THE NIGERIAN WOMAN AND THE REAL MAN (TEST-THE-TERONE) BY Sally

THE NIGERIAN WOMAN AND THE REAL MAN

The Nigerian woman is like every other woman. She has all the appealing body parts and her anatomy is definitely female but she surprisingly has more to offer.

The Nigerian woman is raised to love, obey, respect, satisfy and nurture her man. From the time her little feet are able to move around and she can use her hands as well, her mother teaches her how to take care of the home. She starts from serving her father and brothers and uncles and at some point when she becomes old enough, her mother leaves the running of the household in her hands. Now, I know we’re in a modern age and westernization has affected us a lot but the females in Nigeria are still expected to serve the males no matter their upbringing, religion or even social status.

The Nigerian woman grows into learning how to cater to the emotional, physical, psychological and sexual wishes of her man. So what is the man’s duty, in return? The obvious answer would be, to provide her needs, be it financially or materially because the general opinion is if you give a Nigerian woman money, then you have made her happy. Seriously, I can’t fault anyone who believes that because of the obvious lifestyles of many female folk today. But let’s just be honest here, a woman needs much more than that. She wants communication, connection and emotional intimacy. The need to be loved and heard and understood never really goes away. Women will always put aside the clothes and jewelry and shoes and find somewhere to cry if they’re not loved. They will always envy that other woman whose man treats her like gold and not a commodity on a stand. They will always find a way to seek emotional gratification when the finer things leave them feeling empty. Yes, more than you know, the Nigerian woman has a heart.

The biggest complain women have today is that Nigerian men are very unromantic. They face love with the same cutthroat manner they face their businesses. Romantic gestures to them are not necessarily acts of love but prelude to sex. Some of them are so caught up in their manliness and ability to be turned on by a woman and act on it, that they believe it is all it takes to be a man. Well, I hate to burst your bubble (if you’re one of said males) that it takes more than a full dose of testosterone to become what a woman needs. Ever wondered why certain men are easily taken in by the female folk? They steal the hearts of not just the girl with the full curves but the frustrated woman selling soft drinks on a tray, the mother-in-law from hell and even the veiled Muslim sister who cannot look into your eyes without bending her head. They have simply learnt the complex language of the Nigerian woman, who surprisingly does not demand much at the end of the day.

All she wants from a world that has obviously lost it is a genuine man. To put it in our language here, she wants a real man.

Who is a real man? Below, I have defined him in very simple terms.

A Real Man Doesn’t Sweat The Small Stuff

The way guys act when they are confronted with trivial issues is something I have always admired. To them, if it’s not affecting their pockets, stomachs and erogenous zones, why bother? What really is the sense in busting your nuts over something that is total BS. There is nothing wrong with a man expressing his emotions once in a while but when he allows them get the best of his thought process, then his estrogen level needs to be checked. Men enjoy a good laugh any day and at their own expense! You’re as short as M.I, someone pokes at your pot belly, your ex calls you broke ‘cause you didn’t buy her a Peruvian… whatever it is, it’s not worth your sweat.

A Real Man Is A Grown Man

There is nothing as off-putting as a man who just would not grow up. Being a man is all about responsibility. Adam was not given the task of screwing the lesser beings in the garden but of taking care of them. Even if a guy has no one to be responsible for, he should be responsible for himself. Proven, women mature faster than men and it takes a longer time for a man who is age mates with a woman to understand the concepts she has already fully grasped, but that doesn’t mean he should go about his life acting like he’s an overgrown baby. Mature men control their emotions and respect the feelings of others. I hate it when I hear men tell their women that the best cook is their mother and no one else will ever cook like her. That is babytalk. Your mother breastfed you, raised you with her tantalizing meals but now you’re a grown man. It is time to create your own life and swing on your own branch of the tree.

A Real Man Is A Gentleman

Opening doors, pulling out chairs, asking a lady what she wants, giving her a helping hand… these things never grow old. “I no be gentleman at all” should never apply when dealing with a woman. A gentleman is not a weakling; he’s a sensitive, kind and passionate soul wrapped in a rock-solid heart and muscular exterior. He has exquisite taste and proper etiquette. He is in control of his temper and his tongue. He respects his woman and generally everyone else around him. In today’s language, he’s a big boy, and it has nothing to do with his paycheck because a gentleman never shows off how much he’s got. He has high moral values and does not go broadcasting his affairs to anyone.  He is not afraid to bare his heart and can easily let his guard down, knowing it doesn’t mean he’s less in any way. Gentlemen are not stupid. No, they are the wisest of the bunch. Wonder why that that girl behind the counter shouted on Guy A and blushed at Guy B the moment he opened his mouth? It was all in a manner of speaking – literally. He spoke and she was mesmerised by how only a “hello” left her feeling all woman.  Refinement and simple courtesy always score big. And finally, a real gentleman does not give and expect something in return; for the sake of his own self-image, it is simply beneath him to go that low.

A Real Man Is Faithful

Big, strong, reliable. We all know that one. But truth is, we hardly ever see him. He’s most times big and strong but not reliable. He says I will be home by nine but comes back the next day. He promises heaven and earth but he’s hell to live with. A faithful man should be like the sun that rises every morning. To the general populace, especially guys, it’s in a man’s nature to whore around. After all, Solomon had a thousand women and was the world’s wisest. I totally understand that argument but the women were the beginning of Solomon’s foolery and what also ended him, as the Bible told it. For those people who are disillusioned, it is a lot of work to cheat than to stay faithful. So keep it simple and stay with one woman at a time. No one knows what goes around these days. HIV/AIDS is just one of them. Ask the man who found himself dead in a dumpster because he screwed the wrong girl.

A Real Man Has Real Money

Money talks and the poor guy gets the boot. Women love to know that their man can provide their basic needs. I am not even going to start bashing those who buy their women expensive stuff; it’s their own prerogative. If you have it and feel she’s worth it, what’s the big hoo-ha? If you don’t have it but can afford a nice pair of earrings once in a while, why not? The point is, earn a living and save some money so you can invest in your tomorrow and enjoy your today. Real money doesn’t have to be in millions or even hundreds of thousands. Real men with real money are blessed men who use their little or much faithfully, and have no added sorrows.

A Real Man Knows How To Work The V

It is said that a man does not multitask, that once he sets his mind on something, he gives it his full attention until he’s done, so how come he is always in such a hurry when he is making love? What is the rush? It is also said that men love adventure, so why on earth is the woman’s body not a new challenge or a voyage worth undertaking? Seriously, why make so much noise about getting there and when you finally get there, you just want to get off? Thank God for the internet with all the info it gives to help the one minute man. It would be atrocious in this day and age for a guy to fail to satisfy his woman.

A Real Man R-E-S-P-E-C-T-S

I am not talking about respecting the womenfolk. I am talking about a man putting a value on himself and making sure he doesn’t lower it for any female. Yes, you’re a man, you have needs and they have to be met, doesn’t mean you have to go after everything that struts by with a vagina. Set your rules and stick by them. Quit the tactless jokes and inappropriate pick-up lines. Have class. Quit settling. Quit being a pushover. Band wagoners always fall off the track because it’s never easy keeping up with the Joneses. The Joneses know why they are the Joneses and are happy being the Joneses, so what is an Olamide or a Hassan doing in their wagon? There is nothing as attractive as a man who stands out in the crowd. He is always exceptional even when his quirks are obvious. Be confident and lastly, cast not your pearls to the pig or she might turn around and rend you.

