Life and times of lovelorn Lagos Sisis: Tinuke's Story Pt 2

Where did we last leave off?Oh yeah, the rape. After the rape, things went back to normal. Bear in mind that  I didn't even consider it as rape because, I reasoned, how can someone's boyfriend rape them? Rape was what unknown men did to unknown women. Boyfriends and husbands don't rape. I knew it was something but I didn't dare let my mind conceive it to be rape. See how uneducated our girl children are? Anyways, I digress.

2 months after the incident, I found out that I was pregnant. I was really scared but I assured myself that Kunle loved me and he had been so gentle since the incident took place. So summoning all the courage I had, I walked into our room where Kunle was playing his video game. After I had blurted out the dreaded "I am pregnant" I saw Kunle freeze for a nano second. The next thing I knew was that Kunle had sprung up to his feet and was now delivering blows to my midriff whilst repeatedly chanting "stupid bitch" over and over. Kunle rained blows on me for almost 20 minutes. As I lay prone on the floor, he stepped over me into the bathroom, came back, yanked my legs open, as I started to scream, I felt a soft and wet thing going up my thighs.  It was a wash cloth, I sat up a little bit and I saw blood. Kunle had in effect aborted my baby. He was crying again and begging me to forgive him. Yes people, dummy Tinuke forgave. This cycle of physical abuse, rape, pregnancies and abortions continued for 6 years. But I was convinced he loved me. I didn't tell anybody what was going on. It was mine and Kunle's business.

Kunle had left uni and started working. I was rounding up. The next step was marriage. I waited and waited for Kunle to propose. I wasn't seeing him as frequently because of the demands of his job. One weekend, I turned up at his house from school like I usually did to cook, clean and do his laundry. His friends all jokingly (or degradingly) called me his "fo'sho-se'be" which essentially means laundry man and cook.  He met me at the door and said "Tinu, I think you should stop coming here." I was stunned and I asked him what he meant. He said "I'm seeing someone else and we are talking marriage, it is not fair to you to keep coming here". I looked at him in disbelief for a while before instinct took over. I started screaming and asking how he could come to such a decision after all I had done for him. He had wrecked my life and left me hanging and that he would pay. Before I knew what was going on, he had pounced on me and started to physically assault me. But this time, things were going to be different. I fought back, scratching at his face and feebly attempting to slap him. In the scuffle that ensued,  he ended up pushing me down a flight of stairs. I blacked out and the next thing I knew was that I was in hospital with my best friend Joan, by my side. She said Kunle had called her and told her that I had attempted suicide when he broke up with me. Imagine the effrontery of that son of a diseased pig.  I ended up narrating the whole ordeal to Joan. She was so enraged, she suggested calling the police. I told her not to worry. I was going to handle this.

Kunle had taken my love and twisted it into something dark and ugly and he was going to pay dearly.

When the dust of our relationship settled, I had had 4 voluntary abortions and 3 involuntary ones and years of physical and psychological abuse. I went into the relationship a naive young girl at 18, I came out a bitter woman. I reassessed my values. I didn't want the things I used to want as a young girl anymore. If I am going to be used and abused, then I will do so for a substantial financial reward and on my own terms. No more no less. I am pretty and well mannered with the attributes Nigerian men look for so why not put it to good use. So you could say I inadvertently stumbled upon my business model.

 The Kunle issue is now 5 years ago. I am 30 now and I am running a lucrative "escort" business, I own a chain of saloons, I own a number of boutiques and one night club. I am in the process of acquiring a filing station. You could say I am on the up and up. But I am not in this business for just money, I'm in it more for power. I am high class. I don't dally with little bank boys, I am in it with the big time players this country has to offer. They know my worth. I am nothing to be sniffed at. They prefer to ship me off with them when they have to leave the country than to do without me. That's how important I am. My phone contact list reads like the who is who in Nigeria. So, tell me, if I am controlling the crown jewels of so many influential men in this country, what's love got to do with it? Love has never gotten off its lazy ass to pay any bills in my life. So love can piss off.

Remember I said I would deal with Kunle in my own way? Well I did. His boss is "well known to me" so I got him fired and jailed for fraud. In England, an arrested person is said to be "detained at the Queen's pleasure". Kunle is there at MY pleasure and I will ask for his release whenever I damn well please. I know a certain someone whose name rhymes with IGP.  I visited the prison just to let him know that hell hath no fury like a woman violently abused and subsequently dumped. The look on his face when he realized I was behind his ordeal was priceless. Whenever I have a bad day, I think back to that look and it gives me the giggles. I take the memory out of my memory bank and polish it like silver. I hear you saying vengeance is for the Lord, well I don't purport to know much about the bible. The Lord can still exact His vengeance. Kunle deserves a double.....nay....tripple helping of that, I think. But the first cut is the deepest and in spite of all I have gained, I still wonder what would have become of me if I had taken a different path in life and never met Kunle. I guess we will never know. So I need just 2 things in life, money and power and I have and will continue to go to every and any length to get it. Everything else can just get out of my way. I tried love once and it screwed me. So never again. Draw your own conclusions.

