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atheist | Zikoko!
  • Love Life: We Started Our Relationship as Christians

    Love Life: We Started Our Relationship as Christians

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

    So tell me, how did you both meet?

    Rita: Did we really meet? We were coursemates at university, so there was no particular standout moment like, “This was when I met him”. It was just like, here’s this cute guy I always see in class. 

    Ivan: Well, I noticed her right from our first year in school. That was around 2016. I think she was trying to log into her laptop for something. I was behind her, and I noticed her picture was the wallpaper. Very narcissistic, but you know…

    Rita: Wow.

    Ivan: LOL. I was like, “Is this person in my department?” I asked one of my friends and found out she was in a relationship at the time. Interestingly, his name was Ivan as well, so I just closed my mind from that direction.

    What made you re-open your mind to the direction?

    Rita: In second year, our friendship circles began to intertwine and found ourselves always sitting beside each other in class.

    Ivan: Our surnames even followed each other in the school register, so we were constantly thrown together for group projects, labs, etc. Around that time, I also got to know she was single again. So, even while we were friends, I knew I liked this babe and wouldn’t mind if we started something. I tried to drop one or two hints here and there.

    Did you take the hint, Rita?

    Rita: Honestly, I was about to enter my hoe phase. You know, trying to get out there, but then I was also feeling him. I thought he was hot, so even though I was dodging his hints left and right, we’d still find ourselves randomly flirting. 

    One day — and this day is burned in my mind — we were together at one slightly deserted spot in class. I was chewing gum, and he asked for one, and I was like, “Come and take it”. It was obviously in my mouth, so just imagine the heavy innuendo.

    I said that then I walked up the stairs, and he followed me. We didn’t kiss immediately. We just stood at that point and talked for about an hour. I still don’t know how we didn’t get tired. We stood so close together, and at a point, it was like I’d basically merged into his body. In my mind, I went, “It’s about to happen.”

    Is it getting hot in here?

    Ivan: I asked if I could kiss her — because, consent — She said yes, and we did. That’s basically how we started dating.

    Awww. So what were the first few days like?

    Ivan: Interestingly, our relationship also coincided with the period I first started questioning my faith. This was towards the end of 2017. In fact, just before we became official, I told her I was now an agnostic.

    Wait. Rewind. Were you both religious before?

    Ivan: Well, we used to pray together sometimes and go to our school’s chapel, but it’s not like we were very spiritual like that in our relationship. Rita was from an Anglican background, and I was Pentecostal.

    Rita: Both his parents are pastors.

    Ivan: Yeah. I had a lot of interaction with the church setting growing up. I could — and still can — quote scriptures off the top of my head. I had a very good relationship with the Bible. But from my second year in university, I started questioning my faith. I’d read some books that made me ask myself questions I’d never asked before, and I didn’t know how to phrase what was happening. I wanted to allow myself the space and time to think through the questions properly, so I told everyone, including Rita, that I was now agnostic.

    My friends laughed and called it a phase. Some of my friendships experienced a lot of friction at the time.

    How did it affect your new relationship?

    Rita: It wasn’t really a big deal to me. I’d always been something like a distant, lukewarm Christian. He was more of the firebrand church boy. So, his decision to be agnostic wasn’t something that bothered me. It’s not like I dismissed it, though. We discussed it as best as we could, but it wasn’t a deal breaker.

    Ivan: But then I returned to Christianity shortly after, at the beginning of 2018.

    That was short 

    Ivan: I concluded it wasn’t worth losing my friends, so I went back into the fold and threw myself into it. Almost like I was trying to make up for leaving in the first place.

    Rita: Again, it didn’t really change much for me. It was just like, “Welcome back”, and we went on as usual. Then in 2019, I became an atheist.

    I feel like I’ve missed some steps

    Rita: It was our fourth year in school, and I was just turning 19. A lot was going on with me. My grades weren’t bad, but everything just felt overwhelming. We studied engineering, and the workload at that point was heavy. It was hard balancing all that. Plus, I was at an age where I was trying to be responsible and learn how to navigate the world, but it was just a lot.

    I started getting closer to God. You know how they say, seek Jesus so something would happen. It wasn’t really doing it for me. Nothing was happening.

    I’m a very introspective person, so I tried to figure out what the problem was. I decided to learn more about myself. And after reading a lot of feminist books, I fully identified as a feminist for the first time. I’ve always had feminist ideals, but I think that period triggered it.

    Soon enough, the Bible started to conflict with my feminism. There were a lot of things jumping out, and I started to realise, “The Christian God doesn’t like me as a woman. Do I really belong here?” Even before I decided I didn’t believe in God, I already disliked him. I decided I didn’t like this character, even if he was real. I started to read books for and against the Bible. I’d read materials by Christian apologetics and atheist books alike. 

    I concluded: I’m an atheist. I didn’t tell Ivan immediately because school was on break, and we were home in different states. It didn’t seem like something I could say over the phone.

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    So, what happened next?

    Rita: There was a Twitter argument about Christians, and we were on opposite sides. He was on the side of the Christians, and at a point, I was just like, “I can’t keep pretending again.”

    Ivan: She said she didn’t think she believed in God anymore. It was a heated conversation, and in the end, we decided to break up till we got back to school so we’d decide if we were still compatible. She’ll claim now that I called two days later, asking for us to get back together.

    Rita: That’s exactly what happened. He said the break-up wasn’t necessary, and we could figure things out together, but as a solid babe, I stood my ground and insisted we stick to the break.

    Guess what? I broke down and asked him out again myself, like three weeks later, in the early hours of New Year’s Day 2020.

