A girl in love for the first time is an all-time fool. Here’s how. When a girl falls in love, she falls totally and irredeemably. She will do anything for the boy. She believes everything the boy says even when he means […]
A girl in love for the first time is an all-time fool. Here’s how. When a girl falls in love, she falls totally and irredeemably. She will do anything for the boy. She believes everything the boy says even when he means nothing or did not think before opening his mouth. She goes about with dreamy eyes. Even when she looks like she is busy studying, she is actually writing a love note or doodling on the back of her biology notebook. If you have doubts, ask why male corpers leave behind many seeds of their indiscretion after the one year national service.
The corper teacher burrows in forbidden holes, rummages in between the legs of innocent teenagers and leaves the ‘fruits of his labour unclaimed behind.’ Yet the following year, another set of rampaging rascals arrive in their green khaki and white NYSC shirts and the girls still fall for the time worn lies. Is it something about first love? No, it’s something about lying being in men’s DNA and foolishness in women’s genes. The difference is women get over the foolishness but men nurture their lies and groom it into an act. But the lying ways of men is not my primary assignment today. It is the number of teenagers being fooled and told Mills and Boon stories this vey minute that is my point here.
Somewhere, even as i write this, a teenager is being convinced to forget everything her mother taught her by a swindling bloke. She is being told that condoms are for men who can’t control themselves and how he will withdraw before he drops his load. Trouble is, he will drop that load. She will get pregnant and he will deny responsibility. He will then proceed to rub salt into her wounds by asking ‘how many times did we do it or am i the only one you are sleeping with? The most saddening part is that some girls went through this last year, some are falling for the same emotional 419 right now and more will still fall next year. It’s a lying-dude-foolish-girl-musical choir.
Before we proceed, let us say a little prayer to God to forgive all men who left behind unclaimed fruits of their labour during the NYSC year. May the almighty have mercy on their rascally souls, amen. Let’s move on.
When her mother sends her on errand, she makes time to see her love and returns home late with ‘a bowl of lies’ to cover her tracks. She stops over on her way to the library, market, school and even church programme to see him. Don’t be shocked at the church part, just keep an eye on your daughter and that choir practice routine. She may have fallen in love with one boy in church. Did you say she’s just fervent for God? Ah, good luck with that. I remember a friend who did one of the most foolish things a girl in love for the first time could do.
Moji was seventeen when she fell in love with gbade. He was 21, born in Britain but his parents brought him to Nigeria when he was 11. However, he wanted to return to Britain by all means but his parents were already doing well here. He made some complicated plans in which he convinced Moji to help with funds for his ticket. He promised Moji he would do everything to take her over to join him. Moji believed every lying line and was convinced she was investing in their future. She then invested her mother’s jewellery box and all the fullness therein. Yeah, the old woman almost had a heart attack. Her father almost disowned her.
Gbade travelled and for a while, the lovebirds exchanged love letters until the purple prose from Gbade, the Londoner dwindled to a halt. And moji’s world shattered into smithereens. She couldn’t believe Gbade could dump her. She first thought it was post office problem, then she decided he was ill, but Gbade’s sisters were in touch with their brother. The lover boy had simply moved on, found more voluptuous bosom to rest his head. The shame was unspeakable and the pain horrendous. Moji went to hell and back. She flunked two of her courses in the first year of university but that was the wake up call that brought her back to earth.
She gradually recovered but love for her never had any meaning after Gbade. A man’s promise became a huge joke. She became mean to men and for a long time, i saw her punish many men for Gbade’s sins. Moji finally recovered but her journey between marriage and Gbade is a full book. She is happily married now. My point? Most girls don’t start out with cheating, two timing in mind. They wear rose tinted glasses and love with all their heart. They believe what the boys tell them until they are forced to put their hearts in the freezer and begin to love with their heads. That’s when love becomes a dangerous game and men find out that girls learn quickly and are better equipped to win more medals at the love Olympics.
