The annoying thing is, if you ask him today, he probably still thinks I left because I “didn’t like his mum.”
On today’s episode of Why The Ship Sank (WTSS), Priscilla (25 years, F) shares why and how she ended a 2-year relationship.
Q: How did you meet your ex?
We met in church.
My family had just moved from Surulere to Ogba around that time, so we were still trying to “find a church home” as Nigerian parents like to call it. We met during one youth programme.
The funny thing is, I didn’t even notice him at first. He was one of those quiet church boys that don’t really move to girls aggressively. It was after one Bible study argument that we properly spoke.
I argued that Nigerian parents struggle with boundaries. He argued that children nowadays mistake care for control.
Very ironic now that I think about it.
Q: So how did you guys become close?
Naturally, honestly.
We started talking after service. Then random check-ins. Then long phone calls at night. The usual, and he was nice. Very nice.
That’s actually why I stayed longer than I should have. He remembered things. Checked in properly. Spoke intentionally. He wasn’t one of those chaotic Lagos men who disappear for twelve hours and come back with “I slept off.” You know when somebody feels emotionally safe at first? That was him.
But there was always… his mum.
Q: In what sense?
At first, it looked normal. He was an only child, and his dad had passed, so obviously, they were close. I didn’t think too deeply about it. But after a while, I noticed she was somehow present in almost every conversation. Not physically, most of the time. Just… there.
Like we’d be talking and he’d randomly say: “Mummy said I should rest more.” “Mummy thinks Lagos is stressing me.” “Mummy said this generation doesn’t know how to communicate.”
One day, I jokingly asked if his mum had shares in our relationship because she was always somehow involved.
He laughed…I laughed too.
But I remember noticing he didn’t actually deny it.
Q: Did you ever meet her properly?
Yes. A couple months in.
And honestly? She was sweet. That’s what made everything confusing. She wasn’t rude. She didn’t insult me. She didn’t act like those stereotypical wicked Nigerian mothers-in-law you see on Facebook stories.
If anything, she was too welcoming.
Too involved.
The first time I went to their house, she already knew things I was sure I never told her myself.
She asked me: “How is your younger sister now? Hope the cough has reduced?” I remember blinking because… I mentioned my sister’s cough casually to him once. Just once o.
That was when it first clicked that this boy reports conversations back home like meeting minutes.
Q: Omooo.
Exactly.
And it wasn’t even just gist. If we had small issues, she somehow knew too.
One time, we argued because he cancelled plans at the last minute. Very minor disagreement.
The next morning, his mum called me randomly. Not to insult me or anything though. She just said: “Priscilla, I hope you’re not upset with Femi anymore. He was really worried last night.”
I remember ending that call and just sitting on my bed quietly because… why is this conversation happening?
It suddenly felt like there was no space for us to just be two people figuring things out normally.
Q: Did you tell him that?
Several times.
But he genuinely didn’t see anything wrong with it. That’s the part that frustrated me most. He’d just say: “She’s my mum na. We tell each other everything.” And apparently, everything included me, too.
At some point, I started editing myself around him because I knew whatever I said would somehow reach another person. So I was being too careful with my words.
Q: Was there a moment things started getting intense?
Yeah, there was. It was during my NYSC year.
I had just gotten an offer from a consulting firm I really wanted, and I was excited because the pay was decent for an entry role.
Then one evening, he goes: “Mummy thinks the workload there might be too stressful for you.”
I was confused because… okay?
Then he continues: “She actually spoke to someone at her friend’s company. They’re looking for someone too.”
That irritated me immediately. Not because of the offer itself; Nigerian parents recommend jobs all the time, but because nobody asked her to start planning my career path. And when I said I still preferred the place I chose, he got defensive very fast.
He said: “You always think my mum is trying to control things.”
That was the first serious fight we had.
Because deep down, I think he genuinely expected me to start fitting into whatever structure already existed between them.
Q: Hmm.
There was also this thing she used to do that honestly drove me crazy after a while.
Random check-ins.
Not in a bad way initially. If I posted something concerning on my status, she’d message: “Hope you’re okay?” If I missed church for two weeks: “Priscilla, haven’t seen you around o.”
But then it started becoming excessive. If Femi and I went out, she’d call during the outing. If he slept at my place too long, she’d start asking when he was coming home.
One Saturday, we travelled to Ibadan for a friend’s wedding. By evening, she had called him four times.
At one point, he stepped away from our table to reassure her we were fine, and I just remember watching him from a distance thinking:
This feels like somebody checking on her husband.
Q: Yikes. So what finally ended it?
There wasn’t one dramatic explosion. I think that’s why it lasted two years. It was more like small discomforts piling on each other quietly.
Then one day, something just shifted in my head.
We were at his place one evening after work. I went to use the bathroom and noticed there were women’s clothes soaking in a bucket.
Not unusual. Could’ve been laundry.
Then I came out and noticed the curtains had changed. The kitchen arrangement too. Even the throw pillows in the sitting room. Everything suddenly looked…recently touched.
So I asked: “Your mum came around?”
And he answered casually: “Yeah, she came to clean earlier.”
I don’t even know why that was the moment that got me.
Maybe because it suddenly became very obvious that there was no separation anywhere in his life.
Not emotionally. Not physically. Nothing.
And the scary part was, he liked it that way.
Q: So that was it?
More or less.
I went home that evening and genuinely asked myself if I could live like that long term.
Marriage. Children. Decisions. Arguments. Three people inside everything, and I already knew the answer. The annoying thing is, if you ask him today, he probably still thinks I left because I “didn’t like his mum.” But that wasn’t the issue. I just wanted a relationship where two people were actually inside it, and I mattered.
