TWITTER CONCOCTIONS (S01, E04) : OMOLUABI

I waka about an awful lot. And while drinking green bottles of fura on my frequent visits to Ilorin bars, I observe things that are not there to be observed. For instance, I notice how, when you get to a bar and delay stretching your hand to a visibly older person; especially one of Yoruba extraction, such a person will likely deem you an omoluabi. Due to the sheer vastness of their meanings, there are words in every language that will never truly retain their connotations when translated into English. One of such is the Yoruba word omoluabi which, according to me is used to describe a wholesomely morally-upright person. But who am I, right?

I wikid omoluabi and the clearest least ambiguous definition said it’s a term used to describe “a philosophical and cultural concept that’s native to the Yoruba people; usually used to describe a person of good character – such that when a person is called omoluabi, he is thought of as a paragon of excellence in character.” More than a class of person, omoluabi; from my understanding of Olusola Olanipekun’s 2017 paper in Africology: Journal of Pan-African Studies can be said to be the concept of Yoruba morality. So why are we even here?

Over the sallah period, a tweet popped up on my timeline detailing a scenario where an impending couple have an unseemly issue because the guy wants the girl to remove her nose ring when she comes to meet his parents. She rejects this, and the guy is confused as to what to do next. As ever, when it comes to these matters, there has predictably been many reactions; from the obtuse to the hyperbolic. I’ll shamelessly plug this piece into that event and it will be fun. After the first three episodes: here (Carrying Plate/Washing Car), here (Daddy's Money) and here (45-minute sex), here goes the fourth episode.

FACT

There comes a “so where is this going” moment in every heterosexual relationship – no matter how lackadaisical both parties hold it. At that point, you either go backwards (possible breakup) or move forward (possibly consolidate the damn thing by meeting family and close friends) – but never stagnation.

AFTER THE FACT

For many persons, it is especially hard letting go, even if temporarily, of our presumably lost but newly found selves. While the most common tip is “be yourself,” this ignores the fact that most are lost and have no fucking idea who they’re supposed to be. Who is me? Who is the actual, unadulterated me? Confusion reigns supreme and people don’t want to have to go looking for their former unformed selfs because the journey is fraught with crippling self-doubt. So they stick to a persona that works best for them and guard it jealously against any agent of change.

As much as people-pleasing is ultimately a despicable character to many by the virtue of its name, the very act, in and of itself, is part and parcel of the oil which lessens the frictions of social engines; otherwise called diplomacy.

Before officially meeting parents and getting all seriousy, it is assumed that you must have attained a bit of emotional equilibrium and derived an idea of who you want to be. So, your partner has a piercing and wears a nose ring and you have conservative (usual) parents? Or you wear a nose ring normally, but your boyfriend’s parents may not think highly of you. How do you handle it?

ARGUMENTS

Liberalism’s greatest tenet is idealism. Most –isms, practiced to the Nth degree are bad. Amidst a number of things one must watch out for in a serious relationship, temperament is probably the most important. How does the person deal with things generally?

So, to remove nose ring or not? When a potentially marriageable prospect turns me down for some reason, it stings my ego, but that is immediately assuaged by the fact that it will take even longer to start being accountable to someone. Relationships of that sort come with factoring your partner’s interests into most equation.

In a situation like this where there are no wrong answers, one should opt for the ones which seem most right. By virtue of our upbringings and moral compasses, we have been inundated with teachings on respecting parents and in this our Nigeria, this usually entails not ever arguing with them, or at worst, doing it very (fucking) carefully. To be fair, dismissing their views out of hand is crude and uncool.

     

• If, truly, you know, like most of us do, that wearing a nose ring or a particular hairstyle has little to do with one’s propensity for being an incorrect person, then you, as the partner of the lady have the obligation to convince your folks of this fact. That said, the overly pretentious and puritanical teachings/preachings we’ve heard will frown upon these things to the extent that noserings/tattoos/dreads etc are atop the list of the mental image many of our old folks have of bad boys/girls.

