Marriage Diaries

Nurein* (54) never grew up imagining marriage as something romantic. For him, marriage was simply the next stage of responsibility. He married young, built a home with the woman who understood him best, and unexpectedly became a single father after tragedy struck. Almost twenty years later, he found love again in the most unlikely place.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he reflects on rebuilding after loss, blending two families into one, learning to express himself again, and why love cannot stand alone in a marriage.

This is his marriage diary.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

Marriage wasn’t romance for me; it was about responsibility

Before I ever thought about getting married, I’d already decided I wasn’t a romantic person. It’s not that I didn’t care about women; I just didn’t express affection the way people expect. I believed in providing, protecting and showing up. Everything after that felt unnecessary or foreign.

My father shaped most of that. He used to say, “A man becomes a man the day he pays his own rent.” According to him, the next step was marriage. Not for love, but because a responsible man builds a family. That was the mindset I grew up with. I was surrounded by men who believed the same thing. My father had seven younger brothers, and they all treated marriage like a duty, not a grand love story.

So when marriage became a conversation in my life, it wasn’t because I was searching for deep connections or the love of my life; the decision felt straightforward. She was ready for marriage, and I was too; we understood each other well enough to build something solid. At the time, that made perfect sense to me.

Losing my first wife broke parts of me I didn’t know existed

Nothing prepared me for 2001. My first wife died in a car accident on her way back from work and left me with three children. That period broke parts of me I didn’t even know existed.

She understood me in a way nobody else ever had. She knew silence didn’t mean anger. She never pressured me to talk when I wasn’t in the mood. Life was simple with her, and losing her felt like losing my balance.

My family wanted me to remarry quickly so someone could raise the children, but I refused. I didn’t want anyone replacing their mother, and I was scared of my children being treated like outsiders in their own home. So I took on everything. I became the parent they cried to, the parent who packed their bags for school and the parent who cooked. My late mother helped until she passed, but the weight was mostly on me.

If anyone had told me then that I would marry again, I would have dismissed it immediately.

I didn’t plan to fall in love again. Life just pushed me there

Nearly two decades passed before anything like love appeared again, and it happened in the most ordinary place. I met my current wife at my last born’s school during visiting day. She was a single mother with two children and we kept running into each other.

At first, it was just casual greetings. Slowly, it became short conversations. Over time, we started looking forward to those meetings even more than the visiting day itself.

Five years went by, and we were still constant in each other’s lives. Eventually, we agreed it was time to bring our families together. We moved into one house with her children, my children and hopes for one child together. That part hasn’t happened, but we’re still trusting God.

The day we told the kids we were all going to live together remains one of my happiest moments. They were excited in a way that assured me we were making the right decision.

Blending two families will test every part of you

Nobody prepares you for the complexity of combining households. I didn’t doubt my ability to be a good partner because I’d been married before, but this was different. Each of us came with children who had their histories and peculiarities. And it was difficult to effectively play daddy and mummy.

But one of the hardest parts has been navigating the presence of my wife’s ex-husband. He’s not active in their lives, but every now and then, he asks to see the children. And as much as I want to be the only father figure they rely on, I can’t deny them access to their biological father.

So I have to sit with that discomfort and still encourage a relationship I’m not emotionally comfortable with. With my own kids, it’s simpler because their mother is gone. But with hers, every request from their father forces me to be the bigger person and think about what’s right.

Then there’s the financial side of things. When people ask me how many children I have, I say five. All five eat my food, sleep under my roof and call me daddy when they feel like it. My wife supports us, but she allows me to play the role of father fully, and I take that seriously.

Still, we get those small misunderstandings where a child reports an issue to me instead of her, or vice versa. We always pull everyone together and remind them that there’s no division here. We are one family.

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My wife wants conversations, but I prefer silence

Communication is the area I struggle with the most. My wife is expressive. She likes to talk through things, share her thoughts and hear mine. She expects conversations on days I’m comfortable being quiet.

When she talks and I stay silent, she feels ignored, even when I’m simply thinking. What starts as a small moment easily becomes a misunderstanding. I’ve had to learn that silence doesn’t always work in marriage.

I’ve had to stretch myself. Sometimes, I force myself to talk about the day. Other times, I pretend I don’t know something and let her explain it because I know it makes her feel heard. I ask her questions I already know the answers to so she knows I’m paying attention.

It doesn’t come naturally, but marriage requires sacrifices you don’t always expect. I’m not the same man I was with my first wife. I’m gentler now, more expressive than I’ve ever been, even though it’s still not perfect.

Marriage has made me more patient and playful than I imagined

If you had met me twenty years ago, you would never believe I’d become the man I am now. I like to joke that I’m the judge of the house. Every day, somebody is reporting somebody, and I have to settle it fairly. That alone has stretched my patience.

But I’ve also become softer. My wife says I still don’t talk enough, but she doesn’t know the version of me my first wife knew; I was the man who barely spoke at all. Now, I sit with the kids to watch TV even when I’m not interested. I gist with them so they don’t call me strict. I play more than I ever imagined I would.

Marriage will teach you things about yourself that you didn’t even know were hiding somewhere inside.

Love is good, but love alone cannot carry a marriage

I believe love plays a strong role, but I don’t think it can stand alone. Marriage needs communication, patience, sacrifice, commitment and the willingness to show up for your family every day.

Love won’t raise children, settle conflicts among five siblings or help you swallow your pride when your partner needs reassurance. Love won’t guide you when you’re learning how to blend two families.

There is a place for love, but there must also be a place for responsibility and maturity. That balance is what keeps a home standing.

I’ve lived through two different marriages and learned from both. The first taught me devotion and the second taught me growth. Together, they taught me that it’s possible to love and stretch your heart in ways you never thought possible.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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Simbi* (31) always imagined marriage as a fairytale where every lady meets her Prince Charming. However, her first relationship gave her a harsh reality check, and years later, she found herself marrying a man fifteen years her senior.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about redefining romance, navigating in-law dynamics, the moment she nearly broke off her relationship over family tension, and why she still believes love is enough.

This is her marriage diary.

I grew up waiting for a Prince Charming who looked like a movie character

Long before I got married, love existed for me inside storybooks. As a child, I devoured Ladybird fairytales, dreaming of enchanted castles, destiny encounters and princesses who always found their Prince Charming. I even gave myself the nickname Cinderella in primary school because that’s how fully immersed I was in romance worlds I hadn’t lived.

By secondary school, Disney magic evolved into romcom novels. I’d spend hours reading and imagining myself as a character in the pages of the book. In university, Bollywood and K-dramas joined the mix. I lived inside those stories so much that my parents occasionally wondered if I spared any attention for my academics. Every emotion I imagined, every fantasy I considered “true love,” came from the make-believe world.

Reality didn’t hit until my first boyfriend. He was my first kiss, my first cinema date, my first everything. For a while, the relationship looked exactly like the movies I loved. And then it fell apart. He changed in ways I still struggle to describe. There was unnecessary drama, confusion upon confusion until things fell apart. Even when the relationship was clearly dying, I didn’t want to leave because I believed he was “the one.” It took my friends dragging me, emotionally and verbally, for me to finally walk away. It was the first crack in my fairytale lens.

Falling in love with an older man was the first real surprise of my adult life

If anyone had told me I’d marry someone fifteen years older, I wouldn’t have believed it. In all the romantic stories I absorbed, the couples were always age mates or close in age. Older men were never part of the script.

