Moil and Matrimony: The Accountant and The Analyst

The Accountant’s Tale

I’ve always said that women who do not watch men before marriage are very stupid. Yes! I was very vocal about it. If you let a man get into your pants before marriage, you are a stupid woman. How can you let a man trick you into having sex? What if you fall pregnant and he leaves you? After all, don’t men tell us all the time that they have urges that they cannot control? I used to think that this was the worst thing that can happen to a woman. It’s the ultimate dishonor!

Any smart woman will watch a man very carefully before saying “I do”.

So before my husband became my husband, I watched him for three years. He declared his interest in me and I waited before giving him my heart. He was a very private man. He never spoke much about his family or himself, but he was a worshiper. That was good enough for me. This man could speak in tongues and you could feel the presence of God in the room. Wow! And he would open doors for me and speak with such respect. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with him…but like I said, you have to watch men very carefully before you walk down the aisle. We had a two year courtship before marriage which he said he didn’t mind. He wanted to work on his finances. He said he wanted to get them in order and was humble enough to ask me. How could I refuse? Why would I refuse?

I have my degree in finance and have always been fiscally responsible. I don’t spend above my means. So for two years, we took financial courses together – as a team – and worked on getting his debts paid off. He became a better steward with money. When he was “debt free”, we had a celebration with cake and sparkling cider. We were wed soon after that. He was my perfect man: cordial, handsome and now that he had learned to better manage money, we could begin to build our own little empire. He’s a co-signee on everything. I have always believed that couples should share everything from the bed to the bank account.

Did I mention this man spoke in tongues?

After we got married, we decided to buy a house. Our dream house. I already knew my FICO was well over 770, so I wasn’t bothered. Do you know what I discovered at the closing table? That my husband, the man I had watched carefully for two years and heard pray in tongues and laughed with over simple dinners was in debt. $300,000 in debt, to be exact. He had managed to hide it from me.

"Did your man happen to mention he was $300K in debt?"
“Did your man happen to mention he was $300K in debt?”

He doesn’t pray in tongues anymore. He’s all but wiped out our savings. He doesn’t open doors and he doesn’t speak with respect any more. I don’t what I’m going to do. How could someone keep up a lie like this for two years? He deserves an academy award, I tell you.

As I already said, women who do not watch men carefully are stupid. Please tell my story, but please don’t reveal my name. This is so embarrassing.

 

The Analyst’s Tale

I was folding his socks when he walked into the bedroom and dropped it on me.

“I don’t want to marry you, and I don’t want to have kids with YOU. So if that’s your plan you can just forget about it.”

We hadn’t had a fight. We hadn’t had a quarrel. In fact, we never quarrel. I was just folding HIS socks when he launched this grenade at me.

Mark* and I have been together for 5 years now. When we first got together, he said it was just for fun. I like fun! I didn’t mind. And the sex was exciting. He likes to do it in public places and I’m not that kind of girl, so for me it was a thrill.

Then we moved in together after a year. He told me it was just so he could save money on rent and not to read too much into it. But I had invested a year into this “fun relationship”, so I moved in anyway.

We’ve taken vacations together; we go to house parties together; I’m always his date at his company functions. We’re a real couple. At least, I think we are. It’s been 5 years of me folding his socks and packing his lunches. So yes, I do look forward to marrying Mark in the future.

Even though he hardly talks to me when we’re out.

Even though he only screws me in the parking lot at his job and never at home in our bed.

Even though he just told me to my face that he doesn’t want to have kids with ME, I still want to marry him.

I have to. People will think I’ve wasted all this time for nothing if this fun relationship doesn’t end in marriage. My mother is in Cameroon. She has spoken to Mark many times over the phone. She always asks of him. I’ve told her how he takes me to fancy corporate functions and send her pictures of my gowns at the events. I don’t tell her how I have to take a cab home so that Mark and his co-workers can take the car go partying afterwards. But after 5 years invested in this man, she’ll be expecting a wedding. Everyone will!

So I’ll wait. I’ll wait another 5 years…15 years…. until he changes his mind.

Moil and Matrimony: The Sunday School Teacher’s Tale

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I heard you took the Night Nurse out for dinner. That was very nice of you. She deserves it. She helps me out a lot, you know? Whenever I need to take time for myself, she takes my three kids without a question. We’ve only just recently become fairly good friends, even though we’ve been aware of each other for years. We’re both in the Kenyan Association here in Atlanta. I like her because she’s a simple, God-fearing woman.

Her husband and mine couldn’t be more different…but so alike in so many ways. Unfortunately, their similarities are not positive ones. My husband is a “gentleman”. He comes from a good background, he doesn’t drink or do drugs, and he has a good office job. The Night Nurse’s husband…well, I’m sure she told you he changes positions every few months? That’s why they are struggling financially. But me and my family? We’re doing very well. Or at least I believe we are. My husband doesn’t let me handle the finances.

In fact, my husband doesn’t let me touch any money at all.

When we need sugar and milk in the house, he goes to buy it. If the kids need school supplies, he goes to buy it. What kind of a wife doesn’t even shop for her own groceries? The kids go to a great private school, but they are the ‘poorest little rich kids’ you’ve ever seen. They don’t get to do half the things their friends do.

I don’t have a debit card or access to our bank account. Or his bank account, I should say. You see, I come from a somewhat well-to-do family myself, but I married my husband right after university. I thought that being married would give me some freedom…but honestly, my marriage is a prison.

You asked me in what ways are my husband and the Night Nurse’s husband similar? Maybe this is a Kenyan man thing, but my husband doesn’t believe in celebrating me…or celebrating us. Our anniversary is not even a discussion. We’ve been married 9 years and never celebrated our anniversary once. He says it’s a waste of money. Since I’ve gotten married, I’ve never gone shopping for myself. I have never had a job. I finished university and got pregnant soon after we got married. I’ve been a mother almost since the beginning of our marriage. And my birthday? Forget about it. This is how I celebrate my birthday every year. This is why the Night Nurse is such a dear friend to me:

There are certain stores all around Atlanta that give you free things on your birthday. So every year, the Night Nurse watches my kids (because my husband can’t be bothered to) and I take myself out. I treat myself. How does a woman with no money treat herself? Well, I make sure I carry my ID wherever I go and look for deals. So I’ll get a free drink here, a free item off of a menu there…just to feel like I too have been out for my birthday.

