On the Streets is a Zikoko weekly series about the chaos of modern dating: from situationships and endless talking stages, to heartbreak and everything it means to be single in today’s world.
Ummi* (28) married young, survived a turbulent partnership, and has spent the last few years trying, and failing, to find her person. In this story, she talks about her dating experiences and the lessons they’ve taught her.
What’s your relationship status, and how do you feel about it?
I like to say I’m single, but my dating life is complicated. I recently reconnected with someone from my past who’s already talking about marriage, but since my first marriage ended when I was 24, I’ve been very skeptical about the whole idea.
Let’s go back a bit. Can you walk me through your first marriage?
I met Kamal* in 2017 through mutual friends. I was in a relationship at the time, so it was strictly platonic. But as I became more religious, my views on dating changed. I needed marriage to be on the horizon, but my boyfriend was not aligned, so I ended things. It was a painful breakup.
Kamal and I got closer soon after. He introduced me to his Arabic school, and we spent a lot of time together. When he brought up marriage, it felt right. We got married in 2018.
That sounds nice. What were the early days like?
The first few months seemed fine. We lived with his parents temporarily, and I adapted to their lifestyle. I started to dress in a full hijab and took care of household duties with his mum.
Looking back, I overlooked several red flags. For example, he left me alone on our wedding night to go see his friend. He also got angry over the smallest things. If he misplaced something, he’d blame me. I felt like I had to constantly overcompensate to earn basic affection.
Unfortunately, things got worse when we moved into our own place.
In what ways?
We fought all the time. Cooking was the biggest source of conflict. I cooked for him even though I didn’t enjoy it, yet he still insulted my food every chance he got. His mother would show up unannounced to cook, blaming me for why he was skinny, even though he had always been that way.
The pressure to have children also grew. I had just started my master’s and was still serving, but that didn’t matter to his family.
Then, at the start of 2020, I had an ectopic pregnancy with internal bleeding. I only went to the hospital because I had painful cramps. Kamal said I was exaggerating, but the doctors told me I needed immediate surgery. When I told him, it took him over an hour to arrive. He was only fifteen minutes away.
After the surgery, I developed sepsis. I had to be hospitalised for three months, but my husband only visited twice. Once I was better, I decided I wanted a divorce.
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How did he respond?
He called a family meeting and twisted the whole situation. Instead of addressing what happened, he accused me of being in contact with my ex from uni. He painted me as a cheating wife, even though we were only cordial.
I was financially dependent on him, so I felt pressured to apologise and return. I eventually went back, but I quietly decided to never have children with him.
Did things improve at all after you returned?
It didn’t. The fights continued, and his insecurities only intensified. If I worked late, he would accuse me of cheating, saying things like I was trying to bring another man’s child into his home. This was barely months after my surgeries.
He didn’t want me to work either. Yet somehow I was “full of myself” because I had graduated with a first class and started earning, even though he also had a first class and earned more.
Eventually, I told him we were not compatible and insisted on the divorce. He agreed, and we started the iddah waiting period. I moved into a separate room and we started living like strangers.
Then, in November 2020, I caught COVID. It was mild, so I didn’t need to be isolated. But when he came home and saw me in the kitchen, he screamed at me, saying I was trying to infect him. When I ignored him, he followed me and slapped me multiple times.
That was my last straw. I called my parents to pick me up and left for good.
That must’ve been incredibly traumatic. How did you move on from that?
Leaving that marriage pushed me away from religion for a while. I stopped wearing my hijab and started living life on my own terms. For almost a year, I didn’t date because I was scared of men. But in 2022, I began talking to Wole* and softened.
Tell me more about Wole.
We’d known each other since 2018 through a friend, but we weren’t close. When he visited my city in 2022, we ran into each other and started hanging out. Over two weeks of spending time together, I realised I liked him, and he admitted he’d had a crush on me for years.
Although I didn’t like long-distance relationships, we stayed connected after he left. We spoke every day, watched movies together, and sometimes fell asleep on the phone. After three weeks, we made it official.
However, in early 2022, I began the process of relocating abroad. The plan was for him to work towards joining me, but when I got my visa, he avoided the conversation.
His behaviour also changed. On one of my visits, he refused to touch me, which was unusual. Then I noticed a particular female friend was always hanging around him. Later, I found a pack of open condoms in his room.
He denied cheating, but I knew he was lying. Around the same time, I started checking out of the relationship and even ended up having a fling with a friend. It was brief and more about vulnerability than desire. I knew I couldn’t be with him long term, so when it was time for me to travel at the end of 2022, we ended things.
Did you try dating again after relocating?
Yes. A friend introduced me to Adam*, and we clicked immediately. I liked that we shared similar values and rarely argued.
Six months in, after I posted him online, an anonymous account began leaving comments under my posts asking if I knew who he really was. When I blocked them, they started sending me emails claiming to know some things he was hiding from me.
He denied hiding anything from me, but my lack of trust affected the relationship. Around that same time, we also clashed over children. I told him I didn’t plan to have kids, but he insisted on wanting three. With both issues combined, I ended the relationship.
You mentioned reconnecting with someone from your past. Where do things stand now?
A few months ago, I reconnected with Wole* after a friend encouraged me to speak to him. We slipped back into our old pattern of talking every day. I realised my feelings never really went away. He’s talking about dating and working towards marriage, but I’ve told him we need to move slowly.
Don’t the reasons for the first breakup still exist?
We’ve talked about that. The distance is still an issue, but he’s working towards relocating. I’ve told him that until he actually makes that move, I’m not committing to anything. I still love him, but I want to be practical.
Fair enough. How have these experiences shaped your idea of love?
They’ve made me clearer about what I want. My standards are higher. I no longer shrink myself to make relationships work. Nearly all my heartbreaks came from incompatibility, and now I know to take that seriously. Through it all, I still believe in finding my person.
Finally, how are the streets treating you? Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10.
I’d give it 2/10. The streets are cold. Despite everything, I still love love. I miss having my own person.
For most of her life, Sekinah* (51) believed marriage was the key to fulfilment. Two deeply traumatic unions later, she learned the hard way to create her own happiness.
On this week’s episode, Sekinah* opens up about her dating history and why she’s made peace with walking through life alone.
What’s your current relationship status, and how do you feel about it?
I’m single. I never imagined the happiest phase of my life would come after two failed marriages, but here I am.
That’s great to hear. How did you get to this point?
My first real relationship started in 1999, after university. I was very religious and conservative in school, so I never dated. After graduation, I started feeling pressured because my mates were getting into relationships and marriages, and I felt left behind.
While preparing for my NYSC passing out parade, I met Abdul*. I’d gone to my posting area for the last time and was trying to get a cab during heavy traffic. He stopped and offered me a ride home. He seemed kind, responsible. Because it was late, he even followed me in to explain why I’d shown up with him by that time. I developed a crush immediately.
Cute. How did things progress from there?
He started visiting often and eventually said he planned to marry me. I was over the moon. We barely knew each other for seven months before he proposed. My family agreed, and we got married in July 2000.
But once I moved in, I realised I had married a stranger. He drank heavily and often disappeared for hours. Barely days after our wedding, he slapped me so hard I fell on a chair because I complained about his behaviour. That was only the beginning.
Anytime we argued, he beat me, sometimes for no reason at all.
That must have been terrifying. How did you cope?
I lived in constant fear and depression. I hoped getting a job would help my situation, but even that gave him more reason to hit me. If I wasn’t home by 4 p.m., he accused me of wandering around. I was also trying to conceive at the time, and every failed attempt deepened my frustration and sadness.
When I reported him to my family, they told me to handle him more wisely since I was already married. Even our religious leaders I ran to, advised me to endure. Whenever they confronted him, he came home and beat me even more. I felt completely trapped.
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Sounds tough. Did you try to leave?
An incident with a male colleague in February 2002 pushed me over the edge. The guy dropped me off at home because I was running late. Abdul heard from the gateman and accused me of bringing men to his house. He beat me so badly that he pierced my arm with a broken louvre. Thankfully, our neighbours intervened. That night, I ran away and never returned.
I went back to my uncle and told them I was done with the marriage.
How did they take it?
My uncle and his wife supported me. They refused Abdul’s attempts to bring me back and said it was good I left before he killed me. His parents insulted me and took his side, but I was just glad to be free.
However, living with my family again soon became suffocating. They kept asking what was next and introduced me to men they thought were suitable, not realising I was still traumatised. After a year, I saved enough to move out.
For the first time in my life, I enjoyed my freedom. I met men casually and had fun, but people judged me. My married friends distanced themselves. One even cut me off because her husband said I was a bad influence on her. Slowly, I became a loner.
Meanwhile, everyone around me was starting families. I pretended not to care, but at night, I cried. The loneliness was overwhelming.
I’m sorry. Did you eventually try to date again?
I did. I met Wahab* in 2006 through one of his friends. He was married but said he wanted me as a second wife. He spent a lot of time at my place, and I already felt like his wife. I convinced myself that if I stayed with him, he’d eventually marry me.
But after two years together, he suddenly married a young girl who’d just finished school. He met her while he was still with me. Shortly after he told me about his new marriage, he stopped picking my calls and ghosted me.
That must’ve hurt.
I thought my life was over. I couldn’t believe I was in my mid-30s, divorced, childless, and unwanted. Depression slowly crept in again. Eventually, I forced myself to focus on work and took in some of my siblings’ children. Caring for them helped ease the loneliness.
