A couple of weeks ago, I put out a tweet looking to speak with young people dealing with hypertension. Ehimen reached out to me. Our conversation spanned beyond hypertension to other issues. Here’s his story.
It all began in my final year at the university when I was 19. I think it was all the stress from being a final year student and trying to graduate. Being one of the few people with a laptop, I helped others with their projects. I was under a lot of mental stress. Sleep came in bits and I had very little appetite. I noticed I was having migraines and a lot of hallucinations. My eyes and fingernails turned a shade of red. I thought I just needed more sleep but there simply wasn’t any time.
Sometime later, I found out that I was to have an extra year because of a mix up in matric numbers. Seeing my mates graduate drove me into a downward spiral of depression. My mental health took a major hit and I lost the will to do anything. My physical health too was declining steadily. I fell sick and went to a pharmacy near my hostel, looking to get drugs for malaria. I explained my symptoms to the pharmacist on duty and she told me that I needed to check my blood pressure.
I was surprised and almost laughed it off, thinking only old people could have blood pressure. She insisted I checked it so I did. Her look of shock still haunts me to this day. She checked 10 more times, with three machines. The readings were all around 180/130. She couldn’t believe that I could still be standing with my blood pressure that high. She asked where I was coming from. She expressed disbelief that I walked that distance without fainting or going into a stroke.
I called my parents and they asked me to come home to Lagos immediately. They understood how dangerous it was because they were also hypertensive. My whole family was worried sick because they knew what my parents were going through with it.
After some treatment, I went back to school but the blood pressure symptoms worsened. I started feeling chest pains, migraines, insomnia and weak erections. When I could get erect, I would hardly last 10 seconds before ejaculating. It was a dark period. I would lock myself in my room and only come out to eat once a day. I moved to a new hostel and was acquainted with a new group of friends and that was when I started slacking off with life. I didn’t care about anything anymore. Sometimes, I would take more pills than I was prescribed just because I didn’t care about life anymore.
I moved back to Lagos after school. I landed a good job and was in a great relationship. My libido also improved and life was generally improving. However, my relationship began to stress me with incessant fights, along with having to deal with a long work commute from Victoria Island to Ejigbo. Every sickness I had worsened due to my blood pressure: malaria, typhoid and even injuries were exacerbated. At this point, I knew I couldn’t avoid taking blood pressure medication.
The first pill felt like a shot of heroin up my arm. I felt so calm and weightless. It was going great until I started reacting negatively to the medication. I was having incessant nose bleeds, worse insomnia and hallucinations. Sometimes, I’d see pictures talking to me and see things that weren’t there, such as snakes. I’d be walking and suddenly feel like I was falling off a building. The doctors put me on milder medication.
As I got older, I added more weight because I trained as a chef. I was eating a lot of new meals and wasn’t exercising. A health checkup told me that my cholesterol was higher than normal for my age. At this point, I decided not to let this condition affect my life. I started making plans to live healthily. Exercise became routine and I ate more healthily. I gave up alcohol and started taking my pills diligently. Then the lockdown happened.
Because of my condition, I was almost paranoid because I knew I had to be extra careful not to catch COVID-19 At some point, I was exhausted. I stopped taking my pills and was hoping I would contract the virus during a suicidal phase.
Now, I’m trying to relocate to another country so I can access better health care. I think there’s something wrong with me, deep inside but I think I’ll have better answers when I leave this country. Nigeria triggers my anxiety a lot. Seeing a police officer or having a close shave in traffic often sends my heart beating at a thousand miles per hour. I feel a tightness in my chest, my breathing becomes gasps and I feel dizzy, even when driving. Every day, from my waking moment, till I go to bed, I feel sick. I am trying to relocate to another country so I can have better medical care. I still believe there’s something wrong with me inside, I can feel it. I believe I’ll have better answers when I get there. But it has been a tedious task trying to leave this country.
I’ve learned to take a nap whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed and to avoid all triggers because I know I’m going to live with it till the day I die.
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People (and by people I mean strangers on the internet) are often quick to say “Nigerian men and women were made for each other. I decided to confirm if this match was made in heaven or Nigerian men were better suited to others. I asked six Nigerian men about their romantic experiences with non-Nigerians. Here’s what they had to say.
Tega
My girlfriend is Sierra Leonean. I’m not saying all Nigerian women are terrible, but I’ve experienced more tenderness, empathy and kindness. There’s more openness, less scepticism and definitely none of that deliberate wickedness that ends in “I was just playing with you.” She’s listening and accommodating and quite optimistic.
There are a lot of instances but just for contrast, I’ll describe an incident that happened with a Nigerian friend who claims to have a crush on me. At a gathering with friends, she said something about my presence being annoying. I told her that was hurtful and asked her to stop if she wasn’t serious. She goes on and on, deliberately trying to poke fun at me, asking if I need to talk to my therapist. Next thing, “Ah, are you angry? Did I do anything to you?” I was pissed and I left the gathering. She later texted me that it was all banter, despite the fact that I made it clear that it was hurtful.
