The Hidden Sexual Experiences of Women in Their 50s

Written by Miracle Okah

Back in the day, sex wasn’t just a mere three-letter word for women. It was a whispered word, a word spoken in hushed tones, most times with a hand half-covering the mouth. It carried shame and stigma. It was sacred, and no, I don’t mean in a holy way, but in a secret, untouchable way. Even though it was inevitable, women in their 50s today recall how they dared not speak about it. 

This was not the same for men. For them, the word was shouted across bar tables, filled with laughter and pride. It gave them boldness and power, as if the system was built with them in mind.

One thing I noticed after interviewing the four women whose responses you are about to read was that topics around sex were not encouraged. In fact, most of them got to know about it from school. Now, if a topic as important as sex is only mentioned in biology class, how are women supposed to know what is possible for them? How do they know that sex is something they can enjoy? That it can be soft, silly, or simply done in joy. That their pleasures matter just as much and that they are allowed to say, “Oh, this is what I like and this is what I don’t like.”

If sex is only framed as duty or danger that they must flee from, how can women imagine it as desire?

In my quest to understand what sex was like in their time, how they learnt about it, experienced it and talked about it, I spoke to four women who were in their fifties.

Bewaji*

Bewaji is a 58-year-old lady who sells provisions just outside the University of Ibadan. I explained the story I was working on, and she agreed to talk to me, but only after she moved to a quiet corner where no one could hear her. 

The first question I asked her was if sex was something they talked about or shied away from when growing up.

“Sex was not something you say openly o,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. ‘It was more like an insult. I started developing breasts early, and anytime I went out with powder on my face, people would assume I was going to see a man. You know they say only a man can make a small girl’s breast grow bigger. Words like ‘Ashawo’ (prostitute)  were easily thrown around.”

She seemed comfortable now, so I brought up the topic of premarital sex. When I asked if she had ever had sex before marriage, she laughed boldly and responded in Yoruba, “O ti pé tí mo ti d’oko o,” which means “It has been a long time since I started having sex.”

I proceeded to ask her if anyone had prepared her for what sex would be like, and she said no. “Nobody told me anything, but I wish they had. That is why, if you have a daughter, you must teach her so she doesn’t make mistakes. Girls start changing from around 15 or 16. That is when you talk to them and teach them how to take care of themselves.”

She spoke proudly of how she guided her daughter, even down to buying trousers for her when she got into university. “She didn’t like trousers then, but I bought them for her and told her she needed to be smart, neat and carry herself well; that is how you grow into a woman.”

I asked her if she ever spoke to her daughter about sex. “My mother told me not to have sex before marriage. That was what we were taught, but it didn’t mean I listened,” she chuckled. 

“Today, things have changed; girls are more open. Some people even mock virgins who marry without any experience. But still, I wouldn’t advise my daughter to rush things. One mistake, and she might get pregnant with the wrong man. That happened to me; my first child was not from the man I married.”

I was curious about communication in her marriage. Could she talk openly with her husband about sex?

She nodded. “Yes, very well. He is the one who knows how his body works. He doesn’t like afternoon sex; it’s always midnight. And he hates the fan being on during sex because it makes his body cold. Meanwhile, I am sweating under him. He likes it hot—hot, five minutes and he’s done.”

She laughed, remembering how he used to take her home from her shop for quickies, then she’d freshen up and return to work. “Now? He’s turning 70, and the body doesn’t move like before.”

I noticed how she only mentioned what her husband liked and not what she liked, but I didn’t probe further. Instead, I asked if sex changed after marriage. “Yes, it did. I am not as young as I used to be. Again, the sex is not as it used to be; back when we were younger, it could happen every day. Now that we’re older, maybe once a month.”

At a point, the conversation shifted to something more personal—orgasm. She looked confused. “Is that the one that forms children?” she asked. After I explained, she paused for a moment, then let out a laugh and said, “Oh, that leg-shaking one? No, I don’t think so.”

The interview ended with her giving me some advice. “If you meet someone you love and want to be with, first, use protection. Condoms are important, not just to avoid pregnancy but to prevent disease. I’ve heard of boys who put holes in condoms just to trap girls. If you’re going to use one, tear it yourself and hand it to him. Be smart. Wait until you’re ready so you don’t end up regretting it.”

Adenike*

Adenike, a 52-year-old government worker, spoke with a mix of calm and firmness. “Sex was a serious taboo. No one talked about it, not even our mothers, no matter how old we were. You dare not say the word out loud, else you would be called an ‘ashewo buruku’ (a terrible prostitute).”

She explained how even women who wanted to speak up could not. “No one would take them seriously. They would question what kind of woman you were and keep their distance.”

She first learnt about sex in school. “I only heard about it in Biology or Integrated Science class. And even then, the entire class would react with embarrassment. You could see the discomfort in everyone’s body language, including the teacher. The teacher had to summon the courage to teach the topic. She’d say, ‘You people are growing now, so we have to teach you this.’ That was how we were introduced to sex: through nervous explanations and awkwardness. I never had any personal conversation or education about it from anyone.”

