As Told To Boluwatife

For almost two years, I watched an illness slowly drain my dad and everything else around him.

I still remember the first time I realised he was seriously sick. I鈥檇 called him on a morning in 2023 to check in. He鈥檇 been feeling body weakness and pain for a couple of days, and we all assumed it was malaria and old age. 

At 62, my dad was prone to bouts of fatigue, so my sister and I didn鈥檛 think it was anything out of the ordinary. We just advised him to take his regular medication and rest. We hoped he鈥檇 feel better soon.

So, when I called him that morning, I expected to hear that he was improving. Instead, he said, 鈥淭imothy, I want to go to the hospital.鈥� That was when it first clicked that something was really wrong. 

My dad didn鈥檛 like hospitals. He thought they were a waste of money, and he swore by herbal remedies. For him to ask to be taken to the hospital meant the sickness was serious.

So, I took him there, and after a variety of tests, we found out it was cancer. That鈥檚 how a two-year-long health battle started.

At first, the doctors were optimistic. They said things like, 鈥淚f we start treatment early, he should respond well.鈥� So, I held onto that hope like a guarantee even when the medical costs started to hit deep 鈥� scans, consultations, surgery, chemotherapy sessions and medications. Some of those drugs cost up to 鈧�200k per pack, and somehow, they seemed to make my dad weaker with each passing day. 

My 鈧�3m emergency fund was the first to go. My HMO covered some of the initial bills, but when things started to get serious, they began telling me stories about my coverage limit. So, I had to dip into my emergency savings and pay out of pocket.

As the first child, almost all the bills were on me. My sister tried her best, but she was still in university, and there wasn鈥檛 much she could do besides help with all the physical running around at the hospitals. But I wasn鈥檛 bothered. My dad was sick, so of course, I was willing to pay any amount to make sure he got better. 

But the bills kept rising. My dad had a pre-existing chronic disease that affected his recovery, so even though surgery and chemotherapy were handling the cancer, his health was worsening. 

After I burned through my emergency fund, I turned to loans. I started with small loans from friends and repaid after receiving my salary at the end of the month. Since I avoided asking one person for a loan more than twice, it was only a matter of time before I started using loan apps. The interest rates were terrible, but I didn鈥檛 care. All I cared about was keeping my dad alive.

One year into the illness, the doctors said the cancer had spread to another part of his body, and they needed to start the whole process again. I remember sitting in the consulting room, nodding as they explained the procedure and the cost, while my chest tightened. 

They said his chances of recovery weren鈥檛 great because of his age, but it was the amount they mentioned that really worried me 鈥� almost 鈧�10m. Still, I couldn鈥檛 just sit back and watch my dad die. So, I agreed.

This time, we rallied our family members and religious bodies to raise the amount. Someone gifted me 鈧�2m during this period. For a while after treatment, my dad seemed better. He smiled more. He ate more. Those six weeks felt like proof that everything we were doing was working.

Then he relapsed and had to practically move into the hospital for more treatments.

By then, I had practically no one else to turn to. Despite my 鈧�850k/month salary, I was always broke after spending all my money on my dad鈥檚 medication, servicing debts and struggling to survive. At some point, I stopped tracking how much I owed. It was too overwhelming.

I eventually had to sell my dad鈥檚 car to cover some of the expenses. I didn鈥檛 tell him, but I feel like he knew. He would look at me quietly whenever I visited and say things like, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e trying your best,鈥� or 鈥淕od will reward you.鈥� 

Whenever that happened, I鈥檇 cry for hours. The man was in pain all the time and could hardly talk, yet he was trying to encourage me.

The night he died in February 2025, I felt strangely empty. I cried, but I also felt numb. I think part of me had been preparing for it for months. What I wasn鈥檛 prepared for was what came after.

I spent the entire 2025 repaying the major loans I took during my dad鈥檚 illness and funeral, and trying to get back on my feet. I don鈥檛 think my finances will recover from the hit anytime soon. I used to be very financially conscious with savings and investments, but it feels like I鈥檓 constantly in survival mode now. It鈥檚 so easy for me to use loan apps because by the time I repay one or two small loans, I鈥檓 already broke.

Sometimes, when I calculate how long it will take me to recover financially, I feel resentment creeping in. The guilt comes immediately after. Because should I really be thinking about money when I got two extra years with my dad?

But the truth is, I think about it. I think about the approximately 鈧�20m+ we spent trying to save my dad and wonder how different my life would look if I hadn鈥檛 spent everything. 

What if I hadn鈥檛 taken so many loans? Maybe there was a point where I should have stopped; maybe continuing treatment was more about my fear of losing him than his actual chances of getting better.

Then I hate myself for even thinking that.

I don鈥檛 regret trying to save my dad. I would probably do it all over again if I had the chance. But I wish people talked more honestly about what it costs, both in terms of money and what鈥檚 left of you afterwards. I wish it were okay to admit that love and sacrifice can coexist with some form of regret.

Some days, I feel at peace knowing I didn鈥檛 give up on him. Other days, I feel like I lost myself trying to hold on to him. 

Does wishing we hadn鈥檛 spent so much make me a bad son? Maybe it does. I just know I was a scared one, doing the best I could with the information and emotions I had at the time. I鈥檓 still trying to make sense of it all.

*Name has been changed for the sake of anonymity.

聽for relatable stories and actionable insights to help you make the most out of your money.

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As her family mourns the daughter they lost, Chinasa battles the unspoken pressure to become just like her 鈥� cheerful, accomplished, perfect 鈥� even when it costs her the chance to be herself.

This is Chinasa鈥檚 story, as told to Betty.

When my older sister, Lilian*, died in a freak bike accident, my entire life flipped inside out. She was everything 鈥� golden girl, the first daughter, the family star, you name it. She was already in her final year studying accounting, with her ICAN certification. On top of that, she was a budding actress and model, and carried herself with an effortless kind of beauty. Lilian was popular. People knew and loved her everywhere she went. Even at home, she shone and the rest of us just existed in her glow. She was, by all accounts, the perfect firstborn daughter.

I never minded living in her shadow, though. In fact, I enjoyed it. It meant I could coast as the middle child. Nobody expected much from me, not with Lilian taking on all the pressure and carrying the first daughter burden. I got to do my own thing without pressure. No one placed me on any pedestal since my sister was already there. But the moment she left us, all the attention shifted to me. Worse, everyone started acting like I now had to live up to the version of her they still held on to.

I didn鈥檛 want any of it.

At her burial, everyone poured their grief on me. They kept talking about how wonderful she was and how painful it felt to lose her. I didn鈥檛 know how to tell them that I was already aware in a way that no one else could possibly understand. She was my only sister. Even after her death, my brothers still had a sister. Me? I had no one. 

I felt so bad for our mum. We鈥檇 already lost our dad many years before. Losing Lilian felt like salt in a wound that had only begun healing. Her death broke my mum. Once, in her grief, she told me she wished I had died instead. It didn鈥檛 even hurt it at the time. I wished the same thing, too. But that comment still sits in my chest like a stone, even though I now have a better understanding of how heartbroken she was.

After Lilian died, I was 鈥減romoted鈥� to first daughter and that鈥檚 when everything started feeling heavier. Suddenly, everyone expected me to hold the house together, to be cheerful, outgoing, sociable 鈥� everything Lilian had been. But I鈥檓 not her. I鈥檝e never been her. Yes, I鈥檓 bubbly and charming, but in my own way. I don鈥檛 want to be the centre of attention. And it鈥檚 exhausting pretending I even want to try.

