Poly-something suntin

A month ago I was with a friend, his wife, and a widow friend of theirs…

Random conversations ensued in the car as we drove back to the neighborhood where they all lived. Of which (thanks to yours truly’s mind) was the gratefulness to the Lord Almighty that men didn’t have rivals/co-husbands/or my favourite KISHIYOYI. (Hey! I did say random in bold)

WTH…!!

I mean… in an instant I infected everybody in the vehicle including the 1 and 2yr-olds we were with, by my mind’s meanderings.

Take a sec…

Clear your (already infected) mind…

Now imagine…

Just imagine for a second, a minute, a day, a week, a year, a decade...

how it would be like if a woman could/would marry more than one man and live under one roof with all of them.

No limits to your imagination. (it’s yours after all)

Start it from the indigenous perspective.

Like here in Nigeria, instead of a Muslim (northern or southern) who’s religion allows marrying 2-4 wives… switch the sexes and see how it goes (in your mind woh! I no de for froblem).

From the Mallam Bahaushe to Jauro Bafullatani to the Baba Alaji or Nnayi (igbo) all vying for the madam’s attention (and much more… even if just to piss the rest off).

GEEZ!

Picture these scenes-

“…Ya naga kana mun wani gani gani ne?!!” That’s just the Mallam #2 asking why #1 is giving him certain derisive looks (getting ready for a showdown if you ask me).

Or Alaji #1 asking alaji #3 why him no dey hold d pikin well. “Tie wrapper well. Make pikin sleep!”

“Da zaman banza gwara aikin…” I don’t think so MISTER! (proverbs don suffer!)

“Nna… because today is my day… I will let u drive my Mercedes Benz…” (na Regular wo! No think say na beta tin) *igbo accent*

Come hear blackmailing yanzzzzz- “… Kudirat darling! U know u ave my arrt dont let all these oooligans cloud ur ead and arrt from my andsome face...” (yeah… u guessed ryt. Yoruba accent)

“I’m the first/second I should be respected most”

“I’m the better looking of them all… so…”

#4- “If they were all that then I don’t believe you would’ve paid my dowry, spent all that much on LEFE, and drag me down here. NI NAYI YAJI!” 

Separation don come enta equation.

CHE!

Doing the dishes- picture grown man with apron etc. I know right.

“It seems you pay more attention to… than you do me. What have I done to deserve this?!?”

“You don’t look at me the same way anymore… ever since that winch winch you into marrying him nothing is the same…” *sob sob estrogen sob sob*

“You haven’t even tasted what I brought for you. You’re always claiming stomache and headache. I hate youuuuuuuuuuuu! No wait. You hate meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! " :’(

(see confusion)

"THIS IS MY CHILD NOT HIS (or his or his or his)!"

 :-O AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!

Kids- be confused as hell! "Daddy. Daddy! Daddy!? Daddy?!!" (Poor things)

Cooking- “…I sabi passam! Today na my day! Yau ranar…girki?... nane. Na so so onga go largesse…”

Driving- “…make him no go kill u for us wo!”

&%%#&# *that too!* INFSALWKMD (I No fit shout as laff wan kill me die)

OMG…

Just think about the jealousy and rivalry sef.

Talk about Terminator meets Alien vs Predator in Cybertron as The Hulk pops in.

Ohhh boyyyyyyy! Lmao!!!

I cud go on… but something tells me your imagination’s got every other thing pretty much covered.

GYMING THE GYM!

DAY 1

Woke up a couple of times before finally deciding to break free from the bondage of my comfy mattress and finding out the driver’s schedule for the day.

11.45am

I hop to the bq (boy's quarters abi na baskwata) and ask…

We set it for 12.30pm

The idea was to be there (gym) till a lil past 2pm when all the kids shuda’ve been picked up from school so that we all go home uno momento.

My lady caused a lil delay the type that I no fit complain about cuz it was worth every sec.

