My name is Nura Suleiman. I am 38 years old. I am a businessman based in Kaduna. I was married to my ex-wife Maryam Nura for 8 years and we have three children together. I would like to share my Divorce Diaries with you.
There is a type of foolishness that does not look like foolishness when you are inside it.
That was my problem.
I thought I was wise.
I thought I knew women.
I thought I understood what happiness looked like.
Wallahi, I knew nothing.
I met my wife through my elder sister. At that time, pressure had already started mounting on me from every angle. In Arewa once a man reaches 30 without marriage everybody becomes concerned. Your aunties start asking questions during weddings. Your mother starts making duas loudly whenever marriage topics come up. Even your younger cousins begin to mock you respectfully.
“Yaya Nura, when are we carrying your own children?”
I was tired.
Tired of eating alone.
Tired of returning to an empty house.
Tired of acting like bachelor life was still sweet.
So when my sister brought Maryam’s picture, I did not think deeply.
“She is respectful,” my sister said. “And she comes from a very good family.”
That sentence alone carries weight in the North.
Good family.
Tarbiya.
That is enough for many men to marry.
When I first visited her family house for zance, I was not blown away by her beauty. Let me tell the truth. She was not ugly. Not at all. But she was simple. Too simple for my taste at that time.
No heavy makeup.
No fashionable English.
No dramatic talking.
Just calmness.
She greeted me properly and sat down quietly while her younger sisters were peeping and giggling from the corridor.
I remember trying to make conversation.
“What did you study?”
“Accounting,” she replied softly.
“And you work?”
“Yes.”
Short answers.
No vibes.
Nothing exciting.
As I left their house that day, I honestly planned not to return.
But when I got home, my mother surprised me.
“That girl is wife material,” she said firmly. “Do not allow beauty to deceive you.”
That statement irritated me.
Why do mothers always think men should marry women they are not fully attracted to?
Still, I continued visiting her.
Maybe because I was tired.
Maybe because she made things easy.
No games.
No forming.
After four months, our families agreed on wedding dates.
The marriage was beautiful. We had kamu, dinner, walima, everything. During the sayan baki my friends were shouting and spraying money while the bridesmaids were disturbing us with outrageous demands.
Maryam looked beautiful that night.
Simple.
Decent.
Peaceful.
And somehow that peace entered my heart.
For the first two years of marriage, life was smooth.
Very smooth.
My wife respected me deeply. Too deeply maybe.
She cooked well. Took care of the house. Supported my business. She even learned how I liked my tea in the morning. Small small things that make a house feel like home.
When I lost money in a failed business deal, she stood beside me.
When my father became sick, she practically became a nurse for him.
Everybody praised her.
My mother loved her.
Even my friends envied me.
But foolish human beings rarely appreciate what they already have.
That was where satan entered my life.
It started small.
Social media.
Instagram.
Snapchat.
Too many beautiful women.
Too many fake lifestyles.
Too many comparisons.
I started looking at my wife differently.
Too local.
Too quiet.
Too ordinary.
Very stupid thoughts.
One day during a friend’s birthday in Abuja, I met a woman called Fatima.
That woman scattered my brain completely.
She was light-skinned, confident and flashy. The type of woman that enters a room and immediately everybody notices her.
She spoke perfect English with Hausa mixed inside. She wore expensive perfume. Even the way she laughed felt seductive.
I could not stop looking at her.
That night I could barely sleep.
I kept comparing her to my wife.
A dangerous thing for a married man to do.
I started chatting with Fatima secretly.
Then calls.
Then meetings.
Very soon I became addicted.
With Fatima I felt young again.
Exciting.
Important.
Meanwhile my wife was at home taking care of our children while I was behaving like a teenager.
I started lying constantly.
“Business trip.”
“Meeting with clients.”
“Traffic.”
One lie became another.
My wife noticed the changes quickly.
Women always know.
One night she asked quietly:
“Nura… is everything okay?”
I became defensive immediately.
“Why are you asking?”
“You have changed.”
