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The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Elizabeth (33) has moved between Nigeria and the UK throughout her life. In this story, she shares some truly scary experiences she has had in Nigeria, explains why she can’t wait to leave the UK, and opens up about what it’s like connecting with Nigerians who see her as an outsider.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the United Kingdom, and I left Nigeria in 2019. I’ve moved between both countries throughout my life.

Tell me more about that.

I was born in the UK and grew up here, but I went to Nigeria for three years of boarding school, a month of A-levels, and then again for university.

Going to Nigeria for medical school was a way to connect with my culture. I had worked with Nigerian doctors in the past, and they were just built differently. They had incredible confidence and grit; they were resilient in a way that other doctors were not. I wanted to know how they were trained so I could be like them, because they truly inspired me. So, I chose a Nigerian university.

What inspired you to move back to the UK?

I wanted to stay in Nigeria for my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) year. I was very into public health at the time, and wanted a chance to work in that area for service.

But my parents said, “Absolutely not.” They actually bought the tickets themselves and sent them to me. They insisted that Nigeria was not safe and that I had to come back home.

Let’s talk about life in Nigeria. What was it like coming here for school?

It was a rollercoaster. It’s the type of experience that makes you realise you’re not exactly like the people you think are yours. I came back believing I’m Nigerian and in my country, but people were very much giving me the vibe that I was not one of them. To them, I was “oyinbo.”

With time, I learned the mannerisms and the cultural nuances that make Nigerians, and things got better. For example, learning that “come and eat” is just something people say even when they don’t really want you to eat with them.

But medical school was a different experience altogether. It was very challenging by itself.

How so?

Sometimes your colleagues, senior students, lecturers, and doctors can have issues with you for intangible reasons. For example, when I was working in a state hospital in Nigeria before I left, a superior who was two levels above me at the time just really hated my accent.

I used to put on an intentional Nigerian accent in my attempt to blend in, but there were certain words that I hadn’t yet learned to say in a Nigerian accent, so my original British accent would peek through at times. Because of that, she used to make life horrible for no reason, just assuming I thought I was better than her. I would wonder, “How can I think I am better than you? You are my senior.” She just had it out for me and made sure I suffered whenever I worked with her, which was all the time.

I had to accept that people just wouldn’t like me because of their own preconceived notions of what I represent, even if I don’t actually possess those traits. It was a similar thing in boarding school, but it was worse there because they could physically beat you, and they did beat me a lot.

On the other hand, some people also just adore you because you came from abroad. They would talk to me just to hear my voice and accent. They didn’t really care about what I was saying; they just wanted to hear what I sounded like. For them, I was their first experience of someone from overseas.

So it was a mix of both—one half idolised me and the other half hated me. I never knew which it would be when I met anyone new.

How did that make you feel at the time?

It was hard. After completing Junior Secondary School, I went back to the UK. I remember deciding I was never going to go back to Nigeria again. I was completely over it. The experience was much harder than I expected because growing up in the UK, no one had ever disliked me for no reason.

But it made me stronger, because by the time I came back to Nigeria for university and encountered it again, I was a bit more prepared. I just didn’t like the concept of being treated as an outsider in a place where I’m supposed to belong. It was difficult because the whole point of going to university there was to connect with my Nigerian culture and not be an outsider.

Have you been back to Nigeria since you left in 2019?

Yes, I have been back for holidays, weddings, and to see friends.

What has been your best holiday experience in Nigeria so far?

I’ll say last year. I went to Abuja for a wedding, and then I went to Lagos and Ibadan, all within about 10 or 11 days. I got to see many places that I hadn’t seen in a long time, and visited spots I had only ever heard about on podcasts. The restaurants were good, the gym was great, and everything was fun.

Since it was a short burst of ten days and we kept moving across different states, the novelty stayed very much alive. If I had stayed longer, I probably would have started experiencing the typical fatigue that comes with the travel, transport, and infrastructure issues.

Do you see yourself settling permanently in Nigeria in the future, or is the UK home for you?

I hope to retire in Nigeria down the line, maybe when I’m like 70 years old. Of course, that’s based on the hope that the country doesn’t get worse by that time.

What has been your worst experience in Nigeria?

There are so many, but I can talk about the top ones.

Wow. Okay, go ahead.

So, first was a scary police encounter. I was in an Uber ride, coming back from the Island to the Mainland late at night, around 2:00 a.m. The police stopped the car near the Lekki Phase 1 gate and ordered us to get out of the vehicle.

My heart was in my mouth because you hear all these stories of what has happened to other people in those exact circumstances with the police. They didn’t physically harm us; they just made us get down and asked, “What do you have for us?” But the fact that they ordered us out of the car entirely made it much scarier than a regular checkpoint stop.

That’s always scary. Glad to hear it wasn’t worse than that.

Thanks. Next was a near-death experience at Tarkwa Bay. At the jetty, the boat wasn’t secured properly, so as I stepped off, it slipped, and I fell into the water. There was maybe only an inch between my head and the concrete wall as I tumbled all the way into the water. It was very close to being a completely different story.

Thank God I can swim. I swam up, and people from the shoreline and staff members ran over to pull me up because the jetty wall is quite high, and it’s hard to get out on your own. I still proceeded to do what I went to Tarkwa Bay to do before going home, because I couldn’t come all that way for nothing.

What could possibly top a near-death experience, though?

Getting sexually harassed by a senior doctor?

It was my very first night in the Obstetrics and Gynaecology department at the hospital where I was working. In between operations, while waiting for the nurses to prepare the next patient for the theatre, the senior doctor asked me to follow him to a separate location to copy some case notes.

We got into the room, and he locked the door behind us. When I asked what was going on, he said, “You know why we are here.” I replied that I only thought we came to write notes. Then he said something that infuriates me to this day: “You’re from London na.” As if there is some automatic correlation between being from London and being promiscuous.

I demanded he let me out or I would scream. He still wouldn’t, so I began counting down, “Three, two…” and then he opened the door. I was so afraid because he was a senior doctor who had been there for years; I thought people wouldn’t believe me.

I chose not to file a formal report because I’d experienced something similar before during my one month in a Nigerian A-level school. The authorities didn’t believe me over the maths teacher who’d worked there for years. Anyway, I told my fellow house officers. They were males, and they agreed to protect me by immediately offering themselves instead whenever that specific doctor tried to pick me as his house officer. Thankfully, about a week later, he was transferred out of the team entirely.

Sorry you had to go through that.

Thanks.

What about your best experiences in Nigeria?

I’ll start with winning the inter-house sports events at my secondary school three years in a row. I was a sprinter—I ran the 100m, 400m, and 800m—and I did cheerleading as well. Graduating from medical school was also a major happy moment.

It was also great randomly running into celebrities in Lagos. You could just attend a launch party for a drink brand and find yourself taking pictures on stage with celebrities.

What are your favourite and least favourite things about Nigeria?

My least favourite thing is the sense of helplessness within the country. There is a lot of helplessness about what can be done to improve or change things; people are demoralised, and while I can’t completely blame them, it is unpleasant to experience.

My favourite thing is the exact opposite side of that same coin: when given the right opportunity to succeed, Nigerians do incredibly well. It is very inspiring. That was the main reason I went there for university in the first place—seeing Nigerians who were doing super well globally. It is interesting how a Nigerian in one context can be so inspiring, yet in another context, the environment can be deeply demoralising.

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Let’s talk about life in the UK now. What is your typical routine?

My routine is quite simple. I get up, pray, go to the gym, come back, and get my baby ready for nursery. I take him to nursery, or my mum-in-law helps drop him off, and then I go to work.

When I get back from work, I pick him up and handle his evening routine. Then I take care of any additional administrative tasks that come home with me from work. On some evenings, I go to church for choir practice, and on others, I hang out with friends. I don’t go out on weekday nights, but I do on weekends.

What do you do for fun in the UK?

I schedule hangouts with my friends. We plan activities like pottery, painting, arts and crafts, or anything novel to us. During the summer, there are a lot more events, so we go to concerts, parks, and swim.

What are your favourite and least favourite things about living in the UK?

My least favourite thing is the tax. I pay 40% tax. I understand that it’s a necessary evil, but it’s still a lot.

My favourite thing is having most of my family here. I have my husband, my son, my parents, my grandparents, and my cousins, all here with me.

There’s a growing wave of anti-immigrant sentiment in the UK. What has that been like for you?

It is very sad to see because the UK depends heavily on immigrants to function across every single sector. It hasn’t affected me directly, but I do academic research on this topic regarding International Medical Graduates (IMGs). My research looks into how they are disadvantaged by the exam culture in the UK because they weren’t brought up in the same system, leading to higher failure rates.

