In this interview, Korede Azeez expands on the work she鈥檚 done, how her experiences inspire her output, and what she thinks creatives need to do more of.

I Know You Have a Degree in Mass Communication, But How Did You Get Into Filmmaking?

I have always been fascinated by stories and started reading at about five years old. When I was 8 or 9 years old, I wrote my first story. Then, growing up, I was in the drama club. So, my film career actually started with acting. I was a teenager in a series show, and it was such an exciting experience. I was really fascinated by the entire process and the prospect of Nollywood. Unfortunately, the show never made it on air cause the producer died. Then camera phones came out, and my siblings and I started acting and recording ourselves.

So, your interest in films has been there from a young age?

Exactly. Then it was time to go to university, and I remember being fascinated only by theatre arts. But then I did mass comm, and throughout my time in university, I was part of the radio drama. I used to listen to the BBC radio drama and thought about reproducing what they did. Then I used to follow Tomi Adesina鈥檚 blog 鈥楧ear Future Husband鈥�, and I asked her if I could turn it into a radio drama, and she said yes. That was my first time writing a script.

How did that translate into a career?

After university, my curiosity kept pushing me to think about what’s next, and then I ended up doing TV. Journalism wasn鈥檛 really for me, so I moved to the next best thing, which was film. I started reading about film, studying on my own. Then, during NYSC, I got a job at BBC Radio. While I was working, I met a friend who wanted to start a film collective, and we did, and that was how I made my first short film.

What鈥檚 it like being a full-time filmmaker?

First off, I’m not a full-time filmmaker.

Oh, interesting! What do you do?

I鈥檝e worked in operations full-time, and always worked full-time. The only time I didn鈥檛 work full-time was during COVID, from about 2020 to early 2024. Interestingly, it was during that period that my career blossomed. That was when I made my first feature film, 鈥溾�� and when I got my Netflix deal that brought 鈥�鈥� to the world. Then, 鈥�鈥� with Prime Video.

Seems like a lot was going on at the time.

Yes, a lot was going on at the time. I was also pregnant during that period. And I think this is important because creatives always have the question of how to make things work. How to keep money coming and do it full-time.

Exactly.

Keeping money coming is important, but knowing how to do that is even more important. A lot of my experience with film, especially the things that went right, came from working in corporate spaces. So, I decided it was something I was going to do. Get corporate experience, do sales, marketing, and operations. I鈥檓 very excited to put everything I鈥檝e learnt into practice when I鈥檓 ready to dive into filmmaking full-time. I always tell young creatives to get a job. But it won’t be the same path for everybody.

Some people have family money and a trust fund; if you鈥檙e one of them, then by all means. But if you know taking it on full-time will put a strain on your family, please get a job. Sometimes I think getting a job can give a better perspective and will help you write about certain things. Like if you worked in a hospital, the way you would write a hospital drama would be different from someone who doesn鈥檛. The corporate world gives an insight into structure, and I think that鈥檚 something missing in the creative world and film space.

So it鈥檚 like you learn the language of the world or the genre you鈥檙e writing about?

Yes.

How instrumental would you say language is in shifting our perspectives?

Very instrumental. This was something I learned during my time with BBC Radio. Some dramas were in Hausa and Pidgin. The pidgin thing is interesting because, as much as we鈥檙e diverse, pidgin is like a universal language for Nigerians. Those of us who speak proper English are few. Nigerians are mostly uneducated or undereducated.

I mean, naturally, translation won’t be 100%, as things can get lost in translation. Living in the north has also helped me gain perspective, as I see the importance of knowing the language for where you are. There鈥檚 just something about seeing someone who understands you and speaks your language. And that鈥檚 the thing, if we鈥檙e trying to make an impact, we need to address the language issue. These films that we鈥檙e making are they reaching the people they ought to meet?

Also Read: Uzoamaka Power Made Call of My Life for Everyone Who Has Ever Loved Too Much

Do you think we haven鈥檛 been able to reach the people we need to because there鈥檚 an issue with our approach in films?

Sometimes it feels like a lot of the films and media products we come up with are for optics and just to say that yes, we鈥檝e done something. Some people do the work and have an impact. But generally speaking, I think about how you can grow an ecosystem off the back of one product. Let鈥檚 assume you are doing something advocacy-related. There is nothing wrong with taking some of the revenue and creating a road show with a strong message, or spinning it into a play in a different language.

The cinema culture that we keep trying to push, not everyone can relate to or engage with. We need to understand the different methods that can be used and which ones speak best to a particular group of people. I think we鈥檙e also very greedy. People don鈥檛 want to put their money into things unless they鈥檙e sure it’ll pay off, but no one wants to start a pilot project or even do research and development.

Is it possible to communicate any sort of message in a country as diverse as Nigeria?

Yes. But you have to be clear on what you鈥檙e doing and who exactly you’re trying to reach. It’s like going back to the issue of structure. You can’t do what you want to do without doing the right amount of research. You need a strategy and a plan to execute things.

What themes do you use to pass across your message in the films you make?

If there鈥檚 anything I try to portray in my films, it’s agency for women. Everyone should have a problem with the patriarchy, but I particularly have a problem with how it makes women seem small and insignificant. Certain deals that they say like a girl is under her father until she鈥檚 under her husband, and how it robs her of her individuality. I want to build a world where women are not an afterthought.

Balance is an important aspect of this to me. I鈥檝e seen where we push feminism very heavily, and it doesn鈥檛 land well in some spaces, especially with women who don鈥檛 realise that they have become agents of the patriarchy and make life even more difficult for women. Sometimes donor agencies want to give to projects, and they say things like, they don鈥檛 want stories where men are absent. I get the rationale, but it doesn鈥檛 provide a complete picture. Yes, you show men that men are present, but women won’t always feel represented in some of these things.

I believe in extending a lot of grace towards women.

So do I. That鈥檚 why Zainab鈥檚 character was so important to me. For people to see that making choices as a woman is not so easy.

Let鈥檚 talk deeper about your experiences. How exactly did that impact your storytelling and films?

I think it鈥檚 given me a unique perspective. I鈥檓 hardly ever black or white. I鈥檓 always on the grey side of things. Like being in the East, people didn鈥檛 really know a lot about Muslims. It鈥檚 not even just about Muslims, but underrepresented people in general. I like to use the example of the gay community because there was a time when mentioning the word was taboo. But things are different now.

I guess that鈥檚 how it鈥檚 always been for me. Just being underrepresented and seeing the need for that representation. There were times in university when people would see me wearing a hijab and conclude that I don鈥檛 speak English or call me boko haram.

Them Calling you Boko-Haram is Crazy Work

I agree. But I like to think that they were like that because they didn鈥檛 know.

Studying mass communication made me see how important the media is in conditioning people, and I kind of see that as a mission or purpose for me now. To put these stories out to recondition people. Sometimes I think we are comfortable in our ignorance and are too reluctant to be open-minded. If people were a bit more open-minded, the world would be a better place.

Do you remember your first experience with people being ignorant?

Once in secondary school, my friends and I said we should bring Christian and Muslim materials and talk about them. And I remember reading everything and listening to them, and then when it was my time to talk, they didn鈥檛 listen. And I鈥檓 not even saying we need to convert each other, but I just want us to know and understand each other.

Sometimes these are the kind of things Nollywood should showcase.

That brings me to another point. Creatives need to get to the point where they are controlling the money so we can market and push the things we鈥檙e creating.

What do you think the effect of limiting information in the lives of women is in making choices for economic power and sexual and reproductive health?

When you limit women鈥檚 access to information on things, especially SRH, it can very well lead to the destructive consequences you were trying to avoid. When it鈥檚 not standardised, and people have to go look for information themselves and hide that they鈥檙e looking. Sometimes, the damage can cause permanent health issues. It will come to a point where women will be forced to find things on their own, and the ways they try may not be good, so why not just give them the information they need? Halima, for example, had to find her way; she didn鈥檛 know what she would see, but she left.

Regarding economic power, I think it鈥檚 the same thing. I鈥檓 very big on economic power because money is power. And men have controlled women for so long because they鈥檙e the ones who have had access to this power. If you鈥檙e able to have something of your own, no matter how little, there鈥檚 a sort of psychological safety that comes with it. You can do whatever you want now; there are remote jobs and options. There鈥檚 more access to knowledge and choice. I think a lot of the older generation don鈥檛 know how to address these issues with us, and I think it鈥檚 probably a culture of shame.

Do you think our folklore has the same impact?

Absolutely. Every story has to give a moral lesson, and it鈥檚 a very big part of our culture. I don鈥檛 think we鈥檙e getting away from that anytime soon.

Is it possible for women to have it all? How does the concept of choice feminism impact these things?

Having a family and choosing to build a home will always set a woman back. And that can be okay. Sometimes, younger people come to ask me questions about what will happen to their careers if they get married. And I tell them to be clear on what is non-negotiable for them. Women need to learn to plan their lives in seasons; you can have it all, but not at the same time. Before you decide to get married, have something for yourself. A source of income or a skill that you can continue growing.

Be ready as well for the possibility of your partner changing, and even yourself. Things won’t always be as amazing as they were in the dating phase. You don鈥檛 want to put the burden of your happiness on another person. That鈥檚 something my mum always tries to convey to me. My children should never be an obstacle to my success. At the worst, I鈥檒l drop them off at Grandma鈥檚. Women need to consider support and the support systems they have around them.

How do you think Nollywood pushes stereotypes in films, and how can it shift the story?

There was a film I watched that had a female character who really wanted to pursue a career in banking. But her husband wasn鈥檛 having it. She ended up doing what she wanted, but the end scene showed her sad in her office, and her husband was happy with his new wife. These sorts of films are being repeated, women are watching them, and relatives are echoing these things as well. Women are still just pushing out babies because they want sons, even though they have seven girls.

