Sometimes, life puts you in messy situations where you’re not sure if you’re doing the right thing or not. That’s what Na Me F— Up? is about — real Nigerians sharing the choices they’ve made, while you decide if they fucked up or not.

Years ago, Kemi*(51) made a promise to her sister she believed she would one day keep. But as life moved quickly, the responsibility she postponed slowly slipped out of reach. Now, with her sister’s children living troubled lives, she can’t help but wonder if prioritising her own home cost them theirs.

This is Kemi’s dilemma, as shared with Mofiyinfoluwa

When my older sister lost her husband in 2005, I felt her pain deeply. She was suddenly left to raise two young children alone, and from that moment, she lived entirely for them.

Then, in 2007, she fell ill. At first, we thought it was the regular ulcer pain she often complained about, so we never imagined it could be life-threatening. By August that year, however, doctors diagnosed her with severe gastritis that had progressed into a perforated peptic ulcer. She spent nearly two months in the hospital, and her condition worsened rapidly.

I’ll never forget the day I visited her in the hospital. I was shaken by how frail she looked. When her children went out to play, she called me closer and broke down in tears. She told me she felt like she’d gotten to the end of the road.

I immediately dismissed the thought and begged her to believe she would recover. But she kept returning to the same fear. She was terrified for her children, Praise* and Precious*, who were only eight and five at the time. She asked me to promise that if anything happened to her, I would take them in and raise them as my own.

Because I wanted to comfort her and truly didn’t believe she would die, I promised. After I returned home, she reminded me of that promise during our phone calls, and each time, I reassured her that everything would be fine.

Less than a month later, I received the call that she was gone.

As I stood beside her lifeless body, the promise I made suddenly weighed heavily on me. I had to confront a reality I hadn’t prepared for.

At the time, I was only a few years into my marriage and still trying to build my own family. I was already battling tension from my in-laws while struggling to have children of my own. Bringing two grieving children into such a fragile situation seemed risky, and I wasn’t sure my marriage could withstand it.

After the burial, I decided it was best to hold a family meeting to determine the children’s future. Eventually, a cousin in Ijesha volunteered to take them in. We agreed she would care for them through primary school, and afterwards, I would bring them to live with me. The arrangement felt like a reasonable compromise, and I convinced myself I was still honouring my promise, even if not immediately.

Over the years, I had children of my own, and motherhood quickly showed me how demanding raising kids could be. Each time I considered bringing my sister’s children home, something stood in the way. Either our finances were uncertain, or there was a sudden need to relocate due to my husband’s job. I always found a reason to postpone the decision.

Still, I stayed in touch with them. They often complained about their environment, saying my cousin gave them too many chores and treated them differently from her own children. Their complaints troubled me, but since they were fed, clothed, and in school, I couldn’t interfere. I tried to be present in other ways by buying them gifts and phones, sending provisions, and occasionally inviting them for holidays.

Years passed, and I convinced myself they would turn out fine. Then, in 2017, during Praise’s final year of secondary school, I received devastating news that he was expelled for theft and drug use.

I stepped in immediately and brought him to stay with me.  I counselled and enrolled him in another school. Still, he remained rebellious and constantly shut himself away from my kids and me. Before the first term ended, he stole my things and disappeared. Days later, we discovered he had returned to Ijesha. We tried enrolling him for his WAEC exams there, but my cousin soon called again to say he had run away and joined a cult. Every effort to rehabilitate him failed.

The guilt crushed me. Since Praise had chosen his own path, I decided to focus on his younger sister, Precious. I asked my cousin to send her to live with me, but Precious refused. My cousin explained that she had a boyfriend and didn’t want to leave the life she had grown used to. I decided to wait until she finished secondary school before insisting she move in with me.

Immediately after she graduated in 2021, I heard she had moved in with a man at barely 17. I travelled there, prepared to remove her by force if necessary, but she refused and threatened to harm herself if we involved the police. She told me to stop trying to play mother because hers was long dead, and she wasn’t going to be anyone’s servant again.

After we left, I confronted my cousin in anger, questioning her about the alleged maltreatment. She reminded me that she had stepped in when I ran from the responsibility, and she did the best she could. Her words felt like a slap. So, I stepped back in shame and let her be

It has now been over four years since I last heard from Praise, and Precious has two children with the man she moved in with.

Sometimes I watch my own children, only a few years younger, thriving at university, and I can’t help but wonder if things would have turned out differently for my sister’s children had I taken them in when she asked me to.  Some nights, she appears in my dreams. I wake up crying, convinced she knows I didn’t keep my promise. I live with the blame for how her children turned out, and it’s a guilt I fear I may never escape.

Read Next: My Best Friend Chose My Ex-Boyfriend Over Me