Nigerians | Page 3 of 253

Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.

What’s your earliest memory of money?

The lunch money I got from my mum in nursery and primary school. ₦10 could get me ₦5 buns and a plate of rice.

Those were the days. What was growing up like financially?

Terrible. You know how people say their parents weren’t financially well off? My case was different. The roof of our house was once removed because we couldn’t pay rent. It was that bad.

My dad was an artisan; he painted buildings for a living, and my mum was a petty trader. I noticed early that my mum was the risk-taker. If my dad didn’t get an opportunity he wanted, he was fine with what he had. He hardly pushed for more, but my mum was different.

She was constantly hustling, seeking new opportunities and exploring additional trades to try. I think I’m more like my mum in that regard. I started hustling at the age of 10.

Tell me about that

I hawked sachet water in the market to make money. I even raised the business capital myself.

Here’s how: I grew up in a rural area with many cocoa farms nearby. Cocoa merchants bought cocoa pods from farmers and dried them in their stores. When these stores closed at night, they’d pack the cocoa inside, but a few cocoa beans would fall on the ground.

Then, the town children and I would go pick up the beans. If we gathered up to one kilogram of the beans, we could sell them for ₦500. If you could gather two or three kilograms, that was very good money. This gathering often took weeks to reach a decent size.

Anyway, I sold my small stash of cocoa beans and started the business. My dad was against it, but I didn’t care. I bought a bowl for ₦130 and a bag of sachet water for ₦100. The first day I started didn’t end well.

What happened?

I didn’t know much about the business, so I made a few mistakes. After I sold the first batch of water, I went to buy more and repeated the process after selling them off. The sun went down, and I ignorantly bought another batch. Everyone who has sold sachet water knows that it was a wrong move because there was no way I’d sell off the water by that time.

When I inevitably couldn’t sell them, people advised that I return the stock to the person I bought it from. Most pure water sellers had agreements with their “suppliers” that allowed them to exchange warm sachet water for cold ones if they couldn’t sell. I tried to do the same, but unfortunately, the person who sold it to me wasn’t a good person. He refused to change them and even beat me up.

Oh my God

It was discouraging. I had to throw the remaining water away because we didn’t have a freezer at home. It was a big loss, and I was only able to start again because my friend gave me ₦200.

I sold sachet water every day after school for about two years. I could make ₦200 – ₦500 profit daily, and that was big money in school. The business also taught me a great deal, particularly how wicked people could be.

A sachet of water cost ₦10, and someone could take the water, drink it, and then give a 10-year-old ₦1000 to go and look for change. They knew I wouldn’t have change for them, and they’d ask me to come back for my money. I never saw them again.

That’s wild

I stopped the business when I was in SS1 or SS2 because my school started dismissing us late at 4 p.m., and I couldn’t keep up.

In SS3, I dropped out of school altogether because my dad couldn’t afford to register me for WAEC. While exploring what else I could do, I decided to apprentice at a business centre since I was naturally skilled with phones and computers. Plus, having briefly worked as an apprentice typist at a similar place a few years prior, it made sense to continue in that line of work. This was in 2014.

The place I worked was popular with lawyers. They often came to type processes and court judgments.

Was it a paid apprenticeship?

No o. I was essentially learning, so I didn’t have a salary. My dad encouraged me to be patient and just get the skill.

I quickly became popular due to my fast typing skills, and the lawyers always wanted to work with me. Some even started asking me to come work for them, offering to pay more than what I earned at the business centre. I couldn’t even tell them I wasn’t being paid.

My popularity didn’t sit well with the business owner; he didn’t like people praising me and always called me weird because I read a lot. I’d install PDF readers on the computers to read random things like philosophy. I often obsessed over learning random things. For instance, I could think about something like YouTube videos and go all in with learning everything about creating them.

So, I was really good. I could say I even knew more than the owner. I worked with him for about two years. During that time, he repeatedly promised to start paying me, but it never happened. I finally left in 2016, because I was considering returning to school and needed to save money. I went on to work with one of the lawyers who’d been trying to poach me.

How much did the new job pay?

₦15k/month to work as a typist for the firm. I also occasionally did some secretarial duties. It was the first time I earned a salary, and the money was okay for me. I was a 17-year-old living with my parents, so I didn’t pay rent or any major bills and was able to save. In 2017, I was able to raise enough money to write WAEC.

Besides the money, working with that lawyer was such a blessing. I still mirror his lifestyle to this day. He was very calm and organised. He taught me how to live a balanced life, and I really enjoyed working with him.

In 2018, while still working with him, I found another income source. One of the other lawyers in the firm gifted me a laptop, and I began using it for research. Every day after work, I’d buy ₦100 data and explore the internet for different things I could learn. I also created a blog using one of the free hosting platforms; I think it was Blogger. I knew it was possible to monetise the blog and start earning from Google Ads, but I also knew it would take a considerable amount of time, effort, and web traffic.

Fortunately, I found a way.

What did you do?

Around this time, a betting company was really popular, and people were always looking for information on how to become a company agent and open a betting shop. So, I wrote a post about the process on my blog and used it to sell an ebook I created about becoming an agent.

My post ranked well on Google, and people started buying my ebook. At first, I sold it for ₦1k, then increased the price to ₦2500 when I noticed it was selling quickly. In a month, I could sell 10 ebooks. At the same time, my blog got monetised, and I could make $100/month — about ₦32k — using Infolinks to display ads. In addition to the ebook sales and my salary, I was making over ₦80k monthly.

I wrote the JAMB exam that same year and had even gotten admission into the university when my income took a hit.

What happened?

Google regularly pushes out updates, and that year, one of these updates hit my site and affected my blog’s traffic. I stopped ranking, and revenue dropped. After gathering all I had (which was about ₦120k), I still needed about ₦350k to complete school payments and rent a place close to campus. The blog wasn’t bringing in money anymore, so I needed to shift direction.

I came across a European site that sold football betting tips for gamblers. The tips were quite expensive at $499/month (approximately ₦140k at the time), and I had a crazy idea of reselling them. I took all the money I had, added my salary and sent it to the guy selling the tips. I could’ve easily been scammed, but fortunately, I wasn’t. The guy added me to a group where he sent the games. I noticed the tips were actually genuine and profitable, but I wasn’t interested in playing them.

Instead, I went on Facebook, made a video and started running ads. In the video, I explained how, instead of $499/month for that site, people could just pay me ₦7k/month for the same genuine tips. I also showed proof that I bought them from the $499 site.

Omo, the kind of money I started seeing.

Too much sense wanted to finish you

My offer was too stupid for anyone to refuse, and people were just buying left, right and centre. I just created a Telegram group, added them, and sent them the games. By the end of the first month, I had almost ₦600k in my account.

The money helped me resume at uni and rent an apartment. I was still young and didn’t know a lot about money, so I was just spending. The iPhone 7 was in vogue at the time, so I bought one. I even changed my laptop.

