What’s it like navigating a marriage in which you have to endure disapproval from your spouse’s family — especially in a family-centred society like ours? That’s been Ese’s* reality for the last ten years.
She talks about enduring hate from her in-laws, believing her previous miscarriages are linked to spiritual attacks and how she navigates her situation.
There’s a saying popular among Nigerians: “You don’t marry the man, you marry his family”. It means that family approval, specifically from the in-laws, is necessary for a marriage to work.
I didn’t have the approval of my husband, Yinka’s family when we got married in 2014, but I didn’t think it would be a big deal. After all, Yinka* loved me and insisted we didn’t need his family to be happy together.
Funny enough, I’d known Yinka’s family long before we got married. My mum and Yinka’s mum were friends. My mum sold women’s shoes and Yinka’s mum was her good customer. As a teacher, she was always buying shoes.
I used to help my mum at her shop whenever I was home from school, and it sometimes meant following her to drop shoes at her customers’ houses. That was how I first met Yinka. I was 12 years old, he was 14, and he was my first crush. I remember drawing his name on my hand with a biro and scrubbing it off immediately after so my dad wouldn’t catch me.
But Yinka and I didn’t become friends until four years later when I resumed at the same university he attended. My mum had told his mum about my uni admission and both mums decided he should help me secure off-campus accommodation since he knew the area better.
I still liked him, and it looked like he liked me too. We hung out regularly. By my third year in school, we officially started dating. He graduated some months after we started our relationship, and it was at his graduation party that his mum figured out we were dating.
His mum had brought coolers of party rice — normal for university graduation ceremonies — and I was running up and down helping to share the rice and take pictures. She knew me, of course. But she realised my running up and down was more than friendship. She called Yinka that night to ask if we were dating, and he said yes. Her response was, “Omo Igbo? Why?” I’m not even Igbo, but I guess it means we’re all the same to her.
Yinka thought she was joking and laughed it off. She also didn’t pursue the issue. I guess she thought it was just a fling. But she realised he was serious when he took me to visit her “officially” a year later in 2011. That’s when the problem started.
The thing is, Yinka is the last born of five children. Plus, he’s the only boy and his dad died when he was a baby. His mum had it tough raising them, and for some reason, she thought his marrying from another tribe — specifically Igbo — meant she wouldn’t “eat the fruits of her labours”. According to her, Igbo women only know how to eat their husband’s money, lack respect and also won’t let the man’s family come close.
Of course, I didn’t know these were her reasons then. I know now because I’ve heard it repeated to me several times.
She had a bold frown on her face all through that first visit. This was the same person who used to dash me money as a teenager. After Yinka and I left, she called him on the phone and told him to end the relationship. He told me about it, and I innocently thought I just needed to show her how hardworking I was.
I decided I’d start visiting her every weekend to help her out with chores. The second time I visited, she asked me if I didn’t have anything to do for my mother at my own house. No one had to tell me to stop going.
His sisters also snubbed all my attempts to be close to them. I’d call, send birthday text messages and even visit to help out during major events, but it was obvious they didn’t like me. Even then, I didn’t think the disapproval was serious. My parents liked Yinka and our mums still talked.
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In 2013, Yinka proposed.
The night of the proposal, his mum called mine and told her there was no way the marriage would happen. It turned into a shouting match, and my mum called me that same night to return the ring. That night was so dramatic. How many women have you heard say they cried all through on the day of their proposal?
Yinka had to take the issue to his mum’s pastor. The man spoke to her and told us to go ahead with the wedding planning. Yinka’s mum respected her pastor and kept quiet. My parents were another matter. They didn’t understand why I wanted to die there when the man’s family didn’t want me.
In the end, the wedding happened because I got pregnant. Me, my mum and husband, kept it from my dad because he would’ve never allowed the wedding to happen.
My husband’s immediate family didn’t attend the traditional wedding in my village. It was his uncle and some people from church who attended. On the white wedding day, my mother-in-law brought her own live band and divided the reception hall into two. Our DJ was playing music on one side, and her live band was playing on the other side. The DJ had to just take the cue and stop the music. Yinka’s sisters and mum also refused to dance with us when it was time for the husband’s family to dance with the couple. Instead, they went to dance in front of the live band as their friends sprayed them with money.
Yinka just kept telling me to “calm down. They’ve done their worst.”
I should thank my in-laws for drawing me closer to God because these people started attacking me two days after the wedding. I had a dream where one of Yinka’s sisters hit me with a cane. I woke up with a stomach ache and had a miscarriage three days later.
I thought it was a coincidence, but I had three more miscarriages over the next three years, and they always happened after a dream where I’d see someone in Yinka’s family. When I noticed the pattern after the third miscarriage, I told my mum and we started visiting pastors and attending prayers. I prayed o. Almost every weekend, I was at one church or the other for a vigil or deliverance session.
I have two children now, and both times, I fasted almost all through the first three months of pregnancy. I also didn’t tell Yinka until the third month because I didn’t want him to tell his family. He didn’t even know the spiritual battle I was facing. I only told him about the first dream. His response was, “Are you saying my sister is a witch?” So, I just focused on winning the battle in prayers.
I still see his family members in my dreams sometimes, but I always give it to them hot hot. I don’t joke with my prayers.
We moved to a different state in 2019 and now only see them during family occasions where they give me weird looks and taunting words. Me, I just mind myself.
I also don’t report them to my husband because what use is it if he starts fighting with his family? Won’t that prove their reason for hating me in the first place?
I wonder about the reason for all the attacks and hate. It’s not like Yinka is one millionaire. He’s just a civil servant, and I contribute equally to the home’s expenses. Sometimes, I even convince him to send them money so it wouldn’t be like I’m the only one “eating his money”. But I guess you can do no good in the eyes of people who are already determined to hate you.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
What’s your earliest memory of each other?
Ben: We met at work in 2012. I immediately liked her the first time I saw her at the office reception, but when I asked her out, she insisted she didn’t date colleagues. As soon as she left the job the next year, I called her and asked her out again.
She said no straight up.
Debby: I wasn’t dating at the time. I was 23. I kept to myself a lot, focusing on my work and career.
I’d also recently found out I was HIV positive, so I didn’t know how to go about having that conversation with potential boyfriends. I just kept off.
Wow. How did you convince her to give you a chance, Ben?
Ben: I just kept calling her over some months, and we became friends.
Debby: We talked about old office gist until that faded when most of the people I knew had left. Then he’d call to check on me once in a while.
Ben: She refused to let me in, so I tried to date other people. I was with another girl for about four months. It didn’t work out. Sometime after that break-up, I saw a video she posted with her friends on Facebook. They were at a birthday party. I swear I watched the short video of her laughing and dancing like 30 times. I don’t even know what I was looking for.
