My marriage therapist has been married seven times to absolute
jerks (her bitter emphasis) and she has divorced their sorry behinds (her
bitter emphasis) each time. It never fails, just before we start my therapy
session, she assures me that men are beasts and then she starts to cry
inconsolably. Why do I have a marriage therapist?
I don’t know, it came with my health care package, well, until
my brother Bwana Obama came to ruin it with “health care reform!” Every married
person in America should have a therapist, especially the men. Marriage in
America is hard. Here, men actually have to do things around the house, nothing
is taboo, nothing! I know this Ndigbo-American who has an Ozo Chieftaincy
title, his wife is always asking him to stop at the store and buy her sanitary
pads (gulp!).
It is true. This one day, I was riding around with Chief Ozo
(not his real name) doing manly things like looking for a cheap bottle of
Chilean Malbec when Chief suddenly said, “nna men, abeg mek we go store, I wan
buy pad!” I was surprised, but you know this is America, anything can happen.
Tufiakwa! So I asked suspiciously, “Ehn, chief, why you want pad? Abi your
period don come?”
He explained that it was for his wife, she was fond of making
him buy un-Chiefly things like pads and lip gloss. So we dashed into the store,
quickly grabbed one box and raced to the aisle to buy it quickly before anybody
would notice. The sales lady at the counter could not find the price on the
sanitary pad, so, what does she do, this wicked lady? She gets on the store’s
loudspeaker and loudly yells for help while waving the brightly coloured box of
pads over our heads: “SANITARY PADS! PRICE CHECK ON SANITARY PADS!” We were
mortified but it is the law in America, you can’t buy something without the
price! Chief Ozo is no longer my friend.
My dad Papalolo is a great marriage counselor. I have fond
memories of him laying the charm thickly on my mother Mamalolo (and come to
think of it, on every woman that met his roving eyes). He knew what to say and
he was generous with sweet nothings. Women liked that. He would say absolute
nonsense like, “ah my princess I am going to make you omelette today, with
sausage on the side, this your mouth is so pretty, it is not for eating eba!” I
swear I am not making this up; he would pluck things from the bush he called
“flowers” and bring them into the house, present it to Mamalolo and say, “here,
for you, my dear!” I think he had been watching too many oyinbo and Nollywood
romance movies.
My father observed that I was a bookworm who seemed interested
only in the company of fellow men, reading things that didn’t have pictures of
naked women in them. So this one day he asked me, “enh, my son, you are always
with other men, reading books, don’t you like women? Tufiakwa! Olorun ma je!”
My father always lapses into Igbo and Yoruba epithets under stress. I told him
that I love women but I am tongue tied in their presence. He said, “Ah, my son,
it is easy, tell them nice things! If they are pretty, tell them, they like
that! They will smile at you and once a woman smiles at you enh, you are half
way there. Even if she is not pretty, tell her she is pretty! She will smile
and then she will be pretty! All women are pretty. Here is a bottle of Gulder
beer. Drink it, it will loosen your tongue and you won’t be too shy to talk to
women!” I drank it. He was right. Gulder loosens tongues.
Papalolo also taught me never to appreciate the beauty of another woman in
my wife’s presence. He would say, “My son, never, ever, tell your wife that
another woman is beautiful. You might as well just shoot yourself. If you are
driving and madam is by your side and you see a beauty, don’t let your jaw drop
like a fool. Immediately start saying things that are the opposite of what is
going through your head, “Enh, Mamalolo look at that ugly woman, look at her
fat head! Look at her big stomach like Obasanjo! Look at her legs like
toothpicks, Mamalolo, there is no woman as pretty as you, Allah!” I am not sure
Mamalolo was fooled though. One day we were in the car in a go-slow in Benin
City when this gorgeous Naija man looking like Denzel Washington sauntered by
flexing his fine muscles. Mamalolo got excited, hit Papalolo in the arm
severally and cackled: “Enh, Papalolo! Look at that ugly man, look at his fat
head! Look at his big stomach like Obasanjo! Look at his legs like toothpicks!
Papalolo, there is no man as handsome as you, Allah!” Papalolo did not smile.
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