Posts in category: Family Drama

Narrated by: Chioma O.

Let me not lie, I knew I was in for something different when I agreed to marry an Nnewi man.

I’m from Enugu. Born and raised Anglican. Our own version of tradition is church wedding followed by rice and mineral. But this one? This one carried me to places I never expected, including one that smelled like burnt goat hair and candle wax.

Grab your zobo, this gist no be for the faint-hearted.

Love in Onitsha, Madness in Marriage

I met Obinna during my NYSC in Awka. He was one of those neat, well-dressed Igbo boys that had no business being so fine and humble. He ran his own car importation business, and he could speak both Igbo and English like he studied in Oxford and the village square at the same time.

He was intentional. Called me every morning. Sent me food from Kilimanjaro. Bought me a phone when I said my old one had “network issues” (translation: it was hanging like NEPA light). Before long, we were inseparable.

We dated for two years before he proposed. My people were happy. His people? Even happier.

Until the wedding came.

That’s when I realized this marriage wasn’t just between Obinna and I, it involved his ancestors, village women association, and one “Nwanyi Nwoke” (a woman-man they call seer).

After the Asoebi Came the Assignment

We did our traditional marriage in Obinna’s hometown, Uruagu, Nnewi. I tried to blend in. I danced, knelt down to greet, even carried hot cooler of jollof rice without shouting “Ah! It’s burning me oh!”

Everything seemed fine until the night of the wedding.

We had barely finished unzipping our clothes when his elder sister, Aunty Mma, knocked on the door.

“Chioma, sorry to disturb una, but you have to follow us for a quick blessing.”

I wore wrapper and stepped out. My mistake.

They didn’t tell me where we were going. They just said, “E be like prayer. For the union to last.”

The Path to Madness

They put me in the back of a keke. I thought we were going to church. Next thing, we branch one bush path near Umudim. I asked them where we were going. One woman said, “Nne, calm down. This is how all the wives in our lineage get favor.”

I was shaking like soaked garri.

They finally stopped in front of a small shrine. I could hear flutes, smell incense, and see smoke coming out of the thatched roof.

I asked one last time, “Please, is this safe?”

One of the women laughed, “You want to be wife of a strong man and you’re afraid of small spiritual covering?”

I knew I should have turned back. But I didn’t want to offend my in-laws on day one. What if they said I’m not submissive?

So I followed them inside.

The Juju Woman

Inside the hut sat a woman dressed in white. She had white chalk all over her body and her eyes were closed.

They called her “Nwanyi Nwoke”, because she was said to carry the spirit of both genders. 😨

She started chanting.

Then she opened her eyes and said, “Bring the bride.”

They pulled me forward and told me to kneel.

The juju woman looked me up and down and hissed.

“She’s too light. Her spirit is not rooted,” she said.

One of the aunties said, “She’s from Enugu. You know their people.”

I wanted to disappear.

The woman brought out a bowl and told me to wash my hands and feet in it.

I looked inside. My sister… what I saw looked like goat blood and pepper soup that passed through fire.

She then said, “Repeat after me: Any woman that tries to share my husband, may she…”

Ewoooo! 😭

At that point, I burst into tears. “I can’t do this!” I shouted.

Aunty Mma said, “Keep quiet! Do you want spiritual attack on your marriage?”

They tied red cloth around my waist, marked my forehead with white chalk and told me not to sleep with my husband that night until I burnt a special black soap at midnight and prayed to the “spirit of unity.”

Spirit of what?! 😭😭😭

Chapter 5: Running Back to Sanity

I finally got back to the room.

Obinna was lying on the bed, smiling and saying, “Baby girl, I’ve waited so long for this.”

I collapsed into his arms and just started crying.

He panicked, thinking something had happened. When I told him, he turned pale.

“Wait, they took you to Nwanyi Nwoke’s shrine?! That woman hasn’t been normal since she saw snake in her dream and stopped talking for two years!”

I felt cold.

He immediately called his mother. “Mummy, why would you allow this? You told me she would only get prayer blessing from the women group!”

His mother said, “Nna, you don’t know the ways of the land. This is how our marriages have lasted. It’s protection for the home.”

Obinna ended the call.

We packed our things and left the next morning without telling anybody. Drove all the way to Enugu without eating. I was silent the whole trip. Obinna just kept shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Chioma. I didn’t know it was this serious.”

The Recovery

I couldn’t sleep for days. I kept dreaming of chalk and red cloth. I felt like something was following me. Obinna brought a priest from our Anglican church to pray and anoint the house. I cried all through the prayers.

He begged me over and over. “I will never let anyone put you through that again.”

I believed him.

But I never looked at his family the same way again.

Final Thoughts 💔✨

Till today, Obinna and I are still married. Stronger, wiser, and far away from family-induced juju.

But I learned a powerful lesson:

👉🏽 Not everything labeled “tradition” is love.
👉🏽 It’s okay to ask questions.
👉🏽 If you’re marrying into a culture-heavy family, know your boundaries.
👉🏽 Don’t fear being misunderstood when it means protecting your peace.

