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  • *Dasola, 33, got married in 2020. She expected a smooth transition into a fairytale life with the man she loved. Four years in, she’s realising that love isn’t enough. Sacrifice, self-awareness, and compromise are the true foundations of a solid marriage.

    This is a look into Dasola’s marriage diary.

    Reality came a bit early

    I always imagined marriage would be soft, picture-perfect, and easy — like the romcoms I grew up watching. The wife wakes up early, makes breakfast in a spotless kitchen, the kids come down beaming, and the husband kisses her before heading out. That image stayed with me for a long time.

    But when I got married in 2020, reality came knocking fast. I still loved my husband just as much; that hadn’t changed. But I quickly learned that marriage isn’t just about two people. It’s about two families. And blending them — especially his  — was something I hadn’t emotionally prepared for.

    For our first Christmas together as a married couple, we traveled to spend the holidays with his family. They were warm and accommodating, but I still felt like an outsider. I wasn’t their daughter, sister or cousin. I was the new wife; pleasantly received, but not fully plugged in.

    I realised I’d always have to celebrate special holidays with his family, which meant giving up the familiar traditions I’d built with mine. I still struggle with this sometimes. There are years when all I want is to be with my mum and siblings during the festive period, but marriage — and now, motherhood — have forced me to think beyond my desires.

    Nobody warned me that I’d miss my mum this much

    The first time I really questioned whether I was ready for marriage was just days after our wedding. I’d always been extremely close to my mum. She helped with the wedding preparations, and I was just super excited. But the moment I started packing my things to move into the house I’d now be calling “home,” it hit me. This was it. I was leaving everything behind.

    During that first week, I cried almost every night. I couldn’t just decide to visit my family without telling someone first — not because my husband was controlling, but because marriage comes with an unspoken shift. You don’t just move your own way anymore; every decision, even the small ones, now includes someone else.

    Eventually, my husband noticed how much I missed my family and how withdrawn I was. Maybe he could tell I was grieving something — my old life. He started driving us there to visit on weekends when he had free time. It helped, but it didn’t erase the internal shift I was going through. I wasn’t just learning to live with someone. I was learning to let go of the life I’d always known.

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    ALSO READ: I Dated a Man of God. It Was the Closest Thing to Hell

    I wasn’t prepared for his libido, and how he preferred his “thank you”

    One thing nobody prepared me for? Sex in marriage. I know people say communication is key, and we did talk about intimacy before marriage, but conversations can only go so far.

    My husband has a higher libido than I do. He could go multiple rounds a week and still be ready. Me? I could go months without feeling the need, and I’d be fine. It didn’t mean I loved him less; it just wasn’t how I experienced connection.

    In church, they always say things like, “Don’t deny your husband. I internalised a lot of that. But real life isn’t a sermon. There were moments I gave in out of obligation, which created quiet resentment I didn’t know how to name at the time. Eventually, we had to talk — not just once, but over and over — until we found a rhythm that respected both our needs.

    Another area we clashed was gratitude. When he buys me a gift or does something special, I say “Thank you” and move on. I mean it; I just don’t dwell on it. But I noticed he’d wake up the next day a bit off. It took a while, but I realised he was raised in a household where appreciation wasn’t a one-time thing. He expected ongoing praise — like, keep thanking me for a few days so I know you really appreciate it. It sounded ridiculous at first, but when I understood where he was coming from, I started being more intentional. Now, when he does something for me, I make sure to circle back with more love and gratitude, not just in words but in small gestures.

    I don’t like how I look anymore. It’s the hardest bit to admit

    Marriage has changed how I see myself, especially physically. I’ve had two kids, and I honestly don’t like how I look anymore. My body feels like a version of myself I didn’t sign up for, and it’s hard to say that out loud without sounding ungrateful. I love being a mum. I love my kids. But I miss myself.

    I used to have big career dreams, but those have taken a backseat. While my husband works a 9–5, I’ve had to take up business ventures that give me flexibility to manage the home and raise our kids. It wasn’t part of the plan — I wanted to be in corporate. But life shifted, and I adjusted. Some days, I feel like I’ve hit pause on the version of me I was supposed to become.

    I don’t know how long this pause will last, but I want to believe there’s still time to become that version of myself. The one that’s not just “mummy” or “wife,” but a full woman again — with her own identity, not just roles to play.

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    Love isn’t enough. Empathy is what holds us together

    If I could tell my unmarried self anything, it’d be this: Marriage is overwhelming. There are truths your mother won’t tell you, things you’ll have to learn the hard way. If I had the chance, I’d have used my single years better and done more for myself. Because once marriage starts, your life isn’t just yours anymore.

    One of my biggest compromises is putting my career on hold. It wasn’t easy, and it still isn’t. But I know it’s worth it when I see how present I am in my children’s lives and how much we’ve built together as a family. Still, it’s a choice that came with its own grief.

    People think love will carry you through marriage, but love isn’t enough. There are days when what you feel isn’t love, it’s irritation, anger, even hate. But empathy helps you stay. When you see your partner not just as a spouse, but as a human being with flaws and struggles, it softens you. You forgive faster. You try harder.

    And maybe that’s the real secret to staying married: not just love, but the daily decision to see each other as people first.

    READ THIS NEXT: I Wanted Someone Like My Mum and Found Her

  • 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.

    How long have you been with your partner?

    My husband, Ebuka, and I dated for six months before we got married in November 2023, so almost two years. 

    How did you meet?

    We’ve always known each other from a distance. Our mums are friends, but Ebuka and I didn’t really interact until our mums matched us. 

    Ebuka was rounding up his master’s degree abroad, and his mum told him she had someone for him. She gave him my WhatsApp number and kept reminding him to reach out to me. My mum also told me someone was interested in me, but I didn’t take her seriously — she’d been trying to marry me off since the day I left uni in 2015. 

    Nigerian mothers 

    You get it. Ebuka finally reached out to me when his mum refused to leave the matter, and it turned out to be her friend’s daughter. We first joked about the situation, but our mothers must’ve seen something we didn’t because we became inseparable within a few days.

    My bank job didn’t allow me to stay on my phone so much, but I’d go to the toilet to sneakily do video calls with Ebuka. We were so unserious. Sometimes he’d even fall asleep on the call, and I’d stay on just to stare at his face.

    God, when?

    We dated long-distance for the first four months before Ebuka returned to Nigeria. The plan wasn’t actually for him to return. The master’s was supposed to be his japa route, but he had visa issues and couldn’t find a job on time. 

    So, we agreed that he’d return to Nigeria briefly, then we’d get married and process our japa to a different country together. He returned in September, and the wedding happened in November. 

    How did you guys handle wedding expenses?

    Ebuka handled most of it. He’d done many odd jobs during his school program abroad and saved most of his earnings. I think it was around ₦5m. That’s one thing about Ebuka, he’s very prudent and saves a lot. That attribute has its advantages and disadvantages.

    For instance, even though I paid for my white wedding gown, he insisted on knowing how much I spent. I almost bought a ₦500k dress, but when I couldn’t defend the cost-effectiveness of my choice to Ebuka, I had to settle for one that cost ₦120k. I wasn’t thrilled, but now I’m glad I didn’t buy the expensive dress because it’d have just been a waste of money.

