Rahma* (33) thought she’d found happiness twice, only for both marriages to end in devastating loss, leaving her to care for four kids alone. In this episode of On the Streets, she shares how she became widowed twice by 30 and why she’s sworn off love for good.
I’m single and never mingling again. I’ve tried love twice, and both times ended in tragedy. I believe marriage just isn’t meant for me.
I was a very sheltered and quiet child. I didn’t really mix with people and barely had friends. I had a boyfriend in SS3, but the most we did was make out. The relationship ended after secondary school in 2009 because we grew apart.
After that, I stayed home for more than a year because I wanted to retake UTME and get a better score. During that period, Idris* moved into our compound as a tenant. My parents rented the downstairs apartment to him while we lived upstairs.
At first, all I knew was that he worked in a bank and his wife had recently left him. My mum felt sorry for him because he mostly kept to himself, so she’d sometimes send me downstairs with food.
I wanted to study accounting, and because he worked in banking, I’d sometimes ask him for help with maths. We became close, and I slowly developed a crush on him. He was observant and kind, always complimenting the things I felt insecure about, especially my full cheeks, which he insisted were beautiful.
A few months into our friendship, I confessed my feelings to him in a note. He felt the same way, too.
Yes. He was already in his 30s, and at first, he pulled back. But honestly, I kept pushing things forward. One day, I kissed him, and from there, we started sneaking around and eventually having sex.
I was deeply in love. I’d go to his apartment whenever my parents weren’t around, and things continued like that for about three months. Then, I missed my period.
I suspected I was pregnant, so I ran to him, panicking. At first, he looked shocked and kept asking if I’d slept with anyone else. Of course, I hadn’t. He was the first and only person I’d ever been with.
He bought a test strip, and when it came back positive, he actually looked happy.
He immediately started talking about marriage and begged me not to terminate the pregnancy. Back then, abortion wasn’t something I could consider because I believed anyone who did one would die.
That was the hardest part. Idris brought an elder from his family because he was too scared to face my parents alone. The moment they broke the news, my mum slapped me and then turned on him too. I still remember Idris lying flat on the floor while my mother beat him and screamed in disbelief.
The elder eventually explained that Idris’ first marriage ended after years of trying for children. Doctors later revealed he had a low sperm count, and after treatments failed, his ex-wife publicly humiliated him before leaving. The experience left him depressed, so he saw my pregnancy as a miracle.
He promised my parents he’d sponsor my education to any level I wanted and do right by me through marriage. My parents were furious at first, but eventually accepted the situation. We got married barely two months later.
It was wonderful. Idris treated me like an egg, and we hardly argued. After our first daughter was born in 2011, I went to university and continued my education while raising her. By my second year, we welcomed another daughter.
At the same time, Idris’s career at the bank took off, and our financial situation became more comfortable. Our only real issue was his spending habits. loved spending lavishly, while I worried more about saving for the future.
Still, our marriage was beautiful for five years before everything changed.
In March 2016, I got posted to another state for NYSC and left our daughters with my sister for a few weeks. Around that time, Idris had become a senior officer at the bank and frequently transported cash between villages in Kogi State.
One day, armed robbers attacked the bank vehicle transporting cash.
They shot Idris and the driver dead.
I didn’t even know a human being could make the kind of sound I made when I heard. I was only 23 with two children.
For months afterwards, I couldn’t sleep because I had nightmares about how he died. I also carried a lot of anger because nobody seemed interested in getting justice for what happened.
I still don’t know how I managed to finish NYSC. My PPA supervisor practically carried me through that period.
It was a very difficult period, but I got retained at my PPA and relocated permanently with my daughters.
Then, in in 2018, I got a job at a bank. I threw myself into work and focused entirely on raising my daughters. I wasn’t thinking about love again until I ran into Muktar*.
He was four classes ahead of me in secondary school, and we grew up in the same neighbourhood. Early in 2020, he walked into the banking hall where I worked and recognised me immediately. By then, he was already a military officer.
At first, I wasn’t interested in anything romantic. I even told him about my late husband and my two daughters, hoping to scare him off.
Instead, he told me he’d also lost the woman he intended to marry and was raising their daughter alone.
Gradually, yes.
During the pandemic, Muktar became a constant figure in my life. He’d help me with little things like taking my car to the mechanic. His daughter became close to my girls, and I’d sometimes babysit her too. Slowly, my feelings changed, even though I still carried a lot of guilt about moving on.
He eventually proposed in 2022. I hesitated for a long time, but blending our families already felt natural then, so I agreed. We got married when I was 29.
It was also good. Muktar loved me and treated my children very well. Most people didn’t even know we were a blended family unless we told them.
But unlike Idris, he had habits I struggled with. Military culture influenced him a lot. He drank heavily sometimes, and some moments made me suspicious of infidelity.
One day, I found condoms in his bag. He claimed officers received them during a party and insisted he’d never used them, but that suspicion never fully left my mind.
Then I got pregnant in 2023, and history repeated itself.
Muktar travelled for a military operation and had been away for about three weeks. One evening, military officers arrived at our house without him.
The moment I saw them, I knew. They told me he’d been shot during an operation and died alongside several soldiers.
I fainted on the spot. I don’t remember much from that period because grief completely blanked out my mind. My mother had to move in because I lost myself mentally.
I somehow carried the pregnancy to term, but after giving birth, I sank into depression. Some days, I couldn’t even bring myself to hold my son because he reminded me too much of his father.
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