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

    How long have you been with your partner?

    We met in 2019 but started dating in 2022. We’ve been together for two years.

    What changed between 2019 and 2022?

    A lot. Luke had actually shown interest in a romantic relationship since 2019. We met when a bus conductor who owed us change “joined” us and gave us ₦500 to split. Luke was supposed to get ₦300; mine was ₦200. 

    I joked about him leaving his change for me, and he said he would if I gave him my number. I did, and he started calling regularly, talking about how he fell in love at first sight. But my heart was still with my on-and-off boyfriend at the time, and I was trying to hold on to see if the guy would one day be ready for a committed relationship. 

    That ended with me getting pregnant and the guy finally running away. 

    Yikes. Sorry about that

    Honestly, I don’t blame anybody. I knew the guy was a goat, but I let emotions get the better of me. The minute I realised I was pregnant, I began mentally preparing myself to be a single mum. I wanted the baby — which didn’t make sense because I was a fresh NYSC graduate with no job. But abortion didn’t come to my mind.

    Of course, Luke didn’t know and was calling me up and down. I just stopped picking up his calls and focused on how I’d provide for my child. Thankfully, I lived — I still do — with my supportive parents. They encouraged me to learn fashion design, which I did between 2019 and 2020. 

    After the lockdown, I converted the front of my parents’ house into a shop and started my business. Clients came in slowly, but I consider myself very creative, and people began to see that too. By 2021, I had a few steady clients. My parents helped look after my child whenever I was busy, and I didn’t feel overwhelmed. 

    It was around this time that Luke called again. I was surprised to see his call because he’d gotten the message and stopped calling some months back. I picked that day, and he was like, I just came to his mind, and he thought to reach out. That’s how we started talking again. I told him why I stopped picking his calls then, and surprisingly, he didn’t run away. He even wanted to see my child.

    Aww. Did that contribute to you finally saying “yes” to a relationship?

    It definitely changed how I saw Luke; it increased my respect for him. But he didn’t even talk about a relationship right away. We reconnected and were friends for a few months before love entered the subject.

    I didn’t delay my “yes” this time around because I felt he was making an informed decision; he knew about my past and knew my child would always be part of my future. I assumed that, for him to show interest, especially with all he knew about me, he was ready to be a father. It seemed like the cherry on top. This was someone I’d grown to love, and he wanted to be with (all of) me too. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot.

    That sounds like the relationship hasn’t been everything you expected

    To be fair, Luke has been good to me. Last year, he paid ₦80k for me to do a short fashion design course to add to my knowledge. He’s also friendly with my child and has introduced me to his mother.

    The only slight negative is that he doesn’t believe he should be financially responsible for my child, which has led to many arguments.

    What kind of arguments?

    We fight over me expecting him to be involved with my child’s needs. It’s not that I expect him to take on the entire responsibility. I just expect that he buys a few things for the child once in a while or even contribute something small to the school fees. But he has made it clear that he has no business spending money on my child. 

    When we first started dating, he visited me at home and brought fruits for my parents. You know children na. My child started jumping, asking, “Uncle, what did you buy for me?” Luke said, “Don’t worry, Grandpa will buy something for you.” When I asked him why he didn’t buy sweets or biscuits, knowing a child was at home, he got offended. He made it seem like we’d just started dating, and I was dictating to him what to do with money.

    I accepted that I shouldn’t have asked like that and apologised. But over time, I’ve realised he deliberately doesn’t want to be financially involved. I was broke when my child needed to start school last year and asked him to help me with ₦50k to complete the fees. He was like, “That’s how it starts. Very soon, you’ll expect me to pay school fees.”

    I was so angry that I lashed out, and we didn’t talk for two days. Eventually, he apologised but still insisted it was not his place to provide for my child. I asked if that would still be the case if we got married, and he said yes.

    Really?

    Yes. Though, I didn’t take him seriously. I thought he was just trying to protect himself. We hadn’t really talked about marriage before then, and I guessed it was just him avoiding having to spend on one girlfriend’s child when we might end up breaking up.

    But, for a few months now, we’ve started talking about marriage seriously. Luke says he hopes for an early 2025 wedding, and while I’m excited about that, I’m also worried that his stance hasn’t changed. I asked him again if he was serious about me paying for everything related to my child, and he confirmed it because “the child’s real father can come any day.” 

    That’s a major problem for me. If I marry him and have his own children, he’ll probably treat them better than mine. Or if I can only afford a public school for this child, would my children attend different schools? I’m just confused.

    Hmm. What’s Luke’s financial situation?

    He’s a lawyer, and I think he earns ₦300k. I’m not sure because it’s been a while since he told me, and I try not to ask, especially because I talk about this issue with my child’s finances. I don’t want it to be like I’m only interested in his money.

    What other money conversations do you both have besides your child’s finances?

    Luke is quite intentional about financial discipline. He’s always talking about the need to have emergency savings. Because of him, I joined a ₦20k monthly ajo contribution in 2023. I used my share to buy an electric sewing machine. I’m due to collect again next month, and I’ll probably just save it in my savings app till I figure out what to do with it.

    I also help Luke make some financial decisions. He talks to me about his needs, and we discuss when to make certain expenses. For instance, he wanted to rent an apartment some months ago because he was tired of sharing his with a roommate. But I encouraged him to wait until the wedding was close so he could get a bigger apartment. And he agreed. 

    How do you both budget for relationship expenses?

    I’m not sure we actually budget. We go on dates at least once a month. Other times, we just stay indoors, and I cook. Luke handles the expenses when we go on dates; I buy the foodstuff to cook when we stay indoors.

    We also gift each other on birthdays. For my last birthday, he bought me an Infinix phone, and I bought him a ₦25k pair of shoes.

    Have you considered how you’ll handle wedding expenses?

    I’m still having second thoughts about whether a wedding will happen. Luke’s financial responsibility for my child is a big issue for me. I’ll still bring it up again with him. If he still refuses, I’ll have to involve our parents and see how it goes from there.

    But if the wedding happens, Luke should handle most of the expenses. I’ll probably pay for my outfits and makeup. That’s how we plan to run our home, too. We’ve talked about it, and Luke will handle the major home expenses while I support him.

