• Every week, Zikoko seeks to understand how people move the Naira in and out of their lives. Some stories will be struggle-ish, others will be bougie. All the time, it’ll be revealing.


    When was the first time you made money?

    2005, my first year in the university. A coursemate and I worked on a construction site during a brief ASUU strike. I was supposed to go home, but I couldn’t call home for transport money to travel back home.

    I was squatting with this coursemate, and we were “soaking-garri-once-a-day” levels of broke, which was why we looked for the job.

    We were paid ₦600 each daily to carry blocks, cement and stones. I only did it for four days before I fell sick.

    Why couldn’t you call home, though?

    My dad passed away just before I got into uni, and things became hard at home. Before his death, he worked as a car dealer and was the sole breadwinner. We lived in our own house and were really comfortable. 

    After he died, his family started fighting over his properties. My mum had to leave it all to them when the fight became spiritual, and she started having strange illnesses. Afterwards, she did all sorts of petty trading and sent me and my younger sibling to school from the little she made. Of course, I had to adjust my perspective on money and expectations and learn to survive.

    What were some of these perspective changes?

    I always thought money just came to honest and good people. It’s what I’d seen and learned from my dad. He was the definition of good and honest. My dad had regular clients because people knew him to be honest and trusted him with referrals. 

    But was the family that took all his properties after death honest? They didn’t work for what they took, but they still had money.

    With everything that happened after my dad’s death, I knew I had to hustle, but I also learned that honesty and hard work weren’t a guarantee for success. So, I did several things for money, even some I’m not proud of.

    Can you share?

    In 2006, I had a six-month stint at a pure water factory. I was in charge of packing and loading bags of water for ₦5k weekly. But I usually made an extra ₦1k – ₦2k by diverting some sachets of water before packing and selling them on my own. 

    I also used to write GCE exams for students for a fee. It wasn’t regular, but I made ₦2k on every exam I did. I got caught once by an invigilator, but I settled them with a bottle of coke.

    That was all it took?

    That was all it took. GCE was once a year, so I had other hustles. In 2007, I was a sales boy for a catfish business for ₦10k per month. But I used to make extra money by doing a little addition and subtraction with the records.

    What were your expenses like?

    My mum still paid my school fees and sent ₦5k at least once a month, but I sorted other costs like hostel accommodation, feeding and course materials on my own. Plus, the odd spending on girlfriends.

    I wasn’t even serious about school like that — I had largely abandoned classes because of work. The fish pond was close to my uni, so I could rush to school if there was urgent school business. I managed to graduate with a second-class lower in 2010, though.

    Did you work at the fish pond till graduation?

    I worked there until 2009, when the owner decided to stop the business. By then, my salary had been slightly increased to ₦12k, but I made about ₦25k in total from the several adjustments I made.

    Without a stable salary, I survived the rest of my time in school by taking server gigs at weekend owambes for around ₦5k weekly. I also used to drum at one church on Sundays for the ₦1k they’d give me after every service. 

    For a while too, I joined market activation campaigns for popular brands. Those gigs are the reason I still equate marketing with standing under the hot sun with a branded polo, and hundreds of flyers in your hand while everyone else tries their best to ignore you. I suffered o. And how much were they paying? ₦5k per campaign. 

    Anyway, I survived and graduated.

    What did you do after graduation?

    I went for NYSC in 2011. I only went because I was sure of ₦19,800 monthly, and I wasn’t sure what else to do with my life at that point.

    The school I was posted to had an additional building in the compound that was under construction. I studied building technology in uni, and even though I wasn’t a serious student, I could tell the workers were doing rubbish.

    One day, I asked the principal if I could help him supervise the workers. He agreed, and I supervised the project until it was completed right before I finished my service year. It took that long because the man was gathering the money and dropping it small small.

    Did he pay you for the supervision?

    For where? He didn’t. Strangely, I didn’t mind. I did my service year in a boring village, and there was nothing else for me to do after classes. But he did connect me to the person who gave me my next job.

    How did that happen?

    When I finished service in 2012 and told him I was returning to the town I schooled in, he told me he had a friend there who was into construction. I met with the friend, and he employed me as a site manager. I worked there for three years.

    How much was the pay?

    There wasn’t a standard monthly payment; my pay depended on the volume of work and the number of sites we had to manage in a month. But on average, I made between ₦60k – ₦70k monthly.

    Did you think it was good money?

    I thought I was a big boy. I could send money home once in a while, and I wasn’t paying rent since I lived in the office. The workers could spend the night in the office, so I took advantage of that. I also had a steady girlfriend who I supported in school.

    There was also usually free money from balances from buying building materials, so I was good.

    But in 2015, I decided to venture out on my own and offer construction services under my own firm — even though I was the only one there.

    What inspired that decision?

    I realised that my boss could make up to ₦800k profit on one project, and we could have at least two projects running concurrently in one month. But I was only being paid less than ₦100k a month. So, I left. 

    I had about ₦400k saved up at the time, and I used ₦300k to rent a mini flat and registered a company with what remained.

    Did you get clients immediately?

    Another reason I had the courage to leave my boss was because I met a potential client through a friend who wanted to build some hostels.

    I started the project around the time I registered my company. It lasted for a year, and I made close to ₦2m from it.

    Wiun. That definitely qualifies as a big break

    It was. It wasn’t a lump-sum payment, though; the amount was stretched out over the one-year period. 

    Most of it went into my wedding. My girlfriend got pregnant, and her family insisted we got married before she started to show. Of course, I wanted to marry her and was glad this came when I had money. We got married in 2016.

    However, she lost the baby after the wedding.

    So sorry about that

    Thank you. It was as if my business knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind because I didn’t get a client for the rest of the year. 

    My wife and I managed the little I had left from the hostel project and the occasional support we got from my wife’s family. My wife herself wasn’t working.

    When did the next project come?

    2017. An uncle from my mum’s side who lived abroad wanted to return to Nigeria and asked me to help build his house. I made about ₦600k from that project. 

    Then, in 2018, I partnered with my former boss to work on a project. It was a hotel, and I didn’t have enough manpower, so I got him on board. It lasted about six months, and I made close to ₦700k. 

    On average, I had one major client every year till I took a break from the business in January 2023. 

    How were you managing when there were no clients?

    I started supplying tiles on the side in 2019. Since I already worked with people who were either building or renovating, it was easy to get clients. 

    So, I partnered with a supplier at a major tile market. Whenever clients needed tiles, I’d get them from him and sell them at a markup. That usually brought about ₦50k – ₦70k a month. 

    My wife also got a bank job in 2018, so she also supported the income. But she’s currently the primary breadwinner.

    Is this connected to you taking a break from work?

    Yes. I had a mini stroke in January, which the doctor attributed to stress and high blood pressure. He emphasised that I needed to take it easy, considering I’m just 35 and already having such health scares.

    It was supposed to be a one-month break, but I haven’t returned to work since.

    Why?

    My wife got pregnant again for the first time since we got married. In February, she was six months gone but started having complications and was placed on bed rest. She had to take maternity leave early, and I stayed back to take care of her. 

    We had the twins in April, about a month too early, and they had to be in the incubator for three weeks. Soon after we returned home, she had to return to work. There was an option to extend the leave without pay, but we needed the money and had no one to help. My mum would have come through, but she passed away in 2022.

    I’m sorry to hear that

    Thanks. We decided I’d stay home to care for the children. I was only too happy to do it, and not just because I needed to watch my health; we had waited years for these babies. That’s what I’m doing now. I’m a proud stay-at-home husband.