In early 2019, Facebook started disabling sports betting ads. Luckily, I’d grown an email list of subscribers who trusted me. The thing about betting is, it’s very difficult to find someone who is not a scammer. Since I didn’t scam them, they kept resubscribing. Plus, people were winning too, which was good. Sometimes, they even dashed me money. So, my income was stable and almost passive due to the monthly subscriptions.

However, towards the end of 2019, I suddenly lost interest in the betting business. I don’t know why; I just stopped liking the idea and gradually stopped. My subscribers even reached out asking why I stopped, but I didn’t have a valid reason. That’s how that income source dried up.

Interesting. What did you do next?

My school was close to one of the most prominent markets in Nigeria, so I started going there, looking for products I could sell online and make 3x the cost.

I mostly sold household products. I could buy an item for ₦1k, and list it on JiJi and Facebook ads for ₦4k. That became a major income source for me. I hardly attended class because I was always at logistics companies to sort out deliveries.

The money wasn’t as good as sports betting; that one was unlimited money. I could sell a game one million times. However, with physical products, I could only sell as much as the available stock allowed. Still, I was making around ₦500k – ₦800k monthly, which wasn’t bad. I lived a comfortable life in school.

I’m also glad I started dealing with products instead of relying on sports betting because it set me up for what I do today. I still work with products, just on a very different level.

What do you do these days?

I’d say it’s e-commerce. I look at the market trends and bring in possible solutions in the form of products. For instance, insecurity has been a significant challenge for Nigerians lately. As a business, I can decide to start selling security gadgets, and people would buy in volumes. If I make ₦3k from each gadget and sell 10,000 units, that’s ₦30 million profit.

I use ads to push my products on Facebook, YouTube and MGID. It’s a thriving business now, and I work with a team of 12 people, generating an average monthly profit of around ₦12 million to ₦15 million. The expansion didn’t happen overnight.

In 2020, I recorded my first ₦1 million profit in a single month from selling a specific mosquito product, and we continued to grow from there. We also sold fitness equipment during that period.

The business faced a small struggle in 2021 when Apple released the iOS 14.5 update. It came with a privacy update that made it difficult for third-party platforms to track user behaviour and show them targeted ads. Now, users had to give permission before an app could track their data, and if they clicked “no,” it was all over.

Ad performance was terrible during that period, but fortunately, we started to recover in late 2022, and it’s been going well ever since.

How do the business operations work?

I have a way of knowing that a product will do well. I think it’s a muscle formed by how long I’ve been doing this. After picking the product, we’ll conduct a test run of like 100 units and use the performance data to determine whether we’ll scale or not.

I have an office where I work with a few full-time employees, but I also have agents in different states in Nigeria who get the products and handle delivery. 90% of the orders we receive work with the pay-on-delivery model because Nigerians don’t trust the internet. When the agents deliver, they remit the money to the business.

I decided to operate this way because I believe there’s a limit to how well a business can perform if it’s a one-man operation. If I’m doing it all alone and making a total revenue of ₦100k, 20% net profit of that is just ₦20k. However, if I’m running a ₦100 million business and I achieve that same 20%, I’ve just made ₦20 million.

Both the ₦100k and ₦100 million could be the same personal level of work, but for the latter, I’m using the leverage of getting more people involved to scale faster. It’s better to own the leg of an elephant than a whole ant.

Hmm. That’s a lot to think about. You mentioned a monthly profit of about ₦15 million. How much of that is your income?

After removing operating costs, salaries, and returning capital to the business, my “salary” is usually about ₦5 million to ₦7 million monthly.

I’m specific about always returning money to the business because it’s easy to lose an opportunity if there’s no available capital to allocate to it. I also don’t joke with expansion. Every extra money returns to the business.

You’ve had massive income growth over the years. How has that impacted how you think about money?

I believe fear is a significant reason why many people struggle to make money. It’s the truth. If you don’t take some kind of risk, you won’t make money. Also, money is a reward for helping people out.

If you aren’t solving a need, making someone’s life better or offering value, it’s almost impossible to make money. I never had any doubt about whether I’d make money or not. It was always a matter of time.

How would you describe your relationship with money?

I have a problem. Once people around me start sharing their problems, I feel an obligation to help solve them. Recently, I calculated how much money I’d given out this year, and it was almost ₦10 million. I’m not happy about that, and I plan to stop giving money away so much.

Beyond that, I’m not the materialistic type. My only guilty pleasure is food. It sounds unbelievable, but I spend at least ₦800k on food monthly. It’s that expensive because we (I live with my brother) have a chef whom I pay ₦180k monthly. I also eat out a lot and still spend at least ₦150k on protein powder every month.

Now would be a good time to walk me through your typical monthly expenses

I don’t save money. Whatever reserve I have is reinvested in my business. Another thing that takes my money is travel. I believe travel helps me learn, so I typically spend ₦4m – ₦5m on an annual trip within Nigeria or to an African country. My rent is ₦4 million, but I don’t save for it. Once it’s time, I just pay.

Is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?

Honestly, nothing. I would like to move to the US, but money is not what’s holding me back. It’s the visa; I know it’ll be hard to get as a young person right now.

Is there an ideal amount of money you think you should be earning right now?

I always think in terms of the business, so I think we should be doing a net profit of ₦100 million monthly. We’re currently working towards that, already planning structures and hiring needs to guide expansion to more countries. We already sell in some African countries, but the goal is to scale. By the grace of God, we should have hit over 50% of that ₦100 million goal before 2027.

Rooting for you. What was the last thing you spent money on that made you happy?

A vacation package to Southwest Nigeria in September. It cost me ₦3 million. I’m almost always working, so I don’t go clubbing or things like that, so it’s nice to enjoy travel experiences.

How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?

10. Even if you’d asked me this when I earned ₦15k, it’d still be a 10. I don’t think there was ever a time when I was unhappy with my finances. I believe whatever I’m earning is the value I’m bringing to the marketplace. Therefore, if I want to earn more money, I must bring more value. I might sound unconventional, but that’s just the way it is.

If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.

Yes, I want to do a Naira Life!

Find all the past Naira Life stories here.

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Sunken Ships is a Zikoko weekly series that explores the how and why of the end of all relationships — familial, romantic or just good old friendships.

Debby* (27) and Aisha* (26) hit it off at a 2018 house party, but things changed when Aisha started seeing Debby’s friend, Femi*.

In this Sunken Ships, Debby opens up about the secret situationship that came between them and the friendship she still misses.

What were the signs that your friendship with Aisha was going downhill?

I accepted our friendship was over in 2021 when she stopped responding to my calls or texts. I was worried about her until I reached out to our mutual friends, only to find out she was intentionally avoiding me. It would’ve hurt more but I thought her reason was silly.

Okay, first, how did you guys meet?

We met at a house party in 2018 through a mutual friend. I discovered that we both shared a love for the same movies and anime, and our friendship blossomed from there.

What were the early days of your friendship like?

