BETWEEN EARNING SHEKELS AND BEING WEDDED

Their words: I can't marry a man who earns 200,00 or less.
This is the topic trending hot on social networks all over the web. It has caused a mayhem, which rocks Facebook, Twitter and elsewhere.
I met this one girl and after few flings we settled into the same argument.
**********

"Hey Bae!", I spoke up.
"See, I do not earn 200K a month, though some months I do earn a whole lot more. I do not own that job security that is pension- able".
She ignored me and paced the room 'upandan'.
I ignored her fore-closure stance and proceeded.
"I am a hustler, miss. A damn straight- headed, hopeful hustler".
"You should've told me", she jumped.
I stood up from the creaking wooden- bed and advanced towards her with a plea shading my eyes.

But you didn't ask, sweetheart.
My arms were stretched as if to fondle, even as I spoke in a deeper baritone- my idea of 'romantic'.
"Now that we've spoken about, am I still marry-able? Can I still touch your face as I did; I mean, kiss your lips and hold on for an unblinking moment as we did before we had this stupid conversation?"
I was sounding sarcastic but she didn't look like she noticed it.
"I can't marry a man that earns 200K or less", Maria snapped and shrugged her shoulders as if to avoid my outstretched arm.
"Why? How do you mean, you can't marry anyone below the 200K-a- month earning margin?", I asked keeping up with my front.
Her tone was lined with stiff. A seriousness that made it feel like the 200K was a gaiter fastened atop her belly.

You cannot raise a family on just a hundred K?
"I do not even earn up to that. I earn like 40 or 50K. Do you still mind?". I waited for her to explode.
She slapped my arm away as she angrily spoke. "What don't you understand about what I said? I can't marry you.

Her composure was non- flinching.
I understood her message: that though she might not mind loosening her belt for a quick penetration, she is thorough when it comes to marriage. Marriage is the problem. The idea of permanence is what scares her. A permanence with little beginnings. She hated that idea of starting little or knowing she'll start little
"Then we shouldn't have had this conversation, cos you went to bed with me without even asking", I spoke hurriedly, feigning anger.
She was furious.
"A fling is a fling and marriage is different from that. Don't you know one has to be objective about these things?" she pursued.

"You are approaching this as if it's a business", I intoned hoping to bait her.
"Yea! It is a business," she answered, falling for it.
"I swept my cell-phones off the lamp-stand and walked back to the bed.
"So, it's a business now", I cajoled.
"A lady has to be sure where she is going and what is in it for her", she answered trying to fine tune the conversation.

What is in it for you!
"What of me? What's in it for me, Maria?", I questioned back.

My mind raved. What is in it for both parties? How sure could one be that it's a good venture to marry someone else?. What is the value of a marriage? Is it in marrying someone who does not see the other apart from his/ her wallet?
I drove the sarcasms home.
While I bring 200K back monthly, how much will you be contributing to the table?"
Her gaze shifted to avoid mine.
What if I loose my job in future? What are the sureties that you'll stay, being you married me above the 200K mark?"

Her fierce looks were softening out. The frown on her brows, the twitched lips, they were all loosening out.
She shook her head and I strummed her pains more.
"Yes! Business is business, and since marriage is a business now, let's discuss it", I said as I dragged her towards me
"Did Bill Gates and Melinda discuss this?" I queried.
She shook her head.
"Did they sit across the table from each other and sign an MoU on these terms of family financing before their marriage? Was Unoma assured by Godswill Akpabio that 'I-am-above-the-200K-mark' before she submitted to him in matrimony? Is that why they are successful?

"Maybe. Dunno", she mumbled and sighed defeatedly.

Hey! Maria, Calm it down", I said, still holding her wrist. She struggled a bit more but eventually sat by the foot of the bed.
"Your dad is still married to your mum now; and they both earn less than 200K in pension-able moneys. There's an only reason why the older generation earned less, trained us all and still stay married while our own generation earns so much, yet fill the court rooms with numerous divorce suits. Have you thought about that?" I questioned proudly seeing that she was catching on my logic.
My arms were stretched over her shoulder and she didn't shove it down this time. I continued.
"Have you thought of love? What of providence?"
I saw her composure melt and I fired even more.
"Yea! We've replaced love with affluence and fads. Money is a criteria for family now. We have so much money- enough to pay the alimony our father's couldn't pay".

She saw it
I could see that the emotional factors caught on her she momentarily shuffled about on the mattress.
She was subdued and I felt the triumph pumping down my veins as I cuddled her sideways and drove my win home.
"Yet, since you say you can't marry me, I won't force it on you. I only wish you were able to see that money cannot buy happiness and that creating that 200K benchmark is a restriction on family resourcefulness", I said with a mark of finality, stood from the bed and straightened the rumples on my shirts.

It's a penny- wise, pound- foolish sentiment, and I'm happy it came out this early. Have a good time", I said as I strode towards the door, opened and fled the room before she could say her apologies.
***

©Poet Anny-Razon Justin,
September, 2016

A Country of Cannibals

Just last week; I saw some very mouth- watering UNESCO Food Intervention jobs in Maiduguri,
Yobe, Kano and other core Northern locations. Needless remind you that I’m a Food Technologist. An “Oliver Twist” type- food technologist who is always roaming the veld seeking for greener foliage to forage.

Yet, I let this one pass me by.
Let it pass- for I understand what religious localization and religion- incited genocides and pogroms mean.

It means that if I venture to Kano or Maiduguri for bread, I’m indirectly signing off my life- to be spared or wasted on the sacrificial altars of Northern Religious fanaticism. But if I stay here, in Uyo, I will have given myself some right to freedom of worship and expression.

