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  • With age comes clarity, and sometimes decisions you make can have far-reaching ripple effects. In this piece, Zikoko went into a Lagos market and sat with five older Nigerians as they reflected on the love they lost, the partners they hurt, and the relationships they wish had gone differently.

    From ghosting a woman who truly loved them to enduring a violent marriage they should have walked away from, these are stories of regret, and the what-ifs that still linger decades later.

    “I wish I had married my girlfriend instead of ghosting her” — Bamiji* (60), M

    In 1985, I started dating this gorgeous girl who sold agbo in the bus park. She loved me so much, but I was wary of the honesty of her feelings because so many other men in the bus park also wanted her. Soon enough, we got intimate, and I immediately knew she had an STI. I didn’t know how to tell her, so after the first few times we slept together, I pretended I didn’t know her in the bus park.

    She would come to the bus park early in the morning to try to speak to me, but I never gave her a chance. After a while, she stopped trying, and we became distant. Now, she has a child of her own, but over the years, I swear she has gotten even more beautiful. 

    I still see her at the bus park every day, but we only greet each other — nothing else. I regret abandoning our relationship the way I did. I should have saved up some money to help her treat the STI, and then married her. I’m still unmarried now, and I’ll be 61 in October. I wonder what our life together could have been.

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    “My husband turned out to be a violent schizophrenic. I regret our marriage.” — Alexandra* (52), F

    I wish I had never gotten married to my ex-husband. I didn’t have much of a choice, though; I was an orphan living with a distant widowed relative who was looking for a place to send me off to. 

    One day, in our village church, the church secretary of the regional district of East Nigeria came to visit. He took an interest in me and asked me some questions about myself, like whether I was a virgin and if I could cook well. I answered yes on both counts.

    I was only 19, but I remember he was very impressed. He told me he was looking for a wife for his brother, who was a wealthy auditor in Lagos. The thought of elevating from farming in the village to the wife of an educated man delighted me so much that I accepted, and they set the wedding for a few months later. 

    Around that time, a boy in the village beside mine fell in love with me. He was also 19, but he was working as an apprentice at a big store. He bought me things I had never owned before, like dresses with flower prints, shoes and even a brassiere. He even asked me to run away with him, but I rejected him and his gifts because I was already promised to the auditor. I thought God would be angry with me for breaking my engagement. 

    In September 1992, I got married in a small parlour ceremony to the auditor who didn’t seem as excited as I was. After two weeks as a new bride, I started to see hell. It turned out that the auditor was a violent schizophrenic who would hit me at the slightest trigger. Three weeks after our wedding, he broke my eye socket with his fist and sent me out of the house in the middle of the night, naked and covered in blood. Our neighbours at the time took me to get treatment and urged me to run away, but I had no place to go.

    I tried to tell his family, but they said that I was young and strong and should be able to endure it. Meanwhile, I heard the village boy had started his own shop in Ikeja and was doing great for himself. I wished I had run away with him instead. I left that violent man after eight months of sadness and suffering. I really regret marrying him.

    “I regret letting my wife and my older sister get close. “ — Abayomi* (50), M

    When I got married 20 years ago, I thought it would be nice for my older sister and my wife to be close friends. My sister could help us settle any disagreements and also teach my spouse how to be a good wife.

    I had some challenges at the time. I had no money, so I slept in the bus park while my wife stayed with my sister. After a while, I managed to rent a little room for my wife and our daughter while I still continued to sleep in the park. I was saving up for my own bus, so I didn’t have a lot of disposable income, but I thought my wife understood.

    My sister got under my wife’s skin and encouraged her to leave me. She told my wife that she could make money for herself and didn’t need me because I wasn’t well off. This evil advice caused a rift in our marriage, and my wife moved out.

    It’s been a long time since then, but now I’m much better off. I have a two-bedroom apartment in Surulere, but she still won’t move back in with me. She says she can make all the money she wants on her own. 

    I visit my daughter twice weekly, but I wish we all lived under the same roof. I’ll never stop trying to win my wife back. I deeply regret letting her get close to my sister. I no longer talk to that homewrecker.

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    “I regret marrying my wife against my family’s wishes.” —Tomiwa* (48), M

    They didn’t want me to marry an Ondo woman as an Osun man, but I didn’t care. They encouraged me to leave her years after we got married, but I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it. My wife and I were passionately in love and determined to prove them wrong, but I’ve learned that it takes so much more than love to make a marriage work. 

    We’ve been married since 1998, and I don’t know what happened after we started living together, but we have fought bitterly every single day of our marriage. Small things like unwashed dishes could lead to a shouting match that lasts days. I don’t even know why she agitates me like that. I love her, but it’s impossible for us to have a small disagreement. The fights have weighed me down over the years. I’m anxious to go home, and our children always flinch at loud noises.

    We’ve tried couples’ counselling, separation, and family intervention, but we can’t stop fighting. I refuse to leave her, even though I regret our marriage. A part of me is still holding out hope that we can go back to how we were before we got married.

    “I rejected my brother’s advice and married my ex-husband” — Yetunde*(59)

    I got married to my ex-husband in 1989, even though my older brother hated him and didn’t support the marriage. Our mother had passed, and our father was a polygamous man, so my two brothers and I only had each other.

    Ade*, my ex-husband, courted me for over two years, and the whole time, he was as meek as a lamb. He would come to the hairdresser’s shop where I was an apprentice with lunches he cooked for me, packed carefully with meat, eggs, and fish. He was so caring and indulgent that, of course, I said yes when he asked me to marry him.

    His family was also well off. He had his own car and a little printing business, but he was very humble and caring. I don’t know why, but my older brother hated Ade. He was vocally against our marriage and threatened to scatter our wedding if we went through with it.

    On the day of our introduction, I remember my step-siblings had to stop my brother from entering the house because he had come with a machete. When I asked him why he hated my husband, he said something about Ade’s spirit being evil, and he could sense it. I thought he was just being too overprotective.

    After I had our first son in 1991, Ade got a big recurring printing contract with the government and became a completely different person. He would come home drunk several nights a week, and he started hitting me and our baby.

    At first, I didn’t tell anyone. I thought he was just stressed, and after a while, he would go back to being the loving person that he was, but he never did. I had two more children in four years, and the abuse only got worse. By then, Ade was extremely wealthy, but my children and I lived and ate like paupers.

    One night, I went to him crying, begging him for money to buy food for the children. They hadn’t eaten all day because he didn’t drop any money for food, and I wasn’t allowed to work. That was when Ade said the only way those children would live a good life was if I took myself out of the picture. He said he had already seen the woman who was perfect for him, but he couldn’t marry her because no matter what he did to me, I refused to leave his house.

    My first child was going to be five years old, and I wanted him to have a good education. I also wanted my other children to have a shot at life, too. So one day in 1996, with nothing to my name, I packed the few clothes that I had and left Ade’s house.

    Since that time, so many things have happened. It was a struggle for Ade to let me see the kids. Once, when I visited them, they begged me not to come back because their dad would punish them after every visitation. This strained our relationship. My older brother tried to step in to insist that I should be allowed to see my kids, but Ade had big money and government connections, so he threatened my brother into silence. 

    Without my kids, I lived like a shadow of myself, and I sold fruits by the road to get by. One by one, when each of them entered the university and became a bit more independent, they came to look for me, and now we have a secret relationship that their father and half-siblings know nothing about. I love having my kids in my life again. My first son just paid for a nice apartment for me in Surulere. He has assured me that I’ll soon stop selling fruits here, and he’ll rent a shop for me when he earns a better salary. 

    I haven’t laid eyes on Ade since 2006, and I don’t want to. I wish I had listened to my older brother. I wish I had never been taken in by Ade’s behaviour in the beginning. It has been an extremely difficult time for me.