They were great. We spent a lot of time at the beginning just getting to know each other. I told her all about my family, my hobbies and my personal life, and she did the same. We helped each other with advice when we had issues as well, so we became very close quickly.

Where would you say the cracks in your relationship started showing?

It was late 2020. Aisha had shared that she wanted a boyfriend earlier in the year, but she didn’t know where to meet people, so I offered to introduce her to some of my single friends. That was the main reason everything unravelled.

Tell me about that.

In August, one of my friends threw a house party, and I invited Aisha because I knew a lot of my friends would be there, and I hoped she would find a spark with one or two of them. At the party, I made sure to introduce her to two of my male friends, who I knew would make great partners.

Did she hit it off with either of them?

No, and that was the problem. Instead, she spent the whole night flirting and talking to my other friend, Femi*. I didn’t like it at all.

Why not?

Femi was a good friend; he’s fun and kind. But romantically? He had the worst romantic record out of all our friends. All his past exes had him blocked for either cheating or being completely emotionally absent in their relationship. I didn’t want that for Aisha.

Ah, I see. Did you talk to her about it?

Yes. As soon as we left the party, I told her all about Femi and how he wouldn’t be the best match for her, but I don’t think she believed me. Femi is very good-looking and charming, so perhaps she thought I was trying to block her from enjoying a good thing.

So what happened after?

They started seeing each other secretly. I didn’t know about it at the time, so I was still trying to introduce her to other people. This went on until January 2021, when things between Femi and Aisha scattered.

How did you find out about them?

Femi texted me to say that Aisha was pressuring him to be in a relationship with her and wanted my advice on how to tell her he wasn’t interested.

Ah.

I was surprised too. I asked him how they got to that point, and he confessed that they started a situationship after they met at the house party, but he thought they were going to remain casual.

How did that make you feel?

It really hurt that Aisha would keep her relationship with Femi a secret from me. I thought we were closer than that. I told Femi that I couldn’t weigh in and he had to speak to Aisha about it himself.

Did you tell her when you found out?

No. I felt that if she didn’t tell me about it, then she didn’t want me involved at all.

Okay, what happened next?

Femi hard launched a girlfriend during Valentine’s in 2021. It surprised all of us, most of all Aisha. I think she thought I knew something about it because she stopped responding to my messages after that weekend. I had to reach out to our mutual friends to find out how she was doing.

Did she reach out to you after you spoke to your mutual friends?

Yes, and she accused me of not doing enough to discourage her from seeing Femi as a potential boyfriend. I got upset and told her off. Not only had I warned her about this boy, but I only found out about her and Femi in January when he told me. It ended up being a big argument, and we stopped being close after that.

Have you guys spoken since then?

Not really. We occasionally run into each other because we have mutual friends, but we’re just cordial now. It stings for me because I can’t believe we lost our friendship because of a guy.

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What about Femi? Are you guys still friends?

No, I cut him off. His emotional irresponsibility cost me a good friend, and I just didn’t feel safe introducing anyone else to him. I don’t have that many friends, so losing them actually disrupts my life.

If Aisha wanted to get close to you again, is that something you’d be open to?

I’m not sure. I miss our friendship, but trying to blame me for her own choices was a bright red flag for me. Also, giving up on our friendship because a relationship with a guy that went sour is a flimsy reason. I want friends who I know will stick with me even in dire situations. I’m not sure that’s who Aisha is.

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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.

Amanda* (21) and Happiness* (21) became best friends at the polytechnic, and they remained close even after graduation. When Happiness needed a job, Amanda happily recommended her to her workplace, but that proved to be a wrong decision. Within months, Happiness began to cause trouble at work, leaving Amanda with a tough choice.

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

This is Amanda’s Dilemma, As Told To Boluwatife

Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t have lost my best friend if I’d just kept my mouth shut and let things play out. But every time I replay what happened, I also understand that silence might’ve cost me my job, or worse, my peace.

Let me start from the beginning.

Before my life became a moral dilemma, I had a simple routine: wake up, go to work at the supermarket on the next street, force myself to smile at customers and count the minutes till closing time. I’d been working as an attendant at the supermarket for about six months, and my relationship with the job was complicated.

While I didn’t love it — being a supermarket attendant wasn’t what I had hoped to do with my Higher National Diploma — it helped me survive. At least, my ₦15k salary helped me “see road” as I jobhunted and tried to save money for NYSC and to continue my education.

So, in March, when my friend of five years, Happiness, complained about being tired of job hunting with no success, I didn’t think twice before recommending her for a job at the supermarket.

When I say “friend,” I don’t mean casual “hi-bye” friendship. Happiness was my best friend. We met in school, bonded over the annoying lecturers in our department, and became inseparable.

Our parents even knew each other through our friendship. Her mum once cooked for me the night my phone got stolen, and I went to her house crying. We shared clothes and passwords; there was nothing we didn’t know about each other. So naturally, I wanted her close. I was excited about the idea of working together and having inside jokes at work.

I connected Happiness with the manager, Mrs Bello, and put my reputation on the line. I’m something of a “manager’s pet” at work because of how good I am at my job. Mrs Bello trusted me a lot, and I only had to assure her that Happiness would be as trustworthy and hardworking as I was. She agreed and employed her.

At first, everything went smoothly. We often worked on the same shifts, so we’d arrange shelves together, gossip during break, and laugh about customers who came in acting like they could afford to buy all of us. It was fun.

However, a few months after she started, strange things began to happen.

Small products, such as snacks, chocolate bars, and random skincare items, would often go missing. Sometimes the cash didn’t tally at the end of the day, and Mrs Bello started side-eyeing everyone.

The first few times it happened, Mrs Bello told us she’d remove the difference from our salaries. Later, the other attendants accused one of us — Miriam, a sweet, quiet girl who always said “sorry” even when you stepped on her. There was no evidence, and she denied it; however, many of the losses occurred during her shift, so Mrs Bello started deducting the money from her salary.

Interestingly, Miriam, Happiness and I often worked the same shifts, but she was the likely suspect. The “manager’s pet” couldn’t steal, and no one expected the person I recommended to do that either.

I even told myself it was the normal store loss. Those things happened a lot. Customers could have stolen the items or a recording error may have caused a difference in the number of items.

But then, one morning, I came in early to set up for a price change and saw Happiness in the back corner. She didn’t notice me at first. She was skillfully sliding a bar of Bounty chocolate into her bag like someone who had rehearsed the move.

Shocked, I confronted her, and she admitted to being behind the recent losses. When she saw the disapproval on my face, she tried to backtrack, claiming it was “just small small things” that she sometimes forgot to pay for. By the time Mrs Bello noticed the loss, she couldn’t admit to taking the item anymore because it’d look like stealing.

When I asked, “So are you comfortable with someone else taking the blame for what you did?” She just shrugged in response and said she wouldn’t do it anymore.

I had no choice but to believe her, so I kept quiet.

I had to believe she was telling me the truth. We’d been friends for years, and I’d never seen her do something like that. Sure, she often took my clothes and shoes without telling me, but I don’t consider that stealing. Friends share clothes all the time.

