BY JUMAI NWACHUKWU/RITA OYIBOKA/OGORAMAKA AMOS
For decades, stories of Nigerian women marrying abroad have dominated conversations in living rooms, beauty salons, and online forums. To many, such marriages symbolise escape, a ticket to greener pastures, economic stability, and the promise of love that transcends borders.
Yet behind the glossy Instagram photos and carefully crafted wedding hashtags lies a more complex reality: one shaped by cultural adjustments, emotional struggles, and sometimes, painful disillusionment.
For many women, marrying a partner abroad, whether Nigerian or foreign, offers a doorway to opportunities unavailable at home. Families often view such unions as blessings, bringing hopes of financial support, global exposure, and social prestige. Some women themselves embrace the prospect as a chance for personal growth, higher education, and a different lifestyle.
But not all foreign marriages deliver on their promises. Some women discover they are expected to shoulder heavy financial responsibilities or endure controlling behaviours because of their dependent status. Immigration laws often tie residency rights to spouses, making it difficult to leave toxic relationships without risking deportation or legal challenges.
Speaking with The Pointer, several women shared their experiences, stories that reveal both the triumphs and the heartbreaks of such unions.
Miss Chekwube recounted her ordeal with an ex-husband who had come from the United Kingdom to marry her. “I was so happy,” she said, “because the first thought I had was that I’d travel abroad with him. I couldn’t wait for the union to be sealed.”
For a week, their wedding was the talk of the town, and she basked in the admiration of friends and neighbours. But just a week later, her husband returned abroad, promising to “prepare her papers.” That promise never materialised. Instead, communication dwindled, quarrels escalated, and by 2020, the marriage had collapsed.
“I haven’t set my eyes on him since he left Nigeria,” she recalled. What followed was ridicule from her community and pain from unfulfilled expectations. “I was sex-starved, emotionally traumatised, and heartbroken. But today, I am free and happy I took that decision.”
A male respondent, who chose anonymity, narrated his experience in what he called “The House That Never Was.” Like many Nigerians in the diaspora, he left home for Europe with dreams of earning foreign currency, securing a degree, and returning to Nigeria to reunite with his wife and three children.
For four and a half years, he worked tirelessly, juggling night shifts, odd jobs, and lectures. Every dime he earned went home to fund a supposed house project. His wife sent photos of a beautiful house, which he proudly showed friends.
But when he returned home, the truth unravelled. The house did not exist; the photos were of another man’s property. Worse still, his wife had been living with another man, a pastor who had turned their rented duplex into a church. “I was ready to end it all,” he confessed, “but my parents and the entire village intervened.”
His message to others remains sobering: “If you must build, build with wisdom. If you must trust, trust with caution. Sacrifice, yes, but not to the point where you have nothing left when life turns on you.”
For Aisha, who left Lagos for London after marrying a Nigerian man in the UK, the reality was subtler but equally difficult. The early days of marriage were sweet, but loneliness soon set in. Far from family and friends, she struggled to adapt to a culture that often made her feel invisible. Even as she pursued studies and tried to build a career, the constant pressure to provide financial support back home weighed heavily on her.
Chiamaka’s experience took a different turn. Married to a German husband she met during his business trip to Abuja, she initially believed love would conquer all. But cultural differences soon tested her patience. Language barriers and unfamiliar traditions made her feel misplaced. Yet, through perseverance, she found the strength she never thought she had. Today, she proudly raises children with both German and Igbo names, balancing her Nigerian identity with her new life abroad.
Beyond personal stories, many overseas marriages are transactional, built on hidden motives, whether for immigration benefits, social prestige, or financial security. When expectations clash, the fallout can be devastating, leaving women emotionally scarred and estranged from their families.
Yet, amid the struggles, resilience thrives. Many Nigerian women abroad build successful careers, raise multicultural children, and create communities that bridge the gap between their homeland and their adopted countries. Their journeys, though difficult, often become stories of reinvention and strength.
The experiences of Nigerian women and men in abroad marriages are far from uniform. Some find happiness and fulfilment; others face silent battles behind closed doors. What is clear, however, is that these marriages are not simply fairy tales of escape and success. They are complex journeys that demand strength, adaptability, and sometimes, painful sacrifices.
Also speaking with The Pointer, a female respondent who pleaded anonymity shared that life with a partner abroad had been anything but rosy.