Love?
Ben: Funny.
Finally, I called her the next day. I planned out exactly how I’d get her to meet me. At this point, I’d noticed she only wanted to talk about work-related things, so I invited her to a career development fair a popular company was hosting at the Federal Palace Hotel.
Debby: I actually told him I wasn’t going but changed my mind last minute. I was just bored on the day of the event.
Ben: We bonded well, so I thought I’d made progress in my quest to date her. But once we went our separate ways that day, she stopped taking my calls.
Why, Debby?
Debby: I knew he liked me and just wasn’t ready for that.
Ben: I sent her a lot of text messages until I realised I was beginning to look like a creep, so I gave her space for about two months.
One random day, she texted, “Hi”. I remember smiling so wide when I saw the message pop up on my phone. I expected myself to roll my eyes or hiss. She left me on “read” for two months. But there I was.
Debby: I was lonely. Even though I didn’t reply to all those messages, I’d scroll through them on random days, reading them at a go. Sometimes, I’d cry a little because of how sweet his messages were.
Aww. Do you mind sharing your HIV story?
Debby: When I was younger, I always imagined I’d tell anyone who had to know that I contracted it through an infected needle or negligent hospital. But the few people I’ve told, I’ve told them the truth.
It was through unprotected sex with a neighbour while I was in uni in 2010. I thought all I needed was Postinor after and I’d be fine. We did it a couple of times before I even found out.
Ben: After weeks of talking and texting, she told me about it. I was just weak and in denial for a while. She told me she was HIV positive and my response was, “Are you sure?” She tried to explain that she’d gotten the diagnosis and had been on medications for over four years, and I was still like, “But did you get a second opinion? Did you do multiple tests in different hospitals?” I feel so ashamed now.
Did these responses rub you the wrong way, Debby?
Debby: They were annoying, but I was also happy his caring voice didn’t change or go cold, or that he didn’t just make an excuse to end the call. Which is what I expected to happen.
Ben: I won’t lie. I slowed down on trying to date her after that. I started thinking and overthinking. How can someone so beautiful and smart get HIV? Then I’d feel guilty for thinking stuff like that. Mehn, I was a mess for a while.
Debby: I fully expected him not to call me ever again. So when he didn’t call for some days, I was sad but fine.
Then one day, he started texting me “Good morning angel” every morning. He didn’t do more than that for several weeks, but that small thing always made me feel seen.
How did things move to the next level?
Ben: I was confused for a while until I moved on with someone else. We dated for like 11 months.
Debby: I met other people too, but I never even felt comfortable enough to tell them what’s up. Most of them weren’t patient once I wasn’t eager to come hang out with them and all.
In the meantime, I tried to stay healthy, and my doctor also counselled me that I didn’t have to be single for life because of it. He’d give me these pamphlets to read, at least four every time I visited. I always read them out of curiosity but never really felt I’d apply them.
Ben: After this relationship didn’t work out, I started thinking about her more. While I was dating, I kept up our texts and occasional calls. I always wanted to make sure she was alright, constantly worried that something bad would happen and I’d be the last to hear about it because I wasn’t really in her life. I hadn’t even met any of her friends talk less of family at this point.
One day, I googled “Is it safe to date someone with HIV?” Even as I typed the words in, I felt ashamed. I could imagine her watching me do it and getting offended. I closed the page almost immediately. I called her up some days later and asked if she’d like to meet up for drinks. This was in 2015.
Did you meet up for drinks?
Ben: We did. For the first few hours, we ate and drank and gisted. I told her I’d broken up with my girlfriend. After that, I scaredly told her I still wanted to date her. It’d been so long since we talked about dating.
Debby: I told him he was crazy. Had he spoken with anyone? No one would let him date me.
Ben: I hadn’t told a soul that she has the virus. Till today, none of my family or friends know. Only her parents know, actually. I’m glad we did it that way to avoid unnecessary drama.
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Has keeping this a secret from them been hard?
Ben: Surprisingly, no.
My parents told me the day before my wedding that what goes on in my marriage shouldn’t be shared with outsiders anyhow, not even them. I’m taking their advice.
Debby: It’s such a private information. I’m glad it was his idea to keep it from them so I wouldn’t have had to make such a deep request. This really deepened our bond actually.
It’s also not something that ever comes up, like, “What’s your HIV status?” Once we made the decision not to tell anyone who didn’t already know, e.g., my parents, we just forgot about it.
Ben: Maybe it helps that I’ve never been that close to my parents and siblings. We’re not a close-knit family, and I know they wouldn’t be understanding.
Right. So how did that dating conversation end?
Debby: I didn’t think he understood what he was talking about, so I rudely called a cab and started leaving.
Ben: Before she left, I told her all she had to do was educate me on the risks. I needed to know the risks so I could decide if I could take them. That’s how later that week, she sent a dispatch to me with a whole bunch of pamphlets.
Debby: I sent them to discourage him, so he could stop raising my hopes. But I spoke with my mum about it, and she said it was the best I could’ve done. My mum was my rock during the period right after my diagnosis. She judged and shamed me at first. But I don’t know what happened, after some days, she switched and became more understanding.
Ben: I read the papers and understood that it was 100% possible to have a relationship without me getting the virus or her passing it on to our kids. That’s all I needed to know. I was still scared about dating her, but I had a little hope that it could be something beautiful.
It wasn’t something I jumped into. I thought about it for days and days, but I didn’t tell anybody. I knew if I did, I’d wake up from my romantic dreams.
When did you finally know you had to dive in?
Ben: March 23, 2016. It was a Wednesday. I was at work, and I saw someone who looked just like her walk past the building. I immediately took out my phone and called her. She wasn’t the one, but she was in such a good mood when she picked up. That’s how we ended up speaking for more than 30 minutes while I was on duty.
Debby: We spoke about me being on leave and just lying in bed listening to music. I had a trip the next day because a close cousin of mine was getting married. We talked about travelling by road, the latest update on the expressways, everything and nothing really.
Ben: It was during this call I knew I loved her. I wanted to disappear and appear with her in her room on her bed.
That night, I called her again and said I wanted to be her boyfriend and future husband. I wanted to take care of her forever. Just listening to her gentle voice talking for hours made me weak. I was far gone.
How did she take your proclamation of love?
Debby: I cried and cried and that’s how the call ended. The next day, he was at my house seeing me and my family off.
Ben: When she was gone, we spoke over the phone throughout. I tried to get her to talk to me about what life’s like for her, the medication she takes and all that.
Debby: One thing I loved was that he never once asked me how I contracted it. That made me feel safe and unjudged.
When I returned home, we started attending some of my counselling and treatment sessions together.