I know my husband hates me. He’s all but told me. But he won’t grant me a divorce. And my parents won’t let me come back home. They keep telling me to stay and pray and try to work things out. But how do you work things out with someone who despises you? I don’t even know what I’ve done to this man – and I’ve asked! I cook, I clean, I’ve birthed three kids for him. And still he treats me like…like I am nothing.

Do you know how I get by for the miscellaneous things for the kids? And you know kids always need something. Every week, they need money for an activity, or Spirit Week, or what have you. You know what I mean, of course.

I teach Sunday School at a very prominent Atlanta church and they pay me per hour. So every week, I get a check for the three to four hours I teach Sunday School. I make about $70 a month. My husband doesn’t know, otherwise he’d make me stop. He doesn’t want me to earn. He doesn’t want me to have a life outside of his.

Do you know why he won’t grant me a divorce, even though he’s just as miserable in our marriage? It’s obvious: He doesn’t want to pay child support and alimony. He would rather the five of us be miserable in this house than to part with a dime. And me; I’m trapped. I can’t go back to my parents because they won’t have me, and I have to keep a roof over my kids’ heads. The easiest thing for me to do would be to take the kinds and to leave him, but that’s not so ‘easy’, is it?

Besides, I don’t know if I will get the support I need. I mean, if my own family will not support me, how can I expect strangers to? And people can be so judgmental when it comes to marriage and divorce…especially we Africans. So I don’t talk about it. I just shout and praise and pretend everything is all right. But really, I’m just waiting for the moment that he signs those papers.

I’m still young.

 

 

Y’all….

I don’t even know what to say. Except to say this: Man or woman – ALWAYS earn your own money. Don’t ever let “love” make you into someone’s slave. Don’t let “love” rob you of your freedom.

If the Sunday School Teacher were your child, would you let her come back home? What would be your advice to her? Can you see yourself turning your daughter away and hiding her unhappiness?

Moil and Matrimony: The Night Nurse’s Tale

When I was three months pregnant my husband locked me out of his house in Kennesaw because he was drunk and I was angry that he was drunk. I say “his house”, because his name was on the deed, not mine. I was a new immigrant and I was sure that if I called the police to say that he had thrown me out of our house he would say that it wasn’t for “us”. He bought it, not me. So I sat there on the porch like a dog until he sobered up and calmed down and let me back in. Fortunately, the house went into foreclosure and we moved into an apartment soon after that. I made sure my name was on the lease.

My first Mother’s Day, I cried. I just cried. This was my first child, you know? I thought it was going to be a special day.

My husband made sure he worked on that day. He didn’t have to pick up that Sunday shift, but he made sure he did. Later on that night we went to the drive-through to pick up some food and the cashier at the window was so sweet. He said “Happy Mother’s day, ma’am!” Then he told us that his own mother was dead and that he goes to visit her grave every year on Mother’s Day. It’s a special time for him. Do you know what my husband said in reply?

“It’s good you are wishing her happy mother’s day, because that is the only one she will get!”

He thought he was being funny. He was laughing. The cashier and I were just looking at him, shocked. When we got home I told him he didn’t have to embarrass me like that. He didn’t even answer me.

Do you know my husband has never celebrated my birthday? By that I mean he has never bought me a gift, a card, or even said “happy birthday”. I’m 41 and we have been married for 8 years, been together 12. We dated for 4 years before that in Kenya. You are asking me if I had a party for my 40th birthday? 40 is a big deal, right? I am telling you the man didn’t even buy me a card! That’s not to say he has never given me anything. Once, when we were dating in Kenya he gave me a flower. I thought it was a big deal. I thought this was normal, for him not to show lots of affection. And because I also come from a family where there is a lot of physical violence against women, I was satisfied because at least my husband has never hit me.

But our marriage is so sad. He doesn’t spend money on me or our son because he says it is a “waste”. He only spends money on alcohol when he goes out with his friends. Once, after I had come home early in the morning from working my night shift, I came to meet him, his friend and two ladies drunk in our living room. I was so mad! And to make matters worse, the guy had come with his three kids to our house. I just stormed into my room and shut the door. My husband sent one of those drunk good for nothing women into the room to ask me why I was angry. She lay on the bed next to me and was shaking me because she wanted to talk. I screamed at her to get out of my room. How dare she! While all of this was going one, one of his friend’s kids opened the door and wandered outside. I called the police and we searched for him for almost two hours. My husband’s friend got off with a warning. If it had not been for his green card, I’m sure they would have deported him!

That day, I reported him to my pastor. I mean, I work, I pay bills, I organize everything for our son, and you do this? Now way! My pastor told him that if he wants to drink, he needs to do it at a bar and respect his wife and his home. He shouldn’t be bringing drunk friends to his home. My husband was SO angry that I asked the pastor for counseling. He said we are brining outside forces into our home. He’s even lucky I haven’t informed my father. In our tradition in my part of Kenya, a woman can return to her father’s house if the marriage isn’t happy. That’s what my father told my husband when we got married: That before he does anything to make his daughter unhappy, he should just bring me back to his house!

But so many people have prophesied over me and told me to stick with my marriage, including my own pastor. You are asking which one is more important to me: the words of my father or the words of my pastor? Well, I think they are both important…it’s just that I’m in America now, and it’s my decision to stay in the marriage. I want to leave him. I want to leave him. But I will stay for the sake of our son. I always wanted many children, but he has been so neglectful that I have made sure never to get pregnant again. I have suffered too much with just one child… imagine more? I look at you and your four children and I wonder how you manage it all. But I see it’s because you have a good husband who supports you and loves you and your children.

I asked my husband if he is going to be like this for the rest of his life. He has already alienated his son. The boy is 11 and doesn’t want to spend time with him. He sleeps on the sofa because we don’t even like to be near each other. He never meets me half way for anything. He is stuck on this African culture that says he’s the “man of the house”, and so every responsibility must fall on me. We don’t have the support in America to allow him to live those male dominated values. It’s just me and him and our son. And I feel so alone, because we’re not ‘supposed’ to talk about this to anyone.

Thank you for taking me out this evening, and for making me feel so special on my birthday. I will never forget it. I have never been here before! I have been to very few restaurants, actually. You should have seen my husband’s face when I was leaving the house all dressed up in my red heels. It was a shock to him. Haha! He’s not accustomed to me going out, but this is a new me. I’m 41 now. It’s time for a new me.

 

*The tale of the Night Nurse, as narrated over dinner at Cheesecake Factory for her 41st birthday. And as sad as her tale is, it could be worse. She could be the Sunday School Teacher….

