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.

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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.

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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.

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Damola* (28) didn’t grow up dreaming of marriage. In fact, she found love “cringe” and avoided anything romantic for most of her childhood and teenage years. Even in university, she wasn’t looking for a relationship. However, when she met her husband during NYSC, everything changed.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about being shocked she got married at all, navigating mismatched libidos, the fight that forced her to rethink rejection, and why love alone can’t sustain a marriage.

This is a look into her marriage diary.

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Love always felt cringe to me

Growing up, romance never appealed to me. I hated when my parents hugged or pecked each other in front of us, and during movies, I’d fast-forward any scene that looked remotely intimate. I thought love was embarrassing, something to laugh at or ignore.

Sports were more my thing. With four brothers and just one sister, I naturally gravitated toward their roughhousing and football matches. My mum always said I turned out tomboyish because I was surrounded by boys, but I think it was simply who I was. My sister leaned into her feminine side, but I didn’t.

By the time I entered secondary school, I still had no interest in romance. I stuck to female friends and avoided boys. I didn’t get into any relationship. Even in university, nothing changed. At some point, I wondered if I liked girls instead. But I felt nothing the two times I tried to explore that curiosity. Boys didn’t move me either.

So I kept to myself. I wasn’t bothered that I didn’t have crushes or anything that resembled a romantic relationship. If anything, I sometimes worried I might never marry. 

Whenever marriage crossed my mind, it was usually in a mocking way. “This one that you’re not dating or giving anyone a chance, will you even marry?”  was a thought that crossed my head a lot of times.

Football brought us together

Marriage stopped feeling like an impossibility the day I met my husband during NYSC.

We’d bonded lightly at a CDS meeting when he teased me about football. Later, he invited me to join him at a viewing centre where he usually watched matches. My female housemates weren’t football fans, but I was game. That’s how it started — casual banter over football matches, small jokes about rival teams, and shared excitement whenever our favourite teams won.

At first, he reminded me a lot of my brothers. He was playful, rough around the edges, and spoke the same language of banter I had grown up with. It was no surprise that my family took to him immediately. In fact, people often mistake us for siblings even now.

But as I got to know him better, I realised he wasn’t “just like my brothers.” He accepted me exactly as I was. He never complained about how I dressed, never pressured me to wear makeup or look more feminine. He loved football as much as I did and was perfectly content with my tomboyish nature.

The similarities between us were uncanny, and they felt right. From that first year, I knew: this was my husband. If I wasn’t marrying him, I wouldn’t be marrying anyone.

I walked into my marriage without fear

A lot of people talk about questioning whether they’re ready for marriage. I can honestly say I never had that moment.

For most of my life, I didn’t think about marriage. But the minute I found my husband, it all made sense. I never doubted him. I never doubted us. I even told him once that I would have asked him if he hadn’t asked me out.

So when he proposed, there were no second thoughts. During our engagement, one of my brothers teased me, asking why I wasn’t crying like those brides you see online. I just laughed. “Cry for what? Me that I’m happy to go and be with my guy.”

I didn’t walk into marriage hesitantly. I walked in clear-headed, excited, and sure.

Sex shocked me the most

Nothing about marriage shocked me more than the sex.

I had done some self-exploring before marriage, but my husband was my first sexual partner. While we dated, I always avoided it, usually hiding behind the excuse of not wanting to risk pregnancy. But once we got married, there was no excuse anymore; this man always wanted it.

Sometimes, after he’d had a long day, I’d be thinking, “Oh, he just needs food and a hot shower.” Instead, he’d be tugging at my nightgown. At first, I couldn’t understand it. How could he want more after being exhausted?

His drive was shocking. I wanted sex far less often — sometimes not even once in a month — but for him, once or twice a week was non-negotiable. It took a while to find balance. Thankfully, he was open to pleasure beyond just penetration, so we built a system that works for us.

Still, I had to accept something no one ever warned me about: sex is a much bigger part of marriage than I expected.

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I had to learn how rejection feels for him

One of our biggest fights also revolved around sex.