    What’s the disadvantage?

    The disadvantage of Ebuka being prudent is he tends to feel he’s the only one who can make sound financial decisions. 

    During our wedding, he kept everything on a tight leash. I wanted a different decorator, but he insisted on getting someone cheaper—the same for the baker and the MC. Now, I hate looking at some of our wedding pictures because they just didn’t give me the vibe I wanted. We’ve been married for a year, and Ebuka is still the same: He doesn’t like to spend, in his words, unnecessarily, and he likes everything to go his way.

    Anyway, I understand Ebuka’s need for control. I guess it’s just a personality thing. I know he just wants the best of us, so I try to make a conscious effort to trust him. While I try to chip in my thoughts on matters, I ultimately leave him to make the decisions, especially regarding finances. 

    Besides, he makes the money — I haven’t worked since we got married — so he should automatically have the final say on how it’s spent.

    Why haven’t you worked since you got married?

    I was pregnant during my traditional wedding, but the stress of the wedding prep affected me, and I fell sick. Ebuka thought it’d be too risky to keep working after the health scare, so we agreed I’d resign. 

    At most, I was supposed to be unemployed for only a year and a half. Remember, we were still planning to japa. We thought the process would click soon. Worst case scenario, Ebuka would japa alone, and I’d join him later with our child. 

    But the japa has still not clicked, and we’re still here. I don’t know much about it because Ebuka doesn’t really involve me. Right now, I just want to get a job to earn money while we figure things out. I’ve been trying to get a remote job since January — I want to be home to care for my child — but nothing has come out of my efforts. It’s frustrating.

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    I hope something clicks soon. Does your employment status impact the kind of conversations you both have about money?

    Not really. I’m the only one bothered about my job situation. Ebuka likes that I’m home, and I think he doesn’t even want me to work. He doesn’t complain about providing or make me feel like I should be bringing money home. But I don’t like constantly justifying why I need money and not having a say in matters because he’s the only breadwinner.

    For instance, I don’t like our curtains. They’re black, and Ebuka bought them because “they’ll last longer.” I’ve been trying to get him to change it, but it’s like, “You want to waste my money?” I could buy what I want if I had my own money.

    He gives me a ₦100k allowance for the house, but it’s often not enough. By the time I stretch the money to buy food and other necessities, there’s nothing left for data. Ebuka has a portable WiFi, which I use when he’s home, but I still need data when he’s not around. Whenever I ask, he makes me feel like I just want to be on my phone all day. So, I dip into my savings to save myself the long talk.

    Where do the savings come from?

    Sometimes my siblings send me money. Other times, I save the odd ₦5k from market runs. I currently have ₦60k in a savings app. Ebuka doesn’t know about my stash — not because he’ll collect it or anything, but because he’ll try to oversee how I spend it, and that’s another wahala. 

    I sometimes feel guilty about not telling him because he’s open about his finances. I know he earns ₦525k from his finance job and has about ₦11m in our japa safety net, but I don’t even determine how he spends money, so I feel there’s nothing wrong with doing the same.

    How do you both plan for dates and romance stuff?

    Haha. No plan o. Sometimes if I complain very well, Ebuka will come home with pizza and ice cream. That’s another reason I want to make my own money. I can decide to treat us both to restaurants and outdoor activities. He’ll have no choice but to follow me if I’m the one paying.

    Plus, I think if I’m able to help out with some of the home’s expenses, Ebuka won’t be able to use “There are many bills to pay, babe” as an excuse when I nag him about dates.

    However, Ebuka doesn’t miss gifts for special occasions like birthdays and Valentine’s Day. He makes sure to buy perfumes, bags or shoes. I try to reciprocate. I got him some cufflinks and a shirt for his birthday last month. The whole thing cost ₦28k. Hopefully, the job will come, and I can do more for my baby. 

    If you think about it, a job would even help us have a healthier, happier marriage. I would be happier because I don’t feel limited and unheard, and he would be less stressed. 

    What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

    It’s for us to get visas and get enough money to leave this country. Every month we delay, the exchange rate increases, and our japa safety net feels increasingly insufficient. 

    I sound like a broken record at this point, but with a job, I can contribute to making our dreams come true and still achieve some form of financial freedom.

    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: The Content Marketer Who’s Helping His Girlfriend Fix Her Money Problems

    Join 1,000+ Nigerians, finance experts and industry leaders at The Naira Life Conference by Zikoko for a day of real, raw conversations about money and financial freedom. Click here to buy a ticket and secure your spot at the money event of the year, where you’ll get the practical tools to 10x your income, network with the biggest players in your industry, and level up in your career and business.

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  • I was looking for stories about relationships that left lasting scars when I came across *Bimpe, 29.

    In this story, she recounts how reconnecting with a university acquaintance turned pastor pulled her into a controlling, isolating relationship that nearly broke her spirit — and how she eventually found the strength to walk away.

    This is Bimpe’s story as told to Adeyinka

    I met *Gbolahan when I was in 100 level. He was in his final year at the time and used to organise tutorials for junior students. Everyone called him “pastor” because he always had his Bible and liked to lead prayers before every session, but people admired him because he knew what he was teaching. He broke things down better than the lecturers, and that made him popular. I attended a few of his tutorials and said hi occasionally, but that was it. Nothing romantic; just respect.

    After he graduated, I didn’t see or hear from him again until four years later.

    On my street in Lagos one Saturday morning, I heard someone preaching. I usually ignored those things, but there was something familiar about the voice. I turned, and there he was — white shirt, clean haircut, Bible in hand. I didn’t even think twice. I called out, “Gbolahan!” and he turned. The way his face lit up when he saw me warmed my chest. He rushed over and hugged me, and we just stood there catching up like old friends.

    That same day, he asked for my number, and we started talking again. He told me he’d become a full-time pastor and was beginning his ministry. I was going through a really rough patch — my mum was sick, I was job hunting, and life just felt heavy. Gbolahan became a shoulder. He’d come over to pray, sometimes bring me food or money, and he always had a Bible verse ready for every situation. His presence felt like light in a very dark time.

    When he told me he wanted to court me, I didn’t know how to feel at first. I’d never seen myself as the “pastor’s wife” type, but he made it sound so divine, like we were fulfilling some prophecy. He said he’d prayed, and God told him I was his wife. I didn’t hear from God, but I was vulnerable and trusted him. So I said yes.

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    The first few weeks of our relationship felt peaceful. He still prayed with me, still encouraged me, and I thought, “Maybe I’ve found the right one.” But then things started to change — quietly and slowly in ways I couldn’t name at first. He’d make comments about my dressing. “You know, as a pastor’s wife, you can’t wear trousers too often.” I laughed it off. Then it became, “Why do you still wear makeup?” or “Do you know how distracting your earrings are?” Before long, I started adjusting, telling myself I was just being respectful. But it didn’t stop there.

    He started questioning my friendships: “That girl you talk to, is she really saved?” or “You should be careful around people who don’t share your spiritual values.” He made it sound concerned, but he was isolating me. One by one, I cut people off. I told myself I was cleansing my circle, but really, I was shrinking into his control.

    Then came the evangelism.

