P.S: Before you judge me, this is solely my experience. Mine alone, take note!
As far as I’m concerned, all men are in Lagos are married unless proven single and I mean certificates.

I wasn’t always this sarcastic about men; at least I’d like to think so. I’ve always taken a liking to more matured men, or perhaps they like me first.

I admit it feels good when I’m told how polite or smart, nice or whatever adjectives they use these days until I’m asked why I’m still single. People genuinely underestimate the magnitude of that question, it questions everything including the colour of lipsticks, uncovering that perhaps they don’t work as much or is it the hair?

Alright enough rambling, let me start somewhere.
Obviously, nature visited me early, so while my friends would jump around bare-chested with semi-curved bones, my derriere was already showing positive prospects by the time I was 12. By then Kim hadn’t revivified how we see bottoms, so yeah! I hated it!
It took some time to come to understand why, I was always the one those men pointed at, amongst my friends or why the grown-ass men would slip money under my palms, while I worked at my dad’s shop during my summer breaks. Oh, very nice men, I thought. My naivety knew no bounds.

I vividly recall the deacon of my church whose eyes were always on the cross, holding it with all reverence, you would think he saw heaven. I dumped into him at the market, and like a good Christian girl I was, greeted him with full courtesy, everything seemed normal until he started following me around asking for my number, saying something about church duties. The Folly!

By now he had trailed and followed me into an underwear shop, struggling to explain, while hiding from onlookers why he desperately needed for my number. Of course, I gave him. These were church matters. Imagine my shock when even before I had gotten home I received texts explaining my chubby features in words I barely understood and requesting if I could sneak out and stop by one of the popular eateries in the area. P.S I sat on the same bench with his wife and kids almost every Sunday.

At least that opened my eyes, fast forward to my religious teacher who offered to take me to his house, dangling keys to his brand new Camry as though I was a rabbit in need of carrots. You see, I now understand that he must have forgotten I had once been his student. And yes, he was married too – he always made references to his family during his lectures.

Not to mention, my first day at my computer training, where I had been stooped at the staircase to my training hall, by a random looking married man, with his wedding band on. He was very straight to the point and of course, I said no, only to sit in class and there stepped in the tutor, same man. I didn’t go back there again.

My mum is the definition of a prayer warrior, name it, she does it; midnight prayer, fasting, in fact, everything. We would pray about everything, we had prayer points that baffled me; I still don’t think God needed all those details. But of all the things she prayed about, the daughters of Delilah remains fresh in my memory. She would declare, “oh you daughter of Jezebel and Delilah, out of my family, I close my husband’s eyes to any Delilah and Jezebel – back to sender, you shall not destroy my family.”
I’m not sure my father ever cheated, but what do I know. Image result for flee

Of course, now you know why I flee at the mention of married men.

It takes a lot of hard work to make up, so yes! I expect heads to turn when I step out. From my angle I spotted him, it takes one head swipe to spot the prince in the room, immediately my green lights went up, and the sirens in my head went off chanting, hot guy, hot guy. I positioned myself where uncle must find me, in my books if you don’t talk to me, no worries, I’ll come to you. So after exhibiting skills finish, as a sure man he understood and approached. At once the click happened, you should have seen the smile on my face, I’d found the one. I didn’t stop smiling until our first official date. More make-up, a dress to reveal the truth about curves and yeah my smile; triple threat, I was ready to overthrow any girlfriend.

But, further into the conversation, as my sense started coming back, I began perceiving the smell of matrimony oozing from this my Bobo; according to me, all married men have a unique smell of matrimony. So, I decided to inquire, you know assumptions are terrible for mental health.

Me: “hey are you married? “ (The eyes that stared back said yes with at least two kids, but it’s better to hear words.)

Him: “Not really” (whatever that means or wait, is there a half marriage?)

Me: “Explain”

Him: “you see (hmm lies loading.... when people start with these words, it’s a LIE) we have a thing, but it’s not serious”

Me: (In my head, bros this is a yes or no question na, abi am I speaking French?) Real words: chuckling a little to tone my already building anger, “I think it’s a yes or no question. Ok, do you have kids?”

Him: “well (na waoo never have I seen where straight answers are so twisted) I have two kids” (Two, lmao you see, the nose never lies)

Me: “so are you two co-inhabiting( I know perhaps I should’ve stopped probing and understood, but nah not after I’ve planned our wedding in my head, he must finish explaining, what do you mean)

Him: “Alright listen, I like you a lot, and I think we should focus on that.” ( story for the gods, weti tis one de talk) my look adjusted his sentence, he went on, “we did some rights but it’s not that serious, besides we both do our own different things, in fact, I’m still with her because of our kids.” (For the love of kids... yimu but she’s sha bearing your last name, I don’t comot for here finish)

E pain me sha, after forming classy and laughing at his sloppy jokes, dude turned out to be married.

