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.
After years of battling insecurities, fertility struggles, and the pressure to prove she was “wife material,” Ada* (30) thought she’d finally found stability with a patient, God-fearing man who seemed ready to build a future with her. But after nearly seven years, he turned out to be nothing more than a thief of time, leaving her heart shattered in the worst possible way.
What’s your relationship status, and how do you feel about it?
I just found out my fiancé of six years got married to someone else. I’m still trying to process it, but I guess I’m single now. It hurts, but it’s for the best. The whole situation opened my eyes to the emotional abuse I’d endured in my relationships.
I’m sorry. But how did things get to this point?
It started with my self-esteem issues and need for acceptance.
Growing up, I battled health problems that made me self-conscious and convinced me I wasn’t attractive. That insecurity followed me into adulthood and shaped how I interacted with romantic relationships.
My first serious one was in 2010 when I met John through his younger sister. I was 15, almost done with secondary school and excited to date an older guy. I didn’t know what a healthy relationship looked like, so I jumped in.
How did it go with John?
I thought we were fine until I realised how much I tolerated. John had a habit of ghosting me for days whenever we disagreed. It made me scared to upset him, so I always gave in.
He was very close to his family. During semester breaks, I travelled to his village instead of going home. His family was traditional — they sold fufu, cooked with firewood, and swept with palm fronds. I wasn’t used to that lifestyle, but I forced myself to adjust to prove I was wife material. His sister once insulted me for making fufu wrongly and said my mother hadn’t trained me well. When John took her side, I started rethinking everything.
He also mocked my snoring, saying I disturbed the whole compound at night. The final straw came when he started pressuring me for sex even though we’d agreed to wait until marriage. When I refused, he called off the relationship. By then, I was too tired to fight for it. That was in 2017.
Must’ve been hard.
It was. But I was already falling for someone else, so it was easy to walk away. Solomon*, a guy from church I’d admired for years, had started giving me attention.
Tell me about Solomon.
I’d known Solomon since 2009 through the Nigerian Catholic Youth Organisation, where he served as president. I was an exco, so we met during quarterly meetings. I admired him because he was very charismatic and a good orator. I never thought I had a chance since a lot of girls liked him.
In 2017, we exchanged numbers during a retreat. A year later, I wished him a happy birthday, and that was how we hit it off. By 2019, when I came to Lagos for holidays, he asked me to be his girlfriend.
Sweet. How did that relationship go?
At first, it felt perfect. Unlike John, he was intentional. He met my mum and siblings, checked up on them, and respected my boundaries about waiting until marriage — until my birthday in April 2020.
We’d planned the day together, but he ignored me all day. When he resurfaced, he apologised and said he wanted to make it up to me “specially” by making love to me.
Hmm.
Unfortunately, nothing about that moment, which I’d initially been saving for my wedding night felt special. Sex with him was painful and unfulfilling. In hindsight, that was the beginning of the end.
After COVID restrictions eased, I returned to the East. We went from talking every day to irregular communication. He blamed it on his job as the Archbishop’s secretary.
Even when I visited Lagos, he often cancelled our plans because of work. Still, I stayed.
By 2021, rumours started spreading that he was sleeping with other girls in my parish. One even showed me their chats.
Wait, what?
I confronted him about the rumours. He claimed it all happened before we started dating. I believed him and let it go because I’d idolised him. He knew all my insecurities and health struggles and made me feel safe.
That same year, my PCOS worsened, and doctors had to remove one ovary. They advised me to have kids soon. I couldn’t tell my family because we were still mourning my dad, but Solomon stood by me. He sent supportive messages and promised we’d marry by 2023.
That must’ve felt reassuring.
It did. He even said he didn’t mind my snoring, something I’d always been embarrassed about. But despite how comfortable he made me feel, he never took me out or acknowledged me publicly. He claimed he was protecting me because of his position. ghost me for weeks, then return with apologies. And I kept accepting him.
By 2024, I reminded him of his marriage promise. He met my family and even collected our wedding list but later said he wasn’t financially ready. He wanted to postpone the wedding till 2025. When I expressed worries based on my fertility issues, he insisted we could adopt if I couldn’t have kids.
That was when he dropped a bombshell: he wasn’t pressed about the issue since he had a 7-year-old child living with his parents all along.
Wow.
He said he’d kept it a secret to avoid scrutiny from the church. I was shocked and hurt that he’d hidden it for five years, but I forgave him. I just wanted to move forward.
By then, I’d finished my master’s and gotten a job in Ogun, so we only saw each other occasionally. Still, I believed our 2025 wedding was in sight.
But after his visit in September 2024, he ghosted again. This time, it was worse. He ignored my calls and messages for almost three months. When I finally reached him in December, he said he’d been depressed. He revealed that he’d slept with his ex and she claimed to be pregnant.
Oh my goodness.
I was shattered. He begged for patience while they confirmed the DNA and asked for space to “fix things.” We’d been together for six years, and I felt too invested to leave, so I agreed.
By February, he disappeared again. I came to Lagos hoping to see him, but couldn’t find him. He’d been transferred to a different deanery and moved to the Island. His sister acted cold and claimed she didn’t know me. Sometimes, he’d randomly pick up my calls, say he loved me, and hang up. Those months were a cycle of worry, anger, and confusion.
Then, two weeks ago, he reached out. He said he wanted to see me, and I told him I’d be in Lagos the next day. I was excited — it had been almost a year since we last saw each other.
When we finally met, he explained that his dad had been sick and shuttling between Lagos and the East made communication hard. He claimed he’d resolved things with his ex and only needed space to “ decongest” the negativity. I was annoyed but relieved we’d moved past it. He promised to visit again that Friday.
And did he visit?
No. Two days before the supposed visit, my younger sister called to ask if I was still dating Solomon because she’d seen his wedding photos on Facebook. I thought she was joking until I checked and realised he’d deleted his profile. She sent screenshots, and that was how I confirmed it was true.
I did some digging and found his wife’s page. He’d once stopped me from piercing my ears or fixing lashes and nails, yet his new wife had all of that. She’s pregnant too; most likely the ex he mentioned a while back. He proposed in February and married her on my birthday. I was furious and sent him the screenshots, but he never replied or picked up my calls.
When Friday came and he neither showed up nor reached out, it hit me that the relationship was over. It’s been a week since I found out he got married to someone else on my 30th birthday. I still don’t know how to piece my life back together after he wasted almost seven years of it. I’m too ashamed to open up to the few people who even knew about us.
I’m sorry you had to go through that. How have these experiences shaped your idea of love and relationships?
I’ve realised how much I settled because my self-esteem was so low that I thought no one else would ever love me. I saw more than enough signs, but ignored them until it was too late. Honestly, my grief is still very fresh, and I’m taking time to process everything and learn from it.
So, how would you say the streets are treating you? Rate it on a scale of 1-10
I’ll give it the barest minimum: 1/10. My new single life feels like a gut punch. I never imagined I’d be back here, and it’s still hard to accept my reality.
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