So I met this guy…
But before I continue this story, I have a question to ask,
cos’ I need someone, anyone, to help me unravel one of the greatest mysteries
of life.
Ladies and gentlemen, please, why are these Fulani boys so
godaaamnnn fooineeee? I mean, have you seen them? Skin like butter, hair so curly,
and I’m not talking about 4c type of curly hair, I mean new born baby type of
curly hair. That’s not even right, y’all are male species, all those features
are meant for us ladies, arrghh!
And then to make my own matter worse, our index subject for
today’s story is half French, half Fulani, and speaks French so fluently, you’ll
be asking your village people ”beeett whhyyyy?” I mean French is the language
of love. Oh no, wait, I think I got that
wrong. It’s money, money is the language of love, scrap that last part out of
your subconscious.
Anyway, for the purpose of this story, we’ll refer to our
guy as “uncle future-impossible in-law”.
The story about how uncle future-impossible in-law and I met
was supposed to come before this cos’ it also had an interesting twist to it,
but we’ll save it for later and get right down to how Vincent’s worst nightmare
almost came to pass.
Uncle and I had known for a few weeks but didn’t really
start getting familiar till about 2 weeks ago.
Nigga was quite the charmer, I’ll give him that, trying to
play the perfect gentleman—offering to pick me up after work or drop me off at
work in the mornings, lunch, evening walks, constant communication, etc, you
know the drill naa? Need I dare say, we almost had a routine? Even met his mum
once, very pretty woman I must add.
All was cool & chill in the land of “the
forbidden romance that must never be allowed to happen”, till one
fateful day..
He had a habit of calling in the morning before he left for
work, so that morning, he called as usual, and in between our conversation, he
asked when my birthday was and how old I was. I told him my birthday was coming
up sometime in December and that I was turning 27. Uncle then asked if I was
seeing anyone, to which I innocently replied in the negative.
Next thing I know, he went on a rampage, talking about how I
better find a man to marry quickly cos’ time wasn’t on my side anymore, and how
we doctors always think that everything in life is about making money and
having a successful career, forgetting that having a man in your life is also
important. He finished off his rambling by adding that I sha better find a man
quickly cos’ old age was knocking on my door.
Now, for him, maybe it was just harmless banter; like
picture your average grandmas and aunties in the village who keep hammering you
with the “so when are you getting
married” question, but in their place, fix in a guy you barely know and who
barely even knows you.
To be honest, I was too stunned to say anything so I just
steered the discussion away from there and calmly ended the phone call.
I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t feel “somehow”
after that conversation, I think I had a bit of a pity party afterwards. But I told
myself that this dude was obviously just trying to get into my head—make me
feel like my life was incomplete just cos’ I wasn’t dating anyone, so that peradventure,
he does make a move on me, I’d feel like he was dong me a favour.
Huncle sorry oo, you haff enter one chance motor. If you’re
reading this (and I know you are), we don’t roll like that where I come from.
We might not have “man” attached to our current status, but even if we wanted or
needed a man now, like right now, it definitely wouldn’t be a self-absorbed, insensitive,
deluded, 34 year old who still lives in his mother’s house and has the guts to
be throwing yabs at me for being single and turning 27, being a doctor, making
my money, living by myself and taking care of myself by myself, and who
probably wants to change my name to Hajara. No sir, Vincent will not take such
rubbish from you.
So over the next couple of days, I began ghosting, in a very
subtle manner though, cos’ we all have to be civilized adults you know? I
figured I was too nice too soon, but I wasn’t about to allow anyone disrupt my
good energy. After about two days of infrequent communication, uncle came to
ask me why I’d been avoiding him. Of course, I feigned ignorance, and that was
when he finally dropped the “bombshell”
speech. You know naa, the whole “the thing is that I have to be really honest, I
really like you a lot and I really enjoy your company, and forgive me if I’m
moving too fast” and blah blah blah fucking blah. Yea, I think it went
something like that. This was legit my reaction:
It’s been a few more days of
total ghost mode since uncle’s declaration of “fuckboyry” ( we all know a fuck-boy when we see one, or in this
case, fuck-man). Yesterday, uncle finally snapped. Apparently he thought that
since we’d been chummy and with him giving the half-baked lame ass “I like you” speech, a girl should have
been doing the cowboy dance with her panties in the air by now. But sadly so, a
girl cannot dance.
After having a couple more of his messages being left on
read, uncle future-impossible in-law finally gave the “grand-finale” speech. It
went something like “it’s obvious I’m being ignored and I can see you’re just trying to get
at me, anyway, do take care of yourself and have a nice life”
Please dears, who’s going to tell him? Cos’ it’s obvious his
mum never told him to stay away from Igbo girls.
That said, we move…