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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.

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

    How long have you been with your partner?

    My wife, Rhoda, and I have been together for six years and married for four.

    How did you meet?

    Through a mutual friend. I needed a tailor to sew some outfits for a family event, and I remembered my friend who always looked sharp in native attire. So, I asked for his tailor’s details, and it turned out to be Rhoda. 

    The first thing I noticed was how pretty she was. Also, she seemed really hardworking. I went to her studio to give her the materials, and the place was filled with apprentices, with customers dropping in at intervals. I love seeing young people do really good work, and besides her beauty, that was another thing I admired about Rhoda. 

    I didn’t fall in love on the spot, but there was definitely fascination at first sight. Even when she delayed my outfits and gave multiple excuses like Nigerian tailors usually do, I didn’t get angry (laughs). 

    So, how did you move from a working relationship to a romantic one?

    After I got my outfits, I kept chatting her up at intervals. At first, she wasn’t the most responsive. But she must’ve noticed I was trying to get close because she eventually started responding regularly. 

    We talked for almost a month before we went on our first date at a restaurant I’d been meaning to check out. I spent about ₦35k on food and transportation for that date. That’s where I popped the question: Will you be my girlfriend? She said yes.

    That’s sweet. What were your finances like at the time?

    I’d just gotten my first official job, earning ₦100k/month and squatting with my brother to save on rent expenses. 

    Rhoda and I didn’t really talk about each other’s finances while we were dating, but I’m sure she made more money than I did. Her business was quite successful, and she even bailed me out with the odd ₦10k once in a while when I went broke before salary day. 

    Also, after we got engaged, she often visited me at my brother’s house to cook for me out of her own pocket. So, while we didn’t actually sit down to track how much either of us was making, we had this unspoken agreement that we’d do nice things for each other whenever we had money. For instance, Rhoda hasn’t paid for internet ever since we got together, because I always buy her data. She also buys me stuff, so it’s vice versa.

    The first time we made a specific effort to discuss our expenses was during our 2021 wedding planning. 

    What did you both agree on?

    We agreed that it wasn’t realistic for me to handle all the expenses. I think my salary at the time was just under ₦200k/month, with a few side hustles bringing in extra money here and there. 

    So, we agreed that I’d handle bills like the hall and photography, while Rhoda would handle the outfits and her makeup. Our parents chipped in to help with food, hall decoration and other small expenses. It wasn’t a big over-the-top wedding. We just did what we could afford. I’m not sure our total expenses reached ₦2m.

    What’s the financial dynamic like now that you’re married? Do you still split bills?

    Yes, we split bills. However, I can’t say we’ve settled on an approach that works for us. I think this is because we didn’t clearly share our financial expectations with each other before marriage.

    I believe that my money is our money, and my wife’s money should be ours too. When one person brings out money to pay house rent or buy food, it’s not a case of “I paid the rent,” it’s all our money. So whether it comes from my wife or me, we should use it together for the good of our home.

    However, Rhoda can be particular about her money. She believes I should take on the bulk of the expenses, so whenever she has to pay for something, she complains or acts like she’s shouldering my responsibility.

    It’s strange because she didn’t give me this impression of her when we were dating. Or maybe I didn’t notice because we didn’t have shared expenses. 

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    Hmm. Does this cause friction between the two of you?

    At first, we fought a lot about it. I’m a salary earner, so it’s inevitable that I’ll be broke before salary day. 

    So, what usually happened was that I’d spend all my money on transportation and household expenses. When it finished, I’d ask her to support my transportation and pick up the rest of the bills.

    I didn’t know she found that uncomfortable. To her, it was as if I was forcing her into a breadwinner role and collecting her money. So, she’d complain about it, and that didn’t go down well with me. It felt like she was saying she didn’t want to contribute at all. As a result, we fought a lot about money in the first two to three years of our marriage. We even saw counsellors in church.

    We’re better now, but it’s not necessarily because Rhoda has changed; I’m just learning to live with it. She now covers most of the food expenses, while I handle the rest. Despite that, she often complains about how expensive things have become, but I just try to ignore her. Sometimes, I support the food expenses. Other times, I simply tell her to manage what we have. If there’s no money, we can drink garri.

    Do you both know what the other earns now?

    My wife knows how much I earn. She also knows that I regularly take on side hustles to cover expenses, but we don’t really discuss how much I earn from side gigs because the amount is not a constant figure.

    My wife doesn’t work a salaried job, and I don’t track everything that enters her account, so I can’t say this exact figure is her monthly income. However, since we’ve been taking our money issues to counsellors, she’s been trying to be open about her income. She can just say, “A client paid me ₦50k today, so I used it to buy chicken” or something like that.  

    I still think she isn’t pulling her weight, though. I mean, she helps, but I don’t think she’s contributing fairly. I work multiple jobs to earn around ₦600k monthly, but we’re not living a good life. It’s even more difficult because we have a child. I believe we’d be more comfortable if my wife were more open to pooling resources, but raising matters like this often leads to long talk, so I just let it be. 

    Interesting. Do you both have safety nets?

    It’s mostly for rent. Our rent costs ₦800k/year, and I save ₦50k monthly, while Rhoda pitches in whenever she has extra money to make up the full amount. I also have a different ₦50k/month savings for emergencies. I have a little under ₦800k in the emergency fund.

    Over the years, we’ve had to take loans for major projects. For instance, in 2022, we took a ₦1m loan to set up our solar electricity system and inverter. I don’t think I’ll do that again anytime soon. Since I couldn’t manage to save and repay the loan at the same time, I asked Rhoda to fund part of the monthly repayment — we were paying around ₦100k/month, so she was bringing ₦65k. I know the complaints I got from her during that period. It’s like, you’re also enjoying this thing, but you want me to carry all or most of the financial burden because I’m the man. That’s not realistic. 

    I just hope things will continue to improve and we’ll understand each other better as we spend more time together.

    How do dates and gifts work in your relationship?

    Dates are usually limited to birthdays and anniversaries. If it’s my birthday, my wife takes me out and handles the bills and vice versa. I usually handle the bills for anniversary dates, but we buy each other gifts. For our last anniversary, Rhoda bought me a pair of shoes, and I bought her a jewellery set for ₦20k.

    What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

    I’d just like us to be a true unit when it comes to finances one day. I think it’s only then that we can have big dreams, such as owning our own house or relocating in the 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: He Tries His Best, but I Often Feel Financially Stressed

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  • This story is culled from “Zikoko Daily Shorts”, a weekly series exclusive to the Zikoko Daily Newsletter. Subscribe here to receive the newsletter in your inbox every day and get more stories like this, as well as a round-up of our best articles, inside gist and quizzes.

    This is Favour’s story, as told to Boluwatife

    I was sorting laundry in the bathroom when my phone buzzed with a WhatsApp notification.

    It was an unknown number with a DP of a woman I didn’t recognise. I almost ignored it until the first line of her message appeared as a preview:

    “Favour, you don’t know me, but I need to tell you the truth about your husband.”

    My heart skipped, and I opened the message with fear lodged in my throat.

    The woman introduced herself as Maria. She said she’d been with my husband, Joel, for five years, and attached a photo of a small boy who looked disturbingly like him. The boy even had his dimples.

    Then came the part that made my legs go weak:

    “Joel told me you knew about us. He told me he stopped sleeping with you because he’s no longer attracted to you and can’t get it up anymore. But that’s a lie. He has an STI.”