So, I covered the truth. I kept quiet when two more items went missing over the next few weeks. I kept quiet when Mrs Bello screamed at Miriam again, and the girl resigned out of frustration.

Then Happiness struck again. This time, ₦2k went missing from the register on the night that I, her, and two other ladies worked. Happiness confided in me that she took the money, but she treated the situation like a big joke.

As Mrs Bello ranted about the loss, Happiness kept sharing secret smiles with me and mocking Mrs Bello’s facial expressions.

The whole thing made me really nervous and a little guilty. Since Miriam was gone, what would stop them from blaming me next? If we blamed someone else, would people continue to lose their jobs for no reason? What if I lost my job because I was protecting someone who didn’t even care about the damage she was causing?

Later that night, as we closed, I went up to Mrs Bello and confessed everything. It was clear Happiness wouldn’t change, and I was tired of being in the middle. I assumed she’d just fire Happiness quietly, and I could just pretend not to have anything to do with it.

Unfortunately for me, Mrs Bello publicly lashed out at Happiness and revealed I was the one who snitched. Happiness stared at me with a silent, cold expression, and I immediately wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

I knew immediately that things would never be the same.

This was in October, and since then, Happiness has blamed me for losing her job and “ruining her reputation.”

She doesn’t pick up my calls or respond to my WhatsApp messages anymore, but she’s constantly shading me on her WhatsApp status, posting things like:

“Beware of friends who smile in your face and stab you behind.”

“Some people pretend to help you, but they only help themselves.”

Our mums have also stopped talking. Her mum called to accuse me of being a bad friend without bothering to listen to my side. My mum feels both mother and daughter are the same and has warned me to stay away from them.

I really miss my friend. I’ve been trying to apologise, but she doesn’t want to hear from me. Was I wrong for speaking up, or should I have just ignored her actions? If I kept quiet, we would still be friends, but I might have lost my job.

Should I have chosen friendship over survival? I ask myself these questions daily, and still haven’t settled on an answer.

*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

NEXT READ: Na Me F–Up? I Invested Our Joint Savings Without Telling My Fiancée

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Simbi* (31) always imagined marriage as a fairytale where every lady meets her Prince Charming. However, her first relationship gave her a harsh reality check, and years later, she found herself marrying a man fifteen years her senior.

In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she talks about redefining romance, navigating in-law dynamics, the moment she nearly broke off her relationship over family tension, and why she still believes love is enough.

This is her marriage diary.

I grew up waiting for a Prince Charming who looked like a movie character

Long before I got married, love existed for me inside storybooks. As a child, I devoured Ladybird fairytales, dreaming of enchanted castles, destiny encounters and princesses who always found their Prince Charming. I even gave myself the nickname Cinderella in primary school because that’s how fully immersed I was in romance worlds I hadn’t lived.

By secondary school, Disney magic evolved into romcom novels. I’d spend hours reading and imagining myself as a character in the pages of the book. In university, Bollywood and K-dramas joined the mix. I lived inside those stories so much that my parents occasionally wondered if I spared any attention for my academics. Every emotion I imagined, every fantasy I considered “true love,” came from the make-believe world.

Reality didn’t hit until my first boyfriend. He was my first kiss, my first cinema date, my first everything. For a while, the relationship looked exactly like the movies I loved. And then it fell apart. He changed in ways I still struggle to describe. There was unnecessary drama, confusion upon confusion until things fell apart. Even when the relationship was clearly dying, I didn’t want to leave because I believed he was “the one.” It took my friends dragging me, emotionally and verbally, for me to finally walk away. It was the first crack in my fairytale lens.

Falling in love with an older man was the first real surprise of my adult life

If anyone had told me I’d marry someone fifteen years older, I wouldn’t have believed it. In all the romantic stories I absorbed, the couples were always age mates or close in age. Older men were never part of the script.

Then, in university, I gained weight. Suddenly, older men paid me more attention, sometimes in uncomfortable ways. I heard male coursemates say things like I was “heavy duty” and not for young boys. Married men approached me at parties, and I hated it. So I shut out all older men.

My husband was the first one I gave a chance. He was 40 when we met, dealing with delays in his life and two failed engagements. I only noticed him because he didn’t look his age. That made me listen, then pay attention, then fall. The age gap that once scared me became something I barely noticed.

If anyone had told me then that he’d become my partner, I would have laughed. But loving him changed my idea of romance in a way I didn’t see coming.

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One comment from my husband’s family made me feel like running

I still remember the day I wondered whether marriage to my husband was truly something I could handle. It started with what should’ve been an innocent family visit. His mum and two sisters were around. It was spontaneous, and I hadn’t planned it, so I arrived empty-handed.

They teased me about it, not maliciously, but my husband wasn’t having it. He reacted sharply, and it quickly escalated into a back-and-forth between him and his family. I excused myself, but internally, I panicked.

For two weeks, I avoided him. I kept replaying the scene in my mind: three women much older than me, and me stuck in the middle of drama I didn’t create. I couldn’t imagine a lifetime where I’d be in conflict with people I barely knew but was expected to respect deeply.

When we finally spoke, I told him I wanted to end things. I didn’t want him constantly defending me against his family. I didn’t want to be the reason he clashed with the women who raised him.

It took a lot of reassurance from him and my mum to convince me not to run. Looking back four years later, I’m grateful I stayed.

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

No one prepares you for navigating a family that’s not yours

Before marriage, my mum practically trained me for my new family. She taught me how to show respect to older women, how to observe, when to talk, when to stay quiet, and even made me set reminders to call my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. But nothing beats real life experience.

A few months after we got married, my mother-in-law visited for two weeks. She was warm and pleasant, but insisted on cooking and dishing up the meals during her stay. At first, I took it personally, as if she was subtly telling me I wasn’t doing something right. My mum told me to join her in the kitchen instead of reading too much into it. That changed everything.

Then there were the unannounced visits from my sisters-in-law — smiling, bearing gifts, completely unaware that sometimes I felt like the odd one out. They’d settle into the living room, chatting and laughing with my husband in that familiar way people do when they’ve known each other forever.

For the first two years, I constantly felt like I was trying to prove myself. Now, I’ve completely settled into things. I understand their intentions better, and I’m more confident in my place in the family. Marriage teaches you diplomacy in ways school never can.

We had to learn how to meet in the middle when it came to respect and expression

The biggest recurring conflict in my marriage has been about how I relate to my husband in public or around his relatives. He doesn’t like pet names, touching his beard playfully, or hitting him jokingly when others are around. He finds it disrespectful and prefers that kind of affection to stay private.

We argued a lot about it because I didn’t want a marriage where I felt like I needed to switch versions of myself depending on the setting. After our first child, he even suggested we stop calling each other by name but I rejected that immediately.

Sometimes he leans into the age difference and tries to remind me he’s older and wiser. I always push back. I respect my husband deeply, but I don’t want a dynamic that feels like I’m reporting to a boss. Over time, I’ve learned to recognise when it’s cultural conditioning talking. He’s from a different generation, and occasionally it shows.