    I hope it works out. What’s your ideal financial future as a couple?

    I’d like us to own real estate investments one day. Having a house or land property feels like the pinnacle of financial freedom to me, so I want that for us in the future.

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

    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    NEXT READ: The Kaduna Finance Sis Juggling a Failing Marriage and Providing for Her Children on ₦650k/Month

    Get more stories like this and the inside gist on all the fun things that happen at Zikoko straight to your inbox when you subscribe to the Zikoko Daily newsletter. Do it now!

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  • Unless you’ve been living under a rock or have let Tinubu and his unending shenanigans steal your joy, you’ve noticed that the Detty December season is almost here. As always, if you don’t plan ahead, you’ll end up exhausting your already limited “God when” bundle for the year.

    But it doesn’t have to be this way. The first step to securing a lit AF December is assembling the sickest gang, and we know exactly which of your friends should make it outside with you.

    1. The street native

    You need a friend who knows where every single party or event is happening, the exact location, and your estimated degree of enjoyment if you attend. They’re like Google Maps, but for Detty December. If you don’t have a friend like this, you better assign this role to the most socially competent person in your group chat.

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    2. The bartender

    Then there’s the magician, in charge of food and drink. Where others pull rabbits out of hats, this one mixes the most nonsensical things in a plate or glass, but guess what? It tastes amazing and hits differently at 2 a.m. Yes, 5Alive and whiskey sounds like an abominable concoction, but wow, does it work or what?

    3. The “No go gree” soldier

    December is for the detty, not for the demure. Between hairdressers with their own creative direction, audacious event bouncers, rude servers, and chaotic ride-hailing drivers, you need someone in your crew who can change it for everyone—and who has coins to spare. They don’t accept subpar service, and people know to act right when they’re around.

    4. The DMC initiator

    Your DMC friend keeps the group grounded with deep meaningful conversations. “Ozeba” is still ringing in your ears, you’ve only just stepped out of the function for some fresh air, and your friend asks, “How are you doing? How are you really doing?” Suddenly, you’re having a heart-to-heart about radical joy and the beauty of being young.

    5. The drip lord

    And of course, during Detty December, neither friends nor foes should catch you looking unfresh. You need a friend who will give you unbiased, life-saving fashion advice. Plaid, stripes, and polka dots all at once? Send that GRWM to your resident Drip Lord for an assessment before stepping out.

  • Fawas*, 29, has been dealing with a complicated relationship with wet dreams since he was a teenager.

    Now an adult, he finds himself still struggling with vivid dreams that make him feel conflicted and embarrassed, especially when they involve his siblings.

    As told to Adeyinka

    I’d just completed JSS 3 the first time it happened. We were taking reproduction in biology class at the time, and terms like ejaculation, sex, and wet dreams were flying around. They were new concepts to me, and the idea of my penis passing out something other than urine sparked curiosity in me. Some of the boys in my class who were older wouldn’t stop talking about the excitement they felt after ejaculating and how they also had wet dreams.

    I must have been 13 or 14 then, but I knew I hadn’t experienced any of that, or maybe it was just a part of my body I’d never explored. I come from a strictly Muslim background, and sex was a taboo topic in our household growing up. Everything I learned about it was from biology class and the exaggerated tales from my schoolmates.

    My curiosity increased as the class continued over the weeks, and we got deeper into the topic. One day, I called over a male classmate who seemed the most versed on the subject and asked how I could experience this ejaculation—and that was the first time I learned about masturbation. He told me to stroke my penis repeatedly when it’s hard, and I’d know I’d orgasmed when I produced a whitish, pap-like liquid. He also suggested watching porn to make it enjoyable or thinking sexual thoughts in my head. I didn’t even own a phone and hadn’t had any sexual experiences to aid my imagination, so that wasn’t an option. The closest thing that came to mind was half-naked models I’d seen on posters or the occasional sex scenes in movies.

    So, I took his advice and started masturbating, but it yielded no results. I didn’t release the whitish pap-like liquid, and I didn’t feel anything either. The only thing I felt was pain in my penis from tugging too hard on the skin. I tried it a couple more times and finally gave up when my penis started hurting from friction.

    Fast forward to the long break before resuming senior secondary school, I had my first wet dream. I woke up feeling confused because of the sticky wetness in my pants and thought I’d wet the bed. When I checked, the bed wasn’t wet, except for a little patch formed where the liquid had seeped through my boxers. I went to the bathroom, pulled off my boxers, and sniffed them. There was a weird smell I couldn’t understand, but I knew I’d finally experienced a wet dream. The situation only confused me more because I tried hard to remember my dreams from the night before, but I couldn’t.

    The next day, I went to bed, willing myself to have another wet dream, but nothing happened when I woke up.

    [ad]

    At the time, my siblings were home—two boys and a girl. They’re all older, and I guess because of that, they were comfortable stripping naked around me. It wasn’t a big deal; even our parents did the same. I always found the sight disturbing and would look away whenever they stepped out of the bathroom or pulled off their clothes to change. Yes, I’d let my eyes linger on some occasions out of curiosity, but I never thought anything sexual about it.

    So, it was jarring the next time I had a wet dream and found myself getting intimate with my elder sister in the dream. I didn’t think much of it then, but it happened again. This time, it wasn’t just my sister—my brothers were there, too, and we all touched each other. The experience made me extremely uncomfortable, and I tried to avoid them whenever they showed up naked.

    These wet dream episodes involving my siblings continued throughout my time in secondary school and even into university. The dreams were sometimes so vivid that we’d do things that felt disturbingly real to each other. It also puzzled me that my brothers appeared in the dreams, especially since I’ve never had romantic or sexual feelings for people of the same sex. At one point, I thought about talking to our eldest sibling about it but couldn’t find the right words. I only mentioned that I was having wet dreams, and he told me it was natural and would stop eventually. He doesn’t believe in anything spiritual, so he dismissed my deeper concerns.

    As an adult, the wet dreams have significantly reduced, especially since I’m now sexually active and intimate with my partners as often as I can be. But the dreams involving my siblings still happen occasionally, and sometimes, I don’t even ejaculate. I wake up feeling a deep sense of secondhand embarrassment because of how real the dreams feel.

