Why Do You Cheat?
LAST week, on the buzzing streets of “Obasanjo’s internet,” a popular Arewa influencer dropped a question that shook timelines: Why do you cheat? The replies came like rain in August. From the East to the West, men and women emptied their hearts in the comments. Some excuses were laughable, others shameful, and a few downright unprintable. Yet, there they were, raw confessions, typed boldly for the world to see.
But then another question lingered in my head: who really deserves the blame, the cheater or the cheated? In truth, there’s no excuse for betrayal, but sometimes the stories behind it are heart-wrenching. Nigeria is full of people who endure unthinkable emotional torture in their marriages. But if you’re so unhappy, why not simply walk away instead of dragging someone’s dignity in the mud?
One man confessed he was planning to cheat because his wife “shouts too much” and “doesn’t respect him.” Imagine! Announcing his sins in advance like press release, inviting guardian angels to take note. Now, let’s be fair: many men feel unheard in their marriages, and when respect fades, they mentally pack their bags.
But still is adultery the solution? Peace of mind is priceless, but peace should be pursued with dignity, not disgrace. What if his wife’s sharp tongue is also born out of her own silent battles stress, frustration, or unmet needs she can’t even share?
Another woman wrote that she cheats because her husband blocks every chance she has to grow. He resents her progress, fights her ambition, and kills her dreams. It’s painful, truly painful, when your supposed partner becomes your greatest enemy. But even then, does his insecurity give you a licence to betray?
Why multiply pain? Why strip your partner of dignity? Why expose them to gossip, ridicule, and the cruel laughter of strangers? If you can no longer endure, isn’t it nobler to simply walk away?
For many Nigerian women, leaving is not easy. Parents will say: “Just endure. Marriage is not sweet every day. Stay for the children.” Even when you’re clearly broken inside. But of what use is staying when your soul is crushed, your faith is compromised, and your body is trapped in sin? Wouldn’t your children rather grow up with a sane, stable mother than a depressed one hiding behind gele and Sunday smiles?
To me, chronic cheaters are nothing short of narcissists. Always manipulating, always playing the victim, always gaslighting. A Nigerian man can deny you intimacy for months, then use that deprivation as his excuse to stray, only to return and blame you. It’s deliberate control.
They know how much you crave their affection, so they starve you of it, just to keep you under their thumb. In the beginning, they showered you with love like suya pepper, sweet and plenty. But once they “secure” you, they change the script.
This withholding is not rejection, it’s control, a dangerous game. They feed their ego by watching you suffer, by making you chase love you didn’t break. While you’re confused, they’re busy feasting elsewhere, chasing skirts and trousers. And you, trapped, start to think intimacy is proof of love. Meanwhile, they’re already crafting alibis for their next betrayal.
And that’s the cycle, you forgive once, they push further. You give a second chance, they learn your boundaries are bendable. They become smarter liars, sharper deceivers, professional manipulators. Every apology is just a rehearsal for the next heartbreak. You think you’re showing strength by forgiving, but in reality, you’re showing them the price tag of your loyalty: flexible boundaries, negotiable standards.
Cheating is not an accident, t is a conscious choice. And like every choice, it drags consequences along. Some cheat to fill an emotional void, others for ego, revenge, or simply because they think they can “get away with it.” But peel back the layers, and what you find at the core is selfishness.
When you cheat, you don’t just break trust, you fracture someone’s self-esteem. You make them question their beauty, their worth, their desirability. You turn them into detectives in their own love story, piecing together lies, replaying conversations, wondering when the betrayal began.
And the cruelest part? Most cheaters expect understanding. They want forgiveness, a fresh start, even sympathy. Yet, if the tables were turned, they would raise thunder, summon family meetings, and cry louder than bereaved mourners at an owambe. That’s the Nigerian double standard: their own cheating is “a mistake,” yours is unforgivable.
So here’s my Nigerian truth: if you’re unhappy, tempted, or already emotionally invested in someone else, just leave. Have the decency to close one chapter before opening another. That way, you save your partner pain and save yourself from becoming the villain in someone’s life story.
Because cheating isn’t just sleeping with someone else; it is breaking the sacred promise to protect each other’s hearts. Once that promise is shattered, no matter how many apologies follow, something priceless is lost forever.
Still, some people treat cheating like it’s their family inheritance, a generational curse. They cannot do without it. But when you peel the layers, you often find emptiness, a desperate need for validation, a hunger to mask their brokenness. For the victim, it leaves wounds deeper than the flesh: depression, anxiety, self-blame.
But here’s the bitter-sweet truth: cheating says more about the emptiness of the betrayer than the worth of the betrayed. The person who cheats may not be entirely evil, but they are deeply broken. Their infidelity is proof of their inability to love selflessly. That tragedy belongs to them, not you.
Healing begins the day you stop asking, “Why wasn’t I enough?” and start affirming, “I always was.” The scars may remain, but so does your strength. And in Nigeria, as in life, that strength is what outlives the betrayal.
Voice just cleared its throat!
- Kabara, is a writer and public commentator. Her syndicated column, Voice, appears on News Point Nigeria newspaper on Mondays. She can be reached on hafceekay01@gmail.com.