These days they are bolder, In fact, there are so bold, that’s the first thing they say, I know, I know. Truth hurts. Come on what do y’all want from a lady.

There was this other uncle I met along my street on my way back from work, speaking in fluent British accent (quite impressive, I must confess.) Baba spoke about just relocating to Nigeria and how bored he was. You know- giving off the impression that was single, leaves alone and needed company.

Me: ” so you mean you have NO (full emphasis) family here, friends, you know anyone to talk to?”

Him: “nah I’m kind of the shy and reserved type.”
(Ah ah and you followed me all the way, oh well)

Him: “That’s why I like us to chill you know and get to know ourselves better (first of all, that word chill upsets me- reason; its code word for sex)

Me: “No worries! I’ll see you around”

My hopes were neutral this time; I’d learnt how to be indifferent. So later that week, I decided to satisfy my monthly craving for ice-cream. Omo that’s how I bumped into uncle at the creamery, with a little boy acting naughty screaming,” daddy this one, this one”. Thank God for the Holy Spirit. Oh, I went up to him; make e no be like say, plus I like full proof.

Me: “oh hi, his cute” (I dived straight in, no time!)
Him: (chai, when karma is really a hoe- that’s what his face said) “oh hey,
(The ingenuity in his smile was colder than my ice cream)
Oh, you know, hey are you doing?” (Oga no divert, who be this pikin?)

Me: “He has your nose,” before I could finish the child was clearly bored.

Child: “daddy, daddy let’s go home.”

No need, proof gotten,

If not for Christianity sha, honestly, let’s not even talk promises, you know; shopping sprees, trips, even that car I’ve been dreaming about. It keeps rolling off tongues. Don’t even get me started on words.
Them: “I’ll spoil you.”

I partly blame my mother, or should I thank her, her words keep ringing in my head. What if one woman somewhere is cabashing, abi ah I don’t wan to be a daughter of Jezebel plus I hear some wives are on the rise these days; the fear of acid, is the beginning of wisdom.


......to be continued.

P.S: Before you judge me, this is solely my experience. Mine alone, take note!
As far as I’m concerned, all men are in Lagos are married unless proven single and I mean certificates.

I wasn’t always this sarcastic about men; at least I’d like to think so. I’ve always taken a liking to more matured men, or perhaps they like me first.

I admit it feels good when I’m told how polite or smart, nice or whatever adjectives they use these days until I’m asked why I’m still single. People genuinely underestimate the magnitude of that question, it questions everything including the colour of lipsticks, uncovering that perhaps they don’t work as much or is it the hair?

Alright enough rambling, let me start somewhere.
Obviously, nature visited me early, so while my friends would jump around bare-chested with semi-curved bones, my derriere was already showing positive prospects by the time I was 12. By then Kim hadn’t revivified how we see bottoms, so yeah! I hated it!
It took some time to come to understand why, I was always the one those men pointed at, amongst my friends or why the grown-ass men would slip money under my palms, while I worked at my dad’s shop during my summer breaks. Oh, very nice men, I thought. My naivety knew no bounds.

I vividly recall the deacon of my church whose eyes were always on the cross, holding it with all reverence, you would think he saw heaven. I dumped into him at the market, and like a good Christian girl I was, greeted him with full courtesy, everything seemed normal until he started following me around asking for my number, saying something about church duties. The Folly!

By now he had trailed and followed me into an underwear shop, struggling to explain, while hiding from onlookers why he desperately needed for my number. Of course, I gave him. These were church matters. Imagine my shock when even before I had gotten home I received texts explaining my chubby features in words I barely understood and requesting if I could sneak out and stop by one of the popular eateries in the area. P.S I sat on the same bench with his wife and kids almost every Sunday.

At least that opened my eyes, fast forward to my religious teacher who offered to take me to his house, dangling keys to his brand new Camry as though I was a rabbit in need of carrots. You see, I now understand that he must have forgotten I had once been his student. And yes, he was married too – he always made references to his family during his lectures.

Not to mention, my first day at my computer training, where I had been stooped at the staircase to my training hall, by a random looking married man, with his wedding band on. He was very straight to the point and of course, I said no, only to sit in class and there stepped in the tutor, same man. I didn’t go back there again.

My mum is the definition of a prayer warrior, name it, she does it; midnight prayer, fasting, in fact, everything. We would pray about everything, we had prayer points that baffled me; I still don’t think God needed all those details. But of all the things she prayed about, the daughters of Delilah remains fresh in my memory. She would declare, “oh you daughter of Jezebel and Delilah, out of my family, I close my husband’s eyes to any Delilah and Jezebel – back to sender, you shall not destroy my family.”
I’m not sure my father ever cheated, but what do I know. Image result for flee

Of course, now you know why I flee at the mention of married men.

