*Jide, a 42-year-old Lagos transporter, thought nothing could hurt more than the accident that left him on crutches. That was until his ‘wife’ moved in with another man while he was still hospitalised. Now, after twelve years and a custody battle, he’s struggling to stay in touch with his kids and move on from the relationship.

This is Jide’s story as told to Mofiyinfoluwa

I met *Yemisi in 2009 through a mutual friend. I was a cobbler at the time, and she must have been about 21. We started as friends, but things moved fast, and she became the first woman I truly loved. When she got pregnant a year later, I helped her set up a baby care stall. We had a small family introduction and moved in together. That’s when I started seeing sides of her I never knew existed.

We used to fight a lot because Yemisi was too outgoing and loved to party, even when I was against it. I also hated that she couldn’t keep anything to herself. Her mother would hear about every little disagreement we had, and before I knew it, she’d show up to pack her daughter’s belongings. I’ve always believed misunderstandings are normal, but if we can’t even settle and move on, then what are we doing? Yemisi always had to be right; there would be no peace if I disagreed. One time, we were arguing and she grabbed my shirt. I told her to let go or I’d slap her, but before I finished the sentence, she slapped me.

Things got worse after she gave birth to our second child. That’s when friends—even my exes—  started pulling me aside to say, “Your wife has become an ashewo,” or “She’s sleeping with so and so.” She lived with me as my wife, but still did all sorts with area boys. 

At first, I didn’t want to believe it. Then came the day I gave her money to cook soup, only to catch her taking it to another man. I lost it. I poured the soup away and beat her out of frustration. Her mum rushed over, caused a scene, and took her away. But when she slapped me first in a past fight, that wasn’t a problem for them.

After some months apart, I  begged for her forgiveness, and she returned with the children. I tried to be very loving to her — I cooked, washed her clothes, and helped out however I could. My friends mocked and called me a “woman wrapper”, but I did it because I believed love meant service. I never wanted to treat my wife like a slave. Still, she never respected me the way I respected her. I remember the night a close friend of mine got stranded and needed a place to sleep. Even though our room self-contained was spacious, Yemisi refused to let him in. The guy had to sleep in the stairway passage. A few days later, when her goods supplier came late at night, she told me to sleep outside.

I never once cheated on her. Yes, I had problems with alcohol and smoking, but sex wasn’t a big deal to me. This even affected our relationship because I didn’t realise she needed more sex than I was giving. Instead of sharing her concerns, she went to other men when she felt unsatisfied. I only found out how much sex meant to her when friends recommended some herbal mixtures that helped me get better. That was when she confessed that our sex life was the main reason she started sleeping around.

Of course, our improved sex  didn’t stop her. She was getting more money from the men she was sleeping with than my cobbling job could provide. Soon after, she did the worst thing ever. In 2012, I had a terrible accident that left me bedridden for over a month. While I lay in the hospital fighting for my life, Yemisi packed her things and moved in with another man. Not once did she check on me.

Those were the darkest months of my life. I was depressed, broke, and looked like a madman. I drank Ogogoro all day, wore the same clothes for months, and begged her mum and sister to help me get her back. Then one day, her sister called me aside and told me, “Even if you had died, she won’t cry. Move on.” That was my wake-up call.

It took me nearly two years, but I picked myself up, quit smoking and saved money. Soon, I bought my first vehicle and became a transporter. When Yemisi noticed my upgrade, she came back begging. I forgave her, but deep down, things were not the same. I still harboured resentment towards her for abandoning me. We had our third child a year into reconciliation.

The final straw came in 2020 when I caught her red-handed, riding a man I knew. A man I considered a friend. I told her to pack out. She did, and when she left, she took everything: the TV, generator, even the kitchen cabinet.

Not long after, I heard she started dating an Alfa and used charm to collect nearly ₦2,000,000 from him before she abandoned him and moved to a married man who was funding her lifestyle. I should have known she couldn’t build a life with me. I was a struggling transporter.

It pains me that I barely see my children. She makes it difficult, and my job doesn’t give me time. I give them whatever they ask for when they call, but that’s all I can do. She has dragged me to two human rights courts. The first one favoured her. At the second, they checked my records and saw I’d sent almost ₦400k in under six months. When they asked me to commit to ₦100k monthly, I told them it was impossible as a transporter. We settled on ₦70k, but when I asked for weekend custody, she refused. The court finally ruled that if she wouldn’t let me see them, they couldn’t force me to pay.

Now, my only daughter is barely 13 and already lives with a man. I had to involve the police to scare her out of the place. I’m afraid she’s already turning out like her mother. A guilt I can’t explain has been eating me up lately.

I tried moving on by dating again, but it was a miss. She stole ₦300k from my cupboard and ran off to a cultist. I got some of the money back, but the experience scarred me. I’ve been single since then. These days, I work all day, eat and get drunk at roadside joints, and sometimes visit brothels when I feel lonely. I’ve lost hope in love. I believe Lagos Island women don’t want men who will love and caution them; they just want money and freedom.

I’m focused on working hard, healing slowly, and hoping that someday, someone will love me for real.

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