    Editor’s note: These conversations were had in Yoruba/Pidgin English and were translated to English and edited for clarity.

    *Names have been changed to protect the identities of respondents

    Leaving already? You should read this one too: My Girlfriend Asked if She Could Marry Someone Else While Still With Me

  • Siblings are often painted as your forever friends — people who’ll always have your back and love you without conditions. But what happens when they inflict your life’s deepest wounds?

    In this story, we spoke to six Nigerians who experienced a devastating fallout with their siblings. Their stories will make you question whether blood is truly thicker than water.

    “She dumped her kids on me for 8 years, then acted like nothing happened” — *Bolu, 44

    *Bolu played the family’s backbone for years and supported everyone, including her sister’s children. But even the strongest have their breaking point.

    “I was the only one with a stable job when my older sister, *Bola, got a visa to travel to London. She needed money for accommodation and begged me for a loan. I didn’t want to give it because I was saving to start a business, but our mum guilt-tripped me into helping her.

    Before she left, she dropped off her two children with me for a few months. Those ‘few months’ became eight years. She also said she’d send in money for their upkeep and the loan every month, but I didn’t get one dime from Bola. It was eight whole years of paying their school fees, feeding them, and caring for them — all while raising three kids of my own.

    Then, one day, out of nowhere, she called to say she was coming back to Nigeria. When she arrived, she treated me with complete disdain. No thanks or acknowledgement for all I’d done. She simply announced she was taking the kids on vacation. After the trip, she returned them like a parcel and told me she was leaving again.

    That was it for me. I refused to take them back and it became a huge fight. She cursed me, and my mum begged me to let it go ‘for peace,’ but I’d had enough. I insisted she take her children with her if she was leaving again.

    It’s been two years since then. She hasn’t reached out, and neither have I. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t bother me.”

    “My brother threw me out in a country I barely knew” — *Flora, 37

    *Flora never imagined her own brother would be the reason she ended up homeless abroad. It left her shocked.

    “My brother, Ike, and I were born British citizens. He’s older and was sent to study in Manchester first. But just before his convocation, our father found out Ike had dropped out after his first year, despite collecting tuition fees for almost three years. It broke our parents’ hearts, and they also became hesitant about sending me abroad. So I stayed back and studied at UNILAG.

    Years later, when my husband lost his job and we struggled financially, my father offered to sponsor our move to London. He said we could stay with Ike temporarily. By then, Ike had turned his life around. He worked at a nursing home and had his own house.

    But the moment we landed, Ike changed. He acted coldly towards us, and just two weeks in, gave us a three-day ultimatum to leave his house if we didn’t get jobs. We hadn’t even found our footing yet. I thought he was joking until the third day, when he returned from work and threw out our things. 

    Our parents called to beg him, but he stood his ground. I was in shock. I never imagined my own brother could kick me out in a country I barely knew, without caring where I’d sleep that night.

    We ended up living in a church for two months. Ike never called or checked on us. Now, we live in the same city, but as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

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    “They buried our father against his wish, then threatened me” — Abisola, 50

    Abisola had never gotten along with her older step-brothers — not as a child, and definitely not as an adult.

    “I’ve never liked my older step-brothers. They were pure evil and took every opportunity to bully me as a kid. I’ll never forget when I was about nine and they fed me turkey wattle. I threw it in the bin, and they still forced me to dig it out and eat.

    Still, I tolerated them for our father’s sake. But even he suffered at their hands until the day he died. Not long before he passed, he told me he didn’t want to be buried in our village. He feared they’d do something diabolical to him.. He showed me the land he bought at Victoria Gardens and made me and his lawyer promise to bury him there.

    When I informed my brothers of his wish, they insulted me and shut me down as usual. They insisted on taking his body to the village. My father had seen it coming. He told me that if they did, I should refuse to go with them.

    So I played along until the day they planned to move his body. Then I switched off my phone and went into hiding. They searched everywhere but couldn’t find me. Eventually, they left without me.

    When they returned from the village, they stormed my house with threats — dangerous ones. That’s when I decided I was done with them. I moved to another state and stopped reaching out. They did the same. We’ve been out of contact for over ten years, and I feel relieved. They never cared about me anyway.”

    “My brother scammed us, then ghosted the whole family” — *Isaac, 27

    *Isaac always knew his brother’s selfishness would cost the family one day. He turned out to be right.

    “My brother, King, was selfish. I think it’s because he was overpampered as the first son. In 2015, our father was diagnosed with testicular cancer. He battled it for five years before he died in 2020.

    Before dying, he divided his properties equally among King, our sister, and me. But not long after the burial, King started acting out. He suddenly claimed our dad had promised him extra money for a Master’s degree abroad, beyond what he already got in the will.

    None of us believed him. So, he started blackmailing our mum until she secretly loaned him the money our dad had left in her care for all of us — without informing my sister and me.

    A few weeks after he travelled, he dropped a bombshell in our family group chat. He said he was disappointed we didn’t believe him, cutting ties with all of us, and wouldn’t refund the money because it was his ‘birthright’. He also said he never felt loved in the family.

    I was furious. I tried calling him, but he’d blocked all of us.

    It’s been three years. I’ve told my mum to stop trying to find him, but she won’t let it go. She’s even developed hypertension from the stress. As for me? If he ever comes back, he’s dead to me.”

    “He stole over ₦250M from me” — *Khalifa, 43

    It’s hard to rebuild trust when broken, especially by family. For *Khalifa, it wasn’t just the money as much as the betrayal.

    “My older stepbrother, Umar, was struggling. We weren’t close as kids, but it was hard to ignore his situation. Despite having an accounting degree, he was selling recharge cards to survive.

    I brought him into my shipping business and put him in charge of the money and financial records. He started off well. But after a while, things didn’t add up. Business slowed and money started disappearing. I got suspicious but blamed the economy. Umar was older and a respected Alfa, so I trusted him completely without suspicion.

    However, his wife eventually told my wife that Umar was planning to scam one of my business partners and steal money. That was when I started digging. I found out he’d siphoned over ₦250 million.

    He used the money to buy properties under different names. We tried recovering some of the finds, but most had vanished. When I threatened to arrest him, he finally admitted everything and begged. I let it go. But I will never forgive him.”

    “She called me infertile and spread rumors about me” — Tara, 31

    Siblings should be your first and fiercest defenders. For Tara, her sister only worsened her reputation.

    “My mum had gone to spend some time in the U.S. and returned with lots of gifts. Since she was at my place, all the goodies were with me.

    When it was time to share, my sister tried to take everything — clothes, food. She claimed she deserved more because she’s older. She even packed clothes that wouldn’t fit her kids. I joked about it, but she turned it into a full blown fight.

    She said horrible and degrading things that made me realise the issue was deeper than just the gifts. The one that hit hardest? She said I was jealous because I was infertile and she had kids. Even after all that, I tried to make peace. Then I heard she’d been spreading disgusting rumours about me and my husband. My own sister.

    That was the last straw. It became clear she didn’t want peace. We cut each other off from then, and I haven’t looked back since.”

    Read Next: “He’s an abusive deadbeat” — These Nigerians Explain Why They Cut Off Their Parents

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  • Romade’s* (32) relationship with her father has never been great, but when he wanted to call the shots around her wedding, she simply removed him from the picture. 

    In this story, she shares how her father’s religious beliefs and abusive nature tried to ruin her big day and how she reclaimed her celebration and got married on her own terms.

    This is Romade’s story, as told to Betty

    My father and I have never seen eye to eye.