    I froze. An STI? Cheating? A whole child?

    My breath shook as I scrolled.

    It was true that Joel and I hadn’t been intimate for almost the entirety of our marriage. We’ve been married for 10 years, and 7 years ago, he suddenly became impotent. We bought countless medications, but nothing worked. We even secretly adopted our two children when people started whispering about our childlessness. All the while, he had a child?

    Maria’s final line felt like an earthquake in my stomach: “He’s lying to both of us. Call me before he warns you.”

    Before I could even process my thoughts, Joel walked into the house.

    ***

    This story is culled from a weekly series exclusive to the Zikoko Daily Newsletter. Subscribe here for more stories like this.

    I waited until the kids were asleep before I confronted Joel.

    I stood in front of him in our bedroom, my phone in my hand and betrayal burning my throat.

    “Joel,” I said, “who is Maria?”

    He froze like someone had splashed cold water on his face. “Babe… don’t listen to that woman.”

    “She said you have a child with her,” I whispered. “She said you told her you stopped touching me because you no longer find me attractive. But you were sleeping with her?  How could you do this to me? After all these years of covering your shame and lying to our families that the kids are biologically ours?”

    He tried to step closer, but I stepped back.

    “You made me lie for years,” I said, my voice trembling. “I faked pregnancies to protect you. You said you were impotent. We even stopped trying because you claimed it made you uncomfortable. Now I know you just didn’t want me anymore.”

    “Favour, it wasn’t like that. Please, let me explain,” he said, eyes red.

    “Explain what?” I shook my head. “That you hid a whole child? That you let people call me childless for years while you were living another life in secret?”

    He dropped to his knees.

    “Favour, I beg you. I didn’t tell you because I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you.”

    He explained that he had contracted Herpes from a random woman and stopped sleeping with me because he was scared of giving it to me. Apparently, he didn’t know how to bring up the idea of using a condom without me finding out he’d cheated. 

    I asked about the situation with Maria, and what he said chilled me to my bones.

    ***

    When Joel and I got married, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.

    Growing up religious, my mum had drilled the importance of finding the “right man” into my head for as long as I can remember.

    I didn’t have boyfriends in secondary school or university. I was determined that the first man I’d ever give my heart to would be my husband. Marrying Joel was like the fulfilment of that decision, and I felt so lucky. 

    He was my first love, my first kiss, my first everything. I loved him deeply and was prepared to weather whatever storm life threw at us together. It was why I didn’t flinch even when he became “impotent” or when he suggested adoption without involving our families. I thought we were in it together.

    But that night, as I stared at the man I’d loved for ten years, I felt everything crack.

    I watched him silently as he explained how he started seeing Maria. Apparently, abstaining became too difficult for him, and she had mistakenly gotten pregnant.

    What blew my mind was the fact that he had knowingly infected her with Herpes for his own selfish desires. It was the height of wickedness.

    I realised he was a stranger. A man who consciously lied, cheated and denied his wife for years couldn’t be the man I fell in love with.

    That was when I made my decision. I was leaving.

    By morning, I’d packed a small bag for the kids and told them we were going to Grandma’s house. I avoided Joel’s eyes as he stood in the hallway, looking like a man watching his world fall apart. He’d begged me on his knees all night, but I couldn’t breathe in that house anymore. 

    I drove out of the compound, tears blurring my vision. But halfway to my mother’s house, my phone vibrated.

    Joel’s elder sister was calling. She never called me this early.

    Something was wrong.

    This story is culled from a weekly series exclusive to the Zikoko Daily Newsletter. Subscribe here for more stories like this.

    ***

    Joel called both families immediately after I left the house and told them I’d taken the children away because of a “disagreement.”

    By afternoon, both families were gathered in my mother’s parlour: his father, his sister, my siblings and even an elder from our church. They didn’t know the extent of our disagreement. My mum was already saying something along the lines of, “Why will you just leave home because of a fight? When did you start that one?”

    I smiled sadly. “Mummy, this isn’t just any fight. Did Joel tell you he has a child outside our marriage?”

    Gasps filled the room, and everyone turned to Joel while he bent his head in shame. Or maybe it was embarrassment. Whatever it was, I no longer cared.

    With a shaky voice, I explained everything to our families. How he had made me believe he was impotent, how we lied about my going abroad to deliver when we’d actually adopted babies and the revelation about Maria and her child.

    By the time I finished speaking, you could hear a pin drop in the room.

    After about three minutes of silence, his sister shot up. “Joel, is this true?!”

    He covered his face and whispered, “I didn’t know how to say it. Please beg her to forgive me.”

    The church elder looked at me and asked, “Favour, what do you want to do?”

    I told him all I wanted to do was find a place I could go with my children. I didn’t intend to forgive him and play “happy family” after everything. I’d already wasted 10 years of my life; I couldn’t waste even more.

    While the church elder and my mum tried to beg me to take things easy, Joel’s dad asked a question that made us all stop in our tracks.

    “Where is Maria and the child now?”

    ***

    While the families busied themselves with calling Maria and trying to arrange a peace meeting, I felt absolutely nothing.

    Wait. That’s not entirely true. I felt intense anger and pain, but I was more concerned about how I was going to start a new life with my children. 

    When Joel’s father told me they were inviting Maria for a proper family discussion, I simply said, “I won’t be there, sir.” And I wasn’t.

    I heard later that they agreed to support Maria and the child. Good for them.

    As for me, the first thing I did after moving in with my mum was a comprehensive STI test. When I confirmed I was healthy, I found a decent apartment in town and told Joel to pay for it.

    He didn’t argue. He simply asked for the amount and which of my accounts he could send the money to. When I told him, he made a final attempt to convince me to return home:

    “Favour. I have sinned against you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me and come back. Let’s think of the children.”

    “You still have access to the children,” I said. “But forget anything about me and you. You have the mother of your child to worry about.”

    He sighed and ended the call. Minutes later, I received the alert for the amount I asked for. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. He had accepted we were over.  

    Ten years gone in just a few weeks. What would the next few years look like for us?

    This story is culled from a weekly series exclusive to the Zikoko Daily Newsletter. Subscribe here for more stories like this.

    ***

    It’s been three years since the Maria incident, and sometimes I’m shocked at how normal my life feels now. Peaceful, even.

    Joel and I never officially divorced; mostly because I haven’t seen the need to go through the court stress. If he ever plans to remarry, he can start the process with his own money.  

    I don’t know if I can say I’ve forgiven him, but I don’t carry anger anymore. That doesn’t mean I’m interested in giving him another chance. That will never happen. He might even still be with his Maria.

    We’re cordial, though. The kids visit him regularly, and I make sure he pays every bill he’s supposed to. We adopted them together, and they bear his name. They’re his responsibility, and fortunately, he handles that without argument. 

    My friends sometimes ask if I’ll ever consider love again, but I just laugh.

    Love? As in romantic love? That’s the last thing on my mind.

    These days, I’m learning how to show up for myself and my children. I enjoy finding new hobbies and watching my kids grow. That’s all I need.

    Sometimes, I remember everything that happened and wonder at how far I’ve come. It’s a miracle I didn’t lose my mind back then. Maybe it’s something I should be grateful for. I went through the fire and came out stronger. 

    At the end of the day, I didn’t lose anything.

    *Names have been changed to protect the subject’s identity.

