Single & Searching: How Youths Silently Battle Frustrations In Nigeria’s Marriage Market
Sola Shittu delves into the complex realities of unmarried Nigerians, particularly women, as they navigate the often-frustrating search for a life partner. He explores the socioeconomic, religious, and cultural forces contributing to a perceived “marriage squeeze,” where the traditional pathways to matrimony are becoming increasingly challenging. From bustling cities to quieter towns, and within church pews to online platforms, the quest for a husband or wife has become a hidden market, marked by evolving preferences, economic pressures, and a silent suffering borne by many longing for companions.
IN the crowded streets of Abuja, Kaduna, Lagos, Port Harcourt, Ibadan, Benin, and even the quieter towns of northern Nigeria like Gombe, Yola, and Jalingo, there exists a market not delineated by walls or announced with banners. It is a silent, invisible marketplace where the sought-after commodities are not food, land, or money, but husbands and wives. For many single Nigerians— particularly women in their late 20s, 30s, and 40s—the search for a life partner has evolved into both a personal struggle and a societal crisis.
Across church pews, within the networks of social gatherings, and even in the scrolls of dating apps, thousands remain “single and searching”—a phrase that has become both a cliché and a badge of identity. Behind this phrase lie countless human stories of hope, heartbreak, compromise, and survival.
Nigeria is a youthful country; over 60 per cent of its 230 million people are under 30. Yet, paradoxically, the marriage market appears skewed. According to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS), about 31 per cent of women above 35 remain unmarried, compared to just 14 per cent of men in the same age bracket. Churches, particularly in urban centres, are flooded with single women attending “singles’ fellowships,” prayer vigils, and relationship seminars.
In denominations like ECWA, Anglican, the Redeemed Christian Church of God, and Winners Chapel, pastors often dedicate entire weekends to marriage conferences. Despite these efforts, the pool of “eligible” single men seem to be shrinking, leading many women to either delay marriage indefinitely or settle for unconventional arrangements.
Sociologist Dr. Grace Adeniran said, “There are simply more single women actively seeking marriage than there are men available or willing to commit. Add economic hardship, migration, and changing gender roles, and you have a ‘marriage squeeze’ that is now producing desperate choices.”
Consider the story of Amaka, 36, a banker in Abuja. For years, she hoped to meet “Mr. Right” in church, but after several relationships ended without commitment, she is now in a quiet relationship with a married man.
“I know it’s not what I dreamed of,” she confesses, lowering her voice and head. “But after years of fasting, praying, and being ignored by single men, I gave in.” She raised her head and looked into the reporter’s eyes, adding, “At least I have someone who cares for me. The church may not understand, but the reality is that single men my age are not looking at me anymore.”
Her story is echoed by Zainab, 34, a fashion designer in Kano: “Here in the North, Christian ladies are under pressure. Many end up marrying Muslims, sometimes willingly, sometimes under family or societal pressure. The few Christian men we have either travel abroad or marry much younger girls. I know at least four friends who converted just to marry.”
What is striking is the growing commodification of marriage. Across social media, platforms like Facebook groups, WhatsApp forums, and even Telegram channels have become hubs where singles advertise themselves, sometimes openly. Descriptions like “God-fearing, beautiful, educated, sexy, and ready for marriage” abound. Some even attach conditions, such as: “Not interested in dating and no need for TP (transport fare). Only serious men with marriage intentions should apply.”
In Lagos, events tagged “Singles’ Mixers” or “Spouse Connect” are now organised by churches, NGOs, and even private event planners. Tickets cost anywhere from ₦10,000 to ₦50,000, turning matchmaking into a lucrative business.
“Let’s be honest,” says Pastor John Adeyemi of a Pentecostal church in Abuja. “There is now a silent husband-and-wife market in Nigeria. It may not be on the street corner, but it’s happening in WhatsApp groups, matchmaking services, and even workplaces. People are searching—and sometimes, they’re willing to pay for the search.”
Married Men: The Unspoken Hot Option
The crisis is worsened by the increasing preference of single women for married men. Unlike in earlier generations where this was taboo, many women now openly admit to being in such relationships.
“I used to judge women who dated married men,” says Ijeoma, 32, a lawyer in Port Harcourt. “But the truth is, most single men are either unserious, broke, or not looking for marriage. Married men already have stability. They know what they want, and they provide security. Do I like it? No. But do I prefer loneliness? Also no.”
Experts warn that this trend is reshaping the institution of marriage in Nigeria. “We are seeing an erosion of monogamous ideals,” notes Professor Musa Ibrahim of the University of Jos. “What used to be private liaisons are now semi-public, even tolerated in some circles. It’s a direct result of the imbalance in the marriage market.”
When the Church Looks Away
Interestingly, while Pentecostal churches preach against fornication and adultery, there is a growing quietness around the issue of frustrated singles. In ECWA and Anglican churches in the North, pastors admit that many ladies in their late 30s and 40s are simply “not finding husbands.”