My partner would never do anything like that. When I tell her I don’t like something, she stops it immediately and apologizes. No bullying or trivialising the issue. It just doesn’t happen again. There’s no such thing as “doing too much”. Just two people trying to be kind and happy. Sierra Leoneans are like Nigerians, and she’s been in Nigeria for a while so she’s acclimatised. It’s like dating a really warm Nigerian with a very accepting family.
Michael
I’ve dated three non-Nigerians – a Northern Irish, a Kenyan and a Zambian. I even got engaged to one of them but distance ended that relationship. I dated the Kenyan during my masters in the UK. She started the conversation with me on a bus about UK weather (a default icebreaker) and we hit it off. She was a remarkable person. An amazing cook and wonderful in bed. She was always willing to experiment, either in the kitchen or in the other room.
Her parents were pretty well off and I was a broke student on an allowance. I was in awe of how she splurged on gifts for me – clothes, shoes, watches. One time, she booked a weekend getaway to a theme park near London. I did the math and clocked it cost about N800k. She told me I didn’t have to spend a thing. In her words, “my money is our money and your money is our money.” She completely blew me away. I was never the sole spender in the relationship. One time, she hid my debit card because she didn’t like the fact that I was always paying for our meals. She was also super romantic and would always stop by my place on her way back from work. Her family was also quite welcoming; I spent the New Years holiday with them. The best relationship I ever had. Sadly, she had to go back to Kenya after her degree.
George
I dated an Indian in university and it was fantastic. She was beautiful, with great hips and long hair. We used to sit beside each other in class. She told me she liked me and why, without mincing words. Soon after, we were dating.
She was more expressive of her feeling than Nigerian babes. Unfortunately, she was a conservative Muslim. Her parents sent a driver to pick her immediately after school every day so we didn’t get to see a lot. We used to fuck all over the school, whenever we could. She’d also buy me a gift for any gift I bought her and was never hesitant to spend on me. On her part, she became more liberal while dating me, going from a hijabi to wearing shoulder scarves, jeans and makeup.
After graduating, she was married off to some guy in the UK and that was the end of our relationship. I recommend that Nigerian men date at least one non-Nigerian in their lifetime. It’s nice to experience.
Tomiwa
I’ve dated a Motswana, Thai and South African. A common theme across the board for them is they’re more willing to spend and are less entitled. They were also quite better at articulating issues and were more willing to accept personal responsibility too. They never tried to shift blame and never excused their own bad behaviour.
The South African was the most serious of the relationships. She spent on me without provocation. It was refreshing to be taken care of for a change. I had to turn down some grander gestures so I wouldn’t feel guilty if a break up happened. There was no expectation for me to pay when we ate out, she either paid or made us split. While I protested her generosity most times, it’s nice to know they didn’t automatically expect me to pay. They were also largely respectful of boundaries, particularly my time. She understood if I was too busy to hang out, without sulking. If there was an issue, she would address it instead of becoming passive-aggressive.
This isn’t to say Nigerian women are bad. I’ve dated amazing Nigerian women but they’re generally socialised a certain way and there’s no getting around that, except for a few who are self-aware and are consistently self-auditing.
Akpos
I’ve dated a number of non-Nigerians. In summary, there was less drama, no billing, no broke-shaming or snide remarks about not using an iPhone. The quality of the conversation was better. It just felt a lot less transactional. However, I had to deal with racism when I was in Slovenia when some men accused me of stealing their babes. But they are cowards and can’t fight so it’s all good. Another girl’s family made her move out of the house because they said she had caught “some African disease.”
Sam
I dated a French black woman. It was refreshing. Different, but in a good way. She was expressive with her emotions in a way I find Nigerians usually aren’t. However, a peculiar source of friction in our relationship was the fact that she used to get very upset when I tell my friends I love them. She says it’s because I was colonised by the English and she by the French, but apparently, I was too liberal with saying “I love you” to friends. There might be some truth to it since the French say Je t’aime and Je t’adore which mean the same thing in English but carry different potencies in French. She didn’t adjust. I just stopped telling people I loved them [laughs].
Having dated Nigerians and non-Nigerian, I think people are just people, and I haven’t seen any significant difference that tilts my personal preference either way.
Chike
My girlfriend is German and it’s more peaceful than dating a Nigerian. It costs less because financial burdens are split equally. She’s a better communicator and has no problems saying what she wants when it comes to sex, unlike Naija babes that you have to be guessing. She has also taught me to enjoy things like picnics, hiking and walks in the park.
However, the lack of cultural similarities gets to me sometmes. Our jokes are different; for example, she doesn’t get why I find Nigerian comedy skits and memes so funny. Still, she’s a big fan of Nigerian music. She listens to more Afropop than I do. We also have different tastes in food so we don’t have as many joint meals as we would have if she was Nigerian. She doesn’t understand my struggles such as why my cousins and siblings are taxing me for money.
