Ogogoro Be Like Woman

I must break you..

I must break you..


It has been said times without number that men and women are from two different planets. I am in my 3rd decade on God’s green earth, and I am no closer to understanding the inner workings of the fairer sex. Women also say that men are obsessed with shallow things, so fair play.

However I believe that some Nigerian women are another sub-species. This is a country of wide range of personalities, body-types, backgrounds, temperaments and levels of kolo-ness. After all this is the nation of Chimanda and Cossy, Dora Akinluyi and Oge Okoye, Iyabo Obasanjo and Abani Darego, Mama Bakassi and Toolz, Tiwa Savage and….you get my point.

So the Nigerian woman is diverse. But some Nigerian females are complex individuals. They play mind games on chaps who fancy them; they resort to mental backhand tactics to get what they want. Of all the things women do that intrigue, the most bizarre one is the emotional blackmail.

Emotional blackmail is a term used to describe a series of verbal and non-verbal actions females use to manipulate men into doing what they want.

Relax my female readers; this is not “bash woman day.” Read on and you would see.

I just mediated in a domestic dispute between a 30-something year old Nigerian couple. Maybe “mediated” is not the word, as the husband was physically present narrating his grieviances against his wife, when she called my phone blaring obscenities and using words like “Is that useless fool there”, and other foul words like “divorce” , “alimony.” Alimony in Nigeria? Well I never…I know of concepts like ceremony or testimony or plenty money.

And even though the wife was not physically present as I tried to adjudicate between this young couple, it was still warfare. He was trying to talk over me to her while I had her on the line, and I was trying to prevent her from smashing an emotional pestle over his head. I was unable to calm her down, and she later dropped the phone promising to call me later to vent.

What was the issue between the couple? Wait for it….

I then turned to the chap, and I gave him trite advice in a nutshell: Dude, I will try my best to reconcile you lot, but ultimately it is you who are responsible for keeping your marriage intact and preserving your home.

The guy shook his head as he tried to protest but I cut him off like Zenith Bank money van police escort. I explained that going forward, we were going to use a technique I read about somewhere. Rather than yelling loudly at your spouse or partner and having heated exchanges over a disagreement, you write your concerns and grievances as a 4 page letter, and hand it to him/her to read. When people are angry, they get defensive and less conciliatory. Women especially detest being abused or reprimanded, and you are unlikely to win an argument with your wife/girlfriend/friend by verbally sparring. Or so I think…

Nigerian women especially will out-shout you, and they will bring out weapons that go beyond the rules of engagement. Weapons don’t will torpedo your welfare and any attempts to wage warfare Look at you, so you can open your mouth and call yourself a man.

So this dude agreed to write his wifey a delinquent letter. I, Esco, have been granted a special dispensation to reproduce the letter for the first time, for the benefit of all subscribing Woah-Nigerians. I have touched it up off course, to make it a bit more readable. Haha! Listen (or rather read) and learn:


My dear wife, alias partner, aka permanent girlfriend, it is a cold world (and hot country) out there. I head out every morning at breaking day to seek out our daily bread (and remember you only eat sliced butter bread which is more expensive). Life is painstakingly hard without marriage squabbles jumping into the mix. I am already contending with opposing forces every day of my daily life – our township brethren want to give me hypertension with financial and cultural demands, LASTMA officers want to intercept my car for trivial traffic offences like buying hawked UTC Marble cake in traffic, NEPA wants to take power whenever they wish not caring if I am plugged unto a life support machine or not (sometimes I think the off/on power switch at PHCN is being controlled by a politician’s toddler who flicks and plays with it constantly for fun), the police want to take shots at me even though I was the one who called to alert them to armed robbers in my yard. My pastor wants to oppress me with a new Cessna private jet even though he knows I have been on Legedis Benz ever since our car lease company decided to do their ogbanje repo moves; Lagos Internal Revenue Service wants to put yellow tapes around and seal off my business premises due to unpaid taxes. There are runs girls who want to give me a “hot one” in my office, so that they can attach my salary.

