What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame, about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way. 

The subject of today’s #WhatSheSaid is Remi*, a 52-year-old businesswoman based in Lagos. She talks about 25 years of marriage, the emotional and financial abuse she quietly endured, the mother who told her she would be disowned if she left, and why she laughed when her ex-husband finally asked for a divorce.

Can you tell me a bit about yourself?

I’m Remi. I’m 52, and I live in Lagos. I deal in textiles, which is actually something of a family tradition; my mother was in the industry before me. It is the business I have built my independence around, and I am proud of it. Beyond work, I am a mother of three and someone who has learned, later than I would have liked, that choosing yourself is not selfish. It is necessary.

Before you got married, what did you imagine marriage would be like?

I only had my parents’ marriage to use as an example of what a perfect marriage looks like. So I imagined that my husband would be like my father, someone who worships the ground I walk on and loves me wholeheartedly, and that my marriage would be blissful and free of complications. My father genuinely adored my mother. That was all I knew of what a husband was supposed to be, so naturally, that was what I expected for myself.

How did you meet your ex-husband, and what made you think he was the one?

I met him through a friend. Let鈥檚 call her Stella*. At the time, she was dating his friend, and the day they introduced us, I kept staring at him because I had never seen someone as handsome and confident as him. When we started talking, I realised he was someone I could see myself having all my kids with.

What was that early period like before you got married?

It was exciting. He was charming and attentive, the way men are when they are trying to win you over, and I was completely taken. Looking back now, I can see things I missed or chose not to see, but in my time, when you are young and in love, and someone looks at you the way he looked at me then, you are not exactly looking for red flags. You are just happy. I was happy.

How long did you date before he proposed, and how did he ask?

We dated for about two years before he proposed. It was not an elaborate thing; he was not that kind of man, but he was sincere about it, and at the time, sincerity was enough for me. We were at home, just the two of us, and he told me he wanted me to be his wife. I said yes immediately because I genuinely wanted to. I loved him, and I could see my life with him clearly in that moment.

But even as I said yes, there was something sitting at the back of my mind. A few months before he proposed, I had met his eldest brother for the first time at a family gathering. I do not even remember what the occasion was now, but I remember that man’s face when he looked at me. He barely acknowledged me. At some point during that visit, he made a comment, not directly to me but loud enough that I could hear, something about his brother always making decisions without thinking them through. It was not hard to understand what he meant. I was the decision he was referring to. I smiled and said nothing because I did not want to cause problems, but I filed it away. When my husband proposed, I was happy, genuinely happy, but that interaction with his brother was already there, already casting a small shadow over everything.

What was the wedding like?

Quite dreadful, if I am being honest. By the time the wedding came around, I had had enough interactions with the eldest brother to know that the shadow I had felt at the proposal was not going anywhere. He was cold throughout the entire occasion. Not rude in a way that anyone would point to, but the kind of cold that you feel in your body when you are the only one it is directed at. He did not congratulate me. He barely spoke to me. At one point, I caught him watching me from across the room with an expression I can only describe as contempt, and when our eyes met, he simply looked away.

I told my husband how I felt, and he told me I was seeing things, that I was overthinking it, that his brother was just like that. But I knew what I had felt, and I knew what I had seen. I was scared, not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet way you are scared when you can see something difficult ahead of you and nobody around you will acknowledge it is there. I pushed the feeling down and got married anyway, because what else was I going to do? I loved him. I chose to believe it would be fine. It was not always fine.

Did that fear about his family materialise?

Yes. It was not just the eldest brother. Most of my husband’s siblings were awful to me because they felt I was trapping him. He was their only breadwinner at the time, so they resented me for it, as though my marrying him was some kind of scheme. Only the younger ones liked me. The older ones detested my guts. It created a tension in the marriage that never fully went away, because he was always navigating between being a husband and being loyal to siblings who did not particularly care for his wife.

How long were you married?

Twenty-five years.

What She Said: I Sold Everything I Owned For a Visa That Was Rejected Three Times

What were those twenty-five years like? Start from the beginning.

The early years were fifty-fifty. There were good days, genuinely good ones, but there were also moments that made me stop and ask myself if I had made the right decision. He had a way of saying things, cutting things, that would sit with me for days. He would berate me in front of people, family, friends; it did not matter who was watching. He would tell me I could not amount to anything. At the time, I was relying mostly on my parents’ money because I was not in the job market, and for some reason, he would call me useless for that, as though I had lied about who I was before we got married. He knew exactly what my situation was. He still used it against me at every opportunity.

The financial side was its own separate cruelty. There were times he would not give me money for food, but right in front of me, he would give his brother any amount he asked for without blinking. For a couple of years in that marriage, I had to rely on my parents to feed my children and me. He never denied our children their education, I will give him that, but he would constantly expect me to produce money from nowhere to carry the house, while simultaneously making me feel worthless for not having any.

I kept hoping the good days would become the majority, that we would find our rhythm and settle into something more stable. That never really happened. The difficult days were always there, just waiting.

I鈥檓 sorry. How did you eventually find financial independence within the marriage?

I tried a few things before I found my footing. Provisions first, then drinks, then I tried baking for a while. None of it quite clicked the way I needed it to. Eventually, I found my way into the textile industry, which is actually a family thing. My mother was in textiles before me, so in a way I was following a path that had already been laid. Once I found it, things started to shift for me in ways that went beyond just the money.

How did your husband treat you once you became financially independent?

He started seeing me as someone worth respecting. I was no longer someone he could rule over in the same way, and whatever control he had felt over me before started to loosen. There were still moments when he made me feel strange about having my own money because he no longer had the upper hand in the marriage, and that clearly unsettled him. But there was a certain level of respect I started to see that had not been there before. It is telling, really, that the thing that changed how he treated me was not a conversation, a realisation, or any kind of emotional growth on his part. It was money. The moment I had my own, I became worth respecting.

How important was having your own income to your sense of self?

It made me feel really good. I felt confident that I could spoil myself and my children without asking anyone for permission or waiting on anyone’s mood. I could get what I needed without calculating how much money I did not have. I did not have to beg him or my parents for anything, and that freedom changed how I moved through the world entirely. It is a beautiful feeling to know that you are not dependent on someone who does not treat you well for your basic survival.

When did you realise the marriage was something you could no longer live with?

When my daughter started making her displeasure with her father very obvious. She was not subtle about it, the way her brothers were. She genuinely hated him and wanted everyone to know, and watching her made something click for me. I realised that by staying, I had damaged my children in more ways than one. He never let them lack anything materially, that much is true, but he was still emotionally abusive to them. They were watching how he treated me and experiencing his moods and his coldness firsthand. My daughter’s anger was just the loudest version of it. Her brothers had their own version of it, too; they just kept it quieter. Seeing it so plainly on her face made it very hard for me to keep pretending things were fine.

For a long time, you stayed despite everything. What kept you there?

My children, mostly. And the whole “what would people say?” that my mother kept muttering in my ears every time I told her I could not stay in the marriage anymore. There was also the fact that I still loved him, to an extent. That is a complicated thing to explain, loving someone who treats you badly, but it is real, and it is one of the most disorienting feelings there is. You are not stupid for feeling it. You are not weak. It is just that love does not always go away simply because the person has stopped deserving it, and for a long time, that love, mixed with fear of losing my mother’s approval and genuine concern for what this would do to my children, kept me in that house long past the point when I should have left.

What did those conversations with your mother look like?

They usually started with me calling her, exhausted, trying to explain another thing he had done and how overwhelming everything was getting. And they would always, without fail, end with her saying, “he is still the father of your kids.” She has never experienced what it is to have an emotionally abusive husband, so like most women in our society, she trivialised my struggles. A lot. She did not mean harm. I think she genuinely believed she was giving me wisdom, but what she was actually doing was telling me that my pain was not enough of a reason to leave. The concept of my leaving him was so unacceptable to her that she told me she would disown me if I ever did. That threat sat with me for years.

That must have been very painful. What messages had you grown up hearing about divorce?

It was. I grew up learning that divorce is unacceptable and unheard of. That, unless your husband is physically laying his hands on you, there is no valid reason to leave. Just stay with him, even if he spends three hundred and sixty-five days a year making you feel like a failure. Just manage it. Pray about it. Find a way to make him happy. Nobody ever asked whether he was making you happy. That was not part of the conversation.

Why were you worried about what people would say if you left?

I was mostly worried about what my parents would say. My mother had made her position very clear, and my father, though gentler about it, had always taken an “as long as you are happy” stance that I knew would be tested the moment I told him I was choosing divorce. Honestly, I did not really care about other people beyond my immediate family. It was the people closest to me whose reactions I could not stop thinking about.

Do you think you would have left earlier if you had had financial security from the beginning?

Even if I had the money, I would not have left earlier, because my mother would have made good on her threat and disowned me. The financial piece was important, but it was not the only thing holding me. The fear of losing my family’s approval, particularly my mother’s, was its own kind of trap.

How did the conversation about divorce actually happen?

He left the country about three years ago. He said it was to set roots there, but I had a feeling from early on that he just wanted to leave without making it a dramatic event. So when he eventually called and told me he wanted a divorce, I was honestly just blank about it. There was no explosion of feeling, no moment of crisis. I told him to send the necessary papers, and I would sign. That was the whole conversation.

What was going through your mind in that moment?

Honestly? Relief. When I tell you I laughed, I mean I genuinely laughed. It had been such a long time coming that there was nothing left to feel except the strange lightness of it finally being said out loud by him. I did not have to be the one to say it. He said it. And all I had to do was agree.

How did your family react?

When I told my parents that he was the one who had initiated it, they expressed surprise and then more or less called it a day. My dad was calm about the whole thing, and I think it is because he never really liked him like that. He had always taken the gentle path with me, never pushing back strongly, just going with “as long as you are happy,” but over the years, you could sense that his opinion of my husband was not particularly high. My sister asked if it was the right idea because of the children, but our children are grown, all 3 in their 20s and barely interact with their father, so I honestly did not know what point she thought she was making.

If you鈥檇 like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid,  

Did you feel judged by your community or extended family?

No one judged me. They all knew what kind of husband he could be. I think that says a lot about how visible his behaviour had been over the years, even to people on the outside.

How did you talk to your children about the divorce?

I told them casually, and they barely blinked. They just said okay. There was no drama, no tears, no long conversation about what it meant. They already knew. They had been living in that house too.

How aware were they of what was happening in the marriage?

Very aware. He was not only unkind to me, but he was also unkind to them. He had his good moments, and I want to be fair about that, but my children mostly remember him for his bad days. They had their own relationship with his moods and his emotional distance, completely separate from whatever was happening between us as husband and wife.

