Woman | Zikoko!

Isioma*, 28, had always described herself as a lukewarm Christian at best, but she considers her husband a soldier for Christ. After he was made the pastor in charge of a youth church, she found her faith, her love, and her patience being tested.

*Models not affiliated with the story. Actual subject is anonymous.*

This is Isioma’s story, as told to Itohan

The first time my husband, John*, and I met, he tried to preach to me on the campus road. Normally, I don’t give these evangelists the time of day, but he had a beautiful smile and kind eyes, so I took the tract and let him tell me about Jesus being my Lord and personal saviour.

The second time we met, I had followed my cousin to one of those campus youth fellowships. It turned out that was the church he had been preaching to me about that day. After the service, I waited behind, as all newcomers do, and that was how we got each other’s numbers.

He’d text me every week to find out how I was doing with classes and other things. It was my first year living on campus after staying with family for two years, and he was very helpful. He showed me where to buy cheap food and where to get quality furniture. He was the friend I didn’t know I needed.

A couple of months after we started talking, he told me he had prayed, and God had told him I was his wife. He felt there was no need to waste any time, and we should get married. At first, I thought he was insane because I was just 22 and he was talking about marriage. But he was so serious.

This was a man who had never even kissed me before because we had to avoid temptation. In fact, we were not even dating, and he still referred to me as his friend, yet he was asking us to get married?

I told my mum that day, and she asked to talk to him. After their phone conversation, she told me she approved of the wedding. I felt like the only one out of the loop. So, I went back to talk to John.

We met up at a restaurant and he explained that he had feelings for me that he’d never felt for anyone else. He said he had spoken to God about it, and God revealed to him that I was destined for him. He mentioned things about me being his universe and crown. I won’t lie, I don’t remember much of the speech now, but it was long and serious. He asked me to go and pray about it as well, and I agreed to.

Looking back, it was funny that I did, because I wasn’t a prayerful person. On some days, one might even argue I was borderline agnostic. But that night, I went on my knees and prayed. When I went to bed, all I saw was John’s face in my sleep. Some might take it as a sign. I took it to mean I’d been thinking about him so much that he popped up in my dreams.

The next week, we met up as usual and discussed our relationship. He said he wouldn’t have sex with me until we got married, and he didn’t plan to marry me until I was done with university. The information made my head spin, but I was resolved to go through with it. I knew enough about my emotions to know he loved me and would take care of me. So, I said yes. A couple of months after graduation, John and I got married in church. I was 24, and he was 27.

READ ALSO: Feminism, Religion and Spirituality: What Has to Give?

One thing I learnt from the first two years of our marriage is that John and I understand each other. We’ve never had to argue or fight over who does what. Our simple motto was that whoever is available and capable should take charge.

The second thing I learnt is just how much my husband loves God. I had an idea when we were in university, but living with him was a whole new ball game. He’d thank God for the sex we had during morning prayers and thank God for the sleep we’re about to have during night prayers.

Sometimes, he’d call me while I was at work and say a quick prayer because he felt I needed something to calm me down. He wasn’t wrong, and it was a bit scary how he knew almost everything that happened in my life, but he said his love for me is so strong, he could detect any change in my feelings and emotions. I think it makes me a lucky girl.

READ ALSO: I Dated a Man of God. It Was the Closest Thing to Hell

His love for God made me want to find something I was just as passionate about. While I was searching, they made my husband the pastor in charge of the youth church we attended.

I had never in a million years imagined I’d be in this kind of situation. When it comes to Christianity, I am on the fence. I don’t go to church every week, I don’t pay tithe every month, I don’t belong to any department, and I hardly pray. If I have to pray, I’d rather be the one saying “Amen.” I was the worst candidate for a pastor’s wife, and I didn’t know how it was going to play out. I was scared.

There were so many adjustments as a pastor’s wife. The first was that I now spent much more time in church. We’d get there before almost everyone else and be among the last to leave. My first Sunday as the pastor’s wife, I remember packing my things after we shared the grace, ready to go home. That’s when so many women started walking up to me. They were talking about preparing a celebration for the women in the church and things like that. I don’t remember signing up for anything, but they were so sure I was the leader.

Later, my husband explained that it was usually the pastor’s wife who handled such things. “Such things,” I learnt, included marriage counselling for young couples, which I thought was crazy, considering I’d just gotten married. They told my husband and me that we were supposed to lead people down the path of righteousness. I found it funny because I wasn’t done guiding myself day-to-day, let alone other people.

