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Tsemaye* (20) has had a turbulent relationship with her mother since her childhood. It was a reality she navigated gently until her mum decided to marry the person who was sexually harassing her. She decided to cut her off, and she isn’t looking back.

This is Tsemaye’s story as told to Betty:

My relationship with my mum has always been rough. Even in my earliest childhood memories, she criticised me and my actions, far more than either of my older brothers. From six, she would make me join her in the kitchen while my brothers enjoyed football matches on TV. She never admitted it was because I was the only daughter. She’d just tell me to ‘stand there and watch what she was doing.’ If I didn’t, she yelled or punished me.

My relationship with my dad wasn’t any better. He terrorised our family for most of my childhood, even though he had money. He abused my mum physically, emotionally and verbally. I still remember mornings when he beat my mum before we left for school. One of the worst happened when he got upset at my mum and sent us packing at midnight. He didn’t care about our safety. My brothers and I refused to return to the house, and that finally pushed my mum to go through with the divorce.

When my parents split up, I felt ecstatic. I threw myself into school work to distract myself from the dysfunction and unhappiness at home. For a long time, it worked. The divorce from my dad was a way to finally have some stability at home with my mum and brothers.

I got into university at fifteen and started living away from home. While I was in school, my mum told me she had reconnected with an old classmate, Fidelis*, a pastor in another city. She clearly wanted me to know she was dating again, and I felt happy for her. After everything with my dad, she deserved to experience love again. I couldn’t meet Fidelis in person because of school, but she gave him my number so we could speak occasionally. At first, I didn’t see a problem with that. But after a while, Fidelis started acting inappropriately.

It started when I was 17, during the 2021 December break. Fidelis would call and ask uncomfortable questions like, “Have you ever kissed a boy?” or “Do you like boys?” The questions made me feel weird but I dismissed them as bad jokes at first. But he kept going.

Fast forward to July 2022, I came home for the holidays and met him in person for the first time. We were alone in the living room because my brothers and mum were elsewhere. Then, he started touching me. At first, they were light touches, but he tried to grope harder even as I pushed his hands away. I felt so disgusted and couldn’t believe the man dating my mum would behave like that. Luckily, my brother walked in and he stopped. I told my brothers what happened, and after that, I refused to stay alone with him.
But even after sharing what happened with my brothers, I couldn’t bring myself to share with my mum. I didn’t want to hurt her with the truth after everything she went through with my dad. I simply hoped Fidelis would leave me alone, but he didn’t.

After I returned to school, he bombarded me with calls and texts. He offered to send me money to leave school and fly to his city several times. He told me to hide what was going on from my mum, and continued with disgusting messages about what he’d like to do to my body. That was my last straw. This man was in his fifties, saying all these horrible things to a teenager.

I recorded the calls, took screenshots of the texts and sent them to my mum. She was heartbroken, and it saddened me to watch her go through a pain like that again. In October 2022, My mum and brothers confronted Fidelis about the harassment, and he didn’t deny what he did, he just looked away sheepishly. She promised she had blocked Fidelis and wouldn’t see him again. I felt bad, but also relieved. I thought she had finally realised he was a bad choice. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

A few days later, a distant aunt I barely knew called me and rained curses on me. She accused me of ruining my mum’s chance at love. She claimed I seduced Fidelis and said that even if he harassed me, all I had to do was refuse him and let my mum continue the relationship. The details she shared made it obvious my mum had twisted the story. I was shocked and hurt.

I finally blocked Fidelis, something I should have done earlier, but he kept reaching out through strange numbers. It became overwhelming. I buried myself in school work as a coping mechanism, and avoided breaks as much as possible because I didn’t want to go home.

When I spoke with my mum again on the phone a few weeks after, she claimed an ‘apostle’ told her I placed a spiritual mark on her to stop her from remarrying. I couldn’t understand why I was the villain for speaking up about the harassment. So, I cut off communication with my mum while I remained in school. Thankfully, my dad sent upkeep money, so I survived without her. During the 2023 summer break, I went home and saw a gold band on her finger. My brothers told me she had secretly gotten married to Fidelis. That disappointed me, and I decided I didn’t want her in my life anymore.

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Unsurprisingly, the marriage was short-lived. By the December break, she wasn’t wearing the band anymore. I didn’t bother asking why because she said everything was my fault.

My brothers and I later found out Fidelis lied about his divorce from his first wife, so his marriage to my mum wasn’t valid. We also found out he had faced accusations of molesting a teen in his church.

Despite all this, my mum still insists I’m a bad person for cutting her off. She recently called my friend to complain that I abandoned her after everything she sacrificed for me and my brothers.

I moved out of the house as soon as I graduated, and my mum left the country a few months later. Our relationship hasn’t improved. She has never apologised for marrying the man who molested me. She still calls and tries to emotionally blackmail me into forgiving her, but I can’t.

I’m not financially dependent on her anymore, and I’m keeping it that way. Her choices have put my siblings and me in danger in the past; I won’t give her that chance again. I’m choosing myself and peace.

I wanted to write a story about long-distance relationships and how people navigate them when I came across *Gboye (46), who passionately said he would never recommend a long-distance relationship because of his own experience with one.

In this story, *Gboye shares how he trusted his then-girlfriend wholeheartedly when he moved abroad for a better life, the brutal shock he got when he tried to surprise her, and how it has affected his relationships moving forward.

**This is *Gboye’s story, as told to Betty:**

I met Christie* in 2004 at a friend’s house in Ibadan. Our chemistry was instant, and I decided there and then that I wanted to marry her. Three months later, we made it official and began dating.

By September, our families had met; everyone knew we were in it for the long haul. Our relationship was amazing. We spent as much time as we could together, and we shared everything. She was my closest confidant.

Christie was a hairdresser. She completed her apprenticeship a few months into our relationship and started her own hairdressing salon in a small shop. I managed a small cyber cafe during the day and fixed electronics in my neighbourhood for extra cash. We were hard workers, but we didn’t make a lot of money.

