We asked six Nigerian business owners the lessons they wish someone had taught them before they started. Hereā€™s what they said:

ā€œHaving customers doesnā€™t mean youā€™re making a profitā€ ā€” Tobi*, 29, Fashion Entrepreneur

When I started my fashion business, I was so focused on getting customers that I didnā€™t pay attention to my numbers. If people were ordering, I felt like I was winning.

It took me a few months to realise that sales werenā€™t the same thing as profit. I was pricing my clothes based on what I thought people would pay, rather than calculating fabric costs, labour, delivery, packaging, and everything else.

There were times Iā€™d make ā‚¦300k in sales and still be broke because I had spent everything restocking without actually paying myself. I wish someone had told me from day one that a business isnā€™t successful because money is entering. You need to pay close attention to the margins.

ā€œYour friends and family are not automatically your customersā€ ā€” Amaka*, 27, Skincare Vendor

One mistake I made was assuming everyone around me would support my business once I launched. I thought my friends, cousins and colleagues would be my first customers because they knew me and I stocked up what I thought theyā€™d like.

But most of the time, the people closest to you are not your target audience. Some people will cheer you on and never buy anything. Some people will expect discounts because they know you personally.

I wish I had understood earlier that building a business means finding people who actually need what youā€™re selling, not just waiting for people who love you to support you.

ā€œPassion isnā€™t enough, you need systemsā€ ā€” Esther*, 30, Food Vendor

When I started my food business, I thought my obvious passion was what I needed for success. I loved cooking, people loved my food, and I assumed that was enough.

But running a business requires a lot more than passion. I had to learn how to cost my items, deal with suppliers, handle customer complaints, manage finances, staff, and delivery issues, and plan for contingencies. There were days when I was exhausted to the bone because things were so overwhelming.

I wish I had known earlier that I needed strong systems. A business that only works when youā€™re personally involved is not really a business. I still have a lot to learn, but the journey has been enlightening so far.

ā€œLearn how to say noā€ ā€” Fadedemi*, 32, Events Planner

One thing nobody prepared me for was how much people would try to negotiate or beg for discounts when you own a business.

At first, I accepted every job because I was afraid of losing customers. Iā€™d reduce my prices, add extra services and bend over backwards just to keep people happy.

Eventually, I realised some customers were costing me more money than they were bringing in. Saying no doesnā€™t mean youā€™re rude, it means you understand the value of your work. I urge more business owners to say no. Itā€™ll save you so much stress.

ā€œSeparate your business money from your personal money immediatelyā€ ā€” Blessing*, 30, Thrift Vendor

My biggest mistake when I started my thrift business was mixing my personal funds with my business money. I treated my business account like my personal account.

If I needed to buy something, Iā€™d take money from the business. If I wanted to go out, Iā€™d take money from the business. I didnā€™t realise I was slowly eating into my own growth.

It almost drove me crazy when I first tried to balance the books, so I reached out to my mum for help. She advised me to separate the money, and my accounting has been much smoother since then. I wish someone had told me from the beginning to pay myself a salary and leave business money alone. I would have escaped the initial panic when I first tried to account for their business.

ā€œHaving a good product doesnā€™t mean youā€™ll get fundingā€ ā€” Rotimi*, 32, Tech Founder

One of the biggest lessons I learnt after starting my business was how difficult funding can be, even when you have a product people are using. 

My co-founder and I built a software platform that helps small businesses manage their sales, and at one point, we had good traction and were growing, so I assumed raising funding would be straightforward. It wasnā€™t. Investors wanted to see stronger revenue and retention, and a clearer path to profitability.

We tried to keep the business running, but eventually had to get full-time jobs to survive. I still plan to scale the business. Itā€™s just on the back burner for now. Looking back, I wish I had understood earlier that you canā€™t build your business around the assumption that funding will come. I was so focused on fundraising that I wasnā€™t paying enough attention to making the business self-sustaining.

Every entrepreneur has a “I wish someone had told me this earlier” story. The good news is, you don’t have to learn every lesson the hard way. Through the Renmoney Business Mastery Series, entrepreneurs and SME owners can access free, practical sessions led by industry experts focused on building stronger, more sustainable businesses.

Want to see what you missed? Watch the .

The next online edition is happening on 29 August. and follow to stay updated on the session and future editions.

These women tell us how they got into sex work, what happened when they did and what they think about the experience now.

ā€œI decided that suffering was better than insultsā€ ā€” Yejide*, 30

After I graduated from university, I was desperate to move out of my fatherā€™s house and start a new life in Lagos. My biggest obstacle was rent. Iā€™d begged my parents, friends and other family members, but I couldnā€™t raise the money.

In 2022, while complaining to a friend about my frustrations, an older man in his late 40s overheard me. He called me aside, and we got talking. He offered to make me his sugar baby and pay me ā‚¦160k every time we had sex, and I agreed. 

By my calculations, 10 meet-ups would cover my rent and leave me with extra cash. I also found him a little attractive, so I didnā€™t mind if sleeping with him brought me closer to my goal. We agreed on a date, time, and location and exchanged contact details.

On the day we were supposed to meet, I joined him at a bar before we went to the hotel. He had a few friends with him and spent almost half an hour making fun of me for being poor. I felt humiliated and stayed quiet for the rest of the time we spent at the bar.  

At the hotel, I gave him a blowjob but pretended to be too tired for sex. He sent me ā‚¦160K, with an extra ā‚¦5K for transport fare, and we went to bed. 

I blocked his number as soon as I got home the next morning. I felt dirty and humiliated. Whatever money I could have made from him wasnā€™t worth being treated that way. 

I couldnā€™t move to Lagos until 2024. It took much longer than Iā€™d planned, but it was worth it. 

ā€œI didnā€™t have the stomach for itā€ ā€” Emmanuella*, 26

During my third year at university, I asked a friend who I knew was in the businessĀ  to ā€œshow me the way.ā€ She was reluctant at first, but I begged until she agreed to a test run. She always had money, and I thought that if I could get through the beginning, I could live a soft life too.

What I didnā€™t expect was how jarring the transition would be. The first and only time I followed her to a club to meet one of her regulars, the man started rubbing his hands all over my thighs. His hands were sweaty, and his breath smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. I felt nauseous and scared, and eventually, backed out. 