Another duty I never really understood was the random fasting. They were almost always fasting in church, and I love food. I remember cooking lunch one day, and when my husband got home, he reminded me we were fasting. When he wasn’t looking, I dished my food and ate in the car. That night, while we prayed, my husband said, “And may God forgive those who pretend to fast while they eat jollof rice in the car.” How he caught me, I still don’t know. But I stopped trying to hide it.

He’s never forced me to do anything related to church that I didn’t want to do. I still don’t attend every Sunday, but I sometimes pop into midweek service when I have time. My tithe payment depends heavily on whether there’s a new wig catching my eye or not. My husband does all the counselling. He’s the Pastor, not me, and I try to make that distinction very clear to anyone who meets us.

When I wanted to stop wearing my short clothes, he protested. He told me that being a pastor’s wife didn’t mean I had to change who I was at the core. He loved me as I was, and that’s why he married me. It made me cry, knowing I had someone who didn’t ask me for too much.

Still I find myself doing some of the things pastor’s wives usually do. I organised Christmas gifts for the workers last year, and I sometimes visit pregnant members in the hospital. The thing is, my husband loves God with all his heart. Loving God might be his whole thing, but loving me is a choice he made, and he promised to never default on it.

I know for a fact that if I told him it bothered me that he’s a pastor, he’d drop it for me. But I wouldn’t do that to him. It won’t hurt me to do a few things here and there to make him happy. It’s not like I’m not a Christian, I’m just lazy and uninterested in the entire ministry process. But it is my husband’s life, and I’ll do anything within reason to bring a smile to his face. If wearing a hat and a skirt suit from Turkey is what will please him, then so be it. His ministry is for the love of God, but mine is for the love of him.

*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity

READ ALSO: Since I Became the Breadwinner, I Started Resenting my Husband

Gina* (37) has had her life planned since her teenage years. The goal was simple: finish school, run a business, make a lot of money, get married, and adopt a child. She was close to getting everything she wanted until a joke from her fiancé’s friend led her to call off the wedding.

This is Gina’s story, as told to Itohan

I’ve always known what I wanted from life. Maybe it’s because I had strict parents or simply my nature, but I’ve always been a planner. In primary school, while other children were uncertain about their futures, I knew I wanted to study and do business.

The interest I had in business began at the age of 10, in the very same primary school. My eldest brother, then at university in another state, would bring back packets of candy when he came home. My mum included them in my school snacks. I noticed that the candy I had was not the kind everyone else in school had, so when my classmates asked for a taste, I sold it to them. Unfortunately, this only lasted a term; a child took some candy home, and upon investigation by their parents, they reported it to the school. My mother made me promise not to sell candy in school again. I agreed, but the experience taught me that I never wanted to work for anybody. I wanted to run a business, and I wanted it to be a great one.

In SS2, I was 16 and running a surprise package business for the boarders. In my first year of University, I got my first carryover in the second semester while running a jewellery business and so I switched to helping other people finance their own business ideas. Then, after graduating, I opened a shop and started selling jewellery.

When I turned 26, after running a business for a couple of years, I decided to get my MBA. I had a shop on the island, where I officially sold jewellery; I wanted to close it when I was travelling out, but my mother insisted I leave it open. I am eternally grateful to her. She had retired from her job as a teacher and decided to help me run the day-to-day operations while I went to get my degree. Honestly, she was my best friend and the only person I could truly trust, so I let it happen.

A couple of months into my stay in the UK, I met someone. His name is Yinka*, and he was two years older than me. We lived in the same building, so I saw him almost every day. Either when he was returning from work, or I was heading to class. Sometimes, we’d stop to chat about life back home, and he’d give me tips on how best to adjust since he had been in the UK for over five years before I arrived. Our friendship was nice and I felt lucky to find someone I could confide in so early into my stay.

A few weeks after we became friends, he asked me out on our first date, and I agreed. I was about to be done with my MBA, and my mother told me my business was running smoothly (by this time we’d added importation of weave-ons and wigs). Life was going great, and I genuinely believed I’d won the lottery. We started dating a couple of months after that first date. We spent weekends together and went on a few trips. I had shared my plans and my goals with him; how I just wanted to work for as long as I could, and then adopt a child to care for. He seemed so aligned with my vision, I thought it was too good to be true.