During one of our discussions in 2005, Christie encouraged me to go abroad for greener pastures so we could build something tangible for our future family. I liked the idea, but we didn’t have a lot of money. So, Christie and I started saving towards my emigration.

The plan? I’d go to the UK, hustle, make money, return to Nigeria, marry her, and we’d move back together. It took us almost four years to save up the money, but in 2009, I got my UK visa and went off to create the life I dreamed of for Christie and me.

Life in the UK wasn’t easy at first, but I found my footing in cybersecurity and started making decent money. I never forgot Christie. I sent money home monthly for her upkeep, my parents, and even her parents. We stayed in touch often, sometimes every other day. We planned everything together.

One day in 2010, Christie suggested we build a house in Nigeria — something tangible to come home to. I loved the idea. Owning our own house in Nigeria meant we had a place if we came home for holidays.

The following month, I started sending a larger chunk of my pay back home so Christie could buy the land and oversee the completion of our dream duplex. A few months later, I got a raise and sent even more money to upgrade Christie’s salon. She moved to a much bigger space, bought hair dryers, and hired her own apprentices. I also bought her a car because I just wanted the love of my life to be good.

It wasn’t easy, sha. The black tax, the weight of my dreams and the long-distance nature of my relationship. I won’t lie — I had a few flings while abroad. Long-distance is hard, and body no be firewood. But they were just that, flings. Everyone knew I had someone back home. Christie was the goal. I assumed Christie was also getting her needs met somewhere, but I didn’t mind because we’d be together soon anyway. It took four more years before I could return to Nigeria.

Each month, Christie would send me photo updates of the duplex we were building, from the foundation to the upper deck to the roof. I was so pleased and proud of her competence. I switched jobs and got a big pay raise in 2014, so I decided to surprise the folks in Nigeria. That was where everything started to scatter.

I arrived in Nigeria without telling anyone, not even Christie. My best friend was the first to see me. He was happy but tense. When I asked why, he said, “You’ll understand when you see Christie.”

I didn’t think anything of what he said. I wanted to surprise him with the house Christie and I built, so I was excited. When we got to Christie’s shop, her apprentices obviously didn’t know me, so when I asked for her, they said, “Madam is at her house.”

So, we went to Christie’s new apartment. My best friend was getting agitated, and I didn’t understand why. When we got to the apartment building, he didn’t hesitate. He walked right up to Christie’s door and barged in.

I ran after him to stop him, and what my eyes saw broke my heart. There was a man in Christie’s apartment wearing only his boxers and eating a huge plate of pounded yam. That image is burned into my brain.

I asked the guy who he was, and he confidently said he was Christie’s fiancé. I got angry and started yelling at him. Christie heard the noise from indoors and came out to the living room practically naked. She screamed when she saw me and ran back inside. She came back out and started begging me.

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I was heartbroken and angry, so I told her to give me the keys to my building and the location because I wanted to see my property. Christie started stammering. The “fiancé” also started looking like he wanted to run away.

I quickly closed the door to prevent anyone from leaving and asked again for the building details. It was then that we discovered there was no building in my name. Christie had taken almost twenty million naira and squandered it on the foolish man I met at her house.

It turned out that Christie believed her lover was going to build the house and they would run away to a different country together, but he, in turn, defrauded her and did everything in his name only. The building, the travelling papers and even the car I paid for were all in his name.

I broke down and started crying in her apartment. This was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, and she was going to run away with all I had.

I called the police and had them both arrested. It took months to recover the house and the car; the rest I left to Christie. I didn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore. She and her family tried to beg me, but I couldn’t look at her without feeling like my heart was breaking all over again. I left Nigeria in 2015, and I haven’t looked back since.

I still try to keep up with Christie’s life even now, all these years later. My friends in Ibadan let me know what’s going on with her. She’s still unmarried. She’s back to hairdressing in a small salon. She lost the bigger space after she settled her legal debts.

I went on to get married in 2021 to a wonderful woman, and we have a kid, but the scar on my heart remains. I have serious trust issues that I can’t seem to resolve. I don’t trust anyone. Even if my wife tells me a white lie like “I’m on my way,” when she hasn’t left yet, it makes me shut down emotionally for days.

I’m grateful for my wife, though. She is honest and accommodates my feelings. She knows what happened with Christie and tries to ease my doubts, but I can’t trust her fully. I’m grateful she understands and tries. But I miss the version of myself that existed before 2014.

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Nengi*, 25, thought breaking up with her boyfriend and starting something new with a woman would bring her peace. Instead, it marked the beginning of a year-long cycle of threats, fear, and emotional whiplash, all from the man who once claimed to love her.

He couldn’t believe she left. He definitely couldn’t believe who she left him for. And he made sure she felt it every chance he got.

TW: Physical and Sexual Abuse, Threats, Stalking

This is Nengi’s Story, as told to Princess

Ben and I had known each other all our lives. Our families were close, and we’d hang out at each other’s houses all the time. But we lost touch after a while, only seeing each other at weddings or funerals. Later, during the corona year, when my mum and I were staying at my aunt’s while our house was under construction, I started seeing him again. He lived nearby and would come around. That’s when we started talking more.

At first, it was just sex. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. But eventually, he gave me an ultimatum: date me or never talk to me again. So I entered the relationship, not really because I wanted to but because it almost felt like I didn’t have a choice. In the beginning, the relationship was playful and fun. It was also sneaky, which added a forbidden layer to it, heightening things between us. See, though we were family friends, my mum didn’t approve of him. She never liked him, so I had to keep the relationship hidden.

I wanted to end things from the very start. But he kept begging, apologizing, talking about love and second chances. He gave me no breathing room. I couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how hard I tried. Also, he held onto something that happened early on in the relationship.

