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.
This week, we spoke to Evie*, a 28-year-old single mum who had her son while still a student. Both she and her boyfriend carried the AS genotype, but in love and convinced it was a blessing, she chose to keep the pregnancy. Almost ten years later, she’s raising a son with sickle cell, balancing constant hospital visits with her own dreams, dating, and faith.
What was it like finding out you were pregnant while still a student?
I can’t exactly call it a regret because I love my son so much, but I do wish I hadn’t had a child when I did. I was 19, still in school, when I found out I was pregnant. Some of my friends told me to have an abortion, but I didn’t listen. I was so happy. Many people around me had already had abortions, but I had never even gotten pregnant before.
At that point, I had just been diagnosed with PCOS and used to think maybe I was barren. I had medication for the PCOS, I was taking it constantly and had no idea it was making me fertile. So getting pregnant felt like proof that I wasn’t barren. I begged God to let me get pregnant, so when it happened, it felt like a sign. Aborting would’ve felt like rejecting God’s gift, like a slap in the face. Plus, I was in love. I thought this was what I wanted.
Did you and your boyfriend both know you were AS? If yes, why did you still go ahead with the pregnancy?
We both knew the risks, but honestly, love and excitement blinded us. We were young. I kept telling myself nothing bad would happen. The pregnancy felt like an answered prayer, so I didn’t stop to think about what carrying the AS genotype really meant. Looking back now, I know I was naïve. If I had seen the future, I would’ve had an abortion.
Okay, tell me more about that. How did motherhood change your life at that age?
Pregnancy itself wasn’t hard. I was still going to class and living my life. But motherhood changed everything. I used to go out with my friends, party, and hang out late, but all of that stopped. Meanwhile, my boyfriend’s life didn’t really change. He could still move around freely, while mine turned upside down.
I wasn’t prepared. It wasn’t something anyone teaches you. But when you feel that child inside you or hold him, something just clicks. You know it’s your responsibility now. My friends helped by babysitting sometimes, so I could go out and have fun. They were a huge help. But the truth is, becoming a mum so young was a shock I never fully recovered from.
I do have a rhythm I work with now. My younger sisters are done with uni and are home a lot, waiting to begin NYSC, so they help out a lot.
An average day for me looks like waking up and going to the gym first — again, only possible because of my sisters’ support. After the gym, I go to class. I’m a behavioural therapist and work from 12 to 2:30. After that, I go to another class by 3:30, where I tutor kids, then a final class by 5. After that, I’m back home to make dinner.
When his school is in session, I drop my son off before going to work. On hospital visit days, he sometimes doesn’t go to school, and I inform the people I work with why I might be missing a session. They’re very understanding. I work with kids, so their parents sort of get it. And sometimes, when possible, my sister fills in for me.
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Can you tell me about the health challenges your son has faced?
It’s been one hospital visit after another. At one point, he had a stroke. For the past few years, he’s been having seizures, and they’ve only gotten worse. There’s no solution in sight. We just came back from the hospital again recently, and honestly, I wasn’t even in my right state of mind. I love him with my whole life, but living in this cycle is draining. I’m constantly in fear of losing him, and that fear overshadows everything else in my life.
Before I had him, I was an emotional person, but maybe because I was young, I didn’t take life too seriously or think about things like death. But now, I am constantly thinking about death. Sometimes I have lowkey wished he would d**… I do not want to say the word. I feel maybe it’ll be better for the two of us if that happens. But I only feel this way when he is going through his crises. When he’s not going through it, I’m okay and hopeful. I think maybe our life can always be like this, and there will never be any more crises.
What has it been like raising your son mostly on your own?
His dad is a good dad in the sense that he pays the bills, but he isn’t physically present. The hospital stays, the appointments with specialists, the sleepless nights, all of that falls on me. My life isn’t my own. I try to work here and there, but I can’t be away for too long. I have to be flexible, which is why I have never worked a 9 – 5. I always have to be able to drop whatever I’m doing and rush to him if something happens.
There are times I look at myself and think, hm. This is actually you, you’re doing this. You are making it work. The way I have survived this past 9+ years raising him virtually alone is a testament to how capable I am. I am surprised every day, but it keeps me going.
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How has this affected your personal dreams and ambitions?
Nobody knows the future. I try not to blame his existence, but maybe if I hadn’t had him, things might have been better. I would have broken up with his father back then and gone for my master’s. I would be somewhere else by now. So yes, sometimes I do not like my life.
Still, I’m someone who feels like the universe will happen the way it’s supposed to, right? I’ve discovered a lot about myself since I had him. Not being able to do a 9–5 has allowed me to think outside the box and find things I actually love doing. I’m trying to focus on these things so they take me where I want to be.
Maybe I’ve had to put some things on hold. I’ve tried to travel so many times, but most options haven’t been feasible for me. They’ll say things like I can’t take him at first, I have to leave him, and because I’m a single mum, we don’t have the same surname, since I never got married, so I’ve had to just drop applications.
