Sallah is tomorrow, and Muslim families across Nigeria are knee-deep in preparations. But for those who grew up in polygamous households, celebrations like this come with added layers. It’s not just about what to eat and drink, it’s about which wife is hosting, how much tension will be flying under the surface, and what version of family you’re expected to show up for.
We asked five Nigerian Muslims to share what Sallah looks like when you’re from a polygamous home, and they have stories for days.
“It’s all picture-perfect until you look closer ”— *Fawas, 32
*Fawas grew up watching three women host one man. His father insisted on togetherness, but the energy in the room told a different story. Even now, Eid means reading body language and trying not to trigger long-buried drama.
“My dad has three wives, and my mum is the second. Everyone lives in their own house, but during Sallah or Ramadan, he insists we all gather at the first wife’s house, which is also the main family house. As a kid, everything always seemed normal. The food was plenty, everyone looked nice, and there were always visitors. But now that I’m grown, I can tell the peace is fragile. The wives are cordial, but that’s it. They take turns smiling politely and making sure their children don’t cross invisible boundaries. It gets worse when guests come. Each wife wants to be the one who looks like the matriarch — the one who cooks more food, dresses better, and gets the “Welcome, sir” out first. No wife wants to be seen as not contributing.
My siblings and I try to be neutral, but that neutrality is emotional labour. I have one full sibling, and the rest are half-siblings. You’d think we were cousins with how tense it gets sometimes. I remember some years ago, I took the third wife’s last-born child with me to help distribute Sallah meat. I guess she didn’t know he went out with me, because by the time we returned, there was already chaos in the house — they thought the boy had gone missing. The moment she saw us, she rushed over and snatched him from my arms like I was a kidnapper. After that, her children kept their distance from me for the rest of the two days we all spent together.
My dad? He’s either blind to it or doesn’t care. He’ll call everyone out for pictures. If one wife is missing, he’ll shout for her. The man is feigning ignorance, but the house is clearly divided.”
“We do rotations. One celebration, one household” — *Samiat, 28
*Samiat’s father never pretended that the wives got along, so Sallah was always split in two. He’d greet one wife here and eat with another there, all while managing the politics of who got his attention first.
“I used to feel bad that we weren’t all together as one big family. But now, I appreciate the boundaries. My dad has two wives. I’m the first child of the first wife. And for most of my life, Eid was split. If Eid al-Fitr was spent at my mum’s house, Eid al-Adha would be at my stepmum’s. It was a needed arrangement to avoid drama. They don’t fight publicly, but there’s no real friendship either. As the eldest, I’m the one who calls my dad to remind him of whose “turn” it is. Sometimes, he forgets.
Whenever it’s my stepmum’s turn, I show up out of duty. But I can feel the difference. Her kids are sweet, but there’s an obvious line. Their mum watches them like a hawk, like they might love us too much. I once heard her say something along the lines of, “Don’t forget where your loyalty lies.” That day, I decided I’d never try too hard. My mum isn’t a saint either. I’ve had to call her to order on some occasions. But these days? I focus on my own peace. The joint-family fantasy isn’t for everyone.”
“My mum and stepmum are besties. We’re the ones confused” —*Yusuf, 25
*Yusuf’s mum and stepmum are genuine friends who plan family celebrations together. But while the women share harmony, the same can’t be said for the children.
“I have what people call a “rare polygamous home.” My dad has two wives — my mum and my stepmum — and they’re legit friends. Not just “hi hi” friends. They gist, cook together, and plan Sallah as a team. Growing up, I didn’t realise how rare that was. The weird thing is, my half-siblings and I aren’t as close. My full siblings and I are tight, but the rest? We’re civil. Maybe it’s school, or distance, or the awkwardness that naturally comes with “half-half.” We try to match our mothers’ energy, but it’s hard.
During family celebrations, I always admire how my mums delegate duties and insist we all dress alike. They even wear matching lace. It’s cute, but I can’t lie, it feels performative sometimes. They both know our dad is a chronic flirt, but neither ever speaks about it. So when we all gather to pray or take pictures, it’s like everyone is agreeing to pretend we’re a united front. I love them for making it peaceful, but I don’t know if I’d ever try polygamy myself. There’s too much work that goes into keeping appearances.”
“I always feel like I’m betraying someone” — *Maryam, 27
*Maryam found out about her stepmother by accident, and the emotional distance never fully closed. Now an adult, she tries to navigate both homes during Eid, but both women make the celebration feel more like something to be endured than a joyful gathering.
“I was 11 when I found out my dad had another wife. It wasn’t a family announcement. I just overheard my aunt on the phone talking about my half-brother. That day, I asked my mum who he was, and her face changed. She didn’t lie. She just said, “That’s your father’s other child.” And that was the end of it. My dad never tried to blend the homes. He’d attend Eid prayers with us, then disappear for the rest of the day without explanation. For years, we never visited his second family. My mum didn’t want us “exposed to the woman who stole her husband.” Her words. I grew up with this silent resentment around the other house. When my dad gave gifts or sent food from that side, my mum would barely acknowledge it.
It wasn’t until I got into university that I made the choice to visit. I wanted to know my half-siblings and draw my conclusions after years of hearing my mum make suggestive comments about their mum. Now, I occasionally visit during special celebrations like Sallah. It’s never a long stay, just enough to greet their mum, say a few prayers, and eat something light. But the visits are complicated. My stepmum calls me “that girl” — not to my face, but I’ve heard it slip. She smiles when I show up, but something else plays out when I’m not there.
My half-siblings are warmer. Especially the sister who’s closer in age to me. We’re not super close, but we talk now and then. The younger one doesn’t know what the tension is about, so he treats me like any other aunt who visits. Still, it’s hard. I feel like I’m betraying my mum when I visit them. And when I stay away, I feel like I’m ignoring a part of my family that exists whether I like it or not.“
“My siblings and I once fought because our mums were fighting” — *Rahman, 31
People talk about wives not getting along in polygamous homes, but they never talk about how it trickles down to the kids. *Rahman knows this feeling all too well.
“My dad had four wives at one point, but now it’s three. My mum is the last. My closest friend growing up was my brother from the second wife. We went to the same school, wore the same clothes, and spent lots of time together. Then, during Sallah one year, our mums fought over something petty. I think it was about meat. Suddenly, we couldn’t hang out. My stepbrother would avoid me in school. On Eid, we couldn’t run around together like we always did. It was just weird.
Even now, at 31, there’s a lingering awkwardness. We’ve moved past it, but our closeness never returned. Family celebrations bring it all back. At our last Sallah gathering, our dad insisted we all take a group picture. I saw my mum whisper something to my sister, and she immediately wiped off her smile. My stepmum saw that and made a snide remark. Next thing you know, the mood went cold. That’s polygamy for you. One small crack, and everything topples.”
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