My friend was upset because she had to find a replacement at the last minute and give her extra. It took a while for her to forgive me. I would never have tried it if Iā€™d known I didnā€™t have the stomach for it.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

ā€œI thought I’d change my life, but I didnā€™t make any money.ā€ ā€” Tolu*, 24, 

I got into virtual sex work in 2023 after seeing people on X talk about how much money they were making. At the time, I was between jobs and thought that as long as I hid my face, I could make easy money.

The reality was very different. Finding clients wasn’t easy, and I quickly realised that the women showing off the lifestyle I wanted weren’t showing the full picture. Most men wanted to negotiate prices and expected things that weren’t part of the agreement.

I also underestimated the emotional toll. Even though everything happened online,  constantly presenting a version of myself that clients wanted became draining.

After about four months, I stopped. I wasn’t making enough money to justify the stress. 

ā€œI stopped because it never took offā€ ā€” Patience*, 22

I thought selling sexy pictures online could give me a low-key side income to cover my bills and fund my education. Unfortunately, it didnā€™t work out, and I still had to drop out.

Itā€™s not like I wasnā€™t making any money. The site I used required a paid registration before I could withdraw my earnings, and I couldnā€™t afford it. Without authentication, I couldnā€™t prove I was a real person, so I couldnā€™t earn.

Iā€™ve paused for now until I can verify my account. 

Iā€™m currently staying with my parents, so Iā€™m not suffering. But I hope to land a regular job soon, so that I can return to my studies.

ā€œI was intrigued by the lifestyleā€ ā€” Judith*, 27

I had a decent job, was comfortable financially and had no urgent reason to look for extra money. I was just curious about sex work.

Iā€™d been watching content about findom and dominatrixes, and the lifestyle caught my fancy. I wanted to know what it would feel like to live that way.

So I created a burner account and started posting fetish and dominatrix content without showing any face. The account quickly attracted attention. People flooded my DMs with requests for private calls and videos. They also offered to pay, but I ignored them.

After a few months, I realised Iā€™d started craving the attention. I liked feeling desired by men who could never access me, and I realised I was relying on that validation more than I expected.  It also forced me to confront some of my insecurities about my body. 

Eventually, I stopped making content and deleted the account.

If you enjoyed reading about these women’s experiences, then you’ll love Ā鶹ŹÓʵ Life’s A Happy Ending. Watch here:

Read Next: 6 Nigerians on Dating for Free Accommodation and Financial Benefits

Idowu* (28) and Tito* (28) met as children and became inseparable. For nearly two decades, they shared almost everything. Then Idowu discovered a secret that shattered the friendship she thought would last forever.

For Sunken Ships, Idowu shares how finding out that Tito was secretly involved with her ex-boyfriend broke her heart and changed the way she sees friendship and trust.

Can you describe your relationship with Tito?

Weā€™ve been best friends since we were 10. We met at her cousinā€™s birthday party in 2008. The following year, I saw her again on my first day of secondary school. We spotted each other on the assembly grounds, clicked immediately and became inseparable after that day.

As we grew older, our friendship only got stronger. She was the first person I called whenever anything happened, and vice versa. By the time we got to university, everyone knew us as a pair. If you saw me somewhere, Tito was probably close by. 

We were so close that even our mothers became good friends.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

Sweet. And what was going on in your life outside your friendship with Tito? 

In 2019, I started dating Tunde*. It was my first serious adult relationship.

At first, things were great. Tito actually encouraged me to give him a chance because I was deeply religious and reluctant to date.

We stayed together until 2021, when we discovered that our blood types were incompatible and had to end the relationship. I knew we had no choice, but that didnā€™t make the breakup any easier. I cried for weeks. 

Tito was my biggest support system during that period. Sheā€™d stay on the phone with me for hours while I cried and talked about Tunde. She encouraged me and reminded me that I could still find love.

That’s why what happened next hurt so much.

What happened?

About six months after the breakup, I started noticing some strange things. Whenever I mentioned Tunde, Tito would get awkward and quickly change the subject. I thought she was just tired of hearing about my ex, so I didnā€™t think much of it.

Then, during a hangout with a mutual friend, she casually mentioned that she had seen Tunde and Tito together around town. I was confused because Tito never mentioned seeing him. 

Ah. Did you talk to Tito about this?

As soon as I left the hangout, I called Tito and asked if she and Tunde had been spending time together. She laughed it off and said people were being messy. She claimed they’d bumped into each other once or twice and only exchanged pleasantries. 

I believed her. Why wouldnā€™t I? Tito was the last person I expected to lie to me, especially about something like this. So I let it go. 

Then, a few weeks later, I saw them myself.

Oh.

My cousin was visiting from the UK, so we went to a restaurant to catch up. We were halfway through our meal when Tito and Tunde walked in together.

Tunde had his hand around her waist and she was laughing with him. The sight ruined my appetite. I couldnā€™t stop staring until Tito looked up and saw me. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Did you confront them?

I walked straight to their table and demanded an explanation. At first, she insisted they were just friends, but I wasnā€™t buying it. Eventually, she admitted they’d been seeing each other for three months. 

Barely three months after Tunde and I  ended our relationship.

Wow. Sounds awful.

That’s not even the worst part. It was finding out the layers of lies. According to Tito, everything started after Tunde and I officially broke up. Sheā€™d called him a few months after we broke up to mediate a reunion. She tried to convince him that we could still have a relationship, give up the idea of biological children and adopt instead.

But one thing led to another, and they realised they were attracted to each other. Then they started exploring that attraction without my knowledge because they didnā€™t want to hurt my feelings.

I told Tito that the relationship itself wasn’t even my biggest issue; what truly hurt was the dishonesty. You can’t call someone your best friend and spend months lying to their face.

What about Tunde? Did he try to explain himself?

He sat there looking like heā€™d forgotten how to speak. He didnā€™t say anything throughout the conversation, and honestly, I didnā€™t care. 

We were over; he didnā€™t owe me anything. But Tito was different. I saw her as my sister, so I expected more from her.

Iā€™m sorry. Did you ever move past the betrayal?

I stopped talking to Tito. It was one of the hardest things Iā€™ve ever had to do. 

Losing her felt like going through another rough breakup. For weeks, she called and apologised. She sent long messages saying she missed me and didn’t want to lose our friendship.