    He said I needed to be actively involved if we were to build a ministry together. He asked me to stop looking for a full-time job and instead help with outreach. I resisted at first, but he guilt-tripped me. “Is this how you’ll be when we’re married? Putting the world before the work of God?” So I gave in. I started spending more time with his ministry, going on street evangelism, planning church events, and cleaning the venue. No pay, no recognition, just free service for a man I was dating. By then, I was fully immersed in his world. But the deeper I went, the more I saw the cracks.

    There were always girls around him. Young, beautiful, always eager to please. At first, I thought nothing of it — it was church. But then I started noticing how they looked at me. Cold, dismissive. One even told me, “You’re not the only one pastor prays with.” My chest sank. I asked him about it, and he turned it into a lecture. “The devil is trying to sow doubt in your heart. Don’t give in to suspicion. You need to trust me.”

    And I did until I couldn’t. I found messages. Not one, not two — dozens. Flirtatious, suggestive, sometimes outright explicit. These were the same girls who called him “Daddy G.” The betrayal broke me, but his response shattered my heart entirely. No apology, just anger. He shouted, told me I was acting like a Jezebel, and accused me of disrespecting his calling. He said if I didn’t trust him, maybe I wasn’t the wife God wanted for him after all.

    That was when the first doubts crept in. I felt like I was losing myself in the relationship. But I had already made so many compromises. I had stopped hanging out with my friends, dressed differently, and now spent all my time with him in his ministry. I told myself that all these things were sacrifices, just part of the process, just part of being with him and supporting his calling.

    But what was happening was that I was becoming a stranger to myself. The version of me who had dreams, ambitions, and friendships was slipping away. I was suffocating in his world. His voice, his needs, his constant demands on my time and identity—everything about the relationship became about him and his ministry. It wasn’t enough for me to be his partner. I had to fit into the box he created for me — a pastor’s wife with no room for herself.

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    Then came the turning point: the cheating. I found out Gbolahan wasn’t just texting the girls. He was seeing them. He was being physically affectionate with them, and it wasn’t just once. He had a whole line of them; some young enough to be my younger sisters. The worst part was how dismissive he was when I confronted him. Again, he didn’t deny it. Instead, he got defensive and found a way to make it about how I didn’t understand what “spiritual warfare” was, and that my “suspicions” were just the work of the devil.

    It was too much. But by that point, I had already isolated myself so much that I didn’t even know how to reach out for help. I felt trapped in a life I didn’t want, but didn’t know how to escape. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

    ALSO READ: We Found God Together

    The hardest part was finally admitting that I had to walk away. I prayed, cried, and prayed again. For weeks, I went back and forth between feeling an equal mix of guilt, unworthiness, and feeling like I was abandoning something “greater” than me. But one day, something in me just snapped. I couldn’t breathe in the relationship anymore, and I couldn’t be the woman he was turning me into. I knew I had to leave.

    I didn’t tell him. I didn’t need to explain myself. I blocked him on everything, deleted his number, and just disappeared from his life. I walked away from the ministry and the life I thought I was building and never looked back. The finality of it was terrifying, but I knew I couldn’t survive another day in that life.

    The worst part? My family didn’t see the red flags. All they saw was a God-fearing man who prayed with me, visited regularly, and showed them respect. In their eyes, I had hit the jackpot. Anytime I tried to open up about how I was feeling, they shut me down.

    My aunt once said, “Do you know how many women are praying for a man who fears God like this?” Another time, my cousin told me, “Look at Pastor Chris’ wife. Look at Bishop Oyedepo’s wife. Do you think they didn’t go through hard times too? You just need to be patient. These things are part of the calling.”

    They made me feel like I was the problem, like I was being dramatic or weak for not enduring what they saw as spiritual trials. One family member even said I should consider myself lucky that a man of God had chosen me—“That’s not ordinary, Bimpe. That’s favour.”

    It was gaslighting in its most subtle, spiritual form, and it worked. For a while, I convinced myself I just wasn’t strong enough. Maybe if I prayed harder, submitted more, or became more “worthy,” the relationship would stop feeling like punishment. But no amount of fasting or praying could make up for the fact that I was deeply unhappy.

    It’s been over a year now, and I’m still healing. Spiritually, I feel disconnected. I still struggle with trusting men and trusting the church. I’ve gone back to a different church, but I’m careful. The wounds are still fresh, and I’m taking things slow. I’ve started to rebuild my relationships with old friends, but a part of me will never be the same. I’ve learned to value my voice again, but sometimes, I still hear his words telling me I wasn’t good enough or pure enough.

    I’m not dating anyone yet, and I don’t know if I’m ready. I deserve a love that lets me breathe, and I’m still figuring out what that looks like, but I know I’ll get there.

    People think dating a pastor is heaven. For me, it was the closest thing to hell.

    READ THIS NEXT: My Husband Woke Up One Day and Decided to Join Politics

  • In this story, Jemi*(26) shares how she fell out with her close friend over communication issues, and now that he has passed away, everything feels unresolved.

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    Let’s start from the beginning.

    Rotimi* and I met at a mutual friend’s house by chance in 2017. We bonded over our shared interest in films and books and became fast friends. We spent a lot of time together and, by the end of the year, had grown incredibly close, almost like siblings.

    Tell me more about your friendship with Rotimi.

    We both attended the same public university. He was two years ahead of me and studied Law while I studied Psychology. He wrote beautifully and wanted to be a writer at some point. I encouraged him to share his poetry and essays on our group chat with the rest of our friends. I’m not that good at writing, but I would share my journal entries with him if it felt too heavy for me to talk about. 

    For me, he was a completely judgement-free place to share my thoughts. No matter how questionable the situation was, I knew I could go to Rotimi to vent, and he’d at least hear me out. 

    My family isn’t very well off either, and so if I ran out of money or I couldn’t get my allowance on time, Rotimi would come to the little room I had off campus to share his foodstuff with me. 

    When school got too tough, we’d skip our classes to drink beer and argue about our favourite films. Every time we hung out was very pleasant.

    It sounds like a great friendship. What happened?

    In March 2019, Rotimi suddenly had a seizure, and after being treated at the hospital, he was diagnosed with epilepsy. I didn’t think his diagnosis would affect our friendship, but I was wrong. 

    He was very ashamed of his condition and didn’t want to spend time with his friends like before. Like most of his other friends, I began texting and checking in on him constantly, nearly every day. Slowly, he started to hang out with us again. That same year, he met a wonderful girl, and they started dating. I was really happy for him.

    So what went wrong?

    In June of that same year, Rotimi sent me a frantic message. He had gone to the hospital for a routine check-up, but they ended up doing a full-body scan and discovered a brain tumour. He needed surgery as soon as possible. He sounded so panicked in the message, writing about how he thought he was going to die. 

    Naturally, I panicked too and tried calling him as soon as I got the text. I didn’t get an answer. I immediately assumed it was because they had started the surgery, so I tried calling his siblings, but they didn’t answer either. My stomach was in knots for days. I kept calling and texting him to no avail. 

    READ ALSO: I Agreed To Date Someone Who Toasted Me For 5 Years. I Regretted It

    Did you manage to reach anyone else who knew him?

