Written by Mercy Williams
Within and beyond Africa, marriage and motherhood are often sold to the girl child as the ultimate aspirations. For many girls, the social conditioning to prepare for this supposed life goal begins at a very young age, unlike their male counterparts, who are largely free to enjoy childhood without the constant reminders to behave like future wives, mothers, or homemakers.
From animated films where a girl’s “happily-ever-after” depends on finding her prince charming to teachings at home, in school, and in religious spaces that define womanhood by virtue, domesticity, and self-sacrifice, the pressure is both subtle and relentless. This conditioning isn’t just emotional, as it often takes on deeply physical and symbolic forms.
In some parts of Africa, practices explicitly designed to mould girls into ideal wives continue to serve patriarchal expectations of beauty, submission, and service. One such tradition is the fattening room found in southeastern Nigeria, where adolescent girls and brides-to-be are secluded from family and mentored by elderly women. During this period, they are taught marital etiquette and social customs and are fed high-calorie meals while receiving beauty treatments with native chalk and natural oils. The goal: to make them physically appealing and socially “prepared” for marriage.
Among the Suri and Mursi tribes of Ethiopia, girls undergo lip stretching and wear lip plates, beginning around the ages of 15 or 16. These painful modifications are culturally associated with beauty, fertility, and marriageability; criteria used to measure a girl’s worth.
Another deeply harmful and widespread practice is female genital mutilation (FGM), rooted in beliefs about purity, modesty, and the control of female sexuality. It continues largely due to cultural traditions, social pressure, and misinterpreted religious beliefs, despite its devastating consequences on physical and mental health.
These practices reflect a common thread: a world that grooms girls for roles they never consented to and burdens them with responsibilities long before they have the space to define themselves on their own terms.
That’s why it was such a joy to interview Uche, an African woman audacious enough to resist this lifelong script, to unlearn the conditioning and to boldly redefine what she wants for her life outside the expectations of marriage and motherhood.
We connected a few months prior on Instagram, where I immediately registered her as a cool kid with a stunning, androgynous fashion style. She shares her story with us in the interview below.
Breaking the Script: Choosing a Different Path
Let’s get right into it. Hi Uche! Thank you so much for joining me on this interview for Adventures From the Bedrooms of African Women, a blog where we explore the experiences of women in Africa: their reproductive rights, identities, body positivity, and many other related themes. We’re really glad to have you.
Today, we’re exploring the intersectionality of being a queer African feminist who is Christian, child-free, and not intending to get married as a Nigerian living in Nigeria. You can start by giving us a brief introduction about yourself, and then we’ll go through the questions.
Hi everyone, my name is Uche. I’m a financial operations expert, a feminist, a Christian, and an Igbo first daughter.
Yaayyy! Alright, so the first question is, what does being child-free mean to you, and when did you know that was your path?
I kind of had an idea when I was much younger. I didn’t have the same inclination toward children that a lot of girls and women seemed to have. I used to wonder, “Is something wrong with me?” But by the time I got to uni, I realised that some people do decide not to have children, and that’s okay.
It’s not abnormal. I’m happy to nurture or mother people in other ways, just not biologically.
So, just as a follow-up question: what do you say to the notion that wanting to be child-free means you’d be a terrible mother, or you don’t have the qualities of a nurturer?
There are also the common statements like, “You’ll die alone,” “No one will take care of you in old age,” or “You’re just selfish.” Is there one that sticks with you the most? And how do you respond to that kind of thinking?
Hmm, yeah. Especially the one about “you’ll die alone”. That one always makes me laugh. Because, like, there are people who have zillions of children everywhere and still die lonely.
First of all, we’re all going to die alone. Let’s just acknowledge that.
You’re probably not going to be holding someone’s hand and die at the exact same time. The best-case scenario is that you spend your last moments with someone. But death is ultimately a solitary thing. Also, there are people with lots of kids who still die alone, because they were terrible people, or because their children abandoned them, or because life happened.
Tragedy. Estrangement. Separation. Anything.
But I also think people really underestimate the role of community: chosen family, friends, even extended family. There’s a whole host of people who walk with you through life. Just because you don’t have a child of your own doesn’t mean nobody will care for you or be present with you. Nobody does life completely by themselves. So that’s why that one always makes me laugh.
Understanding Queerness in a Nigerian Context
Here, Uche reflects on the evolving process of understanding her sexuality, navigating community spaces, and defining queerness on her own terms.
Now let’s discuss your identity as a queer person. When did you first begin to understand it, and how has it evolved?
Hmm. Interesting. I would say I’m still trying to understand. It’s a continuous process for me.
