Folu* (27) went through the better part of his life believing he had the “AA” genotype. He talks about only finding out he had a different genotype after falling in love and why he blames Nigeria for the heartbreak he’s currently navigating.
As told to Boluwatife
Image: Canva AI
I fantasise about leaving Nigeria, but the state of the economy isn’t what fuels my japa dreams. It’s because Nigeria and the system’s “anyhowness” cost me the love of my life, and I know my story would’ve been different if I wasn’t in this country.
Secondary school was my first introduction to genotypes and sickle cell. My biology teacher painted a horror picture of sickle cell complications and why people with the AS genotypes needed to steer clear of each other. Thinking about it now, it must’ve been weird for Mariam*, the only sickle cell patient in our class.
Before that biology class, I didn’t really have reasons to pay attention to sickle cell. Sure, I was mildly curious about how often Mariam missed school and the fact that she carried an ID card that exempted her from doing any school chores. But we weren’t close, and I couldn’t ask her about it.
When I returned from school that day, I asked my parents about my genotype, and they said I had the “AA” genotype. I was happy to hear this and saw no need to think about genotypes again. My teacher said “AA” was the best, so I felt lucky.
When I got into uni, genotypes became a recurring topic of discussion. I often heard stories of people who broke up with their significant others because they were both of the “AS” genotype and couldn’t risk the lifetime of pain and medical expenses that having a child with the “SS” genotype would bring.
I even joined others to loudly share my disapproval whenever a story popped up online about couples who went ahead to marry without making the necessary genotype findings and eventually gave birth to sickle cell children. It’s the 20th century; surely everyone knows to confirm their genotypes, right?
I didn’t bother to confirm my own genotype until 2021, and I only got tested because of Layo*. I met Layo during NYSC orientation camp and fell head over heels in love with her. The way I fell in love is still a wonder to me because I always thought people who went to camp and fell in love were unserious. Like, can’t you stay three weeks without pursuing love?
But I saw Layo’s smile from across the studio, where we both volunteered with the Orientation Broadcasting Service (OBS) for NYSC camp, and I lost all rational thought. Layo is breathtakingly beautiful.
Working together made me realise Layo’s brain and heart were even more beautiful, and I fell harder. The icing on the cake? She was attracted to me, too. I’m sure other corps members in camp would’ve noticed the two lovebirds who always walked hand-in-hand to Mammy market like love-sick fools.
I’m not sure when we officially got into a relationship, but we became closer after camp. Our PPAs weren’t too far apart, so we were always in each other’s spaces. After work, I’d take a keke to Layo’s workplace because she closed much later than me. I’d wait in her office, and then we’d walk to her lodge when she closed from work.
Sometimes, we ended up at my lodge, and we’d just talk and talk for hours. Other times, we just cuddled in silence. But we talked a lot. It was like we wanted to know as much about the other person as possible.
During one of our talking sessions, Layo told me she had the “AS” genotype, and I replied, “I don’t even care. I’m AA.” We didn’t discuss genotypes again until about four months into our relationship.
Layo saw a Twitter post about someone who got a false genotype result at a lab in Lagos and joked about how false results could be the reason church people believe their genotypes or HIV statuses “miraculously” changed after prayers. At one point, the conversation changed to how people needed to ensure they use standard labs for tests, and Layo asked where I did my genotype test. I confessed I’d actually never checked it myself; I just followed what my parents said.
Layo thought that was weird and insisted I do my test. So, I went to what I assumed was a standard lab in Ibadan and got tested— the result confirmed my “AA” genotype. I didn’t expect anything different because my parents already told me years ago. I also didn’t expect that my world would crash a year later.
I volunteered to donate blood to a blood drive in 2023, and as part of the preliminary tests, the organisation also tested for genotype. I remember being so shocked when they gave me my result slip, and I saw “AS” under genotype. I told Layo about it, and we decided it was probably an error.
We repeated the test at three different hospitals in Lagos and got “AS” every time. Confused, I asked my parents if they actually tested my genotype, and they insisted they did. They confirmed that they did the test for both me and my sister after birth, and we were both “AA”. We re-tested everyone in my family, and it turned out that my parents were “AA” and “AS”, and only my sister was “AA”.
It took a while for the reality of what was happening to kick in. Layo was with me through the whole re-testing period, but after it was all over, we had to face the fact that it’d affect our relationship.
We cried for a long time and briefly considered breaking up. But we both lost our resolve after not speaking to each other for only one day. That’s when we agreed that we’d just adopt after marriage. We loved each other too much to end things after almost two years because of a false result. It wasn’t like we knowingly built a life together knowing we were “AS”. Nigeria had deceived both of us, and we didn’t have to suffer for it.
We also decided not to tell our parents to avoid them pressuring us to separate. That settled, we began planning to get married in late 2024. We were so confident that our genotypes were the least of our worries.
Then Layo accidentally got pregnant towards the end of 2023, and we made the difficult decision to abort. We couldn’t risk the possibility that our child would have sickle cell.
That abortion broke our relationship. Layo never recovered from the trauma of losing a baby, and I couldn’t get through to her. We stopped talking and cuddling. It was like she wanted to be as far away from me as possible.
Three weeks after the abortion, Layo told me she wanted to break up. Pregnancy and losing the baby had made her realise she actually wanted to have her own child and wasn’t sure she wouldn’t one day resent me for taking that choice away from her.
There’s nothing I didn’t use to beg Layo. I cried, pleaded and grovelled, but nothing worked. I even agreed we could have at least one biological child and promised to raise money to do a bone marrow transplant if the child turned out to have sickle cell, but Layo said it wasn’t realistic.
It’s been almost a year since Layo ended things between us, and it feels like the pain will never go away. Some days, I don’t even want to wake up. My friends have suggested therapy and even held interventions, but I’ve lost interest in everything. I see Layo everywhere I go. Everything reminds me of her. I see her in my dreams.
I don’t know if I’ll ever move on. I don’t even know if I want to. I still stalk her every day and wonder how she could move on so quickly. I dread the day I find out she’s with someone else.
Maybe the pain would’ve been easier to manage if the first genotype result had been accurate. We were just four months into the relationship, and I might have moved on easily. Now, I just want to curl up somewhere and cry all day.
*Some names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Genotype compatibility isn’t up for debate when it comes to Ibrahim’s* choice of a life partner.
His decision comes after losing a cousin to sickle cell and coming to terms with the fact that he didn’t have to die.
Image by Freepik
As Told to Adeyinka
My cousin and his mum moved in with us one weekend in 2004 and never left.
I remember that day clearly. My mum asked me to clean the guest room, which had become a storage room since we rarely had visitors. I was excited because I knew cleaning the room meant whoever was coming would be staying for a while.
After I finished cleaning, my mum disinfected the room. It smelled of detergent and Izal— the kind of deep cleaning we never really did in the house, but I didn’t think much of it because the room needed it.
Dotun* arrived that day in a wheelchair, and I had no idea what was going on. He had a bandage around his arm, but he still seemed like the loud and chatty cousin who got on my nerves. His mum, my aunt, looked worried and exhausted, and my mum was giving orders left and right.
They left us to settle in, and I overheard my aunt crying in my mum’s room. My mum was comforting her, but I didn’t know why. It confirmed my earlier suspicion that something was up.
At first, everything seemed normal. It was nice having family around, especially a cousin my age. But I started noticing that everyone treated Dotun like an egg. There was also a lot of yelling and constant checking up on him from my mum and aunt.
He wore fancy cardigans and socks when the weather was cold, didn’t do any chores in the house, and always got whatever he wanted. The funny thing is, it wasn’t just my aunt who treated him that way. Even my mum, who usually put me first, treated him like he was more important.
Soon, I got jealous and started withdrawing from Dotun. It was clear that something had changed in how I interacted with him—I snapped a lot and spent hours keeping to myself.
My mum must have noticed the switch because she sat me down one day and asked why I’d been acting like that. When she realised she wasn’t going to get any other response than “nothing”, she went on to explain that my cousin had sickle cell disorder, a condition that meant he might not live long.
