Ramadan is a time for fasting, prayer, and spiritual reflection, but for *Hakeem, 32, the month also comes with a strong wave of frustration. While Islam allows intimacy between married couples at night, his wife refuses any kind of sexual contact.
In this story, he shares how his sex drive seems to skyrocket during Ramadan, but his wife wants nothing to do with it. Even when he suggests something as simple as a handjob, she shuts him down. Now, he’s left feeling rejected, confused, and desperate for the holy month to end.
As Told To Adeyinka
I always look forward to Ramadan. It’s a month of deep spiritual reflection, discipline, and blessings. But what I didn’t expect was that it would also become the month my wife and I started having problems in the bedroom.
Let me be clear: Islam allows married couples to be intimate after breaking their fast. I know this. My wife knows this. We’ve even attended lectures where scholars reinforced the fact that sex is perfectly permissible once the fast has been broken. Yet, for some reason, she has decided that this year, she’s suddenly too holy for sex.
It wasn’t always like this. We’ve been married for two years, and before now, intimacy was never a major issue. We had a good rhythm — sometimes spontaneous, other times planned, but always fulfilling for both of us. Even during our first two Ramadans as a married couple, we still found time for each other. The routine was simple: break our fast, pray taraweeh, enjoy some downtime, and then, if the mood was right, get down to business before performing ghusl (spiritual cleansing) and getting some sleep before sahur.
But this year? It’s like I married a different woman.
It started subtly. A few nights into Ramadan, I initiated things, and she pulled away, mumbling something about being tired. Fair enough; fasting is exhausting, and I didn’t want to push. But then it happened again. And again. Every time I tried, she’d shake her head and say, “It’s Ramadan, Hakeem.”
At first, I thought she was just adjusting to the fast. Maybe she was mentally drained and needed time. But then, one night, after taraweeh, I tried again, and she looked at me like I had just suggested we break our fast with pork. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate this month,” she said.
That was when I realised this wasn’t just exhaustion; she genuinely believed sex should be off-limits for the entire month.
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
To be honest, I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. I understand that she wants to be more spiritually focused. But intimacy is a huge part of marriage, and completely shutting me out for 30 days is unfair. I even tried asking for small things — a little touch here and there, maybe just a handjob—something to bridge the gap, but she shut it down completely.
I don’t get it. We’ve both sat through Islamic lectures where scholars clearly stated that sex is permissible at night during Ramadan. I even tried reminding her of that, but she just waved me off with “I know, but it doesn’t feel right.”
And that’s where my frustration lies. If it’s not haram, and it’s something we’ve done before during Ramadan, then why does it suddenly feel wrong this year?
I won’t lie, my sex drive is higher during Ramadan. Maybe it’s the self-control required throughout the day, the healthy diet or the heightened emotions that come with fasting. But whatever it is, by night, I’m ready.
In the past, if she wasn’t available, I would just handle things myself. But this month, even that doesn’t feel right. It’s one thing to avoid haram things like porn; it’s another to feel guilty for even thinking about self-pleasure. So now, I’m stuck. I can’t be with my wife, and I can’t even take care of myself.
I’ve thought about pushing harder, maybe insisting that she honours my needs as my wife. But then what? Do I really want to be in a situation where she’s only doing it because she feels obligated, not because she actually wants to? That’s not the kind of intimacy I want.
[ad]
I’m relieved that the month is ending soon. But this has made me think about the possibility of future reoccurrence. What if this happens again next year? Will I be expected to endure an entire month of rejection every Ramadan? And beyond that, what if this isn’t just about Ramadan? What if this is the start of a bigger shift in how she views sex?
I don’t want to bring it up now because I know she’s in a deeply spiritual headspace, and I don’t want to ruin that for her. But once Ramadan is over, we have to talk. Because while I respect her feelings, I also need her to respect mine.
Marriage isn’t just about worship; it’s also about companionship, understanding, and yes, intimacy. And if we don’t figure this out now, I’m afraid it’ll only get worse.
Relocating to a new country comes with many adjustments. From harsh weather to new accents, food, and, of course, dating. One minute, you’re in Lagos dodging “WYD?” texts from Nigerian men who do the barest minimum, and the next, you’re trying to decode if “we should hang out sometime” from your Asian colleague means actual plans or just small talk.
To understand how dating transforms post-japa, I spoke to six Nigerians in the UK, US, and Canada about their experiences. From shocking culture shifts to new relationship standards, here’s how life after relocation has changed their love lives.
“The streets are cold, and so is the weather” — *Amaka, 27 (moved to the UK in 2021)
What was your dating life like in Nigeria, and how does it compare to where you are now?
Dating in Lagos was chaotic but active. I had options, even when I wasn’t looking. If I wanted to meet someone, all I had to do was blink, and a man would appear, sometimes too many at once. There were talking stages, but at least they moved at full speed. Now? If I don’t actively put myself out there, I might as well retire from dating because men here don’t chase, and I refuse to run after anyone.
The worst part is that I came here thinking I’d finally escape the struggles of dating in Lagos. But at least in Nigeria, I was actively dodging men left and right. Now, I’m the one trying to get any movement at all.
What’s been the biggest dating culture shock since you relocated?
The passiveness! A guy will be interested in you, text you every day, like your pictures, and even flirt. But when it’s time to actually make plans? Silence. How can I be the one strategising where and when we’ll meet? I thought men were natural hunters; what happened to that instinct?
I once matched with a guy on Hinge who seemed eager at first. We talked for a week, and not once did he mention meeting in person. When I finally asked what was up, he said, “Oh, I just assumed we’d keep chatting for a while before deciding.” Sir, are we pen pals? I unmatched immediately. Nigerian men may stress you, but at least they try.
Have your relationship preferences or standards changed since moving?
Oh, definitely. I’ve realised I prefer directness. Before, I entertained men who were vibes and freestyling their way through dating, but now? If you’re not intentional, abeg, go away. I also used to think I was okay with casual dating, but after a few months here, I know I need someone who shows effort. Texting is not enough, plan a date, be excited to see me, make me feel wanted. The men here just don’t have that sense of urgency.
If you could bring one thing from Nigerian dating culture to your new country, what would it be?
Men who chase. Nigerian men will lie and cheat, but one thing they will do is apply pressure. These UK men think sending a “wyd?” text every two days is enough. I need effort. Where’s the man who will send a driver to pick me up? Where’s the one who will plan a whole date, not just say, “What do you want to do?” I miss the drama of Lagos dating. At least there, I knew I was wanted.
[ad]
“Dating in the US feels like a business transaction” — *Bisi, 27 (moved to the US in 2021)
What was your dating life like in Nigeria, and how does it compare to where you are now?
It was easy — not because it was always great, but because there were clear expectations. I dated men who provided financially and emotionally for everything. Even if they weren’t rich, they cared about the little things, like sending lunch money, ordering an Uber, or just making me feel looked after.
Here? It’s a different ballgame. Everyone is so independent that dating almost feels transactional. It’s like, “I take care of myself, you take care of yourself, and we’ll occasionally come together for vibes.” But where’s the romance? The intentionality? The softness?
What’s been the biggest dating culture shock since you relocated?
Nobody is taking care of you. At all. In Nigeria, even broke men would find a way to spoil their babes with small gifts, data, and pay for a meal here and there. The thought was there. Meanwhile, in the US? A guy will invite you to dinner, let you order steak, and then when the bill comes, he’s pulling out his phone, “So, you wanna split?” Sir, I don’t. One even asked if I had CashApp to send him back $5 because he covered the tip.
At first, I thought maybe I was dating cheap men, but then I realised this is normal here. People see relationships as partnerships from day one. That’s great if that’s what you want, but I wasn’t ready for the culture shock.
Have your relationship preferences or standards changed since moving?