 

Discussion notes:

Given that the Night Nurse’s culture allows space for the dissolution of a marriage if it’s a stressful union, do you think religious beliefs should usurp the pursuit of her happiness? Does suffering in marriage make it more holy? Do you think the Night Nurse and her spouse have hope for the future? Do you think it is important for women to be made to feel valued for their contributions, or is the Night Nurse just kvetching over nothing?

Moil and Matrimony


 Minna Salami brilliantly and succinctly captured the essence of the news dominating our discourse during the last week in April in that one tweet. It WAS draining. Between ‘Becky with the good hair’ and a phantom Nigerian husband-eater known as Edible Catering, the façade that marriage always ends in happily ever after if you’re rich and pretty enough took a black eye.

I have my misgivings and reservations about certain aspects of Beyoncé’s Lemonade, but I would never hesitate to admit that it is a very necessary – and dare I say important album. Whether Beyoncé is actually the wife of an adulterer or not, she was telling someone’s truth, and truth telling is an often painful necessity.

On the heels of Lemonade, Tiwa Savage (who, in an ironic twist, is often described as ‘Nigeria’s Beyoncé) found it necessary to use her voice to discuss her husband’s infidelity in vivid detail. In response to Tunji ‘TJ” Balogun’s Instagram rant where he accuses Tiwa’s mother of witchcraft and Tiwa of committing the ultimate African offense – not cooking for her husband or asking if he was hungry (a crime so odious that it caused him to contemplate suicide)- Tiwa took to the internet for a one-on-one interview with revelations about her husband’s cocaine use, larceny and general propensity for being a man-whore. She had covered all this up for years in order to present a false picture of a united and happy family unit. She did this because it is what is expected of all African women.

Tiwa admitted that she would have kept up the farce had it not been for TJ bringing their private life into the public eye. However, unlike Queen Bey who was largely feted and supported for her production, a voyeur’s delight by all accounts, Tiwa found herself subject to ridicule, scorn and venom. Listed among her offenses are that she didn’t pray hard enough for her marriage (someone actually asked whether or not she’d seen War Room!); that she should have been more “civilized” in her response for the ‘sake of the child’; and that she has taken TJ’s “manhood” from him by revealing his fiscal irresponsibility and flagrant disregard for Tiwa herself and their son. In short, she should have kept on pretending.

Some people even blame her for not getting out of her two-year marriage sooner. Naturally, there are those who also blame Tiwa for not sticking with the failed marriage longer. What saddened me most is the number of women…patriarchal princesses, I call them…who came for Tiwa’s neck because she didn’t play the game as dictated by the misogynist’s code. It’s too convoluted a mess to unpack, wherein she’s simultaneously blamed for covering up her husband’s numerous offenses and now for refusing to shield him any longer. What they are really mad at is that she has chosen life, and chosen to live it more abundantly untethered a substance abusing husband.

At the end of the day, that the marriage between Tiwa Savage and Tunji Balongun failed is Tiwa’s fault, according to African society. Not the fact that her soon-to-be ex-husband is a coke head. Not the fact that he was screwing another woman in a hotel while she was miscarrying his child on a sound set in another country. Not the fact that he stole from her and has never purchased a single diaper for his son. The marriage between these two failed because Tiwa Savage didn’t come home from performing all night on stage to boil rice for her husband.

There must’ve been something in the air this week. It was like a river dam burst and we were swimming in a deluge of tales marital woe. I encountered a number of women who have suffered quietly through the indignities that their husband’s (or boyfriend, in one case) have subjected them to. Some of them will stay with their tormentors because culture and shame demand them to. One will have to stay with her tyrant overlord because the choice has been taken from her. And with their permission, I will tell their stories, changing only certain details to protect their identities.

Why is it important for me to do this when I have what most would consider a relatively healthy marriage? Why should I even care? It’s because the reason(s) that these women feel the need to embrace a culture of silence has a harmful spillover effect into other areas of the Black female existence beyond marriage. This is not just a celebrity problem. Tiwa and Beyonce spoke/sang the truths of many women. And it’s also because I have compassion for these couples; not just the women. I feel pity for both people trapped in unhealthy relationships because they feel beholden to unrealistic expectations and cultural norms that serve no one, really. It’s also because these women were brave enough to determine their personal breaking points and chose to tell someone about their unhappiness. And isn’t that the first step to reclaiming your freedom? Confessing the truth about your present reality?

There’s a quote about truth that I ran across the other day, and I think it’s fitting in this post-Tiwa Headscarf Lemonade sipping era. It says:

“The truth never hurts unless it ought to and sometimes it’s a powerful wake-up call for all concerned. There’s never a really good or special time to decide to tell the truth – the time is all the time. “ – Howard Tullman

I’ve been struggling with how to narrate these stories, and I’ve concluded that the best way is with their own words. First up: The Night Nurse’s Tale.

My Husband’s Relationship With an Older Woman Nearly Ruined Our Finances and Our Young Marriage

See how quickly you clicked on the link to read this story? Konkonsa. Gossips! You just want to see how/if my ‘perfect husband’ may have engaged in some sort of impropriety. Not to worry. This is not a tale about how his sexual misconduct with a cougar led to the birth of some now-revealed love-cub. It’s a tale about how trust and naiveté put a crack in the foundation of our tender marriage.

Initially, I’d planned to dedicate a full week to exposing how a woman named Dianne Jennings how wreaked havoc on our lives for a short while, and how we eventually overcame the damage she had done. Eventually, I decided not to expend that much energy on the project for the sake of my peace and instead asked my husband if it was okay to tell an abridged version of the story. He agreed, albeit with some hesitation. He admitted that the venture was foolhardy in hindsight, but also agreed that telling it, at least in part, may help a young(er) couple avoid some of the mishaps we endured or at least get them in the mindset of being on guard for predators preying on the vulnerabilities of the young, eager and/or desperate.

A few weeks ago, a friend invited me to lunch so that we could spend time together before my relocation. We went to eat at Grace 17-20, a “Christian restaurant”. The atmosphere was elegant, the staff friendly and the food excellent.

“I wish we had more Christian businesses like this,” she said wistfully. “I would just love the patronize them.”

She said something about integrity and the kingdom and some other stuff that had little to do with church attendance defining a person’s character, so far as I was concerned. I scoffed.

“I couldn’t care one iota if a company was run by a Christian or not. One of the worst periods in my life found its genesis with a Christian businesswoman. She was an ordained minister, too.”