I also sort of blame traditional leaders because they keep preaching about being fruitful and multiplying and telling women not to kill their babies. Even in the north, there is still so much censorship. I remember this filmmaker was locked up in the north because a lot of themes in his film didn鈥檛 agree with the censorship board. So, there鈥檚 also that part of films that filmmakers have to look out for. This is why cinema in the north is more backward than in other parts of the country.

Would you say the media and films in particular are an important part of our goal of #ShiftingTheStory?

We underestimate just how important these films are. I remember getting a message from someone who had just watched with difficulty comes ease, and how Zainab’s choice of her fashion career gave her the courage to continue hers. These films can have a really powerful effect.

Eight years later, Uzoamaka Power literally brings back to life for the world to see.

鈥淚 got tired of it, and I stopped,鈥� she says. Call of My Life is a romantic comedy about a woman named Soluchi, a call-centre agent still nursing old heartbreak when a single phone call pulls her toward something new. The film is set to hit Nigerian cinemas on May 15th and stars Uzoamaka herself as one of the main characters. The story of how it went from three abandoned pages on a Word document to a full feature film is just as mind-blowing as the .

The Three-paged Story from Eight Years Ago

It was Blessing Uzzi, the producer of Call of My Life, who forced the resurrection. She knew Uzoamaka had old writing hidden away. The sort of early drafts writers typically shy away from. Blessing had a hunch and convinced Uzoamaka to start looking.

鈥淪he called me, and she was like, 鈥楨ven if you wrote them when you were two years old, they mean something. And when you鈥檙e able to look at them critically, revisit them and do better.鈥欌��

So Uzoamaka sent Blessing the existing pages of Call of My Life, and Blessing loved the premise of the story. Just like that, Call of My Life was back in the world. The thing about revisiting something you wrote eight years ago, though, is that you鈥檙e not the same person who wrote it. You鈥檝e lived more, felt more, gotten more honest with yourself about what you actually want to say.

鈥淚n 2018, I wanted to write about my experience at the call centre,鈥� Uzoamaka says. 鈥淏ut fast forward to 2026, and I鈥檓 asking different questions. What is the story I want to tell? Is the call centre the centre of this story? Am I telling a love story about this person? Can I remove this person from this job and have them live life outside their work?鈥�

Those are not the questions of someone who just wants to document what happened to them. Those are the questions of a person ready to create something beautiful and different from their personal experience.

What Actually Makes a Story Worth Telling?

There鈥檚 something Uzoamaka says in conversation that sounds almost like a joke but isn鈥檛. When she was building Soluchi, the character at the centre of the film, she had to make peace with an uncomfortable truth.

鈥淪ometimes, your life is not that interesting,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut it鈥檚 given you a foundation to begin something.鈥�

In real life, the phone call Uzoamaka received while working at that call centre didn鈥檛 change anything. It didn鈥檛 redirect her path. It was just a funny call, and then it was over. But in the film, a similar call becomes the thing that changes Soluchi鈥檚 life.

鈥淚n writing the screenplay, I could have decided that the phone call was funny or annoying, or made decisions outside of the real thing that happened,鈥� she explains.

This is actually the most freeing thing about the way she talks about writing. Uzoamaka doesn鈥檛 treat her experience as sacred. It鈥檚 raw material. You take what happened, ask what it could mean if something different had followed, and then you follow the character wherever she goes. 鈥淭he more open-minded you are, the more questions you ask, the more the character tells you where they鈥檙e going,鈥� she says. 鈥淎t some point, it鈥檚 out of your hands. You鈥檙e serving the story now.鈥�

A Lover That Yearns

The thing Soluchi does that makes people regard her as relatable is simple. She does too much. Soluchi loves too much. She gives too much. She cares too much. In the film鈥檚 trailer, someone says this to her face disapprovingly, like it鈥檚 a problem.

Uzoamaka has feelings about this.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 believe that there鈥檚 any love where you should have to pretend,鈥� she says. 鈥淵ou have to perform wickedness so that somebody can love you? If you鈥檙e going to perform nonchalance in love, what is the point? Just get out of it.鈥�

Uzoamaka is not describing a character flaw when she talks about Soluchi being a lover girl. She鈥檚 describing a superpower. 鈥淭he person who loves wins. Even in heartbreak, even in hurt, even in pain. You loved, you won.鈥�

The dominant romantic playbook right now is all about withholding. Wait ten minutes before texting back. Don鈥檛 call twice. Make yourself seem unbothered. Soluchi does none of these things, and she gets hurt for it, But Uzoamaka鈥檚 argument is that she still won.

鈥淲e see her mother saying, you will not be too much for someone who truly loves you,鈥� Uzoamaka notes. 鈥淎nd I hope that Soluchi collects herself and loves even more fiercely again. Because what are we doing in this world? If we stop loving, we鈥檙e dead.鈥�

The Woman Who Shows Up for Her Own Work

Concerning her love and excitement for Call of My Life, Uzoamaka is not performing humility. She says she鈥檚 very happy with the work. 鈥淚鈥檓 very happy with the story that I wrote,鈥� she says. The award-winning writer and actress says that she has plans to go to the cinema every day once Call of My Life is released. Every day, in as many cinemas as she can get to in Lagos.

When the idea of shrinking her excitement comes up, she says, 鈥淚鈥檓 not doing that. When I was shouting for , I was shouting because I loved the film. Now, I鈥檓 shouting for Call of My Life, and that鈥檚 because I love the film from the depths of my heart.鈥�

Uzoamaka wrote this screenplay and stars as the lead actress. She watched it come together across Lagos, Abuja and Enugu, because that鈥檚 what the story needed. Blessing Uzzi took her writing seriously enough to make her work on it. Now she鈥檚 standing on the other side of it, refusing to be modest about what she made.

It matters, the way she says it, because there鈥檚 a specific kind of pressure on women in creative industries to qualify every good thing they鈥檝e done with a disclaimer. Uzoamaka doesn鈥檛.

will be out in cinemas from May 15th. Uzoamaka will be there watching. Probably every day.

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In this article, we spoke to women from different Nigerian universities who shared the most ridiculous rules they were expected to follow.

1. “Security personnel believed that the girls were out late to fornicate” – Kemi*, 25, Madonna University

Once it was 6 pm, girls were not allowed on campus, but, of course, the boys were free to roam. I never went against that rule because I knew how often they handed out suspensions and expulsions like souvenirs. I did have a friend who was caught outside by 6 pm. She went home for a semester. 

Most of the time, security personnel believed that the girls were out late to fornicate, so that鈥檚 usually what they told the disciplinary committee. It does not really matter whether you were actually just outside inhaling fresh air.聽

2. “They tested me for pregnancy without my consent” – Rachael*, 21, Adeleke University

There was a particular semester when they enforced a rule where girls who wanted to go home had to take a pregnancy test first. Apparently, the reason why the rule was enforced was that they found out that a girl who had requested to go home was pregnant. 

Some were saying the pregnancy test was a rumour, but I won鈥檛 ever forget going to the school clinic because I was having blackouts, and they tested me for pregnancy without my consent. I crashed out for days. 

3. “They could make you fill a dress code violation form” – Semilore*, 23, Covenant University

For some reason, we couldn鈥檛 tuck our shirts into trousers. Only skirts. If you get caught, the porters would tell you to untuck it, but if you are unlucky and they are in a bad mood, you would be asked to fill out a dress code violation form. 

4. “I was told I couldn’t take my test because of my outfit” – Nifemi*, 24, University of Ilorin

We couldn鈥檛 wear any outfit that showed our armpits or 鈥渂rought out our shape鈥� and any form of 鈥渃razy鈥� jeans. If we did, they would prevent us from attending lectures or even seize our phones. There was a time when I wore partially ripped jean trousers, and I thought it would be okay, until the man in charge of checking our outfits told me I couldn鈥檛 take my test because of them. I had to go and beg someone for their wrapper so I wouldn鈥檛 actually miss my test.聽

5. “I had to wear long tights under my shorts” – Tonia*, 22, Covenant University

The girls couldn鈥檛 wear shorts for sports. Throughout my time there, I had to wear long tights under my shorts, and that was really uncomfortable. Going against that rule meant you were sure to fill out a dress code violation form, and honestly, I couldn鈥檛 risk it.聽

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6. “You are at a risk of facing a disciplinary panel” – Chikamma*, 20, Mountain Top University

Beads (waist and hair) and any type of jewellery were completely banned. Quite ridiculous in my opinion, because how would beads and jewellery come in the way of my learning? 

No one could go against the rule because they take punishments seriously. If you are seen with beads in your hair or jewellery anywhere in the vicinity of your skin, you are at risk of facing a disciplinary panel and going home for a semester or two. 

7. “They said we shouldn’t distract people who came to worship God” – Ella*, 26, Edward Clark University

We couldn鈥檛 wear bodycon outfits to the chapel because they didn鈥檛 want us 鈥渄istracting people who came to worship God鈥�. There was a time my friend went to the chapel in fitted trousers and long sleeves that one would consider extremely decent, but due to the fact that she had a considerably big bum, she drew attention. 

Before the end of our service, the chaplain and vice chancellor called her on stage to basically shame her. They talked about how she was there to 鈥渟educe鈥� students, and asked if that was how she was supposed to dress as an usher? After embarrassing her in front of her peers, they suspended her from church duties and sent her out. It was a mortifying experience for her. 

8. “It was either a shoulder-length hairstyle, or they cut it off” – Naomi*, 21, Caleb University

Girls are only allowed to make shoulder-length hairstyles. If they don鈥檛, they will literally cut it off. There have been cases where girls who defied this rule weren鈥檛 allowed to go anywhere until they cut their hair to the porters鈥� satisfaction. The only people exempt from this rule are those with naturally long hair.