Family gatherings are the worst. Someone always finds a way to bring up Lilian 鈥� , how proactive and energetic she was. I visited an aunt once who said she missed having Lilian over because unlike me, she was jovial and had so much energy. Some of my extended family members act like I鈥檝e had enough time to move on from grief. But how do I get better when I still feel so raw? Now, I avoid them when I can. I鈥檇 rather keep my distance than sit there and get reminded again and again that I鈥檓 not my late sister.

My relationship with my mum is complicated. I know she鈥檚 trying. She reaches out and tries to be closer, but there鈥檚 a subtle friction between us. We weren鈥檛 so close before my sister passed. Between the normal teenage frustration, the chores I didn鈥檛 want to learn, and my years in boarding school, we never really got the chance to bond. Sometimes, I think she sees me as the one who survived when the 鈥榖etter daughter鈥� didn鈥檛. How do you build a bond from that starting point?

Still, I don鈥檛 blame her. She鈥檚 a good woman, a wonderful mother. And she鈥檚 been through more pain than any parent should ever know. That comment 鈥� the one about wishing I had died 鈥� I don鈥檛 think she meant it. Or maybe she did, in that moment. I don鈥檛 know. I just know it changed things between us.

The only person I ever opened up to about all this was my friend, Diana*. She鈥檇 also lost someone, so we cried together. Not just about what we鈥檇 lost, but about how much heavier everything becomes after. There was something comforting in that. Just sitting with someone who gets it. No advice, no comparisons. Just presence.

Losing someone like Lilian doesn鈥檛 get easier. It鈥檚 not a phase or a season. I carry it every day, and I try to live in a way that honours her.  I know she loved me exactly as I was. She never asked me to become someone else.

Each time I remember her, the pain comes back like it never left. I hate that she left me behind. I hate that people expect me to fill shoes that were never my size in the first place. I take each day as it comes, and I hope that eventually, it鈥檒l get better.

READ ALSO: I Spent Years Looking For My Dead Fianc茅e In Other Women

What鈥檚 your current relationship status?

I鈥檓 single. I鈥檝e mostly been on my own since I lost Jane*, my fianc茅e, in 2021 . We were together for nine years, and her death changed me. I couldn鈥檛 move on for a very long time. And when I tried to, I sabotaged every relationship I got into.

Tell me about Jane. What was it like being with her?

Jane was my first, I鈥檇 never been in a relationship before we started dating. I was that devout Catholic boy who considered becoming a priest. But just before university, I left Jos for Ibadan in 2012 to take remedial courses, and that鈥檚 when I met Jane. We were in the same programme and naturally spent lots of time around each other. I fell hard.

I鈥檓 an only child and grew up in a deeply religious household where romantic feelings especially as a teenager were considered sinful distractions. But with Jane, all the feelings I鈥檇 suppressed about girls came rushing out. We started dating in 2012, the same year we both got into the University of Ibadan. She studied History, while I studied English.

The endless ASUU strikes kept us in school for nearly six years. But it didn鈥檛 matter. Through it all, I had my first love and first everything in Jane. In our final year, we moved in together off-campus without telling our families. We just couldn鈥檛 imagine being apart.

After we graduated in 2018, we served in Ibadan and tried to settle here. I landed a job with a government agency, and she started teaching. Among our friends, everyone admired us. We did everything together.

Jane鈥檚 mum eventually found out we were living together and didn鈥檛 take it lightly. That鈥檚 when I realised maybe it was time to start planning for the future. I proposed in June 2021, and she was over the moon. I had no idea things would change so drastically a few months later.

What happened?

Her school went on break that August. So, she travelled home to Benin to spend time with her family and tell them about our engagement. I dropped her off at the park that morning and hugged her goodbye.

Later that day, I couldn鈥檛 reach her, and messages also stopped delivering. I called her family, and when we contacted the park the next day, they said the bus never got to town. At first, we feared kidnapping. But we later heard there had been a ghastly accident just outside town. None of the passengers survived.

Her sister called to break the news of her demise. The world just spun around me. I鈥檒l never forget that moment.

That must鈥檝e been incredibly hard. I鈥檓 sorry.

It became the darkest period of my life. The worst part was not having closure. We buried her casket without a body because they鈥檇 been burned to shreds in the car. I couldn鈥檛 function for over three months. Thankfully, my co-workers covered for me while I went home.

My parents tried to be there, but their support didn鈥檛 help.  My dad wanted me to 鈥渂e strong鈥� because I was a man, while my mum made hurtful comments about how Jane wasn鈥檛 the best person for me. We fought constantly. I  eventually returned to Ibadan sooner than planned just to escape it all.

Fair enough. Did you try to date again?

Not for almost two years. Everyone wanted me to move on, and I succumbed because I鈥檇 also gotten tired of feeling stuck in my grief. So, I tried Tinder in 2023.  Most people there just wanted to hook up, which I didn鈥檛 want. Then I met Dolapo* on the app. She had great vibes and a similar build to Jane鈥檚. I genuinely liked her.

But sex with her triggered a sense of guilt like I was cheating on Jane. It felt like Jane鈥檚 spirit was always in the room with us, which made me become distant over time. Dolapo noticed, because after a few weeks, she blocked me everywhere. I couldn鈥檛 even be mad. I knew I didn鈥檛 try hard enough to keep her.

What happened after that?

Not long after, a friend introduced me to Ijeoma*. I was drawn to her instantly, partly because her first name was Jane鈥檚 middle name. I told myself this time I鈥檇 do things differently. I made things official very early. I didn鈥檛 want the same thing with Dolapo to happen, so I told her upfront that I preferred celibacy. I also decided to stay celibate this time.  

But deep down, I knew we couldn鈥檛 work because every time she asked about our future, I didn鈥檛 have a concrete answer.

She also hated that I kept a diary where I wrote to Jane anytime something big happened, and didn鈥檛 like the framed picture of Jane in my house. She said I was idolising Jane, even though I鈥檇 told her everything from the start.

Ijeoma eventually gave me an ultimatum to get rid of Jane鈥檚 things or risk losing her. For me, it was simple. Jane meant more to me. That relationship ended last year,  after a year and two months.

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Did you feel any regret?

My feelings were more of anger. I felt like she didn鈥檛 want to understand me or what I was going through. To me, she was just being selfish. But a mutual friend later helped me see it from her perspective.

Jane and I dated for almost a decade 鈥� of course, moving on is hard. But maybe I didn鈥檛 even try enough. Both Dolapo and Ijeoma reminded me of Jane. I kept looking for her in other people, and that wasn鈥檛 fair.

Right. Did you ever consider therapy?

I tried but it didn鈥檛 help because I couldn鈥檛 open up, so I stopped after a few sessions.  But I recently joined some grief support groups, and they鈥檝e helped more than I expected.

Sometimes, I imagine if the roles were reversed. I know I wouldn鈥檛 want Jane to live like this. This thought reminds me that healing isn鈥檛 just for me; it鈥檚 also something she would鈥檝e wanted. I鈥檓 still not ready to date, but I鈥檓 working on myself every day.

Is there still hope for dating in the future?

Eventually, yes. I just turned 30, and there鈥檚 pressure from my family to move on and settle down. But first, I want to get to a place where Jane is just a memory I cherish and one that  doesn鈥檛 influence how I live my life.

Curious. Has your time alone changed what you want from love or partnership?

It鈥檚 made me realise I don鈥檛 want someone to fill a void. I don鈥檛 need a partner to replace Jane; I want to grow a different kind of love.

Before, I clung to the past and projected it onto other people. Now, I鈥檇 like to live in the present. I hope to find someone patient enough to help me through this phase.

So, how would you say the streets are treating you? Rate it on a scale of 1-10

A 4 if I鈥檓 being honest, or maybe a 5. I鈥檓 learning how to be okay on my own. The loneliness sucks sometimes, but it鈥檚 better than being with the wrong person for the wrong reasons.

