Hey People, welcome to today’s edition of VALENTUNES. Thanks for embarking on this journey with us, we are completely overwhelmed (or something like that) So yeah, today the show goes on and we have serving you a hot dish from the recesses of her oven (no sexual innuendos here please) Ladies and Gentlemen, Please welcome to TSC…
Let’s play a game called “Have you?”. This is going to be moderated by both Brandy’s – the wine and the artiste…for every yes, you take a shot…for every no, stare at the fourth finger of your left hand and sob…let’s go…
Have you ever fallen in love so deeply that you needed a Hausa well digger to get you out?
Have you stopped talking to at least more than 3 friends or/and family members because of the one you love(d)?
Have you ever wept more than 24 hours for love?
Have you any blister scars on your hands that resulted from washing or/and pounding for the one you love(d)?
Have you ever been in love? Have you? Have you?
Yeah, now that I’m drunk, let’s get to the real story…
Love is like that very difficult course in Uni that has just 1 unit; so hard but not worth it. But what do you do to ace that course anyway? You prepare. If the course conquers you and you fail like me, what to do? Well, you prepare harder and try again or else you won’t leave that institution…the single institution…
I’m taking the course for the 12th time and I promise I’m not dumb. Ok! I might have thought women urinate through their vagina at one time and camel toe was a woman’s little toe with a hump but that’s not enough to judge me ok?
All guys lie, ranging from our daddies to tweetoracle. This is not even up for debate and I don’t mean the little lies like “oh my aunt sent me this dress” when you got it from Yaba or “its just my skin, I don’t use foundation” when MaryKay can use your face as signboard. Its all those lies that tear the ozone layer of the earth 5cm at a time I’m referring to, like “she’s just an ex, we’re not dating” when this girl knows the map of all the veins that were and are still sprouting on your schlong…
Yeah, I’m angry as you must have figured and I really am actually surprised that condition has not made my straight crayfish bent to a lesbian. I don’t know how long my crayfish can stay straight with this epidemic of VicO and his variants but I hope just long enough…
Chuks and I were so in love, or so I assumed. I would call it love at first sight for me and love at third “nack” for him but I didn’t mind. You see, there are so many things you stop minding when everytime you complain of menstrual pain, your mother reminds you of your mates enduring child birth pain gladly in their husband’s houses and how you are punishing her by not giving her a grand child.
I was the best girlfriend. Even though my daughters would carry the risk of having chest hair and moustache, I still was determined to make it through with Chuks. It looked like everything was in place and I “mistakenly” dropped my cocktail rings all around his apartment so getting the size of my engagement ring wouldn’t be a problem.
One day, Tori, my best friend, IM’ed me and said there was gist.
“One of your akata boyfriends have left you again abi?”
“I wish”, she replied.
I wished too. I wished that was the story my now estranged bestie had for me. Akata stories were more fun than hearing your boyfriend might have a girlfriend he was engaged to in the US and Bestie had just met her.
I was actually confused for a while but chose not to believe the report of the devil which was why I confronted Chuks. Like a true bastard, he denied it and even told me how the girl was a deluded ex and I was the one for him. Naturally, I believed him. Don’t blame me ok? I thought guys marrying more than a girl at a time stopped with Fela.
Anyway, I stopped talking to Tori…and 3 more friends. They were jealous as far as I was concerned. Good friends hide their jealousy, theirs was as obvious as Kanye’s ego.
My world was built around Chucks now and work. Even mother’s warnings after Tori told her about the deluded ex were ignored. I had my life to live yanah? 9 months and we were still going strong. One day, after hanging his shirts to dry in his bathroom, I asked what our plans for Christmas would be and he mentioned his friends were coming home so he was going to be busy.
“Ehn let me meet your friends now. We’ll hang and it would be fun”
“You might not like them”, he replied.
“Come on. Don’t be ridiculous. If I can like your mother, I can like any body”
He still was reluctant. He would come around, I thought.
The calls reduced, mine increased. The more Chuks drew away, the closer I got to him…it was like 2 magnets. Each call of mine he took was filled with awkward one-liners. It was mid-life crisis, my mind told my heart. Those
were my remaining friends now. He wouldn’t even make out with me, I repelled him more than Ruggedy’s account repelled the blue tick.
I decided enough was enough after reading one of Cosmo’s articles titled “Is your man tired of sex?”. I followed every step- went to the mall and bought shoes with ultra high heels and ultra high price tag, the perfect lingerie in his favorite colour-red and a little black dress that showed off the legs he always complimented. I invited him to dinner and we talked! Oh no, sorry! He talked.
He told me how I had been very good to him and each day he saw me, he wanted to make the right decision.
He was finally going to do it. Poor boy had been so nervous he didn’t know how to act. It was happening, these were my thoughts until I heard “…and she’s coming home December”.
“Who is coming home December?”
“Who is Ada?”
“My fiance. Have you not heard anything I’ve said?”
“No”, I shook my head vigorously.
Ada- a cutlass
Ada- the village beside my village
Ada couldn’t be a person.
He held my hand. I pinched his fingers.
“What is happening?”
“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I love you I swear, its just that my mum doesn’t want a Yoruba girl”
My laughter must have been really loud because all eyes suddenly were fixed on our table.
“I’m ready to be Igbo then”, I replied while trying to get out of the 2nd leg of my shoe.
“I’ll be Igbo. You can call me Ada”, I continued.
“No, babe. Its over”
The tears flowed like an Otunba’s agbada. There was nobody to talk to about this. I picked my shoes and walked off without saying a word. My senses came faster than a 1-minute man, I turned back.
“Chuks, biko, take me home”. That was the first Igbo word I altered since we met.
The ride back home was bumpy, literally. I knelt to beg him in Chineke’s name and immediately, cussed him in Yoruba.
Chuks and Ada got married 3 months later. I planned the wedding with them- prayed for rapture before the date. I “mistakenly” drove past the venue more than 3 times and even managed to get their Programme book which has been subsequently burned with hot tears being the fuel. Apparently, the girl came back home to marry.
I still switch time to time to NTA newsline expecting the news of an Igbo couple that drowned. Soon. Very soon.
We never spent a Valentine’s day together.
The scars of the blisters are still fresh.
My friends are still not talking to me.
I have been crying for the past 4 months.
I stare at my ring finger and its still empty…
5 shots to that!
Have you ever…