But maaaaaannn, there is one ajo nwa here that is giving me fever o. He is just boiling my blood and I am trying to act cool as my egwuriegwu levels are supposed to have gone down now that I’m a respectable married somebody. But nna mehn, Flavour N’abania is killing me – and not softly. Umu bois don’t know the meaning of the word.
So there I was not thirty minutes ago proclaiming my love for his name which is just the BEST name of any artiste in the world EVER, when someone (@na_you_biko) says to me ‘Nwa baby, nye m ife gi’. After getting over my shock (at least buy me a plate of nkwobi first or babysit my kid. Sheesh!) I realise that those are lyrics, so I get my bum over to YouTube to check out the track.
And that’s when I get in trouble. I mean, the man is barely singing but that’s not the problem. The tune is normal and catchy, but that’s not it either. It’s that I am seriously, without-a-shadow-of-a-doubt contemplating giving him my ife. If he were standing in front of me right now, singing that damn song, maybe moving his waist a bit like a male Abriba dancer…
And to think before a month ago I was blissfully unaware of his existence. However working from home and being the primary carer for Tot means that I can no longer live in a journo bubble. Now I know the Devil is an Igbo man.
Look at the name sef: Flavour N’abania. Flavour Tonight. That is the name of that kind of Igbo man that will just finish you. Point and kill. Eat and chop bone. Drink and throway cup. If your body remains after that, it’s only by the grace of God. N’abania. It’s going to happunnn. You will get it. Chai. Olololooooo. My father, my father. Anu ndogbu adogbuo la m. This boy has killed me. Does anyone know if he went to Enugu State University of Technology? Because his kind of razzness smells ESUTy.
I’m off to tie my headscarf in the Charismatic style and drink some holy water.