Looking back, do you think staying together would have been better for them?

No. What was the point of having a father in their lives if he only gave them trauma to carry? I think it would have actually been better for them if I had left him much earlier. They would have been more self-actualised. They would have grown up watching their mother choose herself, which is a lesson I gave them far too late.

How has your life changed since the divorce?

It has been wonderful. Honestly, when he left the country, I was already living like a divorced woman in many ways. The weight of wondering whether someone at home was eating, whether his mood that evening was going to determine the atmosphere of the entire house, all of that was already gone. After the papers, I just kept going further in that direction. I started going out more, spending time on myself, pouring into who I am. No husband constantly chipping away at my self-esteem. I am prioritising myself in ways that feel completely natural now, as though I was always supposed to be living like this.

Do you ever regret it?

No.

Have your views on love or marriage changed?

I still think love is beautiful and that people just have to find their right partners. I understand that marriage did me dirty, but it is not everyone it would do dirty. Case in point, my parents. Their marriage is everything I imagined mine would be when I was young. I just did not end up with someone like my father.

Would you get married again?

Absolutely not. I am okay like this. I love being single.

If you could speak to the version of yourself who was scared to leave, what would you tell her?

It is fine to be scared, but she should not be, because it is not even as big a deal as she thinks. She is going to be okay. She is going to be more than okay.

What is one thing society gets completely wrong about divorced women?

That it is shameful. We have always tied a woman’s entire worth to being a wife and a mother, and the moment she exits a marriage, people act as though she has failed at the most important thing she was supposed to do. I think it is silly because more women should be allowed to divorce and still have their communities backing them. Leaving a bad marriage is not a failure. Staying in one for the sake of appearances is not a strength. We have had it backwards for a very long time.

What is one lesson you hope younger women take from your experience?

That it is fine to leave if your husband is not acting like the love of your life should act. You do not need him to be hitting you. You do not need a dramatic, obvious, provable reason. Feeling consistently unseen, disrespected and diminished is reason enough. Your life is too long and too valuable to spend it managing someone else’s ego.

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

In this article, ten women revealed the moment when they checked out of their marriages. 

1. 鈥淚 Can鈥檛 Divorce Him Because I鈥檒l Be Shamed鈥� 鈥� Raliat*, 45

Before we got married, my boyfriend had always cheated on me, and when I wanted to break up with him, he told me that he would stop. I should never have believed him because he never stopped. His cheating got worse after the marriage, to the point where everyone in my neighbourhood was aware of his reputation. 

Among my friends and family, he has made me the butt of the joke, and at first, I kept assuring myself that he would change for the better, but he has not. Being his wife is draining, and although my daughter keeps telling me that I could divorce him, I can鈥檛 because I know how much I鈥檒l be shamed for being a single mother. However, I have completely divorced him in my head, and I鈥檝e stopped having sex with him. My friends keep telling me he鈥檒l just use that as an excuse to cheat, but even when we were having sex, he was still cheating, so what鈥檚 the point? 

2. 鈥淗e Went Behind My Back to Marry Someone鈥� 鈥� Aisha*, 48

In my tenth year of marriage, my husband and his family brought a woman into our house and announced that she would be his second wife. I was absolutely gutted when I heard, and I got so angry when they all expected me to be diplomatic about it. My husband knew my position on marrying more than one wife. He knew I was adamantly against it, and still, he went behind my back to marry someone. When I confronted him about it in front of everyone, he didn鈥檛 even try to apologise and told me he wasn’t obligated to inform me about all the goings-on in his life. He ended it by telling me that I shouldn鈥檛 make a big deal out of nothing because he鈥檚 married to her, and there is nothing I can do about it.

After he said that, I carried our daughter to my parents鈥� house because I genuinely didn鈥檛 want to see him ever again. It was my mother who ended up forcing me to go back and accept the new wife, and while I did that, I started to detach from the marriage completely. It is obvious that he does not respect me or our marriage, so why should I continue to be attached to someone like that? 

3. 鈥淢y Husband is More or Less of a Roommate These Days鈥� 鈥� Titi*, 50聽聽

My husband is a deadbeat husband and father who has done nothing to make my life or my children鈥檚 lives better in any way. He thinks that the only way he can be a present husband is by providing half of his children鈥檚 school fees and giving me a small stipend for household expenses. After that, he clocks out. 

I see my friend鈥檚 husbands giving them money to take care of themselves, and at first, it made me so jealous because my husband has never given me as little as five hundred naira to buy nail oil. One time, I even tried to get him to give me money to get my hair done, and he asked me why I was bothering myself with stupid things like that. I think that was when I realised that I was wasting my time with someone who does not love me.

Instead of wasting my time asking myself and God why my husband does not love me, I put all my energy into my business, which pays me well and has been fulfilling, because I mostly see him as more of a roommate these days. My children say it would be easier to just leave the marriage but honestly? It is too late to start my life all over again.

4. 鈥淚 Became Known as the Wife of the Drunkard鈥� 鈥� Biola*, 60聽

My husband and I have been married for over thirty years now, and for twenty-two years of it, he battled severe alcohol addiction. At first, I didn鈥檛 think too much of it when he started drinking three beers in one sitting, but when he started to come home really drunk and vomit all over the house, I realised that it was bad.

I tried my best to get him to stop. I talked to his friends, his elder siblings, and even his parents in the hopes that they would talk some sense into him, but it didn鈥檛 work. He continued to drink until it became all he was known for on the street we lived on. I became known as the wife of the drunkard, and every job my husband had, he lost because he always went to work drunk. I had to shoulder the entire upkeep of the house because he didn鈥檛 seem to care about making sure our children had food to eat or money to go to school. I began to work from morning to night, and honestly, the exhaustion from that was enough for me to clock out of my marriage. I couldn鈥檛 handle working day and night, and an alcohol-loving husband together. 

My husband is on a path of recovery now, and while I should be excited about it, I don鈥檛 feel anything. For years, I waited for him to turn back into the husband I knew before the alcoholism, and at some point, I got tired of waiting. It would make sense to just leave him since our children are now grown but, what鈥檚 the point when I could have left him earlier?聽

5. 鈥淚 Stopped Seeing Him as Someone I Love鈥� 鈥� Favour*, 30聽

For two years, my husband and my best friend of fifteen years were apparently having an affair right under my nose. I was completely oblivious to it, even though my other friends kept telling me that it was weird that the two of them were so close. I never suspected them because I trusted them not to do something as awful as that to me, but they did. 

I found out about it through one of our mutual friends, who sent me a picture of them kissing. When I saw it, I raised hell. I broke things in the house, screamed, cried, shouted at both of them for hours, and left the house for a long time. After weeks of anger, my body calmed, and I finally processed the betrayal. For two years, they went behind my back, and I didn鈥檛 know. I felt humiliated, and although I knew in that moment that I would still stay with my husband even after what he did, I told myself to stop seeing him as someone I love. 

In my head, it鈥檚 better that way because I know that even with all the grovelling he did when I found out, he would still go back to cheating on me with someone else. I know that I could just leave him and find a new husband, but to me, it鈥檚 better to stay with the devil I鈥檝e known for a long time than an angel I barely know. 

6. 鈥淚 Accepted the Fact That I鈥檓 Married to a Coward鈥� 鈥� Ngozi*, 36

I began to mentally detach from my marriage when I accepted the fact that I鈥檓 married to a coward. My husband鈥檚 family is made up of the most diabolical human beings ever. Ever since I got married to him, I鈥檝e never had a moment of peace with them. I鈥檓 Igbo, he鈥檚 Yoruba, and because of that, they鈥檝e tagged me as the evil girl who is unworthy of their son. Every time they visited, they found something to nitpick and berate me for. They would call me all sorts of derogatory names, and found joy when I cried in front of them. 

The thing is, I think I would not have cared too much about their actions if my husband had supported me, but unfortunately for me, he did not. When they called me worthless because all our children are girls, he did not say anything; when they called my mother useless for not teaching me manners, he stopped me from saying anything, and when his eldest sister flogged our lastborn till the point where she got bruised, he shouted at me for confronting his sibling. It was then that I realised that he is a coward, and there is no point expecting him to be there for me. He is my husband, but he hardly ever acts like that, and I cannot pretend everything is okay. 

7. 鈥淚 Regret the Day My Husband Found Purpose in Religion鈥� 鈥� Samiat*, 33

My husband is a big Alfa in our community, and because of this, he dedicates most of his time to others rather than to his family. It might seem blasphemous to say this, but I regret the day my husband found his so-called purpose in religion. I went from having my husband鈥檚 attention 24/7 to barely having him in the house. I do not have a problem with him responding to other people’s needs, but when he ignores his family because of them, that鈥檚 just unacceptable. 

Our baby boy is ten, and he barely knows anything about his dad because he鈥檚 not even home. When he鈥檚 home, the only thing he cares about is if his son is up to date with his Madrasah (Arabic school). He does not even know I changed our son鈥檚 Madrasah because his last ustaz (teacher) almost killed him for me. My husband is a good man, but he鈥檚 emotionally unavailable, and that鈥檚 one thing I cannot accept. I鈥檓 only choosing not to leave the marriage because I don鈥檛 have the energy to deal with judgmental family members. 

8. 鈥淚 Can鈥檛 See Myself Doing Forever With Him Again鈥� 鈥� Tanya*, 30

My husband is someone who cannot regulate his emotions, and because of that, he makes everyone in the house uncomfortable. If I do something he is not satisfied with, he is quick to say all sorts of things to me. I grew up without flinching because my parents never shouted or laid a hand on their children, but I now flinch at every sound because my husband loves to declare his displeasure loudly. 

We鈥檝e been married for eight years now, and honestly, I don鈥檛 see us making it to ten years together. He has his sweet moments, and there are days I’m reminded of why I fell in love with him, but I can鈥檛 see myself doing forever with him again. 

9. 鈥淎 Man Who Loves Me Would Not Slap Me鈥� 鈥� Quineth*, 29聽

The day my husband slapped me was the day I mentally left the marriage. I do not remember what caused us to start arguing that day, but I鈥檓 sure it was not serious enough to put his hand on me in front of my younger sister. I felt completely humiliated, and for days, I kept asking myself why he did that to me until I concluded that I didn鈥檛 deserve what he did to me. Although he and his family begged and stopped me from leaving the marriage, and he has not done anything like that again, I don鈥檛 feel like I’m in love with him like I was before. A man who loves me would not slap me. 