My friend, who sees the world with the simplicity and innocence of a child – despite being my senior by a decade – drew a sharp breath. That was my cue to explain how I could come to a conclusion that was in such opposition to New Age Christian thinking. Who could be more trustworthy than a member of Christ’s body? I can think of several sinners and crackheads I’d sooner trust with my money than I would certain Christians, and Dianne Jennings is one of them. I explained how this woman, an ordained minister with a radio show and a shiny new whip had presented herself as a “mother” to my husband, drawn him in for the long con and nearly decimated his life – our lives – just so she could make a buck.

****

 

In 2005-2006, the real estate market was the new Gold Rush. Everyone was flipping houses or knew someone who was flipping houses for profit. It was the quick and easy way to make money. People flocked to seminars all over the country to learn how to make their first million in the housing market. The Dot Com bubble had just burst a few years before, millions of people were out of work, and everyone was trying to make their way. My husband – who was between jobs at the time – was among this number. I was never lured by the sheen of the real estate industry, but he saw what he thought was an opportunity to set his family up for long term wealth and took it. At least, that’s what Ms. Jennings told him.

She convinced him to use his credit to purchase several properties all over Georgia: empty lots, commercial and residential property. She acted as both the broker and the real estate agent (which we later find out is illegal), took her commission from the loans that were in my husband’s name and repeated the process with several other people.

Nothing about that arrangement seemed right to me: for folks like my husband to assume complete liability, but in an attempt to assuage my fears, he parroted to me what Dianne had told him. Her sell was simple: She was a woman of God with a vision to enrich God’s people through “honest” enterprise; this was a chance to make some real money and create generational wealth and it required little work.

“You’ll make money while you’re sleeping.”

This was attractive to the single mothers and elderly couples and the young families just starting out that she swindled. Ultimately, she enriched herself while leaving these duped people holding the bag. Without going into detail, there were calls (and threats) from the IRS, the GBI and many sleepless nights after her con had been exposed. It took my husband years to rebuild his credit. I tried to keep a positive attitude about it and refrain from shouting “I KNEW this was stupid!”, instead offering words of support and assuring him that I believed that everything would be alright eventually. In time, I forgot all about Dianne Jennings and her treachery and we moved on, mindful to be more cautious of whom we do business with.

And for ten years, everything has been fine. We got out of debt, I’m writing books and my husband is writing code. We don’t take the kind of crazy risks that youthful exuberance and ignorance compel one to. I haven’t had a reason to think about Dianne Jennings since 2006, until a few days ago when I came across a pair of baby shoes that Aya used to wear when we met her – shoes that Dianne didn’t think were “acceptable”.

“We’ll get your baby some new shoes, I promise,” she said during one of her visits to our home.

I should have known that finding the shoes was a sign of something sinister to come.

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*****

 

Friday, March 25th , 2016. It was 11 pm. Someone was pounding at the door.

BOOM –BOOM-BOOM!

The insistence of the knock jolted me from sleep and I ran down the stairs in my robe, expecting to find a neighbor in need. Instead, a sheriff stood at the door, shrouded in darkness. I peered at him suspiciously.

“Yes?”

He asks if my husband is home. I inform him he is not. We exchange queries until I discover his purpose: he’s there to serve papers for a default on a loan.

Loan? What loan? I thought we were debt free! I took the paperwork from the officer and locked the door. Images of a secret life my husband HAD to have been living darted through my mind. Had he been dishonest with me all these years? It took the spirit of God and at least 6 ancestors to talk me down.

“Dummy!” they shouted. “You’ve known the man since you were both 18 and have been up under his nose almost every day for just as long. When would he ever have the opportunity to live a ‘secret life’?”

You’re right ancestors, you’re right!

I flipped through the paperwork and tried to understand what my eyes were seeing. Where was this property that we were supposed to have purchased? Where was this city? When did my husband ever — 2006?

F***. Dianne Jennings. Her nefariousness was haunting us, still.

*****

 

My husband’s financial folly is not unusual, just peculiar to us. Over the years, I’ve talked with wives who’ve confessed that their husband’s have quit their jobs because they were “bored or fed up” without making sure they had another one lined up. I know couples that have given their rent for the month in offering buckets with the expectation that “God would honor their seed by restoring it 100 fold”. Entire congregations have been duped into participating in Ponzi schemes. So as the former by standing wife in this scenario, I want to talk to women who may find themselves in a similar predicament. And yes, I know that this could never happen to you, because there’s no one smarter or more beguiling than you, but hear me out just in case.

 

  • Our culture encourages us not to ‘nag’ our men. But if something doesn’t make sense to you, whether it’s the color on the walls or a business deal your man is about to enter, speak up. Ask questions. MAKE him explain it thoroughly and then give your consent – or not. That way, if ish ever does hit the fan, you’ll have the confidence that you went into the venture together, with full agreement, and give no room for blame to enter in.
  • Make sure you maintain a separate bank account of your own with money that only you have access to. Having your own account doesn’t mean you don’t trust your husband. It just means you understand that he’s fallible and should he make an error that’s going to leave you and/or your children hungry and homeless, you’ll be covered at least for a short while.
  • Maintain connections with knowledgeable people who you can go to with questions if you think your husband may be entering into something that causes you uncertainty or you believe is too risky. Someone besides your pastor. I mean like a lawyer or a financial advisor. That way, when you voice your objections you can back them up with facts, or at the least an educated opinion.
  • There is always some new “industry trend” that shysters will use to draw people in with the goal of taking advantage. It’s okay to come in late to the game sometimes. Make sure the industry is stable before you dive in, and remember trends are cyclical. (Construction just made a come back, for example.)
  • Finally, if your spouse does find himself the victim of a financial ploy, forgive him. It’s only money and you can always earn more. Even the best of us fall prey to folks who have more experience and fewer scruples. Definitely be wary of anyone who uses your faith as a carrot or an inducement to join an organization. Those types of people are only a step below ISIS on the oily scale.

 

And what happened to Dianne, you ask? Well, rumor has it that she started a church this Easter weekend.

God help her congregants.

 

Unequally Yoked With A Believer

“Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness? What accord has Christ with Belial? Or what portion does a believer share with an unbeliever?” – 2 Corinthians 6: 14-15

source: younganddevoted
source: younganddevoted

 

 

It has always astonished me: That as much time as the church invests in talking about marriage (second only to prosperity) there is only one instance in recorded scripture of Christ teaching about marriage in Matthew. The Messiah often employed marriage as a metaphor in his teaching, but His main objective was to inspire holiness and encourage discipleship among all who heard His word.

