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When women complain about sexual harassment, the typical question that follows is, “Where were you?” implying that they had to be in a questionable location for it to happen.
But what happens when the harassment happens somewhere that’s supposed to be safe? Seven Nigerian women share their experience with sexual harassment in situations where they least expected it’d happen.
I went to the hospital for a pap smear, and the male gynaecologist kept saying I had a beautiful face. I was uncomfortable, but I politely smiled and said, “Thank you”. When it was time for the smear, he directed a female student doctor to do it. I was immediately relieved, but my relief was short-lived.
Anyone who’s taken a smear test knows you’re naked from the waist down, knees in the air, and entirely exposed when the speculum is inserted. The person performing the test usually sits at eye level of your cervix. In this case, it was the female student doctor. But this guy stood behind the female doctor all through, staring at my cervix. He made it seem like he was directing the student, but he was staring at me, and even commented that I had a “beautiful cervix”.
When the student was done, she had issues with removing the speculum. So, this guy reached in — with ungloved hands — to remove it. Then he slightly tapped my vagina. I felt violated, but I wasn’t sure if I was thinking too much about it. After the test, he asked for my WhatsApp number so he could “forward the results” to me. I didn’t report him. Who would take me seriously in a government hospital?
In her home
— Nini*, 24
My dad had a stroke a few years ago that left him mute and immobile. After the initial treatment at the hospital, he was discharged, and my family paid for a physiotherapist to come help with his movement thrice a week.
I was usually the only one at home when the physiotherapist came, and he soon started flirting with me. I didn’t think he was serious, so I’d just laugh him off. He was much older and really friendly. He would say stuff like, “Shey you’ll be my second wife?” but I didn’t see the need to complain to my mum.
Then, one day, he asked me to help him move my dad for a particular exercise. When I did, he grabbed and kissed me. My dad’s back was turned, but he was literally in the room! I screamed, and he must’ve panicked because he hurriedly left. He never came back to treat my dad.
In a place of worship
— Moyin*, 21
I used to have nightmares as a 12-year-old, and my typical Nigerian mum decided I needed deliverance. I was taken to one ori-oke (mountain top) for a three-day vigil, and my mum wasn’t allowed to stay with me.
It was a youth-focused deliverance program, so every other person was underage like me. On the last night, we had to meet the religious head individually for special prayers. He wasn’t alone when I got to his office. There was one other man and two women holding candles, praying. They made me lie on my back on the floor, and the religious head lay spread out on top of me. I think it was supposed to be a power transfer or healing thing.
I should note that we were both fully clothed, but the man was moving back and forth on top of me. It went on for about five minutes before I was asked to leave. I only realised years later that this man was actually grinding on me with a full-on erection.
I once had a boss who, for the one year I worked with him, didn’t hide the fact that he wanted to sleep with me.
Anytime he managed to catch me alone, he’d smack my ass or pinch my cheeks. When he noticed I deliberately tried to avoid him, he’d give me never-ending tasks or shout at me for no reason. I endured it for a year because I was dead broke and wasn’t about to leave my salary without having another job lined up.
In a police station
— Flora*, 31
A friend was picked up by the police for riding on an okada, so I went with some of his family to try to get him released. The officer handling his case leered at me all through the time we were there.
At first, I ignored him, and he kept frustrating us. But my friend’s brother begged me to try to be friendly with the officer so he’d be more helpful. I plastered a smile on my face, and sure enough, the officer became helpful. When my friend was finally released, the officer went, “Won’t you hug me to say thank you?” I acted like I didn’t hear him and walked out of the station as fast as I could.
In the library
— Sarah, 19
I used to visit a public library close to my home frequently until the day a man exposed his genitals to me.
He was sitting across from me, and I noticed he kept fidgeting. After a while, he called my attention and gestured under the desk, implying that I had dropped something. I bent to look and instantly came face to face with his genitals. I was too shocked to say anything, and immediately moved to another section. There were a few other people in the library, but I kept thinking, “What if he comes to meet me here?” So, I just decided to leave altogether. It was crazy.
With a family member
— Danielle*, 22
When I was around 6 years old, there was this uncle who regularly visited. I really disliked him because he always made me sit on his legs even when I protested.
My parents didn’t mind, but the day I complained to my mum that there was “something in his pocket” that always poked me was when I stopped seeing him at our house. Now, I know what the something in his pocket was, but I wish my parents had prevented him from making me sit on his legs in the first place. That’ll never happen to my kids.
*Some names have been changed for anonymity.
If you found this relatable, you should read this next:
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.
I have a fear of home invasions. All forms of it: burglaries, armed robbery, break-ins. The crux of that fear is having an unwelcome stranger in my house.
It was just a few minutes past 2 a.m. when I woke up to stare at my phone’s too-bright screen. The date was May 24, 2023. I heard a soft click, and the door to my room opened slowly. I was confused, and at first, I thought, “I didn’t close it properly. A breeze must have happened.”
But the door didn’t stop opening. The slice of light from the hallway kept widening. It was now clear that someone was on the other end of the door, and they were opening it slowly, trying to make sure they wouldn’t wake me. My flatmates usually knock first.
“Who the fuck is that?” I yelled before I realised I was angry or afraid. The door immediately stopped moving. I jumped out of bed — it takes a few seconds because I sleep naked and have to wear a robe — and chased after them, but they were gone by the time I got there.
Outside my door, there was a lingering whiff of body odour in the hallway. In the living room, the balcony door was open. My flatmates and I live on the first floor, so this person climbed the railing to get into our apartment.
I didn’t know until daylight, but they left a handprint on the wall right by the balcony door.
I slammed the balcony sliding door closed, almost losing my little finger. Then I walked back to my room and stood at the door, trembling. All I could think was, “There was someone in this house. There was someone in our house.” I stood there for a while before I heard someone yelling from the next house. The person must’ve climbed the fence to get into the next compound. When I finally stopped shaking, I went inside, locked the door and texted my flatmates.
I lay in bed, staring at my door, half expecting it to open for a stranger to come in and attack me. I couldn’t sleep until 4:56 a.m.
Now, look. I’m well aware of how careless we were. The balcony has three doors: a burglary-proof door, a sliding net door and a sliding glass door. They were all closed, but none were locked; entry was easy. And my neighbour was robbed the previous month, possibly by the same person.
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The following day, I bought the strongest padlock I could find and permanently locked the burglary-proof gate. When I spoke to some neighbours, they told me the security guard in the next compound had seen him jumping the fence. He’d taken my neighbour’s make-up purse, which he’d dumped in the next house. Then he apparently came back that same night and tried to rob some other neighbours.
I couldn’t sleep properly for days, so I packed my shit and went to a friend’s house until I felt ready to return home.
One early morning in late June, a few weeks later, I heard the soft click of the door again. I opened my eyes and saw a blurry image of someone standing at the door. Before I could fully process my thoughts or the pounding of my heart, I yelled at them, “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” As the person rushed toward me, saying, “It’s me,” I realised it was a friend who had come over for a few days, not an intruder. It felt like the whole thing had happened again for a few seconds. Only this time, they actually got into my room to attack me.
As my friend comforted me, and I tried to calm my heart, I started laughing because it was too funny. Would I always be afraid of the sound of my door? I’d been so angry that they’d come back, but what did I think my fearful anger was going to do, scare them away? It did before, so maybe it has some power.
I check all the doors before I go to bed now, but every time I open my door and hear the soft click, I get a flashback that makes me shake my head. Don’t go to bed without locking your doors, people.
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Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.
*TW: This story contains themes of depression and suicide*
Tell me about your team lead
We were very close. If somebody asked me out at the bank, I would tell her I’d tell her, and we’d laugh about it. She even got her best friend to talk to me when I was feeling very depressed, and she wasn’t around.
But we started to fall out in late 2021. About a year into the role, I became restless and wanted to know where my career was headed. It was a new team, which meant there was a lot of uncertainty about career growth. I wasn’t sure what was next, and I didn’t like it.
So what did you do?
As I became more restless, it started some friction with other members of the team. So I brought up how I felt with my boss, and she tried to calm me down.
She was away from the country and promised we’d talk about it when she returned. But I felt out of place in the team because she was away for a long time.
How long?
About six months. I’d already applied for another job before she returned. When I told her this on Whatsapp, she asked why, and I made a flippant statement like, “You people are confusing; I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
It hurt her a lot because apart from assuring me that we’d discuss how to navigate how I was feeling about work, she had been there for me.
For context, when I almost O’D’ed in May 2021, she got me help and took care of me.
Overdosed? What happened?
I had come into the bank job with a lot of debt because I’d just moved from Abuja. So I had to get a place to stay. Thinking about it now, it was probably just ₦200 or ₦300k but it felt really overwhelming at the time. I also felt very alone. I was away from my family and had no friends in Lagos. My family was also requesting black tax, as always.
How did your boss find out?
We followed each other on Instagram, and I used to post worrying content. My state of mind also affected my output; tasks that typically take a day or two took two weeks.
One day, she texted me on my WhatsApp and said she noticed what I posted on Instagram and offered to get me help. I broke down because I didn’t even know that someone would see that something was wrong. She paid for a session with a psychiatrist, and I was placed on medication.
What were you diagnosed with?
Depression. I’ve had depression since I was 14. It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life.
I grew up with my dad’s family in Port Harcourt. I had a step-mum because my mum and dad had separated when I was born, and my mum stayed in Bayelsa.
There was a lot of verbal abuse, and my stepbrother used to try to sexually assault me at night. Nobody ever did anything about it. My step mum once said to me, “If you wear shorts to sleep as I told you, he won’t try to touch you.”
I often ran away, and they’d find me and bring me back. She’d beat the shit out of me, all the works. I was around nine or ten years old.
I’m so sorry. What about your dad?
I never told him. He was barely around because he was into illegal oil bunkering, so he never noticed. I think the only time he noticed something was off was when my step-mum accused me of stealing her money. He asked me if I took the money and I said no, then he made a comment, “Children like this end up being the best people.” I don’t know what he meant, but I interpreted it to mean, “They’re maltreating you now, but tomorrow you’ll be alright.” That hurt because he was supposed to protect me.
Because of all that trauma growing up, I was already very depressed. I’ve been suicidal for a long time, but I I was just too scared to do anything about it.
Let’s go back to your boss’ help in 2021
I felt very safe and heard with her, and I didn’t need to do anything extra. My boss said it was something I’d been battling for a long time, and I’d never really gotten a plan for recovery, so she wanted to get me all the help I needed, both therapy and medication.
Did the medication help?
The jury’s still out on whether they work. What helped me was being seen and heard, not necessarily the medication.
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Fair enough. So what happened when you fell out with your boss?
She told me that she blamed herself because it meant she couldn’t clearly communicate her vision for the team. She was also surprised because it felt like she was doing her best to carry me along.
Now I wanted to see what it was like in other teams, so I moved from marketing to the product team. It broke my boss because she felt like it was personal. We didn’t have a fight, but there had been a back and forth for months, and towards the end of the 2021, she called me and told me she’d heard a lot of stuff I’d said to HR, and she was very disappointed. It was an emotional conversation, but it also felt finallike “this is it.”
When she returned to the country, we eventually had a face-to-face conversation. I let her know it wasn’t personal, and I wasn’t lying to get ahead or trying to put her down. I just needed to move for me and the sake of my career. But by then, the damage was already done, and we were never that close again.
So sorry
I left her team and joined another team; there was no going back. I was trying to get ahead with my work.
In 2022, I got admission into a school in Sweden and was up for a scholarship. But I stalled the application process because the school required a reference letter from my boss; but I had fallen out with the person I’d worked with for about a year and didn’t know how to approach my new boss. So I was in limbo until the deadline passed. That’s how I lost out on the scholarship.
While this was going on, I was also in a situationship with a team member.
It just happened; we were on the same project, so we were always working together. We started talking, and things progressed from that. But it didn’t work out and ended badly.
Losing out on the scholarship and the end of my situationship took a toll on me. And I OD’d again.
I had a lot of medication at home from my sessions the year before. So I sat down and opened all the drugs, removed them from their packs and started swallowing them in bits until I’d taken them all.
I texted my older sister and told her I’d overdosed on my medication. Then I turned off my phone and stayed under the shower. She was out of town and couldn’t come but called a mutual friend who rushed to the house. He broke the door and rushed me to my psychiatrist — my sister had told him about it.
When I woke up the next day, my new boss, a top management member from work were by my bedside. The mutual friend had called the office because he said when he took me to the hospital, my psychiatrist wasn’t around, but the other people there had made some statements about suicide being illegal in Nigeria, and he was afraid I’d be arrested.
So he called my office and they came to take me out of the hospital that morning. We went to another hospital, and. I was admitted for three weeks. I saw a dozen psychiatrists and therapists. It felt like a prison, but with a lot of medication.
I’m sorry, that sounds like a lot. Did you go back to work?
Not immediately. The entire month I was in the hospital, I was worried and kept thinking about work, but they said I couldn’t go. The psychiatrist consultant said he felt I didn’t understand the gravity of what I had done because I was very eager to go to the office, and that’s not how it works. I had to understand that trying to take my life wasn’t how to handle stuff when it got hard. That helped me through the treatment.
After I was discharged at the end of June, I spent one month at home, getting better. I went back to work in August. I never returned to the psychiatrist I was seeing,l , and they never reached out. I also never went back to any of my appointments at the new hospital.
Why not?
I didn’t think it was effective for me. I also stopped my medication in July when I went back home. I felt like I’d always be on medication, and I didn’t want that. When I get withdrawal symptoms, I take one or two to ease the symptoms. Therapy and drugs don’t help. I’m still very depressed but I won’t try to kill myself again.
So how are you doing now?
Now, I’m okay mentally. I’m in a better place. Maybe it’s the pep talks I have with myself; maybe it’s the weed.
Haha
I started smoking when I got off my medication. I don’t like depending too much on anything, so I don’t smoke all the time, but it helps. I’m better now.
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There was food and shelter, but emotional safety was missing. Whenever my mum came back from work, everyone would scramble because she was always angry about something. Sometimes I used to avoid even sitting in the living room because I might be sitting the wrong way, and she’d lash out.
That level of uncertainty led to anxiety, hypersensitivity, and over-analysing. I was always anxious about the smallest of things.
I’m assuming this affected your relationship with others, like your siblings?
I have three sisters, and our relationship is beautiful. We understand each other on many levels. I think we bonded over the trauma of living with a mum like ours. But I haven’t explored this conversation with them, to be honest.
Let’s talk about your relationship with your mum
Growing up, like every Nigerian girl, you think your mum hates you at some point. Mine was even more intense because, as I said before, my mum is a pastor, and there were lots of religious and vigorous religious activities always going on in our house. It definitely played into my personality traits. The only friends I had were from church, I didn’t have many outside church.
It was all very stressful; going to multiple churches, having pastors come in and out of the house, being a Christian, your parents having certain expectations of you. Now that I’m older, I sort of understand and sympathise with them because I recognise how difficult raising four girls must have been. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t their intention to create that kind of environment, but that was the result.
It was intense; there wasn’t a choice to be anything but a Christain girl. But even then, I didn’t believe in the patriarchy, I’d always questioned that. But life outside of religion was difficult for me to navigate, and still is. Now I ask questions about who I am outside of that very intense Christian upbringing, and sometimes I don’t have the answers.
Now our relationship is a long-distance relationship. We touch base, but nothing too in-depth. I don’t feel like I can really talk to her, we’ve never had that type of relationship, but I recognise that she’s mum, and I know that if shit hits the fan, she’ll be there for me.
How does your healing impact interactions with friends?
If I’m in a gathering with friends, I’m able to notice when I’m overextending myself or people-pleasing. I’m also reluctant to ask for help or accept it. It stems from being hyper-independent from a young age. I’m the firstborn; my sister (the middle sibling) has always been closer to my dad, and my mum was more concerned about my younger sister because she’s deaf, so she had special needs. I was mostly left to figure out myself and also take care of everybody else in a way. I was usually the one they’d ask about laundry or cooking.
Growing up like that, you just get the sense that you’re your protector and provider. I guess that’s why it wasn’t too difficult for me to leave my parent’s house. I remember going to university and thinking, “Whew, this is nice!”
Being on my own has been my way of feeling like I have control over something. My therapist was telling me recently that I have to be okay with relying on people sometimes but also understand that they won’t always be able to come through for me.
Let’s talk about leaving home
In 2018, when I was 24, I moved to Ghana for a scholarship programme. I felt relief but also a little sad. Leaving family and friends was scary, but it also felt freeing. It was like breaking away from the pressures, the belief system, and just the environment.
What belief system?
Christianity. My mum is a pastor and fervent Christain, so we were always in church or going for church programmes or hosting house fellowships. Being away from home and indoctrination, you’re faced with more in-depth interactions that aren’t coloured by religion. Sometimes you start to see the cracks in your existence.
A big example is when I lived with my friend; we had a big fight, and it was about me not being able to express my needs and concerns because I avoided negative reactions. This stemmed from just trying not to make my parents angry, and that felt normal because, as a child, my life was easier if I could avoid it. But as an adult, I had to confront and work that out.
So those interactions force you to see the places where there are issues and what you need to solve. I only started to recognise emotions for what they are when I moved away and had to interact with other people on many different levels. Growing up, emotions were always shut down because, in Christianity, you’re not allowed to be afraid as a child of god or feel anxiety or anything. In a religious setting, you’re either happy or sad, and if you’re sad, you have to go and pray. I remember my dad always saying, “You can’t be afraid because you’re a child of God.” But it never stopped me from feeling the fear, even though things usually worked out. So you never explore or confront what you’re afraid of or anxious about.
Outside of the bubble of Jesus being your joy, you have to find happiness in yourself. You start to ask yourself what makes you happy etc. Being present in your own body and life helps you recognise all these things. So now I’m identifying and recognising emotions like anxiety and hypervigilance and stuff. They’ve always been there, but I now have the language for it. And I know there are other ways to exist. The biggest part of my healing journey is being able to recognise what is outside that bubble.
So, I take it you’re no longer a Christian?
No, and it wasn’t an abrupt decision It took some time to get there and for me to even acknowledge it. Once I left home, there was less pressure to go to church, to pray, to do all these things. And that meant that sometimes I didn’t do these things, and I was okay. I didn’t get attacked by demons or anything of the sort. It was in the little things; for instance, if you dream about eating, the church would have told you that you’ve been poisoned spiritually and you have to pray, but I’ve had that dream, and nothing happened. I’m alive and well.
So as you shift away from that, you see that it’s not that deep. And you even start to question those beliefs. Sometimes you meet other people that are living life completely differently. For instance, one thing that intrigued me when it was still very early on when I first moved. I went for some sisters’ fellowship, and everybody was wearing trousers with nail extensions, they didn’t cover their hair, but I could see that they were very much rooted in their beliefs like other Christians. It was bizarre to me because I’m coming from a background where they’d have told those ladies that they were going to hell for wearing extensions, so it made me think about things differently. There was a lot of fear-mongering, and it felt like normal human things were things that would take you to hell and have horrible consequences.
You see things that help shape your narrative and change your mind. I’ve also been doing a lot of learning; like, I saw a TikTok about how Christianity is a colonisation technique. So I’m getting a lot of information from many places and making my own inferences.
It was a disaster the first time we had that conversation. I came to Lagos to visit, and one day, said I wasn’t going to church. They sat me down and talked and talked. The fear-mongering came up, and one of our family pastors called me every week for two to three months until I eventually stopped picking up his calls.
The second time around, I was much bolder, and said it was my decision. My dad was like, “What do you mean it’s your decision?” and I was like it’s just is. I don’t need to defend or explain it. And he was like, “Where is all this coming from, who have you been talking to?” And I reminded him that I’m almost 30 and I can make my own decisions outside of other people. He asked if I was going to change my mind, and I said we’d see how it goes.
I guess they have a fear of me missing heaven, and there’s also the idea that if you don’t stick to God’s plan, your life won’t turn out the way it’s supposed to. You could end up destitute or poor. I guess that’s what they’re afraid of.
How has the healing affected your relationship with your partner?
It’s been helpful. Now some of the things I’m also aware of is seeing the patterns in other people. A lot of things happen because we fear vulnerability, because growing up, it wasn’t accepted with kindness or patience. And that shows up in different ways for different people. So now I tend to recognise it in my partner, and I can usually point it out and redirect the conversation to a healthy place.
Due to the few things I have learnt (I’m no expert, please), I’m able to help him navigate his own hurt too.
That’s sweet. What are the daily steps you take to make sure you don’t regress?
Regression is normal. Some days, I don’t have the bandwidth or capacity to do the exercises that are required to grow, and that feels like a regression. But it’s all part of the healing process.
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What sort of exercises?
The most recent one is something called identifying and separating facts, feelings and sensations. I learnt it from this book I’m reading: Becoming Safely Embodiedby Diedre Fay.
So facts, feelings and sensation is essentially dealing with an upsetting or triggering event like this: you identify what the facts are, what you’re feeling and the sensations in your body. The idea is to write it all down, then circle the facts, and then underline the feelings and sensations. Then you read only the facts a few times. When I tried it, I found that the more I read the facts, the less intense the feelings. When I started to feel calmer, I went back to read the feelings attached to it and found it easier to work it out.
What other tools do you use?
I spend like 15 minutes meditating every day in the mornings. I also try to focus on core wounds. For instance, if I’m feeling unsafe, I spend a few countering the belief system by stating the facts around it. So questions about safety in my job, my relationship, my finances, my career, emotionally and mentally. I list these things and just counter the feelings with these facts.
Another thing I do is: at the end of the day, I do something called guilt and shame journaling. I look back at my day and list the ways I felt guilty the point is to identify them and find the ways I’m innocent and the ways I’m being realistic in my expectations. For instance, if I’m feeling guilty about taking a nap because I was tired, I claim innocence because it happens sometimes, I’m only human.
I exercise and try to sleep, these two things are really helpful. Having routines are also very helpful.
Any last things you want to share?
Self-development and self-healing work is hard. We all need support. It sounds nice to be self-aware, but it’s a lot of hard, painful work. But if I can see myself navigating life a lot calmer, more peaceful, more secure and just generally better, then it’s all worth it.
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It was fun. I grew up in a town close to Irrua, my father’s village in Edo Central. Family was a huge part of my upbringing; I have five siblings, but there were always other people around, even people who weren’t family by blood. There’s a warmth that Edo people have. You might not necessarily agree with how people lived their lives, but you loved them anyway, despite their moral choices.
What sort of moral choices?
Let me tell you a funny story. There was this family we were always intrigued by: they were step-siblings, but everyone got along nicely. The legend was that Mr A was sleeping with Mr B’s wife and vice versa. When they all found out, there was a huge scandal, and one of the couples had to move, but they eventually switched partners. So now, Mr A’s wife is with Mr B, and vice versa.
Many girls I went to primary school with were pregnant for boys their age by the time they were 14 or 15. I never judged them. Of course, people would talk, but they were never ostracised because it happened often. It was also expected for the girl to move in with the boy’s family. That’s how many marriages started.
You’d just hear, “Oh, this babe has gone to her husband’s house o.” Not because the bride price was paid, but because she got pregnant, and that was it. And these were young 16 to 17-year-olds, and sometimes, they got pregnant the first time they had sex.
So there’s value in investing in sex education in that part of the country
Absolutely. If anything pushed me into development communication, it was the fact that some things people term as “normal” can be prevented with better education. For instance, someone gets pregnant at 16 because they didn’t know they could get condoms. And despite how seemingly open the society is, they were ashamed to talk about it.
The culture is also very brutal on women, specifically. I remember one day, we were driving home from school, and we saw a woman being paraded naked for adultery. Our driver said it needed to be done to prevent a curse on her household.
That’s awful. Did it affect your mindset?
That was a turning point for me. My feminism started because I saw a lot of marginalisation of women growing up. I’d see stuff and say, “God forbid.”
When men beat their wives in public, people would say she probably offended him, she didn’t behave right, etc. The patriarchy is strong in these parts. The women who live in Edo are strong and outspoken, but the moment they’re with a man, it’s almost like all that they are exists to be a feather in a man’s cap.
After I saw the woman who was paraded naked, I started reading books about Edo culture because I was curious to find out if what the driver said was true. I was very studious and serious about school, and reading and people kept saying to my dad that “I’ll marry a man, so he’s spending all that money just for a man to marry me.” It was all very misogynistic.
Moving to Abuja in 2016 made me realise that women there could have more agency. A lot of the women I was told were bad women when I was growing up were just women who didn’t get married or want to remarry. The core of who I am, my feminism and belief in women’s rights was shaped by those experiences.
I guess it’s a microcosm of the larger Nigerian society.
But there were good parts, too: the most beautiful part about growing up in Edo state is that you’re never alone. Everybody is invested and cares about your success, and always tries to contribute. There’s a strong sense of community based on the fact that we know we’re a minority tribe.
Edo state is one of the states where the people who speak the language live predominantly. For instance, Yoruba people are spread across different indigenous states and some other countries. The Edo language has about four main languages and 14 dialects. My father is Esan, while my mum is Bini. Although the groups are within the same state, they have different cultures. Another thing with Edo State is that you’re always in proximity to jazz whether you like it or not, so you have to be very prayerful.
We’re Catholic, and my family is very prayerful, especially my mum. We’ve seen first-hand what jazz can do. People say they don’t believe in it, and that’s fine, but I’ve witnessed it. One thing about growing up in Edo state that shaped me is that even though I have first-hand experience, I’m not afraid of jazz. How we see it in my family is that people will try, but we believe it won’t work. It’s helped my Christian faith become stronger. Understanding that juju exists and people would go to any length made me a better believer.
Do you remember a specific incident with juju?
Yes, I distinctly remember how my dad kept getting the urge to sell the house when I was 11. He talked about it constantly for about three months, which was odd because he had no reason to sell the house. My mum tapped me and told me it wasn’t ordinary and that we should go and meet God. My family doesn’t believe in jumping from pastor to pastor; we just open our Bibles and pray indoors. So we prayed and prayed, and one day, we heard that our neighbour was sick and had been for a while. It wasn’t unusual because she was an older woman in her 70s. One day, my parents decided to visit her just to check on her, and the next thing, people followed them back home and started helping them to cut down a plant.
When I asked my mum, she said the woman was glad they came and that she would’ve come but was too sick to move. She said that she was angry that we bought the land from someone in her family she didn’t like, so she wanted us to be frustrated and leave it by force.
She asked my dad if he’d felt the urge to sell the land, and he said yes. She said she was the one who did it but hadn’t had peace of mind since then. She had broken some sort of code of conduct. If you’re from a certain place, you can’t do juju against people from certain villages because your ancestors might have been siblings and all that.
Meanwhile, the bigger the plant grew, the bigger my dad’s urge to sell the house. When they plucked it out, my father stopped talking about selling. The experience was surreal to me. It didn’t make sense that a plant was linked to someone’s mind. I kept saying, “This doesn’t make sense, ” and my mum was laughing at me.
That’s crazy. Was there ever a time when you realised how you grew up was different?
My father was insistent on us travelling a lot, so we used to travel out of the state and country, but in short bursts, and we never travelled without family. So the first time I left Edo state for an extended time was when I went to Abuja for NYSC in 2016. The things that make you different aren’t apparent until you’re far from home and by yourself. It wasn’t until Abuja that I realised I’d grown up differently.
The first culture shock was that my voice was very loud. People used to tell me I was shouting whenever I spoke. On the other hand, I used to wonder why people were whispering instead of speaking out or why they cowered when trying to make points. It was different from the way we communicated back home.
In Edo, people are confident; they speak their minds without fear. Conversations were always about being confident and knowing that the other person is secure in themselves. There’s always room for debate, storytelling and general expression. People could disagree with you without being seen as malicious. In fact, cowering while speaking was seen as a reason to distrust you because why are you avoiding eye contact? Why are you shaking? Are you lying? Are you spineless?
What else did you notice?
Another thing that was odd to me was that people were very judgmental. Not that we don’t gossip where I’m from, but for instance, if a girl got pregnant, people would talk and stuff, but there was always a helping hand.
And a lot of people were barely close to their extended families. They cut family members off easily. It was fascinating to me because people behave like they don’t know what a mistake looks like. Even if you don’t agree with people, you don’t cut them off completely. I don’t have to agree with you to love you. I don’t believe in cutting people off.
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So you never cut people off?
Not immediately. There are people who’ve done crazy things to me, but I have my way of dealing with it. I give them space, but they’d never doubt my love for them.
I had a friend who had a whole relationship with my man. I only found out because she got tired of him and threw him under the bus. It was jarring for me because I’m so happy-go-lucky. I talk everything out; it’s another thing I learnt from home. So I called her, and we talked it out.
I asked questions, and her answers made me realise that I didn’t want that kind of person close to me at that time in my life. So I kept a distance for three years.
One day, she called me, and we spoke at length. I could see that she had grown, and so had I. That’s the caveat for me; once I can see you’ve changed and evolved, I’m open to renegotiating the terms of our relationship. We’re not best friends like we used to be years ago, but we’re still way more than acquaintances.
The only people I don’t talk to anymore are people who promise change and don’t change. The way my brain works, it doesn’t remember the person until someone mentions them. But if I see they’re evolving, and doing the hard work, I give them space and then renegotiate the terms of my relationship with them when they’re in a better place.
That’s fair. Your upbringing is a factor in that, for sure.
Yes. I grew up being able to separate people from the actions they take. I know it’s flawed, but it’s my way. We are a sum of our actions, and we should be held accountable for them. That said, I find it useful to know what the motivation for the action was. So that as you’re facing punishment, you know you are not alone, and there is room for redemption if you decide to evolve. People are not just one way, and life is not black and white.
For example, I had a relative living in our house, who was really mean. When we were strapped for cash, and she had money, she’d lock herself in her room to eat. One day I asked why, and she told me all the horrible things that had happened to her. How different men got her pregnant and left her, and how even the kids don’t talk to her anymore because they believe she intentionally kept them from their fathers. I had more empathy for her after hearing her story and realised that she was mean because she was lonely.
I’ve learnt to separate people from their actions, especially their mistakes. The concept of people being multi-dimensional was very evident in the type of people I grew up around. I know people who are cultists and still the sweetest, kindest, people who’d always answer my questions when I was younger. They deserve to go to jail for their crimes, but they don’t deserve for their humanity to be stripped off them.
While growing up, I saw people make mistakes over and over again, and still reinvent themselves. I don’t discard people based on mistakes. And that’s who I am.
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Fair enough. Do you think your environment influences your work too?
For sure. I grew up in a small town, and apart from travel — which my father insisted on — the only other conduit between me and the world was the media. I was also always inquisitive and sought clarity all the time.
The most interesting thing, though, was that I saw firsthand how hard it was for my community to get the infrastructure it needed because of broken systems. So, I began to challenge those systems and did a mini-speaking tour, and eventually, I started some community reporting and decided to pursue it. Everyone assumed I’d study law because of this, but it never felt like a fit for me. My choice to pursue development journalism came from realising that communities need people who understand the intricacies of their layered lives to report them.
There’s context behind every behavioural pattern, and there is work that needs to be done to put young people in communities on the right path, and the media is the perfect tool for this.
Agreed. Any final words?
Stop stereotyping Edo babes. Just stop it, abeg. Someone hears you are from Edo and thinks the most, but there are different personalities within tribes.
Also, I find it fascinating that when people hear “I grew up in a small town”, they imagine Africa Magic Epic, when in reality, my town looked loads better than the places most people live in within big cities.
My siblings and I were always disappointed when we visited a Nigerian city, and it had so many slums. In Irrua, we didn’t see slums. I think people even build their best houses in small towns and villages, but what do I know?
I like to call it “alternative spirituality” because it’s outside of conventional religious practices.
I’ve always been a spiritual person. When I was six years old, I dreamt that my mum was pregnant with a boy, and the details are no longer clear, but the instruction was to name him David.
So did you tell her? How did she take it?
She laughed it off because she didn’t even know she was pregnant at the time. Also, I was a child. What do children know about pregnancies? But when she found out she was pregnant a few weeks later, she was happy and told everyone in church that her daughter was a seer. When she gave birth to my brother, she named him David.
That was a foundational experience that really drummed into me that there’s a world beyond what we see.
Did you have more experiences like that?
I’ve always had dreams and feelings, and they often come true. My primary gift is claircognizance. I just know stuff. I didn’t have a name for any of these things though until I got into secondary school.
In secondary school. I saw a couple of things about my zodiac sign in my older cousin’s slum book, and the 11-year-old me was hooked because it was so fascinating.
I made a copy of her slum book with all the information about the zodiac signs, and when I got back to school, I shared what I’d learned with my friends. We began discussing astrology, art, spirituality and everything in between — very thrilling, often hilarious conversations.
How did this interest solidify?
Sometime in 2019 or 2020, I was 20 and in love with someone who was a Libra. I’d had crushes on people I thought I was in love with before, but they paled in comparison to what I felt for this person. And because of how I am, I wanted to know why it felt so different, so I started digging.
At this time, I wasn’t into sun-sign astrology, which most people do, I’d delved into things like birth charts.
But it was still a casual interest until I met this person.
Your experience with this person was a turning point then?
