marriage | Page 2 of 20

Money and responsibilities have a way of testing relationships beyond love and good intentions. From rent and groceries to fuel and date nights, someone always has to pay. But how do couples decide who handles what? We asked Nigerians how they share financial responsibilities and what balance looks like in their relationships.

“Nobody is coming to save me” — Helen, 29

For Helen*, financial independence isn’t just a choice but a principle.

“I’ve worked hard to earn my place, and I take that seriously. I don’t believe anyone is coming to save me. Bills don’t have to be split 50-50 because that’s not always realistic. Whoever earns more should contribute more, but both partners should take responsibility in a way that reflects their respective incomes.

I’m in a serious relationship, and we live together. I don’t expect him to handle all our bills alone. For groceries and household expenses, we split things fairly based on what makes sense at the time. For dates, whoever initiates pays, and it’s been working well for us.

I don’t believe in the idea that I shouldn’t lift a finger. It’s nice when someone spoils you, but full dependence often comes at a cost — sometimes resentment, other times control. I value my autonomy, and I’d rather keep it than trade it for comfort.”

“I don’t expect my wife to contribute” — Odogwu* 39

In his case, being the provider is non-negotiable, even if it means carrying most of the weight alone.

“I handle about 95% of the finances in my marriage because I believe that’s my primary responsibility. My wife works at a microfinance bank, and in the five years we’ve been married, I’ve never asked how much she earns. I cover all the bills and even give her extra money to buy things for herself.

The only way she contributes is by adding to the money I give her for house upkeep. Every month, I give her about ₦60k, and I know she still tops it up with her own income. She also buys household items or décor when she wants, and I never question it.

I don’t ever want to depend on my wife for money. If she supports, that’s fine, but I should still be able to handle my home.”

“I regret starting out with a joint account” — Lilian, 43

Lilian* learnt the hard way that financial transparency in marriage should never come at the cost of personal freedom.

“My husband and I run a joint account — something I wouldn’t recommend to anyone. It started as a good idea. We both earn about the same, so we decided to combine our salaries and split the bills. At first, I liked being involved and thought it would help us build a stable home. But over time, I realised it worked more in his favour.

He’s the main signatory, so I go through him for every expense. After paying bills, whatever is left stays in an account I can’t access. It got so bad that I couldn’t even buy things for myself or my children without going through him. Even my fuel money came from him. Imagine working hard for your own salary but still needing permission to spend it.

In December 2022, my mum fell critically ill. My siblings needed money for her treatment, and since I earned the most, they turned to me. I asked my husband to release part of my money, but he refused, insisting we should wait till Christmas when we travelled home.

The next day, I borrowed money from a colleague and sent it to my mum without telling him. She passed away a few days later. He still doesn’t know I sent her the money, but I’m grateful I did. If I hadn’t, I’d never have forgiven myself.

Since then, I’ve set aside a portion of my salary every month. After what happened, I think guilt stopped him from asking why I’ve stopped remitting my entire pay. He used to search my bags for hidden cash, but that’s stopped too.”

“There’s no fixed rule in my marriage” — Amina*, 51

For Amina*, marriage isn’t about rigid expectations. Years of partnership have taught her that financial balance comes from flexibility

“At first, I believed my husband should handle most of the financial responsibilities while I supported where I could. But with the way the economy is, that’s not realistic. It really depends on what both partners earn.

In our case, we both work. I handle most of the household expenses, and he takes care of the rent and car bills. For bigger bills like the children’s school fees, we split them. I must contribute, even if it’s not equally.

My husband gets irritated when you depend on him completely, so I’ve always made sure I have my own money. Thankfully, I come from a fairly comfortable family, so there have been times I’ve covered rent or emergencies without much stress.

There’s no fixed rule in our marriage. We just do what works for us in a way that keeps things balanced.”

“Having a joint account has helped us build trust” — Dele*, 56

Dele* discovered that finances in his marriage work best through teamwork guided by clear boundaries.

“My wife and I have tried different systems, but a joint account works best for us. We don’t put our entire income into it, only enough to cover monthly expenses. We calculate our total bills, then each contribute a set amount. For example, I might add ₦200k, and she adds ₦150k. That usually covers everything for the month.

After that, whatever remains is personal money. I like to save, but my wife spends freely, and I’ve made peace with that. It’s her money, after all.

For bigger expenses like our joint investments, we both contribute, but not always equally. It depends on who can handle more at the time. Having a joint account has helped us build trust. We don’t fight about money, and we respect each other’s financial choices.

“Everyone should carry their cross” — Jesse*, 28

For Jesse*, financial balance means finding a system that makes sense for both partners’ realities

“In relationships, everyone should take care of their own bills. For shared things like dates or hangouts, just split it fairly.

Marriage is a different ball game because it involves bigger responsibilities like rent, childcare, and long-term planning. A strict 50-50 split doesn’t always make sense. A 60-40 balance is more realistic, depending on who earns more or who’s taking on childbearing responsibilities.

Of course, things could get complicated if one partner becomes unable to work, like in the case of a disability. I don’t have a perfect answer for that yet, but it’s something to think about.”

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After five long years apart, Grace* (34) thought reuniting with her husband abroad would finally complete the picture of the life she’d been waiting to live. But what awaited her in the US was far from the dream she’d built in her head.

In this story, she opens up about the lonely years apart and the bitter truth she uncovered when she arrived.

This is Grace’s story as told to Mofiyinfoluwa

That morning, when the ICE officers came to take me away, I had been sitting with Esther, telling her how scared I was. I didn’t think I could survive in a foreign country illegally, without money and a job. She kept rubbing my hands in hers, assuring me that we’d find a way —maybe I’d pick up some under-the-table work until my husband came around.

We were still talking when a loud knock came at the door. Esther jumped up, thinking it was the pizza she’d ordered. She opened up to meet two white men dressed in plain clothes. Before either of us could speak, they flashed their badges.

When they showed me a printed sheet with my name and photo, I felt goosebumps crawl over my body. They asked if I knew my visa had expired. I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Esther tried to explain that it was all a misunderstanding. She said she could vouch for me. But the officers only shook their heads. They said they’d received a notification about an overstay.

They were polite, but their tone had a firmness to it that made it clear I had to go with them for “questioning.” They let me step back inside to change. For a moment, I thought about bolting out the back door, but what would be the point?

Outside, they guided me gently to their car while Esther followed, begging them to let me be. Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

In the two and a half months since my visa expired, I’d imagined this moment in every dramatic way possible: chaos, shouting, maybe even handcuffs. Instead, they were surprisingly kind, almost like friends inviting you out for a drink.

As the car pulled away, I stared out the window, numb with the painful realisation that the man I’d crossed oceans for sent them to my door.

***

I met my husband, Kola*, in 2014 during our NYSC at Area 1 Local Government, Abuja. We were signing the attendance sheet when he leaned in, introduced himself, and said he’d seen me around. Before we could talk further, my friends pulled me into their chatter. That evening, a message popped up on my phone screen from an unknown number — it was Kola. He had copied my number from the sheet. I should have dismissed him like I did other male corps members, but his boldness melted my heart.

Kola wasn’t my usual type, but his sweetness made up for it. He’d call late using MTN’s midnight bundle, talking about his day until we fell asleep. Within three weeks, we were speaking every day.

At our weekly CDS meetings, he always saved a seat for me, and I found myself smiling at how neatly he dressed. His shirts were crisp, paired with white socks and spotless sneakers. He looked like someone who had his life together, someone you could build a future with. By the end of our service year, I’d fallen completely for him.

We stayed together after NYSC. I liked that we shared values and that he respected my choice to wait until marriage. We talked about the future a lot. Soon, I landed a bank job while he searched for work with his biochemistry degree.

My mother worried at first about her last child marrying an unemployed man, but Kola won her over easily. He visited often and helped her with errands.

In 2016, after he finally landed a job as a lab scientist, he asked for my hand. By December, we were married.

From the beginning, Kola talked about leaving Nigeria to pursue a master’s and better opportunities in the medical field. I was more cautious, preferring to build a foundation at home — buying land, saving, starting small — but he was restless. By the time I found out I was pregnant with twin boys in 2017, he was already writing exams and applying to schools overseas.

By 2018, he got into a university in Florida with a partial scholarship. Tuition, visa fees, and flights were beyond our means, but I could see how much it meant to him, so I offered to help. My job at the bank provided me with access to a low-interest staff loan, and I viewed it as an investment in our future. He’d go first, settle in, and bring us over.

The day he left came faster and felt heavier than I expected. He insisted on matching outfits—his a simple blue kaftan, mine a fitted dress with rumpled sleeves. We dressed the twins and took quick pictures, though my smile barely reached my eyes.

At the airport, the crowd buzzed with excitement and tears, but all I heard was my own heartbeat. Watching him walk away felt like something inside me was being torn apart. I held our toddlers close as they cried, whispering that Daddy would call soon and wouldn’t be gone for long.

At first, we managed. We called and video-chatted every day, laughing about his new experiences— the cold, the oddness of everything, and how his skin reacted. I could tell he missed me as much as I missed him, and talking to him made my day brighter.

But slowly, things began to change.

Within months, calls became shorter and texts became less frequent. He said he was busy, and when the pandemic hit, he became even more distant. We argued a lot more. I was still paying off the loan I’d taken for his studies, half my salary gone each month, yet the money he sent barely covered the basics.

After every argument, I’d be the one to apologise. Some nights, after putting the children to bed, I’d sit on the balcony scrolling through old chats, smiling at his silly messages. He used to tell me everything. Now his messages were vague, only detailing how difficult his life had become.