9. “In their words, lip combos are ‘demonic'” – Yinka*, 22, Adeleke University

They are doing their best to ban lip combos because, in their words, it鈥檚 鈥渄emonic鈥�. I didn鈥檛 believe it at first because it seemed so insane, until I was going to lectures one day when the hall administrators called me to their desk and asked me to clean off my lip combo. If I did not, I would have been charged with insubordination for not listening to a hall administrator. These days, I prefer to do my lip combos when I鈥檓 out of the hostel.聽

10. “Heels are completely banned on normal school days” – Ololade*, 23, Lagos State University

Unless there is an event, heels are banned on a normal school day. I don鈥檛 know why that is even a thing because it makes no sense to me. The day I wore kitten heels to school, I was asked to go back to my hostel and bring back a better pair of shoes. My hostel was quite far from the school, and I had lectures that morning. I had to beg my friend to bring shoes that she could lend me. 

11. “They said my locs were associated with bondage” -Ibukun*, 22, Bowen University

They loved to fixate on our hairstyles, and as someone with locs, I felt it a lot. Around my 3rd year, I had my locs done, and I tinted the tips with brown dye because black and brown hair colours were allowed. But then, the first day I resumed my clinicals, they started nitpicking my locs and the brown tips. They said my locs were associated with 鈥榖ondage鈥�, and they also called them 鈥渞azz鈥�. They kept hounding me to dye my tips back to black, and honestly, it was such an exhausting time. I remember being pushed to tears because of this issue. 

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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. 

Tumilola* (40) is a Lagos-born accounting officer and the firstborn of six. When her father’s alcoholism dismantled everything her childhood was built on, she became the person her family leaned on. She has been that person ever since. This is what she said.

Can you tell us about yourself?

My name is Tumilola, I’m 40. I鈥檓 from Osun state. I’ve been in Lagos since I was born, so Lagos is really all I know. I’m an accounting officer. These days I’m a pretty boring person, it’s just house to work and work to house. I attend church occasionally. That’s it, really.

I’m not passionate about many things anymore, if I’m being honest. Maybe at a point in my life I had interests, but right now I’m just dedicated to my work. I’m not a fun person. Sorry.

What made you decide to tell this story?

Nothing dramatic, honestly. I guess this is just a story I’m comfortable telling right now. It felt like time.

How would you describe the last few years of your life?

Chaotic. Kind of.

Take me back. What was your childhood like?

It was peaceful. I mean, I had a lot of siblings, and I was the first child, so there was the usual chaos that comes with that, but it was amazing all the same. My childhood was marked by playing games with my siblings and friends until I was tired. My dad was successful and very present in our lives. If I asked him for anything, I got it. None of us lacked. I never had to ask twice.

Then something started shifting. There wasn’t exactly one clear moment where everything changed. I just remember that one morning I was at our apartment, the one that accommodated everyone, and then the next morning we were at my grandfather’s house with our entire household. The house we usually only went to during holidays. It took me a while to understand what had happened. My mum was doing her best to shield us from the details, but eventually, in a one-bedroom space, nothing stays hidden for long.

What did you start to notice?

Alcohol bottles around the house. His words slurring. He barely made sense when he spoke. I didn’t really know what alcohol smelled like then, but I knew his breath always smelled horrible, and I didn’t like being close to him anymore. The father who used to spend evenings joking around with us was just gone, even when he was physically there. Somehow, all the money he seemed to have disappeared as well. 

Did the money go before you understood what was actually happening?

Yes, the money I noticed first. Whenever we asked my mum for anything, she would shout at us, which was so unusual. Then my siblings and I started sharing a school allowance for the first time. This had never happened before. Then I started putting everything together: the bottles, the breath,  how he was barely present, the way he used to be. I had memories of spending evenings joking around with my dad, and then suddenly none of that. He was just gone, even when he was physically there.

And my mum changed too. She went from being this sweet, easygoing woman to someone who snapped at everything. As children, we didn’t understand why. We just knew she wasn’t who she used to be.

What did moving into your grandfather’s place actually feel like?

It was very suffocating. I went from sharing a room with just my two sisters to sharing a living room floor with all my siblings because the only bedroom went to my parents. Six of us in a space that wasn’t even technically ours, it was my grandfather’s living room. I kept telling myself we were just on a long holiday. A year passed, and we were still there, and I had to accept that this was just our life now.

What did accepting it look like?

Gritting my teeth through the most uncomfortable parts of being poor, when we never were. It was a very big adjustment. Years later, after I turned 18, I realised I had to do something about it. My mum had to step up twice over because my dad had stopped being a provider entirely. Any money that came into his hands went to alcohol. He was always at the beer parlour or buying those sachet alcohols. So she was out from morning to night trying to keep us alive, and I was the oldest, so.

What did that look like day to day?

Wake up. Go to whatever work I’d managed to find. Spend the whole day there. Come home. Drop the money into my mum’s hands. Go to sleep. Then do it again.

And while you were doing that, what was happening to your siblings?

Everyone was affected differently by my father鈥檚 alcoholism and my parents’ neglect. My first sister gravitated to any man who promised to provide for her because there was no love or stability at home. Her elder sister, me, was busy helping my mum hold things together; my father couldn’t be relied on, and here was a man saying all the right things. Of course, she followed him even with glaring red flags. She was a mother before she turned 20.

My other sister started moving with friends I didn’t approve of, people who were too close to drugs and alcohol. I couldn’t really say anything. She was finding her own escape.

One of my brothers became close with street boys. Another one tried to hide the fact that he was drinking, but you can’t hide alcohol breath from people who spent their whole childhood smelling the same thing from their father. And the last one became a baby daddy with zero money to his name.

I became an aunt twice before I turned 25.

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I鈥檓 sorry. When you found out about your brother drinking, what did that feel like?

It felt like failure. I knew it wasn’t my job to raise my siblings. I knew that. But I still felt like I had failed.

Was there any pressure on your brothers to help carry any of this, the way there was on you?

None. My immediate younger sibling is a boy, and there was zero pressure on him to help the family or show up in any particular way. He was allowed to be reckless. I was not. I had to help my mum. I resent my parents and that brother a lot for that. A lot.

You were holding everything together, and no one was holding you. Who showed up for you during any of this?

No one, really. No one ever shows up for the firstborn daughter. I didn’t have a support system. That’s just how it was. It shaped me into someone who has a very hard time asking for help. I just don’t know how to do it anymore.

What did all of this cost you personally?

My love life. I’m a lover girl at heart, genuinely. But with the life I was living, I couldn’t afford to actually be with anyone. How do you explain to someone that your entire life revolves around your family because none of them are making enough effort to help themselves? It’s not something most people want to sit with.

Did you ever come close to choosing differently?

My second boyfriend, the last person I was ever with, asked if we could relocate to another state together. I said no. I needed to stay close to my family. He was the last relationship I had.

How do you feel about that now?

I just feel resentment. A lot of it. There were times I thought about killing myself, I can’t lie. It got that heavy sometimes.

What kept you going?

The song that comes to mind right now is, 鈥淚f you ask me, na who I go ask?鈥� I just kept going. I don’t have a straight answer for that.

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

What is your relationship with your father like today?

He’s basically useless at this point. The father I knew as a child stopped existing a long time ago. What’s there now is just this person, everyone in the neighbourhood knows as the drunk. Any money that comes to him goes to alcohol. We’ve all had to come to terms with that.

Did you ever feel like you were parenting your parents?

My mum, no. I didn’t feel like I was parenting her. But my dad, yes. Being an alcoholic turned him into a child. Everyone had to clean up his vomit, watch over him, and manage him. So yes. I was parenting my father.

What is your relationship with him like today?

I mean, he’s basically useless at this point. The father I knew as a child stopped existing a long time ago. What’s there now is just this person, everyone in the neighbourhood knows as the alcoholic. We’ve all had to come to terms with that.

Do you think your family ever truly recovered?

No. How do you recover from decades of this? I’m honestly surprised I still talk to my siblings at all. None of us turned out particularly okay. That’s just the truth of it.

What do people misunderstand about children who grow up in homes like yours?

They think we had a choice in who we became. That we could have just decided to be fine. It is not as simple as that. 

How did it shape you?

It made me someone who has a very hard time asking for help. That’s the main thing. I just don’t know how to do it. I’ve been doing everything alone for so long that needing someone feels foreign.

What does healing look like for you right now?

A coworker mentioned that therapy helped him through a dark period, and I started going. I’ve also opened a dating app. I don’t know if anything will come of it, but I’m trying. That’s new for me, trying.

If you could sit with the version of yourself in that one-bedroom apartment at your grandfather’s house, what would you say to her?

I’m so sorry. You do not deserve the hand you were dealt. 

You’ll Love: Why Are Nigerian Mothers So Obsessed With Marriage?

*Names have been changed.

On a random Wednesday evening, a few days after graduating, I was in the middle of talking to my mother about my younger brother when she cut in with a question that filled me with dread: 鈥淪o, when are you bringing your husband home?鈥� 

I am 22 and still trying to figure out what I want my life to look like in a country that often feels like it鈥檚 on its last legs. Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind. But I would soon realise that my mother was only the beginning.

My aunts, my grandmothers, and even my mother鈥檚 friends seemed to have a say too. If they weren鈥檛 asking about a husband, they were constantly praying I鈥檇 find one. I couldn鈥檛 even celebrate a personal achievement anymore without them bringing up my relationship status.

With them, all roads lead down the aisle. And this is where the confusion set in because I knew every one of these women. I knew the hell they had each survived in their respective marriages. In fact, their horror stories shaped how I view marriage today. 

So, why, of all the things they could want for me, is a husband still at the top of their lists? 

And I鈥檓 not alone in this. Just last week, I was at brunch with my girls, all of us between 22 and 30, and a good chunk of the conversation was spent complaining about how our families are actively, and some even aggressively, pushing us towards marriage. 