Definitely. I wanted to know why it was different with this person, so I went on the internet and did some research. I discovered something called “synastry”. This is basically when you place two charts on top of each other to see how they interact and intersect.
So synergy + astrology: synastry?
Yes, synastry is a branch of astrology. Simply put, synastry is the astrology of relationships. He was a Libra, I’m a Pisces, and I was interested in our compatibility. Then we stopped seeing each other.
Oh no, why?
He didn’t see me the same way I saw him, and finding that out was very difficult for me because I already suffered from abandonment trauma. My dad died when I was very young and because I was closer to him than I was to mum, my anchor parent was gone. It felt like the most unfair thing in the world.
So growing up, I tried to compensate for the love I’d lost with different kinds of relationships — friendships and sexual relationships. Of course, that didn’t go well.
What happened after things ended with the Libra?
I went into a spiritual wormhole. I spent a lot of time on YouTube, watching tarot girlies talk about how the person you love will come back and you’ll be together again. Some of these readings capitalise on the fears and weaknesses of those who watch them.
I spent so much time on those tarot reading videos that, soon enough, I noticed a switch. I became more interested in the cards than the messages. This was around late 2019 to early 2020. After the pandemic, I got a free printable tarot deck from the internet and printed it out at Doculand in Ikoyi.
After that, I made a conscious decision to stop watching the YouTube videos, though, because I was starting to sound crazy.
Sound crazy to whom?
Myself. I have a Virgo Moon, so I’m very self-aware. I don’t like feeling like anything or anyone has power over me. That’s the real reason why I quit watching those desperate YouTube tarot readings.
At first, I practised for myself and didn’t do readings for anyone, except a few friends here and there. I also let them know I was still learning through courses and personal research.
Since I started, I’ve had affirming experiences. Like every spiritual journey, this requires you to have faith and trust that you’re on the right path. Not everyone has the Damascus experience Paul had in the Bible, you know, where God arrests you and stuff like that. Most of us have little affirming experiences like David, Moses or Abraham.
Tarot, astrology and all the other stuff I practise are open-ended practices. Anybody is free to practice them. I believe in God, in what Jesus did on the cross.
When did you decide to make it a full-blown practice?
In late 2020, when I was working at an international art fair, I did astrology readings for people in my office and saw how beautiful those experiences were for them. It was the same thing with my friends. I was excited to share the gifts with more people.
My practice has kept me grounded because it gives clarity into who I am and what my purpose is. And I think it’s important to share that with the world because we don’t have many of those kinds of spiritual communities here.
Tell me about your music
I’ve always loved music. Growing up, I sang in choirs and I played instruments like the piano, recorder and violin.
I began writing the music I wanted to record after my grandmother died in late 2018. Shortly after, I met the Libra.
My music and spiritual practice have developed simultaneously. I write, record, and conceptualise my music while growing in my spirituality and trying to make sense of it. My EP took four years to complete. Two years of writing and another two years of recording. I was intentional about it. There are strong religious and spiritual motifs in my music. That time was a defining period in my life. I like to call it a blossoming.
My EP is about retrograde motions. In astrology, retrogrades are about a time when you look back and regress. When a planet is in retrograde, it moves backwards. It appears to go backwards on an axis from where we are here on Earth. And retrograde periods are periods where we can redo, you can do it again. I designed the EP in a way that you have to listen to it from track five to track one, sort of working backwards.
What’s it like interacting with Nigerians about alternative spirituality?
It’s been interesting and funny. Both funny ha-ha and funny weird. Some people learn about my spiritual experiences and are intrigued. Some people are quick to reject it because they don’t understand it. But my practice isn’t separate from Christianity; God is integral in everything I do.
When I explain this to people, they’re usually more accepting of it. I help them understand that the things God has put on earth are meant to aid and guide you be it herbs or crystals.
Tell me about herbs and crystals. Are they part of the astrology work too?
Astrology is just one of the things I practice. I also practise the mystical uses of herbs, tarot readings, using crystals and stuff. I learnt about them at the same time I got into tarot reading. I learnt about herbs, candle work and how to use your natural environment to enhance your physical and spiritual experience.
How do tarot cards, herbs and crystals work?
Herbs have been used for mystical and medicinal purposes for thousands of years. Certain herbs have certain properties, so when you combine them, they yield different results. And they’re usually typical associations. If you’ve ever wondered why roses are associated with love, it’s because, on the mystical side of life, we use roses for various kinds of love work. Not just in finding romantic love, but also self-love. Lavender is for peace, and it can also be a cleansing herb.
Crystals also have different meanings and things they’re associated with, but they don’t work like herbs do. Crystals are seen as living beings, so when you get a crystal, what you need to do is program your crystal with an intention or affirmation. You tell the crystal what you want it to do for you.
If you have a rose quartz crystal, for instance, and you want to feel more loving towards yourself, you can use an affirmation. You program the crystal by saying the affirmation a couple of times, and then, you wear the crystal or keep it in a space where you can be in its vibrational field. You need to be very nice to your crystals because if you don’t treat them properly, they go missing.
How?
They disappear. In my practice, I’ve seen crystals disappear for two reasons. It’s either you’re not utilising it, which means you’re not ready for the crystal, and it has gone to meet someone who’s ready for it.
Or the crystal has done the work it needs to do. So it’ll either get conveniently missing, or you’ll feel moved by your intuition to gift it to someone else.
Intuition is something that comes into play a lot, right?
Your intuition is key, especially when you’re a spiritual worker like myself. I’ve been able to hone my intuition to a point where I can interact with it on levels the average person might not be able to. Intuition is how you segue into things like intuitive gifts or patterns. Like I said earlier, my intuitive gift is claircognizance. And a bit of clairsentience.
What do these things mean?
Claircognizance is the gift of knowing. I could be speaking to a person and some information just drops in my spirit and I get exact context into what they’re talking about. With clairsentience, I can feel physical and emotional sensations related to messages I’m receiving from people. I feel these a lot when I’m doing astrology or tarot readings.
One time, I did a reading for someone and when I started shuffling the cards, out of nowhere, I was slapped with this huge wave of horniness. And I’m like, wait, I wasn’t feeling any of this five seconds ago. If you’re feeling a certain emotion for the person or situation you’re inquiring about when I’m doing a reading, I feel that emotion too.
I have just a little bit of clairvoyance and clairaudience as well, but those usually happen when I’m asleep or in between meditative states. Clairaudience is hearing ringing and bells, pressure in ears and stuff like that. I feel these sensations when I go to places that are spiritually charged. But my clairvoyance is mostly in dreams.
Like when you dreamt about your brother
Yes, exactly. Even though dreams can be weird and funny, some dreams are very clear. They tell me what directions I should be taking or clear messages for people.
What about tarot cards?
Tarot cards are a divination tool. I shuffle them while asking Spirit the questions the clients have and choose the cards that fall out of the deck. Then I interpret the meaning of the cards for the client.
Since you started sharing your spiritual gifts, what has been your most affirming experience?
A lot of people come to me to find out about relationships and love. I have a client who lives in the UK. She came to me in August 2022 and wanted what I call a prayer divination — I pray and try to find answers about something that’s going on in the person’s life.
She asked questions about her potential partner, how she would identify him and know he was the one. A few months later, she came back and said everything (Spirit) said came true. I was like, “Wow”. I was very excited about the review.
Please, tell me they’re married now
No, but I do have a client who got married after a love reading. They were not in a good place and Spirit advised them to take a break and focus on themselves. We had this conversation in March 2022, and I think they ended up getting married that same year. This is why I love tarot. It’s so beautiful and affirming, but it’s not all love and light.
How so?
As a practitioner, there are certain things I cannot do. I don’t do any substances. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I’m 100% sober 100% of the time. Some practitioners are not as strict as I am, but I recognise the kind of person I am. I’m a very spiritual person. I’m also selective of the people I sleep with. I’ve been celibate for a minute.
I cleanse, meditate, read and study a lot. I have to be in tip-top shape physically, spiritually, mentally, and emotionally in case anyone needs spiritual or communal support from me. I’ve experienced spiritual and psychic attacks before.
How?
In 2021, I had a client I shouldn’t have done a reading for. Spirit always tries to warn you; you’d feel unsettled or uncomfortable. I was still new in my practice, so I didn’t listen. The client asked about a romantic situation, and the answer she got was not what she wanted. She unfollowed me, but I’d still see her lurking on my page, viewing my stories and stuff.
I started feeling very frazzled and jittery. I wasn’t as grounded as I used to be, so I just caught on that she was sending me some evil eye. I cleansed and felt better.
You have to be in tip-top shape. This is a path that requires you to be exceedingly responsible and of service because you’re not a spiritual worker for yourself. You’re a spiritual worker for the people around you, who have access to you.
Any regrets about choosing this path?
No. I would always choose the metaphysical mami path. In the beginning, I was scared to embrace it because we live in a world where most people think seeing is believing, but I’m glad I did pursue it.
I acknowledge that it’s an unconventional path and requires a few sacrifices in my personal life, but the joy of being able to be a healer to the people around me is incomparable. I’m thankful to my angels, benevolent ancestors and guides for helping me along my journey. And to God for giving me my gifts.
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
Image credit: Upsplash, @vitaelondon
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 45-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about spending the last 22 years in the UK moving from one menial job to another, not wanting her daughter to see her retire as a shop worker and finally going back to university.
What’s something about life you’re enjoying?
Working towards going back to school next year. It hasn’t been easy though. I didn’t think I’d actually care to get another degree after my bachelor’s in education in 1999. It took three months for me to even find my university certificate to apply for the programme I’m currently considering.
So what prompted your decision to go back to school?
After 14 years of working in retail stores in the UK, I’d like to get a proper white-collar job, possibly in a government office as administrative staff.
Retail is a time-consuming and physically tasking job. As I get older, I don’t see myself being able to keep up with loading shelves and working late nights.
An office job would come with much higher health insurance and retirement fund than my current job, and I’d get to close at 6 p.m. and stay home with my husband and daughter during public holidays.
Now that my daughter is eight and a lot more independent, I can sit down to work on my applications without so many distractions.
Before your daughter, what made getting a new job difficult?
I got into the UK illegally in 2001. I couldn’t settle in as an immigrant until 2008 when I married her dad. So at first, retail jobs were a means to getting paid in cash rather than opening up a bank account. It’s not possible to get one without proper papers.
Omo. So how did you get into the UK?
Through my older sister. She and her husband decided to take a trip with their three-year-old daughter to Cardiff, in 2001 and took me along. I was 24. After two months of living there, I couldn’t imagine coming back to Nigeria. I lived in Lagos with no job or real plans for the future. So when it was time to return, I told my sister I wanted to stay back.
Of course, she advised against it, but I felt I could manage on my own.
And she was cool with that?
No. But she couldn’t physically drag me back.
Image credit: iStock clipart
Did you have any plans?
I’d heard stories of a lot of Nigerians moving to the UK by refusing to leave after coming for a holiday. Of course, no one ever named names, but I knew there was some truth to the gossip. I felt like I could do the same.
I didn’t think beyond staying back with the family friend we’d stayed with during our two-month holiday.
So how did you scale through?
Well, I got a cleaning job that paid cash. They didn’t ask me questions about my work permit. And since my brother-in-law schooled in Cardiff for his master’s, he was able to get me fake working papers through some of his friends.
You weren’t caught. How?
I made sure I didn’t walk around unnecessarily. If I didn’t have any houses to clean, I was home. But I knew hiding didn’t change the reality that I could be caught at any time. All it took was one random ID check or a phone call to the police from a colleague who didn’t like me. I made it as far as I did because of God.
My sister was also a huge support system. Back then, renewing visas wasn’t as complicated as it is now. So whenever my sister or her husband had a friend going back to Nigeria, I’d give them my passport and they’d pay for it to get stamped. We did that like once a year.
Wow
Yeah. We tried to tick all the boxes as much as we could under the radar. Plus, Cardiff is a small town, so people rarely got into your business.
I can’t imagine what it felt like to constantly be afraid
I wasn’t thinking about that. I made the decision to stay and understood the consequences. There was no going back.
After almost two years of living with my friend, I had to find my own place. She’d gotten pregnant and wanted her boyfriend to move in. I never liked the guy. Imagine coming home to an entitled white man who didn’t seem to have any plans for his life. There was no way I’d be comfortable putting up with him in those tiny UK flats.
Were you prepared to move out?
Yes and no. I honestly didn’t have a plan on how to get a permanent residence visa in the UK, but I was saving up to explore my options with school. The sudden transition from having a home to potentially being homeless was going to slow down the process.
So what happened next?
I got another job. This time, one of my colleagues from the cleaning company linked me with a man who needed someone to manage a home for homeless old people around the neighbourhood. He needed someone to make sure things didn’t get out of hand whenever he was out of town.
The pay wasn’t great. But at least, I got a room to myself and didn’t have to pay for rent anymore.
He didn’t do a background check on you?
He was an old man. I don’t think he cared. I just had to reassure him I had two years of experience in cleaning. The work extended to much more than cleaning though — I had to manage the daily activities of the guests — but what other options did I have?
What gave you peace of mind, considering your illegal status?
Mostly church. It was my happy place; my faith kept me together. I also had someone I started dating in 2004. We met in church when I first moved to the UK and things gradually grew between us. He was a Jamaican man born in Britain.
He knew about my situation and supported me the best he could, but there were days I just wanted to go back home.
When did things start coming together for you?
2008. But before then, things completely fell apart.
What happened?
I decided to get a new job in 2005. I’d spent a year working at the house, but I didn’t feel fulfilled spending my entire day stuck inside. I started to look out for store jobs that paid in cash. I didn’t want to continue with a cleaning job.
How’d that go?
The job I got was at a food store owned by an older Nigerian woman. She was a citizen, and quite friendly, so I opened up about my issues with documentation to her. It took me four months to get to that point of trust, but it was the worst mistake I made in the UK.
A few weeks after our conversation, immigration officers showed up at the store. Luckily, I was walking down to the store with my boyfriend that morning, so he followed me to their office.
Do you think your boss snitched?
Maybe. I never got a chance to confront her. Anyone working at the store could’ve overheard our conversation, or even a customer, who knows? But they came straight toward me, and I knew the last four years were going down the drain.
Omo
They took me to their office and things moved fast from there.
Since my boyfriend was a British citizen, he was able to intervene.
How?
The paid visa I’d gotten through my sister had expired a few weeks before I was caught. So my boyfriend told the officers he was the reason I hadn’t gone back to my country yet. He explained he wanted to travel back to Nigeria with me to get married, hence the delay. He also got a good immigration lawyer to plead for my passport to not be stamped since we’d be getting married soon.
Did you still have to leave the country?
Yes. I had a week to pack up and leave. But a year later, my boyfriend came to Nigeria for our wedding. We got married and moved to the UK immediately after our marriage certificates were ready.
Before then, I won’t deny I’d lost hope. I wasn’t happy to be back in Lagos sharing a room with my niece and not having anything tangible to do every day. But I kept in touch with my partner through phone calls, and sometimes, Facebook.
A part of me felt ashamed.
Why shame?
At 28, and after four years of living abroad, I didn’t have anything good to show for it. Compared to my older sister, my life was pretty unsuccessful. She was 31, married with two kids at that point, and to my parents, those were achievements. Praying was the only thing that kept me together during that one year in Lagos.
Thinking about it now, would you have done things differently?
No. I’m happy I took the risk in my early 20s. It wasn’t the wisest decision, but I’m here today. The struggle taught me I can survive anything. That’s why I’m not bothered about going back to school at 45.
The only thing I’d change is coming back to the UK in 2008 after we got married, and sticking to the same menial jobs because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don’t want to retire as a store attendant.
I hope you’re able to change careers
Thank you. I also want my daughter to be proud of me. I see how excited she gets when my husband talks about his job as a psychiatrist. I want her to look at me with the same pride when I talk about my day too.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Itohan, a 20-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about why surviving a scoliosis surgery was big for her, getting surgery in India, gaining weight after and growing into a thrill seeker who plans to retire at 35.
Scoliosis is an abnormal curvature of the spine. The cause isn’t known, but symptoms typically occur from childhood and range from a hump in the lower back to uneven shoulders/hips.
What’s something about your life that makes you happy?
I guess my happy story is accomplishing shit. I’m a big brain, and to be honest, that’s bad bitch doings.
Okay, smarty pants. What’s one big thing you’ve done at 20 that blows your mind?
I’d say surviving my scoliosis surgery. That was big for me.
In what way?
The things I got to achieve after. I mean, it fucked up my weight and mental. But it is what it is; it happened.
I didn’t know I had scoliosis, right? I had a funny walk when I was 13, and my mum thought I was trying to do guy. But that same year, I saw a bunch of pamphlets about different medical things at home. It had everything on scoliosis, lung and heart diseases. I loved to read as a child, so I read all of them.
And?
When I was done with the scoliosis pamphlet, I gave it to my mum and told her the symptoms were exactly what was happening to me. She read it and called my aunt who’s a nurse in the UK. She said I should go for an x-ray. I was right.
How did you feel about the diagnosis at 13?
I felt relieved. Growing up, people made so many comments about my body. They still do, but back then, the comments made me feel like everything was my fault. So even though it was kind of sad finding out, I also felt happy.
I also wouldn’t have figured things out without reading the pamphlets. That’s why when people say they don’t self-diagnose, I’m like hmm… that’s what saved my life.
So how did things progress after confirming it was scoliosis?
Getting surgery was the first option, but I didn’t want one. The idea just made me so uncomfortable, and my mum said I didn’t have to do it if there were other options to explore. So that’s what began the many many hospital visits.
Were there drastic changes in other parts of your life?
I was out of school more than I was in it. There were hospital visits three times a week, with a lot of tests and scans. But I was in SS 3, so for the most part, I didn’t need to be in school. The exhausting part for my mum and I was showing up at the hospital.
But why so many hospital visits if you weren’t getting surgery though?
I needed to get a brace customised for me at Igbobi Hospital. The doctors said there was nothing they could do except try to stop the spine from bending anymore. As in, my spine will be bent o, but they’d try to prevent it from getting worse.
Omo
The doctors also told me my mum was irresponsible for not knowing I had scoliosis. When it’s not like scoliosis is something they teach everyone everywhere.
I’m really sorry about that. Did the brace help with your back, at least?
No. It was so uncomfortable. I cried the first day I wore it. My mum had to hold me when we got home. I didn’t want to wear the god-forsaken thing. It was made of plastic, looked so weird and made my clothes bulky. And they said I’d have to wear it for at least 22 hours a day. As in, I’d sleep in it and only take it off to bathe.
I didn’t put it on again after the first day. I was ready to have the surgery and kept going for consultations until then..
When did that happen?
A year later. I’d turned 14 by then. Making the decision meant another round of tests. The main question was where the surgery could be done? My mum didn’t want it to halt my life. She wanted somewhere that would guarantee I’d get healed quickly and move on. Nigeria wasn’t an option for us.
So how did things go in India?
Can you believe the doctors in Igbobi refused to release my x-ray? They asked me to stay in Nigeria so they could monitor the progression of my sickness for the doctors to learn.
I’m screaming
LOL. My mother said, “you want to use my only child for practicals”. We stole my x-ray. We told one of the doctors we needed a photocopy of the documents. They told us to talk to the student doctors instead for any questions we had. I guess they were busy that day.
Luckily, the student didn’t stress about getting the documents for us to make photocopies. Turned out the main doctor in charge of my case had it in the boot of his car; is he not mad? When the student brought it back, my mum took it, entered our car and never went back to the hospital.
Love it!
A lot of James Bond stuff happened o. Like I paid for it, it was my property, but I had to steal it.
But why did you choose India?
Hospitals in the US said I’d need to stay for a year post-surgery. The UK said six months, Germany was three months, but India gave me two weeks to get back into a normal routine. Clearly, you can see where we went.
Weren’t the extra days needed for recovery?
They also wanted to use me for practicals. Staying was less about the recovery and more about monitoring my movement and abilities. It’s not common to have scoliosis surgery. Only 2% – 3% of children get it, so people wanted to use me as a test subject.
So what happened after the Igbobi James bond saga?
LOL. We started doing research on Indian hospitals for scoliosis surgery. We found one with the help of my mum’s old classmates. She also had a child who’d had surgery in India and recommended a place.
How did it feel knowing things were about to get better?
Experiencing India for the first time was the best part of the process. Their food slaps. But when they attempted to make Nigerian food in the hospital? The ghetto. I guess they were trying to make me comfortable as a child. And they seemed to like Nigerians as well.
I had doctors who’d come in after looking at my file saying “You Nigerian? I love Abuja, Lagos. Yes, yes. Great people.” The energy just didn’t reach the food. Imagine putting one whole okra in my stew. No grating or boiling, just raw okra inside stew to eat rice.
LOL. Okra and rice is normal in Côte d’Ivoire, sis.
Fair enough. The free drinks were compensation. Once you enter a shop, “orange juice? mango juice?” everywhere.
Free? Please explain this to my Lagosian eyes.
LOL. It was their culture. Whenever you went into a store they’d hand you a pet-sized bottle of juice. Maybe it had to do with being a foreigner. I drank juice tire sha. And the hospital stuffed me with milk at least four times a day because I needed the calcium.
It sounds like you had a pretty good time considering you were there for risky surgery
Being sad wasn’t going to change anything. The best thing to do was eat the free food and enjoy the city. I was cleared to leave after two weeks, but we stayed an extra two or three days because my mum’s passport was seized at the hospital.
Sorry?!
Yeah, Nigeria was refusing to let our money clear. My cousins in the UK and US sent money as well, but it didn’t reflect. The hospital could see we’d tried to pay, so they kept my mum’s passport while they waited to receive the funds.
That’s crazy stuff. How were you doing post-surgery though?
I gained a lot of weight. Of course, the food had something to do with it. But because I had just done surgery on my spine, I wasn’t active. For six months, I couldn’t play rugby like I used to in school or move around too much.
What did you do with the six months of inactivity?
JAMB lessons. The year I went for the surgery cut into my time for JAMB and WAEC. Not getting into school with my friends really got to me. But my mum wanted me to be useful to myself and forced me to focus on writing the exams. Eventually, things got better.
How?
First, I was taller. The surgery straightened the bones of my back to an extent.
Nice. And the second part?
I eventually got into uni when I was 15. But there was a strike in federal universities right before I was meant to resume, so I had to stay home. I got a job as a cashier and an assistant at a pharmacy close to my house. I didn’t want to be stuck at home doing nothing all over again. And being good at the job made me feel validated and important.
That’s really sweet
Yeah. Uni was also a pretty good experience for me. I got a full scholarship for my whole degree and that boosted the way I saw myself. I felt smart, and I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.
No one tells you how difficult it is to be held back because you’re sick. I gained so much weight from all the food in India and the rest period too. It really fucked up my psyche. The medications added to how much my body changed, so I know it’s out of my control.
Hm. What parts of life are you looking forward to in your 20s?
Retiring at 35. I’ve been working since I was 14. After the pharmacy job, I wrote non-fictional stories about the people I met. I got a job as a writer when I was 18, and I’ve worked my way up to being a junior editor since then.
So after all that work, I can’t retire like other people at 60. The corporate world shouldn’t have that much of my life.
LOL. I feel like everyone says this, but it’ll eventually get really boring having that much free time at 35
LOL. Going through surgery makes you realise just how much life has to offer. And I want to live a full life. I want to dance, sing, teach, travel and live as many lives as possible. It doesn’t have to be a long life for me; it just has to be full.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Nanya Alily, a 25-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about working with her family to tell African stories through comic books, becoming more conscious of being Nigerian after moving to South Africa and how it has influenced her art and music.
You have so many things going for you at 25. What’s that like?
I see myself as a multimedia creative. That’s the easiest English term to explain how I’m a music artist, comic book illustrator and social entrepreneur all at the same time. And those are just the three highlights of my life amongst the million other things I do like content creation, commercial modelling and poetry.
How did drawing comic books start?
My family has a passion for drawing, so when I was very young, my parents put that into Vanimax Comix, where we illustrate stories about powerful African characters. My dad, brother, sister and I draw. So everyone except my mum — the mumager overseeing everything.
So, a family business?
Yeah, I became a part of it at 16. But my dad had been working on comics before I was born. Macmillan actually published his first comic, Mark of the Cobra, in 1981. My mum was always aware of his talent. So when she saw her kids had the same interest, she nudged my dad to put the company together in 2010.
Wow
Yeah. And every character tells a story that reflects who we are as individuals. We have Jack Ebony, a Nigerian super spy (created and illustrated by my Father); Super South Africa, Africa’s finest hero (created and illustrated by my brother); Moonlight (created and illustrated by my sister).
That sounds so cool. What’s your story?
The Amina Angels. They’re four Nigerian female superheroes from different tribes; Ifeoma Anyawu who’s Igbo, Nsse Henshaw from Calabar, Yewande Ajayi who’s Yoruba and Halima Danjuma who’s Hausa. I know there are a lot more tribes, but I was interested in bringing these four together for a start.
What influenced the creation of these characters?
My background. Growing up, it didn’t seem cool to be African. I couldn’t relate to some of the characters I watched in cartoons because none of them looked like me. And when I drew, my own characters were always people who didn’t look like me. The consciousness didn’t happen until I was 16.
What changed?
We moved to South Africa, and my dad started to share stories about his life with my siblings and me; our Igbo heritage, experiencing the civil war as a young boy — essentially, what it meant to be Nigerian. And I felt disconnected from it because the media I consumed never showed it. Becoming aware of this through my dad made me want to tell those stories.
Your dad opening up about his life was really sweet
It was. Those conversations made me think about the Amina Angels, which I started illustrating at 15. It changed the way I drew features, like the characters’ hair. And the questions I got in high school also piqued my interest in culture. A lot of my classmates asked about my Nigerian language and background. I had few answers, but they could tell me more about what it meant to be Zulu or Xhosa. Thankfully, my Dad shared his stories.
Since you didn’t entirely understand the culture, how did you tell your stories?
My family travelled a lot because my dad did. I was born in Lagos. We moved to Ghana and back to Lagos before we settled in Owerri, where both my parents are originally from. At some point, we moved to Benin before finally relocating to South Africa when I was 13.
All before 13? That’s pretty cool
Yeah. Although I spent most of my pre-teen years in Nigeria, travelling made it difficult to learn my culture and be rooted in it. But I don’t regret the experience. I got to see the diversity in Nigeria and Africa, and that’s what inspires my stories.
So how did you progress into music?
That’s the thing. Everything kind of happened simultaneously. I’d been singing since I was six and started rapping in Grade 10. In Nigeria, I’d follow my friends from class to a community music centre, and we’d write and record songs. Then, I got into quality music production when I joined my local church’s choir. That was the trajectory to becoming an independent artist.
You don’t make music with your family?
Not exactly. It’s the one thing I do alone, but my family still has some influence. My dad is my biggest fan and invests in my music.
When did you release your first song?
My official releases were in 2018 and 2019. Before then, I only uploaded my songs on Soundcloud. I felt ready to put some money behind marketing Flex (2018) and I Sabi Who I Be (2019)because I wanted people other than my family to enjoy my music. I also wanted to move on from the amateurish phase of being a musician. Now, I’ve just finished recording my first EP, Isimbu, which means “the first one” in Igbo.
What’s it like being a Nigerian artist in South Africa?
I think my music is well received in South Africa because it’s different from what they’re used to. My sound isn’t tagged to any particular group of people. Nobody fixates on it being Nigerian music even with the mix of pidgin or Igbo. It’s just good music.
So you’re an illustrator and musician, and a social entrepreneur, at 25? What’s going to happen at 50, please?
LOL. I have no idea. But I started the initiative (The Queen’s Goals) for girls when I was 20. It started out as talking to girls at a local high school in Johannesburg. I didn’t want it to be a one-off thing, so I got my sister, friends and a few women from the church involved, and we’ve kept up with it since 2017.
If you had to pick one version of your life to stick to, what would you choose?
I don’t think I can choose. Discovering new facets of my talent is what makes my life interesting. It feels like there’s no cap. I wake up one day, inspired to put a vision together and I do it.
Well, since you can’t pick one, what has been the highlight for you?
In a creative family, it’s harder to find your voice, so finding my own voice and identity is something I’ve loved, and translating all of that into art and music has been amazing.
How does it feel to share that with your family practically all the time?
We have our collective love for drawing, writing and telling stories. But everyone has their own baby they personally nurture. For me, that’s music. My sister wants to be a model, my brother loves animation and my dad is focused on writing and publishing. My mum is the “let’s go get the bag” woman; she’s a professional motivator and truly inspires us all.
LOL. She knows what’s up
LOL. And I guess what we have is a blessing. It works well for the business and our personal lives. Everything I get to do is a reflection of my background as a Nigerian Igbo woman. I want other women to see themselves represented in my work.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 24-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about feeling uncomfortable in her body at 16, getting a breast reduction and what makes her feel attractive as a woman.
I guess we’ll start with puberty. What was that like?
As a child, I didn’t exactly like the idea of becoming a “woman”. And starting out earlier than my mates made me feel uncomfortable with my body. I was 9 and just getting into JS1 when I had my first period. Other girls in my class weren’t going through the stress of wearing a sanitary pad or getting stained, at that time.
What was the biggest change for you?
My breasts getting bigger. They made me feel uncomfortable for a long time.
Oh, why?
First of all, they got huge very quickly. I was already one of the youngest in my set, and then, I started wearing a bra in JS2. I can’t remember the cup size I started out with. But while I was dealing with that, everyone else was putting on bra tops or sports bras.
At some point, I started wearing a bra top and singlet over my bra to make my boobs a little less obvious.
Was there any incident that made you so conscious about your body in secondary school?
No. My secondary school was just for girls. So at that point, I mostly disliked how big it made me look. When people were getting uniforms, I couldn’t get a proper size. They’d either fit my boobs and be too big for the rest of my body or the other way around.
Omo
Exactly. So by 13 or 14, I was a size 14 because of my breasts.
Did you tell anyone at home how you felt? Or banter with friends who were probably going through the same thing?
At school, I stuck to making them as less obvious as possible. If the clothes weren’t baggy, then I’d put on as many things to flatten them. Being the kind of girl who wasn’t exactly girly made people think I was trying to be a tomboy. You could’ve called me a “bloke” in secondary school. But it wasn’t intentional.
Feeling awkward with my body made me want to hide all the parts that were meant to suddenly make me a woman. I preferred being just a girl. I didn’t want such humongous boobs.
No one ever asked why you were wearing a bra, then a bra top and singlet?
No one really cared about that in school. And I don’t think anyone at home ever knew. My older sister was away at school whenever I was home. And my younger sister definitely didn’t understand what was going on with me at the time, so no. Plus, I was the sibling who preferred to be alone. They would’ve never guessed how much I was struggling with loving my body.
My mum was the person I opened up to about everything. Whenever I got the chance, I complained to her. And in uni, I started having chest pains. I think I’d fully settled into a D cup by this time. Imagine my mates wearing a B cup and I was almost double their size but one of the youngest in my class. Just think of the load.
I’m curious. What was uni like for you? Because everyone had caught up with puberty by then, right?
Things felt the most awkward after secondary school which was an all-girls school. It was the first time I mixed with a lot more boys. I’d lived in an estate and had a couple of friends. But when I got into Babcock University, it was completely different from what I was used to. I felt the boys were attracted to me because of my boobs.
Why did you think that?
I’m very direct, so I asked one of the guys who wouldn’t leave me alone, why he was so attracted to me. And he plainly said, “Your breasts”. I didn’t think it was different from the rest.
How did things progress?
My mum saw how uncomfortable things were getting in my first year of uni. I was 16 at the time and still struggled with chest pains. She eventually asked if I wanted to have them reduced. But not through the typical methods.
Did you fully understand what that meant at 16?
I didn’t really understand how a breast reduction would happen. I was just happy at the possibility of getting the load off my chest. She mentioned her sister had done the same thing too.
Why didn’t this come up earlier?
She felt I couldn’t cope with the pain from the process.
And your aunt, had you ever spoken to her since she went through the same issues?
Nah. I’d never even heard that her boobs were big. We weren’t close. And it wasn’t the type of thing I wanted to talk about with anyone other than my mum.
Fair enough. So you decided to go for the procedure?
Yes. We had to travel from Abuja to Ayama-Ebeni in Bayelsa state. It was my mother’s village, where her sister had done her breast reduction, but I’d never been there in my life. Meeting her whole family and seeing how she grew up was a new experience for me too.
Any expectations?
I imagined it would be more like a village, with scanty houses and untarred roads. But Ayama-Ebeni was filled with huge houses. When we arrived, my aunt called the woman and asked her to come the next day to carry out the procedure. It was a traditional thing, so the whole thing happened in my room.
She was an elderly woman who’d been helping women in the village for years. No one knew exactly where she’d learnt the practice from. It was just something everyone in my family knew her for.
Oh, interesting
Yeah. My mum and aunt were comfortable with it, so I didn’t feel nervous. Think of those people who are called rainmakers in the East. No one knows how they do it, but when you have an important event, you pay them to pray and hold the rain for you. It’s just a long-standing tradition. There was no need to ask many questions. My only concern was for whatever she did to work.
So what did she actually do?
The first thing she asked was what she should draw on it. And that’s because the process leaves a black mark, almost like a tattoo. I asked for some kind of flower design at first.