I didn’t take her seriously at the time because I assumed it was just an excuse to justify Dotun’s special treatment. The cousin in question had long gotten out of the wheelchair and was five times more energetic than I was in the house. So, it didn’t make sense to me.
I asked my mum when my aunt and cousin would leave, and she said they’d be staying with us “for now”. She never explained why, but years later, I discovered it was because my aunt had divorced.
A month later, my mum and aunt arranged for my cousin to join me in school. We were both in JSS2, and I was always excited to show him off as my “brother”. Even though I still felt the way I did, he was my cousin with whom I enjoyed spending time. Going to school together meant we were free from our parents, who treated one person better than the other. Plus, he was handsome, and it was the nicest feeling whenever people commented about how we looked alike.
One morning, about three months after we’d all been living together, we woke up to screams from Dotun’s room. I rushed in to find him writhing in pain, with my mum and aunt both looking distraught. His eyes looked like they would pop out, and he was flailing his arms and legs. My aunt kept muttering “crisis” while my mum made arrangements to get him to the hospital.
Our morning routine, which involved having breakfast, watching some minutes of TV and waiting for my mum, was disrupted. My mum left with my aunt and cousin while they sent me to school with a neighbour.
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I went to school that morning feeling an equal mix of anger and betrayal at my cousin for being dramatic and stealing all the attention. I was also mad at my mum for leaving me behind. I only continued in school with the hope that everything would return to normal when I returned to the house.
When I got home, no one was there. It wasn’t strange, but it was disappointing considering how I’d left in the morning. When no one was home like that, we always stayed at my neighbour’s place, so I went there. Hours later, my mum returned with my aunt and some relatives, but there was no sign of my cousin. They all looked gloomy and withdrawn, and my aunt kept making these loud, sudden cries. When I asked about my cousin, my mum said he was still in the hospital.
I didn’t know it then, but my cousin died that morning. It wasn’t until the eighth-day prayer that I found out the truth.
Even though it’s been 19 years, I still feel tight-chested when I think about that morning. After my mum finally broke the news, I started crying. To be honest, I don’t think I fully understood why I was crying—it just seemed like the natural thing to do.
It took me about four years from Dotun’s demise to understand the loss and, more importantly, the reason for it. I remember taking a biology class much later in senior secondary school, and that was when I connected the dots. My cousin wouldn’t have died if my aunt and her husband had compatible genotypes.
I was angry, and I confronted my aunt about it. I remember clearly that my mum didn’t like that, even though my aunt spent the rest of her years drumming it into my ears that I shouldn’t make the same mistake.
My aunt stayed with us until she died in 2018, and she never had another child.
Looking back, I realise that all the things I thought were special treatment for my cousin were actually coping mechanisms to keep him alive. No one should go through that pain. That’s why genotype compatibility is so important to me now.
Until I understood what led to my cousin’s death, I’d always assumed love was the most important thing when people decide to start a family. As I grow older, I’ve learnt that so many other things matter, and on top of that list for me is knowing that I did what I could to prevent my kids from a lifetime of pills, hospital visits and untimely death. I never want to relive that experience again.
Ese* (26) has been responsible for 80% of her family of seven’s needs since her parents left the police force a year ago, and it hasn’t been a walk in the park.
She talks about how her parents’ pension and gratuity payment delays have contributed to her family’s financial situation, sacrificing her needs and taking loans to meet demands at home, and how money has strained her relationship with her mum and sister.
As told to Boluwatife
Image: Canva AI
I’m my parents’ second child, but I’ve supported them and my siblings financially since I started making some money.
I graduated from the university in 2020 and almost immediately started working for an older coursemate who had a POS business. She had a chain of POS machines and didn’t trust her staff to transfer money to clients without diverting some of it, so my job was to do those transactions for ₦10k/month.
From that ₦10k, I started contributing to sort home expenses. My parents were police officers who didn’t make much money — they each earned less than ₦150k/month — and had five children to feed. My elder sister wasn’t working, so I had to pick up small expenses like utility bills and gas. I even dropped half my salary once to buy my mum a birthday cake. Still, the financial load was bearable until my parents retired from the force.
My dad retired first in May 2023. He retired as an Assistant Superintendent of Police (ASP) after 35 years of service. I didn’t imagine the lack of a salary would immediately worsen our financial situation. My dad said he was entitled to a cooperative association payout, gratuity, and monthly pension, so we all expected to get a tangible cash inflow soon. It didn’t exactly happen like that.
First, my dad’s cooperative payout was only ₦600k. I expected it’d be more than that since it was supposed to be a portion of his salary for the whole 35 years he worked, but he may have withdrawn certain amounts at different times.
My dad decided to invest the payout in a fish farming business even though the family warned against it. Fish farming was a new business, and we weren’t sure there was enough capital. We suggested investing it in my mum’s small poultry business instead.
He refused, and as we predicted, the business folded up in six months. After building the pond, the remaining balance wasn’t enough to feed the fish regularly, and my dad ended up selling the fish at a loss.
For the gratuity and pension, it’s been over a year, and we still don’t know when the government will process either. The gratuity is supposed to be a lump sum of ₦1m+. However, my dad knows police officers who retired a year before him and still don’t know when gratuity will come because of the unnecessary bureaucracy in the Nigerian system.
My mum also retired early this year and has joined the queue of expectant retirees. She’s expecting a bit more gratuity and pension because she retired as a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP), but as of right now, she and my dad are in the same shoes.
With both my parents retired, I became the de facto breadwinner. Fortunately, I landed an account officer position at a bank in September 2023, and my ₦324k/month salary seemed more than enough to provide for my family.
My first mistake was letting my family know how much I earn, though I don’t see how I’d have avoided that. My parents asked about my salary after I returned from training school, and I don’t lie, so I told them.
Also, my local church is very small and almost entirely made up of my family. We have a tithe card system in the church, where members write the amount they pay as tithe. My family would’ve seen that my tithe had increased to ₦32k and would’ve easily added two and two together.
It’s not that I don’t want to help out. Earning more made it easy to fill the gaps my parents’ retirement caused, but the rising cost of everything due to inflation and increasing expectations at home have turned my salary into almost nothing.
By the time I remove ₦125k for ajo, sort out my lunch and transportation to work, food, utilities, school fees for my brother in secondary school and lend my parents money to do one thing or the other, I’m completely broke. I have to take quick loans from loan apps every other month to stay afloat.
A few months ago, I had to take a ₦230k loan to support my brother through police training school. Then I took another ₦50k loan for my mum to feed her birds at the poultry and pay me back after she sold them off— she never paid me back. These loan deductions have brought my salary to about ₦250k/month, but I have no choice but to keep handling 80% of my family’s needs.
The other 20% is my undergraduate younger sister, who fends for herself in uni, and my elder sister, who works at a school now but hardly makes enough to transport herself to work, let alone contribute to the home.
It’s exhausting being a breadwinner at 26. I’m constantly anxious about inflation and being unable to save for an emergency or even invest in property. I have about ₦300k saved up now, but it’s nowhere close to the ₦1m I need to buy land in my area or hold as emergency savings.
I’m constantly worried that one health emergency will come and drain me financially. My dad is diabetic, and my health insurance only covers me. He has NHIS, but that doesn’t get him standard treatment. I need to find a way to get him regular care at a private facility. Anyone else in my family can suddenly fall ill too. What do I do then?
The ajo I mentioned earlier was supposed to get me my own apartment, but since I can’t support two households, I used my share to update my work wardrobe, set money aside for my brother’s school fees and spent the rest on my family.
Aside from my concerns about savings and health, being breadwinner also means I constantly struggle with resentment toward and from my family.
My younger siblings don’t know how to manage with little, and they regularly ask for money. One could just go, “Can you give me ₦10k?” without giving reasons for why they need the money. Even me who’s making the money can’t make expenses like that.