And yet, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone preaching this. The average Christian doesn’t even aspire to holiness. What do people pray for these days?

God, bless my finances.

God, bring me a husband!

God, give me a promotion.

 

Marriage and finances.

And so the church has become a dysfunctional brothel – a hunting ground for sexual predators and Ponzi scheming con artists. A glimpse into the average church – particularly the Black church – will reveal a congregation full of women who hunger for what has presented to them as godliness, which includes the devoted love of a “good Christian man”. Social factors conspire against them however, what with the ratio of African-American men who are incarcerated and men not being reached for the gospel anyway. These (desperate) women become prime fodder to be devoured by Christian Casanovas who operate in the church, and if God doesn’t intervene, turn out damaged and broken. Stories of those women abound, but they are not my focus today.

I want to talk about the women who find themselves on the other side of the pendulum, because it is they who I find the most pity for: women who find themselves unequally yoked with a believer.

That verse in 2 Corinthians has been pounded into every facet of the Christian walk. However, it is most powerfully employed where courting and marriage is the topic at hand. If we took it seriously, Christians wouldn’t have any dealings with Comcast, the Rush Card or Sallie Mae…all denizens of darkness, as far as I’m concerned! Nevertheless, the caution not to find oneself yoked with the unbeliever has prompted many a person of faith to seek out a particular kind of life mate – one that ticks all of the superficial requirements of a good Christian mate. I believe this is part of the reason divorce rates in the church are so high: there is no practical information provided to people of marrying age to guide their coupling choices. In the end, you have a lot of Christian couples that are unsuitably matched.

One’s age bracket dictates the sorts of conversations one has, and I have found myself in talks with women who are either deeply unhappy with their marriages or have finally made the decision to end those marriages altogether. And it’s not necessarily because their husbands were bad men…they were just bad for them. I call these men sheep in wolves’ clothing: Men who have the outward appearance of strength and valor, but lack the substance of either inwardly.

I am not ashamed to admit that I watch a great deal of Animal Planet, and I enjoy observing the natural world. I think animals teach us a lot more about human nature than we realize. The reason I call these men “sheep in wolves’ clothing” is this: Women (in general ) are looking for a particular kind of mate; One who is strong, decisive yet considerate. One who has instincts that will ensure the progeny of their family. Sure, there are a handful of women who want a soft guy they can manipulate and control, but they are in the minority. They are outliers. At the end of the day, the average woman wants in her marriage what the average man wants: a partner that can be respected. Without respect, there is only discord – and discord leads to divorce.

What quick observations can be made about the differences between male sheep and wolves?

  • At the first sign of danger, the male sheep bolts, often placing himself at the head of the flock to save himself from harm. He doesn’t look back to see if his lambs are protected or even if they made it to safety. The male wolf faces danger down and will not hesitate to bloody his opponent if he has to.
  • Though in a flock, sheep look out for themselves. They graze for themselves. They are self-centered. Wolves hunt in packs. They cooperate. They have a plan of attack that ensures the wellbeing of the pack.
  • Sheep are easily led and influenced. Wolves, not so much.
  • Sheep are cowards. They put on a good show, but only when their adversary is another sheep. I once saw a sheep get punked by a chicken. The chicken terrorized him for 20 minutes or better. Can you see a wolf letting a chicken punk it?

Tracey’s husband was a virgin when they met and married and she wasn’t. And he never let her forget it. Neither did his mother.

“My son saved himself for your marriage, and that means you must give him sex every night.”

When Tracey objected to the notion for its mere impracticality, her mother-in-law informed her that she had no excuse. “After all,” she said, “it only takes 5 minutes.” O_o

To the world, Tracey and her husband had the perfect marriage: he was a prayer warrior in the church. He played in the band. They had two bright, well-behaved kids. They smiled at everyone. But as soon as they got in the car, the smiles stopped. He never prayed with her at home. If he had a problem in his marriage, he would call his mother. He never wanted to take his family anywhere or do anything unless it was related to the church…and to their church, that made him look noble. But their family was falling apart. Her husband was a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

 

Yaba’s husband is three years her junior. They were married at 34 and 31, both waiting until their found their perfect mate in Christ. She was a virgin when they married and so was he. This was perfect! It had to be God. Right?

But Yaba’s husband didn’t want to work. She bought the house they live in and cars they drive. They have 4 kids together now. And previously, when he was made to feel the least bit of discomfort at home, her husband has left his family to run back to , and live with, his mommy and daddy a total of six times in seven years! Her husband is a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

 

Arlene’s husband was a deacon in their church. He was responsible and cordial to everyone he met. He was probably most cordial with his wife…but that was it. There was no passion in their marriage. Just politeness. Like Tracey’s husband, he never wanted to go anywhere or do anything that wasn’t a church function. When Arlene suggested that they go on a cruise, he shot the idea down. When she broached the idea of them exploring Europe, he said it would take him away from his duties at church…so, NO. Eventually, she ended their three-year marriage, much to the objection of the leadership of their church. Do you know what Arlene’s husband did the year after their divorce? In a display of epic petulant pettiness, he went on a cruise and travelled Europe and then sent her pictures of his grinning mug! Arlene’s husband was definitely a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

You can draw your own conclusions from each of these examples, but as a woman who is about to celebrate her 11th year of marriage, I’d advise anyone looking for a life partner to look beyond the superficial. Look beyond the attributes the person ticks on your Perfect Christian list and look at the person. I’ve written before about how I almost left my husband because we were becoming less and less compatible and I felt like I was losing myself. I didn’t like who I was becoming in my marriage. Fortunately, I married a man who was not averse to change and more importantly, talking things through and not just quoting scripture to support a point he refused to deviate from. He would rather have peace than the satisfaction of being “right”.

What struck me most about Tracey’s story is when she revealed that she married her husband because he didn’t believe in divorce. This was attractive to her because as a child of divorce herself, she decided early that this would never be her children’s fate. It is the only reason their marriage is still intact…but only on paper. Not believing in divorce is vastly different than being committed to marriage. Your walk with God should not be the only thing you have in common with your spouse. Your existence is far more nuanced than that; and that is the essence of being unequally yoked with a believer.

