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  • Fola* (40) got diagnosed with bipolar disorder and depression at 19 after surviving an abuse-related mental breakdown. She shares her frustrations with how mental illness has affected her relationships, quality of life and her ability to parent her children.

    TW: Sexual abuse, domestic abuse and self-harm.

    As told to Boluwatife

    Image designed by Freepik

    I’ve lived with bipolar disorder for 22 years, but I wasn’t always like this. 

    Growing up, I was the regular fun-loving child who played with her siblings and stayed over with her cousins during school holidays. But then my uncle started sexually abusing me, and my “regular” life ended.

    The first time it happened, I was 10 years old. He lived with my parents for a few months and constantly made me and my siblings touch him. Sometimes, he’d touch us. It didn’t occur to me to say anything, and it stopped when my family moved out of the area, so I just pushed it to the back of my head.

    Three years later, my parents separated, and I had to go live with my grandmother. At this time, my uncle was an undergraduate. He also lived in my grandma’s house when he wasn’t at school. I was in JSS 3. The abuse started again and continued on and off for three years whenever he was home on holiday.

    This time, it came with threats. He’d warn me to tell anyone unless he’d kill me. I think my mental health issues started accumulating from there. Whenever he wasn’t around, I simply forgot he’d abused me. Then he’d return and begin again. I now know from therapy that forgetting was my subconscious way of protecting myself. I just locked the memories away in my head.

    One time in SS 3, I overheard him tell his girlfriend that he’d “destroy Fola’s life”, and I started having panic attacks. My heart raced for days, and I kept having thoughts of death. I was preparing for my WAEC exams, but I couldn’t concentrate. It was like all my bottling up eventually reached a breaking point. 

    I remember when I finally broke down. It was the day of my chemistry exam for WAEC. I walked into the lab, and my friends were waving at me to join them when I ran out. The school’s secretary had to call my mum to let her know I was behaving strangely. She took me home, and I grew worse. I couldn’t bathe, eat or talk to anyone, and I kept crying.

    My mum thought I had acute malaria that was affecting my brain and took me to a hospital. I spent about three months there and honestly don’t remember most of what happened. There was a time when I was unconscious, and the doctors had to resuscitate me. When I started trying to cut myself and drag injections from the nurses, the doctor referred me to a psychiatric hospital.

    It took two years of regular hospital visits and consultation for the psychiatric hospital to officially diagnose and start treating me for bipolar disorder and depression in 2001. The doctor didn’t admit me to the hospital, and it took that long for an official diagnosis because I’d blanked out a lot, and it took a while for me to remember specific details. 

    I also told my mum about what my uncle had done. The family was involved, and the matter ended with begging and assurances that it’d never happen again.

    But the damage was already done. I was 19 years old, and suddenly, I was faced with the reality that I’d have to be on medication for the rest of my life.

    It took a while for me to adjust. I’d take my medication religiously for a while, but then I’d get tired and refuse to take anymore. I relapsed three times before I accepted that I couldn’t run away from medication. 

    I almost emptied my family house during one of those relapses. I stopped my drugs and had this huge burst of energy. So, I decided I was going to clean and rearrange the house. It wasn’t even dirty, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I called an aboki and told him to pack everything, even the valuable things. Luckily, my mum returned before he could take them away. 

    Living with bipolar disorder is one thing. Navigating relationships with it is another thing entirely. At different points in time, men came to me wanting to date me, but once I told them about my sickness, they ghosted me. It didn’t even matter that I was on medication, and I was always upfront about my condition. They just disappeared.

    Even when I decided to focus my attention on church and let relationships rest, this sickness still didn’t let me be. I joined the choir but couldn’t meet up with the early hours and vigils required as a church worker. 

    One of the side effects of my medication is excessive sleep. An average person sleeps eight hours, but I sleep 15-16 hours daily. That also affected my university studies, but fortunately, I still graduated. 

    I met my husband, Robert*, just after NYSC service year in 2012. We met in a keke, and he asked for my number. I remember he had one small torchlight phone, and I thought, “See the phone this one is using to toast woman?”

    Anyway, we got talking, and I immediately told him about my condition. He didn’t mind. He even declared that my uncle was now his enemy and he’d never talk to him if he ever saw him. 

    Robert and I got married within a year of dating. My mum was happy I’d found a man willing to marry me with my condition because not many men would want someone with bipolar disorder in their house.

    The early days of our marriage weren’t too bad. Robert understood that my medications left me tired and always oversleeping, so he helped with the chores. I also didn’t work, so he took care of the bills. I did try to run a salon, but the stress of standing for a long time affected me, and I had to stop.

    Then, Robert started hitting me. It wasn’t regular, and it happened when he grew frustrated with my inability to do certain things. He’d complain about it, I’d try to defend myself, and he’d respond with slaps. We moved to a different state after marriage, and none of my family members were close. 

    Whenever he hit me, he’d quickly call my parents to report to them about how I was in the wrong — I think he was just trying to talk before I did. He never told them about the beatings, and I didn’t say anything either.

    I had my first child in 2013. I have three children now, and each time I get pregnant, the doctors change my medication to prevent birth deformities in the kids and so that the trauma of birth and blood loss wouldn’t affect my mental health. 

    I’ve gone from using four tablets daily to eight, and my energy levels have dropped with each birth. I can’t concentrate well and can no longer do as much as I used to. As of 2015, I could still go to the market, cook in bulk and store soups in the freezer. Now, I can only cook soups thrice a month, and even that is with serious determination. 

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    I had my last child in 2022, and my doctor instructed me not to have any more if I didn’t want to be totally useless. 

    My husband is aware of how much childbirth has affected me, but it still doesn’t change the fact that most of our issues are because of my condition. I do try my best. I run a provisions store, which I started in 2023, and I try to go in the evenings when I feel well enough to do so. But then my husband comes home from work and wants me to cook fresh food, but I can’t do it. It’s really affecting our relationship.

    To be honest, he tries his best. When he’s in a good mood, he helps me out and tries to make sure I’m fine. He cooks, helps with the children’s school runs and provides for us. But when he’s tired, he takes it to the extreme. He says things like, “What kind of wife did I even marry?” and accuses me of faking my weakness. Does he think I’m happy that I can’t be much of a wife and mother to my kids? I can’t even be actively involved with my children. 