Life and times of lovelorn Lagos Sisis- Tinuke's Story

This is the last in the Lovelorn Lagos Sisi series. Meet *Tinuke Dauda. She is a boisterous 'business woman' with a very dark past. She has agreed that this story can be shared but her name should be kept out of it.

Hello cherry's cocos. In the spirit of full disclosure, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Tinuke Dauda. I am a "business woman". You have met my two looser best friends and you've heard of their "ordeals" in the quest for a partner to settle down with.

Whenever they start their whining, I just roll my eyes. They want to get married like yesterday. They want a guy they can grow old with. Their families are frustrating them blah blah blah. Don't get me wrong, I want to get married too. I want the happily ever after and all that drama but I want it with YOUR husband or preferably, YOUR father. Yup. I'm not interested in any stupid pencil pusher small boy that makes 1 Million a year. I can and have made 1million in an hour. It is all in a day's work, my friends.

Judge me all you want. I am laughing all the way to the bank. But that's the business side. For the romance side, yes, I don't have a problem with being a 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th wife. I don't mind at all. I also don't mind if I never get married. I have a plan for such eventuality: 2 or 3 strategically conceived kids will do me nicely. You will find out what I mean by "strategically conceived" as you read on.  I don't need love or all those other fairytales people delude themselves into.

If you haven't guessed by now, older men of means are my speciality. I've been called all sorts because of this; someone that wants to reap where she did not sow etc. Water off a duck's back. I have paid my dues in life and I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy the comfort the arms of an older man has to offer. And anyways, the people complaining do not know the purpose I serve or how hard I work. They go to their little 9-5s and come and sit down to point fingers. I am on call 24 hours of the day. My job is never done. Not that I'm complaining because I'm rewarded handsomely for it. Like I said, I have paid my dues and I have learnt my lessons.

I find younger men disgusting and they are an abomination to me. If a young man catches fire next to me, i would not spit on him to help him put the fire out. My people have a saying: if you see a man and you see a snake, it is better for you to kill the man than the snake. That saying just essentially means men are treacherous and you should trust a snake instead of a man. I think they should further qualify that by saying young men or small pias as i like to call them. All these chewing gum boys have nothing to offer anybody. I keep telling my friends but they have refused to listen. They have no integrity, they are not generous, they are just a bunch of oponu rada radas. It is strictly older men for me from now on.

"but Tinuke, why so bitter?" I hear you ask. Yoruba people say sometimes there is a conversation to be had, but there is no time, sometimes there is time but there is nothing to say. Today we have both time and something to say.  Let me tell you about my own quest for love and marriage.

I met *Kunle Odunlami in my 1st Year at the Ogun State University.   I was this naive girl, fresh off the boat from Ilaro where I had lived all my life with my parents. It was the Mills and Boon era when girls had the mills and boon definition of what the men of their dreams should look like. Kunle was intelligent and he had the m&b triple threat qualifier; he was tall, dark and handsome. (I just vomited a little bit in my mouth for saying that. I think we should sue M & B for false advertisment, breach of reasonable expectation etc. They lied. There is no man like that on earth. But i digress) anyways, Kunle saw me struggling with my things at the motor park and he rushed to help me. Can anyone say 'knight in shiny amour'? So I was completely bowled over by that gesture. He helped me to the front of my hostel and cheerily bade me goodbye. I was awe struck. People, Kunle was ffffoooooiiiiinnnneee. I was no Jenifa from Aiyetoro but I wasn't the most sophisticated looking girl you had ever seen. I was giddy for weeks off the memory of my gorgeous knight.

 Ogun State University is a big place and at that time, we had 4 campuses and I didn't know if I would ever run into Kunle again. Imagine my delight when I ran into Kunle at a canteen on campus. He looked really happy to see me too. He paid for my meal and we got talking. We talked for hours on end. We talked about family, upbringing, primary school, pets etc. We just talked and talked. I felt I had known him my whole life. We reluctantly said goodbye after he drove me to my hostel. That was the beginning of my ordeal in the hands of Kunle Odunlami. I rue that day.

Shortly after the soul search session, Kunle and I started dating. It was magical for the first 6 months; he convinced me to buy pots and pans and start going to the local market, he would come over and I would prepare meals for us, he would invite his friends and their girlfriends over and we would have dinner parties, he would spend the night and we would go to school together. We began to live like a married couple. He had been going on about sex for the longest time. Anytime he brought it up  I would  insist that I wanted to remain a virgin for my husband. He would laugh and say he was my husband anyways.

