When Chinasa* (24) lost her older sister, Lilian*, in a sudden, tragic accident, her world cracked open. In the years since, she’s been quietly trying to piece herself back together—navigating grief, guilt, and the impossible task of stepping into shoes that were never hers to fill.
As her family mourns the daughter they lost, Chinasa battles the unspoken pressure to become just like her — cheerful, accomplished, perfect — even when it costs her the chance to be herself.
This is Chinasa’s story, as told to Betty.
When my older sister, Lilian*, died in a freak bike accident, my entire life flipped inside out. She was everything — golden girl, the first daughter, the family star, you name it. She was already in her final year studying accounting, with her ICAN certification. On top of that, she was a budding actress and model, and carried herself with an effortless kind of beauty. Lilian was popular. People knew and loved her everywhere she went. Even at home, she shone and the rest of us just existed in her glow. She was, by all accounts, the perfect firstborn daughter.
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I never minded living in her shadow, though. In fact, I enjoyed it. It meant I could coast as the middle child. Nobody expected much from me, not with Lilian taking on all the pressure and carrying the first daughter burden. I got to do my own thing without pressure. No one placed me on any pedestal since my sister was already there. But the moment she left us, all the attention shifted to me. Worse, everyone started acting like I now had to live up to the version of her they still held on to.
I didn’t want any of it.
At her burial, everyone poured their grief on me. They kept talking about how wonderful she was and how painful it felt to lose her. I didn’t know how to tell them that I was already aware in a way that no one else could possibly understand. She was my only sister. Even after her death, my brothers still had a sister. Me? I had no one.
I felt so bad for our mum. We’d already lost our dad many years before. Losing Lilian felt like salt in a wound that had only begun healing. Her death broke my mum. Once, in her grief, she told me she wished I had died instead. It didn’t even hurt it at the time. I wished the same thing, too. But that comment still sits in my chest like a stone, even though I now have a better understanding of how heartbroken she was.
After Lilian died, I was “promoted” to first daughter and that’s when everything started feeling heavier. Suddenly, everyone expected me to hold the house together, to be cheerful, outgoing, sociable — everything Lilian had been. But I’m not her. I’ve never been her. Yes, I’m bubbly and charming, but in my own way. I don’t want to be the centre of attention. And it’s exhausting pretending I even want to try.
Family gatherings are the worst. Someone always finds a way to bring up Lilian — , how proactive and energetic she was. I visited an aunt once who said she missed having Lilian over because unlike me, she was jovial and had so much energy. Some of my extended family members act like I’ve had enough time to move on from grief. But how do I get better when I still feel so raw? Now, I avoid them when I can. I’d rather keep my distance than sit there and get reminded again and again that I’m not my late sister.
My relationship with my mum is complicated. I know she’s trying. She reaches out and tries to be closer, but there’s a subtle friction between us. We weren’t so close before my sister passed. Between the normal teenage frustration, the chores I didn’t want to learn, and my years in boarding school, we never really got the chance to bond. Sometimes, I think she sees me as the one who survived when the ‘better daughter’ didn’t. How do you build a bond from that starting point?
Still, I don’t blame her. She’s a good woman, a wonderful mother. And she’s been through more pain than any parent should ever know. That comment — the one about wishing I had died — I don’t think she meant it. Or maybe she did, in that moment. I don’t know. I just know it changed things between us.
The only person I ever opened up to about all this was my friend, Diana*. She’d also lost someone, so we cried together. Not just about what we’d lost, but about how much heavier everything becomes after. There was something comforting in that. Just sitting with someone who gets it. No advice, no comparisons. Just presence.
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Losing someone like Lilian doesn’t get easier. It’s not a phase or a season. I carry it every day, and I try to live in a way that honours her. I know she loved me exactly as I was. She never asked me to become someone else.
Each time I remember her, the pain comes back like it never left. I hate that she left me behind. I hate that people expect me to fill shoes that were never my size in the first place. I take each day as it comes, and I hope that eventually, it’ll get better.
Growing up in a deeply religious household, Hannah* (19) learnt to fear everything that didn’t align with a rigid moral script. In her family, having an opinion was a gateway to evil. But after leaving home, her transformation began.
In this story, she talks about unlearning fear, embracing her sexuality and feminism, and the cost of choosing herself over her parents’ approval.
This is Hannah’s story, as told to Mofiyinfoluwa
I grew up in a strict, deeply religious household where every little deviation was labelled the devil’s handiwork. As I got older, I realised just being myself was enough to cause alarm. If I wasn’t quiet or submissive enough, if I dared to question things or voice an opinion that didn’t align with my parents’ version of God’s will, I was accused of doing something wrong. I didn’t have the language for it back then, but I understood what it meant to be punished for not fitting into the mould they had designed for me.
By the time I got to university, something in me cracked open. Exposure to new ideas and people made me realise I could have opinions, not just as abstract thoughts, but as beliefs that helped me make sense of my life. I started questioning everything I grew up believing: my religion, how I was expected to behave, and everything I’d been taught to fear. I freely wore trousers, makeup, and jewellery — things I once believed would send me straight to hell. At first, the guilt weighed me down, but more than anything, I felt free.
My parents, on the other hand, were horrified. I went home and they were convinced I’d joined a cult. They assumed I’d embraced witchcraft and prostitution. All because I was finally becoming my own person.
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I always knew my dad could be careless with his words, but after I started rebelling, I saw a darker side of him. He flared up over the smallest things, like a delayed greeting or how I dressed. The first time he called me a prostitute happened after I confided in my mum about a lecturer harassing me in school. I was scared and wanted help, but my mum told my dad, and he held on to it with no intention of addressing the problem. He waited until one of my school breaks to weaponise it against me during an argument. He accused me of sleeping with lecturers for grades and claimed I hung out with prostitutes. It hurt to hear him say that, but I’d grown up with that kind of emotional abuse, so I wasn’t surprised. My parents always cared more about how righteous we looked than how emotionally safe or loved we felt at home.
Another time, I wore shorts out of the house, and instead of a calm conversation, my dad threatened to disown me and drop me off at Oshodi to do prostitution as a full time job.
I’ve tried having conversations with my mum since she’s easier to talk to. I talked about how hard it is to be a woman constantly sexualised and pressured, especially by my own dad. But somehow, she always found a way to centre him. For her, supporting my feminist thoughts meant supporting those who want to overpower men. That’s the lens through which she viewed everything I said.
At some point, I stopped feeling guilty for holding my beliefs. I started skipping prayers whenever I didn’t feel mentally present. But even that wasn’t allowed. My dad exploded after I missed morning prayers for three days in a row and called me a witch. He genuinely believed I was doing something demonic. In his world, everything boiled down to God or the devil— no in-betweens, or space for questions. That moment made me realise I could never win their approval. Anything outside their narrow expectations would always be labelled as evil.
I stopped believing in their version of God, a version that didn’t make room for women like me who questioned things and loved differently. I came into my bisexuality in my second year of university. The feelings had always been there, but I didn’t know what to call them until I developed a crush on a girl. It felt as natural as liking boys, but carried more shame than I knew how to handle.
I still remember the first time I ever heard the word “lesbian”; I was just a child at a church retreat. I and a girl my age were playfully touching ourselves when, out of nowhere, some adults surrounded us and started shouting “lesbians”. I didn’t even know what that word meant, but I understood it to be the worst thing imaginable to have triggered fury. For years, I internalised the idea that something was wrong with me.
I’ve never told anyone about my sexuality. I’m still figuring it all out, learning how to approach women and finding spaces that feel safe, away from the fear I was raised in. I don’t know many queer people yet, and sometimes, I still feel alone. But for the first time, I’ve made peace with my truth.
These days, my relationship with my parents feels distant. We barely speak. I talk to my mum occasionally, but my dad? Only when necessary. He never calls, and I’ve stopped trying. They still see me as a disobedient child, not a person with my own thoughts, desires, and a life beyond their expectations.
