MEN ARE SCUM: Diary of a Naija babe

Opinion

“I don’t appreciate your boss texting you that she had a great time,” I shouted that morning as Jide was about leaving. He was an insurance manager , and he was really good at his job, and he was… my boyfriend.

Share

Share
Text size
+

THE CRASH

Last last aha, men are scum. There’s a yoruba adage that goes something like this: Just because one person offends you, don’t close your eyes to everyone else so that you don’t miss the opportunity when the right person comes along. I can bet with you that if we trace the person that coined that adage, you will see that it was coined by a man, a scum of a man for that matter, a yoruba demon, the worst of the worst, so that innocent girls can keep giving every Shola, Bode and Ifeanyi a chance to scum them, leaving them more bitter and hurt than they previously were.

I didn’t always think Men are scum, but one thing led to another and before I knew it I had dated nine men, four of them I discovered were married and broke it off immediately, two engaged and three serial cheaters, and they all made me think I was the one; wedding planned out, caterer sorted out, invitations given. So yeah, men are scum.

“I don’t appreciate your boss texting you that she had a great time,” I shouted that morning as Jide was about leaving. He was an insurance manager , and he was really good at his job, and he was… my boyfriend.

“For crying out loud,” he said, as he buttoned his shirt. “It was just dinner, you were invited, you were there. You even said you loved her.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“See just deal with it I beg, I can’t argue with you, no time for that.”

“You will regret this I swear Jide!”

“I already do.”

He rushed out and slammed the door. I made to follow him, but instead I paused as I held the door knob, and sat down there on the floor, thinking of what had gone wrong.

It wasn’t always like this, he wasn’t always like this. Don’t ask me what changed, I can’t say, but Jide used to be adorable, I adored him in my own way, and he worshipped the very ground I walked on. But as time passed, things just got out of hand, and….. sigh…. It started with a crash.

Or should I say a bump. I was on my way to work, a big time publishing company specialising in women empowerment fiction and non fiction books. I was already late and frustrated, and just when I thought the road was clear, I got into another go slow and as if that wasn’t enough, as I pressed on my brakes, another car hit me.

“Is this one foolish,” I snapped, as I looked into my rare view mirror. There were two guys in the car, couldn’t really make out their faces, but from the looks of it, they were trying to reverse, probably get away. I quickly got out of my car, wondering why none of them had bothered to come out and see the damage they had done.

“Hello!” I shouted even before reaching them. “Are you guys just going to sit there? What nonsense is this?”

They were probably in their early thirties, I observed as the guy in the driver’s seat wound down his window. He was putting on shades, which I am sure was to have an effect on me because from my rare view mirror he had no shades on. He just looked at me, and remained silent.

“Oh boy talk na,” said the other guy, tapping him. “We’re sorry madam,” he said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Jide!”

He seemed to have snapped out from whatever thing he had going on, and reached into a compartment in his car. His hand was shaky, I could tell he was nervous as he got out a chequebook.

That’s how they are, shaky and nervous at first, until they get you in bed, and afterwards leave you wondering, was this not the timid guy I knew, how come….. Scum, their lot.

“How much will be enough for the damage?” he said, his eyes on the chequebook. “Thirty, forty or fifty thousand.”

I slapped the chequebook out of his hand. He turned to me, startled, and then to his friend who just shrugged. My next move if he did anything that pissed me off, was to pull off the glasses so I could look him straight in the eyes.

“Are you at least going to come and look at what you have done?”

At this point I was getting angry and more frustrated. The cars behind us were honking; the car in front of me had moved an inch or so, and they felt I should do the same, like it would make any difference. I ignored them.

“I don’t have all day,” I added, as he slowly removed his seat belt, and got out of the car. Finally he removed his glasses. He was a fine guy, no doubt, I was eye level with his chin, but I wasn’t interested. He had to do something about my car. “And I would be needing your number and insurance details.” I hissed.

“I am really sorry,” he said. His voice was shaky as he shot his car door and went to my car. He gasped as he got to it. “How on earth will I pay for this damage?”

I quickly rushed to look, to see the magnitude, but shook my head. There was not a single scratch on my car.

“I will have to be your houseboy or boy toy at the very least, to be able to pay for this.” He teased.

I could see with my side eye, his friend stretching his head through the window, trying to see what was going on.

“I see you have gotten your voice back,” I told him, going back to my car. “Few minutes ago you would have shit on your pants. Next time please watch where you are going.” I made to enter my car, but he stopped me.

“I thought you said you will be needing my number,” he said to me, and in my head I laughed. Another scum on the loose, their tactics were always the same.

“Why would I be needing it at this point?” I asked him in mock inquisitiveness.

“In case of internal damages,” he replied. He grinned at me, and exposed a complete set of off-white teeth. I imagined his mouth must smell good. Now that he wasn’t in any situation concerning damaged property, he seemed really confident.

“Guy I don’t have time for nonsense,” I said to him, and got into my car. “I shot the door, and turned it on.

“You want me to dirty my trouser ba just to get you to take my number or at least give me yours? Okay.” He knelt on the floor, and made a show of getting ready to lie on it. “Oya please na.”

What was the point of not giving him my number when I knew he was scum? I would have the chance to date him, frustrate his life, and when eventually I find out he is married, which I am sure he is, let his wife know as well. Sow discord, if he has children, good, let’s see how their father’s actions will affect them. I hear children from divided homes don’t do so well; I might have heard wrongly, but I am hopeful. Who knows, if I play my card well enough, the wife will be so hurt, she will poison the bastard, his friends, even his mother too for raising a low damn dirty dog.

I took a marker from the dashboard, and got out of the car. He got up, and I pulled him close, took the marker, and scribbled my number on his shirt. I pushed him away, got into my car, and drove off, leaving behind a queue of angry drivers and passengers.

In a different time and space, I would have already fallen in love with him even though I would still play hard to get. He was tall enough, he looked and dressed smartly, he was clean shaven with a nice crisp Nigerian accent, what was not to like about him at first glance? And yeah he was adorable too, but if I had a dime for every adorable guy that walked my way and tried to date me that turned out to be married, Mrs. Folorunsho Alakija won’t have shit on me. Scums.

Responses

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

+