If you鈥檇 like to share your own story, fill out this .

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In a society where you鈥檙e expected to 鈥榖e strong鈥� and 鈥榤ove on quickly,鈥� many Nigerians carry grief quietly. We spoke to six Nigerians who’ve lost someone they deeply loved. They open up about the different ways grief continues to shape their lives. 

鈥淓ating, sleeping, and even breathing is difficult鈥� 鈥� *Adam, 29

*Adam was planning to propose to his girlfriend when she died of leukaemia. Months later, grief has changed everything from his work life to his family.

“She died in December 2024. We knew she was sick, but the news still felt like a slap. I wasn鈥檛 even there. I had taken a job in Port Harcourt, and she was in Ibadan. If I could turn back time, I wouldn鈥檛 have taken that job. I鈥檇 give anything to have been by her side.

I remember the exact feeling when her sister called 鈥攖he buzzing in my ears, and how everything froze. I was going to propose on my next visit and had started looking at rings. Now, I feel guilty doing anything. Eating, sleeping, and even breathing is difficult. Life feels colourless.

I couldn鈥檛 concentrate at work and had to take leave. When I told my parents I was taking time off, my dad said, 鈥楢re you the first person to lose a girlfriend?鈥� I was so mad. We had a huge fight and haven鈥檛 spoken since. It feels like a part of me died with her, and it鈥檚 not coming back.”

鈥淚 don鈥檛 have the right to grieve him鈥� 鈥� *Farida, 25

*Farida鈥檚 father battled a mental illness for over a decade. She expected to feel relief after his death.  Instead, the guilt hit harder than she expected.

鈥淢y dad鈥檚 illness was mostly mental. From when I was 14, he was just a physical presence. It felt like parts of him 鈥� his mind and personality 鈥� had died years ago.

My mum had to be both wife and caregiver while raising us. She didn’t hire help because she feared society would judge her. She did it all by herself. I sometimes wished for my dad鈥檚 passing just so my mum could catch a break. When he did, I thought I鈥檇 feel free, but I didn鈥檛.

I was overwhelmed with guilt. It felt like I killed him with my thoughts. 

Sometimes, I feel like I鈥檝e lost the right to grieve him, but I cry regardless. I don鈥檛 think that grief will ever stop.鈥�

鈥淚 fear I鈥檒l forget her face one day鈥� 鈥� *Zoe, 24

*Zoe lost her mother at a young age. Years later, the pain still feels raw. She鈥檚 just learned to live with it quietly.

鈥淓veryone says time heals, but I don鈥檛 think that鈥檚 true. I鈥檝e just learned to nurture the wound so it doesn鈥檛 ache every day.聽

My mum died when I was young, and to this day, I still imagine her walking into the room and saying it was all a prank.

The hardest part of losing her is the loneliness. I never got to talk to anyone about things girls are meant to share with their mums 鈥� my period, crushes, or even just how I was feeling. I was expected to just keep going, and I did. Most people don鈥檛 even know I鈥檝e lost a parent. I feel like our society doesn鈥檛 really support grieving people, and I don鈥檛 want to burden anyone.

I still cry myself to sleep sometimes. I鈥檓 scared I鈥檒l forget her face. I wouldn鈥檛 say I鈥檝e healed, but I keep myself going by living a life she鈥檇 be proud of.鈥�

鈥淚 miss the future I鈥檒l never have with him鈥� 鈥� *Dan, 28

People say time heals, but for *Dan, grief has only grown more complicated with age.

鈥淚 lost my dad when I was 11. My mum did her best, but there were things I missed, especially as a boy. There were conversations only a father could have with his son, and I didn鈥檛 get those.

I miss him, and I miss what our future together could have looked like. I also grieve the past. Sometimes, I pass by where he used to work and feel this wave of longing I can鈥檛 explain. 

People expected me to 鈥榮tep up鈥� after he died. They didn鈥檛 say it outright, but it was implied. That pressure made me grow up too fast. Even now, I still compare my friends鈥� dads to him. Sometimes, I  catch myself wishing they were my dad, or that they鈥檇 met him. My dad and I shared a birthday, but since his demise, I find it hard to celebrate., That day just reminds me of a hole in my chest that鈥檒l never be filled.鈥�

鈥淚 still reach for my phone to call her鈥� 鈥� *Ifeoma, 45

*Ifeoma reconnected with her mother as an adult, only to lose her again a few years later.

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 grow up with my mum. We reconnected 25 years  later, after university, and she quickly became my everything鈥� my confidant and gist partner. 

After I got married, she would visit and notice things I missed, like the house help stealing from me. Her presence made a big difference.

When she died, it felt like fate stole her from me a second time. We only spent eleven years together. At first, I didn鈥檛 feel the absence because we lived in different cities. But months later, I realised she was the one person who could be honest with me. Sometimes, I forget and reach for my phone to call her. Bad things would happen to me and I鈥檇 think, 鈥業f only my mum were here鈥�. 

After her death, a lot of people came to visit and pray with me. I was grateful, but the comfort was temporary. Once they left, the emptiness returned. I look at my children and miss her even more.鈥�

鈥淚 cry in the bathroom when no one鈥檚 watching鈥� 鈥� *Sylvie, 23

Like most mother-daughter relationships, *Sylvie鈥檚 relationship with her mum was rocky. Still, nothing prepared her for how the loss would change her. 

鈥淢y mum and I had this love-hate kind of relationship. But losing her left a void I didn鈥檛 expect, and it shows up more often than I鈥檇 like to admit.

I became hyper-independent and overly emotional. I cry often 鈥� in the bathroom, during prayer, even over minor inconveniences. Her death also made me socially withdrawn. I left social media and got triggered by the simplest things 鈥攈ymns,  TikTok videos, or a line from a sermon. I still talk about her all the time, sometimes without even realising. I have accepted that my grief won鈥檛 end. I鈥檓 no longer shattered, but I鈥檓 still not whole.鈥�

How to Live With Grief Without Losing Yourself

We asked Oghenetega Esiekpe, , to explain how to live through grief, one day at a time.

1. Feel everything without shame

鈥淕rief is not a defect or weakness. It is the unresolved love you carry with you,鈥� Esiekpe says.

Sadness, guilt, anger, or numbness, they鈥檙e all valid reactions, and you should let yourself feel them. Don鈥檛 try to 鈥榮nap out of it鈥� or pretend you鈥檙e fine. Feeling pain or hurt is a natural reaction to loss, and it serves as evidence of love and acceptance.

Esiekpe says guilt is one of the most misunderstood parts of grief. 鈥淚t shows up when you think you didn鈥檛 do enough, or feel relief after someone鈥檚 suffering ends. But that relief only means you鈥檙e human.鈥� There is no one way to grieve, and you don鈥檛 need perfect memories to feel loss. 

2. Create small, daily rituals that help you stay grounded

Healing or accepting the loss of a loved one does not happen overnight; it takes small and intentional steps to help one move along.

鈥淗ave a routine check-in with yourself, probably at the end of each day. Ask yourself how you feel today. Write down one thing you miss, one thing you remember, or one thing you鈥檙e still angry about,鈥� she suggests.

Daily rituals like having a phone call or even gardening can help you reconnect to life in a way that gradually heals you.

3. Don鈥檛 ghost your relationships. Be honest

Grief makes your other relationships feel exhausting, even though they are a big part of healing. That doesn鈥檛 mean you need to perform happiness. Esiekpe advises, 鈥淟et people know you still value their presence. When a friend checks in, consider saying, 鈥業 don鈥檛 have the words to express how I feel right now, but I appreciate you checking on me.鈥�. 鈥�

If talking is hard, she suggests other alternatives: watch a movie with friends and family, revisit memories with someone who knows the dearly departed, or simply sit in silence with someone who cares. These are healthy ways to maintain bonds without the pressure to shut down or put on an act.