We’re still figuring it out, but we always return to honest conversations instead of letting resentment grow.

Motherhood changed the version of myself I thought I’d carry into marriage

I’ve lost and gained different parts of myself over the past four years. The biggest shift came with motherhood. I would’ve loved a little more time before having kids, but my husband was eager to be a dad because he was already 40 when we married.

We had our first child a year in, and that transition shook me. Even with all the support I had from my family, my in-laws, and him, nothing prepares you for the emotional weight of motherhood. Some nights, I woke up crying for no reason I could articulate.

But I also grew. I learned how to relate with older people, handle different personalities, and move confidently in rooms filled with my husband’s older friends. Most of them assume I’m older than I am, thanks to my stature. I always like to say that marriage stretched me, but it didn’t break me.

I believe love is enough

Maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in me, but I genuinely believe love can sustain a marriage. I know people say communication, patience and understanding matter, but I think real love fuels those things.

I’ve dated men who made me feel like they were doing me a favour by being with me. Today, I’m married to a man who genuinely loves me — a man who made all the pain, confusion and insecurity of my younger relationships feel like distant memories.

If I could tell my younger self anything, it would be: don’t fixate on age, and don’t let heartbreak distort your worth. Love, when it’s genuine, makes the rest of the work possible.

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

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

I like to think of the institution of marriage the same way I think about the multiverse. For every story about a shitty marriage, there is a marriage out there flourishing and being enjoyed so much by its participants that they can’t believe how lucky they’ve gotten. Whether it’s because they realised they don’t have to conform to society’s definition of marriage or they got to a point where they don’t have to perform for each other, the reason doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they’re happy.

We asked a couple of Nigerians to share the moments that made them pause and realise that this marriage thing sweet die.

“I realised my husband doesn’t need me to cook” — Fimi*, 28, F

After being married for a year, one of Fimi’s favourite moments was realising that her husband doesn’t need her to stress herself cooking.

“I grew up doing all the chores, and grew to hate them, especially cooking. When I started my career, I leaned into paying for convenience. During our courtship, I told him I’d easily resent him if I were required to cook, and he said he didn’t need me to cook because life is not that hard.

We got married, and I was cooking fairly regularly. I just felt like I wasn’t being a good wife if we ate out most of the time. One day, we were talking about our feeding budget, and I got defensive because it was higher than if I had cooked more. He looked at me confused, and at the end of that conversation, I realised that the confusion was not from a ‘man-no-dey-enter-kitchen’ side but more that he genuinely doesn’t care if I don’t cook. As far as he’s concerned, I lose time cooking anyway.

When I realised that I don’t have to feel bad because I don’t cook often, I felt a relief I can’t describe. When he feels like cooking, he cooks, and he always makes enough for two, even when I’m not hungry. Plus, he’s really good at it. Marriage sweet die when you’re married to someone who treats you like a peer.”

“My wife taught me that I could relax around her” — Chike*, 37, M

Chike has been married for four years, but one of his favourite moments came after a particularly hard day of work in the first year.

“I grew up in a home where the men were always ‘on’. The role of the man was to hustle and provide. When my wife and I started dating, I presented myself as the guy who could handle everything.

Eight months into our marriage, I came home from work one day exhausted. I had a lot on my plate and still planned to work into the night. My wife took one look at me and said, ‘Babe, go and sleep. Everything else can wait.’ She literally closed my laptop, dragged me to bed, spoon-fed me dinner and covered me with a duvet. I slept like a baby that night. By the time I woke up the next morning, she’d made breakfast and even laid out what I would wear to work that day.

That’s still one of my favourite moments to date. It was when I realised I didn’t have to perform for my wife, I could lean on her when things got tough for me. Since then, I just keep thinking, ‘Ah, I really married well.’”

“The way he responded to our first big fight let me know he was my forever person” — Dara*, 31, F

For Dara, even though she’s been married for three years, the moment she realised she genuinely enjoyed marriage came on the heels of their first big fight.

“We were barely six months in, and we had this huge argument over our finances. I was already shutting down emotionally, waiting for the kind of flippant responses I’d gotten used to hearing in my past relationships.

Instead, that night as we were prepping for bed, my husband sat me down and said, ‘I don’t want us to sleep until we resolve this.’ I didn’t even know how to argue again because no one had ever tried to actually talk things through with me so intentionally.

That day, something inside me softened. I realised I was married to a man who saw disagreements as problems we solved together, not something to be won by either party. I knew right then that we were going to last forever.”

“My husband assured me he’ll say ‘no’ for me if it gets too hard to handle” — Bimbo*, 42, F

In her eighteen years of experience as a wife, Bimbo is constantly reminded that marriage is sweet when she remembers that her husband will also help her say no.

“During the early years of my marriage, I ran myself ragged trying to accommodate everyone from my own family to my in-laws. It made me especially irritable during the holidays or when we had events. This was because I would make sure that we housed some of the guests, and I made myself the catering supervisor, so I hardly enjoyed any family parties.

When I was pregnant with my second child in 2011, we had to travel to Ondo State for a family event. I was sorting out catering over the phone, and I got so frustrated that I burst into tears. When my husband asked why, I told him how stressful it was for me to oversee the catering at the events, and I didn’t want his family to see me as lazy or uninvolved. He told me I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do, and right there, he called one of his younger cousins to sort out the catering. He also said if I was afraid of turning anyone down, I should send them to him, and he’d take the job of saying ‘no’ from me.

Since then, he has made sure I only do the lightest work possible at family events, and I enjoy myself to the max at every event. I feel that joy every time I find myself relaxing at an event that would usually have left me feeling tired and exhausted.”

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“People like my wife so much that they give me special treatment” – James*, 62, M

In his twenty-nine years of marriage, James has experienced the benefits of being married to someone with a great personality.

“There are many moments in my time as a married man that made me know that marriage is sweet. My wife is a woman of excellent character, and she has an amazing, accommodating personality that makes people treat me well as a result.

Once, in 2005, I was negotiating with a provisions seller over some goods I wanted to buy. I felt like I wasn’t getting a reasonable price, so I called my wife to find out how much she thought I should pay for them. When I said her name, the seller immediately perked up, ‘Is that Sewa* you’re talking to?’ I said ‘Yes, she’s my wife’ and the entire tone of the negotiations changed. Apparently, my wife had helped her pay her sibling’s school fees a few years back. She raved about how nice my wife was and gave me a fantastic price on all the things I bought.

That wasn’t the last time. There have been several more occasions where I have gone to a place with my wife and gotten preferential treatment because she had helped people in the past or because they are drawn to her warm personality. She’s like a mini celebrity in our neighbourhood. Each time I get a freebie because of my relationship with her, I feel so lucky, and it makes me happy to be her husband.”

