FAMILY OBLIGATIONS

At midday in Abuja’s Central Business District, Frances Ubong sat in her clean 2012 Toyota Corolla, engine purring, air conditioner chilling the cabin. She works at the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) and was about to drive out for lunch when her phone buzzed — another message from home. Her younger brother in Uyo needed ₦120,000 for school fees, “before next week, please.”

Frances sighed. Her father was long gone, and as the first of three siblings, the family’s burdens often rested on her shoulders. Their mother, a retired public-school teacher, lived modestly on her small pension. Her immediate younger brother, who worked with Agip in Port Harcourt, focused on his wife and little son, sending only a token to their mother every month. That left Frances — dependable, dutiful Frances — to fill every gap.

Her salary, though decent, was stretched thin: her mother’s medication, a cousin’s rent, her niece’s school uniform. Her life, once full of plans and quiet ambitions, had become a cycle of obligation.

There was a time when Frances enjoyed café lunches in Jabi and browsing boutiques in Wuse II. She loved soft fabrics and subtle perfume — small rewards for her hard work. But those days were gone. Now she wore the same two pairs of office shoes until the soles thinned. Every naira had a destination before it arrived.

Her boyfriend, George, once told her, “Frances, you give too much.” He wanted to take her away to Obudu for a weekend. She refused — her mother’s medication came first. George eventually stopped asking, then stopped calling.

Frances was caught in a quiet war — not of guns or noise, but of duty and depletion. Every request carried guilt; every refusal felt cruel. Then one morning, after yet another “urgent ₦30,000” transfer, she looked at her bank balance and felt hollow. She was saving everyone but herself. Something had to change.

She redrew her finances with military precision. 50% of her salary went to essentials — rent, food, transport. 15% became her family fund. 20% went into short-term savings, 10% into long-term investments, and 5% was her personal allowance. She opened two Cowrywise accounts — high-yield savings platforms — and kept them separate from her main bank, a firewall against impulse and guilt-driven giving.

Even her friendships had to evolve. Joy, Patience, and Mary loved their weekend outings — cocktails at Blucabana, dinners at Nkoyo. Frances used to go, sometimes footing extra bills. Now she declined politely, hosting quiet nights at home instead. Joy teased her for being “stingy,” but Patience admired her discipline, and Mary soon followed her example.

The requests didn’t stop, but Frances learned to say no without guilt. Her family became more self-reliant, her savings grew, and her peace returned.

One calm evening, she sat on her balcony watching the orange Abuja sky. Scrolling through her contacts, she paused on George — and called. His voice was warm, surprised, familiar. They talked for hours, laughing easily.

As night fell, Frances smiled. She had found balance, peace, and maybe — just maybe — love again.

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