4. Set boundaries, especially with people who mean well, but hurt you

Like *Adam鈥檚 father, People will say the wildest things when you鈥檙e grieving. Esiekpe says it鈥檚 okay to block that out.

鈥淐onsider saying, 鈥業 appreciate your concern, but I鈥檓 not ready for this conversation,鈥� or 鈥業鈥檇 prefer to be alone right now.鈥� Boundaries are a way for you to protect your peace while you heal.鈥�

5. Grief doesn鈥檛 disappear

If it鈥檚 been months or years and the pain still feels raw, you鈥檙e not broken. You鈥檙e just grieving honestly.

鈥淪ome losses reshape us forever,鈥� Esiekpe says. 鈥淭he goal isn鈥檛 to move on from them, but to move forward while carrying the memory.鈥�

It helps to remember that your loved one would want you to be happy. Living fully can be your way of honouring and celebrating them.

6. Grieve privately, protect publicly

In Nigeria, where we fervently uphold the principle of 鈥榣ife must go on鈥�, people expect you to be 鈥榮trong鈥�. It’s okay to mourn for a short while, but you shouldn鈥檛 dwell on the loss.. Esiekpe encourages a different approach: 鈥淕rieve privately, protect publicly.鈥�

That means finding small moments to cry, feel, or process. It could be in the car, at lunch, or before you go to bed. Don鈥檛 let others rush your healing. You have to heal the way your heart needs.

Bottom line

Remember, how you grieve is an indicator that you loved and were loved. It鈥檚 not just a 鈥榩hase鈥� in life, but a lifelong companion that reshapes how you see the world. Let it change you gently and guide you back to living fully again.

Read Next: 鈥淗appy Moments Are Not Just Happy Anymore鈥� -13 Nigerians on Navigating the Loss of a Parent

For Damola*, his grief has deepened into an overwhelming feeling of guilt after visiting the cemetery one year after his mum鈥檚 death and being unable to locate her grave.

As Told To Adeyinka

In July 2022, I lost my mum a few weeks after her 55th birthday.

The entire experience still feels like a script from a Nollywood movie. She fell sick on a Monday, complaining of a fever and cold feet.

At first, we thought it was nothing serious鈥攋ust the regular cold that鈥檇 require over-the-counter medication and some hot liquid. But by midnight that Monday, what started as a cold had also affected her breathing.

We went to a private hospital very early the next morning, and the doctor thought it was probably a severe case of cold. She got stronger doses of cold and catarrh medication, but she didn鈥檛 feel any better. 

By evening, her younger sibling joined us in the hospital and insisted we take her to a specialist hospital in Ebute Metta. By then, her breathing had gotten really bad. At the specialist hospital, the doctors confirmed it wasn鈥檛 a cold, but pulmonary embolism.

My mum died in the early hours of Wednesday morning before the doctors could prep her for surgery.

The burial ceremony was a blur. I didn鈥檛 have the presence of mind to take note of my surroundings鈥攏ot who was there with us or what the place looked like. I just knew we were at Atan cemetery in Yaba.

Reality only set in the next morning. I got a call from my aunty asking me to return to the cemetery and make plans to properly secure my mum鈥檚 gravesite.

The first question I blurted out was, 鈥淲here is her grave?鈥澛�

The question threw my aunty off, and she went on a gentle rant about how she鈥檇 shown me markers the previous day. I wanted to argue, but I didn鈥檛 know if she鈥檇 understand if I told her I had little to no memory of everything that transpired at the cemetery.

After the call, I found my way to the cemetery in Yaba. Luckily, some guys remembered me from the previous day and offered to help me locate my mum鈥檚 grave. I thought it was kind of them until they started pitching their services, and I realised it was a business.

They suggested marble tiles, a gated fence, headstones, and other options to beautify the grave. We eventually went for a simple marble and headstone design.

I remember taking several pictures of my mum鈥檚 gravesite after the workers finished. I also recorded the surrounding graves and trees 鈥� everything I considered a landmark to help me remember.

After leaving the cemetery, I made a pact with myself to visit the grave as frequently as possible. I couldn鈥檛 shake the feeling that my mum was all alone in the ground, in the vast ocean of graves, and she鈥檇 need a companion, or at least an offspring, who remembered her every once in a while.

For reasons beyond me, I couldn鈥檛 keep that pact.

To start with, I was posted to Osogbo for NYSC three months after my mum died. There wasn鈥檛 enough time to visit the cemetery the few times I was in Lagos. Besides, after her death, I鈥檇 listened to Islamic lectures where I learnt it was wrong to idolise the grave of a loved one. Nothing else really counts as long as you remember to pray and seek forgiveness on their behalf.

So, every time I didn鈥檛 visit the grave, I took solace in the fact that I prayed for my mother. Yet, this hasn鈥檛 stopped me from feeling guilty.

I returned to Lagos earlier this year. Soon after, I started to have more frequent dreams about my mum. The dreams weren鈥檛 strange 鈥� they鈥檇 always happened 鈥� but the increased frequency this time worried me. So, one day, I called my spiritual guardian and told him what I鈥檇 been experiencing.

He asked when last I prayed or gave alms on my mum鈥檚 behalf, and I said I always prayed for her. He then suggested a bigger prayer session with family members on her behalf and said I should visit her grave.

I hadn鈥檛 been to the grave since early 2023, but I was convinced the pictures and videos on my phone would be helpful. I was so wrong.

The day I went to the cemetery, I didn鈥檛 see any familiar faces. The workers at the security post seemed completely different, and when they asked what I was there for, I told them I was visiting my mum鈥檚 grave. They asked if I knew where it was, and I said yes.

To be honest, I wasn鈥檛 quite sure that I did.

A lot seemed to have changed in the cemetery鈥攖he place had been overrun by grass and weeds. But I wasn鈥檛 willing to admit to strangers that I was unsure of where my mother鈥檚 grave was. The mere thought of that admission made me ashamed.

So, with the pictures on my phone, I tasked myself with finding the grave. At least 80 per cent of the landmarks were still in place; the real problem was finding the particular line where her grave was. I couldn鈥檛 find any graves I鈥檇 photographed on my phone. Most of the headstones read 2024, and it didn鈥檛 seem like there was any grave of anyone who died within the last three years in sight.

I went on and on with the search, tiptoeing around graves and being careful not to step on those that had weakened with time. Being alone in that ocean of graves snapped something within me; I stopped searching and broke down in tears.

When it became clear that I didn鈥檛 know where the grave was, I called my aunt and asked when she last visited. She said she visited the grave two weeks back when she accompanied a friend to bury her mum. She also seemed surprised that I was there and asked why I didn鈥檛 mention I was coming since we were both at the prayer session the day before. I ignored the question and said we could come together the next time she planned to visit.

I didn鈥檛 tell her I had no idea where the grave was. She鈥檇 have made a drama of it.

Now, I鈥檓 counting down to the day we鈥檇 go together. But I can鈥檛 help feeling bad. This feeling is worse because I haven鈥檛 dreamt of my mum in a while. I feel like she鈥檚 mad at me.

Read this next: I Lived Beside a Cemetery for 20 Years

Salem, 50

I was the original daddy鈥檚 girl. My father and I were close; he was my friend, my confidant, and my defender. He died at 78, and I know people think that鈥檚 old enough, but it isn鈥檛. My father was agile, and he didn鈥檛 look his age. All his life, I never saw him ill.  His first illness took his life.