One weekend, my best friend dragged me to hang out with a guy she liked. His best friend, who also happened to be one of my exes, *Sam, was there too. Ben was fully aware. I let him know where I was going and who I was with. I even sent snaps when I got there. Nothing happened between Sam and I, but when I went to see Ben, he wanted a run-down of the day. With nothing on my mind, I shared everything, including when Sam leaned in and tried to kiss me. Looking back, that wasn’t information Ben needed. It was like he was deaf to the part where I clearly said I didn’t let it happen. He screamed and accused me of instigating things and lying. He asked why I would go there in the first place if I was serious about him. He caused such a scene that night and gaslighted me so much I didn’t even know when I started apologizing and crying. He held it against me for the two years we were together.

He was controlling and possessive. He would text constantly, expect immediate replies, and always wanted updates about my day and whereabouts. For most of our relationship, I was at school in Benin and he was back in Port Harcourt. He didn’t know Benin well, but still demanded location updates. If I didn’t respond fast enough, it was a fight. If I missed a call, it was an issue.

I never felt like I could be myself. I was always pretending to be broke because he never spent on me. I had to take care of myself, but if he saw me doing that, he’d question where the money came from. He knew I modeled, but that wasn’t where most of my money came from. If he knew how much I spent, he would fight me. So, I hid everything. He questioned my friendships, especially with women. For some context, I’ve always been into women, since I was 6 or 7. I’d been kissing and feeling up my female friends years before we were anything. He knew. Ben and I were friends before dating, so I guess I overshared, and he used that against me later.

The arguments were constant. He always found something to be angry about, something I did wrong. It was exhausting. Eventually, I decided to leave. It was partly because I had someone I now cared for and wanted to be with. Mostly, I just didn’t want to stay in a relationship with someone who manipulated me and made me feel constantly on edge. I told him it was over via text, then calls. He, of course, tried to fight it. I remember when we first met after our break up. I was going to see Karina*, the woman I met while with him, and he showed up.

I got in his car for a quick chat. I told him I was done and didn’t love him anymore. He kept apologizing, but I was done. I told him he had been saying he would change the entire time we had been together. He wasn’t changing. This was who he was. Still, he kept trying, saying we had our whole lives ahead of us and reminding me of the good times at the start.

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The next time we met, I agreed to a civil conversation at a restaurant. I only did it because I had empathy for the creature I had spent years with. But the conversation was a repeat of the one in the car ride. I said I wasn’t happy, didn’t love him anymore, and had only stayed because he kept threatening to post my nudes, tell my mum things, or take away my phone. In fact, I showed up that day intending to give the phone back, but he suddenly became the bigger person, saying he wouldn’t take it because he bought it for me.

This magnanimity, of course, lasted only until he realised I wasn’t budging. Then he started screaming in the restaurant, saying that I was leaving him for a woman. “How could I do that? We had our whole lives to live!” He said I wouldn’t be happy with my new partner. That we wouldn’t last. He even suggested that if I wanted to “do women”, I could, but still be with him. Something we both know he would never have been fine with, because it wasn’t just a physical thing. He held nothing to them, and he hated that. He proceeded to grab the phone he said he wouldn’t take, as well as my purse, and stormed out.

Luckily, I have sense. I hadn’t placed an order or touched anything until he paid. The bill was already sorted before we began talking, and my aunt’s house was nearby, so after calming myself down and wiping my tears, I picked myself up and started walking to my aunts.

A few steps down the street, I heard my name. Ben was running after me with my bag and phone. I ignored him and kept walking. When he got close enough, I dragged my things from him and continued my journey. In his attempt to pull me back, he gave me a cut on my hand. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We were still on the street, and I spun around and started screaming! “YOU NO GO LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME O! LEAVE ME O! You know my own is not good. YOU KNOW!”

It was so bad that people on the street and even his Bolt driver were shouting at him. After I blew up, he finally left. That wasn’t the first breakup attempt. It was maybe the 50th. Every time I tried to leave, he acted like his life was ending. He’d cry, beg, and promise to change. It became a cycle.

But after the breakup, the true hunting began. He would beg and threaten in turns. He showed up at my house. When he didn’t find me, he went to my mum’s office and told her everything, including the fact that I was now with a woman. My mum was a deacon in church. He knew what telling her meant. Everything I had been trying to avoid by continuing in that horrid relationship happened. Everything I was scared of became reality. He texted, called, made new accounts on Telegram, Instagram, WhatsApp. He used his dad’s, sister’s, brother’s numbers to try to reach me.

He found out I had moved in with my partner in Lagos. I told him directly, too. I think it bruised his ego more than anything. He didn’t just lose me to someone else, he lost me to a woman. He couldn’t dismiss it as just sex. He knew it was serious.

He showed up at places. He physically harassed me once on the road with my cousin. He threatened to come to Lagos and hurt me and my partner. He sent her literal death threats. He also threatened to go to her family house in Port Harcourt. That first year of our relationship was full of his pungent presence. It felt like he refused to let go, and we were stuck dealing with the fallout.

He was also physically abusive while we were together. He would check my phone obsessively. Once, he got violent when a message popped up from someone he didn’t know. He dragged me across the floor to get my phone. Another time, he pinned me down and forced my legs apart when I said I wasn’t in the mood for sex. All of that stayed with me long after we broke up. I was scared, even in public. He said he knew where I was in Lagos. He promised to come and hurt me. For a long time, I kept looking over my shoulder.

Eventually, it stopped. Or more like, he got tired and was too broke to follow up with his threats. I never responded. I blocked him everywhere. When he reached out with a business idea, I blocked that too. He ran out of ways to reach me. He even tried reaching me through Vera.

My partner went through it with me. It was heavy, having to build something new while my ex was actively trying to destroy it. And while I was trying to heal from what I went through with him. He even threatened Karina’s family. I felt terrible for dragging that into her life, but she stood by me. That mattered.

Now, I haven’t heard from him directly. But I know he still talks to one of my friends. Apparently, he’s miserable. And honestly? Good. He caused me so much pain. As for me? July will make it three years since I have been with the love of my life. We have the craziest ginger hamster known to man. We’re happy.