But every time I read her messages, I remembered all the conversations we’d had while she was hiding the truth. I couldn’t get past it.

Do you think you’ll ever reconcile?

No. I’ve forgiven her because carrying that anger around was exhausting, but Iā€™ll never trust her again. After we stopped talking, I started wondering if sheā€™d been eyeing Tunde before we even split up. Iā€™ll never know for sure.

She threw away our sisterhood for a relationship she wasn’t even sure would last. The last I heard, they aren’t together anymore.

Has this changed how you navigate your other friendships?

Yes. I donā€™t believe in best friends anymore. I think the only people who can truly have your back are your family. I still have close friends, but I know deep down that if push came to shove, theyā€™d choose whatā€™s best for them. I’ll probably do the same.

Has this affected your romantic relationships, too?

Not really. Iā€™m currently in a loving relationship that’s almost two years old, and I feel cherished.

Has Tito tried to reach out to you since then?

She sends me a birthday message every year on WhatsApp, but I never reply. I have nothing to say to her anymore.

Names have been changed to protect the identities of the people involved.

Read Next: Sunken Ships: He Dumped Me Because I Forgave Him 

We asked high-earning Nigerians who grew up poor about the luxuries they still refuse to spend money on. Hereā€™s what they said.

“I can’t bring myself to buy designer clothes” ā€” Lydia*, 51, F

I grew up in a family of seven kids in a village in Ondo. The only siblings who regularly got brand new clothes were my eldest brother and sister. The rest of us got their hand-me-downs, and we didnā€™t die. 

Today, Iā€™m a tailor, and I make more money than I ever imagined I would. Along with my husbandā€™s income as an accountant, I can afford designer bags and clothes if I want to, but I just can’t justify spending that kind of money on clothes. Even for aso-ebi, I squeeze my face to pay if it costs more than ā‚¦50K. My daughters tease me and say Iā€™m a bush woman, but I donā€™t mind.

I enjoy fashion and appreciate quality, but I don’t think luxury labels are worth the price. I’d rather buy something of great quality that wonā€™t break the bank. After all, the logo wonā€™t bring me more customers, so it just feels like a waste.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

“I refuse to fly when a bus can take me” ā€” David*, 38, M

My family didnā€™t have much growing up. My father used to work as a welder but had to retire after an eye injury. My mumā€™s business is what kept us together. In my childhood, whenever I followed my mother to buy goods for her provision shop in Calabar, we would take a night bus to whatever state she was carting goods from. Iā€™m used to it, and I donā€™t mind taking public transportation.

Even now, although my printing business is doing very well, I still find it hard to spend excessively on travel. The most Iā€™ve done is pay for two seats if Iā€™m going on a long trip. I was 32 the first time I travelled by air, and I didnā€™t pay for it.  A client wanted me to attend his wedding in Abuja, and he paid for my flight and hotel.

My wife and two children travel often, and I donā€™t mind paying for their flights, but if it’s within the country, Iā€™d rather go by bus. Especially with the ridiculous price of flight tickets, it actually pains me when I pay for a ticket for myself. I’ve tried to convince my wife to join me, but she hates travelling by road. I think sheā€™s just being dramatic; the destination is the same.

“I don’t order food unless I’m sick” ā€” Esther*, 33, F

Growing up, I only ate Mr Biggs once on one of my birthdays. My mum cooked every meal because eating outside was considered wasteful. We had a strict meal timetable, and we only rotated between rice, beans, yams, swallows and eggs with stews or soups to accompany them. On special occasions, like birthdays or Christmas, we had meat or chicken. I always looked forward to Ileya celebrations because a big muslim chief would share deep-fried ram meat with all the families on our street.

I now work as a virtual assistant and earn a decent income. Most of my friends order food several times a week, but I can’t. The delivery fee alone ruins my appetite. Iā€™ll only order food if Iā€™m too ill to cook, and even then, it feels like Iā€™m wasting money.

Even after a long day, I’d rather cook noodles and eggs than spend ā‚¦5k at once ordering food. I know convenience has value, but I still hear my mother’s voice telling me, “There’s rice at home.”

“I donā€™t see the point of household staff” ā€” Bayo*, 48, M

I spent most of my childhood and teens living with my rich uncle in Ibadan. I was essentially the house boy, and I did all the chores while he paid for my education. It wasnā€™t easy, but I survived.

Now, I sell cars for a living, and I can afford domestic staff, but if I had my way, we wouldnā€™t have any. My wife forced me to get a cleaner, and I struggled with the idea because it felt so wasteful. 

I believe my three kids can do any chores we need done around the house. Itā€™ll teach them grit and discipline like I learned growing up. I finally agreed to getting a cleaner but insisted that she canā€™t live with us, so she comes in a few times a week. It just feels strange paying someone to do tasks I’ve done my entire life. It wonā€™t break the kidsā€™ hands to clean the house, but I want peace in my house.Ā 

I put my foot down when she said she wanted a cook, though. We cook together in bulk and freeze it. I donā€™t mind helping. Why should we keep giving money to people when we have hands?

“I wonā€™t buy human hair with my money” ā€” Halima*, 28, F

From when I was a baby until I finished secondary school, my sisters and I wore low-cut hairstyles because my parents often couldnā€™t afford braids. I remember often fantasising about having long weaves like Genevieve Nnaji or Rita Dominic.

After uni, I got a great job as a social media manager, and one of the first things I tried to buy was a human hair wig. The number of zeroes I saw almost made me faint. That was when I knew that even if I became richer than Dangote, I wouldn’t give any vendor ā‚¦350k or ā‚¦500k for a human hair wig. Even my ā‚¦80k synthetic wigs feel like a splurge. 

I enjoy looking good, but I don’t want my entire salary going into maintaining an image. I’d rather have money sitting in my account than wear something expensive that everyone will forget about once I leave.

Read Next: 6 Nigerians On Growing Up in Wealthy Families That Fell Off

Whether they were secretly wealthy, quietly struggling or somewhere in between, they went to surprising lengths to keep their real financial situation hidden from their friends. 

ā€œI lied to my friends that I had lost my jobā€ ā€” Adebayo*, 25, M

Iā€™d just landed a well-paying job on top of my freelance work, and instead of being happy for me, my friends would throw subtle jabs at me or make weird facial expressions whenever money came up. They made me feel bad for succeeding.

