In a society where Nigerian men often point fingers at women for being gold diggers, a closer look at recent trends suggests that the male gender may be equally — if not more — complicit in the quest for advantageous love. We are fast becoming a society where character takes a back seat, and personalities — or rather, perks — are the new currency of attraction.
By Bagudu Mohammed
Gone are the days when men prided themselves on being providers, commanding respect through economic leadership. Now, many consider themselves lucky if they can secure a woman of means, flipping the traditional script on its head. This shifting paradigm isn’t just about survival; it’s about the thrill of social elevation — marrying “above” has become the ultimate badge of honour for both sexes.
Still, when it comes to marriage, Nigerian men tend to hold fast to one deeply ingrained preference: younger women. Age, to many, is more than a number — it’s a symbol of fertility, beauty, and societal approval. Men dating older women is still seen as an anomaly, especially if the woman is not just older, but white, divorced, and perhaps decades their senior.
Enter the age-gap romance — a phenomenon gaining traction and visibility, not through mainstream media, but through Facebook reels, TikTok snippets, and viral YouTube videos. These unions, often between young Nigerian men and much older white women, are drawing raised brows, whispered judgments, and outright condemnation. The motives are constantly questioned, especially when the woman hails from abroad, and the man comes from a country currently experiencing a mass youth exodus — the now-infamous japa wave.
One such case that sent social media into a frenzy featured a 68-year-old American woman named Kay and her 25-year-old Nigerian husband, Ablack. The couple met on Facebook — a seemingly innocent “like” spiraled into a whirlwind romance. Within three days of meeting in person, he proposed. Her fourth husband, his first wife. A love story? Or a visa strategy?
Kay, with a mix of giddy nostalgia and defensive pride, recounts their bond: “I feel like a teenager around him,” she beams. “He treats me like a queen. I’ve never felt love like this before.” Despite being married three times before, this, she claims, is the real deal — the one she had to wait for a lifetime, or rather, wait for him to be born.
Ablack, on his part, shares a curious prophecy: “A prophet told me I’d marry a white woman. And here she is.” His conviction appears spiritual, yet the internet remains unconvinced. Comments ranged from snarky to suspicious: “The prophet’s name is Visa,” one wrote. “Hope she has enough money to feed his whole family,” another added.
The criticisms didn’t stop there. Public stares, name-calling, and relentless whispers of “grandma,” “green card,” and “sugar mummy” trail them wherever they go. Yet, the couple insists on their love, brushing aside the tidal wave of judgment. But back home in Nigeria, such stories are rare — not because they don’t exist, but because they’re rarely celebrated or shared. The difference? The foreign factor.
Why is this such a hot topic? Simple. There are countless widows, divorcees, and older women in Nigeria — many of them educated, wealthy, and lonely — yet they are seldom approached by young Nigerian men with the same fervor or openness. There are no viral wedding photos, no declarations of eternal love. Instead, many of these women live in silent frustration, sidelined by the same men now chasing visas and validation from abroad.
Of course, age-gap marriages aren’t new. French President Emmanuel Macron, for instance, is married to Brigitte Macron, who is 24 years older than him and was once his high school teacher. Their relationship, too, sparked controversy. But the difference is glaring — Macron wasn’t seen as desperate or opportunistic. He wasn’t chasing passports or new beginnings in another country. He was a rising star who chose love on his own terms.
That’s the sharp contrast. When Nigerian men marry significantly older white women, it often feels less like romance and more like reinvention — a shot at a better life under the guise of love. Whether that love is genuine or performative remains a matter of debate.
Yet, to be fair, age-gap marriages can be a beautiful blend of experiences. The older partner often brings emotional maturity and financial stability; the younger, vibrancy and hope. In ideal circumstances, they challenge stereotypes and defy norms. But these unions are also laden with challenges — health disparities, different life stages, societal scorn, and mismatched cultural references. For every happy Instagram photo, there are likely dozens of awkward dinner conversations and sleepless nights spent wondering if love alone is enough.
Still, the hypocrisy remains: we normalize older men marrying very young women, especially if they are rich or powerful — kings, emirs, politicians — no one bats an eye. But reverse the roles, and suddenly, it’s a scam.
And perhaps that’s where the sting lies. These relationships expose an uncomfortable truth, especially to successful women in their 30s, 40s, and 50s who’ve convinced themselves they don’t need a man. When a 68-year-old woman finds a partner who makes her feel alive again, it forces society to confront the raw human desire for companionship — no matter how old, wealthy, or independent we are.
What’s more, the trend subtly hints at why polygamy might not be the evil it’s often portrayed to be. In a world where women outnumber men and live longer, the desire for partnership — for love, protection, and emotional support — does not fade with age. In fact, it grows more acute. Many women who wouldn’t dare admit it are quietly embracing polyamorous or polygamous structures, seeking shared affection rather than no affection at all.
Ultimately, the rise of age-gap marriages — especially the cross-continental kind — is a mirror reflecting more than love. It shows us the fractures in our economy, the desperation of migration, the hunger for emotional connection, and the evolving definitions of what it means to be a man or a woman in today’s world. It raises tough questions: Is love truly blind? Or just strategic? Can affection thrive across generations? Or is it often a transaction wearing the mask of romance?
Whatever the answers, one thing is certain: love stories like Kay and Ablack’s may divide opinion, but they won’t disappear anytime soon. In a world spinning with inequality, heartbreak, and hope, people will continue to find love — or at least the appearance of it — wherever it promises to take them further, even if it means rewriting all the rules.
Mohammad writes from Abuja and can be reached at bagudum75@gmail.com and +2347034943575