That is why every Saturday, I put aside a set time in the afternoon to relax, recuperate my sanity and download normality into my banal existence. This is when I carve out a crevice in the fast pace of time, to watch football matches, and cheer a winning team since the party I voted into power are scoring own goals every day. But my dear wife, this does not seem to register with you for some reason.

Of all times to ask me to come and hook up the gas pot to the burner, it is when Chelsea Football Club is playing a vital match. Of all the days, weeks and months since we got married, it is only this particular time on Saturdays, you deem it fit to invite your talkative and poverty-stricken Uncle and his wife over to our house for brinner (breakfast, lunch and dinner). You know that they are incapable of comprehending when they have overstayed their welcome. I will have you know that it is especially difficult listening to Victor “Chelsea have leaded” Ikpeba’s commentary on the match, grammar shells and all, while listening to your Uncle display his rank ignorance on a wide plethora of subjects, with his wife nodding like a Red-neck lizard. He not only seats in my special and strategically placed chair, he eats my fried snails and struts around my living room like drunk housefly. Baby, I am frustrated with this marriage.

Before I married you, I knew your strengths and weakness and accepted both. Let me begin with your strengths – you are a powerful orator, never requiring a public address system to announce private issues. You are very generous too – but with my possession and earnings. The beneficiaries of your largess are conveniently your family. Now, timing has never been your forte. Timing with words or timing with time-keeping or timing with requests. I find it odd that you want us to pray before we have sex. That means I can never enjoy a quickie with you.

I can bear all of the above, but when you interrupt my weekend football sessions, I lose it, like our government has lost the plot.

Now, you were angry because I peacefully asked you to wait 10 minutes till it is half-time so I could sort out your request. You started foaming at the house, screaming and poking your fingers at me. As I turned to address you, Fernando Torres, the Chelsea striker missed a sitter when through one-one-one facing the keeper  in the penalty box (does he ever score; but that’s beside the point, isn’t it?). You distracted me from the match and now I have missed a vital play.

You raised your voice at me like an owambe party announcer. And I am like, please stop waving your hands at me like a Yellow Fever warden, it is making me nervous. Out of the side of my eye, I saw Nwaolodo our 45 month old daughter watching us closely soaking up the events like Ijebu garri. I have told you many times to stop exhibiting violence in front of the kids. Nwaolodo’s teacher has already confided in me that the child behaves aggressively in school towards other kids. She extorted Bornboy’s lunch from him, and blew ground chalk in Binta’s face. Then last week, I saw her with a novel that wasn’t hers. She had stolen a classmate’s “Eze Goes to School” book and had drawn jaka-jaka all over it. At her arts class, the teacher was visibly shocked when she drew a picture of Ibori’s head.

Now she is just standing there watching, and seemingly willing us to come to physical blows like Dick Tiger versus Bash Ali. Or Samuel Peter versus Joe Lasisi. Or Karen Igho versus the security guy at that Club in V.I, or Don Jazzy versus…

Violence is never the key. You seem to have gotten it on lock though.

So back to our matter at hand. You got impatient and tried some guerilla tactics by standing between me and the TV, blocking my view totally like Face Me – I face You buildings. Then the worst happened – I heard the commentator scream “Mikel shoots likes a trigger happy MOPOL. Goal!!!!!”

I heard it but didn’t see it. Why? Your ample frame had blocked everything – the beautiful set-play, the creativity and genius which accompanied it, and the well-taken strike. Goal ocha!

You blocked my view of my 40 inch plasma screen; baby you are baying for spilled plasma o!

Choi! Baby you have killed me!! You made me miss a Mikel goal which is an oxymoron, like incorruptible Nigerian politician. Baby you have murdered peace! Where does this marriage go from here? From Mushin to More Hits?

Seeing that you had broken me emotionally, you now twisted the knife in by announcing to me: Since you have refused to help me connect the gas pot, I cannot cook, so they would be no food to eat today in the house, and definitely no pepper-soup. I have locked the kitchen. By the way, Nwaolodo had the last 2 packs of Indomie for dinner.

