Just yesterday, the spirit warned me that I was going to be hungry if I didn’t go to market and buy one or two things, because I sat down like Jega and took a census of the foodstuff in my small abode, and I realized that like BabaBubu, I was closer to the end than to the beginning. I am talking about the end of the available foodstuff in my house o, not the end of anything else, or any one else, for that matter. Don’t misquote me.
So I walked out of my house, took a long walk and a short bike ride, and after branching at the ATM (not the unclaimed house at Osborne towers, shey you see) to collect some money, I walked briskly, after the manner and fashion of a certain geriatric blogger working from home when about to enter a mosque (even though I did not somersault), and I entered the market.
I had been shopping for a while, buying a bit of this and a bit of that, trying to make the most of the money I had on me, money which could buy a whole lot more a while back,
This was in the years before the recession hit, before El Presidente before before, egbon GEJ, became the man to blame for everything from the inability to choose ministers promptly to the inability of the hospital in Aso Rock to take care of the President’s health, despite the fantastic funds funneled into it.
So here I am, making my purchases and stuffing them into a bag that is suddenly too big to hold the few things I have managed to get, when suddenly, while waiting for change, that I see a woman walk by with her son, and that was when the lady selling egusi opened her mouth and literally said something smelly. Like, I heard the smell. I know that is an igbo-ism, one of those grammatical blunders so common to the igbos of south-east Nigeria.
She said, “imagine the nonsense. Why is that guy carrying his mother’s bag?”
I’m looking at her, and my facial expression is slowly going sour, like the way the egusi she’s selling to me will go sour if used to make soup and not warmed properly.
“Bia, what did you say?”
“why will he be carrying a woman’s bag? Him no know say him be man?”
My people, this is how the devul comes to tempt people. Those of you who are adherents of any one of the Abrahamic religions should be able to relate. Eyin atheists, how is it doing you? If you do not believe in a God, can you at least stomach the What is the antithesis of the Spaghetti Monster? The stew Demon?
Okay, let’s not get distracted. Where were we?
The girl, and her smelly comment about the boy not carrying his mother’s bag. I’m here now, looking back on those days, when I and my mum would go to market, and she would tell me I was too small to occupy a seat, and she would ask me to sit on her lap, and then when we got to market, from being too small to occupy a seat (I was this really smallish youngster back then sha, no be lie), I would be big enough to fetch and carry, and that would be how I would help her fetch and carry and lift and bear….
See, I don’t have anything against a child being male, or a man, or anything of that sort, but what makes a child ineligible to carry his mother’s bag? The presence of a penis in between his legs? Are you serious right now?
This girl has a phone, a small android smartphone, but yet, she is a dull person. My grief is not for her though. My grief is for the system that brought her up tp think thus, that being male automatically makes you higher than a female, up to, and including your own mother. I will not recount the things I said to her that day in the market, but it is obvious that serious reeducation is needed for most humans. Imagine that child growing up with that mindset, or worse, her younger brothers growing up with that kind of dangerous mindset.
God save every female I know, and even the ones I don’t, from such people. I would have said that she meet such a man as a husband, but I’m not wicked.
Oya, tell me, what do you think?