After uni, I got job offers but couldn’t say yes because of my responsibilities and how much he needs me. Even last year, I got a government job and really considered it, but I started thinking: where do I keep him? I’d have to move his school, and that’s a big no for me.
His teachers understand, and they baby him, pamper him because of that. I don’t want to take him to a typical Nigerian school where they’ll say that he complains of pain too much and think he’s overreacting. I can’t be away from him from morning to night every single day; it’s just not possible for me.
What about your relationships? How has being a mother shaped that part of your life?
About my dating life, I don’t want to blame it on the disease. I think it’s more about me having a child. But at the same time, I can’t read people’s minds. I have friends who are single with no kids, and their love lives are shit. So what are they going to blame it on, not having kids?
I try not to blame it on my child, but the few times I’ve come close to being in a serious relationship, and shared the truth about my child, it never ends well. I’m someone who doesn’t know how to lie, and I don’t like to deceive people. This is something huge you’d have to know about me. So on the first date I bring him up. And it’s more than just having a child, but also his needs. So I tell them, and maybe something changes when I do, or maybe they were never serious in the first place.
I’m a lover girl, a hopeless romantic, so part of me still believes I’ll find someone who will stay, love me, and love my child 100% the way we deserve, without worrying so much about the disease. Because honestly, no matter how hard life is, there’s always something harder. I’ve done this for nine years. If I can do it, then if someone really loves me, they should be able to say, “We’ll be fine, it’s not that deep.”
For me, the issue is more about having a child and how that shapes my dating life. The people who walked away when I told them are just stupid, they never really liked me. I won’t put that on my child. Most people have shitty love lives anyway, because some men are trash. So I don’t think it’s mainly about me telling them about the disease. If they really liked me, they’d stay regardless.
There was even someone who said, “Oh, it’s not an issue, I love you, I’ll stay.” But then I saw how he acted, he never really included my child in his plans. He’d ask, “How is he?” but that was it. He wasn’t in the picture. Maybe he thought when we married, I’d leave my son with my mum. But that’s never happening. My child comes with me, always. So I had to break up with him.
Yes, I hate that this happens. I feel like it’s unfair. But I console myself by saying even if I didn’t have a child, I might still be unmarried with a shitty love life, like some of my friends. So I don’t really worry about it. I believe the right person will come, and when they do, everything will be good.
How do you find the strength to keep going?
I’ve had to force myself to find little things to do for myself, like work I enjoy or hobbies, but the truth is, my life isn’t really mine. At any moment, a phone call can make everything else irrelevant.
What keeps me going is faith. I like to think I’m someone whose faith is very strong. Even before I had a child, whenever I was going through something, people would ask, “All this is happening to you and you’re still smiling? Aren’t you bothered or worried at all?”
But that’s just how I think. I tell myself, “Evie, everything will be fine.” Even during hospital visits, when he’s on oxygen or going through so much, I look at him and think, “Even if it takes a few days or weeks, we’ll still walk out of here. He’ll still go home, eat, play, and be fine.” That’s how I process things.
So when these pastors or alfas come and tell me things, I’m always shocked. Most of them don’t even know me, but they’ll say, “Don’t worry, God said your child will not die. You will never mourn your son.” I hold on to those words because they align with what I already believe.
Recently, I followed a friend to a celestial church to see a prophetess. She looked at me and said, “You’re worried your child won’t live long. Don’t worry. God said you’ll never mourn him.” And I held on to that, because it’s my faith.
Sometimes, I do cry. I even find myself wishing it would just end, let him be free, let me be free. But the truth is, I would rather live my life like this than live without him. I can’t imagine my life without him. As hard as it is, I still prefer this to the alternative.
So yes, when pastors tell me these things, it helps and strengthens my faith. I thank God because I’m a Christian, and I believe in Him. Even though sometimes I think many of them are fake, my faith doesn’t shake. I’ve been doing this for almost ten years now, I can’t believe I would go through all of it only to lose him.
We’ve had terrible times, including the stroke he had before, and the doctors were shocked that he recovered. But he did. He’s still in school, still learning, his brain is still functioning. So yes, I believe we’ll be fine eventually.
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If you could speak to your younger self, what would you say?
If I could go back, I’d tell my younger self to think carefully before making that decision. Honestly, I would’ve had an abortion. It hurts to say, because I love him with my whole heart, but it would’ve saved us both so much pain.
Still, I can’t imagine my life without him now. He’s my cross to carry, and I carry it with love.
What do you want people to understand about your journey?
That being a single mum isn’t easy. Raising a child with sickle cell isn’t easy. My strength doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there. Behind every smile, there are sacrifices, hospital beds, and sleepless nights.
I don’t regret my love for my son. But I wish people understood the weight of this life and how much it costs to keep showing up every day.
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