    I grew up with him, and my mother and I separated, and my father had custody of my brother and me. While we lived with him, he was verbally, physically and emotionally abusive. He was also obsessed with a fear of spiritual attacks and retribution, so he spent a lot of time at Cele churches, hoping prayers and other rituals would ward off these attacks.  

    He was very controlling of our movements and interests because he was determined to prevent us from having any relationship with our mother. Once my brother and I got into university, he could no longer exert that control, and we were finally able to develop close relationships with our mum.

    When I was leaving for my first year, my father made it clear that he had no intention of supporting me financially. He claimed it was because he had my half-siblings to take care of, and he was getting on in years. But I knew it was mostly because he had a serious womanising streak, and he wanted me to beg and be totally dependent on him for my education.

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    Instead, I struggled to take care of myself all through uni by working odd jobs and any side gigs I could find. My mum also assisted me when she could with her small salary. After I graduated from university, my boyfriend at the time proposed, and I eagerly shared the good news with my mother. But I hesitated to tell my dad.

    I kept procrastinating until my would-be in-laws insisted on meeting him. I know my dad and how dramatic he is; I was sure he was going to make the wedding all about himself or bring up some other disruptive issue, and I was right.

    When I introduced my fiancé to him and told him our wedding dates, I lied about them. The nuptial dates we chose were for December 2024, but I told my dad we were getting married in November. My fiancé looked confused, but I convinced him to stay quiet with a sharp look. That decision I took on the fly was the best thing I did for my wedding planning.  When I introduced my in-laws, I avoided talking about the wedding dates at all.

    A few weeks before the false November wedding date, my father called me with urgent news. He said the prophet at the Cele church he attended saw a vision that if I got married in November or I didn’t do a tiny celebration, it would have spiritual consequences that would lead to a death in our family. He hinted that the person responsible for this spiritual attack was his ex-wife, my mum. According to his “prophet,” the only solution was to postpone the wedding, pick a new date and do a small celebration.

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    I was already expecting my dad to come up with something that would ruin my wedding, so I immediately agreed since the dates were false anyway, and I convinced him that I would seek his advice for the new date. I told my fiancé, mother and my oldest stepbrother about what my dad said. I wanted to keep our December date, and they supported me. We all agreed to keep the real date a secret from the rest of my side of the family and went on to have a beautiful wedding in the first week of December.

    I didn’t even tell my dad the wedding had happened until after Christmas. He was agitated and accused me of cutting him out of the celebration, but I gave the excuse that I wanted to follow the prophet’s instruction to avoid having a big wedding. This action has put a further strain on my relationship with my father, but I don’t really care. We haven’t spoken since I told him I got married.

    Now, I feel completely free of his control. My husband is a kind and supportive man whom I never have to fear will make me experience anything like I did when I was living with my father. The peace of mind is unmatched.

    If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: “My Siblings Are Not Allowed to Attend” — 9 Nigerians on Their Unconventional Wedding Choices

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  • Bimbo* (44) always thought she would marry just once in her life, but after her first husband and childhood best friend passed, she found herself remarrying again, and again, and again. Thereby bringing her total marriages to four.

    This is Bimbo’s story as told to Itohan 

    My first marriage was to a man I still consider the love of my life. We were childhood friends, and people always joked that we would one day get married. Then, when I was 21 and he was 23, we eloped. When we returned, our parents were upset because we’d denied them the opportunity to have a huge wedding, but we were happy, and that’s all that mattered.

    The two years I had with him were the best of my life, but they were cut short by his death. He was so young and full of life, but God had other plans. I was distraught when I heard the news and even more disappointed by the ways people tried to console me. I was told I was lucky to still be young and without children, so I could easily remarry. Why that was something people felt comfortable saying to my face was beyond me, but it happened regardless. 

    After his death, I withdrew into myself. He had left everything he owned to me, and I suddenly had more money than a young woman my age should. My dad warned that it would make me a target for young men looking to take advantage, so he arranged for me to marry one of the young men he mentored. I was 25; he was 34. My dad felt the man had a good head on his shoulders. He was not wrong, but I’m a woman who values her freedom and the ability to have fun. I’m a passionate person, and it was the most passionless marriage I’d ever been in. Our sex life was horrible. He used to schedule sex for 8 p.m. twice a week, and it lasted all of 15-20 minutes on a good day. No foreplay, no passion, no pleasure. Just thrusting and ejaculating. 

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    I remember once asking my dad if he could reduce my husband’s workload so he might have more time for me. That’s when I found out it was my husband constantly picking up extra work and handling business. My dad told me. I realised my father had done it on purpose. He’d always said I was a bit of a wild child, so this marriage was his way to calm me down. Once I realised that, I filed for a divorce. We’d been married for three years, but I knew I couldn’t spend another second in that marriage. One thing my father did get right was the prenuptial agreement. So all I lost was time, and a bit of my sanity. My money remained intact. 

    I met my third husband at a friend’s 30th birthday party. He was 32 and I was 29, and we hit it off almost immediately. The sexual chemistry was electric, and although I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I enjoyed his company. We travelled to several countries together, tried new cuisines and had fun. For the first time in years, I felt like I had something great going for me. I felt young again. We started dating a few months later, and when I got pregnant, we got married. It was a nice ceremony and I felt absolutely beautiful. It truly felt like one of the happiest moments of my life. My parents, friends and I thought this would be the one that stuck. We were so wrong. 

    My pregnancy was difficult. I was pregnant with twins, and they stressed me from the beginning to the end. I couldn’t enjoy many of the things I used to. Morning sickness, swollen feet, heartburn, body pains, etc. At one point in my second trimester, I was rushed to the hospital because I was bleeding. Thankfully, the babies and I were fine, but the whole experience took a toll on me physically and mentally. After I gave birth, I thought things would get better, but I was wrong.

    The babies were born through a caesarean section and my body did not snap back as fast as I thought it would. I was stuck at home breastfeeding and cleaning up the babies I was miserable. I was battling postpartum depression, I thought about killing myself and my babies so many times, just so it could end. There was a time I found myself screaming at them as they cried. Our nanny found me on the floor, screaming at them my lungs out while the babies lay in their bassinet. In all of this pain and suffering, where was my husband? He was out. Suddenly, he became much busier than ever. I was left alone with the children and the nanny for days. I needed his help and support, but he was nowhere to be found. He wouldn’t pick up my calls or respond to messages. I was deeply hurt. 

    ALSO READ: What She Said: I Didn’t Know I Was Almost Six Months Pregnant

    A year and a few months after I had the twins, I was slowly getting myself back, but I still wasn’t as active or interested in sex and the partying lifestyle I enjoyed. One night, while getting the twins ready for bed, I received a video from a friend. It was of my darling husband in a club, kissing and touching a woman who looked like she was still in university. That was the first time in a long time I thought of ending my life again. I was disappointed. When he came home a week later, I confronted him with the video. He blamed me for no longer being “fun” and said he had needs that had to be met. That night, I packed a few things, took the twins, and left. 

    The following week, I called my lawyer and filed for a divorce. It was the hardest marriage to dissolve because of the children and how long it had lasted, but with evidence of adultery, the court allowed me to end it. Custody was granted to me, with visitation rights for him, and he paid monthly for our upkeep. 

    By the time the twins turned seven, I filed for custody to be transferred to their father. I’d gotten a job that required constant international travel, and I didn’t feel I was providing a stable environment for children. Plus, my ex-husband had remarried and they had another child. I believed it was better for the twins to be with them. Luckily for me, the court agreed. At 38, I felt freer than I had in a decade. I decided to start living for myself and enjoying life. I saw my children when work allowed and sometimes took them on trips. Life was good. I was happy, but a bit lonely. 