We had been dating for 6 months when it happened for the first time. He came back from school and he was very moody. I tried to find out what was wrong and he just yelled at me and I said I was just trying to help. That reply must have set him off cos the next thing I knew, he pounced on me, ripped off my panties and forced himself inside me. I was being raped by my boyfriend. Kunle forcibly took my virginity. I was too stunned to cry. When he grunted his last and rolled off me, I just laid there and stared at the ceiling. After 5 minutes, he got up, got on his knees and started crying and begging. It was the devil, he was very sorry. I was shocked out of my prone state as i stared at the sight of this grown man sobbingnlike a child died in his arms. Body wracking sobs. I started crying too and CONSOLING HIM! Imagine that. I was consoling him. The slimy bastard that just raped me.

This was just the beginning of my woes. Wo, my dears, we shall continue later.

*all names are not real names. I apologize if they are actual peoples' names or they bear any resemblance to people you may know.

Life and Times of Lovelorn Lagos Sisis: Joan's Story: The Conclusion

Hello everyone. Joan here....again. Where were we that last time? Ok.....where that mother of the devil was proposing that they carry me for sacrifice for the sacriliage of not getting married at 31. Ok, let me not break the gist mid-stream.

As I came 'to' from my waking-faint/blackout upon hearing the word 'sacrifice' I realised Mummy Uniben was still holding court on my matter with my mum interjecting on my behalf periodically

Mum: aunty, it hasn't gotten to that. I know my God is able. As He has done for her sisters, so He will do for her in Jesus' name. God will not....'

Mummy Uniben: Nkiruka, I said you should keep shut! I know what I'm saying.

Mama Ighe: If you and your mother are refusing to do sacrifice because of one Jesus, I have another idea. In my husband's place, when a woman is above 24 and she's not married, they make a special stool for her and put it in front of her father's house. She must sit there from morning till night so that everyone passing in their car o, on their legs o will see her. Rain or shine, she must be there until a man asks her what she is selling. Instead of you to be carrying bag every morning to go to work, I suggest your mother makes stool for you and puts it outside so men can see your market, ehn, Emilomo? Abi na?'

No people, Mama Ighe WAS NOT  joking. In her mind, she has offered solid advice that should be considered by all present as a valid course of action. My mother felt she had gone on long enough and she gave her another look that said 'SHUT. YOUR. BLOODY. MOUTH'. Mama Ighe, like I have already said, knows not to mess with my mother. My mum has 'brushed' her before. For you janded peeps, brushing means to physically assault someone. In this case, my mum didn't physically assault her, it was more like she beat her senseless!! I was a bit satisfied that Mama Ighe couldn't really dare my mum and the little talking she was doing was because of the dutch courage she was getting from her other sister-witches being present. Can these bitches get out of my house? Maybe I should say I am a lesbian and watch them all stare at both me and my mother in horror, before scrambling out of the house to spread the gossip to all and sundry. But I couldn't do that to my poor mother.

Mummy Uniben: This is not a matter of sitting down anywhere. Look here, don't you know what your mates are doing to get married, Emilomo? You are still expecting love at this your old age? Your mates are getting pregnant for men to force them to marry. You are going about believing in love. I've been married for 39 years. There is nothing like love. You need to open your eyes. You will be doing lagos girl up and down. Are Lagos girls not meant to be smart? You....you are the biggest dunce. It is either you trap somebody with pregnancy or you become second wife.

Me: Second wife? Trapping? But ma....

Mummy Uniben: Yes. Second wife. At this stage, I don't even care if it is third or fourth wife. All I know is, YOU MUST MARRY.

Mama Adokie: Are you not even ashamed of yourself? Ehn? They are suggesting everything, you are saying no,no, no. Are you not ashamed? You are here for your sister's wedding. Don't you want people to come to your own? You are looking for love. Sister has told you the truth. There is no love. Find someone to tie down. Do it by pregnancy or by juju or the two and do it quickly. My brother spoilt you. That's why you don't have sense right now

Look at the frustrated women offering advice. Women that didn't marry for love. I'm even certain that they used Mummy Uniben to clear debt. She looks like the trade by barter kind of witch. It was clear to me that all my father's sisters were unhappily married BUT they didn't think so. They believe they have achieved the ultimate female destiny and I was sorely lacking. I want to get married but not like these idiots.

Mama Mabel: Senseless girl

Mama Lucy: Mschhhhheeeeewwwwww. Strong head for nothing. Fine for nothing, no husband.