And then?
I couldn’t handle the pain. She tied seven needles together with a thread and dipped them into a black concoction my mother later told me was blended leaves. But that was the least of my concern with the pain I felt during the process.
The concoction shrinks the breasts, but she had to cut me to get it in. So the woman pricked the upper part of my breasts with the needles she’d dipped in the concoction, similar to how tattoos are applied. But imagine the pain a million times more with no anaesthetics.
Omo
I had to tell her to forget the flower and draw two lines.
LOL
It was too painful.
But it worked, right?
Hm. At first, my breasts were twice the size. I remember crying to my aunty about it. But she asked me to give it a few weeks. In three weeks, the mark began to peel off like when a tattoo is healing. The swelling eventually reduced and so did my breasts. I went down from a size 14 to 12.
But three years later, I started to gain weight all over again and they got bigger. My periods were also irregular.
Ah
LOL. Yeah. I found out I had PCOS in 2020.
What did that change for you?
I did my research after the diagnosis from my gynaecologist and realised it happened to a lot of women. There was nothing I could do about it. And it dawned on me that puberty never really ends. Your body just unlocks new levels at every stage.
We started the conversation with you feeling awkward about those changes. How do you feel now?
I’ve learnt to appreciate myself a lot more. The attention I get from men and women these days is what I find interesting. My insecurities kick in once in a while, but I’ve realised that my body, as a woman, is attractive. And I love how I feel about that.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell me why
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 55-year-old Nigerian woman. She tells us about losing herself after marriage, losing all her money to her husband at 48 and relearning independence on the journey back up.
Tell us what happened
Seven years ago, I found out that all the money I’d made so far was gone. I was 48, and my account was zero.
Ye
It was crazy. When I got married at 27 in 1994, my husband and I decided to have a joint account. I believed the husband was the head of the family, so I put everything I worked for in this account.
Then, I found myself in a situation where I had to ask him before I could spend any of it. After 21 years and three children together, I discovered he wasn’t faithful in managing our money.
Not just that, there was suddenly nothing left to manage.
What do you mean nothing?
I mean zero naira.
By the time I was aware of this, it felt too late to do anything about it, but I’m happy I was able to find it in myself to start over anyway.
Hold on. How did you find out?
By accident. It happened because I lost my job.
For about five years, I was COO at an HR consulting company. I actually worked three jobs at the same time because I was also an executive director of my husband’s publishing business and marketing consultant for a private medical facility.
Then in 2014, I left these jobs and started working at a bigger HR consulting firm that turned out to be toxic. The CEO would scream insults at the staff the whole day, and I worked directly with him. Add that to the physical intimidation and hyper-micromanagement, I was suddenly having anxiety which I’d never experienced before.
That sounds awful
It was. Knowing I had to face that every day made me rethink the job. Meanwhile, the scope of my work grew far beyond what we’d agreed on. And after three months, it became clear he didn’t intend to meet our agreement on commission payments either.
I left the company in 2015, before I was confirmed, basically halting my career. I was out of work and at home for possibly the first time in my adult life. And that was when I experienced divine providence.
Shortly after I’d left my job, my phone was stolen. My husband has run his own business — dealing in properties, fuel distribution and publishing — since 2012. When I told him I needed a new phone, he gave me his old one. His reason was he didn’t want us to overspend since I was temporarily unemployed. He was upset I quit the job even though I told him how terrible it was.
I’m sure he still doesn’t know that recordings of his old calls were on that phone. I don’t know what led me to listen to them, but that’s how I found out he had another “family” or priorities that involved finances, and most of what we’d saved together had gone into that. None of it was used to invest, build our own home or improve our status.
Hold up. What do you mean “another family”?
He had girlfriends around town whose rents and furnishings he was paying for. He even drove some of them from place to place so they didn’t have to pay for transportation. And I’ve never been able to confirm this, but it’s possible he has a little daughter for another woman.
After I found all that out, I had two options: grovel, fight, complain and die with it, or rise and start all over again.
These are very valid choices
Well, I did both. A little bit of the first for many months after confronting him. He was apathetic, and I was devastated and in grief like someone had died. But then, I woke up one day and moved on.
How does someone wake up and move on from a life-shattering occurence??
The first thing I realised was I had zero support system. And that was what I needed most at the time. I’d spent my marriage slowly being isolated from family and friends. So I started putting myself out there completely.
I had to let people know I exist, what I could do and the advantages of getting close to me. I also found a couple of communities, like my secondary school and university alumni, that helped me relearn how to have fun and do the things I haven’t done in ages — like start a business, for instance.
Tell me about that
It took about five years of hard work, prayer and tears — and diversification from HR into events, IT design and training, corporate communications and network marketing — to break even business-wise. In 2017, I joined a network marketing team that’s given me access to government contracts, financial classes and investment in cryptocurrency.
The schedules can run you from here to infinity, taking care of three kids, bringing two of them up to adulthood, all while growing new businesses. I didn’t leave my marriage, so I’ve also had to manage that relationship and create boundaries, then do my best to ensure our children were well-adjusted despite everything.
There are so many crazy things you learn growing up that as you get older, you disabuse yourself of, shedding some very caustic ones and trying to give yourself clean energy.
What are some things you unlearnt?
I suddenly realised I didn’t know who I was. I’d somehow lost track of finding myself in my youth. When the life-changing discovery about my marriage and finances happened, I had to learn how to do things myself, to be self-reliant.
It’s been seven years and I travel a lot more now. In the past, I couldn’t because I had to “stay and take care of my home”. I went to Dubai with my old secondary schoolmates in 2017, and it was therapeutic to reconnect with them on a strictly fun trip away from family. We take similar trips at least once a year, and I’m glad I can just up and go now.
I’ve learnt to put myself out there too; to attend events and speak up more. I used to believe you had to “let your work and character speak for you”. It was a huge struggle to get people to buy into my businesses for the first year, and discovering why helped me unlearn all that. If you don’t go out and engage with people, how do you expect them to trust and invest in you?
Preach
It’s been a complete 180-degree shift for me. Seeing my belief and thought systems from a wider perspective, they became subjective. Sometimes, we think failure is a weakness, but I’ve learnt it can be a strength if you can start over.
What would younger you think about where you’re at now?
I had dreams. I wanted to sing, write and travel the world. I wanted to have a charity because I saw a lot of need around me. I wanted my kids to have the things my parents gave me. As a child, my siblings and I went to sports clubs, had summer vacations, and more.
Then, I became caught up in Christianity. I had so much faith, but I’ve realised in hindsight that it shouldn’t preclude common sense. In the past, we believed everything they said in church, hook, line and sinker, and followed without understanding.
How did that lead up to you losing yourself?
I was satisfied to marry someone who shared my faith and didn’t pay attention to whether he would support my dreams. I pushed my personal plans from the forefront.
We started courting as soon as I graduated from university in 1991. I was quite young, so I buried myself in the relationship and let it subsume me. We were both passionate about our religion, so it wasn’t obvious at the time. Everything I wanted to contribute to the world, I put into our eventual marriage, until I lost myself.
There’s a lot to learn from that. What’s one thing that makes you happy now?
The fact that my businesses are going strong. At least, I have up to $2000 in savings now. And I started investing in stocks, bonds and cryptos in 2017.
Time spent with my children also makes me happy. I’m proud to say they’re old enough to teach me things. From them, I’ve learnt how to relate with people, to be less uptight and enjoy life properly, to write and use social media. And I’m humble enough to know I’m not always right, that they aren’t always wrong.
Two of them are full-grown adults who aren’t always available. So I’m even happier when I’m with them. We play Monopoly, sing along to Davido, Kizz Daniel and Eminem. When we play, dance and eat together, these are the times I’m happiest.
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is @lethabohuma, a 23-year-old South African woman. She spills on how she flunked out of university without a plan for her future, turning passion into a career and managing imposter syndrome without a degree.
What’s something you could’ve sworn would never happen to you?
Getting asked to leave varsity in my final year. In high school, I was the kid who was always top of the class, so I could’ve never imagined that 21-year-old me would be appealing to a school board for a chance to get her grades up in uni.
That sounds tough
Yeah. It wasn’t great being stuck at home while my friends were off graduating. But the most unexpected part of that transition was somehow building my career as a digital artist and ending up in Time Magazine barely two years after.
Let’s backtrack a little. What led up to you getting sent out of uni?
Girl, my first year in varsity was chaotic. Towards the end of high school, I got really good at maths and thought studying computer science was a good idea. I also loved drawing, so I assumed I’d learn how to use certain applications to draw. It made sense to me. But my faculty made me doubt the logical side of my brain.
LOL. Isn’t school supposed to do the opposite?
LOL. That wasn’t my reality. I didn’t expect to be doing so many different modules in both computer science and maths. I had such a hard time balancing both. I still get goosebumps thinking about those classes. There was absolutely no time for me to draw.
Why was that important to you?
Drawing made me feel less anxious. I can’t explain why I had anxiety as a kid, I just did. Especially in social settings like school. I got knots in my tummy from being around so many people.
Maybe it had to do with having a single mum who had to work most of the time. And being left alone with my grandma after school from when I was six. In between her cups of tea and insulin shots, she mostly took naps. I got comfortable with being quiet. And drawing made it easier.
So how did you handle not having time for something that made you feel so zen?
I tried to make friends. Varsity was the first time I actually wasn’t comfortable being alone. I was 18 and in a different city for the first time. I had a roommate I got along with, but I really needed to know if anyone else in my class was struggling as much as I was.
But I didn’t make my first friend until after two months of classes. He was a weird guy.
LOL. But you wanted to be friends?
Everyone else in our class had formed cliques. We were basically the only people who didn’t quite fit into any. So we didn’t really have much of a choice by month two of the semester.
Basically, two weirdos. Gotcha!
And we liked the same kind of music. But he left school because he couldn’t afford the fees for our next semester. I hated going back to being alone. But then, I got a boyfriend and that’s when my marks started to slip.
All these issues have included men.
LOL. Yeah, I spent way too much time with him. I practically followed him everywhere. During my lunch breaks, we’d be in my dorm room practising yoga or meditation. Of course, that always ended up cutting into my class time.
But then, we broke up that same year and my grades got worse. It didn’t help that we were in the same class. I needed some kind of escape, so I went back to drawing in my second year.
Wait. All that drama happened in just your first year?
Girl, yes! LOL. 18 was a crazy and chaotic age for me.
LOL. So what led up to the suspension?
Mehn, my mental health went down. I’m careful about how I talk about mental illness, but I think I was borderline depressed. I suddenly had such a negative view of my future. All I’d do was draw or sleep. Like, I was happy being a sad girl and turned it into a whole aesthetic.
No one noticed?
A couple of friends did, but I didn’t know how to explain things. When I started skipping classes, I had a few sessions with our campus therapist, but I didn’t feel better. In my final year, I stopped going. The only thing I attended were the digital art classes. I was basically self-sabotaging. And my final marks were terrible. I only took the option to appeal because I couldn’t imagine not finishing my degree.
And that didn’t work out
Yeah. They asked me to stay home to reflect, and then, apply for a digital art degree instead. I knew it was their way of saying, “Bye, girl”.
How did your mum and grandma take it?
They both thought I needed the year off. To me, I was like “Hell no”. I was turning 21 and didn’t know what to do or how to do it. But I didn’t have a choice. I’d completely lost hope in my future.
How did you get through that phase?
Mostly sleeping and listening to depressing music. I practically spent the first three months stuck at home doing nothing. Partly because it was 2020 and there was a pandemic. But I also didn’t have any friends because we lived in a new neighbourhood that was predominantly white and extremely quiet. Plus, there was nothing to watch on TV.
I eventually got sick of my own bullshit and started to draw more often. Getting into it as a routine helped. It was the only thing that made me feel good.
So things got better?
Yeah. Since I didn’t have anyone to share my drawings with, I posted everything online. People picked up on it in about four months and started asking for my commission rates. By 2021, brands were reaching out as well. And that was my “Oh my gosh” moment.
And your degree?
I decided to take a six-month course on digital art at a college close by. I didn’t need another four years of varsity.
You went from completely losing hope in your future to getting paid for your passion. How did that feel?
It was good creating something I actually cared about. With every piece I drew, I felt more like myself again. The hard part was my social anxiety evolving into imposter syndrome. Like when Time Magazine reached out to feature one of my pieces in 2021. It was one of my proudest moments.
But?
I felt out of my league. I’d been drawing professionally for barely two years. In my mind, getting featured in a global magazine was an achievement I didn’t think would happen until I was 60, not 23.
So you felt too young?
Yeah. But somehow, I also felt like I was running out of time. Time Magazine featured a 12-year-old artist the same year. So in my head, I was too old and behind on what I should’ve achieved at 23. It’s crazy.
How do you manage these feelings of “imposter syndrome”?
I never had a solid plan for my life, so I’m fully aware that getting these opportunities after everything that happened means I’m doing something right. And while I understand that I need help as I grow, I’ve watched my mum and grandma figure everything out on their own. I know I’ll be okay too.
Any regrets?
None. I only wish I focused on art much sooner. Getting asked to leave school was exactly what I needed to leave my comfort zone. I would’ve continued to play it safe if I hadn’t.
Illustration by: Lethabo Huma
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Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
Today’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 28-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about living alone in Accra, how she ended up picking unemployment over money and why money cannot be all there is to happiness.
What makes life interesting for you?
Money. My views about it have changed over time though. Money was never a motivation for me, but it used to be the only quantifiable thing that let me know I was doing alright in life. When I had it, I knew I could relax.
And I was earning a lot of it at 27 in Accra. Everyone said I looked happier there.
Were you?
I was alright. Ghana was a vibey place, and I got to meet a lot of people. But moving to a new country was also quite lonely. My friends thought I was happy because I posted a lot online. But that was all I could do because I had to go out often to make friends, connect with people — anything to get out. I guess my social media page created that facade of being much happier.
The part of my life that really made me happy was the growth I’d made in a year through therapy. That made it easier to be in a new country alone.
What changed in a year?
I was depressed for a really long time, probably since I was 18, and I didn’t realise why until I started to talk through things that had happened. I let a lot of the harassment I experienced as an engineering student slide during an internship. I was a quiet 18-year-old. You could literally put your finger in my eyes, and I wouldn’t say anything. And so men in their 30s were pestering me to date them.
Wow. I’m sorry that happened.
Thanks. I thought it was normal. But therapy helped me be more objective with my life. I understood that I needed to be a lot more vocal about how I’d experienced men at a young age. I also understood how sensitive I was as a person and how easy it was to let things slide. The sessions made me aware of myself. That’s how things slowly got better.
That sounds great.
It was. My life would have been richer if I started much sooner. Sometimes, I’d think my life was horrible without an exact reason. I’d just be sad. But when I started treatment, I realised some of those emotions had to do with having PMS. I never knew that. If I did, I would have taken better control of certain situations.
I think understanding more about myself also prepared me for when I decided to quit my job without a plan. I’d been working at She Leads Africa since I was 25. I was already leading a team by the time I quit.
And you quit without a plan?
LOL. Yeah.
After two years, I’d hit a plateau. When I left, I ended up moving to Accra. Nothing about my move was exotic. I quit my job and was out of work for five months. Accra was literally my only option at the time. If I had an offer in Ekiti. I would have taken it.
How was your move?
Accra was good for me. I always walked around with a chip on my shoulder about not being able to afford things I’d like. In Accra, I saw people with barely a quarter of what I had, hustling and making the most of it. That was something I needed to see to stop overthinking little things like saving to buy the kind of phone or laptop I wanted. People had bigger issues.
How long did you stay in Accra?
A year. I quit the job in Accra and moved back to my parents’ home in Nigeria because I was offered a marketing role at a tech company. I’d worked as a program manager at my last job, but I always wanted to work in tech. Here, I was earning the most money I’d ever made. I was balling. But adjusting was difficult.
The role was challenging. At first, I thought it was just a steep learning curve that I’d get the hang of. But whenever I submitted a report, my manager would ask if I’m sure the role was for me. He’d go on about hiring me because he thought I was good. The tough part was how everyone was “too busy” to explain how to fix it.
So, you left?
Not immediately. I didn’t want to just give up. I decided to start a side hustle and left Abuja to see friends in Lagos for a bit. I convinced myself that a job wasn’t meant to be perfect.
But when I had a panic attack and started feeling very sick, I knew it was time to go. I hated that because I quit my cool job in Accra for a risk that didn’t pay off.
Did you talk to anyone?
Yeah. My friends asked me to give it some time, but it had been four or five months already. It wasn’t getting better. I felt like the job was killing me.
So, you found a new job?
Nope. My manager was also concerned that I wanted to leave without any other job offer. He felt I could make more of an effort to figure things out. But I was exhausted. I was banking on my savings to get me through the next five months.
After quitting, I spoke to my therapist, and she felt it was an opportunity to build resilience rather than quitting. She gave me the “Life will always be difficult speech”, and I saw reason in it. So I went back to ask my manager for my job back. He said he’d have to think about it first. We never circled back on that.
During the first month I was unemployed, I sha didn’t tell anyone at home I had quit. I didn’t want them to freak out. If they did, then I’d freak out about everything.
How were you feeling?
After a few weeks, I settled into being unemployed. It felt different from the first time it happened. Strangely, I preferred not having money to being stressed out by a job.
The skills I’d picked up from therapy also helped. I didn’t maximise the issue in my head. I focused on the fact that all I didn’t have was a job. And that wasn’t a big deal. When I thought about it, the only reason I wanted that tech job was to claim success. That’s all. Then, I’d spend the rest of my life deeply unhappy.
So, you absolutely didn’t give a shit about choosing money over happiness?
I’m the youngest of six kids. For me, bad as e bad, I’ll never starve. If one person says no, there are five others to ask for help.
Accepting my privilege and deciding not to feel guilty about it is what helped me leave that job. I could’ve focused on trying to be independent like other times, but I wasn’t going to let pride kill me.
LOL. How was it like living with your parents again after Accra?
My parents are pretty laid back. Of course, no one welcomed me with open arms for quitting my job. But they were also not going to send me out of the house. And when I had money, I made sure I took up responsibilities at home. So, in scenarios like this where I didn’t have a job, they were supportive.
So, you’re not trying to find a job?
LOL. I’m waiting on an offer from another company.
There’s something about getting past 27. After that age, you realise the world won’t fall apart just because you’ve made a few mistakes. You’re making money, maybe not as much. You’ve done a few of the things you wanted to. And most importantly, you’re alive. Na person wey dey alive dey enjoy money.
If you’d like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid, click here to tell us why
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
Today’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Faith, a 19-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about the medical error that motivated her to study medicine in Ukraine, being tired of the constant reminder to be grateful to her parents, and life since she moved back home because of the Russia-Ukraine war.
Are you one of those Nigerian firstborns who were forced to study medicine?
LOL. Not at all. My dad wanted me to be a civil engineer, and my mum, an accountant, but I always wanted to work in natural science. I knew I wanted to be a doctor when my sister ended up paralysed after a doctor overdosed on the prescription she needed. They also blamed it on the haemorrhage that happened in her coma, but it was their fault for not running an MRI after she came in for a bad fall.
My sister was a sickle cell patient that needed a lot more care than she got.
She wasn’t the first family member I’d seen affected by some form of medical negligence. It happened to an aunt, uncle and cousin. But when it happened to my sister, I wanted to fix it. Medicine has been my dream since I was 13.
Hence Ukraine, the motherland for Nigerian doctors?
That happened by chance. Initially, I wanted to study in the US, but I knew my parents couldn’t afford the fees. After my sister’s accident, they were spending a lot of money on her drugs. I didn’t want to add to the burden, and my parents kind of made me feel that way with their constant need to make me feel grateful.
You must wonder why I didn’t just attend a Nigerian school since my parents clearly didn’t have the money. But the Ukrainian university tuition was about the same as what I would’ve paid at Afe Babalola University, so why not take the chance to leave Nigeria? Studying at a public university didn’t make sense either because I’d probably spend ten years doing a six years course. I wasn’t up for that.
Fair assessment. But how did your parents make you feel the need to always be “grateful”?
That’s my firstborn origin story. They expected me to take up responsibilities I wasn’t ready to show gratitude for all the money they spent on me. When my sister got sick, it seemed like I became the backup plan for her and my brother’s welfare. I didn’t mind, but my parents wouldn’t let me hear the end of “my siblings were my responsibility”. They talked about how I’d sort my brother’s school fees when he was ready to join me in Europe.
It’s not like I didn’t want to take care of him. I just expected more time.
I’d been in Ukraine for three years when they were really pushing the conversation. I’d just started getting a hang of their system and barely understood the language. How was I supposed to earn enough money to support him? I don’t think they understood that I was in another man’s land, and it takes time to earn real money as a student.
Did you ever complain to anyone?
Yeah, my mum. But to her, I was just going through puberty and acting up. Because my parents were focused on earning more money, I was saddled with the responsibility of managing my mum’s store at 14. I’d close from school and spend the rest of the day there. They would always tell me how I’d have to think of how to expand the store. I’d also have to help when my sister needed anything. It was a lot.
One day, I lost it. I shouted at my mum about treating me like a backup plan. It felt like I was just being groomed to take care of the family when my parents died. No one ever asked what I wanted. My mum always says, “Make sure you marry a rich man who’ll be able to take care of your sister.” She doesn’t even know I never want to get married.
When I explained how I felt, her rebuttal was about how ungrateful I was. She listed everything they’d ever done for me. From being sent to a private school to having a roof over my head, I heard it all. That was the last time I talked about any of it. I just went along with their plans.
I’m really sorry. Did relocating help in any way?
Thanks. The only difference was choosing how much of what they said I wanted to listen to. The heart grows fonder when it’s far away. So yeah, we got along much better. Plus, I was 16 when I travelled. I still needed them financially even when we had arguments. At that point, I was to blame for allowing the firstborn title to haunt me, not them.
How?
I knew I’d have to pay my parents back someday. Nobody had sent my parents abroad, but they did that for me. As a first-generation migrant, you’re indebted for that for life. People expect you to graduate and carry the other generations on your shoulder. That thought made it hard to enjoy life in Ukraine.
Do you think being the firstborn took away your freedom to flex?
I’ve never had a chance to explore my social side, but I don’t think I can blame my parents for not consciously enjoying myself. My mates in medical school went out for parties; I’d choose to stay home. I didn’t think I was missing out though. I’ve always been introverted, spending more time indoors. Being far away from my family wasn’t going to shock me into becoming an outgoing person.
Since I moved back to Nigeria in March, I’ve only missed out on my peace of mind. I’ve never felt more overwhelmed than now.
Why?
I’m thankful I made it out, but I have no clue what I’m doing with my life right now. I was already in my fourth year of uni, and now, I’m not sure when I’ll actually graduate. It feels like when I was walking to the Polish borders when we were trying to get back to Nigeria from Ukraine. There was no certainty that I’d make it all the way, but I kept moving. Only with this phase back home, I’m not sure it’ll end soon.
I’m sorry.
Thank you. Beyond the uncertainty of school, I’m back to being hounded about creating generational wealth for my family. No one gave me room to relax and be taken care of. They’d typically say, “We need to start a new business for the family,” but I know they mean “I need to.”
We aren’t even making money from my mother’s store anymore. On top of that, my dad is angry with the way I silently carry myself around the house. These are people who experienced the brunt of military rule. I expected them to understand that I need time to process the possibility that my school may not resume anytime soon because of the Russian-Ukrainian, but of course, I only got the “You’re never grateful for anything we do” response. I still don’t understand why they felt so attacked by my sadness.
I’m guessing you’ve not spoken to them about this…
There’s no need. Paying back is the only way I know how to show gratitude as a firstborn. They always talk about everything they’ve ever done for me, so why not return the favour? But they want continuous thank yous, which gets tiring at some point.
Right now, I’m focused on setting up a business. Since we’ve always talked about some kind of generational wealth, I’ve decided to take my return to Nigeria as an opportunity to get started on that. First, I’m setting up a t-shirt business, and maybe, I’ll expand into affiliate marketing or tech.
What about medicine?
It’s my passion, but I have to make money first. I want to be less dependent on my parents. I turn 20 this year (2022), and I can’t keep complaining about feeling like I owe them and still ask them for everything.
Whenever I go back for my degree, I want to live a different life. Not one constantly plagued by being the firstborn.
If your sister’s accident didn’t happen, what would be different right now?
I think my family would be different. My parents were civil servants, and that one mistake continues to affect them financially. The pressure would take a mental toll on anyone, so I can’t blame them for the expectations. Some days, I just wish I wasn’t on the receiving end of their frustrations since that one mistake.
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Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
Today’s subject for #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Michelle Nelson, a 25-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about leaving Jos in 2012 after the religious riots started in 2001, and discovering versions of herself that make the woman she is today.
How old were you when you left Jos?
15. It’s a place with some of my fondest memories but was also the most scarring period of my life. Two years ago was the first time I could sleep well since we left Jos. I struggled with fear for so long.
I’m sorry you experienced that.
Thank you. Jos is something I’ve always wanted to talk about.
How about we start from the beginning?
Yes, please. My parents found love in Jos. My mum was 18 when they met. A year later, she had me, and three years later, my brother. We were a small family. We lived in Dogon Dutse, located in the northern part of Jos. Although most of my years in Dogon Dutse were during the crisis, my earlier memories were good. Life was easy there.
My mum was a full-time housewife, while my dad travelled for work all the time. We depended on just his salary because of how cheap things like food and rent were.
It sounds peaceful. Was it also fun?
My parents were quite strict, so I don’t remember having much “fun”. Plus I was too young to be going to parties if there were even any at the time. I didn’t stay long enough to explore what fun meant for a teenager in Jos.
Fun for me was running outside to lick ice whenever it rained and throwing it at my friends. That’s not something I ever got to experience outside of Jos. Dogon Dutse is known as the rock valley, so we did a lot of rock climbing too. If there’s anything I really loved, it would be those moments with my friends. Once we left Jos, making new ones became difficult.
Why?
Well, I’m an introvert. But there was the part of trying to figure out who I was after I’d seen so much death.
Let’s talk about the riots.
I witnessed my first in primary school. I can’t remember my age, but I remember the scene. There’d been religious riots around Jos, and it got close to Dogon Dutse. Everyone was scared. My brother and I were at the front of our school waiting for my mum to pick us up. Before she came, I watched people cling to their kids and important documents as they ran for safety.
And your dad?
My dad worked with road safety and was posted to different parts of the country all the time. My mum had to be the strong one, but I could see the fear in her eyes, I could feel it.
After that, there were at least two or three more attacks. There were times we had to hide in the rocks around Dogon Dutse to feel safe. Falling asleep was impossible. About 11 years later, my dad finally asked us to relocate to Akwa Ibom. No one objected. I knew I’d miss my friends in Jos, but I also knew I wouldn’t survive another two or three years there. We had to go.
I’m really sorry. What was it like living somewhere new for the first time?
I still couldn’t sleep, but it was better than Jos. I still woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares.
Losing the familiarity of Jos also affected me. I had eight really tight friends back home, and it dawned on me that I might never see them again. Living miles away eventually took its toll on keeping in touch. Even the one person I thought would be in my life forever got married and moved on with her own life. I had to focus on my new life in Akwa Ibom.
Did you talk to your parents?
I tried once or twice to tell my mum, but she didn’t take it seriously. She felt I could easily get over it. Till now, she doesn’t acknowledge that it was a traumatic phase for me. It usually ended with a joke or two on how I exaggerated things. Maybe it’s a Nigerian parent thing.
As for my dad, we weren’t close enough for me to open up. And my brother was too little to understand how I felt about the nights we had to hide. So I was on my own. Now that I think about it, what I needed was therapy.
What did you get instead?
Church. Going to church helped when I couldn’t handle the emotions alone. I finally got used to the peace I felt in Akwa Ibom. I’d wake up scared, and my brain would remind me that I was safe.
Sweet. What was Akwa Ibom like?
Even though I felt like I had to start my life over again, the great part was experiencing the culture outside Jos. Like… the accent. It was very different from Jos. The people were also a lot more outspoken, and that’s not something you get in the north.
What I really experienced for the first time in Akwa Ibom was love. I went from being a naive girl into a full-blown young lady that knew what it was like to be in love. It’s also where I got my first heartbreak.
LOL. That’s what we call breakfast.
LOL. That breakfast was my first and last. Two years later, I went to uni in Delta. And that’s where I got my real culture shock.
My school was located in Warri, and the people were loud. And I mean very loud. In Akwa Ibom, I was mostly inside the house. Warri was the first place I experienced for myself because I lived on campus. So I got to move around town and saw a lot of the craziness.
Let me just point out that I’m from Delta sha.
LOL. Don’t be angry. Warri was a place you’d walk out and see a fight break out from nowhere. It was so different from Jos. Learning to speak pidgin English was the only way to blend. It made it easier to sync with the people there.
What did you discover once you connected with the people?
The extroverted version of myself. I was coming from my first heartbreak, so I wanted to have fun. I was hanging out with more people and partying. I think of it as my exploration phase.
Then I made a friend in 2018, and she took it up a notch. We’d go out clubbing back to back and drinking the night away. I grew tired of it by 2019. I think it had to do with finishing uni and realising there was a lot more to life than partying. The introvert in me was also tired.
After Delta, I retired the clubbing phase of my life.
So who were you after Warri?
A Lagos babe. Lol. Going back to Akwa-Ibom wasn’t an option for me. I was the first child, and I didn’t want to depend on my parents anymore. So when I finished my NYSC in Lagos, I decided to stay. I needed to figure shit out on my own.
Did you?
It’s been two years since I moved, and I’d say yes. I’ve gotten a job, and I earn enough to support myself. I even started sleeping better. There’s still a lot of work I need to do to fully support my family, but at least I’m on the journey.
What do you miss about Jos?
All the years I’d moved around, I never met people that lived through my reality in Dogon Dutse. I also didn’t meet people that stayed in my life while I moved between different phases. So I got used to being alone. I didn’t try to stay connected with my friends in Jos even though some of them tried.
But I’ll say this, I wish I tried harder. Last year, one of my Jos friends died. She’d been in Lagos, but we never spoke. I never even followed her back on Instagram. When my childhood friends organised a virtual memorial for her, our pictures seemed like a lifetime ago. I couldn’t picture us as the kids that snuck out of school. Too much time had passed, and I judged myself for allowing that gap.
I’m sorry. Did you try to stay in contact after that?
I try to follow people back on Instagram. LOL.
Let me be honest, I’m fine if I can’t build back the connections I lost. There are some things time can’t fix or change. I will try my best though.
And Jos? Would you ever go back?
Nah. I miss the memories there, but I’m happier with the version of myself I’ve discovered between Akwa Ibom, Warri and now, Lagos. I can’t imagine losing myself all over again. I’m only focused on getting to the point where I can live my life without fear.
I miss eating masa and suya though. It’s been way too long since I had some.
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Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
Today’s subject on #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Onyeche Ebie, a 53-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about the different phases of friendships in her life. From her first real friend to her first betrayal as an adult, Onyeche shares the moments that led up to her believing that life is better without a lot of friends.
What’s an advice 20-year-old you needed?
You don’t need too many friends in life.
Why?
At 28, I locked up on the idea of friendships. I’d just gotten my first job ever at a bank and got close to one of my colleagues. She’d already been in my department for two years, so it made sense to learn from her. I thought we’d become friends.
A few months later, she placed a complaint with our branch manager. She accused me of trying to defraud the company with a customer I’d become friends with. It probably wasn’t alright, but as my friend, she should have spoken to me first. I got off with only a warning because one of our senior colleagues told her she needed more proof. Other than that, the branch manager would’ve fired me.
So, that was the end of chasing friendships. I never understood why she did it, but I didn’t ask.
Wow. Did you have any close friends before this experience?
Not exactly. I’d never been the type of person to open up to people. I just didn’t enjoy talking. So I didn’t make any real friends until university.
The first was Mfon. We were in the same department, but we didn’t notice each other until our second year. Our department needed girls to represent them at Nigerian University Games Association (NUGA), and we were picked for the badminton tournament.
During the game, we talked between sets. She wasn’t as reserved as me, but I didn’t mind. I found out she’d grown up with busy parents like me and moved around often. So there was a lot to talk about. By the end of the game, we were friends.
That’s so cute. Who were the others?
My only other friend was Patience. We were from the same state, so it was easy to click at first. Things ended because she liked a guy that wanted to date me in 200 level.
Oop—
Mfon became my closest friend. My best friend actually. I loved how she made me try new things. I remember she got me my first lipstick. It was special because that was the first time I’d gotten a gift from anyone.
So what changed?
She had an extra year in school. So I’d say distance changed things. In 1991, mobile phones weren’t a thing. Keeping in touch after my graduation was almost impossible. Doing my NYSC in Kaduna also didn’t help. By the time I moved to Lagos a year later, I still hadn’t heard from Mfon.
I also had a part to play in the silence. I didn’t have time to stay in touch because I was trying to get a job. I was living away from home for the first time and squatting with my extended family in Lagos. There was no time for friends.
Five years went by, and I didn’t speak with Mfon. I was forced to search for her when I heard she’d died. I decided to track down a cousin whom Mfon had mentioned lived in Lagos when we were in uni. It turned out she’d been in an accident and was in recovery. I felt so guilty for not reaching out sooner.