10. 鈥淗e Doesn鈥檛 View Me as a Woman With Her Own Agency鈥� 鈥� Mariam*, 45

I got married to my husband when I was 22, and he was 30, and we鈥檝e been married for 23 years now. I understand that it seems beautiful that we have lasted that long, but I mentally checked out after our tenth anniversary, when I saw women in their twenties going out and having fun. I鈥檓 aware that I made the choice to get married, but I resent him because he had his fun before getting married, and I did not.

Then, I got married, and I had to be the perfect Muslim wife who covers her hair and does not do anything to embarrass her husband. There have been many times when I tried to break out of that bubble of expectations, and he kept pushing me back in it without talking to me. He just expects me to do anything he asks me to do, and it鈥檚 hard not to see that he doesn鈥檛 view me as a woman with her own agency. I wish I could leave him, but I know I won鈥檛 be accepted by my family or community afterwards. 

It鈥檚 this selective progressiveness that Uzoamaka challenges with Siraam. The film follows Siraam, a young woman who turns to casual sex after a painful breakup. But this story is about a lot more than just sex. 

鈥楽iraam is like a lot of us, if not all of us. She has sex, and sometimes she weaponises it. Sometimes she uses it as a coping mechanism when she’s heartbroken or as a way to search for herself. I never wanted the story to become something that invited judgment or made sex feel like a dirty topic. What I wanted was to explore the life of a complete human being. One where sex is just one part of everything else she’s dealing with.鈥�

Like the other films in the 91大神 Life series, Siraam is inspired by a real-life story published on  91大神鈥檚 Sex Life vertical. But what drew Uzoamaka to the story wasn鈥檛 the young woman鈥檚 sex life; it was her honesty.

Rather than treating her experiences as shocking or scandalous, she spoke about them realistically. That honesty is the foundation for Siraam’s character. 

鈥業 wanted to write a person in all her glory and all her messiness. Someone who is trying to succeed in her career and wants the person she loves to love her back. At the same time, she’s ignoring someone who’s in love with her and curious about the person messaging her on social media. She鈥檚 also determined to insist on 鈥榗ondom and commitment or nothing.鈥� There are always so many things happening in our lives at once. You might watch Siraam and think she’s chaotic, but aren’t we all?鈥�

Uzoamaka speaks of Siraam in a familiar and nearly affectionate way. When asked why, she says Siraam鈥檚 life feels familiar to hers. Not necessarily the specific events, but the way Siraam experiences life. To Uzoamaka, Siraam is a complete human being. And that is how she observes her own life.

鈥業t’s not that extraordinary things are constantly happening. It’s that I notice the little things most people overlook. There’s a scene in the film where Siraam rushes out of the bathroom after hearing her friend knock, stubs her toe on a stool and pauses because it hurts. I’ve done that. Some writers might cut straight from the bathroom to opening the door because the toe-stubbing doesn’t move the plot. But life is full of interruptions like that.鈥�

That attention to ordinary moments is a recurring theme throughout the film. Even the underwear Siraam wears says something about her. The film opens with Siraam sitting in front of a fan and drying a pair of multi-colored panties in front of it. While she’s waiting, she passes time by speaking into the fan and listening to her voice vibrate. Then she checks whether the underwear is dry, decides it’s good enough, and puts it on.

Siraam tells you who she is without having to say it. And because her character feels so familiar, your first instinct isn鈥檛 to judge her when the film broaches the subject of her sexual health. People are going to get pregnant and contract STIs whether society shames them for it or not. According to Uzoamaka, if the goal is to encourage people to take better care of their sexual health, then judgment isn’t the answer

鈥楾he answer is normalising these experiences so people feel safe seeking help. That’s why, for example, when Siraam’s best friend sees her test result, it鈥檚 not a dramatic, catastrophic moment. Instead, her friend simply says, 鈥淚t’s curable. Let’s move on鈥�. Someone watching that scene might think, 鈥楳aybe I should get tested too.鈥� They might realise that if they do have an STI, it isn’t the end of the world鈥�

Siraam is also relatable in the way she deals with heartbreak, and Uzoamaka is confident the audience will connect with this. 

鈥楾here’s a scene where Siraam calls her love interest and another person answers the phone. I have a feeling that’s going to resonate with a lot of people. I don’t think many experiences are so personal that no one else has ever lived through them.鈥�

Largely, Uzoamaka thinks people will connect with Siraam’s journey because she isn’t perfect. She makes mistakes, learns from them and keeps moving forward.

鈥業magine someone telling their friend they have an STI, and that friend doesn’t suddenly think they’re a terrible person? I hope young people see that they have the power to decide what kind of relationship they want to have. With their bodies and with themselves. I also hope Siraam inspires people to ask themselves who benefits in relationships where sex happens in ways that make them uncomfortable.鈥�

Ultimately, she hopes Siraam makes conversations around sexual health feel ordinary. Ordinary enough that people are comfortable getting tested. Uzoamaka wants people seeking treatment without shame and walking into pharmacies to buy condoms without feeling like the world will end. Uzoamaka loves Siraam so much because she鈥檚 self-aware, chaotic, and deeply human, and she hopes you will too. 

Read Next: 鈥榊ou Need Some Whimsy to Get Through Life鈥� Genoveva Umeh on Her Role in Siraam

I genuinely loved my main job, but I lived on the mainland and hated the Lagos Island traffic. It was exhausting, and as much as Lagos was home, I never got used to the daily stress. Eventually, I realised I needed a change.

I was young and wanted more from life. I have always believed that no goal is unattainable if I am willing to work for it. So, when the idea of studying in the UK crossed my mind, I refused to ignore it. I confided in a friend, even though I did not even have a passport at the time. She was the one who told me the first step was to apply for a Nigerian passport and gather all my documents before applying to universities in London.

Once I had a clear plan, I told my parents about it too. The support I received from my family and friends turned studying abroad from something I simply imagined into something I was determined to achieve. From the moment I started the process, I knew I had to see it through. By the age of 26, I had applied to study Business with International Management at a university in London, and once everything was in motion, turning back was never an option.

I really could not have done any of it alone. At one point during the process, I needed about 1.1 million naira to keep things moving toward my move. I called three friends and had the full amount before 6 pm that same day because they were confident I would pay it back. My mother prayed over the whole process constantly, because she was scared that I was giving up something stable to chase something uncertain. Honestly, I understood her fear. I was leaving a job I loved and a country I knew for one where I had no family at all.

By the night before I travelled, that fear had settled into me too, sitting alongside the excitement in equal measure. I did not know what to expect when I landed in London, but I have never been afraid to take bold steps.

My friend, Anu, also made my transition much easier. Before I even left Nigeria, she had helped me look into houses and jobs, and the minute I landed, she helped me settle in properly.

School started almost immediately, so I did not get much time to fully take in my new reality before I had to start living it. As a student, I was allowed to work twenty hours a week, and my week fell into a structured rhythm: school on Mondays and Tuesdays, work on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and weekends spent on schoolwork or exploring London with friends I had made through school and church.

That rhythm made the days manageable, but it did not make every day smooth-sailing. To date, one particular evening still stands out to me. It was winter, everywhere was dark by 6 pm, and it was cold. I was rushing to catch my train when I slipped on the wet ground and missed it anyway. After that happened, I walked into a nearby restaurant, got food, and sat there staring into a blank space, quietly rethinking every decision that had brought me to that point. However, I did not let myself dwell on it for too long because I knew it was just a phase and that it would pass.

Around this time, I began to lean further into content creation. My page still had a mostly Nigerian audience, and I wanted to grow a UK following, too, so I started sharing what a day in my life as an international student looked like, along with outfit ideas and lifestyle content. My audience slowly began to shift and grow alongside me.

In 2024, I had a baby girl, and that year became the most beautiful and most challenging of my life. Things did not work out with her father, so not long after she was born, I found myself raising her alone, in a country with no family nearby. I had to figure out, almost entirely on my own, how to earn a living and care for both of us with very little support. Some months I paid rent and other bills and was left with less than fifty pounds, hoping a brand deal would come through before the month ran out.

My friends lent me money whenever things got hard, and my church helped more than once, too. Through it all, I kept posting fashion, lifestyle, and motherhood content, but I never mentioned what was actually happening behind the scenes. The thing about social media is that it makes everyone鈥檚 lives look so perfect, and since I did not want to be judged for struggling as a single mother, I carried my pain alone. My daughter and I always looked our best in public, and no one watching knew how much I was holding together on my own.

Eventually, I became honest with myself enough to know that I needed real help, the kind only my mother could give. Childcare in the UK is expensive, and I could not focus on work without someone to care for my daughter, so I saved up and began the process of bringing her over. That process stretched me in every sense. I was still postpartum, living on maternity allowance that was not much to begin with, and now had to pull from it to cover the cost of her visa. Because of this, I made sure the Home Office understood exactly what I was dealing with, that I was a new mother and a single parent who genuinely needed her mother鈥檚 support, and they granted the visa.

By the time she arrived, I was more exhausted than I had ever been, worn down by sleepless newborn nights, a caesarean recovery, and the weight of doing everything alone. Her arrival changed everything. She took on the cooking and cleaning, helped care for my daughter, and, for the first time in months, gave me the chance to rest properly. Slowly, I started to feel like myself again, not just as a mother, but as a person.

Life had just begun to steady when, in July 2025, something happened that changed everything. I am not comfortable sharing what, but it was a serious incident that pulled me into a cycle of police stations, court appearances, and lawyers. It was traumatic enough that I made a decision: I was never going to carry that kind of weight in silence again. So I shared a piece of my story publicly for the first time.

It reached far more people than I expected. My page grew from around 3,000 followers to 25,000 in just three months, but the growth itself was not what surprised me most. It was the flood of messages that followed, hundreds of women writing to say they had lived through something similar. My experience was not unique. It had never been.

I began responding to those women personally, encouraging them, praying with some, and reassuring others that things would get better. I did not take it lightly that so many trusted me with their stories. I believed that everything I went through happened so I could be in a position to meet these women. My content shifted too, away from just mother-daughter moments and more toward the real issues affecting women navigating life in the UK.

As my community grew, I hit the lowest point of my life, and that was searching for a stable home. My daughter and I moved through three different cities and stayed with three different families before we finally found a flat of our own. The day we settled in, I finally felt like I could breathe for the first time in a while. 

It was then that I started rebuilding in earnest, returning to the things I loved and opening myself up further to the community that had formed around me. That visibility eventually turned into a career of its own, and I have now worked with more than fifty brands, both in the UK and Nigerian brands with a presence in London.