These ones too had to add their own two cents. It was under their breaths sha o. My formidable mother was not above kicking ass there and then. Anyways, at this point, enough was enough. What a bunch of unfeeling bitches my father's sisters are. Do they think I'm walking about gleefully, excited about not doing the things my mates are doing like getting married and having kids? Do they think I don't sit in my room night after night and cry and really pour my heart to God? I don't know any other way. I'm doing all I can in my power. I am pliable, well mannered, I don't argue, I cook, I clean, I read Cosmo to find out what a mordern woman should do for her man, I read the Bible to find out how a virtuous woman carries herself. I cannot kill myself. My whole waking life is consumed by the conundrum of why I am yet to get married. I had had enough of these tired witches and I was just getting ready to explode when 'stupidity' came to my rescue

Mama Ighe: wait o. You are all saying she should trap the man, with the way this Emi is behaving like one dunce, can she even 'do'?

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help myself. Simultaneously, my mum jumped to her feet and let it rip

Mum: EME, LOOK HERE, IT IS YOUR CHILDREN THAT WILL NOT KNOW HOW TO 'DO'. IT IS THEM THAT WILL NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THEIR ORGANS. HOW WON'T YOU ADVICE HER TO GO AND GET PREGNANT SINCE THAT IS YOUR PROFESSION??DOMITILLA!!! AGARACHA!!!!  E BU AGARACHA!!!! BECAUSE I'VE BEEN KEEPING QUIET FOR YOU PEOPLE. YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST BE TALKING TO ME AND MY CHILD ANYHOW? EHN??? I HAVE HAD ENOUGH. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING AGAIN BEFORE I START CURSING SOMEBODY. LEAVE ME AND MY CHILDREN IN PEACE. I AM BEGGING YOU NOW O. AND YOU PEOPLE KNOW ME O. YOU KNOW ME WELL O EHEN. IT IS THE GRACE OF JESUS YOU ARE ALL ENJOYING RIGHT NOW.

Mummy Uniben: Nkiru, it is ok. Sit down! You cannot be shouting on my head. I am your husband's senior sister. Respect me, my friend!!!!  Eme, keep shut. We are all here for good. We don't hate you Emi. But you must marry and I'm giving you between now and next year to do it. Or else.....

She turned and looked at her sisters and said 'let's go'.

Having delivered her ominous proclaimation, she got up and left. Her sisters filed out the same way they filed in, after her. My mum and I looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief. But it was all too much for me and I fell into my mother's arm and just sobbed for the longest time.

That was two years ago. I'm 33 now. I've gone over the 'time limit' allotted to me by Mummy Uniben. I'm going back to the village having flaunted her direct ultimatum. It is about to be a royal rumble and I'm sure this time around, not even my mother's stink-eye or her 'fight to the death for her children' attitude can save me from the 7 Witches of Irrua. I looked at my sister with a mixture of love, pride, sadness and trepidation; and I just thought to myself; Here we go again.....Anyways, bring it on!

Btw, I started dating someone new a few days ago......keep your fingers crossed for me, ok? And no, it is not the second wife option that was suggested.

Life and times of lovelorn Lagos Sisis: Joan's Story

*Thanks OO, my Edo state source*

Hi there. I am Joanne Igbinosa but everyone calls me Joan. So you may call me Joan too. You’ve met Somto.
As you’ve guessed, I am as unmarried as Somto is. But whilst Somto relishes her singlehood and would curse you out if you take her to task on it, I am….ashamed of my single status. Yes.... I said it.... I CAN’T STAND BEING UNMARRIED. I feel like such a failure.
I was so envious of Somto when she said her aunt and her mum had tried to hook her up with Chike. For me, that would have been the jackpot; a successful man with his own business and citizenship of another country….what’s not to love? So what if he can’t speak English? With all the English I’ve been speaking, has Central Bank called me to dash me money? English and all these things are superficial and overrated as far as I am concerned. Somto is so lucky, people are always queuing up to hook her up and she’s always finding fault with the guys. If they are not too short, they are fat, if they are not too thin, they can’t speak English. Abeg, she’s too idealistic and unrealistic jare. Nobody goes out of their way to even consider my matter. She calls me Doormat because I want to get married and she calls me Chameleon because I don’t see anything wrong in being the woman a man wants you to be so he can put you in his house.

I know what a lot of you are saying right now “This Joan is desperate o”. Well, na you get your mouth. Maybe I should share my story with you and we will see if you won’t be desperate if you were in my shoes.

My father died in 2001. We are 5 children in my family. We are all girls and I am the first child. Two weeks ago, my youngest sister came bounding in one evening screaming her head off
‘Mummy! Mummy!!! Mummy!!! Sister Joan!!!!!!’
‘Obehi! Wetin?’ asked my mum
‘Mummy, Eruka just proposed! I am engaged!!!!’ she said, flashing a simple white gold ring with a tiny diamond on it in both our faces and beaming hugely.

Stop the press: my 19 year old sister, who is in her 3rd Year at the University, was proposed to by her 26 year old boyfriend. This is my worst nightmare come to life.