 

How Trying to Avoid “Gold Diggers” is Blocking Your Own Career Advancement and Personal Development

It always starts with a meme, doesn’t it? Memes are easily digestible. Men, who on average use 13,000 fewer words a day than women, find their brevity delightful… even instructive at times. Some think a meme tells the whole picture. (*whispers* It doesn’t.) Meme-based manhood is going to render a lot of dudes frustrated in their singleness, ashy and simultaneously living under their parent’s roof and potential until they wise up and snap out of it. And there is no topic more memed than those exhorting impressionable young men to be wary of the gold digging Delilah.

I generally ignore these memes and leave them for the under 30 crowd to battle out their virtues and demerits, but THIS one I could not let go without comment:

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This is just plain FOOLISHNESS.

First of all, you need money for anything…and that includes dating. Until men and women begin coupling by diffusion, you are going to need money, bruh. Not just to impress a woman, but so that you can live YOUR best life. It doesn’t matter if you met her at the club or the library, some kind of way money fits into the equation. You will need money to enter the club. You will need money to buy your own drink(s). You will need money for bus fare to the library, or to put gas in your car. You need money to live.

If you are going to stop the pursuit of earning money because you are afraid that someone who also needs this element to live is going to take it from you unwarrantedly, then you have no business entering the dating pool. Your attitudes about money are too infantile…which means your attitude in general may be infantile as well.

You ain’t ready.

Second, you have to be a goldmine in order for the woman you are interested in to be classified a “gold digger”. Bruh. You Georgia red clay. You Saudi Arabian sand. You Land o’ Lakes butter. All of which are very useful in the right applications, but a gold digger can’t possibly hope to unearth what isn’t there. In other words, if you’re making $8.50/hr on a job with no benefits and you are lucky enough to have a woman give you the weather report, consider yourself blessed. Your parents raised you well. Your edginess does not lie in material wealth. The tragedy is when these guys making slightly more than the federal minimum wage confuse their value and net worth with the Jadakisses and Michael Baisdens of the world who have made their money. (And who curiously are usually responsible for circulating the cracked crockpot memes.)

Third, why are you so worried about money anyway? If you’ve read a book (which would be a far better use of your time than spending the day reading memes), you’d know that the ONE thing the uber wealthy have in common is that at some point, they’ve lost it all. But then they’ve made it back. Why? Because money making is a system. And instead of you to sit down and investigate what this system is, you are concerning yourself about the proclivities of a potential mate who just wants to go out and have a good time…with you? And so what if it’s on your dime. If you’re an intelligent man, you’ll understand that the value of your relationship is not in the kobos or pesewas spent, but how you are both being transformed into better versions of yourself because of your interactions with one another.

Fourth, there is GREAT news. Ever since the 80’s, when women’s lib put on its high top sneakers and shoulder padded power suits, there has been less pressure on men to be the exclusive providers in their homes or their relationship. Going Dutch on a date is far from peculiar anymore. And if the evening goes “really well”, your date may invite you up to her apartment to sit on her couch and watch Netflix and chill. Doesn’t this make you happy? See how feminism has helped you? See how she also needed money to get you on her sofa? It works both ways!

Lastly, if you are a guy and you read this meme and nodded your head in agreement, chances are you are broke, boring and not dating anyway. You don’t want to go anywhere because you don’t want to spend money. You don’t want to dress up for the Renaissance Fair because you don’t want to spend money. You don’t, you don’t, you don’t, because, because, because. And while you are gliding across your crunchy carpeted floor, cursing all these “gold digging” women in the world for failing to see the gem in you they are passing up on, you have failed to examine yourself. You are stingy. You are dull. You have no vision beyond the next $100. NO ONE wants to spend their life with someone like that.

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In conclusion: there is no one out there for you.

 

Is Akumaa Mama Zimbi a Dangerous Woman?

Akumaa Mama Zimbi describes herself as a women’s rights leader, an actress and radio and TV show host. She is a prolific tweeter with over 11K followers who hang on to her every word…words that generally admonish (and shame) women for having sex outside of marriage. And I look forward to her tweets.

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Don’t get me wrong: I don’t follow Akumaa because I agree with half of what she says. I follow her because I find her fascinating… i.e. fascinating in the way one finds wonder in the mechanics of a woodland flea. How can something so small manage to suck that much blood and not explode? How could a creature this tiny bring an entire continent to its knees? Such is the power of Akumaa Mama Zimbi’s 140 character proclamations. Just as the debates about the pros and cons about the bubonic plague that thinned out Europe’s human population rages on, so do Mama Zimbi’s views on pre-marital sex cause us to ask some very important questions about the dangers these pose to Ghanaian society.

Opinions about the importance and impact of Mama Zimbi’s voice largely depends on who you ask. Whether you take her seriously or not, there is no ignoring her. Everything about her is outlandish – from the prophetic intonation she uses to command women to get up from their post-coital positions, to the massive head wrap she crowns herself with for every public appearance. A self-aggrandizing woman, she approaches her quarry with a slew of humblebrag hashtags that include #IAmTheSexDoctor #IAmTheBestEver #Medaase (Twi for ‘thank you’). You look at her smiling face and brightly colored clothing and you see your mother or auntie. Your instinct is to trust her. You do so at your own peril.

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People like Akumaa Mama Zimbi are the reason that Nana Darkoa and I started Adventures from the Bedrooms of African Women. Her brand of sexual advice is by no means new. The “no sex before marriage” mantra is a throwback to the 17th century missionary era and imposed biblical standards that Ghanaians are expected to adhere to today…even if they are not Christians. For the record, I agree that people (meaning men and women) ought to wait until marriage to have sex and definitely before they have kids. In hindsight, it might have made things in my life less complicated. However, I respect other people’s choices not to do so. Not everyone can/does live their lives by biblical standards…not even Christians themselves. Every pastor has some view about what constitutes “holy sexual behavior” in the marriage bed, and most of it is pretty dull. I do my best to avoid sexual advice from my bishop when he distributes it. I enjoy my orgasms, and his oatmeal brand of sexual advice can only lead to slumber.

There are different ways and situations in which people – and women in particular since that’s Zimbi’s target audience – enjoy sex and that should be respected. Fact is, there are some people who want to enjoy the pleasure of sex without the politics and vexations of marriage. In Ghana (and in many other parts of Africa), we behave as if marriage is the last piece of the puzzle to complete a woman’s existence. But what can a woman really expect to look forward to in the typical Ghanaian marriage?