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  • On the Streets is a Zikoko weekly series about the chaos of modern dating: from situationships and endless talking stages,  to heartbreak and everything it means to be single in today’s world.

    Ummi* (28) married young, survived a turbulent partnership, and has spent the last few years trying, and failing, to find her person. In this story, she talks about her dating experiences and the lessons they’ve taught her. 

    What’s your relationship status, and how do you feel about it?

    I like to say I’m single, but my dating life is complicated. I recently reconnected with someone from my past who’s already talking about marriage, but since my first marriage ended when I was 24, I’ve been very skeptical about the whole idea.

    Let’s go back a bit. Can you walk me through your first marriage?

    I met Kamal* in 2017 through mutual friends. I was in a relationship at the time, so it was strictly platonic. But as I became more religious, my views on dating changed. I needed marriage to be on the horizon, but my boyfriend was not aligned, so I ended things. It was a painful breakup.

    Kamal and I got closer soon after. He introduced me to his Arabic school, and we spent a lot of time together. When he brought up marriage, it felt right. We got married in 2018.

    That sounds nice. What were the early days like?

    The first few months seemed fine. We lived with his parents temporarily, and I adapted to their lifestyle. I started to dress in a full hijab and took care of household duties with his mum.

    Looking back, I overlooked several red flags. For example, he left me alone on our wedding night to go see his friend. He also got angry over the smallest things. If he misplaced something, he’d blame me. I felt like I had to constantly overcompensate to earn basic affection.

    Unfortunately, things got worse when we moved into our own place.

    In what ways?

    We fought all the time. Cooking was the biggest source of conflict. I cooked for him even though I didn’t enjoy it, yet he still insulted my food every chance he got. His mother would show up unannounced to cook, blaming me for why he was skinny, even though he had always been that way.

    The pressure to have children also grew. I had just started my master’s and was still serving, but that didn’t matter to his family.

    Then, at the start of 2020, I had an ectopic pregnancy with internal bleeding. I only went to the hospital because I had painful cramps. Kamal said I was exaggerating, but the doctors told me I needed immediate surgery. When I told him, it took him over an hour to arrive. He was only fifteen minutes away.

    After the surgery, I developed sepsis. I had to be hospitalised for three months, but my husband only visited twice. Once I was better, I decided I wanted a divorce.

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    How did he respond?

    He called a family meeting and twisted the whole situation. Instead of addressing what happened, he accused me of being in contact with my ex from uni. He painted me as a cheating wife, even though we were only cordial.

    I was financially dependent on him, so I felt pressured to apologise and return. I eventually went back, but I quietly decided to never have children with him.

    Did things improve at all after you returned?

    It didn’t. The fights continued, and his insecurities only intensified. If I worked late, he would accuse me of cheating, saying things like I was trying to bring another man’s child into his home. This was barely months after my surgeries.

    He didn’t want me to work either. Yet somehow I was “full of myself” because I had graduated with a first class and started earning, even though he also had a first class and earned more.

    Eventually, I told him we were not compatible and insisted on the divorce. He agreed, and we started the iddah waiting period. I moved into a separate room and we started living like strangers.

    Then, in November 2020, I caught COVID. It was mild, so I didn’t need to be isolated. But when he came home and saw me in the kitchen, he screamed at me, saying I was trying to infect him. When I ignored him, he followed me and slapped me multiple times.

    That was my last straw. I called my parents to pick me up and left for good.

    That must’ve been incredibly traumatic. How did you move on from that?

    Leaving that marriage pushed me away from religion for a while. I stopped wearing my hijab and started living life on my own terms. For almost a year, I didn’t date because I was scared of men. But in 2022, I began talking to Wole* and softened.

    Tell me more about Wole.

    We’d known each other since 2018 through a friend, but we weren’t close. When he visited my city in 2022, we ran into each other and started hanging out. Over two weeks of spending time together, I realised I liked him, and he admitted he’d had a crush on me for years.

    Although I didn’t like long-distance relationships, we stayed connected after he left. We spoke every day, watched movies together, and sometimes fell asleep on the phone. After three weeks, we made it official.

    However, in early 2022, I began the process of relocating abroad. The plan was for him to work towards joining me, but when I got my visa, he avoided the conversation.

    His behaviour also changed. On one of my visits, he refused to touch me, which was unusual. Then I noticed a particular female friend was always hanging around him. Later, I found a pack of open condoms in his room.

    He denied cheating, but I knew he was lying. Around the same time, I started checking out of the relationship and even ended up having a fling with a friend. It was brief and more about vulnerability than desire. I knew I couldn’t be with him long term, so when it was time for me to travel at the end of 2022, we ended things.

    Did you try dating again after relocating?

    Yes. A friend introduced me to Adam*, and we clicked immediately. I liked that we shared similar values and rarely argued.

    Six months in, after I posted him online, an anonymous account began leaving comments under my posts asking if I knew who he really was. When I blocked them, they started sending me emails claiming to know some things he was hiding from me.

    He denied hiding anything from me, but my lack of trust affected the relationship. Around that same time, we also clashed over children. I told him I didn’t plan to have kids, but he insisted on wanting three. With both issues combined, I ended the relationship.

    You mentioned reconnecting with someone from your past. Where do things stand now?

    A few months ago, I reconnected with Wole*  after a friend encouraged me to speak to him. We slipped back into our old pattern of talking every day. I realised my feelings never really went away. He’s talking about dating and working towards marriage, but I’ve told him we need to move slowly.

    Don’t the reasons for the first breakup still exist?

    We’ve talked about that. The distance is still an issue, but he’s working towards relocating. I’ve told him that until he actually makes that move, I’m not committing to anything. I still love him, but I want to be practical.

    Fair enough. How have these experiences shaped your idea of love?

    They’ve made me clearer about what I want. My standards are higher. I no longer shrink myself to make relationships work. Nearly all my heartbreaks came from incompatibility, and now I know to take that seriously. Through it all, I still believe in finding my person.

    Finally, how are the streets treating you? Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10.

    I’d give it 2/10. The streets are cold. Despite everything, I still love love. I miss having my own person. 

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  • Marriage proposals are one of the biggest steps in any relationship. For some, it’s a gesture anyone should be free to make. For others, it’s a role tradition has firmly assigned to men. But why do people feel so differently about it?

    To find out, we asked Nigerians across gender identities and age groups whether they think women should propose.

    Men

    “I’m glad my wife proposed” — Usman*, 46

    My wife proposed to me, and I’m glad she did. We had a beautiful relationship, but I was unsure about taking the next step. I loved her, but the responsibility of building a family felt heavy, and I was scared. When she proposed that we get married and promised we could figure things out together because she didn’t want to wait anymore, it helped me make the decision.

    For me, her taking that step was an act of love. It showed me how much she wanted our life together. Men aren’t used to having things done for them, and we’re rarely on the receiving end of grand gestures, which is sad. Five years later, I can say it was the best decision we made.

    “A man would agree because it’s convenient” — Chuka*, 30 

    I’m on the fence because it really depends on the nature of the relationship. It only makes sense when you’re sure your partner genuinely loves you and wants to be with you. Men sometimes say yes out of convenience, and that kind of “yes” doesn’t always last. 

    Women, on the other hand, are usually more deliberate when accepting proposals, which is why it often works better when they’re the ones making the final call.