I didn’t expect to date again, but in 2010, a friend introduced me to James*. He was a retired widower with grown children, and he seemed genuinely kind in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. We maintained a long-distance relationship for over a year before having a quiet court wedding in 2012.
Were things any better with James?
Barely. He was manipulative and treated me like his personal cash cow. Though he presented himself as financially secure, he’d squandered his retirement funds and contributed nothing to the household. I bought the food, paid the bills, and ran the entire household while he entertained friends.
His children added to my stress. Whenever they visited, they were rude and treated me like a maid. They left dirty plates everywhere and expected me to clean up. When I complained, he told me to understand them and treat them as my children.
I desperately wanted a child of my own, but even after two IVF cycles, it didn’t happen. Still, I stayed with him for more than nine years.
That sounds like a lot of time to stay in an unhappy marriage. Why didn’t you leave?
I was ashamed. I felt foolish for walking into another bad marriage. How would I explain two divorces? My family would judge me, and everyone would assume I was the problem. So I pretended everything was fine.
What ultimately led me to leave happened a few days before Christmas in 2021. I intentionally refused to cook because I was exhausted. When my husband’s grown son came into the kitchen and didn’t find food, he dragged me by my clothes and threatened to beat me. James sat there watching. When I asked him to defend me, he blamed me for not cooking. In that moment, I realised he’d never have my back.
I packed my things quietly and told him I was travelling home for the new year. As soon as I got home, I asked for a divorce. He begged, but I was done.
It’s been three years since I walked away, and I’m glad I did. I eventually stopped mourning my childlessness and adopted a young girl, and took in some of my nieces. I feel fulfilled living this way, even though I never thought I would.
Nice. How have all these experiences shaped your idea of love and relationships?
You don’t need marriage to be happy. Our society treats marriage as a way to control women, not a partnership. While it works for some, I’ve decided marriage is off the table for me. I wish younger women would stop rushing. If I hadn’t pressured myself into marriage early, I might have avoided so much pain.
Finally, how are the streets treating you these days? Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10.
10/10. I feel fresher and lighter. I have my peace, and no one is draining me emotionally or financially.
The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.
Aliyah* (36) moved to the UK in 2021, hoping to build a future with her husband. But when her student visa expired, everything fell apart—including her marriage. In this story, she shares how she became the dependent of a husband who cheated on her, blamed her for their fertility struggles, and eventually abandoned her without explanation in a foreign land.
Where do you currently live, and when did you move out of Nigeria?
I live in the United Kingdom (UK) and I left Nigeria in 2021.
It’s been four years. How is life in the UK going?
It’s been the opposite of everything I expected. I was married in Nigeria for two years and owned a law firm. I started experiencing financial difficulties after the COVID-19 pandemic, so I spoke to my husband, and we agreed that it was time to leave the country.
We decided to go through the study route. I chose to get a master’s degree, so the plan was that I’d go first, and my husband would join me shortly.
Is there a reason why you both couldn’t move at the same time?
We were about £1,000 (about ₦555,000) short of the money needed to move together. He promised to join me in three months, which turned into one year. It was difficult navigating life in a new country by myself.
What was it like?
I was only allowed to work for 20 hours, and I still had extra school fees to pay. I had only paid one of three school fees instalments before leaving Nigeria, which was about £7000. I was in a tough spot, so I had to do whatever I could to make money in the UK. If he had joined me sooner, we would have figured things out more easily because he could have worked here full time.
My husband eventually joined me in the UK after one year. At that time, I was officially done with my master’s but didn’t have enough money to pay for my third semester. The school fee was £21,000 in total. I paid £7,000 before I left Nigeria, and another £7,000 in the UK. I found it impossible to pay the final instalment, and though I tried explaining to the school, it didn’t change anything.
Two months after he arrived in the UK, the school informed the immigration office that I could no longer remain on the student visa. We were then given 60 days to leave the UK.
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That’s horrible
It was at the time. We didn’t want to leave the UK, so we started job hunting. Getting a good job here with my Nigerian law degree was harder, but my husband works in tech, so he didn’t need extra qualifications. Luckily, he got a job that sponsored our visa. At this point, I had started noticing that something was wrong with our marriage, but I was hoping it would pass. I thought it was the stress we were going through to get the visa, but I was wrong. While we were still stuck in the visa processing phase, I caught him cheating. It was surprising and heartbreaking because he never cheated in Nigeria.
He didn’t have the financial means to cheat then, and he was the most introverted human being I’d ever met in my life. Cheating is a dealbreaker for me, so after I caught him, I was furious. The moment the visa came in, everything changed abruptly.
In what way?
He stopped consummating the marriage and talking to me in the house. I thought it was a stress-induced phase from the anxiety of not knowing whether we’d be able to stay in the UK, but I was wrong because two months after he got the visa and I became his dependent, he still wasn’t talking to me.
This went on for a long time, so one day, I went to him and practically begged him to tell me what I had done wrong, but he said it wasn’t time to talk. He was close to my parents, so I pleaded with them to ask him what was going on.
So did he say what it was?
He told them I wasn’t financially responsible. But the truth is that I was on a student visa before he came, and I could only potentially make a quarter of the money that he could make.
He wanted us to run a 50/50 household, but it didn’t seem fair. We didn’t even do that when we were in Nigeria; he paid the rent and bought food while I handled everything else he couldn’t. This was how it always was, so I found it a little strange when he had that conversation with my father.
My unemployment status after the expiration of my visa was also not my fault—we had just moved to a new town because of his job.
All the elders around us tried to help us settle our issues, but he told a different story to everybody. He told one of the elders I wasn’t losing enough weight to fight the fertility issues we had, and he told others different reasons why he was no longer speaking to me. About three months into being his dependent, he told me he was going out and wasn’t going to return home.
Did he want to separate officially?
He didn’t say. When I asked where he was going, he said it was none of my business. He left the house, and I never saw him again. He tried to get out of the lease of the house we were renting at the time, but the lease was not breakable. I tried calling, but he never picked up my calls.
So he never reached out again?
He only texted me when the house rent was due, saying he wanted my contribution. Those texts were usually insulting. When the tenancy finally expired, he came to the house to pack his stuff. That was the first and only time I had seen my husband since he had left without explanation. He simply said “Hi” and packed his belongings—everything from electronics to kitchen appliances.
After he was done packing, he asked me if I wanted to keep anything. That was one of the craziest things I’ve ever heard. After years of being the lawyer who processes divorces for others, I’ve still never heard any story like mine. I declined his offer, so he took everything and drove off.
Has he officially asked for a divorce?
No, he hasn’t. I am still on his visa, so if he files for divorce, I would have to go back to Nigeria. It’s been hard to get a job that will sponsor my visa. I’ve been trying to get more qualifications so I can finally move on with my life, but it’s been tough so far. I really look forward to getting a job that will sponsor my visa because the moment I do, I’ll file for a divorce myself.
Did you notice any marriage cracks before moving to the UK?
We had only been married for two years and didn’t have issues that couldn’t be fixed. There have always been red flags, but I didn’t think things could get so bad in the UK.
When we were newly married, we mutually agreed to relocate to the UK in a few years. But he mostly left me to figure things out during the relocation process. Then, one day, he thanked me for moving forward with the process because he didn’t believe it would be financially possible. It was weird because he never mentioned that he was financially incapable of handling things; he just left me to figure everything out.
Looking back at our marriage in Nigeria, I think I only got love and respect because of my money. He had a way of constantly celebrating me whenever I made financial decisions that made his life easier. I was oblivious to it then, but I know now that he was worshipping the money. He was earning ₦200,000 in Nigeria, and I earned more than that. When I moved here, I didn’t have that kind of money anymore, so it meant that the one thing that made him value me was gone.
I’m so sorry.
Thank you. While we were in Nigeria, I liked being spontaneous. There were days when I’d plan surprise dates and handle all the bills. I also bought him designer gifts constantly, and those were the parts of the marriage he liked. Those were the kind of things that brought out his most affectionate side.
At what point did you realise the marriage couldn’t be saved?
I don’t think we had one of those moments. Before he came here, I told him about my financial situation and how I had accumulated debt to pay my school fees.
The plan was for him to help me get back on my feet while we figure out the rest of our lives. The job he got paid £4,000 per month, and our bills were below £1000. I thought he would offer to cover the bills since the odd jobs I picked up to survive paid less than he earned, and I had debt to clear. But he didn’t. Instead, he was upset. He started complaining about how he hadn’t eaten out since he moved to the UK and how he wasn’t living the life he thought he would live here. I had to get him takeout that day to make him happy.
As time passed, he started acting out completely. He bought his kitchen utensils and started cooking his meals. He also made demarcations in the fridge and picked out his side. He’d also label his food with his name and store it on the “his side” of the refrigerator. But these things didn’t start until he completely got off my visa. That was probably because he knew I could take him off. I honestly can’t tell because he never told me what was happening in his head.
Was there any point that you talked things over as a couple while this was going on?
He never spoke directly to me. All I know is what he told my parents and those around us, but he never talked to me about whatever I did wrong. He also didn’t seem interested in fixing things.
I’m so sorry about that. How are you starting over in the UK?
When he left, I was relieved because I was tired of fighting. I made a one-year plan to start over, but it didn’t work. I told everybody that I was okay, but I really wasn’t. My emotions got the best of me. At some point, I became hypertensive.
That’s horrible. On a scale of one to ten, how happy would you say you are in the UK?
I’d say two. I know everything happens for a reason, but if I’m being candid, I’m not a happy person right now.
Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).
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Trigger Warning: This article contains sensitive topics, including physical assault and sexual abuse, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised.
