Waist beads and ankle bracelets…

Remember that leaked video clip of Jay Z and Queen B in an elevator, and how Solange charged at him like a raging bull? I remember watching it and thinking, “Wow! What crass behaviour from a lady!” Then I rode off on my high horse…

Years later, only a few days ago, I found myself charging at a man and smashing a lamp against a wall. You think you know yourself till you’re stuck in an elevator. 

In my past relationships, whenever the guy cheated (and they all did), I would cry dramatically like they do in soap operas and ask, “How could you do this to me? To us?” then I would storm out of the house/room/hostel like a white girl, wind in my braids. And those were relationships that lasted months, even years.  This one was only a week old and I was already smashing lamps.

It was 5:00am in the morning when I picked up his phone. (Yes, I picked up his phone… let he who is without sin cast the first stone). His actions the previous night had been dodgy, and he seemed to only have cell reception in the toilet so the Crime and Investigation watcher in me had to know who he had been talking to and texting when he thought I was asleep.

Anyway, my heart was beating so hard. I was sure that I was mentally prepared for anything that would follow. At first, I couldn’t figure out the phone. It was a Blackberry and the stupid Siri wanna-be kept shouting,“Command not recognized. Please try again”.  It was so loud! 5:00am, the room was dark and quiet, except the drone of the air conditioner so it sounded like the Siri wanna-be was screaming.

I tried again… “Command not recognized. Please try again”.  

And again… “Command not recognized. Ngor give yourself sense and don’t try again”.  

But my mama didn’t raise no quitter. I eventually got into the phone so I made some popcorn, curled up on the couch and read through weeks’ worth of messages. What my eyes saw?! I started wishing my mama had raised a quitter and I had just left the phone well alone. As I continued to read, my rage was slowly building. I was like the Hulk in a slow transformation. When I’d had enough and felt like I was going to be sick, I woke him up. “WHO THE FUCK IS ROSIE AND WHY ARE YOU DREAMING ABOUT HER WAIST BEADS??!!”

Funny enough, out of all the messages, the one about the waist beads was the least scandalous message I read, but that was the one I picked as my opening line.

He got the phone away from me but of course it was too late. Brethren, I was like a mad woman, following him around the house cursing and screaming. All I wanted was for the neighbours to wake up and help me ask, “Who the fuck is Rosie with the waist beads?”

This went on for a while, I’m not sure how long. Eventually, I calmed down, but that was only because he threatened to throw me over the balcony if I didn’t stop screaming.

I went inside and started packing my bag, getting ready to leave. From the room, I could hear him on the phone in the living room. He was calling his friends. “Gai! Wetin I use my eye see this morning ehn?! My gai ehn… I weak.”

One friend stopped over on his way to work. They both stood outside, leaning over the balcony rails looking somber. I heard only bits and pieces of his narration after which the friend patted his back and encouraged him to stay strong, before leaving for work. Then he called more people…“My gai… if you know wetin I take my eyes see this morning ehn?”

By then, the rage had cleared and I was spent. All I could think of was how weird it was that no one, not one single friend, had asked him, “But my gai, who be Rosie wey get waist beads?”

My friends, God bless them, would’ve asked me.

It was too late to travel back home so I went downstairs and sat with the security man for a long while. We talked about family, his job, his ambition to join the army, the weather… everything except why I woke the entire neighbourhood up. Occasionally, he would ask, “Aunty, are you ok?”

I told him I was fine. I was more embarrassed than angry at that point and I was trying to figure out my next steps. I was in a strange town where I knew exactly two people; this Rosie’s guy and a married girlfriend. The only other people I knew were Twitter/Facebook peeps.

Finally, he said, “Aunty, please let your mind come down. Whatever it is, please just forget it.” He gave a small speech about what a good, kind man his oga is, then he asked me not to leave ‘no matter what happun’. In my mind, I pictured him giving the same speech to several other girls before.

When he was done, I went up, got my bag and left. I ended up in a nice, cosy hotel just a few streets away.

The next day, I went to see my married friend in her office and I told her my side of the story. She said guys never ask who Rosie is. It’s all part of the guy code. She took me to a joint not far from her office where I ate four wraps of Amala ati gbogbo e. By the time I was done eating, I had forgotten all about Pamela with the toe ring… or was it Letisha with the ankle bracelet?

I joke. I cried like a baby all the way home. A friend of mine says that it’s a good thing because it means my heart is still working. I guess that’s one way to look at it…

Thank you Yemisi! And thanks to Gift and her boyfriend for the free ride… you guys rock!