Tolani sat on the porch, pretending to fix her already smooth Ankara wrapper. Her mother’s voice carried through the open window.

“Tolani, are you not tired of being single at 32? Look at your mates! Funke just had her second baby. You’re still here, no husband, no children! Kilode?!” Mama’s voice was tinged with both frustration and a hint of pity.

Tolani sighed. “Mama, marriage is not an achievement,” she muttered under her breath. But she knew better than to say it too loudly. In her mother’s world, marriage was the pinnacle of success, the badge that declared a woman had “made it.”

As if on cue, Mama barged out, phone in hand. “See! Funke just sent baby shower pictures! A fine boy! When will you give me grandchildren? Ehn Tolani? When?”

Tolani glanced at the screen. There was Funke, all smiles with her husband, Tunde, who looked as proud as if he had personally created the baby himself.

Tolani's lips curled in a half-smile. “I’m happy for her,” she said, though her heart wasn’t in it.

“Happy for her? Ehn, when will we be happy for you too?” Mama’s voice rose, hands flying as though her daughter’s lack of husband was something that could be swatted away.

Tolani stood up suddenly, her plastic chair screeching in protest. “Mama, I’m coming,” she said, walking out of the compound before she lost her mind.

The streets of Lagos were their usual bustling chaos, smoky jollof rice smells, honking keke napeps, and vendors selling anything from roasted corn to puff puff. Tolani walked, trying to clear her head. She had always been the one with big dreams, always wanting more than the "marriage-and-kids" package everyone seemed so obsessed with. She had a degree in architecture, for crying out loud. She wanted to design buildings that would outlast the small thinking that trapped so many women.

But somehow, her dreams had been quietly put on hold, pushed aside by the constant reminders from family, friends, and even random people in taxis, who couldn’t fathom why she wasn’t yet a “Mrs.”

She sighed and bought a cold sachet of pure water. Thoughts of her cousin Bukky came to mind, who married young and was now practically a shadow of her former self. Once vibrant and full of life, Bukky was now perpetually exhausted from tending to her demanding husband and three children, with no trace left of her own aspirations. But no one talked about that. Bukky was a “success” because she wore a wedding ring.

A voice called her name from across the street. Mummy Risi, Mama’s gossip partner, was waving her over. 
“Tolani! I was going to come and see your mother sef. I have a brother in my church who is looking for a wife, and I think you’ll be perfect for him. Handsome young man, works in Shell. Don’t waste time, o, you know time is not on your side!”

Tolani suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.“Thank you, Aunty,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, quickly walking away.

When she finally reached home, Mama was waiting, her eyes hopeful, already geared up for round two of the marriage talk. But Tolani had had enough. She took a deep breath, and as Mama opened her mouth, she beat her to it.

“Mama, I love you. But I have absolutely had it with this marriage talk! I am not incomplete just because I’m single. I have dreams. I want more, Mama! Marriage isn’t a prize. I am the prize!” Tolani shouted, her voice ringing through the room.

“Know this, and know peace, Mama,” she added, her tone firm but calm, leaving no room for argument.

Mama’s eyes widened in shock, but Tolani simply inhaled her breath, exhaled and smiled, walking inside with a new kind of peace. For the first time in a long time, she felt like her story wasn’t about bagging a husband. It was about being herself, fully and unapologetically.

The world could wait. She had skyscrapers to build, literally.