Honestly, if I could sit with my past self, I would tell her that everything would be fine, that the pain she was carrying was nothing compared to the joy waiting on the other side, and that the pain itself was simply part of the journey. My life is not perfect, but it is beautiful, and everything I went through shaped me into someone more resilient than I used to be.

To every woman, especially every single mother, quietly carrying something heavy right now, I want you to know that what you are going through is not peculiar to you. 

So many women are living the same reality in silence, and there is no shame in that. On the other side of the breaking is often the best season of your life. Do not let the judgment of people who never walked your path convince you otherwise. I saw the beauty in mine. You will see it in yours too.

1. Bidemi Zakariyau Akande

Founder and CEO of LSFPR

2. 聽Nike Fagbule

Founder and CEO Of Zebra Stripes Network

3. Ijeoma Balogun

Founder and CEO Of Redrick PR

4. Tokunbo- George Taylor

Founder Of Skot Communications聽

5. Subuola Oyeleye

CEO Of Beauty Hut Africa

6. Jola Ayeye聽

Co- Founder and Host of I Said What I Said Podcast

7. Temitope Adenusi

Founder Of Couleurz Global

8. Virtuous Irianele

Founder Of Gratia Co Media and Host Of Is This A Safe Space? Pod

9. Chinasa Anukam

Creator and Host Of Is This Seat Taken? Talk Show

10. Adedoyin Jaiyesinmi

Founder Of The Comms Avenue

11. Bukuola Sawyerr Izeogu

Earlier this week, an X user posted a tweet that went viral. 

This tweet, displaying an illustration of a mother beating her daughter while blood pools out of her, sparked conversations about a girl鈥檚 mother being her first bully. A lot of women backed this up by documenting the abuse they faced at the hands of their mothers. 

have found that mothers are the most common perpetrators of physical violence against their children, and this is usually because they spend the most hours alone with them. More contact often means more chances for harm, whether that harm comes from exhaustion, poverty, or something more sinister.

A lot of these women became mothers before they had the chance to become emotionally regulated adults. They were still carrying their own unresolved trauma, maybe from their own mother, and when marriage adds even more weight through a husband鈥檚 neglect, abuse, or absence, that repressed frustration has to go somewhere. That 鈥榮omewhere鈥� is usually her first daughter. She often feels she can鈥檛 direct her anger at her husband, so she turns it on her daughter instead, making life unbearable for her. 

There鈥檚 also a more disturbing layer to it, where some mothers see their daughters as competition for their husband鈥檚 attention, going as far as calling them their father鈥檚 鈥渟ide chick.鈥� It鈥檚 the kind of dynamic explored in recent on narcissistic mother-daughter relationships, which identifies maternal envy, jealousy, and competition as recurring themes when mothers begin to see their daughters as rivals rather than children to love and protect.

A lot of times when conversations about a mother being abusive come up, you’ll find people saying, “give her grace, it’s her first time living,” and while nuance is always needed in conversations, it鈥檚 important to note that it鈥檚 the daughter鈥檚 first time on earth, too. She shouldn鈥檛 have to exist in a world where the person who is supposed to love her the most keeps leaving bruises on her body. 

Mothers need to show up for their daughters in every sense of the word, not just by feeding and clothing them and calling that love. A daughter should never grow up believing abuse is another form of affection or spend her adult years trying to unlearn the idea that pain is simply part of being loved by her mother. Raising a child requires patience, emotional maturity, and a willingness to be there for them even on your worst days. Daughters should never become the safest place to dump the anger and hurt you cannot direct anywhere else.

Daughters are human beings who deserve love and safety like everyone else. Again, it鈥檚 their first time living too, and they shouldn鈥檛 have to live their life wondering why their mother does not love them.

What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame, about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way. 

The subject of today’s #WhatSheSaid is 脡n脿re Abang Gideon, a growth strategist and founder in her twenties, originally from Cross River State, Nigeria, now based in Luxembourg. She talks about selling everything she owned to chase a visa-sponsored job in Estonia, surviving three rejections in Egypt with an empty wallet, and how the worst period of her life became the foundation of everything she has built.

Can you tell me about yourself?

My name is 脡n脿re Abang Gideon. I am from Cross River State, Nigeria, and I am currently based in Luxembourg. I am a growth strategist and the founder of InstaGo Travels, a global travel agency providing tailored mobility solutions, and Giena Consulting Group, a business development and marketing firm. I also founded a rapidly growing community for women founders in Luxembourg, dedicated to empowering and connecting ambitious women worldwide.

Can you tell me about the family you grew up in? What kind of child were you?

I grew up in a household where both my parents were educated, yet they placed an immense value on hard work. Some of my earliest memories involve planting cocoa seedlings on my father’s farm, where I was always eager to take on more seeds, not just for the work itself, but because I saw it as a path to earning enough to buy my own treats. That early exposure to industry and the desire to build my own capital shaped me into a curious, driven child, always looking for the next challenge or opportunity to create something of my own.

What did success look like to you growing up? Did you always imagine you would build a life outside Nigeria?

Growing up, success was about independence and the ability to build from the ground up. I did not necessarily have a fixed vision of leaving, but I always possessed an expansive view of what was possible, knowing I wanted to operate on a global stage even if the path was not yet written.

What was your life like before everything changed?

I had just completed my National Service in Abuja and was deeply involved in community services while learning about finance and investment in the stock market. I enrolled in an academy that shaped my mindset on success and the financial markets. I was browsing the internet one day when I received a job opportunity notification in Estonia. I applied, went through three interview rounds, and they gave me the offer. There was, however, one huge problem: I had to apply for the visa from Egypt, as there is no Estonian embassy in Nigeria.

What exactly was the opportunity?

It was a role as a business support associate with a fintech company in Estonia. The interview sessions were held over Zoom, and I got to ask questions and clarify my doubts with all the hiring managers. After the interview rounds, I was offered the position, and I believed it was worth the risk because I saw it as the beginning of a new chapter and the answer to my desire for a life that felt big enough for everything I carried inside me.

So you decided to travel to Egypt for the Visa. What did that decision to go all in actually look like?

I was convinced that I was meant for more than the life I was living. I had received confirmation from people who had already arrived in Estonia that the contracts and paperwork were legitimate, so I decided to move everything at once to avoid making the trip twice and to minimise the financial risk of multiple international journeys. I believed in that opportunity with everything in me because it was the proof I needed that my potential was not limited by my environment.

What did moving everything at once actually mean? What did you have to let go of?

I let go of my apartment and sold all my properties, including downsizing from my two-bedroom apartment in Kubwa to a self-contained apartment a month before my trip. Saying goodbye to my life also meant saying goodbye to my pet. The closest company I had then was my cat, whom I gave away to the Uber driver who took me to the airport. It was very painful, but it had to happen. I was mentally done with my life in Nigeria and was looking forward to a fresh start.

How did your family react when they found out?

My family was excited for me because they have always wanted the best for me. There was some scepticism until they saw proof of others who had successfully received the visa, which is natural, but as I have always been someone who follows a conviction once I am sure of it, they were not surprised at all.

What was life like in Egypt while you waited?

Egypt was intended to be a brief stop, so initially it was fun and less heavy. When you are living in a new country as a tourist with a timeline, things feel different. But it soon became a space of waiting, torture, and eventually, a profound curriculum. My expectations were high, and I spent that period in a state of bracing for the future. My life in Egypt was sustained only by the grace of God. My visa application was rejected 3 times, but people kept showing up for me in ways that defied logic. 

The first wait was short and less painful, and I was less anxious because I was almost 100% certain of approval. But the second and third waits tested me in more ways than I could have imagined. It forced me to stop seeing myself as a victim and start seeing myself as a strategist navigating life. Because that period contained so many lessons I could never fit into a single interview, I am currently writing a book about that journey, with an expected release next year.

Tell me about receiving the first rejection. What did that moment feel like?

That morning, I was excited and just a little anxious. I was looking forward to my next flight out of Egypt, but could not see what lay ahead. Upon arriving at the embassy, I saw many people who had already been rejected, as well as others whose visas had been approved. I was hoping to be among the latter, but I had no idea that I was holding a rejection letter until I opened it. Looking at that paper for the first time was heavy and sobering. It was one of the most confusing and loneliest moments of my life.

What She Said: I Lost My Sight at 11 and Refused to Lose Anything Else

What made you decide to apply again?

After the first rejection, the company itself was confused. They had seen many other candidates receive approvals, so they reached out and strongly encouraged me to apply again. That external validation gave me the glimmer of hope I desperately needed, but ultimately, I kept going because the “why” behind my journey remained true. Even when the evidence was thin, I clung to the belief that it would work out. At the time, I seemed to forget that we make plans and God laughs, and God must have laughed quite hard at my plans, because clearly that specific path was not mine to follow. I simply needed the lessons that period of waiting contained, and I was not finished learning them yet.

By the third rejection, what was going through your mind?

That moment made me question my judgment and my direction. I had to face the difficult truth that my savings were entirely finished, and I had no backup plan before leaving Nigeria, so going back home would mean hitting rock bottom all over again. By the third rejection, I reached a profound self-realisation about life’s survival limit. I knew I had to act immediately, so I began job hunting in Egypt. 

A Good Samaritan I met at an African restaurant eventually referred me to a job as an animator at a resort in Sharm el-Sheikh. Working long, gruelling hours, dealing with frustrated guests while carrying the heavy mental weight of my own failed relocation was intensely humbling. It stripped away every ounce of ego I had left, but it provided the bridge I needed to sustain myself until I could finally return to Nigeria.

When you got back to your hotel room after each rejection, what was actually happening inside you?

When I got back to my hotel room from the embassy, sitting there with an empty wallet and a rejected stamp was the moment I genuinely asked God what he was doing with my life. I cried my eyes out and prayed more times than I can remember, asking for a miracle. Eventually, I learned to treat those doubts as temporary visitors rather than permanent residents.

What did coming home feel like after all of that?

It was a humbling return, but I realised that I was not the same woman who had left. I discovered that even without resources, I was still standing and formidable. It was a hard and heavy experience, and because I could not explain to everyone what had happened, only a few close friends even knew I was back. I refused to let the setback define me, so I applied for an MBA upon my return and secured a visa to study in Paris a few months later. It was not easy, but I am deeply grateful to my family, who never gave up on me.

Financially, emotionally and mentally, what did starting over actually look like?

It looked like extreme discipline and the realisation that I could not do it alone. I had to move past the pride of being the one who figures it out and learn to accept help when it is offered. I was drained and wanted it to end. I spent most of my time at a friend’s place until I was stable enough to stand on my own feet. I learned the necessary survival skills to move forward, and when my flight out of Nigeria finally left, I was determined to make it, and I never looked back.