  • A man who will eventually and inevitably cheat on her because ‘it’s just the nature of men’.
  • To be prevented from striving to be her very personal best because she must never out-earn or outshine her husband.
  • Financial dependence and total deference to the whims of her spouse.
  • The (un)expected appearance of the 4-9 children he’s fathered out of wedlock at his funeral.

No one is happy in their marriage in Ghana. But THIS brand of paradise is what Ghanaian women are to sexually preserve themselves for.

I personally believe that Akumaa Zimbi’s approach to sexual purity is particularly dangerous to Ghanaian women, despite her mission to make them safe. For one, it reinforces the notion that a woman’s sexual purity is something that is for purchase (i.e. with the bride price or at the altar with a ring), and not a gift that she is free to give at the time of her choosing. It reinforces the idea that women are objects during the act of sex, and not willing participants in the encounter – again – at the time of a mutual encounter. And by targeting women as the singular gatekeepers for mattress morality, it leaves men to be as promiscuous as their gonads would allow them to be. This does nothing to keep women safe.

According to sociologists Betty Akumatey and Akosua Adarkwah who conducted a study commissioned by the Gender Studies and Human Rights Documentation Centre (GSHRDC), marriage is actually a breeding ground for HIV/AIDS transmission, with married women being at greatest risk. Because women are expected to stay faithful in their marriages and men are not, men feel less inhibited to explore sex outside of the home with numerous sexual partners, who of course have numerous sexual partners themselves. Instead of women’s advocates like Zimbi to preach about safe sex in general, they chose to circle around women’s rights and dispositions and peck away at them like vultures. Let’s never forget Dag Heward-Mills sermon wherein he compared women who have had several sexual partners as half-eaten, rotten apples. These philosophies paint women’s bodies as something to be used by men, and strip women of their agency. It’s repugnant and disrespectful.

I think Akumaa Mama Zimbi’s heart is in the right place, but her logic (and I’m being generous here) leaves much to be desired. It’s not well thought out in the least. And of course many men love it, because it absolves them of all responsibility as long as she targets women as being the ultimate and singular responsible party. There are several men who have already come out en force to support her proclamations because they believe that because the burden of pregnancy falls on women, she and she alone must carry the burden of morality, conveniently forgetting that a girl/woman cannot get pregnant on her own.

BabyZimbi

And of course, nothing in Zimbi’s doctrine makes room for lesbian women who cannot legally marry in Ghana anyway. Are they not also women? Is their pursuit of sexual pleasure invalid because it does not fall under hetero-normative Judeo-Christian practices?

Look, the fact is “no sex before marriage” isn’t even ‘African’ in the Ghanaian context. In many of our cultures, as long as a maiden had gone through dipo/initiation rights, she could have a lover. If she had not undergone rights and it was discovered she had engaged in sex with a man both of them would be excommunicated from the village/town. I’m not making this up. Ask your great-grandmother, and tell her to be honest.

Ghanaians are largely ignorant where sex is concerned, even in the city. We have dudes that think they are supposed to masturbate with liquid soap. There have been condom drives in certain areas of the country that have resulted in an increase in the spread of STDs because the natives believe the seed of a man belongs in a woman, not in a bag, so they remove the condom mid-coitus. There are people who think they can divine the HIV/AIDS status of another person merely by looking at them. When you add the opinions of Mama Zimbi and your friendly neighborhood trotro preacher to this powder keg, an explosion is bound to happen and it is women who will inevitably bear the brunt of its force. People need educating, not fertilizer for their warped views on the way women – exclusively -ought to conduct themselves.

I think Akumaa Zimbi truly cares about the welfare of women, and I’m certain her personal experiences have colored her view. The problem is that these views are imbalanced and she is perpetuating an already pervasive attitude that is fiercely anti-woman and anti-choice… and she’s doing it in kaba and slit! There is neither enough information, nor willingness to receive any concept that flies in direct opposition to the privileges that patriarchy brings in our society in general to check this manner of thinking…and that makes it dangerous.

What Commodities are Trading on the Dating Stock Exchange in 2015?

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I consider myself a woman of average intelligence, so I am a bit perplexed that I spent the entire night pondering the question posed by this brother. These are the sentiments shared online that cause me no shortage of gratitude to no longer be counted among the dating population.

The question posed is “what expectations do sisters have of themselves” after having been invited on a date by a man. He wants to know what the man can expect in return for paying for dinner (that he invited you to), pulling out your chair at said dinner (that he invited you to) and opening doors. On average, a man can expect to open two doors while out on a date with a woman: the passenger side door and the restaurant door. This is where I get stuck. The asker sincerely wants to know what a man can expect in return for that level of physical exertion. I believe a “thank you” will suffice. Am I wrong?

The prosaic nature of this line of questioning is an attempt at profundity that it does not deserve. At the end of the rabbit trail, this individual wants to know if $20 and some opened doors is enough to earn sex. Yes, I saw the part where he said “other than intimacy”. I’m assuming this is a “conscious” brother who would NEVER suggest a woman prostitute herself for the benefit of a date. But yeah, sex…or some variation of it.

Having been out of the dating pool for so long, this query made no sense to me. However, I recognize that I DO need to understand exactly what this type of man is getting at so that I can arm my daughters – who are fast approaching dating age – appropriately. My expectation of myself as a woman who has been asked on and ultimately accepted a date is to fully engage in the activities required of the date. If were are to assume that there is mutual interest between the two parties, that should be more than enough.

For instance: if a man invites a woman to go jet skiing, the only expectations she need set for herself are to bring a swimming suit and a readiness to get her hair wet. If she has a phobia of open water, she can set expectations to inform him of that. If a man invites a woman to a hotel to spend the night, she can expect to go to sleep. Inviting a woman to a hotel does not translate into expectations of sex. Inviting a woman to have sex will encourage her to prepare to have sex. Failing to do so is how we end up with cat and vulture games where women feel pressured and “used” and men conjure insipid questions like “what expectations does a sister have for herself” instead of just being honest about his desire to get his cock wet.

There is nothing else here at play. If a woman’s conversation, her wit, her observations, her sense of style, her physical presence and the way she carries herself in public and her willingness to share all of the above with you in a cordial or semi-romantic situation are not enough of a return on any “investment” a man may have made, then all there is left is a desire for sex. Or prayer. Maybe this dude wants prayer…which would be admirable, rare and highly unlikely.