*sigh*

Scene changes- the usual Kano traffic, buses, yellow picantos, okada, yan kura, bicycles, hawkers, followed by useless, lethargic and constipated looking leeches in uniforms (orange to i-used-to-be-black) and political touts. The daily 'sight'

The trip didn’t last long before we swerved off Zaria Rd and... voila! There we were. GYM!

Or should i say pseudo-pseudo-gym.

“Peace be  upon u!” I say as I maneuver my way onto the elevated courtyard and into the ‘hall’… there I see DAKTA (doctor i.e. that's what they call him cuz he outta focus photo-chronic frames uses the vocabulary of an average primary school kid's Physical Education (PE) syllabus)

I met him going about doing his useful effizy-marketology (a coined neologism for this very purpose), which I would expatiate to mean iyayi, barazana, ban wuri na iya and showing all the pot-bellied not-so-pregnant men and women who’ve forgotten what they’re navel, feet, and of course groins look like, how to fill his infamous ‘form’ (FOM as he wud pronounce it) as he casually heightens his enlightened doctoral façade by confusing the masses with an acronym I’m sure he picked up from a health column- BMI!

"Kasan akwai abunda ‘muke’ cewa BMI, wato baddi masss indesk.... Da shi muke fahimtar cewa *points to the wall* ko mutum is nomal, obaweight, obese 1, obese 2, ko obese 3." *all this time he’s been pointing to each of his poor imitations of the real thing.

Translation- "You know there is what WE call BMI, that is Body mass index... It's with this that we deduce whether a person is normal, obese 1, obese 2, or obese 3"

In the mean time I just found me a seat tried to block out all his ramblings of wishful success in conquering the minds and bodies of the average not-so-educated hausa person with my phone… was checking out my timeline not the twitter kind. Our kind. No questions pls.

He obviously interrupted that when he pointed at me and furthered tried to use ME as a marketing tool...

“yanzu ka ga wanan bawan Allan, shi nashi daga asibit aka ce mishi ya zo wato shi zaka gani a form an sa MEDIIKALLI REKOMENDEAD.”

Translation- "...now you see this fellow here, he advised by the hospital to come here. That's what you would see on the form as Medically Recommended"

The poor guy who was obviously sold by then, as he muttered in “ai dama dolle sai da irinku dakta, ku kuka san yadda mutun zai rinkayi ba tareda yayi wani rauni ba…”

Translation- "of course it has to be people like you doctor, you're are the people that know how a person would go about it without getting hurt..."

In my mind I was like-

"Get ur shit (18month pregnancy i.e) and get out so can fill THE FORM, pay the man, and start cycling and working on my own 2wks pregnancy before downing some hard food! :p"

Well… they did.

Now I’m left in d care of dakta and his form, and boy was his handwriting like snake shit.

*'we' start filling the form, and by 'we' i mean he*

Points to name- I said Ibrahim

Surname- I say Saeed, ‘S’ ‘A’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘D’ i go about spelling for him… All the sudden he interjects- “haba mallam ni fa bahaushe ne" (loosely translating to  "i am a hausa man! why the spelling")

But of course, he’s already spelt it as 'SAID' (not even an apostrophe imagine!?) and I couldn't let it slide.

I corrected him, but then he wouldn't let it slide… he went “Su'eeed..?! da turanci kenan!?” (he intentionally mispronounced the name as remarked at it being the English pronunciation to an Arabian name.. i know)

"Nope! Da larabci dai ko…" of course here yours truly (me) cleared his throat and using all my cool I muscled my Arabian larynx and said "SsAEEEdD".

He just gave me 'stare of defeat' and moved on. (i kinda chuckled within by the way :)

Age-

Sex-

*Just got interrupted by this nameFULL network… an sms from the-mobile-network-used-to-be-known-as-zain.
Content-woman busted cheating on her husband on national radio. Send CHEAT to 33something something (I deleted the text) and get the link to listen the radio chat. Cost N75 per sms.*

I know right!

