Bride Price or Bride Pride? …..Is it a symbol of love, a token of appreciation, or a quiet price tag hung on a woman’s worth? By Falilat Kehinde Dikko

Bride Price or Bride Pride?  

…. Is it a symbol of love, a token of appreciation, or a quiet price tag hung on a woman’s worth? By Falilat Kehinde Dikko

This question has followed me like a shadow. I have asked it in silence, in conversations with trusted friends, and in moments when wedding lists were being read aloud with unsettling pride. I have asked it in Lagos traffic, in Ibadan sitting rooms heavy with tradition, and in Abeokuta family meetings where elders cleared their throats before mentioning figures. Each time, the question returned heavier, more urgent, more personal. Bride price. Two words, simple on paper, yet weighted with history, expectation, and consequence.

To some, bride price is culture, sacred and unquestionable. To others, it is honour, a respectful nod to parents who laboured to raise a daughter. But to many women, myself included, it can feel like standing under a harsh light while people whisper numbers, converting a human being into sums, cows, crates of drinks, or envelopes slid across polished tables. It can feel like being reduced to an item whose value must be justified before love is permitted to proceed.

I do not write from theory or borrowed opinions. I write as a woman who respects tradition yet feels its pressure on her chest. I understand the intention behind bride price. In its original form, it was gratitude, not greed. It was a symbolic gesture, a bridge between two families, a handshake sealed with respect. It was never meant to sound like a receipt. But somewhere between our grandparents’ era and ours, the bridge quietly turned into a marketplace, and love began to queue behind money.

When love knocks on the door, it should arrive with humility, sincerity, and hope, not with a calculator tucked under its arm. Yet today, marriage negotiations often resemble auctions. A woman’s education adds zeros. Her profession raises eyebrows and figures. Her complexion, her family name, even her perceived “obedience” are silently translated into currency. In these moments, she is wrapped in expectations, priced with precision, and displayed for approval, while her heart waits outside the room, unheard and unseen.

I have watched young men, good men, stagger beneath the weight of unrealistic demands. I have seen them borrow money they will spend years repaying, just to satisfy a list that grows longer with every visit. I have seen engagements postponed, relationships strained, and love quietly abandoned because the price was too high. In one case in Ilorin, a couple who had been together for seven years parted ways after repeated delays caused by escalating demands. Love did not fail them; negotiation did.

I have also seen women suffer the aftertaste of an expensive bride price. Phrases like, “After all we paid, she must behave,” are thrown around casually, as though marriage were a purchase agreement. That sentence alone can bruise a soul. When money enters the room without wisdom, respect quietly slips out through the back door. What was meant to honour a woman ends up chaining her with silent expectations of submission and endurance.

This is the question that keeps me awake at night: does bride price affirm a woman’s value, or does it quietly suggest she was purchasable? A woman’s worth is not wrapped in brown envelopes. It is not counted in cows, cars, or currency. Her worth is in her character, her compassion, her intellect, her resilience, her ability to nurture peace and build a home where love can breathe. You do not place a price tag on the sun because it lights your world; you simply acknowledge its necessity and warmth.

Bride pride, to me, tells a different story. Bride pride is dignity without negotiation. It is a woman walking into marriage knowing she is chosen, not bought. Honoured, not traded. Appreciated, not assessed. Bride pride is when families exchange respect without turning a daughter into a transaction. It is a woman standing tall, shoulders straight, eyes clear, knowing love led the way, not money.

I am not calling for the burning of culture or the erasing of roots. Roots matter. Tradition matters. But even roots must breathe, or they rot. Culture should serve humanity, not cage it. A tradition that crushes love, delays commitment unnecessarily, or silences women under the excuse of heritage deserves reflection, not blind defence. “This is how it has always been” is not a moral argument; it is often a refusal to grow.

In many cities today, from London to Lagos, young couples are quietly rewriting the script. Some parents now insist on modest, symbolic bride prices, stating clearly that their daughter is not for sale. Others return part of the money as a blessing, not a burden. These are not acts of rebellion; they are acts of wisdom. They recognise that marriage should begin with peace, not pressure.

Marriage is not a contract of ownership. It is a covenant of partnership. A man should not feel he has bought authority with his wallet, and a woman should not feel she has been sold into obligation. When bride price begins to sound like bride prison, something has gone terribly wrong. Love cannot thrive where entitlement lives.

So I ask again, softly but firmly: is it bride price or bride pride? If it strips a woman of dignity, it is too expensive. If it feeds entitlement, it is too costly. If it overshadows love, it is too loud. Appreciation should remain appreciation. Honour should remain honour.

Let women enter marriage with pride in their hearts, not price tags on their heads. Let love speak louder than lists. Let culture evolve with conscience. Only then can marriage return to what it was always meant to be: a union of equals, walking side by side, not a transaction signed in silence.

Falilat Kehinde Dikko
Writer, Author and Public Affairs Analyst | Accountant | Biographer | Columnist | Podcast Host | Public Speaker
Lagos, Nigeria