At what point did you decide that the rejection would not be the end of your story?

The moment I realised that my ability to build and my mental grit were not tied to a visa or a geographical location. I decided that if I could build a business once, I could build it again and again.

How did InstaGo Travels come to life?

InstaGo was born from the intersection of my personal experience navigating complex travel systems and the academic rigour of my MBA programme. During my time in Egypt, the travel agent who planned my trip showed no sympathy, support or transparency, which became incredibly draining. Once I returned to Nigeria, friends and contacts began asking for my support with their own trips. When we were tasked with a mini-project in business school, I chose to develop a concept to solve the very problems I had faced. InstaGo became that project, and I eventually brought it to life outside the classroom because I realised there was a better, more sustainable way to serve travellers. I have trained my team to treat every client’s application as a strategic project because I know they are really buying their future in a new environment, not just a service.

How has the journey with InstaGo been?

It feels surreal, especially when I recall where and how InstaGo started. It was not a smooth path, but I am grateful for the vision. It feels like a blessing to give back in a way that makes people feel seen, heard and supported.

You also founded The Fem Founders. Where did that come from?

I wanted to create the space I needed when I was starting out, to surround myself with women who are building and pushing boundaries. Most of the women in our community are expats and career-driven professionals looking to navigate life or business in a new environment, and my goal is to ensure that no female founder feels she has to face that loneliness alone. The growth has been beyond what I imagined. In just two months, we have welcomed over 200 members from around the world. I believe that when you pool collective intelligence, you reduce the time it takes for every woman in the room to reach her goal.

If you鈥檇 like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid,  

Looking back, do you think you would have built the life you have today if that visa had been approved the first time?

No. Never. I believe the rejection timeline was the best professional development I ever had, and I never looked at life the same way again.

What is the biggest lesson rejection has taught you?

Rejection has taught me countless times that a NO from a system is not a NO to your potential. It is simply an invitation to innovate. If you can survive the process of building from nothing, you can lead in any market or environment.

What do people misunderstand about starting over from scratch?

People think you lose your progress, but you do not. You lose your things, but you keep your experience, your network and your capacity to solve problems, which is the only real currency you ever need in life.

If another woman is reading this while navigating a major setback, what would you want her to know?

I want her to know that this, too, shall pass. Giving up should never be an option, and asking for help when you need it is not a sign of weakness. It is actually the first step toward understanding the true power of community. While you are in the thick of it, never give up and do not stop praying, because I truly believe God has a better plan for you than what you can see right now.

What are you most proud of, not because the world celebrates it, but because you know what it cost you?

I am most proud of my mental agility. I honestly did not think I had it in me until life showed me that I did. You never really know how strong you are until the only choice you have left is to survive, and in that space, you realise you are far more capable than you ever imagined.

When people remember your story years from now, what do you hope they remember most?

I stood in the middle of my own fire and built a path out of it despite the challenges life threw at me. I hope my story serves as a reminder to everyone, especially women, that if I could do it, so can they.

罢丑别听聽is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders and join unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.聽Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.聽.

In this interview, Genoveva talks about falling in love with playing Siraam鈥檚 character. What it means to see a Nigerian woman be fully herself on screen and why the only thing worth striving for is great work.

When you first read the script for Siraam, what did you think of the character?

I read it and thought, she鈥檚 really fun. She felt colourful and animated, and I just wanted to play her. I remember thinking, Uzoamaka is such a phenomenal writer. Because there was something about the way Siraam was written that just jumped off the page. She had this incredible timing, this warmth, this physical personality. Siraam wasn鈥檛 just a character. She was a whole experience.

When I was cast, Uzoamaka sent me a message saying she鈥檇 had a great feeling about it, and hoped it would mean something to both of us. I thought it was so honest. We make a lot of things and appear in a lot of things, and sometimes you鈥檙e just asking yourself, how does this story move the needle? That鈥檚 what I hoped Siraam would do.

This is not the first time you鈥檒l be playing a bold, imperfect character. In what ways did Siraam stretch or challenge you as an actor?

Playing her was easy because I loved her. But what she gave me the space to do? That鈥檚 where it gets interesting. She has this gift of physical personality. She鈥檚 musical, young and unashamed. And she speaks Igbo, that felt so important to me.

Growing up, speaking your language sometimes felt uncool. I was raised between Nigeria and London, so even though my Igbo isn鈥檛 perfect, I understand it. I鈥檓 proud of that. And Siraam gets to carry that pride on screen. Uzoamaka and Blessing were so generous in guiding me through the Igbo-speaking parts. I felt comfortable exploring it as best as I could. That felt like a gift.

Siraam is a blend of so many things: whimsical, creative, chaotic. Why was it important to bring a story like this to life on screen?

I saw it for the first time at S16. Despite being on set and even having been in the writer鈥檚 room, I wasn鈥檛 fully prepared for what watching it with an audience would feel like. There鈥檚 something completely lost on set that only comes together on screen. And in that room, it hit me. 

Stories like Siraam will find girls who haven鈥檛 seen themselves reflected anywhere. Nigeria can be aesthetically and environmentally uninspiring. But Siraam says, you can still build whimsy in your head. You can still decide what your room looks like, where you eat and who you speak to. You have autonomy, even in an environment that rarely encourages it. I鈥檓 so glad that this story exists in the Nigerian sphere, told by Nigerians, about a Nigerian woman who wins in the end.

How did you prepare yourself for this story, from the first read to the last scene on set?

It started with a self-tape, and really wanting the role. Once I got the role, I talked to Uzoamaka about her writing, and all the characters Siraam reminded me of. I told her she reminded me of Michaela Coel鈥檚 character in Chewing Gum. Someone who wants to explore the world and break free from something. Then there鈥檚 the messy, bleeding-on-people energy of Fleabag. Siraam has a bit of both.

From there it became about rehearsing the big monologues. Sitting with the scenes, and allowing myself to feel whatever feelings she had. I think that was my approach. Allowing myself. The pink hair also helped, because in real life I made it a tradition to get pink braids every Christmas from 2018 to 2021. When I saw that was Siraam鈥檚 choice too, I was instantly aligned. I also vlogged the entire production. We filmed for three days and I vlogged every single day. It was a way of staying in Siraam鈥檚 energy. Whimsical and joyful. I even opened the first vlog with a prayer that we鈥檇 have an easy time and that God would give me direction with my choices.

What are the things you loved about this collaboration, and how does it speak to young women navigating the complexities of being themselves in Nigeria?

Blessing Uzzi and Uzoamaka Power knew the story they wanted to tell. From production design down to how Siraam鈥檚 hair would be styled. When you find a partnership that aligns in friendship and in work, you feel it. They made the set so comfortable, and that comfort showed up in the delivery.

I鈥檝e always been a fan of Uzoamaka. I watched her on MTV Shuga when I was in uni in London, gathering my friends around my single bed to watch. When I got to Lagos and saw her at an audition, the first thing I said was, I think you鈥檙e amazing. Seeing her blossom into this, and finding this partnership with Blessing, it鈥檚 not just great for their careers. It鈥檚 great for the kind of work that comes out of Nigeria, out of Nollywood. I鈥檓 honoured to be part of that journey.

Can you share one thing you particularly love about Siraam that Genoveva would definitely do, and another thing she did that made you think 鈥榦h no鈥�?

The pink hair, absolutely. I already lived that life, so that was instant recognition. As for the oh no moment, I don鈥檛 want to judge her. Her experiences are too relatable for that. But what I will say is that I鈥檇 want her to be a little more careful with who she chooses to be intimate with. To hold herself like an egg. To pamper herself. But when a girl gets there, a girl gets there. And Siraam does get there.

Sexual agency is a core theme in this story. Why do you think young women need to be unashamed about theirs?

Having sexual agency doesn鈥檛 mean being sexually active or ignoring consequences. It means having the freedom to choose. Whether to have sex or not, who to be with, what boundaries to set, when to say yes or no. That autonomy belongs to every woman, whether she鈥檚 choosing abstinence, casual dating, marriage, or celibacy.

We only live once, and we鈥檙e only young once. Our sexual autonomy needs to be explored confidently. We have to be prepared that not everyone will accept those choices. But the decisions are ours. Society doesn鈥檛 get to dictate what鈥檚 acceptable. We have to be happy with our own decisions regardless of whether we鈥檙e supported.

And part of that agency is showing up for your own health. Going to the clinic and taking the test. I know how scary those spaces can feel. Especially when the person attending to you is a male staff member, and you鈥檙e worried about being judged. But prepare your mind, set your goal, and show up anyway. Be cautious about who you鈥檙e intimate with. There鈥檚 so much we鈥檙e not taught about what can be passed between people, even through oral sex. Condoms are non-negotiable. Taking control of your sexual health is part of taking control of your life.

Another wholesome element of this film is the relationship between Siraam and Chidaalu. Can you speak to the critical nature of female friendships in the life of a young woman trying to find herself?

Female friendships are literally the light of my life. And the actress who plays Chidaalu? She and I go way back without even fully realising it. She recently sent me videos from the very first party I ever threw when I landed in Lagos. We鈥檇 been in each other鈥檚 orbit the whole time. So playing alongside her was easy. We brought our friendship into it, and you can feel that on screen.

There鈥檚 also Chidaalu鈥檚 brother. That dynamic adds something meaningful to the mix. Siraam respects the friendship so much that she doesn鈥檛 even clock that he鈥檚 pining for her. Real friendship creates space for things to unfold the right way, and that’s what happens between them. In my life, my friendships with women are everything. They make me laugh when my head is full. 

I have a best friend from uni who used to do my makeup before I鈥檇 head to film premieres at Greenwich. When I鈥檇 come back, she鈥檇 give me mock interviews because she loved watching them on YouTube. She was practising, but she was also helping me dream. Our friendship is over ten years now, and she鈥檚 still part of how I show up. There鈥檚 just such warmth when women love each other. When it鈥檚 completely safe, it鈥檚 a beautiful thing.

Can you speak to the importance of not giving up, especially for women whose dreams are unconventional and who tend to be misunderstood?

Being misunderstood is often a side effect of seeing a future that others are yet to see. Especially for women whose ambitions don鈥檛 fit into what society expects. Whether that鈥檚 acting, entrepreneurship, sports, or activism, the challenge often isn鈥檛 the work itself. It鈥檚 carrying the weight of not being understood.