Bayo
There’s a remarkable difference between Nigerian and foreign relationships. First, they seemed to be more interested in me for who I am. There’s no need to impress like I would have to with Lagos babes. There’s also less financial pressure. It was the first time I felt comfortable telling a babe I was broke because they would cover for me when I couldn’t and they never made a big deal out of it. It felt really refreshing to be spoiled by her and it made me reciprocate a lot more.
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What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.
Check back every Sunday by 12 pm for new stories in the Man Likeseries. If you’d like to be featured or you know anyone that would be perfect for this, kindly send an email.
The subject of today’s Man Like is Timileyin, a project and facilities manager. He talks about his father’s imprint on his character, how his parents’ marriage guides his approach to romantic relationships and why crying is therapeutic.
When did you realise you were a man?
Every time I open an episode of ‘Man Like‘ and see this question, I always wonder if I’m a man yet. When does one become a man? Is it when you move out of your parents’ house or when you get your first job and stop depending on pocket money? Is it when you start giving your parents an allowance?
However, some of the experiences that shaped me as a man happened when I was in university. In my third year, I was out of school for a year. Instead of being idle, I decided to work for my dad’s construction company. I worked every day, Mondays to Saturdays. It was the hardest I had ever worked. The experience made me realise what my dad went through to put food on our table. It made me realise that raising a family, providing and trying to set your kids’ up for success no easy. I realised that combining all those things shouldn’t be just one person’s job — it’s a heavy burden.
Every young man needs that kind of experience so they start to think, early on, “How am I going to provide for my family? How will I make enough money to raise kids.”
Taking a lead cue from my father, I realised that taking care of family is paramount. Seeing what my dad did, I wanted to do even better. Apart from my five siblings, we had two or three cousins living with us at any given time. My father had to provide for about ten people in the household, whether his business was going well or not.
He sounds like a stand-up guy.
I recently received a call from my younger sister who’s in her final year of university. She told me that my dad asked her to send me her school fees invoice. I definitely didn’t see that coming. For context, I have two older brothers ahead of me. So asking me to pay her school fees was a big leap. It was a “wait, I’m really getting old” moment. It was the first time I was responsible for someone.
What was your relationship with your father like?
One of the most important things about my father is that he always showed up. Perhaps owning his own business made him wiggle room to always make time for his kids. Along with my mom, they were very present in our lives and we never lacked support from either of them. However, I feel like we could have had a better relationship.
How so?
As I said, he always showed up. School events, matriculations, graduations and prize giving days (because, you know, I’m smart like that), he was always there with my mother. In a way, it felt like he owed that to us as part of his promise to give us the best education he could afford.
However, I think there were some points in my life where I could have used a good father-son conversation. But we didn’t have a relationship like that. The only time we had a semblance of that was when I was working with him during the year I was out of school. We mostly just got along and vibed with each other on the peripheral, but I think it could have been a more rewarding relationship.
Our relationship has evolved now and we have more conversations about my plans but that’s pretty much it. Sometimes I feel like he could have been closer to us, his children. The typical African parent approach of punishing every transgression might have driven a wedge between us.
What other lessons did you learn from your father?
Diplomacy in relationships. I learned this from my mother and father. In the 20+ years I lived with them, I only saw them quarrel three times. Hours after they fight, you’ll find them laughing with each other. Their relationship gives me joy. They were always in each other’s spaces and faces and you could tell that they loved each other deeply. My parents are my blueprint for approaching relationships.
So how do you approach relationships?
Communication is very important to me. I need to know that a romantic partner puts all their cards on the table. Things you hide invariably begin to fester and that causes animosity and resentment. That’s a death sentence for any relationship. There will be fights but that’s natural because you’re different people. The approach to that should be “us vs. the problem”, not “me vs. my partner.”
That’s a wholesome way to handle romantic relationships. What about platonic relationships?
I handle my platonic relationships just the same way. I am up-front about the relationship and make sure fights don’t linger. I ensure there’s an open line of communication at all times. To me, the bro code means being present in your friends’ lives. It means that your friends know that there is always a safe space with you. It’s not about encouraging or covering up bad behaviour for your friends.
Not unrelated – what are your thoughts about how Nigerian men handle toxic masculinity?
I don’t think toxic masculinity as a concept should even exist. I don’t believe people should cage themselves and not do what comes naturally to them, regardless of their gender. It doesn’t matter what people think. It doesn’t matter if people think you’re being “feminine.”
Interesting.
One time, I was hanging out with a female friend. A male friend called and after the conversation, I ended the call with “I love you, my guy.” She was shocked and asked if I was gay. This is the same mentality older Nigerians have about how men should act. We claim to be smarter and more exposed than the older generation but still hold on to harmful views. We tell men to be strong, not to show emotion, not to cry. Men owe it to themselves to unlearn such harmful views and teach the younger generation that it’s okay to show emotion. Crying doesn’t make you less of a man. It’s therapeutic and really eases the tension you’re feeling.