Back to the FOM

He suggested I go to his assistant who would take the measurements, but I told him that I kinda I knew my stats if that would help… at end we opted for verification

Height- I said 172.5cm happened to be 175cm

Weight- 66-67kg cause I cant put my full weigh on my left leg happened to be 66kg

**BMI**--- haha! He asked me soooooo in the moment thinking I wud falter or stutter. But noooo I was like, causually of course, "its around that 22.3 or .5."

He was disappointed of course. I wasn’t. lolz

Size- the woman measured my abdomen/stomach region… 34 inches. Don’t worry working on it.

Address- u don’t really expect me to write that here do you?

Being himself he couldn’t help it… he had to have me tick some boxes stating what I want to do/achieve there

There was the MEDIKALLI REKOMMENDEAD. Check.

BOUDI BILLDING. CHECK

STRESS MGT. HUH?

But I didn’t burst his bubble.

He then asked to come into his office so he could take my VP… OH sorry. BP. Blood fressure. Oh sorry. Blood pressure. :p

110/60

"Baka da froblem anan."

Some other boxes

Asthma. No

Rheumatism. No

Diabetes. No

Hypertension.

Right then I snuck a question that seemed to have unhinged him, hey I couldn’t help it. Am curious or is it KURIOUYUS like that, “dakta wai ni me specialty dinka ne? (translating to doctor what is ur specialty?) is it physiotheraphy, physical therapist (which is the same thing, just wanted to confuse him), or...."

A ah… *he had this pathetic look on his face pretending to be looking for some unfilled part of the form*. "FEEZIKAL EDUCATION ne."

Am like "ohhh ohkay.." *i swear i nearly burst out laughing*

Are you paying in full now or deposit. Full.

Thank you. Count it first.

From then on it was downhill.

His igbo assistant. A yellow woman who wore a football jersey and tight jeans insteada the sportswear she should’ve.

I cycled for 30mins alternating the tension

Worked on the abs for 15

The shin, calf, and quadriceps for 20min

In between i asked her... "what kinda food should i be eating for muscle gain?"

she looked at me and said.... "do you used to eat swallow food?" *in verbatim*

"yeah i do"

"then you should schop fufu"

"oh okayyyy"

#zatakasheni

Did my biceps and triceps.

Then finally an all rounder before calling the driver for their status quo… 2.15pm. I’m out.

OH SHIT! I FORGOT TO STRECTH…. :-O

Catch... G-r-e-n-a-d-e??!!

(my first blog... a topic i laugh about with her...)

Catching a grenade...

The last thing I am is crazy, demented, a pot/crack head, sadistic, or a sadomasochist with a thing for nymphomaniacs and dominatrices.

Eccentric? Yes.

Weird? Yes.

Romantic…...

Now that we got that outta the way…

HI YALL!

*deep breath*

Now I rant…

Thank God say my eyes are still 30/30, and senses of touch and smell de intact so that no girl go get any funny ideas and tell me say “baby/sweetheart/mumu… , hold/catch if u luv me.”

• My IQ is soaring above average (thank u for rising that eyebrow... Dont hate appreciate! (my wowo readers it means intelligence quotient/measure of smattness. :p).

• I'm street savvy (Area! Warri-boy don go school and enta class naaaaaa).

• Self-proclaimed romantic of the century (ehemmm… say my name!).

• A poet… (no worry.... I go post)

• A faithful believer (ehen… u no believe? Who u sef?!).

• Anddddddddd a NIGGA! (african at that, Nigerian to be precise! No be small thing)

Hmmm!! *smh*

TOOOOO-FIYAKWA!

I reject this Bruno Mars invented madness!

The nonsense now don become adjective wey our women around the world de carry describe her (mad) ‘ideal’ man... Try me! With these my koro-koro eyes wey don te wey dem tear which kind yeye maniac-suicidal-folly-filled-sadistic luv be this? My own luv na to live for wo! Open ur ears de hear. Shine ur see! Clear ur mind read!