Baby Walakolombo! Papa Emeka our neighbor, make you come judge matter before I lose it quick, like stolen Brazilian weave.

Wait and it gets worse, I cannot even get your family members to intervene, as they are a motley crew of mercenaries.

Your mother is like Medusa’s twin sister. She seems to derive joy whenever we argue and cannot be trusted to be fair. It is so transparent the way that she calls my phone whenever she hears that we had a tiff (which is the only time she ever calls me). The conversation always starts without the customary “hello” greeting: “In-law, I heard what happened…” Even before my daughter told me the story, I judged that you were wrong. I raised my daughter right…you are the problem. You were also wrong for my daughter.

Following Esco’s prompting, I have decided to be brush everything under the carpet. After our argument, I left the house without finishing the match, and drove down to Esco’s place to clear my head and have a cold beer. Here is my apology for 2013:

Please darling, from here on now, do not make me choose between you and Chelsea FC because it is ridiculous. You are my physical wife, my old earth, Oma, the apple of my eye, the corned beef in my moi moi, the battery in my blackberry. If I didn’t value you, I would not have paid that outrageous dowry your hungry father placed on your head. I could have used that tidy sum to buy land in Mowe or shares in Spring Bank.

Chelsea FC is my trophy wife. Unlike Arsenal. Ok bad joke.

I hope we put this all behind us. I will never let you go like LASTMA when they catch you using one-way. Our love will grow like an udara seed. I love you like Yoruba people love fish stew. Our bounty will be plentiful like Igbo people in Houston. Please forgive me. But your mother is another matter….


Part 2 next.


Girl don’t even start again, I beg your pardon/

and get your hands off my six button cardigan/

Big Pun (Punish Me, 1998)



Shant’gree Birds

It is the thought that counts - action is overrated anyway


We are in the season of love. Valentine’s Day is upon us, and its yet again that time of the year when we celebrate the loves in our lives, the sugars in our teas, the fish in our stew, the ones who take our breaths away. It is that time of the year when we celebrate the special sombori.

But Esco is not in the mood for any jagbajantis celebration of love. I prefer to go the other route and talk about those nonsense somboris who make us gnash our teeth, or cringe at their behavior. I want to talk about dangerous women in a man’s life who have caused him pain, grief and almost a certain death. All men have had that sort of woman at least once in their lifetime. I am here to talk about poisonous girls, or ‘angry birds’ as they are known. Seeing that majority of my readers are female, this post would not be popular. Heck, I may only get one or two comments.

I will be handing out this categories of girls, hibiscus flowers that I plucked from my neighbors bushy backyard. Here goes:

  • Girls who show you only one side of them, and then flip one day totally throwing you off balance. I once dated a chick who was the epitome of style and grace – to me. All my friends couldn’t stand her. Their nickname for her was ‘madame’ and that was because they said she had a nasty streak in her. Thing was, I couldn’t see it. She took proper care of me. If my car had a problem, she would come get me.  She would drop me off at night and watch me walk across my landlord’s perfectly cut lawn into my BQ, before she sped off. She typed my school project – all 5,000 words of it on her dad’s dusty Fujitsu PC. When she learned that I loved pancakes, she brought me some every morning for a month! Esco was getting fat.


She soon took over every aspect of my life. Esco was getting sprung. Soon, I was giving her my money to hold, and she was giving me pocket money. She was First Bank/ first lady/fair lady. And I was fair game.


But I noticed that other girls were scared shit-less of Madame. When I first started going steady with her, a friend of mine cried begging me not to. I couldn’t understand it. I noticed that my circle of female friends trickled until I was stuck with Madam only. I later found out that most girls were terrified of Madam and her circle of intimidating friends who were a powerful clique in the girl’s hostel. They threatened, and even once beat up another girl who was flirting with one of their fellas. This clique called themselves “The Powerpuff Girls.”


