With age comes clarity, and sometimes decisions you make can have far-reaching ripple effects. In this piece, Zikoko went into a Lagos market and sat with five older Nigerians as they reflected on the love they lost, the partners they hurt, and the relationships they wish had gone differently.
From ghosting a woman who truly loved them to enduring a violent marriage they should have walked away from, these are stories of regret, and the what-ifs that still linger decades later.
“I wish I had married my girlfriend instead of ghosting her” — Bamiji* (60), M
In 1985, I started dating this gorgeous girl who sold agbo in the bus park. She loved me so much, but I was wary of the honesty of her feelings because so many other men in the bus park also wanted her. Soon enough, we got intimate, and I immediately knew she had an STI. I didn’t know how to tell her, so after the first few times we slept together, I pretended I didn’t know her in the bus park.
She would come to the bus park early in the morning to try to speak to me, but I never gave her a chance. After a while, she stopped trying, and we became distant. Now, she has a child of her own, but over the years, I swear she has gotten even more beautiful.
I still see her at the bus park every day, but we only greet each other — nothing else. I regret abandoning our relationship the way I did. I should have saved up some money to help her treat the STI, and then married her. I’m still unmarried now, and I’ll be 61 in October. I wonder what our life together could have been.
“My husband turned out to be a violent schizophrenic. I regret our marriage.” — Alexandra* (52), F
I wish I had never gotten married to my ex-husband. I didn’t have much of a choice, though; I was an orphan living with a distant widowed relative who was looking for a place to send me off to.
One day, in our village church, the church secretary of the regional district of East Nigeria came to visit. He took an interest in me and asked me some questions about myself, like whether I was a virgin and if I could cook well. I answered yes on both counts.
I was only 19, but I remember he was very impressed. He told me he was looking for a wife for his brother, who was a wealthy auditor in Lagos. The thought of elevating from farming in the village to the wife of an educated man delighted me so much that I accepted, and they set the wedding for a few months later.
Around that time, a boy in the village beside mine fell in love with me. He was also 19, but he was working as an apprentice at a big store. He bought me things I had never owned before, like dresses with flower prints, shoes and even a brassiere. He even asked me to run away with him, but I rejected him and his gifts because I was already promised to the auditor. I thought God would be angry with me for breaking my engagement.
In September 1992, I got married in a small parlour ceremony to the auditor who didn’t seem as excited as I was. After two weeks as a new bride, I started to see hell. It turned out that the auditor was a violent schizophrenic who would hit me at the slightest trigger. Three weeks after our wedding, he broke my eye socket with his fist and sent me out of the house in the middle of the night, naked and covered in blood. Our neighbours at the time took me to get treatment and urged me to run away, but I had no place to go.
I tried to tell his family, but they said that I was young and strong and should be able to endure it. Meanwhile, I heard the village boy had started his own shop in Ikeja and was doing great for himself. I wished I had run away with him instead. I left that violent man after eight months of sadness and suffering. I really regret marrying him.
“I regret letting my wife and my older sister get close. “ — Abayomi* (50), M
When I got married 20 years ago, I thought it would be nice for my older sister and my wife to be close friends. My sister could help us settle any disagreements and also teach my spouse how to be a good wife.
I had some challenges at the time. I had no money, so I slept in the bus park while my wife stayed with my sister. After a while, I managed to rent a little room for my wife and our daughter while I still continued to sleep in the park. I was saving up for my own bus, so I didn’t have a lot of disposable income, but I thought my wife understood.
My sister got under my wife’s skin and encouraged her to leave me. She told my wife that she could make money for herself and didn’t need me because I wasn’t well off. This evil advice caused a rift in our marriage, and my wife moved out.
It’s been a long time since then, but now I’m much better off. I have a two-bedroom apartment in Surulere, but she still won’t move back in with me. She says she can make all the money she wants on her own.
I visit my daughter twice weekly, but I wish we all lived under the same roof. I’ll never stop trying to win my wife back. I deeply regret letting her get close to my sister. I no longer talk to that homewrecker.