There was a night he reached for me, and I snapped. I slapped his hand away, not intentionally to hurt, but out of irritation. He was deeply wounded. For the next week, we barely spoke; it was just dry, robotic responses to each other. For once, he didn’t come near me at all.

Eventually, I broke the silence and apologised. He told me something that stuck with me: “You’ll never understand what rejection feels like, because I’ve never rejected you.” And it was true. Whenever I wanted sex, he obliged, no hesitation. But I turned him down more often than I realised.

That fight made me rethink how I responded to him. I’ve learned to reject more gently, or even avoid the situation if I’m not in the mood. Sometimes, I stay up longer in the living room until he falls asleep. It’s not perfect, but it prevents me from snapping at him again.

That experience taught me how important it is to handle disagreements with kindness, not just honesty.

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Love is never enough on its own

Three years into marriage, one thing is clear to me: love is never enough.

People who say otherwise are either being deliberately delusional or haven’t experienced marriage. During dating, it’s easy to believe love will carry you through. But once you’re married, you quickly realise love alone won’t fix poor communication, impatience, or lack of kindness.

I love my husband deeply, but what makes us work is more than love. It’s that he understands me, we respect each other, we forgive each other’s flaws, and we still laugh, play, and watch football together.

Love is the foundation, yes, but without everything else, it can’t hold the house up.

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

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Gbenga* (34) thought marrying a woman who loved him beyond money meant he had escaped his father’s mistakes. But three years in, he’s realising his marriage has its own surprises, including a wife who manages their home with an iron grip, right down to the food on his plate.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he talks about learning to love past suspicion, the shock of a wife who now rations his meals, and what it means to feel starved in the very home you provide for.

This is a look into his marriage diary.

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My father’s loneliness taught me the kind of marriage I didn’t want

Before I ever imagined what I wanted from marriage, I was sure about what I didn’t want. My father was lonely for most of his adult life, and I grew up determined not to end up like that. My parents separated when I was a child. My mum remarried and moved to another country, leaving me and my siblings with my dad.

He never brought women home or dated anyone seriously afterwards. His whole life revolved around providing for us. He did it well, but it came at the cost of companionship. Watching him live like that made me afraid of ending up with a partner who’d leave me, too.

Later, as I got older, I pieced the story together: money was the big crack in their marriage. My dad met my mum when he was doing well financially. But a few years in, his fortunes turned, and she left. That scar shaped how I approached relationships. I didn’t want a marriage where my partner was only with me for money.

That’s why, even when I had money, I downplayed it. I didn’t want to attract someone who loved my wallet instead of me. Looking back now, I see how deeply my dad’s story infused my own life.

My mindset about money made dating rough 

My dad’s experience wasn’t the only influence. Movies and books also shaped how I saw marriage. Yoruba films, for instance, often portrayed husbands as superior and wives as subservient. Nollywood was full of cheating, scheming, and “bad marriages.” I hated those portrayals but didn’t yet have a picture of what I wanted. My only plan was to create my own template with my partner; a marriage defined by us, not society.

But while I wanted that freedom, my mindset about women and money made dating difficult. In university, I always assumed girls were after what I had. One girlfriend in 200 level taught me a painful lesson about my paranoia.

We’d only been dating for two months when her birthday came up. The timing felt “too convenient.” I convinced myself she was one of those girls who lined up boyfriends before their birthdays just to cash out. Instead of celebrating her, I launched an investigation. I asked mutual friends about her birthday the previous year, and when the dates matched what she’d told me, I still wasn’t satisfied.

She eventually found out what I was doing and was furious. I should’ve at least gone all out for her birthday to make up for the suspicion, but I didn’t. In my head, I still felt her timing was suspicious. She broke up with me soon after.

Even though I was wrong, a part of me still felt vindicated. To me, her leaving confirmed that I was right about women wanting men only for what they could provide. That mindset stayed with me for years and made me avoid relationships altogether.

Meeting my wife shifted everything I believed about love and giving

I met my wife in my final year of uni, when I’d matured a little and softened towards women. For the first time, I convinced myself that maybe not every girl was out for my money. She helped me prove it.