    Scrimming

    Ivan: We still intended to talk about the faith thing when we saw. So, I spent time gathering information from Christian apologetics like Ravi Zacharias and William Lane Craig so I could convince her about God. I watched debates between apologetics and atheists to get material. To be honest, I was also trying to convince myself, but I ended up with more questions. 

    I remember crying one night because my entire belief system was falling apart right before me. I eventually got to the point where I decided I was irreligious. 

    What happened next?

    Rita: We didn’t have the compatibility issue again, so we continued our relationship. I’ve always been aloof, with some pretty contrarian views, so people weren’t surprised when I opened up about my atheism. But it was different for Ivan. He’s quite open, so friends directed all their questions and complaints to him. Since I became an atheist first, there was this notion that I’d turned him away from God and pulled him into the devil’s den, not minding that he’d done his research and decided on his own. And this was one of the reasons I refused his attempt to reconcile us then, so it wouldn’t be like I influenced him.

    Israel: It was a difficult time. I’d told a couple of friends about my decision because I didn’t want anyone to interfere, and the news somehow spread to even people outside our friendship circles. There were rumours like, “Oh, Rita pulled him just like that”, and “Ivan has gone to follow Rita”. It was quite insulting. 

    It felt like people were trying to create a different story because they didn’t like the outcome of a personal decision, and it was hurtful because it was coming from people that were really close to me. Most of them didn’t come to actually sit me down to have a conversation, save for a female friend who did and was really nice and supportive about it.

    Many of my friendship dynamics changed during that period. Of course, some also thought I’d just backslid and would come back. They were wrong.

    Did ditching religion affect your relationship?

    Rita: I battled depression for a year after becoming an atheist. With religion, you have a sense of security that someone in the sky can do things for you. Losing that suddenly was hard. I had nowhere to go when I was anxious about something. I’m not that close with my parents, and I couldn’t go to friends because they’d want to “pray for me”. But having my partner beside me helped greatly.

    Ivan was my support system. We went through everything together, sharing YouTube videos, books and answering each other’s questions. Sharing knowledge and bouncing ideas off each other really helped strengthen our new beliefs.

    It’d have been much more difficult if I didn’t have him by my side, and I’m really grateful for that.

    Do people try to change your stance on religion?

    Rita: Initially, yes. But it’s not easy to challenge someone who’s well-read. I can tell you straight up why everything you’re saying doesn’t make sense. People don’t try to convince us anymore. They might still be praying silently for us, though.

    Ivan: My parents don’t know about our beliefs yet. I moved out after school for work and to be in the same city as Rita, so I haven’t really been in the same space with my parents. I’ll tell them one day, maybe when I’m out of the country.

    What does the future look like for you both?

    Ivan: We both plan to travel out of the country for our Master’s at some point. We’ve been together for five years, and I honestly can’t see myself in my head with someone else. I don’t know what the future holds, but I just see us being together.

    Rita: Aww.

    On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your love life?

    Rita: 10. We’ve been friends from the beginning, and everything just feels easy. Our communication, our love, it just comes easy. I feel like nothing we’d encounter would be difficult for us to navigate. And we always want to spend time together. It’s become obsessive at this point.

    Ivan: I wanted to be funny and say 11, but yeah, 10. I can talk to her about anything without overthinking it. Even when we argue, we don’t fight, shout at or call each other names. We talk ourselves through every single one of our problems. She’s managed to convince the entire world that she’s a hard guy, but she’s ridiculously romantic. She dey burst my brain steady.

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    NEXT READ: We Love Each Other But Can’t Live Together

  • How 6 African Atheists Are Navigating Relationships With Religious Partners

    How 6 African Atheists Are Navigating Relationships With Religious Partners

    Does love really conquer all? What’s it like for an atheist to date a religious person in Africa? These six African atheists share how they have navigated their relationships with religious partners.

    African Atheists

    1. Adilah*, Namibian

    I dated a Christian woman and we made a rule at the beginning of relationships to quickly quench heated debates. But we’re not robots, so once or twice, we almost had really hectic theological debates. But we managed not to let them snowball. When we were first getting to know each other, I asked her how she saw us ever working out, considering how very strongly atheist I am, and how very strongly religious she was. I promised to drop her off at church every Saturday (she’s Seventh Day Adventist) and pick her up after. She thought it was very sweet. If she sneezed, I’d say, “God bless you,” not because I believed in this God that must bless her, or because it’s just what people say, but because she believed. When I was going through stuff, she would tell me, “I know you’ll be fine, because I pray for you to the God you don’t believe in.” Despite my nonexistent faith in God, I would be grateful.

    2. Idaraesit, Nigerian

    There’s no law that says atheists can’t date religious people, but it’s very weird to me. I didn’t use to care about religion before — because I don’t believe in it, obviously. But growing older, I now prefer not to date religious people, especially the ones who staunchly believe in hellfire. I once fell for a beautiful woman who was deeply religious but she kept on invalidating my worth just because I didn’t believe in her god. It messed with my self-esteem so much and it was hard to move on. 

    Later, I dated non-dogmatic Christians who don’t think hell exists and those who don’t go to church. These relationships were a little better but they still got weird at some point. I really hope my next relationship will be with an atheist because I feel that if I and my partner are on the same page in terms of religious beliefs, we may last longer.

    3. Rita*, Zimbabwean

    I prefer to date atheists as it’s better not to have someone trying to convert me or praying for my soul to be saved. But we’re in Africa and my primary target audience is small. So I typically have to make do with what I get. My last relationship was with a Nigerian Muslim guy while I was living in Cape Town — the first Muslim I ever dated and it lasted less than a month. We were fucking like rabbits but he still thought he was better than me because I don’t subscribe to Islam.

