So here’s the thing; nobody really knows me.
They think they do, but they have not the slightest idea.
Even you.
Yes, I know you don’t harbor the nicest thoughts of me. Taa, ekwensu chop your mouth dia if you lie.
Ok, ignore the voices in my head. They do not represent my thoughts…10% of the time anyway.
Nevertheless, you must know; I’m ravishingly beautiful. The Igbo women threads on Twitter must have geared you closer to this realization.
Oh, yes, I’m most certainly arrogant about it.
Don’t talk to me about modesty. That’s a concept reserved for peasants.
E nwere mma ma na nkem bụ nke pụrụ iche.
Yes, that’s right.
But am I arrogant, though?
Does living by my truth equate arrogance?
I ask because the context of the word opposes the very essence of my persona. I do not exaggerate or inflate my self-worth. I am who I say I am.
Nwa na emuke emuke, n’agba ngozi n’uzo.
Oh, my bad, you’re not Igbo.
Well, that’s unfortunate. I’m not in the mood to play Duolingo.
Ask your Igbo friends, if any.
They say I’m harsh, wicked, cold-blooded, and selfish. I say, did they even bother to know me beyond the internet’s misjudged version of me?
Apparently not.
They’re too intoxicated from the earthen jar of patriarchy to register the sweetness encased in the hardened shell of the palm kernel.
Maybe, in admittance, I’m a hard nut to crack. Sincerely, I’m a little tough sometimes. But hey, nothing good comes easy.
Besides, what you see is what you deserve. Na how you treat me go determine my attitude toward you.
Nna, I no fit chop Okpa dey shit Alfredo pasta.
I know that’s right.
Nevertheless, I’m a sweetheart. I might just be a tad practical with how I expend my love.
I take my love where I find the most promise. Real life no be high school musical. Ego dị mkpa. Nne, forget that thing. There’s no love without money.
Indeed, if love without money is considered a beautiful thing, then I must agree the beautiful ones are not yet born.
They will say Igbo women are driven by money.
*sinister laughter* biko, bia, should I rather allow poverty assume the position of my chauffeur?
Or what exactly are you driving at? If you don’t get that jalopy car off the road now!
Of course, I’m a lover girl, but at the same time, a baby girl too. I want to be loved, and at the same time, want to be pampered.
Besides, I paid my dues. I reasoned with “promising” men till there was no longer a reason to believe their promises.
Once, I was Queen to a couple of King Promises. But now I be like Terminator at every sighting of penurious love advances.
Poor man Ajoka, Billionaire Asoka, and that’s on period. You don’t like it? I don’t like you.
To all the misguided men out there:
I’m a simple woman.
You do right by me, and you will be introduced to Mrs Right. And this goes beyond the luxuries of life.
I will need you to accord me the respect I deserve, and you and I will flourish with one accord.
Yes, I love love, and I enjoy money too. And it’s fuck Wizkid over here because MORE LOVE, MORE EGO.
Shout out to Davido for his assurance, but Egbe igwe gbabue gi. Sending love to Chioma, though.
Anyway, if you care to know what goes on in the mind of a prime annoying Yoruba demon, this confession should set you in the right direction.
You’re welcome, Nne😊.