She looked more like a beauty queen for a movie scene…. I look at her with anger flashing in my eyes, frustrated because I don’t know what to do while she, she just stands there aloof, not caring a hoot what I think. I, at the same time, know she’s keenly listening to my thoughts even though I refuse to express them in my anger. I can tell this from the stillness of her posture as she cocks her head slightly to one side, facing away from me, eyes cast downwards and slightly to the left. I know it is slowly turning to a battle of who will be the first to say “I’m sorry”. I walk out, partly because I don’t want to say anything that will cause a huge fight and eventual irreparable damage, partly to make her stew in it and let her see the error of her ways so that if (God forbid) I venture to apologise, she in her eagerness for peace, and with the least of shakara, does not let me beg for too long. The naija woman. Good week everybody!
She is beautiful, whether light or dark in complexion, small or big breasted. Her gentle undulating hips she carries with the gentle sway of a breeze through trees on a hot summer’s day. Her bottom, if spare, when she walks, swishes gracefully with the slight wave of a fish’s tail in water and if generous, with the gentle roll of a distant thunder. She is aware of the magnetic effect she has on men around her as she walks down the road or into the office. She understands now the warnings of yesteryears from her mother of how so pregnant she will be should she sit beside a man. Her father and brothers are fiercely protective of her as they remember their own relentless pursuits of her in other bodies from other homes, lands and climes. When she ‘winds’ her waist to her man on the dance floor, she does so with abandon or with measured modesty, ‘unaware’ of what she’s doing, her hips dipping and jerking at various angles, her bottom jutting out provocatively as they quiver with the nervousness of jelly on a spinning washing machine. Her man, if she has one, smiles confidently in the knowledge that he is the sole proprietor of those hips and that she mischievously teases all and sundry to show them a taste of what they can never have.
At home, she’s a different being altogether; focusing her attention on matters at hand worrying about the future of all her loved ones. She is a deep well of different and very complex emotions and thoughts that are always running through her mind. She defers to her man recognising him as the head of the home but also in the knowledge that she is the engine without which nothing can run. She smiles at the initial stage of the relationship when her man lays down the rules dictating what goes and what doesn’t. She smiles because she sees much further than he can and wisely dedicates her time to studying him so she knows how to get the best of him. Even in their initial lovemaking, she ‘tires’ easily, with a view to gauge his strength, and by the third or fourth time has already known his capabilities and begins to push for what she wants, gently stroking his ego as she advances steadily towards her crescendo. She knows how vulnerable he is to the wiles of her competitors outside and jealously guards her territory, juggling work at the office with cooking the meals he loves the most at home. It is hard to discern to whom her breasts belong; her man or her children – they serve either master with equal vigour. She looks so gorgeous when she goes off to work, a small smile playing on her lips in the awareness that her man watches her warily in the knowledge that she will be hit upon by many in the course of the day. She knows this will keep him in check knowing that many want to take his place. She knows he knows she will not go astray but also knows not to take her for granted.
She is not always sweet – and we like it that way. When she is on the war path she is unstoppable. Her emotions when they rise to the surface are a volcano and we match her, fire for fire. Actually, we choose our battles with her, knowing when to shut up and when to face her. Her hormones, when they begin to rage, cower all before her – no exception. The deference mostly due to remembrance of the times she has accommodated our tantrums and also images of what she went through bearing our children. That is how we like love our 9ja woman, like our meals; with lots of red hot chilli pepper and spice otherwise we’d throw up at its blandness! I know this not a befitting tribute but it is a tribute all the same – in honour of the naija woman. God bless you; we love you. Have a great week everyone.