    Eventually, I managed to get the number of one of his friends who lived out of the country. I explained the situation to him and said I really needed to know Rotimi was okay. He was like, ”Rotimi? We’ve been playing Call of Duty together everyday, he’s fine.” I was confused. I asked how recent their last game was, and he said they had just finished one together and were planning to get another game going that evening. I became very upset.

    I angrily texted Rotimi, asking why he was not answering his texts but he had time to play online games with his friends. He texted back immediately that he didn’t think it was important and that he was okay. 

    Wow

    I chalked up this behaviour to being super stressed at suddenly getting sick, so I didn’t want to blow it out of proportiom but a month later, he did the same thing. 

    Tell me what happened. 

    He sent me a frantic voice note in the middle of the night asking me to pray for him that he could feel himself slipping. He said he was on the way to the hospital, and they were going to operate on the tumour for sure this time. 

    I woke up early that day to the voice note and texted him to give me details: Who do I call when he’s under? Which hospital was he at? No answer. I called and called and called. I was full of anxious energy because, this time, no one in our friend group had heard from him at all. 

    It turns out, I was the only one in the friend group he had sent this voicenote to. Two weeks later, I got a call from his girlfriend asking if she could sleep over in my room off campus for a night. She admitted that Rotimi would be joining her, but he asked her to call because he knew I was mad at him.

    How did that make you feel?

    I was relieved that he was okay, but I was also really angry with him. I told his girlfriend she could come and get the key to the room, but she should tell her boyfriend not to talk to me again. 

    I believed that Rotimi didn’t respect our friendship by sending me these agitating messages and disappearing with no updates. When his girlfriend gave him my message, he texted me, “ Can we talk?” but I aired the message.

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    You stood on business. What happened after that?

    Yes, and it felt like the right thing to do at the time, but now, not so much. We didn’t talk again for almost six months. I ran into him at a small book fair in 2020, and we started talking again. I told him I hated that he would drop scary messages and disappear, and he apologised. He asked that we pick a time to hang out like the old days, and we’d sort out the whole thing. I happily agreed but told him I’d have his time in a month. 

    A week later, his girlfriend sent our friend group a terrible message. Rotimi had passed away in the middle of the night from a seizure. 

    Oh no! I’m so sorry.

    My heart was shattered. At first, I thought maybe it was part of a prank, but as the burial details kept coming out, I had to swallow the bitter truth. 

    It’s one of the worst losses I have experienced in my young life. Sometimes, I see something he would like, and I want to send it to him, but then I remember he’s no longer here with us, and it’s like my heart breaks all over again.

    I regret not settling with him that day. I would forgive him a thousand times if it meant he would still be here. He was a really great friend to me, and even though a few years have gone by, my heart has not healed from his passing.

    If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: My Mother Abandoned Me, But Chose to Raise My Brother

  • While catching up with a friend, I realised how much my problems have changed over the years. So, I asked a couple of Nigerians what their biggest problems were when they were 20 years old versus what their problems are now, and their responses were funny while reflecting the serious responsibilities of adult life.

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    “I’m looking for happiness” — Danny* (26), NB

    When I was 20, my biggest issue was proving myself to my boss at the radio station I worked at. Now, my biggest problem is trying to create a path to steady happiness — whatever that means — and enjoying the ride.

    “I want to travel the world!” — Debby* (28), F

    At 20, my biggest problem was to finish uni with a 2:1. I knew 1st class was ruled out for me right from my first semester in Unilag. 

    My biggest problem now? Where do I start from, please? I just want to be a billionaire. I want to travel the world and experience different cultures, but I’m stuck in Lagos.

    “My problem is that I need to japa.” — Wande* (30), M

    When I was 20, my biggest problem was wrapping my head around my biochemistry and microbiology courses. But now? My biggest issue is finding a way to leave this country.

    “Money, money money!” — Tayo* (32), M

    When I was 20, my biggest problem was figuring out how to make money. Now, my biggest problem is still making money because the number of responsibilities I have has almost quadrupled within that time.

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    “I was having a baby” — Adejoke*(57), F

    When I was 20, I was expecting my first child, and I was so anxious about the whole thing. Looking back, it’s so funny how that was one of the least of my problems as I got older. Now, in my late fifties, my biggest problem is retirement. I don’t have a husband to support me anymore, and as costs keep rising and my children struggle to even cater to themselves, I’ve been thinking about what retirement will look like for me, and I’m very worried.

    “My mum won’t stop talking to me about marriage.” — Funmi* (27), F

    When I was 20, my biggest problem was finding it difficult to tell men, “No”. So, I had an endless circle of friends with benefits and situationships.

    Now, I’m in my late 20s, and my biggest issue is that my mum won’t stop talking to me about marriage. She thinks I’m the problem. She thinks maybe I’m proud, rude, and that’s why there’s no man yet. She connected me with her friend’s son, which is not going badly, but she’s now behaving like a mother hen and wants constant progress updates. It’s exhausting. I wonder if they police men about marriage like this. 

    “I wanted to get married at 20” — Lydia* (54), F

    When I was 20 years old, I just wanted to get married. I felt like the clock was ticking, and I was so worried about the imaginary deadline. Even though I wouldn’t end up marrying anyone for seven years after that, at the time, I thought the sky would fall on my head. Now, my biggest problem is looking for a way to move myself and my kids out of the country. It’s very expensive and it has been difficult for me to raise the money, but I’m still hopeful.

    “I can’t find my father” — Matthias*(38), M

    When I was 20, I wanted to move out of my father’s house because I was frustrated by the lack of ambition I was surrounded by and that was my biggest concern. Now, my biggest issue is that my dad has gone missing. He has dementia and wandered out of his church almost eight months ago. We’ve almost given up hope and it keeps me up at night.

    “Black tax is pressing my neck” — Tamilore* (32), F

    When I was 20, all I could think about was graduating and becoming a lawyer. Hearing “the law!” on my street every time I stepped out just fueled my anticipation for getting my wig and gown. Now, ehn, black tax is my biggest issue. I’m putting my younger brother through school, and it is hell on my pockets, especially in this economy.

    “When I was 20, unemployment was my biggest concern.” — Bola* (43), M

    When I was 20, unemployment was my biggest issue. I hadn’t gotten into school yet and I was staying with a distant uncle and his family till I got my admission. I couldn’t find a job for almost a year and it was hard because my uncle was putting pressure on me to be useful and chip in at home.

    Now, my biggest problem are the bills I constantly pay. If my child in the university doesn’t need something, my sister needs a bail out, or my mother will fall sick. I’m happy I can come through for my family but it can get overwhelming.

    If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: 5 Yoruba Aunties on Why They Dumped Their Friendship Groups

  • Black tax is part and parcel of Nigerian society, but what happens when a child decides enough is enough?

    In this story, Jola* (27) shares how her overwhelming need to please her barely present father pushed her into a black tax cycle. In 2024, some revelations caused her to withdraw her financial support, leading to her dad disowning her. 

    As told to Boluwatife

    I didn’t live with my dad growing up. My mum was his second wife, and he provided a separate apartment for her and her kids, while he lived with the first wife. As a result, I only saw him once or twice a month when he came visiting, and I idolised him.

