love | Page 2 of 91

Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.

Gboyega* (30) and Charles* (28) met at a rave in March 2025. Months later, a steady run of casual sex turned into something neither of them could fully define.

On this week’s Love Life, they open up about navigating mismatched expectations and the chances of building something real when one person is still healing from old emotional wounds.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Gboyega: We met at a rave in March 2025. It was my first time at one, actually. My friend invited me, but he had an emergency and couldn’t make it at the last minute. I didn’t want the ticket to go to waste, so I went alone.

I felt completely out of place. Everyone seemed to know each other, and I was just standing there watching. After an hour, I decided I’d had enough and started heading out. That’s when we ran into each other.

Charles: Yup. I remember. I’d been going to raves for a while, so the scene wasn’t new to me. But that night, I noticed this guy standing awkwardly by himself. He stared at people like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Anyway, I desperately needed to charge my phone, so when I saw him with a power bank, I walked up and asked if I could borrow it.

Gboyega: He seemed friendly, so I said yes. Then I told him I was actually on my way out. He looked disappointed and asked me to stay, as the night was just getting started. He convinced me to stay until his phone charged, at least.

I ended up staying the whole night. We talked and danced a bit. We shared a Bolt ride home when the rave ended the next morning and exchanged numbers and Instagram handles.

I’m guessing you guys stayed in touch after that night.

Gboyega: Not really. We followed each other on Instagram, but we didn’t chat much. We were both just living our lives.

Charles: I did stalk his page, though. I’m not going to lie; I wanted to see what kind of person he was. But when I looked through his posts, I saw him with a lot of women. So I assumed he was straight and left it at that.

So what made you think otherwise?

Charles: He kept commenting on my posts, especially on WhatsApp. Not normal comments, suggestive ones. The kind of comments that made me wonder if there was something more to it. One day, I just asked him directly: “Are you queer?”

Gboyega: To be fair, I had a mission sending those comments and wondered why it took him so long to say anything. I told him I was bisexual and currently single.

Charles: That was a red flag for me. I’ve had experiences with bisexual guys before, and most of them were just looking for sex. They weren’t interested in anything serious. So when Gboyega said he was bi, I immediately thought, “Okay, here we go again.”

Gboyega: I didn’t know he felt that way. We just kept chatting casually for the next few months. Sometimes we talked about work, other times we talked about movies. He kept trying to invite me to more raves, but I wasn’t really interested. I didn’t exactly enjoy the first one, and I didn’t think another one would change my mind.

Right. So when did things change between you guys?

Charles: Around August. We’d been talking for a few months, and one day, Gboyega suggested we meet up at his place.

Gboyega: I was upfront about it. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything serious, just casual sex. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.

Charles: I said yes because I was attracted to him. And a part of me thought it could lead to something more. But I also knew it probably wouldn’t happen either way. I went because, as I said, I was attracted to him and also wanted to get some.

We started meeting up regularly. Once or twice a week, depending on our schedules. It was easy, no strings attached. We’d hook up, talk for a bit, and go our separate ways.

Gboyega: It wasn’t just sex, though. We’d talk about our lives, our days, and things we were going through. It felt like a friendship, too.

[ad]

Right.

Charles: After a few months, I realised I was catching feelings. I’d look forward to seeing him for the sex, the conversations, and the time we spent together. I began to wonder about him, his family, and his plans for the future, as well as more serious matters.

Was Gboyega aware of your feelings?

Gboyega: I didn’t realise he was feeling that way. I thought we were both on the same page and understood this was just a casual thing. To be clear, I didn’t see him as just a sex buddy: he was more like a very good friend that I also got to have sex with.

Curious. Why weren’t you interested in a committed relationship, Gboyega?

Gboyega: My last relationship ended badly. I was with a woman for almost three years, and she cheated on me multiple times. I forgave her the first time because I thought she’d change. But she didn’t. The second time broke me. I couldn’t trust her anymore, and I couldn’t trust myself to know when someone was lying to me.

When we finally broke up, I was a mess. I spent months trying to piece myself back together. I’m better now, but I’m not healed. Not enough to give someone my full self in a relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

Charles, did you know about his past relationship?

Charles: He mentioned it, but not in detail. I knew he’d been hurt, but I didn’t realise how deeply it affected him until a few months ago. We were at his place, and after we were done, I asked him what we were doing, and he jokingly said we were friends who sleep together. Then I told him I wanted more than that.

And how did you respond, Gboyega?

Gboyega: I told him the truth. I care about him and enjoy spending time with him, but I’m not ready for a romantic relationship. I explained everything about my ex, including how I’m still working through trust issues and how I don’t want to bring that baggage into a new relationship.

Fair enough. Do you think you can continue without a label, Charles?

Charles: I don’t know. Some days I’m okay with it. I tell myself that what we have is enough. Other days, I feel like I’m wasting my time, as if I’m holding on to something that’s never going to become what I want. But I don’t want to leave because I like him and it feels like we could be something real if he’d just let us.

Gboyega, do you see a future where you could commit to Charles?

Gboyega: I don’t know. Right now, I can’t promise him anything. I’m still figuring myself out. I’m still learning how to trust again. If I commit to him now, I’ll just end up hurting him when my trust issues come up. And they will come up because they always do.

Curious, though. What kind of trust issues are you dealing with?

Gboyega: I overthink everything. If someone doesn’t reply to my text for a few hours, I start wondering what they’re doing, who they’re with. I check social media obsessively, looking for signs that they’re being dishonest with me. I know it’s not healthy, but I can’t help it. That’s what my ex did to me. She made me question everything.

I’ve been thinking about therapy for a while. I just haven’t taken that step yet.

Charles: I get his point, but I often feel frustrated because I’m not his ex. I haven’t given him any reason to doubt me. But I also understand that healing takes time.

Right. Do you both see other people?

Charles: No. At least, I don’t. I don’t know about him.

Gboyega: I don’t either. I’m not interested in seeing anyone else at the moment. But we’ve never actually discussed exclusivity, and I also don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.

I see. What’s the best thing about being with each other?

Charles: He makes me feel seen. When we talk, he actually listens. He remembers things I tell him. He’s thoughtful in ways that surprise me. That’s why it’s so hard to walk away. Because underneath all of this, I know he cares about me.

Gboyega: Charles is patient. He’s understanding, even when I know I’m not giving him what he needs. He’s also funny and easy to be around. I genuinely enjoy his company, not just the physical part.

How would you rate your love life on a scale of 1-10?

Charles: Maybe a 7. It’s good in some ways, but the lack of commitment makes it incomplete. I can’t fully invest in something that doesn’t have a future.

Gboyega: I’d say 7.5. We have something real, but I know I’m holding us back. If I were in a better place emotionally, this could easily be a 10.

What does the future look like for you both?

Charles: I don’t know. I’m hoping he’ll eventually be ready to commit. But I also know I can’t wait forever. At some point, I’ll have to decide whether to stay or go.

Gboyega: I want to get better. I want to be someone who can show up fully in a relationship. Whether that’s with Charles or someone else, I’m not sure. But I owe it to myself to heal first.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

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.

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

How long have you been with your partner?

My husband, David, and I have been married for five years. We met in 2020 and married that same year.

How did that happen?

I’d just started my service year in Ekiti when the COVID lockdown happened. My parents live in Delta, which is quite a distance from Ekiti. I thought the lockdown would end quickly, so I stayed back, believing it would be a waste of money to go home.

At that point, I was already a member of David’s father’s church, and the church helped corps members who didn’t want to go home find accommodation with church members. I stayed with a lady who lived close to David’s house, and almost every day, he would visit me, bearing food.

According to David, he didn’t do that because he liked me. He’s just a giver who tries to help as many people as possible around him. However, we began to learn more about each other during these daily visits, and he felt that God had told him I would be his wife. When he told me this, we’d only known each other for two weeks.

What was your reaction?

I was surprised, but I prayed about it and got confirmation from God that he was the one. I initially didn’t even want to pray about his proposal. He was a pastor in his father’s church, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a pastor’s wife.

I’ve always heard about the sacrifices it takes to marry a pastor. He wouldn’t likely make a lot of money, and I had to accept that he’d divide his time between his home and the church. I’d also need to be a “role model” for women in the church, and have a big heart to mentor people and listen to their problems. It just felt like such a big role that I wasn’t prepared for.

Additionally, I always had a mental picture of myself working for about two years and earning money before settling down. Yet, I was jobless, without any financial safety net, and God was telling me to get married. It felt like He was carrying all my plans and throwing them away to make way for His own.

However, I felt peace after praying and getting confirmation. I also shared my worries with his mum, and she gave me helpful advice and encouragement for the journey ahead. She helped me understand that God’s grace was available to support the responsibility He was placing on me, and I only needed to seek His help continually.

So, I accepted David’s proposal, and we got married five months later.

