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A runs girl’s tale

My mother did her best to raise me right. I give her that. Oh that woman polished me till I shone, and became the kind of daughter she had hoped to raise. For a while,if I may add.

From age five, she started talking to me about marriage. It didn’t matter if I understood her or not, she gave her TedTalk anyway.

“Nora listen. Be a good girl because responsible men don’t like stupid girls. Don’t be like Adaobi o. That girl had privilege, but she wasted it. Look at her now, pregnant at only fifteen. I and your father will make sure you have good education and marry a good man. Marriage is a woman’s pride inugo. Have you heard?”

I grew up overdosed on all things marriage: Make him look good in front of other people. Have sex with him even when you don’t feel like it. Knot his tie on his way to work. Make sure you do as he says. If you observe that he is involved with other women, check well, you’re doing something that’s causing him to go to them. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so make sure to cook him tasty and healthy meals.

For a long time, my mantra was simple; Get an education, get married to a good man, raise good children like my mama, and die at a good old age. Hahahahahahahaha The thought of this overly simplistic mentality makes me laugh hard now. How things have changed now eh …. E go shock you sef.🥴 Life happens I guess and people evolve. Levitate. Progress. Metamorphosize. Advance. Change.

Forget what my mum said about the way to a man’s heart. Who’s aiming at hearts, when you could aim at big fat bank accounts? 💰 My revised edition: the way to a man’s money is by stroking his penis. I said what I said. Period. The end. Full stop. Peace out.✌🏾

To be honest, I rode on my mum’s litany for the longest time, I was her good girl. Until my dad suffered pancreatic cancer. A terrible illness that put my dad in misery, took all our money and still killed him. I was in second year when my dad passed.

From then on, things were hard. Uncles and aunties abandoned my mum, me and my three brothers. No one came to our rescue. My mum was laid off from work, during the time my dad was ill, because she was taking care of him full time. So my life crashed emotionally, mentally, and financially. Quite frankly, I recovered from my emotional and mental crash. However,for the financial crash. Nope. Nada. Didn’t recover.

School sucked. I heaped debt like no man’s business. I couldn’t pay my tuition fee. I couldn’t buy text books. Couldn’t pay rent. In fact , I Couldn’t afford anything that involved money. Worst time of my life. You wouldn’t understand how it feels like to live your life without money, until you’ve experienced it. Hungry days and nights. Body odour too because I couldn’t afford deodorant. I was an epic mess.

When an opportunity came to heap money in exchange for making wealthy men feel really good, I didn’t consult the gods of wisdom, omoh I rush am. Who will watch money pass them by, while their mum and siblings waste away in absolute lack? Certainly not me.

I know what you might be thinking. Why didn’t you just learn a skill or something, that will fetch you money? At least pray about it, have faith and God will provide for you.

Are you kidding? The only faith hunger understands is food. Plus nobody around me taught any skill for free. So I chose a path that will only require me showing up, and swaying my hips rhythmically. I’m an entrepreneur too, I offer value in exchange for value.💰My proceeds pay for school, rent , personal stuff, my mum’s well being and of course my brothers. I lied to mum that I work as a sales girl in a phone shop. So she doesn’t have sleepless nights about the source of my money. And don’t worry, I don’t give her the kind of money that will make her suspect me.

You’re already judging me. I can tell by the disgust on your face. But I don’t care. I had to do what I had to do. Life is hard as you already know, so I found my own path. For all I know, we’re all sinners judging one another for sinning differently.

In so many women’s story, I’m the super villian, the cold bitch that keep their husbands from coming back home to them.I’m sorry if your husband doesn’t come home to you at night, because of what I have to offer. But please know this: I don’t choose my clients, they come to me willfully. All I need is money. Put me in your shoes for a bit, and you’d understand better, and perhaps even sympathize with me.

….…. To be continued.

About Venicia Iroakazi

Hi. I'm a Wordweaver and I truly enjoy making words come alive.

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