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.
Tumilola* (40) is a Lagos-born accounting officer and the firstborn of six. When her father’s alcoholism dismantled everything her childhood was built on, she became the person her family leaned on. She has been that person ever since. This is what she said.
Can you tell us about yourself?
My name is Tumilola, I’m 40. I’m from Osun state. I’ve been in Lagos since I was born, so Lagos is really all I know. I’m an accounting officer. These days I’m a pretty boring person, it’s just house to work and work to house. I attend church occasionally. That’s it, really.
I’m not passionate about many things anymore, if I’m being honest. Maybe at a point in my life I had interests, but right now I’m just dedicated to my work. I’m not a fun person. Sorry.
What made you decide to tell this story?
Nothing dramatic, honestly. I guess this is just a story I’m comfortable telling right now. It felt like time.
How would you describe the last few years of your life?
Chaotic. Kind of.
Take me back. What was your childhood like?
It was peaceful. I mean, I had a lot of siblings, and I was the first child, so there was the usual chaos that comes with that, but it was amazing all the same. My childhood was marked by playing games with my siblings and friends until I was tired. My dad was successful and very present in our lives. If I asked him for anything, I got it. None of us lacked. I never had to ask twice.
Then something started shifting. There wasn’t exactly one clear moment where everything changed. I just remember that one morning I was at our apartment, the one that accommodated everyone, and then the next morning we were at my grandfather’s house with our entire household. The house we usually only went to during holidays. It took me a while to understand what had happened. My mum was doing her best to shield us from the details, but eventually, in a one-bedroom space, nothing stays hidden for long.
What did you start to notice?
Alcohol bottles around the house. His words slurring. He barely made sense when he spoke. I didn’t really know what alcohol smelled like then, but I knew his breath always smelled horrible, and I didn’t like being close to him anymore. The father who used to spend evenings joking around with us was just gone, even when he was physically there. Somehow, all the money he seemed to have disappeared as well.
Did the money go before you understood what was actually happening?
Yes, the money I noticed first. Whenever we asked my mum for anything, she would shout at us, which was so unusual. Then my siblings and I started sharing a school allowance for the first time. This had never happened before. Then I started putting everything together: the bottles, the breath, how he was barely present, the way he used to be. I had memories of spending evenings joking around with my dad, and then suddenly none of that. He was just gone, even when he was physically there.
And my mum changed too. She went from being this sweet, easygoing woman to someone who snapped at everything. As children, we didn’t understand why. We just knew she wasn’t who she used to be.
What did moving into your grandfather’s place actually feel like?
It was very suffocating. I went from sharing a room with just my two sisters to sharing a living room floor with all my siblings because the only bedroom went to my parents. Six of us in a space that wasn’t even technically ours, it was my grandfather’s living room. I kept telling myself we were just on a long holiday. A year passed, and we were still there, and I had to accept that this was just our life now.
What did accepting it look like?
Gritting my teeth through the most uncomfortable parts of being poor, when we never were. It was a very big adjustment. Years later, after I turned 18, I realised I had to do something about it. My mum had to step up twice over because my dad had stopped being a provider entirely. Any money that came into his hands went to alcohol. He was always at the beer parlour or buying those sachet alcohols. So she was out from morning to night trying to keep us alive, and I was the oldest, so.
What did that look like day to day?
Wake up. Go to whatever work I’d managed to find. Spend the whole day there. Come home. Drop the money into my mum’s hands. Go to sleep. Then do it again.
And while you were doing that, what was happening to your siblings?
Everyone was affected differently by my father’s alcoholism and my parents’ neglect. My first sister gravitated to any man who promised to provide for her because there was no love or stability at home. Her elder sister, me, was busy helping my mum hold things together; my father couldn’t be relied on, and here was a man saying all the right things. Of course, she followed him even with glaring red flags. She was a mother before she turned 20.
My other sister started moving with friends I didn’t approve of, people who were too close to drugs and alcohol. I couldn’t really say anything. She was finding her own escape.
One of my brothers became close with street boys. Another one tried to hide the fact that he was drinking, but you can’t hide alcohol breath from people who spent their whole childhood smelling the same thing from their father. And the last one became a baby daddy with zero money to his name.
I became an aunt twice before I turned 25.
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I’m sorry. When you found out about your brother drinking, what did that feel like?
It felt like failure. I knew it wasn’t my job to raise my siblings. I knew that. But I still felt like I had failed.
Was there any pressure on your brothers to help carry any of this, the way there was on you?
None. My immediate younger sibling is a boy, and there was zero pressure on him to help the family or show up in any particular way. He was allowed to be reckless. I was not. I had to help my mum. I resent my parents and that brother a lot for that. A lot.
You were holding everything together, and no one was holding you. Who showed up for you during any of this?
No one, really. No one ever shows up for the firstborn daughter. I didn’t have a support system. That’s just how it was. It shaped me into someone who has a very hard time asking for help. I just don’t know how to do it anymore.
What did all of this cost you personally?
My love life. I’m a lover girl at heart, genuinely. But with the life I was living, I couldn’t afford to actually be with anyone. How do you explain to someone that your entire life revolves around your family because none of them are making enough effort to help themselves? It’s not something most people want to sit with.
Did you ever come close to choosing differently?
My second boyfriend, the last person I was ever with, asked if we could relocate to another state together. I said no. I needed to stay close to my family. He was the last relationship I had.
How do you feel about that now?
I just feel resentment. A lot of it. There were times I thought about killing myself, I can’t lie. It got that heavy sometimes.
What kept you going?
The song that comes to mind right now is, “If you ask me, na who I go ask?” I just kept going. I don’t have a straight answer for that.
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What is your relationship with your father like today?
He’s basically useless at this point. The father I knew as a child stopped existing a long time ago. What’s there now is just this person, everyone in the neighbourhood knows as the drunk. Any money that comes to him goes to alcohol. We’ve all had to come to terms with that.
Did you ever feel like you were parenting your parents?
My mum, no. I didn’t feel like I was parenting her. But my dad, yes. Being an alcoholic turned him into a child. Everyone had to clean up his vomit, watch over him, and manage him. So yes. I was parenting my father.
What is your relationship with him like today?
I mean, he’s basically useless at this point. The father I knew as a child stopped existing a long time ago. What’s there now is just this person, everyone in the neighbourhood knows as the alcoholic. We’ve all had to come to terms with that.
Do you think your family ever truly recovered?
No. How do you recover from decades of this? I’m honestly surprised I still talk to my siblings at all. None of us turned out particularly okay. That’s just the truth of it.
What do people misunderstand about children who grow up in homes like yours?
They think we had a choice in who we became. That we could have just decided to be fine. It is not as simple as that.
How did it shape you?
It made me someone who has a very hard time asking for help. That’s the main thing. I just don’t know how to do it. I’ve been doing everything alone for so long that needing someone feels foreign.
What does healing look like for you right now?
A coworker mentioned that therapy helped him through a dark period, and I started going. I’ve also opened a dating app. I don’t know if anything will come of it, but I’m trying. That’s new for me, trying.
If you could sit with the version of yourself in that one-bedroom apartment at your grandfather’s house, what would you say to her?
I’m so sorry. You do not deserve the hand you were dealt.
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*Names have been changed.