I’m sorry that happened. Were you able to reconnect?
Yes, but a few months later, she moved to Zaria. We’ve stayed in contact, but it wasn’t like back in uni. She never came back to Lagos.
A year later, I started having kids, so I wasn’t focused on how to keep in touch.
So you never connected with anyone like your uni bestie?
No one knew me like Mfon. At least that version of myself. Adulthood took away that woman that loved badminton. The most important thing became survival.
The next friend I made was a few months after the fraud incident at the bank. And it was completely unintentional. My manager decided it was best to be in a different office, so I was moved to a new office. There, I met Aisha. Aisha shared my new office with me — I couldn’t ignore someone I had to see every day. Eventually, I warmed up.
What was different about Aisha?
We only got close because she talked about herself a lot more. She opened up about being AS and her husband also being AS. Being willing to share details about her family made me slightly less guarded.
The challenge came when it was time for me to talk about myself. Mfon always had a way to get me talking, but Aisha didn’t stress. And to an extent, I liked that.
When I had my first kid, she knew basic things like how much my child threw tantrums. I talked about the transition from being alone to having a child that was so expressive and chatty — the complete opposite of me. So yes, there were parts Aisha knew.
But when I had my second child in 2001, I didn’t talk about him for two years. I avoided the conversation.
Why?
He was born with down syndrome. That wasn’t an experience I wanted to share with anyone. I didn’t want any pity.
I didn’t even notice he was different from my first child until after three months. When I went to the hospital and got the diagnosis, even the doctor wasn’t sure about the next steps to take. There was nothing he could do. So what was the point of talking to Aisha? I had to find a solution myself.
For a long time, I didn’t meet mothers with a child like mine. Even when I found a foundation that helped parents like me, they were focused on just the money. There was nothing like a community for parents to talk about how they coped.
I’m sorry about that.
Thanks. It was difficult running around Lagos trying to find specialists to help, but I wanted my child to survive. Aisha wasn’t in the loop until about two years later. And like our friendship, it wasn’t intentional. She’d just lost a baby and talked about how she felt. In the middle of that, I opened up about my son. It made us a bit closer.
Even when I moved to Abuja in 2004, Aisha and I maintained contact. She eventually relocated to Abuja too.
So what made you decide life is better without friends?
I lost my job five years after moving to Abuja and the friends I made.
There were two women in particular I thought were my friends. We’d visit each other and go to weddings together. But when I lost my job, I felt like a plague. They dismissed me quickly anytime I checked in.
Did you reach out to them about this feeling?
No. I felt they thought I was hanging around for money. I decided it was best to keep to myself.
And Aisha?
The best she could do was refer customers to me when I started a business. Other than that, we were occupied with our own lives.
It sounds kind of lonely…
LOL. Life is lonely, with or without friends. It was impossible to be in the same place with Mfon or Aisha. Or try to keep up with each other’s lives when they moved at a different pace.
With my second child, no one could share that experience with me. I had to do it alone. And losing my job? I also had to figure that out alone. No matter how many friends I had, the only constant thing in each phase was me.
I hear you. How did starting a business go?
Most of my customers were people I’d randomly met at the bank. Some were customers I ran accounts for while others were colleagues. They weren’t people I’d ever consider friends. At that point, I realised there was no point in labelling people as friends. Acquaintances seemed more beneficial.
Are you still close to Mfon and Aisha?
They’re still a part of my life. We’re just fine with not seeing each other for months. The one time I saw Mfon after 1997 was 2021. She was in Abuja for chemotherapy, and I stayed by her side for the six months she was around. Time didn’t take away the fact that she was my best friend. It just changed how much I bothered myself with the “friendship” label.
Two or three friends are enough to get by in life.
For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
Today’s subject on #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is a 55-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about navigating marriage expectations from Nigerian aunties, her reasons for choosing a funny over a cute man, and coming to terms with the possibility of never having kids of her own.
In 55 years, what’s one thing you’ve learnt that drastically changed your life?
Ignoring expectations. They drive us to places we’d rather not be.
What do you mean?
I was 47 when I got married. A lot of people expected me to be bothered by the 46 years I spent without a husband. In my 20s, most of the women in my life were either planning a wedding or in a serious relationship. And in my 30s, the rest were married. I wasn’t interested in the commitment to marriage. Dating for fun was a much better option.
Why were you uninterested?
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. I didn’t see a lot of emotions between my parents. Tbh I didn’t see much of them even. They travelled a lot for work. Sometimes, we went along with them. In seven years, we’d lived in Lagos, Zaria, Port Harcourt and Akwa Ibom. Even when we were home together, they’d be in their room or occupied with work. We just weren’t close-knit. A part of me didn’t see the need to marry and end up so distant.
When we did speak, our conversations centred around staying away from boys. My mum used the whole “If a boy touches you, you’ll get pregnant” talk to scare me. I eventually figured out she lied.
LOL. How?
Before one of my parent’s trips, my parents dropped me off with my older male cousins. A lot of their male friends also came to the house during my time there. I was 14, and that was the first time I felt like I was hanging around guys. And I did not fall pregnant, and neither did the women whom they gisted about hugging and kissing.
How did that gist change your relationship with boys?
In three months, I became a tomboy. I didn’t have a crush on any of the boys. I only became interested in their clothes and sports. I loved their baggy jeans and t-shirts. I also fell in love with tennis and badminton.
By the time my parents got back from their trip, I had a whole new look. My mother’s solution was to ship me off to an all-girls boarding school in Akwa Ibom. She expected me to get in touch with my “inner woman” again.
As their first daughter, I’d say this was where their expectations started. “You have to be an example,” “Women wear dresses,” she’d say. I was constantly expected to be a perfect woman.
Did your mum’s plan work?
LOL. I’m 55 and still wear jeans everywhere.
When I got into uni, I was free to dress however I liked. I schooled in Uyo while my parents settled in Zaria. I wore my baggy jeans and low cut in peace. Boys were a lot more forward about dating. But I wasn’t interested in anything serious. After watching one or two football matches with me, they settled for being friends.
When did the expectations for marriage start?
Right there in uni. It started with the guys I dated. Back then, men promised marriage like water. They’d date you for a few weeks and expect you to introduce them to your family. I didn’t get it.
The most ridiculous one was in my fourth year in 1992. Two months into the relationship, he ghosted. He lived in Port Harcourt and only visited Uyo to see me. I tried my best to contact him, but writing letters was the best I could do. I didn’t get any response.
A year later, he showed up at my faculty. Imagine the audacity of this man asking me to marry him. He talked about missing me and not thinking straight. He even threatened me with the “You won’t be young forever” speech. I was only 26. Again, the audacity. I had to deal with his stress until my graduation that year. Then, I moved back to Zaria.
Tell me, how did moving back in with your parents with no man in sight at 26 go?
LOL. There were one or two questions about marriage from my mother’s sisters. My parent, were more invested in their first child finally becoming a breadwinner. They expected me to earn money right away. That wasn’t possible. I studied Industrial Chemistry, and it wasn’t a course that people cared about in the early 90s. At least not like banking or medicine.
I spent a year trying to secure a job. When that didn’t work out, I decided to go for my master’s. It bought me more time with my parents. As academics themselves, they were happy I was going back for another degree.
I got into a school in Zaria in 1994. The degree took longer than I expected. My thesis dragged on longer than two years, but I had to complete it. I expected I’d get a better chance at getting a job after. I didn’t graduate until 2000. I was 33.
How did that feel?
I felt slowed down. But hey, life happens. The unexpected part of the degree was falling in love for the first time. I was willing to marry the guy.
In uni, I got into playing long tennis, and the guy loved to play on the field as well. He was cute. It just seemed like the right time when he asked. I was uncertain about the next step, and most of my friends were married. It seemed logical to go with it. There was also love sha. Did I mention he was cute?
LOL. So what happened to the unexpected love?
My father disapproved of him. We were both from the same state — Akwa Ibom — but my father hated the guy’s tribe. I was willing to fight for the love. Until I got a letter from the guy saying his family needed me to join their church. It was his condition to commit to the marriage.
For me, that was the end of the relationship. My friends tried to convince me to overlook it. They were concerned I wouldn’t find someone else.
I hated the concept of a biological clock for women. Like if I wasn’t married by 40, I’d be an old cargo. I was going to get married on my terms. The Akwa Ibom man was not for me. And that was that.
I love it. How was life after your second degree?
Good. After my master’s, I decided to move to Abuja. It was the “Lagos” of 2000. Everyone wanted to travel there and get access to government jobs. So did I. When I arrived, I linked up with an old school friend to help me with a job. He did, and it was in the oil sector. The money was good back then. Three years later, I was promoted and transferred to Warri.
Did you enjoy Warri?
For sure. The starch and banga, sitting at football centres, playing badminton and drinking palm wine… Warri was a good time. No one bothered me about becoming an old cargo. Warri people just wanted to have fun.
Within that first year, I also spent a lot of time travelling outside the country. If I was under any kind of stress, I’d book the next flight to the UK or Paris. My late 30s were the best years of my life.
The marriage questions came up again when my mother died in 2006. I was 39, and my aunties were furious. After the burial, they went on about my sister who was now pregnant with her second child. Until I left for Warri, I didn’t have a moment of peace.
How did that feel?
I didn’t feel anything. At that point, I’d come to terms with probably spending my life alone. I was already experiencing irregular periods. I knew it was menopause. So beyond a husband, I knew having my kids were out of the picture at 39. I had accepted it. When I turned 40, my period completely stopped. At that point, nobody’s talk could get to me. I had accepted my reality.
The awkward part of the experience was having friends tell me sorry. I hated it. I hated when people said sorry to me for not having kids. I wasn’t unhappy with my life. I earned enough money to support my father, travelled to more countries I could count and lived life to the fullest.
So why did you decide to get married?
LOL. The man simple showed up at the right time, for me.
In 2009, my dad was diagnosed with dementia. So I brought him to Warri. It was a stressful period for me. I wasn’t even looking forward to any relationship. One day, my colleague forced me out of my house for drinks. She went on about a guy who’d been to our office and wanted a date with me. It had been three years since I’d been on a date. I didn’t mind.
The guy wasn’t cute, but he was funny. After the date, we talked on the phone for hours every night. I felt like a schoolgirl. Imagine a 45-year-old woman blushing. Three days later, he asked me to be his wife. I said yes.
You had a fiancé in three days?
LOL. We were too old for games abeg. I moved in with him within three months and I probably shouldn’t have done that.
Why?
It took him two years to propose. Staying together made the guy sluggish with marriage plans. At some point, I was ready to leave. But one of his friends talked sense into him, and he started pushing him to see my father’s brothers in Akwa Ibom.
He’d seen my dad a few times, but half the time, my dad was meeting him again for the first time. So travelling to Akwa Ibom was important. I needed my uncles to stand in for my dad. The whole dowry transaction happened with my uncles over text. In a week, we were in Akwa-Ibom for the wedding. Everything was sharp sharp.
Were you anxious?
Far from it. At 47, I was sure about what I wanted. After living together and having sex for over a year, what’s there to be scared of? I only cried on the day of the wedding. That was even shocking for me. I blame it on the sappy wedding songs they played.
As for my husband, he’d been married before, so it wasn’t anything deep. We didn’t even have a white wedding — that one pained me.
Are there any parts of marriage that shocked you?
For the most part, it’s the cooking. I didn’t expect I’d have to cook more often. I’m talking about waking up at 2 a.m. because my husband had a craving. That’s one part I hated. Eventually, we established the boundaries around cooking.
It was refreshing to have someone to watch a tennis match with and also spend their money. I’d spent three years taking care of my dad. It was nice for someone to take care of me.
LOL. Did you ever talk about kids?
He already had three kids with his previous wife. So there was no pressure from him. The only time I felt sad that we couldn’t have children was in 2018. My sister sent her kids to visit us on holiday. One night, her daughter crawled into bed with us, and my husband seemed so happy playing with her. I felt bad that I’d never have kids. It was a fleeting thought though.
If he missed his kids, he’d visit them at their mother’s place.
I’m curious: are you open to adopting kids?
It was a process we started four years into our marriage. But I was worried. First, I was more comfortable with the idea of adopting a child if we knew the parents. I felt it was safer. At least that’s what was implied from parents who had adopted kids. In the middle of everything, I got scared about losing the child if they decided to look for their parents. I’d be too heartbroken. When I turned 50, I gave up the whole idea.
My aunties still say my husband will leave me for a younger woman. But I’ve never been scared of being alone. I’d be happy to travel on a whim again.
Mad. What are you looking forward to right now?
Travelling with my husband. I’m glad we get to do it together. It’s something I still wish my parents did.
Catching flights and feelings at 55. Love it.
LOL. I also want more pictures. My father died last year. He died unaware of who he was or the life he lived. There were no pictures to prove that he lived such a full life. If I end up growing old and forgetting my past, I’d love to have pictures that remind me of the amazing life I lived — with or without kids.
For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
Today’s subject for #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Topher, a 27-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about sharing her love for football with her twin brother, losing a piece of herself when he died and holding on to the sport as she navigates life without her favourite sibling.
What’s your favourite football club?
Chelsea. Even before I became a fan in 2008, Chelsea was a team I liked because they wear my favourite colour, blue.
How did you become a fan?
Before Chelsea, I watched football for the thrill, and finally picking a team to support was random.
I was at a neighbour’s house watching the Champions League finals where Chelsea played against Manchester United. It was the first time ever they made it to the finals, and I could feel the excitement of the players. 90 minutes went by and Chelsea lost the game. I was expecting some level of frustration from the guys, but they seemed happy. Even with the loss, they cheered. These guys reminded me of the reason I loved football in the first place: that ability to bounce back after a loss or enjoy the little wins.
After that, I became a Chelsea stan. Up blues!!
LOL. How did you get into football?
My twin brother — Chima — taught me to play. When I was 5, we’d go to Ile Ewe field to play what we called kpako football. That’s the kind of match that always ends with some kind of scratch or bruise. I played with my brother’s team. I was the only girl, but I didn’t mind.
Between our four older siblings and parents, my brother and I were the closest. We did practically everything together, but sports was our main thing. He showed me how to play tennis, and we’d stay up watching basketball on TV. I used to pull off the buttons on my shirt and we’d use biro covers to push it around like a ball. Football was the only thing we didn’t do together, so I begged him to teach me.
What was it like playing football with guys?
Rough at first, then we became best guys. The first time I played, one of the guys set leg for me. Instead of saying sorry, he laughed. Of course, my brother slapped him. He was always so protective.
After that, everyone got the memo and treated me nicely. We became a team. They also started calling me the “Queen of football.”
Was your team good or trash?
With each win against an opposing team, we went ballistic with excitement. Even when we took an L, we cheered each other on. That love in the face of anything made me love the game. Football became my passion.
My brother and I shared seven years of that passion together. I was 12 when he died. After that, loving the game wasn’t the same.
I’m so sorry.
Thank you. Not only did I lose my best friend and backbone, I was also fighting for my life.
I fell sick hours after hearing the news. My appendix burst. There was no time to process that he was gone. I went in for the surgery and dealt with a dry cough and pneumonia while recovering. It was hard.
How did you cope?
I became a tomboy. LOL.
For a long time, I felt empty without him. He died in January and by March, my mum moved only me to Abuja because she got a new job. She wanted to keep a close eye on me while I recovered, but I hated it. Without my brother, I felt alone. So I started wearing his clothes to feel close to him and also prove to him I could be strong.
That’s how my tomboy era started, which my mum hated. I didn’t care though. It was the only thing that kept me sane until 2009.
What happened in 2009?
At that point, home was more frustrating. My siblings and dad had joined us in Abuja. And my mum couldn’t hold back her hatred for my clothes anymore. Maybe it made her think of Chima, but we weren’t close enough to open up to each other. When I was 14, my mum yelled at me for my new style and my siblings beat me for being heady about it. I didn’t have anyone in my corner.
My dad tried to be there for me, but nothing compensated for my brother. In 2009, I wanted to end it. I took some of my mum’s diabetic pills and locked myself in the room. But I couldn’t do it.
I made a promise to Chima, and I wanted to keep it. I was going to get as rich as we planned to and name my son after him. I couldn’t do that if I was dead.
I’m so sorry you went through that alone.
It’s okay. I didn’t feel alone — I felt he was with me. I probably had on one of his shirts.
And football? Did you think of going pro?
Never. Playing the game was purely for fun. I never stopped loving football; it was my strongest connection to him. I just didn’t watch it as much.
Before I left for Abuja in March 2007, I wanted to try playing football again. It had been almost two months since the surgery, and I was bored of sitting at home. I missed the guys at the pitch, but I couldn’t play without Chima. There were too many memories.
I still wanted to play though. So for the first time, I played football with girls.
First time?
Yeah. When I was younger, the girls on my street liked to play ten-ten or suwe. I found jumping, clapping and singing quite annoying. The only game I could manage was seven stone.
But you liked chasing a ball for 90 minutes and shouting “it’s a goal?” Gotcha.
LMAO. Yes! It’s better than shouting “ten ten”.
LOL. How did playing with the girls go?
I can’t even call what we played football. No offence to my friends that might read this, but they were playing rubbish. It was like they had never played football. Their penalty and corner kicks were so weak. It felt like we were running around the field playing suwe. Gosh! I wanted some kpakofootball. After a few games, I just stopped playing.
LOL. I’m assuming you picked up something else?
Yes. Writing became the easiest thing I could do. I penned down my thoughts and wrote about fictional characters. When I wasn’t doing that, I read books for an escape. If I wasn’t doing that, then there was a bit of dancing. It lifted my mood.
In between, there was cooking. Actually, cooking was the only connection I had with any other sibling — my older sister. When I wasn’t at the pitch as a kid, she was teaching me how to cook.
In 2011, I started saving up for culinary school. I wanted any excuse to leave my house. Whenever my siblings sent me on errands, I’d add an extra ₦1k or ₦2k to their bill. At least all the waka waka had to pay. By 2013, I had enough for a six-month culinary course. I knew the basics, so the chefs taught me to cook continental dishes like onion soup and Chinese noodles. No one in my family knows I took that course.
At this point, how were you feeling?
I was attempting to live my life. I got into uni a few months after the course. Pursuing a chef career wasn’t something my parents would’ve accepted. I ended up studying English. When I graduated in 2017, acting became the next phase of my life.
In 22 years you went from writing to cooking to acting. Why?
Call it exploring. I was trying to find something that was as good as sitting to watch a game and made me good money. Acting only lasted for two years. Within that time, I starred in about eight to nine movies. My career was growing, but I wanted a break from it. I was tired of the rush of call time, rehearsals and late nights.
I sat down one day and decided to pursue my cooking career.
I’m curious: in all the things you’ve tried, what has been the closest to making you feel how football did?
I’d say cooking, maybe because it’s the most recent development. Watching people eat and love my food gives me joy.
But football will always be my number one love. Every time I sit and watch a game, I feel connected to my brother. I still miss him, but I have fewer moments of feeling so empty without him. As I’ve moved around, I’ve lost most of Chima’s things. I outgrew the rest. My mum and I have never talked about what losing Chima meant to either of us. Maybe one day.
As your life continues to evolve, what’s one thing you wish you could share with him as an adult?
When we were younger, he dreamt of being a Catholic priest. I always wanted him to ordain my marriage. Now, I have to live with that dream as only a memory.
For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here
Today’s subject on #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Samaria, a 29-year-old Liberian woman. She talks about learning to set boundaries with her mother, her amazing relationship with her father, and suddenly watching her 20s go by when he got diagnosed with Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) in 2011.
You’re one year away from 30. What’s something you did in your 20s that you’re proud of?
Learning to take control and trust my decisions.
How did that process start for you?
It started with fear. The fear of my mother seeing her children end up like her siblings with a promiscuous past. She and my father’s goal was to instill the Christian faith in us. When the war in Liberia got worse in 2002, we moved to the United States. At that point, my mother made even firmer boundaries. It wasn’t unusual with other African kids, so I didn’t make a fuss. In America, the fear shifted to ensuring we were grounded in our culture — respect.
So when did things start to change?
When I was 16 and decided to attend an event with my boyfriend at the time — he was also Liberian. The event was in a different state and my mother was not having it, but I was stood my ground. My dad on the other hand? There was a way to wiggle around him. Honestly, I didn’t even care if they were both going to yes, I was going for that event. Till today, my mother reminds me about how that relationship yielded absolutely nothing. She’ll say “Remember that your boyfriend. Where is he now?
I swear, African mothers drink the same brand of water —
LOL. She will never let me forget it. I don’t regret it, though. It made me feel less overlooked in decisions that concerned me. I didn’t want her past experiences to keep holding me back. In that brief phase of rebellion, I’m glad I had my father. He eased up on the boundaries as I got older.
What was that relationship like?
We had the best conversations. He was a real funny guy — you could call him an OG. There was an afternoon in the car after school. We were having one of our random talks together, gisting away and laughing. In the middle of it, he turned to look at me and said, “Are there any boys interested in you?” I was 17 and had moved on from the Liberian boy, so no. Shrugging it off, his response at that moment kills me every time. “When I was your age, girls were all over me. I was handsome but nowhere as handsome as you are beautiful.” It cracked me up. My dad was everything to me.
A year later, things were different.
What happened?
He got diagnosed with ALS when I was 18. I had just finished college and was looking forward to the future when I was told my father had six months to live. My life shifted from planning my 20s to being a caregiver for my father.
I’m so sorry. How did you cope with that transition?
It was a different kind of horror. Because of the short time he had left,he couldn’t continue running his business, so my mother and I shifted to being the primary caretaker. The transition was seamless. I moved from being the baby of the house to taking the lead on making huge financial decisions and being emotional support. Talk about a plot twist.
How did that dynamic affect things with your parents?
Moving into an apartment I was paying for was the hardest part for my mother. But as my dad got worse, she had to relinquish control. We had to become teammates of sorts. She’d do the heavy lifting like bathing and clothing my father, while I handled the bills.
The toughest part was talking to friends that were moving on with life, doing everything we talked about. Exploring cities, saving up money because their parents could afford to cover the bill — everything my 20s should have been about. I loved my parents and I wanted to be there, but those were fleeting thoughts that crossed my mind. Especially when I was on the phone with my friends from college. We started at the same point, but our lives were now miles apart. Nobody could relate to my reality, not even my cousins that were the same age as me. I felt alone.
And your dad?
There were nights I sat by his side asking questions about the next step to take in life. When he eventually lost his ability to speak, I had to learn to read his eyes and spell words. It hurt to see my father gradually fade away. I missed the man he was — the man who teased me about boys just a year before. I remember travelling to Virginia for a family reunion. Usually, my dad would drive, but I had to ride with an uncle this time. After the reunion, no one was headed in my direction. My uncle needed to get to another state and it took time to figure out who would get me home. “If my dad wasn’t sick…,” I thought to myself.
I missed the stability and control I had. My friends were doing everything we had talked about at uni — travelling, experiencing life — and I felt stuck.
How did you deal with that?
Three years after my father’s diagnosis, I quit my job and applied for a Master’s degree.
Quit your job? How were you able to pay for it?
It wasn’t easy, but I needed it for me. I moved my parents to a smaller apartment. I took up part-time jobs and worked 40-hours a week to earn enough money to pay the bills. I still don’t understand how I did all that.. I knew God wanted me to complete that program because the odds were stacked against me the whole time.
So things got better?
Not exactly. I was focused on taking things one day at a time. The next goal for me was buying a house. I got another job and saved up enough money for a down payment when I was 25. Sadly, my father passed away in August 2021, three years later. I thought I wasn’t going to make it. My mother tried to console me, but the only words I could mutter were: “I can’t make it without him, I just can’t.” It was the first time I allowed myself to break down. The first time I took it all in.I had lost my best friend. I wailed like a baby.
Samaria, I’m so sorry.
Thank you. The doctors gave my father six months and he beat ALS by 11 years. I’ll never forget one of the last conversations we had. I asked him how he managed to be such a great dad and he said “I prayed to be the kind of father I needed to be for you, Samaria. I manifested it, pondered on it, and dreamed about it. I knew who I wanted to be, for you.” That’s the way I want to honour him. To give my own children the type of love he gave me.
Your dad was a real OG. How are things with your mum now?
Now that we don’t have to be partners, she’s starting to see me as just her little baby again. That’s not possible. I’ve already spent 11 years of my life making decisions for us. I hope she learns to trust that I can keep doing that. Maybe along the way, we’ll talk about how lonely it felt to take on a responsibility I wasn’t ready for after uni. The nights I stayed up worried about my next steps. For now, it’s more important for her to get through this grief. Losing a man you’ve loved for over 40 years is tough.
Tell me one thing you want to do in your 30s?
I’ll share two things. LOL.
First, I can’t wait to be Dr. Samaria after my PhD in the Hebrew bible.
Nice. And the second?
After travelling to Liberia for my father’s burial, I knew I wanted to experience more of home — family. In America, everything is a plane ride away. I miss being able to just walk down the street to see an aunt or cousin. I want to have a piece of my dad that America can’t give me. So every year, I plan on returning to Liberia for a holiday.
Even if I’m not making great money right now, I know it’s going to happen.
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.
Today’s subject for #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Oghosasere, is a 25-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about the complicated relationship with her parents in Benin, changing her identity to fit into the Lagos scene, and finally reaching the bad b!tch status that didn’t last long.
Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me about your childhood.
I grew up in a polygamous family and lived in Benin city. My parents were previously married and met each other five years after losing their spouses. They both had two kids from their first marriages — my mum had boys while my dad had girls. Fifteen years later, they had me and I’m their only child together. By the time I was born, all their kids were out of the house, so growing up was boring and lonely. It should have been more interesting because we lived in the same compound with my father’s family but my mother was adamant about me staying away from them, especially my grandmother.
Why?
My father’s family were traditional worshippers. My mother believed my grandmother placed a curse on her because she didn’t want my father to marry a Christian. To my mother, her 15 years of miscarriages and stillbirths before having me were my grandmother’s doing. Hence the decision to name me Oghosasere which means “The one God allowed to stay” — a reminder of the ordeal.
My mother endlessly recounted this experience in the hopes that I’d be frightened, but it didn’t work. It simply made me curious about the mysterious old woman. I wanted answers and one day, that curiosity almost killed the cat.
LOL. What happened to the cat?
When I was three, my mother sent me out to play on my own because I had been interrupting her conversation with a friend. Once I noticed she was engrossed in the gist, I quietly snuck away to my grandmother’s house.
The front door was locked so I went to the backyard, and what I saw looked like a Nollywood scene: candles lit, slaughtered animals laid around, and my grandmother kneeling in front of a figurine. Nobody had to tell me to run before she realised I was there. Luckily for me, my mother didn’t even notice I was gone. Thank God for the sweet gist. LOL
Omo. What was the relationship like with your dad?
We were close. He was an easy-going guy, who was firm about his beliefs but also accepted my mother’s faith. Everything was great until he made it clear to my mother that he wanted a son and refused to spend any more money on my education. This didn’t change anything for me at the time because I was an oblivious four year old daddy’s girl. My mother, however, wanted me to have an education, and moving me to her sister’s house in Lagos was her only option because she couldn’t afford the school fees herself.
So after my last term in primary two, I was off to Lagos. It was my first time out of Benin, and it felt like a vacation. There was lots of food, games, and no rules about going outside alone. My aunt had a daughter my age and we played to our hearts’ content. Lagos seemed fun. I wasn’t lonely anymore so there was no hesitation when my mum asked me to stay while she packed her bags to leave.
I still went back to Benin on school breaks. The relationship with my parents was great. My father was excited whenever I was back, and we’ddrive to Mr. Biggs for their juicy meat pies, while singing along to Brenda Fassie’s or Yinka Ayefele’s songs.. Things didn’t change between us until I was eight.
What happened?
My father finally got the son he wanted with another woman. Our relationship went downhill from there. There were no more trips to Mr. Biggs or car karaokes together. He didn’t seem to care about me anymore. When I went back to Lagos after that break, the calls and texts stopped. I didn’t see the point in returning to Benin again.
I’m sorry that happened. What was Lagos like for you?
Stressful. No one could pronounce Oghosasere so I had to change my name. The kids at school were also mean. My classmates called me a village girl because I could only speak Pidgin English. Saying things like “How far or “Wetin” got me a good beating from my aunt too. Trying to become a Lagos girl took a toll on my confidence.
Secondary school was worse. I went from being called a “Village girl” to “Flat screen” because my uniforms were oversized. My aunty didn’t believe girls needed tight-fitted clothes. I resorted to using pins to hold the sides of my uniforms, but it didn’t make a difference — I was too skinny. “Flat screen” stuck with me until I graduated, and I dreaded every moment of it. I missed the simplicity of Benin.
Kids are wicked creatures.
Very savage.
Did you eventually get past the teasing?
Yes, my butt got bigger when I got into uni.
We thank God for puberty —
LOL. I still struggled with my confidence, but I felt much prettier in uni. The freedom after moving into the hostel also brought me relief. For the first time, I made friends and didn’t get bullied about things that made me a Benin girl. I partied, had shitty boyfriends, a lot of sex, and partied some more. No more baggy clothes or skinny legs, I was finally a Lagos babe and revelled in it. I thought everyone was on the same high of being young and free.
Unfortunately, the party days were coming to an end, and I didn’t get the memo early. My friends went from smoking weed and hopping between clubs to making solid plans about the next phase of life. They talked about things like getting a master’s degree, applying for jobs, and planning weddings. I was clueless and there was no one to speak to. My aunt was more focused on her daughter, while the relationship with my parents had become non-existent.
Would you like a relationship with them again?
I have to figure out my life first. I want my mum to be proud of her decision to take me out of Benin city.
What does figuring things out look like to you?
I’ve never dreamt about the future but I know it starts with letting people know my name is Oghosasere. My ten-year plan was to become a Lagos big babe but now, I’m owning my identity as a Benin woman living in Lagos and thriving.
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.
Today’s subject for #ZikokoWhatSheSaid is Seyi Oluyole, the founder of Dream Catchers Academy for Girls. Seyi talks about being homeless at nine, finding hope in the future again through dance and motivating other girls like her that need dreams to survive.
Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me about Seyi before Dream Catchers Academy.
I’m the last born, and my siblings are much older than me — my immediate sister is nine years older than I am. That age gap limited how much I played around the house. So I spent my time curled up in front of our TV set after school to watch cartoons and music videos on NTA.
I also was never the kid who wasn’t sure about what she wanted to be. I didn’t get the “I want to be a lawyer” or “I want to be a doctor” vibe. I just lied to people about wanting to be a teacher, unprovoked.
LOL. Many of us lied too. How did you figure out what you wanted to do?
It took a bit of time. Probably would’ve happened sooner if my family wasn’t homeless by the time I was nine years old. My dad lost his job at the bank and my mum couldn’t keep everything together on her own. The country took an economic downturn in 2001, so finding a job was difficult for my dad. Things got bad so bad we had to sell our house, and eventually, we lost everything.
My nights became sleeping at the backseat in churches during night vigils and at bus parks when we couldn’t find a church. That’s how I went from lying about what I wanted to be to being hopeless about my future. There were only a few moments of bliss.
I’m so sorry. What were those moments?
The times I spent watching TV in shops while on errands or through the windows of people’s homes while we shuttled from place to place. On one of those occasions, a video caught my attention. An American singer — who I later found out was Jennifer Lopez — was performing, and she looked so intriguing. I loved the freedom her body seemed to experience as she danced. The energy she exuded from each twist, turn and leap felt liberating to watch. I tried a few of her moves on the way back home, and it was my first taste of the freedom dance brings.
Shakira would have done it for me, so I get it. What happened next?
LOL. Four years went by, and we finally moved into our own home when I was thirteen. My parents saved up money from menial jobs to rent a house at Ebute. Ebute is what you’d describe as Makoko without the water, but I didn’t mind it; we finally had a home.
Sweet! What about dance?
I got into dance when I discovered Beyonce. After being in and out of school for four years, I was in a new school where the girls raved about her, but I was clueless. I didn’t love the feeling of being left out, so I went home to find out about Queen Bey — thankfully, we had a TV again. I remember the feeling of validation I felt when I caught one of her songs on NTA. Beyonce was like a mirror — a lighter, closer version of me. She represented everything I wanted from dance when I watched Jennifer Lopez for the first time. So I started to mimic her when I was home alone.
Did you eventually go to dance school?
My mum tried to get me into one dance school, but it was too expensive. My parents’ finances were getting better, but there was no way we could afford the ₦50,000 per term. Other than that, there was no opportunity to study art in Nigeria, especially for a low-income family like mine.
So what did you do?
I started a dance community for the girls in Ebute that couldn’t afford to go to school. There were afternoons on my way back from school that I noticed girls around my age wandering the streets. I started talking to them to get familiar.
Some hawked because their families couldn’t afford to send them to school; some were from broken homes. Their realities were different, but they all felt the same sense of abandonment. I got involved in their lives. Sometimes I gave them my lunch money, and my mum was kind enough to let some of the girls sleep at our house.
And your mum didn’t mind?
She gladly opened up her home. My mother loved helping people. When you’ve had nothing to your name, it makes you understand how much people suffer. Maybe that’s why it wasn’t an odd thing to ask in the first place.