What were finances like, considering you didn’t have a job and he was a pastor?

We lived on the goodwill of people for the first two years of our marriage. David’s dad used to give him a ₦30k salary, but even with the most extreme managing, the money only lasted us about three weeks.

To make things worse, I got pregnant immediately after the wedding and had high blood pressure throughout the pregnancy and for some months after delivery, so I couldn’t work. Thankfully, we never went hungry. David’s parents and other church members often gave us foodstuff.

Things started to get better in 2023. I got my current job, which pays me ₦85k, and I started pitching in with living expenses. Sadly, David’s dad passed away in 2024, so he’s now the head pastor. The promotion came with a higher salary — ₦70k/month. We have two kids now, so our combined salary is still quite low, but God keeps providing for us.

What kind of money conversations do you have with your husband?

It’s mostly about what needs to be done or bought at home. We treat our finances like a joint system; whenever the other person gets money, we bring it to do what needs to be done.

That’s especially necessary because, even though my husband has a salary, we can’t completely depend on it. I can just hear, “This sister in church hasn’t paid school fees, so I sent her money,” or “I felt led to give this person money.” Sometimes, he tells me before giving out money, but I can’t discourage him, even though it can be an inconvenience. I believe God blesses people so they can be a blessing to bless others. We’re also recipients of the generosity of others.

So, I can’t stop him from emptying his account to help people. It’s just difficult to plan because I can’t say the money we have today is what we’ll have tomorrow. The only income we can plan on is my salary, because people usually go to the pastor for their financial problems, not his wife.

Still, our finances are usually tight because ₦85k is not enough. My husband can still come and suggest that we use my salary to do something in the church. One time, we used the money we planned for electricity units to fix the church generator while we sat in darkness for two days.

Hmm

I often feel stressed because of our financial situation, but one thing I can say is that my husband tries his best to make me happy. He’s a good man.

I also try to put my hope in God instead of our bank accounts. Once, we were completely broke, and someone sent my husband ₦50k out of the blue. Miracles like that happen a lot. It’s just that, I’m someone who loves to plan. I don’t like waiting to “see what happens.” But I’m learning to let God take control.

What are your thoughts about safety nets?

I try to push for us to save for house rent and emergencies, but it hardly works out. What usually happens is that we’ll save for a while, and something almost always comes along to take the money away.

Still, I ensure that I keep some money aside whenever we receive financial gifts or any extra money. Right now, I have ₦62k in my savings.

Do you have a budget for romance and gifts in your relationship?

There’s no budget; we just get things for each other when there’s money. People often tease me, saying I must have a turban in every colour, and that’s my husband’s doing. When he has money, he buys me turbans or Ankara material so we can sew matching outfits.

On the other hand, my husband doesn’t like gifts. I can buy him a wristwatch today, and he’ll say, “Someone would have appreciated the money you used to buy this.” So, I just maintain myself and only buy him things he absolutely needs, like singlets, boxers and shirts when I have money.

What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

One of my husband’s sons in the Lord recently gifted him a plot of land. The goal is for us to build a hostel so we can make money from it or build our own house. I believe it’ll be a good investment for our future.

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: My Wife’s Salary Is Important, but I Want Her to Quit

[ad]

Folake* (36) has been married for 7 years, but a well-intentioned attempt at financial compatibility almost ended her marriage in the first year.

In this story, Folake recounts how losing her financial independence and her husband’s spending habits pushed their relationship to the brink, and how separating their finances became the unexpected solution that saved their marriage.

As Told To Boluwatife

The worst fight of my marriage happened a few days after our first anniversary, and it was because of money.

My husband, Diran, had taken ₦200k out of our joint account without telling me. He didn’t do it for any sinister reason; we both had access to the account and could withdraw money at will. Our one rule was to inform the other of the transaction and what we planned to use the money for.

Or at least, I tried to do that.

Diran wasn’t the best communicator and often struggled to share what he spent money on. Most of the time, a debit alert was how I’d be notified about the transaction. Then I’d have to ask him before he’d remember spending an amount of money. It was slightly annoying to only hear he spent our money after the fact, but I absorbed my annoyance and tried to ignore his habit. Until the day I couldn’t anymore.

When I saw that ₦200k debit alert, I literally felt intense anger well up inside me. It wasn’t the random ₦20k or ₦40k he could spend and come and explain to me later. ₦200k wasn’t small money, and I was really angry that he’d spent that amount of money without consulting me first.

For context, this was 2019, and our combined salaries totalled approximately ₦550k. ₦200k was close to half our salaries, so it was not a negligible amount of money at all.

I was angry, but I didn’t plan to shout or make a big deal out of it. I thought I just needed to calmly explain why that kind of behaviour was unacceptable, and we’d work things out. But Diran worsened things the moment he opened his mouth.

He told me a mutual friend, who had suddenly become homeless, needed an urgent loan and would pay back in instalments over six months.

But as he spoke, I felt something snap inside me. It wasn’t the money itself; it was the betrayal and the lack of consideration.

I knew the person involved and would’ve probably agreed to the loan because of the seriousness of the situation, but I couldn’t believe he’d make such a decision without speaking to me about it first.

Before I knew it, we were screaming over each other. He argued that the need had come urgently and that he planned to tell me about it the moment he returned home, but that wasn’t good enough for me. What happened to calling me?

Then he said I was micromanaging him. I said he was irresponsible. He said I didn’t trust his judgment. I said I didn’t trust our joint approach to finances, which felt like only one person made the major decisions.

We argued for hours. At the end, he stormed out of the room, and we slept in separate rooms for the first time in our marriage. I cried into my pillow for hours that night. Maybe I was being dramatic, but I really felt like our marriage was ending.

We’d dated for three years before marriage, and had never fought like that or raised our voices at each other before. That night felt different, like our union as I knew it was ending. After crying my eyes out, I came to a realisation: the joint account arrangement was killing us, and we had to end it.

Interestingly, we didn’t enter our marriage blindly. Before the wedding, we promised each other transparency. We thought sharing everything, including money, was the mature thing to do.

I grew up watching my mum depend entirely on my dad financially, and I never wanted to be in that situation. But when our premarital counsellor at church talked about “oneness” and “financial unity,” it sounded noble and romantic. So we agreed to merge our salaries: 80% from both of us into a joint account, which we both had access to, and 20% left as personal money for data and transportation for work.

The thinking was that we’d use the 80% to cover our joint living expenses: food, rent, utilities and leave extra money for joint projects like a car in the future or real estate investments.

Our joint arrangement worked for the first few months. Diran and I didn’t have strict “gender roles,” so a lot of the time, he handled market runs and cooking, and buying whatever we needed at home.

Since 20% wasn’t much, we usually ran out of personal money by the middle of the month, so we also used money from the joint account for transportation and personal needs, such as clothes, maintenance, and basically anything we needed.

I started noticing cracks in our arrangement as we approached the eight-month mark.

Diran isn’t a prudent spender, so there were things he bought that I thought were unnecessary. On top of that, he rarely communicated with me before spending money. I didn’t like it, but I said nothing to avoid him feeling like I was pocketwatching because my money was involved.

Additionally, I began to feel limited in what I could spend money on. One time, I wanted to buy myself a pair of shoes I saw online. At ₦56k, they were quite pricey, but I thought they were worth it. And I deserved it; I was always the one watching the budget and trying to make careful expenses. But when I made the purchase from the joint account, Diran looked at the alert and said, “Ah babe, this month is tight o. You couldn’t wait?”

It was as if someone had pressed on a childhood bruise.

I had spent years trying to escape the image of my mother asking my father for permission to buy anything. That was the moment I realised how easy it is for love to become dependence without even noticing.

The whole thing started eating at me. I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was tightening my own spending while he was spending as he liked without bothering to check in with me.

I didn’t say anything out loud, and — looking back, I should have complained earlier — resentment slowly grew in my mind. Since I had access to the joint account transactions, I couldn’t even escape the reminders. Every debit alert felt personal.

The night he gave out ₦200k without a heads up broke whatever thin thread was left. It was like, why couldn’t I spend ₦56k without discussion, but he could make a move like that?

We gave each other the silent treatment for a week after the fight. I even made a show of packing my bags to leave until he sat me down and said, “We can’t continue like this. Please, let’s talk.” So, we did, and finally admitted the truth to ourselves: a joint account wasn’t for us. It could work for other people, but ours magnified every financial difference between us.

We decided to restructure everything, and I must admit, we got the idea from some Christian marriage sermons we watched online during this period.

Instead of pooling the majority of our money in the joint account, we only sent savings there — between 15% to 20% — for future joint projects. Then we agreed to commit 50% of our salaries (still in our personal accounts) to living expenses. We created an Excel tracker and assigned budgets for each item.

