David Oyelowo’s Wife Is Wicked: Part 2

January 2nd, 2018

10:01 am


A woman’s squealing voice shatters the silence.

“David, darling!”

A man yawns. It is the yawn of a man content with his life and all that he surveys.

“Yes, darling?”

Footsteps pound down the stairs, announcing the arrival of the woman into his man lair.

“The invitations to the Black Panther premiere. They’ve just arrived!”

The man bolts upright in his chair. He stretches forth his arms greedily.

“Let me see! Splendid!” He sighs, breathing in wistfully. “We shall have a splendiferous evening. It shall be glorious! A night of Black excellence indeed!”

The woman waltzes up the stairs.

“This gives us just enough time to contact a tailor to make something special for the occasion. There’s SO MUCH African talent on the fashion scene right now. Suakoko BettyGavin Rajah, Ohema Ohene… I’m sure we can find someone to create something spe….”

The man holds up his hand, signaling for quiet. He crosses the room and clasps his wife’s hands in his, staring intently and earnestly into her eyes.

“Darling,” he says benevolently, “don’t you concern yourself about my wardrobe. I already have the perfect outfit.”

She raises her eyebrows, quizzical and surprised.

“You do?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “A little something special I’ve been saving since my secondary school days for just such an occasion.”

Her breath catches in her throat. Any time a man has saved an outfit from high school cannot be appropriate for today.

“Sweetheart,” she says cautiously, “I really do think it would be best if we both got something new. It is – after all – the Black Panther premiere. Don’t you…”

He silences her with a kiss, his mouth covering hers completely – devouring all of her objections. She melts, yielding.

“You run along and arrange to have your dress made. Like I said: I’ve got this. I’m David Oyelowo. I’m a Nigerian man. I understand African excellence. I embody it.”

Skeptical, she walks away. He’s right. He IS David Oyelowo, celebrated star of film and stage. His decisions have led him thus far. Surely she could trust his judgment on this one task.




Eh? Madam! Is this not how it happened? Is this not how you allowed your husband to leave house and kom to pehpul carpet looking like Johnny Just Kom? Why? Let me ask you again: WHY???

I thought this matter was settled when we last spoke in 2015. You remember, don’t you? How could you forget? That was the time that you allowed a whole David Oyelowo to leave the house glittering like a star. Like a galaxy. Head to toe. Like he was the personification of a nursery rhyme.

Twinkle, twinkle little David…

Listen: I understand. We are living in an era where we want to give our spouses the freedom to express themselves freely and with range. But it is our duty as women married to Black men – especially to African men – to establish acceptable boundaries to that liberty. We are their helpmeets and ribs and all those other adjectives they assign us to remind us that these brothers require our help.

Your husband is one who is far too literal when it comes to his attire on certain occasions. Just like he did at the 2015 Golden Globes, he rejected subtlety and pursued a dogged course of ass showing and piss taking.

2015: “Oh? What’s the dress code for this thing? Dress like a star? No problem!”

2018: “Oh? What’s the dress code for this thing? Dress ‘African’? No problem! I will even be all of Africa!”

Yes. Everyone in attendance at the Black Panther premiere was dressed in African attire or incorporated African accessories into their outfit. Only you your husband came dressed as the OAU. Only you your husband wanted to wear AAAAAALLLL the Continent’s Angelina on the purple carpet. I mean, how.

I know that there are people who looked at David’s outfit and saw absolutely nothing wrong with it. I have inserted this helpful image to put this faux pas into cultural context for you.

Do you understand now? Good. Because as my dear friend Ronke said, David just went to this event to misrepresent Nigeria. Shei!

Mrs. Oyelowo. I call you wicked because this is a wicked thing you have done. You have given up on steering your husband. I know you can’t control him. He is a sentient being and capable of making his own decisions. Nor can he control you. But you have been too lax in your influence. You must be forceful! You must me direct! You are the wife of a Nigerian man! You cannot – ever – allow him to leave the house in mismatched double Angelina and Hugh Hefner house slippers again. This is what our men wear when they are going to buy boflot and Star beer because the wife has gone out and there is no one to cook in the house. And you can’t lie and say you weren’t home. You arrived looking AMAZING and on your husband’s arm.

Chisos is Lord!

Next time, FaceTime Jidenna if you are unsure about what you husband is saying. He may be trying to trick you into allowing him into wearing his sleeping pant to premiere. Jide will set him straight.

I am begging you. Let’s not make this a trilogy. I don’t want to write anodda article about your wickedness as a part 3. I’m rooting for you. We are all rooting for you!


The African Wives Consortium, VP


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