I finished my MBA at 28 and was ready to return home and continue building my business. But Yinka asked me to stay back in the UK with him for two more years before we both moved back to Nigeria. I didn’t want to wait, my body was itching to get back to work. There was so much to do, and my mum was no longer as young as she once was. That caused one of our first major fights, but after not speaking for two days, we talked it through. The plan became that I would go back to Nigeria, and he’d stay in the UK. Then, when he was ready to return permanently, we’d do our introduction and get married. Simple, right? Well, it should have been.

ALSO READ: My Family’s Abuse Pushed Me to Become Financially Independent

When I got back home, my small shop, thanks to my mother’s help, had grown bigger. Gold, fashion jewellery, lace, hollandaise, weave-ons, we sold it all. We had various smaller shops, plus a main shop for those buying wholesale. The first thing I did when I got back was buy my mother a new car. She had basically helped me build my empire. It was the least I could do for her.

Yinka, however, was not impressed. He complained that I was splurging, instead of saving towards our marriage plans and settling in Nigeria. We fought again. Most of our fights were around money, how to manage it, and investment. We operated a 50/50 household because that’s how I was raised. Your money is your money, my money is mine, and household needs are our money. I was confused as to why these issues kept coming up when we were not even on the same continent. I tried to chalk it up to the distance and stress from work and business, but something just felt off.

After two years in Nigeria, Yinka finally came to join me. A month later, he proposed after asking my parents for their permission to marry me. I was 31, happy, and finally about to achieve everything I’d planned for myself since I was a teenager. We planned to marry the following year, we saw no need for a long engagement when we’d known what we wanted for years.

Four months into our engagement, I’d already met with a wedding planner, booked a venue, and sorted some other things. My mum was having the time of her life with the planning, while Yinka was hardly ever around to contribute. He said, “Weddings are women’s things. Do whatever you like, I’ll show up that day and marry you.” And that’s what I did. I chose items that I felt represented both of us. I wanted it to be special. That’s why I decided to have a bridal party. We invited his groomsmen and my bridesmaids and organised a beach party. The plan was for everyone to become friends and just get closer. I didn’t want situations where people would have bad blood.

That night, Yinka and some of his friends were drinking and chilling by the beach. I had excused myself to go to the bathroom, and on my way back, I overheard their conversation. His friend, Bode*, asked if we’d be moving to the UK after our wedding. Yinka had said no because we’d planned to stay in Nigeria, run my business, and raise our adopted child. Then Bode started laughing. He called Yinka a woman and said, “Are you not ashamed that your wife’s dick is bigger than yours? Instead of getting her pregnant and moving her to the UK where you can open a corner store for her, you’re doing as she says.” All his friends burst into laughter like Bode had just cracked the funniest joke.

But it wasn’t their laughter that bothered me, it was that Yinka laughed too. He laughed as his “friends” reduced my business degree and years of hard work to a “corner store in London.” He laughed, knowing full well I didn’t want to birth children. And when he didn’t correct them but instead shook their hands and patted their backs, I knew I’d seen enough. I quietly went back to the room at the beach house and sent a message to my mother: I’m not interested in getting married anymore. It was a brief summary of what had happened. I knew she wouldn’t see it until the morning, but I sent it anyway. Early the next day, before anyone else was awake, I placed the ring on the table and sent a message to Yinka to tell him I was calling off the wedding.

On my way home, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. My siblings, my mother, Yinka, and his family, everyone was calling. Yinka and his family kept insisting I misunderstood, but honestly, I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand. I thought he was comfortable with the life I’d chosen, but it turns out I was wrong. Instead of keeping both of us in a relationship that would turn sour and miserable, I chose to save us. He begged for months but eventually gave up when he realised I wasn’t changing my mind.

It’s been years since I called off the engagement. My business is doing great. I still invest in people’s businesses from time to time and work to get loans for female small business owners so they can pursue their dreams. Last I heard, Yinka is seeing someone, and I’m happy for both of them. His mother and I still keep in touch, because unlike her son, she doesn’t make jokes like that at my expense. I’m happy where I am right now, and I still plan to adopt a child. I may not have gotten everything I planned to get, but I got a lesson and a happy life. What more could I ask for?

*Amaka, (26) was content with her role as first daughter to her parents and big sister to her three younger siblings. But after losing both of her parents within a year, she had to learn how to become the head of the house while also protecting her siblings from leeching family members.

This is Amaka’s story, as told to Itohan

When people ask what I define as couple goals, I always think of my parents. They didn’t just love and care for each other, they genuinely liked each other. You could see it in the way they planned our family life.