When either of us bought anything from our 50%, we noted it there. That way, we didn’t have to do the “What did you spend money on” conversation; we could just see it there. The remaining 30% – 35% of our salaries was personal money, and we didn’t need to police what we spent that on. Of course, personal money sometimes had to come back to the home when the need arose. When that happened, we communicated and settled it.

It sounds like a small change, but it saved our marriage. We still use a similar approach today, though my husband contributes more now since he has a better-paying job and we have children.

I’ll always preach the gospel of separate accounts. I enjoy financial independence, and he’s happy doing his own thing. We come together when we need to and talk about money without tension. In fact, our marriage is the healthiest it has ever been.

At the end of the day, keeping our money separate turned out to be the most united decision we ever made.

*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

NEXT READ: My Boyfriend Threw Me Out. It Forced Me to Learn Financial Discipline

[ad]

Before marriage, Yinusa* (41) never imagined himself as a husband or father. For years, he focused on work, convinced it was better to stay single than bring a wife and children into hardship. Eight years after finally taking the leap, the 41-year-old has the family he once feared he couldn’t afford, but he’s still unlearning the survival mindset that shaped him.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he shares how childhood poverty influences the way he loves, why overworking nearly cost him peace at home and why he believes love alone can’t hold a marriage together.

This is a look into his marriage diary.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

I never dreamed of marriage because I wasn’t sure I could afford it

I never sat down to imagine what my marriage would look like. When you grow up watching your parents struggle to provide, you don’t daydream about family life, you daydream about escaping poverty.

As a child, I started noticing how much they deprived themselves so we could eat and go to school. It built something inside me that I still carry: a fear of being the man who cannot provide. I didn’t want my future children to experience the kind of lack that followed my family.

So instead of thinking about marriage, I focused on surviving and making headway in life. In university, I didn’t date. I didn’t have the bandwidth for relationship drama when feeding myself was already a struggle. Even after school, dating didn’t cross my mind for years. I buried myself in work because I believed that until I was financially stable, I had no business dragging someone else’s child into my life.

It’s funny now because the man who once didn’t think marriage was possible is now a husband and a father. But back then, marriage was a luxury I didn’t think I could afford.

The biggest surprise is that this life actually became mine

I got married in my late thirties, at a time when I finally felt like I could stand on my own two feet. I wasn’t rich, but I wasn’t scrambling anymore. Still, the real shock hit me after I got married.

Sometimes, I sit in my living room watching my kids play with toys I couldn’t even dream of owning at their age. Sometimes I watch them eat without worrying about whether the food will last until the end of the month. And it hits me again that I made it. I gave my children the childhood I had prayed for, but never had.

That feeling still surprises me.

Another surprise is how aligned I am with my wife. I didn’t marry in a rush, but I still wasn’t expecting someone whose mindset almost mirrors mine. She supports me, understands me, and pushes me without dragging me. I didn’t think I would be lucky in that way. After all the years of worrying, I ended up with someone who sees life the way I do.

Sometimes I still ask myself if this calm is normal or if trouble is waiting somewhere ahead. When you grow up looking over your shoulders, peace feels far-fetched. But I look at my life and how far I’ve come, and I can say I have peace.

I was fully prepared for marriage when I went into it

Unlike many people, I never had that moment inside marriage where I questioned if I’d made a mistake. My doubts happened years before I even met my wife.

My parents tried to pressure me into marriage once I crossed 30, the same way many Nigerian parents do. They didn’t care if I was prepared. They just wanted to tick the box. Anytime I challenged them with a simple question about whether they could sponsor a wedding, they went silent.

During that period of pressure, I briefly dated someone who wanted me for all the wrong reasons. She and her family saw me as a means to an end. It reminded me again of why I wasn’t ready for marriage. They’d insist I come over for weekends, but I knew it was a ploy to get into my pockets. I never felt comfortable going empty-handed, so each visit took a deep cut into my finances. What made it so annoying was how normal my girlfriend at the time made it seem, almost like it was my duty. I left the situation after six months.

By the time I met my wife, I was already prepared. I had waited until I was in a place where I could give my family stability. Once I made the decision, that was it. I didn’t have any fears or doubts about my capability to build a family.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was realising that even when you think you’ve left your childhood trauma behind, it still finds a way to control how you behave inside marriage. I brought my fear of poverty with me into my marriage and the panic of lack. I had to do a lot of unlearning, and my wife was really patient with me. I can’t say I’ve changed completely, but it’s way better.

[ad]

Nobody told me how hard it would be to balance providing and being present

The real shock came after we had our first child. That was when something in me switched on, almost like a survival mode I didn’t know was still inside me. Suddenly, I was back to the boy who grew up watching his parents struggle, and the fear returned stronger than ever.

I started working like a madman. I would leave home before sunrise and return at 11 p.m. most days. I didn’t need to work that hard, but my mind kept telling me I had no choice. Even when we were financially okay, I always assumed trouble was around the corner, or we were one debit alert away from financial woes.

That took a toll on my family. My wife and child were living with a ghost husband. I was providing everything except my presence. It took small arguments and a few emotional conversations for me to realise I was repeating the same pattern I grew up in: a father who loved his family deeply but was never around enough to show it.

I’m still learning to balance the hustle with being there. Some days I get it right, some days I slip. But at least I’m aware now. I don’t want my kids to grow up calling me a good provider but a missing father.

Money arguments forced me to adjust the way I communicate

Money is the one thing that causes tension between my wife and I. She likes to celebrate things. She didn’t grow up in lack the way I did, so she doesn’t understand why I live like a man waiting for money to disappear overnight.

Every year, we fight a little about birthdays. She believes in having a small gathering or inviting a few people over. I only want a quiet day and maybe a meal with my family. Whenever she pushes for anything more, I feel stressed because all I see are bills. And when I mention school fees coming up, she rolls her eyes and says life isn’t meant to be lived with fear.

It used to be a big issue, but I’ve started making adjustments. I’m beginning to understand that her happiness matters too. She doesn’t want to live on the edge of fear the way I do. So I’m learning to compromise, even though my first instinct is always to say no.

These days, when we argue, I try to explain myself calmly. It doesn’t always work, but at least it’s not what it used to be. I’m learning that communication is not only about saying the right thing, but also about saying it without projecting your own trauma onto the other person.

Marriage made me a better man, but it also intensified parts of me I’m still working through

Marriage has given me a sense of responsibility I am genuinely proud of. My wife and kids come first. If they need something, I will find a way to provide it. I don’t think anyone who knew me ten years ago would recognise how committed I am now.

But marriage also amplified my fear of lack. I’m constantly chasing the next job, the next gig, the next financial cushion. Sometimes I forget to rest or catch my breath.

Still, I wouldn’t change where I am. I’ve gained confidence, stability and a softer heart. I’ve also gained pressure, fear and the constant urge to work harder.

If I could talk to my younger self, I would tell him one thing: take your time. Don’t rush into marriage because society says so. Make sure you are truly ready. And when you finally find someone you want to build a life with, show up fully. Not just with money, but also with your presence.

Love alone won’t sustain a marriage. Fear won’t sustain it either. What keeps it going is a combination of commitment, patience, communication and the willingness to unlearn things that no longer serve you.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.

Gozie* (28) and Amara* (28) met at a Lagos Passport Office in April 2024. What started as a kind gesture—Gozie helping a sick stranger get through her appointment—turned into friendship, and eventually, a relationship.

On this week’s Love Life, they talk about meeting by chance, bonding over relocation dreams, and whether his reluctance to give when asked is a sign of stinginess or a deeper problem.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Amara: April 2024, at the passport office in Ikoyi. I wasn’t feeling well — I was dizzy, nauseous, and completely out of it. I’d been sitting there for hours waiting for my number to be called, and I could feel myself getting weaker. I realised I couldn’t manage everything on my own. I had files to organise, and I needed to listen for when they called my number. So I turned to this guy sitting next to me and asked if he could keep an eye on my things and let me know when they called my number.

Gozie: I remember that day. I noticed Amara immediately when she sat down next to me. She looked really pale, like she might pass out at any moment. I wasn’t sure whether to say something or mind my own business, but she clearly wasn’t doing well. When she asked for my help, I was more than happy to assist. I watched her files, listened for her number, and when they finally called her, I helped her gather her documents. After her appointment, she was too weak to wait for a cab under the sun. So I offered to order a ride for her on my phone.

Amara: I was so grateful. Before I got in the car, we exchanged numbers. I wanted to be able to thank him properly later and maybe reimburse him for the ride.

When did you reach out to him?

Amara: Almost immediately. I kept thanking him over text for the next few days. I even tried to refund him for the ride, but he refused to take it. After that, we’d chat occasionally — random messages here and there about our days.

Gozie: I didn’t think much of it at first. I was just being a decent human being. I didn’t think we’d become anything more than two people who met at the passport office and stayed loosely in touch.

Right.

Amara: About a month later. We both went back to pick up our passports, and we ran into each other again. It felt like fate.