But you have to keep going. History is full of women who were considered unconventional and became defining.  Don鈥檛 abandon the parts of yourself that feel called to bigger things. Even when you鈥檙e the only one who can see the vision.

What we see in Siraam is a woman who had those big dreams. A woman who experienced the backlash and the uncertainty, stuck it out and got her big break. And I think that鈥檚 the question she鈥檚 asking all of us. Are you going to stick it out? Are you going to keep showing up for the things that matter to you? Strive to do great work. Don鈥檛 strive to be liked.

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From Pap smears and IUD insertions to childbirth interventions, many of the women routinely undergo were developed or popularised by male physicians and surgeons. That doesn鈥檛 automatically make them bad; many are life-saving, preventative, or medically necessary. But it does raise important questions about whose comfort was prioritised when these procedures were designed, tested, and adopted, and why women鈥檚 pain has so often been underestimated or dismissed.

Keep reading to learn more about some of the uncomfortable medical procedures women undergo and how they reflect the history of women鈥檚 healthcare.

1. IUD Insertion & Removal

An IUD is over 99% effective at preventing pregnancy, but getting one placed means your cervix gets clamped and stretched open so the device can be threaded through. That clamping is often the most painful part, triggering sharp cramping and even a drop in blood pressure.

2. Endometrial Biopsy

Doctors use this to check for abnormal bleeding or uterine cancer: a thin tube gets pushed past your cervix to scrape a tissue sample off your uterine wall, and most of the time, it’s done with no anaesthesia at all. The cramp that follows has been described as brief but blinding.

3. Hysterosalpingogram (HSG)

This is a fertility test that checks if your fallopian tubes are blocked, and it means dye gets pushed into your uterus through a catheter. The pressure of that fluid stretching your uterine cavity causes sudden, deep cramping, worse if a tube is actually blocked.

4. Pap Smear

This is the routine screening test that catches cervical cell changes before they turn into cancer, and it means a speculum holds you open while a soft brush or spatula scrapes a cell sample from your cervix. The scrape itself is usually just a quick pinch, but it lands right on top of the stretch from the speculum, one after another, in the same few seconds.

5. Cervical Biopsy & Colposcopy

If a Pap smear comes back abnormal, the follow-up is a scope that examines your cervix, then small forceps punch out a tissue sample to check for precancerous cells. Doctors themselves call the biopsy step the most painful part of the exam.

6. Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure (LEEP)

This removes precancerous cervical cells before they can turn into cancer, using a heated wire loop to slice the tissue away. You’re numbed first, but the numbing injection is often what hurts most, with pain scored as high as 7 out of 10 in studies.

7. Mammograms

This is the standard breast cancer screening every woman is told to get regularly, and it means your breast gets flattened between two hard plates with up to 45 pounds of compression force. It’s been linked to bruising, and in rare cases, even implant rupture.

8. Transvaginal Ultrasound

This gets a closer look at your ovaries and uterus than a regular scan can, using a rigid wand inserted and pressed against your pelvic walls. It’s routinely called “mild pressure,” but plenty of women describe being told to “get over it” when it genuinely hurts.

9. Dilation and Curettage (D&C)

This clears your uterine lining after a miscarriage, abortion, or heavy bleeding by forcing the cervix open and scraping the inside. Even with local anaesthesia, the scraping leaves a raw, aching pressure behind.

10. Hysteroscopy

This inspects the inside of your uterus for fibroids, polyps, or other issues, and it means a camera goes through your cervix after your uterus is inflated with gas or fluid so the doctor can actually see. Inflation is what causes the intense cramping and bloating.

11. Sonohysterography (Saline Infusion Sonogram)

Similar to an HSG, this checks for polyps or fibroids by pushing saline through a catheter into your uterus during a vaginal ultrasound. It’s called “mild cramping,” but one clinical trial recorded an average pain score of 6.8 out of 10.

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12. Pelvic Organ Prolapse Pessary Fitting

For women dealing with a shifted bladder or uterus, this hard silicone ring has to be fitted deep inside the vagina to hold things in place. It usually takes two or three attempts with different sizes before a doctor gets the fit right.

13. In Vitro Fertilisation (IVF) Egg Retrieval

This is the step in fertility treatment where a long needle passes through your vaginal wall directly into your ovaries to collect eggs. You’re sedated for the procedure, but once that wears off, the puncture sites leave deep soreness and bloating that can last for days.

14. Manual Uterine Fundal Massage

Right after childbirth, this is done to help your uterus contract and stop excess bleeding, and it means a nurse presses firmly into your abdomen. It’s so widely dreaded that nurses themselves have a nickname for it: the “devil’s massage.”

15. Manual Vacuum Aspiration (MVA)

This hand-operated suction procedure clears the uterus after an incomplete miscarriage or during post-abortion care, and it’s one of the most common procedures women in Nigeria go through. Studies from the region put significant pain rates at 80 to 98%, with some patients calling it the most painful thing they’ve ever experienced.

16. Contraceptive Implant Insertion & Removal

This small rod gets placed under your arm’s skin to prevent pregnancy for years, and insertion is usually straightforward. Removal is riskier: the implant can migrate near a nerve, and there are documented cases of failed removals leading to numbness and surgery under general anaesthesia.

17. The Speculum Exam

Before any biopsy, swab, or Pap smear can happen, this tool has to be opened inside you, just so a doctor can see your cervix. Clinics call this “just pressure,” but the medical literature on speculum design itself admits some women describe it as agonising.

18. Cervical Biopsy & Colposcopy

If a Pap smear comes back abnormal, the follow-up is a scope that examines your cervix, then small forceps punch out a tissue sample to check for precancerous cells. Doctors themselves call the biopsy step the most painful part of the exam.

19. Childbirth (Labour & Delivery)聽

This isn’t just one procedure; it can involve lying on your back for labour, urinary catheters, epidurals, forceps or vacuum-assisted delivery, episiotomies, stitches, and manual uterine massage after birth.聽Depending on how labour progresses, many women experience several of these interventions during a single birth, many of which were developed or popularised by male physicians.

罢丑别听聽is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders and join unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.聽Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.聽.

What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame, about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way. 

The subject of today’s #WhatSheSaid is Ejiro Sharon Okotie, a 42-year-old Gender, Disability and Social Inclusion expert, trained counsellor, founder of Hope Inspired Foundation for Women and Youth with Disabilities, and author of Beyond the Darkness: A Journey from Loss to Purpose. She talks about going blind due to meningitis at 11 years old, the family that refused to give up on her, and why she is living proof that disability is not a death sentence.

Can you tell me about yourself and the family you grew up in?

My name is Ejiro Sharon Okotie. I’m 42, from Okpara Island in Delta State, and I currently split my time between Lagos and Abuja. I’m a development professional specialising in Gender, Disability and Social Inclusion; a trained counsellor running my own private practice, LRS Therapy Hub; founder and Executive Director of Hope Inspired Foundation for Women and Youth with Disabilities; a published researcher; and now an author. I am also a woman with a disability; I became permanently blind in both eyes at 11. I am a happy soul who loves the soft life, gospel music, laughter, love and humanity.

I am a twin, the second twin they call Kehinde in Yoruba, and I have an older sister. So that鈥檚 three girls from my mother, Elder Caroline Amujiane, who is the most selfless human being I have ever known. Though my mother found herself in a polygamous marriage that eventually ended in divorce, this means I have other half-sisters and brothers I do not really know from my father. My mother had my twin and me as a single parent because she divorced my father before we were born. We grew up with only her our entire lives. 

As a child, I was very reserved, quiet and gentle. My twin was fiercer and more stubborn, and she would fight for me in primary school. The first six years of my twin’s and my life, we stayed with our maternal grandmother in Sapele, Delta State, because my Mum had moved to Kaduna in Northern Nigeria in search of better opportunities with her eldest sister, Mummy Rebecca. Eventually, she brought us back to Kaduna with her, and after about a year, she also brought in our oldest sister, Joy, who had been living with our father. My twin would also fight our older sister and fight my battles, too. I was just noticeably quiet, but over time, with different experiences, I became more outspoken and learned how to fight for myself. Because at some point, my mum’s younger sister took my twin to live with her family in Maiduguri, and she didn’t return until we were 18, like 10 years later.

What are your earliest memories before losing your sight?

Running errands for my mum. She was in the sanitation department at our church, and when she couldn’t get there on time, she would send me to sweep, mop the floor and clean the seats. She also used to send me to the market with a written list and money for food items. As small as I was, I already knew how to price things, collect change, and then I would use whatever was left of my transport fare to buy every sweet thing in that market and trek home with everything balanced on my head.

I was a lively, active child. I had church friends, and we played ten-ten and suwe together. We didn’t have luxury, but I never felt like I lacked anything. Life felt very full.

Can you walk me through how you lost your sight at 11?

It was 1995. My mum had decided to put my older sister and me in boarding school that September. My sister went to Federal Government College, Kuje in Abuja, and I got admission into Christ Ambassador College in Sabo, Kaduna. I stayed only three months, September to December, before I started feeling sick.

Within a few days, it had gotten so bad that I couldn’t walk. I was too weak. They sent for my mum, and she had to carry me because I couldn’t manage on my own. She took me first to my aunt’s family hospital, but the admission fee was two thousand naira, and she didn’t have it. So she took me to another private hospital near where she worked. I was admitted, treated for malaria and typhoid, and kept for five days.

On the fifth day, I woke up to full darkness.

I couldn’t see anything. When I told my mum, she went to get the doctor, and they found a thick, dark, reddish coating over both my eyeballs. They said this was not what they had been treating and immediately referred us to the National Eye Hospital. By the next morning, my joints had started swelling. The eye doctors there told my mum something bigger was happening inside my body and referred us to Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital. That is where they took a sample of my spinal fluid and found the Cerebrospinal Meningitis. But the damage to my eyes had already been done.

I spent six weeks in that hospital. Over 154 injections, including two directly into my eyes. And at the end of it all, the doctor at Guinness Eye Hospital told my mum plainly: “Your daughter will never see again. I advise you to get her into a blind school so she can continue with her life.”

That was how our journey into blindness began.

I immediately decided I wasn’t going to let it break me. Or maybe my infant mind just couldn’t fully grasp what I had lost. Either way, I started pretending it wasn’t affecting me as much as it was, because I could see how the news was destroying my mum.

I remember asking her then, “Mummy, whose report will you believe? I choose to believe the report of the Lord!”

I was forming strong for her. And somehow that helped both of us.

What was the hardest part of adjusting?