A Real Man Takes The Lead

Today, we’re in a civilised age with women taking the roles of men, doing better what men do and generally proving that you don’t need to have an Adam’s apple to be an Adam. But the problem is, if it’s not Panadol, it is not the same thing as panadol. Men who know their place, never give their power away. They might lend it out temporarily but a real man always leads the pack. They do not bully, abuse or manhandle people in their care because being the head sometimes means stooping low to carry others on your shoulders. So my point here is, if you’re in a relationship, be the head, even though, we all know what makes the head turn.

A Real Man Dresses To Impress

Finally, this might sound like the most trivial point but it is equally important. I love that guys can just pick something off the rack or bed and slip into it with no worries over whether it matches their shoes or jeans but what makes that attractive is having a wardrobe that looks classy enough to be casually sexy. I am not referring to men that fight for mirror time, wear their girlfriend’s powder and super-skinny jeans and in the end come out looking like they went through a color-riot, gay makeover. And I am not also referring to those men who still wear baggy jeans, deep v-neck shirts and gold necklaces. The whole idea is looking exquisite and manly, and at the same being comfortable. Women are excused when they feel pain in their dressing but a man’s wardrobe should be unrestricted and easy but stylish. As a guy, you love what you see when a woman dresses to impress you. I think it’s only fair if you make the same effort to impress her back.

 

To wrap it up, a real man, as a said earlier is a real man and he can’t fake it. He is not apologetic for who he is as part of the male species and enjoys his masculinity immensely. He loves sports, hangs out with other guys, does not have too many words in his vocabulary, is not crazy about nurturing, has no idea what it means to multitask and unashamedly appreciates the beauty of the opposite sex whenever they walk by. In conclusion, when he loves his woman, he does so unrepentantly and that is simply what a Nigerian woman needs.

Are you a real man?

 

© Sally

Related articles

• Love And Relationship (thecrazyyouth.wordpress.com)
• How to STAY Successfully Married to a Nigerian Man! (toperants.com)

In Pursuit of Kyenpia (The Unpublished Tales of a Lagos Playboy) by Sally

My name is Leonel Afamdi Igwe. I am 32 years old. A psychologist, hypnotherapist and a hotel entrepreneur. I speak Yoruba, Hausa, French and pidgin. I don’t speak Igbo, so please stop calling me your brother. About brothers, I have two of them and they are soldiers. My father is also a soldier, the only field marshal in Nigeria, a title he conferred on himself which no one had the balls to oppose. I once had a sister but she died. She didn’t even know who I was. I have aunts and uncles and cousins I can’t count and a grandfather too rich to imagine, he stopped counting his money years ago when his account read $987, 654, 3210… Everyone’s waiting for him to die but he might outlive us all. Some call him Baba Die-hard.

I love to play football and computer games. I watch movies during the weekend, that is if I am not rolling under the sheets with some hot chick. I am a ladies’ man and I make no apologies for that. I love them; they love me, what can I say? I like my beer, cocktails, fried rice and payback served cold. I don’t have any of those dumb talents like singing, dancing, acting, writing or cooking. I only have talent for making money. #AuthenticIgboBoy. I’m still not your brother. I have tons of friends. Most of them want my money and I am very generous with it if only they grew boobs and vaginas.

I love God, I just don’t show it. Funny thing, I go to church regularly, pay my tithe and all that but the moment the pastor starts over-dwelling on fornication, I’m out of there.

I am normal-looking, quite tall, dark complexioned like my father with a scar on my forehead but it’s my eyes that tag me as ‘handsome’. Girls just want to strip nude when I look at them and I don’t get it. Some chick once told me she was making love to my eyes and not me. I dumped her. Yes, I am like that. Arrogant and nice at the same time; I change like neon lights. I change because I cannot help myself. I have a disorder…

My name is Daniel Afamdi Igwe. Some person called Leonel lives in me. He has for 17 years now. He is a sorry son of a depraved, wanton, vile man. I am not Leonel; Leonel is not me. We are very different. I pray every morning and night because I believe I am a good man but what good I do, he destroys. I dream, he kills it. I fall in love, he makes it. I seek God, he deserts Him. Leonel does his best to ruin my life. Imagine waking up in the arms of some nameless girl with smudged make-up, smelling of sex I never had and demanding that I drive her home. That’s what he does to me. He always leaves me to clean his mess.

I love to write but I have always get blank after the first few lines. How I am writing this, I know not. I love guns and when I hold them, I intend to use them. If there’s nothing or no one to shoot, I shoot myself. I feel no pain but my heart aches for love. I long to be with family, with my mother though she is long gone. I hate my father for this.

I am in love with a girl. Her name is Kyenpia. She will bear my child but she has no idea. I’ll do whatever it takes to have her and she will be mine forever. But first I have to come out and play and leave mines Leonel would step on. I don’t intend to kill him but to weaken him until the time he bends to my will and we merge into one. There is one big problem, though, this other shadow that lives inside of me…

They call me Spirit. Other times, I am called Leonel or Daniel though I am neither. I am a collection of dreams and aspirations a father once wished upon his son. I am what you would call a generational sin, a curse passed down from a forefather. Dormant I was for decades until I found a perfect host. I am ruthless and care not for anything except my desires. I am accountable to no one because I simply do not exist. Call me a shadow and I will remain that way for that is what I really am.

Did I mention I love women?

Part 1: HOW STELLA GOT HER GROOVE BACK

I always seem to be in trouble. I get up in the morning, take my bath, dress up, leave my apartment and jump into trouble. Somewhere in the middle, I have meaningless sex.

Once upon a time when I was 26 years old, I met a woman whose biological clock had just ticked a few weeks past 33. Her name was Stella. She was my type—creamy chocolate skin, full backside, a gorgeous face, fashionable and very bubbly. At first, she thought she was dealing with a child until I re-educated her on what sex was. After our third night together, she said she was in love with me. I thought it was a joke but the chick just wouldn’t let me be from that moment. I was introduced to her friends a month later. Five fat sugar-mommies, horny as hell and desperately looking for cubs like me to destroy. She told them how I double-rainbowed on her every night and they all began to circle round me like jackals surrounding their prey. They asked if I had friends and I lied. One of them joked about all of us having a sevensome and I almost threw up. That night while in bed, not with Stella, I decided to end the relationship with her. When I told her the next day, she was devastated and cried like a baby. Women are all the same—young, old, rich, poor—they are just too emotional. The breakup was nasty and I had to travel out for a while before she stopped stalking me. She promised to make my life a living hell and I thought she was kidding until I saw her in January at a the lounge bar in my hotel.

Now 39 and still unmarried, she was fat and depressed. Her friends were with her. One was wearing a wedding ring or was it something her babalawo had given her?