Gozie: I saw her in the queue and walked over to say hi. We ended up talking for a while, much longer than we had the first time. We talked about why we were getting passports, where we wanted to go, and what our plans were. That’s when I learned she didn’t actually have pressing relocation plans yet.

Amara: My parents just insisted I get the passport so I’d have it ready whenever I needed it. They’re big on being prepared. Gozie, on the other hand, had an actual plan. His sibling was abroad and helping him sort out his relocation.

Gozie: Yeah, I was actively working toward relocating. I had timelines, researching visa processes and was saving money, among other things. When I told her, she seemed genuinely interested. That’s when we started talking more regularly. We’d share articles, send each other links about opportunities abroad, and discuss visa application processes. It gave us something concrete to bond over.

Amara: It felt really good to have someone who understood what I was thinking about. Most of my friends weren’t considering relocation at all, so I couldn’t really discuss it with them. But Gozie got it. We were both in similar headspaces, so our conversations just flowed.

At what point did things start to shift from a platonic level?

Gozie: Around October. I’d ended my previous relationship a few weeks before that. My ex was very demanding and she was always asking for something — money, time, attention, more money. No matter what I did, it was never enough. I’d send her money, and a week later, she’d need more. I’d spend time with her, and she’d complain I wasn’t doing enough. It became exhausting. Eventually, I realised I couldn’t keep going like that, so I ended things.

Did Amara know you’d just come out of a relationship?

Amara: Not immediately. He didn’t tell me right away. I found out later when he opened up about it during one of our conversations.

Gozie: After the breakup, I wasn’t actively looking for another relationship. But as Amara and I continued talking, I began to see her differently. She was easy to be around. Our conversations were light; she didn’t put any pressure on me, and I genuinely enjoyed her company. I started thinking, “Maybe this could be something.”

[ad]

Did you feel the same way, Amara?

Amara: It happened gradually. At first, he was just the nice guy who helped me at the passport office. Then he became the friend I discussed relocation plans with. But somewhere along the line, I started looking forward to his messages. I’d check my phone, hoping to see a text from him. That’s when I knew it was shifting into something else.

Gozie: In October, I decided to just be honest with her. I told her I liked her and that I wanted us to be more than friends. I didn’t wish to rush anything, but I also didn’t want to keep pretending I only saw her as a friend.

Amara: I wasn’t surprised. I’d had a feeling he was interested. And honestly, I felt the same way. So I said yes.

Nice. What were the early days of the relationship like?

Gozie: Really sweet. We talked every day, saw each other whenever we could. It felt easy and natural. There was no awkward “getting to know you” phase because we’d already been talking for months as friends. The only real challenge was the distance. She lives on the Island, and I live in Ikorodu. Anyone who knows Lagos knows that’s not a small distance. Depending on traffic, it could take two to three hours just to see each other.

Amara: Yeah, it wasn’t easy. We had to be very intentional about making time for it. He’d come to my place sometimes after work, and I’d go to his on weekends. Sometimes we’d meet somewhere in the middle just to spend a few hours together. It required effort, but we were both willing to put in the work. But a few months into the relationship, I began to notice that Gozie was tight with money.

What do you mean?

Amara: He’s generous when it’s his idea. When we go out, he pays without me having to ask. When he decides he wants to buy me something, he does it happily. But the moment I ask him for anything, it becomes a problem. He hesitates, makes excuses, or gives begrudgingly.

Gozie: I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.

Amara: It is accurate. I’ve experienced it multiple times. The most painful one was during my birthday this year.

What happened on your birthday?

Amara: I’d been saving up to buy a new phone, but I was a bit short. So I asked Gozie if he could help me. I wasn’t asking him to buy the entire phone; I just wanted him to support me with whatever he could. He eventually gave me ₦100k, but the way he did it made me feel terrible. It felt like I was pulling teeth. He made it seem like I was asking for something outrageous and like I was a burden. Like I shouldn’t have even asked in the first place.

Curious, Gozie. Why did you feel reluctant to give her the money?

Gozie: I don’t like being asked for things. When I give on my own terms, it’s because I genuinely want to. There’s joy in it. But when someone asks, it feels like a demand. It changes the dynamic completely. Suddenly, I’m giving because I feel obligated. I understand that we’re in a relationship. But I also have financial goals. I’m actively saving for relocation. Every naira I spend affects my timeline. I can’t just be handing out money every time someone asks, even if it’s my girlfriend.

Amara: Your girlfriend asking you for help on her birthday shouldn’t feel like an obligation. It should feel natural. He works, he earns well, and I know he has money. I wasn’t asking him to break his bank account. The fact that he gave it grudgingly made me feel like I didn’t matter enough. Like my needs were an inconvenience to him.

And the worst part? It’s not an isolated incident. This is a pattern. Every single time I ask for help— whether it’s money or anything else — he hesitates. He makes me feel like I’m asking for too much. So now, I’ve stopped asking entirely because I don’t want to deal with the awkwardness.

Gozie, do you think you’re stingy?

Gozie: No. I don’t think I’m stingy; I’m careful and intentional with money. There’s a difference between being stingy and having financial boundaries. The problem is when it’s demanded of me. That’s when I start feeling uncomfortable.

I see. Do you think Amara is demanding?

Gozie: I don’t think she’s trying to be. But asking for things puts pressure on me. And that pressure reminds me of my last relationship, where I constantly felt like an ATM.

So you’re treating Amara based on what your ex did?

Gozie: Maybe. I don’t know. I just know that when someone asks me for money repeatedly, it triggers something in me. It makes me feel like I’m being taken advantage of, even if that’s not the intention.

Amara: But I’m not your ex. I don’t ask for things all the time. I ask maybe once every few months — maybe two or three times since we started dating — and it’s always for genuine needs. I’m not out here asking for bags and shoes. I asked for help with my phone because I genuinely needed a new one. That’s it.

Gozie: But even those few times feel like a lot to me. Maybe it’s my own issue, but I just don’t like the feeling of being asked.

But have you both had a conversation about this?

Amara: Yes. Multiple times. And every single time, it ends in a fight or argument because he refuses to take accountability.

Gozie: I don’t refuse to take accountability. I just don’t think I’m entirely in the wrong here. She wants me to admit I’m being unfair, but I don’t see it that way. I believe I have the right to establish boundaries around my finances.

Amara: Boundaries are fine. But what he’s doing isn’t setting boundaries; it’s making me feel bad for asking for help. There’s a difference. If he were taking accountability, he’d admit that he treats me differently when I ask for something versus when he offers on his own. And most importantly, he’ll agree to work on it instead of making excuses.

Right. Gozie, do you think you treat her differently based on whether you’re offering or she’s asking?

Gozie: Probably. I can admit that. But I also think context matters. When I offer, it’s because I’ve assessed my finances and decided I’m comfortable giving. When she asks, I haven’t had that time to prepare mentally or financially. It catches me off guard, and I react defensively.

Amara: But that’s the thing, I shouldn’t have to wait for you to offer. Sometimes, I have needs that come up unexpectedly. And in those moments, I should be able to turn to my boyfriend and ask for help without feeling like I’m committing a crime.

Have you considered breaking up over this?

Amara: I’ve thought about it. I won’t lie. But I don’t want to throw away a relationship over money. It feels shallow. There are so many other good things about us. This is just the one major issue.

Gozie: I don’t want to break up either. I care about her. I just need her to understand where I’m coming from.

How do you plan to navigate this issue if it keeps showing up in your relationship?

Amara: We’ve basically just stopped talking about it. Every time we bring it up, it ends in a fight, so we avoid the topic entirely. But the problem is still there. It’s not gone just because we’re not talking about it. Every time something comes up that I need his help with, I hesitate. I calculate in my head whether I can manage on my own because I don’t want to deal with his reaction if I ask.

Gozie: I’m trying to be more intentional, even if it’s not showing yet. I also think the amount of my resources that goes into saving for relocation just makes me get extremely cranky. But these days, I try to anticipate her needs. It makes it easier to be mentally prepared before she asks.

Fair enough. Moving on, what’s the best thing about being with each other?

Amara: He’s kind in other ways. He’s supportive of my career, he listens when I’m stressed, and he makes me laugh. This money thing is really the only big issue we have. Everything else is good.

Gozie: Amara’s easy to be with. She doesn’t create unnecessary drama; she’s understanding and supports my goals. I just wish the money thing wasn’t such a big deal for her.

Amara: It is a big deal, though. Because it’s not really about money, it’s about feeling valued and supported.

How would you rate your love life on a scale of 1-10?

Amara: Maybe a 6. We’re good in many ways, but this issue is holding us back. I love him, but I’m worried this will continue to be a problem. If we get married and I still feel like I have to beg for help, I don’t see how that’s sustainable. I need to know I can depend on him, not just when he feels like giving, but also when I actually need him.