Toxic masculinity also makes it difficult for men to seek help for mental health issues despite the immense trauma we go through as Nigerians. It’s also the reason Nigerian men don’t look after themselves because they think skincare is feminine. Is it only women that have skin?
Speaking of women – what was your most memorable heartbreak?
LMAO, ah! I don’t think I’ve experienced heartbreak a lot but the most memorable one had to be the person who broke up with me because I was too broke. Fresh out of school, I had just started working. I had small change in my pocket so I didn’t think I was that broke. Omo. It shook me to my core. I guess she had expectations I wasn’t meeting.
Did you cry?
Nah. The last time I cried was when I had a fight with someone I was dating. It was a long-distance relationship and it just seemed very frustrating. Not having your person by your side and fighting them at the same time was just overwhelming. I don’t cry a lot but I found it therapeutic.
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There’s only one thing more painful than stubbing your little on the sharp edge of furniture – watching other people take credit for something you worked really hard for. I spoke to four Nigerians who recount their experiences under glory-thieving bosses. Here’s what they had to say.
Tola
I was an assistant producer working on two weekly shows and reporting to two producers at a popular TV station. While my job was only to write the show and supervise the production, I ended up doing both of the producers’ jobs. I decided the direction of the shows and even identified the guests to be invited. I did this every week. Sometimes, I’d sacrifice my weekends to cover events as favours to my bosses, but when it was time for the after-parties and dinners, they’d take the passes and ask me to leave. I worked on an in-depth documentary where I risked my life and spent days in the slum to produce it. My boss applied for a journalism award with that documentary. I just couldn’t bring myself to be happy for her because it was my hard work that won that award.
It made me feel used, and feelings of resentment grew. I understood that they were my bosses but I didn’t quite understand why they couldn’t be fine with taking credit for supervising the process? Why make it look like you did all the work? I was also worried that I would seem unproductive to HR during appraisals since my bosses were claiming to do all my work. They never gave me credit. They would even make up stories about how the idea for the stories came to them in a moment of epiphany. When cash rewards were given for really good stories, the bosses will give me a part of it in private but nobody would ever say, “It was Tola who put it together.” It was a very frustrating time of my life.
Onyela
I am part of the digital team as a content/social media executive. When my team reduced from three to two people, most of the workload fell on me. My team lead was shoddy and never did his job, leaving me to do all the team’s work. Last week, I got feedback from a client to my lead that they were impressed with the LinkedIn captions I came up with and told my team lead to “take a bow.” I was furious. I had to prove to my other colleagues that I actually wrote the captions for the client. My team lead still takes credit for all the team’s work, which I’m responsible for. He earns what I’d call an “armed robber’s salary” while I earn a paltry 100k before tax and pension. I’m hurt and very tired.
Damisi
This topic just reminds me of the time I used to freelance for a popular newspaper while I was a student in Ife. I was writing articles about school-related stuff until I decided to write a long feature article about the glut of private universities and the problems they might pose. I sent it to my usual editor in the newspaper, only for me to find out he had published it in his own name. I never wrote another article for that publication.
Alice
My job description began from one role and has now gone up to about five roles in one. Last year, a fraction of the company staff left at the same time last year, so most of the company’s work was left to me. At the end of the year, I failed to get a bonus like everyone else. When I asked why the CEO said he couldn’t see anything I had achieved that year. He introduced new vague parameters for measuring performance such as ethical values, transparency, etc. When I asked how he measured these parameters, he couldn’t answer. I didn’t get a bonus for last year, despite single-handedly raising the customer satisfaction index from 90% in 2019 to 96.4% in 2020.
This year, a new boss took over. Recently, I discovered that every sale in the company earns a commission and that my new boss has been taking all my commission. The bulk of commissions came to about N270,000. I tacitly asked him about the commissions, hoping he’d feel ashamed and give me the N70,000 on top. Instead, he gave me 10k and called it “pocket money.” To date, he still hasn’t made any sales of his own. I’ve been asking for a raise for a while now but he keeps saying he’s in talks with the CEO. How could he ask the CEO for his commissions but not for my raise, despite the fact that I made most of the company’s sales?
For the average African man, the assumption is that there’s marriage somewhere on the horizon once they are in the twilight of their late twenties. Playful jests of “when will you marry” start to chime in from all angles. However, not all men believe in for better for worse, nor in death doing them part. To them, a life lived without vows or a married partner is ideal. I spoke to 6 men who don’t want to get married. Here’s what they had to say.
Seun, 31
I’m quite resolute not to get married but recently, societal pressure is getting to me. At some point, you start to wonder if you’re the problem. My baby sister is getting married next month. After her introduction, I faced a panel of uncles and relatives who wanted to know if something was wrong with me. My uncle never stops advertising me to women. My mom is constantly praying and asking people to talk to me. She even makes my friends talk to me about it. Most times, I laugh off their concern, but deep inside I care about my mom’s happiness. However, it seems foolish to marry a person just to make her happy. Plus, I have siblings. They’ll get married and make her happy.