My mum had also become a pastor so this was probably missionary work for her.
That’s so inspiring.
Yeah! Once the girls were in the picture, dance went from being something for me to being motivation for other people. We started hanging out on Saturdays at the church while my mother went in for rehearsals. Since I didn’t have any professional experience, I showed them everything I learned from watching music videos over the years. They loved it. My only condition for being a part of the rehearsals was promising to go to school if they could afford it.
The smiles on their faces whenever we danced round Ebute are still so vivid. In those moments, I knew I wanted to build something that would last. But trust life to happen when you least expect it.
Ah. What happened?
We moved. Two years after we landed at Ebute, my family moved to Ikorodu — I was fifteen. I can’t remember how many girls we had at the house, but only four of the girls from Ebute could move with us, and I kept teaching them to dance.
I went to uni when I was 16, then gambled with faith a bit. At 20, I applied for a master’s degree in Human Services at a university in Nebraska and the Society of Performing Arts Nigeria (SPAN). I got admission into both. America seemed like a more practical option — it was America, and I had a sponsor. As much as I wanted to dance, I was scared that I couldn’t really make it as a dancer. I didn’t see a lot of women making a living then. Besides, I had a sponsor, a business owner giving scholarships at the time.
So you went to America?
I did. Then my sponsor passed away.
Ah—
I was sad to lose him, but that wasn’t my main issue. I was volunteering at a non-profit before my sponsor passed, so I focused on it while I tried to figure out my next step. It aligned with my passion to work with girls from low-income areas.
I loved the job, but the kids in America? They were just too entitled. Nothing like my Ikorodu girls. They complained about the type of meals they got, clothes, everything. I didn’t feel fulfilled. My family tried to push back, but America was not for me. So I left.
What was for you?
I went back to Ikorodu when I was 22. Syncing again was relatively easy, but I needed money — to rent a house for myself and the girls I wanted to teach. The four girls I started off with eventually got into uni when I left. That was a strong motivation for me to go back and try to help other girls as well. So I got a job and used the money I earned to fund the programme for two years. I rented a house, started to look for girls in Ikorodu that needed a home, moved in with them and that’s how Dream Catchers — an art academy for underprivileged girls — kicked off in Ikorodu.
Nice. How do you choose a child to help?
Things have changed a lot over the years, but Ebute is always on the list of where we find the girls we help. It will always be home.
When I was the only one in control, picking a child was based on vibes. Now, we have a board that selects the girls based on certain criteria that match our limited resources. For instance, we rarely sign up girls above nine, because it’s difficult to change core habits they’ve built. Health needs are also key factors we consider in our process. As much as we want to help every girl that needs us, it’s equally important to be honest about our current capacity. It’s a heartbreaking reality, but we have to turn away some of the girls until we have the right partnerships that enable us to cater to special health requirements.
The first few weeks in the hostel are usually the toughest. I have to make them familiar with things like toilets and how flushers work. Sometimes they go weeks without talking or act out from the trauma or fear they experience at home, but they eventually connect. Therapy is an important part of the program for us. We push as much as we can to help the girls but we’ve had to let some go as well. One time, a girl scaled the fence in the early hours of the morning so we had to send her home. It’s never easy once you’re attached to a child — I had to start therapy to get through the emotions.
As much as we have tough moments, they are the funniest kids you’ll ever meet. And the talent? E choke. These days they write their own songs, and I couldn’t be prouder. I can’t go more than a day without going to the house to play with them or make sure they’re okay. I wouldn’t trade loving them for the world.
That’s so sweet. What’s your vision for them?
I don’t want them to put themselves in the “I can’t do it because I’m a woman” box. It took me too long to get to this point, so I want the girls at Dream Catchers to get an early start on their dreams regardless of their economic background. I want Dream Catchers to be the Juilliard of Africa — a legacy that outlives me. Right now, we have 27 girls, and we’re expanding the school to accomodate 100 girls — we want the girls to maintain a tight-knit community. Once we hit that target and have the resources to support each child, we’ll be expanding to other parts of Nigeria and then Africa. 26-year-old me would have been scared, but this 30-year-old Seyi has the structure to take on big dreams.
And you? What do you want for yourself?
I want to go to dance school — I’ve waited too long. I turned 30 this year, so I’m taking life by the horns and trying again.
30 and dangerous. Love it. What do you do when you’re not chasing these big goals?
I try to make friends. Sometimes, it’s hard to connect with people in between everything going on at Dream Catchers. So this year, I’m open to building friendships. I’m currently looking for a Gen Z friend that can show me how TikTok works — it’s a hazard to millennials. Other than that, I buy a lot of ice cream from Hans and Rene and walk my dogs — Amsterdam and Stormi Peru.
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.
The subject of today’s What She Said is a 31-year-old government school teacher. She talks about learning how to be a loving person from her late mum and becoming a guidance counselor who looks out for kids who don’t have a lot of people looking out for them.
What’s one word that describes you?
Happiness. There are very few moments you’d catch me feeling overwhelmed or sad — I’ve always loved holding on to my joy.
In this Nigeria?
LOL. As a child, I grew up with a mum that was always happy — so I guess it stuck. For her, happiness came from giving to people. She loved to cook and feed people at church or in our compound. I remember her singing around the house as she cooked and packed up food or items she was about to give away — that was her joy. My mother never let anything get to her and knew how to make a bad day something to laugh about. I remember my dad leaving us when I was about four or five, and she didn’t wallow about it. It was so baffling to see her carry on like nothing had happened. Nothing could ever take away my mother’s joy.
She sounds incredible.
She was! I thought it was annoying when I was younger though. Especially when she wouldn’t leave the house without money or provisions to give someone in the church or neighbourhood. Eight-year-old me wondered why happiness wasn’t just about myself. I was sure my version of happiness would be different — only about me. But all of that changed when I saw the way people talked about her after she passed. How they loved her. The way she lived life made a way for me to experience a lot of kindness from the people around me. It was difficult losing her, but it really showed me that maintaining your happiness and giving love is not a waste.
I vowed I would do the same: love unconditionally and be happy.
That’s so sweet.
We — my mum, little sister and I — lived with our grandma who continued to take care of us after my mum’s death. The hardest thing about losing her was just going through puberty — periods and boys were not something grandma was deeply interested in. Grandma couldn’t teach me about using sanitary towels; all you needed was a clean cloth. I had to do a lot of reading for my sister and I.
We didn’t have to stress too much about money because my mother left some savings behind. When we did run out of money, Grandma wasn’t even interested in letting us work. But I couldn’t let her take all the burden. So the first thing I did was to secretly sell all the shoes my mother left behind. I was in the choir at church, so I sold it to all those sisters that were trying to impress our choir master. I think I made about ₦20,000, and then used it to buy things in the house. I told our grandma it was my mum’s sister that gave it to us. I was nine.
How did you go from selling shoes to church choir babes to helping kids with mental health?
I found out that talking to people made me happy. Getting to the point where someone was comfortable enough to open up to me felt good because it meant they trusted me. Their sadness made me feel like I wasn’t as alone at that phase of my life. Happy ones made me laugh and forget, for a moment, that I didn’t have my mum with me. Those moments gave me ginger. \
All my money making stunts behind grandma’s back also led me to counselling. It started from selling my mother’s old shoes and then offering to clean a friend’s closet in school every weekend to earn more money at the same time. I kept up with the cleaning gig at my friend’s place until my mum’s sister asked us to move in with her in JSS 1. She was stricter than grandma about not looking for work. I tried to follow her rules, but my body couldn’t take the cycle of going to school and then coming home to eat and sleep — I needed to work. So my next money making stunt was in JSS 3 as a self-proclaimed therapist for ₦50 in each session. All my mates then were having relationship drama, and even if I couldn’t relate, I was the go-to person in class. Maybe it’s because I was one of the few people that didn’t have a relationship or because I was usually the talkative in class. Either way, my classmates trusted me enough to talk about their feelings. Working through their silly arguments made me happy because I got to help them understand each other better, and I was really good at it — I read a lot of romance novels in secondary school so I knew the exact words an angry boyfriend or girlfriend needed to hear.
LOL. Fraud. What kind of problems did lovers have in JSS 3?
JSS 3 boys didn’t have liver — most of the guys just didn’t know what to say to the girls. So it was my job to connect them with the babes in the class. I would either write love letters or tell them to buy gifts. I remember helping my best friend land one hot babe in our class back then. I sabi work.
Let’s NFT this sis. Did you continue your self-proclaimed counselling role after secondary school?
I went to study guidance and counselling education in uni.
My counsellor!
LOL. Talking to my friend’s in JSS 3 about love and relationships, made me open to the idea of working as a psychologist. When JAMB jammed me for four straight years after SS3, I spent the years in between learning to sew as a skill just in case I didn’t make it. Then I got admitted in 2014.
In my first year, I was more focused on growing a business so I could earn money to survive on campus — I started buying underwear from Idumota to sell, cooking in the hostel and sewing. Everything felt good until I saw my CGPA at the end of the semester: 1.23/5.00. It was below a third class, so I knew I had to focus. As I began to listen and learn, I gradually fell in love with the counselling. I wanted to help kids that were too poor to afford therapy. I didn’t even think I would really be interested in practicing until I started my Internship at a public school in Bariga called Jagumolu Girls Grammar School three years later.
At the school, there was no counsellor helping the girls talk about periods, relationships or any kind of mental health challenge. Teachers just looked at them as badly-behaved children half the time, but all most of them needed was someone to talk to. I got close to them, and they gradually opened up about their homes, boys and girls they liked and their fears. The six months with Jagumolu Girls really opened my eyes to how much the less-privileged children in government schools need to be counselled — they needed someone to be a safe space for them. I became passionate about the cause and began to search for a job as a government school teacher after my NYSC in 2019.
How did that go?
Nothing clicked for me until after two years. Before then, I worked as a gas station attendant and met my husband — he was my boss at the time. As a gas attendant, I worked on getting customers to clean and cook over the weekend. Whenever I didn’t have a customer’s house to clean or cook at, I focused on either sewing or connecting women to cheaper products they needed in Idumota market, for a fee, as well as clients to sew outfits for. In 2018, I was doing every hustle I could get my hands on while I submitted job applications as well. I had applied for a teaching role advertised by the state government in 2018 and was hoping for a call back from them, but I didn’t get one until 2021.
I picked up and a woman spoke to me about coming in for an interview the next day. I thought she was one of those scammers that call for jobs just to kidnap you, so I hissed and cut the call. She called back and told me to calm down. She reminded me about the open call for teachers by the Lagos state government in 2019 — that’s when it clicked and I apologised for being rude.
I drove from Ajah to Ikeja by 4 a.m. so I could beat traffic. I got there about 6 a.m., but the room was already packed. I had my interview after about six hours of waiting. On my way out, I saw a woman was pacing around asking people to help her with her interview. Nobody was responding, so I decided to stay back and tell her the questions I remembered from my interviews.
Please don’t tell us the woman got the job…
LOL. One week after the interview, I was called back into the office at Ikeja. I went in with excitement hoping to collect my appointment letter. I even dressed up so I could oppress my haters. I walked into the reception ready for the good news, but the secretary just casually told me they couldn’t offer me a job because there was no position for me. She didn’t even look up when she said it. I was so confused — why did they have to call me all the way from Ajah? As I was about to storm off, a lady tapped me from the back saying hello. I turned around trying my best not to yell “What?”. It turned out to be the woman I helped on the day of my interview. She asked why I looked so angry and I explained the situation. It turns out that she already got her offer letter and had been working there for a week. So she offered to speak to someone on my behalf. I mean, why not? I didn’t have anything to lose again and it was clear that I needed connections I didn’t have to scale through, so I let her .
I sat at the reception waiting while she left the room with my name written on a piece of paper. 30 minutes later, she walked into the room with a piece of paper. It was the appointment letter for my position as a guidance counselor teacher. I asked her how she did it, but she gave a vague answer about having a friend in the office. Honestly, I didn’t even care if the letter dropped from heaven at that point — I was just happy to have the job. Make I no dey question person wey help me.
LMAO. That’s actually mad.
It was! Seeing my students open up to me is the most fulfilling part of my job. There are moments we cry during sessions, but it’s part of the process. I open up about my life — I tell them about my mother, working to get by and just finding happiness in the little moments with people. I love knowing that they don’t feel as trapped or alone when we talk.
I want to have a foundation that is open to children that need love and support. My mother did everything she could to help people and that is exactly what I hope to spend the rest of my life doing. That is how I want to keep celebrating her life that was so full of joy and happiness.
This year, we got to document so many different stories that show us that being an African woman is not one dimensional. There are different layers to each woman’s story. Although there might be similarities, each story is it’s own.
These stories range from battling PCOS, to marital and fertility issues to enjoyment and what it means to live your best life. As we look forward to a new year, here are ten What She Said stories you have to read.
Imagine one day starting your period, and having it just not stop? A period lasting for ten days is already difficult as it is, but what if it went on for as long as 123 days? This article is about a woman’s journey with PCOS, how it affected her mental and physical health, and finally getting a solution to her problem. Read about her journey here.
I laid down for an ultrasound, and he pointed at my ovaries on the screen and said, in the most condescending tone, “See that? You have what we in the field call polycystic ovaries.” After we’d sat back down, he wrote me a prescription for 4 packs of birth control, handed it to me, and said, “Lose some weight and you’ll be fine”. That was all.
It is common practice in a lot of African countries that by a certain age, women should be married with children. A lot of people believe that young women who say they neither want to get married nor have children will live a sad and unhappy life. So, we spoke to a 61-year-old woman who neither got married nor had children and she told us about how much she enjoys the life she currently lives. Read about her life here.
Initially, I did want to get married but the men were never faithful to me. They were disappointments and I just decided not to get involved with them anymore. I am very happy with my decision. I have my family around me and they take care of me. They always make me feel welcome.
This woman has had a tough life. She had to deal with abusive friends, a tense relationship with her mother, and also cervical cancer. It’s no surprise she only wants to experience peace for the rest of her life. Read her story here.
I recently discovered that I was circumcised. Apparently, when I was younger, I stayed with an aunt while my parents travelled. One night while I slept, she cut off my clit. Because of that, I’m always tense in my sleep, as if I’m expecting to be attacked. Everything is a trauma response for me. From the way I walk, to the way I sleep. The first week of therapy left me really depressed.
What does enjoyment mean to you, and how do you prioritise it in your life? This article is about a woman who doesn’t want a life that includes any form of suffering. She would do almost anything to protect her peace, even if that thing is leaving her husband and raising her children alone. Read why she did it here.
When I was younger, I did not handle being rejected well. There was a time a guy said he liked me but didn’t want to date me. I was stunned. Like how dare he? Why would he allow common sense to derail him from enjoyment? I am a big believer in enjoyment, so this did not make any sense to me.
Ever wondered what it’s like to have your beliefs and traditions demonised? Well, this woman does. Born a traditionalist, she talks about what it’s like navigating being a traditional worshipper, changing the narrative on what its like to be a traditionalist while constantly demonised because of her beliefs. Read about it here.
People have this perception that if you’re a traditional worshipper, you have to look a certain way. So I am deliberate about the way I dress and everything. My life mission is to show people that they can “worship idols” and be baby girls and boys while doing it. I think this helps with how people see me — they may still want to bind and cast me, but it helps.
For the woman in this article, there were a lot of things she wishes she knew before she got married. She also thinks it would have been a lot easier in the beginning if she had waited a while before she had her child. The early part of her marriage was filled with children and arguments with her husband, but getting a job helped fix that. Read how here
If I could go back in time, I probably would have married someone who was like two years older than me. There were some conversations we’d have that used to annoy me. If I wanted to express myself, he’d think I’m arguing. He’d say, “Why are you arguing? I can be your brother; I can be your uncle.” And I’m like, “No, you can’t be. You’re my husband.”
The African first daughter experience is being made an adult while still a child. Imagine having to care for and look after children while being stripped of your own childhood? The woman in this article got her childhood taken away from her by her parents. Read more here.
This is why I feel like a second mum. I never had a chance to be a child. Everything that concerned my siblings was done by me. If they made any mistakes, I got the blame. They tell me I’m supposed to know better because I’m older. I have no space to myself. I started cooking for my siblings when I was eight. I couldn’t make soups, but I was making sauces, potatoes, yam, etc. They still expect that from me.
PCOS has a lot of life altering symptoms such as depression, weight gain, and infertily. After dealing with multiple miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy, the woman in this article gave up on conception. Read her journey here
You keep asking yourself why your body does not function the way it is supposed to. I had a picture of a family of four, but it wasn’t happening because my body was failing me. My son wanted a companion and friend. He used to cry when people who come to visit go back home and was always so emotional when people talked about their siblings. I just wanted to give him that.
There’s a lot to be learnt from the lives of older women. The woman in this article gives us an insight into her life. From facing abuse when she was sent to live with her half-sister at the age of seven to her brother’s wife helping her heal and forgive. Read her story here.
My brother’s wife encouraged me to forget about the bitterness. She took me everywhere she went and made me believe I could make something out of my life. She treated me like her own sister and made me feel wanted. She even updated my wardrobe, and gave me some of her clothes. Since she was a teacher, she helped with my school work. She is a wonderful person.
Starting over is never easy, especially when you were so close to finishing. The woman in this article wanted to study Agriculture, but ended up studying pharmacy to make her father happy. From falling sick to being put on probation, read here to find out why she was asked to withdraw in her final year.
In my third year, I carried over almost all the courses I took. There was no definite reason why. It was rather, a combination of a lot of things. I was sad, tired, and exhausted. I had a lot of clashing classes because of the courses I was still taking from my lower class. Studying got even harder to do. There were back to back tests and I was extremely anxious because I was scared of failing again. It was a really difficult year for me.
Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.This is Zikoko’s What She Said.
The subject of this week’s What She Said is Marytonette ‘Biwom’ Okudare, a 26-year-old singer and songwriter. She talks about growing up as a tomboy, failing at convincing her parents to support her music career and struggling with being taken seriously because of her style.
What was your childhood like?
It was restrictive. My mum was strict — she didn’t let me go out, but I was quite stubborn. After school, I would go and play football with the guys. My mum would beat me when I did this, but I didn’t mind. I always stayed back after school to play football.
Despite being so active in sports, I didn’t have any friends. I was a tomboy who hung with the guys. I wasn’t interested in the girl stuff. After football, I would go home, and it would be just me and my brother. My younger brother and I were so close we were like twins.
Everything was cool until I was sent to boarding school.
What was boarding school like?
Hectic. I was nine years old and had never been on my own. I started falling sick and missing my brother. Leaving him was so hard for me. Soon after, I started running back home.
One time, my parents dropped me off at school and by the time they reached the house, I had gotten home. They were frustrated, but I was scared of everything at school — being flogged, senior students and my teachers. I was the youngest person in my class at the time, so my classmates bullied me. They would shout at me or send me to fetch water for them. There was this girl that made sure she sat next to me during tests and exams so she could copy my work. She would legit drag the paper from me if I tried to hide it. I am still looking for her on the internet so I can ask her what’s up.
Aside from the bullying, secondary school was good. I spent my free time playing football. I also sang and joined my school’s drama club. At school competitions, I rapped. I even did comedy. It was all fun. In SS 2, I became a prefect, so I had more power.
Sorry you had to go through all that.
Thanks. It wasn’t all bad. I was active in sports and social activities so I became popular. People liked my style. During sports, I would fold the sleeves of my T-shirt, pull my shorts over my buttocks, wear a bandana on my head and bounce around. I enjoyed that. There were also other girls like me, so I was comfortable being myself. I rarely wore the dresses my parents got me. I preferred to wear the tracksuits my elder brother sent us from the US. My parents eventually stopped buying me dresses.
What was university like?
I studied law at the University of Calabar. I didn’t want to study law, but I graduated secondary school at 14, so my parents filled my JAMB form for me. I wanted to study theatre arts but my parents said it wasn’t a real course — they wanted me to be a lawyer.
When it was time for JAMB, I went to the examination hall and intentionally ticked the wrong answers. I failed JAMB twice. By my third attempt, I was 16 and my mates were all in university. Some were even getting ready to graduate. That’s when I decided to settle for law. I passed.
At school, I lived with my aunt and hated it. I found it difficult to settle in. I had gotten used to sleeping late after two years at home so I missed a lot of my morning classes.
One day, in my second year, I went to fetch water at a neighbourhood borehole. I was singing a song as I waited for my turn and one guy came out to find who was singing. He lived in the compound beside the borehole. He said my voice sounded nice and asked if I sang professionally. I said I would like to someday, and he offered to record some songs for me in his studio. His studio was a small set up — a table, a laptop with FL Studio and a sound system. I was excited. The next day, I went back to record a song. It took about a week to complete the song because I only went to see him when I was sent on errands. When the song was complete, he burned it on a CD and gave it to me. I was overjoyed.
Later that week, while my aunt and uncle were eating lunch, I played the CD. They were quiet until my uncle recognised my voice. He asked when I recorded it. I told him. As I was talking, my aunt asked me to turn it off. My uncle tried to fight for me — he said, “At least she is singing gospel music. Allow her.” My aunt wasn’t having it. She turned it off. I wasn’t surprised because she, like my mother, didn’t like the fact that I was trying to do music.
I knew I couldn’t stay at my aunt’s place for much longer, so I saved up money. In my third year, I rented an apartment. My parents were so angry with me. They felt like I wanted the freedom to do bad things but for me, freedom meant something else. I just wanted space for myself. I still maintained the discipline that I was raised with — I gave myself a curfew and never had visitors. A lot of eyes were on me because I had moved out, and I didn’t want to let anyone down.
After I graduated, I went to law school. Law school was serious business, so I kept music aside.
In law school, I kept to myself as usual. There was this guy, Otunba, who noticed I barely participated in school activities and that I didn’t have any friends. One day, he asked me why. I told him I was only at law school because of my parents and wanted to be a musician. I played my song for him and he told me that when I passed the bar, he would help promote my music.
I passed and I was finally ready to give up the role my parents needed me to play. That’s when problems started between me and my parents.
How so?
I told my parents that I was giving up law for music. They said I would fail at it and they wouldn’t support me. I said that was fine as long as I got to do it. For a long time, they stopped sending me an allowance.
How did you survive?
One of my cousins had just bought a new car, so I collected his old car and used it for Uber. I knew it would embarrass my parents, but I had to. When my dad found out, he called me to ask why I was driving a taxi when I am a lawyer. I told him the car was earning me money I needed to live. My mum said I was a terrible child setting a bad example for my brother.
My dad tried to listen, but he couldn’t understand why I would give up law. He set up several meetings to discuss my future in December 2018. During the last one before the year ran out, I told him I had received a ₦500k cheque from my music. I had started to perform at weddings by this time and they paid well. I was insulted that he didn’t think I was moving forward, so I told him to give me one year to prove him wrong.
Wow, what was your plan?
To be honest, I didn’t one. I just knew I had to leave Calabar. I moved to Lagos in March 2019. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew it was better than waiting in Calabar for a blessing.
After three days in my friend’s apartment in Lagos, I called Otunba. He asked to meet up at a mall. At the mall, he told me that someone important had heard my songs and wanted to meet with me. I was more than ready.
At the meeting, the other guy said he was interested in music. He played my songs for other people in the industry and they all agreed that they could make my sound work. He hired a manager for me. Within two weeks, he moved me out of the apartment I stayed in with my friend to a flat of my own. I was placed on an artist development programme for three months, where my sound and my brand was refined. It was during that time I changed my stage name from MT to BIWOM — a short version of my middle name, Ahwhobiwom. I recorded my first official single and made a video for it. We were also able to promote them. I started feeling like I had achieved what I had set for myself.
Nice. What happened next?
I started to get shit for how I look. There was one time I went to a studio to record a song, and the producer said I looked and sounded good, but I had to stop dressing the way I did. Another time, someone overheard me singing in the studio and came to check me out. When he saw me, he asked why I was dressed the way I was He even said if he was my manager, he would have sent me home. I was too stunned to say anything. It was my manager that jumped in for me. I don’t understand it. He liked the music. Why was my appearance such a problem?
This is where my brand — Rebel kid came from. I want to break the rules. I want to stand out in this copy-and-paste industry. Teni made me believe I could make it in the industry being myself. Music is supposed to be a thing of the soul, but people want to dictate what artists should look like and I call bullshit. The worst part of it is that people feel the need to ask me if I am gay. Sometimes, they ask me if I am a boy or a girl. I tried to be more girly, but I was so uncomfortable so I stopped. At the end of the day, why does any of it matter more than the music? This is why I keep to myself. So I don’t have to explain myself to people over and over again.
What’s an ideal situation for you?
I would like for everyone to be accepted equally in the industry regardless of how they look. I also want female artists to be appreciated more by other female artists, That’s something the guys have that women don’t, and I would like to change that.
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In this week’s What She Said, Aramide Kayode is a 21-year-old economist and teacher. She talks to us about switching to education after a 21-day prayer and fasting revelation, going to Harvard and getting married at the age of 21.
What’s your earliest memory of your childhood?
I’ve always been talkative. I remember when I was six, I’d run home after school to arrange my mum’s empty bottles of soda and teach them what my teachers taught me in class that day. That followed me to secondary school. I was pretty good at math, so I taught people.
My mum was a hardworking and ambitious banker. I loved that she always had a job or something going on, and I wanted something like that for myself. So, I decided I was going to study banking and finance at university.
Did you study banking and finance?
In SS3, I decided to study something much more central because I still wasn’t sure what I wanted. I wanted more than what banking and finance could give me, but I didn’t know what “more” was. I decided to go with economics.
So, when did you realise what more meant for you?
In my third year at Covenant University, people kept talking about their purpose and how they knew what they wanted to be. I was so lost because I didn’t know what my purpose was.
My school had a 21-day fasting and prayer period, and I prayed for direction. I needed to know what I was created to do. While praying, I kept hearing the word “teach”.
It’s been years, but I am still unravelling what it means to teach. I feel like my role is more defined. I know I am meant to educate people.
But you were studying economics. How did you plan to teach?
Well, I was hosting a tutorial thing, and I was so good that someone mentioned me to the registrar of the school. He then appointed me to teach struggling students. By the time I coached some of them, their grades improved.
Watching the improvement in some of the students’ grades made me realise that my teaching was a talent. In my final year, I took a course on human capital development and knowledge economics. I was so fascinated by it that I did my final year project on it.
All the research I did on the project made me realise how important it is to invest in human education. I found out that there’s a part in Economics that covers education, and there is a direct link between the economy and education. That’s how I diverted into education.
This seems so amazing. When did you enter university?
I entered university when I was 14. When I was in Primary 3, at the age of 7, my parents decided I was to write the common entrance exam. They believed I would pass. After I passed the common entrance, my parents did not see any reason why I should take primary 5 and 6. After I did primary 4, I went to secondary school. Now at 21, I am married, done with Harvard, and a graduate of Covenant University.
Wait, which happened first? Marriage or Harvard?
Well, I started dating the man I married before I got into Harvard.
I was teaching at a fellowship programme, interested only in learning and achieving my goals. I was very ambitious, and I felt I would not have time for my children. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of my career and also didn’t want anything to stop me from being present in my home. So, I decided that when I got my life right, I would start thinking of men.
However, I met this guy, and the love was so strong. He’s someone that pushes me to go for the things I want, and I deeply appreciate his sense of self-awareness. Even though I was 18 when I met him, I was very sure of what I wanted. The peace in my spirit when it came to him was just a sign. It was so good to see someone who had so much interest in supporting me every step of the way.
How did your parents react?
Well, we started dating when I was 18 and I didn’t mention it to my parents until six months in. Before then, I had never mentioned any of the previous guys I had been in relationships with to my parents before.
My parents liked everything about him, so when I told them he proposed to me when I was 20, they just told me not to let the engagement drag for too long. My parents are very forward-thinking people, and they consider me mature enough. They didn’t have a problem with it.
Well, at the fellowship I mentioned earlier, during our training, the head of HR came to me and told me she thinks I’d be able to get into Harvard. Harvard was never a plan of mine, and it was so interesting to see how much another person believed in me.
I decided to try it because I wanted to see how it went. So, I applied, got in and now I’m done.
I really don’t look or sound my age. A lot of people don’t believe me when I tell them I am currently 21, and that’s how it was when I was younger as well. So luckily, I never got bullied for my age.
Barriers exist, but I have always wanted people to see me for more than my age. I am Aramide Kayode; someone that does the work and adds value.
What’s next for you now?
Well, having children is not yet in my plan, but I do work with children in low-income communities. I have partnerships to make sure that children in low-income schools get quality education.
I am also working on a mentorship programme for teenagers. Growing up, I wish I had more mentors to look up to that weren’t my mum. I want to build my mentorship platform for teenagers in Africa and make sure that those low-income children get quality education.
I don’t want to be the only young person breaking barriers. I believe there are a lot of people out there even greater than I am, and all they need is a little push and guidance. I want to provide this opportunity for them so I’m no longer the only rising star in the room.
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The subject of today’s What She Said is a 23-year-old woman who had an ovarian drilling surgery. She talks about PCOS and how it affected her mental and physical health, how unhelpful the doctor who diagnosed her was, and needing an ovarian drilling.
Tell me something about your childhood.
Okay, let’s talk about my first period.
Sure.
I got my first period on the Sunday after my 13th birthday. We were in church, and after service, I went to the bathroom and there was blood. My mum had already given me a comprehensive rundown of periods, so I felt zero panic. I just whispered it to her. We left the church and she gave me a pack of pads when we got home. That was that!
Sounds very stressless.
It was, but unfortunately, that didn’t last for long.
What happened?
When I was 14, I started gaining a lot of weight. I also got really bad cramps whenever I got my period, but I just chalked it up to puberty. I noticed how terribly people treated me once I gained weight. And this went on till I went to the USA for university in 2015.
I don’t know if it was the stress of change or a new diet that triggered it, but my first semester in school, my period came and just didn’t stop.
I tried to ride through it because I’m very stubborn when it comes to pain, but after the 20th day, I went to the campus health centre and got put on the birth control pill. My period stopped then.
At the same time, I gained a lot of weight.
Did you go to the hospital again?
Yes, before I came back to Nigeria for the summer, I went to the health centre one more time. The nurse said that based on what had been going on, I might have something called PCOS and should go to the ob/gyn when I go home.
I googled it, and honestly, it read so fatalistic that I cried for days at the possibility of having it.
That must have been so traumatic for you. Did you still see the oby/gyn?
I did. When I came home, my dad took me to the ob/gyn. I described everything that had happened in the past year and told him about the suspicion of PCOS.
I laid down for an ultrasound, and he pointed at my ovaries on the screen and said, in the most condescending tone, “See that? You have what we in the field call polycystic ovaries.”
It was one of the worst doctor visits I’ve ever had, and considering all the things PCOS does to a body, it was completely unhelpful and almost harmful honestly, but that was my diagnosis.
It must have hurt for someone to have dismissed you like that. What did you do next? Lose weight?
It was such a jarring experience. Since all he said was that I’d be fine if I lost weight, I tried to focus on that. I went on all sorts of diets, did so much fasting and got plied with so many “fat-burning” vitamins and supplements.
None of it worked. I kept gaining weight. My periods were longer and more painful. I was exhausted all the time, my neck got darker and darker, and I constantly had acne. My mental health was in the bottom of the gutter. Overall, I was not doing great.
I’m so sorry you had to keep dealing with all of that.
It’s fine now but not so much then. Since I was fat, acne-ridden with dark patches of skin and constantly tired, people who didn’t know I had PCOS simply assumed I was a lazy slob who overeats. They would offer me all kinds of unsolicited advice. It’s honestly rough to feel like you live in a body that’s constantly hurting and betraying you, and then people add to it by playing doctor with you in a rude, overfamiliar way.
When I went back to school, I had to deal with my studies, my part-time job and extracurricular responsibilities. I didn’t have any energy to devote to taking care of myself. This went on for about three years.
In my final year of school, I decided to visit the campus dietitian a few times, but I found it so hard to take on her suggestions. I was already averaging one meal a day, barely sleeping and the gym was so far on the other end of campus that getting there felt like a full workout of its own. I simply couldn’t handle the effort it would take. It was truly a gift from God that I graduated with the grades I had.
Did graduation change anything? Give you more time to focus on your health?
After graduation, I went online and bought a book about PCOS that I had seen in the dietitian’s office. I started some proper research into PCOS by reading and trying to create a routine for myself. At the time, I had a visa for a year of post-college work (OPT), so I was living in the DC area in the US and working full time. It was fully up to me to make sure I was feeding myself well and getting some daily exercise.
For a while, I seemed to be getting a solid grasp of how to handle things, focusing more on feeling healthy rather than losing weight. But as life and work got busier, I started to slip on focusing on my health.
Despite all I tried to do, I was completely exhausted at the end of each day even though I was at my desk for most of it. My mental health had not improved at all. I didn’t have the physical or mental energy to juggle life, and I kept seeing the lack of progress as me being a complete failure, so my well being took a backseat to all the other stuff going on with my life like my job and visa issues.
COVID-19 hit, and the US was enforcing a lockdown, so I started working from home in March 2020. I tried to rest a lot, but even when I slept for hours, I never felt rested.