Then, in university, I gained weight. Suddenly, older men paid me more attention, sometimes in uncomfortable ways. I heard male coursemates say things like I was “heavy duty” and not for young boys. Married men approached me at parties, and I hated it. So I shut out all older men.

My husband was the first one I gave a chance. He was 40 when we met, dealing with delays in his life and two failed engagements. I only noticed him because he didn’t look his age. That made me listen, then pay attention, then fall. The age gap that once scared me became something I barely noticed.

If anyone had told me then that he’d become my partner, I would have laughed. But loving him changed my idea of romance in a way I didn’t see coming.

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One comment from my husband’s family made me feel like running

I still remember the day I wondered whether marriage to my husband was truly something I could handle. It started with what should’ve been an innocent family visit. His mum and two sisters were around. It was spontaneous, and I hadn’t planned it, so I arrived empty-handed.

They teased me about it, not maliciously, but my husband wasn’t having it. He reacted sharply, and it quickly escalated into a back-and-forth between him and his family. I excused myself, but internally, I panicked.

For two weeks, I avoided him. I kept replaying the scene in my mind: three women much older than me, and me stuck in the middle of drama I didn’t create. I couldn’t imagine a lifetime where I’d be in conflict with people I barely knew but was expected to respect deeply.

When we finally spoke, I told him I wanted to end things. I didn’t want him constantly defending me against his family. I didn’t want to be the reason he clashed with the women who raised him.

It took a lot of reassurance from him and my mum to convince me not to run. Looking back four years later, I’m grateful I stayed.

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No one prepares you for navigating a family that’s not yours

Before marriage, my mum practically trained me for my new family. She taught me how to show respect to older women, how to observe, when to talk, when to stay quiet, and even made me set reminders to call my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. But nothing beats real life experience.

A few months after we got married, my mother-in-law visited for two weeks. She was warm and pleasant, but insisted on cooking and dishing up the meals during her stay. At first, I took it personally, as if she was subtly telling me I wasn’t doing something right. My mum told me to join her in the kitchen instead of reading too much into it. That changed everything.

Then there were the unannounced visits from my sisters-in-law — smiling, bearing gifts, completely unaware that sometimes I felt like the odd one out. They’d settle into the living room, chatting and laughing with my husband in that familiar way people do when they’ve known each other forever.

For the first two years, I constantly felt like I was trying to prove myself. Now, I’ve completely settled into things. I understand their intentions better, and I’m more confident in my place in the family. Marriage teaches you diplomacy in ways school never can.

We had to learn how to meet in the middle when it came to respect and expression

The biggest recurring conflict in my marriage has been about how I relate to my husband in public or around his relatives. He doesn’t like pet names, touching his beard playfully, or hitting him jokingly when others are around. He finds it disrespectful and prefers that kind of affection to stay private.

We argued a lot about it because I didn’t want a marriage where I felt like I needed to switch versions of myself depending on the setting. After our first child, he even suggested we stop calling each other by name but I rejected that immediately.

Sometimes he leans into the age difference and tries to remind me he’s older and wiser. I always push back. I respect my husband deeply, but I don’t want a dynamic that feels like I’m reporting to a boss. Over time, I’ve learned to recognise when it’s cultural conditioning talking. He’s from a different generation, and occasionally it shows.

We’re still figuring it out, but we always return to honest conversations instead of letting resentment grow.

Motherhood changed the version of myself I thought I’d carry into marriage

I’ve lost and gained different parts of myself over the past four years. The biggest shift came with motherhood. I would’ve loved a little more time before having kids, but my husband was eager to be a dad because he was already 40 when we married.

We had our first child a year in, and that transition shook me. Even with all the support I had from my family, my in-laws, and him, nothing prepares you for the emotional weight of motherhood. Some nights, I woke up crying for no reason I could articulate.

But I also grew. I learned how to relate with older people, handle different personalities, and move confidently in rooms filled with my husband’s older friends. Most of them assume I’m older than I am, thanks to my stature. I always like to say that marriage stretched me, but it didn’t break me.

I believe love is enough

Maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in me, but I genuinely believe love can sustain a marriage. I know people say communication, patience and understanding matter, but I think real love fuels those things.

I’ve dated men who made me feel like they were doing me a favour by being with me. Today, I’m married to a man who genuinely loves me — a man who made all the pain, confusion and insecurity of my younger relationships feel like distant memories.

If I could tell my younger self anything, it would be: don’t fixate on age, and don’t let heartbreak distort your worth. Love, when it’s genuine, makes the rest of the work possible.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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When Rasheedat* (51) imagined marriage, she pictured a quiet life with one man; the kind of companionship she watched her parents enjoy for decades. She never thought she’d find herself in a polygamous home, much less as the younger wife navigating rivalry, heartbreak, and a marriage she didn’t plan for.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about entering polygamy against her better judgment, learning to survive a senior wife determined to frustrate her, and why love has never been enough to keep her going.

This is a look into her marriage diary.

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I used to imagine marriage as just me, my husband and our children

Growing up, I used to think that marriage would simply be my husband and me enjoying life together. That was the kind of marriage my parents had — peaceful, united and focused on their children. For the longest time, I assumed mine would be the same.

But after secondary school, life humbled me. I had my own share of heartbreak. My first boyfriend left me for my friend. The next guy just wanted sex. Back then, I started realising that men aren’t like my father. Many of them can be dangerous. Many don’t know what they want.

Still, I kept imagining a future where I’d meet a man who’d be mine alone. Even when life kept showing me signs, I continued holding onto that picture. In my head, it was always “me and my husband”. But somewhere along the line, I also started preparing myself for disappointment.

I never expected to be a second wife, but pregnancy clouded my judgment

Polygamy was never in my plans. If someone had told me I’d become a second wife, I would’ve sworn it could never happen.

I met my husband at my boss’s shop. After struggling to find a good job after polytechnic, I decided to learn fashion design. Around that time, I already knew I wasn’t interested in men my age. They seemed confused about life. But I also didn’t want someone too old.

My boss introduced me to one of her customers, a calm man in his late 30s who didn’t even look his age. We got talking, and he didn’t tell me he was married. When I eventually found out, I was furious. I told him I didn’t want to be a second wife. He kept insisting that things were bad with the first wife and they’d soon separate.

Against my better judgment, I believed him.

By the time I got pregnant, everything changed. He wasn’t leaving his first wife like he promised. My parents were angry and begged me not to continue, but I didn’t want to abort. I didn’t want to be someone who had multiple kids with different fathers. So, I entered the marriage with my eyes half-open, half-closed. That’s how I found myself in a polygamous home I never wanted.

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The senior wife made the first years hell

Those early years were tough. My senior wife didn’t welcome me at all. She frustrated me spiritually, emotionally and physically. We even fought at a family event once because she said I didn’t show her enough respect. I remember wanting to leave so many times.

But I also didn’t want to hear “we told you so” from my parents.

My husband tried to be fair, but he wasn’t ready for polygamy either. Anytime things got too hot between us, he would run away under the guise of work. In fact, there was a time he relocated to another state and left both of us behind because he couldn’t handle the constant tension. We didn’t let him rest until he worked his transfer back to Lagos.

I had many moments where I questioned if I was strong enough for this life. But I didn’t tell anybody. I’d cry, wipe away my tears, and continue my day as if nothing had happened. That was how I survived.

Everything I know about surviving polygamy, I learnt the hard way

Nobody prepares you for the realities of polygamy. I didn’t know anything about splitting my husband’s time, navigating in-laws, managing insults or protecting myself spiritually. My mother had only experienced monogamy so she couldn’t advise me much. She helped me spiritually — giving me concoctions, prayers, and verses from the Quran — but the rest I had to learn on my own.