Funke Egbemode [ Editor, Sunday Sun]
Hi folks! Have you ever had a vacation, where you were home alone inside the fenced wall of your father’s modest building? Well, as I write this, I am home alone for a week to watch the house. Most especially, the eight […]
Have you ever had a vacation, where you were home alone inside the fenced wall of your father’s modest building? Well, as I write this, I am home alone for a week to watch the house. Most especially, the eight goats and eight-broiler chicken. My job is to feed them daily for a week. They pacified me by buying enough fuel to last me for a week and dropped a lump sum. Of course, those goats would suffer much in my hand because I do not understand the need for my parent’s little animal farm at the back of the house. If you are a student of Agric, kindly come for your industrial attachment in my house [the backyard]. There is also a small vegetable garden at the back which consist of Vernonia amygdalina [ewuro] Amaranthus sp.and the likes.
The he- goats are especially stubborn, kicking and hitting their female counterparts. They make noise occasionally, most especially at night. But who said goats aren’t intelligent, once they discovered that there owners didn’t come to feed them in the morning, they behaved themselves. I have not heard a single noise today. Even the chickens proved to be well mannered. They all matched into their cozy apartment in the cage at night. I didn’t have to force them in. So far, we have all been having a good time together.
Funnily, i have been enjoying the solitude. I had to read Buchi Emecheta’s autobiography all over again, about how she survived in London as a single mother of 5 kids who got married at 16. At 22, she already had all her kids. I have Yonggi Cho’s Fourth Dimension waiting in line. I don’t know the number of times i’ve read that book, it’s always refreshing. Yet, i have loads of weekend newspaper that i am yet to read. I am not a movie fan; i prefer reading a book rather than seeing a great movie. Therefore, i find myself busy in my own company.
Cooking while reading has resulted into two pots being burnt in one day so am gladly making do with tea and chocolate flavoured cream wafers. I don’t eat much anyway. You think it’s boring?? Well, not for a melancholic like me, i sure enjoy my own company especially quiet environments. I enjoy being me.
I have loads of article yet to be posted partly because of my faulty system and later MTN deducting my airtime. I sucked for days but now I have a better deal, 20 hours for a 7day validity. I’ll rush all my posts this week and I have quite some interesting and fantastic pieces e.g getting married for the wrong reasons, her first love and interview 001. So, simply watch out. Love you all, my amiable readers. Thanks for being there.
I heard the Nigerian blog award is out and writers are being nominated for this year’s awards. I am not just keen on it yet. Am still building my audience base. However, it’s comforting to know that such awards exist. Very soon, i’ll revisit all my past awards in detail. Keep your fingers crossed.
Just how far can and should a woman go to protect her marriage? What are the limits when it comes to securing your property and C of O (certificate of ownership)? What is the worth of a relationship and what are the […]
Just how far can and should a woman go to protect her marriage? What are the limits when it comes to securing your property and C of O (certificate of ownership)? What is the worth of a relationship and what are the things women do to keep trespassers from their men?
Deola and Tunji had been married for 12 years and both were celebrities at the time. Deola was a successful business woman and Tunji a respected industrialist. They seemed the ideal couple and acted it. They had four children and things looked good. Now, everybody knew Tunji as a successful womanizer and deola was not his first wife. She was the fourth but somehow had managed to eclipse her predecessors and was determined to be the last. So she kept her eyes skinned. If any fly buzzed around Tunji’s head, she whipped out a shotgun because she was determined to keep Tunji, whatever the cost.
Then she heard of Ajoke, a civil servant Tunji was paying attention than a casual fling, he was eating in her house and travelling with her. Some of Deola’s friends told her that on a few occasions when Tunji had told her he was travelling out of town, he was actually holed up in Ajoke’s GRA Ikeja apartment. Where did a civil servant find money to buy a house, or even rent an apartment in the GRA? Deola and her friends wondered. They started holding meetings to do something about it.