    Sometimes, I cry all day and question God. Like, why did this have to happen to me? But then I console myself that I won’t live forever. I’ll be gone one day, and the drugs will stop.

    I guess Robert’s feelings are valid. I know my condition isn’t the easiest thing to manage, but this is a lifelong thing, and I wish he’d be more understanding. I know he has many female friends he goes to meet whenever he leaves the house angry, but I don’t even mind. If I’m not giving him the joy he wants, maybe it’s okay for him to find it elsewhere. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t stop my medication so I can have more energy because it’d only make my condition worse. So, what’s the point?

    I’ve tried to talk to him about how I feel on numerous occasions. Sometimes, he listens. Other times, it’s like, “Abeg, I’m tired of all these stories.” I’m glad he’s even stopped hitting me. I finally told my mum last year, and she threatened to arrest him. He hasn’t hit me since. 

    In all this, I’m glad I have my family as a support system. Most days, I think less of myself and worry about the things I can’t do. But my mum calls me weekly to talk to and encourage me. She was there when I first broke down and constantly reminds me how far I’ve come. I survived, I have children, and my condition is manageable even with the side effects of medication. I’m grateful to God for the little wins.

    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    NEXT READ: “Don’t Tell Anyone”: The Sexual Abuse Of Nigerian Boys

  • From a young age, Omotola* (32) anticipated growing up to make money to care for her struggling parents. However, her parents passed away before she could actualise her dreams, and Omotola can’t help feeling like she failed them.

    As told to Boluwatife

    Image by Freepik AI

    “Mummy, I’ll buy you a car when I grow up.” According to my parents, that was my favourite catchphrase as a child. It was my go-to whenever they caught me causing trouble and trying to avoid a beating.

    I may have said those words playfully at first, but they became more than mere words as I grew older. 

    You know the expression “to be as poor as a church rat”? That was my family’s reality. We weren’t broke. To be broke means you don’t have money right now, but you had it at a point in time. We didn’t. We were simply poor.

    My dad was a welder, and my mum worked as a cleaner— the type who walked around university hostels shouting, “Any work?” But even joining their small incomes together didn’t do much to make our lives easy. We lived in a one-room apartment separated by a curtain so my parents could sleep in the “bedroom” area while the four of us kids found sleeping positions on the floor. 

    The best spot was the one closest to the door, as it meant easy access to the breeze that came in through the net covering on a windy night. As the first child and automatic third parent, I often gave up this spot so my younger ones would be more comfortable. Even when we ate together, I learned to take small bites so they’d eat more.

    Sacrificing small comforts for my siblings was something I learned from my parents. Even with how tough things were, I could see the lengths they went to make sure we all went to school and didn’t go hungry. 

    I remember when my secondary school gave us a week’s deadline to pay our WAEC fees or risk not being part of those who’d write the exams. I knew there was no money and didn’t bother telling my parents, but my mum noticed my sad expression and made sure I told her the problem. When I did, she just told me not to worry.

    That weekend, my mum washed so many clothes that her hands blistered. She just asked me to rub ori (shea butter) on them, and off she went to look for more people to give her dirty clothes to wash. My dad also went to everyone he knew asking to borrow money. I eventually paid that WAEC fee with plenty of time to spare. 

    That’s just one example of how much my parents were willing to sacrifice for their children. What about the time my mum carried my sick sister on her back and screamed in front of the teaching hospital after they initially didn’t want to admit her because there was “no bed space”? My mum knew she had no money for a private hospital and also knew that my sister would die if no one attended to her. So, she stood there and screamed till a doctor came out to treat my sister.

    Or is it the period when my dad started helping clear soakaways on our street so he could make extra cash to buy me the medical kit I needed for nursing school in 2010?

    Honestly, my parents sacrificed a lot. All their lives, they gave of themselves— not just to me or my siblings but to people around us, too. For poor people, they were really the most generous people ever. 

    So, yes, my “I’ll buy you a car” catchphrase became more than words as I began to see and appreciate all their sacrifice. It became a promise. My parents just had to reap the fruits of their labour. My grand plan was to finish school, make money, build a house and put them there. They’d never have to struggle again.

    But life has a way of spoiling plans. 

    My dad suffered a stroke and passed away two weeks after I graduated in 2013. I felt like there was a giant hand inside my chest that was squeezing all the blood from my heart. I wanted to die. I couldn’t break down outwardly because of my mum and siblings, but I kept asking myself questions. Why was life so unfair to good people? Couldn’t my dad have waited a bit? 

    Most of all, I felt like I’d failed him. I had promised to take care of him and repay his sacrifices, but I wasn’t able to do either, and now he was gone forever.

    I tried to console myself that I could still provide for my mum and make her proud. She became my new focus, my new driving force to make money so I could spoil her.

    I got my first nursing job in 2014 and started sending my mum ₦5k monthly out of my ₦25k salary. I desperately wanted to send more, but the ₦20k left hardly covered my transportation and feeding. I was living from hand to mouth, but I made sure I sent something home.

    Things started to look up in 2016. After squatting with a friend for so long, I got a new job that paid ₦80k and could finally afford to rent my own apartment. The plan was to move in with my mum. She always complained about her troublesome neighbours, and I wanted her away from their wahala.

    But my mum fell ill shortly after she moved in with me. Family members said it was “ofa” — a spiritual attack and warned me not to give her an injection or she’d die. We went from one prayer house to the other and got different agbo (concoctions) for her, but she didn’t get better. I even secretly treated her with normal medicine against people’s advice, but that didn’t work either. She passed away in 2017.

    I was numb for weeks after my mum died. I couldn’t think or feel anything. I don’t remember if I even cried. When it finally registered in my head that she was gone, it was like I’d lost two things: my mum and my purpose.

    All my life’s decisions up until that point had been towards making enough money to make my parents proud of me and never have to struggle again. With them gone, what was I working for?

    It took me years to get out of that headspace and find purpose again. I have children now, and they motivate me to work hard. But I can’t help feeling like I failed my parents.