    Sometimes, I want to blame it on those few moments I saw them naked around the house, but it’s been years since we all moved out, and we aren’t in each other’s personal space anymore. Yet, the dreams still happen.

    I’ve continued to pray about it, and the prayers help. Sometimes, I go for months without dreams, only for them to return quickly and out of nowhere. Maybe one day, I’ll have the courage to talk to my siblings about it, but the thought of how that conversation would go makes me dread the idea, at least for now.

    Read this next: She Sees Marriage As Freedom, but I Don’t Want to Get Trapped

  • For Doyin*(25), peace of mind trumps closeness to her family. She talks about how her family’s overzealous religious beliefs made her superstitious and drove a permanent wedge in their relationship.

    As told to Betty:

    Source: Canva Dream Lab

    When I was six or seven years old, two cousins — a boy and a girl — from my father’s side of the family came to live with us. They were a bit older than me and my three siblings, and I thought they were cool. 

    My family was comfortable, so we could accommodate the additions. Don’t get me wrong—we weren’t wealthy, but we certainly weren’t poor. My father had a great job at a bottling plant, and my mum had a thriving store. We lived happily together with my cousins for a year. Then, everything changed.

    My mother,  a very spiritual woman, occasionally hosted clergymen for meals at our house. It was routine for a pastor or evangelist to drop by our house for lunch or dinner, so when this “Prophet” came through on a Sunday for lunch, I thought nothing of it. 

    After the meal, we all gathered in the living room for a short prayer before the Prophet left. This was also normal; the men of God who visited said a prayer before they left. The Prophet started to pray for each of us individually, placing his hands on our heads. 

    The prayer session was uneventful until he placed his hands on my cousin’s head to pray for her. She fell to the ground and started screaming that he was burning her ears. Her brother burst into tears and started writhing on the ground as well.

    My cousins said they were witches sent to kill my mother and stagnate my father. They said my father was cursed and bad things would start to happen to our family by the end of the year. The living room descended into chaos and prayers. 

    For one awful week, no one left the house. We all fasted and did a week-long deliverance service for my cousins. It was very surreal.

    On the last day, my parents gave my cousins some money and sent them back to my dad’s hometown. The Prophet prayed for our family one last time and left. That was the last time I ever saw him.

    This happened 20 years ago, but my family hasn’t really moved on. Three months after the event, my father lost his job. In the same year, my mother’s store burned down. For many years, we believed we were cursed. 

    I felt the toll, too; I started doing poorly in school, withdrew from friends and became very superstitious. I believed everyone had some evil spiritual agenda against me and my family.


    One day at school, which was getting harder to afford, a kind teacher called me aside to talk about my plummeting grades. I’d gone from being a really good student to a struggling student, and she didn’t understand why I was flunking.

    I tried to explain to her that I was cursed and there was no way for me to do well at school anymore. I’ll never forget her; she didn’t laugh at me or call me a liar. She prayed with me and told me that only I can give a curse power. She encouraged me to study with her during break times and free periods.

    I was very encouraged when my grades rose back up. I still believed in the power of the curse, but I didn’t feel powerless. I could work my way out, right?

    My parents didn’t think so. Things kept getting worse — For starters, we sold our house and returned to renting. My dad moved from pastor to pastor, church to church, in search of a miracle, spending a good chunk of his savings to pay for holy water.  

    If I needed a textbook at school but some evangelist had told my dad to bring the same amount for them to read psalms over some water, I knew that we were paying for the water. The curse had become a whole new and expensive family member in my house, and I started feeling resentful in my teens.

    Fast-forward to 2018. I was in 200L, studying for a law degree, and my relationship with my family really began to deteriorate. 

    Once, I went home, and as usual, a pastor was around to pray for some reason. We ate and during the following prayer session, he prayed for each member of the family. He stopped when he got to me and said that the Lord had revealed to him that I was a witch, the final stronghold of the curse in my family.

    I have a gold chain that my parents bought for me when I was a baby. It was one of the few things we didn’t sell when times were bad. He pointed to this chain and said it was the talisman I was using. According to him, I had to take it off before they could do a deliverance service to save us from the curse.

    I insisted I wasn’t a witch and refused to take the chain off. When I refused, the pastor tried to yank it off my neck, which escalated into a fight. 

    My parents believed me and gently ushered the pastor out, but I was angry that they didn’t throw him out as soon as he accused me. I told them this, and they argued that they had to honour the servants of God. 

    My parent’s blind belief in pastors whittled my own faith. I became concerned about the amount of influence that pastors and self-proclaimed prophets have on older Christians. Still, I couldn’t talk about it in my community or to my family because they felt these people were above censure.

    As a result, I stopped going to church and turned to YouTube for sermons. The only way to sanely practice my faith is to do it by myself for now, and my parents hate it. The witch allegations have not gone away completely since then; my less pious approach to Christianity makes my family think I might become a witch in some way or another.

    After finishing school, I moved out of the house and got a great job. I try to send money home to help out, but things are still tough, especially with the economic downturn. My mum tests me by offering me holy water to drink when I visit home, and I drink it every time because I have nothing to hide. More importantly, I don’t think it works.

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    My dad and I are not on speaking terms anymore. When I moved out after school, I started sending my dad job applications so we could increase our family’s income but he’d take the applications to pastors to pray on it, and they would ask him for money to pray for his success. More often than not,  he didn’t have the money to pay the pastors, and he’d end up not applying for the job. 

    It’s crazy to me because my father is so talented; he doesn’t need a pastor to co-sign everything he does. I believe that you can fight against a curse with personal faith and hard work, not by waiting on a human for a miracle.

    My relationship with my family now is distant and transactional. I send money home when they need it—which is a lot, but I don’t mind. I miss the relationship I used to have with them, but I prefer the peace of mind that comes with hard work. I also like not looking over my shoulder for witches and witch allegations all the time. Most of all, I really love not feeling cursed.

    Next Read: A Fake Genotype Result Cost Me The Love Of My Life

    *Name has been changed for the sake of anonymity.

  • Inflation has generally made it more difficult to live comfortably in Nigeria, but for Faridah*, it’s robbing her of her mother’s legacy.

    She talks about enjoying the fruits of her mother’s generosity to others, deciding to follow in her mother’s footsteps, and how the high cost of living might be changing her values. 