Deola was agitated but she hid it well, she didn’t quarrel with him even though she was burning inside. One day, Ajoke was coming from a trip along Lagos/Ibadan Expressway, she was stopped by gun-totting men. The highway was not busy and it was getting dark, so nobody knew of the evil drama going on. She was driving and panicked so badly she almost drove into a ditch. She was convinced they were armed robbers but her worries were more for her life than for her car and the gold jewellery she had on. Still shaking in her seat, Ajoke begged the men to spare her life. She removed her earrings as they dragged her out of the car, sobbing. The masked ones threw her jewellery back at her and told her that their brief did not include Ajoke’s gold. The biggest one told her to get on her knees while he barked to the remaining three boys to get to work. Before Ajoke knew what the entire drama was all about, her fine car had been doused with petrol and set ablaze. If these armed robbers did not need her car, why did they stop her? To what god were they offering her car as burnt offering? What was the point to snatching a car and then making a bonfire with it?
Ajoke did not have to wonder for long. The masked men told her their mission in very short sentences. Ajoke should take her man-snatching claws from the man who bought her the burning car otherwise next time she would be part of the ingredients for the burnt offering. They gave her a couple of slaps and kicks for added effect and disappeared into the darkness.
Ajoke was stunned, scared witless. One thing at a time, she calmed herself. First, get out of the venue of the tragedy. She did, after trekking about a kilometre. Then, she left town for a week to sort out her swirling thoughts. She knew where the bullet came from. She knew only a woman who could kill without batting an eyelid would go to the extent that Deola went in warning a mistress. She got the message and moved on. She cut her losses and told Tunji that armed robbers snatched her car after which she started avoiding him. The affair eventually packed up.
That was a mean one, an extreme measure by Deola. She eventually acquired a reputation as a mean wife and that if you were not ready to fight dirty, do not go near her territory.
There was a story of another wife who told thugs to raid the home of her husband’s girlfriend. They took everything she had except the nightwear she had on and promised to return to rape if she did not leave a certain man alone.
Did you sigh and said Jehovah? You don’t want to hear the more gory ones i have heard. Women can be mean if their territories are threatened. Now, what they do to husbands who betray them is worse, but that is a story for another day.
I love and respect the institution of marriage but the truth is there’s always a waiting period in between adolescence and marriage which many single ladies are not finding easy in present day Nigeria. it is not easy to be a single […]
I love and respect the institution of marriage but the truth is there’s always a waiting period in between adolescence and marriage which many single ladies are not finding easy in present day Nigeria. it is not easy to be a single lady in Nigeria especially if you are already armed with a degree, you are comfortable and ambitious. The Nigerian society frowns at any lady who has all those but remains unmarried although through no fault of hers. Apart from going through the sneers and jeers from some people and friends who try to matchmake you with every Emeka and Samson, your parent’s attitude[most especially your mama] to the issue also leaves a sour taste in the mouth. They seem to have forgotten that husbands[ i mean real men] are not sold in candy shops. They seem to have forgotten that we no longer live in their own stone age when you could close your eyes and pick a husband without much ado and live happily ever after so far they have no history of madness in their lineage. But things are different now; you have to shine your eyes and wait patiently.
you are termed unsuccessful if you have not walked down the aisle. while i support the fact that a woman should be married as at when due, it is outrightly condescending to make a female feel less human because of her single state. As it is written in God’s word ” search the book of the Lord and see what he has purposed, not one kite shall be without a mate”.
Many Nigerian men are afraid of successful and ambitious females maybe because they feel they can’t stand up to them. Rather, they prefer someone a little less ambitious who would never challenge them career wise, in the areas of finance and social standing, such men are too egotistical, traditional and cannot see beyond their nose. Thankfully, I have seen real men. I know quite a few who are comfortable with their woman’s success but they are quite few.
- A Young female is unsuccessful without a man in Nigeria
By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie!!!
“…I am infuriated by the assumption that to be youngish and female means you are unable to earn your own living without a man” – Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
A humid night two years ago, sitting beside a male friend in his car, and I roll down my window to tip a young man, one of the thousands of unemployed young men in Lagos who hang around, humorous and resourceful, and help you park your car with the expectation of a tip. I brought the money from my bag. He took it with a grateful smile. Then he looked at my friend and said, “Thank you, sir!”