    I wouldn’t advise a woman to propose if she isn’t completely sure about how invested her partner is or whether he’s ready for that next step. But if she’s certain they’re aligned and she knows he wants to marry her, then she can go ahead.

    “I’d love to be proposed to” — Akin*, 25 

    Yes, a woman can propose. As a man, I’d actually like to be proposed to. There’s a kind of love and desire that comes through in that gesture. Most couples would’ve already discussed marriage and be on the same page before anyone proposes, but the proposal itself is the final signal that says, “I think things are stable enough for us to make this real.”

    The person proposing wants to feel financially, emotionally, and mentally prepared, which is why the timing can vary significantly. At the end of the day, a proposal is really just someone saying, “I’m ready to get married to you.” It shouldn’t matter if they’re offering the biggest diamond in the world or just proposing over a private discussion.

    Proposals should be about wanting to initiate a romantic gesture to your partner, regardless of gender. 

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    “Culturally, women proposing isn’t a problem” — David*, 23

    Anyone should definitely be able to propose. It’s your life, and it feels unfair to sit around waiting for someone to make that decision just because we’ve turned it into something shameful for women. If you look at it culturally, there were times when a bride’s family could approach a man’s family to suggest marriage, or the groom’s family could initiate things. Nobody was shamed for taking the first step.

    Now that individuals make these decisions for themselves, why should it suddenly become one-sided? I’d honestly be glad if someone considered me enough to propose.

    Women 

    “I was shamed for asking a man out” — Molara*, 55

    No, I don’t think it’s a woman’s place to propose. It’s simply not how our society is built. In theory, it shouldn’t be a bad thing, but men are raised to take the lead.

     I once asked a guy out at university. He agreed, but the relationship didn’t go well. Anytime we argued, he’d throw it in my face that I was the one who begged him into it. I learned from that that when you make the first move, some men start to disregard you or treat you like you’re easy.

    If a woman wants things to move forward, she can hint at it or ask friends or family to talk to him. If he decides not to pursue it further, then you have your answer.

    “Women should be able to direct their future” — Sophia* 28

    Yes. As a radical feminist, I don’t like marriage because it’s patriarchal and often takes away women’s agency. But since many women will still choose to marry, I believe they should be able to direct the future of their relationships.

    No one should kneel to propose, and public proposals feel manipulative. But women should be able to tell a man they want marriage instead of waiting for him to decide. The shaming of women who propose keeps many women stuck in long relationships, living in “pause mode,” hoping a man will eventually ask.

    It’s also hypocritical that the same people who shame women for proposing are the ones giving men ultimatums. That double standard gives men room to be manipulative and discourages women from being assertive.

    Marriage may be patriarchal, but women shouldn’t be mocked for initiating it when men are praised for doing the exact same thing.

    “It only works in theory” — Brenda*, 28

    I don’t think women should propose. For me, the answer is no. I was once open to it, but that changed after an incident I witnessed in 2017. A woman proposed, and the way people spoke to her and talked down to her afterwards was terrible. It made me realise it’s not worth it. Men can be cruel in how they present things, and their egos can worsen the situation.

    In theory, I don’t have a problem with the idea, but with the way things are now, and how men behave, I can’t support it. Our society isn’t at the level of understanding or equality where a woman proposing would be taken well or benefit her in the long run.

    I think couples should talk about marriage before any official proposal happens, but as for the actual act of proposing, I don’t think women should be the ones doing it.

    “I need men to beg” — Cynthia* 23 

    No. I need men on their knees begging to marry women. Honestly, women proposing looks good on paper, but it’s not a great idea in practice. If you’re the one chasing a man, he might just go along with it because it’s easier. Plenty of men admit this.

    People say it’s a way for women to show initiative or get the kind of proposal they want, or maybe to push things forward if the man is hesitating. But why would you want to be in any of those situations to begin with?

    I know there’s some internalised misogyny in how I feel, but women already do the most emotional labour and deal with more pressure in relationships. Adding proposals to the list just feels unnecessary. Personally, it gives me the ick.

    Non Binary

    “Proposals are a social construct” — Tolu*, 33

    Generally speaking, yes, women can propose. For me, proposals shouldn’t have a gender attached to them. The whole idea feels like a social construct. If two people are making life decisions together, why should one person have to wait for the other to initiate it? That’s why you see couples together for years, wanting to move forward but feeling stuck because they “can’t” ask.

    Marriage is a serious decision that should come from conversations about goals and compatibility. For someone like me, who doesn’t conform to most societal norms, any partner I’m with has to be open to sitting down, discussing things, and reaching a conclusion together. That’s why I don’t believe in proposals at all.

    The whole “Will you marry me?” moment feels like a performance. What matters is the discussion behind it, not who kneels first. If we deconstructed the idea of proposals, relationships would be much healthier. People would make decisions based on readiness, not by society’s expectations.

    My partner and I talk about the future and whether marriage is something we want. I’m not ready yet, but those conversations are important because marriage shouldn’t be one person’s decision. As an institution, it often favours one gender over the other, and proposals can even become a form of emotional blackmail.

    “The bolder person should propose” — Iman* 28

    In my opinion, the bolder person in the relationship should be the one to propose. We shouldn’t assign roles based on gender, but it does make sense to consider each person’s unique personality. Who’s more masc-presenting? Who’s more straightforward? Who naturally takes the lead, and who’s more laid back?

    I’m a very laid-back person, even with my current partner. I can’t see myself walking up to someone to say, “Would you marry me?” It would most likely go the other way around. I have a lot of anxiety around that kind of moment, and it’s just not in my nature. I also tend to date people who are more firm and forward, so I’d genuinely love to be proposed to.

    I know men and women who struggle with decision-making, so saying it’s strictly a man’s or a woman’s responsibility doesn’t make sense. Anyone whose personality leans toward taking initiative should be the one to propose, and we need to stop shaming people for doing what fits their relationship dynamic. 

    Read Next: 3 Generations, 1 Question: Is Cheating a Deal Breaker?

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  • 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.

    When a friend’s secret pulled Joe* (46) into the heart of a marital crisis, he believed silence was the safest choice. He was wrong. His silence cost him the trust of everyone involved. 

    I met both Esther* and Moses* in university. Esther was my coursemate, and we became close after being paired together on an assignment. Her hostel was near mine, so we visited each other often. 

    In my third year, around 2004, I introduced her to my roommate, Moses. He saw her during a visit to mine and immediately said he liked her. Before long, they started dating, and in 2009, they got married.

    After school, we all ended up in the same city, so our friendship continued naturally. Esther’s career took off quickly. We both studied finance, but she rose rapidly through the ranks and became the head accountant in a top firm.

    Moses didn’t have the same luck. He never moved past his teaching job and struggled with the reality of being financially dependent on Esther. From what I observed, she tried not to make him feel less than. When she bought a car for his parents, she let him present it to protect his pride. However, despite this, he often confided in me, saying that Esther made him feel small, and she refused to support him when he tried to start a business. He believed she wanted him to remain reliant on her. 

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    I’d try to talk him out of those thoughts, reminding him of the many ways Esther helped him. But by early 2023, he became more vocal about wanting to “feel like a man again.” Then he started seeing Faith*, a young girl in her early twenties. They were in the same church unit. 

    When he confessed to me that he was sleeping with her, I was shocked. I couldn’t understand what he saw in Faith when he had a wife like Esther. However, he was an adult, and I didn’t encourage him or try to get involved. I simply stayed out of it.