When he died, It felt like my life was over. I had never been without him in my entire life, and I didn’t want to be here without him. I鈥檝e felt alone since. I still dial his number when I鈥檓 upset so I can vent. I’d go through an emotional event and want my daddy, only to realise that he isn鈥檛 here anymore. 

My life has changed, and I鈥檓 not the same person I was before he died. I have tried finding that person, but it seems she’s lost forever. I am a new person, and I am still getting used to her.

Ona, 24

I was 14 when my dad died, and I spiraled because of it. I was depressed and did things I鈥檓 not proud of; I avoided people for two years. I鈥檝e learned to cope better with it now. Sometimes, it hits extra hard, and I cry, but I鈥檓 doing better now. 

I still miss him though. I don’t know if I鈥檇 be the person I am right now if he was here, but I鈥檇 still rather have him here. 

Ani, 20

My dad and I didn鈥檛 have a strong relationship, so when he died, I found it hard to grieve or miss him. There was no emotional connection there, and it was easy to move on from his death. The only time he comes to mind is when we celebrate his remembrance, and people praise the man he was. That鈥檚 it.

Laura, 25

My dad passed away when I was 2, so I don鈥檛 remember much about him. My mum died when I was 16; this one I remember. It was four days to my 17th birthday, and I don鈥檛 think I鈥檝e been able to move from that age. I feel like life has been passing me by. 

It鈥檚 been very depressing since she died. When she was here, talking to her fixed everything that was wrong with the world, but now everything鈥檚 just shit. My depression has gotten worse, and I still feel like such a sad person, no matter what I do to spark joy. Happy moments are not just happy anymore 鈥� they feel bittersweet because she isn鈥檛 there to witness any of it: my graduation, getting into my first relationship. I鈥檓 second-guessing getting married because she won鈥檛 be at the wedding, and I鈥檓 scared it鈥檒l be a very underwhelming day.

Leo*, 28

My dad died when I was 18. Before he died, I strongly believed that death could never be me or my family鈥檚 portion. I never thought it would happen to my parents, but it did, and I cried a lot. I used to live my life with no care in the world. Daddy was there, and everything was going to be fine. His death was the reality check I didn鈥檛 think I needed. I鈥檝e had to be more responsible and be accountable for my actions.

It took a while, but I鈥檓 laughing and joking more now. I鈥檝e already seen the worst that life has to offer, so I might as well appreciate every day  and live to the fullest.

 Adekunle, 24

I lost my mother three years ago. She was the best thing to ever happen to me. I鈥檓 her last child, and we were close because we spent a lot of time together. Since she passed, life has been scary. I鈥檝e felt alone and, quite frankly, cheated. She was there to guide my older siblings and help them navigate life after school while I got nothing. 

Deep down, I know it鈥檚 for the best that she left when she did 鈥攕he was sick and in so much pain, but it鈥檚 just hard to reconcile both feelings. 

Pae, 20

My dad passed from cancer when I was 13. We were really alike and did a lot of things together. I could sit in complete silence with him and not be discouraged for not going outside to play with my cousins. He understood and loved me just the way I was. 

I barely remember his funeral or anything from that time. All I remember is seeing him in his coffin before he was lowered to the ground. 

I don鈥檛 think I鈥檒l ever heal from losing him. I feel like I don鈥檛 have anyone in my corner anymore. I miss him every day.

Jerry, 25

Losing my mum was devastating. She had this habit of going into everyone鈥檚 room to pray for them in the middle of the night, and sometimes, she would sleep off. That night, she slept off in my room, and I woke up to my dad crying over her body. 

I remember being tough on the outside. I didn鈥檛,cry in front of anybody but I cried myself to sleep every night. I didn鈥檛 have my mum to shield me from the shitty world outside, and I became depressed and suicidal.

It鈥檚 been 13 years since she passed. I’ve finished primary, secondary, and tertiary education and will maybe go further. I’ve gotten a job, lost a job, and am currently in another. I’ve gotten my heart broken, healed, and built good relationships. I’ve travelled out of the country. I’ve found love. Having her around for all those experiences and life phases would be nice, but it is what it is. I’m in a good place, and it can only get better.

Abigail, 19

My dad passed away when I was 12. He was easy to talk to, forgave people, and always provided. I lacked for nothing when he was around because he provided everything for me. His death changed my life. When he was around, there was money and suddenly, there was no money. I switched schools and houses. It all happened so fast and no one wanted to grieve with me because I was a small child. 

I had to grieve alone and I鈥檓 still grieving to this day, not just for my father but for the life I could鈥檝e had if he had been alive.

Lucky, 28

I lost my mum when I was 14. When she died I became a shell of myself, numb and disconnected from everything. I couldn’t eat, sleep or read for the first three years. My anchor had gone, and my world had stopped spinning. It was horrible. I was drowning in the loss and I tried desperately to detach from it, but now I’ve accepted that it happened, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Alma, 21

My dad died when I was 17, and Iit left me mostly in shock. The regret began to seep in when I realised I would never get to spend time with him anymore. He worked away from home, and losing him made me realise there was so much about him I would never experience in real-time.

Losing my dad shaped certain decisions about my life. It motivated me to work for a first class, which I eventually did make. It also strengthened my relationship with my mum. It still hurts knowing that he won鈥檛 be there for the important milestones in my life.

Tunde, 33

My mum died during my service year. I was 25 and I cried in the car from Zamfara to Lagos. She was my world, and I feel like death took her away too soon. Her death made me realise I had to become independent. I wasn鈥檛 a mama鈥檚 boy, but I knew I could always count on her for anything, so I never really put my all into making my way. 

Kay, 27

I was 11 when my mum passed, and for the longest time after her death, I believed everyone who got sick was going to die. I got seriously ill a year after her death, and I didn鈥檛 even bother getting treated. I just accepted that it was my time.

Since she died, I鈥檝e been closed off. I don鈥檛 see the point of letting people in because what if they die too?

She talks about her stormy relationship with her mother and running away from home at 16 after almost getting raped by her stepfather.

TW: Attempted rape.

As told to Boluwatife

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My life changed forever on the night of March 11, 2012. That was the night my dad died while trying to cross the road, unaware that he was walking directly into the path of an okada with no headlights. My housemistress told me the news the next day at school. I was 13, and I was shattered.

I was a proper daddy鈥檚 girl. Of my parents鈥� two girls, I was the one who looked most like him. I was also the only child for the first ten years of my life. There are stories of how, as a toddler, I鈥檇 follow my dad everywhere, even to the toilet. I rarely let my mum pick me up. It was always 鈥渕y daddy鈥�.

I think my mum started to resent how close I was to him. As I grew older, I began to call my dad 鈥渕y love鈥� because that鈥檚 what he called me too. My mum would make offhand remarks about how I was ganging up with her husband against her or how I came to steal her husband, and my dad would laugh over it. 

Most times, the remarks had a tense undertone. Especially when she tried to flog me whenever I was naughty, and I鈥檇 run to my dad for help. He preferred to punish by taking away my toys and talking things over. To my mum, he was just spoiling me, and they clashed over it regularly. 

Maybe he did spoil me, but I preferred hanging out with him. I even used to run away from the sitting room once I heard my mum returning home from her shop because she always seemed angry. When she gave birth to my sister, it was like they divided the children among themselves. I was daddy鈥檚 girl, and my sister was mummy鈥檚 girl. So, it all worked out.

Then my dad died, and it felt like my person had left. I didn鈥檛 really have a relationship with my mother, so I couldn鈥檛 process my grief with her. I鈥檓 not even sure how she processed hers. She just cried for a few days and kept to herself. When the relatives and mourners finally left our house after the burial, all that was left was empty silence. My sister was three years old and didn鈥檛 really understand what was happening.