I dreaded going home during the holidays for a long time. I still do, but now, I push back in small ways. I dress the same way I do in school and do what I want. When the nagging starts, I don’t shrink back or explain. I let them tire themselves out.
I’m proud of the woman I’m becoming, but knowing I may never have their approval still hurts. A part of me knows they might cut me off if they ever know me for who I truly am. But every day, I’m learning to choose myself, in case that ever happens.
Charles* (30) and his mum were friends. She knew he was queer. She never accepted it, but it wasn’t a problem. She loved him, and they spent time scrolling through TikTok together. But after her sister died, things got bad, and she wanted to pray the gay away. It didn’t go well — and led him to block her everywhere.
This image is AI generated and not the real subject of this story.
This is Charles’* story, as told to Dennis.
In January last year, I sat with my mum in the sitting room. The television was on, but no one was watching. The rugged floor was dusty, and we were both glued to TikTok. We loved doomscrolling together on Sundays when she didn’t go to work. We were friends— the last of our family in Nigeria—and TikTok was a bonding ritual. Sometimes, queer content would come up. My mum would sigh, but that was all.
Things started to change after her sister died three years ago.
We’ve been through a lot together as a family. Ten years ago, I went to a party with friends. A friend of a friend who knew my sister recorded me at the party and sent her the clip. It was a queer party, and it wasn’t the kind of content I would have shared with my family. My sister showed the video to my mum, who then shared it with her sister. Her sister shared it with the family, and that was when my troubles started.
First, my mum insisted on a visit to the pastor. She said I needed deliverance. Then her sister said prayer wouldn’t solve it and brought in soldiers. They beat me for hours. “We will beat the gay away,” one of them said. After that, an uncle paid sex workers at a brothel to have sex with me. All of this happened in the same week. I was just 20.
Two weeks later, I attended another party.
When you’re young, stubborn and queer like I was, you don’t see the big picture. You want the instant gratification. But I’ve learnt that sometimes, you need to suffer today to live the life you want tomorrow.
My dad had lived in the US for years. In 2015, my family started the process to join him. My sisters left, but I didn’t. My mum seized my passport and held on to it until my visa expired. My father supported her. People told them that if I moved, I’d marry a man and never give them grandchildren. Everyone filled their heads with nonsense, and they believed it.
Once, I went to the market with my friends, and a fight broke out with the vendor who tried to cheat us. When I got home, my mum accused me of fighting over a man. She’d heard the lie from someone before I got home, and believed it. There were other instances where she listened to hearsay that made her grow paranoid.
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She started stalking my social media. She would go on Facebook and scroll through my friend’s list and ask questions about people that followed me and that I followed. Once, she saw a friend’s photo and asked why he wore makeup. I didn’t even know he did. She’d dive into comment sections, take screenshots, and bombard me with questions. She wanted to know why they dressed the way they did. If they posted clips from a party, she wanted to know if I was there.
She investigated my friends online and expected me to explain their personal choices.
When Instagram began to explode, she asked why I wasn’t posting on Facebook anymore. I told her people had moved to Instagram, so she asked me to set up an account for her. I did, and her stalking resumed with more vim.
Instagram was nothing like Facebook for me. I had more followers, and a post could garner over 300 comments. Under my posts, followers said things like “Period bitch,” “Yes queen!” My mum would go through them and send screenshots. She demanded I tell them to stop. She wanted me to cut them off. She even complained about how overwhelmed she felt by the number of comments and followers. When she asked why there were so many, I told her people liked me because I was cool.
If feeling overwhelmed was meant to deter her, it only strengthened her resolve.
Her social media stalking became a full-time job. She started sending screenshots every hour and demanding I delete comments.
So I blocked her on Instagram and Facebook.
She must have noticed because she soon wanted to know if I’d left Instagram. I told her I was still online but not active, but she wasn’t satisfied. Instead, she demanded to check my phone. So, I registered a fresh account, posted three pictures, and shared the new username with her.
Eventually, she realised that her stalking, the brothel and soldier solutions didn’t do anything, so she focused on prayers. It was almost as if she succumbed to destiny and comforted herself with the knowledge that God would heal my queerness. That was how we went back to being friends.
It was a dramatic change in our relationship because she went from being against my choices to defending me. When her sister visited and said homophobic things, she would raise her voice at her, even though she was younger. “Don’t say those things about my son,” she’d say. My friends started visiting with no judgment passed on them. We never addressed the change; we simply carried on like we used to, doomscrolling TikTok together and laughing together.
But this was short-lived. After her sister died, she made it her mission to unite the family, and that meant opening our home to other siblings, including some whom she didn’t speak to anymore. One of them was the uncle who took me to the brothel. He once duped my dad ₦16 million, and my mum had to repay the debt. She had cut him off from her life. But in the confusion of grief, she allowed him back in.
They started telling her things about me again. They told her about pastors who could cure me, and she believed them. They gave me soap to bathe with, a concoction to drink that would “cure” my queerness.
Soon enough, whatever semblance of a healthy relationship we’d tried to rebuild crashed again. We stopped scrolling through TikTok together. She knew who I was, but she never accepted it. One day, she invited a pastor to our house. He claimed he could cure me, and she believed him. But I refused to see him.
Then, she did something she never does — she came into my room. Usually, she’d stay outside by the door. But that day, she claimed she was looking for a broom. I suspected the pastor had told her the devil was in my room with me as they spoke.
When she walked in, she saw my friend and asked them to leave. I told her not to, but she embarrassed the person and raised her voice at them. She raised her voice at me, too. I started crying and left the house.
I moved in with a friend. A few days later, she sent a voice note from the pastor. He said God had told him I was an animal and that I would die on November 10, 2024, if I didn’t change. She kept calling, so I blocked her number. I blocked her on WhatsApp as well. It was the last social media platform she still had access to. If she needed to reach me, she would go through my sisters. I never moved back to the house. Instead, I rented a house.
In December, one of my sisters came to Nigeria and tried to smooth things out. My mum didn’t apologise. Instead, she blamed me for painting her badly in front of my dad’s family. She said they would say her son left her house because she was a bad mother.
She didn’t apologise, but I did. I still haven’t unblocked her number, but I unblocked her on WhatsApp. Now, before she calls, she sends a text to ask if she can. Moving out and creating boundaries around our relationship forced her to respect me. Sometimes, she calls to ask where I am. I don’t tell her, but she tells me to be careful and not to trust anybody.
I like the dynamics of our relationship better. I think it’ll stay like this for a long time.
The real name of the subject has been changed to protect his identity.
Motunrayo* (73) doted on her son, Ayomide* (42), for years to make up for the abuse they both suffered from her husband. She might have overdone it. Ayomide now jumps in and out of marriages, leaving single mothers in his wake.
In this story, Motunrayo shares how her constant support of Ayomide’s antics has ruined her relationship with his siblings and how, after the failure of his eighth marriage, she fears he’s going for a ninth.
This is Motunrayo’s story as told to Betty:
I know what it means to lose a child. Since losing two to the cold hands of death early in life, I’ve held fast to my three surviving children, especially my last child, Ayomide.
Ayomide is my favourite, and I admit I’m a bit partial to him. My marriage was physically abusive, and before my husband eventually abandoned us in 2000, Ayomide and I bore the brunt of his abuse. His older siblings left for university, leaving the two of us at my husband’s mercy.
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When my husband left, I tried to make up for the suffering we experienced at his father’s hands by doting on Ayomide. I gave him everything he wanted. His siblings thought I was overindulgent, but I thought showing love was a good way to course correct from the abusive situation we’d endured. Even when Ayomide said he didn’t want to further his education after secondary school, I agreed wholeheartedly. I let him become an apprentice mechanic. He made a little money here and there, and I was fine with it.
In 2003, when Ayomide was 21 years old, he told me he had gotten his boss’s daughter, Atinuke*, pregnant and wanted to do the right thing by marrying her.
The news shocked everyone, but the family backed him because he wanted to marry her. We went to see her people, did the introductions and had a traditional marriage. I was delighted to see my son settle down and have a grandchild. Atinuke was a nice, well-behaved girl, and I had no issues with her. However, I think Ayomide married her just because of the pregnancy.