To keep the negative energy at bay, I told them that Iā€™d lost my job. One time, I received a huge freelance payment, and smiled when the credit notification came in. When they asked why I was smiling, I lied and said Iā€™d seen something funny online. They suspected I was lying and hiding something, but I never gave them proof. Thankfully, weā€™re no longer close. If I could go back, Iā€™d never be friends with people who didnā€™t want me to grow in the first place.

ā€œI didn’t want to become everyone’s ATMā€ ā€” Daniel*, 28, M

I grew up very comfortably. My dad owns several businesses, and we’ve never really worried about money. The problem is that whenever people find out Iā€™m from a comfortable family, they start treating me differently. 

Secondary school was the worst. Once my friends found out my family had money, they expected me to cover bills, lend them money, and solve their financial problems. So when I got to university, I deliberately downplayed my background. If friends asked where I lived, I’d give vague answers. I even used public transport when I could’ve driven because I didn’t want attention. 

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

The truth came out after I invited a few friends to my dadā€™s 50th birthday. They saw the big house, the dignitaries and everything else. Some of them laughed, but others seemed genuinely annoyed that I’d hidden it. One former friend accused me of pretending to be something I wasn’t.

Looking back, I’d probably do it again. Once people know you have money, some friendships stop feeling equal. You start wondering whether people like you or what they can gain from you.

ā€œI was borrowing clothes to pretend I looked fineā€ ā€” Amaka*, 26, F

During NYSC in 2023, I struggled financially. From the outside, though, nobody would’ve known. My friends worked in tech and seemed to be doing well, so I felt ashamed of how little I earned.

I became an expert at keeping up appearances. I’d borrow outfits and money from my cousins, then carefully choose where and when I showed up. If my friends planned an expensive outing, I’d invent excuses instead of admitting I couldn’t afford it.

The worst moment was when I spent almost my entire month’s salary contributing to a friend’s birthday gift because I didn’t want anyone to know I was struggling. I had to take a loan to make it through the rest of that month.

Nobody found out, though. I eventually got a better-paying job and kept the same social circle. Sometimes, you just have to fake it till you make it.

ā€œI pretended to be poorer than I was because I donā€™t trust anybodyā€ ā€” Nnadozie*, 36, M

When my business started doing well in 2022, I didn’t tell anyone. Most of my close friends knew me from the years when I was struggling, and I preferred it that way.

I kept living exactly as I always had. I maintained the same apartment and the same habits, even though my income had increased significantly.

The reason was simple: I didn’t trust people. Iā€™ve seen successful businessmen targeted because of their success. One time, a friend spent nearly an hour advising me on how to make more money because he thought I was still struggling. I just nodded and thanked him. I donā€™t want any undue attention.

Only my brothers know how much I make now. I don’t regret keeping quiet about it. Money changes the people around you faster than almost anything else, and I donā€™t want to attract any vipers.

ā€œI didnā€™t want anyoneā€™s pity, so I liedā€ ā€” Esther*, 31, F

In 2015, my dad lost his job, and my family was drowning in debt. The only reason I could even afford to go to university was that a kind uncle stepped in and refused to let me lose my admission. There were days we genuinely didn’t know how we’d afford basic things like food.

I couldn’t bear the thought of people pitying me, so I lied. I acted like everything was normal. If I couldn’t afford something, I’d claim I wasn’t interested. If I missed an event, I’d say I was busy.

The hardest part was listening to conversations about money while secretly calculating how to stretch the little money I had until the end of the week. 

The truth came out in my third year when one of my friends discovered I was juggling multiple side gigs while studying. She confronted me, and I broke down crying.

My friends were angry that I’d struggled alone for so long. Instead of pitying me, they supported me, and my final year was much easier than I ever imagined. Hiding my situation protected my pride, but I almost ran mad trying to keep my secret and maintain the illusion of being comfortable.

ā€œI lied about being wealthy to gain connectionsā€ ā€” Labake*, 55, F

In 2001, my family and I moved to Ibadan from the North. I noticed many political families lived in our neighbourhood, and I wanted to join their circle because people close to them usually got lucrative contracts.

I started attending their parties and frequenting their recreation spots. It was very expensive. Between aso ebi, jewellery, and attending events, I spent hundreds of thousands of naira trying to fit in. The worst part was that they never fully accepted me.

Eventually, my husband refused to keep funding the lifestyle I needed to maintain the image, so I stopped trying.

The only reason I regret it is that it didnā€™t pay off. One of my friends who was on the fringes like me managed to get into the inner circle, and sheā€™s been doing well ever since. I envy her sometimes, but Iā€™ve accepted that I canā€™t force these things.

Read Next: 6 Nigerians on the Most Financially Reckless Things Theyā€™ve Done for Love

Ada* (28) believed she’d found a relationship worth fighting for when she met Obaloluwa* (29) in 2022. For nearly two years, things seemed to be heading in the right direction. But a betrayal, followed by an unexpected breakup, left her questioning everything she knew about love and self-worth.

For Sunken Ships, she talks about navigating her exā€™s infidelity, the aftermath and how sheā€™s rebuilding her self-trust.

How did you meet Obaloluwa?

We met at a cafe in October 2022. I had gone there to work because the light in my area was bad. The place was full, so when he came in, we had to share a table, and we started talking.

I wasn’t actively looking for a relationship, but we clicked almost immediately. He was funny and charming, so when he asked for my number, I was happy to give him. After that, we started chatting regularly. A few months later, we officially started dating.

What were the early days of the relationship like?

Honestly, they were great. He became a big part of my life very quickly and made me feel seen. We talked every day and even started making plans for the future we wanted.

So when did things start to change?

Around the year-and-a-half mark. It wasnā€™t a dramatic shift at first. I noticed he became less present when we were together. When we were apart, he took longer to reply to messages, and he stopped sharing details of his day. Whenever I brought it up, he had an explanation or an excuse. I didnā€™t think about it too deeply because I thought we were just past the honeymoon phase. Then, during one of my visits to his place, I went through his phone while he was sleeping and found out heā€™d been seeing another woman.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

Whoa. How did that make you feel?

I felt so hurt and betrayed. I had opened up my heart to him, and he didnā€™t cherish me enough to be faithful. I remember sitting and staring into space for hours. I couldn’t even cry immediately because I was so shocked.

