Trigger Warning: This article contains sensitive topics like sexual abuse, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised.
Kashefa (29)* has had anything but a smooth ride through love. From navigating relationships shaped by early trauma to confronting the guilt of difficult choices, her journey has been complicated.
She opens up about how her early experiences with sex shaped her relationships, how pressure to settle nearly pushed her into a loveless marriage, and what it means to search for true love in a world that insists women like her are running out of time.
What’s your relationship status?
I’m single and searching. Things might have happened differently, but my love life has always been complicated.
What do you mean?
I started dating at a time I had no business being in any kind of relationship. I was 14 when I got into a secret relationship with my elder brother’s friend. He was eight years older, but our relationship was innocent. We mostly just held hands and talked about novels. My brother eventually found out and punished me. His friend was banned from our house. But by then, the door had already opened.
By 16, I felt mature enough to try dating again. One day, I was hanging out with a friend when this older man approached me for my number. I never knew his age, but he had a mysterious and attractive aura. We went on a few dates, and he invited me to his place one day. I thought we’d just make out, but he raped me. That’s how I lost my virginity.
At the time, I didn’t have the language to name it for what it was. I just knew it felt wrong. When I tried to bring it up with him, he dismissed it and said I wasn’t a small girl. I never went to his house again. It took a long time to understand that what happened to me wasn’t my fault. We split up in 2012.
That must have been difficult. Do you think that experience shaped how you approached relationships afterwards?
Yes. In 2013, I stayed with my cousins while waiting for university admission. It was a more guarded household, and I was still recovering emotionally from what had happened. Then I met Usman on 2go. We stayed in the same area, and even though my cousins were strict, I always had a one-hour evening window to see him. We were the same age and both waiting for admission. He never pressured me for sex, and I felt safe with him. Dating him felt natural.
We eventually got into different universities and tried long-distance. In our second year together, I felt ready to try sex again. But it turned out underwhelming, and I hated every bit of it. So we stopped having sex, even though we continued the relationship. I sincerely loved him, but couldn’t connect to him sexually. Still, we dated through university.
How did you manage that?
We didn’t. I never discussed how I felt about the sex, but he caught on quickly. I always avoided seeing him physically, and after a while, it was obvious my relationship with Usman was hanging by a thread — I knew he was sleeping with other girls. Somehow, we managed to drag the relationship into my final year.
By then, I was emotionally checked out. That’s when I started chatting with a guy from Facebook. Because I felt free with him, I told him how I felt about sex. I told him I didn’t enjoy it, and he said maybe it was a skill thing. He convinced me to link up after school. By that time, Usman and I barely spoke. So when I got home, I met up with the Facebook guy. To my surprise, the sex was mind-blowing. He changed how I felt about sex, and I liked him for it. But he never asked me to be his girlfriend. That’s when I realised it was just sex for him. We fizzled out when I went for service, and I met Femi not long after.
How did that go?
I got posted to a school in Imo, far from everything I knew, and I had already promised myself I was going to be carefree. Femi and I connected quickly since we were both Lagosians and Muslims, and we were serving in the same PPA. We never even had the official relationship talk — we were just together. Everyone at the school knew about us.
We started having sex from the start. My mistake was not getting on contraceptives. Four months in, I got pregnant.
Oh. Did the pregnancy change things?
We clashed over it. He begged me not to terminate it, but I couldn’t take the risk. It felt like a big deal. My family is close-knit and values reputation — getting pregnant out of wedlock had never happened in our family. I felt terrified of the shame. Femi also didn’t have a job waiting for him after NYSC. How would the baby survive on our ₦19,800 allowance? So, I went behind his back and got an abortion.
When he found out, he was livid. I expected that to be the end of us, and I braced myself for the consequences. But after some time, he forgave me and we tried again. Then he returned to Lagos, and that’s when he started ghosting me.
Wait, what?
At first, I thought it was ridiculous and refused to accept it. — Why would you get back together with me just to ghost me? But it kept happening. He blamed the distance, so I held on until I finished NYSC and returned to Lagos. Still, I was the one making all the effort. That’s when I realised he had never forgiven me. I broke up with him in November 2019 and cried for months. I truly believed he was my soulmate.
Have you tried to move on with someone else since then?
After him, I didn’t connect with anyone until 2021, when I met Sunny, a friend on Twitter. We had insane sexual chemistry, and he told me upfront that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. I agreed at first, but after we made out, he ghosted. Surprisingly, in 2022, he came back saying life had been hectic. Because I liked him, I gave him another chance. But after a year together, I realised my feelings for him had grown deeper and I wanted something solid. Sunny kept dodging the conversation until we went our separate ways.
A few months later, I met Frank. I didn’t like him romantically, but I was nearing my late 20s and craving some stability. He seemed serious about settling down, so I convinced myself to give it a try, even if it meant forcing a connection. It turned out to be a terrible idea.
From the beginning, I was physically repulsed by him. Anytime he touched me, I got goosebumps in the worst way. When he kissed me, I couldn’t even swallow my spit. Everything in me rejected him.
Still, he kept talking marriage. He wanted us to tie the knot by the end of the year. The thought gave me so much anxiety I started having panic attacks. When I told him I wanted out, he refused to accept it. He kept insisting we’d go abroad—his plan was to sponsor me for a master’s and follow as a dependent so he could hustle there.
It all felt like too much pressure. And honestly, it wasn’t even realistic. He still lived with his parents and couldn’t afford to move out. I ended things in September 2023.
By December, I saw his wedding pictures. He’s still in the country, living in his parents’ house — now with his wife. I don’t know how he pulled off that wedding so fast, but I definitely dodged a bullet. That relationship taught me to only be with someone I genuinely like who also likes me back. If I let societal pressure push me into a relationship I’m unsure about, I could make a life-long mistake.
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You mentioned earlier that Femi is your soul mate. Do you still think so, considering the failed relationships after him?
Yes I do. I was 22 then; my priorities were different. But now at 29, I sometimes wonder — what if he really was the one? Earlier this year, he even slid into my DMs, saying he’s in his late 30s and unmarried. He said we could still make it work.
In truth, no one I’ve dated compares to him. But I know the cycle will repeat. He can’t move past the abortion, and I don’t want to build a life with someone who constantly guilt-trips me. A fresh start would be best.
Right. With everything you’ve been through, has your idea of love changed?
Definitely. I used to focus so much on sex that I overlooked things like communication, compatibility, and really getting to know the person. Now, I want someone I can proudly introduce to my friends and family. I just haven’t found them yet. It feels like true love has become harder to find.
Hmmm.
Honestly, I feel hopeless sometimes. Most of my friends are married, and society makes it seem like once you’re near 30 and single, you’ve somehow failed. But I know that’s just external pressure. I’ve been single for almost two years now, and I’m willing to wait. I believe if I stay patient, the right person will come along
So, how would you say the streets are treating you? Rate it on a scale of 1-10
I’d give it a solid 8. Single life has given me freedom, but now I’m getting tired and want to have my own person.
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