Within a few months, they started fighting constantly. The relationship deteriorated further after their daughter was born. In 2005, Ayomide moved back into my house and said he was no longer interested in his marriage.
Atinuke’s father and I tried to mediate the situation, but he was adamant. One day, he told me that he’d self-harm if I forced him to try to make things work with Atinuke. That scared me. I don’t pray to bury another child, so I supported his decision to leave her. Ayomide agreed to pay for the child’s upkeep, and that was the end of that union.
In 2006, just eight months after Ayomide said he didn’t want to be with his first wife anymore, he brought home a new fiancée, Bola*.
Bola was a beautiful young woman from a good home. Ayomide’s siblings and I thought it was too soon to rush into another marriage, but Ayomide seemed sure.
He told me how much he loved Bola and wanted to build a life with her. Who wouldn’t want the happiness of her child? I supported him and encouraged their marriage. For the second time, we went to see Bola’s people, did an introduction, and a traditional marriage ceremony.
In a few months, Bola got pregnant, and the family was delighted, especially Ayomide. He went on and on about how he’d get it right this time and how he would do a big white wedding to celebrate after the baby was born.
No sooner had the baby, another girl, been born than Ayomide changed his mind. He told me that Bola had changed since the baby was born and didn’t pay him any attention. I thought it was just new mum blues, so I told him to be patient with her. I assured him that once she settled into a routine with the baby, things would return to how they used to be.
In April 2008, around midnight, there was an urgent knocking at my gate. I initially thought it was robbers, but it was Bola. She was crying at the door, holding my grandchild and complaining that Ayomide beat her for asking him for money to pay her shop rent. I was appalled. How could Ayomide do the same thing that we suffered to another person?
Bola’s family came to pick her up from my house the minute they heard. They refused to allow her to return to the marriage even after Ayomide’s siblings and I begged on his behalf. They returned the bride price and told Ayomide to pay a small amount to Bola each month for the upkeep of their daughter. And just like that, Ayomide was single again.
In early 2009, Ayomide came again to say he wanted to marry another girl, Tolu*. His older brother was livid when he told us this. He felt that since Ayomide had two failed marriages under his belt already, he should focus on caring for his kids instead of getting married again.
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However, I understood how lonely it could be when you don’t have a partner, so I supported Ayomide. I felt that marriage would give him structure and purpose. Since he had experience with two previous marriages, he wouldn’t make the same mistake with the third. His siblings said they would only support this new marriage if he did a court wedding. To show his seriousness, Ayomide agreed.
In June 2009, we had a lavish white wedding for Ayomide and Tolu. His brother and I paid for it — he couldn’t afford it alone because of the child payments and his modest salary. By early 2010, Tolu got pregnant and had another beautiful baby girl. The baby’s umbilical cord hadn’t healed before Ayomide started complaining about Tolu’s behaviour.
By this time, I was tired of his antics. Why did he never see fault with these women until they had his baby? He argued that the women changed after seeing they’d “trapped” him with a child. In the end, Ayomide moved back in with me again. I tried to get him to return to his matrimonial home, but I remembered he had threatened to hurt himself before, so I let sleeping dogs lie.
Tolu’s family demanded a divorce, but we settled on a separation. I thought, with enough time, Ayomide would be willing to work on his marriage. I was wrong. He left Ibadan in 2011 and moved to Ife to get away from his wife.
2012 came and Ayomide brought another fiancée home: Temi*. This time, his siblings refused to support or follow him to meet her family.
I hated that his siblings abandoned him when he needed their support, so I rallied my own siblings, and we went to do the rites. I made Ayomide promise everyone that he would dedicate himself to his marriage, and he did so with all smiles and no hesitation. I thought he was serious.
By 2014, Ayomide had another baby girl and abandoned Temi to raise her alone. I wasn’t even aware of this until Temi* called me crying. I tried to reach Ayomide, but he ignored my calls and messages for weeks.
When he finally contacted me, he said he’d found someone else he cared about. They had moved back to Ibadan together and wanted to get married. I immediately told him to keep it a secret from the rest of the family. I knew they would never support it. He told me he really loved this new lady, Tayo*, but I wasn’t convinced. He lied to Tayo that his siblings were abroad, so I went alone to see Tayo’s family in 2015. I had to borrow some money to support him, but we paid the bride price in full, and Ayomide became a happily married man again.
I didn’t even tell Temi that Ayomide had moved on to another wife. I was still paying off the loan I took to help him with Tayo’s bride price, so we couldn’t afford a settlement with Temi’s family.
In November 2015, I got an upsetting wake-up call.
Tayo came to my house early in the morning, sporting a black eye. She rained curses on me and said I had raised an animal and should never claim her as my daughter-in-law. I tried to calm her down, but she spat on me and walked out. That was the last time I saw Tayo. When I asked Ayomide about it, he said she had returned to her family in Ife. Tayo’s family returned the bride price; the yams, the oil, the money, everything. My only relief was that Tayo wasn’t pregnant, so that meant we wouldn’t have to sort out another monthly child settlement.
After Tayo left, I sat Ayomide down and told him his way of living was not sustainable. I told him to try to be alone for the next few years. I wanted him to focus on building himself and taking care of the children he already had. We entered 2016 with no wife or marriage on the horizon, and I thought Ayomide had taken my advice.
By June that year, Ayomide brought home another prospective wife. I told him I didn’t have the money for another bride price or traditional wedding, but he said that his new wife, Dami*, came from a wealthy family and they had agreed to foot the bills. I was happy to hear this and shared the good news with his siblings. They were not happy at all. His older brother and sister told me that if I attended the wedding, they wouldn’t speak to me or visit me anymore.
They accused me of encouraging Ayomide to go down a bad path. That hurt me a lot. How could they abandon their brother when he needed his family’s support? I understood that he had made some mistakes in the past, but the solution for a headache is not cutting off the head. We had a family meeting to try to de-escalate the situation, and they gave Ayomide an ultimatum. Either he stopped the marriage process to Dami, or they’d disown him. Ayomide refused to back down, and I supported him. I had to stand by my son. I didn’t want him to feel like he was alone in the world or that he had to stay in an unhappy marriage. Besides, Ayomide was in his 30s by then, and I expected he’d gotten wiser and more experienced. I was wrong.
In 2017, Ayomide and Dami had a baby girl, and like clockwork in 2018, she had to leave him because of the constant fights and beatings.
Between 2019 and 2024, I paid for two more bride prices. I watched Ayomide marry two more women, have two more daughters and frustrate his wives out of his home.
By November 2024, when the last one left him, I begged my sister in Jos to please accommodate him and give him a job. The money he made from being a mechanic was in no way enough to pay for all of his children’s monthly expenses. I personally pay for two of his kids each month, but I’m getting old. I don’t work as much anymore, so I can’t take on any more payments for him.
Ayomide moved to Jos in December 2024 and started a job as a manager in my sister’s food company. I hoped that he would take his life more seriously, but my sister reported him to me. She said he has been slacking off at work because he now has a wealthy sugar mummy who gave him a car and a large allowance. I told her I’d speak to him, but I have been too afraid to do so.
I’m scared he’ll tell me he wants to marry this one, too. What mouth will I use to tell people that my son has been married nine times? My support of his marriages has completely ruined my relationship with his siblings. They only speak to me on holidays and my birthday. My daughter didn’t even let me attend my grandchild’s birthday party last year because she didn’t want to invite Ayomide’s children, and she didn’t want to explain herself to me.
I rarely see Ayomide’s children either. None of his ex-wives like me or want anything to do with me. It pains me that even though I have done nothing but support Ayomide, he doesn’t seem to care enough to do better. I don’t think I have it in me to attend any more of his weddings.
You can choose your partner, but how much power do you really have over who else your heart — or body — pays attention to? For some people, the most awkward plot twist isn’t cheating with a stranger or an ex. It’s developing feelings for someone dangerously close, like their partner’s family.
In this story, five people share how an unexpected attraction pulled them into the mess of wanting the one person they knew they shouldn’t.