But Madam was very meek and submissive around me. If we had an argument, she would back down, and never raise her voice. Then she would massage my male ego my tenderly urging me: Babe please come to bed.

Soon Madam had Esco wrapped around her finger. Or so she thought.


Then one day, after we had graduated from school, she came to my place to visit me. We chilled in the crib for a bit, then it was evening time. I decided to see her off to get a cab. We strolled to a major street to hail a cab, and stood there trying to look for an empty taxi passing.


Then a cab was passing but it had a man and a woman inside it. Madam then muttered something under her breath, as the cab passed us. The cab had gone down the road, then stopped and now did a U-turn and started coming towards us.


It stopped a few meters from us, and the woman inside jumped out, just as the man she was with was trying to restrain her.


The woman bellowed at Madam in alatika English: “Young girl, repeat that statement you just made now. What was the statement you just said, when we were passing.”


I was perplexed. I looked at Madame, then looked at Alatika, and then looked at Alatika’s bobo who looked like he too was spoiling for a fight.


I was going to try and shield Madame, but she shoved me aside and confronted the woman head-on, eyes-bulging like Segun Arinze: “What did you hear me say? Is your ear blocked.”


In fact Madame was so angry that she had a vein popping on her forehead. You know that vein that sticks out on your forehead when you are sucking a dry orange hard?


Chukwu a julu! Was this my normally calm girlfriend. The two lasses started a hot exchange there, almost coming to blows. I was trying to calm my chick the fuck down, but she wouldn’t listen. She was really cruising for a bruising.. It was becoming like that scene from Jenifa Part 1 where the Gbo-Gbo Bigz Girl crew took on the Runs Girls crew.  People started gathering, including some people from me yard and street, along with okada riders, abokis, maigaurds, neighborhood hangers-on. The whole parole was beginning to smell one kind like badussy (butt+ ——y)


In the heated exchange, the truth came out. Apparently Madame had called the woman an “ashewo” when the cab was passing.  For.no.apparent.reason.You know females are blessed with 50/50 vision and ‘blue-tooth’ ears. The woman had read Madame’s lips (don’t ask me how), as she muttered the words under her breath, and the woman had ‘commanded’ the cab driver to do an ‘automatic 360’.


Now there was more trouble – the woman’s oga was also now spoiling for a fight. With moi.


I was non-committal, like bros, if they sent you, tell them that you didn’t see me. Besides I only fight people whom I can see the top of their head. I cant see yours, so I wont (cant) fight you.


Some of the hangers-on there, managed to diffuse the situation. But me and Madame were never the same again. I had seen the other side of her, she had desperately tried to hide from me, and she probably felt exposed. By the next month, we had decided to cool things off.


Madame, here is your hibiscus flower.


  • Girls who refuse to be friends with you because you cannot date them. Mami, some girls eyes de chook now o. This used to be a male problem before. Guys only befriended girls to see if they could sleep with them. In fact I was like that once. I only kept a girl as a platonic friend, only if I wasn’t attracted to her at all. She had to be terribly ugly before I could relax and be chill with her. But I have matured over the years. I realize that not all relationships with members of the fairer sex need be sexual. There are other forms of relations to be had, except the physical, and now I have tons of hot friends, that I have remained cool with on a pure level. They are not that many, but I will get there.

However now, I find that it is girls who have that nasty streak of ‘all or nothing.” I know some girls want to marry or get a steady date quick, but this Oliver Twist behavior has to stop. I once had a female reader contact me directly, and we chatted a bit over a few days. Then she started asking for my photographs and contact details. I warned her if you see Esco, you nor go like am o. I wor wor o.

She begged me to send her a bb picture of myself. I write a blog, so my penmanship represents me. I sent a bb picture of my finger, and she got upset. Soon she got the inclination that I was wanted us to be friends, she cut me off immediately. I felt used. It is not fair o. Here is your hibiscus flower.

  • Lasses who have unrealistic expectations of men.


