How rude! I want to shout. I would do anything to be as accomplished as Aunty Blessing. Who knows, maybe she struggled to settle down because men were intimidated by her? Back then, being a career-driven woman wasn’t as widely accepted as it is today.
“God, if only I had a photo of Alex.” Aunty Debbie slaps a hand to her head. “I will add him on Facebook. Your mother’s right. This stubbornness will get you nowhere.”
“Aunty, I appreciate the offer. It’s just—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Yinka! Stop being so goddamn closed-minded.” The outburst comes from Ola, who is now on her feet, hoisting Daniel on her hip. “No wonder you’re still single.” She hisses like one of those angry commuters after they fail to squeeze themselves into a packed train.
A lump the size of a melon fills my throat. Ola can be harsh sometimes, but she rarely raises her voice.
What did I do to deserve that?
Just as I swallow back tears, shrieks erupt from the living room. Fela Kuti’s “Water No Get Enemy” is playing in the background. But the screams sound like more than just the guests cheering at someone busting a sick dance move.
I clamber to my feet, avoiding Ola’s eyes as I rush out the door.
Back in the living room, there’s a huddle. Rachel’s here and she’s standing with her mum, Big Mama. The pair look excited.
“Yinka! You won’t believe what happened yesterday!” Rachel thrusts a hand forward and a diamond rock shines from her third finger. “I’m engaged!”
The plan
Thrusting my duvet to one side, I stare up at the ceiling, spread-eagled. Outside, the wind is whistling and rain is pattering against my window.
I can’t sleep. I’ve been tossing and turning, today’s events taunting me. After Rachel dropped her bombshell of an announcement, I didn’t stick around for long. I told her that I’d catch up with her over the phone, or next Friday when she and Gavesh are having their engagement party. Although whether she heard me is another question. She was too busy chatting with her BFF, Ola. Kemi was sad to see me go, but she understood. As always, she apologized for Aunty Debbie’s behavior.
“Yinka, I feel so bad,” she said as she walked me to the front door. “If I had known, I would have offered to pray.”
“Let’s face it, Kemi. No one can stop Aunty Debbie when she is on a roll.” I forced a small laugh. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault.”
As for Nana, my so-called BFF who was meant to be there for support, I texted her saying that I was leaving early and that she no longer needed to come. She messaged saying she was sorry and she’d see me tomorrow after church. Which will soon be today.
I toss again and stretch over to switch on my bedside lamp. I squint, catching sight of my dark reflection in the mirror.
I can’t believe what happened. I can’t believe Ola called me out like that. And how dare Mum bring up Femi—
Femi. I grip my duvet.
If you hadn’t got that stupid job in New York, we would be married by now. I was ready to give up everything for you. My home. My career. My family and friends. But no. You had a change of heart. You said moving to the Big Apple had made you realize that you weren’t ready to settle down. What happened, Femi? We had discussed marriage, even thought of baby names for the two kids we both wanted. I couldn’t have dreamed of a better partner. You were kind. Attentive. You made me feel beautiful. How could you throw away everything just like that?
Curling my hands into fists, I push them against my eyes. Come on, Yinka. It’s been almost three years now. I’m praying to God for comfort, reciting Bible verses in my head until I calm down a bit. Suddenly, I remember something.
I clamber out of bed, grab my laptop and climb back in again. After I returned home from Kemi’s baby shower, I had needed a bit of reassurance, so I typed into Quora, What are the chances of meeting a guy and getting married when you’re a thirty-something woman?
And hey, what do you know? I’ve already got an answer. I hope this will make me feel better . . .
Julia N. King, feminist and proud
If you think that your chances to find a man and get married increase just because some thirty-something woman on here tells you about her experience, then you must be naive. That’s like me coming on here and asking, “What are my chances of living till I’m eighty?!!!” And why set a deadline for yourself? The last time I checked, one can get married at any age. The fact that you’re asking this question in the first place tells me your values are misplaced and that you’re one of those desperate types that needs a ring to find happiness. Well, newsflash, woman. We’re not in the 1950s! Start by loving yourself!
Upvote 22 Share
I blink. “Wow.” And she got twenty-two likes.
Obviously, women don’t have to get married to be happy or find value in themselves. Well, at least, that’s not why I want to get married. I always just loved the idea of spending the rest of my life with someone I made a vow to and building a home and family with them. So does this make me a bad feminist? Well, according to Julia N. King and twenty-two other Quorarians, yes. Yes, it does.
I type the same question into Google. An ad appears at the very top of the search list: What are your chances of finding love? Take our free quiz today.
Curious, I click on the link. A message pops up.
Waiting for a new guy to show up in your life? Well, fear no more! By taking this quiz, we’ll determine when you’ll meet your next boyfriend based on your personality. So, what are you waiting for? Take our free quiz today!
Under normal circumstances, I would run a mile from something like this, but after being publicly prayed for, I think it’s fair to say that things are far from normal right now. I click on the button and begin the quiz. It’s multiple choice.
Question 1
To date, how many relationships have you been in?
A. ○ So many I can’t remember
B. ○ Two or more
C. ○ One
D. ○ None
Next
I click “C.” Femi is my one and only boyfriend. Well, he was my boyfriend.
Question 2
How are you around guys?
A. ○ Confident and carefree
B. ○ A bit hesitant
C. ○ Super-duper shy
D. ○ I rarely talk to guys
Next
I drum my fingers on my laptop. Now that I think about it, I don’t really have a lot of male friends. I went to an all-girls secondary school and sixth form, so I didn’t have much interaction with men in my age group until I started uni. Even then, I still didn’t make a lot of male friends. Well, there was Jon, the guy in my lectures who later became Ola’s boyfriend, and shortly after, her daughter’s father. But he was more Ola’s boyfriend than my friend. So I guess the only reference point I have is how I was when I first met Femi.
I remember the day I met him like it was yesterday. It was at a small gathering that Rachel threw for Gavesh’s twenty-fifth birthday. It was Gavesh’s older brother, Sanjeev, who had invited Femi—they’re best friends. During the evening, Femi and I got chatting. I don’t think he approached me with the intention of making a move—in fact, I think he said something along the lines of, “Can you pass me a napkin, please.” But two hours of solid conversation later, we were talking like old friends. It was so effortless, I didn’t even notice it happening.