For many Nigerian children, their parents’ divorce didn’t just happen to their mum or dad; it happened to them too. It was a turning point for how they saw love, home, and themselves.
In this story, we spoke to Nigerians who watched their parents’ marriage fall apart at different stages of life. They share how it shaped their lives and what they’ve learned about healing.
“I didn’t know about the divorce until I turned 18” — Mel*, 30
Growing up, I never suspected that the woman I called ‘mum’ wasn’t my biological mother. She treated me with care, raised me alongside her own children, and made sure I never felt left out. Everything changed when I turned 18.
My father sat me down and told me his wife was actually my stepmother. He explained that he’d divorced my birth mother when I was around three, claiming she had dabbled in diabolical things he didn’t want around me. I was devastated. I couldn’t understand why nobody had told me sooner — or why my real mother had never tried to see me. That revelation threw me into depression. I kept wondering why she abandoned me.
I saw my biological mother for the first time at 23. She came unannounced to my convocation. Seeing her on that day overwhelmed me, so I refused to speak to her. But after some weeks and pressure from relatives, I agreed to meet her. She told a completely different story.
According to her, she didn’t abandon me — she said my father hid me and blocked every attempt she made to reach me. She blamed my stepmother, too. This caused another emotional mess. I didn’t know who to believe. I still don’t, but I’ve made peace with not knowing the full truth.
These days, I’ve built a cordial relationship with my biological mum. But my stepmother will always be a mother to me. She was there during my formative years, and I had a happy, normal childhood. That’s what matters most to me.
“I didn’t see it coming after 31 years of marriage” — Blessing*, 22
It happened four months ago, but I still haven’t fully processed it. My mum called a family meeting and calmly announced she was leaving my dad, after 31 years of marriage.
I laughed.
I genuinely thought it was a joke. But she was serious.
She said she’d made up her mind over a decade ago but waited until her four children were grown. She didn’t want us to grow up in a broken home. I’m the last born, and I’d just graduated from university, so in her mind, her job was done.
I always knew my parents had issues, but I didn’t realise how deep they ran. I didn’t know that my father had started a whole family outside of our home. My mum had known for years but kept it quiet.
What pushed her over the edge was my dad falling ill with liver complications. She told us she refused to spend the rest of her life nursing a man who had built a new family elsewhere. She said, ‘Let him go to them.’
My dad was stunned. He nearly collapsed from shock, but nothing he or his sisters said changed her mind. Now she’s moved out and is processing the divorce. She’s also planning to relocate abroad to live with my eldest sister.
My dad, on the other hand, has finally admitted the truth about his other family and says he wants to introduce me to them. I don’t even know how to feel about that.
I’m the only one still living at home, so I’ve been caring for him since my mum left. It’s been strange, sitting with the man I’ve known all my life, and realising there’s a whole other side of him none of us knew. Some days, I feel angry on my mum’s behalf. Other days, I just feel numb. I never imagined our family would come apart this way, but I admire her courage deep down.
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“I found the love letters that ended their marriage” — Uthman*, 28
I spent a long time thinking my parents’ divorce was my fault. It happened during a long vacation in the mid-2000s. I was nine, and my cousin and I were playing in my mum’s car when we stumbled upon a bunch of handwritten love letters hidden in the glove compartment. We read them and took them to my dad, thinking we were doing something right. Everything changed after that.
I remember them having a huge fight. A physical one where they were screaming at each other and throwing things. Even though I didn’t understand it fully, I knew their marriage would never recover.
Earlier that year, a teacher had already reported me for kissing a classmate at school. So when the divorce went to court, my dad brought it up, claiming my mum’s infidelity had corrupted me. That wasn’t true. All I’d ever seen were the letters. But still, he won custody.
My mum moved to a flat nearby, so I still got to see her, but things were never the same. Two years later, when my dad started seeing someone new, I felt like I was carrying the weight of the family’s collapse alone. His new marriage felt like a betrayal, and I acted out in every way possible. I punctured his car tires. I poured salt in food his new wife cooked. I tore up their wedding photos. Eventually, he sent me off to boarding school.
I couldn’t bring myself to accept my stepmother. I saw her as a symbol of everything that went wrong, even though she wasn’t the problem. It took growing up and therapy to realise I was a child, and nothing that happened was ever my fault.
I don’t think I caused the divorce anymore, but it took a long time for me to get over it.
“I knew he was evil, but longed for the normalcy other families had” — Dunsin*, 25
My mum’s decision to leave my father was the best thing she did for my sister and me. Even now, more than 15 years later, it’s still incredibly difficult for me to talk about the sexual abuse we endured at his hands.
I was only around nine years old when he started. My father would sneak into my room, hold my penis, and tell me to put his in my mouth. It was deeply messed up, and even then, I knew it was wrong. But I didn’t grasp the magnitude.
He told me he was ‘teaching me what to do with girls’ when the time came, and I just went along with it. This happened for a while, and I never told my mother.
She found out when she discovered blood in my six-year-old sister’s panties. My sister told my mum what our dad had done. Then, I finally confessed what he’d been doing to me.
One night, my mother simply packed us up and we ran. We stayed with her parents while they went through the divorce. Despite knowing my father was evil, my teenage years were often filled with a longing for the normalcy other families seemingly had. We struggled so much financially, while my father, a wealthy businessman, continued his life untouched.
As a boy, I never really spoke about the molestation. There were so many unresolved feelings because no one ever brought it up. I think my mother just wanted the whole thing to fade away. I have no relationship with my father now and haven’t seen him in the last ten years. I truly believe it’s best this way.
“Our relatives would pressure me to get them to reconcile” — Imade*, 28
My parents’ divorce process began one Christmas holiday. My mum took us to our grandparents’ place and told us we wouldn’t return to Abuja. That was when she left my dad.
I was in secondary school, and what I understood was that their fights over money had escalated to the point where my dad became physically abusive. I remember being caught in the middle of one of their fights and getting beaten up. Still, I was angry with her for leaving. I didn’t want to change schools or move to a remote town in Osun. I hated that my life had to change because they couldn’t make their marriage work.
For a long time, I resented my mum and wished she had just endured for our sake. I was angry at my dad, too. Being the firstborn meant I became the third parent. They put me in the middle, accusing me of siding with the other. When my siblings later moved to live with my dad, I had to step in as though I were their mum.
Looking back, I understand now. They were never compatible, and their separation was for the best. But I carried the pressure of trying to fix things for years. Relatives suggested that I try to get them to reconcile, and I almost believed it was my job.
Their divorce has made me cautious about love. I overthink things and rarely live in the moment. I’m scared of history repeating itself. Still, I’ve healed. My mum is remarried. My dad, though still alone, is calmer. And while the resentment is gone, I sometimes worry about him more than anything else — the older he gets, the lonelier he is.
If you want to share your own story, I’d love to hear it here.
“My father was rich, but refused to pay my school fees” — Kennedy*, 63
I was seven when my parents separated. Back then, it wasn’t even called divorce — my mother simply left. That was how it was in the 1960s. When a man pushed too far, women just left the house
He had multiple affairs and eventually brought another woman into the house, which was the final straw for my mum. She moved out and remarried, but that marriage also ended in heartbreak after their child passed away.
Even as a child, I knew my father was selfish. He was a wealthy bank manager, but he didn’t care about any of his children. After the separation, I had to live with his own father, and it was that man who paid my school fees and raised me with love. My father didn’t contribute a penny.
Strangely enough, his absence didn’t break me. I was lucky to be surrounded by love from my grandparents. So even though I didn’t grow up with a present father, I didn’t feel lacking in the way most people might expect. He eventually apologised and came back into my life,t days before he died. That was all. It didn’t change the past, but I took it as closure.
“I’ve learned not to let their story define mine” — Yinka, 27
“My parents divorced while my mum was pregnant with me, so I’ve never known them as a couple. Nobody ever told me what caused the divorce. It’s just the way things have always been. And we’ve never talked about it.
When I was a child, they fought over custody of my sister, who was ten years older than I was. There was a boy between us, but he passed away. The court eventually ruled that my sister should stay with my dad, and I should live with my mum.
But when I turned four, my mum returned me to my dad, and from then on, I only visited her during the holidays. Growing up, I always felt a strange kind of loneliness — like I didn’t belong fully in either parent’s world. I didn’t have a deep connection with either of them; we just existed around each other. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that this is my reality.
These days, I keep things cordial. I call, visit occasionally, and respond when they reach out. Nothing more. I’ve learned to stop expecting more than they can give and not to let their story define mine.
For many older Nigerians, divorce still feels like a taboo. But what makes some people walk away from a marriage they once hoped would last forever? I spoke to six Nigerians whose stories reveal that the decision to leave is never taken lightly and is sometimes the only way to survive.
“He threatened to kill me if I told anyone his secret” — Doris, 53
*Doris thought she was marrying a man of God. But what awaited her was a heavy secret that imprisoned her.
“I married my sweetheart after three years of courtship. We met in church, where he was the youth pastor. We were celibate throughout the relationship, so I looked forward to our wedding night. But that night, he said he was tired and needed to rest.
That continued for a week. He refused to touch me. Instead, he’d leave the house for church and return late, only to insist we pray till midnight. Whenever I brought up intimacy, he’d accuse me of being ‘too carnal’.
Eventually, I’d had enough. I waited for him to come home one night and told him we must have sex. When I pulled down his trousers, I screamed.
What I saw didn’t look like a grown man’s private part; it looked like a baby’s penis. I locked myself in the guest room that night. The next day, he threatened me and said if I ever told anyone, he’d kill me.