I had to learn how to handle the senior wife without ruining my sanity. How to protect my children from the tension in the house. How to hold my husband’s attention without fighting. How to survive jealousy without letting it destroy me.

One particular incident taught me a hard lesson. My husband annoyed me, so I decided to punish him by withdrawing from him. I didn’t cook, I turned him down in the bedroom, and I went completely cold. But that didn’t solve anything. He simply stopped coming home. For almost two months, he was staying at the senior wife’s house.

That was when I knew I was the one losing. I had to change my strategy. I had to learn that in polygamy, silent treatment and withholding affection only give room for another woman to take your place.

We’ve had too many arguments to count, sometimes about us, but many times about things the senior wife did. There were days I felt like he didn’t defend me enough or that he favoured her. Other days, I knew all of us were just being unreasonable.

Over the years, I’ve also learnt to pick my fights. For example, during Ramadan one year, we both insisted that he should eat sahoor in one house and iftar in the other. But it wasn’t fair. As much as we wanted to “share him equally,” he was still the one driving between both houses, working and trying to keep everyone happy.

In moments like that, I remind myself to be human first, wife second. It helps me stay grounded.

Polygamy made me tougher and more competitive than I ever imagined

Marriage has changed me in ways I never expected. I didn’t know I was this competitive. Perhaps I had noticed small traces before, but polygamy brought them out fully.

Living with a senior wife who wanted to push me out forced me to become vocal, tough and firm. People now call me “Alhaja no-nonsense” because I don’t let anybody walk over me. I speak up immediately. I stand my ground. I protect myself and my children.

Sometimes, I miss the younger version of myself who was calm, soft and easygoing. But this life is not for the weak. If you don’t build a tough exterior, people will tear you down, especially in a polygamous home. Still, all the struggle has shaped me. I’m proud of the woman I’ve become.

If there’s one thing I tell my daughters every day, it’s that polygamy is not for them. Even though it isn’t as common with their generation, I still warn them: don’t ever agree to it.

If I could go back in time, maybe I’d have aborted that pregnancy. Maybe I wouldn’t be here.

But life happened, and I’m grateful for my first child; he’s doing very well now. And even though my senior wife and I will never be best friends, things are much better. We’ve both mellowed with age. She enjoys her corner. I enjoy mine. Our husband tries his best.

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Love comes and goes, but patience is what has kept my marriage

If I’m being honest, love has never been enough for this marriage. Yes, I love my husband, but that love fluctuates depending on what is happening. Love doesn’t solve the battles, the jealousy, it doesn’t remove senior wife drama. Love doesn’t help you navigate spiritual attacks, family politics or shared attention.

If you ask me what has kept this marriage together, I’ll tell you that it’s patience and understanding, long before love. Love is something that comes and goes. But patience is the real backbone of marriage.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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Before marriage, Adewale* (37) wasn’t the type to fantasise about weddings or picture-perfect unions. If anything, watching his parents’ turbulent relationship convinced him marriage might not be worth the trouble. But five years after walking down the aisle with a woman he met through his mother’s matchmaking, he’s learned more about patience, partnership and unlearning old ideas than he ever expected.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he shares how marrying a supportive woman forced him to confront his childhood conditioning, why their first year together was the hardest, and why he still believes that love alone can never hold a marriage together.

This is a look into his marriage diary.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

My parents showed me the kind of marriage I didn’t want

Before getting married, I didn’t have a fantasy of what a perfect marriage looked like. What I had was the image of what I never wanted. My parents didn’t have the best marriage. One minute they were arguing, the next minute my dad would disappear for weeks, so he wouldn’t have to deal with my mum. It was chaotic, and growing up around that made me wonder why people even bothered getting married.

My mum used to sit us down sometimes and say, “It didn’t use to be like this. We were very happy before.” But that was hard to believe. For as long as I can remember, I barely saw them enjoy each other. They still live together today, but their marriage was my template for everything I didn’t want for myself. It even made me consider not getting married at all.

I’d look at the constant fights and arguments between them and think, “If this is what marriage is, I’d rather be alone.” So, when people asked what I imagined marriage would be like for me, I never had a clear answer. I only knew that my home wouldn’t look like the one I grew up in.

My mum — with the bad marriage — matchmade me with my wife

My parents’ marriage shaped my feelings about relationships. Nobody else influenced my perception — not movies or religion. It was purely from watching them.

But life is ironic because after I finished university, got a job and didn’t show signs of settling down, it was this same mum who decided to matchmake me. One weekend in August 2019, she invited me home for what she called a prayer session for her late mother. I arrived, and the prayers did happen, but afterwards, she pulled me aside to introduce me to someone.

I don’t know what she told the lady, but she also seemed eager. We spoke briefly, and I wasn’t instantly drawn to her, but my mum kept bugging me. Eventually, I decided to be intentional and just see where things would go.

Honestly, it was the best decision I’ve ever made. A year later, we got married, and I still say it every day that I’m super blessed. After everything my mother dealt with in her own marriage, she somehow still managed to find me a good woman. Life is funny like that.

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I didn’t have any cold feet because once I committed, I was ready

People always talk about having that moment when they question if they’re really prepared for marriage. I never had that. Before I met my wife, I wasn’t rushing to get married. I was just taking life as it came, seeing people casually and minding my business.

But once that matchmaking happened and I decided to be intentional, my mind followed. I entered the relationship with clear eyes, knowing exactly what I wanted and what I didn’t want. I already knew the kind of home I planned to build, so I didn’t have those “am I making a mistake?” moments.

And after getting married, I’ve never had a day when I asked myself why I did it. My wife has only made the decision look better with each passing year.

Nobody warned me that having a supportive wife can be confusing at first

When people give marriage advice, they mostly talk about red flags, the need for patience, how to behave with your in-laws, or how men should “do their duties”. Nobody ever prepares you for the possibility that your wife might be extremely supportive and how that can cause its own kind of confusion.

In my first year of marriage, I struggled heavily with accepting my wife’s support. She’s financially stable and comes from a wealthy home, so money wasn’t a big deal to her. Before I even opened my mouth to ask, she’d paid for something in the house. If I mentioned that something was broken, she’d fix it before I returned from work. Sometimes, I’d see alerts for household bills I didn’t even know were pending.

And honestly? It bothered me at first.

Not because I didn’t appreciate it, but because it made me feel like I wasn’t fulfilling my role as the man of the house. I grew up watching a marriage where financial responsibility was tied tightly to masculine identity. My dad believed he had to sort every bill, and my mum believed the same. Whenever that balance wasn’t met, they fought.

So when my wife started doing things I considered “my responsibility,” it felt like my position was being threatened. I was defensive. I would complain. Sometimes I even got angry.

She would calmly explain that she wasn’t trying to take my place. She was simply doing what she’d watched her own parents do: sharing responsibilities and helping each other. However, because I didn’t grow up seeing that, it took me some time to adjust.

The biggest turning point was the first time she sent me money after I’d gone completely broke. I remember staring at the alert in disbelief. I didn’t know how to respond. It felt strange receiving help from a woman I was supposed to be providing for. It almost caused a fight because she thought I didn’t want her help. But it wasn’t that, I just had never experienced anything like it before.

Eventually, I had to learn how to accept support without feeling less of a man. That adjustment reshaped me.

