Singer Waje Opens Up About Getting Pregnant at 16 and Her Daughter’s Father Denying Responsibility
When Aituaje Iruobe — known to millions simply as Waje — first stepped onto Nigeria’s music scene, her voice seemed to come from somewhere deeper than the world of pop. It was the kind of voice that carried experience — raw, resonant, and soulful, the voice of someone who had lived and overcome. But few people truly understood how much life Waje had already lived before the spotlight ever found her.
In a rare moment of vulnerability on the popular talk show The Honest Bunch, the award-winning singer peeled back the layers of her life, revisiting a past that shaped her in silence: she got pregnant at sixteen, long before fame, long before the world knew her as one of Africa’s most powerful vocalists. It was a story of early responsibility, abandonment, maternal strength, and the unrelenting pursuit of dignity in a society that often shames young women for surviving circumstances they didn’t choose.
Waje was still a secondary school student when she discovered she was pregnant. The shock, the confusion, and the fear all collided in a single moment that would alter the course of her youth. “I was sixteen,” she said during the interview, her tone both reflective and firm, as though she had rehearsed these memories a thousand times in silence before daring to share them out loud.
For nearly five months, she kept the pregnancy hidden from her mother — terrified, uncertain, and unready for the conversation that would change everything. “I didn’t know how to tell her,” she confessed. “I was scared, ashamed, and just hoping maybe somehow it would all go away.”
But of course, reality could not be denied forever. One day, her mother found out. And as with many African mothers of that generation, the initial reaction was a mixture of disappointment, shock, and protective love — an emotional storm that only a parent can fully comprehend.
When Waje’s mother eventually gathered the courage to confront the young man responsible, she hoped for decency — for accountability, for the bare minimum of honesty. But instead, she met denial. The young man, himself barely more than a boy, denied any involvement.
“In Igbo land,” Waje recalled, “when a child is born out of wedlock, the family automatically adopts the child.”
So, with quiet dignity, her mother decided to take full responsibility. “My mom just told him, ‘Okay, since it’s not you, the child is mine now.’ And that was it.”
It was a declaration of both surrender and defiance. Her mother’s words — the child is mine now — became the foundation of Waje’s future. It meant no begging, no chasing, no humiliation. It meant a young girl could rebuild her life under the roof of love, even if society refused to forgive.
To be a teenage mother in Nigeria — especially in the late 1990s and early 2000s — was to carry a stigma that never quite faded. The culture did not see a girl trying to survive; it saw a “wayward” girl who had failed.
Waje recalled how the whispers and side glances from neighbours became part of her daily reality. In church, in school, in public — she could feel the judgment. “There’s a kind of silence people keep when they see you coming,” she said. “They stop talking, and you just know it’s about you.”
For years, she carried that unspoken weight — balancing between repentance and defiance, between shame and ambition. Music, for her, became both therapy and testimony.
Even as she navigated young motherhood, Waje never abandoned her dream. She sang in church choirs and community events, her voice captivating everyone who heard it. Her pastor once prophesied that she would “sing before kings,” and though she didn’t believe it at the time, that prophecy would soon come true.
But before fame came the struggle — endless nights of studying, caring for her daughter, and performing at small events to earn a little extra money. There were days she doubted herself, days she felt the world would never let her move past her mistake. Yet, she persisted.
It wasn’t just about proving others wrong; it was about proving to herself that motherhood wasn’t a limitation — it was motivation. “My daughter gave my life a purpose,” she once said in an earlier interview. “She became my reason to keep going when I wanted to stop.”
Years passed. Waje’s daughter grew up, and her mother’s sacrifices began to pay off. By the time the child entered her teenage years, Waje had already become a household name — with hits like I Wish and Onye earning her critical acclaim.
Then, one day, the man who once denied the pregnancy reappeared. Suddenly, he wanted to reconnect.
“I was shocked,” Waje admitted. “He said he wanted to be in her life. At first, I didn’t want to allow it. But eventually, I said okay — but with conditions.”
One of those conditions was that he take full legal responsibility for his child — not through words, but through action. “I told him, you’re a citizen of Canada. Fight for your child. If you truly want to be part of her life, do something meaningful — give her an opportunity for better education, for exposure. I wanted the best for her.”
He agreed — at least, verbally. But then came delay after delay.
According to Waje, the man agreed to do a DNA test to confirm paternity, but it never happened. “I waited and waited,” she said. “Nine months passed, then years, and he still didn’t do it.”