‘Thank you Jesus! This is number 4 in this house. Chineke Daalu oooo!!!’ sang my mother to the high heavens.
I just stood there, rooted to the spot. My mother wasn’t trying to be insensitive. Far from it. But she was happy. A wedding is a joyous occasion and she couldn’t help but be happy for her baby. I was happy for my sister too…..i was happy for all of them when they got engaged and subsequently got married. But it is hard to always be the bridesmaid and never the bride….though technically I was never their bridesmaid.
It was just that this announcement took me back to last year when my third sister got married in our village, Irrua Edo state. (We are Asan people)

On the way to Irrua we were all in high spirits. It had been a minute since we went to Irrua. My father made us all promise that we would get married in Irrua because he would be buried there and even though he would be physically unable to give us away, he would feel closer to us. So every time one of us gets married, we sojourned to Irrua. This was the third marriage in Irrua. The first two, were a nightmare for me. It had nothing to do with the weddings themselves but everything to do with the war my father’s sisters were waging against me and my single status. The thinly veiled hostility towards me was not for small children. But I was prepared to grin and bear it for Cassandra’s sake.

We got to Irrua and it was business as usual. We opened up our big village house and people from all over came pouring in. I took a few minutes to go and speak to dad. I just always felt he was lovingly embracing me and reminding me to pray whenever I sit on the red sand surrounding his grave.
One by one, my father’s 7 sisters started trooping in. This time, they meant business. First, it was Mummy Uniben, so called because she ran a canteen in Uniben for close to 15 years; the formidable pariah of the family, then it was Mama Edosa, Mama Mabel, then Mama Ighedosa, then Mama Irikefe, then Mama Adoke and lastly, Mama Lucy.

My mother knew what they were coming for. Mama Irikefe was her bum chum. She knew the general gist of what was about to happen. She sent us away when they kept coming, told us to go and see our uncles in the hope that before we got back, they would have talked and gone. My mum was imported into their midst from Nnewi, Anambra state. She has had to fight a mighty battle to win their respect and they all knew better than to mess with my mum.

We were gone for about an hour. Everyone sans the bride to be who was cooped up in the house for one traditional something or the other. It was almost getting dark when we made our way back home. I knew there was trouble when my father’s 7 sisters were still in the house. We greeted them. They grunted their reply. As we were about to go into the room, Mummy Uniben called out

‘Emilomo’

That’s my Edo name.

‘Ma’ I replied

‘Come and sit down’

Oh oh. What is going on here? I knew I was in for it when she eyed me up and down as I came to sit by my mother whose face looked thunderous.

‘Emilomo, how old are you now?’ she asked even though she knew the answer as she was at my naming ceremony, the old croon

‘I’m 31 ma’ I replied

’31!!!!!!!!!’ she shouted and burst into rapid dialect.

’31 and you’re still shielding her, ehn Mama Emi’ that was Mama Ighedosa. Who put this one’s mouth in the matter? 5 children, different baby daddies. The gist in the family was that when Ighe was born, she was 17 and my grandma had to be taking her from house to house to ascertain who the daddy was. When they get to one house and they slam the door in their faces, she would suddenly remember someone else who ‘may be’ the baby daddy. She hates us because daddy dressed down Mama for following her everywhere and he stopped giving her money for school and things because she was a ‘useless girl’ ah! Daddy!! I miss him so. He would have walked this stupid bunch out of our house. Anyways, back to the matter.

The side eye my mother gave Mama Ighedosa was adequate to keep her quiet….at least for a while.

’31 and you are still in your father’s house. Do you want to kill your mother’ mummy uniben asked

‘aunty, I’m not complaining. God’s time is the be….’ My mum was saying

‘keep shut!’ Mummy Uniben said to my mum (Mummy Uniben believes that selling food in Uniben ranks her amongst the Professors there. She’s always blasting big..big grammar)

‘which God? Which time? I have told you time and time again. I have called you on phone, I have said it with mouth, with ears, with the whole of my body that we must do something about this girl. I said you should bring her during Christmas so we will go and do divination on this her matter, you dodged me. You will be doing akada and born again. You are not more enlightened than me, afterall, I worked in Uniben for 15 years and 10 months (I guess she did ‘work’ in Uniben) When matters become like this, they must wash the head of the person involved with black soap and do certain sacrifices and I have told you it will cost money and……’

WHHHAAATTTTTT! I tuned Mummy Uniben out for a minute. Did I just hear sacrifice? Sacrifice???? it has gotten to that? I don die.

I’m tired of talking abeg. More later

Life and times of lovelorn Lagos Sisis (Somto's Story) Episode 2

*thanks to LO and AA for allowing me use some of their anecdotes*

And so it was that Chyke came to dinner.