I thought her support meant she was trying to take my place

Today, my wife and I barely argue, but it wasn’t always like that. In the last two years, we’ve had peace in ways I never saw growing up. However, that first year was marked by numerous unnecessary arguments, and they all stemmed from my insecurities.

I had to unlearn a lot. I didn’t want my home to look like the one I grew up in, yet I was subconsciously repeating certain patterns. Over time, as I began to see her intentions more clearly, we stopped having that kind of conflict. The moment I stopped fighting her support and started embracing it, peace settled into our home.

It also helped that my wife is naturally calm. She’d explain herself instead of reacting to my anger. Looking back now, that patience helped us survive that first year.

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Marriage taught me how to accept help and why love isn’t enough

Marriage has changed me in many ways. Before, I was the kind of man who hated asking for help, even when I needed it. As a child, after being punished, I would refuse to ask my parents for pocket money. I carried that attitude into adulthood — being broke silently, struggling silently, insisting on doing everything myself.

But my wife softened me. She taught me that accepting help doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. Because of her, I’ve shed a version of masculinity that didn’t serve me.

And when I think about it, that process is why I say love can never be enough.

Yes, love is essential. It’s the foundation. But marriage will reveal things about yourself that you never realised. Marriage will test your pride, patience, identity, and boundaries. There will be days when you don’t even “feel” love, and the only things that keep both of you going are understanding, tolerance, respect, and commitment.

Love starts the journey, but all these other things keep the marriage afloat. And I’m grateful I’m learning that with someone who makes the journey easier.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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For Adeola*, 30, marriage has always been something to look forward to. She grew up watching her mum work as an alaga ijoko and alaga iduro, anchoring Yoruba weddings filled with music, laughter, and beaming couples. So even before she understood what love meant, she’d already decided that marriage was beautiful.

On this week’s Marriage Diaries, Adeola shares how her journey has been a lesson in love, patience, and what it means to grow with a partner.

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I’ve always looked forward to marriage

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t look forward to getting married.

Growing up, my mum was an alaga, and that meant weekends were for weddings. We attended so many ceremonies — vibrant, colourful, full of laughter and love. I’d watch brides walk in smiling, their joy so contagious it felt like magic. Seeing how happy everyone was made me fall in love with the idea of marriage before I even understood what it entailed.

As I grew older and started dating in university, I began to understand that weddings and marriages were distinct entities. The party ends, the guests leave, and what’s left is just you and your partner. Still, that didn’t stop me from believing in the beauty of marriage.

Even when I had terrible relationships, I didn’t lose hope. Up until my mum passed two years ago, I still followed her to weddings, still said a silent prayer at every ceremony that my own marriage would be just as joyful as those she anchored.

I can say for sure that my mum’s job made me believe marriage could truly be beautiful.

I didn’t know you could fall in love again after marriage

I met my husband in my final year at university, and I just knew he was the one. We connected so effortlessly that I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. Before marriage, I already loved him deeply, and I didn’t think it was possible to love him any more than I already did.

Then childbirth happened.

My pregnancy was tough. I was in and out of the hospital for months, constantly exhausted and emotionally drained. And as if that wasn’t enough, my delivery was complicated; I was hospitalised for almost four months afterwards.

Those months showed me a side of my husband I didn’t know existed. He was there through it all, cleaning me up, changing my adult diapers, bathing me, feeding me, caring for our baby. He didn’t flinch or complain once.

I remember thinking, this man really meant every word of “in sickness and in health.” Watching him care for me like that made me fall in love all over again. It’s one thing to marry a loving partner, but it’s another thing entirely to see that love show up in your weakest moments.

I didn’t think my heart had space to love him more, but that experience showed me that love can grow deeper, even after marriage.

I always felt prepared for marriage

I don’t think I’ve ever had that moment of doubt, that “what have I gotten myself into?” feeling people talk about.

I’ve been preparing for marriage my whole life without even realising it. All those weddings I attended with my mum came with free life lessons. I’d hear her advise couples all the time: “Be patient,” “Respect each other,” “Don’t deprive your husband,” “Always support one another.”

So when it was finally my turn, I didn’t feel lost. I already had a sense of what to expect.

Of course, I didn’t agree with everything. For instance, I always found it problematic how sex was talked about like something a wife “gives” her husband. But having that background knowledge still helped me understand that marriage comes with sacrifices and patience.

So when I finally got married, nothing caught me off guard. I had already built a mental framework of what to expect. Maybe that’s why I adjusted quickly. I didn’t walk in blind.

Nobody warned me about how much I’d have to embrace my in-laws

If there’s one thing I didn’t see coming, it’s how present my husband’s family would be in our lives. Not in a bad way, but in an everywhere, every time kind of way.

They welcomed me so warmly that I felt pressured to always reciprocate the energy. Suddenly, there was always a family function to attend: a cousin’s wedding, an uncle’s burial, a niece’s birthday. They genuinely wanted me to be part of the family, but it was overwhelming at first.

I’m not naturally outgoing, and I like my space. So, when I tried to skip a few events, my husband got upset. He thought I was being distant or rejecting his family’s efforts to make me feel at home. But in truth, I just needed time to adjust. I barely knew half the people they were inviting me to celebrate with.

Over time, I realised their invitations weren’t about pressuring me. It was their way of making me part of the family. It took me a while to find balance, but I’ve learnt to compromise by showing up when I can, contributing money for aso ebi even if I can’t attend, and calling to check in occasionally. I still get tired sometimes, but I’ve realised that family — both nuclear and extended — is a big part of marriage in our culture.

Marriage has made me calmer and more positive

Before I got married, I used to overthink everything. I’d replay conversations in my head, stress about things I couldn’t control, and get anxious about the future.

My husband is the total opposite. He’s calm, optimistic, and somehow always believes everything will work out. That’s something I’ve learnt from him — not everything needs a reaction.

Some days, I wake up grateful for how much peace I’ve gained since being with him. Even when I’m frustrated or emotionally tired, I’ve learnt not to dwell on it too long. Life will always have moments of stress and confusion, but I try not to let them consume me anymore.

I’ve grown emotionally and mentally since marriage. The woman I was before couldn’t handle things as gracefully as I do now. And that’s all thanks to the stability my husband brings into my life.

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I’ll always be proud that I followed my heart

If I could go back in time, I’d tell my younger self to still follow her instincts.

When I met my husband, there were many reasons I could have hesitated. But something in me just knew he was the one. Every day since, I’ve been grateful for listening to that voice.

Love isn’t everything, but it’s the foundation that makes patience, forgiveness, and the will to stay kind even when you’re upset possible. Without love, it’s easy to start counting flaws and keeping score. With love, you remember why you chose the person in the first place.

Marriage has its hard days, no doubt. But even in those moments, I find comfort knowing I’m walking through life with someone who sees me, understands me, and reminds me to stay soft.

I used to think the wedding day was the most beautiful part of marriage, but now I know it’s the small, everyday acts of love that truly make it beautiful.

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When Dehinde* (37) was younger, marriage wasn’t something he saw himself doing. Not because he grew up around bad examples — his parents had a solid marriage — but because it just never appealed to him. But when his girlfriend got pregnant and his parents insisted he “do the right thing,” he caved in. Six years later, he’s still figuring out what it means to live with someone who constantly tests his patience.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he talks about how alcohol became his escape, why he sometimes wishes he had never married, and the surprising thing marriage taught him about himself.

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Marriage was never something I looked forward to

I never really thought about getting married. Whenever the idea came up, it just didn’t feel like something I wanted for myself. It wasn’t rebellion or fear; I just didn’t see marriage as something that would add to my life.