Back then, she was the one buying me things. I had to play catch up, and sometimes I couldn’t. But what surprised me most was how fine she was with just our company. She didn’t need big gestures, and when we didn’t have money, she didn’t make me feel like I was failing.

We dated for six years before marrying, and those years changed me. She ticked every box I thought I’d never find in a woman: caring, patient, and genuinely uninterested in what I had materially. Now, married for three years, I often look at her and feel lucky that I didn’t let my suspicions rob me of this life.

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I didn’t expect her to change so much after marriage

No one told me how much people can change once you’re living together. I thought six years of dating meant I knew everything about my wife. I was wrong.

Before marriage, she was always the generous one, buying me gifts, spoiling me, never worrying too much about resources. But after we got married, she transformed into someone I didn’t recognise: strict, guarded, and obsessed with managing the household.

At first, I thought it was random, until I lost my job last year. That period shook her. She panicked about rent, food, and school fees for our son. No matter how much I reassured her that I had savings, she couldn’t relax. She’d grown up with scarcity and was determined never to let that happen in her home.

I understood it then, but she continued even after I found another job. She monitored what I ate, how much I spent — even though it was my money — and enforced rules about saving. It was like she’d become the manager of the household instead of the carefree girlfriend I once knew.

It shocked me at first, but now I see it as part of who she is: someone responding to her past trauma. I’ve learned to be patient with her and not pick fights, even when it feels stifling.

A fight over food taught me patience and perspective

One of our worst arguments happened in the kitchen. She’d made turkey, which we hadn’t eaten in a long while. I got only one piece on my plate, which didn’t satisfy me. I went back for more, heaping rice and two more pieces.

She walked in and tried to take my plate, saying she was rationing so it wouldn’t finish too quickly. I pulled it away, and she pulled back. Next thing, we were shouting at each other, me insisting she couldn’t starve me in my own house when I was providing for everything. She cried that night.

The next morning, after prayers, we talked. She explained that she wasn’t trying to starve me; she was trying to make sure things lasted. That conversation made me realise her behaviour wasn’t random stinginess,  it was rooted in the fear of lack she’d experienced as a teenager, triggered again by my job loss.

Since then, I’ve tried to be more patient and correct her gently, not escalate things. It’s helped me see that marriage is as much about managing each other’s traumas as it is about enjoying the good times.

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I still believe love is enough to hold a marriage together

One thing hasn’t changed through all this: my belief in love as the core of marriage. People say love isn’t enough, but respect, communication, and money matter more. I agree they matter, but I still believe love is the glue that ties everything together.

Nobody goes into marriage without love. And when the other things fail — when communication breaks down, respect is shaky, and money is tight — love pushes you to try again. It’s the force that makes you stay, compromise, and forgive.

In my eyes, love can even be the only thing you have for a while and still keep things afloat. That’s how powerful it is. I know not everyone will agree, but for me, love is enough.

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

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Solomon* (33) grew up fantasising about polygamy after consuming countless Yoruba Nollywood films about kings and their many wives. But two years into his marriage, he’s learning that navigating one relationship already takes more work than he expected.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he talks about unlearning unrealistic expectations, learning to live with another human for the first time, and how marriage is forcing him to choose peace over petty arguments.

This is a look into Solomon’s marriage diary.

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I thought I’d be married to more than one woman

This will sound funny, but if you’d asked 18-year-old me what marriage looked like, I’d have told you I’d end up polygamous. I didn’t grow up in a polygamous household — my dad only married my mum. But I consumed way too much Yoruba Nollywood, thanks to my mum. She was a stay-at-home parent and an absolute movie junkie. She had these rental club cards where you’d collect tapes and CDs to watch at home. And the movies were always about village kings surrounded by several wives.

I wasn’t immune. I’d sit there, soaking in the storyline, imagining myself as a future king with queens to my left and right. It wasn’t about sex, per se, I just liked the imagery of being adored by multiple women.

But I grew up. Life sobered me up. I started seeing what the movies didn’t show — the chaos, the jealousy, the financial responsibility, the emotional drama. It didn’t help that my dad always talked about how peaceful his marriage was because there was just one woman in his life. By my mid-twenties, that whole fantasy faded. Now, I’m happily married to one woman, and I don’t plan to complicate my life with a second wife.