But I think the first time I started really understanding it was in 2019, when I had just moved to Lagos. I had also just started dating my girlfriend at the time, and that was a new experience for me. It made me ask a lot of questions about myself and about the struggles that come with being queer, especially as a Nigerian woman living in Nigeria.
So how do you define ‘queerness’ for yourself?
I think… when I started accepting my queerness, I found that there were a lot of different communities and groups within the queer space. It was hard figuring that out for myself, especially because I was new to the city, and I didn’t really know people who were openly queer.
It felt difficult to penetrate the community or even locate where it was. So I let myself just meet myself at every step. I didn’t let labels or definitions restrict me. Sometimes people want you to fit into a mould: “Are you femme?” or “Are you masc?”, and for me, it’s just about being honest with myself.
I’m a woman who loves women, who dates women romantically. And if tomorrow I show up as a slightly different version of myself, I’ll accept her too. I won’t force myself to meet someone else’s definition of what queerness should look like.
Faith, Spirituality, and the Politics of Belonging
The intersection of faith and queerness is one of the most contentious subjects in Nigeria. When asked how she navigates this complex terrain without losing either part of herself, especially in a religiously conservative country, her response was a simple but profound response to what seemed like a complex, difficult question.
“My faith existed before I discovered my queerness,” she explains. “When I did discover it, i was like, ‘Okay, this is something new about me.’ But it didn’t feel like something I had to trade my faith for. They co-exist. For me, God is love. So this woman who loves women? She exists in that same love.”
Do you feel welcome in religious spaces, or do you create your own spiritual practices?
Not entirely welcomed, no. But I’ve learnt to take what I need and leave the rest. I’m a church-going Christian, and there will always be things in those spaces that feel offensive as a queer person. So I sieve out what serves me and let the rest go.
What spiritual belief comforts you despite the judgement of others?
I’d say Romans 8:38, which says, “Nothing can separate us from the love of God.” That scripture brings me comfort.
Have you ever had a crisis of faith due to the conflict between religion and your identity?
Yes, especially earlier in my journey. I battled with internal questions like, “Is this wrong? Is this sin?” But over time, I made peace with myself and my faith. They now co-exist peacefully.
That’s so beautiful. Do you have any words for the non-queer folk? Those who have mixed emotions toward the community? Some people also say God has permitted religious folk to “judge righteously”. What do you think about that?
As the interviewer, one thing I enjoyed most about speaking with Uche was how she sat thoughtfully with each question and answered without rush. It almost felt like she would gently collect them from me and examine them quietly, with intent like a gem dealer would, taking brief pauses now and then to gather her thoughts and rolling out her answers in a way that felt authentic to her.
And so when I asked her about her response to the non-queer folk and religious individuals who have postured themselves as judges and who believe their verdicts towards queer individuals are Yea and Amen, she took a brief pause and after a quiet moment of introspection, she answered:
Hmm. That’s interesting. I think I would say, ‘If you feel the way you do about my life and who I am, then I don’t think I have anything to tell you or to try to dissuade you from that.’ If they’re genuinely curious, then I would say, let God be the judge. If you say what I do is a sin, then I guess we’re all sinning one way or another. It just looks different.
People are willing to accommodate rape, murder, and so many more of those terrible things. But with queerness, because they don’t understand it, they fear it. And when people fear what they don’t understand, they hurt it.
So I’d say, there’s one way to find out, and all will eventually. I think Christians should consistently interrogate themselves on what it means to be a Christian, and if you say I’m sinning, so be it. It is not my responsibility to convince you otherwise.
Family, Community, and Chosen Kinship
From managing family expectations to building a chosen family, Uche’s life is shaped by both the relationships she was born into and those she has intentionally created.
Do your family members know about your queerness, feminism, or decision to be child-free?
They don’t know. Not because it’s intentional, but the conversations haven’t come up.
Do you plan to tell them?
No grand announcement. As time goes on, the questions will come. When they do, we’ll talk about it, and everyone will respond in their own way.
What does ‘chosen family’ mean to you?
My core friends are my chosen family. They’re the people who understand me and bring me peace and joy. They’re my family outside my biological one. It feels good to know there’s “home outside of home”.
Thank you so much for that. It’s really insightful. How do you navigate being openly queer in a country like Nigeria, where it’s criminalised?
When I asked her this, Uche instantly chuckled and let me know right away that she thought this was an interesting question
Just to be clear, are you even openly queer? Or how would you define that for yourself?
I don’t think I’m publicly out. I’m not hiding, but I don’t feel the need to announce it either. So I guess I exist in a sort of middle space. I’m not out there with a placard, but I’m not pretending either. I just exist. I live as best as I can while being cautious, watching the places I go, the people I’m with, and the words I use.