Ben: You’d be incredibly surprised by the number of Nigerians who have this virus. It’s way more common than you think. God help those who are still having unprotected sex in this day and age.
Debby: I noticed we weren’t as free with simple things like hugging and kissing as we probably would’ve been if I didn’t have HIV — mostly my fault. I didn’t want to endanger him in any way, even though I knew hugging wouldn’t hurt. I guess I was still healing from my last intimate relationship causing the problem in the first place.
Ben: Our first year together was all about talking and spending quality time with each other. Dates, remembering each other on special days and lots of gifting. It took that long for us to trust each other enough to kiss. But it honestly didn’t feel like it.
What are some precautions you’ve had to take to stay safe?
Ben: First and foremost, condoms are a must. I also got on PrEP sometime in 2018. That’s pretty much it. She takes her own daily drugs, so we’re good. The only thing is these drugs aren’t cheap AT ALL, especially with the crazy inflation, but God is helping us.
Debby: We have to plan the costs as we’re taking money aside for rent. That’s how we manage it.
Anyway, it was a long journey to unlearning all the fears in our heads. I wasn’t willing to try anything too out of the box when it came to sex because my greatest fear was always that I’d infect him. I wanted to avoid that at all costs. That affected our sex life, especially after we got married.
Ben: She’s undetectable now, so we’re very relaxed these days. Oral sex is on the table. But we’ve decided to stick to condoms.
What was the journey to getting married like?
Ben: Remember that I’d already technically proposed when I asked her to be my girlfriend? So even though she tried to joke about it that time, we always had conversations with our eventual marriage as the bottom line.
Debby: It happened so naturally. It really did feel like our dating period was just our pre-wedding period. I think we were just trying to be settled on how the virus would affect our lives together and how well we could afford, financially, to be married.
So it was three years of getting comfortable with each other, understanding my condition and working hard at our jobs.
Ben: October 2019, I bought a ring and proposed. We had our wedding right before the pandemic, in January 2020.
Were there new struggles that came with marriage?
Debby: It was tough wanting to make out all the time during the lockdown while staying safe. That was stressful but in a funny and cute way.
Ben: The lockdown actually helped us ease up at first. Then we let the fear get into our heads again soon after. In this stage of our marriage, we made up for our loss of intimacy with a lot of conversation and constant cuddling. For a long time, we’d just skip foreplay and go right to sex.
Debby: After we had our baby in 2022, our sex life got much better.
In what ways?
Debby: For one thing, I was much hornier, which came as a shock to both of us.
Ben: Yeah. And something about increasing our family made us feel more connected, I think.
Debby: I get what you mean. Like emotionally. Also, we’ve spent so much time together just taking care of Baby G that we feel like such a team. I’m not sure how that translates into a deeper connection in bed, but it so does.
Maybe fellow new parents would understand.
What was conceiving like with compulsory condoms, though?
When we realised we wanted to start making a family but we’d not talked much about how that would happen, we went to my doctor, and he guided us through insemination during my ovulations. We started doing it ourselves at home after the first two months — you just ejaculate into a big needle-less syringe then inject it into the vagina.
It took a couple of tries before I conceived, but it was an exciting time.
Ben: Now, because she has an undetectable viral load, we might not need to do that anymore. We’re still talking about it sha.
Neat. What was your first major fight about?
Debby: Hmm. That was during our eternal talking period.
I think he said I was just being stubborn. It was over the phone. I was so upset he tried to make me sound frivolous because I didn’t want to give him a chance for no reason. Meanwhile, I was dying in silence trying to deal with this new, permanent, negative development in my life. I screamed at him, cut the call and ignored him for about a week. I don’t think you could block people at that time.
Ben: That reaction makes so much sense now. I didn’t know she was going through things. I was young.
After she screamed and cut the call, I was like, “This girl is so rude and spoilt.” I feel so ashamed now. I was so sure I wouldn’t talk to her again. But some days later, I was still thinking about her. I was curious why she was so angry because of one offhand statement. She didn’t seem like someone who’d have a temper.
Debby: He started texting me after like two days, and I was like, “Can’t this one just give up?” He was so stressful, honestly.
But I realise now that he’s just an earnest person who knows what he wants and goes after it. He’s like that with everything in his life, and he’s taught me to be like that too.
How would you rate your Love Life on a scale of 1 to 10?
Ben: 10. I’m glad I took a chance with us even though it seemed so impossible at the time.
Debby: 10. I’m glad I opened my heart to you. It’s been so many ups and downs, but you’ve been such a good partner in crime. Thank you so much.
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.
On Saturday, May 11, 2024, Zikoko, in partnership with OneBank by Sterling, brought Lagos to life with an electrifying festival of music, games and camaraderie at Muri Okunola Park. Strings Attached was a celebration of oneness, friendship and love, uniting people from all walks of life under one vibrant canopy of joy.
From the moment the gates opened at 4 p.m., the air was charged with excitement despite the heavy downpour earlier in the day. Friends, families and lovers streamed in, eager to experience the magic of Strings Attached. And magic it was indeed.
Live performances from our music faves
The heart of Strings Attached beat with the rhythm of Lagos culture, pulsating through the performances of some of our most talented artists. As night fell, Johnny Drille, Fave, Qing Madi, Dwin the Stoic, Aramide, and more, graced the stage, serenading the crowd with soulful melodies and infectious beats. Each performance was a testament to the richness and diversity of Nigerian music, captivating the audience and inspiring moments of shared joy and connection.
— Zikoko is at #StringsAttached 🫶🏽🎶 (@Zikoko_Mag) May 11, 2024
Fun, fashion and prizes
But Strings Attached wasn’t just about the music; it was about forging new connections and strengthening existing ones. The festival buzzed with activities designed to spark friendships and deepen bonds. Speed dating sessions provided an opportunity for singles to mingle, while games and pretty photo booths at the “love garden” brought all the cool kids in the coolest fits together making fun content and spreading camaraderie. Whether they came with their squad or flew solo, Strings Attached ensured there was something for everyone.
Let’s not forget the thrilling competitions that kept the adrenaline pumping and the laughter flowing. From interactive challenges to spin-the-wheel giveaways, lucky winners walked away with awesome prizes, adding an extra layer of excitement.
The refreshments and their vendors
No festival is complete without delicious food and refreshing drinks, and Strings Attached delivered on all fronts. Local vendors like Ansabari Food, King Glab Cuisine, Sawari Cocktails, Coco Berry Treats, Kingla, Uso Ndu and more served up mouthwatering meals that ranged from traditional Nigerian delicacies like jollof, nkwobi, palm wine, small chops to international treats like waffles, barbeque, stirfry and fries. With drinks flowing freely, the party never stopped.
