*Benedicta, 28, converted to Islam despite her Christian family’s disapproval — a decision from personal conviction and the love for her boyfriend, *Faisol (31). 

But everything crumbled three years into a relationship she fought hard to protect. After enduring religious bias, tribal resistance and emotional distance, the man she thought she’d marry proposed to someone else, just days after they last spoke.

This is Benedicta’s story, as told to Adeyinka

It all started in 2019.

I’d just completed NYSC camp and was stepping out of the office one day when I saw a guy who looked familiar. I walked up to him and said, “I know you from somewhere.” He asked if I’d been at the NYSC orientation camp, and when I said yes, he smiled and replied, “I know you too — you’re the girl who had red hair on camp.” He was right. After we traced how we knew each other, he asked for my number. I was in a hurry and didn’t think much of it, so I gave it to him. That was how Faisol (31) and I started talking.

At first, it was just casual — some banter here and there. Then, at some point, he pulled the classic “I like you” card. I didn’t have anything against him, but I was Christian, and he was Muslim. I told him point-blank that it wouldn’t work. Even if we liked each other, our parents were unlikely to be on board, especially mine. I already knew religion would be a major issue for them, so I shut it down and cut ties with him completely. No texts, no calls — nothing.

In 2020, he popped up again out of the blue, saying he still liked me. I didn’t budge. He disappeared again and returned in 2021, still singing the same tune. That third time, I thought, “Maybe I should actually give this a shot.” We started talking again. He reminded me how quickly I’d cut him off the last time and said I hadn’t given us a proper chance. I listened. This time, I didn’t shut him out. We got closer over the next few months, and I allowed myself to get to know him. He’d come on too strong in the past, and I didn’t give him room to show who he was. But now, I relaxed. By November 2021, things had gotten serious. We made it official in February 2022.

Before we even got to that point, I’d already told my parents about Faisol — about the fact that he was Muslim and interested in me. It was chaos. My mum was livid. She even asked if that was why I’d stopped going to church. But I was sure of my decision, and I wasn’t going to change it.

On his end, his mum didn’t have any issues with us. But his dad raised concerns. He asked what would happen when we had kids. One parent would go to church, the other to mosque — wouldn’t that confuse the children? It was a fair question, but we believed in each other. We had deep, honest conversations. We shared similar values and knew what we wanted. It wasn’t about anyone else. So we stayed together.

Things weren’t perfect — they never are — but we were solid. Eventually, our families and friends stopped interfering.

In September 2023, I converted to Islam. It wasn’t an impulsive decision. I’d spent months researching and learning about the religion. Yes, Faisol was a devout Muslim, and I was a lukewarm Christian, but my conversion wasn’t solely about him. I could have deepened my knowledge of Christianity, but Islam stirred something in me, even though I still can’t fully explain why.

Also, my mum constantly insulted Islam, calling it a dark religion. That only fuelled my curiosity. I’d lived with a Muslim family in Port Harcourt when I was seven. I had Muslim friends. I had Muslim relatives. How could she speak so horribly about people I knew and loved? It didn’t make sense. When my parents found out I’d converted, they were devastated. They had so many unpleasant things to say. Meanwhile, Faisol’s mum was totally fine with it.

But that’s when things started to shift.

Up until then, we hadn’t rushed anything. We were taking our time. But when his mum found out I’d converted, she suddenly became eager for us to meet and take the next big step. I felt rushed, and I told him I wasn’t ready.

In 2024, we were still going strong when I got a scholarship to study in the UK. Before I left, Faisol was supposed to visit me in Port Harcourt in December 2023. That trip was the perfect opportunity for him to finally meet my parents. But again, my mum wasn’t having it. “He shouldn’t come near our house,” she said. She was being very difficult.

Eventually, we got Faisol to speak to my dad instead. He was more reasonable. With his help — and support from a few relatives — my mum softened a bit and agreed to the visit. But she didn’t let go completely. One thing she kept repeating was, “You changed your religion for this person. Since then, has he even introduced you to his family? Why are you forcing yourself on him? His parents haven’t even called me. It’s been radio silence.” She wasn’t entirely wrong. Yes, Faisol was part of the reason I converted. But he wasn’t the only reason.

Months after that drama, Faisol returned to me, saying there was tension at home. I was confused. Tension over what? He said it wasn’t about religion this time, but my tribe. His dad, a proud Yoruba man, wasn’t comfortable with the idea of his son marrying someone from Delta. I was stunned. All I could say was, “So what now?” Faisol assured me it was minor. He said he’d handle it. I took his word for it.

But two months later, I started noticing changes. He became distant and cold. I remember trying to reach him one day from the UK. I called, texted, and left voice notes. Nothing. Complete silence. I panicked because he lived alone. I was worried. When he eventually got back to me, his excuse was that he’d been purging. I asked if that also meant he couldn’t even send a short text. He apologised. I let it go.