If you’re going through something similar, I’d say this: it will hurt to leave, but it’s a pain that leads somewhere better. There’s life after the ache. There are people who will treat you better. What I’ve learned is that the only person you owe anything is yourself. Don’t let fear keep you in danger. Don’t wait for it to get worse. Leave, and keep leaving. Block, block, block. Your peace is worth protecting.

Editor’s Note: The picture and names in this article are not related to the subject in the story

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In Nigeria, celebrity culture is not just entertainment. It’s a lifestyle, a battleground, and sometimes a religion. Whether it’s musicians, actors, or influencers, once someone claims to be a fan, it can be literally ride-or-die from that point on.

And in this country? People are always ready to die on a hill with passion that runs too hot. Emotions are always extra, and nothing is small-small. Passion can spiral into fights, breakups, and full-blown gbas gbos, all over someone that might not even know you exist.

In an interview with Zikoko, Olatunji* talks to me about a petty fight he had with an ex over a Nigerian celebrity, how it affected their love life and made him reevaluate his relationship with celebrity and stan culture

This is Olatunji’s story as told to Marv.

There are two important details to help you understand where I am coming from. The first is that I work in music as a producer. The second is that I enjoy taking morning walks. But even more so, I loved speaking to my girlfriend —well, now my ex-girlfriend—on the phone while I took them.

Three years ago, we were an item. I loved her, and she loved me back. Until one of those phone calls put a crack in our relationship. One minuscule and unnecessary argument happened, and things changed.

I was heading home after my morning walk, and we were talking as we have always done. Then Davido’s 30 Billion Gang came up. I can’t remember the exact details of what had happened now, but it was one of those incidents where someone in Davido’s camp tweeted a sub at someone in another camp. It could have been Wizkid or Burna Boy. Sometimes, those are not what matters when you’re hurt. At the time, I genuinely didn’t care for it because I felt Davido could do better to caution his camp to stop throwing stones and hiding their hands.

At some point, my ex couldn’t stand that I was against 30BG. I was bothered that the argument would go too far, and I didn’t want that because I really liked her and cared about her feelings. But I found her hypocrisy of not holding her fave accountable alarming and hilarious. So, I held on to my point that I simply didn’t care about Davido and what his team did.

I kept saying that and it pissed her off so much. She flared up. Then, the argument became a bit heated and in an attempt to clap back, she said that I was not as big as Davido. While that’s true, it was a mean thing to say to me, knowing that I also work in music as a producer and am good AF at it. But I wasn’t very pissed.

I didn’t think much of her awful statement and considered it banter. Love is blind, I guess. Understandably, she is an obsessed fan. I was aware of this, but somehow, what was supposed to be our random personal conversation became a rift over a celebrity, and it boggled my mind. I wondered why people who weren’t in our relationship were causing that kind of lashing out.

Although I laughed throughout the fight, it felt personal and more than just an argument over a celebrity. The whole argument lasted for only five minutes, but during those minutes, I felt like an opp. We went back and forth, and then she hung up on me. Even after that, I kept on laughing. It was that hilarious.

What followed was four hours of complete silence—the classic silent treatment. The tension died down in the fifth hour, and we were in a calmer headspace to talk again. We had a conversation—I begged her because Yoruba women are the queens of gaslighting. In my defence, I told her that I found it funny and it was just a joke. She accepted the apology, but that was the beginning of the end of our relationship. I remember she said a day before that fight that it had been ages since we quarrelled. And boom, that thing happened the next morning. A five-minute call dented a five-month relationship.

The attraction was there, but we saw a lot of things differently. Long-ignored differences came into sharp focus as we began to reassess the incident. We love each other, but we were different, especially in our ideological beliefs. She was quite judgmental. I’m not that kind of person, nor do I want my partner to be like that. Gradually, we fell apart, and there was no official breakup.

To be honest, we should have remained friends. Now, I can’t even call her a friend. But we aren’t enemies. We’d actually greet and even hug each other if we saw outside. It’s just that I know and am convinced that she’s not someone I can rely on.

It was painful but bearable. That statement she made about Davido being bigger than me made me realise something; She never really supported my music. The relationship was an eye-opener, that my partner may not support my work, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It is what it is.

Slowly, I have become used to that idea, and I don’t care for this support anymore. It’s great if it comes. If it doesn’t, I’m completely okay with that, too. While the fight didn’t change how I see Davido and his gang, it made me reassess how I view celebrities and fame. It made me realise that I must always pick my friends and lovers over any celebrity.

Note: The name of this interview subject has been changed for confidential reasons.

ALSO READ: I Believed Everything Nollywood Told Me About Career Women Until I Became One

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When Toluwani* (50) followed a friend to a church program in 2001, falling in love wasn’t on his agenda. But the moment he met Tomisin* (45), everything changed. What started as a whirlwind romance became a long-distance marriage with three children.

He talks about the slow breakdown of their marriage, and why he still finds it hard to believe all the ways she betrayed him.

This is Toluwani’s story as told to Betty

I met my wife in 2001 at a Pentecostal church program. I was raised Anglican, but a friend insisted that we attend their special program, so I took my father’s car and we all went to the church.

At the meeting, I met Tomisin and thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was tall, dark, and slim, and I was immediately captivated by her. I struck up a conversation with her, and we quickly became friends.

Before the end of the program, I found out that she was in a serious relationship with the church’s choirmaster. At first, I was disheartened, but I thought to myself, “A goalkeeper in front of a post doesn’t mean you can’t score.”

So I started to chase her relentlessly. I lived in Ikeja while she lived in Sango, but I made sure to see her at least once every two days. I would show up with little gifts, trinkets and food, and after a while, I could tell she was starting to reciprocate my feelings.

At the start of 2002, Tomisin ended things with her choirmaster boyfriend, and we started dating. Her parents were strongly against our relationship — they felt the choirmaster was a better choice and didn’t want her dating someone whose upbringing they weren’t sure of. But we stayed together regardless.