Our partners did giveaway…
They made it a top priority to treat festivalgoers to fun activities and freebies and made sure they had the best time possible.
OneBank by Sterling played a pivotal role in bringing Strings Attached to life. As the event’s primary partner, OneBank’s commitment to community-building and empowerment shone through every aspect of the festival. From offering free tickets to all attendees to hosting engaging activities at the One Experience Centre and giving out free iced zobo, OneBank created an immersive experience that went beyond banking. Their presence added depth to the festival’s message of oneness, showcasing how tangible and intangible links can foster strong communities.
Indomie, a beloved household name in Nigeria, brought a taste of nostalgia and comfort to Strings Attached with their delicious noodles. As one of the event’s partners, Indomie treated attendees to fun activities and free noodle meals. Their presence not only satisfied appetites but also evoked fond memories and brought people together over a shared love for good food and good times.
Flying Fish infused Strings Attached with a refreshing burst of flavour, enhancing the festival’s vibrant atmosphere with free cups of beer. As a partner of the event, Flying Fish ensured that attendees stayed cool and hydrated throughout the day, offering a welcome respite from the Lagos heat. From zesty lemon to tropical fruit flavours, their selection of drinks catered to every taste. With Flying Fish by their side, festival-goers danced, laughed and celebrated with enthusiasm, savouring every sip and embracing the spirit of joy and spontaneity that defines the Flying Fish brand.
CafeOne brought a touch of sophistication and elegance to Strings Attached, elevating the festival experience with their premium coffee and gourmet treats. As a partner of the event, CafeOne offered attendees a chance to indulge in a moment of luxury amidst the festivities, providing a cosy oasis where they could relax and recharge. From expertly crafted espressos to decadent pastries, Strings Attached became not just a community festival, but a multi-sensory celebration of life’s simple pleasures.
What festivalgoers are saying
“Organise this type of event more often”
“I’m mostly not a social person and was sceptical of how much I would enjoy the event if I attended but I’m really happy I did, it was so much fun and I’m grateful I got to enjoy all that for free thanks to ZIKOKO and Onebank.”
“I don’t know if this is the first edition, but it did not feel like it. The event was really good and well organised! I had a great time. From the organisation to the artiste line-up; I would give it a solid 9/10. That DJ was fire!!!!!! She’s who she thinks she is.”
“Best outdoor/ park party I have ever attended. Onebank team did a great job.”
In a world where division and discord often dominate the headlines, Strings Attached served as a powerful reminder of the importance of unity and togetherness in multiple ways. As the sun set on Muri Okunola Park and the final notes of music faded into the night led by N.A.T.E’s final hyping, the spirit of Strings Attached lingered on. Memories were made, connections were forged and hearts were lifted.
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Romoke* (32) has been her home’s primary breadwinner since she got married in 2018. At first, she didn’t think much of it, but over the years, she’s come to realise this dynamic isn’t normal.
She shares why she can’t leave and how she’s made it a priority to advise other women not to tow the same path.
Love can push you to do foolish things. Now, when I get the opportunity to talk to single ladies about relationships, I tell them to shine their eyes. Love won’t feed you; is there money? But the truth is, I didn’t take to advice either.
Let me tell you my story so you know what I mean. My mum was the sole breadwinner when I was growing up. My dad was what you’d call a sperm donor with audacity. He was a mechanic who hardly dropped money at home, but he’d come home at night to demand two pieces of meat in his food. My mum paid rent, school fees and bought clothes for all her four children with the money she made as a fabric trader.
My family’s dynamic didn’t seem strange to me. I never saw or heard my mum complain about providing for almost everything, including my dad’s demands. I grew up in a neighbourhood where most of the mothers had their shops and different hustles to take care of their children. This meant that I didn’t have anything else to compare my mum’s situation to. It was my normal.
As a child, whenever I went to my mum to ask for money to buy something, she’d say, “When you start making money, you’ll know that they don’t just spend money anyhow”. It always confused me. I want to buy sweets, and you’re saying I’m spending money anyhow. It made me start dreaming of making my own money, so I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone.
Of course, I became entrepreneurial early. I’d take my elder sister’s pictures to my secondary school to show my seniors and charge them ₦30 for our home’s landline so they could speak with her. My sister and I used to share the money equally.
There’s almost nothing I’ve not tried to make a business out of — selling recharge cards, writing notes for classmates in uni, braiding hair for my friends in the hostel and during NYSC camp and even selling baby clothes at a nearby primary health centre.
It was during one of my many hustles that I met Dare*, the man who eventually became my husband. It was 2016, and I was selling male clothes and watches on Facebook and WhatsApp, in addition to my 9-5 as an admin officer.
He was a friend on Facebook, but we never interacted before he slid into my DM to ask about a wristwatch I’d posted earlier that day. He wanted to buy it for someone but wanted it delivered to him first. That’s how we discovered that we lived in the same neighbourhood. We got talking and started dating after we met up at his church.
There were warning signs.
Dare didn’t have a job. He spent all his time at church where he served — still does — as the choirmaster. He also went to sing at other churches, and they’d pay him an honorarium. He didn’t tell me how much, but I guessed it was enough to survive on. He also lived with his parents.
We didn’t really talk about money. I didn’t care that he’d ask to borrow ₦10k on random occasions or that we hardly went out on dates. I didn’t depend on guys’ money in my previous relationships, so it wasn’t a big deal.
When I asked Dare about the job thing, he said he was applying but hoping to get something that wouldn’t affect his gospel ministry. Just before we started making wedding plans in 2017, he got a job as a supermarket supervisor. He didn’t tell me his salary, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t think it was my place.
After our parents agreed on a wedding date, we went to visit his pastor to inform him. The man called me aside and asked if I was sure I knew what I was doing. He said, “Dare doesn’t have a proper job. Why not wait a bit?”
I defended my husband-to-be. Sure, I wanted him to get better than the supervisor job, but I was also selling clothes and making good money — at least ₦25k weekly. Together, we could pull resources and build a home. But Dare and I hadn’t actually clarified how money would work in our home. I was too in love to care. In my mind, we’d get married and live happily ever after.
A few weeks after we got married in 2018, Dare quit his supervisor job. They’d refused to permit him to leave work for a week so he could travel to another state for a gospel ministration. So, he chose to leave.
The same scenario played out a couple more times over the first two years of marriage. He’d get a job and then leave after a few months because he was either tired or felt like it interfered with his passion. Did I mention I paid the rent for the house we lived in? In fact, I paid for everything we needed daily. But I still thought I was being a virtuous wife and didn’t harass him to stick to a job.