Gozie: I’d say a 7. We have our challenges, but I think we’ll be fine. We just need to communicate better. Maybe I need to be more generous when she asks, and maybe she needs to ask less. Somewhere in the middle, we’ll figure it out.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

Trigger Warning: This article makes mention/reference to instances of self-harm and mental health struggles

Some friendships shift the entire direction of your life. They are the friends who arrive at the exact moment you’re falling apart and manage to catch you.

For this story, Zikoko speaks with people about the friendships that saved their lives at their lowest point.

From providing emotional support after heartbreak to offering free accommodation, these friends came through when they were ready to throw in the towel.

“Our friendship has become my salvation” — Vincent*,26, M

Vincent met his closest friend this year because their mutual friends insisted they’d get along. When they finally connected, they hit it off instantly, and their friendship has brought him back from the edge countless times.

“Dami* and I actually met because our mutual friends consistently kept recommending us to each other. I was initially sceptical, but one of us eventually reached out — I can’t even remember who. Our first conversation turned into a passionate two-hour debate about cinema and literature. When we finally met in person last year, it was as if we had always been friends.

They’re still saving my life. I’ve been dealing with a lot: family issues, money problems, and some very dark moments, and they’ve pulled me back from the edge more times than I can count. I can’t pinpoint a moment that stands out because they have been instrumental in saving me from myself more times than I can count.

There were times this year when they could tell I was about to harm myself. They preempted it and dragged me out of the darkness each time. It might not sound dramatic enough, but to me, that’s what salvation looks like.”

“Every time I feel like the world is against me, she reminds me I’m not alone” — Eghosa*, 25, F

Eghosa met Timi, a friend of her crush, and what began as a tepid relationship blossomed into a friendship that has anchored her through tough times.

“We met on Twitter in 2018 through my crush. They were friends, and she constantly spoke about Timi, so I thought it might be good to know her.

My crush and I didn’t work out in the end, but you see Timi and me? We’re locked in for life. In the beginning, I thought she didn’t like me because she hardly replied to my texts, but we got over that hump, and I realised she’s my platonic soul mate.

In 2020, after my first relationship with a woman ended, I thought I was going to die. The heartbreak was almost too much to bear, but she called me every day and talked me down during those worst moments. Every time I felt like the whole world was against me, there she was, ready to show me it wasn’t true

When I started my business last year and was scared that nobody would support me, she was my very first customer. She spent almost ₦100k so I could believe in myself. She wasn’t even in Nigeria at the time. Each time I felt like giving up, she’d place an order or send a message reminding me I’m supported.

She’s one of the best things to ever happen to me. One time, someone asked why I didn’t move to her since we’re both lesbians. But what I feel for her is kind of spiritual; romantic love isn’t enough. My life isn’t enough. Loving her saved me and kept me alive. I don’t know where I’d be without her.”

“She housed me for eleven months when I first moved to Lagos” — Romade*, 23, F

From an online connection to a real-life friendship, Romade shares how her friend’s intervention in her life helped set her on a positive path toward her goals.

“We met on Twitter in 2022 and quickly became close friends.

At the end of 2023, I was battling post-uni exhaustion, depression and the absolute torture that was my NYSC year. My friend, whom I had never met in person, knew that I had big plans, and I just couldn’t move the needle on them. She single-handedly built me a CV from scratch and sent me opportunities from companies that offered roles I was interested in.

When I first moved to Lagos and was finding my feet, she housed me for 11 months. These things she did without flinching are a big part of why my life has taken a positive turn. I’m so honoured to be friends with her, and I would give her the world if I could.”

“They created a safe space within their community for me to heal and thrive” — Cynthia*, 27, F

Cynthia was very vulnerable after finding herself trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship and low on funds, but meeting her friend, Ayo, changed everything for the better.

“I first connected with them on Twitter, through a random comment. Our conversations quickly blossomed into dates, allowing us to get to know each other. This past year has been incredibly challenging for me. I faced severe financial struggles and found myself in an emotionally abusive relationship that felt impossible to escape without a strategic plan.

During this difficult period, they stepped in and offered me both financial and emotional support. They created a safe space within their community where I could share my experiences and speak my truth. As a loner, I couldn’t have fathomed how I would’ve managed to navigate such a tough time if I didn’t have their support. Their kindness and friendship have been a lifeline when I needed it most, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

[ad][/ad]

“My friend group is my lifeline in the middle of mental crises” — Tiolu*, 24, F

Tiolu shares how her friends’ intentionality about her mental health saved her from being consumed by her condition.

“I find myself in a quartet I call my small constellation. In 2021, after a painful fallout with my old friend group, I found myself completely alone.

That same year, I was fighting a long-standing battle with bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder. They almost swallowed me whole. I cried every day, questioned my existence, and self-harmed because it felt like the only release I had. I had even started thinking of creative ways to unalive myself. I felt alone and like I had no one to talk to.

But quietly, they came into my life.

We began as a study group, with one person meeting once a week to review class material. Then it became random visits to my room and walks to class together. One person joined, then another. I honestly couldn’t tell you when the third person joined in. One day, I looked around and realised it was the four of us together.

They’ve shown up for me so gently and consistently that I didn’t even realise I was loving being alive again. I found myself looking forward to their visits, texts, and study group to do assignments.

Throughout that year, I was in and out of the psychiatrist’s office, exhausted from fighting and losing the fight over my own mind. On the days I couldn’t speak, they sat with me in silence. We cried together, laughed together and made very dark jokes about going together. They never got tired and never made me feel bad for being myself.

It was the first time in a long time that I felt safe. It might’ve seemed small to them, but our silly little games kept me together. I would tell myself, ‘I promised them I’d show up, so I can’t die today.’

I love them with all my being, every last corner of it. They became my reason to live that year, and they still are today.”

See what other people are saying about this article on social media.

Here’s your next read: 5 Nigerian Men Open Up On Their Life-Changing Male Friendships

Sometimes, life puts you in messy situations where you’re not sure if you’re doing the right thing or not. That’s what Na Me F— Up? is about — real Nigerians sharing the choices they’ve made, while you decide if they fucked up or not.

Deji* (29) and Teni* (27) have been together for three years and plan to tie the knot next year. In preparation for their wedding, they’ve been jointly saving for about two years. Recently, Deji invested a bulk of their savings into a bad deal without Teni’s knowledge. While he’s ready to bear the loss, Teni isn’t as forgiving. Now he’s stuck wondering if he has doomed their relationship.

When you’re done reading, you’ll get to decide: Did he fuck up or not?

This is Deji’s Dilemma, As Told To Boluwatife

The past three years have been the most peaceful and happy I’ve been in my life. But I may have just done something to change that.

I met Teni* at a friend’s wedding in 2022, an event I almost didn’t attend. I’d debated sleeping away my exhaustion from work over spending my precious weekend at yet another social gathering. I’m glad I eventually decided to attend.

Teni and I shared a table at the wedding. I remember stealing glances at the beautiful lady beside me, wondering how to start up a conversation with her. My opportunity came when the ushers served food, and we both reached for the only plate of amala on the tray.

I gestured for her to take the food, and when she did, I joked that she’d have to repay me with pounded yam. She laughed — this soft, musical sound — and that was it. I was gone.

We talked the entire afternoon, and I asked for her number. By the time we went on our first date a week later, it felt like we had known each other for years.

Everything with her was easy. Natural. Teni challenged me, supported me, and filled my life with a kind of peace I didn’t even know I needed. Early this year, I proposed at the same restaurant where we had our first date. It was perfect.

Even before our engagement, we’ve been preparing for the life we want to build together. We always knew that we’d most likely get married in 2026. Since December 2023, we’ve been saving jointly for the wedding and our future home — both of us contributing at least 30% of our monthly income.

We didn’t have a savings goal; the plan was to set aside some money so we wouldn’t have to raise money again when the time came.

Teni is a freelancer and experiences periods of high income flow, so she sometimes contributed more than 30%. For me, I already had plenty of living expenses and family responsibilities on my ₦650k salary, so I maintained my 30%.

We had a system that worked: I already had a mutual fund account, so we directed our savings there due to the high returns (between 18% and 20% per annum). We’d started active wedding planning right after I proposed, so we finally drew up a budget of ₦10m. We already had close to ₦5m saved, so it was a matter of raising the rest.

Teni handled the organisation, tracking how much we had and what we still needed, while I managed the vendors and coordinated plans. We made a great team.

Everything changed two months ago.

A friend told me about an importation business opportunity. The idea was to pool money to import gadgets, household decor, and fashion accessories from countries like China and sell them to wholesalers for a profit in Nigeria.

He swore it was legit. He told me he’d personally invested in it and showed me testimonials. I didn’t have to do the actual groundwork. I just needed to provide the capital, and I would practically make almost double my investment in a few months. It seemed like a genuine opportunity.

