There are good men out there

Dear God,

I got called out. Yes o, me. So, one gentleman hit me up on the comment section…. after reading the last blog…

“Madam,” he wrote, “you are always dragging us men. Sometimes you tell stories that make it look like all men are heartbreakers. Now, you see that there are good men, the ones who hold it down. Give us some credits too!”

I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my drink. So, they have been reading my gists with you, forming “the secret-oppressed men’s club”, and now they are the ones looking for equal right? (Laugh wan kill me)

“See me, see wahala! But maybe they are right. Life is not one-sided, ba? Even the coin we hold has two faces.” Maybe, just maybe, I have been too focused on women’s pain and ignored the other stories. Before I get labelled a feminist, let me peep at the other side of the coin.

So, I asked the gentleman dragging me out to share his story, and honestly, Lord, it floored me. He and his wife had separated for three years on what he called “irreconcilable differences.” (I don’t know why people use that grammar, sha. It often sounds like the people were yam seedlings that suddenly started growing in opposite directions.) But here’s where the story shocked me. When they separated, this man did not throw her out. No drama of “pack your load and go to your father’s house.” No, he left her in their matrimonial home because she wasn’t working, (he said it was their decision for her to be a stay-home-wife) and he didn’t want her standard of living to drop because of that. Then he went and got himself another house in the same city.

And he didn’t stop there. He continued giving her and their two children a monthly allowance. He paid the electricity, internet, and phone bills. He made sure no outsider interfered with their decision, insisting that whatever was between them was theirs to manage. He had no interest in tolerating her shenanigans anymore, but he knew his responsibilities and fulfilled them.

Father Lord? In Nigeria o! Not imported husband, not borrowed from Canada, but right here under our sun. Women are shouting up and down about wicked men, and this one was quietly rewriting the script. No lawyer, no arbitrator. Simple human decision.

Six years later, life threw a curveball. His wife had a terrible accident on her way back from “who-knows-where”. He was in the middle of a heated board meeting when the call came. This man dropped everything, rushed to the hospital, stood by her side, and when blood was needed, he rolled up his sleeve and donated his own. Now Dad, brace yourself for the final score……..this woman didn’t fully recover, she inherited some permanent body damages and, guess what? They reconciled. They are back together. The man took her back.

My mouth was hanging open like a village child seeing a plane for the first time. “Please Lord, where have you been hiding these kinds of men in Nigeria?” I whispered.

(Dad, you won’t understand why I am this perplexed. I can understand these situations in the western world where they are rights and laws, but Naija? Our own very “a-man’s-world-Nigeria?”)

But then again, maybe because women hardly ever tell these stories, we don’t get to know. We shout when things fall apart, but when men are good, we keep quiet. No wonder so many young girls today are afraid of marriage. They only hear about the heartbreakers, not the healers.

You know me, Lord, I could not resist probing, so I asked him, “Okay, bros, during those years apart, were you seeing other people?”

“Of course, I was seeing people—my friends, my relatives,” he said sheepishly

I burst out laughing. “Abeg, you know what I mean. Women!”

He laughed too, then said, “Now that’s a better question. No, I wasn’t seriously involved with anyone. We weren’t divorced, so adultery was out of the question. I hung out, yes, but no entanglements.”

Dad, I nearly dropped my phone. “Six whole years and you didn’t wiggle with free babes?”

He chuckled. “I was a seminarian once, if you understand what that means” he said with a smirk.

“I was born and raised a Catholic, if you understand what that means”, I threw back at him.

We both laughed until my ribs ache.

“You must really love her,” I teased gently.

He paused, then said something that nudged me gently with wisdom. “Having differences in opinion and lifestyle doesn’t make someone a bad person. Choosing not to live together doesn’t erase your obligations. Responsibility is responsibility.”

“Ewelekee!”

Lord, do you see why my head was spinning? In Africa, as in….Nigeria, where ego is sometimes inherited like family land, hearing such humility and sensibility was like stumbling upon hidden treasure. In fact, Dad, I can take a bet that some men reading this right now are shifting restlessly on their seats wondering if I am making this up.

 

I pressed again: “But what if your wife had decided to try other options? Would you still have fulfilled your obligations?”

“As long as she is the mother of my children, I owe her. She carried them, birthed them, and cares for them. That alone binds me to ensure her well-being. Either we live together in love or apart with respect, but love in some form should always remain. At the very least, we respect our memories and protect our children,” he replied calmly.

“Live together in love or apart with respect. Chai!” I nearly shouted.

“Father Lord, does this man walk under the same Nigerian sun that I am walking under?” I asked rhetorically.

He laughed.

“I am just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you mean what you are saying. I can feel the sincerity from your voice. You are serious about this and it’s a joy to see,” I said evenly.

“Well, if you walk into an altar before God and pledge “for better for worse, until death do part”, then you had better be serious about it.”

“So, until death, you are fully obligated?”

“Totally!”

“Iyemeee!”

I sat there digesting his words, because let’s be honest, not many people—male or female—see marriage this way. For most, once the marriage cracks, obligations scatter, respect disappears, and the children suffer. But this man taught me that true love, even wounded love, can still express itself as care, respect, and responsibility.

So yes, Lord, I have to humble myself. We, womenfolk, must admit that there are good men. And these men deserve their flowers. They are the fathers who wake up at 5 a.m. to braid their daughters’ hair because their wives are sick. They are the husbands who pause their career dreams so their wives can finish school. They are the brothers who step in as father figures without asking for applause. They are the men like this gentleman, who prove that responsibility doesn’t end where romance stops.

And we must tell their stories too. Because if all our daughters hear is pain, they will grow up fearful of marriage, suspicious of love, and cynical about men. They need to know that goodness still exists, that a man can argue over toothpaste caps in the morning and still show up at your hospital bed in the afternoon, ready to give you, his blood.

Dear Lord, thank you for reminding me. Love is more than butterflies in the stomach. Feelings fade, but true love is sacrifice, responsibility, and respect. Even if marriages fail, humanity should not. Children should never carry the burden of adult conflict. And yes, good men exist—quietly, steadily, faithfully. They may not trend on social media, but they are out there, shining in their quiet corners.

And Lord, while we are at it, thank you for my Adam, he is a very good man. I stand among the blessed ones in marriage.

Just a point Lord, please, here is my small request: can we use the seminary to train more husbands? (Don’t roll your eyes, Dad, just hear me out)

“See, we can enrol more men into seminaries to get the drill on husband materials…… then those ones that don’t want to go into priesthood will now be distributed amongst your daughters. That way you will get less prayer points from the women. Makes sense right?”

(Be laughing, I am trying to help here)

God, please bless the good men out there. And for the women reading this, may we also be the kind of women who deserve such men—women of grace, patience, and courage. Because, at the end of the day, it takes two to tango. We each need to be willing to build the kind of love story that is worth telling.

This is your daughter, Lo

rd, your gist partner, and I am checking in.