By the end of 2002, we were married — though not happily. Tomisin seemed to think that I was much wealthier than I actually was, probably because I was driving my dad’s car around during our courtship. In reality, I was working as a secretary in a small architecture firm in Lagos.

Still, wanting to give my new family a better life, I quit that job and took a better-paying position in Abuja, while Tomisin remained in Lagos. I should mention that Tomisin didn’t work; I was the sole provider as a man should be, while she took care of the home. I would visit Lagos every other weekend, and that became our routine.

We had our first child in 2003, a girl as beautiful as her mother. Tomisin was a great mum, but after the birth of our second daughter in 2005, she started becoming restless. She said she was bored and wanted to get into the job market. I was strongly against this, but I eventually agreed after she pressured me. I got her a small car to move around with and encouraged her job application efforts.

She got a job as a civil servant in 2006, and her salary actually eased the burden of taking care of the bills. I was happy about this, and in 2007, we had our last child, a boy.

Tomisin seemed content with our arrangement for many years — until suddenly, she wasn’t.

In 2020, during the lockdown, I could no longer visit every other weekend as I usually did, and that’s when I started noticing cracks in our relationship. She started picking petty fights over the phone. For instance, she had been asking for a vacation abroad with the kids, but I thought it was better to use that money to buy a house or some land. It was causing serious issues between us, but I shrugged it off and insisted we stick to my plan.

By 2022, I had resumed visiting home regularly. The kids were doing well, and everything seemed fine — or so I thought. Then one night, during a visit to Lagos, Tomisin came home from work exhausted and went to bed earlier than usual. While we were lying in bed, her phone rang. She didn’t answer it, and shortly after, a message came in. It was a raunchy sext from a contact name I didn’t recognise.

I was livid. I woke her up immediately, and we got into a huge fight.

Apparently, her superior at work, a big Alhaji, was asking her to be his girlfriend and worse, she was entertaining him. The next day, I called her family and mine for an emergency meeting. I gave her an ultimatum: she must leave that job and go back to being a housewife or I would leave the marriage. She chose the job. I was annoyed, so I took our kids with me to Abuja and put them in boarding school, an idea she had always hated.

I thought Tomisin was just being stubborn, and she would come around, but she doubled down and kept going to work. We went no-contact for more than half of 2022. I knew she would call the kids at school sometimes, but when I checked in with her family, they would say they hadn’t heard from her. I would send her the occasional text, but she wouldn’t reply.

In early 2023, I ran into an old friend of mine in Abuja. It was the same friend who invited me to the church program, where I met Tomisin. I was delighted to see him, and we struck up a conversation. While we were talking, he said something that shocked me. He said he was sorry that my marriage had ended and asked how I felt now that Tomisin had remarried and had a baby for her new husband.

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I was gobsmacked. Remarried? New baby? I took the first flight I could find back to Lagos, and sure enough, the flat in Lagos was empty. The car I got her was nowhere to be found, and the neighbours in the compound said they hadn’t seen Tomisin for the better part of a year. I thought I was going crazy. I started asking her friends and family for her. Her mum was tight-lipped about Tomisin’s whereabouts, but one of her aunts took pity on me and called me.

She told me that Tomisin had converted to Islam and married the Alhaji at her work. The family thought juju was involved because once they married, Tomisin, who loved short skirts and tube tops, became a niqabi. Her aunt also mentioned that Tomisin had recently given birth to a baby girl. She was surprised I didn’t know. According to her, Tomisin had told the family that we had quietly divorced.

I was heartbroken. I felt like Tomisin and I were just going through a really rough patch, and we were going to come out of the other side stronger. I decided to call her with a different number to see if what her aunt said was true.

She picked up, and the first thing Tomisin said was “Salam alaikum.” It was like someone poured ice-cold water down my back. I started yelling at her. How could she do this? What about our children? Tomisin didn’t even sound remorseful. She said she was happy with the Alhaji and there was no juju involved. He had a wife already, so he had gotten her a separate apartment, and he showered her with money, especially after the birth of her new baby girl. Then she flippantly asked that we start divorce proceedings. She also said our kids should be with me because Alhaji wouldn’t want Christian children in his home.

I was so angry, I hung up. I realised that the woman I married didn’t exist anymore. The pain is not something I can describe easily. The two younger kids don’t really understand what has happened, and honestly, neither do I. Even two years later, I’m still trying to piece my life together.

I sued Tomisin in court for bigamy in August 2023. I don’t think she should be allowed to act with such callousness. She didn’t even tell me she was no longer interested before going to marry another man/ The case has been dragging on in court, but I’m happy to pursue it to the end of the earth and get compensation, one way or another.

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When Chigozie*(31) first met Lawrence in 2014, he seemed like the perfect welcome-home package: good-looking, charming, and deeply interested in her. What started as casual dating spiraled into a messy situationship filled with financial favours, emotional manipulation, and one unforgettable betrayal.

Years later, at her lowest point, when all she needed was a friend, the same man she’d helped when he had nothing left her on read — literally and emotionally.

This is Chigozie’s story, as told to Betty

In September 2014, I moved back to Nigeria after finishing my degree. I had lived in the UK since I was 15, so returning to Nigeria felt like a homecoming. I didn’t have any friends in the country — only family — but I didn’t mind. I was curious to see what the future had in store.

I landed an internship in Lagos, and one day, while buying pastries during my lunch break, I met Lawrence. He caught my attention because he was really good-looking. Like me, he’d been raised in a wealthy family, but his dad had abandoned them, and they’d fallen on hard times.

He seemed interested in me, and I was looking for a good time, so I gave him my number and we started getting to know each other. I learned that his dad was Lebanese, and his abandonment had forced Lawrence to drop out of university. We got really close, and eventually started dating.

The sexual chemistry between us was undeniable, but so were the red flags that began popping up.