    As told to Boluwatife

    Everyone says their mother is their hero, but I actually mean it when I say the same. My mum passed away when I was 7 years old, but her life still inspires and teaches me so much. I’ve always wanted to be like her.

    I don’t have many real-life memories of my mum, but I’ve heard so many stories about her that it feels like I actually knew her. While my dad came from a wealthy family and had always known how it felt to have money, my mum didn’t come from the same privilege. 

    My maternal grandparents were farmers who barely made enough to feed their children and send them to school. My mum and her siblings often had to hawk plantain and corn to support the family. That experience growing up made my mum more in tune with people who also had little to live on. 

    So, as soon as she started making money, she began helping people around her. I’ve heard about how my mum used her nursing profession to provide free healthcare for people in the community. Sick people would come to our family house, and my mum would use her own money to buy the injections she needed to treat them. 

    I’ve met at least three people who said my mum helped birth them and didn’t charge their parents. If she wasn’t assisting people with free medication, she was giving them food and money. My dad constantly shares stories about how he’d give my mum money to buy a bag of rice and come home to see that my mum had shared half of the bag’s contents with our neighbours. 

    Or when she’d use the money meant for our foreign Christmas clothes to buy slightly cheaper ones so she could buy Christmas clothes for the neighbours’ children, too.

    You only had to tell my mum you liked the necklace she had on, and she was ready to take it off and give it to you. That was the kind of woman my mother was. She died in a car accident in 2005, and I wish I had spent more time with her. My only consolation is how much her good deeds have opened doors for me all my life. 

    My dad told me the story of how he didn’t pay my school fees for my first three years in secondary school simply because of my mum. He lost his bank job in 2008, just as I was rounding up primary school. According to my dad, he had already started the process of getting me into a public school since he could no longer afford the private school my siblings had attended. 

    Then, the private school’s principal — who had been friendly with my mum — called my dad to ask why she hadn’t seen me come to resume school. My dad explained the situation, and she said, “Why will Mummy Sara’s* daughter attend a public secondary school when I’m alive?”

    The principal made sure my dad enrolled me in her school and refused to collect school fees. She said my mum had done her so much good that it would be a crime not to pay it forward to her children. I’d have probably gone the whole six years not paying anything if my dad hadn’t gotten a job in another state when I finished JSS 3 and moved us away.

    When I first got into uni and was trying to do my registration, one of the school staff saw my surname and asked if I was related to my mum. I confirmed, and the man practically ignored others and started attending to me. He never told me how he knew my mum, and I didn’t bother to ask.

    I’m also lucky to share an uncanny resemblance with my mum. Whenever I return to our state, I already know I’ll get stopped by at least one person and asked if I’m the daughter of Mummy Sara. Prayers and stories of how my mum helped them often follow. Some even squeeze money into my hands. This doesn’t just happen to me; my siblings experience it, too.

    These experiences made me decide early on that I wanted to be as generous as my mum. It’s not my first instinct to help people; I think I got that from my dad. But after my registration experience at uni, I decided I wanted to follow in my mum’s legacy. I wanted to have a name that’d open doors for my children.

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    So, I began deliberately offering financial help and assistance. I lived in a school hostel for much of uni and made it a point to share my food always. Of course, sometimes I felt like my roommates took advantage of it, especially when they wouldn’t buy water and wait for me to buy for the entire room. But I refused to get angry.

    I started buying food randomly for my class colleagues and recharge cards for the course rep. I was an efiwe, so I also started taking tutorial classes. My dad gave me a ₦30k monthly allowance, which hardly lasted three weeks because I made sure to lend money to anyone who complained. I also made it a tradition to visit orphanages on my birthdays and share food items with the children.

    Since graduating from university, generosity has remained a big part of my life. During NYSC year, I took in two people and allowed them to live rent-free in the apartment my dad got me because they had accommodation issues. I also made it a habit to buy random gifts for my friends.

    When I started working in 2022, I had to take a more streamlined approach to giving. My dad wasn’t giving me an allowance anymore, and I had to budget to survive on my ₦120k salary. But even with that, I usually budgeted at least ₦20k for random giving and loans monthly. When my salary increased to ₦250k in 2023, I increased my monthly giving budget to ₦50k.

    However, I’ve had to cut back on giving since around December 2023. With transportation costs constantly increasing because of fuel prices and the drama of food costs now, I hardly retain any extra cash at the end of the month to do anything, much less be generous. 

    It’s funny how I comfortably lived on ₦80k – ₦100k in 2022 and still had some money left to save. But I earn more now, and it feels like I spend all my money on food, transportation, and data. Last month alone, I spent ₦90k transporting from my house in Surulere to work in Victoria Island. I spend like ₦80k just to feed myself monthly. Imagine if I wanted to share food with others.

    It’s a struggle to save ₦10k monthly. My dad pays my rent, but I still have to handle utility bills and Band-A electricity tariffs, and it feels like I’m constantly struggling.

    I can’t afford to buy random gifts for my friends anymore, and I’ve also had to cut down on outings. I constantly feel bad whenever someone asks me for a loan, and I have to explain that I don’t have cash to spare. Everyone understands when I say no because I’m usually generous—some even try to confirm I’m fine and whether I need money too so they can borrow for me. But it still feels like I’m not meeting people’s needs.

    The worst thing is, I’m barely 26, and it already feels like I’m struggling to survive. What about when I have family responsibilities? Where will I get extra money to help people then? Maybe it was easier for my mum to extend a helping hand because money actually meant something in those days. It feels impossible to try to reach her standards with how inflation and the economy are moving these days.

    I’ll keep trying my best, but it feels like an exercise in futility — no thanks to our rubbish government. 

    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    NEXT READ: My Father’s Money Is His, and It’ll Probably Never Be Mine

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  • Breakups have a way of sneaking up on you, and sometimes, the signs are clearer in hindsight. 

    We spoke to seven people about the unforgettable moments leading up to their breakups. Here’s how they knew it was over—or didn’t.