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I’m in my twenties, and I’m not exaggerating when I say relationships have practically disappeared from my social circle. Everyone I know is “just talking.” No one is dating. No one is defining anything. Somewhere along the way, the talking stage became the preferred low-risk alternative to commitment.

What is a “talking stage,” really?

After digging through social media and far too many dating research articles, the conclusion is that there is no conclusion. The talking stage has shapeshifted so much that it now means whatever you need it to mean in the moment.

Once upon a time, it was straightforward. It was the brief — emphasis on brief —“getting to know you” window before a relationship got serious. If you clicked after a few weeks, you made it official. If not, you moved on to the next potential partner.

These days, it’s become more complicated: you meet someone, start texting non-stop, go on a few dates, probably sleep together, and before you know it, you have built an entire emotional universe around them with absolutely no definition and usually no plan of getting one.

If you recognise yourself in that description, congratulations: you’re in a modern talking stage.

To understand how this plays out in real life, I spoke to Gladys*, 27, who has been stuck in a talking stage for almost three years. “It started as what it was supposed to be traditionally,” she told me. “We were getting to know each other. But somewhere along the line, it morphed into a situationship.”

The beginning was fun. They had chemistry, easy conversations, and mutual attraction. But when the “what are we?” moment arrived, Gladys hesitated.

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to be with him fully,” she admitted. “We weren’t compatible religiously or psychologically. But I still liked him. I also wanted to keep my options open without feeling like I was cheating.”

She admits it’s not the healthiest place to be, but moving forward now feels complicated. “I wanted more definition at some point, but by then, he was too comfortable. We were already enjoying the perks of a relationship without the title.”

Gladys’ experience isn’t unusual. In 2025, the talking stage is no longer a step to dating. It has become its own relationship category.

According to a recent study, many young adults see the talking stage as an emotional safety zone, a way to enjoy affection, routine, and companionship without risking rejection. One study even found that one in five young adults considers a long texting session “a date.” And thanks to technology — video calls, voice notes, and DMs — the illusion of intimacy forms quickly, even without commitment.

Gladys can relate to this. She said that by the time she and her “partner” were talking every day and FaceTiming every night, they genuinely felt like a couple. “After investing so much time, I was afraid to ask what we were because I might not like the answer,” she admitted.

Is a talking stage inherently bad?

There’s nothing wrong with a talking stage when both people genuinely want it. The trouble starts when defining the relationship begins to feel scary. You don’t want to ruin the vibes by asking for clarity, so you hover in confusion. After all, you are “just talking.”

Dele*, 25, has been there too. “When I first started talking to my partner, I wanted a relationship, but she avoided the subject,” he says. “I liked her, so I stayed. It hurt, but it also felt convenient. If things went wrong, I could just walk away.”

It is easy to judge that logic until you realise it’s rooted in something deeper. According to Halima Mason, a relationship therapist, many Nigerians grew up having their love lives being closely monitored. “As teenagers, dating often came with punishment or moral judgment. Keeping things undefined felt safer. That habit follows people into adulthood,” she explains.

The effects show up more often than we think. Mariam*, 26, still feels it. “In secondary school, you could get suspended if teachers found out you had a boyfriend. Even in my university, you had to register your relationship and attend counselling sessions that made things more complicated,” she says. “We decided to just say we were just talking, so we wouldn’t get into trouble. Years later, it is hard to get out of that loop. My last two connections never moved past the talking stage.”

Add this early conditioning to social media pressures, economic uncertainty, and migration plans, and long-term promises start feeling heavy. In that world, staying undefined feels smart.

David*, 26, echoes that sentiment. “For many people my age, it’s not that we don’t believe in love. We just think it requires too much,” he tells me. “I liked my partner, but I didn’t want the full weight of taking things to the next step.”

Talking stages also offer a seductive illusion of control, the feeling that you are the one holding all the cards. Joan*, 19, captured this perfectly: “We are not our parents. They settled because they had limited options. I like to keep mine open, even when I like you, because I don’t want to commit fully and then suffer in the name of love.”

Her words reflect what many young people feel. We have seen how wrong ‘for better or worse’ can go. Where older generations valued endurance, younger people prioritise control. The guiding principle has become ‘I refuse to end up like them,’ which translates to keeping one foot out the door.

But Halima is not entirely convinced. She insists that this obsession with control is not always the empowering stance we think it is. “Attachment theory explains this,” she says. “People who didn’t grow up seeing emotionally healthy relationships often crave closeness but fear losing control. They say things like ‘I’m just going with the flow,’ or ‘I’m here for a good time.’ The quieter truth beneath it is that they are lonely.”

There is also the mistake of assuming this method of control actually protects the heart. Jumoke, 29, learned this the hard way. “I’ve tried talking stages, and I think they are counterproductive,” she says. “Whether there is a relationship label or not, the heartbreak feels the same. The only difference is that I couldn’t let myself process it properly because we weren’t official. It took discipline and reflection to realise I wasn’t being casual. I was avoiding commitment out of fear.”

We like to believe talking stages protect our hearts, but most of the time, they deliver the opposite. You overthink simple messages, but act unbothered even while your emotions are all over the place. Research has even shown that many young people come out of talking stages feeling disappointed and emotionally worn out, which is ironic when you remember they are supposed to be the “low-risk option.”

Are labels — annoying as they are — necessary?

As Halima Mason puts it, “A talking stage is regular emotional contact that has the possibility of becoming something more. A situationship is what happens when that same contact continues without clear boundaries or a plan.” Once you slip into that second category, it starts to feel like waiting on a ship that was never set to sail.

So, how do you even know when you have overstretched a talking stage? According to Halima, your body will make it clear long before your brain does. Pay attention to what happens after the late-night calls and the easy hangouts. If your chest tightens, or you sleep lighter, or you feel strangely relieved when plans get cancelled, your nervous system is probably signalling that the setup is draining you.

Once you start noticing these cues, the real question becomes what to actually do with them. According to Halima, the worst thing you can do is stay in limbo and hope vibes will magically clarify themselves. “If nothing changes after four to six weeks of steady contact, it may be time for a clarity conversation,” she says. In other words, a soft check-in about what you are both doing and why.

She suggests questions that feel human rather than confrontational.

How do you want things to feel next month?
How often do you want to see each other?
What should it look like if things stay casual?

These questions, she says, “lower anxiety and create room for honest answers.”

And if the answers disappoint you, this is the time to use an exit line that keeps your dignity intact. “You can say, ‘I like you, and I want clarity. If that is not where you are, I will step back so we both have space to find what we truly want.’ It protects your peace while staying kind.”

The bottom line is

Most people want a connection with shape and direction, even though others genuinely enjoy the ease of staying undefined. Both choices are valid. What matters is that whatever you choose is something you can sit in without anxiety.

Maybe that’s the real takeaway. It should never be about forcing labels or trying to turn every spark into a sweeping romance. It’s simply about choosing connections that are mutual, honest, and something your mind — and nervous system — can live with.

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

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

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

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

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what made you think otherwise?

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

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

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

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

Right. So when did things change between you guys?