    How long do you imagine you’ll do this?

    For as long as it’s necessary. My family is my priority now. My wife has endured the struggle and trauma of unexplained infertility for seven years. It’s only fair I take this burden off her, at least until we can figure out how to balance the twins’ care with work.

    Curious. What does being a stay-at-home husband look like?

    My wife cooks during the weekend and freezes most of it. She also expresses breast milk daily and stores it in the freezer. So, most of what I do is defrost, warm the milk and feed the babies, keep them entertained, do the laundry and heat up the food she already cooked so she has something to eat when she returns from work. 

    She also has a cousin who is schooling around and pops in from time to time to help with house cleaning, market runs, and the twins.

    How do the home’s finances run?

    My wife earns about ₦500k per month, and since we’ve had the twins, she sends half of her salary to me and saves the rest. The half with me is what we try to manage for the month, even though we dip into our savings before the month’s end. 

    We’re saving so much because I have a landed property that we hope to start developing by the end of the year. I also have some money saved up from when I was working. Our combined savings is about ₦2.5m now.

    We currently live in a flat my wife inherited from her dad, but we want to build our own and rent to get an added income source.

    What do your monthly expenses look like?

    The thing about raising kids is, you will spend. They can develop a cough, and the next thing you have to do is change their medicine. Or they poop immediately after you change their diaper, and you have to change it again. But it’s a problem we’re happy to have.

    Your story has gone from needing to hustle to doing without it happily. How has this affected your perspective on money?

    After my dad died, making money felt like a point to prove. I needed it to survive, but it also felt like an anchor to make sure I didn’t return to that feeling of hopelessness. And when I first got married, it was a way to ensure my wife didn’t have to suffer like my mum did.

    But now, money is simply a means to an end. It’s what pays the bills, and that’s it. Maybe it’s knowing that I could easily drop dead if I do too much, or the fact that my wife’s support helps me understand that I’m not alone and don’t need to kill myself to prove a point. I know I still need to make money, and I’m still thinking about how best to work around my business, but this is what works for my family for now.

    What’s something you want but can’t afford right now?

    Our own house. We’re already working towards it, but getting ₦15m now would definitely fast-track it.

    On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate your financial happiness?

    6. I’m not actively earning, but I feel somewhat fulfilled right now. I’ll figure it out as it goes.


    If you’re interested in talking about your Naira Life story, this is a good place to start.

    Find all the past Naira Life stories here.

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  • Kemi* and Paul* were perfect together until he had a mental breakdown and ghosted her. Now, Paul keeps proposing marriage to her, but the damage’s been done, and Kemi absolutely refuses to expose herself to the possibility of such hurt again.

    This is Kemi’s* story, As told to Chioma

    Image created with Starryai

    I dated this guy when I was 28, and we were perfect until he disappeared on me nine months into our relationship.

    Paul* and I met in university in 2018. He was roommates with a close friend of mine, but I didn’t like him then because every time I saw him, he had a bottle of alcohol in his hand. I didn’t want to be around that. I believed alcoholic men ended up being aggressive partners, and I wanted no part in that.

    But whenever I called my friend, his roommate, I’d insist on speaking to him too. I’m an extrovert, so I didn’t want him to feel left out of our conversations. 

    That’s how we started talking, and I got to see him beyond my bias. I found out he carried a bottle everywhere because he’d been poisoned before. He didn’t want to ever be in a place where he had to drink what other people served. I got to see that his head and heart were in the right places. 

    We dated for nine months, and yes, we were in love. With everyone trying to figure out their shit, and Nigeria being a nuisance, we were two people who knew exactly what we wanted. The relationship was easy; we were very honest with each other.

    Then at some point, he had a mental breakdown, and we started to struggle. Depression is a bad thing. I’d never seen him like that before, but I understood, and he knew I did. I just wanted to be there for him in any way he needed, but he wouldn’t let me. He just drifted till he completely disappeared on me.

    He still went to work and posted on social media. He just wasn’t speaking to me. I wanted to run mad. It was such a scary period in my life, but I knew it had nothing to do with either of us.

    I sent him messages every month. I needed to know that he was okay, that he was still breathing, but he didn’t respond to any of them. 

    He finally called to share some good news, and it felt great, like he still cared about me. He told me things were turning around for him, and he wanted me to be in the know. 

    We’ve gone out for drinks a couple of times since we started talking again. He explained the ghosting was to protect me because I’d be hurt if I saw him broken. I refused to talk about what happened. I was still hurting, but I didn’t want him to feel accused or blame himself.

    We’re in a pretty good space now. We’re friends, and I’m with someone else. Paul’s been asking me to marry him for almost a year, but I can’t. I deeply fear being abandoned, and even though I see he’s in a better place now, I worry it might happen again, and there’s nothing I’d be able to do about it. 

    He’s a great person, and I still care about him, but I can’t put myself through that again.

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

    How did you meet?

    Effiong: In university. 

    We didn’t attend the same school, but she was my immediate older sister’s roommate from ‘97 to ‘98, so we crossed paths a lot when I came to visit. Sometimes, I’d call my sister, and Maryam would pick up. I thought she was the prettiest person in the world.

    Maryam: For the most part, our meetings were fleeting. 

    Sometimes, I’d go home with his sister, Ini, for a holiday, and he’d be there. We’d all chat for a while. He and his friends got along with our friends. It was all lighthearted university energy.

    He had a girlfriend the first year we knew each other, but I never dated throughout university.

    Effiong: Because there were so many people chasing you, and you couldn’t choose. 

    Maryam: Convocation day came for me and Ini, and he was there with his family. They got to meet my family, and everybody just bonded happily. 

    I look at the photos today with such nostalgia. It was a happier, simpler time.

    Did you like each other at this point?

    Effiong: I liked her a lot, but I don’t think I was aware at that time. 

    Once their convocation came and went, I regretted that I hadn’t initiated a personal relationship with her. She and my sister went off for NYSC in completely different states, so I couldn’t reach her through my sister anymore. Of course, there were no mobile phones then. I missed her, ehn? That’s when it became obvious that I liked her. 

    But for that one year, I just gave up and worked towards graduating too.

    Maryam: Honestly, I don’t think I liked him like that because I never even thought about it. I was blissfully unaware of his own feelings. And I didn’t really get into any relationships during NYSC because I felt boys weren’t looking for long-term. 

    I spoke with his sister a couple of times, but we were mostly disconnected until after we passed out and returned to our home cities. My family lived in Kano, while they lived in Kaduna. 

    Some months after NYSC, Ini and I later moved to Abuja for work in 2001. And thanks to my relationship with Effiong, we’ve been together since.

    Effiong: I’d go back and forth between Abuja and Ebonyi, where I served, just to see her. They stayed in this nice mini-flat, and I’d squat in a friend’s place for a few days on each visit. But it still took me about a year to tell her how I felt.

    What did you do in the meantime?

    Effiong: She probably thought I loved my sister too much; I’d come under the guise of visiting her, but Ini knew the truth. She’d often tease me about it when Maryam was away.

    Maryam: But she never told me anything. She’d just make offhand remarks like, “It’s not me he’s really here for,” that didn’t make sense until much later.

    Effiong: I tried to get closer to her. We’d talk. I got to know everything about her, and I’d take mental notes. When I got back to my service state, I’d think about her. 

    I visited them about four times. Then they surprised me by coming for my POP. That’s when I gathered the nerve to tell her how much I liked her and would want to marry her.

