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  • You Were the First Person to Make Me Laugh

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Simi, the woman who wants her secondary school bestie back

    To: Taofeeqat, her best friend who made the best jokes

    Dear Taofeeqat,

    It’s crazy how we’ve been best friends since SS 2. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re the first best friend I ever had who didn’t do me dirty. 

    Before you, every other person I applied the tag “best friend” to played me on a very massive scale. But that’s okay because all the hurt gave me you.

    You’re the first person who’s ever made me laugh out loud. You cared about me, and you weren’t ashamed to show it. You loved on me and sent me such long love letters that always made me cry. I now cry because life is hard and it’s hard to not feel resentment towards how we’re too busy to talk as often. I wish I kept all of our letters to read.

    Did you annoy me and make me want to break your head at times? Probably, yes. But you were my first in a lot of things: My first “I love you” was to you, and I meant it. My longest hug was with you. You were the first friend to see me cry, and the first I ever wrote a love letter to. 

    I know we’re going through a lot, and we’re busy trying to build lives for ourselves, but I wanted to remind you of the happy times when our biggest problem was submitting assignments. Not a day went by when we didn’t hug each other.  

    I miss those long hugs we had before everything fell apart between us last year. I miss the long love letters we wrote in black and red pen. Ah yes, I miss having so much to gossip with you about. 

    Just in case we never go back to the way we were, I want to thank you for being in my life the longest yet hurting me the least. Thank you for being calm and supportive when I went into hysterical breakdowns over anything that stressed me out. Thank you for loving me so gently that I didn’t have a single fear in the world. 

    This is my attempt at a love letter to get us to talk again and be as close as we used to be. Hopefully, you’ll blush and send me epistles when you see it. 

    I love you so much, bestie. I can’t tell my story without you in it.

    Love,

    Simi❤️

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  • #ToHER: I Can’t Tell Anyone I Miss You Because We Didn’t Get to See

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Asa, who wishes she met her older sister at least once

    To: Barbara, the older sister who’s gone but not forgotten

    Dear Barbara,

    Is there a thing like missing someone you never met?

    I hardly speak about losing you. I often think people won’t understand or they’d believe I’m looking for sympathy if I tell them I miss you though we never met. All I have are memories from our parents. But I miss you, sister. 

    To me, family is thicker than physical. Family is always family. 

    Dear Barbara, I’m grown now. Well, still evolving. But my perspective on life has changed. I’m on this journey of taking my love for writing more seriously, and  I wonder if you’d be proud of me. I’m hoping you would, and I hope you don’t mind that this letter is about you.

    Dear Barbara, I look out for our younger sister. I know you’d do the same if you were here, and sometimes I wish you were here to look out for me too. Some days, I feel alone. But the thought that you would’ve been my best friend comforts me. I hear you whisper every time to me, “You’re strong.” Please don’t stop. 

    RELATED: I’m Lonely and Sometimes Wish I Had a Larger Family

    Dear Barbara, mummy is also okay. I can’t help but think she wishes you were here. I want her to talk about you, but I don’t know if the pain is still there, so I’ll just manage the little I know of you. Like your name and how much mum loved you. I promise I’ll take care of her and our younger sister.

    Everyone else is doing okay, and I can’t wait for life to keep bringing everything it has for us. 

    Dear Barbara, I’ll name your niece after you. Keep shining in heaven. I love you and one day, I’ll see you.  Until then, I’ll see you in the stars and the butterflies, my sister. 

    All my heart,

    Ada

    Letters #ToHER will be ending in September. We have one more slot to share a letter, so click here if you’d like to write one too.

    If You Liked reading this, then you should read this next: I Wish I Had an Elder Sister

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  • If You Have a Best Friend, She’s Definitely One of These 10 Girls

    Since I started writing Letters #ToHER, I’ve come across the sweetest words shared between friends. But I’ve also seen best friends that barely care to hug each other. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that the most successful friendships always fit into one of these 10 duos.

    The babe that has at least five foundations lined up in her drawer: 

    And the friend that can’t do makeup to save her life :

    Is a friendship really complete if one friend doesn’t always need help getting ready for events? I can’t imagine such.

    The friend that goes on the wildest dates and brings all the tea:

    And the friend that’s planning to marry her secondary school crush:

    Don’t you just love a duo with one friend who shows wickedness on the streets and another who tensions everyone on social media with “God when” vibes? 

    RELATED: 7 Reasons Why You Will Continue Saying “God When”

    The ballsy friend that doesn’t take crap from anybody:

    The ajebo friend that needs ginger to try new things:

    Blood Sisters is one movie that sums up what this type of friendship looks like. You have the babe that’s willing to kill for her friend and the babe that’ll ride or die with her crazy friend.

    The planner:

    The carefree friend that trusts the universe to decide what happens in life:

    Someone has to take charge of the future while the other person schedules periods to calm down.

    The besties who have their periods in sync and have an attitude together:

    Every real friendship has to be sealed by tears, blood and period cramps.

    RELATED: 7 Things About Periods That Are More Annoying Than Bleeding

    The anxious friend that doesn’t realise how smart she is:

    The friend that’s always on standby to hype her bestie:

    Every girl needs a babe friend that’ll hype her up unprovoked and knows exactly how to get her energy up.

    The bestie who’s a social media influencer:

    And the bestie that has to give feedback before every video and picture goes up and still hypes a post like she’s never seen it in her life:

    Behind every creative is a bestie who doubles as a manager and hype woman.

    The bestie who’s married,  a hot mum and premium pie:

    And the bestie who’s single and prefers to play the rich aunty role forever: 

    Imagine the joy of getting to play mummy and returning the kids back to their real mummy when you’re over them. That’s the joy of every rich aunty out there.

    The gym babe that’s all about the squats:

    And the bestie that has the superpower to eat five times a day without adding weight:

    How can we all benefit from the superpower of eating without spending the whole day sucking in our tummies? These are global issues we need to address. 

    The pasta babe that only wants to eat out:

    And the bestie who doubles as an accountant:

    It’s either your bestie goes broke and spends months on your couch, or you put on your accountant hat and play devil’s advocate anytime she wants to squander money in the name of enjoyment.

    The ride-or-die besties that only say  “I love you” once in a blue moon

    ALSO READ: Manage This Hug for the Next Three Years

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  • #ToHER: I Wish You Could Watch Me Graduate from Medical School, Mum

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Arike, the woman who sees herself as an extension of her mum

    To: Iya Arike, a woman who’s deeply missed

    Iya Arike,

    I’ve thought about everything I wanted to write in this letter every day that led up to this moment. But here I am at past 1 in the morning and nothing seems perfect or right. I guess that’s because none of this is right. I shouldn’t be writing this letter talking about the crushing pain in my chest from missing you so much. I think “I miss you so much it hurts,” is such a hauntingly beautiful line whenever I come across it in novels. But now I’m experiencing it, all I see and feel is the unending pain in my chest from losing you.

    It’s been over a year now, but it feels like just yesterday, you took your last breath in my arms. It feels like just yesterday, I was scrambling to remember everything I learnt about CPR from medical school so I could bring you back from what should’ve been a nap. It’ll always feel like just yesterday, I felt my heart plummet to my feet when I realised you were gone.

    But a million and one things have happened since you’ve been gone. The earth had the audacity to keep spinning as my entire world was crumbling without you. I’m stuck with so many questions I don’t have answers to, mummy. 

    RELATED: I Still Haven’t Found a Better Gist Partner, Mum

    I have no idea who I am anymore. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and don’t recognise myself. The person staring back at me cannot be your Arikenke. But then, how can I be Arike without you Iya Arike? How can I live with just the memories of you? Memories of the past? I’m so lost without you.

    You spoke way too much about the future to not be in it with me, mummy. You had the outfit you’d wear for my induction planned. You spoke so fondly about my wedding, how you’d come to do omugwo and how my siblings and our future families would all come back home for the Christmas holidays. “You can spend new year’s with your inlaws”, you’d say. 

    As it stands, you’ve missed three graduations so far, and it hurts that you’ll miss mine too. Damn, you’ll miss everything you spoke about mummy. The beautiful visions of the future you always painted with your words will always exist in my mind, but reality will never measure up.

    It’s funny how when I was younger, I’d always disagree with people when they say I look like you. The daddy’s girl in me just wouldn’t allow it. But here I am now, basking in those comments I now consider compliments. Because if I turn out to be like you, that’d be the best thing I can aspire to be. 

    RELATED: If Your Mother Is Your Best Friend, You Can Relate

    Is it weird that I think you’re my soulmate, mummy? Because it should be impossible to love and miss you as much as I do if you aren’t an extension of me. I guess this is why I feel like people who met me after you passed will never truly know me. They’d never truly know the Arike who was loved so dearly and intentionally by her mother. You were all the best parts of me. 

    My heart will love you forever, Iya Arike. My thoughts will always stray to memories of you, and my soul will yearn for yours as long as there is breath in my lungs. 

    Watch over your baby, mummy. I’m just trying my best and in way more pain than I let on. 

    All of my love, 

    Your Arikenke.

    Letters #ToHER will be ending in September. We have two more slots to share a letter, so click here if you’d like to write one too.

    ALSO READ: 8 Hard-to-Miss Signs Your Mum is Really Happy You’re Her Daughter

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  • #ToHER: I’ve Been Too Absorbed With My Life to Notice Your Fake Smiles

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Timah, a woman who wants to be as kind and present as her best friend

    To: Wunmi, the best friend going through a rough patch

    Dear Wunmi,

    I’m sincerely sorry I haven’t been a good friend in the last year. I’ve been selfish and way too absorbed by my woes to notice how difficult life has become since your relationship ended. Too absorbed to notice your fake smile at my weird jokes, or how you ignored my rude remarks about the break-up even though they hurt. I’m sorry I wasn’t as sensitive as you needed me to be.

