the transactional nature of Nigerian love

it’s a war on intimacy folks.

A TikTok clip made the rounds on the internet a few weeks back. To simply narrate its context: a man had sponsored a lady through her years of university and wanted to propose to her. She turned him down vehemently. I will resign from stating my personal opinion on the matter, but rather focus on the comment section—filled with angry men who expressed that the lady must be an ingrate, prompting the idea that, regardless of whatever financial aid granted, the man was instantly entitled to her companionship.

This got me thinking about how much Nigerian relationships—romantic, parental, sexual, and cultural—have become inherently transactional. We have come to see love based on how much one can spend, parental responsibilities as some sort of investment plan, and symbolic cultural practices, like the bride price, as evidence of payment. It is as though we are all, in some ways, slaves. Is it then possible for us to view love as one without receipts? Where we prize the midnight heart-to-heart rather than how much money our partner can bring? Where society does not dim intimacy through material things gained? Most importantly, where we do not view all forms of love as a transactional means to an end?

The colonial legacies have yet to erase themselves from our society and have now affected how we view gender and our economy. The result is a capitalist patriarchy that has succeeded in shaping how we observe gender norms, money, and most importantly, relationships. Add religion to the mix, and we have the perfect concoction that has helped ruin true connections.

Living in a country saddled with economic instability as a result of capitalism and bad governance, people tend to latch onto material realities that grant this notion of wealth. This becomes quite the tragedy, as expressed in my essay The Oppressor in Us, where instead of tackling and identifying reasons for such abject poverty, we scurry for ways to hold onto economic sustainability—either through oppression or corruption—thus repeating the vicious cycle.

Where patriarchy comes to play here is in how it has set rules for gender roles and obligations, with men being the doers and women the receivers. Abrahamic religion also helps enforce such gender “norms.” Take, for example, 1 Timothy 5:8: “But if any provide not for his own, and especially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.” Or a verse in the Qur’an: “Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allah has given the one more (strength) than the other, and because they support them from their means.” As a result, society instills in little boys a provider narrative that tells them they must strive toward economic growth in order to proffer financial comfort to a girlfriend or spouse—getting either their companionship or sex in return. This allows men to think they have a free pass to a woman’s body, which is now being reinforced by the “hook-up” culture in our current society.

It is through such a layout that we begin to view sex as transactional too. Take the lyrics from Cast by rising afrobeats artists Shalipopi and Odumodu: “If she no fuck, if she no suck / Who go pay for her wig and handbag?” followed by the prompt, “None.” Although a vulgar and dehumanizing song, it sheds light on how these rules have forced Nigerian men to perceive relationships with women, stowing away the vulnerability and affection within them.

Women also have a huge part to play in this. As feminist thinker and author bell hooks writes, “Patriarchy has no gender.”In this particular context, it shows how women also enforce the provider narrative. Women tend to measure how much love or affection a man might have by the swipe of a credit card, placing financial pressures on men based on the patriarchal, materialistic tenets and needs that society has schooled them to expect. This becomes counterintuitive, however, when women are shamed as “gold diggers” for wanting what they have already been told to want. Some women even go as far as to seek relationships not based on how much they deeply feel, but knowing a man is going to clear their Shein cart. They are equally unwilling to accept any sort of relationship without material or monetary gain—for if they do, they risk humiliation.

If we then look deeper, we can acknowledge that this result also stems from living in a society that does not equate the same level of economic opportunities to women as it does to men. Even when working high-paying jobs, patriarchal factors can still limit women’s financial sustainability, leading them to rely on men or be in relationships with men who have been granted these opportunities.

But what is really wrong with placing a price tag on love? There are material benefits one can gain from this. However, it is through this that we observe the commodification of people—especially women and their bodies. It also uplifts the harmful parts of patriarchy that create a power imbalance rather than equality in marriage and relationships. It limits people from trying to love freely, without putting a kobo on it. For as we pivot to transacting relationships, we come to find that love, in all its forms, can never come free of charge.

This brings forth the question: what would our society look like when love becomes free? This is one I do not have an answer to. Although very critical of this, I still find myself unable to be with a partner who doesn’t support me financially. I will not shy away from acknowledging the fact that I love money, and love it a lot. Which might not be bad, because having a strong financial hold can be the start of many good things. But when money begins to control my life and my relationship with everything and everyone, it becomes inherently dangerous and ruins everything I hold dear.

I think we all, in some ways, have allowed money and status symbols to control our lives. This can be understood, given our current economic climate, but we often blur the lines between what’s real and what isn’t. For in the end, when the wealth fades, it will not be the jets or the phones or the people you bought a relationship with that remain—it’s love.