₦airaland Forum

That is what happened to me when I started dating G. He wasn’t even that fine to begin with; no money, no regular job, no car. Full Yoruba Demon. It was supposed to be something of a one-night stand because I was alone at a friend’s party and lonely as hell. He was hunky, though, and once we got talking and he straight out started giving me the look, I was like I’ll just knack and go. But fam, the guy got me on that first night. I was pouring like rain, crying, singing and speaking strange tongues all at once.

I left his dingy apartment the next day and told myself that I would pretend the night didn’t happen but the moment my phone rang and I saw his ID, I was blushing. I had a shower, got on a bus and went to him, and that is how we started this screw-every-other-day relationship with no strings attached and my commonsense packed load and left brain land.


Nobody told me that G was not good for me. I knew and yet I remained. For services rendered to me, I cooked and cleaned for him, and even gave him money whenever he was broke (which was like all the time). I knew he was messing around. I’d seen chats and even lewd pics from the other girls but he’ll always tell me that they were his exes, they were after him and he wasn’t so interested. If I made an issue out of it, he would just slap the eggplant on my face. I was hooked!

Fast forward to a month later and I was still with him. Every day I’ll tell myself I’ll get out but somehow, I'll find myself needing more of him. I was even going crazier for him by the day. Seriously, he was that good with my poon. and I don’t think I can really explain how amazing the D was. It was the type that could mess a girl’s whole world up and she’ll still be saying ‘yes, boss!’ I was blinded and accepting less than I deserved just so I could continue with my good D supply. Please don’t mistake what I’m trying to explain here as just good ol’ loving.


No, I’m talking about phenomenal, mind-blowing love from an unrivaled D, the type that can make you leave a class in the middle of a lecture to run home and prepare a meal for him.

The type that can make you sleep in all Sunday instead of going to church (don’t judge me; we’ve all been there).

http://www.manswersonline.com/humor/happens-youre-dickmatized/

yawn

somebody give this person a slow clap

I went to make my hair yesterday. I had a weave earlier but took it off because the lady that plaited my hair did it so tightly and gave me a boil on my scalp.

After I healed, I went back to the salon to have braids done instead. The lady who plaited the hair was an apprentice and known as Iya Misturah. (forgive my spelling of Misturah if it’s wrong). I playfully told her that she owed me a bottle of malt and she laughed, replying in the same vein that she would buy me a whole carton instead. She washed my hair and dried it while waiting for my hairdresser to finish up with someone else’s hair. We got gisting in the salon and we were on the topic of overbearing mothers-in-law. Iya’s Misturah’s husband’s mother was one of them.

Now, remember that question you probably came across on Twitter or on Facebook where it says:

“What would you do, if you returned home from work or a journey only to find your 3 months old baby re-branded this way by your own mother or mother-in-law from the village?


Well, I never thought I would meet a living example of that question until I met Iya Misturah and her daughter, Misturah.

As the story goes, a short time after Misturah was born, Iya Misturah went to buy some things in the market and returned to find her baby all marked up. She was left with three big tribal marks. One on her chin and two each on her cheeks. Iya Misturah, as you guessed, was devastated. Her husband was not in but when he returned and saw what happened to his first born child, he went livid – only for an hour or so. Because his mom drew him to a corner and he came back subdued. He called his wife aside, apologized on his mother’s behalf, telling her it was tradition and that if she loved him she would forgive his mother. Iya Misturah didn’t know what to do. And as much as she was pained and angry, she had to let it pass.

But I asked her, as she told me the story, how do you let that type of thing pass? And she shrugged and said “wetin I wan do? My husband love im mama pass anybody for dis world.”

My hair dresser hissed. “It is you who allowed him to become like that.”

“Aunty, wetin you want make I do? Na so God take dash me my own.”

I was silent for a while. The story shocked me. I had always thought Misturah’s tribal marks came from the hands or consent of her own parents. I couldn’t believe it had been done to her in such a criminal way. I was upset. I mean, if it was me, God knows I wouldn’t be speaking to my mother-in-law till date. And she would never be welcomed in my home. You don’t disfigure my child’s face in my absence, without asking me, and do it so callously and you expect me to welcome you with open arms because my husband came out of your womb. If my own mother did it, her punishment would even be worse. I cannot trust such a person.

So at this point, I voiced my opinion and my hairdresser added a “gbam!”

Another woman there laughed at us (cos she was quite older) and said, we were just talking because we were young and had heady ideas about such situations. She said if it happened to us, we would forget the incidence as the years go by.

“How can I forget when I’m looking at my child’s face every day?” my hairdresser asks. “Aunty forget o. I no fit. Even Jesus sef go understand.”

Later on, Iya Misturah asked me if there was surgery that could be done to correct her daughter’s face. I gave her hope and told her to work hard and earn money for the surgery. Something could be done. Meanwhile I advised that she looked around for other remedies to reduce scarring.

Looking into the mirror, I saw the sadness on her face. Again, I put myself in her shoes and wondered. What if it was my child? How would I have felt? Especially knowing that the criminal who disfigured her face in the name of a barbaric tradition is going around without as much as getting a scolding because I have a husband I love who loves her more?

See, I don’t just get men whose mothers control their lives. Or men who see their mothers as the only specimen of good women out there. I used to know this guy who felt all women were useless and deserved to be controlled by men and equality amongst the sexes was shit. But when you asked about his mother, he would go “she’s an exception”. And yet he was a married man. Made me wonder what his wife was going through.


http://moskedapages.com/2014/06/25/mommas-boys/