On a societal level, it is very worrying. In 2024, the year I gave birth, there were major riots across the country with rioters trying to harm people of colour. The police put it down, but the sentiment is still there; there was another march just a few weeks ago. It makes you worry about who you are working next to and whether they are online, writing hate comments.

The political rhetoric claims immigrants are taking all the jobs, but it’s not true. For example, I have taken part in hiring processes here. By law, we have to assess all the British applicants first, and we can only look at international candidates with visas if those local options are exhausted. The right-wing media simply stoked the sentiment because it is an easy way to divide the country.

Have you encountered racism on a personal level?

The last time someone was overtly racist to me was on a bus in London, which is ironic given how multicultural London is. I had my headphones in, so thank God I didn’t hear the exact words she was saying, but it was an elderly white lady. I was sitting in a regular, non-priority seat, and she had plenty of options to sit elsewhere.

Instead, she stood right in front of me and demanded I give up my seat. I just kept playing my music and watched her face squeeze as her mouth moved. The passengers around us looked deeply offended by the horrible profanities she was spewing, but nobody stopped her. That is how the UK is—unless it is outright physical violence, people generally mind their own business.

I chose not to let it ruin my day or get offended, so I just kept my headphones in and remained seated until my journey ended. It didn’t make a difference to me.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?

I’ll say seven. I still want a better quality of life than I can get here. So, I am actually hoping to leave the UK very soon. With the medical work that I do, I can get paid a lot more and live a much happier life in places like Australia, Canada, or even the United States. The time is coming for me to move somewhere else, and to be honest, I can’t wait.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

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Growing up, Teniola*(35) watched the men in her mother’s life come and go, and those experiences made marriage feel more frightening than desirable.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about navigating intimacy that feels like routine, learning patience with a slow-to-react husband and why she sometimes misses the carefree version of herself that existed before motherhood.

This is a look into her Marriage Diary.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

I grew up watching men come and go from my mother’s life

I didn’t have many positive thoughts about marriage until I was in my early twenties. My parents separated when I was still very young, so for most of my childhood, it was just my mum raising us.

At some point, she started dating again. I knew at least two of the men she was involved with because they came around often enough for us to notice. I didn’t like either of them.

The first one always tried to act like my father whenever he visited. Suddenly, my mum would become extra attentive and start making us do more chores just so he would feel comfortable in the house. Meanwhile, as far as I knew, the man wasn’t paying rent or taking responsibility for us. After a while, he just stopped coming around.

The second man was better. By then, I was already in secondary school, and he genuinely helped me. In fact, he was instrumental in helping me secure admission into the university. But one day, he and my mum got into a serious argument that turned physical. Watching that happen really affected me.

So for a long time, marriage didn’t look appealing to me. I didn’t fantasise about weddings or husbands the way some girls did. What I knew for certain was that I never wanted a relationship where a man could boss me around or lay hands on me. Whether in marriage or dating, I wanted an equal say and the ability to defend myself if necessary.

My husband changed my mind about marriage

Maybe the biggest surprise is that marriage turned out not to be as terrible as I imagined.

I met my husband through a friend, but I didn’t give him a proper chance for almost a year. At the time, I just wasn’t emotionally available for a relationship. Plus, he wasn’t exactly the kind of man I had pictured for myself.

First of all, he wasn’t tall. I used to have this silly dream about marrying a very tall man because I wanted tall children who could play basketball. I love basketball, but my height has really deprived me of the opportunity. So height was genuinely important to me then.

The second thing was that he was too calm. That man barely spoke. Even when I was rude to him sometimes, he wouldn’t react. I knew I wanted a relationship where I could speak my mind freely, but I also didn’t want a partner who felt passive or overly soft.

Everything changed after we attended a party together. A man spoke to me rudely, and my husband completely lost it. It took another mutual friend stepping in before the situation escalated. That was the first time I saw another side of him.

After that, I realised he wasn’t weak or passive. He was simply calm and controlled. We started dating shortly after and got married two years later. Life has honestly been good. Even my mum constantly says she’s grateful that, despite everything she went through, her daughter still ended up in a good marriage.

Of course, it hasn’t been perfect. There have been difficult moments, too.

Childbirth made me question if I was truly ready for marriage

I think childbirth was the biggest thing that tested me. For some reason, I was deeply afraid of having children. I don’t know if there’s a proper term for that kind of fear, but mine was intense. Part of it came from losing a friend during childbirth.

I was at the hospital with her when it happened. One minute she was alive and speaking to me. They asked me to go get something quickly, and by the time I returned, they said she was gone. That experience traumatised me badly.

Anytime I thought about pregnancy afterwards, I would have panic attacks. So when my husband started talking seriously about children after marriage, I kept suggesting we wait a few more years. He didn’t really agree with me, and eventually it became a serious issue between us.

At one point, I even bought birth control pills without telling him. I never used them, but he found them in my wardrobe one day, and it caused a major argument. That period forced me to ask myself difficult questions. If I wasn’t ready for children, was I truly ready for marriage?

Eventually, I had to let go of the fight. Even throughout my pregnancy, there was a part of me that genuinely believed I might die. It was such a dark, mentally exhausting time. Thankfully, everything went well.

When I had my second child, the fear wasn’t as intense, but those thoughts still came occasionally.

Marriage made me realise intimacy doesn’t just maintain itself

One thing nobody really prepares women for is how complicated intimacy can become in marriage.

People always give vague advice like “satisfy your husband” or “take care of your home,” but nobody really talks honestly about sex itself. And interestingly, men rarely receive the same kind of pressure to learn how to satisfy their wives. There’s this assumption that men automatically know what they’re doing.

My husband is knowledgeable to an extent, but intimacy has honestly become one of the more difficult parts of our marriage.

At the beginning, he was eager and intentional. If I told him I liked something, he would try it immediately. But over time, that eagerness reduced. The issue isn’t that he refuses things. If I suggest something today, he’s usually open to it. The problem is initiative.

I want to feel desired. I want spontaneity. I want someone who takes the time to learn about me, surprises me and introduces new experiences without waiting for instructions every single time.

Now that we have children and busy schedules, sex sometimes feels like another responsibility on the list. We still have sex, but there are moments where it genuinely feels like we’re ticking a box instead of connecting emotionally.

And I can’t lie, motherhood changed me too. Before children, I had more mental space to explore intimacy and initiate things myself. But between raising kids, running my business, preparing meals and keeping the household functioning, I’m exhausted most of the time.

So these days, I don’t always want to be the one driving things sexually. Sometimes I just want to be babied completely. That’s why his slow nature frustrates me in so many areas, not just intimacy.

I married a man who processes emotions slowly

My husband is very slow to react to things emotionally. It doesn’t matter what the issue is; he processes everything on his own time. And honestly, sometimes it comes across as selfish.

If I’m having a bad day, I expect my partner to notice immediately. Even if he doesn’t have solutions, at least show concern. But my husband can watch me be visibly upset for hours before finally asking what’s wrong.

There was a time I travelled to Ekiti to see my sick mum. He dropped me at the park and didn’t call until much later, when I was already settled. Meanwhile, my mum — the sick person — was calling every hour to check if I was safe. I was furious by the time he eventually called.

Another thing is that when I bring emotional concerns to him, he almost always says he needs time to process. And to be fair, this isn’t new behaviour. He’s always been like this. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve also become more emotionally needy.

Maybe it’s motherhood. Maybe it’s stress. Maybe adulthood just changes people. I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that I now need emotional responsiveness much more than I used to, and sometimes my husband simply doesn’t move at the pace I need.

We’ve fought about this many times. Still, one thing I’ll give him is this: when he finally shows up emotionally, he shows up properly. Sometimes I even find myself wondering if it’s the same man who was detached hours earlier.

So I’m learning patience. I’m learning that not everybody expresses care urgently or loudly.

Marriage has made me softer and more patient

Marriage has definitely changed me. I’ve become far more patient than I used to be. Honestly, with a husband like mine, you either learn patience or spend your entire marriage fighting.

That patience mostly applies inside my home, though. Outside, I still know how to stand my ground because people can easily take advantage of someone who is too slow or too soft.

I’ve also changed sexually and emotionally since becoming a mother. Sometimes I miss the version of myself that had the time and energy to be mischievous and adventurous with intimacy. Back then, I could spend hours thinking about romance or trying new things with my partner.

Now, my brain is constantly occupied with children, school runs, food, work and responsibilities. So even though I still crave intimacy, I also want to feel pursued and cared for without always spelling it out.