I kept thinking about how much it would help with the wedding, how proud Teni would be if I suddenly eased our financial burden and had more than enough left to start our family together. It felt like a chance to be a hero.

So, without telling her, I took out ₦3m from our joint savings and put it into it.

The plan was to surprise her when the returns came in. I imagined telling her how I’d proactively invested our money and made double back. It was supposed to be a good thing.

But the whole thing collapsed.

My “friend” disappeared. When I traced him down to his family’s house, I learnt he did the same thing to a few other people to raise money to relocate out of the country. The business itself was real; he just used it as an opportunity to steal.

Telling Teni was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. She thought I was joking at first. She was furious when she eventually realised I was serious, accusing me of “gambling with our future behind my back.”

I tried to explain. I told her it was meant to be a surprise, that I was thinking of us. I even swore to raise the ₦3m back somehow and pay back every kobo. I honestly didn’t think it was a big deal.

Granted, my friend had scammed me, but it wasn’t because I misjudged a business opportunity. It was the person involved who turned out to be a snake. If all had gone well, she’d most likely be happy I took the initiative.

Besides, the wedding was still months away, and I could recover the money before then, even if it meant saving every naira of my salary.

But Teni said it wasn’t about the money. It was about trust.

For weeks now, she’s been cold and distant. She says she’s wondering if this should be a deal breaker; whether she can marry someone who would make a major decision about their shared life without even talking to her.

I keep telling her she’s overreacting. I didn’t cheat or lie for selfish reasons, and I didn’t do anything to hurt her on purpose. But every time I say that, she just sighs like she’s tired of explaining something I refuse to understand.

And maybe I truly don’t understand. To me, it still feels like a mistake I can fix if she’ll just give me a chance. But to her, it feels like a betrayal.

She hardly calls me these days, and I feel stuck in a loop. I’ve sent apologies after apologies, but a part of me feels she’s dragging this too much. Still, another part of me worries that she may have already made up her mind, and I might lose her. I’m not sure what I can do at this point.

*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

NEXT READ: I Went From Broke to a Net Worth of Over ₦30m in 5 Years. Here’s How I Did It

[ad]

When Rasheedat* (51) imagined marriage, she pictured a quiet life with one man; the kind of companionship she watched her parents enjoy for decades. She never thought she’d find herself in a polygamous home, much less as the younger wife navigating rivalry, heartbreak, and a marriage she didn’t plan for.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about entering polygamy against her better judgment, learning to survive a senior wife determined to frustrate her, and why love has never been enough to keep her going.

This is a look into her marriage diary.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

I used to imagine marriage as just me, my husband and our children

Growing up, I used to think that marriage would simply be my husband and me enjoying life together. That was the kind of marriage my parents had — peaceful, united and focused on their children. For the longest time, I assumed mine would be the same.

But after secondary school, life humbled me. I had my own share of heartbreak. My first boyfriend left me for my friend. The next guy just wanted sex. Back then, I started realising that men aren’t like my father. Many of them can be dangerous. Many don’t know what they want.

Still, I kept imagining a future where I’d meet a man who’d be mine alone. Even when life kept showing me signs, I continued holding onto that picture. In my head, it was always “me and my husband”. But somewhere along the line, I also started preparing myself for disappointment.

I never expected to be a second wife, but pregnancy clouded my judgment

Polygamy was never in my plans. If someone had told me I’d become a second wife, I would’ve sworn it could never happen.

I met my husband at my boss’s shop. After struggling to find a good job after polytechnic, I decided to learn fashion design. Around that time, I already knew I wasn’t interested in men my age. They seemed confused about life. But I also didn’t want someone too old.

My boss introduced me to one of her customers, a calm man in his late 30s who didn’t even look his age. We got talking, and he didn’t tell me he was married. When I eventually found out, I was furious. I told him I didn’t want to be a second wife. He kept insisting that things were bad with the first wife and they’d soon separate.

Against my better judgment, I believed him.

By the time I got pregnant, everything changed. He wasn’t leaving his first wife like he promised. My parents were angry and begged me not to continue, but I didn’t want to abort. I didn’t want to be someone who had multiple kids with different fathers. So, I entered the marriage with my eyes half-open, half-closed. That’s how I found myself in a polygamous home I never wanted.

[ad]

The senior wife made the first years hell

Those early years were tough. My senior wife didn’t welcome me at all. She frustrated me spiritually, emotionally and physically. We even fought at a family event once because she said I didn’t show her enough respect. I remember wanting to leave so many times.

But I also didn’t want to hear “we told you so” from my parents.

My husband tried to be fair, but he wasn’t ready for polygamy either. Anytime things got too hot between us, he would run away under the guise of work. In fact, there was a time he relocated to another state and left both of us behind because he couldn’t handle the constant tension. We didn’t let him rest until he worked his transfer back to Lagos.

I had many moments where I questioned if I was strong enough for this life. But I didn’t tell anybody. I’d cry, wipe away my tears, and continue my day as if nothing had happened. That was how I survived.

Everything I know about surviving polygamy, I learnt the hard way

Nobody prepares you for the realities of polygamy. I didn’t know anything about splitting my husband’s time, navigating in-laws, managing insults or protecting myself spiritually. My mother had only experienced monogamy so she couldn’t advise me much. She helped me spiritually — giving me concoctions, prayers, and verses from the Quran — but the rest I had to learn on my own.

I had to learn how to handle the senior wife without ruining my sanity. How to protect my children from the tension in the house. How to hold my husband’s attention without fighting. How to survive jealousy without letting it destroy me.

One particular incident taught me a hard lesson. My husband annoyed me, so I decided to punish him by withdrawing from him. I didn’t cook, I turned him down in the bedroom, and I went completely cold. But that didn’t solve anything. He simply stopped coming home. For almost two months, he was staying at the senior wife’s house.

That was when I knew I was the one losing. I had to change my strategy. I had to learn that in polygamy, silent treatment and withholding affection only give room for another woman to take your place.

We’ve had too many arguments to count, sometimes about us, but many times about things the senior wife did. There were days I felt like he didn’t defend me enough or that he favoured her. Other days, I knew all of us were just being unreasonable.

Over the years, I’ve also learnt to pick my fights. For example, during Ramadan one year, we both insisted that he should eat sahoor in one house and iftar in the other. But it wasn’t fair. As much as we wanted to “share him equally,” he was still the one driving between both houses, working and trying to keep everyone happy.

In moments like that, I remind myself to be human first, wife second. It helps me stay grounded.

Polygamy made me tougher and more competitive than I ever imagined

Marriage has changed me in ways I never expected. I didn’t know I was this competitive. Perhaps I had noticed small traces before, but polygamy brought them out fully.

Living with a senior wife who wanted to push me out forced me to become vocal, tough and firm. People now call me “Alhaja no-nonsense” because I don’t let anybody walk over me. I speak up immediately. I stand my ground. I protect myself and my children.

Sometimes, I miss the younger version of myself who was calm, soft and easygoing. But this life is not for the weak. If you don’t build a tough exterior, people will tear you down, especially in a polygamous home. Still, all the struggle has shaped me. I’m proud of the woman I’ve become.

If there’s one thing I tell my daughters every day, it’s that polygamy is not for them. Even though it isn’t as common with their generation, I still warn them: don’t ever agree to it.

If I could go back in time, maybe I’d have aborted that pregnancy. Maybe I wouldn’t be here.

But life happened, and I’m grateful for my first child; he’s doing very well now. And even though my senior wife and I will never be best friends, things are much better. We’ve both mellowed with age. She enjoys her corner. I enjoy mine. Our husband tries his best.

Got a marriage story to share? Please fill the form and we’ll reach out.

Love comes and goes, but patience is what has kept my marriage

If I’m being honest, love has never been enough for this marriage. Yes, I love my husband, but that love fluctuates depending on what is happening. Love doesn’t solve the battles, the jealousy, it doesn’t remove senior wife drama. Love doesn’t help you navigate spiritual attacks, family politics or shared attention.

If you ask me what has kept this marriage together, I’ll tell you that it’s patience and understanding, long before love. Love is something that comes and goes. But patience is the real backbone of marriage.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

Take the survey here.

Marriage feels very different once you’re inside it. Many women walk in believing love and good intentions are enough, but living with someone long-term has a way of revealing the soft skills you don’t think about until you need them — how to communicate honestly, manage conflict without turning everything into a battle, and still hold on to who you are.

For this piece, we asked seven Nigerian women to share one thing they wish they had known before getting married.

“You’re living with your partner forever” — Nnenna*, 28,

Nnenna never expected a time when she’d feel like a visitor in her own childhood home. But that’s now her reality.

“I wish I was more aware of what the living conditions would be like after marriage. I’m still adjusting to the fact that my husband and I are going to live together forever. It was such a big adjustment for me. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, but the reality of things didn’t dawn on me until I wanted to visit my mum and I realised I was a visitor. I was shook.”