Still, I clung to the hope that in 2021, he would finish his master’s and send for us.

When that time came, I felt hopeful again, thinking it was finally our turn to be together. But he insisted things weren’t going as planned. Even with a work permit, the post-pandemic job market was tough, and he only found work as a taxi driver. I waited patiently, even as months stretched into a year.

Later, he began discussing the possibility of moving to Canada, stating that his chances would be better there, though it would take longer. I didn’t argue, but I could feel him slipping away. The twins often asked when they could see their daddy again, and I never had an answer.

By January 2022, he had been gone nearly four years. Around that time, he moved into a flat with a Nigerian couple and gave me the wife’s number in case I ever needed to reach him urgently.

From our first conversation, Esther was warm and friendly in that familiar, easy way that makes you feel like you’ve known someone for years. She was about my age, and her son was around the same age as the twins. We bonded quickly, talking about motherhood, work, and life as Nigerian women abroad. I told her I hoped to join Kola soon, and we chatted about schools and housing; I even sent her clothes in the winter. It felt good to have her as a friend.

As Esther and I grew closer, our conversations shifted. She’d ask if there was any update on my move, and when I mentioned Kola’s plan to move to Canada, she frowned at the idea. She said it might be easier for me to settle things in the US — that long-distance marriages rarely survive this long. At first, I didn’t pay too much attention, but her words started to stick.

Around the same time, my mother began pressing me. She said four years was too long for a man to live apart from his wife and children. Between her words and Esther’s, I began to think deeply about my situation.

I decided to start saving for the move on my own. I was tired of my banking job and the monotony of life in Nigeria. When I told Kola about my plans, he dismissed the idea, saying he wanted to do things the proper way and would send for us when the time was right. Still, he refused to give a clear timeline.

By 2023, I’d made up my mind. Esther convinced me to surprise him. She said seeing me in person might make Kola take our family’s relocation more seriously. Her cousin’s wedding in June provided the perfect opportunity— we used the invitation to apply for a two-month tourist visa. My mother agreed to care for the children while I was away, and I sold my car to raise money for the trip. All the while, Kola thought I was still waiting in Nigeria.

When I arrived, Esther was waiting for me at the airport. Seeing her in person felt surreal. I couldn’t stop thinking about the day Kola left Nigeria. Five years later, I was the one arriving, and he had no idea.

As we drove to his apartment, Esther called him. He answered on the first ring, something he hadn’t done with me in months. He hadn’t even taken any of my calls all evening. She told him I was with her and had come to the US. There was a long silence, then he asked if it was a joke. When she handed me the phone, I confirmed it was me.

He stayed silent for a moment before saying he would be home in two hours. His tone was flat, neither excited nor surprised.

When he walked in that night, I tried to hug him, but he stood still. His body felt heavy against mine, and for a moment, I wondered if this was the same man I’d been waiting for. He looked older, rounder: I couldn’t remember if he had always looked that way. His first questions weren’t “How are you?” or “How was your flight?” He only asked why I had come without telling him and about my job. When I said I had quit, I could see deep lines of pent-up anger form on his face.

I’d imagined so many versions of our reunion: how he’d lift me up and tell me he loved me, how we’d spend the night catching up on the years we’d missed, and how we’d warm ourselves in each other’s company. Instead, we spent the night with our backs turned to each other, almost like strangers forced to play house. In the days that followed, his behaviour only got worse. He left home early and returned late, always saying he had rides to complete. I told myself work might be hard, that he was stressed, but deep down I knew something was off. He treated me like I was invisible, and I couldn’t understand why my showing up unannounced was such a grave offense he couldn’t forgive.

Two weeks later, I broke down in front of Esther and told her everything — the distance, the coldness, the silence. She sighed deeply before revealing something she had kept from me. When Kola first moved into their apartment, she said, he lived like a bachelor. Women came and went, sometimes even sex workers. He only stopped bringing them home when her husband complained about the noise.

I sat there shaking, feeling like my chest was splitting open. Still, a part of me wasn’t surprised. He had barely touched me since I arrived.

That night, when he came home, I confronted him with everything I’d heard. He didn’t deny it. He looked straight at me and said, “And so what? You think I’d stay five years without a woman?”

I just stood there, frozen. But he didn’t stop; he needed to break my heart into finer pieces. So, he struck harder.

“You’ve never satisfied me. Even before I left Nigeria. You just lay in bed like a log of wood.” Hearing those words from the man I’d waited five years for felt like a knife twisting inside me. After that night, everything fell apart completely.

The distance between us grew unbearable. He stopped pretending to care. When I brought up legalising my stay, he shut it down immediately. He said he wouldn’t process anything for me because he didn’t want the kids growing up in America. He claimed they’d end up spoiled. Every conversation ended with him shouting and saying hurtful things.

Then one afternoon, in the middle of another argument, he told me he didn’t want the marriage anymore. He said we weren’t compatible and had only been pretending from the very start. I begged him to reconsider, but he was firm. When I refused to leave and his flatmates supported me, he packed his things and walked out.

I thought he’d come back after a few days, but he never did. When he stopped picking up my calls, I began to panic. Every attempt to reach him through family and friends failed because Kola had cut everyone off.

By then, my visa had expired for over a month, and I was stranded: no husband, no money, no papers.

For weeks, I could barely get out of bed. I had left my children, my job, my whole life behind, only to be abandoned in a country that still felt strange. My family in Nigeria began sending me money to get by, and Esther urged me to hold on a little longer. She said I could find some small under-the-table work, save, and later legalize my stay to bring my children over.

I was still weighing my options when we heard the knock that changed everything.

***

The holding centre was cold and impersonal. I sat for hours, unsure what would happen next. Eventually, an officer asked if I wanted a lawyer or to opt for voluntary departure. I didn’t understand until Esther whispered that it meant I could buy my own ticket and leave within weeks instead of being detained and deported.

I chose that option, but they wouldn’t release me until I had the money, so Esther helped me call my family. We signed several documents, officers were assigned to escort me, and by the time I finally left that night, the sky was pitch black, mirroring the emptiness I felt inside.

The two weeks before my departure were a blur of tears and sleepless nights. Deep down, I knew Kola reported. Who else had my exact address?

I called and messaged him about my deportation, but he never responded. His silence confirmed my suspicion.

Esther cried the day I left. She apologised over and over, but I told her not to blame herself. The fate of my marriage had been sealed long before I came.

The flight back to Nigeria was long and quiet. I stared out the window until the clouds blurred and my eyes burned, unable to believe that after everything, I was returning empty-handed. I’d imagined welcoming my children to a new life, not leaving behind the ruins of my marriage.

Back in Nigeria, I slipped into a deep depression.

I moved in with my mother and stayed indoors for weeks, unable to face anyone who might ask questions. But when they eventually found out, something unexpected happened: no one judged me. I was met with quiet compassion. The same church members I had been too ashamed to face began showing up at my door. They never asked questions, though I could tell they already knew. They brought food, prayed with me, and sat with me in silence. They treated me like a widow — and in many ways, that was exactly how I felt.

It’s been over a year now. I’m rebuilding my life, one small piece at a time. I finally reached Kola about a divorce, and he agreed without hesitation, like he’d been waiting for me. But when I asked him to resume financial support for the children, he said he wanted custody. He claimed he no longer trusted me to raise them and wanted them sent to his parents in a remote village in Oyo. Those people have only seen my children once. I told him I’d never allow it. I’m ready to fight this to the very end.

This past year has forced me to grow in ways I never imagined. I’ve come to believe that everything happened exactly as it was meant to. Maybe I needed to lose everything first, to finally find the strength to move forward with my life.

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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.

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For Peter* (49), relationships have been a journey of highs and crushing lows. He opens up about betrayal, the challenges of raising children under difficult circumstances, and the hard lessons from two divorces that have reshaped his views on love and trust.

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

I’m currently single after two divorces. It’s not what I planned, but that’s where life has brought me. I’ve accepted that love may not be for everybody. I focus on my children now, that’s what matters most to me.

That’s tough. Let’s start from the beginning. How did you meet your first wife?

I’d lived with my uncle for almost 10 years in the city before I returned to my hometown around 2005. That’s when I met Sandra. Before her, I’d had a few relationships, but nothing serious. She was popular in the community, and we soon started talking about marriage.

A few months into courting her, she told me she was pregnant. I was 29. Even though it was sooner than I planned, I went to her family, paid the bride price, and we had a traditional wedding. We moved to the city just before her pregnancy began to show.

At first, our marriage was good. I ran a business centre and she had a small provisions store. Soon, we had our first child, then two more in quick succession. But each child added pressure. Our income barely covered the family, and even sending the kids to government schools was a struggle. Sandra kept complaining and comparing us to others, which made things even harder.

That must have been stressful.

We started fighting all the time. She grew distant and kept friends I didn’t approve of — women who constantly badmouthed their husbands. One time, she even embarrassed me at a hometown meeting, insulting me in front of everyone.

Then, in 2013, came the biggest shock of my life. I noticed she guarded her phone too much. One day, I tried using it to call my mum, and she snatched it away. My curiosity got the better of me, and when I eventually went through it, I saw messages to an unknown number. She was threatening a man, saying she would expose him if he didn’t send money for his child.

I confronted her, and she initially denied everything. But when I threatened to involve our families, she admitted our first child — the very reason I married her — wasn’t mine. He belonged to Festus*, the man she’d been with just before we met.

I was shocked and asked her to leave my house so I could think. Instead of apologising, she said she was tired of suffering with me, packed her things, and left for our hometown. I had to keep our other two children with my mother.