    4. Fundiswa*, South African

    My boyfriend and I are super together. His family loves me and everyone thinks no couple could be more perfect. I’d like to marry him but she’s a devout Christian, and I don’t believe in God at all. He has the purest heart I have ever seen but doesn’t think my heart can be truly pure unless I convert to Christianity. 

    It didn’t use to be a problem and we dated for two years, but now that we’re thinking of the next step, I’m considering if I should just convert for the sake of it. I don’t think religion should stand in the way of our love. But then again, I won’t mean it and I wonder if he’ll see through my insincerity. I have never been more stressed. But one thing I’m sure of is that I don’t want to lose him.

    5. Kwame*, Ghanaian

    I’m an agnostic engaged to a Muslim but she’s not pious. I don’t know how, but I’ve started to be more open-minded about her faith. I used to love watching her pray, Then one day I joined her and it felt so peaceful, like Yoga, but even more comforting. Since then, I’ve prayed with her whenever I can, even when we’re not in the same location. She calls me and tells me she’s about to pray and I stop what I’m doing to join in. I’ve even started learning Jumat prayers little by little. and even though I don’t believe in her religion. 

    I still have my reservations about meeting her family, and I don’t know where this road leads, but as long as she’s in my life, I want to experience every bit of her.

    6. Femi, Nigerian

    I’m nonreligious and my bae is Christian. My last two relationships before this one were largely the same — they were hypocrites. They committed all the sins in the Bible but drew the line because I didn’t believe in their god. But my current significant other is more of a liberal Christian.

    I feel like I’ve influenced my current partner religiously more than she’s influenced me sha. She doesn’t go to church as much as she used to, nor does she pray as regularly as before. I wake up and narcissistically thank myself for existing, so that’s not good. Anyhoo, we’ve been going strong for two years and one month and it’s been my best relationship in forever. Religion has never been a problem for us.

  • How I Became A Hedge Witch

    How I Became A Hedge Witch

    As told to Mariam

    I have known Wendy for about three years and during this time, I have watched her go from being irreligious to religious and back to being irreligious. As an irreligious person myself, I was curious about her journey so sometime in March I asked her. Here’s what she told me:  


    Hedge Witch

    I grew up watching the people around me practice different religions. My grandparents would curse people who wronged them in a shrine but I would also follow them to church on sabbath days during holidays. My mum told me that when she was a child, water children came to her in her dreams and woke up with cane marks on her body.  She told me her parents took her to a spiritualist who cut marks into her thighs and the dreams stopped. I found out my father was a Freemason when I was 8 but I never judged him for it. He taught me a lot about African spirituality and folklore because he was a King. When he died, they combined traditional rites with a church service. 

    When I went to boarding school at 14, I learned that Jesus had to be the only way to salvation. The matrons often singled me out to say that I was not Christian enough. In my third week at school, one of my classmates lied that he had sex with me and the boarding house mistress believed him. That night, she flogged me for about an hour, asking me to confess my sins. When I didn’t confess to it, she asked me to give my life to Christ because I  was the seductress sent to ruin the life of the good Christian boy who was from a family of evangelists. I did what she asked so she could stop flogging me. 

    The next morning, my hands were swollen so I asked her for pain killers. She said I had to bear the consequence of my sin. I kept trying and failing to be Christian enough until I left that school. One time, the school’s proprietress insisted that I attended the school’s Easter holiday retreat at Obudu Ranch. She even paid for it when my mum didn’t. At Obudu, they held a deliverance service to cast the demons out of me. After prayers, they counselled me to stop masturbating. I didn’t know how to tell them I had never done it before. 

    They believed every rumour about me because I came from a secular school. The funny thing was that I wasn’t even attracted to boys then — I only liked girls. I spent the rest of my time in that school going from one deliverance service to another. I learnt the perfect fall that signified that the demon had left my body. 

    Somehow, I remained a Christian. After secondary school, I joined a popular teenage ministry where I became a leader. I moved into the ministry’s family house to be closer to God. As a leader, I contributed to outreach events and the church’s growth with my time and money. After a while, I started to feel underappreciated. On my 18th birthday, as is the tradition, the family house members gathered to pray for me. They kept alluding to my stubbornness in the prayers, saying that they prayed God helped me with it. I was annoyed because it seemed like something they had all discussed, so I moved out of the house within a few days. 

    The more I studied the bible, the more my doubts grew. No one was willing to answer my questions about Christianity. Instead, they labelled me a troublemaker. So I stopped going to church and abandoned all things Christianity. I focused more on learning about my ancestors. Rumours that I was a lesbian started flying around the Christian circles I used to be a part of. One day, a Christian brother was sent to convince me to come back to the church. Instead, he kept asking me to have sex with him. It was a hilarious experience for me and proved my point that everyone was faking it. 

    When I turned 23, I survived an accident so I decided to give Christianity another chance. I understood that they are supernatural forces guiding us and I felt like Christianity would help me understand it better. But I was older and able to see misogyny in the church as what it is so I didn’t last long. I had also become aware of my sexuality, and even though it is possible to be queer and a Christian, the church isn’t welcoming of queer people. I got tired of defending my humanity as a non-binary person to my church members so I left. 

    I don’t believe that people can be good all their lives and still go to hell for not declaring Jesus as their saviour. I hate the idea that people can rape other people then ask for God for forgiveness afterwards and end up in heaven. I do not want to be in the same heaven with people who have caused me harm — it doesn’t make sense to me.  

    I do not believe Christianity is the only path to God. Currently, I do not worship any deity. I have become what white people would call a hedge witch. I work with herbs and roots as a way to connect with my ancestors. I chose this because it is what resonates with me. My family has always worked with herbs. My granddad had a herb that used to cure cataracts. I intend to continue in his path as it is where I have found peace. 

