• For many older Nigerians, divorce still feels like a taboo. But what makes some people walk away from a marriage they once hoped would last forever? I spoke to six Nigerians whose stories reveal that the decision to leave is never taken lightly and is sometimes the only way to survive.

    “He threatened to kill me if I told anyone his secret” — Doris, 53

    *Doris thought she was marrying a man of God. But what awaited her was a heavy secret that imprisoned her. 

    “I married my sweetheart after three years of courtship. We met in church, where he was the youth pastor.  We were celibate throughout the relationship, so I looked forward to our wedding night. But that night, he said he was tired and needed to rest.

    That continued for a week. He refused to touch me. Instead, he’d leave the house for church and return late, only to insist we pray till midnight. Whenever I brought up intimacy, he’d accuse me of being ‘too carnal’.

    Eventually, I’d had enough. I waited for him to come home one night and told him we must have sex. When I pulled down his trousers, I screamed.

     What I saw didn’t look like a grown man’s private part; it looked like a baby’s penis. I locked myself in the guest room that night. The next day, he threatened me and said if I ever told anyone, he’d kill me.

    I lived in silence for months, crying myself to sleep and mourning the future I thought I would never have. I wanted kids, but there was no possibility of that now. The depression was heavy. I eventually confided in my mother and sister, and they encouraged me to leave. I also reported to our church leaders. They rebuked him for not disclosing the truth before marriage, but tried to convince me to stay.

    I refused. I packed my things, filed for divorce, and moved to another city for safety. For years, I feared he might come after me, just as he’d threatened. Thankfully, I found peace again. I got remarried to a kind widower years later.”

    “She chewed her memory card in front of everyone” — *Chijoke, 51

    For *Chijoke, what began with a wedding invitation turned into a revelation that exposed *Ijeoma’s cheating and financial deceit, ultimately tearing their decade-long marriage apart.

    In 2021, my wife, *Ijeoma, got invited to a wedding in our hometown, Abba. She was supposed to be gone for a week. But after two days, my sister, who lives there, called to say she hadn’t seen Ijeoma.

    When I asked her where she was, Ijeoma claimed she had stopped to see her best friend in Enugu. I asked her to pass the phone to her friend, but she gave an excuse and hung up.

    Something wasn’t right. I contacted a friend in Enugu and asked him to help me hire a private investigator. That’s how I found out she was staying at a popular hotel in Enugu with a man. We got pictures as evidence.

    When she returned, I confronted her with the pictures. She claimed the man was a schoolmate and they had only gone to the hotel’s restaurant to eat. She kept lying, so I called a family meeting and asked her to give me her phone. She removed the memory card and chewed it right there in front of everyone before handing it over. That was the confirmation I needed. 

    But it wasn’t just cheating. We ran a bakery together that made an average of ₦250k weekly. But the week she travelled? We made over ₦900k. That same week, her contribution collector came around and mentioned she’d been contributing ₦30k daily. That was when I realised she’d been stealing from the business.

    Her family and the church kept begging me to forgive her. I heard their pleas, but also had my own plan. I lied that we needed money to pay our shop rent and asked how much she had. She said ₦300k. I already knew she was lying because I had her bank statement and she had about  ₦1.1m sitting there. Out of guilt, she gave me ₦1m. 

    After that, I switched up. I became cold, cheated openly and took full control of the business finances. It drove her mad. Her mother eventually visited the shop one day, shouting and demanding that her daughter leave the marriage. I didn’t argue. We got divorced in 2023, and I took the kids.

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    “I nearly lost an eye after he beat me” — *Samiat, 42

    For *Samiat, marriage was something she was handed. At just 18, she became a wife and punching bag. Many years later, a piece of paper gave her the escape she needed.

    “I was 18 when I married *Muktar. At the time, it wasn’t a choice. He was older and quickly became what society said a husband should be — my lord. He beat me for every little mistake. 

    By the time I had my children, I knew I had to find a way out of the marriage. I applied for jobs in other states just to have a reason to be away. I eventually landed a junior role with a government agency in Abuja and relocated. The job wasn’t too demanding, so I enrolled in part-time studies at Open University. I didn’t tell him because he’d never allow it.

    Whenever I visited home, he picked fights, saying I’d stopped being submissive and should quit my job. I refused. One night, he beat me and pushed me into a glass shelf. I was hospitalised and almost lost an eye.

    When I returned home, I found a piece of paper with three lines scribbled on it: ‘I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you’. In our Hausa culture, seeing those words meant the marriage was over. I was thrilled and thanked him, but he claimed he wrote it in anger and tried to take it back. I grabbed the paper and ran. That same night, I returned to Abuja.

    The next day at work, I lied and said I got injured in an accident. But when I got home that evening, he was waiting at the staff quarters gate. He attacked me and demanded the paper, but my neighbours heard my screams and rushed to pull him off me. They kicked him out and said he’d be arrested if he ever came back.

    That was my turning point. I graduated, got promoted, and posted my graduation pictures online on the first anniversary of leaving him. He saw them and showed up again, but I had him arrested this time. That was the last time I saw him.

