Trigger Warning: This article contains sensitive topics, including physical assault and sexual abuse, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised.
For many Nigerian children, their parents’ divorce didn’t just happen to their mum or dad; it happened to them too. It was a turning point for how they saw love, home, and themselves.
In this story, we spoke to Nigerians who watched their parents’ marriage fall apart at different stages of life. They share how it shaped their lives and what they’ve learned about healing.
“I didn’t know about the divorce until I turned 18” — Mel*, 30
Growing up, I never suspected that the woman I called ‘mum’ wasn’t my biological mother. She treated me with care, raised me alongside her own children, and made sure I never felt left out. Everything changed when I turned 18.
My father sat me down and told me his wife was actually my stepmother. He explained that he’d divorced my birth mother when I was around three, claiming she had dabbled in diabolical things he didn’t want around me. I was devastated. I couldn’t understand why nobody had told me sooner — or why my real mother had never tried to see me. That revelation threw me into depression. I kept wondering why she abandoned me.
I saw my biological mother for the first time at 23. She came unannounced to my convocation. Seeing her on that day overwhelmed me, so I refused to speak to her. But after some weeks and pressure from relatives, I agreed to meet her. She told a completely different story.
According to her, she didn’t abandon me — she said my father hid me and blocked every attempt she made to reach me. She blamed my stepmother, too. This caused another emotional mess. I didn’t know who to believe. I still don’t, but I’ve made peace with not knowing the full truth.
These days, I’ve built a cordial relationship with my biological mum. But my stepmother will always be a mother to me. She was there during my formative years, and I had a happy, normal childhood. That’s what matters most to me.
“I didn’t see it coming after 31 years of marriage” — Blessing*, 22
It happened four months ago, but I still haven’t fully processed it. My mum called a family meeting and calmly announced she was leaving my dad, after 31 years of marriage.
I laughed.
I genuinely thought it was a joke. But she was serious.
She said she’d made up her mind over a decade ago but waited until her four children were grown. She didn’t want us to grow up in a broken home. I’m the last born, and I’d just graduated from university, so in her mind, her job was done.
I always knew my parents had issues, but I didn’t realise how deep they ran. I didn’t know that my father had started a whole family outside of our home. My mum had known for years but kept it quiet.
What pushed her over the edge was my dad falling ill with liver complications. She told us she refused to spend the rest of her life nursing a man who had built a new family elsewhere. She said, ‘Let him go to them.’
My dad was stunned. He nearly collapsed from shock, but nothing he or his sisters said changed her mind. Now she’s moved out and is processing the divorce. She’s also planning to relocate abroad to live with my eldest sister.
My dad, on the other hand, has finally admitted the truth about his other family and says he wants to introduce me to them. I don’t even know how to feel about that.
I’m the only one still living at home, so I’ve been caring for him since my mum left. It’s been strange, sitting with the man I’ve known all my life, and realising there’s a whole other side of him none of us knew. Some days, I feel angry on my mum’s behalf. Other days, I just feel numb. I never imagined our family would come apart this way, but I admire her courage deep down.
“I found the love letters that ended their marriage” — Uthman*, 28
I spent a long time thinking my parents’ divorce was my fault. It happened during a long vacation in the mid-2000s. I was nine, and my cousin and I were playing in my mum’s car when we stumbled upon a bunch of handwritten love letters hidden in the glove compartment. We read them and took them to my dad, thinking we were doing something right. Everything changed after that.
I remember them having a huge fight. A physical one where they were screaming at each other and throwing things. Even though I didn’t understand it fully, I knew their marriage would never recover.
Earlier that year, a teacher had already reported me for kissing a classmate at school. So when the divorce went to court, my dad brought it up, claiming my mum’s infidelity had corrupted me. That wasn’t true. All I’d ever seen were the letters. But still, he won custody.
My mum moved to a flat nearby, so I still got to see her, but things were never the same. Two years later, when my dad started seeing someone new, I felt like I was carrying the weight of the family’s collapse alone. His new marriage felt like a betrayal, and I acted out in every way possible. I punctured his car tires. I poured salt in food his new wife cooked. I tore up their wedding photos. Eventually, he sent me off to boarding school.
I couldn’t bring myself to accept my stepmother. I saw her as a symbol of everything that went wrong, even though she wasn’t the problem. It took growing up and therapy to realise I was a child, and nothing that happened was ever my fault.
