I’ve had an interesting time away from writing; in that, I’ve met some astonishingly immature and ridiculous Ghanaian men, depicting what’s wrong with a lot of our Ghanaian men of today.
Despite having moved into an era of civilisation where the distinction between pure sex and love is no more cumbersome, with a lot of women freely giving out sex for fun, money or other favours, a lot of Ghanaian men seem to still think women are still locked in this grand stupidity that we can’t figure out the wide gap between sex and love.
So my absence gave me a lot of time to explore—still in search for a man who wouldn’t struggle to come to terms with the fact that contemporary Ghanaian women are smart, and sometimes even smarter than men.
I mean, a man who would accept my sexual libertarianism and wouldn’t just expect me to give him a head while holding on this repugnantly sickening conception that it’s a great abomination for him to return the head favour by digging deep into my coochie just as he appreciates the deep throating.
As you know, I am open to meeting a lot of decent men but a lot of these men who deem themselves decent are absolute trash in reasonable estimation. I don’t want them to open the car door for me and neither do I expect them to pull the chair for me at a restaurant, I just want them to respect me and accord me with the sort of dignity they demand.
And this means, not thinking I am a walking human being with a brain full of cotton wool, so stupid that, just sending me the message “I love you” a few hours after meeting is what would lubricate my coochie and set off to the island of honeyness—for them to be granted the access they desperately seek and yet do not want to earn.
Love is so cheap by my measure. It’s complex to measure and difficult to ascertain the working ingredients. It’s ubiquitous; literally everywhere and nowhere, a status that makes it easy to be abused and misrepresented.
When it comes to sex, you can smell it coming from a distant and yet, some men think women are fundamentally dense such that they can perfectly obtain sex from us by garnishing it with the undefined complexities of this thing called love.
My godmother who’s well aware of my desire to only settle with an open minded Ghanaian, a truly unique and rare breed of Ghanaian whose estimation of women is not worse than a 4th-century male chauvinist recently hooked me up with a lecturer at one of the private universities in Ghana.
He is well educated and for a minute, I thought that even if he was a douche bag, expectedly caused by his generation and society, his education would be enough to mitigate the widespread Ghanaian women stereotype syndrome and offer him an avenue to at least be decent in the face of the imbedded cheap nonsense about women that hovers around.
I was completely wrong. He took me for a big idiot by mere virtue of being a woman—and constantly, my opinions or observations on issues which I know much more about than him were treated with gross contempt.
Less than a week after our first meeting and having knocked off his sticky hands a dozen times from going beyond my thighs, he sent the conventional Ghana man text—telling me he loves me and will want to marry me sometimes soon, so I should tear down my erected walls and grant him safe passage.
Of course he thought the sound of marriage, preceded by love is what every Ghanaian woman wants to hear, so he served them to me—hoping for that high jump from my end.
And my reply; “Are you for real” was the last he got from me. I immediately deleted his number and erased those patchy perverted memories of him.
Joe was not the only loser I encountered; Ernest was a cunning upgraded version the Big Bang Theory’s Raj Koothrappali. He was extensively creepy and housed several naked photos of girls on his phone—claiming strangers he has no interest in bombards him with such exotic images.
Perhaps, this style of self-importance works on other Ghanaian women. I’ve long ditched that jealous High School competitive silliness.
Apart from Ernest’s obsession with his collections, he impatiently grabbed my butt on our first date. I gave him that evil look, hoping he would catch the fact that my fingers are on the trigger—such that another act of disrespect would fetch him a close head shot.
Since I told him I am a beach person, I was invited to a late night beach hangout which I thought it was lovely. The conversation was good and as soon as we started kissing, he forcefully grabbed head. It was extremely uncomfortable but that was not the deal breaker—he whispered, “I love you.”
To be certain, I asked; what did you say—and he boldly repeated his words, “I love you.”
I’ve had this “I love you” encounter with so many Ghanaian men I’ve come to conclude they somewhat think women are so in need of love that they cannot properly dissect situations to know when a man wants sex, and when he’s falling in a pot of love.
Though I left the beach with the intention of not to pay Ernest any more attention, he kept texting so much that he became a nuisance—weirdly ending all his messages with, “I love you.”
Just as we had the book “Courtesy for Boys and Girls“ in circulation some few years ago, I think someone seriously needs to do Ghanaian women a big favour by writing a book for this new age of Ghanaian men—titled, “Women Are Not Completely Stupid, They Have Brains Too.”
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