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