It wasn’t like I grew up seeing terrible marriages. My parents loved each other deeply, and most of my uncles and aunts had solid homes. Still, it didn’t make me want the same thing. I was fine with the idea of being single for the rest of my life. Maybe I’d have a child or two to continue my lineage, but even that wasn’t a necessity.

If not for family and societal pressure, I probably would’ve stayed unmarried. However, in this part of the world, once you reach a certain age, people begin to demand answers. “When are you settling down?” becomes a question you can’t escape. And when you don’t have the answer they want, they give you one.

No one influenced how I saw marriage. I didn’t look at couples and think, I want this. I just didn’t fancy it. But I always knew that eventually, I’d have to give in because that’s how life works here.

We only got married because she got pregnant

When I met my wife, I didn’t think it would lead to marriage. We dated for about seven months, and things were decent. Then she got pregnant, and everything changed.

My parents found out, and that was the end of the discussion. Their stance was clear: I was old enough, financially stable, with a good job and my own house, so why should I bring a child into the world out of wedlock?

They didn’t even give me time to think. They just insisted we get married. And because I didn’t have a strong argument against it, I gave in.

At first, things were fine. But once our baby came, I started seeing a side of her I hadn’t noticed before; maybe because we didn’t date long enough. She’s a good person, but she’s incredibly controlling. Always complaining about something, always finding a fault, always correcting me like I’m a child.

She’d nag about how I placed a pillow, how I left a pot uncovered, or how I didn’t fold my clothes after work. It might sound like small things, but when it happens every single day, it grates on you.

By our second year, I genuinely considered leaving. It didn’t feel like I was living with a partner; it felt like I was living with a strict mother. I even called my dad one night to rant, and he laughed before saying, “All women nag, even your mum.”

He told me to find things that made me happy outside the house, hobbies, outlets, anything that reminded me I was still my own person. That advice stuck, but I didn’t realise how badly I’d interpret it.

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I found escape in alcohol

Before marriage, I was what you’d call a social drinker. I’d have a bottle of beer at a wedding or a whisky shot at a party, and keep it moving. But when things started getting tense at home, I began drinking more.

It started small, a bottle on Fridays after work, a way to cool off before heading home. But soon, it became a daily routine. I’d tell myself I was avoiding traffic or just needed to unwind, but the truth was, I didn’t want to go home to another argument.

One bottle turned into two, then three. I was never stumbling drunk, but I was detached. The alcohol helped me zone out, and it made the tension at home easier to ignore.

Instead of confronting my wife or sharing what I was feeling, I drowned it. I didn’t want to talk to someone who would still find a way to criticise me. So I just drank, came home, and went straight to bed.

I still drink sometimes, especially when things get really bad. I know it’s not the healthiest way to cope, but at this point, it feels easier than talking. I wish I’d found a better escape, something that didn’t come with regret the morning after.

She talks to me like I’m her younger brother

My wife and I argue a lot. And if there’s one sentence I’ve repeated more times than I can count, it’s: “Stop talking to me like I’m your child.”

Just two weeks ago, for example, I got home from work exhausted. I dropped my shoes in the living room and went straight to sleep. She saw them and screamed my name like there was an emergency. I ran out, half-asleep, only to be told to “come and carry your shoes.”

It sounds small, but it’s the way she says it that annoys me. There’s no respect in her tone; it’s almost like an order. When I complained, she apologised later, but it didn’t mean much because she did it again.

When she’s away visiting family, the house is peaceful. But the moment she returns, the tension comes back. It’s like she can’t stop pointing out what’s wrong, even things that don’t matter.

The irony is, she can’t take what she dishes out. If I ever correct her about something, she sulks or keeps to herself for the rest of the day. Sometimes, I intentionally mirror her tone just so she understands how it feels.

I know it’s not the healthiest way to handle things, but at some point, you get tired of trying to be the only calm person in the marriage.

Marriage has taught me patience I didn’t know I had

I used to think I was patient, but marriage has taken that to a whole new level. The level of patience I’ve had to build in this relationship is wild.

Now, I know when to talk and when to keep quiet. Sometimes, I just let her finish whatever she’s saying and quietly do what she wants. Other times, I walk out of the house and take a drive till I calm down.

People often say marriage is about compromise. They’re right, but I think it’s also about endurance. You’ll have to learn how to hold back even when you’re right, how to let things go just to keep the peace.

If I can handle my wife, I can handle anyone. That’s how much patience this marriage has forced me to build.

Still, it’s not all bad. I’ve learned things about myself. I’m calmer, more reflective, and sometimes maybe too detached. But if that’s what it takes to survive, then so be it.

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Love isn’t enough to keep a marriage going

If I could go back to my younger self, I’d tell him not to give in to pressure. Don’t get married because people say it’s time. Don’t do it because it’s the next logical step.

I’m grateful for my wife and our child, but if I’m being honest, I sometimes imagine a life where I never got married. Maybe I’d be lonely sometimes, but I don’t think I’d regret it.

People like to say love is what holds marriage together. I don’t believe that anymore. Love is great at the beginning, but when life happens — when responsibilities, arguments, and exhaustion set in — love alone isn’t enough.

What keeps you going are the other things: patience, commitment, children, sometimes even guilt. You’ll fall out of love many times, but you’ll keep going because you’ve built something you can’t walk away from easily.

For me, that’s what marriage has become, not a romantic dream, but a test of endurance and self-control.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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When Fikayo* (28) got married at 22, she thought it would look like the fairytales she grew up watching abroad, the kind filled with movie dates, shared laughter, endless kisses, and a best friend who doubles as a life partner.

Seven years later, she’s learning that marriage is less about romance and more about growing up, choosing peace, and finding yourself all over again inside a partnership.

This is a look into her marriage diary.

I thought marriage would be like a romantic friendship

I always thought marriage would be fun. Like two best friends doing life together — vibing, playing, working, cooking, travelling, everything. I pictured us going to the cinema, sharing popcorn, laughing at the same jokes, going out to eat, and just being that couple everyone looks at and says, “God, when?”

That’s the kind of marriage I grew up seeing around me. I spent a significant part of my childhood abroad, and the culture there influenced how I perceived love. Husbands and wives seemed like best friends. They did everything together — from school runs to Saturday shopping — and still looked genuinely happy doing it.

Even the movies and books I consumed sold that same idea: that your partner should be your best friend. Someone you’re excited to be around all the time. Of course, I knew it wouldn’t always be rosy, but I honestly thought marriage would look close to that picture. You know, easy, light, and full of companionship.

That’s the image that stuck with me for years, and it didn’t change until I actually got married.

Marriage forced me to grow up in ways I didn’t expect

I think the biggest surprise for me was realising how much growing up happens after marriage. People talk about growing up before marriage — how you should mature, get ready, be stable — but nobody tells you how much more growth marriage forces out of you.

For me, it came gradually. I didn’t even notice I was changing until I started reacting differently to things that used to get under my skin. I used to be someone who always had a comeback, who couldn’t let things go. But marriage made me start choosing peace over proving a point.

One particular incident stands out. One morning, I needed transport fare to get to work. I had money in another account, but I forgot to withdraw. So I asked my husband for cash. Normally, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But we’d had a fight the previous night, and he was still upset.

He said something like, “Let your disrespect get you the money you need.” That hurt me deeply. Growing up, I never lacked anything. My dad always made sure I was comfortable. So, hearing my husband say that because of a small argument, and refusing to help me, just threw me off.