Amara鈥檚* (24) mother slips prayers for a husband into every home devotion. Zara鈥檚* (25) reunion with her grandmother after a year apart turned into a shouting match about her unmarried status. Bridget鈥檚* (29) mother starts every conversation with the dreaded husband question, and after hearing it one too many times, Bridget stopped picking up. They have not spoken in nine months.

When we asked Mrs Atinuke* (48) why she is so concerned about her 24-year-old daughter getting married, her response was striking. Despite spending years in a marriage with an emotionally and financially abusive husband, she said: 鈥淪imply because I didn鈥檛 have a good marriage does not mean there aren鈥檛 other people who did.鈥� 

She mentioned her own parents, who have been together for decades, and asked: 鈥淎nd besides, why wouldn鈥檛 she get married?鈥� 

It鈥檚 a question that relationship therapist says reflects something much deeper than personal preference. 鈥淲e are still operating within a very communal and socially observant culture,鈥� she explains. 鈥淟ife is constantly measured through visible milestones, and 鈥�

It carries , so for many parents, especially mothers, it takes on a sense of inevitability.鈥� You can hear it in the language: 鈥榃hen will it be your turn? I don鈥檛 want my enemies to laugh at me.鈥� A daughter鈥檚 marital status becomes public property, something watched, picked apart, and interpreted by everyone who knows the family. 

There is also, Mason observes, a deeply internalised idea of what a woman is supposed to look like. 鈥�, something that completes their identity and signals entry into womanhood.鈥� 

She ties this to the 鈥済ood woman鈥� ideal, being patient, enduring, accommodating, staying. 鈥淭hat script holds weight even when lived experiences have been difficult,鈥� she says, 鈥渂ecause it defines what it means to be respectable, disciplined and successful as a woman.鈥� 

It is this reason why women who survived deeply unhappy marriages are often the loudest voices pushing their daughters towards one. At first glance, this looks like a blind worship of the institution of marriage itself, but Mason sees something more complicated:  meaning-making. 

鈥淲hen someone has invested years of their life in an institution that requires endurance, it becomes important to preserve its value. People often reframe difficult experiences to maintain a sense of purpose and coherence.鈥� To them, the suffering has to mean something. And so, the institution is passed on, quietly, with the hope that the next generation will get a better version of it. 

Religion reinforces that urgency too. In many churches and communities, unmarried women are constantly reminded, through sermons, counselling, and casual conversation, that marriage is something to pursue quickly and seriously.

But underneath all of these is something deeply emotional. Many parents carry a genuine sense of responsibility for how their children鈥檚 lives turn out. A daughter who is not married can, apparently, feel to a mother like an unfinished project. There are other feelings of failure, worry, and urgency, even. Marriage is attached to ideas of happiness and a settled life. It extends beyond the daughter to the family as a whole; the desire for grandchildren, for continuity, for proof that life has moved forward as it should. For some mothers, a daughter鈥檚 marriage becomes part of how they measure their own. 

鈥淓ven when daughters have grown up watching marriages that did not necessarily benefit the women in them,鈥� Mason says, 鈥渢hey are still navigating a system where marriage carries social meaning, emotional weight, moral framing, and a sense of timing. That is where the pressure holds, in everything it represents beyond the relationship itself.鈥� 

So, my mother is not trying to trap me. Marriage is simply the only language she was ever taught. And that, more than anything else, is the saddest part of all of this. 

And though it may be hard to tell her that marriage is not an option I want right now, or may not want at all, it is important that I say it anyway. Marriage should not be something I do just to get everybody off my back. It should be a decision I make because it is what I want for myself.

Next Read: What She Said: I Stopped Going to Church Because Of One Woman鈥檚 Advances

鈥淚 want to get married so I can spend my husband鈥檚 money鈥� is a statement many Nigerians are familiar with. Depending on where you live, you鈥檝e most likely met at least one 鈥榦ga wife鈥�, 鈥榓sa odogwu鈥� or an 鈥業yawo alhaji鈥�. 

Unlike in the 70s and 80s, 鈥榦ga鈥檚 wife鈥� has now evolved from suggesting financial dependence into an aesthetic for women with wealthy partners who, in most cases, have jobs and successful side businesses. Even so, many marriages still feature financially dependent wives.  About 13 million Nigerian women () identify primarily as housewives, and men are the primary breadwinners in of  Nigerian households. 

The decision to become a housewife could be either personal or influenced by circumstance. But its consequences rarely affect a woman alone. They often extend to family, children and even friends in certain situations. 

23-year-old *Vanessa knows this too well; a front-row seat to her parents鈥� marriage has left her with a lifetime of lessons on what to avoid when it comes to love and money. In this article, she talks about growing up in a financially abusive household and how those experiences continue to influence her romantic relationships.

When did you realise that there was something off about your parents鈥� relationship? 

I was 5 when I first noticed that my father beat his wife and that she did not fight back. My mother鈥檚 philosophy is that the solution to living with a violent man is to be a submissive wife. So she would take his beatings and keep her mouth shut to avoid further violence. The issue with this is that my mother was a full housewife who was reliant on the man beating her for everything. So, she would ask me to go meet him for basic things like money for bread, toothpaste or shoes. Just like that, I became a messenger for the better part of their 26-year marriage.

Why did your mum choose to become a housewife?

It is only people who are given choices that can choose. My mother got married at age 23 to a man who was six years older, without any marketable skills or a source of income. Then she had me shortly after. By the time I was fourteen, I had five more siblings. He had courted her with the promise that he would give her support to further her education. But as soon as she moved in with him, he did not allow her to work and kept her occupied with bi-annual pregnancies.

How did the fact that your dad was the sole provider affect their marriage?  

There鈥檚 a very big difference between a trad wife with a dormant bank account married to a working dad and a woman earning 500k a month who is married to a man earning four times her salary. Only one of these women has the choice to leave.  In addition to physically and verbally assaulting my mother, my dad controlled her access to food, sex, her family,  children and even church.

How? 

For instance, when I was a teenager, my mum got pregnant. Since my dad did not want any more kids, he told her to abort it. She refused for religious reasons, so to punish her, he shipped my brother and me to a boarding school that was 13 hours away. She had taught me to cook, and she had taught my brother how to clean the house to make things easier for her. He knew he was leaving a pregnant woman alone with four young children and no domestic assistance, but he did it anyway. To make things worse,  he would scrape the pots clean, then take away every other food item in the house before he went to work each morning. He did that knowing that my mum did not have the money to buy food. She would remain hungry till he came back at night. 

Ah

When she went into labour for that particular child, my dad watched her try a natural birth for four days and did nothing. It wasn鈥檛 until her brother, tired of watching her suffer, sent her money for a Cesarean section. After she was discharged from the hospital, my grandmother headed down from the village to help her through the recovery process. But when her husband was informed that my grandma was on her way, he told my mother鈥檚 family that he didn鈥檛 want anybody in his house. I鈥檝e noticed that many men do not have empathy for a woman鈥檚 struggles, and my dad is no exception. 

Last year, ( when she thought I was finally old enough to handle it), my mum told me that when she heard that he had stopped my grandmother from coming, she tried to kill herself. She had thrown herself violently against the wall and bed repeatedly so that her stitches would open and she would bleed to death. She had to be sedated afterwards so that she would stop harming herself. As soon as the baby could walk, she learned a skill and borrowed money to start a business.

How did that work out for her?

She had our pastor stand in for my father when collecting loans to start her business. My dad would lock her outside if her customers kept her outside later than 8 pm.  He stopped giving her money for food with the hope that she would use all of her capital to feed herself and her children. Regardless of my father鈥檚 efforts to sabotage the business, she kept at it.  Now she has two big shops in the market. Because of this,  she is the biggest advocate for financial independence. She tells anybody willing to listen that no woman should get married without first establishing herself.

Although my mother has refused to leave him, I鈥檓 happy that she鈥檚 no longer scared of making his life hell. Since he can no longer order her around, she鈥檚 not afraid to hit back when he starts to beat her. She has done a lot of physical damage to him as part of self-defence in recent years. 

How did your parents鈥� marriage influence your childhood?

As admirable as it is, my mum鈥檚 decision to become financially independent affected me almost as much as her passiveness did. By age 14, she had turned me into a mini-parent to my siblings. My mom believed that she had suffered for me, and so it was now my turn to suffer for her. In addition to managing the household, I also had to serve as a salesgirl at her shop. 

I would also say it made me grow up really fast. I made a promise to myself in my teens that I would never give a man the kind of control my dad has over my mum and the people she loves. I say this because my father did not stop at just his wife. My siblings and I were also not spared from his ill-treatment. While I was in university, my father would randomly stop sending me my weekly allowance for different reasons. From 鈥榊ou did not back me up in an argument鈥� to 鈥榯he sun shone brighter on you today than it did on me鈥�. At some point, I realised that it was up to me to get myself out of there. I started working very early, and by age 17, I already had a working CV. 

Were your parents aware that you had started job hunting so early?

I tried to limit how much they knew, but it鈥檚 hard to hide motion. We fought often because at one point, I flat out refused to be my mum鈥檚 salesgirl. At the time, I was learning a digital skill, and it was nearly impossible to focus in the middle of a noisy market. My parents began to do everything in their power to sabotage my learning,  job applications, and job interviews.

During the lockdown, I had just gotten an entry-level job that was paying close to #50,000. To a 17-year-old at the time, this was big money. My parents suddenly began to find a lot of chores for me to do. During work meetings, they would walk into my room to yell at me for ridiculous reasons like 鈥榯he stew has not been warmed鈥�. They frustrated me to the point that I quit the job after a month.

Why do you think your mother played an active role in sabotaging you?

My mum is not a saint. She is religious and has very traditional beliefs. My mum believes in the concept of a virtuous woman. I also think she considers herself a martyr for staying married to my father. Because of this, she can be male-centred sometimes. 