If I could advise my younger self, I honestly wouldn’t tell her to leave this marriage. Five years is enough to know that no marriage is perfect and no partner comes without flaws.

I think marriage is about understanding your threshold. Know what you can tolerate, what you cannot tolerate and what kind of life genuinely works for you.

And once you reach a point where your marriage consistently destroys your peace or sense of self, then it’s okay to choose yourself and walk away.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

GridLocked is a daily pop culture guessing game built for Nigerians. Every weekday by 9am, you’ll get six clues, sixty seconds, and an answer only a Nigerian would know.

Today’s GridLocked is food.

How many clues do you need to get it right? 👀

Share your result when done, but don’t spoil the answer for others. (Missed the last GridLocked? Play it here.)

29 May 2026

Come back every weekday by 9am for a new grid or subscribe to Z Daily, Zikoko’s daily newsletter, to get new GridLocked puzzles, real Nigerian stories and other fun content in your inbox.

How to Play GridLocked

The Goal: Guess the answer for the day before time runs out. (The answer could be a Nigerian person, place, song, movie, or even slang.)
The Lock: You cannot type a guess until you have revealed at least one tile (clue).
The Reveal: Tap any tile to reveal a clue. Every clue describes the answer for the day. The fewer tiles you flip, the better.
The Clock: You have 60 seconds to guess right. The timer starts the moment you flip your first tile. (You get multiple guesses.)

The GridLocked Squares: What Do They Mean?

When the game ends, you see your guess count, total time spent, and the number of tiles flipped. The tiles are shown as white and purple squares.

⬜ (White) = A tile you flipped
🟪 (Purple) = A tile you left closed

The fewer white tiles you have, the better your result.

Best Result = ⬜🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 | Guesses: 1 (Only needed one clue and one guess to get it right)

Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.

Childhood friends Korede* (41) and Derin* (37) grew up on the same street in Lagos. On this week’s Love Life, they talk about losing touch for years, finding each other again at the wrong time, and the long, complicated road it took to finally be together.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Korede: That’s a hard one because we go so far back. We grew up on the same street in Surulere and attended the same primary and secondary school. So there isn’t one particular memory; she was always in the picture. What I can say is that when her family eventually moved away in 2003, I really felt her absence. I didn’t realise how much I loved having her around until she left.

Derin: I feel the same way. I don’t think there’s any single first memory I can recall. We were childhood friends who grew up together and did everything together. We were present in each other’s lives; we had the same friends, and our families knew each other. But yeah, we had to move at some point, and that was really painful. I couldn’t imagine leaving my friends, my childhood home, and everything I’d grown up with.

Left to me, I’d have stayed back and lived with any kind neighbour who would have taken me in. But I also knew it was impossible.

What happened after her family moved, Korede? Did you keep in touch?

Korede: We lost contact for a really long time. Both of us were too young to own phones. However, when Facebook came out, I tried to find her online, but her name was so common that I kept connecting with the wrong person. It was frustrating. I would think I’d found her, only to realise it was someone else entirely. I eventually gave up.

Derin: I actually never forgot Korede. He was that one childhood friend I always wanted to see again. But I didn’t really search the way he did. Life moved very fast for me after we relocated. There was school, there was adjusting to a new place, and then I lost my dad. I barely had time to waste at the cybercafé. My friends at school talked about Facebook, MySpace, and the rest, but I was too busy to spare the time. Plus, my mum got extra strict after we lost my dad.

Right. So at what point did you guys reconnect?

Korede: 2010. Funny enough, it happened on Facebook. I was scrolling one evening when her name came up as a friend suggestion. I almost kept scrolling, but something made me stop and click on the profile picture. She had changed a lot, but the face was unmistakable. I sent a message, and she responded, and that was it. We finally heard from each other again after seven long years of silence.

Derin: I was genuinely happy when he reached out. We spent the next few weeks talking almost every day, catching up on everything we had missed. It felt like no real time had passed.

So was it purely catching up, or was there something more there?

Korede: For me, there was always something more. But I guess I never brought it up earlier because I felt we were still too young. I just always assumed she’d always be there. But then they moved, and that was when I really started to realise that I liked her more than normal.

After we reconnected, I hoped she would be single. But I found out she was married, had one child and was expecting another. I was really disappointed. I wanted to ask so many questions because she was just 21, and I couldn’t understand why she was already married. But I controlled myself. At the time, it wasn’t uncommon for women to marry early. Still, I couldn’t hide how I felt.

Derin: I sensed his disappointment even though he acknowledged it directly. And I understood why. But that was my reality at the time, and I couldn’t do much to change it.

I didn’t want the marriage itself, especially not so early. But my dad’s demise really disrupted our family. And as the first child, there was a lot of pressure from my mum. She really wanted me to get settled quickly. When someone came along, it didn’t take long to get things in motion. I barely had much to say on the matter. I also didn’t really even know much about Korede’s feelings at the time. Even if I did, there wasn’t much we could do.

I see. So I’m guessing you guys just maintained a friendship?

Derin: That was mostly it. We saw each other occasionally. If one of us had a party or a gathering, we would invite the other. But it stayed like that for a while. Then, around the third time we met in person, I confided in him about my marriage — how I didn’t really feel genuine love from my husband. He wasn’t cruel or anything like that, but there was no warmth between us. We were ages apart, so our views were completely different. I told him how I’d once considered just running away and starting life somewhere else. I also complained about how my mum had gone from loving and caring to someone who just wanted to use me as a means to an end.

I think I opened up to Korede that day because I felt safe confiding in him. He knew me from my childhood, before I became anyone’s wife or mum.

Korede: It broke my heart to hear it. Derin had always been one of the most alive people I knew growing up; bright, sharp, full of energy. The experience she was having was so far from what I would have imagined for her. But there was nothing I could do except be a friend. So that’s what I focused on.

What was your love life like around this period, Korede?

Korede: It was barely existent. I had female friends from university, but nothing solid. And the fault is mostly mine. In a way, I always felt I had to reach a certain financial point before I could approach a girl. And since I was still hustling my way, I didn’t want to be spending the little I had on romantic ventures that wouldn’t lead anywhere.

Still, I had people I had casual sex with, and we kept it moving. But there wasn’t anything serious.

Fair enough. And how did your relationship with Derin progress over time?

Korede: We just continued as friends. Although I won’t lie, it felt weird knowing she was married. But I didn’t let that get to me because she didn’t make it her personality. I could still crack jokes with her like the old times. I remember another friend who got married and said I couldn’t call her by name again because it was disrespectful. Derin was nothing like that. She even stopped me from calling her by her firstborn’s name.

Then, in 2012, she told me she was trying to go back to school and asked for my help. I was more than happy to give it. She wanted to go to UNILAG, and I pulled some strings with some of my old lecturers. But that’s when her husband got involved.

Derin: I didn’t really mention Korede the whole time because I felt it wasn’t necessary. But when the school thing happened, it became necessary. So I invited Korede to our house and told my husband he was the one helping me with the admission process. He seemed genuinely thankful, and I thought that was all there was to it.

But after a while, he became convinced something was going on between us. He showed up at my school unannounced one day, and because Korede was there, he flared up. The whole thing got blown out of proportion. He involved both our families, and I felt really stupid defending my friendship.

Korede: At first, I was even trying to act all defensive. But the moment the family was involved, I could tell it was no longer a trivial matter. So I stepped back completely. I was also preparing to relocate to Abuja, which made the decision easier. We didn’t keep in contact for a few years after I moved. Then I heard the worst news in 2014.

What happened?

Korede: A family friend who was visiting in Abuja told me that her husband passed. I immediately felt bad for her. Someone so young with two kids losing her husband that early? I wouldn’t even wish that on my worst enemy. That same week, I reached out to Derin to offer my condolences.

Derin: To be honest, he had crossed my mind a few times, and I wanted to reach out. But I didn’t want to cause any problems. I also wanted to tell him when my husband died, but I guess I never got around to it. So when he called, I was really glad. We spent more time catching up on the last few years again, and then I invited him to the funeral.

Oh. Was that a good call, considering the history?

Derin: I wasn’t even thinking about that when I extended the invitation. I just needed to see another face other than my in-laws and my own family. They were extremely annoying during that period. I also knew that despite the accusations, there was nothing between us.

Korede: I attended the funeral just to show up for a friend, and it was definitely the wrong call. Her mother, who used to be fond of me when we lived in the same area, barely acknowledged my presence or greetings. The atmosphere was cold, and I could feel people pointing fingers at me. Immediately, I sensed what was happening, and I knew it was best to keep my distance from Derin. I only came to show up for her as a friend. But the optics were really bad.