It simply means that here in the South, though I might be arrested and arraigned for some inciteful speech or royal “pet-naming”, I still have a chance to appear in court and beg “not guilty” for my preposterous crimes; than I would’ve found myself beaten into pulp and burnt beyond recognition for either eating “my own Ewa” on a fast-day or reading my Bible along the streets or “blaspheming a holy name” in Northern Nigeria. In those parts there are no mercies for US infidels and no voice from the government against THEM. It then becomes them against us.

So, wisdom spells- for a common- Southern- Christian- Ibibio- man like me to stay confined to this liberal and highly oppressed Southern parts of our vast “one Nigeria”.

This preposition of mine cannot stay alight- as a flailing flame ignited under the winds of the social media philosophers and “obomo-nkukus” that abound here. My shadowy ramblings cannot stand under the shades of their strong reason and logic.
It truly does not make sense; but whatever other thing does makes sense, especially in Our Nigeria of today?
Nothing!

So my fools wisdom remains the only wisdom I would prescribe for any Southerner who is still out there.

“Come home, to where you are safe, before this bloodied contraption of a country finally implodes.

Amen

The Nigerians That Defy Stereotypical Definitions

THE NIGERIANS THAT DEFY STEREOTYPICAL DEFINITIONS

If anybody knows me- and wishes to know more- such person will agree that I am always at odds with a character consistency that could spell me in Black and White.

I am bubbly, talkative and aloof today; I am quiet, calculative and humble tomorrow.

I love classy things at one time and I'm pulled to the totems that lie stripped of all glamour, the next minute.

But in all, I am down to earth- whatsoever that means.

I am a Nigerian...
and if any earthling exists, that has never heard of my beloved country or met my beloved people; if such person(s) could see me walk, hear me talk or feel me swag- about, he would instantly be informed in the ways and customs of being Nigerian.

I love to travel a lot too- for we, as Nigerians have been stricken with a perpetual itch, so as not to be caught sitting in one place for too long. Infact, our country together with us are loaded into one psychological ship that is sailing down, southerly towards the tumultuous seas of Dementia.
I do not take it kindly with anyone that calls us "mad", no matter how true it might be, that we are actually "very mad".

Now, here is a story...
By this same time last year, the "traveling- itch" had plagued me so strongly that I was pedaling hard in a BMW 3 Series, 2008 Model from Uyo- in the cool of morning, to Ijebu-Jesha- in the pitch of night.
My purpose: I was going to Holiday with a bosom friend who hails from Ijebu in Osun but lives with me in Uyo, Akwa Ibom State. It was in the eve of Sallah and I had already been told he came from a very devout Moslem family.
As a travel- addicted Nigerian, I couldn't let my guards down. Infact suspicion was up and prowling, round and about me.
Alas, I was very disappointed and ashamed for putting up such a discernible front of cautiousness after I was duly introduced to his big family.

There in Ijebu, true as it were that my friend was from a core Moslem family; I was received and treated so warmly that I became a member of the family without even knowing.

We ate and drank together. I even slept in the same bed with one of his many brothers.
Whenever Alhaja- his aged mother- came to wake us up in the morning; I will be allowed to pray to my Christian God and the Jesus- which I didn't know, but was taught by my parents to pray to- while the other members of the family went out to perform their ablutions and observe a holy Juma't to Allah.
They were a peaceful and lovable family. We visited and bathed at the high waterfalls in Erin-jesha together, drank up-wine from calabashs and laughed at the fallout of culture that accompanied each other's wake, more especially mine which came from a different cultural strata from theirs.
Three weeks had passed by. Their hospitality and warmth had made me loose the count of time. By the time we packed up again and I zoomed off towards Uyo, I had established a great confederate of Muslim friends who could call me at anytime of the day, confide in me and gist over the phone till date.

I had also learnt one other thing; that some Nigerians are not really like Nigerians. Most Nigerians cannot be defined by the religious fanaticism and aparthy that has become a quack- mire stricking our collective sensibilities and shapening us into a cannibalistic bunch of religious fools.

The Ijebu- Moslem family I spent my holiday with were not Nigerian like that. They knew what religious and cultural tolerance meant without being preached to. They accepted me, understanding that their own brother felt comfortable with me accompanying him. They knew that their brother lived in my own parts and that I owed him same hospitality.

These are the kinds of Nigerians that cannot be told by stereotypical stories or whose characters cannot not be defined by collective religious or cultural idiosyncrasies. They know that we are all the same beneath the cloak of tribe and other persuasions. They know that when our coloured skins and cultured mind's fall apart, that what is left of us is an indistinguishable toll of white bones that tell neither tribe nor religion.

These are a different breed of Nigerians. They cannot be spotted for being Yoruba or Moslem. To them, Allah was a prophet who sent love to humanity in the form of Godly worship. They know that other prophets- like the Christ I was indoctrinated to pray to- existed and had equal followers and demanded equal worship. They know that the pride of being Nigerian exceeds the lure to be fanatical.

This Ijebu family spoke Yoruba and taught me few of it. But they also spoke the universal language that was understood across all tribes and tongues: the language of Love, Brotherliness and Service to Humanity.
These are the kinds of Nigerians we do not easily come by in the Maiduguri, Kano and Zamfara areas of the North today; the ones that we really need but who are paradoxically very scarce to meet.

These are the Nigerians I'll commute a thousand Kilometers across numerous seas to be with.

These ones make the Nigeria of my dreams.

©Poet Anny Razon-Justin,
August, 2016