    You couldn’t convince 9-year-old me that my dad wasn’t a superhero. He always came visiting with sweets and ₦500 notes. Whenever I got the first position in school, he’d show up with a pineapple for me because I loved the fruit so much. 

    I thought my dad was the greatest man in the world. It wasn’t until I got into secondary school that I realised he wasn’t all that great. 

    I think my mum got tired of buying me things in my dad’s name and hearing me disturb everyone with “My daddy” up and down, so she started letting me see that my dad wasn’t as involved as I thought.

    Despite his lucrative electronics business, my dad only took financial responsibility for our needs when he was on good terms with my mum. I knew that because my mum began regularly complaining about it. She was forced to provide for our needs and sometimes rent almost solely on the income she earned selling fabrics in the market. 

    Interestingly, learning about my dad’s flaws triggered a need to please him and be in his good graces. I knew he wasn’t as present as he should be, but I thought if I could be the perfect daughter, he’d want to fulfil his responsibilities and ultimately be the perfect father I wanted him to be. 

    Now, I understand my reasoning was flawed, and I didn’t have to “do things” to make my dad become a better father. But for the longest time, I thought I needed to prove myself worthy for my dad to change, and I tried to do that in several ways.

    I focused on chasing good grades in secondary school and university because I wanted my dad to be proud of me. I remember taking my convocation gown and the ₦150k my faculty gave me for getting a first class to my dad’s house to take a picture with him. He didn’t even bother to attend my convocation. Yes, I gave him the money. 

    Money was one of the biggest tools I used to try to please my dad. I think it was stupidity because I don’t know why I fixated so much on making sure a man who never laboured over me reaped the fruits of his supposed labour. 

    My NYSC Place of Primary Assignment (PPA) was a law firm that paid me ₦150k/month in addition to my NYSC stipend. I didn’t even tell my mum how much my salary was, but I carried the whole first month’s salary and gave it to my dad so he’d pray for me. Subsequently, I sent him ₦40k monthly from my salary and only gave my mum ₦20k.

    After my service year in 2022, I got a job close to my dad’s house, so I started living there to shorten my commute and save costs. By then, my dad was on his third wife — the first wife had left — and he had three more children under 11 years old. I thought it’d be great to finally spend time with my dad and become closer to my half-siblings. 

    It turned out to be a big mistake.  

    That same year, my dad got scammed out of about ₦10m and his business crashed. He told me how difficult things had gotten for him financially, and I foolishly told him not to worry, and that I’d try my best to support the home while he found his feet.

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    That’s how I became the breadwinner of that house. My job paid me ₦300k/month, and I put my dad on an ₦80k allowance. I also started pitching in for the home’s expenses. I was hardly home because of work, but my siblings always came to me for fuel money.

    At least once in two weeks, my dad’s wife would come to me asking for ₦20k or ₦30k loans to cook for the house. I always gave her, and I never got my money back.

    RELATED: This HR Babe Pays Black Tax Out of Goodwill

    In 2023, I got a raise at work and my salary increased to ₦400k. I told my dad, and it’s like I gave him the perfect excuse not to bother doing anything again. I still gave him ₦80k every month, but somehow, it was no longer enough. Every two weeks, he’d ask for money to do one thing or another, and I’d give him. 

    I wasn’t even sending money to my mum. Although to be fair, I have two immediate older siblings who are more well off than I am, and they give her money — my mum honestly lacks nothing now and I’m so glad about that. But still, I can’t believe I did all that for my dad.

    Towards the end of 2023, he took a ₦2m loan from a microfinance bank to start a fish farming business. Within three months, the fish suddenly became sick and started dying, so we had to dry and sell them off at a loss. I ended up paying most of that loan back from my salary over eight months.

    In January 2024, I paid almost ₦200k in school fees for my three half-siblings (the third wife’s children) because I grew tired of seeing them stay home due to unpaid school fees. My dad claimed he didn’t have money, and since he doesn’t allow his wife to work — she’s a burqa-wearing woman and is always indoors — the responsibility essentially fell on me.

    I was also still dropping money for food in the house and even paying for the children’s medication when they fell sick.

    My eyes cleared in June 2024 after a series of events unfolded. 

    My dad’s wife reported him to me, claiming that my dad had gotten another woman pregnant. I didn’t want to believe it, so I confronted him, and my dad confidently said his religion allowed him to marry up to four wives. 

    I was so shocked. Your daughter is playing breadwinner duties, and you’re adding more responsibilities to your plate? No one told me before I started withdrawing financial support. 

    I gradually stopped his allowance and began to claim I didn’t have money whenever he asked. Of course, he knew I was lying, and it led to fights between us. I eventually moved out of his house and returned to my mum’s in August.

    On my birthday in December, my dad sent me a text saying, “Since you have chosen to disrespect God by ignoring your father, just take it that you don’t have a father anymore.”

    Honestly, that hurt me, and I almost called to ask for his forgiveness and try to settle our issues, but I had to be strong. 

    I know getting back in good terms with my dad will only push me back into a black tax cycle, and that’s not sustainable for me. It’s better to be disowned than not have any sense of direction in my finances. 

    Between 2022 and 2024, it was like I was just working with nothing to show for it. I even had a stint with loan apps because my salary never lasted the whole month. I had zero savings and was practically living hand to mouth. It took me coming out of that situation to realise how terribly I was living. 

    I have not taken a single loan since August 2024. Between October 2024 and February 2025, I built a savings portfolio of ₦800k. I managed that while deliberately setting aside money to buy myself nice things and hang out with friends. There’s no way I could have done that if I still carried my dad’s responsibilities on my head. 

    My mates were saving their salaries to buy cars and rent apartments, while I was bending over backwards to make an unserious man happy. I’m just glad I’ve finally seen the light. Let him disown me, I don’t care. 

    From now on, I’m team, “Use Jola’s money to make her happy.” I’m my own responsibility.

    Zikoko readers are currently giving feedback about us this year. Join your voice to theirs by taking this 10-minute survey.

    *Names have been changed for anonymity.

    NEXT READ: My Younger Brother Has More Money Than I Do. I Hate That

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  • Abraham*, 31, spent most of his teenage years suppressing his sexual urges, convinced that any form of pleasure outside marriage was sinful. He avoided conversations about sex, never touched himself, and relied on wet dreams for relief.

    In this story, he shares how his first sexual experience at 25 revealed a deeper issue — one that medical tests couldn’t explain — and how he’s come to accept his unique relationship with pleasure.

    As Told To Adeyinka

    Growing up, I never thought about sex the way most teenagers probably did. It wasn’t that I didn’t have urges — it was that I had been raised to treat them like a test from God. I was the child of deeply religious parents who believed any form of sexual curiosity was the devil’s way of luring people into sin. In my house, sex was never discussed beyond the warning to avoid it. No one ever sat me down for “the talk” or even hinted that it was a natural part of life. If sex was mentioned in church, it was to remind us that it should only happen within marriage and that even thinking about it before then was a slippery slope to damnation.