Also, at this point, my period hadn’t shown up since January. Still, I made the effort to start eating better and taking a walk every day, and for a while, I was actually feeling pretty good! Then the worst happened, LOL.
What happened?
My job decided not to sponsor a work visa, so my last day would be in July and I had to be back in Nigeria before the end of September. I was gearing up for that emotional rollercoaster when, on June 16th, 2020, my period finally showed up for the first time since January.
I was excited about it and took it as a sign that all the work I was doing was causing changes. Then a week passed and it was still there. Two weeks, three weeks, a month. My period was still going.
July passed and I was looking for COVID exit flights home, but my period was still there. August came and went, September came and was almost over, it was still there. What I and my body went through at that time was unbelievable to me. I was heavily iron deficient, and my iron supplements weren’t really helping considering how much I was bleeding. I spent most of my days in my bed because I had no energy to do a single thing but take a shower and then lie down.
My then roommate had to make my food sometimes because I couldn’t walk down the stairs to cook. I ended up ordering more food than usual so I wouldn’t have to go buy groceries and then cook.
Every other day, because even in my suffering, internalised fatphobia was still hooking me by the throat, I would get up and try to exercise. Every time, without fail, I would barely make it back to my room and sip some water before passing out. Unsurprisingly, I was in the worst depression of my life.
I once saw someone tweet “Is there anything that PCOS cannot do or cause?” And the answer is truly no. In those days, I gave up on trying to fix my PCOS. I told myself that if it killed me, it killed me.
You and your body went through so much. Please tell me it ended eventually.
I decided to just focus on getting home and thinking about further steps when I got there. Hearing what I was going through was very hard on my parents, and they were desperate to get me back in their care. I flew back to Abuja at the end of September.
When I got back, my parents had some good news. They told me that while visiting some family in Ilorin, they were referred to a hospital where the head ob/gyn had a lot of experience and kept up on new research about reproductive health issues, especially PCOS. So, we travelled to Ilorin and met with the doctor. It was the kindest I’d ever been treated by a healthcare professional.
He was very patient with me, listened to my experiences and explained in-depth what was actually going on with my body. I nearly cried at the amount of kindness and clarity I was getting.
I’m so glad. I hope this kindness came with help. Lots of it.
It really did. He ran some tests, did an ultrasound and actually explained what it was showing about my ovaries. When we discussed my weight gain, he was upset with me about how many uninformed decisions I had had to make trying to lose weight, because the doctor who diagnosed me should’ve told me differently.
Through him, I learned that intense cardio is actually bad for people with PCOS because the increased cortisol it causes can trigger weight gain for us, and that weight training, yoga and low impact workouts like walking or a casual bike ride was healthier. Diet-wise, I also learned that PCOS causes chronic inflammation, so more whole grains instead of refined carbs, and a more anti-inflammatory diet would help. Reducing stress is also key because stress worsens PCOS a lot.
What happened after the tests?
After all the tests, he candidly told me that the way my PCOS had progressed, he’d have to suggest a last resort: an ovarian drilling surgery.
How did the idea of surgery make you feel?
I was terrified at the idea, but he calmed me down and explained what it was. it would be done with a camera (laparoscopically), so it was minimally invasive.
They would make two small incisions, go in with a camera and drain a lot of the cysts on my ovaries. It would take at best three hours, and after maybe two weeks of recovery, I would be fully healed.
After talking with my parents, we agreed on it being the best course of action, and since it was way more affordable there than it would be in Abuja, we stayed in Ilorin. We scheduled a surgery for the next Sunday morning.
How did you feel before the surgery?
The day before surgery which was Saturday, October 17th, made it exactly 123 straight days of being on my period. At that point, anything that would bring me lasting relief was very welcome.
I felt a little jittery before the surgery, but overall, I was quite calm. I checked in the night before and had to beg my dad to go sleep in an empty hospital room, otherwise, he would’ve watched me all night. He knows I don’t like to break down in front of people, but he didn’t want to leave me alone. At the end of the day, I was okay.
Knowing I made it out of that honestly helps when people make rude comments about my body. It’s always in my mind that my body and I have survived more than some people will ever deal with.
I’m a lot better! My periods aren’t 100% regular yet because it’ll take a little time for my hormones to recalibrate, but they are shorter than they have been in at least six years.
I feel healthier. I’m taking vitamins and supplements recommended for people with PCOS, and I try to walk with my dog or do some yoga to decompress from the day as soon as I get home from the office.
I have days where I mess up and eat something I know will make me feel like garbage, but keep pushing instead of beating myself up. I’ve lost a bit of weight as well, but I’m working on focusing on how I feel rather than how I look. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.
My mental health is also improving. I make a lot of noise about being tired of living at home and wanting to move away, but I really need the care and love I’m getting. Life feels like it makes sense again.
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The subject of this week’s What She Said, is a 25-year-old woman who has been through so much and would just like to be at peace for the rest of her life. She talks about how unlucky she’s been with friends, her tense relationship with her mother, beating cervical cancer, and how therapy helped her figure out life.
What’s your earliest memory of your childhood?
When I fell into a gutter and broke my leg because I was trying not to get caught playing with the neighbours’ children. I was five.
Why didn’t you want to get caught playing with them?
My parents are weird. They didn’t want us to have any friends. My mum, especially, thought the neighbours were witches, so she didn’t want us to play with them.
Damn. Does that mean you didn’t have friends?
I actually didn’t. I was shy, had social anxiety and was too terrified of my parents to try making any. Then I started university, and the friends I had were not that great.
I got into a private university in Benin City when I was just 15, which is quite early, so I tried to keep my head down and focus on my studies.
My friends, however, constantly made fun of me. They picked on my weight, which eventually made me anorexic. Looking back, I see that we were all insecure children trying to find our way, but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive them.
Wow. They must have been really awful.
Yes. They did so many bad things to me. They put weed in my food once, and I blacked out. When I woke up, I was naked in bed with one of my friends. She might have assaulted me; I’m not sure. I just remember my nipples being sore and wet, nothing more. I was only 15.
The second time they drugged me, I was in my second year. They were experimenting with a random pill and were too scared to try it themselves, so they put it in my drink and only told me after I drank it. All I remember was being very happy and floaty and then waking up in a hotel room.
I finally snapped when one of them raped my boyfriend.
I was 16 then. I had a boyfriend whom I was happy with, but one of my friends wasn’t happy about it. She told my boyfriend she would be better than me in bed because I’m frigid, unfeeling and like firewood. She eventually drugged him, raped him, made a video, and then showed the video to me.
When I confronted her, she said she was tired of seeing me get men’s attention though I hardly socialised or made an effort.
After the entire incident, I cut off the entire friendship group. I also broke up with him. I think it’s one of the saddest things in my past, one of the things I’m most embarrassed about.
So all of this coupled with the fact that I had an eating disorder, anxiety and severe depression that was making me skip exams, my parents decided to transfer me to a university in Uganda to finish medical school.
Wait, how did your parents go from “no friends” to “let’s send our daughter to a new country”?
My parents are complicated. My mother is a mix of feminism and misogyny. She’s all for getting your own education, but get it so your husband will be proud of you.
She was the one that pushed me to travel to Uganda when I wanted to drop out of med school. When I wanted to drop out of med school, she instead brought up schooling in Uganda. She had been bragging to her friends about me being in medical school and didn’t want to deal with the embarrassment.
Also, she was in Tanzania, so she wasn’t too far from me.
I thought your family lived in Nigeria?
My family moves around a lot. For most of my time in medical school, my mum was perambulating around East Africa: Rwanda, Tanzania, Kenya, a truly disastrous stint in Uganda, then to Burundi.
I’m pretty sure my dad is in Ghana right now, but a few weeks ago, he was in South Africa. My brother is in Cotonou; I’m in Uganda. My sister is the only one still in Nigeria.
Wow. What made your mum’s stint in Uganda disastrous?
She got me in an arranged engagement with an already married man, and when I refused, she disowned me.
I have trouble confronting my mum. When she and the man set up the engagement, I just sat there. I didn’t want to cause a conflict, so I just let it go on. It went on for four months. I had seen him just twice and spoken to him for about an hour. I don’t know how my mum expected me to marry someone I had just spoken to for an hour.
One Saturday morning, his wife sent a text to inform me that she was married to the man. She also mentioned she had gotten three abortions for him because he said he never wanted kids. I found that strange because a few weeks before, he got the spare key to my house from my mother, showed up without my permission and demanded we start having children immediately.
My friend and I decided to search social media for pictures of him and his wife, and we found some. I compiled a whole folder and sent it to my mum. She told me his wife was just jealous, and I should carry on with the engagement.
How did you get out of it?
My mum set up a meeting with all three of us. Me, her and the man. She told me that she’d already told people I was getting married, so breaking it off would be a disgrace to her.
I yelled at her, she yelled at me, he yelled at me for yelling at her. He told me I disappointed him, and I told him he was possessed to think I cared about what he thought.
She disowned me then I moved houses and did not inform anyone where the house was. For like two months, I was living free in my own peace, until she randomly sent me money one day. She called me to find out if I had gotten the alert and said she missed me.
We never had a proper discussion about what happened during those months or what caused her to make that decision.
Wow. That was a lot. What was schooling in Uganda like?
For one, there’s nobody out to get you. If you read your books, you pass. My favourite part of it, however, is the freedom. In Uganda, I have learnt to see people first and religion and tribe last.
Second favourite thing is how I was able to finally discover my sexuality. Uganda was where I finally figured out women and went nuts. Uganda was my first time being really away from my family, and I loved it. It helped me come to terms with all that had happened in my past.
How did it do that?
My school gave us medical insurance, and it came with four free psych visits per month. I went a couple of times, and the therapist forced me to face a lot about myself.
Therapy is great for me. It’s given me helpful coping tools to deal with my harmful behaviours, and I love that I get to talk about things and get them out of my head.
The process, however, is very painful. I hate it. The past is painful and addressing it in therapy made me realise that a lot of the things I do are a result of being repeatedly traumatised by the people I trust.
I recently discovered that I was circumcised. Apparently, when I was younger, I stayed with an aunt while my parents travelled. One night while I slept, she cut off my clit. Because of that, I’m always tense in my sleep, as if I’m expecting to be attacked. Everything is a trauma response for me. From the way I walk, to the way I sleep. The first week of therapy left me really depressed.
I am so sorry. Do you ever think of returning to Nigeria?
I was supposed to move back in 2020, but because of Corona and the fact that I had cervical cancer again, I couldn’t come back.
Cervical cancer again?
In 2018, I went for a pap smear and noticed I had a precancerous cervical lesion. It got treated, and I moved on.
Then in late 2019, I had a couple of bad periods that lasted about two weeks and were very heavy. It was so bad, I fainted. So, I went in for a pap smear. Imagine my surprise when they told me my lesion was back and this time it was full-blown cancer.
In 2020, I got chemotherapy and a trachelectomy. I’m still in recovery but got the all-clear from my oncologist.
I’m so sorry. Do you ever regret not dropping out of medical school?
No, my job is fun as hell. I am an obstetrician and a gynaecologist, but I love obstetrics more.
Do you want any children?
I actually can’t stand children. I’ve seen far too many women die bringing kids into the world. These women have already gotten pregnant; the least I can do is actually help them get the children out alive.
What keeps you going?
I’m not a very hopeful person, and 2020 took a lot out of me, so I just want peace. One day, I want the inside of my head to be quiet. No arguments between my self-esteem and my brain. Just quiet.
That’s not to say I don’t have little sparks of joy in my life. They’re not even little. More like explosions of joy. My blood sisters and the sisters I made by choice give me joy.
Whenever babies take their first breath, every successful cesarean, successful vagina delivery, managed miscarriage. Every morning when I run up the same four flights of stairs I used to be wheeled up for chemo and blood transfusions without being out of breath. These things give me joy.
I’m in a relationship now, and they make me so fucking happy. These are the things I love and look forward to.
The subject of this week’s What She Said is a 50-year-old woman who dated her ex-husband for 12 years and was married to him for 14 years. She talks about leaving him after years of being manipulated, the joy that comes from being a single woman again and life as a divorced Christian woman.
How did the relationship start?
I met my ex in 1988, in my first year in university. On one of our first few dates, he invited me over to listen to a Sade Adu record. I really like Sade Adu. So I went to a boy’s quarters he was staying at. When I got there, there was no proper bed. There was just a mattress on the floor. I had heard about the slaughterhouse where guys take girls to sleep with. As I sat on the bed, I saw condoms fall out from under the pillow. Shocked, I ran away. I told him never to come to see me again. That was the end of the beginning of our relationship. After a while, he came and said there would be no sleeping together. Then we started dating again around the end of my 200 level. We soon started living together.
What was the relationship like?
I was very grateful to be with him. I had a bad home situation. He provided the kind of environment that I wanted. He provided a lovely home and was very caring. Anytime I quarrelled with my folks, he stood up for me. I saw a champion in him. It’s only in retrospect that I see it was a perfect relationship for him to manipulate me because he knew the things that triggered me. It was easy for him to switch from being a defender to an aggressor.
Do you think he loved you?
Perhaps, he did. But I also think it was because when he got rusticated from school, I was the only friend that stayed with him.
So how did he manipulate you?
From the beginning of our relationship, he often got upset if I talked to someone else. I didn’t realise until later that this was manipulative. It got so bad that if we were stuck in traffic and someone in a vehicle looked at me, and I looked that way at the same time, he would start saying I knew the person but was only pretending.
He also made it mandatory that I check in with him all the time. One day, I went to work and I left my phone at home; my boss called me because he hadn’t checked my office to see if I was around. My ex then went on about how I lied about being at work because of my boss’ call. It became so bad that whenever he started to talk, I froze, anticipating his accusations.
Did your parents approve of the marriage?
My parents didn’t have a lot to say, because as I said earlier, it was a bad home situation. We went to the registry three or so years after we started dating. We didn’t tell anyone about it.
People always asked when we would get married, and at one point, my dad got upset and asked that we have a proper wedding since we were already living together.
When we got to church, we were told we couldn’t do a proper wedding because we had gotten married before. We had to get the first marriage annulled at the registry before the wedding could be held.
How long were you together before getting married in church?
Twelve years. We got married in the year 2000.
Before marriage, we were sexually active and were not using protection, but we didn’t get pregnant. I wanted children so badly. So, I was like, maybe if we got our parents’ blessings, we’d have kids. That was part of the reason I wanted to have the wedding.
What was it like in the beginning part of the marriage?
Because we had been together for such a long time, getting married was just a formality.
At this time, I had a full-time job, but he still didn’t do much. A lot of the expenses were on me.
Then he went to university in the UK.
At what point did you start having children?
We had our first daughter two years after getting married, and the second was born three years after the first.
But through this time, we were having all kinds of problems.
What kinds of problems?
When we first got married, he was not the problem. It was the fact that we were living in his mum’s house. She didn’t live in Nigeria, but she would come one month in a year, and I would be miserable throughout that month. She was mean and nasty in a very subtle way; she would be nice when people were around, but she was mean about everything when nobody was there. It wasn’t so much him as it was her, but him not being able to caution her was the problem.
It was after I had my first daughter that my ex relocated to the UK. He was living with his mother there. He wanted me to leave my job and join him there. I told him I was unhappy about living in his mother’s house in Nigeria, so I couldn’t move to the UK, where I didn’t have any job and live with her again.
I would visit him with my daughter once or twice a year. It was on one of those visits I got pregnant with our second child.
Did the experience ever get settled with his mother?
No. It was a big part of why the marriage ended. She was also manipulative and said I was proud. One night I woke him up in the middle of the night and complained about how his mother treated me. He begged me, but nothing changed.
When did you realise that things were going bad?
I had low expectations from him, so I didn’t know things were even bad in the first place. I was also the one doing a lot financially.
Then I got an American grant to go to the US. Before I left, I kept my ATM card with him for my kids — he was already back in Nigeria at this point. Every time I got paid, he would remove money from my account and lie that he wasn’t taking my money. This was my first introduction to the fact that he could lie. If anyone had told me anything about him before, I would have insulted them. Once when he was in London, someone called to tell me he was doing nonsense, and I told them to shut up.
While I was away in America, my mum passed, and he was very mean to me during the time. He even accused me of cheating on him because he called me once, and I was on a Skype call with a student.
He began his accusations again without leaving room for me to talk, so I switched off my phone. After that, he didn’t speak to me for a while. Anytime I called, he would give the phone to his daughters.
Wow.
On the morning of my mother’s burial, he called from a service being held for my mum in Nigeria and he excitedly told me about all my family members who were present and kept giving them the phone to speak to me.
It was my sister who picked up the phone when he called. My sister was confused because I had told her we were not on good terms. We put the phone on speaker, and I told him I was the one on the phone. He kept up the excitement. This was when I realised that he was playing me.
What did you do next?
I called a friend who had been his best man at our wedding and told him what was going on. I asked him to find me a place I could stay in when I returned to Nigeria. I was ready to move out, but he convinced me not to do that, and I said alright.
When I got back to Nigeria, my ex was nice for about a month. It didn’t take long for things to return to to status quo.
He regularly checked my phone. Once he saw a contact he didn’t know, he would call me ‘ashawo’. He would call my daughters and tell them that I was a whore.
One day, I checked his phone for the first time and saw that he was cheating on me. I then realised that was why he was constantly angry.
I told him I wasn’t angry, that all I wanted was just for him to stop being constantly mad at me. He was getting progressively worse and verbally abusive.
In 2014, I lost my junior brother and an aunt. I took my girls on holiday to get over everything, and he said, “When you come back, you have one month to move out.”
How did you take it when he said that?
It was pretty clear by then that the marriage was over. Before then, he had gone to my dad to tell him I drank, smoked and followed men all over the place.
My dad asked him this: “When you came to marry her, was she like that?” He defended me and said that he (my ex) might be the problem. My ex tried to insult him.
Afterwards, my dad sent for me and asked me about everything. I told him everything that had been happening. When he asked why I kept everything to myself, I told him it was because he said to keep our marriage private. Then he said he was not an outsider. He said I shouldn’t leave by myself, but anytime my ex asked me to leave, I shouldn’t hesitate to pack my things and move out.
Did you move out?
After he gave me the one-month ultimatum to leave, my ex began to threaten me with a countdown. He threatened to kill me, so my dad insisted I go to the police. The police said they would invite him in for questioning, but that was a bad idea because if they invited him and he was allowed to leave, I better not be at his house.
So, I didn’t make a statement at the police station, and my dad was angry. I eventually found a place and moved. Immediately after moving, his attitude towards me got better. It was so strange people thought we were back together.
Did he also send your daughters away?
Yes. But in the first filing he did for the divorce, he stated very clearly that he didn’t want our daughters. It was later he changed his mind.
There was an incident where his girlfriend, who moved in after I moved out, went to my younger daughter’s school, picked her up and did her hair. The school apologised for allowing it and asked that I provide legal documents to enforce a rule on who has access to my child.
He went back to court to file for custody with the divorce, so I was simultaneously dealing with divorce and custody. Luckily, I got custody at the end.
As a Christian who’s divorced, what has your experience been?
I think God helped me to be wise. No one in church knew I was getting divorced except one man whose truck I used to move my things.
Nobody knew where I moved to for about two years.
I realised I was attending a spirit-filled church when the junior pastor called me one day and told me he had dreams about my husband, and God kept saying I should pray for him. I was reluctant — the pastor didn’t know I had left him.
I told him he could pray for him, but I was not interested. He was shocked, so this led to me telling him about the divorce.
What’s life like post-divorce
When it comes to this, I think I’m the exception. If my ex knew what he was doing when he asked me to leave, he wouldn’t have let me go. I’m living the life now. I’m having a fantastic time. One of the things I was very clear about was that we would parent my children together, whether he wanted it or not.
In the post-separation period, I spent a lot of time crying, praying and wondering what went wrong. I realised he had to be in their lives and take on his role as their father. I see in separations that the man enjoys his life while the mother continues to slave and ensures the children go to school. Then when it’s time to marry, the children find the father, and he becomes a knight in shining armour that gives their hand away in marriage.
This makes the mother resentful, thinking about all her sacrifices. I insisted he had to pay their fees and the girls visit him during holidays. I have the time of my life during their absence. It’s working even though we don’t talk.
What would you have done differently?
Growing up, I didn’t want to get married. I wanted to have two children for two different men because my parent’s marriage wasn’t fantastic, so I wasn’t looking forward to marriage like that. But when I met him, he seemed like someone who was focused and from a good home. So, when things started to go wrong, I told myself I shouldn’t have bothered.
However, I would not change a lot. A lot of the strength and character I have now is a result of this experience. And I wouldn’t change having these cool and well-behaved girls I have now.
Are you dating again?
Yes o. All I’ve gone through hasn’t changed me much; I’m a hopeless romantic.
I believe in love and marriage, but it’s not for me. I want to live life with a nice person. When Nigerian men say, “I’m going to marry you,” I cancel them because they believe that’s their selling point.
I’ve been dating the same guy since a year after I left my ex. I am mindful of being a role model for my daughters and also not exposing them unduly. I however love meeting new people and enjoy talking to lots of people I meet. It’s always amusing to me that people think getting to know someone means I want to date them but it doesn’t.
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The subject of today’s What She Said is a 34-year-old Nigerian woman who grew up getting everything she asked for. She talks about constantly pursuing enjoyment, and how that led to her leaving her cheating husband and raising her two children independently.
What was it like growing up?
I had a pretty happy childhood. I am the 12th child out of 21 and was the last girl till I was 12 years old, so I was kind of everyone’s favourite. I grew up with a lot of people in the house: cousins and aunts inclusive. I was never short of people to play with.
The earliest memory of my childhood is from when I was about four years old. My daddy’s important friends came, and they gave me two bundles of five naira notes. I made my mum take me to the shopping complex to buy a red spaghetti strap dress with a fancy bolero jacket.
Your mother did not “hold” the money for you? Must be nice.
Whenever I got money like that, I sometimes gave my parents to keep it for me, but I have always loved being responsible for my own money.
The downside to being responsible for your own money is that sometimes you’re deprived of things other people have. If I protested, my parents told me those people used their savings to buy it. There was a year I almost did not get Sallah clothes because I had used all my savings at the snack woman’s place. After crying for hours, they finally gave me the clothes.
The thing is, I was adorable, smart and liked. I was everyone’s little bride at their wedding, always the house princess for inter-house sports, and always represented the school at primary school events. I was spoilt, overindulged and was used to having my way with almost everything. I loved it, and it did a lot for my self-confidence and self-esteem.
What’s it like being a confident adult?
I look at people who don’t like me like they don’t have good taste.
When I was younger, I did not handle being rejected well. There was a time a guy said he liked me but didn’t want to date me. I was stunned. Like how dare he? Why would he allow common sense to derail him from enjoyment? I am a big believer in enjoyment, so this did not make any sense to me.
LOL. What do you consider enjoyment?
Food is my kind of enjoyment, but I despise cooking. I love food cooked by other people. That was why when I started making money, the first thing I did was hire a cook. After a few months, I sent him away because he was doing nonsense. Now, I have someone that does well and cooks for the house.
The house?
The house includes me, my children’s minder, the help, my two children, and my nieces.
Tell me about your kids.
They’re amazing children, and I love them very much, but I don’t recommend children to anybody. They take your body, your energy and your money. All for small hugs and kisses? The return on investment is poor.
But then you have not just one, but two. Why?
I was 23 and so very young and foolish. I felt that having children was expected of me after getting married, so I did just that. I got married and pushed out two children without putting much thought into it.
I had my first child for my ex-husband and the second for my first child because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life entertaining her. Now they can entertain themselves and be friends.
Did that work?
Yes. They do everything together and love one another so much it gets me upset sometimes. The boy who is two years older than his sister said to me the other day: “I get upset when I see my sister crying, and I feel like slapping someone, but since you are the one making her cry, I will just go and tell her sorry.”
She was crying because I scolded her for finishing some paper in the house and not letting me know to replace it.
The thought of them gaining power and throwing me out of the house has crossed my mind, but I know they love me too much. They also understand that sometimes I love one child more than the other, and they don’t mind.
One day, my children told me, “You can’t love two people the same way at the same time. There are times when you love my sister more, and times you love me more, but we don’t care. We know you love both of us and will always take care of us.”
Stuff like this makes me feel like I’m winning in the parent department.
Definitely. What about your ex-husband? Where is he in this picture?
Even when we were together, I was the children’s primary caregiver, so it’s not like he knows what to do with them.
Why did the marriage end though?
We wanted different things out of life, and it was leading to constant conflict. He was 32 years old when we got married, and until then, he had never been responsible for anyone, not even himself. So, he struggled.
He also seemed unable to wrap his head around the fact that I didn’t want a mediocre life. So, he did not understand my drive to work, to make money. I want a BeachFront mansion, and I don’t mind working for it. Meanwhile, he’s satisfied with a bungalow in the village. He also cheated on me with close friends and associates and took advantage of people living with us.
Wow.
I once got a call around 4 a.m. from him while I was on a work trip. He was demanding the kids’ nanny leave because she woke the children up too early. I told him that was not possible, and it was too early in the morning. Then I went back to bed.
When I woke up, I found out he had already sent her away. I asked her what happened, and she said ever since I left, he had been trying to sleep with her. She said she woke the children up because she wanted protection. It was at that moment I knew I could not do it anymore.
I got home, asked him what happened, and he said it’s his house, and he could do whatever he wanted. He told me anyone who had a problem with that could leave, so I carried my children and left.
Damn, that must suck.
Yeah. After that, different women started coming to me with various allegations from pregnancy to rape. It was a whole mess. In fact, in the first year of our marriage, he got my friend pregnant.
I should have left then, but I felt like I had something to prove. When I got married, people told me that the marriage would not last long. I was desperate to make it work.
Was there a reason they thought it would not work?
My motto is, if he is giving you a headache, let him go. God did not put me on earth to be dealing with headaches from men. I am a very beautiful woman, and there are always men and women who want to be with me, so why will I be with someone who is stressing me? My response to stress is flight, and I am very happy and content with being on my own.
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The subject of this week’s What She Said is a 56-year-old woman whose parents sent her to live with her half-sister at the age of seven. She talks about going to Benin city, moving schools, and suffering from abuse at the hands of her half-sister and her family.
What is your earliest memory of your childhood?
I do not remember much of my childhood, but I remember being seven.
Why just being seven?
Seven was when my parents told me I was going to live with my half-sister in Benin City. I come from a polygamous home in Edo State, my father married three wives. I had a lot of siblings and half-siblings. One day, one of my half-sisters who was probably in her early thirties came to complain to my father about not having help around the house. She needed help to nurse her child after her maid left. My mother was ill and had travelled for treatment when this happened.
Would your mother being around have changed anything?
No. My mother was uneducated. She would not have said anything because of the fear of being accused of discriminating against her half-daughter. Plus, my father was very autocratic. He told my mother that he wanted my half-sister to train me in school because he had trained her. No one asked about my opinion. My father just called me and told me that my sister would be taking me to the city. I was excited. I was still a child, and I wanted to explore the city.
What was it like at your half-sister’s?
Well, I learned to speak English. Before then, I spoke only Esan. A year after I came to the city, I started school. I never stayed with her child alone because I was too young to watch over her.
My half sister’s sister-in-law was living with my half-sister as well, and they both seemed to be around the same age. I am not really sure because they were a lot older than me, and it was not common for children to know the ages of their older siblings.
Her sister-in-law was very wicked and insensitive. She would beat me up, my half-sister would beat me up, and her husband would also beat me up.
That is absolutely terrible.
It was, and being beat up was on the lighter side of the things that happened to me. I was battered, ill-treated, starved and even molested.
My aunt had a kiosk where she sold things like cigarettes. One day, I broke a stick of cigarette by accident. I was told that it would be my food for three days. The first day I had drank only water, then a neighbour advised me to run to my aunt’s place.
My aunt came back with me and warned my sister never to starve me, but that did not stop her. With the amount of times they starved me or just didn’t feed me enough, I developed a stomach ulcer that I still have to deal with now.
I also used to take sweets and cigarettes to the cinema near the house to sell till late in the night. If I didn’t sell most of the things, or a sweet got missing, I would be seriously beaten.
What about school, did you like school?
I did. Back in 1973, schools in Benin had two sections. There was a morning and an afternoon session. My half-sister was a teacher, so I was automatically in the afternoon session when she was teaching during the morning session. This was the arrangement so I could take care of her baby while she worked.
Each day, I missed a period or more because she always took excuses from the teachers to let me leave class. For the morning sessions, all she had to do was tell my teacher she wanted me to leave class. For the afternoon sessions, I would be late because I had to wait for her to get home before I left.
When I completed primary school, my sister wanted me to learn sewing, but my brother wanted me to go to boarding school. They eventually decided I would go to a day school because my sister still needed someone to take care of her children. It was my brother that paid the tuition.
Did the missing periods not affect your education?
It did, but what affected it more was having to change schools all the time. Whenever she was transferred, I automatically changed school. It was hard having to cope with the new environment. I went to four primary schools and three colleges to complete my secondary school.
I was in all-girls schools in class two going to class three when my sister needed to go do a course in a foreign country. I had to leave that school so I could be closer to the house and be able to monitor the children. By that time I was in class 2, my half-sister’s children had become five.
That must have sucked. How did you leave?
Well, when I was 16 I had issues with my eye. I had to travel to Lagos to get it checked.
I used to get beaten up when I slept off in the shop because of how tired I was. One day, I was beaten up in my sleep and my eyes bled because the cane went across my eyes. By the following day, there was a blood clot in my eyes.
A few years later, I started using glasses then eventually my eyes continued having various issues and was one of the reasons my half-sister decided I needed to get my eyes checked.
I stayed with my brother and his wife in Lagos, and didn’t go back to Benin city after. I finished secondary school in Lagos.
I moved in with my brother and his wife — the one that paid my tuition for me to go to secondary school — and his wife. Living with them was so much better. My brother was very supportive because of what I went through in Benin.
My brother’s wife was also a teacher, but she was a lot kinder. She showed so much understanding and helped me a lot.
What was your favourite part about staying with your brother?
I loved how human they made me feel. I got to sit with everyone and eat at the dining table instead of the kitchen. I could also stay in the living room to watch television.
In my half-sister’s place, my clothes were kept in a carton in a corridor where rain could damage my clothes. Clothes that were given to me by my other cousins . I stayed in the backyard and slept in the living room, so until they left the living room, I could not lay my mat down to sleep.
My brother’s wife encouraged me to forget about the bitterness. She took me everywhere she went and made me believe I could make something out of my life. She treated me like her own sister and made me feel wanted. She even updated my wardrobe, and gave me some of her clothes. Since she was a teacher, she helped with my school work. She is a wonderful person.
Did your brother have any children?
Yes, he does. When I got to Lagos, he and his wife had just a child, but later they had two other children, and I helped raise them all. Two of them are my god children.
How did your half-sister feel about you not returning to Benin?
She was not happy. She wanted me back, but her uncle who knew how I was ill-treated advised my brother not to let me go back.
When my dad visited Lagos, my uncle and my other half brother told our father that they didn’t want me to go back. My father was taken aback and disappointed.
What about your mother?
She died the January I moved to Lagos. Her death was actually one of the reasons that led to my coming to Lagos. Her death dealt a great blow to me. I used to wake up in the middle of the night and cry. Then, it got to the point where my eyes would just water on their own. My mother’s death was a turning point in my life.
I’m sorry she did. How did you cope with that?
I couldn’t have done it all alone. Lagos away from my half-sister helped me heal, plus my brother’s wife was there, a constant pillar of support.
My mother’s death led me to live with my brother and his wife, and if I didn’t do that my life would probably have turned out differently.
I still have a stomach ulcer and destroyed eye lens that came with living with my half-sister, but I think I’m happy with my life now.
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This week’s What She Said is a 35-year-old Igbo woman. She talks about compartmentalising herself so people would treat her humanely as a traditionalist, and things she does to combat the stigma attached to traditional worshippers.
Tell me about growing up.
I grew up in Asaba and it was so much fun. We would climb trees at my grandmother’s house, play catcher and race with tyres.
I asked a lot of questions and was always indulged by my parents. You can say I grew up spoiled. I didn’t have a lot of restrictions. I could do anything I wanted as long as I had a good reason to. My dad was a lawyer with an extensive library that I was in charge of. I decided who to loan out books to and my judgment was never really questioned. So while I was spoilt, I was also responsible.
How did having a childhood like this affect you as an adult?
I became my own person on time. I knew it was okay to have an opinion and believe in the things I believed in solely. I grew up with a lot of powerful women, and I learnt by shadowing them. They taught me early that my voice mattered.
But as I got older, I started to compartmentalise myself.
Why?
We are traditionalists in my family, and I’ve realised this affects how people relate with me.
I’ve been making waist beads commercially for about six years. I’ve worn waist beads all my life. I started making them to help women pause and look at their bodies. I believed if they continued to do this, they would realise how beautiful their bodies were.
I also have a beads line for spirituality. I have bracelets that are tailored to the day you are born — like a Zodiac bracelet but using the Igbo days of the week. I only tell people this on a need-to-know basis.
As a traditionalist, I keep my business separate from my religion because I don’t want Nigerians to say I’m selling juju and collecting people’s destinies with beads.