• People in relationships must realize that as far as parents are concerned, half of adulting is convincing our parents to trust our judgments. This cannot be done while refusing to have the occasional difficult conversation.
• What motive do you have for sticking to your guns? Is it because you’ve surmised that if you were to lead with falsehood, and I use the term lightly here, you will have to continue lying to keep up appearances?
• Is it because people must take you as you are? Mia san mia, and all that?
• Is it because you’ll seem weak if you cannot stand your ground?
• Is it a combination of some, or in fact, all these?

UNEMOTIONAL VERDICT

“Directness and honesty may give you relief, but they also stir up antagonism.”

Adulthood comes with annoying problems that we cannot wish away. One of these is the concept of adjudication. You will always be judged! That will always be the case and there’s precious little you can do about it than to make these judgments favour you. If, truly, you’re about to head to the home of the one you love, you will (un)consciously accentuate/tweak some aspects of you in order to be favourably judged. While you cannot live your life seeking validation from every idiot who can form an opinion, you realistically cannot actively seek out censure. In a list of things that aren’t important at all, this is one of the most important of the lot. I wouldn’t throw away the chance of being with my love away so casually.

Trust me, I would rather go anywhere, to see anyone, in shorts and teeshirts whilst chewing gum because, on an average day, na me be that. But first impressions do matter an awful lot, particularly with people as important as in-laws. Surely, you don’t believe the "never judge a book by its cover" saying. People will judge you by what they see, and for the most part, they like a good front. Maybe you should give them one.

On the other hand, as much as people-pleasing is not a solid tactic to live by, reducing your essence by living just to prove a point is equally deplorable. Having a huge chip on your shoulder where you feel slighted at the slightest slight (sorry) and feel compelled to make a point is not endearing at all. If you feel so strongly about the particular issue, and have consequentially extrapolated that singular event to broader issues, then stick with your principles by all means. But if you’re doing it in spite of what your common sense is telling you, tor! Standing for something is cute, but falling for nothing is dumb.

You must be tactful. The best battles are the ones won without visibly fighting. Our societal values over here are based on optics and just as Robert Greene said in the quote above, the temptation to always be honest, explicit, direct and upfront might seem ideal, but history has shown us that people who got things done compromised on the trifles and mixed things up. You’re not lying. You’re just sidestepping a potential banana peel to focus on the important stuff.

Knowing that most of our people begin to judge your omoluabiship by what they see and not necessarily the stuff you’re made of is ace. Hopefully our generation can have a 3-D approach to viewing these things. More than the nosering non-issue, just delay your handshake for a bit and you won’t pay a dime for the bottles they keep sending to your table because, apparently, you’re an omoluabi.

People will judge your book by its cover and thankfully, this is something you already know. What cover are you putting on your book?

**Do you agree with any part of the passage? Do you disagree with any point? Let me know if you have time.

CAPTAINCUE (...is a freelance writer taking on gigs for unridiculous money. Send me a direct message on Twitter @Captaincue or send me a mail with your writing needs at kaptaincue@gmail.com)

ABIDEEN: A Nigerian Erotica. PART II

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

on FRIENDZONE

In my neighborhood in Ilorin, we have not had NEPA light for two weeks. Being one for getting to my house late, I didn’t even notice this disheartening trend until one Saturday morning where I saw an ad hoc taskforce going round affected houses to tell us we had to pay N3,000 each in order to replace some armored cables stolen from our transformer. **insert joke about our country here

I will resist the urge to start a “stealing is bad” lecture just because I can’t quite look past the idea of someone stealing something as hefty as that, at the huge risk of getting caught when you can just steal an iPhone and make double the amount. Instead, you know I always come on here to pen whatever facet of life I have seemingly figured out. This is about the psychological working principles of friendzoning.

In the days that followed this ugly knowledge, I came to terms with the feelings of hopelessness – and it’s only fair that I extrapolate this tale to that of a most unfortunate realm in the multiverse of heterosexual relationships which is popularly known as FRIENDZONE. Now, I once asked on Twitter the criteria which one must clear before having the qualifications to talk about these things, but there was never a concrete answer. I have since concluded that whatever these arbitrary terms are, I have clearance to do so.

Urban dictionary aptly defines a friendzone as “a particularly aggravating metaphorical place that people end up in when someone they are interested in only wants to be friends.” Particularly aggravating made me laugh. Let me tell you I have been on both the receiving and the giving end of this zoning. I once went with a friend to her church where her pastor, on spotting me, asked her, “Is he sleeping with you?” She said I wasn’t. He pressed further; “Well, is he planning to?”