    Blessing*

    I dreamt we had a huge fight, and he said he was breaking up with me. Our relationship was in a delicate place at the time, and all the reassuring we’d been doing wasn’t working anymore. When I woke up, I saw several voice notes from him about how glad he was that we had crossed paths and how beautiful the future looked for us. I should have known he was fattening the cow for slaughter. The next day, he invited me to dinner and gave me the most impeccable “It’s not you, it’s me” sermon I’d ever heard. I couldn’t even be mad because he presented his case so well that I nodded in agreement. He dropped me home that night, and that was when it dawned on me.

    Bukola*

    That whole week, I knew something was off. He was acting erratic—buying me things I’d asked for ages ago, then swinging into bad mood. I got the dreaded “We need to talk” message on Friday night on WhatsApp. I didn’t overthink it; I just assumed I’d done something wrong, and he was finally ready to address it. I went to bed, scrolling through our pictures and throwback videos. The next day, I found out his “need to talk” was actually a breakup. I didn’t see it coming, and it messed me up.

    Debbie*

    We broke up on a Tuesday. The night before, he didn’t call to say goodnight or chat about my day, which was weird because it was a tradition we’d followed for as long as I could remember. I assumed he’d had a long day or that his work trip to Ogun had tired him. I told myself I’d bring it up the next day. Jokes on me because there was no “us” the next day. I woke up to a long breakup text he sent in the middle of the night, knowing I’d be asleep.

     [ad]

    Ayo*

    The day before? It felt like any other day. We spent it at my place since we were both on leave. We cooked, watched our favourite TV show while cuddling, went for a run, and had the best sex ever. Something about the intimacy felt different, though—she let me do things she’d usually stop, and I let her do things I wasn’t a fan of. That night, we fell asleep listening to our favourite playlist. The next morning, she asked to talk and then dumped me.

    Raymond*

    The day before, I had small panic attacks. I felt this unsettling sense that something was coming, even though I didn’t know what. When I feel like that, I pray and try not to leave the house, hoping I can hide from whatever evil is out there. The next day, she called me in the evening and broke up with me. Worst part? She was already seeing someone else.

    Ibrahim*

    She’d been cold and distant for three weeks before the breakup—cancelling plans, dodging my attempts to communicate and acting uninterested. The day before my birthday, I tried to get her to come over to plan what we’d do. She made up some weird excuse about her granny, and it didn’t add up. Thoughts of getting dumped started creeping in; I didn’t want to believe it. The next morning, a delivery guy showed up with a huge package from her. I thought all the weirdness had been part of a plan to surprise me. I opened the note, and that’s how I found out I’d been dumped. She didn’t even let me enjoy my birthday in peace.

    Henry*

    The day before, we had this heavy, emotional conversation. We were both crying, explaining how we were unintentionally hurting each other. We talked at my place, and afterwards, she insisted on returning home to Ajah, even though it was 9 p.m. and I live in Surulere. I tried to convince her to stay, but she was determined to leave. As her ride pulled away, something inside me knew it was the last time I’d see her. I was right—she broke up with me the next day and left for her master’s two months later.

    Read this next: All the Ways Friendship Breakups Are Worse Than Romantic Ones

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

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    What’s your earliest memory of each other?

    Thompson: We met at a university golf game in August 2023. A mutual friend invited us to watch the game and introduced us. I thought she was cute as we talked.

    Nifemi: He appeared really quiet and composed, and that was the first thing I noticed about him. Then, when we started talking, I couldn’t help noticing how brilliant he sounded. 

    Within just a few hours of conversing, I could tell he was patient enough to want to understand me. There was no need to “form” like one would usually do when one has just met a new person. I felt relaxed with him the entire time, and we talked for hours and hours. 

    Thompson: We hit it off on the very first day. So, we exchanged numbers and continued texting when we got home. The funny thing is, we almost never met that day.

    What happened?

    Thompson: I’d gone to the wrong golf course, and then it started raining, so I had to locate the right one under the heavy downpour. I was almost tempted to return home, but I stayed back, and this is how it paid off. 

    I see. So, what did you guys talk about?

    Nifemi: Everything — family, writing, music, books, etc. That was how I knew he’d read “Vagabonds” by Eloghosa Osunde, one of my favourite books. During that conversation, I bargained to steal the hard copy of the book from him. 

    I can’t explain it, but it seemed like we genuinely wanted to be friends from day one. Although I should add that I didn’t think he would text me when he got home. I thought it was one of those scenes where you have a good time with a stranger, and then they take your number and ghost you. 

    But he proved you wrong? 

    Nifemi: He did. 

    Thompson: I also showed her my Spotify music playlist, and we spent some time talking about music. She mentioned how she shares her dad’s taste in music. I think what confirmed that I liked her from that first meeting was when she knew who Stan Lee was. She knew him because he was a writer and not because he made cameos in Marvel movies. I found that interesting. 

    So what happened next?

    Thompson: We met again later that month, and I gave her my hard copy of Eloghosa’s “Vagabonds”. Giving her the book was how I knew I was gone. 

    Nifemi: I’m never returning it, by the way. 

    Is this the point where you guys started a friendship?

    Thompson: You could say that. However, we didn’t stay as friends for long, so you could also say we moved to the talking stage. 

    After we hung out, she straight up asked what my intentions were. She wanted to know if I was seeking a friendship or a romantic relationship. 

    I said to her, “I like you a lot more than a friend, and I’m curious to see where this goes.” Even though I’d revealed my intentions, I had a feeling things wouldn’t work out between us.

    Why not?

    I’m an atheist, and I’ve had lots of experiences where people started to retreat after learning this info. I was worried it would be the same with her, so it was a concern that stayed in my mind while I made my intentions known to her. 

    Nifemi: We talked almost every day from August through September.

    I tell him that I didn’t experience the “talking stage” because he revealed he was attracted to me from the first week we met. It wasn’t just that; he also mentioned that he would like me to be his girlfriend someday, so I’d say he knew what he wanted from the beginning, and it wasn’t friendship.

    Anyway, a part of me felt everything he confessed would fade, especially as we didn’t talk much about the subject. He never pressured me about his attraction to me or how he felt about me; we just stayed as people who knew they wanted to be more than friends. 

    How long did this phase last?

    Nifemi: Three months.

    During this period, we didn’t force anything, but we were conscious of our feelings for each other. I kept saying he’d get tired of talking to me soon, but he never did. He remained fascinated with talking with me, genuinely cared for me, and always looked out for me. 