    I always ascribed your incessant kindness to curiosity, but an epiphany has made me realise it stems from pure undiluted love.

    I have no idea how someone so selfless and kind would care about a narcissist like me. But I want you to know, although I can’t promise to change overnight, I’ll always make a conscious effort to overwhelm you with delicious acts of service.

    I want to go on dates with you — a soiree of some sort — as besties. I know taking pictures isn’t your forte, but imagine how we would freeze time with our awkward smiles and lopsided poses for shy girls.

    RELATED: The Introvert Guide to Making Friends

    I want us to binge on your favourite snacks, stuffing our faces with every last crumb. Watching as you try something new and complain bitterly about false advertising and overpriced unnecessaries, or sandwich a compliment between mouthful sighs to water down the aspersions.

    I want us to have sleepovers, comparing notes about past lovers, but eventually taking their sides and remembering only the good because we’re soft-hearted hard guys. I love our laughable combination of twisting and writhing we call dancing to loud evergreen songs. And doing it all while we’d sing wrong lyrics aloud without a care in the world. 

    Wunmi, I want to dance with you, then slowly slip away and watch you dance alone, smiling ear-to-ear with a tear in my eye upon the realisation that I’ve struck gold by being friends with you.

    RELATED: Here’s What Your Love Language Has to Say About You

    Complete happiness might not be realistic in this cracked-up world, so I pray for you to have complete contentment and a loving spouse who adores you. Anything less would be unacceptable.

    I love you so much, and I hope life smiles broadly at you in every aspect you need and more. Let’s always be in each other’s lives.

    Ifẹ ti Emi ko yẹ ni ohun ti o fun mi. O ti fẹràn mi lainidi. 

    Thanks for loving me, my friend.

    Your nonchalant sunshine,

    Timah

    We have three more slots for Letters #ToHER before it officially comes to an end. If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    ALSO READ: 8 Things to Know Before Making Friends as an Adult

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  • #ToHER: Mma, You’re Everything Good, Perfect and Sweet

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Camela “Meme” Etoruom, whose bestie is her grandma

    To: Ms Angelina “Mma Ange” Ndukwe, who brings bright colours to her granddaughter’s world

    Dear Mma Ange, 

    On my 18th birthday, I remember writing about the colours in my life and I opened with this: “My grandmother is the shade of orange you see in the sky before the sun sets. The one you take pictures of because you’re scared you’ll never see such beauty again, the one you think about in the dark and ask your friends, “Omg, did you see the sky?”

    Mma, everything good in my life stems from the fact that you splattered colour in my life when it felt like a dark tunnel and refused to come to an end. I love you because you saw me when I couldn’t see myself, walked with me in love and understanding in my prime moments of teenage angst, and showed apathy towards everything. The most amazing part was seeing how our love evolved to fit every stage. A thing only a few people will truly experience. 

    RELATED: 12 Extremely Specific Things Every Nigerian Grandma Owns

    If I count my blessings, the fact I get to call you “Mma” is at the top of my list. Mma, you have always been more than a sweet grandmother to me. Your laughter is a sound that rivals Kanye’s melodic prowess and your sarcasm makes me laugh carelessly when laughing seems like a myth to me. 

    Thank you for letting me run around your house to read everything I could get my hands on as a kid — the reason why people think I know random facts unprovoked. Your taste in movies might be questionable, but I got to watch Kate and William’s wedding with you and I felt lucky because I got to gush about the royals with my grandma!

    RELATED: My Grandmother Died and Took Her Special Corn Recipe With Her

    My favourite moments are in your parlour reading books or having conversations where you don’t fail to remind me it’s okay to be expressive.

    You’re my best friend, Mma; the reason I tell people that friendship is the greatest asset in living this life. You’re the funniest woman in the world, and I’m holding on to reincarnation because I hope I get to spend another life with you as my favourite miracle. 

    I hope we get to the “Meme spoiling Mma baby” part of our lives soon. You deserve everything good, perfect and la Vida Loca as the baby girl that you are! 

    To many more good-time conversations and memories, bestie. 

    Camela.

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    ALSO READ: These Are the Coolest Nigerian Grandmas You’ve Ever Seen

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  • #ToHER: Manage This Hug for the Next Three Years

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Busayo, a hard babe

    To: Ifeoma, the gentle, kind and sweet soul

    Dear Ifeoma,

    I know being sweet and romantic is really off-brand for us. But you’re the only person that deserves this side of me if I’m being honest. 

    I hit the best friend jackpot with you and I mean that with all my heart. Earlier today, you said you love how we always have the same views on everything, and that is ridiculously true. I can count on one finger the things we don’t have the same opinions about. But Ifeoma, it doesn’t change the fact that I still have more sense than you. 

    You’re my biggest supporter, my sister, my best friend and my confidant. I know when I’m feeling sad, I can call you and I’ll come out of that call feeling 100% better. I know it’s the same for you.

    RELATED: Four Months of Living Together and Hopefully We Don’t Kill Each Other

    Anytime people are talking about failed female friendships, I know deep in my heart and my soul that it’ll never ever be us. Our friendship is too special. 

    This past month has been different for me because I started something new, and you’re the only person I talked to about my worries. You made it better, way better. You listened to me, understood and encouraged me. You’re my gift from God. I love you, I really really do. 

    Ifeoma, I can’t remember the last time we showed affection, so you know that me telling you I love you now is the one you’ll hold and manage for the next three years. I hope this makes your day as you’ve been making mine for the past four years we’ve been best friends. And please, don’t forget you can never ever be as sweet as I am, okay? Just leave that part of our relationship for me. 

    Love you Ifeoma.

    With Love,

    Busayo

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    RELATED: Maybe You Should Cut Your Bad Friends Some Slack? Here’s Why

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  • #ToHER: Our Friendship Feels Like Drinking Cold Garri on a Hot Day

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Onyinye, a woman who expects her best friend’s child to be named after her

    To: Toyosi, the best friend who makes their friendship as refreshing as cold garri

    Dear Toyosi,

    You weird beautiful girl. First, I want to say you’re as amazing as you’re beautiful. I thank God every day for what we have, this friendship. It’s sweeter than honey and as refreshing as cold garri on a hot day. Maybe that’s why I’m writing — because I want you to see a written form of my love for you.

    Do you even remember our story? Because I don’t, honestly. It’s like we’ve known each other forever. How we started talking because of a gossip you were caught up in, there’s the part of having a lot in common — missing fathers, first daughters who carry a lot of burden on their shoulders, a love for God and food — little wonder we connected so well.

    Most times, I remember how you make me feel more than what you say. Like when we get bored, and I keep my head on the table while you run your hands through my hair until I sleep off. That’s one thing I love about you, you’re intentional about our friendship and how you love me. Running your hands through my hair made me feel like I was home. I felt so at peace. Honestly, I think that was how I started trusting you without a second thought.

    Thanks babes for always trying to get me to go out and try new things, not only when it comes to life, but also when it comes to our love for God. Let’s not forget that if you didn’t drag me out, I wouldn’t have all my fine fine Instagram pictures. 

    RELATED: Four Months of Living Together and Hopefully We Don’t Kill Each Other

    Toyosi, you’re a very weird child. Who on earth invites someone to their house for the first time and gives them cold garri and milk? Who decides to teach a girl how to put on make-up just because they’re friends? Who takes in a friend they’ve known for a short time just because life is happening to that friend? You. You’re weird, sweet, and I love it. 

    I often ask you why we’re friends. You absolutely don’t benefit from this relationship like I do. Yet, you tell me every time that you love me. You always show up when I’m in my ghost mode. Nagode.

    I know I always tell you you’re sweet, nice and gorgeous, but you should know you’re also strong and amazing.

    Babes, our dreams, they’ll come true someday. We’ll travel around the world, and I’ll watch you take all those stupid rollercoaster rides while I take pictures because no be me you go kill.

    But till then, as we hustle remember, I love you best, girl. I love you when you’re at your lowest and when you’re at your strongest. 

    As a closing remark, kindly make money abeg. I’m tired of working. And please, do and find a man, so you can name your child Onyinye too. And I’ll name mine Toyosi.

    With lots of love,

    From your weird bestie

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    ALSO READ: We Were Best Friends In Secondary School, Now We Are Married

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  • #ToHER: You’ve Saved My Life More Times Than You Know

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Abolade, a woman wants her soulmate to know how much she’s loved

    To: Ariyike, the ying to Abolade’s yang  

    Dear Ariyike,

    I love you. Listen, I love you so much. I don’t think you understand that I love you so fucking much. You’re a priority. You’re my friend, You’re my sister, you’re my family, you are my soulmate, you’re my person and you’re my bestie for life. You’re the yang to my yang. LMAO. The point is, me and you, you and me, will be together forever!

    I love you for being you: my shy, weird, hilarious and beautiful baby. I love you for loving me. I love you when you’re hilarious. I love you when you act like a goat. I love how much you care for me, always on my ass to study for tests and exams. Always trying to make me feel better when I’m in my depressive state. 

    Tanwa, ìwọ ni ọ̀rẹ́ tí mo ní tí mi ò mò pé mò ń wá . Thank you for making it easy to confide in you. Thank you for being a safe place. Thank you for loving me, consistently validating my existence, gassing me up, and constantly reminding me of what I’m capable of. Thank you for existing.

