In the middle of a crowded Nigerian market, somewhere between the spice stalls and the buzzing hum of bargain banter, I learned the first lesson that would shape my view on connection: navigate the chaos, but know where you’re going—or at least act like it. Growing up in Abuja, a city that thrums with contradictions, I discovered something beautiful about the delicate dance between tradition and the rapidly evolving. It’s a city rooted in heritage but unafraid to don a modern face, and that duality, I suspect, has everything to do with the way I experience love, relationships, and—dare I say it—breakups.
But this isn’t just a story about a city. It’s about how a place quietly chisels at your identity until it’s impossible to separate who you are from where you’ve been, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.
Chapter One: The Chaos of Markets, the Clarity of Connection
Picture this: a teenage Harriet weaving her way through Wuse Market, armed with a shopping list from my mum and just enough naira to get three ripe mangoes, some rice, and maybe a cheeky snack for myself if I did the math right. Abuja’s markets are a sight to behold—vendors waving their wares in the air, the scent of groundnuts mingling with exhaust fumes, and voices calling out in a symphony of Hausa and Pidgin English. Every step is calculated, yet spontaneous.
In a way, it’s not unlike dating in your twenties. The market could be overwhelming—much like trying to decipher what exactly it means when someone offers to “Netflix and chill” (spoiler: not movie-watching). But growing up in that city taught me how to look for the moments of clarity amid the buzz. Relationships, like markets, require you to pause, ask the right questions, and, most importantly, carry a list of your non-negotiables.
You want the juicy mangoes of connection, not the bruised ones hiding at the bottom of the pile. Right?
Laughter, Love, and Lockdown Lessons
Evenings in our Abuja home often meant the whole family glued to NTA or African Magic, arguing over which suitor the heroine should pick in the latest Nollywood drama. These stories are wild—unexpected slaps, dramatic declarations of love, and a long-lost twin showing up just before the wedding. But if those exaggerated plots taught me anything, it’s the value of humor in relationships.
Life and love are dramatic enough without taking yourself too seriously. My dad was notorious for cracking dry jokes about how my mum fell in love with him not because of his looks, but because he let her win debates. “I’m strategic like that,” he’d grin, as she rolled her eyes. But, low-key, I saw the chemistry in those moments.
Fast-forward to 2020 when the world—well, Nigeria included—entered lockdown. Trapped in Lagos with my sister and her four kids, I watched love in real life take on yet another face. My sister and her husband tag-teamed their way through home-schooling tantrums and endless “can we have Indomie?” requests, sneaking in moments of affection to keep their bond intact. One evening, I caught them dancing together in their kitchen to Burna Boy’s Real Life, flipping pancakes in between spins.
What Abuja had built in me—a love for laughter, resilience, and the small, sweet gestures—sparked loudly in those moments. Because no matter where life takes you, love becomes about those kitchen dances, doesn’t it?
The Great Lessons from Small Love Stories
Falling in love in Abuja isn’t like the meet-cutes you see in Hollywood rom-coms. Forget bumping into someone at a swanky coffee shop (chai is more our lane anyway). No, this is the land of connections forged during slow Sunday afternoons at bukas, where the pepper soup is just spicy enough to outshine any awkward ice-breaker chat. It’s where “come and meet my family” carries heavy weight—the equivalent of a pre-serious-stage DTR (define the relationship) discussion.
And there’s something grounding about that. Abuja relationships are not usually rushed; they unfold like peeling back layers of puff-puff dough to find the sweet center. If Lagos moves at Instagram-scrolling speed, Abuja relationships marinate—whether for months in the spirit of tradition or even just a conscious leaning towards mindfulness.
Practical Lessons from Abuja Days for Modern Life
You don’t have to be from Abuja (or ever visit) to feel nostalgia for those tiny lessons that a hometown gives you:
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Never Forget Your “Why”
I remember negotiating with a fruit seller who would not budge on his price. “Aunty, last price,” he said, grinning—but firm. His boundaries were clear; so were mine. In relationships, it’s no different. Be honest about what you’re after from the start so you don’t waste time bargaining over the wrong fruit stand. 😉 -
Spice Is Good, but Balance Is Better
We love peppery food in Nigeria—be it suya or jollof. But the best chefs know to add just enough without overpowering everything else. Emotional spice? Same rules apply. Drama looks cute during the introduction phase, but over time, substance eclipses theatrics. (Nollywood missed this memo quite often.) -
Community is a Keeper
Abuja’s warmth comes not just from the weather but from the people. We are bridge-builders. The way my friends’ mums sent me home with extra chin chin when I visited taught me about the value of investing in the community around love—a group of trusted people who pour encouragement into your relationship cup.
Finding Familiarity Wherever You Go
A big part of my journey is this push-pull between worlds. One year I was helping set up women’s empowerment projects in rural Senegal, and the next I was living in London, swirling tea while wrestling with seasonal affective disorder. Yet, no matter where I went, I carried little shards of Abuja with me—not just the accent that slips out when I’m comfortable, but the lessons steeped in that all-too-familiar market chaos.
This blend of modernity and tradition that defines the city also defines me. It’s the reason I side-eye anyone who says “relationships should be simple.” Simple? Relationships are an intricate mesh of customs, compromise, and calling out your partner when their gist doesn’t add up. (Thank you, Abuja aunties, for that suspicion gene.) Simplicity, to me, is overrated. Depth, though? That’s worth chasing every time.
Your Turn: Making Peace with Your Place(s)
Here’s the thing. Whether you come from a bustling city or a tiny village, your roots offer insight into how you love. Maybe it’s the way you value independence because you grew up in a city that never sleeps, or the reason you invest in lasting connections because you’ve watched the same neighbors gather for decades.
Get curious about the place that molded you—the sights, smells, customs. What skill sets did that environment hand you (maybe begrudgingly) for relationships? Use them. Refine them. And most importantly, embrace them.
Connection, in essence, is about finding familiarity, even in unfamiliar spaces. Abuja made me soft but sure-footed, playful yet sincere. It taught me to move a little slower, to search for ripeness, to laugh through the chaos. So, the next time someone points out the smile on my face while I describe home, they’ll know the truth: It’s not just a place—it’s the way I love.