I knew he had cash, so I opened his wallet and took the money. He got angry, twisted my arm a bit, and snatched it back. I just stood there crying. It wasn’t about the money anymore; it was about how quickly things could go south in marriage.

I called my dad crying, expecting him to comfort me. Instead, he said, “Well, you chose to marry a starter.” That was his way of saying I should deal with my choice. He sent me some money later for transport but added, “I won’t buy you a car. When you can, buy one yourself.”

That whole incident humbled me. It was the first time I realised that marriage isn’t just about love or vibes. It’s about emotional intelligence and knowing when to fight, when to keep quiet, and when to choose peace.

Marriage has taught me that trust shouldn’t be 100%

This might sound strange, but one thing I’ve learned is that you can’t trust anyone 100%, not even your spouse. Of course, you love and respect them, but full trust? That’s something you reserve for yourself.

Marriage has its seasons. Sometimes your partner’s actions or decisions will test your patience and make you question everything. It’s not about being paranoid; it’s about learning to keep a part of yourself grounded, even when everything else feels uncertain.

I’ve realised that blind trust can lead to resentment. You start feeling betrayed when your partner doesn’t meet expectations they never even knew existed. So now, I trust my husband — but I also trust myself to handle life if things ever go left. That balance keeps me sane.

Our differences in intimacy almost broke us

One of the hardest things to navigate in marriage has been intimacy. My husband isn’t a very physical or romantic person. He can go months without intimacy and be completely fine. Meanwhile, I’m the opposite. I crave closeness and affection, not just sex, but touch, laughter, shared moments.

In the beginning, I took it personally. I thought maybe he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. I’d say hurtful things like, “Are you sure you’re even a man?” It was wrong, but I was frustrated. I felt lonely.

Over time, I learned to communicate better. Instead of attacking him, I started asking questions. I found out it wasn’t about me; it’s just how he’s wired. Once I understood that, I stopped turning it into a war. Now, if I need affection, I tell him. If he’s not in the mood, I don’t take it personally.

It took years to get here, but that’s one of the biggest lessons marriage has taught me: that communication is more powerful than complaint.

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I got married too early because of pressure

If I could advise my young and unmarried self, I would tell her to be patient before leaping into marriage.

I got married at 22, barely a few months after graduating. I was 23 when I had my first child. Looking back, I know I wasn’t ready. But where I come from, you don’t really have much choice.

My dad’s side of the family has this tradition — once you’re finishing university, the next thing they expect is marriage. My mum and aunties were constantly bringing it up, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out.

One day, out of frustration, I opened my Instagram and messaged all the guys who had been sending me direct messages. I told myself I’d marry whoever replied first, and my husband did. We started talking, dated for six months, and got married.

I’m not saying I regret marrying my husband, but I wish I’d taken my time. Maybe if I’d married at 25, I would’ve had more experience and emotional maturity. I could’ve travelled more, learned more, maybe even made better decisions.

Because I was so young, I had to learn everything the hard way. I had to learn how to run a household, manage finances, and communicate effectively without losing my identity. It’s been seven years of growing up while being someone’s wife and mother.

I’ve lost some parts of myself, but I’m learning to adapt

Before marriage, I was the fun one in my circle. I loved going on outings, trying new restaurants, having movie nights, and making spontaneous plans. I wasn’t a party girl, but I loved enjoying life in a classy way.

My husband gave me the impression that he was like that, too. He was in the Navy before we got married, travelled a lot, posted fun photos online, so I assumed we’d be perfect together. But marriage revealed that he’s actually a homebody. He’d rather stay indoors than go anywhere.

At first, that frustrated me. I wanted us to do monthly date nights, weekend trips and other fun activities to keep the spark alive. But he saw it as unnecessary. He made it seem like I liked going out too much.

Eventually, I stopped forcing it. Now, I find my joy in small solo moments. Sometimes, after work, I stop for ice cream and eat it in the car before heading home. Or I take my boys out to a park on weekends. I’ve learned that I don’t have to depend on him for every happy experience. He’s a loner, and I’m learning to be at peace with this version of him.

Still, there’s a part of me that misses my old self. The carefree girl who loved planning outings and surprising her partner with little things. I miss her, but I’ve made peace with this version of my life.

The biggest compromise has been letting him always have his way

My husband is twenty years older, and it shows in how he handles things. He’s set in his ways. Once he decides something, that’s it.

Early in the marriage, I used to argue and try to present my point of view, but it always came across as disrespectful. I got tired of trying to explain myself.

Now, I just say “okay” and move on. Sometimes I still quietly do what I think is right, but I don’t argue. I’ve learned to choose peace, even if it feels like silence.

Is it worth it? Not really. Because sometimes, I feel unseen, like my voice doesn’t count. But for the sake of our two kids, I’ve learned to let things go. Peace, even if one-sided, feels better than constant war.

Friendship keeps a marriage going, not just love

If you asked me seven years ago, I’d have said love is everything. But after all I’ve experienced, I know love alone isn’t enough to sustain a marriage. You need friendship, understanding, and respect.

Love fades sometimes. There are days when you’re angry, tired, or disconnected. But if you’re friends, you’ll find your way back.

My husband isn’t perfect, but he’s still my biggest supporter. He’s the reason I started my NGO. He helped me build the foundation, encouraged me to apply for grants, and even stayed up late helping me prep for exams. That’s the part of him I cherish deeply.

But I still crave a little more softness, more intentional effort, more companionship. I wish we did more together, not because we have to, but because we want to.

Marriage has taught me that you can love someone deeply and still wish for more. And that’s okay. Because at the end of the day, it’s the friendship that holds everything together when love feels quiet.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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Calista* (29) never really had a clear picture of what marriage would look like. After years of dating and realising no one is perfect, she expected it to be a mix of love and compromise. What she didn’t expect was how much she’d have to learn about boundaries, especially with in-laws who love deeply and show up often.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about falling in love with an imperfect man, navigating life with a close-knit extended family, and why she’s still learning that love alone isn’t enough to keep a marriage steady.

This is a look into her marriage diary.

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I didn’t imagine what marriage would be like

If I’m being honest, I didn’t have a strong picture of what marriage would look like before I got here. I was never one of those girls who dreamt of wedding dresses or built Pinterest boards about marriage. Yeah, as a teenager, I watched lots of romcoms and read romance novels, and I definitely thought love would be like that — a Prince Charming who sweeps you off your feet and does no wrong.

But my first experience with dating quickly burst that bubble. It was in SS3, and honestly, we were both immature. We had no business being in a relationship. The whole thing was so ridiculous that it left a bitter taste in my mouth. Still, I’m grateful for that experience because it was my first real reality check that romance in movies and books isn’t the same as romance in real life.

By the time I got to university, I dated a couple of people, but it was always the same story: you meet someone, think they’re perfect, and a few months later, they start to unravel. You both move on, and the cycle continues. After a while, I stopped fantasising about “forever.” All of that made it hard to picture marriage in the grand, romantic way most people do.

Love is just two imperfect people choosing each other

Looking back, I think my views on marriage came more from experience than anything else. My early teenage years were shaped by all the movies and novels that sold the idea of a perfect love story. But by the time I’d had a few relationships, that dream was gone.

I started to see love as choosing someone whose flaws you can live with for as long as possible. Marriage, in my head, wasn’t about butterflies anymore; it was about managing imperfections and showing up, even when it wasn’t rosy.