A few seconds passed and I calmly asked “Well, what did you tell him?” “No,” She said she said. Ouch. I had been friendzoned!! The answer she gave led to some introspection on my end and I had two conclusions:

1)   Two adults can be ‘just’ friends with none of them nursing feelings for each other.

2)   Two adults can be ‘just’ friends where one of them harbors feelings for the other.

Naturally, when a smitten person who expressly communicates a desire for more than just friendship is consigned to the friendzone, they tend to feel bad. Often, it’s a slippery slope of unrequited love you’re trying to climb with shoes that don’t have the spikes of hope. To that, I say you are on your own. God help you.

However, when the feeling is simmering beneath the surface and is not yet acknowledged or recognized, let alone communicated, it’s better left undiscussed. This is because you might not leave your house for three weeks and there will be no problem whatsoever. Let them put you under house arrest for a week, and you will be sad and uncomfortable. That is how friendzoning works. Amean, I don’t even want to fuck you – or add another girlfriend yet, but don’t explicitly close that window to me.

I once visited a court with large Victorian windows that afforded me the sobering opportunity of seeing young people like myself brought out from a Black Maria, and brought before the judge in handcuffs. That image has never left me. All through the proceedings, all I could only think “wow, so this one will not even be able to take an ordinary walk when he wants it.”

There is a level of helplessness that comes with the knowledge that your wire has been stolen. You don't plug your phone overnight. You don't even bother to switch the fan on; because you know there will be no light. When the option of doing something is taken away from you, there’s a sad feeling. Not that you want to do anything before o, but knowing that if you ever wanted to do something, you still retained the option? That feeling is comforting.

I hope we’ve established the relationship between freedom and the unseemly menace that is friendzoning. Like Robin (who was notorious for never wanting to have kids) told Lily after being clinically declared unable to have kids in a lovely episode of HIMYM: "it's one thing not to want something, it's another to be told you can't have it."

When I figure out the mentality behind another of life’s many crazinesses, I’ll be back. Until then..

CAPTAINCUE (...is a freelance writer taking on gigs for unridiculous money. Send me a direct message on Twitter @Captaincue or send me a mail with your writing needs at kaptaincue@gmail.com)

ABIDEEN. A Nigerian Erotica (Part 1)

You people know one of my jobs is teaching ba? For real 😊. I had time last night & an idea struck me. "Cue, why not create an Ilorin-centric character & write about his sex life? An erotica of sorts." So I did & now you'll suffer the consequences of my action by reading this. THIS all started as a Twitter thread. Now that it's all done, I have decided to condense it into a blogpost. Enjoy:

 

Without doubt, the worst kinds of Alfas in this our Ilorin are those ones with Yoruba names. "Alfa Toyin, Alfa Debọ, Alfa Kehinde, Alfa Tunde, Alfa Lekan." I'm not like them, because my name is Abideen & I'm not your regular run-of-the-mill Alfa. My parents gave me birth in Lagos, and like every true Lagosian, I grew up a belligerent egomaniac. After many petty wahalas I brought to my family growing up, things got to a head when I scored 199 in the OAU post-UME & I channeled my frustrations into chasing women..

I had no illusions about my nondescript looks, but one of the the girls I paid for sex in Lagos once commented that my penis was not regular, and that fueled my confidence. Sha, that's how one day, a girl was diagnosed with unwanted pregnancy on our Sokoya street in Oworo. Rumours started to fly as to the identity of the father. Without research, I knew 4 other older men that also marked her register. People knew this thing & my name was being mentioned too -- my parents heard! Thankfully, one of the men claimed the pregnancy, but deep down, I knew that was the first of my 11 children I had agreed upon with my God. My parents had had it up to here & they sent me to goan live with an ex-student of my mother who was an Alfa that ran a boarding Ile-Kewu in Ilorin. They wanted me to get disciplined. Hehe

*************

 ILORIN. Land of Alfas. The year was 2014, and having once watched Frank Nweke Jnr. speak, I invested the time that I didn't use in preparing for Jamb in reading books & watching films to broaden my vocabulary. Everyone accorded me with disrespect until I started exerting myself in the Ile-Kewu. First: by writing Alfa's essays for his diploma program in KwaraPoly. Then I started coaching his little children English lessons. After 6months, my food started having two meats.