I also expect them to pick up small expenses like soap or gas, but everyone just keeps whatever money they get because they know I’ll handle everything. I resent that a lot. It’s like they think I have a magic tree where I just make money appear.
On the other hand, I’m positive my mum and elder sister resent me because of this same breadwinner matter.
My mum isn’t used to not having her own money, so she often lashes out because of frustration. When I have extra money, I try to give my parents around ₦10k – ₦20k just so they can hold it as pocket money, but it doesn’t always help with my mum.
Whenever I complain about my siblings wasting food, my mum often throws shade. She says things like, “Some people complain too much just because they’re the ones who bought something.” Sometimes, she’s supportive, but most times, she’s annoyed with me. I never know what version of her to expect daily.
For my elder sister, I think the resentment is because culture expects that everyone runs to the firstborn for financial help, and she feels bad that I’m the one in that “firstborn” position. Sometimes, she acts off towards me, and our relationship is often tense. Other times, she’s sympathetic and tells me she appreciates my sacrifices. Just like with my mum, I never know what to expect from my sister.
At least I don’t have to face that with my dad. He’s always appreciative and constantly praying for me.
Still, I’m grateful that I can help my family. It’s difficult most of the time, but it’s my duty. My friends and colleagues assume I have no use for money because I live with my parents and get offended when I say I can’t join an asoebi wedding group or lend them money. How many people do I want to tell about my situation?
I know things will get easier when my parents receive their gratuity and start receiving pensions. My mum would start a business again and no longer need to depend on me. If my siblings also get good jobs, they’ll be able to contribute to the living expenses. That hope is the one thing keeping me going right now.
Gratitude can never go out of fashion. It always feels good to know you’ve gone out of your way to make someone’s life better, and they return your kind gesture by expressing how much they appreciate what you’ve done. So, if you’ve got someone deserving of your gratitude and need an appreciation message, we have some useful tips to help you get started.
What’s an appreciation message?
An appreciation message is how you say “thank you” when you’ve received someone’s help, kindness, or support. It can be for a friend who came through with extra fuel, the relative who sent fresh farm produce from the village, the cousin who threw you a surprise birthday or the boss who’s invested in your growth. Either way, an appreciation message is how you can let them know you don’t take the gesture for granted.
How do you write one?
There’s no one cap fits all when it comes to writing an appreciation message. However, an important point to remember is to reflect and understand why you need to thank the person in the first place. This helps you craft a genuine message if you’re writing one, or it guides you in picking out a thoughtful gift if you’re sending one.
Examples of appreciation messages
Still not sure of how to compose a thoughtful message? These examples might inspire you to write something that’ll get the receiver grinning at their screen.
Appreciation messages for birthday wishes
Your birthday wishes were like a warm blanket on a cold day. They brought a smile to my face and a warmth to my heart. Thank you for taking the time to think of me and send such kind words. Your friendship means the world to me.
Thanks for making my birthday a little less old and a little more awesome. I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.
As the Yoruba proverb says, “A friend in need is a friend indeed”. Your birthday wishes were a true testament to our friendship. Thank you for always being there for me. Your support means the world.
I am so grateful for your friendship and the love and support you have shown me over the years. Your birthday wishes were a beautiful reminder of how lucky I am to have you in my life. Thank you for everything.
My birthday was filled with laughter, love, and joy, thanks in part to friends like you. Your wishes and messages brought back so many great memories. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend.
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Appreciation messages for when you receive support
Hey friend. I want you to know that your emotional support has been a source of strength during this challenging time. Thank you for being there for me and offering your words of encouragement. Your kindness has helped me to persevere.
Thank you for going out of your way to help me, even when it meant inconvenience to yourself. I don’t take your love and care for granted.
A true friend is invaluable in a time of need. Thank you for being that friend to me. Your support has helped me overcome this difficult period and emerge stronger. I pray I’m able to return the kindness.
Your kindness and generosity have been an immense source of comfort during this challenging time. Thank you for being a true friend who has offered support without hesitation, even in the face of our country’s present condition.
In a world where money often seems to be the most important thing, your friendship has shown me the true value of human connection. Thank you for being there for me, offering your time, energy, and emotional support instead of material possessions. Your kindness means more to me than any amount of money could.
Appreciation messages for your boss
Your dedication to our professional development is inspiring. Thank you for creating opportunities for us to learn and grow. Your investment in our future has benefited us individually and strengthened our team as a whole. I’m grateful for your mentorship and guidance.
Hey boss, I want to use this moment to appreciate your open-door policy which has made it so easy to seek advice and guidance. Thank you for always being available to listen and offer your expertise. Your support has been invaluable to my professional growth.
Your positive attitude and leadership have created a fantastic work culture. Thank you for fostering a supportive and collaborative environment where everyone feels valued and respected. It’s a pleasure to come to work each day knowing I am part of such a great team.
Your decision to increase our salaries during this economic uncertainty is a testament to your commitment to your employees’ well-being. Thank you for recognizing our challenges and taking proactive steps to ensure financial security. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.
Thank you for being more than just a boss. You have been a friend, mentor, and a source of inspiration. Your support and guidance have helped me to grow both personally and professionally. I am truly grateful for your friendship.
Random appreciation messages
Hey you. You’re not just a neighbour; you’ve been a friend and a source of comfort. Your kindness, generosity, and unwavering support have made our neighbourhood a truly special place. Thank you for being you.
You’ve been my rock through thick and thin, and I can’t imagine my life without your constant support. Thank you for always being there, no matter what. I cherish our friendship more than words can express.
Hey big head! Growing up with you has been an adventure I wouldn’t trade for anything. You’ve been my confidant, partner in crime, and biggest supporter. Thank you for always having my back, no matter what.
Hey mum. You’ve sacrificed so much to give me the life I have today. Your unconditional love and guidance have shaped me into who I am, and I am forever thankful for all you’ve done and continue to do.
You’ve made every moment of our journey together unforgettable. I appreciate the way you love me, the way you understand me, and the way you always put a smile on my face. Thank you for being my peace and my happiness.
Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
What’s your earliest memory of each other?
Nonso: It was in 2015, during one of those boring group projects in university. We were in 200 level; she was always quiet, just in the background. We didn’t talk much back then, but I noticed her, you know? I didn’t think much of it.
Jane: I saw Nonso for the first time in 100 level. We were in the same department but different courses. He was helping someone with their laptop at the library. He was out of my league—tall, good-looking, and surrounded by people who were always laughing at his jokes.
Everyone knew him, and his name always found its way into people’s conversations. Over time, I realised why; he was just charming, kind and smart—basically perfect.
How did that make you feel?
Jane: I liked him, just like everyone else, but I kept my distance after that. It was easier than trying to force something when I felt so invisible. I used to daydream about us meeting under different circumstances, like maybe if I looked better or felt more confident, but back then, I convinced myself it wasn’t meant to be.
Nonso: Honestly, if you’d talked to me then, I probably would’ve been surprised. I never really got that you had a crush on me until we reconnected years later.
But why were you so sure it wasn’t meant to be, Jane?
Jane: I didn’t feel like I was good enough for him. I was overweight, shy, and insecure, and he was the type of guy who walks into a room and everyone gravitates towards him. He was always close to one beautiful girl after the other, and they were also the perfect “slim, kind, talented and smart” types.
I felt like I was stuck on the sidelines.
Nonso: Nine years later, I still can’t fully wrap my head around this. Honestly, it’s strange thinking back and realising how much she was going through at the time. To me, she was just… there, like another face in the crowd.
Harsh
Nonso: I don’t mean it in a bad way at all. We never had the opportunity to meet and get to know each other then. Hearing that she felt invisible, especially to me, kinda messes with me. I never saw myself as that guy—the type who makes someone feel less-than.
Jane: I watched the girls he hung out with—fit, confident, always looking like they had their lives together. And then there was me, avoiding pictures because I hated how I looked, dodging social events because I didn’t want anyone to notice me. I honestly thought, “Why would a guy like him even look at someone like me?” It was like we lived in two different worlds.