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

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

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

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

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

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Right.

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

Was Gboyega aware of your feelings?

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

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

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

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

Charles, did you know about his past relationship?

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

And how did you respond, Gboyega?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. Do you both see other people?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does the future look like for you both?

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

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

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

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

Morayo*(28) and Motun* (28) became friends as first-year students in university and built a bond that survived into adulthood.

But their friendship started to disintegrate after Morayo introduced Motun to her childhood friend, Tomi*, and they both joined Tomi’s online prayer group. Almost immediately, the dynamics shifted and subtle religious manipulation slowly pushed the women apart, leaving their nearly decade-long friendship hanging by a thread.

This is Morayo’s story as told to Betty:

I love my religion, and I love God, but if you’d told me that it would destroy a friendship I’d had for almost ten years, I wouldn’t have believed you.

Motun and I met in 2014 in 100L. We didn’t become close immediately, but over time, we got closer and formed a friend group with another coursemate. Even in that trio, Motun and I were tighter and shared everything with each other. By our final year, we’d grown so close that our families knew about our friendship. After school, when we served in Ibadan, I visited her every weekend.

Before Motun, there was another childhood friend, Tomi*, in the picture and because I like people around me to get along, I introduced Motun and Tomi in 2017. It felt like an easy, natural blending of my school life and home life.

Not too long after, Tomi said she felt led to start a prayer group and asked if I was interested. I admired her fervour and joined the group. Each week, we gathered online to pray together and share the word of God; I really enjoyed the sense of community.

Then one day in 2020, during a call, Motun mentioned she was struggling spiritually and wanted to take her prayers more seriously. Tomi’s prayer group immediately came to mind, and I suggested she join. At first, everything went well. She joined our weekly prayer sessions, studied the Bible with us, and soon started to feel better about her spiritual life.

Things took an unexpected turn around the Valentine’s Day celebration in 2021. Tomi had grown in her spiritual life and tagged herself a prophetess. She’d share personal visions with members in the prayer group during weekly prayer sessions.

One day in June 2021, she prophesied that Motun’s “God ordained” husband was in the prayer group and that if she didn’t marry him, she would face personal setbacks. The problem? Motun already had a boyfriend. In the days and weeks that followed, the prophecy left her uneasy. I tried to persuade her, adding that she should let time test whatever she heard, but she wouldn’t budge. Instead, she tried to pull away from our friendship. She threw herself into the prayer group, trying to make sense of the prophecy. I’d never seen her so scared.

As weeks passed, Tomi kept pressuring her about meeting this “ordained husband”. She even started pestering me. She once called, asking why Motun wasn’t taking the prophecy seriously and insinuating that she was dating her boyfriend because he had money. It felt inappropriate. I defended Motun and said she was taking her time.

I became sceptical because the so-called ‘God ordained husband’ was close friends with Tomi. I suspected she was misusing her influence to matchmake them.

By December 2021, I was shocked to find out Motun had ended things with her boyfriend and started dating the guy Tomi pointed out. I thought it was weird, but I kept quiet so I wouldn’t seem like someone against “God’s plan” for her life.

Meanwhile, Tomi’s prophecies got wilder. In one session, she claimed I had to start attending my childhood church again or I wouldn’t find a husband. I ignored it. But when she later said God was angry with me for not doing it, that was my last straw. I left the group and cut Tomi off. I tried to keep things cordial with Motun because I still saw her as my best friend.

But after I left, my friendship with Motun became strained. Our conversations became short, dry, and she seemed distant. When I tried to visit her, she’d say she wasn’t around. Even my family noticed. She missed my family functions, and when my mum called her to ask why, she gave flimsy excuses.

My family kept encouraging me to reach out, but no matter what I tried, she only responded coldly. It felt like she had already detached.

Things collapsed completely in June 2022. On my birthday, she sent a very formal message and ended it by asking whether I would heed Tomi’s prophecy about returning to my childhood church so I could find a husband.

I ignored that part and teased her about sounding so serious. Instead of laughing, she got offended and accused me of saying she didn’t know how to communicate properly. I tried to explain it was a joke, but she remained angry and stopped talking to me entirely. I felt hurt and confused.

While I dealt with that, Tomi grew more vindictive. She still attended our childhood church and started spreading rumours about my mum and me. She said I lied about the prayer group and that my mum was spreading those lies. I warned her to stop mentioning my mum, but by then it was too late. Church members stopped greeting me during holiday services. I felt ostracised. I deleted their numbers, blocked them on social media and walked away. I regretted ever letting Tomi into my friendship with Motun.

***

Almost two years passed, and in May 2024, out of nowhere, Motun texted me, “Hi”. I was shocked and felt tempted to ignore it, but I’d missed our friendship. I responded, and she apologised, saying how she wanted us to reconcile. It didn’t feel like before, but I was willing to give our friendship another chance.

I asked why she cut me off so harshly two years ago. That was when she revealed Tomi had been feeding her gossip and insinuating it came from me. Tomi told her I said she liked dating Yahoo boys, which was false. I told her the truth, and we resolved it. She asked if I would attend her wedding in December if she invited me. I said yes.

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I was heavily involved in the planning and preparations for her wedding. Our friendship felt like old times again. It was as if all the time we’d spent apart was just a blip in the timeline of our sisterhood. Funny enough, I saw Tomi at the wedding and pretended I’d never met her. I was determined not to enter her drama again.

After the wedding, my friendship with Motun deepened again. When my sister had a baby in January 2024, I posted the news, and Motun reached out. She said she felt torn about trying for a baby because her older sister had been trying with no luck.

I know how society treats women searching for the fruit of the womb. As support, I introduced her to the Hallelujah Challenge, and we included her sister in our prayer points.

I thought this religious connection strengthened our bond, but a few weeks later, her energy changed again for no reason. This time, I refused to beat myself up about it. I was going through a challenging phase with my health and my job, and I refused to hold space for someone who wouldn’t speak up.

My cousin later told me she suspected Motun was pregnant after seeing her WhatsApp status. Motun never told me, even after confiding in me earlier. That silence hurt more than I expected. It made me realise our reconciliation was only surface-level. She had moved on, and maybe I needed to accept that.

I didn’t reach out to congratulate her. Not because I was angry, but because I didn’t want her to force anything. There was a time when we told each other everything. Trying to recreate that now feels fake.

Looking back, I blame Tomi for most of what happened. I believe she was jealous of the bond Motun and I shared, which was why she sowed so much discord between us.

Today, I’m cordial with Motun but distant. I busy myself with my life and my faith. I don’t force friendships, and I’ve accepted that not every reconciliation leads to a happy ending. I still miss what Motun and I used to share, but I’ve accepted that our friendship will never be like how it used to be before.

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

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

How long have you been with your partner?

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

How did that happen?

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

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

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

What was your reaction?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm

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

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

What are your thoughts about safety nets?