She joined him in his bullying campaign, but I don鈥檛 think she did it out of spite. I believe she is envious of the choices I made early in life that were not available to her. Also, I don’t like to take her advice because a lot of her beliefs didn鈥檛 turn out well for her. I guess she was trying to humble me a bit.   Anyway, till I left home, I learnt to start hiding my growth from my family. 

Has your upbringing influenced how you approach dating?

Yes, it has. I fully expect the man I am with to go out of his way to make my life easy. But at the same time, I鈥檓 scared that it鈥檚 impossible to be in a heterosexual relationship without losing my sense of self and my autonomy.

Are you in a relationship at the moment?

Yes. I鈥檝e been dating my partner for two years, and we started to cohabit last year. When I met him, he was earning one-sixth of what he currently earns. Because of this, he couldn’t do more than buy me takeout and become my dedicated taxi man. I was a student in my final year, so covering transport and buying me food was a really big help.  As soon as I graduated and we became more stable, I started to ask for more. 

Why did you decide to move in with him?

I did not move in with him. We both moved to Lagos for work. While we were househunting separately,  I realised Lagos is expensive. After doing the maths, we decided that it made more sense to find a place we both liked and move in together.

Did you have any fears or problems at the initial stages of living together?

At first, it was a mental struggle. I鈥檓 downright paranoid when it comes to financial independence. I used to wake up in the middle of the night to cry when we first came up with the idea. I felt like such a failure and a traitor for even considering it. But I knew that living alone in Lagos was super expensive, and this was someone who, by all indications, loved me and was giving me an out. 

How did you resolve your fears?

I don鈥檛 think I can ever get rid of the financial anxiety, no matter how hard I try, and I do not want to. The Nwunye Odogwu (Odogwu鈥檚 wife) psychosis is real, and I saw it happen to my mother in real time. In the end, my boyfriend is a man, and I鈥檓 not deluded enough to think I鈥檓 special. I have enough money saved up to rent a self鈥揷on in Ibadan, and I put about 150k into that fund every month, just in case. I also have a friend in Lagos whom I could temporarily move in with if things go south. My parents are my last option, but I hope it will never come to that. 

My partner is also a very understanding person, and I set strong boundaries with him. For instance, we have two separate rooms, and I鈥檓 left alone whenever I want to be. Despite the fact that he pays 65% of the bills, I don鈥檛 perform any 鈥渨ifely鈥� or domestic duties. I鈥檓 a lazy woman, and he鈥檚 much more domestic. We have a house choring sharing schedule that favors me, but he still cleans the house a lot more than I do, and he makes me breakfast regularly.

Do you think it鈥檚 possible to take support from a romantic partner without feeling an obligation?

No. Well, yes. 

Let me explain. I come from the East, and in that area, a lot of women have a transactional mindset. I suspect that a lot of them are really lesbians who have been socialised to date men. These women know that they are beautiful and also have professional degrees. Surprisingly, having a degree is a relationship requirement for a lot of Igbo men. They also know that these superficial reasons are why wealthy men approach them.聽 They are the product, so to them, financial support is a value exchanged for money. Hence, they feel no obligation to the man.聽

On the other hand, a large majority of women out there are people I like to call 鈥榗ivilians鈥�. These are women who believe men are doing things out of the kindness of their hearts. So, they overcompensate by providing free labour and accepting ill-treatment. I feel like if I hadn鈥檛 witnessed and been impacted by financial abuse as a child, I would be one of these women. 

Have you ever felt financially restricted in your relationship?

Not controlled, per se. Just insulted, sometimes. Whenever my man starts to complain or nitpick about money, I send about 70% of the cost of the service/item in question. Or I refund him, if it is money that he already sent to me. I do this to show him that our arrangement is by choice. I can survive on about 250k monthly, and I earn twice that amount. 

Whenever I do that, he starts apologising, and usually, he makes it up to me with an even bigger gift or expense write-off. I think someone would have to be a saint not to complain at all, especially when they’re having a bad day. But having grown up in an abusive household, I know that you need to nip that shit in the bud. Abusers need to know that you’re not powerless and you can remove yourself from the situation at any point. I am not saying he is abusive. In fact, far from it. But we live in a patriarchal society, and people think stories like my mother鈥檚 are rare, but they are not. Reproductive and financial autonomy should be the most important thing to any woman. No man is immune to conditioning. 

Next Read:

, an event content creator, was fortunate enough to see this gap. For over a year, she moved through weddings with a camera and caught the one thing everyone was missing. The need for bridal assistants.

鈥淚t鈥檚 one of those things you can鈥檛 unsee once you鈥檝e seen it. All that money, all that planning, those long months of preparation, and the bride still spends a good part of her own wedding feeling unsettled,鈥� she said.

The wedding industry excels at managing logistics, but it often fails at managing the human. We spend millions on the stage but forget to support the main characters. A bridal assistant’s job is to ensure that the bride isn’t just the host of her wedding but a guest of honour at her own celebration.

鈥淏rides always seemed to be frustrated on their big day,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd it was simply because the friends they expected to support them did little to nothing on that day.鈥�

The problem wasn鈥檛 bad vendors or poor planning. It was a structural issue. There was a role nobody was officially filling. And everybody assumed someone else was covering it.

Heritage decided to cover it herself.

She launched by Heriana in February 2026, a bridal support service built around one job: being the calm, steady, fully-present person in the bride鈥檚 corner from the moment the day starts till it ends.

What About the Wedding Planner and Bridesmaids?

Nigeria鈥檚 wedding industry isn鈥檛 small. There are planners, coordinators, decorators, makeup artists, hairstylists, caterers, photographers, and videographers. An entire ecosystem of people making a living off the fact that Nigerians love to celebrate weddings lavishly. So if all these people are already at the wedding, what exactly is missing?

Heritage鈥檚 answer comes without hesitation. 鈥淣o matter how saturated an industry becomes, there will always be space for something new. Plus we are providing value by catering to the needs of brides, and once everyone understands they have nothing to lose, they will embrace it.鈥�

That鈥檚 a specific kind of thought process. She鈥檚 looking at a crowded room and asking a different question. She鈥檚 not asking if there’s space? But 鈥渋s there a need going unmet?鈥� Getting that second question right is what separates a business from a passing idea.

The unmet need she identified is sentimental and practical. Someone who wakes the bride, feeds her, helps her get dressed and keeps her outfits in order through the chaos of the full day. Someone whose only job is making sure the bride feels okay.

The Chief Bridesmaid Isn鈥檛 Your Employee

The most common reaction Heritage gets when she explains her work is a variation of the same thing: 鈥淲hat鈥檚 now the work of the chief bridesmaid?鈥�

It stung, especially when it came from close friends. She explained it to them, and they still didn鈥檛 get it. She stopped bringing it up and let the work speak for itself. A bridal assistant and a chief bridesmaid have completely different jobs, and understanding that difference changes everything.

A bridal assistant works behind the scenes. She makes sure the bride鈥檚 outfits are ready and put together, that she鈥檚 eaten, that she feels physically okay and emotionally safe through every transition of the day. She stays out of the photographer鈥檚 frame deliberately. Her job is to be effective, not visible.

The most demanding part of the job isn’t the morning prep, it’s the event itself. Once the day is in motion, a bridal assistant stays on standby the entire time, ready to move the moment she’s needed, while still managing everything else that needs to happen in the background.

Most brides come in warm. They booked for bridal assistants themselves, so there’s already an expectation of trust. It’s therefore imperative that they treat the assistant like a safe space, someone they can be real with. That may however change closer to the traditional ceremony or reception, when the overstimulation kicks in and everyone is just trying to get through the day.

The chief bridesmaid’s role works differently. She鈥檚 the one adjusting the bride鈥檚 dress at the altar during the vow exchange. She鈥檚 the one who can whisper something comforting at exactly the right moment, because she knows the bride personally.

The bridal assistant鈥檚 role is professional. The chief bridesmaid is personal. Together, they ensure that the bride is actually fully covered and cared for.

鈥淭heir responsibilities are totally different,鈥� Heritage says, 鈥渁nd the presence of one doesn鈥檛 affect the output of the other.鈥� Once people grasp that, the scepticism tends to dissolve.

Putting A Price on Emotional Labour is Difficult

Pricing emotional labour is difficult. How do you put an amount on being the provider of steady support? On the fact that someone showed up, read the room, and turned a chaotic morning into something manageable?

Heritage didn鈥檛 guess. She ran a market survey.

I wasn鈥檛 the first in the industry,鈥� she says, 鈥渟o I researched my competitors, analysed their rates against market demand, and balanced that with the unique value I provide.鈥�

She studied economics, and she鈥檚 direct about why her education matters even in a career that has nothing to do with a classroom or a 9-to-5. 鈥淚 didn’t just guess; I put my Economics degree to work by running a market survey to price the value I was providing.鈥�

That combination of industry observation, competitor research, and personal assessment of value is how she landed on a price she could defend. She left what people might say was emotionally right or what clients could afford and followed what the market actually supported. The entry point for BridesCompanion is a 鈧�70,000 package, which covers assistance from the bridal morning all the way through to the end of the reception. Monthly earnings aren’t fixed. It moves with the bookings.

On what she wants a bride to feel, Heritage says, 鈥淚 want them to feel warmth, to feel like she can trust me to be there for her.鈥�

That鈥檚 the whole offer, really. A bride who actually eats before the ceremony, who doesn’t spend twenty minutes frantically searching for her second pair of heels. A bride who walks down the aisle feeling held and helped instead of harried. These small things add up to a completely different experience for the bride.

Heritage spotted the gap in the market, built the offer, structured her brand, assembled a team, and started booking clients. Building a team wasn’t the hard part, particularly because Nigeria has a labour-rich market, and people willing to work as bridal assistants aren’t difficult to find. What matters is the training.