Even now, that’s one of the most painful experiences of my life.

I’m sorry. How did you move on from that?

I was shattered. I felt like a failure as a man and a husband. For a while, I drowned myself in drinking and self-pity. But I still believed I could find someone else who would treat me differently. That hope is what made me open up again when I met my second wife, Patience*.

Tell me about Patience

I met her in 2017 while she was doing NYSC. She often came to my business centre near the local government office to print documents. We got talking, and I told her everything about my past and children. She was kind and sympathetic, so I believed she wouldn’t betray me like Sandra did. We dated for a year and got married in 2018.

What was that marriage like?

At first, it was good, but the problems started soon enough. Patience was younger and harder to handle.

In what ways?

She was rude, and her mother had far too much control over her. If I said one thing and her mother said another, she would always follow her mother.

When she gave birth to our daughter in 2019, her mother came to stay with us. I still had baby items from my older children in good condition, so I suggested we use them instead of wasting money on new ones. Her mother threw everything away. She said it was her daughter’s first child and she wouldn’t accept hand-me-downs.

The woman also pressured me to buy expensive things, including wrappers for Patience that cost over ₦200k at the time. No matter what I did, she complained and pushed until I gave in. Meanwhile, I was supporting Patience, the baby, and catering to my older children in secondary school. Unlike Sandra, who at least assisted financially, Patience didn’t work. She stayed home and was more demanding.

She also never really embraced my older children. She didn’t ask them to visit or try to build a relationship. That hurt me. I married her expecting at least some empathy, but I didn’t get it.

So, what led you to end the marriage?

The turning point came after our daughter turned one. Patience suddenly insisted she wanted another child. I knew I couldn’t handle it — not financially, not emotionally. She pressured me to stop using protection, so I stopped sleeping with her altogether and started coming home late to avoid her nagging.

For almost three years, we barely had any intimacy. She accused me of being wicked for denying her more children. Her mother constantly insulted me and made everything worse.

One day in April 2022, I returned from work to find that Patience had taken our daughter and gone back to her parents’ house.

I tried everything, but all pleas fell on deaf ears. After chasing her for almost four months without success, I asked myself if it was even worth it. The marriage had been hell. When I officially filed for divorce, she suddenly wanted to mend the relationship, but my mind was made up. After five years together, the marriage ended. I’ve been single ever since.

I’m curious. How have these experiences shaped your idea of love and relationships?

They’ve shown me marriage isn’t for everybody. I tried twice and it didn’t work. I know that relationships can be beautiful, based on what I’ve seen around me, but I’d rather focus on my children and my finances. I don’t regret how things ended because none of it was my fault. If I ever date again, I wouldn’t take it up to the point of marriage. I need to protect my peace of mind.

Fair enough. How would you say the streets are treating you? Rate it on a scale of 1-10

9/10. Being single gives me freedom. Apart from the occasional loneliness, it’s nice knowing I can spend or save how I want and live on my terms.

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Marriage may seem perfect in pictures, but the real test happens in everyday life. Beyond the smiles and celebrations are the challenges, sacrifices, and choices that truly define a relationship.

After hearing from wives about their experiences, we asked Nigerian husbands if they would choose their wives again. Their answers reveal what long-term commitment really means.

“Her new appearance might push me into an affair” — Charles*, 46

If I had to marry again, I wouldn’t choose my wife. We have been married for 15 years, but the main reason I’m still in the marriage is for the unity of the home and our children.

I do like that she supports me and faces our financial struggles head-on, but still, we’ve grown apart due to the nature of her businesses. Her ambition has driven her to run several trading ventures, and she has taken on the role of a market woman.

Over time, it’s changed her appearance. With childbirth, stress, and the demands of her work, she now looks much older and darker. That’s why I no longer find her attractive.

I know she works this hard because my office job does not pay much, and I respect her sacrifices, but it doesn’t change how I feel. I try to focus on the good and control my emotions. I only hope these feelings don’t push me into an affair.

“She stood by me when I got into trouble” — Kola*, 51

I’ve been married for 21 years, and I’d do it all over again. I met my wife shortly after coming out of a bad relationship. We met at a bar, and at first I only planned for us to hook up, but I quickly fell in love. She’s been there for me in ways I didn’t think were possible.

In 2018, I ran into serious trouble with the law. I stood as a guarantor for a friend who stole millions and disappeared. I lost my job, my reputation and spent six years unable to find a job. During that time, my wife carried all the responsibilities. She never belittled me and even went the extra mile to make it feel like I was still in control.

Her support, given so selflessly, is why I would choose her again in a heartbeat.

“She gave me a beating that landed me in the hospital” — Aman*, 48

I got divorced last year, and based on my 19 years of marriage, I would never make that mistake again.

We were introduced in 2004 by one of my uncles. At first, she seemed sweet and nice, but once we settled into marriage, I realised it was all pretence. She was troublesome and constantly fought with people in the neighbourhood. They often came to me with complaints, which embarrassed me.

At home, she picked fights over the smallest things. If I spent time with my friends, she would complain endlessly. Eventually, I became frustrated. I wasn’t getting what I needed from the marriage, so I started seeing other women. I didn’t leave outright because I didn’t want to disrupt our children’s lives, but emotionally, I checked out.

Things worsened when she began starving me as punishment. Even though I provided money for food, she refused to serve me meals whenever we argued. Two years before our divorce, I stopped eating at home completely.

My breaking point came in 2023. During an argument, she kept shoving me. I slapped her, but instead of backing down, she attacked me. She punched me so hard I lost my breath, and when I fell, she pounced on me. That day, I landed in the hospital.

After that incident, I packed my things and left. By then, my children were old enough to stand on their own, so I filed for divorce. It was the best decision for my peace and health. Looking back, marrying her was a mistake. If I’d taken more time to get to know her, I might have avoided such a toxic marriage.

“Our children show her more affection” — John*, 63

I wouldn’t. I can’t say I totally regret my marriage, but I’d be fine if it never happened.

I’ve been married for 41 years. I met my wife in 1984, around the neighbourhood where I played football. We started sleeping together, and when she got pregnant, I was just 22. It wasn’t what I’d planned, but I did what was right and married her.

Over the years, we’ve grown apart. She doesn’t trust me, and I’ve never felt we were truly on the same page. Our differences showed up in how we raised our children. I was stricter, while she was lenient, and the kids naturally gravitated to her, seeing me as the difficult parent.

The biggest disappointment came in 2022 through our son. He was living at home when one of my friend’s daughters moved in for her youth service. Unknown to me, he started sleeping with her, and she fell pregnant. When confronted, he denied it, which didn’t surprise me, given his character.

What shocked me was my wife defending him and calling the girl a liar. A DNA test eventually confirmed he was the father, but by then the damage was done. Because my friend felt betrayed, he took his daughter and has refused to let me meet my grandchild.

It hurt that my wife enabled him, even though she’d faced a similar situation herself. That incident caused a major rift between us. Today, our children show her more affection because she always takes their side.

“She came back to Nigeria for me” — Jamal*, 28

If I had to marry again, I’d definitely choose my wife. We’ve been married for a year, and I truly believe she’s my soulmate. Our relationship started in 2016, when we were coursemates at university. Many doubted us back then, but we’ve proven them wrong.

What makes us work is our shared wavelength. After graduating in 2019, she left Nigeria for her master’s program, and I worried the distance would break us. Instead, it made us stronger. Because of me, she returned in 2022. I knew I had to marry her.

The past year has been wonderful. We have made sacrifices, but they have only deepened our bond. I feared marriage might change things, but everything feels the same except now I get to call her my wife. It is one of the best decisions I have ever made.

“She slept with another man for money” — Chuka*, 50

If I had the chance to choose again, I would not marry her. In fact, I would not marry at all.

I have been married for 20 years to a woman I grew up with. We were childhood friends from the same city, and I thought our familiarity would make marriage easier. I was wrong.

For me, peace of mind is more important than anything, and marriage has not given me that. These days, it feels like marriage is no longer “for better or worse.” Many women only want the better part. In my case, money became the biggest issue. She has been verbally abusive and often compares me to other men with more money just to bruise my ego. In 2017, she even had an affair because of money.

When I found out, it was a tough decision to stay. We have managed to move past it, mostly because after so many years together, we understand each other’s flaws. Still, the reality of marriage hasn’t been what I imagined when I chose her.

“Her loyalty makes me grateful I chose her” — Dubem*, 35

Yes, I’d choose her again. I’ve been married for eight years, after dating my wife for three. The way we met still makes me smile. I noticed her struggling to cross the expressway and helped her. That small moment grew into something bigger.

She has become such a part of me and truly understands me. I am an engineer, and because of the nature of my job, I sometimes have to be away for up to six months when I get contracts. During those times, she runs my business and manages our children perfectly.

We always present a united front. Even when her family questions the nature of my job and how often I am away, she defends me without hesitation. That loyalty and partnership make me grateful I chose her, and I would do it again.

“I fear she’ll never love me the way I want” — Sam*, 31

I’ve been married for three years, and while I love my wife, I’m not sure I’d make the same choice again.

We met on a dating app, where she made it clear that she was fresh out of a relationship, but I thought she was ready to start afresh. I didn’t realise it would be an issue until after our wedding.

Her previous relationship lasted four years, and it’s been difficult for her to fully detach from her ex. I noticed she still texted him, posted about him on her status, and engaged with his posts on X. When I brought it up, she accused me of being insecure. I let it go because I didn’t want to appear jealous, hoping she would make adjustments.

