I remember when I was 24. I can still picture the look on my face whenever guys would come around, trying to get my attention. Fresh out of school and waiting for NYSC (National Youth Service Corps), I had all the time in the world. I figured that by the time I was ready to get married—which I imagined would be about three years later—there would be so many guys around that I’d have to play “eenie, meenie, miny, moe” to decide who to choose.
I wanted to enjoy the perks of working and not having to answer to anyone. I dreamed of living alone as a single woman, with no parents asking where I was going or when I’d be back. So, for me, marriage could wait. I congratulated all my friends who were getting married at that time and wished them well, often volunteering to be on their bridal trains.
Fast forward to age 27—dreams fulfilled! I was living in my own place, coming and going as I pleased. After much persuasion (met with my firm refusal to stay with my parents), Popsy left me one of his old cars. That made me feel like an average Lagos babe. The trade-off, however, was that I’d have to cover my rent on my own. Popsy said he wouldn’t contribute to that because it would only encourage me to be spoiled. He only gave me the car, as he put it, because “moving around Lagos with a car is a necessity, not a luxury.”
Anyway, I still went home most weekends to eat “awoof” food and take leftovers in plastic containers to freeze back at my place. But the one part of my dream that wasn’t coming true was the “eenie, meenie, miny, moe” part. The guys I’d imagined queuing up outside my door to win the title of “Mr. Right” were… missing.
There was a “queue,” all right, but it was like one of those queues where you end up shouting, “Anybody there?” So, I started to get worried. When I complained, people would say, “Relax, you still have age on your side, and you don’t look bad. Men will fall at your feet.” Excuse me—why aren’t they falling now? Okay, some are, but they’re not the quality of men I’d expect.
For someone on my level, the least I can accept is a man earning around 600,000 Naira monthly, living in a tastefully furnished apartment, and driving his own SUV. Right? You get me.
The problem now is that I turned 31 last week. I’ve renewed my rent three times, changed my car, and changed my job (bigger pay, bigger position, but fewer opportunities to meet people), yet no man. Not even a boyfriend—let alone a fiancé.
Mrs. Adebola Coker (my mum) has now sworn off mentioning my marital status after a big argument we had when she asked if I was a lesbian (can you imagine?). I fumed. She explained that she’d never even heard a rumor that I was seeing anyone, let alone bringing someone home.
Now, don’t think I’m jinxed. It’s not like I’ve never dated anyone, but I’m one of those people who believe that if I’m introducing someone to my parents, it’s serious. In fact, if I introduce you to them, it means that within a month, you’ll be coming to do my introduction. (Well…)
Anyway, Momsy calls me every Thursday evening, and our conversation goes something like this:
Momsy: “Damilola, do you remember Bimpe, that distant cousin of your dad’s?”
Me: “No, Mum, I don’t. Which one is that?”
Momsy: “Well, forget it. She’s having her traditional marriage tomorrow.”
Me: “Okay, Mum. Send her my congratulations… if she even knows me.”
Momsy: “Wait o, Dami, do you know she’s just 25? That girl is lucky. Just thought I’d let you know in case you’re able to attend.”
This conversation takes place almost every Thursday, and we all know where it’s leading. So, I swallow the hard pill—sometimes with a cup of milk—and move on.
You know, the Bible says, “From the days of John the Baptist, the kingdom of God suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.” (I’m preaching, Sister!) So, I’ve decided to take up this journey with determination. I already have a few strategies in mind, and I’ll be giving updates on them.
If you have any suggestions, feel free to share—I’ll give them a try.
This year will not pass me by (can I hear an Amen from the congregation?).
So, let’s take this journey together.
See you next time!