Thankfully, I didn鈥檛 have to navigate the silence for long because I returned to boarding school. But whenever I was home, the silence was there. When we weren鈥檛 silent, she was scolding me for one thing or the other. I either didn鈥檛 sweep well enough or didn鈥檛 mop the way she would have. 

I finished secondary school in 2014 and returned home to pursue a university admission. 2014 was also the year my mum remarried. Two months before the wedding, she called me and my little sister to the sitting room and told us we鈥檇 have a new daddy soon. I鈥檓 not sure I felt anything about it. 

We met the man that week, and he seemed nice enough. The only thing on my mind was gaining admission and leaving them to it.

But admission didn鈥檛 come easy. I failed JAMB and had to wait an extra year at home. While I waited, I attended tutorial classes from morning to evening, and by the time I returned home at 6 p.m., it was usually just me and my mum’s husband. That was when he鈥檇 return from work, too, while my mum stayed at her shop till around 9 p.m. My sister鈥檚 school bus would drop her at the shop, so they always came home together.

The arrangement worked at first. I鈥檇 return home, cook dinner and serve her husband before going to my room for the rest of the night. But he started dropping comments like, 鈥淲hy are you running to your room? Come and spend time with me.鈥� Other times, he鈥檇 encourage me to greet him with hugs since 鈥淚鈥檓 like your dad.鈥� I found the whole thing weird and just kept my distance.

I finally gained admission in 2015. A week before I had to resume at the university, this man tried to rape me. That day, when he returned home from work, he tried to get me to hug him as usual, but I politely laughed it off and returned to my room. 

A few minutes later, he called out to me to pick something from his room. I actually thought he was outside, but I entered the room, and he suddenly appeared from behind the door. It鈥檚 still a bit triggering to think about how he tried to pin me down and cover my screams with his lips and whispers of 鈥淒on’t be a baby, now.鈥�

I鈥檓 not sure how I managed to escape. I must鈥檝e kicked him because, one minute, he was on top of me, and the next, he was on the ground. I ran out of the house to our street junction to wait for my mum.

When I eventually saw her, I ran to her and narrated the whole thing. She was visibly shocked and even started crying. She led me back home and confronted her husband. The man denied the whole thing and claimed I ran out of the house because he caught me with a boy. He swore up and down that he鈥檇 never try such and I was just making things up.

My mum believed him. There was nothing she didn鈥檛 say to me that night. How I didn鈥檛 want her to enjoy her home. How I鈥檇 never been in support of her marriage. How I鈥檇 grown to be a liar and prostitute.

To this day, I don鈥檛 know if she truly believed I was capable of such a lie, or was simply choosing to make herself believe what she desperately wanted to be true.

I decided to avoid her husband as best as I could while I counted the days before I could leave for uni. The plan was to stay out all evening till my mum returned at night. But the first day I did that, he reported me to my mum, saying I didn鈥檛 cook his dinner. She warned me to never let that repeat itself, and that鈥檚 when I knew I had to find a way out.聽

The next day, after they鈥檇 gone out, I took some clothes, my school documents and the 鈧�68k my mum hid somewhere and travelled to the state my university was located. It was about three days to resumption, and I didn鈥檛 have a plan or anywhere to stay. 

But I got to the university in the evening and met some fellowship people on campus who were trying to mobilise fresh students. I told them I didn鈥檛 have anywhere to stay. They let me sleep in the fellowship hall for two days before their other members resumed, and I went to stay with one of them at their hostel.

My mum called me the day I left, screaming and calling me a thief. That went on for about two minutes before I ended the call. She didn鈥檛 even bother to ask where I was, and she never called back. Maybe she thinks I followed my imaginary boyfriend. 

I haven鈥檛 seen or spoken to her since 2015. I survived the years at school with the fellowship鈥檚 help and the little money I made from making people鈥檚 hair, a skill I learnt in boarding school.

I found my sister by chance on Facebook in 2023, and reached out. Our first call was so awkward because we had almost nothing to say. I wasn鈥檛 surprised to hear that my mum had fed her with stories of how I stole her money and ran away to destroy my life. We chat occasionally. 

At least, I know my mum is still alive and married to that man. But she鈥檚 dead to me. I鈥檓 not sure if we鈥檒l ever unpack everything that went wrong between us or if I鈥檒l ever be willing to do so. 

I don鈥檛 even know how to ask my sister if he ever tried to abuse her too. I feel like I abandoned her, but I also know there wasn鈥檛 much I could do but save myself. I consciously try to push the whole experience to the back of my mind. I鈥檓 not sure I鈥檒l ever be ready to work through it.

*Subject鈥檚 name has been changed for anonymity.

NEXT READ: I Had a 鈥淪poilt鈥� Upbringing, by Nigerian Standards

But what鈥檚 parenting really like after losing a baby? Nasara* (30) talks about losing her first baby due to medical negligence, experiencing anxiety throughout her second pregnancy and why she considered abortion.

This is Nasara鈥檚 story, as told to Boluwatife

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Nothing prepares you for losing a baby. From the moment you see the second line on the pregnancy test strip, you likely begin to imagine what your baby would look like. You never think you might bury them soon.

Of course, that usually only applies when you want the baby. And I did want the baby.

I鈥檇 gotten married to my husband six months before I saw my first double line on a pregnancy test strip. We didn’t actively try to have a baby, but we didn鈥檛 do anything to prevent it either. Plus, we鈥檙e a Nigerian couple living in Nigeria where the prayer you鈥檇 hear at your wedding is, 鈥淚n nine months time, you鈥檒l hear the sound of a baby.鈥� So, we were happy. Our little family was increasing.

It was a fairly normal pregnancy, complete with weird cravings. I had never tasted Nzu (edible chalk) before, but suddenly, I was consuming it by the bucket. I had some morning (read as all day) sickness in my first trimester, but I glowed throughout the following two semesters. My husband and I even placed a bet to see who the baby would look like. 

Then labour came, and it was the worst day of my life.

My husband took me to the hospital that evening when I started feeling the contractions. The midwife checked me and said, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e about 2 cm dilated. Go back home and return when the pain becomes too much.鈥� Go back home, how? I thought, surely, she must be joking. She wasn鈥檛, so my husband and I decided to wait in the car. 

About an hour later, the space between contractions seemed closer and more intense, so we went back. She said I鈥檇 only progressed to 4 cm and suggested we just go home and return the next morning.

My husband and I looked at each other and silently agreed we were going nowhere. He dropped the hospital bag we鈥檇 packed in a hurry and, raising his voice, insisted I get admitted to a bed.

After some shouting, they finally agreed, and I was moved to a bed. What followed was a six-hour wait. The contractions weren鈥檛 progressing, and the midwife hardly came to check on me. We got nervous.

When it hit the 12-hour mark, and I was still just 6 cm dilated, I started to panic from the pain and worry. The midwife put me on a drip, which I later found out was to induce the labour. The pain tripled, like something was ripping me from the inside. I entered active labour soon enough, but that鈥檚 when things became obviously wrong.

I laboured for almost a day, but the baby refused to come out. My husband suggested a caesarean section, but they brushed him off. 

When I eventually had the baby, it was in distress over the prolonged labour. It also needed oxygen, which the hospital didn鈥檛 have. My baby died in the ambulance on transfer to a general hospital for oxygen. I never even set eyes on it, but a part of me died that day.

ALSO READ: 鈥淚t鈥檚 a Personal Hell鈥� 鈥� 7 Nigerian Women on Trying and Failing to Conceive

It was after my baby died that we found out they brushed off the caesarean section request because the doctor wasn鈥檛 鈥渙n seat鈥� or responding to calls. Our family suggested suing the hospital for medical negligence, but my husband and I just wanted to go home and try not to drown in the sorrow.