    Now, I’m a senior civil servant. My kids are all grown and married, and I visit them often.”

    “The moment I got a job, I divorced her” — *Peter, 55

    They say hardship tests a person’s love. For *Peter, losing his job didn’t just change his finances; it exposed the true colours of the woman he once adored. 

    “I married a woman I truly loved. But our relationship turned sour when I lost my job. She suddenly hated me. She would insult and sometimes ignore me in front of everyone. At some point, she stopped cooking for me. I had to beg the neighbours for food to eat.

    My joblessness stretched into six years. I applied for countless jobs and tried to stay hopeful, but my resentment grew with each rejection. The last straw was when my younger brother fell ill. I begged my wife to help take a loan for his treatment, but she refused. She made it clear that it wasn’t her problem. My brother died shortly after.

    Then, in 2017, I got the biggest break of my life — a job with ExxonMobil. The first thing I did was file for divorce. However, while we’ve separated, I’ve made sure our children are cared for. I send money regularly and pay their school fees.”


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    “To him, I was no longer his wife, but a witch sent to kill him” — *Adebisi, 69

    *Adebisi’s husband treated her more like a slave than a partner. She was looked down on and eventually discarded without warning.

    “I was just 20 in 1980 when my family married me off to a wealthy, educated man in Lagos. I left our village in Osun full of dreams, but when I got there, I quickly realised I was just a replacement for his dying wife.

    His first wife had late-stage cancer and asked him to marry someone she could observe. Particularly, someone who’d be able to properly care for her children. That woman turned out to be me. For nearly two years, I cared for her, the children, and the household. I cooked, cleaned, and helped her through her final moments. When she eventually passed, I finally felt like I belonged.

    Not long after, I welcomed my first child after a long battle with infertility. Around this period, I noticed a strange girl around the house. She was barely 16 and best friends with my husband’s eldest daughter. I didn’t think much of it until I walked into my bedroom one day and found him on top of her.

    I called him a disgrace for sleeping with a girl young enough to be his child. But he wasn’t fazed.. He married the same girl two years later.

    At first, I tried to coexist with her peacefully, but she made my life hell. She would pour sand in my food and beat my daughter when I wasn’t looking. I reported to our husband, but he mostly ignored my complaints. She, on the other hand, would whisper to him in English and write letters I couldn’t read.

    One December, we travelled to our village. He told me to stay back for a while and promised to come for me. I waited for weeks, then months. When I returned to Lagos, he told the guards at the gate that I was no longer his wife but a witch sent to kill him. I slept outside the gate for days before finally returning to my village in shame.

    It took me years to move on. But eventually, I remarried. Even now, I still wonder what she told him that made him turn so completely.”

    “She slept with men around” — Shola, 58

    The reputation his wife built in their small town left a stain on *Shola. When he got a transfer offer, he didn’t hesitate to take it.

    “The best thing that came out of my marriage to *Tade was our kids. That’s it. Everything else was chaos. She fought with neighbours, stole from friends, and embarrassed me in ways I can’t even explain.

    I heard rumours she was sleeping with our driver, then the salesboy at her store, and the gateman. I tried to protect what was left of the marriage, but her reputation made it harder every day. So when I got an offer to transfer to another state office, I didn’t hesitate. It was the escape I’d been praying for.

    She said she’d join me later and needed time to close her business. I agreed and moved with the kids. That was the last time we lived under the same roof.

    She refused to join us for months. Meanwhile, people back home said she had gotten even bolder. The men were coming and going with her as they liked. Eventually, I stopped waiting. I filed for divorce and sent her the papers.

    The last I heard, one of her boyfriends ran off with all her money and wrecked her business. I have zero regrets about leaving her.”


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  • Every day, we gain new insight that often makes us wish we could revisit a past decision and take a different approach for better results, especially regarding financial decisions.

    Forex traders wish they’d made better predictions after a loss, gamblers regret certain betting decisions after negative results roll in, and everyday Nigerians wish they’d bought more stocks before the prices went up. In many cases, these situations can be fixed by making better decisions.

    But what do similar regrets look like for older Nigerians who might no longer have as much time to fix them? We spoke to four Nigerians aged 50+ who shared their biggest financial regrets and the alternative decisions they’d have made if they knew what they know now.

    “I shouldn’t have invested in a cyber café”

     — Okorie*, 54

    It took a couple of trials and errors to accept that I wasn’t cut out for business. But the biggest error I made was investing all my money to set up a cyber café in 2012.

    I’d just lost my job at an automobile company where I was a parts manager. The company made my role redundant for some office politics-related reason, but they gave me a ₦2m severance pay. I decided I was too old at 41 to start looking for a new job, so I decided to focus on a business. 

    I reasoned that my earlier business ventures failed because I was dividing my attention between them and my regular job. I’m not sure exactly how I got the idea to set up a cyber café, but it felt like a good idea. 