Ikenna, 26
I don’t want to get married because I don’t expect to live very long, due to some hereditary health conditions. I don’t want to get married to someone who I’ll end up leaving high and dry if I die. Same reason I don’t want to have kids. There’s some light pressure from family but it’s mostly friendly banter.
Toni Dunt, 29
I’m not built for marriage. My personality just doesn’t fit into that sphere. I want to have children, but marriage is off the cards. All my children will come from one woman. I’ll cater for her and the children, but I don’t want to be responsible for her happiness. If she decides to marry someone else, that’s fine too. I’m not willing to sacrifice for anybody. It’s important that I have kids though, they’re something to look forward to in my old age. But all things said, I am only human and I believe in the word of God. If God says otherwise, who am I to say no?
Obi, 32
I’ve never considered being married. Thinking about it makes me cringe. The idea of waking up in the morning to the same person over and over is unbearable. Asides from that, I’ve been surrounded by failed marriages. My mom had come to terms with the fact that I was never going to marry before she passed. She thought her and my dad’s marriage had something to do with my decision. My dad already has 4 grandchildren, so he’ll be fine.
Teflon, 27
TW: Suicide
Growing up, my father and mother quarrelled all the time till they split in 2007. They got back together in 2013 but my mom passed in 2014. My dad went on to date several women and eventually married in 2017. A few months later, they started fighting and were divorced soon after. So forgive me if I’m not exactly thrilled about marriage. I like the idea of having my own person, but I have PTSD from women leaving me has driven me to the decision not to marry. I have an intense fear of women leaving me and would hate to get married only for my wife to leave as well. I don’t want to be another divorce statistic. Better to be a single man without expectations than getting married only to have it end abruptly. I’m also worried that the frustrations of marriage and family life might drive me to jump over the Third Mainland Bridge one day.
Loneliness isn’t a problem. I feel lonely when I’m in relationships. I’m probably not a people person. I’m made to be alone. My family is fine with my decision. They’re okay with anything that doesn’t offend our religion.
Omari, 21
My parents were separated before I was born. Growing up, I had to endure endless fights and the worst toxicity between the two of them. Both of them had different stories about how I was born and I don’t know which to believe.
My experiences in romantic relationships have been bad too. I don’t blame the women I’ve dated. It’s just that I love too much and nobody can handle that over a long period. Being an only child, I’ve learned to enjoy my company and I plan on living the rest of my life alone.
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Today’s Man Like is Andy Obuoforibo, a 40-year-old politician and product manager. He tells us about how his father’s warmth and work ethic taught him the real meaning of masculinity, how his mother’s foray into politics influenced him to participate in politics and why he supports the LGBTQ+ movement as a Nigerian politician.
When did you realise you had become “a man”?
I don’t think it was in a single moment. There have been times in my life when I felt like I scored some “man points” — like when I got my first job at a Safeway grocery store as I turned 18. Or when I took my first student loan, signifying that I was now responsible for my own education.
As I grew older, it became less about external accomplishments and more about my show of strength, like the first time my father asked me for advice.
Nice. Speaking of your father, what was your relationship with him like?
I was blessed with a good father. He was warm, affectionate and very present in our lives, even for the most trivial things. When I was 14, I had pretty fringe tastes for a Nigerian kid: I loved heavy metal and role-playing games. My dad went on a trip to the US and he came back with Metallica’s Black album and some role-playing game guidebook. He taught himself how to play Dungeon Master so he could play with me.
As I got older, we started to disagree on two fronts: political ideology and career. He wanted me to become a doctor — a professor of medicine — like him. So he taught me a lot about medicine — much of which I still know today. But I realised from the onset that I was more interested in computers. We had a bit of friction there, but during my college years, we mended fences and found our way back.
Would you say your father’s relationship with you influenced you as a man?
Very much. The biggest lesson I learned from him before his death was that strength isn’t in rigidity, because that makes you brittle. He knew how to be warm and soft in his strength. Now that I have fewer things to prove, I’m starting to understand the value of that. It helps me interface with my sons and other people better.
On the flip side, I picked up some bad things from him too that I wish I accessed closely and earlier. I learned from him to take on everybody’s burden. I learned that duty comes first. These are all good things, but when taken too far, they can cage and destroy, and this is what we often see happen to men. My father was very dutiful to his work, to his family, to his church, to his God. I never saw him miss work out of illness, and I try to emulate that. But it can be detrimental. You think you must accept everything “as a man,” you must be the rock and centre. You think you must be the one everybody leans on, but this makes it hard for you to lean on people.
Hmm. Is there anything about your upbringing you’d change with your kids?