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  • 9 Nigerians Talk About Dating People Outside Their Faith

    9 Nigerians Talk About Dating People Outside Their Faith

    What does it mean to date someone of a different faith, especially in a country like Nigeria where religion is a major topic? For this article, I spoke to 9 Nigerians who shared their stories with me. And for the first time, I found myself wondering if love truly conquers all.

    Ndidi.

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    I dated a Muslim guy for roughly 2 years, and it was actually a really nice relationship. He is Hausa and I am Igbo, so it was weird at first because we seemed like two very different people. But it was lovely for the most part.

    We were very supportive when it came to each other’s religion, and during Ramadan, I stayed up with him for Sahur when he had to wake up and eat. I would and gist with him till he needed to pray and go to bed. He was also very supportive with my fasts and holidays too.When we had questions about the other’s religion, we would ask and educate each other without judgment or without any aggression. I personally loved hearing him talk about the Quran.

    When I was with him though, I had to forgo alcohol for a while because he doesn’t drink and he couldn’t pay for it if he took us out. He also couldn’t buy me human hair. He said something about it being haram. But he was very respectful of my decisions and never tried to force anything on me. Eventually, the relationship ended. He wasn’t ready for commitment and I had to move on from that. Till today though, we are really good friends with each other.

    Kafayat.

    I am from a family of mixed religious backgrounds. My mum is a Christian and even though my father is an Alhaji, his own mother is a Christian. I grew up aware of these religions, so I never really had a problem with either of them. When I eventually converted to Christianity, I retained my Muslim name since it’s my first name. It was all cool until it was time for me to get married.

    My mother-in-law said she was upset during the introduction when the Alaga said “Welcome to the house of Alhaji.”

    She told me, later, that it felt like a bell was being rung in her head when she heard that. According to her, she was okay as long as the wedding was done in her church RCCG, and that she doesn’t want a nikkai.

    That’s when I spoke up. My dad is liberal because he has a Christian mum. But how will I tell him, an Alhaji who has gone to Mecca 5 times, that his first daughter would be married in RCCG and not my mother’s church which is Anglican, or even a mosque?

    That’s how the battle started. She told her son that if he marries me, his ‘enemy’ will die, and that ‘they want to Islamise him.

    After we won that battle of the church to be married in, my mother-in-law said “Is there a way that the name Kafayat won’t be on the wedding IV?” She also said I should try and make sure that the chairman of the wedding would be a Christian, and that I should influence my dad not to bring his Muslim friends.

    Even though I married into the family, I did not change my surname. My husband thinks I am doing feminism, but it is because his mother refused to let me keep mine on my wedding invitation. If she is ashamed of my name being in the wedding IV, then they might as well keep their surname.

    The wedding chairman was a Muslim who has a Christian wife he’s been happily married to for 50yrs without needing to convert the wife. After the wedding, my mother-in-law kept throwing jabs like “You know my son was raised in a Christian way.”

    But guess what? The said son is now an agnostic who is gradually becoming an atheist. Three years later, I’m the one going to church. My mother-in-law wants me to drag him but each time she says it, me too, I remind her that “I was raised a Muslim, so I don’t know how to win souls.”

    For me and my husband, the constant thing is that he makes me cook pork. I hate pork because it is fatty, but he would say it’s because I used to be a Muslim. We intend to raise my kids Liberal.

    Damilare.

    I started dating my girlfriend towards the end of 2017. I was still a very committed Christian at the time. But by the second half of 2018, I left the faith. I wasn’t hurt by anyone, neither did I fall into bad times. I just gave a honest look at the things I believed in and was convinced of since childhood and realised I had no rational justification for them.

    Anyway, the problem was how to tell my girlfriend. At this time, we were very serious about our plans, dreams, and future together. Some of these things were centred around our faith, which I had now left. I knew I couldn’t hide something that important from her even though I was scared of losing her. She wouldn’t want to be ‘unequally yoked’ with an unbeliever like me. I concluded that moving on with the relationship like nothing significant had changed would be unethical. It would be changing the terms of the relationship without her knowledge or consent.

    So, I mentally prepared for a break-up. And told her. I started by gently explaining why I no longer believe. It was the first time I’d share it with anyone. I didn’t call myself an Atheist — I didn’t want to trigger her. I just wanted to be heard without any unnecessary bias creeping in. She was devasted. I remember the hurt in her voice when she said, “So you won’t pray with me again?” It broke my heart since this was something we shared together. She didn’t make the decision to break up then, but she told me it was a deal-breaker.

    The next few weeks were tense. But after reading about Atheist-Christian couples on the internet, I decided I wasn’t going to allow religion end us. I spent more time just being myself with her — caring, honest, understanding. I focused on the things we shared in common, reminded her that I was still the person she fell in love with. I also made a few compromises. I agreed to go to church with her once a month (though that changed with the pandemic). When she forgets a verse, I help out. I remind her to attend her online meetings. We are not trying to convert/deconvert each other. When pastors goof online, I don’t rub it in her face — though we might have conversations about it. She lets me know even though she’d prefer a different outcome, she’s still in love with me and committed to us.

    The relationship is over 3 years now. We’re getting ready to marry, hopefully, this year. We have talked about kids, how we raise a family. We hope to let them make their choices while focusing on raising healthy, stable kids. We still talk about religion. I don’t think that conversation will ever end. But it’s a conversation with love, respect for each other.

    Franca.

    I am a polytheist dating an atheist. I believe all Gods exist, my boyfriend believes none exist. I think our common ground is that we both trash talk Christianity, Islam, and major traditional worship. I draw the line at astrology though. Astrology has not caused anyone actual hurt. My ex at the time used to laugh at me and my “astrology.” She told me I was being silly. My boyfriend however realises how important this is for me. He joins me to meditate if I ask, and when I tell him I pray for him, he tells me thank you. He knows it’s something that gives me peace and purpose and he respects that. Would that stop him from dissing religions in my presence? No. Do I join in? Yes. Because as much as I acknowledge these religions give me peace, I also acknowledge that they’re shit. And failed a lot of people.