    Things got more complicated when he introduced Faith to Esther as his mentee. Because they were from the same hometown, Esther didn’t suspect anything. Moses even convinced Esther to help Faith secure a land deal that earned her a commission. It didn’t sit well with me, but I ignored all of it because it wasn’t my place to interfere.

    Esther hardly had time for anything outside work, and Moses claimed she’d never notice his movements. But by March of this year, she began to notice small things that didn’t add up. One day, she came to me and asked if Moses was cheating on her. She said she had strong suspicions and had already caught him in a lie about his whereabouts.

    I told her I didn’t think so. I knew how explosive she could be when she felt betrayed, and I believed I was choosing the least destructive option. I didn’t want to be the one to scatter their marriage. I was also thinking of their four innocent children in the mix.

    Unknown to me, Esther didn’t drop it. She began investigating with her sister. They went through his phone, tracked his movements, and pieced everything together slowly. That was how she discovered that Moses had gotten Faith an apartment, furnished it, and gave her an allowance — all with the money coming from Esther.

    A few weeks ago, she and her sister trailed him to the apartment. When Faith opened the door, Esther pushed her out of the way. They found Moses in the bedroom wearing only his boxers. What made it worse were the framed photos of him and Faith all over the walls, like they were a married couple.

    Esther lost it. She slapped Faith repeatedly and tore her clothes. Then she and her sister turned on Moses. Faith managed to alert her neighbours and call the police, and they took Esther and her sister to the station.

    Clueless about what to do, Moses called me. I rushed over, helped him with the police statement, and made sure Esther and her sister were released on bail with the condition that they wouldn’t threaten Faith again. That same day, Esther told him to move out, and he’s been begging to save the marriage ever since. 

    Afterwards, Esther confronted me. She wanted to know why I didn’t warn her. She said I let her walk into humiliation. I kept pretending I didn’t know anything, but at that point, it was obvious Moses had already involved me. She has refused to speak to me ever since. 

    Now my own wife is on her side. She went through my phone recently because she doesn’t trust that I’m not doing the same thing. She believes I covered for Moses because  I’m also hiding something. It’s like everyone has decided I’m the villain in a story that has nothing to do with me.

    I’m stuck, wondering if I made a mistake by staying loyal to my friend and trying to protect their marriage. Now, my decision has cost me more than I expected.

    Read Next: On The Streets: He Said Cheating With a White Woman Didn’t Count

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  • 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.” 

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    “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.”

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    “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.

    READ ALSO: 5 Nigerian Women on the Frequency of Sex Before and After They Got Married

  • For nearly a decade, Jadesola*(38) and Remi*’s(42) marriage was defined by heartbreak and childlessness. When she caught Remi in an act of betrayal, what was supposed to spell the end of their marriage became the beginning of an unexpected second chance.

    This is Jadesola’s story as told to Betty:

    When I caught my husband flushing the drugs meant to cure his weak sperm, I saw red. In my rage, I bit hard into his shoulder before I even realised it. At that moment, I thought our marriage was over. But somehow, God had something else planned.

    ***

    I met Remi* in 2013. His aunt, who attended my church, introduced us because he’d been searching for a wife. Our attraction was instant. He was kind, caring and deeply devoted to God, and I felt lucky to have met him.  After two years of courstship, we got married in 2015 and settled in Ife. But instead of the marital bliss I expected, the man I married turned an unexpected leaf.

    He became irritable and distant, flaring up at small annoyances like closing a door too loudly or hanging up the phone before I heard him say ‘good bye’. It was frustrating.

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    We’d agreed to start trying for kids as soon as we got married, but the road to parenthood wasn’t as straightforward as I hoped. When I finally got pregnant in the second year of our marriage, I miscarried only three months later. The loss crushed me. I lost my spark and sank into depression. Remi was my rock during this time. He bathed me when I was too sad to move and took over all the household chores until I felt better. 

    After some months had passed, I told Remi I was ready to try again. He was reluctant but agreed. I got pregnant again and miscarried after two months. I felt like a failure. It felt like my whole world was crashing around me. I cried bitterly and prayed for mercy, wondering what I’d done to deserve such pain. 

    Still, I refused to give up.. I was determined to have a baby and told my husband we had to keep trying. I felt like if I could carry a pregnancy to term, it would be proof that I was a good woman, and our marriage would start to go the way I’d always imagined.

    However, Remi wasn’t cooperative. He’d thrown himself into religion. He believed evil forces from his father’s side were responsible for our losses. Instead of staying home with me, he travelled from one crusade to another, fasting and praying on mountaintops. I knew he meant well, but his absence made me lonelier than ever. 

    By 2018, I was done. I barely saw my husband except during Christmas. I was ready to leave. When I threatened to leave, he called our family members, who begged me to stay. They said leaving would mean letting the enemies win. I agreed to stay, but only on the condition that Remi followed me to the hospital for fertility tests. He was reluctant at first, but when he realised I was serious, he agreed. 

    In 2018, we found ourselves waiting in a long queue at a hospital in Ibadan, hoping to see a doctor and hoping they would have answers to our issues. After several tests, the doctors said there was nothing wrong with me. But Remi had weak sperm. Hearing that gave me hope; it was the first time we’d gotten any medical explanation for our troubles. The doctors also said some medications could help improve his sperm quality. Leaving the hospital that day felt like a fresh start, like we’d gotten a second chance to find the spark in our union. I was so wrong. The drugs didn’t seem to work — or so I thought. I got pregnant twice after that, and they both ended in miscarriage. By 2020, the grief had worn me down. Still, I wanted us to keep trying. I was sure in my heart that we could have a baby.

    Then, one night in September 2020, I woke up to pee and noticed that the other side of the bed was empty. I almost freaked out, but then I remembered it was Remi; he was probably somewhere in the house praying. I stumbled sleepily toward the bathroom and immediately noticed the light was on. I pushed the door open and froze: Remi was emptying his pills into the toilet. 

    For moments, it was hard to connect the sight in front of me to the many thoughts crashing against each other in my head. Those pills were our one ticket to finally having a child, the only thing keeping my hope alive. Watching him destroy them snapped something inside me. I lunged at him, screaming, and before I knew it, my teeth were on his shoulder. He yelled in pain, but I couldn’t stop. 

    When I ran out of strength, I rushed out of the house screaming, “Remi ti pa mi o!” “Remi has killed me”. I threw myself on the floor, crying and screaming until our neighbours came out.

    The wives in the compound gathered around me and tried to calm me down, but I was inconsolable. I wanted to sit in the dust forever. I cried and cried for all the babies I’d lost. I was doing everything I could, drinking herbal medications, eating well and tracking my period. All he had to do was take his medication, and he wasn’t even going to do that. The wives in the compound eventually led me back inside, but by morning, I’d made up my mind— I was leaving. 

    Remi begged me to stay, said he could explain, but I was too hurt to allow the words from his mouth get to me. I packed a few clothes and went to his older sister’s house in Ibadan. I cried bitterly again when I told her what Remi did. She was so disappointed and promised to give me whatever support I needed.

    Later, they called a family meeting, but I refused to attend. I didn’t want to see his face after what he did. His sister went on my behalf and recounted all that was said. Remi had confessed that a prophet told him my womb wouldn’t carry a child as long as he kept taking the drugs. He thought he was helping me by secretly throwing them away.