It’s not easy, but it also hasn’t been terribly hard because of how I’ve chosen to live my life.
Love, Freedom, and Redefining Relationships
When asked how she defines love outside the lens of traditional marriage, Uche smiles and says, “Love is so broad. It shows up in different types of relationships. But for me, love is commitment. Love is choosing someone. And choosing them intentionally.”
So what does partnership mean to you, whether romantic or otherwise?
For me, it’s yielding oneself, right? Yielding oneself for the benefit of the union, of that partnership. Right? So we’re coming together, and we’re making a decision that not just affects us individually but affects us as a unit. And so again, it has to be about really considering the other person, not just making selfish decisions.
I like how you emphasise the word ‘consider’. To consider, to be considerate. Is there any story behind that word for you, or is it something you just kind of carry with you?
The idea of being considerate… I guess I think about it because, you know, when you hear a lot of stories – romantic relationships, platonic ones, partnerships, whatever form – and you hear things like, “Oh, someone did something,” and there was no respect, or, “Did they even really like that person?” People have so many definitions of love, and love looks different for everyone. But something I think that’s often overlooked is that you have to really see the other person.
And if you don’t see them enough, can you really say you love them? If you don’t respect them or truly see them? And for all those things to happen, you have to consider that there’s someone outside of yourself who is connected to you. Whose life intersects with yours in this season, in this period.
So I find that the idea of consideration is kind of overlooked, or it gets watered down. That’s why I tend to bring it up a lot. You’re not just moving alone anymore. Now you have to think about this person and how something might affect them or not. And I just… I find that easy.
Success on Her Own Terms
For Uche, success isn’t about fitting into society’s pre-set moulds. It’s about crafting a life she can live with pride.
How do you define success outside of societal expectations of marriage and children?
Success, for me, shows up in various ways. Through my journeys, just defying those expectations at every step and making a life for myself. Doing the best I can, in whatever way. My career is a big part of that. And making money, enough to support the lifestyle I intend to have (and the one I’m currently having).
Because ‘the lifestyle cost!’ Uche laughs as she quotes popular Nigerian artiste Shallipopi in his popular song, Oscroh (Pepperline).
But yeah, I think I’m happy, and I intend to be even happier. Where I’m at right now feels like success to me. And I know success looks different in different seasons of my life. So yeah.
Great! So to the next question. Do you want a lifelong partner, or do you prefer fluid, non-traditional relationship structures?
I definitely want a lifelong partner. Yeah. I don’t think I’m completely opposed to the institution of marriage, because I understand what marriage does for queer people, especially in societies outside Nigeria. In those societies, being recognised as a married couple comes with certain privileges.
Now, I’m not saying Nigeria is in that category, yeah, but I’m just saying I understand the value. I understand how queer people have fought to get to that place.
But for you?
But for me, personally, what is most important is to have a lifelong partner. And if marriage comes up while we’re together, yeah, sure. I’m open to the idea of it.
Legacy and Final Words
In the final part of her interview, Uche left us with some truly empowering words of advice, based on her own lived experiences.
What legacy do you want to leave behind?
That I lived.
That’s lovely. Would you like to expatiate?
Yeah. Because I’ve grown up with a lot of shame… a lot of fear. I haven’t always had the confidence I have now. Every day, I’m coming into my person. Every day, I’m figuring out who I am for myself. I’m learning to say no to the things that don’t serve me. And learning to say yes to myself more.
So honestly, my legacy is just knowing that I lived true to myself. That I didn’t suppress myself or shrink myself for other people. That I truly, truly lived. And was a genuinely kind, good person.
If you could tell your younger self something about this journey, what would it be?
You’ll be okay. You will be okay. People will meet you where you’re at. The world won’t come crumbling down when they find out who you are.
When you open your mouth to stand for who you are, everybody will be fine. And if they’re not fine, that’s okay. As long as you are.
*****
Uche’s decision to live on her own terms despite the resistance and rejection she may face from the tough, conservative, and often judgemental communities around her is an act of bravery I deeply admire.
As a closing note to everyone reading this interview, I echo her words: live true to yourself, and live life to the fullest.
About the Writer:
Mercy Williams is a multi-passionate creative whose non-linear career blends storytelling, product design, and advocacy, with a gift for writing everything from scripts and poetry to essays and fiction. As the founder of Denlaa Creative, she nurtures a vibrant community of African storytellers, using her layered voice to immerse, disrupt, and leave a lasting impression. She is on the writing track for the 2025 Adventures Creators Programme.