I started having vivid, sexual dreams about my sister- in- law” — Daramola*, 41
Before his wife lost the battle to cancer, Daramola*’s sister-in-law stepped in to assist. But grief quickly gave way to when he started to see her differently.
“When doctors diagnosed my wife with late-stage uterine cancer, she asked her younger sister to move in and help with the kids. I spent most of my time in the hospital and couldn’t handle things at home alone.
After my wife passed, her sister stayed on to care for our two young children while I mourned. At first, I felt grateful to have her around. She was helpful, respectful, and the kids were attached to her.
But a few months later, I noticed she’d started dressing differently around the house— bum shorts, see-through clothes. I felt uncomfortable, especially as a pastor. But the children needed her, and she hadn’t found a job yet, so I kept quiet. That silence was a mistake.
Before long, I started having vivid, sexual dreams about her. I never said or did anything inappropriate, but the dreams often left me ashamed.
I eventually told my mother-in-law what had been happening, hoping she’d speak to her daughter. To my shock, she brushed it off. She said in their culture, it wouldn’t be strange for me to marry my late wife’s sister.
That was a huge betrayal to me. How would my children interpret it years from now? I knew I had to act fast. I hired a nanny and asked Esther to move out. Her family didn’t take it well, but I have no regrets. If you ever find yourself in that kind of grey area, attack it immediately.”
“I used my boyfriend to get closer to his brother” — Fatima*, 21
For Fatima*, her plans to use one brother to get the other became a traumatic experience, which backfired.
“It started in SS1. I had a huge crush on this popular senior whom everyone liked. He was handsome, brilliant and always surrounded by girls. I wanted him to notice me, but instead of approaching him directly, I started dating his younger brother, Lolu*. I didn’t even like Lolu, I just wanted to get close to his brother, Farouq*.
We all attended the same boarding school, and Farouq used to tutor Lolu after prep. I’d always sit with them, acting like I was just there to support my boyfriend. But truthfully, I lived for those moments with Farouq.
One day, I got bold enough to write him a note confessing how I felt. He replied that he liked me too and asked me to meet him privately. I knew it was wrong, but I went. I also gave him oral sex that day, thinking it would make him like me. But I was wrong.
The following week, both he and Lolu stopped talking to me. Then the rumours started. Farouq told people we had sex (which wasn’t true), and everyone started calling me names. I was labelled an ashewo. The shame became unbearable, and I eventually had to change schools. It’s been years, but that experience scarred me in ways I’m still trying to process.”
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“He felt like an upgraded version of my husband” — Helen*, 32
What do you do when your husband’s older brother feels like the man you should have married? Helen* found herself in this tough spot.
“I married my best friend, Moses*. We grew up as family friends, so getting married felt like a natural next step. He’s the youngest of three, and I hadn’t seen his eldest brother, Elija*, since primary school. He’d always been away and later moved to South Africa.
We reconnected just before the wedding, and I couldn’t believe how attractive he’d become. He was like a more confident, upgraded version of Moses. It threw me off. I told myself it was just pre-wedding nerves and excitement, that once he left again, things would go back to normal.
Elijah returned to South Africa after the wedding, and for three years, I genuinely forgot about all those feelings. But he moved back after a divorce, and started visiting us often. That was when I noticed how his eye contact and touches lingered.
One night, while Moses was away on a work trip, Elijah and I made out. I think it happened because both felt vulnerable. He had just lost his marriage, and I was dealing with infertility.
We told ourselves it was a mistake, but we kissed and touched a few more times over the next year. We never had sex, but crossed enough lines to leave me feeling like I was betraying my marriage.
He eventually left for South Africa again, but we kept texting and even exchanged nudes at some point. But the guilt became unbearable, and Elijah’s lack of remorse made me sick. I told him to stop texting, and for the most part, we haven’t spoken in the past year. There’ve been relapses, but I’ve mostly stuck to my decision.”
“When it comes to raw attraction, it’s her cousin who has my attention” — Jay*, 26
Jay is emotionally committed to his girlfriend but physically drawn to someone else in her house, and it’s tearing him up inside.
“I started dating Precious* earlier this year. She’s sweet, soft-spoken, and everything you’d expect from a typical good girl. She lives with her cousin, Regina*, who’s the complete opposite. She’s a loud and wild alte babe.
They’re close, but Precious complains about her a lot — how she smokes and has weird kinks. But the more she talks, the more intrigued I become. Regina’s openness about her sexuality is so hot in a way I can’t explain.
Now, I think about her more than I should. Even when I’m with Precious, my mind drifts. I imagine being with her cousin, even just once.
I love talking to Precious. She gets me emotionally, and we’re compatible in every other way. But when it comes to raw attraction, Regina has my attention. Maybe if I just slept with her once, I’d get over the obsession.”
“I’m marrying one twin, but I can’t stop thinking about the other” — Iyanu*, 28
Iyanu* can’t explain the intense pull she feels towards her fiancé’s twin. It’s become a secret that affects their dynamic.
“Ever since my fiancé, Taiwo*, introduced me to his family, I’ve felt unsettled — and not for any obvious reason. It started the moment I met his twin, Kenny*. From the very first hello, I felt something intense. It’s not even lust, just this weird magnetic pull. And that’s what scares me the most.
They’re not even identical, so it’s not about physical confusion. Kenny showed up to that first meeting with his girlfriend, and yet, all I could focus on was how strongly I felt around him. I went home that day and Googled, ‘Is it normal to be attracted to your fiancé’s twin?’ I found a few random posts that said it happens sometimes, but this still feels abnormal.
Now, every time we all hang out, I overanalyse Kenny’s words and actions, wondering if he feels it too, or if I’m imagining things. I’ve never acted on it, and I don’t plan to. But I hate that this is even a thing. I love Taiwo and I want to be with him.
I guess I haven’t hidden the awkwardness well because Taiwo recently said Kenny feels I don’t like him. He said he’s noticed it too. I found it funny, if only they knew the truth.”
If you want to share your own story, I’d love to hear it here.
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Trigger Warning: This article contains recollections of drug and substance abuse. If you or someone you love struggles with substance abuse, please click here to access help.
No one ever thinks addiction will be the reason they lose the people they care about. It usually starts small — a habit you think you have under control. But before long, it becomes something you lie about, hide, and prioritise over your relationships. For some Nigerians, addiction didn’t just change their lives, it fractured their connections with partners, friends, and even their children.
In this piece, six Nigerians share how their addictions slowly ruined the relationships that once meant everything to them.
“My mum hates how much I drink.” — Ese* (24), F, Alcoholic
My battle with alcohol addiction is ongoing and has seriously affected my relationship with my mum. I’m the only child, and she’s hell-bent on not losing me to a random sickness or the other.
Because our family has a history of illnesses, my mum worries that I may develop organ complications, so she and I constantly butt heads over how much I drink. I’ve worked on it, and I no longer drink every day. I’m more of a social drinker now. Regardless, it has been a difficult journey.
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“My gambling addiction has ruined my relationship with my children.” — Jimi* (63), M, Gambler
I started gambling with a group of friends when I was a teen. At first, it was just small bets between friends, like who could run the fastest or who could do a backflip. Then, I started betting on football games at viewing centres. I won ₦350,000 from one of my bets in 2016, and I have been chasing that high since. I used to bet on football and basketball matches almost every day, but I haven’t won that much money since then.
In 2018, I lost the money for my last child’s university fees on a bet that didn’t pan out, and that incident has destroyed my relationship with my children. When my family found out, I had to beg my wife for months before she forgave me. My last child has forgiven me, but his two older siblings no longer speak to me. They said my irresponsibility disappointed them. I’m trying to get back into their good graces by winning it big, so I still bet once or twice a week. Something tells me that if I can just win a good amount from one of my bets, I can fix our relationship, and things will go back to how they used to be.