    Those people sacrificed so much for me, and I never got to repay them. They suffered their whole lives without a moment of rest. I was supposed to give them that rest, but I couldn’t. I know it’s not my fault that they died, but it doesn’t make it better. I’ll never get the chance to appreciate them like they deserve, and it haunts me.

    *Name has been changed for anonymity.

    NEXT READ: My Grandkids Are My Second Shot at Parenting the Right Way

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  • Relocating abroad has its benefits, but it also presents challenges, especially for couples who cannot travel together due to tight finances or other reasons. With thousands of miles between you, maintaining trust and intimacy requires double the effort, and doubts about your partner’s fidelity may crip in.

    If you or someone you know is in this situation, ChatGPT says these are the signs that determine the fate of the relationship.

    Inconsistent communication

    They are often unreachable or don’t return your calls promptly. If they frequently cancel video calls or avoid discussing their daily life in detail, it’s a red flag.

    Secretive about new relationships

    Making friends with the opposite sex is normal, especially for someone abroad away from friends and family. But if they become sneaky or evasive when talking about new friends or acquaintances, something’s off.

    Changes in financial behaviour

    It might be harder to track their spending since they’re far away. But if they get secretive about their finances or are reluctant to share details, they might be funding a lifestyle unknown to you.

    Lack of enthusiasm for future planning

    If they delay making plans for your visit, relocation or return home, they might be deeply involved in something they don’t want you to know about. This also applies if they avoid discussing long-term goals.

     [ad]

    Emotional distance

    If you find yourself saying things like, “Is this person still in love with me? Has this person changed? I feel like we’ve become strangers,” it’s a cue that one person in the relationship has become emotionally distant.

    Third-party clues

    Your mutual friends, family, or acquaintances abroad might not outrightly tell you what your partner has been up to, but they might drop hints. Pay attention to these clues.

    Unexplained gaps in time

    If they frequently go long periods without contact and provide sketchy details about where they’ve been, this might be the clue you need to know they are spending time with someone else.

    Read this next: What Happens When Your Loved One Japas?

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

    What’s your earliest memory of each other?

    Teju: We met at work when I just got to the states in September 2019. We’re both nurses in a state hospital. She and one other Nigerian guy were the only Africans at the time. She’d been here for close to two years before me. So she took me under her wing, helping me to navigate and survive in the new environment. 

    Malin: I liked him immediately I met him because I have a thing for Nigerian men. But we started off platonic. I’d been happily married since I was 23.

    We started working closely together for long hours, so we got to talking and oversharing stuff about our lives. From day one, we both knew the other was married. I’d say loneliness brought us together.

    How did you both find yourselves in the US without your partners?

    Malin: We planned to relocate together very early on in our relationship before we got married. But I got my master’s visa, and he didn’t. They’ve consistently denied him one, so he’s still in Dar es Salaam. Now, he’s working on Canada. Once that works out, we’ll figure out how to unite… if we still want to.

    Teju: I didn’t come in the most straightforward way, so I couldn’t bring my family — my wife and two kids. I’m supposed to put things in place then send for them. But it’s becoming much more expensive to plan that. And I’m no longer in a hurry.

    Why not?

    Teju: This will get me in trouble. 

    I’m just comfortable with the way things are now. I love being with Malin. Things had gotten dry between me and my wife when I left Nigeria. I won’t lie that we were about to break up, but we weren’t the most passionate couple. 

    Malin: For me, the fact that he hasn’t been able to get his visa approved for so long is a red flag. I’m tired of waiting and hanging on to that hope. 

    Do they know you guys are together?

    Malin: No. Why would I want to start that kind of drama?

    Teju: I’ve considered telling my wife, but I think it would be cruel. I know she wouldn’t understand. It’ll just break her.

    Let’s go back a bit. How did you get into this relationship?

    Teju: We went from working closely together to her helping me get a better place to stay, figure out the subway and commute. In that first month, we were always together — at work, on the road, at home. She also helped me figure out my meals. In between all that, love happened.

    Malin: Like I said, I was lonely. And it helped that he wasn’t a creep. I met a decent, likeable Nigerian guy when I was at my lowest point, and it felt good helping him out. I knew staying so long in his space and being so accessible would lead to something else, but I couldn’t stop myself.

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

    What happened next?

    Teju: COVID came, and being essential workers, we worked even longer hours, wearing PPEs and moving around when everyone else was stuck indoors. That was the highpoint of our friendship. Just constantly exhausted while making jokes with our other coworkers. We slept most nights in the hospital. 

    October 2020, the lease was up on my apartment, and we somehow started talking about being housemates so we could pool money together and get a decent two-bed.

    Malin: We ended up getting a three-bed with a third girl I knew from my former building. That’s when we technically moved in together. It’s also when we started sleeping together. He ended up spending most nights in my room.

    Were your spouses aware you had housemates of the opposite gender?

    Teju: My wife found out.

    I was originally supposed to live with my aunt when I moved here. Malin convinced me I could get a cheap flat closer to our workplace, and I was so excited to not have to squat with a relative at my age.

    My aunt eventually came to visit when I’d moved into the new apartment. She met Malin but didn’t say anything. Next thing I knew, my wife brought it up on one of our video calls. My aunt had called to tell her. She wasn’t happy at all, but I assured her not to worry about it.

    Malin: My husband knew we were housemates then. He didn’t think too deep into it. Maybe because there was another girl with us. But he doesn’t know we have a small house on mortgage, and we’ve moved in together. 

    When did that happen?

    Malin: In July 2021, and we’ve lived there together since. Our relationship levelled up after that. We started talking plans and finances because we wanted to move our life forward. 

    Teju: We’d spent too long in one place, struggling to reunite with our partners. We were ready to move on, at least in our careers and personal development. We took courses so we could get promotions and so on.

    Malin: The bulk of his money goes to his kids’ education in Nigeria. I’m happy he does it, but it’s also a constant reminder of his external responsibilities and what that means for our future.

    Have you discussed the future yet?

    Teju: Not much. 

    But some months after we moved in, one of our coworkers suggested that we declare a common-law marriage so we could get some benefits. So we did. 