Sometimes, girls, and boys, but since I am talking about girls, then some girls need to ask themselves if they are emotionally mature to date or marry. No I am not asking if they have now sprouted boobs and lumps to be fondled, or if hair has now cascaded their armpits. Marriage is 80% about trust, friendship and perseverance, 15% about romance and 5% about sex. Money and in-law problems have a huge share somewhere there.


Please ladies, chill with your expectations from your significant other this Valentine season. Don’t be mad because you expected a box-card ( I have never understood why they fell trees for this waste of a thing), and your fella gave you miniature card. It is the thought that counts. I personally prefer sending E-cards. They are environmentally friendly, inexpensive, and then most of all I get to choose the wordings. And I am a skilled poet, so I can compose an ode to serenade my love interest.


So what if you wanted White Diamonds by Liz Taylor, and he gave you Malizia Uomo instead?


 I would now have to love you and leave you with an exchange between Richard Pryor’s character “Sugar Ray”  and his girlfriend played by Berlinda Tolbert  in the 1989 Eddie Murphy-produced movie “Harlem Nights.” See what happens when compromise reigns supreme:


Girlfriend:  Are we going to talk about your son all night? Or are you going to make love to me?


Richard Pryor: Why don’t we make love……and talk about my son in the morning?




Girlfriend:  Well…What if we made love all night……and then made love all morning? And all afternoon?



Richard Pryor:  What if we made love real hard for 10 minutes and drop off into a deep coma-like sleep? Meet me halfway.



Girlfriend: l’ll give it a shot.



Scene fades….


Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!


That All-Nigerian Girl

Some nights ago I was conversing online with a female friend about the birds and the bees and we got talking about relationships, attractions and physical preferences.

She asked me the million dollar question: “what do you look for in a lass; what features are important to you?”

I thought about it for a brief second “Crazy, sexy, cool.”

Don’t worry, I am not obsessed with TLC‘s magnum opus of the same name or anything – I will explain it to you:

Crazy: A girl who is spontaneous/unpredictable (but nor be girl wey head dey touch o).  Crazy not one that has caught craze.

Sexy: A girl who is easy to look at, with sassiness and confidence which are always sexy traits.

Cool: easy going lass with effortless charm and girl-next-door qualities. (Girl next door depends on where I am living at the time. Lekki, yes; Mushin, not so much)

But my friend was not letting me off that easily ‘Your answer is a bit vague. Who is attractive to you? Name a famous person for example’

I wanted to reply sarcastically – I really have no clue. I think most men would be content with any girl who would piss on them, if they were on fire.

Truth be told, I have gone through different phases of what I consider as hot and attractive.  As a hot-blooded adolescent in junior secondary school, I once really fancied Phylicia Rashad (Bill Cosby’s wife in The Cosby Show). Then there was a time I thought Kim Basinger was the hottest woman on earth, and then she went and married Alec Baldwin. And most of the lads in my class in secondary school fancied a bit of Sharon Stone, after the interrogation scene in the movie Basic Instinct, during which she flashed her crotch as she crossed her leg.

On the Nigerian scene, sex symbols were few and far between. Mainly because most beauties when I was growing up, were mainly beauty pageant queens, and due to the prevalent conservatism at the time, it was hard to pin point outstanding hotties in the public eye. In those days, women who entered entertainment were deemed as saying goodbye to their chances of future marriage. Regina Askia’s eyes look interesting though. And that faired-skinned cutie in the 80s Joy Soap advert (a.k.a “Joy Girl”) was really hot, though she had guys falling over themselves on the street while she smiled at them and shook her head as if to say ‘nice try, but nothing for una.”

Recently, some of my choices of examples of beauties have been a bit iffy and some a bit weird. It helps if the girl has peculiar features, or an interesting/different look as most people nowadays seem to look, smell and dress the same. I think Scarlet Johansson and Moon Bloodgood look nice by the way. If it is a black chick, I fancy a brown skinned beauty – something about cocoa skin reminds me of chocolate (or amala).