    You went straight to marriage? What happened to dating?

    Effiong: Of course, we’d start with that. But I wanted her to know my end game at once. 

    When they returned to Abuja, and I went to Kaduna, I gathered all the money I could, from my savings to handouts from my parents, and bought her a special gift based on something she’d told me she’d always wanted. I went to Abuja to present it to her and ask her to be my girlfriend. 

    She said she was still thinking about it.

    Maryam: I still saw him as a brother. I was also concerned about our different tribes and religions. But I didn’t tell him this because I was touched by his gesture of buying me a gift to ask me out. 

    I didn’t think I’d date him, so I didn’t open the gift. I never opened it. It’s still wrapped somewhere in our house just as he gave it to me.

    Effiong: At first, I was hurt that she didn’t open it when I found out many years later, but now, it’s one of those things we can laugh about as a couple. I’ve still not told her what’s in it. 

    When we got married in 2003, we decided to wait till our 30th anniversary to open it together.

    Maryam: I’m surprised he’s never been tempted to just tell me what it is.

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    I’m more surprised you haven’t just opened it out of sheer curiosity. Also, why 30th?

    Maryam: The number just rolled off the tongue. 30th.

    Effiong: We could’ve just said 20th, and we’d know by now.

    Maryam: I’m enjoying the wait. Once we open it, the journey is ruined. 

    I can’t even guess what it is because it’s in a box or carton inside the wrapping paper. 

    Effiong: The only thing I’ve told her is she won’t be disappointed whenever she opens it. It’s something she’ll appreciate no matter what. 

    I’m happy we’ve come this far to have something so special to look forward to even though it’s a small thing. I wasn’t always confident we’d get here. 

    Why?

    Effiong: She never verbally consented to a relationship, but I kept showing up and being an absolute nuisance in her life. 

    I moved to Abuja, got a good enough job and sent her food or airtime anytime I could, even though a part of me thought I was wasting my time and money. I got used to doing things for her, so I just kept doing it.

    Maryam: I always say I found myself in a relationship because I don’t even know how it happened. We got used to each other. 

    We didn’t even start going out together until mid-2002, but by then, it already felt like we’d been together forever. He made me very happy just by being there.

    When he met my parents again, during one of our family gatherings, they accepted him fully, and that made me happiest.

    Effiong: Her parents are so warm. I don’t know what she was worried about. They don’t like me so much now for converting their daughter, but even at that, they’re civil and easygoing.

    Converting her?

    Effiong: In 2002, she also started attending church my family’s Catholic Church in Kaduna with me. We went to Kaduna for about three weeks when we were both in between jobs. 

    I never set out to convert her, and I don’t think she attended because she was looking to convert either.

    Maryam: I stayed at my uncle’s place. But I was in Kaduna to be closer to Effiong. He invited me there. 

    One Sunday, I wanted to see him, and he said he was in church. So I asked to come meet him there. The next Sunday, I followed him to morning mass. At the end of the year, when he asked me to marry him, we’d started attending a Pentecostal church in Abuja every other Sunday, and it was a comfortable routine for us.

    Effiong: But neither of us was particularly religious or even spiritual.

    Maryam: We did a court wedding in March 2003, and a mixed traditional wedding in May. My parents waited for a nikkah for a long time, but we just never did it. I didn’t feel Muslim any longer.

    What’s life as a Christian married couple like?

    Effiong: I’m not sure we can call ourselves that. For a long time, we were just casual Christians, attending church only on Sundays and pretty much minding our business. 

    We weren’t even loyal to a church: we’d switch anytime we moved. When we moved to Lagos, our pastor in Abuja expected us to move to the Lagos branch of his church. He was so offended when we didn’t that we had to block him. 

    We’ve mostly been focused on our family, career and getting our money up. I also think our introverted personalities stop us from truly getting into the spirit of religion.

    Maryam: We’re non-religious now.

    Effiong: We’re not atheists o. We’re just not affiliated with any religion. 

    Maryam: If not for COVID, we’d probably still be attending Sunday service. But since we stopped because of the lockdown, Effiong and I realised it really didn’t feel like we were missing much. 

    It’s much more important for us to be humanists, to be good and kind people, than to mindlessly perform rituals, and that’s what we teach our children.

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

    You don’t feel paranoid that you may be “leading your children astray”?

    Maryam: Leading them astray by not compelling them to follow a religion because I say so? I think they should have the freedom to choose. They should have an open mind and be tolerant of people despite their beliefs or opinions. I teach them basic human morals.

    Effiong: No one knows whether any of these religions is the true way to relate with God. We just go by faith. I don’t feel led to do that. 

    I do worry about our kids. Not because we’re not raising them under a religion but because the world is cruel — both the religious and the non-religious. 

    Maryam: Religion isn’t something that keeps us up at night as much as the crumbling economy, the terrible quality of life and standard of living in Nigeria today.

    I worry about the quality of education our children are getting, the quality of food they eat. 

    Effiong: When I was their age, I used to have lots of friends over or go visit, have birthday parties, attend Christmas or summer holiday parties, go to a neighborhood swimming pool, to Bar Beach when we visited Lagos. My children don’t get much of that, and it’s not that we don’t earn well. 

    Maryam: Even the quality of basic biscuits have dropped terribly. 

    I hear you. What was your first major fight about?

    Maryam: The most memorable for me happened two days before our traditional wedding in 2003. We’d agreed to do it in Gwarinpa, Abuja. The idea for a traditional ceremony came last minute, and we only had two weeks to plan. Then on a Wednesday evening, he started saying we should consider going to his hometown in Calabar instead. It was crazy. I was already stressed, so I didn’t take it well, whether he was joking or not.

    Effiong: My kinsmen were calling to drop out saying they couldn’t make the trip all the way to Abuja. So my oldest uncle insisted that since it was supposed to be a customary Efik wedding, it shouldn’t be done in the North. 

    When I came to her, it was just to express my frustration. I hadn’t even discussed it with my parents yet. But she thought I was putting my foot down and asking us to go.

    Maryam: He just said, “My uncle said we should move this thing to Calabar o.” I already started thinking of how we’d have to move the date, travel with all the things we’d already bought, lose money on the rentals, etc. I reacted badly, and he reacted badly to my reaction too. We almost called the whole thing off, but we were already married by law, so…

    Effiong: Then my mum told me it was unheard of for the traditional wedding to be in the groom’s hometown at all. We should even be looking for her village in Kano. 

    I just calmed down, went to apologise, the ceremony came and went, and we could breathe again.

    And what’s the best thing about being married for 20 years now?

    Effiong: Twenty years just came and went like that. It’s been a journey. All the stories we’ve just told about our origin, courtship and getting married feels like they happened a lifetime ago. 

    Maryam: In a way, it’s saddening to think how time flies.

    Effiong: We’ve grown together, had many ups and downs, seen each other in several different lights, and by some miracle, loved all the versions. That’s such a blessing. 

    It’s been great working as a team and generally having the same outlook on life and where we want to go. Growing up, I didn’t get to see that a lot with my parents. They were always at loggerheads. 

    Maryam: It’s been particularly great raising our four children together. Where I stop, he continues and vice versa. 

    And we’re partners in crime. We do both good and bad together. I never get to be ashamed with him. That’s all I’ll say. He knows what I mean.

    Effiong: I honestly can’t believe it’s been 20 years.

    Maryam: Our china anniversary. 

    Doing this, telling the world our love story is such a special way to celebrate it. I’m glad we did this. 