    Malin: To all our friends and colleagues and the state of Texas, we’re married.

    And your actual spouses don’t suspect a thing?

    Teju: They don’t. I talk to my wife once a week and still send her money. We’re also still saving up for them to join me here. We decided the best way is for me to get a PR then invite them over.

    Now that Malin and I did the common-law thing, it might not work. She doesn’t know that. We’ll cross the bridge when we get there.

    Malin: I don’t think my husband suspects. He’s still hyper-focused on Canada. That’s all we talk about now. He’s working towards relocating in 2025. Fingers crossed for him. 

    We try not to talk too much about our marriage because I think we’re both trying not to trigger sadness and regret.

    So what happens when they finally make it out of Africa?

    Malin: I don’t know yet. 

    I love Teju, but I’ve confided in him that I might still have feelings for my husband. He was the love of my life before the whole unfortunate split. And Teju has his kids to figure out.

    Teju: I don’t see it happening anytime soon. I see Malin and I staying together until then. We’re a good team, and I can’t imagine figuring out life in this country with anyone else.

    How have you managed to build a working relationship on the back of infidelity?

    Teju: Ahh. We don’t think about it that way. We just did our best with the circumstances life gave us.

    Malin: Our relationship works because we don’t focus on guilt and regret. It’s about being each other’s support system in this lonely world. 

    We work together as well, so it’s been much easier to have someone to do everything with.

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    You guys give “work spouse” a whole new meaning 

    Malin: Yes. I suppose you could call us work spouses that took the name seriously.

    I don’t feel like I’m cheating actually. My husband and I can’t be together, and I’m supposed to just put my life on hold?

    Teju: The only thing I feel bad about is I know my family would’ve been here much faster if I didn’t get together with Malin. There are some things we could’ve done by now if I was a lot more excited for them to be here.

    Malin: Yeah, it’s tough because if his kids were here, we wouldn’t have to spend so much on school bills.

    Do you see yourself continuing to send money home for as long as they’re there?

    Teju: Yes. One thing I’ll never do is default on my responsibilities as a father. My dad was an absent father, so I feel bad enough that I’m putting my kids through that.

    Malin: That’s the only thing that brings friction to our relationship. His kids might be the only people he loves more than me.

    And how do you feel about that, Malin?

    Malin: Sometimes, it feels like baggage I didn’t bargain for. But I know it’s insensitive to say that given the circumstances.

    Teju: Yeah, there’s no way around that.

    Have you ever thought about having your own kids?

    Malin: I’m not sure I want to with him yet. 

    Teju: We decided we’d wait till we figured out where we stand with the people back home first. But it’s not completely off the books. At least, not for me.

    Malin: It’ll be a huge step. I don’t want to bring a baby into too much drama. We could get discovered at any moment. It’s both exciting and terrifying.

    Discovered by your spouses?

    Malin: Yes.

    Have you had any major fights yet?

    Teju: Not really.

    Malin: We argue a lot about very many things. But it’s always chill. I don’t think we’ve ever been genuinely angry with each other.

    Teju: We’re almost always at work anyway. So between that, sex and sleep, not much time to fight.

    Sweet. How would you rate your Love Life on a scale of 1 to 10?

    Malin: 9. We just get each other, and the way we support each other‘s rights and wrongs without judgement is so precious. The uncertainty makes things exciting too, but I know we’re not in la la land and shit can hit the fan at any moment.

    Teju: I guess I’ll say 9 too. I love being with her. I love that I’m doing life in the states with her. She’s helped me achieve way more than I ever imagined.

    The 1 will probably be for the fact that she still loves her husband and I still love my kids.

    Check back every Thursday by 9 AM for new Love Life stories here. The stories will also be a part of the Ships newsletter, so sign up here.

    ANOTHER ONE: Love Life: He Thinks Condoms Are for Laying With Harlots

  • Tokunbo’s* first marriage began to crash barely a year after the wedding due to infidelity and constant arguments. He married his current wife while processing his divorce in 2017 and thought he’d finally found a shot at happiness. 

    Seven years later, he’s struggling with regret and hopes to reunite with his first wife.

    As told to Boluwatife

    Image source: Freepik

    I married my first wife, Yetunde* when I was 27 years old, but I’d loved her since I was 10. 

    We were childhood friends. Actually, she was my childhood bully. We lived in the same estate and we met when my dad bought me a bicycle as a reward for getting the first position in JSS 1. I rode the bike to the farthest part of my street that day, and as expected with children, other boys came up to me and asked me to let them ride for a bit. 

    I allowed a few boys, and Yetunde came to ask for a turn, too. I refused — not because she was a girl, though. I had a very small stature growing up, and Yetunde, who is two years older than me, was taller and generally bigger than me. I was scared she wouldn’t return my bicycle. She thought I was just being mean and forcefully dragged the bicycle from me. She did return it later, but we became sworn enemies after that day.

    Like I said, we lived in the same estate, so we always ran into each other. Whenever Yetunde saw me, she either mocked me by calling me “Stingy koko” or knocked down whatever was in my hands. I’m not even sure how we later became friends. I just know I reported her to my elder sister, and she made her stop bothering me. We became inseparable, and I thought she was the prettiest girl ever.

    We started dating in SS 3 and tried continuing in university, but we schooled in different states, and our love didn’t survive the distance. We only communicated occasionally via Facebook and only saw each other thrice over the next nine years. We always had a one-night stand kind of “reunion” each time we saw. One of these reunions led to Yetunde getting pregnant in 2014.

    The pregnancy came with serious issues for both our families. Yetunde’s family insisted we had to marry because it was taboo in their village to give birth outside wedlock. My own family said she was older and physically bigger than me, and that meant she’d control me in the house. In the end, Yetunde and I felt we still had feelings for each other, so we married.

    It’s safe to say both of us didn’t know what to expect in marriage. We didn’t even really know each other. We’d loved each other as kids and were attracted to each other sexually, but that was about it. Living together opened our eyes to the fact that it took more than childhood love and sex to keep a home.