    I lived close to a university and figured that students would need a place to access the internet and print documents. Also, there weren’t any cyber cafés around, so there was no competition for me. In retrospect, that should’ve been my first warning sign. 

    Feeling optimistic, I took out my ₦1m savings from the bank, added it to my severance pay, and rented an office space. The space cost ₦500k/year, and I used the rest of the money to buy two computers, a commercial printer and sort other set-up needs. 

    Business was bad from the first day I opened the shop. It turned out that most of the students did their printing inside the school, where it was cheaper due to competition. Also, people didn’t need cyber cafés as much anymore because of smartphones. They only came if they had to do group projects and assignments, and needed a computer to type. 

    In hindsight, I should’ve done extensive market research before dropping all that money on an idea, or better still, consulted people who had better business sense.

    I’m not sure I made up to 10% of my investment when I shut down a year later. I didn’t know I’d still have to spend money to maintain the computers and printers. By the end of the year, I had no money to renew my rent, so I just packed it up.

    I can’t remember how much I sold the computers and printer now, but I’m sure I didn’t use the money for anything reasonable because I’d have remembered. I returned to the job market and fortunately got a job within months. I’m still there and religiously saving for retirement with my pension and treasury bills — I have ₦1.8m in the latter. I’ve been burned too much to consider business as a source of income when I retire.

    “I had the chance to buy land, but I let it go”

     — Bayo*, 61

    I lost the chance to own millions of naira worth of real estate because I believed holding money was safer than letting it go.

    In 1993, my wife’s brother tried to sell me land in Satellite Town, Lagos —  two plots of land at ₦65k each. I’d just received a ₦100k windfall from my late dad’s pension settlement money, and my wife wanted me to invest the money.

    There’s nothing she didn’t use to convince me to buy that property. She even volunteered to borrow the balance from people. But I didn’t think it was a good investment. The land was in a “bush” area that didn’t look like it would be developed in years. Besides, buying the land was one thing. What would we build on it?

    I decided to save the money instead. Months later, I used it to remodel our house from a bungalow to a one-storey building so we could rent out the extra space.

    However, my brother-in-law bought a plot in that area and sold it for ₦19m in 2021. I hear that land in Satellite Town goes as high as ₦50m today, even more if it’s in a better area close to the road. 

    That extra floor I built in my house? We stopped renting it out years ago due to problematic tenants. My family occupies all the rooms now. 

    I still think about that property from time to time.

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    “I over-relied on my pension and didn’t utilise loans”

    — Femi*, 64

    Early retirement seemed like a good idea in theory. However, when I retired in 2016, it quickly became clear I wasn’t prepared for it.

    By the time I retired, I had a house with two tenants and a pension account scheduled to pay me ₦120k/month for the next 20 years. I assumed collecting rent and my pension would be more than enough to survive on — ₦120k was good money in 2016. 

    Now, it’s barely enough to sustain me, my wife and our lastborn child for a month. My lastborn is still in university and her tuition fees went from ₦20k to ₦200k in 2023. My older kids still call for financial support once in a while.

    I still get at least ₦1.8m in rent yearly from my tenants, but I can hardly plan around that. Most of the time, I use it to settle loans I took during the year to support my wife’s trading business and handle medical bills. 

    I wish I hadn’t relied so much on my pension. I should’ve followed the footsteps of colleagues who took loans from cooperative associations to build houses and start businesses. I assumed taking loans would be me “doing more than myself” and reducing my monthly take home. 

    But I now realise it would’ve just been a temporary sacrifice for future gain. If I’d taken advantage of those loans, I would’ve had at least one more house to supplement my income. I might have even set up a business and put someone in charge. 

    It’s sad that I’m supposed to be enjoying my retirement now, but I keep thinking about how to make money.

    “I regret staying with my children’s father”

    — Grace*, 55

    Marriage in itself can be good, but it’s my biggest financial regret. I was married to my husband for 20 years before we separated. While we were together, he never held a stable job for three consecutive years.

    As a result, I had to handle our home and children’s expenses. In addition, I had to finance whatever new business venture my husband took an interest in. The businesses always failed, but like a virtuous wife who wanted to protect her husband’s ego, I never questioned him. 

    I allowed him to have the final say on money I worked for because I didn’t want fights. I didn’t want him to think I lacked “respect” because I was the breadwinner. I let him make terrible financial decisions because I wanted him to be the “head of the home”. Money wasn’t the primary reason we eventually separated in 2022, but it played a role.

    Now, I’m five years from retirement without reasonable savings or investments. I know when people were using ₦500k to buy land. Now I can’t think about that unless I have like ₦10m. If I’d left my marriage earlier or not endured the plenty of nonsense I did, I’d have land and property today. 

    I’ve been trying to save as much as possible to have a retirement safety net. I also have my pension to look forward to, but it’s nothing compared to how much I’d have achieved for myself if I hadn’t gotten married, or maybe married a more sensible man.


    *Names have been changed for anonymity.


    NEXT READ: These 10 Money Market Mutual Funds Are Making Nigerians Rich in 2025

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