My husband is a good man. In fact, he’s the best. But I’ll be lying if I say he’s perfect. When we started dating, he ticked all the boxes — kind, patient, handsome, attentive, thriving in his career. For the first two or three years, I thought I’d found my Prince Charming after all. But by the fourth year, as we began to talk about marriage, I started to see a side of him I wasn’t used to.

My husband is deeply family-oriented; maybe too much. During our wedding planning, I noticed how his siblings, cousins, uncles, and aunties all had a say in our plans. Everyone wanted something, and he couldn’t say no. He’d tell me, “That’s how my family is, we love each other.” I understood, but sometimes, love needs boundaries.

To be fair, my in-laws are genuinely sweet. I love being around them. But even now, I still feel like my husband forgets that we’re building our own family. I was already in too deep when I realised this side of him, so I’ve had to learn to accommodate it. It’s one of those imperfections you just learn to live with.

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I almost ran away on my wedding morning

Everything seemed to be going wrong, and somehow, my husband was in the middle of it. He’d sent the driver meant to take me to church to pick up a relative instead. The place wasn’t far, but I thought it was unfair because that person could’ve ordered a ride. Then I found out he’d given one of his cousins the glasses we were supposed to use for our photoshoot. They sound like small things, but what got to me was how he found it hard to say no to people, even when it inconvenienced him.

He called me that morning to pray and say all those sweet words people say before weddings, but I was cold. I barely responded. When he hung up, the guilt hit me hard. I remember sitting quietly for a few minutes, asking myself if this was really how I wanted to start my marriage — angry at a man who clearly adored me but didn’t always know how to draw the line.

Eventually, I decided to let it go. I wasn’t going to let my anger ruin one of the most beautiful days of our lives. That moment taught me something about marriage: sometimes, you’ll have to choose peace over being right.

Nobody warns you about in-laws

Growing up, I didn’t really see much of my dad’s family because he wasn’t in a good place with them. So my mum didn’t have to deal with in-laws. We had the occasional uncle or cousin visit, but that was it. Because of that, I never really imagined I’d have to “navigate” in-laws.

During my relationship, my husband’s family was super nice to me. His mum invited me over, and his siblings called me “sister.” Even before marriage, they treated me like one of them. I didn’t mind. In fact, I enjoyed the warmth. But once we got married, things shifted a little.

My husband’s family is very close-knit. They check in all the time, they visit often, and they have opinions about everything. One time, one of his nephews needed somewhere to stay in Lagos, and before I could even process it, my husband had offered our mini flat. I didn’t like it, not because I hate guests, but because we had just one bedroom. Still, I kept quiet. I didn’t want to be the wife who keeps the family away.

But it gets exhausting sometimes. Even when I voice out, I can tell my husband thinks I’m being unfair. I know he loves me, and I love him too, but it feels like I’m constantly learning to share him with his family.

I don’t think my husband is wrong for being close to his family. In fact, I admire it. But there are days when I just want him to say, “No, we can’t do that right now.” It’s tricky because I know how much his family loves me. They call, they check up on me, they treat me like their own. I just wish there was a balance between being the family’s golden child and being my husband.

Marriage has made me lose and gain parts of myself

I’ve definitely changed. Before marriage, I was a little more assertive. I didn’t think twice before drawing boundaries. But now, I’m learning to bend a bit to meet people halfway. Sometimes, I stop myself from reacting too quickly.

At the same time, I’ve also gained a new level of self-awareness. I’ve learned that I can be patient. I’ve learned that I can love people even when they don’t behave how I expect. And I’ve learned that marriage isn’t about proving points, it’s about finding a balance with another person and holding on to it.

Sometimes, I stop and ask myself if I’m being too rigid. Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t understand what it means to be in a large, loving family. My mother never had to deal with in-laws, so maybe I just didn’t grow up seeing this kind of closeness. I’m trying to unlearn that mindset and see the love behind it.

So yes, I’ve lost some parts of myself — my fierce independence, my quick reactions — but I’ve also gained a softer side. I’m learning to listen more and talk less.

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Love isn’t enough; you need friendship, kindness and respect

If I could talk to my unmarried self, I’d tell her to ask questions — lots of them. Talk to people who’ve been married for years, not the ones who sugarcoat it but those who tell the truth. Marriage is not an extension of dating. It’s deeper, more layered, and sometimes, more confusing.

I’d also tell her not to assume that love will automatically teach her everything. You have to study marriage the same way you study a subject you want to master. Ask, listen, observe.

You need an equal mix of love, understanding, respect, and kindness. “I love you” is easy to say, but what matters is how it shows up in the way someone speaks to you, shows up for you, or holds space for you.

My husband is not perfect, but he’s kind and patient. And even when his love feels overwhelming or inconvenient, I can still see that it’s real. That, to me, is what keeps a marriage going. Not perfect love, but love that’s willing to grow, even when it’s being tested.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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When Majekodunmi* (45) first imagined marriage, he thought it would be simple: one man, one woman, one peaceful home. But after losing his first wife and unexpectedly falling in love with two women afterwards, he’s spent the last decade figuring out how to balance love, fairness, and faith.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he talks about what life is really like being married to two women, how patience has kept his home, and why he believes friendship matters more than love.

This is a look into his marriage diary.

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Before marriage, I was certain I’d only ever love one woman

I’ve always been the kind of man who believes in loyalty. Even as a bachelor, I wasn’t the type to keep multiple girlfriends or jump from one woman to another. I liked to think of myself as a one-woman man, and that’s how I imagined marriage would be — one man, one wife, and a peaceful home.

My brothers were the opposite. They were often drawn to women and frequently found themselves in messy situations. I was always the one settling their drama or helping run errands when things went wrong. It was entertaining from the outside, but it also convinced me that I didn’t want that life.

I’ve always had a specific taste. I like slim, curvy women who are also intelligent. Looks attract me, but intelligence holds me. So before marriage, I knew the kind of person I wanted and what kind of marriage I envisioned. Nobody really influenced that thinking. It was just who I was.

I met my first wife by accident, and she changed my life

I met Toriola in 2005 at the Sagamu motor park. I was heading to Lagos, and she was boarding a bus. I asked her to join me in a smaller car I’d found — fewer passengers, more comfortable — but she refused at first because she couldn’t afford the fare difference. That honesty impressed me. I offered to cover it, and she reluctantly agreed.

We talked all through the trip. She loved books just as much as I did, and we went back and forth about our favourite novels. I didn’t even realise I hadn’t asked for her number until she was about to get down. I quickly collected it before she disappeared.

Later, I helped her gain admission into my school for her National Diploma. We became friends for years. She’d even advise me about other girls I was dating. Sometimes, I teased her that I’d end up marrying her. She’d always laugh and tell me it wasn’t possible.

By June 2010, after years of friendship, we started dating. By December, we’d done our family introduction, and by June 2011, we were married.

Our marriage was short but filled with love. She was everything I had imagined a partner to be: gentle, thoughtful, and kind. But barely a year later, she fell ill. We went to hospitals, churches, and tried prayers. Nothing worked. She died in April 2013.

That period broke me. But one thing I’ve held on to since then is my relationship with her mother. I still send her a stipend every week to this day. I promised myself I’d look after her for as long as she’s alive, and I haven’t missed a week in over ten years. It’s the least I can do to honour the woman who gave me peace in my first marriage.

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I didn’t plan to marry two wives, but life had other ideas

After Toriola died, I threw myself into work. My life revolved around the office and nothing else. A few months later, I began to develop a close relationship with one of my colleagues, the woman who would later become my first wife. Around the same time, I met another woman at our satellite office, and we also got close.