Lets begin analyse the song fess...

Easy come, easy go, that's just how you live >>> ALLLL guys know say any woman that’s easy is just that. EASY! Not worth it. If u pursueam… at ur own risk.

Oh, take, take, take it all but you never give >>> how?! I go give u no givorocate, sorry, reciprocrate?! How!? This pseudo-oyinbo idiot sef!

Should've known you was trouble from the first kiss >>> ehnnn???

Had your eyes wide open, why were they open? >>>> mtwsssssss! See him logic! So what she open eye… u prolly weren’t doing it right mumu… or perhaps d cocaine induced halitosis lit her eyes WIDE open! Ps- me sef na open-eye I go de do…atleast that way u fit know ‘wassup’ nb- no question will be entertained regarding this matter.

Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, you did >>> I don’t know bout u folks… but if something is ‘tossable’ that means it fits in the palm of hand and is quiet light enough to be flung by a feminine frame abi? Not only is he mumu, he is also a cheapskate be that… going around talkin about ‘all I had…’ WETIN U GET?! Crack anyone? :p

To give me all your love is all I ever asked >>> hmmm *smh*

'Cause what you don't understand is >>> him wan land wo (take cover!)…

I'd catch a grenade for ya >>> no comment
Throw my hand on a blade for ya >>> checking out manicure
I'd jump in front of a train for ya >>> whistling
You know I'd do anything for ya >>> NA LIE!

I would go through all this pain >>>sadist!

Take a bullet straight through my brain >>> that’s the crack speaking… enough neural cataclysms

.
Yes, I would die for you, baby >>> this must be the Esctasy flowin

But you won't do the same >>>> mtwssss! Bagger! U think say she kolo? The gal go school now! Abi na because of the blonde wig, abi na weave-on, wey she wear? BON!

No, no, no, no >>>> yes yes yes yes! She no go do! Not while she still has some good loving to give to sane male populace.

Black, black, black and blue, beat me 'til I'm numb
Tell the devil I said, hey, when you get back to where you're from
Mad women, bad women, that's just what you are, yeah
You'll smile in my face then rip the brakes out my car >>>> as u can see with this last verse…. He’s completely lost it! No one can make sense of this mumble (but him of course… unfortunately he doesn’t get to explain)

SEE HIM FACE!

C-r-a-c-k smile *click*

My fellow brethren... I carry god beg una, indulge my thinkin as I de thinkam de go… and help me ask the grenade-intendee/recipient...

"WHY on God's green earth, of allllllllllll the WMD's wey Bush no find for every other oil producing nation wud a grenade be a the choice explosive projectile (for wowo readers i go esplain later too much grammar, vocabulary, and political jargon here. No vex)?

I mean... Even in defeating Goliath... No be pebble David carry use knockam down KPAM! Game over! Kingdom change hands?

In Amistad... This guy, Cinque, no be stone him carry use kill lion. Ehn?

I de asssss una nowwww?

U!

Which offense u commit sef wey dem go carry grenade trowee ur side? Dem curse u for house? Ur mama no like u? Abi na winch?

Me… I de do love but not with winch, criminal, gangster or terrorist. PERIOD! (see amebos! una no go hear who she be)

See their faces!! Wanting to deprive the world of sane damsels of our TLC (wowos that stands for Tender Love and Care)

Upon allllll the mass genocides in wars and invasions, natural disasters and disease wey de only attack testicles PLUS the present disasters and uprisings, forgetting the fact that they (the grenade pushers) are 6times our population these women still want to use 'juju/winching songs’ to further eradicate the adult male specie and deprive the sane few of our ‘logical loving’.

Can’t u see?!

Very soon it will be all XX and just a speck XY... (wowo? U still de read... U de try wo. Na chromosome i de talk- biology. Lolz. No vex abeg continue to de read. In fact follow this blog kawai!)

What I'd want to do for my woman is simple... LIVE!