    Nothing about him pushed me away, not even the fact that he’s an atheist.

    Wait, how did you find out?

    Nifemi: He told me during one of our earliest conversations. At first, I was stunned. I started thinking about the long-term and how this revelation would affect our future together. But I realised my open-mindedness meant religion wouldn’t stop me from seeing who he truly was or loving him.

    I asked myself, “Who is this man without the concept of religion? Is he kind? Does he listen even when I can’t find the words? Does he respect me and my values?” He ticked all the boxes, and I haven’t looked back.

    Thompson: I like to let people know what they’re dealing with from the start, so I had to tell her before I asked her out. I didn’t want a situation where I kept it from her, and then one day she’ll discover, or I’ll tell her because my conscience can’t handle the guilt, and it’ll feel like I bamboozled her because of my selfish desires. I didn’t want us to be in too deep before that revelation would come out. I wanted to give her the option of staying or leaving. It would’ve hurt if she’d left, but I think it’s better than lying, especially to someone I claimed to care about.

    Fair. So when did things become official?

    Thompson: I asked her to be my girlfriend on October 3, 2023, and I didn’t get a yes until a week later.

    Nifemi: He asked me for a gift on National Boyfriend Day, which I wasn’t prepared to give since we weren’t exclusive yet. I told him I didn’t know we were dating, and that was the moment he confessed he was using that as an opportunity to ask me out. 

    I told him I was going to think about it. 

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

    Did you just want to play hard to get, Nifemi?

    Nifemi: Call it instinct; the feminine urge to make him suffer before he had me. I know it’s pointless, but I’m a woman and can’t resist my nature. 

    While I was still sleeping on his request, I invited him to a party. Just seeing how dashing he looked in his outfit made me know I wanted to be with him, so I said yes afterwards. 

    Thompson: She won’t say it, but playing hard to get is a defence mechanism.

    What do you mean?

    Thompson: She’d been hurt a lot by people she cared about, especially previous romantic relationships. So even though she felt all these feelings for me, she played  “hard to get” because she was scared of letting anyone get too close— each time they did in the past, they hurt her. I understood that and proved her wrong by staying.

    Cool. I assume the early days of your relationship were blissful?

    Nifemi: They were joyous days, and I’ve continued to love every bit of it even to date.

    Thompson: For the most part, yes.

    I think early on, the main issue we had was sex. She was afraid I wouldn’t find her attractive, but it was smooth sailing after she finally opened up to me about her fears. Still is.

    Why did you think this, Nifemi? 

    Nifemi: I never had any proper sex education, so I felt sex was something to be ashamed of. My body responded to intimacy in a cringe way, and it was mainly because I didn’t understand it. Thompson helped me with that.

    Thompson: I told her I was also insecure about my body. But I’d learned that just because I don’t always feel good about myself doesn’t mean others see me that way. I asked her if she thought I didn’t look good naked, and she quickly said no; she found me attractive.

    I told her that was great, but I don’t feel the same way about myself, and that’s okay. I reminded her that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think she looked good. I even mentioned the second time we met and how hot she looked in her shorts. I told her, “Just because you don’t always see yourself as hot doesn’t mean I don’t. 

    I’m curious, what’s your sex life like these days?

    Nifemi: Adventurous. I think about him and his penis every day.

    Thompson: I get too many flashbacks every day—it’s kind of embarrassing. She initiates sex now more than ever. We actively try to educate ourselves on the subject, too — I send her books that I’ve read on sex education and teach her some of the stuff I already know. She also “DJs” a lot more than she used to; she never did that before we met. So I’ll say it’s been steady progress.

    Nifemi: What I want is very important to him. He will not press on anything if I don’t feel comfortable about it. He understands my body and helps me understand it, too.

    Must be nice. Have you guys had a major fight yet?

    Thompson: I dunno if I’ll call it a fight, but it was a pretty big misunderstanding. We were talking about the future and marriage, and she practically almost broke up with me because she freaked out about the discussion.

    Nifemi: That is the one. I was hurt and almost broke up because I was scared we might not work out.

    Thompson: I noticed Nifemi kept bringing up marriage in our conversations. After hearing it a few times, I realised my stance on marriage had shifted. When we started dating, I thought there were practical reasons to get married—the legal, social bit. But over time, my opinion changed, and I began to feel it was restrictive, almost like a trap. The idea of marriage, especially with the challenges and social stigma that also follow divorce and separation, made me question if it was right for me.

    I brought this up with her, knowing the possible risks to our relationship, but I wanted to be honest. She was upset and thought I was trying to end things because our future goals didn’t align. But as we talked, she explained that marriage meant freedom and independence for her—she wanted to establish herself apart from her family. This perspective was new to me. As a man, I’d never considered that marriage could be a path to independence.

    Nifemi: Initially, when he said he wasn’t sure about getting married, I didn’t worry much. I didn’t have a practical reason for marriage beyond wanting a partner. But over time, I realised marriage could be a way to fully live the life I’d fought my parents hard for—a life where I could be independent, be a creative even against their wishes, and build my own home.

    So, when he questioned if marriage was right for us, I panicked. This relationship has given me peace and joy; I genuinely want a life with him. After that conversation, I thought about what he’d said and talked to my brother about it. After our conversation, I concluded that marriage isn’t much of an accomplishment. I’ve realised I can do life alone without tethering myself to anyone; I’m more particular about building an independent life and my dreams. 

    Now that I have more clarity about how I think of marriage, I want to be with him whether or not marriage is on the table.

    What about children?

    Thompson: Oh, I don’t want any. 

    I’m not interested in being a parent. I know myself well enough to know I won’t do a good job.

    Nifemi: I’m not sure about having any either, and I think we are both cool with that.

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    You mentioned a break-up earlier. I want to know how you guys resolved the disagreement.

    Nifemi: We agreed to make it work. We’ve established that we want to be with each other; it doesn’t matter if marriage is on the table or not. I think I’m scared to lose him, but I’m also okay with the possibility of things not going as planned.

    Thompson: Moving forward, I told her to give me the benefit of the doubt and not overthink my intentions toward her, and that has helped us. Now, when we disagree, we just talk about it with the knowledge that the other person isn’t trying to hurt us.