But nothing changed. When I raised the issue again, she claimed she had cut him off. Earlier this year, I discovered she lied and even removed me from her stories so I wouldn’t see her posts. That’s when I realised the secrecy went deeper than I thought. I don’t believe she’s physically cheating, but it feels like I don’t have her full attention in our marriage.

The truth is, I pushed for marriage more than she did. Sometimes I worry she only agreed because of my persistence. Now I fear she’ll never love me the way I want. I’m not sure I can live with that.

I’ll be stuck struggling to raise children for the rest of my life — Azeez*, 60

I’d marry my wife again, but only under different circumstances. I’ve been married for 23 years, and while we’re not unhappy, I’ve carried the weight of our family alone. Twice, I gave her money to start a business, but she squandered it, leaving the entire burden of running the household on me.

One of our biggest conflicts was over children. I only wanted three, but because she felt pressured by family to produce a male child, she insisted we keep going. I gave in just to have peace, and we didn’t stop until we finally had a boy, at number six.

Now my first child is 22, and I still feel guilty that I could only afford to send her to a polytechnic instead of a university. My youngest is just six, and I hate that I’ll be stuck struggling to raise children for the rest of my life. This isn’t the future I planned out.

“She’s my good luck charm” — Kunle*, 44

I’ve been married for 12 years, and I’d make the same decision again without hesitation.

Before meeting my wife, I was a wild man, carefree and without much direction. In 2013, when we bumped into each other at a park while travelling, something clicked. We exchanged numbers, and from that first conversation, we just vibed naturally.

Since then, I’ve had to step up in ways I never imagined. She helped me transition from being reckless to becoming responsible. I love that she sits me down to ask about my plans and goals, almost like an accountability partner. Slowly, my business has turned around for the better. I’m grateful that she pushed me to think long-term, build stability, and stay consistent.

Meeting her was the right choice, and marrying her remains one of the best decisions of my life.

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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?

Ben and I met in 2017 and got married the following year. We’ve been together for eight years.

How did you meet?

Our parents are family friends. One day, my mum said, “Do you remember Mummy Ben? She’s looking for a wife for her son, and I think you should meet him. He’s a good boy.”

At 28, it wasn’t the first or fifteenth time my mum had tried to set me up with someone. I always found a way to ignore her matchmaking attempts. But this time, I was just tired. I’d just left a relationship after discovering my “boyfriend” was actually somebody’s husband. I was at the point where I didn’t even want to do love again.

If I were going to get married, someone would have to literally carry and put me inside the marriage because I didn’t have strength for boyfriend-girlfriend again. So, when my mum brought up Ben’s matter, I was just like, “Oya. Bring him.”

We met up, and surprisingly, I found him attractive and funny, so we just continued. I don’t think we ever actually said, “We’re dating now.” We just found ourselves in the relationship.

Do you have any idea why Ben was open to being matchmade?

I later found out that he was planning to leave the country to join his brother, and his family wanted him to marry first so he wouldn’t bring a white girl home.

We started dating towards the end of 2017 and got married seven months later in 2018. Ben relocated a week after our wedding. I knew we’d have a long-distance marriage from the start, but I thought it’d be for a few months or at least a year until he settled my papers. But it’s 2025, and we still live in different countries.

Why’s that?

It’s due to a couple of issues, but the summary I can share is that Ben hasn’t been able to sort out his papers, so he can’t legally bring me over.

Interesting. How do you both navigate a long-distance marriage?

Ben visits once or twice a year and stays for a week or two. Then, we do a lot of texts and video calls. The calls involve careful planning because there’s a six-hour time difference, and finding a time that works for both of us is difficult. But we make sure to do video calls every Sunday and at least two other times during the week so the kids can see him — we have three now.

I sometimes struggle with this communication arrangement, though. There are times when I just want to gist with my husband or rant about my day, but I have to wait until midnight or the next day to talk to him because he’s at work. Also, my body is not firewood. Sometimes I wish he were close by. But what can I do? I just have to stay patient and pray that things will work out for our good soon.

How about finances? How do you both make it work?

Ben pays the children’s school fees and our house rent. He also sends us foodstuff in bulk through his mum (she’s a major supplier for most food items) every two months. Then sometimes, if I whine him enough, he sends me $50 or $100 to get myself things. But that only comes once in three or four months.

I also try not to bill him too much because of his responsibilities. He still has to pay rent and other bills over there, including travel expenses when he comes around and the fees incurred from trying to sort my papers.

I handle the other bills that come up, like electricity, fuel, children’s clothes, medicine, and any unexpected expenses from my salary. Sometimes I still have to buy food, because my children eat like no tomorrow, and the foodstuff my husband sends barely lasts two months. I also own a tailor shop in front of my house that brings me extra money. As soon as I finish work at school, I resume at my shop. I have an assistant, and she helps with some of the sewing.

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

Not much. In fact, besides communication, money might be another issue we have. Ben is very guarded about money. Like, he doesn’t trust me with it. I’m not asking him to tell me how much he earns or send me money every day, but at least I should have more access to his finances.

I’ve complained about how he prefers to send money to his mum to buy us foodstuff. Why not just send me the money? I also know the road to the market. If the issue is that he wants me to patronise his mum, all he needs to do is say so when he sends the money. I tell him that his decision to give his mum money makes me feel that he doesn’t trust me with money, but he thinks I overreact.

He also argues that he’s already started the habit of sending me foodstuff through his mum, and if he stops now, she might think it’s because of me. I see his point, so I try not to complain too much, but I’m not comfortable with it.

Hmmm

It’s quite frustrating. I already know there’s no hope of getting a monthly allowance or something like that. I think the fact that he hasn’t lived in Nigeria for so long might also play a part in this. He believes I should be fine as long as there’s food and the rent is paid. But those other “small” expenses add up and finish your money. I’m almost always broke before my salary enters.

This money issue is a big reason I don’t want another child. I know Ben wants four children, and he’s already hinting at a lastborn, but me, I’ve closed shop. He doesn’t know I’m actively avoiding pregnancy. I’m already struggling to care for the ones I have. I can’t add another one, especially since he might not provide sufficient financial support. He’s trying o, but I can’t handle a fourth child if he continues like this.

Right. How do his annual visits usually go? Do you get to do things together or plan for dates?

He usually packs a lot into his schedule whenever he visits. It’s the only time he also gets to visit family and friends. So, we don’t go out like that, except when we go out with the kids to eateries and recreational centres.

Curious. Is there a potential timeline for you and the kids to join him abroad?

The plan right now is for me to join him while the kids stay with my in-laws. We can’t afford to move three children at once. I hope we’ll have my papers sorted within the next two years, but it can even be much earlier. There’s nothing God cannot do.

What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

I think it’s pretty clear: For us to afford to move our family to the same country.

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: She’s the One but We’re Financially Incompatible

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This article is part of Had I Known, Zikoko’s theme for September 2025, where we explore Nigerian stories of regret and the lessons learnt. Read more Had I Known stories here.

When Gozie*(41) decided she was going to marry Charles, she never imagined the decision would change her life forever in the worst ways possible.

In this story, she shares how she fell into a whirlwind marriage with Charles, and silently suffered financial, and emotional abuse, miscarriages and betrayal, all because she wanted to be a good wife.

This is Gozie’s story, as told to Betty:

On a sunny February day in 2015, I woke up to call my husband, Charles*. I wanted to remind him about his flight back to Nigeria I had booked for him. He didn’t pick up. I tried to dismiss the growing worry in the pit of my stomach, but it grew with every unanswered call.

Not long after, one of his friends called with words that left me in a dizzying spell.

“Charles stabbed himself five times. He’s in the ICU.”

Frantic, I hopped on the next available flight to the UK, hoping I wouldn’t arrive too late. On that long flight, my mind roamed freely, perching and turning over the lies, frustration and chaos that marked our relationship from the very start.

***

I met Charles in 2004 through a friend who was dating his cousin. During a visit to her, Charles tried to move to me. I had an immediate dislike for him.

My friend’s boyfriend was abusive, and I worried that the other members of his family, like Charles, would share similar traits.

My instincts signalled all the signs of a red flag. How I wish I had listened.

At first, I refused to have anything to do with Charles, I didn’t like his vibe, but my friend kept urging me to give him a chance. I eventually gave him my number to keep the peace. We chatted occasionally, but that was all to it.

In 2004, he left Nigeria for a master’s programme in the UK, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought fate had helped me remove him from my path.

While he was in the UK, I heard he got entangled with a white woman and eventually married her. I didn’t care. He wasn’t my cup of tea.

I moved on with my life after that and dated other people.

***

Fast forward to 2010, six years after my encounter with Charles, he resurfaced on my radar.

One random day in April, I ran into Charles’s brother during an outing. We had a nice chat, and I thought nothing of our interaction as we went our separate ways. But he must have told Charles he saw me because, a few days later, Charles called out of the blue.

I’d just left a bad relationship during the period, so naturally, I was emotionally vulnerable. Charles noticed this and used it to his advantage. He managed to get under my skin.

It was a whirlwind of events. One minute, I didn’t like him, and the next, we were speaking every day. Charles told me he ended his first marriage and confessed how much he missed me since we last saw each other. Not long after, he brought up marriage. I was inexperienced with men and their deceits, so his mention of marriage made it easy to fall headfirst.

When I told my family, they pushed back hard. I was the lastborn, and they all treated me like an egg. They didn’t want me to go off to a different country to get married to a man they barely knew. I had visited the UK for holidays in the past, and my family encouraged me to visit him in the UK to be sure that he was being honest about his promises.