    We fought over the smallest things. I remember how we kept malice with each other for three days because I farted in the sitting room, and it led to a huge fight. Parenting strained our relationship even more. I spent long hours at work, and Yetunde expected me to take over the baby’s needs once I returned because she’d done it all day. But I didn’t think it made sense for me to come home tired at night to start babysitting. 

    Yetunde resented me for that, and we fought endlessly. We also stopped having sex after our child was born. She just stopped letting me touch her. This was barely a year after marriage.

    So, I started cheating. I know I should’ve put in more effort to solve our issues, but I took the easy way out. It was just casual sex, honestly. There was this babe at work who I knew liked me. We got closer when Yetunde and I stopped being intimate, and things just got out of control. 

    Yetunde found out six months later after going through our chats. She threatened to leave, and I begged for weeks. She only agreed to forgive me if I tested for STDs. I did the test and came back clean, but she said we’d still have to abstain from sex for three months so she could confirm I didn’t have HIV.

    I was annoyed at that. It was like she thought I was a child who didn’t know how to protect himself. I still did the test again after three months, but I decided I wouldn’t approach her for sex again. If she really forgave me, she should also make the first move. She didn’t make any move. 

    I couldn’t cope, so I went back to having affairs. I think Yetunde knew, but she never confronted me again. We grew apart even more, and our conversations reduced to ordinary greetings or if she needed to ask me for something our child needed. I still sent her monthly allowances to care for the home as she wasn’t working. I wasn’t completely irresponsible.

    In 2017, I met the woman I’m currently married to — Comfort*. I initially intended to keep her as a girlfriend, but I fell in love with her and stopped seeing other women. Comfort didn’t know I was married.

    By now, I was tired of my marriage with Yetunde. I came up with every excuse possible to convince myself we weren’t meant to be together. I thought, if she hadn’t fallen pregnant, I wouldn’t even have had to marry her. Did I have to resign myself to a sexless, loveless marriage just because of one mistake?

    RELATED: I’m Asexual Or Just Not Attracted To My Husband

    I decided to put myself first, so I told Yetunde I wanted a divorce. Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. She just said she wouldn’t move out of the apartment, and I had to keep paying the rent. She also said she’d never give up custody of our child, which was more than fine with me.

    So, that same year, I married Comfort. I had to convince her we didn’t need a court wedding because I was still in the middle of divorce proceedings (which she didn’t know), and I heard I could face jail if I tried to remarry legally while still married. We even did the traditional marriage quietly because I didn’t want Yetunde to know and probably tell the court. My family knew about my issues with Yetunde, so it wasn’t difficult telling them of my choice to remarry and keep the whole thing quiet. 

    I only told Comfort after the court finalised the divorce in 2019. She was angry, but my family joined me to apologise to her, and all went well. I also tried to introduce her to my child, but Yetunde relocated out of the country with her. 

    I’m still shocked that she didn’t tell me beforehand. If I hadn’t texted her to inform her of my marriage and ask to see my child, she probably wouldn’t have told me they’d left. I mean, I still paid the child’s school fees for the previous term, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t doing my part. I wanted to drag the issue out, but I just told myself it was for my child’s benefit. 

    In my head, I was finally getting a new shot at happiness. I’d tried marriage, and it didn’t work out, but I had a second chance. I was also on civil terms with my ex and didn’t need to hide anything from Comfort again. I could now be happy without feeling guilty or thinking of another woman outside.

    And I was happy. Comfort even encouraged me to attend church more, and I gave my life to Christ in 2021. Since then, I’ve been serious with God and feel like a new person. But I’m now navigating a new kind of guilt: regret over divorcing Yetunde.

    I listened to a sermon in 2022 about how God hates divorce, and since then, I’ve been struggling with feeling like I made a grave mistake. The Bible says, “Whoever divorces his wife and remarries has committed adultery — except the wife was unfaithful”. Yetunde wasn’t unfaithful. She didn’t even do anything to me.

    No matter how I try to reason it in my head, I feel like I’m constantly living in sin by staying married to Comfort. It’s even affecting my walk with God. I feel like I call myself a Christian, but I’ll still go to hell because of this one mistake. I’ve never discussed this with Comfort.

    Some church elders I’ve spoken to about my concerns have suggested reconciling with Yetunde and probably letting Comfort go since we don’t have children together yet. But first, I don’t even know if Yetunde wants to come back. I know she isn’t married, but she might not want to have anything to do with me again. Second, what do I tell Comfort and our families?

    I wish I’d made better decisions and generally been a better person, but I can’t turn back the hands of time. I just know I need to make a final decision soon because I can’t continue living like this. Comfort already thinks I’m cheating because I’m constantly acting distant. Maybe I’ll gather the courage to beg Yetunde and hope she forgives me and returns. Or maybe I should just let Comfort go and live alone for the rest of my life. I don’t know.

    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

    NEXT READ: My Husband’s Family Has Attacked Me Spiritually for Years

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  • The streets are crazy, so if you’re getting to know someone romantically, here are a couple rules you might want to follow.

    The do’s

    “Remember, you’re not exclusive.” – Martins

    You and your partner in talking might like each other a lot, but you need to remember that you’re still in the talking stage; nothing is set in stone, and you’re just getting to know each other. This means you can talk to as many people as you want.

    “Get to know each other.” – Obiageli

    The entire point of a talking stage is to learn more about each other, so actually do that. Talk to each other about the simple things — your likes, dislikes, hobbies — anything that won’t have them wondering how you haven’t spoken to a therapist or been declared clinically insane.

    “Remember that you can always run.” – Mariam

    If they’re unkind, homophobic, misogynistic, or just don’t have the same values as you do, pack your bag and run. It’s the talking stage, not prison. 

    READ: Z!’s Guide for Living Today

    “Remind them to give you space when you need it.” – Rhema

    It’s the talking stage, which means you need to spend some time with this person and get to know them. However, that doesn’t mean they can call you out of the blue whenever they want or demand things from you. They need to know if you have boundaries you do not want to be crossed.

    “Meet up” – Angel

    It might be tempting to spend half your time talking over the phone, but at some point, you’ll have to put the phone down and meet in person. This way, you know if they’re actually your type, and they match your vibe.

