It’s late in the month of March in the year 2015. The weather is a little humid and Jonathan is still president. I can conveniently call myself an adult male, but I still don’t fully understand a few “basic” things. What’s the import of the situation report you ask. Chill. This will be brief.
But that’s not a promise.
There’s a difference between dog and dingo (maybe not as glaring as the difference between a cockerel and a broiler) and it doesn’t take understanding rocket science to know, but it’s never a crime if you don’t (lawyers, please cover me if I just lied).
Imagine walking down Thompson Street (go ahead and google the street, inquisitive chicken). You have no thoughts of work deadline making your heart beat rock and reggae concurrently, and your self-esteem cum confidence are really at the level that they should be —full.
Then it happened.
A beautiful daughter of Eve walked elegantly past you and you couldn’t help but to notice (you’re a handsome great grandson of Solomon after all). She walked gracefully and her gentle sashay gave you a vague idea of something you saw recently, but you couldn’t get a grip of it. She looked back at you, as if she could feel your eyes roaming her skin, especially at the area around her waist and a few staggering inches down; and then the eureka moment hit you: she reminded you of the newly married dapper wife of the handsome prince (make no mistake Challey, this is not a Ghollywood script).
Speaking of being married, you realized she could be already hooked to a fortunate Mr. Donald (Seriously? You’ll google him too?). Voices kept telling you to pursue and find out, for it would amount to letting the village witches prevail without stress if you assumed and let her go. What if she’s just so pretty but single like you? So you walked, determined steps after another, wishing it would be the last time your spontaneity in the art of pick-ups would be required.
A few inches away from her, something caught your attention. Pretty ma’am had all her fingers adorned with rings; sparkling rings that would make Frodo and Gollum scream “Our precious” at once. You’re an adult male but you still don’t fully understand a few “basic” things, like meaning of ring placement on different fingers of a lady, apart from the fourth finger of course. She didn’t stretch out her hand for your review (remember nail inspection on assemblies in secondary schools?), but you counted about two to three rings on one hand. You mouthed a subtle “Obaro Cheesox” unknowingly. How do you proceed from here?
You swallowed hard. Your cluelessness grew as the traditional Ndigbo flute started playing in your head, further increasing your confusion. The voices began to speak to you again, telling you how to proceed thence.
“She’s married… no she’s not, they’re just fashion rings,” a voice said.
“Oga you’re only single, not foolish too! Three fashion rings versus five fingers? Is she the duchess of the rings?” Another voice countered.
“You’re not seeing right. There are two rings, not three.”
“Are you drunk or just momentarily dumb? Do the Maths. Two or three fingers out of five, the probability that she’s married or engaged is high!” The educated mathematics-inclined voice finalized.
To approach, or not to approach? You asked yourself.
A fortnight ago you went after a young lady who you later found out was married with the “sharpest” tongue ever. Of course she didn’t call you a blind fool for making such move, she only shook the finger bearing her wedding ring before your face with the look-carefully-I’m-married attitude and then walked away muttering words that sounded Russian to your ears. Maybe she was in a bad mood. Maybe.
Quit the imagination and join me in reality bro. Will you advance against all odds to confirm her status, or move on and watch out for other free fingers? Ma’am, put yourself in bro’s shoes, what will you do?
I’m not sure what I’ll do, I only know it won’t be the former.
It’s in vogue; the fad as far as ladies are concerned. Question is: have we ever thought about the likely implications? I do not plan to argue in favour of a party or judge another, but I think it’s significant enough to be mentioned. Other growing trends include remaining single lady because marriage is overrated or independence is bliss; trooping to religious conventions (relax, I won’t write Shiloh here joor) for the gift, fruit or seed of a life partner; etc. I believe you can link the dots.
You want to rock the rings the way you like? That’s your prerogative. Attempting to point at the fallouts of rocking them in some ways? That’s my civic responsibility.
What do you think? Use the comment box for comments, corrections… and abuses. 🙂
I am @jossef69 on twitter.
Would you like to share this?
Let your friends read too.
It’s just a click away ↓
Crooked gait assumed
Legs turning in and out
Waist rolling as though greased
Free hands swaying around
Sudden dashes left and right
Emotions well personalised
You can fill in the gaps
A funny face or a silly grin
No strict rules
Creativity is the key
…azonto on point.
Shoulders raised a tad high
Inwardly arched back
Chest in convex
Rears well protruded
Determined rhythmic stomps
Bum visibly shaking
More rear mass is an edge
Bounce along and do the rest
Kukere is set.
In times past it was Makossa
The tune and beat the sure triggers
We least care what the lyric says
Twisting like a happy cripple
Wriggling with serious elan
Another came and went
The dance of the bosses
Donned with pride
Laced with swags
We didn’t all hammer though
But nobody cares
Yahooze on our minds
Many preceded them
It’s certain many will come after them
Perhaps we’ll squat and twist by then
Contort the face and hop in haste
Soldier comes soldier goes
Barrack no dey move
But it changes too
Time and season apply to all
Resist it all you can
But why bother?
So long it’s necessary and safe
Logical or rational
Proper but not repugnant
The inevitable is constant
Pick a cue from Pac
“That’s just the way it is
Things’ll never be the same….”