We couldn’t afford NEPA that weekend, even though they cut our lights on a Friday. We weren’t even dramatic, even though there was no warning. Just one blink and darkness.
I stared at the fan blades, slowing down like they were apologising. My husband didn’t say a word. He just sighed and sat back. I knew what that sigh meant.
We had no fuel for the generator.
Not ₦1,000, not even ₦500. We had done mental gymnastics with our budget that week: food, transport, small offering, airtime, data, but gen fuel didn’t make the list. And NEPA, in their usual wickedness, decided that was the weekend to test our love.
I cried.
Just small tears, quietly sliding down while I faced the wall, ashamed. We were married and are supposed to be building and thriving. But here we were, sitting in the dark like tenants in our own home.
The heat was not just physical; it was emotional. The kind that presses on your pride and whispers, “So this is your life now?”
I was embarrassed.
No fan, no Netflix, and no distractions. Just two grown adults sweating in their living room, pretending to be okay.
We didn’t even talk at first because the shame was loud. I imagined what people would say if they knew:
“They can’t even afford gen fuel?” “Is this the marriage they posted on Instagram?”
But after what felt like an eternity, my husband mumbled,
“You want to chop groundnuts?”
I blinked. Groundnut? Now?
He walked into the kitchen, returned with a bowl. He started munching like it was Gala. I wanted to be annoyed. But instead, I chuckled. Because… really?
We talked about the first time we met. About that awkward moment at NYSC camp. About our “big dreams” and how real life is just… different. We laughed, cried and laughed again.
Somewhere between the heat and the groundnut snacking, I stopped being angry.
We didn’t have electricity or generator fuel. But we had each other and suddenly, that felt like enough.
That weekend, we didn’t scroll through Instagram.
We didn’t binge-watch a series.
We didn’t even charge our phones.
We just… sat, talked and connected.
We saw each other clearly for the first time in a while, not as “husband and wife” trying to have it all together, but as two people just trying to build a life, even when it’s hard.
God didn’t send light that night, but He sent peace.
We realised something powerful:
Presence is greater than pressure.
The pressure to perform, to “have it all,” to show off nearly robbed us of the joy of what we already had. That night, there was no performance; it was just us, in our raw, sweaty, candle-lit truth.
And it was beautiful.
That night, I understood something about marriage.
It’s not always about the big moments, the romantic getaways, the money rain and the electricity.
Sometimes, love shows up in candlelight.
Sometimes, laughter costs ₦0.
Sometimes, peace finds you when the lights go off.
So here’s to the couples who’ve had to eat eba in darkness.
To the lovers who couldn’t afford gen fuel but still found joy.
To the marriages that are learning to find light in each other, before anywhere else.
May your darkest days reveal your brightest truths.
Visit marriageandmoney.com.ng to access financial tools that could help you not stay in the dark when NEPA takes light.
Adetutu Afolabi is a Personal Freedom Coach helping families build wealth through aligned values and intentional living. She believes strong relationships are key to lasting financial freedom
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