Definitely, I used to be soft life or nothing. If a man wasn’t showing effort financially, I wasn’t interested. But now, I understand why US people are so focused on partnership. Life is expensive here. Nobody has the time or money to carry someone else entirely.
That said, I still believe in romance. There has to be a balance. I’ve realised I don’t need a man to provide for me, but I want to feel cared for. It doesn’t have to be about money; it can be about effort — planning dates, making thoughtful gestures, showing me I matter.
If you could bring one thing from Nigerian dating culture to your new country, what would it be?
Men courting women. This “let’s just vibe” culture here is exhausting. Nobody wants to define anything. You’ll go on five dates, meet their friends, even spend the night at their place, and they’ll still say, “I don’t really like labels.” Sir, what are we doing then? I want a man to say, “I like you, I want to be with you, let’s build something.” Is that so hard?
“I went from zero dating options to too many” — *Charles, 27 (moved to Canada 2023)
What was your dating life like in Nigeria, and how does it compare to where you are now?
Non-existent. Being queer in Nigeria meant dating was mostly theory, not practice. The few times I tried, it was through friends of friends, people who had been vetted to make sure they weren’t homophobic or trying to set me up. Even then, the paranoia never really left.
I never got to experience casual dating. Every interaction felt like a risk — meeting in hidden spots, pretending we were just friends in public, overthinking every glance or touch. It was stressful, so at some point, I stopped trying altogether.
Then I moved to Canada, and suddenly, I had options — too many options. Dating apps actually work here. I can hold my partner’s hand in public. I can exist without fear. It’s freeing but also overwhelming. I went from nothing to everything and adjusting hasn’t been easy.
What’s been the biggest dating culture shock since you relocated?
How fast people move. I went on three dates with someone, and by the fourth, they were talking about meeting my family. Family ke? I barely knew their last name.
In Nigeria, we’re used to coded dating. Things progress slowly, and there’s always an unspoken understanding that certain things take time. Here? One date and people are already discussing long-term plans. A friend of mine went on one date, and by the second, the person had deleted their dating app and was introducing them as “my partner.”
I get that people in queer communities here can move faster because there’s no fear attached, but my Nigerian wiring still struggles with the intensity.
Have your relationship preferences or standards changed since moving?
100%. In Nigeria, I had no expectations because a real relationship felt impossible. I assumed I’d have to keep my love life hidden forever.
Now? I want a proper relationship — not just sneaky links or coded situationships. I want a partner I can go on dates with, introduce to my friends, and post without panicking. Being in a country where that’s actually possible has made me realise how much I want it.
If you could bring one thing from Nigerian dating culture to your new country, what would it be?
The mystery. The chase. The excitement of coded flirting. Here, everything is so out there. People are too open about their feelings from day one. There’s no tension, no build-up. You match with someone on an app, and within five minutes, they’ve told you their entire dating history and childhood trauma.
In Nigeria, we mastered the art of subtle moves. I miss that energy.
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
“I went from dating for marriage to exploring other possibilities” — *Samuel, 33 (moved to the UK in 2020)
What was your dating life like in Nigeria, and how does it compare to where you are now?
In Nigeria, I was mostly into traditional relationships — dating solely for marriage. It was all about meeting the right person, making sure they aligned with my family’s expectations, and following the script: courtship, introduction, wedding, and then, kids. That was the path, and I never questioned it.
Since moving to the UK, my perspective has shifted entirely. I don’t feel the same urgency to settle down anymore. Here, people approach relationships differently. It’s more about companionship and personal happiness than meeting societal expectations. No one is pressuring me to get married because I’m in my thirties. And for the first time, I’m asking myself, “Do I even want marriage the way I once thought I did?”
What’s been the biggest dating culture shock since you relocated?
The openness. Back home, relationships are very structured; you date, get engaged, and marry. But here, people explore different relationship structures, and it’s not seen as taboo.
I once went on a date with a woman who casually mentioned she was in an open relationship. She wasn’t sneaky about it; she was transparent and laid everything out on the table. That conversation blew my mind. I couldn’t imagine that happening in Nigeria, where even talking about non-traditional relationships is almost forbidden.
It’s not just polyamory, either. People date casually for years without feeling pressured to make it official. There’s also the culture of cohabitation before marriage, which is still a big deal in Nigeria. Here, it’s normal. You can live together and see if marriage even makes sense before making that commitment.
Have your relationship preferences or standards changed since moving?
Yes. I no longer see marriage as the only goal. I’m more open to different types of commitment, even if they’re not forever.
Before relocating, I saw relationships as a means to an end; you date to get married. Now, I understand that relationships can be valuable even if they don’t last a lifetime. I don’t feel guilty about exploring things without expecting it to lead to marriage.
If you could bring one thing from Nigerian dating culture to your new country, what would it be?
Family involvement. I used to complain about it in Nigeria because it felt overbearing, but now that I’m here, I kind of miss it. Relationships in the UK feel so detached from family life. You can date someone for years, and their parents might never know you exist.
In Nigeria, meeting the family is a huge step. Even if it comes with pressure, it also gives relationships a sense of community because you’re not just dating a person; you’re joining their entire world. Here, relationships can feel isolated, and I sometimes miss the closeness that comes with having family involved.
“I thought I was just dating, turns out I was a pathway to citizenship” — *Chiamaka, 30 (moved to Canada in 2019)
What was your dating life like in Nigeria, and how does it compare to where you are now?
I wasn’t really dating in Nigeria; it was just endless talking stages — the kind where you think you’re getting somewhere, but six months later, you realise you’re still in vibes and inshallah territory.
When I moved to Canada, I was excited to finally start dating properly. I thought, new country, new approach, fresh start! But it didn’t take long to realise that dating here comes with fine print. A lot of people aren’t just dating for romance; they’re looking for marriage as a means to secure their immigration status.
What’s been the biggest dating culture shock since you relocated?
The first time someone asked me if I’d consider marriage for papers, I actually laughed. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. He had a complete presentation on how it would benefit both of us.
I’ve had multiple experiences like that, and I’m not even a Canadian citizen yet — I’m on my way there, but people already see me as a ticket to PR. It’s wild. Before I take anyone seriously, I have to ask myself: Does he actually like me, or does he want a Canadian passport?
And it’s not just Nigerians. Africans from other countries, even people from other continents, play this game. I once met a guy who was so into me. He seemed perfect — funny, attentive, good conversation. Then, two weeks in, he randomly asked if I’d consider “helping” someone get their papers. The way I blocked him so fast!
Have your relationship preferences or standards changed since moving?
100%. Back in Nigeria, I got into lots of situationships. If I liked you and we had chemistry, that was enough. But now, liking someone isn’t nearly enough. I ask myself if we’re compatible and want the same things in the long term.
There’s also the commitment issue. I used to be okay with casual relationships, but now, I’m much more intentional. I don’t have time for people who just want to enjoy the moment when I know they’re also scanning me for my residency status.
If you could bring one thing from Nigerian dating culture to your new country, what would it be?
Romantic audacity. Nigerian men may be stressful, but one thing about them? They chase you properly. They’re intentional. They don’t do this three-month talking stage nonsense. Here, people can text you forever without making a move. I once spoke to a guy for over seven weeks, but there was no plan to meet. I had to spell it out like, “Are we going to see or are we just pen pals?” Meanwhile, in Nigeria, a man will meet you today, ask you out tomorrow, and start calling you his wife by the weekend. It’s a lot, but at least it’s direct.
“Dating here is an extreme sport” — Jide, *34 (moved to the US in 2023)
What was your dating life like in Nigeria, and how does it compare to where you are now?
Back in Nigeria, dating was tricky, but at least it had structure. If you were lucky enough to find someone, things progressed through friendship groups and social circles. Everyone knew who was safe to approach, and we all moved with discretion.