First, he was always broke. I initially assumed it was because of his dad’s abandonment, so I tried to help out by lending him money whenever he asked. But over time, it became clear that he had no real interest in improving his situation.

Secondly, he was wildly insecure. Whenever we had a minor disagreement, he’d say things like, “It’s because I don’t have money,” or “Nobody wants to help me.” On top of that, he was also quick to bring up my weight when he was feeling defensive because he knew I was sensitive about it.

He was surprised I wasn’t more docile after living abroad and mentioned it enough times to annoy me. So after six months, I broke off the relationship.

But Lawrence didn’t let me go. He called me constantly and sent messages professing his love. After two months of his badgering, I decided to give him and the relationship another shot.

Then came the final straw. Shortly after we got back together, Lawrence called me to ask for a large loan. He wanted to start an agricultural business, and begged me to invest. But even though the sex was still great, I could no longer see myself seriously dating someone I was constantly lending money to. I explained this to him and gave him two options: we could stay in a relationship, or he could take the money and we’d just be friends with benefits.

To my surprise, he chose the money. I didn’t mind, though — I enjoyed the sex much more than I liked him.

So I lent him ₦4 million, and we continued our casual arrangement. This was 2016, and I told him there was no rush to pay me back; he could start repayments whenever he felt financially stable. He was really grateful and assured me that I would be on the business’s directorial board, which I agreed to since I had been looking for good investment opportunities anyway.

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By the time 2020 rolled around, I was struggling. Lockdown had left me jobless, and I decided I was going to be celibate for a while. Lawrence, on the other hand, was thriving. He’d gotten a new life-changing job, and his dad had even reconciled with the family. I was really happy for him, but I was going through my own struggles. I tried to share some of this with him, but he didn’t seem very interested.

Once we stopped having casual sex, I noticed Lawrence growing distant. The calls stopped, and even though I kept reaching out — telling him how I felt, because he was still my only close friend in Nigeria — he barely responded. As time passed, my mental state worsened, and I became suicidal. I kept this hidden from my family because I didn’t want to burden them, but in desperation, I called Lawrence and told him everything. I told him I was scared I might hurt myself and needed someone to talk to. But he simply said he was “too busy to talk.”

That hurt. I had stood by him through a really rough period in his life, and I truly thought we were at least friends. This made me put some distance between us.

In 2021, Lawrence’s father passed away, and it was a tough time for his family. He reached out to tell me and said he wanted to start repaying the loan he owed me. I was relieved because I really needed the money. My family was helping keep me afloat, but I wanted to regain some financial independence.

When he missed his first promised payment, I asked how the business was doing, just to get a sense of his finances. That’s when things got strange. He became defensive, started ignoring my messages and dodging my calls. Suspicious, I checked the CAC website and discovered I wasn’t listed on his company’s board at all.

I tried confronting him, but he kept avoiding me. At that point, I decided to ignore him too. Honestly, I was even willing to let the money go if not for my mum and sister, who insisted I make sure to get it back.

Want more? Read this: Sunken Ships: 27 Years After She Dumped Me, She Wants Me Back

In 2022, after months of trying to get my money back, Lawrence and I finally met to talk — honestly, I needed closure. That’s when I discovered that instead of making any effort to repay my money, he had bought a new car, started dating a university student, and upgraded his lifestyle. Every time I asked when he would start paying me back, he came up with one excuse after another.

I also tried to talk to him about how his absence had hurt me when I needed him most, but he kept dodging the topic. Instead of answering my questions, he switched to flattery, telling me I was the rock in his life, that I had changed his world, and how much he missed me. This only made me angrier; I felt like he was trying to play me for a fool.

That meeting made something click: I realised Lawrence would always be dubious and sneaky, no matter how much grace I gave him. After that, I told him never to contact me again. With my family’s support, I hired a lawyer to help retrieve the money he owed me. The whole experience left me gutted. Thankfully, with my sister’s encouragement, I’m now in therapy, working to heal.

Though it’s been more than a year since I last spoke to Lawrence, the hurt from his abandonment still lingers. I honestly don’t think I can ever befriend a man who’s had a crush on me or shown interest. There are just too many ways that kind of relationship can go south, and I’m not willing to find out again.

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In this story, Benita* (33) shares how her 12-year marriage to Richard* (40) came to be and how her marital journey has been marked by infidelity and endurance.

This is Benita’s story as told to Betty

I met my husband at a mountaintop church in 2012. I had gone there to pray for a husband because, at 20, I believed I was ready to settle down; I just hadn’t found the man I felt God made for me.

That February, I visited a mountain top for a five-day prayer retreat. Men and women were separated during morning and evening prayers, but in the afternoons, we mingled during the lunch break at the only cafeteria. It was during one of those lunch breaks that I met Richard*.

He was older, good-looking and very passionate about his Christianity. I was immediately drawn to him. Over the course of the retreat, he told me about his life and why he was there praying for a spouse. Richard was a youth pastor at one of the fast-growing Pentecostal churches springing up in Lagos. He had just ended a serious three-year-long relationship because, during marriage counselling, they found out he and his ex were both AS genotype. The split hurt him a lot, but he said God revealed in a dream that he’d be compensated with a virgin wife. That was why he had been visiting several mountain-top churches— to spiritually prepare himself for meeting this woman.

As soon as he said it, I got goosebumps. I was a virgin at the time. In my family, it’s taboo for a woman to have sex before marriage. For generations, the women in my family have married as virgins. Even the non-religious side of my extended family has rituals that punish women who lose their virginity before marriage. I shared this with Richard, and his surprise matched mine.

We both felt like we had found the person God wanted for us. He asked the prophet in charge of the church about my family, and after he confirmed our virginity norm, we began our courtship. Our genotype tests showed I was AA, so there were no barriers to our marriage.

By May 2013, we were married. On our wedding night, he confirmed that I was indeed a virgin. I got pregnant with our first child—a son— that night. His family also adored me because I fit the traditional wife mould. I did everything I could to integrate into his Igbo family, even though I’m Yoruba.