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

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

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

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

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

What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

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

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

*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

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

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When Adanna* (24) met Daniel* (24) at a birthday party, she didn’t think it would lead anywhere, but a brief fling transitioned into a relationship. Everything was going well until Daniel left the country, and they had to open their relationship. In this story, Adanna expresses the anger and confusion she felt when she realised her boyfriend had a problem with her kissing a man but not a woman.

This is Adanna’s story, as told to Sofiyah

In 2024, Daniel and I met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. After awkward introductions, I thought that was the end, but then a conversation about SK8 the Infinity came up, and we both had a lot to say.

Daniel is the kind of person you can talk to for hours without ever getting tired. I realised this after we exchanged contacts and started speaking more.

We were supposed to be a fling because we didn’t think we had time for a relationship, but our feelings didn’t care about that. Daniel was easy to fall for, and I was thrilled when I found out the feelings were mutual. A week after this realisation, he asked me out on a date, and that was when we made it official.

For a month, everything was wonderful, blissful even. Being with him made me feel giddy, and it felt like the universe knew and hated that for me because, on a random day, his visa application was approved. After he told me, I had a hard time processing it. Yes, I was happy for him because this was something he’d been working towards for a long time, but at the same time, I was mad at the country and its cruel government. The japa wave seems to derive joy from taking my loved ones away from me. I thought him moving to an entirely new continent would be the end of this amazing thing we were building, but one night, we sat down, had a lengthy conversation about the future of our relationship, and agreed to give long distance a try.

At first, the long distance was calm, and for a while, I thought, maybe this would be okay. Unfortunately, I was wrong. We started having these little fights about how I always put my job first before anything or anyone else, and that confused me a lot. Even before he left, he knew how much of a workaholic I am, and I couldn’t comprehend why it suddenly became a problem.

We were still navigating that without everything crumbling down when the topic of sex came up. He made a comment expressing his frustration at the lack of sex, and I replied, “You know you can sleep with anyone you want, right?” From there, we talked and decided that it would be best to open the relationship, but before doing that, we had to set a major ground rule.

Next Read: “To Me, OCD is Simply Controlling” — 5 Nigerian Women on Living With Symptoms of OCD

We agreed it would be safest to use condoms and avoid having sex with anyone who hadn’t been tested. He also wanted to include a ‘no sleeping with friends’ rule, but I reminded him that I need to be friendly with someone before having sex with them, so we adjusted that. I was completely okay with the entire thing because sex isn’t a big deal to me. I’m demisexual, and people in Lagos have never been interesting enough for me to consider dedicating time to forming connections before sleeping with them.

Once the relationship was opened, things went back to normal for a while, but then I went to a party with my friends and everything fell apart. While at the party, I was updating him about what was happening. I told him that the shots were useless, and I’d get a joint from a friend instead. After getting the joint, I got a little high, and I ended up making out with said friend in their car. It wasn’t surprising to me because there’d always been an attraction between us, so it was only a matter of time.

After the makeout session, I told Daniel about it, and because my friend has a unisex Yoruba name, he assumed it was one of my X mutuals who’s a girl. When he replied, “That’s good for you and her. I love it”, I corrected him. “Her? No, it was a guy.” His next response confused me. He said something along the lines of, “I’m not comfortable with you being intimate with someone while intoxicated when that person is the cause of your intoxication.”

I wasn’t only boggled by his words, but I was also angry. I’ve been smoking for years, and he, more than anyone, knows I can handle my alcohol and weed. I trust my instincts and judgment, and I know that I’d never do anything I didn’t want to do, no matter how intoxicated I was. When I said all of this, he proceeded to invalidate me by speaking to me like I was his younger sister, and I slowly realised he wasn’t interested in understanding me. He was just fixated on the fact that I kissed a guy, and wanted to make it a whole issue.

The entire conversation convinced me that he either had a fetishisation of some sort or he never saw women as his competition because he didn’t raise any concern about intoxication when he thought the person I was with was a woman. The sudden change of tone when he realised that it was a man completely weirded me out, and that was when I knew it was best to end the relationship. If he thought I was only going to be kissing women, despite knowing that I don’t have a preference, he shouldn’t have agreed to opening the relationship.

When we opened the relationship, I never made a fuss about whoever he wanted to sleep with because, to me, sex is sex, regardless of gender. Anyone who has a problem with that isn’t for me, and will never be for me.

You’ll Also Enjoy Reading: What She Said: I Married My Worst Nightmare

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What’s your earliest memory of money?

Those were the days. What was growing up like financially?

Tell me about that

What happened?

Oh my God

That’s wild

Was it a paid apprenticeship?

How much did the new job pay?

What did you do?

What happened?

Too much sense wanted to finish you

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Interesting. What did you do next?

What do you do these days?

How do the business operations work?

Hmm. That’s a lot to think about. You mentioned a monthly profit of about ₦15 million. How much of that is your income?

You’ve had massive income growth over the years. How has that impacted how you think about money?

How would you describe your relationship with money?

Now would be a good time to walk me through your typical monthly expenses

Is there anything you want right now but can’t afford?

Is there an ideal amount of money you think you should be earning right now?

Rooting for you. What was the last thing you spent money on that made you happy?

How would you rate your financial happiness on a scale of 1-10?

What were the signs that your friendship with Aisha was going downhill?

Okay, first, how did you guys meet?

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What were the early days of your friendship like?

Where would you say the cracks in your relationship started showing?

Tell me about that.

Did she hit it off with either of them?

Why not?

Ah, I see. Did you talk to her about it?

So what happened after?

How did you find out about them?

Ah.

How did that make you feel?

Did you tell her when you found out?

Okay, what happened next?

Did she reach out to you after you spoke to your mutual friends?

Have you guys spoken since then?

What about Femi? Are you guys still friends?

If Aisha wanted to get close to you again, is that something you’d be open to?

This is Amanda’s Dilemma, As Told To Boluwatife

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I grew up waiting for a Prince Charming who looked like a movie character

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Falling in love with an older man was the first real surprise of my adult life

One comment from my husband’s family made me feel like running

No one prepares you for navigating a family that’s not yours

We had to learn how to meet in the middle when it came to respect and expression

Motherhood changed the version of myself I thought I’d carry into marriage

I believe love is enough

“I realised my husband doesn’t need me to cook” — Fimi*, 28, F

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“My wife taught me that I could relax around her” — Chike*, 37, M

“The way he responded to our first big fight let me know he was my forever person” — Dara*, 31, F

“My husband assured me he’ll say ‘no’ for me if it gets too hard to handle” — Bimbo*, 42, F

“People like my wife so much that they give me special treatment” – James*, 62, M

What is a “talking stage,” really?

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Is a talking stage inherently bad?

Are labels — annoying as they are — necessary?

The bottom line is

What’s your earliest memory of each other?

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

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So what made you think otherwise?

Right. So when did things change between you guys?

Right.

Was Gboyega aware of your feelings?

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

Charles, did you know about his past relationship?

And how did you respond, Gboyega?

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

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

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

Right. Do you both see other people?

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

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

What does the future look like for you both?