Here in the US? It’s like a full-time job. There’s no natural flow to meeting people. Everyone is on dating apps, and if you don’t actively put yourself out there, you might as well retire from dating. I miss organic connections. I don’t want to swipe my way into a relationship; I want to meet someone naturally.
What’s been the biggest dating culture shock since you relocated?
People here date multiple people at the same time, and it’s normal. I once went on three dates with a guy and thought we were building something. Then, on the fourth date, he casually mentioned going on a weekend trip with another man he was dating. I nearly choked on my drink. In Nigeria, even unserious people pretend they’re exclusive. Here? You have to ask to be exclusive; even then, it’s not guaranteed.
I’ve also noticed that emotional availability is so different here. A lot of queer men in Nigeria, myself included, had to fight even to have relationships, so when we did find someone, we held on tight. Here, because there’s freedom to date openly, many people take it for granted — it’s casual and nonchalant. I wasn’t prepared for that.
Have your relationship preferences or standards changed since moving?
I used to be okay with taking things slow, but now? I need clarity. If I like you, I want to know where we stand immediately. No more six-month situationships where nobody knows what’s going on.
I’ve also lowered some of my expectations. In Nigeria, we had this romantic intensity because queer relationships were high-risk. Every moment mattered because we never knew when we’d have to return to pretending. Here, I’ve learned that relationships don’t always have to be that deep. Sometimes, people are just exploring. It’s been an adjustment.
If you could bring one thing from Nigerian dating culture to your new country, what would it be?
I guess it’s small romantic gestures. Nobody here does the “Have you eaten?” check-ins, and I miss that. In Nigeria, even when we couldn’t say certain things openly, we showed love through little things like buying food, sending money, and checking in during the day.
Here, people can go days without speaking to you, and it’s not seen as a problem. One time, I told a guy I was having a stressful day, and he just said, “Damn, that sucks.” No solution, no “Do you want to talk about it?” just “Damn.” I need a middle ground, the freedom of dating abroad but with the intentionality of Nigerian romance.
Friendships, like relationships, can be beautiful, chaotic, and sometimes, downright disappointing. One minute, you have a ride-or-die, and the next, you’re questioning how you ever trusted them in the first place.
After seeing countless stories of best friends turned sworn enemies on social media, I reached out to some Nigerians who have been there, done that, and asked why they had to cut their closest friends off. Their stories prove that sometimes, letting go is the only option.
“She talks too much!” — Deborah*, 15
It’s one thing to have a talkative friend. It’s another to have a friend who talks so much they make you want to disappear. Deborah*, 15, shares:
“Ever since we got to SS1, it was like she couldn’t stop talking—about other people, her private life, things that didn’t concern her, just cho cho cho all the time. I think she wanted to seem more likeable to the other students, but even when I told her that all the oversharing was doing the opposite of what she intended, she didn’t listen. So, I kept my distance.”
[ad]
“She tried to swindle me” — Enitan*, 50
When money is involved, true colours will always show. In Enitan’s*, 50, case, it also involved the police showing face.
“I cut my closest friend off because she connived with my cousin to scam me. We had been close since secondary school, and even though we lived in different states, we did business together. Then, in 2010, she and my cousin convinced me to invest in a photocopy and printing business. But instead of setting up the business as agreed, they tried to run off with the capital. I had to involve the police to get my money back. As soon as I saw the alert, I cut them off. She still messages me on Facebook, begging for forgiveness, but I want nothing to do with her.”
“My best friend fell in love with me” — Dare*, 37
Best friends turning into lovers might sound romantic in movies, but for Dare*, 37, it was an awkward situation he couldn’t stomach.
“We became close friends in university, but our bond really deepened after school when we realised we had been posted to the same PPA in Abuja for NYSC. Everything was fine until 2018, when we were approaching 30, and she started talking about how we should just get married to each other. At first, I laughed because I thought she was joking, but she kept bringing it up. I explained that I liked our friendship as it was — without any romantic complications — but she didn’t take it well. She cried, said I had deceived her and even threatened to harm herself. For days after, she left hundreds of WhatsApp messages.
I was genuinely afraid. If anything happened to her, who would believe me? I lied at my PPA that I was sick and ran back to Calabar for a week. As soon as I landed, I blocked her everywhere. When I returned to Abuja, I avoided her altogether. It was incredibly awkward until my service year ended, and I moved to Oyo. We haven’t spoken since.”
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
“He had anger issues, and I don’t like wahala” — Bimpe*, 26
Having a best friend with anger issues is one thing, but realising they might actually harm you? It’s time to pack your bags. Bimpe*, 26, stood on business. She shares:
“My former best friend and I had been tight since secondary school. He was a fighter back then because seniors always tried to bully him, so I never saw his willingness to beat people up as a red flag. Then in uni, in 2016, we had a silly argument over which Naruto character was better. This boy called me a stupid bitch, punched a wall, and threw a vase at my head. Because of anime? The next day, he tried to apologise over the phone. I said there was no problem, but I can count how many times I’ve spoken to him since that day. I don’t like wahala like that.”
“He never seemed happy when I was doing well” — Demilade*, 36
There are silent haters and then there are friends who don’t try to hide their envy when you win. Demilade*, 36, shares:
“My friend and I met during NYSC and bonded over our similar backgrounds and hunger for success in Lagos. Over time, I noticed that he wouldn’t even pretend to be happy for me whenever I shared good news. Instead, he’d get moody or post cryptic messages on WhatsApp about how “some people” think they are better than him, but his God would show them.
The last straw was getting accepted into a coding school. I was so excited to start my tech journey that I called him immediately. He dismissed it, saying it wasn’t a big deal since I wasn’t about to invent the next Microsoft. It rubbed me the wrong way, so I stopped reaching out. I still miss him, but he was moving really weird.”
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?
We dated for a year and have been married for almost two years. So, we’ve been together for three years.
Where did you meet?
We met at my former workplace. HR announced Greg as the new tech hire one day in November 2021. I didn’t pay much attention to him until January, when I needed to solve a tech request. I messaged him, and he told me he couldn’t do much because it was his last day.
I was shocked. When did he even join? I like gist, so I pushed him to share. We took the conversation off Slack and kept chatting after we finished doing office politics amebo. Two days later, he sweet-talked himself into a date. I don’t even know when he stole my heart. I just know we started dating in February.
See love o. But what was happening with Greg’s job situation?
He left my former workplace because of some disagreements with the work contract. My bosses tried to get him to do far more than was agreed, and he wasn’t down for it. So, he quit.
He didn’t have another job lined up, but he often got freelance software development gigs through his network of colleagues. He relied on that, pending when he’d get a full-time role. Greg was technically unemployed when we started dating.
Did this affect the new relationship?
Not at all. Money, or the lack of it, has never been the most important thing in a relationship for me. I know it’s essential, but I like to look at other factors too. Greg is kind, loving and isn’t lazy. Despite being unemployed, he also wasn’t poor — the gigs helped. He didn’t get a full-time role until we were five months into the relationship.
Another thing that helped was how open we were about our finances and how we spent money. It helped manage expectations on both sides. I wasn’t expecting him to “give me the world” when he only had ₦50k in his account.
One time in June 2022, he made ₦700k on a project and took me out to an upscale restaurant to celebrate. I remember this vividly because that’s when we started talking about marriage. To be honest, I think we both knew marriage was wishful thinking at the time. My salary was only ₦350k/month, and he didn’t have anything stable. We had nothing to plan a wedding and home with; we just knew we wanted to be together.
The universe must’ve been listening because less than a month later, Greg landed a $4k/month contract job with a foreign company.
Whoops!
The new income gave us the confidence to plan for our future more intentionally. $4k at the time was about ₦2.5m, and Greg started saving ₦1.7m monthly as a safety net for our wedding and new apartment. We got married in February 2023 and moved into our current apartment. The rent itself is ₦1.8m/year, but agent fees and furnishing drove the cost up to ₦3m. Greg handled this.