    Effiong: Yes.

    Here’s to 30 years and to finally unwrapping our “day one” gift!

    Promise to come back and tell us what it is?

    Maryam: I will.

    Effiong: Don’t promise until you know, Ma.

    Ah.

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

    Effiong: 10

    Maryam: 10

    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: We Took a Two-Year Break to Get It Right

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

    How did you two meet?

    Paul: We met through a girl I was trying to get with in 2018. I met her at a friend’s party. I actually met two of them together, but I noticed her friend first. I still don’t know why.

    Funmi: I don’t remember meeting him on that day to be fair. I just know that my friend told me she was seriously talking to someone she met at one party we went to together. I got to know him when they started hanging out. They were in the talking stage for forever, but it eventually didn’t work out.

    Paul: We drifted apart, and she started dating someone else. By then, I was on talking terms with Funmi. I’m not sure how one thing led to another, but it did.

    When did you realise you liked each other?

    Funmi: When I started smiling stupidly anytime he called and while we spoke. We would have these hours-long calls at night, and I gladly gave up my sleep for them, which was unprecedented.

    Paul: I can’t pinpoint exactly when. 

    I just knew I wanted to spend more and more time with her, and I always wanted to hear her voice. We bonded over work wahala and the pressures of being first-borns. I also admired the work she was doing at her company, so we’d talk about ways I could be involved in some of their projects and how the company I worked for could partner. 

    We also exchanged ideas for our personal projects and advised each other on them. She was a great support system. I think we were trying to be friends when we realised there was more to our relationship.

    Funmi: He asked me out about a month later, and I immediately said yes because I didn’t think anything was wrong there.

    Paul: I still don’t think we did anything wrong, but you know how as humans we like to complicate things.

    What happened exactly?

    Funmi: The friend he originally wanted to date started making trouble the moment she found out we were together. According to her, they were exes and I was being a bad friend. I was shocked by her behaviour because they never even dated. 

    Paul: She led me on, friend-zoned me, then turned around to be angry I moved on because it was with someone she knew.

    Funmi: We thought it was a small thing until she started badmouthing us to everyone, even my siblings. Her story became that I stole her boyfriend. I actually lost some friends because of this drama. When the embarrassment became too much to bear, we decided to separate. 

    My mum called me aside to advise me that love wasn’t worth my good name. So I told him I really liked him, but maybe we should give it a break and then try again when things cleared up a bit. This was in February 2019, shortly after Valentine’s Day.

    Paul: I didn’t think we needed to break up. As far as I was concerned, we just needed to avoid the girl. But according to her, they were childhood friends and there were many people involved, including her family. So I respected her wishes and moved on. 

    I dated someone else for a while too.

    Funmi: I was heartbroken for like a year and eventually fought with the girl for good. We still don’t speak today.

    [ad]

    How did you find your way back together?

    Paul: As of March 2019, for some reason, we stopped talking completely. I think she even blocked me on WhatsApp and IG because I stopped seeing her stories and statuses. I started planning to japa in September 2019, but talk of COVID crept in from December and by March, we all know what happened. 

    We chatted a little during the lockdown in April, but in two months, that had fizzled out again.

    Funmi: The pandemic had me feeling lonely and depressed, coupled with the anxiety of job insecurity, and I just isolated myself at home. I didn’t really talk to anyone besides my parents who I still lived with at the time. I don’t know how I survived that period.

    Paul: Fast forward to January 2021, and I finally got out of Nigeria to Northampton for school.

    Funmi: I moved to Milton Keyes on a family member visa in March. 

    My parents aren’t married, and my mum has lived there for almost 20 years. As far back as 2012/13, I reached out and begged her to let me join her. It didn’t work out until 2021. 

    Then I got admission to the University of Northampton completely by coincidence. I ended up meeting Paul at a training centre for finance jobs somewhere in town. It was the craziest thing.

    Did you immediately pick up the relationship from where it left off?

    Paul: I wouldn’t say “immediately”. It was gradual. 

    But I think from the moment we saw each other in the same town in the UK for the same reason, a part of us knew we were going to continue from where we stopped. I remember seeing her and just smiling after the initial shock. I thought she stalked me all the way there.

    Funmi: See your head as if I hadn’t moved on until God decided to shove you into my life once again.

    Paul: It definitely felt good to see her again in a space where we felt free to do as we liked within the constraints of British bills. It felt like a slap on the face of the devil who tried to keep us apart. We started seeing each other every day at the training centre, then once in a blue moon, we’d run into each other on campus. 

    She was studying full-time, but I was part-time, so I had more allowance to take on jobs. I could afford the occasional dates and gifts, and she appreciated it all the more because she didn’t have as much liquid cash. 

    Funmi: In other words, I was a broke bitch who was easy to impress. 

    Paul: During the first holiday, we got jobs as carers in the same hospital and did our bus runs together. It felt so much like we were these boring married middle-aged couple, but for some reason, it was exciting.

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

    What have the last two years been like together?

    Funmi: I graduated first and got a semi-good job shortly after, so the tables turned. I was the one taking us out throughout last year.

    Paul: Thank God I sowed the seed the year before. 

    Now, we’ve both graduated, and the hustle for good white-collar jobs is on. In the meantime, we have a couple of shifts between us and don’t have as much time to think about romance. 

    One thing is for sure though, we’re seriously discussing the future, and marriage is something we’ve spent the last several months planning towards.

    Funmi: We’d like to move in together to save on rent, but that’s not something I’m ready to do before taking our commitment to the next level, especially in a place like England where people move in together all the time. I don’t want us to do it and get used to it and then never get married. In Nigeria, people will keep reminding us say we never marry o. 

    Right now, we do our best to support each other, especially through career-related decisions. 

    We also try to make each other’s birthdays memorable.

    Paul: We either have a small get-together with our friends and co-workers in my apartment — it’s bigger — or an intimate dinner date at the nicest restaurant we find during the year — that we can afford. One of these two is a must.

    Funmi: We’ve also been planning to move to London. We’re saving towards that, and it will tie into our marriage plans.

    Was there an actual marriage proposal?

    Paul: Honestly, it was more like a leading conversation that happened over time. I always imagined I would be romantic about asking my future wife to marry me, but the way it happened for us was special and heartwarming in its own way.

    Funmi: It was romantic too. Romance doesn’t have to be performative or over the top. Ours was real and sincere and intimate, and I loved every second of us talking about how much we want to spend the rest of our lives together. 

    I only wish I could’ve recorded the sound bites or kept a hidden camera or something.

    Paul: But who knows, maybe I’ll still orchestrate a grand proposal just for posterity’s sake — the British tax system be merciful.

    Funmi: What then do we call this stage we’re in? We’re not married, not engaged, but we know we’ll marry soon, so are we still boyfriend and girlfriend?

    I believe it’s called “partners”. 

    Have you had a major fight yet?

    Funmi: Many.

    Paul: What do you mean? When did we fight?

    Funmi: We’ve fought sha. But I don’t even remember why.

    Paul: We have arguments and differences. I’d never call them “fights” because we’re never really angry or violent. 

    Funmi: It’s just times when we want different things, and we’re not immediately ready to compromise, at least, not until after we’ve aired our point or justifications. We never leave these fights thinking differently about each other. 

    Most times, I can’t wait to just forgive him so I can cuddle after a long shift.

    Paul: Maybe when we actually start living together, the story will be different. But I hope not.

    Do you ever think about the girl who separated you the first time, and how different things could’ve been?