I lived in silence for months, crying myself to sleep and mourning the future I thought I would never have. I wanted kids, but there was no possibility of that now. The depression was heavy. I eventually confided in my mother and sister, and they encouraged me to leave. I also reported to our church leaders. They rebuked him for not disclosing the truth before marriage, but tried to convince me to stay.
I refused. I packed my things, filed for divorce, and moved to another city for safety. For years, I feared he might come after me, just as he’d threatened. Thankfully, I found peace again. I got remarried to a kind widower years later.”
“She chewed her memory card in front of everyone” — *Chijoke, 51
For *Chijoke, what began with a wedding invitation turned into a revelation that exposed *Ijeoma’s cheating and financial deceit, ultimately tearing their decade-long marriage apart.
In 2021, my wife, *Ijeoma, got invited to a wedding in our hometown, Abba. She was supposed to be gone for a week. But after two days, my sister, who lives there, called to say she hadn’t seen Ijeoma.
When I asked her where she was, Ijeoma claimed she had stopped to see her best friend in Enugu. I asked her to pass the phone to her friend, but she gave an excuse and hung up.
Something wasn’t right. I contacted a friend in Enugu and asked him to help me hire a private investigator. That’s how I found out she was staying at a popular hotel in Enugu with a man. We got pictures as evidence.
When she returned, I confronted her with the pictures. She claimed the man was a schoolmate and they had only gone to the hotel’s restaurant to eat. She kept lying, so I called a family meeting and asked her to give me her phone. She removed the memory card and chewed it right there in front of everyone before handing it over. That was the confirmation I needed.
But it wasn’t just cheating. We ran a bakery together that made an average of ₦250k weekly. But the week she travelled? We made over ₦900k. That same week, her contribution collector came around and mentioned she’d been contributing ₦30k daily. That was when I realised she’d been stealing from the business.
Her family and the church kept begging me to forgive her. I heard their pleas, but also had my own plan. I lied that we needed money to pay our shop rent and asked how much she had. She said ₦300k. I already knew she was lying because I had her bank statement and she had about ₦1.1m sitting there. Out of guilt, she gave me ₦1m.
After that, I switched up. I became cold, cheated openly and took full control of the business finances. It drove her mad. Her mother eventually visited the shop one day, shouting and demanding that her daughter leave the marriage. I didn’t argue. We got divorced in 2023, and I took the kids.
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“I nearly lost an eye after he beat me” — *Samiat, 42
For *Samiat, marriage was something she was handed. At just 18, she became a wife and punching bag. Many years later, a piece of paper gave her the escape she needed.
“I was 18 when I married *Muktar. At the time, it wasn’t a choice. He was older and quickly became what society said a husband should be — my lord. He beat me for every little mistake.
By the time I had my children, I knew I had to find a way out of the marriage. I applied for jobs in other states just to have a reason to be away. I eventually landed a junior role with a government agency in Abuja and relocated. The job wasn’t too demanding, so I enrolled in part-time studies at Open University. I didn’t tell him because he’d never allow it.
Whenever I visited home, he picked fights, saying I’d stopped being submissive and should quit my job. I refused. One night, he beat me and pushed me into a glass shelf. I was hospitalised and almost lost an eye.
When I returned home, I found a piece of paper with three lines scribbled on it: ‘I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you’. In our Hausa culture, seeing those words meant the marriage was over. I was thrilled and thanked him, but he claimed he wrote it in anger and tried to take it back. I grabbed the paper and ran. That same night, I returned to Abuja.
The next day at work, I lied and said I got injured in an accident. But when I got home that evening, he was waiting at the staff quarters gate. He attacked me and demanded the paper, but my neighbours heard my screams and rushed to pull him off me. They kicked him out and said he’d be arrested if he ever came back.
That was my turning point. I graduated, got promoted, and posted my graduation pictures online on the first anniversary of leaving him. He saw them and showed up again, but I had him arrested this time. That was the last time I saw him.
Now, I’m a senior civil servant. My kids are all grown and married, and I visit them often.”
“The moment I got a job, I divorced her” — *Peter, 55
They say hardship tests a person’s love. For *Peter, losing his job didn’t just change his finances; it exposed the true colours of the woman he once adored.
“I married a woman I truly loved. But our relationship turned sour when I lost my job. She suddenly hated me. She would insult and sometimes ignore me in front of everyone. At some point, she stopped cooking for me. I had to beg the neighbours for food to eat.
My joblessness stretched into six years. I applied for countless jobs and tried to stay hopeful, but my resentment grew with each rejection. The last straw was when my younger brother fell ill. I begged my wife to help take a loan for his treatment, but she refused. She made it clear that it wasn’t her problem. My brother died shortly after.
Then, in 2017, I got the biggest break of my life — a job with ExxonMobil. The first thing I did was file for divorce. However, while we’ve separated, I’ve made sure our children are cared for. I send money regularly and pay their school fees.”
“To him, I was no longer his wife, but a witch sent to kill him” — *Adebisi, 69
*Adebisi’s husband treated her more like a slave than a partner. She was looked down on and eventually discarded without warning.
“I was just 20 in 1980 when my family married me off to a wealthy, educated man in Lagos. I left our village in Osun full of dreams, but when I got there, I quickly realised I was just a replacement for his dying wife.
His first wife had late-stage cancer and asked him to marry someone she could observe. Particularly, someone who’d be able to properly care for her children. That woman turned out to be me. For nearly two years, I cared for her, the children, and the household. I cooked, cleaned, and helped her through her final moments. When she eventually passed, I finally felt like I belonged.
Not long after, I welcomed my first child after a long battle with infertility. Around this period, I noticed a strange girl around the house. She was barely 16 and best friends with my husband’s eldest daughter. I didn’t think much of it until I walked into my bedroom one day and found him on top of her.
I called him a disgrace for sleeping with a girl young enough to be his child. But he wasn’t fazed.. He married the same girl two years later.
At first, I tried to coexist with her peacefully, but she made my life hell. She would pour sand in my food and beat my daughter when I wasn’t looking. I reported to our husband, but he mostly ignored my complaints. She, on the other hand, would whisper to him in English and write letters I couldn’t read.
One December, we travelled to our village. He told me to stay back for a while and promised to come for me. I waited for weeks, then months. When I returned to Lagos, he told the guards at the gate that I was no longer his wife but a witch sent to kill him. I slept outside the gate for days before finally returning to my village in shame.
It took me years to move on. But eventually, I remarried. Even now, I still wonder what she told him that made him turn so completely.”
“She slept with men around” — Shola, 58
The reputation his wife built in their small town left a stain on *Shola. When he got a transfer offer, he didn’t hesitate to take it.
“The best thing that came out of my marriage to *Tade was our kids. That’s it. Everything else was chaos. She fought with neighbours, stole from friends, and embarrassed me in ways I can’t even explain.
I heard rumours she was sleeping with our driver, then the salesboy at her store, and the gateman. I tried to protect what was left of the marriage, but her reputation made it harder every day. So when I got an offer to transfer to another state office, I didn’t hesitate. It was the escape I’d been praying for.
She said she’d join me later and needed time to close her business. I agreed and moved with the kids. That was the last time we lived under the same roof.
She refused to join us for months. Meanwhile, people back home said she had gotten even bolder. The men were coming and going with her as they liked. Eventually, I stopped waiting. I filed for divorce and sent her the papers.
The last I heard, one of her boyfriends ran off with all her money and wrecked her business. I have zero regrets about leaving her.”
Breakups are hard, but they hit different when your partner decides to make a public service announcement about it online. Whether you’re the victim or the villain in the story, here’s your ultimate Zikoko guide to navigating post-breakup internet drama like a pro.
1. Pause before reacting
The streets are waiting for your clapback, but don’t give them the satisfaction. Take a moment to breathe and let your emotions settle. A rushed response could make you the meme of the week.
2. Document everything
You need receipts for future reference. Whether it’s for your therapist, lawyer, or group chat, you’ll thank yourself for documenting the mess.
3. Check if they tagged you
If your ex tagged you in the breakup post, it’s game on. You can’t be blindsided like that without deciding whether to untag, block, or drop an equally dramatic post.
4. Secure your social media
Change your passwords, lock down your accounts, and prepare for random trolls sliding into your DMs. The internet is full of overzealous judges.
5. Update your bio
Were you one of those couples with matching bios? Quickly edit yours before people start zooming in and analysing your emotional state.
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6. Alert your squad
Before your friends learn from the blogs, send a quick SOS to your inner circle. They need to be armed and ready to defend your honour online.
7. Mute your ex
Unfollowing them might seem dramatic, so mute their account instead. Out of sight, out of mind, but still within reach for reconnaissance.
8. Curate your own narrative
If you must address the situation, keep it classy. A simple “We’ve decided to part ways, but I wish them the best” will do. No need to turn it into an episode of The Real Housewives of Instagram.
9. Prepare for public questions
Everyone from your nosy aunty to your office colleagues will ask, “What happened?” Have a generic response ready, like, “We just grew apart.”
10. Stay off social media
As tempting as it is to scroll through comments dissecting your relationship, resist the urge. Social media is a circus, and you don’t need to perform.
If you need support with going through a rough divorce or breakup, don’t hesitate to get in touch with a self-help service provider like this one.
Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
What’s your earliest memory of each other?
Joke: I knew Makin from a distance during our university days. He was in a different department and two years ahead of me, but I usually saw him at a popular study hub close to school.
