When he asks you what you do for a living. Lie. Say you’re an editor in a magazine. Add that you love your job. This is not exactly a lie. In a year, you will be a graduate of communication and find a job you love. When he tells you he likes independent women. Grin like it is nothing, because it is everything to a Nigerian feminist. “I love the way you paid the bills for your date, and told that man he can’t buy you with eight thousand naira” he will say.
Laugh again, and say it is nothing. Although it is everything, try not to think too hard about it, he doesn’t have to know you had just used part of your school fees to feed your feministic ego. Say “thank you” or “that’s simply the truth”.
“l believe, strongly, women should not be bought with money” you should add, wearing a proud look.
“oshey! Feminist! Nigerian feminists terrify me. You people have a way of carrying everything on your head”
You see this is a hard part. Don’t laugh when he says this. turn your face away and stare into the window, stare at the petty traders, the rough and unkempt children that roam the streets of Awka, the teenage girl with a tray of oranges on her head and a trail of hoodlums behind her. When he asks if he said something wrong, don’t say he didn’t. That is something a Nigerian feminist would say. Tell him you’re offended— You hate to be counted amongst the many lite feminists in Nigeria. Lighten your face when he says he is sorry.
The rest of the ride to your place will be in silence, he will make attempts to fill the silent air; hurling insults at bad drivers, increasing the volume of the radio when Davido’s “one ticket” comes up: “everytime wire me money”, will fill the air thick with heavy conversations. But you will not express your dislike for the song, because that is something a Nigerian feminist would do.
Parked in front of your father’s black gate, you will tell him this is where you live, you will not mention it is your father’s. He will ask for your contact but you must decline—this is the hardest part. Thank him for the ride, smile briefly, and leave. At night, you will miss him, his mahogany blown skin, you will wish you gave him your number. You will wish harder that he comes searching for you but you must not let yourself think about it, because you’re are not the Nigerian kind of feminist.
This article was written by Ugonnia Diana; connect with her on IG here