The sorrow engulfed us for the next two years. 

One bright Sunday morning, I took a home pregnancy test out of curiousity. I鈥檇 been ill for a while and wasn鈥檛 sure when my period was due. I had spare test strips at home, so I thought to just rule out pregnancy. The double lines on the strip stared back at me in confirmation. But instead of joy, all I felt was fear.

What if I lost this baby too? Was I ready to go through nine months of hope only to have my heart shattered all over again?

When I told my husband, he was over the moon鈥� until I told him I wanted an abortion. Some part of me was convinced I鈥檇 lose this baby too, and wanted to do it before I got too emotionally attached. My husband was horrified, but no matter how much he tried to convince me, I was adamant. It took my family鈥檚 intervention to get me to abandon all abortion talk.

I was still scared out of my mind. I dreamt about losing my baby throughout the pregnancy. I slept on pregnancy and baby websites, reading up on things to do and what to avoid. I lost my first baby due to medical negligence, but I didn鈥檛 want to take any chances on my own end.

I was also wary of registering for antenatal care with just any hospital. I googled different facilities and was even considering moving states to stay with a friend just so I could be close to a hospital I鈥檇 seen online with glowing reviews. I eventually settled for a general hospital because there was a greater possibility they鈥檇 have more than one doctor on call. They couldn鈥檛 all be unavailable at the same time.

By the start of the third trimester, I鈥檇 slipped into depression. Despite my husband’s and family鈥檚 best efforts, I was convinced something bad was going to happen. I put myself on compulsory bed rest and refused to do any other thing. Luckily, I run my own online business, so I could take a break.

Then delivery day came. We chose an elective caesarean section, but I was still prepared for the worst.

Ironically, the whole experience was a breeze. I was given a spinal block, so while I couldn鈥檛 feel the pain, I was awake when my baby was brought out into the world. I still remember that moment 鈥� holding my baby and telling myself this was real life, not a dream. I had my rainbow baby. All the pain from my previous loss would disappear.

It didn鈥檛 quite happen like that. 

I鈥檓 not sure why, but I went into . Healing from a major surgery and dealing with a newborn affected me mentally. I struggled to connect with my baby, and I couldn鈥檛 be happy because then I鈥檇 feel like I was forgetting the baby I lost.

I鈥檓 grateful my husband noticed and encouraged me to see a therapist. 

It鈥檚 been a year since I had my rainbow baby, and I鈥檓 in a better head space now. I now understand that having this baby will never erase the thoughts of my angel baby, and I鈥檓 at peace with that. My angel baby has a permanent space in my heart, and my earth baby is the one I get to pour all my love on. 

After the first three months of therapy, I felt like someone turned on the 鈥渕otherhood鈥� tap in me. Every day, I gush in amazement when I look at my child or when they do something funny. When they grow older, I鈥檒l tell them about their angel sibling. 

I鈥檓 still navigating motherhood, but I鈥檓 content to take it a day at a time.

*Name has been changed for anonymity.

We鈥檙e bringing you the biggest meat festival on November 11, and it鈥檒l be THE food experience of a lifetime. Come enjoy the juiciest suya, grills, and bask in the Nigerian meat culture at . .

NEXT READ: 5 Nigerian Mothers Share What Pregnancy Did Not Prepare Them For

Today鈥檚 #91大神WhatSheSaid subject is Laura, a 23-year-old Kenyan woman. She talks about moving to a new town at 16, her rocky relationship with her sister, respecting her more after their mum dies, struggling with depression and finally accepting that grief is an unending cycle.

What was it like growing up in Kenya?

I lived in a city called and it felt very communal. People were so close that neighbours ate dinner at each other鈥檚 houses. I loved it. When I was 16, we moved to Nairobi, and it was a huge culture shock. 

In Nairobi, people are a lot more individualistic. Everyone minds their business, and I found it strange at the time. In Kisumu, everyone knew everyone. The downside was having aunties report me to my mum or sisters whenever I did anything mischievous. Still, it felt more like home.

LOL. The reporting part has Nigerian aunties written all over it.

LOL. Kenyan aunties win the war there.

But if you loved Kisumu so much, why鈥檇 you leave?

I lost my mum. I was 16, and there was no one to take care of me while my siblings were away at school or work. I ended up in Nairobi with my older sister. She worked as a banker, so I moved into her one-bedroom flat with my immediate older sister. Without our mum, it was a different kind of experience living together.

I鈥檓 really sorry about your mum. Tell me about your experience with your sisters?

Thanks. In the first few months, we鈥檇 butt heads a lot. Imagine three people living with three sisters in one room. I remember one evening, my sister’s boyfriend came to the house. The house was already tight enough as it was, so I had to sleep on the floor. I was frustrated and didn鈥檛 know when I yelled, 鈥淚 wish my mum were here. I wouldn’t be sleeping here.鈥� 

Everyone was grieving in their own way. I鈥檇 say the loss made us closer though. When we were younger, the disagreements were a lot worse. We never saw eye to eye. They felt my mum overindulged and spoiled me. So we never got along, ever. I grew up knowing my sisters hated me. And it was mutual.

Oh wow.

Yeah. Normal sisters stuff. I thought they could鈥檝e been more supportive, especially my eldest sister. But moving in with her made me respect her more. She was 25 and suddenly responsible for two people. Her taking care of us financially made our relationship better. We talked more.

Without my mum, I started to see some of the toxic traits my sisters pointed out as kids. Like how I changed primary schools five times for no good reason. One time, I moved because I thought the school had cooler kids than I. Or the expensive toys and clothes mum bought for me. I鈥檇 either spoil or misplace them in one or two weeks, but she鈥檇 replace everything without question. They never understood why she allowed me to get away with everything.

Did you?

Sort of. My mum was the last child too. She always said she saw herself in me. Although I never met my dad, he was also the last born. I鈥檇 imagine they were two equally troublesome people who came together to have me. So think of me as the problem child. I was the one changing schools, getting toys or getting into arguments with other kids in my neighbourhood. 

We were really close, but she wasn鈥檛 always home. She鈥檇 either be at the office or travelling for work. I still tell my sisters I had more memories of our mum鈥檚 eldest sister. She was so consistent in my life that people at school thought she was my mum. 

So you were closer to your aunt?

I felt like she understood me. Maybe it was how she made sure my siblings didn鈥檛 get a chance to beat me when my mum was away. She was the aunty everyone in the family was afraid of. But for some reason, we connected.

When my mum passed, people at school assumed it was my aunt that died. That鈥檚 how close we were.

How did your mum鈥檚 absence make you feel?

Ignored. Especially now that I think about it as an adult. I didn鈥檛 need the toys she bought as much as I needed her. I saw other kids with their dads and mums picking them up from school. I wanted that too. But I didn鈥檛 resent her though. When she was around, we bonded. My resentment was towards how she died and how early it happened.

In 2013, she鈥檇 been demoted from work and got really sick. We went from never seeing her catch even a cold to suddenly being in and out of the hospital for the next two years. She got better in 2015 and started a new job. But by October, she started getting sick again and that was it.

Do you know exactly what was wrong?

We never got a specific diagnosis. I still don鈥檛 think her death had anything to do with an illness. Sometimes, we鈥檇 go to the hospital and doctors wouldn鈥檛 find anything wrong. I鈥檇 say she was depressed and that manifested into some kind of physical pain. After the demotion, she never got back to that rank and stopped making as much money. Things got worse once she began to fall sick.

To me, that job was a distraction from losing a husband at 34 and raising three kids alone. So when my mum lost it, all that sadness came back till eventually, she gave up on fighting. I鈥檝e never said that out loud before. 