Throughout dinner, I was looking for somebody, anybody, to do a drive-by and kill us all, mum inclusive. How could she? How could she be so desperate for son-in-law and wedding party as to agree to let me be hooked up to this pig hovering up akpu at speeds hitherto unknown to man? Stop the press! I just remembered the chief culprit: Aunty freaking Jo. She is definitely, definitely dead to me from now henceforth. Is she for real? Is this all I’m worth? Is this what they will sacrifice me at the altar of marriage for? This….thing??? Really????????

I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you how dinner went.

So I asked Chyke to come in when what I should really have done was slam the door in his face whilst yelling ‘wrong number’ (or is that only for phone calls? At this point, don’t know, don’t care) He was so oily and greasy; from his activator laden hair to his shiny palm oiled face and his greasy attitude. Instead of walking in, he all but slithered in and he was immediately being over-slimy, instantly calling my mum ‘mummy’ pronounced ‘mohmi’ not the usual ‘momeee’. Mu…what? Looking around this house, I don’t see your picture anywhere. Mummy gini? Abeg o.
My son-in-law starved mother too was beaming from ear to ear, basking in the adoration of being a random boy’s mohmi. ‘Ah, Chike. God bless you. How was the journey? How is everybody in America? How is Obama and Michelle *pause…insert the requisite dry joke laughter here* Welcome to my home’ and on and on. The two of them were having a swell time gisting about all sorts, leaving me looking like someone that had sucked on a lemon. Not that I even wanted to be a part of the gist or whatever. I still don’t know the first thing to say to Chyke.
Then as if out of a trance, my mother looked up and gave me a look like she just caught me defecating in the corner of the living room and said ‘will you not bring refreshments for our guest or you want him to go to kitchen himself?’ I didn’t see why not, actually. But I dared not say that aloud to my mother. ‘what would you like?’ I asked in my best long-suffering-polite voice ‘ there is coke, juice…’ ‘ah ah, Somtochi’ butted in Chyke’s new mohmi ‘bring everything then he can select’. Msscheewwwwww. See me see wahala. Did I invite him here? Why am I the one serving him refreshments? Which reminds me, there is a maid, why isn’t she serving this pompous maggot looking at me in an affectionate ‘little air-head’ way with a stupid, smug smirk on his face and telling his mohmi to ‘leave her’? I’m sure left to my mother, while serving the coke or whatever, I should kneel down; wine carrying style, and put the cup to his lips all in the name of serving. Rubbish. Where was my dad when I needed him so desperately? That’s right, he went to the village. Crafty mohmi, orchestrated this visit to coincide with when my daddy would not be at home. Drats!

Nothing doing, after he had downed the entire pack of juice, it was on to the dinner specially prepared for him. And that’s when the conversational (barely) beast in Chyke was let loose. In between hefty morsels of akpu and 25 licks of hand per second, he asked ‘Somtochi’ the nerve of some people sha ‘how old are you?’ “28.” ‘She’s going on 29 actually’ added my mum, helpfully ‘but she looks so young for 29 don’t you think?’ I mean, what next? Will they open my mouth and inspect my teeth or something abi which one is this ‘final sales’ schpiel mohmi Chyke is doing? ‘28. Fine gyal like you, why have you not married now?’ the ever tactful Chike asked ‘I haven’t been asked’ sez I. ‘You know all these young girls and their yanga’ again, mohmi, finishing off with an uncomfortable laughter.
‘so’ I said, in an attempt to drown my mother out of the conversation ‘what do you do?’ ‘I have a Nigerian food stuff store in Oklahoma’ ‘ah, that’s a very good business. You can never go wrong with anything the mouth eats’ my mum, refusing to be drowned out. ‘all the young women there must just be chasing you. A young successful man like yourself.’ ‘well, American girls are too exposed for me. I prumize myself that when I am ready to marry, I come back home and pick a girl with little exposure and take her over there with me so she can bear and raise my kids.’ Said Chyke in his ‘Iboricana’. Over where? Who told this moron that I was not exposed? Is the burial-style material fooling him? Or is it that he can’t hear my over-cultured English (made even more so because I was trying to prove a point to my mother as to our English disparity) See how men put themselves in trouble. Coming home to pick random girls you don’t know to be baby making machines=gross stupidity. All the while, my mother was encouraging his nonsense and punctuating it with the occasional ‘that’s right’. ‘Somtochi, are you working?’ he asked ‘ Yes. I am an accountant with Akintola Delloite’ I replied. ‘working class woman ehn?’( does he even know the meaning of working class?) he chuckled with my mum joining in. ‘Me, I don’t like women working and working o. Who will raise the children? When we reach Oklahoma, you will just be helping me in the store. I have plenty money and I can give you everything you need and even be sending money home to them mohmi’ he decreed. ‘Yes. A woman must do as her husband says’ replied my mother. Is this woman kidding me? Husband??? Btw did my father tell her to quit nursing for him? She raised me to be a strong woman and all for the sake of marriage, she wants to dumb me down. Are they both normal? The only way I’m following this creep to America is if I’m in a body bag, stone cold dead. All my ACCA will be used in asking whether people want yam or plaintain. God forbid. I’m not interested in having his oblong headed, short arsed babies either. How revolting.

