We talk about men spoiling women with money, but what about the women who’ve quietly bankrolled their partners out of love, guilt, obligation, or hope for a better future together, and often without payback?
From covering rent to funding entire lifestyles, these Nigerian women share their experiences financially supporting their partners until they couldn’t anymore.
“We made a promise: whoever “made it” first would lift the other. I got my big break, and he became a liability.”— *Aaliyah, 23, Machine Learning Engineer, $900/month.
I met *Idris, 27, on TikTok in August 2022. He’d been aggressively liking and commenting on my posts, and then he slid into my DMs. He was Fulani and had this intellectual aesthetic: writer, software engineer, well-read, and speaking like he knew everything. I was captivated. In hindsight, it was probably sapiosexual bait.
We talked for three months before I finally agreed to meet. I suggested we see “The Woman King” at a cinema in town. At the counter, he joked that I should pay since I invited him. The man I was just meeting literally took a step back. I was shocked beyond measure, but I paid anyway. This should have been my first warning.
This would become our pattern for the next two years. He’d often cover dates, then find ways to collect the money back, asking me to buy something or cover his transport. The balance always tilted in his favour.
We started dating in October 2022. He was 24, and I was 20, fresh out of university with my computer science degree. I juggled a ₦50k/month data analyst job while chasing my machine learning engineering (ML) dreams. A few months later, I landed a 3-month ML contract that paid ₦200k/month. That’s when I met Idris.
Before him, I believed that men should foot the bills. My father raised me with the Islamic principle that men are the providers. However, I’m a giver when I love, but there’s a difference between giving out of love and out of obligation.
Idris was never transparent about his income. A few months into the relationship, he told me that his main client had stopped giving him front-end development gigs, and he desperately needed a quick fix. I stepped up because I couldn’t stand hearing him complain. Even when my contract gig ended and I was back to ₦50k/month with occasional gigs, I still shared what I had with him. Then, we made a promise: whoever “made it” first would help the other.
Fast-forward to May 2023, I got my big break: a remote ML engineer position at a U.S. company with a $900/month offer. Idris, on the other hand, still had no job and no savings. In the first month at my new job, he nagged about rent. I hadn’t been paid yet, but I had a ₦600k side gig and had been paid ₦250k upfront — he knew about it. Since his birthday was coming up three months later, I planned to gift him ₦150k towards his rent on his birthday. But he kept pressing, so I gave it early, leaving me with just ₦100k till month-end.
From then on, every month, he’d nag about something he needed until my payday, and I’d always end up giving him the money. This was separate from the regular borrowing. I felt obligated and guilty, so I continued giving in, even though I was uncomfortable with him leeching off me.
He was practically dragging “princess” with me in the relationship.
Whenever I showed him entry-level job opportunities, he dismissed them as beneath him despite having no substantial experience, just scattered gigs and an empty CV. Frustrated, I got access to his LinkedIn and cold-emailed recruiters. He did a few interviews and landed a ₦175k/month job.
Relief, finally. Or, so I thought.
He borrowed $200 for forex trading and lost everything. He also bought a TV, fridge, and furniture on credit from friends who were relocating and mysteriously acquired an inverter while still owing everyone.
Then, on his ₦175k salary, he proposed marriage. I knew I couldn’t marry a man who’d be a liability. Yet, he yapped about wanting a big wedding.
I was unhappy but hesitant to leave. In my previous relationships, I’d walk away at the first mistake. I was trying to unlearn this, to extend grace. By Ramadan 2024, my prayer point was that Allah should either change him, make him a better person or remove him from my life.
Beyond the money issue, he’d body-shame my lean frame, saying he preferred thick girls. His comments made me self-aware and feel terrible about my body.
A few months into 2024, he stopped showing affection, and the relationship felt like he was breadcrumbing me. He’d still call to borrow ₦50k here, ₦100k for a friend’s wedding or even if I could loan his friend some money. When I stopped giving, he grew distant.
He called less frequently, was always “busy,” and treated me carelessly. Despite knowing he wasn’t good for me, I stubbornly wanted things to work.
On Workers’ Day in May 2024, I visited him. While he showered, something prompted me to check his phone, and I was devastated. There was another girlfriend.
Everything he had done before felt forgivable, but cheating was something I couldn’t tolerate. That was the final straw, and oddly, I felt relieved. I finally had a valid reason to leave.
I confronted him, but he brushed me off, saying I had “started again.” He didn’t know I had seen proof. I told him if I walked out, we were done. He barely reacted and left me in his house. This couldn’t be the same boy I’d fallen for. The disconnect was jarring.
I waited for him to return because I didn’t want to leave his house unlocked. He refused to address the situation when he returned, so I left. He kept calling afterwards, but I didn’t pick up.
When I called, sobbing, he just said, “You wouldn’t understand.” “There’s a reason we’re not meant to be. It’s not in my power.” But he never explained the actual reason, just vague excuses.