In 2020, Dare said he wanted to start a business selling musical instruments. He knew I had almost ₦1m in savings and convinced me to give him because we could make double that. So, I gave him. He never started that business.
We also had our first child around the time I gave him all my savings. I was so broke I couldn’t even buy clothes for my baby. After about six months, I began to ask him about the business. I mean, he’d taken all that money and wasn’t even telling me anything. That caused our biggest fight to date. It was like, how dare I have the audacity to question him? His parents came to settle the matter and I had to apologise to him.
I think it was then my eyes started to “clear”. Dare stopped trying to get jobs entirely and would just sit at home watching TV when he wasn’t singing at one church or the other.
I reported him to his pastor several times, and he’d call Dare — without telling him I’d talked — and ask him for updates about his job. Dare just gave excuses and the pastor would in turn tell me to be patient with him and pray. I’m sure the man was thinking, “Shebi I told you?”
We had our second child in 2022, the year I finally admitted to myself that there was nothing normal about our marriage. I listen to sermons and see other couples in our church. The women aren’t the breadwinners. Dare has no intention of earning anything to provide for his family. He has never bought clothes for me and our children. I don’t know if he still gets honorariums from ministering at churches, but I don’t get anything. I still feed him.
I’ve complained about him not dropping money several times, but it always turns into a huge fight, and I end up apologising. Church leaders can do nothing except advise me to be submissive. My pastor’s wife secretly advised me to save money in an account without my husband’s knowledge.
But how much can I save from a clothes business when I still handle all the bills? I can’t let my children starve, right? I’m honestly tired. I now avoid most of my friends at church because how many times will I say I can’t afford aso-ebi or monthly contributions that the married women in church do? Am I even married, in the real sense of the word?
I feel like everyone in church knows our situation — the choirmaster who does nothing but sings while his wife feeds him — but none of them can call him out because they want to keep up the appearances of a godly home. But what kind of home is this?
I didn’t know better when I was younger, but I do now. Even the Bible says the man should provide. I’m a woman, I shouldn’t be the breadwinner. But I can’t leave my marriage — that’s a sin. I can only pray that God will touch Dare’s heart and give him a job that allows him to take his place as the head of the house.
Until then, the most I can do is advise young single ladies. Love won’t feed you.
Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
What’s your first memory of each other?
Nan: At a campus event back in the University of Ibadan in 1986.
I was in my final year studying economics. It was a public lecture, and she was leaving early when we crossed paths outside the hall. I said hello to her just as I did to some other students, but something about her made me want to ask her name. It was such a fleeting encounter.
Ruth: I told him my name, and he smiled so wide; his late mum’s name was Ruth. It was an interesting coincidence. We parted ways, and he promised to come look for me in my dorm.
I soon forgot about him, and the semester passed without us seeing each other again.
How did you reconnect?
Ruth: Another coincidence.
When I returned to school, my new roommate happened to be his sister. I guess it was meant to be. I followed her to visit this brother of hers about a week after we resumed, and there he was.
Nan: She didn’t even recognise me at first. I saw her at my door and called her name. That’s when she remembered and smiled. I apologised for not looking for her as I’d promised. The visit suddenly became between me and her instead of me and my sister.
We talked and talked, and after that, I started going to their hall for weekly visits.
I imagine that at this point you already knew you liked each other
Nan: Yes. There was something about how confidently she spoke. She reminded me of my mother, besides them sharing names. My late mother was a very formidable woman in her time.
Ruth: I liked that he gave me so much attention. He was also calm and smart. Back then, he ran a small poultry business that was earning him cool cash, so I felt confident to get into a relationship with him. He seemed responsible.
What was the relationship like as undergrads back then?
Ruth: Not much different from nowadays.
We went out on dates, attended many parties together, and when we got back from school, he’d call on me at home. But we didn’t stay in the same city, so he did that only once in a while. I was always excited to see him.
Nan: We were always together once lecture hours ended. We didn’t have the luxury of calling or texting. Once we weren’t together, we wouldn’t hear from each other till the next time, so I was always looking to meet up with her again.
I was graduating at the end of that session, so as that time came, we got a lot more serious about the end goal of our relationship.
Ruth: It’s so long ago, but I remember that we were so in love. You couldn’t tell us anything about heartbreak or how we were still in the honeymoon stage and all that. You would’ve started avoiding me if we were friends then. All I talked about was him. My friends were supportive, though. They all loved him.
Did his graduation change any of that?
Ruth: In some ways, yes. Although this wouldn’t have been my response at the time.
Nan: After the ceremony, I decided I wanted us to get married immediately, so I planned to come with my kinsmen to visit her father as soon as I got home. Not up to a month later, we arrived at her father’s duplex then in Zaria.
We got married some five months later, and she left school so we could start housekeeping right away.
Why did you decide to leave school, Ruth?
Ruth: I was in love and ready to start the family. I thought I didn’t need a degree. I don’t know why. So many women were getting married and returning to complete their degrees. But everyone was supportive of it. We already planned that I’d open a store, and I did.
We were very comfortable for a while, and I didn’t regret that decision. I got a couple of computer certifications later on.
Nan: I wanted her to be able to stay home and enjoy birthing and nurturing our family without the pressures of work. I was also comfortable enough then to make that decision because of my business, help from both our parents, and I also entered civil service some months into our marriage.
If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.
What was marriage like after an almost whirlwind romance?
Nan: Things went smoothly for years.
Ruth: We continued spending all our time together whenever we could. When he was at work, I managed our small grocery store which we merged with the sales side of his poultry business. When he was home, he came to the store and we talked and made plans then went home together.
We had our first two children in ‘88 and ‘89.
Nan: Parenthood was a wake-up call for us. I think once the children became one and two years old, we realised that life isn’t beans. Money started finishing anyhow. There was always something basic to buy.
Ruth: Emotions started running high out of stress to make money and have time for all the children’s needs. He had to find supplementary sources of income which meant travelling a lot at some point. I suddenly felt left on my own to take care of two young children. They didn’t have to tell me twice to adopt family planning.
How did you navigate this stage after just two years of marriage?
Ruth: With a lot of tears, but also love. It didn’t feel too unbearable because we still cared deeply for each other and the life we were trying to build. Luckily, I had my mum come to help for several months. And money was coming in, so it wasn’t too bad.
Nan: There was so much pressure on me as the breadwinner. I wanted to be more present to support her at home, but I knew where my responsibilities lay. The only thing we got wrong was not communicating more to make sure our connection was still there.
Again, I envy this generation where we can just pick up our phones to call when we’re out of sight for too long.
Ruth: I felt he was using the fact that he needed to go out to make money to stay away from home as much as possible. He could go weeks on a business trip, and I’d just be left wondering what exactly he was doing. But he’d always wire money to us every week.