    At 39, I decided to get a “sugar baby”. I was rich, I could afford it, and I wanted regular sex. I had always dated older men, I wanted something different. My friend introduced me to someone she knew. He was 30, smart, and the sex was great, and I was enjoying myself. A year or so later, he said he wanted to be in an actual relationship. I agreed. A year after that, he asked me to marry him. And so, at  41, I was getting married again. It was a small courthouse ceremony with a few friends as witnesses. My parents didn’t  attend, and honestly, I don’t blame them. 

    After we got married, he became a househusband. He worked, but I was the breadwinner. He managed the staff and took care of the home. My children liked him, and it was nice to hand over “wife” duties, I’ve never been that type anyway. I was happy and content. That is, until I came home early from one of my trips and found him in the bed with another man. I dropped my bag from my hands, and that’s when they realised I was there. 

    My “husband” explained that he was a bisexual and the man he was having sex with was his boyfriend of over five years. Apparently, he only got into a relationship with me for money. He and his boyfriend were planning to relocate and start a new life together, but they couldn’t afford it on their own. After listening, I wish I could say I was angry, but I wasn’t.

    I understood why they did it, I was just irritated he hadn’t told me from the start. I would have gone along with it from the very beginning. All the sneaking around was unnecessary and disrespectful. He said their end goal was marriage and a new life together. I called my lawyer and asked her to help them with the process. I also donated some money towards it, called it their wedding gift. Then we began the process of ending our marriage. 

    I’m 44 now, and I’ve officially been married four times. I have another sugar baby, but I’m not interested in having another husband. After reflecting on the life I have lived, I think marriage isn’t for me. Being single isn’t so bad. I love my children and get to spend time with some of my friends in their 40s. Life is good, and I’m content.

    ALSO READ: I Called Off My Engagement Because of a Joke

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  • Atinuke* (32) grew up under the care of her wealthy father, but her childhood was marred by being cut off from her mother, accusations of witchcraft and verbal and physical abuse from her dad.

    This is Atinuke’s story as told to Betty

    My earliest memories are of me, my older brother and our mum in a little apartment in Ibadan, struggling to make ends meet. My mum’s salary as a secretary could barely cover even our most basic needs, but she did all she could to make it work.

    I didn’t meet my dad until I was five. After years of emotionally and physically abusing my mum, he threw her and my older brother out of his house while she was pregnant with me. She built a small but stable life for us in Ibadan, doing a great job for almost five years. Then, in 1998, my dad decided he wanted his children back.

    I’m still not sure what made him change his mind. I remember my mum telling me how she took me to his house when I was born, and he didn’t even bother to come outside to look at me. He also hadn’t made any attempt to find us in the five years that followed. Still, after intense pressure from both her family and his, my mum gave us up. Everyone believed my father’s wealth would offer us a better life. Looking back, nothing could have been further from the truth.

    I remember the drive into his massive house in Ibadan, the compound lined with big trees, a wide lawn and two dogs — but we didn’t spend a single night there for months. Before we left, my mum packed some of my favourite clothes and toys to take with me. But as soon as we arrived, my father burned everything we’d brought from her home.

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    That was the first of many traumatic experiences. My dad was convinced that my mum had used witchcraft to set traps for him, using us as the conduit. So for the first six months after we arrived, we didn’t go to school. He took us to a parish of the Cele church he attended and made us live there, hoping the prayers and holiness of the place would chase out any evil spirits in us. He would leave for work but always came back to sleep with us on the church floor. He would bring us new clothes when he came to see us, but we were constantly being prayed over and watched closely.

    My brother was born with a clubfoot, which my dad saw as another manifestation of my mother’s supposed witchcraft. Although it could have been easily fixed with a surgery he could afford, the parish prophet claimed to have a vision of my brother dying on the operating table, so it was never resolved. This led to my brother being shamed and ostracised by other children as we grew up. I found myself subconsciously trying to compensate: I would purposely fail in school so that my brother could shine as “the bright child.” but this only created another source of tension between my dad and me.

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    My father was a man of contradictions. When we finally moved from the church into the house, he kept it stocked so we were never hungry and sent us to quality schools. But the tradeoff was that he had no patience or softness. He was very hard on us, yelling or hitting us at the slightest provocation. I’ve blocked out a lot of the bad memories, but I remember shaking with fear every time he helped me with a school assignment because I knew I would get slapped multiple times. He was also generous with verbal insults, calling us everything from useless to stupid.

    At some point in 1999, my dad got transferred from Ibadan to Lagos for work, but he was reluctant to have anyone watch over us in his absence. So, for about three months, we woke up very early each morning to travel from Ibadan to Lagos. My father would then drop us at school in Yaba, head to work in Ikeja, and then we’d make the long trip back to Ibadan in the evening. It eventually became clear that this wasn’t sustainable, so we moved in with one of his friends at the Yaba barracks for eight months.

    We weren’t allowed to talk about my mum, and we had no way to contact her, so I was naturally drawn to the mother of the family that took us in. I saw her as my mum and treated her as such. One day, she bought a bale of second-hand clothes to share with the children of the house. Her biological kids got a new wardrobe, while my brother and I got two items of clothing each. The way she shared the clothes made it clear we weren’t her kids, and that shattered the “mother” pedestal I had put her on. I knew in my heart that my mother would never treat me like that. 

    During one of my dad’s visits, I told him about this and he quietly took us from that family and moved us to Lagos. It turned out that he had been paying the family a big sum to house, feed and clothe us, but the woman took most of the money and spent it on her kids. 

    In 2000, my father began allowing strict, supervised visits from my mum. This went on for a very short time. She wasn’t allowed to visit us at home so we would meet at the Lagos Country Club. We also weren’t allowed to talk to her. We were supposed to sit quietly so she could see we were doing well. I never listened. I missed her so much that I was always talking to her and telling her what was happening in our lives. Each time, when we got home, my father would beat me for talking to her.

    The visits stopped that year when my dad started dating Yetty *, a woman who attended our Cele parish. With no cell phones at the time, we were once again completely cut off from my mum. Yetty was kind to me at first, but became increasingly wicked as she struggled to conceive for my dad. She believed I had witchcraft powers, which I was using to stop her from getting pregnant. She raised this issue so many times that my dad made me undergo multiple deliverance sessions.

    Read Also: 5 Nigerians on the Wildest Ways They Took Revenge on In-Laws

    These sessions were uniquely traumatic. They would whip me with brooms for hours and make me shower with a mix of salty ocean water, perfume and holy water. The mixture would run into the welts and wounds caused by the brooms and sting for hours. I was in an incredible amount of pain for weeks because these deliverance sessions were held several times back to back. I finally got some respite when Yetty got pregnant in 2006, but I was still treated like I had evil powers. It made me act out in school, and I took my studies even less seriously while my brother outclassed his mates.

    Like his previous relationship, my dad eventually became physically and verbally abusive to Yetty and my step sister, and they moved out of our house in 2008. When I was 15, I began to rebel and act out as a way to get back at my dad. My teachers noticed and decided I was a girl who needed her mum. They somehow found a way to contact her even though my father had threatened to raise hell if that ever happened.

    Reconnecting with my mum soothed something in me. It was great to finally speak to someone who didn’t think I was an evil witch or useless. She got me a small phone I used to stay in contact with her till I wrote and passed my final secondary school exams. 

    Unfortunately, we lost touch again for a year after I finished secondary school. This was because my dad took everything away from me to put me through another traumatic round of deliverance sessions. I was so depressed and hopeless till I realised the only way I could escape his clutches was to go to school. 

    I missed JAMB the year I graduated because of the deliverance sessions, so I sat for the exam the following year. But that time, I failed it on purpose; something I never told anyone. Although my brother had graduated at the top of his class with an outstanding WAEC result, his JAMB scores were withheld three years in a row. 