Makin held mathematics tutorials for fellow students, and he continued even after he graduated. I had to retake a maths course in 300 level, and that’s how I became one of his students in 2017.
Makin: I noticed Joke because she was easily one of my smartest students — and beautiful, of course — and I was curious about how she got a carryover. We started talking, and our conversations moved from academics to general life. It became a tradition for her to wait for me after class so we could talk as I walked her to her hostel.
She retook the course and passed, but we remained friends.
When did friendship graduate to something else?
Makin: The following year, I got a job at an offshore company in another state and couldn’t talk to Joke during the first two weeks because there was no network signal on the rig. I didn’t get myself throughout that period. I missed her so much.
Joke: It was the longest we’d gone without talking to each other. I missed him, but I didn’t want to think about it too much. He hadn’t hinted at anything beyond friendship, and I didn’t want to start catching feelings. But that changed when he returned from the rig.
Makin: I went straight to her hostel the moment I landed back in the state. I didn’t even go home to change. Two weeks away from her made me realise what I felt was more than friendship, and I had to tell her immediately.
How did you react, Joke?
Joke: I was pleasantly surprised but also really excited. I hadn’t let myself consider the possibility of us being together, but there he was, energetically confessing his feelings. He asked me to be his girlfriend, we kissed, and the relationship officially started.
What were the early days like?
Joke: Makin was very intentional. Whenever he wasn’t on the rig, he spent time with me. We talked a lot about our future, went out on dates, and he wrote me little love notes. When NYSC sent me to the North in 2018, he took quarterly flights to come and be with me.
That’s why it was a huge surprise when I found out he cheated.
Makin: I made a mistake, Joke. It wasn’t exactly cheating.
Joke: Really?
Okay, wait. What actually happened?
Joke: We were discussing an investment scheme someone had told him about on one of his visits to my base. The lady had sent some of the information to his WhatsApp, so he gave me his phone to read it. Out of curiosity, I scrolled up to see what his communication with this lady was like, and I saw that they’d been sexting.
Makin: It happened only once with her. The lady and I had a fling years before I met Joke, but it fizzled out, and we remained casual friends. The sexting thing happened because Joke and I were going through a rough patch, and I lost my head for a bit. But it’s not an excuse for what I did.
What caused the rough patch, though?
Makin: Joke is a very opinionated woman, and I’m more traditional. I expect that while a couple can have different views, the man should ultimately make the final decision. This doesn’t always sit well with Joke.
During that period, we’d argued over what would happen if she didn’t get a job in the state where we lived or where I worked. I argued that it made more sense for her to move to the state where I worked, but she didn’t think we had to settle there because it wouldn’t exactly make the distance shorter. I’d still travel to the rig for weeks at a time.
It became an issue, and we didn’t talk for a whole day. That’s another issue with Joke —when she’s angry, she becomes withdrawn.
Joke: So, I guess the solution was running to another woman?
Makin: I’m sorry.
Help Shape Nigeria’s Biggest Love Report! We’re asking Nigerians about relationships, marriage, sex, money, and everything in between. Your anonymous answers will become a landmark report on modern Nigerian love. Click here to take the survey. It’s100% anonymous.
How did you both get past this?
Joke: He begged for days, swore it’d never happen again and even involved my mum. We both come from closely-knit families, and our parents knew about us almost as soon as we started dating. Makin is especially close to my mum, so he called and asked her to beg me. He didn’t tell her what he did, though.
I forgave him after a week. I considered it a first-time slip-up and thought I shouldn’t let it destroy what we had. He was still kind and loving and appeared truly sorry.
Makin: I was truly sorry. Since those first two weeks on the rig, I’ve known I want to spend the rest of my life with Joke, and I couldn’t afford to lose her. Thankfully, we moved past it and got married in 2019.
How has marriage been?
Joke: A mistake.
Makin: I haven’t been the best husband, but I love Joke and want to make things right.
I’m lost now. Why do you consider marriage a mistake, Joke?
Joke: We’ve had several misunderstandings due to our slightly different views on gender roles. Makin thinks he should have the final say, but I think I should be allowed to disagree. I expect him to offer to help with chores when he’s home — emphasis on “offer” because I’ll likely tell him not to bother. It’s just the thought that counts. But he doesn’t think I should expect that of him.
Makin: I don’t have a problem with helping out. It’s the tone of her voice when she makes these complaints. She often makes it seem like I’m sitting doing nothing and just watching her do all the chores, but I chip in sometimes. Plus, she works remotely, and I’m not always home. Surely, she shouldn’t mind catering to me for the weeks we’re together.
Joke: I hear that, and over the years, I’ve deliberately tried to reduce the complaints. Of course, we still clashed a few times, but I think that’s normal in a marriage. Couples will always have minor misunderstandings. But that’s not why I think marrying Makin was a mistake; it’s because of the cheating.
Has there been another cheating episode?
Joke: More like episodes. I caught him sexting two more people at different points over the years. The first one happened six months into our marriage. The second one was just after we celebrated our third anniversary. Each time, he promised it’d never happen again.
Makin: I really wanted to tell Joke before she found the chats on my phone. I know I have a weakness for women, which becomes worse whenever my wife and I aren’t on good terms.
Both cases were stupid lapses in judgment, and I didn’t clear the chats because I wanted to come clean. But I was scared of telling Joke; I didn’t want her to leave me. I know now that was a foolish justification because I had no one to talk to when my weakness almost destroyed my marriage.
What happened?
Makin: I had an affair with someone from work last year.
Joke: Let me give you the gory details. Makin slept with a subordinate at work for seven months and only stopped when a colleague caught them going at it in the office.
Hmm. How did you find out, Joke?
Joke: He came clean when he got fired a week later. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t believe Makin would actually go that far. His begging and grovelling only made me angrier, so I packed out of the house and moved in with my mum.
Makin: I’ll forever be sorry for hurting Joke. She doesn’t believe me, but I never intended to break her heart and trust that way. I desperately tried to end the affair several times and even avoided the lady, but somehow, I kept going back.
Joke: It was that good, abi?
Makin: No, babe. I was just stupid, please. I’m really sorry.
This was last year, and you’re still together now. Does that mean you’ve returned home, Joke?
Joke: Yes. I returned home after three months. I’d already started looking for a divorce lawyer, but Makin and my mum kept pleading with me. Honestly, my mum is the only reason we’re still together. She’s hypertensive, and she was constantly worrying about her only daughter being a divorcee. I didn’t want anything to affect her health negatively.
Makin, how does it feel knowing Joke doesn’t really want to be in this marriage?
Makin: I have no choice but to accept it. But I also see an opportunity to rebuild Joke’s love and trust. She has every reason to hate me, but I just want her to see that I’m a new man. The whole ordeal with my workplace led me to God, and I’ve rededicated my life to Christ. I want to build a home that both God and my wife are proud of. I don’t mind how long it takes.
Joke: This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this, though the God part is new. Every time it happens, he claims he’s a changed man and swears on his life that it’ll never happen again. Yet he somehow does something worse after.
I honestly feel I’ll regret coming back. Apart from my mum, you’re the only person I’ve told about this. Because how do I tell people I let a man play in my face, not once or twice?
Hmm.
Joke: I didn’t even share how learning about the affair drove me to depression. I kept wondering if I wasn’t enough. I contributed equally to home expenses and even bought him his car— the same one he used to carry his little girlfriend around. I never denied this man sex. Wasn’t I doing it well enough for him?
Or, is it because we still don’t have a child? The doctor said Makin was the problem, but was an affair his way of trying his luck somewhere else? I kept wishing I could rewind time so I’d have left the first time he cheated. Anything to stop this mistake of a marriage from happening in the first place.
It took several months before I came to terms with the fact that I couldn’t blame myself for his actions. I’m still pained, but it was his decision to do what he did. My focus now is on myself and my career. I may still be in this marriage, but I can’t pretend that the love is still here.
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Have you both considered marriage counselling?
Makin: I suggested it when Joke first returned home, but I was unemployed, and Joke wasn’t interested in paying for it. However, I got a new job a few months ago and I’m trying to convince Joke to let us talk to a counsellor.
Joke: I think it will be a waste of time. Talking about the affairs for an extended period of time will only bring back the pain. Plus, counselling is like saying we want to work to rebuild our union. I don’t want to dedicate my efforts and emotions to repairing our connection because it’ll only hurt more when he cheats again.
Makin: Believe me, babe. It’ll never happen again.
Joke: Right.
What’s your marriage like these days?
Joke: We’re basically roommates who have sex with each other. Makin has been trying to be more helpful around the house and buys me things to win my love back. It works sometimes and for a few days, I like him again. But then I remember and it hurts all over again. I can’t afford to love or trust him because it won’t end well for me.
Makin: Things are still very up and down right now, but I see it as me needing to put in more work to get Joke back. I can’t live without her, and I’ll keep trying until she believes I’ll never hurt her again.
How would you rate your Love Life on a scale of 1 to 10?
Joke: 2. This wasn’t the life I envisioned in marriage, and I would be long gone if not for my mum. Makin: 4. We’re a work in progress. I know I messed things up, but I believe we can still be happy again.
Check back every Thursday by 9 AM for new Love Life stories here. The stories will also be a part of the Ships newsletter, so sign up here.
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Tokunbo’s* first marriage began to crash barely a year after the wedding due to infidelity and constant arguments. He married his current wife while processing his divorce in 2017 and thought he’d finally found a shot at happiness.
Seven years later, he’s struggling with regret and hopes to reunite with his first wife.
I married my first wife, Yetunde* when I was 27 years old, but I’d loved her since I was 10.