By the time her daughter turned 18, it was too late for him to file for her as a dependent. The window for him to legally include her in his citizenship claim had closed.
“I was mad,” she admitted. “Because now she’s in university and I’m paying school fees in dollars. You can’t be calling me to say you want to send $200. We could have avoided all this.”
The frustration wasn’t just financial; it was emotional. It was the pain of watching someone who once denied a child suddenly try to perform redemption when it was too late.
For Waje, forgiveness came slowly. “I don’t hold grudges,” she said, “but I don’t forget easily either.” Her voice, calm but resolute, carried the tone of someone who has learned to accept what she cannot change.
Over the years, she focused on raising her daughter — teaching her resilience, faith, and independence. “I wanted her to see strength, not bitterness,” she said. “I didn’t want her to think her story started with rejection.”
Today, her daughter is an adult — a reflection of all the love, discipline, and sacrifice that Waje poured into motherhood while building a career in one of Africa’s toughest industries.
Waje’s story is deeply personal, but it also reflects a broader reality in Nigeria’s entertainment industry — a space where women are often held to impossible moral standards, expected to be flawless in a world that rarely forgives their humanity.
From Genevieve Nnaji to Tiwa Savage, countless Nigerian women in entertainment have faced societal scrutiny over their private lives. Yet, few have spoken about their early struggles with the level of candour that Waje displayed.
Her story shatters the illusion that success erases pain. It reminds the world that even the most glamorous stars carry scars — some visible, others buried deep beneath fame and makeup.
During the interview, Waje reflected on the lessons her journey taught her. “If I could talk to that 16-year-old girl now,” she said, “I’d tell her, it’s not the end of the world. You made a mistake, yes. But you can still become everything God created you to be.”
That statement — simple yet profound — has resonated with millions of young Nigerian women who see themselves in her story.
Social media erupted after the interview aired. Young mothers, fans, and even celebrities took to Instagram and X (formerly Twitter) to thank her for her honesty. “Waje just spoke for so many of us,” one fan wrote. “Society judged us, but we kept moving. She’s a true queen.”
Waje’s confession reopens a difficult conversation Nigeria has often avoided: how society treats young girls who get pregnant. In a country where sexual education is limited and moral judgment is abundant, teenage mothers are often shamed instead of supported.
Many are forced to drop out of school, lose community acceptance, and live with lifelong stigma. Waje’s survival, therefore, is not just a story of resilience — it’s a mirror of how family support can alter destiny.
“If my mom didn’t stand by me,” she said, “I don’t know where I’d be today. She gave me a second chance when the world had written me off.”
As her career blossomed, Waje learned to own her story instead of hiding it. She became one of the most respected female voices in Nigerian music — not just for her vocal range, but for her authenticity.
In a world obsessed with perfection, she dared to be real. Her songs often echo her inner battles — love, forgiveness, faith, and redemption. In I Wish, she sings of vulnerability. In Coco Baby and Onye, she celebrates womanhood and resilience.
Her life, in many ways, is her music. And her music is her healing.
Today, Waje’s daughter is studying abroad. “She’s the best part of me,” Waje said proudly. “She’s my mirror. When I look at her, I see everything I fought for.”
Their bond is strong — not defined by the absence of a father, but by the presence of unwavering love.
Waje now uses her platform to speak openly about self-worth and courage. “Don’t let shame destroy your destiny,” she told the audience. “If you fall, get up. Don’t let society define your future by your past.”
Her words have become a mantra for young women navigating similar challenges — a reminder that failure is not fatal, and pain can be the birthplace of purpose.
Today, Waje stands tall not just as a singer, but as an emblem of survival and transformation. From teenage motherhood to international recognition, she has rewritten her own narrative.
Her journey from fear to fame encapsulates the resilience of Nigerian women who turn obstacles into opportunities. And in telling her story, she has also given voice to millions of others who live in silence.
“Sometimes,” she said softly, “God lets you go through fire so you can come out as gold. My past is not something I’m ashamed of anymore. It’s my testimony.”
In sharing her truth, Waje has not only humanized celebrity but also expanded the cultural conversation about womanhood, responsibility, and grace. Her courage to revisit her teenage years reminds the world that success does not erase struggle — it refines it.
She is living proof that one can rise from judgment to joy, from rejection to recognition, from pain to power.
And somewhere in that journey — between the silence of a 16-year-old girl and the voice of a global artist — Waje became more than a singer. She became a story of redemption.