    I couldn’t bear the thought of passing and ending up in the same class as him. I still carried guilt over his disability, and academics were the one thing he had that set him apart. So, in 2011, I deliberately wrote wrong answers and failed, while my brother passed and went on to study computer science.

    In 2012, I managed to get my hands on another small phone and reconnected with my mum. She helped me pull through that awful year with a lot of kindness and encouragement. With Yetty gone and brother in school, I was facing the full brunt of my dad’s unpredictable anger and constant beration. My mum would call me every day — calls I had to take in secret— and encourage me to study. She would reassure me of my intelligence and her belief in me. It really helped me push through. I studied as hard as I could, passed my JAMB and got in for my dream course: pharmacy.

    By that time, my father had retired and squandered his retirement money on businesses that didn’t pan out. This made funding my degree very difficult because my father was unwilling to help with the little he had left. My mother stepped up, combining her efforts with mine to see me through school. It was a tough journey, taking odd jobs, interning and studying at the same time, but having my mum back in my life kept me going through my darkest hours.

    If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: Sunken Ships: My Friend Group Kicked Me Out Because I Was Unemployed

  • In Nigeria, children are often seen as blessings — the more, the better. But this cultural reverence doesn’t always translate into care, especially when the child in question is adopted. Adoption is often treated less like a deliberate, lifelong commitment and more like an act of charity. And when a child is seen as a “project” instead of a person, the consequences can last a lifetime.

    In this article, Zikoko spoke to Nigerians who were adopted; some by strangers, others by extended family. They shared what it was like to grow up under roofs where they were always reminded that they didn’t really belong.

    “My aunt made me pick an entire 50kg sack of beans in the sun.” — Iyun* (55)

    In 1978, I went with my mother to visit my paternal uncle. As soon as his wife, my aunt, saw me, she begged my mum to let me live with them because the village was “no place for a beautiful child like me to grow up.” She and my uncle promised to fund my schooling, and so my mother agreed. I came to live with them in 1979, and while they fulfilled their promise of sending me to school, albeit a public school, my aunt spent the fifteen years that followed terrorising me.

    There are so many instances I can remember. First, after only a month with them, she said her kids couldn’t mingle with village children, so she banished me and my other cousins to the boys’ quarters. Then she would use a food scale to weigh out how much food she served us, never more than 250g. She said if we were hungry, we should go to our village and ask our fathers for food. She claimed we were the ones eating her husband’s riches. My uncle was typically kind, but he believed that the running of the home was up to his wife, so he would turn a blind eye to our maltreatment— unless it was beyond the pale, which was several times. Like when I fell and broke a plate, and as punishment, my aunt made me pick an entire 50kg sack of beans in the sun. If she found even a speck in the ones I had picked, she would pour everything back in the sack, shake it up and ask me to start over. My uncle had to step in after three days because the skin on my neck, legs and arms had turned bright red. I endured the maltreatment till I could get admission into the University of Ilorin, and I have never looked back.

    Sometimes, I wonder why she asked my mum to leave me with her. The way she treated me, you would have thought it was my mother who was begging them to take me in. I’m glad those years are behind me.

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    “My younger siblings didn’t even know I was adopted” — Allen* (36)

    My father’s brother is my biological father. He impregnated his girlfriend in Kaduna and abandoned her. She died of an illness when I was only seven, and her mum dropped me off with my adopted father, saying someone had to be responsible for my upkeep. My adopted father, whom I see as my real dad, had just gotten married but hadn’t had any kids yet— so he and his wife took me in as their own.

    I am the firstborn of this family. There’s never been any question about it. I have two younger siblings, and they didn’t even know about the adoption until maybe six or seven years ago, when our parents were randomly discussing it. I’ve never been treated differently or poorly. I actually thought this was the norm with adoption until I got to the university and started seeing what other adopted kids were going through. I’ll always be grateful to my parents for being a good example and treating me with kindness.

    “One day, she simply stopped giving me food” — Ayobami* (48)

    I spent the first 10 years of my life in a small village in Ondo State. One day, one of my rich uncles visited from Ibadan, and I begged him to let me visit for the holidays. It was the best month of my life. He took me to a dentist to have my teeth professionally cleaned, and for the first time in my life, I had pearly white teeth. I begged him to take me in and send me to school. I, too, wanted to go to the dentist often and build a cosy house in Ibadan. He was happy to do it, but his wife was a terrible person.

    They had four kids and a massive house, but I did all the chores; even the house help wasn’t allowed to do anything except cook. I grew up helping my mum on the farm, so hard work wasn’t a big deal to me. I woke up early before school to do the morning chores, and when I got back, I did the evening chores. 

    My uncle and aunt were wealthy, she hosted many dinner parties and small celebrations and that meant I would sometimes be up until 1 am in the morning washing and drying dishes because my aunt threatened to send me back to the village if I left any unwashed dishes out overnight.

    I did my work with no complaints, no matter how many more chores she added to my plate. Then one day, she simply stopped giving me food, which was devastating because the one thing I loved as a child was food. I would sneak out to her neighbour’s house to beg the maid for any leftovers, even the end slices of bread. After a week of this, I went to prostrate to my uncle, begging to eat anything. I couldn’t keep up with school and the chores on an empty stomach. 

    He was shocked to hear about what his wife was doing, and it caused a big problem in the house. My aunt said that I was a wizard sent to destroy her peaceful home. She began to reserve her violence for when my uncle went away on work trips, which was often. Every time I washed his car before a trip, my stomach would knot up with anxiety. I started to steal food like uncooked rice, garri and beans. I hid them under my bed so that I would have something to eat when he wasn’t around. The neighbour’s househelp would help me boil the rice I had stashed away, and I would eat it plain because I had no way to store tomatoes to make stew. 

    That was how I managed to survive until I passed my WAEC exams. I chose to go to Minna for University because I wanted to be as far away from that woman as possible. To this day, I’m not close to my cousins even though we lived together for more than a decade. There’s just too much resentment and bad blood because of their mother’s actions.

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    “I never felt like I belonged” — Arike* (28)

    I don’t want to come off as entitled because I wasn’t treated as badly as some other stories I’ve heard, but I never felt like I belonged in my adopted family. My parents treated their biological children very differently from how they treated me. In all our family photos, I stand alone on the farthest edge, while everyone else has their arms around each other.

    For context, my parents adopted me because they were trying to have children for six years with no luck. After they had the children they were praying for, I guess they didn’t know what to do with me.

    Growing up, I went to the same schools as my siblings, but they got dropped off and picked up, while I had to get transportation to school from as young as 8. I only got new clothes every other year, while my siblings got new clothes at the start of every new school term. It wasn’t like we were struggling; my parents are well off. It was just another way to make sure I never forgot I wasn’t really their child, and it still stings today.

    I went to a public university, and I haven’t gone home since graduating in 2021. My parents have never called to ask why. When I call, they just say they hope I’m doing well wherever I am. I’m only close to my youngest sister because I was in charge of her care when she was little, so we have a tight bond. My other two siblings treat me like dirt; we don’t really talk, and honestly, I’m okay with that.

    I want to adopt a child of my own when I’m more settled, and I’ll never make them feel odd or ostracised when they are with me.

    If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: “He’s an abusive deadbeat” — These Nigerians Explain Why They Cut Off Their Parents

  • For a growing number of young Nigerians, the idea of family being sacred no matter what no longer holds weight. In a society where parental authority is rarely questioned and filial obedience is seen as a moral obligation, walking away from one’s parents is often considered unthinkable. But behind closed doors, many young people are quietly — and sometimes not so quietly — cutting ties with the people who raised them. 