In all of this, Heritage still works as an event content creator, capturing moments that matter. She wasn鈥檛 waiting for the perfect time to take it seriously. She already is. There鈥檚 value to be provided all around you. Like Heritage, you just have to notice, position yourself and hone in on that need.

Next Read: How This Copywriter Leveraged Her Community To Make 鈧�37 Million in a Year

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. 

Dan* is a 30-year-old artist whose quiet, routine church connection took an unexpected turn. What started as a casual reconnection spiralled into an uncomfortable situation they鈥檙e still navigating, one that now follows them into spaces that are meant to feel safe, from church to parties. They share what it鈥檚 like to be desired by someone they don鈥檛 want, and why setting boundaries hasn鈥檛 been as simple as just saying no.

Tell us about yourself

I’m 30, and an artist. I’d say I’m pretty calm, very level-headed. I like to think I come across as put together even when I’m figuring things out in real time. I’m from Anambra, and I grew up in a pretty typical Nigerian family: mum, dad, and a sister. I’m masculine-presenting, so people make their assumptions about me. I just move carefully depending on where I am.

What does a typical week look like for you?

It鈥檚 pretty structured. I work, I create, I try not to let those two things eat each other alive. Weekends are usually for resting, sometimes going out, and Sundays are for church. Church has been a consistent part of my life for a while. It鈥檚 mostly just familiar faces and the same rhythm every week. You know what you’re walking into.

Are you someone who builds friendships easily in spaces like that?

Not really. I’m friendly, but I’m not quick to form deep connections. I’ll talk, gist, laugh, but it doesn’t always go beyond that. Most of my relationships from places like church stay on the surface unless there’s a real reason for them to deepen.

Have you had a reason to deepen any relationships?

Not really, but I did develop a friendship with someone.

Tell us more?

Well, we met in church, obviously. Let鈥檚 call her Angelica*. The bishop introduced us, but I don’t even fully remember why. She’s a little older, mid-thirties, and runs a beauty salon. She鈥檚 confident, playful, and easy to talk to. We just became people who saw each other every Sunday, said hi, gisted small and went our separate ways. That went on for like three or four years. At some point, we exchanged numbers, but we barely used them. Everything was very surface-level. Nothing suggested what eventually happened.

What changed?

We hadn’t seen each other in a while, maybe almost a year, she had travelled. So one Sunday, when I got to church and saw her, it was unexpected. We started talking again after service, just catching up. Then we moved to text that same day and were going back and forth properly for the first time. She mentioned there was something personal she wanted to discuss and said she’d rather do it in person. I said I could come by during the week. We settled on Thursday. That was the first time we’d ever met outside of church.

What was the plan for that Thursday?

Just to talk. That was genuinely all I thought it was. She had something on her mind she wanted to share. I was available, and she didn鈥檛 live far from me. I wasn’t reading anything into it.

I got there, and we were just chilling, talking. I even had a work meeting that I had to step away for, briefly. At some point during the visit, Angelica disappeared into her room and came back out in a tank top and pyjama bottoms, just getting comfortable in her own space, which was fine. After that finished we settled into the real conversation, and she opened up about something personal that had pulled her away from her usual crowd for close to a year. It was heavy, and I was glad she felt comfortable enough to share it. That part felt real and good.

Then the conversation shifted.

How did it shift?

She asked about my relationship. The last time we’d spoken, I’d mentioned I was with someone. I told her that it was over. She laughed and said she genuinely thought I was going to marry that person based on how I’d talked about them. Then she started asking if I was seeing anyone, talking to anyone, what I liked. How I knew I wasn’t straight. She mentioned she was bi herself. The energy started changing, and I could feel it.

She kept getting physically closer. Playing with the strings on my joggers. Holding eye contact a beat too long. Smiling at me. I went into oblivious mode, which is what I do when I’m not interested and don’t want to be mean about it. I started redirecting the conversation everywhere else. Music. Random topics. Anything.

Did she get the hint?

No. She put on slow RnB. Very soft and intentional. And she kept coming closer. At some point, I just had to start thinking about leaving because things became very clear. Thankfully, she had plans nearby too, so it wasn’t awkward to call it. She said she was going to shower quickly so we could leave together.

Before she went in, she loudly announced it, like making sure I knew.

She said it like a statement, not just information. I was sitting directly across from the bathroom door, full view in, and when she started the shower, I got up and moved seats. I wasn’t going to sit there. After a few minutes, she came back out, completely shirtless, bare chest, holding a sundress up to herself, asking what I thought of it. I glanced at the dress. Said it was nice. Then looked away. She went back in. Didn’t close the door behind her either.

Did she say anything about it before you left?

Just before we left, she asked me directly. Did I not want to look at her? Did I not find her attractive? I told her I was trying to be respectful, that I’d answered her question about the dress and figured that was it. I kept it very neutral.

There was also a lot of wine throughout all of this. I love wine, I won’t say no to wine, but I was clocking that it kept appearing. I don’t think she meant anything sinister by it, but there was an intention there I couldn’t fully name.

In the car on the way out, she held my hand. I felt stuck because she was my ride. I didn’t want a whole scene, so I just let it happen. When I got out, she said she didn’t want me to leave. That she’d miss me.

Had you said anything at any point that could have given her the impression that you were interested?

I mentioned I was in an open situation with someone. That there was a person I was getting to know, and it was still building. That should have been enough to make it clear that I was unavailable, but she said she couldn’t do open relationships; she needed to be someone’s only focus. I said that’s fair, it’s not for everyone. I thought that was me being clear. That this is where I am, and it’s not changing. She heard “open” and decided that meant available. It didn’t.

Tell me about the person you were talking about.

She’s a 28-year-old digital strategist. We’d known each other for months before anything happened, crossed paths through work and some projects, never directly, until one collaboration brought us closer. We spent an extended weekend together, and something just settled between us. By the time the church situation started escalating, we’d been building something for a few months, and it was getting real.

She has one other partner. So, yeah, it’s open, but it’s not casual. There’s actual weight to what we’re building, and I take that seriously.

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Did you let Angelica know things were getting serious with her?

Yes. She just kept treating open like a door she could walk through whenever she wanted. Every time we crossed paths, she’d ask how things were going, and when I said well, when I made it clear this was becoming something meaningful, she’d just redirect. Change the subject. Act like she hadn’t heard me. Like the information kept failing to land.

And you kept seeing her in church.

Every Sunday. That’s what makes it complicated. I can’t avoid the space. Church is part of my routine, and I’m not letting someone else’s behaviour disrupt that. But I cannot lie that I am tired of feeling like I have to avoid her at church.

She’d spot me across the room and make her way over. Always warm, always like nothing was happening. I’d be cordial. I’m not going to cause a scene in church. But I’d be counting down to the end of service.

Did it ever spill outside the church?

There’s a crowd we both move through. Lagos is big, but certain circles are small, especially queer-adjacent ones. A few months after the bathroom incident, we ended up at the same party. I was there with the person I’m seeing. We were in our own world, genuinely having a good time, and then I spotted her across the room.

By the time she got to where we were standing, she was already a few drinks in. She came straight to me, barely acknowledged anyone else, started touching my arm, leaning in close to talk in my ear, even though the music wasn’t that loud. My partner was right there. Not making a scene, but I could feel her watching.

I stepped slightly to the side, and she followed. I said it was good to see her and tried to fold her into the group conversation. She wasn’t interested in the group. She pulled me aside at some point and said she missed me, that she thought about me, that she didn’t understand why I kept the distance. I told her plainly that I was there with someone, that things between us were serious, and that I needed her to respect that. She looked at me for a long moment and said she just didn’t see how an open relationship could really count as serious.

I didn’t have anything left to say to that. I went back to my partner.

How did your partner handle it?

We talked about it after. They were calm; they’re not the type to make it bigger than it needs to be. But they said something that stayed with me. They said it was clear this woman didn’t see me as someone in a relationship; she saw me as someone in a situation that hadn’t been resolved yet. And they were right. That’s exactly how she was treating it.

Did things settle after that?

For a few weeks, yes. She kept a bit of distance at church, which I appreciated even if I didn’t say anything. I thought maybe the party was a turning point. That she’d finally read the room and decided to leave it alone.

Then one Sunday, she waited for me after service. She was standing near the exit, and when I came out, she fell into step beside me, very deliberately, and said she needed to talk to me properly. I asked her what about. She said she felt like we’d never had a real conversation about what was happening between us, and she deserved that much at least.

I remember standing there thinking, what is happening between us? Because from where I’m standing, nothing is happening. Nothing has ever happened.

What did you say?

I was very direct. I told her there was nothing to talk about. That I’d been clear about my situation, that I was with someone, that nothing was going to change, and that I needed her to accept that. She got quiet. Then she said something about how she could tell I had feelings I wasn’t acting on, that I was holding back because of my relationship, and that if I was honest with myself, I’d admit it.

That was the moment I stopped being polite about it. I told her she was wrong. That I wasn’t holding back, that there was nothing to hold back, and that what she was doing was making me uncomfortable in a space I come to every week. I said it as calmly as I could, but I said it clearly.

How did she respond?

She looked hurt. She said okay. Just that. Okay. And walked away.

The following Sunday, she didn’t come to speak to me. The one after that, either. I thought it was done. I was relieved in a way I didn’t realise I needed to be until the relief actually came.

Then one Sunday, she was back. Same warmth, same hi, same energy as we’d just pressed reset, and none of it had happened. And I just stood there thinking, so this is just how it’s going to be.

Did things get better?

No.

What happened?

A mutual friend had people over at her place a few weeks later. It was a casual thing. Just a small group, where you show up, eat, drink, and just exist with people you like. I didn’t know Angelica was going to be there. That part I genuinely didn’t know.

It started fine. We were in the same space, I acknowledged her, she acknowledged me, and we stayed on opposite ends of the room. I thought, okay, we can do this, we’re adults.