The first time I saw Abọlọrẹ, I didn't think much of her. She was annoyingly short & she came with her parents to register as a non-boarder in our Ile-Kewu. For some reason, I've always preferred older women; probably because they'll know what to do with mistake-pregnancy. When Abọlọrẹ handed me her form for filing, I saw she was 17months older than & was seeking admission too. I can't even remember exactly how we bonded, but 2 weeks into knowing her, the lady had introduced me to the legendary lewd flirting of Ilorin women.

Being under the tutelage and supervision of a strict Alfa, I had not touched a woman for 7months & this led to severe breakouts on my face due to the excessive sperm in my body. I knew if I made the mistake of pressing those pimples on my face at the time, sperm would come out...

But I observe my 5 daily solat regularly & God does not forsake his own. One Thursday, Alfa had a function & in the evening, I was walking Abọlọrẹ to the junction when an Okada came too close & I had to dodge. That was when my arm brushed her breast & I apologized. She laughed it off, looked at my crotch & reamrked in that ghastly Ilorin Yoruba: "Olosi, maybe he's having an erection like that o"

Ah. Me.

I was an ardent reader & having read the laws of power, the 28th law flashed right before my eyes: ENTER ACTION WITH BOLDNESS

Abọlọrẹ had thrown the gauntlet. I just had to up the ante of our usual flirting. So I surprised myself by saying "I will have an erection and my trouser will still be touching ground?" She hmmd. I laughed. Our eyes briefly locked & I knew àgbákò was about to happen.

As we came to a dark corner on a deserted street, NEPA took light. I wanted to high-five God walahi. I knew nothing would happen if I didn't close the gap, and so I did. My penis was aching. After hesitating for a few seconds, she stood on the tips of her toes & brought her head close to mine. We kissed. It was dry at first. As a good Muslim, God knows I'm gentle. But when a sister makes the first move like that, I'm sure our sins will be recorded in her books. I slid my sweaty left palm across her right cheek & held her neck...

Then I stooped (God I hate short women) & kissed her this time. It was steamy & involved too much spittle for my liking. But I was 20 & learning the ropes. I didn't know if I had the carte-blanche to touch yet, so I stylishly rested both elbow on her breasts. She didn't react.

**Lookat God.

I felt a hardness come up against my elbows & knew I was doing something right. I slid my hand down her side and just as I touched her ass, I heard an Okada coming. I broke off the kiss & comported myself. We both laughed, I stopped the bike & she left...

With a sordid erection threatening to burst through my jeans, I went home with the sad knowledge that there would be no Ile-Kewu on Friday & I wouldn't see Abọlọrẹ. God works in mysterious ways walahi. The following day, at 7pm, Alfa handed me a potion & described her house.

When I got to there, Abọlọrẹ & her mother came to open the gate. I wished her couch-ridden dad a quick recovery & relayed the usage of the potion. Her mum gave me N500 & told Abọlọrẹ to escort me & lock the gate on her way back. Abọlọrẹ casually flicked a switch & the security light at their gate; just beside their well went off.

Kasa! You'll just know some proactive girls that will make it in life! She wore a gown & that was d first time I deduced that gowns>>>bumshort when it comes to quickies

Guy! We rushed each other like wild animals against the fence & picked things up from where we left them off o. Darkness is good -- I don't know why Nigerians insist on having light smh. I removed her hijab & I cupped her right breast. I struggled badly with unclasping her bra. I gave up and pushed the thing up instead. The breast came down & I undid the zip at the back of her gown before slipping them off her shoulders. I still had to make Ishai, so intricacies were abandoned. I stooped her went straight for a nipple.

I immediately felt silt in my mouth. Definitely, that bra had been cupping those breasts for at least two days, but personal hygiene took a second seat to my proverbial need to cum. I bit on her nipple and she reached for my akube joggers

**Lookat God 😊

She was crude. And straight to the point. She dipped her hand inside the band of my boxers, wrapped her tender fingers around my penis and clumsily attempted to bring it out. I screamed when the head painfully scraped my boxers. She said "ah" & I smiled..