    In this article, we speak to young Nigerians who have chosen to go no-contact with their parents. They open up about the reasons for their estranged parental relationships and what would make them consider reconciliation.

    “I had to cut him off for my mental well-being” — Zainab* (24)

    • Why did you cut off your dad? 

    I cut off my father because he was a financially abusive and narcissistic person.  He was never present, neglected my siblings and me, and always found a way to justify his actions instead of making up for them.

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with him?

    I can never consider reconciliation with him. It’s not possible. I don’t think I have processed all the trauma I experienced while our relationship lasted. I had to cut him off for my mental well-being, and I’d like to keep it that way forever.

    “He’s the most wicked man I know.” — Adanna* (27)

    • Why did you cut off your dad? 

    My father is the most wicked man I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering in this life. He’s an abusive deadbeat, and his actions towards my family and me are unacceptable. My mother and the rest of my siblings are all estranged from him.

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with him?

    Absolutely nothing. Except maybe when he kicks the bucket. I can perform sadness in hindsight so that people will send me condolence money. The economy is tough right now.

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    “He’s refused to give me an apology” — Damola* (24)

    • Why did you cut off your dad?

    I cut him off because he was an unapologetic deadbeat. He left when I was 2 years old, came back 21 years later and said he didn’t owe me any apology and that I should stop acting like a kid. I cut him off after he said that rubbish. Everyone else in my family has reconciled with him except me.

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with him?

    I need him to make a genuine apology to me for what he said. I want him to reflect on his actions and understand why they were wrong. Maybe after that, I’ll be open to reconciliation.

    “It’s better for my mental health if we never reconcile.” — Tomi* (26)

    • Why did you cut off your mum?

    She’s way too toxic and controlling. She’s always trying to force me to do things her own way, forgetting I’m different from her and that even if I’m her child, I’m allowed to have different likes and dislikes.  I just couldn’t deal with it anymore, so last year, I moved out without telling her my new location and changed my SIM.

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with her?

     Nothing. It’s better for my mental health if we never reconcile.

    “He lied about my younger brother’s genotype for over 17 years.” — Helena*(26)

    • Why did you cut off your dad?

    I cut my father off after he lied about my younger brother’s genotype for over 17 years. He claimed the boy had an STD in order to hide the fact that he had sickle cell disease. He was also abusive, negligent, and emotionally absent all my life. When my mum had a serious accident, he abandoned her in pain for ten months without taking her to see a specialist. Mind you, this is a man who is locally praised as a family medicine consultant.

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with him?

    Unless he apologises and does right by my mother, I’m not interested in any form of reconciliation. And even if he does, all he’ll get is probably forgiveness because I don’t know how to rebuild anything with someone who chose to break so much on purpose.

    “She sent me off to work as a maid when I was about 10.” — Fayo*(28)

    • Why did you cut off your mum?

    I cut off my mother because she sent me off to work as a maid when I was about 10. I was living with my grandmother, but she suddenly came one day, lied that my dad’s sister wanted to see me, and never took me back to my grandmother. I worked at that house for over two years. The only reason she even came to take me away was because the woman accused me of stealing her money, which I unfortunately lost when I went to run an errand for her. 

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with her?

    Nothing can make me consider reconciliation right now. The pain from that experience lingers, and all hopes of getting my mother to properly apologise for it or take responsibility for her actions are gone, so there’s no point. To her, she didn’t do anything wrong, and she gets defensive when I bring it up. The last time was the worst; it turned into a heated argument in which she cursed me out. 

    “He’s an unapologetic abuser.” — Boluwatife*(25)

    • Why did you cut off your dad?

    I estranged myself from my father because he’s an abuser. There’s so much to resent him for as a father and how he treats his kids, but how he treats my mother takes the cake. He is emotionally, physically, financially and sexually abusive towards her and I couldn’t stand it anymore. 

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with him?

    Nothing in the world. That bridge is burned to the ground.

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    “One day, my brother and I left the house, and refused to come back until our mother left him.” — Tolulope*(26)

    • Why did you cut off your dad?

    He was very abusive, especially to our mother. So much so that one day, my brother and I woke up and left the house, and we refused to come back until our mother left him. She was scared to leave, but we didn’t budge, and that pushed her to divorce him officially. 

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with him?

    Nothing. I’m not sure how he got my number, but he called me 2 years ago and said he was dying, that he wanted us to forgive him. I couldn’t care less if he died. I wasn’t moved by the story and blocked him immediately.

    “He’s emotionally and physically abusive to everyone.” — Tunrayo*(27)

    • Why did you cut off your dad?

    My dad is emotionally and physically abusive to everyone– his many wives and children alike. It made me want to separate myself from my family initially, but my decision became final after he paid a visit to my school in Ibadan to confront me about my personal life decisions. He also started to beat me 2 years after I left home, and that was the final thing that made me decide not to go back home again. 

    • What would make you consider reconciliation with him?

    I don’t think anything would make me consider reconciling with him because even as recently as last year, he was still exhibiting this bad behaviour. I even noticed that the younger kids who are now the age I was when I left home are also leaving. It’s clear he’s not willing to change.

    If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: 5 Yoruba Aunties on Why They Dumped Their Friendship Groups

  • Black tax is part and parcel of Nigerian society, but what happens when a child decides enough is enough?

    In this story, Jola* (27) shares how her overwhelming need to please her barely present father pushed her into a black tax cycle. In 2024, some revelations caused her to withdraw her financial support, leading to her dad disowning her. 

    As told to Boluwatife

    I didn’t live with my dad growing up. My mum was his second wife, and he provided a separate apartment for her and her kids, while he lived with the first wife. As a result, I only saw him once or twice a month when he came visiting, and I idolised him.

    You couldn’t convince 9-year-old me that my dad wasn’t a superhero. He always came visiting with sweets and ₦500 notes. Whenever I got the first position in school, he’d show up with a pineapple for me because I loved the fruit so much. 

    I thought my dad was the greatest man in the world. It wasn’t until I got into secondary school that I realised he wasn’t all that great. 

    I think my mum got tired of buying me things in my dad’s name and hearing me disturb everyone with “My daddy” up and down, so she started letting me see that my dad wasn’t as involved as I thought.

    Despite his lucrative electronics business, my dad only took financial responsibility for our needs when he was on good terms with my mum. I knew that because my mum began regularly complaining about it. She was forced to provide for our needs and sometimes rent almost solely on the income she earned selling fabrics in the market. 

    Interestingly, learning about my dad’s flaws triggered a need to please him and be in his good graces. I knew he wasn’t as present as he should be, but I thought if I could be the perfect daughter, he’d want to fulfil his responsibilities and ultimately be the perfect father I wanted him to be. 

    Now, I understand my reasoning was flawed, and I didn’t have to “do things” to make my dad become a better father. But for the longest time, I thought I needed to prove myself worthy for my dad to change, and I tried to do that in several ways.

    I focused on chasing good grades in secondary school and university because I wanted my dad to be proud of me. I remember taking my convocation gown and the ₦150k my faculty gave me for getting a first class to my dad’s house to take a picture with him. He didn’t even bother to attend my convocation. Yes, I gave him the money. 

    Money was one of the biggest tools I used to try to please my dad. I think it was stupidity because I don’t know why I fixated so much on making sure a man who never laboured over me reaped the fruits of his supposed labour. 

    My NYSC Place of Primary Assignment (PPA) was a law firm that paid me ₦150k/month in addition to my NYSC stipend. I didn’t even tell my mum how much my salary was, but I carried the whole first month’s salary and gave it to my dad so he’d pray for me. Subsequently, I sent him ₦40k monthly from my salary and only gave my mum ₦20k.