A gentleman does not look for anything in return for being a gentleman. The act of opening doors and pulling out chairs are acts of kindness and consideration. They indicate that a man has been brought up to think of others before himself. They are not bitcoins for which you can cash in and redeem coitus or fellatio or whatever your fancy is at the end of the evening. They are not even a guarantee that there will be a second or third date. Believe it or not, there are some women who do not want to be treated well, in the sense that we think of. They want to be taken to bars wherein the floor is blanketed with peanuts and the bathrooms stink of urine. They want to open beer bottles with their teeth and arm wrestle with you. If you have a problem opening doors for your date, perhaps this is where your quarry lays…not in fragrant coffee shops or sumptuous art galleries.

In either case, neither the man nor the woman can expect her to be anything other than what she is or do anything outside of her nature. The point of the date is to learn more about her nature, isn’t it? And let’s be completely honest: the average man isn’t looking for “equity” in his relationship. He doesn’t want to wear an engagement ring nor does he want to answer the uncomfortable question of whether to take a potential spouse’s surname at the altar. He doesn’t want to be saddled with housework or have to give up his career because their coupling resulted in the birth of one (or four) babies. The average man is just looking forward to getting to third base with the chick on the other side of the dinner table after he’s dropped three hours’ worth of wages in chicken wings at Applebee’s.

Wings

Are chicken wings tradeable commodities on the dating stock exchange?

Tell me why I’m wrong. Tell me why this man’s question was an honest and sincere one and why I’ve read too deeply into it. You can’t hear me, but I’m begging you.

How Did Young Africans Express Affection in Pr-colonial Times?

One of my Twirra faves asked this question today:

This is a topic and a question that has interested me for a long time  as well, and I swore to Selasie that I had written about it back in 1998. But a quick run through the archives shows this to be false! I was so fascinated with the topic that I would ask Africans on my job, in public establishments and in churches where I might find myself a guest about information on ancient African Romance. It seems my fascination never translated into written words, so at Selasie’s behest, I am here to right that wrong and post the stories I gathered so many years ago.

Of course, “African romance” differs from everybody else’s concept of romance. Africans are magical and superhuman. There are certain activities and behaviors we can’t take part in – as an entire continent – because they are deemed to be “unAfrican”. Homosexuality, obeying the rules of traffic and eating food without hot pepper are chief among these.

The concept of romance is often associated with 17th century western ideals and mores. We think of electrifying kisses, bouquets of red roses, chilled bottles of red wine and candle lit rooms. All of the visual and olfactory delights are generally manufactured by horny men with the singular goal of getting the object of their erection’s desire into bed for the evening (maybe even for a month if things go well that night). In those days, when bees wax was scarce and candlelight was an indicator that one was well-to-do,well having a room lit FULL of candles was extravagant indeed! In modern Africa, a room full of candles merely signals that you are poor, since you don’t have access to a generator.

In asking about how young lovers in the per-colonial era expressed love and/or an interest in one another, I discovered some pretty interesting behaviors that frankly, I wouldn’t mind partaking in myself. All of us come from a village. The average African urban dweller has one generation or less that separates them from their ancestral homeland. And thank God that village people change so little in their ways! They are the keepers of our culture and it will be a sad day when our version of “civilization” overtakes and corrupts the villager. How would we get wind of this gem, for example?:

“When I was very young and I liked a young man, I would bend over discretely to show him my waist beads. (Waist beads are considered intimate apparel in Ghana and Nigeria.) We would arrange to meet each other in the evening by signaling each other with a whistle. I would tell my parents I had to go and ease myself in the bush and I would be back shortly. I would then eat roasted corn to make sure I had fresh breath before meeting my young man.” – my great aunt, aged 87.

source: panafrica.tumblr
source: panafrica.tumblr
“We lived in a village before we lived in Monrovia. I used to go with my wife (before she was my wife) to a small lake near our village with some big rocks on the shore. I would take some ripe fruits and put them in a basket for us to nibble on. Then I would sit close to her with our feet dipped in the water and cut the fruit and watch her eat it.” – Joseph, security desk manager from Liberia

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“I remember my parents had nicknames for each other – which they used less and less as their children grew up! My maternal grandparents were perhaps more demonstrative in their love for each other. I remember them going to sit on the patio as soon as my grandfather came home! (I used to spend my long vacations with them till I was 9). Their house was the former District Commissioner’s house in Sekondi. It was high on a hill, and there were spectacular views from the patio to the ocean, where you could also see the yachts of the European expatriates moored in the bay. No one was allowed there when the two of them got on that patio, no babies, grandchildren, children, servants, even the President! My grandmother even took the drinks in herself! I don’t know what my grandfather did for her that was romantic, but the fact that they stuck to this arrangement religiously, obviously showed their devotion to each other. They had 9 children and were married for 65 years!” – A memory shared by Nana
Here is a slightly more modern story of the conquests of the romantic African male

“Well, as a veteran of 42 years of married life I think I can offer a comment! My husband used to be VERY romantic but the weird thing is that he does not want to be reminded of it, almost as if he’s ashamed of it—perhaps African men don’t think romance is “manly” or something.. Of course my definition of romantic may not be every ones but here are some examples–he bought me my very first car, a tiny Fiat 600 and tied a giant bow around it for my Christmas present; he took me on a month long honeymoon cruising in a French boat along the coast to Dakar, Abidjan etc; he polished the floors for me when we were in the States because it was “too hard”: for me; he never bought me flowers or candy but is quite comfortable holding my hand in public, even now; he takes me out to dinner even though he’d prefer to be at home; he cooks when I’m tired; he always notices what I’m wearing , and in any gathering, however large, he’s always aware of where I am and what I’m doing.” -Anonymous
And the piece de resistance!

“A friend of mine had a Tanzanian boyfriend who was lucky enough to have undergone one of the ‘initiation ceremonies’ that his ethnic group had for boys. Apparently, they were taught foreplay with a real ‘learn by doing’ assignment – they had to make love to a vegetable which had the consistency of a soft-boiled egg, without puncturing it! You failed when it got punctured! You apparently had to have several ‘revisions’ till you got it right – ie. ejaculating without puncturing the vegetable. My friend claims she has never had a man like him ever since. He was courteous, self-confident and the best lover she ever had. Unfortunately, he returned to his country after they finished college and the relationship did not survive the many miles between them.” – A Nigerian woman

source: frugalandfancy.com
source: frugalandfancy.com
Have you heard any stories about the amorous adventures of your people prior to colonization? Drop a note in the comments section! Sharing is caring oooo. Sharing is caring.