    RELATED: What Life Is Like When Your Best Friend Is Your Soulmate

    Ọ̀rẹ́ mi, o dùn. You’re the honey to my tea, If I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I’d have a galaxy. You’re the electrician that lights up my day and night. You’re the best track on my album. You’re the most beautiful picture in my photos. The salesman to my copy. LOL, I know I am saying rubbish. The point is, you complete me. There is no me without you. You make me happy, you make me want to live, you make me want to create more memories with you and you make me want to relive the ones we’ve created. 

    I love you so much, and listen, we will make it. So you see those ways you want to flex? Ma worry, soonest.  Ọ̀rẹ́ mi, a máa jayé foreign. Ọlọ́hun gbọ́. Mo love e dákú.

    May our friendship last for as long as we exist,

    Abolade.

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    ALSO READ: “The Yin to My Yang” — 5 Nigerians on Having Platonic Soulmates

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  • #ToHER: I Miss You, Now There’s No One to Send Me Urgent ₦2k

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Odunayo, who misses her crazy cousin

    To: Oyinlola, the fun, waka waka cousin

    Dear Oyinlola,

    A letter I read reminded me of how much I’ve missed us since you travelled. 

    I don’t know what exactly made us so close, but I guess it was my frequent visits to your house during the holidays when I was four years old. I always looked forward to visiting you because you had a larger family than mine. Then you started coming to my house with your siblings and we found that we had so many things in common — fashion sense, straight-talking attitude and all.

    We became inseparable. Even when you gained admission into the university in 2013, I was always waiting for you to come home so we could hang out. There was no one I’d rather gossip with about family, talk about relationships and the kind of woman I wanted to grow into. 

    And when I got into university in 2018, I made sure you were the first person I came home to see, except you were away. I miss those random visits to see other family members, the late nights and waka waka, like on my birthday. We left Ikorodu for Lekki at night, got there very late, ate pizza, and walked around like our dad owned the land despite the insecurity in this country. But I wasn’t bothered. When we were together, we felt so safe and unbothered.

    RELATED: What Happens When You and Your Favourite Cousin Fight?

    I definitely miss our craziness. Remember when I was 18 and we visited our other cousin’s place and begged him to get us alcohol? You were 21 and old enough to drink, but we’d always fantasised about getting drunk together. And as expected, after drinking, we acted like goofballs, slept off and woke up at intervals whenever one of our phones rang because we had the same ringtone. 

    Then there was that guy spilling rubbish because we refused to talk to him on the road. Of course, we insulted him. What about the days we spent at Ilorin during your service year? I’d just gotten into uni and you were always proud to introduce me to everyone as your baby sister. 

    RELATED: Sunken Ships: My Cousin Grew Up

    I miss you so much, Oyin. There’s nobody to call me saying,  “Odunayo, where are you? Come na, let’s have a nice time.” Nobody to drag me out of the house and tell me that I’m too serious with life. I can’t even go to the island for the Sallah holiday because you’re not there. Who will I talk to or record funny Snapchat videos with?

    I’m just glad we could utilise every moment we’ve spent together since we were kids. Now that you’re in a completely different country, I can hold onto those crazy memories. There was no dull moment with you. And you’re one of the best people I’ve had in my life.

    Also, thanks for the urgent ₦2k you used to send whenever sapa choked me in school.

    Missing you,

    Odunayo

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    ALSO READ: 12 Things to Expect When Your Cousin From Abroad Visits

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  • You’ll Always Be My Sister, This Isn’t Goodbye

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Tumininu, a woman missing her larger-than-life friend

    To: Toluwalopemi, her friend in Amrika

    Dear Tolu,

    I wanted you to read this before you travelled, but you got to read it way earlier than planned. I loved how much you love this letter. Regardless, I’d like everyone else to read this too. 

    When we met for the first time in Unilag, I remember my first impression of you was, “Oh damn, she looks like DJ Cuppy.” Some of our mates said it was your braids, but everyone eventually saw the resemblance. 

    I can’t really paint a clear picture of you prior to when you became my sister, but I do remember you liked complimenting my breasts a lot. Yeah, you’re just weird like that. It was such a strange thing at first. But when I saw you gave random compliments like that to other people, I stopped feeling awkward. Part of my discomfort with it came from never really being able to take praise.

    You became friends with my friends, and somehow, life dumped us in the same disgusting hostel the next year. 

    RELATED: Four Months of Living Together and Hopefully We Don’t Kill Each Other

    I know a lot of people tell you this, but you really are larger than life, Tolu. Before you, I never talked much. I was always in this invisible shell, but you came and literally dragged me out of that shell. I started laughing more. I danced more. I have videos of our silly dances, bless Nofi’s soul for being there to capture the moments. I can’t help but laugh at the sight of our goofiness and utter foolishness.

    I was really sad when you told me you had to travel this year (2022). I felt special about being the first out of our friends to know, but it hurt to know you’d be so far away. I miss hugging you, going to eat shawarma down the road with you. I miss walking with you, and I’ll miss going to Shop 10 together when school resumes. 

    RELATED: I Didn’t Know How to Say ‘I Love You’ Until I Met You — Adesegun and Demi

    I’ll miss your presence in our room. When we became close, I was going through a rough time but spending time with you made me feel better and happier. I’ll also miss your food. Please, how will I be eating in school? How am I going to tell Mummy Aliya that Dj Cuppy has left me to go to Amrika and won’t be washing plates with her anymore? 

    I loved talking to you until the plane took off. I really don’t know what the rest of uni would be like without you, and I’m not ready to process that. But I wish you the very best as you start a new life. At least, you get to be with your best friend in America and eat oyinbo food. 

    Thank you for giving me one of the best times of my life and being my sister. 

    This isn’t goodbye. 

    ❤️,

    Tumi

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    READ ALSO: Maybe You Should Cut Your Bad Friends Some Slack? Here’s Why

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  • #ToHER: I Know You Three Have Each Other in Heaven (Part 2)

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: Maria, a woman grieving the loss of her three daughters

    To: Sapphire, Harmony and Melody, her sweet girls

    Trigger Warning: This story deals with pregnancy loss and self-harm

    My loves,

    Sharing our story is so difficult. It hurts me physically, and I’m so weak I can’t even talk. But I have to keep going.

    A year after losing Sapphire, I moved on from your father. I was still grieving but found myself wanting someone around. So  I started dating again. It didn’t feel wrong because I knew I needed to move on from the past year. But the relationship was over barely six months in. He felt uncomfortable with me working with your dad. I didn’t see the issue since we’d both moved on from our marriage. 

    I was heartbroken all over again and mad that he didn’t trust me. And somehow, your dad was conveniently there. We had sex and pretty much got back together. 

    We were together for seven months before I found out I was 18 weeks pregnant with you both, Harmony and Melody. I was off my birth control when your dad and I had sex, so it wasn’t a surprise. I felt both scared and excited we had another chance. But then, I lost you both.

    All I remember was ending up with your lifeless bodies in my arms after nine months of imagining your faces. Only the memories of carrying you in my belly kept me alive on my worst days after that. 

    RELATED: 7 Things That Go Through Your Mind When You Have a Pregnancy Scare

    Harmony Oluwatunmininu, you! You reminded me of myself and all the stories my mum used to tell me about what I did to her while she was pregnant. Every time I felt movement, I knew it was you. You were the most active and must’ve tormented Melody. I remember seeing you slap your sister during an ultrasound. I wish I caught it on video because it’ll sound unbelievable to anyone else. But I saw you. 

    I planned to tell that story every single day to every single person, especially at your wedding, and be that embarrassing mother. I understand that you couldn’t live without your sister and needed to be with her. I hope you’re having fun scattering all the toys in baby heaven and frustrating all the angel nannies.

    RELATED: Nanny Diaries: Nigerian Mothers Talk About the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

    Melody, my sweet girl. I named you Oluwatamilore after my best friend because our strength and perseverance reminded me of her. I’m sure she would’ve loved to meet you. You were the calmest twin, but I know you fought so hard to stay alive. I wish I could’ve helped you fight more. I hope you can see Harmony up there. Please give her a big hug and kiss for me. 

    Losing you both was hard. I had people blaming me for going back to your father. But I’d do it again if it means I could’ve been a mum today. I wish I could hold you both just one more time. I wish I could see your faces again and hear you cry. I still visit your graves, and I promise to do this as often as possible so you never feel alone.

    Mummy loves you with every fibre of her being. Until we meet again, my princesses, remember that.

    Forever in my heart,

    Mum

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

    ALSO READ: Everyone Quickly Moves On From Your Miscarriage Except You

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  • #ToHER: I Know You Three Have Each Other in Heaven (Part 1)

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    Trigger Warning: This story deals with pregnancy loss and self-harm

    From: Maria, a woman grieving the loss of her three daughters

    To: Sapphire, Harmony and Melody, her sweet girls

    My loves,

    I miss you all so much. I have so much to say. Yet, I don’t know what to say. I’ve spent months trying to find the words. I still can’t get it right.

    I’m 26 and supposed to be a mother to you three amazing girls. But I’m not. Nobody tells you about the struggles of losing a baby: the bond you form before they’re born, the feeling of knowing you’ll never see or hold them again.  I found out exactly how that feels with my first loss at 23. 

    Sapphire, or Jesumunumidun as your grandmother fondly called you, I’m sorry I failed you as a mother. 

    When I met your father, I was young. At 22, I thought I’d found the man I’d spend the rest of my life with. But after a year of dating and six months of marriage, the fairytale ended. He cheated. And I was too fragile to take the news when he confessed.

