To the Women in My Life: I Love You

I have come a long way in life. I have seen the depths of hell with all its cruelty, and I have tasted the blessings of heaven in their fullness. The women in my life are a part of that blessing. This March, I sat in deep reflection, wondering what my life would be without these women — without their love, their care, their warmth. And in that moment of contemplation, I realized that without them, my life would be stripped of warmth and essence, devoid of vibrance, washed out and insipid. Without them, my life would be like a canvas without paint.

Oh, women — what great blessings they are! I will attempt, in both thought and words, to express the gifts they have brought into my life. I will share how I have been covered by their indefatigable love and warmth — a love that fights and wins, warmth that melts even the harshest winter cold. From mothers to sisters, cousins to friends and lovers, their presence has been a fortress, a light.

A man’s life, if summarized, is a passive war — a war not just with the world but, more importantly, with himself. In today’s world, men are often overlooked, dismissed as though they do not need affection, as if they do not desire love. Even men themselves have come to accept this belief, reinforcing the very chains that bind them. And while I understand why these standards persist, we must not ignore the statistics: men have a shorter lifespan than women. More men fall victim to suicide than women. More men find themselves homeless, lost, and forgotten.

Some may argue that men are to blame for these struggles, but that is not the purpose of this piece. What must be emphasized is that the solution to many of these burdens lies within the very essence of femininity. Women hold the power to birth, to heal, to restore, to weave sense from chaos. They take the unseen and make it real, the broken and make it whole. At a molecular level, they revitalize the weary soul of a man. If only man could cast aside his pride and watch God’s most cherished creation work its quiet miracles. She is not just a helpmate — though that role is sacred in itself — she is the star that pierces the night, the color in the pigment of life. She is the soothing voice that steadies the king, without whom his kingdom would be nothing more than a tavern filled with tired, defeated men. The woman is the missing piece, even when all else seems complete. She is the bond that holds everything together. Women are the gifts that keep on giving — if only men would have the humility to receive.

From a young age, I often asked a question that lingered in my mind: Can anything good come from a woman? Each time, my mother would smile and say, “Yes, you came from me.” My question was not meant to challenge or provoke — it stemmed from deep contemplation.

Before I turned eleven, I experienced what remains one of the most distressing moments of my life. At that age, I fully grasped a truth that had once been buried in childhood obedience: when I was five and eight, I was sexually abused by the nanny who cared for my sister and me. The actions at that time felt like nothing more than instructions — commands I was too young to question.

At eleven, during sex education classes at boarding school, it became clear to me that the “instructions” from the past were not just instructions but sinister tactics to exploit the innocence of a young child. The memories surfaced vividly, as clear as day — but that day quickly faded into pitch darkness.

I spent the four weeks of winter break trapped in an endless loop of questions, searching for answers that never came, wondering why I had been the one chosen to endure such cruelty. But as a child, I didn’t fully understand it — I didn’t yet realize how deeply it would shape me. I clung to the hope that it was over, that no more pain would come.

But at twelve, that fragile hope shattered. The head girl of my school made me her target, tormenting me in ways I still struggle to forget. And then, in an act so cruel it remains seared into my memory, she pressed a scalding pot of boiling beans against my head.

At fourteen, my agricultural teacher made a statement that haunted me: “Kelechi, you won’t succeed — not even as a carpenter.”

At sixteen, young and naïve, I stood before my dream — gaining admission into Covenant University to study my dream course. Yet again, a woman — my school’s vice principal — did everything in her power to hinder me. She attempted to withhold the necessary documents required for my university application and even told my father that sending me there would be a waste of money.

At seventeen, burdened by these experiences, I found myself questioning again: Can anything good come from a woman? This recurring doubt led me to a somber conclusion — that getting married would be the greatest scam of my life. There is no goodness in womanhood. These thoughts were born out of disdain, from a series of wounds inflicted by those I had trusted.

At eighteen, life was about to take an unexpected turn. I had just gotten into Covenant University, and to my surprise, I caught the attention of some kind and beautiful ladies in my department. As a fresher, burdened with the lingering question Can anything good come from a woman? I viewed their kindness with skepticism. To me, their gestures felt like conditional affection — conditions I couldn’t quite understand.

One of my classmates, Shelah, who remains my friend to this day, once said, “Kelechi, life is not hard. Smile, Jesus loves you.” Without hesitation, I replied, “Life is hard, and Jesus loves me.” Shelah despised my reluctance — she couldn’t stand how closed-off I was, how unwilling I seemed to accept her kindness. But in hindsight, maybe kindness was exactly what I needed.

One day, a thought struck me: Kelechi, what if you are traumatized? What if you are haunted by the images of your past? What if your unwillingness to forgive the wrongs done to you is, in turn, creating new wounds — errors and sins against you that you also refuse to forgive?

It was then that I sought God’s help through a counselor. We had several deep conversations, and one thing he emphasized was the power of forgiveness — to let go of the past and recognize the goodness in those around me, especially in women.

In His sovereignty, God surrounded me with some of the most loving women I had ever met — my classmates, no different from me, yet full of grace and kindness. I had seen the light.

Or had I?

I knew something had changed. I could see the light. I stared at it, turned it over in my mind, examined it from every angle, trying to make sense of it. It was warm yet distant, steady yet elusive — like a whisper of something greater. I reached for it, wanting to let it in. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to approach it.

I was afraid — afraid that the light was a trap. A door I was never meant to open.

But I approached the light confidently. If the darkness didn’t kill me, what then could the light do?

In no time, I got a girlfriend. I had been waiting for her to do what women supposedly do — I was expecting the nefarious work — but she didn’t. Instead, she was kind and loving. Being in a relationship with her did more for my salvation than any discussion with my counselor or any book I had ever read. At that point, the light was coming to me — I was no longer chasing it.

Throughout my time at Covenant University, I witnessed both the goodness of women and their more challenging sides. Yet, my long-asked question was answered: Yes, many good things can come from a woman.

I grew closer to two female cousins and an aunt who showered me with undeniable love. They showed me care I couldn’t even show myself — from buying me a $300 watch to gifting me $250, to presenting me with a $1,000 suit. At that moment, the light was at my doorstep, and I had no option but to welcome it in. And I did.

Welcoming the light brought yet another dilemma — I had set impossibly high standards in relationships, whether in dating or friendship. But the beauty of light is that if you have spent a long time in darkness, you not only come to despise it but also learn to discern its presence.

From my early twenties until now, I’ve developed a knack for recognizing darkness, even when it disguises itself as a seemingly beautiful woman. But I’m not here to dwell on the dark — why should we care about it when the light has arrived?

I had gone through depression when life knocked me down. In those moments, these women were there to hold me up. When I had no money, they sent support on a monthly basis. When I was about to fall prey to the deception of a seductive woman, they pointed out the devil in the details and saved me from her venom. When my devotion waned, they prayed to God on my behalf. When my mind was sick, they cured my malady.

When nothing made sense, their love made sense.

When my heart grew cold, they provided warmth.

When my stomach hungered, they nourished me.

I love you all so much. May God grant you men who will stand and defend you against every dart that life throws your way. I will stand with you on the day of battle, swords drawn, arrows nocked.

Dedication: Joy, Obie(Mothers), Wandoo, Ngover, Nwanneka (Sisters), Friends (Temi, Daby, Shelah, Chelsea, Nazom) — I love you all!