Things began to shift in 2016 after we had our second child. Richard got restless. He resigned from his youth pastor position and started making irreligious friends. They’d go out drinking and partying, while I stayed home to care for the kids. Soon enough, I found out he was cheating on me with club girls and prostitutes. They went on weekend staycations and hotel getaways. I was devastated.

I reported him to his family and tried to leave him, but they begged me to stay. I was actually moved by how his family supported me. Richard tried to defend himself by claiming that sex with me had become boring. He said I didn’t know any “wild styles” that made him enjoy intimacy, but he never mentioned this or tried to teach me anything new. Richard loved the different experiences with these girls, and I realised that was what he wanted all along.

I got pregnant again in 2020 and gave birth to our last child, another girl. After she arrived, he slowed down on the partying for a while. I thought he finally wanted to focus on his family, but the truth was, the economy had gotten bad, and he simply couldn’t afford that lifestyle anymore. I tried to leave again in 2021 because I couldn’t seem to get past the past infidelities, but his family convinced me not to. They said that if I stayed and kept my home, no one would have a reason to call me the problem. But if I left, people would say I abandoned my home and husband. So I stayed. A large part of me felt they were right.

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Richard started going to church again this year, and he hasn’t had any new girlfriends as far as I know. He spends more time with the kids and comes straight home after work.

Nothing about our sex life has changed for the better, though. It’s probably gotten worse. I still don’t know any “wild sex styles” and I refuse to watch porn because I think it’s a sin. Sex with him feels like a chore now; I only do it when he initiates it. I don’t feel the same connection as I did when we first got married. I’m praying to God to fix it, but even if He doesn’t, I’ve accepted it as my cross in marriage— and I’ll carry it.

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A few days ago, I got pulled into an interesting conversation about stress eating. Adelayo* (26) shares how pressures at work led to her developing a poor coping habit— binge eating. She also opens up about how maintaining this habit and keeping it a secret adds to her stress.

This is Adelayo’s story as told to Betty

I like to think of myself as a foodie. I love the experience of eating a meal, from the textures to the visual presentation, but when I binge eat, it’s never from a place of enjoyment.

Growing up, I never had a problem with food. Like I said, I enjoy food, but I’ve always had really good control of my appetite. I ate a fairly balanced diet for a Nigerian and worked out regularly. But when I moved to Lagos in 2024, everything changed. The pressures of my job have made it hard to manage stress in a healthy way.

I work as a video editor, and my deadlines can be pretty demanding. The stress from work has now led me to overindulge in food. The first time I made a big mistake at work was in March 2024. I had missed an important deadline, and my manager dragged me during a meeting in front of our entire team. I felt really embarrassed. When I got home that day, I ordered a pizza and a plate of rice and ate till my stomach hurt. I was bloated for days after, and I weirdly relished the painful feeling of my overfull stomach.

Weirdly enough, it worked— at least on the surface. I didn’t mess up at work for months. But then, in September, I got in trouble again after making another mistake. That night, I ate two packs of Oreos, three plates of rice from different restaurants, and downed a litre of juice. At some point, I had to throw up because my body literally couldn’t take it. I felt disgusted. But I also felt like I deserved to feel that way. I wasn’t doing well at work, and in my head, this was my consequence.

It’s been like that ever since. In December, I ordered five packs of food from a popular restaurant. I didn’t even eat them because I was hungry, I ate them because I felt bad about missing a brief. The next morning, my friend dropped by unannounced. She saw all the empty food packs and asked if I’d had people over. I lied and said yes. What else could I say?

Since the start of this year, I’ve been having at least two binge-eating episodes a month. It’s getting harder to ignore. I can barely afford the food, and I’ve gained noticeable weight, which has people asking questions. But no one sees me eat like this because I don’t do it around others. I live alone, which makes it easy to hide—for now.

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Still, I can feel the secret getting heavier, literally and emotionally. The anxiety of being found out has triggered even more episodes. It’s a vicious cycle I don’t fully understand, and if I’m being honest, I’m not even sure I’m ready to stop. I’m currently saving to see a therapist, hoping that talking to someone might help me untangle all of this. Until then, I’m carrying this quiet, painful, embarrassing secret alone.

If you or anyone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, you can access free or low-cost therapy options here.

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I wanted to speak with someone who gave a persistent toaster a chance and Wade* (26) shared her experience with me.

In this story, Wade shares how her friend, Dami* (30), who asked her out several times over the course of their platonic relationship became her most toxic dating experience after only two weeks together.

As Told To Betty:

Dami and I met through a mutual friend. Initially, I tried to keep my distance because I had a boyfriend, but he kept trying to be friends with me, and slowly, we became good friends.

We were really close for a good amount of time — about five years. We talked about everything, knew everything about each other, and he quickly became my go-to friend.

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He always wanted to talk to me or be with me. He asked me out multiple times over the course of our friendship, but I turned him down each time because I was in a relationship. He showed me so much care and attention in our friendship that I started to think, “Why can’t we date instead of being just friends?”

The problem with Dami and I was that our timing was always off. When we first met, I was in a relationship, so we couldn’t be more than friends. But when I left that relationship and realised I was interested in him, he’d gotten into a relationship of his own, and I respected it and kept my crush to myself.

I think that relationship was horrible for him and devastated him emotionally. When we talked about it after it ended, he said he had closed his mind to dating. That was when I told him I was interested in him, and I was willing to try out a relationship. My thoughts were that if it didn’t work out, we’d just go back to being friends and it wouldn’t be a problem. I was so wrong.

We started out as a casual situationship in November 2023 because, again, he just had a bad break up. It felt like we were in a relationship, even if it wasn’t a serious one. We didn’t talk a lot about our expectations, but we were doing all the cutesy relationship things.

Then, in early March 2024, I told him I’d like us to start dating officially, and his response was, “Haven’t we been dating?”. I was delighted, and I thought things were going to get better from there. Literally, two weeks after that conversation, he switched up entirely.