    In the days that followed, his sister stood by me. She said I didn’t have to go back to his house and could stay for as long as I needed. It was a relief to hear. I wasn’t ready to face Remi, and even though I had physically left his house, I wasn’t ready to file for divorce. He kept calling and texting from new numbers, sending long apologies and promises to take his medication, but I ignored him. I wasn’t ready to forgive.

    In 2021, I started attending church with my sister-in-law.  That was where I met Bode*, an older man took interest in me as soon as I joined the church. I told him I was still married, but he said it wasn’t an issue, that he liked me and wanted to build a life with me. 

    When I shared with Remi’s sister, she said I had her support to marry someone else. So I indulged Bode. He’d follow us home after church, and we’d walk around the neighbourhood talking. I liked him well enough; he seemed nice, but he didn’t make me feel the same way Remi did. 

    In early 2023, Bode asked me to marry him. I reminded him that I hadn’t even started a divorce process from Remi, but he said he just wanted my commitment. Bode even promised to help with the process. I said I’d think about it.

    When Remi heard about the proposal, he travelled to the church, angry and ready to fight Bode. That was when I decided to face him for the first time in over a year. That day, in August 2023, when I saw Remi, I burst into tears. He started crying too, and we hugged each other. I was still angry about the past, but I’d missed him. I couldn’t deny the betrayal I felt, but I also couldn’t deny that I loved him. 

    Remi went on his knees, brought out the same medication, and swallowed them right in front of me. He swore he’d been taking them since I left, and if I gave him another chance, he would never betray me again. 

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    I was sceptical, but I decided to try again. I knew that he loved me; he just acted on some bad advice. By mid-2024, I found out I was pregnant again. This time, we kept it a secret.  After I crossed the first trimester, we travelled to Ogun state, where no one knew us and stayed there until I delivered a healthy baby boy in February 2025. We only broke the news to our families a week later, after a pastor already christened our son.

    Everyone was delighted. They were shocked and a little hurt that we kept it from them, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Our boy is the spitting image of Remi. I couldn’t be happier. His existence is like a balm that soothes the wounds of the past losses I suffered. 

    Remi is besotted with me and the baby. Since his birth, he hasn’t let me lift a finger. It’s as if our love quadrupled overnight. He no longer leaves home for weeks on end to pray on mountaintops; he’s here with us, building the life I’d always dreamed about.

    I have suffered great pain and grief, but the joy I have now makes the past hurts feel like a nightmare I’ve long woken from. I’m grateful to God for the wonderful family I have today.

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    We’re creating something Nigeria has never had: a comprehensive, data-backed report on how young Nigerians really experience love, dating, marriage, and relationships.

    But we need your voices to make it happen. Whether you’re: single and navigating the dating scene, in a relationship trying to figure it out, married and living the reality, divorced and healing, engaged and planning your future, your experience matters. This survey is 100% anonymous. 

    Participate here to help shape the national conversation about love in Nigeria.

    READ ALSO: Marriage Diaries: The Wife Who Fell in Love Again After Becoming A Mum

  • For most of her life, Sekinah* (51) believed marriage was the key to fulfilment. Two deeply traumatic unions later, she learned the hard way to create her own happiness. 

    On this week’s episode, Sekinah* opens up about her dating history and why she’s made peace with walking through life alone.

    What’s your current relationship status, and how do you feel about it?

    I’m single. I never imagined the happiest phase of my life would come after two failed marriages, but here I am. 

    That’s great to hear. How did you get to this point? 

    My first real relationship started in 1999, after university. I was very religious and conservative in school, so I never dated. After graduation, I started feeling pressured because my mates were getting into relationships and marriages, and I felt left behind.

    While preparing for my NYSC passing out parade, I met Abdul*. I’d gone to my posting area for the last time and was trying to get a cab during heavy traffic. He stopped and offered me a ride home. He seemed kind, responsible. Because it was late, he even followed me in to explain why I’d shown up with him by that time. I developed a crush immediately.

    Cute. How did things progress from there?

    He started visiting often and eventually said he planned to marry me. I was over the moon. We barely knew each other for seven months before he proposed. My family agreed, and we got married in July 2000.

    But once I moved in, I realised I had married a stranger. He drank heavily and often disappeared for hours. Barely days after our wedding, he slapped me so hard I fell on a chair because I complained about his behaviour. That was only the beginning. 

    Anytime we argued, he beat me, sometimes for no reason at all.

    That must have been terrifying. How did you cope?

    I lived in constant fear and depression. I hoped getting a job would help my situation, but even that gave him more reason to hit me. If I wasn’t home by 4 p.m., he accused me of wandering around. I was also trying to conceive at the time, and every failed attempt deepened my frustration and sadness.

    When I reported him to my family, they told me to handle him more wisely since I was already married. Even our religious leaders I ran to, advised me to endure. Whenever they confronted him, he came home and beat me even more. I felt completely trapped.

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    Sounds tough. Did you try to leave?

    An incident with a male colleague in February 2002 pushed me over the edge. The guy dropped me off at home because I was running late. Abdul heard from the gateman and accused me of bringing men to his house. He beat me so badly that he pierced my arm with a broken louvre. Thankfully, our neighbours intervened. That night, I ran away and never returned.

    I went back to my uncle and told them I was done with the marriage.

    How did they take it?

    My uncle and his wife supported me. They refused Abdul’s attempts to bring me back and said it was good I left before he killed me. His parents insulted me and took his side, but I was just glad to be free.

    However, living with my family again soon became suffocating. They kept asking what was next and introduced me to men they thought were suitable, not realising I was still traumatised. After a year, I saved enough to move out.

    For the first time in my life, I enjoyed my freedom. I met men casually and had fun, but people judged me. My married friends distanced themselves. One even cut me off because her husband said I was a bad influence on her. Slowly, I became a loner.

    Meanwhile, everyone around me was starting families. I pretended not to care, but at night, I cried. The loneliness was overwhelming.

    I’m sorry. Did you eventually try to date again?

    I did. I met Wahab* in 2006 through one of his friends. He was married but said he wanted me as a second wife. He spent a lot of time at my place, and I already felt like his wife. I convinced myself that if I stayed with him, he’d eventually marry me.

    But after two years together, he suddenly married a young girl who’d just finished school. He met her while he was still with me. Shortly after he told me about his new marriage, he stopped picking my calls and ghosted me.

    That must’ve hurt. 

    I thought my life was over. I couldn’t believe I was in my mid-30s, divorced, childless, and unwanted. Depression slowly crept in again. Eventually, I forced myself to focus on work and took in some of my siblings’ children. Caring for them helped ease the loneliness.

    I didn’t expect to date again, but in 2010, a friend introduced me to James*. He was a retired widower with grown children, and he seemed genuinely kind in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. We maintained a long-distance relationship for over a year before having a quiet court wedding in 2012. 

    Were things any better with James?

    Barely. He was manipulative and treated me like his personal cash cow. Though he presented himself as financially secure, he’d squandered his retirement funds and contributed nothing to the household. I bought the food, paid the bills, and ran the entire household while he entertained friends.

    His children added to my stress. Whenever they visited, they were rude and treated me like a maid. They left dirty plates everywhere and expected me to clean up. When I complained, he told me to understand them and treat them as my children.

    I desperately wanted a child of my own, but even after two IVF cycles, it didn’t happen. Still, I stayed with him for more than nine years.