After they had me, they waited six years before having my younger sister. Four years later, they had my second sister, and by the time I was 15, they had my brother, the last born. I remember asking them why they spaced us out so much, and my mum said it was because they wanted to make sure they had enough money, time, and attention to offer each child. When they felt they could handle another child, they went for it. Growing up, they never made decisions alone. You couldn’t get my mum to agree to something if dad had already said no. They were a team in all the ways that mattered. That’s why when my mother fell ill, I knew my dad wouldn’t last long without her.

She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in February of 2022. She had been complaining about stomach pain, and my dad and I kept begging her to go to the hospital. Ever since I was a little girl, my mum had always avoided hospitals; bitter leaf and bitter kola were her go-to remedies for everything. When she eventually decided to get tested, I knew it was really bad.

It took several tests before they discovered it was cancer, and by then, it was already advanced. My siblings were so young, and I had to be the one to tell them. My d ad could not mention her name without breaking down. I had to be strong for everyone in the house, including my dad. I had just finished NYSC and was transitioning between careers, all while splitting hospital shifts with my dad. Sometimes, I’d shower in her hospital room because I was heading straight to work. I was stressed, but there was nothing I could do. I was the first child, and I loved my mum. I wished I had someone to talk to. My dad became a shadow of himself. My younger sister was 18 and in university, the third was still in secondary school, and the last born was in primary school. I felt alone, and that feeling lasted throughout her hospital admission.

She passed on a weekend in April of 2023. We were all in the hospital with her. My dad was singing her favourite hymn, she liked it but was unresponsive as usual. However, as the hymn ended, she whispered, “I love you all,” and passed. It was the first thing she’d said in days. I like to believe she wanted us to hear how she felt about us and say goodbye.

That was the day the spark left my dad’s eyes. Leading up to her burial, he did not speak to anyone. He spent most of his time alone in his room, in tears. I had to console my siblings and plan the funeral because he was too heartbroken. When he passed in August, I was not surprised. He was not sick, he was not in the hospital, he just went to bed and didn’t wake up. I found him lying next to a picture of my mum. My siblings screamed and cried endlessly, but me? I didn’t shed a tear. I think I had already done most of my grieving while watching my mum die, and deep down, I think I was preparing for my dad’s death too. I had just turned 25 in June, and suddenly, I was an orphan responsible for three children.

Planning his funeral felt a bit funny because I had used the same vendors from my mum’s burial, so they gave me a lot of discounts. I could tell they pitied me, and honestly, I pitied myself too, but I just kept repeating, “Get through this, then you can move on with your life.” Maybe, finally afford myself the grace to breakdown and cry like I know my body and soul needed, but I was so wrong. After the burial, new problems surfaced.

My parents had done well financially. They could afford to send us to private universities, and they had a couple landed properties scattered around the country. Plus, from the brief meeting I had with my dad’s lawyer, I knew he had kept some money aside for schooling for my siblings for a few years. Unfortunately, I was not the only one concerned with the finances of my parents.

A few weeks after the burial, some of his “brothers” came to our house one day and demanded to see me. They said they would be moving into the house so they could oversee certain things because the only man of the house was less than ten years old. They started pointing at things they planned to sell and asked me to bring out property documents my dad had. I don’t know if they thought I would hand it over to them willingly. Clearly, they didn’t know I’m my mother’s stubborn daughter. I told them to sit and make themselves comfortable while I searched for the documents. Then I called a friend whose dad is in the military. When I told her what was happening, she called her father, and he agreed to send some of his men to the house. I also called my dad’s lawyer, who had said he was on the way with some documents he needed me to sign. I told him not to bring any documents until the situation was under control.

When the military men arrived, they first cleared out the truck outside that was meant to move my parents’ belongings, then entered the house. I wish I could record the look on my uncles’ faces. It was a mix of disbelief and shock. When the soldiers asked what I wanted them to do, I said, “If they’re not gone in the next minute, take them to the barracks and teach them a lesson.” At first, my uncles didn’t move, but when the soldiers started counting, they ran out of the house shouting that they’d “be back.”