    Favour.

    I was a tongue-speaking Christian in my university days and I dated this Muslim babe. Or maybe a situationship is the right word for it. We ended up going our separate ways because she tried converting me and I wasn’t standing it for it. In hindsight, it’s funny because I eventually explored Islam, and now I am irreligious.

    Abdul.

    I’m an agnostic atheist: I have a clear disbelief in the existence of God and I don’t participate in organised religion. However, I was born a Muslim. My girlfriend is a Muslim, with big hijab and all. A mutual friend introduced her to me and we clicked. Back when I met her, I was still a Muslim although I was skeptical about it.

    I had no reservations or hesitation about her religion at first; many of my family members are also Muslims. But as time went on, I became more vocal in my apathy to religion and God. I have a Twitter account where I post Atheist stuff and all, and this causes issues between the both of us.
    We try to make things work out but it was a big issue at the end of the day. She might be praying while I’m eating. I try to compromise though, I pray when she’s around, participate in Ramadan fasting, etc.

    Her sister is the wahala, always trying to stop things. Our parents are not aware of anything. And since I still use my Arabic Muslim name. I still put on the facade of a Muslim for them.

    I can’t say where the relationship is going, but marriage is probably not going to work.

    Similoluwa.

    I am a Christian — a pastor’s kid with every nerve, bone, and fibre dipped in anointing oil. He is an Eckist, he attends Eckankar, but he’s a rather unserious member.

    We met while I was in medical school through a friend and we hit it off immediately. At first, we unanimously decided to be friends with benefits and I was all out for it. I guess it was the pastor’s kid part of me that wanted something interesting and quite different from the conservational upbringing I had. I wanted to experiment and explore. Our FWB relationship lasted all through my last year in medical school and then we fell in love.

    He’s the type of guy who has a Ph.D. in curbing his emotions and I am okay with it. But then, I believe even the strongest of “hard guys” fall when they witness someone they really like fighting to stay alive in and out of the hospital, several times. This was what happened to us. Neither of us knew when the feelings started nor when it blossomed beautifully but early this year we knew something had shifted, and we were deeply in love with each other. But I am a Christian. And he is an Eckist.

    Yes, I’ve had the ‘do-not-be-unequally-yoked-with-unbelievers’ mantra play repeatedly in my head. In fact, I wanted to end it at a point, but I couldn’t. Local girl was already in love, but let me not lie, he’s empathic, kind, loving, sacrificial. All of this was what kept me going despite the disparity in beliefs. I have been in previous relationships where, once they learnt about my health challenges, they left. But he stayed, and this is one of the reasons I am holding him close because, with him, I’ve never felt healthier.

    While we were still friends, my mother discerned somehow (I still wonder how) that he’s Eckist and she advised me to break things off, but I didn’t. He happens to be my brother’s friend and all my brothers are all cool with it, except my eldest brother who isn’t aware.

    He’s quite understanding, so we haven’t really made any compromise. I tell him I’m going to church and he says jokingly, ‘pray for me’. The one thing neither of us does though is throw jokes about our religions; that’s a sensitive one.

    We have come a long way and we have several long ways to go. Do I know how to work out the kinks of telling Popsy and Momsy about him when the time comes? I honestly don’t know. Being the only girl with a lot expected of me in the marriage department, I try to not let the pressure get to me. Right now, I am just basking in the realisation of knowing there’s a gorgeous black man who has my back at all times and is undeterred by the health challenges present.

    Blessing.

    I’m a Christian who is currently in a relationship with a fellow Christian from of those very conservative denominations. His dad is an elder in their church, and his older brothers are in the ministry. One is a pastor, the other one is an evangelist. His mother is a Sunday school teacher.

    The first time I spoke with her, she gave me rules and regulations on what is applicable in their family. Me I was shocked oh. Like, excuse me ma, it’s your son I’m dating. What are all these rules?

    According to her, I’m supposed to burn my trousers, no fixing of nails or hair, no earrings or make-up, and I have to join their church and do away with my evil worldly non conformist friends. I sha said yes ma to everything she said, but there’s no way I’m abiding by man’s doctrines.

    I won’t lie, it’s been tough though trying to manage his family. I remember the first time I visited his elder brother. They had a one-year-old baby girl who was running from me. Normal children’s behavior, as usual, but the mother kuku chalked it up to the fact that I fixed my nails and that her daughter doesn’t like such. Me sef I smiled and said “Ehya, the baby would have to get used to it oh, cause aunty likes long nails.”

    I’ve been at the receiving end of obtuse judgment. They make me feel like I’m unworthy and not even a Christian. And it’s even more annoying to think that we’re all Christians with different doctrines but I’m somehow viewed as a sinner.

    My only consolation is that my boyfriend is more accommodating and he is more receptive and tolerant.

    Remilekun.

    I am a Muslim, but I have dated out of my religion four times. The first was the hardest. He was Celestial, and they were calling him Cele Boy in our house. It was like a war. My mom gave me serious issues with him. I am very stubborn so I went ahead anyway. The boy was so patient too.

    When her birthday came, he made her a very big cake. We threw a surprise party for her together. By then, he had already won my siblings’ hearts. He’s a very playful and jovial person so it wasn’t hard. As for my mom, she was bothered about what her family members will say so it was something else entirely.