The dinner dragged on and eventually, it was time for Chyke the gross to go. Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Halleeeeeelujahhhhh. The only positive side to the dinner was, Chyke and my mother got on like a house on fire. They got on so well, I thought they would be great for each other. She could follow him to Oklahoma and sell yam and ogiri with him. Mscheeeeeewwww. When he was leaving, my mother made me walk him out of the house to his car. Her way of giving us some ‘alone’ time. I wish she hadn’t. ‘mehn that was a good food. It has been long since I have home cooking. This is why I need a wife to come over there and help me out’ I think he just needs a maid. ‘out of the laundry list of duties your wife will perform and what she will be like, you didn’t talk about love or companionship once. Why’s that?’ I asked. He laughed a long, hearty laugh and said ‘women and their love.*punctuate with more laughter*Right now, love is not really important for me. I just wanna have a fine, strong wife who will bear and raise my kids. Love will grow eventually’ *buzzer sound* wrong answer. ‘well, it was nice to meet you Chike’ Not. ‘Take care of yourself’. Then it happened. Chike actually…..puckered up!!!! Eeeeewwwww. Like I was going to let his Vienna sausage lips touch mine. And he kept advancing with his eyes closed and mine wide open in horror. Eventually, I gathered my wits and almost at the last minute, I turned my cheek to block the onslaught. You could see his confusion that I wasn’t ready to jump on his all giving gravy boat kissing band wagon. He eventually drove off after giving me his number and eliciting a promise from me that I would call.

Walking back inside, my mum was all lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘so?’ she asked knowing what response she wanted to hear ‘oh mother, he’s the man of my dreams. I’ve always wanted a Neanderthal to whisk me far away from my family, from all I know and love. Also, I can’t wait to give up my lifelong dream of being an accountant for being a trophy, child bearing, food stuff sales assistant. I’m getting merrhid!!! Quick let’s start making plans’ I replied. ‘Somto, be serious now. He’s a good prospect o. He can take care of you and you will be living in America’ my mum replied ‘Mum, I’ve already lived “over there”. You do remember that I lived in England AND I came back of my own free will, so this America thing doesn’t score him any brownie point. How can you even see me and that boy together? He can’t even speak English. See how….’ ‘SHUT UP’ my mother thundered. ‘English? What do you want to do with English? Is the one you are speaking not enough? Your mates are married and you are here nitpicking, talking about English. You better be wise’ I looked at my mum for a while and I said in my calmest voice ‘nothing recommends Chike to me. So, no. Thank you’. Just then, the phone rang and it was the harbinger of Chike, Aunty Jo. The first thing my mother said was ‘she said she doesn’t want o. That he can’t speak English. Jo, save me o’. Aunty Jo asked to speak to me. ‘Somtochi, this boy is a very good boy from a good family. He can take care of you very well. Also he is an American citizen. I wouldn’t want us to lose him’. Lose him???? Take care of me???? What were all these stupid buzz words? I decided to be politely frank with Aunty Jo, after all, she was dead to me. ‘Aunty, thank you. But maybe another girl will like Chike. He is definitely not for me. AT ALL’ I answered.

Excuse me for wanting to make a sensible choice in marriage. Chike was no prize. He was an uncouth idiot, with archaic ideas. They just want me to get married. Nobody was looking at the eventual trouble that will arise when I refuse to give up work, when I show the level of my exposure, when I refuse to be the quiet wife in the backroom of the foodstuff shop quietly doing the stock taking, who only spoke when spoken to, when I could no longer veil my disgust which was just about thinly veiled right now cos I know I never have to see him again. I’m a modern woman. I have a job I love and I live in a country I like. I would love to get married but to the right person who is not trying to morph me to the woman he thinks is ideal. I am ideal enough as I am and even if I have to make changes to accommodate a man, they will have to be subtle changes that I would be happy to make because I love him and nothing will be too much trouble for the man I love not these types of changes for a guy I can’t even stand.
I'm even more upset about the changes I am seeing in my mother with regards to this marriage thing. My mother who has raised me to be a self-sufficient woman, within the blink of an eye wants me to forget life long lessons just so they can say her daughter is married. Wow.
Anyways, they may be right, maybe I’m too picky and that’s why I’m not married. I left the sitting room for my room with my mother bellowing ‘ I WILL NEVER INVOLVE MYSELF IN YOUR MATTER AGAIN. IF YOU LIKE MARRY, IF YOU LIKE DON’T MARRY. UNGRATEFUL GIRL!!!!!!!’Yeah right mother, until the next opportunity presents itself then?