I don’t think I caused the divorce anymore, but it took a long time for me to get over it.
“I knew he was evil, but longed for the normalcy other families had” — Dunsin*, 25
My mum’s decision to leave my father was the best thing she did for my sister and me. Even now, more than 15 years later, it’s still incredibly difficult for me to talk about the sexual abuse we endured at his hands.
I was only around nine years old when he started. My father would sneak into my room, hold my penis, and tell me to put his in my mouth. It was deeply messed up, and even then, I knew it was wrong. But I didn’t grasp the magnitude.
He told me he was ‘teaching me what to do with girls’ when the time came, and I just went along with it. This happened for a while, and I never told my mother.
She found out when she discovered blood in my six-year-old sister’s panties. My sister told my mum what our dad had done. Then, I finally confessed what he’d been doing to me.
One night, my mother simply packed us up and we ran. We stayed with her parents while they went through the divorce. Despite knowing my father was evil, my teenage years were often filled with a longing for the normalcy other families seemingly had. We struggled so much financially, while my father, a wealthy businessman, continued his life untouched.
As a boy, I never really spoke about the molestation. There were so many unresolved feelings because no one ever brought it up. I think my mother just wanted the whole thing to fade away. I have no relationship with my father now and haven’t seen him in the last ten years. I truly believe it’s best this way.
“Our relatives would pressure me to get them to reconcile” — Imade*, 28
My parents’ divorce process began one Christmas holiday. My mum took us to our grandparents’ place and told us we wouldn’t return to Abuja. That was when she left my dad.
I was in secondary school, and what I understood was that their fights over money had escalated to the point where my dad became physically abusive. I remember being caught in the middle of one of their fights and getting beaten up. Still, I was angry with her for leaving. I didn’t want to change schools or move to a remote town in Osun. I hated that my life had to change because they couldn’t make their marriage work.
For a long time, I resented my mum and wished she had just endured for our sake. I was angry at my dad, too. Being the firstborn meant I became the third parent. They put me in the middle, accusing me of siding with the other. When my siblings later moved to live with my dad, I had to step in as though I were their mum.
Looking back, I understand now. They were never compatible, and their separation was for the best. But I carried the pressure of trying to fix things for years. Relatives suggested that I try to get them to reconcile, and I almost believed it was my job.
Their divorce has made me cautious about love. I overthink things and rarely live in the moment. I’m scared of history repeating itself. Still, I’ve healed. My mum is remarried. My dad, though still alone, is calmer. And while the resentment is gone, I sometimes worry about him more than anything else — the older he gets, the lonelier he is.
If you want to share your own story, I’d love to hear it here.
“My father was rich, but refused to pay my school fees” — Kennedy*, 63
I was seven when my parents separated. Back then, it wasn’t even called divorce — my mother simply left. That was how it was in the 1960s. When a man pushed too far, women just left the house
He had multiple affairs and eventually brought another woman into the house, which was the final straw for my mum. She moved out and remarried, but that marriage also ended in heartbreak after their child passed away.
Even as a child, I knew my father was selfish. He was a wealthy bank manager, but he didn’t care about any of his children. After the separation, I had to live with his own father, and it was that man who paid my school fees and raised me with love. My father didn’t contribute a penny.
Strangely enough, his absence didn’t break me. I was lucky to be surrounded by love from my grandparents. So even though I didn’t grow up with a present father, I didn’t feel lacking in the way most people might expect. He eventually apologised and came back into my life,t days before he died. That was all. It didn’t change the past, but I took it as closure.
“I’ve learned not to let their story define mine” — Yinka, 27
“My parents divorced while my mum was pregnant with me, so I’ve never known them as a couple. Nobody ever told me what caused the divorce. It’s just the way things have always been. And we’ve never talked about it.
When I was a child, they fought over custody of my sister, who was ten years older than I was. There was a boy between us, but he passed away. The court eventually ruled that my sister should stay with my dad, and I should live with my mum.
But when I turned four, my mum returned me to my dad, and from then on, I only visited her during the holidays. Growing up, I always felt a strange kind of loneliness — like I didn’t belong fully in either parent’s world. I didn’t have a deep connection with either of them; we just existed around each other. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that this is my reality.
These days, I keep things cordial. I call, visit occasionally, and respond when they reach out. Nothing more. I’ve learned to stop expecting more than they can give and not to let their story define mine.
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