“I regret marrying my wife against my family’s wishes.” —Tomiwa* (48), M
They didn’t want me to marry an Ondo woman as an Osun man, but I didn’t care. They encouraged me to leave her years after we got married, but I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it. My wife and I were passionately in love and determined to prove them wrong, but I’ve learned that it takes so much more than love to make a marriage work.
We’ve been married since 1998, and I don’t know what happened after we started living together, but we have fought bitterly every single day of our marriage. Small things like unwashed dishes could lead to a shouting match that lasts days. I don’t even know why she agitates me like that. I love her, but it’s impossible for us to have a small disagreement. The fights have weighed me down over the years. I’m anxious to go home, and our children always flinch at loud noises.
We’ve tried couples’ counselling, separation, and family intervention, but we can’t stop fighting. I refuse to leave her, even though I regret our marriage. A part of me is still holding out hope that we can go back to how we were before we got married.
“I rejected my brother’s advice and married my ex-husband” — Yetunde*(59)
I got married to my ex-husband in 1989, even though my older brother hated him and didn’t support the marriage. Our mother had passed, and our father was a polygamous man, so my two brothers and I only had each other.
Ade*, my ex-husband, courted me for over two years, and the whole time, he was as meek as a lamb. He would come to the hairdresser’s shop where I was an apprentice with lunches he cooked for me, packed carefully with meat, eggs, and fish. He was so caring and indulgent that, of course, I said yes when he asked me to marry him.
His family was also well off. He had his own car and a little printing business, but he was very humble and caring. I don’t know why, but my older brother hated Ade. He was vocally against our marriage and threatened to scatter our wedding if we went through with it.
On the day of our introduction, I remember my step-siblings had to stop my brother from entering the house because he had come with a machete. When I asked him why he hated my husband, he said something about Ade’s spirit being evil, and he could sense it. I thought he was just being too overprotective.
After I had our first son in 1991, Ade got a big recurring printing contract with the government and became a completely different person. He would come home drunk several nights a week, and he started hitting me and our baby.
At first, I didn’t tell anyone. I thought he was just stressed, and after a while, he would go back to being the loving person that he was, but he never did. I had two more children in four years, and the abuse only got worse. By then, Ade was extremely wealthy, but my children and I lived and ate like paupers.
One night, I went to him crying, begging him for money to buy food for the children. They hadn’t eaten all day because he didn’t drop any money for food, and I wasn’t allowed to work. That was when Ade said the only way those children would live a good life was if I took myself out of the picture. He said he had already seen the woman who was perfect for him, but he couldn’t marry her because no matter what he did to me, I refused to leave his house.
My first child was going to be five years old, and I wanted him to have a good education. I also wanted my other children to have a shot at life, too. So one day in 1996, with nothing to my name, I packed the few clothes that I had and left Ade’s house.
Since that time, so many things have happened. It was a struggle for Ade to let me see the kids. Once, when I visited them, they begged me not to come back because their dad would punish them after every visitation. This strained our relationship. My older brother tried to step in to insist that I should be allowed to see my kids, but Ade had big money and government connections, so he threatened my brother into silence.
Without my kids, I lived like a shadow of myself, and I sold fruits by the road to get by. One by one, when each of them entered the university and became a bit more independent, they came to look for me, and now we have a secret relationship that their father and half-siblings know nothing about. I love having my kids in my life again. My first son just paid for a nice apartment for me in Surulere. He has assured me that I’ll soon stop selling fruits here, and he’ll rent a shop for me when he earns a better salary.
I haven’t laid eyes on Ade since 2006, and I don’t want to. I wish I had listened to my older brother. I wish I had never been taken in by Ade’s behaviour in the beginning. It has been an extremely difficult time for me.
Editor’s note: These conversations were had in Yoruba/Pidgin English and were translated to English and edited for clarity.
*Names have been changed to protect the identities of respondents
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