With a heart full of hope, I packed a bag and went to the UK to see Charles in August 2010. I remember him excitedly meeting me at my hotel with a gentle smile on his face.

I was 26 at the time and had never had sex. I refused to get into sexual relationships with anyone who wasn’t my husband because of my faith. But things got heated with Charles, and we had sex. In my mind, sex sealed our fate and meant we were committed forever.

He proposed in September 2010, and despite my family’s loud reservations, I said “yes”.

I doubted my choices a lot during the wedding preparations.

First, there was the case of friction with his family. Where my family made things easy, Charles’s family were the opposite.

We did a small traditional wedding in January 2011, but there were fights about where to hold the white wedding. We planned to do a more elaborate ceremony in the East later. However, due to some issues around misappropriation of funds, we moved the wedding to Ogun where we lived. His mother insisted on the East and swore she wouldn’t attend if we held it elsewhere. We privately decided that we’d have our white wedding in the UK instead and keep it an intimate affair.

I wanted to back out of the wedding then, but I told myself it was too late. Moreover, I’d given my heart and body to Charles; I wanted to hold true to the vow I made to myself. So, I swallowed my doubts and kept quiet.

We moved to the UK that same month. I had just finished my NYSC, and I wanted to stay back in Nigeria to get some work experience, but he convinced me to move. He promised to pay me a stipend until I found a job. His offer delighted me. In that moment, I felt like he wasn’t a bad choice after all. He was a good man, my good man.

After we moved, my belly was initially full of the butterflies of newlywed bliss. We weren’t rich, but managed. He also reneged on his promise of a monthly stipend, but I didn’t complain. Soon, Charles started broaching the topic of expanding our family. Sure, it was the natural next step, but I wanted us to have our white wedding before we brought a baby into the mix. So to avoid stories that touch, I used birth control. The only person I confided in was my sister, but she must have mentioned my reservations to her husband, who insisted that a baby wasn’t a bad idea. So, I stopped using birth control.

I got pregnant for the first time in 2011. Unfortunately, I miscarried shortly after I found out. It was a devastating loss that left me sad for months. But we kept trying and had a lovely baby girl in 2012. I thought her birth would bring us closer, but it only worsened our fights.

Charles suddenly wanted a white wedding again, but nothing like what we had previously agreed on. It had to be on his terms alone. When I refused, we settled for a small court wedding in the UK with no fanfare. The whole thing left a bitter taste in my mouth and further stretched our already strained relationship. But I told myself marriage was about compromise, especially since I now had a daughter to think about. But as time went by, the cracks in our marriage only widened.

Charles never cared about my health. After my miscarriage, I noticed a clicking sound in my head. It bothered me for months until I took a trip to the hospital. Doctors discovered an enlarged pituitary gland. I was afraid something would happen and I would leave my husband and daughter alone in this world. I couldn’t bear the thought.

I had several hospital appointments, but Charles never once followed me. He always had work excuses, but they never stopped him from sparing the time for his favourite football games.

It made me feel like I was unimportant to him, but anytime I tried to speak to him about it, it ended in fights. . I eventually stopped asking and faced it all alone.

I considered leaving, but I couldn’t stand the shame of facing my family. Afterall, they warned me. In February 2013, I finally got a UK residential permit and landed a nice, cushy job that helped us at home. That was when Charles started mounting pressure on me to move back to Nigeria. I resisted at first because the UK had the best care for my condition. Charles insisted, because he needed to have control over my actions and because a part of me wanted to come back to Nigeria too, I agreed to move back.

I returned to Nigeria in 2013 while Charles remained in the UK.

***

Charles lived in the UK while I stayed in Nigeria with our daughter for two years. Somehow, the distance between us calmed the hateful fire that always blazed when we were together. We still fought, but less frequently. I foolishly thought this meant our relationship was getting better.

Then, in early 2015, Charles started talking about visiting Nigeria. I booked the flight like I always did and looked forward to our reunion.

In February, when it was just a few days to his travel date, I called to remind him. I didn’t get a response at first, but I chalked it up to work. However, when I tried to call later and still couldn’t reach him, I got worried. That was when his friend called to tell me he was in the ICU unit of a hospital.

“How? What happened? Where?” I fired through the other end of the phone, but I was met with silence. When he finally spoke, he said Charles had stabbed himself because he was having terrible problems at work.

The news broke me. Even though we had our history, he was still my husband. I dusted my passports and planned an impromptu trip to the UK.

Charles was barely alive when I found him. He made his attempt at our home; he did it at a friend’s place. Like a devoted wife, I stood by his side and remained in the UK to care for him while he recovered. This was in addition to caring for our daughter and taking responsibility for the upkeep of the home while he was down.

Charles refused to return to the agency he worked at after he recovered. It didn’t matter that they called him back, he insisted he wasn’t happy there. While I understood his concerns, I was also scared of what his decision meant for our finances. My work was inconsistent, and we had a daughter, how were we going to survive??

In September 2015, Charles decided that we should move back to Nigeria, and I agreed. Managing on the little money I made wasn’t sustainable.

Sadly, moving back is a decision I still regret.

In Nigeria, we moved into a twin duplex he built in Ogun state and we tried to build our life up again. Charles started several businesses and we were back to fighting all the time. Shortly after the move, I got pregnant with our second child.
I wasn’t happy about the pregnancy.

I didn’t see myself as one of those women who kept having babies while in bad relationships, but abortion wasn’t an option for me. I decided to see the pregnancy through, after all, I thought it would be nice for our daughter to have a sibling.

The pregnancy was very difficult; it took a huge toll on my body, and this meant several hospital visits. Still, Charles remained unsupportive, just like the first time. All he did was complain about how expensive my pregnancy was. He threw a fit every time I asked for money.

His reluctance made me miss important follow-up visits that would have ensured the safety of my pregnancy.

At eight months, I had a stillbirth. A boy. The hate I had for Charles calcified at that point.

Our son’s death was avoidable, and it broke me into pieces I’m still gathering together today.

It wasn’t that Charles didn’t have the money for the hospital visits, he just didn’t want to spend it on me.

We buried our boy in our home that year with great sadness. But it was as if Charles didn’t think that was enough suffering.

In 2016, he told me he was going to sell the house because he needed money.

His words felt like another punch in the gut for me. I cried and begged him to sell any of his other properties and leave us in that one. I just wanted to remain close to my son, but he refused. He wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I tried to make him see reason. I begged any of his relatives who might listen, but they didn’t care. They supported Charles when it mattered, as long as it didn’t affect whatever support they got from him. Charles eventually got his way and sold the house,

It felt like losing our son all over again.

As he hadn’t put me through enough torture, Charles resurrected the idea of a white wedding again. I felt blood rush to my head the day he brought it up. He couldn’t spend his money to save our child, but suddenly found the will to do so on a white wedding? Over my dead body.

I refused and made it clear he wasn’t my husband. That has been one of our biggest issues since 2016, but I refuse to shift my position. That ship has sailed.

These days, he goes around with his side of the story. How I’m an evil woman and how his family agrees that I’m a bad wife.

It is ridiculous because that man is the green snake hiding in plain sight on a green lawn.

He’s made sure I remain financially dependent on him. Every time, I get a job or try to start a business, he sabotages it.

In 2021, we had a huge fight because he told his aunt that I was frivolous with money. This is a man who starves me of funds to care for our daughter, yet portrays me as careless.

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At a point, I involved my older sister. But she belongs to the generation that believes it’s better to endure a bad marriage than leave. She turned me away when I tried to squat with her till I figured out something better. That rejection hurt. I had to move back in with Charles. I didn’t do so without a plan, though. Since 2021, I’ve been saving up without his knowledge. Every naira saved is a step closer to freedom for me and my daughter.
Soon, I’ll have enough money to rent my own place and pay for my child’s needs. I’m counting the days until I can throw Charles’s wickedness back in his face.

***

Marrying Charles is the worst decision I’ve made in my life.

He suffocated every joy I had. Sometimes, I can’t recognise the woman in the mirror. I used to be, strong, confident, in control.

Charles warped my understanding of who I am. But I know better now.

I’ll keep my head down and save as much as I can. Then I’ll leave him in the dust of my rearview mirror forever.

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Between what we expect from love and the reality of building a life with someone, marriage can be full of surprises. To see what marriage really looks like beyond the wedding vows, we asked Nigerian wives if they would choose their husbands a second time.

“God used him to teach me some lessons” — Sarah*, 55

If you had asked me this question a few years ago, my answer would have been different. Back then, I would’ve said no. But today, my answer is yes. My perspective has changed with time and with spiritual growth. I’ve come to see that God doesn’t make mistakes, and everything I’ve gone through has shaped me into who I am.

When we got married in 1999, the younger me wanted a husband who had money, a stable job, and could care for my parents. Instead, I married a full-time pastor with no income, who openly said he didn’t feel obligated to provide financially. In the early years, I saw that as neglect and selfishness. I hated his ministry and felt like he married his church. I had to pay school fees, support my parents, and even buy his clothes. That wasn’t how I envisioned my marriage.

One of my most painful memories was around 2008, when I used to hawk diapers. With his permission, I worked overtime that evening, since I wanted to gather enough money for our son’s fees. Because it rained heavily, I had to trek home. I got back around 10 p.m., soaking wet, but when I knocked on our gate, he refused to open it. He left me outside in the rain, and I ended up sleeping at a widow’s house nearby.

Till this day, he hasn’t apologised. Even now, the memory brings tears to my eyes. The only consolation is that my son graduated and is now a medical doctor, so my suffering was not in vain.

