When Fisayo*(25) met Dotun*(30), he was a laid-back older friend who liked getting high and hanging out. Their friendship quickly evolved into something deeper — first casual sex, and then marriage.
But a year into their marriage, everything began to unravel. Fisayo found herself pregnant, alone, and afraid, facing a difficult choice. So she did the only thing she could think of: she packed a bag, disappeared, and walked away from the life she thought she was building.
What happened next is a story she’s never shared until now.
This is *Fisayo’s story As Told To Betty:
I met Dotun* in August 2018. There was nothing romantic between us at first — we were just good friends. We had a lot in common and enjoyed the same activities, so we spent a lot of time together. I was 18 and had just started university, while he was 23 and had already finished his undergraduate studies.
Whenever he came around the school area, he’d take me out for drinks, and we’d get high together. By December, after a few months of friendship, we started having casual sex. It was great, and our friendship didn’t suffer for it.
In February 2019, after one of our usual hookups, he asked me to be his girlfriend. I wasn’t sure about the depth of my feelings, but I said yes. We were good friends, and he clearly cared about me, so I figured things would work out.
I felt the same way when he asked me to marry him later that year, so I said yes again. My family had no major objections. From the outside, we were a couple that made sense. My mum did try to dissuade me from getting married that early, but she ultimately supported my choice. Dotun and I got married in January 2020.
Now, I need to mention that although Dotun and I made it to the altar, it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. He had cheated on me during the course of our relationship, and after I had forgiven him the first few times, I decided to cheat back. We buried those issues and forgave each other, promising to use our marriage as a clean slate. It didn’t go the way I thought it would.
Marriage was an entirely different ballgame, especially when it came to my relationship with Dotun’s family. For starters, his mother didn’t like me. She was a very traditional woman who didn’t understand my lifestyle.
Whenever she visited, she’d see us drinking together or clock that we were high, and she’d get upset. In her eyes, even if Dotun was involved in those things, I was supposed to hold myself to a higher standard “as a wife” and pull him off that path.
She also couldn’t stand that I was irreligious. I hated joining them for morning devotion, especially since they always held it at an unreasonably early hour. That was one of the first major points of friction in our marriage.
I also had issues with his brothers. They didn’t respect our space — eating up all our food, staying longer than any visitor should and having friends over without clearing it with me or Dotun first. When I tried to bring it up, Dotun took it as me not being welcoming of his family.
Another thing that caused friction between us was the issue of pregnancy. A few months into our marriage, Dotun wanted me to take out my IUD. I was reluctant because I didn’t think I was mentally ready for a baby, but I did it anyway. Soon, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t like where we stood in our relationship, so I kept it a secret and got rid of it. Not long after, I got pregnant again. I was alarmed, but after telling Dotun this time, he persuaded me to keep the baby. Subsequent scans showed that I was having twins, which delighted me.
Unfortunately, my relationship with Dotun only worsened. We started fighting a lot more than usual. I found out he was cheating again, which upset me. His casual betrayal despite me carrying his twins gutted me, and I considered another abortion as a way out of the marriage. But my closest cousin, Susan*, encouraged me. Her excitement about the babies motivated me to keep going. I thought that once I had the twins, everything would settle down, but my arguments with Dotun kept escalating.
When I was 28 weeks pregnant, Dotun and I had a huge fight. It was over something silly, like who was going to take the car, but Dotun said something that chilled me to the bone. He said he was going to take my babies from me as punishment after I gave birth, and there was nothing I’d be able to do about it. Then he took the car and left me home alone.
I decided right then and there that I wouldn’t let him get his hands on my children. It was obvious to me that he wanted to trap me in the marriage with the children and make all of us suffer. I called my aunt, who worked in healthcare, and asked for her help with a late-stage abortion. She refused, saying she didn’t want anything to do with it. I wanted to try to dilate myself, but I was afraid of something going wrong.
About three weeks later, Dotun and I had another stupid fight about the house chores. I had helped him iron his clothes, but he wasn’t satisfied with the way I did it. He threatened to take the babies again. I got frustrated with his yelling, and when he eventually stormed out, I decided that I was actually going to do something about it.
I packed a few clothes and left the house. I knew I couldn’t confide in my mum because we weren’t close, so I called my best friend instead. I told her I was afraid Dotun would follow through on his threats and take the babies away from me. It wasn’t something I was going to accept. I also knew that I wouldn’t have the strength or financial support to raise both of them on my own, but I knew I had to leave Dotun’s house.
My best friend took out a ₦300,000 loan and gave me the money. I immediately took a bus to Nassarawa. By the time I got there, I had several missed calls on my phone from my mum and Dotun. I broke my SIM, threw my phone away and continued my travels. I had no plans or a place to stay in Nassarawa, so once I arrived, I just wandered around a busy market. I eventually got to a predominantly Igbo section where people spoke English. There, a kind Igbo lady, much older than I was, took me to a health centre nearby. When I got there, I saw there was a Catholic orphanage mission close to it.
I went there and tried to inquire about giving up the babies to the orphanage. I told them that the father was irresponsible and wasn’t in the picture, but the matron was adamant that I could raise them. They kept telling me they would put me in a skill acquisition program and empower me so I could have enough money to care for the babies. I didn’t budge. Eventually, they agreed, and after 37 weeks and five days of pregnancy, I gave birth to a beautiful pair of twin boys.
After seeing my children, I became even more certain that I couldn’t let Dotun take them or raise them in the toxic environment we had created. There are no words to describe the world-changing pain of giving up those beautiful boys to the Catholic mission. I live with that ache every single day.
After I surrendered the twins, I made my way back to Lagos. I went to my parents’ house and told them I had been kidnapped, and that the kidnappers had taken the babies. It was a very chaotic time because I had been reported missing, and authorities had gotten involved. I don’t know if anyone really believed my story, but I stood firm and stuck to it. Dotun tried to get us back together, but thankfully, my parents didn’t make me go back to him. Our split eventually became permanent.
Now, neither of us has any kids from the marriage. I’ve tried to put it behind me and move on. I have a business that keeps me busy, and I’m making sure I choose myself each and every day. My heart only aches for my boys, but I think I made the best decision for all of us. I want to remarry in the future when I feel like I’m all grown up, but I’m not sure if I want kids or if they fit into that future.
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