    After my service year in 2022, I got a job close to my dad’s house, so I started living there to shorten my commute and save costs. By then, my dad was on his third wife — the first wife had left — and he had three more children under 11 years old. I thought it’d be great to finally spend time with my dad and become closer to my half-siblings. 

    It turned out to be a big mistake.  

    That same year, my dad got scammed out of about ₦10m and his business crashed. He told me how difficult things had gotten for him financially, and I foolishly told him not to worry, and that I’d try my best to support the home while he found his feet.

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    That’s how I became the breadwinner of that house. My job paid me ₦300k/month, and I put my dad on an ₦80k allowance. I also started pitching in for the home’s expenses. I was hardly home because of work, but my siblings always came to me for fuel money.

    At least once in two weeks, my dad’s wife would come to me asking for ₦20k or ₦30k loans to cook for the house. I always gave her, and I never got my money back.

    RELATED: This HR Babe Pays Black Tax Out of Goodwill

    In 2023, I got a raise at work and my salary increased to ₦400k. I told my dad, and it’s like I gave him the perfect excuse not to bother doing anything again. I still gave him ₦80k every month, but somehow, it was no longer enough. Every two weeks, he’d ask for money to do one thing or another, and I’d give him. 

    I wasn’t even sending money to my mum. Although to be fair, I have two immediate older siblings who are more well off than I am, and they give her money — my mum honestly lacks nothing now and I’m so glad about that. But still, I can’t believe I did all that for my dad.

    Towards the end of 2023, he took a ₦2m loan from a microfinance bank to start a fish farming business. Within three months, the fish suddenly became sick and started dying, so we had to dry and sell them off at a loss. I ended up paying most of that loan back from my salary over eight months.

    In January 2024, I paid almost ₦200k in school fees for my three half-siblings (the third wife’s children) because I grew tired of seeing them stay home due to unpaid school fees. My dad claimed he didn’t have money, and since he doesn’t allow his wife to work — she’s a burqa-wearing woman and is always indoors — the responsibility essentially fell on me.

    I was also still dropping money for food in the house and even paying for the children’s medication when they fell sick.

    My eyes cleared in June 2024 after a series of events unfolded. 

    My dad’s wife reported him to me, claiming that my dad had gotten another woman pregnant. I didn’t want to believe it, so I confronted him, and my dad confidently said his religion allowed him to marry up to four wives. 

    I was so shocked. Your daughter is playing breadwinner duties, and you’re adding more responsibilities to your plate? No one told me before I started withdrawing financial support. 

    I gradually stopped his allowance and began to claim I didn’t have money whenever he asked. Of course, he knew I was lying, and it led to fights between us. I eventually moved out of his house and returned to my mum’s in August.

    On my birthday in December, my dad sent me a text saying, “Since you have chosen to disrespect God by ignoring your father, just take it that you don’t have a father anymore.”

    Honestly, that hurt me, and I almost called to ask for his forgiveness and try to settle our issues, but I had to be strong. 

    I know getting back in good terms with my dad will only push me back into a black tax cycle, and that’s not sustainable for me. It’s better to be disowned than not have any sense of direction in my finances. 

    Between 2022 and 2024, it was like I was just working with nothing to show for it. I even had a stint with loan apps because my salary never lasted the whole month. I had zero savings and was practically living hand to mouth. It took me coming out of that situation to realise how terribly I was living. 

    I have not taken a single loan since August 2024. Between October 2024 and February 2025, I built a savings portfolio of ₦800k. I managed that while deliberately setting aside money to buy myself nice things and hang out with friends. There’s no way I could have done that if I still carried my dad’s responsibilities on my head. 

    My mates were saving their salaries to buy cars and rent apartments, while I was bending over backwards to make an unserious man happy. I’m just glad I’ve finally seen the light. Let him disown me, I don’t care. 

    From now on, I’m team, “Use Jola’s money to make her happy.” I’m my own responsibility.

    Zikoko readers are currently giving feedback about us this year. Join your voice to theirs by taking this 10-minute survey.

    *Names have been changed for anonymity.

    NEXT READ: My Younger Brother Has More Money Than I Do. I Hate That

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  • The topic of how young Nigerians navigate romantic relationships with their earnings is a minefield of hot takes. In Love Currency, we get into what relationships across income brackets look like in different cities.

    How long have you been with your partner?

    About 8 months now. Onome and I started dating in July 2024. 

    How did you meet?

    This is funny, but we met because I was sick. I was at the hospital to get tested for malaria, and Onome was the lab technician who drew my blood. I’m quite nervous around needles, and she could tell I was trying to put on a brave face. 

    She told jokes to relieve the tension, and I calmed down enough to notice she was a fine babe.

    I’m screaming. Weren’t you supposed to be fighting for your life?

    I mean, the sickness wasn’t affecting my eyes. I convinced Onome to give me her number, and we kept in touch via WhatsApp. At first, I thought she wasn’t interested in me. She kept responding late and sending one-word replies. 

    I was about to give up when I impulsively decided to call her one night. We spoke for two hours. It turned out that she was usually at work when I texted and couldn’t respond quickly. Also, she preferred calls to texts. 

    We went on a pizza and ice cream date and saw a movie that weekend. The whole thing, plus transportation, cost me ₦33k. We talked about everything, from our salaries to our families, past relationships and genotypes. It was my first time going all in right from the start like that. It felt like we’d known each other forever.

    You mentioned salaries. What were your financial situations like at the time?

    I was working remotely at a startup — I still am — earning ₦400k/month. I live with my parents, so most of my salary goes into savings and flexing. I’m not in a hurry to move out of my parent’s house. I have friends who live alone, and they tell me the shege they’re passing through. So, I’d rather save my money and get a place when I absolutely have to. 

    Onome’s finances, on the other hand, haven’t been great. When we started dating, she earned ₦80k as a lab technician. In December, she got a job at another lab, and her salary increased to ₦100k/month. But she has a lot of responsibilities, and the extra ₦20k doesn’t make much difference.

    What kind of responsibilities?

    Onome also lives with her parents, and she’s the first of four children, so everyone is constantly billing her. 

    She mentioned this on the first date when we talked about our families, but I didn’t think the billing was a lot. Then, we laughed about it, and I told her I could relate because I occasionally bill my elder sisters. too. The thing is, Onome’s responsibilities are more than random ₦10k requests. 

    Her parents are retired, so Onome sometimes has to pitch in for house rent. She also takes on most of the feeding expenses and pays the school fees of her youngest sibling. Onome had to personally take on that child’s school fees because her parents had no money for school fees and were prepared to let the child go uneducated. 

    Hmmm

    On top of all that, her mum is hypertensive. Onome pays ₦20k/year for her mum’s HMO and still buys some medicine with her own money. Their youngest also has sickle cell, so occasional hospital admissions are a thing. 

    Since we started dating, Onome has had at least two financial emergencies every month. She doesn’t expect me to give her money — she’s actually never billed me since we started dating — but it’s only normal I pitch in sometimes. There’s no way my girlfriend will tell me she had to take her sibling to the hospital, and I’ll just say, “God be with you,” — especially because I know her parents don’t do much.

    How often do you have to provide financial support?

    At least once or twice monthly. Onome’s money problems typically involve repaying a small loan or urgently buying drugs. I don’t usually cover the full amount she needs; I usually send ₦20k – ₦30k to assist. This typically comes down to ₦50k – ₦60k in most months. It was ₦70k last month because her sibling landed in the hospital.

    Onome appreciates my help and often says she doesn’t expect me to rescue her, but I feel like she keeps me in the loop because she actually wants me to do something. Wouldn’t she think me uncaring if I just ignored her problems?

    Last month, I tried to reduce how much I spent helping her, but it was the month I spent the most. Honestly, it’s getting tiring. I often wonder if it won’t get worse as our relationship advances, and I don’t know if I can cope. I’ve heard horror stories of men having to provide for entitled in-laws. I don’t want that to be me.

