On a Monday morning in March 2023, Amara Nwosu woke up to discover she had bought a house.
She had not bought a house.
She had never signed any document.
She had never met the seller.
But somewhere in the Lagos land registry, her BVN, her NIN, her signature — perfect, precise, indistinguishable from the one she had used her entire adult life — had authorised the purchase of a property worth ₦47 million.
And the loan taken to buy it was in her name.
Amara was 34.
A data analyst at a telecoms firm in Victoria Island.
She was the kind of person who used different passwords for different accounts, who read privacy policies, who had set up two-factor authentication on everything she owned before most Nigerians knew what two-factor authentication meant.
She was, professionally and personally, a woman who understood how data worked.
Which is why, when she saw the loan alert on her phone at 6:47am, her blood went cold in a specific way.
Not panic.
Recognition.
Someone had been inside her life.
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ONE OF THE FASTEST WAYS SATAN drives a wedge between a husband and his wife is by stopping them from touching.
You see couples lying at opposite ends of the bed, almost falling off the edges because they don’t want their spouse’s body to touch them. That is giving room to the devil. The enemy can drive deep wedges this way.
THIS IS WHY I don’t agree with how some houses are built in Nigeria. They say, “This is the master bedroom, this is Madam's room…” When my husband was building our house, I said, “Don’t try that with me. You married me as I am; you will live with my disorganization. I don’t need a madame room or separate rooms. One room—we are one flesh. Where are you throwing me?”
He didn’t try it, though. There’s nothing in our house like a madam room—one room, together, as God intended.
But you know what the devil tried to do inside our room? To show how affluent we were, we had a massive bed—huge, luxurious. But that, too, was a strategy from hell. We ended up lying at opposite ends. My husband even put a pillow between us so that if I turned in the night, I could not touch him.
Do you know what I used to do? He would wake up in the morning, standing by the window, meditating and praying by the fish pond. And I would get up and make sure my body touched his as I passed by, letting him know, “I’m still here. We’re fighting, but I love you. We’re fighting, but I’m yours.”
Sometimes, it ended the quarrel. Sometimes, it didn’t. But I was not allowing that wedge to be driven. I made sure we stayed connected.
One day, I traveled and came back to see a very tiny bed in our room. I asked, “Where is our bed?” His sister had come into the room. My husband said, “That bed is very spiritual. Even if you lie on the edge, your bodies will touch.”
Many of our children didn’t understand why the bed was smaller than theirs. That was the reason: to prevent the enemy from driving a wedge between us.
No matter how angry, stay connected. No matter how upset, stay in touch. This is critical for the life of your marriage and the life of your family.
Don’t allow the devil to stop you from touching. Hold hands. Put your hand on your spouse’s shoulder. Tap them lightly as you pass, even if you are not talking.
From today, let this be your practice: If your husband or wife reaches out, don’t rebuff them. This simple act of touch communicates love, connection, and unity—even in conflict.
Remember: Satan wants to create distance. You have the power to keep your marriage and family connected. Stay close. Stay in touch. Stay united.
Every country has an energy. And that energy rewires you whether you notice it or not. People move to Japan and become minimal. People move to Mexico and their entire relationship with time softens. People move to New York and suddenly they can't sit still. Your personality is far more malleable than you think. We treat it like something fixed, but new surroundings give you new defaults. New pace. New habits. New values absorbed through proximity instead of effort. You're not just the average of the 5 people closest to you. You're the average of the 5 places, the 5 routines, and the 5 inputs you're exposed to most. Your commute shapes you. The weather shapes you. Every space you occupy is voting on who you become. That's why I believe choosing where you live is one of the most important decisions you'll ever make. More important than your job title. Maybe more important than your five-year plan. Because the place shapes the plan. The place shapes your energy, your habits, your relationships, your default state. Get the place right and half of the other decisions start making themselves. Get it wrong and you'll fight yourself every day.
A Nigerian man seeks companionship, he does not ask himself if he is kind enough, if he is interesting enough. He does not care about emotional availability, neither does he care about personal growth. What does he do? He calculates whether his account balance has crossed some invisible threshold that makes him deserving of companionship.
It is why brothers in their 20s and 30s with decent jobs and good characters still insist they are "not ready" for a relationship. Not ready, they mean, to be the walking ATM they've been conditioned to become. By the time they finally "achieve," they've lost the capacity for stillness. They can sit in boardrooms for hours but cannot sit with a partner for thirty minutes without their minds wandering to the next transaction or the next proof of worth. Small talk becomes an unbearable and inefficient use of resources. Apologies become obsolete when lavish gestures can purchase peace. After all, "na wetin women like be this" is the script etched into their consciousness.
A Nigerian woman seeks companionship, she does not ask if "he works," instead she asks, "does he have money?" One question honors process; the other worships outcome and remains strategically incurious about provenance. She says she's being realistic. Clear-eyed about how the world actually works, not how it pretends to work in romance novel. But when did "clear-eyed" become indistinguishable from "deliberately blind to certain things I'd rather not see?" When did assessing partnership potential become inseparable from calculating financial insurance against her own vulnerability?
Her affection then, becomes calibrated to a cash flow. Pragmatism metastasizes into a shield against intimacy, against the" terrifying" and "reckless" work of actually knowing and being known.
Our dating culture is mostly an elaborate performance of mutual extraction. Both genders, diminished. Both complicit in a system of leveraged buyouts.
Everyone gets exactly what they negotiated for, and no one gets what they actually need. A genuinely exhausting way of life.