Did you confront him?

Yes, I did as soon as he woke up, and he admitted it. He spent the whole day apologising to me. He said he loved me and didn’t want to lose me. He also swore it was a mistake and promised never to do it again if I gave him another chance. 

So what did you decide?

I forgave him. Not because what he did wasn’t terrible, but I genuinely believed he was willing to change.  I think people can learn from their mistakes, so I was willing to give him another chance.

I really wanted us to put it all behind us and survive it. We spent weeks talking about rebuilding trust, and I saw him put in the effort heā€™d promised into reassuring me. 

Did things improve after that?

At first, yes. He became very attentive and doting. He went back to sharing his days and interests with me like he did when we first met.

After a month had passed, I felt like he was pulling away again, and I was afraid heā€™d gone back on his word.

Did you tell him about how you were feeling?

Yes. I told him he was being distant and told him to open up to me. His response blindsided me.

He said he didnā€™t think he could continue our relationship because I took him back so soon and acted as if nothing had happened, which made him worried about my self-esteem.

Ah!

I was so confused and angry. I was trying my best to move forward, and that was why he wanted to leave? I couldnā€™t believe it. 

I still fought for us. I tried to make him understand that I wanted to prioritise strengthening our relationship rather than wallowing in the past, but his mind was already made up. According to him, my forgiveness came too easily for him to believe Iā€™d ever take a stand on any bigger issues we faced as a couple.

Why do you think he made that decision?

I think leaving was easier than doing the work required to heal our relationship. I also think he didnā€™t believe that I had truly forgiven him.

What has healing looked like for you after the relationship?

Itā€™s been a long road since then. I had to come to terms with the fact that I may have had low self-esteem to take back a cheater, only for him to leave me. Iā€™ve been saying positive affirmations to my reflection in mirrors to help increase my trust and confidence in myself. I also decided to pick up a gym habit. Following through with the things I promise myself, like working out three times a week, has helped increase my faith in myself and self-discipline.

Do you think you are open to dating again?

I am. The experience definitely did a number on me, but it didn’t destroy my belief in love. Iā€™m much stricter now, though. Iā€™ll never let a man play with my heart like that again.

Read Next: Sunken Ships: My FiancƩe Left Me Twice. Now She Wants a Third Chance.

For some Nigerians, growing up wealthy only made the fall harder. Beyond losing privileges, they were left with something far more difficult to shake: a bad relationship with money. 

We spoke to six Nigerians about what happened when their families lost their wealth, and about the habits, anxieties, and emotional scars they’re still carrying today.

ā€œIf I donā€™t stock up, Iā€™m scared Iā€™ll starveā€ ā€” Sarah*, 28, F

When I was growing up, my dad worked as a building contractor in Abuja. We lived in a massive duplex, had several cars and household staff. I never saw my parents discuss money because there was always an abundance.

Then all of a sudden, in my early teens, the contracts dried up, and my family began to struggle. By the time I was 15, weā€™d moved from our duplex in Asokoro to a tiny bungalow in Kubwa. For the first time in my life, I shared a room with my brothers, and it was a very harsh shift. 

The worst part was having to manage food. We went from having an overflowing fridge to almost nothing. There were days we ate only once. It deeply affected my relationship with food.

I earn decent money now, but I still stockpile food in ridiculous quantities like Iā€™m preparing for a drought. My mum thinks it’s funny that I buy so much food; she doesn’t know that a part of me is terrified of waking up one day and finding that everything is gone again.

ā€œPeople are only with you when times are goodā€ ā€” Saheed*, 32, M

My father was a very wealthy importer of goods when he was alive. We travelled every holiday, attended expensive private schools and constantly received visitors at home.

But when my father died right after I finished secondary school, everything changed. I saw our relatives fight over my dadā€™s property like dogs, and all our family friends abandoned us. Itā€™s been rough for us since then. I had to give up my dream of studying abroad and went to a federal university instead. 

It hasnā€™t been easy. The economy is even harsher now, and sometimes I wonder to myself if I would still be suffering like this if my dad were still alive. Aside from my immediate family, I donā€™t think anyone really has my back. Most people are only with you when things are going well for you.

ā€œI save money like the economy is about to collapse tomorrowā€ ā€” Tolu*, 36, M

My dad owned a successful business in Lagos throughout the late 1990s and early 2000s. We weren’t billionaires, but there was always more than enough money. Iā€™m not sure why, but during the mid 2000ā€™s the business slowly died.

The transition happened over a few years, but it felt sudden to me as a child. One day, we were going abroad on family vacations, and the next, my parents were keeping my siblings and me at home because we couldnā€™t pay school fees.

Watching my parents lose control of their finances left a mark on me. Today, I save almost obsessively. I have emergency funds for my emergency fund. My friends think I’m paranoid because I always talk about preparing for the worst. And maybe I am. But once you’ve gone from having a full plate to suddenly starving, it’s hard to believe stability is permanent.

“I feel guilty when I spend money” ā€” Chidera*, 27, F

I grew up with a single mum who owned a big supermarket in Ibadan. We lived comfortably until my mother suddenly fell ill. Between the high treatment costs and bouts of hospitalisation, the business collapsed within a year and our lifestyle changed dramatically. We had to say goodbye to the cars and house staff. That was also the first year we went without buying anything at Christmas. It was the first time in my life I started being aware of money and the fact that we didnā€™t have it.

My mum started over when she got better, but things werenā€™t the same as they were before.  She became very strict with how we spent money after that. I had to account for every extra kobo I spent, and if she felt that my reason wasnā€™t good enough, she chastised me for it. 

Today, I can afford nice things, but every purchase that isnā€™t absolutely necessary feels like a crime. Even small things like ordering myself a meal instead of cooking will make me feel guilty and anxious for days.

“I resent my dad for quitting his job” ā€” Clara*, 32, F

My family wasn’t billionaire-rich, but we were very comfortable. My dad was a top executive at a multinational beverage company and made more than enough to take care of not only our immediate family but also our extended family.

Things were going great until my dad suddenly decided to quit his job in 2007 and start a business. It failed, but he didnā€™t stop. He squandered all his money on business ideas that failed one after another. Soon, my parents were borrowing money to make ends meet, and we had to sell off our house to offset some of my dadā€™s debts.

