There’s a huge cultural difference when you date outside your race. It’s not something you always prepare for, it just reveals itself in moments, in habits, in conversations, and sometimes even in silence. The gap can be wide, and if you’re not careful or open-minded, it can become isolating.
Being born and raised in Nigeria gave life a different rhythm for me. There, respect, hierarchy, and community are deeply ingrained. We’re taught to move with purpose, honor tradition, and often prioritize family or societal expectations over personal desire. That upbringing shaped how I viewed relationships, identity, and emotional expression.
But then life took a new turn. I started reading more books that challenged my inherited beliefs, stories that exposed me to unfamiliar cultures and perspectives. Those books were the seeds. Moving to Cape Town was the rain.
Cape Town stretched my thinking. Living in South Africa, with its rich history and complex layers, forced me to face my own biases. It made me realize that humanity is broader than cultural codes. Making friends with South Africans, each with their unique background and stories, changed how I saw people. I learned that two people could be raised in completely different ways, yet find deep common ground in shared values, laughter, and vulnerability.
Certain things I once held on to expectations, norms, and even pride began to matter less. I became more open to differences, more accepting of discomfort, and more curious about how others experience love, trust, and connection.
Dating outside my race, especially with my Nigerian background and my South African journey, became more than just a relationship, it became a learning experience, a constant mirror, and at times, a quiet revolution in my soul.
So, Mr. B has this thing he does when he says Yes or No, it stands. It sticks. There’s a firmness in his decisions that doesn’t shake, even when it’s something that feels negotiable or minor. It doesn’t matter if it’s about dinner plans, house chores, or travel, once he’s made up his mind, it’s almost set in stone. He’s surprisingly more flexible and gentle with the kids, but with adults? His stance is solid, almost immovable.
At first, it felt jarring. You see, coming from a Nigerian background, I was used to something very different. A typical Nigerian man might say Yes today, No tomorrow and vice versa. The inconsistency can be exhausting, but somehow, we normalize it. Often, it’s wrapped in a performance of love, control, and what many might now label as “toxic affection.” One moment he’s firm, the next he’s melting your heart with dramatic gestures or subtle emotional blackmail, making you feel both cherished and controlled at the same time. You’re left emotionally entangled, but it’s familiar. It’s what we saw growing up.
Now here I am, in a relationship where the “drama” is replaced with clarity and strangely, that clarity can feel like a loss of power. There’s no pleading, no guilt-tripping, no back and forth. Just a calm No… and that’s it. At first, I thought: Isn’t this a bit too rigid? But over time, I started to see something I hadn’t really considered before.
Maybe what I thought was “flexibility” back home was really a lack of boundaries, both theirs and mine.
Being with Mr. B has taught me something valuable: my answers—my Yes or No—should not be shaped by fear, pressure, or manipulation. They should be mine. Clear. Free. Intentional.
It’s still a work in progress, unlearning what I grew up with and relearning how to stand in my own decisions without guilt or the need for drama. But each day, I’m learning to see firmness not as coldness, but as respect. I’m learning that love doesn’t have to come with emotional chaos. And I’m especially learning that I, too, can set the tone for how I give and receive love without duress, without apology.
cheers
xoxo
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