There’s a storm sweeping across the world. From Ibadan to Kotangora. From Harare to J’burg. From Tokyo to Alaska. From Mercury to UrAnus. A consensus has been reached by pretty much all females. Somehow, without holding an international retreat, a conference call or even running an angry feminist group on Whatsapp, these women have come to the conclusion that…
“Yoruba Boys are demons”.
This is a decision that every member of the weaker sex who has ever dated a male person who hails from south-western Nigeria has unanimously arrived at. This is an undeniable truth. It’s a statement of fact. And it comes with an immovable, unshakeable mountain of evidence which spews from the charred lips of every woman (and some effeminate men, I would assume) who has ever tasted of the sweet demonic poison which erupts from the lips of a furiously persuasive son of Oodua.
Yoruba Boys are Demons.
Every Yoruba Boy who has ever walked the face of the earth is a son of the devil. They specialize in finding the finest specimen of a daughter of Eve and proceed to acid-uously break down her walls of defence against his irresistible charms until he has invaded her castle and gobbled her virtue, dignity and self-confidence up. Big bad wolf style. Following which he goes forth to roam the earth, looking for another female to devour. Of course, there’s no shortage of these women. Thusly, all across the world, and I daresay, the universe, horrific tales of Yoruba Demon conquests abound and the skin colour of the bearers of these tales vary very widely.
Yoruba Boys are demons.
Beware of them. Fall for them at your own peril. Dine with them with a long ladle. See them and run. Kiss them and burn thine tongue. Let them ravish you and their all consuming fire shall ravage you from within and without until all that is left is a smoldering heap of bitterness. The bitterness that comes with tasting poisonous nectar and savouring it until the taste goes from sweet to flat to sour to blinding pain.
Ladies, these are the things Yoruba Boys aka Demons will do to you:
They will kiss you and they will tell.
They will kiss you and moments later, kiss another.
They will kiss you and deny ever kissing you.
They will kiss you and make you fall in love with them. Then not love you in return.
They will kiss you and drive you crazy.
They will kiss you and make you feel indebted that they ever laid lips upon you.
They will kiss you and make you beg for more… then deny you of any more.
They will kiss you and you will just die from pleasure.
They will kiss you and you will end up hating them for it.
They will do all these with no guilt whatsoever.
This is what every Yoruba Boy will do to you, ladies (and gentlemen of that leaning). Every last one of them. No exceptions. This is how they operate. This is the model which is hardwired into their very DNA. It is the blue print every male with yoruba blood coursing through his veins will follow. This is the one generalisation that is not a generalisation. This is true. This is fact. This is Yoruba Boy policy.
Now, here’s the most intriguing part…
This demonic behaviour inherent in all Yoruba Boys was discovered by and is most loudly spoken against by Yoruba Women. This behaviour is also instilled in every Yoruba Boy and encouraged by… Yoruba Women!
Everyone, give a big and resounding round of applause to Yoruba Mothers!
These Yoruba Women have handed down this conundrum from one generation to another since Oduduwa’s chicken first laid the egg from which the world as we know it today would burst forth.
Yoruba Women, on one hand, educate their daughters of the dangerous nature of all Yoruba Boys. They drum it into the young ladies’ ears how they suffered greatly at the hands of Yoruba Men – first their fathers, then their husbands and soon, inevitably, their sons. They motivate their female offspring to beware of Yoruba boys and ensure they never suffer the same fate… All of this while insisting they must not bring home “omo Ibo” or “awon Fulani” or “Kalaba” or “oyinbo” or, God forbid, a lesbian lover! Who come remain?! Oh, the confusion these young girls suffer.
On the other hand, these same Yoruba Mothers are grooming their young sons to be the perfectly typical Yoruba Boy: An arrogant, entitled and self-sufficient son-off-a-gun who sees himself as a gift to all of womankind and is determined to pass that gift around to as many recipients as possible. Because he is Father Christmas. Or more aptly, Broda Christmas. All Yoruba boys are the way they are thanks to their Yoruba Mothers. These women will treat their sons as the kings they are until the poor boy must believe it and goes on to preach this gospel to every feminine ear that will hear it. A king must be paid homage after all, and for that to happen, he must have loyal subjects. Many of them. So how can you blame him when he goes forth to sow the many seeds (usually wild oats) of this truth in every fertile ear and heart he can find?
The great irony herein is that when these Yoruba boys bring their Yoruba girls home, it is the Yoruba mothers who give their potential daughters all the headache in the world. They grill them, stress them, prick and prod them and carry out background checks to ensure this unworthy commoner is worthy of their little kings. The girls who are strong enough to weather the storm survive the baptism of fire and eventually, inevitably go on to hate their mother-in-law, as is typical, while trying to wrestle the heart of the men they love from the vice-like grip of her wrinkled claw. The ones who cannot run screaming to the world and rather than apportion the blame accordingly, the one thing you hear over and over again in their tirade is…
Yoruba Boys are Demons.
These girls eventually marry someone – perhaps of another clan, tribe or race – but more often than not, they end up with another Yoruba boy and bear their own offspring and teach them the truth about Yoruba boys, graciously contributing to the vicious cycle which knows no end.
Now, seeing how I’ve laid down all the realities in this situation, you tell me: who are the real demons?