    Paul: She comes up once in a while, and we just laugh.

    Funmi: There’s no point rehashing the past or thinking about what could’ve been. But that episode has made for a good anecdote at social gatherings. Always breaks the ice when we’re out together.

    Paul: I keep thinking we’ll run into her on social media one day, but she seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

    Funmi: She’ll be fine, dear.

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

    Paul: 8. But only because I wish we had more time to spend together.

    Funmi: Oh wow. Same. Work dey choke.

    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.

    DON’T GO YET: Love Life: His Last Deployment Caused My Miscarriage

  • All you have to do is make a meat dish, that’s all. 

  • A young Nigerian man, Iriodalo (Odalo) Emmanuel Obhafuoso (AKA, OD), is trending on X after a lady accused him of fraudulently obtaining cash — purportedly for medical aid — from unsuspecting lovers and friends. The call-out has seen more people coming forward with their alleged encounters with Obhafuoso.

    Here’s all we know about the matter so far.

    Who is Iriodalo Emmanuel Obhafuoso?

    Iriodalo Emmanuel Obhafuoso: Nigerian Man Facing Multiple Allegations of Scam

    A Google search for his name returns with a string of reports highlighting the recent allegations against him.

    According to information gleaned from a yearbook page, he completed his senior secondary school education in 2014. Odalo highlighted meeting people, daydreaming and taking risks as his hobbies. He also mentioned making the Forbes list in the next 10 years. 

    One X account allegedly linked to him, @metaphourr, has been deactivated.

    Why is he trending?

    On October 11, 2023, a lady identified as Elsavanilla (@elsavanilla) shared pictures of Obhafuoso and accused him of fraudulently obtaining cash from unsuspecting friends and romantic interests. 

    Elsavanilla claimed he’d befriend his victims, “fall deathly ill”, and proceed to seek medical financial aid.

    “This is Iriodalo Emmanuel Obhafuoso. He is a scammer. He enters girls dms, makes them comfortable talking to him and then proceeds to fall deathly ill. For me, he had heart surgery. For Bolu, he had spinal surgery.”

    [ad]

    According to her, Obhafuoso deactivated his X account (@metaphourr), which he used to communicate with her. Elsavanilla claimed she reached out to his friends to share her plight, but “none of them wanted anything to do with the situation at hand.”

    A trail of a fraudulent past

    Elsavanilla’s call-out thread garnered over 2000 quote tweets. Some users on the platform came forward with their alleged encounters with Obhafuoso and how he tried to dupe them.

    Bolu (@adefunkebola), the lady mentioned in Elsavanilla’s tweet, shared how he’d love-bombed her and began to have a “series of calamitous issues” that almost led her to give him money. 

    She, however, found out that he’d allegedly scammed one of her friends.

    One lady, @tahkeije, posted a birthday wishlist he’d allegedly shared with her ahead of a July 20th celebration.

    In the list, Obhafuoso asked for donations to a charity in Edo state, a community centre for kids in North Carolina, amongst other items.

    In screenshots shared by another lady, @youloveesther, Obhafuoso complained about his health with a sense of urgency. He said he’d been diagnosed with a heart problem and needed to undergo a thrombectomy surgery.

    https://twitter.com/youloveesther/status/1712114131879240029?s=46&t=gV-1mmgH3NC_RQhcgp1x3w

    More tweets from alleged victims below:

    Iriodalo Emmanuel Obhafuoso: Nigerian Man Facing Multiple Allegations of Scam
    Iriodalo Emmanuel Obhafuoso: Nigerian Man Facing Multiple Allegations of Scam
    https://twitter.com/o_tegaa/status/1712206575706746961?s=46&t=gV-1mmgH3NC_RQhcgp1x3w
    https://twitter.com/girl_like_tomi/status/1712097189126689036?s=46&t=gV-1mmgH3NC_RQhcgp1x3w

    Where is Obafuosho now?

    At the moment, the only X account linked to him has been deactivated.

    He seems to have vanished from the internet, as there’s been no word from him.

    This is a developing story.

    You’ll have your fill of grilled, peppered or fried meat and many more at Zikoko’s meat festival on November 11. Have you bought your Burning Ram ticket? You can do that real quick here.

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

    How did you two meet?

    Hajara: Usman and I first crossed paths during my university days in 2011. 

    I was pursuing my degree in economics at the University of Abuja, and he was stationed at the Nnamdi Azikiwe Airport as an officer in the Nigerian Air Force (NAF) Base. Our first encounter was at a charity event the Air Force was hosting on campus.

    Usman: I remember that day vividly. 

    I was struck by Hajara’s warmth and dedication to the cause — medical missions to remote and under-served areas. She gave a speech on behalf of the students, and I just sat and watched with awe. Towards the end of the function, I asked another student I knew to introduce us. 

    I found myself captivated by her intelligence and compassion.

    Hajara: After that meeting, we began to see each other frequently as I started volunteering for some of NAF’s outreach programs. The first one I volunteered for was to a village in Kwali. Usman was overseeing logistics, and I was part of the team providing medical assistance. 

    Working together in such a challenging environment brought us closer. I got to experience firsthand the impact the Air Force makes in people’s lives, and seeing Usman at the forefront of it made me admire him and his colleagues greatly.

    When did you find out you liked each other?

    Usman: She graduated in 2012 and served in the Air Force for her NYSC in 2013. During that time, I’d been transferred to Benin and back to Abuja in time to be with her at the NAF Base. I spent the time often checking in and spying on her. I even got close to her fellow corper and close friend then, just to feel close to her. 

    At the time, I’d been seeing someone else for close to five years, but because of the effect Hajara had on me, I realised the relationship had grown stagnant. On the other hand, I was impressed by Hajara’s dedication and the way she connected with the local community. She had the ability to put people at ease and make them feel comfortable.

    Hajara: After I passed out of NYSC, we started dating. I don’t know how it happened. He never asked me directly. We just started seeing each other, taking care of each other and attending functions together. Then, we got to know each other’s parents, and things were going strong. 

    We were both in Abuja for over a year when Usman received orders for a deployment to Jos. It was strange that at the time, we’d never really discussed the fact that he could have missions anywhere in the world and have no choice but to go. His departure was a challenging time for us, but it made us realise how much we wanted to be together. 

    We had a heartfelt conversation about our future, and it was during that time apart that we decided to take the plunge and get married.

    Usman: It was difficult being away from Hajara during my deployment, but it strengthened our bond and made us appreciate what we had even more. I proposed to her over Skype in 2015, and when I returned home some months later, we had an intimate nikkah ceremony with close family and friends.

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

    What’s it like being married to an officer in the Nigerian Air Force?

    Usman: Being an officer can be demanding at times. 

    I had just been promoted to squadron leader when we got married. There are deployments, long hours and the inherent risks associated with military service. However, Hajara has been my rock through it all. Her unwavering support and understanding make it easier for me to fulfill my duties. We’ve learnt to cherish the time we have together.

    Hajara: The most rewarding aspect for me has been witnessing Usman’s dedication to serving our country. It’s a source of immense pride to see him in uniform. Because of him, I’m part of the close-knit army community that really rallies around you when you need them the most — the Nigerian Air Force Officers’ Wives Association (NAFOWA). The camaraderie is quite uplifting.

    The government treats you well too, with perks like scholarships and affordable housing. Once in a while, you get front-row seats to the military air shows, which I always attend with my heart in my mouth when Usman is one of the pilots but is really beautiful to watch at other times. 