Returning to church. My friends were young, and they just didn’t understand what had happened. We would go to our usual playground, and once everyone was done playing, they would forget that I was now blind and run off, leaving me behind. I would just sit there crying, waiting for my mum to start looking for me and send someone to come and get me. The same thing happened at my aunt’s house. My cousins and their friends would run off to play, and nobody thought to take me along. I remember sitting in my aunt’s kitchen on one of those days, feeling terrible about being left behind.

But this didn’t last long. A few months later, we moved from Kaduna back to Sapele in Delta State, and the change of environment made things much easier. These new people only knew this version of me, and they engaged with me as such from the very beginning. Moving to Delta was advantageous because it led me to experience empathy. My grandma’s neighbours showed me kindness; they always wanted to help in any way and at every chance they got. So I really did not feel different.

My grandma also often spoke about my future whenever her friends or others came to greet her, and the topic came up. “So what will happen to her now that she is blind?” My grandma would say, “God that created her will see to it that she becomes something in life. God will not leave her.”

I remember two distinct incidents. The first: a drunkard from the neighbourhood came to my grandma with a proposition. I was sitting in the living room that day. He walked in, greeted my grandma, and began speaking to her in Itsekiri. I understood because I grew up with my grandma. He told her that he had heard she had a blind child and had come to ask if she would be willing to give him as a wife. At least he would feed me and take that burden from her, and I could bear children for him. I remember how furious my grandmother was. She walked him out of the house and asked him never to return, shouting after him, “Did I tell you I cannot feed my granddaughter?” And in that moment, she said, “This my granddaughter, go be a big woman for life.”

The second incident was a young boy from the compound who used to come to our house to play with me. My grandmother’s rule was that I must never enter any neighbour’s house, as there was a possibility they would take advantage and try to rape me since I would not see them close the door, take off their clothes or do something they shouldn’t. So anyone who wanted to play with me had to come to our house, where she could keep her eyes on them. This young boy’s visits had become too frequent for my grandma, and after a while, I noticed he was no longer coming. When I eventually ran into him and asked why, he told me my grandma had told him to get his eyes off me, that she had noticed the way he was looking at me, that I was not his spec, that “it’s an Engineer her granddaughter will marry and not a meat seller like him.” I was shocked and apologised on my grandma’s behalf, saying I didn’t know this had happened. I think people around us just took their cue from my family and treated me accordingly. Everyone was hopeful about what I would become. So though adjusting was difficult, at least I had my family.

How else did your family carry you through all of this?

I always say I am one of the most blessed individuals on the planet when it comes to family. I jokingly tell my cousins that the man who marries me will have a lot of people to pay bride price to because I am a living example of what it means to say it takes a village to raise a child.

Starting with my mother. Her sacrifices for me are immeasurable. When I was at UNIBEN, she would come to school on weekends just to help me dictate my notes so I could braille them, or to help me record textbooks onto tape. She gave everything she had.

My older sister Joy taught me how to carry myself as a woman, even with blindness. Around the time I was 21 or 23, she sat me down and said, “Ejiro, as a woman, you must be known for something. Pick something about yourself and focus on it, your skin, your hair, your dressing, or a combination.” Because of Sister Joy, I take very good care of my appearance.

And my twin sister, Sherida. I call her my Angel because that is the only word that comes close to describing what she means to me. At one point, we were literally living each other’s lives. Her classes were in the mornings and mine in the evenings, and she didn’t want to leave me home alone, so we just went everywhere together. Her classes, my classes, all of it. Until she was travelling to Lagos to help fix my laptop for me, and got into an accident that broke her hand and kept her home for over a month of her final year. That season was one of the hardest of our lives, but it was also when I found my independence. Before that accident, my twin did everything for me.

What was it like going back to school after the doctors confirmed you would never regain your sight?

One of my mum’s greatest worries was education. Our family holds it very dear. The first person she spoke to when she visited a blind school in Kaduna was a blind teacher there, who told her, “Don’t waste time looking for a miracle. Let her continue her life. God can do it while she’s rebuilding her life.”

So my mum found Pacelli School for the Blind in Surulere and registered me in 1997. The principal, Rev. Sister Justina Obiangulu, created a special rehabilitation class just for me so I could learn Braille and typewriting without having to go back to primary school. My teacher was Mr Tunde Mohammed, Uncle Tunde, as I called him. He was also blind, and he was so patient with me. He taught me braille, how to type, how to walk independently, how to find things when they fell to the floor, and the doggedness that life required.

I used to cry constantly because I was desperate to get back to where I had left off, and braille felt like my only way there. Whenever the contractions weren’t coming to me, I would break down, and Uncle Tunde would say, “Ejiro, be patient with yourself; you will get it.” And one day, Sister Justina found me crying in the corridor, held me to herself and said, “Ejiro, always remember that whenever a door closes, God opens a window somewhere.”

Those words carried me for years.

I spent eight months at Pacelli. By July 1998, I had fully learned Braille and typing. By October 1998, I had gained admission into Queen’s College to JSS2, exactly where I had left off. I didn’t repeat a single class.

How did you manage through university without the resources available to you today?

Queen’s College was manageable because the school had always had blind students and had basic provisions in place. Resource teachers, extra time for exams, and brailed scripts. I was also lucky that older blind students passed their Braille notes down to me, so I had two classes’ worth of notes ahead of me at all times.

University was a completely different battle. At UNIBEN, I was the first blind student in my department for the International Studies and Diplomacy diploma. I had to go around and introduce myself to every lecturer at the start of the term. I had no screen reader then, just a braille machine and a manual typewriter. With a typewriter, if you make a mistake, you cannot go back and correct it. I had to memorise each exam question, arrange my full answer in my head, and then begin typing, because once you started, you carried on no matter what.

Despite all that, I completed my two-year diploma with Distinction, then gained direct entry to the 200-level and finished with a Second Class Upper in International Studies and Diplomacy.

By the time I was doing my first master’s at UNILAG, I had learned to use a computer with the JAWS screen reader software and everything transformed. I could scan notes, get soft copies of textbooks, search the internet, type and correct mistakes, and print my exam scripts. What had been grinding and exhausting became something I could actually navigate with confidence.

That was the first of three master’s degrees. Public and International Affairs from UNILAG, Development Studies from the Institute of Development Studies at the University of Sussex on a Chevening Scholarship, where I graduated with a Distinction, and Marriage and Family Therapy from Triune Biblical University in the US, alongside other certifications and short courses.

Even with those provisions in place, were there moments when you felt excluded because of your disability?

Sure, there are several moments when one is excluded, deliberately or unintentionally, due to ignorance. Often, when people see me, because my disability is visible, people are quick to begin putting me in different CANNOT boxes. “Oh, she cannot do X, cannot do Y,” but they never think about what I CAN do. It’s sometimes from ignorance. But I have felt that way at work, at events, and even at church.

Was there ever a time you wanted to give up? What kept you going?

I do not think giving up was ever an option for me. Do I have low moments where I feel overwhelmed? Yes. But giving up, no! I love life too much. My mantra is that there is always a way out. Whenever I have cried, maybe slept a lot, or just engaged in the things I use to cope, I start thinking about the different possible solutions or ways out. I always believe that too many people have invested in my life at different points for me to just give up. Plus, God has surrounded me with great people; I always say I have the gift of people, and I do not take it for granted. During low moments, I always have someone to call, and often I get the right prayer or just the direction to move forward.

My mother is one of my biggest motivations to keep pushing in life. Whenever I think about everything she has done and been through, I always want her to look at me and be glad that her sacrifice was worth it. And it paid off after all! My purpose and all the destinies I now know are tied to mine, which is also what propels me to keep moving. When I think about all the hurdles I have surmounted in life and tell myself, if I lived through that, then I’ll survive this. What does not kill you makes you stronger. The difficulties I have faced at different stages of my life have made me stronger and often served as preparation for the next hurdle. I also thank God for the gift of salvation; I am a believer, and the word of God is where I draw the most strength. There is always the right word tailored for that particular situation, and the Holy Spirit is right there encouraging me, directing me to scriptures, or simply leading me to a story on YouTube or a WhatsApp status that answers the situation. God is my foundation and remains the rock that keeps me standing in any storm or blow that life may deal me.

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Looking back now, what do you wish people had understood about you during those years?

I wish people understood that the loss of a part of a person is not a death sentence. You do not have to write people off because they acquired or were born with an impairment. We are unique, and people live differently. Disability is just one of the diversities of life, and the fact that I am blind doesn’t mean I’m no longer a human being. I have breath in my nostrils, and like everyone else, I have desires; to be somebody in life, to marry, to love and be loved, to have my own children and my home, to have my money, and to have a voice that should be heard in society. I’m just like everyone else, a human being with dreams, hopes, aspirations and everything else that keeps and drives any human being.

I mean, look at me now. I became the founder of Hope Inspired Foundation for Women and Youth with Disabilities, a Lead Counsellor, Gender and Inclusion Specialist, Chevening Scholar, Mandela Washington Fellow and author.

Walk us through your journey to each of these milestones. Which achievement feels the most meaningful to you, and why?

My mum has a common expression: “Life is in phases and men are in sizes.” One phase of my life opened me up to the next, and like an onion, I have just continued to peel back old skin, diving into opportunities by seizing them and sometimes by just showing up, speaking up, or asking a question.

In October 2011, I began my NYSC, and six months in, someone told me about a job opening at the Nigeria Association of the Blind for an HIV project for blind adolescents. In camp, I had joined the UNICEF Peer Educator Trainer programme on preventing HIV/AIDS and Sexual Reproductive Health for adolescents, and I was the only blind person there. As we did the training, I kept thinking to myself: as important as this information is, how come none of these programmes targeted people like me? In addition to my CDS at a secondary school near my house, I started visiting two blind schools: the School for the Blind Vocational Training Centre in Cappa, Oshodi, and the School for the Blind Nigeria Farm Craft Centre at Isere Olofin, Igando.

When I heard about the opening at NAB, where the African Union for the Blind was coming to implement a project, I applied as a fresh corps member. Long story short, I was employed as a Project Coordinator. The project was implemented across three south-western states, Lagos, Ogun and Oyo, and at the end of the first year, it was extended to the remaining three, Osun, Ondo and Ekiti. Over the two years of the project, I trained 50 blind youths as peer educators, and we reached over 4,000 blind adolescents and youths with information and HIV testing across the six states.

But as I moved from state to state, I noticed a troubling trend. The male peer educators were adventurous, outspoken and daring, while the female blind peer educators were often passive, wanting to stay in the background, sometimes too afraid to speak. I remember one lady from Oyo who was so frightened, so I went to her, and she told me her spoken English wasn’t good enough. I encouraged her to speak in Yoruba, noting that there would be people in the room who needed the information in Yoruba and that she was the one who could give it to them. She came forward and delivered beautifully.

