SALON, WOMEN AND AFRICAN MAGIC

I think I might die today, like have a heart attack then while falling break my neck, probably get electrocuted as I hit the floor and as I try to move, the ceiling fan falls on me.... (I leave the rest to your imagination). Such a gruesome death right? But if you’re reading this, that means I probably made it.

I’m in a salon waiting for my girlfriend to finish making her hair, (let me ask her the name of the style) She’s says its called “half braid” (then, what’s a full braid?). Don’t get me wrong, I love waiting for my girl in the salon, (don’t believe everything you read sha) besides, who else should be with her as she is in this face changing transition? All those toasters and men promising marriage? (I advice you all to go listen to Banky W’s “My kele”) nah, I rather spend my whole day waiting since she likes it.(did I just hear someone call me sissy?).

Back to my “dying condition”. I’m stuck in a salon (well, the door is actually open) with about seven ladies making their hair and painting their nails, the air is filled with scents of various hair products (I just felt my lungs move, I was right, I’m dying) and all of them are discussing about one thing only “GUYS”.  I have grouped them into two groups, the Nazis and the Followers. The Nazis instigate and bring up the topic of discussion while the followers contribute or concur. So far, their discussions have centred on how useless, unfaithful and untrustworthy we men are. One or two of The “followers” give me an occasional “I would kill you right now” look as they discuss while the Nazis always end their points by asking me “men, why are you men like that?” (Am I to answer? I dare not, these ladies look dangerous). One lady in her late thirties was sharing her sad story about how her husband whom she struggled with and made it with was now swimming in the murky waters of unfaithfulness and in the middle of her narration turned to me and said “you go think say as this guy fine and calm reach, him go be saint but na lie o, na them worse pass”. At that point, I felt like dying and running away but my heart refused to stop and my legs chose not to move (but I took solace in the fact that she called me fine and calm *dancing alanta to that*). She looked at me for about thirty seconds (but it felt like an hour) and as our eyes met, I could swear she was telling me “I’m gonna pour this bowl of relaxer on your face, maybe if you don’t look this cute you’ll be one problem out of the way”.

Believe me, I didn’t need the drama that was unfolding right now, fourteen eye balls staring at me, digging holes into me, no funny at all. What made it even worse was the fact that I had just been caught by my girl in a similar situation (do not ask me what I did or didn’t do) and I didn’t need these woman reminding her. At this point my girl sends me...no, asked me to get her suya. Now, any suya lover knows that there aint no mallam that sells suya in the afternoon but madam has asked so, bobo must find.

I come back with the Suya after one kin waka wey just taya me but I kept my face smiling (Na forgiveness mode I dey o) and she gives me that look that I think every guy wants his woman to give him, the “Awww, what would I do without you” look. (People, I’m in love o). Anyways, I settle down to my sit and wait for the next attack on “men” but it didn’t come, their attention had moved on to something else, something much worse, something that killed Bola Ige and Anthony Enahoro – AFRICAN MAGIC! There was a film showing starring Patience something (that funny looking woman) and some other actors whose name I don’t know. Patience was beating a woman on the floor and she was crying and screaming but when the camera turned to the lady being beaten her face was still well made up, hair still neatly packed with not a single drop of tears in her eyes. The husband came in and as if he was counting his words said “Woman ... what is... wrong... with you.... go... back... to your father’s house... now”. Patience turned to face her husband (I’m sorry I just have to make you feel some of my pain, so bear with me as I re-enact that scene) and said “What!” At that point an annoying soundtrack starts (the usual Igbowood one that I heard Sammy Okposo made) “useless man, I’m not going anywhere, come and carry me” patience was saying when I felt my heart ache... (I told you, I’m dying, and what makes it worse is that I wouldn’t get the chance to get some stuff off my chest like telling my mum that it was actually me who stole that teddy bear in the house to give to one girl I was toasting that year and not my kid sis *okay, just in case I survive this, this secret stays here o*) I turned to notice if anyone else was dying or if anyone noticed me dying but to my dismay, they were all glued to the screen like they were diabetic and the movie was their insulin. I thought, so I could probably die here and no one would even notice, na wa o! (them Nazis might even have a party over my death “one less man to worry about” they would say.)

The pain was increasing and I felt life slipping away from me, I looked down and saw a stool and thought, “This just might be what would break my neck”.  At that point, my girl called out for me, I turned towards her direction thinking “it would be lovely to die with you as the last person I see” and there she was smiling looking pretty, and alluring. She was done making her hair, seeing her pretty face made all my dying feelings vanish and the six to seven hours of waiting suddenly seemed worth it.

I sit here clicking on my keyboard today thanking God that I made it through that day but I must warn you all, Salon, Women and African Magic all in one can kill.