Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Aba, Aba

Walking down the coral red road
Hustlers of all ages
They had everything. Everything.
Jewelry. Pots and Pans. Soap. Groundnut. Udara. Meatpie. Dresses. Broom. Sewing Machines.
We were preparing for my dad's age grade so we went to the market to buy takeaway plates and souvenirs. After all, its not a Nigerian function unless one leaves with more than they came with.
Pure water Pure water
Auntie Dash Me, nau

Sweet girl. Where are you from

Several eyes met mine. Men salivating staring at me like a piece of meat.

By now, I had been used to this. I learned how to smile in pain trying to ignore it.

Everyday, " Can I be your friend?". I was convinced that men worldwide suck at speaking to women. They recycle the same three lines yet expect the same reaction out of women. But today was different.

"Ashawo!!" One man yelled as I walked by. Soon after another man joined in " Ashawo!!"

Suddenly a crowd of men began to follow me, " Ashawo!!"

I began to walk faster, reaching out to grab my mother's hand. Every man I passed joined in the mob yelling, " Ashawo!! Gawa!" I ran to my car and remained inside for the next three hours.

I was so confused. I had bought these shorts specifically for Nigeria.  It passed the finger test but I guess it didnt pass the market test.

Aba, Aba.
  

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