    RELATED: How I Caught My Ex Cheating

    After that, mummy got depressed and suicidal. And my decision to overdose on Advil cost you your life, Sapphire. I should’ve fought harder, but realising your father had been with another woman was too much to bear. When I woke up in the hospital, the doctors promised we’d be okay. I believed them because I couldn’t imagine being alive without you. 

    April 11th — I’ll never forget the day I realised I’d never get to see you. I couldn’t feel anything at first. I didn’t know how to grieve. I’m so sorry I didn’t give you a chance to live, Sapphire. I should’ve endured the hurt and persevered through it, but I was selfish. And the guilt has eaten me up every single day. I still wish it was me and not you who had to suffer the consequences of my heartbreak. 

    On some days, I hold on to the eight months I had you in my belly. You know, your dad and I got married because we found out I was two months pregnant with you. You made us a family. 

    RELATED: 7 Things That Go Through Your Mind When You Have a Pregnancy Scare

    I love to think about how happy you made me. How you moved around at the slightest sound. Your kicks when you heard your dad’s voice or mine sing. I laugh at how you made me crave ice cream even though I’m lactose intolerant. You made mummy so happy, Sapphire. And I’ll cherish those memories forever. 

    I hope you know there’s nothing more I wanted in life than to be your mummy. This letter isn’t perfect, but it’s the closest I can get to expressing how much I’ve missed you. You would’ve been the best big sister to Harmony and Melody. But I know you three have each other in heaven. 

    With all my love,

    Mum

    Watch out for the second part of Maria’s letter next week Sunday on #ToHER

    ALSO READ: Everyone Quickly Moves On From Your Miscarriage Except You

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  • #ToHER: Did Finding God Have to End Our Friendship?

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: A friend scorned by Jesus

    To: Diana*, the friend who chose faith over friendship

    Dear Diana,

    I know you won’t like this, but I’m not writing this for you — I actually hope you don’t see this because too much time has passed to fix our friendship. Writing this letter is my way of finally letting go.

    I want to start from the parts that were my fault because I blame myself for everything. When we met at university in 2013, things weren’t great at home. I didn’t know it then, but I was too emotionally dependent on everyone around me, to the point where I’d expect them to act in roles they didn’t sign for, as if they were my family members. So when we met, I placed those expectations on you. I wanted you to be the friend that made me feel safe. Someone I could call to escape the fights at home. 

    I never knew how to articulate my feelings in our friendship. Anytime you didn’t show up the way that I wanted, it felt like you didn’t love me. Like when our other friends talked over me because they were much older.  If I could go back to 2013, I’d explain how I felt to you. I wished you stood up for me more. 

    RELATED: 14 Types Of People You’ll Meet In a Nigerian

    When you found God a year later, everything changed between us. We didn’t even meet up for lunch anymore. If I could go back, I’d tell you you didn’t need to cut everyone off, especially me. I found God too, you know? But when you stopped hanging out with me, it hurt me badly. Like, didn’t you remember I was also Christian? 

    You created an entirely new world that didn’t include me — or other friends we had — and I never stopped thinking, “Me too?” I thought you’d find a way to hold on to me. I thought I was special, considering how much time we’d spent together. But I wasn’t. You had new Christian friends.

    I didn’t even realise you were dating someone at the time. For whatever reason, you hid him from us, and I’m not even sure for how long. I know I wasn’t perfect, but I tried to show up for you. I understand “setting yourself apart” when you wanted to get serious with your faith, but I think you could’ve found a balance. 

    RELATED: Faith Is a Concept That Evades Me

    I can’t remember a lot after uni, but graduating helped our friendship. We didn’t have to see each other, so it was easier to ignore how absent you really were. At least, over the phone, we seemed to be fine. 

    It’s crazy how much hope I had that we’d go back to being real friends. Because of you, I joined a Christian group — I didn’t just want to be part of a Christian community; I wanted you to be in it. I took over when your friends bailed on your bridal shower though my invite had been a formality. I was too happy I’d gotten an invite to care about that. 

    But I couldn’t continue chasing you. I needed to free myself from the leash I’d wound around my neck and handed to you.

    RELATED: I’m Tired of Being Your Supportive Friend, I Want More

    After seven years of trying to make things, I accepted we needed to be on very different paths. But it wasn’t like flipping a light switch. You randomly called me in 2021 and before picking up, I found myself hoping it was for some kind of reconciliation. But of course, it was for work. 

    The fact that you only visited my apartment five times throughout our friendship should’ve been a sign that we were better off not being friends. Especially since you once lived only seven minutes away. And I never stopped visiting you. There was a lot more I wanted to say on that call,  but there was no point. 

    I don’t know if you felt the way I felt on the other side of that phone. But if you’re reading this, know that I’m praying for you, always.

    All my love, 

    Temi

    ALSO READ: I Can’t Believe You Let a Boy Get Between Us

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  • #ToHER: I Can’t Believe You Let a Boy Get Between Us

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: the woman who lowkey misses her university bestie

    To: Leila, the bestie she lost over a breakup

    I’m writing this on a plane. I’m finally leaving the trenches called Nigeria, and I wanted to say goodbye. We never really got a chance to see each other again since we finished school in 2019. And I want to finally be honest about how I’ve felt over the years. I’m going to be in a different country, so what’s the worst that can happen?

    If I’m being honest, we weren’t meant to be friends. Becoming so close happened by chance because if my friend, Caleb, hadn’t been crushing on you in our first year of uni, I probably wouldn’t have noticed we were in the same class. We were over a 100, so don’t blame me. Caleb was like a best friend to me, so when you both started dating at the end of our first year, you became my friend by proxy. I didn’t have a choice.

    RELATED: 7 Nigerians Share Their Worst Friendship Breakup Stories

    Don’t get me wrong, I loved you for all the reasons Caleb loved you and probably more. You were goofy, sweet, and you could relate to my obsession with The Vampire Diaries. But even with those cute things I loved about you, our arguments made it difficult to keep being friends. 

    When people say three is a crowd, I completely understand what they mean now. I lived it for the remaining four years of uni. First, you hated seeing me and Caleb study without you. Then, you hated him cooking for the both of us. Our arguments escalated to Caleb not treating you the same way as me. I had to take a step back at that point. There was way too much drama over one boy.

    You tried to reconnect in our third year to “experience our friendship outside of me being Caleb’s friend”, in your own words. I was down for that. We slept over at each other’s hostels, did assignments together and planned every birthday together since we were born a day apart. I’d forgotten Caleb was supposed to be my best friend by our fourth year. Everything in my life was suddenly happening with you. So when you broke up after university, I didn’t expect it to affect us, especially after I gave up that friendship for you.

    RELATED: All the Things That Happen When Your Friend Gets Dumped

    But you completely shut down like I couldn’t be the friend you needed. I left messages and called; I tried everything I could to help. At some point, I had to give you the space you were silently asking for. I missed you a lot. A year went by and you didn’t even try to call me. There were so many transitions happening in my life, and I didn’t have anyone to share them with. So I didn’t feel guilty when Caleb and I became close again. You’d made your decision to be a ghost, and I accepted that.

    It’s been three years since the breakup, and now, we’re saying “hellos” and “his” like the last three years didn’t happen. It’s infuriating to act like we didn’t call each other sisters at some point, Leila.

    I wish a guy didn’t have so much power over our connection. Now that I’m moving away, I think it’s important to remind you that I’ll probably always love you. The shallowness our friendship has reached doesn’t change the love we shared as friends in university.

    I’ll always root for you.

    With all my love,

    Halima

    READ ALSO: I’m Tired of Being Your Supportive Friend, I Want More

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why.

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  • #ToHER: My Polysexual Ass Needed Your Love

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: The woman who can’t believe she found love

    To: Ayo, her lover

    Dear Ayo,

    I’m writing this letter because beyond being my lover for the last nine months, you’ve also been my friend. So many times, you look over and catch me staring at you in disbelief. I still can’t believe my luck. Well, our luck, because I’m such a catch too. Ayo, I hope you read this feeling as lucky as I do sharing our connection.

    It’s been nearly nine months since I dragged myself out to meet you for drinks. The full moon was in Scorpio. That meant something to me because Twitter astrologists talk about the potency of the moon to attract lovers. I don’t necessarily believe in these things, but I didn’t want to cancel our date for the third time. I didn’t want my anxiety to get in the way again. And I’m glad I didn’t miss out on finding my best friend.

    RELATED: 6 Nigerians On Falling In Love With Their Best Friends

    People talk about falling in love the moment they see, but I fell in love with your voice, Ayo. The way we talked at the restaurant made me feel safe. Magic was born from hearing you speak. Your voice was warm and sweet. We very quickly became such good friends, I could have sworn I’d known you for years. 

    Being around you made me feel safe. You met me at a time when my polysexual ass was being kicked in my different relationships. But you stuck around and made me feel so loved. I couldn’t imagine not being more than friends with you, Ayo. 

    I’ve never spoken to anyone as softly as I have about you. My friends say that when I first met you, I spoke about you like air. I would rant about all my problems and end them with, “then Ayo showed up…” They could hear the peace in my voice every time. It was like I’d been holding my breath, but every time you show up, I can finally take a deep breath. I’ve never told you this, but you got me through the depression I was fighting inside. You saved me in so many ways.

    RELATED: Love Life: There’s Nothing I Want to Add to This Relationship

    We both tend to rush into things, wanting to hold back from complicating them, but Ayo, it’s been nine months, and I’ve felt at peace with my decisions because you make me feel so loved. I remember the days leading up to the first time we both said “I love you” aloud. It was perfect because we spent weeks trying not to move too fast.