This discovery really bothered me. I began asking questions: Why are girls with disabilities so passive? The answer was always the same: low self-esteem. So I decided to do something about it. As UNICEF peer educators, a key part of our curriculum was building life skills, such as self-esteem, assertiveness, confidence-building, negotiation and refusal skills. I started at my alma mater, Queen’s College, got approval from the school authorities, and began coaching the blind students there. After some time, I spoke with my mentor about my vision, and he advised me to build a proper structure to track progress and impact. I got into a conversation with a classmate while doing my master’s at UNILAG. She told me about her lawyer who helped register her organisation. I approached him, and in 2015, I officially registered the Hope Inspired Foundation for Women and Youth (HIFWYD). After eight years, in 2023, we metamorphosed into a full Organisation of Persons with Disabilities, promoting and protecting the rights of women and youth with disabilities through policy advocacy, programme implementation and self-actualisation efforts. Over the last eleven years, we have supported over 22,000 women and youth, building their capacity as self-advocates for rights and inclusion across education, economic empowerment, and leadership.

Establishing HIFWYD has been my most meaningful achievement because it embodies the core of my purpose: to inspire others to succeed. Seeing our beneficiaries speak up for themselves and their rights, pursue their goals and dreams, and aspire to be more is more rewarding than anything else in this world. I remember in the early days of HIFWYD, before we began attracting grants, I would use all the salary I made from my nine-to-five to implement our small projects, the InspireLife project, our annual Girls’ Camp in December, and how rewarding it was to see students in QC stepping into leadership opportunities in school, handling peer pressure efficiently, speaking confidently and boldly for themselves; young women with disabilities becoming more aware of their bodies, their sexuality, their sexual rights, able to make informed choices; women with disabilities now leading policy advocacy for the enactment of disability law in Ebonyi. HIFWYD stands as the bedrock on which everything I have done is built.

That鈥檚 truly amazing. How did the Mandela Washington Fellowship happen?

I first applied in 2014 but was rejected. In my mind, I said, “No be people like me them dey find,” but I was wrong. When it opened again in 2015, my lecturer called me and encouraged me to apply again. This time, I was more intentional. I downloaded the form, but because I didn’t have full faith in what I had, I submitted it at eleven-something pm on the night of the deadline. To my greatest shock, I got an email inviting me to an interview.

At the interview, when they asked why I should be selected, I said, “If you don’t believe in your own dream and cannot invest in it, why should you expect someone else to invest in it? I don’t have many resources, but from what I have, I have started to address the challenges I observed in my peers, one life at a time, slow but surely.” I remember the coordinator, Rodah, as I later found out her name was, repeating those lines back to me, and I knew I had struck a chord. Still, I did not believe I was what they were looking for.

On a certain day in March, my twin Sherida called to say she had received a congratulations email from something called IREX. She said it seemed those people had taken me. I ran to check my email, and there it was. Not only had I been selected for the seven-week Fellowship at Arizona State University, but I had also been accepted for the six-week Professional Development Experience, an internship with a US-based organisation. I was going to be in the US for thirteen weeks.

My cohort included 25 Fellows from 20 Sub-Saharan African countries. We all prepared presentations for the Ignite Talk to be delivered at the Presidential Summit in Washington DC, and the cohort voted for the best one to represent ASU. Everyone voted for mine. Our coordinator, Dana, said my presentation always moved her to tears because of its content and the passion with which I delivered it. That was how I represented Arizona State University in Washington DC. I also shook hands with President Barack Obama at the Presidential Summit. I presented at the Sixth Africa Forum in Uganda, attended a Disability Rights Monitoring training in Pretoria, South Africa, and received a scholarship to a rehabilitation conference in Edinburgh.

In that same period, I won two grants totalling $14,000 for Hope Inspired, which dramatically scaled our work. Over 7,000 applications in Nigeria, only 40 Fellows selected. Across Africa, over 50,000 applications, only 500 Fellows. I was among the 40 from Nigeria and the 500 from Africa. From that point on, I stopped doubting what I can do.

Let鈥檚 get into you becoming a Chevening Scholar.

I applied once and was rejected. Same feeling as before: no be person like me them dey find. But my colleague Michael, who had gotten in on his own application, kept pushing me to try again and offered to help review my essays. I applied a second time, got invited for an interview, and when I arrived, it felt like a walk in the park. That year, I had been so intentional that sourcing and applying for scholarships had practically become my full-time work. I applied for the Australia-Africa Award, Chevening, and the IDS Scholarship, among others, and received two scholarships at once: Chevening and the Australia-Africa Award. I chose Chevening and IDS because at the time, IDS had been ranked first globally in Development Studies for six consecutive years. If someone was paying the bills, why not choose the best?

IDS challenged everything about me. I was intimidated daily, surrounded by brilliant professionals from all over the world. I doubted myself, my knowledge, everything. But I was being stretched. I heard that only one Nigerian had ever graduated from IDS with a Distinction, and I said quietly to myself, if one person made it, I would be the next.

At the end of my programme, I received a Distinction in my dissertation and an overall Distinction. I was one of five Nigerians to graduate with a Distinction from IDS in 2020.

And you also became a counsellor and an author. How did both of those happen?

Both came from the same season of deep intentionality. In 2024, as I planned my 40th birthday, I took March to pray and reflect seriously on what the next decade should look like. Then in May, a cousin called, and we spoke for two hours. At the end of that call, he was lighter and clearer. After I hung up, a thought came to me: why are you not doing this as a profession?

Counselling. It felt surprising and completely obvious at the same time. My older sister had told me when I was thirteen to open a problem clinic. From as far back as I could remember, I had always had the right words for people. The next day, I found a training institute, enrolled, and by December 2025, I had completed a master’s in Marriage and Family Therapy and set up LRS Therapy Hub.

The book came from the same season. Having lived with blindness for thirty-one years and gone through a particularly difficult stretch in 2025, something in me said it was time to put it all down. In April 2025, I was featured on the podcast Through It All by Dr Kola Alexandra Olugbodi, and for the first time, I narrated my full story out loud. Something moved inside me. I started writing.

Eight months later, on my birthday, 21 April 2026, Beyond the Darkness: A Journey from Loss to Purpose was in my hands as a hard copy. I launched it with my friends and loved ones on that same day.

If you鈥檇 like to be my next subject on #WhatSheSaid,  

What is the book about, and what do you want people to take from it?

It is a memoir. My life from age eleven, losing my sight to Cerebrospinal Meningitis, through every phase that followed, the lessons, the storms, the wins. But I didn’t want it to be only about disability. I wanted people to see the endless possibilities the human spirit carries.

What drove me most was wanting to honour my mother. When a disability occurs, everyone focuses on the child’s needs. But the day I lost my sight, my mother also lost something. She lost her hope for my future, asking God what would become of me and whether I would ever live a normal life. She revealed later how she lost parts of herself, her own dreams, her own life, just to be there for me emotionally, spiritually and physically. Those sacrifices go unnoticed. Beyond the Darkness is for her and for every parent, sibling and caregiver who has ever done the same in silence.

The key message is this: we all go through darkness. Mine was the loss of physical sight. Yours may be the loss of a loved one, a job, an addiction, or a dream. But in every darkness there is a hidden light waiting to be found. The darkness is not the end. It is the shadow that leads you to your inner light. Do not wait for the light. Shine, and light will find you.

You can get the book here on or Amazon ( or ).

What are the biggest misconceptions people still have about blind women?

The CANNOT box. Before asking a single question, people assume I cannot cook, care for a home, or raise children. Someone I knew from university had secretly been considering marrying me years before I knew anything about it. Years later, he came to visit me in Lagos and sat watching as I made eba from scratch, warmed soup and dished out his food. The next day I came back, peeled a yam, cooked it and fried eggs. After eating, he told me about the secret intentions he had once had and how he had talked himself out of it because he didn’t think he could afford all the help I would need to function as his wife.

I simply said: “Your loss.”

The second misconception is that I should not have preferences or standards, that I should be grateful for any attention and not exercise any judgment about what I want. A man from my church once told me that what I needed was just a husband. When he eventually asked me out, and I said no, he was genuinely shocked. Then came the insults. “Too proud. What do you think you are?”

I have a spec. I am educated, beautiful, bold and a Jesus baby. You think I don’t know I deserve the best, and that I have worked far too hard on myself to settle for someone I don’t want?

The third misconception is that confidence in a blind woman reads as pride. Because many women with disabilities struggle with low self-esteem and stay quiet and in the background, when you show up blind and bold and with a voice, people read it as arrogance. It is not. It is just a woman who knows what she carries.

What do you wish people would stop doing, even with good intentions?

Moving my things without telling me. When friends visit and rearrange my space in the name of helping, they complicate my life. I already have a full mental map of where everything is. When you move something, and you’re no longer around, I spend time searching for it, which leaves me frustrated and sometimes unable to function. If you must move something, tell me the new location.

The other thing is speaking to my assistant instead of speaking to me directly. When people meet me with someone helping me, they will ask my assistant what my name is, what I would like, and how I should be guided. Speak to me. I am right there. I have a voice and all the information about myself.

If you meet a person with a disability and you’re unsure what to do, there are only two questions you need to ask: “How would you like me to help you?” and “What do you need?” Ask those, and you will always have a great start.

What would you say to parents who have just found out their child has a disability?

First, I want them to process what has happened, not only to the child but to themselves and to the family. Because it is not only the child who has lost something. Then I want them to know there is hope. The journey may be tough, but with the right support and information, you can begin to take action early, and that matters enormously.

Give your child independence. From early on, begin teaching them to do things for themselves, with you guiding them along the way. Over-protecting them and doing everything for them is a disservice to their long-term life. Set structures in place for them to thrive, and then let them learn, make mistakes and grow.

And do not lose yourself in the process. Process your own emotions. Build with your child, but do not leave yourself behind. You deserve to live, too.

If you could speak to the 11-year-old girl who had just woken up in the dark, what would you say to her?

I would tell her everything is possible. Dreams come true; you just have to keep holding on to them and keep moving through every difficulty.

I would tell her the storms will come, but those storms will make her stronger, and in her growth, her wings carry opportunities for others to fly. Under her shade, others will find comfort from the scorching sun of life.

I would tell her that life is beautiful and worth living. So live your best.

And I would tell her this: you may have lost your physical sight, but the sight within is stronger than any external light outside. Do not wait for light. Shine, and light will find you.

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