Derin: I can still remember the looks. It was as if everyone decided I was already moving on because I brought a man to my husband’s funeral.

Like he said, we didn’t really talk that day. Even though it had been almost three years since we last saw each other in person. After he left, I remember sending a thank-you note and not really keeping in touch afterwards.

Curious, what was that period like for you, Derin?

Derin: Very difficult, I can’t even lie. My husband and I weren’t exactly the best lovers, but having him around gave me a sense of security. I didn’t have to think too much about finances or anything like that. But suddenly, it was just the kids and me.

Everyone around me also had a clear idea of what my life should look like from that point forward. My mother was extremely unbearable. She would tell me regularly to face my children, that they were my husband now. What did that even mean?

But even though I hated hearing it from people, my kids were really my priority at the time. I didn’t have time for much else.

And did you still keep your distance during this period, Korede?

Korede: We never fully stopped communicating. There were stretches where we spoke often and stretches where everyone just went about their own business. But she was always somewhere in my mind.

I’d also been engaged to someone else, but things didn’t work out. I didn’t tell Derin about the engagement, but we got closer again after the lady and I went our separate ways. Of course, it was mostly on the phone. I was in Abuja, and she was still in Lagos. Over time, I started to admit to myself that my feelings for her were still very much alive. But considering her situation, I didn’t know how to bring it up. So I just kept on being in touch and didn’t say much.

Derin: I noticed. He became more consistent and intentional about reaching out. We would talk about life, the things we’d both been through and how we were still in each other’s lives. Over time, we got comfortable enough to start actually being truthful about how we felt with each other. He would say things like, “He should have been the father of my two kids,” and so on. After a while, we started a long-distance courtship.

How long after your husband’s demise was this, and were your family aware?

Derin: I think this was around 2016. My mother was firmly against it. She said it was too early. My late husband’s family was also still deeply involved; they came around regularly for the kids, and always wanted to be in my business. The idea of me seeing another man felt like a betrayal to them.

Korede: My family also had their own concerns once I told them. They knew and liked Derin as a person. But they worried about what starting a life with someone who already had two children, with a late husband’s family still actively in the picture, would mean for me.

Right. How did you manage all of that?

Korede: We tried to lay low for a while and just keep doing our thing. I came to Lagos a few times, and we met up, but those few times, Derin didn’t really feel comfortable. She was constantly worried, as if she didn’t want us seen publicly.

It was annoying but also understandable. The pressure from every side also made it very difficult to hold on. My parents didn’t even always want me to mention her; she was also on and off. She could go weeks not picking up my calls, and when she finally does, it’s to complain about something her in-laws did. Eventually, I got tired of the whole thing and we agreed to step back and give each other space.

Derin: Honestly, it was the right call even though it hurt. No matter how we tried, the relationship couldn’t grow under the conditions we were dealt with. The beautiful thing about all this is that, even when we agreed to step back, it was from the relationship and not the friendship. We still called each other once in a while, but it wasn’t like it used to be.

Korede: During that period, I also reunited with my ex-fiancée, who had broken off our engagement. We tried again, and things went better this time, and we even had a child together. But the relationship didn’t survive. It ended after three years, and I was left as a single father raising a child on my own. That period really made me think about Derin. Because I kept imagining how she was able to raise two kids on her own and pursue a university degree while doing so. It was no small feat.

Was this when he reached out again, Derin?

Derin: Yes, he told me his relationship had ended and that she had left their child alone.

Then, in that same year, my mother-in-law passed. Then my own mother, not long after. I know it sounds strange to say, but something changed when they died. Those had been the two loudest voices opposing our relationship. With them gone, things changed rapidly.

Korede: We started talking again, and by 2023, we had found our rhythm again. My parents didn’t have much choice but to support me this time around, seeing as my last relationship went.

We’ve spent the last couple of years just building our lives and our relationship.

Derin: I moved to Abuja in early 2024. We are not living together yet. But being in the same city makes it feel like we’re actually in each other’s lives for real. Unlike when it was mostly phone calls and rushed weekend trips. Abuja also gives us privacy to just be ourselves and figure out our lives without people judging us or dictating what we can or cannot do.

Considering everything you’ve both been through, what’s the best thing about what you have with each other?

Korede: Derin knows me. We started so long ago that the foundation is already there. You can’t manufacture the kind of bond we share. There’s genuine friendship that spans decades, and then there’s the love we share for each other. I truly think she’s my soul mate.

Derin: He sees me as someone with a future, not just a past. After years of feeling defined by my losses — my father, my marriage, my husband — Korede looks at me and sees someone who still has somewhere to go. He doesn’t look at my children like they are burdens or treat me like someone who should be loved out of pity. I’m truly blessed to have him in my life.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your love life?

Korede: 8. We’re still building our relationship, and I believe we’re still writing our stories.

Derin: I’d give it a 9. I’m saving the 10 for when we become husband and wife in the real sense of it.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

A generational school, Queen’s College, leaves different kinds of memories for the women who passed through it. For some, they were able to make the kind of happy memories that stay with them even years later, but for some, these memories are not all rosy.

In this piece, former students of Queen’s College reflect on moments that stayed with them long after graduation.

1. “They slapped me back to back” — Amma*, 23

There was a time when I was at the school’s pavilion with my friends, and seniors approached me to let me know I was seated with my legs spread for the public and asked, “Don’t you know how to sit?” At that time, I didn’t know how to sit properly, so I replied, “No, I don’t.”

For some reason, they thought I was being rude, so one of them asked me to kneel, and then they slapped me back to back. One person would slap me, another would do the same, and they just kept taking turns.

Later, before school was over, they called me into their class to continue my punishment. By the end of the day, my ears were ringing till I got home.

2. “The skin of my fingers peeled from all the clothes I washed” — Tinuola*, 50

When I was in junior secondary school, I experienced what extortion looked like in the form of Queen’s College seniors. Every week, unfailingly, they would find an innocent junior to prey on, give her 5 naira, ask her to get them snacks worth 20 naira and bring back 40 naira. If she didn’t do it, she was at risk of getting punished. I also experienced this quite a lot.

The first time it happened to me, when I asked how I would get snacks of 20 naira if I was only given 1 naira to work with, they ignored me. Thinking they were not serious, I didn’t go to the tuck shop like they expected me to. Later that day, they found me in my class, and I will never forget the beating I got that day.

It didn’t stop there. They waited a few days for me to recover, then they dumped their dirty laundry on me to wash. My fingers’ skin peeled back from all the clothes I washed. The next time they sent me on that errand, I didn’t waste time before getting to it. My allowance suffered, but I preferred that to the beating.

3. “They used mopsticks to flog us” — Kanyin*, 24

When it came to march past training, the seniors didn’t spare anyone. When I was in SS1, we were expected to march while the SS3 girls trained us, and honestly, it was not a good time because of how much violence they poured into it. The training was hell. The seniors were very fond of using mopsticks of different lengths to flog us, made us roll in the sand, and engaged in all sorts of things in the name of “training.” Sometimes, they would even make us train until midnight.

I’ll never forget how one particular senior made my best friend lie down beside a wet gutter with spirogyra and flogged her on her butt with a mopstick, or how they would slap people so hard their ears would ring for days. It was terrible. Some of my classmates couldn’t sit down in class for days because of the bruises on their bodies. If you’re wondering why quitting was not an option, it was because they would, as we say, “enrush” us, which in simpler terms means gang-beating.

4. “I was dragged around like an animal” — Tega*, 20

There was a rumour going around that a senior had lost her dad, and in a bid to bond with her, a dorm mate lied, saying I’d said the senior’s behaviour was bad because of her father’s death. That was how the gates of hell were opened.

The night I was called to her dorm, I was in my towel because I’d been washing. I noticed people were gathered watching me, but I didn’t pay it much attention until I was stripped naked and they proceeded to gang-beat me. Some used mopsticks and buckets while others used their hands, and the number of people hitting me kept increasing because this senior was quite popular, so friends from other dorms came to join in. I was dragged around like an animal, and even when my best friend tried to beg them to stop, they beat her, too. At some point, I became completely numb.

When my parents found out, they took it up to the authorities, but nothing was actually done to those involved. That was just how it was at QC. The wicked seniors barely had to account for their brutal actions.

5. “The slaps had my ears ringing all night” — Ifeoluwa*, 24

I remember a time a senior took a particular interest in me. She would offer me food from the dining hall and call me over to stay in her room. At the time, I didn’t understand that she was expressing romantic interest, though honestly, I think I should have caught on.

