Why male honesty is refreshing — and why “I dey come” is never just what it sounds like.

Nobody told me that in my forties, I’d end up with more male friends than I ever had in my twenties — and that they’d be the easiest, most quietly profound relationships of my life.

Back then, male friendships carried suspicion. A raised eyebrow here, a whisper about “something more” there, or the occasional slide into situationship territory. I had internalised the idea that male attention always had an agenda. It took years to unlearn the script that said emotional safety had to come wrapped in softness — and that men couldn’t offer it without romance. But somewhere along the way, that narrative flipped.

Now? I have men in my circle who are just that: friends. No fine print. And the experience has been both refreshing and, frankly, a little mind-blowing.

Men, in their natural state, are startlingly straightforward. They speak plainly — no sugar-coating, no hidden subtext. They show up, they support, they banter — then they move on.

But simplicity doesn’t mean shallow. Spend enough time around them and you’ll see: men do talk. They talk about marriages, financial stress, business moves, and even their mistakes, not as gossip, but as unburdening. It’s therapy disguised as banter — a safe space where loyalty runs deep.

And loyalty is their quiet superpower. No speeches, no disclaimers. If you’re their friend, they’ve got your back. Full stop.

What I once mistook for emotional reticence is really a different fluency: not declarations, but presence. It’s a kind of emotional fabric — not silk, not lace, but linen. Breathable, durable, and often overlooked.

My female friendships thrive on emotional excavation — the marathon conversations, the layered check-ins. With my male friends, the care is quieter. Fewer words, same depth.
Here’s the kicker: neither is better. They’re just different dialects of the same language — connection.

Sometimes, though, their honesty comes wrapped in a sub-language women like me can’t immediately decode.

Case in point: one evening at a birthday, a male friend stood up to leave. When I asked if he was heading home, he replied, “I dey come.”
To me, that meant he’d return. To my other male friend sitting beside me, it meant the exact opposite.

I laughed. “He literally just said he’s coming back.”
He shook his head. “Ada, from the way he said it? He’s gone.”
Two hours later, “I dey come” had officially become “I dey go.”

Weeks later, I asked how he knew. His answer was disarmingly simple: “The inflexion in his voice.” Every other man I asked confirmed it instantly. Meanwhile, I was still out here believing words instead of codes.
That’s the thing about male friendship: it comes with an instruction manual no one gives you.

When women say, “We need to talk,” it usually means brace yourself for an emotional MRI.

When men say, “We need to talk,” it’s about football scores, who’s buying suya, or how Arsenal has broken their heart again. Same phrase. Entirely different stakes.

And don’t get me started on texts. A woman’s “K” means start drafting your apology speech. A man’s “K”? It’s literally just the letter K.

What I value most about these friendships is their lack of expectation. No hidden scorecards, no silent demands. Just presence.

Somewhere in my forties, I stopped boxing people in by gender and started valuing them by how they make life feel. These friendships have taught me to listen differently, argue less, and appreciate straightforward kindness — even if I still need subtitles for “I dey come.”

Because in the end, male friendships remind me that honesty isn’t only in what is said, but in how it is said.

And maybe that’s the real luxury silk of friendship — the texture you only notice when you slow down enough to feel it. Or perhaps it’s linen: breathable, durable, overlooked. It doesn’t shimmer, but it holds. And in a world obsessed with sparkle, that quiet strength feels like grace.

Ada Obiajunwa
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Ada Obiajunwa writes from Lagos about the big truths tucked inside ordinary moments — friendship, self-discovery, and the quiet revolutions of everyday life. She believes in the power of presence, good banter, and decoding the unsaid. Through her fragrance studio, WhiffWonders, she also crafts scents that weave memory and emotion into experiences that feel like home.