“Leo!” Angie, the slimmest amongst them called and I grit my teeth tightly. I had seen them but pretended not to. I was hurrying outside to meet my guys waiting for me.

“Hello ladies,” I smiled blandly and walked to them.

“Oh my goodness! You are so hawt!” Angie said.

“He’s been hot ever since,” Buckteeth commented. I don’t know her name and that’s because I never saw the rest of her; I only used see her teeth and they were still there staring at me like bulldozers.

“Why don’t you sit with us? It’s Stella’s birthday,” said Titi, Stella’s best friend. Stella looked at me, searching my face. I saw hope in her eyes and crushed it.

“I am sorry, ladies. My fiance’s waiting for me. Happy birthday, Stella.”

“Sit down, Leonel.” Sugar pulled me and sat me down hard on a chair that materialized out of nowhere. Sugar was the leader of the gang; she was heavily wadded and called the shots. She scared the hell out of me. “Just a drink, baby,” she winked at me and her hand stroked my thigh briefly. “I’m sure your sweet, little thing won’t hassle if you got to her thirty minutes late.”

I thought of Ada. She would be dressed in her shorts and tank top, watching TV but seriously wondering if tonight would be the night I would finally pop her cherry.

“So what have you been up to, handsome?” Amina asked. She was the one with the wedding ring.

“Well, you know, this and that,” I answered and pinged one of my friends to inform them to go on ahead without me. Sugar stretched for my phone and took it and made sure her hand remained on mine a second longer.

“No phones when friends hang out ,” she said and that was the last I saw of that phone. My cocktail was brought. It was a Jus de Bissap. Stella remembered it was my favorite. I saw her smiling as I put the drink to my lips and I smiled back. I would later realize that smile meant something sinister.

“Just to keep you updated,” Buckteeth said, “Amina got married…”

“To a complete idiot!” Sugar completed and they all laughed, including Amina. No one dared oppose her.

“Wow! Congratulations, Amina,” I said. She beamed back and they began to tell me all about themselves and what they had been doing these past six years. Sugar got married to her third husband and divorced him, Buckteeth now ran a boutique in VI, Angie was duped by her boy toy who made away with all her life’s earnings, Titi was pregnant for a senator and Stella… Well, I didn’t miss anything in Stella’s life. She was still crazy for me.

An hour into all this update, I started feeling really tickled in my pants and apart from that, slightly woozy. Being a sharp guy and all, I put two and two together and arrived at the conclusion that I had been drugged. The thought amused me tensely. Stella knew me. She didn’t have to go through these lengths to get me to satisfy her. I could last all night and all day if she wanted. All I needed was my ego stroked and dirty talk…

“Are you okay?” Sugar touched my thigh again and I responded in a way demeaning to my person. I sprang up immediately from my seat and pulled my shirt down to cover my crotch area.

“Ladies, I have to go,” I said, steadying myself but Sugar pulled me down.

“That was quite rude, baby,” she smiled. “Stay a little longer.”

And they all burst out laughing. It was supposed to be a dirty joke but I didn’t get it. Their voices were to me a bad song slowing in warbled tones. I knew what they had given me but couldn’t remember the name; it was to make me more compliant. I knew the other was a drug starting with V. Veegra, Vagra, Viagra, Vigran, Vagrin, Viagra!

“Did any of you slip Viagra into my drink?” I asked and they roared in laughter again. I looked at them through half-closed eyes and giggled at first, then let myself go, laughing heartily. I laughed and laughed and laughed. God, I wished I had stopped and saved my energy but I couldn’t stop laughing. Everything was funny and everything else around me needed to be felt. Breasts spilled in my face, soft hands rubbed my body and lips pushed themselves at me and I don’t remember how I left that table and ended in my suite with five extremely randy women. It was not consensual what happened that night. I was abused, manhandled, despoiled, molested and raped brutally. I begged and cried like a baby and begged again for my life but Stella and her friends were cruel beyond understanding and after four endless hours, as I neared the gates of immortality, they left me. I managed to crawl in a pool of my blood to the only connected phone in the suite hanging on the bathroom wall of the smaller bedroom and dialed reception. My last thoughts as I collapsed over the empty Jacuzzi was about becoming a monk if I survived.

Test-the-Terone (21 Questions) by Terver Trump Malu and Sally

Test-the-Terone      …for men and the women who really know them

Recently, I asked over thirty women via the net that if they had just one question to ask the opposite sex, what would it be? It might surprise you the type of responses I got. *clears throat* I had to censor some but by and large, my conclusions were that females are not the only species that need figuring out. Men leave a lot of unanswered questions about the very outlandish ways they behave. Many times, couples fight because women simply don’t understand that boys will just be boys no matter what anyone does. Mothers who have raised them know this and in another world, we would be going to them for answers but today, I have decided to dump the load on just one guy.

Yes, Terver is here again to answer your questions, ladies. This should prove interesting because some of the questions are, like I said… hmmmm…

Just go on ahead and read for yourselves, guys. Of course, ladies, he will be speaking in manguage. If i were you, I would read between the lines at the not-so-obvious manswers.

1.      Why do men run away from commitment? Penny

TERVER: Well Penny, I think it is a bit unfair to generalize that all men run away from commitment. However, the best way I can explain this is by giving you an illustration. A single guy is like a lion in the jungle, wild and free. Committing yourself to a relationship is like capturing that lion and keeping him in a zoo where all his activities are monitored for the rest of his life!

SALLY: Never really seen a lion that found it hard to break out during the hunt. Kiss the zookeeper and get the key!

2.      How can you date and love one woman and shag another and clean your

mouth like nothing happened? Melly

TERVER: Hi Melly. Before I answer that question, I think it is important that I state here that every man’s first basic instinct is Sex…not reproduction, just good ol’ sex. Unlike women, men have the ability to completely separate emotions from Sex. A man can be truly, madly and deeply in love with his partner but still want to bang the sexy house girl…its second nature. That doesn’t mean that every guy is sleeping with everything though, some of us are able to hold back.

 3.      Why do men have erections early in the morning? Miriam

TERVER: The morning erection (aka morning glory) is like a self-automated test. It’s nature’s way of checking to see that all systems are go for the day….

SALLY: Wow! what a world of very healthy men!

4.      Why are men just clueless? Glen

TERVER: Because a large appendage of our brains is found in between our legs and we don’t use it for thinking half the time. Women should know that men don’t understand women’s subtle hints or subliminal messages (when you say you’re fine when you’re actually not), we believe you! What can I say we are the less intelligent gender?

SALLY: Gbam!
5.      Is it really possible for a guy to be faithful to only one girl
especially if she is in a town far away from him? Promise

TERVER: Yes it is….but that guy also probably has an ‘S’ tattooed on his chest and walks around in blue tights and a red cape.

Somebody save me!

SALLY: Awwww…. But we love that ‘S’ guy.

6.      Why are straight men homophobic? Mnena

TERVER: There is absolutely nothing natural about 2 guys wanting to screw each other. Just the thought of it would make any heterosexual guy cringe…which comes off as homophobia. Its alien to our Culture and I really doubt that it will ever be accepted as a norm.