    My favourite part about living with you is our routines. They keep me sane because. I can’t remember what life was like before watching you cook for us after work, or planning cute dates together. I don’t know what it felt like listening to music without you or watching you wiggle every time we sit on the couch to eat. Those are the moments when I feel most alive.  

    RELATED: How To Put Together The Perfect Good Morning Message For Her

    Most of all, I love how you depend on me. The way you rush in for a hug whenever I’m home. You talk about your day like you’ve been waiting for the one person who truly cares about you, and it makes me feel like the most important person in the world. Ayo, I could go on and on about how my polysexual ass loves doing life with only you, but the hundred “I love yous” we share daily say it all. 

    My final words to you are a rendition of the love Shakespeare’s Romeo meant for Juliet: All the things I love about you, Ayo — the sweet words that I have the privilege to share with you — hopefully, it’s until my last breath.

    Thank you for all the love you’ve brought into my life.

    Love,

    Uyi

    ALSO READ: Love Life: I Ran Away From Home To Be With Her

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why.

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  • #ToHER: I Waited Too Long to Love Myself

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: A woman finally learning self-love 

    To: Stephanie, herself

    Dear Stephanie,

    I’m writing this because I want you to know you deserve to feel beautiful every day. This year hasn’t been great for you. You’ve struggled with your identity and failed at friendships, family and school, and I know it’s been tough. The saddest part is that you’ve been on this spiral for quite some time.

    But I want you to know that I’m proud of you. I know the self-doubt started in JSS 1 when the school dormitories were burnt down. You used to be been in Yellow House, but after the fire, no one could stay there everyone needed to move. And that’s how you ended up in Red House. You were always bullied, so you expected the worst from trying to fit in all over again, but the rejection from the Red House captain wasn’t something you’d planned for. And she wasn’t even bothered when you went back to complain. You couldn’t understand why you were suddenly unwanted; everyone just pushed you around until other seniors joined in to laugh. the bullying got worse over time and the self-hate started to set in.

    RELATED: 7 Nigerians Talk About Being Bullied in Secondary School

    By SS 2, nothing had changed so you thought something was wrong with you. ”I’m not as pretty as the other girls,” you thought. ”It’s because my face is covered with pimples” Or, ”Why don’t I have nice clothes like them?” You compared yourself to the other girls and wished they would like you. 

    I wish you trusted that you were enough. 

    The moments you allowed yourself to feel beautiful were quickly ruined. Like when that boy called you ugly because of your acne and scars in December last year [2021]. I wish you didn’t allow a silly boy to ruin the confidence you worked so hard to build again after high school. You were finally starting to love yourself again, Stephanie, so what happened? Now, you’ve spent every day since that snarky comment believing that the beauty you felt this year was in your head. 

    RELATED: 7 Nigerian Women Talk About Living With Low Self-Esteem

    Self-love won’t happen overnight, but I want you to read this whenever you doubt that you’re enough and remember how you felt in this moment writing to yourself. Stephanie, your smile lights up a room anytime you walk in. The dimple on your left cheek makes it impossible not to stare. I love your entire head of hair when it’s messy and when your edges are laid. I love your fingers and how perfect your nails look. Since April, I’ve taken every day to admire every part of you, so please don’t let anyone ruin this journey.

    You aren’t the girl you were in high school, and I forgive you for holding onto her for so long. I know you were sad, hurt and angry, but the past is the past. Stephanie, I love you for all that you are. Please be patient with yourself on this journey. 

    With all my love,

    Stephanie

    ALSO READ: 10 Things That Count As Self Care For Women

    If you’d like to write a letter #ToHER, click here to tell us why

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  • #ToHER: To the Mums We Love, Miss, Cherish or Just Remember

    We bring to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    LETTER 1

    To: The mum who makes it easy to open up.

    Maami, I could go on and on about how caring, amazing and sweet you are, but one thing I love is how easygoing our relationship is. From gist about my boyfriend to everything about school, you always find a way to know exactly what’s going on without invading my privacy. It makes me know how much you trust me to live my life. I love how I can tell you anything without being criticised. Thank you for letting me be myself.

    Also, thank you for putting up with my shenanigans like hugging you every chance I get. You always tell me to save it for my boyfriend, but in the end, I always get that hug. Thank you for your love, maami. There are no words to describe how irreplaceable it feels to have you around each day. I pray that you’ll always be here for me, maami.

    Love,

     M

    LETTER 2

    To: The mum who needs to feel beautiful again

    I’m no longer home to protect you, but I want you to read this knowing that I’ll always be one phone call away.

    Our relationship is complicated because I’ve never understood why you didn’t walk away from my dad. I hated the nights you woke me up crying, and the early mornings you spent hiding blisters. I thought you deserved more… I still do. I’m writing this because I’ve never said that out loud. 

    I hope you know that everything I do is for you. I want to be able to give you the life I know you deserve. I want you to travel, see the world. I want to take away the responsibility you feel to keep your crumbling marriage together for me because mum, I’m okay. I want you to be okay too.

    Actually, I want you to remember the girl you once were. The woman I see in pictures, with her afro and a wide smile. I want to see the woman that looked like she had the time of her life in the pictures stacked in your side drawers. I know you stare at them sometimes. I want you to read this and remember that it’s not too late to pack up and leave. Not for me, but for yourself.

    Being away makes me feel guilty. But even from a thousand miles, I’ll make sure you get your favourite moimoi for lunch today. I know it’ll make you happy not to worry about food, so I’ll grant your silent wish to lay in bed all day. I love you no matter what you choose. All I need you to remember is that you are beautiful and loved, always.

    Happy Mothers’ Day, mummy.

    I’m signing this letter with my pet name because I’ll never let you call me that out loud. 

    Yours always,

    Bum Bum

    RELATED: What She Said: I Won’t Let Anyone Say Rubbish About My Mum

    LETTER 3

    To: The mum who’s forever my guardian angel

    Mum, it’s mothers’ day again, and I can’t help but think of you, mum. You were my angel. I mean you still are, but now, you’re my guardian angel. 

    I’ve searched and searched for the words to write, and I keep coming up with empty pages. Not because we didn’t share any beautiful memories, but because there are so many, I can’t find where to start. 

    You were the type of person who cared for everyone. Thinking about how you stressed over deworming my siblings and me as kids makes me smile. You also loved to talk and tell us many stories any chance you got. Most times, you repeated those stories until we got tired and reminded you that we’ve heard that one already. You were and are still a gem to us, mum.

    There’s not a single day that I do not think about you. It’s inevitable. Sometimes, my thoughts are happy ones, and other times, they’re sad, but they remind me that no one can ever take your place in my life.

    I could go on and on about you, but I’ll need more than a million words. Sometimes, you would really get me upset, but you could never stay away too long. You’d go, “Amaaaa,” and I’d know you were ready to apologise and make me smile again. You were the sweetest soul.  

    This is a note to you, mum, from the bottom of my heart. I love you and I miss you so much. I can feel you every day. Some days, I question whether you’re really with us, and then, I get a sign that you are and always will be. 

    I’ll revel in the fact that I know you miss us too. Happy Mothers’ Day to you, my angel.

    Yours always,

    Ama

    RELATED: My Mum And I Are Best Friends But I Have A Secret I Can’t Tell Her

    LETTER 4

    To: The mum who we’ll always have the same arguments with

    Like every good mother, you’d raze down any building for your children, but what I really love about you is how you handle our misunderstandings. It’s like there’s a telepathic law that guides us, telling us there’s a line not to cross. 

    People would probably say you’re my mother, and we have no choice but to reconcile. It may be true, but regardless, I love how we find our way back to each other. One weird thing I love is driving you to places. You’d complain about every move I make even though I’m sure it has nothing to do with me because I’ve been driving since 2014. “Ah, Ayo. Watch that Okada man o”, “Ah Ayo. Trailer is at our back. Will you park?” you’d complain. My response will always be the same. Abike: Oya, come and drive.

    We’ll probably have this conversation many times, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

    Happy Mothers’ Day.

    With all my love,

    Fiks

    LETTER 5

    To: The sweet mum with the best conversations

    Hey Mama. 

    I thought about you last week. About all the small and big ways you influenced my life and carried our family. I don’t think one note does justice to it at all. 

    I love how you took care of me. Remember when I got my small sewing machine? It made sense to me then, but you thought it was a waste of money. Yet, months later, you drove me to a tailor’s shop where you arranged for me to learn how to sew. Oh mummy, I miss you so much.

    I miss our fights. I miss our random conversations in the kitchen. How you’d always tell me that all men wanted to see was my nakedness. I’d roll my eyes and laugh in my head because I also wanted to see their nakedness. Sometimes, we’d have heated feminist conversations, and you’d tell me how this world is unfair to women, especially this part of the world, and we have to adjust likewise. I’d disagree, but I miss those moments for us. I want one last conversation with you.

    I miss your presence every day. How you’d always call me at the peak of any iniquities. I could be doing something you wouldn’t approve of, and you’d randomly call to ask, “Where are you?“ You were always right on time with those calls. 

    I hate that this world had to take you away when it did. I hate it so much. Your last gift to me was on my 25th birthday last year. That memory sticks in my head till today. You casually walked into my room and handed me the perfume set Daddy gifted you. You mentioned how much you loved that set and had held onto it for a long time. 

    This is my first Mothers’ Day since you left, and a lot of things don’t make sense without you. I just want to say I love and miss you. Thank you for everything you did for me. I’ll never forget.