After that incident, I didn’t see them again until January of 2024. My younger brother had fallen incredibly ill at the time and was on admission in the hospital, so I was barely at home because I had to keep an eye on him while one sister was in school and the other was home for the holidays. One day, while I was at the hospital, my sister called crying that there were some people at the gate of the house shouting and demanding to be let in. I had to leave my brother and rush home, but not before calling for backup. On getting home, I met my family members there once again, but this time they were more than the last time. They were shouting that it was an abomination for me to have used soldiers to threaten my elders. “This is what happens when a woman tried to be head of the house,” they said. Honestly, I was not in the mood for it. I was tired, my sister sounded distressed when she called me, and I needed to go back to see my brother. When I tried to push past them to enter the house, someone dragged me by my hair, and I fell to the ground. They were insulting me and telling me I had no right to stay in their brother’s house without their permission. The same house I’d lived in for years? A house my parents built together?

Luckily for me, as I was on the floor, the police I had called showed up with my mum’s younger brother. He saw me on the floor and told the officers to bundle all the people present. That’s how the police arrested about 5 of my uncles. He went with them to the station, and I went into the house to make sure my sister was okay. When she saw how I looked, she offered to be the one to stay with my brother that night. I usually wouldn’t allow it, because she was just a child, but I was too tired to say otherwise. That night, I got so many calls from my dad’s relatives calling me a shame, a disgrace, and other things. These people who watched my uncles try to bully me without interfering suddenly remembered that family should not treat each other badly. I wanted to switch off my phone so bad, but I couldn’t. I needed to be reachable in case of emergencies with my siblings.

After I showered, I went to lie down in my parents’ room. And for the first time since all of this began, I cried. I woke up with red, swollen eyes and a sore throat. My body was weak, and I was in so much pain, but I needed to be strong for my siblings. My brother was discharged a few days later. And then, I was the one on the hospital bed. The doctors said I was stressed, dehydrated, had high blood pressure among many other illnesses. I was ready to leave the next day, but my siblings made me stay, just for about three days. My mum’s younger brother stayed with them in the house so I could rest. And honestly? I liked being in the hospital. It was the first time in almost two years that I felt taken care for.

It’s been almost three years since we lost our parents, and almost two years since all of the drama with my uncles happened. No one has come to disturb us again. Maybe sleeping in police custody for a couple of days was what they really needed to straighten up. My siblings are doing well in school, and my younger sister is about to graduate from university. I miss my parents every day. I open my eyes and honestly, all of this has been tough and stressful, but my siblings are amazing. We help each other however we can.

We’re all we have, and somehow, we’re making it work.

READ ALSO: What She Said: I Don’t Feel Safe at Home Anymore

If you’re a woman who’s ever lived with other women in a hostel or flat, you’d definitely know these six perks/disadvantages that come with it.

Nakedness

Women get really comfortable with other women. So living with them means you’ll see so much nakedness, you’d be immune to it.

Period syncs

Everyone in the room will suddenly start having their period at the same time. It’ll mess up your schedule and the room’s energy, but it is what it is.

Relationship advice

One thing women will do is carry your relationship on their head. They’ll snap you out of your rubbish with love, and sometimes, intense anger.

Free styling

Who needs a stylist when you’re a woman living with women. Women don’t allow you leave the house if you don’t look like the most flattering version of yourself.

An expansive wardrobe

You never only have just one wardrobe. Even if the women you live with aren’t the same size as you, there’s never a limit on things you can share — from wigs to earrings to scarves. Living with women means having an extensive wardrobe.

Lack of personal space

Kiss your privacy goodbye. Women are conditioned to be extraordinarily friendly and kind. This can lead to them forgetting that there are certain things you need permission for.

Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.

This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 43-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about finding peace after her mother’s death, living with two bipolar brothers and escaping toxicity through classic books and films.

What makes you happy right now?

My published books, blogs and fan fiction. I haven’t made much money from them, but getting readers’ feedback makes me feel better about my self-worth. My mum died a week before my 40th birthday and my mind closed off. I couldn’t function. It wasn’t just the shock of her death, I also felt she died disappointed in me. I’m her only child who didn’t give her grandchildren or get married. A lot was left unsaid between us.

Like what?

She wasn’t always fair to me. Islam teaches us to accept the will of Allah, but I wish I focused more on her counsel than worrying about criticism from her. My brother’s wife told me something that gave me some closure. She said they often discussed me when I was at work and my mother would say she was proud of me. I wish she’d said things like that to me. I miss her very much, and I still feel sad when I think of her.

I’m sorry. How do you feel about not being married now?

Well, I never imagined I’d be single at 40, but I don’t mind it at all. I don’t want to be under a man who will tell me what to do or I’d need permission from. As a single woman, I’m not pressured to meet a husband’s expectations. I’m my own person.

What gives you this impression about marriage?

