By Funke Egbemode
SHE made incisions on her private part,
just at the entrance of the honey well. She
said she was desperate to have him forever
or at least for as long as she could, but he
was not interested in making an honest
woman of her.
‘I was tired of being a good girl and a
spare tire and he just was not talking about
marriage at all.’
So she sought help and got it from a
powerful ‘babalawo’ in one of the South-
West states. She was told to wait seven
days before giving him access to the
‘newly renovated’ space. On the eighth
day, Laja visited Bimpe for the weekend as
usual, not suspecting a thing! Bimpe gave
him unfettered access to her upgraded in-
ner sanctuary and that was it. Laja had his
fill, swam until he was panting. Bimpe was
holding the hook firmly and Laja’s mouth
was wide open. She reeled him for good.
That same weekend, Laja proposed mar-
riage. What nice food, great sex, expen-
sive gifts and ‘motivational talk’ could not
achieve in five years, our ancestor’s blade
and powder swung in one weekend.
The wedding was swift and quiet. By
the time Laja’s eyes cleared, Bimpe was
pregnant with their second child. Laja’s
first wife was shocked to her bone mar-
rows. She wept, wailed, threatened, wept
some more until she became hypertensive.
They already had four children, boys and
girls. They were happy. So why did her
husband bring in a new wife? Well, Laja
didn’t actually want a second wife. He just
enjoyed playing the field. He had done it
for many years, broken many hearts until
this last hook got him. He’s like many men who like to
vigorously hunt games they don’t want to take home.
Yes, like you, and you, my guy. You are reading this
and planning to tell another girl she’s special and string
her along for years.
‘You make me soo happy.’
‘You cook like my mother.’
‘I just can’t get enough of you.’
‘Anytime I am with you, I feel like I’m in Paradise.’
‘You are my place of comfort.’
Yet, you have no intention of marrying her. Four
years and she’s still cooking and cleaning and hoping.
You dismiss her efforts and faithfulness over plates of
‘isi-ewu’ and chilled beer with your friends. You think
you are having the time of your life, right? I pity you.
Your mouth is wide open, trust me and you run the risk
of being reeled in with a firm hook. Or you think your
side-chick wants to remain outside or on the side for-
ever? You think you are smart, smarter than who? If no-
body taught or told you how ‘persuasive’ our ancestor’s
blade and powder can be, now you know. Those sacred
things are real, potent and do not need your faith to do
what they are told to do. Men who think they are smart-
er than women are slow and shallow, easy to catch. A
girl does not have to fish all night to catch them. If you
have been taking women for granted for years, today is
the day to stop.
Who made DNA tests popular? Is it not women?
Who made many men toil and raise children that were
not from their loins? Indeed, many men are depressed
and at death’s door because of what the women in their
lives have and are putting them through. What kind of a
woman has four children for her husband only for DNA
to prove that three of those kids are for another man? I
still cannot understand it. Was she targeting her ovu-
lation days to sleep with another man without protec-
tion each time she weaned a baby? You’d think a smart
cheating wife would eat and clean her mouth, leaving
no trace. A wife who cheats on her husband, has sex
without condom during her ovulation and pins the baby on her husband not once but three times for the same
lover is deliberately mean, totally evil. Just imagine this.
She watches the man rush up and down, sweating, anx-
ious as she goes into labour. How does she feel watch-
ing him pray, harass nurses and doctors and then after
delivery celebrates? Those kinds of women, where did
they come from? If you no longer love your husband,
leave him before you kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t
shatter his heart. Just move on with your babies’ daddy.
I’m sure you have heard the story of the Ibadan wom-
an who confessed that out of her six children, only one
is for her husband, four are for her pastor and one for a
meat seller. Tell me, is there a worse way to kill a man
than that confession? Can you imagine the condition of
that man after hearing that demonic confession? I can’t.
All the children he had naming ceremonies for, paid
school fees for, children whose PTAs he attended are
‘suddenly’ no longer his children. Are women mean or
what?
‘They’ say that women are mean when their men are
down and broke. They say we unleash the full length
of our caustic tongues on men that are already flat on
their backs and down on their luck. Are ‘they’ lying,
taking our names in vain? No they are not. In my feeble
response, let me quickly counter by saying that men
who are broke are difficult, if not impossible, to live
with. They act like a dog with sores on its head, touchy
and irritable with a short fuse that is a constant electri-
cal shock risk. But not all broke men are difficult, the
same way it’s not all wives of broke men that are mean.
However, since this piece is about women’s meanness,
I’ll own up on behalf of my gender that we can be really
deadly with men that we perceive as lazy, lacking in
ambition and broke. Women have been known to send
their husbands to early graves for being broke and poor.
Many men became drunks and junkies because drugs,
beer bottles and sachets of gin were the only friends
they could count on when they lost their jobs or their
‘containers’ got lost at sea.
For me, the deep end of women’s meanness surfaces when a prosperous man’s prosperity is brought to its
knees by a vengeful wife or lover.
Did you ask how that works? Here’s how. A wife
whose philandering husband had caused untold distress
and stress decided she’d had enough when he finally
brought home a second wife. In her evil wisdom, she
decided that the real problem was the extra cash her
husband had. Once he was broke and in the poorhouse,
the women flocking around him would fly somewhere
else and she would have her husband to herself, broke.
Incredible and irrational conclusion? Well, a wickedly
jealous woman is not a rational woman. In her utter sa-
distic state, she forgets that when her husband’s pros-
perity disappears, she is the worst hit, the prime suffer-
er. She’d become the bread-winner by force. She’d be
stuck with a depressed dog with flies chasing its sores.
Why would a woman want to upturn her husband’s
fortune just so she could make the man unattractive to
other women? What if by some unusual stroke of luck
another woman, a wealthy one, picks him up from his
wife’s gutter and builds him a palace? What then would
be the summary of the life and machinations of the de-
monically jealous wife?
Women, why do we do those terrible things we actu-
ally do? Why do we inflict the pains we do not want
other women to inflict on our brothers, sons? Madam,
how exactly will you feel if you wake up at 80 to find
that your grandchildren are not your grandchildren be-
cause your daughter-in-law outsourced her ovulation
periods? How will you feel if one slip of a girl jazzes up
your only son and whisks him away from his wife and
even you, his mother? Oh, you think it can never hap-
pen to you? It can, trust me. Karma is a bitch like that
and then there is the law of harvest.
So, before you decide to deploy jazz to ruin your hus-
band just to keep him where you want him, under your
thumb, in control of his dick, pockets and life, think
again because there is a day called tomorrow.
In all, are women meaner than men or men are the
meanest? What do you think?