Propagandas I am not falling for:
- Gym
- Kdrama
- Plantain
- Chioma and Davido
- Love Island
- Van Cleef
- And the worst of them all— marriage.
After being away from home for nearly 6 years and fighting for my life to find a decent job in Toronto, my father said enough is enough. He booked my first flight back to Abuja and made it my number 1 mission to do NYSC and make a living for myself.
“If you want to die, at least die at home.” Baba said. As if an African dying in oyinbo land was a taboo.
And since I stepped foot on the Abuja soil, a strong bad odour paralyzed me.
Marriage.
Right from the immigration officers, to the driver that picked me up, to my parents, to my aunties, to my old classmates, to my colleagues at my PPA—two bad breaths escaped from their mouths.
My weight. And marriage.
They had memorised those lines more than the national anthem Tinubu reinstated.
The Abuja air was filled with talks of marriage, more marriage and also… marriage.
Marriage was the air we breathed. No face mask could protect you from it.
The worst part wasn’t even the talk of “when will I marry?”, it was more of “who is there to marry?”
Both the married and unmarried were unmarriable.
Okay.
Enough talks about marriage because my story isn’t about marriage. It is about MARRIAGE. In capital letters.
In Nigeria, when people ask about marriage, it wasn’t the 20 or 50 years union they were asking about.
It was the grand ceremony.
The wedding.
And it wasn’t until I attended my cousin, Josephine’s wedding that I realised what a scam this event was. Josephine had spent her whole life talking about her wedding day, planning it rigorously down to what design the floor tiles will be.
But Josephine’s wedding flew like an Edo witch in the night sky. One moment I blinked and it was 6am and the bride and her bridesmaids were scuffling to get ready for the big day. The next moment, I blinked and found myself outside the reception hall, standing under the night sky and watching all the drunken Gen Z and Millennial guests cradling into their cars after a wild after-party showdown with dancing gorillas.
Just like that the day was gone.
Now, Josephine is calling me every morning to remind me to get married so that we can have another big “party” to look forward to. Instead of her to focus on the fact that her husband is sleeping with anything in trouser, including their gateman, she is looking for another wedding party to distract her from the worries of life.
Then there is my colleague, Rebecca, who despises her husband because he is too nice and loving. She thinks he is not masculine because he always lets her get her way. So she cheats on him with a military man that uses BDSM as an excuse to flog her whenever he is angry with her. Pele 50 shades of abakaliki.
Let me not forget my dear best friend, Loretta, who cries every time she watches WWE or Jackie Chan film because it triggers PTSD from all the kung fu her demonic ex-husband, Biodun, did to her. She said even Undertaker cannot handle the slaps she collected from that bastard.
Then there is Aunty Zainab, my 31-year-old stepaunt who had body dysmorphia because she married a goat like Uncle Isah. Uncle Isah loved big bum bum but married Aunty Zainab with ironing table. Uncle Isah spent hours on Instagram, admiring women with big breasts and bum bum and was shamelessly commenting under their pictures. Uncle Isah would break his neck to look at other women’s yansh while holding Aunty Zainab’s hand. He claimed he chose Aunty Zainab to be his wife because of “peace of mind”, but yet longed for big bum bum like a man in a desert missing home. Aunty Zainab felt inadequate, she felt insecure and she hated her body because her husband longed for Hilda Baci 2.0. So, she went ahead to do BBL in Turkey and ended up dying on the operating table. Six months later, Uncle Isah is now getting married to Hilda Baci.
Ah, I just remembered Sister Mary from church. Sister Mary fell in love with the church drummer, Brother Joseph, aka Narcissistic but Loves Jesus Bumper Sticker. Brother Joseph is looking for the perfect Proverbs 31 woman that will be submitting 50% of her salary to him, as per tithe. He will never take Sister Mary to the altar unless she proves herself worthy to be the mother of Jesus. But Brother Joseph, descendant of Father Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the lord of lords, his royal majesty, wants the “perfect” woman even though he smells like rotten onions, and uses Sister Mary’s “tithe” money to buy Bullet. Yet, he still controls Mary in the name of “Holy Spirit” and tears down every ounce of pride left in her bone. He compares her to other women in church and yet still makes her worship him at his feet. Mary is walking on eggshell and knows if she causes a crack, Brother Joseph will leave her. She cannot leave him because he is a “good man” and doesn’t “beat” her or “cheat” on her. Sister Mary thinks she will die if Brother Joseph leaves. Don’t be like Sister Mary, because she forget say na Jesus died for Jospeh, no be her calling.
Then there is Daniella whose husband and mother-in-law nearly killed her in the first two years of their marriage because she couldn’t give birth sooner. Now she is blessed with two beautiful children but can’t tell her husband that he’s infertile and the father of their children is her twin brother, Daniel. But of course, no one would suspect a thing because they look just like their mama.
So when next Mama Regina calls me to ask, “when will you marry?”, I will ask her to recite the national anthem. And if she cannot complete it, I will tell her to focus on her marriage instead of trying to throw another innocent person into marital prison.
So again, I ask myself, what is the essence of throwing a party to enter into an entity of deceit, betrayal and death? It’s like dancing at your own funeral, or the gates of hell.
Or maybe it’s because we are already in a living hell. And marriage is its fucking dungeon.
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, organizations and incidents appearing in this blog are fictitious. This post does not reflect the writer’s beliefs, values or real-life experiences and written purely for entertainment.
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