I discovered I’m the difficult partner in this marriage

Getting married made me confront parts of myself I’d never had to deal with before. I grew up enjoying my own space. I had my room in my parents’ house, didn’t have to share in university, and even during NYSC, I was back home in my little bubble. My wife had strict parents, so even when we dated, she didn’t visit often.

It was a serious shock to my system when we finally moved in together after marriage. I always thought I was chilled, someone who’d go with the flow. But suddenly, everything irritated me. I realised I’m very particular about my personal space, how things are arranged, and even how we decorate our house.

The smallest things annoyed me: items not being where I left them, an artwork moved from its usual spot. Our first argument was literally about throw pillows. I got home that day, and my wife had ordered a set I’d said I didn’t like. I told her to move the pillows to the room, but she insisted she bought them for the living room. I ignored her for most of that day until she moved the pillows, but she also got angry. The truth is, I felt like I was losing my grip on my environment. I hated that feeling, so I’d complain all the time. I never imagined being the nagging spouse, but here I was being that guy.

I didn’t think cohabiting would be this hard

Nobody warned me how intense cohabiting would be. Honestly, it was the biggest adjustment of my life. Before marriage, I assumed we’d still enjoy some level of independence. I liked the idea of having my own room where I could unwind or have quiet time. I even suggested it when we got the house, but my wife shut it down quickly.

And it wasn’t just about space. Considering how reserved she was during our relationship, I thought she’d be the partner who valued some individualism. But marriage brought out a very attached side of her. She always wanted us to eat from the same plate, binge-watch shows together, and spend time in the same room.

It was jarring for me. I’d often find myself craving time alone, but feeling guilty about it. I’ve since accepted that marriage means constant companionship, but I won’t lie, the introvert in me still struggles sometimes.

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Marriage has forced me to choose peace

One thing I’m actively working on is learning when to keep quiet. I’m naturally vocal; I believe in addressing things as they happen. But my wife is the opposite. She’d rather ignore minor irritations than turn everything into a discussion. I, on the other hand, always feel the need to comment on every little inconvenience.

It caused plenty of unnecessary arguments. I even made the mistake of venting to my mum, and she reminded me I’d always been like this, even as a child. That forced me to start examining myself more critically. 

I now assess what’s worth mentioning and what I should let go. Some days I win, other days I don’t. I complained when that artwork was moved, but at least I didn’t move it back. I’ve learned to express my feelings without trying to control everything. It’s a slow journey, but I’m making progress.

I’ve become softer and more self-aware because of marriage

Marriage forced me to confront the side of me I didn’t realise existed: the side that nitpicks, nags, and low-key wants things done my way. It’s been humbling. I’ve learned to choose silence more, even in friendships. I was the friend who always had an opinion, suggested changes to plans or criticised little things. Marriage taught me that it’s okay to let things be and allow people to enjoy their choices without my input.

One of my proudest moments is learning to appreciate my wife’s efforts more. Before, I’d fixate on what wasn’t done perfectly. Now, I consciously choose gratitude. Even if I don’t like something, I start with “Thank you for doing this.” I’ve seen how much smoother things are when I lead with appreciation rather than criticism.

We’re only two years in, but I know marriage will continue to teach me more about myself. And the beautiful part is having someone by my side who loves me through every version of me, even the difficult ones. That alone makes all the internal battles worth it.

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

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Jabbar* (33) has been married for just over a year, but he’s spent most of it in a different state from his wife. Between the distance, loneliness and figuring out what it means to run a home you’re barely present in, marriage hasn’t gone the way he imagined.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he shares how long-distance is testing his expectations, the surprising discipline marriage has taught him, and why he believes love alone will never be enough.

This is a look into Jabbar’s marriage diary.

I thought marriage would be as simple as my parents made it look

I come from a typical Christian home, and I’ve always had a very straightforward idea of marriage: man meets woman, they get married, have kids, and build their family. Simple. My parents were my blueprint for that.