I’ve personally not experienced many healthy ones. My brother and his family live with me, and he has bipolar disorder. He’s on medication, but he’s not easy to live with. I sympathise with his wife but get angry and frustrated during his episodes. I always have to remind myself he’s mentally ill, yet sometimes, I feel he uses it to justify his general selfishness and superiority over his wife especially. Most times, I avoid him so his antics won’t get me down, but she can’t.

How do you manage your own mental health?

I focus on my hobbies. I read and watch classics, and write mostly to tune out the negativity. Sometimes, I just go out. I considered therapy but decided not to because I’m terrified of the possibility of needing meds.

Why?

I had panic attacks up until about 2010 because of my teaching job. I hid the attacks from my mum, who was already dealing with my younger brothers. Both of them are bipolar; I couldn’t add my issues. It was a horrible feeling, and I’m still prone to anxiety now and then. I don’t want a psychiatrist to detect it and say I should take meds. Then I’ll be unable to function without them. I want to be in control of my life without meds.

Fair enough. What was it like growing up with two bipolar brothers?

Their condition was undetected until they were both in university. But it’s not been easy. I never know when they might have an episode. The younger one takes his meds but won’t stop taking caffeine. He’s more bearable than the older one, but sometimes, he’s unreasonable. I resent the older one more because he’s done many things I can’t forgive him for. I generally try to avoid them.

Tell me about the hobbies that help you tune out negativity

I’ve loved classic books and films since I was a child. I have my late father to thank for that. He was a voracious reader who wanted his children to improve their vocabulary. He’d buy us books on our birthdays and let us read from his collection. Reading and writing fill me with fond memories of him.

That must be nice

He was still a strict father, though. Because of his temper and how he was set in his ways, I was afraid to cross him.

Where did your love for classic films come in?

As a child, NTA 5 aired BBC adaptations of classics like “Jane Eyre” (my favourite book), “Little Women” (my second favourite) and “Oliver Twist”. It made me love the classics even more. I also grew up watching great films like “The Sound of Music”, “The Thief of Baghdad” and “My Fair Lady”.

After reading about the history of motion pictures in an encyclopaedia in JSS 2, I wanted to watch all the films mentioned in it. Over the years, I’ve been able to. I especially enjoyed the film noirs. I love the feeling of entering another era, and it’s been helpful now when I need to escape. Today’s films, most of which are remakes of the classics, just don’t compare.

How did you transition to actually writing your own stuff?

The more books I read, and films I watched, the more I longed to create my own stories. But I didn’t consider actually writing until I started reading Enid Blyton’s books, my first inspiration to write children’s stories. I was about eight when my father bought one for me, “The Three Wishes, and other stories”. I think I was 15, when I first wrote anything. It was a three-stanza poem about the sea, and I sadly no longer have a copy. My first two books were published by Lantern Books.

How did that go?

It’s not easy to write for kids because you have to learn what they like, how they think, and keep the language simple. I submitted a manuscript of ten children’s stories in 2003. They were published in 2006 as two separate books. I was so happy when the physical copies were placed in my hands. But my third book wasn’t published till late 2018.

Have you written anything for film?

My first attempt at a film script was when I was at Federal College of Education (FCE), Osiele, Abeokuta. I showed it to a friend, but while he said it was well-written, he thought it was controversial because it talked about cultism. I haven’t made a second attempt.

Would you still offer it for adaptation to film one day?

I pray so. It would the pinnacle of my writing career.

And your romantic life so far?

I’ve only been in three brief relationships, and they all happened when I was 19. In fact, I would hardly call them “relationships”. I’m ashamed of the first and third because I thought I was in love. The second, I knew, was real, but I was too immature to handle it well. I haven’t tried again since.

I really don’t want to talk about it; all three were humiliating mistakes. I’ve forgotten the whole thing and moved on with my life, happily single.

For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here

If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why

NEXT READ: What She Said: I Need to Write to Be Alive

Generally, people react differently to breakups. But I’ve noticed that a woman who’s just come out of a relationship does at least five of these.

She starts going to the gym

I can’t even lie, me sef I’ve done this one. There’s a way the heartbreak will hit you, you’ll enter gym. A Woman who’s just collected breakfast might register at a gym to be ten times hotter than before, so that their ex will regret and be jealous. Either that, or she’s looking for somewhere to pour all her anger and pain.