When did you realise you had to make this distinction?
As early as I could talk. I went to a Catholic primary school, and when I was in Primary 1, I was used as an example of what an idol worshipper was and why people shouldn’t eat from me. My mum had a proper blow out and asked them why they thought it was okay to teach that to children.
Outside my house, I learnt people like me were demonic, bad people who hypnotised others to make them do what they want. With the rise of Pentecostalism in the 90s, the hate became worse. Catholicism tried to convert us with love, Pentecostalism taught people to demonise us — we wanted them dead because they worshipped differently.
So when I was outside, I learnt to censor myself.
That’s painful. Has anything changed in recent times?
A bit. People now want to know their roots, how their ancestors worshipped. When I’m not making beads, I’m writing programmes that teach people how to infuse spirituality in their lives, just the same way they do yoga and such.
People have this perception that if you’re a traditional worshipper, you have to look a certain way. So I am deliberate about the way I dress and everything. My life mission is to show people that they can “worship idols” and be baby girls and boys while doing it. I think this helps with how people see me — they may still want to bind and cast me, but it helps.
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The subject of today’s What She Said is a Nigerian woman in her 50s. She talks about her difficult experience living with extended family, her relationship with her father and managing her mother’s mental health until she died.
What’s the earliest memory of your childhood?
It’s of my father. He had me on his lap in a gathering. I don’t know if it’s a real memory or it’s based on a photo I used to have. I’ve lost it now. I was maybe three or four, and I had the look of shock on my face. Someone joked that I was supposed to be a boy, the way I was glued to my dad. That’s all I remember.
What was it like growing up?
There were good days and bad days. I grew up in Lagos. Both my parents were tailors, so they made me lots of nice clothes. That was one thing I was very proud of as a child. I had a lot of fashionable clothes, and it went on to inform my fashion sense.
I was an only child for the longest time. My mother tried to have more children and that didn’t happen. Before she gave birth to me, she had a son, but he died after a few months when they made a trip to our village. The narrative I heard was that evil people on my father’s side of the family killed him.
My father, after being pressured, slept with two other people at different times and they had a boy and a girl, respectively.
He didn’t marry them?
No. He was very much in love with my mother. At least, that’s the reason I think he didn’t marry them. For him, it was just to have more children. My mother was very accommodating with them. In fact, my sister and I are close till today and it’s mostly because my mother made us see each other not as step sisters, but as sisters.
What about your brother?
We didn’t grow up together, and I haven’t heard anything about him till date. I just know I have a brother. Whether he’s alive or not, I don’t know. My sister and I have tried to find him on Facebook, but that didn’t work out.
It was my extended family’s fault — my father’s siblings. My father was a bit well-off. He had lands and buildings around Lagos. His siblings were not that well-off. They lived with us — with their families o. For some reason, we lived in the boy’s quarters, while they lived in the main building. They were wicked to my mother and made all kinds of demands from my father. My father was a kind man — too kind, maybe. So he often bent under their whims, although he did try his best to stand up for us. It was because of his siblings, my uncle and aunt, that he had two children out of wedlock.
They believed it wasn’t right to have just one child. They said that my mother’s womb had spoiled because she could only have one child for him. When when my step brother was born, they had issues with his mother and so didn’t accept him. That’s why I think we never grew up together.
Wow. I guess what they say about your father’s side is true.
Hmm. Well, in my case, it was. I do have family members on my father’s side who I’m very close with. Like my father’s cousin’s children. But his siblings and their children were terrible. They tried to sow discord between my sister and I, saying we weren’t really sisters because we didn’t share the same mother.
How did your mother cope with all of these?
It was a lot for her and she eventually became mentally ill. Back then, we all believed that my father’s siblings had done something to twist her mind. This was the 80s. A lot of people recommended churches to go to for deliverance — pentecostal churches were becoming popular then. Now, I believe that it was psychological. The stigma associated with mental health issues didn’t allow us to seek the help she needed, although a few doctors suggested this. It wasn’t like she was parading the street naked. That was what a lot of us believed was mental illness.
I can’t really describe the kind of behavior she exhibited, but one thing I’m sure of is that she started believing everybody was against her, even me. She would talk endlessly to herself, often in a loud voice, about how bad everyone was. This affected my relationship with her.
Wow. What was your relationship with her before this?
We were not very close. She was always very reserved and quiet. I was closer to my father. He was the one who taught me to drive, taught me to fix my car, made all my clothes. In primary school, he was the one who picked me and dropped me off. When it was time to decide what next to do with my life after secondary school, he was there to help me out. When I started work, he drove me to work and advised me. We were that close. Then a few months after I started work, he fell sick. No one knows what illness it was. After a few weeks, he died. I was devastated.
I’m so sorry
Thank you. When he died, after the burial and everything, my first instinct was: leave home. But I couldn’t leave my mother with those people. I got an apartment on Lagos Island, but my mother wouldn’t come live with me. She insisted her husband’s house was her house and she had no reason to leave. My sister was still living there, so my mind was at peace, a bit. But that’s when properly wahala came up. My father’s siblings were claiming rights to his properties. I didn’t really care about any of it, but another faction of my family wanted me to fight for the building where my mother and my father’s siblings lived. That went on for years. Even when I went back to celebrate my 25th birthday, they were still fighting for it. When I got married, I just told myself I was done. Lucky for me, I started having children almost immediately after I got married, so my mother came to live with me.
That’s good.
It was good. But, my mother didn’t accept my husband. She thought he was evil. My husband was very understanding. He understood what my mother was going through and didn’t let anything she said affect him. She lived with me until she died. She died in my house. It was very challenging to take care of her, especially since I didn’t exactly know what was wrong. There were moments where she was great, but there were other times where it was bad. Luckily my mother had sisters who were great women. They loved each other and took care of each other. I remember once, her sisters came to my house to see her and they all slept on the same bed and gisted about everything. Even though I was close to my sister, I didn’t really have that with anyone until I got married and had children.
When my mother died, I was sad for many reasons. I felt she had gone to rest but was sad because it felt like I hadn’t taken care of her to the best of my capacity. I couldn’t take her on trips because she was suspicious of them. I couldn’t buy her things for the same reason. In fact, she continued to make her own clothes and cook her own food into her late 70s because she was so antsy about everything and everyone.
She loved my children and was there for them even when I couldn’t be.
Nice. Now that you have your own family, what’s that like?
It’s great, thank God. I should add that the relationship with members of my dad’s family affected me too because I’m very wary about family members. I protect my children, maybe a bit too much. I often say that they’re my siblings, my friends and it’s true. While I had friends that were helpful during the bad periods in my life, friends that have become family, I’m also very happy about my own children.
What are some things that helped you cope?
Food. When I eat, I’m happy, I temporarily forget everything. This started back when I was younger and lived in my father’s house. There was a bakery just by the house. They sold all kinds of bread. I went there nearly every day to get bread and peanut butter. Place a bowl of ikokore in front of me and I’m fine for like an hour.
God also helped. I grew Anglican. In my 20s when it felt like the world was collapsing on my head — the period when I was supposed to be enjoying life — I wasn’t a Christian in the born again sense. I was going to church seriously then and cramming the bible but had no real understanding of it. God was always good to me. Till today, he helps me cope. He’s my peace. After going through all that, I know there’s nothing life throws at me that I can’t handle with the help of God.
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The subject of this week’s What She Said is a 54-year-old woman who has three children she doesn’t like. She talks about how they felt like distractions and how her relationship with them has only gotten worse with age.
Let’s start from the beginning. How old were you when you got married?
I was 26. I wanted to get married, but I wasn’t really sure who I wanted to marry. I had a number of options. I was sleeping with one of these options — he was a colleague in a different department.
I got pregnant. Abortion wasn’t an option. I was Anglican then. Even though I’m religious now, I won’t judge anyone who aborts a baby. Back then, I couldn’t even think of it. Also, I was scared of dying.
My parents too would have killed me if they found out I had an abortion. So when I found out, I was worried about what to do. Then I came up with a plan to tell my parents I was engaged, so that once I started showing, the pregnancy would not shock them.
You didn’t tell the father?
That was the next step in the plan. After I told them I was engaged, I went and told him I was pregnant and that my parents said we had to get married.
Truthfully, that wasn’t a problem because he was ready to marry. I just wanted to rush the process. I had to do a lot of people-management to ensure that nobody spilled what I had told them.
How did your parents react?
They didn’t want me to court for long. You know how mothers are. My mother, God bless her, just wanted us to have a really big wedding as soon as we could. We got married three months after. I wasn’t showing, so my parents didn’t know. They began to suspect when I started showing within a few months of being pregnant.
Did anyone catch your lie?
Oh, not at all, but I eventually told my husband that my parents never forced us to get married. I’ve always been the kind of person to sneak around. As a young girl especially. Although I’ve changed now, I do think I enjoyed the thrill of doing that. My husband didn’t feel duped. He wanted to get married. He was much older, I should mention. He was in his 40s.
So what was that like? Getting married so fast? How much of him did you know?
Quite a lot from working together and going out together. But we were not necessarily in love. I was a romantic then. I wanted to marry someone I loved, but he wasn’t all about that. He was the opposite, a strong-head. People were not marrying for love as they are today, but I was optimistic that we would eventually fall in love. And we did, sooner than I expected.
How did that happen?
I had a stillbirth. That was the first real traumatic experience I had in my life. I had never experienced grief like I did. I was just crying and gnashing my teeth. I said God hated me.
That should have pushed us away from each other, but it drew us together. I say that it should have pushed us away from each other because first of all, he really loved that child. Second of all, it was the foundation of our marriage. When it happened, we became so close and started protecting each other. That was simply how we fell in love.
That’s sweet. I’m sorry you had to go through that.
Thanks. We went a few more years before trying again. I felt that our relationship had become monotonous and didn’t have any ideas on how to make it better. All we did was talk about work. Even though we no longer worked together, we still worked in the same industry. We were both very career-oriented people.
Unfortunately, getting pregnant this time was war. We simply couldn’t get pregnant, no matter what we did or how we tried. The doctor said we were both fine, that we just had to keep trying.
When I turned 32, I got pregnant. I decided I was going to resign and be extra careful because I was scared of miscarrying or having a stillbirth. The doctor said I was okay to work way into my third trimester. I said I didn’t want to. I had a very easy pregnancy, but I was in bed almost all through. I took up sewing and would make many things for my baby. I wasn’t excited because I was scared, yet, I was expectant.
When my baby girl came, I didn’t feel anything.
What do you mean?
I had assumed that I’d at least be excited that I got another chance to have a child. But I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t sad, and I’m not sure if I was depressed, but I wasn’t happy at all. I would spend hours staring at my child, expecting to become happy by just looking at her. Nothing happened. I faked happiness though. I faked the tears. Everyone around me was so excited; I just had to. And I couldn’t tell anyone.
That must have been hard for you.
Yes. Then child number two and three followed in quick succession. For number two, it was a difficult pregnancy. When I cried after giving birth, people thought it was tears of joy. It was, but it wasn’t because I was happy about my child. I was just happy I had gotten him out of my body. Once I had my third child, I told my husband we had done enough.
What happened next?
He wasn’t thrilled about this. He wanted four children. He first tried to cajole me into having one more. Then we fought about it when I told him that if he wanted any more children, he had to either carry them himself or go and find another wife. Eventually, I made him understand that I had wasted five years of my life on having kids and would be wasting a lot of more time out of work if I had a fourth child.
You didn’t work all through the period of time you were having kids?
I tried to get a job when my daughter was two. My mum was staying with us, so she was going to help. I applied to different places but my application was rejected. I finally got a job, but a few months later, I got pregnant again. This time I didn’t quit because I wanted to protect my child from dying or anything, I quit because the workplace was hostile to me. People made jokes about my body that I was uncomfortable with. If I had to miss work for a check-up at the hospital, they would remove it from my salary. It was very rubbish. I left and didn’t bother until after I had my third child.
What did you do then?
I went to do my masters. I was 39 and was the third oldest in my class, but I didn’t care. If I was going to go back to the workplace, I felt that I needed an edge, and pursuing my education would give me that. My mum had basically moved in with us at that point. I didn’t even bother with my kids. She cooked their food and took care of them. She gave them the love that I simply did not have the time or care enough to give. She was with us until she died. However, by this time, they were old enough to take care of each other.
Wait, during the time your mother took care of them, did you have any relationship at all with them?
Not as much. I showed up for all the school events; sometimes, my mum or husband went. I was never excited about these events, as other mothers seemed to be. I tried to take them out when I could. I bought them what I thought they’d like. At some point, I thought they didn’t like me too, because they didn’t tell me things. My first daughter had her period, and it was my sister who told her what to do. I didn’t find out till a month later. I felt like a horrible mother. I still feel like a horrible mother. I took it out on her. I lashed out and that pretty much framed our relationship for years.
What do you mean?
She went a few years without talking to me. Except it was necessary. She didn’t tell me things. She only told my husband or my mum.
Was going back to work the main factor?
Yes. It definitely did affect my relationship with my children. I was working seven days a week. My mind was on work because I really didn’t want anyone to make me feel left out because I have children. But I never really liked them from the beginning. I loved them, but did I like them? I didn’t. They felt like distractions. They demanded time and energy.
What about the other two children, what’s your relationship with them like?
Last born is my baby. I cherish her. That became a problem for my second child because he thought that I had favourites. They used to fight a lot when they were younger. And I didn’t help matters. I didn’t know how to mask my favouritism or limit the way I spoiled my last child. My mum actually warned me about it; I didn’t listen. Eventually I stopped spoiling her and that became a problem. She began to say that I hated her. She didn’t tell me this. She told my sister, who told me. My sister said I didn’t hate her, that I was just busy with work. She said she would pray to God to make me lose my job.
Child number two and three became wiser and formed an allyship that was against me. They realised I was the problem. I would scold the boy for being messy and the number three would tell me that I should leave him alone.
Wow. What was your husband like in all of these?
Just as absent as I was. He was busy with work, but he seemed to have the parenting thing on lock. He was definitely a better father than I was a mother.
Then he became sick and died. That was quite the painful experience. I hadn’t experienced anything as traumatic since the stillbirth. But again, grief played an important role in uniting us, making us come together. But that lasted only for a short while.
What’s your relationship with them today?
Nothing has changed. We just grew apart more and more. It feels like I am alone most of the time. My first daughter has moved out. She’s doing impressive work. We talk. I’m closer to her than the others. She says that maybe she had to leave home and get a well-paying job for me to start respecting her. I don’t fault that reasoning.
My son lives at home, but we don’t talk a lot. I think he’s trying my patience.
How?
Not going to church anymore. Dyeing his hair. Wearing earrings. He started it after I complained about someone in church who dressed like that. I haven’t said anything to him about it. Both us will continue looking at each other. But he is teaching me not to judge other people.
My last girl on the other hand is in university. She rarely calls, so I have to call her and shout at her to call. That path is still very rocky. I don’t like teenagers of any age.
Lmao. Is there anything you’d do better about motherhood?
Maybe I’d have sought help. I was educated enough to know there could have been a problem. Also, I think not all women need to have children. It’s okay to not want them. They’re not just fillers in a relationship. They’re real people. I wish someone had told me this.
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This week’s What She Said is Modupe Ehirim, a 62-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about growing up in a close-knit family, choosing to marry rather than continue with her education in the UK and not knowing how to make friends until she was 50.
Let’s start from the beginning.
When I look back now, my parent’s relationship with the world and then with us formed a significant foundation for my life. My father lost his parents before he was 10, so he had to figure out life by himself. My mother’s parents left their hometown for Jos, so they were removed from their local culture. When my parents started a family in Lagos, they started a culture of their own.
What was the culture like?
In a nuclear family, you have to get on well because you only have your parents and siblings. I have four siblings, and if I reported any to my mum for offending me, she would hear me and my sibling out. She would show us how we both contributed to the problem.
I was encouraged to read. My mom would say books are good because if there’s anything you want to do, and you don’t know how to or can’t find somebody to show you how to, you’ll find it in a book. My parents also knew that they couldn’t give us what they didn’t have, so everytime we had an obstacle they didn’t have answers to, they told us to figure it out and come back with what we found to make further decisions.
Were there any downsides to this?
The only downside of being brought up so close-knit was that I didn’t know how to connect with people. So I didn’t have any close friends until I was about 50 years old.
What did you have?
Just people. In the 60s and 70s, I went to a primary school that was close to home in Surulere. Schools then were for the locality, so everybody in that school came from the area. It was so close-knit that, if you did something, the headmaster would call your name with the school loudspeaker and the community would scold you even before your parents did.
So what happened after primary school?
I was one of the first people to go to secondary school from Standard 4; it used to be up to Standard 6, which meant you spent 8 years in primary school. But the government wanted to see if six years of primary school education would hurt students, and I was one of the first set that tried it. I did the common entrance and passed, then I went to Queens School, Ibadan.
How did moving away from your home and community feel?
I’d never been with other people before in my life, but it helped that I came from the kind of home that I came from — though I missed home, I never forgot where I came from. I was overwhelmed by some of the things I saw.
Like what?
The first day I went into the dining hall, I was laughed at for not knowing how to use the cutlery. That made me feel bad. I looked at them and wondered what kind of people would treat someone that way. I was also much younger than my mates and very tall. Anytime we had an outing, we were always made to stand according to our height. By the time they counted, I almost always got left out.
Was any part of school good?
Oh yes. Everything else was good. School taught me to live with other people, and we learnt how to be responsible.
When it was time to go to university, as they dealt with most things in my life, my parents said, “Okay, you know what? We’re not knowledgeable in this area. Go find out how they’re doing it and then come tell us so we can look at it together and have a plan of action.” When I was filling my forms, I looked at the courses and looked at the subjects I liked. I didn’t like writing, I didn’t want history, bible knowledge, economics or any course that required you to write notes, but I loved maths and reading.
What did you eventually choose?
Food science and technology. I wrote my exam — you had to write an exam at every university you were interested in. I passed and got admitted to the University of Ife. So off I went. And here was how my trajectory changed. In my second year, I did two core courses in chemical engineering and scored 98 and 100. The lecturer looked for me and asked why I was studying food science and technology. He said food science and tech was a speciality within chemical engineering; why did I want to specialise in my first degree? His name was Dr McCauley.
He spoke to my department and told them they would be doing me a disservice if they held onto me. I would be their star student, but it wouldn’t help me. And so I went on to study chemical engineering.
I’m grateful I met him because he told me: “You’re intelligent. You’re not supposed to measure yourself against your classmates, not because they’re not good enough, but everybody ought to measure themselves against their potential.”
Tell me about your potential.
I got a first-class in chemical engineering.
What about relationships?
The person easiest to lie to is the person that has grown up in a community where everyone tells the truth. In school, when people said they liked me, I assumed they liked me and not for romantic reasons. During weekends on campus, people would bring movies, clubs would have parties and we’d socialise. When someone asked, “Do you want to see a movie with me?” I thought nothing of it. Or when someone said, “Come to my room”, I wouldn’t think anything would happen. I found myself in impossible situations sometimes.
My first romantic relationship — that I will tell you about — sort of ended during NYSC. We tried to plan our life together, but when you plan your life with someone and you don’t know what you’re supposed to be planning, it will lead to quarrels. We couldn’t harmonise our plans because, for our postgraduate dreams, my parents could support me and his couldn’t. Eventually, I got a scholarship and could leave, but he couldn’t.
Interestingly, my husband did his NYSC the same place I did mine — Nigerian Breweries.
Rewiiind.
Haha. We were about 15 serving together, and we’d have lunch and go to the company bar in the evening. We were at the bar one day when this man said, “Nigerian girls ehn, they can pose for Africa. If they like you, they’ll still be doing like they don’t like you.”
And I said to him, “Excuse me, which planet are you from? If somebody is posting you like that, it means they themselves don’t know what they want. If you ask them and they want to go, they would.” I told him to test me and ask me out.
Ghen Ghen.
He asked me out a few weeks later, and I said “No.” I had other plans. He asked me out another time to a movie theatre, then to visit him at his place in Festac. I was determined to prove to him that I knew my mind, and so I agreed.
Were you uncomfortable?
I was one of two girls in an engineering class for five years. I was comfortable around men.
On my way to Festac from Surulere, it rained heavily. The taxi who carried me told me to come down at some point. Festac was new and people were still unfamiliar with the area. We’d gone round but couldn’t find the place. Someone let me stay in their house until the rain went down. I was finding my way back home when I noticed the street names and traced the house. He was surprised.
And then.
We talked. He had so many LP records. He started playing Oliver Newton-John for me. Our friendship started there. He’d buy me chocolates, buy me cards, walk on the side closer to the road; all the kinds of stuff that you read in books.
By the time that we’d known each other for about three months, I said to myself, “If this man asks me to marry him, I will.”
How were you so sure?
He was so clear about what his life was, what he wanted to do and how he wanted to do it. And I was trying to figure out my life. He was like, “This is what I want and you need to figure out what you want so that you can know whether I fit in.”
When it was time for me to go to the UK for my programme, he said, “I really like you, but you know that I want to get married in such and such a year. And you will be in the UK. And I don’t want to be on a different continent from my wife. So if you choose to do a PhD, I may not be able to wait for you.” I could understand where he was coming from because when you use Airmail to write your letter, it would take four weeks to get to Nigeria, and then four weeks for a response to get to you.
How did you decide?
When I went to the UK, I struggled. Did I really want to stay in the UK and do a PhD? Or did I want to go back and marry this person? We had a chaplain in the school we could talk about all these things with. He said, “It is important for you to know that whichever route you choose, once you start going on that route, you’ll see the challenges there and you’ll think the other path was better.”
I concluded that I wanted him.
There was also the part where I wanted to practice engineering design after school, but even with my first-class honours in engineering, I could only work in a refinery or as a lecturer.
What happened next?
I got a job in the Federal Ministry of Commerce and Industries. Then something happened.
The year we planned to get married, my husband’s younger brother died, and his parents said they needed to mourn for a year.
In that time, I renewed my relationship with God and told my husband I wasn’t interested in him anymore because he was an unbeliever. My parents found out when they dropped by his house and he asked them why they were there. When they got back, they asked me, “Dupe, did it not take you some time to become a Christian? What makes you think he won’t?”
And so we got married.
Were your parents Christians?
Not in the sense of being born again.
How did you build this relationship with God then?
I started reading the Bible, and in the book of Romans, it seemed like Paul was sitting across me and speaking to me. I was a good girl in the eyes of everyone, but I knew a lot of things about myself that weren’t good. I admitted this to myself.
We had a revival in my church and there was a visiting preacher who spoke to us. I met with him to tell him about these things, and he explained that what was happening to me was I was coming to a realisation that I could not do good by myself. So I read the Bible and kept journals as my faith grew.
You mentioned earlier that you didn’t have friends until you were 50. What changed?
The funny thing was I had met a lot of people in my life, and if someone needed help, I knew who to call. While I didn’t do anything on my part to keep the relationships, my sister kept in touch with these people and she drew me to them. I started a relationship academy and realised I needed to connect with people. I used to think I was an introvert, but I just didn’t master the skill of connecting with people, so I worked on it.
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The subject of this week’s What She Said is a 23-year-old Nigerian woman who was in a toxic relationship with a man who did all he could to keep her with him, including stalking and blackmailing her.
Where did you meet?
It was December 2019, and I was 22 while he was 27. He’s my neighbour — we live in the same street. My aunt had a shop just in front of my house, and he used to come to the shop a lot. I personally didn’t notice him until, one day, I caught him staring at me.
I was going to buy suya, and he followed me. He picked up his pace and caught up with me. There was some small talk, he paid for my suya and bought me extra for my family. We exchanged numbers and that was pretty much it for that night.
Do you live with your aunt?
I don’t live with my aunt. My dad converted our security post into a shop to support her. So I see her everyday because of the shop.
What happened after he paid for your suya?
I think he called. I’m not sure. But we eventually started talking.
He was actually in a relationship at the time. I had heard tales about his babe, how she used to break things and stab him. I don’t believe all that anymore. I think they both got a thrill out of whatever their situation was, but from the outside, the girl was painted as a blood-sucking demon.
He made it seem like he was stuck in a helpless situation with his babe and didn’t know what to do. Like a foolish woman, I went to play messiah, telling him he deserved better. I should have just kept quiet and gone my way, but that’s basically what got us talking.
When did he break up with his babe?
A month or two later. I’m not the smartest with matters of my heart. So when he started preaching love to me, even though I was just out of a failed relationship and out of therapy, I went with the flow.
However, I told him I couldn’t date him if he was still with his girlfriend. He ended things with her in a very immature and impulsive way. This caused drama because the babe became FBI and found out he broke up with her for me. She threatened to fuck me up.
For context, the babe was also close to my aunt. She felt my aunt pimped me out to him, even though my aunt really didn’t have anything to do with the relationship. She just gave me a few pats on my back.
I don’t know what he went to promise her, but she eventually cooled off.
Do you think you were pressured into a relationship?
I wouldn’t say I was pressured, but at the time, I was winging everything in my life. I hated being alone. I would date just about anyone for companionship. I was always in one relationship or the other. People around me got tired because most of the relationships I entered were quite stupid.
I can’t say I’ve ever been in love — I may have gotten fond of the people I dated but never felt love. I didn’t know them well enough before jumping yakata into the relationship. My relationships were so wack ehn.
Why?
I never loved myself enough, I guess. I allowed people into my life, and it was too late before I realised that the quality of people you allow into your life tells on the quality of the life you live.
So wait, did you have any feelings for him?
I don’t think I had feelings for him. I think I enjoyed the times he was nice to me. I didn’t have boyfriends before that were that nice to me; he always wanted to keep me happy until he was angry.
What was the relationship like in the beginning?
He was thoughtful and nice. It didn’t take long for the insecurity to start though. He wanted to check what I wore, where I wore it to, who I was talking to. He would seize my phone abruptly from my hand while I was using it. He even became friends with anyone I knew, just so he could know my every move.
He was the absolute worst when we fought, but he’d become Prince Charming when we were good. I slowly realised that his ex may not have been the only demon. Just as fast as I got in, I wanted out.
How did you get out?
It wasn’t easy. We started fighting about dumb things. My friend, let’s call her Mary, realised the guy was probably obsessed with me. She mentioned it, but I brushed it off. I tried to end the relationship so many times, but he wasn’t having it. I mean, he was (and still is) my neighbor, so everywhere I turned he was there. I noticed at some point he was cheating. Guess who he was cheating with?
Tell me.
The toxic unbearable girlfriend he literally begged me to help him out of dating. LMAO. I confronted him the first time, and he lied about it. I kept calm and became more observant.
Then I found out he rented an apartment for the babe very close to my house, even though I begged him many times to move out of the house he was staying in because I felt too many people were in our business. He kept saying he didn’t have money to rent a new house, but he had enough money to rent for her.
He was going to her house every day and lying to cover it up, saying things like, “I want to go to bed early” or “I have to go for a meeting.” Everything was a lie.
One time I broke up with him because he had the nerve to compare me to her. He said she was more understanding. When I left him, he actually told someone to monitor me around my house. I knew I was doomed.
Wow. What did you do next?
He begged and did so many nice things that made me foolishly go back. I don’t know why I did. I didn’t love him; I never did.
The relationship wasn’t better after this. It was one day of being super nice and days of toxic rubbish. He started to act like he was tired. I thought this was time to leave, and he would let me. I sincerely thought he loved her and was just using me. I was wrong, I was so wrong.
How long had you been dating at this time?
Maybe six months.
What happened next?
I confronted him about the rent, sleeping at her place and everything else. He denied them and gave a speech about me allowing people to destroy the beautiful thing we had. Which beautiful thing? Mad people full this country.
Anyway, I stood my ground, and that’s when I found out that my aunt knew all along that he was cheating and even used to talk to the babe. I was basically a fool. Everyone around me knew he was still with her but never told me.
My aunt still encouraged me to “Fight for what we have”. Whenever we had a fight, he’d call through her phone, and she’d make me talk to him. Meanwhile, she knew all along.
Did you confront her about it?
I did. She told me to come, let’s sit and talk like women, rada rada oshi. I didn’t go to sit down to talk anything.
I blocked his numbers and blocked hers too and anyone that wanted to beg for him.
After this, I travelled for a bit. He found out where I travelled to and actually followed me to the state, but he didn’t know exactly where I was. He tried to reach out to me through his useless friends that were also cheating on their girlfriends and wives. I blocked all of them.
It was during this trip that I got a message from a random number on WhatsApp. It was a video. I played it, and there I was, naked. I had never sent him nudes before, so I was confused. It was only later that I figured out that we’d had a virtual sex call a while back — I was naked, and we were actually rubbing one off — and he’d probably recorded me as we were doing it. In the video, his face was dark and conveniently not recognisable. His next message was, “Let’s talk.”
I told him to go ahead and do whatever he wanted, I still wasn’t going to talk to him or hear him out. His reply was, “Calm down, I have 3 more.”
I didn’t realise how much of a lunatic he was until that moment. I was slipping out of his reach and he was desperate.
When I returned home, I got lawyers involved. I reached out to anyone I could for help. I was scared. He wouldn’t stop. Every time I blocked him, he’d just text me on another number. He tried his best to get the name of my hotel from my cousins, but they also didn’t know. He even tried to decipher the location through my pictures.
What did you do next?
I had to tell my mum. My mum got mad and confronted my aunt.
Wait did your mom know of the relationship before?
No, she didn’t. She suspected and warned me, but I always told her I turned him down.
My aunt found out I got a lawyer and ran to tell him that they’re coming for him. I found this out through my cousin, who was the only person looking out for me. She was close to him too and always told me things she heard. When he found out that she was actually helping me, he confronted her and told her he’d get boys to stab her all over her body and drop her corpse at my gate.
Wow. That’s sick.
Things became even more heated that I had to run away from home. I travelled out of town without telling anyone. The next few weeks were the worst. My parents were worried. My mom was crying herself to sleep. I couldn’t sleep. I felt I was being watched. I was losing weight. I had several suicide attempts. My friends were the best then. But my family? They were the worst. My dad almost disowned me.
When my dad found out my aunt’s role in the entire thing, he locked up her shop. Then my ex went into hiding. The police got involved, and the whole street was talking about me. Some family friends called me and told me to just go home.
When I returned home, the guy decided to sue me, my mom, my dad and the police for infringing on his fundamental human rights.
On the other hand, my uncles got involved and basically said they didn’t give a damn about the rubbish I got myself into but that my dad should open my aunt’s shop and deal with his badly-behaved daughter.
Did it actually go to court?
Yes. But it’s finalised now — we settled out of court. We both signed undertakings not to reveal any videos or pictures (he claimed we exchanged videos).
One thing this entire thing has taught me is that family is a social construct, made up to deceive you into thinking that because you come from the same bloodlines with someone, the person will love you or owe you some form of loyalty. It’s all a lie. My friends are my only family.
Does he still live in the neighbourhood?
Yup. My aunt is back in her shop now, and she’s very much still friends with him. I know his pride will not let him leave.
I want to leave, but to where? I don’t have money for that. My parents won’t answer me, so NYSC is my only way out.
Do you feel like you learned anything from this experience?
I can’t believe how much I’ve grown from what happened. Focusing on my spirituality helped the most. I’m learning to love myself every day. I’m also learning not to accept rubbish from people because of my need to love and be loved.
I don’t know if I’ll ever want to date or marry or any of that rubbish society shoved down our throats. I’ll be 24 in a couple of months, and I’m just starting to know myself. I’m excited about the future and what it holds; I know it only gets better. I’m almost glad I went through this. it was a wake-up call for me to watch the things I feed my soul
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The subject of this week’s What She Said is Karo Omu, a 29-year-old Nigerian woman and mother. She talks about almost having a miscarriage when she was five weeks pregnant, liking her daughter and the importance of giving women enough information about reproductive health.
Did you always know you wanted to have a child?
Yeah, but I don’t think I did consciously. I think when you’re a young girl, it’s normal to think that you would go on to start a family. I always thought I wanted many children, but I didn’t think about how I’d end up having them. I am from a big and close-knit family, so I wanted a big family too.
What was growing up like?
I have four sisters and a brother. My brother is the last child, so maybe my mum favoured him a little, but my dad was really big on his daughters. In our house, being a girl or a boy wasn’t that different. My mum had nine siblings; eight girls and one boy. Her mum really wanted a boy, and I think my mum was conscious of this — having a boy. My dad on the other hand came from a family with many girls and boys and was more progressive, so he didn’t seem to care.
So what was your pregnancy experience like?
I think before our generation, pregnancy seemed like a normal thing: you’d get pregnant and have a child. Nobody spent time speaking about the journey; instead, they talked about the labour. I found out really early about my pregnancy — in about the 2nd or 3rd week. I had two near miscarriages. I took a trip when I was five weeks pregnant, and on the flight, I noticed I was bleeding. I didn’t know flying wasn’t good for someone who was newly pregnant. As soon as I landed, I was taken to the airport clinic. I remember someone saying, “She’s in her first trimester, this happens all the time. It’s just tissue. If it’ll stay, it’ll stay.”
Wow.