7.      What’s the worst lie you have told? To whom? And were you caught? Fatima

TERVER: When I was a teenager I lied about my age a lot of the time because I had a thing for older girls. I once told a girl I was 25 when I just only 17, she was 26. She caught me but it wasn’t really a big deal. We didn’t date for long though.

SALLY: Oh, you cub. so you like cougars, huh?
8.      How fat is your bank account? Fola

TERVER: It looks a little something like this…N230, 594, 4..…. Oh wait that’s my account number!.….. well I would humbly say I’m doing okay.

SALLY: Ladies, I have his BB pin, phone number and house address. And he’s single too.

9.      Do you guys keep a secret child somewhere? Sandra

TERVER: Huh?..

SALLY: Sandra, a secret child is a secret child. Some sow their wild oats and never go back for harvesting.
10.    Why is it that only few men can be trusted? Ana

TERVER: Well Ana, I think that is a personal decision. It’s a bad world and people generally cannot be trusted naively.

11.     Must you like sports/ games? Deola

TERVER: We have to! It’s the only time when we don’t have to think about bills, problems; women….please just allow us our 90minutes in a day

12.     Do you think you are more superior than women? Chi-chi

TERVER: Absolutely! I also believe that women might be the more intelligent gender but from ants to lions to monkeys and even fishes, the male specie is always the leader of the pack.

SALLY: That’s why we love to put the lion in the cage.

13.     What does it feel like carrying ‘it’ around? Tonia

TERVER: like a demi god! Question is how does it feel not having “it..”..i guess that’s why men are Cocky…*wink*

SALLY: Cocky, Terver, really? You just had to say it!

14.     Why don’t men show emotions? Faith

TERVER: Showing all your emotions can be read as a sign of weakness. Iit’s not like we don’t, we just know how to hide it, Faith.

 
15.     What is with the B’s- big Breasts and big Butts and Beer? Destiny

TERVER: First of all, Beer is the single most genius invention ever! 2, Men don’t have boobs so we’re fascinated by it, plus that was the first part of the female anatomy we were introduced to at birth. Lastly in the words of a great man, “a big booty makes the sex last” –Ludacris

SALLY: Ladies, the real truth about the B’s is something like this–> big breast+big butts+beer= baby bump, broken heart, his big beer belly and a lot of BS.
16.     How often do you think about sex in day? Lami

TERVER: I think it varies for different people. For me personally I guess it depends on the environment, the situation and company I find myself around…nothing extra ordinary though

SALLY: Yeah, ’cause ordinary just does it for them most of the time.

17.     My boyfriend won’t visit me if he’s broke and I tell him I don’t
really care about the money, so I want to ask if making money comes
before being with your beaus? Kate

TERVER: Money definitely plays a huge role for a guy in a relationship. When a guy is broke, it sometimes affects his confidence and ego because any self-respecting man wants to be able to provide for his girl all the time. But if and your boyfriend have been dating for a while, I see no reason why he should be so insecure.

18.     What do you guys talk about when you hang out to drink? Esther

TERVER: Football, politics, women (other than our partners), money, career, did I mention money?

SALLY: Did he mention More Women?
19.     If you woke up discovering you turned into a woman overnight, what
would you do? Marcie

TERVER: Go back to sleep until I wake up from that nightmare!

I’m not really smiling

SALLY: Haba, Terver, it’s not that bad.

20.     Who comes first, your mother or your wife? GG

TERVER: Wow that is a tough one GG….but my Wife and Kids will come before anything else.
And one last one from me:
21.     Why do guys shake hands unnecessarily? For instance, a guy goes,
‘mehn, how did you see that game last night?’ and the other goes, ‘ah,
our team whooped their asses!’ then they laugh and shake hands. What’s
up with that? Sally

Lol……….it’s just our way of bonding. Lions rub up against each other, dogs sniff each other’s butts….. We shake hands.

SALLY: And ladies give each other the ‘eye’.

And this pretty much wraps it up. Anyone has answers to the questions above? Please, share!

Terver “Trump” Malu is an entrepreneur and CEO of manswersonline and the self proclaimed undisputed King of Monopoly board game.

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In A World That’s Dissappearing – condoms for kids?

Growing up in a conservative Christian home as a minister’s kid, there were certain things we never talked about and number one on the list was sex. When I had my first period, my mom went like, ‘now if a man touches you, you will get pregnant,” and that was it for Sex Education 101. At school, some of my friends told me that if you use the same toilet boys used, you could get pregnant because they leave sperm on the toilet seat and they can swim and get into you. If you asked me what went on during sex, I would have probably told you that adults rub their bodies together on the bed, under the blanket and that was all. Of course, I knew there was more to it but once you’re naïve, you are naïve until… well, until you stop being naïve.

Eventually, I knew all about sex from Mills and Boon, TV, friends, school and other educative media but to be honest, I wished my parents had sat me down and told me all about it. Yeah, well, thinking of it now, that could have scarred me but seriously, it would have helped a great deal. I am sure my story’s not just peculiar to me alone but to a lot of youth from my generation. I met some friends though, who told me their parents gave them graphic details but that is just a small fraction of the population. In countries like the United States, giving your child ‘the talk’ is a normal thing every parent has to go through. I know some don’t but most of them do and in my opinion, that is the best way to prepare a child for the world of sex he or she is going to have to face. In Nigeria, we have a big problem facing us and there is this hypocritical air that we float in that we have termed ‘African culture or tradition’ that is destroying us. How many times have I heard in Africa, we don’t do this or that. It’s for the white man. Our religious institutions would rather talk about 100 ways to kill the devil than properly teach teens about sex.

Now, for those of you who don’t know, there are now condoms offered to twelve year olds in Switzerland and a school in Massachusetts in the States was also considering sharing free condoms  to their twelve year olds and i think it is now available so you can order it and it would be delivered to your home (not in Naija). Now, I have two thoughts on this issue. Like most people, when I first got wind of this information, I was worried and a lot of bad thoughts as to how this could go wrong for the future generation bugged my mind. First, what does a twelve year old know about sex? I mean, in this child’s mind, is he/she saying, ‘I’m making love to this person because I am matured enough to be in charge of my emotions, my mind, my spiritual and physical expressions at the moment’? or is he/she just ‘doing’ as the world has told him/her that that is what sex is all about—just doing. Meaning, it’s all about the pleasure. And I ask again: for twelve year olds, is sexual pleasure made complete in their underdeveloped bodies or does the word spring up because they’re told they have to enjoy it?

Secondly, with the increasing number of pedophiles and sick, perverted adults in our society, is it wise to get a child sexually active at this age, making it easy for these beasts to prey on them. Of course, child abuse has been an issue as old as time. I remember being in a salon somewhere and it amazed me how every girl there (about eight of us) had been abused during childhood. All the same, do we make it a free-for-all for pedophiles that live and breathe amongst us?