Then it happened again. When I reached out this time, he got upset and accused me of “blowing up” his phone. He said if he didn’t respond, I should assume something came up. For context, this was on a Friday. He usually closes from work at 4 p.m., and I last heard from him around noon. After that? Radio silence until 1 p.m. the next day—almost 24 hours. His response made it clear that he didn’t care. I should have walked away then, but I stayed. I still believed we could fix what we had. But we didn’t. We broke up in August 2024.

About two weeks before we broke up, our communication fell apart. We weren’t talking as often, and when we did, it felt strained. I kept trying to reach out the week before the breakup, but he barely responded. On rare occasions, he replied to my texts hours later.

Two days before the breakup, Faisol travelled home to see his family. He planned to speak with them about the tribal concerns they’d raised about our relationship, and hopefully, smooth things over. I was hopeful. I thought this was a step forward — that he was going home to fight for us. But instead, he went completely silent.

I was in another country, trying to hold us together, calling repeatedly, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t even return my calls. When he finally picked up the day before the breakup, he sounded so casual, like everything was fine. He didn’t acknowledge the fact that he’d ignored me. He just said, “What’s up?” and gave a dismissive “I was busy.” Then almost immediately, he said he’d call me back. He never did.

I sent a message afterwards asking if he even liked me. The next morning, he responded with a long text saying his lack of communication had nothing to do with his feelings. He said he needed space, and I needed to learn how to give it. Then he said, “If people don’t give me space, I get rid of them.” I was stunned. I asked why he thought it was okay to say something like that to me, but he ended the conversation with a casual, “We’ll talk later.”

That night, I asked him to call. He told me to be the one to call since I was the one who wanted to talk. So I did. On the call, he said, “I can’t do this anymore. If I say I need space, I need space. You don’t give me space.” He had never said anything like that in our three years together. I reminded him that we’d barely spoken in weeks — how was I not giving him space? He didn’t answer. Then I asked, “Are you breaking up with me?” He said yes.

I cried through the call and didn’t even notice when he hung up. He called back around 1 a.m., saying he wanted to talk, but nothing meaningful came out of it. We stayed broken up.

After the breakup, Faisol and I still talked — not because we were trying to fix things, but because I missed him. Sometimes, he’d reply when I reached out. Other times, he’d ignore me.

In October 2024, during one of our random conversations, he said that if not for my stance on polygamy, he would’ve married me as a second wife. I was shocked, but I let it go. We’d had that conversation early in our relationship — he knew I didn’t support polygamy.

Then, in December 2024, I flew back to Nigeria. We agreed to see each other and talk in person. When we met, I asked Faisol what had happened to us. He said he wanted a big family and felt like I didn’t want that. I asked why that suddenly translated into marrying more than one woman. His response? “I love variety.” I didn’t press it and asked if he had started seeing someone else. He said no.

Despite everything that had happened between us, I let myself get intimate with him again that day. It was completely stupid of me. Then, three weeks later, I found out Faisol had proposed to someone else.

My head spun. We broke up in August. He proposed in January. Even after the breakup, we were still in contact. We had just seen each other. So, where did this other mystery woman come from?

It was a lot to process. Maybe the blow would’ve been easier if he had just been honest and told me there was someone else, that things were getting serious. But he didn’t.

I remembered our random conversation about marriage, not long after the breakup. He brought up one of my best friends who had just gotten married and asked if I was thinking about it too. I flipped the question back to him, and he said he might be getting married soon, then immediately added that he was joking. He even said he’d need at least a year to get to know someone before considering marriage.

Another thing that messed with me was how he kept pretending to be the “good guy” after we broke up. At some point, he told me he was still trying to convince his dad about us. According to him, his dad said people from Delta don’t last in marriage — we run when things get hard. I was surprised he even repeated something so cruel to me. I still don’t know if he was emotionally dense or was just trying to break my spirit.

After I returned to the UK, I decided I was done with Faisol for good. Before I left Nigeria, he’d already started acting cold and irritated around me again. But once I got back, the love bombing resumed. He started calling and texting, checking in like nothing had happened.

He kept at it, even two days before his proposal.

Yes. We were still in touch two days before he proposed to another woman. During one of our conversations, he casually mentioned he might get married before the year’s end. It shocked me, but I didn’t think too much of it. Then, two days later, I heard the news. He’d proposed.

I distanced myself after that. But even in the following month, he returned, reaching out like nothing had changed. That was when I finally told him off. I told him to stop calling and texting and leave me alone. After everything we’d been through, I clearly meant nothing to him. He’d never even been honest.

It’s honestly been so much to deal with. Right now, I’m not dating. I’m not even sure I have it in me to love again. I gave everything to that relationship. And I never even had the time to heal before he moved on and got engaged.

But I’m in a better place now. I’m leaning on Almighty Allah and keeping my distance from men and their sweet promises.


READ THIS NEXT: I Risked My 10-Year-Old Marriage for a Serial Cheater

OUR MISSION

Zikoko amplifies African youth culture by curating and creating smart and joyful content for young Africans and the world.