I remembered the 80s hit movie Weird Science where 2 n.e.r.d’s used a super computer to create their ideal chick. I recently saw a video for Le Petit Marche where they were promoting a “Buy Nigerian” initiative, even though their fashion market had the “Frenchest”and most “un-Nigerian” of names. They should have used Igbo instead if they were that pro-Nigerian, and called it Afia Ntakiri.

I still had my friend on the phone waiting for me to answer her question, and I didn’t want to sound like an asshole using only oyibo examples for women I considered attractive or as my ideal choice. I knew a few hot black women examples, but they were not people in the public eye so I couldn’t use them as examples.

Thinking about that Weird Science movie, I imagined that if I had a machine which could construct the perfect Nigerian woman, what features would I take and from whom?


  • Waje’s boobs (no, not the real human Waje, but the Waje cartoon character in the new M.I video for ‘Action Film’)
  • Kel’s lips (I like ponmo lips; get your Angelina Jolie on)
  • Omowunmi Akinfesi’s fore-head (it is smooth like a pumice stone). If I can’t have Omowunmi’s, I will settle for Adaure Achumba’s own minus the accent though)
  • Ebube Nwagbo’s booty (I once saw her in a movie where she sported white jeans)
  • Eku Edewor’s complexion (So that I don’t have to buy her any Brazilian weaves. Plus when we go out on dates, people will call her ‘oyibo madam’, give us freebies because of that, and allow her jump queues and get passes because she is ‘half-caste’)
  • Nse Ikpe Etim’s diction. Enough said. She’s one of the only lasses that I have heard speak pidgin that I was not put off by.
  • Sasha’s cheeks – so I can pull them as a sign of endearment (Her cheeks look like she has two big udara seeds in her mouth). I also liked the hit song “Adara.”
  • ChiDynma’s gap-teeth – In my village, gap-teeth are a sign of beauty, and so I would be able to take her back home and show her off in the village square. I also have some jigida belly beads for her to model for me. Also so that she could explain to me why she has a capital “D” in the middle of her name.
  • Tiwa Savage’s legs.  Actually I could use a lot of features from Tiwa – her fingers, her toes, her elbows etc. I know a guy who thinks Tiwa is proper fine; so much that he swore that if he ever married her, he would take her surname, have all day lie-ins with her, and change his name to Randy Savage. Na wa o.
  • Mo Cheddar’s swagger. Did you see her ‘drop it low’ dance in the music video ‘The Finest’ by Knighthouse? Awon beri.
  • Nicole Chukwueke’s nose. I can know if my perfect girl is telling me porkies (ala Pinocchio). Our favorite song would be Mario Winan’s “You should really know/ if you’re playing games, keep it on the low.” Nicole is hot by the way – shorty is a 10 over 10, 10 over 10, 10 over 10. Shikena. Ok, I really should quit now.
  • Munachi Abi’s singing/rapping talent. I like listening to my love interest singing in the shower. Especially on those mornings where NEPA has taken the power, and I can’t listen to my favorite radio station when getting ready for work.
  • Mo Abudu’s smile – she will need it for all those dodgy in-laws, home-breakers from my village, fake friends and jealous well-wishers. She would just show her crocodile smile like “Thank you oh for your compliments. Na God oh” before her smile returns back to a scowl.
  • Goldie’s err…..locks?
  • ‘Toolz’  Curves – Just imagine Wana’s voluptuous assets in that ThisDay Newspaper dress. Wow! That’s going to take a whole lot of newspapers.
  • Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s brilliance – Marilyn Monroe got hitched to the playwright Arthur Miller because she wanted to be taken a lot more seriously by marrying a member of the intelligentsia. Okay, bad example. But by incorporating Ms Chimamanda, there is a little dose of academic intellect to round off the perfect Nigerian lass. Besides she is economic power personified – she could ghost-write my blogs and turn my un- intelligible musings into a world class best-sellers. Imagine being able to buy The Chronicles of Esco at an airport bookshop (Heathrow, JFK,  Schiphol and Owerri Airports to name a few)


So there you have it – the makings of The All-Nigerian Girl.