    By the time I hit puberty, my body had a mind of its own, but I was determined to fight it. Whenever I felt an urge, I threw myself into distractions — cold showers, scripture reading, and mental gymnastics to suppress whatever was trying to surface. Masturbation was out of the question. I didn’t just avoid it; I didn’t even allow myself to be curious about it. The thought of touching myself felt wrong, almost like I would be caught and punished for it, even if no one was watching.

    But there was one thing I couldn’t control: wet dreams.

    ALSO READ: Since I Japa, Masturbation Doesn’t Spark Joy Anymore

    The first time it happened, I woke up terrified, thinking something was medically wrong with me. It wasn’t until I asked a classmate in boarding school — very vaguely — about it that I realised it was normal. That knowledge made it easier to accept, but I still viewed it as something I had to manage. Eventually, I started wishing for them. Since I couldn’t allow myself to masturbate or entertain sexual thoughts, wet dreams became my only outlet. They were my body’s way of releasing tension, and in my mind, they didn’t count as sin since I wasn’t actively involved.

    This went on for years. While my peers were exploring their bodies and relationships, I was suppressing every natural urge I had and relying on my subconscious for release.

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    I didn’t date in secondary school. I barely interacted with girls in a romantic way, and even in university, I was more focused on my studies and church activities than on relationships. By the time I got to my final year at 25, I had never been intimate with anyone. I didn’t think it was a big deal. Sex wasn’t something I was dying to experience — it was just something that other people seemed to care about.

    But that changed when I met my first girlfriend in my final year. She was patient, understanding, and willing to take things at my pace. When we eventually decided to have sex, I assumed my body would just know what to do. I had no experience, but I figured instincts would take over. They didn’t.

    The first time we tried, I felt nothing. No rush of excitement, no climax — just a strange sense of detachment. We tried again, and again, and again, and still, nothing. I could feel arousal, but it never built up into an orgasm. It took an entire week of trying before I finally ejaculated, and even then, it felt more like a relief than a pleasurable experience.

    I knew something was wrong. I had spent my whole life ignoring my body’s needs, and now it seemed like my body had learned to ignore me in return. Concerned, I went to a doctor to figure out if there was a medical issue. They ran tests, checked my hormone levels, and found nothing out of the ordinary. Still, they prescribed some medication to help. The first time I took it, I ejaculated without difficulty. I felt a strange mix of accomplishment and frustration — why did it take this for my body to function normally?

    But that wasn’t the end of it. Over time, I realised another issue: I couldn’t reach orgasm unless it was penetrative sex. My partners have tried everything — hand play, oral, extended foreplay — but nothing works. If there’s no penetration, my body just doesn’t respond the way it should. Even when there is penetration, it’s a marathon. It takes so long for me to climax that my partners usually get exhausted before I can finish. Some have been patient; others have found it frustrating.

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    I’ve been to the hospital multiple times, and every test says I’m fine. No nerve issues, no erectile dysfunction, no hormonal imbalances; just a body that doesn’t respond to pleasure the way most people do. Some doctors have suggested it might be psychological, a result of years of suppressing sexual urges. Maybe my brain had been trained to disconnect from pleasure unless it met a very specific condition. Others think it could be a form of delayed ejaculation with no clear medical cause.

    At 31, I’ve accepted that this is just how my body works. I don’t feel broken, but I know it’s inconvenient for my partners. I sometimes wonder if things would have been different if I had allowed myself to explore earlier, but I also remind myself that there’s no right way to experience sexuality. For now, I take things as they come, learning what I can and figuring out how to make intimacy work for me and my partners.

    It’s not a perfect system, but I’ve accepted it.

    READ THIS NEXT: I Own 6 Sex Toys, and I Want More

  • I wanted to speak with someone who gave a persistent toaster a chance and Wade* (26) shared her experience with me.

    In this story, Wade shares how her friend, Dami* (30), who asked her out several times over the course of their platonic relationship became her most toxic dating experience after only two weeks together.

    As Told To Betty: 

    Dami and I met through a mutual friend. Initially, I tried to keep my distance because I had a boyfriend, but he kept trying to be friends with me, and slowly, we became good friends.

    We were really close for a good amount of time — about five years.  We talked about everything, knew everything about each other, and he quickly became my go-to friend. 

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    He always wanted to talk to me or be with me. He asked me out multiple times over the course of our friendship, but I turned him down each time because I was in a relationship. He showed me so much care and attention in our friendship that I started to think, “Why can’t we date instead of being just friends?” 

    The problem with Dami and I was that our timing was always off. When we first met, I was in a relationship, so we couldn’t be more than friends. But when I left that relationship and realised I was interested in him, he’d gotten into a relationship of his own, and I respected it and kept my crush to myself.

    I think that relationship was horrible for him and devastated him emotionally. When we talked about it after it ended, he said he had closed his mind to dating. That was when I told him I was interested in him, and I was willing to try out a relationship. My thoughts were that if it didn’t work out, we’d just go back to being friends and it wouldn’t be a problem. I was so wrong. 

    We started out as a casual situationship in November 2023 because, again, he just had a bad break up. It felt like we were in a relationship, even if it wasn’t a serious one. We didn’t talk a lot about our expectations, but we were doing all the cutesy relationship things. 

    Then, in early March 2024, I told him I’d like us to start dating officially, and his response was, “Haven’t we been dating?”. I was delighted, and I thought things were going to get better from there. Literally, two weeks after that conversation, he switched up entirely.

    He became cold, avoiding me and my calls. It was unlike him, so I complained.  I even reached out to his friends, and they talked to him for me. Every time it came up, he’d promise to fix it and change it, but he also kept saying that I couldn’t understand him, which was surprising. We’d shared so much with each other over the course of our friendship that I could say that I knew him better than anyone else.

    READ ALSO: I’m Only Interested In Older Men

    Then, other problems started coming up. First, he said he liked me a lot but didn’t think we could get married because his family is Muslim, and I’m a Christian, and his father would never accept me. The thing is, I don’t have a problem with his religion. I told him that if we got married, I would be willing to convert, but not before then. One of his older brothers had married a Christian who converted when they got married — I was hoping for that, too. 

    The more we discussed it, the clearer it became that this wasn’t about religion or getting his father’s consent. He just wasn’t considering a future with me. Instead of talking to me about it, his stance remained the same: I wouldn’t understand. 

    Another red flag I noticed much later on was that he never got me gifts. Even over the course of our friendship, he’d never gotten me a single gift, not even a small one. He would give me money sometimes, but never more than fifteen thousand naira. I didn’t hold any grudges about that before, but the more he avoided my calls, the more everything became a warning sign that our relationship was going nowhere.

    By September 2024, I was fed up with his odd behaviour, so while I was spending my birthday weekend at his place, I went through his phone for the first time. I found out from his messages that he was sleeping with one of the girls who worked at the bar he owned, and he was also crying in the DMs of his married ex from secondary school. I was devastated, but when I confronted him about it, he nonchalantly said that if his ex was serious about her marriage, she’d have blocked him instead of replying to his messages.

    I was so angry and hurt that I left his house and waited a week to break up with him on his birthday and blocked him. After I sent the breakup text, I’ll admit that I was lowkey hoping he’d reach out to beg me like he did his ex. I already planned to give him a list of conditions before we got back together. But he never reached out, and so I unblocked him three days later. 