After considering the above (not the photo), I calmed down and revisited the the condom issue and looked at it conversely and I began to see, though vaguely, from that point of view and these were my deductions. Sex is everywhere. It’s on TV, internet, radio, phones, newspapers, posters, billboards, cinema…  everywhere! I’m certain even my eleven month old has been exposed to it on TV despite all my protectiveness and who knows what has sipped into her brain that even I could not stop. The other day, a video about a teenage girl and a four year old boy having sex was made available for download on the web and before that, a photo of a four and six year old having sex under a table also went viral. Somewhere in the South-west, last year, a ten year old girl had a baby for her boyfriend, a twelve year old boy. Cases like these are not isolated and are becoming rampant around the world, especially now when we have grandmothers from the ages of twenty-four and twenty-five. In the midst of all this, these children are now very exposed to HIV/AIDS and a host of other deadly STDs. And if that be the case, doesn’t it become imperative to encourage the practice of safe sex as against forbidding them from being around the opposite sex and acting like sex just doesn’t exist around them? Now, before you go biting my head off, that was just a thought. I don’t think any sane individual would ever imagine their eleven or ten year old having sex and encourage them into it.

Wow! Having considered both sides of the argument, my conclusion is that in these times, parents and guardians have the grave but very important responsibility of properly tutoring kids about sex. About the timing, it is a matter of personal choice. Children who come from homes where sex is not seen as a taboo or a meaningless act just for pleasure will often face the adult world with a grounded and rounded approach to their sexual issues. Telling a child sex is bad, makes that child only want to do it and when he/she does it and enjoys doing it, then it becomes all about pleasure and the end result is meaningless sex and yes, the even best of us, as much as we want to deny it, know that it is not always all about the pleasure. It is a conscious, mature decision to share oneself with another and if we go giving condoms to twelve year olds who are not mature enough to comprehend this, we can as well be snatching them away from the playgrounds and throwing them into brothels and with our very eyes, we will watch them follow our steps and hand condoms to three year olds in the very near future.

Maybe I am too extreme with my thoughts. I really would love to hear what you think.

THE UNPUBLISHED TALES OF A LAGOS PLAYBOY (pt 3-8) by LND and Sally

PART 3- THE PLACE

Story by LND

I woke to a start and I think I must have misyarned because Idara looked at me with that mocking look she was famous for.
“Where am I?” I asked after a long yawn.
“In your grandmother’s grave.”
I slowly sat up and looked around the room that has been my recovery unit for the past two weeks. I must be getting old; no bullet has ever done me in like this one. I tried to get up but I felt dizzy so I had to settle back into bed and looked at Idara with suspicious eyes, “Aphrodite, have you been drugging me?”
“Why?” she looked up from painting her nails.
“I have been in this house for two weeks…”
“If I have been drugging you, how did you know how long you have been here?”
“Did I ever at some point lose my mind and propose to you?”
She laughed and went back to her painting and murmured, “oh Leo, you’re such an idiot.”
I pulled myself away from the bed, wrapped the bed sheet around me and stood up again, fighting the constant queasy feeling that was within me, “I’m going home today.”
“Suit yourself. The captain was here and he was really pissed that I was taking care of you.”
I looked at her, “did he say something about you cutting him deeper than an enemy’s sword?”
“Oh, you heard our fight? It was nasty. Anyway, I told him nothing was going on but he’s still angry. Who cares? I might just decide to marry you to piss him off.”
“Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh! Nooo! Abeg!“
She laughed, “but you actually did propose to me.”
“For real?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I don’t. Let me tell you something about me. Every time I go through some type of trauma like a bullet wound or accident or anything, I lose my memory. I have serious amnesia issues.”
“Coupled with terrible nightmares and hallucinations. Captain said you are possessed, that you have other entities living inside you.”
“Don’t listen to that old fool. As I was saying, from the moment I showed up at your gate, things have just been mixed up in my head. I’ve had this nightmare about you, about us over and over and over again.”
“That I died in it, I jumped off a building in your family’s villa?”
“Yes! I told you?”
Idara laughed for a very long time.
“Why? What? What’s funny?”
She nodded, still in laughter “confession: I have been drugging you but not maliciously, just trying to help you with the pain and what I was giving you made you very suggestible.”
“Why? What happened to good, old feldene and its associates? Did I tell you I couldn’t handle the pain?”
“Okay,” she put aside her nail polish and dusted her hands, “sit down and let me run you through a typical day in the last two weeks.”
Out of curiosity I sat down and she began, “you wake up and first thing you do is ask what the time is. I tell you and you’ll say you don’t believe it and you go like, ’Aphrodite, can you please hold my hand while I sleep?’ and you would look so cute and desperate and that I will hold you and listen to you ramble till you slept off. So I decided, just out of fun, to piece together a story about your ex-girlfriends that I know and about us and…”
I stood up, hissing,  “you’re not serious. I’m going home.”
“You seemed to like the idea of your exes being together in one room. Felicia, Bukky, Ada and Chi-chi…”
“Chi-chi is not my ex and you don’t even know how to tell a story. Next time you want to do it, try and make it real.  I’m glad you died in it.”
“I fell!”
“You jumped. And my family has no villa in Mambilla whatever. You know what? just take it that I am really possessed and it wasn’t me who asked for tales by moonlight; it was something else.”
“But it worked. It seemed to ease your mind off whatever demons were disturbing you ‘cause Leo you have plenty and they are most active at night.”
“I’m happy for you, hypnotherapist. I’m glad you’re using your profession professionally.”
“Look who’s talking. How many girls have you slept with by just twisting their minds?”
I dropped the bed sheet and she screamed and covered her eyes, “look at this,” I displayed my shamelessness, “why would I need to stress myself when this is hypnotic enough?”