    What might you consider to be the future of this relationship?

    Thompson: One where we both have a place we can call our own—we’re working towards moving in together if possible. We want to create a space where our families aren’t as involved.

    Is this how you also envision the future, Nifemi?

    Nifemi: I don’t see it any different. 

    The marriage issue can still be discussed; what matters is spending our lives together. We’ve also agreed to be honest with each other.

    How would you rate your love life?

    Thompson: I’ll say it’s a 10. Our relationship is as perfect as is. There’s always room for improvement and growth, but we’ve found a system that works perfectly for us and that’s a good thing.

    Nifemi: I’m with him on that. We’re intentional about each other, we know what works for us and we approach everything, together. There is no I; there is only us.

    Read this one too: I Didn’t Kiss All Frogs Before I Found My Prince Charming

  • Friendship is the best kind of ship, but let’s be honest — some icks can stop it from ever setting sail. We spoke to five young Nigerians about their friendship icks and why certain behaviours just won’t fly with them.

    Toyin*

    One of my big friendship icks is irresponsible drinking. I once had a friend nearly die of alcohol poisoning at my place after a party. Worst night of my life. The anxiety was so bad, and I couldn’t even think of how I’d explain it to his family. Now, if I see you like getting wasted at a function? I’m out.

    Tayo

    My ick is people who say hurtful and insidious things when they’re angry and expect forgiveness later. It’s so thoughtless to freely hurt others and use anger as a cop-out or an excuse. That’s a big no from me.
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    Bolu*

    I can’t vibe with someone who treats service staff— waiters, security people, anyone—like trash. I used to work as a server, so I know how awful customers can be. Once I catch that attitude in a friend, it’s over.

    Fola*

    My friendship ick has to be banger boys or girls. Especially on X, once I see you’re one of those people who make comments like  “Vawulence” or “They’re coming for you now omg” under anything controversial, I cringe so hard. I can’t do it, sorry.


    Doyin*

    I can’t be friends with a taker. It gives me a massive ick if you’re someone who has to be prompted before you reciprocate. I don’t even mean materially, but if I’m the only one calling, texting or reaching out first, it just won’t click.

    Enjoyed this piece? Read this next: My Best Friend Left Nigeria Without Telling Me

  • If you’ve ever dated a Nigerian politician, you know the experience is a rollercoaster that leaves you questioning your life’s choices. Between the endless trips to Abuja for “party meetings,” the constant spiritual fortifications, and the stinginess that somehow vanishes in public, the cons sometimes outweigh the pros.

    We spoke to seven people who have been in relationships with politicians, and let’s just say they’ve been through a lot.

    What’s It Like Dating a Politician? We Asked 7 Nigerians

    Lola*

    They’re relentless in their pursuit of power. My husband started running for a councillor position in his early 30s as a committed PDP member. But Lagos was mostly AC at the time, and he kept losing. After contesting three times, I and other family members advised him to try a different party or redirect his resources, but he refused and stayed with PDP, losing every time. He finally switched to APC when they took over Lagos, and after some waiting, he got the ticket and is now in his second term. Thinking about it, he spent nearly 12 years chasing that seat—ridiculous. This dedication is only shown in politics; it’s not like this in other areas of his life.

    Hassan*

    What’s really going on in Abuja? I get it’s the seat of power, but why do politicians need so many trips there? My girlfriend, a youth leader in her ward, makes at least one unplanned Abuja trip every month. If it’s not Abuja, it’s another state for a convention or meeting. I hate it because it makes planning anything as a couple impossible—she always has to check with her “leaders” first.

    James*

    I’ve never dated a politician, but my mum is a dedicated party woman, and I wonder how my dad copes. She’s out of the house most of the time for party meetings. The only benefit is the freebies—cash gifts, foodstuffs, and ad-hoc job opportunities. During festive seasons, we also get bags of rice, gallons of oil, and sometimes even livestock. I honestly can’t remember the last time we bought foodstuffs ourselves.

    Grace*

    Between politicians and yahoo boys, I don’t know who’s more fetish. During election season, it’s crazy. I’d open my ex’s wardrobe to find all sorts of concoctions and odd-looking containers. His perfumes even had particles, and some alfa, pastor, or herbalist always came to deliver something. I couldn’t relax around him because, after a while, I wasn’t sure if those “protections” were for safety or harm.

    Ayo*

    Politicians aren’t as generous as people think. I dated a local government chairman once, and he was stingy AF. He preferred impressing outsiders over spending on those close to him. Once, someone from his family even messaged me, begging me to convince him to pay his kids’ school fees. Imagine that—he wasn’t even giving me money like that. I haven’t been with other politicians, but that experience was all I needed to know they aren’t all that.

    Bisi*

    My university boyfriend was heavily into student politics, and I’ve never seen anyone with such deep trust issues and paranoia, especially around elections. If he walked past a group, he’d convince himself they were talking about him. Sometimes, he’d join their conversations to put in a good word. He even made his friends swear they wouldn’t betray him. It was exhausting. We broke up after uni, but I can only imagine the paranoia if he’s still in politics.

    Patience*

    They don’t take defeat well. My husband campaigned for Obanikoro in 2007, and I still remember when they declared Fashola the winner. He came home two days later and sank into a depression—he wasn’t eating, talking, or sighing constantly. I didn’t get it; he was more devastated than the actual candidate. Eventually, I called his family to come and snap him out of it.

    Read this next: What’s It Like Dating a Medical Practitioner? We Asked 6 Nigerians

  • 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 married?

    I’ve been married to my husband for 9 years.

    Tell me about how you both met

    A mutual friend introduced us in 2014. I was 21 and in my final year of uni, and Ismah was 30 and was already established in his construction career. I didn’t mind the age gap; I was assertive and thought if I married someone in my age group, they would find me overbearing.

    Ismah was also straightforward. He told me his intentions as soon as we got talking, and I liked the honesty. We also had really good conversations. That was my major attraction: how much I enjoyed talking to him. 

    What did you guys usually talk about?

    Random things, really. I think I was in awe because he knew so much. I’ve always considered myself an old soul and liked that we could talk about anything. 