We were childhood friends. Actually, she was my childhood bully. We lived in the same estate and we met when my dad bought me a bicycle as a reward for getting the first position in JSS 1. I rode the bike to the farthest part of my street that day, and as expected with children, other boys came up to me and asked me to let them ride for a bit.
I allowed a few boys, and Yetunde came to ask for a turn, too. I refused — not because she was a girl, though. I had a very small stature growing up, and Yetunde, who is two years older than me, was taller and generally bigger than me. I was scared she wouldn’t return my bicycle. She thought I was just being mean and forcefully dragged the bicycle from me. She did return it later, but we became sworn enemies after that day.
Like I said, we lived in the same estate, so we always ran into each other. Whenever Yetunde saw me, she either mocked me by calling me “Stingy koko” or knocked down whatever was in my hands. I’m not even sure how we later became friends. I just know I reported her to my elder sister, and she made her stop bothering me. We became inseparable, and I thought she was the prettiest girl ever.
We started dating in SS 3 and tried continuing in university, but we schooled in different states, and our love didn’t survive the distance. We only communicated occasionally via Facebook and only saw each other thrice over the next nine years. We always had a one-night stand kind of “reunion” each time we saw. One of these reunions led to Yetunde getting pregnant in 2014.
The pregnancy came with serious issues for both our families. Yetunde’s family insisted we had to marry because it was taboo in their village to give birth outside wedlock. My own family said she was older and physically bigger than me, and that meant she’d control me in the house. In the end, Yetunde and I felt we still had feelings for each other, so we married.
It’s safe to say both of us didn’t know what to expect in marriage. We didn’t even really know each other. We’d loved each other as kids and were attracted to each other sexually, but that was about it. Living together opened our eyes to the fact that it took more than childhood love and sex to keep a home.
We fought over the smallest things. I remember how we kept malice with each other for three days because I farted in the sitting room, and it led to a huge fight. Parenting strained our relationship even more. I spent long hours at work, and Yetunde expected me to take over the baby’s needs once I returned because she’d done it all day. But I didn’t think it made sense for me to come home tired at night to start babysitting.
Yetunde resented me for that, and we fought endlessly. We also stopped having sex after our child was born. She just stopped letting me touch her. This was barely a year after marriage.
So, I started cheating. I know I should’ve put in more effort to solve our issues, but I took the easy way out. It was just casual sex, honestly. There was this babe at work who I knew liked me. We got closer when Yetunde and I stopped being intimate, and things just got out of control.
Yetunde found out six months later after going through our chats. She threatened to leave, and I begged for weeks. She only agreed to forgive me if I tested for STDs. I did the test and came back clean, but she said we’d still have to abstain from sex for three months so she could confirm I didn’t have HIV.
I was annoyed at that. It was like she thought I was a child who didn’t know how to protect himself. I still did the test again after three months, but I decided I wouldn’t approach her for sex again. If she really forgave me, she should also make the first move. She didn’t make any move.
I couldn’t cope, so I went back to having affairs. I think Yetunde knew, but she never confronted me again. We grew apart even more, and our conversations reduced to ordinary greetings or if she needed to ask me for something our child needed. I still sent her monthly allowances to care for the home as she wasn’t working. I wasn’t completely irresponsible.
In 2017, I met the woman I’m currently married to — Comfort*. I initially intended to keep her as a girlfriend, but I fell in love with her and stopped seeing other women. Comfort didn’t know I was married.
By now, I was tired of my marriage with Yetunde. I came up with every excuse possible to convince myself we weren’t meant to be together. I thought, if she hadn’t fallen pregnant, I wouldn’t even have had to marry her. Did I have to resign myself to a sexless, loveless marriage just because of one mistake?
I decided to put myself first, so I told Yetunde I wanted a divorce. Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. She just said she wouldn’t move out of the apartment, and I had to keep paying the rent. She also said she’d never give up custody of our child, which was more than fine with me.
So, that same year, I married Comfort. I had to convince her we didn’t need a court wedding because I was still in the middle of divorce proceedings (which she didn’t know), and I heard I could face jail if I tried to remarry legally while still married. We even did the traditional marriage quietly because I didn’t want Yetunde to know and probably tell the court. My family knew about my issues with Yetunde, so it wasn’t difficult telling them of my choice to remarry and keep the whole thing quiet.
I only told Comfort after the court finalised the divorce in 2019. She was angry, but my family joined me to apologise to her, and all went well. I also tried to introduce her to my child, but Yetunde relocated out of the country with her.
I’m still shocked that she didn’t tell me beforehand. If I hadn’t texted her to inform her of my marriage and ask to see my child, she probably wouldn’t have told me they’d left. I mean, I still paid the child’s school fees for the previous term, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t doing my part. I wanted to drag the issue out, but I just told myself it was for my child’s benefit.
In my head, I was finally getting a new shot at happiness. I’d tried marriage, and it didn’t work out, but I had a second chance. I was also on civil terms with my ex and didn’t need to hide anything from Comfort again. I could now be happy without feeling guilty or thinking of another woman outside.
And I was happy. Comfort even encouraged me to attend church more, and I gave my life to Christ in 2021. Since then, I’ve been serious with God and feel like a new person. But I’m now navigating a new kind of guilt: regret over divorcing Yetunde.
I listened to a sermon in 2022 about how God hates divorce, and since then, I’ve been struggling with feeling like I made a grave mistake. The Bible says, “Whoever divorces his wife and remarries has committed adultery — except the wife was unfaithful”. Yetunde wasn’t unfaithful. She didn’t even do anything to me.
No matter how I try to reason it in my head, I feel like I’m constantly living in sin by staying married to Comfort. It’s even affecting my walk with God. I feel like I call myself a Christian, but I’ll still go to hell because of this one mistake. I’ve never discussed this with Comfort.
Some church elders I’ve spoken to about my concerns have suggested reconciling with Yetunde and probably letting Comfort go since we don’t have children together yet. But first, I don’t even know if Yetunde wants to come back. I know she isn’t married, but she might not want to have anything to do with me again. Second, what do I tell Comfort and our families?
I wish I’d made better decisions and generally been a better person, but I can’t turn back the hands of time. I just know I need to make a final decision soon because I can’t continue living like this. Comfort already thinks I’m cheating because I’m constantly acting distant. Maybe I’ll gather the courage to beg Yetunde and hope she forgives me and returns. Or maybe I should just let Comfort go and live alone for the rest of my life. I don’t know.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.
What’s your earliest memory of money?
One morning, when I was five years old, my family and I returned home from church, and there was no money or food to eat. I asked my mum what we’d eat, and she said, “Jesus will provide”.
Then, she told my siblings and I to dance and praise God. We did that, and she went out and came back with food. I really thought an angel dropped the money for the food on our doorstep, and I was so excited that my prayers worked. Money was a frequent topic in our house, and situations like this food incident were regular.
Why was money a frequent topic?
We didn’t always have the money we needed, so we used a scale of preference approach to spending. Whatever wasn’t important had to wait until there was money to spare. My late dad was a lecturer, my mum was an accountant — she built a school later on — and with five children, money was never enough.
Inevitably, I grew up believing that money could never be enough, which manifested as a constant urge to make money.
When was the first time you acted on this urge?
2009. I was in my second year in uni when I started taking ushering gigs. The first one I ever did paid ₦5k instead of the ₦10k I was promised. I didn’t even mind. The organisers had covered our transportation, so I had nothing to lose.
I also did some market promotion gigs for a beer brand trying to re-enter the market. I’d never been in a bar before because of my background, but the ₦30k/month was pay I couldn’t pass up.
I should mention that I had a monthly allowance of ₦10k, and I augmented this with the ushering and market promotion gigs. In my third year in uni, I decided I could take a break from pursuing money.
What happened?
Three of my siblings graduated from uni, easing the financial pressure at home. It was just my younger brother and I in school. Plus, my eldest sister got a job at a bank immediately. She also started helping out with the occasional pocket money.
The improved financial situation gave me time to pursue other interests. I’d realised I didn’t want to practise my engineering course. I only studied it because my family decided I’d be an engineer since I was good at maths. But I didn’t like it and couldn’t drop out.
Thankfully, I found a lifeline when I discovered AIESEC on campus. I finally found something I was interested in, and I focused on the activities: conference planning, talent management and marketing. It wasn’t bringing me money, though, at least not while I was still in school.
What about after school?
I landed a three-month AIESEC internship with an entertainment company in Nairobi in 2014 — a year after I left uni. The salary was 140,000 Kenyan shillings, which was about ₦70k then.
I returned to Nigeria after the internship and got another six-month internship through AIESEC at a logistics company. This time, it was a ₦90k/month role. At that point, I wasn’t sure what I wanted with my career. I was just working to earn money. Then, I got married four months into the internship. I was 24 years old.
How did that happen?
I still ask myself the same question. My mum regularly sent my sisters and me broadcast messages about the qualities of a good wife, and I subconsciously felt I had to get married. It felt like the next logical step.
So, when I started hanging out with a long-time friend who returned to Nigeria from the UK and he brought up marriage, I went with it too. We got married in 2014.
What did that mean for your career?
I got pregnant almost immediately, and I quit my job because it seemed too stressful to juggle with a pregnancy. Also, I married into a rich family that didn’t shy away from spending money, and I thought I didn’t have to bother about making money anymore.
Before we go on, is being married to a man from a rich family anything like Nollywood depicts?