Right
Jane: And you know how Lagos is. Everyone’s so quick to point out your weight or appearance. I’d gotten enough backhanded compliments from family, friends, even strangers at parties—things like, “You have such a pretty face for someone your size.” That stuff sticks, no matter how much you try to shrug it off.
So I told myself it wouldn’t happen. He’d never notice me the way I wanted him to, and honestly, I didn’t want to embarrass myself.
Nonso: If I’m being completely honest, it makes me wonder about myself a bit. Like, did I give off some vibe that I’d only be interested in a certain type of girl? School can be very superficial, especially within certain circles, and maybe I didn’t realise how much I fed into that image back then.
Jane: Looking back, it was unhealthy thinking on my part. But at the time, I didn’t know better. It just felt safer to avoid him than to face the possibility of rejection.
So you went the whole university period without meeting officially?
Jane: We were in the same spaces, same group projects sometimes, but I always made sure to keep my distance. There were times when I’d see him at events or, like, random hangouts, and I’d just quietly leave or make myself as invisible as possible. I didn’t want him to remember me as “the fat girl trying too hard”.
Nonso: It’s wild to hear her talk about it. Honestly, I can’t remember noticing her at those events. Not because she wasn’t noticeable or anything, but because back then, I wasn’t really paying much attention to the people around me like that. I was just living in the moment, you know? Typical university stuff.
How do you feel about this in hindsight?
Jane: It was kind of exhausting, now that I think about it.
I was basically orchestrating my own disappearance from his life. I’d see him laughing with his friends or some girl, and just immediately feel like I didn’t belong there. I never gave myself the chance to just be in the same room without overthinking everything.
Nonso: If she’d come up to me back then, I don’t think I would’ve been rude or anything.
Was that really the concern?
Jane: That’s the thing, though. It wasn’t that I thought he’d be rude. It’s that I thought he wouldn’t notice me in the way I wanted him to. Like, I’d be just another person, and that was scarier in a way. I felt like I had to be someone he’d actually like.
Nonso: I wonder what it would’ve been like if she’d approached me back then—without the weight loss, without changing anything about herself. Would I have seen her the same way I do now? It’s a hard question to answer. I wasn’t as mature then.
Jane: So yeah, I stayed away. I’d hear through our coursemates how he was doing, but we never talked. It’s weird thinking we were just floating around each other for years without ever properly crossing paths.
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How far did you go to be this “ideal” girlfriend?
Jane: I went far.
I feel crazy thinking about it. I don’t understand why I felt so strongly about him. Like, it wasn’t just about losing weight, though that was a huge part of it. I lost over 30 kg because I hated my body and felt like he’d never even glance my way if I didn’t change that.
But it wasn’t just the physical stuff. I started paying attention to the kind of girls he hung out with, what they looked like, how they dressed, how they carried themselves. And I felt like I had to match that level of “put-together”.
Nonso: Part of me feels guilty, like, why did she feel she had to go through all of that? At the same time, I’m grateful because I love who she is now, but it’s hard knowing she had to mould herself so much just for us to get here.
Right. What else did you do, Jane?
Jane: I’d stalk his social media to see the kind of things he posted about—like, what music he listened to, what books he was reading, even what restaurants he liked. And I’d try to get into those things, too. I started listening to his favourite artists, reading the same books, even getting into fitness because he was always posting about hitting the gym.
Nonso: This is so hard to listen to. It’s flattering, but also overwhelming. It’s nice that she tried to connect with my interests, but I think I would’ve liked her just the way she was.
Jane: I wanted to be able to have conversations with him that made me seem interesting, like I was on his level. I know it’ll sound hard to believe, but I didn’t do any of these things in a creepy way. I just wanted to better myself, and he was the perfect motivation.
And your interest in him didn’t die down after graduation?
Jane: I remember even turning down guys I was attracting during that time because, in my head, they weren’t Nonso.
There was one guy, actually, that I dated briefly in 2018. He was sweet, but I kept thinking, “He’s not who I really want,” so I ended things after a few months. It’s crazy looking back on it because I was holding out for someone I wasn’t even sure would notice me.
Nonso, what was your dating life like before Jane?
Nonso: Ah, my dating life was… let’s say “active” during university. I wasn’t looking for anything serious back then. I was attending events, meeting different girls. Lagos dating culture is wild—you’re either in it for the vibes or chasing something serious, and I was firmly in the first category.
Jane: I think that’s part of why I’m now glad I never bothered to approach him then.
Nonso: Yeah. I had a couple of short-term relationships, nothing too deep. After university, I was focused on my career. I think the longest relationship I had before Jane was about six months, but we broke up because we didn’t really vibe emotionally.
Looking back, I was avoiding anything too serious because I wasn’t ready for it, or maybe I just hadn’t met the right person. It wasn’t until Jane and I reconnected that I started thinking about something deeper and more long-term. She came at a time when I was maturing, and I think that made all the difference.
So how did you reconnect?
Nonso: It wasn’t planned or anything dramatic, at least I don’t think it was.
It was at someone’s birthday party in December 2022, and there she was. I didn’t recognise her; it took a while to put two and two together.
Jane: I was super nervous about seeing him again. I’d been following his updates on social media, but meeting him in person felt like a whole new challenge. I didn’t want him to see me as the girl from university who was too shy to even say hi.
When I saw him at that party, I thought, “Here’s my chance to make a real first impression.” So I approached him, and we just talked like we were catching up after a long time. I didn’t even know he didn’t know who I was.
When did you both catch on?
Nonso: Later on in the event.
We had a couple of our former coursemates there, so the references added up at some point. I was like, “Wait, you’re that Jane?!” I was shocked and happy at the same time. We talked and the conversation was easy, and I was surprised by how much we had in common.
We started hanging out, going on dates, and just enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t until months passed and we were deeper into our relationship that Jane revealed everything she’d done to be with me. It was a shock, but it also made me see her in a different light.
Jane: Yeah, I guess I felt like if I could become his dream girl, everything would fall into place. But it wasn’t easy. I lost myself for a while.
In what ways?
Jane: I became obsessed with changing. For most of those eight years, I was constantly critiquing myself and feeling like I wasn’t enough unless I changed. If I missed a workout day or ate too much one time, I’d be so mean to myself. It was tough, but I think I’m better for it today.
Nonso: I’m proud of her for her growth and everything she’s achieved, but the reason behind it feels… complicated.
Jane: I also struggled with mad anxiety that it wouldn’t work out in the end. It took reconnecting with him and seeing how we felt about each other to start reclaiming who I am and who I want to be. It’s been a journey to rebuild my confidence and embrace myself without pretence.
Did people close to you know you were doing these things?
Jane: Not the full extent of it.
They noticed the physical changes, and they were supportive of my health goals, but I downplayed how much it was driven by wanting to impress someone. I told them I was just working on being my best self and getting in shape, which wasn’t a complete lie. I didn’t want to worry them or have them think I was doing it for the wrong reasons.
Nonso: I honestly would do the same in your shoes.
Same
Jane: I kept up a facade with my friends, too. They knew I was changing my look and interests, but they just assumed it was a personal growth phase. I would occasionally mention my crush on Nonso, but I kept the depth of my efforts hidden. I didn’t want them to think I was fixated or that my self-worth was wrapped up in getting his attention.
It was a lonely process, but I felt like I had to go through it alone to make it work.
Now, almost two years in, does it feel worth it?
Jane: Yes. I feel happier and healthier than ever today.
It’s been an adjustment, after putting him on a pedestal for so long. But like I said, I’m not crazy. I expected him to have flaws and be a human being. I’ve learnt that he’s actually a grumpy grumps and only charming when he’s outside. I’ve learnt that beneath his interests, he has quirks—like how he actually hates going to the gym even though he still does it semi-regularly.
Nonso: I hate working out. Once I’m 35, I’ll just embrace whatever potbelly life throws at me.