She dashed to her wardrobe and threw me new t-shirt and jeans. I flung them to the bed and limped to her, trapping her so she couldn’t move away, “you want to give away all of this for the captain?”
She slapped me and pushed her way through.
“It’s for free,” I rubbed my cheek.
She turned to me, “I hate that you see me as a sex object, Leonel.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized.
“You better be.”
I still stubbornly moved towards her and she wrapped a towel around me, “please, try to act modest around me. Treat me with the same respect I show to you.”
She actually was frowning. She didn’t find it funny that I was teasing her and that was the thing I liked about her. She was a very modest woman. You don’t find that virtue these days. I met Idara in school somewhere in the UK when I was pursuing a certification in hypnotherapy. She was the only other Nigerian in class and we were the only black people taking the course that year. We became good friends and it seemed we were always at the brink of taking it up a notch and getting serious but something always stopped us. When we got back to Nigeria, I casually introduced her to the captain at a party and a week later, I caught them making out in his home.  She expected me to be pissed but I knew why she went to him and I respected her for it. It was the same reason that made her care for and keep away from me even till date and I could still see it in her eyes as I stood by the bathroom door. Idara was madly in love with me but she couldn’t afford to play games at her age (she was not two years but seven years older than I was) and like most women with racing biological clocks, she wanted stability and security. Sadly, the captain was not going to give her those; his matrimonial days were over. I tried to tell her to dump him severally but she wouldn’t listen because he treated her like a princess and she was convinced he would propose very soon. How wrong she was. I would have to have a serious conversation with him about her.
“Permit me to shower. I have business to handle with the general and his wife.”
“About that…” I raised my brows and Idara continued, “officially, the general died of a heart attack last week but from a trusted source, he was shot in his thigh at exactly the same spot you were shot and hung upside down for a whole day until he bled out and died.”
“That’s interesting. And Debbie?”
“She is somewhere outside the shores of Nigeria, safe and sound, and she would want you to know that.”
“Good. All is well that ends well.”
I walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
***********
“I left something in the hood of your car. Could you please bring it to the place for me? and also don’t be an ass; we’re going to have very important guests.”
“Meaning?” I pushed my earpiece into my ear, waiting for the captain to explain himself as I drove to Chi-chi’s place and by the way, the captain is my old man.
“Alhaji is coming with his daughter. She is very striking and I think he wants me to marry her.”
“Aren’t they like conservative Muslims and you a pagan?”
“Keep it in your pants, zip it up, cut it out, dash it out to Martians or sell it, I don’t want to know. Just don’t use it on Alhaji’s daughter.”
“I have no idea what you were just talking about. Just to be sure, do you have anything to do with what happened to General Shehu?”
“The one that shot you?”
I made no answer.
“I’m innocent.”
He was lying. He was guilty; he had killed the general. I knew his M.O and the death of the general had Captain written all over it. Years ago, when I was just a child, my aunt was married to the general. It ended badly after he beat her to a pulp and she was admitted for two months with four reconstructive surgeries done to restore her facial features. I was there on the night of that brutal abuse. I remember waking up in the wee hours of the morning to her incessant screaming upstairs. I ran out of the room but found her at the bottom of the stairs in a pool of blood, unconscious. The general was nowhere in sight so I had to ring the captain who drove up to the house and got her to the hospital. When she came to she lied that she was beaten by armed robbers and that her husband was not in town. I told a different account to the captain and though he accused me of lying, I knew he knew I was telling the truth. What I didn’t know was that like me, he had harbored revenge on his mind for a long time. He had used me to get his payback and I hate to say this but yes, I used Debbie. I’m glad she’s safe now. I made a mental note to call her one of these days.
“Have another call coming in,” I told the captain as I spied Chi-chi in a distance. I heard him still rambling but ended the call and stopped my car by the side of a quiet street. Chi-chi smiled at me and came over wearing this short dress I had bought for her a month ago. She looked good to eat in it but I wasn’t in the area for her; I came for Ada.  Everyone knew Ada was my official wifey, the one I took around for important events because she was cultured and very mature. She also came from a wealthy and influential family as mine and if there was anyone I was willing to take down the aisle, it would have been her but we broke up the day I met Debbie at Silverbird. Ada had insisted on two things only a maga could give her—a baby and a ring. Igbo girls! (smh).
“Hi, handsome,” Chi-chi cooed in my ear as she lowered herself into my window.
“I was just wondering if your numerous toasters could allow you for one night.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Pack a bag for the weekend.”
“Rain flooded my house,” she said running a finger over a weak spot behind my ear, “I lost everything and all I could save was this dress and all the things you bought for me.”
Like I believed her, but it was Chi-chi and I would do a lot of things for her, so I pulled out a card from my pocket and gave to her.
“Knock yourself out. Get me something nice, too.”
She was about to start screaming excitedly in my ear but I drove away and looked at her from the rearview mirror and smiled. Wait till she finds out she can only withdraw fifty gees. She will have a fit. I turned my eyes back to the road ahead of me and entered a more exclusive avenue in the neighborhood. I drove to Ada’s street and parked a few houses away from her house. I don’t know why I did that since I could just walk in and grovel to take me back… Pause. I knew how to grovel as long as it got me what I wanted. Ain’t nothing manly about forming when you want to get laid. And I’m not talking to you celibates. This is my story. Shh! I picked my phone to dial Ada but the moment I tried to do so I saw her coming out of the gate with some dude I knew too well. They walked to his jeep and he took her hand and kissed it. She moved away shyly but her face registered that she was enjoying the attention. He pulled her to him and gave her a cuddly hug while he looked straight at me. Bastard. I put my car in gear and drove away. Ada did not see me.

