The Beauty of Love In Tough Times

There is beauty in love, even in tough times. Here is a snippet of how some Nigerian couples are keeping it moving regardless of the tough period.

The power was out again in the small two-bedroom flat in Abule Egba. Mosquitoes buzzed lazily in the warm air, and the only light in the room came from Amaka’s flickering phone screen as she scrolled through job alerts.

“Babe, have you eaten?” her husband, Chuka, asked from the sitting room, fanning himself with an old newspaper.

Amaka sighed. “I’ll fix garri and groundnut. That’s all we have left.”

It had been eight months since Chuka lost his job at a logistics firm in Ikeja. Amaka, a schoolteacher at a private nursery school, hadn’t been paid in three months. Inflation had turned every trip to the market into a painful negotiation between hunger and shame. Yet, somehow, they were still holding on.

That night, they sat on the floor to eat, laughter occasionally breaking through the thick cloud of stress and uncertainty. “Remember when you used to spoil me with suya and malt every Friday?” Amaka teased.

“Those were good days. Don’t worry, they’ll come back,” Chuka smiled, holding her gaze longer than usual. “And when they do, we’ll laugh about this.”

Across the city, in a more upscale but equally affected Lekki Phase 1 apartment, another couple was navigating a different version of the same storm.

Ngozi had just returned from a 14-hour hospital shift. Her husband, Rotimi, once a thriving business owner, now sat behind his laptop all day, trying to pivot his struggling startup into something investors would look at again.

“I got a small win today,” he said, offering a tired smile. “A client paid for three months in advance.”

Ngozi beamed. “That’s amazing, baby!”

They hugged. It was the first time they had touched all week.

Their marriage had been strained, long hours, unspoken fears, egos bruised by a financial crash no one could have predicted. But therapy had helped. Weekly sessions where they were forced to confront the silence, the resentment, and the unrealistic expectations. They were learning to be partners again, not just survivors.

And then there’s Idris and Mariam in Ibadan, married just last year, whose furniture is secondhand, whose honeymoon was postponed twice, and whose nights are often spent praying by candlelight—yet who still take turns rubbing each other’s backs when one is too exhausted to cry.

These stories aren’t fairy tales. They’re real. And they echo in thousands of Nigerian homes today.

What do they teach us?

That love is not about grand gestures when things are easy. It’s about choosing each other every day, even when ₦10,000 has to stretch for a week. It’s about splitting akara and still saying, “I love you.” It’s about listening, forgiving, and showing up, again and again.

Love, in today’s Nigeria, isn’t just emotion. It’s endurance. It’s shared data plans. It’s understanding mood swings caused by stress. It’s courage.

And for those who make it through?

It’s a victory