Now, in her marriage, she speaks more freely. “I talk about it with my husband. I tell him what I like and what I don’t like. I can say, ‘This is how I want it,’ or, ‘These are the areas to touch that arouse me.’ You can only have such conversations with your partner.”

Still, she carries a sense of duty around the act.

“For me, sex is a duty that stabilises marriage. Sometimes you don’t want it, but if your partner wants it, you have to succumb. 80% of the women around me don’t really enjoy sex. They just see it as a duty that is expected of them.”

She takes her role as a mother seriously, especially when it comes to preparing her daughter.

“As she grows, I’ve made it a point to tell her about the dangers. Peer pressure is real. Girls are exposed to so much so early. I tell her: ‘Don’t let any boy touch this part of your body.’ I explain that there’s danger in it physically, emotionally, and spiritually, especially when it’s before marriage. I tell her it is a sin. That sex is not for unmarried girls.”

When I asked if she knew about orgasm, she answered without hesitation.

“Yes, I know it. It is when someone reaches climax. But I think it depends on how ready your body is and your mind, too. If your head is distracted, or if your heart’s not in it, you won’t get there.”

I asked her to rate her sex life. “Five,” she said. “I’ve never initiated it or felt eager to have sex. I can go months without it, but my husband calls me and I’m in the mood, I’ll do it. But I don’t crave it.”

Agnes*

Agnes, an actress, writer and educator in her 50s, also confirmed that sex in their time was too exclusive to be discussed. “No one talked about it to me; I only read it in books.” 

Like many others, there was no intentional guidance, no open questions were answered, just fragments of information that were picked up.

She claimed that sex was not something she thought deeply about. She was indifferent about it until her marriage. 

“I am very open about sex with my husband. We talk about it, laugh about it, explore what works and what doesn’t. Although sex is a duty and part of my role as a wife, I enjoy it.” 

I asked if she had initiated sex before, and she giggled and said, “Dáadáa…(which means ‘very well’). I’ve initiated sex countless times. I won’t even pretend otherwise.”

When it came to raising her daughters, she took a different path from her own upbringing. ”I told them early that sex is part of life. It is not something to fear but something to understand. It comes ready in its time, so I tell them to wait, not out of shame, but out of wisdom.”

Evelyn*

Evelyn was the last woman I spoke to. The 54-year-old woman, unlike others, almost didn’t say anything. She was reluctant, and when she eventually spoke, I understood why.

“I hate sex,” she said. “It does nothing to me.”

“I was circumcised when I was a baby, and someone told me that might be the reason I’ve never found pleasure in sex. I only did it to give birth to my children.”

“Me, I always turn my husband down because it feels like a waste of my time and efforts. Before, I would do it so he could stop nagging me, but now I don’t even care again.”

Then she added quietly, “That’s why when he cheats, I don’t really blame him. He should go get what he wants outside. I can’t give it to him.” 

After speaking with all these women, it is very clear that sex, for many in their generation, was less about intimacy and more about obligation. The lack of thorough discussions about it has influenced their lives more than a lot of them would admit. 

But it is also important to note that sexual silence was not universal. The older generations of women before them, particularly those who lived in urban areas like Lagos, were often more open to discussions about sex. This is because Lagos, as a cosmopolitan city, has been a melting pot of different cultures. Even by the early 20th century, sex workers could be seen in areas like Ikeja and Allen Avenue. This shows how sexual openness in cities was very different from the traditional views in rural areas.

This is a reminder that conversations around sex have never been uniform, even within the same country and culture. Social class, religion and regional influences have contributed to how free women felt to talk about sex. 

For the women I interviewed, their generation was restrained by the new wave of religion and stricter expectations from society, which made sexual discussions even more suppressed in their time.

One thing I admired about them, though, is how some of them have found ways to advocate for their daughters in ways they never experienced. Others held on to their discomfort and beliefs that were shaped by tradition, religion and early experiences and some, like Evelyn, expressed the long-term cost of being denied autonomy over their body. 

If there is anything they all had in common, it is the fact that they all shared the burden of a culture that told them to keep quiet, to behave and to perform their duty. 

Now that younger generations are speaking more freely, I believe it is important to listen to those who came before us. To understand how we got here and honour their truths. If we want to build a future where women are free to desire, speak and choose, then we need to unlearn, relearn and ask ourselves how we can do better for the ones coming after us.

About the Author:
Miracle Okah is the first daughter of two teachers. She initially dreamed of becoming a doctor but ultimately found her true calling in writing, where she discovered the power of words over stethoscopes. Passionate about African literature and amplifying the voices of Black women, her work has been featured in Amaka Studio, Black Ballad, Better to Speak, Black Girl X, and beyond. She is on the writing track for the 2025 Adventures Creators Programme.