I loved鈥� love her. I only wish we had more time together. 

Thank you for opening up to me. How did you cope with the loss?

I had my sisters. Until I went to uni in 2017, everything seemed fine. At school, the goal was to drown all the emotions about my mum鈥檚 death. 

I made two new friends and focused on hanging out with them. We鈥檇 go on tiny dates to ames (tuck shops), walk around the campus together 鈥� I was on a vibe. If I wasn鈥檛 with them, then I had my boyfriend. I did everything to ignore reality, and hanging out with my friends made me feel better. The distraction worked until we had a class on the five stages of grief. That was the downside of studying psychology. Sometimes, it made me feel understood. Other times, it forced me to confront things I didn鈥檛 want to.

Why did you choose to study psychology then?

My mum was a psychologist and always wanted one of us to take after her. I started off wanting something more creative, like journalism, but when I took some psychology classes before college, I fell in love with it. I didn鈥檛 think I鈥檇 be the sister following in our mum’s footsteps, but here I am.  I had always loved understanding people’s thought processes, particularly the way they affected women. 

As a kid, I wondered why I was stuck in the kitchen during festive seasons, while the men got to mingle outside. I guess that made me curious about the human behaviours that introduced certain beliefs. And psychology gave me some knowledge on that. 

Becoming a feminist didn’t fully kick in until I joined Twitter in 2019. When I was in high school, I’d seen Kenyan women like Sheaffer Okore on TV talking about our rights, but Twitter gave me a lot more access to African women. I started following Nigerian women like Uloma. I just loved seeing them speak passionately about what they wanted from life. In my head, they were like big sisters. 

Love it! Did the class on grief help?

Yeah, it made me more aware. For the most part, I was in denial. Then, the anger and depression phase hit during the lockdown. Being at home for that long gave me too much time to think about my mum. Suddenly, I wasn鈥檛 even talking to my friends. 

I鈥檇 listen to emo music and be angry that she left me. But angrier with God that she died in the first place. My sisters were worried. When I bothered to speak to them, I talked about wanting to die young. Actually, I hoped for it.

尝补耻谤补鈥�

I鈥檓 okay. It鈥檚 scary to admit it. I’m not sure how it happened, but my mum talked about how my dad was depressed before he died, and then, she eventually became depressed with all the responsibility she had taking care of three girls without him. During the lockdown, I accepted that I鈥檇 end up the same way. I didn鈥檛 want my sisters to keep worrying though. So I put up a front. But the longer I pretended to be happy, the more I hoped I鈥檇 actually be happy.

Did it work?

There were moments that felt really good. Like waiting for my sister to come home from work because I knew she’d bring gist. This year is the seventh anniversary of my mum鈥檚 death. And it鈥檚 been two years since the lockdown. Some moments, I鈥檓 fine thinking about her, and other times, I鈥檓 back to those feelings from the lockdown.

I think the good part is getting older, and somehow, accepting that I can鈥檛 keep blaming my mum for dying. She was unhappy. I鈥檝e seen my eldest sister struggle with money for us sometimes, so I empathize with my mum’s reality. My life has also given me some perspective on how life can be tough. I’m done with university now and getting a job has been difficult. I can’t imagine having to take care of another human being. Still, the grieving never really ends 鈥� it鈥檚 an unending cycle. I鈥檓 too scared to even think of having kids of my own.

Why?

I think I鈥檒l end up drinking myself into depression. I don鈥檛 want them to go through the same grief. At this point, the only thing that keeps me going is my sisters. They do everything to make sure I鈥檓 alright.

I wish I had sisters too.

LOL. Sis, I鈥檓 fighting with one of them now. So the love is up and down. My sisters, and the moments I spend hanging out with friends and going to parties, remind me that life can be good sometimes. Right now, a big struggle has been with my faith. I鈥檓 convinced God doesn鈥檛 exist. I grew up in a devoted Catholic family that prayed all the time. So why couldn鈥檛 he save my mum? 

The first time I prayed in a long time was in November 2021. And that was because of a pregnancy scare that turned out to be nothing. Maybe it was some kind of answered prayer, but I’m not convinced. Other than that one random moment, our relationship is non-existent. I don鈥檛 think I can forgive him for taking my mum. At least, not now. 

And Kisumu? Do you miss it?

Kisumu is a bittersweet memory. It reminds me that my mum really isn’t with me anymore. But then somehow, it reminds me that she’s always with me. I still go back with my sisters to see my aunt though. Kisumu will always be home. 

Right now, I just want to get a job and make enough money to take care of myself. I want to take off the burden from my sister so she gets to enjoy her life too.

If you’d like to be my next subject on聽#WhatSheSaid, click聽 to tell us why

1. Do: Ask them what they need聽

Our needs as humans differ from person to person. It鈥檚 important to ask your friend what they need and how you can help them. Otherwise, you would be imposing on them at a time when they need ease. 

Don鈥檛: Assume their needs

Don鈥檛 think that because something worked for you or someone else, it would work for them. The last thing you want to do to your friend during this time is stressing them. Be considerate. 

2. Do: Their laundry聽

Grief is a harrowing experience and can leave you feeling drained. You can visit your friend and help them do their laundry as a way of saying you care. 

Don鈥檛: Be overbearing 

Know when to leave. It鈥檚 easy for your friend to feel overwhelmed during this time so be careful how you interact with them not to cause more distress.

3. Do: Cook for them聽

Your friend may not have been eating well because they are too tired to get food. This is where you come in. You can either cook for them or buy them their favourite meal. Food is always a nice way to tell someone you love them. 

Don’t: Force them to eat聽

Don鈥檛 force them to eat. If they don鈥檛 want to eat, allow them. They will get around to doing what they want eventually. Your job is to witness and be there for them. 

4. Do: Send them money聽

Money is necessary during this time for little things like ordering ice cream to make them feel a bit better or big things like buying a casket for the burial. Ask them if it鈥檚 okay to send them money and show up for them how you can. 

Don鈥檛: Assume that鈥檚 all you need to do聽

It鈥檚 easy to rely on money to play your part as a friend. Money is one thing, presence is another thing. Let your friend know that you are there for them and if you weren鈥檛 sending them money for them, you鈥檇 be doing something else. 

5. Do: Visit them聽

Sometimes, your friend might need good company to deal with the loss. You can show up with drinks, food and games if they are open to that. Remember to know when to leave. 

Don鈥檛: Go without asking

Sometimes your friend just wants to be alone to deal with their feelings. Don鈥檛 be that guy that shows up unannounced.

6. Do: Give them space聽

Your friend might be someone who needs space to process things. Don鈥檛 be a pain in their ass by hanging around when they have made it clear they want to be alone. Respect their wishes. 

Don鈥檛: Try to tell them what you think they need 

Don鈥檛 force your ideals on them. Listen to what they want and support them however you can. If you can鈥檛 do that, at the very least, leave them alone. 

7. Do: Listen to them聽

Sometimes all you can do is listen to them talk about their feelings and give the occasional, 鈥淗mm鈥�. When they are done, you can ask what they need and how you can help them. 

Don鈥檛: Say things like 鈥淕od knows best鈥� or 鈥淏e strong鈥�.

If you can鈥檛 think of anything soothing, hold their hands or offer to hug them.聽

8. Pay for therapy sessions聽

Therapy is helpful for people who are grieving. Be sure to consider your friend鈥檚 preferences and lifestyle before hooking them up with a therapist. Therapist-client fit is a real thing. If they get the right fit, the therapist could help them navigate the grieving process better.聽

Don鈥檛 force them

It鈥檚 important for them to choose what to give their energy to and if they decide they are not ready for therapy, your job is to support them in other ways they might need it.聽

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