    That sounds like a lot of time to stay in an unhappy marriage. Why didn’t you leave?

    I was ashamed. I felt foolish for walking into another bad marriage. How would I explain two divorces? My family would judge me, and everyone would assume I was the problem. So I pretended everything was fine.

    What ultimately led me to leave happened a few days before Christmas in 2021. I intentionally refused to cook because I was exhausted. When my husband’s grown son came into the kitchen and didn’t find food, he dragged me by my clothes and threatened to beat me. James sat there watching. When I asked him to defend me, he blamed me for not cooking. In that moment, I realised he’d never have my back.

    I packed my things quietly and told him I was travelling home for the new year. As soon as I got home, I asked for a divorce. He begged, but I was done. 

    It’s been three years since I walked away, and I’m glad I did. I eventually stopped mourning my childlessness and adopted a young girl, and took in some of my nieces. I feel fulfilled living this way, even though I never thought I would.

    Nice. How have all these experiences shaped your idea of love and relationships?

    You don’t need marriage to be happy. Our society treats marriage as a way to control women, not a partnership. While it works for some, I’ve decided marriage is off the table for me. I wish younger women would stop rushing. If I hadn’t pressured myself into marriage early, I might have avoided so much pain.

    Finally, how are the streets treating you these days? Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10.

    10/10. I feel fresher and lighter. I have my peace, and no one is draining me emotionally or financially. 

    Read Next: I Was Barely 18 When He Abandoned Me With a Baby

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  • There’s no feeling as unsettling as realising you’re jealous of the person you love, especially when it forces you to confront parts of yourself you’d rather ignore. In this article, five Nigerians share the uncomfortable ways jealousy crept into their relationships and how they’ve learned to navigate those feelings.

    “Motherhood has taken so much from me, but he’s unaffected” — Omotola, 43

    Having kids reshaped Omotola’s* entire life, and watching her husband remain untouched by those changes became the root of her resentment.

    “I haven’t felt good about myself since 2013, when I started having children. Three consecutive pregnancies changed my body. My face looked tired and drawn, and I constantly felt weak, sometimes struggling after the shortest walks. Meanwhile, my husband still looked fresh, moved around with ease, and never had to deal with the physical or emotional toll I carried. 

    What pushed me over the edge was the lack of support after each birth. Even my in-laws, who came to ‘help’, still sent me on errands. My husband would sit legs crossed, while I struggled to move around with a healing body. I often found myself wishing I were him. That was the start of a deep resentment I didn’t know I could feel.

    Years later, I still haven’t found my spark. Earlier this year, a church member jokingly said my husband was ‘shining more’ than me, even though he’s older. They meant it as a harmless compliment, but I haven’t forgiven it. It’s hard to come to terms with how much motherhood has taken from me while he seems untouched in comparison.”

    “She doesn’t know what it’s like to worry about money” — Nathan* 32

    For Nathan*, dating a partner who’s blind to her privilege has been an experience that tugs at his heart.

    “My girlfriend comes from a wealthy family. Her parents cover most of her expenses, but she still asks me for things. I’m doing okay for myself, but sometimes I wish I had the same safety net she grew up with because I know I’d use it differently.

    What really gets to me is how she talks about the economy. She complains about cutting back on shopping while I’m stressing over savings and long-term plans. We’re clearly affected in very different ways, yet she speaks as if we’re experiencing the same struggle. I’ve tried to ignore it, but the frustration shows in small ways. Whenever she asks for something, my first instinct is to say I don’t have it. I feel like she’s used to being provided for and automatically expects the same from me, without considering my reality.

    I don’t think she’s intentionally insensitive. Most of it comes from not understanding what it’s like to worry about money. Still, I don’t like these feelings and how they make me act. She’s a good person, so I’m trying to acknowledge my emotions and work through them so her privilege doesn’t become a barrier between us. If I can manage that, I believe the relationship will be much healthier.”

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    “I made her lose a job that would’ve paid her millions” — Lawal*, 41

    Lawal’s* fear of losing control in his marriage ran so deep that it led him to stand in the way of his wife’s biggest opportunity.

    “My wife is an accountant, but I helped her start a tailoring business while she searched for a proper job. Over the years, I’ve changed my mind about wanting her to get a corporate job; she’s shown me how bossy and controlling she can be. During arguments, she talks anyhow and hurls insults. So I convinced myself it was safer if I handled most of the financial responsibilities; at least that way, I still had some autonomy.

    Last year, a close friend who works at a big finance company told me of an opening and asked if my wife was interested. I was shocked when I saw the salary ran into millions. I told him I’d send her CV, but I kept stalling. 

    We’d just had another fight, and the thought of her earning millions while I earned thousands scared me. I didn’t want more resentment between us, so I didn’t send the CV or told her about the opportunity.

    When my friend eventually said he’d given the job to someone else, the guilt hit me. I told myself I did it to protect my home, but when I prayed about it later, I knew  jealousy played a much bigger role than I wanted to admit.”

    “He takes his parents for granted” — Uju*, 28

    Uju* thought her tough upbringing made her immune to family wounds,  until her boyfriend’s loving family made her see things differently.

    “I grew up without parents and moved between different relatives’ homes. They didn’t maltreat me, but I never experienced the attentive care children get from their own parents. I thought I’d made peace with it and convinced myself it didn’t affect me. 

    Then in 2023, when I started dating my partner, I realised that part of me was still deeply wounded.

    My boyfriend’s parents are very involved in his life. His mum travels far distances just to see him, cooks soups, stocks his fridge, and fusses over him with genuine affection. His dad also calls often to check in or pray for him. Yet he constantly calls them overbearing and even ignores their calls. Whenever he complains, it irritates me. 

    A year into the relationship, I got close to his parents myself. I checked in and tried to be as helpful as possible. But my boyfriend didn’t appreciate the gesture. He said it made him uncomfortable, adding that I was crossing boundaries and oversharing his private details with his mum. 

    He also said he no longer felt comfortable talking to me about family issues because I always redirected the conversation back to what I never had. He said I made him feel guilty for having parents at all. It hurt to hear, and I considered ending the relationship.

    But after speaking to a few people, I began to understand where he was coming from. I realised many of my reactions were tied to a longing that turned into irritation whenever I saw him taking his parents for granted.

    Now I’m more self-aware. I respect his boundaries and let him handle his family issues without inserting myself. Still, I always feel a certain way whenever he complains about them.”

    “I felt inferior next to her” — Fiaza*, 30

    Faiza* adored her girlfriend, but standing beside someone who commanded every room slowly built her insecurities.

    “My ex-girlfriend is extremely attractive. She’s the kind of woman who turns heads everywhere she goes, and that was one of the first things that drew me to her. I, on the other hand, have always struggled with my body. I’ve been overweight for years, and after trying so many times to change it, I eventually gave up.

    Whenever we went out, people compared us without saying a word. Men who didn’t know we were a couple walked up to her and flirted right in front of me. What hurt even more was that she never told them off. She mostly responded politely. Meanwhile, nobody ever noticed or approached me. Even my own friends commented on how hot she was, but never said anything sweet about me.

    I was embarrassed to admit it, but I always felt insecure standing next to her. I’d shut down whenever we went out and sometimes avoided going out because I hated how it made me feel. She noticed the change and asked what was wrong, but I always brushed it off. We argued about my coldness so many times that it eventually broke us up less than a year into the relationship.