“Marriage will expose every insecurity you’ve avoided” — Timi*, 28

Timi’s been married for six years and the biggest thing she wish she had known? How vulnerable that level of closeness to someone else made her.

“I didn’t realise how much childhood wounds and old traumas show up in partnership. Especially when I was pregnant with our first baby, every physical insecurity I had tried to bury sprung up with a vengeance. I’m glad I married someone I trusted, but I still felt so naked tackling those insecuritues with him.

I wish I’d known just how much of you your partner would need to see in marriage.”

“Financial transparency is not optional” — Mariam*, 62, married for 32 years

After 32 years of walking the path of marriage, Mariam still wishes she had been more insistent on financial transparency.

“When I got married in 1993, I believed that since my husband was the sole provider, I didn’t need to concern myself with the financial workings of the house, but I was wrong. My husband had poor spending and saving habits that took us from being comfortable to almost poor. We’ve been struggling to recover since. It really affected our children, and I hated that.

I wish I had asked more questions about the financial side of things or gotten more involved.”

“Being a good wife doesn’t mean losing yourself” — Taiwo*, 30

Taiwo has been married for five years, and she wishes she had been told how easy it is to lose one’s identity in marriage if they aren’t intentional.

“I entered marriage deeply in love with my husband, but I wish I’d learned the importance of keeping one’s individuality. I remember being frustrated because people kept asking if I needed my husband’s permission to do certain things, almost as if I don’t have the free will to make my own decisions.”

“Your partner’s family is part of the package, for better or worse” — Derin*, 26

It took only two years of marriage for Derin to realise that you don’t just get a life partner in marriage, you get the whole family.

“No matter how modern you both are, in-laws will shape parts of your marriage. I wish I’d taken expectations and boundaries more seriously before saying yes. It’s not that they’re bad people; we just disagree on certain life choices.

For instance, my in-laws believe one of my husband’s siblings or cousins should live with us year-round. I believe we need our space and they should only visit, not move in. It caused some conflict at the start of my marriage, but thankfully, we’ve found a compromise that works for everyone.”

[ad][/ad]

“Being right is overrated” — Bunmi*, 56

After 30 years of marriage, Bunmi wishes she had known that not every fight is about winning. Sometimes, it’s about finding a middle ground.

“I used to argue like it was a debate club. I grew up with brothers, so I enjoyed winning arguments. It caused so much friction in the first decade of my marriage. Eventually, I had to learn that not every fight or argument is for ‘winning’; sometimes, you just need to air your grievances and move on. Losing the mood or the intimacy isn’t worth it when you’ll still have something to argue about in the future. Choose the battles that matter and leave the ones that don’t.”

See what other people are saying about this article on social media.

Help Shape Nigeria’s Biggest Love Report! We’re asking Nigerians about relationships, marriage, sex, money, and everything in between. Your anonymous answers will become a landmark report on modern Nigerian love. Click here to take the survey. It’s 100% anonymous.

Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.

Wahab* (34) and Derin* (31) met at a secondary school mate’s wedding in 2018. After years of long-distance friendship, they finally got together in 2021 and married in April 2022. Four weeks into their marriage, a gas explosion burned down their home and hospitalised them for months.

On this week’s Love Life, they talk about falling in love, building a life together, and how a tragedy that almost destroyed everything ultimately made their bond stronger.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Wahab: December 2018. I was in Nigeria for the first time since I left for the UK in 2009. My mum was turning 50 and my secondary school mate was getting married. I’d been away for almost a decade, so it felt like a proper homecoming.

At the wedding reception, I saw this really pretty lady I couldn’t take my eyes off across the room. I wasn’t even sure if she’d attended our school, but I knew I had to talk to her before I left. I asked two of my guys about her, and one of them hinted she was a set mate who left in junior secondary. I approached her later and that’s how we got talking.

Derin: The wedding was also my earliest memory of Wahab. I don’t think I really noticed him in school.

Anyway, I caught him staring. At first, I thought he was trying to figure out if he knew me. When he finally walked over, he introduced himself, and I was like, “Wait, Wahab? From our set?” We clicked immediately and talked for hours—about school, life, what we’d been up to. By the end of the night, we’d exchanged numbers.

Sweet. What happened next?

Derin: We stayed in touch after the wedding. He was still in Nigeria for a few more weeks, so we’d meet up for lunch or just hang out. It was nice catching up with someone from secondary school, you know? Someone who understood where you were coming from. We always had so many things to talk about.

Wahab: I enjoyed our time together, but I knew I had to return to the UK soon. Before I left, I told her I really liked her and wanted us to be in a relationship. But she said no.

Why, Derin?

Derin: Long distance? No, thank you. I’d seen too many people try it and fail. Plus, we’d literally just reconnected. I wasn’t about to commit to someone who lives in another country because we hung out for a few weeks.

Wahab: Yeah, that bit really made sense. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of asking someone out within weeks of knowing them, but I was really drawn to her. I was disappointed when she turned me down, but I didn’t want to force anything.

So we stayed friends for about three years. We’d check in on each other occasionally—birthdays, holidays, random funny messages. Nothing serious.

Derin: Honestly, I didn’t think much of it. He was just someone I knew from school who lived abroad. I had my own life here in Nigeria, and I tried to keep my options open. I entertained a few guys who were interested in me just for the sake of it. Even though I knew of Wahab’s intent, I couldn’t give much thought to it since he was away in another country. But I also didn’t want to commit to anyone fully. I honestly don’t know why.

Wahab: I didn’t really have eyes for anyone in the UK. I’d always known I wanted to marry someone from home, so my mind was set on Derin. I had this blind loyalty, even though we hadn’t committed to anything outside of friendship.

Fair enough. So when did things change?

Wahab: 2021. I moved back to Nigeria for a longer period. My dad had been asking me to help him run his company, and I also wanted to explore some business opportunities. When I got back, one of the first people I called was Derin. Most of my friends had relocated.

We’d go out for dinner, catch a movie, and spend time together. And I realised all those feelings I had three years ago were still there. Even stronger, actually.

Derin: When I heard he was back for good, I was like, “Oh, interesting.” We started hanging out again, and this time it was different. There was no expiration date or a return date in sight. He wasn’t leaving in a few weeks.

[ad]

Derin, when did you start seeing him in a different light?

Derin: Maybe a month in. We were at this restaurant in Lekki, and he was telling me about his plans for the future — the businesses he wanted to start and the kind of life he wanted to build. I realised he knows what he wants. That’s when I started thinking we could work something out. I wasn’t dating seriously — just a bunch of timewasters who weren’t sure what they wanted. But he felt different, and I wanted to see where it would lead with him.

Wahab: I asked her out officially in March 2021. She said yes this time..

Nice. What were the early days of the relationship like?

Derin: It was easy. We already knew each other’s quirks from those years of staying in touch. There was no pretence. We could just be ourselves.

Wahab: My family, especially my mum, loved her.. She always had kind words for Derin and would occasionally send her gifts. It was the sweetest thing to know that my mum accepted her wholeheartedly. Derin’s family was welcoming too. Everything fell into place.

So, at what point did marriage come into the conversation?

Wahab: Pretty early. We both knew what we wanted from the start of the relationship. By the end of 2021— nine months into dating—we’d had our introduction. Some people thought we were moving too fast, but we didn’t see it that way. We’d known each other for three years at that point. Why wait?

Derin: We got married in April 2022, and it was a beautiful ceremony. Just thinking about it now makes me smile. Both our families came together. It was everything we’d hoped for. After the wedding, we went to Ghana for our honeymoon. It was perfect.

Those first few weeks of marriage were the happiest of my life. We’d wake up together, cook breakfast, and enjoy being newlyweds. Everything felt right.

You said “those first few weeks.” What happened after?

Wahab: About four weeks later, our lives changed completely.

Derin: It was a Saturday morning in May 2022. I was in the kitchen making breakfast— eggs and toast. Wahab was in the living room watching TV. Then I heard this loud pop. Like something had exploded. But before I could turn around, there was fire everywhere. The gas cooker had exploded. I screamed. I tried to move, but the flames were spreading so fast. I couldn’t see anything in the thick smoke.

Wahab: I ran into the kitchen when I heard her scream. The whole room was on fire. I could barely see her through the smoke, but I knew I had to get her out. When I finally saw her on the floor, I grabbed and tried to pull her out, but I also got burned in the process. My hands, my stomach.

I was screaming in so much pain as I dragged her.

Derin: I don’t even remember much after that. I remember coughing, feeling like I was suffocating. Then everything went black.

I’m so sorry.

Derin: I don’t know how long I was out, but when I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. My chest hurt so badly and I couldn’t breathe properly.

My mum was also beside me, and I wanted to ask her so many questions, but my throat was on fire. My mum noticed and just kept telling me to stay quiet. When she realised I was asking after Wahab, she just kept saying he was fine and I shouldn’t worry.