    There are trying times too, like when he’s gone for a long time.

    Usman: The last time they deployed me to a different state, we relocated together to Enugu in 2018, but then, I got an assignment outside the state three months later.

    Sounds like it was a particularly tough time for you two

    Usman: It was a long and challenging mission in a distant region of the country. 

    Hajara: We expected the separation, but it didn’t make it any easier. It was a mission that required him to be in a remote area with limited communication for several months. The day he left, it was as if a piece of my heart went with him. 

    Usman: The night before I left, we had spent the entire evening together, just the two of us. Hajara had prepared my favourite meal of suya jollof rice and dan wake, and we talked about our dreams, our goals, our future, and all the little things. But there was an underlying sadness that weighed on both of us. We’d been married for three years and hadn’t had kids yet.

    Hajara: It wasn’t like we weren’t trying. We’re still trying.

    Usman: She was trying her best to be strong for me, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. We held each other that night, and I could feel the depth of our love and the pain of our impending separation. She didn’t follow me to the base, but as I entered the van, I looked back one last time to see Hajara waving goodbye, tears streaming down her face. 

    It was a sight that haunted me throughout the assignment.

    [ad]

    How do you cope with the pain of separation?

    Hajara: Coping in his absence was a daily struggle. I had to adjust to a new routine and take on additional responsibilities. But what made it hardest was not being able to hear his voice or see his face for weeks on end. 

    Usman: We communicated when we could, but it was infrequent, and we both understood that it was a part of the job. We even found a way to exchange handwritten letters and emails whenever possible, and phone calls became cherished moments. 

    Hearing her voice and knowing she was there for me gave me the motivation to carry on.

    Hajara: I also drew strength from the support of friends and fellow military families who were going through similar experiences, especially the older women. They understood the unique challenges of military life and offered a shoulder to lean on. I also stayed busy with work and volunteering. Keeping myself occupied helped distract from the loneliness and sadness.

    Usman: My other trips have been easier on us. We’re emotionally stronger now.

    You mentioned trying to have children?

    Usman: We leave it in God’s hands, but in the meantime, we have wards we’re responsible for. We take care of them in order to seek Allah’s mercy.

    Hajara: I know his parents have mentioned him taking another wife, but he knows I never wanted to be part of a polygamous home like my parents. However, the whole thing makes me anxious and his travel assignments don’t make it easier. The last time he was on an extended trip to Mali, I had a stillbirth at seven months. I’ve had six miscarriages in total, before and after that. And right now, I’m just tired.

    Usman: I’m content. If Allah doesn’t want us to have children then so be it. I won’t force it then sit back and watch as my wife’s body suffers. Thankfully, we’re not the only children of our own parents.

    Have you had any major fights?

    Usman: Not really. We cherish every moment we get to speak when I’m away, and when I return, we’re often just so happy to be with each other for as long as we get.

    Hajara: We had a major quarrel when he wanted to take another mission five months after I had that stillbirth. I was in emotional distress and couldn’t understand why he would be willing to leave me in that state. At that moment, it felt like he married the force instead of me like he wanted to escape me.

    Usman: After that quarrel, I didn’t go. I stayed back with her and begged for leave from assignments on the grounds of her condition. Thanks to the rapport I had with my commanding officer, NAF gave me a more stable role in Abuja for two years. 

    Nothing is more important to me than her and her well-being. Perhaps, I’ll look into transitioning to desk roles. They don’t pay as well as field, but the plan is to redirect our savings into my wife’s clothing business and branch out from there.

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

    Usman: 10

    Hajara: 9

    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: Love Life: Our Love Started in Computer Village

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

    Tell us how you first met

    Ife: It was an even more chaotic than normal day at Computer Village in January. 

    I was there to get my laptop fixed on a Saturday when I heard the news that the deadline for the use of old naira notes had come. The market was in utter chaos that day, and I couldn’t pay for the laptop they’d finished fixing. I was basically stranded, looking for a free banking hall or ATM so I could take the laptop and go home — I also needed to raise my cab fare as all my bank apps were also down. 

    As I passed by a crowded electronics stall, pitying myself and making calls, I saw this guy looking frantic, trying to catch a thief who had just grabbed his phone.

    Bash: It was a crazy moment. 

    I was browsing through some accessories, and out of nowhere, this pickpocket tried to grab my phone. Luckily, Ife saw what happened and shouted, which caught the attention of everyone around. The thief panicked and dropped my phone, and Ife helped me pick it up.

    Ife: I was impressed by Bash’s gratitude and the way he handled the situation. He couldn’t stop thanking me, and I couldn’t stop teasing him about how he almost lost his phone at the worst time possible. We exchanged numbers, and he insisted on taking me for a drink to thank me for helping him. 

    Ordinarily, I would’ve said no because why am I talking to a stranger in Computer Village, but I’d not yet figured out a plan to get home, and he didn’t seem at all panicked by the lack of access to funds. 

    Turns out, he was a banker and had lots of new notes.

    Bash: She looked concerned, and I couldn’t just let her walk away without showing my appreciation. So I asked what was wrong. She hesitantly explained the situation with her laptop. 

    We went to a nearby restaurant and planned out what to do. It was funny because she kept assuring me she wasn’t a scammer, but that had the opposite effect on me. I knew she wasn’t a fraudster, but the fact that she kept saying it only made me start second-guessing my intuition. 

    Anyway, we sorted out the laptop, talked a bit more, and I helped her get home. It was in our shared cab that we realised we had a lot in common — tech, music, and even our favourite local foods.

    So, your shared interests brought you closer?

    Ife: Yes, definitely. But it wasn’t just the interests. Our conversation flowed naturally.

    Bash: Whenever she smiled, I was just smiling back. She was witty and had a great sense of humour all the way home. That’s hard to find in women these days. It was hard not to be drawn to her.

    Ife: We were out for dinner some weeks after, and he reached out to hold my hand. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt right. I remember feeling a rush of emotions.

    Bash: I’d been trying to find the right moment to tell her how I felt, and when she didn’t pull her hand away, it gave me the courage to express my feelings.

    Ife: I was a bit surprised when he told me he liked me but in a good way. I’d been feeling the same way, but I was nervous about admitting it. When he confessed, it felt like a weight had been lifted, and I told him that I felt the same.

    Bash: It was a relief, and we both had these big smiles on our faces. From that moment on, we knew we were more than just friends.

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

    What challenges have you faced in your relationship so far?

    Ife: One of the biggest at the time we started dating in February was our cultural differences. I’m Yoruba, and Bash is from the northern part of Nigeria, which strangely led to some misunderstandings within our families in this year 2023.

    Bash: It was all subtle. We both have very traditional parents, and the events surrounding the last national elections didn’t help. But we worked through it together and made an effort to understand and respect each other’s backgrounds. 

    Ife: Then, we had to do long-distance. Bashir got a job in Abuja towards the end of April, and I stayed in Lagos. So far, we’ve had to navigate the distance, trust issues, and the occasional jealousy.

    Bash: We’ve made it a point to visit each other every other month, but when we’re apart, we plan fun activities together, like watching the same movies or reading the same books to stay connected.

    What was your first major fight about?

    Ife: Our first major fight happened because we originally planned to move to Abuja together. I work remotely, so it was convenient, but I’d never been to Abuja nor did I know anyone there.

    Bash: It was a particularly stressful time. We had to find a new place to live, I was starting a new job, Ife was trying to adjust to a different city, and our relationship was still fresh. The pressure got to us.