    Happy Mothers’ Day, Mama 💛

    With Love,

    K

    ALSO READ: I Still Haven’t Found a Better Gist Partner, Mum

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  • I Know I’m Your Favourite Niece, Admit It

    We bring to you, letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From:  The woman who thinks she’s the favourite niece

    To: Meye, her best aunt

    Dear Aunty Meye,

    I want you to read this knowing how much I love you. Going months without talking to you because of a silly fight made me realise how much I need you in my life. It would kill me if I ever found out something happened to you in the middle of our pointless silence. But knowing us, it’ll probably happen again, so here’s a letter to remind you how much I love you, even when I ignore your calls.

    One thing you always say to me is how alike we are, and maybe that’s what’s kept us connected for so long. When I was a kid, you understood my tantrums too well. You knew how to calm me down and get me to use my words rather than yell. There were times you’d spank me for those blow-ups, especially when we were in public, but you’d come back to hug me before I cried. I think that sums up our relationship; one minute you’re calling me your baby elephant, then we’re suddenly at war, and the next minute, we’re cuddled up again.

    It was easy for anyone to think you were my mum because of how present you were in my life. My mum was your eldest sister, and you were 16, so you stayed with us after school to take care of me when she was away. On some days, you’d tell me you wish you had more time to be a teenager rather than my nanny. I know you never say it out of spite, but I hear you when you express how much time went by in your life.

    RELATED: 8 Types of Nigerian Aunties You Know

    My words can’t compensate for the time, but I want you to know you gave me love that I’ll always be grateful for. When people thought I talked too much, you listened to me. You answered a million questions I asked and waited for the multiple more I had. Thank you for singing to me when I couldn’t fall asleep at night. Now that I’m older, I know it was to distract me whenever my parents were fighting. Thank you for loving me like your child, Aunty Meye.

    When I was 13 and you moved to Canada for school, I spent weeks adjusting to your absence. Nothing hurt more than the days I woke up needing encouragement when my parents fought. I needed your hugs. Still, thank you for being one phone call away no matter how busy you were. Going back to uni for another degree in your 30s must’ve been hard, but I’m proud you weren’t afraid to try. Thank you for encouraging me to get mine too, whenever you called — even though it led to our fight in March [2022].

    I’m sorry for our stupid fight. We’d gone back and forth on moving to Canada for my master’s degree. You’ll never admit it, but I know it was also for us to be close to each other again. I wanted that too, but I just didn’t want Canada. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted. I just needed you to trust that I had it under control. But like an African aunty, you were worried about my future. 

    RELATED: 15 Things Anyone With a Nigerian Aunty Will Understand Immediately

    I understood you only wanted a better life for me. A soft life, actually. I was only angry you were acting like everyone else and hounding me about going to school. You’d call it tough love, but I expected you to be on my side. That’s why I ghosted you for months. I was hurt that you didn’t believe in me, and at the same time, I was sad that I’d disappointed you. 

    When I found out you were sick, I knew the silence wasn’t worth it. I’d never forgive myself for not taking your calls or responding to your texts. I’d probably stare at them every day if you ended up gone. You are my favourite aunt, and I know I’ll always be your favourite niece. 

    We’ll probably have another fight in about two months, but by then, I’ll be closer to Canada, so we can settle it in person. Until then, read this letter and admit that you missed my endless questions and gist.

    With all my love,

    Ebere

    ALSO READ: 7 Types Of Nigerian Aunties At An Owambe

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  • I’m Tired of Being Your Supportive Friend, I Want More

    We’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From:  The woman who’d tired of playing the supportive friend

    To: Christiana, the friend she wants back

    Dear Christiana, 

    We started out as acquaintances but ended up being as close as sisters. So thinking about how we grew distant still hurts. I’m writing this letter in the hopes that you’d read it and want to be friends again or at least try.

    Before we met, I felt out of place in my class. I’d been trying to get into uni through diploma classes, but I ended up not getting the course I wanted. None of my old friends was in my new class and I didn’t know how to make new friends. It was easier sneaking in and out of every lecture, to say “hi” to my old friends. instead But all of that changed when I finally noticed you in class.

    I still wonder how I’d never seen you until that day you rushed into class late. Maybe it was the huge tote bag you carried or the way you walked in. I instantly wanted to be friends but I didn’t know-how. So imagine my joy when I realised we had some mutual friends. I hung out with them more to get closer to you because I wanted you to notice me. I even started staying after lectures to feature in every conversation you were in. That’s how much I wanted our friendship. 

    After a few weeks, we moved in the same circles. We laughed at the same jokes and yabbed lecturers too. It was great seeing that warm and friendly side of you. We’d never hung out without our group of friends, but I considered you my friend already. Close enough for me to call you Christy. I thought you felt that connection too until things changed three years later.

    RELATED: 7 Nigerian Women Tell Us Their Pettiest Reasons For Ending A Friendship

    That year came with pressure. We were in our final year and everyone wanted to graduate with good grades. It had a way of making people distant. But for us, the pressure only brought us closer. While other classmates struggled to get me to tutor them, I gave you unbridled access to me and my brain. I really did care about you. I’d text almost every day asking about your weak points and offering pictures of my notes and explanations. We were tight, Christy. What changed?

    Beyond preparing for our final exams, I supported everything you did.  When you started your pastry business, I supported you like family. I told everyone about you, bought cakes from you when I could — I did everything. You talked about how grateful you were for my support. You felt I had your back and it brought us closer. So again Christy, what changed?

    Immediately after our final exam, you became distant. I thought I’d done something wrong, but you wouldn’t text me back when I asked what the problem was. Then I’d see your Whatsapp stories with cakes and doughnuts while you left our chat unread. It hurt going from talking every day to barely texting each other. Actually, I couldn’t believe it happened. 

    RELATED: 7 Nigerians Share Their Worst Friendship Breakup Stories

    You see Christy, I was used to being rejected when I asked anyone to be my friend. You were the one person that didn’t turn me down. So understand when I say that the distance between us hurt. We read in several lecture halls, cracked jokes in between, cooked and shared food together. I was happy and you were all I talked about. Even my boyfriend was tired of hearing about Christy. Losing that bond between us didn’t make sense to me. 

    Christiana, I’ll spare you the narration because I’m sure you remember the rest. If you ever read this, please know that I mourn the fact that our friendship ended. I don’t just want to comment “Well done” on every pastry you post. I want to be real friends again, not just “Mary, the supportive woman” to you.

    But if nothing changes, know that I still think of you as my friend.

    Yours,

    Mary

    ALSO READ: 6 Nigerians On Losing Friendships After Marriage

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  • I Know You Were My Crush, but Can We Still Be Friends?

    We’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: A woman who wants to remain friends with her crush

    To: Danielle, her ex-crush

    Dear Danielle, 

    I need to be freed from your bondage.

    I met you on a dating app in 2021, and our conversations there were kind of boring. We both opened that app once every couple of days, and I don’t think there was anything about us interesting enough to get us to keep talking. Then we moved to Twitter, which I believe is the app of the unhinged. With Twitter came a new ease. We laughed a lot and shared tweets a lot. I smiled so much, my friends knew I had gotten a crush. 

    It’s weird because now that I think about it, I don’t know why exactly I have a crush on you. It’s not like you went out of your way to flirt with me or court me. We had normal conversations about normal things and you teased me constantly about how young I was. Sometimes you were vulnerable. I believe I didn’t keep secrets from people, but I knew those conversations we had weren’t ones you discussed so often. I felt like you actively involved me in your life — and although I shouldn’t have — I felt special. 

    RELATED: All the Stages of Having a Crush

    I tried so hard to fight how I felt because things like this never end well for me. The crushes always lose their interest for reasons I can’t explain and I’m right back to square one. So one day I texted you and told you I’d decided to free you from my bondage. There was an age difference we had that bothered you, so I wanted you not to worry or guard every action around me. I wanted you happy and free. But even though I’ve freed you from my bondage, I don’t think you’ve released me from yours. 

    I want us to be friends, but I don’t know how. I want to text you every day, but I’m scared you’d think this is me fighting hard for something that’ll never be. I want to double text and have proper conversations with you again, but all I feel is fear. I’m scared you’re telling your friends about the girl that won’t leave you alone or you’d find me embarrassing and my attempts at friendship ridiculous. I want to send you random pictures and tell you about people I like, but I’m scared. 

    You’d think I should be able to have this conversation with you to clear things up, but if it takes me three days to mentally prepare myself to tell you “hi”, how could I manage that? I miss talking to you randomly and knowing things about you. But I’ve messed up this exact situation once, and I don’t want to do it again. 

    Yours sincerely,

    Lucy

    ALSO READ: When Did You Have Your First Crush? 9 Nigerians Tell Zikoko

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  • To the Best Big Sister: Thanks for Being My Safe Haven

    We’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: A woman who should be called her sister’s wrapper

    To: Labake, the firstborn

    Dear Sis La, 

    I’m writing this letter to you because you’ve been the best sister to me. I want you to know how completely unimaginable life would be without you, Sis La.

    You know I only call you Sis La to be annoying, so I’ll stick to Sis because I’m here to be sweet.

    When mummy had me, you were 10 years, 9 months and 17 days old. I have heard story after story of what growing up was like for you and how things had changed a lot by the time I was born. Our parents’ poverty had reduced by the time I was born. 

    You didn’t grow up with much. So even though mum and dad made sure you went to the best schools, you knew what it was like to be an outsider inside. When I was off to boarding school, you made sure I never felt out of place or lacked anything. One time in high school, I got asked if I had parents because of how much of a big deal I made about our relationship. You were so present and still are.