It takes a lot of hard work to make up, so yes! I expect heads to turn when I step out. From my angle I spotted him, it takes one head swipe to spot the prince in the room, immediately my green lights went up, and the sirens in my head went off chanting, hot guy, hot guy. I positioned myself where uncle must find me, in my books if you don’t talk to me, no worries, I’ll come to you. So after exhibiting skills finish, as a sure man he understood and approached. At once the click happened, you should have seen the smile on my face, I’d found the one. I didn’t stop smiling until our first official date. More make-up, a dress to reveal the truth about curves and yeah my smile; triple threat, I was ready to overthrow any girlfriend.

But, further into the conversation, as my sense started coming back, I began perceiving the smell of matrimony oozing from this my Bobo; according to me, all married men have a unique smell of matrimony. So, I decided to inquire, you know assumptions are terrible for mental health.

Me: “hey are you married? “ (The eyes that stared back said yes with at least two kids, but it’s better to hear words.)

Him: “Not really” (whatever that means or wait, is there a half marriage?)

Me: “Explain”

Him: “you see (hmm lies loading.... when people start with these words, it’s a LIE) we have a thing, but it’s not serious”

Me: (In my head, bros this is a yes or no question na, abi am I speaking French?) Real words: chuckling a little to tone my already building anger, “I think it’s a yes or no question. Ok, do you have kids?”

Him: “well (na waoo never have I seen where straight answers are so twisted) I have two kids” (Two, lmao you see, the nose never lies)

Me: “so are you two co-inhabiting( I know perhaps I should’ve stopped probing and understood, but nah not after I’ve planned our wedding in my head, he must finish explaining, what do you mean)

Him: “Alright listen, I like you a lot, and I think we should focus on that.” ( story for the gods, weti tis one de talk) my look adjusted his sentence, he went on, “we did some rights but it’s not that serious, besides we both do our own different things, in fact, I’m still with her because of our kids.” (For the love of kids... yimu but she’s sha bearing your last name, I don’t comot for here finish)

E pain me sha, after forming classy and laughing at his sloppy jokes, dude turned out to be married.

These days they are bolder, In fact, there are so bold, that’s the first thing they say, I know, I know. Truth hurts. Come on what do y’all want from a lady.

There was this other uncle I met along my street on my way back from work, speaking in fluent British accent (quite impressive, I must confess.) Baba spoke about just relocating to Nigeria and how bored he was. You know- giving off the impression that was single, leaves alone and needed company.

Me: ” so you mean you have NO (full emphasis) family here, friends, you know anyone to talk to?”

Him: “nah I’m kind of the shy and reserved type.”
(Ah ah and you followed me all the way, oh well)

Him: “That’s why I like us to chill you know and get to know ourselves better (first of all, that word chill upsets me- reason; its code word for sex)

Me: “No worries! I’ll see you around”

My hopes were neutral this time; I’d learnt how to be indifferent. So later that week, I decided to satisfy my monthly craving for ice-cream. Omo that’s how I bumped into uncle at the creamery, with a little boy acting naughty screaming,” daddy this one, this one”. Thank God for the Holy Spirit. Oh, I went up to him; make e no be like say, plus I like full proof.

Me: “oh hi, his cute” (I dived straight in, no time!)
Him: (chai, when karma is really a hoe- that’s what his face said) “oh hey,
(The ingenuity in his smile was colder than my ice cream)
Oh, you know, hey are you doing?” (Oga no divert, who be this pikin?)

Me: “He has your nose,” before I could finish the child was clearly bored.

Child: “daddy, daddy let’s go home.”

No need, proof gotten,

If not for Christianity sha, honestly, let’s not even talk promises, you know; shopping sprees, trips, even that car I’ve been dreaming about. It keeps rolling off tongues. Don’t even get me started on words.
Them: “I’ll spoil you.”

I partly blame my mother, or should I thank her, her words keep ringing in my head. What if one woman somewhere is cabashing, abi ah I don’t wan to be a daughter of Jezebel plus I hear some wives are on the rise these days; the fear of acid, is the beginning of wisdom.


......to be continued.

http://jaysmind.com.ng/2017/11/28/all-men-are-marr…to-be-unattached/

Really nice piece. I enjoyed reading it. Alas, dear OP, polygamy is a thing your God doesn't mind. So, I'm not sure how the cabashing prayers against other women would work. God would be like, "whats doing this one, abeg no deaf me"