This is what it is to be youngish (early thirties) and female in urban Nigeria. You are driving and a policeman stops you and either he is leering and saying “fine aunty, I will marry you,” or he is sneering, with a taunt in his demeanour and the question so heavy in the air that it need not be asked: “which man bought this car for you and what did you have to do to get him to?” You are reduced to two options; to play angry and tough and to thereby offend his masculinity and have him keep you parked by the roadside, demanding document after document. Or to play the Young Simpering Female and massage his masculinity, a masculinity already fragile from poor pay and various other indignities of the Nigerian state. I am infuriated by these options. I am infuriated by the assumption that to be youngish and female means you are unable to earn your own living without a man. And yet. Sometimes I have taken on the simpering and smiling, because I am late or I am hot or I am simply not dedicated enough to my feminist principle.
I have a friend who is, on the surface, a cliché. An aspirational cliché. She has a beautiful face, two degrees from an American Ivy League college, a handsome husband with a similar educational pedigree and two children who started to read at the age of two; she is always at the top of Nigerian women achievers lists in magazines; has worked, in the past 10 years, in consulting, hedge funds and non-governmental organisations; mentors young girls on how to succeed in a male-dominated world; recites statistics about anything from trade deficits to export revenue. And yet.
One day she told me she had stopped giving interviews because her husband did not like her photo in the newspaper, and she had also decided to take her husband’s surname because it upset him that she continued to use hers professionally. Expressions such as “honour him” and “for peace in my marriage” tumbled out of her mouth, forming what I thought of as a smouldering log of self-conquest.
Another friend is very attractive, very educated, sits on boards of companies and does the sort of management work that is Greek to me. She is single. She is a few years older than I am but looks much younger. The first board meeting she attended, a man asked her, after being introduced, “So whose wife or daughter are you?” Because to him, it was the only way she would be on that board. She was, it turned out, a chief executive. And yet. She lives in a city where her friends dream not of becoming the CEO but of marrying the CEO, a city where her singleness is seen as an affront, where marriage carries more social and political cachet than it should.
Another friend is a talented writer, a forthright woman who makes people nervous when she speaks bluntly about sex, a woman who describes herself as a feminist, and who talks a lot about gender equality and changing the system. And yet. She earns more than her husband does but once told me that he had to pay the rent, always, because it was the man’s duty to do so. “Even if he is broke and I have money, he will have to go and borrow and pay the rent.” She paused, rolling this contradiction around her tongue, and then she added, “Maybe it is because of our culture. It is what they taught us.”
There is, of course, always that “they”. Two years ago, we were slumped on sofas in his Lagos living room, my brother-in-law and I, talking about politics as we usually did.
“I think I’ll run for governor in a few years,” I said in the musing manner of a person who only half-means what they say.
“You would never be governor,” he said promptly. “You could be a senator but not governor. They won’t let a woman be governor.”
What he meant was that a governor had too much power, and was in control of too much money, none of which could be left to a woman by that invisible “they”. And yet. I realise that 15 years ago he would not have said, “you could be a senator.” Civilian rule brought greater participation of women in politics and the most popular and most effective ministers in the past 10 years have been women. In the next decade, my brother-in-law could be proved wrong. In the next three decades, he will certainly be proved wrong. But she would have to be married, the woman who would be governor.
My first novel is on the West African secondary school curriculum. My second novel is taught in universities. One question I am almost always certain of getting during media interviews is a variation of this: we appreciate the work you are doing and your novels are important but when are you getting married? I refuse to accept that the institution of marriage is what gives me my true value, and I refuse to come across as silly or coy or both. The balance is a precarious one.
“Would you ask that question to a male writer my age?” I once asked a journalist in Lagos.
“No,” he said, looking at me as though I were foolish. “But you are not a man.”
