06/04/2024
Your husband’s family will crowd the new apartment—a bedroom and a parlour, called self-contain by Lagos agents—you got three months ago. It will feel like they surround you. They will exclaim, sigh, frown, click their tongues, gnash their teeth, and repeat a million times that you committed an abomination.
His potbellied uncle, Buraimo, who always leers at your bosom will point at you and say, “Shebi I told him not marry you? I said marry someone from your tribe. Igbo women are dangerous.” He will say this while ogling your bosom. “Well, I blame him for not handling you properly. Because if it was me who was handling you, ehn,” he will beat his chest in anguish at this point, “if it was me, you wouldn’t have tried this nonsense.”
His eldest sister, Azeezat, will pretend to appeal to your shared womanhood. “Isi, as a woman myself, I know men can be difficult. But what you have done is terrible. No woman has done this thing in our family. In fact, it is a disgrace to womanhood to want to cut your husband’s member. Haba! If you cut Lukumon’s member, how will you people have another child? You know we expect your next child to be a boy.”
You will be so amused that she calls it member, it will make you smile. They will misinterpret your smile.
“You are smiling at your evil, abi? You are not well! You hear me? You
are mad!” Lati, his immediate elder sister with the tiny voice, will jump and bark at you before someone will tell her to calm down.
You will stay silent as you planned. Till, your husband’s older cousin, Mufu, the thief, will make you talk.
“Mufu, please bring out Lukumon’s watch from your pocket, and put it back on the side-stool,” you will say quietly, but with clear menace.
Everyone will turn to Mufu. Their embarrassed faces will confirm they know he’s a thief. But because he’s one of theirs, Uncle Buraimo will try to save his face....
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Nearly all men in Lagos are madDamilare kuku