And after it is all said and done, I would still have to ‘toast’ my creation because all Nigerian girls require you to win them over. And what better way to convince a lass of my intentions than to dedicate one of my favourite songs of all time to her.

‘Get to me’ by the band Train.

The Response: Men We Love and Hate (by Mimi Barber)

Baby, you look 'similar' - can I get to know you?

A few weeks ago, my fellow blogger Esco wrote a most interesting piece called “Girls We Love and Hate”. I read that post and left a comment requesting that he write a follow-up piece called “Men we love and Hate”. Well, so far he hasn’t. So I took it upon myself to do so. This article is by no means backed by any kind of exhaustive and reliable research. It is based solely on my experiences, as well as those of my friends, colleagues and acquaintances. I’m sure a lot of ladies out there will recognize some of these characters as well as I do. I hereby proceed to outline below the types of men Nigerian women love and hate:  

1.      Chauvinist Pig aka Captain Caveman: This dude really, really wants to be *Don Draper when he grows up. He considers himself the ultimate alpha male, and scoffs at the family man he spots frolicking around on the beach with his children on a Saturday afternoon. Captain Caveman is there with his family only after persistent cajoling from his wife. He sits a distance away from them as ‘The Wife’ plays a game of ‘Catch the Waves’ with the kids. As far as he is concerned, a real man should never be found playing around in public, period. Kids or no kids.  He believes a woman is really only good for the three C’s; cooking, cleaning and child rearing, and harbors a secret resentment towards the Manager of his department at work who is a female. Captain Caveman often reminisces about the good old days, back when men beat women over the head with a club and dragged them home to their caves as a kind of wooing ritual. Never mind that he never actually experienced those times. He dreams of a utopia where women know their place, and thinks men who support their wives careers and businesses are wimps. The Chauvinist Pig is rarely in touch with his emotions; he is not a romantic and will only buy flowers as part of his contributions towards a funeral. Personally, this dude is not my cup of tea but I guess one woman’s poison is another woman’s steak. To each his own I suppose. 

  1. Mr. Sexually Confused aka Gay but in Denial: So…you know that really cute guy, with the perfectly pressed shirts, who matched his socks to his ties and almost always smelt faintly of some citrus-ey (floral?) scent? The one whom you had a crush on because he always just seemed so perfectly put together? The dude with whom you felt some sort of  bond with  partly because he knew the difference between wedges and espadrilles, could chat comfortably for an hour about the benefits of loose mineral powder and knew just a little too much about waxing, eyelash curling and deep conditioning treatments (and not because he was in the beauty industry). That guy now…the one who almost seemed to empathize with your PMS and had a mild obsession with watching Sex and the City reruns? No? Yeah, me neither. The problem with Mr. Sexually Confused is that on the surface he appears to be the perfect package. You friends love him, your mother adores him, but you can’t quite shake that nagging feeling that something is wrong, horribly wrong somewhere. It may not be the fact that he seems extremely content to pat you on the head as a sign of affection or that he uses the word “yucky” several hundred times a day. It may not be because his best guy friend has a thing for skin-tight t-shirts and wears lip gloss. You could even ignore the Calvin Klein ads featuring David Beckham that are the screen saver on his laptop and background picture on his phone. But, the day he waits just a few seconds too late before answering in the affirmative when you ask if he is really attracted to you, you realize exactly what the problem is. My advice to women? Upon sighting of a Sexually Confused Male, run! No one ever really wants to be dumped for a male model named ‘Desire’