Jokes aside, I didn’t know her then, but I love her for who she is now. Even though I’m still coming to terms with her claims that she changed a lot to make this relationship work even before we really knew each other, it feels like what you see is what you get with her.
Have you ever regretted any part of what led up to this relationship?
Jane: What’s interesting is that the real Nonso is better in ways I never expected. He’s more grounded and thoughtful than the version of him I created in my head. When we have tough conversations, he’s patient, and he listens. It’s the little things—like how he shows up when I’m stressed, or how he genuinely cares about my well-being—that I couldn’t have known about from the outside looking in.
So, no. I can’t say there’s ever been a moment I regret waiting and changing for him.
Nonso: It’s funny because hearing her talk about this makes me realise how much pressure I was under without even knowing. It’s crazy to think someone could spend years building you up in their head, and you have to live up to that. I know I’ve disappointed her in ways she’s not mentioning. I’m not the neatest guy, and I can be forgetful.
But what I love about where we are now is that she’s seeing me for me, and she’s still here. We’ve been figuring each other out, and yeah, there’s been tension, but I think we’ve come out stronger for it.
Tell me about this tension. What was your first major fight about?
Jane: Oh, I remember this clearly—it was about two months into the relationship, days after I told Nonso everything. I thought I was being honest and vulnerable, but he got really quiet, almost distant, and it made me panic. He said something like, “So, do you even know who you are outside of me?” That hit me hard. I felt like he was undermining everything I’d done to get to where we were.
Nonso: I didn’t know how to handle what she told me—it was a lot to process. I wasn’t upset that she made changes; I was more concerned about the mindset behind it. Like, I appreciated everything she did, but the fact that she felt she had to go that far to be with me didn’t sit right.
How did you react?
Jane: I got defensive, started pointing out how I felt like I’d sacrificed so much to be with him, and it spiralled from there. I accused him of not understanding how much I’d struggled with my self-esteem over the years. I remember saying, “If you don’t want me, just say it now,” and he looked so frustrated, like he didn’t even know how to respond.
Nonso: When I asked her if she knew who she was outside of me, it wasn’t to hurt her, but because I was genuinely worried. I didn’t want her to think the only way we could work was if she kept trying to fit into some idea of who I wanted her to be. The tension came from that misunderstanding—she thought I didn’t appreciate her sacrifices, and I felt like she was sacrificing too much of herself.
That makes sense
Jane: That was the first time we really clashed because we were coming at the situation from completely different perspectives. I felt like I’d done everything for love, and he saw it as desperation.
Nonso: It got heated because we were both emotional. I remember thinking it was supposed to be the honeymoon phase, but instead, we were having these deep, painful conversations about identity and self-worth. I didn’t have the right words at that moment, and I think that made things worse.
But you resolved things in the end
Jane: Yes. We didn’t talk much afterward, and I even thought it might be the end. I tried to be brave about it, reminding myself that I’d prepared for the possibility that he still wouldn’t like me despite my efforts, and that’s okay.
But literally the next day, which was a Sunday, he reached out. We skipped service and met up to have a calmer conversation about it. We realised we were both coming from places of insecurity—me with my body and self-worth, and him with the pressure he felt to be the “perfect” guy I’d built up in my mind.
Nonso: It’s crazy. The whole thing is crazy to me, but it honestly just feels like destiny. I’ve gotten a lot more spiritual in the last year, and I see God’s hand in this, TBH. Sometimes, I just stare at her for long minutes and am amazed to be with someone like her. We have a few moments like that when we’re just alone and quiet together.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your Love Life?
Jane: 9. I have my dream man.
I know as feminist, we’re not supposed to treat men like the prize, but I set my mind to a goal and achieved it. It only means all my other ambitious life goals are achievable.
Nonso: 10. I have a driven and beautiful woman who I know beyond a doubt wants and loves me. I definitely won a prize.
Wani’s* (23) boyfriend is 21 years older than her, but that’s not the problem with her relationship. The problem is other people.
She talks about dealing with people’s perceptions of their relationship and why she isn’t concerned about their future.
As told to Boluwatife
Image: Canva AI
I’ve been dating my boyfriend, Adeolu*, for two years, but my closest friends still don’t know exactly how we met because I know I’ll get weird looks. It also doesn’t help that Adeolu is 21 years older than me.
I met Adeolu in 2022 while hospitalised for severe stomach pain that turned into an emergency appendectomy. Adeolu was my anesthesiologist, and he’d been the one to calm me down when I started freaking out in the operating theatre.
After the surgery, Adeolu came to check on me twice before the hospital discharged me a week later. He joked about how I needed to focus on getting better so I could eat the hospital canteen’s famous amala and gbegiri. When I saw him again two weeks later during a follow-up appointment, I insisted I was well enough to eat the famous amala, and he took me for lunch. Things pretty much took off from there.
We talked so much during that canteen visit that we just had to exchange numbers to keep the conversation going on WhatsApp. I was surprised by how much he knew about what older people would call “Gen Z things”. Slangs like “E choke” and “Lori iro” were still in everyone’s mouth in 2022, and Adeolu knew them all.
When he finally asked me on a date a month later, I said, “Aren’t you like 50 with a wife at home?” That’s when he told me he was actually 42 and had never been married. I said yes to that date, and we became an item. Honestly, I already liked him, and I’m not sure knowing he had a wife would’ve stopped me from dating him.
I’ve dated two people before Adeolu, but he’s the first much older man I’ve been with. I didn’t even imagine I’d ever date someone that old, but Adeolu is different. He’s hella attractive, with a sexy sprinkle of white hair on his goatee. He looks his age but doesn’t look ancient if that makes sense. He’s also so funny.
Adeolu and I have been together for two years, and I’ve never been happier. He treats me like a princess and provides all I need — both emotionally and financially. He tells me I’m beautiful, and I feel beautiful when I’m with him. He’s also a very considerate lover.
Adeolu has made my life better in so many ways. When I struggled with a course in school, he drew up a study schedule for me and regularly called me at a particular time daily to make sure I was reading. He’s also made me promise to get a master’s degree after uni. He’s constantly telling me how much he believes in me, and I love him for it.
The only downside to our relationship is how people react when they find out we’re together. Twice, restaurant servers have assumed Adeolu is my older brother. Maybe I also make it worse by never letting it slide. I’m quick to correct sibling assumptions, and the person involved either gives a weird look or a knowing smile. As if they’re saying, “Anything for the bag, girl.”
One time, Adeolu and I attended an owambe together, and one of the ushers came to where we sat to ask Adeolu to come and re-park his car. Adeolu had gone to the toilet then, and this usher said, “Excuse me, please, what about that your uncle that sat down here before?” I told her, “You mean my boyfriend?” and she apologised, but I could tell she was surprised.
I still don’t understand why people quickly assume he’s a relative. I know I’m petite and have a baby face, but still, it’s too bad.
The sugar daddy assumptions are what I hate most. Whenever Adeolu calls me in the hostel, and my friends see his name on my phone, they go, “Your sugar daddy is calling o.” I had to tell them I met Adeolu online because they’d either think he took advantage of his position as my doctor or that I agreed to date him because I wanted a sugar daddy.
However, they still think we’re in a transactional relationship because of the age difference. It’s so annoying. Adeolu isn’t even that rich, and I don’t ask him for money. He just buys me things and sends me money monthly like a regular boyfriend.
I haven’t told my parents about Adeolu because they’d never understand. Only my sister knows, and she doesn’t even support the relationship. She keeps saying Adeolu is just using me for sex and will soon dump me. But this same man has introduced me to his friends and neighbours. I’m almost always at his house and know everything about him. How else should he show he’s serious?
I’m tired of defending my relationship, so I’ve chosen to quietly enjoy what I have with Adeolu. I can’t say for sure if marriage is in the cards for us because Adeolu has said he doesn’t believe in marriage, but I don’t even care.
I’d rather not think about what the future will bring and if we can even be together. I’m happy with what we have for now. We love each other, and that’s all that matters.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Bukunmi*’s only daughter is about to start preparatory school, but instead of feeling excited and proud, the first-time mum is overwhelmed with sadness.