He kept texting to apologise, saying he made a mistake and couldn’t let me go. But at that point, I was just grateful to be free of the burden.
Later, I found out through his LinkedIn account that he’d been earning ₦275k, not ₦175k. By then, he owed me ₦600k in total, but he kept insisting we get back together. Knowing he couldn’t afford to, I told him I’d forgive him if he repaid ₦500k. I had hoped he’d just let me be, but he borrowed money to pay me back.
The moment he did, I blocked him everywhere.
He kept emailing and even sent people to me. But I was done. He wasn’t just toxic and financially irresponsible. He was a selfish narcissist. As long as he was happy, he didn’t care that he made other people uncomfortable.
It’s good riddance.
I will never let whatever happened change who I am. That’d mean he had power over me. I refuse to let that happen. I’m still a giver at heart, and I always will be.
“Moving on wasn’t hard. I focused on his bad sides and enjoyed spending my money on myself —*Peace, 20, Fantasy & Romance Novel Writer, $500/ Month
I was 18 when I dated my first boyfriend. At the time, I thought money in relationships was a 50/50 thing. If my partner spent on me, I’d spend on him too. Simple.
I was a 300-level student living on my parents’ ₦20k weekly allowance.
We dated for eight months, but he never tried to pay for things from the jump. Whenever we ate out, we split the bill.
Two months into the relationship, he asked for money, saying he had some issues at home and his parents couldn’t send him any. I bought him food and transferred ₦3k to his account. That was how it started. It became a habit. First, he’d ask for urgent ₦2k, then ₦5k, then ₦8k. For a student, those amounts were a lot.
During our summer break, he got a tech internship that paid him ₦100k. Still, he never paid ₦500 out of the money he owed.
I started feeling uncomfortable at some point, but I was in love and hated seeing him sad, so I kept giving him money. He’d withdraw and act distant if I told him I couldn’t help.
The highest amount I gave him was ₦25k. He claimed he had mistakenly spent his dad’s money and needed to replace it before his father noticed. I was annoyed, but love clouded my judgment, so I sent him the money.
Looking back, I realise he wasn’t all that. Sure, he was book-smart, tech-savvy, and handsome, but beyond that, there was nothing special. He wasn’t attentive or caring. He always had something rude to say and was manipulative. Even if money hadn’t been an issue, I would have still left.
Moving on wasn’t hard. I focused on his bad sides and enjoyed spending my money on myself. He owed me ₦70k in total. Once, I asked him to pay me back, and he said he would, but then he just stopped talking to me. I thought his conscience would make him return the money, but omo, Shishi, I didn’t see.
Now that I’m out of university and earning $500 a month, I’m not ready to date yet. When I do, I won’t disclose my full earnings. If I ever lend money, best believe it’ll be to a partner I can hold accountable.
“He collected my ATM card and spent all my hard-earned money, so I quit my job.” —*Charity, 33, Kitchen Steward, ₦85k/ Month
My partner is a Man O’ War paramilitary officer with no fixed salary—just occasional stipends and whatever he can scrape from small security and escort gigs.
On a good month, he barely made ₦30k, nowhere near enough to support a family, let alone kids from two other women. We were never traditionally married. My family didn’t approve of him. And honestly, they were right.
We met in 2019. I’d moved to work as a catering assistant, and he was my neighbour in Ikorodu, where I lived. He had constant fights with one of his other women, mostly about money. She’d come demanding support for their child, and their arguments would escalate until he got angry enough to raise his hand. I’d be the one calming him down, reasoning with him, and thinking I could fix things.
One thing led to another, and I got pregnant. He swore ours was different and that I was special. We moved in together. Three kids later, he still hadn’t paid my dowry or followed through on our agreement for a proper wedding.
At the time, I convinced myself I was lucky. He was a fine man, and I didn’t think I could do better. So when he chose me, I held on.
But love doesn’t pay bills. My catering jobs were inconsistent, barely bringing in ₦30k/month. In 2023, I got a job as a home economics teacher, earning ₦50k/month. I still took catering gigs to make ends meet.
Then he stopped contributing to the home altogether: no food, no school fees. Worse, he’d come home drunk and beat the children mercilessly.
I needed more money to cater for my children, so I took a steward job with a family in Magodo through an agent, and they paid ₦85k. It should have helped, but my husband collected my ATM card. Since my job kept me away for three weeks each month, I’d come home to find my account empty. If my boss delayed payment, he’d show up in front of my workplace, demanding money, and I’d hand over whatever cash I had.
Three months in, I realised I was working for nothing, so I quit. My children were malnourished, and when they asked him for food, he’d beat them.
Now, he fights me every morning. I haven’t found another job since, and things are hard. I still take catering gigs when I can, but it’s not enough. More than anything, I just want my children to be okay.
I want to leave. I just don’t know where to go.
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