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.

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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. 

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*Names have been changed.

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. 

Louise*, 23, grew up in a household where her father’s sister was always around, watching and nitpicking. Nobody liked it when she visited. Then one Ramadan morning, Louise’s sister woke up and wasn’t herself anymore. What followed was one of the most terrifying years of her family’s life, and the beginning of something her aunt didn’t see coming. This is what she said.

Tell us about yourself.

My name is Louise, I’m 23. Lagos born and bred, still here. I’m a content creator, and when I’m not working, I’m reading or watching movies. Pretty simple life, honestly.

What made you decide to tell this story?

A friend sent me a What She Said article, and that’s how I even found out about the platform. When I saw the form, I just thought, it’s time. It’s something my family has healed from, so why keep it to ourselves? Someone else might need to hear it.

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

Quite insane. That’s the most accurate thing I can say.

Let’s go back. What was your household or family life like growing up?

I grew up with my parents and 3 siblings. However, we had our aunt come over way more times than necessary. The malice was always obvious. I can’t remember most of my earliest memories, but no one, absolutely no one, liked being around her. My siblings and I hated it whenever she was around. My mum would become more subdued because any little thing, and that one had started nitpicking. From the cooking, the way the house was arranged, and how my mum spoke to my dad. There was always something. She never came in peace. The only person who seemed okay with her presence was our father, and that was because she’s his sister. Family and everything. But the rest of us could feel it every time she walked in. It was like the air changed.

What exactly do you think her problem was? 

She was definitely jealous of our father. She didn’t like our mother either, but that wasn’t really jealousy; that was something else entirely. With our father, it was envy, deep envy. He had everything she didn’t. A good job, a solid marriage, a home that was actually running, all his children on a path to become something. 

She didn’t have a husband. Her children, who are way older than most of the cousins because she had them very early, all out of wedlock, were barely hanging on. One had already had a child out of wedlock, too. So she’d come into our father’s house and see the life she wanted and couldn’t have, and I think that ate at her up every single time. The visits were never just visits. They were her coming to measure herself against him and going home feeling worse.

Did that ever change?

No. It only got worse. My mum had heard from other family members that our aunt was involved in diabolical things spiritually. There was even a story that she had almost caused the death of another sibling’s husband, that that one nearly died, and it was traced back to her. But my mum didn’t read too much into it at the time. She kept telling herself that yes, this woman is wicked, but she can’t be THAT wicked. So even when people were warning her to keep herself and her children away from my aunt, she didn’t fully listen. She thought they were exaggerating. She was too generous with the benefit of the doubt, and I think she knows that now. Then one morning, everything changed. 

What happened?

It was a usual Ramadan morning. I was about ten. My sister and I were just talking the way we always did, and then she started saying things that didn’t make sense. At first, I was just confused; I didn’t understand what was happening. But she kept mixing her words, and before long, she was dancing with no music playing, and she was talking to people who weren’t there. I called my parents, and even they thought she was joking at first. My sister has never been a joker so that didn’t last long. Then she started taking off her clothes in the middle of the living room and banging her chest, and that’s when everyone understood that something was very, very wrong.

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Ah. What happened next?

It was a terrifying experience. That’s the only word. My parents were trying to hold it together for the rest of us, but you could feel that they were falling apart on the inside. My sister, who had been completely fine the day before, was now someone we didn’t recognise. She’d look at you and not see you. She’d be laughing at things that weren’t there and then crying for no reason and then just standing completely still in the middle of a room. The house felt like it was holding its breath. Nobody knew what to do, and everyone was pretending to be calmer than they were.

How did the family try to get answers?

My parents did their best to keep the younger ones away from the details, so a lot of this I had to piece together later. She was taken to a psychiatric hospital first. But the madness kept getting worse, and even the medical people couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She had woken up completely fine and then just lost herself, and there was no medical explanation for it. My mum was at her wits’ end. She was crying to a friend one day, and the friend suggested an Alfa, saying that if the hospital couldn’t find anything, maybe this man could. My mum was desperate. She convinced my dad, and they took my sister to him.

The Alfa told them the person doing this to their daughter lives right inside their house. My dad stormed out. That’s his elder sister. Why would she do that to him? He refused to believe it. My mum said it felt like a film to both of them.

The Alfa said he wasn’t going to try to convince my dad, but he would help my sister get better. He also said that whatever was sent would backfire one hundred per cent on the person who sent it. My mum didn’t even care about that part at that point; she just wanted her child back. She also kept asking herself what the Alfa had to gain from lying to them. He didn’t know who they were. He had nothing to gain.

Did your sister get better?

She did, all thanks to the Alfa. That period when she came back to herself was one of the happiest the house had felt in a long time. Everyone was just relieved. You don’t realise how much space fear takes up until it’s gone.

And then my aunt came around to congratulate the family. My mum just said thank you. She was still very wary, but there was no concrete evidence, nothing she could point to and say this is proof, so they didn’t confront her. Life continued. My mum watched her and said nothing. But she didn鈥檛 stop watching.

How was the family in the months after, while things were back to normal?

Cautiously okay. I think everyone was just grateful, but also not fully settled. My parents had heard what the Alfa said, and even if my dad didn’t want to believe it, I think it was sitting somewhere in both of them. My mum, especially. She was warm on the surface, but something in her had shifted permanently. You could feel it. She wasn’t the same around my aunt after that. The visits became shorter. The welcomes became cooler. My mum was cordial the way you are with someone you’ve decided you can never fully trust again.

Then?

The following year, also during Ramadan. My aunt’s youngest daughter, the one who had just finished polytechnic, came to stay with us for a week to help my mum around the house. I was already on edge just from the PTSD of watching my sister the year before. Two days into the visit, my cousin started showing the exact same signs. Dancing to no music. Mixing her words. Seeing people who weren’t there. Standing in the middle of the room, unreachable. I had already seen this once, and I still wasn’t ready to see it again.

What did the family make of it?

Everyone understood immediately. It wasn’t something you needed to explain at that point. And unlike the first time with my sister, there was no confusion, no running to hospitals, no scrambling for answers. Everyone just knew. The whole family eventually knew what it was and why it was happening. It became something people talked about openly, that my cousin went mad every Ramadan because of what my aunt had put on my sister. The curse had simply gone home.

And yet my aunt refused to acknowledge it for years. Every Ramadan, it was the same cycle. Her daughter would have an episode for days. They’d pray. She’d get better. Everyone would breathe. Then the next Ramadan, it would start all over again. My aunt would watch her own child go through what she had deliberately put on someone else’s child, and she still could not bring herself to say the words. I don’t know what that kind of stubbornness costs a person, but it must be something.

Did she ever confess?

When her daughter got to the point where she was at risk of walking into the street and throwing herself in front of a moving bus. That’s when my aunt finally apologised to my parents. Because if she hadn’t, her daughter would never have gotten better. It took her years to get to that point. Years of watching her child suffer the same thing she had deliberately put on someone else’s child, and she still couldn’t bring herself to say it until the situation became truly life or death. That tells you everything about the kind of person she is.

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How did your mum receive that apology?

My mum doesn’t think it was enough. And honestly, I understand her. Watching your child become unrecognisable, not knowing what is wrong, running to hospitals, running to spiritual people, the fear of every single day, carrying that while still having to function, still having to feed other children and show up and pretend you’re okay, and then to find out someone did that deliberately. Someone who ate in your house and smiled in your face. That kind of apology doesn’t cover that. It was an apology she gave because she had no other option, not because she was genuinely sorry. My mum knows the difference.

Does your aunt understand the full weight of what she did?

I don’t think so. I think she understands that she got caught and that it came back to her. Whether she actually feels the weight of what she put my family through, I doubt it. People like that usually don’t. The remorse is about consequences, not about the harm itself.

Do you think the debt has been paid?

I do. My aunt has done terrible things to almost every successful sibling she has, and she is still reaping all of it. Her life is the evidence. So yes, I think the scales have balanced. Good riddance, honestly.

If you could sit across from her today and say one thing, what would it be?

Frankly? Fuck you.

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*Names have been changed.

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. 

Sarah*, 26, was a model student at her secondary school, the kind teachers put forward for debates and trusted with prefect positions, until a teacher started harassing her, and the school that was supposed to protect her became one of the most unsafe places she’d ever been. She figured out how to survive it mostly on her own. She’s still figuring out what to do with that. This is what she said.

TW: Sexual assault, Self-harm

Tell us who you are

My name is Sarah, I’m 26. I’m a client and marketing manager, Lagos born and bred, still here. When I’m not working, I’m watching movies, listening to music, and hanging out with my friends. I love creating content too, still learning, but I enjoy it.

What made you want to tell this story?

I think I just got tired of carrying it quietly. It’s one of those things that shaped so much of who I became, and most people around me don’t fully know what happened. I thought, why not just say it.

Take me back to secondary school. What were you like?

I was a good student. Like genuinely, I cared about school. I was the kind of person teachers put forward for things like debates and leadership. I was a girls’ hostel prefect. The school’s director, who was a pastor, saw me as this perfect girl and was proud of me for it. I liked being that person. I worked for it. Then everything changed.

When did things start to change?

There was a teacher. I’ll call him Mr D. He started by touching me inappropriately. This wasn’t even the first time something like this had happened to me. He was always caressing my lap. It happened when teachers weren’t around, and the school was quiet. He’d send another student to come and call me, and you can’t disrespect a teacher, so you go. And when I was there, I’d just freeze. I don’t know how to explain it except that I couldn’t move or speak. Like my body just stopped working. It went on like that for a while.

Why didn’t you tell anyone?

Who was I going to tell? All my teachers were male. And I’d seen male teachers dating students in that school, so what were my chances that if I spoke to one of them, they wouldn’t cover for him or make it worse? The person who was supposed to be protecting me was the one doing it. That’s the thing people don’t understand: when the threat is coming from someone with authority over you, there’s nobody to report to. You’re just stuck.

How long did it go on?

I started finding ways to avoid him. If someone came to call me, I’d say I wasn’t there. It worked for a while. Then one day, I was looking for a different teacher. I didn’t see whoever he’d sent to call me, and he found me directly. He tried to finger me right there, and I screamed and ran. After that, I avoided him even harder. He eventually stopped coming to the school. I don’t know what happened, and I was so relieved. Even then, if I saw someone who looked like him, I’d freeze. If his name came up in conversation, my mood would just drop immediately. But at least he wasn’t physically there.

What happened next?

He came back in SS2. I was on the school compound on a Saturday, and lessons were done. Someone told me he’d been there earlier and already left, and I was happy. Then I came out of one of the buildings, and he was just there. I froze on the spot. My friends were asking me why I was standing there looking like that, and I couldn’t explain it.