    One thing that hadn’t changed by the time I was born was you and mummy’s rocky relationship, but you did your best to shield me. I also tried my best to fight your battles too — especially with mum.  On one of those days she beat you, I yelled until she stopped. We were the kind of sisters that stood up for each other.

    RELATED: Mother’s Day Special: Watch two sisters expose all their mums’ little secrets on Mother’s Day

    We shared a room even though you were in uni at the time, and I’ll never forget the letter you wrote one day you came back from school and I had left the room scattered. It was a threatening message to warn me to not mess up the room and you ended it with, “The terrorist is back.”  LOL. You were never my terrorist, you were a haven. 

    Being a big sister isn’t the only thing you’re great at. When you got married, I cried like a baby, but I’ve loved watching you become a mum. Maybe all those years you put me first prepared you, but you are such a natural. I’m sorry I couldn’t shield you from the grief you felt when you tried to have another child after your son. That phone call made to mummy when you thought the baby was coming is still painful to remember. 

    On some days this won’t be enough, but I hope you read this letter knowing how deeply your son and I love you. You have one child of your own and the one mummy gifted you (me). 

    Sis, look at how far we’ve come. We now spend evenings in your garden gisting. (I’d call myself your wrapper at this point.) I’m old enough to move out, explore life and be on my own, but I’m scared. Although I don’t say it, I live in crippling fear of what my life is going to be like if I leave the comfort of your house, the comfort of your presence.

    Thanks for being the best big sister, Sis. If there’s another life and I, unfortunately, happen to come back to this damn world as an older sister, I want to be a lot like you.

    Yours always,

    Ibukun

    ALSO READ :9 Nigerian Women Talk About Their Relationship With Their Sisters

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  • We Went from Losing Weight at the Gym to Eating Puff-Puff Together

    In March, we’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: The woman who lost weight and gained a friend

    To: Lydia, the best gym buddy ever 

    Dear Lydia,

    The moment I saw this story, I knew I wanted to write a letter to you, the woman who became the big sis I never had.

    In 2021, I registered at the gym because I hated my body and wanted to change it. Little did I know I’d gain a friend for a lifetime. I came to the gym to burn calories from eating puff-puff, but I ended up with a partner in crime. 

    Two months in and I met you, Lydia. The first time I saw you, our trainer, Ukeme, was trying to get you to do burpees, but you looked like you were dancing. From Ukeme’s face, I expected he’d walk away the next minute. I was laughing hard on the inside.  You reminded me of my first day with Ukeme. Before I knew it, he asked you to work out with me. In between each soul-sucking set, you’d make funny jokes about Ukeme and it made me laugh. It was the first time I laughed through Ukeme’s exercise routines. That’s how we became Ukeme’s troublesome clients. 

    From the first day, we were inseparable. We spent the next year getting closer. I’d keep a Yoga mat beside me while working out, and everyone knew it was for you. We’d gist as we worked out and talk about the struggles of sticking to our diets. It felt good knowing I wasn’t the only one haunted by puff-puff. Whenever I wasn’t at the gym, you’d call to find out why you’d look for me and if you weren’t at the gym, everyone asked me about you. 

    I had other amazing gym friends, but my relationship with you was different. You were my first older friend at the gym — a whole 13 years older. Before you, I had so much anxiety about talking to older people. They were always serious. Not being able to crack a joke without overthinking made me nervous. You, on the other hand, were relatable. It’s so funny how we were so in sync that if something happened at the gym, we would look at each other at the same time and laugh. You became the big sister I never had.

    RELATED:10 Types Of Friends Every Woman Should Have

    Remember how you’d call me your baby? I really enjoyed the big sis flex from you. Sometimes they were as huge as getting me my first Apple watch. Other times, they were as little as giving me money for my first piercing. Let’s not forget the puff-puff you’d buy for me after Ukeme’s drills. You made the gym feel like a home away from home. 

    The best part of our friendship was experiencing it outside the gym. Your birthday shoot in October 2021 is my favourite memory of us. We’d been friends for eight months, and it was one of our last hangouts together. The hardest part was knowing it would all end in January 2022.

    One of the things we talked about was your japa plans. Nigeria is the ghetto, and you wanted something better for yourself and your kids. I understood. Understanding didn’t keep me from tearing up like a baby though. Is it selfish to say I wanted more than one year with you? Well, my tears the night before your departure must have said it all. I didn’t want to do the gym solo.

    Lydia, I miss you so much. No one makes me laugh as hard while Ukeme tries to kill us. Thank you for being the best gym buddy, friend and big sis all wrapped in one. No matter what happens, no matter where we both live, you will always be my friend.  

    This letter made me realise that I need to call you. Running to do that now. 

    Till we meet again, 

    Dammy.

    ALSO READ: How To Make Friends: A Zikoko Guide

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  • I Still Haven’t Found a Better Gist Partner, Mum

    In March, we’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: A woman who wants to be a better gist partner than her mum

    To: Patience, her mum

    Dear Patience, 

    I’m writing this letter to you to reminisce on our 53 years together. Since you passed in 2018, I’ve missed having someone to talk to. I miss having someone that understands me. 

    P.S: Calling you Patience is strange, so I’ll switch to “mum” now.

    I always knew we’d be friends, mum. You trusted me — from the start. When I was five, you trusted me to clean and watch my little sister. When I was 11, you trusted me to watch over the five more kids you had. And you tried your best to make sure I wasn’t stressed. Before you’d leave for work at 6 a.m., you’d make breakfast so I’d only have to think of lunch or dinner. At night, you’d ask about my day. “My small mama, wetin una do today?” you’d say. And I’d proceed to pour out my frustrations. No matter how tired you were, you’d listen to every bit of my rant. You made it easy for me to become your friend. 

    Remember how angry I was about Bri storing her clothes for days? You laughed about it so long and hard, that I couldn’t help but join you. You knew how to get me happy, and I wish I did more to know about you. Because now that I think about it, mum, you never let out your frustrations during that time. I didn’t know what a day in your life was like even though you listened to every narration of mine and reminded me not to take life so seriously. I wish I could have our special times alone again, if only to ask you, “Wetin you do today?”. 

    RELATED: If You Have a Yoruba Mother, Here’s Why She’s an Absolute Babe

    My favourite memory as a teen was following you to your store. I was always a quiet kid, so you were my safe space. While the other kids went off to play after school, I just wanted to be at your store. Call me a mama’s girl or whatever, but now that you’re gone, I’m glad I stayed to help you count the gallons of palm oil you didn’t sell. 

    Did you love our walks back home? Because I did. I got to hear you talk about yourself a lot more. Things like not knowing when you were born. Your parents only remembered the year 1951. 

    Knowing more about you made me feel closer to you. You told me about meeting dad. How he lived so close to you but not realising until the random day he said hello. Of course, you had to add the part about waiting till marriage to be intimate. All your gist made it easy to forget I was quite the loner as a teen. When I went to university, it stayed that way. We didn’t have phones to keep in touch, but we’d write letters to each other every month. 

    RELATED: The Different Kinds of Nigerian Mothers

    Even in adulthood, you were my closest friend. I got married, had two kids, and we became closer. You stayed with me during my pregnancies and made it so much easier. With my first  — Ebere — you indulged my cravings for ewa aganyin. Every morning, you’d wait outside for the woman selling it. With my second — Nduka — you stayed with me when I found out he had down syndrome. You let me cry on your shoulders and comforted me.

    Thank you for being my mum and friend when I needed it the most.

    Now that you’re gone, I’ve had to learn to talk to other people. Mostly my daughter though. She’s 23 now, and I’m trying to be her gist partner. You would have been way better, but I’m trying.

    I won’t talk about the moments you were sick because you deserve to be remembered as my rock. This is one last letter to you. Only this time, you won’t be the one reading it. Thank you for 53 years of love and friendship — I can’t fit it all into a page.

    PS: Beyond the gist, I miss eating your special corn moi-moi. 

    Forever in my heart, 

    Onyeche 

    ALSO READ: 7 Types Of Friends Every New Mom Needs To Survive

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  • I Hate That I Can’t Remember Your Face

    In March, we’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From: A woman who never wants to forget her best friend

    To: Evelyn, her best friend

    Dear Evelyn,

    One might say we were an unlikely match and I’d understand. In fact, I had the same sentiment when my family moved into the neighbourhood and I saw you for the first time. You were loud with a bubbly personality, all the things I wasn’t.

    But to our parents, we were so similar. The same age, from the same ethnic group; to them, it was the perfect recipe for a great friendship.

    “Go on, talk to her. She’s the same age as you.”

    You beat me to our first words to each other. Typical you, so intentional and sweet. Whenever we fought, I’d make up my mind to come to you, but you’d beat me to it. I’d find you at our backdoor, obnoxiously calling out my name to ask me for something you obviously didn’t need and then we’d be friends again.

    The details of our first conversation are insignificant but symbolic. I was too young to know it then, but it was the beginning of the greatest friendship I ever had.

    From that day, we stuck together. “Thick as thieves” was child’s play to us. Siamese twins were more like it. Although we went to different schools, we always left the house together. We literally started our periods at the same age, 13 I believe. We gossiped about the boys toasting us, well, you, because you were the beautiful one; the one everyone adored and loved. I was honoured to be your friend. 

    RELATED: 10 Types Of Friends Every Woman Should Have

    When I started writing this, I thought it was just a letter to a friend, but as I wrote, the words revealed something else, something more. 

    Do you remember?

    The first time we kissed? We were playing mummy and daddy; we were only playing pretend, but it felt so real. We did it as a joke, but from that day things changed. We’d sneak in quick kisses and pecks whenever we could find time away from prying eyes and ears. 