For 26 years of our marriage, my husband also never visited my parents and spoke harshly to them. His grievance is that they never approved of his pastoral calling and always pressured him to provide.

Still, he’s changing for the better. His ministry is finally growing, and people he prayed for have begun to bless him financially. Last month, for the very first time in 26 years, he sent ₦20,000 to my parents. As little as it is, it’s progress.

Today, I have no regrets. I believe everything happened for a reason. God has trained me through all the pain, and I trust the future will be brighter. If I had chosen differently, maybe I wouldn’t have learned these lessons.

“I stayed back to care for him” — Vic*, 44

My husband died in 2023, but based on our 10 years of marriage, I wouldn’t marry him again.

We met after I had an accident in 2013. One day, while dressing my wounds at the hospital, he approached me. He love-bombed me, and within four months, we were married. The first issue was that he controlled me financially. A few months into our marriage, he said he wasn’t comfortable with me working, so I dropped my event planning business. I had to ask him for every kobo, and found it hard to adjust since I’d been independent before I met him.

A few years in, I realised he was flirtatious with other women. He worked on the Island while we lived on the mainland and often came home late or claimed he had to sleep over. I never suspected anything until a neighbour told me she had seen him with a woman nearby. After digging further, I discovered he had been lying about his long hours and spending time with other women. I was planning to walk away when he was diagnosed with blood cancer in 2020.

For the next three years, I stayed to take care of him — sleeping on cold hospital floors and selling off properties to fund his treatment. He died before we could afford advanced treatment abroad. Before he passed, he apologised and admitted he hadn’t treated me well. I forgave him, but if I had the choice again, I wouldn’t put myself through all of that.

“He’s my silver lining after a difficult life” — Hafsa*, 61

If I had to marry again, I would choose my husband without hesitation. He’s my silver lining in a life filled with dark clouds. My parents died when I was young, and I was raised by relatives who only cared that I got a degree and trained as a secretary. They never showed me love, so when I left, I wanted a place to call home.

I ended up in an abusive relationship, which lasted about six years. My ex would beat and threaten me whenever I tried to leave. I had no family or friends to run to. Eventually, he threw me out of his house in 1995. I was homeless and hopeless. I moved around with my CV, desperately looking for work.

That was how I met my husband. He ran a small firm and had advertised a vacancy. When I approached him, he told me the position had already been filled. But he kept checking on me, offering help where he could. A few months after we met, he gave me money to start a business so I wouldn’t remain stranded. By 1997, we were married. I expected him to change and become like my ex, but he never did.

Even when his business grew and he became more successful, he never made me feel out of place. He always carried me along, taking me to conferences and events, and he’s never been ashamed to introduce me as his wife.

One incident really proved his pure heart to me. Around 2007, my ex’s sister and wife tracked me down. They told me my ex was very ill. He kept slipping in and out of consciousness, and wouldn’t stop calling my name. The doctors said my presence might help him recover.

At first, I refused. I didn’t want to reopen old wounds or for my husband to get suspicious. But he overheard our conversation. Instead of being angry, he told me to go and help, even driving me there himself. Throughout the period, he never showed jealousy. He’d ask about my ex’s health, and sometimes sent money to his family. That level of understanding and generosity still amazes me.

Eventually, my ex recovered, and my visits stopped. But through it all, my husband showed me that after everything I’ve been through, marrying him remains the best decision of my life.

“26 years later, he’s still resentful” — Fathia*, 57

I wouldn’t marry my husband again. It is a decision I regret every day.

I met him in 1996 while working at Mr Biggs. I was 29, unmarried, and vulnerable. Most of my past relationships had failed, often because they preferred women with stronger educational standing. At that time, once you approached 30 as a woman, the pressure to settle was immense. He was tall, handsome, and from my church youth fellowship, so when he showed interest, I felt lucky.

I ignored the red flags. On our first date, he made me pay for everything, including transport, promising to refund me, but he never did. He played football for Bendel Insurance, so his only income came whenever they gave him a contract. I believed it was enough and thought I could support our family during the off-season. Our wedding was in 1999, funded entirely from my savings.

Marriage opened my eyes. His football dreams dried up, and he struggled to hold down the jobs I found for him. I had to be the sole provider. He became jealous and violent, accusing me of sleeping with other men for money. He beat me repeatedly, and each time I tried to leave, he threatened to take the children away.

As he got older, the beatings stopped, but he never stepped up. I trained all our children through school and started my own business, but he remained resentful. Recently, when I wanted to start another business, he blocked me, insisting I give him the funds instead. I’ve held back; I know giving him that financial control would only make things worse. If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t pick him.

“I’ve learnt not to base my happiness on him” — Maryam*, 33

It’s a tricky question, but I would.

I’ve been married for four years; I met my husband while working as a sales rep in a restaurant. He’s much older; there’s a 20-year age gap between us. I chose him because I trusted him, and he’s proven to be mature and responsible.

But living with someone day in and day out exposes you to their true character. I’ve always known him as a social butterfly, but shortly after I had my son in 2023, I suspected he was giving other women attention. Eventually, I found out he was having a serious affair with one woman and even told me he planned to marry her. He comes from a polygamous home, so it wasn’t surprising, but it went against our agreement.

The affair affected my mental health, especially since I was a housewife fully dependent on him. I began to sink into depression until I decided to focus on myself. I started looking for jobs, going out more, and eventually got into a business that he even supported financially out of guilt. I realised I shouldn’t put all my happiness on a man. He’s a partner, not my God.

Thankfully, his family supported me from the start, and my mother has been my backbone. Without a good family system, marriage can feel unbearable. Despite everything, he’s been responsible. I know what’s out there, and I know what I have. For me, the good outweighs the bad.

“My life would’ve been harder as a single mum” — Olanna*, 22

Yes, I would. But only because of my child.

I met my husband through a mutual friend just before I finished secondary school. We dated for six years before I fell pregnant last year, and since I did not want an abortion, my family insisted on marriage. He stepped up, and because he is older and mature, I agreed.

He’s selfless and puts others before himself, which is good, but it has affected my relationship with his family. After I gave birth, I struggled with postpartum depression, and his mum came to stay with us. Instead of helping, she focused on just holding the baby while I cooked, cleaned, and ran errands for everyone. Sometimes, I wished she hadn’t come at all.

His siblings and mum can be overbearing, often imposing their own methods of childcare because I am younger. For instance, I didn’t want my baby to have formula until she was older, but my mother-in-law insisted on starting at three months. My husband sided with his mum, and at that point, I regretted my decision.

Eventually, things got better. Looking back, I know my life would have been much harder as a single mum at such a young age. My marriage is still new, but one lesson I’ve learnt is that when you marry, you don’t just marry the man. You marry his family, too.

“He stood by me when I was chronically ill” — Ayo*, 39

I’ve been married for 16 years, and if I could go back, I’d still choose my husband again.

Marriage is beautiful when you know you are not doing life alone, and when you have someone who truly loves you.

We dated all through my university years, and I got married at just 23. But even then, I could see he was a kind and selfless man. That kindness has never changed. I’m a lawyer and career woman, often more ambitious than he is, yet he’s always given me the freedom and support to grow without making me feel small. What has carried us through is friendship. Many people don’t realise you also have to be friends with your partner.

Of course, there have been challenges. Last year, I faced serious health struggles that left me bedridden. During that period, he stepped in completely. He didn’t mind bathing me, taking me to the toilet, and managing our home. I battled emotionally with the state of my body, but I remember him telling me, “I didn’t just marry your body, I married your heart.” Those words gave me hope and helped me see myself as beautiful even when I didn’t feel like it. He helped me through that dark time, and I’ll never forget that.

“After all these years, he still feels like a stranger” — Edith*, 46

It’s a complicated question. I’m not sure of my answer.

We met in church, and although I had a crush on him, I couldn’t approach him. A friend spoke to him on my behalf, and we got together. We didn’t date for up to a year before getting married in 2009. He’s a good person, but one trait I’ve struggled with is his secrecy. We’ve been married 16 years, and I still don’t know how much he earns or all his sources of income.

In our seventh year, he bought land and built a house without telling me. I only found out when we were ready to move in. Meanwhile, I had been struggling to save for rent, not knowing he had already made such plans. I was very hurt. I’ve come to accept that he is guarded, probably because he grew up in a polygamous home filled with strife. That probably shaped his trust issues.

My doubts about our compatibility grew recently, when my teenage daughter told me we relate more like business partners than lovers. He has been a good father to our kids, but we’ve never truly opened up to each other. Even after all these years, we still relate like strangers. I’m not unhappy, but I’ve realised this isn’t the norm. I often wish I’d waited longer and courted more.

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“Caring for him isn’t a burden” — Jane*, 52

I’d choose my husband again. He’s been good to me.

I got married later in life, at 44. He was a widower in his mid-50s when we met. We were introduced in church, and from there we built our own connection.

When we were newly married, his sister lived with us. She was never kind to me. His late wife’s passing had left her in charge of his business, and when I came in, she felt I was there to take her place.

She said terrible things about me, and it created a lot of tension. But he never listened to her, eventually putting me in the business. When her behaviour became unbearable, he asked her to move out. His maturity and decisiveness meant a lot to me.

The bigger challenge came from the pressure to have children. I was already 44 when we got married, and his family members constantly reminded me that he didn’t have children from his previous marriage. We tried IVF a few times, but it never worked. One day, we had a conversation where he asked if adoption would make me happy. When I chose to adopt one of my nieces, and his family stood against it, he ignored them.