He said he wanted to apologise. He said he wanted to talk to me privately. And I made a mistake I’ve thought about many times since then. I was very forgiving when I was young, almost to a fault. I always thought the best of people. I always wanted peace, so I went with him to hear what he had to say. We were at the back of the school building, where there was a dry fishing pond. And he grabbed me.

What?

He grabbed me and started touching me. I tried to scream, and he covered my mouth. He pushed me to the ground, tore my shirt, and tried to penetrate me. I was a virgin, and I kept struggling, and eventually my voice got loud enough that he stopped and left. He didn’t get what he wanted, but I was on the ground, shirt torn, crying, shaking. I kept thinking, what did I do for this to happen to me? I felt stupid and angry, and I had nobody to call.

What did you do after he left?

I was screaming. I found a bottle somewhere, and I broke it. I wanted to stab my stomach, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I started cutting my hand with the broken glass instead. Then I went to the hostel to get a knife and went back and stabbed my hand badly. I still have the scar. I was bleeding, and I think that’s when someone found me.

Do you remember what was going through your head in that moment?

I just wanted it to stop. All of it. I didn’t know how to make it stop any other way. I couldn’t run home, there was no means to get there. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I’d been holding all of it alone for so long, and something just broke that day.

What happened after they found you?

They had me write everything down. Every day I’d go and write what happened and how I was feeling. Questions were asked of other students, and it became a big thing around the school. Some teachers became more caring towards me after that. They arrested him. They called me from the hostel to come and see when they did it. And then they let him go.

They let him go?

They let him go. I don’t know the full reason, but my feeling is they didn’t want a scandal for the school. And after everything, he still came back. He’d come around during the holidays because he had a friend who lived near the school, and he’d try to talk to me, tell me he’d changed, try to touch me. It just kept going.

I don鈥檛 know how he even got my number, maybe from a friend or a colleague, but he would text me sometimes, just 鈥渉i,鈥� trying to start conversations. At some point, I told him very clearly that if he ever contacted me again, I would get boys to beat him up, and I meant it. I told him to stay away from me because I didn鈥檛 mind bringing everything back up and getting him arrested again.

And the school director, the one who was so proud of you before, how did he respond to all of this?

That was its own thing. After everything came out, he turned on me completely. Before this, he was proud of me; he was always putting me forward for things. After this, he punished me for everything. If other students did something and got let off, I’d be beaten, flogged, called ashawo, and called useless. He’d do it in front of people on purpose. One time, he called me in front of a parent and just started telling them everything, calling me names, saying I was sleeping with a teacher. I was 13 or 14. I was so angry, I just walked away from them. He called me back and slapped me so hard I couldn’t hear properly for two days. The school was three floors, and people at the top could hear the slap.

He was a pastor. He had all these rules about boys and girls not being seen together. And this is how he treated a child who had been assaulted by a man he employed.

Did you tell your parents any of this?

No. They were barely around, my dad especially. My mum was strict, so it made it hard to open up to her. We only had two or three weeks’ holiday at a time, and even then, how do you summon the courage to say something like that in that window of time to someone you’re scared of? When she eventually heard and asked me why I hadn’t told her, I didn’t have a clean answer. But I also feel like a mother should notice when her child isn’t comfortable. There were signs. I was shutting down, my behaviour was changing. Nobody asked why.

You mentioned this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to you.

No. When I was about five or six, a family member harassed me. I didn’t talk about it then either. When I finally told my mum about it much later, she spoke to that family member directly, which meant I had to deal with that family member asking me if I was sure it happened, if I was still angry at him, basically treating me like I was lying. Even when a prayer pastor was told, nothing was done. So by the time secondary school happened, I already had a blueprint for how this was going to go. You speak, nothing happens, you just have to deal.

How did it start affecting you in ways other people could see?

I became very aggressive, especially towards boys. I slashed a classmate’s face with a blade once in literature class because he touched me. Another time, I tried to stab a classmate with a biro because he was tickling me and being loud with me. I knew what I was doing wasn’t okay, but I couldn’t control it. Any physical contact from a male, and something in me just went. My mood was different; I stopped being the jovial person I used to be. I kept to myself. It was also around this time that I started noticing I had a liking for girls, not romantically, just that being around them felt safer. I don’t fully know how to explain it.

Without therapy, without anyone to talk to, how did you actually get through each day?

Books mostly. Movies. Any time the thoughts would start coming, I’d reach for something to put in my head instead. I read a lot of the Bible during that period, and I cried a lot doing it. It sounds simple, but it was genuinely what kept me functional.

I also wrote a lot. I had a diary then, and I would write everything down. If I couldn鈥檛 write during the week, on Saturdays I would replay everything that happened and write it all down. I even had a separate journal where I wrote Bible verses and prayers, asking God to heal me. That process, writing and praying, was how I started to heal gradually.

After secondary school, if anything bad happened to me, I would go back to that trauma mentally. It would feel like a cycle, like a replay. Sometimes I would self-harm again, cutting myself on my legs or hands. Eventually, I just kept praying for healing because it felt like no one else was helping me. Most people around me had already moved on or forgotten, so it was just me trying to find a way out of it.

I’m also someone who physically gets sick when I cry too much, so at some point, I made a decision that I was not going to let myself spiral because my body couldn’t handle it. I would forgive, I would move forward, I would just get on with it. A lot of people would find that hard to believe, but for me, it was survival. Sitting in the pain wasn’t going to save me. Finding an escape was.

What does your relationship with all of this look like now?

I’m okay. I mean that genuinely, not in a brushing it off way. I’ve made peace with most of it.

I don鈥檛 know when I stopped repressing certain feelings, but now, when I think about it, I get emotional. Some days I even feel like finding the book I wrote everything in and reading it again, but my mum hid it. Maybe part of me just wants to fully face it, or maybe to finally forget it properly.

My headspace is better than before. I still forgive, but not like I used to. Now I have doubts. I鈥檓 more observant, and once I see something, there鈥檚 nothing anyone can say to make me trust them again. I just want to be at peace with myself.

I hate rapists so much. I don鈥檛 even engage when I see rape cases online because it triggers me. I just avoid it completely.

The parts that still sting are mostly about the people who should have protected me and didn’t, my parents for not noticing, the school for protecting itself instead of me, and the family that questioned me instead of believing me. Those are the parts I still sit with sometimes.

If you could talk to the version of yourself that was on the ground behind that school building, what would you say to her?

I’d tell her it’s not her fault. None of it. Not the trusting someone who said sorry, not the freezing when she should have run, not any of it. She was a child, and she was let down by every adult who was supposed to keep her safe. That’s not something she did wrong.

I鈥檇 also tell her that she survived. Even with everything, she survived. She鈥檚 not weak. I鈥檝e always been a strong person, and she was strong even then. I鈥檒l never stop being a strong babe, still a friendly person, still a fighter.

What do you want someone reading this to take away?

If you’re in it right now, find your escape, whatever keeps you moving. And know that healing doesn’t have to look like therapy or talking about it until you’re raw. Sometimes it looks like survival first and understanding later. Both are valid. You’re allowed to just get through it however you can.

And if you don鈥檛 have help or someone to talk to, the best thing you can do is try to find peace. Find things that bring you happiness, things that help you grow. Find comfort in what you love. Love yourself, love your body, even when you don鈥檛 feel good enough.

For me, I became so passionate about the things I loved that I slowly stopped focusing on what happened to me. You can try therapy, you can confide in people you trust, but also know that healing can start in small, personal ways.

I hope you find healing. I still have moments where I want to cry when I think about everything, but I also know now that I鈥檓 stronger.

*Names have been changed.

If you or someone you know is struggling with the aftermath of sexual violence, the WARIF helpline is available at 08000 930 000. If you are experiencing thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please reach out to Mentally Aware Nigeria Initiative (MANI) at hello@mani.ng

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. 

Ebi*, 26, joined a PR firm fresh off her master’s degree and spent over a year there before a charming, softly-spoken colleague decided she was his next project. He pursued her methodically, chipped away at her walls one conversation at a time, and by the time she found out he had a long-term girlfriend, and was also seeing another woman in the same office, the three of them had already started talking. This is what she said.

Can you introduce yourself?

I’m Ebi, I’m 26. I grew up in Port Harcourt, but I’ve been in Lagos for a while now, since NYSC, really. Well, with a detour for my master’s abroad in between. Came back, got a job at a PR firm, and I’ve been there a couple of years now. Lagos is home at this point.

How have you found it, settling into the job?

It took time. I’m not the most immediately open person; I warm up slowly, so the first few months were just me figuring out the terrain. Who’s who, how things work, where I fit. But I’d found my footing well before any of what I am about to share happened. I knew who I liked, who I didn’t, who to have lunch with and who to just greet and keep moving. I was also seeing someone at the time, so my head wasn’t really available for anything else.

When did that change?

There’s this guy in a different department; we’d cross paths sometimes and work on things together occasionally. I knew him the way you know most people at a mid-sized company. At some point, he just started showing up more. In my space, in my conversations, more than he needed to. I noticed it, but I didn’t really clock what it was at first.

What did that look like up close?

He’s very good with words. He鈥檚 not loud or showy; he speaks quietly, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He had this thing he always did, where he’d say, “I know you, I see you,” like he fully understood you. Sometimes he made me feel like he was seeing something in you that other people had missed. And honestly, it feels good when someone pays you that kind of attention, so I wasn’t immediately on guard or anything.

He also knew I was with someone, and he made it into a thing. He’d say stuff like I’ll steal you very casually and confidently, like it was going to happen regardless. I’d laugh it off, but I was registering it. He was persistent. It wasn鈥檛 aggressive, just constant. And he always presented himself as very conservative and rooted in his faith. I noted it but didn’t think much of it at the time.

Did he ever get through to you?

Yes, but it took a while. I wasn’t just swept off my feet in a week; it was gradual. He was patient. There were weeks where I’d pull back, and he’d just wait, then show up again as if nothing happened. Eventually, you start to meet someone where they are because the resistance gets tiring. You start thinking, okay, maybe I’m being unnecessarily guarded.

What helped him was that he was genuinely interesting to talk to. I’m not going to sit here and say there was nothing there because that would be a lie. He read a lot, he had opinions, and his conversations didn’t feel like small talk. He asked me real questions, and then he’d remember what I said and bring it up later. Things that make you feel like someone is actually paying attention to who you are. I think that’s what made it work. It didn鈥檛 feel like flattery; it felt like interest.

At some point, I realised my walls had come down, and I wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened.

You mentioned his faith. Did that become a thing?