Did things ever get better?
Ruth: Yes, after about two years, things settled.
He’d been able to establish a cocoa distribution business, so in 1992, we relocated to Ikom, Cross River, fully. I had our lastborn in 1993, and things were good. I had to close my shop for us to relocate, and he lost his poultry somewhere along the way.
Nan: But I’d also gotten high up in civil service, so things were great.
Ruth: We had peace for up to ten years until 2001 when everything crashed.
What happened?
Nan: My cocoa business went bad. I lost a large consignment after a bad deal and had to use most of my revenue to pay off loans. It was a very tough time for us. The kids were in secondary school and fees weren’t cheap even then. Luckily, our house was rented for us by the federal government.
Ruth: We lived in a nice house and estate but ate hand to mouth for months.
Nan: We had to go back to the drawing board, so I came up with the plan to use a large chunk of our savings to go into oil and gas. We had to buy two tankers, employ drivers and pay for parking at a trailer park daily.
Ruth: I actually advised against it because I felt he didn’t know enough about the industry to get into it.
Oh no
Nan: I consulted with someone who was running the business successfully, and we thought we had all the right information to hit the ground running. But it was one issue after the other: policies changed every other month, there was always some official or officer to bribe, and you never knew what your drivers were doing with your tankers once they crossed the expressway.
Ruth: Long story short, we lost the two tankers and ended up in a long court case over illegal interstate distribution over something one of the drivers did behind his back. All our money and investment was gone in less than a year. We’ve still not sighted those tankers till today.
It was a brutal stage in our life. Not only was it jarring to lose so much money in only a couple of years, but our standard of living changed greatly. We only had one source of income: his civil service job.
Nan: It took us years to cover our debts and get reasonable savings.
How did this affect your relationship?
Ruth: We were two angry adults for a long time. Although, we weren’t necessarily angry with each other. There was a lot of quiet in the house for years, and more tears.
Nan: I blamed myself for how things turned out for our family, so I kept to myself mostly. I cut off most of our friends and focused on going to work and coming back. Ruth was always at church so the divide just widened.
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Have you had a major fight in your years together?
Nan: Oh countless times. We fought during those early years when I used to travel a lot. We fought when I asked that we move our lives to Ikom.
Ruth: I didn’t know anyone there and had never even been to Cross River before. Besides, it was never part of the plan when we first got married. I refused to pack, but he had to bring our families into it, and I had to consider that we needed to move to where he could make more money.
Nan: We fought after the fuel business went under. I realised I should’ve been more transparent with her about the running of the business. I should’ve listened to her input. It was a tough time indeed.
How did you recover from it?
Ruth: We’ve simply coasted through since then. Nan focused on work rather than business. I’ve done some buying and selling over the years, mostly fabric and clothes. But mostly, I ran the home until he retired and the children moved out one by one.
Nan: Now, we survive on returns from investments I made over the last decade. Properties, dividend-paying stocks and our children’s goodwill, haha.
Ruth: We also bought land right after his retirement in 2022, and started building small small. We’ll move into the BQ later this year.
What’s kept us sane is always sharing our plans with each other just to soundboard if nothing else. We’ve also not gone into many high-risk investments, but I think we’ve tried.
Nan: Yes, we took a lot of risk in our time and made the most of it.
What do you think has kept you together for so long considering the ups and downs?
Nan: We decided in 1987 to do this life together. If one can’t keep that most special vow, why should anyone trust us with anything else? It’s been a decision every step of the way, that we’re a team and we have no choice but to carry each other along.
Ruth: What you just said, I think that’s it. We’ve learnt to consciously carry each other long no matter what. Whether it’s a win or lose, we regard it as ours, never his or mine. Especially after what happened in 2001, it tore us apart but also drew us close. A lot of the decisions he made then, he made alone. We’ve learnt to be more accountable to each other since.
Nan: Maybe it’s also our upbringing. We were taught that it was till death do us part.
Ruth: Just because that initial passion and romance fade doesn’t mean everything else that’s great about marriage — companionship, duty, faith — means nothing.
Nan: But if it wasn’t ingrained in us by society to value these things, maybe we’d have divorced by now. There were certainly many opportunities for us to do so.
So on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your Love Life?
Nan: 10. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours, and we’ll value it like it’s gold.
Ruth: So well said. I’ll say 10 too.
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.
I was in primary 6 the first time I realised my feelings for my friend Shade weren’t just platonic.
We were 8 years old and lived on the same estate. After school, we’d join other kids to play until our parents returned from work. We acted out a drama during one of these playdates. I can’t recall the details, but I remember we planned a pretend wedding party. Shade and I were cast as the groom and bride, and I was excited as the other kids cheered us on.
Shade wore my white jalabiya as we couldn’t find a real wedding gown, and I wore a black shirt and trousers. Her hair was adorned with yellow and red flowers we plucked from a tree, and we used the same flowers for her bouquet.
As we walked around the estate holding hands, the other kids sang “Here comes the bride.” It felt like a scene straight out of a movie.
Although the older folks in the estate laughed it off as childish play, it felt real to me. Later that night, as I prayed, I asked God to make the wedding a reality in the future.
When I was 11 years old, Shade’s family moved from the estate to their house in Ikorodu. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say goodbye. I was on holiday at my cousin’s when they moved. When my mum shared the news, I sulked the entire day. She comforted me, assuring me that we would visit them soon, but I didn’t believe her. Weeks turned into months, and months into years, and soon, I forgot all about Shade.
Fast forward to 2009, social media had become a thing. While filling out my JAMB registration form one day, I logged into my Facebook account and found a friend request from Shade. Although I didn’t recognise the profile picture, the lady looked pretty, so I accepted the request. Almost immediately, she flooded my inbox with messages, and the memories of our childhood rushed back. It was my Shade.
She texted me as though we’d seen each other just days ago, and it was hard to keep up because I couldn’t remember some of the things she referenced. But Shade was back in my life.
Shade had a small phone, but I didn’t, so Facebook was our only means of communication. I’d save up my pocket money to buy hours at the cybercafe, and we’d end our chat by scheduling our next online meeting. We lived in different areas— Surulere and Ikorodu—so we couldn’t plan a physical meetup due to the distance.
As time went on, I learned that she was also trying for uni. Her parents wanted her to stay in Lagos, so it was UNILAG for her. Meanwhile, I was headed to UNILORIN. In all of these, we didn’t discuss relationships much. We’d make random comments about boys and girls, but that was it. We were just really good friends.
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Our other mutual friends also knew because we were constantly tagging each other on our Facebook walls. I’m not sure if “bestie” was a slang back then, but I guess you could say we were best friends.