A big thing I’ve learned to not do is to try and predict and hope for what they’ll become. I’m all for Project Mbappe and I’m hoping it works out in that direction, but I’m learning to think, “These kids are going to find their way. They’re going to figure it out.” They were born into a world I’m too old to understand. I need to be aware of that. I’m learning to be okay with figuring it out —not telling them where they need to go, but being able to detect their destination quickly enough to help them get to it. That’s really the job — to give them all the tools you can.
My parents really did a great job of giving me a lot of tools. When I was young, they exposed me to a lot of things. I think that that’s something that I also want to be able to do. I’ll tell you a story about my father.
My popcorn is ready.
We moved to Uganda when I had just started JSS2 in Nigeria. My father had gone back to work with the World Health Organisation. He was working all over eastern Africa, but he chose Uganda as our primary base. When it was time to choose a school for me, he looked at all the international schools and everything and said, “You’re going to a French school.”
I didn’t speak French. I only knew “comment ca va”. But my father said, “Not knowing a second international language has limited me in my career. I could have gotten to the very top of the UN, but there’s a limit to where I can get to because, in terms of international languages, I’m monolingual. You’re not going to have that same limitation. You’re going to be bilingual or better.”
So he put me in this school where I could not speak a single word of the language of instruction. I was in JSS 2 when I left Nigeria. Because of the language barrier, they moved me back to Primary 3, and it was the most horrifying experience. Just imagine this 12-year-old black kid in a class of eight-year-old white children who thought he was stupid because he couldn’t talk. You can imagine what that was like. My father was like, “Well, it’s really that simple. You will learn French, or you will fail and keep repeating.”
Omo.
It worked. I learned the language. It was tough, but my dad was there every step of the way. Every time I would complain that some kid made fun of me, he didn’t just brush it off. He’d say, “I’m sorry you’re going through that. But you know why you’re going through this right now.”
When my mates were learning English, the school made me take Spanish because why learn a language I was already fluent in? Somewhere in there, it turned out I had a knack for languages, so after learning French and Spanish, I learned German, Italian and Portuguese. Speaking Spanish and French made it easier to learn the rest.
It taught me early that life is not always easy, that things can be difficult and even unfair. But if you have a plan, you stick to the plan. That’s something I hope I can do for my children — expose them to experiences that teach them grit while showing them that when they come home, there’s always going to be a warm hug waiting.
Profound.
Life can be brutal. I try to be fair to men of previous generations. The toxic masculinity system exists because no one thought of a better way to help men navigate this cruel, unforgiving world while taking care of their responsibilities. Now we know better. We’ve learned and we’re learning. The danger is in overcorrecting. We still have to find a way to prepare sons and daughters for a tough, unforgiving cruel world without making them unforgiving and cruel themselves. That’s the balance we have to strike, the holy grail. I think that’s the real tough job of parenting.
Looks like you have this parenting thing down to a science.
LMAO. Not even close.
I hear you’re into politics. What’s that about?
My mum was one of the first women who ran for governor in the old Rivers State during the Third Republic. Civics was as much a part of my life like the way going to church on Sunday was.
One striking thing about history is that change is always made by normal people. In societies that work, there is no sense of separation, that the “civic space or politics is for some people, so I’m not bothered.” Getting involved in our community, getting it to work the way it’s supposed to work was a given in our house.
Facts.
The more active you’re in a particular space, the more likely it is that eventually, something in that space will connect for you. A series of events snowballed me into politics. I got really involved in activism. The government at the time wanted to demolish a waterfront community in the Niger Delta, where I was from, and I got very involved in the protests to stop that. Because of that, people from the community were like, “Hey, come and run for political office.” After a while, I eventually left politics to become a chief. It’s still that same relationship I have with my people that has moved me away from politics into chiefdom.
You’re one of the few, perhaps the only Nigerian politician, who openly supports the LGBTQ+ community. How do you balance keeping the people’s support and standing for what’s right?
There is no balance when it comes to justice. There is either justice or no justice. As long as there is a single law or rule in Nigeria that discriminates against LGBTQ+ people, we don’t have justice. If the only way to succeed politically in Nigeria is to bend to that injustice, maybe others can do that, but I’m not one of those people.
When I had to go to college in the US, I had to write TOEFL because I never took English in secondary school. One of the essay questions stated: Electorate politicians have to carry out the will of their electorate. But elected officials also have a duty to do the right thing by conscience. So what should the politician do when the demands of the electorate clash with their conscience or what is morally right? My answer, which hasn’t changed since I was 17, was that if it’s a question of fundamental issues of morality of justice, the politician has a duty to say, “On this issue, you are wrong. Let me give you a compelling argument why.” His next duty is to make those arguments.
