A Hiatus from Husband Hunting IV
An Away Match
Luke 14: 28 asks,
28 For example, who of you wanting to build a tower does not first sit down and calculate the expense to see if he has enough to complete it?
Throughout 2021, the question rang in my mind as I nearly built a tower I was ill-equipped to manage due to internal and external pressures. The tower inevitably crumbled, as it was meant to. This is a story of how cultural norms shape our fears and expectations, especially in the arena of romance, and how they must be kept in their proper place.
As per usual, a man is at the center of this story. His name was Naija*, as he was based in Nigeria at the time. More specifically Lagos. I heard of him in 2018, during a family trip in Enugu. A childhood friend of Mumsy’s, who we’ll call Uncle Busybody*, mentioned him to me, but we didn’t meet in-person that summer. In addition, Mom knew his parents growing up, and said he came from good stock. Things didn’t go anywhere at this time. Classes started again the following fall, so I wasn’t pressed on meeting someone new, especially one so far away. We spoke over the phone once.
In January 2021, my stepfather was in Lagos. Many bad romances start in that city, I’ve heard. Uncle Busybody introduced him to Stepdad at a mutual’s going-away function. (Sidenote: If anything will be at the root of my undoing, it will be a going-away party. Please see Grandpa’s story for context if you haven’t already.) Stepdad took a strong liking to Naija immediately. The three men randomly video-called me via Whatsapp. From there, we reconnected.
Naija was an intelligent man. Good looking with a nice build, as well. However, communicating over the long-distance was difficult to say the least. I found it hard to form a deep connection solely over choppy calls that often started and stopped due to network issues and unclear audio, among other things. Perhaps these are all superficial excuses to cover the real problem I had: I didn’t truly work to form that connection because long-distance wasn’t for me.
When engaging in long-distance relationships (or in this case, a potential one), many factors must be considered. When is it best to communicate with them? How often will you see the person? Who will travel more and why? When will the distance close so you can both be together? As an overthinker speaking to someone who couldn’t simply fly over and whisk me away on an impromptu date night, these costs added up quickly. And I knew I would be the one paying the majority of them. Not because Naija didn’t want to, but because he wasn’t in the position to.
I further worried about how things would progress. Talking to someone based in another land has its nuances. Since you don’t see them often, the “getting to know each other” process ⸺which should be organic⸺ feels more intense and sped up. Then, next steps. What if I marry him? Would I have the fortitude to carry things on my own for a few years while he waits for his papers, then as he gets situated in a new country? It certainly works for many, and I applaud them, but I didn’t feel I would be able to given the situations I’ve seen. I spoke with Mom and Stepdad about these concerns and how I wanted to end things before getting in too deep, but I was often met with judgement. Stepdad would say, “You can’t get it 100% in a person.” and “You’re only saying this because you’re privileged to be brought up in America. Don’t be selfish.” Knowing what I know now, I should’ve stopped seeking their advice on the matter.
The summer was a tumultuous time, with its high and low points. Despite my anxieties, Naija and I still communicated, and I booked a flight to Lagos in May. I felt he had shown me enough of his character to warrant me exploring him in-person. He was happy when I shared the news. In July, I moved to Jersey to live on my own. The following month I considered calling things off with Naija, but I still felt it was best to put my all in before deciding he wasn’t for me.
Fall was worse. Mumsy lost her dad in October, which made it even more vital that I go back with her and Stepdad to support. With that, I left for Lagos on November 26th.
Being with Naija in-person after nearly a year of the back-and-forth was a much-needed change. I enjoyed his company and liveliness. But the pressure to take things to the next level got more daunting now that we were face-to-face. Before I arrived, he mentioned wanting me to meet his family during my trip, to which I said I wasn’t ready and tried to skirt around the subject. In all honesty, my emotional investment in him was not deep enough to warrant that. Within my first 48 hours in Lagos, he followed up about it, and I felt I had to agree to it. He asked how he should introduce me. (Sidenote: As stated earlier, this is a problem with long-distance. This is my first time interacting with him in real-time, and now I should meet his “village” to make the most of my journey?) At first, I told him to tell them I’m someone he’s getting to know (how I truly felt). Then, I said he could say we’re courting (how it felt I should feel). This is an action I sincerely regret.
He also wanted to discuss the future as he started applying for graduate programs in the UK months before I reached Lagos. In those conversations over the phone, I told him that I didn’t want him planning his life around me. I didn’t want the burden of having his life in my hands before even meeting him. I wanted him to take action on his own. Now that I was with Naija directly, I said I’d make my decision at the end of the trip. For me, this trip would help me determine whether I wanted to be in a relationship with him. I would not make that call without ever experiencing him in reality.
We spent a lot of time together in Lagos. He was kind and generous. No notes there. The real stress started when he and my family traveled to the east for grandpa’s burial. His parents picked us up from the airport and took us to our hotel. I was nervous, but I didn’t speak with them much at this time. A couple of days into the journey, Naija warmly attended grandpa’s funeral in the village alongside myself, my parents, and extended family. It was courteous of him as the drive from Emene, Enugu to Mom’s village in Abia was two hours of dangerous roads, police checkpoints, and other potential threats. I appreciated his efforts. Following the burial, I met his family and friends. They were gracious, hospitable people, also hoping I would make the “right decision” as they said. It was a hefty weight to bear. We all flew back to Lagos a couple of days later.
