91����

After years of living a life that others chose for her, Durotimi* (43) thought she had finally found the fresh start she’d been waiting for. But her late marriage didn’t bring the stability or peace she expected — and soon, she found herself carrying more than her share of the weight.

In this story, Durotimi reflects on the quiet sacrifices, the hidden dreams, and the bold decision that might finally change everything.

This is Durotimi’s story as told to Betty:

I grew up in a small village in Ondo State. After I completed secondary school, my father didn’t think it was important or prudent to send me to university. Instead, he put my younger siblings and me to work on his farms and encouraged me to get married.

I was only 17 at the time, but settling down early was common in my village. So I stayed in my father’s house, waiting for my husband to come and claim me. But decades passed, and no one came. By the time I turned 37, my single status had become an inescapable topic of conversation at morning devotions. Every Sunday at church, at least one older woman would squeeze my hand and whisper, “Your own will soon come.” 

It was even worse at weddings. Every time a younger sibling or cousin got married, there would always be a guest loudly wondering why I still hadn’t — as if it were under my control. It was humiliating. I would often cry to my mum and aunts, seeking comfort, but after all those years, even their patience was wearing thin. 

So in 2020, an aunt in Ibadan invited me to stay with her for a few days so I could get away from the farm and have a change of environment. While I was visiting, the lockdown happened and I decided to stay with her for a few months. 

During one of my walks around her neighbourhood, I met a widowed pastor named Tade*. He stopped me to say he had seen a vision of a glorious future for me, and that I shouldn’t give up. I needed that encouragement, so we struck up a conversation. Soon, we were taking evening walks together four to five times a week, and I really enjoyed them. Tade was soft-spoken and passionate about starting his own church. He confided in me that he was just waiting to find a wife before going all in. 

His passion was infectious, and I found myself secretly wishing he would ask me to be that wife. I wasn’t a young woman anymore, but I was no stranger to hard work. I was sure I would be able to support him in building a church from the ground up. I didn’t think love mattered at this point — we just needed to agree on our goals and remain committed to them. 

In September 2020, Tade officially asked to court me, and we began planning our wedding. We got married in May 2021. Up until then, I believed everything was finally falling into place. My parents were delighted, his family seemed nice, and we were going to settle down in Ibadan, a city I had grown to love.

After the wedding festivities, I moved into Tade’s home. When I arrived, I found three young children in the living room. Surprised, I asked my new husband who they were, and he flippantly replied that they were his children from his previous marriage. I was confused. Tade had never once mentioned having a child, let alone three. And all the times I visited him during courtship, I never saw any signs of them. 

When I brought this up, he said that they had been living with his sister because he couldn’t manage their care. But now that I was around, he said I could take care of them while he focused on building his church. 

That was the first major crack in our relationship, and it opened the door to many more problems. I tried my best with the children, but going from having zero children to three was overwhelming. Tade, busy with his church plans, didn’t work regularly, which meant the burden of providing for the family fell to me. I returned to farming and started selling vegetables and sweet potatoes to feed myself and the kids. 

After two years, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down and cried to my mother, hoping she would understand. Instead, she told me that marriage is a trial for women and that I should endure so I wouldn’t bring shame on my family — especially after marrying so late. Her response crushed me. 

So I turned to my aunt in Ibadan instead, and thankfully, she supported me. 

She asked me what kind of work I’d like to do, since farming clearly wasn’t sustainable —  especially with Tade providing little to no financial support. I told her I wanted to go to the UK through the elderly care route. She supported the idea and even paid for my visa application, but it was rejected. 

When I told Tade about the application, he lost it. He began cursing me, accusing me of trying to ruin God’s mandate for His Kingdom by abandoning him and his children. I tried to explain that sending money home could improve all our lives, and maybe, one day, we could all move abroad as a family. But Tade refused to listen. He insisted I give up on leaving the country and focus on farming and raising the children.

I didn’t listen. With help from different family members, I applied two more times, but both were rejected. The repeated rejections broke me. Tade had become verbally and emotionally abusive since I first mentioned my plans. He mocked me, saying things like, ”See this one that wants to run away. You’ll die in this Nigeria.” Eventually, he admitted that he had called the embassy during my last two  applications and told them I had forged documents so they would reject me.

The weight of that betrayal crushed me. I left the house and went to stay with my aunt from lockdown. When I told her everything, she advised that since my family didn’t support me leaving my marriage, and Tade himself wasn’t pulling his weight at home, I had to be strategic.

She bought me a JAMB form and encouraged me to secretly study a course that could lead to a good job abroad. I told her I didn’t know how I’d juggle the children, the farm, and school, but she told me not to worry. She would tell Tade that she had hired me as her assistant, and since her shop was far from our house, the kids and I would need to stay with her more often. He hesitated at first, but eventually agreed — mostly because it meant he wouldn’t have to spend money feeding his children.

I wrote the JAMB exam in 2024 and got into the university to study Nursing. I start this September, and I’m so excited about what’s ahead. The children still think I work as an assistant for my aunt. What they don’t know is that all I do at the shop is study. I’m determined to get outstanding grades so I can japa as soon as I earn my certificate. My aunt has promised to support my dream, even if it means taking additional qualifying exams once I get abroad.

When the time comes, I plan to leave Tade’s children with him. I’ve done my part. As for remarrying, I don’t think I will. This decision to defy everyone and pursue a degree is revealing parts of myself I didn’t even know existed. I want to explore all of them. And I’m not sure there’ll be time or space for marriage after that. I’m making peace with that now.

Aside from becoming a graduate, there’s only one thing I’m truly looking forward to in the next decade: leaving Tade behind.

If you enjoyed reading this, you’ll also enjoy: I Left Nigeria For My Girlfriend, But She Spent My Money On Another Man