Tag Archives: aristo

Lagbaja something for you…

When I was younger I was fascinated by the lyrics of this song. My Yoruba is a disgrace but Lagbaja makes you feel like you could actually be fluent in the language. It was just after I read a Mills&Boons novel about a young heroine who fell for an older guy and I started wondering what it would be like to shun the gangly, immature male admirers that flocked to my side from time to time and settle for a mature gentleman who would taste as great as vintage wine was rumored to be.

Before I continue here are the lyrics (truncated) to the song courtesy

Omo gbe mi saya / Eh eh gbe mi saya / Baba to bi mi lomo ko mama so mi luncle / Ki lo wa de to mi pe mi luncle / I no be your uncle / Your uncle dey for village / No take your mouth to make me Methuselah / I might be forty something / I might be fifty something / In my heart I’m twenty something / No look my belly o / It’s a sign of good living / So you would know say Baba na father / I might be thirty something / I might be forty something / In my heart / I’m twenty something / Ma ma wo tikun me / Seb’obe lo wa nibe / Iyen lo fi ma gba pe baba ni father nje / Omo anything for me?
Chorus: Lagbaja nothing for you
Aa ki lo de / Omo anything for me so gbo o / Oo to be / Omo gbo se anything for me / Ab’oo gbo mi se / Ki lo de o / Omo anything for me eh eh / Aaaa

Tell me anything you want me to do for you baby / And I would do for you right away / Tell me what would make you happy / And I would do for you / Ma ma je n se’ra mi lese si e lorun baby o/ Aa, ab’o fe gboruko / Because of you, I fit close all my account patapata / Aa ma ma gboruko / Omo anything for me? / O se, O se
Chorus: Lagbaja, something for you
E hen… Aa… l’ataaro

The song always made me giggle. Fast forward a few years and I was in the University and was hit with the concept of ‘aristos’. These men lined the streets of Moremi, Newest Hall and New hall (Unilag) on a nightly basis, expensive cars, expensive perfumes and wedding rings in tow and I realized my concept of dating older men had just been redefined. The first concept was dating an older man for love but this new concept was dating an older man for money and the older men here were neither graceful nor sincerely gentle they looked like men on the prowl loaded with enough cash to ensure they had a smooth transaction into the pants of any lady of their choosing regardless of the baggage they brought with them. I was still trying to understand this new concept from the vantage point of a keen observer when another concept was again presented to me by Eedris Abdulkareem, the Mr Lecturer concept which was dating an old man to pass exams or move ahead in life.
Old men totally lost their appeal after I reviewed the three concepts because they all seemed to flow into each other with most girls swearing concept one was the reason for their choice while pretending not to notice that they got concept two and three in the bag too.

I still thought Sean Connery, Captain Von Trapp (Christopher Plummer) and Richard Mofe Damijo were beyond cute. Plus you can’t deny the gentility, wisdom and pampering that come with a doting father-figure cum lover boy! 🙂 But it’s never so simple in reality now is it?

As I grew older every time I saw a young girl with an older man, I wondered which of the three concepts was reason for her choice. The romantic in me hoped it was concept number one but the more cynical people around me held on to the other two concepts and judged the hell out of the girl. Then there were young girls who displaced their mother’s age mates from their matrimonial homes and I always wondered, don’t they fear God? How would you willingly be step-mother to kids older than you are? And of course there were naive young girls who narrowly missed getting entangled into ‘ministry of home affairs’ drama! Let me give you one gist, when I was in medical school I met this dashing older man (I swear my girlfriends rated him a 9/10), he was beyond gorgeous, cultured, the perfect gentleman and we had awesome conversation AND HE DIDN’T HAVE A WEDDING RING! I can hear you laughing at me already abi? One day he takes me out to dinner, bought me a nice perfume when he came to pick me up and then we headed out. Now I may be a romantic but I am not a fool. I always carried ‘vex’ money wherever I went (Queen’s College girls you know what I am about LOL). Anyway, I am laughingly responding to one of his numerous stories when his phone rings and he asks me to be quiet rather abruptly and then I hear the following convo (well his side of the convo).

“Hi honey, how are you and the kids”
“I am working late again, need to finish that project”
“May not come home tonight…”

I had heard more than enough, I got up grabbed my purse and with righteous anger walked off. ‘How could he be married?’ I asked to no one in particular with righteous indignation. Even the cab guy who silently returned me to school sensed I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat and you know how Lagos cab guys sabi gist. My friends were very supportive, insulting men in general as all girls do in such situations but later on my inner voice mocked me. 40- something year old gorgeous, cultured and very rich dude still single in this Nigeria? Come on! Girls are not sleeping or blind. If indeed he had been really single he would either be divorced, separated, gay or have one mega scoinscoin that would make you fear fear!