It came out in this weird way. We’d been talking more by then. I had been to his place, and one day he’d stayed over, and I woke up to him praying out loud right next to me. And then immediately trying to get me to join in, like that was just something we did. I’m lying there like, what is going on?

I grew up in the church, I know the whole thing, but I left it, and I’m fine with that. It’s not a sore spot; it’s just not my life anymore. But he kept asking questions about why I didn’t believe. And at some point, I caught myself quietly wondering, is something wrong with me for not being Christian anymore? Which is mad because I’d had zero confusion about it before he came along. That’s how much he’d gotten into my head.

Also Read: What鈥檚 It Like Being A First Daughter? A Psychologist and an Artist Weigh In

What was going on in your head during all of this, the pursuit, the growing feelings, all of it?

Honestly, I was having a full internal argument the entire time. Part of me was enjoying it; someone pursuing you with that kind of focus is not an unpleasant experience, I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But there was also this other part that was just quietly uneasy. Nothing specific I could grab and examine. Just a feeling that I kept deciding wasn’t loud enough to take seriously.

I’d catch small things. A vagueness about his weekend plans. A phone that was always face down. The way certain questions got answered with other questions. And I’d register it and then talk myself out of it every time. He’d say he was on and off with his girlfriend, that it was complicated, that I shouldn’t worry about it. And because I wanted to believe him, I did. That’s the honest version.

I think the religious thing contributed to it, weirdly enough. Not because it made me trust him more, exactly, but because it made me feel like I was the one being difficult. Like he’s sitting here praying and talking about God and being serious about faith, and I’m the one with the walls up and the questions. It quietly repositioned me as the problem in my own head. I only saw that clearly later.

What do you mean?

Well, the irony is, he was doing all this while actively deceiving multiple women. This man, who wanted to pray next to me, had a girlfriend he’d been with for years and was simultaneously involved with a woman we both worked with. But yes, very concerned about my relationship with God.

Wait, a woman at the same office?

Yes. Simi*. We’d always been cordial. She’s a bit shy, a bit awkward in that way where you can tell she’s warm once you get past it. We weren’t close, but there was no issue between us. I’d noticed at some point that she and this guy seemed to have some kind of energy, but I didn’t ask questions because he’d already told me they kissed once, and this was ages ago. He said it was nothing. I took that at face value because I had no reason to, or I told myself I didn’t.

How did you find out the truth?

One day at the office, Simi and I were just talking, actually properly bonding, the kind of conversation where you realise you should have been friends with this person from the start. It came out that I’d been to his place. That I was the person she’d seen coming and going. She’d caught a glimpse once, just never saw the face.

We both went quiet.

What happened after that?

We started comparing. When did this start for you? What did he say, did he do this, did he say that? And it became clear very fast that “we kissed once ages ago” was nowhere near the truth. They’d been ongoing the whole time he was pursuing me while he had a girlfriend.

He used the same lines on both of us, almost word for word. The “I know you” thing, the praying and then immediately pulling you into God talk, all of it. When she described it, I nearly laughed because it was so identical. It’s one thing to suspect someone is lying to you and another thing to sit across from someone and hear your experience coming back at you in a different mouth. That was a strange afternoon.

What were you feeling while all of this was coming out?

Honestly, less devastated than I expected. I think because I’d always had this quiet feeling that something wasn’t right. Nothing I could point to, just something I kept pushing down. So when everything came out, it was more like, oh, so that’s what that was. I was angry, but I wasn’t shocked. It felt like confirmation more than anything.

Simi had a harder time with it. She’d been in it longer, and she actually lived in the same compound as him; he’d helped her find the place. So her whole situation was more tangled; it wasn’t just ending something emotional, it was also practical. We sat with all of it for a few days before we decided we needed to contact his girlfriend. She deserved to know.

What was that like to decide?

It wasn’t easy. We went back and forth. There’s always a version of that conversation in your head where the girlfriend turns on you instead of him, where you become the villain of the story, and neither of us wanted that. But we also couldn’t just sit with what we knew and do nothing. So we reached out.

What was she like?

She came in very composed. Her first reaction was basically “I already knew.” And I understood it, that’s what you say when the information is too big to take in front of people you don’t know. But I didn’t believe it.

Did she eventually drop that?

Yes. Once the full picture came out, the timelines, how deliberate all of it was, the specific way he’d run the same script on multiple people at the same time, she couldn’t hold the I knew thing anymore. You could see her recalibrating in real time. She got angry. Properly angry. The words community dick were used at some point, and honestly, fair. That’s a reasonable place to land when you find out the person you’ve been with for years has been this calculated about it.

It got messy after that in the way these things do. There was a lot of back and forth, a lot of him trying to manage each of us separately once he knew we’d spoken, sending messages, doing damage control. That period was exhausting. You’re processing your own feelings and also watching someone try to spin a story in four different directions at once.

Did anything happen to him professionally?

HR got involved. I’ll leave it at that. Some things don’t need to be in the streets.

How were things at work after all of it?

Uncomfortable for a while. That’s the thing about workplace situations, you don’t just get to close the chapter and move on. You see the person. You see people who know. You have to decide every morning how you’re going to carry it when you walk through the door. I’m not someone who wears things on my face easily, so I managed, but it took energy. Energy I’d rather have been spending on literally anything else.

What do you think he actually wanted?

I’ve thought about it. I don’t think there was some big plan. I just think some men need women constantly choosing them, and he was good at making that happen. The whole thing, the intensity, the I see you, the religion, it’s all built to make you feel like you’re the exception. Like he looked at everyone else and then looked at you, and it was different. And when someone does that well, it works. He did it well.

The problem is that he was doing it to multiple people in the same building, which means eventually the women would talk. And when that happens, the whole thing falls apart immediately because it only works if everyone thinks they’re the only one.

You and Simi, where are you two now?

Close actually. Which is probably the only good thing that came out of any of this. She’s funny, she’s sharp, I like her a lot. We should have been friends before all of this. Better late than never.

What would you say to someone reading this who’s in their own version of this situation?

Trust the thing you keep pushing down. That feeling you’ve decided isn’t loud enough to act on, it knows something. And talk to the other women. I know it’s the last thing you want to do, but they usually have half of the story you’re missing. You deserve the full picture.

*Names have been changed.

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. 

Farida*, 34, moved into her older brother’s home at 29 to get her footing in a new city. What she didn’t expect was to fall into something with his wife.

Tell us about yourself.

My name is Farida, I’m 34, and I work in communications. I grew up in Abuja, but I’ve been in Germany for about two years now. It still surprises me sometimes when I say that out loud. Germany. Like, of all the places.

What was your family like growing up?

My parents were comfortable; we weren’t rolling in it, but we genuinely never lacked. We travelled, I went to good schools, life was fine. They had three of us: my older sister Zainab*, who’s 47 now; my brother Idris*, who’s 45; and me, the baby. There are sixteen years between Idris and I, which sounds like a lot, and it is, but it also means he always felt more like a second parent than a brother. In the best way, sha. He was never overbearing. He just showed up for me, financially, emotionally, whatever it was. When I needed school fees topped up, or I had a problem I didn’t want to bring to our parents, he was the one.

And your parents?

They passed within a couple of years of each other. My mum first, then my dad. I was in my early twenties when it happened. It was one of the hardest periods of my life, obviously. Idris stepped up even more after that. He made sure I knew I wasn’t alone. Zainab has always kind of lived in her own world. She loves us, but she’s not really the present type, never really around. So it was mostly Idris. The estate and everything they left behind were distributed among the three of us. I still have the family house in Abuja. I haven’t sold it. I don’t think I ever will.

So you and your brother were very close. It must have been nice.

Very. And the age gap, as I said, meant things between us were never strained the way sibling relationships with smaller gaps can get. I wasn’t competing with him for anything. He wasn’t trying to one-up me. It was just easy. He adored me, and I adored him, and it was one of those things I always just assumed would remain constant.

What happened?

I’d gotten a new job in Lagos. It was good with the best pay in my life at that time. I’d been going back and forth on it, though; I had a whole life in Abuja, my routines, my friends, but ultimately, the opportunity made sense. Idris was in Lagos with his wife, and his house wasn’t far from my office, so when I mentioned I was looking at places, he didn’t let me finish the sentence. He said I had five years with him if I wanted them, and even after that, I was welcome. That is just who he is.

This was a good thing, right?

Yes, and I was grateful. Rent in Lagos is diabolical. But I was also a bit apprehensive. 

Why?

I had not really spent much time with his wife. After they got married, I visited here and there, birthdays, things like that, but I was never one of those sisters-in-law who’s always in her brother’s house. Part of it was practical; I had my own life in Abuja. But honestly, part of it was Atinuke.*

There was something about her that always made me a little… I want to say ‘uncomfortable,’ but that’s not quite right either. She just unsettled me in a way I couldn’t name. She’s half Yoruba, half German, grew up a lot in Germany, very composed, very internal. She wasn鈥檛 warm in the way I was used to women showing warmth. She was just… still. And it used to read as coldness to me, and I just assumed we’d never really click. She’s also only four years older than me, at the time, 33 to my 29, which always felt a bit strange when I thought about it too hard. So I kept my visits short.

And when you moved in?

I basically set up my own little world. They had a boys’ quarters that was actually a proper self-contained apartment, its own entrance, its own kitchen, everything. I took that. So I was on the property, but I wasn’t in their faces, and they weren’t in mine. I saw Idris pretty much daily. A quick check-in, sometimes dinner, sometimes we’d just sit and talk. Atinuke, I barely saw. Which suited me, honestly.

So what changed?

Idris, ironically. He noticed that his wife and his sister basically coexisted without speaking, and it bothered him. He’s one of those people who needs the people he loves to love each other. So he started engineering small things, “Atinuke is going to the market, go with her.” “The two of you should go and see this new place.” You know how it is. He wasn’t even subtle about it.

At first, I went along to keep him happy and kept my internal distance. But Atinuke, when you actually talk to her, she’s funny. She’ll say something with a completely straight face, and it’ll take you a few seconds to realise she just said something hilarious. And she was genuinely curious about me, not just a necessary talk. She asked real questions. She actually listened. I started looking forward to being around each other.

When did you notice something was shifting?

I think I started noticing things before I let myself admit what I was noticing. It was the smallest things. The way she’d look at me for a second too long. A hand on my shoulder when she walked past. When I talked, she was fully, entirely facing me. I’d feel something and immediately talk myself out of it. Like, this is your brother’s wife. This is your brother’s wife. I said it to myself like a prayer.

But the feelings were growing with or without my permission.

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What happened?