We’ve now been married for 8 years, and he has never given me cause to regret my choice. I’m financially stable, and my family is doing well. Now, although my husband is ill and I have to care for him, I don’t see it as a burden. He has always been kind and thoughtful, putting measures in place to secure my future. Marrying him was one of the best decisions of my life, and I would do it again without hesitation.

“He refused to let his family mistreat me” — Khadijat, 49

Yes. Without a doubt, I’d marry my husband again.

He is a good man who has always put his family first. He loves his children deeply and would give anything for them. He’s also a gentleman at heart.

We met while I was in school during a hard period in my life. In 2003, I had a sexual assault case with one of my lecturers, and my husband, who was my neighbour at the time, stepped in to help me. He did everything possible to ensure I got justice, and that experience drew us close. We became friends first, and over time, I fell in love with him.

What confirmed he was the right man was how he stood by me when his family opposed our relationship. I come from a Muslim background, while he’s from a strong Christian family. His mother didn’t approve, but he stood his ground and refused to let anyone talk down to me. Eventually, his father supported us, and over time, his mother warmed up to me.

Looking back on our 17 years of marriage with all the family, growth, and love we’ve built, I’d do it all over again.

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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.

Click to share your dilemma

Marriage is often seen as a lifelong journey of love and compromise, but what happens when the changes one partner makes to feel better about themselves begin to push the other away?

For Terry* (43), his wife’s obsession with skin-lightening treatments and cosmetic procedures has left him questioning whether honesty in marriage sometimes does more harm than good.

At the end, you’ll get to decide: Did he fuck up or not?

This is Terry’s dilemma, as shared with Mofiyinfoluwa

My wife, Lara*, and I have been married for almost eight years, and we have three kids together. When we first got married, she was caramel-skinned and very beautiful. I loved her exactly the way she was.

In the past few years, though, she has become obsessed with her skin tone and often says she wishes she were fairer. I always reassured her that I liked her as she was, but she never believed me. She started paying for instant bleaching baths and other whitening treatments.

At first, I didn’t think much of it, but now her skin is noticeably lighter, with green veins popping out and dark spots appearing. To me, she looks older than her 41 years.

She also got semi-permanent eyebrows that look like they were drawn on with a marker. Whenever I say I don’t like these things, she reminds me that it is her body, her choice, and that she never asks me for money to pay for them.

The truth is, I no longer find her as attractive as I once did. It has even affected our sex life because I rarely feel the desire to initiate. On top of that, I’ve noticed an odd odour, and the fragile look of her skin makes me uncomfortable.

Things came to a head recently when she tried to kiss me, and I flinched. She got angry right away and accused me of cheating. I swore I wasn’t. I hardly even have the time in between working long hours at the bank. But when she pushed, I admitted I don’t like the bleaching and the procedures. Instead of hearing me out, she got defensive, saying I was trying to control her and reminding me again that she makes her own money and pays for everything herself.

What hurt me most was when she reminded me that I wasn’t the same either. Back when we first met, I used to work out, but now I’ve gained weight and developed a potbelly. She implied that if I had stopped caring about my own body, then she had every right to change hers however she wanted. She even mentioned that Botox was next on her list.

In the heat of the moment, I lost my temper and shouted that she looked ugly and I no longer found her attractive. She broke down crying, moved into the guest room that night, and the next day, she left for her father’s house. Since then, her family members have bombarded me with insults, painting me as the villain.

Now our marriage feels strained. I promised for better or worse, but I’m not sure I can handle this version of worse. I don’t want a divorce because of the kids, and also because it would make me look even worse. Still, her looks no longer appeal to me. If she keeps changing herself like this, I won’t be able to cope. I’m afraid it might push me into temptations I don’t want.

Marriage is supposed to be about unconditional love, but I feel myself slipping out of love with her. I just wish she would consider my feelings, too. Now, I’m stuck wondering if being honest has only made things worse between us.

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The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Fathia* (31) lived 26 years in a highly religious family, pretending not to be queer and agnostic. But when her parents started pressuring her to marry a nice Muslim man, she knew she had to escape. In this story, she shares how she entered a lavender marriage and escaped Nigeria.

*This model is not affiliated wi*th the story in any way

Where do you currently live, and when did you move out of Nigeria?

I currently live in Canada. I moved out of Nigeria in 2023.

What made you want to leave the country?

I’ve always wanted to leave Nigeria and explore other places, mostly because I never really felt like I belonged there. I’m agnostic, and I come from the northern part of Nigeria, where my parents and really, most of my family are very religious Muslims. It felt like the only way I could truly be myself was to leave that environment.

Can you tell me more about your life in Nigeria?

I already had my BSc before I left, so I was settled academically. Socially, I’m introverted, so I kept a small circle of close friends. I was very picky with friendships because I knew my life choices weren’t typical. Being agnostic in such a religious environment meant I constantly had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t, especially at home. And it didn’t help that I had to live with my family even though I didn’t want to.

Did you ever consider moving out?

In the north, you’re not really allowed to move out until you’re married, so I had to live with my parents. And as an introvert who’s always home, that meant I never got the time or space to be myself truly. My supposed “alone time” was spent pretending. It was exhausting, and I had spent over 20 years pretending already.

You grew up in a Muslim household; when did you realise you were agnostic?

That was around 2019. I’ve never told my parents. They’re extremely religious. Even when I casually question a religious idea, they get super defensive. I don’t think I’m ready to risk my relationship with them over it, so I’ve kept it to myself.

That’s tough. How did you end up leaving the country?

I had a friend who’s a lesbian, and she was under a lot of pressure to get married. She once told me about lavender marriages, which are marriages of convenience. At the time, she was considering it with a gay guy she met.

I initially did not consider the arrangement, but I also started feeling serious pressure to get married sometime later. The pressure was so intense it it started affecting my mental health.

Given my lifestyle and beliefs, I knew that my parents wouldn’t make it easy even if I met someone I liked, especially if they weren’t from the north. And truthfully, I hadn’t met anyone with my mindset in northern Nigeria.

Unable to deal with the pressure, I contacted that friend and asked about the guy she was considering for the lavender marriage. I learned that it didn’t work out for her, so I asked if she could connect me with him, and she did. We talked, discussed expectations, and it made sense.

He lives in Canada, and we agreed to support each other while living our separate lives. My parents really liked him because I didn’t inform them of his sexuality, and his parents accepted me, too. If my parents knew the full details, they definitely wouldn’t have accepted it. Everything went smoothly, and that’s how I moved.

Do you and your partner identify similarly in terms of sexual orientation?

Sexuality is kind of fluid. I used to identify as bisexual, but now I’d say I’m more heteronormative. I mostly lean towards men, but occasionally feel romantic attraction toward women.

Was it hard to leave home?

That’s complicated. I’ve never been the kind of person who misses people deeply, maybe because of my introversion. Eventually, I started missing more of my friends than my family. I talk to my family often, but with friends, the distance hit me.

How did it feel settling into Canada?

It was liberating, but also challenging. On one hand, I was finally free to be myself. On the other hand, I struggled with building a social life here. I got depressed for a while, partly because of the significant life changes I had made and partly because I didn’t have friends. But I made an effort to put myself out there, joined community activities, and now I have great friends. I’m even dating someone now, so things are much better socially.

That’s amazing. Does Canada meet your expectations, or are there other countries you’d still like to explore?

Canada has mostly met my expectations, except for the job market, which has been rough. Overall, the experience has been close to what I imagined. The job market is a broader issue here. It has been awful since around 2023. A lot of people I know are struggling to find work, too.

I’m sorry about that. What are the best parts of living in Canada for you?

The freedom. Social services are here to support you in different ways, and the diversity here is impressive. Healthcare is decent, too, but it has its issues. For example, getting assigned a family doctor or psychiatrist can take months, unlike in Nigeria, where you can just walk into a private clinic if you’re desperate; things are slower here unless it’s an emergency.

Is there anything you still miss about Nigeria?

I really miss the food. In Canada, I have to plan and search for Nigerian food or cook for myself. Back home, it was so easy to get whatever you were craving. Also, everyone’s busy, so even when you have friends, you have to schedule and plan just to see them.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy would you say you are in Canada, and why?

I’d say a seven. I finally have my freedom. I’m getting to experience adulthood in a way many northern Nigerian girls don’t. Going from your parents’ house straight into a husband’s house is the norm back home.

Even though it’s not always fun to be by myself here, it’s necessary. I’ve grown so much and learned about different cultures. Most importantly, I get to be myself, and that’s a significant source of happiness for me.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

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Marriage is often seen as the reward at the end of love’s journey, but for some, it’s the beginning of a reality they didn’t prepare for.

In this story, five Nigerians reflect on the painful realisation that they may have chosen the wrong partner. They open up about the moment things started to unravel and the difficult choices they’ve made since then.

“She was only with me for my money” — Shola*, 43

Shola* thought marrying his dream woman would fix the insecurities he felt when he was broke. He learned the hard way that it wasn’t enough to sustain a marriage.

“I always knew my wife wasn’t the right person for me, but I wanted a baddie. I’d struggled with women for years — until I got my money up. So when I finally had the means, I went after the kind of women I couldn’t get before. Jen* fit that picture perfectly.

I went all out when we got married in 2019. She made all kinds of expensive wedding demands, and I took on debt just to meet them. I knew most of the expenses were unnecessary, but I told myself it was the price of marrying a high-maintenance babe.