To any bride out there, whether you’re Igbo, Yoruba, Hausa, Tiv, or Idoma, shine your eyes. If the blessing involves bush paths, blood, or beings that talk to snakes, run. Run fast.

I still joke with Obinna about it sometimes. When he asks for pounded yam, I tell him, “Only if I don’t have to wash my leg in goat blood for it.” 😅

We laugh. But deep down, I’m just thankful I made it out, spiritually and mentally.

by: Chinaza Okonkwo

I used to think I would lose my virginity on my wedding night, wearing white lace, with candles burning and Asa’s music playing softly in the background.

But my reality?

My virginity became a topic of negotiation, like land at Ibeju Lekki.

And the lead marketer?

My mother.

Let me tell you how it all started.

I grew up in Aba, in a two-bedroom flat with seven people. My mum was a teacher, and my dad? Well, he was one of those men that believed he was doing the family a favour just by breathing.

He left when I was 10, and from that moment, my mum became both mother and father. I watched her struggle, hustle, borrow, pay, and pray. We sold everything from okrika bras to second-hand electric kettles.

Despite the chaos, one thing my mother always emphasized was my virginity.

“Chinaza, your virginity is your pride. Don’t allow any man to touch you o. That’s your future. That’s your gold!”

And I believed her.

Until I turned 22.

My Fine Self and the Soft Life Temptation 😍🚗

I was in my final year at UNN, and let’s just say, I knew I was fine. My mirror knew it. The boys on campus knew it. Even my class rep that couldn’t pronounce my name properly knew it.

But I wasn’t just fine, I was focused. I didn’t party much. I was a library babe. But I also started realizing that beauty can open doors.

That’s when I met Uncle Dili.

He was my mum’s old classmate, and he came from London with that his fake accent and potbelly. He said I reminded him of his daughter. That should have been my red flag.

He started giving me money.

It began with 5k for “data.” Then 20k for “textbooks.” Before I knew it, he paid my rent and bought me an iPhone.

My friends called him my sponsor, but I insisted it was innocent. I mean, I was still a virgin. 😇

The Family Meeting ☕️❓

Then one Sunday, I went home to visit my mum. After dinner, she called me into her room like she had gist.

“Naza, come and sit down. You know you’re not a child again.”

I nodded, waiting for the usual marriage talk.

But then she smiled and said, “This your virginity… let us use it wisely.”

I froze.

“Mummy??”

She leaned in. “Do you know some men will pay millions just to be the first? Hmm? You’re still fresh. That’s a hot cake in this market.”

I laughed, hard. I thought she was joking. Like those times she’d say I looked like Genevieve.

But she wasn’t joking.

She already had a buyer in mind.

Guess who?

Uncle Dili.

The Negotiation Table 📎💵

The following week, my mum called me again and put her phone on speaker.

“Hello Dili, yes, she’s here beside me. Yes o, still fresh. Never touched.”

I wanted the ground to open and swallow me.

Dili asked to speak with me. He said, and I quote:

“Naza baby, if you give me this gift, I’ll give you a car, pay your master’s abroad, and open boutique for your mama.”

Na so my virginity turn empowerment program.

I hung up the call and stared at my mum.

“Mummy, are you okay?! You’re selling me?!”

She hissed.

“Selling you ke? Am I not your mother? I’m securing your future! What’s the point of keeping it if it won’t bring blessing to this family? We’ve suffered enough!”

I Made a Decision 🤬😔

I went back to school confused, angry, and deeply sad. For days I didn’t pick her calls. But I also couldn’t stop thinking…

Was she right?

I mean, the money could change our lives. But at what cost?

I cried every night for a week.

One night, I dreamt that I was in a wedding gown, walking down the aisle. But instead of a groom, I met Dili standing with a cheque.

That was it. I broke down.

The next morning, I blocked Uncle Dili. Then I sent my mum a voice note that said:

“Mummy, I love you. But my body is not a fundraising tool. If we will eat garri, let’s eat it with peace.”

She didn’t reply.

Rebuilding Me ✅📚

It’s been two years now.

I graduated with first class. Got a scholarship for my master’s in Canada. Not from Dili. From hard work.

I forgave my mum eventually. She apologized, saying she didn’t realize how far she had fallen into desperation.

We don’t talk about it often, but she now brags about how “my daughter is pure both in book and body.” 🤣

But that season taught me some hard truths.

Final Note from Chinaza 💛

• Poverty can pressure people to normalize what’s not normal.
• Virginity is not a currency, it’s a personal choice.
• Parents are human too. They break under pressure.
• And lastly, don’t let anyone, family or not, put a price on your dignity.

Whether you choose to wait, or not, it should be your decision, not a negotiation.

💔 Because once you lose yourself to the pressure, it’s more than just a body, you lose your peace too.

Thanks for reading. If this touched you, share with someone who needs to hear it.