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    Have you tried talking to Onome about this?

    It’s a tricky subject. How do I say, “Stop telling me about your family problems?” Besides the money issue, she’s perfect. She’s focused, highly intelligent, and very caring. On several occasions, she’s stayed up all night helping me with my work (she’s a really good writer). 

    She treated me to a massage session on Valentine’s Day, bought me food, changed my laptop’s charger, and baked a cake. No one has ever been that thoughtful to me. To this day, I don’t know how she managed to afford all that. 

    I want this relationship to last forever; I’m just scared of her family’s constant needs, and I don’t know how to address it. I know I’ll have to bring it up soon, though.

    Sigh. I understand. What other money conversations do you both have?

    We talk about our savings. Actually, I’m the one trying to get her to build a savings culture. She thinks it’s impossible considering her many expenses, but I try to make her understand that, whether she sets money aside or not, the money will still finish. So, it’s better to have something she can hold on to.

    In January, she started putting ₦20k/month in a savings app. She only saved ₦10k the following month, but I intend to keep following up so she saves something, no matter how small.

    Do you have a budget for romance and relationship stuff?

    We often go on dates, as those are the only opportunities we have to spend time together — we visit each other at home, but it’s not the same as just enjoying each other’s company. 

    Our dates are usually outdoor activities on weekends: spending time at parks, paintballing or going on walks that typically end in an eatery, mall or cinema. I spend around ₦60k/month on these dates. 

    You said something saving a lot. What does your portfolio look like now?

    I have ₦3.2m in savings and about $600 in an investment app. My goal is to reach ₦6m by the end of the year and buy land to build a mini shopping plaza. ₦6m probably won’t cover the total cost, but I know my parents will most likely support me with the purchase once they see I’m actively working towards it.

    I’m concerned I might not reach my savings goal this year, especially if I keep spending like I do in my relationship. For instance, four months ago, I reduced my monthly savings from ₦300k to ₦200k to meet up with the new demands. That’s why I’m quite worried about Onome’s family expenses. Hopefully, we can work that out soon. 

    What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

    Japa. Onome plans to pursue an additional nursing qualification and I also want to switch to a tech role. If we both succeed within the next three to five years, we’d have good options to relocate permanently.

    Interested in talking about how money moves in your relationship? If yes, click here.

    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    NEXT READ: The Finance Sis Performing Breadwinner Duties With ₦520k/Month

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  • Tell me about your mum.

    My mother is a complex person. I don’t remember much about her because she left when I was very young. My starkest memory of her is the long trip we took from Warri to my father’s village in Edo. She left me at my grandmother’s doorstep and said she’d be back soon. I was only 6 or 7 years old, but I remember feeling anxious. Something in me just knew she wasn’t coming back.

    I tried to follow her, but she hopped on a bike and rode off. My grandmother wasn’t even home; she returned from the market to find me waiting outside.

    I wouldn’t learn much about my mother until many years later. My father and his family never talked about her. It was like we all silently agreed to pretend nothing had happened. 

    Do you know why your mum left you there??

    I didn’t know for sure until 2018, when my uncle — her younger brother, who also doesn’t speak to her anymore — reached out to me on Facebook. 

    I was wary about what I heard from my father and his family because I didn’t want to be a pawn in any of their agendas. But my uncle explained that both my parents were very similar: hot-headed, impatient, and stubborn. The family had advised against the relationship, but they went ahead, got traditionally married, and had me and my brother. 

    My dad was a roaming worker, so he would travel out of Warri a lot. After a while, he and my mother fell out, and she started using my brother and me as leverage for money or as a way to punish him — refusing to let him see us. Eventually, he got tired and stopped trying to reach out. So, she simply dumped me at his mother’s house and kept the child she could manage.

    That’s a lot. How did your grandmother tell your father?

    Phones and communication weren’t like they are today, and my father was constantly on the move for work. I stayed with my grandmother for nearly eight months before he even found out that I was there. I had already started school by the time he came to the village to get me. 

    Memories of my brother were already getting vague. I heard his name floating around in conversations in my father’s family, but he wouldn’t confirm this till I was almost 18 years old.

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    After you were reunited with your father, how did the rest of your childhood without your mother go?

    It was both eventful and hard. I moved around a lot with my father at first. He tried to get some of his extended family to take me in, but no one wanted to. We moved from Kogi to Abuja looking for odd jobs for him to do, until we eventually settled in Suleja, Niger State in 2006. That’s where he got a job as a contractor with MTN. 

    Not long after, he started dating someone, and she moved in with us. One time, in 2007, I went on a two-week excursion with my Catholic school, and when I came back, I found out they’d gotten married. Just like that, she was my stepmum. It was shocking, but by then, I’d learned to get over things quickly.

    That’s also around when I started having questions about my actual mother. Who was she? Where did she go? Why did she leave me? I’d go through my dad’s things when he wasn’t home and find photographs of her, which only made me more curious. 

    READ ALSO: My Sister Is My Biggest Opp, And I’m Cutting Her Off

    Did you ever try to contact your mother?

    Yes. Once, in 2014. I had gone to my paternal grandfather’s village for a transition-to-adulthood ceremony. Most of my father’s male relatives were there, and during a conversation, one of my aunts casually mentioned that she had my mother’s number. 

    Excitedly, I begged her to let me call her. When she picked up, I introduced myself as her son. She immediately hung up, and then she blocked the number. 

    It felt like emotional whiplash.

    I’m sorry. How did this rejection affect you??

    I mean, this wasn’t the first rejection. When she first left me, I had nightmares for months. I got so sick that my grandma had to call a travelling Fulani herbalist to treat me. 

    After I started living with my father, I became very reserved. I also started stealing petty things. I also used to be constantly angry, and I couldn’t keep friends because I would cut people off at the slightest hint of stress or negativity. 

    How was your relationship with your father through all of this?

    I used to think he was the better parent —  until 2017, when a young woman knocked on our gate and told us she was his actual first daughter. She was getting married and needed him for the traditional rites. 

    My stepmum was stunned because it turns out he had always known and just never told her. That removed him from whatever pedestal I had placed him on in my mind. I’m still in contact with him, but I keep my distance because I don’t trust him very much either.

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    What about your younger brother? Are you in contact with him?

    Yes, he’s 17 now, but we’ve never met in person, and we’re not close. I don’t want to burden him with our family’s complex lore just yet. I’ve told him that when he’s a bit older, he can come to me, and I’ll answer all of his questions. 

    I’m also cautious because I don’t know what our mother may have told him, or whose side he’s on. I want a relationship with him, but I don’t want to expose myself to more turmoil by doing so.

    How have you managed your emotions throughout these events?

    I have ADHD, so it hasn’t been easy. But I recently started therapy, and it has really helped me let go of a lot of the anger, blame and resentment that I was holding on to. I now look at my past as facts — they happened, but they don’t define me. 

    I also started making music as a way to express myself, and I was surprised when people started connecting with it. Music is my favourite means of coping, but therapy has also helped a lot. I also go to the gym regularly, and that has had a good impact on my mental health. Now, I’ve made peace with it, I’m free, and my life can be anything I want it to be.

    If your mum tried to contact you to reconcile, would you consider building a relationship with her?

    Definitely not. And it’s not even because I harbour any ill emotions towards her — I’ve resolved those. I’m just very cautious about anything that can contaminate the peace I have built for myself right now. 

    Like I said, I’m open to connecting with my brother, but only if I feel he won’t jeopardise my peace. But other than that? I’m good, thanks.

    If you’d like to connect with Dre, you can find him on his X profile here

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