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    The don’ts

    “Your family and friends don’t need to know them.” – Damian

    Sure, you can tell the people in your life about this person you’re talking to, but why would you want to formally introduce the person you’re in a talking stage with to the people that have known you for years? What title would you even introduce your talking stage with?

    “Don’t go second base.” – Somto

    A little peck here and there is cute, but no heavy over-the-clothes petting and no sex. It might cloud your judgement and have you feeling things you shouldn’t.

    “Don’t do pet names or nicknames.” – Damian

    If you can’t formally introduce them to anyone in your life, why should they give you nicknames and call you “baby” or “sweetheart” outside? If people ask why they’re being all sweet on you, what would you say?

    “Don’t force shit.” – Rue

    Don’t act out of character or do things you think they’ll like so they’ll make the relationship exclusive, and you can become a boyfriend or girlfriend.

    “Don’t be touchy.” – Ij

    Everybody should keep their hands to themselves. You don’t need to hold someone’s waist or touch their shoulder just because they’re getting to know you. That’s not how things work.

    ALSO READ: QUIZ: This Nollywood Quiz Knows What Type of Lover You Are

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

    What’s your earliest memory of each other?

    Aliyu: We met through family in 1988. Our fathers knew each other, and one day her father came to visit mine with her in tow. They stayed for about an hour, and we were introduced. She was shy and barely said a word. She just sat in a corner, and I remember me and my brothers watching her from the corridor to our rooms and talking about how beautiful she was. 

    Mariam: I was so self-conscious to be in a strange house with nothing to do but watch my father talk with his friend. I wasn’t supposed to accompany him there; he’d just decided to stop by on our way to getting the things I needed for school. 

    After that, we met more often during family and religious gatherings, and we just got close.

    When did you start to like each other?

    Mariam: After he kissed me in my father’s compound when no one was looking. It was the day after Ileya in 1989. I’d only ever been kissed once before, and it was nothing like his own.

    Aliyu: My brothers and cousins had discovered I liked her sometime before that. They saw that I’d sometimes stare at her. So at this gathering, they teased me into kissing her and telling her how I felt. I didn’t tell her how I felt. I just kissed her and disappeared. 

    What happened after?

    Aliyu: We went back to our lives. 

    She was still in school, and I was trying to get into the family trade of poultry farming. Not much happened until the next year when she was back from ABU for a long break and we met at the water factory her brother worked at. We talked a bit, and after she left, I told her brother I wanted to marry her. Imagine me with no money saying something like that.

    Mariam: My brother came back home and told me about it. I just laughed. I crushed on him since the day he kissed me without regard for my father’s house. But I didn’t want to believe he liked me back. I returned to school and thought about him for weeks, imagining us married.

    Why was marriage the first thing that came to mind and not dating?

    Aliyu: Maybe it was the times, but that’s what I wanted when I saw her. I wanted her to be my wife. So I worked hard while she was in school. I did everything to make more money. I started buying and selling goats and rams. I did deliveries briefly. I saved most of the money I made.

    Mariam: In school, I had a few other suitors, but I chose to wait for the possibility of being with Aliyu. I used it as a catalyst to focus on my studies. 

    He waited till 1992, my last year in school to go to my father and ask him about me.

    And then, you got married?

    Aliyu: No, we courted for another year. I wanted her to finish first. I didn’t want to rush or scare her.

    Mariam: During this period, he’d send me money and gifts all the time. 

    A lot of my friends were getting married while in school, but I appreciated the wait. The truth is I was scared of the responsibility of marriage. Learning from my friends’ experiences helped me feel prepared after graduation.

    What was the wedding like?

    Mariam: It was big. Our parents invited every single person they knew. We had three different ceremonies, and by the end of it all, I was exhausted. In fact, whenever I think back to my wedding, I associate it with tiredness.

    Aliyu: We didn’t get the time to bond before and during the ceremonies. Then after, we consummated and moved in together. The excitement wasn’t really there anymore.

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

    What d’you mean?

    Aliyu: I’m not sure what I thought would happen, but I wasn’t prepared for how dull living with one person was. Everyone just avoided us because they didn’t want to intrude on our brand new marriage. 

    But we just continued on with life. She got a job, I ran my businesses, and we performed our duties.

    Mariam: I think we were fine until the kids started coming. 

    I had our three children in the space of four years and that was really hard for me. Once the third one was out, I got on family planning, and he didn’t like that.

    Aliyu: I understood why she had to, but she didn’t consult me first. What if I wanted one more child? I also didn’t like how it affected our sex. It became like a chore trying to get her in bed.

    How did you navigate this period in your marriage?

    Mariam: Taking care of the children mostly on my own was hard. I had to quit my job after I had the first one, but I was still always tired. Even with my mother and younger sister’s help. 

    Our communication was zero at this time, but he always provided, so I was content. 

    Aliyu: In my mind, I was giving her space and time to focus on motherhood while I focused on making us comfortable. Running the businesses was no piece of cake.

    Fair

    Mariam: Once the children were all old enough to go to school, we were never able to build our relationship. We were fully adults with adult worries and responsibilities. There was no time for gisting and jokes like I saw my friends do with their husbands. 

    I’m not sure how everything went so wrong.

    Aliyu: I found out she was sleeping with someone else.

    Sorry, what?

    Mariam: After I’d just had our third baby, I got close to one of my old friends from ABU, one of the “suitors”. He was still unmarried. So we met a lot when Aliyu was away at work and I wanted to get out of the house and the chaos of crying babies. We never had sex, but we got intimate sometimes. 

    Aliyu: I was also sleeping with my secretary at the time. But it didn’t stop me from being angry. Instead of telling her I found out, I just held it in and resented her.

    Did it eventually come out?

    Aliyu: Yes, when I saw her with another man different from the first one.

    We moved to Abuja from Kaduna in 2004, and I spent less time at home because I had to travel more. I had a new girlfriend, and most times, I’d take her on these trips with me. I was considering making her a second wife.

    One day, I saw Mariam leaving our house with this man when I’d just returned from a trip.

    Mariam: A trip with his “girlfriend” I’m sure, but he had time to judge me.