She shares how her mother’s struggles with parental attachment might be setting her up for a similar challenge.
As Told To Adeyinka
If anyone had told me I’d be this attached to my child, I’d have argued endlessly. Her pregnancy came at a time when my husband and I weren’t ready to become parents.
After we got married in 2021, we decided to wait a few years before having kids. We wanted to enjoy the first years of marriage and be financially stable before bringing a child into the world. But you know how they say, “Man proposes, God disposes.” Despite not planning to have kids right away, we didn’t use protection.
My husband’s withdrawal method always worked—until it didn’t.
I still remember the day I took the pregnancy test. I had missed my period for longer than usual, so I took the test just to be sure. When it came back positive, I didn’t believe it until I got a blood test confirming I was four weeks pregnant.
Even though my husband and I had discussed abortion in case of an unplanned pregnancy, when the time came, it wasn’t an easy decision. So, we kept the baby, and that’s how our daughter came into our lives.
The first three months after her birth were difficult. I was always in a bad mood and felt sad all the time. Thankfully, my mum was around and took over most of the baby’s care. If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was the one who gave birth. It was a relief in some ways, but I also felt like I wasn’t bonding with my child.
When my mum finally left, it felt like I was experiencing motherhood for the first time. I was now responsible for all the feeding, bathing, and pacifying. It was beautiful, and since my husband worked late, it was mostly just me and my daughter.
I stopped working two months before delivery, and my husband encouraged me to hold off on returning to work until I was ready. I took on a few freelance gigs, but nothing major. So, my days revolve around her, and we’ve spent almost every moment together for the past two years.
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But now, as she’s about to start pre-school, I can’t help but feel sad. Instead of the proud “My child has started school” moment, I feel like I’m losing her.
While I know it’s natural to have a deep bond with your child, I sometimes worry I’ll be like my mum.
My mum struggled with letting go. She was overly attached to us, and I’d say it bordered on extreme. I remember when I resumed boarding school, she came with food and water for two weeks until the school stepped in and stopped her. She didn’t let us go on vacations or visit relatives, and on countless occasions, she got into quarrels with her siblings who always said she overpampered us.
There was a time when my dad insisted my siblings and I went on holiday at our granny’s, and my mum became a complete mess. You’d have thought they were taking us away from her.
I now realise that my mum’s behaviour was extreme, but I initially saw it as her way of showing love. Even now, she still calls every morning and night and visits at least once a month.
My daughter turned two in July and will resume prep school by mid-September. I know it should be something of joy to look forward to, but I can’t help feeling sad. She’d only be gone for a few hours a day, but the thought of her being away from me is unbearable. It’s like a wave of sadness hits me every time I think about the resumption.
I’ve talked to my husband about it, and he thinks it’s because she’s our first, and I don’t have work commitments to distract me. While that’s partly true, I know it’s more than that.
I’m worried I’ll be a complete mess on her first day of school and even the rest of the week. I keep telling myself she’ll only be briefly gone, and I can always check on her whenever I want.
The entire experience is strange to me because the history with my mum made me conscious about being an emotionally needy person. I always strive for balance in friendships and relationships, and I’ve had situations where friends say I’m the least caring person because of how easily I move on.
I just never imagined this was something I’d have to face with my child.
Breaks-ups are never easy, and finding the right words can be even harder whether you’re doing it via text or in person. From love messages that once felt unshakable to the final words that mark the end, it’s tough to put feelings into words.
Whether it’s about expressing heartbreak, letting them know how much of a disappointment they’ve been, or why you’ve realised you deserve better, these 15 sad breakup messages will get your point across and leave a lasting impact.
“I don’t love you anymore. Please stay where you are. Don’t try to change my mind. I’m being cruel to be kind.”
“It hurts me to say this, but I believe it’s time for us to part ways and find the happiness we deserve. I wish you well in your endeavours.”
This one’s very straight to the point.
“I’ve held on for so long, hoping things would change, but it’s clear now that love alone isn’t enough. You’ve been my world, but I need to find myself again. This hurts more than you’ll ever know, but I have to let you go. I’ll always love you, but I can’t stay anymore.”
Send this to a man if you’ve given him a second, third and fourth chance to do right by you.
“I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ve been thinking about how I let this happen. The truth is, I don’t think I love you the way that I should. You deserve better, so I think it’s time to part ways while I figure myself out.”
This one is very “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“I admire you, and I care about you a lot, but I don’t feel like our relationship is a big priority anymore. It isn’t either of our faults; I just think we have grown beyond what we can offer each other. Goodbye.”
When you don’t need a second party to tell you the relationship is heading nowhere.
“I remember the promises we made, the dreams we shared, but somewhere along the line, we lost our way. I’m tired of pretending everything is okay when I’m slowly breaking inside. It’s not that I stopped loving you, but I’m learning to love myself more, and that means saying goodbye.”
If you want that man to know you love yourself despite his anyhowness.
“I believed in us, in the future we spoke of, but the reality we live now is far from what we imagined. I never thought I’d have to say this, but I think it’s time we part ways. I’ll always carry the memories of you, but it’s time I stop holding on to something that no longer holds me.”
This one is for the man you thought you’d spend your last days with.
“I’ve cried too many tears in silence, hoping you’d notice the pieces of me falling apart. I loved you with everything I had, but love shouldn’t feel like this. I can’t keep holding on to a version of you that no longer exists. I’m letting you go, even though it’s breaking my heart.”
This is the breakup text to send if you realise you’re mostly doing all the loving in the relationship.
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“This is the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but sometimes, love isn’t enough. I’ve watched us drift apart, hoping we’d find our way back, but it’s only getting worse. I don’t want to wake up every day feeling this emptiness. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart, but I have to say goodbye.”
Let that man know that professing love every three market days isn’t shit if his actions say otherwise.
“I thought we’d grow old together, but love has a cruel way of showing us that not every relationship is meant to last forever. I don’t blame you for what we’ve become, but I can’t keep living in this sadness. I’ll never forget the love we had, but I need to move on and heal.”
Oh this one will get that man crying his ass off.
“I gave you all of me, every broken piece I thought you could mend, but I realise now that I need to fix myself. You’ll always be the love of my life, but I can’t keep pouring from an empty cup. Goodbye, my love, may you find peace in what we once were.”
Calling him an “empty cup” will definitely make him rethink all the life choices that made him lose you.
“I love and care about you, but I love and care about myself more. I hope you can understand that. I am on the way to becoming the woman that I want to be, and I can’t be distracted during this time. I genuinely wish you the best, and thank you for the memories.”
Let that man know that you’ll always choose YOU.
“I think it’s time for us to face the facts: our long-distance relationship isn’t working. I’m not happy and I can tell you’re drifting away. I wish you all the best, and I hope you find someone who can make you happy. Good luck.”
This message works for a long relationship breakup.
“I want to break up. Maybe one day, I’ll be at a point where we can be friends again, but for now, I need to cut off contact with you. This is really painful for me, so please respect my decision.”
Oh, this will hurt because you’ve also snatched his right to respond.
“Please, I’m not saying this lightly, but I feel we should break up. This has been on my mind a lot lately, and I don’t feel like our relationship is working anymore. You and I are in different places, and I don’t think our journeys are aligning right now.”
This one is lowkey heavy on the “don’t ever call my phone again.”
Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
What’s your earliest memory of each other?
Peter: It was my first day at my first job post-NYSC in 2017. He started some months before me, but we were both fresh out of university. I’d heard horror stories about working in Lagos, so I was already bracing myself for the worst.
Ayo walked in that morning all self-assured. He ended up being assigned as my mentor during orientation, and I was struck by how easy it was to talk to him. It wasn’t just small talk; we had a real conversation about our hopes, fears and what we wanted out of life, on that first day.
Ayo: My earliest memory of him is his laugh. It was the first thing that stood out to me—how he could be so nervous yet still find something to laugh about. We were in this awkward team-building exercise some days into the orientation, where everyone was supposed to share something unique about themselves.
