Fast and Furious 8: The Naija Marriage Edition

I am an undiscovered Formula One driver.

"Tejumade Shakirat Fola- Alade of Osun state!!!!!" Hubby Screamed. "Did you not see that Pot hole?!"

"Which pothole? That small gallop?" Hian!

I was driving on the express way at a speed that would have made even Vin Diesel’s character in the Fast and Furious franchise smile with glee. Hubby was hunched at a corner in the car with a look of horror on his face, but after all it’s an expressway and I wasn’t even at 120Km/h yet and he was complaining.

I am one of the most impatient drivers on the streets of Lagos. And a lot of my friends who have witnessed my driving antics behind the wheels would agree wholeheartedly.

Oh yes, they complain and whine about how fast I was going but I always have the same question for them all, “But did you die? Shebi you are still alive”, and I usually ask further “how come you always come to me when you need to get somewhere quickly”

Ok, maybe I don't go that fast but many have sworn this was all they saw

Even Hubby, whose attention span for everything is shorter than the shortest fuse in the world, pays the most attention when I’m behind the wheels and is usually quick to share some advice, “Be careful o”, “Watch that pot hole o”, “What are you driving”, “You are too fast madam”, “Park let me come and drive”, “Are you aware you have left your lane”, “You are just a menace to Lagos streets”, "You drive like a bank robber", You must have been a car smuggler in your past life", “Your license should be revoked“ I’m never letting you drive again, ever”.

 He will drone on and on. But I usually have the same response for him just like everyone else, “But did you die or have an accident”?

Now you should understand me; I am the number one, okay maybe number two, fine maybe not in the top thirty, but an ardent follower of road regulations. I believe in maintaining one lane from the beginning of a road till the end of a road, well, except a truck breaks down and we are all redirected to join another lane, just that when I move on that particular lane, I move very fast and with precision.

Outside of that, I am a very vocal advocate of maintaining road sanity. Despite this belief though, I do not waste time on Lagos roads. When I drive, I drive with purpose, focus, determination and unbelievable calculation. And God bless anyone who dares to enter my lane. For me, driving is like success. To achieve it, you need an admirable level of focus, unwavering concentration, dogged determination, swiftness and precision.

And the way I drive is exactly the way I eat, write, think and birth scalable ideas, swift, fast and with concentrated precision. Hubby on the other hand is another story when it comes to eating, but thank God he makes up for his eating peeves with other important things I want him to.

Eating for me is an art form, a beautiful flow of movement that must be made with precision. From the minute the meal is ready to the time I serve myself and sit to eat, I work with careful shrewdness and precise clarity.

Before the meal is served, I get my tray ready, ensure the plates, cutlery and serviette is properly laid beside the tray, well cleaned and devoid of any stain, the glass cup is placed perpendicularly to the chosen dish and once I dish the meal, I clean any new stain either on the tray or the dish itself. The water in the glass cup has to reach a certain level to be allowed to make its way into my throat. And when I finally place the meal either in the living room or bedroom, the cooling unit or fan must be well regulated to ensure I don’t sweat. Then I press the ‘play’ button on either my laptop or TV to watch a selected movie that will match the pace of the meal I am about to consume.

I maintain that position until I am done with the meal. No change of movement, no change of hands, no interference from anything whatsoever (I believe it’s a sin to respond to calls or chats while eating.). And like a robot, I eschew external activities outside the goal of consuming that meal with respect and reverence.

For me, food is an art that needs concentration

Because of this rigid process I have adopted when eating, I concluded few days after my wedding that Hubby and I would probably never get to eat from the same plate. NEVER!!!!!

Many have tried though to romantically make us eat together. I mean, I have gone to some places where we were not even asked before we would see just one plate of rice and one soup bowl with maybe 2 pieces or 4 pieces of meat waltz into the room in the hands of the naive guest, depending on how (un)expected the visit was. Whenever situations like this occur, Hubby and I makes it clear with a very straight face that such should not repeat itself or we will start a family feud with the erring parties.

You see, the reason is not as a result of abundance of love or lack of it thereof. The reason is simply that: when it comes to food, Hubby and I are the opposites of two different coins from two different countries. When it comes to food, Hubby and I are like two peas in two different pods on two different trees. When it comes to food, I am Saturn, and Hubby is Uranus. I am Fire, Hubby is Ice. We simply do not blend. Because, just like my driving pattern, my food pattern reflects same: quick, prompt, swift, purposeful, determined and moving with a passion. 

Hubby on the other hand believes that after one spoon of rice or any meal he could be having, he is entitled to a return trip to all online websites, respond to some urgent official enquiries, whatever is showing on Sound-City, MTV Base or CNN, the latest series, who’s saying what on his BBM, have a heated BBM discussion with OSAKA on who’s hotter between myself, Amber Rose and Kim Kardashian, if any of his group chat buddies requires his urgent attention before finally coming to take the second spoon of meal and repeat the whole cycle. And after 3-4 hours of these activities, not only would I be done eating, I would already be thinking what next we should have for dinner or breakfast the next day.

Add a phone, a BBM charger, a tab and a DVD remote to the equation please

So most times when innocent couples get to pair us to enjoy a meal together from the same plates and soup bowls, the scenarios are usually the same, always, and at all times:

I remember one particular incident when we went to visit some friends which nearly began a civil war;

*A tray containing a plate of rice and another with stew was brought into the living room. Hubby and I looked on suspiciously as we expected our hosts to make another trip to the kitchen but got disappointed when they sat and grinned at us happily like they just saved our marriage by pairing our meals together. *

Hubby to Hosts: “E ku ise oh, ermm, may I ask why you put our food together?”

*I looked on belligerently at the guests waiting for justification of such anomaly*

Hosts: “*While still smiling lovingly and affectionately at us, they responded* Ahn ahn are you not husband and wife?”

Hubby: “Please next time let’s all respect ourselves o, THIS WAS WHAT CAUSED CIVIL WAR IN MOGADISHU”

Me: *Frowning, I noticed that one spoon was larger than the other but knowing well what to expect from Hubby, I gave him the larger spoon and took the smaller much but much more mobile one.

Hubby: I see you are feeling submissive today, you gave me the bigger spoon.

Me: * Still frowning* “Please let’s eat, I am hungry”.

Hubby: “The turkey and brokoto are for me o. You take the chicken and gizzard”

Me: *Continues eating as I take the 6^th round of spoon while he was still trying to get his phone from his pocket and adjust his sitting position*

Hubby: “You are too fast o. You are finishing the stew.”

Hubby: “He picks up his Tab, Phone, asks the guests for the TV remote and begins his round the world in a few hours journey as I eat with purpose, clarity and vision.

*While he does this, I quickly took half of the Turkey, a quarter of the brokoto and hid the remaining in the rice*

*He continues pressing his phone and doesn’t notice.

Me: “Sweety, eat fast na so we can clear this place on time.

Hubby: “Please don’t rush me o.”

Me: *Takes the final 24^th spoon of rice and stood to go to the living room area to gist with our guests.

*I am hardly out of the dining room area when I hear a scream “What happened to my chicken and Gizzard?”, hurrying away at what is about to come but unapologetic. I was just happy I had reduced the amount of time he would be spending on that dining table by assisting in eating his meat. I quickly started gisting with our guests while we waited for Hubby to round off.

*Very many years later after our last child graduates from Harvard and our guests have relocated to California, Hubby drops the well eaten turkey bone, took a final sweep of the brokoto bone with his tongue, wipes his mouth with his serviette and looks across to me where I’m already grey haired and rocking our fourth grandchild to sleep and says* “Baby I’m done eating”.

Na today! Shebi it’s Hubby.