Later on a man who claimed he was ‘separated’ started toasting me and every time I gave him the ‘Lagbaja nothing for you’ line he would pout and promise that he was true and sincere and age was nothing but a number until one day I got a mysterious phone call and one woman abused my life ehn. The thing pain me no be small because I wasn’t even remotely interested in her man but you know we women na, face the woman instead of the man. Dude calls to apologize later on and swears that he is separated but his soon to be ex-wife is crazy jealous and wants him back. Shuoooo? Ogbeni shift joo, you are blocking my Oxygen!
I’d like to believe that the average young girl growing up in the world today is smart enough to see through all of this BS.
No ring doesn’t equal not married and separated doesn’t equal divorced and if he claims he is divorced insist on seeing papers biko!

So back to concept 1…Does this sort of love truly exist? Is there an acceptable maximum age difference that should exist between man and woman? This goes both ways cos the number of cougars is growing by the second! 😉
Could it really be defined as love or is it strictly a mutually beneficial relationship? What say ye? I’d really love to hear your views on concepts 1, 2 and 3. Do you have successful marriage stories to share that involve cross-generational relationships?

And for the young girls forced into marriage to men of their fathers’ ages by family, tradition or circumstances, my heart goes out to them. Marriage before the age of consent by an unwilling child bride should be a crime. Shikena!

So ladies would you date an older man, an aristo or Mr Lecturer? (Concept one, two or three) Or have you? And for the men have you ever dated an older woman or a cougar let’s hear your experiences and your verdict on the issue!



Posted by on July 2, 2015 in Relationships


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It’s all for the money $$$ -“A tale of one Lagos big girl”


I wasn’t always a big girl… I smile as I dab at my lips with the napkin, acquired skills come with an acquired taste. I really would have preferred Mama Tolu’s ewa agoyin with some agege bread but that’s a meal too razz for my person. Modinat or Modi-boo as I prefer to be addressed is a bacon-eating, sausage munching toosh babe. The waiter interrupts my thoughts and I barely spare him a glance as I pay my bill idly tossing in a five thousand Naira tip which causes the awed waiter to fall over himself with profuse gratitude. As I step out of the 5 star restaurant where I have become a regular, I glance at my reflection in the glass door and unconsciously suck in my belle. There she is, the perfect big girl, no dulling. The valet hands me the keys to my red escalade and I drive off.

They say money doesn’t buy class, whoever said it was a broke ass, self-absorbed punk! Look at me now. My image goes beyond my European hair or my Hermes bag or Vera Wang Limited Edition dress (red to match my red escalade) I always love to colour code my outfits with my cars. Yes I have several. When you are large, you are large. Now back to class. It’s so easy to acquire class. Three months after I hammered big time, I bought my first Dstv decoder and after a week of watching African magic back to back (I couldn’t believe I could watch so many movies without renting them, back in the days it was 50 Naira per movie and woe betide you if the movie was sweet and had part 1, 2, 3 and 4), I realised that I wasn’t fulfilled. People still didn’t take me seriously. A stupid bouncer at a club didn’t let me enter VIP when Lynxxx was there and he was allowing other girls. I even tried tipping him and he laughed in my face and hissed and then spoke Yoruba to me, asking me to go and join my kind. It was my first time out alone and as I drove home in my Camry, I cried angry tears. Why had I been rejected? My clothes were more expensive than most of the girls there and I was a hot chick. What was wrong? I sat on my couch, the light from the television illuminating my mascara streaked face as I brooded and pondered about the disgrace I had received. I had just begun to entertain thoughts about the possibility of the bouncer living in my former area when I heard Dolapo Oni on 53 extra. I was broken out of my reverie and at that moment the pieces of the puzzle began to make sense. This was what I lacked! Her demeanor, mannerisms, conversation style and accent were very Americana. She was cultured and toosh. I was filled with envy as I watched her. I began to take notes. I was going to transform.