We’d gone out, just the two of us, Idris had something work-related, and we ended up back at the house late. We’d had drinks, we were laughing about something, the whole energy was loose and warm, and then we were just… closer than we’d been before. And she kissed me. Or I kissed her. Honestly, I couldn’t tell who moved first, and I’ve thought about it many times. But it happened. It was one of those things where she was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

And then I remembered where I was. Who I was in that house. I pulled away and went to my room and sat on the floor, and just breathed. My heart was going crazy.

What were you feeling?

Pure chaos. There was no version of that moment that was okay. She was married to my brother. My brother, who opened his home to me. I also, and this is the part I hadn’t really sat with, I’d never been with a woman before. I’d never really let myself think about it. So now I’m dealing with both things at the same time. What just happened, and what does this mean about me? It was a lot to be on the floor at midnight.

Had you ever had feelings for a woman before?

I think… yes? In the vague, unexamined way, where you notice someone and don’t interrogate the noticing. I went to a girls’ boarding school, and there were crushes that I filed away as “close friendships” in my head. I liked boys, too. I dated boys, so I just never really pushed on it. Nigeria, you know. You don’t push on things you don’t have to push on.

After that night, what happened between you two?

We avoided each other. She seemed to want to pretend it didn’t happen as much as I did, and that helped, briefly. But then Idris planned a whole family Sunday outing, his idea, obviously, and suddenly we’re in public together, sitting next to each other, and she looks at me and just… the whole thing comes back. We started talking again that day. And she told me, directly, plainly, that she was gay.

How did she explain being married to your brother?

She said Idris was a good man. That she loved him, genuinely, just not in that way. In Nigeria, you find a good man, and you build something safe. She wasn’t the first person to make that calculation, and she knew it. He knew it, too, she said, and they had an arrangement she didn’t get into too much detail about, but the word she used was ” an understanding.” She said she’d never acted on anything since they got married. That was the first time in ten years that she’d felt something she couldn’t manage from a distance.

That’s a lot of information to receive.

It really was. I sat with it for weeks. I wasn’t naive; I knew marriages like hers existed, I’d heard of them. But to be in it, to be the one being told this by my brother’s wife in his house while he’s inside cooking, it was surreal. And I was still trying to figure out my own feelings about women, about her, about what I actually wanted. I kept going back and forth. Days when I avoided her completely. Days when I’d find a reason to knock on the main house just to see her.

What happened next? 

We鈥tarted an affair months after that first kiss. I resisted for longer than people probably expect. Not out of indifference, but because I could see clearly what it would cost. I knew what I was standing in front of. Eventually, I stopped fighting it. We continued our secret relationship for years.

What did those years actually look like?

Normal, on the surface. That’s the part that’s hard to explain. We had inside jokes. We’d cook together sometimes when Idris was travelling. She started telling me more about Germany, not just the country but how she’d grown up, what she missed about it, what she didn’t. There were days it felt like the most natural thing in the world, and then Idris would walk into a room, and that thing would crash back down on me. Guilt is like an unwanted companion that never fucking leaves. You almost get used to carrying it, and then something reminds you of its weight, and you feel it all over again.

For how long did it go on?

Two and a half years, almost three. And this was all in his house. I want to be clear about that because I don’t think I should dress it up. It was in his house, under his roof, while he was doing nothing but being good to both of us. That’s the part that stays with me.

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

Did Idris really have no idea?

He noticed something had changed between us, in that we were suddenly close, but he read it as the thing he’d wanted: his wife and his sister finally bonding. It made him happy. That made it worse, you know. He was actively grateful that we were getting along. I’d catch him looking pleased, and I’d want to disappear into the floor.

Did he eventually find out?

Yes.

How?

My sister, Zainab. She came to visit once, not a long trip, just passing through Lagos, and she saw us in a moment. Nothing explicit, but she knew. My sister has always been perceptive. She didn’t say anything to me in front of Atinuke; she just went quiet. Later, she found me alone and told me I needed to end it immediately. That she would not watch me destroy Idris’s life. I didn’t listen. I should have listened.

I think she debated it for a while before she told him. But eventually she told him.

What happened when he found out?

I don’t want to be dramatic, but it was the worst day of my life. Idris is not a shouting person. He’s measured, always. So there was no big explosion. It was quieter and worse than that. He looked at me like I was someone he didn’t know. He didn鈥檛 want to believe it at first; there was a whole lot of denial, but he knew his wife鈥檚 sexual orientation, and when he looked at me, I could not lie. I saw his heart break. It was like he was looking at a stranger who had been wearing my face. That image hasn’t left me.

He asked me to leave the house that same day. I went to a hotel. Atinuke and I didn’t speak for months after that. She and Idris separated and then eventually divorced. Zainab stopped answering my calls. I went back to Abuja and just鈥loated for a while.

Tell me more about that period. The fallout.

I was so alone. Not just loneliness, I’ve been lonely before, but like something structural had been removed. Idris had been the person I called for everything, big and small, my whole life. And now I couldn’t call him. Zainab had made her choice clear. Friends knew something had happened, but not what, because how do you explain that? The family house in Abuja suddenly felt like a place I was haunting rather than living in. I’d walk through it and just feel the absence of everyone who was supposed to be in my life.

I wasn’t eating well. I wasn’t sleeping well. I was going to work and coming home and sitting in silence, and trying to figure out who I even was outside of this thing I’d done and the people I’d lost. There was also, underneath all of it, still this question about myself that I hadn’t fully answered. Who I was, what I wanted, whether any of it had been real or just a terrible mistake. I was 31 and besides savings, starting from nothing in a way I hadn’t been since my parents died.

That must have felt impossible to deal with. I am sorry. 

Thank you. 

What happened next? Did things change?

Yes. Maybe 9/10ish months later, Atinuke called me. I didn’t pick up the first time, or the second. The third time I did, and we just sat on the phone in silence for a while before either of us said anything. After that, we started talking regularly, mostly late at night when we’d both given up on sleeping. She was in Germany by then, back with her family there. We talked for months like that before we saw each other in person. She came back to Nigeria for something, family business on her Yoruba side, and we met. That was the first time I’d seen her since everything fell apart. We sat in a restaurant for four hours. I think we both knew by the end of it. She was meant for me and I for her.

And your family?

They’re not talking to me. Idris, Zainab and the extended people who found out. None of them. It’s been three years. I still send Idris messages sometimes. Not asking for forgiveness exactly, I think I’ve accepted that’s not something I get to ask for on my own timeline, if ever. More, just keeping the line open from my end. Letting him know I’m still his sister, even if he’s not ready to let me be. He never replies. I don’t even know if he reads them. Someone told me recently that he’s been spending a lot of time in Dubai and that he has a friend there he’s very close to. I don’t ask too many questions. I just hope he’s okay. I hope he’s happy, actually happy, in whatever way works for him.

Do you regret it?

I regret how it happened completely. I regret the betrayal, I regret the years I spent in that house, lying by omission to a man who only ever loved me. I don’t think I regret her or what we have now. And those two things live together in me very uncomfortably.

What do you want people to take from this?

I’m not sure I want anything specific. I’m not here to be a cautionary tale, and I’m not here to be defended either. I just wanted to say it out loud and in full. Because I’ve been carrying it quietly for a long time, and quiet was starting to feel like its own kind of lie.

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*Names have been changed.

HERtitude 2026 is happening this April, and the theme is Main Character Energy. Get your tickets here: 

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. 

Roxanne*, 23, was a girl’s girl until university, when she was betrayed by her best friend and boyfriend, an experience she never fully processed. She never confronted either of them, and she’s been figuring out what that silence cost her ever since.

Tell us about yourself

My name is Roxanne, I’m 23, and I work as a Key Account Manager.

Growing up, what was your family dynamic like?

I was closer to my female cousins than my immediate siblings, though I loved my siblings too. I come from a family with a lot of women, so we were always together, always in each other’s business, always close. Now that I’m older, it’s not that way anymore. I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s because my aunty, the one who held everybody together, passed away. She was the glue. Once she was gone, I think everyone just… scattered. Lol. I don’t know.

Were you always a girls’ girl growing up?

Always. In secondary school, we were sometimes a squad of three, four, or five, but it always came back to two. Me and my best friend at the time. She was Senior Prefect, and I was Deputy. She was in first position, and I was second. We were that duo. That one also went south after secondary school. I wrote my WAEC before them, so we naturally drifted apart. 

I already knew how it felt to lose a close female friend by the time I got to university. I just didn’t think it would become a pattern. I don’t really have female friends now. It just happens that there’s always a falling out, one way or another.

Did you make any close female friends in university?

Yes. There鈥檚 one strong friendship I had with a girl called Ruth*. I can’t remember exactly how we started talking, but knowing me, I probably saw her looking lonely and went to keep her company. She had resumed school late and didn’t really know anyone yet. Then we found out we had sequential matric numbers, hers then mine, back to back. If she were 4563, I would be 4564. Out of however many students. Crazy, right? LMAO. We took it as a sign. That’s how it started.

What was the friendship like?

It was everything. Our families had been restrictive at home, so when we finally got to school, we didn’t study rara. We were wilding. Skipping classes to hang out with my boyfriend, going out in his car, doing all the stupid things you do when you finally have a little freedom at 18.

I even travelled with her to another state so she could meet a guy for the first time. A stranger. Imagine if they had kidnapped me?  

Another time, she ran away from school to go live with some guy friend, and her father had to send the police to come and find her. I didn’t sleep in the cell, but some of her guy friends did. That’s how tight we were.

So when I found out she had slept with my boyfriend, it broke something in me I didn’t even know was there.

Wait, what? Tell me everything.

She slept with him. Or at least, that’s what I believe now, and I have reason to. My boyfriend came to me with this whole story about how Ruth had been throwing herself at him, how he had turned her down, how I needed to watch her. He was very concerned. Very outraged on my behalf.

But I had gone through his phone before he came to me with that story. The messages between them were not those of two people in which one was “throwing themselves”, and the other was resisting. They were comfortable. Familiar. The kind of back and forth that doesn’t happen between people who haven’t crossed a line. I didn’t find an explicit confession, but I didn’t need one either. I knew.

Then I found out Ruth attended Eckankar. It is a spiritual movement, not the juju shrine he made it sound like, or that I know people think it is. But somehow, during whatever was going on between them, he found out too. Maybe she mentioned it, maybe he saw something at her place, I am not sure. But the moment he found out, he panicked. In his mind, she was dangerous. Someone who could tie him down or do something to him. So he ran. And the cleanest way to run was to come and tell me she had been chasing him, flip the whole story, and paint himself as the loyal one.