Most people said the usual things, but Peter blurted out that he was obsessed with old-school cartoons. Everyone laughed; there was something about the way he made people feel at ease, like he was always trying to make the world a little less serious. I think that’s when I knew I wanted to be around him more.
Did you tell each other how you felt right away?
Peter: Oh, definitely not. It took a long time for us to get there. I didn’t even realise I liked him in that way at first.
We became friends. We’d go to work together, have lunch together, hang out on weekends. People would joke that we were like an old married couple, but I brushed it off as just that—a joke.
Ayo: No, it wasn’t immediate at all. I had my guard up for a long time because of past experiences. I’d been with a few guys before, and none of those ended well.
When I met Peter, our connection was deep from the start. But I didn’t want to mess it up by rushing things or assuming he felt the same way. I mean, I didn’t even know if he was queer or not. And in Nigeria, you have to be so careful. Even if someone is your best friend, you can never be too sure how they’ll react to you being gay.
Peter: Plus, I’d never been in a relationship before, so I didn’t even know what it felt like to like someone. It was only after a few years, when I started feeling a pang of jealousy whenever Ayo talked about dating someone else, that I began to understand my feelings.
What was the specific turning point?
Ayo: We had this one night when we just sat in my room talking about everything and nothing, and I felt like I had to say something. I could just sense that he felt the same way, but neither of us wanted to make the first move. It was almost like we were waiting for the other person to give a sign.
It just slipped out awkwardly. I told him I loved him. And it was such a relief when I did because he said it back. We just sat there, both a little stunned by the reality of what we’d admitted to each other.
Peter: He’s forgetting to add that this was over two years after we met.
What happened within the span of those years?
Ayo: Again, we were really good friends—who happened to spend almost all our time together.
Peter: We’d go for things like short film screenings and art exhibitions; things that none of our other friends particularly found fun. I think the bond solidified over us loving the same niche things, like manga and long walks.
I’d always wanted to be involved in running marathons. And I never would’ve if I didn’t have someone like him, who was just as interested, to motivate me.
How did the relationship evolve after?
Peter: Things became… complicated.
We didn’t just jump into a relationship. We were still figuring out what this meant for us for some time. It’s one thing to admit your feelings; it’s another thing entirely to navigate those feelings in a place like Nigeria. So, we kind of tiptoed around it for a while. We continued being friends, but with this new layer of understanding between us.
Ayo: It was a weird transition.
We didn’t go on dates. We created our own version of dating—a lot of nights in, eating my mum’s dinner together in my small room, watching movies, just being in each other’s company. We’d eat together during lunch breaks too, and while it looked like two colleagues hanging out, there was this new, unspoken bond between us.
But there was also this tension, because we were constantly looking over our shoulders, worried someone might catch on.
Sounds tedious
Ayo: It wasn’t until a few months later that we had our first real date outside our homes. We went to this small, quiet restaurant where no one knew us. We sat in the corner, hardly touching, just talking. But for us, that felt like the most rebellious thing we could do—just sit there, in public, as a couple.
But Ayo, you’ve been in relationships with other men. Was this how those went too?
Ayo: They weren’t even real relationships, now that I think about it. They were more like flings, mostly physical. I was younger then, and I didn’t really understand what I wanted or needed from a partner. I just knew I was attracted to men. And to be honest, those relationships were toxic.
With Peter, it’s never been about sex—it’s about the way we understand each other.
Peter: We didn’t even know we were both asexual until much later, which probably explains why his other relationships never worked.
Ayo: It’s about having someone who truly gets you, who makes you feel safe in a world that constantly tells you you’re wrong for being who you are. So yeah, while we’re always careful, it’s the first time I’ve felt like I’m in a relationship that isn’t defined by sex or secrecy but by love, respect, and this deep, almost spiritual connection.
Do you have support systems?
Peter: That’s tricky. Besides each other, it’s really limited.
We can’t talk to our families about it—they’re either too religious, too traditional, or just outright homophobic. Most of our friends don’t even know we’re together; they just think we’re really close friends who spend a lot of time together. There are a couple of people we’ve confided in, but it’s always a gamble.
Ayo: Yeah, it’s tough. We don’t have the luxury of a typical support system. There’s no one to run to when things get hard, no family dinners where we can just be ourselves. My past experiences have made me even more cautious. I’ve been outed before by someone I thought I could trust, and it was a nightmare.
That’s why we’re so careful now.
You must have some friends close enough to know by now…
Peter: We stick to small, private groups where we can share our experiences with other queer people, both in Nigeria and abroad.
There’s this added pressure to stay under the radar, especially with how dangerous society is these days. We avoid PDA, even the smallest things like holding hands or sitting too close together. It’s exhausting, but we’ve learnt to navigate it. We have our own little code words and signals for when we’re out in public.
Ayo: Actually, the isolation is the hardest part.
Most times, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world who understand what we’re going through. And sometimes, that pressure gets to us. We’ve had arguments about it—about how much we can or can’t say to certain people, about whether it’s worth the risk to confide in someone new.
How do you navigate that constant fear?
Peter: We just keep going. The same way we all navigate the fear of dollar crashing and ruining your business, or you or your family getting kidnapped, or random fuel scarcity, inflation—everything else that’s wrong with this country.
Ayo: We’ve thought about leaving Nigeria, moving somewhere we can just be ourselves without fear, but it’s not that simple. Leaving would mean starting over from scratch. There’s this weird sense of attachment to this place, even with all its flaws. It’s home, you know?
Peter: That being said, I wish there were more queer resources available. It would make a world of difference to have access to counselling, safe spaces, or even just more understanding friends and family. But until that day comes, we’re our own support system, and we’ve learnt to be okay with that.
But do you plan to just never tell your family about each other?
Peter: Are you sure you’re a Nigerian with Nigerian parents?
If I’m being honest, the thought of telling my family terrifies me. They’re very religious—church every Sunday, prayer meetings during the week, that kind of thing. I know exactly how they’d react if I came out to them. It wouldn’t be just disappointment; it would be outright rejection. They’d probably try to “fix” me, take me to some pastor for deliverance or something like that.
And if that didn’t work, I’d be cut off. No contact, no support, nothing.
Ayo: I’ve gone back and forth on this a lot. Then reality hits, and I remember who my family is. My parents aren’t even religious like that, but they have zero tolerance for anything outside the norm. I remember when one of my cousins was rumoured to be gay about a decade ago; they cut him off completely. And he wasn’t even gay.
Wild
Peter: It’s not just about me, either. I’m the firstborn, and I have younger siblings. If I come out, it would affect them too. My parents might see it as some sort of failure on their part and take it out on them. I can’t do that to them. So I’ve made peace with the fact that my family may never know.
Maybe one day, I might reconsider. But for now, it’s just not worth the risk.
Ayo: I don’t think I ever will. My parents keep asking when I’ll settle down with a nice girl, start a family. I usually just laugh it off or change the subject.
It’s a painful situation to be in, and it sucks that we even have to think like this. I wish things were different. I wish I could introduce Peter to my family, let them see how much he means to me. But I know that’s not the reality we live in. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way we can maintain some semblance of peace in our lives.
[ad]
The friends who do know about this, how did they react?
Peter: They’re exhausting, to be honest. Even the ones in the queer communities we’ve joined over time, you’d think they’d know better. The constant questions about who’s the masculine and who’s the feminine partner are probably the most frustrating.
Ayo and I are both masculine, and that doesn’t fit the stereotype. People look at us and assume one of us must play a certain role or that we’re not being “authentic” to their idea of what a queer relationship should look like.
Ayo: A lot of it comes from ignorance. People don’t know what they don’t know, and we’re often faced with having to educate them, which can be draining. When people ask who’s the masculine and who’s the feminine partner, it feels like they’re not just questioning our roles in the relationship, but our entire legitimacy.
Or the ones who assume men are only gay because of the sex.