She changes something about her appearance

She’ll want a different look to remind herself that she’s a new woman in a new phase and old things have passed away. So she’ll die her hair vomit-green or another wild colour. She’ll even wear more risque outfits and become more adventurous with her fashion sense.

She’s posting fire thirst traps

Someone who used to post pictures once in three months will suddenly start posting back-to-back fire pictures on her social media accounts with captions like “it’s unfortunate you couldn’t keep me” or “no other like me”.

She wears less and goes out more

Every weekend she’s “outsideeee” with her friends, having the time of her life. Her Snapchat is filled with videos of her going out for brunch or dancing and taking shots at the club.

She starts listening to inspirational podcasts

She’ll finally open the podcast app that she’s been postponing for two years. Then she’ll start listening to the inspirational ones that tell her how she doesn’t need to be in a relationship to be happy (which is true, but it seems she didn’t know it before). She’ll go ahead and post snippets of her favourite healing podcasts on her Instagram story so that people know she’s now a new woman who is single and happy.

ALSO READ: How to Get a Nigerian Woman to Eat

She gets into a new hobby

If it’s not yoga, she’ll join a dance class. She may even start journalling, get into pottery, or become a plant mom just to pour out all the love she has to give, since men don’t deserve it.

ALSO READ: 9 Reasons A Nigerian Woman Will Breakup With You

She pours all her energy into her career

She no longer has time for love because that only brings stress and heartbreak. Now her only focus is on becoming rich and powerful. Lovers will break your heart, but your career won’t.

She becomes religious

Since her relationship on earth didn’t work out, she’ll start working on the Heavenly one. I’ve been there. A few years ago, an ex broke up with me and I became an usher in church. Fun times.

She starts tweeting a lot

Her Twitter timeline will be filled with tweets about self-love and self-care. She’ll tweet about how nothing is better than being single, rich and happy.

ALSO READ: 20 Things That’ll Take All Your Money as a Nigerian Woman

Being a woman in Nigeria is a full-time expense. I feel like Buhari should give us beauty allowance every month.

As a babe who doesn’t like spending money, I’m here to help you save money. Here are all the things that’ll drain your money so you can avoid them.

Having hair

Imagine paying ₦15k for knotless braids and it gets rough two weeks later, or having to dye your hair. Instead of doing all these things to make your hair look nice, just cut it. A low cut is convenient and cheap, and you’ll get to pour water on your head anytime you want.

Being a firstborn

Once you have more than three siblings, just go and register your name with Emefiele. Congratulations, you are now a bank.

My advice is simple, just don’t come to the world as a female firstborn. If you can’t do that, be like Esau and trade your birthright.

Having a partner

Relationships are not cheap. On valentine’s day, you’ll have to buy gifts for your partner. On their birthday, you’ll also surprise them, and honestly, these things are not cheap. So just save your money by staying single.

Not having a partner

Apart from the fact that you might be lonely, you would also have to spend your own money on things like food, hair etc. The only reason my Instagram page isn’t private is because I want my future partner to find me so they can spend their money on me.

Going on girls trips

Stay in your house and watch Netflix. Have you seen the ticket prices ? Then you’ll still book an Airbnb, buy clothes, do your hair, do your nails blah blah blah. If you decide to stay in your house and watch a movie or FaceTime your friends instead, you’d save a lot of money.

Having a skincare routine

You want your skin to glow??? LMAOOOOO. The price of sunscreen is like ₦9k. Sometimes, I think of swallowing a glowstick instead of buying one more product.

Sanitary pads

Heavy and medium flow babes suffer the most here. Imagine using five pads a day so you don’t get stained in public. I want to come down from this REALITAY.

Aso-Ebi

Just because your bestfriend is getting married doesn’t mean you should spend half of your salary on aso-ebi. Can’t just wear a lovely gown? This is why I have no friends.

Being emotionally invested in men

Instead of being emotionally invested in men, find something else to do, like learning how to knit.

Going on brunches

These are so good and worth the money tbh. I’ll go again and again and get tipsy on mimosas with my girls. Amen? [I still have no friends.]

Buying rich aunty clothes

Kaftans and abayas and two pieces, will take all your money. Maybe we should stop trying to look like a rich aunty. What do poor aunties look like? Because that’s what I’m channeling now.

Living alone

My advice concerning this is that you should stay in your parents house till you get married, that way, you’ll get free food, accommodation, and trust me, you’ll save a lot of money. The only thing it’ll cost you is your mental health.

Buying gadgets

Can we go back in time and start sending letters again? Because I’m tired of spending money on gadgets. Imagine having to pay almost ₦500k for a phone because it’s a “fruit”, it’s lilac and you want it to match your aesthetics.

Transportation

There’s three categories of people: those who have cars and spend money on fuel, those who take Uber/Bolt and have to listen to what the uber driver has to say and those who take the bus or BRT. Either way, you’ll still spend money. The solution is easy: grow wings and fly.

Ordering food

Anytime you’re hungry and feel like ordering food, just stop yourself. Go to your kitchen and whip up a nice meal instead. If you’re too lazy to cook, just drink garri.

Wearing clothes that haven’t been ironed

I don’t know how you’ll survive because which company is going to employ a woman in rumpled clothes. If nobody employs you, you’d be jobless, and if you’re jobless you’d be broke, very very broke.

Having a pet

Owning a pet is not only expensive but it would also stress you. You can barely feed yourself and you think you would be able to feed a pet?

Celebrating your birthday

Please, just stay in your room and sleep or cry or think about your life. This is why you should have rich friends who can plan a surprise party for you, or better still a sugar daddy who’ll give you all the money you need to plan a party.

Going for concerts

Instead of paying ₦20k to see Asake, just play his songs on your phone and pretend you’re at his concert.

Paying your tithe

Do with this information what you will.

Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

The subject of this week’s What She Said is a woman who was born with Sickle Cell Disease (SCD). She talks about the first time she had a crisis, losing her sister to the disease, not allowing it stop her from enjoying her life, and how breakdowns are a regular part of her life.

What’s your earliest memory of your childhood?

I was a talkative kid and quite troublesome. My earliest memory is hiding behind a sofa one evening to avoid my mum, who was trying to convince me to go to bed.

Another memory is of a crisis I had.

Crisis?

It was a cool night, around 1 a.m., and I woke up with a sharp pain in both my knees.

Often, my crises start around joints, but the pain was unexpected and excruciating. It was so excruciating that I was rushed to a hospital emergency unit. I was bedridden for about six days and heavily medicated. I’ve never had a crisis as bad as that one since.

But you’ve had others?

Yes. I’ve had regular crises for as long as I can remember.

As I’ve grown, it’s become easier to manage and avoid crises, but I used to have one a day or four a week consistently for the majority of my earlier years.

How did your parents take it?

My family learnt about SCD the hard way and went through various hospital visits with my sister. So when I was born and later diagnosed, they were more prepared.

I grew up taking daily prescription medication, avoiding excessive sports and drinking a minimum of two litres of water a day.

Unfortunately, my sister died in 2013.

I’m so sorry.

It’s okay. My family understands only the basics. This made it hard for my siblings to understand crises earlier in life, but thankfully, my stepmother and legal guardian was a nurse; and she was always available during a crisis.

The first time I learnt about SCD in school, the biology teacher taught us that people with SCD can’t live past 20. It’s bullshit. I did the majority of my education on SCD by myself, with no help from my doctor or family members.

Don’t miss out on hot tea. Subscribe to the best newsletter for Nigerian women.

What about outside school? Where was the first place you heard about it?

I was young, maybe 7 or 8. I found out I had SCD by overhearing an early morning conversation between my stepmother and brother outside my room, the morning after I had had a crisis in the night.

They didn’t tell you before?

No.

Why?

I don’t know. I doubt I would have had any use for the information. I’m glad I didn’t find out any later than I did, but I don’t wish I knew earlier.

So, what’s life like for you with SCD?

I think of my body like a clunky old car. Since almost anything can trigger a crisis, I try my best to drink more than enough water, maintain a medium body temperature and avoid extreme stress.

It’s very touch and go, hence the comparison with an old car. I’m managing my body and despite how much I try, it breaks down often and I end up in the workshop.

What about the future? What does a future with SDC look like for you?

I used to despise thinking about this. I’ve been suicidal after crises, but this life na one.

I plan to travel, explore my many talents, taste many foods and work on my career goals.

In the short term, I intend to purchase equipment for a personal gym soon. I’m working towards a toned body ideal that I once believed was unattainable for me because I believed I couldn’t exercise.

I intend to live to the fullest, and see where that takes me.

What about a family. Any plans for that?

Maybe. If I choose not to marry and/or have kids, it will be for reasons outside SCD.

If I ever marry, I will not have biological children unless I do so in a country where medicine is advanced enough to avoid passing the sickle cell trait.

Don’t miss out on hot tea. Subscribe to the best newsletter for Nigerian women.