How about the wedding expenses?
Greg handled most of the wedding expenses, too — the hall, food, decorations, photography, videography, and security ran into ₦4m. I’d been saving too, so I assisted by paying for our outfits, accessories and my make-up. I think the whole thing cost me ₦1.2m. Nothing too serious.
I got pregnant almost immediately and had to quit my job when my bosses became passive-aggressive. They kept implying I wouldn’t work as hard anymore and increased my tasks as if to prove that. I didn’t need that stress in my life, so I quit in September 2023. I had the baby in November.
I planned to wait for my baby to become at least seven months old before I started job-hunting again. However, Greg’s workplace ended his contract in March 2024, and I had to dust my CV. I found my current job within six weeks of searching, and I earn ₦520k/month. Greg has yet to find another full-time job.
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
Does this mean your home currently runs on a single income source?
One stable income source. Greg has returned to freelancing, but the income isn’t steady. He can make $1k today and not make up to ₦300k for the next three months. We’ve had to tighten our belts and live as frugally as possible. But no matter how much we try to keep money, living in Lagos and the economy just force money out of our hands. We also have a baby to care for.
Sometimes, I think about feeding, electricity and transportation costs and my head just starts bringing out smoke. Imagine spending ₦120k on electricity every month because we’re on Band A, and it’s not like the light is 24/7 o! We still have to spend on fuel for the generator. I’m sorry I’m ranting; I don’t get to rant at home.
Why can’t you rant at home?
Greg feels bad whenever I complain about money. I might just be complaining about how an item has tripled in price, and he starts feeling guilty about not providing enough. I’ve told him countless times that I’m not faulting him for anything. But it doesn’t change anything.
I understand him, though. It must feel emasculating that, no matter how he tries, his efforts don’t seem to match our needs. He has a provider mindset, and I don’t want him to feel worse than he already does. So, I keep my concerns with inflation to myself and just try to manage his emotions.
I see. How do you both approach budgeting for home expenses?
We have a joint account that we use to handle all our needs. We send a portion of our salaries there to pay our bills. At first, it was just Greg sending 70% of his income to the account. If the money finished before month’s end, I’d assist with any bill that needed to be paid. That rarely happened because Greg’s income was so high.
But since he lost his job, I’ve been sending 70% of my income to the account. Then, I save the remaining 30%. Sometimes, I send the full 100% because of the high cost of living.
Is there any left to plan for dates and stuff?
We often plan indoor dates where we order in food, and the money for that usually comes from our joint account. Those dates happen at least once weekly, especially when I’m too tired to cook.
We used to buy random gifts a lot before the job situation. I’d often come home to see a dress or pair of shoes that Greg ordered. I’d also buy him things I knew he’d like when I went out. But now, we’re just trying to survive. Hopefully, things will get much better soon, and we can resume.
Hopefully. Do you both have a safety net?
We had an “untouchable” ₦2m emergency fund, but we had to touch it when rent was due last month. So, we’re trying to build another emergency fund. Greg and I have agreed that the next big payout he gets from a gig will go there.
What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?
I just want us to earn enough to afford a little extra to set aside in real estate and stock investments. There’s only so much running around we can do to make money. I feel like the highest point in wealth building is to have a source of passive income, and we need investments for that.
Interested in talking about how money moves in your relationship? If yes, click here.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
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.
[ad]
Tell me how you and Mayowa* became friends
We were colleagues at work. Through gisting, we discovered that our families lived in the same state. Our friendship deepened in 2022 after she lost her elder sister. Around the same time, a close friend of hers gave her the cold shoulder, which worsened her grief and depression. I saw her as a good friend, so I stepped up to fill that gap in her life.
What was your friendship with her like?
It was a bittersweet experience. She’s very hot-tempered and lashes out at the slightest provocation. When she’s angry, she doesn’t care if you’re her friend or not — she’ll talk to you anyhow and say lots of unkind things.
This made me a bit scared of her and combined with the fact that she is older than me, I always took care not to get her angry. I couldn’t call her out when she did anything wrong for fear of being blasted.
Mayowa did and said things to people that she herself couldn’t tolerate. You dared not raise your voice at her or talk to her anyhow, even when she was wrong, not to talk of insulting her. But if you were in the wrong? You were in trouble.
I’m not a perfect person either, and there were days I upset her, but her reactions were even more upsetting. She would yell at me and insult the hell out of me, and I would have to hold my tongue and wait till she calmed down to beg her. This is what our friendship was like. If I didn’t beg her, we could go radio silent for months. Despite all this, she could be a very sweet and lovely person when in a good mood.
[ad][/ad]
What’s one experience with her you can never forget?
On the day of her sister’s burial, we didn’t have any prior communication regarding whether I would arrive earlier, so I decided to carpool with our other work colleagues so we could attend together.
She texted that morning and asked where I was. I told her I was waiting for one of our co-workers who wanted to attend the burial as well, and all hell was let loose. She said a lot of hurtful things that day. She gave me an ultimatum that I had 30 minutes to get there, and if after 30 minutes I wasn’t there, I shouldn’t dare dial her line.
By the time my co-worker arrived and we got to the burial, it was obviously later than the 30-minute deadline she had given me. When I called and she came out, she hugged the other lady that came with me and snubbed me — even as I was apologizing and trying to hug her. It was very embarrassing.
Whoa. That’s a lot. Did you ever try to talk to her about how her behaviour made you feel?
I never tried. I was scared it would provoke her. From time to time, she would acknowledge her hot temper. One time, she said she knew she was badly behaved, but she thanked God for the kind of friends she had and how they tolerated her behaviour. My mental health was in shambles being friends with her but hearing her say that made me feel special.
So, what made you distance yourself from her?
It’s a very long story. She moved abroad in 2023, met and fell in love with a married guy — let’s call him Femi — who had also moved recently and claimed he didn’t love his wife. I can’t lie, he was a sweet guy. He would send me money anytime she begged him to, and she also sent me money from time to time to support me.
We were both going through crazy phases in our lives and tried to be there for each other. She showed up financially for me, and I showed up for her emotionally and in any other way I could.
She had crazy fights with Femi — really crazy ones. She insulted and belittled him at the slightest provocation. Femi didn’t understand the constant mood switching and would always complain to me as her ‘best friend’ to intervene.
How did you intervene?
I’d tell him to beg her even if she was at fault or to give her time and space to come around. She was my friend, and I tried to have her back no matter what she did. I think that was part of the problem.
Anyway, she had promised to help me change my phone around July 2024 and Femi decided to support her with some funds to help. During one of their really bad fights, she insulted and blocked him everywhere. Femi came crying to me saying he was tired and that he was leaving the friendship/relationship for his mental health. Then he sent me ₦100k for a new phone and told me he was blocking us both for his peace of mind.
Omo, that’s wild. Did you tell her about the ₦100k?
No, I didn’t. I didn’t know how to tell her because I was afraid she’d tell me to return the money. I was genuinely scared of her, and I really needed that money at that time. That was the biggest mistake of my life.
We had one of our issues shortly after and stopped talking to each other as usual. I think this silence went on for two months because I was actually tired of begging every single time we had a fight, and I decided that I wasn’t going to say anything if she didn’t this time. I was clearly not at fault. During this period, she and Femi got back together. And of course, he told her about the money he had sent me.
Ah! What did she do?
The next thing I saw was a status update on WhatsApp. She said something along the lines of: “I begged a friend to help her, and she hid the help from me, thinking I wouldn’t find out”. She said I was ungrateful and called me a kidnapper — that I could kidnap her because of ₦100k.
I was insulted and felt really hurt. She could have confronted me directly, but because we weren’t on speaking terms, she decided to air it out online. That was her way of ‘addressing’ me.
That’s crazy! What did you now do?