At some point in the afternoon, I went to lie down in one of the back rooms because I had a headache coming on. The host knew I just needed twenty minutes. I was on my phone, lights low, door not fully closed because it’s someone’s house, and I wasn’t trying to be rude about it.

I heard the door and assumed it was the host checking on me.

It wasn’t.

Angelica came in, closed the door behind her, and sat on the edge of the bed. She started talking, low voice, very calm, asking how I was doing, how things were going with my partner. I said fine and kept it short. Then she started going in on the relationship. Said she’d been watching us at the party, and my partner seemed possessive for someone in an open relationship. Said it didn’t look casual, that it looked like I was being controlled, that I deserved to be with someone who wasn’t going to put pressure on me.

I sat up and told her that was the whole point. That it wasn’t casual. That I’d been saying that from the beginning.

She said she knew that that was exactly why she was worried about me.

And then, before I could respond, she was on top of me. I don’t even fully know how it happened that fast. One moment she was sitting beside me, and the next she had her thighs either side of me and her hands on my face, and she was kissing me. I was so caught off guard, I froze for a second, which I hate admitting, and then I grabbed her arms and pushed her back and said what are you doing. She didn’t move immediately. She just looked at me.

I had to tell her to get off me. Twice.

She eventually got up and left the room without saying anything. I sat there for a few minutes just trying to process what had just happened.

Did anyone find out?

I told my partner that same evening. I wasn’t going to sit on it. They were quiet for a long time after I finished talking. Not angry at me, but I could feel something shift. They said they believed me and that it wasn’t my fault, and I know they meant it, but something about the whole thing put a strain on us that we’re still working through. Not because of any suspicion on their end, but because it brought the whole situation to a head that was hard to just absorb and move on from.

And Angelica?

I stopped going to that church.

I didn’t make a big announcement about it. I just stopped showing up. I found somewhere else to go on Sundays, and I haven’t been back. I’m not going to keep walking into a space every week where someone has made me feel like that. I tried to handle it with patience and grace for months, and it still ended with me having to physically push someone off me in a room I thought I was resting in.

Some spaces stop being safe. When that happens, you just have to find another one.

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

How are you feeling about all of it now?

Tired mostly. I am so tired of being wanted by someone I don’t want, especially when they won’t accept that the answer is no. I haven’t been rude. I haven’t been cold. I’ve been clear in ways I thought were enough. And she keeps showing up, in church, at parties, in the parts of my life I share with other people. There’s nowhere to fully exhale.

What’s the hardest part?

That I can’t be angry in the way I want to be. Because if I make it a whole thing, everyone could find out. In church, in that circle, in spaces where I already have to move carefully because of who I am. I’m already doing enough calculations just existing in certain rooms. Adding this on top of it is just too much.

And I really like what I have with my partner. I don’t want this woman’s inability to read a room or accept no and hard boundaries to cast a shadow on something that’s actually good.

What do you want someone reading this to understand?

That no isn’t always loud. Sometimes, no is someone redirecting every conversation. Someone is keeping their distance. Someone is telling you clearly that they are building something with someone else. Those are all nos. And when you keep pushing past them, even softly, even with a smile, you’re not being romantic. You’re not just not listening, you鈥檙e being coercive. In fact, you are being a man. 

Next Read: Meet the Winners of the 2026 91大神 HER Women of the Year Awards

*Names have been changed.

We curated a list of 50 incredible nominees across 10 categories. Then, we handed the mic to you. After thousands of audience votes and weeks of spirited debate, the people have spoken.

It only made sense to crown these icons at , our women-only haven created to uplift and celebrate women in every room, every sector, and every shade of brilliance.

50 women. 10 winners. 1 year of pure impact. Meet your 2026 91大神 HER Women of the Year.

The Gamechanger Award

This celebrates innovators who solve real-world problems through code, hardware, and scalable digital infrastructure.

The winner for The Gamechanger is the visionary behind Money Africa and Ladda, who has equipped over 200,000 people with financial literacy: Oluwatosin Olaseinde!

The Breakout Award

This is for the women who weren’t on the mainstream radar 12 months ago but have since become unavoidable and brilliant.

The winner for The Breakout is the versatile star who evolved from an indie darling into a dominant writer, director, and lead actor: Uzoamaka Power!

The Main Character Award

This is for the actresses, directors, and producers who drove the year鈥檚 biggest cultural conversations and streaming hits.

The winner for The Main Character is the undisputed Box Office Queen who made history with Behind The Scenes鈥攖he first Nollywood production to cross the 鈧�2 billion mark: Funke Akindele!

The Blueprint Award

This award is for the architects of the economy: the CEOs and founders scaling empires across the continent.

The winner for The Blueprint is the woman who scaled her remote work ecosystem to support over 150,000 women globally: Adeife Adeoye!

The Essence Award

For the women who provide the building blocks for our peace and our glow: the mental health advocates and beauty pioneers.

The winner for The Essence is the content powerhouse who scaled her beauty brand, PriscyLuxe, into a global retail force: Priscilla Ojo!

The Headliner Award

For the artists, producers, and label execs defining the global sound and ensuring the world is listening to us right now.

The winner for The Headliner is the ‘Sabi Girl’ who dominated the global charts with a relentless run of back-to-back hits: Ayra Starr!

The Force Award

For the activists and policy-shapers who hold power accountable and fight for systemic change.

The winner for The Force is the legislator who delivered historic infrastructure and digital learning milestones across Kogi Central: Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan!

The Storyteller Award

For the journalists, authors, and podcasters who documented our lives and redefined the scale of African storytelling.

The winners for The Storyteller are the duo who transformed their podcast into a global touring phenomenon with The Bounce Live: FK & Jola (ISWIS)!

The MVP Award

This is for the athletes and leaders who didn鈥檛 just play the game; they changed the rules and brought home the gold.

The MVP聽is our world-record holder, who remains the undisputed queen of the track:聽Tobi Amusan!

The Muse Award

Celebrating the designers and models whose aesthetics and influence birthed the year鈥檚 biggest trends.

The winner for The Muse is the designer whose technical brilliance and high-fashion vision defined the 2026 red carpet: Veekee James!

Through 21 Wool Street, she鈥檚 turning crochet into something far more expansive than craft, using it to create bridal pieces that feel personal, intentional, and deeply lived-in. For the bride who wants to look like herself, not what is expected, Elizabeth is quietly and steadily widening what鈥檚 possible.

Can you tell me the story of how you started 21 Wool Street? What moment or experience made you realise crochet could be more than a hobby and become a brand?

I started 21 Wool Street in 2017, but the seeds were planted a bit earlier. Before then, I was just having fun with crochet as a little hobby. Then I started seeing more people experimenting with it as clothing pieces that looked more modern and fitting for our generation on YouTube and Instagram, and I was curious. I started creating tops, skirts, and more.

In 2016, one of my friends reached out because she needed something to wear to the beach. I had already made a crochet beach outfit for myself, so I made the same design in burgundy monochrome for her, and she got so many compliments. I remember thinking, 鈥淲ait, people will actually pay for this?鈥� From there, I started making pieces for classmates at university, receiving orders and referrals, and it slowly became clear that this wasn鈥檛 just a hobby. It was something people connected to, valued, and wanted more of, and that鈥檚 when 21 Wool Street began to take shape as a brand. The brand has evolved over the years, incorporating additional techniques such as macrame into our designs. 

When did you rebrand to bridal crochet?

I鈥檇 like to clarify that the brand doesn鈥檛 focus exclusively on bridal wear. It started with crochet beachwear, but evolved naturally in response to customer demand and our own creative direction.

As people engaged with the pieces, there was growing interest in how the craft could extend into more occasion-led designs, and into accessories like bags and earrings. Bridal is one expression of that evolution.

At its core, the brand is always building on what resonates with our communities. Crochet is an art form that allows for that kind of fluidity.

Can you walk us through how you chose the name 21 Wool Street? 

I wanted something that captured multiple dimensions of the brand: its youthfulness and our use of sustainable materials. That sense of youthfulness is especially important to me because the brand is designed for both the young and the young at heart.

I think when anyone hears 21 Wool Street, they immediately think of community. A space where you fit right in because what we create was made with you in mind.

When people hear the term ‘crochet bridal wear,’ it can sound unconventional. How do you navigate that? 

Yes, when people hear that, it can sound unconventional. But at 21 Wool Street, it鈥檚 never just about crochet; we鈥檝e evolved to incorporate many craft techniques into our design language, including crochet, macrame, and eventually weaving. This has allowed us to blend texture, stitch, and material in ways that feel unique and personal. 

What does crochet allow you to express that traditional bridal fashion doesn鈥檛?

Our designs are for women who want to look different, try something new, and bring elements of themselves into what they wear. It won鈥檛 be for everybody, but if you鈥檙e looking for something distinctive, something that truly reflects who you are, this approach can be for you. Sustainability is also a key value; pieces can be re-worn, reused, passed down, or even sold. A lot of bridal fashion today can feel templated: the same corsets, fabrics, and silhouettes. 

Craft-based designs are another way to stand out on your wedding day. And it doesn鈥檛 have to be the entire outfit: a veil, accessories, bouquet, or floral accents can incorporate craft artistry, bringing both individuality and sustainability into your celebration.

What problems do you think traditional Nigerian bridal fashion creates for women? How does your work challenge or respond to those pressures? 

I think wedding culture, not just in Nigeria, but globally, has stripped a lot of soul, tradition, and meaning from weddings. There is so much pressure to look a certain way and follow certain rules without really asking why. It can push women into conforming, into appealing to one glorified aesthetic. If that鈥檚 your thing, that鈥檚 fine; it can be beautiful. But in Nigeria, there is a very specific ‘ideal’ bridal look, and if you step outside of it, you鈥檙e seen as strange or an outcast. That pressure makes people stop being themselves. 