My cousin ran an illegal business somewhere in the outskirts of Lagos where he grew and sold marijuana. He made millions from it each month and was some sort of baron in the business and had worked up the ladder to even partner with the captain. Nobody partnered with the captain; he was either boss  or benefactor. I stepped out of my car and wore on my sunglasses even though it was almost dark. Like the gentleman I was, I walked to Chi-chi’s side and opened the door for her but she was on her phone, typing away. No, that was my phone.
“Hey!” I snatched it from her.
“What is FMS? One girl sent you a picture of her boobs and typed FMS. What’s that?”
“Don’t ever touch my phone again.”
She pushed the door and got out of the car, “you are supposed to be kissing my ass for forgiving you after you gave me an empty atm card,” her Igbo accent surfaced and I laughed at how it always did when she spoke about money.
“Okay, I promise that next time, it will be nothing less than…”
“Five hundred thousand,” she chirped with blinking eyes to seduce me.
“Chop money!” I hailed her.
“You know nau,” she broke into a smile and made to kiss me when a whistle interrupted us. We both turned to the direction of the whistling and it came from a Fulani man standing by a tent a few feet away from us.
“My neighbor and his family,” my cousin, Aaron who was standing by his front door announced with head bent, eyes glued to his phone. I can’t remember ever seeing him without a cell phone; it seemed he was born with the thing. The neighbors, he told me, had just returned from herding. I noted the presence of a mother, a daughter and two sons. The man of the house who had whistled at us and was now grinning lustfully at Chi-chi, was a thin, tall man with a lot of missing teeth.
“Let’s get in before the fool comes here,” Aaron said and turned to the door but then remembered his manners. He turned back to Chi-chi, “hi,” he said briskly and went in before she could respond. I gestured to her that he was a psycho. She nodded and held my hand and as we entered the elaborately built bamboo house, I spied a certain jeep parked outside.
We got in and were warmly welcomed by my younger brother, Ramsey. He was my half brother whose original name was Joseph but was baptized ‘Ramsey’ by the captain for some weird reason I can’t remember. Ramsey was a lieutenant in the army and a very psychotic human being. I seemed to be the only normal male in my family.
“Ow far?” he asked and I looked at him from head to toe. Disgraceful son of a sea biscuit. Is this how they dressed in the army? I wanted to ask him as I looked at his sagging jeans, rough hair and whizkid shoes.
“Chi-chi, meet my younger brother, Ramsey and Ramsey, my girlfriend, Chi-chi.”
He shook her hand and his eyes lingered over her lips, sending a very clear message that my eyes did not miss. Now, you must know this: I am not the worst in my family. All the males (and we are so many) apart from two pastors are heavy-hitting, ladies’ men. My great, great grandfather had over fourteen wives; my grandfather married four; my father and uncle each married two; Aaron has had four divorces and then there’s me, the good boy. Ramsey was worst than I was and his mouth proved it as he said to Chi-chi, “you have very sensual eyes.”
Even Aaron was forced to look up from his phone with a raised brow. I smiled and pulled Chi-chi’s hand away from Ramsey’s. I looked at her and said, “excuse me, sweetie,” and with momentum, I threw a punch at him. The force of the assault sent him backwards but military training kept him steady. Chi-chi was not the screaming type but she was very alarmed and she held me back but I freed myself off of her.
“Whoa!” Aaron exclaimed, laughing, and went back to his phone, ‘that was epic, mehn!”
Ramsey also laughed but that was a smoke screen as he punched me back. Chi-chi gasped and moved away. Ramsey aimed another blow but I dodged and rammed my forehead onto the bridge of his nose and broke it.
“Ah-ah, Leo!” Aaron put his phone into his pocket and headed towards us but I raised a finger to stop him.
“Leo, stop, nau. See, he’s bleeding!” Chi-chi screamed.
“F**k! You broke my nose!”
I walked to him and spoke into his ear almost inaudibly, “if I ever see you with Ada again, I will break not only your nose but other parts of you that don’t have bones, starting with your donkey ears.”
“What is wrong with you?” Chi-chi scolded me, “you injured him.”
“Let’s go in,” I pulled her and we started to one of the bedrooms but out of nowhere I was tackled with a heavy force and thrown to the floor. When I landed, I hit my head on something metal and it cut me. Now, Chi-chi screamed and went into tears. Aaron rushed towards Ramsey who was raining me incessant blows but he couldn’t overpower him. However, he gave me the distraction I needed to strike Ramsey on his Achilles’ heel—his right shoulder. At a peace-keeping mission he had been severely injured there and hadn’t healed properly. I held the shoulder with an iron grip and though he punched me, he started weakening. Aaron succeeded in holding him back and as he was trying to pull him off me, a deafening explosion tore through the silence of the area and we all went still instantly. Chi-chi was a sufferer of chronic arrhythmia which made her heart beat unusually each time she panicked. At the sound of the explosion, she collapsed to the floor.
“You had to go and get a fainter,’ said Aaron.
*********
The house shook violently when the explosion occurred and the front door and walls surrounding it, including the roof above crumbled and the three of us stood in shock and watched as my car was up in flames. Something else caught our eyes. Dollar notes were scattered about the place, flying in every direction the wind took them and Aboki and his family, apart from the wife, ran around chasing hard currency the captain had left in my trunk. Ramsey burst out laughing and we both looked at him questioningly.
“Private joke,” he said and walked outside.
Aaron and I followed him and we all stood silently, watching.
“It has begun, Leonel. They really want you dead this time.”
I was silent and remembered Chi-chi. She would need her medication and I guessed it was in her handbag on the floor beside her. As I started towards her, Ramsey pulled me back with his left hand wrapped around my neck genially.
“I almost lost you. I’m glad you’re alive.”
“Get your hand off me before I break your head.”
He tapped me with a laugh and turned to Aaron to set his nose while I lowered myself over Chi-chi. When I lifted her head to my laps, she woke up.
“Hi,” I smiled and she looked at me dazedly. “Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. You’re okay.”
“I heard something…”she was beginning to recall the explosion, “was it a bomb?”
“Someone’s trying to kill me.”
“Again?” she stretched her neck to look out, “oh God, the house will fall on us.”
“No, it won’t. you sure you don’t need your drugs?”
“You’re bleeding,” she pulled out a hanky from her bag and pressed over the cut in my head. “Is there a first aid kit in this house?” she asked.
“I’m okay. It’s just a cut.”
She stayed her hand on the injury.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again.
“No, I’m fine,” she said but tears filled her eyes.
“What is wrong, baby?”
Her lips trembled and her chest heaved heavily. I took her hand off my head and drew her close. She held my hand tightly and looked into my eyes.
“What if we were in that car, Leo? What if…?”
“Shh..we were not in the car. We were not supposed to be in the car. If they wanted us dead, we would have been dead hours ago.”
“I almost died, Leo.”
“You are alive.”
“No, I almost died without telling you.”
“Telling me what?”
Chi-chi was always straight to the point with issues. She wasn’t skilled at dilly-dallying, “I’m pregnant.”
I looked at her blankly, wondering how she could be pregnant when we had used protection the whole time we were together. What was this, immaculate conception?
“I am not pregnant for you; I’m pregnant for my boyfriend.”
“You have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, but I don’t love him. He doesn’t want me to abort it.”
“And you want to.”
“Yes, no, not really” she sighed and looked away, “my momsie thinks that you are responsible because I told her you are.”
“Interesting,” I said casually, thinking she was joking.
“Leo, I had plans to sleep with you this weekend so I could trap you.”
“Without protection?” I shook my head, “you know that will never happen. It’s rumored that I wear a condom around,” I whispered and I alone laughed at my private joke.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“This guy that knocked you up, who is he sef?”
“You know him but you don’t know him personally but he seems to know you. His name is Benatari.”
“Tari? Benatari Opuwei? The Niger-Delta militant?” I asked and Chi-chi bent her head and I stood up. “Where did you meet him?”
“He was my boyfriend in secondary school, my senior, actually. We hooked up on Facebook and started dating last month…”
I didn’t wait for her to finish as I walked away from her and stepped outside. The air smelled of smoke and something else fumey and I walked far to clear my nose and head. Why did Chi-chi have to go and sleep with the one person I wanted to kill?
“Leo!” I heard her call me and turned. She was coming towards me. She looked beautiful as the wind blew through her dress. I waited for her and she came closer, I stretched out my hand and she smiled in relief but then when I held her and looked deep in her eyes, she became worried again.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“What?” she asked.
“I need you to keep the baby.”
Her grip weakened in my hand, “why? Are you claiming it?”
“Hell no!”
She became angry “then why should I keep it?”
“I’m against abortion. You know that.”
“So because you’re against abortion, I should keep a child I don’t want for a man I don’t love?”
“Am I the one that asked you to sleep with him without condom? Babe, it’s your choice. I’m just advising you. If its money that is your problem, I will provide for you and the baby…”
“But you won’t marry me,” she sounded bitter.
“Come on, Chi-chi.”
“F**k you!” she stormed off.
Silly girl. She just wanted to trap me. I was so done with her. I have been around many women to know how pregnancy stripped the sexy off of them. Nine months of bitchiness was not my thing and Chi-chi was totally off my books. But nothing stopping me, I had to deal with her boyfriend. Getting him was not going to be a walk in the park because Tari was extremely dangerous and to handle him, I had to fight fire with fire. The captain once told me that if you could kill a rat a million ways, why use only one?
I dialed the first person on my list of 101 Ways to kill Benatari Opuwei.
“Hello sweetheart, I have a job for you.”
Junior’s pause on the other end of the line was characteristic of her, “anything for you.”
“Come to the place,” I rang off and looked up at the sky.
God forgive for what I’m about to do.
Tari, Watch your back. I’m coming for you.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6