It came crashing down the day she finally told me how she felt, and I rejected her. After that, her friends decided to take it personally. Some would call me over just to slap me for no reason. I remember one in particular: she was supervising the class beside mine and decided to punish me in the corridor for loitering. The slaps she gave me had my ear ringing all night.

This went on for a long time, until the day I was summoned to apologise for hurting the senior’s feelings and made to fetch a stack of buckets as tall as me. I spent that night crying and carrying buckets of water, but after that, they left me alone.

6. “I fetched a bucket of water with a teaspoon” — Nimi*, 24

This happened when I was in JSS2. It was the end of prep, and we were about to leave the class area when, for some reason I can’t quite remember, I shouted: “Morale high,” a phrase we used to say at the time. Immediately, I felt a slap on my back. A senior had hit me, and when I tried to explain myself, I got slapped again. She then dragged me all the way from the JSS2 block to the front of the seniors’ dorm, where she kept hitting me. When the beating was finally over, she made me fetch a bucket of water with a teaspoon and polish mouldy shoes for more than 40 people. All because I said “Morale high.”

7. “They knew we were at their mercy” — Rita*, 32

In Queen’s College, there is this thing that happens when you enter SS2. You’re expected to join a cadet school band or be an official callisthenics dancer. A lot of us wanted to join the school band because it gave us the opportunity to leave school. The seniors knew how desperate we were for this, so they exploited it since they were technically in charge of the band.

We had to do whatever they asked us, like fetching water, buying their food, and the like. They would beat us with anything they could get their hands on because they knew we were at their mercy. I don’t know when this started, but apparently, it’s a tradition that has spanned over the years. It’s silly that we were punished just for wanting to be part of something.

Next Read: What She Said: I Want My 18-Year-Old Daughter to Marry a Man I Used to Sleep With

8. “They broke an umbrella on my friend’s body” — Kiitan*, 23

This happened during night prep in SS2, third term. The SS3 girls had already written WAEC, and most had moved out of the hostel, but a group of tomboys, athletes, and footballers we called “blokes” had stayed back and still came out for night prep.

That night, some of my classmates and I decided to “shop,” which meant going into SS3 classes to take books we might need since they were done with exams. While we were doing this, someone joked about the possibility of those blokes appearing, and it was like she manifested them: the next minute, they appeared, and we had to run the moment they saw us. It was a full race for survival, and in the chaos, I lost my slipper, and one asthmatic friend nearly had an attack from the stress.

When things seemed settled, I went back for my slippers, and it turned out to be a bad decision. The moment I got there, a bloke was waiting for me, and when I tried to escape, another was waiting by the exit. One of them grabbed my shirt and let me know that she had seen my face and my classmates’, and that we were to appear in their class the next morning.

The next morning, we went there like people with a death sentence. When we walked in, they didn’t waste time. They beat us, made us kneel on the ground for hours, and forced us to clean their dirty classroom. Anyone who showed even the slightest attitude suffered worse. I watched one senior girl break an entire umbrella on my friend’s body, all in the name of “anger issues.”

9. “They made me crawl on the floor with an open wound” — Chioma*, 24

I had a habit of avoiding work and ‘stabbing’ classes, and there was a time I was caught by the head girl in this place called the obong corridor. She made me crawl on the untiled floor. I had an open wound at the time and pleaded with her about it, but she didn’t listen. I watched my skin peel off the floor with every movement as I made my way towards her on my knees. The wound remained sore and infected for 2 weeks and left a scar afterwards.

10. “At QC, no one ever really listens to you” — Fauziah*, 19

I really obsessed over people’s opinions of me when I was young, and in Queen’s College, that was a weakness. The other girls didn’t really like the fact that I was one of the smartest in class, and they knew how much things got to me, so maybe out of jealousy or something else, they used that as a weapon.

I was 12, going to 13, and that time of my life was really sensitive. Having other girls mock my face, hair and body was not something that I could easily let slide off my back. I was seriously affected by it because they did it continuously, and sometimes, they would even steal from me just to teach me a lesson.

I couldn’t talk to anyone because at Queen’s College, no one ever really listens to you. They expect you to just figure it out. Throughout my junior school years, whenever I called home, I would cry and say I didn’t want to be in QC anymore. In my opinion, the school was designed to break you. No one I know ever has good things to say about QC, and we only ever bond over our shared trauma. I do not miss that school in any way.

11. “They threatened to send naked pictures of us to KC boys” — Sarah*, 25

When I was at QC, there was a tradition: seniors resumed on Saturday, and juniors resumed on Sunday. I was in SS2, so my friends and I resumed on Saturday. That night, we needed to take our baths, but there was no water, so we headed to an area called 48, which had many taps but was meant only for SS3 girls. It was an unspoken rule everyone knew about. We weren’t supposed to be there, but it was our only option.

Unfortunately, some SS3 girls caught us bathing there and decided to punish us badly for having the guts to use their space. They made us lie on the ground and roll on it while they had their baths, and afterwards took us to their room and told us to sleep naked as part of our punishment. They also threatened to take videos of us and send them to King’s College boys.

It was such a disgusting and humiliating experience. I can never forget the faces of those seniors.

12. “I couldn’t acknowledge that she was assaulting me” — Toun*, 44

When I was younger, I was quite naive, so I didn’t think too much of it when a senior approached me in junior secondary school and started acting like my school mother. I didn’t mind because everyone in my life spoke fondly of school mothers, so I turned a blind eye to all her actions.

She grabbed my breast multiple times and told me that it was normal for girls who were friends to do it. I didn’t think much of it, even though I was quite uncomfortable. Sometimes, I would study with her because she always said it was important we did it together, and during those times, her fingers would stray from my breast to my vagina, and she would play with it. I don’t remember a lot because that was a long time ago, and I am still very ashamed, but I do remember I thought what was happening was wrong.

I also wanted to tell someone about it, but I didn’t because it felt like I owed this senior my life. Because of her, I was safe from other seniors who were looking to bully me. There were many times when I ran out of provisions, and she would give me from her stash until I got new ones. She was kind to me, and maybe that’s why I didn’t really acknowledge that she was basically assaulting me.

13. “We slept at the school gate overnight”— Amaka*, 25

In my final days at Queens College, some girls in my dorm were secretly cooking in their rooms, even though it was clearly against school rules. I wasn’t involved at all. When they were caught, the girls who were responsible ran away, and the rest of us who were innocent were left behind to face the punishment.

We were flogged, then evacuated from the dorm and made to sleep at the school gate overnight. It was during Ramadan, and many of us were fasting. It was uncomfortable, humiliating, and exhausting. The next morning was even more embarrassing. We were still in our nightclothes and housewear while other students walked past in their uniforms. Our parents were also involved, which added even more pressure and shame.

Nobody said anything about the real culprits. As a teenager, especially in an all-girls school, being called a snitch felt worse than the pain itself. I had only just started boarding in SS2, so the whole experience was a terrible introduction to boarding life. What made it worse was seeing the actual culprits the next morning, dressed in their uniforms as if nothing had happened, with no real consequences for them.

Now, when I think back, I sometimes feel cowardly and like I betrayed myself by keeping quiet. But I also understand that at that age, in that environment, I was just trying to survive and avoid being targeted. It was a very painful experience, but it also taught me a lot about justice, courage, and how silence can hurt you.

14. “Every other day, she would have bruises on her body” — Bolu*, 23

When I was in JSS3, I had a close friend whose older brother attended King’s College. Over the holiday, some seniors from our school went out with him and his friends, and at some point, he called one of them ugly. He probably didn’t think it was a big deal, but when we resumed, everything began to change for my friend.

Instead of going after the person who insulted them, they came after her, and it wasn’t something that could be overlooked. Every time she was in their vicinity, they would find the nearest item, usually a mopstick, and beat her with it. There was no safe place for her at school, and every other day she would have bruises on her body. She wasn’t the one who insulted them, and yet she had to face the consequences.

It got even worse when they started involving their friends and setmates. Different people would target her at different times, and it felt like she was constantly surrounded. It got so bad that her mom had to step in and drive all the way to King’s College to bring her son back to our school so he could apologise to the seniors. It was only after that that the bullying stopped.

15. “I ended up peeing on myself” — Elo*, 21

There was a time in junior school that stood out to me. I was fasting during Ramadan, and because I had eaten earlier around 6:30 am, I badly needed to pee. The cleaners had this habit of locking the toilets and not opening them early, so my building’s toilets were locked, and I had to search the entire school area. I was a day student, so I couldn’t go to the hostel to use the bathroom.