I pulled both joggers & boxers half-way to my knees before my penis sprang free. The breeze was blissful. Abọlọrẹ spoke English. Ilorin women don't speak English unless they're intimidated by something 😲.

"Do you have condom?" 

I shook my head & she didn't seem to mind...

I recited Kursiyyu for protection from STDs while laying her hijab on the lid of the well. Now naked, Abọlọrẹ sat on the makeshift mattress as her legs dangled a few inches from the floor. With ample experience, I picked up a leg, held my dick & probed for an opening...

I quickly found it and just as I slowly slid in, she lifted her back off the lid of the well and wrapped her short legs around my naked butt as I went fully into her warm, slippery pussy. I started pumping & she was meeting me half-way. What insolence!

I had heard in a Lagos beer parlour that if you don't fuck women of nowadays well enough the first time, it'll be difficult to have a second chance. Sex was about power & dominion at that stage of my life. So I jerked harder & I felt her grip loosening with every thrust..

Eventually, her legs fell off my butt. I instinctively grabbed her right leg and put it on my shoulder. She adjusted her position. With her elbow propping her up on the well, I found her pussy again & playfully stroked her pussy.  Her neighbour's generator didn't let me hear sounds. She was repeatedly slamming her palm into the lid of the well; a-la Sammy Kuffour style in the 99 champions league final.

The neighbour's generator notwithstanding, I heard some sounds & it was not moaning. She made seething sounds through the clenched teeth. Ah. Due to my history with prostitutes in Lagos, I'd learned how to hold out for long. So I slowed my pace & pulled out of her. Her limbs seemed to be particularly weak.

Still, I put her gown on the floor & she knelt facing me. I gently flipped her around and she put her palms on d floor. That made the angle awkward. About three-quarters of my penis was covered in gooey fluid. Due to the darkness, I erroneously put my penis at her rectum & she recoiled in horror. I quickly apologized she went back in position before reaching from underneath her to guide me in. My God will bless this girl!

I knelt down properly on the sandy floor & firmly grabbed her hips. From the little experience I had, I knew that Nigerian women cannot convincingly handle hardcore doggie. As a good and considerate Muslim, I started slowly before the pace increased. Every fibre of frustration from my inability to secure admission went into every thrust and when I looked down again, she was now on her elbows and presented me a better angle. She arched her back & said something I didn't hear.

A light came from my phone & I saw  Alfa's name..

...I ignored the call, but knew it was time to cum. I slowed down the thrusting and transitioned to the long, deep ones. I groaned as I spurted into her and my eyes cleared.

No words were spoken as we quietly got dressed.

I realized the stupidity of releasing inside her, but I had a peculiar relationship with God & I prayed to him not to let my sperm be fertile for 4 years because I just don't like using condoms. Alfa called again & I told him getting bike was difficult

Abọlọrẹ kissed me. As I made my way home, I looked back and saw her limping to her house. **Alhamdulillah

Now I could rest easy. She had seen the sweat of my brows, the strength of my back, felt the intensity of my thrusting & she knew what I could do. An encore would be easy.

When I got home, Alfa instructed me to call the Ishai prayer and that was when I realized I was spent too. My voice was all shaky and at the back of the reservoir, I quickly used half a sachet of purewater to do my janaba, before performing ablution & joining Ishai prayers...

I was on my bed later that night when I got Abọlọrẹ's text: "Tenx for d fuckin". From her text, it was sure she was destined for KwaraPoly. I looked down at my dick, looked up at God & replied her "Let's just be thanking God."

That was the beginning of my Ilorin misdeeds.

************************************************

Thank you. Please remember, the above is 100% fiction. 100%.

Still, I just thought to play around with this Abideen character.  Should he become a thing?

I don't just write for fun o; I create stuff for money too. Reviews, Articles, Lists etc. I have a one-man writing agency that I run out of Ilorin. I'm scary good at combining ordinary words to devastating effect. Frighteningly good!

CAPTAINCUE (...is a freelance writer taking on gigs for unridiculous money. Send me a direct message on Twitter @Captaincue or send me a mail with your writing needs at kaptaincue@gmail.com)