    The breakthrough was one day I was with him and then I got a call that I should come home ASAP. He rushed home with me and we saw that my mom had fainted. He literally carried my mom on his back to the car and paid all hospital bills before my dad came. The next day when my mom felt better she was very grateful and never complained about our relationship again. In fact, they became so close that he would visit her when I was not home and they would gist for hours. But then we broke up.

    When my mom heard that the next one was Christian again, she wasn’t having it. She said, ‘I let you have your way the first time, can’t you do what I want for once?’ I said, ‘I can’t because you can’t live another 60 years and I will be stuck in a marriage I entered to please you.’ This time, the fight was more serious. We weren’t speaking to each other. If she talked to me, it was to insult me or to say something savage.

    I was working then, so I would leave home very early and not come home after work. I would go out with friends till very late just so I could come late and avoid her. But she always found me. She would talk and talk, I would have to block my ears just so I could sleep.

    She even told my aunt in Abuja. That one called me one early morning, told me to open the Quran and started quoting Quranic verses. I can’t remember it in full details now, but it’s the one that says ‘they are not part of us and we are not part of them.’

    You can’t imagine how sad I was. Someone that doesn’t understand you or know your struggles, calling you to advise you on something as important as your relationship. After that call, I renewed my energy for fight with my mom. The hypocrisy annoyed me. Her best friend is a Christian, for crying out loud. I was mad at her for discussing my matter with people I wasn’t close to.

    She had decided to have her way this time, and I had decided to have mine too. I called her sister who I’m close with and explained to her. I told that one that my dad is a Muslim yet he doesn’t pray. He only remembers God when he’s broke. Is it about just being a Muslim by name? The fight went on for a long time.

    My mom hates not knowing what’s happening in her children’s lives so we settled eventually and she gave me conditions. She said if I marry him we must do Nikkah. I said I agree. We must cut our children’s hair when we born according to Muslim rites, I said I agree. She gave some other conditions which I agreed to cos the guy I was dating was very flexible.
    That was how we settled that one. But then we broke up and I met the third one who turned out to be a Christian too.

    There was no issue with that one because by then she had already gotten used to it. But then we broke up too, and presently I am dating another Christian.

    QUIZ: What Kind Of Relationship Works For You?



  • What She Said: My Mother’s Tragedy Taught Me To Live My Best Life

    What She Said: My Mother’s Tragedy Taught Me To Live My Best Life

    For this week’s what she said, we talk to Uju Anya, a 44-year-old woman. She tells us about leaving Nigeria with her mum because of her abusive dad, discovering she is lesbian, not bisexual, and becoming an atheist.

    Let’s start from the beginning. Where did you grow up?

    I was born in the city of Enugu back when it was Anambra state. My dad is Nigerian and Igbo. He was in law school in England when he met my mum, who was from Trinidad, Tobago. She was in nursing school doing midwifery. They got married in England and had my older sister, then moved to Nigeria in the early 60s to pretty much help build the republic. During much of the Biafran war, my dad left my mum with his family, while she had two children under 10 and was pregnant with the third, so he could go hang out with his mistress.

    Wow. That’s rough.

    My mum was taking care of her children and in-laws and running, escaping from bombs from village to village.

    After the war, they built a solid life in Enugu, had two more kids — I was the last child. They had me 1976, and I lived in Nigeria for the first 10 years of my life.

    What changed?

    My parents’ marriage was chaotic. My dad was a philanderer, an absolute whoremonger. He had a bunch of women. One was more regular than the others. Eventually, he married and brought her into the house.

    At first, my mum was not okay with him having these other women, but she turned a blind eye to it. However, when he married her and demanded that she live in the same house which they built together, she couldn’t take it. My mum plotted her escape for two years. 

    In 1986, she secretly took me and my brother, who was 13, to the United States. My older siblings were older than 18, so she didn’t take them. We all reunited later in the US when they came to live with us. I wrote a whole Twitter thread about it.

    How did this move affect your relationship with your family?

    In Nigeria, I was raised by my mother, an army of nannies, the house help, aunties, cousins, grandmothers, but not my father. My father was the first son amongst many sons. He was also the wealthiest one at the time. Picture this: a rich Igbo man with a chieftaincy title. He was traditional and conservative, always working or travelling, and when he was around, he was surrounded by staff or visitors or socialising with adult family members and too big and powerful a figure to bother with small children. Plus, he was not an affectionate man. So, I did not have a personal relationship with him in any meaningful way. If he had gone away, I wouldn’t have missed him — and I didn’t when we went away. 

    My mother and I were so close, I slept in her bed until I was seven or eight years old. I was her confidante, and she talked to me about everything. She didn’t try to protect me from the knowledge of the workings of grown-ups and grown-up relationships. It was inappropriate, the amount of adult information she told me. But I was also a very nosy and precocious child who had a lot of time alone in the house when my mum was working. I went through all her stuff, her papers, read personal letters. 

    Tell me about what happened after moving.

    We moved to Montgomery County, Maryland, the DC metro area — and there, not Nigeria, is where I consider my home. I grew up there, went to high school there, then I went to university in the New England region of the United States. So Hanover, New Hampshire for undergrad at Dartmouth College and then I lived in Providence, Rhode Island, where I did a master’s at Brown University, Andover, Massachusetts, right outside Boston where I taught at Phillips Academy.

    Wait — how many cities have you lived in?

    Let’s see. There was the DC metro area, I moved to Brazil for a few years. When my mum got sick, I had to come back. Then I got married, moved with my now ex-husband to Los Angeles so he could find steady work as a digital artist and animator in film and television. After 12 years, with two kids, I moved to Pennsylvania for work. I’ve also lived in Venezuela and Spain.

    How did you meet your ex-husband?

