Sulaimon*(49) describes himself as a Baba jeje, a man who avoids quarrels and prefers peace to confrontation. It’s how he imagined marriage would always be: quiet, easygoing, and free of drama. But more than a decade, three kids and countless surprises later, marriage has stretched him in ways he never saw coming.
In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he talks about growing up as the easygoing child, why motherhood turned his wife into someone unrecognisable, the day he walked out and ended up sleeping in a mosque, and why patience, not love, is the true glue of his marriage.
This is a look into his marriage diary.
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I thought I’d have a peaceful marriage
I’ve always been the calmest one in my family. Even my parents used to worry about me because of how soft I was. They thought I’d get bullied easily. I had a cousin who lived with us for a while, and even though I was older, he’d take advantage of me. I’d let things slide. It wasn’t because I was afraid; I just didn’t see the point of fighting.
As I grew older, my parents finally realised that it wasn’t weakness. It was a conscious choice. Trouble doesn’t interest me. The minute voices start to rise, I disappear. My peace of mind has always meant more than being “right.”
Naturally, I carried that into adulthood. I pictured my marriage as an extension of myself: peaceful, easygoing, quiet. Me, my wife and children living calmly without unnecessary drama. I dated before I met my wife, but the relationships didn’t last. Most of them complained about how I was too meek, not “man enough.”
But when I met my wife, we clicked from the get-go. She was soft-spoken, patient, and calm, almost like me. We rarely fought, and when we did, it never escalated into a physical altercation. We never had to involve a third party, and we didn’t have quarrels that lasted more than a few minutes. It felt like I’d found my soulmate, and I thought, “This is the woman I should marry. With her, peace is guaranteed.”
Motherhood changed my wife
The biggest shock of my marriage came after we had children.
In the early years, my wife was exactly the person I fell in love with: gentle and easygoing. But after we waited a couple of years for children, and they finally arrived, it was as if a switch had flipped. The calm woman I married gradually transformed into something else.
It started small. She became more impatient and raised her voice more often. Then it grew into full-blown arguments, mostly about the children. I recall a particular incident with our neighbour. He spanked our son, and to me, it was normal. Yoruba people believe it takes a community to raise a child. If the boy misbehaved, then the neighbour had a right to correct him. But my wife? She was furious. She wanted me to confront the neighbour immediately.
That’s not me. I don’t fight, I don’t challenge people, especially over something I don’t consider serious. But she wouldn’t let it go. That was the beginning of many disagreements between us. She became the overprotective mother, and I stayed the calm father who didn’t see issues as worth the drama.
Outsiders still call her “Mama jeje” because she carries herself quietly in public, but only I know the fire she has inside the house. Sometimes I joke that people should swap places with me for one month to see the other side of “Mama jeje.”
Sometimes I want to run away
Even after three children and more than 16 years together, I still have moments where I wonder if I’m truly cut out for marriage.
One of the hardest times was when our third child came. We had agreed to stop at two, but by the time she discovered she was pregnant again, it was too late. Financially, I was under pressure. School fees for two children, another baby on the way, rent, feeding — everything at once.
When the baby finally came, I was overwhelmed. Visitors trooped in for omugwo, we had to throw a naming ceremony I didn’t even want, and family members were constantly in and out of the house. There was no peace anywhere.
One day, it became too much. I left the house without telling anyone and just kept walking. I didn’t know where I was going; I just wanted out. Eventually, I ended up in a mosque. I prayed, lay down, and slept. It wasn’t until after the last night prayers that the muazin tapped me, asking if I wasn’t going home.
When I got back around 11 p.m., everyone was worried sick. I could see the relief on their faces when I walked in. And as much as I felt guilty, I also felt lighter. That brief escape helped me reset.
Even now, whenever things pile up, I sometimes fantasise about packing my bags and disappearing. I don’t act on it anymore, but the thought makes me question whether I’m truly prepared for marriage or qualified to be the head of a home.
I’ve learned to stop avoiding fights
Before marriage, I avoided confrontation like the plague. But fatherhood forced me to change.
One afternoon, my daughter went to buy something. From the balcony, I could see her walking back when a young man, maybe in his twenties, started disturbing her. She wasn’t interested, and I could see her resisting him.
The old me would’ve kept watching, especially since she was handling herself well. But something in me snapped; maybe fatherly instinct. I shouted down from the balcony, warning the man to leave her alone. He looked up, saw me, and backed off.
That moment stayed with me. It showed me how marriage and fatherhood had changed me. I’m still soft-spoken, still peace-loving, but I’ve learned there are times when silence is not an option.
Marriage forced me to become a different kind of man
One thing nobody prepared me for is the pressure of being a man in marriage. You’re expected to provide, protect and lead. And if you fail at those, it’s not just about failing your family — it feels like failing yourself. That kind of pressure isn’t something anyone teaches you. No manual or masterclass tells you how it works. You figure it out on your own, day by day.
Before marriage, I was the man who let everything slide. Trouble didn’t interest me. But as a husband and father, I’ve realised there are situations you can’t avoid. I’ve had to step up, raise my voice when necessary, even confront people when I’d rather not.
Sometimes, I blame my wife for forcing me into uncomfortable situations. But deep down, I know it’s not just her. It’s the role itself. Marriage doesn’t let you remain the exact same person you were before. It pushes you to evolve, whether you like it or not.
I’ve lost some of that extreme calmness I once had, but I’ve gained strength and boldness. Being a husband and father requires more than keeping the peace. It requires becoming the kind of man your wife can rely on and the father your children can look up to, even when that means standing in the middle of the storm.
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Love isn’t enough
If I could give my unmarried self one piece of advice, it would be: keep an open mind. The person you marry will not remain the same forever. People evolve, and your partner will go through phases you may not recognise. You must be prepared to adapt.
My wife changed after we had kids, and at first, I thought she was pretending all along. But I later realised it was motherhood reshaping her. If I hadn’t opened my mind to accept her new reality, we probably wouldn’t be together today.
And above all, love is not enough. Love will be tested over and over. What sustains a marriage are the other pillars: patience, understanding, perseverance, and forgiveness. Without those, the love will crumble quickly.
I love my wife deeply, but if I didn’t have patience, if I wasn’t willing to persevere during the tough seasons, we’d have gone our separate ways long ago.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.
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