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    I confronted him about the terrible way he had been treating me and asked why he cheated instead of just breaking up with me. I thought he would treat me with some kindness since we had so much history as friends. He admitted that he didn’t want to break up and hurt my feelings so he tried — and succeeded — in making me initiate the breakup.

    Honestly, his admission only made me feel worse about everything that happened between us and I withdrew from him completely. 

    Thankfully, his nonsense didn’t kill my lover-girl spirit, and I’m now with a man who showers me with gifts and attention. What’s surprising is that since I started posting my new man, Dami has been reaching out to me aggressively everywhere that I haven’t blocked him, but affliction must not rise a second time. I remembered what he said about his ex and I haven’t even opened a single one of those messages. Good riddance!

    If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: A Cleric Told Me My Mother Was a Witch. It Almost Ruined Us

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

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

    What’s your earliest memory of each other?

    Stephanie: That would be when I met him online in September 2023. It was during a midnight group call on WhatsApp. I remember getting the call notification from the group which I joined for the sake of trying to put myself out there, but had considered leaving. 

    What was this group about?

    Stephanie: It was mostly a group of school kids. Kaima and I went to different secondary schools in Lagos but students from different schools knew each other and formed groups to stay in touch and plan outings. 

    Kaima: That was it for me, too. The call happened during summer, and it was a boring time for most of us who had just graduated.  We barely left our houses, so calling friends was the most interesting thing we had going on. 

    So what happened during this call?

    Stephanie: It was mostly guys who knew each other, just gisting about different things. I only knew one person, which was why I joined in the first place, but I didn’t say anything. 

    Kaima: We mostly never had talking points. We just jumped from one topic to another, mostly discussing our university admission progress. That day, my friend and I noticed Stephanie was on the call but wasn’t saying anything. We tried to get her to introduce herself, and when she spoke, we realised she had a very attractive voice. However, that was it for me until I woke up to a text message from her the next morning.

    Stephanie: After the call, most of the guys slid into my DM trying to befriend me, but I wasn’t interested. Kaima, however, didn’t text me. I noticed this and sent him a message. I also sent the message because, even though I didn’t participate in the group’s activities, I noticed how active he was, which made me think he was among his peers. So, I wanted to be his friend. 

    Any reason why you didn’t text her, Kaima?

    Kaima: I probably would have, but I fell asleep before the call ended, so I didn’t get the chance. 

    So what was that first conversation like?

    Kaima: I don’t remember the exact details, but I remember how I felt. Stephanie was so interesting and easy to talk to; she never gave short or passive responses. The conversation just kept flowing, and it felt like it would never end. And in the days that followed, we kept talking.

    Stephanie: Funny enough, I was actually terrible at making conversations, but I really didn’t want to lose his friendship. After the call that day, I sent a text asking why his friends called him a weird name. He responded the next morning, and from there, we hit it off. I soon realised that Kaima and I were basically the same people in different bodies. We liked and disliked the same things, had similar ideologies and religious beliefs, watched the same TV shows, and listened to the same podcasts. Talking to him felt like a breath of fresh air. 

    Kaima: I also realised we both had similar experiences at home.

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    What kind of experiences?

    Kaima: Nothing too serious. We both had strict parents bothering us with work while we were waiting for admission into university. We also had annoying siblings and had to follow our parents to work sometimes. 

    Stephanie: We spoke about how we had less freedom compared to our peers. When our friends made plans to hang out, they rarely invited us because they knew we couldn’t leave the house at will. So, I guess you could say we found solace in speaking together about it. Kaima was already my friend, but he was gradually becoming my best friend.

    Kaima: I became so free with Stephanie and could tell her everything, but even better was how she always had the right words to make me feel better. In between all of this, I started developing feelings for her. She didn’t know it because, to her, she was simply being herself and a good friend. But she was slowly making me a happier person.

    Sweet. How long did this friendship phase last?

    Stephanie: Two weeks. 

    Hmmm. Was it because things progressed between you?

    Stephanie: Yes. Kaima eventually told me how he felt. Even though I’d started feeling the same way, I kept it to myself because I wanted to build a strong friendship first. However, when he asked me out, I couldn’t bring myself to say no, so I went with it. At the very least, I told myself that if things didn’t work out, we could always remain friends. 

    Kaima: Two weeks seemed like enough time for me to decide to take the next step with her. But I have to admit, I was nervous and unsure when I asked her to be my girlfriend.

    Why? 

    Kaima: I generally never had luck with girls before that. If she said yes, she would be my first girlfriend. 

    Stephanie, you mentioned earlier that you couldn’t say no. Why’s that?

    Stephanie: I struggle with turning people down when it comes to relationships. But beyond that, I knew Kaima had struggled with girls in the past, and I didn’t want our friendship to end just because I wasn’t 100% ready to have a relationship. 

    I see. So, what were the early days of dating like?

    Kaima: They were good days. Not much changed from our dynamics as friends, only that we now had an official label. We spent most of our free time talking to each other about everything. We transitioned from texting to spending hours on phone calls and got to know each other even better.

    Stephanie: I agree. I think the major change for me was trying to put on this mask of perfection for Kaima. I wanted to do everything right and be the best girlfriend, but he was so intentional about making me feel comfortable and realising I didn’t have to change a thing or over exert myself. He kept saying I didn’t have to be a different Stephanie from before. That made our relationship really sweet and fun. Plus, I got him to try out all the TikTok relationship trends. 

    Did you get to spend time together?

    Kaima: No. We still haven’t met in person. Our parents are strict, so planning a date has been difficult. Even worse, she schools in Ebonyi while I’m in Lagos.

    Stephanie: Right now, we are saving up and trying to match our school calendars to plan a date.

    Neat. Any reason why you proceeded with the relationship considering the distance? 

    Stephanie: I had a couple of reasons and top on that list is the fact that I really like Kaima. Secondly, he is a genuinely kind and intentional person, and I decided that I won’t lose him just because I didn’t want a long-distance relationship or one that mostly resided online. Moreover, we both live in Lagos, so it’s not like we’ll never get the chance to see each other. 

    And how has long distance been?

    Kaima: I think it’s equal parts difficult and easy. In the early days, I felt a lot of uncertainty about how long we’d last. I’ve seen many of our peers get into long-distance relationships that barely made it past two to three months. But we’ve been going strong for over a year now. My friends still joke about how long we’ve lasted, but we don’t pay them any mind. We do our best to prioritise frequent communication, and that has really helped us stay the course. 

    Stephanie: It was pretty easy at first,but, it got harder over time, especially when I saw couples around me or during  moments when I really I needed him to be there physically. We also didn’t get lots of encouragement from our peers who always thought we couldn’t pull through. But just as he mentioned, constant communication has helped us; we both have PhDs in it.

    We talk so often that I now know him better than anyone else. It’s made trust and love come easily. And when we do miss each other — because those moments come — again, we talk and just be there for each other. 

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    Nice. Have you had a major fight yet?

    Stephanie: Arguments here and there, but nothing blown out of proportion. One of our earliest discussions as a couple was deal breakers that would guarantee the end of the relationship. We did that so we would draw boundaries for our relationship and this has prevented heated arguments or fights. 