Live to Love

Else allllllllllllllllllllllll the promise wey i promisam and d billion wey she wan confuse (not convince) me say i promisam, wont get delivered.

In fact am sure she no go allow me die in peace (no grenade-catching involved) or in pieces (yes grenade involvement)...

She'll see to it that I become Patalwa/Ghost to come fulfill d billion wey she wan confuse me believe say i promise using lines like...

“U no say death de affect memory...” (as if she die b4!)

“U promised me this that that this...” (na contract?)

“u said something about a lock combination…” (hmmmm!)

Till we hit a brickwall when she realises no one else can see or hear me except her…

Next thing u know- kolomental institute. lol.

But u see if I live ehn darling... Which I very well intend to...

I'll deliver d deliverable and do d doable and much more.

(wowo how u see this logic? I sure say before reading this, u for wan catch that nonsense grenade for Tolani abi Kande abi na Sikira be her name sef. Its okay. Read on!)

Cuz I'd rather find something worth dying for and strive, safeguard it and live for it; than catch a grenade at a whim. Why not hit d damn thing with a baseball bat or go Maradona on it perhaps it'll land on some suicidal emo bastard’s nuts after he’s just finished his note (common! even I have a heart... He gets to leave a message b4 him scatter now… along with the note i.e :-p)

What I've not tried to say even once is that...

I can die protecting u (and what comes forth from u)... cuz when u meet that kinda person... u never hesitate risking your life.

But… won’t change my skin color overnight, assimilate mulato genes, loose my sense and sensibility, do crack, write a crappy song bout death with no plausible cause then come charging towards u, just to be confronted by a grenade launcher and instantly turn Gary Carter like that, stretch hand (no glove self) and catch it…

Yet before she u even realize say na warri-boi nab d explosive for her… KaBOOM!! SpLiTcH! SpLAT! Chunk Chunk!! Splat!! Sizzle! Hisssssssss!!!

The *@$# wud probably just go

“OMG! Fireworks”

“but…whats that smell?”

“What did he eat b4…?”

“Oooh!! Disgusting!”

If ur lucky she'd notice a pattern from ur shirt (or whats left of it) and go “….hmmm that pattern looks familiar...oh well! Off to dry cleaners and a week at the spa.”

(wowo… how far? U still de? U try wo… spa na place wey ajebo de take baff, scrub, massaj and schill smoll just like u de take do for…..IDK!)

OR

TITANIC (become a human icecream/popsicle so u cud move on and marry twice or thrice grow old have grandkids, then commit suicide cuz ur wrinkles are anchoring u to ur chair and u're as senile as can be.... CLASSIC! U die young, energetic and handsome. She dies wrinkled up, lethargic, and UGG)

OR

ROMEO & JULIET (illiteracy meets double poison jeopardy with knifing inside the equations)

These oyinbo ppl sef!!??

*smh*

So if i love... i must die?!?

(aint that too grim??)

Conclusion- the pseudo-man with stage name Bruno Mars was on crack when he wrote that song. So even though I don’t do crack Bruno... I UNDERSTAND!

But I don’t forgive u for causing wahala for us and our women.

Very soon if one’s mom hears this song she will start asking u to up the ante for her too, being ur mom and all. WAHALA! God forbid.

Think de thinking this way... If ur malle just comes at u with this 

"...i hear say men of nowadays na grenade dem de catsch for the women wey they love... WETIN U GO CATSCH FOR ME- YOUR MOTHER????" #dead

(wowo how u see forecasted implication? U de nod and sigh bah?!)

Notification and Disclaimer-women around d globe… heed!

WE (black ppl, Africans, naija men in paticular) NO DE CATSCH ANYTIN!

In the words of my cousin- “I no go kill snake for anyone talkless of catch that nonsense. Kai! Kasan gurrnaid kuwa?!” LMAOOOO!

Its all on a lighter note ppl. Peace (not pieces).

ps- for more twisted logic... click this LINK and tell us how u view A GRENADE afterwards. :D