    Aliyu: Later that day, I confronted her about it and she just apologised. I couldn’t say anything again.

    You just let it go?

    Aliyu: Yes. I didn’t want stress, and I didn’t want to chase her out of my house. So what was the point of pushing it? I also thought it’d make her more agreeable to my bringing in a new wife.

    Mariam: Him not getting angry made me realise he didn’t care what I did. He didn’t care about me. He just wanted someone respectable to bear him children. And since I’d given him two sons and dared to do family planning, he was done with me.

    Aliyu: That’s not true. She was cold and that surprised me after we got married. I could never really get her to ease up and have fun with me.

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    So what happened after this second bout of infidelity?

    Mariam: This is when I feel we separated without separating. We just started leading different lives even though we still lived under the same roof — and slept in the same bed for nearly ten more years.

    Aliyu: I continued travelling constantly and we hardly talked. In 2007, I married a second wife, we had a son, and things were peaceful. But in 2012, the second wife left me for another man.

    Mariam: When he went to marry someone half his age. Guess who had to take care of an additional child for him.

    You?

    Mariam: Yes. The woman left her son. I recently heard she’s relocated overseas with her new husband and their children.

    Aliyu: I’d never have let her take my son to another man.

    After this, I just decided I wouldn’t take another wife. 

    But did the affairs continue on both sides?

    Mariam: Yes. I’m not proud to say it, but I’ve found other men I’ve felt more committed to than my husband. I considered remarrying once. In the end, I didn’t want all the drama and stigma. And I didn’t trust that the new man wouldn’t disappoint me. I also had three growing children to think about.

    Aliyu: I didn’t date anyone for years after my second wife left. It felt irresponsible of me to do so. Every woman I was with after, I only had sex with.

    Do you think your children feel any type of way about you living separate lives?

    Mariam: Probably when they were younger, but they’re now all grown with families of their own. 

    My daughter often calls me to try to force a reconnection between us because she’s feeling righteous. But I tell her off. She thinks it’s my fault the marriage isn’t “working well” because I never treated her father with respect. Imagine.

    Aliyu: There were times you could’ve been more humble.

    I think the children understand how hard life and marriage is now, so they’re fine. 

    Do you think you’ll ever divorce?

    Aliyu: No, I don’t believe in that. Even the prophet said that of all things permitted, divorce is the most hated by God. 

    Even though you’re both committing adultery?

    Aliyu: I believe marriage is for life. And I still love my wife. She’ll always be my first love. I do everything I can to treat her right. She’s also given me three beautiful children.

    Mariam: If I didn’t do it when I was maybe in my 30s, I don’t think I’d ever divorce because there’s no guarantee that what’s outside is better than what’s here. Aliyu is my partner in many ways, even though God did not permit that sex and companionship be one of them. 

    Today, we’re friends and we’re each other’s confidants.

    Right. What was your first major fight about?

    Aliyu: When she suddenly wanted to start using condoms during sex.

    Mariam: He never agreed to use them. That’s why I had to get the implants in secret. When I later told him, he was angry but placated that at least he didn’t have to put on a condom.

    Aliyu: Condoms are for laying with harlots.

    On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your Love Life?

    Aliyu: 5

    Mariam: 5. Average.

    Check back every Thursday by 9 AM for new Love Life stories here. The stories will also be a part of the Ships newsletter, so sign up here.

    NEXT UP: Love Life: Nigeria Should Let Us Marry in Peace

  • We asked AI to share a full guide, and it’s response? “Sure, here’s a humorous take on staying in a marriage with a cheating partner in Nigeria.”

    Master the art of selective hearing

    When your friends start whispering about your partner’s escapades, develop the skill to only hear compliments. “Did you hear he was with that girl?” magically transforms into, “Did you hear he bought you a new car?”

    Enroll in advanced detective training

    Become Nigeria’s next Sherlock Holmes. Follow clues, check phone messages, and decode cryptic texts. You’ll be so good that even the local police will ask for your help in solving cases.

    Perfect your poker face

    No matter what bombshell news comes your way, keep a straight face. Channel your inner Nollywood actor. Your reaction should be so composed that it makes news anchors look like they’re overacting.

    Join the “don’t ask, don’t tell” club

    Adopt the policy of blissful ignorance. If you don’t ask about their whereabouts, they won’t tell you lies. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

    Become an Instagram detective

    Who needs private investigators when you have social media? Check tagged photos, comments, and new followers. Be the Sherlock Holmes of Instagram stories.

    Develop an appreciation for bad excuses

    When they come home late smelling of unfamiliar perfume and mumble something about a “late-night office meeting,” smile and say, “Of course, dear. Those office meetings must be really aromatic.”

    Keep a diary of creative excuses

    Document every outlandish excuse they come up with. One day, you’ll publish a bestseller: “The Encyclopedia of Spousal Excuses.” It’ll be a hit, especially in the humor section.

    Turn to Nollywood for inspiration

    Watch Nollywood movies for strategies. See how the characters deal with cheating partners. Dramatic confrontations, fainting spells, and breaking plates are all valid options.

    Create an imaginary friend

    When things get tough, talk to your imaginary friend about your troubles. They’re always there to listen, never cheat, and have excellent advice like, “Have another slice of cake.”

    Keep a stash of comfort food

    Always have your favorite comfort foods on hand. There’s no problem that pounded yam and egusi soup can’t solve, even if it’s just for a little while.

    Plan elaborate fake business trips

    Whenever you need a break, plan a fake business trip. Post pictures from random locations, and enjoy your “me time.” Bonus points if you can get your partner to believe you’re actually on a work trip.

    Join a support group

    Find like-minded people who understand your plight. Meet regularly to share stories, tips, and a good laugh about the absurdities of life with a cheating partner.

    Embrace the power of prayer

    Attend church services and pray fervently. If nothing changes, at least you’ll have a direct line to divine wisdom. Maybe your prayers will even inspire a miraculous transformation in your partner.

    Learn the art of subliminal messaging

    Subtly leave books like “Faithfulness for Dummies” around the house. Play songs with lyrics about loyalty. Perhaps some of it will seep in through osmosis.