I got angry.
“You women worry too much!”
She became quiet.
But after that night I noticed sadness entering her eyes.
Still, I continued.
In fact, I became worse.
I started spending recklessly on Fatima.
Phones.
Wigs.
Rent.
Trips to Lagos.
Everything.
Meanwhile my wife started managing household expenses carefully because business was becoming unstable.
Imagine the wickedness.
One afternoon my daughter needed school fees urgently and my wife called me repeatedly.
I ignored her calls because I was in a hotel room with Fatima.
Till today that memory disgusts me.
The shocking thing was that Fatima knew I was married from the beginning. She even used to insult my wife jokingly.
“That your village wife cannot understand your level.”
Instead of getting angry, I used to laugh.
May Allah forgive me.
Things became worse after Fatima started pressuring me for marriage.
She wanted security.
Official position.
And my foolish heart started considering it seriously.
I began seeing my wife as an obstacle instead of a blessing.
Every little thing annoyed me.
If she asked where I was, I got angry.
If food had too much salt, I shouted.
If the children made noise, I blamed her.
The house lost peace because of me.
One night after an argument, my wife cried and said something painful.
“Nura, what exactly did I do to deserve this hatred?”
Wallahi I had no answer.
Because the truth was simple.
She had done nothing.
The problem was inside me.
But pride would not allow me admit it.
So instead I said:
“If you cannot handle me, you can leave.”
The moment those words left my mouth I regretted them.
But men like us rarely apologize.
She looked at me quietly for a long time that night.
Then she nodded slowly.
After that she changed.
Completely.
She stopped asking questions.
Stopped calling frequently.
Stopped waiting for me at night.
The house became emotionally cold.
At first I enjoyed the freedom.
Then slowly it started disturbing me.
One Saturday I returned home unexpectedly early hoping to surprise the children.
The house was almost empty.
No children.
No noise.
My heart became uneasy immediately.
I entered the bedroom.
Half the wardrobe was empty.
My wife’s boxes were gone.
Then I saw the letter.
My hands started shaking before I even opened it.
“Nura,
I tried my best to be a good wife to you.
I prayed for you.
Respected you.
Protected your dignity even when you destroyed mine.
But I cannot continue begging for love inside my own marriage.
You stopped valuing me long ago.
Now I choose to value myself.
I am leaving with the children before hatred completely destroys what is left of my heart.
May Allah forgive us both.
—Maryam.”
I sat on the bed for almost one hour unable to move.
The silence in that room was terrifying.
For the first time in many years…
I felt alone.
Not free.
Alone.
I called her repeatedly.
Switched off.
I called her brother.
He answered coldly:
“She is safe.”
That was all.
Suddenly reality hit me hard.
People would know.
Family would hear.
My mother would be disappointed.
My children were gone.
And the woman I destroyed my home for?
She was already changing.
The moment my wife left, Fatima became different.
Colder.
More demanding.
More disrespectful.
One day during an argument she laughed and said:
“If you could betray a good wife like that, what makes you think I trust you?”
That sentence entered my chest like knife.
Within months, she left me too.
Just like that.
No warning.
Apparently she had found another wealthy man in Abuja.
I almost ran mad.
Business problems started multiplying.
I began drinking heavily.
My friends avoided me because all I talked about was regret.
Real regret is dangerous.
Especially when you finally understand that you destroyed your own happiness with your own hands.
Today my wife is remarried.
People say her new husband treats her very well.
At first that news used to pain me badly.
But honestly…
she deserves peace.
As for me, I still see my children regularly.
But every time my youngest daughter asks:
“Daddy why don’t you live with us again?”
My heart breaks.
Because there is no simple way to explain adult foolishness to innocent children.
I used to think excitement was love.
I used to think flashy women meant happiness.
I used to think peace was boring.
Now I know peace is one of the rarest blessings Allah can give a man.
And once you destroy it with your own hands…
it may never return.
Thank you for sharing my Divorce Diaries.
I hope men listening will learn before it is too late.
Thank you.