There is also a huge financial burden. People are encouraged to spend outrageous amounts on things they鈥檒l wear once, not necessarily the best quality or even what they truly like, instead of thinking about their future, their home, or their life after the wedding. My response through crochet is about sustainability, reusability, and collaboration. Whether I鈥檓 designing a dress, veil, or bouquet, it鈥檚 a process that brings part of your life into the piece. It鈥檚 about creating something meaningful, not just expensive.

Do you see 21 Wool Street as part of a wider shift in how Nigerian women think about their wedding day? 

Yes. I want women to start thinking about sustainability, rewear value, and reuse value, rather than seeing their wedding dress as a one-day thing. I want people to think of their wedding dress as a long-term investment, something you pour into and get so much more out of.

So, what kind of bride do you design for? 

I design for women who want to stand out, who want something memorable, and for their wedding experience to truly reflect who they are. 

When I designed for my sister, she wanted something retro, free, and comfortable, something that felt like her. Not just any crochet wedding dress would have worked. The fact that I, her sister, designed it was also an important part of the story she wanted to tell. So for every woman, it will mean something different. But it always starts with intention: Do you want something unique? Do you want something that reflects you? Does it align with your theme and your values? It鈥檚 for the intentional bride, someone who wants to be free, comfortable, different, and themselves, not what society says a bride should look like.

If you had to summarise the soul of 21 Wool Street in 3鈥�5 words, what would they be and why?

• Intentional 鈥� because nothing we create is rushed or accidental. Every piece is thought through, from concept to the final stitch.
• Unconventional 鈥� a word deeply connected to how people perceive the brand and what we truly represent. We think differently. We design differently. We dress differently. Crochet itself sits outside the expected, and we embrace that fully.
• Comfort 鈥� because the wearer is always at the centre of our designs. Can you sit in it? Walk in it? Breathe in it? How does it feel on your skin? Beauty should never come at the expense of ease.
• Timeless 鈥� I鈥檓 not just designing trendy pieces; I鈥檓 creating pieces made to last. Pieces you return to again and again. Pieces you never get tired of. Pieces you鈥檒l proudly show your children, nieces, or nephews, or even pass down to them.

Walk me through the process of making a crochet wedding dress, from idea to final fitting.

It always starts with a conversation. I want to understand the bride: her personality, how she moves, her comfort level, and the emotional vision she has for her wedding day. From there, I move into research, mood-boarding, sketching, and stitch testing. I search for the right yarn texture and colour for the design, create sample swatches where necessary, and once everything is approved, we move into constructing the piece. 

The bride is kept updated throughout the entire process. Our bridal wear requires extensive experimentation with yarn choice, stitch density, lining, and reinforcement. These all matter. Sometimes the bride already has a clear design in mind, and my role is to translate that vision in a way that works structurally and aesthetically. Balancing structure, durability, and delicacy comes down to technique.

The final outcome depends on the design, the yarn thickness, and the stitch or pattern used. Because crochet behaves differently from traditional fabrics, testing and sampling are essential to understand what works and what doesn鈥檛. I鈥檓 also very intentional about sourcing high-quality materials, because the right yarn makes all the difference in how the piece looks, feels, and lasts.

What鈥檚 the most challenging part of designing in crochet for brides? 

I wouldn鈥檛 say I鈥檝e had one major challenge. Most of the brides who come to us already understand the work to an extent; they鈥檝e seen what we do, they trust the process, and they鈥檙e intentionally choosing crochet. So I haven鈥檛 really had to convince anyone that it works. If anything, the challenge is internal rather than external. Crochet is slow, and bridal timelines can be tight, so it requires careful planning and precision. Thankfully, we鈥檝e had amazing clients who reach out with enough time to really work through the process properly.  

Crochet bridal is often one fitting, sometimes with very limited room for adjustment, which means every stitch has to be done carefully and intentionally. I remember working with my first international bride in 2023. We couldn鈥檛 take measurements in person, so she worked with a tailor on her end. There was still that fear, wondering if the piece would fit perfectly once it arrived. Thankfully, it did. Moments like that remind me how much trust, care, and focus go into every piece, even when the process itself is working well.

What details or techniques are unique signatures of your work, if any?

I don鈥檛 think I鈥檝e fully figured it out yet; there鈥檚 still a lot of experimenting happening, but there鈥檚 something about a 21 Wool Street piece that, once you see it, you just know it鈥檚 us. There鈥檚 a strong play on colour in our work, alongside bold stitches, sculptural sleeves, and thoughtful finishing. I like exploring how colour shifts a piece’s mood, making it feel softer, bolder, or more expressive. I鈥檓 very particular about durability: properly weaving in ends, clean edges, and paying close attention to how the piece feels against the body. My work may look soft, but it鈥檚 built to last.

You鈥檝e said your pieces centre on individuality and intimacy. What does that mean in the context of a wedding? 

It means collaboration. It means long conversations, research, getting to know who you are, what you love, and what you don鈥檛. I use all of that to create something that feels like you. When people see the piece, they should see your story.

Do you see your work as feminist? If yes, how? 

Yes. I see my work as supporting women鈥檚 rights. Fashion has historically relied on women鈥檚 unpaid or underpaid labour, fast production, and bodies being shaped to fit trends instead of the other way around. My work challenges that by slowing the process, valuing handmade labour, and creating pieces built around the woman without forcing her to fit into a standard shape or aesthetic. Sustainability is also part of that. Caring about the earth and the future is deeply connected to caring about people, especially women, who are often the most affected by environmental harm and unfair labour systems.

What kinds of reactions do you get from brides who choose crochet over traditional materials? 

I鈥檒l use my sister again. She wasn鈥檛 a mainstream bride. Even her traditional wedding look was inspired by our grandmother. The reactions were mostly positive. There was some critique, but people celebrated her individuality. She was very happy, and she鈥檚 still happy with how she looked on her wedding day.  21 Wool Street brides are very intentional. They know what they want, which is why choosing crochet over traditional materials is an easy yes for them 

Can you walk me through a week or a day in the life of the brand 21 Wool Street and you, its founder?

My mornings usually start with design work: sketching, reviewing concepts, responding to client messages, and planning new pieces. If I鈥檓 in production mode, I spend hours crocheting, testing patterns, adjusting structure, and making sure each piece feels right. Some days are dedicated to workshops. I prepare materials, plan lessons, and teach people how to crochet, from beginners to creatives who want to explore it as a business or artistic skill. 

On Saturdays, I volunteer at a school where I teach children how to crochet and create with their hands. In between, I鈥檓 delivering orders, sourcing materials, photographing work, going through emails, brainstorming future collections, and thinking about how the brand can grow.

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What鈥檚 it like running a niche creative brand in Nigeria, especially one that asks brides to step outside the norm? 

It鈥檚 very challenging because most people are drawn to mainstream fashion, big designers, and popular styles. Choosing to build something niche means you鈥檙e constantly asking people to step outside what feels safe and familiar. But at the same time, it鈥檚 deeply rewarding. We鈥檙e seeing a shift: people want to see themselves reflected in what they wear. They care about sustainability, individuality, creativity, and meaning. 

The most rewarding part is seeing people choose my work for moments that matter, like birthdays, graduation, going on vacation, weddings, and watching them feel seen in what they wear. It鈥檚 also exciting to collaborate with other niche brands and creatives who share similar values. Opportunities like working with international brands 鈥� I worked with Toms when it launched in Nigeria 鈥� or being approached by people who are intentionally seeking something different, remind me that there is value in what I do. 

What challenges or misconceptions do you often have to battle? 

A big challenge is that running a business in Nigeria is already hard. Access to funding, inconsistent power supply, high material costs, and logistics all make scaling difficult. Beyond that, crochet itself is misunderstood. People see it as 鈥渏ust crochet鈥� and expect it to be cheap or fast. But crochet is not fast fashion. It is slow, handmade work. Every stitch is done by hand, which means production takes time and care. Scalability is also a challenge because crochet cannot be rushed or mass-produced the way factory fashion is.

Another challenge is helping people understand the value of what they鈥檙e paying for. My work comes from a place of care, sustainability, and creativity, but many people still hesitate to invest in that. Access to quality raw materials is also limited here, which increases cost. All of this makes running a sustainable, handmade brand more demanding, but somewhat also more necessary.

How do you measure the brand’s success?聽What matters most to you beyond sales?聽

Success for me is not a number. It鈥檚 about impact. It鈥檚 about how we think about fashion in a world slowly being damaged by climate change. We all need to play a part, and one way is through the clothes we wear. 

Success looks like: Teaching people to crochet; educating people about sustainability; helping women understand the life cycle of fashion; designing pieces that can be reworn, reused, and passed on. It鈥檚 about making crochet more mainstream, while showing that you can look beautiful and still care about the earth and your surroundings. For me, success is pushing sustainable fashion forward. 

What kind of future do you imagine for the Nigerian bridal industry? 

I imagine a future with: More diversity and creativity. Less exploitation. More collaboration and care. I want to see more thoughtfulness in how services are provided, more freedom for women to look different, and more celebration of individuality. I want diversity in fabric, style, culture, and expression, a bridal industry that allows women to truly be themselves.

What do you hope 21 Wool Street contributes to that future? 

21 Wool Street helps widen the possibilities of what bridal can be. By introducing crochet and handcrafted techniques into bridal fashion, I want to show that there鈥檚 room for softness, comfort, and individuality alongside tradition. I hope the brand contributes to a more intentional, respectful approach to bridal design, one that values craftsmanship, honours the wearer, and treats creative labour with care.

What鈥檚 a dream project you haven鈥檛 done yet? 

I have quite a number, my goodness! My dream is to make 21 Wool Street more than just a fashion brand; I want it to be a lifestyle. That includes creating products that fit into your home and blend craftsmanship with everyday living. I won鈥檛 say more than that for now.