    Do you remember?

    The time Aunty Kelechi caught us and threatened to tell our parents? We cried and begged her for weeks not to tell anyone and that we had stopped that “’bad thing” as she called it. We didn’t, but still, the thrill of the pretence was just as fun.

    Do you remember?

    All the times we’d spend learning Nicki Minaj’s rap? From Moment for Life to Roman’s Revenge God, I miss the old days when we spent all of our time dreaming of what we’d be like as adults… It’s not as fun as we thought it’d be, ba?

    Do you remember?

    The day before the last? You came over to collect a CD from my house. That afternoon, I roped you into playing football with the rest of my family into the evening. When you left, I told you not to stay up late watching it, since you had school the next day.

    Do you remember?

    That night. When the fire took you? No, you possibly can’t. That’s the burden for those left behind. They are forced to remember. To live with the memories or the betrayal of forgetting those memories.

    RELATED: How To Make Friends: A Zikoko Guide

    I watched from the street as the fire grew. It was late in the night and everyone tried to get you out. There was nothing I could do. I kept praying for a miracle that somehow, you’d survive. I watched my prayer disintegrate as many toiled and failed to rescue you from the fire. I watched them carry you away.

    The other day, I passed by your house and tried to conjure up a memory of us together, but it’s been a decade since that day. but your face was missing. I could see us playing in the compound, I could feel the euphoria of the moment, but I couldn’t see your face.

    I told someone about it, and they said that sometimes the brain pushes back traumatic images and memories to protect us. Dissociative amnesia, they called it, but it still felt like a betrayal; to you and to our friendship. 

    These days, I don’t remember us every day, but on the days I do, the weight of your absence is almost crushing. But I — with glee — bear its remembrance.

    I’m sad I have to move on without you. I want to go back to playing pretend with you. Maybe we would have been brave enough to make a real family together; you’d be mummy and I’d be mummy too. I know I can’t have that now, but at least we have this letter.

    I’m glad I get to share your memory with the world.

    Love,

    Kachi

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  • Three Years of Partying Together and I Still Ask Myself if We’re Really Friends

    In March, we’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From:  The woman that misses an old friend 

    To: Chimdi, the friend whose values changed 

    Dear Chimdi (Chim),

    Writing this letter feels weird because these are things I’ve never been able to tell you. It’s been three years of being friends, and in two of those years, this letter will be the most honest I’ve ever been about us.

    I always saw you in church but didn’t really notice you because, well, we were in church. We finally spoke at a conference rehearsal in March 2019. That day was another chaotic Saturday of practising hymns, which I absolutely hated. Everyone did nonsense during practice if someone didn’t conduct them.  We were 30 minutes behind schedule that day, and people were either gisting outside the hall or pressing their phones. I was getting pissed and decided to take the piss and lead. But I guess you were thinking the same thing because you beat me to it. Your voice, bringing the whole church/choir to order was effortless and powerful.  I wanted to talk to you after that. 

    I started to notice you. I’ll never forget that blue skirt you loved to pair with a yellow blouse — thank God I taught you some style, sis. Your personality was as bubbly as the odd colours you loved to pair. You were everywhere. If there was an event or meeting, Fiona had to be there. Most of the time you were in a rush to leave after church —just a few “Hellos”, “How was service” and “Oh! Your dress is nice” greetings. Everything was still on the surface; I wasn’t sure you were a friend yet.

    It had been six months of the light pleasantries. Crossover night in 2019 was when it really clicked. I admit I was a bit lonely then. I had just finished school and moved back to Abule Egba and life felt a bit bland. Thankfully, some church guys snuck in some alcohol during the service. We bonded over vodka on the church stairs while our parents were shouting, “Holy Ghost!” in the hall.  Laughing over smuggled alcohol made me feel close to you, so warm inside. . That was the first time I wasn’t weighed down by the uncertainties of a new year during those final minutes of the previous year. 

    RELATED: 10 Types Of Friends Every Woman Should Have

    We became real friends that night. I finally had someone I could open up to — a confidant. My favourite memory of us is still our first-night clubbing in Lagos. It’s one of the last moments our friendship felt… real. Real in the sense of being that girl, I could open up to and connect with. 

    That night, you dressed up in a fire bodysuit and leather skirt, and I had my slinky ruched dress on. I remember it like yesterday. There was no overthinking or fear. You trusted me enough to plan the night. We drank, toasted to the years ahead and danced all night. I was happy until that guy showed up. If I knew the moment wouldn’t last, I would have held you back when he walked up to say hi. 

    The night you met Fred*, our relationship changed. I could see he thrilled you. His beard,  money, the parties, the clothes — they gave you a high. As the months went by, our conversations became stiff. You didn’t want to talk about getting jobs anymore or going to school for our master’s. It was all about Fred and the things he did. I was fine with your happiness, but the day I pulled back was when you mocked me for going to work. “Na you dey stress yourself for money now,” you said. 

    Chim, that moment hurt me. You knew I was working so I could get by. I needed your encouragement, Fiona. I needed the friend I could spend hours talking to about anything. 

    RELATED: How To Make Friends: A Zikoko Guide

    I hated having to filter our gist. Every time I opened up to you about a plan, it went left. But did I learn? No. I still ran to you for advice. I finally learnt my lesson after you convinced me to spend my rent money on a visa that I should have guessed wouldn’t work out. I started to hold back. I hate it, but I have to.

    It’s weird not being able to open up to you and still call you a friend. We still drink alcohol together and go out to parties, but there is no depth. We don’t talk about the future we hoped to have anymore, the women we dreamt of being, the men we wanted to meet.  I  may have outgrown this friendship, but I’m too scared to admit that. 

    Regardless of the awkward shift in our friendship, I want you to know that I still love you, Chimdi. I miss the girl that made me laugh while we sipped vodka on the church stairs. You are kind-hearted, sweet and no-nonsense. In the middle of all the partying and nights out, I’m amazed at how you now take care of your family. I love that we can still share a drink and laugh at my balcony while we talk about the stress of adulthood. I know things are different and life will continue to impose unwanted change on us, but I’ll be happy for even a crumb of the moment we had that first night at church.

    XOXO

    Fiona

    ALSO READ: “I Couldn’t Wait To Pack My Bags And Leave Johannesburg”- Abroad LifeLife

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  • Four Months of Living Together and Hopefully We Don’t Kill Each Other

    In March, we’re bringing to you letters written by women to women they love, miss, cherish or just remember. To celebrate the support women continue to show each other, this is #ToHER.

    From:  The woman that’ll never admit she has a best friend

    To: Tega, the best friend turned flatmate

    Dear Tega,

    I tell anyone who cares to listen, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never had someone that cares about me as much as you do. You ask me genuine questions about my life and what I’m going through. It makes me grateful for you.

    I cherish the day we met. It’s been eight years since I walked into my first lecture in uni and found you. I wasn’t expecting to find much; I was even ready to be the odd girl in class people made fun of for her accent and name, which had happened through school since I moved to Lagos at four years old Village girl, was the name that haunted me until I finished secondary school. 

    Inside, I wanted to finally have real friends. Friends that didn’t tease me about things I couldn’t change about myself. Honestly, I was fine with just one — a best friend, and I met you. 

    RELATED: Love Life: We Were Best Friends In Secondary School, Now We Are Married

    I watched you pull out the seat next to me and turn to say a high-pitched hello. You were the epitome of ajebota. The by-force American accent, your fancy boots with the gold chain, and your chubby cute cheeks. Oh! That purple braids you had on was everything. Thirty minutes into sitting beside each other and you had asked me about fifty questions. Where did I live? Did I stay on campus? Why did I pick Urban and Regional Planning? Whenever my answers were vague, you dug deeper. I had never felt so seen, but I was stressed.

    You tried to give me a little bit of yourself so I’d feel comfortable. “I live in Abuja and I stay at Honours hall,” you said. Then continued questioning me for most of the day. We talked about how we hated our course and the series of unfortunate events that led us there. We went for lunch together, walked back to my hostel together.  Letting you in was so easy.  

    I’m writing this letter to you because I can’t think of anyone I’ve had more genuine moments with. From talking about the dumb boys we met — thank you for not judging me when I told you about the boy that hurt me. To being there for me even when I went back to him. Tega, thank you for letting me know I was strong enough to leave. 

    Even when we were done with school, and you moved back to Abuja, distance didn’t change your endless inquiries about my life. Yes, there were weeks we didn’t talk, but all we needed was one phone call or voice note. Thank you for pushing past the distance between us. You were miles away, but I never felt alone, Thank you for the days you forced me to get out of bed and chase dreams I thought were impossible. I’m so proud of everything you’ve fought for. I’m so proud of how you believe in yourself. Thank you for making me believe in myself too.

    I admit when you decided to come back to Lagos, I had mixed feelings. First, I was happy I could easily see you again. The worry came when you asked us to live together. I was worried you’d see parts of me you couldn’t accept. The late nights, the partying, the drinking. I thought you’d hate the person I had become. Well, It’s been four months, and we’ve had a few drunk nights, so I’d say there are parts new parts about you I’ve gotten to see and love. Thank you for making our one-bedroom flat feel like a home. Thank you for accepting all the parts of me that changed. 

    I never imagined sharing a home with you, babe. It was a weird decision for me, but the truth is, I love it. There is no one else I would rather want to live with.  Forget all my hard guy; you’re my girl for life

    Ps: I’ll never admit loving you to your face and I’ll deny writing this letter. 

    Till the wheels fall off,

    Sere

    ALSO READ: “I Fled Ukraine Four Days Before Russia Attacked”- Abroad Life

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