In my search, I found a toilet in the senior block that seemed open, and the cleaner was there. I begged her to please open it, that I was really pressed, but she told me to go back to my block. I cried and begged, but after a while, I gave up and walked away. I ended up peeing on myself. I cried that day, and the worst part was having to sit in my wet pinafore until school closed.

There was a sanitary problem at the school, where students used various places as toilets, and if they were caught, the school would embarrass and punish them. It was really painful because, personally, I felt the cleaners were the problem. We were children, so why humiliate us when the system was failing us in the first place?

You’ll Love: Women Share the Most Ridiculous Rules Placed on Them By Universities

GridLocked is a daily pop culture guessing game built for Nigerians. Every weekday by 9am, you’ll get six clues, sixty seconds, and an answer only a Nigerian would know.

Today’s GridLocked is an album.

How many clues do you need to get it right? 👀

Share your result when done, but don’t spoil the answer for others. (Missed the last GridLocked? Play it here.)

28 May 2026

PLAY NEXT GRID: Can You Guess The Food? (29 May 2026)

Come back every weekday by 9am for a new grid or subscribe to Z Daily, Zikoko’s daily newsletter, to get new GridLocked puzzles, real Nigerian stories and other fun content in your inbox.

How to Play GridLocked

The Goal: Guess the answer for the day before time runs out. (The answer could be a Nigerian person, place, song, movie, or even slang.)
The Lock: You cannot type a guess until you have revealed at least one tile (clue).
The Reveal: Tap any tile to reveal a clue. Every clue describes the answer for the day. The fewer tiles you flip, the better.
The Clock: You have 60 seconds to guess right. The timer starts the moment you flip your first tile. (You get multiple guesses.)

The GridLocked Squares: What Do They Mean?

When the game ends, you see your guess count, total time spent, and the number of tiles flipped. The tiles are shown as white and purple squares.

⬜ (White) = A tile you flipped
🟪 (Purple) = A tile you left closed

The fewer white tiles you have, the better your result.

Best Result = ⬜🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 | Guesses: 1 (Only needed one clue and one guess to get it right)

Some albums soundtrack an era, and some become memory banks for an entire generation. The heartbreaks, house parties, late-night shenanigans, Twitter eras, school stress and everything in between.

These Nigerian albums captured Gen Z so perfectly that years from now, people will revisit them the same way older generations talk about timeless classics. And when Gen Z becomes parents, don’t be surprised if these are the albums they force their kids to listen to during long lectures about “real music.”

African Giant — Burna Boy (2020)

African Giant is politically charged, sonically diverse and unapologetically Nigerian. Songs like “Anybody” and “Collateral Damage” will be referenced by future generations as definitive moments, and the album will be regarded as one that shifted culture and propelled Afrobeats to global dominance.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

Beautiful Imperfection — Asa (2010)

Before the Alté kids were mixing genres, Asa was fusing Yoruba folk, indie-pop, soul and jazz. Songs like “Be My Man,” “Why Can’t We,” “Preacher Man,” and “The Way I Feel” showcase her gift for turning regular emotions into poetic musings. Her songwriting carried emotions that cut across age groups. This album is embedded in the childhood memories of older Gen Zs. It’s the “mature” music millennials loved, but was so incredibly catchy that kids couldn’t help but sing along to every word.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

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Superstar — Wizkid (2010)

What makes Superstar special is that it arrived at a turning point for Afrobeats. Nigerian pop music was evolving from the older 2000s template into something youth-driven and melody-heavy. It balances pop appeal with personality perfectly. It was the soundtrack to end-of-year school parties, the era of sharing songs via Bluetooth, and fighting over who knew the lyrics to “Holla at Your Boy” first. It represents a simpler time in Nigeria, right before social media completely took over. The run of singles on this album is still studied today, and for many Gen Z Nigerians, it’s tied to childhood memories and early teenage years.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

Laughter, Tears & Goosebumps — Fireboy DML (2014)

This is a flawless debut album. If there’s one album that Nigerian Gen Z generally agrees has ‘no skips,’ it’s Laughter, Tears & Goosebumps. Here, vulnerability stopped hiding in the backseat. Fireboy DML sings about experiences of being young without leaving out older listeners. From young love to heartbreak and other joys of life. It’s like a transition from teenage years to young adulthood. It’ll be remembered as one of the blueprints for the modern Afro-R&B sound.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

Mr. Money With the Vibe — Asake (2022)

No one had a chokehold on Nigeria quite like Asake did in 2022. He fused Fuji, Amapiano and street-hop with choral backups in a way that had never been done before. MMWTV was the soundtrack to every club, bus ride and party. Gen Zs will play “Organise” and “Joha” for their kids to show them what street takeover really is.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

READ THIS: Nigerian Artists Who Have Never Released a Mid Album

19 & Dangerous — Ayra Starr (2021)

This album captures youthful exuberance and personal growth through a mix of Afrobeats, R&B, and pop. Ayra Starr is the clearest bridge between the old Mavin Records sound and a fully Gen Z-esque Afrobeats aesthetic. 19 & Dangerous is a coming-of-age playbook for an entire generation of young Nigerian women. That alone gives it staying power.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

rare. — Odunsi (The Engine) (2018)

Before the mainstream fully understood what the Nigerian alternative scene was doing, Odunsi dropped rare. and forced everyone to pay attention. He blended alté aesthetics, R&B, synth-pop, Afrobeats and indie influences into something completely different from what the rest of the industry made at the time. For the Gen Zs who spent 2018 obsessed with VHS-style music videos, film cameras, and retro fashion, this album isn’t just music; it is a lifestyle time capsule. When they play it for their kids, it will be to show them the exact moment the Nigerian underground took over cool-kid culture.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

Mandy & Jungle — Cruel Santino (2019)

Every track on Mandy & The Jungle is unorthodox, from the transitions to the mood swings to the world-building. Songs like “Rapid Fire,” “Freaky,” “Sparky,” and “Morocco” carried a rebellious, genre-fluid vision that gave a lot of Gen Z listeners permission to stop caring about musical boxes. It made Nigerian music feel borderless in a new way. Mandy & The Jungle is an audio-visual experience heavily inspired by Y2K nostalgia, early 2000s Nollywood occult classics, anime and gothic themes. Gen Z parents will not just play the music for their kids; they will have to explain the vibe: the camcorders, the fashion, and the sheer DIY rebellion of the visuals. Santi created a subculture with this album.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

Boy Alone — Omah Lay (2022)

Gen Z is a generation uniquely open about mental health, anxiety and existential dread, and Omah Lay expresses that over infectious Afrobeats production. Boy Alone is dark, introspective, and vulnerable. Tracks like “Soso” and “Understand” will be remembered as the moments when mainstream Nigerian pop music explored melancholy while remaining groovy.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

ROOTS — The Cavemen. (2020)

In the thick of 2020, The Cavemen. Released ROOTS. It embraces highlife music with warmth, patience and cultural pride. Songs like “Anita,” “Beautiful Rain,” “Bolo Bolo,” and “Ifeoma” sounded deeply rooted in Igbo musical traditions while still connecting effortlessly with younger listeners who may never have grown up listening to classic highlife records. That bridge between generations is a huge reason the album feels classic-worthy. ROOTS helped Gen Z reconnect with indigenous Nigerian sounds in a modern context.

Listen on: Apple Music | Spotify

ALSO READ: 10 Nigerian Songs to Listen to When You’re Not Feeling Okay

Every week, Zikoko spotlights the unfiltered stories of women navigating life, love, identity and everything in between.

What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way.

Adanna*, 36, met the man she would spend ten years with in university. He was gentle then, attentive, and always had a way of making her feel chosen. What followed was a slow erosion of everything she had built and everything she was, driven by an addiction that grew from something she barely noticed into something that swallowed him whole and nearly took her with it. This is what she said.

Can you tell us about yourself?

I’m Adanna, I’m 36. I work in brand management, been doing it for about eight years now. I come from a comfortable family, we were never struggling, so I always had a foundation. I started a hair business on the side a few years back that was doing well, then I tried to open a salon. Neither of them made it to where I wanted them to go. I’m based in Lagos. I’m single.

You reached out to talk about a relationship that took a lot from you. How did it start?

We met in university. He was in my department, we had a few of the same friends. He was genuinely gentle. Soft spoken, attentive, remembered small things you mentioned in passing. He always made me feel like I was the most interesting person in the room just by how he listened to me. I fell for that version of him completely. We started dating in our second year and by the time we finished school I could not imagine my life without him in it.