Wahab: I couldn’t even open my eyes very well when I woke up. My hands were bandaged. I had burns on my stomach. I asked the nurse where Derin was, and she told me she was in another ward.

You were in different wards?

Wahab: Yes. Because of our injuries. I had burns, and she had severe smoke inhalation. They kept us in separate rooms.

Derin: I kept asking when I could see him, but the doctors said I needed to focus on recovering first. My lungs were injured from the smoke. I could barely talk without coughing.

How long were you both hospitalised?

Derin: I was there for about six weeks. Wahab was there longer — about four months.

Wahab: Those months were hell. I couldn’t see my wife. I couldn’t hold her. We’d only been married for a month, and we were both lying in hospital beds, fighting for our lives.

Derin: We mostly communicated via phone calls. Our families would bring us phones, and we’d call each other every day. But it wasn’t the same. I wanted to be next to him, to hold his hands, to see for myself that he was okay.

Wahab: Honestly, those calls were the only thing keeping me sane. Hearing her voice reminded me that we were both still here, still alive. We tried to stay positive, but we were both scared. Scared of what this meant for us and our future. We’d just started our lives together, and now everything was falling apart.

Derin: I remember crying on the phone more than once while asking him, “Why did this happen to us?” He didn’t have an answer. Neither of us did.

You mentioned you left the hospital first, Derin. How did it feel leaving him behind?

Derin: Relieving, but also hard. I was discharged after six weeks, but I was still recovering. I couldn’t walk properly. My breathing was still bad. I had to do physiotherapy to build my strength back.

I wanted to visit Wahab, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength. Just getting out of bed was exhausting. My family kept telling me to rest and focus on my own recovery. But I felt so guilty about not being there for him. He was still in the hospital, and I couldn’t even visit. What kind of wife does that? We’d only been married a month, and I was already failing him.

Wahab: I didn’t feel that way entirely, though. She was sick. She needed to recover, too. But yeah, it was hard. I felt alone. I kept drawing up different scenarios in my head. Perhaps her family members want her to leave, or maybe she was considering it herself. Just the craziest thoughts forming in my head.

I can imagine. So when did you finally leave the hospital?

Wahab: I left around October and moved in with my parents. Our place had been destroyed by the fire. Everything we owned — our furniture, our clothes, our documents — burned to dust. We had nothing left.

It was a particularly challenging period that tested our faith and union. We were both still in pain — physically and emotionally. We couldn’t be intimate because we were still recovering. We couldn’t even have a normal conversation without one of us breaking down.

Derin: People visited and offered condolences as if we’d died. And some of them were saying things that still managed to get to us. They said maybe the explosion was a sign and we weren’t meant to be together. Just imagine.

How did that make you feel?

Wahab: Angry. Confused. I started questioning everything. Like, did we make a mistake? Is this punishment for something?

Derin: I didn’t believe that. However, hearing it over and over again got to me. I’d look at Wahab and wonder if he also had similar feelings about our union being a mistake.

Did you ever discuss those doubts with each other?

Wahab: Not really. We were both broken. We didn’t have the energy to dig into those kinds of conversations.

Derin: We weren’t being romantic or intentional about our marriage. We were just two people who’d gone through the same trauma, trying to survive each day.

Curious. What got you through that time?

Wahab: Family. Without them, I don’t think we would’ve made it. We couldn’t work for a while, and we never had to worry about money. Both my parents and Derin’s pulled their weight in every regard. We also had friends, siblings and cousins who surrounded us and wanted us to be as comfortable as possible.

Derin: And we were also there for each other. Even when we couldn’t talk about it, we were there. Wahab would sit with me when I cried. I’d hold his hand when the pain got too much. I don’t think we’ve cried together as much as we did during that period. It took two full years before we could even think about the future. We’d planned to have a baby in our first year of marriage. We’d planned to travel, to build a business together. None of that happened. Everything just stopped.

Wahab: By late 2023, we both realised we needed a fresh start. Everywhere we went in Nigeria reminded us of what happened. People still looked at us with pity. We couldn’t move forward. So we moved to the UK. It was the best decision we made. We could finally breathe again when we found ourselves in a place where people barely knew what we’d been through.

How is your marriage now?

Derin: Stronger. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. We went through hell together. We saw each other at our lowest. And we’re still here.

Wahab: I look at her now and think about everything we survived. If we can make it through that, we can make it through anything.

What about children? You mentioned you wanted to have a baby in your first year.

Derin: We’re taking our time now. We’ve been through so much. We’re not rushing anything. When it happens, it happens. Currently, we’re focused on being happy. On actually enjoying our marriage.

That’s fair. What’s the best thing about being with each other?

Derin: The fact that we both stay present even when it’s not the easiest thing to do. When everything fell apart, when people were telling us it was a sign, when I couldn’t even visit him in the hospital, he stayed. That’s the kind of man I want to build a life with.

Wahab: Derin’s the strongest person I know. She went through hell and came out still believing in us. Still wanting to fight for this marriage. That’s everything to me.

If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.

How would you rate your love life on a scale of 1-10?

Wahab: 9. We’ve survived the worst, but we’re still healing. Still figuring out who we are after everything that happened.

Derin: 9 for me too. We’re not perfect. We have scars. But we’re here together, and that’s what matters.

What does the future look like?

Wahab: Hopeful. We’ve lost so much time, but we’re rebuilding. The life we wanted is still possible. It’s just starting later than we planned.

Derin: We’re going to have kids. Travel. Grow old together. The explosion slowed us down, but it didn’t stop us. We’re still fighting, and we’re not giving up.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

Take the survey here.

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

I’m guessing you guys stayed in touch after that night.

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

So what made you think otherwise?

Right. So when did things change between you guys?

Right.

Was Gboyega aware of your feelings?

Curious. Why weren’t you interested in a committed relationship, Gboyega?

Charles, did you know about his past relationship?

And how did you respond, Gboyega?

Fair enough. Do you think you can continue without a label, Charles?

Gboyega, do you see a future where you could commit to Charles?

Curious, though. What kind of trust issues are you dealing with?

Right. Do you both see other people?

I see. What’s the best thing about being with each other?

How would you rate your love life on a scale of 1-10?

What does the future look like for you both?

How long have you been with your partner?

How did that happen?

What was your reaction?

What were finances like, considering you didn’t have a job and he was a pastor?

What kind of money conversations do you have with your husband?

Hmm

What are your thoughts about safety nets?

Do you have a budget for romance and gifts in your relationship?

What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

As Told To Boluwatife

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

I never dreamed of marriage because I wasn’t sure I could afford it

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

The biggest surprise is that this life actually became mine

I was fully prepared for marriage when I went into it

Nobody told me how hard it would be to balance providing and being present

Money arguments forced me to adjust the way I communicate

Marriage made me a better man, but it also intensified parts of me I’m still working through

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

When did you reach out to him?

Right.

At what point did things start to shift from a platonic level?

Did Amara know you’d just come out of a relationship?

Did you feel the same way, Amara?

Nice. What were the early days of the relationship like?

What do you mean?

What happened on your birthday?

Curious, Gozie. Why did you feel reluctant to give her the money?

Gozie, do you think you’re stingy?

I see. Do you think Amara is demanding?

So you’re treating Amara based on what your ex did?

But have you both had a conversation about this?

Right. Gozie, do you think you treat her differently based on whether you’re offering or she’s asking?

Have you considered breaking up over this?

How do you plan to navigate this issue if it keeps showing up in your relationship?

Fair enough. Moving on, what’s the best thing about being with each other?

How would you rate your love life on a scale of 1-10?

“Our friendship has become my salvation” — Vincent*,26, M

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

“Every time I feel like the world is against me, she reminds me I’m not alone” — Eghosa*, 25, F

“She housed me for eleven months when I first moved to Lagos” — Romade*, 23, F

“They created a safe space within their community for me to heal and thrive” — Cynthia*, 27, F

“My friend group is my lifeline in the middle of mental crises” — Tiolu*, 24, F

This is Deji’s Dilemma, As Told To Boluwatife

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

I used to imagine marriage as just me, my husband and our children

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

I never expected to be a second wife, but pregnancy clouded my judgment

The senior wife made the first years hell

Everything I know about surviving polygamy, I learnt the hard way

Polygamy made me tougher and more competitive than I ever imagined

Love comes and goes, but patience is what has kept my marriage

“You’re living with your partner forever” — Nnenna*, 28,

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

“Marriage will expose every insecurity you’ve avoided” — Timi*, 28

“Financial transparency is not optional” — Mariam*, 62, married for 32 years

“Being a good wife doesn’t mean losing yourself” — Taiwo*, 30

“Your partner’s family is part of the package, for better or worse” — Derin*, 26

“Being right is overrated” — Bunmi*, 56

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail