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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.
I have a fear of home invasions. All forms of it: burglaries, armed robbery, break-ins. The crux of that fear is having an unwelcome stranger in my house.
It was just a few minutes past 2 a.m. when I woke up to stare at my phone’s too-bright screen. The date was May 24, 2023. I heard a soft click, and the door to my room opened slowly. I was confused, and at first, I thought, “I didn’t close it properly. A breeze must have happened.”
But the door didn’t stop opening. The slice of light from the hallway kept widening. It was now clear that someone was on the other end of the door, and they were opening it slowly, trying to make sure they wouldn’t wake me. My flatmates usually knock first.
“Who the fuck is that?” I yelled before I realised I was angry or afraid. The door immediately stopped moving. I jumped out of bed — it takes a few seconds because I sleep naked and have to wear a robe — and chased after them, but they were gone by the time I got there.
Outside my door, there was a lingering whiff of body odour in the hallway. In the living room, the balcony door was open. My flatmates and I live on the first floor, so this person climbed the railing to get into our apartment.
I didn’t know until daylight, but they left a handprint on the wall right by the balcony door.
I slammed the balcony sliding door closed, almost losing my little finger. Then I walked back to my room and stood at the door, trembling. All I could think was, “There was someone in this house. There was someone in our house.” I stood there for a while before I heard someone yelling from the next house. The person must’ve climbed the fence to get into the next compound. When I finally stopped shaking, I went inside, locked the door and texted my flatmates.
I lay in bed, staring at my door, half expecting it to open for a stranger to come in and attack me. I couldn’t sleep until 4:56 a.m.
Now, look. I’m well aware of how careless we were. The balcony has three doors: a burglary-proof door, a sliding net door and a sliding glass door. They were all closed, but none were locked; entry was easy. And my neighbour was robbed the previous month, possibly by the same person.
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The following day, I bought the strongest padlock I could find and permanently locked the burglary-proof gate. When I spoke to some neighbours, they told me the security guard in the next compound had seen him jumping the fence. He’d taken my neighbour’s make-up purse, which he’d dumped in the next house. Then he apparently came back that same night and tried to rob some other neighbours.
I couldn’t sleep properly for days, so I packed my shit and went to a friend’s house until I felt ready to return home.
One early morning in late June, a few weeks later, I heard the soft click of the door again. I opened my eyes and saw a blurry image of someone standing at the door. Before I could fully process my thoughts or the pounding of my heart, I yelled at them, “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” As the person rushed toward me, saying, “It’s me,” I realised it was a friend who had come over for a few days, not an intruder. It felt like the whole thing had happened again for a few seconds. Only this time, they actually got into my room to attack me.
As my friend comforted me, and I tried to calm my heart, I started laughing because it was too funny. Would I always be afraid of the sound of my door? I’d been so angry that they’d come back, but what did I think my fearful anger was going to do, scare them away? It did before, so maybe it has some power.
I check all the doors before I go to bed now, but every time I open my door and hear the soft click, I get a flashback that makes me shake my head. Don’t go to bed without locking your doors, people.
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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.
When did you realise you weren’t your parents’ favourite?
I’ve always known. They never hid it.
I was the ugly sister — the third child of three girls and one boy — and as far as I can remember, my father and mother always picked on me about it.
What was the first memorable thing they did that made you know for sure?
When I was around seven years old, my mum stopped me from going with my sisters to a birthday party because she didn’t want me to embarrass them. I ended up alone at home with the nanny, who followed my parents’ example by treating me badly too. She only ever fed me cold Indomie when I was alone with her. I cried the whole day.
Sometimes, I think back and realise even at that age, I knew I was considered ugly, and that was why my mum wouldn’t let me go to a party with my sisters.
Why were you considered ugly?
I’m very dark in complexion, and anyone who had my skin colour in the 80s was almost always looked down on. People also made fun of my big eyes, nose and lips. The funny thing is I took after my father, unlike my siblings who favoured my mum’s looks. She was fair with more fragile features. Meanwhile, my dad would still blatantly call me ugly.
What do you mean by “blatantly”?
Anytime he was angry I spoiled something or failed a test, he’d say something like, “Get away, you ugly somebody.” Or sometimes, he’d just want me out of his sight.
One time, when I was in primary six, my dad’s boss came to visit with his wife.
My mum warned all four of us kids not to come out of our rooms except they told us to. An hour into their visit, they called my siblings to greet the guests, but they said I didn’t need to come. The second time they called them out, I waited for some minutes, and then I followed into the living room. I was curious to see how the “big man” looked.
My parents were so upset when they saw me, but they pretended in front of the guests. I couldn’t even introduce myself before I saw my mum give a look, and we all returned to our bedrooms.
OMG. What happened after?
My parents didn’t speak to me at all after they left, and I was both shocked and relieved because I expected a beating. That night passed and the next day came, and they still didn’t speak to me. That’s how almost a year passed without them saying a word to me.
How was that possible?
You have to understand that I never had normal communication with them before that, so it wasn’t a huge jump. I was still in primary school, and there wasn’t much that had to be said between us. Instead, I was referred to as part of a collective when they spoke to my siblings.
For some reason, I didn’t try to speak to them either. It didn’t even occur to me to beg for forgiveness until our firstborn brought it up. I just kept to myself and pretended not to exist. It was only after I went to apologise to them about that day that my mum hissed, and they started speaking to me again.
Wow. I can imagine growing up in that situation was difficult
It was the worst.
Every time I tried to talk about anything, my mum would tell me to shut up. I’d always get served food last just so I could get the bottom of the pot. And she’d conveniently forget to buy me new clothes except once in a blue moon. It was petty things like that, but also, she’d over-punish me when I made mistakes, compared to my siblings who’d get a small scolding.
I’ve heard her talk to her siblings over the phone and mention how she doesn’t know how she gave birth to someone like me. She often said it as a joke followed by loud laughter, but I don’t know if that made it better or worse.
I don’t know what to say
To make matters worse, I started comfort eating once I entered secondary school, so I became overweight in no time. At some point, my dad started calling me “nwaezi”, which means “baby pig” in Igbo. I thought it was an endearment until I found out the meaning one day.
I’m so sorry. What were your siblings’ reactions to this treatment?
We’re all close in age, so they were young too.
They tried to ignore it instead of interfering, but you could tell they were uncomfortable about it. They just weren’t uncomfortable enough to stand up for me against our parents. The only person who was particularly mean was our eldest when we were all in secondary school. She’d join my mother to laugh at me, but she stopped that once she entered university.
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How did you manage to survive it all?
I’m not sure.
It deeply affected me then, and it still affects me today. I failed out of secondary school because I never read or listened in class, and no one cared enough about me to make sure I did. After repeating about three times, I had to take post-secondary classes to enter a polytechnic, while my siblings all attended university.
That made me feel worse, coupled with the fact that I wasn’t interested in what I was studying or any career at all. I graduated with a pass and went back to my parents’ house. They descended on me, and this time, they had many reasons to. I was ugly, overweight, had no reasonable degree and couldn’t get a job. I lived off of them for almost five years and enveloped myself in their verbal abuse.
Did you have any support system growing up?
I was and still am quite antisocial.
At that time, I didn’t have friends or relatives I was close to. In school, I carried the weight of self-hate and low self-esteem around with me, so people hardly ever approached me. Even teachers ignored me.
I cross paths with people I attended secondary school or polytechnic with, either online or in life, and 95% of them have no memory of me. Some even recognise my sisters but swear they don’t remember me. As a child and young adult, I never really had anyone I could casually reach out to.
It sounds like things improved at some point
Yes. Taking church seriously was the turning point.
In 2004, some years after I got my HND, I switched from my family church to another one and started attending every service and special programme to escape from home. In less than a year, I was a full-fledged church worker and gradually opened up to the other workers. For the first time, I was part of a family with a defined purpose. While it wasn’t all love and light like it was supposed to be, it was a thousand times healthier than the situation at home.
And that’s where I met my husband.
How did that happen?
He was also a worker, about five years older than me.
When he first started talking to me nice, in 2006, I immediately decided I didn’t deserve someone like him. He was well-liked in church and had a pleasant face. I thought I’d embarrass him by being romantically associated with him. I didn’t want him to feel bad and ashamed of himself when he finally realised I was actually ugly. So I started avoiding him.
But he was persistent for a good year. Even when I skipped services, he’d come to my house — sometimes, with our pastor — to check on me. As soon as I agreed to date him, he proposed. I was ecstatic. I ended up being the first of my siblings to get married. Everyone was shocked.
What did they say?
My mum laughed at me when I told her. She said, “I thought you would be our stay-at-home child, to take care of us in our old age.” She made a show out of telling me how lucky I was and how I should make sure to “tie the man down before he runs”. When he came for the introduction, she was very happy. My father was indifferent.
Please, tell me it went well
Our marriage was great until I had our first child in 2009. As soon as I became pregnant, he grew distant, and the affairs rolled out. For several years, I accepted this as normal and even encouraged it.
Affairs?
He started seeing other women. Of course, at first, I felt betrayed, especially because he was supposed to be a born-again Christian. I really didn’t expect adultery from him. He’s an assistant pastor today, but it hasn’t stopped him.
But I’m curious. How and why did you encourage it?
After I found out about the first one, I told him it was okay, that I understood.
I thought it was expected, considering how ugly I was. I found myself making excuses for him and justifying it. In fact, I believed he did me a favour by marrying me, giving me an escape from my parents and having to figure out a career or finances.
Our marriage stopped being romantic or intimate after our first year, but he’s never treated me badly or disrespected me for one day. I’ve told myself I’m content with that.
Are you?
I am.
When you say “stopped being intimate”, do you mean no more sex?
Oh no. He still performs his marital duties — we have three kids now — but it’s clear he doesn’t enjoy it with me. I understand why. I’ve never really been able to let loose in bed for him.
Do you still believe your looks justify his infidelity?
Not at all. I’ve seen too many marriages in which the wives are simply perfect but the husbands still cheat or treat them badly to believe that. But something in my head still tells me it’s only natural that he’d seek comfort in other women.
A part of me feels like I’m a source of shame to him. When others boldly show their wives off, what can he do?
Did you ever confront your parents about how they treated you?
No. I was terrified of them, so I just treated it as something normal I had to endure.
They’re still alive and strong today. My mother did Omugwo for all three of my children. I’m still not their favourite, and they hardly notice when I don’t communicate with them for a while.
Have you ever considered therapy?
No, I haven’t. The church community has been quite helpful with counselling and that feeling of fellowship, so I’ve not yet found it necessary.
Has your experience affected your relationship with your own children?
As a young adult, I was so sure I wouldn’t have children because I didn’t want them to have a similar experience. But when I got serious with church and married my husband, I healed from that. I realised my children wouldn’t suffer like I did because I’d never behave like my parents. Neither would my husband.
We bring them up as Christ would, with gentleness and kindness.
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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.
*TW: This story contains themes of depression and suicide*
Tell me about your team lead
We were very close. If somebody asked me out at the bank, I would tell her I’d tell her, and we’d laugh about it. She even got her best friend to talk to me when I was feeling very depressed, and she wasn’t around.
But we started to fall out in late 2021. About a year into the role, I became restless and wanted to know where my career was headed. It was a new team, which meant there was a lot of uncertainty about career growth. I wasn’t sure what was next, and I didn’t like it.
So what did you do?
As I became more restless, it started some friction with other members of the team. So I brought up how I felt with my boss, and she tried to calm me down.
She was away from the country and promised we’d talk about it when she returned. But I felt out of place in the team because she was away for a long time.
How long?
About six months. I’d already applied for another job before she returned. When I told her this on Whatsapp, she asked why, and I made a flippant statement like, “You people are confusing; I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
It hurt her a lot because apart from assuring me that we’d discuss how to navigate how I was feeling about work, she had been there for me.
For context, when I almost O’D’ed in May 2021, she got me help and took care of me.
Overdosed? What happened?
I had come into the bank job with a lot of debt because I’d just moved from Abuja. So I had to get a place to stay. Thinking about it now, it was probably just ₦200 or ₦300k but it felt really overwhelming at the time. I also felt very alone. I was away from my family and had no friends in Lagos. My family was also requesting black tax, as always.
How did your boss find out?
We followed each other on Instagram, and I used to post worrying content. My state of mind also affected my output; tasks that typically take a day or two took two weeks.
One day, she texted me on my WhatsApp and said she noticed what I posted on Instagram and offered to get me help. I broke down because I didn’t even know that someone would see that something was wrong. She paid for a session with a psychiatrist, and I was placed on medication.
What were you diagnosed with?
Depression. I’ve had depression since I was 14. It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life.
I grew up with my dad’s family in Port Harcourt. I had a step-mum because my mum and dad had separated when I was born, and my mum stayed in Bayelsa.
There was a lot of verbal abuse, and my stepbrother used to try to sexually assault me at night. Nobody ever did anything about it. My step mum once said to me, “If you wear shorts to sleep as I told you, he won’t try to touch you.”
I often ran away, and they’d find me and bring me back. She’d beat the shit out of me, all the works. I was around nine or ten years old.
I’m so sorry. What about your dad?
I never told him. He was barely around because he was into illegal oil bunkering, so he never noticed. I think the only time he noticed something was off was when my step-mum accused me of stealing her money. He asked me if I took the money and I said no, then he made a comment, “Children like this end up being the best people.” I don’t know what he meant, but I interpreted it to mean, “They’re maltreating you now, but tomorrow you’ll be alright.” That hurt because he was supposed to protect me.
Because of all that trauma growing up, I was already very depressed. I’ve been suicidal for a long time, but I I was just too scared to do anything about it.
Let’s go back to your boss’ help in 2021
I felt very safe and heard with her, and I didn’t need to do anything extra. My boss said it was something I’d been battling for a long time, and I’d never really gotten a plan for recovery, so she wanted to get me all the help I needed, both therapy and medication.
Did the medication help?
The jury’s still out on whether they work. What helped me was being seen and heard, not necessarily the medication.
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Fair enough. So what happened when you fell out with your boss?
She told me that she blamed herself because it meant she couldn’t clearly communicate her vision for the team. She was also surprised because it felt like she was doing her best to carry me along.
Now I wanted to see what it was like in other teams, so I moved from marketing to the product team. It broke my boss because she felt like it was personal. We didn’t have a fight, but there had been a back and forth for months, and towards the end of the 2021, she called me and told me she’d heard a lot of stuff I’d said to HR, and she was very disappointed. It was an emotional conversation, but it also felt finallike “this is it.”
When she returned to the country, we eventually had a face-to-face conversation. I let her know it wasn’t personal, and I wasn’t lying to get ahead or trying to put her down. I just needed to move for me and the sake of my career. But by then, the damage was already done, and we were never that close again.
So sorry
I left her team and joined another team; there was no going back. I was trying to get ahead with my work.
In 2022, I got admission into a school in Sweden and was up for a scholarship. But I stalled the application process because the school required a reference letter from my boss; but I had fallen out with the person I’d worked with for about a year and didn’t know how to approach my new boss. So I was in limbo until the deadline passed. That’s how I lost out on the scholarship.
While this was going on, I was also in a situationship with a team member.
It just happened; we were on the same project, so we were always working together. We started talking, and things progressed from that. But it didn’t work out and ended badly.
Losing out on the scholarship and the end of my situationship took a toll on me. And I OD’d again.
I had a lot of medication at home from my sessions the year before. So I sat down and opened all the drugs, removed them from their packs and started swallowing them in bits until I’d taken them all.
I texted my older sister and told her I’d overdosed on my medication. Then I turned off my phone and stayed under the shower. She was out of town and couldn’t come but called a mutual friend who rushed to the house. He broke the door and rushed me to my psychiatrist — my sister had told him about it.
When I woke up the next day, my new boss, a top management member from work were by my bedside. The mutual friend had called the office because he said when he took me to the hospital, my psychiatrist wasn’t around, but the other people there had made some statements about suicide being illegal in Nigeria, and he was afraid I’d be arrested.
So he called my office and they came to take me out of the hospital that morning. We went to another hospital, and. I was admitted for three weeks. I saw a dozen psychiatrists and therapists. It felt like a prison, but with a lot of medication.
I’m sorry, that sounds like a lot. Did you go back to work?
Not immediately. The entire month I was in the hospital, I was worried and kept thinking about work, but they said I couldn’t go. The psychiatrist consultant said he felt I didn’t understand the gravity of what I had done because I was very eager to go to the office, and that’s not how it works. I had to understand that trying to take my life wasn’t how to handle stuff when it got hard. That helped me through the treatment.
After I was discharged at the end of June, I spent one month at home, getting better. I went back to work in August. I never returned to the psychiatrist I was seeing,l , and they never reached out. I also never went back to any of my appointments at the new hospital.
Why not?
I didn’t think it was effective for me. I also stopped my medication in July when I went back home. I felt like I’d always be on medication, and I didn’t want that. When I get withdrawal symptoms, I take one or two to ease the symptoms. Therapy and drugs don’t help. I’m still very depressed but I won’t try to kill myself again.
So how are you doing now?
Now, I’m okay mentally. I’m in a better place. Maybe it’s the pep talks I have with myself; maybe it’s the weed.
Haha
I started smoking when I got off my medication. I don’t like depending too much on anything, so I don’t smoke all the time, but it helps. I’m better now.
For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women-like content, click here
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.
Take us to the beginning of your dating experience. Was it a good start?
You tell me. My first boyfriend was a cultist.
I didn’t know immediately, but when he told me over a year into the relationship, I didn’t break up with him. It just explained why he often disappeared for a while and was rather inconsistent. I only broke up with him about three years later, when I couldn’t handle his inconsistency any longer.
How did you meet a cultist though?
I met him in 2011 at a JAMB tutorial centre, and we dated on and off during the three years it took me to finally gain admission into university — no thanks to federal universities. I remember when we started dating, he disappeared for about a year, and I couldn’t get in touch with him. I was so confused. But then, he came back and eventually showed me his cult shirt. I was 19 then, and very naive. I already liked him a lot, so I didn’t break up with him.
Let’s talk about the inconsistency that eventually led to that
One time, he kept me waiting for up to an hour for a date. Other times, I’d just not hear from him for weeks. Then, he’d turn up and want to carry on with the relationship like nothing happened. I’d just find myself crying in bed because I missed him and didn’t understand what was going on. I eventually convinced myself that the heartache wasn’t worth it.
And after him?
After him, I finally got into school and another relationship. This person cheated on me with my friend because I wasn’t ready to have sex. My friend was even the one who came and told me. After that one, I didn’t date again throughout uni.
But there was a guy who asked me out for up to two years. He was consistent; he’d come to my hostel on campus, and we’d gist and laugh for hours. I decided to give him a chance after graduation in 2017, and he ended up being my best boyfriend to date. He was kind and thoughtful, but he lied about being a smoker when he knew it was my dealbreaker at the time. When he finally came clean, I broke up with him.
Ironically, I smoke now.
What is this life?
Around that time, I started learning about things like gender inequality, feminism and internalised misogyny. I’d been poking holes through things society portrayed as normal for a while, but it really came to a head that year. I started NYSC at the end of 2017 and got into another relationship. The problem started when I decided to carry my new boyfriend along on my newfound journey.
He didn’t take it well?
No. We started having arguments from early on, about things as little as having rights as a woman.
One time, we went to computer village to fix my phone. As we were leaving, the repairman ran after us to return something my boyfriend forgot, saying, “Thank God say no be your woman you forget like that.” I was shocked and later shared with him how that came across as equating me to an object. I was mindblown that he didn’t understand how that was a problem, how you can draw a straight line from that kind of mindset to the general violence against women.
It’s like the majority of men don’t see women as human but as objects that exist solely for the pleasure of men.
Do you think he saw you that way too?
Not obviously, but there were things he did.
For example, I wasn’t sexually active at the time. I had a Pentecostal Christian upbringing, where I wasn’t allowed to wear trousers or earrings. Of course, sex was a big no. We’d make out sometimes but never go all the way.
One day, we’d gotten to the point of dry humping, and the next thing I heard was, “I put in just the tip.” I cried for an hour, I felt so betrayed. And the main problem was he didn’t even see how he’d violated me and taken advantage of my trust. He hadn’t even cared to seek consent because he had access to my body and felt entitled. That experience affected me so much, I had to get therapy to heal from it.
Have you had any healthy relationships with men?
I honestly don’t think so because my next memorable relationship was long-distance and toxic as hell.
We met during NYSC in 2018 but didn’t date until after because we were both in relationships. After NYSC, he went back abroad and then asked me out sometime in 2020. I agreed to date him because he’d been a really good friend, and I thought he was a decent human being.
However, I shared my reservations about long-distance relationships beforehand. Big mistake, because he spent our entire three-month relationship using that as proof I didn’t really like him instead of that I, in fact, liked him enough to try with him! Suffice it to say, the relationship was one big emotional rollercoaster.
He’d always play these mind games about how he knew I didn’t like him and was cheating on him with my ex, or just make negative assumptions about almost everything I said or didn’t say.
One time, I half-heartedly asked if he’d upgrade my iPhone 6 to a 7 or 8 — X was the latest grade at the time, so I wasn’t greedy. He just responded with a comment implying that that was why I really agreed to date him.
Wow
Later, he asked to take a break because he was having domestic issues. I asked if there was any way I could support him, and he accused me of making what he was going through all about me.
Some weeks later, he messaged me saying I shouldn’t wait for him. Did he expect me to put my life on hold for him before? In retrospect, I realise he only initiated that relationship so he could get my nudes.
No!
Yes. He even texted me some months later asking if I could reshare them with him, that he’d mistakenly deleted all the ones I’d shared. I spent the whole of COVID year recovering from him.
Men are what?
Is it the one I had a situation-ship with later in 2020, who kept talking about his ex, making comments like: “When the most beautiful person you’ve ever dated is now in someone else’s arms,” or “If his ex was single right now, he’d be with her.” It was particularly annoying because I’d asked him several times about it before and he lied and said he was over her. Of course, I eventually gained sense and left that one.
But guess what. He still gave me three missed calls last night (2023).
What was the last straw for you with men?
Sometime in September 2022, I met two guys on the same night out in South.
I don’t know which one showed me the most pepper, the insecure dog beater or this nonchalant guy. And not even at the same time o.
Oh, dear. When you say “dog beater”
I’ve truly seen it all.
So this guy walked up to me while I was taking fresh air outside South, and started talking about how he was a hot shot who made clothes for celebs. We exchanged IG contacts, and later on, we started DMing. That’s how he started sending me Instagram posts of wigs I can choose from. Before I knew it, he was offering to buy me a phone and change my life. I told him to calm down; I didn’t want anything from him; we barely knew each other. He went off on me that “Am I trying to insinuate he had ulterior motives?”
At some point, we agreed to go see a movie together, but when he picked me up, he said he wanted to take something from his “atelier”. He drove us to a self-contained apartment in Surulere, and I immediately knew that was where he lived.
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Uh oh
There was this other guy watching a football match. I sat on the one sofa available, right next to a bed. He sat beside me, and that was how the idea of seeing a movie flew out the window. He just kept asking me things like, “What would ₦500k do for me right now?” “Send me your account number, I’ll wire you ₦1m.” It was a lot.
Then, he took my hand and placed it on his crotch.
Ah
I jumped up and knew I had to get out of that situation. He stood up too and walked into another room that must’ve been his kitchen. Next thing, I heard this loud keening that sounded almost human until I realised it was a dog.
What was wrong with the dog?
I peeked in through the slightly open door and saw this dog chained to a table.
First of all, the room was dirty. Then, the dog must’ve been white originally, but its fur was brownish and matted. It just looked so sad. Meanwhile, this guy was screaming at it and started hitting the poor thing. Oh my God. He came back out, and I asked what the problem was. He said, “I just bought this stupid thing because I thought it was cool. Didn’t know I’d have to be cleaning piss and shit.”
Someone needs to rescue that poor dog!
I know.
I just hightailed it out of there. I told him I needed to get something to eat, and he offered to drive me to this shawarma guy near my house. From there, I said he didn’t have to wait with me for it to be ready. As soon as he drove away, I blocked him. FAST.
Even on the way there, it was road rage galore. I was like, if I even make the mistake of dating this person, he’d beat me.
God, abeg.
And the other guy?
That one was both better and worse.
It’s giving wedding vows
DFKM.
He also chatted me up at South that night, and said I was his exact spec. But then, we ended up in a situation-ship because I wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway. At first, I didn’t mind because the sex was good, but he was so nonchalant.
How did he expose himself?
I made the mistake of messaging my friend that he was someone I couldn’t even have intelligent conversations with. He saw the message and was offended. I felt bad so I apologised, but he ended up using that as a weapon against me later.
Also, we’d always meet up at my house because he lived with his parents. I’d cook for him, or order food or snacks for us, but not once did he ever think to bring me anything on his way. Not food or a little present, nothing.
So you broke up the entanglement?
No. Not at first. The sex was good.
But then, in April 2023, I started having severe anxiety over a job I was about to start, with responsibilities I didn’t feel completely confident I could deliver on, so I shared my concerns with him. That led to me opening up that I wished he’d be more sensitive and caring. Then I asked for a break because I wanted to be celibate.
His response?
I was just saying all that because I wanted a full relationship with him. Apparently, I was trying to guilt-trip him into committing. Then he brought up how I’d already told my friends he was unintelligent, so why did I suddenly want to date him?
I was disappointed, annoyed and done with the whole thing. We haven’t spoken since.
So what now?
Nothing. I’ve completely given up on dating men.
I don’t think men and women think the same way at all, and I’m exhausted from trying to find common ground with one. Maybe if a man came correct, is a kind and decent human being to me, I’d change my mind. I want someone who’d make a real effort to want to be in my life.
These days, I’ve been exploring relationships with women, and it’s been a lot healthier for me. Women have been a lot kinder to me.
But have you always been bisexual or is this because of your toxic experiences with men?
I’ve always been bisexual, but I didn’t realise it until 2021 when I started to truly experience life outside the confines of Christianity.
I’ve always liked women and found some of them attractive in a sexual way. But I’d usually write it off as a girl crush. I’d been socialised never to pursue such an interest, so I never did.
What changed in that regard?
In 2022, it just occurred to me to explore it fully.
One day, a friend convinced me to open a Bumble account, and I filled in “everyone” when they asked what gender I was interested in. Shortly after, I met a woman on there, and we became friends. Recently, we’ve started talking more romantically, and she makes me feel good.
Most of my friends are queer. I have maybe three straight friends in total, so it’s nothing new to me. Just last week, I attended a queer speed dating event, and that was the first time I’ve put myself out there as someone interested in queer relationships. It was such a wholesome experience.
I love it for you
There’s something the girl I met on Bumble told me once. She said, “It’s okay if, at the end of this journey, you realise you’re straight. But at least, you’ll know.” That’s where I am right now, but I know for sure I won’t find out I’m not straight.
I’m curious how you know for sure
Even sex with women is better because men are selfish in that department too. The women I’ve been with always ask how you’re doing, and mutual pleasure is considered. I’ve never got that feeling with men.
Never?
In the beginning, they’re all “heart eyes”. But once you give them small space, they start moving mad. It seems no man has loved me enough to make the effort to be a decent human being to me.
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There was food and shelter, but emotional safety was missing. Whenever my mum came back from work, everyone would scramble because she was always angry about something. Sometimes I used to avoid even sitting in the living room because I might be sitting the wrong way, and she’d lash out.
That level of uncertainty led to anxiety, hypersensitivity, and over-analysing. I was always anxious about the smallest of things.
I’m assuming this affected your relationship with others, like your siblings?
I have three sisters, and our relationship is beautiful. We understand each other on many levels. I think we bonded over the trauma of living with a mum like ours. But I haven’t explored this conversation with them, to be honest.
Let’s talk about your relationship with your mum
Growing up, like every Nigerian girl, you think your mum hates you at some point. Mine was even more intense because, as I said before, my mum is a pastor, and there were lots of religious and vigorous religious activities always going on in our house. It definitely played into my personality traits. The only friends I had were from church, I didn’t have many outside church.
It was all very stressful; going to multiple churches, having pastors come in and out of the house, being a Christian, your parents having certain expectations of you. Now that I’m older, I sort of understand and sympathise with them because I recognise how difficult raising four girls must have been. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t their intention to create that kind of environment, but that was the result.
It was intense; there wasn’t a choice to be anything but a Christain girl. But even then, I didn’t believe in the patriarchy, I’d always questioned that. But life outside of religion was difficult for me to navigate, and still is. Now I ask questions about who I am outside of that very intense Christian upbringing, and sometimes I don’t have the answers.
Now our relationship is a long-distance relationship. We touch base, but nothing too in-depth. I don’t feel like I can really talk to her, we’ve never had that type of relationship, but I recognise that she’s mum, and I know that if shit hits the fan, she’ll be there for me.
How does your healing impact interactions with friends?
If I’m in a gathering with friends, I’m able to notice when I’m overextending myself or people-pleasing. I’m also reluctant to ask for help or accept it. It stems from being hyper-independent from a young age. I’m the firstborn; my sister (the middle sibling) has always been closer to my dad, and my mum was more concerned about my younger sister because she’s deaf, so she had special needs. I was mostly left to figure out myself and also take care of everybody else in a way. I was usually the one they’d ask about laundry or cooking.
Growing up like that, you just get the sense that you’re your protector and provider. I guess that’s why it wasn’t too difficult for me to leave my parent’s house. I remember going to university and thinking, “Whew, this is nice!”
Being on my own has been my way of feeling like I have control over something. My therapist was telling me recently that I have to be okay with relying on people sometimes but also understand that they won’t always be able to come through for me.
Let’s talk about leaving home
In 2018, when I was 24, I moved to Ghana for a scholarship programme. I felt relief but also a little sad. Leaving family and friends was scary, but it also felt freeing. It was like breaking away from the pressures, the belief system, and just the environment.
What belief system?
Christianity. My mum is a pastor and fervent Christain, so we were always in church or going for church programmes or hosting house fellowships. Being away from home and indoctrination, you’re faced with more in-depth interactions that aren’t coloured by religion. Sometimes you start to see the cracks in your existence.
A big example is when I lived with my friend; we had a big fight, and it was about me not being able to express my needs and concerns because I avoided negative reactions. This stemmed from just trying not to make my parents angry, and that felt normal because, as a child, my life was easier if I could avoid it. But as an adult, I had to confront and work that out.
So those interactions force you to see the places where there are issues and what you need to solve. I only started to recognise emotions for what they are when I moved away and had to interact with other people on many different levels. Growing up, emotions were always shut down because, in Christianity, you’re not allowed to be afraid as a child of god or feel anxiety or anything. In a religious setting, you’re either happy or sad, and if you’re sad, you have to go and pray. I remember my dad always saying, “You can’t be afraid because you’re a child of God.” But it never stopped me from feeling the fear, even though things usually worked out. So you never explore or confront what you’re afraid of or anxious about.
Outside of the bubble of Jesus being your joy, you have to find happiness in yourself. You start to ask yourself what makes you happy etc. Being present in your own body and life helps you recognise all these things. So now I’m identifying and recognising emotions like anxiety and hypervigilance and stuff. They’ve always been there, but I now have the language for it. And I know there are other ways to exist. The biggest part of my healing journey is being able to recognise what is outside that bubble.
So, I take it you’re no longer a Christian?
No, and it wasn’t an abrupt decision It took some time to get there and for me to even acknowledge it. Once I left home, there was less pressure to go to church, to pray, to do all these things. And that meant that sometimes I didn’t do these things, and I was okay. I didn’t get attacked by demons or anything of the sort. It was in the little things; for instance, if you dream about eating, the church would have told you that you’ve been poisoned spiritually and you have to pray, but I’ve had that dream, and nothing happened. I’m alive and well.
So as you shift away from that, you see that it’s not that deep. And you even start to question those beliefs. Sometimes you meet other people that are living life completely differently. For instance, one thing that intrigued me when it was still very early on when I first moved. I went for some sisters’ fellowship, and everybody was wearing trousers with nail extensions, they didn’t cover their hair, but I could see that they were very much rooted in their beliefs like other Christians. It was bizarre to me because I’m coming from a background where they’d have told those ladies that they were going to hell for wearing extensions, so it made me think about things differently. There was a lot of fear-mongering, and it felt like normal human things were things that would take you to hell and have horrible consequences.
You see things that help shape your narrative and change your mind. I’ve also been doing a lot of learning; like, I saw a TikTok about how Christianity is a colonisation technique. So I’m getting a lot of information from many places and making my own inferences.
It was a disaster the first time we had that conversation. I came to Lagos to visit, and one day, said I wasn’t going to church. They sat me down and talked and talked. The fear-mongering came up, and one of our family pastors called me every week for two to three months until I eventually stopped picking up his calls.
The second time around, I was much bolder, and said it was my decision. My dad was like, “What do you mean it’s your decision?” and I was like it’s just is. I don’t need to defend or explain it. And he was like, “Where is all this coming from, who have you been talking to?” And I reminded him that I’m almost 30 and I can make my own decisions outside of other people. He asked if I was going to change my mind, and I said we’d see how it goes.
I guess they have a fear of me missing heaven, and there’s also the idea that if you don’t stick to God’s plan, your life won’t turn out the way it’s supposed to. You could end up destitute or poor. I guess that’s what they’re afraid of.
How has the healing affected your relationship with your partner?
It’s been helpful. Now some of the things I’m also aware of is seeing the patterns in other people. A lot of things happen because we fear vulnerability, because growing up, it wasn’t accepted with kindness or patience. And that shows up in different ways for different people. So now I tend to recognise it in my partner, and I can usually point it out and redirect the conversation to a healthy place.
Due to the few things I have learnt (I’m no expert, please), I’m able to help him navigate his own hurt too.
That’s sweet. What are the daily steps you take to make sure you don’t regress?
Regression is normal. Some days, I don’t have the bandwidth or capacity to do the exercises that are required to grow, and that feels like a regression. But it’s all part of the healing process.
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What sort of exercises?
The most recent one is something called identifying and separating facts, feelings and sensations. I learnt it from this book I’m reading: Becoming Safely Embodiedby Diedre Fay.
So facts, feelings and sensation is essentially dealing with an upsetting or triggering event like this: you identify what the facts are, what you’re feeling and the sensations in your body. The idea is to write it all down, then circle the facts, and then underline the feelings and sensations. Then you read only the facts a few times. When I tried it, I found that the more I read the facts, the less intense the feelings. When I started to feel calmer, I went back to read the feelings attached to it and found it easier to work it out.
What other tools do you use?
I spend like 15 minutes meditating every day in the mornings. I also try to focus on core wounds. For instance, if I’m feeling unsafe, I spend a few countering the belief system by stating the facts around it. So questions about safety in my job, my relationship, my finances, my career, emotionally and mentally. I list these things and just counter the feelings with these facts.
Another thing I do is: at the end of the day, I do something called guilt and shame journaling. I look back at my day and list the ways I felt guilty the point is to identify them and find the ways I’m innocent and the ways I’m being realistic in my expectations. For instance, if I’m feeling guilty about taking a nap because I was tired, I claim innocence because it happens sometimes, I’m only human.
I exercise and try to sleep, these two things are really helpful. Having routines are also very helpful.
Any last things you want to share?
Self-development and self-healing work is hard. We all need support. It sounds nice to be self-aware, but it’s a lot of hard, painful work. But if I can see myself navigating life a lot calmer, more peaceful, more secure and just generally better, then it’s all worth it.
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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.
What’s your earliest memory of regretting a decision?
Deciding not to go with my mum on a “trip” when I was seven. She never came back. Living with my dad and his next wife wasn’t great. I often felt neglected.
Did you ever see your mother again?
No, I didn’t.
The story is that she relocated to somewhere in Europe — most of my people say Greece — and was never heard from again. I’ve thought about her every day since then, but I don’t know why I never tried to look for her. Of course, for most of my youth, it was hard to communicate with people who weren’t in direct contact. There were no cell phones or social media.
Now, she’d be over 80 or dead. But I’ve always longed for that maternal love and wondered why she left or if she ever regretted leaving me.
What was life like growing up without her?
It was a blur. I don’t remember much of it, just that I never felt loved.
I was the first and only child of my parents. My father went on to have five children with my stepmother, so they and their needs always came first. And being much older than them, I often had to take care of them like a nanny would, only I never got paid for my work. I cooked for them and cleaned up after them for much of my childhood.
Going to secondary school at age 12 came as a relief because I was sent to a boarding school in Benin City, which was some distance from Warri, where my family lived.
Not really. All my cousins went to the same school, so I was happy my father did the same for me. FGGC Benin City was one of the best unity schools in the South back in the day. We used to compete with Queens College.
My time there was my first real experience of being happy. I had such a great time connecting with other girls there, and because my cousins were seniors, I was always treated well. I also spent most holidays with a family friend who lived in Benin.
When it became time for university was when all that joy crashed for a while.
What happened?
I clashed with my father over what course to study.
He wanted me to be an accountant like him, but I’d loved making art and sculptures while in boarding school. I wanted to go study creative arts at the then Bendel State University. But he claimed he couldn’t afford it and wanted me to go to the College of Education in Abraka since I wanted to study art. The school was like a Government Teachers’ Training College, so I immediately knew he had no intention of letting me study what I wanted.
That’s how I didn’t end up going to school until three years later after. This was when the school in Abraka became part of Bendel State University.
What did you do in the meantime?
I was 18, and my father just let me be, as long as he didn’t have to give me money. I stayed with my family friend in Benin for some time before returning to Warri to take a secretarial course in 1980. That was where I met and fell in love with a handsome young man, one of the part-time trainers. We were married within a year, with my father’s full blessings.
I’m guessing that delayed your return to school further?
Partly, but once all the fanfare of the wedding was over, my husband was the driving force behind my return. I was just 19, but even though he was much older than me, he was also quite young at 27. So we decided we wouldn’t rush into having children and instead focus on my education and him properly establishing his fishery business. My father had given him some capital to expand it at some point.
How did school go?
I started university in 1982 when I was just about to turn 21. I ended up studying art education and history, which wasn’t bad. But that shifted my focus from making art to teaching it. At the time, I didn’t notice my focus was shifting, but seeing how two of my secondary school peers have made great strides with their art, I regret not staying my course.
I’m sure many can relate to that
I also didn’t have a great time studying in Abraka. Students there were much different than the ones I was used to in Warri and Benin; they weren’t nearly as studious and always made fun of me for being uptight. I could never really fit in, especially since I didn’t live on campus. Right after my graduation in 1985, I got pregnant and decided to keep it, so I shared the news with my husband.
Sounds like there were past pregnancies you decided not to keep?
Yes. I’d been pregnant twice before, but I didn’t want to derail my education further. My husband still doesn’t know about them.
So abortions were a thing in the 80s?
Of course, but they’ve never been done in the open. I went to a clinic on both occasions, but everything was very hush-hush.
But I don’t think abortions should be encouraged because I still feel guilty about the ones I had. I feel selfish that I chose myself; I didn’t want to be “inconvenienced”. But the truth is, if I went back in time, I’d still make that decision.
Actually, I just wouldn’t have married so early.
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Why not?
It wasn’t strange to marry at 18-22 in those days, but in hindsight, I’m glad that trend is less commonplace today. The reason is I felt ill-equipped for the responsibilities of being a wife for the longest time, and I’m sure many of my peers who married as teenagers felt the same. Taking care of the house and the needs of another adult can take a toll on a woman’s sense of self. I never had time for myself outside school and homemaking in those early years — no leisure activities, no hobbies, few friends who reduced in number as the years passed.
Did it ever get better?
Well, after I got my education degree, I was pregnant, and all of a sudden, my husband was talking about relocating to Germany.
He’d gotten an opportunity to study for a master’s there, and he was allowed to bring his family with him. I taught art in a state secondary school for seven months before we moved in 1986. I had my son two months later. I didn’t even do NYSC.
Raising him in a completely new environment like that was hell. Especially when my husband moved to England alone the next year, right after he’d gotten his master’s.
Ah. But why?
For better work opportunities. But this time, he couldn’t move with his family because he left without getting a concrete job first. He just used his Schengen visa to travel. I don’t know how he did it, but long story short, he was gone for the next 30 years.
Ahh. And you couldn’t join him at any point?
Neither of us ever got a good enough job, so we just didn’t have the resources for us (me and our son) to join him. I gave birth in Germany, so our son was a citizen and had a kinderreisepass, which came with privileges that were only valid in Germany and some other European countries at that time.
Even though this also made him an EU citizen with rights in the UK pre-Brexit, my husband was convinced it wouldn’t make much difference as Europeans were often harassed for being immigrants too. For some reason, it took him ten years to get a permanent residency in the UK. I later heard that it shouldn’t have taken him more than five years.
And what was life like without him for 30 years?
I always say I never got to experience married life because we went from me being busy with school, to relocating and readjusting to a new continent where he was mostly working or in classes, to living apart. So I didn’t feel like I missed much, only it would’ve helped to be supported in raising a child.
My son’s toddler years were particularly hellish for me. My husband sent money for rent when he could, but I still had to work as a shop attendant for three years to augment and pay for food and heating. Later, I started babysitting for most of the African mums in my area who could afford the extra expense, and that helped a lot.
Communication with my husband was few and far between, so I very much felt like a single mum. It was cold and lonely.
What happened after he finally got his permanent residency?
We started planning to join him. But soon, the conversation shifted to “We can’t uproot David* [our son] now. It’ll affect his education and psychology.” At the time, I agreed. Our boy was just becoming a teenager and had really immersed himself in the local community. It felt cruel to uproot him at that time.
So the plan became to wait till it was time for him to go to college, which was an entire seven to eight years in the future.
Wow
During that time, my husband visited at least once a year and stayed for two to four weeks, usually in the summer. But he never really re-integrated into our family unit. Our son still treats him like an uncle.
In 2002, our son was done with secondary school, but I was no longer interested in moving to the UK. He also wasn’t in a hurry to go to college, so he took a gap year before entering Zurich. From there, he built a life for himself and moved on.
I’m actually happy because he’s now living my dream of making art. He has a home gallery for his glass mosaic pieces and an agency that represents him in Europe. I couldn’t be more proud.
What about you?
Much of my adult life was spent being a professional nanny and babysitter just to pay for the basics and save for my son’s college funds. Between 1990 and 2000, I took several courses and got certificates that allowed me to run the business formally. I absolutely didn’t want to rely on whatever plan his father may or may not have had.
After my son left and found his own way, I went to college myself and got an MA in education. My husband and I have been estranged since at least 2009. I’ve been working in academia since the MA, and I’m currently on my way to getting a professorship.
That sounds amazing
My life doesn’t look to be ending badly, but I’d kill to start over.
I’d study art and be a visual artist. I’d marry at a more mature age. I’d marry someone I can have proper conversations about the trajectory of our family and be part of the decision-making process. I’d have at least four children, and hopefully, raise them in a healthier environment.
Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so alone and like I’ve wasted my life?
Or maybe, I’d even go with my mother when she asked, but who knows how that would’ve ended.
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It was fun. I grew up in a town close to Irrua, my father’s village in Edo Central. Family was a huge part of my upbringing; I have five siblings, but there were always other people around, even people who weren’t family by blood. There’s a warmth that Edo people have. You might not necessarily agree with how people lived their lives, but you loved them anyway, despite their moral choices.
What sort of moral choices?
Let me tell you a funny story. There was this family we were always intrigued by: they were step-siblings, but everyone got along nicely. The legend was that Mr A was sleeping with Mr B’s wife and vice versa. When they all found out, there was a huge scandal, and one of the couples had to move, but they eventually switched partners. So now, Mr A’s wife is with Mr B, and vice versa.
Many girls I went to primary school with were pregnant for boys their age by the time they were 14 or 15. I never judged them. Of course, people would talk, but they were never ostracised because it happened often. It was also expected for the girl to move in with the boy’s family. That’s how many marriages started.
You’d just hear, “Oh, this babe has gone to her husband’s house o.” Not because the bride price was paid, but because she got pregnant, and that was it. And these were young 16 to 17-year-olds, and sometimes, they got pregnant the first time they had sex.
So there’s value in investing in sex education in that part of the country
Absolutely. If anything pushed me into development communication, it was the fact that some things people term as “normal” can be prevented with better education. For instance, someone gets pregnant at 16 because they didn’t know they could get condoms. And despite how seemingly open the society is, they were ashamed to talk about it.
The culture is also very brutal on women, specifically. I remember one day, we were driving home from school, and we saw a woman being paraded naked for adultery. Our driver said it needed to be done to prevent a curse on her household.
That’s awful. Did it affect your mindset?
That was a turning point for me. My feminism started because I saw a lot of marginalisation of women growing up. I’d see stuff and say, “God forbid.”
When men beat their wives in public, people would say she probably offended him, she didn’t behave right, etc. The patriarchy is strong in these parts. The women who live in Edo are strong and outspoken, but the moment they’re with a man, it’s almost like all that they are exists to be a feather in a man’s cap.
After I saw the woman who was paraded naked, I started reading books about Edo culture because I was curious to find out if what the driver said was true. I was very studious and serious about school, and reading and people kept saying to my dad that “I’ll marry a man, so he’s spending all that money just for a man to marry me.” It was all very misogynistic.
Moving to Abuja in 2016 made me realise that women there could have more agency. A lot of the women I was told were bad women when I was growing up were just women who didn’t get married or want to remarry. The core of who I am, my feminism and belief in women’s rights was shaped by those experiences.
I guess it’s a microcosm of the larger Nigerian society.
But there were good parts, too: the most beautiful part about growing up in Edo state is that you’re never alone. Everybody is invested and cares about your success, and always tries to contribute. There’s a strong sense of community based on the fact that we know we’re a minority tribe.
Edo state is one of the states where the people who speak the language live predominantly. For instance, Yoruba people are spread across different indigenous states and some other countries. The Edo language has about four main languages and 14 dialects. My father is Esan, while my mum is Bini. Although the groups are within the same state, they have different cultures. Another thing with Edo State is that you’re always in proximity to jazz whether you like it or not, so you have to be very prayerful.
We’re Catholic, and my family is very prayerful, especially my mum. We’ve seen first-hand what jazz can do. People say they don’t believe in it, and that’s fine, but I’ve witnessed it. One thing about growing up in Edo state that shaped me is that even though I have first-hand experience, I’m not afraid of jazz. How we see it in my family is that people will try, but we believe it won’t work. It’s helped my Christian faith become stronger. Understanding that juju exists and people would go to any length made me a better believer.
Do you remember a specific incident with juju?
Yes, I distinctly remember how my dad kept getting the urge to sell the house when I was 11. He talked about it constantly for about three months, which was odd because he had no reason to sell the house. My mum tapped me and told me it wasn’t ordinary and that we should go and meet God. My family doesn’t believe in jumping from pastor to pastor; we just open our Bibles and pray indoors. So we prayed and prayed, and one day, we heard that our neighbour was sick and had been for a while. It wasn’t unusual because she was an older woman in her 70s. One day, my parents decided to visit her just to check on her, and the next thing, people followed them back home and started helping them to cut down a plant.
When I asked my mum, she said the woman was glad they came and that she would’ve come but was too sick to move. She said that she was angry that we bought the land from someone in her family she didn’t like, so she wanted us to be frustrated and leave it by force.
She asked my dad if he’d felt the urge to sell the land, and he said yes. She said she was the one who did it but hadn’t had peace of mind since then. She had broken some sort of code of conduct. If you’re from a certain place, you can’t do juju against people from certain villages because your ancestors might have been siblings and all that.
Meanwhile, the bigger the plant grew, the bigger my dad’s urge to sell the house. When they plucked it out, my father stopped talking about selling. The experience was surreal to me. It didn’t make sense that a plant was linked to someone’s mind. I kept saying, “This doesn’t make sense, ” and my mum was laughing at me.
That’s crazy. Was there ever a time when you realised how you grew up was different?
My father was insistent on us travelling a lot, so we used to travel out of the state and country, but in short bursts, and we never travelled without family. So the first time I left Edo state for an extended time was when I went to Abuja for NYSC in 2016. The things that make you different aren’t apparent until you’re far from home and by yourself. It wasn’t until Abuja that I realised I’d grown up differently.
The first culture shock was that my voice was very loud. People used to tell me I was shouting whenever I spoke. On the other hand, I used to wonder why people were whispering instead of speaking out or why they cowered when trying to make points. It was different from the way we communicated back home.
In Edo, people are confident; they speak their minds without fear. Conversations were always about being confident and knowing that the other person is secure in themselves. There’s always room for debate, storytelling and general expression. People could disagree with you without being seen as malicious. In fact, cowering while speaking was seen as a reason to distrust you because why are you avoiding eye contact? Why are you shaking? Are you lying? Are you spineless?
What else did you notice?
Another thing that was odd to me was that people were very judgmental. Not that we don’t gossip where I’m from, but for instance, if a girl got pregnant, people would talk and stuff, but there was always a helping hand.
And a lot of people were barely close to their extended families. They cut family members off easily. It was fascinating to me because people behave like they don’t know what a mistake looks like. Even if you don’t agree with people, you don’t cut them off completely. I don’t have to agree with you to love you. I don’t believe in cutting people off.
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So you never cut people off?
Not immediately. There are people who’ve done crazy things to me, but I have my way of dealing with it. I give them space, but they’d never doubt my love for them.
I had a friend who had a whole relationship with my man. I only found out because she got tired of him and threw him under the bus. It was jarring for me because I’m so happy-go-lucky. I talk everything out; it’s another thing I learnt from home. So I called her, and we talked it out.
I asked questions, and her answers made me realise that I didn’t want that kind of person close to me at that time in my life. So I kept a distance for three years.
One day, she called me, and we spoke at length. I could see that she had grown, and so had I. That’s the caveat for me; once I can see you’ve changed and evolved, I’m open to renegotiating the terms of our relationship. We’re not best friends like we used to be years ago, but we’re still way more than acquaintances.
The only people I don’t talk to anymore are people who promise change and don’t change. The way my brain works, it doesn’t remember the person until someone mentions them. But if I see they’re evolving, and doing the hard work, I give them space and then renegotiate the terms of my relationship with them when they’re in a better place.
That’s fair. Your upbringing is a factor in that, for sure.
Yes. I grew up being able to separate people from the actions they take. I know it’s flawed, but it’s my way. We are a sum of our actions, and we should be held accountable for them. That said, I find it useful to know what the motivation for the action was. So that as you’re facing punishment, you know you are not alone, and there is room for redemption if you decide to evolve. People are not just one way, and life is not black and white.
For example, I had a relative living in our house, who was really mean. When we were strapped for cash, and she had money, she’d lock herself in her room to eat. One day I asked why, and she told me all the horrible things that had happened to her. How different men got her pregnant and left her, and how even the kids don’t talk to her anymore because they believe she intentionally kept them from their fathers. I had more empathy for her after hearing her story and realised that she was mean because she was lonely.
I’ve learnt to separate people from their actions, especially their mistakes. The concept of people being multi-dimensional was very evident in the type of people I grew up around. I know people who are cultists and still the sweetest, kindest, people who’d always answer my questions when I was younger. They deserve to go to jail for their crimes, but they don’t deserve for their humanity to be stripped off them.
While growing up, I saw people make mistakes over and over again, and still reinvent themselves. I don’t discard people based on mistakes. And that’s who I am.
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Fair enough. Do you think your environment influences your work too?
For sure. I grew up in a small town, and apart from travel — which my father insisted on — the only other conduit between me and the world was the media. I was also always inquisitive and sought clarity all the time.
The most interesting thing, though, was that I saw firsthand how hard it was for my community to get the infrastructure it needed because of broken systems. So, I began to challenge those systems and did a mini-speaking tour, and eventually, I started some community reporting and decided to pursue it. Everyone assumed I’d study law because of this, but it never felt like a fit for me. My choice to pursue development journalism came from realising that communities need people who understand the intricacies of their layered lives to report them.
There’s context behind every behavioural pattern, and there is work that needs to be done to put young people in communities on the right path, and the media is the perfect tool for this.
Agreed. Any final words?
Stop stereotyping Edo babes. Just stop it, abeg. Someone hears you are from Edo and thinks the most, but there are different personalities within tribes.
Also, I find it fascinating that when people hear “I grew up in a small town”, they imagine Africa Magic Epic, when in reality, my town looked loads better than the places most people live in within big cities.
My siblings and I were always disappointed when we visited a Nigerian city, and it had so many slums. In Irrua, we didn’t see slums. I think people even build their best houses in small towns and villages, but what do I know?
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When was the first moment you realised your father wasn’t there?
Gosh. That’s a tough one.
I grew into the realisation that I had a father but he was gone. At first, I didn’t understand what “gone” meant, but over time, I found out he’d died way before I can remember. I’m not sure there’s one specific moment when I was told. It’s just something I knew as I started becoming aware of what was going on around me as a child. But I didn’t feel like I was missing much because my mum was very present, and so were her sister and my grandparents. It was a strong family unit.
Did you ever have to ask what happened to him?
Yes, at different times.
The first time was in primary six — I remember because I was just about to graduate from primary school. I was nine or ten. My mum was showing me old pictures when we got to a selection of his pictures. I was in pretty much all of his pictures. He’d carry me in his arms whether it was at a wedding, in his studio, or on the road somewhere. I was always in his arms.
Usually, my mum would quickly hide or dodge anything that was remotely about him so I wouldn’t see. And I’d pretend not to notice. This time, I saw her hesitate, but she didn’t hide the pictures, so it was the perfect opportunity to ask, “What happened to him?” I still remember my small voice saying those words as we sat together in her bedroom, trying hard to be brave for whatever response I got.
And what did she say?
She said, “He loved God so much, he had to go be with him. But it was an accident”. She didn’t say anything else, and I was too scared to push.
But sometime in secondary school, I asked my grandma about the accident, and she said she didn’t want me thinking about that. She told me a bit about him, how much he loved me and was always happiest when he was with me. I know the stories were supposed to make me feel better, but I hated them. I hated that I had no memory of this man.
I’d look at his picture and couldn’t even imagine his voice, what he felt or behaved like. But there I was in his arms, smiling up at him and him smiling back at little me. I don’t remember that interaction. All I have is third-party information. It made me so angry.
My mum has always been there for me, but she’s even more affected by his death than I am. She knew him for years, and they’d only been married for about a year when he died. Sometimes, I think I have to put aside figuring out my own little grief to be a source of comfort to her. She never remarried, and she barely ever dates, so it’s just me and her against the world. We support each other.
As a child, she did her best and sought help from her own family to take care of me, so where she struggled emotionally, they were there to make sure I was okay. I appreciate that she was that forward-thinking. She also used to ask me how I was doing all the time, almost too much.
Her care made me feel secure during my early years. So I’d say yes, my relationship with her helped.
How did other people’s relationships with their fathers make you feel?
Interestingly, most of my friends had terrible relationships with their fathers. One of them has a father who married another wife and treated her and her mum badly, another one’s mum never married her father so she’d only see him like once a year when he visited from the States, and one’s father has several wives and baby mamas.
So I guess I’m in perfect company. And I’ve been friends with these guys since secondary school.
Is it something you ever discuss, how you all have absent fathers one way or the other?
We almost never do. We focus on aspects of our lives that exist: our strong mothers, other healthy relationships we’ve managed to build, money, and so on.
So did you ever find out how he died?
My mother told me after I graduated from college years ago. He was killed in a money-related fight, but the killer was never found despite years of investigation. I cried for days when she finally told me; it was like he’d just died. He looked like such a beautiful and gentle man in his photos. I couldn’t imagine him dying so violently.
I can’t say how, sorry.
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I understand
And he left everything to me. He was a music producer and businessman, and he was pretty successful. He was smart enough to draw up a will years before he died, and he signed everything over to me. I live a very comfortable life today because of him. It’s so bittersweet because I never knew him, yet here I am, benefiting from him.
Would you say you’re still affected by his death today?
I can’t escape it.
He was popular. So when I go out, once people learn who I am, they feel the need to talk about him. They share how they knew him, what he was like, how amazing he was. But I never knew him, so it’s like, “How nice. Here’s another stranger who knows more about my father than I ever will”. People even feel the need to ask me what it’s like to have a father like him.
Sigh. How do you get past that?
I’ve become a lot more private in the last couple of years. I stay away from the Nigerian and Ghanaian social scene and focus on my work as an investor. My life is just me, my mum and my few friends now.
It’s hard not to think about my father at all since I help my mum manage his legacy, but I try not to. I also don’t look at his pictures anymore because I’m in 90% of them. They remind me of how much he wanted to be in my life but never got a chance to, and also, how much of his last years I spent in his company yet I don’t even remember.
It seems small, but every time I think about it, I can’t seem to process it without breaking down. My therapist says it’s a barrier in my psyche.
I’m so sorry. Did you have a father figure growing up?
Oh, my granddaddy was my father. He was everything, God rest his soul. He was such a steadying presence in my life. I’d say he’s the reason why I never had to miss my dad. He attended open days on my mum’s behalf a lot. He was so warm and would play with me when I was a child. All my friends loved him.
My grandmother too was something of a father figure to me because she was so firm — the disciplinarian of the house. These are my mum’s parents, by the way. My dad’s parents came and went too. I don’t think I missed much in the way of parenting.
Would you say your feelings about your father affected your romantic relationships?
In a way. I’m afraid to be vulnerable. My therapist links it to the fact that I can’t process my relationship with my father in a healthy way.
I’m way too guarded, so many of my relationships fizzle out after a while. I’m currently in one, and it’s already getting to the part where we have little to talk about. It’s been about eight months, but I can’t seem to open my heart beyond sex, romantic gestures and mundane conversations. Then again, is there supposed to be something more beyond that? Maybe I’m not the only problem.
I was so far away from my family and drowning in depression. I had no interest in studying the art history I’d got in for; no interest in anything at all, TBH. I had no idea what I was passionate about. It’ll break my mum’s heart, but I was drunk, high and in bed for most of my three years there.
Once I’d graduated and had to return to Accra, a friend of mine suggested a therapist. When I first met one sometime in 2014, I wasn’t really thinking about my dad. But he ended up coming up at the first session, as part of what makes me sad or angry.
What’s one thing that gives you joy despite it all?
How lucky I am to have a father who cares, even from the grave.
My mum always said he loved me so much while he was alive, she’s sure he’s watching over me as my guardian angel now; giving God a tough time every time I have the slightest inconvenience.
And she may be right because I’m living a good life.
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I like to call it “alternative spirituality” because it’s outside of conventional religious practices.
I’ve always been a spiritual person. When I was six years old, I dreamt that my mum was pregnant with a boy, and the details are no longer clear, but the instruction was to name him David.
So did you tell her? How did she take it?
She laughed it off because she didn’t even know she was pregnant at the time. Also, I was a child. What do children know about pregnancies? But when she found out she was pregnant a few weeks later, she was happy and told everyone in church that her daughter was a seer. When she gave birth to my brother, she named him David.
That was a foundational experience that really drummed into me that there’s a world beyond what we see.
Did you have more experiences like that?
I’ve always had dreams and feelings, and they often come true. My primary gift is claircognizance. I just know stuff. I didn’t have a name for any of these things though until I got into secondary school.
In secondary school. I saw a couple of things about my zodiac sign in my older cousin’s slum book, and the 11-year-old me was hooked because it was so fascinating.
I made a copy of her slum book with all the information about the zodiac signs, and when I got back to school, I shared what I’d learned with my friends. We began discussing astrology, art, spirituality and everything in between — very thrilling, often hilarious conversations.
How did this interest solidify?
Sometime in 2019 or 2020, I was 20 and in love with someone who was a Libra. I’d had crushes on people I thought I was in love with before, but they paled in comparison to what I felt for this person. And because of how I am, I wanted to know why it felt so different, so I started digging.
At this time, I wasn’t into sun-sign astrology, which most people do, I’d delved into things like birth charts.
But it was still a casual interest until I met this person.
Your experience with this person was a turning point then?
Definitely. I wanted to know why it was different with this person, so I went on the internet and did some research. I discovered something called “synastry”. This is basically when you place two charts on top of each other to see how they interact and intersect.
So synergy + astrology: synastry?
Yes, synastry is a branch of astrology. Simply put, synastry is the astrology of relationships. He was a Libra, I’m a Pisces, and I was interested in our compatibility. Then we stopped seeing each other.
Oh no, why?
He didn’t see me the same way I saw him, and finding that out was very difficult for me because I already suffered from abandonment trauma. My dad died when I was very young and because I was closer to him than I was to mum, my anchor parent was gone. It felt like the most unfair thing in the world.
So growing up, I tried to compensate for the love I’d lost with different kinds of relationships — friendships and sexual relationships. Of course, that didn’t go well.
What happened after things ended with the Libra?
I went into a spiritual wormhole. I spent a lot of time on YouTube, watching tarot girlies talk about how the person you love will come back and you’ll be together again. Some of these readings capitalise on the fears and weaknesses of those who watch them.
I spent so much time on those tarot reading videos that, soon enough, I noticed a switch. I became more interested in the cards than the messages. This was around late 2019 to early 2020. After the pandemic, I got a free printable tarot deck from the internet and printed it out at Doculand in Ikoyi.
After that, I made a conscious decision to stop watching the YouTube videos, though, because I was starting to sound crazy.
Sound crazy to whom?
Myself. I have a Virgo Moon, so I’m very self-aware. I don’t like feeling like anything or anyone has power over me. That’s the real reason why I quit watching those desperate YouTube tarot readings.
At first, I practised for myself and didn’t do readings for anyone, except a few friends here and there. I also let them know I was still learning through courses and personal research.
Since I started, I’ve had affirming experiences. Like every spiritual journey, this requires you to have faith and trust that you’re on the right path. Not everyone has the Damascus experience Paul had in the Bible, you know, where God arrests you and stuff like that. Most of us have little affirming experiences like David, Moses or Abraham.
Tarot, astrology and all the other stuff I practise are open-ended practices. Anybody is free to practice them. I believe in God, in what Jesus did on the cross.
When did you decide to make it a full-blown practice?
In late 2020, when I was working at an international art fair, I did astrology readings for people in my office and saw how beautiful those experiences were for them. It was the same thing with my friends. I was excited to share the gifts with more people.
My practice has kept me grounded because it gives clarity into who I am and what my purpose is. And I think it’s important to share that with the world because we don’t have many of those kinds of spiritual communities here.
Tell me about your music
I’ve always loved music. Growing up, I sang in choirs and I played instruments like the piano, recorder and violin.
I began writing the music I wanted to record after my grandmother died in late 2018. Shortly after, I met the Libra.
My music and spiritual practice have developed simultaneously. I write, record, and conceptualise my music while growing in my spirituality and trying to make sense of it. My EP took four years to complete. Two years of writing and another two years of recording. I was intentional about it. There are strong religious and spiritual motifs in my music. That time was a defining period in my life. I like to call it a blossoming.
My EP is about retrograde motions. In astrology, retrogrades are about a time when you look back and regress. When a planet is in retrograde, it moves backwards. It appears to go backwards on an axis from where we are here on Earth. And retrograde periods are periods where we can redo, you can do it again. I designed the EP in a way that you have to listen to it from track five to track one, sort of working backwards.
What’s it like interacting with Nigerians about alternative spirituality?
It’s been interesting and funny. Both funny ha-ha and funny weird. Some people learn about my spiritual experiences and are intrigued. Some people are quick to reject it because they don’t understand it. But my practice isn’t separate from Christianity; God is integral in everything I do.
When I explain this to people, they’re usually more accepting of it. I help them understand that the things God has put on earth are meant to aid and guide you be it herbs or crystals.
Tell me about herbs and crystals. Are they part of the astrology work too?
Astrology is just one of the things I practice. I also practise the mystical uses of herbs, tarot readings, using crystals and stuff. I learnt about them at the same time I got into tarot reading. I learnt about herbs, candle work and how to use your natural environment to enhance your physical and spiritual experience.
How do tarot cards, herbs and crystals work?
Herbs have been used for mystical and medicinal purposes for thousands of years. Certain herbs have certain properties, so when you combine them, they yield different results. And they’re usually typical associations. If you’ve ever wondered why roses are associated with love, it’s because, on the mystical side of life, we use roses for various kinds of love work. Not just in finding romantic love, but also self-love. Lavender is for peace, and it can also be a cleansing herb.
Crystals also have different meanings and things they’re associated with, but they don’t work like herbs do. Crystals are seen as living beings, so when you get a crystal, what you need to do is program your crystal with an intention or affirmation. You tell the crystal what you want it to do for you.
If you have a rose quartz crystal, for instance, and you want to feel more loving towards yourself, you can use an affirmation. You program the crystal by saying the affirmation a couple of times, and then, you wear the crystal or keep it in a space where you can be in its vibrational field. You need to be very nice to your crystals because if you don’t treat them properly, they go missing.
How?
They disappear. In my practice, I’ve seen crystals disappear for two reasons. It’s either you’re not utilising it, which means you’re not ready for the crystal, and it has gone to meet someone who’s ready for it.
Or the crystal has done the work it needs to do. So it’ll either get conveniently missing, or you’ll feel moved by your intuition to gift it to someone else.
Intuition is something that comes into play a lot, right?
Your intuition is key, especially when you’re a spiritual worker like myself. I’ve been able to hone my intuition to a point where I can interact with it on levels the average person might not be able to. Intuition is how you segue into things like intuitive gifts or patterns. Like I said earlier, my intuitive gift is claircognizance. And a bit of clairsentience.
What do these things mean?
Claircognizance is the gift of knowing. I could be speaking to a person and some information just drops in my spirit and I get exact context into what they’re talking about. With clairsentience, I can feel physical and emotional sensations related to messages I’m receiving from people. I feel these a lot when I’m doing astrology or tarot readings.
One time, I did a reading for someone and when I started shuffling the cards, out of nowhere, I was slapped with this huge wave of horniness. And I’m like, wait, I wasn’t feeling any of this five seconds ago. If you’re feeling a certain emotion for the person or situation you’re inquiring about when I’m doing a reading, I feel that emotion too.
I have just a little bit of clairvoyance and clairaudience as well, but those usually happen when I’m asleep or in between meditative states. Clairaudience is hearing ringing and bells, pressure in ears and stuff like that. I feel these sensations when I go to places that are spiritually charged. But my clairvoyance is mostly in dreams.
Like when you dreamt about your brother
Yes, exactly. Even though dreams can be weird and funny, some dreams are very clear. They tell me what directions I should be taking or clear messages for people.
What about tarot cards?
Tarot cards are a divination tool. I shuffle them while asking Spirit the questions the clients have and choose the cards that fall out of the deck. Then I interpret the meaning of the cards for the client.
Since you started sharing your spiritual gifts, what has been your most affirming experience?
A lot of people come to me to find out about relationships and love. I have a client who lives in the UK. She came to me in August 2022 and wanted what I call a prayer divination — I pray and try to find answers about something that’s going on in the person’s life.
She asked questions about her potential partner, how she would identify him and know he was the one. A few months later, she came back and said everything (Spirit) said came true. I was like, “Wow”. I was very excited about the review.
Please, tell me they’re married now
No, but I do have a client who got married after a love reading. They were not in a good place and Spirit advised them to take a break and focus on themselves. We had this conversation in March 2022, and I think they ended up getting married that same year. This is why I love tarot. It’s so beautiful and affirming, but it’s not all love and light.
How so?
As a practitioner, there are certain things I cannot do. I don’t do any substances. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I’m 100% sober 100% of the time. Some practitioners are not as strict as I am, but I recognise the kind of person I am. I’m a very spiritual person. I’m also selective of the people I sleep with. I’ve been celibate for a minute.
I cleanse, meditate, read and study a lot. I have to be in tip-top shape physically, spiritually, mentally, and emotionally in case anyone needs spiritual or communal support from me. I’ve experienced spiritual and psychic attacks before.
How?
In 2021, I had a client I shouldn’t have done a reading for. Spirit always tries to warn you; you’d feel unsettled or uncomfortable. I was still new in my practice, so I didn’t listen. The client asked about a romantic situation, and the answer she got was not what she wanted. She unfollowed me, but I’d still see her lurking on my page, viewing my stories and stuff.
I started feeling very frazzled and jittery. I wasn’t as grounded as I used to be, so I just caught on that she was sending me some evil eye. I cleansed and felt better.
You have to be in tip-top shape. This is a path that requires you to be exceedingly responsible and of service because you’re not a spiritual worker for yourself. You’re a spiritual worker for the people around you, who have access to you.
Any regrets about choosing this path?
No. I would always choose the metaphysical mami path. In the beginning, I was scared to embrace it because we live in a world where most people think seeing is believing, but I’m glad I did pursue it.
I acknowledge that it’s an unconventional path and requires a few sacrifices in my personal life, but the joy of being able to be a healer to the people around me is incomparable. I’m thankful to my angels, benevolent ancestors and guides for helping me along my journey. And to God for giving me my gifts.
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.
Where are you getting all this money to invest in books, please?
I started small, in 2010, when I was in secondary school. Thrift books here; cheap romance novels there. Now, I add “buy a book or two” to my monthly budget. I usually spend about ₦10 – 20k, depending on other expenses for that month.
But when I was younger, I used to steal library books. My secondary school library suffered in particular. I stole Shakespeare’s complete works and Hamlet from there, among other titles. They still have the blue library stamp on their title pages to remind me God is watching. I’m sorry.
Ah. But how did your love for books start?
I can’t tell. I’ve always loved books. My mum invested in beautiful books like Pocahontas and those Ladybird fairy tale books when I was just learning to read. She’d read me to sleep every other night.
I also spent my entire childhood reading every Enid Blyton book ever. I loved her special book series the most: Famous Five, Secret Seven, Naughtiest Girl, and my favourite, Malory Towers. Those stories made me love fiction and world-building so much that I spent a long time daydreaming about people and stories I’d made up, especially on long car rides.
The Literary Scholar Starter Pack Photo credit: Etsy and IndiaMart
Tell me you’re a writer now
Nope. At least, not professionally.
When I told my parents I wanted to write for a living, they made me study law. I did and hated it at first, but as I became more mature, I thought about it. What would I have studied instead? Mass communications, journalism? English and literature didn’t seem practical for finding work in Nigeria. And it’s not like Nigerian schools offer creative writing as a course. It’s still new in western countries.
Getting to know mass comm students in my level, I wasn’t excited by what they were doing. So I didn’t think I would’ve preferred to study that. Now that I’ve graduated, I wish I’d considered a course like theatre arts. But I never thought about it in school.
Why theatre arts?
It’s the only course (in Nigerian schools) I’m aware of that deals with fiction. It focuses on acting it out, but somewhere in the coursework, there’s writing too. It would’ve been easier to get into Nollywood as a screenwriter, or any other industry-related job, with a theatre arts degree. At least, based on my inexperienced calculations.
Now, I know you don’t need a specific degree to be a writer or part of the creative industry. But it would’ve been great to study something I’m passionate about.
Got it. You said you don’t write professionally. Do you write for yourself?
Yes. I have so many unfinished manuscripts. My dream is that I’ll finally finish my current manuscript, get it published in the US or UK and blow so I can finally quit my day job. From then, I’ll write more and more stories because I have so many in my head.
What stories do you have in your head?
What I’m working on right now is a complex murder mystery, set in Unilag, that’ll be short and sweet. My research shows it’s easier to get publishers to buy into a standard-length story for your debut novel. That’s about 80k words.
But once that’s out of the way — and hopefully, successful — I’ll hit them with a book series that’ll cover Nigeria’s speculative past, imagining that colonisation never happened. I don’t want to give too much away. It’s a bit Game of Thrones-ish but also very original, I promise. I’ve also written an outline for a sci-fi story set in a race-less, state-less, pre-Tower of Babel world. I won’t lie, it’s such an intimidating storyline I don’t know if I have the range to write.
I’m in awe of these ideas, TBH. Now curious about your day job
I work in a marketing role for a popular music streaming platform. They pay moderately well, but the work is uninspiring, and the hours are crazy. However, I’m grateful for it.
My first job was as an associate in a law firm that was as toxic as you can imagine. Everyone thought I was crazy to leave because it was a good place for “upwardly mobile” lawyers. But after a year, I couldn’t accept that my boss would scream at me at the slightest provocation, make me feel like I could never do anything right and I was undeserving of a salary.
She’d even say I should be paying her instead, for having to spoon feed me. A part of me believed her, even though I also knew I was doing my very best. The emotional struggle was a lot, and I could never find the inspiration to daydream or write.
I’m glad you stepped back from that. Do you remember when you bought your first book?
Yes. Sometime in 2010, when I was in SS 1. I was so proud of myself.
By then, I’d graduated from Enid Blyton books to Harlequin romance, which I got into when I found one coverless book at my family friend’s house when I was in JSS 2. Now, I know why the cover was torn off; those covers were racy.
I read at least 20 Harlequin books before my best friend introduced me to more solid romance books by Nora Roberts and Catherine Coulter, and I’d borrow them from her. I can’t remember how she had so many. She had an elder sister who’d just started uni so maybe it was through her.
Anyway, guess what the first book I bought in SS 1 was? The Duke and I by Julia Quinn.
Sounds familiar
The book inspired the entire Bridgerton series. I remember when everyone was talking about the new show Netflix was doing, the name and plotlines sounded so familiar. When I put two and two together, I went to my carton of old books to dig out my copy. Lo and behold, rats had eaten several pages. My copy now starts at page 165 and ends at 256.
Hot tears
I saved up for a whole week to buy that book when I found out a supermarket on my street had decided to stock romance novels. They never did after that. I bought at least half of them, about five books, over the course of the year.
Romance novels formed my worldview when I was growing up. I loved everything about the stories: the loves at first sight, “I can’t survive if you’re not with me” trope, annoying conflicts that somehow led to happily ever afters. I loved the historical, contemporary, fantasy, all the sub-genres. I especially loved it when the author created a series that told the children, grandchildren and other family members’ love stories.
I’m still a hopeless romantic, which is probably why I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’m waiting for “hearts and flowers”, millionaires with grand gestures, passion and devotion. LOL.
You speak in the past tense. Do you not love romance novels anymore?
I still do, but I’ve outgrown novels that are strictly romance. I now appreciate books that are deeper and more realistic. It helps when they have a romantic subplot sha.
Over time, I went from romance novels to YA fiction like the Twilight Saga and Divergent Series in SS 3. I read them all. I couldn’t stand John Grisham’s books, but I absolutely loved Dan Brown and Mario Puzo because of how skilled they are at weaving intrigues that keep you reading.
But in uni, I got into literary fiction — Chimamanda, Kazuo Ishiguro, Donna Tartt, Hanya Yanagihara — and that’s when the obsession really started.
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How?
These books took me into the world of real fiction. I saw how writers could weave magic out of words. Apart from the plot, these writers write commentary about the human condition so well, it makes you think deeply about different experiences.
Reading books became less about escaping reality and more about educating myself about human psychology. It’s fascinating. In uni, I mostly read e-books I got for free, but around my final year, I started thinking about owning copies of these books I considered masterpieces.
How many books do you have now?
324. And counting.
Wow. How?
First, I got the popular books by the authors I mentioned above. Then I thought of having a collection. I wanted copies of all the book series I loved, so I found this vendor on IG that sold good quality thrift books.
I ordered the Fifty Shades books just before I started law school in 2017, and the joy of having them in my hands was so pure I wanted to recreate it. I got the Twilight books next.
During NYSC orientation camp in 2018, I got four of Dan Brown’s books — The Da Vinci Code, Angels and Demons, Inferno and The Lost Symbol — from mammy market. My mum already had Digital Fortress, so I obtained that for my growing library. Now, I’m looking to get Origin and the boring Deception Point to complete the collection.
Crazy. But I still don’t see how you have over 300 books
Well, notice how I want to get Dan Brown’s Deception Point even though I think it’s boring. I’m obsessed with the idea of buying every single book published by the authors I love. I currently have all of Chimamanda’s books, but I only like Half of a Yellow Sun and Purple Hibiscus. Yet when I saw the cute ankara book set she released for Nigeria in 2019, I simply couldn’t look away. And everything went for ₦10k. Can you imagine?
Photo source: Roving Heights
No. Sounds like a great bargain
Another example: even though I’ve only read The Godfather and The Last Don, I’ve been slowly collecting all Mario Puzo’s books. And I got the A Song of Ice and Fire book set when I got into Game of Thrones during COVID.
Because my collection has to be perfect, I want to add the classics. I started with Chinua Achebe’s trilogy, which cost me serious money when I first started working in 2019. Then the book behind my favourite movie of all time, Gone With The Wind. Next, I got the book the heroine in Fifty Shades Trilogy references a lot: Tess of the D’urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. I remember when my thrift books plug stocked a copy. I almost fainted.
Roving Heights also stocks beautiful vintage classics. From them, I got Anna Karenina as a 2022 Christmas present to myself because I loved the 2012 movie adaptation a lot. This reminds me, some years ago, a friend gifted me an old but well-kept copy of Pride and Prejudice, so now, I want the remaining Austens.
Collecting these books and seeing them together on my bedroom shelf makes me happy like nothing else does.
What’s your current favourite book?
A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. But it’s not for the faint of heart. I highly do not recommend. This book will take you to hell and never bring you back, but I loved the ride the way one loves getting tattoos after the first one, despite the pain. Since then, of course, I’ve bought her next book, To Paradise, and her previous book, The People in the Trees. But guess what.
What?
I hardly read these hard copies.
What? Why?
I almost always read them online before I even decide to buy a physical copy, and when I want to reread, I just go back to these sites — or e-books, if I’m able to download them. I also never lend anyone my books. It’s important to me that they stay immaculate on the shelf.
Besides Chimamanda and Chinua, you haven’t mentioned any Nigerian books. Do you read African fiction?
I do. But it was something I got into during the COVID era. I now have copies of almost all the newer writers. To be honest, even though I have the Chinua trilogy, I’ve never read them. I hope to, someday soon, though, if my day job will let me.
I’m doing more collecting these days, but the last time I sat through a book from beginning to end, it was actually an African fiction book — Dele Weds Destiny by Tomi Obaro, in January 2023. It took me weeks to read because I never have more than an hour or two straight to read in a week.
I can relate, TBH. What do your parents and friends think of all the collecting?
If they think something of it, they haven’t let me know. No one’s ever commented about my collection so far. My parents have always known I’m a booklover, so I guess they’ve grown to expect it. I don’t let my younger siblings near my books because they used to destroy or misplace my books in the past, and I still haven’t forgiven them for that.
Only those closest to me get to enter my room. And the few friends that get to see my collection don’t think it’s crazy, thank God.
Do you think you’ll ever regret spending so much money on books?
Except by an act of God — like rain falls and somehow enters my room to drench everything or fire burns it all down or rats or moths attack my pages — I don’t see how I’d regret it. Wow, I feel like I’ve given the universe some ideas.
Sorry
Anyway, waking up to see spines of book titles and authors’ names makes me so happy. If I don’t buy books, I’d use all my money for food and transport. That’s all I can afford anyway. I also make sure to save, but books are an investment in my present happiness.
I hope that when I publish my books one day, someone somewhere will invest as heavily into copies and look upon them with awe.
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Let’s start from the top. When did you first learn about ADHD?
I first came across ADHD in a book I read when I was younger and could relate to one of the characters. I was like, “I feel like I have this”. And I always had that at the back of my mind, but I wasn’t really sure what it was because I didn’t have access to the internet then, so I couldn’t exactly Google it.
But growing up, I just always had a feeling that I wasn’t quite like other kids. In school, I was always playful and distracted and struggled with focusing on classwork. I thought that was just being a child, but then I went to secondary school, and it was like that too. My classwork grades suffered because I could never focus enough to get things done. I only did well during exams after studying last minute.
When were you diagnosed?
The first time I spoke to a therapist about it was in 2018. He was the first therapist I saw, but it wasn’t because of ADHD, it was because I was depressed. After we spoke about my depression, I told him I think I might also have ADHD. He didn’t do a test; he just said, “I don’t think you have it because you did well in secondary school, graduated early and got good results. He said it wasn’t possible.
At the time, I didn’t ask any further questions because he was a professional, so I assumed he knew better. But he did diagnose me with an anxiety disorder and depression. It wasn’t until 2021 that I got diagnosed with ADHD. I spoke to another therapist who asked me a few questions and told me I had it. Then while interacting with a client from work (a licensed therapist) about an ADHD project I was working on, they confirmed it.
I could relate to so many of the things she was saying about ADHD and even used stuff I struggle with as examples. She was like, “You clearly have ADHD”. So from the therapists I spoke to and the questions they asked me, I was diagnosed and it was confirmed.
Then I went into deep research and found that I could relate to a lot of the things I read about, especially the inattentive ADHD type. I’d watch TikTok videos relating to ADHD and feel like they were talking about me.
You mentioned anxiety and depression earlier. Tell me about that
I’ve always been aware of my anxiety. I just didn’t have the language for it.
I was always overly worried about the smallest things in ways that would affect me to the point where I wouldn’t be able to think properly. Concentrating was hard; I would even get headaches sometimes. I used to panic a lot. I was dating somebody who once told me: “One thing about you is that you worry too much.” And it was true. I also used to assume the worst, and was paranoid all the time. One time, I had a headache and was so sure I had a brain tumour.
How did you go about getting help for your depression?
I was living with my aunt, and she noticed I kept to myself a lot, and was barely talking to anyone. One day, I sent my aunties a voice note about having suicidal thoughts. One of them is a pastor in the UK, so she prayed for me. The auntie I was living with could see something was wrong, so they came together and decided to get me professional help.
I saw the therapist for the first time in a clinic owned by a family member, and he asked me a lot of questions. My auntie went with me and also spoke to the therapist. And the next day, he diagnosed me with anxiety and depression, and put me on meds. This was in 2018.
You haven’t mentioned your parents at all. What about them?
I’ve never had a close-knit nuclear unit. My mum lives in Edo state, and my dad is in Europe. He’s been there for a long time. I was born there as well. He and my mum never married; they just met there and had me, and we all lived together for a bit. But when I was about eight years old, my mum brought me back to Edo state. I lived there with her for about a year until my paternal grandmother came to pick me up and brought me to Lagos.
So I grew up with my grandma and my dad’s youngest sister. They took care of me as best as they could, sent me to the best schools and gave me everything I needed. My grandma is late now. She died in 2015. But I grew up with her for the longest time. I was very close to her, so her death hit me really hard.
I’m so sorry for your loss. When was the last time you saw your mum?
When I was 16. That was the first and last time she came to Lagos to see me. She tried to keep in contact as much as possible. When I didn’t have a phone, she’d call my grandma or auntie. And when I had a phone, she’d call me a lot.
I tried my best to connect with her, but it wasn’t easy for me because she wasn’t somebody I spent a lot of time with. I think she gave up at some point because I haven’t spoken to her in almost three years.
Do you think the ADHD affected your relationship with her?
Yes. For sure. For people with ADHD, it’s harder to connect with people who we don’t see or talk to often. My mum and I weren’t really talking, so the less I interacted with her, the more I forgot her. I get overwhelmed with phone calls, which made me avoid hers. There was just a lot of communication imbalance until she eventually stopped trying.
Do your aunties know about you having ADHD too?
The one I live with knows. The pastor in the UK and the other one don’t. The one I live with only found out because I wrote about it, and she saw it.
She doesn’t understand the severity of it; she doesn’t know that the way my brain functions is different from neurotypicals. And I haven’t really tried explaining it to her because I just don’t have the strength.
Are you in a relationship? How does ADHD affect your relationship with your partner?
Yes, and it does. A lot. I think my current relationship helped me understand things about my ADHD I didn’t notice before. For example, how I always assume the worst. There was one time he didn’t get back from work at the usual time he does, and he wasn’t picking up his phone. I panicked. I called his friend, and his friend called his sister. When he finally got home, it was a whole thing because he couldn’t understand why 30 minutes would cause such a fuss.
It wasn’t until I did some more research that I found out it’s an ADHD thing. Another thing is how I feel things deeply and react quickly.
One time we’d had a fight the night before, but we’d sorted it out. The next day, he didn’t text me first like he usually would, and I got so upset. I just assumed he was still upset about the fight. Meanwhile, he’d been having a crazy morning, woke up late, got to work late, got thrown into a meeting and got thrown into a major work task. And I was just there thinking he didn’t want to talk to me. So I made a big deal out of it.
Now, I count to 10 or I think about different scenarios first before reacting. I still slip up because I’m only human, but I’m trying now.
So he knows about your ADHD. Is he supportive?
I told him on our first date in early 2022 because I needed to know if it was something he could handle. But it was harder in the beginning, with me always losing things, my time blindness, my inability to sleep, reacting quickly and all that.
There was a time I even felt like my ADHD was too much for him. I came up with a document that had a list of links on how you can help a partner with ADHD. I felt like he hadn’t done research on it, and I wanted to help him out a bit. The list included TikTok videos, articles, etc. But when I told him, he misunderstood and thought I was asking him to do all the work. It caused a lot of friction. I had to explain that I was doing work on my own, but I also wanted to show him how he could support me in the relationship.
This was the middle of 2022. He’s a lot more supportive now. He talked about us doing therapy together so he can understand deeper, especially before we get married.
My ADHD is not too much for him if he’s willing to go to therapy with me. He also does little things that make it easier. For example, he tries to keep things where I’d easily find them. He knows I usually misplace my AirPods. So if he sees them in the bathroom or something, he just puts them where I’d easily find them.
I’m glad you have that. Has ADHD affected your work in any way?
That’s where it’s really hard, honestly, so I wing it. Especially because I work in a fast-paced environment where there are a lot of big tasks. With ADHD, it takes a lot of energy to focus.
Sometimes, I just want to lie down and not do my tasks until the last minute because it’s too overwhelming. That’s how almost every day at work goes. But I push myself. I use the fact that I don’t want to get fired, and I want a promotion, to do my job well.
I have time blindness — I often think I have time when I don’t. So when I wait till the very last minute then just rush through it, something else in my life suffers for it, like me not getting enough sleep.
I switched roles recently, and work is more exciting now. That makes it easier. Monotonous tasks are the worst for a person with ADHD, but my role allows for a lot of excitement. This is another thing about having ADHD, you’re interested in so many things. I’ve had many hobbies and done quite a few things in my life. I’ve done makeup. There was a time I wanted to start selling smoothies. Another time, I was so sure I would become a business consultant. I even started my own digital magazine.
Would you say that’s an advantage of having ADHD? Just being interested in and being able to do many things?
It can be an advantage or disadvantage. An advantage because you always have great ideas; you’re always learning something new. You can find creative ideas in the smallest things. But I start something, find out the nitty-gritty of what it takes to do it and just lose interest.
Sometimes, it’s hard to find what you’re passionate about; there’s no way to be sure it’s not just another exciting project that’d last a few months. I always need excitement, and I’m learning to find it in as many things as I can.
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Please, tell me everything that led to your pastor arranging your marriage
It was in 1993. I was a committed worker in a popular church that was a haven for people looking for miracles during the late 80s/early 90s when revivals were extremely popular in Nigeria.
At 37, I was doing well for myself. I was a senior manager at a bank, my two younger brothers lived with me, and I comfortably provided for all of us. The only thing was I was unmarried. While I wasn’t particularly unhappy, especially at that stage in my life, people around me took it up as a prayer point.
And because I was really active in church for many years, my pastor kept promising I’d marry soon.
How did he make this happen?
It was during one of our special services on June 13, 1993. I’ll never forget it because it was the day after we went out in our numbers to vote for Abiola. My pastor was leading a prayer session, after which he called out to the congregation for all the single people to stand up. After some more prayer, he started picking those who stood up in twos — a man, a woman, a man, a woman, like that — and telling them, “That’s your husband. That’s your wife”.
He got to me and paired me with someone, one of those men who didn’t always come to church but often donated large sums. He was a typical Lagos society man from one of the elite Yoruba families. Our pastor prophesied that God had anointed us to be man and wife, and all that remained was for us to wed.
And just like that, you married the man?
Yes.
The wedding happened in November of that same year. We tried to court while meeting each other’s families and planning the wedding, but we hardly had time to breathe between work and social activities. He was a widower who already had two kids around age ten. But I wasn’t too concerned about taking care of them because I knew I could afford hired help even if he wasn’t willing to.
There was a bit of friction between families because I’m Igbo. But my pastor was well-known and loved then. So it was a thing of joy and honour that he’d personally anointed our wedding, and everyone did their best to behave.
How was the wedding?
It was a huge society wedding; the talk of town. I look back on it now with both longing and disgust because it was big and beautiful yet we barely knew each other. How were we able to go through with it? Why did anyone allow it to happen? My parents were late at the time, otherwise, I’m sure my mother would’ve never allowed it.
What happened after the wedding?
Around a month in, I knew we weren’t compatible because he expected me to be this domestic wife and was passive-aggressive about me quitting my job. But I kept going because I believed it was the will of God for us to be together.
Why do I feel like you stopped believing this soon after?
He stopped attending our church in the third month of our marriage, and I found out he was really a Muslim. He only went to a few of my pastor’s services because of his popular ministry which drew a large crowd. It was more of a political move; my ex-husband is an active member of a well-known political party.
He was completely uninterested in Christianity and often made fun of it, using my eagerness to marry him because my pastor said so as a reason. He told me he’d just wanted someone submissive to stay home and take care of his children.
What was it like after hearing his true thoughts and intentions?
For a while, it was just disappointing.
During our courtship, he gave me the impression that he was excited to marry me. He’d tell me how beautiful I was, how he admired the way I’d preserved my beauty and also built a respectable career. He’d even compare me to his mum who was a formidable woman in society then. She was a well-known fabric merchant, an enterprising woman who raised her four children alone after her husband died early. Everyone knew her story, and I always felt good that he held me in the same esteem.
Hearing his true thoughts months into our marriage shattered that impression and even confused me. But what really made me angry was how he started interfering with my work and undermining my career.
What was the last straw for you in that regard?
I was up for a huge promotion that would’ve made me jump from general manager to acting senior general manager because the sitting SGM left suddenly. It wasn’t official yet, but I got to know about it and made the mistake of sharing the news with him.
This man then spoke to one of the executive directors of the bank, who was one of his drinking partners. The gossip that came back to me was that my husband didn’t think I was ready for the role since I was just getting used to my new role as his wife, and I wasn’t even focusing enough on the children.
No!
Those were the kind of ridiculous statements men could boldly make in those days and actually be taken seriously. That’s how I was bypassed, and the role was given to a guy who’d just become general manager some months before. Less than a year later, they confirmed him as senior general manager.
I’d started second-guessing myself because of the sudden change of management’s mind, but because things don’t stay secret within a bank for long, I got to know that the order came from my husband, who wasn’t even involved in the bank professionally. After that, we had our first real fight where he got physical. This was about five months in.
Physical, how?
I was ranting, screaming at him around the house because I was livid. He suddenly charged at me and punched me in the stomach. I remember exactly how it happened; his face and eyes were so scary in that moment, and I couldn’t recognise him.
Right after, he left the house and didn’t come back till the next week, filled with apologies. The punch hurt so much, I just called in sick that week and laid in bed, crying.
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When did you decide to leave him?
Maybe not immediately after that punch, but before long, I started considering it. I wasn’t comfortable in the house.
Although he never hit me again, there were little things that made it clear we weren’t in a partnership and I was just a visitor. Like, we’d be in the TV room having a casual conversation, but once something more sensitive — something about his close friends or financials — came up, he’d just get nasty and tell me off.
It was always a sharp statement like, “That’s none of your business” or “What kind of question is that?” And he never thought there was anything wrong with his snide comments. He could just continue on with the casual conversation like nothing ever happened.
Did he ask about your own business?
Not really, but he often interfered.
He always tried to convince me to sign over my properties to him. I didn’t understand why I’d want to do that. Also, he had so many properties of his own; why did he want mine too? His logic was he was my husband, and so, they were legally his anyway. And that he’d be better at protecting them than I could.
Interesting
One time, he planned a vacation for only himself and his children. When I asked about it, he claimed he’d just gotten used to being a single dad. I was so hurt, I stubbornly didn’t follow them to travel, but maybe I should’ve. I don’t know. I just couldn’t handle the process it seemed we needed to actually be a real couple. I also hadn’t fully forgiven him for meddling in the career I worked so hard to build.
So quietly, day after day, I considered leaving. It was only shame about what people would say, how our pastor would feel, that made me hesitate for so long. I wanted to help my pastor save face, to not show the world that he, that God, had failed. Then one day, I realised the pastor himself was a politician.
A what? How did you discover this?
I started meeting him at more and more social outings I attended with my ex-husband from time to time. These were exclusive society events only big politicians — the most wealthy, decadent ones — and powerful people in the corporate world attended.
And there he would be, looking just as ostentatious as them. The more I met him at these things, the less he sat well with me. The whole thing just seemed like one big joke. And that exposure actually made my faith falter for some time.
What did you do in the end?
Exactly two weeks to our first wedding anniversary, I woke up one morning. And instead of getting ready for work, I packed my most important belongings and moved back to my house, where luckily, my brothers were still keeping things up for me. They were shocked to see me because I didn’t warn them ahead, but I told them not to ask me any questions. They never have, till today.
How did your ex react to this move?
He never came for me, if that’s what you’re asking. He never called my house or office. It was as if I was never in his life even. Two years later, he sent his lawyers over with divorce papers.
I honestly don’t understand why he even went through with the wedding. He really didn’t need me in his life, so why waste my time? I don’t know. He could’ve just asked if I was interested in leaving my career to fully rely on him as a homemaker beforehand. I would’ve said no and saved him the trouble.
And he wouldn’t have found it hard to find a willing woman, him being such a well-positioned man.
Right? Did you ever ask him why?
Yes, and his response was, “What kind of question is that?” Haha.
It’s good that I had that experience in my life. It was an interesting one and adds colour to my mostly career-related life. But I feel so much more satisfied outside the marriage that I’m inclined to think it’s not compulsory for everyone to marry. I don’t feel I’m missing anything.
If there’s one thing I miss from the marriage though, it’s his children. Oh, they were lovely. So well-adjusted and grounded. He did a good job raising them on his own, I give him that. I honestly regret not having my own kids. That’s the only thing I’d say I regret, family-wise, not marriage.
Not to sound rude. But why did you never marry in your 20s or early 30s, like most people do?
It just happened; you don’t plan for these things. Or perhaps, other people plan, and that’s why it works out for them. It’s possible.
For me, I was dating a man for five and a half years from when I was about 28, and I was sure he was the one I’d marry. When we were finally ready for a wedding, he jilted and relocated to America a week after family introductions. I just noticed his house phone was no longer going through, and he’d quit at his own bank.
Ahh. Did you ever see him again?
No. But he called me from over there a month later, saying he’d won a US visa lottery and didn’t want to have to get me involved and possibly complicate the relocation process. Someone he would’ve married in some months if he hadn’t gotten the visa? Anyway, he asked me to forgive him, and by the next year, I heard he’d married someone else.
I’m so sorry
I was heartbroken. I felt betrayed. But I didn’t dwell on it. My work helped me pull through, and I never got into another serious relationship until my ill-fated marriage.
If you could go back in time, would you still marry your ex-husband the way you did?
Knowing what I know now, why would I? It was a waste of time. I gained nothing from it if not experience. But luckily, I lost nothing from it too.
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When I was about four, my father donated his compound for a friend to use when he was starting a church, so you can say I lived in church growing up. I was immersed in the culture around church, religion and spirituality, and I loved it so much.
My childhood friends were children of ministers and workers who were also always in church — my home. I wasn’t as close to my primary school friends because I was always excited to get back home and hang with the church kids all evening. I was also excited about Sunday School and the Bible stories and lessons we were taught.
The church had all these activities for the kids: drama, dance, singing and competitions. I used to win all the Bible-related competitions like Bible sword, reciting memory verses, etc.
Sounds so nostalgic
Yes. My favourite things about that period were the beautiful Christian picture books I owned, with vivid illustrations of the creation story, the nativity. I especially loved the depictions of Egypt — the stories of Moses and Joseph.
I’m a digital artist today because I fell in love with art while replicating those picture book scenes with my paper and crayons, and later, watercolours. I’d paste my replicas all over the walls of my room. I found art through Jesus.
I grew to love Jesus because He was so good, kind and caring. I still love the idea of being connected to and loved by such a divine figure. I had such a beautiful, happy childhood. I didn’t really notice anything missing until I entered secondary school.
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What was missing?
I discovered what it meant to be poor or rich, pretty or ugly, lonely or popular.
I always felt my parents were comfortable because they’d give stuff away and help people with money when they were in need. But they weren’t really; we were just getting by. Before secondary school, everyone hung out with everyone because the concept of being popular wasn’t a thing. But my church friends made new friends at their own schools and didn’t attend church as much. A lot of them even japa’d with their families or went to boarding school, or just weren’t as outgoing as we were when we were younger.
And how did you navigate all that?
I found singing, again, through Jesus.
While my school was secular, the owner was a devoted Christian, so there was strict assembly and devotion every morning with at least 30 minutes of praise and worship. In JSS 2, I volunteered to lead those. I did so well the first time that I was selected to lead the morning assembly once every week. I eventually became chapel prefect in SS 3.
Having that, and of course, studying to get good grades, gave me purpose, but I still struggled with loneliness.
Why?
Things happening at home made me terribly sad.
My parents were constantly fighting abusive and violent fights at this point. They’d leave me and my siblings alone at home until nighttime. And as the middle child of three, I felt scared and neglected. I wanted to kill myself all the time. I’d lie in bed, seriously considering it because I didn’t have anything to look forward to. I wasn’t happy anymore.
But Jesus, and the thought of continuing my suffering in hell, stopped me from doing that.
Did adulthood help these feelings?
Adulthood comes with its own struggles — from family drama to work pressure to money wahala. There’s also the depression that comes with not achieving your dreams or goals. I find that I’m always struggling to find joy in the little things just to get by. And then, finding that I wasn’t straight didn’t help matters.
How did that happen?
In secondary school, I crushed on up to ten different guys, especially in senior school. I felt I was really attracted to these guys. I’d stare at them and some ended up being my friends.
But I only dated one guy towards the end of SS 2. We broke up in SS 3 first term because I didn’t know how to commit. I “liked” this guy, but I didn’t really want him in my personal space. I didn’t want to always hang out with him, which makes sense because I was 16 then. I think back to my classmates now and wonder how they could be so committed to their boyfriends at that age.
Exactly. But then for university, I went to a Christian private school, so it was more church culture, and I immersed myself in it. It was my comfort zone, after all. I joined the choir and was generally at peace until I realised I didn’t like any of the guys. It’s not like I was caught up in dating, but you know at that stage in life, it’s a huge focus for most.
At one point, I thought I was a misandrist, but I didn’t have a problem being friends with guys. In fact, I get along with guys a lot. Most of my friends are guys today. But once they try to get romantic or remotely sexual, I get turned off. I’d just literally switch off and freeze up before I even notice.
How did your church preach about sex? Do you think that affected your perception of it?
I don’t think so.
My alma mater was strict regarding sex and relationships: if you were caught alone with a guy or even holding hands walking down the streets, you could get anything from a warning to suspension from school. But that didn’t stop anyone.
I wouldn’t say my church affected my perception of sex, but maybe my personal relationship with God did.
All right. How did you figure out what the problem was?
Towards the end of 100 level, someone told me I behaved like a lesbian, and I was so confused. Until that point, I thought lesbians had to be tomboys. I’m quite feminine in my dressing and behaviour. Well, actually, I’m in between. I’m quite sporty and tend to be assertive, things people wrongly associate with being manly. But other than that, I wouldn’t consider myself a tomboy.
In 200 level, I realised I had a crush on my roommate. We were roommates for three years, and we’re still friends today, but she still doesn’t know I like her. In school, I wondered how boys weren’t falling over themselves to date her because she was so attractive.
So you’re not attracted to men at all?
No. I can’t stand them romantically, TBH.
How they talk once they’ve decided they want to date you or get in your pants? It’s off-putting to me. They aren’t all like that, of course. Some are actually serious about liking you and being committed, but on a fundamental level, I don’t really connect to how men think or process things.
Even their build and essence turn me off. When I think back now, all the guys I ever crushed on — secondary schoolmates, celebrities — were all almost effeminate. I know my friends would never be able to wrap their heads around this, but it really just feels natural.
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Got it. And how’s it been since you discovered your sexuality?
Uneventful. I haven’t had the nerve to approach women sexually or even search for communities where I’ll be welcome. I’m still very much in the closet. No one knows. Not one single person I know knows I’m gay.
Not even your family?
My mother and siblings know I’m a pride ally and speak up against homophobia and for gay rights, but that’s it. I’ve tried to hint it to my mother because we’re like besties, and I’ve noticed she’s been much more respectful of the gay community, but she just zones out anytime I try to connect myself directly to it.
One time, while we were having a conversation, I told her I sometimes understand lesbians because I can’t stand men romantically, and it was like I didn’t even say anything. She just went on with what she was saying beforehand.
She’s a Nigerian mum after all
True. And I’m not really upset with it. But finding my sexuality in university brought back that feeling I had entering secondary school. I felt and still feel lonely, alone with my thoughts and wishes. Oh, and guilty because Jesus doesn’t love gay people.
About that. How do you reconcile your faith with your sexuality?
By not trying to date women? I don’t know. I don’t really reconcile it, and that’s why I’m so miserable right now. I’m not exactly active in church, but I never miss Sunday service. I find my relationship with Christ ironically uplifting when I temporarily suspend my interest in women.
Do you have an escape this time, at least?
My art and listening to music still. But I know I’m going to break and find a woman who’ll love me soon because I’m dying of loneliness.
How do you plan to find someone?
I’ve reached an age where my worldview has expanded, especially with work and social media.
During COVID, I found out one of our freelancers was gay when my ex-boss told me about it in this scandalous tone as reason for cancelling her contract. My ex-boss never would’ve guessed I, too, was a lesbian. Through the freelancer, I’ve discovered a couple of other people like us. Honestly, I feel relieved because Nigeria can be so homophobic, right?
Right. Would you ever come out to your friends and family?
I don’t want to think that far. I have no idea. I’m so sure they’d just not get it.
I have this feeling I’d elope with a woman one day and leave my parents to believe I chose spinsterhood. Or maybe I’ll do nothing and just try to conform to being straight and a proper Christian. I’m not sure I’ll ever let go of the guilt otherwise. I’ll always think of how Jesus is disappointed with me.
He saves me from taking my own life every day, so maybe my sexuality is a small sacrifice to pay to show gratitude?
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.
My love for fashion and pop culture. I looked up to American celebrities as a child. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a star, but I never knew how to go about it. Unfortunately, neither did anyone else around me — not my family or friends. None of us had any knowledge of the Nigerian entertainment industry or what one had to do to get into it.
I only heard a bit about how people were doing it around 2015 when companies like Mavin and EbonyLife became really active. And at first, I wasn’t sure if I should go into music or movies. I also didn’t believe well enough in my talents in those lines.
How did influencing come in?
2017 came, and I became more aware of people who were getting a lot of recognition on Instagram for basically being stylish and pretty. I was those two things, so it just clicked that I should try that. But I didn’t really do anything about it until two years later when I graduated from secondary school. I wanted to get the perfect phone, makeup and hair first, and my parents promised me everything only after I finished school with a good result.
In the meantime, I’d planned out all the content I wanted to make. I had a little lookbook with a plan for the aesthetic I’ll go for. I had everything creative down, but did I plan how I’d promote or make money? Nope.
I started creating content on IG as soon as I got into uni in September 2018. I’d do my own makeup, copying stuff I saw on Pinterest, then take cute selfies and post with captions I took days to come up with. Alongside “Outfit of the Day” posts, I posted every other day.
Fame, here you come?
I was getting like 30 likes and two comments for months until I got frustrated. “What were other people doing?” was the question that kept me up at night my entire 100 level.
I started stalking other known influencers at the time, and I noticed they didn’t just take pictures, they went out, attended events and had a network. They all seemed to know each other and had their different circles. So I became obsessed with attending events they attended and meeting the micro-influencers at least.
Were you able to?
I had two major obstacles: most of the events were in Lagos, and my school was in Cotonou. Second: actually getting invites or paying for tickets.
Getting invited as an unknown was practically impossible, so I started saving up most of my allowance to buy at least one event ticket every weekend — parties, festivals, product launches — and I’d register for free tickets where available. I’d skip school from Thursday to travel to Lagos till Sunday, and squat with one of my friends who was in Unilag.
The goal was to get there, meet people and take lots of good-quality photos. So I also had to spend on new outfits every time and do my makeup and hair well. I’d starve all week just to be able to afford it all. But at least, that helped me maintain my figure. Plus, all the travelling back and forth and walking up and down at the events was perfect exercise.
God, abeg
I did that my whole 200 level — the 2020 pandemic was another setback, though — and took really good pictures that got much better engagement online, especially when I tagged and interacted with organisers and some famous or semi-famous guests. But nothing impressive happened. I was getting noticed but not as someone important enough to get PR boxes, which I later found out micro-influencers were getting lots of. Also, there was so much gatekeeping.
These other influencers would recognise me offline, laugh and gist for some minutes, even dance with me. Then online they’d ghost. Others would talk to me online but shut down once I start asking how they’re doing it. I get it; I’m not entitled to their trade secrets. But a little help wouldn’t have hurt. I had to take matters into my own hands.
I’m scared. What did you do, please?
Aggressive digging. I searched for influencers I admired and scrolled all the way down to their first couple of posts — most of them don’t delete these — to get some hints on how they started.
There was a particular girl I really liked, maybe because she graduated from my uni. One of her earlier posts was a photo of her with a green sash that showed she’d come second in a pageant. I searched the pageant and saw it was IG-based and a few other successful micro-influencers had participated in it.
Without thinking twice, I paid the sign-up fee for the 2021 edition. The experience was my first taste of financial exploitation and online bullying.
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I’m so sorry. Please explain
First of all, the organiser, a woman, was quite mean. And the participants, both past and present, had to be submissive to her like she was our master, all while she outwardly preached feminism and women empowerment.
Also, she boasted that she helped young women feel confident in whatever body type. Meanwhile, in the background, she constantly emotionally abused us and made us feel stupid. Then there was the part where she’d boast that she’d made many influencers when all she did was run a popularity contest after which she’d use the winners to promote her pageant brand and get huge brand deals. The only thing the winners gain is the small cash prize, a tiara and some subpar lifestyle products.
But I also suffered from my own ambition. To win or place second to eighth, each contestant needs to get people to follow the pageant’s IG page then like their photo on the page. By the time I’d gotten my family, friends and most of my miserly 3k followers to do this, I hadn’t even scratched the surface of the kind of engagement some other participants were getting.
Tears. What happened in the end?
The organiser said we could pay her to boost our post on her page. But she was charging ten times what Meta would charge. I ended up sending her ₦100k for this, but it didn’t make much difference. At least, five girls had 20k likes while I still struggled with 5k.
Then some people started DMing me that they saw I was participating in the pageant and could help me get up to 20k or even 30k likes. I started thinking maybe that’s how the other girls were getting ahead — they had money. So I chose who I thought was the most legit option and paid him ₦50k at first then another ₦100k. All from money I made modeling for fashion and photography brands in school.
He didn’t do anything.
Ah
Not a single like.
Instead, he kept saying he hadn’t received the money. And me too, I’d go back and forth to my bank to complain until I paid him another ₦150k, while the bank “sorted out a reversal”. After one story or the other sha, he still didn’t do anything. My bank came back to report that the first transfer went through, and it suddenly dawned on me that I’d lost ₦300k to a scammer. I was so angry with myself for being so stupid.
On top of that, trolls were on my pageant post calling me ugly in many creative ways. When the voting period ended, of course, I didn’t place any position. My mental health took a dip during that period. I even found out that the organiser slotted a girl in 8th position when she only had about 7k likes — there were people with up to 15k that didn’t place. The same girl became front and centre at all the promotional events.
I sense fraud
Honestly, it was frustrating, after all the money I’d lost.
But the experience made me realise I could cough out such large amounts when needed. Meanwhile, I was scrimping on things like camera and props for my content. I worked more modeling jobs and saved my pay and allowance from my parents for about three months to buy a vlogging camera. At this point, content creation was veering towards videos, so it was a good move.
My 300-level results came in and my scores were demoralising. I lied to my parents that the pandemic and lockdown made everything “confusing”. When they gave me my final year school fees, I took it and rented a self-con in Yaba, near my Unilag friends. I used the remaining to buy hair and makeup and lived on the allowance they were still sending. The good thing about schooling in Cotonou was that they never visited.
So you dropped out? Weren’t you afraid of the risks?
No. I was studying accounting; I wasn’t ever going to be an accountant.
At the start of 2022, someone reached out to me that he’d like to manage me. I had just under 4k followers at this point and was still getting maybe 200 likes on average after Meta ruined IG’s algorithm. So I was basically still paying to attend people’s events and create content for them for free. This is why I jumped at the opportunity to be managed by someone who, hopefully, knew what I didn’t know about the industry.
Please, tell me he was legit
I probably shouldn’t have jumped at the first person who offered me a management deal.
He sent me a whole plan of what he’d do for me, and it all looked so exciting and legit. But I had to pay him either ₦1m or ₦750k in advance, depending on the package. So I spoke with my dad, who’s always been supportive of my creative side — he’s the only reason I had the slightest second thought about dropping out of uni. I told him I needed money for another camera.
He said he’d loan me the ₦750k, but I’d have to pay it back in installments for the next year. It was his way of making sure I didn’t just blow it on trivial things. Before I sent it to my new manager, I made sure I met with him in a public place. We had a meeting, he came with two other people on his team, and they presented the plan to me again. I loved everything I saw, so I sent the money and signed a contract.
Don’t leave us in suspense!
They didn’t lie. I did everything they had planned for me. I got to work with a couple of known and not-so-known brands, created content, got a few PR boxes (finally).
But?
But I didn’t have any control over the content I created, which they posted on the brands’ pages. I got no credit. They never tagged me, so I never got any traffic to my own page. They also paid me peanuts. I’m sure my manager was getting millions, but the highest I ever got on a job was ₦100k.
Unfortunately, I have no proof of exactly what he made off me. And the team was deliberate about keeping their content creators separate from each other. So we won’t hang up against him, I guess.
My contract was for a year, so it ended in February (2023). I used most of the money I made to pay my father back because I couldn’t complain to him, especially since I’ve not even figured out how to tell him, come June, that I dropped out.
You’ve taken many huge risks, but “fortune favours the bold”. Have you figured out your next move yet?
This might sound crazy, but I have more hope than ever that I’ll soon break through in this influencing thing. I’ve learnt a lot, my content creation game is now fire, and I can only fail so many times, right?
Except those motivational speakers and “Take risk and succeed” preachers are all liars.
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.
First things first, marrying at 19 seems like a Gen X thing to do—
I was in love. Or I thought I was. It turned out to be toxic, and people now say he “groomed” me. It’s so upsetting to hear it, but maybe it’s true.
Why do people say so?
I was 19, and he was 39. Also, he already had two wives living in separate houses, but he was open about being married to them. He didn’t hide one wife or anything. He’s a popular big man in Ilorin.
Your parents allowed this to happen?
No shade at my parents, but they saw the money. I also insisted that I loved him and didn’t mind being a third wife. He was very caring and gave me everything I asked for. I know people will say I also saw the money, but honestly, he used to talk to me like I was a person. He’d make me feel smart and special, unlike other adults who naturally talk down on younger people and treat them like they don’t know anything. I could really be myself around him.
How did you meet him?
At a big family get-together to mark the 20th anniversary of my late grandfather’s death in 2012. He came to honour the invitation of my uncle who was his childhood friend. I was introduced to him the way they always introduce the young people in the family — someone called me to come and kneel and greet an important guest. I’d just turned 18 then.
I remember when he saw me, he called me “The most beautiful girl in Nigeria”. He called me that till we separated years later.
And how did the relationship start?
He must’ve collected my number from a family member because he called me later in the evening. He told me he’d love us to get to know each other, so I should save his number. Then he started sending me expensive gifts: he changed my Nokia to the latest Blackberry and bought me a MacBook when I said I was about to start school.
The relationship really started when I got into Unilorin later in 2012. He’d visit me on campus every week, bringing foodstuff and toiletries in bulk. At the end of my first year, he bought me a Toyota RAV4 because I had a first-class result.
Did you know he had two wives at this point?
Yes. I also met his first wife at the event I met him; she was very nice to me. At some point during the first year we met and started talking, he informed me about his second wife. He said they couldn’t wait to meet me.
At what point did he mention that he wanted to marry you too?
The first time he came to visit me in school. He told me, “I don’t date for fun. I want you to be my wife whenever you’re ready. If you don’t want that, tell me now and I’ll leave you alone.”
He even said once I gave him permission, he’d let my father know his intentions. At that age, I found his interest exciting and romantic, to be approached by someone so sure of what he wanted. He made me feel comfortable and secure.
I told him I was ready to marry him when I entered my second year, so we had a traditional wedding after the first semester.
It was a great thing we didn’t do a court or white wedding.
Why?
It was easier to get a divorce three years later.
Ah
Yes o. Married life was too chaotic for me. I always had to be available whenever he wanted — for sex, to accompany him to events, to travel. I had to relate with his other wives and extended family, who all always wanted one thing or the other from me: my time, food, a room in my house, the list was long.
I was in school for most of the marriage, but I moved into his main house after the wedding, and it became almost impossible to balance being his wife with my studies. One day, I realised I barely had a life. I no longer had time for myself, talk less of book. I was lucky to have graduated with a 2:1.
Was he still supportive, at least?
By 2015, the second year of our marriage, he was suddenly never there for me except when he wanted sex. He never touched me before we got married, but as soon as I moved in, sex was all he wanted. I had my first child with him in the same year I’d just turned 21.
Now, he was too busy with his business to have time for me. He even told me that I was a wife and mother and shouldn’t be expecting his attention every time like he was still toasting me. Somehow, I took that as a challenge to behave more maturely and becoming of a married woman. But mehn, I was so lonely.
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What about your friends?
My friends gave me gap. They were still friendly and especially liked when I could fund our girls’ trips now and then. But they also said I was no longer fun to hang out with or willing to do the exciting things young girls do, like attending parties. I always had to consider my husband and baby. Soon, they became busy with their own lives; most ended up moving to Lagos.
My family members were the same. I was a married woman now, so I couldn’t just be showing up at my father’s house to gist with my siblings. I was miserable in my big house with so many responsibilities. Then I found out I was pregnant with my second child — a son — five months after the first.
When did you decide on a divorce?
After my son’s first birthday in 2017. My husband was hardly ever home. He just came and spent less than an hour at our son’s birthday celebration — you won’t even see him in any of the pictures we took that day.
He’d moved to Abuja without me, and I didn’t know whether he was courting a new wife. He ended up marrying again sometime in 2018. He has five wives now.
Around that time, I used to just sit in bed and cry a lot. All the initial euphoria had faded, and I was a mother of two, living with house staff in a big house and nothing to do. My young mind couldn’t understand why my husband no longer wanted to stay home or spend time with me. I didn’t even have the motivation to start job hunting. My mum would laugh at me about complaining despite not lacking anything.
By chance, I started confiding in one of my older family friends who was a marriage counsellor, and he advised me that my husband’s absence was one of the major concrete grounds for divorce in Nigeria. He thought I needed it because I was exhibiting signs of depression.
My parents were against it because he was sending me money every month and paying all the bills. They also thought that if he died, I’d have a right to his assets. Of course, that wasn’t true since the man was smart enough not to marry any of his wives in court.
Sigh. If you didn’t marry in court, why then did you need a divorce?
I still needed a customary divorce, so I wouldn’t have any issues when I wanted to remarry. And I’m glad I did that because I’ve heard some husbands will take all kinds of contentions to a customary court when they find out their wives want to marry another man.
Because I didn’t need to do a statutory divorce like for my second marriage, it took three months to finalise the whole thing. My ex-husband’s only term was keeping his son. When I agreed to that, he signed everything. I never even had to meet or talk to him directly. But he also wasn’t obligated to give me any more money or pay for child support.
Wow. You mentioned a second marriage and divorce?
Yes, you would think I learnt from the first one and thought twice before jumping into another marriage and doing a court wedding. Ah. The second divorce was bloody.
I don’t know what to say
I met him in 2018, about eight months after my first divorce was finalised. I’d moved to Lagos, leaving my daughter with my parents in Ilorin, to pursue better job opportunities. My first husband later came to collect her.
I went to stay with an aunt, and my second husband was her landlord’s eldest son. They didn’t live in the house, but he came to the compound to check on things for his father every once in a while. We met and got along very well.
After I got the bank job, he offered to pick me up and drive me to work every day — he worked in a bank close to mine. That’s how the love started o. We started dating, and by 2019, we were engaged. We did a simple court wedding and moved in together.
I’m scared to ask what happened next
I didn’t tell him I had two kids already.
Ahh
I don’t even know why. When our relationship got serious and he asked me to marry him, they were no longer a huge part of my life. I just found myself not telling him about them. I know how bad that sounds, but I just omitted that part of my life in our conversations.
How did it come out?
During the Christmas holiday in 2020, one of my relatives told his father, and that was it.
I’ll never forget how it happened.
We’d all been indoors for months during the COVID lockdown. So that Christmas, our families decided to take the risk and have a house get-together at his father’s place.
My cousin and other extended relatives were around, so they attended too. I remember seeing that particular relative having a quiet conversation with my dad-in-law in the sitting room. An hour later, people were whispering to each other, as if one juicy news was moving around the house. Me, I thought it had something to do with the pandemic and was planning how I’d grab my husband and escape.
Towards the end of the night, I noticed his countenance had changed. He was quiet the entire drive back home, only answering me in monosyllables. And to think the gossip was in the car with us and didn’t say anything to me.
It really be your own family sometimes
Immediately we got home and entered our room, he confronted me with the news. It was much worse that it didn’t come from me directly to him. It was barely two years in, BUT our marriage never recovered from the revelation. I was the one to ask for a divorce though — I guess because I already had experience — but mehn, did it have complications?
Tell me about it
First, I was seven months pregnant, so the court mandated that I gave birth before the hearing could proceed. Please, what does giving birth have to do with getting a divorce?
I gave birth to a son in 2021, but the hearing didn’t resume until six months later, and I’d moved out of the house because my husband had turned hostile.
When we returned to court, the judge said he expected that we would’ve fallen back in love and forgiven each other during the nine months pre and post-natal period. That in Nigeria, protecting family values and the children of the marriage is paramount.
You don’t say
According to Nigerian law, the only grounds for divorce in our case was failing to comply with the restitution of conjugal rights for not less than a year.
I won’t even ask what “conjugal rights” means
We had to prove that we hadn’t consummated the marriage in a year.
The judge said my contention that the marriage had broken down due to failing to tell my husband of children outside the marriage didn’t hold water because I was the woman and the erring party. I shouldn’t be the one to say the marriage had broken down.
To make matters worse, my second husband lied that he didn’t want the marriage to end. I don’t know whether he just wanted to make me suffer. That’s how the case was adjourned for 18 months, so we could live apart for at least two years before the case could be revisited.
What did you do during that period?
Omo, I moved on with my life o. Since I’d already moved out, and he’d been keeping malice with me even before that, I jumped on the japa train and started applying to schools in Canada. By January 2022, my visa was approved for me to relocate with my son. This caused another wahala.
I had to get written permission from his father to take him with me. And that one was doing shakara to sign o. I literally had to go and kneel down to beg him that all I want to do is give his son a Canadian passport and a better life. He eventually relented. We travelled in March, and in July, I was able to attend our eventual hearings remotely via Zoom.
We’re officially divorced now. Twice divorced at 28, can you imagine? Anyway, I’m happier than ever and looking forward to 30. Praise God.
What’s life like for you now, considering these experiences?
I’d say my life is normal for the first time in forever. Moving forward in life is what occupies my mind now. I’m juggling a master’s program with nursing a toddler where there’s nothing like nanny or family assistance. I have to pay for the expensive daycare at the university, so I got a remote job as a virtual assistant to help with funds.
But still, I feel free mentally, like I have nothing to worry about anymore. I’m finally in charge of my own life. I miss my older children though, and sometimes, regret leaving them behind, but their father is spoiling them rotten, so my mind is at rest.
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 31-year-old Nigerian woman who has seen shege as a teacher trying to make a change. She talks about deciding to pursue the profession NYSC forced on her, being bullied by students in a private school and considering teaching in South Korea instead.
Four years and a few months now. Although I studied history and international relations in uni, I thought I’d change the world by teaching the leaders of tomorrow.
What inspired this interest?
NYSC. In 2017, I was posted to a private school in Ogbomoso. To my surprise, it was just as run down as I would’ve expected a government school to be. The whole school had five teachers, and the 100+ children were learning nothing. The management was unserious, the classroom facilities were poor, there were barely any teaching aids or books, and there were no computers. The parents of the students were just getting by. They didn’t know how to hold the management accountable.
The state of the school made me so scared about the quality of people we were pushing out into society as the next generation. I was sad, angry, and I wanted to do something about it.
What did you do?
I decided I’d teach and gain enough skills, experience, and eventually, the funds to either start my own school or an education-focused NGO. At first, I thought I’d enter the civil service so I could help at a more universal level. But I discovered early the amount of politics it took to even get into the system. I also needed to earn enough to actually make a living.
Well, they’re easier to gain employment with. I got my first job easily because the school management was even surprised I’d want to work for them given my credentials — I graduated with a first class from a top private university. Even my friends and family were shocked; everyone thought I was making a big mistake. But I honestly couldn’t sleep well at night knowing most children were getting poor education even though they were attending school. I just felt so worked up about it; it’s not something I can readily explain.
What was your experience at this first job?
I was given a wake-up call very quickly.
It was a private secondary school in Yaba, and I was a teacher’s assistant — I didn’t have a teaching license or certifications. I also needed to have taught the curriculum for a year before I could be a full teacher. My NYSC experience didn’t count even though I performed the responsibilities of a full teacher during that time.
From the beginning, I was constantly shut down when suggesting ideas to management. I wanted to push for a more empathetic approach to dealing with the students. But in hindsight, I can see how having a newbie act like she knows it all in just over a year of being a teacher could be annoying.
How did they react?
One day, the school administrator sat me down and said, “Look, we like how you’re trying to make everything nice and good-looking, but we didn’t hire you for rebranding work. There’s no room for that here. The parents are barely able to pay school fees, you’re talking of giving their children special treatment.” I was mum.
This was seven months in. I left the next month, but I grew up a little. I wasn’t going to make a change overnight. I’ll probably never even make a change.
Don’t say that. What kept you going then?
Everyone involved was so resistant to change. And the truth is I didn’t know what I was doing. What did I really have to offer? Just good intentions?
But stubbornness was what kept me going. I needed to prove myself and everyone wrong. Also, I truly cared about these students. I wanted them to get the type of education I got in this same Naija. It’s unfair that a greater majority of Nigerians don’t have access to a basic standard of education because of their parents’ financial circumstances.
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True. So what happened next?
After staying home for about three months, I got a job at a better quality school. But believe me when I say the parents were paying a lot of money — not as much as popular elite schools, but it was a lot — for just fine wall painting and uniform. Their children were learning nothing. The teachers were nonchalant, using handwritten teaching guides that were at least a decade old.
If most parents knew how ill-prepared their children were to compete in the future world of works, they’d be shocked.
Were you at least able to make a difference there?
Yes and no. I stayed for about two and a half years, and I was able to get through to members of management to some extent. I was moved into administration and operations six months in, only taking special classes in speaking and diction once or twice a week. As deputy administrator, I was able to enforce annual review of the teachers’ notes to make sure they stay relevant. The teachers resented me for this.
To be honest, I didn’t feel like I was making real lasting change because I was sure they’d ignore all my policies as soon as I leave the school, and they filled the role with someone more laid back. However, the changes I may or may not have made weren’t the most memorable thing about my stay in the school.
What was?
The bullying. I’m sure you think I’m referring to student on student, but no. I mean, students bullying teachers. It was rampant.
The students had no regard for the teachers at all. This isn’t new to me as I saw it happen when I was in secondary school, but this was a whole other level — maybe because I was now on the receiving end. The senior students would talk down on teachers, make fun of them, and sometimes, humiliate them. And they were encouraged by the negligent school management and overindulgent parents.
When you say humiliate—
One time, a teacher seized a student’s drink — La Casera — but later found out that the teenage boy had emptied the bottle before class and replaced it with urine.
No way!
Yes o. Then the other students started encouraging the poor man to drink it. He didn’t, but it wasn’t until when he got to the teacher’s hall that he discovered it was urine. Can you imagine?
Another time, I was taking the non-academic speech and diction class when the whole session turned into a conversation about my marriage. A group of male students started verbally attacking me about my decision to use a Bible as a symbol of my marriage instead of an engagement ring.
They made it a whole thing about my husband being too poor to afford a ring. I was so triggered because it was a religious choice — my sect doesn’t believe in wedding rings, and we hardly wear jewelry. I was close to bursting into tears, so I had to rush out of the class. And these students started laughing. That day, I cried ehn.
It was one of my few firsthand experiences. Don’t get me started on the female students. They were all so unruly.
That honestly sounds traumatic. How did you stay there for more than a year?
I couldn’t get another job early enough. But also, I didn’t want to ruin my CV with too many moves. I didn’t have to deal with the students directly so much though. I guess I could pretend it wasn’t happening, but the teacher turnover was staggering. When I finally left, I told the owner she had to do something to rein in the students and their parents. I don’t think anything will change there though, like almost everything else in this country.
Hmm. So what was your next move?
My family sponsored me to start taking standard teaching courses and certification exams to improve my qualifications. As an aftereffect of COVID, there was a huge demand for online schooling. I transitioned into giving tutorials for higher education early in 2021, preparing online students for JAMB, TOEFL and IELTS. In 2022, I registered with the British Council, so I now teach English to students all over the world, particularly Indians and other Asians.
But what happened to your dream to improve the quality of secondary school education in Nigeria?
It’s still there somewhere at the back of my mind, but I’ve partly given up on it. I’m disillusioned. The gravity of the problem is too much for me to even wrap my head around. My parents are visibly relieved. The plan now is to get a master’s in the education line in UK and work with NGOs there that focus on education in Sub-Saharan Africa. There are a couple of them.
There’s a clashing possibility of moving to South Korea to teach English with my British passport. I’m ashamed to say this because of my initial declaration that I’m determined to make a change, but I’m entirely in love with the K-culture and the Korean government is on a recruiting spree for English language teachers, so why not help a society that’s actually willing to develop?
Have you started working towards any of those plans?
For sure. The UK master’s plan is the major reason I had to transition into freelance teaching. I’m earning a lot more now, enough to actually save for a UK education. And on top of that, I’m getting the kind of experience that will be useful in my statement of purpose application essay. The South Korea plan will work seamlessly once I get that UK degree.
You mentioned being married. Is your partner making japa plans too?
He’s a banker. Bankers and health workers are always the first to jump, so he’s way ahead of me on that. He was working on a move to Canada through PNP and Express Entry before we got married in 2020. COVID was a huge set back for him, but now, we’re putting the money together so he can come with me when I go for my master’s. The plan is for him to work full-time while I study and work part-time.
So you’ll never go back to teaching in Nigeria?
If I can help it, never. It’s the absolute worst. We need to check on our teachers o. I understand now why they do the barest minimum. They’re overworked, underpaid and get very little motivation. In private schools, their interests are belittled in favour of the rich students and their parents. I feel guilty most times because I’m privileged enough to choose to take a step back from that path, but most aren’t. They’re going through serious financial and psychological stress.
Then again, who isn’t seeing shege in Nigeria?
Our leaders clearly aren’t. They are the ones showing it to us.
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 68-year-old Nigerian woman with a thyroid disorder that imitates clinical depression. She tells us how her health struggles have given her a strangely positive outlook on life after a decade of numbness.
After I had my last born in 1992. I was 37, and my neck just started swelling. After some weeks, it was worryingly large. I wasn’t in pain, but I was always coughing and short of breath. When I went to the hospital, they said I had goitre, that my thyroid was inflamed, and it was because I was deficient in iodine.
I was so scared because my loving sister had passed away because of throat cancer in 1990. But thank God, mine was nothing cancerous. I did surgery, and it was gone.
This feels like one of those movies where…
Yes, it came back. About a month later, I started having muscle and joint pain and was constantly tired. So I returned to my doctor, who referred me to a colleague in England.
I travelled, did several tests and waited another two months before being diagnosed with hypothyroidism.
What did this mean?
It meant my thyroid wasn’t producing enough hormones for my body, so I had to start taking hormone replacement tablets every day. It also meant everything became worse.
Because of the drugs?
No. After having my last child, Fola, I went into what we all thought was postpartum depression. I had no motivation to do anything at all. I couldn’t return to work. I didn’t even want to breastfeed him. In fact, I had this irrational phobia for breastfeeding, so he had to grow up on formula. Luckily for us, my sister-in-law had a child shortly after, so she would breastfeed him for me when she was around.
I was numb, physically cold, my skin was so dry, like it was harmattan when it wasn’t, and I simply didn’t want to do anything. I was religious before, but after Fola, I no longer wanted to pray or read the Bible. I wanted to stay in bed and be left completely alone without having to think about anything or anyone. The worst sound to me at that time was my baby’s crying. I couldn’t stand it.
It wasn’t. After the neck surgery, I felt a bit better. At least, I could relate with people and carry Fola, but I didn’t return to being happy. It’s a tiny blur in the past now, but I remember being such a friendly, lighthearted person.
Once the body pain and tiredness started, I went into a deeper depression. I’d walk around the house slowly because I didn’t want to do even the littlest things — moving from one room to another. I was gaining weight, constantly constipated, constantly having muscle cramps and joint pains. My period was haywire, and I no longer wanted sex. My husband was so frustrated by the whole thing, but bless him, he tried his hardest not to show it.
We never knew that I was suffering from a medical condition where my brain was triggering sadness because I didn’t have enough of one hormone.
Damn. I’m so sorry. What was life like after the diagnosis?
I didn’t notice any improvements even after several months of taking the hormone replacement drugs. So I was in and out of the hospital, sometimes even having to take trips back to England, for more and more blood tests until the correct dose was found.
I felt like a lab rat, constantly being poked and experimented on. I slept in and out of different hospitals and labs between ‘93 and ‘94. All the specialists in LUTH and UI knew my husband and me very well. They’d even make social calls to our home. Meanwhile, I just felt dead inside.
Even after you got the correct dose?
Yes. The physical side got better. My skin and period pattern normalised. But for the next decade, I struggled with the motivation to do anything at all. I was either sleeping all the time or suffering from insomnia. I couldn’t even cry anymore. I was just numb, blank, like an empty barrel.
And this went on for ten years?
Or more. I missed my children growing up, my career never recovered after I lost my job in ‘93, and I couldn’t sustain a business.
In 1995, I travelled to stay with my eldest sister for some time in Akure. It was supposed to be for a few weeks because my husband wanted me to have a change of scenery, and I myself was feeling so guilty and worthless watching him carry all the weight at home, paying for everything and raising our five children. I ended up staying in Akure for close to a year.
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Why?
I just couldn’t go back. It was a huge mental battle where I felt like I was being swallowed up and drowned out by the depression. And I could tell my sister and her family felt sorry for me. That was when I started cutting myself with knife and razors. I’d feel like I was drifting, disappearing, so I’d lock myself in my room and cut my lower arm and thighs out of desperation.
I remember the first time I did this was the first time I smiled in a long time. It was like the devil was using me. I was always scared right after I cleaned the self-inflicted wounds with spirit and plastered them up.
What made you think about cutting yourself?
My God, I don’t know. It must’ve been out of desperation. I might’ve been somewhat suicidal. I think I was. It’s hard now to figure out my motives and the things I did during that long foggy period. I wasn’t myself.
What made you eventually return home?
My husband persuaded me to come back, saying that my children needed their mother. I remember both our families begging me like I was this wicked person who didn’t want to be with her family. Not knowing I was struggling with myself. I allowed them to take me, and I returned to moping around in our house for another several years. I was like a ghost.
Did you stop cutting yourself?
I’ve heard now that people get addicted to cutting. But I bless God I never got to that stage. It was shame that made me stop because when I returned to my husband’s house, he never let me leave his sight. I couldn’t imagine him finding out I was doing something like that, so I gave it up. Even when he found the healed and unhealed cuts I gave myself in Akure, I lied that they happened naturally due to my condition. He just shook his head and let it go.
What changed after a decade?
In 2000, a friend of mine who relocated to the US in the 80s invited me to visit with her in Houston, Texas, for a month. I think she and my husband had spoken to each other because I’d cut off ties with most of my friends since the whole thing started. She took me from therapist to therapist until one day, we went to see this woman who was a hypnotist.
Weren’t you scared to see a hypnotist?
I was nothing. I don’t think I even thought about it. I just let my friend take me anywhere, all the while wishing I could just be allowed to stay in one place and be. Surprisingly, this session was the first treatment to give me some long-lasting relief.
She didn’t ask me questions or proffer much advice because my depression was linked to a medical condition that would never disappear. That’s what made it so hard to manage. There was no talking through it, figuring out triggers, or getting closure; just my body’s inadequacy.
So how exactly did the hypnotherapy go?
Unfortunately, I don’t remember a thing beyond going there, meeting the kind black woman and leaving much lighter.
I see. And what changed exactly?
Alone in my room that night, my mind was blank in a new way. It was like I was open to new revelations. I realised my condition could be a blessing rather than a curse if I just opened my mind to see it that way. Because I no longer wanted to do anything, my condition indirectly freed me from the pressures of constantly chasing the vanities of life. Nothing really matters in life except what we make of it.
I’m not saying people should want to be depressed, but it’s happened to me. What can I make out of it?
What have you made out of it?
I’ve achieved contentment. It stopped being important for me to compete with everyone else over every single thing. My body has forced me to focus on taking one step, one day at a time. I never want to go back to that stage of giving myself wounds to feel alive or insulting myself in my mind because I feel guilty over something God thought to give me naturally.
And work? Were you ever able to go back?
Not really. After so many years at home, my husband opened a supermarket for me to manage in 2001. It was about a year after the hypnotherapy — I did two sessions of that before returning to Nigeria.
I’ve run the stores successfully for 21 years and expanded to three other locations on the mainland and one on the island. My eldest handles most of the operations now. God has been faithful.
It’s been 31 years since your first surgery. Are you still depressed?
I don’t even know anymore. I now take SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors), so I’m very restless these days. I want to take walks, see my grandchildren and attend Sunday service, but I’ve also been having short-term memory loss and finding it hard to concentrate on things.
At the end of the day, I don’t remember to care or be sad about these things. I’m content and ready for whatever life brings.
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 25-year-old Nigerian woman who regrets choosing popularity over real friendships. She talks about being bullied by her school friends and still seeing them in her dreams five years later.
Let’s begin in the present. How would you describe your friendships now?
Easier. I’m less concerned with the vain things that seemed important to teenage me. Like being “cool” or “popular”. I mean, I used to want to be friends with people who constantly shunned me so badly that I see them in my dreams almost every night till today.
How does that work?
I dream about being ill-treated by my friends from secondary school and university. Sometimes, I get both groups mixed up in the same dream. I don’t understand it because it’s not like I’m still caught up on my childhood friendships, but it must be stuck somewhere in my psyche.
Tell us about it, please
I was never any of my friends’ first choice. Like, I was in a group of friends who always hung out together. But you know how there are always besties within a friend group, and some people will just be closer to each other? No one was close to me. I was the loose end. I knew this because none of them ever really wanted to hang out with me alone.
Does any particular scenario jump out at you?
Many. Like when I threw my 16th birthday party and invited everyone in my class. But because a guy was having a random party the same day, only two people showed up for mine, and only to stay for an hour before going to his thing.
Another time, I visited one of my friends I really liked, and she was so uncomfortable with me in her house, she didn’t let me go to her room. We just sat together awkwardly at her dining table. It was so weird. We talked for a bit, she filled my slum book and then promised to come visit me at some point during the holiday but never did.
Meanwhile, whenever we were gisting among our larger group of friends, she and a closer friend would always talk about all the exciting things they did when they visited each other.
I think they just saw me as boring. I was smart, and in hindsight, they kept me around because I helped them pass. I could explain most subjects well. I also helped them cheat in exams. I’m not proud of that, but yeah. There might be other reasons, but that’s the only one that makes sense to me.
Did you ever confront them about how you felt?
No. I was scared to even face the idea of them pretending to like me. I was so socially awkward that I couldn’t even really have conversations with them.
Also, most of the shunning happened when we were in SS 3. It was like they decided since school was about to be over, there was no point talking to people they had no intention of keeping relationships with. True to that, after our graduation, I could only keep in touch with one person from secondary school. And she wasn’t even in my friend group.
They just ghosted?
Pretty much. Well, they went to schools in the UK or US. Meanwhile, I got into trouble after graduation. Boy trouble. So my parents punished me by making me attend a Nigerian university. That was the first major blocker because we made big plans to attend the same universities in the UK and US, cross the ocean semi-regularly to visit with each other and be friends for life. No plans were made to hang on to a loose end who didn’t manage to leave Nigeria. Only one or two of them are on social media, and they’re hardly ever online.
How do the others keep in touch?
I’m actually not sure. Once in a while, I see their IG stories of them meeting up in restaurants or at some Beyoncé concert. When I send DMs, it takes them forever to respond. And there’s only so much you can text about when you stop actually meeting up and being in each other’s faces regularly.
But didn’t you notice signs from this group of friends before SS 3?
There were some things.
The first time I sensed this behaviour, I was a little late for movie day in school. We were supposed to watch the original Superman as an example of classic Western cinema. When I walked in, I followed one of my other classmates I talked to once in a while to sit in the very first row. Just as I was about to sit, one of my “closer” friends called out and gestured for me to join them at the top row. I shook my head and said they shouldn’t worry. I didn’t want to go through the stress of walking all the way up the theatre steps when the lights were already off, and the movie was about to start.
I kid you not, they started treating me differently after that. This was sometime in JSS 2. I’d keep spaces for them in the dining hall, and they’d just ignore me and sit at another table. Then I’d have to shamefully stand and move to sit with them. They also used to shame me so badly for not knowing how to dance and being too flat to twerk. I think they just became more open about it in SS 3.
JSS 2 to SS 3? That’s a long grudge
I know it’s ridiculous, but it pops in and out of my mind today that if I’d just gone to sit with them that day, I would’ve had a more wholesome secondary school experience.
But the truth is, even in primary school and university, I struggled to keep friends. People just never listened to me when I talked. It was like I was never speaking loud enough or saying anything interesting enough.
How were your friendships in these cases?
I thought I’d made a best friend in primary school when she suddenly told me I should stop “clinging” to her. Another person accused me of follow follow and always doing whatever my friend told me to do.
Then I started making up stories to get my classmates’ attention. I’d tell them bogus stuff about seeing and talking to spirits. It worked. People gathered around me to hear my next outrageous story for the day, even though the attention never really extended to strong friendships. I was considered strange and not popular.
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Was it important for you to be popular?
I guess it was, to a certain extent. I just wanted to be liked, even if it was by one or two people. I envied those who had strong friendships, besties who were always willing to spend time with them even without being asked. I wanted to be someone’s first choice of friend, someone they’d call first to give their private gist. I always seemed to be the last person to know things in my friend groups.
Did your parents know about any of this?
Yes and no. I think they sensed some of it but didn’t take it too seriously. My dad was unbothered about my school life — all that mattered were my good grades — but he’d comment about how my friends were rude. I’d tell my mum a nice version of what was happening in school, so she really thought I had all these friends and was doing well. Although, she’d ask why I was always going to their houses and events but they never came to mine.
You said you also struggled in university?
Yes. I didn’t care as much, so making friends was a bit easier. The first close friend I made, we bonded over our music tastes. We both loved a couple of musicians my past friends considered me weird for liking. But then, our friendship clashed with me wanting to be friends with a certain group of people I considered cool. The funny thing was that this group liked her and was indifferent to me. They ended up absorbing her into their group and ignored me.
How did you take that?
It was so frustrating because she became well-liked by everyone in our course. Our closeness gave me a passenger-seat experience of what it was like to be truly liked. But we drifted apart sometime during 200 level, and I never made a friend as close as her until NYSC.
In those slightly scary dreams, I’m constantly walking into rooms and talking to these particular people. But they ignore me, and it’s like I’m not saying anything, then they walk away. Sometimes, I can’t even find my voice. I’m frustrated, but I can’t speak to them no matter how hard I try.
That’s a lot. I hope you’re okay
I am, really. I still only have acquaintances and work friends. But when I do some soul-searching, I see I was the problem. I always sought friendships with people who didn’t connect with me, no matter how hard I tried to connect with them. I often ignored people who naturally gravitated to me.
It’s come back to haunt me because most people my age are friends with people they’ve known for five to ten years, and sometimes all their lives. They’re wary of letting new people in, and I’m tired of settling for the outsider role. So maybe I’ve missed my “find a close-knit friend group” window.
Why do you think you ignored possibly true connections for empty friendships?
I honestly don’t know why I made those choices in school. Don’t we all wish we could redo our teenage years with the wisdom we gain as adults?
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 53-year-old Nigerian woman. She shares how she had her “miracle” baby at 47, beating the 4% chances of conceiving and mistaking the early symptoms for menopause.
Did you always want kids?
Yes. As a young lady, I wasn’t preoccupied with the thought. But yes, deep down inside, I wanted kids. I wanted a little me to guide and nurture and watch grow up.
Why exactly did it take so long, then?
First, I wasn’t lucky with love at all. I was very shy and closeted as a teen and young adult, so I didn’t even have male friends till I started working at 22. I had my first boyfriend at 29. That didn’t last long because I was SU, and he wanted sex some months in but strangely shied away from marriage conversations.
I became more focused on my career as a system analyst at NNPC, which was a big deal at the time. So I really didn’t want to lose that job. I wanted to grow, make money and support my parents for all the sacrifices they made sending my siblings and me to school. So I was still living with them when I met my second boyfriend and first husband at 35.
How did that happen?
I met him in church, where I was an usher, and he was a new member. This was in 2005. We became friends after I reached out to him a few times, encouraging him to attend our services, as we had to do with new members then. But after a few weeks, it became romantic. He would take me out on little dates at eateries, and we would talk on the landline for hours most evenings.
What did you talk about?
Silly things, like office gist — he worked in a popular bank. We also talked about church gossip and past relationships. I was worried at first because he was almost five years younger. I honestly didn’t think we would go far.
Why not?
I was already being teased that I’d missed my chance to find a good match. All my friends, younger sisters and most of the cousins my age were long married. I was getting invited to the weddings of family members who’d just even graduated from university. And before him, I could count on one hand how many men had approached me for anything remotely romantic.
Why do you think that was?
I didn’t go out much, that’s the truth. I wasn’t even an active usher — I was constantly on probation for not attending the numerous worker’s meetings. In the office, people just saw me as shy and boring. The men who talked to me, I didn’t like. I realised most only approached quiet girls because they think we’ll be doormats. They’re always surprised by how outspoken I am when I start talking, and then they just vanish. It happened to me at least twice.
Besides those two places, I loved my room too much. I read and slept a lot and loved helping my mum with housework and in her little vegetable garden. My parents never pressured me to marry. I guess they loved having me around, and they had three other daughters who’d married and given them at least two grandkids by that time.
It was just by chance that I met this charming man the once in a blue moon I decided to fulfill my ushering duties.
How did the relationship progress despite your misgivings?
I think life just took its course. We enjoyed each other’s company a lot, the conversations were never-ending, and I like that he treated me with respect. One of my sisters’ husband was so condescending when he spoke to her, and I couldn’t stand that. I knew right away that if I ever got married, it would be to someone who saw me as an equal.
As it should be
You’d be surprised how men didn’t regard their wives back then. Anyway, we had our first challenge when I met his parents a year in. It was at his sister’s wedding in their hometown. We went there for a weekend, but we hadn’t quite started talking about marriage. We were from different tribes, so his parents treated me badly during those few days. I also think my age and the fact that I was older than him influenced how they treated me.
They’d give me these cold glances or purposely speak their language when I was there. And they’d make statements or ask me questions that were so rude, like, “What do you want with our son?” or a reference to how I was no longer fresh or my tribe was known for being dirty. When we returned to our city, I cried and told him about what went on behind his back. By my next visit to them some months later, they were much more pleasant.
So marriage
He proposed two years after we met, and I was expecting it because our lives had gotten so intertwined by that point. We changed churches and started going together. We’d also started making future plans and discussing finances. Although I was earning more than him at NNPC, he was doing very well at the bank. Some months before our wedding, he even switched to a new bank for a higher role and better pay. I was 37 when we got married, and he was 33, but we were so happy.
Did you try to have a baby right away?
Yes. It wasn’t a secret that I wasn’t young. And we could afford to raise children comfortably, so I was advised by a doctor friend to start seeing an O&G right away. I’d actually done a consultation months before our wedding and was told that from the early 30s, women become less fertile, and it may take longer to get pregnant.
They said I had a 25% chance of conceiving. I made this clear to him ahead of our wedding, and he was hopeful that everything would work out well. However, seven years in, several fertility procedures and lots of money spent later, I was 44, my chances had dropped to 4%, and we’d lost that hope.
You said he was your first husband, so did he leave because of that?
It could’ve been a trigger, maybe, but the real dealbreaker was when he relocated to the US in 2014. I was indifferent about moving, but it was his dream. He’d always wanted to move overseas, but all the fertility wahala kept draining our finances. We’d drifted so far apart by the time he travelled that it no longer felt like we had anything connecting us.
The plan was for me to join him the next year once we’d both saved enough again, but our communication suffered greatly within weeks. At a point, we’d go days without speaking. We went from Skyping every other day to messaging once or twice a week. Meanwhile, I’d developed something with a close mentor at the office.
He was a widower, and because I had a lot of time and space with my first husband’s relocation, our conversations over career advice often dragged and shifted into the personal. I told him how my husband and I no longer had anything to talk about on our calls and even messages, how the awkward silences made me cry for hours after, and how deeply lonely I felt.
It was a relief to open up about my struggles to someone older than me for a change. I was so open and vulnerable at the time, I was scared he’d take advantage of me, and something would happen that I’d regret. We had these conversations in his office at NNPC, but I was still slightly ashamed at the things I’d tell him about my personal life. I suddenly had no one else to turn to.
But how did you meet this man in the first place?
He was a director at work and just took an interest in me because we’re from the same tribe. I met him even before I got married, sometime around 2001. He used to prop me up a lot. You know how federal government parastatals are full of politics and inner machinations. Everyone needs sponsors and mentors in high places to take notice of you, or you could be at the same level for years without promotion. It’s the same in banks.
So he’d encourage me when I did good work, call me out when I was falling his hand, tell me the right opportunities and trainings to take and generally look out for me. He’s just a kind man like that. When his first wife died, I knew about it but sadly couldn’t attend the burial. It was a year after my wedding.
So what happened with him?
He was over a decade older, but again, that didn’t stop me from falling in love. I hid this from him even though I somehow knew he felt the same way. Things proceeded faster with him than with my first husband. But nothing physical happened until he asked me to marry him in December 2014, shortly after he retired from civil service and seven months after my husband relocated. The wedding happened in March 2015.
How did your first husband react to this?
It still haunts me to this day because he was devastated. He actually cried on the phone the night I told him. I immediately wished I’d taken a flight to Dallas to break the news in person instead. I never expected he would take it so badly, given how disconnected I thought we were during that period. His late mother, God rest her soul, even called to rain insults on me the very next day. But I’ve long since healed from that experience and prayed to God for forgiveness.
I feel for him. So did you approach having kids differently this time?
Not at all. Or let me say, yes. This time, I didn’t try at all. My O&G didn’t hear from me, and no fertility treatments or prayers. I mean, he already had three children young enough for me to help bring up. And they were kind, just like their father, so no stepmother-stepchildren Nollywood drama. I’d accepted my fate because I believed I’d long passed my time at 45. I was happy and content.
Then how did it happen?
Hmm. It was about a year into the marriage when I missed my period and then another one. I thought, “That’s it. My time is up. Menopause”. Then, I think around five months in, I was feeling so sick I had to go to a clinic for a malaria test.
But it was a baby
It was a baby o. I was almost six months along and didn’t even know it. Hey God! I’ve always been petite, and I didn’t gain any weight. No symptoms whatsoever. A surprise miracle baby. The only thing I remember is I was always so tired, but I made excuses for that. My husband jokes that the best gifts come when you don’t stress.
I agree. What was the pregnancy period like? Were you scared?
Yes. The initial joy and euphoria gave way to fear. How can I carry a baby in my womb when I’m almost 50? How would I survive labour? There were so many scary stories, even from my doctor. There was a high chance the baby would have down syndrome or a score of other conditions. I myself had a high chance of preeclampsia, diabetes and more.
But abortion was out of the question for me because somewhere deep in my heart, I didn’t want to let go of this renewed hope that I could have a little me after all. I finally relaxed when tests confirmed my baby was healthy. The pregnancy went on smoothly, my skin was glowing, and I just felt great. Even the depression they warned me about didn’t come.
I carried my daughter to a full term of nine months and a week and delivered her through elective C-section as a healthy 3.15 kg baby. I had my only baby at 47. It could only be God.
Hallelujah. And how does motherhood feel now, six years later?
Sometimes, I worry I may not be as energetic as the average parent. But I know for a fact that I’m a lot more attentive to my daughter and smarter at raising her. I have a lot of time, experience and resources on my hand, and that’s worth something too. Nothing’s all good or bad.
I also worry I might be dead by the time she starts making a life for herself and achieving things. But I’m hopeful that I still have up to 40 more years on this earth, and so, I’ll be around for as many of her wins as possible, by God’s grace.
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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 31-year-old Nigerian woman who’s had almost a decade of therapy to heal from food and weight anxiety. She talks about being fat-shamed in boarding school, still feeling fat at 61kg and why eating makes her cry.
What’s your earliest memory of food?
I have two conflicting early memories; a happy one and a painful one. Sometimes, it feels like I made the happy one up in my head.
Tell me about that one first
It’s this blurry image of myself in my maternal grandfather’s village house in the east. I must’ve been three or four years. Someone served me eba and okro soup in a big bowl. Sometimes, I remember the smell of the food. I remember life being simple, breeze blowing in from a big window and me happy to see the food, not thinking twice before digging in.
And the bad memory?
I remember my aunties on my father’s side teasing me about my weight. They used to talk about how pretty I was, a future beauty queen. Then it became, “Don’t get fatter than this o” or “Ahn ahn, what are you eating?” One day, when I was about eight, momsi made beans and then another pot of spaghetti because popsi wanted that.
Because those are my two favourite meals, I couldn’t decide which one I wanted for dinner. So I ate my plate of beans, then went back to momsi in the kitchen and told her I still wanted to eat spaghetti. One of my older cousins’ wife was there with her, and she exclaimed about me eating two plates of food the whole time my mum was dishing. I really wanted to taste, and I honestly just had small portions of the beans and spaghetti, but I felt so ashamed.
When I brought the empty plate back to the kitchen, she was like, “Ah! And you finished it. Na wa o. So that’s how you’re just eating everything you see?” Momsi was quiet the whole time. She never ever defended me when she heard people fat-shame me. She always just stayed painfully quiet while I was dying inside.
Did you ever talk to her about it?
That’s the painful part. I asked her about it right after I graduated from uni, and she just said she was never aware of it. That made me feel like I’d been exaggerating the amount of teasing I got in my head. I still don’t know for sure, but it really did feel like I was always singled out and unfairly shamed.
Were you fat as a child?
I thought I was. But I’m amazed when I go through old photos from school because it was more like I was big and tall for my age, with round features and chubby cheeks. I wasn’t slim, but I wasn’t fat either. Since I was a size ten up until 300 level, I honestly don’t understand why people fat-shamed me so much. They were always shocked I could fit into certain things. I just had the type of body that looked fatter than it actually was. Growing up, this made me so confused about how fat I was and caught up on it all the time.
I was always thinking about how much I was eating. I was constantly not eating, and when I ate, I’d take Andrews Liver Salt, which was my best friend throughout boarding school. But then, I’d turn around to order a box of pizza and finish it all in one sitting during the holidays. Then I’d cry for hours and hate myself.
I was constantly checking the scale. I’d wake up in the morning, and the first thing I’d do before getting out of bed was put my hand around my upper arm to check if it was smaller. My classmates would tell me today that I was losing weight, and the next day, “Your face looks puffier.” And I’d spend the rest of the week wondering which one was correct.
Did you ask your friends?
My friends teased me a lot. They’d say I had a mini potbelly or my face looked bloated “like someone pumped it with air”. Someone once told me I talked like I had hot yam in my mouth. One time, a teacher, who’d been transferred to the primary school and then transferred back, saw me on the school street and was so shocked because she thought I’d have gotten much fatter than I was.
I’ll never forget the day I was having a casual conversation with a friend in another class — this was in SS 2. I don’t remember what she said that made me answer, “I’m not that fat.” And someone in the seat behind her just randomly said, “Not that fat?” with the loudest voice ever. I don’t even remember what happened after that because my comment and the other girl’s response are the only words seared into my mind from that scene.
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Did you eat a lot in school?
Don’t know o. I even used to give out all my meat during lunch and dinner, never asked for more food and never ate breakfast because I always bought two galas and one Pepsi or Viju Milk during short break.
But I hated myself so much that after they distributed yearbooks in JSS 3, I cut my face out of people’s copies any chance I got. My classmates started thinking someone else was doing it and used that as a new reason to make fun of me.
Oh wow. What was it like in uni?
By uni, I was very selective of food because I noticed people were highly critical of me when it came to food.
For example, at the start of 100 level, when we were all just getting to know each other and making new friends, I started talking to this girl whose room was next door to mine. She came to my room one day, and was standing beside me as I was going through my provisions closet. I picked up a jar of Nutella, and she just exclaimed, “You have this thing? No wonder. You’ll just blow up.” I was so confused and ashamed because I really thought I was the slimmest I’d ever been at that point in my life.
That was uncalled for
Throughout uni, I only ate once a day and never in front of people. There was an entire semester when I lived on a pack of small chops without puff puff — two spring rolls, two samosas, a piece of gizzard and barbeque chicken — a day. Then I started hearing, “Don’t get slimmer than this o”, “Your chubbiness fits you”, “You won’t be fine if you were slim”, from friends. It was all so confusing.
And I used to lie stupidly about food a lot. Like when I told someone I hated small chops — I was ashamed to be eating them because of how greasy it was. But then, the person caught me either struggling with other students to buy a pack, or eating one, or telling another person that’s all I ate. I can’t really remember. All I know is next thing, he said, “I thought you hate small chops.”
They sha caught you in a lie
Yes o, red-handed. I found a way to deflect. But I cried that night. I felt so foolish.
I’m so sorry. What has your relationship with food been like in adulthood?
Well, for NYSC, I served far away from home. I brought a packet each of Minimie chinchin and Ribena with me to orientation camp. That’s all I ate during the three weeks there, one pack of each a day. I don’t know how I survived. But as soon as I entered town to begin the service year proper, I started stress eating. I was anxious about figuring out my life and career. I stuffed myself with so much food, I got properly fat, about size 14, by the time I returned to Lagos. And knowing my body structure, I was so round. That’s when things took a turn.
What happened?
I developed a kind of phobia for food I’ve still not gotten rid of today. Back in Lagos, fat and without a clue what I wanted for my life, I genuinely felt like nothing during that period. Like I didn’t have any value. So I fasted for days and prayed and cried and begged God for forgiveness for being such a glutton. I just stopped eating. When I was so tired and weak I had to eat something, I’d start crying once I saw or smelt the food.
Crying? Like, shedding real tears?
Yes. I wished I didn’t have to eat at all so I could just lose weight and people would see me as a person. I thought all people saw was a fat girl constantly in the process of getting fatter because she was always eating. At one point, all I could think about was food and how I could eat it to feel better.
That sounds scary. How did you overcome this?
Therapy. I couldn’t get a job and was withdrawing from everyone. I couldn’t even date because, I was terrified of getting married and having to get pregnant. Every pregnant woman I knew at the time doubled or tripled in weight. I even saw celebrities on IG whose faces and legs literally stretched out for their new weight.
When I say I was terrified, I mean I’d start shivering when I saw pregnancy photoshoots or even thought about it. I had to talk to a professional; there was no other solution. My cousin, who’d started seeing one after experiencing post-partum depression, referred me. I started therapy twice a week in 2014. Now, it’s once a month.
How did it go?
Very well. As soon as I started my sessions, I was ready to share every single thing I was going through and offload all the conflicting thoughts in my head. I really wanted it to work, so I put a lot of effort into it. I’d think hard about every question I was asked and consider every answer or suggestion I was given. I took all the prescribed medication too.
I tried not to do like the people in movies who deliberately make it hard for the therapist by hiding things and being cynical. Learning about food anxiety and body dysmorphia helped. For some reason, hearing logical explanations for some of my struggles took some weight off my chest.
But I weigh 61 kg today, and I still feel huge. I’ve made peace with the fact that I probably can never rework my brain to process myself as slim.
How are you now, though, with almost a decade of therapy?
I smoke weed, so I don’t overthink things or care at all about people’s idle words.
However, I still feel uncontrollably sad when I see food that’s supposed to be for me. Tears fall down my eyes when I’m eating sometimes. I even cry when I poop out the food. Although, at this point, it feels more like I’m sweating through my eyes than crying.
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 49-year-old Nigerian woman who lost a leg after an okada accident. She talks about waking up to find a stump where her leg used to be, what it’s like to lose a limb and what she thinks about how people treat amputees.
Where should we begin?
In 1991. My mum had sent me on some errand to the market. As usual, I flagged an okada and jumped on. More so than now, we used okadas to go everywhere. They were fast, one was always outside your gate, and they don’t call price like now. They were quite affordable. I didn’t even think about it twice.
It couldn’t have been up to five minutes later that a private car almost ran into us, and the okada had to swerve out of the way. That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up in the hospital. They said I fell off the okada, and it ran over my leg while the rider was trying to brake. He must’ve accelerated instead. I thank God because he saved me from being conscious and experiencing the trauma and pain. Newspapers ran my story.
You didn’t feel the pain?
Oh, I did. But when I woke up days after, they’d already done all the surgeries and pumped me with painkillers. I can only imagine how painful it would’ve been when the machine actually crushed my legs.
Both legs?
Yes, but my left leg was salvaged through some bone restructuring at Igbobi. My right leg took the direct impact, and unfortunately, my knee was crushed. One of my greatest regrets is that it wasn’t somewhere lower. I would’ve been able to use a prosthesis right away.
How did your knee affect that?
The knee is a major joint that helps you move your legs properly — sit, stand, walk, anything really. It’s hard to replicate with prostheses, and in the 90s, it was hard and expensive to get such advanced ones.
I’m so sorry
Yep. So I was stuck in a wheelchair, which back then, wasn’t very lightweight.
Let’s circle back to when you woke up for the first time at the hospital
When I woke up, no one told me my leg had been cut off. Although I sensed everyone was behaving weird, I honestly didn’t feel anything amiss for some days. I was heavily drugged and barely sentient.
Why didn’t your family or the doctors tell you, and didn’t they need your prior permission?
I was unconscious for about four days, and according to them, they needed to amputate to save my life. The giant wound had gotten infected. My bones were unsalvagable anyway, and I was a minor, so my parents could make the decision on my behalf. They chose to save my life despite the costs.
How did you find out then?
One day, my missing leg started throbbing — what I now know as phantom leg pain.
I started feeling small pain in the knee that was no longer there, and the ghost of my toes was twitching. The sensations were barely there, but they were uncomfortable, so I tried to move the leg. There was nothing there. I think I almost fainted when I touched it and felt… nothing.
Damn
It was just a slight aching discomfort at first. Over the next few weeks, it progressed to severe pain, intermittent tremors and muscle spasms. The doctors said it was mixed signals from my brain and leg nerves trying to get used to the missing section. It was also another consequence of an above-the-knee amputation.
Tell me about readjusting
The story gets a bit darker. I stayed a month under close observation at the hospital because amputations, especially large ones like mine caused by an accident, are high-risk. The list of possible complications was endless; one of them being that my body, helped by my brain, could decide to attack me from within because they’re confused about the missing set of muscles and nerves.
I also bled more than expected during the surgery and had an infection on the incision, so they couldn’t stitch the stump immediately. I had tubes in my skin to drain the infected fluids, which had to be changed regularly.
They told me I could get a blood clot in any of my limbs which might break loose and travel to my lungs or brain. If it went to my lungs, I’d have trouble breathing; if it went to my brain, it’d cause a stroke. Thankfully, none of those happened. The infection eventually went away. They stitched and bandaged me up then added a cast.
What happened next?
Two months of aggressive physical therapy in a nursing facility. I had to learn things like how to breathe differently and cough regularly, to prevent lung infection, and there were a lot of sleeping instructions to keep my arteries from hardening. Then the massages and wearing a compression sock. It was the most painful experience I’ve ever had to date.
The hospital bills, and everything that came after, including buying a wheelchair, put my parents in a debt they never recovered from — they both died before they could even finish repaying. We went from being safely middle class to lower class. We had to squat with different family members because we could no longer pay rent and barely afford to eat, after paying for the monthly therapy. I moved with my parents into my paternal aunt’s house — my mum was miserable there — and my older siblings had to stay with my grandparents until they moved out on their own.
But my family thought it was important that I learn to be as mobile as I could at that early stage. They were very vocal about me not growing up to be a liability, and I’m grateful to them for that now, even though I wasn’t so much then.
I was a teenager. I was angry and frustrated. My secondary education was delayed for a year because of the accident, but I didn’t even want to return. To be honest, I wonder why I never considered suicide — probably because they’d banged it in our heads that I’d go straight to hell — because that’s how sad I was. Even though my schoolmates did their best to be nice when I returned to school, I was filled with bitterness and resentment.
The student body and PTA contributed money to pay for my SS 3 fees and WAEC registration, a total of about ₦600, and I had all my classes in the principal’s office. In hindsight, that was such a heartwarming show of humanity, and I’m grateful for that kindness.
That’s really sweet. What happened after school?
I got an average result but didn’t continue school until three years later, in 1995. My self-esteem was completely gone. I stayed home, mostly in bed, and only went out when the family forced me to go with them to church or my mum made me assist her in selling biscuits and drinks in front of my aunty’s house. I hated selling with her the most because people would always stop to say something pitiful to me.
What are some of the things you hate people saying to you?
There’s nothing I hate more than being referred to as “disabled”. I honestly don’t know why, but the word sounds derogatory. I suppose it’s better than “crippled”, but still, can’t I just be identified by my given name. What’s the point of names if we’re so obsessed with labels?
I also wish people wouldn’t immediately judge my abilities. “But you can’t do that”, just because they can’t imagine someone missing a leg doing certain activities.
Or when people just want to help you with EVERYTHING. At least, ask me if I need help first. But I think what makes me feel bad the most is when people say stuff like, “You inspire me” or “You’re so brave” because it’s really like they’re saying, “How could you live with yourself like this?” and it can get depressing quickly.
I hear you. So you went back to school after three years?
I started volunteering at an NGO for people with disabilities, to get away from my aunt’s house during the day. A centre opened two streets away, and I just started going there. It was hard because I had to wheel myself along the main road, enduring stares, ignorant comments and bullying. People gave me alms I didn’t ask for on some occasions. I also practically had to sneak out of the house at first. But I just wanted to be somewhere with people who looked like me.
It was an informal school, where they had classes for people aged 10 to 20, doing everything from reading and writing to art and crafts. They also tutored the beneficiaries on normal school subjects. I worked as a sort of teacher’s assistant, mostly running errands, for free.
After some weeks, they started giving me lunch — a simple plate of jollof rice and meat. And some months in, they helped me get a small scholarship to take computer courses and Microsoft certification exams. That’s all the formal education I’ve had since then. Most of the work I do today is advocacy within social organisations like that one.
Did you make friends?
I had friends from before the accident who drifted away because of my self-sabotaging behaviour. Now, my strongest relationships are the ones I make at work. I have many fellow amputee friends, and constantly surrounding myself with them boosted my sense of self. However, I married a non-amputee when I was 36 — a man I met in church — but we separated six years ago. Even though it wasn’t on good terms, we’re friends today, and we support each other in raising our 11-year-old daughter.
You prefer the terms “amputee” and “non-amputee”. Why?
These are medical terms — I had an amputation, so I’m an amputee; you didn’t, so you’re not an amputee. If you had to use a label, use those instead of saying someone is disabled vs ablebodied, which are ableist terms. I’m still ablebodied because I run, bike, swim — things I couldn’t do before the amputation.
How do you feel now? Do you still get sad?
Finally getting a prosthetic leg when I turned 30 helped. It was exciting that I could finally wear matching shoes again.
I’ve learnt that life is a constant struggle with depression regardless of what lemons it throws. Nigerians don’t know what it means to be sensitive and discreet, so it’s not enough that they point out every time I gain weight, they must also have something to say about my prosthetic leg. Children are especially direct and inquisitive about it. Today, I feel happy most of the time. I have a better perspective on life, so I don’t think too much about things I can’t help — except late at night, when I can’t help the thoughts flying in.
I’m glad you got a prosthesis!
I’m not sure I’d have ever got better mentally without it because it changed my life and was a giant boost to my self-esteem. It came with it’s own struggles, of course. I had to work for a long time to find one that’s not only comfortable but can also do everything I want to do. It cost as much as a good car, so I also had to spend months applying for a grant to get it. And I’ve had to replace it a couple of times since then because, like any gadget, they get faulty.
Even though I lost my leg 32 years ago, I still have phantom sensations to this day. Before I go to bed at night, I get a pins-and-needles feeling, like my leg is asleep, and I can feel my foot. It’s annoying because I know my leg isn’t there, and I don’t want to feel it. But I’d rather have that sensation than pain. Some people who’ve lost a limb are in pain their entire lives. I’m grateful for small mercies.
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 29-year-old Nigerian woman who lives with her parents but hasn’t left her house since February. She talks about discovering the reclusive lifestyle during COVID and connecting better with online friends than those around her.
Have you always preferred solitude?
Yes, I’ve been an introvert for as long as I can remember. Right now, I only have one real-life friend — my best friend from primary school. We’ve drifted apart, but she still visits once in a while. I think she thinks I’m depressed or something, because I don’t leave my house. She doesn’t know I’ve never been happier. I don’t really get along with people, so I don’t make friends.
Why don’t you get along with people?
I don’t get people, and they don’t get me. Everyone is too busy pretending. I used to go to parties, and after the first hour of pretending to enjoy the meaningless dancing, shouting, drinking and “vibing”, I’d just sit somewhere, wondering if I really had to do that again for another entire hour, or worse, till daybreak.
It felt like doing reps at the gym, and after you manage to power through ten burpees, the trainer says you have four more sets. Shoot me, please. I don’t enjoy talking or listening to people talk. Mention one thing about being outside or in other people’s spaces that’s truly enjoyable. I struggled for a long time to understand it.
I’m not sure anything triggered it beyond me realising I don’t like doing this thing that seems natural to everyone else. It might seem like a disorder of some kind, but it’s not. It’s never affected my life in any meaningful way. I can go out and relate with people well. I just don’t enjoy it, so I’ve decided I don’t want to do it anymore, especially if it’s for no reason. Call it an extreme case of setting boundaries.
Do you know when you started feeling this way?
In university, at least ten years ago. Everyone is so bullied into extreme socialness at that stage, it quickly made me realise I preferred to stay in my hostel room. More than that, I’d encourage my roommates to go out and “enjoy” themselves. I loved it when the room was quiet and empty.
I could breathe, talk to myself, hear my inner dialogue clearer, write and doodle. I loved academics, so I’d focus on my term papers and projects. But honestly, right from primary school, I liked to keep to myself. I don’t have the same interests as most people in my environment, so what’s the point?
Tell me about your interests
Nothing special. I love to read fiction and historical nonfiction, listen to music, watch movies and TV shows, and play video games. What makes it hard for people to relate is I love dark, sad, often twisted things. It’s like darkness and tragedy are the only concepts I can absorb as entertainment.
Meanwhile, everyone’s pretentiously obsessed with light and cheer. When I explain what I like, a few people quickly respond with, “I like horror movies too”, but that’s not what I mean. Even horror gets cartoonish. I like realistic horror in the form of those “boring” drama films.
Now, I just enjoy my own company too much — being on my comfortable bed, in the dark, surrounded by things I actually love and enjoy, like my stuffed animals, gadgets and the internet.
When was the last time you left your comfortable bed?
I leave it all the time to go cook. Making my version of vegan and vegetarian recipes I see online is one of my favourite things to do. But if you’re asking when last I went outside, I’ve not stepped past my front door since my birthday in February [2022].
Ehn?
I get all the external experience I need from the internet. It’s easier to find people who like what you like when you have the whole world to choose from. I have close friends I’ve never met outside forums, who live in other countries, continents even. We bond over things like K-pop, Japanese fiction and Egyptian art; things I find fascinating that no Nigerian seems to have the mental range for.
What about grocery shopping for all that cooking?
Going to the market is something I’ve never done. Before my parents retired, my mum always had a maid she’d send. As an adult, I’d always get my groceries at a supermarket. Now, I just order for the house through a grocery delivery app the friend I mentioned earlier shared with me. They bring everything fresh.
Do you live alone?
Nope. That would require finding a place, going for apartment visits and spending a large sum on a place that’ll probably be trash. I’ve heard horror stories about house-hunting in Lagos and rogue agents. No, thank you. I still live with my parents, who mostly leave me to my side of our four-bedroom flat. These days, my online friends know more about me than my family members.
Actually, my parents are the reason I left my house on my birthday. They forced me out for lunch at a restaurant close to the house. But I’m 29. There’s only so much they can do.
When do you think you’ll go out again?
Who knows? Not soon. I’ve always hated going out during the Christmas holidays — with the ridiculous traffic, transport fare hikes and sheer amount of people just crowding everywhere worth visiting. I don’t do well with crowds, so it’s not like I can attend one of those concerts they’re always hyping. Maybe my next birthday?
And before this year’s birthday, when was the last time you went out?
I honestly don’t remember. But since that COVID lockdown period, I only remember going out for the occasional doctor’s appointment and to the cinema to watch A Quiet Place II and Black Widow. The lockdown wasn’t just a blessing to help reduce the viral spread, it helped me discover a lifestyle that works. I feel so healthy just staying indoors and minding my business. I have online subscriptions for yoga and workouts to stay fit, and an enclosed backyard for all the sunlight and fresh air I need, in case you think I’m unhealthy.
What about work?
I work remotely for a Belgium-based company. It’s a full-time job as a technical content writer, so I earn in dollars, and I don’t have to go anywhere. I got the job all thanks to Zikoko, actually. I was inspired by one of your Naira Life stories in 2020. The person got a remote US job through LinkedIn, and I was battling a boss who wanted me to fully return to the office right after the government called off the lockdown in May. I optimised my LinkedIn profile, quit that job and got the current one in under three months.
Imagine them wanting me to risk my life for ₦200k a month. In fact, while I worked in that big office, I remember constantly faking smiles, jokes and laughter just to seem normal. It used to kill me inside. I’d wait for someone to notice the fakeness and ask what was wrong. No one ever did. Instead, people talked about how happy and charismatic I was.
What about romantic relationships?
You’re about to laugh because my boyfriend is in the UK, so it’s long distance.
DFKM
Not to sound preachy, but once you stubbornly make up your mind on a lifestyle, things fall into place for it.
We met on IG in 2018 — I create content for fun, so I’m super active online — and started going out almost immediately. This was when I went out a bit more than I do now. But then, he relocated for school last year. I’m joining him for my own master’s with the May 2023 intake, so actually, I’ll probably leave my house next when I need to attend visa interviews and all that.
How do you feel about attending physical classes in the UK?
I can go out if I have to. I don’t have a mental disorder or anything. I just prefer not to. I’m sure I’ll adjust well to going out a lot more for a purpose I enjoy. A creative writing MFA has always been a dream of mine, so I’m beyond excited, actually. Just look forward to all the dark fiction I’ll put out in the next few years.
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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.
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
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 36-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about learning to save while jumping molue as a teenager, her experiences with sugar daddies and her rocky path to financial independence.
What makes you happy right now?
That at this point in my life, I’m financially independent. I have a steady paycheck and savings, and I don’t rely on anybody for anything. Although, as a baby girl, I won’t tell you no if you say you want to take care of me. But for myself, I’m financially independent as long as the naira doesn’t become extinct.
Asking for a friend. How does one achieve financial independence?
I became financially independent sometime in 2021, and I didn’t have a job then. I was doing a lot of side gigs — writing, planning events. But I’ve worked since the holiday between my secondary school graduation and university, so it’s taken a while, a lot of denying myself, to build a savings account I’m proud of. Then I invest the savings in things that would bring me returns on a monthly and yearly basis. I developed the habit of saving at a young age.
Ah, you’re one of God’s favourites
LOL. Oh God, I was so razz when I was young. My father would’ve killed me if he knew, but in secondary school, my parents would give me transport money, and I’d use it to jump molue. I had this friend I used to come back home from school with, and I would lap her on the bus every day. A seat cost ₦50, so I’d pay today, and she’d pay tomorrow.
I just loved jumping molue like my version of an extreme sport, instead of the smaller buses that moved like snails, which my father believed were safer. Safe was boring, and I couldn’t save my money on those buses. There was this particular conductor. When he saw us coming in our uniform, he would tell us to go straight to the back. And sometimes, he wouldn’t even collect money from us. I started saving all those extra ₦50s.
I have absolutely no idea how I knew to do this instinctively. I guess I’ve always loved money, LOL. I didn’t know it then, but it helped me develop a culture of saving over time. And as my earnings increased, I increased how much I saved.
What do you spend any of the saved money on?
Well, I used those ₦50s to buy things my parents otherwise wouldn’t buy for me. Don’t ask me what. But now, it’s just investments. I don’t like to spend on things, so I mostly save to invest or travel.
Tell us about your career journey
It’s been rocky. But in my current position as executive assistant to the CEO of a media company, I’m hoping to find fulfilment financially, mentally and career-wise. I have a rule to only stay at a workplace for two years, so I’ve worked in a lot of places in the last 11 years. I’ve worked in e-commerce, logistics, tech, media and hospitality. I want to have a rounded experience in different industries.
Sounds like you want to build a conglomerate soon
That sounds amazing, to have a conglomerate of my own!
I’ve always been curious, which is probably why my spirit animal is a cat. No matter the industry I find myself in, I want to know what the different departments are doing and learn about the company as a whole. I plan to take everything I’ve studied from every industry and start a consulting firm.
My dream is for companies to pay me to travel to different countries. I’ll write stuff about things like hotels and places to visit.
Scratch that; my real dream is to voice the lead villain character in a Walt Disney or Pixar animation — doing voice-overs is one of my side gigs. If I do that, I can die happy.
OMG, same. What does being financially independent look like right now?
I can feed myself, pay for my transportation to anywhere I want to go — not molues anymore but private cabs — cover most bills and take care of my mother. I took a trip to Rwanda last year, which I paid for myself; I’m already planning to visit Morocco and South Africa next year. To be able to pay my bills and do my own thing whenever and however I want is so satisfying.
Now, I’m saving to invest in a building I can use for something like an Airbnb. Real estate companies propose investing with them to develop a residential property and rent it out. Then you get a return monthly or biannually. That’s my goal for next year.
What was life like before this?
There’ve been times when I didn’t have a job, and my livelihood depended on other people’s kindness. I had to ask for every little thing I wanted. Those periods were traumatic for me, and I’ve buried them very deep in my subconscious, so I don’t remember. I never want to be in that situation again, which is why some people call me a workaholic today. I have a nine-to-five and still have side gigs. You know the Will Smith movie, In Pursuit of Happyness. I don’t just want happiness, I want wealth too.
Who were you dependent on, your family or significant others?
Actually, both. You should be able to ask family for things, but if I have to ask you for money, then are we really family? I know things are difficult, and the economy isn’t what it used to be when elder brothers and sisters would randomly send you money. But still, if I have to ask, it means you don’t check up on me normally, so you don’t really care about my welfare.
If anyone wants to take care of me, I would gladly allow them as long as we aren’t dependent on each other. It’s nice to be asked what you want to eat: “I’m going to this place. Would you like to follow me?” “Where are you going on vacation? Let me buy your ticket,” or “I’ll send you a blank check. Write a number and do what you want”. Those kinds of things are nice even when I’m earning my own money; it’s nice to be taken care of.
Sounds like you’re describing a sugar daddy
Yes. Even if I get to have some fun with a sugar daddy who has sense and is willing to financially, sexually and mentally support me, I still want to have my own vex money. So there’ll never be a time he’ll say, “I made you”. You didn’t make me in any way. You just spent on me, and in exchange, I gave you company, good sex and other things.
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Have you ever had a sugar daddy?
I have a few times. I wish I had one right now — not even one, like three. But I haven’t had a sugar daddy in about seven or eight years. TBH, they bored me easily, especially when they start talking about their wife and kids. I was with my last one for like two years. I ate him well, but I got tired.
If you’re going to be a sugar daddy, at least, know how to play the game. My business is enjoyment. My job is to eat your money and have great sex with you. Why are you telling me about your family? After two years, I did what we now call “ghosting”. I ghosted him completely.
What’s it like having one?
In my experience, older men like younger women because they believe we’re sexually more creative. When many of them got married, they didn’t have access to information on different sexual positions, aphrodisiacs and toys as readily as we do now.
The advantage of dating a much older man is they tend to pet and dote on you and give you whatever you want. It’s the poor ones who package, and then, give excuses that business is bad or they just paid school fees. Like, what the fuck do I care?
Ah
Sometimes, I’d feel guilty using someone’s husband to do acrobatics in the bedroom. But it’s not my fault their husband decided to look elsewhere. If a rich man comes my way, I won’t say no. Imagine him giving me foreign currency, with our naira that’s depreciated so bad. Of course, I’ll play the game well.
The con is they think they know everything. You tell them something, and they’ll be like, “No, I’m older than you. I know better.” They wouldn’t be going around chasing young girls if they knew anything. There’s also always the distant fear of having acid thrown in your face.
But how did you find them?
I found a particular one at the bus stop on my way to my afternoon shift at work in 2013. He had this really sexy black car — I don’t remember the make, unfortunately. I’ve always loved cars, so I was admiring this one and wasn’t even looking at the driver. Then, he wound down, and I saw him sitting all laid back with only his left hand on the wheel.
He asked where I was going. We were heading in the same direction, pretty far away, so he offered me a ride. He was married with three kids and a businessman. He came to pick me up when I closed from work, and we went out for dinner. He took me to a local place where we had isi ewu in two wooden bowls, and that’s how it started. He would travel and bring me gifts from every trip.
I enjoyed that for like a year and a half until he did the one thing that goes against all the glucose guardian rules.
What did he do?
Somehow, his wife got my number. I was at work one evening when she called and just started raining abuses on me. I cut the call. She used her daughter’s phone to call back. I blocked both numbers and sent him a message: “It’s not that deep. How can you be so careless? Why is your wife calling me? Why is your daughter calling me?”
He called me apologising that he didn’t know how she got it or he left his phone somewhere. In my mind, I was like, what if she found out where I live? He kept calling and sending messages, even money, for about two weeks, but I was done. I had to block him.
Wow
That’s the story of how I met one of my sugar daddies. Nothing fantastic or romantic. I’ve actually noticed it’s when I stop looking that they start coming. If I decide I want to find a sugar daddy and put in the work, I never find. So I can’t really say there’s a technique.
There are places they claim you can find them, but that was before. They now have sense, and they know people are looking for them, coupled with the state of the economy. Before, they’d try to hide the fact that they’re married. Now, they’re bold, choosy and full of themselves. It’s so annoying.
I still want to live a baby girl life, but I’m fiercely independent. I have a low tolerance for unnecessary masculine behaviour like when they ask, “Who are you talking to? Who was that on the phone?” When they start talking about their family — I hate that one — or start giving excuses when I ask for money. I’m like, “Hello. Why are you a glucose guardian if you can’t give glucose?”
What’s your relationship life been like beyond that?
My relationship life has been almost non-existent. I can’t remember the last time I was in one, to be honest. I’ve had more flings in the past seven years than relationships. I don’t know what that says about me, but I’m fine.
You know, I’m not cursed or anything. I just don’t know why it’s like that. I try not to allow it to disturb me because, as I said, I’m all about my pursuit of wealth. I’m just trying to have a career, make money and be happy. If my happiness would involve a man, fine. If it doesn’t, I just want to be happy.
For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here
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 26-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about annual promotions at her banking job, finding fulfillment in black tax and how the Lagos nightlife helped her find herself.
What makes you happy right now?
The pace at which my life is going. I feel fulfilled that I can provide for my family and dependents and afford what’s important to me. My career and financial growth make me so happy.
And finding someone who actually makes me orgasm literally fulfills me.
It does? How?
Apart from the feel-good hormones that come with getting an orgasm, finding someone who focuses on finding your G Spot during sex is underrated. You know how they say it boosts your self confidence and makes you glow. It’s not a lie o.
Can you tell me about your career growth?
I joined a bank as a contract receptionist in 2018. I would say that’s the bottom tier of a banking career. We were six in a team at the head office, and we rotated between the front desk and the switchboard upstairs.
It was important for me to stand out and be noticed, so I talked my teammates into doing things like daily colour coordination. I made the most of the position, maintaining a pleasant attitude to visitors every day because I understood that as receptionists, we were the first ambassadors of the bank.
I’ve always wondered how receptionists of big companies stay pleasant
We dealt with irate, frustrated customers coming from the branches — rude people who can’t even talk to me outside, but because I’m a receptionist, they think they can intimidate me to get access to the bank’s executive director.
We couldn’t just let them into the back office, so we had to figure out ways to diffuse such situations every day. It took great skill to stay pleasant, but I was always smiling — ask anyone. But I was soon tired of the role since I didn’t get a degree in finance to be a receptionist.
Of course. What did you do about it?
After about a year, I said to myself, “I think it’s enough”. But most of the people I worked with kept telling me how hard it was to be converted to a full staff of the bank: there’s only one conversion exam per year; it’s highly competitive because every bank contract staff in the country takes it; they only select a small number of people to enter the graduate training school.
They just gave me a bunch of reasons why I shouldn’t bother. But I just knew I had to try, so I found out how to make sure my chances of selection were high. I started learning about products, studying hard and worked to get a product officer role two months before the conversion process started.
I took the first exam in my 18th month as a contract staff and passed on the first try.
I was. But the same co-workers told me, “Everybody passes this first stage. The second stage is the problem”. I said okay. Then I passed the second exam, and they were like “Not bad”. And I aced the third stage.
I just knew I had to get picked, so I spoke to the few people who’d passed the different phases to get the exact knowledge I needed to make sure I was very prepared. The final stage came, and out of about 2000 contract staff who started the process, only 15 were selected. I was one of them. I became a full staff of the bank in 2020.
Congratulations. What was your new role?
Product officer for business banking. I did that till 2021 when my role switched to product manager, business banking. Earlier this year [2022], they promoted me again within the same role. But I now supervise four junior staff and report directly to the head of business banking who reports to the MD.
Every year since I started my career in 2018, I’ve gotten a promotion. I know what I was earning then, and compared to now — I’ve been able to move from my parents’ house in Ikorodu to Lekki and buy a new car. I’m independent, and I even have dependents now.
But how do you feel about the black tax?
It doesn’t stress me. Remember I said it’s part of what makes me feel fulfilled? And I’m the last born so the burden of taking care of my family isn’t solely on me. But you know when your mom calls to ask for something, and you can afford it? It’s just a flex.
Apart from my parents and members of my extended family, you know, it’s Lagos now. If anyone sees you’re remotely doing well, they’ll keep asking for help like you don’t have problems. I kind of understand, so it’s no big deal.
But don’t get me wrong. I prioritise my mental health more than anything, so if there’s any need I can’t afford, I won’t kill myself. If they don’t understand, LOL.
What was your office naysayers’ reaction to your conversion?
At the head office that year, only me and one other lady (who has even japa-ed now) were selected. I remember the day I got the email. I’d gone out for lunch, and when I came back to the office, the other staff had already found out they didn’t get in. I went to my seat to check my email, and I screamed. They were all happy for me actually.
Oh
Most of them have been converted now. They thought if this party girl who was just a receptionist and doesn’t take things too seriously could pass the stages, maybe they were wrong about their chances. My success motivated them.
Someone who’d already passed the age limit got converted some time later because she moved to another role and department to justify her conversion. I’d done the same thing to increase my chances, so I just know she was following in my footsteps.
Actually, how are you a laid-back party girl and still passing competitive exams on the first try?
I do take things seriously; the laid-back thing is just a facade.
But they see my growth and performance at work now, and it has totally changed their perspective of me. I mean, my co-workers come to me for help with tasks. I’ve started to show off more of my work life and serious side outside work too. I guess you could say I’m now an adult.
Funny enough, whenever I have personal encounters with people from work, they’re always like, “Damn. You’re actually a genius” or “You’re so smart”. I know what I want, and I go for it. And I’ve always wanted to be successful and financially independent.
Last year, I set up a business, letting out short-let apartments for property agents based on my experience working at a real estate company during NYSC. As a sub-agent — with the kind of network I’ve built at the bank and as a party girl — at least once a month, someone needs a three-bedroom flat for up to two weeks, and I make some cool cash. I mean, life is good.
God, when? Let’s talk about the party girl life
I enjoy clubbing — meeting new people, socialising — it eases my stress, and the connections I make help me do a lot of business.
Funny enough, growing up, I was an introvert. I would just stay home, reading novels and watching High School Musicals or princess movies. I loved fairy tales, so I was always living in my head, daydreaming at home about when my Prince Charming would come and carry me.
Interesting. When did things change?
I got into university in 2011. I was like 15, pretty young, and I was a nerd initially. Then 200 level came. My roommates liked going out, so I would just watch them. They liked to turn up and a lot of guys liked them. You know how all my daydreams were about Prince Charming? At the time, my goal was to get a sweet boyfriend and live happily ever after. My whole thought process was that to achieve this, I had to be a party girl.
Sounds like tight logic. How did that work out?
I don’t know about getting a boyfriend. But in 300 level, my roommate was a girl who did PR for Club 57, inviting girls to the club to attract guys who would buy drinks. The first night I followed her out, she made me up and helped put together my outfit because I was such a dead babe at the time.
When we got to the club, I had so much fun and was just a different person, getting so much attention. I was insecure about my body because I have big boobs. But when I dressed up at night, I always looked and felt so good. I enjoyed the attention I got from the guys at the club. I enjoyed returning to the hostel to gist about everything with my friends and roommates.
What was the club scene like?
The whole experience was so new and exciting for me. This was in 2014. We used to go every Thursday night for “We own Thursday nights” [W.O.T.N.]. I started meeting people and making lots of friends and connections with fellow regulars. I’m a Leo, so I just loved the attention I got. When they see this tall, busty, melanin-popping beauty, heads must turn.
But I was such a novice that I didn’t know anything happened in clubs beyond talking, dancing and drinking. By my final year, we were doing club tours. We sha toured every popular club in Lagos that year. And after graduation, while I was waiting for NYSC’s call-up letter, I got my own PR job at Escape Nightclub.
How did that happen?
One night at Escape, a guy who was doing PR for them asked me to join his team since he knew me and I knew so many people. I was already helping my former roommate, the Club 57 PR person, so it made sense to do it officially.
I joined Escape in 2015 when they were introducing their Wednesday nights. Luckily for me, my first night, I invited a girl whose friend was celebrating her birthday, so all her friends came to celebrate with her. They ended up filling two tables.
On top of that, I’d been building a network, touring clubs, and I hadn’t yet taken advantage of it. So when I called people for that first night, they turned up. I drew so many people they had to introduce me to the owner, who gave me a full job. I started earning a salary and a 10% commission on the drinks purchased.
Baller!
Yes o. But it was only then I discovered that other things happen in clubs; things like hookups and runs.
One night, I invited girls out, and the PR for guys said I should bring them to the middle table where his guys were, which was basically the VIP table. I was there forming morals like, “No. Why can’t the guys come over and talk to the girls?” The PR guy just said, “What’s wrong with this one?” hissed and went to another PR.
Later, the girls came to meet me, asking to go to the same middle table. In under an hour, some of them had found their own way to that table, and they didn’t follow the cabs we’d arranged to take them back to their hostels.
Weren’t you worried about them?
No. Everyone was having fun. Girls were killing themselves to get into Escape. The work was a blast for me because it was the biggest club that year.
There was this guy who was a proper baller when I was in school. He had a car and used to carry fine girls around. One day, he came to Escape, and they bounced him. I was about to enter when he saw and greeted me. I told the bouncer, “He’s with me. Let him in”. As the guy entered, he said, “So it’s you that’s bringing me inside club now”.
It killed me because Escape used to bounce people a lot. It was mad that I could get someone like him in.
Mad. But you still didn’t find Prince Charming and your happily ever after?
Dating in Lagos, as we all know, is tough. Lemme walk you through my journey: you meet someone, y’all vibe, get to know each other, have a couple of amazing dates and match energies. I mean, the attraction is there, and everything seems intact.
Then boom, the honeymoon phase is over, and the true colors are revealed. It’s either you’re ghosted or you’re the ghost. But basically, it’s over, and the cycle continues. It’s exhausting, abeg.
I’m still looking for “The One”, and I’m certain I’ll find him soon. I just need to be ready for him, so I’ve learnt to work on being the best version of myself.
How did you become both a career and a party girl?
Well, I went for NYSC in 2016, and I’ve been working on my finance career non-stop since. It’s been hard mixing it with the PR lifestyle, and I mean, I’m older now. But lowkey, COVID was a blessing because I have a work-life balance working hybrid. Being able to work and party and not be so overwhelmed is a blessing.
Many people cut out clubbing once they start the career struggle. Why have you decided to hang on to it?
Clubbing helped me realise I enjoy meeting and engaging new people, having conversations, going out and having fun. I mean, this life is short o, so let’s just enjoy ourselves while we’re in it.
For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here
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 28-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about writing as a form of therapy, being a Christian in a staunch Muslim home and raising 17 cats.
What’s one thing that makes you happy right now?
Right now? Writing.
It was a huge part of my life until I had a four-year writer’s block. A few weeks ago, I started writing again, and I can feel myself becoming lighter. I still haven’t gotten my groove back, but knowing that writing isn’t completely lost to me makes me happy.
Of course, being around my family makes me happy too, but writing adds a layer of self-fulfillment.
How so?
When I had writer’s block in 2018, I almost prayed for death because I was tired of living. I’ve started writing again, and it gives me something to look forward to when I wake up. Sometimes, I hate getting sleepy because it means I have to stop.
I don’t even write to get my books published or anything. I just have so many stories in my head, and I love bringing them to life. It’s like I get to create my own world, and even if it’s just for a little while, I can live in it.
What do you write about, and how did you get into writing?
I started out of boredom. It was the first week of senior secondary school in 2007, and I was sitting in class doing nothing. I picked up a pen, took one of my school books and started writing a story. It was romance, but there were some elements of my life in it. When I was done, for some reason, my classmates liked reading it. So I wrote more.
After a while, it stopped being about boredom and became my every waking and sleeping thought. I would dream storylines and be inspired by everything and everyone around me. I even wrote a three-book series about my best friend that I hope will become a TV series someday.
You were on a roll. So when did the writer’s block happen?
After I met Christ in 2012, I wanted my writing to include my faith, but it was so difficult. I was used to writing your typical romance so switching to gospel was like learning how to drive an automatic car and suddenly having to go manual.
I refused to write anything else, but what I wanted to write seemed beyond me. Coincidentally, I was really busy with university, and then law school. A lot of things were happening at the same time, so writing sort of fell away from me. By the time I settled into adulthood, I realised I couldn’t write like before. I’m so glad that’s over now.
Me too. How did you shake the block?
I prayed about it a lot. I told God why I wanted to write, that I believe He gave me the talent as a means to tell people about Christ. I apologised for burying my talent because of my law pursuit and just let Him know I was desperate. After some time, the characters started speaking to me again.
Were you always Christian or did you just convert in 2012?
I was born into a Muslim family, so I’ve always been religious. I even used to represent my Arabic school in competitions. But I attended a Catholic primary school so I also had a deep knowledge of the Christian faith. I was okay with both religions.
When I was 16, I started spending time with a girl who lived in my area, and we talked about God a lot. She opened me up to things I thought I knew about Christ, and when I realised the difference between Islam and Christianity, I had to make a choice. I chose Christ then, but it was years before I truly understood what it meant.
What do you mean?
I later had the opportunity to study several religions at OAU. I literally got accepted for a degree in religious studies instead of the law I applied for. So I studied Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism and many others, and it was just one religion that had a God who loved me so much He was willing to die for me.
Others kept asking me to do things to attain “paradise”, but Christ was the only one saying, “You don’t have to do anything. In fact, there’s nothing you CAN do, so I’ve done it all. All you gotta do is believe me.” Only one religion had a God who called me His own child. The choice was between sonship and servanthood, and I chose to be a son.. Or daughter, in my case.
And how did your family take it?
I haven’t officially told my parents I’m a Christian yet, but they know. Everyone knows. My actions, words and very life reflect Christ. My big sister also attended OAU, so some people told her about it.
I’ve told my younger siblings because we have a close relationship, and I can tell them anything. At first, they were confused and wanted to know why I couldn’t just “be a Muslim”, but I explained how I felt, and they cheered me on.
What about your parents?
In the beginning, it wasn’t funny. They were all over me all the time like, “You were born into a Muslim family. It’s only someone who’s greedy and wants what other people have that’ll decide they want to step out of their own religion.” They would sit me down, and pray and fast.
So what’s writing post-block been like?
I finally found a balance. I still write romance, but now, every word is a conscious effort to reach out to someone and say, “You’ll be okay.” I’ve finally gotten to the point where the ideas that swim in my head are the ones that’ll heal people. And I can finally breathe.
Do you write for a living now?
No. I haven’t gone into it because I’m scared. I’ve been writing for a long time, but I just enjoy sharing my books with friends and discussing them. Lately, they’ve been pushing me to “let the world see”. I’m scared the world won’t be as kind as they are.
I’m scared of the day someone will tell me, “Your books aren’t actually that good” or “This is trash”. I’m scared I won’t recover from it, and it’ll take away my love for writing. Right now, I hear a lot of “This is good. This is great. You write well. The storyline is perfect”. And that’s good enough for me.
A while ago, I published the first book I wrote after my writer’s block, but I refused to post the link so people won’t see it. I just like going back to the site to look at it. Maybe as a birthday present to myself at the end of the year, I’ll finally share.
What do you do at times like this when you’re unsure of yourself, or just sad?
I think of a bright future. Lately, I’ve been thinking I want to settle down, get married and have two to five kids. I’d like to move into my own house with my husband and start living my own life. Apart from that, in the presence of God, there’s fullness of joy. So when I start to feel sad, I remember I dwell in His presence. I listen to music and play with my cats.
Cats?
Yes, I have cats. I have a lot of cats. Well, not anymore. I’m down to two now, but once upon a time, I had 17 cats at once. My dad was going to send all of us out of the house like “I can only live with one: human beings or cats.” Lol.
Oh wow. How did you handle 17 cats?
It was overwhelming but also easy because cats are fiercely independent. They love to do everything themselves unlike dogs. They clean themselves and some of them love to stay outside. They also don’t make noise at all. The only problem is when you have kittens and they start to pee on your couch. My parents tried to kidnap and give out one of my cats once, and it actually crawled all the way back home the next day. The older cats started dying, and we started selling off the kittens.
Omg. Do you feel alienated from your family at all?
My whole life revolves around my family. I work for my dad so we spend a lot of time together, and we’ve gotten closer. I’m his lawyer. I handle the administration of his real estate company. He likes to involve me in the construction side, so I visit his sites too. Then I go from work back home.
When I go out, I go with my siblings. We go everywhere together. Last time, we went to this Korean festival, and it was so much fun. We had Korean food, drank boba tea and sang K-pop songs. We all love to hang out together, and our differing religions don’t affect that. We are our own friends and sounding boards. If something happens at work with my dad, I report to my mom and siblings, and he reports me to them too.
Most people don’t like working with their parents. What’s it like for you?
I mean, some people ask if I intend to leave. But I don’t want to. I think of it as a permanent job, you know, a family business. At the end of the day, my dad hopes to retire and wants to have someone who already knows the business. I’m learning a lot really fast. I think it’s giving him the confidence that if he decides to take a break, everything will be okay.
I’ve been working with him for almost two years now, and I’m used to almost everything. The workers and staff, everyone is used to me. We hope the rest of my siblings join too. My youngest sister is studying architecture, but if she doesn’t want to come into the business, that’s fine too.
Why do I feel like your parents made you study law because you wanted to write?
Funny thing is I didn’t always want to be a lawyer. In primary school, I was called “small lawyer” because I was good at debates. I won all of them. I was small, but I spoke well, so they always involved me in anything to do with speaking. In secondary school, I was put in any competition that involved oratory skills even though I was in science class.
So what did you want to be?
I wanted to be a gynaecologist. I loved pregnant women and the whole process of pregnancy. I have three younger ones, not to mention many nephews and nieces. I’ve seen the pregnancy process from start to end a lot of times, and it amazes me.
I watched my sister move around in the womb and then move around the same way after she was born. My baby brother moved slowly and rarely in the womb. And when he was born, he was so quiet and gentle. I figured our characters are formed from the womb, and I found that fascinating.
I agree. So from gynaecology to law? How did that happen?
I didn’t have the skills to achieve that dream. Oh, my God, physics was hard. After graduation, I didn’t get admission for medicine; I got microbiology. I would’ve had to study microbiology for four years before I could switch to medicine.
Then my dad told me to take GCE for art class because, for some reason, he thought I was a genius and my only options were medicine and law. He also never really supported my decision to be in science class in the first place.
How did you manage such a shift after graduating?
I had to start reading and teaching myself government. Thank God, I did literature throughout secondary school because I loved reading, so it was easy for me. I wrote a second WAEC and did GCE for two different classes in the same year.
I got another admission for microbiology at the same time that I passed my entrance examination into art class pre-degree at OAU. I had to choose between “Microbiology then Medicine” and “pre-degree then law”. I chose pre-degree because it was shorter.
Law, finally, right?
Nope. After the one-year period, I got religious studies and English, which is how I learnt about so many religions. I was going to transfer to mass communication, thinking I would combine my love for writing and speaking. But during my second semester in religious studies and English, ASUU went on a strike that lasted months.
When will ASUU change?
At a point, it seemed there was no end in sight. My mom was like, “Look, all my kids are stuck in school.” My elder sister had been in OAU for years because of the strikes. My parents didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. So my dad said we should move to a private university.
He told me to write entrance exams for law and mass communication. We went to the law department first, I wrote the exam and passed. My mum just said since I’d entered for law, I didn’t need to write the one for mass comm., so we went home. That’s how I ended up studying law.
Talk about fate
In the beginning, I hated it because I had so many friends in OAU. I even had a boyfriend there. I was sad, lonely, and I felt old; I was almost 20 starting over in 100 level where my classmates were 16. But I found the NIFES fellowship, and after a while, I wasn’t sad again.
I learnt a lot while studying law. I saw so much injustice in the cases we had to study, and I told myself, “I would love to do something about this and make sure the people around me don’t suffer this kind of injustice.”
I feel like something changed
In law school, our lecturer made a statement once: practice is not the same thing as theory. I thought he was just being philosophical. But when I graduated, I realised he was right. I thought with my law degree, I could stand up to policemen in the face of police brutality.
But in Nigeria, when a lawyer goes to challenge the police, they can’t go with the confidence and power they taught us in school or you see on TV shows. They have to be subservient. If you want to get anything from the police, if you want your clients to be treated well in custody, if you even want to get police bail, you must be subservient and bribe them.
When I saw this, I was shattered. It wasn’t what I signed up for or imagined when I studied law for how many years of my life? I honestly don’t want to be a lawyer forever. I plan to practice for five years.
What about the family business?
My legal skills will still be applicable there. Right now, I go to court and deal with cases, all of which I’ve won so far. But after some time, we’ll hire a company lawyer for those. I really wish there was more I could do. I feel like a weak lawyer because I don’t have the power and experience to do most of the things I would like to.
I can’t stand up in court to speak against injustice because there are too many rules, from the way you dress and speak to the colour of your hair. While rules are good, people will always mismanage them, and many lawyers and judges do.
Right
Because I don’t have enough backing to get away with whatever, I have to be very careful and tiptoe around the law. I don’t enjoy doing that. I’ve practiced for two years so far. If in three, I can get some footing, I’d continue. If not, I’d just hang up my robe and wig, and do other things.
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.
Even though Yakubu Gowon was only 31 when he became Head of State, few younger millennials (30 and under) are in political offices today. But since 2015, I’ve noticed this subject’s consistency in public service, so I reached out to her to share her journey and inspire other young people to action.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Nafisa Atiku-Adejuwon, a 29-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about experiencing politics in secondary school, choosing public service over a legal career and finding purpose in helping young women enter politics through “Girls Just Want to Run”.
What inspired you to get into politics?
Exclusion. It’s widespread in Nigeria. I have this memory from when I was very young: I was in a car driving by some young kids begging on the road, and I felt terrible because I had access to education, a good home, food, electricity, water, and these people didn’t. Exclusion has always been a thing for me. I’ve always hated it.
Tell me about your personal experience with exclusion
In SS 2, my Economics teacher encouraged me to run for Assistant Dormitory Prefect. I didn’t want to because one of my good friends was running for the same post. I’d even written her speech for her.
What did you do?
The teacher submitted my name anyway, so I had to enter the race. I was really bullied for it because other people in our class saw me as a betrayer. I would go to eat in the dining hall and that clique of girls would just hiss at me, so I would leave without eating.
I still won the election and became one of only six SS 2 prefects that year. Other teachers saw how responsible I was in that welfare role and nominated me for Head Girl the next year.
How did university go? More leadership roles?
The incredible irony is I didn’t really do anything in university. I’m sure if my uni classmates see me now, they’d be shocked and be like, “We didn’t know she had it in her.”
I almost can’t believe that
You know the kind of culture we have. Women aren’t exactly encouraged to be leaders. I went to university, and I was just like the average student. I went to class, had friends, went to church, and went back to my room.
When I went home during school breaks, I always had an internship or job or volunteering experience. But in school, you couldn’t distinguish me from the pack.
Why though?
I think it’s because I went from a private secondary school to a federal institution — the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. It’s a big school with plenty of people to compete with, and as I said, the dynamics weren’t exactly friendly for female leadership.
I studied law, and we set up mock chambers every year to put everything we learnt to practice. I wanted to volunteer to be a counsel or witness or something. But the guys were monopolising all the spots. They would edge out the girls and were very assertive about what they wanted. I didn’t feel like I had the energy to fight back, so I just said, “Fine. I’ll just pack my things and go and read my books”.
And nothing changed through the years?
Actually, in my fourth and final year, I got involved in more service-to-humanity-type activities. I joined the Rotary Club and became the secretary. I was a member of the legislative arm of my class that year. But in general, it was too late to make any real impact.
It comes down to the environment. Some are engineered to allow you to thrive; some actually choke your potential.
All that exclusion, what would you say it changed for you?
My whole uni experience taught me to have thicker skin and appreciate the struggle. It gave me a teaser of the real world. I spent the first few years trying to discover myself and my own place.
While I knew I could be a leader because I’d done it in secondary school, moving to university, I felt like a small fish in a very, very big pond. I couldn’t find my place in it. So a lot of existential questions flew through my mind. Like, what exactly do I want to do with my life?
I considered entrepreneurship because everyone was doing that at the time. I started curating hamper baskets, but it didn’t work out. I tried NGOs and got into some leadership roles in community service organisations. It was kind of my thing, but it was already too late to capitalise on it since I was basically graduating.
What happened after graduation?
Law school. I was at the Lagos campus, and it was a hustle. You’re in classes from morning to night just struggling to pass, to be honest. I made some friends and met a guy called Temi Vaughn. His dad was doing some youth development town hall meetings and told him to get some of his friends who were passionate about Nigeria.
I come from a very political background. Politics is a huge topic in my household, and we’re always dissecting government policies, so it wasn’t a new conversation for me. I saw the way Nigeria was going in 2015 when there was a major election. I’d started interrogating the system and consistently posting write-ups on Facebook about politics and youth empowerment.
So Temi’s dad got some of us to host his town hall meeting in collaboration with the Lagos State government. I capitalised on that until I got chosen for the Young Professionals Bootcamp, by Pastor Poju of the Covenant Christian Centre, the same year. It was the turning point of my entire life.
How?
At the boot camp, Mark Okoye, a commissioner or special adviser serving under Peter Obi’s Anambra state government, told us about his journey into public service, and how he troubled Peter over and over to give him a place in his government.
I was like, if this dude can leave the US where he schooled and had excellent grades, to do that, I could too. It was like a view into what my life could be. I went to the boot camp still wondering about my career options. Should I go the normal route of becoming a lawyer or the unpredictable path of public service?
After hearing Mark speak, I said, I have my choice, and that was it.
What did you do next?
I had a couple of job interviews already lined up, one in particular at a law firm offering some good money. I told them I didn’t want it and found my first job on Facebook at a youth organisation called Leads Nigeria. From there, I moved to She Leads Africa as a program associate.
I’m currently the program officer at the Shehu Musa Yar’Adua Foundation. We work on creating safe spaces on university campuses to protect young women from sexual violence. We also have an anonymous whistleblowing platform for survivors of sexual harassment within Nigerian tertiary institutions.
How did you get into the foundation?
In 2020, I wanted to pivot fully to the non-profit space and work on women’s issues. It made sense for my political future. I was also tired of Lagos stress and traffic and needed to move to a less stressful place for health reasons. I talked to my dad, who referred me to someone at the foundation. They called me to interview for a position in their new gender justice program. I got the job and moved to Abuja.
It’s been an interesting six to seven years in public service so far, but there’s been a lot of sacrifices.
Sacrifices?
During NYSC in Ibadan, I decided I would do a project teaching civic and political education to senior secondary students who, by the next election in 2019, would’ve been old enough to vote.
I was earning ₦18k from the federal government, and ₦3k from the ministry of justice. And I was living in a flat with roommates. I had to buy food, etc. I went to those schools, raised money to donate schoolbooks, and pay school fees, all without a proper job.
After NYSC, while I was waiting for a job, I continued the work with schools in my neighbourhood in Lagos State.
Young people have always been the focus of my political work; young women are my primary focus. My book, Girls Just Want to Run, was born out of my own experience trying to be actively involved in politics.
Going into politics, I discovered that there were no other women in my age range. How do we get women in their 50s to run for office when they’ve not built up their social and political capital from when they were in their early 20s like men do?
We would only continue to pay lip service to women being involved in politics if we don’t concentrate on getting them into the political party system young. That was what made me say, “Okay, somebody has to write this message. And I don’t mind being the bearer of good news”.
How did that go?
Getting the money to launch the book was by God’s grace. I saved up, people donated, and I managed to do it well. It’s now grown into a community young women are inspired by.
Before then, through my NYSC projects, I set up an organisation for civic and political education called “NYouth Speaks” because young people aren’t very aware of their civil and political rights.
My political articles, school tours and initiatives became subsumed under NYouth Speaks. Then when I evolved into pushing for youth and women’s political participation and published my book, everything fell under “Girls Just Want to Run” but focused on young women.
What are some of the things you’re doing under this initiative?
This month [September], we’re doing a book drive, to give young women civic education books. Through that, we would form leadership clubs for girls in secondary schools. We want them to be acquainted with social change, justice, political participation from now so that even in their own way, they can bring change to their communities.
It starts with influencing the younger generation. We talk to them about the qualities to look for in a leader. We educate them about their rights, what the constitution provides for, and how to enforce or challenge the constitution. What are the gaps in our society that need to change within the next few years? We want them to start taking ownership of these things.
And what’s your personal journey into the political system been like?
It’s been a constant process of upskilling and making meaningful change by educating young women. This country needs leaders. Not everyone can leave. If I set my mind to japa, I could probably be gone by next year. But I won’t do that.
It also helps that I married somebody who’s just like me. He was at my book launch and, crazy story: I was scheduled to give a TEDx talk in Abakaliki, Ebonyi state, the day before my launch. We missed our flight coming back to Lagos because of bad roads.
So we had to take a night bus to get back in time. We met armed robbers on the road, and they shot at our bus. It was so scary, but did I look like I’d gone through that by my launch the same evening?
So sorry you had to experience that. Did your political growth happen naturally or was it something you worked towards?
A lot of intention and hard work has gone into it. While I was waiting for my NYSC placement, the boot camp came up and I thought that if I could get into the program, I would get some clarity about what steps to take next. I applied for it while I was still posting political pieces on Facebook, BellaNaija, etc.
Right
Then I was posted to Kebbi State for NYSC. I have delicate health, so at the beginning, my family said, “We have to get you reposted. We can’t risk certain things. You need to be closer to home so if anything happens, we can rush you out quickly”.
So I went to Kebbi knowing I wouldn’t stay past orientation. But I got there and changed my mind because I felt like I could do some good regarding girls’ education there. I called home to tell them, and they said, “Okay, no problem. We won’t change it”. But they didn’t listen. I was still transferred down to Ibadan.
Where your civic education journey started
Yes, I was able to do what I wanted to do in Kebbi in Ibadan, and I got chosen for another boot camp by RED Media, called the Future Project. It was a three-day boot camp on understanding how the local government works. People like Demola Olanrewaju and Lam Adesina, a member of the Oyo State House of Representatives, spoke to us.
My circle widened, and I applied for more opportunities, looking for what I could do next. I started thinking about how to join the process officially to see how it works. I joined the KOWA Party, and it proved to be instrumental because it was my firsthand experience there that birthed Girls Just Want to Run in 2018, which opened platforms for me to talk about young women’s issues, political justice and participation.
Why KOWA?
Because I felt KOWA was a youth-friendly party. Ironically, that’s where I met my husband; he was the national youth leader of KOWA Party. I needed somewhere I could volunteer my skills and add some value to the system as a young person. Also, it was easy to join. If you want people to be part of a process, you need to make it easy for them to join it.
Is it really? I’m not sure access to political parties is readily available to the average citizen
A lot of work could be done to bring more awareness to these kinds of fellowships, boot camps, training, and so on. I wouldn’t have found the information if I wasn’t intentionally looking for it.
The political system and process in our country are not straightforward; it’s not user-friendly at all. The established parties don’t make it easy for you to find or join them. Only the newer parties do a level of mobilisation.
But APC did a membership drive around last year [2021], and PDP had an online registration portal going on around the same time.
But where? Do people know about these things?
The APC one was physical in local government councils of different states. I do agree there’s not enough awareness of these systems and initiatives, but people also need to be active about their interest in finding them. Let them not shave your head in your absence.
Some parties use digital membership channels. PDP has tried to do a whole campaign by revealing their online registration portal in 2021. The link was flying across my WhatsApp like no man’s business. You could just upload your passport and details, and it would go into the members’ register.
But at the end of the day, to improve the system, we need to be part of it. And that can only happen by being intentional about it.
Fair. So how did it go at KOWA?
I was a party member for about a year. Apart from the fact that INEC deregistered the party, I left in 2019 because I wanted a more in-depth political experience. So I joined PDP in 2021, through the e-registration portal.
Beyond community development, do you see yourself actually running for political office?
I do. But not right now. I’m a new mom, I run a business and work in an office, so there’s only so much I can juggle. The next four years will be critical in gaining some much-needed experience within the political space as part of the system now, as opposed to being a community service advocate.
I need to see and understand the intricate workings of politics in Nigeria. After four years, I can then officially say I’ll take a step and run as a candidate to serve people on whatever level I think will be practical at that point in time.
And what’s one thing about your life right now that makes you happy?
One thing that really makes me happy and fulfilled is being on a journey to becoming the person I dreamed I could be. Someone who creates change. I’m happy I can sit down, look back on my life so far and see that I’ve improved a lot of people’s lives.
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.
Photo by Good Faces on Unsplash
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 23-year-old Nigerian woman. She tells us about discovering her feminism, pansexuality and atheism through books while living with her close-knit conservative family.
What’s something about your life that makes you happy?
I’m enjoying being single right now. I don’t have commitments to anybody, and I don’t need to make weird decisions based on what society expects in relationships.
My last serious relationship was in 2018 when I was in year two at university. Right after that, I got into a toxic and demeaning situationship with an older guy, that went really bad. I was 19, and he was manipulative, so it was difficult to get out of it. Those two years were a character development phase for me, and I’ve only been in situationships since then.
Since the first situationship was so toxic, why did you enter more of them?
I’m scared of being in a proper relationship. And this is because I just don’t like most of the people who’ve approached me, or they’re misogynists. Or I don’t like them because they’re misogynists.
How do you know they’re misogynists right away?
Through conversation? The last time I met someone who wanted to be in a relationship with me, we had a very telling conversation. And I have some red flags that make knowing easier for me. One of them is if you’re anti-LGBTQ.
For me, feminism and freedom of sexual and gender identity are inseparable. If you claim to be a feminist man, you need to understand people can make choices on who their partner should be too. When you meet some men, they’ll say, “I’m a feminist, but….” Just know the ‘but’ will reveal how they’re not feminists because they’ll give an excuse. It’ll be “but you should understand….”
No, I want someone who understands the basics of equality.
And the guy you met?
He wasn’t LGBTQ. He said, “I don’t have a problem with them, but….” He might as well have said, “I’m a feminist, but….” Apart from that, he randomly asked me, “Do you know how to cook?” I said no, and he was like, “It’s a lie because if you grew up in an African home, every mother teaches their daughter how to cook”.
He started talking about how he knows it’s not compulsory, but he thinks a woman should know how to cook. Meanwhile, he didn’t know how because his mom didn’t teach him, and his daddy didn’t like men entering the kitchen. He was obviously not a feminist. That turned me off immediately.
Understandable. So how do these casual relationships work?
I’m a fool because I expect exclusivity in them. I think it’s the boyfriend-girlfriend tag I don’t want. I just want a go-to person I can see regularly, who’s not my boyfriend. And I’m terrible at casual relationships for someone who always finds a way to enter them because I always end up catching feelings.
There’s no avoiding those, I fear
I know. In my last situationship, the person was my G. We were just friends who started liking each other, and something happened. I was scared he would want something serious after that, so I told him I didn‘t want us to continue since I wasn’t ready for that. He assured me he didn’t want anything, and that’s when I caught feelings.
This only ever happens when I know the other person is not interested. Once it looks like the person likes me back, I run away. I don’t even know what my problem is, but I’m not interested in any kind of dating right now. And of all the new people I’ve met, none of them is giving.
What was growing up like for you, considering your progressive beliefs?
First of all, from JSS 1, my parents sent me off to boarding school, and I hated all the flogging and shouting there. But back home on holidays, my family was pretty close. Like most girls in the average Nigerian family, I was an omo get inside. I wasn’t allowed to go out. Once I’m home for even a midterm break, I’m locked in. I wasn’t allowed to attend my friends’ birthday parties. I wasn’t even given a phone until after I graduated from secondary school.
This is probably why I prefer to stay indoors now; I’m so used to it. I was always monitored, and I was never given a reason why. I got no allowance, so I couldn’t even sneak out, and if I was caught outside, I’d be flogged. It was just my siblings and me, reading books and watching TV indoors, all day every day, while our parents went to work. My mom would usually be home earlier than my dad; he was hardly available except on Sundays and some Saturdays. So I wasn’t comfortable with him because he was like a guest in our home.
Were you religious like the average Nigerian family?
Yes. We went to church every Sunday and for some weekday services too. When I was younger, we attended MFM, so we would always go to camp. Then we moved to Redeem and continued the trend. We never missed crossover services in particular.
We always had to go to church to cross over into the New Year and have the pastors pray over water and oil to rub on our heads. My parents would always remind us that God doesn’t like this and that, you’re supposed to do this as a child, and this is a sin.
And how did you feel about all that?
It felt normal, actually. I mean, I didn’t know any other way. And it wasn’t in my face that we were religious or my parents were restrictive. I enjoyed some things about my childhood. Like, on Saturdays, my dad would take us to the tennis club. On Sundays, we would go to restaurants.
We went to Apapa Amusement Park a lot because my dad worked in Apapa. We also visited my extended families, and I enjoyed seeing my cousins and gisting with them. Every December 25, my parents threw Christmas parties, inviting our extended family, and my cousins would stay over for a week or two. I enjoyed that a lot.
So I’m curious. How did you go from this everyday Nigerian daughter to having the strong beliefs you have now?
It started with feminism. When I was 17, and in secondary school, I read Chimamanda’s book, We Should All Be Feminists. I liked her definition of feminism and understood why ‘We Should All Be Feminists’. Growing up, I remember feeling cheated when I heard men say you’re supposed to do this and that.
I think every woman has some gender rules they’re uncomfortable with, but they’ve just gotten used to them. They’d say things like, “What can I do? It’s a woman’s place.” Early on, I decided I wouldn’t accept it. Feminism formed my understanding of the LGBTQ community and also led me to atheism.
In university, I studied sociology and learnt that society shapes who we are. The kind of family we come from, the environment we grew up in, the religion we were born into and the type of school we went to, all shape us. People aren’t a certain way because they were born like that; society shapes them. People are different because of how they grew up and the values they picked up as children and adults.
If that’s true, why didn’t you remain conservative as your family shaped you to be?
Family is the primary agent of socialisation, but my family sent me to boarding school.
I learnt a lot through books I read in the hostel and when my parents locked me up at home. We Should All Be Feminists was probably the first non-children’s book I read. Then A Woman Is No Man by Etaf Rum, and another Chimamanda book, The Thing Around Your Neck, which spoke about how the British colonised us through religion. It’s one of the vital moments I’ve had when I started asking questions about religion. Why didn’t God help black people when they were mistreated?
Then, I started Googling things. I found out the Bible contained more chapters, and the King James Version was shortened by an actual King James; a British King. I learnt that Christianity was infused with politics; the church was the state, so they made religious decisions and wrote their version of the Bible to take advantage of people.
That must’ve been a lot to discover so young. How did you process it?
As a sociologist, you ask questions like, is this book objective? And you find out there’s no book in the world that’s objective. The Bible is an account of people, their ways of life and the ideologies of society in those ancient times. When I read the Bible in secondary school, it was like it was against humanity and was meant to subjugate women.
People give their different interpretations of it — “No, it means you should love” — but it’s clear with words like ‘submission’, ‘subjugation’, ‘a woman should not climb the pulpit’, ‘she should not preach’. At that time, I wasn’t even an atheist. I just thought the Bible was ancient, and the people in it were practising the culture of their time. Times have changed, we’re civilised, so we’re not supposed to follow what happened then.
But as I read more and more about how women were not allowed to go to the market during their period because they were considered dirty, and in the New Testament, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John have different accounts of Jesus’ life, I realised the Bible is different people’s biased perspectives. I was about 20 years old when I decided I won’t take directions from it anymore.
Big decision
Yes, but it was strangely an easy one to make knowing the things I knew. I went to the root of Christianity and how it came from older religions, read about the evolution of religion itself and about our own gods. Then I formed a theory that maybe God exists; people just serve him in different ways because we’re from different societies.
When I read how Chinua Achebe and Chimamanda wrote about traditional prayer in the olden days, it’s similar to how Christians pray now. So when I see Nigerian Christians pray, I’m like, “You’re just praying to a foreign God.”
So why did you become an atheist instead of a traditionalist?
Because I realised nobody’s coming to save you.
There were points in my life when I was really down. I was in a toxic relationship, like I mentioned earlier, I was so young, and it was terrible for me. My self-esteem had gone to shit, and I felt very bad about myself.
I prayed and I cried, and nothing happened. Just looking back at my life, secondary school, primary school, I’ve had times when I pray to God for things, and when nothing happened, I’d just say maybe it’s not God’s will. And I realised we keep on making excuses for him.
How did you realise this exactly?
When I was in SS 1, they kidnapped the Chibok girls. I heard the news, fasted and prayed with so much faith because I believed faith could move mountains. I had so much faith that if I fasted as a child, something miraculous would happen, and the girls would be released.
But you know how the story went. Was it that God didn’t want it to happen? Was it not God’s will for the girls to be released? Since I started taking control of my life and decisions, it’s felt better not to hope for miraculous things. There’s nobody out there coming to save or help you.
And now, you no longer believe he exists?
My atheism is still evolving. Sometimes, I think he exists, but I’m just angry at him. Terrible things are happening in the world, and he’s not doing anything. I wonder why. People are getting killed. Girls are getting abducted, raped. Women are being treated anyhow, and good people suffer a lot in the world. In the Bible, they’ll tell you this is the reason. Sometimes, they’ll just tell you to do things without giving any reason, and I just can’t live like that.
These days, I’m also discovering things about the universe, how it’s much bigger than our Milky Way. I think the universe is too big for one person to control. I also don’t believe there’s heaven or hell. I’d rather just be on my own, make my own decisions, live my life the way I want and just be kind to people.
As for feminism, was there a defining moment that made what you read about in books more personal?
My earliest memory of feeling violated as a woman was in secondary school, even though I didn’t think of it deeply at the time or relate it to feminism. I was walking on the road with my friend, and this man tapped me to ask for my number. I said no. He was a much older man, and I think he was drunk. He was drinking pure water, and he just threw it at me.
I was very scared because I couldn’t confront him. I thought he would beat me. Things like that make me very sad. I’ve been groped on the road once before. And you just go to one corner and cry because you can’t do anything about it, especially when you’re young. I was sexualised a lot, growing up.
I’m so sorry
I’ve also seen it happen to others. One time during NYSC, a female flagbearer was marching, and because of the way she moved, a guy just shouted that she’ll know how to do doggy very well. It just gets to me when boys make rude comments about girls and their bodies, especially dismissively.
One other time, we were doing inter-house sports in secondary school, and a boy made a comment about a girl’s body, that her big bum bum was making her float. I don’t understand why people talk about women like that. It feels weird and wrong, and it makes me upset.
Did you talk about it to your mum or someone close?
No. I’m constantly fighting in my house sef because I have a younger brother who has a free pass to do whatever he wants, and I don’t. Growing up, my brother could go out and visit friends. But my sister and I were always locked inside and constantly harrassed with, “Where are you coming from? Where are you going to? Who are you talking to? Bring your phone.”
One time, my dad checked my phone and saw a text from a guy, and he was very angry. We were always monitored, but my brother didn’t go through that kind of vigorous training. Till now, I’ll be working, and they’ll tell me to go to the kitchen, while my brother is sleeping.
Do you push back? What’s your parents’ reaction to that?
They’re always angry, especially my mom, who feels she’s training me to be a woman. I tell them I don’t like it, and I’m not going to change. The only thing I can do is rebel and fight it. My dad, at one point, said my brother is not supposed to wash plates because he has sisters. I told him, “No, it’s not possible. He’s eating, so he has to wash it.” Sometimes, I’m sad because I’m tired of fighting. I just can’t wait to make money and get my own place, but for now, I’m a struggling youth corper.
And do these fights work to change their mindset at all?
Nope. Sometimes, they’re just tired and they let me be. But of course, their mindsets don’t change at all. My dad is a misogynist, and my mum is a patriarchy princess.
What about your brother?
He’s 20 now and is constantly told the reason he doesn’t have to do certain things is because a woman will do it for him, so he can just rest. And he believes it; he’s enjoying that male privilege. I try to have conversations with him, but his mindset is forming. Sometimes, my dad would say something like, “she’s just talking her feminism talk,” and they’d both laugh at me.
Even my sister who’s 24 isn’t a feminist. She says the double standard is wrong but still says feminism is extreme. I just think she couldn’t be bothered to fight or struggle over the injustice. She’s decided to go with what society dictates because she fears the repercussions and backlash. I’m always ready for the backlash.
How did your interest in the LGBTQ community come in?
It works hand in hand with feminism for me. I’ve always been pretty open-minded, so I’ve always just believed in people’s freedom of choice. I’m pansexual myself.
How did you discover your sexuality?
In 2019, I kissed a woman during a game of truth or dare, and I liked it. I’ve never been in a relationship with one, but I now know it’s something I would consider. The experience made me realise my attraction isn’t limited to gender because I’m still very much attracted to men.
How do your parents feel about your atheism and pansexuality?
My mom is always praying. I’m always fighting with her because I’m not the average Naija babe who’s looking for husband and hoping to be a good wife. I’m very vocal about my beliefs. And they just look at me as this weird Gen Z babe.
My dad keeps advising me that my beliefs are wrong; he takes a chilled approach. I can tell they don’t want to scare me off and lose me to the ‘devil’ for good, but my parents no longer force me to go to church. They’ve gotten used to it.
How has being an atheist, in particular, affected your friendships?
Well, first off, I lost a close friend because of it. She became very Christian at the same time I became an atheist. I’m still trying to get over it, but she’s moved on. Anytime I see her posts with other friends, I get really sad, I feel like crying. Towards the end, we fought a lot, and I would tell her it was because of our differing beliefs, but she’d deny it. I wanted to keep the friendship so bad I even compromised and started following her to church, but in the end, I still lost her.
How did you two form such strong differing beliefs despite being so close?
It was during the COVID-19 lockdown. It was a very mentally stressful time for everybody. So while I was reading books, she was getting closer to God.
Do you have friends who share your atheist views?
I have one friend who does. And he even helped me strengthen my atheism. Before, I just had these thoughts in my head, but I was surrounded by Christians so I couldn’t really express it because no one could relate. He could relate, and we had so many conversations in which we exchanged ideas. I asked him questions and we would Google stuff together.
You know when you’re in the closet and you meet other people who’ve come out of it? My other friends say he changed me, but I had these thoughts way before I met him. He was also the close friend I had a situationship with and ended up catching feelings. Now, we’re just friends.
Does it get lonely having fewer friends and not being close to your family because of your beliefs?
Yes, actually. Sometimes, it does. I haven’t seen my friends in a long time, and my closest friend doesn’t care about me anymore. But I don’t think I’m lonely because I’m an atheist or feminist. I think it’s because I’m terrible at socialising.
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.
Image credit: Upsplash, @vitaelondon
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 45-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about spending the last 22 years in the UK moving from one menial job to another, not wanting her daughter to see her retire as a shop worker and finally going back to university.
What’s something about life you’re enjoying?
Working towards going back to school next year. It hasn’t been easy though. I didn’t think I’d actually care to get another degree after my bachelor’s in education in 1999. It took three months for me to even find my university certificate to apply for the programme I’m currently considering.
So what prompted your decision to go back to school?
After 14 years of working in retail stores in the UK, I’d like to get a proper white-collar job, possibly in a government office as administrative staff.
Retail is a time-consuming and physically tasking job. As I get older, I don’t see myself being able to keep up with loading shelves and working late nights.
An office job would come with much higher health insurance and retirement fund than my current job, and I’d get to close at 6 p.m. and stay home with my husband and daughter during public holidays.
Now that my daughter is eight and a lot more independent, I can sit down to work on my applications without so many distractions.
Before your daughter, what made getting a new job difficult?
I got into the UK illegally in 2001. I couldn’t settle in as an immigrant until 2008 when I married her dad. So at first, retail jobs were a means to getting paid in cash rather than opening up a bank account. It’s not possible to get one without proper papers.
Omo. So how did you get into the UK?
Through my older sister. She and her husband decided to take a trip with their three-year-old daughter to Cardiff, in 2001 and took me along. I was 24. After two months of living there, I couldn’t imagine coming back to Nigeria. I lived in Lagos with no job or real plans for the future. So when it was time to return, I told my sister I wanted to stay back.
Of course, she advised against it, but I felt I could manage on my own.
And she was cool with that?
No. But she couldn’t physically drag me back.
Image credit: iStock clipart
Did you have any plans?
I’d heard stories of a lot of Nigerians moving to the UK by refusing to leave after coming for a holiday. Of course, no one ever named names, but I knew there was some truth to the gossip. I felt like I could do the same.
I didn’t think beyond staying back with the family friend we’d stayed with during our two-month holiday.
So how did you scale through?
Well, I got a cleaning job that paid cash. They didn’t ask me questions about my work permit. And since my brother-in-law schooled in Cardiff for his master’s, he was able to get me fake working papers through some of his friends.
You weren’t caught. How?
I made sure I didn’t walk around unnecessarily. If I didn’t have any houses to clean, I was home. But I knew hiding didn’t change the reality that I could be caught at any time. All it took was one random ID check or a phone call to the police from a colleague who didn’t like me. I made it as far as I did because of God.
My sister was also a huge support system. Back then, renewing visas wasn’t as complicated as it is now. So whenever my sister or her husband had a friend going back to Nigeria, I’d give them my passport and they’d pay for it to get stamped. We did that like once a year.
Wow
Yeah. We tried to tick all the boxes as much as we could under the radar. Plus, Cardiff is a small town, so people rarely got into your business.
I can’t imagine what it felt like to constantly be afraid
I wasn’t thinking about that. I made the decision to stay and understood the consequences. There was no going back.
After almost two years of living with my friend, I had to find my own place. She’d gotten pregnant and wanted her boyfriend to move in. I never liked the guy. Imagine coming home to an entitled white man who didn’t seem to have any plans for his life. There was no way I’d be comfortable putting up with him in those tiny UK flats.
Were you prepared to move out?
Yes and no. I honestly didn’t have a plan on how to get a permanent residence visa in the UK, but I was saving up to explore my options with school. The sudden transition from having a home to potentially being homeless was going to slow down the process.
So what happened next?
I got another job. This time, one of my colleagues from the cleaning company linked me with a man who needed someone to manage a home for homeless old people around the neighbourhood. He needed someone to make sure things didn’t get out of hand whenever he was out of town.
The pay wasn’t great. But at least, I got a room to myself and didn’t have to pay for rent anymore.
He didn’t do a background check on you?
He was an old man. I don’t think he cared. I just had to reassure him I had two years of experience in cleaning. The work extended to much more than cleaning though — I had to manage the daily activities of the guests — but what other options did I have?
What gave you peace of mind, considering your illegal status?
Mostly church. It was my happy place; my faith kept me together. I also had someone I started dating in 2004. We met in church when I first moved to the UK and things gradually grew between us. He was a Jamaican man born in Britain.
He knew about my situation and supported me the best he could, but there were days I just wanted to go back home.
When did things start coming together for you?
2008. But before then, things completely fell apart.
What happened?
I decided to get a new job in 2005. I’d spent a year working at the house, but I didn’t feel fulfilled spending my entire day stuck inside. I started to look out for store jobs that paid in cash. I didn’t want to continue with a cleaning job.
How’d that go?
The job I got was at a food store owned by an older Nigerian woman. She was a citizen, and quite friendly, so I opened up about my issues with documentation to her. It took me four months to get to that point of trust, but it was the worst mistake I made in the UK.
A few weeks after our conversation, immigration officers showed up at the store. Luckily, I was walking down to the store with my boyfriend that morning, so he followed me to their office.
Do you think your boss snitched?
Maybe. I never got a chance to confront her. Anyone working at the store could’ve overheard our conversation, or even a customer, who knows? But they came straight toward me, and I knew the last four years were going down the drain.
Omo
They took me to their office and things moved fast from there.
Since my boyfriend was a British citizen, he was able to intervene.
How?
The paid visa I’d gotten through my sister had expired a few weeks before I was caught. So my boyfriend told the officers he was the reason I hadn’t gone back to my country yet. He explained he wanted to travel back to Nigeria with me to get married, hence the delay. He also got a good immigration lawyer to plead for my passport to not be stamped since we’d be getting married soon.
Did you still have to leave the country?
Yes. I had a week to pack up and leave. But a year later, my boyfriend came to Nigeria for our wedding. We got married and moved to the UK immediately after our marriage certificates were ready.
Before then, I won’t deny I’d lost hope. I wasn’t happy to be back in Lagos sharing a room with my niece and not having anything tangible to do every day. But I kept in touch with my partner through phone calls, and sometimes, Facebook.
A part of me felt ashamed.
Why shame?
At 28, and after four years of living abroad, I didn’t have anything good to show for it. Compared to my older sister, my life was pretty unsuccessful. She was 31, married with two kids at that point, and to my parents, those were achievements. Praying was the only thing that kept me together during that one year in Lagos.
Thinking about it now, would you have done things differently?
No. I’m happy I took the risk in my early 20s. It wasn’t the wisest decision, but I’m here today. The struggle taught me I can survive anything. That’s why I’m not bothered about going back to school at 45.
The only thing I’d change is coming back to the UK in 2008 after we got married, and sticking to the same menial jobs because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don’t want to retire as a store attendant.
I hope you’re able to change careers
Thank you. I also want my daughter to be proud of me. I see how excited she gets when my husband talks about his job as a psychiatrist. I want her to look at me with the same pride when I talk about my day too.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
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.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 22-year-old Nigerian woman who’s 5 ft 10. She shares her childhood insecurities about her height, how her best relationship was with a short guy and how she’s learning to love her body.
Were you always taller than average?
I used to be average height, or even a little bit shorter than my agemates, until I turned 13 and got into SS 1. The growth spurt hit me really hard during the JSS 3 break. When I resumed school after three months, I noticed I was the tallest girl in my class. And people kept asking what I ate during the break.
How did that make you feel, suddenly being taller?
I wasn’t really bothered until it began to draw unnecessary attention. When you’re really tall, people notice you immediately, and it made me tense all the time. I was an A+ student, but I wasn’t popular. Teachers were quick to notice me, which made life more stressful.
I would copy notes for teachers and almost became the class president; being tall strangely came with many responsibilities. The only benefit was my literature teacher forcing me to join the school’s debating team. As an active debater, I became outspoken and very good at public speaking. Now, I’m a year from being called to the Nigerian Bar.
Anyway, the new attention didn’t affect me mentally until one unfortunate incident.
Please, tell me about it
There was a boy I liked when I was 14. We attended the same church and lived in the same neighbourhood. We weren’t really friends, but we talked from time to time, and I’m pretty sure he knew I liked him.
One day, I told him. He just laughed it off saying I was too tall, he was sure I would still grow taller and only a few guys liked tall girls.
I acted like I wasn’t moved by what he said, but deep down, I was so bothered I even stopped eating beans. He would tease me about my height anytime he saw me, so I started avoiding him, which was hard because we had a lot of mutual friends.
OMG. Did you tell anyone about how you were feeling?
My mom always adored my height — I think it’s because she’s on the shorter side — so it didn’t feel right to complain about it to her. And of course, I didn’t say anything about the boy because it would’ve been awkward; what was I doing with a boy at 14?
Ah. True. Have you been in any relationship since?
Hmm. My experience with that boy affected me for almost five years. Even when I got into uni, I was still very conscious of it. My internet search history at that time was so ridiculous. It was all “how to stop growing tall” or “how to reduce my height”. I thought being tall was a masculine trait. Imagine being 5 ft 9 at 16.
But I’ve been in like five relationships now, and the best was with a shorter guy in 2020. He was probably 5 ft 8. I was 20 at the time, and the relationship lasted a bit longer than a year. It was awkward for me at first, but normal for him because, for his height, he was used to dating girls taller than him.
How did you manage to enjoy the relationship despite your insecurities?
I actually had a “no” policy when it came to dating shorter guys, but he was different. He was the sweetest guy I ever dated, and I had the best relationship with him in almost all aspects. I don’t know how he grew on me, and I realised height didn’t really matter in a relationship.
Was there any part of the relationship that bothered you?
I didn’t want people to stare at us when we went out together, but people didn’t care that much. It was all in my mind.
How did you figure that out?
I hated anything that reminded me I was taller than average. The funny thing was people complimented my height a lot, but I hated it. I hated the compliments even more.
I don’t think there was any particular defining moment or event. It’s just something I realised along the way from my own perception and what I read or heard about.
So how did you navigate your insecurities after that?
Asides from being tall, I was slim, almost skinny. But I didn’t have a problem with it until I got into uni. People would compliment my height but tell me I would be perfect if I added a little weight.
I think that’s when the insecurities really began. I would take different kinds of weight-gain pills, but they wouldn’t work. So I became obsessed with adding weight to balance my height. It was a mental war; I could either become shorter or chubbier to balance my height.
How did that go?
There was a time one of those pills worked, and I was so happy, the happiest I’d been in a while. Then I decided to stop taking them. One day, a friend saw me and said I’d lost a bit of weight. I became triggered all over again. I’d look in the mirror, and all I saw was a skinny girl even though, deep down, I knew I wasn’t skinny. I was gradually getting to a size 14.
It was a cycle. I would add a bit of weight and be happy, but a little comment from someone that I was losing weight would make me sad all over again. Most of my fat is deposited in my hips and butt area, so people would always commend my body shape whenever I added weight.
What about now?
I was and still am fond of comparing my body with others. I’m a size 12 currently. I’ve been this size for almost a year, and I’m a bit content with it. I try not to compare. I’ve learnt that pictures are deceiving and social media is not real. One thing that’s worked is making a list of the physical features I’m most proud of.
What’s that like?
I start by reminding myself I have a very pretty face; beautiful hair that’s almost magical because I cut it regularly but it doesn’t take time to grow long and full again; great skin that when I tell people I don’t use any special skin care, they never believe me; beautiful legs — it took me years to notice this particular feature — my stomach that’s always flat no matter my weight; round hips so even when I lose weight, I still have a nice shape…
Listing these features really makes me feel good about myself. This method works every single time.
Self-love is powerful
Yes, very. I’ve also realised people might bring up how I look once in a while, but they don’t think about it deeply. I overthink things a lot. They might say I’ve lost weight as a compliment or just to voice what they noticed, but my brain would interpret it in so many different ways.
And how have you overcome this?
Having people who constantly remind me I’m beautiful is a big factor. My mum always does this. She knows about my constant weight gain journey and tells me I would gain weight naturally once I start giving birth.
My friends too. They’re the type of friends who’d hype you to death. They don’t know how many times their “hyping” has made me feel better about myself.
I don’t think I’m perfect, and I don’t think I’ll ever be. But for the first time in eight years, I don’t have those intrusive thoughts about my body.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
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.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Itohan, a 20-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about why surviving a scoliosis surgery was big for her, getting surgery in India, gaining weight after and growing into a thrill seeker who plans to retire at 35.
Scoliosis is an abnormal curvature of the spine. The cause isn’t known, but symptoms typically occur from childhood and range from a hump in the lower back to uneven shoulders/hips.
What’s something about your life that makes you happy?
I guess my happy story is accomplishing shit. I’m a big brain, and to be honest, that’s bad bitch doings.
Okay, smarty pants. What’s one big thing you’ve done at 20 that blows your mind?
I’d say surviving my scoliosis surgery. That was big for me.
In what way?
The things I got to achieve after. I mean, it fucked up my weight and mental. But it is what it is; it happened.
I didn’t know I had scoliosis, right? I had a funny walk when I was 13, and my mum thought I was trying to do guy. But that same year, I saw a bunch of pamphlets about different medical things at home. It had everything on scoliosis, lung and heart diseases. I loved to read as a child, so I read all of them.
And?
When I was done with the scoliosis pamphlet, I gave it to my mum and told her the symptoms were exactly what was happening to me. She read it and called my aunt who’s a nurse in the UK. She said I should go for an x-ray. I was right.
How did you feel about the diagnosis at 13?
I felt relieved. Growing up, people made so many comments about my body. They still do, but back then, the comments made me feel like everything was my fault. So even though it was kind of sad finding out, I also felt happy.
I also wouldn’t have figured things out without reading the pamphlets. That’s why when people say they don’t self-diagnose, I’m like hmm… that’s what saved my life.
So how did things progress after confirming it was scoliosis?
Getting surgery was the first option, but I didn’t want one. The idea just made me so uncomfortable, and my mum said I didn’t have to do it if there were other options to explore. So that’s what began the many many hospital visits.
Were there drastic changes in other parts of your life?
I was out of school more than I was in it. There were hospital visits three times a week, with a lot of tests and scans. But I was in SS 3, so for the most part, I didn’t need to be in school. The exhausting part for my mum and I was showing up at the hospital.
But why so many hospital visits if you weren’t getting surgery though?
I needed to get a brace customised for me at Igbobi Hospital. The doctors said there was nothing they could do except try to stop the spine from bending anymore. As in, my spine will be bent o, but they’d try to prevent it from getting worse.
Omo
The doctors also told me my mum was irresponsible for not knowing I had scoliosis. When it’s not like scoliosis is something they teach everyone everywhere.
I’m really sorry about that. Did the brace help with your back, at least?
No. It was so uncomfortable. I cried the first day I wore it. My mum had to hold me when we got home. I didn’t want to wear the god-forsaken thing. It was made of plastic, looked so weird and made my clothes bulky. And they said I’d have to wear it for at least 22 hours a day. As in, I’d sleep in it and only take it off to bathe.
I didn’t put it on again after the first day. I was ready to have the surgery and kept going for consultations until then..
When did that happen?
A year later. I’d turned 14 by then. Making the decision meant another round of tests. The main question was where the surgery could be done? My mum didn’t want it to halt my life. She wanted somewhere that would guarantee I’d get healed quickly and move on. Nigeria wasn’t an option for us.
So how did things go in India?
Can you believe the doctors in Igbobi refused to release my x-ray? They asked me to stay in Nigeria so they could monitor the progression of my sickness for the doctors to learn.
I’m screaming
LOL. My mother said, “you want to use my only child for practicals”. We stole my x-ray. We told one of the doctors we needed a photocopy of the documents. They told us to talk to the student doctors instead for any questions we had. I guess they were busy that day.
Luckily, the student didn’t stress about getting the documents for us to make photocopies. Turned out the main doctor in charge of my case had it in the boot of his car; is he not mad? When the student brought it back, my mum took it, entered our car and never went back to the hospital.
Love it!
A lot of James Bond stuff happened o. Like I paid for it, it was my property, but I had to steal it.
But why did you choose India?
Hospitals in the US said I’d need to stay for a year post-surgery. The UK said six months, Germany was three months, but India gave me two weeks to get back into a normal routine. Clearly, you can see where we went.
Weren’t the extra days needed for recovery?
They also wanted to use me for practicals. Staying was less about the recovery and more about monitoring my movement and abilities. It’s not common to have scoliosis surgery. Only 2% – 3% of children get it, so people wanted to use me as a test subject.
So what happened after the Igbobi James bond saga?
LOL. We started doing research on Indian hospitals for scoliosis surgery. We found one with the help of my mum’s old classmates. She also had a child who’d had surgery in India and recommended a place.
How did it feel knowing things were about to get better?
Experiencing India for the first time was the best part of the process. Their food slaps. But when they attempted to make Nigerian food in the hospital? The ghetto. I guess they were trying to make me comfortable as a child. And they seemed to like Nigerians as well.
I had doctors who’d come in after looking at my file saying “You Nigerian? I love Abuja, Lagos. Yes, yes. Great people.” The energy just didn’t reach the food. Imagine putting one whole okra in my stew. No grating or boiling, just raw okra inside stew to eat rice.
LOL. Okra and rice is normal in Côte d’Ivoire, sis.
Fair enough. The free drinks were compensation. Once you enter a shop, “orange juice? mango juice?” everywhere.
Free? Please explain this to my Lagosian eyes.
LOL. It was their culture. Whenever you went into a store they’d hand you a pet-sized bottle of juice. Maybe it had to do with being a foreigner. I drank juice tire sha. And the hospital stuffed me with milk at least four times a day because I needed the calcium.
It sounds like you had a pretty good time considering you were there for risky surgery
Being sad wasn’t going to change anything. The best thing to do was eat the free food and enjoy the city. I was cleared to leave after two weeks, but we stayed an extra two or three days because my mum’s passport was seized at the hospital.
Sorry?!
Yeah, Nigeria was refusing to let our money clear. My cousins in the UK and US sent money as well, but it didn’t reflect. The hospital could see we’d tried to pay, so they kept my mum’s passport while they waited to receive the funds.
That’s crazy stuff. How were you doing post-surgery though?
I gained a lot of weight. Of course, the food had something to do with it. But because I had just done surgery on my spine, I wasn’t active. For six months, I couldn’t play rugby like I used to in school or move around too much.
What did you do with the six months of inactivity?
JAMB lessons. The year I went for the surgery cut into my time for JAMB and WAEC. Not getting into school with my friends really got to me. But my mum wanted me to be useful to myself and forced me to focus on writing the exams. Eventually, things got better.
How?
First, I was taller. The surgery straightened the bones of my back to an extent.
Nice. And the second part?
I eventually got into uni when I was 15. But there was a strike in federal universities right before I was meant to resume, so I had to stay home. I got a job as a cashier and an assistant at a pharmacy close to my house. I didn’t want to be stuck at home doing nothing all over again. And being good at the job made me feel validated and important.
That’s really sweet
Yeah. Uni was also a pretty good experience for me. I got a full scholarship for my whole degree and that boosted the way I saw myself. I felt smart, and I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.
No one tells you how difficult it is to be held back because you’re sick. I gained so much weight from all the food in India and the rest period too. It really fucked up my psyche. The medications added to how much my body changed, so I know it’s out of my control.
Hm. What parts of life are you looking forward to in your 20s?
Retiring at 35. I’ve been working since I was 14. After the pharmacy job, I wrote non-fictional stories about the people I met. I got a job as a writer when I was 18, and I’ve worked my way up to being a junior editor since then.
So after all that work, I can’t retire like other people at 60. The corporate world shouldn’t have that much of my life.
LOL. I feel like everyone says this, but it’ll eventually get really boring having that much free time at 35
LOL. Going through surgery makes you realise just how much life has to offer. And I want to live a full life. I want to dance, sing, teach, travel and live as many lives as possible. It doesn’t have to be a long life for me; it just has to be full.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
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.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 28-year-old Nigerian woman who’s recently had a South-Eastern wedding. From the point of view of a younger millennial, she talks having multiple ceremonies, bride price negotiations and how everything surprised her.
Let’s start at the beginning of the “getting married” process. What happened right after the date was fixed?
My first thought was, “Okay, you’re ready to do this adulting thing.” Then, it was like rush, rush, sharp, sharp, let’s get this done. We’d already scheduled the date at the time of my proposal, to be about six months after. So the experience was overwhelming. There was no time to actually sit down and process it. Going to the market, going to see the family, just all over the place almost immediately.
I thought people get engaged first, then one day much later, they say, “so when should the actual wedding be?”
People wait when they’re just not ready to get married. But why propose when you’re not ready? What’s the point? Do you want to become a Lord of the Rings?
LOL
Jokes aside. Yes, there are people who get engaged and don’t immediately decide on a date. But personally, I think once you’ve proposed to someone, the next thing to do is start planning. I wouldn’t say it’s the normal way. We just wanted to start doing our thing together.
What was the point of waiting when our parents already knew it was official. Six months is enough time to plan, especially if you can fund it. And that’s why it’s important to be in an intentional relationship; you guys are already talking about these things. It’s also very good for men to be intentional. It makes things so easy.
How so?
Because if he’s already determined, “I want to be married by February 2022”, he’ll make sure he proposes on time. Then, you both already have a date to work towards. There’s no uncertainty, at least, not too much.
Fair enough. So what were the next steps?
We officially went to meet our parents because you don’t want a case where you accept a proposal, and then, your parents are like, no. So the next logical step was to build a relationship between us and our parents so they know we’re serious.
I’d already told my dad about him, and I went with him to meet his parents. Then, we set dates that were friendly for everybody. After that, I had to draw up a list for the traditional wedding, and a different one for the white. I started asking friends for their wedding Excel sheets, and all that.
That’s a lot. What surprised you about the wedding preparations, and what didn’t?
I would say everything surprised me. Everything. First, I had no idea it would cost the extent of money I spent. But I think what really shocked me was how the wedding matters to parents as much as it does to you. The idea that your wedding is yours? More often than not, whether they’re bringing money or not, your parents are in charge. One parent would say, “I know you want it this way, but this is what we want.” The other one wants exactly the opposite. So you can’t just say this is what I want, and go to sleep. It also matters to them. And it’s not really from a bad place.
Like what, specifically? What were you parents/families’ expectations?
Okay, so my husband’s family is Catholic, and mine is Anglican. If you know these two Orthodox churches, you’d understand what it was like. It was the case of, “Where do we now get married?” I even have a Catholic background from my maternal side. So for a while, it was a huge conversation. When it looked like we would marry in the Anglican church, his family still asked why not a Catholic church? I mean, even if your husband has agreed to something, you still have his family to contend with.
Right
Also, Igbo people always go to their villages to marry. The average family has way better houses there than they do in the city. When you go, you have to add some value to the house. Maybe do a makeover, touch up the paint, clean, retile and so on. Things that ordinarily wouldn’t be a big deal.
But your parents would say, “No, this person is coming. We have to…” Or maybe, “You’re the first doctor in the family. This wedding has to be this or that. We can’t keep it inside the gate. We have to visit the extended family, the kindred, so that everybody passing through can see you and what you’ve done.” They just expected us to grant all their hearts’ desires, especially culture-wise. So compromises had to be made.
Like what?
I ended up getting married in an Anglican church in Lagos instead of a Catholic church in the east. Because we’d done the traditional wedding in the east, we wanted most of our loved ones, friends and friends of family who couldn’t make it to be part of the ceremony in Lagos.
How exactly did the decision go?
It went really well. Everyone was happy, and at the end of the day, nothing mattered. Just the joy on everyone’s faces.
You mentioned earlier that the wedding expenses surprised you. Tell me about that
As an Igbo lady, I had to tie a George wrapper. When I went to the market, I saw how ridiculous things were, like really, really pricey. You see people on Bella Naija and asoebi pages on Instagram, and you think, “Oh, this will not be expensive na. Max., maybe ₦50k.” Then, you touch the material in the market and hear ₦300k.
Even these wedding tailors on Instagram shocked me o; calling prices here and there. There were many times I wondered if I should’ve maybe saved more. But then, who wants to spend their life planning for a wedding that may or may not happen, so I just really managed everything. In general, the expenses got me thinking sha.
I had to walk around the whole of Balogun market to find something that worked with my budget o. And I ran away from IG tailors. LOL.
LOL. What about the formal introduction and bride price negotiations? Can you tell me about that?
I think my case was quite unconventional. When it comes to the typical Igbo family wedding rules, and what I even expected for mine, it didn’t end up like that. It was completely different, and I’ll explain. My parents are based in Port Harcourt, and my husband’s parents are in Lagos. So when I told my dad there was somebody who wanted to speak to him and express his intentions to marry me, he was like, “Who is this young man?” And I told him everything.
When we were to see my dad in particular, work came up, our schedules were scattered, so we couldn’t go. But my dad would have frequent phone conversations with him, and when it was time for the introduction in August (2021), his parents sent some of their relatives in Port Harcourt to see my parents.
They went with drinks for what we call Iku Aka — to knock on the door and say, “This is the person we want to marry?” At that point, my dad already knew my husband well. If we had gone to Port Harcourt to do Iku Aka, gone back again for the introduction, and again for the traditional wedding, I mean, all that travelling just didn’t make sense.
No bride price involved?
I come from a family of five girls. For the bride price, my dad often says things like he’s not selling his girls. But because our culture demands it, he went to his village to tell them, “What do I need to do to make this a peaceful process?” We’re from Imo State, Owerri, so they came up with this “normal” list, which I found very ridiculous.
I can imagine. How was it sorted?
My dad just met my husband’s dad and told him to bring the cash equivalent. When we went for my traditional ceremony, I saw them sharing the rice, and all those things from the list, to the women and men in our family. My dad didn’t make any trouble, and everyone just followed suit.
Wow. So no bride price madness? I’m happy for you
Hmm. There was a bride price for being an undergraduate, and different ones because I’m a graduate and a lawyer. They even had one for if I had a master’s degree or professional certifications. When I saw the list, I cringed. But I think my parents weren’t obsessed with that stage. They wanted to do what was right by where we were from, but they just said, “You know what, just do what you can do.”
So after they’d come to symbolically pluck you from your father’s garden?
LOL. We’d chosen a date when all our family members in the east could attend the Trad because a couple of people also couldn’t come down to Lagos for the white wedding. In our bid for the perfect date to accommodate everyone, we chose one we later realised we couldn’t get married on.
What?! How?
According to customs and traditions, Igbo people have four market days: Nkwo, Orie, Afor and Eke. In Owerri, we don’t get married on Eke market day. It’s believed if you do, the God of Eke would strike you with afflictions. In my husband’s place, they don’t get married on Nkwo market day. And what I mean is, even if the wedding is not on the day itself, you can’t go to a woman’s place to bring her back home on that day.
The main goal of an Igbo wedding is to sip the palm wine and give your husband to drink. That’s the most significant part, not the elaborate party. So imagine a scenario in which, on the day of the wedding, everybody is already cooking outside, and I get a message from my husband’s people that we can’t get married because it’s Nkwo market day in their own place, and they can’t come to my father’s home in the village. This was 4 a.m., so we were like, “what’s going to happen to all these caterers, all the guests?”
Wow. Sounds like a disaster
In fact. We had to start thinking. My husband’s people eventually came up with a plan to remove handing over the palm wine, because it would bring curses and all of that. They had to come the following day for that, so I had a two-way traditional wedding.
But guess what. The day we handed over the palm wine was now Eke market day. Remember I said in my own place, we don’t do wedding ceremonies on Eke. We’d already booked our flight to go back to Lagos the next day, so we couldn’t shift it. It was just messy. We had to do it hush hush in my father’s sitting room, and that was when the bride price was paid.
Again?
Well, even though they’d already sent money to buy the things on the list for the traditional wedding, there was still the main bride price. And all my dad collected was a ₦1000 note.
They put a lot of money on a tray and gave it to my father, saying, “Is this enough payment for us to collect your daughter?” Symbolically, my dad just picked some notes. I can’t recall if it was ₦1k or ₦500 notes they put on the tray, but my dad picked a note and said, “I’m not selling my child. I adhere (sic) you to take care of her. But I’m taking this one as a symbol of the agreement between our two families.”
And how do you feel about the whole experience almost a year later? What about it makes you happy?
I’m so glad I got to see all my relatives in the village. Looking at the pictures make me happy. Listening to our parents retell the stories of the trad day to their friends and how successful the event was makes me happy.
Our wedding album just came in yesterday, and I was grinning sheeeppiisshhllyyy (sic) as I flipped through… It made me smile to see our parents, siblings and dearest friends with sparks in their eyes and large smiles on their faces.
So yeah, the pictures and memories will always make me happy. And generally, I feel good about the experience. If I had to, I’d do the whole thing again. But maybe with me more in control. LOL.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
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.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Nanya Alily, a 25-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about working with her family to tell African stories through comic books, becoming more conscious of being Nigerian after moving to South Africa and how it has influenced her art and music.
You have so many things going for you at 25. What’s that like?
I see myself as a multimedia creative. That’s the easiest English term to explain how I’m a music artist, comic book illustrator and social entrepreneur all at the same time. And those are just the three highlights of my life amongst the million other things I do like content creation, commercial modelling and poetry.
How did drawing comic books start?
My family has a passion for drawing, so when I was very young, my parents put that into Vanimax Comix, where we illustrate stories about powerful African characters. My dad, brother, sister and I draw. So everyone except my mum — the mumager overseeing everything.
So, a family business?
Yeah, I became a part of it at 16. But my dad had been working on comics before I was born. Macmillan actually published his first comic, Mark of the Cobra, in 1981. My mum was always aware of his talent. So when she saw her kids had the same interest, she nudged my dad to put the company together in 2010.
Wow
Yeah. And every character tells a story that reflects who we are as individuals. We have Jack Ebony, a Nigerian super spy (created and illustrated by my Father); Super South Africa, Africa’s finest hero (created and illustrated by my brother); Moonlight (created and illustrated by my sister).
That sounds so cool. What’s your story?
The Amina Angels. They’re four Nigerian female superheroes from different tribes; Ifeoma Anyawu who’s Igbo, Nsse Henshaw from Calabar, Yewande Ajayi who’s Yoruba and Halima Danjuma who’s Hausa. I know there are a lot more tribes, but I was interested in bringing these four together for a start.
What influenced the creation of these characters?
My background. Growing up, it didn’t seem cool to be African. I couldn’t relate to some of the characters I watched in cartoons because none of them looked like me. And when I drew, my own characters were always people who didn’t look like me. The consciousness didn’t happen until I was 16.
What changed?
We moved to South Africa, and my dad started to share stories about his life with my siblings and me; our Igbo heritage, experiencing the civil war as a young boy — essentially, what it meant to be Nigerian. And I felt disconnected from it because the media I consumed never showed it. Becoming aware of this through my dad made me want to tell those stories.
Your dad opening up about his life was really sweet
It was. Those conversations made me think about the Amina Angels, which I started illustrating at 15. It changed the way I drew features, like the characters’ hair. And the questions I got in high school also piqued my interest in culture. A lot of my classmates asked about my Nigerian language and background. I had few answers, but they could tell me more about what it meant to be Zulu or Xhosa. Thankfully, my Dad shared his stories.
Since you didn’t entirely understand the culture, how did you tell your stories?
My family travelled a lot because my dad did. I was born in Lagos. We moved to Ghana and back to Lagos before we settled in Owerri, where both my parents are originally from. At some point, we moved to Benin before finally relocating to South Africa when I was 13.
All before 13? That’s pretty cool
Yeah. Although I spent most of my pre-teen years in Nigeria, travelling made it difficult to learn my culture and be rooted in it. But I don’t regret the experience. I got to see the diversity in Nigeria and Africa, and that’s what inspires my stories.
So how did you progress into music?
That’s the thing. Everything kind of happened simultaneously. I’d been singing since I was six and started rapping in Grade 10. In Nigeria, I’d follow my friends from class to a community music centre, and we’d write and record songs. Then, I got into quality music production when I joined my local church’s choir. That was the trajectory to becoming an independent artist.
You don’t make music with your family?
Not exactly. It’s the one thing I do alone, but my family still has some influence. My dad is my biggest fan and invests in my music.
When did you release your first song?
My official releases were in 2018 and 2019. Before then, I only uploaded my songs on Soundcloud. I felt ready to put some money behind marketing Flex (2018) and I Sabi Who I Be (2019)because I wanted people other than my family to enjoy my music. I also wanted to move on from the amateurish phase of being a musician. Now, I’ve just finished recording my first EP, Isimbu, which means “the first one” in Igbo.
What’s it like being a Nigerian artist in South Africa?
I think my music is well received in South Africa because it’s different from what they’re used to. My sound isn’t tagged to any particular group of people. Nobody fixates on it being Nigerian music even with the mix of pidgin or Igbo. It’s just good music.
So you’re an illustrator and musician, and a social entrepreneur, at 25? What’s going to happen at 50, please?
LOL. I have no idea. But I started the initiative (The Queen’s Goals) for girls when I was 20. It started out as talking to girls at a local high school in Johannesburg. I didn’t want it to be a one-off thing, so I got my sister, friends and a few women from the church involved, and we’ve kept up with it since 2017.
If you had to pick one version of your life to stick to, what would you choose?
I don’t think I can choose. Discovering new facets of my talent is what makes my life interesting. It feels like there’s no cap. I wake up one day, inspired to put a vision together and I do it.
Well, since you can’t pick one, what has been the highlight for you?
In a creative family, it’s harder to find your voice, so finding my own voice and identity is something I’ve loved, and translating all of that into art and music has been amazing.
How does it feel to share that with your family practically all the time?
We have our collective love for drawing, writing and telling stories. But everyone has their own baby they personally nurture. For me, that’s music. My sister wants to be a model, my brother loves animation and my dad is focused on writing and publishing. My mum is the “let’s go get the bag” woman; she’s a professional motivator and truly inspires us all.
LOL. She knows what’s up
LOL. And I guess what we have is a blessing. It works well for the business and our personal lives. Everything I get to do is a reflection of my background as a Nigerian Igbo woman. I want other women to see themselves represented in my work.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
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.
Today’s subject for #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Oghosasere, is a 25-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about the complicated relationship with her parents in Benin, changing her identity to fit into the Lagos scene, and finally reaching the bad b!tch status that didn’t last long.
Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me about your childhood.
I grew up in a polygamous family and lived in Benin city. My parents were previously married and met each other five years after losing their spouses. They both had two kids from their first marriages — my mum had boys while my dad had girls. Fifteen years later, they had me and I’m their only child together. By the time I was born, all their kids were out of the house, so growing up was boring and lonely. It should have been more interesting because we lived in the same compound with my father’s family but my mother was adamant about me staying away from them, especially my grandmother.
Why?
My father’s family were traditional worshippers. My mother believed my grandmother placed a curse on her because she didn’t want my father to marry a Christian. To my mother, her 15 years of miscarriages and stillbirths before having me were my grandmother’s doing. Hence the decision to name me Oghosasere which means “The one God allowed to stay” — a reminder of the ordeal.
My mother endlessly recounted this experience in the hopes that I’d be frightened, but it didn’t work. It simply made me curious about the mysterious old woman. I wanted answers and one day, that curiosity almost killed the cat.
LOL. What happened to the cat?
When I was three, my mother sent me out to play on my own because I had been interrupting her conversation with a friend. Once I noticed she was engrossed in the gist, I quietly snuck away to my grandmother’s house.
The front door was locked so I went to the backyard, and what I saw looked like a Nollywood scene: candles lit, slaughtered animals laid around, and my grandmother kneeling in front of a figurine. Nobody had to tell me to run before she realised I was there. Luckily for me, my mother didn’t even notice I was gone. Thank God for the sweet gist. LOL
Omo. What was the relationship like with your dad?
We were close. He was an easy-going guy, who was firm about his beliefs but also accepted my mother’s faith. Everything was great until he made it clear to my mother that he wanted a son and refused to spend any more money on my education. This didn’t change anything for me at the time because I was an oblivious four year old daddy’s girl. My mother, however, wanted me to have an education, and moving me to her sister’s house in Lagos was her only option because she couldn’t afford the school fees herself.
So after my last term in primary two, I was off to Lagos. It was my first time out of Benin, and it felt like a vacation. There was lots of food, games, and no rules about going outside alone. My aunt had a daughter my age and we played to our hearts’ content. Lagos seemed fun. I wasn’t lonely anymore so there was no hesitation when my mum asked me to stay while she packed her bags to leave.
I still went back to Benin on school breaks. The relationship with my parents was great. My father was excited whenever I was back, and we’ddrive to Mr. Biggs for their juicy meat pies, while singing along to Brenda Fassie’s or Yinka Ayefele’s songs.. Things didn’t change between us until I was eight.
What happened?
My father finally got the son he wanted with another woman. Our relationship went downhill from there. There were no more trips to Mr. Biggs or car karaokes together. He didn’t seem to care about me anymore. When I went back to Lagos after that break, the calls and texts stopped. I didn’t see the point in returning to Benin again.
I’m sorry that happened. What was Lagos like for you?
Stressful. No one could pronounce Oghosasere so I had to change my name. The kids at school were also mean. My classmates called me a village girl because I could only speak Pidgin English. Saying things like “How far or “Wetin” got me a good beating from my aunt too. Trying to become a Lagos girl took a toll on my confidence.
Secondary school was worse. I went from being called a “Village girl” to “Flat screen” because my uniforms were oversized. My aunty didn’t believe girls needed tight-fitted clothes. I resorted to using pins to hold the sides of my uniforms, but it didn’t make a difference — I was too skinny. “Flat screen” stuck with me until I graduated, and I dreaded every moment of it. I missed the simplicity of Benin.
Kids are wicked creatures.
Very savage.
Did you eventually get past the teasing?
Yes, my butt got bigger when I got into uni.
We thank God for puberty —
LOL. I still struggled with my confidence, but I felt much prettier in uni. The freedom after moving into the hostel also brought me relief. For the first time, I made friends and didn’t get bullied about things that made me a Benin girl. I partied, had shitty boyfriends, a lot of sex, and partied some more. No more baggy clothes or skinny legs, I was finally a Lagos babe and revelled in it. I thought everyone was on the same high of being young and free.
Unfortunately, the party days were coming to an end, and I didn’t get the memo early. My friends went from smoking weed and hopping between clubs to making solid plans about the next phase of life. They talked about things like getting a master’s degree, applying for jobs, and planning weddings. I was clueless and there was no one to speak to. My aunt was more focused on her daughter, while the relationship with my parents had become non-existent.
Would you like a relationship with them again?
I have to figure out my life first. I want my mum to be proud of her decision to take me out of Benin city.
What does figuring things out look like to you?
I’ve never dreamt about the future but I know it starts with letting people know my name is Oghosasere. My ten-year plan was to become a Lagos big babe but now, I’m owning my identity as a Benin woman living in Lagos and thriving.
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.
Today’s subject for #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Seyi Oluyole, the founder of Dream Catchers Academy for Girls. Seyi talks about being homeless at nine, finding hope in the future again through dance and motivating other girls like her that need dreams to survive.
Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me about Seyi before Dream Catchers Academy.
I’m the last born, and my siblings are much older than me — my immediate sister is nine years older than I am. That age gap limited how much I played around the house. So I spent my time curled up in front of our TV set after school to watch cartoons and music videos on NTA.
I also was never the kid who wasn’t sure about what she wanted to be. I didn’t get the “I want to be a lawyer” or “I want to be a doctor” vibe. I just lied to people about wanting to be a teacher, unprovoked.
LOL. Many of us lied too. How did you figure out what you wanted to do?
It took a bit of time. Probably would’ve happened sooner if my family wasn’t homeless by the time I was nine years old. My dad lost his job at the bank and my mum couldn’t keep everything together on her own. The country took an economic downturn in 2001, so finding a job was difficult for my dad. Things got bad so bad we had to sell our house, and eventually, we lost everything.
My nights became sleeping at the backseat in churches during night vigils and at bus parks when we couldn’t find a church. That’s how I went from lying about what I wanted to be to being hopeless about my future. There were only a few moments of bliss.
I’m so sorry. What were those moments?
The times I spent watching TV in shops while on errands or through the windows of people’s homes while we shuttled from place to place. On one of those occasions, a video caught my attention. An American singer — who I later found out was Jennifer Lopez — was performing, and she looked so intriguing. I loved the freedom her body seemed to experience as she danced. The energy she exuded from each twist, turn and leap felt liberating to watch. I tried a few of her moves on the way back home, and it was my first taste of the freedom dance brings.
Shakira would have done it for me, so I get it. What happened next?
LOL. Four years went by, and we finally moved into our own home when I was thirteen. My parents saved up money from menial jobs to rent a house at Ebute. Ebute is what you’d describe as Makoko without the water, but I didn’t mind it; we finally had a home.
Sweet! What about dance?
I got into dance when I discovered Beyonce. After being in and out of school for four years, I was in a new school where the girls raved about her, but I was clueless. I didn’t love the feeling of being left out, so I went home to find out about Queen Bey — thankfully, we had a TV again. I remember the feeling of validation I felt when I caught one of her songs on NTA. Beyonce was like a mirror — a lighter, closer version of me. She represented everything I wanted from dance when I watched Jennifer Lopez for the first time. So I started to mimic her when I was home alone.
Did you eventually go to dance school?
My mum tried to get me into one dance school, but it was too expensive. My parents’ finances were getting better, but there was no way we could afford the ₦50,000 per term. Other than that, there was no opportunity to study art in Nigeria, especially for a low-income family like mine.
So what did you do?
I started a dance community for the girls in Ebute that couldn’t afford to go to school. There were afternoons on my way back from school that I noticed girls around my age wandering the streets. I started talking to them to get familiar.
Some hawked because their families couldn’t afford to send them to school; some were from broken homes. Their realities were different, but they all felt the same sense of abandonment. I got involved in their lives. Sometimes I gave them my lunch money, and my mum was kind enough to let some of the girls sleep at our house.
And your mum didn’t mind?
She gladly opened up her home. My mother loved helping people. When you’ve had nothing to your name, it makes you understand how much people suffer. Maybe that’s why it wasn’t an odd thing to ask in the first place.
My mum had also become a pastor so this was probably missionary work for her.
That’s so inspiring.
Yeah! Once the girls were in the picture, dance went from being something for me to being motivation for other people. We started hanging out on Saturdays at the church while my mother went in for rehearsals. Since I didn’t have any professional experience, I showed them everything I learned from watching music videos over the years. They loved it. My only condition for being a part of the rehearsals was promising to go to school if they could afford it.
The smiles on their faces whenever we danced round Ebute are still so vivid. In those moments, I knew I wanted to build something that would last. But trust life to happen when you least expect it.
Ah. What happened?
We moved. Two years after we landed at Ebute, my family moved to Ikorodu — I was fifteen. I can’t remember how many girls we had at the house, but only four of the girls from Ebute could move with us, and I kept teaching them to dance.
I went to uni when I was 16, then gambled with faith a bit. At 20, I applied for a master’s degree in Human Services at a university in Nebraska and the Society of Performing Arts Nigeria (SPAN). I got admission into both. America seemed like a more practical option — it was America, and I had a sponsor. As much as I wanted to dance, I was scared that I couldn’t really make it as a dancer. I didn’t see a lot of women making a living then. Besides, I had a sponsor, a business owner giving scholarships at the time.
So you went to America?
I did. Then my sponsor passed away.
Ah—
I was sad to lose him, but that wasn’t my main issue. I was volunteering at a non-profit before my sponsor passed, so I focused on it while I tried to figure out my next step. It aligned with my passion to work with girls from low-income areas.
I loved the job, but the kids in America? They were just too entitled. Nothing like my Ikorodu girls. They complained about the type of meals they got, clothes, everything. I didn’t feel fulfilled. My family tried to push back, but America was not for me. So I left.
What was for you?
I went back to Ikorodu when I was 22. Syncing again was relatively easy, but I needed money — to rent a house for myself and the girls I wanted to teach. The four girls I started off with eventually got into uni when I left. That was a strong motivation for me to go back and try to help other girls as well. So I got a job and used the money I earned to fund the programme for two years. I rented a house, started to look for girls in Ikorodu that needed a home, moved in with them and that’s how Dream Catchers — an art academy for underprivileged girls — kicked off in Ikorodu.
Nice. How do you choose a child to help?
Things have changed a lot over the years, but Ebute is always on the list of where we find the girls we help. It will always be home.
When I was the only one in control, picking a child was based on vibes. Now, we have a board that selects the girls based on certain criteria that match our limited resources. For instance, we rarely sign up girls above nine, because it’s difficult to change core habits they’ve built. Health needs are also key factors we consider in our process. As much as we want to help every girl that needs us, it’s equally important to be honest about our current capacity. It’s a heartbreaking reality, but we have to turn away some of the girls until we have the right partnerships that enable us to cater to special health requirements.
The first few weeks in the hostel are usually the toughest. I have to make them familiar with things like toilets and how flushers work. Sometimes they go weeks without talking or act out from the trauma or fear they experience at home, but they eventually connect. Therapy is an important part of the program for us. We push as much as we can to help the girls but we’ve had to let some go as well. One time, a girl scaled the fence in the early hours of the morning so we had to send her home. It’s never easy once you’re attached to a child — I had to start therapy to get through the emotions.
As much as we have tough moments, they are the funniest kids you’ll ever meet. And the talent? E choke. These days they write their own songs, and I couldn’t be prouder. I can’t go more than a day without going to the house to play with them or make sure they’re okay. I wouldn’t trade loving them for the world.
That’s so sweet. What’s your vision for them?
I don’t want them to put themselves in the “I can’t do it because I’m a woman” box. It took me too long to get to this point, so I want the girls at Dream Catchers to get an early start on their dreams regardless of their economic background. I want Dream Catchers to be the Juilliard of Africa — a legacy that outlives me. Right now, we have 27 girls, and we’re expanding the school to accomodate 100 girls — we want the girls to maintain a tight-knit community. Once we hit that target and have the resources to support each child, we’ll be expanding to other parts of Nigeria and then Africa. 26-year-old me would have been scared, but this 30-year-old Seyi has the structure to take on big dreams.
And you? What do you want for yourself?
I want to go to dance school — I’ve waited too long. I turned 30 this year, so I’m taking life by the horns and trying again.
30 and dangerous. Love it. What do you do when you’re not chasing these big goals?
I try to make friends. Sometimes, it’s hard to connect with people in between everything going on at Dream Catchers. So this year, I’m open to building friendships. I’m currently looking for a Gen Z friend that can show me how TikTok works — it’s a hazard to millennials. Other than that, I buy a lot of ice cream from Hans and Rene and walk my dogs — Amsterdam and Stormi Peru.
This year, we got to document so many different stories that show us that being an African woman is not one dimensional. There are different layers to each woman’s story. Although there might be similarities, each story is it’s own.
These stories range from battling PCOS, to marital and fertility issues to enjoyment and what it means to live your best life. As we look forward to a new year, here are ten What She Said stories you have to read.
Imagine one day starting your period, and having it just not stop? A period lasting for ten days is already difficult as it is, but what if it went on for as long as 123 days? This article is about a woman’s journey with PCOS, how it affected her mental and physical health, and finally getting a solution to her problem. Read about her journey here.
I laid down for an ultrasound, and he pointed at my ovaries on the screen and said, in the most condescending tone, “See that? You have what we in the field call polycystic ovaries.” After we’d sat back down, he wrote me a prescription for 4 packs of birth control, handed it to me, and said, “Lose some weight and you’ll be fine”. That was all.
It is common practice in a lot of African countries that by a certain age, women should be married with children. A lot of people believe that young women who say they neither want to get married nor have children will live a sad and unhappy life. So, we spoke to a 61-year-old woman who neither got married nor had children and she told us about how much she enjoys the life she currently lives. Read about her life here.
Initially, I did want to get married but the men were never faithful to me. They were disappointments and I just decided not to get involved with them anymore. I am very happy with my decision. I have my family around me and they take care of me. They always make me feel welcome.
This woman has had a tough life. She had to deal with abusive friends, a tense relationship with her mother, and also cervical cancer. It’s no surprise she only wants to experience peace for the rest of her life. Read her story here.
I recently discovered that I was circumcised. Apparently, when I was younger, I stayed with an aunt while my parents travelled. One night while I slept, she cut off my clit. Because of that, I’m always tense in my sleep, as if I’m expecting to be attacked. Everything is a trauma response for me. From the way I walk, to the way I sleep. The first week of therapy left me really depressed.
What does enjoyment mean to you, and how do you prioritise it in your life? This article is about a woman who doesn’t want a life that includes any form of suffering. She would do almost anything to protect her peace, even if that thing is leaving her husband and raising her children alone. Read why she did it here.
When I was younger, I did not handle being rejected well. There was a time a guy said he liked me but didn’t want to date me. I was stunned. Like how dare he? Why would he allow common sense to derail him from enjoyment? I am a big believer in enjoyment, so this did not make any sense to me.
Ever wondered what it’s like to have your beliefs and traditions demonised? Well, this woman does. Born a traditionalist, she talks about what it’s like navigating being a traditional worshipper, changing the narrative on what its like to be a traditionalist while constantly demonised because of her beliefs. Read about it here.
People have this perception that if you’re a traditional worshipper, you have to look a certain way. So I am deliberate about the way I dress and everything. My life mission is to show people that they can “worship idols” and be baby girls and boys while doing it. I think this helps with how people see me — they may still want to bind and cast me, but it helps.
For the woman in this article, there were a lot of things she wishes she knew before she got married. She also thinks it would have been a lot easier in the beginning if she had waited a while before she had her child. The early part of her marriage was filled with children and arguments with her husband, but getting a job helped fix that. Read how here
If I could go back in time, I probably would have married someone who was like two years older than me. There were some conversations we’d have that used to annoy me. If I wanted to express myself, he’d think I’m arguing. He’d say, “Why are you arguing? I can be your brother; I can be your uncle.” And I’m like, “No, you can’t be. You’re my husband.”
The African first daughter experience is being made an adult while still a child. Imagine having to care for and look after children while being stripped of your own childhood? The woman in this article got her childhood taken away from her by her parents. Read more here.
This is why I feel like a second mum. I never had a chance to be a child. Everything that concerned my siblings was done by me. If they made any mistakes, I got the blame. They tell me I’m supposed to know better because I’m older. I have no space to myself. I started cooking for my siblings when I was eight. I couldn’t make soups, but I was making sauces, potatoes, yam, etc. They still expect that from me.
PCOS has a lot of life altering symptoms such as depression, weight gain, and infertily. After dealing with multiple miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy, the woman in this article gave up on conception. Read her journey here
You keep asking yourself why your body does not function the way it is supposed to. I had a picture of a family of four, but it wasn’t happening because my body was failing me. My son wanted a companion and friend. He used to cry when people who come to visit go back home and was always so emotional when people talked about their siblings. I just wanted to give him that.
There’s a lot to be learnt from the lives of older women. The woman in this article gives us an insight into her life. From facing abuse when she was sent to live with her half-sister at the age of seven to her brother’s wife helping her heal and forgive. Read her story here.
My brother’s wife encouraged me to forget about the bitterness. She took me everywhere she went and made me believe I could make something out of my life. She treated me like her own sister and made me feel wanted. She even updated my wardrobe, and gave me some of her clothes. Since she was a teacher, she helped with my school work. She is a wonderful person.
Starting over is never easy, especially when you were so close to finishing. The woman in this article wanted to study Agriculture, but ended up studying pharmacy to make her father happy. From falling sick to being put on probation, read here to find out why she was asked to withdraw in her final year.
In my third year, I carried over almost all the courses I took. There was no definite reason why. It was rather, a combination of a lot of things. I was sad, tired, and exhausted. I had a lot of clashing classes because of the courses I was still taking from my lower class. Studying got even harder to do. There were back to back tests and I was extremely anxious because I was scared of failing again. It was a really difficult year for me.
2021 was a very interesting year for all of us. Interesting in the sense that we were all still recovering from the effetcs of the lockdown in 2020 while also dealing with new coronavirus strains. We took a lot of hits as individuals and as a society, but here we are now.
The first What She Said story of 2021 was written on the 6th of January, 2021. Since then, we have told a variety of women’s stories. Ranging from their relationship with religion, death, family, and sex work. So, to wrap up your 2021, here are ten of the most-read What She Said stories of 2021. Enjoy!
Death has a way of giving us a new outlook on life. For the Uju Anya, the woman in this article, the death of her mother allowed for her to realise how short life is. It also taught her about happiness wherever she can. Read more here
Her death was one of the things that caused me to understand how short life was, that stress and heartache could cause chronic and ultimately fatal illness, and how important it was to find happiness and fulfilment while I was still here to enjoy it.
What is the difference between loving someone and liking them? How can you love your children and not like them? Is it possible to not like your children? A lot of people believe that women automatically like their children simply because they birthed them. However, this is not the same in this womam’s case. Read more here
I would spend hours staring at my child, expecting to become happy by just looking at her. Nothing happened. I faked happiness though. I faked the tears. Everyone around me was so excited; I just had to. And I couldn’t tell anyone.
Religion or a lack of is a major part of Nigerians’ lives. How then do you navigate a relationship with someone who does not have the same belief system as you do? Well, read here to find out what changed in the life of this 62-year-old woman.
My parents found out when they dropped by his house and he asked them why they were there. When they got back, they asked me, “Dupe, did it not take you some time to become a Christian? What makes you think he won’t?” And so we got married.
In this story, we are introduced to a 23-year-old Nigerian woman who was being blackmailed and stalked by her then boyfriend. She talks about how the police and lawyers had to get involved, and the role her aunt played in all of it. Read here.
I travelled for a bit. He found out where I travelled to and actually followed me to the state, but he didn’t know exactly where I was. He tried to reach out to me through his useless friends that were also cheating on their girlfriends and wives. I blocked all of them.
Getting broken up with must mean you are free to date again, right? Unfortunately, not for this 29-year-old woman in this story. After being cheated on and broken up with, she tried to move on, but her ex wasn’t letting her. From online harasssment to threatening to leak her nudes, this woman went through a lot in the hands of her ex-boyfriend turned stalker. Read more here.
The day I posted a picture of me and my new boyfriend online, I noticed that some random account on Twitter was favouriting all my photos. Not just the recently posted ones. The account went as far back as a year. I ignored it because I assumed it was all those random bots. Then I started getting DMs from another anonymous account who said that they had my nudes and would deal with me.
What’s the most important thing your life? How far will you go to protect it? For Koromone Koroye, the woman in this article, her relationship with God means the most to her, and she guards it with all of her heart. That’s why she kept trying to find a community that understands the importance of her relationship. Read more here
My experience there led me to do some research. As I read the Bible, my relationship with God grew. Nobody “led” me to Christ. I just found myself being like, “This makes sense and I think I learnt it wrong for a long time.”
“Ashawo”, “Prostitute”, “Whore”. These are some of the words used to describe women irrespective of what they do. For the woman in this story, flying around the world in first and business class is enough for her to be labelled an “ashawo”. Read more here to find out how she navigates it.
I never feel safe travelling alone because men have harassed me physically and verbally. They assume I’m a prostitute because I travel alone. At the airport, people call me ashewo.
The 18-year-old in this story is convinced her mother hates her. You might hate your mother too if she put pepper and hot water in your vagina and eyes when you were 11. Read more about her relationship with her mother here.
It was terrible. When the lockdown intensified, my mum made me stop eating at home because I wasn’t dropping money for food. So, I would wake up in the morning and go to my friend’s house next door. We would work out, cook and eat. She fed me for about three months. Then, my ex complained I spent too much time there, so I wasn’t allowed to go there anymore.
Have you ever considered having friends a full-time job? Do you think its possible to live a somewhat expensive lifestyle on your friends dime? Well, the woman here answers a few questions on what it is like having rich friends and how it’s basically her job. Read more about having rich friends as a job here.
Sometimes, I can get as much as ₦600,000 a month. It’s not constant but I’d say that I make more than two to three million naira every year just from having rich friends.
There are a lot of misconceptions about what it is like being a prostitute. From how much they earn to how they even get involved in the business. In this What-She-Said, the 23-year-old woman talks us through her life as a prostitute and how much she loves her job. Read here.
I’m aware that being a prostitute is not a sustainable idea. I’d no longer be as young or as flexible as I am now and would earn less and no longer be as sought after, so I’m going to milk it for as long as I can.
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.
The subject of today’s What She Said is a 24-year-old woman who talks about studying pharmacy to please her parents, getting withdrawn from school after failing a semester, and finally studying what she wanted.
Let’s talk about your childhood
Growing up, I was a very shy child. I wanted to be noticed and to also stand out, so I decided I would be either a journalist or a military woman. However, as I grew older, that changed.
When I was 12, I fell in love with agricultural science when I was taught in school. Seeing green leaves and plants made me feel excited, so I told my mother I wanted to study that.
What did she say?
She actually didn’t say anything. What she did was to tell my dad. There’s nothing you tell my mum that she won’t relay back to him.
One day, while my dad and I were out, he brought it up. He didn’t tell me directly to study medicine instead, but it was there.
When I was 13, my brother wrote JAMB. My dad wanted him to fill medicine as his course of study, but he refused. I remember seeing the hurt in my dad’s eyes. In that moment, I made up my mind that I’d study medicine and please him. My plan was to farm as a hobby once I made money.
So, you studied medicine?
I actually didn’t, but I didn’t study agricultural sciences either. I applied for a medicine related course – pharmacy instead. I felt I couldn’t do medicine because I wasn’t exceptionally smart. Plus, since it was a medicine-related professional course, I’d still work in the hospital.
How did your dad take it?
Initially, he was annoyed when he found out that I didn’t choose to study medicine, but I explained to him that although I had a high chance of getting a good jamb score, it might not be good enough to get me medicine because of how competitive the course is. It’s funny because I was actually right. All the people that got around the same score I got were given either veterinary medicine, biochemistry, anatomy, physiology or microbiology.
How did studying pharmacy go?
It started off sort of well. I had one carryover in my first semester and I doubt I ever recovered from it. I got the carryover because they had changed the test format. I thought the test was objective, and so I read for that, only for them to make the test subjective. I cried so much when I saw the result because that was the first ever major failure I had gotten in my life.
I was determined to bounce back in my second year, but it was hard because I couldn’t take some courses until I passed my carryover. From my very first year studying pharmacy, I knew I was going to have an extra year.
It gets worse. In my third year, I carried over almost all the courses I took. There was no definite reason why. It was rather, a combination of a lot of things. I was sad, tired, and exhausted. I had a lot of clashing classes because of the courses I was still taking from my lower class. Studying got even harder to do. There were back to back tests and I was extremely anxious because I was scared of failing again. It was a really difficult year for me.
I’m so sorry. Did your dad know?
He didn’t. I was too ashamed to call home. I wanted to fight all on my own, so I decided to repeat the entire session so I could retake all the courses I failed. To my surprise, I failed again. This time, it was because I fell sick during exams. My test results were good, but the exams were awful. It destroyed my CGPA, and I was placed on probation by the school.
Honestly, I should have applied for a deferral. It’s just that the thought didn’t cross my mind until one of my lecturers saw me repeating a class. When I told him I fell sick, he mentioned the deferral, but it was already too late. I was on probation.
It was after being put on probation I decided to tell my dad what was going on. We spoke extensively, and I still convinced him I could do it. So, I pushed on to year five, with courses from year three and four still on my neck and a probation.
I managed to pass, but my overall CGPA was not enough to get me out of probation. I was constantly praying for death. I’d rather die than see myself disappoint my father.
Having pcos didn’t make it easier for me. The increased anxiety and depression PCOS brings made everything even harder.
The first time I had my period was when I was 11, and it was absolutely painful. Since then, it comes about once or twice a year. Nobody enjoys seeing their period, so I wasn’t bothered because I felt I was God’s favourite.
In 2017, I went to see my gynaecologist to complain about my lack of a period. After some tests and ultrasounds, I was diagnosed with PCOS. However, I only decided to get treatment for it in 2018 because the people around me were worried by the fact that I hardly ever saw my period. When I went to the hospital, the doctor told me that I didn’t need to worry about it and should come back when I want to have a baby.
Not really. The fact that I don’t see my period regularly doesn’t bother me. I even prefer it this way. What does bother me is the other side effects like anxiety, depression, weight gain, acne and a host of others. Even the infertility aspect doesn’t bother me as much. I’m a muslim woman, and if my husband marries more than one wife, I could help take care of my stepchildren. Also, I’m very open to the idea of adoption.
When was the last time you saw your period?
In March, after my gynaecologist placed me on some medication. I bled for 20 days consecutively and decided I didn’t want to do that anymore, so I stopped taking the medication. I can’t be dealing with school and never ending bleeding.
Yes, about school. What now?
Well, because my CGPA wasn’t enough to get me out of probation, I was withdrawn from the faculty of pharmacy in my final year. Then, I reapplied for a change of course to the agriculture department.
How is that going?
They haven’t approved my application yet, so my parents are still trying to convince me to study pharmacy again, but I don’t think I can. If my application is denied, I’d rewrite JAMB next year and apply for agriculture.
Do you think all of this could have been avoided if you just studied Agriculture from the beginning?
Honestly? Yes, I do. Agriculture is a four year course. It doesn’t have a schedule as tight as pharmacy, and I genuinely enjoy it. They also wouldn’t have asked me to withdraw from the faculty because I have a CGPA that’s less than a 2.4.
Does that make you resent your parents?
No, it doesn’t. Why will I resent them because I failed? I wouldn’t have if I had passed and gotten good grades.
Trying to get my life together again. I don’t sleep as often at night anymore because I keep thinking of how I can no longer be dependent on my parents. I also worry about failing agricultural sciences. What then will I do with my life? It’s only book I know; I’m not a business person. I just need everything to work out for me.
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.
TW: Sexual Assault
The subject of today’s What She Said is a 19-year-old who talks about various times she’s been assaulted, and how she feels liking sex invalidates her assault.
Tell me something about yourself
I don’t talk about it much, but let me tell you about one of the times I was assaulted.
We had harvest that day in church and I was wearing my school uniform. I was standing at the back of the church because my mum told me to wait for her there.
While I was there, a random man holding a child came to stand behind me. The church was full, so I didn’t consider it a big deal. Plus, he had a child. I thought he was safe, until he humped me. At first I thought it was an accident, but he continued. I felt his hand up my school uniform skirt. I was 12.
I’m so sorry
Yeah, but unfortunately for me, it wasn’t the only time. The second time I got assaulted, it was by a man who worked for my father. He had come over to take something my father sent him to pick up, and I was home alone. It was so random, the way he pinned me against the wall. I didn’t even know how to process it.
It happened again with a woman in my family. I don’t know how we were related, but she was always in the family house. My parents didn’t believe me when I told them she raped me. Nobody did.
It went on for long with different people. Teachers, lecturers, priests, friends, family members, even random people.
I don’t tell people about it, or think about it or anything. I try to repress my emotions as much as I can because there’s no point to it. It’ll happen again and what then?
All the assault made it almost impossible for me to have sex. I could kiss people because the people that assaulted me never kissed me, but the thought of anyone touching me takes me back to those people who touched my body without my permission.
I think that’s why when I had sex for the first time, I didn’t let my partner touch me.
How?
We were in an all girls boarding school, and she was in the room beside mine. She was the only one that actually ever listened to me. She didn’t act like the people who just kept waiting for their own turn to speak. She seemed genuinely interested. Everyone in school thought we were dating, but we weren’t.
I remember the first time we kissed. It was during one of our regular long conversations. She told me she knows I want to kiss her, and it’s better it happened sooner. So, we did it. I loved it.
When her hands tried to go under my skirt, I told her to stop and she did. She told me that she wanted me to touch her, but it was okay if I wasn’t ready to be touched yet. That was the first time I had sex. She didn’t touch me, and I loved that.
So, did you only have sex with women?
Yes, I did. I think I’m a lesbian, but then I am attracted to non-binary people as well. Basically, I’m attracted to anyone that isn’t a cis-man.
Before, I considered myself romantically attracted to men, but then men always want sex. You’re nice to a man and he wants to sleep with you. You talk to him with a soft voice and he wants to sleep with you. It’s even more annoying because they don’t take no for an answer. Most of the men I’ve met either force you to have sex with them or beg you until you say yes, and I think if you have to constantly beg someone to sleep with you, then doesn’t it sound rapey?
Unfortunately, I think I’m like the men in some way. I want to have sex with everyone, and I mean everyone.
After the girl in secondary school, I think I got addicted to fucking people. In secondary school, girls were everywhere, and they were always looking for someone to sleep with them. They’d ask me if I wanted to, and I’d say yes.
At a point, it felt like they were giving recommendations. After I sleep with one person, it’s like she’d tell her friends and they’d tell their friends. I grew a bit of a reputation.
But you never let them touch you?
Yeah, I didn’t. I simply considered myself there for public usage.
The first person to touch me was the first girl I had sex with. Overtime, while I was fornicating with half of my school and more, we got even more comfortable.
One day, we talked till 3 a.m. and then we had sex till 6 a.m. It was the first time someone touched me consensually, and I liked it so much, I think she created a monster. Without knowing how good sex felt, I already wanted to sleep with everyone. Now, I knew how good it felt and I didn’t want to stop. I wanted everyone to feel the way I felt.
So, you were like some orgasm Santa Claus?
Something like that. I just wanted it to feel good for people, the way those people that assaulted me didn’t make me feel, but the way that woman did.
However, it made me feel like a fraud. I thought that people who were assaulted were meant to be afraid of sex and could barely stand people touching them, but here I was, fucking everyone that asked. It was like I was doing the whole assault thing wrong. I promise I’m not a bad person, just a horny one.
Internalised hatred for myself. Also, because of the way my family treated me. I was always considered the black sheep or the spoilt one who always did bad things like getting into fights. Maybe that’s why they didn’t believe me when I told them I was assaulted.
I don’t think my parents liked me as much. I acted out most times, and did things that got me into trouble before I thought about the consequences of my actions. I mean, it didn’t make sense to have sex with someone on a staircase in secondary school, but I did it anyways. Luckily, I wasn’t caught.
A lot of people think I’m weird and strange for acting the way I am, but maybe I just need help? I don’t plan on actively searching for it. I think I’m good.
I hope you do what’s best. What’s life like for you now?
I’m taking it one day at a time. Remember how I said people think I’m usually weird for the way I act and the jokes I make? Well, I met this girl a month ago who shares similar kinks with me.
She’s fine with me always wanting to have sex all the time, and maybe it’s because she’s just as sexual as I am. I’m in love with her, and I think she’s the love of my life. I wonder what life will be like for us. I want to ask her to be my girlfriend.
I hope everything works out well for you
Thank you. I hope so too.
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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 today’s What She Said is a 23-year-old woman who loves working as a prostitute. She talks about wanting to be a nurse when she was younger, the challenges of her current job, and her dream of teaching mathematics.
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.
What’s an early memory of your childhood?
In primary school, we had one of those career days where you’d dress up as what you wanted to be when you grew older. I wanted to be a nurse. I remember wearing my white gown and carrying a thermometer around to check people’s temperatures.
I liked the idea of taking care of people, and at that point, that was all I wanted out of my life. To have a job where I’d spend the whole day caring for someone else.
So, did you study nursing?
I didn’t. As I got older, the idea of caring for people still appealed to me, but nursing seemed so stressful and hard. Also, after I heard all the years they were going to spend in university, I wasn’t interested anymore.
My secondary school had a tutoring program where they’d pair one really smart student with a student who was struggling, to see if the grades of those students would improve. I was really good at mathematics, so I tutored three students. By the end of the term, their grades improved, and I realised teaching was something I wanted to do.
I studied mathematics education in university and I’m working on getting my master’s by next year. After that, a PhD. Right now, I’m just working so I can save up enough money for all the things I have to do.
Glad you found what you loved. How’s the saving money part going?
Well, it’s going great. The goal is about fifty thousand dollars in savings before I leave for school. Also, to invest and earn some passive income.
I currently don’t have a job that makes me a fixed income, but I want to believe I’m doing okay. When I initially decided I wanted to be a sex worker, it was rough for a couple of months, but it’s been two years and life has finally balanced enough for me to say I can save fifty thousand dollars in a year and some months.
It was in 2019 and I was at a restaurant when someone propositioned me. He sent a waiter with a card that asked me how much it would cost for him to take me to his hotel. At first, I was shocked. Other than randomly being called a prostitute by men and women who were trying to insult me, nobody had actually offered to pay me to have sex with them. I was also curious to see if he was serious. I was working at a bank at the time, and the money coming in wasn’t great, so I decided to play along with it. I told him to pay me 125k because I thought he wouldn’t, but he agreed.
I want to believe that the combination of being drunk, broke and curious led me to do it the first time. Looking back, I should have been more careful because I didn’t tell my friends what I went to do or who I went to do it with. I just followed a stranger to a strange place.
How did that go?
It was average sex and he gave me the money in cash. When I was getting ready to leave in the morning, he gave me an extra 20k and his card and told me to keep in touch. At the time, I was still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. I got home, had a nap and woke up to almost 150k in cash beside me. I knew I would call him back. I just didn’t know when.
I called my best friend and explained the entire thing to her. After she scolded me for my recklessness, she helped me come up with a plan. We decided I would need to invest in my appearance, and that’s how the money that man gave me became capital for maintaining the business that is my body.
Was he the only one you slept with?
Of course not. As he and I saw more often, he took me along to parties with his friends and I met more people. They’d give me their numbers and I just did what I did. They ranged from businessmen and businesswomen to politicians and their wives.
Not all the people were old. The youngest person I ever slept with for money was 35. We met at a sex club, and she was bored and wanted to try something new. Honestly, I would have done it for free, but money must be made.
The money wasn’t a lot in the beginning. It was very dependent on how many people I slept with, and at that time, I actually had to have sex with people. I wasn’t just an escort or some fine girl they were trying to impress. It was an average amount of 350 thousand naira a month. Way more than I earned in the bank job I quit after my first month as a sex worker, and even more than anything I would have earned at any job I was doing at the time.
As I expanded my circle and paid more to take care of myself, the price went up. Now, sometimes I’m paid in dollars or pounds, and I can make millions of naira in a month.
It’s hard work constantly being beautiful, but it’s honest work. I don’t have sex with as many people anymore, so most of my money comes from people trying to impress me like young guys I meet at the gyms, clubs, restaurants, etc.
Do your family members know?
No, and I intend to keep it that way for now. The thing with being a sex worker is constantly having to explain your means of income. To my parents and brother, I’m an entrepreneur. Most sex workers have other jobs they use to mask what they actually do. We live in a very weird society and I’m not ready for the onslaught that’ll happen once they find out the money I’ve been giving them to spend is sex money.
I do plan on telling them eventually, but maybe after I’ve done my master’s.
What’s the hardest part of your job?
There are so many hard parts, it’s unbelievable. One thing that stresses me out is always having to worry about your appearance. In this industry, you need to always look good. Even if you’re just going to pick up garri from the market, you need to put in effort.
Also, sicknesses. I’m very careful when it comes to sex. I encourage my regulars to get tested regularly, and so do I. I also always use a condom and visit my gynaecologist as often as possible. I have an IUD, so I’m covered on the pregnancy front, although I did get pregnant once but miscarried it.
I can’t tell people what I do. There’s also harassment. People just feel like since you do what you do, they’re free to constantly harass you and try to touch you without your consent. It’s crazy and absolutely disgusting.
Lastly, dealing with people’s spouses. There is almost always one partner threatening me with some form of violence or the other. All I do is provide a service, I’m not trying to marry them or anything. Will you shout at me if I was a dry cleaner?
For as long as I can. I’m aware that being a prostitute is not a sustainable idea. I’d no longer be as young or as flexible as I am now and would earn less and no longer be as sought after, so I’m going to milk it for as long as I can.
I love my job, but I also have bigger plans. Teaching is my passion. I just want to be in a classroom and change people’s lives. I also enjoy studying mathematics.
Do you have any regrets?
That maybe I should have charged that man more on my first night. I’m happy and able to travel to a lot of countries by myself, whenever I want. I can afford way more than the basic necessities, and I have more free time than I know what to do with.
I’m great, and life is treating me fantastic.
Are there any misconceptions about your job you’d like to clear?
Firstly, not everyone hates their job as a sex worker. I love being a prostitute. Also, a lot of people hate their jobs and also only do it because they need to survive. Why then is prostitution a problem?
Secondly, I am not selling my body. I’m selling a service and that service is sex. My body is not for sale in any way.
