Every morning, just before my daily stand-up meeting at 9 a.m., the same sound fills the air. A baby’s cry. It is not a quiet whimper but a desperate, full-bodied wail. The kind that demands attention. The kind that does not stop.
Inside a small one-bedroom apartment in Lagos, Ijeoma is in the bathroom, trying to get ready for work. The shower is running, but her voice rises above it. “Stop crying, mummy is coming.” The boy does not stop. When she steps out, barely wrapped in a towel, he still screams.
Every morning, the same routine. She carries him while getting dressed. Her laptop backpack goes on her back. The baby carrier is strapped to her front. In one hand, she holds an umbrella. His daycare bag dangles from her shoulder. Then she steps out. The day has begun.
From my window, I watch this play out over and over again. I see her return at 5 p.m., exhaustion visible in every movement. And I wonder, how did she get here?
She tells me her story one evening. Her voice is calm and steady, but there are moments when she pauses, searching for the right words.
“I married the love of my life,” she says. “It is just that love is not always enough.”
Before she got married, Ijeoma lived and worked in Lagos. She had a steady job at a health insurance company. Her husband, on the other hand, lived in Onitsha. They dated for a few months and quickly knew they wanted to spend their lives together. But marriage came with decisions, big ones.
“We had to figure out where to live. He earned more than me, and his work was based in Onitsha. So it made sense that I would be the one to move,” she explains. “But moving meant I had to resign from my job. I remember thinking, ‘How will I start over?’”
She was not comfortable with the idea of losing her financial independence. “But I told myself it was worth it,” she continues. “I thought of asking him to move to Lagos instead, but he would have to start from scratch, and his income as a trader was higher than mine. It was just practical that I be the one to adjust.”
So she resigned. She moved. She started over. At first, it was beautiful. The excitement of marriage, the newness of it all. But when the honeymoon phase passed, reality hit hard. His business took a bad turn and things were not as before.
She searched for work, going from one hospital to another. She had a Bachelor’s degree, but instead of helping, it became an obstacle. “Some employers thought I was overqualified. Others would say, ‘Are you sure we can pay you?’” She laughs a little, but it is the kind of laugh that carries frustration.
Onitsha was a business-oriented city, and healthcare was not a priority for many. “Most people would rather go to a chemist than a hospital,” she says.
No job. No income. For the first time in her adult life, she depended completely on someone else.
“It was bad. Even for small things, I had to ask him for money. Pads, hair cream, anything,” she says. “He never made me feel bad about it, but I felt bad. I hated it.”
Her husband’s business also started to struggle. The financial cushion they thought they had was thinning. Then he suggested something new.
“He told me to try business. It was not my thing, but I had no other option. So I started selling shirts,” she says. “I was never passionate about it, and I was not happy. Plus, it was not even moving well at all.”
Her frustration became obvious, and one day, out of nowhere, her husband asked, “Do you want to go back to Lagos? I will also figure out a way to join you shortly.” She did not hesitate. She returned to Lagos and got her job back. But there was a new complication. She was pregnant.
“Now, I was looking for an apartment while carrying a pregnancy. I was alone. My husband could not join me because the jobs he was finding in Lagos did not pay enough for us to survive,” she explains.
She gave birth. And for a while, there was relief. Her mother came. Family came. Her husband stayed for a few months. But then they all left, and it was just her and the baby.
This is where I met her. This is the life she is living now.
Her husband visits once every two months. He stays for a week and then leaves again. She cannot afford help. There is no backup. She does everything.
“I do not even know how I manage,” she says. “Sometimes I ask myself, ‘What am I doing?’ But then something tells me, ‘You are still on the right path. Keep going.’”
I ask her if she would make the same choice again.
She thinks about this question for a long time before answering. “Yes,” she says finally. “Because I do not see myself thriving in a business city like Onitsha. I am not a business person. I know myself. I know what I want.”
But then she adds something else. “Apart from being married, we are still separate individuals. There are things we want to achieve, and we must find a way to make them happen.”
I also ask if she feels appreciated for the sacrifices she has made. Deciding to be strong physically, mentally and emotionally.
She sighs before answering. “Truthfully, I do not. I think I have come off as being too strong, that my husband sees me now as a superwoman. Even when I am down or when things are really tough, he believes I can sort it out and will be fine. But that is not true. Sometimes I crave to be pampered. I want to be seen. I want to be taken care of.”
Some might read this and think, “Oh well, it was her choice. She made her bed, so she has to lie on it.” But then again, was it ever really a choice?
She had to be the one to move because her husband earned more. She had to be the one to adjust. When things got tough, she had to find a way to manage. And now, every day, she wakes up, carries her child, carries her laptop, and carries the full weight of making things work.
Yes, it was her choice. But was it a free choice? If her husband had been the one with the lower income, would he have left everything behind to follow her? Would it have even been considered an option?
Society does not force women into these roles, but it makes it easier for them to end up there. The reality is that women like Ijeoma do not just wake up one day and decide to bear everything alone. It happens in small steps, in practical decisions, in sacrifices that seem logical at the time. And before they know it, they are carrying it all.
So I ask you, if you were in Ijeoma’s shoes, what would you have done?
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Feature Image by Werner Pfennig for Pexels
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