“My marijuana use made me lose the trust of those close to me.” — Feranmi* (24), Ex-Marijuana Addict
My weed use has damaged my relationships with my family, friends and lover. Last year was the peak of the chaos my addiction caused. Someone I loved found out I was using again even though I tried to keep it a secret and she said I made her feel stupid for trusting me. Her words cut deep.
My parents would be on edge every time I left the house because they didn’t know what version of me would come back home. I have close friends I don’t speak to anymore because I promised them I wouldn’t use anymore, but I went back. I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who not only sponsored me through treatment but also supported me through the hard phase of letting go of the guilt that came with my actions.
I have tried to make peace with the fact that there are some relationships that have been permanently damaged by the decisions I made while in active addiction. My goal now is to make better choices that reflect the new, clean me and make amends where I can.
“My porn addiction scattered my relationship.” — Deremi* (34), M, Ex-Porn Addict
Back when I was in uni, I was addicted to pornography, though I wasn’t aware that I was. I started watching porn when I was in secondary school. I stumbled on my uncle’s stash of magazines and got hooked. I used to masturbate at least once a day, and as I got older, the number increased to about four or five.
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It didn’t cause any issues in my personal life until I started dating during my service year. My girlfriend at the time was going through my phone and found the burner social media account I used to follow my favourite fifty or so porn pages. Her disgust hit like whiplash. She broke up with me a few weeks later because, according to her, I had a problem, and it wasn’t normal to masturbate four or five times a day. I promised to delete the account and reduce the masturbation, but she was unwilling to get back together with me. It was an eye-opening experience for me. I got some help from my church and eventually a therapist. I have stopped watching porn entirely.
“I got kicked out of school in my final year for smoking weed, and my parents won’t let me forget it.” — Demilade* (28), M, Marijuana Addict
I’ve always been under a lot of pressure from my family to do well in school. I started dealing with a lot of anxiety, and when I was in SS3, a friend suggested weed as a way to relieve some of the stress. I got hooked on the feeling pretty quickly. I attended a private university where the consequence of getting caught with weed was immediate expulsion. But I still found ways to get my hands on some weed to smoke. I tried to be careful, and I did a great job avoiding the authorities until my final year.
Just a few days before my final exam, I got caught smoking with some other guys and got expelled. My parents have never forgiven me for it. Our relationship is very strained, even though I have completed my degree at another school. My mum constantly suspects she’s smelling weed around the house, even though I have never smoked at home. I’ve gone to rehab once, but I still smoke weed to take the edge off every now and again. I don’t know if I can stop completely.
“I lost all my friends because I couldn’t stop using colos.” — Dili* (31), M, Ex-Colos Addict
All my friends from uni stopped talking to me because I was addicted to colos. It’s a synthetic type of weed that’s popular among street guys. The high was intense and mind-numbing; I loved it. The issue was that when I got high, the drug had the tendency to make me black out and act crazy. I would convulse and vomit or start seeing hallucinations and screaming. After embarrassing my friends a few times at the parties we attended, they started steering clear of me.
Once, they had to tie me down with ropes because I kept saying I wanted to meet my friends at the bottom of a swimming pool while at a pool party. A friend recorded it and sent it to my parents, who immediately put me in rehab. I’m better now and I’m totally off the drug. I regret not stopping earlier, I lost some of my most precious relationships because of it. I just thank God, I’m on a better path now.
Tsemaye* (20) has had a turbulent relationship with her mother since her childhood. It was a reality she navigated gently until her mum decided to marry the person who was sexually harassing her. She decided to cut her off, and she isn’t looking back.
This is Tsemaye’s story as told to Betty:
My relationship with my mum has always been rough. Even in my earliest childhood memories, she criticised me and my actions, far more than either of my older brothers. From six, she would make me join her in the kitchen while my brothers enjoyed football matches on TV. She never admitted it was because I was the only daughter. She’d just tell me to ‘stand there and watch what she was doing.’ If I didn’t, she yelled or punished me.
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My relationship with my dad wasn’t any better. He terrorised our family for most of my childhood, even though he had money. He abused my mum physically, emotionally and verbally. I still remember mornings when he beat my mum before we left for school. One of the worst happened when he got upset at my mum and sent us packing at midnight. He didn’t care about our safety. My brothers and I refused to return to the house, and that finally pushed my mum to go through with the divorce.
When my parents split up, I felt ecstatic. I threw myself into school work to distract myself from the dysfunction and unhappiness at home. For a long time, it worked. The divorce from my dad was a way to finally have some stability at home with my mum and brothers.
I got into university at fifteen and started living away from home. While I was in school, my mum told me she had reconnected with an old classmate, Fidelis*, a pastor in another city. She clearly wanted me to know she was dating again, and I felt happy for her. After everything with my dad, she deserved to experience love again. I couldn’t meet Fidelis in person because of school, but she gave him my number so we could speak occasionally. At first, I didn’t see a problem with that. But after a while, Fidelis started acting inappropriately.
It started when I was 17, during the 2021 December break. Fidelis would call and ask uncomfortable questions like, “Have you ever kissed a boy?” or “Do you like boys?” The questions made me feel weird but I dismissed them as bad jokes at first. But he kept going.
Fast forward to July 2022, I came home for the holidays and met him in person for the first time. We were alone in the living room because my brothers and mum were elsewhere. Then, he started touching me. At first, they were light touches, but he tried to grope harder even as I pushed his hands away. I felt so disgusted and couldn’t believe the man dating my mum would behave like that. Luckily, my brother walked in and he stopped. I told my brothers what happened, and after that, I refused to stay alone with him. But even after sharing what happened with my brothers, I couldn’t bring myself to share with my mum. I didn’t want to hurt her with the truth after everything she went through with my dad. I simply hoped Fidelis would leave me alone, but he didn’t.
After I returned to school, he bombarded me with calls and texts. He offered to send me money to leave school and fly to his city several times. He told me to hide what was going on from my mum, and continued with disgusting messages about what he’d like to do to my body. That was my last straw. This man was in his fifties, saying all these horrible things to a teenager.
I recorded the calls, took screenshots of the texts and sent them to my mum. She was heartbroken, and it saddened me to watch her go through a pain like that again. In October 2022, My mum and brothers confronted Fidelis about the harassment, and he didn’t deny what he did, he just looked away sheepishly. She promised she had blocked Fidelis and wouldn’t see him again. I felt bad, but also relieved. I thought she had finally realised he was a bad choice. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
A few days later, a distant aunt I barely knew called me and rained curses on me. She accused me of ruining my mum’s chance at love. She claimed I seduced Fidelis and said that even if he harassed me, all I had to do was refuse him and let my mum continue the relationship. The details she shared made it obvious my mum had twisted the story. I was shocked and hurt.
I finally blocked Fidelis, something I should have done earlier, but he kept reaching out through strange numbers. It became overwhelming. I buried myself in school work as a coping mechanism, and avoided breaks as much as possible because I didn’t want to go home.
When I spoke with my mum again on the phone a few weeks after, she claimed an ‘apostle’ told her I placed a spiritual mark on her to stop her from remarrying. I couldn’t understand why I was the villain for speaking up about the harassment. So, I cut off communication with my mum while I remained in school. Thankfully, my dad sent upkeep money, so I survived without her. During the 2023 summer break, I went home and saw a gold band on her finger. My brothers told me she had secretly gotten married to Fidelis. That disappointed me, and I decided I didn’t want her in my life anymore.
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Unsurprisingly, the marriage was short-lived. By the December break, she wasn’t wearing the band anymore. I didn’t bother asking why because she said everything was my fault.
My brothers and I later found out Fidelis lied about his divorce from his first wife, so his marriage to my mum wasn’t valid. We also found out he had faced accusations of molesting a teen in his church.
Despite all this, my mum still insists I’m a bad person for cutting her off. She recently called my friend to complain that I abandoned her after everything she sacrificed for me and my brothers.
I moved out of the house as soon as I graduated, and my mum left the country a few months later. Our relationship hasn’t improved. She has never apologised for marrying the man who molested me. She still calls and tries to emotionally blackmail me into forgiving her, but I can’t.