He was not loyal. This is the same man who told me to my face that he had been sleeping with hookup girls behind our school because “he cannot eat one soup all the time.” Don’t judge me, I was 18 or 19. We were all out here making choices. But men are liars. There’s an 87% chance the full truth is even worse than what I saw. 

That relationship fizzled out not long after. No dramatic ending, it just died quietly. Good riddance.

Did you confront Ruth when you found out?

No. And I never stopped being friends with her either, not immediately anyway. I know how that sounds. I don’t have a clear explanation for it. Maybe I didn’t want to lose the only person I had in that school, I wasn’t ready to be alone or  somewhere in me, I knew that confronting her would make it real in a way I couldn’t undo.

I still don’t fully understand it. If you have any deductions, please let me know, because I’ve thought about it and I still can’t tell you.

How did the friendship eventually end?

Not with a confrontation. More of a slow fade. I dropped out not long after to look for a job, and life pulled us in different directions. She still had her parents supporting her. My sponsor had pulled out, so I had to face reality. When survival becomes your full-time job, there’s no bandwidth for anything else. We just… stopped. No dramatic ending. No closure. It was almost worse that way.

Earlier, you mentioned there’s always a falling out with female friends. What do those falling-outs usually look like?

They haven’t always been dramatic, that’s the strange part. At my first job, the environment was almost entirely female, and somehow I still only ended up with male friends. There was one colleague who tried. For a while, it actually felt like something was building. Then one day she just… stopped. No fight, no confrontation, no explanation. She woke up and decided we weren’t doing this anymore.

I wish I had gotten clarity. But what I won’t do is go and chase someone for an explanation. If there’s an issue, wear your big-boy pants and say something. I’m not begging anyone to be my friend.

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Do you think you’ve put up a wall, or do you genuinely feel like you just haven’t met the right women?

It might be a wall. I really don’t know. I think I might need therapy. Do you think the same? I’ve been functioning, and I don’t seem to need it from the outside, but I would really love to be friends with a woman. A real one.

Saying all of this out has made me miss my cousin. It’s made me miss being that girl in secondary school, the cool social butterfly who moved through the world easily. I don’t know when I stopped being her.

If you saw Ruth today, what would you say to her?

Probably nothing. I wish her well, in hellllll, and I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to be friends, I don’t want updates on her life, none of it. It’s past. I no get strength abeg.

What do you want other women reading this to take away?

Be more gracious with your female friends. More patient. More understanding. The same grace you keep finding for that your boyfriend, who only ever shows you pepper, extend some of that to the women in your life. Don’t only stand on business when it doesn’t involve your wicked boyfriend.

Fix your falling-outs. Have the hard conversations. Don’t shut people out and call it strength. Don’t be like me.

Because I genuinely envy women who have a bestie they do everything with. I want that for myself. I really do. How will my future children go on playdates if I’m still like this? 

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HERtitude 2026 is happening this April, and the theme is Main Character Energy. Get your tickets here: 

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. 

Keji* was 5 years old the first time a trusted adult violated her body. She didn’t know it was abuse; no one had ever told her it could be. She’s 26 now, and she’s still learning that the shame was never hers to carry. This is what she said.

TW: Childhood Sexual Abuse

Can you introduce yourself?

I’m Keji. I’m 26, and I’m a storyteller.

How would you describe your childhood and home environment?

It was full, but at the same time, lonely. My parents were 9-to-5ers, so they left us in the hands of neighbours, family members, and housekeepers. I have a lot of good memories, but emotionally, I was a very lonely child. There were times I needed my parents, and they just weren’t there.

I barely paid attention to my home environment tbh. Like I’ve said, my parents were barely around, so I wasn’t really aware of how my environment worked. I was just really occupied with playing with my friends and going back home.

Considering that absence, what was your relationship with your parents like?

My mum tried her best to be there emotionally and physically, but she left home early and returned late. On most days, I only had about 30 minutes of real daughter-mother time with her. My dad was even worse. He also woke up early and got back home late, but I also preferred to avoid tbh. 

There was actually a time when he was my favourite parent, but when he started using his cane instead of words, I made sure to stay out of his way. I was sometimes so scared of pissing him off. So yeah, my mum and I were really, really close. My dad and I? Nope.

Who were the adults you were mostly around growing up?

God, a lot of them. My older relatives, aunts, uncles, our house helps, my mum’s friends, my aunts’ friends, and older people who occasionally babysat me. I don’t think I remember a single moment where I wasn’t surrounded by an adult. My parents felt it was the best solution because they didn’t want my siblings and me to be alone. But it also meant a lot of different people had access to me.

Also,  my parents鈥� unavailability meant I didn’t really receive any form of sex education. The only thing I was ever told was, “Don’t let any man touch you or you’ll get pregnant.” I didn’t even properly understand what sex was until secondary school. So when certain things happened earlier in my life, I didn’t have the language or the awareness to recognise the abuse.

What do you mean? When did you first begin to realise some of your early experiences were actually abuse?

I started to realise that I was a victim in senior secondary school. It’s like my brain had blocked out those memories. But one day, I was having a conversation with a friend about the sexual abuse she experienced as a child. As she spoke, my mind started unlocking bits and pieces of my own memories. Small things started resurfacing, moments with trusted adults who had access to me as a child. That’s when I began to understand that what happened to me wasn’t normal.

What is your earliest memory of being taken advantage of?

I was maybe 5. I don鈥檛 even remember how it started, but our houseboy had a habit of dry humping against me. I thought it felt nice, so I kept letting him do it. I didn’t think anything was wrong with it. And he would promise me things I’d always wanted, so yeah. My child’s mind was just… confused.

Then there was another houseboy when I was around age 9. He would come into my room around 6 am, when my parents had already left for work or were gone to pray, so no one was around. He would just basically cover his entire body with mine and either finger me or rub himself against me. I think by that point, my subconscious was starting to register that something wasn’t exactly normal, because after it happened repeatedly for a month, I started locking my door before I went to sleep.

Did these experiences feel abnormal to you at the time?

With the first housemaid? It felt pretty normal, I can’t lie. It was just a daily occurrence for me. I didn’t think anything was wrong with it. With the other one, something in me was starting to shift; locking the door l was a sign that even if I couldn’t name it, a part of me knew it was wrong.

Over what period did these experiences occur?

Roughly between the ages of 5 and 13.

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Were these people considered trusted adults in your environment?

Oh yeah, definitely. The house helps, my mum’s friend’s daughter, my aunt’s friend. These were all people my parents felt they could place their trust in.

There was another person, my mum’s friend’s daughter, who babysat me sometimes when my parents travelled. My mum trusted her mum completely, so she trusted her daughter with us. I don’t exactly remember when it started, but she would just lie down on the couch and motion for me to come to her with her finger. And I would. She asked me to give her oral sex every time she babysat me. It happened for a while.

What I find strange, and this part stuck with me, is that when I was older, around 12 or 13, I just started to intensely dislike her.  There was this part of me that knew, on some level, that she had done something awful to me, even though I couldn’t fully remember yet. So I was just… hating her.

Then there was my aunt’s friend. My aunt was like my main babysitter, and she took me everywhere, including to his place. Sometimes she’d be busy with work and drop me off there, because she trusted him like that. I don’t remember everything he did, and I think my brain is protecting me from a lot of it. But I know he did finger me quite a lot. And God, I was a child, but I think I liked it? 

I remember that whenever he had a friend over, I would be disappointed because he stopped when they were around. I didn’t understand why he always stopped. I was so young. I didn’t understand anything.

I am so sorry you went through this. Do you think your parents’ absence affected your safety?

Very much. If my mum had been around more, I probably would have just innocently yapped about everything. As a child, I always wanted to tell her things. But she never asked questions about any of this; she never asked if anyone was moving weirdly, or anything specific about the people around us. So I never said anything. Not because I was hiding it. Just because no one asked.

When did you start realising what you went through was abuse?

While my memories slowly began to unlock in senior secondary school, the dam broke completely in university when I started exploring intimacy with others. I would suddenly get intrusive images and memories of being touched while half asleep, of being left in someone’s care as a child. It all just started flooding back.

How did it feel emotionally when those memories returned?

Exhausting. I remember a day when I was recounting everything. I thought about how all the house help we had, both male and female, had somehow violated me. I thought of my relatives’ friends, my babysitters, all these people who just had access to me as a child. And I started laughing and crying at the same time. I was just thinking, “God. Wow. I was really run through as a child.” The weight of it felt surreal.

I am sorry. How did those experiences affect how you saw yourself?

For a long time, I hid my body. Growing up, adults always mentioned how my body was provocative, and whenever I complained about being touched against my will as a teenager, someone would point out, “Well, look at your body.” I matured physically quickly and internalised a lot of shame because of it.

When my memories started unlocking, I convinced myself it was because of my body. Maybe that was why they felt like they could get access to me. So for a long time, I wore really unflattering outfits. Baggy jeans. I did my best to look like a mess, hiding behind scattered hair and clothes that hid everything. I thought that people wouldn’t pay too much attention to my body if I looked like that.

How did those early experiences affect your relationship with intimacy?

I began to back away from intimacy in general. I could be kissing someone and genuinely enjoying it, but the moment their hands started wandering, I would panic and push them away. And even on the occasions when I did get to like, maybe second base, I always had this urge to run immediately after. 

For a long time, I hated being in bed with someone once we were done. My heart would just start racing, and I’d make up an excuse to leave. Sometimes I’d even text a friend and ask them to call me with a fake emergency so I’d have a reason to go.

Did you ever get to a point where you became comfortable with physical intimacy?

Yes, but it honestly took an embarrassing amount of time. All my suppressed memories started coming back around 2021, and I only started letting partners get more physically close, letting them see my body, around 2025. So it took about four years.

I’ll also say this: as a child, I didn’t understand what it was, but I was hypersexual. I always just wanted to kiss and dry hump anyone because I had been introduced to it so young. I kissed a lot of boys and girls my age who were willing to. Before I even turned 11, I had already mastered the art of dry humping because my body just always felt like it needed it. I didn’t have the word for it then. I do now.

Do you think the lack of proper sex education played a role in your experiences?

Oh yeah, definitely. “Don’t let a man touch you or you’ll get pregnant”, and then the first time a man touched me, I didn’t get pregnant. So in my head, I was just like, “Oh, so that’s a bunch of bull,” and I just continued to let everyone and anyone touch me.

 I think if my parents had sat me down and given me proper sex education, I could have protected myself better. But they probably thought, “She’s 5, why does she need sex education?” 