    Looking back, I know jealousy played a big part. She didn’t deserve the weight of my insecurities, and I should’ve worked on myself.”

    Read Next: I Was Barely 18 When He Abandoned Me With a Baby

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  • People say marriage changes everything from how you spend money to how often you have sex. But is it really true?  We asked six married Nigerian men to share how their sex lives changed after saying “I do,” and their answers range from “we can’t keep our hands off each other” to “once a month, if I’m lucky.”

    “Before marriage, sex only happened when we saw each other” — Hassan*, 40

    When Hassan and his wife were dating, they lived in different states, and sex had to wait for the moments when they were together.

    “While we were dating, it was mostly long distance, so it wasn’t easy to gauge the frequency. Sometimes, we could go two or three months without seeing each other, and when we finally did, it was usually for a weekend or, if we were lucky, a week.

    In that time, we’d probably have sex once or twice because everything just felt rushed. We were always trying to cram in all the missed time, talk, gist, go out, and still rest. Sex was just one of the many things that had to fit in between.

    The first year of marriage was a completely different story. We were both working remotely at the time, so it was constant. Morning, afternoon, night and practically anytime we felt like it. I can’t even count how many times. It was like making up for all the time we’d spent apart.

    But after she gave birth, things changed. I expected it, to be honest. She was healing, breastfeeding, and tired almost all the time. These days, we’re lucky if it happens twice a week, and there are weeks when nothing happens at all.

    It’s not as frequent as it used to be, but I don’t complain. I know what it means to be exhausted and just want sleep. I still miss the old flame sometimes, but I also understand that this is the season we’re in. It’ll balance out again eventually.”

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    “We went from having sex everywhere to barely once a month” — Demola*, 33

    Demola remembers his wild university days with his now-wife. They were young, curious, and insatiable. However, marriage came with a different kind of vibe that’s still taking some getting used to.

    “My wife and I went to the same university, and honestly, the sex back then was crazy. We were doing it everywhere — her hostel, my apartment, sometimes even in the most random places. We were also very open to experimenting. There was even a time we invited a third person over. It happened once, and we both instantly knew it wasn’t our thing. But that’s how open we were.

    When we got married in 2021, the energy was still there at first. Then she got pregnant, and everything changed. Her body started reacting badly; she was throwing up a lot, constantly tired and sick. We barely touched each other throughout the pregnancy.

    After she gave birth, it took another eight months before she was even interested again. I understood, but those months were hard. I had to literally train my mind to deprioritise sex, to stop expecting it, because I didn’t want to pressure her or make her feel bad.

    Now, the funny thing is, that decision has kind of rewired me. These days, I don’t even think about it much. If she’s not in the mood and I get turned down, I can easily go another month without trying again. Sometimes, I miss how spontaneous it used to be. However, I suppose this is what long-term marriage does: it changes the way you express intimacy.

    It’s not bad, just different. And we’re both still figuring out how to find our balance again.”

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    “I used to have a very active sex life, but marriage turned it into work” — Denzel*, 35

    Before Denzel got married, he and his wife were very active. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and intimacy came naturally. But since they said “I do”, things have been entirely different.

    “Before marriage, my wife and I were like rabbits. It wasn’t just about the act; there was excitement, spontaneity, and lots of youthful energy. We could go at it anywhere — in the car, in the bathroom, at any time. I thought that part of our relationship would stay the same after marriage, but everything changed.

    After we got married, it felt like she started seeing sex as a chore. I have to practically beg or start buttering her up with sweet words before she even considers it. And it’s not that she doesn’t love me — I know she does — but it’s like the spark just went off.

    It got so frustrating at some point that I started keeping count of how many times she turned me down. There was one month I counted 15 rejections. Fifteen. And each time, I felt a little less motivated to try again.

    These days, I’ve stopped stressing. If it happens, it happens. If I try, and I sense she’s about to say no, I just turn myself off immediately. Sometimes, if I’m really pressed, I pleasure myself. It’s not ideal, but I’ve made peace with it. I just hope it gets better someday because this wasn’t what I imagined marriage would be like.”

    “My wife still wanted sex during pregnancy, but I was too scared to hurt the baby” — Ayo*, 30

    For Ayo, things didn’t slow down immediately after he tied the knot, but pregnancy changed everything because he got scared of trying.

    “Before we got married, we had a healthy sex life. It was fun, adventurous, and frequent. Even after the wedding, it stayed that way for a while.

    Then she got pregnant, and surprisingly, she still wanted it often. But I couldn’t handle it. I was too scared that I’d hurt the baby. I’m a big guy, and that thought just made me anxious. Every time we tried, I couldn’t focus because I kept worrying about whether I was pressing too hard or causing harm. So I just started avoiding it.

    After she gave birth, things didn’t go back to normal either. She had a tear, and I didn’t want to rush her into sex or make her feel pressured while she was still healing. Then taking care of the baby came with its own stress. We had so many sleepless nights, constant exhaustion, all of that.

    Now, we barely have sex as much as we used to. Sometimes, we go weeks without it, and when it does happen, it feels more like ticking a box than how it used to be. I’m not blaming her, but I won’t lie, I worry. We’re still young, and we should be in that phase where we’re having some of the best sex of our lives. I just hope we find our rhythm again soon.”

    “We’ve had the same rhythm for over 10 years, and it still works” — Femi*, 34

    Femi’s story is one of consistency. He and his wife have been together for over a decade — from their university days to marriage — and somehow, their sex life hasn’t changed much.

    “My wife and I dated for 10 years before we got married, so we already knew each other’s patterns. We figured out early on what works for us and what doesn’t, and honestly, that’s made things easier now that we’re married.

    The frequency of sex has always been pretty much steady and predictable. We have a rule that we never go a week without having sex, except when she’s on her period. That rule has helped us maintain balance because once the gap gets too long, it’s hard to catch up again.

    I’ll be honest, though, I’m usually the one enforcing that rule. Left to my wife, she could easily go months without sex, and she’ll be fine. She’s not big on it, and that used to frustrate me at the beginning, but I’ve learned to understand her. I just make sure we don’t break our ‘once-a-week’ rule. It keeps the spark alive, and it’s one of the things that’s made our marriage stable.”

    “It’s been eight years, and I still hate being the one who always initiates” — Kunle*, 36

    Kunle doesn’t think his sex life is bad, but he’s tired of always being the one to ask. It’s been eight years together, and even now, he still gets turned down more often than he’d like.

    “If I’m being honest, the frequency of sex in my marriage is average. We’re not one of those couples that go months without it, but it’s also not as regular as I’d want. My biggest issue isn’t even how often we have sex; it’s the fact that I’m always the one initiating.

    I can’t count how many times my wife has turned me down, and it hurts every single time. Sometimes people don’t realise how much that kind of rejection affects a man. It makes you question yourself, even when you know it’s not about you.

    I’ve had times when I told her straight up that I don’t feel wanted in this marriage. She barely touches me intimately, never initiates, and if I don’t make a move, nothing happens. It’s been eight years together, and each rejection still feels like a fresh wound.

    People like to say men cheat because they’re greedy or undisciplined, but the truth is that sex is a very important part of marriage. If you’re making plans about every other thing — finances, kids, responsibilities — you should also plan for sex. It affects mood, connection, and even communication.

    I’ve never cheated, and I don’t intend to, but I’d hate for sexual frustration to be what eventually pushes me in that direction.”

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

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