My dad never womanised. He wasn’t abusive. He just played his role as the provider. My mum let him lead. She played her part as the support system. She cooked, cleaned, cared for us, and ensured the house was orderly.

I know some people in modern society would say their dynamic wasn’t balanced enough, but it worked for them. They’ve been together for over three decades, and they’re still going strong. That’s what I pictured for myself: settling down, leading my home, and providing for my family. But life had other plans.

Nothing prepared me for a long-distance marriage

The biggest surprise so far is that I’ve not experienced marriage the way I expected to, and it’s been over a year. I got transferred to another state barely a month after our wedding. I tried to fight it, but your options are limited with government jobs. I’ve been stuck there ever since.

We agreed that my wife wouldn’t relocate with me. I’m not planning to settle permanently in that state, and she has a lucrative job in Lagos. I wasn’t going to ask her to throw that away just because I got transferred.

Dating long-distance is one thing. Marriage? It’s a different ball game entirely. I had all these grand ideas about how we’d enjoy being newlyweds — travelling, exploring, being intimate whenever we wanted, especially before children entered the picture. But all of that hasn’t been possible. The few weekends we spend together aren’t nearly enough, but thankfully, I’m finally making some progress with working on my relocation back to Lagos.

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You’re still the head of the house, even in absence

The moment that shook me was realising I still had to run my home even when I wasn’t physically there. Growing up, I saw both parents carrying out their roles, but I always assumed they were in the same space doing it.

Suddenly, my wife was calling me about things in the house — things that needed fixing, stuff that ran out—and it hit me that this responsibility didn’t pause because I wasn’t there. Financially, it was tough at first. I had to manage running my place where I was posted and handling our home in Lagos. It stretched me, but I had to remind myself that being physically away didn’t mean I wasn’t still fully responsible for our home.

To be clear, my wife chips in and supports me. She contributes. But some things are still my responsibility regardless of whether I’m physically there or not, and it took a mindset shift to embrace that. It also forced me to get really intentional with budgeting and planning.

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Nobody warned me that you can still feel lonely in marriage

People assume that marriage means constant companionship, but life happens. I wish someone had told me that sometimes, even married people have to do long-distance, which can be lonely.

Some of our issues stem from this distance. A few months ago, my wife called me and said the loneliness was unbearable, so she moved back to her parents’ house. I didn’t like it one bit. It felt like people would see my wife back at her parents’ house and assume our marriage was rocky. But she didn’t see the problem, and her parents were supportive, too. I insisted she return to our home, but she argued that I only wanted her alone in that entire house while I was thousands of miles away. She had a point. We eventually had to compromise. Now, she stays at her parents’ on weekends and spends the weekdays at our place.

Then there’s the sex part. I have a high sex drive, and distance has made that tough. My wife doesn’t share the same drive. She shuts me down completely when I try to get naughty over the phone or suggest video calls. I’ve tried sending spicy messages, but it doesn’t fly with her. To be honest, there’s no real way to navigate that. I’ve just accepted that whenever we’re apart, I’ll be sex-starved. It’s been a rollercoaster figuring these things out, and it’s not easy.

Discipline is what’s keeping me grounded

I’ve had to rethink how I handle communication in marriage. That situation with her moving back to her parents really tested how we communicate. I failed to see how lonely she must’ve felt. I’m used to it because I’d been living on my own for three years before marriage. But she’d never lived alone.

Leaving her parents, getting married, only to be left alone in the house? That must’ve been hard. But I didn’t consider that. I was mostly worried about the optics and what people would say seeing my wife back with her parents months after our wedding. It took me a while to understand her perspective. I realised we’ve had different life experiences, and it’s unfair to expect her to cope the same way I do. I distract myself with movies, social media, and work when I’m bored. But she doesn’t have that same outlet. We had to really talk and reach that compromise.

Honestly, marriage has taught me discipline in ways I didn’t expect. Back when I was single, long-distance meant I could “scratch the itch” elsewhere, even if I told myself it didn’t mean anything. But now? It’s different. Distance isn’t an excuse to entertain what I shouldn’t. I’ve become more disciplined emotionally, sexually and financially. Being married—even long-distance—has grounded me more than I imagined.

