On polygamy: There is peace in sharing

Most women around here want marriages. For every girl that gets giddy because some guy took to his knee with a ring in his hand, I want to pull her back and ask, “do you really want to do this?” Marriage is hardwork, and most times the woman does the bulk of the work. So what is the excitement about this work you are about to start?

I can’t even be consoled by the promise of intimacy and companionship and love and tenderness and the unending promises. Women tend to prefer intimacy but I am the girl who wants space, plenty of it. I don’t want to be smothered and no, I’m not unhappy.

A working relationship is hard work. Good marriages call for harder work. And chores- about 80% of our lives are made up of chores; eating, cleaning, washing, ironing add childcare to that list, visiting families, husband care.  That’s so much work for a lazy ass like me. The modern wife will have this idea about sharing chores in her head, dear Mrs. Wife, the bulk of house chores will still fall on you ma’am.

Then there is husband care- and one cannot delegate that in monogamy; supporting him, prioritizing him, admiring him, making sexual advances at him, cheering his team and cooking bad ass meals. That’s for a non conclusive list.   I am not the girl who wants to turn her kitchen into a creative studio and be arranging cauliflowers over carrots, or making a swan out of pineapples and melons. Can we eat and go away; I only cook because one has to eat, period.

Five out of seven days, I don’t want to be a wife. I do not feel like it but I string along. Before you think someone is pummeling my face with dirty words or heavy blows, I live with a perfect gentleman. It’s just me, my wife material must be about 2 yards; it can only sew a skimpy dress.

Some women do these like goddesses day in and out. I lack that power.

I have come up with a proposition – Can we just be married 1 week out of the four in a month? Or maybe the last weekend of the month?

Don’t laugh at me, I envy polygamists. Not the ones believing God for their children’s school fees please, we are talking about billionaires.

Imagine life as the sixth wife of a billionaire. Your life is bliss.  You have no problem worrying how to stock the fridge while the sun is burning skins in Agege market.  You can fold your hands and pretend you did not hear the deafening thunder announcing the heavens are about to let down heavy waters, it’s not your duty to worry about the aired-laundry. You are not bothered about what to cook or eat after a long day. You are already spoilt for choice.

You have staffs you are not sure of their job descriptions.  There is the gardener who is not the ‘maiguard’ and the house manager who is not the nanny, and then you have a bright young girl as a P.A who locks down your ‘busy itinerary’, and a driver to drive you both around events.

Your real life job is to enjoy life; every other thing is decoy. You are at every event and conference that catches your fancy.

The Emerging Leadership conference -Present

The Praying and Sexy wife gig- Present

Running With and Without heels -Present

How to Rock your Toddler without Fuss -Present

101 Ways to Achieve Excellence -Present

NOK Wine Tasting Fiesta –Present

You are the hot speaker at events you have no claim to the microphone except that your wallet is too big to be ignored by organisers. Vacation is where you want it and when you decide, you aren’t waiting for that summer rush, it’s all about checking the weather updates before booking the flights.

You can lie down in peace and read ‘Everything Good Will Come’ again, then write a stale glowing review of the book and mail Sefi Atta to invite her to dinner, you can decide to call Toni Kan and discuss how to make Carnivorous City into a bestselling movie.

Then you get to be a wife just one weekend in four weeks, because rotational husband. So the chef cooks and sets the table for the king, you are only supervising. Then that weekend romp will not kill you, then you get to do all the supporting and cheering and whatever you have on your husband – care list for three days and you are back to being a full time free-bird for another 27 days.

Isn’t that sweet? Why do girls even fight polygamy? I think there is rest and bliss in sharing.

Before you start calling me  names, this is not my real handwriting.

We are in this monogamy together by fire by force. *Rises up to make semolina for the husband*

Follow me on twitter –  @bimbolababs


Nostalgia : Pleasant Memories

It was a Thursday morning and I was walking behind these cute boys and their mom heading to school. Mom was holding the younger one, while the other walked beside them carrying his school bag and food pack in his white joggers and blue vest; Thursdays must be their sport activity day.

Little brother dropped his pencil but momma wasn’t looking at them, she concentrated on making it to school as depicted by her pace. The little one had to signal to his brother to pick up the pencil; little big brother did and held on to the pencil. Like a flash, the little one protested and made some funny faces at his brother who didn’t wait to think about anything before handing the pencil over to its owner. I smiled! God knows how many times the pencil would drop before their final destination. And that brought me pleasant memories.

Growing up, my big brother led me to nursery class every day. We got a coin each for lunch and I would hold my 10 kobo in my hand. School was a little distance down the quarters and we trekked like most kids. The bladder holds so little and for shorter periods as kids and I was no exception, it only came with the drama of most cute girls (winks).

You know little girls can be dramatic when they have to pee, I think they wait till their tiny bladder is about to give way before frantically pull down the panties and pull up their dress with some funny dance to accompany the activity. I would stop by to pee and most time I dropped the coin unknowingly while ‘doing’ the drama.

Time after time, I dropped the coin and when I grasped that the coin was gone, and I would cry so hard that Niyi would give me his coin. Sweet brother! Yet I never allowed him to hold the coin for me till we get to school.

Now, I think Niyi should have collected the coin from home and kept till we got to school or he should have allowed me cry out my eyes if I refused and loose the coin eventually. But wasn’t that why we were children; pure in thoughts, innocence in acts and naive in reasoning?

I didn’t have the honour of harvesting this act as my younger brothers went to a different nursery school.  God knew I may not have given them my coin.

Sweet thing is big brother still has my back till now, grown and no longer in the same nest, he still shares his stuff with his father’s daughter.