We could barely do any of the things we used to do, including paying school fees, travelling, or buying nice things.  Itā€™s ruined my relationship with my father because I just canā€™t understand why heā€™d make the decision to quit his job.

I had to learn how to take public transportation to school after we sold off all the cars. Once, I had an accident on a bike that left a large scar on my leg, and every time I see it, I resent my dad all over again. I hope I can forgive him and let it go at some point.

“Iā€™m a workaholic because I refuse to end up like my dad” ā€” Matthew*, 39, M

My father used to work with his older brother, and we lived very comfortably as a result. I was too young to know all the details, but the arrangement ended after he got caught diverting funds. 

He struck out on his own and tried to start a business, but my father is incredibly lazy. While we became less and less comfortable, I noticed my dad wasnā€™t passionate about working hard to change our circumstances. Instead, he would put pressure on my mum or force her to borrow money from people for him. Heā€™s a well-known drunk in our street now. I felt helpless watching that, and the minute I could, I started working so I could chip in and take some weight off my mumā€™s shoulders.

I started out at sixteen as a worker at a photocopy shop, but now Iā€™m a graphic designer and freelance video editor. Iā€™m making good money, but I never rest. Iā€™m always working.  My friends joke that I’m incapable of resting, but rest feels dangerous to me. Somewhere in my mind, there’s a voice saying, “If you stop moving, you’ll lose everything and end up like him.”

Read Next: ā€œI Spent ā‚¦4.2m on My Brotherā€™s Weddingā€ ā€” 7 Nigerians Share Their Biggest Wedding Expenses

But during a confession night, she learned a humiliating truth: the boy she’d developed feelings for wasnā€™t who she thought he was. In this story, she shares how a harmless crush became a hostel-wide prank, the betrayal that hurt more than the catfishing itself, and why she still struggles to trust people she meets online. 

This is Tobilobaā€™s story, as told to Betty.

I went to an all-girls Catholic secondary school, and like every other teenage girl, I had a crush on a friend named Joseph*. One day, in SS3,  during one of those random girl-to-girl conversations, I told my close friend, Priscilla*, all about him. I mentioned how I’d met him before, and that I liked him. She told me about her own crush, and that was the end of the conversation. Or so I thought.

A few weeks later, I got the shock of my life.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

Back then, phones weren’t allowed in school, but everybody had their ways around the rules. I had a tiny phone hidden away that I used to call my friends outside school from time to time. One night in January 2019, my phone rang. When I picked up, the deep voice on the other end sounded like Joseph. I thought he got my number from a mutual friend, so I didnā€™t bother asking any questions. We started talking, and I was so excited that I had goosebumps. 

I couldnā€™t believe my crush not only reciprocated my feelings but also called me. I excitedly went to tell Priscilla and my other close friends about it. They were excited for me and even teased me about my crush. 

Over the next six months, Joseph and I talked on the phone almost every evening. We talked about everything. It was the first time I had ever experienced any kind of romance, so I was incredibly vulnerable with him. I told him things and revealed parts of myself I hadnā€™t even shown my friends. To me, he was my boyfriend, and we shared something special. I would shyly tell my friends about him, and they would tease me and support me.

After we finished our final exams, we had a ā€œconfession nightā€, a free day where people would confess any offences theyā€™d gotten away with over the course of the school year and ask for forgiveness. I always looked forward to it because it was so dramatic and funny.

To my surprise, my own friend group came to me asking for forgiveness. I had no idea why, and when I asked, their response blew me away. The Joseph that Iā€™d spent months talking to and pouring my heart out to wasnā€™t real.

According to them, at the start of the year, the group had gotten together and talked about playing a prank on someone. Priscilla suggested that they prank me. They decided to use the information Iā€˜d confided in her about my crush on Joseph against me, and thatā€™s how the calls began. We stayed in different hostels, and so each night after I went back to mine, they would go to the box room in their hostel and call me as ā€œJosephā€. They faked his voice, put me on loudspeaker and let me be vulnerable.

The worst part was that everyone else knew, and no one told me. I was the butt of everyone’s joke. 

I remember laughing when they told me all this. Not because it was funny, but I genuinely couldn’t process what I was hearing. I kept thinking and hoping they were joking. I didn’t scream or get angry. I just went back to my room. It took a while to sink in. I kept replaying everything in my head.

Every phone call, every time I rushed over to tell my friends what “Joseph” had said.

The embarrassment hit me like a truck. I felt like everyone had been laughing at me behind my back. What made it worse was that most of them never apologised properly; they thought it was funny.

Only a few of them involved in the prank confessed that night and moved on. Some of them reached out years later to apologise again. One said she’d only recently realised how horrible the whole thing was and was sorry. But at the time it happened? Almost nobody seemed to understand how deeply humiliating it was.

For a long time, I thought I’d moved on from it. Then, about a year later, during the pandemic, it suddenly hit me all over again. I couldnā€™t believe people I called my closest friends would do that to me. That’s when I realised I’d never properly processed it.

The experience affected me more than I initially realised. I’m extremely suspicious of anything I see online. Pictures, voice and video calls arenā€™t enough to convince me. I need to know someone who can confirm the truth for me in real life. I donā€™t trust a single person I meet online until I can verify their identity. And to think this was before AI.

Even now, I rarely make friends online. When I do, I constantly ask for confirmation before I believe them. 

People laugh when I tell them this story because it sounds ridiculous, and sometimes, I laugh too. But underneath the humour is a genuine sense of betrayal.

The people who suggested me as a target for this were my friends, and they were the same people laughing behind my back. Itā€™s hard to come out of that unscathed.

I’ve forgiven most of them because I believe carrying that anger forever would only hurt me, but I put a lot of distance between myself and those people.

Still, whenever I think about it, one question always comes to mind:

If I had done the same thing to them, would they still have been my friends?

I don’t think so.

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When Sharon*(29) said yes to Biodun’s (38) proposal, he thought the hardest part was over. Instead, it marked the beginning of a relationship filled with surprise breakups and painful reunions. 

After being pulled closer and pushed away by the woman he considers his forever person, Biodun is left asking himself one question: How many chances are too many when you’re in love? 

How did you meet?