I’m not financially dependent on her anymore, and I’m keeping it that way. Her choices have put my siblings and me in danger in the past; I won’t give her that chance again. I’m choosing myself and peace.
If you’ve ever sat down to write a birthday wish for your son and found yourself stuck, you’re not alone. Whether he’s still your little boy or now a grown man, finding the right words to celebrate him can be unexpectedly hard. This is why, like you probably did, so many parents end up searching “happy birthday wishes for my son” for a little inspiration.
Watching him grow into the person he is today, every birthday feels like a milestone for you too. This guide — filled with sweet, funny, and even prayerful messages — is all you need when you’re wondering, ‘What are the best birthday wishes for my son?’
No matter his age or personality, you’ll find something here that captures exactly how proud and grateful you are to be his parent.
Short and Simple Birthday Wishes for your Son
A few honest words can do the trick, especially when they come from the heart. These short and simple birthday wishes for your son are perfect for texts, cards, or morning hugs that’ll put a smile on his face and love in his heart.
Happy birthday, son! Watching you grow has been my life’s greatest joy.
Wishing you a day filled with laughter, fun, and cake!
You make me proud every single day. Happy birthday, my boy.
To my amazing son, keep being your wonderful self. Happy birthday!
You light up every room you walk into. Happy birthday, superstar.
Cheers to another year of greatness. Love you always, son.
May your day be as awesome as you are. Happy birthday, champ!
Happy birthday to the one who made me a parent and fills my heart daily.
You’re growing into an incredible man. I’m so proud of you.
Keep dreaming big, son. Happy birthday!
You make our lives brighter just by being you. Have an amazing birthday.
Happy birthday, my little man! Keep shining.
Wishing you endless joy, love, and cake today.
Happy birthday to the coolest son on the block.
I’m lucky to call you my son. Happy birthday, kiddo.
No matter how big you get, you’ll always be my baby boy.
Your smile is my favourite thing in the world. Happy birthday, son!
I hope this year brings you everything your heart desires.
You’re one of a kind, my son. Keep being amazing. Happy birthday!
Happy birthday, my son. May your life be filled with love and purpose.
When your heart is full, a longer message helps say it all. These long birthday wishes for your son are perfect for expressing your pride, gratitude, and dreams for him in heartfelt words he’ll remember for years to come. Let him feel every bit of your love.
Happy birthday, my precious son. From the moment I first held you in my arms, I knew my life had changed forever. Watching you grow into the person you are today fills me with pride beyond words. Keep being brave, kind, and true to yourself.
On your special day, I want you to know how deeply loved and admired you are. You’ve brought so much light and laughter into our lives. May this year be filled with growth, opportunity, and all the happiness your heart can hold.
Happy birthday, son. You’ve faced challenges and victories, and through it all, you’ve stayed strong and grounded. May this new chapter bring you closer to your dreams and surrounded by people who truly value you.
Today, I celebrate not just your birth, but the incredible journey you’re on. You are thoughtful, intelligent, and compassionate, everything a parent could hope for. I’m so proud to walk beside you through life.
Dear son, happy birthday. May this day remind you of how much you’re loved, how far you’ve come, and how bright your future is. Keep aiming high, and never forget that we’ll always be here cheering you on.
Watching you grow from a curious little boy into a confident young man has been the honour of my life. On your birthday, I pray you continue to walk in purpose and joy. You are destined for greatness.
Happy birthday, son! You’re not just a blessing to me but to everyone around you. Your laughter fills the room, and your heart leads with kindness. May this year reward your efforts and give you reasons to smile daily.
Son, your birthday brings back memories of your first steps, first words, and every proud moment in between. I hope this new year gives you new reasons to be proud of yourself too.
Life hasn’t always been easy, but you’ve faced it with courage and determination. On your birthday, I hope you take time to rest, reflect, and recharge. You deserve the best the world has to offer.
My dear son, happy birthday! You’ve taught me just as much as I’ve tried to teach you. I’m constantly inspired by your strength, heart, and unique perspective. Here’s to more adventures ahead.
Happy birthday to my greatest achievement. You’ve grown into a man who leads with kindness, stands up for what he believes in, and always gives his best. The world is better because you’re in it.
Son, each birthday is a reminder of how lucky I am to be your parent. You’ve brought joy, purpose, and pride into my life. Keep chasing your dreams and know I’ll always be here, supporting you 100%.
Happy birthday, my son. I know life can be uncertain, but one thing that will never change is my love and belief in you. You are stronger than you know and more capable than you realise.
It’s not just your birthday today, it’s the anniversary of the day my life got better. Watching you become the person you are today has been beautiful. I hope your journey only gets more fulfilling.
Son, on your birthday, I pray that life treats you kindly and that love follows you wherever you go. May your heart always be light, and your dreams forever bold.
Happy birthday to the boy who made me a parent and the man who continues to make me proud. You’ve got the world ahead of you, and I can’t wait to see where you take it.
I’ve watched you fall and rise, struggle and grow, and I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it. You’ve become someone strong, thoughtful, and full of purpose. Happy birthday, my son.
To my amazing son: You are the light in my darkest days and the smile I look forward to. I pray this birthday brings clarity, joy, and a deeper sense of purpose.
Your presence in my life is a daily blessing. On your birthday, I want you to feel celebrated, valued, and inspired to keep building the life you dream of.
Happy birthday, son. May today remind you that no matter how old you get or how far you go, you will always have a place in my heart and a home to return to.
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If you’re feeling all the emotions on your son’s special day, this list of heart-touching birthday wishes for your son will help you say it all. Whether he’s still your little boy or now a grown man, these messages are perfect for expressing just how deeply you love and cherish him.
Happy birthday, my son. You are the reason I believe in miracles. Watching you grow has been the most rewarding experience of my life.
No matter how tall you grow or how far you go, you’ll always be my little boy. I’m so proud of the man you’re becoming.
I’ve loved you since the moment I knew you existed. On your birthday, I hope you feel that love in every message, hug, and prayer sent your way.
Son, your kindness, strength, and resilience inspire me every day. I thank God for the gift of you. Happy birthday.
Raising you was never a chore; it was the greatest joy of my life. I’m grateful for every moment, and today, I celebrate you with my whole heart.
You came into my life and made it more meaningful. Watching you grow has been an honour, and loving you has been a privilege.
On your birthday, I hope you know how much joy you bring into our lives. You’re not just our son, you’re our light.
Every year, you grow stronger, wiser, and more compassionate. I couldn’t ask for more in a son. Keep being the amazing person you are.
There are moments I still see the little boy who needed me for everything. Now you stand tall and capable, and I couldn’t be prouder.
You’ve given me countless reasons to smile, and today, I hope you’re surrounded by people who make you smile too. Happy birthday, son.
It’s your birthday, but I’m the one who feels lucky to have known your laugh, your hugs, your love.
You are a living reminder that good things still exist in the world. Never doubt how loved and cherished you are.
Son, no matter how many birthdays come and go, you’ll always have my unconditional love and support. You are never alone.
I look at you and see a heart that’s kind, a spirit that’s brave, and a soul that’s pure. Happy birthday, my dearest son.
When I count my blessings, you are always at the top of the list. May your birthday be filled with everything good your heart desires.
I prayed for a son, and God gave me more than I ever dreamed. Happy birthday to the greatest gift of my life.
Every challenge you’ve faced, you’ve done so with grace and courage. Keep shining, my boy. Your light is just beginning.
The world is lucky to have someone like you in it. But no one’s luckier than me because I get to call you my son.
You’ve made me laugh, cry, worry, and hope. But more than anything, you’ve made me proud. Happy birthday, my son. I love you endlessly.
Happy birthday, son. You may not always see it, but you make this world a better place just by being in it.
Happy birthday, son! You’ll always be my little boy. especially when you need money.
You’re growing up so fast. Just yesterday, you were in diapers, and now you just act like a big baby sometimes.
Happy birthday! Congrats on another year of managing to keep yourself alive!
Another year older and still no manual. At this rate, we’re both just winging it. Cheers, son.
Happy birthday! You’re smart, funny, charming… clearly, you get it all from me.
