Marriage is supposed to be a home, a resting place where love wraps itself around two people like the warmth of the morning sun. It is meant to be a shelter from the storm, a promise that no matter what life throws, two hearts will stand as one. But for some Black men living abroad, marriage has become a slow-burning fire, a place where love is strangled, where a man wakes up each morning to a battle he never signed up for.
A video has been making waves on social media, a video that is hard to watch without feeling a lump in the throat. A woman, wild with rage, beating her husband like he is a stubborn goat that refused to leave the yam barn, while their little daughter stands by, capturing the horror on camera. The world may laugh at such a scene, dismissing it as one of those things, but what they fail to see is the wound being carved into that child’s heart, a wound that time may never heal. A father humiliated, a mother blinded by anger, a daughter forced to witness the breaking of a home—such a tragedy is not just a moment captured on screen; it is a seed planted in the heart of a child, a seed that may grow into a tree of bitterness, distrust, and brokenness. A child who sees her father treated like a rag may never learn to respect men; a boy who watches his mother spit fire at his father may grow up afraid to love. And so, with each slap, each insult, each moment of shame, something precious is lost—not just in that family but in the world that will one day receive that child as an adult.
The pain of a man is often a silent thing, like the sound of a falling leaf in the thick of the forest. The world teaches men to be strong, to hold their tears behind iron gates, to swallow their suffering like bitter medicine. A woman who cries finds comfort, a child who weeps finds a lap, but a man who aches often finds nothing but an echo of his own silence. And so, when marriage turns into a prison, when the home becomes a battlefield, many men suffer in shadows, with no voice to plead their case. There are men abroad, good men, men who left their home soil with dreams of building a future, only to find themselves trapped in marriages where love is replaced by control, where they are drained of their strength, where they are made to feel like mere shadows of the men they once were. Some find themselves reduced to nothing but workers in their own homes, their sweat used to build castles where they have no throne. Some, out of love, hand over their earnings, only to be left with pockets empty of both money and dignity. And then there are those who wake up one morning to discover that the woman they called wife has turned the law into a sword against them, dragging them to court, stripping them of their rights, taking their children as trophies of war. The pain of losing a marriage is one thing; the agony of watching your own children taken away, of being forced to pay for a home where your presence is no longer welcome, is a torment only those who have walked that road can understand.
A man’s greatest fear is not death but the feeling of being powerless in his own home. A home is supposed to be a sanctuary, but when it turns into a courtroom where every word is a crime, where every move is suspect, a man begins to live as a prisoner with no chains. There are stories—many stories—of men who slept in their cars, men who lost their jobs because of accusations they never had the chance to defend, men who found themselves handcuffed in their own living rooms because a simple call from their wife turned them into criminals before the law. It is a frightening thing, the power some women wield, the ability to turn love into a weapon, to rewrite history with a single complaint. And so, many men walk on eggshells, afraid to raise their voices, afraid to fight for their place, because in a world where the word of a woman carries more weight than the truth of a man, a mere argument can be the beginning of his downfall. A false accusation can shatter a life, a single complaint can strip a man of everything he holds dear. The Bible says in Proverbs 21:9, “It is better to live on the corner of a rooftop than to share a house with a quarrelsome wife.” But what happens when even the rooftop is taken away, when a man is left wandering, carrying a grief no one sees, a sorrow that has no name?
There is no pain greater than loving someone who sees you as an enemy. A man who gives his all, who bends and breaks himself to build a home, only to be treated like a thief in his own house, carries a weight heavier than the sky itself. Marriage should be a union, a place where two become one, but in many cases, it becomes a battlefield where one person seeks to conquer the other. And the worst part is, society does not see. The world looks at a man and sees only his strength; it does not see the tears he swallows, the nights he spends staring at the ceiling, wondering where he went wrong. Jesus himself wept, his heart heavy with sorrow, and yet, men are told not to cry, not to show weakness. But how can a man not break when the very hands that once caressed his face now strike him? How can he not despair when the home he built with love now feels like a place of torment? It is easy to say, “Why not leave?” But where does a man go when his heart is still tied to the home he has lost, when his children’s laughter is trapped behind doors he can no longer enter? It is one thing to lose love; it is another thing to be erased from your own story, to be made a stranger to your own blood.
And yet, despite all this, should Nigerian men give up on marrying abroad? Should they abandon the dream of love beyond borders? No, love is not the enemy—brokenness is. Love is still a beautiful thing, still worth fighting for. There are good women, women who stand by their husbands, who love with truth, who build rather than destroy. The issue is not where a woman comes from but who she is in her heart. Wisdom is the key; a man must open his eyes before he opens his heart. The Bible says in Proverbs 4:7, “Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom.” A man must learn, must understand the land in which he marries, must know the laws, must build himself in such a way that he is not at the mercy of another. Love is not enough; knowledge is needed, discernment is required. A man should marry, but he should not walk into marriage blindly, thinking that love alone will shield him from the storms that may come.
The world needs to hear these stories, to see the hidden wounds that many men carry. Just as we fight for women to be treated with respect, we must also fight for men to be treated with fairness. The pain of one should not be measured against the pain of another; suffering is suffering, and justice should not wear the face of gender. A woman who is abused should find protection, but so should a man who is mistreated. The law should not be a weapon in the hands of the cunning; it should be a shield for all who seek fairness. The Apostle Paul, in Ephesians 5:25, commands husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the Church. But love should not be one-sided; love should be a dance where both partners move in rhythm, where respect flows in both directions. A home where one person is master and the other a servant is not a home—it is a cage.
And so, as the world watches that video of a man being beaten while his child records, let there be a pause, a moment of reflection. Let us not laugh, let us not turn away. Let us ask ourselves: what kind of world are we creating? What kind of children are we raising? Love is meant to heal, not to wound. A man is not a goat to be beaten into submission, nor is a woman a slave to be controlled. Marriage should be a place of peace, not a battleground. And until we learn this, until we build homes where love truly reigns, we will continue to see marriages that look like prisons, relationships that feel like war. Let there be love. Let there be respect. Let there be peace. And let no man or woman ever have to sleep beside an enemy in a bed meant for love.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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