Please talk about it or else…

by Ikhide R. Ikheloa

Americans talk about everything at every opportunity. They talk during meals and sex. I once had an apartment below a young American couple who liked to make love and talk at the same time. Loudly. I was miserable whenever I had to leave the apartment to go to work, so entertaining. Nigerians are simple people; the British taught us to keep mum during sex. That is what the missionary position is for. I don’t know why the British call it the missionary position; they should simply call it the (only) position since well it is the (only) position they know about. Maybe the Americans invented the missionary position. They have names for everything because they talk a lot. The British are famously tight-lipped about everything. The story is told about the British couple enjoying their annual one round of sex in the missionary position when the woman began to squirm with enjoyment. The man is said to have stopped work and curtly declared: “Dear, you should not enjoy this!”

I love watching American TV food channels. They talk to food as if they are making love to it. They close their eyes as the food meets their palate and they make sensual noises as if they are climaxing and then the storytelling begins. By the time they are finished talking the food is cold. Americans love to talk about their houses. If they like your house they will talk about it all day. If a Nigerian likes your house you will not hear about if from the green-eyed monster. Bad belle jealousy will not let her say anything nice about your house. She will keep quiet even if it kills her. Meanwhile she will start memorizing everything she likes in your house. The next time you visit her house you will think you accidentally stepped into your own house. She would have faithfully reproduced everything in your house down to the bathroom towels. You will of course not say a word even though you are dying to tell the asshole how much you appreciate her perfidy. You are a Nigerian.

I have been loitering around Americans for many decades and I have mastered everything about them down to their accent. So, let me offer a few tips for acculturating in Babylon. Say you have a dinner date with an American lady at her house. This is an opportunity to show that you are not an ajepako half-human, you know those pretend-people who brush their teeth with twigs and hold cutlery like mass murderers. Before you leave your house, brush your teeth vigorously with toothpaste, and buy breath mints because you are going to be talking. If she offers you breath mints, my brother please take it. She will offer you wine. This is not palmwine. You can tell that it is not because unlike great palmwine, it tastes like pond water. She will offer you the wine and watch you intently like a white anthropologist watching a mountain gorilla. Do not simply swallow, make a face and keep quiet. Worse do not sip a large quantity and spit on her white carpet in honor of your wretched ancestors. You are not coming back; the police will make sure of that. Sip a little, close your eyes as if you are suffering from great sex, and then say something absolutely inane like: “This is a great well aged red. Fruity, bold, with a hint of nuttiness. Sensual, like you. You have great taste in wine!” Man, she will like that, an African who knows wine; you are getting some (sex!) tonight!

You are getting close to the bedroom for the ultimate test. But first the food is coming. If the lady has cooked a meal for you, this is a good sign. She must really like you. Please do not wolf the food down like a ravenous subsistence farmer eager to go back to his yam tendrils. Be inquisitive. Ask questions. Sometimes, the American, eager to impress you, will do some research about Nigerian food and cook you egusi. You are going to be miserable all night, but this is nice of her. Ask questions that show you really care: “Wow! This is sooo nice! Was it your idea to put chunks of carrots in the egusi sauce?” Please do not call it “soup” bush man! If the rice is half-cooked, compliment her on her creativity. “I like the texture of the rice. The almonds and the peanuts give the rice a robust nutty feel.” Abeg do not say groundnuts! Drink some more red wine. You will need it.

If she offers you sex, whatever you do, don’t duplicate the only one sex scene in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart. It lasted one minute and ended with the memorable line; “Even in those days Okonkwo was a man of few words.” If you behave like Okonkwo, you are not coming back to her bedroom, unless to clean it. Make love for at least two minutes. And talk a lot of nonsense. Please. Oya go for it, tiger.