    There was all that talking, but I didn’t ask the important questions like his thoughts about finances and running our home. I knew he was financially comfortable because he didn’t hide it. But I never asked him about money — my parents brought me up to be independent — and I just expected Ismah to know what to do after marriage. Everything was just supposed to fall into place. Maybe I was just naïve. 

    We got married as soon as I graduated from uni in 2015, about nine months after we met. My religion and culture frown on relationships outside marriage, so we had to make it official as soon as possible. But we soon started having arguments and clashing over finances.

    What were the specifics of these arguments?

    Ismah didn’t study economics, but he has strict expectations about managing money. Before my marriage, I survived in uni on the ₦30k allowance my civil servant-parents gave me and the small-small things I sold periodically for extra cash. But somehow, my husband believed I didn’t know how to manage resources. 

    After we married, I moved to join him in another state. None of my family members lived nearby, and my only income was the ₦19800 stipend from NYSC. Ismah gave me a ₦30k monthly housekeeping allowance, which was barely enough for food and other small expenses. But I couldn’t ask for more. The few times I tried, he’d nag on and on about how I couldn’t manage. And it’s not like I was spending the money on myself. 

    If the cooking gas finished and I told him, he’d be like, “Do you expect me to just pay for it now because you asked?” If a food item finished in the house and I mentioned we had to stock up, he’d ask if I wouldn’t have survived if we had less. He could have ₦2m, but if he budgeted ₦2k for an item and an emergency came up that required more money, he wouldn’t budge. 

    I was uncomfortable with constantly defending myself and even grew scared of asking for money. Whenever I ran out of money, I preferred asking my siblings for loans rather than asking my husband. It made me all the more determined to look for a job.

    Did you find one?

    I did. I got one at a microfinance bank in 2017, and it paid ₦35k/month. By then, I already had two children, and Ismah didn’t want me to take the job. He thought it was too small, but I knew the drama I faced with money issues, so I held it with both hands. 

    I should mention that he’d increased the housekeeping allowance to ₦60k in 2016 after I complained about needing money for personal needs. Adding my salary, my total income grew to almost ₦100k, and it all went to transportation, feeding and other expenses for myself and the children. 

    Did you and Ismah have any activities you did to spend time together?

    During our first year of marriage, we went everywhere together — to events and the like. We also had conversations when we weren’t arguing about money. But things changed after the children came into the picture. I became the primary caregiver. 

    Initially, I didn’t mind since my husband handled most of the expenses. But after I got the job, it was clear that I was on my own. I had to enrol the children in a creche before they came of school-age, and he was like, “You’re the one who wants to work. So, sort it out.” I think that’s when I realised that my marriage wasn’t ideal.

    It’s been like that over the years. Ismah drops ₦60k in a month, and I find a way to make it up and keep the house running. His only other concern is school fees, and that’s it. I pay for whatever the kids need in school.

    In 2021, I got a ₦250k/month job in the development sector, and he insisted I save ₦150k in our joint account and survive on the rest. 

    It was difficult because things were more expensive compared to 2015, but I guess it helped because I used the savings to buy a car in 2022. I just didn’t like how the tight leash on my money meant I couldn’t assist family members. I was still supposed to take out of the ₦100k I had left if I needed to travel home or fix anything in the car. If I asked, it was like, “Are you not working? Why is this my problem?”

    The simple way to explain this situation is that I don’t feel financially secure with my partner. I don’t have a safety net or a sense of security with him. I can’t rely on him to come through for me in an emergency.

    Have you talked to him about this?

    I try to, but he often makes me feel unreasonable. He says he’s saving for the greater good of the family. I don’t even feel seen now. I don’t understand why he won’t budge or try to help even though he sees me struggling. According to him, his work isn’t pensionable, so he has to manage. 

    Hmm. What are your finances like these days?

    I moved to another agency in the development sector this year and now earn ₦650k/month. But I told Ismah I earn ₦400k to have some financial freedom. I’ve reduced my savings to ₦100k despite his complaints. 

    I also complained about inflation and, last month, got Ismah to increase the housekeeping allowance to ₦80k. He can afford it; he earns at least ₦500k in a bad month, and in a good month, he makes up to ₦2m or more. 

    Besides the allowance, what kind of money conversations do you both have?

    We have differing viewpoints. I believe more in saving, but he’s the type that wants to invest in businesses that require goods and services. 

    About a year ago, he lost tens of millions in an agricultural business. I warned him about it, but he ignored me. About ₦1.5m of my savings in the joint account also got lost. I think the guilt is why he doesn’t police my savings as much these days. Either that, or he’s just tired of me being “stubborn and financially irresponsible.”

    You mentioned saving. How does that work?

    I have about $1300 in a savings app. I just started the dollar savings in April and hope to buy stocks when it gets to $3k. I also have ₦650k in something called Mudarabah Savings. It’s like a fixed deposit account, but I get dividends instead of interest (which I can’t receive as a Muslim). 

    I put ₦50k in that account monthly, and there’s no fixed percentage on the dividend I receive as it’s based on my investment percentage in the pool. But it fluctuates between ₦12k – ₦18k monthly. I also have another ₦250k in another bank that pays a fixed 11% yearly profit.

    That’s a sizeable safety net

    Well, Ismah and I hardly do things together these days. This is my fault; I limit conversations to when they’re absolutely necessary because he gets upset if I share a different view about a topic we’re talking about. So, I avoid drama. 

    The kids and work are my life; he does his own thing. I know he has investments and big financial plans, but I don’t see myself in his plans. So, I just plan for myself and the children.

    I wonder now if I should ask about your ideal financial future as a couple

    I don’t think of money with my partner as a unit. Like I said, I don’t think I’m in his plans. Recently, I’ve felt like our relationship has no future, and we’re just scared to admit it to each other. I don’t feel the love any more. 

    That said, It’s not like I expect him to get a second wife. I’ve had no reason to suspect him. Besides, if he isn’t spending on me, is it a new wife he wants to spend on? Regardless, I just want to have something to hold on to.

    So, for me, I hope to own a house, have a robust safety net and be comfortable enough to take care of my children without many calculations. I’m not keen on japa, but I don’t mind earning in foreign currency and living in Nigeria.

    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 Asaba Freelancer Hoping His Girlfriend Won’t Leave Because of His Unstable Income

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