We lived in my husband’s family home with his mother and siblings. Let me explain how the house worked: my husband and his siblings all dropped an amount with their mother for our monthly needs: from food to toiletries and my child’s diapers. I didn’t even know how much a cup of rice cost. It meant I never had cash for anything.
Some months into my marriage, I became uncomfortable with depending on someone else for money. I felt strange having to ask for small things like money to do my hair or get toiletries. So, immediately after I had my child in 2015, I started job-hunting and got a ₦30k/month teaching job the following year. My child was barely a year old.
What was that like? Juggling childcare with a job?
My mother-in-law helped look after my child. My husband and in-laws didn’t understand why I had to work, though. They thought I just wanted to stress myself. But I wanted to have control of my finances.
My ₦30k salary was only enough for transporting myself to work. I even trekked sometimes so the salary would last a month. I didn’t get any financial support, but I didn’t care.
How long did this go on for?
I taught at the school for two years before I left to help my mother-in-law manage her new school. That was a mistake; I never should’ve done that.
Hmm. Why?
I served as the school’s administrator for four years and didn’t get paid once. The funny thing is, people thought I was living my best life. Like, “Wow, she married a rich man. They set up a school for her, and she even has a driver.”
But I was truly broke. I couldn’t buy anything for myself or my mum during those four years. I gave my mum excuses about how we were still trying to get the school functional. In reality, I was being used, and I couldn’t leave without causing family issues, so I took it as an opportunity to gain work experience and build myself.
Did you try to do other things to earn money?
I tried my hands at tailoring when I noticed I wasn’t going to get paid. I’d learnt the craft during my first school job. I took some savings I’d gathered when I had a salary and used it to buy tailoring materials. I had two sewing machines — my wedding gifts — and I set them up in an abandoned store belonging to my in-law’s family.
Since I didn’t pay rent, they made it look as if it was their way of paying me for my work at the school. But I was barely making anything from the shop because I didn’t have a steady clientele due to my spending long hours at the school.
In 2019, I finally found an opportunity to leave the school. I was pregnant, and we’d moved out of the family house because we wanted space — my mother-in-law had issues with my husband spending late nights, and it led to a few arguments. The school was far from our new place, so I took the opportunity to leave.
What did you do next?
After I had my second child, I began paying more attention to my business. Leaving the family house opened my eyes to the fact that we didn’t really have money, and I couldn’t afford to be financially dependent.
I also registered for NYSC that year because I thought no one would employ me without a certificate. The government started paying corps members ₦33k in my second month of service. It was like heaven to me. I’d worked for so long and didn’t even know what it was like to have ₦33k.
Damn. What was running a business while serving like?
I served in the state I lived in, so it worked. I got two commission-based assistants and included fabric sales and home-based tailoring classes in my list of services. The latter was a hit. Most people interested in my classes were middle-aged housewives who didn’t want to attend fashion schools. I made ₦50k monthly from the business on average, but most of it went back to the business.
I should mention I still didn’t have my husband’s support. He wanted to keep the illusion of us being wealthy, and my working meant he didn’t have money to take care of his home. He actually didn’t have money but didn’t want people to know. I was supposed to get glammed and look the role of an “odogwu’s wife” when, in reality, I was taking care of most of the home’s expenses.
That must have been tough
It was. I kept hustling because my kids had to eat. While I was still serving, I applied for a social media manager role at an NGO. I was a 30-year-old dragging social media work with 22-year-olds. But I got the job.
The salary was ₦90k/month. My job also included scheduling therapy appointments, and I enjoyed what I did. It didn’t mean I wasn’t applying for other jobs and looking for money, sha.
LOL. Did the job search yield results?
It did. I got another school administrator role for ₦45k/month towards the end of 2020. I juggled this with the social media job and my business.
My marriage began to nosedive during this period. My husband started leaving home for days. I told him plainly that I couldn’t leave my work to be chasing him around because I had children to feed.
I knew the whole thing would crash soon, and I focused on becoming financially independent.
How were you managing three jobs?
I had been without money for too long, and I couldn’t return to that. It was a swim-or-sink situation. I’d return from school and stay up at night to do my social media job. My assistants mostly handled my tailoring business.
It was a stressful period, but I was looking ahead. If I left my husband, I’d have to sort out rent and school fees myself, and I needed something sustainable. I mean, I was already suffering, but this time, I had a goal.
Did you leave?
I left in 2021 when he became violent. I moved back with my children to my family house, and we stayed there for six months.
In 2022, I left the school and got an office admin job, which also paid ₦45k. The plan was to gather admin experience to work in a standard organisation.
To sort out accommodation, I took a housing loan from work to rent a ₦300k/year one-bedroom apartment and moved in with my kids. Then, I quit my social media role to focus on the admin job. It paid more, but it wasn’t my desired career path. I also closed down my business because my ex kept going there to cause a scene. It was too much.
Sorry about that. You went from three income sources to one. What did that mean for you?
I think I walked everywhere I went in 2022. I lost so much weight that my mum had to intervene. She took my kids for three months to give me time and space to get a grip on myself. I struggled with that because I used my children as a shield to grieve the end of my marriage. You can’t cry with kids around. They don’t give you room to be depressed.
Being alone meant I had to confront my emotions and go through all the phases of grief. After I was done with that, I took pen to paper to map out my career. I’d gotten admin experience already. The next thing to do was get a better-paying job.
How did that go?
I enrolled in a bunch of free online admin and Excel courses to upskill, and I applied to jobs like someone was pursuing me. I must have applied to 500 jobs in two months. I’d also been “promoted” to admin team lead at my workplace by this time. There was no salary increase — just the fancy name change.
In September 2022, I eventually landed my current job as an admin officer in an oil company. The funny thing is, I didn’t exactly apply for it. A recruitment agency contacted me on LinkedIn to ask if I was interested in the role. I shared my CV and did the interviews. In my head, if they asked about salary expectations, I’d say ₦150k, so I could afford to save ₦50k monthly.
I got the offer via a phone call, and the recruiter said my salary would be about ₦700k — ₦500k basic salary plus allowances.
Wow. Paint me a picture of how you reacted to this
I was speechless for a full minute. The recruiter kept asking if I was there. I thought, “How is this possible? Will I have to kill people at this company to earn that much?”
A colleague was with me at the office when the call came in, and I put the phone on speaker so they could confirm I wasn’t hearing things. Who goes from ₦45k to ₦700k just like that?
My mum thought I was being scammed and couldn’t be convinced otherwise till I received my first salary. I cried the day I got that alert. I was so overwhelmed. It was just God.
That kind of income jump probably came with some lifestyle changes as well
Not immediately. I stayed in my one-bedroom apartment for another full year, but I renovated my family house and gave my mum ₦1m to expand her school. She was there for me through my marriage wahala, and it felt so good to finally be able to give back to her.
I wasn’t in a hurry to make major lifestyle changes. I didn’t change my children’s school until I noticed I could pay two terms’ fees at once. I moved to a ₦500k/year two-bedroom apartment in September 2023 and got a car for ₦2.7m in December because the new apartment is quite a distance from my workplace.
How’s your savings goal going?
I can definitely save more than ₦50k monthly now. Specifically, I save ₦200k/month now. I’ve also built a ₦3m emergency fund. Owning land is another future investment option I’m considering.
Let’s do a breakdown of your typical monthly expenses
I get sizable allowances from work every two months, which I use for major expenses. For instance, I get a ₦2.4m housing allowance every January, and it sorts my children’s school fees and rent for the year.
How would you describe your relationship with money now?
I’m learning how to relax. I’ve had an “I need to get money” mindset for so long, and it’s a conscious effort to remind myself I’m not broke anymore. I can afford to buy ₦200k hair, but it still feels like an outrageous expense. Like, ₦200k hair when that kind of money can help ten other people?
I think I also internalised some of the things my ex said. He often accused me of being extravagant because I wanted to have my own money and not depend on him. So, maybe I’ve been subconsciously trying to prove him wrong. I thought if I bought a new bag, people would say, “Oh, no wonder she left. She probably has someone else”. But I’m deliberately moving on from that.
I want to get to a point where I don’t overthink spending on myself. Oh, I’m also finally processing my divorce.
What’s that like?
When I began the divorce proceedings in October 2023, we’d been separated for two years. My lawyer advised me to wait for two years post-separation so the courts wouldn’t delay the process by trying to give us time to sort out our differences. I’m paying ₦200k in legal fees and another ₦15k to my lawyer every time we appear in court. I’ve been in court every month since then, and it’s been quite messy. But hopefully, it’ll be sorted soon.
Rooting for you. What do you think the future looks like for you?
I’m currently studying for an MBA in Human Resources. I’m in my second semester (out of five) and have spent ₦400k on it so far.
I’d also like to take classes to become a licensed therapist in the next four years. It’s why I chose an HR-focused MBA because I’ll need to know how to understand people to help them. I needed therapy during my separation, but I couldn’t afford it. You’d hear therapists charge ₦100k per hour. I want to be able to provide affordable therapy for divorced and abused women and children.
In addition, I hope to build something like a healing shelter in the long term. I keep thinking about what would’ve happened to me if I didn’t have my family house to run to when things went south. Housing is a major reason why people stay in abusive situations.
How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?
8. I’m happy with my finances and even happier with the person I am right now. I know where I’m going, and I’m willing to do the work to get there. I could lose the ₦3m in my account and still be happy. I’m no longer afraid of not having money or starting over. The worst has happened, and I came out of it.
What would make that number a 10?
When I eventually become a therapist and build a shelter. I like my job — it pays my bills — but it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life.
Is there anything else you’d like to add that I haven’t asked?