Really?
Ayo: Yes, and it’s hurtful.
People have this ingrained idea that sex is a crucial part of men “become” gay, so when they find out it’s not part of ours, they call us liars or think we’re crazy. It just makes us more determined to live our truth and show our love is valid, no matter what anyone thinks.
Does that mean you don’t have sex at all?
Peter: Yes, that’s right.
When we first got together, we both realised we were on the same page about it. For us, intimacy is more about emotional connection, trust and companionship. It doesn’t mean we don’t have a deep, intimate relationship—it just means that sex isn’t a part of it. We’ve never felt pressured to include it because it’s just not something either of us craves.
Ayo: Our first kiss was so awkward, and I was terrified. We wondered if something was wrong or if we should be doing something different. But once we understood ourselves better, it was a huge relief. We love to hug and cuddle and just feel each other’s warmth. But that’s where it ends.
Can we unpack the part where people assume sex is the main reason why people are queer?
Ayo: I don’t know if it’s just me, but I’ve noticed that people can’t fathom that a same-sex relationship can be about more than just sex. They see two men in a relationship, and immediately jump to conclusions that it can never be that deep.
Peter: When we finally share that we’re both asexual, people are shocked. Even other queer people. We’ve had to deal with a lot of unprovoked questioning.
Interesting. Any plans for the future?
Peter: Moving in together seems like the most natural thing to do, especially after five years together. But for us, it’s complicated. Living together as two men who aren’t related would raise too many eyebrows, especially in the kind of neighbourhoods we can afford to live in. People are nosy, and they talk.
My family, for example, would want to know why I’m living with another man instead of getting married and starting a family. They’d probably show up unannounced, and that’s not a risk we can take.
Ayo: But we always spend more time at my place.
The plan is to move to Abuja together once my rent is due in February—away from everyone we both know. We’ve started looking for jobs there, so fingers crossed. Neither of us particularly wants kids; we’ll just grow old together living our private lives.
Why don’t you want kids?
Ayo: No big reason. It’s just too complicated for us to plan towards right now.
What was your first major fight about?
Peter: Some months after we decided to date, weeks before we’d even convinced ourselves to go on an outside date, Ayo invited a friend over to his place while I was there, without giving me a heads-up.
I felt uncomfortable because I’d never met this friend before and wasn’t sure how I would be perceived. I’m someone who values having a bit of notice before having new people come into my personal space, especially since we were still figuring out our relationship.
Ayo: I honestly thought he was overreacting and being too reserved. It was like he didn’t trust me and judgement—and in my own father’s house again? But now, I know it was more about him needing to feel comfortable and secure in our shared spaces.
How did this turn into a fight?
Peter: We ended up having a long conversation about it after the guy left, and it was very heated. We both felt hurt and misunderstood, and it took a while for us to really listen to each other’s perspectives.
Ayo: I don’t know why but I felt judged for my choice of friends. I felt like he wasn’t giving me the flexibility to make decisions about my own space.
His reaction also felt too different from his usual way of laughing things off and taking nothing seriously. But after I calmed down and gave him small silent treatment, I realised he was just scared. He’d just come out to himself, whereas I’d known I was queer much longer than him.
I still didn’t apologise sha.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your Love Life?
Peter: 7. I can’t wait for us to move in together so the rating can go higher.
Abike* (30) has known she’d be a pastor’s wife since she was 19. But she’s married to one now, and it’s not what she expected.
She talks about her husband’s habit of giving money away to the church and how it’s contributed to financial uncertainty in the home.
As told to Boluwatife
Image: Canva AI
I don’t doubt that God called me to be a pastor’s wife. At 19, I was already active in my local church and university fellowship, and it was easy to predict that I’d marry a committed Christian, too.
My life revolved around school, church and fellowship activities. All my friends were from these circles, too. If you know how uni fellowships work, you’d know that marriage is a common topic. Christian students are encouraged to seek God’s will for their marital lives instead of dating casually. So, I’d begun praying about my future spouse and home even before I was ready for marriage.
Because of these prayers, I believe I heard from God, confirming my prediction that I’d marry a pastor. So, when my husband, Goke*, proposed to me in my final year in 2015, my response was a quick “Yes.” Goke was one of the fellowship pastors, and I didn’t doubt he was God’s will for me.
I still don’t doubt that Goke was meant to be my husband, but I’ve had reasons to reconsider if I really knew what being a pastor’s wife would entail.
Goke and I got married in 2017, and I thought I had a decent idea of what being married to a pastor would be. I’m close to several pastors’ wives and knew the position would come with many sacrifices.
I prepared to share my husband’s time with the church and members who needed him. I’d also mentally prepared to always cook in excess so I could entertain the countless visitors I knew we’d have. I was even ready to have my husband travel for days to different locations for ministry work.
I didn’t prepare for the financial uncertainty that came with the position. While we were still courting, I learned that Goke received a decent monthly salary from the head church that oversees the fellowship. In 2016, it was around ₦80k. Now, it’s almost ₦200k. He also lived in an apartment provided by the church, so I was confident we wouldn’t struggle with money or beg to feed.
I should mention that money was one thing I struggled with when I first realised I’d marry a pastor. I’ve heard stories about how full-time pastors and their families typically struggle to feed themselves because they lack a consistent income, and I prayed to God to help me with this.
I told God I was willing to accept His will to marry a pastor, but I wanted a pastor who could provide for his family. My parents weren’t rich, and I’d grown up seeing my mum hustle to support my dad and put food on the table. I didn’t want that for myself.
So, learning Goke received a salary from the church helped allay any minor fears about poverty that tried to spring up during our two-year courtship.
But it turned out that I shouldn’t have worried about whether Goke received a salary or not; I needed to worry about Goke himself.
My husband is a very generous giver, especially toward the things of God. He believes that sowing financial seeds and spending all your money to move God’s work forward and help His people is one of the most important forms of worship.
On multiple occasions, Goke has received his salary and immediately transferred it to one senior pastor somewhere, sent it to the church account as a seed, or even paid someone’s school fees. He does this based on “divine instruction.”
Often, he completes these instructions before telling me because he knows I’d most likely disapprove. We’ve had several arguments about his almost obsessive desire to spend all his money on God and disregard his family. My husband’s defending argument is always, “God will never leave us stranded.”
But we have been stranded sometimes. We have two children now, and I’ve had to take loans from my siblings on three different occasions to pay school fees.
I still don’t know why I didn’t see this part of him during courtship. Maybe it’s because I never asked him for money or expected him to buy me gifts. Perhaps if I’d billed him, I’d have realised he was almost always broke and traced his financial situation to his constant sacrificial giving.
For about two years now, I’ve deliberately tried to reduce my objections to his financial decisions because it makes me look like an unbeliever. Goke doesn’t understand why I try to rationalise instructions from God, and he says it shows that my faith is small. So, I’ve decided not to interfere anymore.
Instead, I’m focusing on aggressively saving and building a safety net without Goke’s knowledge. I fear that Goke will make us bankrupt one day or that we’ll have an emergency and no one to beg loans from, so I’m preparing for that day.
I don’t make that much from my job as a caterer, but I ensure I save at least ₦20k/month after handling the necessary expenses like feeding and clothing. It’s very tough because it means I have to deny myself many things.
I now trek to my shop most days to save on transport fare, and I had to sack my children’s nanny to save extra money. But I get comfort knowing I have a safety net to fall back on if the worst happens.
Right now, I have about ₦300k saved up. It would’ve been more, but I removed ₦100k a few months ago to support my mum’s surgery fees. My husband still doesn’t know how my mum got the money to complete her surgery.
Sometimes, I think about all the hiding I have to do, and it annoys me. My husband should be able to help me enjoy a sense of financial security, but I have to struggle to build a safety net because I can’t trust him to be there in an emergency. I’ve also had to bail him out several times when he’s broke.
I guess that’s part of what comes with marrying a religious man. I just wish I’d known this part of him before marriage. I’d have started saving earlier.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