The fact that you are not yet wearing a ring on your finger doesn’t mean you are a piece of meat to every Okoro, Emeka, Chinedu, Wasiu, Isiaka, Nnamdi, Chinwoke and Slyvesters of this world. Most especially when these Okoros do not […]
The fact that you are not yet wearing a ring on your finger doesn’t mean you are a piece of meat to every Okoro, Emeka, Chinedu, Wasiu, Isiaka, Nnamdi, Chinwoke and Slyvesters of this world. Most especially when these Okoros do not even measure up to your social, educational and financial status. Just in case you have not noticed – ‘na lazy men sabi beta things pass’. Yet, they still walk up to you to prove that they are men [eyes rolling]. Well, there is a way you distinguish the boys from the men [isn’t it?]
There is this pint sized corp member attached to my desk. His name is Temple. He is from Abia state with a very thick and heavy Ibo accent that is so damn irritating to the ear. He knows the job quite well and he read mass communication. I needed a piece of information from him and took him out to lunch at the Journalist’s Rendezvous. He didn’t object to me paying for his meal [well, that’s how to separate the boys from the men]. In fact, he ate the food happily. I got the information i needed and we formed a working partnership.
Later, he started to call me unnecessarily. At times, it would be ‘I just called to hear your voice’. I found it very amusing and did not know what to make out of it. One day, he called and said ‘baby, am missing you’ [OMG! WHAT THE HECK?] My eyes were nearly popping out of the socket. I felt bile rise up through my throat from the pit of my stomach. Honestly, i could have slapped him hard if he was in front of me, [i am much taller than him]. However, he was lucky that i was in an environment where i needed to act like a lady so i could not reply him appropriately instead i said ‘i am not missing you’. Then, he said ‘you are not missing me abi,’ and he hung up.
I reported him to his boss, Jonathan Eze who warned him to steer clear. He even teased and asked him where he would get money to maintain a woman. The silly boy said ‘God would provide’ [LMAO]. One day, he went home with a copy of the newspaper that carried my article and i called to tell him to bring it to the office the next day. He gave me the most stupid answer. He said ‘I’ll bring it on one condition, tell me that you love me’. I nearly fell from the chair. I could not laugh; i was just so damn irritated. Then I thought within myself that maybe it was the powers from his father’s house that are after him [in case you are familiar with Mfm prayer point]. At that point, i stopped getting angry, it was simply powers from Abia state that didn’t want him to finish his youth service in one piece.
I can imagine my friend Tinuke Badmus saying ‘oh, Nike you are too proud’. Well, I wouldn’t mind swapping places with her if she wants [lol]. My friend Ayo Fagbenle was telling me how a factory support had gotten her number and started calling her. These boys work in the factory while waiting for admission into university. The money they make in a month is not even sufficient for them oo. She recorded the conversation on her phone while she put it on speaker so that her friends could listen and they all had a good laugh. The boy went on bragging that he has gotten another job so he could take care of her. So disgusting.
Anyway, my boss asked me the other day ‘who is your ideal man?’ well, this boss of mine has a fat head, fat body and he walks with a certain rough swag which i don’t find funny at all[ no insult meant, that’s just the plain truth]. I wanted to avoid the question and yet, send a message to him so i said ‘well, i don’t really think i have a picture in my head but i definitely know he must not have a fat head [oops! Yetunde Olasiyan!!!]’ He got the message instantly and i was grinning from ear to ear as i continued with my work. That is what happens when you work in a predominantly male environment but i sure enjoy every bit of it. That doesn’t stop him from saying ‘oh, you are too skinny for my liking’ and he stops at sweet sensation the next day to buy me a meal.
I have been given this assignment to cover a press conference at Maharaji Village tommorrow. Guru Maharaji is celebrating his 32 years in ‘our’ midst as he tagged it. I have argued with my boss giving him a thousand reasons why i cannot cover it. During the week, i googled his name out on the internet to do a background investigation on him apart from what I have heard from people. The result was not too pleasant. It’s like going to the forest of a thousand demons where everybody would be adorned in yellow, black and red colours. He claims he is god. Well, i don’t want to meet him unless he’s ready to come to Jogor center or Kakanfo inn or better still, Trans Amusement Park to talk to gentlemen of the press. I am certainly not going to his den tomorrow. I pray my boss does not read this.