Everyone treating sex like it’s too big a thing to teach children is causing more harm than good. Like, yeah, of course you want to protect them, but even the littlest sex education could go a long way. It’s fine to teach children about their bodies so they know right from wrong. If you keep hiding it from them like it’s a dirty little secret, they’re going to believe it is one, and they won’t tell you anything.

How are you currently healing from these experiences?

Honestly? I don’t think I’ve properly healed. I tried therapy, and it helped a lot to have a therapist tell me directly that it was not my fault. And I’ve tried my best to remember that it’s not my shame to carry. But there are still times those memories come rushing back, and I think, “Oh, so I’m not healed.”

Healing isn’t linear, I understand that. For a long time, I was just ashamed, asking myself how I could have been so stupid. At some point, though, I had to start unlearning that shame. I’ve started talking about it more in recent years, and hearing other women share their own histories has made it so much easier to be more open.

HERtitude 2026 is happening this April, and the theme is Main Character Energy. Get your tickets here:

I鈥檓 happy you鈥檙e in a place where you can talk about it. What has helped you feel safer in relationships?

Having partners who understand my experience and are willing to navigate intimacy on my terms. I’m very tactile; I genuinely love physical closeness. But I like it on my own terms. If it gets too much and I start feeling suffocated, I withdraw. And having that boundary respected has made a big difference. In my body, I just remember that I have control over it, and I feel okay. A bit.

What do you wish adults and caregivers understood?

Adults shouldn’t be comfortable leaving their kids with just anyone simply because they trust that person with their own life. Trusting someone with your life is very different from trusting them with your child’s safety. They should ask those questions. Creating space for children to speak freely. Asking specifically, not just “are you okay,” but the harder, more intentional questions.

What would you say to your younger self?

I am so sorry.

What would you want other survivors to know?

You were a child. They knew that, and yet they decided to do it anyway. Please know that it’s not your fault. It was never your fault. Not then. Not now. 

You were just a child.

Do you have a story to tell? Kindly

If you or someone you know has experienced sexual violence, please reach out for support:

(Nigeria’s first Sexual Assault Referral Centre) 鈥� free, confidential medical, psychosocial and legal support: 08187243468 or 08155770000 or 0701 349 1769 

(Domestic & Sexual Violence Agency) 鈥� 24-hour toll-free hotline: 0800 033 3333

(Women’s Aid Collective) 鈥� nationwide support: +234 090 6000 2128

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. 

Zia* (37) married a man to please her parents, then divorced him to finally live her truth. She thought she鈥檇 found her peace in a woman she worshipped for five years, until an anonymous DM and a leaked link revealed a double life with politicians. 

Let’s start at the beginning. Who were you before any of this?

Honestly? A people pleaser with very good taste in women and very bad habits around pretending to be someone else. Like many Nigerians, I grew up in a home where love had conditions. My parents are deeply religious, very traditional. You know the type, they pray loud and love as long as you do as they say. Asin, as long as we do what they say. I knew I was different from secondary school. Besides being a tomboy, I just didn’t have the language for it then. By the time I did, I had already learned to hide it so well that hiding felt like breathing.

When did it become unsustainable? When did the hiding start to cost you something?

It was a slow boil. In my early twenties, my parents started the marriage conversations in earnest. Not hinting, they were literally campaigning. From aunties and pastors to even family friends. I don鈥檛 know if they low-key suspected, but every gathering became a coordinated intervention. I was “too fine to waste.” That phrase still makes my skin crawl.

Eventually, I met this man through church. He was decent. Quiet. We liked each other well enough, which I now understand is a terrible foundation for marriage, but at the time felt like relief. I told myself maybe this was what love felt like for people like me. Manageable. Safe. Muted. At least nobody was asking me questions I couldn’t answer.

So after years of knowing him, when he asked, I said yes. I married him at 24. My only other choice was my parent’s and I would not marry who they choose. 

How did it feel being married to him?

Weird is the word I would use. It was like wearing mismatched slippers. We were functional and technically. But every single step in that marriage reminded me that something was not right.

He wasn’t a bad person. That almost made it worse, there was nothing to be angry at except myself. We were like housemates who occasionally held hands and had sex. He wanted kids, and it didn’t really feel like I could say no, so I endured it because I was his wife.

I prayed, genuinely and desperately, for God to change whatever was broken in me. Church. Deliverance sessions. I went where I was sent. Nothing changed except my ability to keep performing. To keep masking as straight. Eventually, he could feel it too, even if he couldn’t name it. We parted quietly. My parents think we just weren’t compatible because that’s what I said. But I think they know. 

How long were you married?

Three years without the children he wanted. Three years of my life that I will never get back, but also, and I say this carefully, three years that taught me I will never, ever do that again. To myself or to anyone else. That marriage was the last time I chose someone else’s comfort over my own existence.

And then?

After, I kind of met myself. Slowly. In small spaces. A women’s event here, a private group chat there. I started existing in corners of the world where I didn’t have to explain or justify. Just breathing rooms. Places where nobody needed anything from me. And when I was in my early 30s, in one of those spaces, I met her.

Who’s 鈥榟er鈥�? 

She was 鈥� God. 

She was everything. Creative, brilliant, annoyingly beautiful in this way that she seemed completely unaware of, which somehow made it worse. She worked in media: photography, videography, and some modelling on the side. Always moving, always with a concept or a camera, always in the middle of three things at once. She had this energy that made you feel like life was happening around her in real time, and you were lucky to be in her orbit.

I fell completely. Within six months, we were living together. Within a year, I had restructured my entire life around her schedule, my friendships, my priorities. All rearranged around this woman.

What did that restructuring look like, in practice?

She had expensive taste, and I didn’t mind. I wanted to give her things, that’s just how I love, I’m a provider by nature. But she never seemed to need me to provide. She always had money. I told myself she was just successful. Booked. Good with clients. She’d leave for shoots sometimes for days at a time, come back glowing and generous, bringing gifts, restocking the house, full of energy. I thought I had finally found someone who matched me. Who could hold her own. I found that attractive, honestly. I didn’t want to be someone’s ceiling. I wanted a partner.

It sounds like you were happy.

I was. Or I thought I was. Looking back now, I think I was in love with the feeling of finally being in a real relationship, finally being out, finally being with a woman, finally having chosen myself and I poured all of that relief into her. She was the symbol of my freedom and I think I loved the symbol as much as I loved the person. Maybe more. Because I’m not sure I ever fully saw the person.

When did things start to feel off?

In retrospect, the signs were always there. She low-key guarded her phone like it was classified government property. She had a rotation of “clients” she spoke about vaguely but never introduced me to, always described them in outlines, never names, never faces. Sometimes she’d come back from a shoot and go straight to the shower without even saying hello, and I’d tell myself she was tired. Creative people are like that. They need decompression.

There were moments that didn’t add up. A date she’d cancelled would get urgently rescheduled with no explanation. She’d say she was doing a portrait session on the Island but her location would show somewhere completely different. I noticed. I always noticed. I just鈥iled it. Didn’t open the file. Because opening the file meant something I wasn’t ready to know yet.

What finally opened it?

I got a DM from an anonymous account. No profile picture, no name, no context. Just a message that said: “Do you know what your woman does for work? Check your email.”

There was a link.

I sat with my phone for maybe twenty minutes before I clicked it. I think part of me already knew that once I did, I couldn’t unknow it. And I was right.

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What was in it?

Videos of her with men. Not candid, not accidental, proper, deliberate videos. And the men weren’t nobody. I recognised faces. Politicians. Industry people. The kind of men whose names appear on event banners. The kind of men who fund things and appear in newspapers alongside words like philanthropist.

She was not behind the camera. And in many of these shots, she was completely naked.

What did you do?

Nothing, at first. My brain just went offline. I sat on the bathroom floor and stared at the tiles for a very long time. Then slowly, slowly, I started thinking and then I couldn’t stop thinking. Every shoot. Every late return. Every vague client meeting. Every generous weekend where money appeared from nowhere, the gifts, the holidays, she said she won a campaign deal to fund the apartment, the life. All of it was scrolling through my head like a receipt I was finally forced to read. Five years of it.

Five years? 

Five years. The whole time. From the beginning of our relationship, it turned out. Even before then. It did not matter that we were not married. We are women in Nigeria, we have no rights besides our own. In many ways, I saw her as my wife and vice versa. Or so I thought.

Did you confront her?

That same night. I wish I could tell you I was measured and calm. I was not. She came home, and I had her phone in one hand and my own in the other, and I showed her everything. She didn’t deny it. She went very still, the way people go when they’ve mentally rehearsed for a moment and are deciding which version to use.

She said I was being closed-minded. That she was doing what she had to do. That it didn’t mean anything. That she loved me and only me, had always only loved me. She said a lot of things very fast, and none of them landed, because the only question I kept thinking was: how long? And when she told me, from the beginning, long before me, that was the moment I understood that I had been living inside something that wasn’t real. That I had been the only person in our relationship who was actually in it.

How did that night end?

Badly. I’m not proud of how I responded. I’ve never been a physical person, that’s not who I am. But something broke open in me that night, some version of grief that had no place to go, and it got physical between us. We hurt each other. I don’ t remember who threw the first slap, I just remember being on top of her when our neighbour started banging on our door. I don’t fully remember the order of events. I just remember sitting on the kitchen floor afterwards, and thinking: this cannot be my life.

She left that night. I haven’t spoken to her since.

And you’ve kept that distance?

I blocked everything. Every number, every platform, every mutual who might carry messages. I don’t want to know where she is or what she’s doing. I can’t afford to. Not right now. I’m still too鈥� there’s still too much of her in my chest. I don’t trust myself to hear her voice and not dissolve. So the wall stays up until I’m a different person. Or at least a more solid one.

Everything feels like a joke now.

What do you mean by that?

I mean, I was married to a man I didn’t love so my family could sleep at night. I found a woman and thought, okay, this is it. This is the real thing. This is what I broke everything for. I sacrificed comfort and safety and the easy version of my life for this. And it turns out she was living a completely different life behind my back the entire time.

There’s something almost cosmically funny about that if you look at it from far enough away. If I wrote it as fiction, nobody would publish it, it’s too much. So sometimes I just laugh. Because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry on the floor again, and I have already done that enough.

What She Said: How Femicide Happens No Dey Pass Like This

You said you sacrificed safety. What did that cost you, actually coming out, leaving the marriage?

My family, for a while. At least officially. My parents didn’t speak to me for close to a year after the divorce. Not because of her specifically, they didn’t know about her, but because I left a marriage for reasons I couldn’t explain to them without explaining everything. So to them, I was just a woman who threw away her husband for no good reason. My mother would send food through my cousin, which is its own specific Nigerian language. 鈥�I’m not speaking to you but I don’t want you to starve鈥� But officially there was silence.