A year after our reunion, she gained admission into UNILAG and I didn’t, which was tough for me. I’d heard stories about how wild UNILAG was and how it changed people. Suddenly, I feared I might lose her, and I didn’t want that to happen. So, I started telling her more about the fake wedding we had as kids and how I prayed about it, hinting that we should be partners. She’d laugh it off, saying she didn’t want to be distracted by a relationship until she was done with uni.
My fear of losing her to UNILAG didn’t let me back down, though. I was on her case, trying to make her see reason with me. I told her I could wait until we were married if it was about sex, and I assured her there wouldn’t be any distractions since we barely saw each other. Deep down, I just wanted the friend tag to change to boyfriend. I thought it gave a sense of permanency and commitment. Slowly but reluctantly, she agreed.
It was both of our first relationships, so things went smoothly in the first few months. The boyfriend and girlfriend tag gave me assurance that I wasn’t losing her to UNILAG. Yes, she made new friends, but I was the one receiving “I love you” messages, listening to her rants, and being her confidant.
Our bond grew stronger, and it felt like the childhood wedding might actually happen. Since UNILAG was closer to me than Ikorodu, I visited her at least twice a month.
I also managed to convince my parents to let me choose UNILAG for my next JAMB attempt. It wasn’t easy, but they agreed. Shade and I were thrilled about the prospect of studying in the same school, graduating almost at the same time, and potentially serving in the same state for NYSC.
Out of the blue, things took a sour turn. It started when I didn’t get admission into UNILAG. My dad didn’t take it well because he wasn’t on board with the UNILAG plan, and my mum was disappointed because it meant another year of explaining to friends, relatives, and neighbours why I wasn’t in uni yet. Shade, on the other hand, was full of enthusiasm and shared stories of people who tried for up to three years before they got into the school. If her words and care were meant to comfort me, they didn’t. I wanted to know why I didn’t have her luck, why I had to try more than once, and why things weren’t working out for me.
Soon, I stopped visiting her in school. It was embarrassing to constantly tell her friends that I was still seeking admission or hanging around when she was having classes. Our communication also lost the spark that had carried us through the years. I wasn’t as excited to text back when I got her messages, and when we spoke on the phone, I gave tepid, one-word responses. I was angry at her, but I couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. If she sensed a change in me, she didn’t act on it. She’d still send “I love you” messages, ask me to come visit, and send random pictures of herself in school.
One day, I logged into Facebook and saw a photo of her with another guy inside a car. He had the trending “Ama Kip Kip” shirt on, and I could tell he was from a wealthy family. I was livid and left a long and nasty comment on the picture, unfriended her, blocked her number.
In my head, that was the end of the relationship. I didn’t bother to reach out for the next few weeks. I ignored messages she sent from different numbers as I fell into a depressive state. Everything happening all at once: no admission, my dad nagging about choosing UNILAG, endless errands for my mum, my friends from secondary school sharing pictures from their respective universities, and my girlfriend leaving me for a richer UNILAG dude.
On one of the days I felt alive, I called Shade, but she didn’t pick up. For some reason, the anger erupted in me again. When she called and texted back, I ignored her, and I didn’t reach out to her for months. I knew the relationship was over. In my head, she had better options in UNILAG.
In 2013, I finally got into a university in Osun state. It still ranks as one of the happiest moments in my life. I was over the moon and shared the news with everyone. But even then, it felt like my joy was incomplete because I hadn’t told the one person I really wanted to share the news with. I sent a request on Facebook, sent text messages, and tried to reach her through some of our mutual friends, but it all proved abortive.
A few weeks after I started my degree programme, I got the rudest shock of my life: Shade had dropped out of UNILAG and relocated abroad. It was the first time I truly felt heartbroken. Again, I tried to connect with her, but it seemed like she had vanished from the internet. There was no trace of her anywhere. And just like that, we lost contact.
I still randomly search for her name on social media, but I’ve not gotten any real leads. Once, a private Instagram account popped up during a search, but the user didn’t accept my request.
I’ve heard so many stories of people who got into romantic relationships with their friends, and it worked out. Some even got married. I think I could have been one of those if I hadn’t let a low moment in life steal my joy.
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Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
What’s your earliest memory of each other?
Segun: A friend who had bought a cake parfait from Anu referred her to me in 2021. The first time I made an order, I went to pick up cake parfaits at her house.
Anu: I could’ve sent them through a dispatch rider, but he said he didn’t want that. I was confused, but what’s my own? I told him he could come get his order.
Wait, why?
Segun: She lives really close to me, so paying extra for delivery didn’t make any sense. I could just drive down to her place to pick it up, so I did.
What was the first meeting like?
Segun: She had so much energy. There was this cute way she did her thing. She gave me the parfait and told me to come again.
I continued going there to pick up my cake parfaits.
Anu: Can I say my own?
Segun: Oya.
Anu: I won’t lie. When I saw him, I was shocked. I’d seen his WhatsApp display picture and some pictures on his story and I wasn’t feeling him like that. Then he showed up at my house, and I was like, this man is sexy.
LOL. Was that when you both started liking each other?
Segun: Not really. I loved her cake parfaits and her vibe, so I always patronised her. Then, we started talking outside my orders.
Anu: I invited him to my church.
Why?
Anu: I had a crush on him, and I needed to shoot my shot. So when they told us to invite two or more people to church, I thought, why not?
Segun: I asked her if I’d find a wife in her church, and she said yes.
Anu: Did you not find me?
Segun, did you know about the crush?
Segun: I had a feeling. She used to look at me really intensely. Like, I would be doing something, turn to her and find her looking at me. She didn’t admit it at first, but she was always inviting me to do things with her. I just had a feeling.
Anu: It’s not like I had a choice. Look at him. He’s a very fine man. And when we started talking, we found out that we had the same dreams and goals. That sealed it. I fell flat on the ground.
If you want to share your own Love Life story, fill out this form.
Segun, when did you fall for her?
Segun: After our first date. That was when I realised I had started liking her.
Anu: Oh yes, that’s when I realised it too. He was driving, and I couldn’t stop staring at him. He kept going on about how happy he was.
He’s very shy, and I’d never seen him express himself like that. That’s when I really thought this man might like me, and my crush might be more than a crush.
Okay, you have to tell me about this date.
Anu: He asked me out on a movie date, so we went to Maryland Mall.
Segun: It didn’t start well.
Anu: Nigeria was happening that day, so the cinema didn’t have electricity for a while. We had to sit somewhere, eat small chops and wait for the light to be restored. When it finally came back on, we went in to watch the movie. I was so shy.
Segun: You were?
Anu: I had to go to the bathroom at some point because I forgot how to breathe. When I got back, I just kept staring at him.