That sounds sweet. When did things start to change?

It started very slowly. There is no single morning where I woke up and everything was different. It really crept up on me, I think even him. In our mid twenties we were in Lagos, both trying to build careers, and the social scene around us was what you would imagine. It started with regular parties and clubs we would frequent, then we kept running into the same people, certain crowds, and eventually we started noticing certain things that got passed around. He tried Molly first, at a party we both attended. I was there. It didn’t seem like a big thing then. A lot of people around us were doing it. I didn’t think too much of it. I later tried it myself but quickly stopped because the trip wasn’t was for me.

When did you start thinking about it?

When it stopped being a party thing and became a regular thing. He was using every blessed day. Then LSD came in. He was curious about everything, that was part of who he was, and he framed it as exploration. Expanding the mind. I was not completely naive but I also loved him and he was still functional, still showing up, still the person I knew underneath it all. Or so I told myself.

What came after that?

I smoke weed recreationally so I once tried to wean him off all he was doing and transition to weed since he needed to use so badly and I felt it was a safer option but it backfired and he started doing Cocaine. That was when I felt the ground shift properly under my feet.

Cocaine is expensive and it is hungry. It asks for more of you faster than the other things did. His personality started changing in ways I could see but struggled to name. He became more erratic. More defensive. Small things would set him off. The gentleness that I had fallen in love with started having gaps in it, moments where someone else was looking out of his eyes.

How did it start affecting you practically?

The main thing was money. That’s where it always shows up first. He started borrowing. Not large amounts at first, just here and there, I’ll sort you back by the weekend. He never sorted me back. I kept lending because I kept believing him. Over time the amounts got bigger and the timelines got vaguer and I stopped seeing any of it come back. I think in the first three years alone I had given or lent him close to two million naira that simply disappeared.

Did you talk to him about it?

Many times. He always had an explanation. He was between jobs, a deal had fallen through, he just needed to get through this one rough patch. He was a convincing person, that was one of his gifts and eventually one of his weapons. He could explain anything in a way that made you feel like the unreasonable one for questioning it.

Did it ever escalate beyond borrowing?

Yes. One payday I came home and my card was not where I left it. I turned the whole apartment upside down. Eventually I checked my account and the money was gone. Nearly everything I had been paid that month, withdrawn in chunks from different ATMs across two days. I confronted him and he denied it, then admitted it, then cried, then promised. He said he owed people, that things had gotten out of hand, that he was going to fix it. He came back three days later with flowers and an elaborate apology and I, God help me, I stayed.

Why did you stay?

Because I remembered who he was before. Because I genuinely believed the person I had fallen in love with was still in there and the drugs had just covered him up. Because leaving felt like giving up on someone who was sick. I had read enough to know addiction is an illness and I kept applying that framework to justify staying inside something that was hurting me. Also, I will be honest, I was ashamed. My family knew him. Our friends knew us together. Starting over at that point felt enormous.

Did it happen again, the stealing?

Several times. He got better at it. Sometimes it was cash from my bag, small amounts, something you might think you miscounted. Once he took jewellery, gold pieces my mother had given me and he sold them. It broke my heart. When I found out he said he had been desperate, that he hadn’t known what else to do, that he was going to replace everything. He never replaced anything.

There was a period where I started hiding money in places around the house, in books, in pockets, in a small envelope taped behind a drawer. I was living with someone I loved and I was hiding my own money from him in my own home. I didn’t let myself sit with how absurd that was until much later. Even when the gambling started.

Gambling?

It came with the cocaine era and got worse when heroin entered the picture. He was trying to multiply money quickly to afford the habit and he thought he could gamble his way there. He could not. I found out about the gambling debts when people started calling his phone at strange hours, and then calling mine when he wouldn’t answer. Men I had never met, asking me where he was, telling me he owed them. I paid some of those debts because I was terrified of what would happen if I didn’t. Looking back I was also funding the problem by doing that but at the time it felt like protecting him.

What happened next?

He started getting physical when I started trying to protect my money more seriously. Once I began refusing to hand over cash or lend when he asked, he would get frustrated and it would tip into anger. The first time he grabbed me I told myself it was the drugs, that he would never do that sober, that it wasn’t really him.

The second time I told myself the same thing. By the fourth or fifth time I had run out of that excuse but I was so deep in by then and so tired that leaving felt harder than staying. He always came back afterwards with something, a letter once, handwritten, pages long, telling me all the ways he knew he had failed me and all the ways he was going to change. I kept those letters for a long time. I don’t know why.

How was all of this affecting your work and your businesses?

My 9 to 5 I managed to hold onto because I needed it, it was the one thing I kept a wall around. But the hair business I had started, it was doing genuinely well, I had supply chains, regular clients, things were building. The money I should have been reinvesting kept going elsewhere. Into him, into his debts, into replacing what he stole. I couldn’t grow it past a certain point because every time I got to that point something happened and I was set back. I eventually let it go quiet. The salon I tried to open a few years after that, I had saved carefully, I had a location, I was ready. He found the account. I still don’t know exactly how. By the time I was due to sign the lease the money was significantly short. I had to walk away from that one too. Those two things, what they would have been by now, I don’t let myself calculate it too often.

Was there ever a moment where you almost left before you finally did?

Many moments. I packed a bag once and went to my sister’s place and stayed for two weeks. He called every day. My family, who only knew part of the story, encouraged me to think carefully before making a permanent decision. He showed up at my sister’s door one evening looking so diminished, so genuinely broken, that I went back. I went back and things were better for maybe three months. Then they weren’t.

What finally ended it?

My younger sister. She had come to visit me for a weekend and he was in the house. I had run out of some things and stepped out briefly to get them. I came back and she was shaken. She didn’t tell me immediately what had happened, she just said she wanted to leave. Later she told me he had cornered her in the kitchen and asked her to lend him money, and when she said she didn’t have any on her he got aggressive with her. He didn’t touch her but he frightened her. My little sister came to visit me and she left frightened.

Something in me went completely still when she told me. Not angry, not sad, just still. Like a decision had already been made somewhere inside me before I had consciously made it. I called him and told him to come and get his things. He came with another apology. I listened to the whole thing and then I told him to take his things and go. He did.

How was the aftermath?

Harder than I expected and easier than I feared, at the same time. The first few months I kept reaching for my phone to call him because ten years is ten years. Habits don’t care about good decisions. I also had to properly look at what I had lost, financially, professionally, in terms of time and choices and doors that had closed while I was busy managing someone else’s crisis. The number, when I finally sat with it, was staggering. Not just money. Years.

Do you have regrets?

About staying as long as I did, yes. About loving him, no. I think I loved a real person, the person he was at the beginning was not a performance, he was genuinely that man. The drugs just ate him. My regret is that I kept trying to save someone who at a certain point had stopped wanting to be saved, and I paid for that with things I cannot get back.

Do you still keep in touch?

Not at all. It took me a long time to leave him so when I finally did, I cut all access. I even moved a few months later because he kept showing up at my door. He kept calling so I had to change my sim and even requested for a transfer to a different branch because he kept showing up at my office as well. It is very difficult to unravel 10 years of entanglement. But eventually I did. I do not seek him out. I know nothing about how he is. I genuinely don’t even know if he’s alive. It’s okay. It’s better like this. He’s done enough.

What do you want someone reading this to take away?

That love is not enough on its own. It is necessary but it is not sufficient. You can love someone completely and still be completely wrong to stay. And the longer you stay trying to rescue someone from themselves, the more of yourself gets lost in the rescue. Get out before you have to rebuild from nothing. I got out with something left. Not everyone does.

*Names have been changed.

Just months before his wedding to Tobi (26), Femi (29) was diagnosed with nasopharyngeal cancer. What followed was the hardest season of their lives. But through every breakdown and setback, they found the strength to keep fighting.

Here’s how they made it out.

Femi: Tobi and I have been together since 2018, and after waiting and saving, we were finally able to afford the kind of wedding we’d always dreamed of.

In April 2025, I returned to Nigeria from South Africa for our introduction, and we fixed our wedding for October.

Around that same time, I started having pain in my ear and one blocked nostril. I thought it was just the weather, and decided to get it checked when I returned to work in South Africa. They found a growth in my nose and took it for testing.

Tobi: I was with him when he got the results. I still remember the shock that went through me when the doctor said the growth was cancerous.

Femi: When the doctor diagnosed me with nasopharyngeal cancer, I laughed because it didn’t feel real. I kept saying it wasn’t possible. Maybe they’d mixed up my results with someone else’s.

