a previous relationship. I only wanted to see if I could make someone fall in love with me.

Then I met a guy at a bookstore, and we clicked immediately. I was honest about my emotional state, but it didn’t deter him. We’ve been together for four months now, and this is the kind of love I once prayed for. My man has shown me that true love is possible. Everything I had to struggle and fight for in past relationships came easily in this one. The best part is that I never even had to ask; he’s just perfect.

Some people may disagree, but finding love later in life carries its own magic. It’s the widow who learns to laugh again after years of silence, the single parent who thought their chance had passed, the retiree who stumbles into companionship when they least expect it, the partners who have endured years of a loveless relationship and young ones who have waited for so long. These stories remind us that love doesn’t always arrive early. Sometimes, it waits until you’re older, wiser, and ready to welcome it with open arms.

“I got married at 44 to a widower in his mid-50s. From the start, his sister was hostile towards me. She’d managed his business after his late wife passed and saw me as a threat. She spread lies, but he never listened. Instead, he put me in the business and, when her behaviour became unbearable, asked her to leave. His maturity meant everything to me.

The bigger challenge was children. His family constantly reminded me he had none from his first marriage. We tried IVF without success, and when I suggested adoption, they opposed it. Still, he supported me and stood by my decision to adopt my niece.

We’ve now been married eight years, and marrying him remains one of the best choices of my life. He’s always been kind and secured my future.

I wasn’t looking for love after my husband died. For ten years, my life revolved around children, church, and work. At 60, I thought romance was behind me.

Then a widower from my church choir started noticing me. He’d walk me to the bus stop after rehearsals and bring me gifts. Slowly, conversations turned into companionship. One evening, he asked if I’d be open to something more. I laughed nervously, but my heart beat faster. At my age, I didn’t expect to feel that again.

I was nervous about my children’s opinions, but they surprised me with their support. That gave me the courage to pursue the relationship.

Honestly, I didn’t think love was still in the cards for me. But here I am, holding someone’s hand again at 62. If nothing else, it’s proof that life still has surprises.

I was 33 when I finally admitted I was queer to myself. For years, I’d buried the thought under church activities and straight relationships that fooled everyone but me. I thought by the time I came out, I’d be too old for love. Everyone seemed settled or divorced already.

Then I joined a queer book club. That’s where I met Chike*, a 36-year-old doctor who seemed super friendly. We started sharing rides home, then dinners, then confessions about all the pretending we’d both done in past relationships.

One night in his car, he reached for my hand, and we kissed. It was completely unexpected, but I went with the flow, and that’s how we started our journey. 

In all, my experience is a reminder that even after decades of denial, love could still come gently. Finding my partner at 37 gave me new patience with myself. I hadn’t missed my chance at love; it just came when I was finally ready.

I haven’t had much luck with love in the last few years. When my last relationship ended in 2024, I decided to stay single for a while. I wanted to break free from the cycle of dating shallow people who didn’t really see me.

One of my closest friends became my biggest pillar of support during that time. He checked in on me often, listened when I vented, and made me laugh when the heartbreak felt too heavy. Slowly, I realised I was becoming more fond of him than I expected.

Eventually, I told him I liked him. To my surprise, he admitted he liked me too, but didn’t want to be my rebound. He asked me to wait a few months to be sure my feelings were genuine. That hesitation didn’t push me away. If anything, it made me like him more. His patience showed me he actually cared about my heart.

Two months into our relationship now, I’m grateful I didn’t let fear of “ruining the friendship” hold me back. 

I didn’t try to find love this year; it found me. I first got married in 2001 to a woman I thought would be my forever. But after fifteen years, we went our separate ways in 2016 because we couldn’t have a baby. I suggested adoption, but she was strongly against it.

When that marriage ended, it felt like my heart had dried out. I realised not everyone means it when they say “for better or worse.” For years, I didn’t think I’d ever love again.

Then, earlier this year, I met Remi* (36) during a visit to the bank. She was at the customer support desk talking to an officer, and to me, she shined like a star. I struck up a conversation, pretending to need her help with my issue, and from there, things just fell into place.

We’ve been seeing each other since April, and it feels like I’ve known her for ages. With her, I feel loved and comfortable in a way I didn’t think was possible again. Our relationship has renewed my hope in the future, and this time, I truly hope it lasts forever.

I wasn’t really searching for love in 2025. Since 2019, I’d been stuck in a toxic on-and-off relationship with my ex. Being with her was hell, but the moment we broke up, I’d start missing her and somehow find my way back.

This year, during one of our many breaks in May, I met an incredible woman. Dating her has been a mind-blowingly different experience. We’ve never had a shouting match, and she lights up every time she sees me. After just a month with her, I blocked my ex everywhere. For the first time, I’ve decided not to look back even if this relationship doesn’t last.

This year has taught me that loneliness is never a good enough reason to go back to a bad situation. It’s only been a few months, but I’ve never felt this happy. For the first time in years, I’m thinking about the future with hope instead of fear.

My first marriage lasted 30 years, but if I’m honest, it was duty more than love. After my wife passed, I told myself I’d live the rest of my life alone. Who starts dating again in their sixties?

Then I joined a walking group for retirees. That’s where I met Ngozi. She was 59, loud, funny, and kept teasing me about my slow pace. I started looking forward to those walks, just to hear her laugh.

One afternoon, after a long trek, she slipped her hand into mine like it was the most natural thing. I felt my heart racing and for a moment I thought my blood pressure was out to get me. At 66, I finally understood what people mean when they say they’re feeling butterflies in their tummies. 

I don’t know how many years I have left, but I know I don’t want to spend them alone. It’s a beautiful thing to know that I’ve also experienced what true love feels like. 