Finding a gift for you gets harder and harder every year. This year, I’ve finally found the best one yet: nothing. Happy birthday!
May your birthday be filled with cake, gifts, and no hugs from relatives you don’t remember.
As a thank you for all those sleepless nights I had when you were a baby, I think I’ll repay the favour with drumming lessons in your living room. Happy birthday!
Happy birthday to the child who tested my patience. I think you won because eventually it ran out.
Wishing you a day as fantastic as your teenage tantrums were dramatic. Enjoy!
You’re the best son I could’ve asked for… unless you count that time you broke the TV and blamed your sister.
Congrats on surviving another year of my parenting. You deserve cake. Lots of it.
Remember to capture today in pictures. One day you’ll look back and wonder at how you ever had that much hair on your head.
Happy birthday to the boy who only tested my patience a little bit while growing up.
Son, I wanted to give you something hilarious and amazing for your birthday… but then I remembered you already have me.
The older you get, the more you realise I was right about everything. Don’t worry, I won’t say “I told you so.”
Hope your birthday is as unforgettable as the day you cut your own hair with kitchen scissors.
To my loving son, I hope you understand how much I’ve enjoyed embarrassing you over the years. Some day soon, you will understand!
Happy birthday! Today we’re celebrating that your teenage years are behind us!
Another year, another reason for me to brag about having the coolest (and most dramatic) son ever.
There’s no better gift than a prayer spoken from the heart. These birthday prayers for your son ask for protection, wisdom, and divine blessings as he steps into a new year. They’ll help you speak life into his journey, one prayer at a time.
May this new year bring you peace, wisdom, and the strength to chase your dreams, my son. Happy birthday.
I pray that joy never leaves your heart, and every challenge you face becomes a stepping stone to greatness.
As you grow older, may kindness guide your actions and gratitude fill your heart.
May the light within you shine brighter this year and illuminate the paths of everyone you meet.
I pray for laughter in your days, purpose in your steps, and endless love around you. Happy birthday, son.
May the Lord bless you and keep you; may His face shine upon you and give you peace. Happy birthday, son.
I pray that you continue to grow in wisdom and favour with God and man, just like Jesus did.
May God order your steps this new year and fill your life with divine protection and joy.
On your birthday, I ask the Holy Spirit to guide you, bless you, and lead you into His perfect plan.
You are a gift from God, and I pray that your life continues to reflect His glory and goodness.
May the blood of Jesus cover you, and may angels watch over you every day of your life.
I declare that no weapon formed against you shall prosper this year and beyond. Happy birthday, my son.
May the Lord crown your year with goodness and cause all your paths to overflow with abundance.
As you celebrate today, may God surround you with love and pour out His unending blessings.
I pray that your faith remains strong, and your life becomes a testimony of God’s mercy.
Happy birthday, my dear son. May Allah (SWT) increase you in knowledge, taqwa (piety), and barakah (blessings).
I pray Allah grants you good health, long life, and success in both dunya and akhirah.
May this new year bring you closer to Allah, and may your heart always be filled with imaan and sabr.
Ya Allah, bless my son with righteous companions, a guided heart, and a life that pleases You.
May Allah write your name among the successful, protect you from harm, and reward you in all you do.
On this special day, I ask Allah to open the doors of mercy, guidance, and rizq upon you, my son.
May Allah forgive your past, ease your present, and bless your future abundantly.
I make du’a that you become a source of pride for your family, ummah, and a servant pleasing to Allah.
Ya Rabb, bless my son with a heart that remembers You and a life that reflects Your light.
Happy birthday. May your days be filled with the sweetness of faith and the mercy of the Most Merciful.
In Nigeria, being disowned isn’t just about losing contact, it often means losing your safety net, your sense of identity, and your community.
Whether it’s for getting pregnant too young, leaving a religion, or simply making choices that clash with family expectations, many Nigerians have found themselves cut off from the very people who were meant to love them unconditionally.
In this piece, six Nigerians share the deeply personal, painful reasons they were disowned by their families.
“I got pregnant when I was 15 years old.” — Nike*, (28), F
“I got pregnant in 2012, when I was 15. My boyfriend and I only had sex twice, but we didn’t know what protection was, so of course, I got pregnant. It was one of the worst years of my life. When I confessed after being unable to explain why I hadn’t gotten my period in three months, my mum beat me till I fainted, and my dad rained curses on me.
I was sent away to live with an older church member. The day my parents dropped me off at her house was the last time either of them spoke to me. I wasn’t allowed to contact my younger siblings either because, according to my parents, I was going to lead them astray.
I still have a relationship with my siblings, but it’s a secret we keep from our parents because I don’t want to get them in trouble. It has been really hard raising my child alone, but I hope he gets to meet his grandparents one day and they show him the love they didn’t show me.”
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“I switched religions and my family wasn’t having it.” — Muyiwa*, 63, M
Muyiwa experienced a religious awakening and converted to Christianity, and this decision completely alienated him from his family.
“I was raised in a Muslim household. My ancestral line on my father’s side has been staunch Muslims for several generations, so it’s a religion deeply woven into the fabric of my family. I wasn’t a perfect Muslim, but I went through the motions because it was ‘normal’ to me.
In 1999, I followed a friend to his church for a service before we went to the bar and had an awakening. I converted that day, and I’ve remained a Christian since. When I shared this news with my family, I was met with harsh backlash and threats. My father said I should walk away from his house and never come back, and that was the last day I saw him.
I still speak to my cousins every now and again because they’re a bit more relaxed, but I haven’t spoken to any of my immediate family members in more than twenty years.”
“I joined a gang in school and my adoptive father disowned me.” — Benjamin*, 41, M
Benjamin got cut off by his adoptive father after joining a cult in university and getting tangled up in fraud. Even though he swears he has changed, his father wants nothing to do with him.
“My parents passed away when I was very young, leaving me, their only child, alone. My father’s best friend took me in and raised me as his own. I saw, loved and respected him as my father, and considered his children to be my siblings.
In university, I was a first-class student, but I was also in a cult. That fateful year, some of the cult members wanted to make some money fraudulently. Being the tech-savvy guy, I helped create a fake website, fake identities and the other online materials they used in the fraud deal.
Unfortunately, we got apprehended by the police. My father was so disappointed in me, but he helped me, so my charges were reduced. Because of his help, I only spent a few years in prison. When I got out, he gave me some money to rent an apartment and told me he was not going to be a father to a thief.
It cut me deep. I promised that I had learned my lesson and was back on the straight and narrow, but he was firm in his decision. I still send him monthly messages, birthday messages and holiday messages, but he has never replied. One day, I hope he can forgive me.”
“I changed religious denominations and my parents stopped talking to me.” — Jumoke*, 36, F
Jumoke’s parents disowned her after she left the Jehovah’s Witness community to join a Pentecostal church.
“I told my parents I was no longer a Jehovah’s Witness during a visit for the holidays in 2022, and they made it clear they would not be interacting with me after that. I didn’t think they were going to actually do it at first because my mum and I are very close. But I haven’t had any contact with them in almost three years.
Sometimes, I consider re-joining the denomination just because of how much I miss my family. They don’t accept any gifts I send and don’t answer my calls or reply to my messages. It’s a very painful thing to live with.”
“I got disowned after being accused of witchcraft.” — Temi*, 30, F
Temi was shocked to find herself on the streets of Ibadan after a travelling prophet told her father she was a witch sent to destroy his family.
“It is one of the most traumatic experiences I have ever had. A so-called prophet visited our house to pray in 2004 and ‘saw a vision’ that I was a witch sent to destroy my family. I said I wasn’t a witch, but the prophet insisted and told my father the lives of everyone were in jeopardy if I continued to live under their roof. The next day, my parents packed me a bag and asked me to leave their house.
I was so afraid and lost. I roamed for hours before I decided to walk to my aunt’s shop, almost an hour away from my neighbourhood. She cried bitterly when I told her what happened. She and my other siblings arranged for me to be sent to an older family member in a different state, and that was who I grew up with.