Sharon and I met at a friendā€™s wedding in 2024. She was one of the bridesmaids, and I was immediately drawn to her beauty. I introduced myself during the after-party, and our chemistry was undeniable. We started talking afterwards, and I told her from the jump that I was looking for a serious relationship.

What were the early days of your relationship like?

They were amazing. I felt like she understood me better than any of my previous partners. She was a great listener, and I loved spending time with her. One of the things that made me fall so hard was that sheā€™d made playlists for us to listen to together when she visited. It made me feel like Iā€™d found my forever person.

Sounds sweet. When did things take a turn?

Everything started when I asked her to marry me in December 2025. I surprised her over dinner, and she said yes without hesitation. I felt on top of the world.

We posted our engagement photos online, I told my family, and I started making plans to formally meet hers and declare my intentions.

At first, they welcomed me with open arms, but it was all a lie. They assumed, because of my last name, that I was related to a wealthy politician. Once they realised I wasnā€™t, they rejected me and said I wasnā€™t good enough for their daughter.

Oh. How did Sharon react?

At first, she stood by me and told her family she wasn’t going to leave me because of their objections. But they threatened to disown her. 

She came back and asked for two weeks to calm everyone down. I gladly obliged, and we took a step back from our relationship.

Those were the longest two weeks of my life. I was anxious the entire time, hoping sheā€™d come back with a positive response. 

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

Did she?

No. Her family still refused to support our union, and she wasnā€™t ready to lose them. Then she called off the engagement and ended our relationship. I was devastated.

About a week later, while I was still trying to process everything, she called me crying. She said she couldnā€™t live without me and wanted us to get married regardless of what her family thought. I was overjoyed. I immediately told my mother the wedding was back on and invited  Sharon to Ibadan to meet my family properly. Thatā€™s when another problem started.

What happened?

She kept avoiding the visit. Every time we agreed on a date, something happened. Sometimes work came up. Other times, she suddenly had a fever. There was always an excuse.

I couldnā€™t understand what was going on. This was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, but I suddenly felt like I couldnā€™t rely on her word. I loved her and wanted to believe her, but the constant postponements made me question how committed she really was.

Did you tell her how you felt?

I tried to, but she shut the conversation down. Then, for the second time, she ended the relationship. This time, I was angry.

Why raise my hopes again only to crush them? I had to tell my family the wedding was offā€¦ again.

They thought I was unserious. Iā€™d already been getting pressure for marrying late, so cancelling the engagement twice made me look bad. I hated that.

What happened next?

We didnā€™t speak again until April.

 She sent me a long message begging for another chance. I was conflicted. I missed her badly, but I couldnā€™t bear the thought of embarrassing myself in front of my family if things fell apart again. 

Eventually, I agreed to give the relationship another shot, but this time I kept it to myself. Things picked up from where we left off. She was still sweet, and I felt like I was falling for her all over again. 

I eventually decided to take the risk and tell my family we were back together. Then, in June, she asked for space again.

Again? 

I didnā€™t even ask for her reason. Iā€™d reached my limit. I sent her a nasty voice note calling her a manipulator, and blocked her on WhatsApp. I didnā€™t want anything to do with her again.

But did you truly move on?

I wanted to. I focused on my healing for the next couple of weeks, until she sent me a Happy New Month message on Instagram. She apologised again, begged me for another chance and even sent me a written undertaking sheā€™d signed, promising she genuinely wanted to build a life with me.

Iā€™ve read the message, but I havenā€™t replied. One part of me believes sheā€™s the person who understands me better than anyone else. When weā€™re together, everything feels easy.

The other part remembers how many times sheā€™s made me look foolish and wonders if Iā€™d be setting myself up for another heartbreak.

So where do things stand right now?

I honestly donā€™t know what to do.

I still want marriage more than anything. I just donā€™t know if itā€™ll ever happen with Sharon. Sheā€™s already walked away twice and obviously doesnā€™t want this as much as I do.

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From couples navigating interethnic marriages to those learning to bridge religious and cultural divides, these stories paint an honest picture of the compromises and commitment it takes to make love work.

ā€œIntertribal marriage had more challenges than Iā€™d thoughtā€ ā€” Amaka*, 34, F

I married a Yoruba man and our tribal differences werenā€™t much of an issue while we were dating. But after we got married, I spent the first few years of my marriage explaining myself, especially to his family. Our different upbringings led to a few clashes, and I also had a difficult relationship with my in-laws. Thankfully, my husband always stood up for me.

The hardest part has actually been our extended families. Nearly eight years later, relatives still tell me to behave ā€œlike a proper wifeā€ according to their traditions. Itā€™s irritating, but these days, I choose my battles.

ā€œHe wants our child to follow only his faithā€ ā€” Aisha*, 39, F

As a Muslim woman married to a Christian man, I thought the difficult conversations would end after our wedding. Instead, it feels like we revisit the same arguments every year.

Before we had our child, my husband promised our kids would grow up learning about both religions. Now heā€™s changed his mind. He says he isnā€™t comfortable with the idea of our child becoming Muslim.

Those words hurt because I love my faith and Iā€™m proud of the person it has shaped me into. In the end, weā€™re doing things his way. My son goes to church with his dad every week. I still try to read the Quran to him, but he doesnā€™t seem interested. 

ā€œI had to teach my husband to relax about moneyā€ ā€” Tope*, 50, F

I grew up in a wealthy family, while my husband didnā€™t. We thought love would bridge that gap, but our different backgrounds created tension.

I was raised to spend money on the best and most convenient option. He grew up believing every naira should be stretched because his family genuinely struggled at times.

During the first few years of our marriage, we argued constantly about money. Not because we didnā€™t have it, but because we viewed it so differently. I had to teach my husband that he was allowed to enjoy life, especially with the money heā€™d worked so hard for. Heā€™s still careful with money, but we definitely argue about it far less now.

ā€œI learned itā€™s impossible to satisfy everyoneā€ ā€” Chinedu*, 36, M

I married a Yoruba babe, and the biggest surprise was how political naming our child became.

What should have been a joyful moment almost turned into a war over whose culture would be represented. The pressure from both families became so overwhelming that my wife and I quickly decided to name our child ourselves and deal with the consequences.

My mother still hasnā€™t forgiven me, but honestly, Iā€™m okay with that. They were stressing us out. That lesson has repeated itself throughout our marriage. Sometimes, protecting your peace means disappointing the people you love.