The remaining days of the trip went by quickly, and they had their ebbs and flows from pleasure being in his presence to anxiety. I enjoyed spending time talking, laughing, being silly, but other times were unnecessarily high stakes. For one, he pressed me about getting blood tests. He quite literally stuck pins in my hands to draw blood for them. I can’t quantify the embarrassment I felt as random passersby looked then averted their eyes. This was what people that are unequivocally sure they want to marry do, and I was nowhere near that point. Still, I got the tests against my better judgement. I allowed myself to be pulled along in those moments.
On the final evening before my flight home, I told Naija that I wanted him and I to be official. He happily jumped into visa talks almost immediately. Trying to determine when I should start processing a visa for him to make things easier and reduce my issues with distance. He suggested I could start filing a couple months down the line the following March or February. That as soon as he got over, he would start finding work. I told him that was fast, and he emphasized that I’m not the first woman abroad that he’s ever talked to, so it’s not as if he was pressing me to bring him over. He had also at times said that many women want him for their daughters. (Sidenote: Respectfully, what the fuck does that have to do with me?) Why would he even say that? Am I supposed to care what other women do or don’t do? I was turned off by the conversation. We were obviously going at two very different speeds. Instead of leaving the conversation excited about the future, I felt I was signing in blood when I had newly committed. My parents thought I was the one overreacting and that what Naija said was indeed normal.
Upon my return to Jersey, I was uneasy. My parents were still back in Lagos where I left them. Naija called me saying he attended Uncle Busybody’s anniversary dinner with them, but didn’t tell them what we had discussed. I jokingly asked him why he was acting secretive with them.
“It’s not like you proposed to me or something.”, I said. Because he didn’t. This was the first time I had ever faced his vitriol.
“What are you talking about? Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my family?”, he shouted.
Apparently the conversation we had before I left was his rendition of a proposal. This was the grand decision everyone was looking to me to make. No ring, no kneeling, or “will you marry me” necessary, of course. He compared me to the wives of his friends and peers.
“Why can’t you be like Ric*’s wife? She’s younger than you but she knows what she wants.”
Ric was a friend of Naija’s that I met in Enugu. He was thirty-one, and his newly wedded wife, Via*, was twenty-one. The comparisons were inconsequential. These people had normal courtships. They at least lived in the same country, so of course they had ample opportunities to observe each other for an extended period. Yet, I was expected to make a lifetime decision based on Whatsapp calls throughout the year and a two-week trip where most of the larger decisions felt pressured. He even said he gave up admission to a masters program in Scotland for me, and that angered me. I categorically did not want to be responsible for his life plan, but alas I still received the blame.
I attempted dragging this poorly conceived relationship for a couple extra months. To give it a good shake before washing my hands. It fizzled, and I closed it out in March 2022. My family was upset with me over the ordeal. To meet a potential mate’s family and yet reject their “proposal” is majorly frowned upon. An embarrassment to them and myself. But I didn’t feel ashamed. It was quite the opposite, actually. While I felt bad for his family’s involvement and hospitality, I wasn’t remorseful. Within myself, I knew I made the right decision. I just wonder why it took so long to make.
There were many reasons I drug my feet, but they aren’t very sound. By this time in my life, the pressing voice of settling down was no longer a figment of my imagination, something I had forced on myself. It started coming from external sources. My parents, aunts, and uncles were eager to provide their input. I gave them too much weight, and allowed myself to be quieted when voicing my thoughts. They (primarily the men, unsurprisingly) put the fear of aging into me. I had just turned twenty-three that summer. I shake my head at the thought of it now because I was never old, so you can imagine my self-doubt. Even after the fact, there was the constant push to explain why I ended my relationship to others. I was simply a grown woman that determined a connection wasn’t for her. Simple. There was never a need for extra scrutiny, and I’m not a walking apology that needs to explain my every move. If you don’t understand me, that’s on you.
Then the fear and scarcity aspect. The fear of being alone and perceived as “defective”, and scarcity because my dating pool is already quite shallow. A scarcity mindset is a silent killer of many, and it almost took me out, too. Starting a courtship or marriage based on such feelings is not a recipe for success. Granted, I’m unmarried, so what do I know? However, I see how fear impacts others, especially other Nigerian women approaching or past thirty, and I don’t envy the relationships in which they find themselves⸺ much like some of my aunties with marriages that leave much to be desired. Had I entered the relationship and ended up miserable, I would face the fire alone. All everyone would say is “Nne, ndo. Sorry. Marriage is like that sometimes.” or “Ebezina. Manage him like that. Take what you see and try not to make a fuss.” They wouldn’t say that because they’re bad people or they don’t care. It’s just that misery is their normal. Therefore, I’d rather take some time to make a well-informed decision.
This was one of my more long-form stories, but I hope the point was never lost on you: don’t be a weakling. While it is wise to get advice from those with experience, always take it with a grain of salt. The context in which they have made their bed does not dictate how you will lie in yours. You love them, and they love you, but you must establish healthy boundaries early in adulthood. Life is yours for the taking, and you don’t want to regret everything because you were afraid to stick to your instincts. Finally, this post is not an indictment on all Nigerian relationships and culture as a whole, but my critique of what we have come to accept as normal. An honorable mention is to never start what you know you aren’t capable of finishing.
This one took me weeks to write. It was long-winded, but it all needed to be said. I was fearful of being so honest about my mistakes, but here I am. This wraps up my man stories. To close out this series, I’ll discuss where my head is at nowadays. Thank you for listening this long.