In Full View pt 1 (THE UNPUBLISHED TALES OF A LAGOS PLAYBOY)

Story by LND

Three men walked into a market place stark
naked. When I say stark naked, I mean with
nothing on. No boxers, no singlet…nothing. But
each had an accessory on. The first had a belt
around his waist, the second had a pair of shoes
on and the third wore sunglasses. Now, which of
these was the most insane?
* * * * * * * *
Debbie was my coursemate in school. I first saw
her in Sociology 101, a stupid course that meant
nothing to me. I hated the professor and all
sociology students. Don’t ask me why. That day,
it was hot and the tight class we were all
crammed in was pungent with stale breaths and
body odor. Professor Lité walked into the class,
started his boring lecture and halfway, he
stopped and said, “I can’t continue this class.
You are all smelling!” and with flared nostrils, he
bounced out. Debbie, who was sitting at the
front row, turned around in frustration and the
pen in my mouth dropped to the floor.
Daaaaamn! The girl was fine! She had one of the
most beautiful frustrated faces I have ever seen.
I have seen a few and yes, I was responsible for
the frustration—I say this smugly. Yeah, back to
the girl…Debbie… yeah, Debbie! Now, I’m no
romantic so I don’t waste time on her face. My
eyes slowly strolled down to get what I was
craving for at the moment but I don’t get the
chance to see the rest of the package when one
sordid mistake of a human being blocked my
view. I hiss and pick my pen and walk out. I will
see Debbie another day but right now, I had
other fish to fry.
That was a long time ago and right now I can’t
remember what year it was but I saw her again
in 2009. I was driving out of Silverbird Galleria
after breaking up with my girlfriend. With angry
thoughts having a ball in my head, I almost ran
into someone on the street.
“What the hell are you…?” I began but broke off
when I saw her. I didn’t recognize her at first
because I wasn’t looking at her face. I could
have sworn, it was the body of Beyoncé, Halle
Berry and Kim Kardashian all in one and I
almost hit her with my ugly, ugly car.
“What is wrong with you?” a shrill female voice
rang in my ears and it all came back to me.
Images of she and I together in school, at the
school café, at my place, in Love Garden, behind
the theater hall, in my car…
“Debbie?”
Her face also changed and she spoke my name,
“Leo?”
* * * * * * * *
We left galleria late that night and I walked her
all the way to a gated estate in VI, a very
exclusive place for wealthy people. Standing at
her doorstep, she told me her sad story of how
she was forced to marry this rich general who
was twice her age just because he was her
father’s friend. The general frequently abused
her and got pleasure from doing it, hitting every
part of her body but avoiding her face. She had
been married to him for six years and it had
been torture the whole time. She attempted
running away once but he caught her and
stabbed her eleven times. She survived but her
courage died. Seeing tears in her eyes, I felt
what she was going through and I just wanted
to hold her and comfort her. What was wrong
with that? After all, she was my girlfriend once.
However, I restrained myself, left her a few
comforting words and turned to say goodbye.
Then it happened. She pulled me back and
kissed me fully on my lips and then I
remembered……
“What’s your name?”
“What is my name?” Debbie asked, “why do you
want to know my name?”
“Because I want to kiss you and say your name
after – breathlessly.”
Despite herself, Debbie smiled that hot day in
February 2000. Yes, 2000! That was the year I
discovered, dated, deflowered and dumped
Debbie. And here she was again, falling into
another trap. Aren’t girls silly?
“Debs, we can’t do this. You are married…”
She put her finger to my lips and pulled me into
the house. Well, you know what they say about
stolen water and it being sweet.
We continued like this for a while and because I
was seeing two other girls on the side, I never
invited Debbie home. Her house was always the
pit of sin and it was always after dark. There was
no fear of being caught because her husband
was away and was not going to be home in a
while. However, I did a terrible thing. I
mentioned my affair with Debbie to the captain
and I think that was where kasala started
brewing. He said nothing but smiled one of his
devious smiles and passed me a glass of brandy.
It was a Friday, and against all reason, I went to
Debbie’s under shining sun to scratch an itch; I
was willing to spread my net in the full view of
the birds. Debbie received me with open arms
and didn’t hesitate to lead me to her bedroom.
Doing it on her husband’s matrimonial bed was
her way of getting back at him. To me, it was my
way of getting back what I had missed. I nodded
pleasurably at this thought and smiled up at her
as she sat astride me. She looked down at me
with lustful eyes. She didn’t love me; I didn’t
love her. It was just sex that was going to end
smoothly when her husband got back……
Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! How true that
was. He did get back. Oh my crazy goodness! It
was like slow motion. Not slow motion where a
guy and a girl are running in the field with
flailing arms and floaty expressions! No, not that
one. Slow motion like Matrix. Debbie and I were
lost in our world when the door slowly opened.
At first, I saw no one behind it but it pushed
open fully and lying on my back, I saw this huge
image of a man standing at the door with red,
blazing eyes. Debbie had no idea what was about
to happen as I saw him, in Matrix slow motion,
lifting his gleaming hand to my direction.
Gleaming with a weapon, that is, a 9mm Beretta.
I did not wait to wonder if it was loaded. I know
what a Beretta can do. With my right hand, I
shoved Debbie off me and while I was doing that,
I was already off the bed and to the floor,
landing on my other free hand, and with a
spring motion I tapped the floor with the tip of
the soles of my feet, lifted my boxers with my
right hand and sprang up again. The window
was my destination as I laid my left hand on its
frame and hoisted my whole 85kg up and over. It
was then I heard the click. It sounded almost
silent against Debbie’s terrified screaming but I
heard it and still in Matrix slow motion, a bullet
wheezed past me, missing my earlobe by a
breath. I was now in the air and I heard shots
and bullets flying by. Instinct made me dodge
and miss one but I thank the Lord for gravity. If
I hadn’t landed to the ground below, I would
have died.
Above me there were still shots and screams but
I no wan know. I just dey run for my life because
that man was ready to take me out of the estate
in a military rucksack. Imagine the sight! Me,
Leonel, one of Nigeria’s youngest billionaires for
no reason, hawt playboy, psychologist,
professional hypnotist running with nothing on
but my bare skin, the way my mama born me.
Chai! Leo, you don chop the one wey pass you.
But na today?
I ran to my car and thanked God it was a
convertible. No time to open the door because
with my back eyes (I have four and a half of
them) I spotted the general coming after me… or
was it Debbie? She was naked too, running for
her dear life, jumping over flowerpots and
screaming out my name. I could have laughed
but I just wanted to get out of that estate ASAP.
I jumped into my car and I love my car, people. I
think it was waiting for me already revved up. As
I flew into it, it just drove off. After I passed five
houses I dared to glance into my rearview. I saw
nothing and no one and heaved a sigh. Yet, I
kept on, the breeze blowing my… I looked down.
Where are my boxers? I was sure I took them out
of the house. How did I lose them? I was
approaching the security gate now and had
nothing on to cover my jewels. What to do…
what to do… I asked as I lifted the hood of the
convertible over me. What to do…
I saw a pair of sunglasses on the passenger seat
beside me… Hey, don’t blame a guy for trying. it
was all I got. Slowing the car as I came to the
gate, I lifted the glasses to my eyes and slipped
them on. I mean, I can wear it on knowing no
one has to see the embarrassment in my eyes but
I could see theirs.

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