ā€œI didnā€™t know how lonely being the outsider would make meā€ ā€” Hadiza*, 46, F

When I married into a family from a completely different ethnic group, I underestimated how lonely it could feel.

There were family gatherings where everyone switched to a language I couldnā€™t understand. Nobody was trying to exclude me, but I often felt like an outsider looking in. It took years before I truly felt like part of the family.

Looking back, I wish people talked more honestly about the adjustment period that comes with intertribal marriages. Love helps, but finding your place in a new family takes time.

ā€œMy wife pressured me for years to convert to her religionā€ ā€” Pelumi*, 58, M

People like to encourage interfaith marriages, but I think they can be very stressful.

My second wife is a Christian, and sheā€™s the one Iā€™ve had the most trouble with. She converted a few years into our marriage, which I didnā€™t mind as long as she fulfilled her responsibilities as a wife and mother. But for a long time, almost every argument came back to my refusal to convert. It made me regret taking a second wife.

Things eventually settled after I got her a separate apartment. We still argue sometimes, though. A few years ago, she said she and our children wouldnā€™t eat Sallah ram anymore because of something her church preached about. Thatā€™s why I always advise people from different faiths to leave each other alone.

ā€œIt was difficult to change how I saw moneyā€ ā€” Kemi*, 41, F

Women are always encouraged to ā€œmarry upā€, but no one talks about how hard it is to shake certain beliefs about money when you come from a different social class.

My husband grew up in a wealthy family where money was always available. I grew up comfortable, but without many luxuries.

Even after we got married and became financially secure, I couldnā€™t shake the fear that everything could disappear overnight. He thought I worried too much. I thought he was too carefree.

It took years before I realised we werenā€™t arguing about money. We were arguing about the realities that shaped us long before we met. Understanding that changed everything. Now, when those fears creep in, I tell him, and he reassures me that weā€™ll be okay.

ā€œI had to distance myself from my family for my wifeā€™s peaceā€ ā€” Nnamdi*, 41, M

The hardest part of marrying outside my tribe was how my family treated my wife.

Her Itsekiri family welcomed me with open arms, but my own relatives made me feel ashamed. They did everything they could to exclude her whenever we attended major family gatherings.

Some of them still refer to her as ā€œthat girlā€, even after more than a decade of marriage. I stopped tolerating it early on and distanced myself from them. Weā€™re now one of those families that rarely attends extended family events. If they canā€™t accept my wife, they donā€™t get access to us.

What annoys me most is that they adore our children, who are half Itsekiri because of their mother, but still refuse to fully accept her. Itā€™s sad, but I think keeping our distance has been the healthiest decision for my family.

ā€œMy in-lawsā€™ wealth makes me feel inferiorā€ ā€” Fatima*, 29, F

I married a man from a much wealthier family, and nobody told me how insecure marrying up could make me feel.

In his family, people casually gift each other expensive things like itā€™s nothing. During our first Christmas together, one of his uncles gave us a present worth more than my annual salary at the time. I felt so embarrassed because all we gave him was a bottle of wine and some diffusers.

My husband doesnā€™t understand why Iā€™m so reserved around his family but outspoken everywhere else. It took me a while to realise that I felt insecure because of their wealth. Theyā€™ve been nothing but kind to me, but I still sometimes feel like I donā€™t belong.

ā€œFor years, I thought I had to prove myself to my wifeā€ ā€” Dayo*, 63, M

My wife comes from one of the wealthiest families in my village, and I was deeply insecure about it, especially in the early years of our marriage.

Her family was one of the few in town that travelled abroad regularly and sent their children to top schools. They just seemed to move through the world differently. Meanwhile, I paid my way through medical school by doing menial jobs.

After we got married, I constantly felt like I had something to prove. The funny thing is, my wife never made me feel inadequate. She always reassured me, and her father remained generous to her, so we never lacked at home. Most of that pressure came from me. It took years before I stopped comparing myself to her family and started appreciating what I brought to our marriage.

ā€œI donā€™t like the way his family jokes aroundā€ ā€” Chioma*, 32, F

Marrying outside my tribe has come with its own challenges. I love my husband, but his family jokes around more than Iā€™m comfortable with.

Every time my mother-in-law sees me, she calls me ā€œOmo Igbo mi.ā€ I donā€™t think she means any harm, but every time I hear it, Iā€™m reminded that Iā€™m not truly one of them.

These days, I remind myself that what matters most is that my husband respects and values me. Thatā€™s what keeps me grounded.

ā€œAfter getting married, my friends pulled away from meā€ ā€” Hauwa*, 35, F

Nobody told me Iā€™d lose friends after marrying outside my religion.

I expected my family to oppose my relationship with my husband, but I never imagined my friends would slowly distance themselves too.

When I eventually asked some of them why, they said they assumed Iā€™d converted to Christianity, even though I hadnā€™t. I didnā€™t expect that kind of thinking from people my age who claimed to be open-minded. 

ā€œMy in-laws called me disrespectfulā€ ā€” Osas*, 31, F

My husband is Yoruba, and Iā€™m Edo. I donā€™t know if itā€™s a cultural thing, but Iā€™ve found that Yoruba people are more likely to use euphemisms than speak directly when correcting or disagreeing with an older person.

Iā€™m naturally a very direct person, and that difference caused a lot of tension when I first got married. My in-laws thought I was disrespectful and stubborn. They were right about the stubborn part, but I never intended to be disrespectful. I simply disagreed and said what I thought.

My husband eventually pulled me aside and explained that wasnā€™t how things were done in his family. I had to learn to hold my tongue and let some things go to keep the peace with my in-laws.

ā€œI converted for my husband, and my family hates itā€ ā€” Maria*, 40, F

I converted to Islam so I could marry my husband. He personally had no problem with me remaining Christian, but his family, especially my mother-in-law, strongly opposed it. They insisted the marriage wouldnā€™t work unless I converted.

I agreed, but the decision damaged several relationships in my own family. Some relatives distanced themselves from me after my conversion, and a few relationships never recovered. For years, I carried a lot of guilt about that.

Eventually, I accepted that adults sometimes make choices other people donā€™t like or understand. My marriage has been worth it, but I wish people were more honest about the sacrifices that can come with choosing love outside familiar boundaries.

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