If he fails, he fails. They vote him out, he goes home, and that’s okay. I believe that completely. I believe people have a right to have sexual and romantic relations with any consenting adult they want to. If people choose not to vote for me because of that stance, then guess what? I don’t want to be elected in Nigeria. I don’t want to be elected by people who will only vote for me if I support injustice and oppression. For most parts of my life I’ve been a minority. I’m from the Niger Delta, I’m oppressed. As a black man in America, I was oppressed. So I will die before I become part of the system that extends that oppression to any other human being. Oppression thrives because people who know better turn a blind eye simply because it’s more convenient for them or the personal stakes for them are too high. I can afford not to be elected to office. I have the skills and other ways to influence policy and influence my society. If elections are the one thing I can’t win because I support gay rights, so be it.
What are the biggest challenges with masculinity in Nigerian men?
I’d split this in two: the things that hurt us as Nigerian men and the ways we hurt others.
I think men, men in general, but Nigerian men in particular (because of the pressures we find on ourselves), just have to learn that there’s no single way to be a man. It has already happened. You can’t lose your masculinity. The status cannot be revoked so you have nothing to prove. Knowing that and having that pressure taken off you reduces a lot of things that we do that can harm us: the way we don’t share our problems, the way we put impossible standards on ourselves which we may be able to live up to in one moment but we’re bound to fail in the next.
When it comes to how you treat other people, I think there, again, it comes down to allowing yourself to be vulnerable. You know, and I don’t mean allowing people to harm you. We have to learn better ways of communicating our wants and feelings in ways that allow people a chance to make conscious decisions on how to relate with us. We don’t have to just be reactive.
Your dad seemed like such good vibes so one last question about him: When you think of him, what memory comes to mind?
My favourite memory was raiding the fridge at midnight with him, and then when my mother was shouting about food missing in the fridge, he framed me for it and said, “You know you have a teenage son in the house.” I turned to him in shock and he winked.. We were quite conspiratorial like that.
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Navigating relationships with one’s family can become quite dicey after marriage. There’s a lot more to consider now; your partner’s feelings, your family’s wishes and a lot of other factors. I spoke to three married men about how their relationship with their families changed after they married.
Gideon
My family is a very big one and I’m close to almost everyone. I wouldn’t really say the relationship changed after my marriage, I just became a bit more withdrawn from my family. This meant that I’d rather stay home and hang out with my wife rather than go out for a family event if it wasn’t necessary. It’s a choice I made because if I don’t set these lines in place, I’ll always have issues with boundaries.
At first, family members tried reporting me to my dad but I’m a stubborn man. He’d call and ask why I wasn’t at a family event and I’d reply, “Because I didn’t feel like.” After a while, he stopped asking me and told people to come to ask me themselves. I still contribute financially but there’s a lot less of my physical presence.
My wife used to feel bad whenever it was brought up but it’s really my decision. When my mother tried to blame her as a bad influence, I told my mother it was my decision and asked her not to interfere in my home. People tend to respect stuff like that. I guess patriarchy has its benefits.
Olumide
I lost my Dad when I was 8 years old, so my family has always been my mom and my two brothers. My mom was very attached to me because I was obedient, and this remained true till I graduated from university. I realised that I needed to distance myself a bit because I was quite the mommy’s boy, so three years before I married, I moved out of the house.
I knew my mother was the controlling type so I made sure to set boundaries. Between the time of my introduction and my marriage, I made sure they only met about four or five times. I also made sure I let my mother know that she should respect my wife’s decisions. To date, there are times where she still wants to interfere in my family matters but I try to gently turn her down and make her understand I’m my own man. There are still clashes but there’s an understanding of each person’s boundaries.
When my wife gave birth and my mother was living with us, my mother tried to impose her views about taking care of the baby until my wife got upset and snapped at her. I’ve told my mom to respect our choices. Many times, my mother and wife communicate through me because I know that things can get really tense between them.
Sometimes my wife brings up that my mother’s monthly allowance is too much, after all, I’m not the only child but I tell her that it’s unnegotiable. I placated her by placing her mother on an allowance too, although not as much.
Seun
I lost both my parents within the space of six months in 2012 and I’m the first of four children. While I was dating my wife, I took her to meet my aunt who was the head of the family. The meeting went well but there was some grumbling about the fact that my wife isn’t Yoruba. The family knew they didn’t have the right to say anything because while I was hustling for school fees in the university, they were all unlooking.
Now, everyone in the family just minds the business that pays them. To me, my family consists of my wife, my daughter and me. I’m pretty close to my youngest brother too. He’s a great guy. My two other brothers are always billing me to ask for money they think I have and think I’m stingy when I tell them I don’t have it [laughs].
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Polyamory is the practice of, or desire for, intimate relationships with more than one partner, with the informed consent of all partners involved. I met Chris* in a Zikoko Clubhouse room while he was describing his experience with relationships as a polyamorous man. He had quite the story to tell.
I met Bisola entirely by chance. There was this girl I used to flirt with now and then, and she accidentally sent me a photo of Bisola. When I asked about it, she said it was a mistake, and she’d meant to send the picture of the dress she was wearing to another friend. I told her that I was interested in the girl in the picture and asked for her Instagram handle. When I got it, I sent Bisola a DM and we started talking.