Love isn’t enough to sustain a marriage; there’s more to it

I may not know everything about marriage yet, but one thing I know for sure? Love isn’t enough. So many other things hold a marriage together: commitment, patience, kindness, selflessness. The list is long, and those other things make love thrive.

My wife sometimes complains that I don’t say “I love you” enough. But I always ask her, “Do you feel loved in this union?” She’s never said no. It’s easy to throw the word love around, but the real test is in the actions, in showing your workings. That’s what I’m trying to do, even if it’s happening from miles away for now.

*Name has been changed to protect the identity of the subject.

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Asanat* (39) has been married for 18 years. Growing up in a small village in Abeokuta, she only saw marriage through the lens of duty; the man provides, the woman serves. But nothing prepared her for the unexpected bond she’d form with her senior wife, or how losing that bond would change everything.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about navigating an arranged marriage, learning strength from her senior wife, and why she sometimes wishes she weren’t the only wife left.

This is a look into Asanat’s marriage diary.

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I thought marriage was all about service

Where I come from, marriage isn’t about love. It’s about duty. The men provide, the women serve, and everyone sticks to their role. That’s what I saw growing up in my village in Abeokuta.

My father was about 15 years older than my mum. He was the sole provider and the one who called all the shots. My mum didn’t go to school or work; she stayed home, cooked, cleaned, and raised me and my half-siblings. She didn’t complain; that was just life.

I didn’t think much about marriage back then, but I understood what would be expected of me when it eventually happened. Serve your husband, raise your children, and keep your home in order. 

My senior wife changed my life

My marriage wasn’t something I planned for. I had finished secondary school, with no intention of furthering my education, when my father told me I was getting married. One of his close friend’s sons wanted a second wife, and my father believed it was a good opportunity for me to leave the village and make something of myself. My mum agreed. I didn’t have a say.

I didn’t know what to expect the first time my husband and his people visited. They came about three more times, and he brought his first wife along on the final visit. I’d never thought much about polygamy, but she seemed pleasant. Something about her calmed me, even though I was a naive village girl being thrown into a life I didn’t understand.

Looking back, I realise now that the greatest surprise in my marriage wasn’t my husband or life in a polygamous home,  it was the bond I formed with my senior wife. She wasn’t just welcoming; she became my guide, my older sister, the person who made marriage easier for me. I came into that home completely naive. I didn’t understand men, relationships or how to navigate sharing a husband.

But my senior wife took me under her wing. On days when my husband got angry and I’d break down crying, she was the one holding my hands, calming me down. She’d even scold him on my behalf when necessary. She taught me that being a wife didn’t mean losing your voice. She was respectful, but she was firm. She knew how to stand her ground. She taught me how to hold my own while giving my husband the respect he deserved. She made that house feel like a home.

She passed away four years ago, and I’ve never healed from that loss. Even now, I sometimes sit and wonder why she was so good to me. Maybe it’s because I came into that home willing to learn. Perhaps she saw that I wasn’t there to compete or fight. I don’t know. But I know that I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without her.

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I had to figure out polygamy on my own

Nobody teaches you how to be a second wife. Even my mum, who was fully in support of the marriage, had no real knowledge of polygamy. Her only advice was to stay on guard, avoid getting too friendly with my senior wife, and work hard to win my husband’s heart to my side. But I saw things differently. My senior wife never gave me a reason to be defensive. She treated me with kindness, and I allowed myself to stay teachable. I didn’t enter that marriage thinking I was up against someone else.

Over time, I saw how different things could be from all the scary stories. We did everything together. She’d even advise me on handling our husband if I ever had challenges. I miss that sisterhood every day. Even now, I sometimes wonder why she was so good to me. Maybe it’s because I was open, or it’s just who she was. I’ll never know.