“People think marrying a man abroad is like winning a jackpot. They say, ah, you don hammer, but they don’t know the kind of tears women like me cry in silence,” she said.
According to her, the man who swept her off her feet years ago turned out to be her greatest undoing. He got her pregnant and only performed a traditional marriage introduction, popularly called ‘knocking on the door’, before travelling to Italy.
“While I was pregnant, I was left alone to fend for myself. I had learnt how to make hair, but didn’t have the money to open a shop. No money for food, no money for hospital bills, nothing. It was my elder brother who carried the burden; he stood by me and helped me set up a small hairdressing shop so I could at least have a source of income.
“But even that didn’t last. Taking care of a baby and trying to run a business at the same time was almost impossible. Many times, I would leave a customer’s hair halfway to tend to my child, and those delays made me lose repeat customers. In the end, I had to close the shop. My brother was not happy because he had borrowed money just to see me stand on my feet.”
She narrated how her husband, despite being abroad, insisted on a strict 50-50 arrangement in the marriage, refusing to provide financial support.
“He would tell me, ‘You must contribute your share’. This 50-50 talk was the same thing I experienced when we were dating, and I was just an apprentice, still learning hairdressing, a trade he didn’t contribute a kobo to. Back then, when we were trying to move in together, he made sure we paid equally in rent, furniture, and even foodstuffs. I thought that was because he was still just a struggling barber, but even now, he has never sent a dime, not even for diapers. Even when I begged him for small money for feeding, he would ask if I was not an adult.”
When asked why she still stays in the relationship despite the neglect, she said, “It is not as easy as people think. The stigma of being a single mother is heavy. People say, ‘You are married to a man abroad, you should be enjoying.’ They don’t know I am worse than a widow. At least a widow gets sympathy; people rally around her. For me, they assume I’m fine because my husband is abroad.
“At the end of the day, he is still the father of my child. And then there is the shame, people will say I left my husband to run after other men simply because he is abroad. Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m still holding on, but I keep telling myself things will get better. His family tries to support him in small ways, so I still hold on to that little hope.”
Meanwhile, a respondent who only identified as Victoria shared how her marriage collapsed barely a year after the wedding, torn apart by her mother-in-law’s interference.
In her words, “It was my mother-in-law who introduced me to her only son. She made it sound like I had won an award. She told everyone that her son was doing well abroad, that he had just built her a house, and that I was lucky that he chose me for him. I didn’t know I was entering a trap.”
She explained how, after the wedding, her husband left her in his mother’s house and travelled abroad almost immediately. “That house was my hell. My mother-in-law would look at me and say, ‘na my son remove you from poverty, so respect yourself.’ Meanwhile, before I met him, I was feeding fine on my own. But she never saw me as a wife, only as a maid. I cooked, washed, and scrubbed that house, yet every little mistake became an insult.
“One day, after a heated quarrel, she threw me on the street without a penny, saying her son bought me everything I owned. Imagine the shame. My husband didn’t even stand by me. When he came home briefly, instead of making things right, he went and got another woman pregnant.
“That was how my so-called marriage ended in less than a year. I will not advise anybody to do a long-distance marriage, much less live with a mother-in-law, and it’s even worse if the man is an only child. I will not wish that on my worst enemy. The shame made me relocate to Lagos. I am just picking my life back slowly,” she said.
Perhaps the most heart-rending account came from Mrs Susan Odigie, who narrated her mother’s ordeal. According to her, her father travelled abroad in search of greener pastures, but what followed was a lifetime of pain for the family.
“My mother suffered beyond words. She gathered all her savings, did a five-year lease of a palm plantation her father left for her to send her husband to the United Kingdom. I never knew my father. He left when I was two years old. My mother singlehandedly trained us with her cassava farm. She worked herself to the bone on that farm and would still send money to my father abroad. She would leave home before dawn, return late at night, covered in dust and sweat, just so he could have money to ‘make it’ overseas. For over 30 years, we waited for the promise of a better life.”
But instead of blessings, tragedy unfolded.
“My father never made a dime. Not one. He wasted away his years abroad, and when he finally returned, it was with a mental problem. We watched him deteriorate before our eyes. He came back sick in the mind, talking to himself half of the time. He was peeing and pooing on himself, and before long, he died. My mother cried until her eyes almost went blind. All her sacrifices, the youth she lost, the farm she abandoned after she grew weak, all went in vain.”