That was the first time I’d ever found myself emotionally involved with two people. Normally, I’m very straightforward with relationships. If I’m dating someone, it means everyone else is out of the picture. But this time was different.

I told the second woman the truth, that I was seeing someone. But we still bonded deeply. She reminded me a lot of my late wife: her temperament, the way she spoke, and the gentleness with which she handled people. I was drawn to her, but also afraid because she made me feel things I wasn’t ready for again.

Eventually, I married the first woman. The second woman moved on, got married, and had a child. But life brought her back into my orbit. Her marriage became toxic; the man was abusive and jobless. She told me he’d hit her, and when I saw the marks, I realised she might not survive it.

At first, I encouraged her to stay. It wasn’t out of wisdom; it was fear. I didn’t want people to think she left her husband because of me. But when I saw what she was going through, I couldn’t keep giving that kind of advice. She left the marriage.

We didn’t speak throughout her divorce because I wanted her to handle it without my influence. But after she was done, we reconnected again in 2019. I prayed about it and even sought spiritual counsel. Every sign pointed in the same direction; she was meant to be part of my life.

By the time I accepted that, I already had one wife. But I also knew that refusing this second marriage would haunt me.

The early years of polygamy almost drove me mad

When I told my first wife I wanted to marry again, she was furious. Her family, too. They said if I must marry another woman, it shouldn’t be that one. They knew her from my past and didn’t trust my intentions.

But I was convinced this was where God was leading me. She got pregnant months after that decision, and I stood firm. Still, I tried to make things easier for my first wife. I apologised often, reassured her constantly, and made sure she never felt replaced.

Those early years were rough. I had to learn how to be fair without overcompensating. I gave both of them what they needed, but made sure my first wife knew her position was safe. That helped calm things.

There were moments when it felt like I’d lost control, like when both women were upset and I didn’t know who to appease first. There were nights when I couldn’t sleep from overthinking. But I realised patience was my biggest weapon. Sometimes silence saved me more than any long explanation could.

People outside didn’t see the chaos. They only saw a man managing his home. But inside, it was a daily balancing act between ego, emotions, and responsibility.

Patience and fairness are the only reasons my home works today

The hardest thing about polygamy is learning to be fair, even when emotions are involved. You can’t show favourites, and you can’t pretend that love feels exactly the same on both sides. You just have to be wise enough to make everyone feel secure.

There was a time my first wife told me she would rather die than have anything to do with the second. It scared me. I didn’t tell anyone. I just prayed about it and looked for a way to make changes gradually.

I started with the children. I ensured they attended the same school, visited both houses, and became comfortable with each other. It took time, but that created a bridge between the two homes.

Gradually, the tension softened. One day, my first wife helped the second find a shop to rent. Later, when she needed her own shop, it was the second wife who helped her secure it. That’s when I knew things were finally changing.

Now, they talk often. They travel together sometimes. They even consult each other on things that concern me. I don’t interfere too much; I’ve learnt that peace has its own rhythm. I just try to be fair and not rock the boat.

Marriage has made me a different man entirely

If you had told me ten years ago that I’d be married to two women peacefully, I’d have laughed. But life humbles you. Marriage has changed me in ways I didn’t expect. It’s made me more patient, more calculating, and more prayerful.

The truth is, if I hadn’t married these two women, I might have ended up with multiple girlfriends or children scattered around. Having them both grounded me. It forced me to live responsibly.

I’ve lost some parts of myself, though. I’m a quiet, private man, and privacy is almost impossible when you have two wives and a house full of children. Sometimes I crave silence. But when I think of the family I’ve built, I know it’s worth it.

I’ve also learnt that friendship keeps a marriage running longer than love. Love fades. Friendship stays. I’m lucky because both of my wives are also my friends. We talk, joke, argue, and we move on.

If I could advise my younger self, I’d say: marry your friend, and marry when you’re ready. Don’t rush. Don’t copy anyone. Marriage will test everything you think you know about yourself, but if you’re patient and fair, you’ll be fine.

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Even love needs wisdom

Sometimes I look at my life and wonder how I got here from that day in Sagamu park to managing two wives and a house full of children. It’s not how I planned it, but it’s where life took me.

Marriage has taught me that love alone doesn’t sustain a home. You need wisdom, understanding, and endurance. Those are the real foundations.

Both my wives think alike. They even fall sick at the same time. It’s almost like they share the same spirit. And maybe that’s God’s way of reminding me that the same love that broke me also rebuilt me.

If I could summarise my story in one sentence, it would be this: marriage is not about perfection; it’s about patience.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

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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.”

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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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Marriage wasn’t romance for me; it was about responsibility

Losing my first wife broke parts of me I didn’t know existed

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I didn’t plan to fall in love again. Life just pushed me there

Blending two families will test every part of you

My wife wants conversations, but I prefer silence

Marriage has made me more patient and playful than I imagined

Love is good, but love alone cannot carry a marriage

I grew up waiting for a Prince Charming who looked like a movie character

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Falling in love with an older man was the first real surprise of my adult life

One comment from my husband’s family made me feel like running

No one prepares you for navigating a family that’s not yours

We had to learn how to meet in the middle when it came to respect and expression

Motherhood changed the version of myself I thought I’d carry into marriage

I believe love is enough

I used to imagine marriage as just me, my husband and our children

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I never expected to be a second wife, but pregnancy clouded my judgment

The senior wife made the first years hell

Everything I know about surviving polygamy, I learnt the hard way

Polygamy made me tougher and more competitive than I ever imagined

Love comes and goes, but patience is what has kept my marriage

My parents showed me the kind of marriage I didn’t want

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My mum — with the bad marriage — matchmade me with my wife

I didn’t have any cold feet because once I committed, I was ready

Nobody warned me that having a supportive wife can be confusing at first

I thought her support meant she was trying to take my place

Marriage taught me how to accept help and why love isn’t enough

I’ve always looked forward to marriage

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I didn’t know you could fall in love again after marriage

I always felt prepared for marriage

Nobody warned me about how much I’d have to embrace my in-laws

Marriage has made me calmer and more positive

I’ll always be proud that I followed my heart

Marriage was never something I looked forward to

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We only got married because she got pregnant

I found escape in alcohol

She talks to me like I’m her younger brother

Marriage has taught me patience I didn’t know I had

Love isn’t enough to keep a marriage going

I thought marriage would be like a romantic friendship

Marriage forced me to grow up in ways I didn’t expect

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Marriage has taught me that trust shouldn’t be 100%

Our differences in intimacy almost broke us

I got married too early because of pressure

I’ve lost some parts of myself, but I’m learning to adapt

The biggest compromise has been letting him always have his way

Friendship keeps a marriage going, not just love

I didn’t imagine what marriage would be like

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Love is just two imperfect people choosing each other

I almost ran away on my wedding morning

Nobody warns you about in-laws

Marriage has made me lose and gain parts of myself

Love isn’t enough; you need friendship, kindness and respect

Before marriage, I was certain I’d only ever love one woman

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I met my first wife by accident, and she changed my life

I didn’t plan to marry two wives, but life had other ideas

The early years of polygamy almost drove me mad

Patience and fairness are the only reasons my home works today

Marriage has made me a different man entirely

Even love needs wisdom

I thought I’d have a peaceful marriage

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Motherhood changed my wife

Sometimes I want to run away

I’ve learned to stop avoiding fights

Marriage forced me to become a different kind of man

Love isn’t enough