I haven’t spoken to my parents since 2004. Part of me is angry at them for what they did, but a small part of me is also still afraid that they wouldn’t be happy to hear from me even after all these years. I just push it to the back of my mind on most days.”
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“My family disowned me after I was outed” — Tunde*, 35, M
Tunde had been married to his wife for a few years when he was outed, and everything changed overnight.
“I always knew I was gay, but I tried to live a ‘normal’ life. I loved my wife in my own way, but I was never truly myself. I’m still not sure how my wife found out, but when she did, she was understandably shocked and felt betrayed. I guess that’s why she immediately told my parents and siblings. My family was devastated and stopped speaking to me altogether. I felt completely alone and struggled with depression, even contemplating taking my own life.
Thankfully, the friends I had made in the queer community supported me and helped me find my footing again. I eventually moved to Canada, where I could live openly as a gay man. I still hope that one day, my family will accept me for who I am, but for now, I’m focusing on living my truth and finding happiness.”
Many people would do everything but tell you they don’t want you in their space. Whether it’s a romantic partner, a friend, or even your own family, there comes a point when you realise you’re barely being tolerated.
In this story, five Nigerians share the moments they realised they weren’t wanted in a space. Some saw it coming, but others found out in the most embarrassing ways possible.
“He mistakenly sent me the message where he gossiped about me” — Christina*, 27
Nothing humbles you like realising you’ve become an inside joke. For Christina*, an accident exposed the truth.
“When my then-boyfriend, Tade* and I got serious, I started spending weekends at his place. His house was closer to my job than mine on the mainland, and I thought it made sense to attend his church together. I’m not even of the same denomination, but it felt like something couples do.
One Sunday, after service, one of his friends asked if I’d like to join the youth group. I’d barely opened my mouth when Tade said, ‘She’s not really a member. She just likes following me around.’
The way he said it made me uneasy, but I let it go. Later that week, the same friend sent me a flyer for a church picnic. I forwarded it to Tade with excitement, and a few minutes later, I got the same flyer back from him with a deleted message. Thank God for GB WhatsApp. The message read ‘I’m so tired. This babe can’t take a hint.’
I know he meant to send it someone else and mistakenly forwarded it to me. When I called to ask, he fumbled through some lame explanation. That moment opened my eyes to all the disrespect I’d been brushing aside. I didn’t even argue. I just slowly stopped showing up — first from church, then from the entire relationship.”
“She told my in-law I was bringing the boys I sleep with into her house” — Muheebah*, 43
For Muheebah*, what started as a generous favour quickly became a real-life Cinderella story. It didn’t take long to realise that nothing she did would ever be enough.
“I’d just gotten married when I landed a government job in Abuja. I couldn’t afford my own place immediately. That’s when my in-laws introduced me to Mrs. Shewa*, a family friend with a new ministerial appointment. She lived alone in a massive duplex and offered to let me stay there until I could afford my own space.
At first, I felt relieved. But after the first few weeks, her behaviour changed. The warmth disappeared. She started ignoring me and acting irritated whenever I greeted her. Then she rolled out rules: no music, no guests, and no staying out late. I followed everything since I didn’t want any issues.
She had a chef and a cleaner, but both of them left because of how difficult she was. She refused to replace them, so I ended up cleaning and running errands. Despite that, I still walked on eggshells around her.
The final straw was so ridiculous. My younger brother, who was in the university, got stranded after a field trip. He called me, and I told him to come over for the night. When I got home, I explained everything to Mrs. Shewa, introduced them, and told her he’d leave the next day. She nodded and smiled.
The next morning, I went to greet her and overheard her on a call with my sister-in-law. She told her I’d started bringing the young boys I sleep with into her house. She was talking about my blood brother. I froze.
I didn’t confront her. I just knew I had overstayed my welcome. Not long after, I begged a friend at the office to let me squat and moved out.”
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“She lied that her generator was spoiled” — Raji*, 29
When a power fault chased Raji* out of his apartment, he thought he could count on his girlfriend. The many signs gave him a harsh reality check.
“I had dated this woman for a few months when the first real sign came, though I didn’t want to admit it then.
Until that point, she always visited me at my place. But one weekend, an electrical fault knocked out the light in my apartment for days. I didn’t want to sleep in the heat, so I called her and asked if I could stay over. She agreed, but her tone sounded far from excited. I assumed it was because I told her last minute.
When I got there, the vibe felt off. She wasn’t hostile, but she wasn’t warm either. She told me her generator wasn’t working. Lagos heat is no joke, and her apartment had no proper windows, so it was almost unbearable. I offered to take a look at the generator, but she told me not to worry. The next day was the same story. She kept asking when the electrician would fix my place and casually dropped hints like, ‘Hopefully it doesn’t take long o.’
By the third night, I knew something was off. She stepped out for an errand, and I used that opportunity to check the generator myself. To my shock, it worked perfectly. She had just refused to put it on.
I should’ve left at that point, but I was in denial. I was literally paying for our food, and could buy the fuel too. Why would she want me gone so badly?
Later that day, she mentioned her friends were coming over and asked if I’d still be around. I told her I’d love to meet them, and her face changed. She awkwardly said maybe she’d tell them not to come. I realised she didn’t want them to meet me. She’d met all my friends, but I hadn’t met any of hers. I started wondering if it was because I was short or not attractive enough. My mind was all over the place.
That night, I did something I’m not proud of. I went through her phone. That’s when everything clicked. She had been cheating. The other guy was on his way from Port Harcourt to visit her, and they had been making plans for weeks. I wasn’t even the main guy in her life.
She tried to gaslight me for going through her phone when I confronted her. But I had seen enough to know she didn’t want me around.”
“They told me that still living at home at my age was a shame” — Sharon, 33
Living with Nigerian parents past a certain age feels like a ticking time bomb. In Sharon’s* case, the only way out was the actual door.
“I never imagined a day would come when I’d feel like a stranger in my own parents’ house. But after I turned 30, the atmosphere changed.
Suddenly, every little thing became a problem. My mum started complaining that I lazed around, despite knowing I work remotely. She’d nag about chores and constantly compare me to my mates who were married with kids. Sometimes, it wasn’t even subtle. She’d say things like, ‘At your age, if you had a husband, you wouldn’t be living under our roof.’
My dad didn’t help either. He said I wasn’t contributing enough financially and needed to do better. Every complaint circled back to the same thing — my supposed failure to find a husband.
They don’t know I’m a lesbian. And with how they talk about queer people, I know they’ll never accept any version of my truth.. I thought I could manage a little longer while I saved up to move out quietly.
But the final straw came on a Sunday when my mum’s church friends visited. After the usual pleasantries, they pulled me aside and said I was embarrassing my parents. They called it ‘a shame’ that I still lived with my parents.. They accused me of being too picky, and one of them even offered to introduce me to a man in their prayer group.
That was it. I knew I couldn’t pretend the home I’d known all my life was safe or loving. I borrowed money for rent and packed my things the following week. It was very tough on me, but it was for the best.”
“He told me his family was coming over, but I knew I’d already been phased out” — Dele*, 25
Getting iced out of group plans tells anyone their time’s up. Dele* didn’t wait to be told twice.
“After NYSC, I moved to a new city to job hunt. I reached out to a long-time friend with spare accommodation, and he was kind enough to let me stay with him for a while. Honestly, things started off great. We’d cook together, hang out, and gist late into the night. It felt like a comfortable extension of our university days. But after a few months, another friend of his came to visit, and everything changed.
It started subtly. They’d only talk when I wasn’t around, and whenever I asked where they were going, they gave vague answers. I’d be home alone while they went to the cinema or parties, and when they returned, they’d laugh and talk about it.
At first, I thought I was overthinking it. But even small conversations became awkward. My friend even started snapping at me over little things. Gradually, I started feeling like an intruder. Then one day, he casually mentioned that his family might be coming over for the holidays and that things might get a little tight. He didn’t say it outright, but I got the message. I just wish the situation had been handled better.”
If you want to share your own story, I’d love to hear it here.