I was like, what the hell is happening? I went back home in Nigeria and had a similar experience. I went to the hospital and the doctor did a test and told me that my body didn’t recognise I was pregnant, so it wasn’t producing hormones to take care of the baby growing inside me. I had to start taking hormone injections; I had never heard anybody speak about this. I couldn’t fly till I was past my first trimester.
The rest of my pregnancy was uneventful. But because of the anxiety I developed in my first trimester, I was always worried; I would wake up every day to see if my baby was moving. It got so crazy, I bought a heart monitor to listen to her heartbeat. That was something I wasn’t prepared for. When we talk about how people don’t talk about pregnancy, it’s mostly because everybody’s experience is so different that there’s almost nothing to go by.
Fair enough.
Yeah. I didn’t have a physically tough pregnancy, but it was mentally tough for me as I was in a different city by myself, with only my husband. It was really lonely not having my extended family around. My baby was overdue for over two weeks, and my mum was like, this has never happened in our family, it’s crazy. My pregnancy journey was long, enjoyable, beautiful, but I was mostly tired of being pregnant.
I can imagine. What has motherhood been like for you?
Haha. Very crazy. I like my daughter, so the more I like her, the more I like being her mother. But, it’s so tough. It took me a while to remember that I am separate from my child. Motherhood gets so overwhelming, it becomes all of your identity. But now, I really like being a mum. I like being my daughter’s mother; that’s part of my identity. It took me a while to accept it, by removing myself out of it, then choosing it. Knowing that this is part of my identity doesn’t make me feel less of who I am.
My daughter is three now. I went to work when she was seven weeks old because I felt like I really needed that. Then it got to a point where I felt I really needed to be at home with her; I did that. When the lockdown began, I realised that I have to be best friends with her because she’s an only child. She’s the reason I get out of bed on some days and that gives me a sense of purpose.
Compared to being born and raised in Nigeria, how has raising your child outside Nigeria been?
Growing up, I had a lot of extended family and friends around, which meant everybody had an opinion about how you were being raised, and it was so easy for that to be projected on your parents.There was a lot of “what will people say?” even in the littlest choices. While my child may not have that communal feeling, I get to raise her with less thought to what people will think. But, I think children like mine miss out on that familiarity and safety I had growing up.
What are some things you’re already worried about with raising your child?
I don’t know if it’s a Nigerian thing, but I hope my kid doesn’t have to hear a thing like, “What will you be doing in your husband’s house?” or “Let the boys go first.” I have always worked around social change, and my motivation is that I want my daughter to grow up in a better world.
When I was a child, I would wait till 4 p.m. before watching TV because that was when it came on. But for my kid’s generation, there is so much information they have access to, and I am conscious of the fact that it’s my responsibility to filter what my child is exposed to.
Also, she didn’t ask to be here so it is my responsibility to make her life work while also respecting her autonomy as a person. It’s very interesting and often challenging to navigate.
My parenting journey has made me even more passionate about women having adequate reproductive health information and resources. Children shouldn’t have to be born as a consequence to parents who don’t want to have them.
This makes me wonder about the work you do with Sanitary Aid. Is there a personal story there?
Just before I turned 10, my parents asked how I wanted to celebrate my birthday. That year, I had just found out what an orphanage was. I told my parents I wanted to take my cake to an orphanage, and they were so excited that they ended up letting me throw three parties: one at home, another in church and the third at an orphanage. It was almost like I was rewarded for that thought.
I became a volunteer teacher when the IDP camps started and gradually started getting involved in social work. My bishop then had adopted kids, and they became my friends. I would teach them, and whatever project I had begun with them.
I liked how it made me feel when people I worked with were happy, so it was almost like a selfish thing for me.
How did all of these lead to creating Sanitary Aid?
Sanitary Aid was a Twitter conversation about donating pads versus condoms. I remembered when I was in secondary school and my pocket money was 200 or 300 naira. There was no way I’d have been able to afford pads if they were sold for their current prices.
I had always thought about the issues affecting women and how we could make our lives better. Sanitary Aid was an avenue to help. Women having dignity and information was an agenda for us. It opened my eyes to how different experiences shape the things we do. I’m a feminist; to me feminism means equality because women lose so much to gender inequality. We lose so much time, respect, dignity and money to not being equal. This is one of the reasons I joined the Feminist Coalition, and the focus has been on how we can create more opportunities for women. I am very committed to conversations and work that promote women’s rights and give them visibility and help underserved communities.
This was how Sanitary Aid started, and a few weeks after that, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t know what I was getting into when it just began.
How were you able to manage Sanitary Aid while pregnant?
It’s just kudos to my team and family because they have always supported the project. We have grown into a full blown organisation and have public support. So, people who want to help do it on behalf of the organisation. That gap existed and all that was needed was a conversation to be had, which we did.
It would have succeeded with or without me because there are always people willing to do something about the problems we have in the society.
What challenges do you and the organisation face?
Some of the challenges are that some things, such as getting approval, take so much time. Then there is financial constraint. It’s important for me to create spaces where women can talk and be heard and question why we find things more appealing when we hear it from men than from women who are the ones experiencing this thing.
One thing that always happens in this kind of work is that there is always going to be somebody else, and I’m totally not against so many people doing the same thing. If I wake up tomorrow and realise that there is no more period poverty, I’d be so happy regardless of who made that happen. As long as people are making change, that’s great. But, it’s also important that we question ourselves on why we are not listening when women are saying the same thing.
What does success look like for Sanitary Aid?
It’s a lot of things: it’s getting to the point where we have our social enterprise that will fund Sanitary Aid. Currently, we rely on partnerships and donations, which aren’t sustainable. I am very big on sustainability because so many people depend on us, and we can’t afford to crash and fall out of what we are doing. Success will also be having policies that tackle period poverty, even if it’s the government giving out free pads to girls. Also, we want to get to a place where we have funding for research in Nigeria on women’s reproductive health and reaching more girls and women. Success for us is a lot of things, but it’s mostly us being able to fund ourselves, more girls and women having access to sanitary pads and hygiene education. Period poverty is a by-product of poverty, so without tackling poverty and the issues that stop women and girls from having access to sanitary pads and makes them choose less hygienic means, we are never going to get to where we need to get to as a country.
We need to tackle poverty head-on. Not having access to information on Sexual and Reproductive health has a long term effect on women’s lives. I hope we get to where even the government is talking about the importance of menstrual hygiene and having access to quality and affordable products.
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This week’s What She Said is a 26-year-old woman. She talks about losing her mum, feeling alienated by her sisters because they just didn’t understand her, and how being the last child made her dad’s drinking problem her responsibility.
Let’s start from the beginning.
I have strong memories from when I was two till when I was seven (my mum died when I was seven). Seven was my perfect number. With her alive, we were seven — my four siblings, my parents and I — and when she died, we became six.
I had three older sisters and one brother, who was the second child. In primary school, I was close to Bisola, who was the fourth child, because we went to the same school. She was one year older than me, while the others were far older. My sister after Bisola was in secondary school — let’s call her Amina — and the eldest was in university.
People used to think Bisola and I were twins, but we fought the most. She always tried to be domineering and would ask me to do this and that. I would be like, “Why?” We fought so much that my dad started using cane to separate us.
Area!
LOL. When Bisola was in Primary 4, she got a double promotion to Primary 6. And once she graduated to JSS 1, my dad yanked me out of primary school to join her.
Why do you think he did that?
It was money. After my mum died, he was depressed. We didn’t know this until five years later. He’d come home with drinks. He was also not getting as many contracts — he was a water engineer. My mum’s death made him lose a lot of opportunities because it was difficult for him to process it.
All through secondary school, Bisola and I did everything together, but we still fought.
Why?
Because she and my other sisters teased me a lot, especially about my ears. I had a small head and really wide ears. They called me satellite dish, elephant ears, MKO Abiola and all sorts of names. They would laugh about it, but it was painful and always made me cry. Then they’d give me food to make me shut up — I liked food, so you know how that went.
They also called me Yoyo, which was someone that was sluggish. I didn’t process things fast, couldn’t tell the time, or my left from right. And because I was so close in age with Bisola, I was constantly compared to her. Bisola was the popular fashionista — she wanted to even be a model but decided to become a fashion designer instead. It was so bad, people outside would not remember my name but call me Bisola. It was fucking annoying.
I feel you.
When I was done with secondary school in 2009, my now pregnant elder sister asked me to come live with her in Port Harcourt. I told her I’d rather join Amina in her university because she was doing ushering jobs and I wanted to do something to make money. At this point, Bisola and I were taking care of my dad, and it wasn’t so bad until she left for Port Harcourt.
What happened?
He started drinking, then started taking antidepressants. He said he needed it to sleep.
Were the drugs prescribed?
No. My brother mentioned he had always taken them, but it got worse. For two years, I took care of my dad because I didn’t get into uni or start ushering. My eldest sister’s husband had told her, “Oh she’s too young. She shouldn’t do ushering.” And that was it.
My dad did not get any better during this period. He started using all his money to buy alcohol. If my sis sent us money to take care of things in the house, he’d spend it on alcohol. I have some spots on my legs from using bad water because he spent the money he was to use to get a water tank on drinks.
Each time this happened, they’d call me to ask what was going on in the house. I became the check and balance. They’d call me to figure out what was going on in the house. But this was telling on me. My dad was aggressive. His insults are not shere shere. They would hit you like missiles.
After some time, my brother made matters worse. He’d come home sluggish and eat a lot of food, and I’d have to clean up after them. Everyone thought it was weed, but we never found out the cause. Before then he was a teacher, then suddenly, nothing.
I had to find ways to start keeping the money from them.
What’s the most ridiculous place you had to hide money?
In my panties, and my brother still took it.
Sorry, what?
LMAO. I was sleeping. I knew my brother had collected it, so I went to get it back.
One particular time, I joined an ajo group to save for end of the year clothes. I was the accountant keeping everyone’s money, and soon after, I noticed the money my dad was giving me to buy drugs really looked like some of the notes I had, but I ignored it. When it was time to distribute the money, turns out about ₦5k was missing.
It got so bad that I became underweight. The ton of mental stress was crazy.
That sounds painful.
I thought of a way out and found the church. I’d stay in church from mornings till evenings.
Another way out for me was Facebook. I became popular on Facebook and even got a boyfriend. We started dating when I was 17 and met in person when I got into uni at 18.
When I finally entered school, I thought that would be the relief I’d been looking for, but it wasn’t. I was living with Amina, who was a post-graduate then, and my sisters would call me to go home every fucking time. I was expected to be home every weekend.
On weekends, I’d leave for home, buy foodstuff, cook, clean, come back two weeks later, the house is a mess, maggots in the pots, I’d clean, cook, repeat.
My sisters all helped somehow. Amina would go home once in a while. My eldest sister handled the health bills of my dad and brother — which got to millions — and always sent us money. But I was the one expected to always be physically present.
Did you ever push back?
I did in my first year in uni, and it wasn’t even for this. I got to Amina’s hostel at 9 p.m. and she said I was joining bad gang. I asked what that was supposed to mean. I had to call my eldest sister who said she’d talk to her.
I hated Amina when we were kids, but we bonded when we started living together. We had Karaoke nights, went out… Still, she and everyone else would always ask me to go home to look after my dad and brother. I pretty much didn’t have a social life outside them.
Then what happened?
I started rebelling in 300L when I got into a separate hostel. If they asked me to go home, I told them I was writing tests or exams.
We stan a rebellious youth.
After uni, you’d think these issues would have died down because of work or something, but they didn’t. That’s when I realised they did not take me seriously. At some point, I broke down when they called me to go again. This time, my dad had gotten drunk and someone found him on the streets. He called my sister, who called me to go because she was busy. I cried that I couldn’t go, and my boyfriend took the phone and had to tell Amina that I couldn’t do it.
Was anything done to help your dad?
Apart from hospitals, my uncles came up with all sorts of spiritual things to do. They’d ask for goats and this and that. They think my dad being an alcoholic is my grandma’s fault and not my mother’s death. All of the women in my dad’s family have been labelled witches. If my grandma dies, she’d transfer her powers to one of my dad’s sisters. Even though they were the ones who supported us when things got really bad. The one that sold pepper gave us foodstuff when we had nothing to eat. Another sent money. But no, they are witches.
What was the origin of these allegations?
My mum was pregnant when she married my dad, and my grandma did not like her. She wanted him to marry someone she had arranged. For some reason, when they got married, my dad took in his four siblings and my grandma to live in the same mini flat that we did, and it was unbearable. Sometimes they’d wake up and find a calabash by the bed. They’d trace it to my grandma. A lot was going on then. Even my dad’s siblings did not respect my mum. One of his sisters slapped her once. My dad is quite spiritual and has said he had “dreams” about my grandma.
I always wondered why my mum put up with all that, but my parents were in love. He was 24 and she was 23 when they got married. After some time, she built a house and we moved away. I don’t think my grandma ever forgave her for that. She took her favourite son from her. I was four when we moved.
Till now, my dad’s family thinks my grandma is the problem.
Did things change after some time?
I had to fight for it. Three major things happened. First, my uncle’s wife died, and my dad started drinking in the hospital. My sister called and asked where I was. I said, “I’m at work.” She asked me to leave because my dad was drunk and misbehaving. I was like, “I’m at Berger, you know the traffic in Lagos, and you’re telling me to leave my office…” I told her it was too sudden and didn’t go.
The second time, something happened to him and they called me because I had mentioned I was working from home. I went on the family group chat to tell them that they don’t understand me and only have me around to take care of my dad. Why did they expect me to always drop whatever I was doing to go home? I told them I had my life to live. They insulted me and called me ungrateful.
The last time I refused to go home, I did another group chat rant and told them they don’t see me as valuable or appreciate me. No one ever asked me, “Sis, what are you doing right now? Where are you working? What do you need?”
If you don’t care it’s fine, but coming to impose your needs on me? I was done taking it. I left the group chat. Right after, my elder called to insult me. She insulted my job, said I kept saying I was working, but it wasn’t reflecting on myself or on them. My other sisters had achieved way more when they were my age, so what was I really doing with my life.
For some time I was hurt by this but not surprised. Whatever they said, they don’t call me now to go home and I don’t care what they have to say.
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The subject of this week’s What She Said is a 40-year-old woman. She talks about losing custody of her kids after an abusive marriage, travelling the world and how her dad’s love for food led her to start a confectionery company.
If someone was meeting you for the first time, what would you tell them about you?
I would say I am simple and a lot of people find that complicated. When it comes to my experiences, I would say I’m on my ninth life because I’ve had a crazy ride.
I grew up in a large family. I had two brothers and four sisters. I enjoyed my teenage years a lot. Sometimes I think I enjoyed it a little too much. I had friends from all over the world. At my school, people say you don’t gain knowledge, you gain friends.
My parents were free-spirited, open-minded people. When I lost my mum, a day before my tenth birthday, it changed our world. Somehow, my dad was able to fill that gap — cooking and caring. It was so seamless that we almost didn’t notice the void my mum’s death created. He filled that void so well, and we did not feel deprived. I got so interested in food because he was always cooking something.
And then?
Somehow I found myself married at the age of 20 to someone who was abusive. He stopped me from going to school, stopped people from seeing me. I had no friends nor money. I was caged in his house for years and had three children.
That’s awful. Why did you get married so early?
It’s complicated and I do not like talking about it. My mum was not there and I relied on others to guide me. But some of them were misguided and they misguided me as well. I was advised to marry early, have kids early so I could move on with my life and grow with my children. My dad was also pressured. They implied he was a man and wouldn’t understand these things. It must have all come from a good place, but it ended up wrong.
I ran away with my children a couple of times, but I ended up coming back. He would beg for my return and promise to change. But that didn’t last. In two weeks he would be back to his normal self. Until one day, I decided it all had to stop.
He took my children away from me, and it’s been 14 years without them. In a case like this, where a woman suffers is when she goes to court or when the police are involved. If you’re young, policemen say things like, you’re sleeping with other men or “If we should lock him up, you’re the one that will come begging.” The policewomen would take his side because he has money. They made my life miserable. I tell people that whatever you do, make sure you don’t find yourself in court in Nigeria or have anything to do with the police.
What did you do after you got out of your marriage?
When my marriage ended, I had ₦40 in my account. I started all over — I had been in school but my ex asked me to stay at home until my first son was ready to go to university. I didn’t defer my admission, so I started from 100L when I got out of the marriage. I was in school studying marketing when I decided to start crafting chocolates. Not for the money; it was more of the statement — I wanted to create a chocolate-crafting Nigerian company.
Tell me about your relationship with food.
My early memories of food were with my mum. She was a midwife, a businesswoman and a caterer. She and my dad enjoyed cooking for the whole family. When she died, my relationship with food was elevated by my dad. He could cook anything! He would make local soups, especially soups indigenous to our people, Delta-Igbos. We enjoyed vegetables and would pile our plates high with them.
My dad would make sundaes, salads, Mediterranean food, English food. His pounded yam was always on point. He was open to experimenting and I took on that. I started a confectionery business.
What happened next?
I got a job. During this period, I was going to court every year. It was painful, but I did it. I wanted to keep myself sane for my children. I didn’t want them to meet a woman that was broken into pieces. I had to forgive myself.
I’m thankful that even with the ugliness of my situation, God has been faithful. I tried my best to make sure that I kept my head up and my feet on the ground. There were horrible days — times where I’d convulse in bed, thinking about my children. Were they cold, crying, calling my name? Was someone beating them? I had a crazy day where I drove to the house and demanded to see them.
I had to pull back. Doing that was not going to help. If I lost my mind, what they’d get is a mad mother. The police were saying if I showed up at the house again, they would arrest me.
Where was your family in this scenario?
My family members are not fighters. There were times where I blamed them, like why didn’t they go and fight and bring my kids? But we weren’t raised that way. Even my extended family — they preferred a diplomatic approach to everything. So they engaged in conversation expecting a truce, which didn’t happen in this situation. He wasn’t a willing party.
What’s happening with you now?
For me what is paramount is being happy, expanding my mind, building my brand, seeing the world — just living. I still work with the same company where I’ve moved from entry-level to directing sales and marketing. Doing my confectionary thing and working with the firm is fun. It’s a way to challenge myself — I can be whatever I want. I can always say, okay, this has happened, shit has hit the fan, moving on.
Tell me about seeing the world.
When I started working, it was nonstop. There were days I would work till 4 a.m., take my bath and continue — I would do this for days. I just buy Redbull and keep going. The business had just started and we were trying to push it.
During this period, I never went on leave. I always wanted to be around. Once, one of my colleagues wanted to go on leave and I was in my boss’s office to discuss it. His response was, “Hey, since you started working, you’ve never gone on leave.”
I said I didn’t really need and he went, no no no no no, you have to go on leave. I started complaining, and he said that made it worse. He opened my calendar and went, “From this date to this date, don’t come to the office.” I was like, two weeks?! No way.
He changed it to one month, and I started crying. That Monday, he sent me out of the office and told me to just go somewhere. Before then, I liked Benin Republic. On trips to Togo and Ghana, I would pass through. I fell in love with the place, so I went for a week.
And it was a blast. I made friends and had so much fun. Two days after I got back I thought, I have a whole month to myself, so I went again. That’s how travelling started for me. Now my boss can’t hold me down again and he regrets starting this. I called him two weeks ago that I was on my way out of the country again; he was stressed.
What’s next?
Expand my confectionery company, see more of the world, be more and live more.
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The subject of this week’s What She Said is Ijeoma Ogwuegbu, a Nigerian woman who was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, a condition that causes widespread pain all over the body. She talks about how difficult it was to get a diagnosis, coping with it while raising three children and how music helps her escape.
When did you first notice something was wrong?
I first noticed two years ago, in the first week of January, 2019. I was going through a lot emotionally — my marriage had just ended and I was attempting to move forward. That week, I felt a stabbing pain in my back and couldn’t move my right arm. It was really odd. This wasn’t something that had never happened to me.
That weekend, my sister and kids were in the living room, so I sent my sister a text to come to the room. Seeing my face, she knew something was wrong. She tried to move my arm, and it was hell. She called our other sister who lived nearby to come and drive me to the hospital. When we got there, the doctor looked through my records and said, “You complained about something like this about this time last year.” I didn’t even remember that. He gave me muscle relaxers and said to go home and rest.
What happened next?
The next Monday, I felt an electric shock going from the top of my head down. From then on, I was always in constant pain.
Oh wow. When did you eventually find out what was wrong?
Almost a year later. So, for about a year, I didn’t actually know the problem. I did different scans and tests, but they couldn’t identify the problem. My test results always came back fine.
To determine that it was in fact fibromyalgia, they had to do an elimination process where they ticked every other thing before coming to the conclusion. And up until this diagnosis, the pain kept getting worse. It got so bad that I couldn’t move my body.
Did they tell you what caused it?
Generally, there are two known causes of fibromyalgia: psychological trauma and physical trauma. I know I didn’t have physical trauma before this time. However, I had some psychological trauma from getting separated. So when I got the diagnosis, I knew it wasn’t completely out of the blue. The thing is, If you keep pushing emotional stress down and thinking it has gone, you’re wrong. It’s inside your body, and fibromyalgia will basically tell you: “Guy, you can’t keep stuffing these things here, your body will break.”
When you don’t deal with physical and psychological trauma at the time they happen, your body stores them up. Then the pain receptors in your body will break down and stop functioning properly. Your brain will begin to interpret every single thing as pain. You won’t be able sleep properly, you’ll be tired all the time. In fact, you’ll constantly be in pain.
Wow. I’m so sorry. Is there a part of your body that suffers more than the rest?
My limbs. I now walk with a walking stick, but I’m looking forward to getting an electric wheelchair.
I’m curious about the journey to getting diagnosed. What was your experience with doctors like?
I went from hospital to hospital between January and March but couldn’t get any help. Then I went to LUTH. In the first meeting I had in LUTH, I tried to explain the electric shocks I was experiencing anytime I put my foot down, but the doctor didn’t get it.
Eventually she said that what I was experiencing could be due to family issues I was having at the time and recommended that I needed to relax. She also prescribed antidepressants. I was a bit disturbed by this initially, but honestly, I needed them at that time. I had previously been diagnosed with depression and anxiety but had never done anything about it.
Using the antidepressants made me feel better. I didn’t feel as much pain on one hand. And on the other hand, I was seeing the world differently and was quite shocked. My brain is usually switched on and constantly evaluating my actions and everyone else’s. But with antidepressants, I realised that wasn’t the way the world was. It was a big ah-ha moment for me.
Did the antidepressants stop working to treat the pain?
Yes, it did. After about a month or two, the pain was back. However, because the use of the antidepressants gave me clarity, I was able to advocate better for myself. I knew that the antidepressants were not the solution to the pain. So I did more tests and eventually got diagnosed.
After being diagnosed, what kind of support did you receive from your family?
Even before I was diagnosed, they were there for me. I come from a really large, loud and boisterous family. I have five sisters and three brothers. My parents are alive. They were there for me all step of the way. My mother and sister moved in with me. My entire family treated the condition as a thing that happened to all of us. I never had to worry about my kids.
That’s good. How do you cope with the pain?
I’m not religious, but I’m a spiritual person. The way I experience spirituality involves a lot of physicality. I listen to music and can feel my body responding to it.
Because I’m constantly in excruciating pain and can’t move — fibromyalgia doesn’t want you to move, exercise or maintain a peaceful existence — I had to utilise music and sound in some way. Music generally opens up a folder of memories. So when I listen to music, I revisit the parts of my life that were positive and meaningful in some way and bring them to my present. I love Abba. When I listen to Abba, I remember all the joyful and blissful moments I spent with my siblings as kids. So these days, I listen to Abba with my children and all the pleasant memories come to my mind.
What about medication?
Very few medications work. You can’t use opioids for long because of dependency issues. So you have to figure out how to live your life with that amount of pain. That’s why music and movement are important to me. When I move, I immediately start to feel light — I’m not thinking about how I look or how someone else will perceive what I’m doing. My muscles will scream at me to stop, but if I keep going, then my body will loosen up and I’ll feel peaceful. I do this for about 15 minutes. And for the next hour or two, I feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted.
I’m not a fan of suffering, that’s why this is escaping through music and movement are important. There’s no place where they wrote my name next to “sufferhead.” I have fibromyalgia and that’s enough stress for 25 people and three lifetimes. No need to add anymore suffering on top.
Haha.
In fact, this is what I was thinking of when I created this thread. Two people, a man and a woman, came together and had children. One person has already used all her body and mind to have the babies. Yet, you who were involved in it, feel it’s okay to go on and live your life, leaving the children with her. People think that the mother and father are equal — 50: 50 — when raising children, but it’s not true.
The woman is already deficit because she’s spent nine months carrying the child. Her body is broken. The first three months after I had my child, I was just like, what the fuck is this shit? It is the absolute ghetto. Let’s not even talk about what happens to the woman’s body when she’s pregnant or what happens when you step out of the hospital with your child. You don’t love the child yet, because that child has crashed and burned your body to come out. It’s only normal if the first thing you think is “I don’t know what I feel about you right now.” You just know there’s something between you and your child.
There’s literally nothing to compare the pain of pregnancy to. Unfortunately, women don’t get the time to acknowledge and process what happened. You’re not even allowed to contemplate it in any serious way. You’re expected to bounce into motherhood. Then you start breastfeeding which is another torture.
But we’re supposed to experience all the stages of pregnancy and childbirth in pure and unbridled ecstasy. This idea of just moving on to the next thing forces us to drink so much trauma. We have normalised it so much that you’re the odd one if you question it.
With all of these in mind and the fact that you’re divorced and living with fibromyalgia, what’s it like raising your children?
I simply don’t have the time to do a lot of things. In a day, I might get just one hour to be active. All of this has forced me to be so conscious about even the smallest interactions and how it contributes to my wellbeing and my children’s well being. I hardly fly off the handle because I’ll probably say something that’ll hurt them even though I don’t intend to. At that moment, I’m not myself. So when I am annoyed with them, I ask them to leave, so I can process what happened, think of my reaction and then react.
We play music in the evening after their classes and sometimes, spend an entire day doing that, since mummy cannot jump up and down. Fibromyalgia forces me to consider my needs, their needs and how to make both work, rather than dwelling too much on could haves or would haves.
How has it affected working?
This is the hardest part. I’ve always been a writer. Because of how crippling the condition is, it is difficult to do any kind of sustained work. Fibro fog is an aspect of fibromyalgia that affects your memory. Short term memory isn’t saved as well as it should. You forget names, conversations, meetings and other details you should know. So I can’t write and even if I try, joint and muscle pain in my hands is another challenge.
A while ago, I started gardening because I was depressed. I also had a gardening group. I can’t garden or manage the group because of fibromyalgia.
On the other hand, fibromyalgia has forced me to focus and ask myself, if I can’t do what I used to do, what can I do? That’s how I became a painter. There’s a sense of freedom I get when I’m painting. I might never have discovered painting if this didn’t happen. Once I start doing something, I will become So immersed in it until I know everything about it.
— Vaginal Horoscope Agba feminist🏳️🌈🌈 (@IjeomaOgood) December 16, 2020
Currently, I’m script editor on Tinsel. They’ve given me a lot of concessions to be honest. We definitely need companies to start to think of their people beyond being a bottom line feeder.
What are the peculiar ways in which fibromyalgia affects women?
Women are more likely to have fibromyalgia than men. And I feel it’s because of all the ways in which we internalise trauma and are okay with it. That’s why so many women have fibromyalgia. It’s basically your body saying it’s enough — o ti to. In hindsight, I realise all the times when my body was trying to get my attention. We women end up treating our bodies in ways it’s not built to handle. Your body is not built to be constantly traumatised.
Then there’s the fact that the things we go through in Nigeria are not normal. We are so used to it that we have dehumanised ourselves. We don’t deal with the anger and the rage, but it’s still somewhere, either inside of us or we’ve transferred it to someone else to deal with.
Living with fibromyalgia has made me realise that I just want to have positive energy around me and transfer that positive energy to other people and by doing this, somehow improve the world. Even if it’s just for one person. I don’t have energy.
One important thing I learned from my mother is that valuing yourself. My mother was very clear that she deserved to be happy. She valued herself. Women need to know that we don’t need the trauma. We have value just by being here. Eyan nla ni e. We don’t need to break ourselves and our bodies to be anything.
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Dating as a woman in any part of the world can be a wild range of experiences. For the 29-year-old Nigerian woman in this story, the dating wasn’t the weird part. It was everything from the breakup — from stalking to threatening her with her nudes. In today’s What She Said, she tells us about that experience.
So how did you two meet?
It’s not a big, fancy story. We met while I was still in university. I was 17 years old and he was 24. I went for a party, we talked and became friends. It’s not like we had much in common; he was just very interesting to talk to and it felt like we had similar views. We started dating when I turned 18. He said he wanted me to be “legal” before we started dating.
Was he also in the university?
No. He finished his master’s the year before we met. He was working when we met. .
So what was the relationship like?
It was great, I guess. We didn’t have a lot of fights and we saw each other quite often. He would take me out, take my friends out, send me pocket money, etc. It was quite one-sided in the beginning. He used to spend a lot on me, and I couldn’t always reciprocate in that way. However, after I finished university, that changed.
How long did you date for?
I think six years. We broke up when I found out that he had another girlfriend — his best friend who knew me and was sort of friends with me. I found out a few days after they got engaged. He told me quite casually that he wanted to move on and something about me not being marriage material. Apparently, for about the length of time we were together, he was also dating her. He didn’t see it as a big deal. I don’t know why I didn’t notice because, in hindsight, they were pretty close. He often slept over at her place in the name of “it’s close to my office”, and she took him out a lot. I didn’t suspect because “best friends”. I have a best friend too, and I know how close we are.
Wow. That’s horrible. What did he mean you weren’t marriage material though?
You know, I’m not exactly sure. I think it was just an excuse to break up with me. One thing I’d add is that we never talked about marriage while we were dating, so him saying I wasn’t marriage material was a bit of shock. Also maybe because I didn’t use to cook for him whenever he came over to my house. I dunno sha.
How did you handle the breakup?
I was heartbroken and was hiding it from everyone at first, but it appeared that everyone knew they were dating. A mutual friend actually came to me and said, “Ahn, but we thought you knew. We thought you guys were in some sort of polyamorous relationship.” Even some of my friends knew but didn’t know how to tell me. That for me was more heartbreaking.
I’m sorry. So when did the stalking start or when did you notice?
It started a few months after we broke up. I think three months. I had just started dating someone new and was quite enthused about the relationship. This time, we had a lot more in common and were in the same age range.
The day I posted a picture of me and my new boyfriend online, I noticed that some random account on Twitter was favouriting all my photos. Not just the recently posted ones. The account went as far back as a year. I ignored it because I assumed it was all those random bots. Then I started getting DMs from another anonymous account who said that they had my nudes and would deal with me. I didn’t used to take/send any nudes back then. I was pretty much a prude, haha. I actually humoured him because in my head, I didn’t have any nudes. I kept calling his bluff. Then one day, he sent me a picture of the nude, and it was me! That was when I knew it was my ex.
Wait, what? How?
Pictures he must have taken while I was asleep or while we were together and I didn’t know. All I know is I didn’t consent to having any of those pictures taken. That was just how I knew he was the one. I hadn’t been with anyone else, so it had to be him. I tried reaching out to him, but he wouldn’t pick my calls or respond to my texts. One of my friends told me to block the account. I was skeptical at first, but it was causing a lot of grief and affecting my relationship and work. I blocked him. I was shocked every day I woke up and my nudes were not on the TL.
But wasn’t he married? Why was he doing this? Did he want anything from you?
He never said. For a bit I didn’t hear from him again. Then I started getting DMs from random Twitter accounts and random questions on ask.fm, which is what curious cat is now, saying that they wanted to fuck me or “after all I did for you, how dare you betray me”. He kept finding ways to infiltrate my Twitter. I had to close my Twitter account when it became too much. I made some of my other social accounts private and stopped posting my information online. But that didn’t stop him.
What happened next?
For a few months, nothing. Then he became quite brazen. I would see him in public places. There was a time I noticed him at a party I went to. I left the party with my partner without saying a word. At this point, I was afraid of what he’d do if we ever, somehow, were alone. For some time, I couldn’t be alone. I couldn’t live alone, I couldn’t go home alone. I was constantly afraid he was following me. However, I wanted to know why he was stalking me.
Did you ever find out why?
I have a theory that he wasn’t happy I moved on quickly after he broke up with me. He felt like he owned me. Some of the messages he sent me were framed that way.
Did you receive any support?
Support wetin? In the middle of all of this, the boyfriend I dated right after the stalker broke up with me — for separate reasons — so I was alone. I tried to talk to a police uncle and he laughed and said it’s a free world, anyone could go anywhere they wanted to go and could type anything they wanted online. At that point, I knew it was no use talking to anyone, especially mutual friends, about it. They’d say it was a coincidence.
That sucks. How did it end?
I don’t know I just know that I haven’t seen him or gotten any weird threats from him in a while.
How does that feel?
I won’t say relieved because I’m still always on the lookout, always watching my back. It’s incredibly stressful.
As this in any way affected your relationships?
I’m basically afraid to date, but even more afraid to break up because I’m scared that they’ll stalk me. Eventually though, I know this will pass and I will have the guts to face my ex and ask him why or maybe deal with him. I don’t know.
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