She added, “I grew up hearing people envy us because our father was abroad. They would say, ‘You people will soon travel too, your father will send for you.’ Little did they know, our reality was the exact opposite. We lived poorer than those whose fathers never left. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if he had never travelled at all.”
For men in the diaspora, Christmas is often the perfect opportunity to “pick” a wife back home. Families are excited, village elders are pleased, and young women—some pressured by parents or seduced by the allure of living abroad—say “yes.” The weddings are often glamorous, filled with music, fine clothes, and plenty of food. Pictures and videos flood social media, and neighbours envy the bride who has just married an “oga oyinbo,” a man who carries the promise of a foreign life.
But behind the glitter of these Christmas weddings lies a less-discussed reality: the challenges women face when married to men who live far away or when they themselves are later taken abroad into unfamiliar worlds. From cultural adjustments to loneliness, from financial struggles to mismatched expectations, many of these marriages are not as rosy as they appear during the December festivities.
For decades, marrying a man abroad has been viewed as a ticket to a better life. Parents dream of their daughters moving overseas, living in modern cities, raising children with access to better schools, and sending money back home. Communities often regard such marriages as “success stories” that elevate family status.
Indeed, for many women, the hope of joining their husbands abroad is one of the strongest motivating factors. The stories of comfort, remittances, and the prestige that comes with being married to “someone abroad” are difficult to resist.
But as experts note, this growing trend often hides the pressure women face, the imbalance of expectations, and the emotional cracks that appear after the honeymoon phase.
One of the biggest challenges in these marriages is distance. Many men return only once a year, sometimes once in two or three years. The women left behind are expected to manage households, care for children, and live in uncertainty, while also dealing with in-laws and family pressure.
Some eventually join their husbands abroad, but that comes with its own struggles—navigating immigration laws, struggling to find jobs, and adjusting to new cultural realities.
To understand the lived realities, our correspondent spoke with some women who married Nigerian men based abroad. Their experiences shed light on the emotional and practical struggles that accompany such unions.
Ifeoma Benjamin, who is based in, got married in November 2018, narrated her struggle. “When my husband came back from Italy in 2018, everybody in my family was excited. He was handsome, well-dressed, and he charmed everyone. We got married within one month. After the wedding, he returned to Italy, promising to file my papers.
For the first year, it was phone calls and WhatsApp messages, but gradually the calls reduced. I became a stranger in my own marriage. His family here expected me to behave like a married woman, but my husband was not around to support me. After four years, I’m still waiting to travel; hopefully, I will be joining him by November this year.”
Agatha Nwafor, who got married last year, December 2024, told our correspondent, “It was never rosy as people may see it, yes, the marriage process is fast without stress but what people don’t see is what happens after the wedding”.
“My husband is based in London. We got married during Christmas in 2024. He left after two weeks, and at that time, I was living in his parents’ house. The loneliness was killing. I don’t have children yet, and people kept asking questions.
‘’I worked as a tailor, but whenever I wanted to make decisions for myself, my in-laws reminded me that ‘your husband is in London, wait for him.’ I feel like I didn’t own my life. At some point, I began to regret my decision, maybe I would have married someone in Nigeria”.
“I had to speak to my parents about the whole situation, and we had a family meeting over a WhatsApp voice call in February 2025. Then my husband began to process my visa to join him, and I finally moved in May 2025. At least I am around my husband, and I have peace.”
Chidinma Ejike, who got married in November 2023, gave us a glimpse of her experience. “When I finally joined my husband in Germany, I thought life would be easier. But abroad was not what I expected. I had to start learning the language from scratch. Getting a job was difficult. Back home, people thought I was living in paradise.
“Once a woman marries a man abroad, she is automatically seen as a ‘madam’ who should bring money. They kept sending requests for money, but even feeding was hard here. My husband worked long hours, and when he came home, he was always tired. The marriage became stressful. We fought a lot, and at some point, I started asking myself if I would have been happier staying back in Nigeria.”
The Abroad marriage season will continue as long as Nigerian men in the diaspora return home to wed. But beneath the fanfare lies a pressing need for deeper conversations about the realities of such unions”.