    Kaima: We spent a lot of time asking each other about ourselves: our likes, dislikes, pet peeves, and others. We’ve had conversations about personal boundaries and basically anything involving the negative parts of relationships and our opinions on them. 

    What are some of those deal breakers and possible consequences?

    Stephanie: They are usual ones — no cheating of any kind, no insults or blatant disrespect to the other person in private or public, and no abuse of any kind.

    Kaima: For example, if she cheats, it could mean the end of the relationship. 

    Stephanie: Something happened recently. I’ve always liked wearing short clothes, especially since I live alone and rarely go out. I also take pictures and send them out as streaks, and sometimes, when I’ve stepped out in them. However, Kaima wasn’t really comfortable with it, so he brought it up. At first I didn’t like it because it felt like he was controlling, but we spoke about it and reached a compromise on the kind of clothes I wear.

    Kaima: I agree that it initially came off as controlling, but we resolved it by agreeing on certain outfits when she’s out in public.

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

    Stephanie: I get both a best friend and soulmate in one person. I can go from talking about a traumatic event to laughing with him in the same minute. He’s never judgmental, and he’s the kindest person you’ll ever meet. He’s also generous, intentional about our relationship, and pushes me to be better in every way. 

    Kaima: I know that Stephanie is always in my corner no matter what happens. She’s my confidant through the good and bad times and’ll go to any length to support me. I don’t take that for granted.

    How do you envision the future of this relationship?

    Stephanie: I’ve found my soulmate. It’s as simple as that. I plan on growing old and experiencing life with him.

    Kaima: I believe nothing is stopping our relationship from infinitely moving forward. I see us getting married. 

    Sweet. What are you looking forward to the most when you finally meet?

    Kaima: I can’t wait to discover other parts of her that can only be experienced when we meet in person.

    Stephanie: It’s happening this  June during my school break. We’re both attending an event at our secondary school. But yes, I just want to exist in the same space as him. 

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

    Stephanie: It’s a 10. We enjoy each other’s company, we’re best friends, and we’re both committed to becoming the best versions of ourselves.

    Kaima: Can I give us an 11/10? Because there isn’t a single negative in this relationship. We understand each other perfectly, and we wouldn’t want things to be any other way.

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

  • Friendships come in different forms, but Yoruba auntie friendships? Those are a league of their own. They’re more about full-fledged commitment to the clique, owambes, uniformed aso ebi that costs a fortune, and the silent rule that you must never be the odd one out.  But what happens when an auntie decides she’s had enough? We spoke to five Nigerian women over 50 who chose to walk away from their long-time friendship groups — and never looked back.

    “I realised they didn’t rate me” — *Bose, 55

    Nothing stings more than realising your friends have deliberately left you out of something. It’s even worse when their excuse is that they thought they were doing you a favour. That’s exactly how *Bose knew it was time to move on.

    “I’ve been friends with these women for over a decade. We’ve done birthdays, weddings, and countless owambes together. But last year, one of them threw a massive 50th birthday party, and they all showed up in matching lace except me. Nobody told me about it. When I asked why, they said they assumed I wouldn’t want to buy it because it was expensive, and I’d been complaining about the cost of previous ones. That was my wake-up call. If they truly considered me a friend, they wouldn’t have left me out and made me feel like an outsider. I didn’t fight them, but I slowly stopped attending the group’s events.”

    “They turned my kindness into an insult” — *Shade, 51

    People always say “it’s the thought that counts” when it comes to gifts, but for *Shade’s friends, only expensive gifts were good enough. After years of friendship, she was shocked to realise they valued her money more than her presence.

    “I’m a single mum putting two children through university, so I don’t have money to waste. At every party, my friends hand out souvenirs like expensive blenders and food processors, but I keep it simple with detergent. After a while, I noticed two of them started acting distant. It all came to a head at a party when they deliberately left my souvenir on the table while leaving. When I asked them about it, they said I always gave ‘cheap’ gifts despite them going all out for me. I was hurt because they know my financial situation. That night, we had a heated argument, and I decided I was done with the group.”

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    ALSO READ: You’ll Find These Women in a Yoruba Mummy’s Social Circle

    “I got tired of trying to keep up” — *Funmi, 50

    For some women, friendships are a sisterhood. For others, they’re an extreme sport. Funmi spent years keeping up with hers, until she realised she couldn’t anymore.

    “Every weekend, there was one party or the other. Each one came with an aso ebi that ran into hundreds of thousands. And it wasn’t just that, you were still expected to hand out expensive souvenirs, and even your jewellery couldn’t be repeated too often, so it wouldn’t look like you didn’t have enough.

    I managed for years, stretching myself just to keep up. But at some point, I started withdrawing. I started turning down invites. When they brought new aso ebi, I told them I couldn’t buy it. Obviously, once I stopped participating, the calls became less frequent. Then, they stopped altogether. That’s how the friendship fizzled out. I didn’t even fight it. At my age, I know when something is no longer meant for me.”

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    “I was the problem because I chose myself” — *Helen, 52

    Leaving her marriage was hard enough, but *Helen never expected that the real battle would be with her own friends.

    “I thought they’d be my safe space, but instead, they treated me like I was doing something shameful. I had known these women for decades, women who had seen me struggle in that marriage. But when I finally left, they acted like I was betraying them. Most of them were still married, and I realised they weren’t just upset about my divorce; they were scared. My decision made them question their own marriages and wonder if they were truly happy or just enduring. It was easier for them to frame me as the problem than to confront their doubts.

    They didn’t come right out and say it, but I heard it in their comments: ‘Marriage is not easy, but we endure.’ ‘At our age, starting over is risky.’ One even said, ‘What will people say?’ as if that was supposed to matter more than my peace of mind. The final straw was when one of them called my ex to ‘pray’ for us to get back together. That was it. I realised they weren’t my friends, they were just women who needed me to stay in a bad marriage so they could feel better about staying in theirs. So, I chose myself and walked away.”

    “I was the bad person for wanting my own jewelry back” — *Adija, 56

    Yoruba auntie friendships thrive on trust and favours. But what happens when a friend takes advantage of that trust? *Adija, 54, learned the hard way when a close friend borrowed her gold jewelry worth millions and refused to return it.

    “I should have known better than to mix friendship and valuables, but when a close friend asked to borrow my gold jewelry set for her daughter’s wedding, I didn’t think twice. This wasn’t just any set; it was worth millions, a gift from my husband on our 25th anniversary.

    Weeks passed after the wedding, and she kept making excuses. ‘Let me hold it till my niece’s introduction.’ ‘I’ve been so busy, I forgot to bring it.’ Meanwhile, I kept seeing her wear it to different events. When I finally went to her house to demand it back, she acted like I was being dramatic. She told me she’d bring it later, but I refused to leave without it.

    The real shocker came when our mutual friends sided with her. They said I embarrassed her by showing up at her house. That I threw away years of friendship over ‘just jewelry.’ If I could do this to her, they said, what’s stopping me from doing it to them? As if I was the one who borrowed millions worth of gold and refused to return it. We’re still cordial, but I know where I stand now. Some friendships only work when you’re the one being taken for granted.

    READ THIS NEXT: How Do You Deal With A Friendship Breakup? Nigerians Share Their Experiences