I lost friends. Some quietly, some loudly. I lost the version of my life that required no explaining. All of that, I paid willingly, because I thought I was paying it for something real and I was. The problem was that what was real wasn’t what I thought it was.

Do you blame yourself for not seeing it sooner?

Every day. And then I stop. And then I start again. I’m in some form of therapy right now. The first time in my life I’ve sat with someone who knows everything. The marriage, my sexuality, her, all of it. Apparently, I have a habit of choosing love that asks me to be invisible. I confuse intensity with intimacy. I’m attracted to people who take up a lot of space because I was never taught that I was allowed to take up space myself, so I outsource it. She says it in this very calm voice that makes it even more devastating.

I’m sitting with it.

Does sitting with it help?

Some days it does. Some days I sit with it and I just feel stupid. Like, I had all the information and I chose comfort over clarity. I filed things instead of opening them. And I understand why, intellectually. She was my proof that I hadn’t destroyed my life by leaving. She was my evidence that the sacrifice meant something. So I protected her from my own suspicion. I needed her to be real more than I needed to know the truth.

That’s hard to admit. But it’s true.

What do you want people to take from your story?

I’m not in a generous enough place to want to teach anyone anything right now, honestly. But if I had to say something, stop outsourcing your own peace. I spent so many years living for other people’s comfort. My parents’ comfort. Then hers. And every time I did that, I disappeared a little more into the shape of whoever needed me to be something.

I’m trying to find out who I am when nobody needs anything from me. When I don’t have to be a wife or a provider or a secret or a symbol of someone else’s freedom. When I’m just, a person in a room, being that person.

It’s terrifying. It’s also the most honest I’ve ever been.

Are you okay?

Mmmm, yes. Some days, hours or moments. I’m here. I got out of bed today, I’m talking to you, I haven’t lost my job. Small evidence, but it counts. I’ll figure out the rest.

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

If you would like to share your story with What She Said,

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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. 

This week鈥檚 subject is Chinelo, a 29-year-old entrepreneur based in Lagos. She talks about growing up as the ultimate “girls girl,” the friend who embarrassed her at a restaurant, and why cutting off toxic people saved her life.聽

Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up?

I’m from Lagos, born and raised. I’m the second of three girls; my older sister is the serious one, I’m the social butterfly, and my younger sister is still figuring life out. Growing up, my mum always said I had too many friends, that I needed to be more careful about who I let into my space. But I didn’t listen. I was that girl with a full contact list from secondary school through uni, and even when I went to culinary school.

I’ve always been a people person. If you’re my friend, I’m riding for you 100%. I was definitely a girl鈥檚 girl.  I’ll make excuses for you, defend you, support you even when you’re clearly in the wrong. My mum would say, “Chinelo, not everyone deserves your loyalty”, but I didn’t get it then.

What made you such a girls’ girl?

I just believed in women supporting women, you know? I thought that if we all had each other’s backs, we’d all win together. So anytime a friend would mess up, I’d be like, “Oh, maybe she’s going through something.” I always made excuses for people. Always.

When did you start noticing that not everyone had your back the same way?

Honestly, it took years. From secondary school to uni to culinary school, I had loads and loads of friends. When I say loads, I mean my phone was always buzzing. But looking back now, if I had 80 friends then, 75 of them weren’t actually good to me. I just didn’t know because I was too busy being loyal. Until this one girl, who did the worst thing a friend could do. 

Tell me about her. How did you two meet?

We met in uni. I think it was the second year, some random lecture or someone’s birthday hangout, I can’t even remember exactly. But we clicked and became close. She was fun, we’d go out together, gist for hours. On the surface, everything seemed fine.

Then?

It started small. She always had issues. “I don’t have money for this,” “I need help with that,” “Can you borrow me?” At first, I didn’t think much of it because we’re friends, right? Friends help each other. But then I noticed a pattern.

What kind of pattern?

She never gave back. If I lent her money, she’d never pay it back. If we made plans, I was always the one funding them. She’d come to my house and start eyeing my things, “oooh Chinelo dash me this na, this bag is so fine.” So I started being very careful.

If I had to give her money, I’d do bank transfers only, never cash, so there’d be proof. I stopped giving her my clothes entirely. Instead, I’d say, “Oh, I’m going shopping tomorrow, let’s go together, I’ll get you two outfits.” That’s it. Not from my wardrobe, I’ll buy you new things, and that’s the end.

That’s a lot of boundaries for a friendship.

Because so many things weren’t sitting right with me. And the thing is, every time she’d cross a line, she’d come back apologising. “Ah, babe, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it would hurt you like that.” She was always doing that shit. Mess up, apologise, I’d forgive her, then she’d do it again.

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Can you give me an example of her crossing a line?

The main thing was how she acted around men. If it were just us girls, she was fine. But the moment a man entered the picture, in our friend group, at a party, anywhere, that’s when she’d switch up. She’d start trying to make me feel small, like she needed to prove she was better than me or more desirable or whatever.

She was constantly trying to make me feel less of myself every time we went out, and there were guys around.

That must have been difficult to navigate.

It was. It was very difficult. Still, she remained around me, and as I said, I have always been a girl鈥檚 girl. I could not push her away. 

Hmm. How has this lifestyle and relationship been treating you?

Badly. It put me in a position where I had to invite her on a date. 

How? What made you decide to do that?

I didn’t plan to! That day, I was supposed to go see this guy I’ve been cool with for years. We’re close paddies, not dating per se because me, I know how he moves around women, so I just keep things casual. No expectations, no stress.

I was home getting ready, on a video call with him, just chatting and trying to figure out what to wear. Then she just showed up at my door.

Unannounced?

Yes! She called from my gate, saying she was outside and sounded all sad. “I’m so bored, I don’t have any friends, nowhere to go.” And me, I don’t like people sleeping over at my house, so I was already thinking, how do I get her out of here?

Why don’t you like people sleeping over?

I just like my space. My house is my sanctuary, and I don’t want anybody getting too comfortable. So when she said she was bored, my immediate thought was: whatever it takes to get you out, let’s do it.

So you invited her on the date?

Not exactly. When I let her in, my guy heard her voice on the call and was like, “What’s up? This is perfect! Just bring her along so my friend doesn’t have to feel left out. It’ll be like a double date.”

I told him I’d call him back because I really didn’t want to bring her. But she was standing right there looking at me, and she started with “I don’t have money to go out, I don’t have friends, Chinelo introduce me to someone na.”

I felt trapped. Like, what was I supposed to do? Tell her to leave? Let her stay in my house alone? Me, if I had to book a hotel that night just to make sure she wasn’t alone in my space, I would have. So I just said Fine, let’s go.

What was her mood like while you were getting ready?

She wanted all the details. “Who is he, what does he do, how do you know him?” I showed her pictures, and she started with “hmmm hmmmm Nawa oooo…and he likes you?” The way she said “and he likes YOU”, I’m not even going to lie, it annoyed me, but I ignored it.

Then she started asking to borrow my jewellery, my shoes. I told her no, what you’re wearing is perfect, you’re already dressed, let’s just go.

What were you wearing?

I kept it simple: oversized white shirt, denim shorts, and a leg chain. Very chill, but I knew I looked good. I also used my favourite perfume. I’m obsessed with perfumes, like genuinely obsessed. 

That day I layered two. The main one was Pure Seduction, it’s a perfume oil, very sensual. I mix it with my body oil and massage it into my skin, especially on my neck and wrists. Then I topped it with this oud fragrance I love. The oud traps everything and keeps it strong, but the Pure Seduction on top is what people really smell when they hug you. It is the most expensive one I own. 

A few days before, I’d ordered it online. The dispatch guy was delivering it the same day my friend happened to be outside my gate. I told him to just give it to her since she was there.

By the time I got home, she had already opened the packaging, the bubble wrap, everything. and pulled out the receipt. The first thing out of her mouth was “Ah ah Chinelo, why would you spend this kind of money on perfume? Is it not just perfume?”

How much was it?

Let’s just say it wasn’t cheap. But me I love perfumes. If I can afford it and I love it, I’m buying it. I don’t care about the price. I like mixing my scents, and I like smelling good all day. That’s my thing.

She went on and on that day. “Nawa oh babe, you be man, spending so much money on one bottle of perfume.” I just brushed it off.

So she knew exactly how expensive that perfume was.

Exactly. Keep that in mind.

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Okay, so you’re dressed, she’s dressed, you’re heading to the restaurant. What happened when you got there?

We met the guys, and everything was going well. The restaurant was nice, kind of upscale. Everyone was in a good mood. The waitress complimented my legs, my guy’s friend hugged me and said I smelled amazing. Just normal, nice vibes.

Then what?

Her whole face changed. At first, she had this mischievous look, like she was plotting something. Then it turned into a smirk. I know that look. I’ve seen it before. It’s the look she gets right before she’s about to embarrass someone. I knew something was coming, but I didn’t know how bad.

What did she say?

Right there at the table, loud enough for everyone to hear, she goes: “This your cheap perfume has really lasted oo, hmmm.” Then she paused and added, “It’s not by big bumbum and full leg o, but can it grind well? Hahahaha.”

I’m sorry, what?

I’m telling you. In front of my guy, his friend, the waitress who was standing nearby, and everyone. I froze. I literally could not swallow the food in my mouth.

What was your man鈥檚 reaction?

He was disgusted. You could see it on his face. He didn’t even wait. He called the waiter over immediately and said, “Pack her food as takeaway.” He pulled out his phone and ordered her a ride.

Wait, he kicked her out?

We did more than that. When the Uber arrived, I grabbed my bag and told her, “Come, let’s go.” She was confused, looking at me like “ah ah, why are we leaving? Are you not enjoying yourself? Chinelo, are you not enjoying yourself?”

I didn’t respond. I just took her handbag and the takeaway food, and we walked to the car outside.

Then?

When we got to the car, I opened the door, put her things inside, and told her to get in. She got in thinking we were going somewhere together. Then I counted out cash, handed it to the Uber driver, and told her: “Block my number. This is the last time we’ll ever cross paths. You will not embarrass me anymore. If I see you anywhere near my house, I will label you a thief. Block my number right now.”

She just kept saying “ah ah Chinelo!” I didn’t say another word. I paid the driver and walked back into the restaurant.

Did she try to follow you?

She didn’t get the chance. Apparently, while I was outside, my guy had already told security not to let her back in. When I came back inside, security was just standing there watching. He told me, “I’ve informed them, if she tries to come back and wants trouble, they’ll handle it.”

It’s funny now, but in that moment, I almost felt bad for her. Almost.

What was going through your mind?

