I moved to Abuja from Lagos last year because I wanted peace. Lagos had drained me with its endless noise, traffic, and constant pressure to survive. I told myself Abuja would be calmer and better for my mental health. But after a few months, I realized that living alone in this city is a different kind of struggle.
When I first got here, I thought I had enough savings to start life comfortably. I was wrong. The cost of living in Abuja is shocking. Rent alone can leave you broke before you even settle in. When I started looking for an apartment, every agent I met kept repeating, “Abuja is not Lagos.” I understood what they meant when I saw the price of a single room apartment going for almost nine hundred thousand naira per year.
Transportation here is another headache. There are no proper buses, no organized system. If you do not have your own car, you depend on along drivers who charge whatever they like. I have had to walk long distances several times because I refused to pay over two thousand naira for a short ride. And you always have to be careful because of one chance vehicles. People get robbed or beaten every week. Sometimes I feel scared just boarding a normal cab home.
Then there is how far everything is. You could live in Lugbe and work in Wuse, which means waking up by 5 am and getting home late at night. The stress builds up quietly until you start to feel drained.
Living alone also comes with a kind of loneliness that no one warns you about. I come home every night to silence. I cook, eat, and watch something on my phone, but it still feels empty. I used to think independence would feel good, but sometimes it feels like isolation.
Social life here is tricky too. Abuja looks peaceful, but it is filled with quiet competition. Everyone looks polished, driving fine cars and posting soft-life pictures, but many are just pretending to have it all together. Some people are desperate for money or status and will use you if you are not careful. I learned quickly that not everyone smiling at you has good intentions.
Sometimes I miss Lagos. Not because it was easier, but because at least Lagos was honest about its chaos. Abuja hides its stress behind pretty buildings and quiet streets. It can be beautiful, but it can also make you feel invisible.
Still, I am trying to adjust. I have learned to save more carefully and keep my circle small. I take walks in the evenings, play music, and pray for better days. This city has taught me how to survive on my own, even when things feel overwhelming.
Living alone in Abuja is not easy. It tests your patience, your strength, and your sanity. But it also teaches you discipline and self-control.
To everyone living alone here, how do you cope with the loneliness and pressure that come with this city?