    Ife: Well, one evening, we were discussing our finances, and it got heated. We had different ideas about how to budget for the move, and we couldn’t agree on how to prioritise our spending.

    Bash: I wanted to save more aggressively to ensure we had a financial cushion, which meant finding a cheaper apartment in a less central part of FCT. Ife was more focused on enjoying the process and spending on things that would make our new home comfortable right away. 

    I also didn’t have the luxury of time because I had to report to the new workplace within a month.

    [ad]

    How did the fight play out?

    Ife: It started with a disagreement, but then it escalated into a full-blown argument. We both said things we didn’t mean, and it felt like we were drifting apart.

    Bash: It was frustrating because we’d never fought like that before. We were just two months in, but we were usually so good at resolving issues together. This time, we couldn’t find common ground. 

    I eventually walked out. Then later, we texted each other, apologising for the harsh words.

    Ife: When I got home and thought about everything that happened, I realised I didn’t want to move with him any longer. 

    I mean, he got the job. He was the one who needed to move. Why was I forcing myself to join him when I’d made no such prior plans to do so for myself? Why was I so eager to tag along when we’re two separate individuals? 

    It took a while to convince him that I wasn’t changing my mind because I was angry.

    Bash: We had to compromise, and I ended up relocating alone. We’ve become better at listening to each other and finding compromises that work for both of us.

    How long do you plan to keep the long-distance relationship up then?

    Ife: For as long as is reasonably natural and until we’re ready to make that investment. It’s a big move. And it’s crazy how I was just ready to do it at the drop of a hat when the news of his new job came. I must love him a lot.

    Bash: Long-distance isn’t fun. Travelling a lot also isn’t fun with all the price hikes and money scarcity. But we’re making it work for now until we’re ready to move to that stage where either of us can relocate, and we can live together.

    Ife: We don’t want to pressure ourselves into jumping milestones, but we’ve also said to each other that if we haven’t moved to the same city by our first anniversary in February, we’d let each other go.

    Bash: It’s just to keep each other on our toes. We don’t want to take the great effort we both put into sustaining our relationship for granted. We have a goal: find a way to literally get back together. We’re both looking for jobs in opposite cities right now.

    Ife: The running inside joke is, “What if we both get really good jobs, and all we achieve is switching places?”

    I forbid it for you. On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your Love Life?

    Bash: 5, for obvious reasons.

    Ife: That’s not fair to our love life, though. I’d say 7, at least. 

    I never thought I’d even give long-distance a try. Love did that.

    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.

    RECOMMENDED: Love Life: We Bonded Over the Death of Our First Spouses

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

    What was your first impression of each other?

    Bode: I stumbled on her Instagram page by chance in 2017 when I’d just created an account. And I thought she was so gorgeous. I knew from some of the things she wrote that she was Nigerian, and I had to try to get in touch with her.

    Ann: I’d only had my own account for about five months thanks to a slightly younger friend of mine who always made an effort to stay on trend. I was barely active on Facebook, but she had me believing Instagram was the place to be if I wanted to keep up with the world.

    When Bode messaged me at first, I thought, “Aha, the creeps have come.” But I took the time to read his introduction, and it was well-crafted and poetic. I had to respond.

    Bode: Immediately I got to find out we were in the same city, I set up a meeting — a date, really. And the rest they say is history.

    How did this first “meeting” go?

    Bode: Splendidly. We found out that it’s truly a small world, and on top of that, we had a lot in common.

    Ann: Starting with the fact that he and my mum were from the same Egba town in Ogun state, and we’d both recently lost our spouses. 

    His first wife died about a year before from breast cancer, and I lost my husband to a botched hip surgery four months before I met Bode. In fact, I’d only just decided to overcome the grief when I read his DM. After our first meeting, I felt guilty for days because it felt like such a huge betrayal to my husband’s memory to talk to another guy who wasn’t a friend.

    Bode: We took a break for about a month before we talked again, and I told her I liked her a lot. I told her I wanted to take care of her and help her heal properly.

    Ann: We had this long phone conversation where he told me all about how his wife passed, what it was like for him and what helped him recover. All I did was bawl my eyes out during that call, but it was also healing for me. It was some kind of therapy, and I appreciated that he was bold enough to initiate that kind of conversation with me. 

    All my friends did was pretend the death never happened, even pretend that Ezekiel never existed, just so they don’t upset me. But I needed that good cry, and Bode did that for me.

    So you decided to start seeing each other?

    Ann: Yes. 

    I was sad for a while after that call. But then, I was happy again and much lighter. And Bode was through my door with a basket of fruits, wine and baked goods the next morning. We had a pseudo picnic on the floor of my living room.

    Bode: We talked for a while, about her family, about church, about how far apart we lived. Both our kids were mostly adults by then, and out of the house for college or work. She only had one son who had less than two more years left in high school. Now, he’s long gone, far away in Sydney.

    Ann: From that day on, we became each other’s companions as Bode was nearing retirement. 

    My friends were a little concerned at first because it was a rule for us to be careful around people who were complete strangers. We always had to befriend or date a friend of a friend of a friend, even if there were 1,000 friends between us. As long as someone somewhere knew the person, or at least, were coworkers or church mates. You can never be too safe in the US of A. But because Bode lived on the other side of the city, no one in my circle could vouch for him, and that made my people concerned. 

    I decided to take that risk, and six years on, I don’t regret it. He’s fully integrated into my group now.

    It’s been six years? Will there be wedding bells anytime soon?

    Bode: It’s something we talk about time and time again, but we may never do it.

    Ann: The memories of our spouses are still very much in our relationship today. We owe it to ourselves to completely heal from that before embarking on such a pivotal journey with each other. We’re taking it easy with separate and joint therapy and really just want to take this relationship at its natural pace.

    Bode: Age might not be on our side, but we already had the marriage of our youth, so we’re not in a hurry.

    Her separation from her husband was also quite rough. She didn’t get to have closure like I did. I spent years nursing Funmi, so there was plenty of time to let go and come to terms with the finality of her absence. 

    For Ann, one moment he was in through the theatre doors to undergo a pretty routine procedure, the next? 

    Ann: It was completely unexpected. I didn’t get to say goodbye. There were way too many things left unsaid. That’s a lot of baggage to bring into a new marriage.

    Bode: I’ve had closure, but I haven’t quite let go of my wife either. Not sure I ever will. Her photos are everywhere.

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    Would you then consider your current relationship romantic given the situation?

    Bode: It’s very romantic. Trust me.

    Ann: It’s a little unconventional, I know. We don’t live together, and we aren’t necessarily dating to get married, but everything else is romantic. We are the most important people to each other. Sometimes, I imagine I value him even more than my children. He’s my confidant and companion, and he makes me happy in other ways too.

    Bode: The intimacy is very strong between us, and I’m grateful for that. There’s something we always do and that’s organise surprises on special days. It’s like a competition now. 

    Since the day we got together, I’ve felt like I’ve entered a new lease on life.

    How do your kids feel about your relationship?

    Ann: My kids are super supportive, but they’re also mostly absent. 

    I have four boys. They all left the house during college. My husband and I got a mortgage in a city that isn’t exactly prime commercial U.S. Every young soul is going to Dallas or Silicon. Let them go make money. I don’t think my boys care who I share my bed with.

    Bode: I tell you, it’s girls that care about their parents. 