He became cold, avoiding me and my calls. It was unlike him, so I complained. I even reached out to his friends, and they talked to him for me. Every time it came up, he’d promise to fix it and change it, but he also kept saying that I couldn’t understand him, which was surprising. We’d shared so much with each other over the course of our friendship that I could say that I knew him better than anyone else.

Then, other problems started coming up. First, he said he liked me a lot but didn’t think we could get married because his family is Muslim, and I’m a Christian, and his father would never accept me. The thing is, I don’t have a problem with his religion. I told him that if we got married, I would be willing to convert, but not before then. One of his older brothers had married a Christian who converted when they got married — I was hoping for that, too.

The more we discussed it, the clearer it became that this wasn’t about religion or getting his father’s consent. He just wasn’t considering a future with me. Instead of talking to me about it, his stance remained the same: I wouldn’t understand.

Another red flag I noticed much later on was that he never got me gifts. Even over the course of our friendship, he’d never gotten me a single gift, not even a small one. He would give me money sometimes, but never more than fifteen thousand naira. I didn’t hold any grudges about that before, but the more he avoided my calls, the more everything became a warning sign that our relationship was going nowhere.

By September 2024, I was fed up with his odd behaviour, so while I was spending my birthday weekend at his place, I went through his phone for the first time. I found out from his messages that he was sleeping with one of the girls who worked at the bar he owned, and he was also crying in the DMs of his married ex from secondary school. I was devastated, but when I confronted him about it, he nonchalantly said that if his ex was serious about her marriage, she’d have blocked him instead of replying to his messages.

I was so angry and hurt that I left his house and waited a week to break up with him on his birthday and blocked him. After I sent the breakup text, I’ll admit that I was lowkey hoping he’d reach out to beg me like he did his ex. I already planned to give him a list of conditions before we got back together. But he never reached out, and so I unblocked him three days later.

I confronted him about the terrible way he had been treating me and asked why he cheated instead of just breaking up with me. I thought he would treat me with some kindness since we had so much history as friends. He admitted that he didn’t want to break up and hurt my feelings so he tried — and succeeded — in making me initiate the breakup.

Honestly, his admission only made me feel worse about everything that happened between us and I withdrew from him completely.

Thankfully, his nonsense didn’t kill my lover-girl spirit, and I’m now with a man who showers me with gifts and attention. What’s surprising is that since I started posting my new man, Dami has been reaching out to me aggressively everywhere that I haven’t blocked him, but affliction must not rise a second time. I remembered what he said about his ex and I haven’t even opened a single one of those messages. Good riddance!

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I was talking to someone last week when the topic of sibling violence came up. It got me thinking about people whose parents gave their older siblings the power to discipline them— and how that played out. In this story, Tomiwa*(33) opens up about how her sisters’ bullying and abuse of authority have strained their relationship beyond repair.

As Told To Betty:

I have two older sisters.

They’re 14 and 11 years older than me, and so my parents gave them full permission to discipline or punish me when they weren’t around because they were older and “knew better”. From as early as four years old, I hated being left alone with them because it always ended in beatings for the littlest thing. If they weren’t hitting me, they’d be verbally abusive, saying the worst things about my body and how I look.

Though childhood memories are a bit foggy, I clearly remember them making fun of the shape of my nose and how dark my skin was. I became hyper-aware of my features from a young age because of them.

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Fast forward to 2011 when I was 19, the pattern still hadn’t changed. That year, I visited my eldest sister for Christmas — the first time I’d ever spent the holidays in her home. Not long after I arrived, she asked me to switch on the water pump. She described it as a grey box with a black lever, but all the flats in her apartment building had identical pumps, so I was confused. When I tried to explain my confusion and ask for help, she slapped me instead.

By 2012, she had settled down and had a baby boy. So, I paid her another visit. One day, while babysitting him, I looked away for a minute, and before I knew it, he had gotten into his wipes and pulled them out of the container. I arranged them back neatly, but I couldn’t find the lid. When she found out, she insulted me viciously, calling me fat and lazy. I still don’t understand what my weight had to do with a missing wipe cover, but this was how she was. She body-shamed me so often that I started wearing a waist trainer at 20. I became desperate for her approval. Whenever I lost even a little weight, I’d run to tell my sister, hoping for some sort of validation, but I never got it. This went on for years.

My other sister wasn’t any different. She was equally as troublesome. I remember a time when she went through my phone without permission. The minute she found out that I was sexually active, she went straight to my mother to report me. , I was livid. I knew she only wanted to get me in trouble, and she succeeded.

When it was time to apply for my master’s, I deliberately chose Europe instead of Canada because I didn’t want my parents convincing me to live with either one of them. I needed distance, and it was only after I moved that I knew peace and finally felt free of their constant judgement and criticisms.

I haven’t spoken to my eldest sister in almost three years and I don’t really have a relationship with the other one either. I just couldn’t keep up with the verbal abuse and their belief that they had the right to hit me anytime they felt I had done something wrong.

My parents have tried to get us to reconcile, but I don’t feel like I have space for them in my life anymore. Over the years, I’ve replaced them with friends who actually make me feel safe. At some point, my dad would call and badger me about reaching out to them, but I started avoiding his calls, too. Now, my parents know that if they want to keep me in their lives, they can’t bring up my sisters.

I didn’t come out of that experience unscathed. I realised early on that I don’t rely on my family for emotional support. Whenever my sisters beat me as a child, nobody ever asked, “What happened?” it was always, “What did you do?” That kind of upbringing conditions you to bottle everything inside. I’ve had to unlearn that with my friends, but when it comes to my sisters, I don’t see us ever having that kind of closeness. That ship has sailed.

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This is Tsemaye’s story as told to Betty:

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This is Toluwani’s story as told to Betty

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This is Benita’s story as told to Betty

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This is Adelayo’s story as told to Betty

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**This is *Gboye’s story, as told to Betty:**