ALSO READ: The Wife Who’s Not Ready to Share Her Husband’s Love With Kids

Grief made me lose myself, and my home almost suffered for it

When my senior wife passed, the house became a different place. My husband was grieving his first love and companion, and I was grieving a woman who had become my sister. But that grief made me lose sight of everything she’d taught me. For the first time, I listened to my mum’s old advice. She told me to be firm, make sure my husband wasn’t planning to bring in another wife. I became rebellious; raising my voice, making demands I didn’t need, poking into his business, questioning his every move. The peak of it was when I demanded my own car. We already had two cars I could use freely, but I wanted one in my name. I fought with him constantly.

Everything changed one day when I finished my solat and walked into the room. I saw my husband sitting alone, crying over my senior wife’s photo. That moment broke and reset something in me. It reminded me that I wasn’t the only one grieving. A week later, I apologised. He forgave me. He’s not given me any reason to suspect he’s considering another wife. But funny enough, I think I might want one of these days.

I’ve never felt lonelier in this marriage than I do now. The house is empty when my husband is away at work and the kids are at boarding school. Back when my senior wife was alive, we had each other. We cooked together, gisted, and watched movies. I miss that sisterhood. Sometimes I even think, if I could find someone exactly like her, I’d gladly welcome her into this home. But I know not every polygamous home is peaceful like ours was. Our case was rare.

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I found a stronger version of myself in marriage 

I entered marriage ready to be completely subservient, just like I saw growing up. But my senior wife changed that. She taught me a woman could hold her own, still respect her husband, and have a say in the home. I often think about how different my life would’ve been without her. Maybe I would’ve become like my mother, always saying “yes” even when I disagreed.

But my husband has also played his part. He’s older, more experienced, yet he’s managed to meet me where I am. I don’t know if it’s how he’s always been or if it’s the result of how my senior wife handled their marriage, but I’m grateful. When I look at my life now — the freedom I have, the say I have in my home, the version of me that exists — I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I don’t think love is enough to sustain a marriage

If you ask me whether love is enough to hold a marriage, I’ll say I don’t think so. I believe it’s simply the willingness to stay. That’s what has kept my marriage going. When I married my husband, love wasn’t even in the picture. I saw him when I heard he would be my husband, and I liked what I saw. But love? No. It felt more like duty.

And honestly, even now, I sometimes wonder if what I feel for him is love or just a deep commitment to the man who cares for me. My husband doesn’t joke with my welfare or the children’s. He’s kind, patient, and does his best to make life comfortable for me.

But when I look at him, I don’t feel butterflies or what people talk about when describing love. I see him as the person I’ve been assigned to do life with. That’s what drives our marriage: commitment and dedication to each other. Not love the way people describe it.

*Name has been changed to protect the identity of the subject.

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Ivan* (39) has been married for five years, but he dated his wife for six before that. He always promised he wouldn’t change after marriage, but between grief, job loss and fatherhood, everything has shifted, especially his desire to grow their family. 

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, he talks about parenting through depression, losing the playful version of himself and how he’s learning to show up, even when it’s hard.

This is a look into Ivan’s marriage diary.

I’ve always seen marriage as a partnership 

My idea of marriage has remained the same throughout my life—two people coming together, united in their decision to navigate life as a team. For me, love is just one part of the equation; dedication and commitment to riding out life’s challenges together are equally vital. This mindset isn’t rooted in cultural or societal expectations or religious teachings about marriage. Instead, it’s rooted in my personal experiences.

Growing up, I had a childhood that was equal parts tough and beautiful. I didn’t have the luxury of innocence, and from a young age, I watched my parents face some of the harshest challenges together — joblessness, hunger, poverty. Yet, they never once wavered in their commitment to each other. Instead, these trials seemed to resolve their dedication to seeing each other through to the other side. I saw, time and again, how they put each other’s needs before their own, displaying a selflessness that I found remarkable.

As a result, the idea of being responsible for someone else didn’t intimidate me at first. I felt it was only normal to inconvenience yourself for the other person’s benefit, as long as you were certain they’d do the same, or even more, for you. This experience shaped my perspective on marriage and relationships.

I promised her I wouldn’t change, but I did

When we were dating, my wife sometimes said, “I hope you don’t change after marriage.” And I’d always laugh and reassure her, “You’ll get the same version of me, don’t worry.”

