On the Streets is a Zikoko weekly series about the chaos of modern dating: from situationships and endless talking stages, to heartbreak and everything it means to be single in today’s world.
At 44, Malik* has loved deeply, lost painfully, and learned to live with the weight of regret. From a teenage romance that defined his youth to a forced relationship that left him raising a child alone, finding love has been difficult.
In this story, he opens up about his dating history and why he’s made peace with walking through life alone.
What’s your current relationship status, and how do you feel about it?
I’m single and mostly resigned to my fate that I’ll always be. I believe the woman I was destined to be with died, and it’s all my fault.
That sounds tough. How did you arrive at that conclusion? Walk me through your dating life.
My first relationship was with Faiza*. In 1996, when I was about to enter SS1, we met at Arabic school and became close friends. We lived in the same community, so it didn’t take long before we started dating. Our parents even knew each other. Everyone knew us as the Romeo and Juliet of our area.
Things were great until after secondary school in 2000. I got admission into a polytechnic, but Faiza decided she didn’t want to continue schooling. She got a paid job at a computer firm. That was when her attitude began to change.
In what ways?
She started hanging out with different men from work. Whenever I asked, she’d say they were just friends. I couldn’t do much, so I ignored it, but our relationship slowly faded. She stopped visiting as often, and I kept noticing new expensive things on her. When I asked about them, she got defensive. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.
She also started insulting me, calling me unmanly because I wasn’t hairy. I became so insecure that I started buying beard oil and trying to change myself for her. Meanwhile, there was a guy from her office who had everything she said I lacked. Before long, people around started saying they were sleeping together.
Oh. Did you confront her?
I did. She denied everything because I didn’t have solid proof. I eventually dropped it, but the trust was gone. About a month later, she told me she wanted to end the relationship. She said she was tired of waiting on me for marriage. I begged her to reconsider since I had only a year left in school, but she didn’t care.
I refused to accept it at first. I kept visiting her family, hoping she’d change her mind. She told me to stop coming, but I said even if we weren’t together, I still had a relationship with her family. Not long after, they started acting strange, too. One of her sisters even told me outright to stop coming.
That was when it truly hit me that we were done. I was heartbroken. I could barely focus on school. It was a miracle I didn’t fail my final exams.
How did you cope with the breakup?
For a long time, I shut down emotionally. I later heard she was dating another guy from our area, and that hurt even more because she’d been the only girl I ever really loved.
After my NYSC, I got a job that took me to the East. That distance helped me heal. I visited Lagos occasionally but avoided her. On one of those visits back home in 2005, I met Hafsat*. She worked at a nearby chemist as an attendant. I was lonely, and she was very friendly. We started hooking up, and it stayed casual until she got pregnant.
It was so hard to accept what happened. I was barely 25 and not ready to be a father. I even tried to talk her out of keeping the pregnancy, but she told my mum, who sided with her. I had no choice but to support her.
The pregnancy forced us into a relationship neither of us was ready for.
And how did the relationship go?
It wasn’t the smoothest ride. I was mostly away for work in another state while she stayed in Lagos. Sometimes she slept over at my mum’s place, but soon, money, shoes and bags went missing whenever she was around. My mum complained, but I defended her. I didn’t want to accuse the mother of my unborn child without proof, but it caused tension between them.
She gave birth to our son in July 2006, and that changed everything. I started to feel hopeful again, like we could make it work. I took on side gigs to earn more money and told her I wanted to start saving for our future.
She even encouraged me to join her daily contribution group. I trusted her with the money because I thought we were building something together. But four months later, everything collapsed.
What happened?
My mum called one day to say Hafsat had dropped our 10-month-old baby off with her and disappeared. I tried reaching her but couldn’t. Even her brother — the only family I knew — said he didn’t know where she was. I feared she’d been kidnapped and almost went to the police.
Then, a month later, she called. She said she’d left because she was tired of the relationship and motherhood. She told me to let my mum raise our son. When I asked about the money, she avoided the question. It was about ₦300k in total. I was devastated.
That must’ve been really painful. How did you recover from that?
I focused on my work and my son, but it wasn’t enough to mask the anger and loneliness that consumed me. In 2008, I moved back to Lagos for a new job. That was when Faiza came back into my life.
Wait. How did that happen?
She’d been in a terrible accident that left her hospitalised for months and cost her one eye. I heard about it and decided to visit. Seeing her again brought back old feelings. She apologised for the past, and I forgave her.
We started talking again and got back together at the end of 2009. It felt like fate had given us a second chance. She was kinder, more mature, and treated my son well. But I also didn’t trust her completely.
Why not?
I couldn’t shake the fear that she might hurt me again. I also wanted to be sure I wasn’t just a rebound. The man she’d been dating left her after the accident, and she felt vulnerable. Then she started pressuring me to marry her. I wasn’t ready.
She reminded me of the promise I made years ago when I’d begged her to wait for me. I tried to explain that I wasn’t the same person anymore; I had responsibilities and a child to raise. But she didn’t want to hear it. She gave me an ultimatum and broke up in 2011 when I refused to marry her.
I tried to win her back, but she stood her ground. Her mum even insulted me, calling me a coward. I eventually let her go. Then, less than a year later, she got married to a much older widower.
Right. How did that make you feel?
It crushed me. She cut me off completely after she got married, and it felt like losing her all over again. I tried distracting myself with casual flings, but nothing worked.
Three years later, I heard she had died.
What? How?
They said it was a brief illness. I went to her burial and cried like a child. I couldn’t shake off the guilt. A part of me believed I was somehow responsible for her death. Her husband didn’t even seem to mourn her. He remarried soon after. Sometimes, I think if I’d just married her, maybe she’d still be alive. Since her death, I’ve found it difficult to form serious romantic relationships.
I’m sorry. How have these experiences shaped your idea of love and relationships?
I’ve grown detached from the whole idea of love. The two times I tried only brought me pain, and I still haven’t forgiven myself for how things turned out. Sometimes I wish I’d been less cautious and taken the risk of being with the person I loved before I lost her.
Finally, how are the streets treating you these days? Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10.
I’m content with the peace I have now. My focus is on my son and the life we’re building together. I don’t think there’s anything left for me in relationships.
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