Tobi: A few minutes earlier, we’d been talking about our wedding plans. Suddenly, nothing mattered more than Femi surviving. I was terrified, but I knew I had to stay calm for him.

Femi: Thankfully, I had incredible doctors and oncologists who helped me pull through. Everything moved very fast after the diagnosis. While we were still trying to process the news, the doctor had already given me a personal referral to a specialist in Cape Town, which helped fast-track the process.

Once chemotherapy started, survival became my only focus.

The treatment was aggressive because the tumour was in a sensitive spot. I had to do chemotherapy first to shrink it before combining it with radiation. Every weekday for seven weeks, we woke up around 5 a.m. so I could make my 7 a.m. radiation appointments.

Through all of it, Tobi stayed very supportive. She kept researching, encouraging me, and even surprising me with things she knew I’d need during treatment.

Tobi: There was a point when our parents became frightened by some of the things they read online about chemotherapy and suggested we come back to Nigeria. But I believed Femi and I would get through it together, so we kept pushing.

There were days we were both emotionally exhausted, but somehow, whenever one of us was struggling, the other person would find strength and become the encourager.

Femi: Radiation was one of the hardest parts. They would pin my head down so I couldn’t move while the machine targeted my nose, throat, and forehead. Sometimes I’d lie there for almost an hour.

But the hardest thing emotionally was losing the desire to keep going. During treatment, the urge to go about my day disappeared. Some mornings, I’d wake up with no motivation even to sit upright.

Most nights, the only thing that carried me through till morning was gospel music playing beside me. At one point, I begged the doctors to stop treatment because I didn’t think I could take any more of it.

Tobi: I remember when he fainted during the first week of chemotherapy. He’d complained about feeling strange, so we went to the restroom together. Suddenly, his eyeballs rolled back, and he collapsed before I caught him. I remember just screaming his name.

He regained consciousness after a few minutes, but that was the closest I felt to losing him.

What helped was taking everything one day at a time. Every positive result became a celebration for us. I also had a strong support system. Our families constantly prayed with us and reminded us not to lose hope. Whenever things became overwhelming, I’d call my parents and just cry.

As the weeks passed and we slowly got used to the symptoms and routines, I became more hopeful. Every positive scan result became a celebration for us. I remember when the ENT specialist said the tumour was no longer visible, just a few weeks in. That gave us so much hope.

I also distracted myself by focusing on my business and going to the gym once in a while, though I could never stay away from home for too long because I was always worried about him.

Femi: I decided against using a feeding tube because of the possible long-term damage to my oesophagus. But eating became extremely painful. Most times, I’d hide while eating because I didn’t want to worry anyone with how much pain I was in.

Tobi: One thing I really admired during that period was his strength. Despite how weak he became, Femi was never fully admitted to the hospital. He always recovered enough between sessions to continue treatment from home.

His treatment finally ended in the last week of October 2025, and it felt bittersweet because that was originally supposed to be our wedding month.

Femi: I thought everything would immediately become easier once treatment ended, but my throat had been badly damaged from radiation. Eating felt like pouring fire into an open wound.

On top of that, I became dependent on pain patches. When I tried stopping them, the withdrawal was terrible. I was constantly sweating and restless.

Then one day, I heard a pastor preaching about healing and faith. He said if you’re praying to God for healing, you also have to believe it is possible. That message pushed me to stop depending on the patches completely. It was difficult, but I began getting better.

Tobi: During that period, we focused on small victories. I encouraged him to start eating solid foods little by little. I still remember the first solid food he ate properly was beans, and we were so excited that we celebrated it.

He started working out again and even learnt how to ride a bike. Seeing him try so hard felt emotional because only months earlier, he could barely move.

Femi: My physical recovery didn’t happen immediately. My hair had fallen out, my skin had changed, and I’d lost 20kg. But I didn’t fully realise how much cancer had changed my body until my parents arrived in South Africa in November. My mum cried throughout the drive home because she could barely recognise me.

To everyone’s surprise, I recovered really quickly. By December, I felt like myself again, apart from slight pain on one side of my throat. Looking back, everything about that season felt like God’s grace.

Tobi: Another thing that kept us going during treatment was knowing that eventually, when it ended, we’d still have our wedding to look forward to.

We resumed wedding planning and initially chose February 21 for the wedding, but since my church wasn’t available, we moved it up to February 14.

Femi: Getting married on Valentine’s Day felt symbolic after everything we’d survived together. I was already certain about Tobi, but surviving that season together doubled my certainty.

Tobi: There was never a moment when I doubted our love. The foundation of our relationship already existed before cancer. Nothing was going to change that.

Femi: More than anything, surviving cancer changed my perspective on life completely. I’m more patient and grateful for every single day.

One reason I’ve become more open about my experience is because I know what it feels like to sit in fear during treatment. I’ve met other cancer patients since then, and I want people going through it to know there’s hope, even on the hardest days.

Tobi: Before his illness, I was more reserved and anxious about life. Now, I’m more upfront. We take more pictures, express our love more easily, and try new things because life is short and can change overnight. There’s no point waiting endlessly to live fully.

Femi: Through everything, I’m most grateful to God for carrying me through the hardest season of my life and giving me a strong support system that refused to let me give up.

I believe this second chance comes with a purpose. I talk about my journey on social media and have started DavKings foundation to support cancer patients and survivors. I want people on this journey to know they’re not alone and recovery is possible.

Do you have a story to share? Fill this form

Nigerians don’t just eat food. We argue about it, celebrate with it, and bond over it. From smoky party jollof to perfectly fried plantain, food is part of our identity and now, it’s taking centre stage on MasterChef Nigeria with Power Oil as headline sponsor.

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Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

Tell me more about that.

What inspired you to move back to the UK?

Let’s talk about life in Nigeria. What was it like coming here for school?

How so?

How did that make you feel at the time?

Have you been back to Nigeria since you left in 2019?

What has been your best holiday experience in Nigeria so far?

Do you see yourself settling permanently in Nigeria in the future, or is the UK home for you?

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What has been your worst experience in Nigeria?

Wow. Okay, go ahead.

That’s always scary. Glad to hear it wasn’t worse than that.

What could possibly top a near-death experience, though?

Sorry you had to go through that.

What about your best experiences in Nigeria?

What are your favourite and least favourite things about Nigeria?

Let’s talk about life in the UK now. What is your typical routine?

What do you do for fun in the UK?

What are your favourite and least favourite things about living in the UK?

There’s a growing wave of anti-immigrant sentiment in the UK. What has that been like for you?

Have you encountered racism on a personal level?

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?

I grew up watching men come and go from my mother’s life

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My husband changed my mind about marriage

Childbirth made me question if I was truly ready for marriage

Marriage made me realise intimacy doesn’t just maintain itself

I married a man who processes emotions slowly

Marriage has made me softer and more patient

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The GridLocked Squares: What Do They Mean?

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

What happened after her family moved, Korede? Did you keep in touch?

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Right. So at what point did you guys reconnect?

So was it purely catching up, or was there something more there?

I see. So I’m guessing you guys just maintained a friendship?

What was your love life like around this period, Korede?

Fair enough. And how did your relationship with Derin progress over time?

What happened?

Oh. Was that a good call, considering the history?

Curious, what was that period like for you, Derin?

And did you still keep your distance during this period, Korede?

How long after your husband’s demise was this, and were your family aware?

Right. How did you manage all of that?

Was this when he reached out again, Derin?

Considering everything you’ve both been through, what’s the best thing about what you have with each other?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your love life?

1. “They slapped me back to back” — Amma*, 23

2. “The skin of my fingers peeled from all the clothes I washed” — Tinuola*, 50

3. “They used mopsticks to flog us” — Kanyin*, 24

4. “I was dragged around like an animal” — Tega*, 20

5. “The slaps had my ears ringing all night” — Ifeoluwa*, 24

6. “I fetched a bucket of water with a teaspoon” — Nimi*, 24

7. “They knew we were at their mercy” — Rita*, 32

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8. “They broke an umbrella on my friend’s body” — Kiitan*, 23

9. “They made me crawl on the floor with an open wound” — Chioma*, 24

10. “At QC, no one ever really listens to you” — Fauziah*, 19

11. “They threatened to send naked pictures of us to KC boys” — Sarah*, 25

12. “I couldn’t acknowledge that she was assaulting me” — Toun*, 44

13. “We slept at the school gate overnight”— Amaka*, 25

14. “Every other day, she would have bruises on her body” — Bolu*, 23

15. “I ended up peeing on myself” — Elo*, 21

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