I texted Femi immediately and asked him to send his account number so I could refund him. But they had broken up again, and he told me to leave him out of the mess. I didn’t text her either. That was the end of the friendship.
I bought a few things with the money and gave them away. It was like cleansing for me. I felt free.
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
If she came to apologize and said she’s changed, would you consider rekindling the friendship?
God forbid! I’ve seen her new man tweet that anytime he mentions her ‘best friend’’ she gets angry and starts shouting. Wo, I’ve made my peace with the situation. Anything she told him that happened is really what happened. Make nobody stress me. I’ve closed that chapter.
I was looking for stories about estranged fathers when I found *Alvin.
In this story, the 35-year-old shares how he grew up without a father, the pain of never being acknowledged, and why even now — when his absentee dad is on his deathbed — he refuses to offer the forgiveness everyone is demanding from him.
As told to Adeyinka
I don’t hate my father. I just don’t know him. That’s what I keep telling people, but they don’t seem to hear me. They keep saying, “He’s still your father”, as if the title alone means anything. As if blood can make up for absence.
I’m 35 years old, and in all those years, my father has been nothing but a name I barely acknowledge. He was never there to carry me as a child, to scold me as a teenager, or to guide me as a man. And now, as he lies on his sick bed, his other children — my step-siblings — have gathered around, trying to convince me to visit him. To forgive, to show up.
But where was he when I needed him?
I was two years old when my father disappeared from my life. My mother said there was no fight, no warning; he just left. According to her, the only explanation was spiritual. “Something was tying him away from us,” she would say, as if that made it better.
I never understood that logic. How does a man wake up one day and decide his wife and son no longer exist? How does he move on like we were just a bad phase in his life? My mum tried to reconnect with him a few times, but by then, two other wives were in the picture. My existence had become an inconvenience, another problem in a family that had already moved on without me.
So, she stopped trying. And just like that, I grew up with the knowledge that I had no father.
My mother did everything she could to make up for his absence. She worked multiple jobs, made sure I never lacked, and never let me feel like I needed him. But no matter how much she tried, there were things she couldn’t shield me from. Like the way teachers would ask about my dad at school, assuming every child had one. Or the way Father’s Day always felt like a cruel joke.
The hardest part was the questions.
“Where is your daddy?”
“Why doesn’t he come to see you?”
“Do you ever talk to him?”
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
I learned to lie. I would say he was working abroad. That he was busy. That he would come back soon. I never admitted that I didn’t even know what he looked like.
Then my mother died.
I had just finished secondary school when she got sick. It happened so fast. One minute, she was making plans for me to go to university; the next, I was standing at her graveside, wondering how life could be so unfair. I remember sitting alone after the funeral, feeling completely abandoned.
And still, my father didn’t come.
I don’t know if he heard about her passing or if he simply didn’t care. Either way, it didn’t matter. My grandmother took me in and did her best to raise me, but by then, I had already learned one thing: I was alone in this world.
Over the years, my father’s absence became less of a wound and more of a dull ache I learned to live with. I stopped expecting anything from him. I went to university, graduated, built a life for myself—all without him. I made peace with the fact that I didn’t have a dad, and I didn’t need one.
But for some reason, his family refuses to accept that.
His other children—my half-siblings—have reached out to me many times, trying to arrange reconciliation meetings. I’ve turned them down every single time. What’s the point? I’m not looking for closure. I’m not searching for lost time. I don’t care to build a relationship with a man who never once tried to be in my life.
But now, things are different. This time, they’re not asking me to meet him just because. They’re saying he’s dying. “It would mean a lot to him and you’ll regret it if you don’t. This is your last chance,” they say.
But the thing is, he hasn’t asked for me. Not once. They keep talking about forgiveness, but how do you forgive someone who hasn’t even acknowledged their wrongs? If he had called for me himself, if he had said, “I want to see my son before I die,” maybe I would feel something. But he hasn’t.
[ad]
And that tells me everything I need to know.
I know people think I’m being harsh. That I should be the “bigger person” and let go of the past. But I’m tired of being told that my feelings don’t matter just because someone is dying. Where was this energy when my mother died? When I was a child wondering why my father didn’t love me enough to stay?
Forgiveness isn’t something you force. It’s not a button you push because it’s convenient for other people.
I’ve made my decision. I won’t be going. Not because I hate him, but because I’ve lived my whole life without him, and I’m not about to change that now just because time is running out. If he had truly wanted my forgiveness, he would have asked for it when he was still strong, not when he had no choice left.
I refuse to be pressured into a moment that’s not mine to create. And if he takes his last breath without ever seeing me, then so be it.
Ramadan is a deeply personal journey, but experiencing it with a partner adds a new layer to the experience. For some, the early years of fasting together were filled with the excitement and struggle of waking up late for sahur, arguing over who should cook iftar, or figuring out how to balance religious devotion with relationship expectations. Years later, things have either settled into a comfortable routine or changed in ways they never expected.
We spoke to five married Muslims at different stages of marriage — newlyweds, young parents, and those who have spent years together — about how Ramadan as a couple has evolved for them over the years.
“We’re figuring out what works for us”
The first Ramadan as a married couple is often a reality check. Before now, *Nasir (30) and *Barakat (27), spent Ramadan with their families, where everything — from meal prep to wake-up calls — was taken care of. But now, it’s just the two of them, and nothing is going as planned.
“We thought it would be romantic waking up together for sahur, cooking iftar side by side, having deep spiritual bonding moments. But in reality? We’ve missed sahur twice already, and half the time, we just order food for iftar.”
Between work stress and adjusting to a new routine, they’re struggling to keep up. But even in the messiness, they’ve found small wins, like meal prepping on weekends to make things easier.
“I grew up watching my mum do everything during Ramadan,” Nasir adds. “But now, my wife and I are learning to share responsibilities. It’s our first, so we’re cutting ourselves some slack.”
“We used to struggle, now we’re each other’s rock”
Long-distance during Ramadan can be lonely, but for *Fatima (33) and her husband, it also built the foundation of their relationship.
“Our first Ramadan together wasn’t really together. I was still in school, and he was working in another city. We tried virtual iftars, but the bad internet didn’t always let us be great. The loneliness used to hit hard because Ramadan is such a communal experience,” Fatima recalls.
Now, five years in, things are different. They share their fast-breaking moments in the same space, wake each other up for sahur, and even plan their sadaqah together.
“Long-distance taught us not to take our time together for granted. Even if we’re too tired to talk much, just knowing we’re here for each other makes all the difference.”
[ad]
“It’s the absolute trenches with kids”
Having kids changes everything, and for *Amina (41) and her husband, Ramadan is no exception.
“Before kids, Ramadan was our time. We’d cook together, have long talks after iftar, and even go for taraweeh together for most of the 30 days. Every Sunday was also for one Ramadan lecture or the other. It was really peaceful back then. Romantic, even.”
Now? Their Ramadan looks completely different.
“With two kids under six, it’s all about survival. The MVP is whoever wakes up first to sort sahur while the other steals a few extra minutes of sleep. Sometimes, we’re too exhausted to even eat properly. If one of us makes it to the mosque for taraweeh, it’s a miracle.”
Despite the exhaustion, there’s an unspoken teamwork between them. Ramadan may not be romantic anymore, but the love is still there, just expressed through moments of rest and shared responsibilities.
“Some nights, we barely get to pray together. But we remind ourselves that this is a phase. In a few years, the kids will be part of our Ramadan traditions too, insha Allah.“
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
“We’ve found a rhythm, but we’ve also changed”
At the start of their marriage in 2013, *Kareem (49) and *Toyin (36) had an unspoken rule: Ramadan meant doing everything together.
“We tried to wake up at the same time, break our fasts at the same time, pray every prayer together. It was sweet and exhausting but we didn’t feel it so much because of ground rule of togetherness, “Kareem” shares.
Over time, they realised that faith is a personal journey for each individual.