Bisola and I got along swimmingly. She studied philosophy, and I like to consider myself a thinker, so we used to have endless conversations about life’s deepest questions. We became quite interdependent. One day, I didn’t reach out because my battery was dead the entire day. When I came back online, she was furious and had already deleted my number. Being with her was so natural. We never had to force anything and expectedly, we fell in love. It felt like we were in a relationship from the start, but officially, we started dating three months after I sent that DM.
I truly believe that Bisola was the love of my life. Cupid’s arrow had hit me, and it hit me hard. The relationship was great. We kept no secrets from each other. If there was anything on our minds, we told each other immediately.
Prior to our relationship, I found out that I tended to connect romantically with multiple people at the same time and be genuine about it. It wasn’t a “bad guy” act where I considered women as game; I just knew I could love multiple women sincerely. And if I’m in love with someone, I tell them as soon as I realise it. They don’t have to do anything about it or love me back, I just have to let them know.
Shortly before the lockdown, a year after I started dating Bisola, I met Annie*. We had great conversations and we connected. I realised I loved her. It wasn’t because I wanted to have sex with her. All I felt was a need to have her around me.
You know how people say if you love two people, it’s the second one you love the most? That’s nonsense. I still loved Bisola, deeply. But I also found myself developing a connection with Annie, and I didn’t feel like stopping it.
That was the beginning of the problem. I knew that at some point I would have to tell Bisola about Annie and our budding friendship because we kept no secrets, and it was impossible to derail from that track. But how do you tell the love of your life that you’re in love with someone else?
In April, during the lockdown, Bisola spent the entire month with me, and it was terrible. Normally, we were a sexually intense couple. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Sometimes, she’d be in a virtual meeting and we’d fuck through even the most important parts of her presentation. Or she’d be giving me head while I’m on a work call. But in that month, I couldn’t have sex with Bisola because of the dark secret I was keeping from her. The guilt from not telling her another woman was sharing her space in my heart without her permission was weighing me down I knew I had to tell her.
One day, I asked what she thought about polyamory. She explained that it was okay for people to express themselves like that if they so wished, but she was happy being monogamous. With that answer, I realised that I had two choices: continue being monogamous with her and continue with a lifetime of fighting my true self or accepting that I was polyamorous and letting the love of my life go. Cheating was not an option because I absolutely despise dishonesty.
Bisola was like an addiction to me. I couldn’t see myself living without her. At the same time, I was exhausted from fighting my desire for other people. So I told her about Annie. I could tell that she was hurt, but she tried to empathise with my plight. She understood how I could be polyamorous, but she just wasn’t fine with being in a polyamorous relationship. I hated the fact that I was making her hurt, but I also knew that I had to be honest with her.
We held on in the relationship, but it was never the same again. It seemed like we were both waiting on the other person to make a compromise: she thought I would let go of the whole polyamory idea and I thought maybe she’d come around and see it my way. While we waited, she started to doubt my fidelity — I would never do anything I couldn’t tell her and I thought she knew that. The existence of Annie became a source of anxiety for her and it took a toll on the relationship. If I wasn’t available to talk, she’d assume it was because I was with Annie. Our fights were getting bigger and toxic. One day, after a fight over the phone, I asked that we take a break.
With the break, all I wanted was for us to draw a line between our relationship and our friendship, but she thought I meant we should break up. We were apart for one month. Bisola’s sister told me she was not taking the break well so I called it off.
Before then, I’d always tell Bisola about Annie so she didn’t have to deal with anxiety or imagine things, but the honesty wasn’t helping, so I stopped telling her.
Things went fine for a while until she decided to read my chats and found out I was still talking to Annie. I knew that was the end of our relationship. I begged and pleaded on my knees, but I also knew it was unavoidable.
I hated myself for causing her pain, but I also couldn’t fight who I am. I was crushed that my best friend was leaving me. We cried and held each other before she got up to leave. That was the last time I saw her. She chose her peace of mind, and I chose mine. She blocked me everywhere.
My relationship with Annie deteriorated, and we hardly talk.
People often wonder how I could be polyamorous. They ask me if I’m fine with my partner sleeping with other people. All I care about is honesty. If my partner is honest with me, I don’t care who they are sleeping with. I’ve fallen in love a couple of times after Bisola, but I don’t think I ever want to be in a relationship again. I don’t know if my polyamory is just a phase, but there’s too much uncertainty for me to commit myself to anybody. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I’m very upfront about telling women I meet that I’m not cut out for relationships. It’s their decision whether or not to get involved with me.
I miss Bisola a lot. We are cordial now, but we know that being close friends might not be a great idea. I know that if I drop the idea of polyamory, we might get back together, but that’s not possible. I’ve decided not to enter into any more monogamous relationships. This means no relationships, marriage or kids for me unless I can find partners who are fine with me being polyamorous. I don’t think one single person can be everything for you. In fact, it is unfair to expect them to be.
