Diary of a Nigerian Woman

I turned 28 last month, and you'd think I'd celebrated a funeral the way my family reacted. My aunty actually said, "Ah ah, 28 already? Time is going o." As if I wasn't aware. As if my phone isn't filled with wedding invitations after wedding invitations. As if I don't see the worry creeping into my mother's eyes every time we attend an owambe together. The thing about being a Nigerian woman approaching 30 is that suddenly, nothing else you've achieved matters. For goodness'

Dear Diary, Today, I stood in the Shoprite parking lot for fifteen minutes, staring at a gift I wanted to buy for my friend’s baby shower. ₦25,000. I could afford it ten times over. But I couldn’t buy it. Because I had to call my husband first to ask if I could spend the money. My own money. I earn ₦450,000 every month as a senior analyst. The alert comes in on the 28th like clockwork. And on the 29th, like clockwork, I transfer every single naira to my husband’s account. He