By Funke Egbemode
She made incisions on her private part, just at the entrance of the honey well. She said she was desperate to have him forever or at least for as long as she could, but he was not interested in making an honest woman of her.
‘I was tired of being a good girl and a spare tire and he just was not talking about marriage at all.’
So, she sought help and got it from a powerful ‘babalawo’ in one of the Southwest states. She was told to wait seven days before giving him access to the ‘newly renovated’ space. On the eighth day, Laja visited Bimpe for the weekend as usual, not suspecting a thing! Bimpe gave him unfettered access to her upgraded inner sanctuary and that was it. Laja had his fill, swam until he was panting. Bimpe was holding the hook firmly and Laja’s mouth was wide open. She reeled him for good. That same weekend, Laja proposed marriage. What nice food, great sex, expensive gifts and ‘motivational talk’ could not achieve in five years, our ancestor’s blade and powder swung in one weekend.
The wedding was swift and quiet. By the time Laja’s eyes cleared, Bimpe was pregnant with their second child. Laja’s first wife was shocked to her bone marrows. She wept, wailed, threatened, wept some more until she became hypertensive. They already had four children, boys and girls. They were happy. So why did her husband bring in a new wife? Well, Laja didn’t actually want a second wife. He just enjoyed playing in the field. He had done it for many years, broken many hearts until this last hook got him. He’s like many men who like to vigorously hunt games they don’t want to take home. Yes, like you, and you, my guy. You are reading this and planning to tell another girl she’s special and string her along for years.
‘You make me soo happy.’
‘You cook like my mother.’
‘I just can’t get enough of you.’
‘Anytime I am with you, I feel like I’m in Paradise.’
‘You are my place of comfort.’
Yet, you have no intention of marrying her. Four years and she’s still cooking and cleaning and hoping. You dismiss her efforts and faithfulness over plates of ‘isi-ewu’ and chilled beer with your friends. You think you are having the time of your life, right? I pity you. Your mouth is wide open, trust me and you run the risk of being reeled in with a firm hook. Or you think your side-chick wants to remain outside or on the side forever? You think you are smart, smarter than who? If nobody taught or told you how ‘persuasive’ our ancestor’s blade and powder can be, now you know. Those sacred things are real, potent and do not need your faith to do what they are told to do. Men who think they are smarter than women are slow and shallow, easy to catch. A girl does not have to fish all night to catch them. If you have been taking women for granted for years, today is the day to stop.
Who made DNA tests popular? Is it not women? Who made many men toil and raise children that were not from their loins? Indeed, many men are depressed and at death’s door because of what the women in their lives have and are putting them through. What kind of a woman have four children for her husband only for DNA to prove that three of those kids are for another man? I still cannot understand it. Was she targeting her ovulation days to sleep with another man without protection each time she weaned a baby? You’d think a smart cheating wife would eat and clean her mouth, leaving no trace.
A wife who cheats on her husband, has sex without condom during her ovulation and pins the baby on her husband not once but three times for the same lover is deliberately mean, totally evil. Just imagine this. She watches the man rush up and down, sweating, anxious as she goes into labour. How does she feel watching him pray, harass nurses and doctors and then after delivery celebrates? Those kinds of women, where did they come from? If you no longer love your husband, leave him before you kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t shatter his heart. Just move on with your babies’ daddy.
I’m sure you have heard the story of the Ibadan woman who confessed that out of her six children, only one is for her husband, four are for her pastor and one for a meat seller. Tell me, is there a worse way to kill a man than that confession? Can you imagine the condition of that man after hearing that demonic confession? I can’t. All the children he had naming ceremonies for, paid school fees for, children whose PTAs he attended are ‘suddenly’ no longer his children. Are women mean or what?
‘They’ say that women are mean when their men are down and broke. They say we unleash the full length of our caustic tongues on men that are already flat on their backs and down on their luck. Are ‘they’ lying, taking our names in vain? No, they are not. In my feeble response, let me quickly counter by saying that men who are broke are difficult, if not impossible, to live with. They act like a dog with sores on its head, touchy and irritable with a short fuse that is a constant electrical shock risk. But not all broke men are difficult, the same way it’s not all wives of broke men that are mean. However, since this piece is about women’s meanness, I’ll own up on behalf of my gender that we can be really deadly with men that we perceive as lazy, lacking in ambition and broke. Women have been known to send their husbands to early graves for being broke and poor. Many men became drunks and junkies because drugs, beer bottles and sachets of gin were the only friends they could count on when they lost their jobs or their ‘containers’ got lost at sea.
For me, the deep end of women’s meanness surfaces when a prosperous man’s prosperity is brought to its knees by a vengeful wife or lover. Did you ask how that works? Here’s how. A wife whose philandering husband had caused untold distress and stress decided she’d had enough when he finally brought home a second wife. In her evil wisdom, she decided that the real problem was the extra cash her husband had. Once he was broke and in the poorhouse, the women flocking around him would fly somewhere else and she would have her husband to herself, broke.
Incredible and irrational conclusion? Well, a wickedly jealous woman is not a rational woman. In her utter sadistic state, she forgets that when her husband’s prosperity disappears, she is the worst hit, the prime sufferer. She’d become the bread-winner by force. She’d be stuck with a depressed dog with flies chasing its sores. Why would a woman want to upturn her husband’s fortune just so she can make the man unattractive to other women? What if by some unusual stroke of luck another woman, a wealthy one, picks him up from his wife’s gutter and builds him a palace? What then would be the summary of the life and machinations of the demonically jealous wife?
Women, why do we do those terrible things we actually do? Why do we inflict the pains we do not want other women to inflict on our brothers, sons? Madam, how exactly will you feel if you wake up at 80 to find that your grandchildren are not your grandchildren because your daughter-in-law outsourced her ovulation periods? How will you feel if one slip of a girl jazzes up your only son and whisks him away from his wife and even you, his mother? Oh, you think it can never happen to you? It can, trust me. Karma is a bitch like that and then there is the law of harvest.
So, before you decide to deploy jazz to ruin your husband just to keep him where you want him, under your thumb, in control of his dick, pockets and life, think again because there is a day called tomorrow.
In all, are women meaner than men or men are the meanest? What do you think?
Funke Egbemode ([email protected])