    I have two boys and a girl, and after all my “I want sons. I want sons,” who stops by to check that I’ve not passed away in my sleep? Even if it’s just for the small inheritance they may get after, can’t they show concern? I only see all my kids on Christmas Day, but my daughter comes over at least three other times during the year, and I appreciate her for it. 

    They’ve all met and adore Ann. What’s not to adore?

    Ann: Honestly, I don’t know what’s more heartbreaking, being dumped by a significant other or by your own children. 

    These days, I find myself calling home to speak with my parents — yep, they’re still alive — because now, I feel bad for having left them in Nigeria for greener pastures here. My only sister is in the U.K. as well. It must’ve been so hard on them. 

    Sorry to digress. In summary, our kids are generally good sports about us being together.

    Bode: The only time my eldest showed concern was when I sold the house I’d only just finished covering the mortgage on, to buy a smaller one closer to Ann. He raised eyebrows over FaceTime when that happened, but then, he casually said, “Well, it’s your life, Dad. I hope she makes you happy.” His flippant tone was the worst thing ever. 

    Kids will break your heart, mark my words.

    OMG. Have you two had a major fight yet?

    Bode: Of course. We’ve fought over politics most of all. She’s a lot more conservative Republican than I am, and a lot less concerned about what’s happening in Nigeria. So it’s either I’m too understanding of the ongoing gender and sexuality topic, not Christian enough or I get too worked up over a country neither of us have been to in decades.

    Ann: He’s American, born and bred, and only visited Lagos a couple of summers when he was a teenager and his grandmother was keen on seeing more of him. I actually lived in Nigeria up until I was 16. So I don’t get why he acts more concerned than the pope. Especially since there’s little either of us can do about the state of things there.

    Bode: Who knows? We won’t know if we don’t talk about it.

    Anyway, we also fought over therapy once. 

    Ann: In 2021, our psychologist concluded that his casual drinking was becoming more insistent because it’s been his grief coping mechanism for too long. He stubbornly insisted he was no longer in grief, so why would he need alcohol to cope? 

    I could see that she was right, but he couldn’t. It frustrated me because he was beginning to drink a lot and at odd hours of the day. Maybe he’d started thinking about his wife more, but he wouldn’t open up to me and kept insisting he was fine. 

    Eventually, the whole thing blew up, and we had our biggest argument yet. It left me in tears. However, we came out of it knowing we weren’t trying to hurt each other. It was a hard period for us that lasted some weeks, but we were able to work through his feelings together, and that only strengthened our relationship.

    Bode: I couldn’t have said any of that better myself.

    I have no idea if I actually missed my wife or if it was just general disillusionment about life, but it was great to have a support system in Ann at that time.

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

    Bode: 10/10

    Ann: Same. You came at the perfect time. You’re my Godsend.

    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: We’ve Drifted Apart, but Can’t Break Our Engagement

  • We asked Nigerian women to share their experiences with financial abuse and why they’d rather make their own money. And if the stories we got are anything to go by, Nigerian women constantly experience partners withholding money or controlling their spending as a form of control.

    Image designed by Freepik

    Comfort*, 37

    My ex-husband and I had no clear stance on financial issues before marriage. I guess love blinded us, or me. A friend advised us to get a joint account so we could both save for important projects, and we thought it sounded good, so we did it. 

    The first mistake I made was making the joint account my primary account. The second was making my ex the primary signatory. Either of us could withdraw without approval from the other, but he alone received alerts and had the debit card. My ex is an entrepreneur, while I work a 9-5. It meant I was the only one who was sure of a monthly salary. So, we decided to make the joint account my official salary account, and he’d drop money in the account when he made a profit.

    It went well for the first two years, but then his business hit a rough patch, and we started depending on only my salary. That wasn’t an issue until he began to prevent me from accessing the money. Can you imagine that I’d stand before him every day before work to collect transport money for the day? I’ve seen shege. I couldn’t buy sugar in the house if he didn’t release money.

    I complained severely and involved family, but he made it seem like it was because I was the one bringing the money. Then he added cheating to the mix, but that’s a story for another day.

    If I ever get married again, my eyes will be very clear. I work hard to make my own money and can’t depend on anyone again, whether he’s richer than me or not. People are unpredictable.

    Jennifer*, 20

    From everything I saw my mum go through with my dad, it’s just not an option for me to depend on a man financially. 

    He prevented her from working or doing anything to earn money but still gave the impression that he was doing us a favour anytime he provided for the home. He wasn’t struggling, but he seemed to have a thing for using money to show he was in charge. I can’t forget one day when I was much younger, my mum was very ill and bedridden. She was literally crying from the bed, begging him to give her ₦5k so we could call a nurse. He refused. My siblings and I had to go behind his back when he wasn’t around to beg one nurse on our street to help her for free.

    He does the same to us children. You have to do his every wish if you hope to collect ₦2k from him. It’s one reason I don’t joke with my hustle now. I’m not saying it’s bad for anyone to depend on anyone; there are still good people out there. But me, I can’t risk it.

    Joan*, 23

    I just got out of a four-year relationship that was toxic in every sense of the word. He is almost ten years older, and I met him as an undergraduate. He had a business centre in school, and I moved in with him almost immediately after we started the relationship. I even had a falling out with my parents because of that.

    He used to take care of me a lot in the beginning, and even paid my fees. But he was also aggressive and controlling. He collected my ATM card because he didn’t want me collecting money from guys. If a family member sent me money, I had to delete the alert so he wouldn’t see it, and then, transfer the money to a POS agent. Anytime we fought, he’d lock my wardrobe and kitchen because he bought the clothes and food.

    I know better now, and I’m trying my best to make sure I don’t fall into that trap again.


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    Lola*, 24

    A close friend of mine had her phone smashed and long braids cut short in public. The stupid boy did this because he paid for them, and she had the “audacity” to come to a faculty dinner without informing him first. I’ve learnt from the experiences of others, please. I collect money from men, but it’s only what I know I can refund. So if you move mad, I’ll just ask for your account number and refund you straight up. No time.

    Kemi*, 19

    My dad was the first to educate me about financial abuse. He’s very intentional about his girls not falling into the wrong hands. We had a neighbour growing up who always looked dapper, but his wife looked like someone on the brink of death. She was always begging my mum for food. My mum even used to give her clothes and help braid her hair. It was the same old story; he didn’t allow her to work, but he didn’t take care of her either.

    My dad makes sure he gives me whatever I need. When he doesn’t have, he explains his financial situation and rings it in my ear that he’ll always be there for me. He’s also taught me the importance of working hard to make my own money so no one takes me for a fool.

    Chisom*, 28

    My elder sister works but submits her money to her husband as the “head of the house”. He dictates everything she’s allowed to spend on, even to the last kobo. She seems okay with it, but she’s a shadow of herself. This is someone who enjoyed buying stuff for herself before marriage and wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the same outfit more than three times. Now, she looks like someone suffering.

    I can’t interfere in their marriage, and I can’t even say who’s earning more, but it’s given me the ginger to make my own money and talk about finances extensively before entering any marriage.

    Daniella*, 27

    Living in Abuja means I’ve mostly dated rich kids. I’ve had a partner who paid my rent and expected me not to entertain visitors, both male and female, or go out without informing him. 

    Another one got me a phone he’d already installed spyware on. I found out when people reached out to me that someone was calling them, saying he was my boyfriend. I ended both relationships before they started getting even funnier, but I realise if I depended on them for money, they’d have succeeded in controlling me. It’s all the more reason why I have to work hard. 


    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity

    NEXT READ: 6 Women on the Burden of Being Breadwinners in Their Families

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