    When I was an adolescent, I was attracted to both boys and girls. I thought I was bi for pretty much my adult life. I dated women in college, but only when I was away in school. On holiday, at my mother’s house, whenever I went out with a woman who couldn’t pass for a “friend” because she was butch — and those women are my favourite — I would meet them down the street or at the place we were going. I brought girlfriends to my house but never said who they really were. There was no way I could openly admit that I was interested in and dating women at home. Home was not only extremely Nigerian and West Indian, it was also religious. I could only openly live as queer when I  lived by myself in college, and afterwards when I was living abroad or renting my own place.

    Then I fell passionately in love with the man who became my husband. I consider him the love of my life. At 28, there was the pressure to get married, and for two years before meeting him, I was living with a woman in Brazil. Rumours were flying among my family members that something “funny” was going on with me. So there was pressure, but I didn’t get married under duress. I was relieved to find a man I loved and sexually desired because previously I had a lot of trouble reciprocating men’s affection for me. So, I married actively and willingly and passionately for a good long time. 

    He knew I loved women, and during the marriage, I was openly bisexual. Eventually, towards the end of our marriage, I realised I was not bisexual; I was a lesbian. And that was ultimately what broke us up. I couldn’t continue living with a man knowing I exclusively wanted women.

    Did your mum eventually find out about your sexuality? 

    My mum never knew I was a lesbian or even bisexual. At least, I never discussed it with her. If she suspected or heard family rumours, she never told me. She died before I divorced, so I never had any conversation with her about why my marriage ended. 

    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.

    Were you still Catholic at this point?

    No. I stopped being catholic long before. For context, my mum was such a devout Catholic, she almost became a nun. In Nigeria, she gave it up for her husband’s religion — Anglicanism. When we came to America, she baptised us immediately. I and my brother attended Catholic schools up until university. 

    From the beginning, I was one of the troublesome kids that had questions and didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to ask them. Like, none of this shit makes sense. Can somebody explain all this to me? 

    I would get in trouble for that, but after all the yelling and punishment for asking questions, ain’t nobody still answered my fucking questions.

    Eventually, I abandoned Catholicism because it was anti-woman and patriarchal. I started reading feminists back when I was a teenager and getting ideas that just didn’t match with Catholicism. But I wasn’t ready to abandon religion and God. So after I left Catholicism, I experimented with traditional African religions in Brazil. It was funny because I was an Igbo person worshipping Ifa.

    Why a traditional religion?

    It seemed more realistic. The gods were more like intermediaries than gods. They had human attributes. They engaged with humanity, and women were leaders in these religious groups. Women had power and there were female gods and deities as well — God wasn’t just this one angry white man. 

    You read history, colonialism and imperialism. You read about feminism, and they still want you to worship these people. I wasn’t comfortable with that. So I did a little bit better during my African religion phase, but it still required me to hold competing ideas in my brain at the same time.  

    I couldn’t push aside my knowledge of biology, physics and logic for supernatural truth, dogma and hierarchies. Religion and a belief in the supernatural became more and more uncomfortable when it bumped up against what I understood to be reality and the way reality functions. 

    What was the tipping point for you?

    My views on goodness changed. I was raised to believe that you needed to believe in God to be good or moral. But godly people were some of the biggest assholes I knew and so much of the torture and violence that I experienced or watched and read about other people experiencing came from believers BECAUSE of religious beliefs.

    My ex-husband was an atheist who was also raised in an atheist household and society. He was the most moral person I had had any kind of close contact with. This was somebody who did not lie or raise his hand to me or to our children. The one time that I, in anger, attacked him physically, he held me. This six-foot-five 250 pounds man held me very, very closely and said, “No violence,” and put me down.

    I had met atheists in school, had professors who were atheists, but they never swayed my religious beliefs; I didn’t have daily intimacy with them. When I finally had a personal relationship living, talking, learning, and experiencing things, experiencing values and ideals in live-action with somebody who was not a believer, I saw with my own eyes that one could be good without God. So, I let God go.

    How did your family take your bold ideas and beliefs?

    Before Twitter, I was a big mouth on Facebook, which was the family village square. Facebook was difficult for my family members, and whatever I said on Facebook caused problems for me. For example, every Nigerian knows that our houses are extremely violent and adults beat children in awful ways, and I would say, “Don’t do this. It is perfectly reasonable and possible to raise respectful, well behaved, and functioning children without beating them.” And sparks would fly. My family members would say, “We heard you were calling your family abusive on Facebook.”

    There was always this idea that I was washing dirty laundry, disgracing our family and giving us all a bad name. Whenever I talked about gay anything, not even about myself, family members complained I was shaming them. I had a psychotic uncle that would use this to argue for my dad’s inheritance. He would say my father’s line was cursed with homosexuality and witchcraft, and that’s why we don’t deserve our inheritance. 

    When I came out as a lesbian, with pictures of myself hugging and kissing my girlfriend at the time, I had to deal with phone calls from three different continents.

    In the end, I deleted Facebook. I mean, I left Facebook for another reason. I didn’t wanna continue on that site with how it was functioning to undermine democracy in the US and around the world, like genocides and disinformation campaigns being organised there. But when you leave Facebook, you leave a lot of family and friends you only connect with on there. So, leaving Facebook meant I also left family members, my village people, and other monitoring spirits who caused me a lot of problems because they disapproved of my views and my life.

    Is there anything else you’d like to share?

    I want to tell women that you deserve joy, you deserve joy and, most importantly, you deserve orgasms. I have slept with enough women to know that a natural, normal achievable condition for women is easily 10-15 orgasms per sexual session, and women need to know this. And this isn’t just a lesbian thing. You can do it with men, by yourself when masturbating, whenever and however you get down. You don’t have to accept bad sex. It’s all about fucking people who care about your orgasms, and also, learning how to take your orgasms for yourself during sex, not waiting for people to give it to you.

