Ignorance Should Be Illegal

I’m in that mood. It’s not a bad mood. It’s not a good mood either. I don’t know what to call it. I guess I could call it the I-don’t-feel-like-doing-this-right-now-but-I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do mood. Yeap, that’s the mood I’m in.

Yesterday, I went to Washington D.C. with Busola (for her Uncle’s 50th birthday celebration). It was a big party; lots of guests, lots of food, and lots of fools. Honestly speaking, my primary motivation for going 2 that party is that Frank’s (Busola’s fiance) mom was the caterer @ the event, and from experience, I know her food is da bomb!

Before we went, Busola and I agreed that we would NOT be picking any money o! Anyways, as soon as we gat there, Busola dragged me around the whole hall greeting this person and that person. Did I mention I had to kneel down? In my brand NEW guinea lace skirt o! I actually have no problem kneeling to greet, but abeg, I get limit now ah ah. After a while, I was like, forget this, I’m not kneeling anymore. In fact, I’m not greeting sef. Are they going to wash my skirt for me? *Hisses* It’s not like I even knew these people sef.

I was wearing a blue guinea lace skirt with a white open-back blouse (although I had a black zip-down sweater on the whole time). And I had a big blue damask on my head. And you know how those scarfs feel; they always feel like they’re one minute away from falling down. So I could see from the looks on some people’s faces that they were tryna figure me out. Is she Nigerian? Akata? Some other African country? Nigerian born here? What???

Can you believe that Busola went & started picking $$. Frank and I were just talking about it oh, and then the next thing, Frank’s mom gave me a box, and told me to please help Busola out. I didn’t even get 2 finish my rice. So I went to the front 2 help her, but I was only counting the money, and giving change; I refused to pick the money for three reasons:

1. I had a big scarf on my head and I could not risk doing anything that would throw it off.
2. The heels on my shoes were HIGH. One wrong move and my ass woulda been flat on the ground.
3. The camera man of Xpression Magazine was there taking pictures, and I could not let myself be photographed in the moment of perpetual embarrassment…if my scarf had fallen off, or if I had missed a step and fallen on my ass. Or worse case scenario, if both had happened. *SHRIEKS*

One guy told me I looked beautiful and that he liked my outfit. I said thanks and just kept on moving. One has to try to avoid eye contact with certain people in order to avoid certain conversations that will lead to certain people (AKA Vera) to being very pissed.

When they (guests) temporarily stopped dancing, I was looking for a glass to have some cider when some buffoon literally pulled me outside to talk some rubbish.
Man: *speaking Yoruba*
Me: I don’t speak Yoruba
Man: You don’t speak Yoruba? But you have a gele (scarf) on your head
Me: Your point being??
Man: You said you don’t speak Yoruba now
Me: *seriously giving him a mean look* Isn’t the scarf an African attire?
Man: Ok. Well, can I have some change?
Me: I don’t have any change; we have to wait for people to throw the money first.
Man: Ah ah, why now? Okay, take this $100 and give me change when they start dancing.
Me: I cannot take the money from you. You’d have to come to the front for change
Man: Okay. But where are you from?
Me: I’m Nigerian
Man: Ah ah! But you said you don’t speak Yoruba
Me: *irritated* *shouting/yelling* IS YORUBA THE ONLY TRIBE IN NIGERIA???
Man: Okay, so where are you from?
Me: I’m Igbo
Man: Ooooh Ok!! *smiling* You’re a very beautiful gal o! See me before you leave; we have to talk.

Yeah right!! Obviously, he didn’t know that talking to him was putting me @ risk for committing a homicide. Won’t I kill that kind of that man if I have to have another conversationg with him?

There was this other guy that was counting money with me. He musta thought I was akata or something cause every time he talked to me, he changed his accent to be more American (not that it sounded good)…even though I had heard him blowing some hard core Yoruba o! He finally asked for my name and I told him ‘Vera’. Of course, my name did not aid him in placing my nationality/tribe. I was in no mood to offer a helping hand either.

Finally, some drunk man said he wanted to take me on a date and marry me. Can you imagine he said that rubbish to me with his funky breath?! The man reeked of alcohol; you’d have thought he took a bath in a tub of alcohol. I touched his wedding ring to remind him of his marital status, and guess what he said? He said “It’s just a ring, and I can take it off if you want me too.” Ehn?! Hmm, you shoulda seen the speed @ which I stood up and left him. What if his wife was somewhere around? Or maybe one of his wife’s friends?? Then next thing, the wife would beat me up over a drunk moron. Abeg oh. If I must be beaten up for any man, can I at least be somewhat interested in him?

Needless to say, I was glad when it was all over. By the time I was walking back to the car, I was walking like a zombie because my feet were pinching me. The fact that my quadriceps were hurting real bad (from my gym class) was not helping @ all. That gym lady gat me for real. I didn’t feel the pain of that work out till I gat to the party.

I suffered o! But what hurts me the most is that I didn’t finish my rice!!!

So how was your weekend sha?