By Bagudu Mohammed
I found myself genuinely puzzled by this question, unsettled even, because it challenged an assumption I had carried unconsciously for years. I had always believed that marriage, by its very nature, was a shared project: equal in benefit, equal in sacrifice, equal in joy. Two people choose each other, celebrate their union, earn respect, and pursue fulfillment together. In many societies, happiness and even “success” are quietly measured by how early one settles down. This may explain why, at a certain age, every phone call home to grandma, grandpa, mum, dad, or even close friends eventually circles back to the same question: when will you bring a man or woman home? Mothers and grandmothers, especially, are quick to compare how many children one’s peers already have while others remain single, as though life were a race with a fixed finish line.
For many men and women, this pressure becomes so suffocating that they begin to avoid calls from relatives or distance themselves from friends who seem unable to speak without reminding them of what they “lack.” Some stop visiting their villages altogether, fearful of gossip masquerading as concern. Parents, too, sometimes internalize this pressure, seeing an unmarried child as a personal failure, a sign that they have not raised someone “successful” where it supposedly matters most. Gradually, marriage is transformed from a personal choice into a collective obsession, the ultimate dream everyone is expected to share.
What has always intrigued me is society’s strange hierarchy of pity. I know many men and women who never had the privilege of education, who cannot read or write, yet they are rarely treated with deep sympathy or public sorrow. Illiteracy, despite its real disadvantages, does not provoke collective grief. Yet I have never known a wealthy, accomplished, and socially respected man or woman who escapes pity for being single at a certain age. Addressing a woman as “Miss” during a public event, once she has crossed an invisible age line, can send shockwaves through the room, raised eyebrows, awkward pauses, discomfort until people regain their composure and learn to swallow their surprise. That reaction alone tells a powerful story about what society values.
Interestingly, people rarely admit openly that they are not enjoying their marriages. Even amid frequent crises, dissatisfaction is carefully concealed. It was only with the rise of social media and online confessions that I began encountering something different: candid reflections, raw lamentations, and, for the first time, the suggestion that one sex might be benefiting more from marriage than the other. When I was first confronted with this claim that men benefit more from marriage I could not hide my shock. I wondered what depth of bitterness or frustration could lead someone to such a conclusion.
That question became unavoidable when I came across the heartfelt reflection of a married woman online. She wrote that it was only after marriage and childbirth that she began to question who marriage truly benefits. According to her, women often carry the heavier load emotionally, physically, and mentally. She described marriage as a system that can make women feel like tools: cooking, cleaning, caring for the home, contributing financially, and still bearing the full weight of pregnancy, childbirth, and childcare. She asked why something described as a “blessing” should arrive wrapped in pain, sleepless nights, stress, and emotional exhaustion. Childbirth, she noted, comes with intense pain, followed by years of responsibility that fall largely on the woman, while many men continue life almost unchanged. She admitted she never passionately sought marriage but agreed to it under family pressure, and it was lived experience, not theory that opened her eyes. Though she loved her son deeply and found joy in motherhood, she could no longer ignore the uncomfortable truths about what society expects of women.
That reflection unsettled me. It forced me to ponder how an institution so celebrated, cherished, and revered could be judged as favoring one sex over the other. Marriage is commonly associated with children, companionship, intimacy, support, and the division of labor. These benefits are presumed to serve both men and women. The desire for children, for instance, is not a favor to men alone. Women also want children and often seek responsible partners to father them. Even outside marriage, people desire children, so childbirth cannot honestly be framed as a one-sided gain. In fact, if we are truthful, women often enjoy deeper emotional closeness, tenderness, and loyalty from children than men do. The idea that men “own” children more is often symbolic, sometimes political, while women shape children’s daily lives far more profoundly.
The same logic applies to domestic labor. Even outside marriage, a woman must feed herself, help her parents, and care for her children if she chooses to have any. Framing a man’s presence as an unbearable burden because he eats from the same pot reduces marriage to a transactional joke. Likewise, intimacy is not a gift to men alone. Emotional and physical connection is a human need shared by both sexes; marriage merely provides a structured space for it.
Where dissatisfaction often takes root is in financial strain. A single person can survive on a single plate of food with relative ease. Add children, healthcare, education, housing, clothing, and suddenly the weight multiplies. This pressure becomes even heavier when a woman is already managing caregiving, cooking, cleaning, emotional support, and is still expected to contribute financially. Scholars of family economics have long noted that unpaid domestic labor performed largely by women would constitute a significant portion of national GDP if monetized. Sociologist Arlie Hochschild famously described this as “the second shift,” where women return home from paid work only to begin another round of unpaid labor. No fair-minded observer could call such contributions laziness or irrelevance.
Marriage, by design, is meant to benefit both partners. When it appears to favor one sex, it is often a sign of imbalance rather than intent. This imbalance also explains why men tend to lose respect, authority, and self-worth when they cannot provide financially. Many men feel cheated when they lack economic security and must rely on women who are already overwhelmed with caregiving, emotional labor, pregnancy, and childcare. In such cases, the strain often falls more heavily on women, especially when financial instability strikes, because they are the ones most consistently present with the children.
This reality underscores why women need empowerment, education, and financial independence, not as rebellion against marriage, but as insurance against life’s uncertainties. When circumstances change, women are often the ones left holding everything together.
Broadly speaking, research does suggest that men tend to benefit more from marriage on average. Married men often enjoy better physical health, longer life expectancy, improved mental well-being, and greater economic stability. Women also gain companionship, social security, and support, but they frequently shoulder a disproportionate share of unpaid labor and experience career interruptions, especially in traditional settings. These patterns are not universal; they depend heavily on relationship quality, power dynamics, and cultural expectations, including those common in Nigeria and similar societies. In a healthy, equitable marriage, both partners thrive. In an unhealthy one, both suffer, though not always equally.
Literature, music, and film have long captured this tension. In Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Sun, Odenigbo benefits visibly from Olanna’s emotional stability, domestic order, and social grace, while she absorbs betrayal and invisible labor. Fela Kuti’s songs, such as “Lady” and “Water No Get Enemy,” critique how women are expected to endure patience and sacrifice while men enjoy admiration and freedom. Even The Godfather quietly illustrates this imbalance: Michael Corleone’s marriage grants him legitimacy and power, while Kay sacrifices peace and moral clarity, watching the door close on her literally and symbolically.
Across these stories, a pattern emerges. Marriage often stabilizes, civilizes, and elevates men, while women are expected to adapt, absorb, and endure. This does not mean marriage is inherently unjust. It means that without equity, intention, and shared responsibility, its benefits will tilt. And perhaps the real question is not whether men benefit more from marriage, but whether we are willing to build marriages where no one has to ask that question at all.