  1. Boy Next Door (BND) aka Male BFF: The BND is that guy that a girl can talk to about almost everything. Yeah almost. Some things just have to remain private. Anyways, he may or may not literally live a street away from you, but he’s always welcome to come over to yours for a meal of ofada rice and ‘designer stew’. You give him all the low down about the strange hang up calls you’ve been getting in the middle of the night, and how much you can’t stand your girlfriends’ new boyfriend. He is there for you in the ways that matter the most and is one of the first people you think about calling when you get some important news. The mistake a lot of women make is that they shove the BND into the “We can only ever be friends and nothing more” box. Sometimes, this can turn out to be the biggest oversight of your love life. Ladies, don’t risk the chance of waking up one day after dating one too many losers and a ‘gay- but- in -denial’ only to realize that you let the good one get away. By the time you realize this, your BND might just be happily married with 2.4 kids and a white picket….oh all right, white cement covered, barb-wired fence in Parkview Estate. Any feelings he ever had for you would have been completely forgotten at this point. The worst part? That’s when you realize that you can’t go crying to your girlfriend, because ever since she married the boyfriend you can’t stand she’s gone completely incognito. 


4.      The Player aka Commitment Hater: This Boy grew up watching movies like “How to be a Player” with his older brothers and decided then that he wanted to be Bill Bellamy when he grew up. He struts around with what he conceives in his mind to be major swagger. If he is below 19, this means shuffling about with a permanent slouch, head bent, one arm in pocket, right arm under left nostril, as he tries to chat up victims.  If he is older, it means hitting on every female, from the servers at the staff canteen to the boss’s wife at the company dinner. The sad truth about a player is that, a lot of the time, the girls getting played are completely aware of the situation. They often choose naively, to believe that they can change him, that he is that way because he has never experienced true love, that all they need to do is love him enough and one day he’ll realize that one special woman is all he needs. Wake up! It hardly ever happens like that. A person needs to take a personal decision and make a commitment to his self in order to change his lifestyle choices. So unless you want to end up as another Mrs. @Lagoshunter (twitter peeps will get the joke), free this guy. Maybe in favor of the next guy.

5.      The Focused Professional aka Young and upwardly mobile male (YUM): The YUM is a career driven or business oriented young man who is not afraid of ‘hustle’. He is hard-working, ambitious and is willing to earn his way to the top. He hasn’t made it just yet, but you can tell from having conversations with him that he knows exactly where he is headed and what he wants out of life. So in the meantime, he drives a 1999 Honda and lives in a self-contained apartment while he works towards his dream. Fast forward ten years, and he is that guy in the customized Bentley who is the MD or CEO of a successful company, and a mentor and positive role model to the YUM’s around him. The YUM is a total keeper. I really think girls need to learn to spot a YUM and see the potential in him. We need to be able to pick him out of a line up of other less appealing types of men and say to ourselves, ‘yeah, I’ll stick with this one’.

  1. The Gold Digger aka ‘Babe do you have some change?’: The Gold digger comes in many disguises. Sometimes, he is a Mr. Fine boy who has sugar mummies at his beck and call. He is probably only dating you because someone told once him that your father is a major share holder in The Central Bank of Nigeria , and he was either too stupid or too greedy to recognize a joke when he heard one. The Gold Digger is always broke, and I mean always. Even though he dresses like he just stepped out of the May edition of GQ. You see, his shirt was a Valentine gift from his Banker babe, his Hermes belt a birthday gift from his girl in “Yankie” and the silver 2010 Honda Accord he drives an anniversary present from Hon. Gbo Gbo Bigz Girl in Abuja. He is the sort of guy who will take you to The Oriental Hotel for Sunday brunch, and then pretend he left his wallet at home when the bill arrives. At other times, The Gold Digger pretends to be a YUM who’s extremely close to landing that major deal/contract that will bring in billions. In the mean time, he needs you to foot his bills while he chases Alhaji around town. So, you pick up his dry cleaning bills, help him with his rent, pay off a few of his monthly car payments and top up his credit at regular intervals, in between loaning him most of your life savings. The Gold Digger should be recognized for what he is- a user who won’t wait two seconds to dump you like hot ‘dodo’ the second he catches a bigger ‘financial’ fish. You have been warned.

I know this list is not completely exhaustive, so I welcome any additions or contributions from other female (and males) out there. So, please feel free to drop a comment, what other kinds of men do you think are out there?

*The lead character in the TV series ‘Mad Men’    

             Email: mimibarberblogspot@gmail.com