    Develop a sense of humor

    At the end of the day, laughter is the best medicine. Laugh at the absurdity, the drama, and the ridiculousness of it all. After all, if you can’t laugh, what can you do?

    ChatGpt’s Disclaimer: This listicle is meant for humor and entertainment purposes only. Cheating in a marriage is a serious issue, and it’s important to seek professional advice and support when dealing with such situations.

    Hope you enjoyed this tongue-in-cheek guide!

    YOU’LL LOVE THIS: Arise, O Nigerian Hope: What Chatgpt Thinks Our Anthem Should Be

  • For Pride Month, I was looking to speak with queer people who have found solace, community and enriching relationships when I found Jason*.

    He shares how he found love in the village on a trip to bury his mother and how distance dashed the hopes of his budding love story.

    My Mum’s Death Led Me to Find True Love

    As Told To Adeyinka

    It’s hard to find love when you’re vulnerable, broken, and grieving. During this time, people want to take advantage of you. But this wasn’t the case with my partner.

    I met my Femi* during one of the darkest periods of my life. I’d had several depressive episodes, but this felt different; it was triggered by grief. I’d just lost my mum and travelled from Lagos to our village for the funeral arrangements.

    Burying my mum was hard on me. It took me a while to come to terms with her demise and come out of my state of mourning.

    Initially, the plan was to attend the funeral, which would last a few days, and then return to base. But because of the scale of the preparations, I ended up spending about three weeks in the village.

    During one of those days in the village, I needed an escape from the grief that had overcome me, making me numb to what was going on around me. I was on social media to mindlessly scroll my sorrows away and landed on a dating app. The idea of interacting with a stranger seemed like a good distraction. A few minutes after I logged in, an account viewed my profile and texted me, and I responded. 

    As with most interactions I’d had on the platform, the chat dragged. This wasn’t surprising because a lot of people came on the platform for different reasons. People came seeking sex, companionship, relationships or the thrill of meeting new people. I was there seeking an escape from the grief I was feeling, so a part of me was largely indifferent.

    Shortly after we started talking, he broached a topic that piqued my interest, and that was how we hit it off. We talked about different things until the interaction fizzled out.

    After that first encounter, I fell back into my shell; I was still deep in grief and wasn’t keen on making new friends. Even though it felt refreshing to have random, interesting conversations with a stranger,  it was all I had strength for.

    But in a way, that first encounter with him also stayed with me. I’d not felt that free and unburdened to live life since my mum died. For starters, he wasn’t a reminder of what I was going through, unlike the relatives around me. Soon, I found myself coming online more frequently to text him. We’d also moved the conversation from the platform since we exchanged phone numbers. Our interactions were a rich mix of shared interests and life in general.

    We texted for hours between days, and soon enough, I was hooked. I was deeply fascinated by this person who had the range to converse in a way that pulled me out of grief. It wasn’t like I didn’t have other people around who’d tried to talk me out of my sadness, but they just didn’t hit the mark like he did.

    Fast-forward to a few weeks after we met, I started getting a weird vibe from him. It felt like he was giving me an attitude, and I wasn’t sure why. The truth is, I’d been inconsistent at some point. Grief is weird. There were days I came alive and days nothing interested me, not even the charm of this person who, on many occasions, had successfully yanked me from the claws of grief.

    But was this the reason why he was giving me the cold shoulder? Was it because we hadn’t defined what we were doing? A friendship, relationship, or just two horny guys? It wasn’t clear. Whatever it was, his attitude wasn’t what I needed, so I also stepped back and withdrew. I stopped texting as frequently and didn’t bother to reach out.

    I’d expected him to return the same energy and keep his distance. However, instead of withdrawing, he became more present.  He reached out as often as he could.

    Soon, we decided to meet in person.

    During the early stages of our interaction, we’d both mentioned our love for taking long walks. So, we decided to walk the first time we met. We both agreed it would give us the opportunity to know each other even better without the pressure of sexual expectations.

    Unfortunately, I was held up on the day and couldn’t make the agreed-upon time. I didn’t show up until 8 p.m., and even though I expected him to be mad, he kept his cool. By that time, it was pointless to take a walk, so we decided to hang out at his house since I was already in the area. When I arrived, he was outside to receive me and even offered to pay my cab fare.

    [ad]

    When we got to his room, I realised he didn’t have chairs, so we had to stay on the bed — which wasn’t the ideal situation considering we wanted to avoid sexual tension.

    We spent the whole night talking just like we used to while texting, and the conversation was just as good. While all this was happening, I expected him to make a move. Yes, we didn’t want to smash on our first date, but I was already in his house and on his bed. I thought we might as well get down to business.

    Surprisingly, he didn’t make any sexual advances toward me. He kept it casual and even got me contemplating that he wasn’t attracted to me. With other people I’d met in the past, they’d try to make a move and only stopped when I refused. With him, we carried on as usual until I left his house. That whole experience made me see the potential of what we had brewing in a different light. It felt like we were laying the foundation for what could be a true and genuine relationship.

    After the first visit, I visited his place thrice and spent the night once. We still didn’t get intimate; I especially needed cerebral conversations, laughter, and companionship at that point in my life. He was attentive when I went on and on about my mum and always knew the right things to say when I was near breaking point.

    I remember crying one night while reminiscing about my mum, and he simply pulled me closer, rocking me into a peaceful calmness.

    I’ve met quite a handful of queer men, and sex is always on the table for most. Deep connections or genuine friendships are simply add-ons that aren’t guaranteed. It was refreshing to find someone different. He only offered solace as I struggled to reclaim the shattered pieces of myself from the grip of loss.

    About five weeks later, it was finally time to return to Lagos. I paid him a visit to say my goodbyes, and I still remember how his eyes swelled with tears as he muttered, “I love you.”

    I honestly felt the same way about him. On the day I left the village, I was as heartbroken as the day I arrived to bury my mum. I’d found love but knew it was one I couldn’t keep because we were almost a thousand miles apart.

    We both value the physical quality of time spent together, so a long-distance relationship was out of the question. We still text like lovers even though our relationship remains undefined.

    Read also: Why Dating Femme Queer Women Is Not for the Weak