“I was in a really bad place spiritually some years ago and wasn’t praying. My iman was weak, and my wife would get worried and sometimes involve other family members especially during Ramadan. It caused a lot of rift because I felt I was being forced against my will, but alhamdullilahi, I found my faith again. However, that period taught us to be more understanding. Now, we give each other space. If one of us is extra tired and wants to skip sahur, that’s fine. If one person prefers to pray at home while the other goes to the mosque, it’s no problem. Ramadan isn’t about performing together, it’s about supporting each other’s spiritual journey.”
What started as a relationship built on doing everything as a unit has now evolved into one of understanding and balance.
“It’s more meaningful now. We’re more intentional about encouraging each other’s individual faith rather than forcing a routine that doesn’t always work for both of us.”
“It’s no longer about the merriment, it’s about faith”
In their early years, *Rahman (44) and his wife saw Ramadan as an opportunity for extravagant iftars and hosting big gatherings.
“Back then, Ramadan was all about the thrill of good food and hosting our friends and families. We’d spend hours planning the best meals, trying new recipes, inviting people over. It was fun, but looking back, it was also a bit excessive.”
Now, in their 40s, their focus has shifted.
“We keep it simple. We eat less, we pray more, and we spend more time giving back. We used to be so caught up in the material aspects of the month. Now, we’re more at peace. We’ve learned that Ramadan isn’t about how much you do, but how sincerely you do it.”
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?
Brenda: We met at a friend’s birthday in December 2023. It was a house party,, and during a Truth or Dare game, someone dared me to touch Godwin’s dick until it got hard.
At first, I laughed it off, but I looked at him and thought he was cute. So, I decided, “Why not?”
Godwin: I had no idea who Brenda was, so imagine my shock when she casually walked over and put her hands in my jeans. No hesitation, no shyness, just straight to business. It caught me off guard, but I can’t lie, I enjoyed it. It blew my mind that our first interaction featured her hand on my dick.
Brenda: He stood still like a statue! And I could tell he was trying so hard to act unbothered. But I knew I had done my job when I felt him twitch a little.
Godwin: That’s not even the wildest part. When the dare was over, she leaned in and whispered, “Nice.” Then she walked away. I knew I had to talk to her before the party was over.
Right. What happened after?
Brenda: He asked for my number before I left, and I gave it to him. I thought he was cute, and I liked what I felt. So I didn’t think it’d hurt to keep in touch.
We started texting the next day, and we were hooking up before I knew it. I didn’t think it would be anything serious — we were just two adults having fun.
Godwin: That was the plan until I started catching feelings.
Hmmm
Godwin: We texted every day, met up every weekend, and just vibed. She wasn’t just someone I was sleeping with; I actually enjoyed her company a lot.
Although we didn’t speak about it, we both understood that we were together for the sex. I didn’t want to ruin our arrangement by bringing up feelings. So, I kept it to myself.
Did you notice anything though, Brenda?
Brenda: I did. He’d send text messages to check up on me every other day. Also, whenever we met up for sex, he’d be extra in the days that followed — almost like he didn’t want me to feel like I was a fling or something.
I found it sweet and funny. In my head I was like “So, this boy thinks he’s the only one enjoying this?” But yeah, the feelings weren’t mutual. I was clear on what I wanted from the start and I treated it as what it was: a situationship.
Godwin: That was frustrating for me. I wanted more, but she deliberately kept me at arm’s length. I
Then a friend I discussed our situation with then advised me to treat things as they were. After that conversation, I stopped trying and just enjoyed the moment. We’d meet up when either of us was horny, and that was it.
[ad]
At what point did things change?
Brenda: I think it was when he stopped trying. I’d gotten so used to him always being there — texting me first, making plans, checking in — that when he suddenly pulled back, I felt the difference. I realised I didn’t want him to stop caring about me and doubled down on some of the things he used to do.
That’s when I also agreed to be in a relationship with him. It wasn’t some grand, romantic moment. He asked again when he noticed my efforts, and I said yes. Simple.
Curious. Why exactly didn’t you want to move things forward?
Brenda: I’d been at the spot before. Too many times.
Godwin was going to be my 17th boyfriend in nine years if I agreed to date him. Before him, every time I got into a relationship, I told myself, This is the one that will last. They never did.
After my last relationship before Godwin ended, I promised myself that the next serious relationship had to be serious. I wanted something intentional that could lead somewhere. But Godwin came, and we started as a situationship that was mostly all about the sex. To me, that was a sign. My previous situations didn’t last, so I assumed this would end the same way.
So instead of leaning into it, I wanted things to flow. I convinced myself he’d leave when he got tired. But he didn’t. And when he pulled back, I realised I didn’t want him to. That’s when I said yes.
Godwin, were you aware of these past relationships?
Godwin: Yes. She told me from the start. I mean, everyone has exes. I’ve had my fair share of past relationships, so it wasn’t like I expected her to come into this with a clean slate.
But I won’t lie, when she put a number to it — sixteen relationships in seven years — it made me pause. Not in a judgmental way. I just wondered, “How?”
I asked her once, and she laughed it off like it wasn’t a big deal. She said something about how she dates with intention and moves on quickly once she realises something isn’t working. It made sense to me, but it also left me wondering if I’d just become another name on that list.
Brenda: That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell him at first. It’s one thing to know someone has had multiple relationships; it’s another thing to put a number to it. But there’s no point in lying about things like this.
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
Right. So, what were the early days of your relationship like?
Godwin: Those were nice days. Brenda is not the overly mushy, affectionate type, but she cares in her own way. She would randomly send me food when I was too busy to cook. Or she’d come over and clean my place without saying a word.
Also, the sex was really good. It was something I always looked forward to, and I don’t think it has changed even now.
Brenda: My love language is acts of service. I’m not the type to send long, romantic messages or post you on Instagram, but I’ll always do things to make your life easier.
Godwin: That’s one of the things I love about her. She’ll act like she doesn’t care, but the little things she does say otherwise.
Brenda: The early days were great. I liked how easy everything felt. We didn’t have to overthink things. We hung out, had fun, and just enjoyed each other’s company. Godwin never pressured me for anything — not commitment, not validation. That made me feel safe.
But at the same time, I was holding back. Even though we were together, I found it hard to fully commit emotionally. It wasn’t about him. It was just me struggling with the idea of being all in again.
Godwin: Yeah. She had an air of “This isn’t permanent” hanging over her. It was like she was waiting for the inevitable end before we even got started.
It must have been tough. How did you deal with it?
Godwin: At first, I ignored it, telling myself it was just her personality and she needed time. But as months passed, it started getting to me. I did things to show her I was serious — planning thoughtful dates, introducing her to my close friends — but it still felt like she was deliberately holding a part of herself back, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Brenda: I was. Not consciously, but it was there. It’s not that I didn’t care. Every other relationship before had ended, so why would this one be different? I didn’t know how to break out of that cycle of detachment.
Godwin: That’s what frustrated me the most. I wasn’t one of those guys. I wasn’t just another number. But sometimes, she acted like I was.
Do you think you’re still in that phase now?
Brenda: I’d love to say no, but I’d be lying. I’m trying, though. He’s been patient, which I don’t take for granted.
Godwin: I see her effort. But I won’t like that it’s not exhausting sometimes. I don’t want to feel like I’m constantly proving myself or fighting for something she’s already in. Some days, it’s like we’re just flowing, no stress, no walls. Other days, I catch her pulling away, and I don’t know what triggers it.
Brenda: I wish unlearning certain things was easier. My first instinct in relationships has always been self-preservation — keeping a part of myself untouched in case it all crashes. The habit is hard to shake.
Fair enough. What steps are you taking to do better?
Brenda: For starters, I’m being more intentional about reassuring him. Not just with words, but with actions too. I used to shut down or withdraw whenever I felt overwhelmed. Now I make an effort to talk through things instead of assuming he’ll just figure it out.