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


  • I’m Done Questioning God. I’ve Decided To Just Not Believe In Him.

    I’m Done Questioning God. I’ve Decided To Just Not Believe In Him.
    Illustration by Celia Jacobs.

    To get a better understanding of Nigerian life, we started a series called ‘Compatriots’, detailing the everyday life of the average Nigerian. As a weekly column, a new instalment will drop every Tuesday, exploring some other aspect of the Nigerian landscape.

    This week, we’re telling the story of a young lady whose inability to get the answers to her burning questions about God, led to her shunning his existence entirely.

    I’ll start the same way I used to start my days: with a word of prayer.

    Thank you for seeking out knowledge, for learning the real rights and wrongs, for vesting accountability in no one but yourself and for actively seeking out the grace, to simply be.

    In the past, my prayers would have been directed to an all-seeing, all-knowing messiah, whose existence both terrified and soothed me at my most trying moments. These days I keep things simple, directing all gratitude, supplications, and admonishments to a 5’5, chipped-tooth, second-hand clothes-wearing, indecision riddled human being ⁠— myself.

    I grew up in one of Nigeria’s more conservative churches: popular for sermons which never deviate from salvation and godly living, its fame is eclipsed only by a set of rules, which even by Nigerian wholesome standards, call for some uncomfortable shifting in pews.

    No television, no earrings, absolutely no unnatural extensions of any kind. ‘Sisters’ were encouraged to keep their hair covered in readiness for prayer, while women that chose to show off shapely calves in jeans were only highlighting body parts already simmering in the lake of fire. Attending church here was ostracising, judgment igniting and sometimes even laughter-inducing. But it was home and I loved it there.

    Or at least I did until I turned 7. Which was right around the time I started losing teeth, a milestone that only left me determined to square up with a creator who reckoned my smile needed a big gap in the middle.

    “Who is this God?” 

    “Where did He come from?”

    “What is the source of His power?”

    These were some of the questions I burdened my Sunday school teachers with at the time. I remember being disappointed with generic responses like “He is the Alpha and Omega” and “we don’t question where He came from.” This explained nothing. What if we were rooting for the wrong guy? An assertion that didn’t seem too far fetched, especially after the Holy Spirit entered my Shit List for ‘revealing’ to a Sunday School teacher ⁠— in full view of everyone ⁠— that I dared to wear braids to the House of the Lord. Never mind that my braids (an allowance of my liberal parents) were peeking out of my scarf, clear as day for man and spirit alike to see. 

    That is not to say it marked the start of my unbelief; that would come very shortly after. But from my tweens, right up until the very early stages of adolescence, I was a model, middling child of God. While I wasn’t crazy about observing weekday hours on weekends just to make it to church before 8 am, I did so with the unquestioning submission of a child still heavily reliant on her parents. I memorised Bible verses (all forgotten now), always completed a daily checklist of trinity prayers: upon waking, before eating and right before bed and I never once took the name of the Lord in vain. But something happened when I made the leap from shimis and a fresh face to training bras and an unbecoming pitch fuzz  — I made the realisation that I really, really, didn’t like attending church.

    Look, I don’t know what it is about being a teenager that transforms parents from being your cool, employed best friends, to the very last people you’d want to be stuck on earth with, but my parents got this end of the stick, and my heavenly father was no exception.

    While my earthly parents were stuck with a teenager prone to mouthing unrepeatable things under her breath, the Lord got one unwilling to visit, even in his own house! I became masterful in avoiding church services, plotting my escape days ahead — blaming everything from phantom period pains to untraceable headaches. It was during these periods that those truly unanswerable questions, once again reared their heads:

    “Who is this God?”

    “Where did He come from?”

    “What is the source of His powers?”

    While my family was away, singing hymns and praising at the House of God, I was home alone, spending an unaccountable amount of time staring at a mirror, trying to come to terms with the fact that my reflection was indeed myself, a person fearfully and wonderfully created by a mysterious God.

    As I got older, these questions matured as I did. Growing from merely interrogating the origins of my God, to attempting to make sense of His end goal. Where childish exuberance marked my early ploys to avoid church, at 17, they were my crutch to stay sane. 

    "I couldn't help but conclude that if God were a man, I wouldn't like Him very much."

    Post-adolescence was riddled with attempts to rationalise a God who would create a world of people, solely to worship Him. 
    Who could orchestrate scenarios where safety was compromised, simply to guarantee your gratitude that He pulled you to protection. 
    How could God create a world filled with multiple religions, each believing their tenets correct, but with such intricate devices of worship, only one could truly be correct? A God that fearfully and wonderfully created certain humans a special way, but opened them to damnation, per His book? 

    Who punished deviants from His word with an eternity spent consumed by a lake of fire. And rewarded adherents with a whole lifetime spent praising Him? Forever and ever, worshipping? I couldn’t help but conclude that if God were a man, I wouldn’t like Him very much.

    By 19, I understood the appeal of religion and a higher power interceding, where humans might have failed. Especially in a country like Nigeria where uncertainty in safety, sustenance, and security are the order of the day. Where the promise of finally being able to find rest, in a levitating mansion in heaven, is almost literally the thought keeping many underprivileged citizens alive. It just didn’t make much sense to me.

    At that age, I made a decision that marked the start of the rest of my life ⁠—  a year without religion. One year where no one but I, took centre stage in my life. Where all the credit and blame for my grades went straight to me, and where only my hard work and intuition guaranteed me multiple streams of income in university. No divine grace or exceptions here.

    From that year, I decided to wing this life thing. I’m finally done with asking questions with no definitive answers, I’ll just wait to maybe be proved wrong at the other side.