Isio Knows Better is an attempt to capture the shocking and highly entertaining conversation within myself. The conversations between my mind (the sharp witty one), my soul (the lover and the spiritual one) and my body (the playful one concerned with the more mundane things of life). She is the eternal referee between the caustic mind and the sensitive soul. This is Isio. So, here’s to making private conversations public.
Once upon a time, on one fine weekend night… the moon shone its silvery light upon this part of the world which was handy, because as usual, that road in Lekki no get street light.
And so I drove, slowly. Because in addition to there not being any street lights, the road was bad… terrible actually. Pot holes here and there.
Somewhere at the corner of the street there seemed to be a scuffle ahead of me. A man and a woman. The young woman (who was relatively short) was pulling at his shirt and trying to land some flying kicks and fiery slaps at the man.
The first thing I noticed about the man was that he did not hit her back… Hmmmn, commendable.
The second thing I noticed was that the man arched his (excuse my pidgin) nyansh as far away from her as possible… probably worried that her flying kicks might smash his errrr… nuggets. Men! Protecting their nuggets since 19-gbogboro!
The third thing I noticed just before I drove past them was that the man was very light skinned. You know that fresh-ajebutter-brightness of someone who has lived a good life overseas? Exactly. That kind of yellow. I wondered just how he had gotten himself mixed up with such a dramatic woman…
He looked familiar ooooo…
Oh dear! I realized just then that I knew him. It was Jason. Posh, soft-spoken, sweet Jason. “How in the world is Jason in this place at this time, involved in a scuffle?” I wondered to myself. I immediately reversed the car (I had not driven that far you see). I wound down the car window and called out in concern…
“Jason?” Both the kicker and the kickee froze mid action. They turned to me. Oh my, it really was him! I continued, now clearly concerned for him. “Are you okay?”
What happened next shocked the daylights out of me.
In a nano-second she released him, and there she was on my car, all teeth, blows, kicks and red-hot rage. Her face was contorted in hate and she fumed and screamed,
“Is this HER?! Is she the reason you don’t want me to come to your house?!” She banged on my windscreen with great force and spat at me, “YOU! You are the reason he doesn’t want me to come to his house again abi? COME OUT OF THIS CAR NOW!!!!”
Come kini? Ahan, Boda Jason! E so ro o! Why you dey look like Lucozade Boost?
I wound the car windows back up hurriedly. At this point she was trying to pry open my car door from its hinges in between heavy kicks at the door! Walahi, some herculean moves o, forget that she was female. She continued fuming. Jason was trying to wring her away from my car. Both were shouting now. DRAMATIC STUFF! Seemed like something from the Zombie Apocalypse.
Omo mehnnnn, I can’t fit to shout under moonlight. Plus I no dey for that-was-how-it-happened epistle. (Eg. That-was-how I was going home, that-was-how I saw them, that-was-how I decided to help them, that-was-how she broke my windscreen, that-was-how she clawed at my eyes, that-was-how one eye now kpeme. Yes, doctor… that-was-how I came to need one synthetic eye…and so on and so forth).
Abeg o. Boda Jason. Like my Urhobo ancestors say, everybody make e bear im papa name. I can’t shout. Oh no no no no.
“Vrooooooooooooooooooooooooom!” Was the sound my car made as my heeled feet kissed my accelerator pedal. O da bo o Jason. I don go be dat.
The next morning, Jason called to apologise. I felt bad for him even though I was a little disappointed. But then he started to explain… she was this and that. That-was-how tori wan dey start. I told him it was alright and that I didn’t have to know. Which was the truth. Of ALL the women in the world he had to pick that one. Choice and consequence. Everybody bear ya papa name.
Drama, drama drama! Oh, what a dramatic society we are in. I once knew a guy who ended an almost-relationship with a girl he considered perfect- simply because she found out he was creeping around with another girl and she didn’t freak out like he expected. He was so uncomfortable with her maturity that he just had to end it. In his own words, it was “suspicious”, plus “a woman that doesn’t give you drama doesn’t really love you.” So, he dated a dramatic girl instead, and his world is now filled with complaints, drama and many that-was-how-it-happened epistles.
Perhaps we should address the underlying worrying questions this raises. Generally, are we such a dramatic society? How did we become this way? Have we become so accustomed to inviting avoidable conflict into our personal lives, and in turn extending them to our friendships and even relationships? Why do we do this? Most men complain about their women having “drama”. And yet, what does it say about them who consciously, time and time again choose the very ones who will bamboozle their lives (and that of anyone connected to them) with such “drama” that they would become bitter and miserable? Maybe it’s the sex. I hear angry make-up sex is the bomb.
There was also the man who saw his wife at a club and started raking at her. He dragged her out of the club by her hair. Never mind that he was caught there with his mistress who was busy sipping champagne with a straight face. What happened to keeping your business private? Dramatic things buttered with public shaming and spousal abuse. Sad.
Another day I went out for drinks. A group of guys seemed to be having a great time- laughing, dancing and drinking. A woman (probably his wife) came in and started screaming at the guy to go home. His “friends” just shifted from the brouhaha and were snickering in amusement. Before my koro-koro eyes she gave him two hot slaps. One on each cheek and pushed him out of the lounge. Another instance of public shaming and spousal abuse. I condemn violence, so two thumbs down for these ones.
Ah. My personal motto is “keep it drama free” o. Me, I can’t fit to shout and waste my saliva biko. Odikwa very precious. Hehehehehe!
You nko? Are you a dramatic one? If yes why? Please tell us biko if it is more effective than playing the “logic/understanding/maturity” card. What has it cost you? Was it really worth it?
And if you are not… what’s your technique and what has been the most flabbergasting experience of drama someone tried to rope you into? Like my encounter with the She-Hercules-with-the-Deadly-Kicks in my first instance in this peace.
As usual, I wish you all a truly terrific Tuesday.