Godwin: She’s been opening up more, which helps. Before, I’d notice something was wrong, ask her, BUT she’d brush it off. Now, she actually says things like, “I don’t know why, but I feel off today” or “I need some time to process this.” It makes a huge difference because I don’t feel like I’m fighting an invisible battle alone.
Brenda: I’m also trying to change my mindset about this relationship being temporary. It sounds silly, but I literally remind myself, “Godwin is not my ex. This is different.”
Do you think it’s working?
Brenda: Slowly, yes. I still have moments of doubt, but I catch myself faster. And I think that’s a step in the right direction.
Nice. Have you guys had a major fight yet?
Godwin: Plenty.
Brenda: But one almost ended us. Godwin found out I still had dating apps on my phone. I wasn’t using them, but I also hadn’t deleted them.
Godwin: I remember seeing Tinder on her phone, and I was like, “Why do you still have this?” There was Grindr too, which threw me off completely. It made me wonder — was there something about her past relationships that she hadn’t shared with me? Were there female exes I didn’t know about?
Brenda: I wasn’t hiding it. I just didn’t think it mattered. The apps were there, but I hadn’t opened them in forever.
Godwin: But that’s exactly why it mattered to me. If we were exclusive, why did she still need access to that world?
Brenda: I won’t lie, I had to sit with that question myself. At first, I was defensive. I told him, “It’s not like I’m actively looking for someone else.” But later, I realised it wasn’t just about the apps. It was about what they represented.
And what was that?
Brenda: A safety net. I know it sounds bad, but it’s the truth. I’ve had so many relationships that didn’t last that I started to always prepare for the end. I didn’t even realise I was doing it with Godwin too. Keeping those apps wasn’t about wanting to cheat; it was about feeling like I had options if things went south.
Godwin: That’s what hurt me the most. It made me realise that no matter how much I loved her, she didn’t fully believe in us.
Brenda: I get it. If the roles were reversed, I’d have probably reacted the same way. That’s why, I deleted the apps after Godwin and I talked. Not because he forced me to, but I had to be honest with myself. If I wanted this relationship to work, I had to stop holding on to escape routes.
Did deleting the apps solve the problem?
Brenda: Not overnight. I still had to work on my mindset. It’s one thing to remove the apps, but it’s another thing to truly believe in the longevity of a relationship. That part is still a work in progress.
Godwin: I respect it. I just hope she gets to a point where she’s all in — not halfway, not one foot in and one foot out.
What would you say is the best thing about being with each other?
Brenda: Godwin makes me feel safe. I’ve dated a lot of guys, and most of them made me feel like I had to be on guard all the time. With Godwin, I can actually just be.
Godwin: For me, it’s her honesty. Brenda doesn’t lie. She might not always say things in the nicest way, but at least I know she’s always real with me.
Brenda: Also, the sex is good.
Godwin: Facts.
What’s one thing you wish was different?
Godwin: I wish she would stop treating this relationship like it has an expiration date. I know she’s been through a lot in the past, but I want her to believe that I’m not like the others. I want her to trust that I’m here for as long as we both want this to work.
Brenda: I wish I didn’t feel like I always had to protect myself. I envy people who go into relationships with pure optimism, believing it’ll last forever. I want to be like that, to love freely without the voice in my head reminding me of how things have gone in the past.
Godwin: Does this one feel different?
Brenda: It does. And that scares me even more.
Why does it scare you?
Brenda: The more I care, the more I have to lose. Breakups don’t shock me anymore, but this? If this doesn’t work, I don’t know how I’ll handle it.
Godwin: That’s exactly why I want you to believe in us. I don’t want you to be preparing for the worst when all I’m trying to do is give us my best.
Brenda: I know. And that’s what I’m working on.
On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate your love life?
Godwin: Right now, a 7. We have great moments, but I want more security in our relationship.
Brenda: A 6. Not because I don’t love him, but because I still have a lot of unlearning to do.
Godwin: That’s all I need as long as you’re willing to try.
Brenda: I am.
If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.
For most Muslims, Ramadan is a month of fasting, abstinence from everything considered “haram”, and increased devotion. But for single Muslims, it can also be a month of deep longing — whether for companionship, emotional intimacy, or simply someone to share sahur and iftar with. While married couples enjoy the privilege of breaking their fast together, praying side by side, and even indulging in halal intimacy after iftar, singles often experience the opposite: solitude, temptation, and, in some cases, an overwhelming sense of loneliness.
We spoke to seven Nigerian muslims about what it feels like to navigate Ramadan alone.
“Ramadan makes my sexual urges feel tripled”
Ramadan is a time for spiritual cleansing, but for some single Muslims, it’s also a time when their physical desires become harder to ignore. For *Faruq, 25, resisting temptation becomes an even bigger challenge during this period.
“I don’t know what it is, but during Ramadan, my sexual urges go into overdrive. Maybe it’s because I know I shouldn’t be thinking about it, or maybe it’s just the test of discipline that comes with the holy month. But wallahi, it’s like my body is actively fighting my mind.
I try to stay focused — fasting, praying, avoiding triggers — but the thoughts still creep in. And the worst part? I’m not even married, so there’s no halal outlet for these desires. Some days, I find myself wishing I already had a wife because at least, marital intimacy is allowed after iftar. I won’t lie, I’ve slipped a few times. I’m not proud of it, but self-pleasure sometimes feels like the only way to keep my head straight. And then I feel guilty after, questioning if my fast is even valid. The cycle of restraint, struggle, and guilt is exhausting, but I’m doing my best. May Allah make it easy for all of us.”
“I don’t even have someone to remind me it’s time for sahur”
*Amina’s, 27, biggest struggle isn’t loneliness; it’s waking up on time.
“Sahur is always a struggle for me because I sleep like a log of wood. When I was in a relationship, my ex would call or text to wake me up, but now, nobody is checking for me. I’ve missed sahur so many times that I’ve started setting three alarms and keeping my phone volume at the loudest just so I don’t oversleep. It’s making me realise that small things like this are why having a partner makes life easier. Who knew I’d miss something as simple as a 4 a.m. wake-up call?”
[ad]
“Being around family helps, but the backhanded comments? Whew”
*Hafsat, 31, enjoys being with her family during the holy month, but they come with a side of unsolicited commentary.
“I won’t lie, I’m grateful for my family. If I lived alone, I’d probably fall into depression during Ramadan. My mum makes sure I never miss sahur, my siblings keep me entertained, and iftar is always a full house with food that slaps. But the moment I sit down to eat, someone must mention marriage. I try to laugh it off, but sometimes, the comments really hit home. I know they mean well, but can I eat my food in peace? I try to remind myself that at least I have my family around me. It’s not the worst thing in the world to be single, but sometimes, it feels like it.”
For *Ameen, 25, Ramadan used to be filled with the warmth of community, but after relocating, the loneliness has been overwhelming.
“Back in Lagos, Ramadan never felt isolating. There was always a mosque nearby, Muslim friends to break my fast with, and a sense of belonging that made everything easier. But since moving to the East, I feel so alone. My family is Christian, and even though they respect my decision to fast, they don’t really understand it. I break my fast alone, sahur is lonely, and I can’t even hear the call to prayer from any mosque because the nearest one is miles away.
I’ve tried to make the best of it. I follow my Muslim friends online, join virtual Islamic discussions, and watch Ramadan lectures on YouTube, but nothing replaces the feeling of physically being part of a Muslim community. Some nights, I want to cry from how lonely it feels. I know this is supposed to be the time when I strengthen my faith, but it’s hard when I feel so disconnected. I keep telling myself that Allah sees my efforts, even if I don’t have a community around me. That’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
“Iftar at the mosque reminds me that I don’t have my own family yet”
For many, iftar at the mosque is a beautiful communal experience, but for *Imran, 39, it’s a reminder of what he doesn’t have — his own home, wife, and children to share it with.