It didn’t take long to realise she was with me for the money. At the time, I worked as a bank branch manager and ran a car dealership on the side. But after the wedding, I started dipping into my business capital to fund her lifestyle, and the business suffered. Jen ran a perfume business that never brought in any money, and when she got pregnant, she quit because it was ‘too stressful’.

Things got worse after our son turned one. I lost my job, and we had to survive on what was left of my struggling car business. That meant cutting back on many things, but Jen wasn’t having it. She became a stranger, constantly nagging and always complaining. It got so bad that I could barely stand being at home.

People started saying she was seeing other rich men. I confronted her, and she didn’t even deny it. She said I couldn’t meet her needs anymore. That was the final blow.

I eventually got tired, sold what was left of my business, relocated abroad, and picked up my life again. That was about a year ago. Jen refused to come with me, so we’ve lived apart ever since. We only speak when it’s about our son.”

“He’s the biggest enemy of my progress” — Hafsat*, 28

Hafsat* went from having a perfect long-distance relationship to being stuck in a controlling marriage in a new country. By the time she saw the red flags, she was already in too deep.

“I met Aliyu* through a family friend during Ramadan in 2022. He lived and worked in Germany and was only in Nigeria for a short while. We started talking and, maybe because we never had issues while in a long-distance relationship, I believed he was perfect.

Over time, our bond grew deeper, and we decided to give marriage a shot. The next time I saw him was just a week before our wedding in October 2023. By then, I noticed how he tried to control what I wore and would get upset when I disagreed. But I mistook it for care and thought it was cute.

After we got married and moved to Germany, I saw the real him. He was juggling school and a factory job, and he expected me to do the same immediately I arrived. Despite my hesitation, he found me a job as a bartender, and when I refused the role, he beat me.

I stayed unemployed for almost a year. Eventually, a friend helped me secure an assistant teaching job at a kindergarten. I didn’t involve him in the process. When I got the job, I thought he’d be proud I was contributing to the household. Instead, he fought me for going behind his back and said I wasn’t submissive enough.

He didn’t force me to quit, but he made it hard to keep the job. He would assign chores that delayed me in the mornings and set a strict curfew that made attending meetings outside school time impossible. It became clear to me that he wasn’t just unsupportive; he was the biggest enemy of my progress.

After just five months on the job, I was getting regular queries and knew they were close to firing me. That December, when we travelled to Nigeria for the holidays, I went straight to my family’s house and told them I wasn’t returning to Germany with him.

It caused a lot of drama, but eventually, he returned on his own. Now, I’m back home and in the process of finalising our divorce.”

“Every day feels like a tug of war between our beliefs” — Lilian*, 29

When an unexpected pregnancy pushed Lilian* into marriage, the last thing she expected was for religion to divide her home.

“My husband, Sam*, wasn’t deeply religious when we met. He was raised Christian and attended church, but his faith felt shallow. I had reservations, especially because of some of his questionable friends. But by the time we were introduced, I was already pregnant. The pressure from both families to make things right pushed us into marriage.

I welcomed our child shortly after we got married. That’s when Sam started talking about ‘returning to his roots’. I didn’t take his words seriously at first, but then he stopped attending church. He began exploring alternative religions and hosting meetings with spiritual groups at our house. I confided in his family, hoping they’d talk some sense into him. But when they couldn’t, they told me to just accept it and let him be.

Meanwhile, I was getting deeper into my Christian faith. I wanted our daughter to grow up grounded in the values I believed in. But one day, Sam said he didn’t want her to go to church anymore because he wanted her to follow his spiritual path. He even started teaching her things I didn’t agree with.

Looking back, I can’t say I didn’t see hints of this during our courtship. But I didn’t think it would escalate to this. Now, every day feels like a tug of war between our beliefs and what’s best for our child. And even though I worry about her growing up in a broken home, I’m not sure I can keep staying in one.”

“We live like housemates, not lovers” — Jay*, 46

Jay* settled out of pressure, hoping love would come later. Years down the line, he’s filled with nothing but resentment.

“Vera* and I didn’t get married because we were in love. Her aunt matchmade us, and it felt like a convenient arrangement then. I was 41, and she was in her early 30s, and we both felt the pressure to settle down. I convinced myself love would come with time, and we’d grow to care for each other. But almost five years in, it still hasn’t happened.

We struggle with intimacy. She doesn’t enjoy it, and that affects me too. It feels like a chore neither of us wants to do. I’ve brought it up several times, but she always brushes it off. She’s not open to therapy either.

Things got worse after we had kids. I started spending more time outside the house. I’d hang out with my guys, and she’d complain that I was becoming absent. One evening, I took our first son with me to a get-together. He played with the other kids while I had a few drinks. When we got home, she smelled the alcohol and confronted me. The argument escalated until she slapped me.

That slap changed everything. I realised I’d made a mistake marrying her.

Both families tried to settle things, but I couldn’t move past it. I’ve started to resent her, and I don’t know how we’ll recover from that.”

If you want to share your own story, I’d love to hear it here.

“I wish I understood I was also marrying his family” — Faiza, 31

Faiza thought love would be enough to break through the prejudice of her in-laws. But when she fell ill, their hostility exposed everything.

“My husband’s family never liked me from the outset. His mother, especially, made it clear I wasn’t welcome. And I should have taken that as a sign. I convinced myself it was because we were from different tribes, and my husband insisted it didn’t matter. He said he loved and wanted to be with me, so we married quietly in 2022 without telling his family.

They found out later, and his mother claimed she’d gone to pray about me and was told I’d bring misfortune to her son. She held onto that and treated everything I did like proof that I didn’t belong in their lives. Malik never defended me and let them treat me that way.

Things got even worse when I was diagnosed with breast cancer last year. His mother acted like her fears had come true. Malik started to change, too. He showed care, but it felt forced. I could tell he was angry at me for being sick. I became so miserable, and even wondered if they were right all along.

I moved back to my parents’ house this year for chemotherapy. That was when I truly realised how our marriage had deteriorated. Malik barely calls anymore and has only visited me once. I’ve also heard his family is pressuring him to take another wife. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he does.

It really hurts. I wish I had understood that I wasn’t just marrying him. I was marrying his family too, and they were never going to accept me.”

See what others are saying about this article on Instagram

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“Nobody is coming to save me” — Helen, 29

“I don’t expect my wife to contribute” — Odogwu* 39

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“I regret starting out with a joint account” — Lilian, 43

“There’s no fixed rule in my marriage” — Amina*, 51

“Having a joint account has helped us build trust” — Dele*, 56

“Everyone should carry their cross” — Jesse*, 28

This is Grace’s story as told to Mofiyinfoluwa

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

That’s tough. Let’s start from the beginning. How did you meet your first wife?

That must have been stressful.

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I’m sorry. How did you move on from that?

Tell me about Patience

What was that marriage like?

In what ways?

So, what led you to end the marriage?

I’m curious. How have these experiences shaped your idea of love and relationships?

Fair enough. How would you say the streets are treating you? Rate it on a scale of 1-10

“Her new appearance might push me into an affair” — Charles*, 46

“She stood by me when I got into trouble” — Kola*, 51

“She gave me a beating that landed me in the hospital” — Aman*, 48

“Our children show her more affection” — John*, 63

“She came back to Nigeria for me” — Jamal*, 28

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“She slept with another man for money” — Chuka*, 50

“Her loyalty makes me grateful I chose her” — Dubem*, 35

“I fear she’ll never love me the way I want” — Sam*, 31

I’ll be stuck struggling to raise children for the rest of my life — Azeez*, 60

“She’s my good luck charm” — Kunle*, 44

How long have you been with your partner?

How did you meet?

Do you have any idea why Ben was open to being matchmade?

Why’s that?

Interesting. How do you both navigate a long-distance marriage?

How about finances? How do you both make it work?

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

Hmmm

Right. How do his annual visits usually go? Do you get to do things together or plan for dates?

Curious. Is there a potential timeline for you and the kids to join him abroad?

What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

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This is Gozie’s story, as told to Betty:

***

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***

“God used him to teach me some lessons” — Sarah*, 55

“I stayed back to care for him” — Vic*, 44

“He’s my silver lining after a difficult life” — Hafsa*, 61

“26 years later, he’s still resentful” — Fathia*, 57

“I’ve learnt not to base my happiness on him” — Maryam*, 33

“My life would’ve been harder as a single mum” — Olanna*, 22

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“He stood by me when I was chronically ill” — Ayo*, 39

“After all these years, he still feels like a stranger” — Edith*, 46

“Caring for him isn’t a burden” — Jane*, 52

“He refused to let his family mistreat me” — Khadijat, 49

This is Terry’s dilemma, as shared with Mofiyinfoluwa

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Where do you currently live, and when did you move out of Nigeria?

What made you want to leave the country?

Can you tell me more about your life in Nigeria?

Did you ever consider moving out?

You grew up in a Muslim household; when did you realise you were agnostic?

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That’s tough. How did you end up leaving the country?

Do you and your partner identify similarly in terms of sexual orientation?

Was it hard to leave home?

How did it feel settling into Canada?

That’s amazing. Does Canada meet your expectations, or are there other countries you’d still like to explore?

I’m sorry about that. What are the best parts of living in Canada for you?

Is there anything you still miss about Nigeria?

On a scale of one to ten, how happy would you say you are in Canada, and why?

“She was only with me for my money” — Shola*, 43

“He’s the biggest enemy of my progress” — Hafsat*, 28

Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail

“Every day feels like a tug of war between our beliefs” — Lilian*, 29

“We live like housemates, not lovers” — Jay*, 46

“I wish I understood I was also marrying his family” — Faiza, 31