It’s common to expect people from privileged backgrounds to have it much easier, but that isn’t the case for Jamal*.
The 26-year-old talks about struggling to fend for himself despite having a rich dad and shares why he doesn’t mind being cut off financially.
As told to Boluwatife
It’s funny how I have exactly ₦35,380 in my savings account right now and will probably need a quick loan to survive before the month ends, but my father doesn’t use the same car three days in a row.
I come from a rich home, and I’m sure anyone who knows my father from a distance assumes that his family is extremely lucky. It wouldn’t be a strange assumption, considering my father has several successful businesses and houses.
In secondary school, my friends loved visiting me so they could gawk at our huge family house. I loved showing off our house then, too. I liked it when my friends constantly teased me about being a rich “ajebutter”. I also didn’t mind the popularity I got from having my dad’s name.
I hardly saw my dad and didn’t have much of a relationship with him, but I knew how well-known he was, and I liked being associated with him. Hearing neighbours refer to me as “Omo Alhaji” made me feel proud, like I was connected to this larger-than-life fellow.
I think my admiration for my dad as a child blinded me a bit because it wasn’t until I finished secondary school in 2013 that I realised my family situation wasn’t so great. My dad has multiple wives and just as many children, and while I knew that, it was hardly a concern for me until I realised how things worked at home.
My mum was the third wife, and we shared the house with my dad’s last wife and her children. The other wives and children lived in different houses, and we only saw each other during festive seasons. This was the standard arrangement for the polygamous families in my area — the wives didn’t all live in the same place, and the husband was responsible for providing for them and the children.
That wasn’t how it worked for us. My dad only provided for us children when he was on good terms with his wives. After finishing secondary school, I told my mum I wanted to attend a private university because one of my stepbrothers also went there.
I initially didn’t believe my mum when she said we couldn’t afford it, so I sulked for days until she got angry and said something like, “I pity you. You think your father will pay?”
In my head, my mum was just saying that because she didn’t want me to attend the university. So, I called my stepbrother and asked if he could get his mum to convince mine to allow me to go. That was how I found out that my dad wasn’t even paying for his schooling; it was his mum.
Apparently, when my dad lost interest in a particular wife or felt disobeyed, he withdrew financial support.
Some things finally began to make sense. I’d started JSS 1 in a private secondary school, but after getting punished a few times for delayed school fee payments, my mum withdrew me and enrolled me in a public school instead.
I’d often wondered why I attended a public school different from the school my stepsiblings from the last wife attended, but I didn’t ask my mum. I now know that she had resorted to paying my fees herself a couple of times and moved me to a cheaper school when she could no longer afford it on her fabric-trading income.
By the time I got into uni in 2015, it was clear that my dad had withdrawn whatever financial support he had given my mum. He married another wife and moved my mum to a one-bedroom apartment. I guess he felt we didn’t need more room since I’m my mum’s only child.
My mum put me through university, and I supported myself by offering tutorials and selling branded t-shirts. My dad only chipped in when my mum forced me to call him to ask for money. Even then, he rarely sent more than ₦20k at a time, and I hardly called more than three times a year.
I finished university in 2021 and told myself I’d never ask my dad for money again. I had to beg him to fulfil his responsibilities while in school, and I vowed never to be in a situation where I’d have to beg him to survive again. Three years later, I’m still standing by that vow.
It hasn’t been easy, though. After NYSC, I had to navigate unemployment for almost a year and survived by squatting with friends and whatever money my mum could send. I have a job now, but at ₦110k/month, it’s barely enough to do anything significant except handle the feeding and utility bills at home.
I’m usually broke before the end of the month and often have to rely on quick loans for transportation to work. I still live with my mum and don’t even know when I’ll be able to afford my own place, but I’m fine with slowly figuring things out.
I still call my dad occasionally, especially for his birthdays, but I don’t force any relationship or tell him how I’m doing. He also doesn’t care because he would’ve asked if he did.
I know some of my step-siblings still fall over themselves to please him. They still visit him and do everything he says to get his favour and hopefully get included in his will. My mum also wants me to get closer to him, so I can benefit too. Me, I don’t care.
I don’t even want to be included in his will because I know how polygamous families can get fetish when it’s time to share properties. I don’t want to rely on whatever may or may not come from my father. His money is his money. It might never be mine, and I’m fine with that. I’d rather make my own fortunes.
*Name has been changed for the sake of anonymity.
NEXT READ: I Regret Telling My Friends How Much I Earn
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