“Every evening, I sit on the mosque floor, breaking my fast with strangers who, by now, feel like brothers. And while I love the sense of community, I can’t help but feel the absence of my own family. I see married men rushing home after Maghrib to eat with their wives. I hear fathers on the phone telling their kids to behave. And here I am, wondering when it’ll be my turn. I used to think I had time, but now, at 39, it’s hitting me differently.”
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
“I spend most of my free time at the mosque”
For *Fatai, 48, Ramadan used to be an intimate period filled with the chatter of his late wife and children around the dining table. But since losing his wife three years ago and sending his children off to university, the silence in his home has become deafening.
“It’s just me and the maid now, but she’s not Muslim and doesn’t even speak Yoruba fluently. So, there’s not much conversation between us. I eat suhoor and iftar alone, and sometimes, it feels like I’m fasting in isolation.
The only thing that makes it bearable is going to the mosque. There, I get to be around people, hear laughter, exchange pleasantries. It reminds me that I’m not entirely alone. But the second I step back into my house, it all comes rushing back.”
“Going to Tarawih alone makes me wish I had a praying partner”
For *Demola, Ramadan nights are beautiful, but they also highlight the fact that he doesn’t have a special someone to share them with.
“Tarawih is one of my favourite parts of Ramadan, but walking to and from the mosque alone makes me realise how much I crave companionship. I see couples walking hand in hand, sometimes with their kids, and it stings. Not because I’m jealous, but because I know I’d love that for myself too. Praying alone is fine, but sometimes, I just want someone to say ‘Ameen’ beside me.”
If you can relate to these stories or know someone experiencing similar, here’s an article with useful and practical tips on managing loneliness during Ramadan.
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 in your relationship?
Two years. Omo, it just hit me that we’ve been together for quite a long time.
Haha. How did you both meet?
Naffy and I met in uni. We were in the same department and often saw each other at MSSN activities. We were friends from when we met in our second year until our final year in 2022. Through these years, our mutual friends used to jokingly imply there was more to the friendship. I liked Naffy but didn’t tell her because I thought she would disgrace me.
I’m screaming. Why did you think that?
Naffy is a woke babe, but she’s also a hijab-wearing sister. I always thought she’d take off shouting “haram!” if I shared my feelings. Ultimately, she was the one who called me out.
One day, we were studying in class when she just turned to me and said, “Olabanji, when are we becoming official? It’s time to put a label on this thing we’re doing.”
Outwardly, I said, “So you don’t know we’ll marry each other?” But in my head, I was jumping up and down with excitement. See how she just made things easy for me.
Anyway, there was no need for toasting again. We spent ₦5k on a date at Chicken Republic — we were broke students, don’t blame us — to signify the start of our relationship. We’ve been together since.
How’s that going?
It was smooth-sailing at first. We already knew much about each other, so transitioning into a relationship wasn’t difficult.
Our first argument was about the frequency of calls. I thought dating meant we had to be on the phone at least five times a day. But Naffy didn’t like that; she told me to calm down with the calls. I didn’t have to call more than once a day or at all since we saw each other almost every day.
I assumed her complaints meant she wasn’t really into me. Almost every girl I know wants their man to call them every time, but my own wanted something different. It took some time, but I understood Naffy’s point and we worked it out.
But we’ve had to make more calls since 2023. NYSC posted us to different states for service and forced us into long-distance. While we finished service in 2024, we are still in our respective states because of work.
What’s navigating a long-distance relationship like?
It’s tough, expensive and life-threatening. Naffy works in Abuja, and we travel to see each other every 2-3 months. I dare not tell my parents I’m travelling regularly these days, when insecurity and kidnappings are the rage. But I do it for love.
How much do you typically spend on these trips?
A return trip by road costs around ₦80k. When I visit, I stay for the weekend, and we go out on food dates or for outdoor activities. Those cost between ₦30k – ₦50k and I pay for them. When Naffy visits, I pay half her transport costs and handle any bills we incur on dates.
We last saw each other over the December break. She came to see me, but we were both broke and mostly stayed indoors. I supported her transport with ₦50k. We don’t plan to do the back and forth for long, though. I’m currently job hunting in Abuja to reduce the distance between us and save costs.
I also have family in Abuja, so I won’t be starting from scratch. I’m hoping the job and move will happen before August. I can actually move right now if I want — I work two remote gigs. But I want to have something solid to justify the move. Both gigs aren’t full-time work and can go at any time.
What kind of money conversations do you and Naffy have?
We talk a lot about how we intend to run the finances of our future home. We’ve agreed that I’ll handle all the bills, while she’ll assist by contributing 30% of her income to a joint savings account. The remaining 70% is for her to spend as she wishes.
We also know how much the other person earns. Uhm. Maybe I should say I know how much Naffy earns. I haven’t exactly been straightforward with my income.
Why?
It’s not like I’m deliberately hiding it. I have a bit of a gambling problem, but it’s not serious. I tried sports betting for the first time in 2024 and won ₦12k on my ₦100 stake. Of course, I had to try again, and it’s become a tradition for me to place bets every weekend.
Gambling is my adrenaline fix. Now add the advantage of potentially winning something. I’ve had more wins than losses, and the most I’ve lost in a weekend is ₦45k.
But in October 2024, I won ₦600k with a ₦1700 stake and sent Naffy ₦70k to repair her phone. Then I dumped the rest in my savings.
I can’t tell Naffy because it’s a major red flag for her. She’s anti-gambling, and I know how she talks about people who do it. Plus, it’s haram. I’m just trying to save myself the argument that’ll come from talking about it. Worse, it can lead to a breakup.
So, I tell Naffy my income is ₦220k, but the real figure is ₦280k. The remaining ₦60k is my gambling budget for the month.
Get More Zikoko Goodness in Your Mail
Subscribe to our newsletters and never miss any of the action
Don’t you think she’ll find out when you’re both in the same city?
I don’t think so. I’m not obsessed with gambling, so I can manage to stay off the apps when we’re together. There was a point last year when I consistently went above my budget and had to rely on loan apps to survive for the rest of the month. I was in debt for five consecutive months, but I have that under control now.
I’m only paying off a loan right now because I had to take an urgent loan for my brother in February. Naffy even knows about it.
I’ll have to stop gambling before next year, though. We plan to get married in 2026 and I won’t be able to hide it anymore. It’s either I stop or I come clean.
Right. Besides travelling to see each other, do you budget for gifts or other romance stuff?
The only time we actively plan for gifts is during our birthdays. Other times, we just gift each other based on needs or if we see something the other might like. When Naffy visited in December, she bought me packs of kilishi because I told her my mum sent me Ijebu garri, and I was drinking garri at the slightest opportunity. I got her an abaya for her birthday a few months ago. It cost me ₦45k.
You mentioned getting married in 2026. Do you have a safety net for that?
Not at all. I have ₦400k in my savings, but this is Nigeria. I can’t even use the money to rent an apartment or survive for two months. I’m just hoping that things fall into place soon. If I get a good job that pays like ₦400k, I can afford to save more regularly.
I think this is one reason why it’s difficult to let go of betting apps — it takes one day to make life-changing money with gambling. How many years of saving would I have to do if I want to gather ₦3m for a wedding? Or even to set up a home? Sometimes I think I’m really nowhere close to ready for marriage. But I know Naffy wants it to happen soon. So, I just have to find a way.
I can imagine. What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?
I’d like us to settle somewhere far from this country. I feel like there’s a limit to how much I can dream in Nigeria. The other day, I learned that a family friend who moved abroad two years ago took out a mortgage and now has his own house. I don’t know if that can happen for me in the next 10 years in this country, and it’s really depressing. I just want to leave.
Interested in talking about how money moves in your relationship? If yes, click here.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
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.