“We counsel, we pray, we encourage,” says Rev. Samuel Bako of ECWA Jos. “But the reality is that many women are left without partners. Some leave the church out of frustration. Others enter relationships that do not align with Christian doctrine. We are losing members to desperation.”
This is not new. In fact, African Independent Churches and white garment churches like the Celestial Church of Christ (CCC) have historically allowed polygamy or at least tolerated it quietly. Some argue that this offers an “alternative” for Christian women who might otherwise remain unmarried.
The Economics of Marriage
Beyond religion, economics also plays a huge role. In a country where inflation has eroded salaries, men delay marriage because of the cost. The average wedding in Lagos now costs between ₦3 million and ₦5 million. Traditional bride price expectations also discourage many.
“When I calculated the bills, I postponed my marriage twice,” says Tunde, 33, a tech worker in Yaba. “It wasn’t about love; it was about money. My girlfriend understood, but eventually, she left me for someone ready to spend.”
In the East (among the Igbos), marriage costs are notoriously high, often seen as a “status statement.” Apart from the bride price—sometimes running into hundreds of thousands or millions—there are long lists of items requested by the bride’s family, ranging from crates of drinks, goats, wrappers, and electronics to cash settlements for extended relatives. A modest Igbo traditional wedding can cost between ₦5 million and ₦10 million, and wealthier families sometimes spend far more. Critics say this has commercialised marriage and turned it into a financial burden for young men.
Chukwudi, 29, an Onitsha-based trader, confessed: “I have a girlfriend I love, but her people’s list was frightening. By the time I priced everything, it was close to ₦8 million. I’m still struggling to build my shop—so how can I get married now?”
In the North, while polygamy is common and socially accepted, the economic burden is not light either. In many Hausa-Fulani communities, the bride price (locally called sadaki) is often lower compared to the East— sometimes between ₦50,000–₦200,000, depending on the family. However, the cost of hosting guests, feeding entire communities, and fulfilling cultural rites can escalate the expenses. Weddings in Kano, Katsina, Sokoto, Gombe, or Yola may still consume ₦2–₦4 million, especially for middle-class families.
Aminu, 35, a civil servant in Kaduna, said: “People think it is cheap to marry in the North, but it’s not true. Feeding 1,000 guests alone will finish your salary for a year. The difference is that our bride price is small, but the ceremony is still expensive.”
Across all regions, the rising costs of marriage are making many young men hesitant and women increasingly frustrated. The situation has not only delayed marriages but also contributed to the rise of cohabitation, single parenthood, and the trend of young women opting for wealthier married men who are perceived to be “financially ready.”
When Women Earn More: The Northern Dilemma
Another layer to the economics of marriage is the growing discomfort around women who earn more or are more educated than men. In a society where culture has long emphasised the man as provider and head of the home, women who break that mould often struggle to find suitors willing to accept them.
This is particularly evident in parts of Northern Nigeria, where traditions are deeply rooted. Educated women— lawyers, doctors, engineers, or university lecturers—sometimes face a paradox: while their families are proud of their achievements, potential suitors may see them as “too independent,” “too exposed,” or even “too intimidating.”
Amina, 32 (not her real name), a lecturer at Ahmadu Bello University, explained her ordeal: “I have brothers who tell me I should not ‘outgrow’ my husband. But how can I hide my education? Many men I meet feel insecure once they know I have a PhD. They say I will not respect them.”
This dynamic discourages some men from proposing, while others prefer younger, less-educated wives they feel they can “control.” In polygamous settings, it is not unusual for an educated woman to remain unmarried while her less-schooled peers marry earlier.
Yet, this is not only a northern issue. Across Nigeria, career-driven women in banking, oil and gas, or tech industries often hear the same refrain: “Men are afraid of you.” The gap between modern economic realities—where women can out-earn men—and cultural expectations—where men must always be providers—remains one of the biggest tensions fueling the rise of “single and searching” women.
Behind the statistics are deep emotional wounds. Psychologists report rising cases of depression, loneliness, and even suicidal thoughts among single women who feel “left behind.”
Dr. Yetunde Omolara, a clinical psychologist in Ibadan, says: “We underestimate the mental health toll of the marriage crisis. In a society where a woman’s worth is still tied to being a wife and mother, many women feel incomplete, no matter their career success. Churches and communities must address this holistically, not just with sermons.”
So, is monogamy sustainable in Nigerian churches and society? Opinions differ. Some argue that polygamy— properly regulated—could absorb the surplus of single women. Others say societal values must shift, encouraging late marriages, single parenting, or alternative family structures without stigma.
What is certain is that the “silent market” for husbands and wives is here to stay. In a country grappling with economic hardship, migration, and religious contradictions, the quest for love and companionship remains a pressing human story.
For now, many singles continue to hope, pray, and search—believing that one day, they will find that missing partner in the invisible marketplace of marriage.