Somto

Life and times of lovelorn Lagos Sisis Episode 1

* these are series of stories by different women. They are adaptations and embellishments of stories told to me by my fellow lovelorn Lagos sisis. You won’t believe the crap we put up with in the quest for love*

Hey y’all, my name is Somtochi Ugoji. Friends and family call me Somto. I am 28 (and the half) I work for Akintola Delloite. I have been given the opportunity to share my quest for love and marriage with you guys by CherryWine. Hope you guys enjoy my story.

So being above 21 and unmarried in Lagos has now become a crime o. I am 28 (ok…ok…and a half) and because of that singular fact, even men that are 45 years old think I have expired. God punish all of them…it is them that will expire like bad soup. My mother has almost finished me with bad eye in the house, as if I’m not getting married on purpose, in order to spite her. I don’t have an opinion anymore in the house and they have refused to let me move out. If I say to the maid, ‘please go and bring me water’ my mother’s typical response is anywhere between a loooonnnnggggg hiss or a ‘go and be controlling the people in your husband’s house’ all said under her breath of course, because my no-nonsense father will give it to her on my behalf. She means well though and she only recently started acting like this.
This is the story of why my mother has been stink-eyeing me for the past six months.

It all began in March. I had just gotten home from work and I was watching TV in the sitting room; a rare occurrence since I hardly get back from work before 10 thanks to a bastard boss and the female-dog that is the Lagos State traffic. My mother, in her quest for a son-in-law, has helpfully suggested and even threatened to withdraw my car from me. Her rationale: if men see me standing by the road side in all my finery, they will ‘feel pity for me’ and offer me rides or offer to take me out from time to time and along the way of prostituting myself for free rides and free trips, I may land myself the much coveted husband……and also, I won’t have to drive in traffic again. Happy ending, she gets a son-in-law, I stop cursing.

Anyways, I digress

So there I was, unusually early and enjoying it. Mum was there with me as well, asking the barrage of questions that goes with the territory of watching ANYTHING with my mother. Then her phone rang and in her characteristic booming voice, she announced that it was Aunty Jo, her cousin who lives in Oklahoma. If you know anything about Oklahoma, it is that it is flooded with Nigerian boys, mainly of the ibo persuasion. If you know anything about Aunty Jo it is that she is a shameless and tactless matchmaker. After the usual pleasantries, I noticed my mum’s voice dropping an octave or 100,000 which is characteristic of her aproko ways with Aunty Jo. The conversation lasted another 25 minutes. I wasn’t really interested; Food Network Challenge had come on.

Over the next few days, I forgot about Aunty Jo and her call……ala pretty woman……big mistake, big…huge, mistake.

It was Saturday, and I was considering catching a movie with Joan and Tinuke (more on them later) when my mum came to my room, and sat on my bed (alarm bells) and with uncharacteristic chattiness for a Saturday morning, wanted to know my itinerary for the day. So I told her I was hanging out with the girls “girls! Girls!! Girls!!! She grumbled. ‘Somtochi are you a gay? There is no day I ask what you will be doing that you will say you are hanging out with boys. I did not raise a gay o. Jesus, see me o!’ finished my melodramatic mother whilst crossing herself. There is something about living under your parents’ roof that makes you regress to a 14 year old because instead of ignoring her, I pouted and told her that I hung out with plenty, plenty boys. ‘well there is no evidence of that’ she scoffed. ‘anyway no hanging today o. I’m expecting one of my relatives from America. So there is a lot to do’. I ended up going to the market and helping her prepare ofe nsala and assisting with the turning of the akpu and all that good stuff.

Should not my suspicions have been aroused when my mother insisted I wore the Ankara skirt and blouse she made for me that had been tucked away in my drawer since Christmas? My stupid suspicion had gone walkies by this time……the traitor!

So there I was, decked in the ugliest Ankara that looked like burial material watching tv, when the bell rang and I was instructed to go and open the door. On the other side of the door stood………stood this PERSON. I sort of sniggered to myself when I opened the door, wondering where my mother found all these her relatives from. From the permed hair with the ends sticking out, to the origami one-kind face, with the huge ‘bling-bling’ and earring that is meant to prove that he is from ‘Amlika’ and he has ‘swag’ to the over-dose of Louis Vuitton he had on him; shoes, belt and satchel.
‘Good evening’ sez I. ‘Gur efening’ he replied with a toxic mixture of Americana and konk ibo accent. Angels Michael and Gabriel must have both put their hands on my mouth at the same time because, only heaven knows how I didn’t burst out laughing there and then. ‘AM Chike but fraans call me Chyke’ Two things I hate; people that say Am instead of I’m and people whose names are Chyke. ‘I’m Somto. Pls come in, mum has been expecting you’
Abeg, more next time.
Somto