But nearly nine years later — six years dating and five years married — I’ve become someone else entirely. A lot has happened that forced me to grow up faster than I planned. I lost my parents. I went through periods of joblessness. I struggled with depression. You don’t come out of that unchanged. But the biggest shift has been how I feel about having more children. We have one son now, and honestly, I don’t think I want another.

Back when we were still dating, we used to say we’d have three kids, maybe even four if our finances allowed. But after my son came, everything changed. I lost my job around the same time, and suddenly, I was burning through savings just to survive. Hospital bills, diapers, formula, school fees, and a chest infection that recently cost us ₦450k in hospital bills.

Even now that I’m getting back on my feet, the spending hasn’t stopped. The economy is mad. I’ve mentioned this to my wife several times, but we haven’t talked about it properly. She still hopes we’ll have at least one more because she wants our son to have a sibling. I understand where she’s coming from, but I don’t know if I have the emotional or financial capacity. 

Sometimes I feel guilty, like I’m robbing her of the big family she always dreamed of. Maybe things will change in the future. But right now? I don’t want more kids.

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Nothing prepares you for fatherhood

One of the scariest moments of my marriage was when we had our child and I didn’t have a job. It didn’t feel like a crisis at first. My wife had to do a CS, and that surgery alone cost nearly a million naira. I had savings, so I paid. I told myself I’d get a new job in a month or two. But a month turned to three, then six.

Every week, the money in my account kept dropping. Each debit alert for food, baby items, or rent felt like a punch in the gut. I started spiralling. At one point, I genuinely considered asking my wife to go to her parents’ place with our baby, just until things stabilised. It wasn’t about not wanting them around. I just felt like I was dragging them into my failure.

Then, one day, she walked in on me alone in the room. Instead of being upset, she prayed for me—a proper, heartfelt prayer. It broke something in me. I felt so bad for even thinking of sending her away. Her prayers didn’t magically get me a job, but they helped steady me. I stopped panicking as much. It reminded me that we were in it together.

ALSO READ: The Husband Navigating A Long Distance Marriage Against His Will

Your family will always need you, and you have to be there

One thing no one warned me about marriage is how much you have to show up, even when your world is falling apart. There were days I couldn’t get out of bed. I was depressed and broke. I felt like a failure, but our baby didn’t care. He needed to be fed, changed and rocked to sleep. He’d cry until I picked him up and gave him my full attention, especially when it’s just us two in the house.

There were times I shouted at him or ignored him out of frustration. But through all of that, one truth remained: I was still his father and had to show up. I couldn’t let my emotions dictate how I parented him. I learnt quickly that marriage, especially with a child involved, doesn’t give you the luxury of shutting down. Your partner can love you through it. But your child? They just want their daddy. It’s a daily lesson in sacrifice.

I think I’ve lost the child in me

Before marriage, I was the playful guy,  the one dancing on the street with kids, playing football in the dust, clowning around for no reason. My friends used to say I had the heart of a child. But that version of me? I think he’s gone.

These days, I feel like I have a permanent frown on my face. My wife even mentioned once that I don’t smile like I used to. It wasn’t a fight; just an observation. I hadn’t even realised it. I think all the hardship of the past few years — the job loss, the grief, the pressure of fatherhood — has taken something out of me. It’s like my mind constantly whispers, “What’s funny? People are suffering.”

I miss the simpler times. I miss laughing without thinking about bills. But I love my wife and my son. And I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I just wish I could hold on to both joy and responsibility at the same time.

My only advice to my younger self? Don’t tie your worth to your pocket

If I could go back and give my unmarried self advice, it wouldn’t be about saving or preparing financially. Don’t get me wrong, money matters. But I’ve lived through a season where even my savings couldn’t carry me. What then?

So here’s what I’d say: don’t attach your self-worth as a man to how much you’re providing. Easier said than done, I know. But your ability to be a good husband and father doesn’t vanish because your bank balance is low. You can still lead with love, kindness and presence. The money will come. But don’t let the fear of not having enough money make you lose the family you’re doing it all for.

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