I’d just like my fellow women to know that we do ourselves a disservice when we don’t have anything that brings us money. Having your own money is better than being perceived to be rich. It’s good to get free ₦500k, but earning ₦500k will boost your confidence — knowing you can produce value. When the chips are down, that’s what you can call your own.
If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.
What does it mean to be a man? Surely, it’s not one thing. It’s a series of little moments that add up. Man Like is a weekly Zikoko series documenting these moments to see how it adds up. It’s a series for men by men, talking about men’s issues. We try to understand what it means to “be a man” from the perspective of the subject of the week.
Check back every Sunday by 12 pm for new stories in the Man Likeseries. If you’d like to be featured or you know anyone that would be perfect for this, kindly send an email.
Today’s “Man Like” is Imoh Umoren, an indie filmmaker. He talks about losing both his parents at the age of 15, surviving a tough divorce and fathering his nephew and his son.
When did you realise you were a man?
When my mum died when I was 13 and my dad followed at 15.
Before then, growing up had been fun but religious. My mum was a university lecturer while my father was a businessman. My mum made me read a lot of books from the library to keep me out of trouble. Then my parents died.
After they died, my siblings and I grew up rough and learned things the hard way. We had to live with relatives who weren’t the best people to grow up with and adjust to a certain lifestyle we weren’t used to. You can’t complain about things to your relatives the way you would with your parents. They didn’t take kindly to rebellion. I remember one argument I had with my aunt which led to her throwing me out of the house when I was in the university.
I was quite rebellious. I think a lot of it came from losing my parents and not knowing how to deal with grief. Our society doesn’t treat grief properly. I didn’t know how to deal with it and my relatives didn’t either. So I became a very cold kid.
How did you deal with the grief, eventually?
Did I really deal with it? I don’t think so. Now that I’m an adult, I still struggle with it because I later lost my sister and brother within three months of each other in 2010.
I’m sorry.
It’s life. You just deal with it. God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.
At what point did you realise you were responsible for yourself?
I got my first apartment when I was 16 from money I got working with my cousins. I realised I had to make money and stop depending on my relatives, so I talked to some cousins . My cousins in Port Harcourt used to drill boreholes, lay interlocking stones and other construction jobs. I’d help them out at the sites and they’d pay me. But my biggest break came by chance. I was in a bar having a drink when I overheard two South Korean expatriates talking about how they needed to drill some boreholes for their company. I seized the opportunity and jumped into the conversation, telling them I drilled boreholes. They asked me to send a cost quotation the next morning. Mind you, I had never drilled a borehole by myself.
I ran to my cousin, Alex, and told him everything. He helped me draw up a cost quotation and followed me there, though I fronted as the “main guy”. We landed the contract and I got the lion’s share of the proceeds. That was how I made my first million at 18.
How did you get into filmmaking?
Growing up, my mom used to make me read a ton of books. I also watched sitcoms like Cheers and decided I wanted to be a sitcom writer. I wrote a few scripts and somehow that evolved into me directing. I did a course on television and film and that cemented me as a director and producer. I made my first film in 2009. It was called Lemon Green. I was 26.
There weren’t a lot of experts in Nigeria producing shows, so there was a demand for Nigeria TV producers. I produced an MTV show, Malta Guinness Street Dance and a bunch of other shows.
What was your relationship with your dad like before he passed?
He had a heart attack when I was 15. We weren’t very cool because I think I reminded my dad too much of him — stubborn and headstrong. We also looked very much alike and talked the same way.
My mother’s family were more well-to-do than my father’s family. He was a tough guy who roughed it up and single-handedly made his wealth. He always felt some type of way so he was constantly trying to prove himself and get some respect. There’s a certain disdain for people with new money. People will still ask you, “Who is your father?” No matter how successful you are.
I wasn’t cool with my dad. Perhaps because I looked just like him, he used to talk and treat me like I was an adult. Still, I regret that I wasn’t able to spend enough time with him. I think the cold aloofness comes from the tough upbringing men went through in his generation. So perhaps I shouldn’t judge him too harshly. He had his odd ways of showing affection, like telling me to come and sit beside him or give me a piece of meat from his plate.
How did you handle your mum’s passing?
Oh man, I was broken. I didn’t speak for three days.She had been dealing with diabetes, and we knew she was dying. On the day she died, I was coming back from school with my siblings. I felt something strike me and I fell. Immediately, I knew something had happened and I told my siblings, “Mum is dead.” We continued home in silence, and the news was broken to us by an uncle.
My religious faith was affected by her passing, which I think she saw coming. Before she died, she asked me, “If I die, what are you going to do about your faith?” We had prayed and prayed and she wasn’t getting any better, so I didn’t even know what to believe in anymore. After she died, there was a disconnect from God and everything else. I just went cold.
How’s your relationship with your son different from the one you have with your dad?
My son will be seven this year. He lives with his mother in the UK, so most of my parenting is done via video calls. He looks exactly like me and I’m so proud of that. Sometimes, when he’s frustrated, he reacts the exact same way I would.
Tell me about getting married.
We were married for about three years before we split. We grew up together and were very tight friends before we got married.
What went wrong?
There’s enough blame to go around but on my part, I think I was too hyper-focused on my work to pay much attention to anything else, including her. Things deteriorated and the marriage ended. We’re still very good friends..
There’s a mentality among African fathers that once you’re providing for your family, that should be enough. When we don’t provide, we feel like we’re not responsible enough or deserving of love.
I didn’t know the importance of spending quality time with the people who loved me. I’m learning now that providing for the family, as important as it is, isn’t all there is to be a husband and a father. Paying for family vacations or buying new cars are important, but so is making time for your loved ones.
I had always dreamed of having my family. So it was a rude shock because I thought everything was going great till it all came crashing down on me. When we got divorced, I became suicidal.
I think people need to cut men some slack; we’re working so hard trying to make a good life for the family.
How did you handle the divorce?
Man, I was devastated. After the marriage ended, I lived in a hotel for a year, talking to myself. I was barely functioning. I loved her very much. I wished it didn’t happen. I thought my life was over at that point. My work suffered and I had to be laid off from some projects I was working on.
I had always dreamed of having my family. So it was a rude shock because I thought everything was going great till it all came crashing down on me. I was suicidal.
How did you get past it?
It was women, bro. Women got me through the toughest times. I was getting affection from women, being nursed back to life, bringing me food at the hotel and cheering me up.
How did the divorce affect your son?
He was three at the time, so he wasn’t aware of everything going on. It wasn’t until recently that he asked me why I wasn’t married to his mom and why I was always alone. Imagine your own son taking shots at you. It really be your own blood.
LMAO. What do you tell him?
I tell him to focus on his dinosaurs.
LMAO. What’s it like parenting from a distance?
It’s hard as fuck. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. I can’t see my son often enough. I can’t help him with his homework as I would love to. Due to COVID-19, I wasn’t able to go see him for almost a year and that was so hard for me. There’s also the disconnect between our accents, him with his UK accent and me with my Nigerian one. We’re always saying “come again?” on our calls because we’re both struggling to hear each other’s accents. Parenting like this isn’t easy but it’s something you must do. I’ve not been the best at it but I try.
Interesting. Tell me about your biggest fear.
My biggest fear would be not doing anything I intend to do with my life. I have really big dreams, and I’ll be very pissed if I die before I fulfil them. I don’t want to die early because there’s so much I want to do. My art is improving as the years go on and dying without getting to that god-level of creativity will pain me o.
You’re really all about your work.
That’s my Achilles heel. I’m obsessed with filmmaking. I was blessed with that talent so that I can improve myself and go further.
How’s your romantic life now?
It’s been a difficult time for me dating. I’m very focused on my work and hardly have time outside of it. Ideally, I’d want to date someone who’s just as ambitious so they don’t feel ignored. Iron sharpeneth iron, not wood.
People want someone who’ll be there all the time, but that’s my weakness. I’m still trying to
work hard and focus on my career, which might take a lot of time and that could lead to different issues. I really can’t say that working all the time is a problem. I was poor. I don’t want to ever experience that again. That’s why I work the way I do. I’m not going to compromise my hustle because of love. When everyone leaves you, all you have left is your hustle. I don’t want my kids to go through what I went through. I want to create a very soft life for them, and if that involves me working my ass off 24/7, so be it.
Do you think you’ll have a family again?
Definitely. This hoeing life is not for me. Do you know how hard it is to talk to ten women a day? It’s too stressful. Seriously though, the whole family-in-the-suburbs-with-the-white-picket-fence idea has always been my dream. Hopefully, I get to settle down soon.
When was the scariest moment of your life?
There are several moments in my life I’ve been scared to shit. When my brother and sister died, I thought I was going to die. There was a time my son was ill during a trip to Portugal. I was scared to death. I’ve already suffered so much loss. I can’t bear anything happening to him. I still get scared sometimes when my nephew, who I’m raising, goes out and doesn’t come back on time.
Oh, you’re raising your nephew? How’s that like?
I’ve been raising him for 10 years and being a father figure is a struggle oh. We always have big fights because he doesn’t pick up his phone. He also has that young teenage arrogance and is just as rebellious as I was when I was his age. Teenagers are just weird, man. I’m worried every time he goes out whether he’s going to come back alive because of the current security climate. I have a constant fear he’s going to get in trouble with the police or something. I’m definitely not looking forward to my son becoming a teenager.
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Check back every Sunday by 12 pm for new stories in the Man Likeseries. If you’d like to be featured or you know anyone that would be perfect for this, kindly send an email.