I spent most of my twenties hiding. Dating apps scared me, church was judgmental and I convinced myself love wasn’t for men like me. By 30, I had resigned myself to hookups and long stretches of loneliness.

Then I met Tunde* at a friend’s game night. He was playful, always laughing, and when our eyes met, I felt something shift. Later, he walked up to me and asked for my number. Nobody had ever moved so strongly at me like that.

We took it slow at first. Late-night voice notes, cooking together, talking about family trauma and dreams. With him, I didn’t have to shrink myself or perform. Love felt like safety.

Sometimes, I mourn the years I wasted hiding. But mostly, I’m grateful. At 31, I finally know what it means to love without fear, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

At the end of last year, I was tired of not meeting the kind of people I wanted romantically. So, I told my friends to match me with anyone they thought would be a good fit.

One of them in Oyo invited me to her sister’s wedding and promised to introduce me to a family friend. That’s how I met Tolu*. From that day, we’ve been inseparable.

Sometimes, I can’t believe we only met this year. It feels like he’s always been part of my life. I’m crazy about him, and every day, I find new things to love. I’ve already met his family, and he’ll meet mine before the year ends.

This year showed me that love can spring from the most unexpected places, and I’m so happy it did.

In the area where I grew up, people assumed I would never marry. I was one of those strict girls they used to call “spiricoco”. I thought I’d meet a Christian man and marry early, but it never happened.

Even though I only dated men who shared my faith, they’d pressure me for premarital sex. And as I got older, some even treated marriage to me like a favour. I refused to compromise on my beliefs and accepted that I might be alone till the Lord calls me home.

But then Bolaji*, a fellow church member, struck up a conversation with me in March and expressed interest in a relationship. At first, I was hesitant, but I began to warm up to our courtship.

We’re now planning to get married next year, and I can say this is everything I hoped for and more.

I remarried in 2019, just before my 51st birthday, to a widower I met through a friend. My first marriage had never been about love, and when my husband died at 39, I spent the following years raising three children on my own. By the time they were grown and had left home, I realised I was lonely and needed companionship.

My friend introduced us, and we started jogging together. Slowly, something gentle grew between us. At first, I thought I was too old for this kind of feeling, but then I asked myself — who decides that? My children were surprised, but not opposed, and we had a quiet wedding. I have never regretted it.

This marriage has brought me more love than my first. He is my friend and my gist partner, and marrying him is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Even our children have adapted better than I imagined.

We’d been friends for a long time and had a mutual attraction, but we weren’t close. I tried to explore my feelings for her in 2022, but she had just ended a relationship. She said, “I like you, but it’s bad timing right now.” I accepted and moved on.

Fast forward to 2025, we both attended a games night at the start of the year. In the middle of the games, we snuck off to another room and spent the night gisting and drinking together. At the end of the night, I asked if I could kiss her, and she said yes. It was electric.

I asked her out on a date after, and she accepted that too. I joked that I’d finally found the right time, and we laughed. It’s been smooth sailing since then. We became official in April, and it’s been amazing. I’ve learned that you can meet the right person at the wrong time, but if it’s meant to be, the right time will come around again.

I gave up on love and marriage a long time ago. I like women, but I can’t afford two wives, and knowing my personality, I avoided marriage in my 20s. When I halfheartedly tried in my late 30s due to family pressure, the women I met were disloyal. So I gave up entirely.

In 2024, I travelled to the village for a relative’s funeral. That’s where I saw the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She turned out to be my younger cousin’s friend. We hit it off and started seeing each other for drinks and quick meals. At the end of the year, I called her and bared my feelings. She was shy at first, but she said yes.

Being with her feels so different. I used to say one woman can’t satisfy a man, but Fade* satisfies me and makes me happy. She’s ten years younger, but we play like children. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have believed this was possible.

I know she’ll be my wife; I’m just waiting for the perfect time to ask for her hand.

Methodology

Between August and October 2025, the Zikoko Ships team interviewed 100 Nigerians across 15+ states about their experiences with love and relationships. Participants ranged from 19 to 68 years old and represented diverse backgrounds, sexual orientations, and relationship statuses.

Data Collection: Interviews were conducted through both written questionnaires and oral conversations, allowing participants to share their stories in the format most comfortable to them. Some respondents requested anonymity, indicated by asterisks (*) after their names.

Geographic Representation: Stories were gathered from respondents across Nigeria, including Lagos, Abuja, Oyo, Kaduna, Kwara, Anambra, Kano, Ogun, Enugu, Delta, Kogi, Osun, Edo, Calabar, Port Harcourt, Jos, Niger State, and Nasarawa.

Thematic Organisation: Stories were organised into thematic categories including first loves and crushes, relationships that almost happened, dating apps and online connections, long distance and family pressure, getting back with an ex, lessons from failed relationships, and finding love later in life.

Ethical Considerations: All participants gave informed consent to share their stories. Names followed by asterisks have been changed to protect privacy. Some identifying details were modified at participants’ request while maintaining the authenticity of their experiences.

Credits

Editorial Team:

  • Editor-in-Chief: Daniel Orubo
  • Editor: Adeyinka Odutuyo
  • Writers: Betty Godson, Mofiyinfoluwa Adeyemi & Adeyinka Odutuyo

Design & Creative:

  • Creative Direction:  Osemudiamen Ehiabhi, Aderemi Adesida
  • Illustrations: Kezia Alexandra Bassey, Tomisin Oyebolu, Adaeze Chukwu
  • Layout Design: Rhoda Inya, Tayo Gafaar, Osemudiamen Ehiabhi

Special Thanks: To the 100 Nigerians who trusted us with their stories of love, heartbreak, hope, and resilience.


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Zikoko amplifies African youth culture by curating and creating smart and joyful content for young Africans and the world.