By Owie Aideyan
A Different Kind of Romance
There was a time when love moved slowly, like an old highlife song drifting from a neighbour’s radio. In the 1980s and 1990s, before dating apps and algorithm-matched profiles, falling in love meant waiting — for a letter, for a call from a public phone booth, for Sunday evening visits when parents sat in the next room. People still met in libraries, at church harvests, at graduation parties. The effort required to build a connection was itself proof of sincerity.
Take the story of Mr. and Mrs. Obiora. They met in 1986 at a polytechnic in Enugu. He was studying engineering; she was in secretarial studies. They wrote letters every week even though they were on the same campus, tucking pressed flowers into envelopes. When NYSC took him to Sokoto and her to Calabar, they still exchanged handwritten notes and made monthly phone calls from crowded NITEL booths. There were no “read receipts” or “last seen” indicators. Just trust, patience and anticipation. Today, nearly 40 years later, they are grandparents still holding hands at church.
Why It Lasted
Love in that era lasted because it was built on a slower rhythm. People weren’t distracted by endless options on social media. Couples invested in one another’s growth because breaking up wasn’t a casual swipe away. A man could ride a bus for eight hours just to spend an afternoon with the woman he loved. A woman could wait at the gate for hours, knowing he might arrive late because the bus broke down. That waiting created memories, resilience and loyalty.
Consider Bisi and Femi, who met at a Lagos bus stop in 1991. He offered her his umbrella during a downpour. They dated for five years, exchanging cassette tapes of songs they recorded for each other. When Femi lost his job at the port, Bisi helped him start a small printing business from her salary. They married in 1996. Femi later said, “Those tapes saved me during my worst days. They reminded me somebody believed in me.” They are still married, running that same printing press, now a thriving company.
What Made Love Real Then
1. Intentionality: Courtship meant meeting families, showing respect to elders, and making promises you intended to keep. Love wasn’t a performance for followers; it was a private commitment witnessed by communities.
2. Sacrifice and Service: People saved money to buy small but meaningful gifts, like a single rose or a book of poetry. That sacrifice gave each gesture weight.
3. Community Support: Neighbours, church groups and parents acted as quiet guardians. There was a sense of accountability — you couldn’t vanish after a mistake without people noticing.
4. Shared Growth: Couples often started from nothing, building dreams side by side. Many say the hardships of the 80s and 90s cemented their bonds instead of breaking them.
Another example is Ngozi and Chike. They met during NYSC in 1989. Chike taught in a rural secondary school; Ngozi worked at a community health centre. They used to walk long dirt roads just to spend an hour together under a mango tree. When Chike’s father opposed their marriage because of tribal differences, they persisted for six years until he gave his blessing. Today they run a joint charity for rural education and health. “It wasn’t easy,” Ngozi says, “but because we suffered together, we know how to celebrate together.”
Lessons for Today’s Generation
Modern technology has made communication instant but also disposable. A text can replace a conversation; a DM can replace a gesture. Many young people now approach love with one foot already out the door, expecting perfection rather than perseverance. In the 80s and 90s, imperfection was accepted as part of the journey, and that acceptance deepened intimacy.
This doesn’t mean young people can’t have lasting love. It means they can learn from the patience, intentionality and sacrifice of previous generations. Slowing down. Putting the phone away. Writing a letter. Showing up when it’s inconvenient. Meeting families. Building something tangible together instead of only curating an image online.
As Mrs. Obiora puts it: “We didn’t fall in love to trend. We fell in love to last.”
If today’s generation could borrow even a little of that spirit — the handwritten notes, the long bus rides, the umbrella in the rain — they might find that love can still be real, deep and forever. Because while technology changes, the human heart has not. Love still requires what it always has: time, trust, sacrifice and the courage to choose the same person again and again.
