If you can no longer walk down the road with a platonic male friend without your mum jumping out of the bushes and enquiring, “Nne, is he the one? Hey my son, welcome o. Enhehn? Biko, give me your mother’s number so we can start planning the wedding”
If your uncle thinks he is being all chummy chummy when he digs a painful hole in your side with his sharp, bony elbow and asks, “so tell me, when are we coming to drink palm wine on your behalf, nne”?
If your mothers, aunties and a long retinue of their friends are ready to matchmake you with anything that has a male reproductive organ, ‘Just do and marry, dassall!’
If because of uncomfortable situations like these, you cannot even pick an unpainted cab to ferry you round town; you can see your people’s spies craning their necks to catch a glimpse of your “new boo” and almost placing an instant, irreversible curse on you when you open your wallet to settle the cab fare.
If you walk into the supermarket with a friend and everyone immediately defers to him as your “oga”. Don’t even think that airlines, hotels and hospitals are going to ask you before they fill out “Mrs” before your name.
If you are a Nigerian, 28 and over and not yet married then it is obvious your village witches have finally located your residential address and when you go to sleep at night, meet inside your womb to hold their dance rituals and ensure you remain attractive only to your incubus.
(PS: If you do not know what incubus and succubus are at this stage, then you must be one of those mythical “happily married” Nigerian people).
Anyway, if you are tired of receiving huge bottles of holy water, anointing oil and sacred mantles from all sorts of concerned citizens; if you will bite the next person that suggests one yeye magician in sharp suit for all night deliverance sessions; if you are determined to shoot the next friend who attempts to match make you with their lousy partner’s friend all because “a woman without a man is nothing”…
If you ticked yes to all the above, live in Abuja and have decided to settle for one of these Abuja boys with flashy cars, biabia down to their chest area and some funky hybrid accent in order to at least keep the concerned citizens off your case, please read this guide to decoding Abuja men first and consider it my gift to humanity and harassed young ladies all over the world.
- If he says to you, “I am a business man”, my sister biko ask him what sort of business he is involved in. Abuja is a town where someone’s “business” could actually be keeping an eye out for lonely, desperate but comfortable young ladies to leech off on. It is such a successful business that some of them have registered limited liability companies and even have associations that hold regular meetings where they trade advice and exchange contacts of hopeful “hosts”. So, if his business is the type that does not require an office to execute, biko my sister, get used to the idea of holding your pillow tighter at night. Maka Stories that touch
- If your bae is into “real estate” my sister, biko delete all thoughts of properties in Maitama and Asokoro from your mind. What he is actually telling you with that euphemism is that he is one of those who gather in any of the numerous Abuja mosquito gardens to wait for someone who wants to rent a house. Usually, they sit in groups of 10 and above. Someone rents a three bedder for N2m, agency fee at 5% is N100,000. Please divide that among the ten of them who followed that transaction bumper to bumper and you will see that if you have anything that looks like a steady source of income or a reasonable business; then the only castles you and your bae would be building over the course of your relationship would all be in the air. Of course to be financed by you – but that is just a little inconveniencing detail, nehi?
- If your tear rubber boo claims to be an “artiste” or “moozeeshan”, my sister your case don turn to sorry patapata o! Why? Nothing o, just visit any of the afore-mentioned mosquito gardens at night and watch the one you erroneously believe is the next Macka Janson as he walks from table to table, strumming a half dead guitar in a croaky isale-eko voice, singing for a bottle of beer, some left over grilled fish, or N200 transport money back to base.
Engage at your own peril.
- Okay, let us keep it brief from this point on…
Car dealer = mechanic
Politician = Otimkpu with an internet connection
International business man = just deported from Zaire
Teacher = teacher
Banker = Anything from the bank security guard to the guy who scrubs the toilets after the original bankers have done a careless number 2
Contractor = jobless muchacha
No, I am not being materialistic, just trying to keep it real. Do not allow yourself to be pressured into taking a leap from the frying pan straight into the fire. The hustle is real, but do not make yourself another man’s hustle.
In my village, we call them “Oji amu, o jiro ego” (Akwai penis, babu kudi).
We are tired of stories that touch.
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