Hi Lovebirds,
Love is sweet until family enters the group chat! And if there’s any love story that proves this, it’s Tolu and Jide’s. I remember when Tolu first told me about him—her eyes lit up in a way I hadn’t seen before. “He just gets me,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. That was when I knew she was in deep.
She met Jide at Tobi and Chioma’s wedding. Funny enough, she wasn’t even meant to attend, but a last-minute change of plans had her showing up in a simple gele and an emergency asoebi dress. Fate, right? Jide wasn’t the type to command a room loudly, but he had this quiet confidence that made people gravitate toward him. He was the perfect gentleman—helped her find a seat, made sure her glass was never empty, and before the night ended, had managed to make her laugh in a way that lingered even after she got home.
Their love grew steadily, the way the best ones do. They built a routine—Sunday brunches at Orchid Bistro, late-night FaceTime calls, and secret conversations at family events when they had to pretend they weren’t deeply in love. I watched it all unfold, from the nervous excitement of their first “I love you” to the way Jide always showed up for her—rain or shine. When he finally proposed, it wasn’t a matter of if she would say yes; it was a matter of when.
But what none of us saw coming was the backlash. When Tolu broke the news to her parents, I could tell something was wrong just from her voice note. “Babe, they said no. Just like that,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Her father barely looked at her before saying, “You cannot marry him.” Her mother sighed, a long, drawn-out sigh that told her the battle was already lost before it even began. “Tolu, we don’t marry from that side,” her aunt muttered, shaking her head.
We had joked about this before. “Imagine my parents saying no because he’s Igbo?” she had laughed months ago. But now, it wasn’t funny. It was real.
She tried to plead her case. “Daddy, he is a good man. He loves me. Isn’t that what matters?”
Her father didn’t budge. “Marriage is not just about love. There are things you don’t understand yet.”
Days turned into weeks. Tolu barely smiled. Jide was trying to be strong for her, but I could tell the situation was wearing him down. “Maybe if I go and see them?” he suggested. But Tolu shook her head. “Jide, it’s not about you. They’ve already made up their minds.”
I could feel the helplessness in her messages. How do you choose between the family that raised you and the love that sets your soul on fire?
Her father called her into his study one evening. “Tolu, if you marry him, do not expect our blessing.”
The words crushed her.
I remember the night she called me, sobbing so hard I could barely make out what she was saying. “How do I choose? How do I let go of either one?”
Jide, ever patient, told her, “I love you, Tolu. But this is your decision to make. Whatever you choose, I will understand.”
And just like that, she held the weight of two worlds in her hands.
Did she fight for love? Did her family eventually come around? Or did she let go of the one person who truly saw her?
Some love stories have happy endings, others remain open-ended. But one thing is certain—love in Nigeria is never just between two people. It is a story written by many hands, and sometimes, not even the best love can rewrite tradition.
What would you have done if you were Tolu? Let’s talk in the comments.