Three months post disgrace, I was a changed person. I spoke softly. I spoke with an accent. I kept watching “Jennifa” and “53 extra” reruns because to me they were my past vs my future. I watched Jennifa because as a sharp babe I knew there were some pronunciations that were synonymous with razz Yoruba babes and I knew I was guilty of them so everytime Jennifa said something familiar, I’d make a mental note to hear how Dolapo pronounced it. It was all I did for 3 months. I didn’t have to work per se. Alhaji’s political campaign kept him very preoccupied. Hadn’t seen him in a long while and I hoped to impress him the next time we met. On Friday the 15th day of June, I knew I was ready. I dressed slowly that night. My Malaysian weave looked great and as I adjusted my cleavage, I unconsciously dared the bouncer to misbehave. I had butterflies in my tummy. It was the anticipation, the excitement, the fear of rejection. I felt like a debutante. I decided not to take the Camry. It was pure water. Alhaji had parked his jaguar in my house when EFCC was snooping around and tonight it was my ride. I left the house with the overpowering scent of Marc Jacob’s Lola pervading the air around me. I felt powerful!

They say money stinks on you. The club security let me park inside. Lynxxx was there again and we happen to arrive at the same time. He parked just beside me and flashed me one of those his killer smiles. I wasn’t there for him tonight, I was there to prove a point. I deliberately sat in the regular part of the club and ordered a bottle of their most expensive champagne. I paid cash even before the waiter had taken my order to erase any doubts from his mind. I must have caused quite a stir or maybe it was the 250k bottle of champagne that did it, the next thing I knew the manager was coming to very sweetly and politely upgrade me himself not to VIP but to VVIP. As I walked past the bouncer, my heart began to pound. He had his back turned to me and as he turned I flashed him my most confident smile. Alas it wasn’t my guy… The new bouncer ushered me in very respecfully and I was crestfallen the rest of the night. I was determined not to leave. Maybe the dude would show up later. I was nursing my champagne alone in the corner feeling like victory had been denied me deliberately when a voice caused me to look up.

“Hi pretty, you’re a sight for sore eyes, did someone break your heart? Why so sad?”

It was Alhaji’s son. What a coincidence! And the brat didn’t recognize me. He had almost knocked me over with his car some years ago and when a policeman had intervened, he had arrogantly announced that he was Alhaji Mamzer’s son and the policeman had cowered in fear and apologized. The boy hadn’t even apologized to me or checked to see if I was ok. He had just hissed and warned that I had better look where I was going next time before driving off and splashing dirty water on the policeman and I. Well I was his father’s special aristo chick and could get more money from the old man after a good roll in the sack than his bloodline could ever fetch him.

“Nah…just bored. The DJ isn’t really on point tonight”

And he had used that as an opportunity to make himself comfortable beside me. After listening to him prattle on for an hour, I was more than ready to leave. He insisted on getting my phone number and I obliged. We exchanged phone numbers and I left before he could insist on walking me to my car. I couldn’t risk him recognizing the plate number on his father’s ride. I sang loudly all through the drive home. Mission accomplished, I could definitely kiss my old life goodbye.

A year later I was a confirmed Lagos big girl. Alhaji’s unlimited funds had made sure of that. As I was about to pull into my lavish Lekki phase 1 compound, a car caught my eye. I realised the car was the same one that had been driving behind me since I left the restaurant. As a smart babe, I drove past my compound ignoring my pounding heart. I didn’t know who they were but I wasn’t taking chances. I drove around town for 15 minutes and the men followed. It was ridiculous. I was weighing the odds and seriously contemplating driving into the nearby police station though there was no way of knowing what side of the law these men were on. I saw traffic up ahead, it was usual for Lekki cos of the new toll gate and fear clutched at my heart as scenes of driveby shootings flashed before my eyes. On a whim, I took the first turning off the road and alas the horrid black baby boy followed me. I looked at the dead end in front of me and screamed. How could I have failed to notice I was driving into a close. They were rare in Lekki as most streets were interconnected. I made sure my doors were locked and feared the worst. I watched the men alight from the car and walk towards my car. I said a silent prayer and saw one of the men fiddling with his phone. My phone began to ring and as I glanced at the unknown number I knew it was him.


“Modinatu Salami why you dey fear like this? Na me Samuseedin”

I dropped the phone as I heaved a big sigh of relief and unlocked the doors.

“Sammy you scared me jare, I-” my voice trailed off as I saw the gun pointed at me.

“Revenge is sweet, kneel down there!” He barked.

As I got on my knees, the other guy rushed at me and the last thing I saw before it all went black was a white handkerchief.

………………..To be continued…………………………….


Posted by on August 23, 2013 in It's all for the money!, Series


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