I had so many thoughts. Like, what if my guy wasn’t mature? What if he didn’t have my back? What if he’d laughed along with her or made me feel like I was overreacting? Because she’s done this before with other guys I’ve brought around, and not all of them defended me.

That was your final straw.

In that exact moment, something cleared. If it were juju, the spell broke right there. I realised I didn’t want her in my life anymore, not in my space, not breathing the same air as me. I could see it clearly: this girl is the type who would poison someone for being successful. She’s the kind of person who would rather see you fail than watch you win.

And where I’m headed in life, I can’t have that kind of energy around me.

Have you heard from her since?

She doesn’t have my number anymore. I changed it. And she can’t reach me through mutual friends because all our uni friends cut her off, too.

Why?

She slept with one of our friends’ husbands. It was a whole scandal.

Tell me.

Our friend had travelled to see her sick mum. She has three kids, so her nanny was watching the baby, and the house girl was handling the other children. Somehow, this girl ended up at the house while our friend was away.

The nanny called our friend and said, “Your friend is still here. She’s been here two days, and I saw her wearing your robe this morning.” Our friend came back early, went upstairs to her husband’s room, they sleep separately, and found this girl in the bed. The husband had already left for work.

What?

Yes! That’s how shameless she is. When our friend confronted her, and the fight started, the gateman had to drag her out. While they were removing her, they discovered she’d stolen the husband’s wristwatch, jewellery, and some of our friend’s new clothes, tags still on.

So no, nobody talks to her anymore. She’s burned every bridge.

Wow. You dodged a bullet. Looking back, what’s your biggest lesson from all this?

People don’t change. Man or woman, a piece of shit is a piece of shit. I used to make excuses, thinking “oh, she’s going through something” or “maybe I’m being too harsh.” But I’ve learned that some people are just toxic, and no amount of loyalty will fix them.

What would you tell other women who have a friend like this?

Watch their expressions. Not everyone uses words to show you who they are; sometimes it’s in how they look at you, especially around people you care about. Pay attention.

And don’t tell your friends everything. I’m serious. Right now, I don’t tell people even 2% of what’s happening in my life. Don’t tell them the good stuff, especially if anything, only share the bad things. The fake ones will run away, and that’s perfect.

Watch body language. Watch what they say and do around the people you value. Those are your real red flags.

What She Said: How Femicide Happens No Dey Pass Like This

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. 

This week, Aisha* tells us how she went from being the sister who funded her brother’s military training to the woman he beat “blue-black” on New Year’s Day.

What was it like growing up in your house?

Both men and women did chores when we were growing up, but it changed as we got older. The expectations changed, and the men chose how they wanted to become. I guess they learnt it from society.

Things were not physical at first. What I think really caused the friction between my family and me was the fact that I do not think my older siblings have any right over me. Not my oldest brother or my sister after him. I am the third, and then there鈥檚 the last boy. I have always been a person who clamours for an egalitarian environment. They want a hierarchical environment with an egalitarian relationship.

Hm. When did things start getting physical?

I can’t remember the first time, really. The earliest I can remember was between my elder brother and elder sister. My mum ignored them, so my dad could deal with it when he got back, but all they did was tell him what he did wasn’t good. No restitution. No, actually apologising for what he did. You know that brings a sense of responsibility and accountability, especially for children in the developmental stage.

Did the violence escalate as you all got older?

Yes. My elder brother has physically assaulted me and my other siblings, time without number. Mine is the highest because I don’t keep shit when things aren’t right, and it bruises his ego. The only way he knows best to exercise the authority he thinks he’s entitled to is to be aggressive.

Whenever these things happen, my parents always say I should let peace reign, since we all know him for who he is. And I tell you, it never got better as we grew older into adults.

Can you tell me about one of those times?

I was home for the holidays, and a day before I would be returning to school, my elder brother asked me to borrow him money, but he never pays me back. So I told him I wasn’t going to lend him because he doesn’t even know how to give his younger ones; he’s always collecting, and he never pays back when he borrows. I thought that was the end of it. I didn鈥檛 know he kept this in his heart.

In the morning, when I was returning to school, I wanted to boil water in the room, and we’ve always done that before, but that morning, my elder brother had an issue with my boiling water. When I insisted I wasn’t going to move to the kitchen, he started beating me.

I was returning to school, and my elder brother didn’t have one naira to give, nor moral support, but a beating because I wouldn’t lend him money that he wouldn’t pay back.

What did you do?

I had to report him to the police station because he threatened to keep beating me and wouldn’t stop. He even said that anywhere he sees me, he’ll beat me. He wasn’t even listening to our parents. My elder brother is the person who no one is ever enough to speak to. I had to go and sleep at a friend’s house, and my friend’s dad helped me get the DPO’s contact to make it easier. All of this happened when I was an undergraduate, 19 years old.

I鈥檓 sorry. What was your relationship with your younger brother like?

My role didn’t change even when I started supporting him. I wasn’t even a banker then; I became a banker very recently. While he was in training to become a member of the military, I sent this boy money and even significantly contributed to his educational pursuits.

But my younger brother believes that all there is to him is to earn enough money. I guess it’s a result of taking financial responsibility for yourself too early. He doesn’t even regard the support I gave him in the past, before he started earning. He’s too proud to even ask for my support now, maybe because I’m a woman, I think. So I just let him be.

Did things change when he joined the military?

Him joining the military made his pride very obvious, and it’s also hindering his growth because he’s too proud to gather all the support he can get from the family to accelerate his career. He thinks his military position has made him the firstborn, and he’s above everyone in the family.

In heated arguments, he had always said the day he was going to change it for me was coming.

What happened on the first day of this year?

It was quite good for me, and I was happy. I just wanted us to have a family meal together. I decided to cook jollof rice and chicken. I no know who send me message oo.

We usually cooked separately because I decided not to cook for anyone again. Each time I did, the dishes would be piled up, and if I went to work, I wouldn’t get to meet food at home like they did when I was home.

My brother had just returned from a night shift. I told him we needed water to cook. He said he couldn’t tell me “no” when I asked him to get water because I would “crash out” (start complaining), but he could raise his hand. I’m still trying to add the puzzle together to make this make sense, sha.

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What happened when he came back?

When he got to the water seller, the man rudely told him there was no water. So my brother came back to the house, insulting me. I told him to stop all that nonsense, or I’ll insult him back, but he wouldn’t stop saying all sorts of things. From me being useless to words I will never utter again. The moment I called him stupid for insulting me, he dared me to say it again, which I did. And na there wahala start.

How bad did it get?

He beat me blue-black. I had scratches on my back, muscle pain in my leg, swollen face, swollen lips and an eye injury that I had to go treat at the hospital. He’s a military personnel who said he was going to kill me, that I’m not even on the same level as his juniors at work.

Thank God for a neighbour and my cousin who separated us. I was only able to bite him once, and thank God it was a successful bite…lol

What did your family say after?

My parents and older siblings called him to order, and he left the house after the drama. Getting back that night, he apologised and, since then, has been overly careful in the house, doing all the chores he would have waited for me to tell him to do. But I wasn’t saying anything to him. I just respond to his greetings and give one-word answers when he tries to strike up a conversation because I can’t seem to wrap my head around all that happened.

Did you consider reporting him to his work?

I didn’t report him at his work because, according to my mum, if he gets dismissed, he’ll come in the future to say I was the one who destroyed his career.

How did that make you feel?

I feel humiliated and disrespected because the only reason I believe he could raise his hand against me was that he feels superior to me because I’m a woman. I’m a degree holder and a banker. I sent this boy money when he was in training. This boy feels superior because he has manhood and is a member of the military. If that’s not misogyny, what else could it be? If it’s not femicide, what is it?

You used the word “femicide” to describe this. Why?

Because if there had been no intervention on 1/1/2026, I would have lost my life. He was furiously ready to unalive me. He said he didn’t care if I reported him at work. He was so angry that I wondered if it was more than what I had asked him to do, most likely pent-up anger he chose not to discuss.

How femicide happens, no dey pass like this.

How do your parents usually handle these situations?

They make decisions based on their level of knowledge and exposure, and no parent wants their children to be on bad terms with others. I think that’s somewhat selfish and unjust. I even related it to my dad by likening the situation to the Bible, how David would not address what Amnon did to Tamar.

In their defence, they were never in support of the assaults, but there was no restitution.

What about your siblings? How do they see all of this?

Even my siblings think I’m overreacting, and it’s just “normal” for siblings to have altercations. How can you say these things are normal? My elder brother even hid his number to call me recently. He strongly believes I’m overreacting. He even mentioned that “assault is not only physical”, with one funny, sorry, but he also said while laughing, before I just decided to hang up.

More reasons why I want to share this story are that GBV and physical assault have been normalised in African homes.

You mentioned your elder sister. How does she fit into all of this?

My elder sister and I always have issues because of house chores. I personally believe that being older or being a man shouldn’t exempt you from looking after yourself, but my sister is way more traditional. She would prefer that I, who just got back from work, do a chore than ask my elder brother, who has been home all day, to join her to do it. That’s her perspective, which is why I’ve had friction with my sister.

Our relationship is not great. I was trying to make it better now that she’s married, but this whole issue just made me put everybody out of my life.

What have you decided to do?

I’ve finally decided to move out of the house and dropped an epistle in my siblings’ DMs before blocking them. I believe they all think they’re superior to me, one way or the other, for them to keep raising their hands against me. I have never done the same to any of them.

I’ll also tell my parents about their parts in all of these, but I won’t block them, so they won’t get high blood pressure.

What did you say in the epistle?

I just told them how I feel hurt by what they’ve done and how I honestly wish them well. I might have definitely hurt them in a different way, but this assault is not something I would ever do to them. I had to leave, and I have.

Where are you now?

I don’t have my own space yet because I cannot afford it, so I’m paying to squat with someone. I’m yet to get my own apartment, and it’ll take me some time to really feel like anywhere is home. I honestly just want my space, and I can get all the safety I want from my relationship with God and the few friends I have.

How has this affected your relationship with your parents?

I don’t want them to ever feel bad because of me, and that’s why I’ve always forgiven and just moved on like nothing happened. But after deciding to leave, I don’t really feel like reaching out to them. Even when I miss their call, I don’t feel that urge to want to talk to them like before. There’s just that detachment.

What do you want people to take away from your story?

As much as I feel like family is very important and you have to hold your family in high standards, staying away from them for the sake of your peace, mental health, and growth is equally important.

When you can afford to leave, please do. Do all you can to get that economic power that you need to survive, build those friendships and walking away from an abusive family does not make you a bad person. You can always pray for them as well. Take your time to heal, and just live a happy life.

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