Segun: I would look at her to find her looking at me.
Seems like it was a great first date.
Anu: The best. I didn’t even want to go home.
Segun: It was fun. I already liked her before the date, so I was just happy we had that much fun and I could just be myself around her. Later that night, I told her about my YouTube channel. I wanted her to make videos with me because she had a lot of energy.
Anu: I agreed, shared the channel’s link and in five months we went from 84 to 1,000 subscribers.
That’s insane.
Segun: I was surprised when we got to 1,000 subscribers..
Anu: He had mentioned earlier that he preferred actions to words, and I was down to show him I cared through my actions. It’s why I was so determined to grow the YouTube channel.
Is this what Anu meant by similar dreams and goals?
Segun: Yes. It’s mostly content creation. She’s a content creator, and I’d just started creating reaction videos on YouTube when we started talking. I also wanted to switch to doing content with my partner.
Anu: And that’s where I came in.
Segun: We’re also business people. Well, kind of.
Anu: I’m the more business-inclined person, sha.
Segun: She really is. I’d always wanted to start some type of business, but I wasn’t getting things right. Honestly, we wanted a lot of similar things.
Are you going to share these business interests?
Segun: No.
Anu: Nope.
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Fair enough. What about how you both help each other’s businesses?
Segun: She helps me create content for my shirt brand and manages my business’ social media accounts.
Anu: He’s sometimes busy with work, so I post on the page, reply to customers, collect money, and revert to him. In turn, he helps me make videos for my business. He’s a great cinematographer and video editor, so he takes the videos and edit them too.
Last Saturday, he followed me to a trade fair and shot videos I could use to create content and post on my page.
Aww, that’s so sweet. What’s your favourite thing about your relationship?
Anu: It’s the fact that it’s him. I’m in a peaceful relationship with a man who’s very proud of me, shows me off at every chance and has actually shown that he’s interested in me. There are no inconsistencies in the way he loves me, and he always makes time for me. He gets busy with work, but he’ll always take out time to check in and text me.
Segun: For me, it’s the way we understand and care for each other. She compliments me and carries my matter on her head unprovoked. She’s just always doing the most for me.
It’s also the letters.
Anu: Oh God.
What letters?
Segun: We write letters to appreciate each other, but she does it more, so I’ll randomly get handwritten letters. Last year, I got a letter in my email from the first day of my birth month till my actual birthday. It was really sweet, and I’ll never forget it.
Best in love and romance!
Anu: What can I say? I’m a finished woman.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your love life?
Segun: Let me not do too much, but this is a solid 8.5.
Anu: Ahh! I rate it a 10, minus nothing.
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.
Get a free ticket to Strings Attached and enjoy a feel-good evening of music, dancing and games at Muri Okunola Park, Lagos on May 11, 2024.
Get a free ticket to Strings Attached and enjoy a feel-good evening of music, dancing and games at Muri Okunola Park, Lagos on May 11, 2024.
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In this story, Juliet* (31) talks about navigating relationships as a person living with a disability. She shares her past dating experiences and why she’s extra careful about romantic relationships now.
Everywhere I go, people stop and stare at me. The funniest of the lot are those who think they do a good job of hiding their stares. But I only have polio-induced partial limb paralysis; I’m not blind. I see how they silently gesture to their friends to look at me.
Polio hit when I was two, and I’ve been walking with a bad limp since then. It got worse when I got into secondary school. As a teenager, that wasn’t great. As a secondary school student, it was even worse. I was bullied a lot.
My nickname in school was “Miss Koi Koi” because of the crutches I used occasionally when I felt more pain than usual from my deformed leg. The crutches gave a “koi” sound — hence the nickname.
I think my classmates were just jealous that the teachers had a soft spot for me, and I never had to participate in the compulsory sports activities every Wednesday.
I didn’t have a boyfriend until SS 2. Jesse* was one of the few people who were nice to me in class. Interestingly, we only got to know each other after a teacher forced us to share a seat in class. We became friends after I shared my yoghurt with him one time.
I’m not sure how we started “dating”. Our classmates began calling us husband and wife because we sat together and always talked in class, and we just went with it. I didn’t mind, and I felt like I could finally “belong” with my classmates. School relationships were a thing, and being part of that group made me feel normal.
We only dated for a term, though. Whatever we had ended after I saw him joking and laughing with one of my bullies and I confronted him about it. It turned into a fight and I can’t forget a line he said: “I’m even pitying you by talking to you and you’re disturbing me”.
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It was as if someone poured cold water on me. He wasn’t talking to me because he found me interesting. He was just being a nice guy trying to save me from having no one else to talk to. Our “relationship” ended there, and we found a way to exchange seat partners.
I still get pity just as much as the stares, and while pity helps when people give up their seats for me on the bus, it doesn’t feel so great in relationships. When I say relationships, I also mean friendships because I’ve only had two other boyfriends in my life. I met most of my long-term friends at a baking school in 2014. They’re good people, but I feel somehow when they don’t invite me out for things because they think I shouldn’t walk too much or when they feel uncomfortable when people stare at me.
When I met my second boyfriend on Facebook in 2016, I told him about my condition and he seemed fine with it. But he also thought he was doing me a favour by dating me. Anytime we argued, he’d complain about how I didn’t appreciate him being with me and not minding what people might say about my disability. This was someone who didn’t even introduce me to his family or friends. We dated for a year before he went to marry someone from his village.
I don’t know if I should even call my last partner a “boyfriend” — we were only together for two weeks in 2018. He was a neighbour, and he started avoiding me after we had sex a couple of times. That was strange because he put so much effort into toasting me, which was why I even agreed to date a neighbour. I think he just wanted to know what sex with a disabled person was like. I really thought he genuinely loved me, and I felt stupid when it ended.
I’ve been single since then, but it’s not like I don’t get suitors. I’m fairly active on Facebook and men flood my DMs every time I post my pictures or make funny posts about my experiences living with a disability. They say stuff like, they wish they could marry me so I wouldn’t be lonely or that they’re “willing” to give us a chance because I seem interesting.
Once, I jokingly talked about some of these DMs on Facebook as well, and people implied I was just being difficult. People seem to think I shouldn’t have a choice just because I’m disabled. They expect that I should be happy some men are even showing interest. But what kind of interest is “I’m willing to give us a chance”? That sounds like they’re trying to save me from a life of loneliness. It’s just pity, and I’m tired of it because I know a day will come when they will rub it in my face.
I want love, and I hope to get married someday. But I see how men treat able-bodied women every day. How much more will they treat someone they think they’re doing a favour? I’m really scared of that.
I feel lonely most times, but maybe that’s better than being with another man who will destroy the small self-esteem I’ve managed to develop.
